women such as Clarissa and Alouette was not research. It was testing. Testing and connections. Not to mention advertising. I’ve found it very useful to know the president and the queen of England on such an intimate level. And the prestige of knowing them has lured many more test subjects into my grasp.”
“Subjects like me?” Penny asked, at once honored and revolted by the idea.
Maxwell looked at her kindly. He was sitting cross-legged on the bed, the laptop open in front of him. “No, my good girl. You were my victory lap.”
He’d pioneered the most extraordinary collection of erotic tools in the history of the world. He knew they worked. In fact, some worked too well. The pleasure they generated might kill an average Jane Doe. This final round of trials was intended to blunt the power of the most dangerous toys. Now the Beautiful You collection could enter the world without fear of lawsuits.
“Before you feel yourself ill-used,” he continued, “please remember that you’ve gotten great enjoyment from our time together. You’ve been feted by the world press. And your wardrobe has grown to become quite impressive.”
Penny couldn’t deny any of his statements, but she could understand why a woman like Alouette would file for fifty million dollars in compensation for emotional distress.
“If it helps your pride, my girl,” Maxwell said, “you should know that you’ve saved innocent lives.” He pecked away at a few keys, bringing up a new selection of adverts. “However,” he added, “I do use the term ‘innocent’ loosely.”
Within hours of each marathon session of erotic bliss, Penny felt her muscles tighten and flare with soreness. It felt as if she’d climbed to the peak of Mount Everest or swum the English Channel. Some episodes, the more extreme, left her feeling as if she’d rebounded from polio. More sex was out of the question until she’d recuperated; Maxwell knew that. He didn’t push. Some of the positions they achieved required her legs to be as limber as a circus contortionist’s. A pulled muscle or ruptured tendon would delay further testing for weeks.
A battalion of physical therapists streamed through thepenthouse. To aid in her rapid recovery, masseurs stroked her for hours with scented oils, working their muscular, intuitive hands deep into her. Acupuncture specialists performed miracles by pricking her with their thin needles. Only when she was fully revitalized did Maxwell approach her with the next piece of equipment or aphrodisiac. He inflicted his sweet, consensual torture and left her gasping and aching, and once again the recovery team would nurse Penny back to health in time for another round of crippling pleasure.
“I do not want fatigue to dim your senses,” Max told her. As a burly Turkish brute fingered the inside of her aching thighs, Max stood by fully dressed in a twelve-thousand-dollar bespoke suit and examined her nude body for bruises. “It is of the utmost importance that you be fully rested and responsive when we engage in our experiments.”
He stepped closer to the massage table, where she lay faceup, glistening with oil. Her labia were ruddy and distended from the sensual abuse they’d taken the previous night. Bowing low over her body, he placed his lips against her inflamed clitoris.
Penny winced.
“The lactic acid must dissipate. You are still too tender,” Max declared. “We will postpone further trials for two days.”
Over the past few weeks, Penny had lost track of how many Beautiful You products he’d tested on her body. A few had proved mediocre, lackluster, unremarkable. But most had left her drained and limp with satisfaction. Fearful for her own safety, she’d even asked Max to dial back the effects of some. She was young, a fit, healthy girl just out of law school. On an older woman or someone with a preexisting health condition, those most effective products could prove fatal.
On the evenings when recent erotic play
“Subjects like me?” Penny asked, at once honored and revolted by the idea.
Maxwell looked at her kindly. He was sitting cross-legged on the bed, the laptop open in front of him. “No, my good girl. You were my victory lap.”
He’d pioneered the most extraordinary collection of erotic tools in the history of the world. He knew they worked. In fact, some worked too well. The pleasure they generated might kill an average Jane Doe. This final round of trials was intended to blunt the power of the most dangerous toys. Now the Beautiful You collection could enter the world without fear of lawsuits.
“Before you feel yourself ill-used,” he continued, “please remember that you’ve gotten great enjoyment from our time together. You’ve been feted by the world press. And your wardrobe has grown to become quite impressive.”
Penny couldn’t deny any of his statements, but she could understand why a woman like Alouette would file for fifty million dollars in compensation for emotional distress.
“If it helps your pride, my girl,” Maxwell said, “you should know that you’ve saved innocent lives.” He pecked away at a few keys, bringing up a new selection of adverts. “However,” he added, “I do use the term ‘innocent’ loosely.”
Within hours of each marathon session of erotic bliss, Penny felt her muscles tighten and flare with soreness. It felt as if she’d climbed to the peak of Mount Everest or swum the English Channel. Some episodes, the more extreme, left her feeling as if she’d rebounded from polio. More sex was out of the question until she’d recuperated; Maxwell knew that. He didn’t push. Some of the positions they achieved required her legs to be as limber as a circus contortionist’s. A pulled muscle or ruptured tendon would delay further testing for weeks.
A battalion of physical therapists streamed through thepenthouse. To aid in her rapid recovery, masseurs stroked her for hours with scented oils, working their muscular, intuitive hands deep into her. Acupuncture specialists performed miracles by pricking her with their thin needles. Only when she was fully revitalized did Maxwell approach her with the next piece of equipment or aphrodisiac. He inflicted his sweet, consensual torture and left her gasping and aching, and once again the recovery team would nurse Penny back to health in time for another round of crippling pleasure.
“I do not want fatigue to dim your senses,” Max told her. As a burly Turkish brute fingered the inside of her aching thighs, Max stood by fully dressed in a twelve-thousand-dollar bespoke suit and examined her nude body for bruises. “It is of the utmost importance that you be fully rested and responsive when we engage in our experiments.”
He stepped closer to the massage table, where she lay faceup, glistening with oil. Her labia were ruddy and distended from the sensual abuse they’d taken the previous night. Bowing low over her body, he placed his lips against her inflamed clitoris.
Penny winced.
“The lactic acid must dissipate. You are still too tender,” Max declared. “We will postpone further trials for two days.”
Over the past few weeks, Penny had lost track of how many Beautiful You products he’d tested on her body. A few had proved mediocre, lackluster, unremarkable. But most had left her drained and limp with satisfaction. Fearful for her own safety, she’d even asked Max to dial back the effects of some. She was young, a fit, healthy girl just out of law school. On an older woman or someone with a preexisting health condition, those most effective products could prove fatal.
On the evenings when recent erotic play
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