by Mercy Loomis
Copyright 2013 by Mercy Loomis
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This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead (or undead), is entirely coincidental.
“This is your new sex machine?” Talia asked doubtfully, eying the contraption Arik was wheeling into the backstage area. “It looks like an aquarium full of junk on top of an airline food service cart.”
“Oh, ye of little faith.” Arik barely glanced at her as he locked the thing’s wheels.
Considering she was naked and covered from head to foot in silver body paint, barely a glance should have been insulting. She’d certainly been getting looks from the club’s staff, and it wasn’t because of her bald head or the metal mask with the glowing red eyes she’d liquid-latexed to her face. But Talia was used to Arik’s mechanical obsessions by now; they’d been friends for years.
I certainly can’t think of anyone else I’d let do this.