The damp shirt was slowly making her teeth chatter, her muscles shivering. ‘Didn’t he save me, in the street? He’s the one who pulled the men of....’ She shuddered and bit back another surge of tears as she thought of the night’s last events. Stepping closer to the man on the bed, she shivered with the cold, edging towards the fire. He looked up just as she reached the flickering embers, watching her carefully. ‘Maybe he doesn’t want to hurt me? Maybe I’m safer with him than I am with… Them, out. My husband Rock likes to describe his role in our lives like this: Imagine a zealous and perpetually horny but clueless and incompetent pimp who falls in love with his one and only whore. He wants her always in whore mode and whores her out, but almost always forgets to charge for her services. He enjoys getting her properly used - fucked always and often, sometimes hard and roughly.What is my life like, day-to-day? Imagine me as a somewhat classy call girl. Graduate educated, living in upper. More

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