Daddy's plaything

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From the backstage wings of the Lucky Nuggett lounge-stage Victor Redgrave studied Sherry Trent (that was her stage name) as she held the boozed and gambling-weary Las Vegas audience spellbound. Even at sixteen, his daughter Sherry had stage presence that some veteran singers might envy. Guitar in hand, her fringed, white western attire so tight-fitting it had the male members of the audience open-mouthed, Sherry held the entire audience in a near-hypnotic trance. Charisma, some critics called it. Victor knew it was sex-appeal. Whatever it was, Sherry had it – in spades – that and an incredible vocal talent that had raised her Nevada price to four-thousand dollars a week.

Sherry possessed a rare if not unique combination of qualities that ensured her success. To wives in the audience she was as naive and wholesome as a TV margarine commercial, while to male viewers she was sex personified. Yes, there probably wasn't a normal male in the audience who secretly didn't want to fuck Sherry Trent, ravage and devour every curve and swell of her ripe, young body. But their chances of realizing this dream were next to impossible, for Victor Redgrave, Sherry's business manager and father, had been taking care of that department for some time now – in fact, ever since Sherry was twelve. With regularity. Their relationship made Lolita look like something out of Alice in Wonderland.

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