His hips moved frantically into her, gyrating in a half-crazed pace that she gave up hope of ever matching. She settled for flatting her palms against the worn and ratty pine headboard, using every ounce of strength in her arms to counteract his trusting and keep her sweat soaked hands in place.

He caressed the side of her neck with wet, gurgling pants that matched trust for trust. Gah. Gah. Gah. She actually began to wonder if he had asthma. It only stopped when he randomly paused to give sloppy licks all the way up the column of her neck. She whimpered at each one, wishing he’d bite her instead.

She made sure to give him plenty of noise. There was also the added benefit that hearing her own squeaking ‘yeah’ made her even hornier. But it was hard for her to bask in her own noises when they were being so completely over powered by the loud, chaotic wet slapping of his thighs against hers, his balls against her ass, and his cock pounding into her soaked core. The sound echoed in the tiny room, surrounding her, sounding as if an orgy far exceeding their coupling was going on in the room.

The single dim, low watt lamp made the whole room and everything in it piss yellow, successfully blending all the stains together into one cohesive decor. It made her feel trashy. Especially combined with the litany of “Fuck, baby. Gah. Gah. Oh shit. Oh shit. Gah. Yes. Gah. Fuck yes. Gah. Gah. Gah,” that he was huffing in her ear.

And it felt good. The springs of the cheap motel mattress digging into her back and ass as he pushed her body deeper into it while his hands clumsily pawed at her breasts, pulling them, squeezing and assaulting them with nothing resembling tenderness. Maybe it was the white trash Mississippi whore in her. But it was all absolutely fabulous. It never got old.

It only took one last rub of her heel between his legs and he jerked with one last loud, “Gah, fuck!” And then the room was plunged into silence, save for the sound of tractor trailers driving by on the major highway that was just beyond the walls.

She gave him a minute to come back down to earth and let his panting whizzing settle. When he took longer than his allotted time his dead mass plastered over her quickly got old. She gave him a hard, irritated shove with her shoulder and he quickly snapped back into normal consciousness.

He quickly rolled off her mumbling what could have been an apology, she didn’t know. She wasn’t really listening. They both sat up at the same time, him swinging his legs over the side of the bed, her making no move to cover her nakedness.

“So, um. I’m really sorry, but, um, did you ever tell me your name?” He talked into the floor, trying to reaching for his boxers and jeans without actually getting off the bed.

She rolled her eyes. Should have figured he was one of those. “No.” It was quick, final answer that combined with the glare shot at him from under the mass of the brown and white mane made him nod his head in submission and drop it.

He stood up and first stepped into his boxers then tugged up his crumbled jeans and kept his eyes on her. She was pushing hair back behind her ear, reclining back onto her eyebrows, and would only look at him under hooded, annoyed eyes.

The silence made his ackwardness intensive and he stumbled more and more over his own feet as he moved about the room. Finally he found his shaky voice again.

“That’s a cool dog tag,” he pointed to the dangling chain that kept her from being *completely* nude as he walked across the room towards the general direction of his shirt. “Where’d you get it?”

“Ah hope ya neva find out, sugah.” She smirked as she ran a long red nail along the ball chain. The dull metal ended in a engraved, battered rectangle nestled between her breasts. The sweat that gathered and pooled there coated the tag, tarnishing it a little bit more.