"How much?" The question hangs in the air, thick with implication. The teen, dressed in revealing clothes, doesn't hesitate. "Fifty for a handjob, a hundred for a blowjob, two fifty for fucking." She's a seasoned negotiator, her voice steady, her gaze direct. The johns come and go, each one a faceless figure in her quest for cash. She takes them one at a time, her body moving automatically, her mind elsewhere, probably counting the money she's making. The room is filled with the sound of their grunts and her occasional moan, a symphony of flesh and desperation.