by Cameron Hale
She tried to hold him back, but he brushed her off. “Are you crazy?” she asked. “The whole scenario could change if you go in there. We don’t know what the program is capable of.”
He pushed the door open and stepped outside, his shoes crunching on the hard-packed soil. “Then stay here while I check it out.”
“Dirk, no! Come back, don’t go in there!”
Ignoring her, Dirk approached the sagging porch. The rotted planks buckled as he moved toward the front door and tentatively nudged it with his foot. It slowly creaked open and bathed him in jaundiced light. A quick glance revealed a shabbily furnished room dominated by a wood-burning fireplace. Blue-tinted flames licked at a pile of neatly stacked longs.
“Hello?” he said, his voice not quite concealing a slight tremor. “Is anyone here? Hello?”
He took a deep breath and stepped inside. Nervously, he surveyed the interior. The roughly hewn furnishings reeked of a different era—the air reeking with a peculiar must that spoke of age and neglect. He warily eyed the flimsy windows. As if they’ll keep anything out, he thought. Reluctantly, he explored the remaining rooms to find only a museum-piece kitchen, an ancient bathroom and finally, a bedroom curiously equipped with a huge, canopied bed. He searched through drawers and wardrobes. Empty, they offered no clues, no explanations. He found little comfort in the ramshackle environment, the dull lantern glow scarcely penetrating the shadowy, cobweb-draped corners.
The creak of the front door stabbed the silence. He swallowed a thrill of terror and returned to the vacant living room.
“Mandy?”
He started as something brushed past him. Though fleeting footsteps retreated toward the bedroom, he saw nothing.
“Mandy? Is that you?”
“Dirk? Oh, God, where are you!”
“I’m here in the living room.”
“I can’t find you.”
Silence ensued. Dirk struggled to listen above the rising cadence of his heartbeat, his feet mired by fear. Only Mandy’s sharp scream released him from immobility. He crept toward the bedroom. The room expanded and contracted through a gauzy mist, filling him with a sense of vertigo. He reeled and straightened, the nausea combated only through deep breaths. Holding the doorjamb for support, he stared in disbelief at the surreal scene before him.
Naked, her head covered by a gleaming latex mask that revealed only her nose and mouth, Mandy rested on the bed on her hands and knees within a tight circle of seven equally naked, black-hooded men. Her ass raised high in the air, she fingered herself, the sound of her wetness audible. One of the men, a muscular creature the color of polished onyx, pulled on a leather strap attached to a heavily studded dog collar tightly clamped around Mandy’s neck. She turned and blindly crawled toward him. When she was within reach, he guided her mouth toward his enormous hard-on. His dark eyes glinted through the cut out slits as she sucked him and caressed his shaven balls.
Dirk felt the floor lurch beneath his feet. Yet despite his efforts, he could not move toward the bed that wavered in and out of focus like a bad television picture. As if aware of his scrutiny, the men turned to regard him in unison. Mockery emanated from their eyes. Slowly, deliberately, the others pulled Mandy away from the onyx-colored man and spread her on her back. They descended upon her in a mass of writhing bodies, lifting her, tasting her, tongues, fingers and cocks filling every hole. Like a flailing swimmer, Mandy surfaced only occasionally, her flesh glistening with pearly strands of come. Never once did anyone make a sound, the action cocooned in an eerie cloak of utter silence.
Bile rose in Dirk’s throat. Shaking his head, he stumbled backward. “No,” he muttered. “This can’t be happening. This can’t be real. This is nothing but a program, a simulation…”
Mandy emerged once more from the surging human tide. Though her mask had no eyeholes, she seemed to look directly at him. She trembled from the simultaneous penetration she was receiving. Her lips were bruised, her breasts peppered with bites. Two men masturbated above her head.
“Come on, Dirk,” she said in a voice that echoed of several more. “Don’t act as if this isn’t what you want. Why pretend otherwise? Tell them what you want them to do to me. They’ll do anything you say…”
Stifling the scream rising in his throat, Dirk stumbled away from the bedroom. “End program!” he cried uselessly to distant sound of laughter. “End program!”
He burst through the front door and hesitated, battling with his fear of the palpable darkness beyond. It quickly evaporated when he realized that the jeep was gone. Visible in the murky light pouring from the windows and open door, tire tracks snaked inexorably towards an indelible curtain of blackness. He fell to the porch on his knees.
“Dear God,” he muttered repeatedly. His eyes followed the zigzagging tire marks.
“Dirk?”
He gasped and scuttled to his feet. Though the voice sounded like Mandy’s, he could not convince himself to look behind. Woodenly, he descended the porch steps.
“Dirk, wait! Can’t you see the jeep’s gone?”
Footsteps approached the door. He winced as his feet made contact with the dirt.
Panic edged Mandy’s voice. “Dirk, please stop. I got scared waiting by myself. I came in to find you but you were nowhere in sight. When I came out here to look for you, the jeep was gone.”
Leave me alone, he thought. Whatever you are.
Now the footsteps descended the porch stairs. Dirk forced himself to pick up his pace. Ahead, the void beckoned. For a moment it shifted like a living thing, then reached to embrace him.
“Dirk! Don’t go! Please—don’t let it take you.”
Her voice echoed in the stillness. “Dirk?” she repeated, with less fear in her voice.
Slowly, she stepped onto the dirt. She peered thoughtfully into the darkness and smiled.
“End program!”
A moment later she stood in the bare simulator chamber. She stepped through the archway into the brightly lit apartment. The sound of applause rose above soft music.
“Bravo, Mandy. An outstanding performance.”
She skipped toward Neil’s waiting arms. Two glasses of champagne sparkled on the polished agate coffee table. Low lights and fragrant candles completed the scene, along with Neil’s clothes discarded on the floor.
He gathered her in his arms and pressed his lips to hers. Their kiss was lingering, passionate, a fencing of tongues. She straddled his lap and ground her hips against his rigid cock. He laughed and tried to still her roaming hands.
“Easy babe, we have all the time in the world now. He cupped her chin and look into her eyes. “Everything went well?”
She grinned and nodded. “The script was already in his mind. All we had to do with start the cameras rolling.” She rose to slip out of her jeans and shirt.
He clasped her arm. “Not so fast. Haven’t you forgotten something?”
“Of course,” she said. “The closing credits.”
She bent to plant a kiss on his lips before returning to the simulator chamber. “Voice code authorization LindNeil seven,” she said, her voice echoing loudly in the emptiness. “Erase program!”
DETOX
Saranoud smiled coyly as the announcer chimed a fourth time. Though its melodious resonance echoed impatiently throughout the house, her attention remained fixed on the reflection of her AI’s dexterous fingers. Illuminated by the flattering softness of the backlit mirror, she watched her transformation with a critical eye. Lotus, her efficient valet, patiently used a sonic stylus to swirl her mass of hair until it formed a dramatically crested wave. Layered blonde highlights enhanced her flawless, peachy complexion. Fresh and dewy from a daily cosmetic facelift, she required only minimal makeup to augment her enhanced violet eyes and perfectly proportioned doll-like features.
Never a day over twenty-five, she mused. Spurred by a primal, subliminal beat programmed into the ventilation system, she admired herself with a growing sense of arousal. Ignoring Lotu
s’ solicitous expression, she ran her hands along the clinging smoothness of her silver lame dress and moved her hips to the subtly erotic rhythm. The silken feel of the fabric left a warm tingle on her palms and stoked the growing heat between her legs. Strategically slashed to reveal a generous swell of cleavage just shy of her nipples, the open back of the dress plunged to the cleft of her shapely ass. The material hugged her upper thighs, teasing with the promise of the clearly naked flesh below.
Her fingers toyed with the hem. Gradually, they slipped below and strayed to her completely bald pubic mound. She felt the heat of her swollen cunt lips and longed to stroke the hot wet flesh—but not yet. That would be for Darien to explore, with his lips, with his fingers, with whatever new toy he had brought with him this time. The lure of her voluptuous body was a more powerful addiction than any recreational drug either had sampled, and far more enticing than the other willing partners they had shared between them.
The announcer chimed a fifth time. Unconcerned, Saranoud paused her self-absorbed dance to stand still while Lotus, long accustomed to her masturbatory interludes, misted her in a fine veil of musky perfume.
“Madam, are you sure I shouldn't let Mr. Breme in? He's been waiting now for over an hour. The sensor net might report him as a trespasser if he remains outside much longer.”
Saranoud studiously assessed her profile and corrected a slightly smudged lipline. She glanced briefly at Lotus, her motherly features and simply dressed brown hair designed to provide no in-house competition. “He'll be fine, Lotus. It never hurt a man to wait. Makes them appreciate the finer things in life.”
“Of course, Madam. You have far more experience in these matters than I do.” She set the stylus down on the dressing table cluttered with cosmetics and utensils and gazed appreciatively at Saranoud’s hair. “You look stunning. The wave is truly among my finest creations. Not even the best salons could claim better hairdressing skill.”
“They don’t even come close,” Saranoud said. “You’re absolutely priceless.”
She stepped back from the dresser and regarded herself in the mirror. Slowly, she turned, her critical eye analyzing every detail of her appearance. Long, silver-gilt nails mirrored the buffed shade of her strappy stiletto heels, her only other accessories a pair of diamond spray earrings and simple diamond strand bracelet. The room lighting subtly altered to accommodate every possible scenario, preventing the gaucherie of appearing in unflattering colors or overdone makeup.
She nodded approvingly, the high heels augmenting her provocative sway. Used to male attention, she instinctively knew that starkly simple designs augmented her sinuous body as effectively as her custom-blended pheromonal perfume.
“It's a good thing I have your grooming programs patented, Lotus. I wouldn't put it past some of my friends to steal your ideas, or you, for that matter. They’re all insanely jealous.”
Lotus demurred politely. “I enjoy being creative,” she said, glancing sympathetically at Darien Breme's aggravated image on a nearby holo-monitor. “It's very fulfilling, but really, Madam, shouldn't I let Mr. Breme in now? He looks quite unhappy.”
Saranoud glanced at the image and grinned at Darien's petulant expression. He alternated between impatient pacing and irate glares at the front door security monitor. Yet like a lovingly cooked dish, she knew that the ultimate flavor would be much tastier for the simmering. “Tell him I'll be right down. I just need to select an evening bag.”
She waited until Lotus left the room before palming a discreet viewer screen displaying an internal view of the house. The valet descended the dramatic spiral staircase. Bathed in the glow of a gemdrop chandelier that shimmied in response to changes in air current, her demeanor appeared almost human. Commissioned at great cost, her prolific talents extended well beyond the range of standard household valets. Articulate, creative and innovative, she had become an instrumental part of Saranoud’s social success.
The announcer chimed yet again. Saranoud watched Lotus hurriedly opened the door and greet Darien effusively as she showed him in. “How wonderful to see you, Mr. Breme,” she said, her warm brown eyes straying to the massive bouquet of imported Martian blood roses clutched in his hand. “Oh, Madam will absolutely adore these!”
“I sincerely hope so,” Darien said, discreetly checking his reflection in the mirrored atrium walls. “I had to bribe half the Martian shuttle crew to overlook them on the cargo list. Not an easy task, I assure you.”
Lotus appreciatively sniffed. “Delightful.” She took the bouquet and dropped each glossy, thornless stem into the gurgling living room fountain. Her laughter was surprisingly feminine as she watched the roses gracefully undulate through the water.
“Well, aren't they lovely,” Saranoud said. Slowly descending the stairs, she beamed at Darien, watching with satisfaction as his earlier irritation transformed to boyish adoration the moment her heady perfume hit his nostrils.
“I wanted to surprise you,” he said, his dusky eyes following the curves blatantly hugged by her clinging scrap of a dress. “These rare beauties keep for months. Perhaps when you look at them you'll think of me.”
Saranoud regarded him with a cocked eyebrow. Tall, swarthy and well chiseled, he sported a rakishly cut gray silkscreen suit that emphasized his superb physique. Beyond traditionally handsome, he could easily pass for a model, his glacier blue eyes and insolently dimpled cheeks both sensuous and beguiling. More impressive was the fact that he was completely unenhanced, his birth free from the genetic modification that rolled out almost monotonously generic good looks. Saranoud had even caught Lotus casting covert glances at Darien’s deliciously tight ass, though the valet stolidly denied that she was programmed with any modicum of sexual interest.
Darien continued to stare unabashedly as Saranoud approached. She smiled, aware of a subtle body language that vanquished all cultural barriers. Darien’s rapt glance reminded her of her fifteenth birthday. The lavish debutante ball organized by her mother had been an unprecedented success, the event launching Saranoud into the ranks of the most eligible women. She had taken the social scene by storm, her abundant feminine charms attracting suitors and rivals by droves.
At twenty, she was now far more selective, choosing and discarding men as she would last season’s wardrobe. Darien was among her favorite suitors, his innate charm and slavish adoration his most endearing qualities. Always seeking to please, he provided imaginative entertainment in ways undreamt of by his contemporaries.
Slowly, deliberately, she ran her finger across his lips. She molded herself against him and felt the subtle pressure of his growing hard-on. With a mischievous smile, she teased it with her thigh. “Darien, I've only got to be awake to think about you.”
His hands snaked around her waist and strayed to the firm cheeks of her ass. Rucking the dress up between his fingers, it took only a moment before she was completely exposed. With a sigh, she leaned into his embrace and parted her thighs. His fingers wasted no time in exploring her wetness, her swollen clit so tender she gasped as he tickled it with feathery strokes. His fingers relentlessly strayed to probe her anus. Saranoud inadvertently cried out and writhed against him.
Lotus coughed discreetly before excusing herself. “I think I’ll finish cleaning upstairs.”
Without waiting for her to leave, Darien turned Saranoud around and bent her over till she clasped her ankles. Parting the cheeks of her bare ass, he knelt to the polished agate floor and penetrated her cunt with his tongue. Saranoud gasped and spread her legs farther apart. Faced with her twitching anus, he wetted two fingers with her gushing cunt juice and shoved them inside the tight passage.
“Oh, God!” she cried as he rhythmically pumped her. “Fuck me now! I want to feel it in me.”
Obligingly, Darien rose. Keeping his fingers wedged firmly in her anus, he used his free hand to release his engorged cock and shoved it inside her without preamble. Fueled by the subliminals, she bucked fiercely and ground her ass so hard against him he
almost lost he balance. Her breasts spilled from the tenuous grasp of her dress and swung like fleshy pendulums. She groped the wall for support, her calves aching from her effort to remain in position. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t able to watch the viewer record them, as was her habit, it only mattered that she continued to feel the raw heat firing every nerve in her body.
“Shove it in my ass hard!” she cried.
Flushed, panting, Darien withdrew his fingers from her anus and spread her cheeks wide. Slipping his slick cock out of her cunt, the wetness allowed him easy entry. She squirmed and whimpered as he thrust deep into her, his hands periodically slapping her ass until the flesh glowed pink. Both came so violently that the chandelier trembled from their expended energy, their excited cries echoing loudly.
Gasping for breath, Saranoud rose on wobbly legs and turned to face Darien. He grinned and fanned himself, his eyes straying to the rivulets of come dribbling down her naked thighs. “Something tells me we’d better freshen up before we leave.”
Ignoring her rucked up dress, Saranoud smiled and preened her disheveled hairdo. “Looks like it’s going to be an interesting evening.”
Darien nodded. “Count on it.”
* * *
Stepping into the cool embrace of the evening, Darien rushed ahead to the circular driveway. He retrieved a flashing wafer from his pocket and remotely released the entry hatch to a vehicle gleaming a metallic shade of midnight blue. Folded wings hugged a sleek, needle-nosed vessel decked with an array of recessed lights. The hatch silently rose, beckoning them into a plush, streamlined interior.
Saranoud paused and blinked at the craft. Vaguely reminiscent of a skulking bird of prey, it caught the covetous attention of a pair of passers-by. She noted their impressed expressions. “My God, isn’t this a Lunata?” she asked in an unnecessarily loud tone of voice. “I thought only two prototypes existed? How the hell did you get your hands on one?”
