OCTOBER, 1910
HAMPSTEAD

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The outfit she wore was scrappy and threadbare and didn't cover enough. No wonder she was shaking in her boots, despite making every effort not to; her arms were braced around her in an attempt to look casual whilst she was really just keeping herself warm.

Madam had told her looking cold and shivering would repel customers. Men wanted warmth - well rounded, relaxed women, not some skinny, half-starved, frozen to death teenager.

The smile on her face became even more forced, and she leaned back on the side of the building, planting her foot on the wall behind her. Just as she had been taught. Her skirt slid up, revealing too much of her pale thigh, and she winced as her bare skin was pierced by the cold. She didn't dare tug it down; she knew Madam was watching.

It was around eleven o'clock, and most men were on their way back from, or heading to, a pub. Most of them swept past her with no more than a suggestive look, their eyes lingering, but most of them probably couldn't even afford her, let alone after several drinks.

But one of them always had a little extra money, and came stalking up to her without a hint of restraint or respect in their flickering eyes - as one did now.

"What's your rate?" He asked bluntly, rummaging in his pockets, not even looking at the girl in the eye, as she did her best to smile seductively.

"How much you got?" she asked, making sure to keep an arch in her back, her lips parted. Her accent was still heavy, but she did everything she could to hide it.

"A crown."

"I will do four bob," the girl said, holding out her hand palm-up.

"Two," the man countered.

The girl swallowed. That wasn't enough. "Three," she bargained, keeping her voice light, a smirk on her face.

The man's face creased, and he slapped the coins into her open palm. "Done."

Keeping that god-awful smile plastered on her face, she nodded, and pushed herself back off the wall. Stashing the coins down her bodice, she held out her hand to him coyly. "Come on inside mister."

He grinned drunkenly, and gripped her smooth hand with his rough, calloused one. It was only when the girl turned her face away from the man to lead him into the house did she let the smile drop, and did everything she could to numb herself against everything.

It killed her to realise that none of these men cared about her in the slightest.

She wished the walk to her quarters was longer. But all too soon, the door to her room was shut, and the man was shrugging his jacket off, removing his waistcoat. Sighing, she reached down to her own shirt, and began to shakily pry the buttons open, her brown eyes fixed on that god dammed bed. It was making her feel sick.

Then, the man was looking up, and the girl quickly resumed her smirk. A slender hand gestured him to the bed, and he stumbled over. He was still smiling.

She was trembling a little as she forced herself to dance coyly over to him, as she shrugged off her clothes, exposing the most private parts of her body to someone who saw them as pleasure objects, as she straddled his lap. 

By the time he had clumsily flipped her over, and was gripping her hair with one hand as the other curled into the beige bed sheets, she was shaking tremendously, the tears streaming freely as he couldn't see her face. He didn't hear or care as she cried whilst he took all the pleasure he could get, not even noticing when his nails dug into her, or when he was going too fast.

However long later, he left without a word, and the girl was left on the bed, half-clothed and shaken. The absence of the stranger's grunts and gasps left her sobs sounding so much louder in the small, plainly decorated bedroom.

Every single night, it was the same. It was the worst thing the girl had ever had to do in her life and she doubted she would ever do anything worse.

The only thing that kept her going, that made her keep earning, was who she was doing it for.