The motel is dirtier than last time, the handcuffs smaller. Their steel bites into her wrists as he fucks her ass in the bathroom, her knees digging into the sticky linoleum. She’ll have bruises tomorrow. Everyone will see. They’ll know.
The bed is a few feet away, neatly made, warm and inviting. She knows sluts like her don’t get the bed.
She knows she’s a slut because he tells her – tells her she’s a slut, a skank, a filthy whore with a loose, usedup cunt. He yanks her hair back, hard, makes her look at the slut in the mirror getting assfucked, her cheap makeup running.
He pulls out when he comes, lets it drip down her thighs. She’s not allowed to wash it off. She can hear the shower as he cleans himself. She pictures him sleeping in the bed as she lays on the bathroom floor all night.
She stares up into the mirror again. Lights on, heat off, shivering and exposed.
“Happy anniversary,” she whispers, and smiles.
