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.
“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
Lola Smirnova is currently working on her second novel Crave – a sequel
to Twisted. To learn more, go to http://lolasmirnova.com/.
Connect with Lola on:
Excerpt:
‘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.
Comment below to enter for a chance to win a Kindle copy of Twisted by Lola Smirnova!
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