She writhed her hips teasingly over him, throwing her arms up and out, and her breasts stayed in exactly the same place on her chest. I wonder how muc... of that is really her, he mused. And he wondered if he could get away with writing a poem about the beauty of complete fakeness that would get people off. Of course he could. He was Frank Leigh. He could do whatever the hell he wanted. In his head, at least. And in whatever medium his publishers would allow him.She sat up, letting him feel her. The important thing was that he was free. He just needed to find something to do for a bit. He went over to his computer and booted it up. Staring at the screen brought back another memory. Matilda, leaving for an evening on the town–that was the night she’d returned with April and added her to the harem. She’d left Jay sitting in front of the computer, wearing a pair of headphones. The screen had displayed nothing but an enormous swirling spiral, the headphones played a loop of her voice,. More

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