"That's it, suck my fucking cock, you bitch. Dirty whore, goddamn little slut, swallow my dick some more."

Faith looked up at him, her eyes blank. She should have been enraged that some blue-collar sleazeball was subjecting her to this degradation, but in fact, she welcomed it. She was on her knees for this asshole, for Christ's sake. She couldn't remember the last time she'd gone down on her knees for a guy. She couldn't remember if she'd *ever* gotten on her knees. She could find plenty of men who wanted to fuck her senseless, so much so that if she refused to give them a blow job, they wouldn't care.

Now here she was, groveling on her knees for a guy she would have racked before she looked at not a year ago. What the fuck was wrong with her?

He grunted suddenly and jerked, and Faith prepared herself. He came in waves and she started to swallow, when suddenly he pulled himself out of her mouth and sprayed his cum all over her face and tits. She looked up at him in shock, but didn't do anything to stop him from coating her in his fluid.

He finished emptying himself over her and pulled back to look at her face. "Fucking great mouth you got there, you little fucking bitch," he jeered. "I ain't never had a whore who could get me off without fisting me too." He studied her face. "Fuck me," he said suddenly.

Faith looked at him dully before rising slowly and easing herself onto the bed. She looked at him questioningly, and somehow he managed to figure out her question. "On your knees," he said gruffly.

She complied, getting on all fours and sticking her ass out for him. He pulled himself up behind her and rammed his cock into her pussy. She gritted her teeth and winced, determined not to cry out at the pain of his invasion. She was dry, so it hurt like fucking hell. Not that the prick steadily pumping his cock into her gave a damn, all he was concerned with was getting that skinny five- incher in and out of her as quickly as possible.

He was getting into it, slapping her ass as he thrust into her from behind. He reached around and pinched her breasts and waited for a moan of pleasure, frowning when none came. His scowl deepened as he realized she hadn't made one sound since he'd entered her. "Come on, fuck my cock with that loose pussy," he coached angrily. "You're such a fucking slut, I know that pussy has to have been fucked more times than you can remember. Swallow my cock with that sweet pussy." He snarled the words at her, wanting to strike at her for being so unresponsive to him.

Faith grimaced as he picked up the pace. She tried to relax her muscles, but she knew that it didn't matter how fucking loose you were, if you were dry, you felt as tight and sore as a virgin after the first time. She waited in agony for him to finish, and her patience was rewarded. A couple moments later, he came hard, spasming so badly that he slid out of her, spilling himself all over the stained sheets.

She sighed imperceptibly in relief as he rolled off the bed. "Damn, I can't believe you've gotten laid so many times," he said disdainfully. "I've had better fucks from girls who've only fucked their own fingers."

Faith looked up at him with a blank expression on her face. Her lack of response pissed him off, and he yanked up his jeans, tucking himself inside and zipping himself up. He stomped away in disgust, and she was left on the graying, cigarette-stained bedcover of a two-bit, flea-infested "economy" motel, her blood mingling with his cum to run down her thighs.

She stared up at the ceiling for hours, moving only to turn on the portable CD player she'd brought with her. There was only one CD, with only one song. The lyrics kept whirling around in her head as she lay there, self-loathing consuming her.

*Wonder who'll find me*

He stared at her in disbelief, grief overtaking him. He whirled, grabbing at something, anything, to wreak destruction upon. His hands found the lamp and the lamp found the wall, shattering into millions of tiny shards upon impact.

He pulled the headphones off of her, listening to the lyrics that floated up to him, sounding as if they were coming from far away.

He sank to the floor beside her bed, holding her limp hand in his, and cried. He wasn't just crying for her, he was crying for himself, too.

Because he'd just lost the battle.