The Czech Mature Prostitute

Martina stared down at the crumpled banknotes in her trembling hand. She had never imagined herself in a situation like this - debasing herself for cash. But times were tough. Her husband barely made enough to keep the bills paid. So when that older man approached her outside the grocery store, offering a small fortune for sex, something inside her broke. She agreed, before she could talk herself out of it.

Now she waited for him in this disgusting hotel room, the kind that rents by the hour. The flimsy mattress creaked as she shifted her weight, trying to ignore the stained carpet. There was a knock at the door. She took a deep breath. Here goes nothing. She opened it.

'Thank you for coming,' the man said, his lecherous eyes roving over her body. He was overweight, with a sweaty shine to his face. She fought the urge to gag. 'I'm Jiri. We have a deal?' He held out a hand, a wad of cash in his palm.

'Yes, we do,' Martina replied woodenly, taking the money. It was only a few hundred koruna, but it might as well have been a million. Her fingers curled around the notes, already tasting the relief it would bring. Just do this, she told herself. It won't be that bad. You can handle it.

Jiri shut and locked the door. In seconds, his rough hands were groping at her clothes, pulling at her shirt. She flinched. This was happening too fast. 'Easy,' she squirmed out from under him. 'A lady needs a little romance, you know.' Perhaps if she could make it seem like a real act, it wouldn't feel so sordid.

He grunted, backing off slightly. 'Yeah, yeah, whatever you say.' His dead eyes watched as she slowly undressed, hating every second. But she past the point of no return now. Just get it over with.

Naked, she lay back on the bed, willing herself to stay limp as he climbed on top. His weight crushed the breath from her lungs. Dirty hands pawed at her breasts, tweaking the nipples. She bit back a cry as he rammed into her, grunting and sweating. Minutes. It was only minutes, and then it was done. He rolled off her, flaccid dick already softening. She jumped up, scrubbing at her body with the rough motel towel. 'I need to get cleaned up. You can let yourself out.'

'Right, yeah, sure,' he mumbled, pulling on his pants. 'Thanks.' He left without another word, leaving her alone in the filthy room. Tears stung her eyes. She felt used, violated, humiliated. But that money in her purse...that made it all worth it. Didn't it?

Martina dressed quickly, shoving her feet into her shoes. She needed to get out of here, fast. This anonymous sex, letting a stranger use her body like a cheap whore...she wanted to scrub her skin raw with bleach, to erase the memory. But it was done. She could never take it back.

Back at home, she hid the cash in her purse, her secret. Her husband would never need to know. This was theirs, to keep the lights on, the food on the table, the mortgage paid. She would do whatever was necessary, no matter how much it disgusted her. A week later, she was back on the streets, watching for money, and offering herself to the highest bidder. The first time was the hardest. After that, it got easier. The money was all that mattered. Her body was just a tool. And she could sell that to anyone, for just enough to make ends meet.