Walk like An Egyptian

"No, only me. They don't bother eavesdropping, nor spend much time watching. They're more interested in lost valuables the crowds leave behind. Reported or not, those wallets and purses and electro gizmos, unless they're identifiable with someone important, they just get snatched and kept. Any good stuff is pawned or fenced. Follow the money. You ladies ain't worth much, sorry."

The Flamers were not happy but a sigh of relief swept through them.

"I want you to know I switched off surveillance in this gallery before I came in," Delano said. "We're private now."

"Cameras and controller, that's the techie part," Isabella in Trans-Arctic said. "What was that trick with your eyes and the hypnosis?" She did not sound angry.

"There's this drug floating around in some frats, they call it Xymer, I don't think it's that cow medicine from India. It pumps-up the body's pheromone production so you get real persuasive, especially with subvocalizations, and the eye dilation thing, that really does the trick! Plus what it does to my cock. I still have a few caps in my locker. No, I'm not giving them up, but I won't use Xymer around here, I promise."

"Promises are easy," Eloise in Sexology said. "Evidence is harder to crack. We have your confession recorded on multiple devices. Your ass is ours. Any hint of magic and you can kiss freedom bye-bye."

Delano looked contrite, he really did.

"Okay, we know WHO and HOW now," Thea in Pre-Humans said. "But there's still WHY? Why us?"

"Because you all look so great," Delano said, "and I see you all the time, and I just, I just... I just HAD to. I mean, here we are every day, and I just had to get close to you."

"Is that pathetic or what? Sadie in Aztec-Maya asked. "I don't feel complimented."

"I have no excuses. You asked. I told you what I feel." Contrite, but no puppy-dog eyes.

"So what now?" Aria in Sub-Sahara asked. "Turn him in? Just let him go? Impose some punishment? What kind, and how and where? We can't just let this slide."

"Maybe I was half-drunk, and halfway forced, and halfway horny," Isabella in Trans-Arctic said. "So it wasn't rape. And he didn't taste bad, or hurt me or anything."

"I was sober and sure, his persuasion pushed me, but I really didn't mind," Julia in Ancient Egypt said. "I kept my senses, and I called you all, and we caught the dork, right?"

"I know the punishment *I* want to impose," Beryl in Indochina said. "My pussy hasn't been well-licked for too long. How's your tonguework, guy? You've had a couple good fellatio sessions. Are you up to prize-winning cunnilingus?" Beryl raised her short skirt. She was commando underneath, showing a neatly-trimmed muff.

"Well, my girlfriend said I was pretty good, back before she left me for a stockbroker. You want me to—"

"Me first," Isabella in Trans-Arctic demanded. "I blew him first so I get him first."

"Yeah, audition him," Thea in Pre-Humans said. "If he passes, he can do us all."

Isabella stripped off her short-shorts, pulled Delano from the bench, took his place, and spread her thighs wide. "On your knees, guy," she ordered.

"Wait," insisted Audrey in Industrialism, the Flamers' elected leader. "He's got mucha ropa, too many clothes. Get out of that mummy suit, all the way out. Go on, MOVE. Oh, shy, are we? Strip him, gals!"

Velcro straps could not withstand determined hands tugging his fake wrappings. His cock and balls still looked good, even if a bit less inflated now.

Julia in Ancient Egypt shoved him forward. "I'm next. Get going." He knelt.

"And I'm after you," Beryl in Indochina said. She pushed Delano's head into Isabella's neat crotch. "If you do well, that is."

All cameras were running and recording the activities. All eyes and lenses watched him licking her, and massaging her legs, and Isabella's fingers twisting her nipples under her top, and all ears and microphones heard her loud orgasm. All cameras recorded Delano wearing his tongue to a nub in nine vulvas. Think of it as remembrance, not evidence. Well, evidence too...

*****

Delano retained his status in the Lebanese community by keeping his Museum job, cleaner than working an assembly line. He did not keep the Security control phone; Audrey in Industrialism held that handy device, which she used to ensure privacy for the Flamers' oral sessions. They all enjoyed his tongue, and his gnarly cock and its good-tasting emissions, and some even let him suck their tits. With other Flamers watching. And cameras recording. For posterity. And private replays.

Worklife at Capitol City's tremendous Museum of Anthropology did not change much. Senior curators, mostly dignified, well-paid older men, toiled in intellectual fields. Junior curators, mostly harried, underpaid younger women, tended their workloads. Ever was it so at CCMoA.

Rumored ghosts usually infest big old museums. Nonstandard ghostly rumors evolved at this Museum. Young male assistants reported being flashed and sometimes groped by masked, near-naked female apparitions that failed to appear on Security monitors. Some dressed in scanty cultural costumes. Many wore only curious short skirts and posed like pyramid paintings. Yes, they walked like ancient Egyptians.

Security goons did not care; they had lost items to snatch and sell. Ever was it so.

The End?

___

Author's note: Naming our heroines as "Beryl in Indochina" is like a corporate clone known as "Brian in Marketing", just saying where they work. It's their self-identification. I hope that's not too clunky. Your constructive feedback is always appreciated. If you like this, join the 1%-ers and VOTE!