More often than not, the third person was a guy – not my preference, but I liked to watch other guys fuck Ann silly after I had come in her first. I...think she would have done more than just two of us, but knew not to push me. Quite honestly, I enjoyed being watched, even by another guy stroking himself or getting his cock sucked by Ann, although it was better when it was a woman in the room. I remembered one escort, maybe a year older than Ashley is now, I remembered watching her French kissing. Everything I did to try to avoid hurting someone had the potential for doing exactly the thing I was trying to avoid. How could I resolve this? Was life destined to be like this? Hurting people you love even if you didn’t mean to and perhaps even if you did nothing wrong?Now I understood the guys who treated girls like toys to be played with. They simply turned off their emotions or buried them. I was one of the few guys I knew who cried. I’d even cry in public and frankly, I didn’t care. I. Thompson. They were always talking about how women didn't have to serve men and being a housewife was “internalized misogyny.” But it was nice to serve. It made me happy.What was so wrong with that?Nothing.Of course, I never contradicted my teachers. And I never told them about my mother. She was almost straight out of the ancient TV show that sometimes appeared on Nickelodeon late at night—Leave it to Beaver. But she wasn't faking her happiness. She was always humming and singing as she cooked. "I'm a slut! I'm a whore!" she said."That's right. You are a dirty cock-loving whore. But who's who are you?" he said."Yours... I'm your whore, Billy... I'm all yours," she said. He had won. Emily's walls came crashing down. She was defenseless, she was naked before him now, both physically and emotionally."That's right, Beauty... you belong to me now," he said. "You are my whore and I am going to take care of you from now on. Starting right now." and with that, he reached around her hip and.