Chapter 13: Knight Takes Queen (with Science!)

Mimi’s voice is high-pitched, sharp with concern. “Marc! We’ve got a problem! Go get Livia!”

It’s been half an hour since the second Decan wrapped down. Vendetta is doing their second set on stage. I’m in the Scarlet Lady with Mimi, changing out of the leisure suit. “What’s wrong?”

“Look! Roach is stealing our lesbians!”

So, in the third Decan routine Livia hopes to get some action going on between girls, with Claire being our prime target along with two other girls I pegged as being open-minded from the first Decan. (I also suspect Beckie might be cool with it, but Livia’s obviously not enthusiastic about using her.) On the video camera Mimi points to, I see Roach leading a quartet of girls — Beckie, Claire and our two other “flexible” marks — toward the exit.

God damn, girl! I did expect Roach to leave with a lady we wanted. I didn’t know she’d bail before the third Decan, though, and I really didn’t expect her to walk out with four girls. Reading the body language, her conquests might think they’re a girl-clique — but they’re still clearly her conquests. I have to admire her sheer audacity, and wonder if she’s just taking them all to probe further about who will go all the way — or if there’s some pretty wild group sex in her near future, at least assuming she doesn’t alienate the girls by being overly aggressive. Well, good on her — Roach’s brazen player move fits into my own plans for the evening perfectly.

“Well,” I tell Mimi, “this sucks, but we can’t really stop her.”

“I can’t,” Mimi says desperately. “You’re so slick with the girls. Get down there and do something!”

I actually think about this for a second. I like Mimi a lot. I’m happy to trick and deceive Livia, because she explicitly asked me to. There’s obviously nothing sexual between me and Mimi, and I don’t want to lie to her. So instead, I decide to take a big leap of faith. “Mimi ... let this go. Pretend you didn’t see Roach until it was too late. It’s a big favor, I know. Please just trust me.”

“But without good volunteers, the third Decan will be ruined!”

“I’ve got a plan. Don’t ask, just go with it. If everything goes off according to my plan it will end up making Livia very happy, and the third Decan will be fine — if a bit off the script.”

“But how can you...”

Mimi trails off, and then it’s like a lightbulb pops on in her head. “Ooh! Livia has been waiting for you to make a move! But ... in the middle of a show?”

I nod. “Yup. I’ve got it planned out. It will be what she’s dreamed of, and it will work for the show.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?”

“Yup.”

Am I sure? This could go wrong in a lot of ways. But there’s inherently something of the risk-taker in any pickup artist, so I just turn the external confidence all the way up.

Mimi bites her lip, then finally shakes a finger at me. “Okay, Marc. You make her very happy, you hear me? You do well by her.”

The cautionary, scolding tone is made faintly ridiculous by her high-pitched voice and bimbo persona, but I still take it to heart. “I will, Mimi. I promise. But there’s one other thing. I’ll give you an instruction for a video feed during the show, but you don’t need to do it. I’ve got it all set up on my own; I nicked a bit of AV gear to hook up to the projector.”

So I hold Mimi’s hand and the two of us watch as Roach escorts all of our top-choice marks out of our venue. We wait ten minutes before letting Livia know, so they’re already long gone.

Livia’s apoplectic. “What will we do? Marc, they were perfect. It was Claire, and two girls who don’t know they’re gay or bi yet! We’ve worked so hard on the excuse routine. It was all perfect. The first Decan was smashing! Despite some twists and troubles, we kept up the energy in Make Her Blush. We’re riding a huge wave of collective lust here. This was going to be the Cancer Escalation, I was sure of it!”

The script for the third Decan is for two amateur girl-on-girl massages that would be enhanced by an aphrodisiac. We would present the aphrodisiac in a way that is sufficiently cheesy that the girls would feel comfortable being dared to allow it out of rational skepticism, but later, if things get heated — well, they have an excuse, and plausible deniability after the fact. It would be similar to Make Her Blush, in a way, but with girl-on-girl and a fair bit more actual touching. If girls get ... vocally involved, it would certainly be a suitable climax to the evening, as well as feeding into Livia’s kinks as regards the ‘turning’ of supposedly-straight girls.

We quickly come up with a backup plan. I’m confident, Livia’s shaken, Mimi’s being quiet — so when I push it, no one is opposed. I will massage Jeanne, who will give a convincing performance of being aroused. Meanwhile, we’ll rope in Molly — who I suspect might be bi — to massage Tishara, a third girl from the audience we both suspect is gay. Livia isn’t sure she will be very dramatic or easily aroused in public (and I think she’s right, her Aura is pretty dead), but I sell it with confidence and brazen lies. It won’t matter anyway. Tishara won’t be doing anything. I just need the script to be followed up to a specific point.

I minimize any contact Livia has with Mimi (who can’t lie well, or even keep secrets all that well). Livia doesn’t suspect anything, perhaps in part out of wanting to believe that her third Decan is salvageable. She does seem crestfallen that her scripted fantasy won’t play out the way she had hoped — but I hope that my real plan will more than make up for that.

The crowd has grown. It’s pretty insane. People are clustering around Summers even more than they usually do. The place is packed. There’s something almost primeval going on, an animalistic lust in the air.

We’re going to do the third Decan from what I can only describe as a tropical resort beach hut. Normally it serves Summers as a wet bar, but we’ve asked if we can clean it out and use it for the show, and management was on board with that. So while Vendetta blares out Neon Dawn and Heat of the Dance, we take it apart, transport it nearer the stage and set up our props and massage tables in it. The hut has no walls, four corner-posts and a thatched roof like something right out of Gilligan’s Island. It’s about six yards on each side, and two yards tall — though taller, of course, near the center than at the edges due to the pyramidal thatched roof.

We take down Summers’ kitschy, faux-bamboo sign reading “Wet Bar” and put up an identical sign reading “Sensual Massage”. We set up the moonshot veil, light tiki torches for ambiance and hang some light draperies and bead curtains from the ceiling — but nothing that will obscure the audience’s view. There’s a three-step wooden staircase with faux-bamboo rails leading up to the hut, like on the porch of a house. We place it right beside the door to our backstage area, to help with the dramatic reveals of participants. We can see the door, and the audience can see into the hut — but the audience can’t see the door.

When Vendetta finishes their set, Livia grabs the mike. It’s about six PM, and getting cooler — but sunset is still an hour off. “Ladies, gentlemen, busty leather bitches from Neptune, the third and final Decan of the Sexy Scandal Spectacular is about to begin! If you liked the balloon show and Make Her Blush, you’ll love what we’ve got for you next! But first, I’ve got a bit of a personal question for the ladies in the audience. What food, what scents, what sensations, really get you in the mood for some steamy lovin’?”

For the third Decan, Livia’s changed her costume a bit. She’s wearing the nerd glasses again, and a pristine white lab coat like a Hollywood scientist might wear. She goes through a routine introducing common aphrodisiacs in a way that is designed to be appealing rather than off-putting, using subtle magician’s force to feed in all the common answers — chocolates, oysters, chili peppers, aromatic baths, asparagus. Meanwhile, I cue up our overhead projector and link it to a camera pointed right at the table. I’m going to manipulate some props, and the image will be blown up by the overhead projector for the whole audience to see. Livia is at the forward table, whereas I’m at the back one — so she can’t see what I’m doing, as we have scripted.

Livia then begins to spin a tale about the search for the ultimate aphrodisiac. She first introduces the real thing — a massage oil known as KinkyTingle™, that we will be using. It’s a clear oil, and we have an agreement with Cosmetica, the maker, to advertise it. Livia did a chemanalysis on it, and Livia and Mimi also apparently experimented with it. They had fun, and they said it made the skin tingle. Is it a real aphrodisiac? Well, it certainly doesn’t make people lose their composure and go nuts with lust. In terms of inducing pleasure and orgasms, it’s way less effective than Livia’s hypnosis — but, of course, we can’t sell hypnosis in a bottle, and we have a contract with Cosmetica that, at this point in the Trips’ history, is fairly valuable.

My own theory is that KinkyTingle makes your skin tingle, and thus plants the suggestion that it’s doing something — and this, combined with its branding acting as a form of suggestion, can make it function as a psychological aphrodisiac without having any real properties related to arousal on a physiological level. Placebos are a wonderful thing, folks, especially when their users really want them to work. Livia does shill decently, describing the various herbal components in KinkyTingle.

However, we’re not stopping at a product you can buy over the counter. Livia then introduces something new, which we simply refer to as the Tincture — our own, experimental aphrodisiac. And I must say, she’s really worked out a whole mythology for this supposed miracle drug. It’s made from the essence of a rare flower, the Firesoul Blossom, that grows in Tibet, and the locals have supposedly long used it in the tantric rituals of left-hand path Tibetan Buddhism. She’s throwing around terms like Vamachara, Dakini and Kundalini, and using them correctly.

There’s also a supposedly lost Hindu sutra about Indrajit preparing a tincture from the flower to aid Ravana in seducing the captive Sita, implied by chapters still in the Ramayana. She went to the library and did some reading to set up our crazy love-juice MacGuffin here. Anyway, she makes her way out of mythical times and references the good Doctor Jugdishen Bogway of the University of Helsinki and Professor Jürgen Notafreud of the Berlin Sexual Research Project, who helped develop the Tincture and implies without saying that her access to it may have involved an odd sexual tryst. This is all fictional, of course — there’s no Jugdishen Bogway or Jürgen Notafreud, though both are obscure film-reference easter eggs.

Finally, the bombastic exposition dump is complete. Livia announces that we need two female volunteers from the audience, one who will be massaged by me and one who will be massaged by Molly. Lots and lots of women raise their hands, and Livia gives me an inquiring look. We spontaneously ditch Jeanne so she can pull a different girl, Kelly, out of the audience along with Tishara. Kelly looks a bit like a stoner, and seems fascinated with Livia’s spiel about the background of the aphrodisiac.

I would worry that she’s not right for the routine, but it won’t matter — Livia doesn’t know this yet, but the girls won’t matter. We aren’t going to even get there. Livia gets headphones over Tishara and Kelly, telling them and the audience that these will project a relaxing binaural beat into their minds during the massage.

“Marcelo will mix the KinkyTingle with our own Tincture. The Tincture is incredibly strong — three droplets per hundred millilitre bottle is our recommended dosage. This should produce a pleasantly warm feeling, a tingling in your skin, increased sexual desire and strongly increased sensory acuity during the actual practice of sex. It gets absorbed through contact with skin — you don’t need to ingest Tincture for it to take effect; it just needs to be in contact with your skin. In reduced concentrations, it should be applied as widely as possible — which is why we use a sensual massage.

“The effects should set in within an hour of the massage. I’m hoping that our volunteers will be back at our Wednesday show, to tell us how their use of the Tincture made them feel — and if they had the chance to pull off any enhanced sexual activities. Higher doses can set in as quickly as five or ten minutes, but we don’t recommend or endorse these — current theory is that they can cause a kind of sexual euphoria, leading people to act outside their normal boundaries. So, Marcelo, please add three droplets of the Tincture to the KinkyTingle massage oil.”

Now, my public persona is the ‘bad boy’, and I’m the one that does the mixing. We poured the KinkyTingle out of its normal black and gold plastic bottles and into clear bottles like those used for baby oil. I also take out a glass jar filled with a very deep red fluid — supposedly the Tincture, but in reality just a mix of concentrated red food dye and a few other mundane edible things. The glass has a rubber sealed top with a pinprick hole in it to prevent spills — we’re treating this stuff as dangerous and hyping up how super-potent it is, after all. I use a medical eye dropper pushed through the pinprick hole to extract a bit of the deep crimson liquid. Positioning it over the first bottle of KinkyTingle, I let fall a single drop, then a second, then a third.

Each drop that strikes the massage oil spreads out like, well, drops of food coloring in water. The overhead clearly shows the audience what I’m doing, but standing in front of me Livia is supposedly oblivious. I give each bottle twelve drops, not three. The audience can clearly see this, and cheers and anticipatory laughter spreads throughout. Livia takes in a carefully rehearsed expression of perplexion, wondering what provoked that from the audience. So far, this is all in the script.

However, I lean down to replace the Tincture bottle inside the table drawer. Outside of anyone’s view, I pull on a rubber glove to avoid any dye getting on my hand, then use a straight razor to cut away the plastic lip of the Tincture jar. Now, more than just a drop could get out. I could dump the whole contents on someone with a gesture. I then stir each bottle of KinkyTingle with a glass stir-stick until the droplets in there are spread evenly, and put the lids back on them.

“Ladies,” Livia says, “if you want to get a good massage, you’re going to have to take some clothing off. You can keep your underwear if you want, but it might be better to lose it.”

Tishara and Kelly strip down. Tishara is genuinely cute, and I make a big deal of staring at her. She’s a bit uncomfortable, but that doesn’t matter. There’s no chemistry here, but that’s fine. I covertly pick up the Tincture bottle again and walk over behind Livia. I raise it, and say “Livia?”

I act out staring at Tishara’s breasts. They are nice, but I’m more focused then I look. Livia turns around to face me. “Marc, what —”

I “accidentally” collide with her, acting distracted by Tishara. Exactly as planned, the whole contents of the Tincture bottle — about a litre — splashes directly into Livia’s face, and from there runs in rivulets down her lab coat.

Here’s the essence of the wonderful trap I’ve laid for Livia. Now, both Livia and I know the Tincture is just food dye. However, the audience believing in its reality and potency is really important to the Trips — not just for this show, but for larger future plans as well. We’ve both fantasized about “accidentally” spilling the concentrate on a particularly sexy volunteer or highly suggestible bystander we think would, given an excuse, go “full nympho” in an especially entertaining or erotic way. Indeed, I used this kind of ribald “what if” scenario as misdirection, to get the elements I needed for my scheme in place. Livia even enthusiastically helped set them up, thinking they would be pointed at a volunteer in some future show. After all, we both know it’s just dye.

Here’s the thing, though: Livia is an inveterate performer who cares deeply about her work. She devotes herself to this stuff utterly. It’s not that she thinks the aphrodisiac is real — it’s that I just threw into her face a hilariously kinky dilemma: you can either act out becoming a cock-crazed nympho slut in front of a thousand people, or you can break kayfabe. It’s up to you. Of course, there’s no doubt in my mind which choice she’ll pick — and I honestly don’t think she’s ever considered this specific use of the Tincture. So she is standing there in shock as her mind gradually figures out the role that I’ve just forced her into.

Livia really is cornered. Her future success in her craft and her dreams are contingent on how much she devotes herself to losing all sexual control, composure and dignity right now. I do have a few “escape hatches” planned if it turns out this really is a bridge too far for Livia — but I know her well enough at this point to find that really unlikely — and she doesn’t know about them. I want her to feel utterly trapped — that’s part of the fantasy, after all.

There’s a stunned silence made of sharply indrawn breaths as the crimson liquid runs down Livia’s face and leaves the most sinful-looking stains on her pristine white lab coat.

“Oh my goodness,” Gloria Sun says.

“You know,” Lucy Langtry replies, “I think things are about to get really interesting.”

“That poor woman,” Gloria breathes. “She’s going to ... I mean ... although, I would have more sympathy if she hadn’t just tricked twenty girls into getting naked on stage.”

Lucy Langtry licks her lips lustily. “Live by the sword, die by the sword. I’m just going to enjoy being in the coliseum when it went down.”

Gloria frowns. “Did Marc, I mean ... can you see if any of that liquid got on Marcelo?”

Lucy laughs. “I’m pretty sure I can see a drop or two running down his hand. So calm down — you’re probably going to get the beefcake you want to go with the upcoming nympho eruption.”

Livia, meanwhile, seethes silently. She had said the aphrodisiac would take ten minutes or so to set in, and is playing to that. “Marc, you utter bastard.”

I wonder if I can detect a faint hint of admiration in her tone, though I doubt the audience will have.

“I didn’t mean to do that,” I say in what I have carefully rehearsed to be the least believable and sincere monotone ever. “I swear. I guess I’m just ... accident-prone today.”

I swear the callback gets a smile to tug at the side of Livia’s face, but she doesn’t break her stage persona for more than a fraction of a second ... such as it is at this point. A long silence sets it.

I turn to the massage girls. “We, ah, have a bit of an accident to deal with right now. You should probably go now.”

Kelly’s going to ask if there’s anything she can do, but Molly guides her and Tishara offstage. I catch Molly’s gaze as she’s bustling the girls out. I never told her to stay and watch ... but my look might imply it. She blushes, and stands in the doorframe — out of view of the audience, but with a clear view of everything happening on the stage.

I pull out a satphone prop. “Mimi! Mimi! Get us Doctor Jugdishen Bogway, stat!”

A few seconds later, we have a video link set up, and a grainy image of “Bogway” appears from the projector on the back wall. It’s actually pre-recorded footage of an older man named Guru that I met on the beach. Right now, though — he looks like Hans Zarkov from Flash Gordon, complete with wild unkempt beard and stethoscope. And two cute, topless and probably rather stoned Spring Breakers in a van laden with psychedelic paraphernalia. Livia blinks — this must be a wee bit surreal from her perspective, since Bogway is a made-up character. She never expected to see him live.

I’m not sure why I felt that fulfilling Livia’s ultimate sexual fantasies required a beardy Finnish mad scientist gurning at a camcorder. It just fits, playing into her theatricality, love of pulp novels and odd sense of humor. “Doctor Bogway!”

“Huh?”

“We’ve had a Tincture spill, a serious one. How do you recommend I deal with this?”

Guru reads off the lines I gave him. He’s not an outstanding character actor, but he does a reasonable job. “This is serious! Very serious! All right, first you need to limit any continuing exposure to my mee-raculous Tincture! Get any affected clothes off! If enough of the Tincture is exposed through the skin, the victim will be overcome with a wave of all-consuming lust. Then you need to stimulate the blood flow — a firm, hands-on massage should do the trick. If you can, ah, how to say this politely, help the subject achieve release, that will be beneficial. Maybe get a friend to help — the more hands, the better. And repeated, ah, release might be needed. If you’re really aggressive and active, you might be able to get her metabolism to burn off the effects in about two hours.”

“Thanks, Doctor Bogway.”

“Also,” our fake scientist cheerfully adds, “if it’s a hot chick, you can use this as an excuse to bang the hell out of her! Tell her it will be good for her. It will decrease the chance of side effects like thermo-vaginal dispoliaration.”

“Er ... thanks for the advice, Doc.”

“Thermo-vaginal dispoliaration?!” Livia shrieks. “What the fuck even is that?!”

She does sound distressed, and is doing a good job of selling this. I shut off the Bogway projection.

“Livia, take off that lab coat before more of that stuff gets on your skin.”

She glares, mixing lust and anger, and strips off the lab coat. There are deep red stains on the bodystocking underneath it.

Livia is breathing increasingly deeply now. She’s selling the involuntary arousal very convincingly. “Marcelo, I want you, I mean, I want you to help me. To help me feel better. Just this one time. It’s your fault anyway, and I want you to, ah, to make it better. Intimately. I mean, I mean, by touching me. Tenderly. Or roughly. Or both. Oh, god, Marc, just do it. I want it now! You caused this, give me what I need. Give me something long and hard! Make me feel like a woman, Marcelo!”

I wheel the massage tables into different positions, so that one is facing the audience horizontally. When Livia is standing, the surface of the table is about at her navel — so when she’s behind it, the audience can’t see anything below the navel. Exactly as planned. Getting the right tables had actually been a fight with Livia — she wanted lower ones, to give better exposure of the girls in the Massage Gone Wild routine. I obviously couldn’t disclose why I really wanted the higher ones, but I came up with enough believable rationales that she eventually let me have my way.

“Livia, you’ve got a drug in your system. I’m going to help get it out. I’m going to give you a massage, you know, to help your blood circulation.”

“Sure,” she says breathily.

“I’m sorry,” I say in my most cocky, insincere voice as I go to stand behind her. “I’m going to need some access here, and you’ve got that ... stuff on your tux.”

She’s not in front of the massage table yet. She’s standing in full view of the audience in only that tuxedo-bodystocking I’ve described previously. Her nipples are erect. It could have been the chill dye, but somehow I doubt that. Her arousal had gotten real as soon as she figured out what I had trapped her into acting out in front of the audience. I could have been nice and moved her behind the massage table first, but ‘nice’ isn’t usually a good element to add when trying to fulfill the fantasies of a woman that fixates on the word ravish. And ... there is a selfish element at work too. The crude animal part of my brain is going to enjoy flaunting my new conquest’s body to the hungry eyes of the audience before I claim her.

I stand behind Livia. I grab twin handfuls of the stretchy fabric of her bodystocking, directly between her breasts, and flex like a macho bodybuilder, tearing the stocking wide open right down the middle and exposing her amazing ta-tas to the gaze of thousands of hungry pairs of eyes — most, but certainly not all, male.

“Oh!” Livia gasps, but doesn’t otherwise protest. The crowd, needless to say, goes wild for the centerfold ta-tas on display.

The stocking tears all the way, stopping just at the groin and flashing a slight hint of pubic hair. I jostle her aggressively as I strip off the sleeves, causing her ample bust to jiggle appealingly for the crowd as she makes alluring, high-pitched noises. I take longer than I really need to in getting her stripped to the waist. There’s a faint sheen of sweat on her skin, and she’s highly flushed. I have a brief flashback to our most recent performance of the Risqué Rope Routine, and I get hard. It stokes a deep hunger in me, thinking that not only am I going to have Livia, I’m going to get to take her almost exactly the way she looked that night.

I shove a hand forcefully between her legs and rub her pussy. She screams in delight, and I wonder if she’s about to come right there. She’s very wet already. “You are worked up,” I tell her — or rather, I tell the audience. I wave playfully at the crowd with a hand glistening with feminine juices, wiggling each finger independently. They laugh and cheer — the women as much as the men, surprisingly.

Well, no point in delaying. I grab the remnant of the bodystocking and pull it down forcefully, giving the audience some nice full frontal. “Step out of the tux,” I tell her in my Command Voice as soon as it’s gathered at her ankles. She does so, shivering slightly in excitement at my tone. She steps to the side instead of forward, once with each leg, so her feet are about a yard apart when she finishes — thus making the full frontal that special little bit better.

“Even now,” Gloria Sun marvels from the announcers’ booth, “she’s just such a confident lady.”

I’m less charitable. “You wanton showoff,” I chastise her. “Isn’t there something I owe you?”

I smack her ass hard, much like she did to me in the first Decan. The sound rings loudly around Summers.

She clamps her legs shut, but freezes and tenses. Her eyes are closed and she’s trembling. I’m pretty sure she’s having her first orgasm of the night right then and there. Part of me hoped it would be my cock that did that, but another part finds the reaction pretty hot. I want to take the time to watch, to let her enjoy the moment — but that wouldn’t fit the faintly mean, decisive persona I’m using. I’m actually channeling Brent Huff’s performance as the smugly pragmatic macho survivalist male lead from The Perils of Gwendoline in the Land of the Yik-Yak — a B movie the Trips watched together that got Livia pretty hot. After a few seconds, I “get impatient”, grab her by the wrists and drag her behind the massage table.

“Put your hands on the table,” I command, and I position her so she’s directly facing the audience but they can’t see anything below her navel.

It shouldn’t surprise me that Livia’s going all-in acting out her performance of uncontrollable, all-consuming lust — I don’t think she’s capable of a low-energy performance in any field; it contradicts some deeply-held values or something. She’s panting, and staring up at me with impossibly needy, desperate eyes before the sex acts have even begun. I’m going to have to believe there’s some method acting involved as well; she’s juicing wildly, and I doubt she could stop even if she wanted to.

Maybe it’s that she’s been yearning for this over the months as much as I have, or maybe it’s the weird way her first Spring Break is affecting her, or maybe it’s the realization of how totally I’ve trapped her into this, cornered her into playing a raving nympho being taken advantage of before a crowd of thousands through her own professional ethics. She’s more than ready to be claimed — to be ravished, as she so fervently fantasizes about.

As you no doubt recall, I can go into Livia raw any time I damn well feel like it and I’m not violating any trusts or being destructively idiotic in doing so — even if it does feel a bit hypocritical after the balloon condom PSA. I don’t care — man, I’ve really been looking forward to barebacking Livia.

I strip off the leisure suit quite quickly. Being slightly sweaty actually helps here, enhancing the pragmatic alpha persona I’m using. I’m already hard. I slide my cock along the lips of Livia’s wet pussy, and she gasps. I’m not sure how much is genuine, or if there’s even an objective way to separate fiction from reality in her ‘chemical nympho’ act at this point — but I am absolutely certain that tiny little gasp as she feels my cock slide along her lips, teasing her, is real and involuntary. I love it.

And it’s better raw. I can feel her curly pubic hair tickle my shaft, the slick warmth of her pussy lips. I get my hands around her hips and the head of my cock teases at her wet lips. “Oh, please,” she gasps, “just —”

I pull her to me, penetrating her really forcefully — perhaps even a bit too rough. It’s so slippery inside, so juicy, without a condom between me and her. It’s been years since I’ve felt that. A moan that’s deep, guttural and positively pornographic explodes from Livia’s throat. I stretch, seeing how deeply I can possibly drive it in to her, then pull back. I feel a droplet of her natural moisture slide down my leg and it tickles me; I feel almost delirious. I take a second or two to manage my physiology — wildly aroused, obviously, but I’m not going to come until I want to. Hopefully. I’m a fantastic sexual athlete, but Livia is ... well, she has an effect on me.