Opus Veda

She watched Eva leave for school. Kasia put on her best clothes, doubting they'd be needed where she was going.

The tube shuttled her to the inevitable. She made a last attempt to find work but there were no positions she had the confidence for; the willpower to endure. Most were zero hours. No mother could afford that. An advert for Riese Elektronik's Polish department mocked her.

She arrived at the ghostly buildings of Morden Base, passing the office of her former role, carrying on to the flats. A security guard let her in.

It unnerved her. The hallway was faded and cobwebbed, half-buried in post older than she. The guard took her possessions, checked her body for anything knife shaped, and sent her to flat 1.

A leathery woman with a husky voice beamed, mid-cigarette.

"Kasia! Darling! Welcome to moiy 'umble flats! Sit, sit!" she flapped Kasia into a chair, "they call me Maître d' boot 'Matron' is foiyne. It sounds a bit fancy otherwise loove doesn't it?"

She spent a minute showering Kasia with cigarette smoke and platitudes; her dense Birmingham accent adding to Kasia's bewilderment. Every detail made Kasia feel worse - the flat, shabbier than hers; the encouraging Maître d' pulling out lingerie, winking as she said Kasia's new uniform had no hiding places.

"Oi need to do a sexual 'ealth check now love, 'the first prick of the noight' they say. It's a bit cheeky of them isn't it?"

Maître d' wheezed a laugh. Kasia hated the open questions, each demanding she respond. She pricked the blood tester on her finger and prayed for a positive result. Any disease to rescue her from this.

But she already knew it would be negative, and so it was. Her host congratulated her.

The door opened. Two people entered. They could have been siblings - petite with short blonde hair. Younger than Kasia, modelling the outfit she was about to get.

Perhaps they were siblings. It surely paid well.

"This is Esmé and Eddy - joost a coincidence love - they're seniors. One of them will show you the ropes tonoight, tell you what..." Maître d' rubbed Kasia's shoulder, "you pick one."

More bad luck. Kasia didn't want to be offered choices. The seniors watched her - Eddy smirking, Esmé flicking up a bubbly hand wave.

Kasia picked her.

"Esmé..." she pursed her lips at Eddy, "sorry... Just feels like I should stick with a girl..."

"Do you think I'm that sort of guy?" Eddy pouted at the other women, "one of you should tell her she's barkin' up the wrong tree."

The women laughed him off. Kasia remained frozen. Esmé guided her away.

"Ignore those two. Come with me."

In the bedroom Kasia's uniform hung from a mirror. Esmé helped her change and made Kasia's face up with deft hands, nattering about irrelevant subjects all the while.

She spritzed Kasia with an odourless perfume and handed a pill over.

"Birth control, you'd better take it. It's headaches or pregnancy."

Kasia nodded and swallowed it. Esmé noticed her fingers shaking and eyed her.

"You got sent from next door, no? They do that sometimes, when someone attractive enough breaks the rules," she wrapped the translucent gown over Kasia's shoulders, "you're about to meet Chef. He's the boss here. Make eye contact and look horny but not needy, otherwise he'll put you in footage. You don't want footage."

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Kasia stepped back, swaying side to side in denial.

"I don't want to be here…"

"Don't think like that! Whatever reason you're here for think about that instead," Esmé patted Kasia's arms, "we all have our reasons. Big reasons. And trust me, it does get easier."

They returned to the lounge. Maître d' pinched Kasia's cheek and sent her upstairs.

First floor, flat 9. Another shabby lounge, chillier but without cigarette fumes. Kasia stood amongst a row of peers. Recruits of another kind, each with doubt and desperation on their face. Esmé and Eddy stood opposite. Both shot Kasia a friendly face she tried taking to heart.

The owner emerged, tall and suntanned, grey hair receding into a man-bun, wearing a bold silk shirt. He looked like a posh person's drug dealer. A weaselly tablet-wielding assistant followed him. They were a less-trustworthy mirror of Pierce and Pardo.

The assistant made everyone remove their gowns. One by one they obeyed. He started with the rightmost worker and read his tablet.

"Cis-female, 19, Queer, Saxon-Irish. 5 feet 3 inches, 32A-23-34, UK 6, 7 stone 5."

The owner stood behind him, thinking carefully.

"Client."

The assistant swiped the screen and read the next profile.

"Cis-female, 23, Hetero, Straight-Saxon. 5 feet-"

"Footage."

"Cis-male, 17, Gay, Persian. 5 feet 9 inches, 8 inches-"

"Client."

"Next we-"

"Footage"

"And-"

"Christ footage,"

They continued this way, giving each new worker one of two destinies.

Kasia went last.

"Cis-female, 29, Queer, Slavic-Polish. 5 feet 4 inches, 32C-25-35, UK 6, 7 Stone 8. And uh…" the assistant nudged his boss and poked the tablet.

"The transfer from next door?" the boss looked doubtful, as if Kasia was a step from failure. She had no idea what footage entailed, but tried to meet his eyes with subdued seductiveness.

"Footage."

Kasia reeled. The boss burst out laughing.

"Esmé tipped you off didn't she? Esmé! You gossiping dyke…" he wagged his finger, getting a curtsy back, "I can always guess people's type. It's why I'm here. Esmé enjoys pampering lost women, for instance.

You Kasia… you want an authority figure to save you but! You're also queer! This tells me you're used to blokes doing jizz and run, and you have to end your night with match 2.0. So you hookup with the occasional lady who understands what each part does and where each finger goes. Am I right?"

Kasia cocked her head.

"You'll find out when you give me client. Or you can put me in footage and carry on wondering."

He laughed and relented. Client it was. For the first time all day Kasia eased.

Those in footage were left behind as the rest went to another flat. They passed a guarded entry leading to the base where Kasia once worked - the base where weeks ago she had looked into these flats, unaware she had seen her future.

Eddy seated them and offered drinks. No one accepted. A tense half hour later, the boss rushed in.

"As much as I want you all calling me 'Sir', our Red overseers find it uncouth when a man of my limited dignity uses their honorifics. You can call me Chef.

Do not assume your roles here are small. Reds won't admit it but they rely on you as much as the cannon fodder next door. You are, after all, paid the same rate.

Before each shift you prepare yourselves on ground floor with that smoked kipper Maître D. First floor is where you wait, basement floor you keep away from, second floor up you meet clients. They will be relaxing nearby and perusing you from our tablets, just like a nightclub..."

Chef lifted a finger and made a swiping motion.

"If you're available, you can be picked. If you're picked, a chaperone takes you to a flat to await your client. Some clients are civvies, some are our people - those who risk their lives for us and need to unwind. They will rate you for it. Get rated well and you earn more. If you get a complaint you get nothing. So pull your weight, but don't exhaust yourselves devouring every cock and vulva under God's wings. They may all want a good fuck, but the art of any sport, to my mind, is pacing.

Final point: discretion, and safety. You will not compromise the identity of any client. We'll know if you do and we will deal with it severely. They say no one hears a sex worker scream but everyone does, they just ignore it. Behave yourselves and it won't matter. If a client gets too frisky, there's a guard on each floor. Any danger, call for them."

Chef was already out the door. Eddy assigned workers to waiting rooms. Kasia found hers and kept quiet, wrapping her gown tight and cradling her legs. Two older workers whispered behind her. Kasia was alone and afraid, wishing Esmé was with her.

She reminded herself of her mistakes - the choices she should not have made that brought her here. She reminded herself of her duty to Eva, who mattered enough for Kasia to sell this last piece of herself.

The TV dinged, showing a flat number and Kasia's name. The other workers carried on chatting. A security guard knocked the door to lead her away.

Kasia did what she had to do.

She went.