by Rose Caraway
“You’ve never seen anything like it,” the lab coat promised for the thirty-seventh time, just as she pushed open a door at the end of the corridor.
The buildup, as I knew was inevitable, left me disappointed. It took a modest helping of self-control to avoid breaking the enthralled silence by telling the assembled crowd that I actually had seen something very much like it. It was just an average-sized fake cock. In fact, worse: an albino cock with varicose veins and blackheads.
I suppose I did not look sufficiently impressed, so the lab coat’s face went somber as she delicately (as if the thing could feel—as if it were connected to some invisible albino man) lifted the dildo from its tastefully rumpled bed of white terrycloth and held it up for my inspection. It still looked like another fake cock. Except for the thick wire attached to a small suction-cup looking thing dangling from the base.
“What’s this?” I asked very seriously, indicating the bit that didn’t seem to belong.
She deliberately misunderstood me. “This is the next generation in phallus substitution.” How euphemistic. “A breakthrough. A quantum leap.”
I tire of marketing without information, so I bent slightly at the waist, bringing my nose to its silicone head and taking a whiff. “Smells like a dildo,” I said. Our audience of khakis and blue jeans (mostly male, some of whom were hot enough to glance at twice) chuckled at this, and the lab coat very nearly snatched the Great White Dick away from me.
“It is to a dildo what your skin is to a leather jacket,” she announced triumphantly. I was still confused. She sighed and sacrificed grandiosity for clarity. “Sensate silicone. It can feel.”
“It can…what can it feel? Like it knows how to touch me?” I wasn’t playing anymore. I really just did not understand.
“No, like you can feel it,” she said, exasperated. Her dramatic unveiling, clearly strictly scripted in her own mind, had been thoroughly destroyed.
But I finally got it. And immediately disbelieved. The implications were far too sci-fi for my little brain to swallow without choking a little. So I did what comes naturally in such a situation.
“Of course I’ll be able to feel it. What else is it for?” I tried to play it as deadpan as possible, and the overflow crowd chuckled appreciatively; I know the sort of jokes a sex-industry corporate culture spawns. The poor lab coat stood silently, playing the adult. I relented. “Nerve extenders.”
“Exactly. The same technology that allows people to…”
“How does it work?” I interrupted. For a tech she sure liked pitching.
“Well,” she said condescendingly, “that’s a little complicated, but…”
“I meant, how do I put it on? How do I connect?”
“Oh. Sorry,” she blushed slightly. “You wear it in a standard harness and attach the interface to your…” The blush deepened. But she was a professional, and it was a matter of pride to beat back childish embarrassment at such a vital word. “Clitoris.”
“The interface?” I asked, indicating the suction cup. I caught it on its nearest pendulum pass and inspected its interior. She nodded. “And that’s it?”
“Yes. The clitoris has as many nerve endings as the entire penis. It was simply a matter of extending each as best we could.”
“Wow,” I wowed, impressed but still a bit incredulous. “When do I get to try it out?”
LiveVibes had kept the room nice and warm, so disrobing was rather pleasant. As usual, I fought back a slight remnant of old shyness as I turned to face the mirror. Somewhere behind it lurked the eyes of the lab coat, a couple of extras and a camera, all certainly watching intently. To solidify her victory, my exhibitionist self licked her lips slowly. And then pinched my right nipple, just for effect.
I stepped into the harness with that odd-looking white cock dangling in place. They’ll have to do something about that— don’t want the world’s first bionic cock to look like the Borg. It might remind people what it really is, which is a little creepy. I stared pointedly into the mirror, trying to give the lab coat her movie moment, and then crammed my hand down into the harness and connected the interface.
Something changed.
Not drastically, no epiphany. Just…different. Like during puberty when you crash into lamps and door frames because your arms and legs weren’t so long yesterday. Like…well, I had to give the lab coat that: like nothing else. I drew the moment out, wetting my fingers from a bottle of lube they’d thoughtfully provided on a small metal table. Thinking again, I slipperied my whole hand. Widening my legs, performing for myself in the mirror, I made a bad-girl face, reached down and grabbed my cock.
And holy shit.
It was like a cool mouth had stretched my clitoris like a piece of saltwater taffy and swallowed it whole. This is what it felt like? But then ideas with words attached were pushed aside by something much larger.
I proceeded to treat myself to the best hand job I’ve ever given. The sensations were so subtle. So drawn out, with so much extra space. Like being fucked gently with no direct clitoral stimulation, except more tactile, more real. I swore like the Virgin Mother. The softest, most awed fucks you can imagine. I traced myself (for that’s already how I thought of my android dick) up and down with two fingertips. I caught the head in the ring formed by my thumb and forefinger and squeezed a one-two beat. I played and played until all I could do was pump myself exactly as I’ve seen guys do, my hand a hard, purposeful cunt pushing back, back, back around my hard cock…
And I came for the first time as a faux-man, my free hand pressed up against the mirrored glass, bucking my hips in a wild frenzy, my face taut and rigid (as the tape would later reveal), grunting like a gorilla. I collapsed back onto the cot in the corner, which thankfully was more comfortable than it looked.
“Jane,” came the lab coat’s voice through a small speaker on the table. “You okay?” I flashed a tired thumbs-up her direction and laid my head back down.
I jerked off three more times that day. All for the camera, all in different ways. These extra orgasms were hard to finagle; the lab coat had been so thrilled by my initial assessment (“Uhhhgnhh!”) that she was set to declare victory.
“You should have seen yourself,” she gushed when I’d dressed sufficiently for her to enter my small heated sex chamber. “You really went nuts.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “I suppose I did. But there were problems, too. Like the nerve tips go too far down the shaft—I can feel the harness chafe.” Which was true, but I definitely had ulterior motives. “I think I should try again without the harness just to see how it would work.”
She relented and the next orgasm was on my back, holding my beautiful new dick in one hand while I stroked with the other. No thoughts, no heavy fantasy, nothing but the sensation. That’s rare for me; I tend to have so many orgasms that I generally need an active brain to get all the way there.
I dressed again so she’d come back, and came up with another excuse. I hadn’t tried it without lube. She couldn’t see why this was a problem—in her experience, I suppose, guys never beat it without some sort of slippery. I related a few choice stories, and she allowed me more time with what I had by now decided was my new toy.
Obtaining a second day of testing was more difficult. I had to play a little hardball, threatening to withhold my five stars from LiveVibes’s packaging until I’d really tried it out. “Jacking off is well and good, but do you really think that will be the best use your customers find for your little device?” I said, trying to make the cock sound diminutive and controllable.
“Well, no, I guess,” she wheedled.
“Damn right. It’s going to be dykes fucking their girlfriends, straight chicks banging their boyfriend’s asses, stuff like that.” When trying to intimidate a woman who can watch a naked woman please herself through mirrored glass but can’t walk into the room when she’s still undressed, nothing works like a little vulgarity. LiveVibes allowed me to call in a couple of associates from Portland and invit
ed me to stay in a fancy hotel on the company dime. I declined and slept on the cot, guarding my faux phallus like a mother bear.
In the morning it became clear that the majority of the males in the building had seen my prior work. On the way to the bathroom to use my toothbrush and wash my face, I heard several glowing commendations for this or that blue film. One kid— twenty-two at most—was bold enough to compliment my cock-sucking technique specifically. I suggested he be in the men’s bathroom when I was finished with my morning toilette to gain firsthand knowledge whereof he spoke.
When his eyes had rolled back down into the normal position and with the tang of semen in the back of my throat, I walked back to my room to await Alyssa and Damien. I wasn’t too careful leaving the lavatory and an older man with a substantial belly caught me on my way out. It didn’t bother me much to think of the kid being sacked for fraternizing on the job—the cheeky little fuck deserved it, talking to a movie star like that.
My Portlandish pals arrived just after noon. I’d just finished some pretty good Chinese takeout, so their timing was as good as it gets. We greeted with the usual hugs: Alyssa’s warm and lingering, Damien’s crushingly hard, mine in return as lascivious as I could manage.
The suit brought back his releases and nondisclosures while the lab coat made trebly sure that they were comfortable being filmed, my repeated assurances that we’d been through this together several times notwithstanding. Finally, the flurry pushed out the door and behind the mirror, we were alone.
“So what is it?” Alyssa asked nonchalantly. “What’s this amazing product we’re here to help you sell?”
“You’ve never seen anything like it, sweetie,” I replied. I took my pants off. I’d been hiding the dick along the inside of my left thigh, fully harnessed, interface clipped to clit, ready to go. I imagined I could hear a cry of dismay through the glass.
Alyssa had seen me pack heat enough times the sight left her unimpressed. “It looks like a dildo,” she said.
“It is a dildo,” I said.
“Makes sense it would look like one, then,” Damien piped up, never one to leave an unnecessary joke unmade.
“But not just any dildo,” I added with a wink before pulling off my shirt.
Damien gave me the same obvious up-and-down he gave me every time. “God, you look good with a cock,” he breathed. Alyssa chuckled at the weakness of her man. “Don’t mind him, he’s just easy,” she said.
I was now horny enough to be through with the preliminaries. “Alyssa,” I said firmly, “I want you to suck my cock.”
“Yes ma’am,” she replied with a joke in her voice, and sank to her knees before me. Damien knew when he wasn’t needed, so he stood and watched. I tried to be stoic about it. When she grabbed my dick like a microphone and looked up at me smiling, I think I managed to act like a woman whose dildo was being manhandled, a woman playing a role. No sensory involvement.
But when her full, soft lips slid over my head and started down the shaft, I couldn’t help but gasp. Alyssa withdrew, gazing up at me with a cocked eyebrow. I was shaking, but I didn’t say anything. Still watching my face, she very seriously stuck out her tongue and ran it from the base of my dick to the head. I made noise again, through clenched teeth.
“If I didn’t know better…” Damien began.
“You can feel this,” Alyssa stated.
“Yes,” I managed with difficulty, because on the word ‘this’ she’d clutched my mottled white member with more intensity than was really required.
“Holy shit!” she hooted, laughing. Damien joined in. When she’d recovered her poise and remembered my request of several moments ago, he joined in as well, dutifully finding my nearest nipple with a soft tongue.
“That’s just…what I said,” my voice finally eked out. Alyssa’s oral abilities, at least where male anatomy is concerned, put mine to shame. Not only has she mastered tricks and skills I’ve never tried to learn (like taking a man deep down her throat), but she genuinely likes the activity itself. I enjoy the power and the feeling of pleasing someone; she likes having the actual dick in her actual mouth.
That translates to quite the ride for the man. Or, in my case, the technologically-enhanced woman. She dotted my T’s and crossed my eyes, repayment in kind for the numerous thrashing, kegel-squeezing, yelling-out-for-mother cunnilingual orgasms she’d gotten from me over the years. (Now there’s something one does with one’s mouth that I can get into.)
I came with Damien holding most of my weight, flopping about like a Raggedy Ann-or-Andy. I’m sure on the tape it looked fake, I was so melodramatic.
“Shit,” Damien breathed.
“Shit indeed,” I managed, stumbling weak-kneed back to my cot. Alyssa stood and gazed at me intensely. We were silent for a moment. Alyssa shook her head.
“I’ve got to try that thing.”
“Buy your own,” I teased, then put my serious face on. “Are you wet, girl?”
She shrugged. “Not sure,” she said as if the question were beneath her.
“Check her,” I directed Damien. He reached over with his middle finger, ran it slowly up her clean-shaven cunt. “Not enough for what you have in mind,” he replied, licking his finger. “Change that,” I said. “Give me a second to recover and turn me back on.”
Damien dutifully did as he was told. Kneeling on the floor, her left leg supported on his broad shoulder, his tongue working her clit, he got Alyssa trembling. I found myself stroking my cock without thinking.
“That’s good enough,” I said. “How do you want it, Lys?”
“Mmm,” she replied thoughtfully, extricating herself from Damien’s clutch. “From behind, I think. That’s always seemed like the most masculine way to fuck a girl. Now that you’re built like a man you should fuck me like one.” She strode over to the mirror, placed her hands low on it, bent at the waist. Stuck her ass in the air and gyrated lewdly.
“You want me to be your man, huh? Damien might feel a little threatened.” I tried to disguise the effect her little dance was having on me.
“I don’t mind,” he murmured, as entranced by the show as I was.
“Don’t try to pretend that this is about me being satisfied,” Alyssa taunted. “It’s you that wants to get her pole wet for the first time.”
“Yeah,” I said, placing the head of my dick at the opening of her pussy. “Yeah, it is.” And then I fell into her.
How did I not know? With all the experience I’ve had with cunts, my own and others’, you’d think I would’ve known, but I had no idea that such softness existed. Softer than velvet or silk, more slippery than soaped skin. The inside of Alyssa, where my fingers had been so many times—how did I not know?
I moved very gently, very slowly, locked in the sensation. Alyssa groaned as I have heard her groan before, a collision of satisfaction and increased need. I realized that this was no different for her than the many times I’d fucked her with silicone.
But it was day-and-night different for me. Within three strokes I felt myself careening close to the chasm. This is why men have such trouble, I thought. I looked at Damien and found his gaze fixed on my face. He looked away, suddenly shy.
“Sorry,” he muttered. Then, by way of explanation, “I can see everything you’re feeling.”
I turned to my own reflection, saw eyes wide in wonder, brow sternly crinkled in pleasure. To Damien’s reflection, I managed, “is this…really…what this is like for you…?”
He smiled nostalgically. “Not anymore.”
Alyssa lifted her face so I could see it in the glass. “Would you two mind cutting the chatter so I can get properly fucked?”
Damien chuckled, made a yes, dear face, and moved to stand behind me. “Go ahead,” he whispered in my ear. “There’s no reason for you not to come. You have the best of both worlds— you’ll never go soft, you’ll keep wanting more. Go ahead.” He reached around and held my breasts very tenderly, as if they were his own. “Go ahead,” he whisper
ed again, biting my earlobe gently, as I began to move more quickly.
“Yeah,” echoed Alyssa, watching my face in the mirror. “Go ahead and come inside me.” She dropped a hand from the mirror to finger her clit, keeping her eyes locked to my face.
I was skirting the edge. All I needed was to decide, to dangle a foot out in space and hang for a moment before the plunge. I could feel Damien’s real, warm cock against my ass, his fingers on my nipples. He squeezed them, hard, just the way I like. I felt myself go over.
I shouted and thrust deep into Alyssa, the orgasm tearing its way through me. My legs went weak and I might have fallen, if I hadn’t been sandwiched between lovers. “My god,” I breathed.
Alyssa withdrew from me. “I guess so,” she chuckled. “Mind if I give it a whirl?”
My immediate reaction surprised me, and I bit it back. Tried to be diplomatic. “Um, yeah, I sort of do mind. Sorry. I think you’ll have to buy your own.”
Lys was a little taken aback—it’s not like me not to share— but seemed to understand. “You’re attached to it,” she quipped. Then, tactfully changing the subject, she pouted her lip. “And I’m rather attached to the idea of myself as a woman whose man satisfies her. So far you’ve had two and I’m still at zero.” Damien cleared his throat slightly, indicating his presence in that same boat.
I laughed. “All right, greedy. How would you like your orgasms this evening?”
The couple exchanged a look. “I think,” Damien began slowly, as if pondering the question deeply, “that we should fuck you.”
“Both of you at…” I began to ask, but then I got his meaning. “Oh. Hmm. That does sound interesting, doesn’t it?”
After a bit of finagling, we had our system down. Damien lying flat on the floor, his cock in my cunt. Alyssa astride me, my cock in her cunt, her legs supporting most of her weight as to not crush poor Damien.
“Sure you’re okay down there, lover?” she asked.
“Fantastic,” he breathed.
I was happy she did not ask me for a status report, as I couldn’t speak. I was at sea. I was impossibly lost in a soft wet desert of sensation. Am I this soft to Damien? my mind kept repeating. My lovers found a perfect rhythm, Alyssa receding as Damien thrust inside me, Damien pulling out as Alyssa fell back onto my cock. I was a very small boat buffeted by enormous swells. And the wind was picking up.
