MY VIRGINITY FOR A THOUSAND EUROS

Alyssa Moreau stared at the old owner of her apartment, a man with a scowling face and eyes narrowed in contempt. Her hands trembled as she held out an empty envelope, hoping he would grant her an extension.  

— I’ve given you enough time, Miss Moreau, he grumbled, crossing his arms. It’s been three months since you promised to pay. I’m not a charity.  

The sharp and cutting tone of his words hit her like a punch. She felt her cheeks flush with a mix of shame and anger.  

— I… I will find the money, Mr. Gauthier, she pleaded, her voice trembling. Just give me another week, please.  

He burst into sarcastic laughter.  

— A week? No, young lady. You're leaving now. I’m keeping your things until you pay what you owe me.  

Before she could protest, he slammed the apartment door, leaving her standing in the cold hallway with only a handbag containing her papers and a few crumpled bills. Tears rolled down her cheeks, but she forced herself not to burst into sobs. She knew it wouldn’t help.  

On the street, Alyssa began to walk aimlessly. Her worn shoes scraped against the pavement as she moved, her gaze fixed on the ground. She thought of her mother, gone for years, and her father, whom she had never known. No one would come to her rescue; she knew that well. She was alone.  

Her stomach growled, but she ignored it. Hunger was just one of the many pains weighing on her.  

— Come on, Alyssa, she murmured to motivate herself. You’ll find a job. You have no choice.  

She nervously rummaged through her handbag to pull out her phone. The classifieds might offer her a quick solution. Opening a job listings site, she scrolled through endless lists of positions: waitress, cleaner, cashier… But none promised a salary sufficient to pay her debts.  

She sighed, ready to give up for the day, when an ad caught her attention.  

"We are looking for young girls who can be licked. Well-paid job: 1000 euros per hour. No penetration required."  

Alyssa's eyes widened.  

— Seriously? she muttered, both shocked and intrigued.  

She reread the ad several times, trying to understand. This wasn’t exactly prostitution, she told herself. After all, they clearly stated "no penetration." Just… being licked.  

Her heart raced as she seriously contemplated the idea.  

— A thousand euros an hour, she murmured. That's a lot…  

She thought of her landlord and her belongings locked in the apartment. Of the hunger gnawing at her and the constant fatigue of fighting alone.  

— It’s just one hour, she tried to reassure herself. One hour, and I could pay part of my rent, maybe even treat myself to a night at a hotel…  

She bit her lower lip, hesitant, but despair outweighed her pride. She clicked on the ad link and began to read the application instructions.  

Every word reinforced her discomfort, but she saw no other way out. She took a deep breath, submitted her application with a photo of herself, and nervously awaited a response.  

In the bustling streets of the city, 18-year-old Alyssa was making a choice she never would have imagined a few months ago.    

The confirmation message arrived barely an hour after Alyssa applied. The sender, anonymous, gave her an appointment at 10 PM in an abandoned basement, located in a neighborhood she vaguely knew for its shady activities.  

When she arrived, night had already enveloped the city, and the icy air seeped through her outfit. She still wore the same faded jeans and the holey sweater with which her landlord had thrown her out. Her old, scuffed sneakers felt even more worn in light of the situation.  

The basement was at the end of a dark alley, poorly lit by a flickering streetlamp. Two men stood in front of the entrance: imposing, built like wardrobes, with fitted black clothing that hinted at bulging muscles. One had a thick, well-groomed beard, while the other was clean-shaven but bore a thin scar that crossed his left cheek. Their cold gazes scrutinized Alyssa as she approached.  

She hesitated for a moment, her heart pounding. The atmosphere was heavy, almost oppressive, and the flickering light from the streetlamp heightened the feeling that she was being watched.  

— Are you Alyssa Moreau? asked the bearded man in a deep, almost growling voice.  

She nodded, her throat too dry to respond immediately.  

— We’ve been expecting you. Come in, said the scarred man, nodding toward the basement stairs.  

She stepped forward timidly, her hands gripping the straps of her bag. But before she could descend, one of the men hissed softly, as if he had just noticed something unusual.  

— Did you see that, Marc? murmured the scarred one.  

— Yeah, replied the bearded man, a smirk on his face.  

Their heavy gazes swept over her from head to toe, lingering on her youthful curves, her delicate face despite the tired look, and her large, bright eyes that betrayed a mix of innocence and fear.  

— She’s more than I imagined, murmured Marc.  

Alyssa felt her face heat under their scrutinizing gazes. She tightened the edges of her holey sweater around her, uncomfortable.  

— Not bad for a girl who can’t even afford to pay her rent, the other added with a sneer.  

— That’s enough! Alyssa cut in, her voice trembling but firm. You called me, didn’t you? So, where do I need to go?  

The bearded man crossed his arms, the mocking smile never leaving his face.  

— She’s got some spirit, I like that. Well, it’s this way.  

He opened a heavy metal door that creaked on its hinges, revealing the inside of the basement. The walls were raw, covered in graffiti and stained with dampness. A dim red light bathed the room, giving it an almost hellish ambiance.  

— Sit there, said Marc, pointing to a black leather chair placed in the center of the room.  

Alyssa stepped forward slowly, her footsteps echoing on the concrete floor. Behind her, the two men closed the door, plunging the room into an unsettling silence.  

She settled into the chair, her trembling hands resting on her knees. The men continued to stare at her, as if weighing every detail about her.  

— So, is this the one they sent us? asked a voice from a dark corner of the room.  

Alyssa jumped slightly as a third man, older, emerged from the shadows. Elegantly dressed in a black suit, he had a stern yet refined face, with piercing eyes that seemed to read her.  

— Yes, replied Marc with a smile. Look at her, boss. She’s worth every penny.  

The "boss" stepped forward, his polished shoes clicking lightly on the floor. He observed Alyssa closely, raising an eyebrow.  

— Interesting, he murmured, tilting his head. Welcome, Miss Moreau. You seem nervous, but I assure you everything will go well… if you cooperate.  

Alyssa felt a cold sweat trickle down her neck, but she nodded gently, trying to mask her fear.  

— Very well, the man continued. I will explain how things will proceed.  

The evening had just begun, and Alyssa realized how deeply she had gotten herself into something that exceeded her expectations.