Buddy is a shy nerd that lives in fear of his crazy roommate, Evan. Unfortunately, Buddy can't keep his eyes off Evan's Vietnamese girlfriend. She just loves tantalizing the poor nerd with her body! When Buddy accidentally records Ivy in a compromising position, he gains the power to make her do whatever he wants. Now he's going to punish this dirty Asian slut for teasing him all these months!

~~~~~ Excerpt ~~~~~

In the mornings, Ivy frequently entered the kitchen in nothing but her panties. I'd be eating cereal and suddenly those big breasts would bob through the doorway. I'd spit out my milk and she'd sneer and call me a pervert. I couldn't pull my eyes away, and Ivy would stand at the fridge defiantly while she chugged whatever juice I'd bought that week. One time she wiped her mouth and said, “If you don't stop staring, I'll tell Evan. And he'll pound your scrawny butt.”

By Senior year, she was practically living in the apartment.

In a way, Ivy was no different than any of Evan's previous hookups. She was into him for his drugs, and his violence, and his flagrant disrespect for just about everyone and everything. She dressed trashy, she talked trashier, and the tramp stamp tattooed over her butt was identical to half the women he'd brought home that year. But I quickly learned that Ivy Tran was not like those girls. Those girls, for the most part, ignored me. Few of them acknowledged my presence at all. I was furniture, or at best a pet. Personally, I liked it better that way. I think Ivy knew that, and that's why she got so much pleasure from messing with me.

Ivy Tran was a cruel, calculating, self-centered sadist. Evan had no idea what he'd stumbled into with her, and I was too terrified of both of them to explain. She was smarter than any girl he'd bedded—not in the book smarts way but in the manipulative mind games way. It was evident in her eyes from the very first day we met. Even high, her chocolate irises gazed back with defiant delight.

Ivy Tran was born and bred to cause misery to men and women alike. I once saw her try to claw the face off a girl because she'd given Ivy the side eye. They got into a fist fight right on our doorstep that resulted in Ivy sporting a black eye for days. Evan thought it was hilarious.

The girl didn't work. She relied on Evan for most of her needs, though she did occasionally refer to a much-beleaguered family somewhere in the city that paid half her tuition. The other half came from a student loan that will never be paid back. Astonishingly, she did go to Belleville, but whether she was a Freshman or Senior I had no idea. She was hot as hell, but her face and body betrayed no exact age. “She's legal,” is all Evan would say on the subject.

After enduring the couple's company for a year, I knew only two things for sure: Ivy liked to have sex, and she liked to fight. Her filthy little heart craved the stimulation. She treated boredom like it was lethal. Once, while Evan was hustling and she was stuck inside the apartment for too long, she took nude pictures of herself and sent them to his friends. When word got back to him, he stormed into the apartment and screamed that she was a slut.

I was at my wit's end. I couldn't sleep, I was afraid all the time, and the constant reminder that my brute of a roommate was with his hot, Asian slut—while I was hornier and lonelier than I'd ever been in my adolescent life—was just too much to handle.

And then it got weird.

Slave Ranch