Venus Rising

by Annalise

  Link knelt between Evans’s thighs and lifted her hips just a touch, then slid his cock deep inside her. “Tighten my partner’s bonds,” he said to Angel.

  The girl scrambled off the bed and went to each band of velvet, drawing the clasps tighter. Evans arched off the bedcovers, lifted by the bonds, impaled on Link’s erection.

  He grasped her nipples between his fingertips and tugged them. She felt her insides grow slippery for him, and suddenly realized Angel would describe every moment of this encounter to her debriefer when she was finally home.

  Evans began to fight her passion and arousal.

  “Come for me,” Link ordered, driving deeply into her.

  But she couldn’t.

  She tried, she closed her eyes, but the knowledge that their AOA accomplice watched every move kept her from release.

  Link groaned and withdrew.

  “See to some soap and water,” Link ordered the girl.

  She bounded off the bed and went to another panel that opened with cleaning supplies.

  Link took the opportunity to lean over and kiss Evans’s cheek. “Sorry, if I hurt you,” he whispered.

  She met his gaze and let him know she was fine with a slow shake of her head.

  “Undo her,” Link said to Angel, taking the cleansing materials from the girl.

  Evans almost laughed when Link washed only one thing, his cock. He was really fitting into his role as a Palace guest.

  “Let’s get out of here. I’m hungry.” He tossed the cloth onto the mattress and put his hand on the back of Angel’s neck. “I want you to dress me, little one, and then my partner.”

  “Your attendant is pleased to be of assistance,” said the voice. “If you would like to purchase some of the materials you used today for home pleasure, simply say, purchase and they will be added to your account.”

  “Purchase.”

  Angel gathered up the velvet bonds and wrapped them into a neat bundle, securing them with the gold buckle that graced the neck collar. The deft manner in which she did it told Evans customers frequently bought the toys and Angel had often prepared them for transport home.

  Link dropped his long arms around Evans and Angel when they stood next to the robing hooks. He mauled them both, kissing and caressing them, turning them, using his robe like wings as Angel took the cue and knelt with Evans to caress him. Hidden. Concealed.

  Evans marveled at the easy manner in which Link draped the black velvet cloak across Angel’s back.

  Evans quickly pulled one of the velvet bands from the neat bundle and shoved it into Angel’s mouth, binding it with another to keep the gag in place. Angel stared but didn’t struggle. Didn’t the girl have any will of her own?

  Maybe she thought it was still part of the game. Or maybe the drugs made her docile.

  Link kept the girl tight against his body. Hopefully, the concealed cameras would see only two women on their knees pleasuring a customer, one enveloped in a black cloak, one in The Palace’s signature robe.

  Moments later, Link had dressed in his tunic and trousers, and was hustling Angel away. He did not look back.

  Evans had to bite her tongue on the shiver of fear as she remained bent over in the Palace robe, trying to appear as if she were examining something on her leg.

  A door opened.

  Too soon.

  Evans turned away as two strong hands gripped her arms. She looked into the face of one of the guards who had escorted her to her sunning.

  “Well, well,” said a man’s voice at her ear. “You must have missed us to want to stay.”

  She stamped her foot on the man’s instep. He yelped and jumped back.

  Moments later, she was through the door, fleeing down the corridor after Link and Angel.

  She managed to leap into the lift just as the doors slid closed.

  “What?” he said. He had his hand on the back of Angel’s neck to keep her head down.

  “They’re on to us.” She rose on tiptoe and whispered at his ear. “When the doors open, just barge straight through whoever appears. I’ll push Angel after you. I’m going to create a huge mess. You just keep moving.”

  “No, we go together.”

  She opened her mouth to argue, but met his eye and knew it would be fruitless.

  Her heart raced as the lift settled softly down, the only indication they’d moved coming from the shift in her stomach.

  Link stepped cautiously onto the muted carpet of the lobby. He had Angel in a tight grip. The girl walked between them like a zombie, neither fighting nor cooperating.

  Evans tried to look nonchalant as they headed for the doors. Why had the lift worked? Why was this so easy? Where were the guards? What was going on?

  “Go,” Link said. He propelled Angel straight into her arms.

  Evans stumbled over the portal into the sunshine with Angel. Her heart slammed in her chest.

  She headed straight for Link’s waiting PF.

  A strange, gurgling sound made her whip around.

  Link stood framed in the glass doorway. He didn’t follow. He stood frozen, one foot lifted, making the choking noise. His fingers spread, twitching.

  An unseen force blocked the entry. It held him immobile, like a fly caught in a spider web.

  “Link,” Evans cried, but she knew what she had to do. She grabbed Angel and tossed her into the PF, stepping in after her.

  The last she saw of Link, he was still suspended in the entry, one foot poised to step to safety. Behind him stood three men. One lifted a hand and touched Link’s ear. His eyes rolled up. As the PF pulled away, he crumpled into the arms of the guards.

  * * * * *

  Link woke. The chamber in which he found himself was filled with a hazy, amber fog. He took a deep breath and smelled something musty. Sexually musty.

  His nose itched. He tried to lift his arms, but they wouldn’t move. When he twitched his nose, he realized something light and silky feeling covered his face. It pulled slightly at his skin. That was what caused the amber hue. That was what held the smell.

  After he took a moment to orient himself and grow accustomed to the sensation, he knew what it was. A mask. The kind that was sprayed on the face to seal out microbes. Hospitals used them to prevent infection in patients.

  Was he ill?

  His stomach felt like someone had punched him repeatedly. His testicles ached. He needed to piss.

  As if someone had heard him, a matronly woman in a deep blue tunic entered the chamber with a small jug-like thing. She did not speak to him and when he tried to talk, it was nothing but a mumble through the mask.

  “Time to urinate, young man,” the woman said, manipulating him into the head of the jug.

  He relieved himself and tried again to move.

  He was frozen on the bed.

  “Don’t pull a muscle trying to move. You’ve been given a restraint. Your ear might hurt where they inserted it, but if you relax, you’ll be fine. The smell you are probably experiencing is the solidifying agent given off by the liquid mask. As it firms up, covering your face, growing more opaque, it also exudes a small amount of a new drug we’re rather proud of. You won’t be able to move or talk, but you will be able to feel any and all tactile sensations. You’ll be able to have an erection. And a lovely one you’re getting right now.”

  The woman had been stroking his cock. He could feel her hand, but could not move his hips or legs or arms to resist her.

  She touched his nipples.

  “Ah. A nice reaction here, too. That’s lovely. Our patrons will be very pleased.”

  Patrons?

  “How is our new addition, Jennel?” a male voice asked.

  Jennel smiled and patted Link’s cock. “He’s marvelous.”

  The man moved into Link’s view. He was tall and emaciated, with a shock of white hair. Masses of wrinkles creased his face. Those wrinkles had not been carved there by excess smiling. They emphasized his nose and mouth. He must be well over a hundred to look so
aged.

  The man ran a diagnostic handheld over Link’s body. He grunted. “You may go, Jennel.”

  She bowed and the door whispered closed behind her.

  The man stood over Link’s groin for a moment, staring down at his cock.

  “Do you know why you are here, young man? Why we let those stupid women leave? Oh, we could have stopped them, but you are such a prize, they were of little consequence. We thought we might not see you again, once you made it through the door.”

  Link strained to make a sound, but nothing came out of his throat.

  The man reached out and cupped his balls. “This is what we want from you. You’re a rarity. A man who is not on sperm suppressors and never has been.”

  The man dropped his balls and finally met Link’s gaze.

  “The mask you are wearing is opaque from here but transparent your way. Patrons who select you will not know what your face looks like, though you will be able to see them. They will avail themselves of your body—on the day of their ovulation. And we here at The Palace who know of your presence in our little private clinic will grow wealthy.”

  The man smiled and licked his narrow lips. His teeth looked far too large for the rest of him. Link wished the mask obscured the old man’s face; he could have made his fortune as a character in those low-budget horror vids, saving the producers the cost of makeup and special effects.

  “I’m sure you’re asking why? Why me.” He pulled out a hand-held diagnostic device much like the one the Secretary’s physician had used. “I don’t mind telling you. It’s not as if you can do anything about it. Personally, I plan to use my share of the wealth you generate for a heart transplant—a black market heart, that is.” He touched his chest. “I’m sure you know of the legislation that forbids transplants to those over one hundred. I’m one hundred and twenty.”

  Link tried to wiggle his toes. Nothing happened.

  “As to, ‘Why me?’ The why you is simple. Science made men happy by making drugs to suppress sperm. At the same time, they also made them happy with erectile enhancers. So, for many generations, we have enjoyed sex whenever it pleased us to have it, and have not had to concern ourselves with birth control. No sperm, no births.

  “Women have appreciated that part of the process as well. Some may even enjoy a man’s ability to get it up whenever he wants to, no matter his age.”

  Link felt the man’s hand on his wrist. The old ghoul must be a med-aide or a doctor, for he maneuvered his fingertips to take Link’s pulse.

  “But one must pay the piper, so to speak. And we’ve been paying dearly. Generations of widespread use of these drugs have had a side effect that the public is kept in the dark about. More and more men, especially those whose fathers and grandfathers used the drugs, now find their bodies unable to produce much sperm. Even once they stop taking the drugs. And the sperm they do produce is often… faulty.”

  Link wished he could shake off the man’s claw-like hand. The moist fingers clutched his wrist so tightly Link didn’t think he could have wrenched free even if he had been able to move. His skin crawled.

  “We need men like you. You’re a healthy, sperm-producing male. High count, active little swimmers. Only with a man like you will women conceive healthy children. Oh, we could do the thing with injections, but that would not involve the women enough.” The man leaned his head close to Link’s. His breath smelled of something acrid yet vaguely familiar. “Enough to keep them silent about this place. If they actively take part… well. They have reason to remain quiet. We store a little data on each encounter. To the public, the law, their husbands who don’t know what they’re up to… well, the woman just appears to be involved in a sexual encounter here at a rather high-priced pleasure center.”

  Link strained to turn his head from the man’s offensive breath. It was no use. His muscles refused to respond to his commands.

  “And, in truth, many of the clients are women who also wonder what it would be like to couple with a man who is virile without drugs to aid him. Desperation for a child makes them seek our services, curiosity makes them crave this.”

  The man’s claw-like hand moved to palpate Link’s belly in a business-like manner. “You had a mild reaction to our new erectile enhancer; it was in the Emerald Elixir you so happily drank for us on one of your visits. Our informants at your hotel have reported that you didn’t vomit—one of your less desirable reactions to such stimulants. And I’m sure you can appreciate the problems vomiting might cause you in your present position.”

  The man put his hand on Link’s throat. “If you find yourself unable to respond to a client, you now know we can assist you.”

  A chill ran through Link. He got it. He didn’t need it spelled out.

  He was to be a living sperm bank. Shit. He hoped he didn’t need their assistance. They might be wrong about his reaction. For a moment he felt he was smothering, then he thought of Evans and the panic receded. She had endured far worse.

  The man touched his diagnostic handheld. “You are very rare. Our clients will pay millions of credits for the chance to become impregnated by you. Think of it. Not only do you produce phenomenal amounts of motile sperm, you are also a parent’s genetic dream.” The doctor touched Link’s chest. “Handsome. Virile. At the top of height and strength charts. Your genetic profile is clean. Granted, you did have that aunt who wanted to eat her cat, but that could be explained by environmental factors.”

  Aunt Bess had taken pleasure drugs for over forty years. Auntie had been a hedonist from puberty and was held up to him as an example of what happens when you have too many credits and not enough to do.

  “Your first client will arrive in a few moments. She will take one look at your body… well, shall we just say, I’m sure there will be little call for lubricants while you are here.” The doctor stroked his shoulder. “We want you to know your privacy is completely protected. The synth mask conceals your features. All you need do is relax and enjoy the orgasms.”

  When the doctor left, the Med-Aide, Jennel arrived. She asked him if he’d like to relieve himself again before going to work.

  “You should feel honored,” Jennel said. “The moment we tested your clean-up kits, we knew you were a winner.” She shook her finger in his face. “Naughty boy, using someone else’s card. Took a while to find out who you were and verify your medical history. We’re very grateful you signed your real name to that purchase contract for Bliss6, else our old doc might be waiting forever on a new heart. Now lie back, close your eyes, and rest. Our first client will be arriving in about an hour.”

  Link lay for more than an hour, trying to discern as much as possible about his situation. He could feel that his legs were spread and the bed, if bed it could be called, was cut in the shape of his body. He knew from relieving himself that a woman could stand between his spread legs. His arms were slightly set away from his body, his palms face up, his head gently elevated so he could see down his body, but not so much that his neck ached.

  He could feel and smell. He imagined a thumbnail image of his body on a menu. Some woman touching the screen, selecting him.

  A sensation he could not describe flooded through him. Being photographed naked. Being looked over. His stats examined. Being chosen.

  Just as he’d chosen G752H.

  Chapter 21

  All Link could think of was Evans as he lay there.

  Sara.

  Even though the old man had said they’d let the women leave, it could be a lie. He closed his eyes, and shut out thoughts of Sara hurt or dead. He had to believe she was safe, or he’d go insane lying here, frozen like a butterfly impaled by a pin in a museum case.

  The door opened. Two women entered.

  One was from the menu selection screens. He immediately recognized her as the one from the deep menus. Silver Girl.

  She came to the head of the bed. The scent of real flowers flowed around her. She touched his cheek and spoke softly near his ear.

  “We
lcome. We thank you for contributing to the happiness of infertile couples. I will see you enjoy the experience to the maximum allowed by your restraint.”

  The other woman stood hesitantly at his feet. She was around his age, wasp-thin, her face smooth and perfect, well-enhanced by cosmetic surgery. Her orangish-red hair formed a nimbus of curls about her head. They trembled a little.

  Her gaze ate him with ravenous gulps. She kept her arms clasped tightly at her waist, wearing the ubiquitous Palace robe.

  The silver beauty dropped her gauzy dress. She climbed astride his body, brushing her small, groomed bush over his belly. She cupped one of her large, lush breasts and stroked the hard nipple back and forth over his. His nipples and his cock rose to attention.

  The woman at the foot of the bed, the client, gasped. “He’s… great,” the woman exclaimed.

  The silver vision smiled and licked his nipples and said, “Climb astride whenever it pleases you.”

  To make room for the client, the attendant slid her body forward so her coiffed crotch was planted on his chest.

  He closed his eyes to blot out the vision of the woman’s pierced clitoris. Its silver ring was studded with tiny diamonds… or their equivalent.

  He groaned when the client grasped his cock. The silvery goddess moved. He made the mistake of opening his eyes. She had turned and centered her crotch over his face. He would smother if she lowered herself. A moment of panic filled him.

  But she was not interested in cutting off his air supply. She was helping the client settle on his erection.

  The redhead groaned. “Saint’s preserve me. This guy is huge. Makes Carl—”

  “No names,” whispered the attendant, stroking the woman’s clit. “Just enjoy. He is magnificent, though.” With that she slid her other hand between him and the client and kneaded his balls.

  “How long can he last? I mean. You know. He’s not on anything, they said. I only get as long as it takes him, they said.” The client sank down on him and wriggled in place.

  Silver Girl climbed off him and went to a panel in the wall. She opened it and brought out a bottle. She poured a fragrant oil on her hands. “Every man’s body has a natural rhythm. But why don’t we make it a bit more fun?”