The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Welcome, one and all, to the Sexy Scandal Spectacular — the fastest-growing men’s entertainment franchise in the world! Why, you might ask, do we deserve to be called that? What does it actually mean? I’ll have all you skeptics out there know it’s a hard, empirical measurement — that is to say, we make men grow harder faster than any competing show, and we’re entertaining when we do it! Come on, you all know what I’m talking about — and after Monday you all know it’s true too!”

The crowd cheers and applauds Livia’s intro. Our first Decan is starting off great. We scan the crowd and see lots of familiar faces from the Monday show. Livia’s in a real tux this time; it’s a rental since I did a number on her wardrobe and we’ve been too busy to shop. That’s going to be fun, in the Florida sun, but she’ll cope. It’s a more overcast day today, anyway. I’m in a light tan Arabian outfit, with a stylish button-up vest-shirt, separate silk flair-sleeves and silk balloon pants. It’s very Thousand and One Nights. The scratch on my chest is healed, and with the tux and a slight bit of concealer none of Livia’s beloved bruises are even slightly visible.

Mimi’s in her maintenance coveralls — at least, on the surface — and has a wig on that puts her hair in a ponytail, along with a thin, stern set of fake nerd-glasses. She looks dowdy but professional and smart, and that’s very much by design. “You know, I see so many familiar faces in the crowd. I’m so glad you’ve all decided to come back and give us a second chance, after the debacle that was the ending of our last show! That was... boy howdy, that one went a wee mite spare at the tail end. I know, ’cause I can still feel the soreness in my own tail end! But today is going to go a lot better, and boy howdy do we have a show for you! Let’s get the party started!”

Livia gets a big cheer. There’s a lot of girls in the crowd. Still more boys, but it’s maybe a third girls rather than the more typical fifth. And while there’s a lot of everyday girls, there’s also a lot of insanely hot, brazen ones wearing the riskiest string bikinis and a healthy layer of tanning oil. Perfect!

“My dudes,” I shout out to the crowd. “If there’s one thing Spring Break is about above all the others, it’s gotta be the babes! Am I right? Give me a ‘hell yeah’!”

“Hell yeah!”

I’m surprised by the number of girls that shout back for that line — I guess they’re just enthusiastic, or into me. I don’t know.

“But there’s another key element to the full experience, and that’s the brew! So I wanna ask you all, what’s your poison of choice?”

Mimi goes around the front row with a mike, getting answers. The impromptu survey takes several minutes, and gives Livia and I time to get props — a table, a bunch of shots and a complex electronic control panel — set up on stage. As Mimi does the survey, we also watch our stealthy ringer — one of the Gold Coast meter maids (obviously not dressed as such) — circulate the crowd, and note the people she signals us to note. It’s about to be important.

Beer is, unsurprisingly, the crowd’s favorite drink. Lots of guys say Miller, likely more because there are two fifteen-foot tall inflatable Miller Beer bottles anchored to palm trees by the stage than out of any genuine preference. Budweiser is also popular, and maybe I’m just sex-obsessed but I put that down to the iconic Budweiser one-piece swimsuit and the many hot girls I’ve seem wearing this delightful garment around Spring Break — both in posters and live. The NCSS shoot for Budweiser may also have been an influence, obviously. The girls are more sophisticated in their tastes than the guys — we hear rum, vodka, sherry, brandy, gin and tonic along with the typical beers. No one mentions the one we’re thinking of, however.

Not gonna lie, this is a bit of a weird routine for Livia and I to be doing. I drink socially, but quite lightly. I’m a sensualist, and if there are four things I value above all they would be suaveness, sensory acuity, memory and sexual performance. Alcohol spoils all four, and I don’t need it to lower my inhibitions or raise my confidence — I have the next-level toolset for that. Livia enjoys a beer on occasion, but not around shows and not when she’s on the prowl. I believe her favorites are German imports. Mimi’s actually the heaviest drinker among us, with her vodka martinis at noon. I gather she used to drink more — even destructively — before she got into bimboification to relieve stress.

So none of us are really as into frat drinking culture as we’re trying to pretend to be here — as a fellow libertine of a different flavor, I can respect them, but it’s just not my scene. As a result, on rewatching the tapes, it’s a bit wince-inducing. But it’s really just a promotion combined with a lead-in to a stripping gag, so it’s not too bad.

“You know,” Livia banters to me as Mimi collects survey results, “they’re not disconnected. You need the right brew to get the babes. Something that screams sensual but refined — a man of complex tastes. If you offer a classy girl a cheap, watered down pseudo-beer, she’ll dump you faster and smoother than Al Czervik on horse laxatives at an all-you-can-eat taco buffet! As Mister Knight once told me, seduction may be fun, but liquor is quicker...”

“I said no such thing!” I shoot back archly.

“Really? I seem to recall —”

“I think you misunderstood me. What I said was, if you want to pick up hot babes on the beach in record time, make sure you bring a six pack!”

I tear open my Arabian-styled vest-shirt, leaving my torso exposed, and flex my abs a bit — carefully looking both pompous-ridiculous and actually sexy. The girls need to drool, but the guys need to keep viewing me as a role model-slash-mentor-slash-entertaining dork they can mock — not resent me, or want to tear me down as competition. I think it works — the girls cheer and squeal while the guys groan. Some bodybuilder types with builds more impressive than mine seem pleased, no doubt planning to mack on muscle-crazed fangirls in the crowd after our show. Livia runs a splayed hand over my torso sensually. “Ooh, I understand now... and I appreciate the lookie-lookie! Still, I stand by my point — if you want to charm a classy lady, you need to offer her a drink that’s on her level, so to speak.”

“Speaking of less-than-classy drinks, have I ever told you I know a girl that once got hooked on drinking brake fluid?”

“Really?”

“Well, she would never admit she was an addict — she always said she could stop any time she wanted!”

Livia groans. “Blokes and birdies alike, you need to aim higher than that — improve your taste in spirits and jokes alike! And speaking of sophisticated spirits... gentlemen, meet your new poison.”

With a Vanna White gesture, she holds up a sleek, elite-looking bottle with a black and gold label. On cue, I hit a switch on the control panel and our Huey Lewis sample plays: “I want a new drug, one that won’t make me sick! One that won’t make me crash my car, or make me feel three feet thick!”

The soundbite stops as soon as it’s made its point, and Livia continues. “Folks, this is genuine, high-quality Black Leopard Tequila, shipped in from across the border where it’s made, in scenic Jalisco. It is the finest, smoothest Tequila to be found anywhere, and it’s available right now, today, in Fort Lauderdale.”

Black Leopard is an insurgent brand now. They’ll be better known in the future, probably largely due to us, but aren’t the top of the line or the best reviewed even when I write this. I hope you’re not expecting me to actually review the drink, given what I just told you. I’m not honestly sure if we’re selling a quality brand or complete cat piss. I do know that we blow them up, and we get a very lucrative cheque out of the deal, and I’m still getting residual payments from our later contracts with Black Leopard even today.

“Now,” Livia continues with the script, “I’m wondering if there’s a particular set of words that comes to mind when you think of tequila and the Sexy Scandal Spectacular. Anyone out there in the crowd know what I’m talking about? Anyone? Bueller? Come on, some of you must have heard this one before! Yeah, I’m seeing the sly smiles on some of the guys faces and playful resignation from a few ladies in the crowd. Folks, if you know what I’m talking about, get ready to belt it out with me! On a one, on a two, and three...”

The three of us, and about a dozen audience members, shout in unison, “Tequila makes her clothes fall off!”

“Again!”

“Tequila makes her clothes fall off!”

“And, once more with feeling!”

“Tequila makes her clothes fall off!”

After the cheers die down, Livia gives an innocent smile and asks the audience, “Anyone want to put that to the test?”

The crowd, obviously, gives that a big cheer.

“Okay,” Livia says. “It probably doesn’t work on every girl... but I’ll bet it’s going to work on some of you here today. So... we’ve got some free shots to give out. I’d warn anyone in the crowd that’s overly modest, Evangelical or otherwise a boring, no-fun type not to take one. Mimi here is going to help deliver these shots in...”

Livia looks up at Mimi and her expression and enthusiasm just kind of dies. “No, no. I’m not feeling this. I’m sorry, folks, we just don’t have the vibe I need for this routine. Mimi, get up here! Now!”

Mimi walks up on stage next to Livia, so the two of them are in front of the crowd and I’m alone at the control panel. It’s impossible to make Mimi look flat-chested, but she’s also not filling out the coveralls the way you might imagine (or even the way she did on Monday) — she actually has her breasts bound at the moment, not that the audience knows that. “Folks,” Livia says, “do you see the problem here? Do you see the one thing that’s harshing the vibe of our radical Spring Break blowout?”

The crowd seems baffled. Mimi has her hands behind her back, looking attentive, smart and professional. “It’s you, Mimi. You’re a wonderful techie, but you’re... low-energy. We need sexy! We need mouth-watering! We need fun! We need an awesome, Spring Break-ready party girl!”

Mimi quirks a skeptical eyebrow at Livia, looking like Mister Spock from Star Trek.

“Folks, it’s makeover time!”

That gets more of a cheer from the girls than the boys. “And,” she adds, “have I got the perfect weapon for our makeover. Let me introduce you all to the final boss of the party girl drinking regimen: the pink grapefruit psychotronic Leopard Tequila shot!”

Now, this may not sound too impressive when I write it in words, but we have ringers in the crowd to go berserk at this exact line, to help us “sell the prop”, and they trigger a veritable tidal wave. By the time the noise dies down, the audience is absolutely 100% dead-set certain that Livia is showing them the most awesome thing that ever existed. She opens an ornate black obsidian box to reveal a row of six shot glasses filled with a fluid so pink you could swear it’s glowing. (It is, actually — high-intensity LEDs under the shot glasses, that shut off the second they are lifted by a pressure switch. Livia just builds stuff like that in her spare time — it relaxes her. It’s the kind of fanatical perfectionism and attention to detail that makes her so very talented, and our show so glamourous.)

“Now, this isn’t just any drink,” Livia continues. “This has rules! You do not fuck around with these shots. I can’t give you the recipe, but I can give you a few hints! Half an ounce pink grapefruit juice! Half an ounce Black Leopard Tequila! Two cc’s Anamorphazine! A dash of chili powder, a dash of sugar, a dash of ergot fungus and a drop of the Tincture! And, well, some additives that I’m not legally allowed to mention because I don’t want the BATF investigating our show!”

That’s a joke, obviously, but the crowd doesn’t laugh — we’ve done such a good job selling the prop that I worry about people trying the recipe at home. Fortunately, everything not everyday that Livia listed is just made-up bullshit.

“This drink,” Livia continues, “well, ladies, it has... effects. One shot and you’re going to have a really great evening. Two shots and you’ll have an even better evening, a diminished IQ and a more receptive attitude to anal sex. Three shots get adult women to declare Jem and the Holograms their favorite TV series ever, and make them feel like the Disney Princesses of the orgy. Four shots are the beginning of a lifelong love affair with a color pink. Five will halve your SAT scores across the board, and get you a lucrative career in modeling. Six shots... I’m not going to mince words here; if you can take six shots and stay standing, you’re a bimbo for life. Capiche?”

I’m not actually sure how much the crowd ‘gets’ this. It’s a funny, entertaining and weird rant, but unless a watcher is informed about the nature of bimboification as a fetish it doesn’t make a lot of sense. But it makes Mimi really happy, and that’s worth it.

“Ooh,” Mimi says and reaches toward the first shot. Livia slaps her hand.

“First of all,” Livia says, “lose these.”

She plucks the glasses off Mimi’s face and tosses them into the crowd, then takes out a contact lens case. Mimi, looking exasperated, mimes inserting contacts into her eyes. There are none, of course — she doesn’t need either glasses or contacts.

“Knight!” Livia shouts. “Gimme something bubbly to set the mood. It’s time we show this girl how to par-tay!”

I cue up Julie Brown’s Cause I’m a Blonde. Really, what other song were you expecting?

With a gesture, Livia conjures a telescoping baton. It’s very similar to the ones dancers use, with a trailing banner. The banner is actually fairly large, however, despite being very light — about a yard and a half by two yards. Livia’s going to wave it in front of Mimi to conceal her as her clothes change “magically”. Yup, this is a quick change routine. If you don’t know what these are, you owe it to yourself to actually see one — live or on VHS. Mimi’s is astounding, but you should have seen others first to “get” it.

Being familiar with them also makes watching Mimi’s a lot more rewarding. These routines take a lot of skill, but they are also one of the sexiest types of shows a “respectable” female magician can do, and a lot of the women who do them... well, by the time they’re finished you’re going to respect their skill a lot, and also really want to see them naked. And Mimi... well, she has a little treat for the male audience.

If you don’t know how quick change is done, basically, it’s about having multiple layers of tearaway clothing on, and packed away into odd places. I already related how Livia uses 20th Century Silk to pack a whole brassiere into a knot in a silk scarf, right? Well, this routine has whole dresses packed into bras, and inside other dresses, and so forth. People love this bit with Mimi, and the only time we’ll it again is at our big Vegas show more than two years from now. Here’s the reason: it’s hard. It’s impressive, and I think Mimi and Livia carry it off perfectly, but it takes a lot of work. The clothing props are hand-made and usually single-use, and it takes a lot of rehearsals, a lot of agility and a fair bit of natural skill. But it’s worth it for this show, and for Vegas.

I am very low-key during this routine. Livia and Mimi are grabbing all the audience attention while I’m in the background — classic misdirection. I do need to do a few subtle things without being noticed to carry off the routine, both at the control panel and otherwise. It’s enough to make me nervous, but we rehearsed a lot. I’m not going to spoil the magic by saying anything more than that about my role, however.

As you can probably guess, Mimi takes a shot, then Livia waves the banner in front of her and a second later she’s in a new costume. Julie Brown’s song is just over two minutes, so that means one second for each change — seriously, it’s fast — and then nineteen for her to act flummoxed by the early changes, then increasingly vapid and sensual in the later ones. I won’t try to claim Julie Brown’s music video wasn’t an inspiration here, but there’s also a less mainstream source people often miss — the routine is a live-action homage to line art sketches we saw some slumming comic book pencillers selling at SexCon, showing smart girls transforming into stereotypical bimbos in six gradual changes.

I admit to a feeling of ambivalence here — such a profound display of skill (and, yes, intelligence) here on Mimi’s part, all focused around building up her fetish appeal as a dumb blonde. It’s simultaneously ironic, comedic, perverse in the non-sexual sense and oddly tragic. She’s ridiculously happy with the process, though, and feels fulfilled by it — and that’s the only criteria I find valid in judging any kind of fetish-play.

The first costume change is intentionally haphazard. It’s a sexified version of the coveralls — actually a separate costume underneath, obviously — that is tight and latex-like, with triangular patches cut out and replaced with translucent pink lycra. Mimi also has her “hair” (first wig) down and tangled for this rather than in a ponytail — and the unkempt hair does make her look a lot hotter and more sensual, even if it’s a wig. She struts about the stage looking demure-sexy and gaining confidence, then knocks back her second shot in one gulp.

The next change is to a low-cut Disney Princess ballroom gown in thin lavender silk — or, at least, as much of one as we could fit under two pairs of coveralls. It snaps out in an instant, unfolding unseen behind Livia’s banner on a complex but lightweight mechanical skeleton like a folding umbrella. She flounces about and twirls the rim, acting innocent while quite intentionally giving the horny audience some breath-taking views right down her impossibly deep cleavage.

Her breasts look decidedly larger than they did in the first two outfits, and that’s not only an optical illusion. She has a little radio-controlled spool on her back that gradually unwinds the stretchy cloth binding her massive chest, thus creating the illusion that her boobies are growing larger with every shot she takes. Wanna guess who’s controlling that spool? I’m literally moving a slider to enlarge Mimi’s chest. I’d love to tell you, O Bemused Reader, how pervy it is — but honestly I’m just focused on doing my job and getting the timing right. Rewatching it on tape definitely gives me a tingle, though.

Next is a sexed-up “student fashionista” ensemble with a polka dot miniskirt, big plastic sunglasses and a pink leather top. Mimi gives a very cute hiccup after downing the requisite shot, then struts and jiggles about the stage, miming talking on the phone and trading mock-gossip with girls in the audience. When the banners obscure her briefly, she slides the top, miniskirt and boobie-binder off in a single practiced gesture. From here it’s a super-slutty student stripper outfit — pink jeans shorts and a thin, strappy pink tank top. Well, it’s thin around the breasts, at least — nobody pays attention to the belly part, where the final outfit is packed in. It’s pretty racy, and Mimi’s now-fully-unbound chest only makes it better. She flirts, blushes and blows kisses to the audience. People look awestruck — the Spring Break crowd is mostly not stage magic aficionados, and thus the quick change routine is completely new to them.

Both student outfits have Mimi’s iconic high-volume, fluffy Loni Anderson blonde hair, but it’s a bit restrained (by a nearly invisible hair net) on the third change, so it looks like her hair as well as her chest is getting bigger with each change. Folks, getting high-volume hair under a wig is not easy. Quick change is not new ground for magicians, but the hair... that took effort to get right, but I think the visual is worth it. It helps that, where the fashionista was just perplexed, the stripper-ingenue is cheerfully, vacuously horny. And then the fifth change...

Folks, Mimi takes the fifth shot, Livia waves the banner, the song hits the “this was my audition” line and we treat the crowd at Summers to some absolutely mouth-watering full-frontal nudity from Mimi. She has a stunned look on her face, and for added ridiculousness has a pink lacy bra stuck in her damn hair. The strappy top is pulled down over her waist to expose both tits and bush. And, in case you’re wondering if she’s holding anything back in this bit — her pose leaves her legs about a foot apart, and we all get a nice clear look at her cute golden bush. My first and only look to date, as a matter of fact, and definitely a memorable one.

Mimi “freezes” for a perfect two seconds with a wide-eyed “oopsie, did I do that” look on her face, just long enough for everyone to get a heart-stopping eyeful of her — then her splayed arms snap over her breasts and cooch in the classic embarrassed lady pose. Meanwhile, Livia smirks, flashing the audience an absolutely diabolical, lecherous grin that says “no, guys, this was not an accident — I set it all up, just for you!”

Of course, the real inside joke is that she didn’t — she set it up for a beautiful classy lady who loves her a lot, and has worked so hard for her show, and really likes both bimboification and exhibitionism.

Anyway, Mimi snatches the sixth shot and gulps it down, and Livia flashes the banner over her again and reveals her in her final costume, which will become her iconic look (when she’s not being our character actor, at least) for the rest of the Trips’ run. It’s hard to describe, but the best I can do is to call it a pink and purple V-cut latex onesie. It looks vaguely like clubwear, or what a very girly fetishist would wear to an aerobics studio, and the sheer purple stockings don’t exactly shake that impression. It’s got a deeply sloped V neckline, nearly down to her pubic hair, like a slingshot bikini. It’s got stylized heart-shapes over her immense breasts, with the inner hearts being faintly translucent. It’s got a ruby-studded waistband.

It is so inconceivably, overwhelmingly tacky as to pass into and through the realm of parody and right back out the other side. The matching wave-print triangle earrings are the final touch. The only thing that changes is the footwear — Mimi, against both my and Livia’s advice, wears high heels today (later, after the quick-change routine) to complete the bimbo look. She never makes that particular mistake again, though.

A lot of labor was put into this costume, with the girls seeking out specific items on shopping trips (one of which ended with me bailing them out of mall security in Jacksonville after a misjudged public tryst). Mimi designed it, Livia put in a lot of the handicrafts and I tracked down some needed materials. It dipped into my donations to the kitty, but even I have to admit that Livia had planned out a very glamourous, memorable and cinematic routine to debut it that will be worth it for the show in the long run. It’s an extended tribute to Mimi’s bimboification fetish, sure, but it’s also an entertaining bit in its own right, and hits a few of my own “unwrapping the girl next door” buttons. Of course, more than anything it’s just a jaw-dropping series of magic tricks.

So, now, Mimi has a bimbo origin story inside the weird internal mythology of the Sexy Scandal Spectacular. It’s like a superhero origin story (complete with a kind of super-serum!), except, you know, for a bimbo. She’s... tremendously pleased with this, in the moment and in the longer term. It’s a high point of the Trips experience for her.

The crowd is going nuts. I expected Mimi’s outfit to get a cheer from the guys, but I was more surprised by how enthused — perhaps even to a faintly scary degree — many of the ladies in the audience are. When we go back and review the footage, we find that all the ladies that go extra-hyper over Mimi’s bimbo transformation routine are the returning crowd from the first show. That’s actually worth some analysis.

First, a confession: I saw an opportunity to ensnare Livia, and I wanted Livia — honestly, I yearned for her, and for what the seduction represented — so I just took my shot when I saw the opening. I wasn’t thinking about her long speeches about how the Trips already have the guys and need the women. If I had been, I would have thought that dropping aphrodisiac-enhanced hardcore sex into the show would likely have been really alienating to the female audience. (I probably would have still done it anyway, though — because, well, Livia.) I even remember quipping during the drive back to our hotel after that show, “Hey, remember back when we wanted to make the show more appealing to women?”

At the time, everyone laughed, because it seemed so unlikely as to be absurd that the third Decan would draw in mainstream girls. But it looks like that may not have been the case.

Here’s my theory. I’m going to sound vain saying this, but the first Decan gave the female audience some eye candy. Sure, it was very male fantasy oriented, but it’s Spring Break — the girls here are not going to be offended by male fantasies, even if they’re not exactly turned on. But then, suddenly... cock! And it’s nice cock — not porn star jumbo cock that makes normal girls think sex is about pain, but certainly a notch above the average. And I’ve talked about why that isn’t a common sight in Lauderdale. Now, I know girls aren’t as visual as guys... but it must still have got their attention. We made it all safe for the guys with the male fantasy element, the naked oiled girl-pile, so they didn’t instantly kill the vibe and send the message that this was gross and how dare you and so forth. But it was still there, and it got the ladies’ attention.

Then, the “Make Her Blush” contest. That worked a lot. We know that it worked for the girls on stage, we set it up that way, but it worked for the audience as well. How much? Well, let’s just say that when we go back though the footage of the crowds, we could see a lot of girls subtly grinding in their chairs, or with one hand quietly tucked in their pants, as the narration got to the spiciest bits. I’m not talking about exhibitionist flaunting by the showiest girls in bikinis, either — I’m talking about the quieter girls in the crowd, who had neither any overt nor repressed desire to be caught masturbating in public — and yet, were doing exactly that because they were so affected by the contest. So, the girls were in a really randy headspace at the end of the second Decan.

Enter the third Decan. Livia could probably have gotten some lesbian action out of the massage routine... but most girls in the crowd weren’t lesbians, obviously, and the majority weren’t even into girls at all. I think by selfishly derailing the show I actually perfected it. Sure, a few of the girls might have been disturbed and alienated by what they saw happen to Livia on stage. Sure, if we had done a cold open with that most women would likely react negatively. But in the context of already being deeply randy from the second Decan... well, let’s just say the word “ravish” wasn’t coined for fiction aimed at men.

I think many girls in the audience not only wanted to be in Livia’s shoes — not just when I fucked her, but when I passed her through the audience — but wanted that harder than they had ever wanted anything before. I think we awakened some kind of primal fire there, and brought the girls back to see Mimi’s transformation as erotic rather than degrading. It was this second show that will really cement our female following, as you’ll see, but the groundwork is already there.

Mimi struts the stage a few times in her new costume, collecting applause, then goes over to the control panel, bumps me out and sits down. That’s good — the next bit is going to be technical, more than it looks on the surface. I’m glad to have her at the controls! I rejoin Livia at the front of the stage as she works the crowd.

“Okay, folks, with that little makeover out of the way, we’ve got a theory to test and we’re gonna need some volunteers of the cute, female persuasion from the audience — ladies, who’s interested in a free tequila shot? Not the pink stuff, although this is still gonna be pretty wild! C’mon, birdies, it’s Spring Break. We all came here to do things we expect to regret, even if we’ll all just forget to actually regret them later. So get your pert little tushies up here on stage and we can get on with the sexy, sexy mistakes!”

We get... a quite shocking number of hands, but I have no doubt who the first mark is going to be. She’s a tall, lanky and buxom blonde with long, straight hair. She’s standing out in the crowd by virtue of literally sitting on what I’m guessing is her boyfriend’s shoulders. She’s got a wonderful tan, a firm midriff glistening with tanning oil and a pair of well-oiled voluptuous breasts squeezed into a strapless cyan bandeau-style bikini top that might just be a size too small to produce some astounding cleavage.

I point to her. She points at herself, confirming that I’m choosing her. I nod. She cheers, throwing her arms up and waving widely back and forth. Mimi hits some switches and the wrapped box on stage explodes in a shower of glitter as something flies out of it. It’s a little RC helicopter with a test tube dangling from its bottom. It looks sleek, painted in our colors — white with navy and orange highlights. The crowd cheers, impressed by the gee-whiz factor of our latest toy.

Mimi flies it over to the tanned, buxom hardbody and lets her reach up to claim her shot. Mimi actually teases her a bit, raising the helicopter up out of her reach as she tries to get the shot, then bringing it back down and repeating the process. The lady is a good sport, and gives no sign she catches on to the point of the game — giving the audience a fantastic jiggle show to warm them up for the big reveal.

There have been eyes on this hardbody from the moment she stepped into Summers, and as soon as she became the spotlight of our routine, well... let’s just say the male audience (and no small number of women) are feeling very, very eager right now. The tanned party girl eventually manages to seize the shot, pops off the cork, looks around her at the crowd and gives a wide, fun, game-for-anything grin before downing it in one extended, suggestive gulp and tossing the test tube aside.

The tubes, by the way, are not glass. They aren’t even hard plastic like plastic cups. They are a soft, fiberglass-like plastic that squashes rather than cracks when you step on it. Because yes, there are a bunch of barefoot people in the audience and yes, we think about things like this. We’re not amateurs any more, and we don’t want people leaving our show with stitches in their feet.

Anyway, I’m reasonably sure that this young lady expects me or Livia to now begin some convoluted social engineering patter on her that will lead to us persuading her to perhaps lose a conspicuous article of clothing. I’m not sure if she plans on going full showoff or just wants to tease the crowd. I’ll never know, and it doesn’t matter. The test tube hasn’t even hit the ground when her bikini top is tugged by an invisible force. She gets a brief, panicked look, but doesn’t act in time. That too-tight cyan bandeau snaps like a rubber band, tearing away from her body and flying through the air with no apparent cause. Our hardbody’s mouth opens in a wide O of shock, and her arms fly up to cover her now-exposed chest.

Her reaction time isn’t great, though, and we get a marvelous split second of fully exposed pert jugs gleaming with lotion before they get covered up by her crossed arms. She’s got Elm Street 3 dream nurse grade sweater puppies. I can imagine her asking, Do you like my body, Marc? Yes, yes I do — just don’t bite my tongue off for saying so!

She’s amazed, but not horrified. She looks around herself, still covering, and wonders how we pulled off the trick — pun intended. Gradually her shock melts into amusement and a faint, positive embarrassment and she starts laughing in good humor in spite of herself. (Her boyfriend looks decidedly less amused, but... I’m not going to pretend I care that much.)

Folks, this lady is not a ringer. I don’t even recall her name. A few weeks after Spring Break, Mimi will track her down and get her permission before we make her into the cover girl for one of our N-VHS releases. (The shot is her with the bikini just starting to stretch and the expression creeping on to her face, with the words “x4 Slomo Mode!” below it in red block font.) She’s apparently ecstatic to confirm to her friends that the wild party-girl brag story is true — we send her four complimentary copies, I believe. The extent of what I know about her is that she’s not shy about her body, loves attention, looks great in a cyan bandeau bikini a size too small and looks even better when unexpectedly deprived of said garment.

But, in spite of this ignorance, she is something of an icon for the Trips — not as much, perhaps, as the chocolate-coated Cathy pics, but definitely in the top ten. I wish I had footage of this moment last night. I would have pulled it up on a screen to explain our show to Jeri: you see? This is what I mean. This is what it looks like when we unexpectedly humiliate a woman, and she has the time of her life as a result, and gleefully draws energy and self-esteem from being the center of attention while also being radiantly embarrassed. Because when kink is involved, emotions and reactions don’t always go together the way conventional thinking says they do.

“Folks,” Livia tells the crowd cheekily, “why don’t you all give this gorgeous young lady a loud round of applause. If you really flatter her, she might just get caught up in the moment and wave her hands in the air!”

The crowd does indeed go wild for the tanned blonde hardbody. This makes her very happy, and makes her Aura go kind of nuts. She teases letting go of her breasts once or twice, like a stripper coaxing applause from a crowd before finally making everyone (including herself) very happy by throwing up her hands and flaunting her delightful chest cannons for all to see.

In the moment, my gaze is transfixed on her glistening natural orbs in free motion and her wonderfully textured brown nipples. When reviewing the footage we get, though, I do study her face more and read her. I like to imagine she was the third runner-up to Prom Queen at her high school prom, and on this day she feels what it’s like to seize hold of the real tiara and put it on her head. If I let my already oversexed imagination get a little less realistic, I can fill in more lurid details as well — like her annoyed boyfriend feeling the sudden moist warmth of her arousal on the back of his neck as his girlfriend waves her hands euphorically in the air and her ta-tas slosh back and forth in reciprocal time with her vigorous body movement. But, like I said, I’m just blatantly making that bit up. Still, it kinda adds to the whole scene, doesn’t it?

You’re probably wondering how we pulled this trick off, especially since there was no one and nothing near this first volunteer’s bikini top when it popped off. Well, the answer is fairly simple, but getting the technical details behind it right turned out to be really painstaking. The simple answer is that I first scanned the crowd looking for the hottest ladies that I read as being genuinely exhibitionistic and positive toward sexual attention. We had a ringer, one of the Gold Coast girls, who went around the crowd covertly hooking an odd little fixture to the ladies’ tops.

There’s a small plastic fishhook on one end, and a length of a very thin, strong and hard-to-see thread like invisible dental floss — it’s actually stuff you get from a Hollywood production store, that they use to hold up model spaceships in movies when they don’t want the audience to see the wires — and it has a specially shaped ferrous bulb on the end. Well, a similarly hard-to-see cable gets lowered down from the copter with a magnet disguised as a butterfly on the end. The magnet attaches to the ferrous bulb and a little metal clamp snaps shut around it. Then a spool in the helicopter pulls the line back in, and... pop! Open-air titty for the titty gods, and a blushing young coed giggling and covering her punctured modesty.

“So, ladies... who wants a free shot?”

Livia’s using her best, taunting “I dare you” voice, and I tell you it gives me shivers. In case there was any ambiguity at this point what this routine was about, a large banner unfurls on the stage behind Livia when Mimi flicks a switch, with big block letters: “Tequila Pops Tops”. It’s got the Black Leopard logos and branding, but we cut out the block letters and made the banner ourselves. So Black Leopard gets the marketing boost, but also has deniability if this publicity backfires — it’s not their official banner.

We expected a lot of volunteers, but after a minute when the ladies and boyfriends have been able to finish goading and daring their peers and girlfriends... I think we may actually have over half the female audience wanting to get in on a routine that we’ve made blatantly obvious will involve showing their goodies to the world. Damn, that’s a good feeling. It’s like there’s something in the air, a mood I can’t capture with words alone.

“Mimi,” I ask playfully, “can you give us some suitable music for this next bit?”

“I’ve got exactly the track you selected,” she chirps back and cues up the music. It’s actually the ending theme to the film Zapped Again! — for the uninitiated, it’s a Z-grade sex comedy with the central gimmick of women getting stripped via telekinesis. We’re actually being very on-the-nose with the subject matter here, but I couldn’t resist and the lyrics are just so appropriately naughty: “She’s got just what I want... she’s gonna get it... zapped again!”

While getting A-list famous and having outsize cultural impact (later in the narrative) is pretty awesome, there’s some things I’m still nostalgic for from these older shows when we are basically an underground op. Not having to give a fuck about usage rights for music is definitely on that list.

So the song loops and for the next ten minutes, our copter flies around and drops off free drinks for hot (and average-looking) party girls, and makes their tops fly off in return. Andy Sidaris, eat your heart out! Even the everyday girls, to my eyes, somehow miraculously become gorgeous when they are blushing, laughing and covering their chests. I guess that’s just the magic of fetishes at work. We actually only copter-strip about six girls, and of those two don’t go off so well — the mechanical process I described is finicky and doesn’t always work right.

Other girls rip their own tops off. We don’t give them shots, though — if too many do that, it will mess up the routine we have planned next. I almost feel like I’m getting drunk or high off the rhythm of tease, anticipation and top-popping we have going. It’s definitely pushing kink-buttons for both me and Livia. She brought a kitschy Japanese folding hand fan, and uses it to playfully “cool herself off” when she gets too worked up over the bare boobie cavalcade. Mimi, for her part, is not as overtly turned on, but is having fun with how silly the routine actually is even if it’s not directly her kink.

A severely-dressed woman in a grey business suit suddenly stalks on stage. It’s Lucy Langtry, but she’s hard to recognize, and she’s dragging a nerdy-looking Gloria Sun behind her. “Now, stop this nonsense immediately!”

Cue cliché record-scratching sound effect and silence.

“Who the hell are you two?” I ask.

“I am Lady Eleanor Kensington, representing the Association of Ethics in the Practice of Stage Magic. You are failing to represent the trade well. All of the women you stripped are obviously ringers, and I can’t believe these rubes are falling for it! Besides, it’s blatantly obvious no real woman would voluntarily get up on a stage and — and flaunt herself like that. This is disreputable! You lot are nothing but a basket of deplorables!”

Now, if you’ve ever seen a modern sex comedy or sports movie, than you know that there’s a magic way to make any level of weird sexual hijinks instantly permissible: you wrap it in a slobs-versus-snobs narrative. That’s exactly what we’re doing here, with an added dose of fetish appeal by Lucy and Gloria. Lucy is doing the sexy but repressed business lady look a huge amount of respect. It’s not quite the level of simultaneously obnoxious and sexy that Mimi hit in her bad cop performance in Melbourne, but it’s still respectable.

Lucy has her hair swept back into a tight bun, and her business suit is stern but also oddly tight, and there’s the figure of a Clubhouse Treat underneath it, and she has very sensual lipstick on. In short, she’s not doing the dowdy loser obstructive bureaucrat stereotype — she’s doing the sexy repressed professional lady from a Cinemax late-night thriller, the girl who’s super-formal but has just enough hints of wild sexual energy to make the audience desperately want to see her naked.

“It’s all in good fun,” Livia argues back.

The topless ladies are not ringers, and they give a very loud boo. Most of the crowd joins them. Our denuded dream nurse shakes her newly-liberated rack at Kensington defiantly. There’s some real heat there.

Lucy’s face twists in well-acted rage. She does do bitchy well, as she was showing off in her announcer role during out first show. “This is unholy obscenity!”

“You wanna know what this is, you prim little twit?” Then Livia turns back to the crowd, “All right, everyone, say it with me!”

The words are displayed by our projector to guide the crowd in their collective shout.

“This is Spring Break, motherfucker!”

“My word! The obscenity is uncalled-for!”

“Obscenity doesn’t need to be called for. Obscenity is awesome, and just shows up uninvited to the party, pigs out eating all the hors d’oeuvres, gives pretension a brutal wedgie and saunters out with its arms wrapped around the libidos of the hottest catches in the house. Obscenity is what happens when people are honest, and not afraid to get dirty...”

This is all scripted. Livia worked it out with Lucy and Gloria, even before our first show. Lucy and Livia stare at each other in acted anger for several seconds. It’s pretty hot, seeing these two regal and charismatic women on the edge of a catfight — and, if the audience didn’t get that subtext already, my dialogue in the script actually calls it out.

I step between the women. “All right, ladies. Let’s try and work this out in an amicable way. Miss Kensington, surely you must agree that, whatever your legal authority may be, we’ve got a pretty enthusiastic audience here and you don’t have any practical ability to shut down our show.”

Lucy looks flummoxed. “I... I may not have any practical ability, but I assure you, Mister Knight, that I can make a lot of trouble for you and your pathetic little vaudeville act in the future if you cross me. I will have you know I’m very skilled with red tape...”

Livia smirks at her and licks her lips. “I bet you’d look great naked and bound up with it, too...”

“My word, Ma’am — how dare you!”

“Calm down,” I interject, acting threatened. “So... we each have a strong hand and we’re at a bit of an impasse, but I think I know a way that we can resolve this dispute.”

Lucy frowns. “What do you have in mind?”

“Well, how many ringers do you think we have?”

“Can’t be more than twenty.”

I’m glad Lucy was smart enough to raise the scripted number from seven, since audience enthusiasm is well above our original estimates.

“And you don’t think respectable, ‘real’ women would drop their tops at Spring Break.”

“Of course not. Isn’t that obvious?”

“Well, no. Here’s what I think. I think that girls don’t always need to be paid to get naked, and it doesn’t mean they’re dirty, or have low self-esteem, or are gold-diggers or attention whores. It just means they know how to have fun. Smart girls can do it, classy girls can do it, plain girls can do it, models can do it... and yes, even the most respectable girls can do it.

“And there are lots of motives. It can be a thrill. It can snare them a boyfriend. It can let them show off something they’re proud of. It can help make them proud of what they’ve got. It can make them feel euphoric. It can just be to have a story to tell at parties. It can build confidence and train people to exceed their own limits. And sometimes, for a very special kind of girl, it can make them feel a very special kind of pleasure, one I doubt you’d approve of, that nothing else can duplicate.”

“It’s degrading! It’s horrific! It’s an offense against the collective dignity of women and the sanctity of the God who gave them their bodies! It’s immoral, lascivious and degenerate!”

“All the things really worth doing in life are lascivious,” Livia points out, “myself included.”

“I can’t help but find your values... antiquated,” I tell ‘Miss Kensington’, “but I doubt dialogue can convince you. So why don’t we settle this with a wager?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Well, you said we can’t possibly have more than twenty ringers — and I can let you inspect our expenses records, if you’d like, to confirm that. So I’m willing to bet that Livia can go up to that microphone, say some magic words and get thirty girls to come up on stage and drop tops within half an hour.”

“Impossible!”

“You seem very confident. Well, if we can’t, I’ll agree that our show will pack up and leave Fort Lauderdale immediately. But, if we can hit that number, you agree to leave our show alone and not cause any trouble for us.”

“Agr—”

“Wait, that’s not everything. You just insulted a bunch of our volunteers, and I want redress. If we get forty girls, you’re going to go up to that microphone and apologize, and admit that respectable girls can, in fact, show a little skin. And, if we can manage fifty girls, well, you’re going to give this whole stripping thing a try yourself. At seventy-five, you’re going to go all the way — no underwear, and some spread-leg action — and better still, you’re going to try to convince that cute assistant you brought to join in the fun. And... at a hundred girls, if we can pull this off, well, Spring Break is a time to experiment, and you’re going to give the audience a little exploratory girl-on-girl show with said assistant, assuming she’s willing.”

Now, this is all in the planned script (other than adjusting numbers upwards based on volunteer count) we worked out with Lucy and Gloria — until the bit about the girl-on-girl show, which was not only unplanned, but likely outside the normal boundaries of what these two do in other performances. It’s definitely a bit mean on my part, going off the agreed script like that — but I remember these two announcers calling out Molly on Monday, and I feel a little sexy payback is in order. When Livia hears the girl-on-girl bit I dropped in, I see her gasp slightly and cover her mouth — likely to conceal a wicked, lecherous grin.

Lucy looks shocked for a second — and then indecisive. She no doubt wants the income from doing her own planned routine, which she might not get if she storms off stage, regardless of my gambit turning up the heat. Lucy’s confident, and apparently able to make snap decisions when cornered. She shoots back with her scripted line, “You’re on, lunkhead! Why should I worry? There’s no way you’ll even make thirty!”

Lucy and I shake on it.

Livia goes up to the microphone. “Hey, ladies! Alakazam! Toppus Poppus Alioppus!”

That was just the lead-in joke — the actual pull is still to come. But a surprising number of ladies start stripping off right away in the audience.

“Hey,” I shout, “get on stage first, and make a show of it! If you’re gonna strip, you might as well do it right!”

Livia continues quickly. “So, in that little argument, who do you think was right? Marcelo or this Kensington twerp? Well, if you wanna send a message to her, you’re gonna have to vote with your bodies! Support us, get up here and get your jubblies out!”

We get a veritable wave of enthusiastic Spring Break hotties on stage, quickly shedding their tops. Forget half an hour, we clear thirty in under two minutes, and forty in the next minute. And more keep trickling up. Lucy Langtry bites her lip nervously, doing a very sexy “slowly collapsing confidence” act — every bit the puritan damsel in distress slowly realizing her body’s going to have to cash the cheque her mouth just wrote. She really is a scrumptious little submissive fantasy here. There’s no question in my mind that Gloria and Lucy are going to end up doing some “experimenting” — or at least some very chaste, unrealistic simsex, if they chicken out. And honestly, I won’t blame them for that — I just wanted to rattle them a bit.

As girls are filtering on stage one specific, pretty hot thing happens that will be quite significant to my story much further down the road. There’s a wild-eyed girl in the front row — a college girl, not a model — who’s shouting my name desperately. I’ll learn later her name is Emily, so let’s use that from the beginning. “Marcelo! Marc! Marc!”

I walk over to her and she reaches a hand out on stage. Her Aura is absolutely blazing. It’s not quite like Cathy or Jeri — there’s more raw intensity and energy, but less self-inhibition or restraint. She’s a bit scary, honestly, in her focus. As soon as I get close enough, she reaches out a hand and grasps my thigh really tightly, holding me there. “Marcelo, I’ll get on stage for your show! But... but I want something from you in return! I don’t want to take my top off. I want you to rip it off me personally! Would you do that for me?”

Now, this young lady just articulated a mildly kinky fantasy, shouting it out in a crowd. I do not get that she’s a veteran kinkster. I get that she has been dreaming about this, and really wants it to happen. I admire the courage that must have taken, and I don’t want to strand her in a pool of shame after what she blurted out. It actually makes a lot of sense, too — two days ago, after all, I did ‘ravish’ Livia on stage. It’s not surprising that we’d get intense fans whose fantasies lean into rough sex or forced exposure. It’s the logical outcome of what we just did, even if I hadn’t thought of it that way until just now.

Well, I’m going to have some fun with this. I lean down, reach under her arms and lift Emily up on stage next to me. “Nice to meet you, lovely lady. What’s your name?”

“Emily A—”

I quickly cut her off before she can make the stupid newbie mistake of shouting out her full legal name in a public situation involving her kinks. The lady must be really excited. “Nice to meet you!”

Emily’s a skinny, short-haired brunette with really pale skin, sharp green eyes and a pert, upturned nose. She’s more naturally slender than fit and toned — she’s got almost no muscle, and I suspect she spends more time in libraries than gyms. She’s desperate right now, but her face is more suited to being serious or aloof, or even playful. She’s wearing a red and white striped bikini, a relatively modest style, and has some nice, very jiggly C-cups. A bit of acne doesn’t spoil her natural beauty, and gives her a girl-next-door look. Her bikini is so pristine, I doubt she’s worn it much — and I theorize that she might have shed a less revealing top and shorts before this impulsive stunt.

I swing her around to face the audience and wrap an arm around her waist, trapping her. I can feel her heart pounding. This is me testing the waters — I’m seeing how she responds to slightly rough, possessive body language, and, well, “positively” really isn’t a strong enough word to cover it. I’m going to play with her a bit. Sure, it’s fun for me, but it’s also what I sense she’ll enjoy the most. It seems I guessed right in thinking she was inspired by Monday and has some... let’s just say rougher fantasies.

I hook my finger around her bikini top strap and hold the microphone next to our faces so the audience can hear this. “Emily, are you really, absolutely sure you want to have a man tear off your bikini here, in front of close to a thousand other men?”

She doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, and then manages a soft, breathy, “Oh, god, yeah.”

I don’t do it right away, though. This kind of situation definitely merits some teasing. Every time I tug her bikini strap from the back, her cleavage buckles a bit — building up the audience’s anticipation and getting more and more eyes focused on Emily.

“You’ve got a really great body,” I say, still playing with the bikini top strap. “It feels fantastic, pressed against mine like that.”

“Oh my god.”

“Can you tell that I’m enjoying this?”

I do have a bit of an erection, and I let her feel it on her ass cheek. “Mmm,” she say appreciatively.

“Are you sure you want to be... exposed, Emily? It might make you feel embarrassed. It might make you feel other things, too.”

I lean in to whisper lewdly in her ear. “It might make you wet.”

“Please,” she stutters. “I’m ready. I’ve always been ready.”

Now, I have a fairly good sense for when women will be turned on by a sudden asshole move. I usually know them better than Emily — but, like I said, I’ve been more brazen recently. So I’ve decided to trick her a bit. I’ve been teasing the bikini top all along. I give the back strap of the top another playful tug... but I’m feeling really naughty, and I’ve known that playing with the top was just misdirection for a while now. Very quickly, like a striking serpent, I let go of the top, slide my hand down, untie her bikini bottoms and pull them off none too gently.

“Yikes!” she howls in shock, kicking her legs and waving her arms. I have a hand around her waist, though, and I hold her up. Being short and thin, she’s really light. I have to imagine the audience gets a rather nice (and fairly intimate) view of Emily there. She gets her balance back and I let her go. She swings around to face me. She’s shocked and indignant, but still really aroused. I let the stolen bottoms dangle from my hand insouciantly.

“I meant the top!”

“Oh,” I say. “My mistake.”

Then I grab her bikini top and rip it off forcefully. She gives a high-pitched little yelp, and her exposed pale breasts jiggle delightfully.

“Is that better?” I ask in mock innocence.

“Your insolent rakishness knows no limits,” she says with very little real condemnation, but a fair bit of awkwardness. Yeah, she’s definitely a romance reader.

The crowd cheers me on gleefully — yes, even the girls. I grab Emily forcefully and pull her to me. I love her naked body being pressed against me. I’m actually aroused now. Emily, conversely, is really aroused now. She’s humping me, and I can feel how wet her pussy is on my leg.

“You know,” I say in a playfully scolding tone, “I think you’re taking an inordinate amount of enjoyment out of this. It’s really inappropriate. In fact, if you continue... I might have to spank you.”

Her eyes go very, very wide. “Oh my god.”

I hold her. I do wait several seconds for her to say or do anything that indicates she’s scared, or uncomfortable, or otherwise wants to bail. She eventually figures out the right signal to give — she starts grinding against me in a more overtly obscene way. The crowd hoots raucously, goading her on.

“Have it your way.” I kneel down, pull Emily down by her hair and put her over my knee. Her ass is round and plump. I give in a solid smack and her ass cheeks jiggle like jello. I give her a solid spanking — not as hard as I did to Livia, but more than enough for a beginner to rough sex. I was expecting a soft gasp of arousal, but she surprises me — and probably publicly humiliates herself a bit more than she would have liked, not that she intended that — with a deep, very loud and very pornographic moan. Well, she’s clearly enjoying herself, and I can feel the orgasm rippling through her body. When it peaks, I give her a second solid smack to finish her off on a high note. I don’t know her well at this point, but I’m thinking she’s had a really nice time just now.

I can see I’ve created a problem, though. There are now several other women in the topless mass who have picked up their bikini tops and are in the process of putting them back on and moving toward me with either slyly mischievous or mock-innocent expressions. Apparently there are a whole bunch of other girls who want what Emily just had.

This is actually a problem — tonally and thematically, we can’t turn the first Decan into the “Marcelo spanks girls to orgasm” show — however much fun that might be. I let this go a little — no, a lot — too far. The spanking in particular contradicts the wonderful “respectable girls should feel comfortable getting topless” monologue I just gave. I seek out Livia’s gaze, wondering if she’s going to be furious. No, thankfully — she is staring at us, but she’s busy intensely perving out on Emily and that will probably at least mitigate the scolding later.

I pick up the mike. “Sorry, ladies, I don’t have time for any more dance partners. We might have got a bit carried away here. Maybe I can give some of you a raincheck.”

Disappointed faces, but at least the bikinis come back off and they don’t look angry at Emily.

This next bit is actually scripted, but my thing with Emily makes it stronger, and Livia definitely maximized the timing (though I kind of wish she left it out) — the only change is that the scripted version starts with ‘you know’, instead of ‘as you can see’, and of course the spanking bit.

“As you can see,” Livia says about fifteen minutes in, when there are around eighty women on stage. “I’ve often suspected Marcelo Ambrose Knight has a bit of a thing for showoffs — and apparently spankings. I bet some girls on stage might end up with his personal number.”

We were going to clear a hundred anyway, easy. With this statement, the real challenge is preventing a stampede, getting the girls up in an orderly fashion and stopping the remainder when we start getting to a level where there’s a safety concern. Summers has run lots and lots of topless contests in the past, but I suspect we just set a new record for the maximum number of topless ladies on stage at once. Once we get them all on stage dancing, we of course need to riff on it a bit.

Livia gets the big bouncy beach ball rolling — pun intended. “Tits hard to believe how many girls we roped into this.”

I nod. “They’re definitely giving it their breast shot!”

“So many different sizes and shapes on our stage — I do appreciate the varietitty.”

“Our audience is definitely going home tonight with some fond mammaries. This is pretty hot stuff!”

“Really? I’d say it’s bit chill out — you might even say nippish!”

“The girls are generating their own body heat to keep abreast of the situation.”

“I support that pun, and my bra does too!”

“It’s nice to see the girls express themselves — you can really tell they had things they wanted to get off their chests.”

“They’re all in such good cheer, too — one might even say they’re perky.”

“I’m hoping they sometimes get a bit spunky, too!”

“Once you’ve seem some truly fantastic nipples, life just seems so pointless without them.”

“Some of these girls are getting awfully competitive with each other — I hope we don’t end up with a catfight on stage. It makes sense, I guess, when you fill the stage with so many big ol’ kitties!”

“A few ladies do seem a bit sloshed — I hope none of the stumblers end up cup-sizing, or this could all go tits-up!”

“They’re not tired, they’re just hanging out.”

“It’s funny — I feel so uplifted when I watch women take their bras off, but I also feel uplifted when I put my own back on.”

“Some of these ladies are really athletic, though, dancing and working up a sweat. Or is that just the Florida humidititty?”

“No, they’re really working it. I’m sure we can agree — these babes are definitely the breast in class!”

“You know, I talked one of these cuties into giving me what I thought was her number — she wrote it on my arm! At first I thought it was 5318008, but then I realized I was reading it upside down!”

“Did you know, one of my old flames had twelve nipples? Seems incredible, dozen tit?”

“We need to stop. These awful puns make us both seem like incredible boobs.”

“Tits true, tits true.”

Many of the girls start giggling uncontrollably at some point during our pun-storm, and that just makes them so much sexier — both for the atmosphere and the inevitable jiggling. Laughter is, and always will be, close kin to eros.

There are... logistical problems here. Some clothes get lost. We give out bathrobes, and run out. Some girls end up leaving the stage in other girls’ clothing out of necessity. We do not actually give up my personal number — I have professional arrangements to make with my voicemail, and eighty fangirls would mess that up badly — but we give them the Trips business card, and we do collect names. The first Decan ends almost forty-five minutes later than we had planned for it to.

Still, it’s pretty fab for what we originally envisaged as a light tease show.

We don’t actually get to see Lucy and Gloria’s strip routines live — it’s the intermission between the first and second Decans, and we are having a rapid talk about Jeri. But we do get them on video, and that video does get played at least once while Livia and I are intimate in her pickup crib — so I figure my readership might value a description of what actually goes down there.

Lucy is committed to her character. I suspect she also enjoys the comeuppance aspect of this on a more personal level — she is a Treat and sometimes a feature dancer; taking her clothes off is part of her career, so she’d obviously be rooting for someone like ‘Miss Kensington’ to get humiliated. She seizes the microphone through clenched teeth.

“Okay,” she growls. “I... acknowledge... that respectable women can sometimes have reasons to take their clothes off in public, and I... apologize to any of the young performers I may have insulted. Now, if I’m going to actually try this, this... thing for the first time — er, stripping, I mean stripping, not the... other thing... I’m going to need a bit of liquid courage. I don’t suppose there’s a complementary bottle of that tequila around?”

Someone hands her a Black Leopard. She wrenches the cork off angrily, puts the bottle to her lips and takes a few deep chugs. That’s a strong dose of medicine, there, little lady. Actually, it fits my mental image of Lucy Langtry that she’s a bit of a hard drinker. It’s pretty sexy just to watch the perfectly restrained and proper ‘Lady Kensington’ chug like a power rocker while still in her prim hair and makeup. It also makes me more anticipatory about what’s coming in the duo number.

The Summers DJ gives her Bon Jovi’s You Give Love A Bad Name. Nice choice — it’s topically appropriate, and it’s a great song for a supposedly repressed, proper girl to cut loose to. And Lucy starts out really strong. She moves shyly at first, but very quickly starts to gyrate to the hard-beat song. It’s pretty hot, watching the stern lady in formal wear bust out wicked dance moves to a bump-and-grind song even before she starts taking things off — Lucy understands the sex appeal of a repressed girl cutting loose, being ravished and possessed by rowdy music, and she knows how to evoke that with her body language.

She reaches up and sensually takes off her glasses, tucking them in a shirt pocket. She licks her lips playfully. She kneels low and spreads her legs slightly, and her short, tight grey skirt runs up a bit. Then, of course, she does the iconic bit — reaching up to let down her hair, giving the audience (and our cameras) her best sultry stare as she does so. Once the bun is undone, she runs her fingers through her hair and flings it from side to side wildly.

Her raven-black hair isn’t as high-volume fluffy as either Livia’s or Mimi’s, but once she’s done it’s a wild unkempt mane around her face. That disheveled look, combined with the business formal attire, is electric. Unkempt hair is sexy, of course, because it’s Hollywood’s favorite subtle signifier that a woman just had some really raunchy offscreen bedroom fun-time. Formal attire, conversely, sends the signal that a women is professional and proper — hard to gain, if not unattainable. Put them together, and, well...

We’re two minutes into a seven minute strip routine, the girl hasn’t taken anything significant off and I’m already transfixed. The audience might not be quite as hooked — the Spring Break crowd is not really as sophisticated or psychological in their sexuality as I am — but this is one striptease that will stand the test of time and outlive its original venue. I should note that Lucy and Gloria aren’t just doing work-for-hire here — we have shared distribution rights with them for the first Decan of the show, and once we hit the bigtime the duo makes a fair bit of money off that.

When the clothes start falling, though, they go fast. First the suit jacket, which gets twirled over her head and tossed into the crowd. It’s a treat to watch a sexy, prim girl “rock out” instead of doing a demure strip, even though the latter would have been more realistic. And then she struts a bit, taking off her tie and letting the audience appreciate how tight and thin her white blouse is while it’s still on. Lucy is doing... things with her lips as she strips that really enhance the show, whether it’s just pursing them, licking them or rubbing them together. Finally, she grabs the shirt and rips it open, Superman-style. Buttons fly about, and well... I think character has been left behind, because Lady Eleanor Kensington sure wouldn’t be wearing that lingerie under her business wear.

Lucy is sweating a bit — wearing a business suit in Florida in the afternoon and grind-dancing Bon Jovi will do that to a girl — and the look favors her. She reaches down to the rim of her skirt, seizes a zipper on the side and pulls it up slowly, effectively slitting the skirt along her left leg. It’s a tight skirt, and slits widely. The zipper reaches the waistband. Lucy looks up at the audience with a “dare me” look, and they cheer wildly. Lucy gives the zipper a final tug and the rubber waistband makes the skirt pop off and fall to the ground.

I was expecting some kind of panties, but that just makes the shock beaver shot all the more erotic. She has no bush to hide it behind, either — just a neatly trimmed landing strip. It looks wonderful surrounded by the straps from her crotchless black bustier holding up her sheer stockings. She struts the stage a bit proudly, with her hands on her hips. Finally, Bon Jovi is winding down — I guess the bustier, stockings and heels are going to stay on a while. I approve.

Just as the song is ending, though, she walks back over to where her skirt landed, right in from of a fat but cheerful looking party dude in a Hawaiian shirt. She kneels down to pick up the skirt — and spreads her legs wide as she does so, giving the plump celebrant a direct view into Heaven from less than a yard away. She meets his gaze when he can bear to stop staring, and winks at him playfully. God damn! He’s blushing furiously, but also has a huge grin plastered over his face.

After a few seconds of silence, the DJ cues up Rod Stewart’s Do Ya Think I’m Sexy — it’s apparently Gloria’s turn now, and it’s a great choice for her “shy nerdy assistant” persona. Lucy doesn’t leave the stage, though — she beckons and coaxes Gloria out with her. Gloria is dressed in a drab maroon blouse and a longer, loose black skirt. Lucy seizes her clipboard and tosses it into the audience contemptuously. (Livia actually prepared the clipboard as a prop. If anyone bothers to look at it, they will find the to-do list of the assistant character, who we named Miss Walters. It’s hilariously bizarre and over-the-top, including hiring strip-o-grams, covering up embezzlement, trysts with political figures, a lesbian seduction, a Mafia hit and plans to smuggle a dinosaur skeleton out of New Mexico for sale on the paleontological black market. We love our easter eggs!)

Gloria nibbles the end of her pencil nervously as Lucy unbuttons her blouse. This is apparently going to be a bit of a subtextually domme/sub routine, with Lucy taking the clothes off her flummoxed assistant. When the blouse falls, we see a white bra covering Gloria’s pert little B-cups. The most common Clubhouse cup size is the D-cup, but I’m really, really glad Gloria didn’t cave to peer pressure and get hers done. She’s got a slender, soft and genuinely beautiful line to her body, and bigger tits wouldn’t sit well on that.

I find her navel oddly fascinating, and I’m not sure why. I’m not the only one — she has a piercing with some kind of deep blue jewel in it. Next the skirt — Lucy unfastens it, but Gloria has to get it down. So, in the original routine, Gloria would have been taking off her own clothes. This... makes me strangely happy and excited, wondering (the first time I see the video, anyway) how far this is going to go based on my spontaneous script change.

Gloria is now in dress shoes, a plain white bra and thin grey silk panties. Vietnamese girls don’t show a blush as well as white girls just due to skin tone, but Gloria still gets that vibe across with her facial expression and body language. Lucy isn’t going on to her underwear right away, instead running her hands over her scantily-clad subordinate’s body in a manner both sensual and almost worshipful.

She leans over to whisper something in Gloria’s ear — it’s not on mike, so I have no idea what — but Gloria gets a lot more bashful and whispers something back. There’s a bit more stroking, and finally Gloria whispers something short to Lucy — I’m guessing an assent of some kind. A few seconds later, Gloria yelps, jumps and steps a few feet forward. The cameras don’t catch the actual act, but it’s obvious Lucy just gave her a firm goosing.

Lucy just walks back up to her, and goes back to the stroking. Eventually, she unhooks the bra in the back... but just leaves it hanging there on Gloria’s chest. Her hands move down to the panties, and fingers run around inside the elastic waistband. Lucy nudges the panties down an inch and a half, slanted more on the right than the left, so just a faint tuft of Gloria’s pubic hair teases out over the rim. Gloria bites her lip with a pensive but aroused expression. I love the pose Lucy leaves her in here as she goes back to stroking her body — looking both nervous and expectant, biting a pencil, with both pieces of underwear caught halfway-on, halfway-off. It could be the box cover for a fantastic sexy comedy.

Then things get racier — Lucy slides her right hand around under Gloria’s bra to give her left breast a firm and frankly pretty rough squeezing, while her left hand snakes its way down inside those lovely grey panties. The tit-squeeze is obviously quite real, but I have no idea what’s actually happening inside Gloria’s panties. It may be a very chaste and professional show-move, or there may be some unexpected clitoral stimulation. It’s even possible that a finger might be getting hidden some place rather moist, warm and naughty. Gloria is certainly selling the visual of a shy girl reacting to a new kind of pleasure quite realistically. The lesbian foreplay only goes on for twelve seconds — yes, I count — but it’s really popular with the crowd, getting a huge cheer.

Let’s stop and talk about Lucy and Gloria for a second. We actually don’t know anything about their sexuality or private lives at this point, and won’t until a good ways in the future — nor will we ever get exact answers about this strip routine. In their announcer personas, Lucy makes a ton of ribald comments about other women, while Gloria plays the classy straight-man in their duo. I suspect Lucy is at least curious if not fully bisexual or lesbian, given the amount of energy she can muster up to make pervy jokes about cute girls’ bodies. Gloria... is certainly not lesbian, given that the only time I’ve heard her break persona to date was to gaspingly perv on me. Straight or bi? I have no idea.

You’ve probably figured out by now that the Lucy/Gloria bit is not going to end with a chaste simsex sequence and reserved bows as the girls leave the stage. You’ve probably also guessed why the video will be a real favorite of Livia’s, given her fantasies of ‘turning’ straight girls, and why it will help her and I have a few very... vigorously entertaining evenings together (and her and Mimi too, I would assume).

So... did I participate in the ‘turning’ of a straight girl, or help a bi girl learn something about herself? Honestly, who the hell even knows. I just wanted to poke Gloria a bit for Molly’s sake. Maybe they were both bi all along, or maybe girls’ sexuality is just more naturally malleable than boys’. Scientists claim to have found neurological differences between gay and straight men, after all — supposedly the gay dudes have a larger suprachiasmatic nucleus, while the interstitial nucleus of their anterior hypothalamus is smaller. I remember Livia giddily telling me there’s no parallel ‘magic bullet’ neurological explanation for lesbians yet — though they are, amusingly, way more likely to be left-handed than straight chicks are.

I want to say, though — I didn’t corner Lucy and Gloria into having sex. They’re both strippers. They know how a girl/girl simsex show works, whether or not they’ve ever done one personally. Heck, what we have on video might even be an unusually realistic and raw simsex show — it’s not like we get a camera zoom shot of tongue on labia, after all. But I can read Auras, and I doubt what went down was limited to simsex.

After the foreplay, Lucy slides both hands up and shows the audience Gloria’s lovely B-cups. Gloria shakes them awkwardly, blushing, and they jiggle fantastically. The perky nipples point straight up. Lucy bends down and bites Gloria’s panty-band, pulling the panties gradually down with her teeth and revealing a trim but curly and lustrous black bush. Gloria gasps slightly. As the song winds down, Gloria kneels down to pick up her clothes — but doesn’t flaunt the way Lucy did. Then Gloria reaches around and unzips Lucy’s bustier, also taking it by her teeth under Lucy’s guidance. She’s a lot more awkward at this than Lucy is, which fits the routine — Lucy is confident and brazen, while Gloria is shy, overwhelmed and a bit bumbling.

Both girls walk about the stage holding hands, dropping off the clothes backstage. Gloria jiggles delightfully as she walks. Lucy’s D-cups are firm — clearly artificial, but well done and wonderfully shaped. Her nipples still seem responsive, too, which is something not all girls with implants can claim.

The song winds down. The third song is apparently Shania Twain’s I’m Gonna Getcha Good, which is... well, I’m going to congratulate the DJ later on noticing my script change and deciding to run with it.

Lucy and Gloria start out in well-trodden stripper simsex territory. They hold each other around the waist and air grind — but the eye contact and fuck-me stares go on for a good thirty seconds. Both girls know their way around a sexy stare. Even Gloria, the coded sub, is being really hungry and demanding with her eyes. They do keep it at an air grind, though.

Then Lucy circles around behind Gloria, puts a hand on her back and bends her over doggie-style. She seizes both of Gloria’s hands in her own, and uses them to pull her close to her and away again roughly. This would be a real sex position if Lucy were a man, and it’s pretty damn hot to watch. It’s not sex, obviously, but there’s flesh slapping against flesh. Gloria has some very convincing aroused expressions on her face, and her tiny real tits look amazing hanging down and bouncing around. This goes on longer than it needs to or usually does in a strip show, a good thirty seconds at least. It gets a lot racier, though, when you remember the continuity: I have no doubt Lucy recalls Gloria’s comments on Monday about me and Livia — how even if what we were doing was simulated, the impacts would still be... stimulating. And I bet they are for Gloria and Lucy, when they try it out for real.

Lucy lets go of Gloria and walks backstage. Gloria is stunned and — to my reading, at least — pretty disappointed, and it takes her two seconds to start dancing for the audience. Her solo dancing is sensual, but way more suited to a slow, sultry song than Shania Twain. Fortunately, she’s not stranded long — Lucy comes back, wheeling out a black leather body stool about half a yard high, three quarters wide and a yard and a half long, with no arm rests or backing. Yeah, it’s one of those — you know what they’re for. She beckons for Gloria to lie on it, on her back. Gloria does so, looking both nervous and aroused. Her neck dangles off the edge, so she can look out on the crowd upside-down. Gloria then wheels the stool out right to the front of the stage, and the crowd goes wild. The DJ wisely puts the song on repeat.

Lucy spreads Gloria’s legs, perhaps a bit predatorily. We do get a very brief but glorious camera-view between them. Ever the showoff, she then licks her glossy lips in a lurid manner that acts as an unmistakable visual cue to the audience as to what she’s going to do next. Gloria then lies down prone, propping her upper body up on her hands as one might do when doing push-ups.

And, before you can say lickety-slit (pun, as always, intended) Lucy’s head is buried firmly between Gloria’s legs for some dinner at the Y. Now, I’ve described how wild and unkempt Lucy’s hair is once she shook it out. Well, that makes it a pretty effective shield against the cameras seeing anything that’s happening between Gloria’s legs. Lucy, on the other hand, is laying with her legs brazenly spread and anyone that wants can get a good look between them — but that’s not where the focus of the scene is right now at all.

Hair aside, we can see Gloria’s body language and facial expressions just fine, and they are pretty damn evocative. There’s gasping and grunting, and a complete failure to remember anything about making eye contact with the audience or using the rehearsed, stock stripper facial tics to work the crowd. (That’s fine, though; they’re pretty well worked anyway.)

The cunnilingus goes on for a minute and a half — pretty short by the standards of actual sex, but a veritable aeon to be in one position in the timing of a striptease routine. Gloria’s hands initially tease her nipples in a typical stripper way, but after the thirty second mark they’re pinching and pulling, then viciously flicking them with rapid spread fingers the way women do when they really want some stimulation in that area.

By the minute mark, Gloria’s whole body is glistening with sweat and she’s moaning softly. Near the end, Gloria’s hands grab the sides of the leather stand she’s resting on and she really digs in, using the leverage to arc her back and aggressively grind her pussy into Lucy’s face. “Oh! Oh! Aaa... aough! God, Yes! Yes! Finish me!”

Lucy apparently does, since a second or two later Gloria collapses back to the leather surface in exhaustion. Lucy gets up and struts around the stage in a cocky, proud, “oh yes I did” pose. Her lipstick is smeared all over the place, there’s a realistic level of gleaming wetness all around her jawline and there are a few tiny black curly hairs plastered to her face that don’t look like facial hairs. Now, there are ways to fake all that... but I’ve never seen strippers do that, and these two didn’t know they were doing a girl-on-girl show until I decided to drop it on them.

Lucy swings the stool with Gloria on it around a hundred and eighty degrees, so she’s now facing away from the audience. She pulls Gloria a bit more forward, so her head and shoulders both hang over the edge (and are thus outside the audience’s view). Then Lucy walks behind the stool, drops to her knees and gradually spreads her legs so her pussy would logically be right in Gloria’s face.

The latter apparently looks up and starts eating her. We can’t see much of this, and unlike the reverse it only goes on about thirty seconds. I doubt Lucy actually gets off, or if she does she conceals it well. She is having a wonderful time, though, making eye contact with the audience as her partner eats her and using this kind of brazen, macho, peacocking body language to say, “yeah, motherfuckers, I’m really doing this; I’m banging this amazing shy babe in front of all of you, ’cause I’m just that fucking awesome” — all without any real words at all.

There are a few memorably sexy bits in this part. First of all, the image of a proud, dominant women naked save for stockings and garter belt, with almost no pubes, and another, subby woman going between her legs... that just works for me, a lot, for reasons I can’t really articulate. The second really hot bit comes about halfway through and triggers the third. Lucy reaches behind herself, though her own legs, and grab a handful of Gloria’s dangling hair, pulling it upward and using it to grind Gloria’s face into her pussy.

At this point, Gloria gets very intent on eating pussy, I think, and repositions herself without thinking. Her legs are straight, but she spreads them and lets them fall to the sides of the rolling leather couch, straddling it. I think she loses track of where she is and just makes herself more comfortable, stretching her muscles — but in so doing, she also gives our cameras and the audience alike a shameless spread-eagle shot of her magnificent pussy. And I can’t even call it a flash, either a shy one or a proud one, because it just goes on and on; she’s absorbed in her new lover’s intimate area and stays in that position for the rest of the show!

The song finally winds down. I wish it could go on for just another thirty seconds so Lucy could get off, but that’s life. Lucy stands up and offers Gloria a hand up. Gloria reaches out, looks around, realizes the position her body is in and jolts, using her hands to cover her pussy as she gets her legs back into a respectable position. Lucy picks up the microphone. “Don’t be so embarrassed,” Lucy says. “I think we’ve quite adequately proven today that respectable girls are allowed to flaunt it after all.”

God, I love her naughty quips.