The matron eyed me up and down disdainfully, but plucked the money up from the table where it sat. At the end of our work shifts all the girls were standing in a row with the money we'd made sitting in front of us.
So far for the entire night I'd been splooged on twice and felt extremely violated, but at least I made three thousand American dollars, and two thousand euros. This place didn't discriminate currency.
I stood there in my sparkly string ensemble, head down, arms crossed over my chest and wanting to die.
At least nobody had fucked me for real.
The matron grunted something I faintly understood as 'go' and we all began to leave, but a cane falling on my shoulder both made me hiss in pain and stop in my tracks. The older woman stalked up to me and yanked my shoulder down to her eye level, looking at my scar up close.
