Raquel Marta Isabella

I.

In the country of X, every woman was obliged by law to serve in brothels at least 10 hours per week, and young Marta from a decent middle class family was no exception.

On her 18th birthday her mother Raquel took her to be registered at a nearby brothel. The girl began serving the next Sunday. It was a public facility and had nothing as fancy as the private clubs. The layout was utilitarian, with beds separated by mere curtains, like a hospital.

Marta found things very difficult at first, especially because most clients were disadvantaged minorities, who had an insatiable lust for white women, and whose cocks were almost too large for comfort. Next to her bed other women moaned and screamed and laughed.

II.

Marta was the last girl in her class to reach adulthood. Some of her friends had already done their year's share of services and were now lying on the beach waiting to go to college. Suppose there's 52 weeks in a year, that's 52*10 = 520 hours of getting screwed for free!

Of course a lot of them cheated. Why play fair when one could bribe the scorekeeper? Men are weak because they think with the wrong head all the time. A girl named Bella let the administrator at her brothel sodomize her for the price of 80 hours a time and was free to go on vacation by the end of the week.

Others who believed in honesty tried to economize with their time. They would put in an hour on their way home from school, or skip a Friday night movie date and do the late shift. But it was grinding work, and by the time summer came one found herself still 500 hours away from total freedom.

III.

Marta's mother Raquel also served, for one remained in service until 50 or menopause, whichever came first. She went to the one near her workplace. It was one of the largest brothels in the country, with more than 500 beds available at any time, but still a trickle in the bucket compared to the amount of people daily visiting the city center.

Raquel used to make a big deal of it and wore a full set of lingerie to her service. But since then she'd realized it made no difference to the clients, who just wanted to satisfy their urge and forget about her. Now she went commando in a crotchless pantyhose to work, so that afterwards she could just pull the pencil skirt up and start serving.

Anal penetration was strictly prohibited due to hygienic concerns; she had to put her hands on her clients' chests and push them away on the first hint. There's no apologies, no excuses: anyone who attended to break the rule would be banned from free brothel service for a whole year. Raquel had learned her lesson the hard way.

IV.

The mandatory service in public brothels was a form of reparation tax introduced in 2016. Similar legislations existed across the continent to facilitate social integration, with generally favorable outcomes. Crimes had gone down and the sense of community and belonging had increased, now that everyone's getting more sex.

Proponents pointed to the service's progressive nature: only women of the lowest household incomes were exempt from the duty. Even the prime minister herself at the age of 38 regularly fulfilled her share of the hours, and special care was in place to protect her public image.

Critics argued that the law was repressive, unfair and selective. Lack of proper training was often cited as a major source of dissatisfaction among participating women. There had been several scandals in recent years; in one extraordinary case, malfunctioned contraceptives at one facility led to more than 40 unplanned pregnancies.

V.

After Marta went to college she also registered at her new brothel. It was funded by the university and doubled as a center for sex education. In her second year, Marta became an instructor there and taught every Sunday. Not only did the work count towards the required hours, it also paid enough to cover her off-campus rent.

Marta's lecture involved teaching female anatomy via her own body. Many men who attended had never seen a woman naked. She was patient and let them examine her sex organ at length. There were also videos on recommended sex positions which she'd play and explain in details. The session typically ended with a live demonstration of female orgasm, which Marta performed in front of the whole class.

Her college friends were all big into activism. Lots of migrants who came to settle in this country were young men with little means and no prospect of marriage, and their temporary status didn't entitle them to the universal brothel service either. The kind-hearted girls would run those soup kitchens alongside 'aid camps', where one'd get both food and sexual needs sorted out in one go.

VI.

In Marta's last year in college, Raquel left Marta's father for a young migrant called Ali. She'd since quit her job at the law firm and moved into a slum apartment. There she lived with her new husband along with his other three wives, all of them white like Raquel.

Raquel no longer needed to serve in the brothels due to her free fall in economic circumstances. Other than €70,000 which Raquel left to Marta, all of her life savings went to Ali, who soon spent it all on frivolous things. But she's never mad at him, for he bought her many pretty heels to wear, and had a very nice long black cock to fulfill her night and day.

Ali had many friends in the neighborhood, with whom he shared his four wives to be bred regularly. Here good-looking white women like Raquel were common goods. She'd grown used to the men's taste and burned all her old clothes. Now she barely covered herself at home, like a naturist. Life was hard, and she's never been this poor, but Raquel's happier than ever.

The other wives were younger. Mariona, an ex-actress, was 34 and bore nine children to Ali. Paula, 27, was studying medicine before living with Ali and bore him five children. Christina was the same age as Marta and already had two children. Raquel was pregnant in her first month with Ali, though pregnancy at her age was incredibly rare. The apartment's full of children's laughters and the wives were always busy running after them.

VII.

After graduation Marta moved to the country of Y with her boyfriend, who's originally from there. In seven years' time they'd advanced their careers, got married, and bought a house, but postponed having any child because of mortgage. She'd not seen her mother since her parents' estrangement, nor did she understand why her mother chose that way of life.

Her new country of residence had similar requirement regarding the sex service, so Marta still checked in a brothel every week and put her hours in. The facilities there were very well-run and clean, so there's nothing to complaint about. Her workplace also provided great benefits, such as allowing women to use a workday for their service, so that they could spend weekend time undisturbed.

Their house looked like a charming cottage out of a fairytale. Marta maintained a modest garden with herbs, tomatoes, and peppers; the weather's much colder here than home, so her choices were limited. In summers they liked to take a dip in the lake behind the house. When Marta couldn't sleep and woke up early, from the bedroom window she'd see the mists rising from the lake's dark water.

VIII.

That had been numerous proposals to make the mandatary sex service easier for women. A "Serve As You Go" scheme let one accumulate her hours in any of the 30 member nations, whether on break or business. Expenses incurred from traveling to and fro the facilities could also be deducted one's annual tax.

New trends saw the large public brothels being gradually phased out by smaller facilities, which populated cities like fast food chains. There were even pods on streets that were no larger than a phone booth, and would turn pink when open for business. With an app one could also turn her home into a brothel, and enjoy all the intimacy and convenience that comes with it.

The service hours eventually became a currency of its own. Derived from the labors performed by millions of women every day, it carried real value and was thus tradable. One could borrow and lease her hours to fulfill the weekly obligation, creating a whole credit market to this end.

It was then found that since many women served more hours just to be on the safe side by year end, there's a constant surplus wasted in the value of billions, so startups began harvesting those excess hours to be mortgaged in bulk. Unsatisfied with real hours, the market took to speculate on futures, and bonds were released that based their values on chargeable hours by an entire country's women in the next 50 years! Each day the economy resembled more like a house of cards, and when it finally collapsed into a bloodbath no one was really surprised.

IX.

By the time Marta was finally in a financial position to have children she was diagnosed as infertile. Her husband was supportive and suggested adoption. They each took a year of leave from work and began searching. They'd seen orphans of wars and famines from around the world, and their longing eyes made Marta's maternal instinct ran like a river. If only she could adopt them all and give a permanent roof over their heads! She had a panic attack and they left without a child.

On a flight to the country of Z Marta suddenly had a revelation, that this would be her last trip, and she'd find her child here. But her attacks got worse, and she felt guilty because picking any child would mean abandoning the rest to their fate. On the last day their guide suggested a tour outside of the city for a change of view. On their way back their car was interjected by a group of crazed anti-government militias, who shot the car up with their AKs before driving off.

Marta was the only one who survived. She was shot in the arm and couldn't bury her husband nor the guide. It was dark and in the middle of nowhere. She walked blindly for hours and away from the road, afraid of meeting the killers again. When the sun rose again she was completely lost and exhausted. She'd have died in the arid wilderness had a caravan not rescued her lying unconscious near a sheltering rock.

She travelled forty days and nights with them, watching the stars fade away to eastern paleness in strangers' embraces. She gave herself to each man yet loved no one; they felt her chest and said her heart was cold as stone. By the time her wound was cured the caravan sold her to a tribe's alderman along with other exotic merchandises. The entire village came to watch her first bath.

As hard as it was, Marta came back to life again. In a few years she'd learned the native tone and became a member of the tribe. The old man took her mostly to show off, and had to turned a blind eye when unmarried youths in the village began sneaking into Marta's quarter. They had no habit of wearing pants and showed off their envious erection to the white woman with pride. One of them gave her a child within the first month.

X.

Raquel's daughter, who's named Isabella, grew up in a rapidly changing world. She never knew about her sister Marta. Around the time Marta disappeared in Africa, Isabella dropped out of school, left home and lived on the streets. She had enough of that apartment, always so filthy and full of visitors, the four wives and their children cohabiting in that pitiful den of vices. Isabella got her tight curls of hair and thick lips from her father, her hazel eyes and tall nose from her mother, but yet she resembled no one; she was, from the very beginning, a creation of her own.

Everyday there's a struggle to live going on out there, the resources dwindled, the droughts and wildfires and floods got worse each year, cities slowly sinking into the seas or turning into deserts. Nations threatened nuclear apocalypse upon each other, societies breaking down. Block by block the slums were taking over the posh neighborhoods, naked people being walked on fours like dogs on the streets, wives and daughters of respectable men seduced by mavericks and false prophets and became their willing slaves. Brothels were no longer needed, for the entire world had turned into an open toilet.

From very early on, Isabella learned the rule of the streets: loyalty to your family, and death to the snitch. She and her friends were always on the run for a million petty offenses, which they liked to call 'justices'. Just now they slipped into another seaside mansion left empty year-round except for two weeks in summer, when the owners came down to claim their share of the Mediterranean sunshine. The girls cooked, ate, and fucked in this strangers' house; they walked barefoot on the hardwood floor and read verses from forgotten poets.

Outside down the beach a huge crowd, men and women, had gathered for another night of amnesia, destitute youths who had only their body heat to exchange, crossing each other's legs, chest to chest, fingers interlocking half-buried in the white sand. Isabella lost her friends for a while and lay down on the beach drunk facing the blazing sky waiting, the merry lovemaking of others surrounded her, cheap music booming, she looked like she's about to doze off; then her eyes suddenly widened, as if heaven's opened upon her and angels swooped down playing trumpets...