Alyssa smiled tolerantly at her young friend’s enthusiasm. “Whether it’s first thing in the morning,” she continued, “the last thing in the evening, during a surprise visit to his office, or with your hand under the tablecloth in the middle of a dinner out on the town, you simply yank him till he squirts, without even asking whether he wants it or not. Because no matter how embarrassing the situation is, and no matter how degrading the impersonal forthrightness of your commanding fist, of course he does want it—and very, very probably, somewhere deep inside, without even admitting it to himself, he knows exactly the sweet degradations to which, perhaps weeks down the road, all of this is leading…” Her dark eyes smoldered.
“He needs it like that,” the older woman speculated softly. “He nee
