"How much?" the john asks, his voice a low growl as he surveys the line of young, nubile flesh. The girls, their eyes filled with a mix of fear, excitement, and desperation, call out their prices. "Fifty for a hand job," "Seventy-five for a blow job," "A hundred for the whole thing," they chant, their voices barely above a whisper. The john, a middle-aged man with a leer that could curdle milk, begins to make his selections. He strokes each girl's body, feeling their firm, young flesh, before settling on two: a redhead with freckles sprinkled across her nose and a brunette with eyes that hold a storm of emotions. The transaction is quick and dirty, cash exchanged for flesh, as the room continues to fill with the sounds of pleasure and the smell of sex.