She was on the floor, handcuffed to one of the big metal radiators in their old apartment, and it started banging, and she was afraid of it getting hot. But the banging was just some garbage trucks outside the motel.

The sound of traffic made Girl think they were facing a main road. She was lying under the desk in a nest of puke-colored blankets where He must have put her to sleep. The sun was up, the taste of pussy in her mouth. She saw the same color blankets on the bed, half kicked off. The slut from last night’s foot was hanging off it and she thought, He musta liked her. Usually He chased them off before morning. Usually He slept alone.

He stalked out of the bathroom naked and pulled the desk chair aside and grabbed the back of Girl’s hair and yanked her up to her knees. He was slow getting going, like He usually was first thing, not that she minded—wakeup blowjob was a very meditative time for Girl—and the slut on the bed was awake and staring at them by the time He was ready. Girl didn’t mind that either. He pulled out like He always did and gave her His Load full in the face.

She felt the urge to play with It but He’d trained her not to. Normally It just dried where it landed. She heard Him go in and turn on the shower. The slut crawled down off the bed and crawled over to Girl and started licking at her chin where It was dripping off, then she was scooping It up and feeding It to them both and then they were just on the floor underneath the desk groping each other.

He was at the nightstand, stuffing His wallet in His jeans. He held up a folded bill between His fingers and made sure Girl saw it. “Two a yiz clean up, go get yourselves a couple Grand Slams.” He bunged the bill and a room key down next to the alarm. “See the sign from the parking lot. It’s walkable.”

Once they were in the shower the slut started making out with her again, and they still weren’t clean when the hot water ran out.

“You wait His table?” Girl didn’t exactly have a wardrobe—the only things she could find to wear out were her denim shorties and a barely long enough crop t-shirt—so the slut was still in yesterday’s uniform. She glanced around to see what the servers at the Denny’s had on. “Not here, though, huh. No skirts.”

The slut’s gaze drifted down and she pulled at the material over her chest. “Ooh, what’s it say on your nametag?” Girl asked, in a voice like she was trying to coax a kitten. The slut hadn’t said a word the whole way over. “See okay that’s a B, god these little ones are hard though, ay? tay?” But then the slut tried to look at it and it broke Girl’s concentration. “You know what? Let’s say Betty. That’s cute! That sounds like a waitress name.”

“I’m … I don’t …” Betty said, trying to twist the nametag around. Girl reached out and took her hand away. On impulse she kissed it, feeling flirty. “My name’s Girl,” she said.

A large disapproving middle-aged woman set down waters and a couple menus. “Juice,” Girl said to her as she retreated, and heard the woman cluck her tongue.

Betty looked confused. “It’s my slave name.” Girl blushed, afraid it sounded like she was putting on airs. “What He lets me call myself I mean. Not like anyone asks. Sometimes I even forget I had a before one.”

“I don’t … feel like I’m me,” Betty whispered.

“Ooh yeah.” Girl leaned out over the table. “He has this stuff? God, I’m so stupid, what’s it called? I did it with that little redhead, He’ll remember. Anyway it like, dissolves the boundaries of the self. When we fucked I lost track of which one I was.”

Horny now, like she was whenever she thought about that time, Girl lounged back on her bench. “If we remind Him I bet He’d score us some.” She slipped off a flip-flop and reached with her big toe underneath Betty’s skirt. “He can be real sweet that way.” Betty was wet. At the motel she’d tried to put her underwear on, so Girl had to tell her sluts didn’t go out in underwear and made her throw it away. She started teasing clumsily around Betty’s lips. Nothing changed about the slut except the look on her face got even emptier.

Their waitress banged a couple juices on the table; Girl was almost surprised they didn’t spatter. “Whaddaya have?” she said, collecting the unopened menus.

“Two Grand Slams,” Girl said to Betty. She found a little spot with her toe and pushed at it and the slut squeaked. “Coffee.” The waitress stood there fuming. “Cooked … ?” she huffed. “ … however they cook em, I dunno,” Girl shrugged. She looked the woman square in the eyes. “Our Owner didn’t say.” She gave Betty another toe push and with two fingers traveled the thin crotch of her own short-shorts, wedging it inside her swollen pussy lips. The woman watched, her fat, blotchy face twitching like she was trying to work out some excruciating puzzle. All at once she seemed to collapse, her posture went slack, she cast her eyes down to the floor and muttering something inaudible turned away to go deliver her order.

“See that?” she whispered to Betty. “He taught me that.” She’d never felt such a sense of triumph. If Girl hadn’t been such a proper girl she’d have started masturbating then and there.