by Sophie Sin
She allowed them to see her for a moment and grinned.
"Who's up for an orgasm?" she asked.
The other two looked at the one panting away in the back and holding her crotch as pleasure spread through her. They made the intelligent choice by raising all of their hands.
Minny smiled. This was all part of her job, of course.
They drove away and Minny went with them to places of further wonderful, beautiful pleasure.
The Naughty 2050's: The Rather Shocking Erotic Truth About 80s Pop Legend J.J. Sass
This book is a standalone story and does not connect with any other books. It contains a happy ending for all.
I meet J.J. Sass in 2052 when she got out of time freeze. 6 counts of assault and battery, 50 counts of lewd behavior in public and about a half dozen counts of sexual acts committed outdoors, J.J. Sass wasn't your average 80s pop star who got the freeze. She was very different.
At 5pm on a Thursday, which is probably the worst time of the week to meet a client, she steps through my door.
“What?” I groan at her.
My cheek is pressed into the scorching surface of my big wooden desk. My entire skull is expanding and contracting like its about to explode. Last night me and some of the space boys (what was once known as aliens before the term fell out of use among the public as there were just too damn many of them) juiced seven Paparangis and a slide of old orange from the days when oranges weren't a protected species. We then were foolish enough to throw in 2 liters of the hardest vodka this side of Michael Mahone's Town.
That and the 150 degree heat aren't doing me any favors.
I sweat into the antique wooden paneling of my desk and try not to inhale any of the salty fluids that are puddling under my nose.
“I want you to have sex with me.”
That, folks, has my head up and me staring at what could well be the most odd looking woman I've ever seen.
“Sorry?”
“I want you to have sex with me.”
“Yeah, I heard that. You aren't a walking tape recorder though. Explain.”
A long time ago I learned that the best question in my business is 'why?' I ask it a lot.
The odd woman standing in front of my desk shuffles one red nailed hand through her strawberry blond hair. It's a slow movement and not one that's she's doing consciously to create the effect its having on me according to the little metal bits of technology that have been stamped into the left side of my brain.
“Because I want a baby.”
I snort.
“You know that's illegal. Go home. I'm busy with my hangover.”
Whoever she is, she's not one to take an immediate no as my final answer, which it isn't in my line of work anyway.
“You can.” Her blue eyes give me an odd chill. Has the temperature suddenly gone down? Maybe I'm feeling sick. I decide it's just because they are real – not made of plasty flesh or anything else. The woman has real eyes. I don't think I've ever seen that before.
“Lady, I can't. You know the instant that you are found to be pregnant the good men at the fertility monitoring section are going to come here and remove my dick. Do you know how much that costs to fix?”
“120,000 at standard rates. And?”
This woman isn't getting it.
“I'm not losing my dick for you and, even if I was, they'd have your baby like that.” I click my fingers for emphasis.
I don't get a reply.
The strange woman seems amused. She struts over on those weird red metallic heels that look like they are from a whole different time period and slaps herself down in the arm chair across from me.
My eyes roll up her in the silence that is only broken by a little rattling from the bay window that sits behind me. I live close to a highway and they have all kinds of junk rushing past 24/7.
She's young. I'd put her at 20 and not much far over, but I'd say she's older by the maturity in those eyes. That youth could be the reason for her reckless desire to do something very stupid, but I would bet my money on there being more to the story.
The woman shifts a long slim leg. That's interesting too. Her skin isn't marked by the glitter tattoos or marks from the tabs that the girls I'm used to (and this speaks volumes about the quality of these ladies) use to get high.
On top of this, she's wearing what amounts to a psychedelic green-based one piece dress with her only extra adornments being two gold rings that sit on her right index and middle fingers.
All of this in mind, I have to run her through the database six times before I realize that there's nothing in there.
“Who are you?”
It's an odd question in this day and age to ask. Usually there's a name that floats over the person's head, but there's nothing above hers.
“The name is J.J. Sass.”
“What's the J.J. stand for?”
“None of your business.”
Well, this is going well.
I run my fingers through my sweaty hair and lean back in my long backed chair to watch her evenly.
“You want me to lose my cock for you and you won't tell me your first name?”
“Love doesn't need names.”
That nearly empties the contents of my stomach for me. I hold my gut and try not to laugh.
“Lady, you are full of ideas.”
I smile beside myself. When I was about her age, I'd have jumped at the chance to sleep with a hotty like this, but now I'm older and wiser, I know better. Real sex leads to bad things. Better to keep it virtual.
“If you want a spin on the VR, that's cool, but I'm not going to fuck you.”
“Yes, you are.”
The woman's handbag is a fashionable gray. It's the only thing that I can see on her that fits with my idea of the modern woman.
Her fingers ruffle through the insides. The bag goes as deep as it needs and the machines inside are what do the work of finding what you want. It takes her an extremely long time to come up with what is quite clearly a gold bar.
“Are you kidding me?”
“No. It's real. Check.”
I do – several times.
“How did you come across this?” I ask. “I haven't seen this much gold in one piece in... well, I've only seen it on TV. Can I touch it?”
The corners of her mouth turn up.
“Only if you are willing to work for it.”
I stare at the wealth that she has right there on her shapely thigh. As much as I want to take it, the fertility monitors don't use any pain killing medication due to Regulation 1921 and are required to use a rusty pair of scissors, which is Regulation 1999. It's common knowledge that they make it hurt as much as possible on purpose to discourage any other stupidity from the male population. In this world, sex is like an old friend that is no longer welcome in your house – we cut him off.
“Can't. Please take your gold and go.”
The woman doesn't move. Her real flesh eyes hold mine and don't drop away. This woman has no fear in her. If I known how little at the time, I would have thrown her out of the shop the moment she walked in the door.
“Do you know what a cold room is?”
I cringe.
“I'd rather I didn't. That's what they use to freeze people for the big freeze, yes?”
“Exactly.” The woman leans in. “And what if I told you that I had access to one?”
“How?”
“Time inside.”
“Fuck. For real?”
“72 years to the day.”
That puts things into a new light. She's a freezer. It explains the oddness of her clothing and the fact she's mostly real flesh in a world that's mostly plastic.
“Think a little more,” she urges.
I didn't realize I was, but I do and long and hard.
“Ah, now that's smart. The room disrupts the metal stuff in my brain, but what about down there...?”
It hits me. 72 years. Of course, how could I have not seen that.
; “Why me?” I ask.
Her amused reply is, “Because you have a nice profile picture on your net site.”
Figures. I make my choice.
“Let's go.”
In 2015 the One Child Act (OCA) was revoked and the No Child Act (NCA) was put in place. Nobody liked the OCA much, but the NCA was particularly unpleasant. There were riots and all kinds of silly stuff going on and in the midst of it, Henry Adams Bright came up with an idea that was as bright as his name.
The Bright Pussy Implant, as they have been calling it since it's creation, is some magic little piece of metal that communicates with a big server in the government and does only one thing: It tells the fertility monitors when a woman is pregnant. Everyone has one and, now that virtual reality is the thing, nobody really cares.
That, in this case, is where things get interesting. You see, J.J. Sass – because she missed the boat – doesn't have one. She's 100% Pussy Implant free.
Unfortunately, I'm not and that's why we are standing in the freezer bay of Michael Mahone's Town's ultra high security prison ward freezing our butts off as the technician that the client called a friend.
“It's ready,” the friend says after twisting and turning a few digital knobs that float in the air around the entrance to the freezer.
J.J. struts forward towards the great white opening of the machine that is pushing out enough cold air that my face is chilled.
I don't move to follow her.
“How cold is this going to be?”
The woman looks over her shoulder. Her eyebrows raise a centimeter or so.
“About 50 degrees Celsius. It doesn't need to be very cold to block the implants.”
Considering how hot it's been 50 sounds kind of nice.
I follow her inside. The outside of the machine has a large arch for an entrance that hides what is inside behind a haze of chilly air. Inside it's all white.
The woman walks into the middle of the room and turns to face me
She reaches out and brushes some of the hair from my eyes before saying, “Link with my net.”
I give her access and the white square freezer that we are in disappears and is replaced by what I assume was the popular style in the 80s.
My fingers play over a bunch of vinyl records and an old stereo. There's pictures of her with dozens of people that my metal bits tell me were quite famous 70 years ago. I finger one and look back at her.
“You were a pop singer?”
“Something like that.”
There is a rainbow colored cotton towel spread out on the light blue carpet. I know that what I am feeling right now and what is really there isn't the same. We are still in the freezer, but what my mind believes is that we are in what is most likely her room from way back before she was put inside.
“Come here.”
I stroll over as calmly as I can.
“You're a virgin, right?” J.J. asks, running two fingers down the fly of my pants and parting them so they slip to my knees.
Deep down I want to scoff at the idea, but in a world where no one actually has sex, finding someone who isn't a virgin is kind of rare.
“I've had my share.”
Her eyes meet mine and for some reason I end up looking away. Those blue flesh eyes are too weird. They know things that I will never.
She pulls me out and slowly works her fingers along it.
“I don't think I'm going to be able to get hard,” I say to her.
“When was the last time you were?”
That takes some thinking.
“When I was 13 I had an erection once.”
“13? How old are you now?”
“40,” is about all the years that I'm willing to admit.
“Well, I was kind of an expert at getting guys hard. You don't have to worry.”
J.J. Gets to her knees and opens her mouth wide. The woman takes my soft cock and slowly draws it inside her soft warmth. There's a gentle rolling sensation that follows. Her lips twist left to right as if she's chewing a candy from one side to the other as her hot wet tongue applies pressure from below, slurping and suckling the lower section of my tip. It all feels about the same as VR, but has a little something special in it that I can't quite put my finger on.
“See, you are getting harder.”
I nod absentmindedly. My brain is a little hazy right now. The way she's working my cock around in her fingers, making soft turn to steel, is something I can appreciate. It's rare for me to have a woman this hot and just watching her pressuring my dick for more arousal is the sexiest thing I have seen in quite some time.
My hands run through her hair as she gently begins working her lips down the length of my ever growing manhood. The slippery tunnel that she provides for it to travel is full of bumps and twists and turns that send long hard shivers through my buttocks. J.J. Sass, pop star, over 90 years of age in real time and 20 in what I'm experiencing now, has one hell of a set of lips. The tongue isn't that agile, but the way the woman twists the corners of her mouth upwards with perfect timing massages along the sharp, clean lines of my shaft is magnificent.
Eventually, as with all these types of things, the woman reaches my base. I cry out loudly when she purses those sexy lips and cups them around my shaft to suck on with such force that by the time she reaches the tip, I am shaking like I am having a fit.
“Did you like it?” she asks with one eyebrow raised in amusement on seeing my love struck expression.
Words are not needed in reply. I draw her down to the towel she has been kneeling on and kiss the woman long and hard. Those lips fascinate me and I can't keep myself from running my own over them for a very long time. It is only when I feel something soft and wet at the end of my dick that I realize I'm forgetting the most fun part of what we are up to.
“Is that your...?”
In all my life, I thought that a pussy was a perfectly slick tunnel with not a single imperfection to destroy the easy glide of my cock. How wrong I was.
J.J. Sass is less than perfect. In fact, she has bumps and twists and turns – just like her mouth did – that arouse me such that I nearly lose myself in her tightness. It is TOTALLY different from virtual reality and I'm quite shocked by it. The real thing, because of its imperfect nature, is so much better.
Working my hips forwards and back instinctively, I enjoy these opening moments of our love making. I keep saying stupid things like “it's so soft” or “it smells musty” or “what is with this hitch in there?” To her, one who has probably had her share of men, I must look a fool, but, honestly, I am more like a tourist who has arrived somewhere they've never been before: I want to look around and experience it all RIGHT NOW.
Slowly, we get to the real action. Her butt slaps against the floor as the woman bucks her hips up and down and I thrust straight in. Each time she moves I'm caught on something at the far back. It's deep in there and feels wonderful.
“You are doing really good,” she whispers in my ear. “Just a little deeper.”
I bring my dick forward and tense my buttocks so that I can reach in as far as she requests. As soon as I do, she cries out in what I can firmly say must be some wonderful sensations.
“Harder. Hit it harder.”
It's a low guttural moan of an utterance. I raise the pace. The tip of my dick taps against something soft and fleshy.
“Ahhhh--- That's good!”
Her cries are getting to me. I want to make more of them. I want to feel a woman go crazy like this. Girls in VR are usually on a orgasm timer, but J.J. can't be. This quaking in her is the real thing and it's getting stronger and stronger.
“Your pussy is sucking on my dick,” I groan.
Every single thrust is like having my cock sucked. It tightens and contracts and is squelching in the nastiest fashion as juices soak into the towel. I keep hammering home until that tightness gets too much and my piece is forced out.
“Push it back in!” she cries.
I try my best. It hurts
because it's way too tight, but somehow I manage it.
“Do it. Do it. Cum in me, big boy. Make me wet.”
Those flesh orbs are on mine. I've never seen anyone urging me to cum with their eyes alone, but she's doing it somehow. The floor shakes with how hard I pound her. Sweat is dripping down onto the unbunched up section of her dress. As I reach my climax, we both cry out and another orgasm comes on her side.
“Shit...” I moan when I come to from the deep trance I was in, “That was INCREDIBLE!”
My arm is over my eyes and I'm on my back panting.
J.J. Sass rolls over to kisses me on the cheek.
“It was pretty good for an amateur.”
The woman rakes out a hand and grabs her bag. It doesn't take her long to find a small device about a centimeter long with a white cap on the end.
“What's that?”
“A pregnancy test from around 2025.”
“Wow, that's vintage.”
She laughs. It's a sweet sound.
“I'm vintage, big guy.”
It is placed to her arm and turns blue.
“Good?”
J.J. shakes her head.
“Failed.”
“That's too bad.”
Her hand reaches to my still throbbing penis.
“We can have the room any time it's free,” she says, “and today with have another 2 hours.”
The woman is thrashing on my dick at a hurried pace.
“Do you think you can cum for me again?”
Her wicked smile is quite infectious.
“I'm sure I can go as many times as needed.”
Three months and 123 times later, she finally gets pregnant. J.J. Sass really needed a lot.
Sophie's Book Note
Ah, Black Magnum, how I wish I made more use of you.
Today's story was a little short, right? I felt that way too. However, to cheer you up, I'll let you know the story of how Mr. Magnum came about.
3 years before this story was written (probably mid-2012) I received a black cock in the mail. A REALLY big one.
Yep, you read that right – a big black cock. It was wrapped in red clear cellophane (a kind of present wrapping) and had a card on it from a friend who thought giving black cocks from Indonesia to all her best buds was the way to go for Christmas (it might have been another holiday.)