No matter how she tried to avoid it, the ending was always the same. It would become blindingly clear the guy was a complete asshole. Then she would c...me crashing down into reality, left with only self-disgust.“After all, how can I blame them?” she told herself, “I’m the whore who’s willing to be used.” The seeming inescapable progress of her addiction to bad boys saddened and angered her. “Everywhere else, I take care of myself. I don’t let dickheads push me around in life or at school. It’s. You can play employee at the sub-corp without anyone ever knowing that you're really the guy in charge. You don't even have to live or work in the state." You're right; there are some definite possibilities here. I could be as mobile as I need to be and have a stable address without having to worry about anyone tracking me down through it. Probably have to come up with another identity to hide behind but still ... It would certainly make life easier if I didn't have to hide all the time.". I just... oh God!” Rory stammered, and turning, fled from the room.Jean lifted her spunk-covered body from the bed and made her way to the shower. Just before entering she stopped, dipped a finger into the white glob of cum on her belly, lifted it to her mouth and for the first time since the death of her husband tasted spunk in her mouth.“Rory, can I come in, son?” Jean called through his bedroom door as she gently tapped on it.“Yes... I guess so.” Rory's voice was not its usual confident. "Cravings?" she asked in a tiny voice.Owen laughed. Her bravado was slowly fading. "Yes, cravings . . . desires . . . hungers." He leaned forward and whispered loud enough for her to hear. "You know about hunger, don't you, my pretty little peeper?"She blushed and was flustered. She grabbed the empty snifter and dirty plate and tried to leave. Owen stood up and slipped between her and the door. He stood in her way and smiled as she nearly panicked. This was most fun, he was glad the whore.
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