Lola Smirnova is an author from Ukraine, who for
many years worked in the sex industry. She recently released her debut
novel Twisted. Twisted is a work of fiction, but it is inspired by the author’s
real life experiences making a living in the sex trade.
~ Synopsis ~
In the corrupt economy of post-Soviet
Ukraine opportunities are scarce. Young and eager sisters – Natalia, Lena and
Julia – harbor dreams of a better life. Naïve and tempted by the allure of
‘quick’ money, the girls set off on an adventure that changes their lives
forever.
Can they stay out of trouble enough to
fulfill their ambitions? Can they hold on to their idealism in a world where
depravity and danger are constant companions? How far are they willing to go to
make a buck?
Twisted
is a disturbing behind-the-scenes look at a world that most will never see. It
is shocking, raw, and explicit.
What people are
saying…..
“Twisted tells the story of a young Ukrainian girl named Julia, whose
family is struck with poverty after the fall of the Soviet Union. Her two
older sisters leave home and become sex workers, glossing over the more
distasteful aspects of their occupation, planting the seeds of both curiosity
and greed in young Julia. She eventually finds the lure of easy
money too beguiling and begins her journey into the darker aspects of drug
abuse, drunken stupors, and the horrid and loveless life of a sex-for-sale prostitute...
Twisted is an amazing book that is well written and provocative. This book is a
worthwhile read.” - Michael Alexander’s BDSM Review
“The characters are real, dialog
intoxicating, and the plot well crafted.” – Reviewed by Gary
Stout at Readers’ Favorite
~Enjoy an excerpt from
Chapter One~
1
‘Sag es!’ he screams at me.
The heavy motorcycle helmet is so tightly
strapped to my head that I can hear the blood rushing through my ears. The
smell of stale sweat reeks from the worn padding inside it. I struggle to
swallow. A drop of spit runs down the ball gag that has been shoved into my
mouth, then down my chin, and drips onto the couch beneath my knees. My
shoulders are screaming from the pull of the handcuffs, which force my hands
together behind my back.
He stands in the middle of the small and gloomy
room and I can see the outline of his large body. Two bloodshot eyes are firmly
fixed on my exposed nipples. A fleshy tongue slides backwards and forwards
through the gap in his teeth. He licks the sweat off his lips, moans, and
starts rubbing his groin, rocking his wide hips back and forth. He increases
the pace, while his moans get louder and louder. Next, he stops abruptly,
moving his eyes from my chest to my face, scowls, and takes a few menacing
steps towards me. I shrink instinctively, tensing my body …
‘I know him. Don’t be scared Jul. He’s a bit
strange, but a harmless motherfucker.’ That is what my sister, Natalia, managed
to whisper in my ear half an hour ago, before I followed this freak, with the
brain bucket in his hand, upstairs.
Natalia and I were sitting at the bar counter
when he walked in. He didn’t even have a drink; just stepped in the door,
looked around, stopped his stare at me, and mumbled, ‘I want you. Let’s go.’
‘It’s time to work!’ teased Natalia. Her naughty
look followed us all the way up the stairs.
‘Sag es!’ the crack-head screams again,
which I think means ‘say it’ in Luxembourgish or German.
He grunts, and with a wild thrust shoves his
hips right into my face. He doesn’t even bother to take his jeans off. A quick
unzip and he pulls out a flaccid penis, puts one foot up on the couch and
starts violently pumping it, so close that his clenched palm is punching the
helmet. Lucky for me the visor is shut.
I sigh deeply and try to shift on the couch to
get rid of the cramps, which start crawling up my legs and back.
A bit
strange? Come on, Natalia! You could call him anything – cracked, insane, alien
on Earth – but hardly ‘a bit strange’!
I glance at the half-empty bottle of champagne
seductively chilling in the ice bucket. If I’d known what Natalia had meant by
‘a bit strange’, I would have finished it before he handcuffed me and shoved
the damn ball into my jaws.
‘Sag es!’ brings me out of my thoughts
again.
I peep at his red face … What the hell does this
crack-head think he is doing? I wouldn’t even call it masturbation! He tortures
his penis in a spasmodic exertion. The awful tongue tossing in his distorted
mouth, the dark brown hair stuck to the film of sweat on his broad brow, and
the whimpering noises coming out of his fat body make a disgusting spectacle.
‘Sag es!’
According to the instructions he gave me before
we started this session, I was supposed to say ‘I love you, I forgive you’
through the gag.
I wonder
what my seventh-grade teacher would say if she walked in the door right now?
She always believed in me and encouraged: ‘You are going to come out on top,
Julia …’ Good shot, Anna Ivanovna. You were pretty close!
He shuts his eyes and wrinkles his forehead in
concentration. Frustrated, he drops his limp penis and squats next to the small
table in the centre of the room. He pauses only to wipe the trickle of sweat
from his forehead. Then he quickly snorts the line of blow on the glass table,
and doesn’t get up for a while, staring deadpan at the wall.
Hey, fat
boy, get on with it so we can have some together after this. I think I deserve
a little pick-me-up for my efforts here.
I wonder what could possibly have happened to
turn his grey matter inside out like this. A few hours later, when I kick my
‘labour hour’ around with the girls, they will tell me some rumours about him
having had a motorbike accident. Apparently, he was riding ‘under the
influence’ with his fiancée in tow. She died there on the street, in his arms,
in a puddle of mud. With the last beats of her heart, he stared at her
wide-open eyes, full of terror, and at her bleeding lips that breathed in
agony: ‘Please, baby, I don’t want to die.’
I shudder. I don’t know if he was injured in the
accident, but after this short time we’ve spent together I can assure you that
his brain was nowhere to be found after that crash.
‘Sag es!’
Yeah,
whatever …
He finally comes back to the couch, pulling and
beating his poor half-dead cock in front of my plastic shield. I try to say
what he demands – anything to get this over and done with, and me out of here –
but ‘I love you’, that forms beautifully in my throat, dissolves into an
incoherent mumble as it hits the ball.
His small eyes devour every inch of my naked
body, which is truly just skin and bone with boyish nipples where there are
supposed to be breasts. The only reason why any man would choose to fuck me
(aside from being a paedophile, of course) would be my big blue eyes and long
blonde hair.
‘Sag es!’
His whole face is scrunched up in an ugly leer
and his bottom lip is quivering as he makes a weird whining noise.
Oh please!
Don’t tell me you are going to cry now! Pathetic, sick, even disturbing, but
not just ‘a bit strange’, Natalia?!
He keeps on yanking and jerking and thrusting
like a maniac – harder and harder. He’s going to pull that thing off if he
doesn’t stop!
‘Sag es! Sag
es!’ he whines over and over, then
forcefully flips the visor up and pulls the bottom of the helmet so close that
his soft crotch hits my face. I shut my eyes a second before the first squirt
of semen hits them.
‘It’s over’ slips with warmth and ease into my
head, then streams down through my body, echoing the semen on my face. My eyes
are closed but I can still hear him sobbing, sniffling and mumbling.
I can’t
believe this fucker just ruined my make-up!
All I’ve got from this pathetic episode is an
experience I will never be able to share with my grandchildren and €60 with no
promise of a tip.
~
Purchase Information ~
~About
the Author ~
Lola Smirnova is currently
working on her second novel Crave – a sequel to Twisted. To learn
more, go to http://lolasmirnova.com/.
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