I was dead. 

And I wanted to stay that way.

I watched from a safe distance, standing in the shadows as the police arrived and read my suicide note. All of my clothes were carefully and neatly piled on the bench where I had waited until four in the morning for the streets to empty. My handbag with all of my identification, keys, and critical belongings, was there as well.

The police would believe that I had committed suicide in the canals along Oudezziijds Voorburgwal, in front of De Oude Kerk, in DeWallen, the red-light district of Amsterdam.

They would never find my body. I hoped they would conclude that I was dead, and the body had washed away or was stuck underwater somewhere.

Our son, Eric – Miriam’s and mine – would be raised by his uncle, Hans, and his wife, Marie. Hans was also Eric’s biological father, Miriam’s younger brother, and my occasional Master and lover. 

So, Eric would be looked after and raised properly in a loving, wealthy home.

As for me, I was wearing the black tube top, miniskirt, and high heels I had stashed in the brown paper bag that I had carried to the canal. My hair was pulled back into the ponytail I hardly ever wore, and I had on octagonal, rose-colored glasses. My lipstick was black, my eyes were heavily made up, and I looked like just another working girl. I tossed the burner phone that I’d used to call the police into a canal as turned and I walked away.

I was going back to the gutter where I had started. I was going to hunt the vermin who had killed my wife and Mistress, Miriam. And if I had to go to Hell to bring him down – well, life without Miriam was Hell already, so I would go with both a smile and a sneer on my lips.

I had become Die Jägerin – the Huntress. I was haunted by Miriam’s not-so-accidental death and was going to hunt the murderer the police weren’t even trying to find. I cared shit about my life, or anyone else’s – except for our son’s.

Bloodlust had seized me, and nothing, and no one, would stop me.

I was obsessed, as well as being dead.

~~~~~

I caught a bus from the red-light district to a restaurant off the A4 autosnelweg (motorway) near Rijsenhout, Netherlands, where truckers bought their breakfasts before pulling out onto the highway. The place was perfect because it put me on the main road to Rotterdam and eliminated the need for multiple hitches or delays. If I caught the right ride, it would be a quick, easy run to Rotterdam, where Gregor was waiting for me.

Gregor was a Russian who had survived the gulag, escaped to the West, and settled in Rotterdam. When I was a sixteen-year-old street rat, he had caught me trying to shoplift in his store, but instead of turning me in to the police, he had given me a home, work, and life. When I asked him why, he simply said he had been helped along the way, too.

He and Miriam between them were the only reasons I was alive today. With Miriam dead, Gregor was the only person whom I would trust to help me in my obsession. I wanted to keep Hans, Marie, but especially Eric well clear of anything I did. They could have no part of my plans.

So, the next step, after dying in a convincing fashion, was to get to Rotterdam without leaving a trail. De Muis, the Mouse – my former self – was gone, but she had been perhaps the most accomplished and celebrated sex slave in Europe. Now her sex skills would get me to Rotterdam without having to buy a ticket.

I would have thanked her if I hadn’t just killed her off.

~~~~~

It was a short stroll from the bus stop to the strip with the restaurant, gas station, and fast food joints by the motorway. Since hitchhiking is common in the Netherlands, people were unlikely to take notice of one more girl hitching. And because the places were all busy, I would probably have my choice of whom I wanted to ride with.

I went into the restaurant first as likely appealing to a slightly more affluent driver, and one who wasn’t in as much of a hurry. Like most hitchhikers, I’d made a cardboard sign that said “Rotterdam,” and placed it on my table so people could read it. Then I ordered coffee and a salad and waited.

As I ate, I made eye contact with anyone whose eyes lingered on my sign, then smiled and acted coy.

Before long, a middle-aged guy stopped. He wasn’t bad looking, had a day-old beard, a bit of a paunch, and an English accent. He told me he was a trucker and was headed to Rotterdam. I looked him over, nodded, and said, “Me, too!”

He sat down with me, and we chatted for a bit while he inspected me, trying to decide if he wanted what I might offer. I did what I could to help him make up his mind.

I spoke with a fake Slavic accent, screwed up my English pronunciation and grammar, and threw in a few Russian and Dutch words. I wanted him to think I was just another Eastern European sex worker looking for a trip somewhere different.

He’d obviously been around and didn’t seem surprised by my appearance or accent. After chatting for a pleasant few minutes, he told me which parking spot his truck was in and that we could negotiate the cost of the ride there. He said he’d be leaving in about an hour, and if I wanted a ride I should be there. I smiled and thanked him, then he got up and left.

So I had one possibility in hand, and an hour to find a better one.

The next candidate arrived for his interview – as I thought of it – about five minutes later, and introduced himself by name: Arne from Amsterdam. I introduced myself as Irina. He was a university student, soon to graduate, who was driving to see his girlfriend in Brussels. He was clean-cut, good-looking, and not pushy. We spoke Dutch, and I again mangled my pronunciation and threw in some Russian and English words.

He asked where I was from, and I said Amsterdam now, but originally from St. Petersburg, Russia, arriving in the Netherlands three years ago. He smiled and said he was impressed with how well I spoke Dutch. I nodded shyly and thanked him. He was smiling and flirting, which was a good sign. I told him I really needed to get to Rotterdam to get away from my boyfriend for the weekend. I’m sure he thought I really meant that I needed to get away from my pimp. He smiled again and said he understood. He went on to say he was leaving in a few minutes, and would I like a ride? He had to get gas, and then he would be on his way.

I cocked my head to one side, heard Miriam whisper in my ear, “He’s the one,” so I smiled back at him and nodded, “Yes, please!” and stood up.

I took his arm, and accompanied him to his car, smiling up at him the whole way.

I was pleased to see his car was a Mercedes, so he wasn’t poor. I got in and settled into the leather seats as he pumped gas, arranging myself to show off my short skirt and legs. And, of course, my ever-ready smile – and mouth. As he drove, we made small talk, and of course, he tried to impress me. I did my best to be impressed.

I started by complimenting him on the fancy car, and he talked about that for a while, with me nodding and being surprised and amazed at everything he said. Then he went on to his future prospects, which were just as amazing. He already had a job lined up for when he graduated, he said. He was going to work as an entry-level manager at a shipping company. I was very impressed – he was clearly an important guy!

After we had talked about him for a while more, he started to inquire about me, where I lived, what I did for a living, and so on.

I’m a store clerk, I told him. He asked how I liked it, and how well did it pay? I looked down and acted embarrassed, stuttering a bit, and finally saying that I also had a job in DeWallen, the red-light district. I hurried on to say that it was only temporary, but that everything was so expensive in Amsterdam, and…well, a poor immigrant girl did what she had to do, right?

He smiled and said he knew a number of the girls who worked in DeWallen and had even gone there himself a few times. Well, maybe more than a few, he laughed. He always had a good time and made sure that he treated the ladies well, both as people, and financially.

I noticed that he called them “ladies.”I took that as my cue to show some appreciation for getting a ride. We were already fifteen minutes into the trip, and it was only an hour’s drive to Rotterdam.

“You know, Arne, Irina is good time, always good time!” I reached over and put my hand into his crotch, rubbing it lightly. “Show you good time, maybe?”

I felt his body tense slightly, and after I gave his cock a slight squeeze, I smiled up at him and asked "What do you think? I like you being so nice!"

As I continued to massage his cock he squirmed a bit then said, "It's really not nice to sit there and tease my cock!"

Nodding my head in agreement, I looked down and started unzipping his pants. I placed my hand inside his briefs, and began rubbing the tip of his cockhead with my finger. As soon as I felt his sticky pre-cum, I pulled my hand back, smiled at him, and licked my finger clean.

"No, not nice at all! I think maybe your girlfriend, no, isn’t so nice to you like she should. Maybe a cockteaser and not a cock pleaser, ja?"

His reply was what I expected, "She is! I would have had more luck going out with a nun!"

That’s when he asked what I charged. I stroked his cock, then told him twenty-five Euros for hand job, fifty for blow job. He said that was a bargain and pulled out 100 euros from his shirt pocket and handed it to me. I continued stroking him until he could find a place to park safely.

Then I unclipped my seatbelt and turned fully towards him. Smiling, I reached over and freed his cock from his pants, and grasped the base with the thumb and index finger of my right hand. I bent over it, then lightly squeezed the base of his cock and began licking his cockhead as though it was an ice cream cone. Just before I was about to take his now-hard cock into my mouth, I paused, and said, "Irina is no nun, but you going to decide whether I'm teaser…or pleaser, ja?”

Leaning over his lap, I started. When his cock was in my mouth, the only sounds were his breathing, and the loud, slurping noises I made as I sucked him.

I could have made him cum fast, but I wanted this to be something he would remember, so I went fast for a while, then, when it looked like he was getting close, I backed off. I let his cock fall out of my mouth, admired it, then licked it along the underside, and back and forth along the head. Then I went down on him again, bringing him back to the edge before backing off again. I repeated this several times until he was squirming and thrusting with his hips.

I knew I was reaching his limit when, as my head bobbed up and down, he reached over and started rubbing my back and ass and talking dirty. "Yeah! That's the way to love a cock! Oh fuck, yeah! Worship it! Show me how much you love being a cocksucking slut!"

The nastier he talked, the more vigorously I sucked him. My head was moving quickly up and down his shaft when I felt his body tense, then he grunted, "I'm going to cum!" I knew what to expect next, and even before his hand moved to the back of my head, I took a deep breath. Then I locked my lips tightly around his swollen shaft and pushed my lips toward the base of his cock. Suddenly he pushed hard upwards with his hips, held my head down, and ordered me to "Suck it, slut, take it all!"

I will confess, I was somewhat out of practice sucking cock, and started to gag, but as soon as I stifled the reflex and just relaxed, his cock slid deep into my throat. As he held me down, the blasts of his hot cum started filling my throat and mouth. I could have swallowed it all, but there was a lot of cum. He must have been really needing this!

So, I acted like it was just too much for me. I let some of his jizz leak from my lips and dribble down my chin. After his last spurt, he let out a long sigh, let his head flop back against the seat behind him, and finally loosened his hold on my head. Then he started rubbing my ass again, smiled, and said, "Good girl!"

I wasn't finished though. I swallowed, took a quick breath, and while I kept my lips tight around his shaft, I slowly began pulling my lips up from the base of his cock until it popped out of my mouth. After I had swallowed the additional cum, I licked his shaft and cockhead clean. Then I licked my fingers like they were covered in sweet frosting. When I was finished, I tucked his cock back into his pants, zipped him back up, and then wiped his sticky cum off my fingers and chin with a tissue from my purse.

After I had cleaned us up, touched up my makeup, and refastened my seatbelt, I folded my hands in my lap and smiled at him. “Irina always a good time!”

He nodded and said, "That felt so good! It's so hard to find someone who knows how to suck and clean a cock like that! Maybe I look for you next time I visit the District, ja?”

I just smiled and said, “Ja, maybe … we have good time for sure.”

Inside, I had a different smile, a nastier one, because I knew I was the best he’d ever had or ever would have. I was going to make sex with anyone else a disappointment and make him dream of me instead of his girlfriend.

Ja, I was being mean. The cockteasing nun girlfriend would suffer in comparison and always wonder why – and he would find himself wishing for that sexy little bitch he’d picked up on the way to Rotterdam.

Why? Because fuck it: If I couldn’t be happy, then neither should they.

After he had recovered, we got back on the highway, and he eventually dropped me at a bus stop in Rotterdam. Before he left, he told me he always enjoyed the ladies of DeWallen, and hoped he’d see me there. Oh, and I could keep the change.

Staying in character, I thanked him profusely and said I would look for him. 

If he only knew what it would have cost him for the same treatment by De Muis rather than Irina. Yet, I had gotten what I wanted – an untraceable ride to Rotterdam that the driver wouldn’t want to talk about because of his girlfriend, plus I had some fun along the way. He went away happy – for the moment. I waved goodbye as he left.

When he had disappeared from sight, I walked over and caught the bus to Feijenoord, Gregor’s neighborhood. I had other stops to make before I saw Gregor – especially as he wasn’t expecting me until the next day.

~~~~~

I wore my prettiest outfit, with the almost-translucent blouse and the skirt that I had shortened – even though parts of it were held together with tape and staples. I had patted the laddering on my stockings with a damp cloth just before I came out, turned them so it was at the back, and made sure my hair was pulled into a neat bun. Even though my lipstick was broken, I had been able to dig enough of it out of the tube that I could make my lips smooth and red. I pursed my lips together, turned my head from side to side, and took one, final look in the mirror of the ladies restroom, and sighed. I was no Marlene Dietrich, but it was the best I could do.

I put a smile on my lips, walked out, found a seat at the bar, and ordered a ginger ale. It was still more than I could afford in this expensive bar on my meager secretary’s salary but was a necessary cost of staking out my territory. The barman met my eyes and smiled. He knew if I didn’t get lucky tonight, then he would.

There were rumors circulating that the already-divided city of Berlin was going to be further divided, and lots of Ostdeutsche, East Germans, were taking it seriously. As a result, every day more and more people were seen furtively leaving East- for West Berlin.

I didn’t have that luxury. My job, my belongings, and everyone I knew were here. I couldn’t see any point in starting all over again in someplace where I knew no one. Plus I had no way to get started again. How bad could it be?

Fortunately, I didn’t have long to wait for my luck this night. This was a club where all the Important People met for business, for fun – and, when they were on their own, for pleasure. It was the latter group I was looking for, male or female.

I recognized him as soon as he walked in, and straightened up, smiling, and hoping he would see me – then decide that he had seen me.

He noticed me, and I could almost hear the thoughts running through his head as to whether he would settle on me, or keep looking. Luckily for me, he must have liked what he saw, because he slipped onto the stool next to me, and nodded to the barman. “Whatever the lady’s having, and I’ll have a Dewars on the rocks,” he said in English.

I smiled at the barman and got a small scowl in return, but he came back quickly enough with a gin and ginger for me, plus the Scotch on the rocks for my…date.

Said date moved closer and slid his right leg between both of mine. I, of course, opened my legs to him, and let him push my skirt up closer to my crotch until his knee was up against my kitty. I breathed heavily to let him know how much he was turning me on. I inched my seat closer and leaned forward enough that he could see the top of my tits through my unbuttoned blouse. 

I had him nibbling the bait, now I had to set the hook and get him to take me home.

I was eventually successful, and we walked out of the bar together. I knew I was in for a rough night, but a lucrative one. This particular mover and shaker liked to smack me around – although I insisted he avoid the parts of me that showed – and doggie fuck me hard while pulling my hair, as well as gagging me on his dick. And I had to show him how eagerly I wanted it or else I would get the bare minimum.

It helped pay the rent. Plus, I got drinks I would never be able to afford otherwise. So, that’s how my night went – deliberate degradation and profitable pain.

I woke early, as usual. Morning had yet to arrive. The soft sound of his breathing beside me caught my attention, and I turned and saw that he was sleeping peacefully. As profitable as the evening had been, it was time for me to leave. I gingerly slipped out of the bed, feeling the start of the pains and bruises that would be part of my next few days, then gathered my things, dressed, and took one last look at him, frowning. One day I’d like to throttle him in his sleep – but not today.

On a table, under my clutch, there was an envelope, and as always, he had been quite generous. I let myself out quietly, and when I stepped out of the building, a dense fog enveloped me so that my departure went unnoticed. 

Perfect.

~~~~~

I awoke from the dream with a start, nauseous and disoriented. Plus, a bit scared even though this wasn’t the first time I’d had it. I had no idea why it was set in Berlin prior to the Wall, but it kept coming back to that time and that place – and that awful life. I’m sure some hot-shot psychoanalyst would have a ball with it, but I didn’t care.

I always thought it kind of represented the life I might have had if Miriam hadn’t rescued and married me. Regardless, it reaffirmed my intention to get vengeance for my lost wife – and my lost life.

I went over to the sink and held onto the edge, wondering if I was going to throw up this time. After a while, both the feelings of fear and nausea passed. Eventually, I opened the window leading to the fire escape and climbed out.

It was pitch dark, so I crawled out and lit a cigarette. As I sat in the dark, I savored the strong Turkish tobacco, I reviewed the events of the previous day. My “suicide,” hitching a ride and sexing Arne, the driver, and now sitting on a fire escape in a “not so nice” part of Rotterdam. 

Since I slept naked, I was sitting “au natural” on the fire escape. Not being one to waste time or an opportunity, I started touching myself as I sat and thought. The sensation was very soothing and I had a nice little orgasm, which took the rough edges off of the bad dream.

Everything had gone well so far, and my disappearance was unfolding according to Miriam’s and my plan. The next step was to meet with Gregor.

When I had called him, which was a few days before my trip to the canal, I had only told him I needed to see him … nothing more. We picked the day I would arrive and that day was tomorrow. Or today, I guess now.

I wanted to meet with him soon, and get things started, but I also recognized the need to be cautious. I didn’t want to be recognized after my supposed death or risk an inadvertent exposure. I wanted to stay dead, and the sooner I was officially considered so, or the search was abandoned, the better.

So, the deception began with Gregor. I believed the authorities would get around to him sooner or later, and if he was questioned, he would be much more convincing if he actually thought I was dead. And if I was found to be alive after all – well, then he was in the clear on it. 

Was it cruel to Gregor? I suppose so, but it was effective, and he would understand once I brought him up to date. Mistress had taught me well and was guiding my hand all the way.

I had started my new life by leasing an efficiency flat in a transient area that had lots of migrants. As a result, the comings and goings of any particular person wouldn’t be noticed, and the residents were unlikely to help the police.

Once I had a place, I stowed the things I would need in order to stay out of sight for a few days and to morph into someone else. I bought food that was easily prepared, and coffee, which was all I needed. As well, I bought a couple of changes of clothes, plus scissors and hair coloring so I could change my appearance.

When the cigarette was done, it was time to get to work. I went back into the flat.
First, the hair. I took the scissors and slashed it ruthlessly. Then I colored and teased it straight.
Next, pulled out a costume fit for “Lilith,” my next identity, one that matched my latest set of identity papers.

When I looked at myself in a mirror, I saw a slim girl with gaunt cheeks and spikey multi-colored hair, dressed in a black leather coat, sleeveless dark top, shorty shorts, and combat boots. All in black, of course.

Makeup was a white base, dark mascara, and black lipstick. 

I was just another young Goth on the prowl. I’d disappear in the streetscape.

Once I was satisfied I looked different enough, I went to Gregor’s store and took a seat across the road, and watched for a while. After seeing nothing that made me uneasy, I decided to cross over and go in. 

The clerk, an Eastern European girl by her accent, was a stranger. Good, she wouldn’t know anything about me, so I prepared to approach her to ask about Gregor. But as I was about to make a purchase to start the conversation, two Politie cars pulled up. 

Not good, and it got worse: one of the politieagenten was Piers, who knew me by sight, along with a partner. I eased over an aisle and worked my way towards the rear exit. They showed the clerk my picture and asked her if she had seen anyone who resembled me. When she shook her head no, they asked if the owner was about.

She said he was away, then, at their request, called Gregor on the phone. They spoke for a while, and she told the police that he would be there in about fifteen minutes. 

So, what do bored cops do? Ja; they went next door to the bakery to get donuts. 

I waited until they were out of the store, then paid for the things I had in my hand, and left. 

That was close, but now it was decision time. After the police were gone, do I make contact with Gregor, or delay and try and see him another day? 

I was pretty sure I knew what Miriam was going to say, but I thought it would be best to ask her.

And ja, I know she’s dead.