It had been months since Venus de Milo had left Skarlette City. Platinum Panther didn’t know where the mind-bendingly beautiful villainess had gone. She didn’t want to know. Through focusing on fighting crime as Platinum Panther and running a world-class tech company as Penelope Payes, she managed to keep her mind off the beguiling beauty. She managed to forget what Venus had made her feel.

Plus, she’d dated. A lot. Of guys. Because she was straight. Very, totally straight.

Okay, maybe not a lot of guys, but at least a few. Definitely more than one.

But sometimes, forgetting was hard. Sometimes the Libido League’s crime computers would notice a pattern of high-class thefts where witnesses described the most beautiful woman they’d ever seen. Sometimes, Penelope’s rich friends would talk about the stunning woman they’d met on vacation that they’d given their priceless jewels to. Sometimes, Mnemonica would post of list of villains still at large.

Whenever she was reminded of Venus, Penelope’s perfect memory took over. Images assaulted her senses, nearly as potent as the day they happened: the majestic swell of Venus’s breasts, the floral scent of her hair, the inviting curve of her hips, the mischievous glint in her eye. Penelope’s body would react the same way it did to the real Venus de Milo: hot, slick arousal coursing through her, groans escaping her lips, her hands drawn to her most sensitive places. Before long, Penelope would be rubbing herself furiously, awash in the bliss of her memories of Venus, perfectly preserved.

Almost perfectly. At least, extremely well-preserved. Rich and vivid memories, certainly. Except for one tiny detail.

Whatever part of Venus’s powers that drove onlookers to climax merely from looking at her had started to fade from Penelope’s otherwise-flawless memory. The mental image of Venus’s naked beauty still burned within her like a star of lust. But the part that would set off the supernova of ecstasy had faded with the months of absence. No matter how skillfully her fingers played with her clit, nor how high she cranked the RPMs of her vibrator, Penelope couldn’t cum to Venus’s memory any more. She just hung helplessly on the edge, desperate for a release she could no longer remember how to surrender to.

Falling asleep, sore and yearning from too many edges, Penelope knew the only thing worse that a perfect memory was a near-perfect memory.