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Aside from that one moment, Carmen was indistinguishable from what was becoming her normal persona throughout the following hour or so, but she did completely discard any notion of sexual games. It was easier that way. She quickly made clear all she wanted was rough rutting, and so I was able to forcefully prevent her from infecting me under the guise of taking charge, just like I had stumbled into doing when she first confronted me yesterday. I kept asking her what she wanted next, but only giving her a semblance of choice, and making her beg for it. It was a wonderful strategy, because once I learned to read her, I could give her what she wanted as if it was my idea.

We bit a large chunk out of the afternoon going at it non-stop, and I saw the full extent of my new unnatural endurance. I came inside her again and again, in every orifice, and still wouldn't go limp. It was physical exhaustion from every other fibre in both our frenzied bodies that finally drove us to end the session. We'd covered a lot of terrain within her apartment at the final climax - which is to say we moved like three or four metres across the room. I had her standing up, pinned against her wall-sized window over the street, face and chest squashed against the glass while I took her from behind. It was quite by accident that I sprayed her behind with cum. My legs were wobling and I had been getting more and more giddy with each passing second. One moment I was about to flood her cunt yet again, the next I was spurting and painting her. I still can't remember how many times I'd come already, but the stuff was still abundant, still pearly white, and flew across her quivering butt cheeks all the way up to her neck. Globs of it landed in her hair as well. My first coherent thought while riding back down from ecstasy was that there had to be a violation of thermodynamics happening somewhere. Surely a normal man could not produce so much spunk out of his own god-forsaken balls without some insane enchantment?

Nothing special happened thereafter. Both spent, we collapsed in a heap on the floor and stayed there until Carmen summoned the strength to drag me to her bathroom. The shower was too small to allow for two, so that routine went by chaste and quick. When we were done and partially dressed, Carmencita had us settle down by the windows overlooking the small square and the elevator to the Burrows. She wasn't keen on talking, just sat lazily in her chair oppposite me, while we both stared into space, sipping hot choclate, this time with no intent to spill it everywhere.

Left to my own thoughts, I replayed the most recent events repeatedly, and soon one, simple question overwhelmingly took front and centre: how drastically was Carmen altered? I knew she couldn't be acting too far from her true self, based on Mother and Julie. Even with sex becoming the casual forefront of their activities, they were recognizeably the same people. Julie's relationship with the academic side of school was unchanged. She had originally approached me for assistance with homework after all. If the same principle applied to Carmen, then here was a deep lesson on why she had rejected me while still of sound mind. It rather looked like she wanted someone to take the reins from her. This was her apartment, and I knew she was earning and paying for it herself, independent from parental support, unlike me at Mother's. She was after a break from juggling all those things the way she did, always on time, always conscientious, always thorough.

But would the infection draw this out of her if not for my blind floundering to avoid notice? If I hadn't shot 'spice' at her, what then? Because after a day and a half observing and participating in all the gratuitous fucking, that dynamic hardly seemed fitting. I saw no agression, no spice in the Sally twins' lovemaking. There was no real spice in Julie, even when berating me for failing to fully service her. And I saw none of it in any of the dozen other folk I happened upon in the street going at it. It was all namby-pamby, mutual satisfaction. Even some of the derogatory language used to brainwash Elizabeth Morgan was offset by the explicit instructions that followed. "Anyone will do the same for you," the voice had said, "You need only make your wants known."

Somewhere behind the already cloud-filled sky, Phobos passed in front of the sun, casting even more shadow on the City. Carmencita finished her drink. "What did you come out here to do?" she asked, cutting short the peaceful silence. "Instead of coming to school? You're not ill. Not one bit."

I wanted to tell her the truth. I wanted to try and reach that panic-stricken girl in the image of her momentary hesitation just a couple of hours ago. To simply leave would make me complicit in the conspiracy. Except that now was an incredibly bad time to risk it. It was dark enough that colour was fading from Carmen's eyes, making it difficult to judge her expression. Neither of us had got up to switch on a lamp since sitting down. There would be no clues in her voice or posture. Dim light from outside catching parts of her face and still exposed chest were just a distraction. I couldn't feed her titbits and gauge her reaction, know when to lie or not. If she could be brought to her senses, it would rest on a brutal gamble. And I didn't even know what it was I wanted to do.

"You’re guarding your thoughts," Carmen continued when I didn't answer immediately, "That's not like you. I mean, you don't usually broadcast your feelings openly, but I should be able to read you. Something changed yesterday..."

She leaned forward, and a ray of light from the streets below finally caught one of her irises. It shined green right through the dim orange veil.

"What's wrong?"