Motel

You walk out of the Dollar General with your head held high, and only $20 in your pocket.

Something that makes your heart sink when you see the $50 a night rates of the shitty motel you'd walked across the street to, and judging by the 1 star quality of the place you weren't going to find a cheaper place anywhere in town.

The leering bleary eyes of the fat old greasy black man behind the bullet proof glass at the front counter that sized you up made you cringe, you knew what was about to happen.

Gritting your teeth and nodding at him, no words passing between you, he comes out from behind the glass and opens the janitor closet across the hall that smells like cleaning supplies and old rags.

Entering the confined space with the fat old man, and smelling his sweat and funk, you can't help but feel yourself heating up. He's a man's man who would have towered over you as a guy, and with just his eyes he'd let you know what he wanted and that if you couldn't pay he'd be willing to take it. As the janitor closet's door shuts behind him, the only light a shitty old incandescent, you're bent over the stained mop sink and your stained sweat-shorts are pulled down as he roughly shoves two sausage-like black fingers with dirty nails into your pussy, making sure it's ready for what he's about to do.

You don't even see his cock before it's inside of you, and you're sure you don't want to because you can smell him over the scent of the janitor's closet in the first place. Your body, still spread and pliant from the gloryhole fucking easily accepts his bloated ebony rod and makes way for his rutting. Cracked and ashy black hands wrap around your pale white feminine hips as he grunts and huffs, spearing you to your core with each thrust as the room begins to smell of funk, sex, and primal animalistic pheromones. You're being bred, mated, taken by a superior man that wants to use you as a vessel to carry his DNA. The thought horrifies your male brain, but it only makes you wetter as he rails you and you climb higher and higher to orgasm.

When the brilliant flash of stars comes and you shake lightly from head to toe with your orgasm, you nearly black out. When you're fully in your senses again you feel a key card sat carefully on your lower back above your ass as the janitor's closet door closes behind you and the man heads back to his desk. Pulling up your shorts and standing back up, making sure to grab the key card before it falls, you can't help but feel a mix of perverse pride and self disgust at the wet spot in the sweat-shorts where the man's filthy seed is festering.

Taking the key to your room, you don't mind how rundown it is, how dirty everything is, how scratchy the sheets are, or anything else as you bathe away the corruption of the day and pop the morning after pill from your bag. Putting on the outfit from the Dollar General and spinning around, your hair in a bun, you're absolutely certain that you look like a coalburning white trash hooker, but it's better than cumstained sweatshorts and a crusty T-shirt.

This is a hard reset, you've taken the pill and you probably can't physiologically take it again within the next 36 hours before the spell runs out, so from this point forwards you have to protect yourself.