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Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Rasmus stands in front of the pub, his left arm in a fresh cast. Broken just yesterday.
His date, Bekka, is sitting in the pub’s courtyard with a couple of her friends. He glances at his Casio, 23:24.
It’s the first truly warm summer night. Rasmus is buzzed and annoyed that just as summer is beginning, he has to carry this shitty cast around for half of it.
The street of Amsterdam hum; it’s a weekday. Moisture hangs in the air, making his eyelids feel sticky.
He takes one last drag from his cigarette, feeling the heat on his lips. As he turns toward the door, his own smoke drifts into his eyes.
“Bože,” he mutters, rubbing them with the heel of his hand. With his eyes still closed, he hears the pub’s front door being yanked open and stumbles backward.
“Fuck off twat!”
The angry voice thunders out. Rasmus snaps his eyes open. The first thing he sees is the flushed face of a drunk guy wearing a Thor Steinar shirt.
“Sluts like you get worked up over a nice compliment. You’re just some feminazi who’d crawl on all fours for a dick.” He grabs his crotch and gives it a wiggle
the man spits at a young woman standing with her back to Rasmus. He only sees platinum-blond hair and bare shoulders. Her body is so tense it looks like she might launch herself at the man any second.
Rasmus draws breath to say something, but the taut bowstring of platinum blond fires back first.
“I’d bite your dick off, you fascist pig. Go jerk off into your couch cushion.”
The guy steps toward her. Rasmus blurts a slurred “Hey,” when the pub door flies open again and a wiry, androgynous person in a black shirt steps outside.
The guy turns his attention to the newcomer.
“You fucking tranny abomination belong-”
In a flash, the platinum bowstring snaps. The woman swings her right fist and smashes it full force into the guy’s face. There’s a crack. He reels backward.
The person in the doorway shouts, “Franka!”
Rasmus sees “Franka” already pulling back for another punch. Pure reflex takes over, he grabs the woman’s striking hand and pushes her back into the pub, past the wiry person.
“Let go of me, I’ll rip his fucking eyes out, fascho!”
“You’re getting ice for your hand.”
He may be buzzed, but he’s been in enough fist fights to know how important cooling is, , especially after a punch like that. Had she broken the guy’s nose, or had that sound come from somewhere else?
Inside, the air is stuffy and chaotic, crowded with groups at tables talking over one another. Glasses clink, and the opening notes of Ash’s “Girl From Mars” ripple over the room. His hand slides over her hand to get a better grip in the crowded pub. She got a knuckle duster on her middle finger.
The young woman allows him to guide her the last couple of meters to the bar. He lets go of her hand, and only now does she turn to face him properly. He doesn’t know whether her face matches the words that have come out of her mouth so far. Clear, delicate lines paired with a hard gaze and flushed cheeks. Her face is beautiful.
She inspects her red hand, runs a finger over her bloody knuckles and knuckle duster ring.
“Where’s the ice?”
She lifts her gaze and looks straight into his eyes, furious eyes. This young woman burns from the inside. Franka burns from the inside. For a moment, he can’t look away from her face. Something prickles inside him. He feels it clearly in his spinal cord.
If he weren’t buzzed and still not quite out of the fog of hospital anesthesia, he would’ve gone for the guy himself. The poisonous words and the Thor Steinar shirt were reason enough.
Rasmus gestures toward the bartender, nodding at Franka’s hand.
“Sem, can we get some ice?”
Sem nods.
Rasmus turns back to Franka. She’s fixed on him, eyes locked. He’s rarely seen such clear, unfiltered mimic.
The pub is packed, and Franka gets pressed closer to Rasmus from behind. Her gaze darts down his face to the thick cast, eyebrows lifting.
“That’s what the Huso deserved.”
What’s a Huso? Abruptly, her body tenses again toward the exit. Rasmus instinctively tries to stop her with his left arm, and is immediately reminded by a stabbing pain that this very arm is in a cast.
As she’s about to storm back outside toward the guy, the wiry person from before steps in front of Franka and grips her shoulders with both hands.
“Franka, you’re not getting into a fist fight now! That prick isn’t worth it.”
“But Noëll, that guy-”
Noëll cuts her off. “We’re going somewhere, where you’re not at risk of getting charged.”
Franka opens her mouth in protest, nose scrunched in disgust. But Noëll silences her with a glare that even makes Rasmus feel a knot in his throat. She presses her lips into a thin line, her hands clenching into fists.
Without any further spoken word, they grab Franka’s wrist and pull her out of the pub. Rasmus follows them with his gaze. Just before the two strangers disappear, Franka turns her head once more and looks Rasmus straight in the eyes.
She lifts her hand to his mouth and screams over the crowd. “It’s his blood, not mine!”
Only a fraction of a second and then they’re gone.
Sem wraps ice cubes in a kitchen towel and presses it into Rasmus’s hand. The cold doesn’t bother him at all, must be the alcohol. He feels hot. It’s too hot in here.
Back in the courtyard, he drops down beside Bekka. She places her hand on his thigh, right on top of a deep bruise, and he flinches. His friends talk nonstop. No one asks where he was. Hadn’t he been gone a while?
23:34 on his Casio.
Rasmus stares ahead, unfocused. What he sees isn’t the pub courtyard, not the other young people drinking and smoking, it’s the last six minutes. In his mind plays the stranger Franka, the fierce woman.
“What’s that, Rasmus? Why is it wet?”
Bekka pulls her hand back, irritated, from the cold, damp kitchen towel Rasmus is still holding. A small ice cube slips out as he puts it down on the table. He wipes his hand on his leg.
“It’s for cooling.”
Over the speakers, “Girl From Mars” comes to an end.
Ps: Bož is Bosnian for god and can be is as an exclamation like oh great heavens.
Huso is German slang for Hurensohn which means son of a bitch hihi
And a Thor Steiner shirt is something right wing Husos wär’s in Germany
