The sly-eyed demon had mastered him, Brad realized now, mastered him utterly from the very first moment of that groveling hour of exhibitionistic masturbatory debauchery she had forced upon him that one night in the parked car so long ago. She was slender and pretty and young, she was shapely and seductive and sly, she was wildly satisfying in every aspect—so long as she received the level of worship she deemed necessary. She had the p***y, and she had the power. She was a virtuoso of the v****a, a maestro of the helpless male flesh. Perhaps she had used that power subtly at first, but now it was all out in the open, and she no longer hesitated to force him to her will, to make him beg and grovel, to drag him through the most exquisite torturings and degradations, anything that would thril
