The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

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.

I slam her again. I can’t get as deep into her as I want in this particular position, but it’s still great. Our bodies make slapping noises as I rail her. Smack! Smack! Smack! Every impact makes her breasts bounce in the most amazing fashion — and I’ve forced her into a position displaying them proudly to everyone in Summers. Livia’s chest usually falls more into the firm category than the jiggly — she’s certainly not like Beckie that way — but I’m slamming her so forcefully, and she’s pumping back so aggressively, that this doesn’t matter. I run my hands up her taut body until they reach her breasts. I cup them in my hands, playing with her hard, pencil-eraser nipples, flicking them with a wanton indifference to her writhing state of sensory overload. The audience is cheering, and mostly just staring in shocked awe. I pick up the microphone and fix the audience with my most radiant, shameless smile.

“Folks,” I say, “I’m just giving the lady a blood flow [smack!] massage. If it looks like anything [smack!] else is going on, you need to [smack!] remember that we’re both trained [smack!] illusionists, and we like to [smack!] tease our audience. But it’s all just [smack!] pretend, you know? For [smack!] the show.”

I did mention I’m flicking, slapping and teasing Livia’s hard nipples quite blatantly as I deliver this smarmy, faux-innocent monologue to the audience, right? Because, well, I’m doing that, and being really obvious about it, and Livia seems to love it.

I’m amazed I manage to speak so calmly and fluidly as I keep railing Livia — no gasping, no losing track, a very blasé delivery — but, then again, speaking confidently even when distracted or aroused is a specific skill a pickup artist trains. I doubt the audience buys my story — they don’t have the right angle to actually see the penetration, but the body language and raw lust is all there, the dripping sweat, bouncing knockers and slapping flesh. It’s a pretty far cry from the simulated sex one sees on Cinemax at 1 AM (excluding, perhaps, a few of the really well-done films).

The watchers’ instincts are probably telling them that yes, they are seeing real sex — but their more cynical minds are saying it has to be fake, because there’s just no way people would do that in public, or no way real people would be as good at it, as brazenly sensual and cavalier, as Livia and I are. But there is deniability, and that’s important for the Trips in the future, both legally and in terms of Livia’s pacing of the Escalations.

In contrast to the audience, Molly is still standing in the doorway and can see the penetration quite clearly. She’s blushing furiously, her face carven into an ambivalent mask of voyeuristic ecstasy. I wink at her teasingly and turn back to Livia.

“That... that can’t all be fake,” Gloria Sun says. I don’t care right now, but I will later remember how deeply... affected she is by our stunt.

Lucy Langtry shivers sensually. “Even if it is,” she says, “it’s still got to be pretty sensual, pretty stimulating, to act out — all that smacking flesh, and being naked, the, ah, the vibrations you’d end up feeling doing it would... well...”

“Yeah,” Gloria says, “I think it would for me as well.”

And me, honestly. And Livia, probably for the third time tonight. Her back looks perfectly toned as the muscles flex, glistening with sweat. I look out across the pool to the right screen and see an image of her facing the crowd, breasts bouncing with every thrust. Her eyes are almost zoned-out, like she’s in an altered state of consciousness. I can hold back, pull out, change pacing... but I don’t want to. I’ve been waiting for months for this, too. I’m not finished, mind you. My refractory period is pretty good for a guy coming close to thirty — usually about an hour — but some instinct tells me it’s going to be better today, and I decide to trust that. Besides, I have... other ideas for Livia to give me time to recuperate.

So, I let her tense up a bit. I run my hands over her ample, sweat-slicked chest, flicking the hard nipples playfully. She clenches and lets out a delightfully guttural moan. Given how she responded to the spanking, I doubt she’s totally averse to a bit of rougher play — so I pinch and twist her nipples harder. She screams and clenches harder, and I spray a generous load of sperm into her as she convulses, simultaneously kneading and squeezing her breasts. She collapses onto the massage table, drawing in air like a marathon swimmer.

But it only takes her about ten seconds to remember that the role I forcibly cast her into is, well, insatiable. She tries to speak, but just coughs at first. Finally, she whispers — but I do move the microphone so the audience can hear as well as I do. No point wasting a good performance on technical issues, after all. “More, more... Marcelo, I need more. I need everything. Wear me out! Suck me dry! I feel like my body is burning up! I’m worried I’ll die. Marc, help quench my fire before it burns me up! I long for it!”

I wonder if this is a slight bit of playful payback from Livia here. I think internally she’s having the time of her life despite (or honestly, because of) my roughness and how I’ve trapped her — but she can still hit back a little bit. She knows damn well I just came, and my body is physically incapable of more for at least a little while, and just emphasized that to the audience while staying perfectly in sex-starved character. Well, good for her. One cannot dish out public humiliation like this without expecting at least a little to get thrown back.

“You’re not going to die,” I tell her reassuringly. “The Tincture can’t do that. Getting some tension out now will help you avoid painful cramps tomorrow and a few days of illness, that’s all.”

I’m actually being somewhat forward-thinking here. At some point audience volunteers who really believe in our act are going to get an extra-strength Tincture dose in one of our routines — and while I love the idea of a carefully-chosen cute young ingenue “going full nympho” the way Livia is right now, I’d really like to avoid said ingenue thinking she has to take any dick offered on pain of death.

Livia apparently lacks any such compunctions, however. “Thermo-vaginal dispoliaration!” she shouts in a rather striking non-sequitur, reminding the audience what is apparently at stake here.

Livia turns around and presses her lips to mine. I’ve never actually kissed her deeply before now — playful ones here and there, but no real tongue action. Well, this is a deep French kiss, spit is getting traded, inhibitions are long-since burned away and she’s getting seriously exploratory with her tongue. She tastes like coconut, just like my first night.

I know the secret now, of course — she makes these special breath-mints she chews before shows or dates, using coconut extract, vanilla extract and a bunch of other stuff — all sugar free, of course, to avoid damaging her teeth or causing hygiene problems when she eats someone out. But it does what she wants — it makes her lips literally exotic, and guarantees no one will mistake kissing her for kissing a more generic paramour. I honestly deeply admire the simple craft behind that.

She also grinds her sweat-slicked body against mine as we make out. I let myself enjoy the kiss, and the feeling of her hard nipples digging into my bare chest. My cock twitches and starts getting harder, despite having popped just a minute ago. In retrospect, it’s a really good moment for the audience, too. I have no idea at the time how many girls in the audience really want to be Livia, just then, but for them it was likely the extended, raw kiss that pushes the whole third Decan over the line from “naughty but tawdry, fun to witness but also a bit gross” and into “this is massively erotic and I want more of it in my life.” Livia and I do have genuine chemistry, after all, and I think that comes across to the thousands of voyeurs of both genders vicariously experiencing this through us.

The kiss finally gets broken up when Livia slides slightly on sweaty feet and her legs start to buckle under her. Normally we’d both laugh playfully at this point, but Livia does not break either her nympho persona or the sexual tension — she just moans and gasps. I take a second to consciously make sure my own footing is firm and my legs stable before I reach down, pick her up bridal-carry style and set her face-up on the massage table. “Livia, try to work the drug out of your system.”

She just writhes around. My thought was that she would masturbate, but that doesn’t seem to be what she thinks. At least, not with her hands — a strong case could be made that she’s working herself up to a pretty wicked hands-free orgasm with just body motion and psychology. Probably her pussy is a bit too sensitive right now. I give her a solid three or four minutes to just perform, and she does. She’s not giving the idea that the lust is going down, though — if anything she’s building up more. Her stare is absolutely nuts.

Over the course of twelve Escalations and dozens of other shows, the Trips will film a crazy amount of naughty videos — and Livia does make sure that we have a camera in the rafters of the massage hut. She was positively lechy about it, too — even if the footage from the aphro-massage routine is too explicit for the original N-VHS release, she had whispered to me in a naughty tone, “we’re both going to want it for our... private collections, for personal use.”

Talk about some sexy comeuppance!

And the best bit is, she’s not even wrong. I love the footage of her writhing in raw lust on that massage table — even more, in fact, than the footage of me fucking her or other parts of the third Decan. It rivals footage of Cathy’s striptease (and, of course, many other choice moments I still have to get to) for what I watch when I’m feeling nostalgic about the good old days with the Trips and just want to rub one out to something fairly simple. I often climax right when she looks directly up at the camera she herself set up with such wanton voyeuristic intent and Eyefucks the hell out of it, gasping and moaning and air-thrusting.

The fact that I can’t tell what’s real and what’s performance is actually the true essence of Livia as a person, a being wholly unique among six billion peers. Performance is not deception for her, you see — it’s a way of heightening experience. If I were to later ask Livia what’s real and what’s a performance this night, I think the most truthful answer she could give (assuming I could ever get a straight answer, as opposed to a quip) would be for her to just say “Yes,” and leave it there.

I pick a towel from a compartment and tie it around my waist. I’m not especially self-conscious after the first Decan, but I have had a long and weirdly sociological conversation with Livia about when and where I can show my cock during a show. She had a theory that actually seeing cock is simultaneously frightening and erotic to women, and those elements need to be kept in balance for the best possible effect — casual cock will alienate both men and women.

I’m not sure where she gets this — I’m fairly sure Livia personally has never been terrified of a cock in her life — but she believes it. As for the men... I see what she means, but straight guys watch pornos, don’t they? No shortage of cock there. As I cover up, I turn around briefly — and see that Molly is still watching from the doorway. It’s like she’s transfixed. I wink at her playfully. She puts a finger to her lips, urging me to keep her secret.

I pick up the microphone and walk to the front of the stage. I get a surprisingly loud victory-cheer from the crowd. The girls are cheering because I’m half-naked and just had a passionate kiss, while the guys are cheering because I just scored. I didn’t actually expect that, but I go with it. “Thanks, everyone, thanks lots. I feel great right now, and Livia is getting better — but it’s taking too long to work through the dose of Tincture in her system. I think it’s time for a little audience participation segment!”

There’s no cheer at that. The crowd is silent, shocked, anticipating. “No, no,” I say, “keep your pants on. No, really, I mean that — keep your damn pants on. We do have a Winchester rifle in the hut, if anyone decides to ignore that directive! But, if you’re all game, well, Livia needs a bit of a thrill right now, for strictly medicinal reasons, and Doctor Bogway suggested that multiple hands might help with the blood flow. So I’m wondering if she feels like a bit of crowd-surfing at the moment.”

I don’t look back, but out of the corner of my eye I do see Livia tense on the table. “Oh my god,” she says. But it’s... not exactly negative. I wonder if the shock and surprise in her voice is genuine, acted or both.

“Here’s what I’d like to do. I’m going to pass Livia over to you guys, starting on the left, and you’re going to carry her around the pool in a horseshoe until she gets back to the stage on my right. It’ll be a bit like the human ladder contests we’ve seen here at Summers. But — and this is important — please do not move from where you are! We’ll break this up right away if it looks like you’re all clustering. Okay? Is everyone able to be civilized about this? Nod and say you get it!”

“We get it!”

Okay. In retrospect this is an amazingly stupid thing to do. You can all imagine ways it could end up a lot darker that it does. I could get Livia gang-raped. I could start a human trample that gets dozens of people killed. I’m not saying it’s a wise or safe thing to do. But... it’s a matter of public record that I did it. Two days prior, I felt Livia up as she fantasized about participating in the human ladder contest. I want everything to be perfect for her tonight. I want to make all of her fantasies come true. So I do a very stupid and irresponsible thing, and get very lucky in that it turns out as positively as it does. Remember, O Concerned Readers: I am not your role model. I’m just telling it as it happened.

I walk over to the massage table and pick Livia up in my arms. I lean close to her, whispering so only she and I can hear. “Are you up for —”

“Oh God, yes! Please!”

So I carry her over to the left edge of the crowd and toss her into it, buck naked. I watch as dozens of hands hold her body aloft, passing her along. Men and women squeeze her, pinch her, fondle her. She doesn’t discourage them, and can’t even be said to be bearing it indifferently. She’s writhing, gasping, moaning, thrusting. Like I said, it’s a small miracle we don’t start either a riot or a gangbang here. It does help that we keep cameras focused on Livia as she swims through the cloud of lecherous hands — the participants can see her on the pool screens before she gets to them, and know they will be on tape, too, if they try to use anything other than their hands. Maybe her sheer force of personality also has something to do with it going off as well as it does.

“Touch me,” Livia gasps repeatedly, encouraging the crowds. “Squeeze me! Rub me! Feel me! Taste me! I want to feel your hands!”

I’m pretty sure Livia does get fingered several times — usually briefly, but a few she encouraged. Guys and girls get their faces between her legs and eat enthusiastically. Most get a few seconds, but the ones she likes seem to get more — twice she grabs a guy’s hair and just kind of holds him there for a minute or so. I wonder if those muscular frat boys knew they are licking up my cum? I’m so sorry, guys — I didn’t plan that bit. It didn’t even occur to me.

It does turn out there is one bit of genuine harm involved in all this. A shapely and regal-looking coed from a conservative, Old Money Nebraska family outed herself through dining enthusiastically on the fine meal between Livia’s legs. She ended up in big trouble with her family, and I regret that. Her name obviously doesn’t belong in my memoir, but it’s not hard to look up — it makes local newspapers. The Trips do offer her some financial and emotional support once we find out almost six months later — but I’m not trying to say we make everything OK, because we can’t.

If there’s any consolation, it’s at least got to be worth some sexual street cred at a lesbian club, when the girls have their inevitable awkward coming out stories conversation. Getting caught on camera deep-sucking the muff of a major celebrity and centerfold before she gets truly famous while in a packed crowd at Spring Break ought to win that hands-down.

Lucy Langtry and Gloria Sun are silent the whole time. They watch in rapt awe and faint horror. They totally lose their characters. “Should we stop this?” Lucy asks halfway through. Later, I remember Gloria Sun saying, “I am so fucking horny right now.”

It is about half an hour later when I collect Livia at the right edge of the crowd by the pool. The sun is setting just as her hand reaches out to clasp mine. There is a bite mark on her ass, with blood — someone really dug in there — but she’s enthusiastic to the point of euphoria. “Oh, Marc! Fuck me! Fuck me! I need it! I need your cock! Finish it! Finish it right!”

I’m hard again. I walk over to the massage table. Like the oil from the first Decan, we’ve mixed antibacterials into the KinkyTingle massage oil. It was Livia’s idea, to avoid vaginal infections if the massages got more spontaneously... let’s say “deep tissue”... than we expected. I unscrew the cap and liberally pour the stuff over her, rubbing it all across her body. She flinches slightly when I hit scratches or the bite mark, but more gasps and moans. She writhes against me as I cover every part of her body.

I take her behind the table again and penetrate her with my fingers — primarily for the antibacterials, but her reactions leads me to flick the clit a bit, just to enjoy her screams and moans and get her more worked up. I’m not about to stick my cock in her mouth right now — she seems pretty wild — but I think her squirming, begging, grinding and moaning did a better job getting me fully hard again than any oral possibly could have.

As I wiggle my fingers inside Livia and feel the sensation of her wetness, I really want to taste her. But getting down on my hands and knees wouldn’t fit the rhythm, and it would be more sensual, softer, than the tone I want — so I push aside the temptation. There will be lots of time in the future, I think. I have her now. I already live with her. I can eat her anytime I want. I can be slow and sensual and relish it. Tonight, the script is her fantasies, and the word ‘ravish’ doesn’t usually imply cunnilingus. I want the sex to get a bit ruder, now — but there are limits to what we can do, because of the audience. However, there’s also a device I can use to deal with that.

Let me explain our moonshot veil. The plan with the massage routine was that, in the most realistic outcome, we get two pairs of girls more than a little “into” massaging each other. The desired outcome would be for one or more of them to reach an orgasm that was just a little less subtle than they thought it was... and for the audience to be able to catch on to what was happening — ideally without spoiling the mood too much. There would hopefully be some suggestive rubbing between the legs to aid this process. We did not expect girls to actually perform sex acts like fingering, eating each other out or scissoring.

Expecting that at Spring Break in front of a huge crowd was... a bit nuts. But I kept bringing it up — if we got our “moonshot” and girls were willing to go the extra mile... well, we wouldn’t want to stop them, would we? That would be anathema to the spirit of the Sexy Scandal Spectacular. But... there were also problems with just letting them, based on the pacing Livia wanted for her Escalations. If we turn into a live sex show this early, Livia has to come up with extra lines to cross for other shows to make them qualify as an “escalation”.

So we built a motorized diaphanous curtain that descends over about three seconds at the push of the button, and strung it around the massage hut. It’s real Arabian harem (as done by Hollywood, at least) kind of stuff. It doesn’t conceal what’s going on, really, but it does turn what would be a triple X show into a hard R show, which is exactly what we want. It would also allow us deniability later, in case either the massage girls really didn’t want to be outed as gay — “it was all just simulated! I just wanted to give the guys a nice show; I never did anything real, you know!” — or Summers faced a public backlash.

Of course, I was planning what’s actually happening here for as long as the Trips planned the massage thing, so I had my own nefarious reasons for the curtain as well — I wanted to be able to get vigorous with Livia but not mess up her scheduling — but it was all perfectly consistent with the massage routine, so I doubt she suspected anything. Of course, she could have asked me to drop it before I fucked her over the table. Why didn’t she? Well, she’s a crowd-worker and an exhibitionist, and probably trusts me not to turn this more explicit than she wanted. Or she just didn’t think of it — given how I hijacked the show and then she had to throw herself into an improv nympho performance, that would be understandable.

I hit the button and the curtain descends. It’s diaphanous, and with the sun setting probably even a bit more concealing than it would be in daytime. It really is one of Livia’s perfect cinematic moments — fucking backlit by a golden setting sun. “Now, Marc! Put it in! I want it so much!”

I heft her up onto a table, tear off the towel and slide back in, gradually at first. She’s wet, and so very nice inside, and still energetic after a shockingly exerting day. I watch her pussy lips part as my cock goes in and out. I can faintly hear the sound, like someone smacking their lips. She’s squirming and thrusting herself. Her whole body is gleaming with the KinkyTingle lotion in the fading sunlight. It’s like one of those surprisingly explicit but still arty fashion shots.

I feel like I’m fucking not just the girl from a centerfold, but the literal image from the centerfold itself, with the expert photography, erotic angles and everything. I forget Livia’s fantasies for a second — this is definitely one on my own! She grabs the back of the table and uses her hands to slide herself forward and back, her lotion-covered back sliding over the table as I just stand there, erect. It surprises me, how quiet the crowd is now — more entranced or spent than rowdy.

Then, out of the corner of my eye I catch a glimpse of Molly, still standing in the doorframe perving on Livia and I. The decision is made, right there. I know for a fact that she’s entranced, aroused — and that she just wants to watch, not participate. But I also remember the reason Livia hired me, and as I’ve said I want this to be absolutely perfect. It’s for the art, the artistry of real pickup. And no, I’m not normally the kind of douchebag that believes that’s a legitimate moral justification for, well, anything.

I pull out of Livia, erect, and walk directly over to Molly. As soon as she realizes what I’m doing, she freezes like a deer in headlights. I take her by the arm and pull her out of the doorframe into view of the audience. “Hey, baby? Could you come here a second?”

Molly steps out into view of the audience. She’s wearing a black leather miniskirt, a loose pink top with powder blue highlights and puffy sleeves and a pink and blue headband matching the top. She’s got large hoop earrings, and both bangles and friendship bracelets around her wrists. This is the first sign the audience gets that she’s even been there, watching. She flashes me an angry look, a bit betrayed — like I just violated the unspoken code of voyeurs and perverts everywhere to not rat each other out. “Um. Hi, folks.”

Livia is coming to her senses, looking up in interest. I walk over to her and lift her down, setting her on a pile of carpets to the left side of the stage. Then I spread her legs again and put my hard dick right back in her. In, out. In, out.

“Molly, baby,” I say casually as I keep pumping Livia, “I wanted to ask you a teeny, tiny favor. It would make both me and Livia very happy.”

“Ok,” Molly says somewhat blankly, with an expression that says she has never been in a situation quite like this before and has no idea what the social norms are. Pretty understandable, all things considered.

“Would you sit on Livia’s face for me?” I manage to ask in the same casual, airy tone one normally uses to ask a secretary for today’s accounts. No routine, no gimmick, no rehearsed pattern — just confidence.

“Um, oh, oh wow,” she says. She’s embarrassed and uncomfortable, but her Aura is also going wild. “I’ve never done that with a girl before. Oh, wow.”

I keep railing Livia and looking nonchalant. I suspect Molly is telling the truth. Inwardly, I feel a bit bad — I do suspect Molly is bi, and she likes to live on the edge, but... it’s the second time I’ve gone way over a line with her, and both in the same day. (But she took the first one so well, the devil on my shoulder reasons.) And, the first day I met Livia she admitted to me that she wanted to use me to ‘lure’ girls she might not otherwise have access to. Cathy turned out straight, and then I failed to get her Audra. And above everything else, I’m determined that this one seduction be perfect.

Molly doesn’t say or do anything for about ten seconds. I keep slamming Livia. She tightened up with excitement when I asked the question, which honestly makes pumping her even more crazily fun — possibly more fun then I can take for very long, but damn it’s nice. The rational part of my mind is in the process of figuring out how I will dismiss (and later apologize to and console) Molly when I see her reach down inside that black leather miniskirt — and then I see her cute pink panties slide down her creamy thighs, fall past her ankles and land at her feet. I’m... honestly shocked this actually worked.

“What the hell,” Molly says. “I like to think of myself as a free spirit, and Spring Break is a time to try new things, right? And it’s certainly not the first time I’ve... thought... about doing something like this with a girl.”

She’s not taking the miniskirt off, mind you. She just goes to stand over Livia’s head, puts a sneakered foot to either side and kneels down. She’s not going to show more than I ask her — which is a bit pointless after the oil wrestling, but that’s fine. The only person who needs to see Molly’s pussy is getting a real close look right now, and it’s getting closer by the second.

Molly reaches out both hands to me for balance, and I clasp them. It’s an odd thing, holding one girl’s hands in an almost gentle, comforting way as I pound another lady rather violently. There’s some schizophrenic body language and symbolism going on, but it only adds to the kink.

Molly squats down. As soon as the wonderful slit ringed in curly red pubic hair gets close enough to Livia’s face, however... well, it’s like watching a darting asp seize and swallow a startled mouse. Livia’s mouth latches on to Molly’s clit like a lamprey. Livia... apparently does not start slow with new girls, but Molly is already pretty aroused by watching so she’s not put off. She squirms in ecstasy.

“Oh, that’s, that’s, um, wow, this is really, um, this is really nice, I like this a lot, it feels kind of like oh fuck right there, yeah! yeah! Keep doing that!”

Molly is clasping my fingers so tightly as to hurt, not that I mind in the slightest — I love that I can feel her desperate musculature, see the veins in her hand. She lets go of one hand and uses the free hand to roughly penetrate her own pussy with two fingers. And, well, my hand is not the only thing being clasped really, really tightly right now, and Livia’s grip is even firmer and more wonderful than Molly’s.

Livia’s going to go over the line any second now, I can tell, and she’s exhausted — this one will be her last and biggest of the night. And she can’t stay in her current position — a weird pushed-up posture with a steeply arched back, almost like a crab-walk, that she snapped into to seize Molly’s delicious little nub in her mouth so forcefully — too long. So, enough prolonging the inevitable. I don’t slow down. I keep pumping, no matter how hard she grips me. Just giving in to it, no longer worrying about pacing, feels so incredibly good.

I do shift position to be near-supine, though, balancing on my elbows and spreading my legs out on the mound of blankets I set Livia on. Pro tip, guys — if you’re fairly long downstairs and good enough to keep the cock from popping out when you thrust, a kind of flattened cowgirl with the lady leaning way back (or nearly prone, in this case) is a great position to get the cock repeatedly scraping the G-spot. I have no idea if I’m actually succeeding at that, mind you — I can think of several different reasons for Livia to be going totally nuts right now.

I feel Livia’s muscles tense and thighs tremble as she climaxes. She lets go of Molly’s clit with an audible popping sound and takes a desperate gasp of air like a surfacing deep diver, using it for a moan that is positively pornographic. I pull myself forward and upright on Molly’s hand for the final thrust, shoving it in as deep as it goes. I savor the sensation, the release, as my cum sprays into Livia in huge spurts that send shudders through my whole body. Some immature part of my mind tells me there’s way more than there was the first night I met her, but I have no way to know that. It doesn’t make a lot of sense, since I ejaculated just over an hour ago — but it sure feels like it.

In the back of my mind I realize the cruel and ironic thing we’ve done to Molly as I see her slapping her clit aggressively. For the huge emotional risk she just took, she’s had two different casual acquaintances she’s apparently at least strongly into suck her off today — for under a minute each time. I want to say we’ll make it up to her, but I’m suddenly weak and dizzy. And then I see there isn’t need, at least right now. Her thighs are trembling, her eyes are closed, her mouth is faintly open... and then, well...

Okay. At least now I can say I’m not the only person to have ejaculated on Livia without asking first. And wow, is Molly like some kind of anthropomorphic sprinkler system or something? It just sprays out everywhere, splattering Livia’s face, neck, breasts and stomach.

“Oh my goodness!” Molly gasps. “I’m so sorry! I had no idea my body could do that!”

Now that, O Cackling Readers, is some industrial-grade bullshit delivered with such proud mischievous smugness that I wonder if she was aping my simulated-sex monologue to the audience. Livia seems impressed, too.

“This one’s a keeper, Marc,” she says, almost in a daze, and reaches up to playfully jiggle one of Molly’s butt cheeks as she licks her lips, tasting the fluids on her face experimentally.

Molly, trembling, pulls herself back into an upright position. Then her demeanor changes utterly and she flashes me a vacuous, cheerful grin. “Thanks, guys! It was really nice getting to know both of you. I had loads of fun. So did Marc, apparently. Loads. We should do this again sometime.”

She turns and walks off, wrapped in an utterly flip, blasé air. It’s like we just shared an ice cream sundae and some light flirting at a diner, not fucked in front of a crowd of thousands. When she reaches the doorframe, she turns back and winks at me, flashing an impish smile and making the two-finger “call me” gesture with her hand. “Cee-ya!”

Then she’s gone. The simpler part of my brain wonders which girl I saw was the real Molly — the cavalier, detached mischief maker or the shy first-time bisexual. The wiser part of me throws back an acerbic rejoinder: they’re not actually contradictory, dumbass. She wanted you, she wanted Livia, you threw her off balance with a brazenly indecent proposal, she accepted, she really liked the oral, but also regained her poise in the back of her mind during the fucking and decided to show that she was in control by hosing down Livia and acting all blasé after the fact. I can get that, because I’ve pulled off similar stunts several times in my own life. Still, I respect her for it.

As callous as it sounds, though, Molly vacates my mind when she vacates the scene. The big thing is, I wanted everything to be perfect with Livia, I wanted prove a pickup artist can be, well, an artist... and while perfection is a ridiculous standard at the best of times, I take a look down at the stunningly beautiful, sweat-soaked, dazed, euphoric body of Livia at my feet and I feel I got just about as close as any mere mortal can ever hope to.

Of course, reality being what it is, as I try to stand up I slip on sweat-soaked feet attached to ankles sore from odd sex positions, and land on my ass hard enough to bruise my tailbone. But really, who cares? I still feel amazing and victorious, and I’m past paralyzing pursuit of perfection at this point. Sure, a number of things went wrong this evening. It was still about as awesome as could ever be expected — I feel all but invincible and almost able to stand up without falling down again.

“Folks, that pert young redhead we just saw was Molly Mischief,” Gloria Sun points out, “and she’s a regular here at Summers! If you want to see m... see her again, she’s going to be doing some oil wrestling right here on Thursday and Saturday. Make sure you catch the shows; cover is twenty dollars, and let me say, when you see that little minx wrestle, you’ll consider your money well spent!”

“I love how you almost said ‘see more of her’,” Lucy Langtry added in a sarcastic tone, “and then realized after tonight, that might not be a very reasonable promise to make!”

Okay. Time to wrap this up. I grab the towel and wrap it around my waist, then hop up on the massage table and assume a frankly ridiculous pose with my hands on my hips. “I am Marcelo Ambrose Knight, the Lord of Seduction, and my beautiful partner is Lascivious Livia, the Naughty Magician. The Cancer Escalation is now complete! Love is the law, love under will!”

Now, whether it’s me or Livia pulling it, that level of bombast only works under very specific circumstances, and one of those is being backed up by some pyrotechnics. So, Mimi could have stranded me there (and, I will learn later, has an actual motive to do so) and left me looking absolutely (or just even more) ridiculous. And a detached part of my mind could even see how that would have been absolutely hilarious, albeit severely damaging to the show’s mystique. But thankfully, she doesn’t — navy and orange smoke floods out of the massage tables and drives people away from the hut, and Livia, Molly and I vanish from Summers until our next show.

It isn’t until weeks after Spring Break that I realize I have been able to actually use the title Lord of Seduction without cringing in my head or giving it an ironic tone. I can still see the absurdity of it, of course, but I can own that. Perhaps I am just finally realizing I belong to the same elite group that Livia and Molly do — people who realize that if they want a ridiculous and stupid epithet, they better do something worthy enough to earn it.