The outcall said office casual but she wore the only shoes she had, high gold showgirl heels, and she click clacked past the bored Sikh dozing at the front desk of the Motel 6 all the way up to room 13. He answered at the first knock.

He took the jacket she shrugged off her shoulders, smoothing it under his hands and laying it on the bed. He looked at her. Blue eyes narrowed, like a snake gauging the distance between him and a mouse.

"You're too tall," he finally said.

"I can take off the heels." She reached for her ankles.

"You'll have to," he said. "There' s no time for your pimp to send someone else. "

Asshole, she thought. "You need to catch a flight?" she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder and bending down to unhook the strap.

"Yes," he said, and said no more. Staring at her with those unholy blue eyes. White boys were more work. Fucking them was like going to bed with white toast and skim milk. And this one was skinny. Too skinny, too pale. If he hadn't opened his mouth she would have guessed he was British.

She bent over again and shed her shoes. She heard the sound of paper money flicking crisply over her head. She stood up in her stocking feet. A wad in his hand, thick like how wannabe highrollers at the strip club fold their ones into a fat sandwich. With a shock she realized it was 50s, all the way through. It didn't make sense. That wad, and the hotel as cheap as they come . . .

"Do you want to talk a little first?" she said. "It's not all the same price."

"No, I don't want to talk." Something clipped and impatient in his voice. "I want you to take this money, and I want your services for fifteen minutes. Set the timer if you like."

"I don't do anal."

"I don't want anal." The impatience made a smile rise to his face, and his eyes glittered coldly. "I want fifteen minutes of your time, and I want you to do the smart thing and take the money." Predator eyes, schoolboy smile. "Let's do this like professionals, shall we?"

She stared at him for a moment. Then she snatched the money out of his hands.

"Good girl." He stood up and undid the tie knotted at the base of his throat. She reached for the button on her blouse.

"No." He took her by the elbow, pulling her across the room. "Keep your clothes on."

He pulled her to the bathroom. Tiny, dingy. Too small for a bathtub, just enough for a toilet and sink and stall shower. He grabbed her handbag.

"Hey!" she shouted, trying to snatch it back from him.

"Stay calm," he purred. "Keep your money and your condoms and your phone. And your switchblade," he said, lifting the weapon above the zipper for a moment so they could both see it. "Cute. Utterly useless, too. If you really want to be safe on call, carry a handgun." He pulled out her lipstick and shoved a crumpled 5 from his pocket into the bag. "Buy another one," he said as he uncapped the purple stick and drew a line on the floor, bisecting the room in half. "Don't cross that line," he said. "I want you to imagine it's a wall."

"Okay."

"You're in a much smaller space than you think," he said as he dropped her purse in the well of the sink. His face closer, breathing hard. "We're shoved up against each other. There' s not enough room in here."

What was this cracker getting at? "So we've got to be close," she ventured.

"Exactly."

She let him press up against her, parted her thighs to let his hips knock hers against the wall, ruching up the hem of her skirt. He exhaled hard. She was having an effect on him. She could feel the hard edge of his cock through the zipped fly of his slacks, and she nudged the meat of her own pussy against him. She reached for her purse.

"I've got my own," he said, and slid the condom out of his back pocket.

He was inside her almost instantly. He was stronger than she thought, and it surprised and scared her. Those little hips, that narrow waist – underneath that jacket was more muscle than she'd imagined.

"They say if you're raped to let him go ahead," he panted, his plush lips over hers. "That a man at the moment of orgasm is the weakest man there is."

"I never heard of that," she lied.

"Bullshit," he hissed through clenched teeth. "I know you know it. You wait until they're just about to come and then you kick them in the balls. Don't act like I'm some fucking vinyl siding salesman on leave from his wife, whore." He clawed at her shoulders, hips pumping, hands scrabbling at her chest, her shoulders, suddenly to her horror at her throat. She gasped and clawed at his hands but his grip was too tight. His face was flushed with anger? Lust? She couldn't tell anymore and it scared her.

"She's going to try every trick in the book," he panted. "Tiny tits and red hair sends me flying. She'll sell me her pink little pussy to save her dad and I don’t know if I can resist it." Pound, pound, pound. He was fucking her hard now, his cock deep in the hilt and his hands clenched around her throat and the world going wobbly and black at the edges. "So I practice. I practice on you. I cum inside you and fight you off. Go ahead." He smiled that sick savage smile and squeezed so hard she felt the air die inside her throat.

Something kicked in, something real and frantic and animal. This wasn't a game. He would kill her. She scrambled for her purse, for the blade. He let her take it into her hands with a smile.

"Uh-uh," he panted. He grabbed her wrist with the other hand. "See? Useless." She panicked and squirmed, trying to get him out from inside her but he was too quick, too relentless. He pinned her to the wall with one knee. She clawed at him. She spat. She tried to butt her head into the bridge of her nose but it was all useless. That evil smile, those sky blue eyes, the way he kept fucking and fucking her like a machine . . . He'll come soon, she thought, desperate, the world turning grey as he squeezed her throat. He'll come soon and I'll get the upper hand. He'll come and he weakens. They always do. She could feel it now, his cock harder inside her, the flush of his face, the final parry of thrusts –

"Ugghn!" He gasped and she seized her chance but he was too quick. One hand on her head, the other on her jaw – snap. She fell to the floor, neck lolling like a rag doll. She didn't get up.

He stood over her, cock wilting, chest heaving.

"I can do it," he said, breath panting. "I can do it."

He threw her purse on the ground and fished out his money, shoving it back in his pocket. He splashed water on his own face and flipped open his cell phone.

"Rippner. I need a disposal squad to the Motel 6 on Lakeside. Room 13. No, everything's fine. I'm prepared now." He zipped up. "I'm ready to go."