Darrel, a genetically-engineered superstud, has to accompany the luscious Franca to an awards ceremony. Afterwards he finds himself on the recieving end, for a change . . .

Franca was giving him that mischievous smile again and his heart vaulted dangerously. Was sex on the agenda after all? It was looking likely, especially when she told the chauffeur to program the computer-router for Parkside. 'That's where I live,' she told Darrel.

He was afraid she simply wanted to be dropped off there, but as the car turned into the tree-lined avenue then cruised along the neo-Georgian block she whispered, 'You will come up for a drink, won't you?'

Try and stop me! he thought. But he just nodded.

It was Franca who tipped the chauffeur this time, clinking a couple of credits into his hand then leading the way up to the securidor. The iriscope scanned her eyes then she punched in a code to admit Darrel, and the simulated oak door slid silently open. Inside, an elevator whisked them to the third floor and the understated elegance of Franca's apartment. It was decorated in restful blues and greys, with a pervading scent of freesia from cloned blooms in an antique glass vase.

'God I'm glad that's over!' she said, kicking off the gold bands from her feet and stretching out on the soft couch.

'Aren't you glad you won, though?'

Franca shrugged. 'It was more for Lars, really. I couldn't give a fart. As long as the work keeps coming in.' She looked up at him with huge, inviting eyes. 'Want to know why I asked for you to escort me?'

He sat down on the fat arm of the couch, looking down at her. 'Yes. I'm curious.'

She laughed and rolled over onto her back, her hands on the plastic domes over her breasts. 'I'm curious too, about you! I wanted to know what an ALM was like.'

Darrel felt his prick stir. So she knew he was an Alpha Lover, Male. But wasn't that classified information? 'You could have booked an appointment at the Plaza, like anyone else.'

'Did I say I wanted to know what you were like as a lover?' He shook his head, bewildered, disappointed, and she went on. 'No, I meant as a person, as a man. Granted I've not had a great deal of time to get to know you, but at least I've been able to observe you out of context.'

'You make this sound like some kind of experiment. Am I your guinea pig?'

She laughed. 'Nothing like that. Like I said, I was just curious. I know what it's like to be identified with your rôle and no more. I'm just a face and body, no-one considers that I might have a mind. The people I work for see me as a collection of pixels.'

'Well, what's your conclusion regarding this ALM?' he asked, a note of bitterness creeping in, hiding his insecurity. He wasn't used to such complicated transactions and he felt out of his depth.

Franca reached up and cupped his chin with her palm. It felt oddly comforting. She smiled and said, 'The investigation isn't over yet. I think it's time to make some more intimate discoveries.' She slipped her cool fingers into the neck of his suit and stroked the hollow of his throat. Small flashes of fire sped down his oesophagus.

Darrel gulped. 'I thought you weren't interested in my . . . body.'

'Did I say that?' She gave him a wry grin and unlatched some secret fastening in her bodice. The whole of the front came off, like a breastplate, exposing her exquisite bosom to his gaze. 'I just wanted it to be less . . . impersonal. I wanted to take you out of your familiar surroundings, loosen you up a little. I wanted to place you in unaccustomed situations to see how you would react. And I must say you stood up to the test very well. Very well indeed.'

There was a hot, heavy tingling in his balls and his chest felt strained so that the breath came in short bursts. Something very odd was happening to him. Usually when he was with a woman he felt totally in control, but now it was as if he were being controlled by her. It was uncomfortable, but also weirdly exciting. He couldn't take his eyes off the spherical perfection of her breasts. His fingers were itching to tease those pink, flaccid nipples into active life and feel the pale mounds on which they rested strain and swell under his caressing palms.

Franca was holding her arms up to him now, placing her hands around his neck in order to draw him down to her. Soon his lips were grazing on the smooth skin of her breasts, smelling the musky jasmine scent of her, feeling his endocrine system kick into action as the adrenaline coursed through his veins. The blood was pumping up his cock to a respectable erection but this time it felt less programmed, less automatic. Whatever stimuli he was responding to were subtly different from usual and he felt pleasantly disoriented, as if he'd mixed incompatible cocktails.

'Is this what you want?' he mumbled as she pressed his face into the sweet divide of her cleavage.

'It's what you want that matters,' he heard her say. 'You're not on duty now, Darrel. This is pure pleasure. Your pleasure.'

No-one had ever spoken to him like that before. The effect was wildly heady, like a Triple Zinger. He opened his mouth and tasted the smooth cream of her flesh. At the same time he felt her nimble fingers stripping off his formal, peeling it off him like the skin from an orange until he felt the clingy material pooling around his ankles. His prick, finding itself suddenly freed from its confines, became jauntily erect and thrust itself against the silky mesh covering her thigh.

While Darrel found his way to her erect nipple and began to lick it, he felt her hands on his buttocks and moaned. It was distracting. So much so that he found he couldn't tune into her desires, as he usually did, but was obliged to focus solely on his own pleasure. She crossed her long legs and squeezed his waist with her thighs, making him shudder with sudden longing.

Then, before he realised what was happening, she had twisted round and bent her head to his cock, licking the glans with delicate precision. Darrel uttered a loud groan as sensations sweeter than he had ever known began to cascade up and down his spine, turning him into a quivering mass of hedonistic abandon. He sucked at her breast and licked at the nipple, feeling his shaft inch its way between those warm, wet, cushioning lips.

No pussy could be more welcoming than her mouth he decided, as she laved more and more of him with her agile tongue. Darrel could feel himself loosening up, coming apart at the seams, but it was no use fighting it. As the delicious arousal reached critical, crazy thoughts about Franca skimmed the surface of his mind: she was some kind of spy, sent to test him; she was a female genie getting in some extra-curricular activity; she was high on some aphrodisiac cocktail. One thing was certain, she was an expert cock-sucker.

It wasn't the first time he'd had it done to him. Sometimes his women clients got off on it, as a prelude to their own satisfaction. But never before had he experienced such sheer sensual bliss. If this was what women got from him no wonder they were prepared to pay over the odds for it! Suddenly everything about sex seemed to make sense where it had been an incomprehensible blur before.