The Future of Sex

by Aubrey Parker

  He pushed her up.

  She looked at him, kissing the tip of his dick. The head was red and swollen.

  “Sit on it,” he said.

  Chloe assessed the man for a long moment, trying to decide if she should give him his way. She’d beaten him down hard enough, and the watchers behind the wall wouldn’t see this as a weakness. They’d see it as her fulfilling the client’s desire.

  They had to hear how his voice had changed, right?

  The man had been willing to screw her, but was doing it almost with a grudge, like a favor. Things were different now. She could hear his lust — the way he wanted her.

  But she wanted him to want her more.

  Chloe stood, spread her legs slightly, and tipped her hips up toward the man to display her smooth pussy. She used her fingers to part the lips, exposing her clit, everything inside so shiny and wet. She smeared her moisture, rubbing her bud, sending the shocks into her body, making her asshole pucker and twitch.

  Falls watched on the bed, his cock also twitching — proud and thick and perfect. Chloe allowed herself to desire it, to want it to fill her.

  The thought made her wetter.

  “Sit on my cock,” he repeated.

  “Beg me.”

  “Please.”

  She stepped forward, her pussy still spread. She held herself open for him, then stood at the bed’s edge. He started to sit up but she pushed him back. His ass was on the edge, legs dangling. She was still standing. She put her legs on either side of his, then nudged forward. He scooted down further, his cock now inches below her entrance. He reached for her, thrusting upward, wanting inside. But she pushed him down, gently this time.

  She had him. Now she would get off.

  She would allow herself to enjoy this.

  Her mother’s advice was excellent but incomplete. Yes, Chloe needed to learn the difference between work and play, but once she knew which was which, a good escort could perform sexual alchemy — consciously deciding to selectively mix elements from both piles, thus turning work into play.

  Her hand softly pushing him down, Chloe said, “Let me do it.”

  She waited. He throbbed below her. He started to pant.

  Chloe couldn’t say why he wanted her so much, except that she looked good, acted sexy, and was doing all the right things at all the right times, and in the right approximate order.

  But she had to do more. Sexy girls were a dime a dozen. He’d be in an almost hypnotic state until the end, but if she didn’t turn things up, he’d turn caustic a second after he spilled.

  Falls reached into the nightstand, searching for something. In spa sessions like this one, O stocked the rooms for its regular clients as if they were their own bedrooms. O’s Crossbrace page tracked orders and preferences, same as all commerce pages, but O was the first to track and coordinate physical environments — one more way in which the company was living up to its tagline.

  She watched, still hovering, the tip of his dick now brushing her soaking pussy.

  He pulled a pencil-sized device from the nightstand and held it up. “Oh shit,” he said, his hips still trying to penetrate her. “Here. Use this.”

  She took it, looked at it, then handed it back.

  “Use it,” he repeated, trying to give it to her again.

  “No.” She pushed the injector away, then gave him a sly look. “Trust me.”

  “Have you ever used it before?”

  “Of course.”

  “It’s Stimulex. It’ll prolong our orgasms.”

  Chloe shook her head. “How long has it been since you’ve come naturally?”

  He looked at her, pretending to be insulted. But she knew from working in the spas that the elite were often addicted to Stimulex, which created an artificial feedback loop between muscular contractions in the genitals and the nerve signal that created the contractions. The result was an orgasm that fed on itself. It could last for minutes, but long-term users could barely function without it.

  There were rumors of a new Stimulex formulation that worked in conjunction with nanos that spoke to Crossbrace software running in a room’s terminal. If those rumors were true, the result would be like coming nonstop — a perfect pleasure loop that could kill a man from starvation.

  “It’s better this way,” he said.

  She took the injector, set it on the bedspread, pulled away, and climbed onto him. “Trust me.”

  Chloe lowered very slowly onto his cock. It filled her entirely.

  She moaned. He moaned.

  She moved, watching his responses. He liked when she twisted a bit at the top, squeezing his head and almost letting it fall out of her before sliding back down. Maybe it was better without Stimulex and maybe it wasn’t, but using the drug felt like cheating.

  She looked at the surveillance wall — then, following a hunch, reached back and softly circled her fingers around her partner’s balls. She gripped, released, gripped, pulled slightly. Rubbed.

  Every movement was perfect.

  He looked almost like he was in pain below her, reaching up to take her tits in his hands, pinching the nipples. He raised his torso to lick them.

  Chloe moved faster, feeling like she could come any minute. Behind her, the man’s balls were slick with her juice.

  “I want to use a rig on you,” he said, panting.

  “A VR rig?”

  Despite his lust, Falls managed a condescending look. “A sensory immersion rig.”

  “Why?”

  “To enhance this.”

  “You mean to provide sensory overload,” she said.

  Unlike Stimulex, which recirculated orgasmic contractions like a hose looped back into itself, rigs pumped in extra sensory inputs: peripheral erotic visuals surrounding the user, seductive voices in the ears whispering naughty things, and mnemonic triggers designed to set off physiological “burst cascades” in those conditioned to respond — as Falls clearly had been.

  But it was all more, more, more — with no thought given to better.

  “What are you, a prude?”

  Chloe stopped moving, licked her lips, and slid a finger into his ass. She found the right spot and pressed it while contracting her tunnel, massaging his cock as it moved inside her. It widened and swelled, ready to burst.

  “No,” she said. “I’m better.”

  Chloe humped her muscles up his shaft for several more seconds, then started to ride him again. Her finger left his ass and she slapped his face.

  “Bitch!”

  She slapped him again.

  “What the fuck?”

  His anger was so real and vivid that at first she thought she’d read him wrong, but then Chloe realized he was reacting this way for a much more interesting reason: He didn’t even know he wanted her abuse.

  She pressed her tits to his chest, cunt still riding his shaft, and gave him an aggressive open-mouthed kiss. He looked shocked when she pulled up. And hot.

  Yes, she hated him. But she’d put sex in one pile and feelings in another, and her hatred didn’t change how amazing his cock felt inside her.

  She sat up tall, then hit him again. “What about that girl in school, Falteroy? Back when you were a kid? The one who hated you, even though you loved her?”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “She looked like me, didn’t she?”

  His face said she’d hit the bulls-eye.

  Chloe moved faster, now slamming back onto his cock as its head engorged, filling her more. “But you were a punk kid. Nerdy. Beneath her. You … you told her you liked her, didn’t you? And she told everyone. It became a joke.”

  Falls looked too shocked to respond, but this was getting him off.

  Chloe rode harder.

  He was probably seeing that girl, rather than Chloe, above him now. “You’re just a little shitbag, Falteroy,” she said, channeling the ghost from her partner’s memory. “How dare you think you could fuck me! How dare you want to put your dirty little dic
k into my beautiful pussy!”

  “Don’t,” he said.

  She leaned closer. “I hate you, little Falteroy, but my hungry cunt needs you. You’ve been thinking about it all this time, haven’t you? Was it like this when you thought about it? My pretty little pussy needs your nasty little cock. Just like that. Oh yes … fuck me! I wanted it all that time ago, you little bitch.”

  Falteroy looked like he might cry. But he’d grabbed Chloe’s ass and was pushing into her so hard and so fast that she felt her teeth wanting to chatter.

  She climbed off of him. His cock flopped out of her and he almost screamed. He reached for her, but she turned end for end and sat on his face in a sixty-nine.

  “Eat my pussy,” Chloe ordered.

  The man obeyed, his mouth in her snatch in the sloppiest, most juvenile display of eating-out Chloe had ever experienced. But his cock was in her hand, pulsing with his heartbeat, and she felt herself wanting to come, hard.

  She swallowed his length, feeling it touch the back of her throat. She’d never taken a dick this deep and had to pull back. She resumed sucking, working her hand, tasting salty drips from his tip, feeling everything in his groin contract as if ready to erupt. She taunted him.

  “You’ve dreamed of coming in my mouth, haven’t you, Falteroy?”

  “Oh God. Oh shit, yes …”

  “Then make me come. Make me come and I’ll swallow every drop.”

  The man who’d spent decades dreaming about fucking that girl who had hated him could no longer take it. His cock erupted, unloading huge streams of hot jizz into her mouth.

  Chloe clamped her lips and sucked, swallowing all she could and allowing the rest to pool at her lips.

  Her hand continued to work, pumping him dry. But he’d failed to fulfill his end of the bargain, so Chloe focused on the come in her mouth, almost there herself, and pressed her pussy into his face. She didn’t care if she suffocated him, grinding her wetness against him, rolling hard, up and down.

  “Oh God, I’m coming!” she yelled. Then, remembering her role: “You’re making me come!”

  Her knees slammed into the side of his head, boxing his ears. His face fought and jittered. Between her lips, his cock continued to seep. When Chloe opened her mouth, all of the load she hadn’t been able to take rolled out, soaking his balls and the bedspread. She put her mouth back, jerking harder with her hand, squeezing just under the head. Small pulses were still twitching his tip, and she wanted them in her throat as she came.

  Chloe stayed on his dick for a while after he finished, feeling her own trembling aftershocks. Then she turned end for end, wiped her mouth on the bedspread, and laid beside him.

  Panting, his cock still dribbling white, he said, “Thank you.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  The Six sat around the conference table, couples in their sex booths writhing around the room’s edges. Alexa tapped her pen on the table, thinking. It was an ordinary pen, the kind that wrote on paper. Alexa had always been a writer first and foremost, and felt that in the end, writing — especially writing the erotic novels and next-level literary experiences she’d built her empire on — was about connection.

  Connection was always best when it was skin on skin, like fingers against the cool surface of an ink pen. She wanted to remember that, even today, even as she presided over O and had mostly back-burnered her books. Her job now — as then — was to make the customer feel.

  Crossbrace — and especially the coming Beam network — would open new doors in sexuality. But in the end everything came down to the business of feeling.

  “I told you,” said Parker, nodding at the latest recording.

  Alexa shook her head.

  “So you’re not convinced?” Parker asked.

  “Oh, I’m convinced. I just can’t believe it. Olivia? Houston? Do you think she’s the one?”

  The board members turned silently toward Alexa, and she instantly saw her mistake. She’d chosen her words without thinking, letting a long-repressed desire return to the surface.

  And now everyone knew it.

  She wanted to snatch her question back, but it was too late. Houston was giving her a patronizing grin. Olivia, who’d known her longer than the others, at least understood.

  “The one.” Olivia recited.

  Alexa scrambled. “I meant, the one for us. Is there a chance she’s fit to be one of our spa escorts?”

  Parker sniggered.

  Olivia’s gaze stayed unbroken. “That’s not what you said.”

  “You know what I mean,” Alexa snapped.

  “That’s the problem, Alexa,” said Olivia.

  “What does she mean?” asked Charisma.

  “Oh, you know,” Olivia continued. “Just Alexa with her avatar shit again. Her anthroposophic chosen one. Not that I had a problem with it back in the teens, before you botched things with the Syndicate.”

  “It was complicated, and you know it.”

  “It made sense from a business perspective, back then.” Olivia looked around at the others as if conveying a fireside story. “Build an avatar, then sell it. The biggest and most valuable dataset in the world, you used to crow. But then it all became something else for you, didn’t it? I wouldn’t know. I lost interest when it stopped being about market share.”

  “Wait,” said Charisma to Olivia. “Is that what she’s talking about? The avatar?” She turned to Alexa, but rather than being irritated like Olivia, Charisma looked almost sympathetic — as if Alexa were slow, and Charisma were simply trying to help her. “Alexa, we’ve been through this.”

  Alexa looked at Parker, because he alone truly understood the issue. But of course he wouldn’t help her and risk getting them both in trouble.

  “Let’s move on,” Alexa said.

  But Charisma was relentless. “Alexa … we’ve been hearing about your ‘avatar’ for over thirty years.”

  “Over forty,” Olivia interjected, “for those of us who knew her before the fall.”

  “That’s not what I was talking about.” Again, Alexa’s eyes caught Parker’s. She hadn’t stopped searching, of course, and he knew it. But it had been more than five years since she’d breathed a word to the Six, having decided it was simpler to feign quiet and conspire only with Parker than to open herself to mockery — especially after her last unprofitable diversion.

  “You have to let this go,” Benson said. “This silly quest of yours.”

  “She’s never let it go,” Olivia said. “Not when she almost got booted from Eros after the Trevor’s Harem experiment. Not when she and Parker finally did get booted after the—”

  Alexa slapped a palm on the table.

  Olivia stopped speaking, and Alexa bored her eyes into the other woman. She didn’t really have friends, but Olivia was the closest thing. Parker was something else — a partner in crime, perhaps, or a sidekick.

  From one old acquaintance to the other, Alexa sent a silent message: I let it go. Now it’s time for you to do the same.

  Olivia sighed and sat back. Alexa met everyone’s eyes, one by one, willing the room back to order. Then she said what she’d honestly meant to, before the Freudian slip had betrayed her:

  “Do you think Chloe Shaw might be spa escort material?” She shot another hard glare at Olivia. “And … potential commercial value to the company, if the asset is properly trained and conditioned?”

  The table murmured.

  “Olivia? Any thoughts on that, since you ‘lose interest when things stop being about market share’?”

  Olivia rolled her eyes, arms crossed.

  Houston, either brave enough to break the stalemate or simply oblivious, shrugged. “I don’t know if I’d go that far … yet. But the girl has promise. I’m convinced enough to give her a try.”

  Olivia shook her head. “Falls Hartford. I can’t believe it. The man is the biggest asshole on our roster. He treats the top girls like street walkers, but this girl practically had him begging. How?”

  �
��Every person has a weak spot,” Parker said. “The trick is figuring out what it is. So: how did she find his? I’m as baffled as you are. She knew what Logan wanted sexually. Fine; he’s not complicated, and she pressed all the right spots. But she didn’t just fuck Hartford’s dick. She fucked his mind.”

  “Fucked his mind is right,” said Houston, laughing.

  Alexa refrained from telling Houston to cool it. They were alone, and none of them particularly liked the world’s Hartfords. They had the money; they were the Beau Monde sitting atop the NAU’s ladder of wealth, spending untold millions at the thinnest straight on O’s client funnel. But they were disgusting. Irritating. Demanding. Back when Alexa had started writing her dirty little stories, he was the sort of person who crusaded against her brand of pornography, while rubbing his dick and complaining that her female characters were too empowered.

  “Did you tell her anything about him, Parker?” Alexa asked. “Something about a girl from his past?”

  “Tell her? I didn’t know myself.”

  “What about his Cliffs?”

  Benson raised a section of the conference table. He tapped it. Alexa watched the information scroll: raw video of every encounter Falls Hartford had ever had within O’s walls, transcripts of everything he’d ever said within earshot of a snooper, bug records from off-site rendezvous arranged by O’s Satisfaction Coordinator — rendezvous Hartford believed were genuine seductions rather than company-arranged bonuses. Benson stopped scrolling when he reached the AI-compiled Cliffs, and scanned them.

  “AI has parsed nothing about his childhood,” Benson said, reading. “Nothing historical. It’s as if the man was born five years ago, based on the things he talks about.”

  “What about the intuitives?”

  “We’ve never run intuitive AI on Hartford’s records,” said Benson, peering at the screen.

  “Do it,” Alexa said. “I want to know if that information was even accessible. Have the intuitive AI parse this last footage, too. Feed it everything we have. His biostats during their session, his EM field —”

  “EM is pseudoscience bullshit,” Parker said.