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"Why? Why are you such a useless cunt?" "I don't...", no, that's not what he wanted to hear. "Because.... because I am a ... stupid fuck-meat?" "No. Good fuck-meat makes itself useful. Good fuck-meat would be going to every one of these hard working guys and asking if there was anything she could do to please him, begging him to let her suck his cock, asking if she could drink his piss for him. Good fuck-meat is only happy when it has a cock stuck in it, or when it is helping make a man's camping experience a bit more enjoyable. Now, get on your knees...", and he let her up.
"Now we're going to practice. Open your mouth, no: wide. Good, now look me in the eye and stick out your tongue. No not like a point, like you're a wanton whore who's just dying to lick the pre-cum off my dick.... Better, now give me some bedroom eyes." As he quietly coached her, she recognized his voice as the one that had talked her through drinking Greg's piss. This guy was different from the others. He never yelled at her. His voice moved between a quite, icy threatening when she was not satisfactory, and a kind, encouragement when she was performing as desired. He seemed to know exactly what he wanted from a sex slave, and how to make her perform his tricks like a circus poodle.