Author's Notes: As is usual to state on Literotica, in case it is not clear enough from the story itself, all characters participating in sexual acts occurring in this story are at least 18 years of age.
Warning. This story includes scenes of reluctant, semi-coerced incestuous sex for money, humiliation, thinking about power and privilege differences, and a lot of gratuitous, most likely grammatically-incorrect French. If you don't like any of this, I'd suggest for you to skip this story.
Please, don't forget to comment, rate and if you like it, favorite the story. Constructive critique and feedback are always welcomed.
***
"Bro," Boris heard his twin sister, Yordanka, say, the indescribably-uncanny tone of her voice scaring him a bit as he turned to look at her. "I need to tell you, ask you something."
"Is there a problem?" he inquired.
"We can get a lot of money," the young woman replied. "Fifty thousand euros."
Had she not so matter-of-factly stated such a massive sum, her brother would've probably just rolled his eyes and laughed off whatever she was saying as her getting too much into EuroMillions or Eurojackpot or whatever. The sincerity in her voice gave him a pause, however, and now the only thing he could do was think about their unenviable financial situation while staring at a wall just behind her.
Not that such an activity was in any way new to him.
He always knew that their family was poor. He was aware of that for as long as he could remember. Growing up, it was one of those things which were as obvious to him as which genitals he had.
For those last two months, however, this obvious knowledge turned into something much more crushing. Ever since he and his sister left their Balkan homeland of Bulgaria to come to Belgium for a year as exchange students, after a somewhat-rich relative of theirs, whose existence neither of them had any idea about until this person finally decided to make his existence known and, instead of helping their family in any substantial way, decided to get him and Yordanka out of the country for a year, it turned into an ever-present, oppressive, almost physically-painful and suffocating undercurrent to every moment of their lives.
Sure, they were poor even in Bulgaria, but this was on an entirely another level. There, that meant that most of the people they knew, friends, bullies, and bystanders alike, could afford shiny toys and other vanity products, or expensive food, two or three times as often as they could, thanks to their families earning a few hundred levs more. Here, however, they were tourists, aliens really, cut out and pasted from an entirely different world.
The reminders of their pitiful poverty, not just theirs personally but of everyone they knew as well, of their entire country, were omnipresent. Being economics students, both of them were aware that, according to the latest data, the average person in Belgium was about 13 or 14 times as wealthy as the average person in Bulgaria, but, at least for Boris, this used to be simply an abstract piece of information, until it turned into something almost painfully solid and inescapable, in a process that still intrigued him, in
milliseconds
after he left, his sister behind him just like when they were born, that damned train which brought them into this country.
The clean streets, the unbroken windows, the modern cars, the comfortable buses, the well-kept lawns, the giant malls, the beautiful homes, the designer jeans, the unripped clothes, the sense of safety and the absolute
colorfulness
of absolutely everything everywhere in here compared with the grey dullness of the dreary post-Soviet landscape they've grown up in,
everything
in here reminded him of the simple fact that while he had spent 19 years of his life
surviving
, millions of people have been
living
in a way that he and his family simply had no chance of ever knowing for themselves.
Unless, of course, this thing that his sister was talking about was serious...
His gaze still focused on some unspecified, dimensionless spot on the featureless wall behind his sister, whose own attention seemed to be similarly captured by some randomly selected spot behind him. Slowly, he moved his eyes to look at her.
He had once read, on a website whose name he couldn't for the life of him remember, an article written by someone who had probably never set foot in Bulgaria in his entire life, talking about how the average Bulgarian phenotype supposedly consists of pale skin and straight, jet black hair with dark eyes, most likely because, though still European, they were in the "darker" part of the continent.
Normally, he would've happily laughed in the anonymous author's face before smugly showing him the photographs of his friends and classmates, but now, all he could think of was that, when it came to his sister and, of course since they were twins, him himself, this amateur anthropologist was completely spot on. With those features even further amplified by her young age, his sister was blessed with a damn-near flawless, smooth, ivory skin with nary a blemish to be found on it, beautifully contrasting with a mane of shiny, silky, thick, jet black hair and two alluring, obsidian globes that she was happy enough to be able to call her eyes.
Though he was in mostly the same boar as her, he had, at least in his opinion, a bit too much body hair for his skin to be described with too many praising adjectives, while hair-wise he was pretty much in the same boat as her. It wasn't bad to still have a full head of hair while some of his friends were already starting to go bald, but his biggest strength was undoubtedly his physique.
Just as his sister had a very feminine, slender, and thin figure, so was he blessed with one that was naturally ruggedly muscular.
He even caught more glimpses from random weirdos on the street, both male and even some female, directed at the two of them where those people's expressions alone made it completely clear that they wondered whether the two siblings were willing to sell those well-built bodies of theirs for their sexual pleasure, or whether they were already doing so. This was perhaps inevitable given how many of their fellow Bulgarians came to this country, and the rest of the west, to be prostitutes, with almost all of the remaining sex workers to be found here being Romanians and other Eastern Europeans, who were all pretty much the same and interchangeable to the native Westerners, no matter how different they actually were.
Still, it pissed him off more than a bit, more than a few times.
