Behind the golden mask, the high priest made a coughing sound that could've been a stifled laugh, then pulled back a bit, preparing to drive his powerful penis into her cunt. In that awful instant, she knew that he knew she wanted it, all of it, every gruesome, pussy-rending inch of his mammoth cock crammed up inside her. She lay there trembling, her chest heaving, her cheeks burning with the fever, awaiting his animal lunge.
The sound of the apartment's toilet flushing shattered her fantasy, brought her back to the present, to Southern California, to the campus of Mira Pavo College, to the rumpled bed.
"Want to use the bathroom, princess?" Paul said, sticking his head around the edge of the bathroom door. His dark brown eyes dropped from her face to her lewdly proffered fork and stayed there, riveted to the pink target under the downy fuzz.
Joselyn made a face at him and closed her thighs. The act was not prompted by any excess of modesty on her part. It was simply a show of her power over him. The resulting change in his expression was dramatic, going from delight to misery in an instant, but it did not please her. Her power over him was almost a tangible thing, an invisible leash she could feel in her hand, a leash connected to a choke collar about his thick, muscular neck. If Paul was an animal, he was a meek one. He was too easily controlled, too ready to jump through the hoop; he was a disappointment to her. Still, he was good-looking, tall and lean with a deep, deep suntan. The hair on his head was thick and black and curly, but there was no hair at all on his chest. His bare pectorals, like his other muscles, were hard and well-defined. He looked like he'd be a basket-ball player, but he wasn't. Paul was a Chemistry graduate student, too, and preferred to play his erotic games in bed.