Free Two To The Fifth by Piers Anthony

me.”
    “But that would be too—too familiar.”
    “Not when you have reason. Feel.” She took his hand and set it on her chest. It was some chest.
    He freaked out. He lay there with his whole body locked in paralysis, unable to move a muscle or anything else.
    “Foul!” another woman cried. “You freak him out, you lose your turn. That's the rule.”
    “Bleep.” She removed his hand and left the bed.
    By the time Cyrus recovered control of his body, it was too late to ask who she had been. But her last “bleep” had been voiced, and that gave him the clue: Dusti, She was better endowed than he had thought, at least with her clothes off. If he had thought to feel her forehead he would have found her little horns and known her that way. She was truly a little devil.
    Now there was another beside him. “Hello, Cyrus,” she murmured, nibbling on his left ear.
    “Xina,” he said.
    “You bet. Now let's see if I can prevent you from freaking out. Put on this glove.”
    “Glove?”
    “Here.” She titled it to his hand, then found his other hand for the other glove. “Now touch my body.”
    “But—”
    “Here.” She carried one hand to her chest. He felt one or two marvelously soft mounds.
    He reeled, but did not quite freak out. The gloves prevented direct contact, and that was enough. But it left him with deliciously naughty thoughts. “You—nice,” he said.
    “To be sure. Remember that when you cast the lead lady role.”
    “But that's supposed to be according to acting merit.”
    “Merit, smerit. It goes to the most evocative body. Do you have a problem with that?”
    “Well, as I understand it—”
    She guided his gloved hand across truly evocative surfaces. He was right at the very verge of freakdom, but not quite. “Are you sure?”
    He was overwhelmed, “No problem,” he agreed.
    “Bleep!” someone else muttered.
    “She used a prop,” Dusti protested, “That's against the rule.”
    “So it is,” the Witch agreed. “I had forgotten. We have to take the gloves off. Out of there, wench. You're disqualified.”
    “BLEEP!” Xina swore in wenchly fashion.
    Now it was Acro's turn. She wore a sleek nightie that masked her body without the need for gloves. “And whose is the most evocative body?” she inquired dulcetly and she pressed it against him, placing his hands on her derriere.
    Again, he was just barely (so to speak) shy of a freak. “Yours,” he gasped.
    She kissed his cheek. “That's good.”
    His face heated with the imprint of her lips. “Th-thank you.”
    Then she kissed his mouth. He started sliding into a freak. “Oops! Must stop that. You've got to be immune to kisses. Kindly Stay Serene equals KISS. That should do it.”
    “It did,” he agreed, no longer freaking. “Kiss me again.”
    “Foul!” Dusti exclaimed. “No magic!”
    “Right,” the Witch agreed, “That spell disqualifies you. Get your soft round butt out of there, nymph.”
    “Dam, I forgot,” Acro said, doing it.
    That left the Witch. “I knew those inexperienced girls would mess up,” she confided. “The trick is to rev up a man just so far, and no farther.”
    “Doesn't he have a choice?”
    She laughed, “I love your naïveté.” She settled down against him, revving him up just so far, “Sleep well.”
    And, to his surprise, he did.
     
    Cyrus scouted the way ahead, riding Don, to be sure of a route that all the actresses could handle without mischief. It was boring work, but necessary. “Too bad we can't be doing something interesting, like rescuing damsels in distress,” he said.
    “Or kicking some ass.” Don agreed.
    “I wouldn't do that to an animal!”
    “I was not referring to an animal.”
    Oh. They moved on. He heard a scuffling and clamor, and hurried to investigate.
    A comely young woman was being hounded by three brutish thugs. “No! Never!” she cried.
    “Yes, and right now,” a thug retorted, grabbing her by her long hair. “All three of us.”
    Cyrus realized