They call it 'coaching.' I call it pre-gaming. Just wrapped a session with a mother who didn't just bring her daughter. She brought a checklist. 'She can deepthroat a hairbrush handle.' 'She's never taken a real cock in her ass, but she's practiced with a vibrator.' 'Her gag reflex is practically nonexistent.' The girl sat there, nodding along, her face blank. When I asked her to demonstrate the deepthroat claim, she didn't look at me. She looked at her mother. A single, almost imperceptible nod. And down the fucking brush went, her throat bulging around the plastic. The mother beamed. 'See? A quick learner.' The corruption isn't in the act. It's in the rehearsal. The living room becomes a green room. The childhood bedroom becomes a brothel. By the time they get to me, the product is already broken in. The manual has been written by the one person they trust to never hurt them. The ultimate betrayal isn't mine. I just sign the delivery slip for a used good.