by Annalise
On paper, he was fairly wealthy.
In actuality, he was almost broke.
The card purchase was typical of his investment luck. For a mere five credits, he’d gained entré into an exclusive sex club, complete with one masturbation experience and the most erotic back rub he could imagine. Not bad for a measly five credits.
So spend another five credits!
He smacked his forehead. He’d go back and see if The Fantasy Shoppe had another card—or maybe two—for sale.
Why hadn’t he thought of that before?
He finished dressing in record time. Wolfing down his breakfast, he barely tasted the real scrambled eggs and ham before he scalded his throat with coffee. Muttering curses under his breath, he raced out the door, onto a waiting lift, through the hotel checkpoint, and out the doors.
Dodging traffic, he crossed the street in the shadows of the soaring mega-structures. At ground level he passed the blank walls of the great foundations, heading for the gap formed by two support columns, and the old shop nestled between them.
There he stopped and stared in disbelief. Between the towering supports, where The Fantasy Shoppe had stood, he faced an empty alley. His head spun. He shook it to clear his vision. A few scraps of paper blew along the slick pavement, now deep in shadow, where the shop had been.
He walked back to the corner and checked the signs. Yeah, this was the street. Directly across from a PeaceKeepers recruitment center, now that he looked around.
He walked the length of the block, down to the gleaming door of a Personal Improvement Center in the lower level of the city in a city overhead. All he passed were the street-access doors to the lower levels of a few other store fronts, the PeaceKeeper recruitment center, a travel planner, a restaurant filthy enough to make him keep moving under any circumstances, and back to the other support structures of the overhead complex.
There was no one on street level to ask for directions. The PeaceKeeper recruiters raised wary eyebrows as he walked back and forth, and he was sure it was only his uniform that kept them from reporting him for heat stroke.
Overhead, PFs zipped around, jostling for space and docking on upper floors. If he recalled correctly, and he could swear he was right, the little shop had not extended up to a second story. Only a pedestrian would have noticed it, and they were in short supply.
He walked back and forth one more time, but didn’t see anything resembling the quaint shop where he’d bought the card. He swore it had been right where the alley was.
Brad. Of course. His lieutenant had seen it.
That thought was immediately tempered by the memory that Brad’s interest had been in drinking, not shopping. He hadn’t actually entered the place. Would Brad look at him the same way the recruiters were eyeing him now, if he asked about a disappearing shop?
Frustrated, Link kicked the curb. So much for his investment luck.
He slowly made his way back to the headquarters hotel. There, he asked the officer on duty and one of the guards if they knew of any local shops where he could buy something unusual. The guard recommended the hotel gift shop. The duty officer directed him to her favorite shop, the nearest Glimmer Gifts outlet.
There was only one more place he could look. He hopped a slide-way into the bowels of HQ.
There, he checked in and was assigned a communications console, one of the desks available to whatever officers happened to be on base. A slew of messages popped up on the screen when he identified himself. Link ignored them and called up his banking records.
His liquid account showed no record of a five-credit debit to The Fantasy Shoppe.
Transactions were instant. Shit. He was out of options.
Almost.
With reluctance, he went in search of Brad. He found him tipped back in his chair, eyes closed, dictating a report to his comm panel
Link tapped him on the shoulder. “Brad. Did you know that huge synth-stone building on the corner of Oxford was a brothel?”
Brad dropped his feet to the floor and tapped a pad on the console to pause his report. “I’ve heard it rumored. Not a place you or I could ever afford, is my understanding. It’s for diplomats, four-star generals, CEOs, INCs, you know, all those letter and number types.”
“Well, I found a membership card to the place…in the street.” Link crossed his arms over his chest in an effort to look casual. “I’m thinking of trying it out.”
Brad made a rude noise. “You can get it free anytime, any port. So what are you thinking?”
“Of something different, if you get what I mean.” Link wagged his eyebrows to keep the moment light. “I just need some way to put credits on the card.”
“You’d have to have credits up the ass to afford that place. Why spend a month’s pay for a blow job you can get from Pfc. Harkins in Supply anytime for free?”
“I don’t think Harkins is up for what I’m looking for. And Harkins is doing Lieberman in personnel. She can’t see past his Shuttle Relay Team silver medal belt buckle.”
Brad laughed. “Can you say that three times fast?” He rose and slapped Link on the shoulder. “You know, I’m bored. Maybe I’ll check your brothel out. If we can get credits on your card, maybe we could make a twosome.”
Link watched Brad leave the security area. He returned to his own space.
Make a twosome. The idea of Evans massaging Brad’s equipment made his mouth go dry. Link forced his mind from the images he’d conjured up.
An hour later, as he was giving a last look over the roster of officers available for his next crew on the Mars Station, Brad burst in, breathing expensive Mars-tini fumes down his neck.
“You won’t believe what I learned from the bartender at The Drowning Pool.”
“Try me.” Link kept his gaze on the roster and hoped his tension didn’t show.
“The brothel is a private club, like I said. Some mighty exotic stuff in there, if half the rumors are true. But you won’t get past the door without that card. Now, here’s the good news. If you give him the card, the bartender knows a guy who knows a guy who knows a guy who can put double your credits on it—no questions asked. All you have to do is find some credits, this guy does some magic… and bingo, we’re being sucked and fucked.”
No, Link thought, only I’m using the card. He studied a heat scar across the back of his hand. “Great. I’ll get the credits. You introduce me to the bartender.”
* * * * *
Link activated the card. The gold and white swirl seemed to take longer than usual to disappear. A cat-eyed woman, this time with lavender hair, welcomed him with gushing enthusiasm. He suspected the enthusiasm of her greeting had ratcheted up in direct proportion to the number of new credits on his card.
The menu was much more extensive, though not exotic.
So what was exotic? Flowers up his ass?
He sorted through the menus again and again, almost caressing the view screen with his fingertips as he contemplated the options for an hour with Evans. And he’d thought the touch screen was out of date. For this application, it was appropriate.
Fellatio.
Anal sex.
Partner Pulsations
Gusto Grannies
Dozens of terms he’d never thought about in connection with sex.
Shower Fun.
The listing caught his eye. He tapped the words and reared back as a very realistic gush of water shot at him. He laughed at his overreaction. It betrayed the state of his nerves.
The water “dripped” down the screen and then the screen fogged as if it were the glass wall of a shower. A woman’s finger drew the list of options with agonizing slowness. Each word revealed a little more of her sultry nudity behind the shower door. As the list of options and prices appeared, so did more of her. By the time she traced the last word on the menu, he could see every luscious inch of her—and the huge dildo she plied in her free hand.
Without hesitation Link touched one of the options.
Shower w
ith attendant, sexual activity (barring violence).
Another screen appeared. A simple accounting of cost. He opted for two orgasms and gulped at the number of extra credits he had to fork over for the privilege of getting off twice in one visit.
Lastly, the screen shifted and fogged over, then a hand wiped it clear to reveal the usual bevy of attendants ready and willing to suck and fuck him under the sensuous spray of a ten-jet shower chamber.
Evans was there.
His cock twitched at the thought of more time spent with her. He flattened his hand on her image.
Another image came to mind. Pulling back the cheap plastic curtain of the barracks shower stall. Watching her soap her breasts, watching her turn and smile at him.
And hold out her hand.
* * * * *
Evans examined the shower chamber, an authentic marble-tiled room with a retraction toilet and sink. A long counter held a basket of supplies chosen by the guest to enhance the bathing experience. She grinned. The basket was empty except for a bottle of liquid soap and a cloth. So, her guest was a no-nonsense man… or woman.
Shit. The room shifted. She gasped and grabbed the counter.
“Are you ill, Bliss6?” asked the ever-present chaperone’s voice.
“I-I think… that is.” She sat abruptly on the toilet as it slid from the wall.
“Take deep breaths. And drink some water.”
Her hand shook as she reached for the cup that had appeared behind a sliding panel in the wall. It held cool water—and something else. Something minty. She drank it down and leaned forward, putting her head between her knees.
With each breath she felt better. Not clearer in the head, but less nauseated.
“Are you ready for your guest?” the voice asked.
“Sure,” she said, standing up and testing her balance. She blinked and suddenly the soft peach and gray colors of the marble shower chamber came into focus, sharp and clear. She heard the whoosh of water as the shower jets began to spout, out of sight behind the wall she faced.
She discarded her robe and took up the little basket with its lonely bottle of bath soap and cloth. Walking into the shower was like walking into a spiral shell. The circular center had jets coming from all heights. Several curved ledges protruded from the slick walls, sculpted to nestle a bottom or support a leg. She set her basket down. Here and there, bars offered a guest someplace to hang onto if necessary. Around the top of the enclosure hung hand straps. The floor beneath her feet was made of a resilient, warm material, and the inner chamber was wide enough that even a man as tall as Link Taylor could lie down and get screwed in complete comfort.
Evans felt her heartbeat escalate and shut her mind on the image of Link stretched out on the floor and her lowering herself on his erection. She stepped into the jets and allowed the blood-warm water to wash away her anxiety. Or was she feeling the minty drug begin its intended work?
She slicked back her hair. It hung down to the middle of her back, the only improvement the establishment had forced on her. She was surprised Link recognized her.
After twelve days of injections, her hair had gone from military crop to bumper crop. She giggled at her mental turn of phrase, then sobered. A shift in the air pressure told her the guest had arrived.
She would think of Link as she pleasured this guest. She would close her eyes and conjure the hard masculine lines of his body. It might be the only way she could get through the task—especially if her guest was like the last, a sinewy woman in her eighties.
A hand fell on Evans’s shoulder. She forced herself not to cringe or recoil. Eyes closed, head down, she turned. Opened her eyes. And saw his feet.
Link’s feet.
A soft moan escaped her. He gathered her hair and smoothed it from her brow, back over her shoulders. The touch of his hands liquefied her insides. As he stroked her shoulders, she knew she wanted nothing more than to feel him buried inside her.
“Look at me,” he said.
And because he made the request, she was permitted to do so.
His expression was no longer blank. His pupils were dilated, his eyes almost black in the soft light of the peach and gray chamber. His nostrils flared.
He cupped the back of her neck and drew her close.
For a moment, her heart went wild. When his mouth settled on her brow, she shivered and grabbed his forearms to hold herself upright.
The last time he’d kissed her temple, feathering his breath across the skin, he’d also driven his cock so deep inside her she’d screamed.
He made an inarticulate sound. Did he remember that time as well? The last time they’d seen each other before he’d shipped out? How he’d held her against the wall of the departure room? How he’d banged her so hard against the wall that the parting couple in the next room had roared with laughter and shouted their encouragement?
She quivered when he skimmed the backs of his fingertips down her cheek.
“You are lovely,” he said.
“Thank you,” was all she was permitted in response. His preference profile said not to speak unless spoken to.
He scrutinized her face, touching the small marks he found in her unimproved complexion.
“Lovely,” he whispered, leaning down and pressing his lips to her wet shoulder.
She drew him into the arching sprays of body temperature water. She had a job to do.
And someone to watch over her.
“What’s first?” he asked, rubbing his palms up and down her arms.
“You’ve chosen free expression in a shower scenario. As long as you don’t hurt me, you’re free to do as you please. I’m here for your pleasure.” She found her throat thick and her tongue clumsy on the prescribed words. “You paid for t-two or-orgasms. You have whatever time you need.”
“As long as I don’t hurt you.” He ran his hands from her shoulders to her breasts. Slowly, he stroked the water drops around her nipples. “Who decides what’s hurtful?”
She met his gaze. At the same time she covered his hands with hers and pressed them to her nipples. They were hyper-sensitive and she wondered if it was the drugs or the tension of being in Link’s company, of being touched by him again after all these years.
After all her fantasies.
“If I say that something hurts, you must stop or the scenario will end.”
And two burly guards will remove you if you don’t cease hurting me immediately, she thought. Of course, he knew that. The instructions were given to him when he checked in.
“I understand.” He ran his fingertips down the center of her body to her navel. And further on down, between her legs. She anchored herself by gripping his biceps and took a deep breath.
He found her clit and rubbed her gently. Much as he might have years ago. He slid first one finger, then a second, inside her. “You’re wet as a whore.”
She opened her eyes and stared at him. His face was in shadow, too dark for her to read any intent in his expression. She clamped her jaw tight on a retort, but could not stop her body from stiffening.
“Do you always get wet for the customer or do you use a lubricant?”
“I’m unimproved,” she said, her voice hoarse. Her fingers bit into his rock hard arms as he rhythmically stroked two fingers in and out of her.
“Is that so?” He pushed with his hand and with his fingers so deep inside her, she had to stumble back against the wall. A jet was in the center of her back, gushing warm water the way her insides gushed the fluids to ease his way.
Abruptly, he let her go. “What’s this?” He moved to the basket and looked inside.
“Those are the items you selected,” she said. The urge to put her hand to her crotch and press on the ache left there by his touch was almost overwhelming.
He grunted and tossed her the soap bottle. She fumbled the cap open and poured a generous amount in her palms.
He held his arms out wide and said, “Wash me.”
Standing there, he looked magni
ficent and dangerous. Sparkling beads of water misted his dark hair. Water ran in narrow rivulets along the defined muscles of his upper torso, into a stream that parted about his engorged penis.
Sweet Sol, was he engorged. Ten years might have taken a little of the lift out of his penis, but the way it swelled and moved told her he was unimproved as well.
Just as he was not on sperm suppressors, so he’d obviously not taken any of the many pleasure drugs available, legal or illegal. Some of the drugs were as expensive as the scenario itself. The ones offered by The Palace were engineered to last the specific time needed to move clients through their programs. A natural erection had its own time and rhythm. The term of some drugs was as short as thirty minutes, but they were said to yield an orgasm forceful enough to make a grown man scream himself hoarse or pass out.
The drugs also had side effects that were not so enjoyable. Some men experienced impotence for days or weeks afterwards. Others found themselves at the opposite end of the spectrum, suffering continual tumescence for an extended period of time without achieving relief. But even healthy men could become addicted to the incredible increase in stamina.
Evans remembered Link’s stamina. Ten years hadn’t changed him much, from what she could see. A new gush of hot liquid flooded her insides.
She slicked the soap across his chest, teasing his nipples, pinching them. He grunted and turned around.
She did as she had in the massage room. She rubbed his back, the soap generating a slick and slippery surface for her hands to slide across.
But unlike in the massage chamber, here she could do as she pleased with him.
Her fingers skimmed down the valley of his spine and into the cleft of his buttocks. She used the side of her hand and ran it up and down. He clenched his muscles and propped his hands on the shower room wall.
She soaped her palms again and knelt behind him. She lavished the suds on the inside of his legs, up and down from ankle to groin.
Then she stood up and soaped her body. Next, she leaned against him, matching her legs to the backs of his, holding his hips. He was a head taller than her, so she stood on tiptoe to get as much of her skin against him as she could.
