It was a relationship that had run its course.

Those were the clinical words my ex-girlfriend used when summarising her decision to terminate our three-year relationship. Her words crushed me; the damage was caused not by the split, or her admission that her commitment to monogamy had wavered, but the public nature of her confession.

The occasion was Christmas Day; we were at my parents for lunch with my entire family, and Stacy had been drinking too much vodka with not enough cola. She had never been popular with my mother, less so after her drunken antics. My Christmas present to Stacy was a three-night trip for Valentine’s Day to the Czech capital. Her present to me was public humiliation in front of my family.

Over January, she messaged me multiple times to witheringly suggest that I should pay to have the name changed on the holiday to her new beau, and then offered to make the payment herself. She wanted the break, and as the tour operator refused to refund me if I cancelled the booking, the trip would go to waste unless I either gifted it to her, or I travelled alone. I thought a city-centre break would be the ideal opportunity to put the tumultuous few weeks behind me.

It was the first time I had flown for years and the budget airline passenger plane was huge compared to what I had expected. I had booked the two seats nearest to the window in the three seat row as I believed my travelling companion would appreciate watching the view on our early morning flight. However, with Stacy remaining in North London with her latest conquest, I took the seat nearest the aisle with my new book and became deliberately oblivious to the other humans cramming into the thin metal tube.

“Excuse me,” a delicate voice called as a hand tapped my shoulder. “I think that’s my seat.”

I looked up at the softly spoken girl, folding her grey coat in the stowaway compartments above. Her skin glowed, her smile radiated warmth as she held her boarding pass in her right hand. “Sorry, I… I booked those two seats but I… I’ll move.”

Her eyes flickered. “Don’t you want to look out of the window? It’s a beautiful sight when the Sun rises above the clouds.”

“I’ve got my book,” I confessed, holding the recently released compendium of Bletchley Park Brainteasers. “I was supposed to come with my girlfriend, we split up. If you‘d lilke to see the Sun, go for it!” I gestured towards the empty seat and she thanked me.

My heart skipped a beat as our bodies were pressed together, and apart from offering her a boiled sweet for take-off, I said nothing to the elegant lady. She watched the sky burn violent oranges and reds through the tiny aeroplane window and then used her tablet to read. I saw her play with her blonde pigtails in my peripheral vision; a distracting habit for a man trying to complete the cryptic crossword that selected the code-breakers of World War II.

“Hello,” she called mid-way through the flight. “How hard are they?” She pointed to my pale blue book and then at me.

“They’re pretty hard. Not impossible. We’ve been flying for sixty minutes, and I’ve done a dozen.” Her smile twitched. “I love puzzles and riddles. It’s… it’s just what I like to do.” I held the book out, and she took it, flicking through it before stopping on the folded paper I used as a bookmark. “Pick one.”

I moved to the centre seat and explained the logic behind solving a difficult puzzle but I was aware my explanation made no sense to her. “I’m doing a treasure hunt across Prague tomorrow,” she stated. “But they‘re doing it with cryptic clues and I know I won‘t do well.”

She became a little evasive when I pressed her for details; I would have loved to engage in a logic puzzle around the city. I thought nothing of our exchange, and after we disembarked, I wished her luck for her game the following day. I never even knew her name.

After clearing customs, I took a bus to my plush hotel, a few minutes walk from the Castle. I explored the city, visiting a comic shop, a beer bar and a handful of tourist attractions before sitting down in the hotel restaurant with my book and a pizza.

“Hello, remember me?” The girl from the plane asked, pulling up a chair at my dining table.

“Hi. Hello? Are you staying here too?”

She smiled. “Your hotel is written on your bookmark,“ she replied and pointed to the printout of my itinerary I had between the pages of my book, and had inexplicably shown her on the plane. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

I shrugged. “I might go for a walk down the Vltava. There’s snow about so I should get some good photos. Hadn’t thought, really.”

She put her hands to her mouth and blew sharply through it. “I need a favour. I’m doing the Treasure Hunt tomorrow and the guy they have paired me with is useless. Will you do it with me?”

“What? The Treasure Hunt?”

“Yeah,” she said, fiddling with her hair once more. “It’s puzzles and riddles. I’ll need help.”

“What is it?”

She wiped her chin and took a deep breath. “OK! I work in the porn industry. This is an event and… it’s worth a lot of money to me.” She fidgeted uncomfortably, but when I looked interested rather than horrified, she explained everything. I confirmed her story that she had starred in a number of pornographic films on my phone, by finding an explicit picture of the girl sat at my table in seconds. “Erika” had signed up for the game at short notice when a friend had dropped out. The organisers of the event would give sixteen ladies a computer tablet and a map each and clues that corresponded to locations around the city. When the girls reached them, the tablet guided them to a nearby studio where the contestant would perform a pornographic act on camera, before moving on.

“It’s seven shows in twelve hours. First to complete each event gets 400 Euros, the rest get 300 Euros per show. Then if you do all seven you get a bonus, and the viewers vote for the best girls and the highest scores get a prize. They gave us some example clues in the briefing but I couldn’t understand them.”

“OK, so where do I help?”

“They‘re giving us a guide each if we haven’t brought someone. And I met him today, and he was useless. They did this in New York and Los Angeles and it was really popular. That’s why they are doing a European one. Viewers can track us all day and watch the events live, or sign in and view them later. And I want to do them all.”

“Porn? Do I take my clothes off?”

She snorted. “Of course not. You won’t have done an STD test and all contestants need to. I had mine a few days ago in London.” Her eyes implored me. “The guide is there to help with the clues and to ensure that there isn’t a half-dressed girl running ‘round Prague on her own.“

“Wow!”

“So you’ll do it?” I hesitated. “Please,” she begged, looking at me with wide eyes. “I need you.”

“OK. Sounds mad, though.”

She smiled and scribbled an address on my bookmark. “Be there at nine-thirty.” Erika got up from the table. “And don’t bring your phone. It’s against the rules! And do bring ID.” She left my table with a sly wave and I shook my head, not sure what I had witnessed. My phone-based research revealed there was a company which did pornographic live events, and they were hosting a Valentines Day spectacular from Europe the following day. Erika was a contestant. I was comfortable I hadn’t been lied to even if I wasn’t entirely comfortable with what I was being asked to do.

I woke up several times in the night, and arrived at the meeting point, a riverside cafe, twenty minutes early. Erika greeted me, dressed in a thick grey coat with a psychedelic rainbow scarf and a turquoise hat. “You don’t look like a…”

She giggled as I spoke and introduced me to a stocky man with a bushy beard. He asked to see proof I was over eighteen and I signed a form to allow any photographs or videos of me to be used commercially. He gave us the tablet: a cheap device that contained just the application they wanted us to use. “Two clues will come up at ten,” he told me. “Then as you solve the clues, more get shown. When you are at the place you need to be, press the green button and if you are right, you get instructions on how to go to the studio. Everywhere is within the centre of Prague on the map. Any questions?”

Erika shook her head.

He passed Erika the tablet, a paper map and gave us both tickets for Prague‘s public transportation system. “Miss Hungary has arrived.”

I looked at Erika. “Miss Hungary?”

“Yeah, I’m representing Poland. It’s my mother’s side. They are starting us in pairs from different parts of the city. No good starting us all together.” I bought us both a coffee in a takeaway cups and looked around the tourist map. As the clock ticked past 10:00, the tablet vibrated and I read aloud the two clues.

Cra. Vat.

No man. No pendulum.

“What the hell does that mean?” Erika whispered.

“Shall we walk to a tram stop?” I suggested. “Wherever they are, they will not be here.”

Miss Hungary and her Czech guide had already left, and we walked along the riverbank until we reached the main road and waited for a tram. “What’s a vat. Or a cra? Is it an anagram of car? Or arc?”

“It’s cravat,” I replied. “A tie. But it’s in two words.”

“So two ties.” She gestured wildly at me “Frankie Goes to Hollywood! Two ties go to war.”

I rolled my eyes, a little unkindly. “That’s two tribes. It’s one tie split into two. A split garment. A tie split by a point. By a period. A tie… a tie broken. Tie break.”

“What?”

“Tiebreak. Where’s the tennis stadium?” Erika shrugged, and we scoured the map, looking for the green splotches. We idly got on a tram that was going further into the city centre and continued to pour over the A2 map as the rickety vehicle thundered along Prague’s grandiose streets.

“What’s this?” Erika asked, turning the map to see two dozen advertisements on the reverse. “Restaurant Tiebreak. On Stvanice.”

“That’ll be it.”

We checked the map once more and located a large island to the north-east of the city centre. We changed trams and twenty minutes later we stood outside a plush restaurant underneath a stadium.

Erika pressed the button on the app which activated the GPS. Moments later the tablet pinged, and the tablet showed Erika directions to a filming location five minutes walk away, along with our next clue:

The BANG is at ten past two

“The bang is in capitals. So it’s a huge bang.”

“How about a gang-bang in front of a camera and thousands of people?” Erika suggested with a giggle. “I’d do that!”

“You’re an exhibitionist!”

“Guilty. Could be fireworks?”

“A bomb?”

“Ah,” Erika squealed excitedly. “I know. The guy who died and started World War I,” she cried. “That was…”

“A shooting,” I interrupted. “In Sarajevo.”

“Oh,” she said, looking dejected. “So fireworks then? At two in the afternoon?”

I hummed, unconvinced by my companion‘s logic. We approached a door with a white A4 poster a flamboyant “SXH” graphic. “That’s the logo of SexHunt.com,” Erika announced as she pushed it open.

I don’t know what I expected to see on the other side of the door. The studio had three men, a bed and bright studio lights which made the small room a lot warmer than the cold Prague air. A rotund man had a tablet in his hand and greeted “Miss Poland” with a grin. “This is the scene,” he told her, passing my new friend a piece of blue card. She read it, nodded and went into the adjoining changing room to get undressed.

“Sit there, and charge it up.” The assistant pointed to a plastic orange chair next to a charging wire. I sat and concentrated on deciphering the next clue.
The radiant elegance of Erika stepping into the brightly lit studio snapped my attention away from the screen. Nothing could have prepared me for the sight of the barefoot beauty walking across the room. She stopped a table full of sex toys and selected an iridescent pink vibrator.

She looked coyly at me; the image of her naked self, holding the bubblegum massager, engrained into my psyche. She was sheer perfection. Everything about her was delicious: the toned shapely legs, the hairless mons, the pert, endowed bosom and the entrancing smile framed by the blonde pigtails.

She kissed the tip of the toy, looking directly at the camera. My cock rose as the delicate beauty sat on the side of the bed, and she lay back against the pillows, parting her legs.

She closed her eyes and turned the base of the sex toy to make it hum. I’d never been present when Stacy had used her sex toy; I’d never seen a vibrator used before. Erika ran the pink toy over her torso, stopping underneath her nipples as the vibrating wand danced over her skin.

She mewed gently, her legs parted further as the vibrator touched the insides of her thighs. I adjusted my boxer shorts because of my erection pressing against my jeans, spellbound by the sinful delights of the show.

Erika groaned; her body writhed as she pressed the tapered head of the vibrating tool against her cleft before running it up and down her waxed slit. Her moans grew louder, her body rocked against the toy, oscillating vibrations into her cunt.

I forgot where I was; the performance mesmerised me. I never seen anything as sensual and as exquisite as Erika gently pleasuring herself. She didn’t rush it; she brushed her nipple with her left hand as the toy buzzed against her slit. She never opened her eyes as her legs trembled, or said a word as her gasps of pleasure escaped her lips.

I never moved a muscle as I stared at the orgasmic woman, rubbing the plastic tip in circles against her clit. She panted, snatching breaths as her body quivered. She squealed, crying loudly as her body shook and her right hand dropped the vibrator onto the bed.

Erika stayed motionless for a moment, panting and smiling. She squinted as she opened her eyes; the harsh studio lights brightly illuminating the bed. “OK, boys?” She called and when the cameraman nodded, rolled off the bed, to her feet.

She winked as she walked past me to the changing room, and the studio barely had enough time to change the bed linen until she came out fully dressed, pulled at my hand and we left the studio.

“Wow! That was so sexy!”

“Thanks. Although I think that’s the idea.”

“You looked so gorgeous.”

“Thanks. So, the next clue?” Erika asked as she closed the door to the studio behind her; she adjusted her scarf in the cold February air. “What does it mean?”

“The bang is at ten past two? I don’t know.”

“Weren’t you…?”

“Someone distracted me,” I replied, pouting at her. “Some really sexy girl was doing something amazingly sensual and I couldn’t concentrate.” She giggled. I sighed and looked across the river for inspiration. “A huge bang, a big bang. The Big Bang. Space. Then a time. Ten past two. Two ten. Fourteen ten. Space and time. Oh fuck,” I cried loudly. “It’s obvious.”

“It bloody isn’t,” Erika squealed.

“The Prague Astronomical Clock. It was built in 1410. I was there yesterday, it’s magnificent and…”

Erika squeezed my hand. “Where is it?”

I unfurled the map as we crossed the main road to reach the tram stop and pointed out a small symbol on her tourist map. “There. A couple of stops away and then a walk.”

“Thanks,” she muttered, almost begrudgingly. “I’d never have got that.”

Erika expressed no interest in the tower's history or that it was a dozen clocks on one clock face. Instead, she studied the map on the tram and then ran down the narrow pedestrianised streets to the old Town Square.

Breathless, she tapped on the tablet the moment the Astronomical Clock Tower came into sight. “I might be the first again,” she panted. The tablet took a moment to get a GPS lock on our location and then directed her down the back streets to a door with the SXH logo pinned to it. The tablet buzzed once more with the next clue:

Monuwoment

Erika didn’t knock, or wait, but pushed open the door and boldly walked up the stairs. She wasn’t the first to arrive. A semi-naked girl, dressed in just skimpy white lingerie, walked past her as a young, bespectacled man passed Erika a piece of green card. “I’ll do it,” she said after glancing at it for a moment. “You might like this one!” She suggested to me.

“I liked the last one a lot!”

My outburst made her smile; I waited for Erika to come out of the small changing room dressed in matching black lacy lingerie.

I stared at her walking towards me; she looked deliciously classy. I imagined that image, captured in black and white, on the wall of a boutique. The half-cup brassiere accentuated her breasts and the elegant short-cut, low-rise underwear showed her bare mons while still hiding just enough to be vaguely decent.

She held out her hand towards me and clicked her fingers. “Come on, little puppy!” She teased, shaking her derriere with aplomb as she walked past me with a mischievous grin.

The studio was scintillatingly hot; the white walls reflected the light and heat from the six photographic spotlights focused on two-thirds of the bare room. Erika spoke to the director as I took in the scene; I immediately drew my eyes to a red leather chaise-lounge, where a muscle-bound guy had reclined, while the lingerie-clad girl had her lips around his sizeable cock.

“Are they…” I muttered, before realising that Erika had knelt beside the other reclining chair, and was awaiting her chosen co-star. She winked at me and spoke a few words into the camera.

“Excuse me, mate.” I jumped in shock as a stout, muscle-clad man, no older than 21, stood behind me. His skin gleamed with a feint sheen, his body firm and his waist adorned by the tightest of bulging silver sparkly shorts.

He looked like a rugby player; his physique akin to that of a Greek god. I apologised, stepped aside, and watched him stride to the chaise-lounge and in front of the camera.

There was no storyline; there was no fake acting or pretentious scenario. Erika watched the six-foot strong gym afficionado walk around to her. Her hands reached his waist, gripped the stringy clothing and pulled them down to his ankles, freeing his bobbing cock. She smiled; a genuine grin that illuminated her face like she was a child on Christmas morning.

She ran her tongue underneath his engorging cock, glancing at the camera and me as her long stroke brought a sigh of satisfaction from the Adonis. Her lips engulfed the head of his prick, her cheeks sucked inwards by the suction on the tip of his tumescent dick.

I could barely remember any such activities Stacy used to do with me; her blowjobs were rare and rapid. This was true affection, shown by a lady who adored the act of the fellatio against a godlike hunk. He ran his fingers over the top of her head; she slowly and sensually bobbed on his erect member, taking the full length of his shaft into her mouth.

He grunted; his face was a picture of enjoyment as Erika poured love and attention onto his turgid cock. Her mouth sucked on his smooth balls and she deliberately teased him with her tongue flicking the tip of his frenulum. His body jolted with every shock of pleasure that her mouth made on his genitals.

My own cock was solid; I had never born witness to such an elegant show of sexuality; she was graceful and sensual while her hands gently explored his thick muscles and his hanging balls. She quickened her pace; sliding her mouth faster over his shaft and reaching the top of his hairless pubis with her nose. He grunted over her gasped strokes, sloppily taking his full shaft into her mouth and throat.

His body tensed; Erika stroked his cock furiously with his hands as they both made exaggerated sounds of enjoyment. I was transfixed by the pornographic sight before me. My breaths were short; the Adonis grunted and his prick twitched in Erika’s hands before several spurts of cum landed over her smiling face.

She grinned at the camera, licking her lips seductively as she got to her feet. She blew the cameraman a kiss as she walked past him, shaking her derriere at me, her aroused guide.

I followed her back into the main room, almost speechless. I waited for her to get dressed and scoured the plan for statues of women. I’d found four when Erika returned and put her soft hand on my shoulder. “You ready?”

“Yeah,” I muttered to my dressed companion. “You finished?”
“That was fun. Where to now?”

“Lunch.”

She whined. “Well, I’ve eaten.” She ran her tongue over her lips as she looked at me. “OK then. But be quick, this is a race. You don’t see Lewis Hamilton stopping for a tyre change and a bacon roll!”

“His race lasts two hours not ten. And I need a big table.” She grumbled when we stopped at a quaint coffee shop near the town square. While she paid for our sandwiches and drinks, I unfolded the map on a spare table. “What you are looking for?” Erika asked, holding our drinks in a cup holder and our food in a paper bag.

“Stalin.”

“He was a Russian guy, wasn’t he?”

“And famous. I want Stalin and a Church.”

Erika screwed up her face at me. “OK, I give in. How do either of those clues equal Stalin and the church?”

I looked up at the flirtatious woman. “Really?”

“Tell me or I’ll tease you.”

“You’ve already made me leak into my underwear. It’s soaking down there!” She laughed loudly at my admission. “No man, no pendulum, is a derivative of a Stalin quote. It was ‘No man, no problem.’ It’s about killing dissenters or something.”
“Nice guy!“
“Quite. So I‘m looking for Stalin. But pendulum can mean many things, but I’m thinking of a thurible.”
“A what?“ She exclaimed.
“It’s the incense burner that Roman Catholic priests wave about on the end of a rope.”

She hummed, looking at the map with me. “And the other clue.”

“Monuwoment. It’s a statue of a woman. And I’ve found loads already. There’s something I’m missing in that clue to narrow it down.”

She hummed. “Could pendulum mean metronome? That’s like a pendulum.” I swore when I saw her thumb on the fold line of the map.

“Yes, that’ll be it. Where‘s Stalin, though?”

“Maybe you‘re wrong about Stalin?” Erika suggested.
“Maybe.” We walked towards the river bank eating our sandwiches in the cool Prague morning and then strode up the hill towards the vast piece of installation art that dominated the city centre park. Erected underneath the metronome was a huge marquee with the SXH Logo.

“Well done,” I admitted. Erika pressed the button next to the clue, and it beeped in acknowledgement.

“Now, go answer the next clue! See if you can do it without my help!” She poked her tongue at me as she stomped into the tent. “Miss Poland, here for your pleasure,” she announced to the marquee. “Am I the first?”

“One girl came, she said no!” Erika was told in broken English. A photographer passed her a laminated white card, and she nodded.

“Awesome.” She looked at me and nodded towards the flap. “Please, leave. I want some privacy.”

“You are being shown all over the world.”

“You‘re not a subscriber, and you’ve already had two free shows. Go answer the clue. Outside.” There was a levity to her voice; the photographers and cameramen sniggered as I begrudgingly left the tent.

I stared at the screen:

Coitus Apparatus

Coitus, the Latin word for sex was obvious; apparatus with the Latin word for machinery. I sat on the damp park bench opposite the marquee and poured over the map, looking for anything sexual related on the city map, issued by the local Tourist information centre.

On a hunch, I flicked through the back of the map and saw the advert I was looking for. It was one of their easier clues, or perhaps I was getting used to the thinking behind the architects of the puzzle.

My short period of self-congratulatory smugness ended when my eyes clapped sight of Erika, as naked as she was on the first task, running out of the tent. She jumped in front of me, her golden pigtails landing on her bare bosom.

“What the…” I started. “You’ll be arrested!”

“No, I won’t.” She streaked past me in the cold winter’s air, causing two guys to stop and laugh at my naked friend. A cameraman followed metres away and Erika put her arms around the bemused pair and waved directly at the gentleman filming her exhibitionism.

She continued up the path, towards the imposing monument. She posed for a kiss with another unsuspecting member of the public, and threw her arm around a University student, wrapped in a thick, warm coat.

It was too cold for rampant naked showoffs; I was cold in my jacket but the act of showing her body seemed to give Erika warmth. Her perky breasts had a definite point; her skin seemed paler, but my friend was immune to the weather or the shocked looks of onlookers.

She coerced male and female members of the public to cup her breasts, stroke her bottom, kiss her cheeks and smack her arse, all happily posing for voyeurs with smartphones and photographers with cameras. She loved the attention.

“And one for you,” she called as she approached me. She flung her arms towards me and planted a kiss on my cheeks, grinning at the camera as the bare maiden held me tightly. “My hero!”

“You’re freezing!”

“I’m hot!” She joked. “Sizzling.”

“Yes, that as well.” She shook her backside as she skipped towards the marquee and I waited for her to rejoin me, fully dressed.

“I can’t believe that someone wouldn’t do that!”

“Perhaps they weren’t happy showing off in public,” I suggested.

She shook her head. “No, I don’t understand. That was so much fun.”

“Well, each to their own.”

“Did you like it?” She asked.

“Of course. You’re playful when you‘re au naturel.” She smiled at me, looping her hand in mine as we walked down the hill towards the tram stop. “And I want to take you to a museum.”

She wrenched her hand from mine. “Why?”

“Because it might broaden your mind. And…”

“I don’t want my mind broadened! This isn’t a day trip,” she squealed. “I need to be fucked.”

“I know, on camera.” Two couples turned to look at the inappropriate exhibitionist talking too loudly. They clearly hadn’t seen her antics fifteen minutes earlier, to explain her lewd comments. “The lady can be rogered after she has been to the museum.”

She thought for a moment. “What’s the clue?”

“Coitus Apparatus.”

“You’ve already worked this out, haven’t you?”

“Yep. Really obvious.”

“I hate it when you say that,” she hissed and took the map from me, pouring over the plan. “Well coitus is sex. So sex equipment. Is there a dildo shop on this map? Why isn’t there a fucking dildo shop on this map?” Two more people stifled giggles and looked towards the swearing young lady hidden behind a map, billowing in the breeze. “Where can I buy a dildo in Prague?”

“I reckon that’s not a question that gets asked to Tourist Information very often,” I joked. “Well keep going. Our tram is here, but I’m sure you’ll work it out.”

“I’m…”

“You’ve got five minutes. If you haven’t managed it by then, then I’m confiscating your knickers for the rest of the day.”

“If I do work it out, can I have your underwear?”

“Yeah, OK,” I replied. “I’ll wring them out first, obviously.” I watched Erika pour over each map square in turn, trying to find her elusive sex shop. We disembarked from the tram and walked along the pedestrianised street before she exclaimed loudly when she saw the sign on the wall. “Sex Machine Museum. Oh, that’s not on the map!”

“It’s on the adverts on the back. Apparatus is Latin for Machine. Coitus is Latin for...”

“Fucking, I know.” She tapped the tablet aggressively, and we were directed to a small studio a two-minute walk away.

The tablet vibrated with the next clue:

Where Athens foe do battle!

“Where Athens foe?” Erika asked. “Who do the Greeks hate?”

“Germany after the Eurozone crash. And after the war. Before that, if it means Ancient Athens a number of people.”

She puffed out her cheeks. “Well that can be your job to work that out. Mine is here.” She was about to push open the door with the SXH logo when it swung open and a young brown-haired lady in a yellow dress walked out, with a smile on her face. “Hi.”

“Bonjour!”

“Miss France?”

“Oui.”

“Ah, bonne chance,” Erika called. We walked into a large room with four strong photographic lights and two cameras.

In the middle of the room was a device that looked like a medieval sewing machine in front of a medical bench, and the assistant offered Erika a piece of red card. “I get to be fucked by the fucking machine?” Erika asked as if it was an everyday occurrence. “Why not?”

“Yes,” the man replied, returning the card to his pocket. “But select a dildo.” Erika unbuttoned her coat and pulled her red dress over her head. She stood in front of the table containing a plethora of insertables. “Hey, look at this one,” she cried, holding up a Y-shaped toy to me. “That’s so I can be fucked in the ass as well as the cunt. Have you fucked anyone in the butt before?” She giggled as I blushed. “And look at the nodules on that. I’d be screaming.”

“You having that one?” The assistant asked, and she replaced it on the table; her bravado not matching her bravery. She hummed as her finger danced over the selection of sex toys, and selected a bright red thick dildo, about six inches in length. The assistant inserted it on the rodling perpendicular to the black bench and dribbled a clear goo over the scarlet dong while Erika removed her lingerie.

She placed her legs in front of the machine, and her feet in footrests. Erika leant back as the assistant positioned the red dildo at the head of her opening. “Do you need…”

“Just turn it on!” Erika called, taking a deep breath as the machine loudly sparked into life and the wheel turned, driving the cerise dildo forward by a few inches and into Erika.

Erika gasped, adjusting her body and pushing deeply into the sex toy filling her up. She groaned, as the steady rhythm of the fucking machine piston thrusted into her sopping cunt and closed her eyes as her body writhed to the regular beat of the metronomic fucking.

Her fingers encircled her clit, rubbing it furiously as the pace of the penetration increased. The assistant and the cameramen exchanged glances; my cock engorged in my restrictive underpants.

Erika squealed. “Faster,” she cried, making eye contact with the assistant. “Make it go faster.”

She panted as she exhaled; her body rocked and writhed with every thrust of the six-inch dildo, slamming into her delicate body. The room smelt of lust. Erika’s body glowed under the hot, intense lights; her nipples erect. The male assistant upped the pace with his left hand while he fiddled with the contents of his shorts with his right.

Not that anyone noticed or cared.

Erika squealed again; her body squirming with the furious pounding her cunt was receiving. She cried, yelling out, into the echoing studio before her body shook with the powerful orgasm.

Yet, the machine didn’t stop; nobody moved, as the young lady twisted her body, screamed in ecstasy or soaked the bed. The dildo continued to pound into her sopping pussy.

Erika bit her lip, body’s movements tessellating with thrusts of the unrelenting apparatus. She gave a low moan, her lust building for a second assault on her senses. She panted, desperately catching breaths as the assistant brought the machine up to its highest level.

She swore; Erika put her hand over her eyes as her toes curled and the machine drove her to her second, powerful climax in less than ten minutes.

She took a noticeable gasp of breath, out of sheer relief, as the machine slowed and then stopped; unable to move for a few seconds. “Thank you, Miss Poland,” the director called and clicked his fingers at the masturbating assistant. He helped my friend to her feet, who staggered towards the dressing room.

“I gotta get myself one of those,” she muttered to me. “That was fun.”

“Yeah, but think of the electric bill.”

“Fuckin’ worth every penny!” She joked.
She returned a minute later, holding her knickers in her left hand. “Is this clothing or just an offcut?”

“They cost me twenty quid, so look after them!”

“I shudder to think how much they cost per gram. Probably more than gold.”

“So where are we going now?”

“The coffee shop.” She groaned. “We’ve been playing for less than four hours and done four of them. At this rate, we’ll be done before rush hour.”

“Yes, it’s a race,” she argued. “That’s the idea.”

“I want a pee. And I want an Americano.”

“Then where?”

“I don’t know. Where Athens foe do battle? It’s got me stumped. Athens foe is the key. I’m assuming Athens as in the ancient Greek Athenian empire, so their foes would be the Persians, the Spartans, the Corinthians and the Romans. So maybe some sort of Roman gladiatorial ruins. But I didn’t think Prague was a big Roman city and so...”

Erika giggled. “Oh my God. This is so obvious.”

“What?”

She coughed. “How about that deal, if you don’t get it before we get there, you give me your, very soaked, underwear?”

“And if I do?”

“Would you like the matching brassiere to the thong in your pocket?”

“I want a coffee first. And a pee.”

She sniggered. We walked into the coffee shop and a gave Erika some coins while I used their facilities. I scoured the map repeatedly looking for Roman ruins. Erika took the map from me when we reached the park again and could see the SXH tent, with a voluptuous naked girl, in the distance.

“OK, where are we going?”

“You give up?”

“Yes, I don’t know.”

“What do you know about football in Prague?”

“Football? Fuck all.”

“My dad is an Arsenal fan. He took me to see them a number of times when I was younger. And one of those matches was against Sparta Prague.”

“Oh, that’s… that’s not fair.” She giggled and put her arm around my waist. “I think you owe me some very wet boxers.”

“After your little exhibition earlier, that’s not a problem!”

The graffiti-adorned stadium was closed, as expected, but their fan shop was open and the tablet directed us towards a flat above a closed shop a few streets away.

The next clue flashed onto the screen:

Nul, nul, syem.

The building had clearly been empty for weeks as it had a slight musty smell and the shaved-headed female director greeted us and passed Erika a piece of yellow card. Erika laughed as her eyes flicked over the text. “That looks a lot of fun.”

“Really?” I asked.

She glared at me. “While I get undressed, you need to remove your underwear.” The director looked at us both before Erika explained. “It’s a little bet we had.”

“He need to be in those,” the director replied and pointed to a small pile of black T-shirts and shorts, all with the omnipresent SXH logo.

I felt self-conscious unbuttoning my jeans and exposing my cock to the director in the tiny lounge of the small flat; she watched me and snorted when my cock bobbed free. It was not a great boost to my ego.

Erika returned from the bedroom, completely naked and they walked into what would be the dining room; plastic sheeting lined the walls, the floor and the ceiling, as if the director was planning a multiple murder. Two camera lights, two fixed cameras and a bright pink plastic chair were also in the room, as well as lots of messy substances on the floor.

“This is Sara, the world-famous WAM film-maker.” She rolled her eyes as I continued to look blankly at her. “Wet and messy. He‘s so naïve!”

The naked Erika stood in front of the freshly wiped chair and Sara, the erstwhile director, brought a tray of shaving foam pies into the plastic-wrapped room. “Please,” she gestured at me and told me to cover my friend in mess.

This was not something I could refuse. I grabbed two pies, and with each hand slapped them into her breasts. Erika laughed, grinning as the foam bases fell to the floor. I nearly slipped when I returned and smashed two more into the backside of my friend, and another into her giggling face.

Erika wiped her eyes free, as another one landed in her hair, on her flesh and on her hairless mons. She swore revenge at me, but it was for the cameras and my dark clothing got splattered with the mess, just as my bare feet slid on the slipperiness on the plastic floor.

“Now, this,” Sara called, watching the footage of the cameras from her tablet. She pulled out a bucket of nameless pink gunge. I picked it up by the handle, struggling with its weight.

“Oh no!” Erika cried.

“Oh yes!” I replied, pushing Erika backwards onto the pink chair. I looked at Sara, who nodded and I lifted the bucket above Erika’s head and slowly poured the slime over her defenceless body.

She screamed as the cold goo cascaded over her head, down her bosom, and dripped down her leg. She cleared her eyes as more and more of the shocking pink liquid slipped over her face and her pooled in her lap.

“Step away,” the director called to me. My outfit was covered in white and pink splotches, and she passed me a towel to wipe my feet. Erika stood up and spun around in circles. Not a single part of her wasn’t covered in mess. I watched her show every part of her body and pose seductively before walking into the shower via a plastic sheeting and I returned to the lounge to get dressed.

“Where’s your underwear?” Erika asked as she emerged into the front room from the small shower, still naked and holding her clothes.

“Here,” I moaned, passing her the staid black boxer shorts. She grinned and stuffed them in her coat pocket.

“I don’t know about monuwoment and there’s at least six statues. I think this one – In Utero is a good shout. And Kampa Park. There’s this one down here. Eliska. I don’t know how to narrow it down.”

Erika glanced at the map, took the tablet and pressed the blue “I need some Help” button next to our troublesome task. “It’s been found by someone else. So we can pay fifty euros and get a clue.”

“OK then.” She authorised the clue and passed the tablet to me as she dressed again. “Oh, that’s less of a clue, and more of an answer,” I moaned. “Eliska Krasnohorska. It’s down near the bottom of the map.”

Erika spoke Sara about a project that the director was planning as she got dressed; it struck me that the “WAM” challenge on the Sex Hunt had a lot fewer staff than the others. Erika, was as bubbly as ever, and she smelt of peaches rather than pink goo or orgasm, as she had done before.

I moaned that my trousers chaffed on my cock as we walked back to the tram stop. “You could just remove them as well.”

“I’m not an exhibitionist.”

“What about the final clue?”

“Nul, nul, syem.” I rubbed the bridge of my nose.

“Null is nothing. Zero. It’s a computational construct for databases and means the absence of data.”

“Oh, that sounds so sexy,” Erika teased.

“Do you want to solve this or tease me?”

“Both,” she admitted. “OK so we are looking at two empty databases and a what? Is Syem a country in the far east?”

“Not empty databases. What starts zero, zero, something? Other than my love life!”

“Oh, pity the geek,” Erika snapped. “You should try being in porn. You get lots of dates because all the guys think that’s a guaranteed piece of fun, but relationships are well out.”

“Eh?”

“Oh, come on,” Erika called dismissively. “Guys love sluts unless they are talking about a relationship. Then they love innocence and purity. Don’t you think it’s hypocritical that just about every adult in the country views pornography and yet society still shames those that produces it. If there wasn’t a demand, there wouldn’t be a supply.”

“I haven’t said…”

She apologised with a shake of her head. “It’s nothing you’ve said. Shall we do the Eliska statue first?”

“Sure. And for the record, I can’t imagine anyone being unhappy with how you make your money if they really liked you.”

Her expression softened immediately; her eyes brightened, and she looked every inch the mischievous innocent that she wasn’t.

We tried to work out the final clue on the tram but reached the statue before we had decoded it. The studio was in one of the neighbouring hotels and the company had hired a vast function room on the second floor.

The room was split using temporary dividers and I couldn’t see into the room past the first partition; a young lady held out an orange card and Erika read it, smiled and passed it back.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Wait here!” She winked at me and followed the young lady through a gap in the dividers. I was lost in my thoughts for a few minutes until Erika entered the room and grabbed my hand.

She wore the shortest of long-sleeved crop-tops bearing the Superman-S logo, a very short, tight red skirt, and knee-high boots. “Fucking wow!” I muttered. She giggled, as she led me into the vast room containing a solitary bed, two cameras, half-a-dozen employees and a bench of bored men. “Please, select someone to fuck me!” She asked in her most innocent of voices.

“Ah.”

“And not you, unfortunately!” She winked at me once more, and I looked at six men dressed from the films; the most normal looking of them was a guy in a dinner jacket and I tapped him on the shoulder. The six-foot guy took Supergirl’s hand and lead her to the centre of the bed.

There was no plot; he threw her roughly onto the high mattress. She looked into the camera, licking her lips as she unzipped the fly on his smart attire. Her lips closed around his manhood, his hand pressed the back of her head to impale her further onto his cock.

She spluttered on his prick forced onto her gag reflex and he pushed her backwards, grabbing her ankles and parting her skirt to reveal my friend’s shaven cunt to the worldwide audience.

My cock rubbed against the zip on my jeans as I watched the prick roughly pierce the maidenhood of Supergirl. She rocked her hips as he stood over her, her body at the right height to be fucked. She rolled her top to her neck to expose her breasts before rolling her nipples between her fingers.

Her partner continued to plough her cunt, smashing his stout prick relentlessly into his partner. The slapping of their flesh carried around the room as my friend was pummelled without abandon. She gasped, and grunted, looking into the camera with a wicked smile. She swore passionately at him, groaning loudly as he used her body to bring himself towards orgasm.

With a grunt, he pulled his prick out of Erika, jerked his shaft wildly for a few moments and splattered cum over the hiked red skirt of my friend.

She coyly smiled at him and the camera, and waited for the director to say something, before swinging her legs free of her partner, waving at the cameraman and shaked her butt as she walked to the changing room.

It took her a couple of minutes to return, grabbing my hand as she bid farewell to the studio. “I think I might be in with a chance of winning,” Erika cried. “The women said that only ten contestants have been to her and two in the last hour. Have you worked out the final one?”

“Well, I was watching you getting fucked and…”

She scowled. “I thought you were trying to work it out.”

“And while I was watching you getting fucked, your partner was dressed in a tuxedo. He looked very suave. Very James Bond.”

“He bloody wasn’t. All pump and dump.”

“He looked James Bond, not acted.

“And you thought… what?”

“Nul, nul, syem. Zero, zero, something. Maybe zero zero seven? So Bond. Spies. There‘s a KGB Museum.”

She put her finger over my lips to silence me and then leant in for a kiss. “Thank you,” she muttered. “I mean that. I couldn’t have done it without you.” Our tongues touched through our intertwined lips, and I ran my hands over her lithe body.

A genuine embrace in a day of faux sensuality. “Come on,” she called, tugging at my hand. “I’ve got one more challenge.”

We walked to the tram stop in silence and she put her head on my shoulder as the rickety vehicle bounced across the bridge. We reached the KGB Museum and were directed to a nearby property, which had the SXH logo pinned to the door. “Final one,” I suggested.

“I think so. There may be one more after I’ve done them all. There did that in Los Angeles last year.” We stepped down a set of stairs and walked into a dungeon in near darkness, lit up by a few feint red lights. A topless woman, with a dark, black shiny skirt that shimmered in the half-light, gave Erika a piece of purple card. “Miss P’land?” She asked in an Eastern European accent. “You do, yes?”

“I do!” Erika replied. “Oh, this involves you too!”

“Me?” I asked, a little worried by the medieval torture devices that littered the cold stone walls and poorly lit dungeon.

“Yes!” Erika stripped in front of me, putting her clothes on a chair while the young topless woman waited. I noticed her bald head and spiked collar, and she looked every inch a slave from a shady adaptation of a Victorian erotica novel. The slave lead Erika and I through a stone archway to an X-shaped cross, a cameraman, a half-naked bearded man and a table.

“Fasten her,” the dominant master demanded. “And you, pick an implement.” I smelt the unmistakable odour of leather and Latex in his establishment. His assistant moved to restrain Erika with the straps on the cross as the sadist gestured me towards the table.

I must admit to a naivety that I didn’t recognise half the wooden and metallic implements. Many looked like they should adorn the hands of a torturer from the Spanish Inquisition.

I selected a stout wooden paddle; it was one of the very few items that I knew what it was and thought that the cane would hurt more. “Roll the dice,” he ordered, and I picked up the icosahedral gaming dice and rolled it gently on the table. I went to shout out the number, but he put his finger to his lips.

“You know your safeword?” He barked.

“It was on the card,” Erika replied. The sadist nodded, looked at the camera, stepped behind her and brought the paddle firmly onto her exposed butt. She shrieked in pain; her body tensing and then relaxing as she spat swear words into the dungeon.

I looked at the dice and then at the cross once more; the guy swiped the paddle firmly against her white flesh. She yelled, screaming in agony as the stroke landed on her derriere.

I gulped; barely able to watch the third hit. Erika gripped the cross as the next two smacks of her reddening arse landed in quick succession. I left the room, unable to listen to the tortured squeals, cries and sounds. I hoped Erika would stop the scene. Her cries went through me; the vicious strikes landed on her skin and caused her to scream in pain.
I heard her take a dozen strikes before she was released and came up behind me. “You OK?”

“Yeah, that was just a bit too much for me.”

She giggled. “Hey, it was just a little paddling.” She leant into my ear. “You don’t think he was really smashing me hard, do you? My arse is red, a little sore, but he wasn’t a twat!”

“Oh, you looked…”

“I’m an actress too. And who doesn’t love a good spanking now and then?” She gave me a kiss on the cheek and walked towards her clothes. The topless assistant approached her holding a black card and a bucket.

I left the studio to look over Prague and get some lungfuls of fresh Prague air. We had a good vantage point near the castle. She tapped me on the shoulder, and I turned to face her.

Erika was naked, except for a piece of hosiery. I gasped at her. “Are you getting dressed?”

“I am dressed. It’s the final challenge. I have to get to a location without using trams in just stockings.”

“You’ll freeze,” I replied. “I’m cold and I have a coat, jeans, jumper and…”

“It’s five minutes away,” she snapped. “I’ll get my clothes back at the end of the day.”

“But…”

Erika glared at me. “It’s the final task. They take all my clothes and my travel pass, and I have to get to the boat. I’m only allowed a pair of stockings and my shoes. I choose the black stockings.”

I took a moment to admire her, dressed in just the two pieces of flimsy material. I’d seen her naked during the day, but her pale flesh contrasted beautifully with the elegant, classy hosiery. She cocked the head and looked expectantly.

“Where are we going?” She passed me the map which one of the dominants had circled a location on the eastern side of the Charles Bridge. “You are going to get arrested!”

“Then bail me out if I need it,” she replied. “But hurry. I want to win this. You need to hand in the tablet and the travel pass.” I passed both of the items to the topless assistant in the doorway to the dungeon and held out my hand to the young lady.
The square near the KGB Museum was empty, and we walked down the hill, past the electric bike shop. A young man stared at the sexy woman, strolling almost naked, along the cobbled streets. “Erika, wait!”

“I’m cold. Hurry up!” She cried. I took my coat and put it over her bare shoulders. She smiled at me, deliberating for a moment. “I can’t.”

“Please.”

“No,” she said firmly. “If I get disqualified… No. It’s very sweet but, no.”

We ran down the hill until we reached the tram line, and then crossed the road onto the pedestrianised bridge that was packed with couples, tourists and commuters.

Cameras were instantly trained on the near-naked Erika, yells of shock and exclamation met her arrival and hands tried to touch her bare skin. She posed for a couple of pictures with a stag party; her sudden urgency to reach the finish line as quickly as she could and escape the chilly weather disappeared the moment she was paid lewd attention on the stone bridge.

“Come on,” I cried at her, but she allowed herself to manhandled by the boisterous Liverpudlians, who lifted her and exposed her shaved slit to the gleeful photographer.

“One moment,” she cooed, kissing the groom-to-be on the cheek. She posed with a couple and then a gaggle of leery boys. We were inching our way towards our destination. I patiently waited for over two minutes before I scooped up the young lady, flung her over my shoulder and carried her across the bridge, exposing her bare, beaten arse to oncoming pedestrians.

“Put me down.”

“Naughty attention whores will get a spanking!” I warned, and holding her stocking-clad legs with my right hand, slapped her scarlet rump with my left as I marched purposefully across the stone bridge.

“Put me down!”

“I’m saving you from yourself.” I truly believed I was stopping her from allowing her lust for exhibitionism rob her of the chance of victory. I held onto her squirming legs tightly and only placed them on the ground once we had reached the bank and the crowd had thinned.

She still had an audience. We were still being photographed brazenly and covertly. “Ow!” She squealed, rubbing her rump and then parting her legs slightly and bending over to rub her shins. It was a provocative pose, directed at the most obvious of photographers, who lapped at the chance to capture the filthiest, sluttiest picture of the wanton floozy.

“Can we finish this now? Or do you want to go up to Sparta Prague and do a streak, maybe? Or we could just oil you up and fling you into the dressing room to get fucked by eleven horny footballers!”

“Good, you’re wound up!” She teased and stood directly in front of me. “I didn’t realise being among a naked girl made you so tense. You should work on that.” I sighed, grabbed her hand and marched her down the road alongside the river. She squealed in pain at my tight grip and I pushed her towards a large yacht, flying the SXH flag.

A muscled man, wearing just the tiniest pair of tight-fitting black boxer shorts held a tray containing full champagne flutes. “Welcome,” a big-breasted female host, in a tight, short dress cried as we walked onto the boat. “You are our second finisher.”

“Second?” Erika said, with disappointment tinting her tone.

“Miss Italy was here two minutes ago. Please make your way inside.” The exhibitionist led me into luxurious yacht, full of cameras and we sat down with champagne glasses. She was given a tight-fitting T-shirt and shorts, both with the SXH logo, and she was told that they would give her the clothes she had left at the BDSM studio at her hotel later.

Erika had a brief discussion with the organiser and came over to me. “They want to do some promo shots with just the girls. Can…”

“Can I please piss off?”

She nodded. “Sorry. I really mean it, thank you. Can I, can I come and see you tomorrow at your hotel? At breakfast?”

“Sure,” I said and kissed Erika on the cheek. “It’s been fun.” I looked back at the two stocking-clad women, smiled and walked into the centre of Prague, not quite sure how much of the previous few hours wasn’t a dream.

I enjoyed a beautiful meal in a city centre restaurant and then took a walk along the river, nearly bumping into a red-headed woman wearing just a pair of fishnet tights.

I woke the following morning and ate in the hotel restaurant; as I rose from my table, a waiter passed me an envelope. “A young lady asked me to give you this.”

Meet me on the roof

I ran up the stairs two-at-a-time to the viewing balcony; Erika, wearing the familiar rainbow scarf and green hat, held the map out and looked out over the city. “Oh hello stranger,” she cooed. “There’s one more thing I need to find.”

“What?” I asked.

She laughed, screwed up the map and threw it over her shoulder. “I won’t need that. I need to find my underwear.”

“Oh that’s in my coat pocket, in my hotel room.”

“Excellent, do you have a double bed?”

“Er… yes!”

“We’ll need that too.” She flung her arms around me and planted her lips on mine. “My flight isn’t for another eight hours.” She tugged at my hand. “And we both know we can have a lot of fun in just eight hours!”