I sit up and feel a twinge of pain between my legs. The soreness of my vagina and the nail marks left by her nails on my thighs remind me of the abuse I have taken these last two days. The smirk on her face tells me she has seen my discomfort.

“How does it feel?”

What a strange way of asking how I am. Then I get the meaning of the question. It is not my general well being that she is enquiring after, no it is my womanhood, the bits between my legs that are her payment. I blush, and she laughs loudly again before taking a draw on the cigarette once more.