I nod my head and lick my lips eagerly, like I'm some kind of stupid dog that doesn't know danger when she sees it. His eyes fall to my lips, and he loosens his grip on my hair just slightly. Just enough to give me some relief.
"Talk, bitch," he says. There's food between his teeth. His breath is foul. I hate this guy, but since I got here, he's been the most aggressive about getting me into bed. I've let him have his fill plenty of times, but once I realized this place was no good for my boy, I started making it more difficult for him to get me back to his room. So far, my plan has worked. He's more desperate than ever to get a hold of me, but if he wants what I have, he's going to have to deal to get it.
"I want the ride to California, and you want my pussy. We made a deal . . ." I come close to saying his name, but I'm not even sure I know it, so I stop short. To emphasize my point, I rub my hands on the tops of his thighs. He watches my hands while he makes me wait for an answer.
"You want that ride, you're gonna have to fucking earn it."
And I do. I take everything he gives me, only wincing once when I can't block out how rough he's being. I do what I do every time a man takes me to bed--I just mentally detach from my body and go through the motions. I purr when I'm supposed to, I tell them I love the way they feel, and I so scream loudly when I'm supposed to be orgasming that they puff their chests out with pride. I take them however they want, again and again, and I don't complain. I leave my son with other whores, and I drop to my knees if that's what they want. Anytime. Anywhere. And I scrub their scents off of me every single night, but it never goes away.
And it doesn't matter, because a kid can't eat off of love. My devotion to my boy won't buy him new shoes when his are worn out. I don't have any marketable skills, an education, or any luck in picking friends, so I just do what I need to, take what I must, and find a way to live with the consequences of how I choose to survive.
Even when it leaves me bruised and raw and wincing every time I move, like now.
The disgusting pig behind me grunts as he slams into me, his fingers digging into my hips. The sound of skin slapping against skin sends a shiver up my spine, but not for the reason the man thinks. He's close to coming, and I silently thank his sad little dick because his lack of girth is about the only thing saving me from running out of here right now. Just as his body begins to shake, there's a loud banging on the bedroom door. There isn't a working lock, so whoever is banging is at least being semi-courteous. The man ignores it, grunts loudly, and holds on to me tighter. I lower my head, breathing in and out slowly, trying to keep myself from screaming. He wants me to lose it, to break down and beg for him to stop. The sick fuck gets off on that shit, but I won't do it. I refuse to give that to him.
The door flies open, bringing in a gush of cool air the stings my naked body. I try not to look up to meet the intruder's eyes, but it's too difficult. A woman stands in the doorway, the same woman I left Ian with. When I told her my name is Ruby, she told me her name is Gem. Which sounds like total bullshit, but I went with it. She's coked-up half the time, got a cock in her the other half, but she likes kids and she's been good to mine, so I've relied on her since I got here. Only tonight, I shouldn't have left Ian. He was in one of his moods. I told myself this is a means to an end and left even though she didn't look like she was in a good place. It was better than leaving him alone when he's like that, though, so I did it. And now, just by looking at her, I know I fucked up and made the wrong choice. Gem's eyes are frantic, and she's shaking slightly. She's got fresh, bloody scratches up and down her arms.
"It's Ian," is all she says, but it's enough. I scramble to get away from Tiny Dick, but he frantically grabs for my hair and pulls it hard, keeping me in place. Instead of helping or saying anything, Gem stands in the doorway, watching Tiny Dick slam into me, his portly body shaking in the process, as he rides out his orgasm. I should feel humiliated, disgusted with myself. Instead, all I can feel is fear. Gem wasn't all scratched up when I left Ian at the motel with her. She seemed fine, chill even, despite Ian's mood. Now she looks like she's been through hell and back. Even her once perfectly-applied makeup has taken a beating this evening. Thick black smudges surround her eyes, and her bright pink lipstick is worn off, though only halfway.