Even Braver New World State

by Rick K. Reut

  Meanwhile, Adam was willingly, though somewhat shyly, walking towards the group, which was now growing bigger in his eyes the same way he was growing bigger in theirs.

  “And yet, he still seems so absurdly small,” Controller Globe eyed Adam, who was still out of earshot. “Couldn’t you have found someone a bit bigger?

  “Physically maybe, but mentally hardly.”

  “I wonder if he is as small below the waistline.”

  “What do you mean by that?” wondered the Director.

  “I mean the length of his third leg. Is it as short as his other two look from here?”

  “Well, since he was born naturally and never exposed to any kind of gene-engineering, what else can we expect?” was the Director’s question-like answer. “But don’t worry. Using that new technique they’re working on in Minsk, we can make him grow much faster than you think.”

  “I think pretty fast, you know,” commented the Controller.

  “So do I. But it’ll still have to take some time.”

  “How long?”

  “I’d say, a week; maybe two.”

  “No, I mean, how long is it now?”

  “O, how long is it now, Leonarda?

  “Just a second,” the assistant skimmed through the T-phone’s touchscreen. “According to his anthropometrics – five and a half inches long.”

  “You mean short,” the Controller corrected contemptuously. “And that’s it? Is that all we’ve got on our hands?”

  “The technique allows us to develop that potential to about twice that size,” remarked Rafaela.

  “Well, that’s not that much shorter than Conchita Carman’s tickling tool.”

  “You mean our Central American Controller?!” the Director cried out in shock.

  “Regrettably.”

  “I didn’t know It was so… well, so short.”

  “Well, now you do. It’s got it all gone into Its buttocks, I guess. A rather rare chemical imbalance these days. But this isn’t the issue. Better tell me his overall height.”

  “Almost six feet tall,” answered the assistant, “five point ten, to be perfectly precise.”

  And indeed, five point ten and more than four feet short of the European Continent Controller was how tall he stood before them a second later.

  The trans-rocket they all assembled by no longer looked like a toy now. Neither did anyone look like an ant any more. The time it had taken Adam to cross the roof had been enough to grow every member of the group far out of the proportions of an average man on the Island. Adam couldn’t help feeling like a little child, a dwarf or a pigmy in their presence. But it wasn’t so much the stature as the incredible sexiness of Controller Globe that made him open his mouth in awe.

  Up until this moment he had thought that Director Downing, Leonarda and Rafaela were the most beautiful beings he had ever beholden. But now he saw how wrong he was, gazing at Gianna Globe’s gorgeously gene-engineered face and body he could barely take his eyes off. How large and alluring it looked. It was definitely the biggest and best-built body he had come across in his life. Those giant, monument-like breasts, buttocks, thighs, calves and certainly arms that could crush him or rock him to sleep like a baby. She was just like he would want his mother to be if she hadn’t died in childbirth, as his now also dead dad had told him.

  Death took her when she was giving him life. His father followed her fourteen falls after – a victim of heavy drinking – leaving him, a double orphan, to be brought up at the only orphanage on the Isle of Man, which would make the House of the Rising Sun sound like a lullaby. And now it was his mother he saw in this spectacularly attractive creature that aroused his sexual appetite. Especially those huge bulging breasts of hers his eyes hungered to suck dry.

  And he knew that he could actually do that, for the mammary glands in these gene-engineered creatures had been kept functional. Just like their sperm, they could be given any fruit flavor at the moment of decanting. The Director’s one was that of the pineapple, while Rafaela’s that of the watermelon. Director Downing had told him all about it after the interview intercourse, during which he had been breastfed by both of them, partly to prove the point. She had also told him that the flavor could be changed and adjusted to his taste through a special procedure.

  Almost anything in the New World State could be changed and adjusted to his taste. And things that couldn’t would soon be. Luckily, there weren’t that many of them left any more. And pretty soon there wouldn’t be any at all. It was a perfect world he was now facing, and he could see its perfection in the face of Gianna Globe.

  “Mister Marx, please meet our Chief Caretaking Continent Controller for Europe, Its Freudship, Gianna Globe,” said the Director, drawing Adam out of his transfixed state.

  The Controller nodded and nonchalantly pulled up Its skirt, revealing a colossal – at least two-foot-long – uncircumcised and currently un-erected cock, one look at which dragged him, like a vortex, into another and this time much deeper state of trance.

  “Go ahead, shake it,” urged the Director. “You’re in our world now. And here it’s a traditional custom to shake penises instead of hands when we want to greet one another.”

  Adam stared at the monstrously large member, unable to move.

  “Come on, don’t be so coy,” the Director pressed on, stepping behind him and laying Its hands on his shoulders. “This is exactly what this ritual is for. To shake off all the shackles of shyness, leading you and all of us to true transsexual freedom.”

  “Shining,” smiled Director Downing, seeing Adam swallow and slowly take the thick limp snake with his shaking hand.

  “Pleased to meet you, Mister Marx,” said Controller Globe.

  Adam wanted to say “Adam”, but the word stuck in his throat.

  “Now it’s your turn,” the Director whispered in his ear. “Take off your trousers.”

  “I-I-I c-can’t,” he stuttered.

  “Of course, you can,” chuckled the Director. “It’s not like we are asking you to leap off this building. Besides, you have to understand that in a civilized culture like ours shaking somebody’s penis and not offering your own one is deemed to be dreadfully disrespectful.”

  “O!” Adam instantly let go off the Controller’s cock. “I-I didn’t mean to be rude,” he stammered, nervously. “It’s just that right now…”

  “Don’t worry. We all know that it’s much smaller than ours. But there’s nothing to be ashamed of here. None of it is your fault. It’s not even the fault of the people who begot you, but of nature’s blind chance. However, we have learned to fix blind chances. So, we no longer have to depend on their injustice.”

  “I see, but it’s not really it,” was Adam’s weak objection.

  “Well, what is it then?” snapped the Director, starting to lose patience.

  “It’s just uh… I mean, it’s not what you think,” Adam mumbled, his speech growing more and more jumbled and disjointed.

  “You can’t possibly know what we do or don’t think, Mister Mark. So, please be so kind as to do what you’re told.

  “I-I-I would, but… if you… I mean…”

  “Well, sometimes when a sick man doesn’t want to take his meds to get better,” said Director Downing, squatting behind him, “the sick man must be made to do it.”

  With these words, the Director deftly unzipped his pants and pulled them down with one resolute move.

  “O, what a pleasant surprise,” said the Controller, looking down at the belittled young man.

  “What is it?” wondered the Director, standing up straight and staring down over Adam’s shoulder at what turned out to be the butt of his fully erected penis. “O! So that’s what all the ado is about!” It laughed merrily. “But there’s really nothing to be blushing about here. It is, in fact, a totally natural reaction when people are actually glad to see each other instead of just being polite for politeness’s sake. This happens all the time. It’s like a dog wagging its tale at the si
ght of its master or another dog it likes. It means that you’re truly glad to see our dear Controller. The Controller, on the other hand, has had a long, difficult day at work that included two flights across the Atlantic, and is therefore too tired to be glad to see anyone at all at the moment. Isn’t that right, Your Freudship?”

  “You’re as clairvoyant as ever, Director,” grinned the Controller, briefly touching Adam’s pulsating penis before pulling down Its skirt. “I do have to go get some rest. Hope to see you all tomorrow at the first seminar. Nice to have met you, Mister Marx.”

  “Adam,” mumbled Adam, nodding his head, nervously.

  “And don’t let that cute little erection of his go to waste!” It shouted over Its shoulder, shifting towards the trans-plane shed.

  “Don’t worry, we won’t!” the Director shouted back. “Will we, my dears?” It added, looking at Its assistants, already taking turns tugging at Adam’s rock-hard, five-and-a-half-inch-short cock.

  Chapter Thirteen

  One more officially timed orgy later, the Controller was flying Its trans-copter home, which happened to be the former residence of the King and Queen of England. The King and Queen themselves had been duly disposed of during the last decade of the First Coming as part of a campaign for overall equality. Besides, keeping the royal family for purely decorative purposes was deemed superfluous.

  Buckingham Palace still stayed, though, rebuilt beyond recognition and renamed into Fuckingham Palace as the first capital letter had been changed in honor of the double-headed prophet FordorFreud. The European Controller occupied its entire top floor, while the rest of the building had been revamped to serve as an entertainment and recreation facility consisting of countless night clubs, pubs, restaurants and even interactive cinemas. Alongside Wimbledon and Wembley Stadium, the place was also used as an arena for solidarity services and sex sports games, such as sex pool, sex snooker, table penis and foot-fetish-ball.

  Almost all games in the even braver New World State had something to do with sex, just like all the most expressive curse words in the cowardly old one. FordorFreud’s prophetic activity had helped the Controllers realize that unreleased libidinous energy was one of the main reasons for discontent among the masses. So, they made absolutely sure that sexual satisfaction was guaranteed to every single member of the modern trans-human society. And that was exactly why happiness was in excess everywhere. Entertainment combined with the pleasures of palate and penis, called carnal consumption, which could, if desired, last infinitely or at least indefinitely, was a hedonist’s dream come true. But then again, human beings had always been naturally born hedonists and had been compelled to surrender their inclinations only to the insurmountable force of circumstances.

  If only those circumstances could be so changed that they would actually work for the satisfaction of one’s intrinsic desires instead of working against them, then nobody would need to surrender anything. But since the power of circumstances often depends on the human, all too human perception of these circumstances, to a certain extent, the trick is to form one’s perceptions in such a way that they not only won’t, but cannot possibly deviate from the direct highway to happiness, thought Controller Globe, as Its trans-plane landed on the lavishly lit rooftop of Its residence.

  Troubled by these thoughts, the Controller descended directly to Its rooms, where It disposed of Its daytime dress, took a quick shower and, knowing that It would have to wake up early the following morning, went straight to bed.

  Since soma had been officially prohibited as potentially subversive to one’s health during the first decade of the Second Coming, but obsessive thoughts and fixed ideas that don’t allow people to relax and fall asleep right away still remained, there had been developed a special conditioning technique capable of putting a person to sleep any time that person wanted. Starting with the moment of decanting, essential conditioning included the construction of a psychosomatic point on a person’s body (no wider than the tip of a thumb) customarily located in the area of the neck. Being connected with the sleep hormone secreting gland through an intricate system of nerves, it could instantly initiate a state of deep sleep by applying the right amount of pressure to this point, or “switch spot” as it came to be called.

  The spot worked like a button on a control panel, with which one could easily turn oneself off for a period of time ranging from eight to twelve hours and sometimes even more than that. Within reasonable limits, the procedure could be repeated almost indefinitely. One could switch oneself off as many times as one wanted and so spend one’s whole life sleeping provided you took the trouble of filling the short gaps between the switches with square meals.

  Unlike the pre-transsexual ages, however, these neo-modern times gave absolutely no reason for this escapist desire to emerge, for life in the New World State was basically a wet daydream come true. All it lacked to be perfectly complete or completely perfect – whichever way you’d prefer to put it – was a little Director’s or rather Controller’s cut – off of the small Isolated Islands strewn all over the planet. These Islands, like acnes on the face of youth, spoiled the overall picture of perfection, and regrettably, couldn’t be permanently disposed of by a mere push of a button. Unless of course the button was black or red and was somehow connected to the New World State’s arsenal of weapons of mass destruction, which Gianna Globe, as one of the ten current Chief Caretaking Continent Controllers, could gain access to any time.

  But this wasn’t the way It wanted it to be. And so, instead of pushing the said red or black button, Its Freudship preferred to push the invisible skin-colored one set just below Its earlobe as soon as Its head hit the pillow, instantly erasing all the troubling thoughts from the surface of the Controller’s conscience and casting them down the dark, deep and distinctly dreamless stairwell of sleep.

  After being brought all the way up to his suite on the top floor of the recently rebuilt and rebranded Trans Tower Hotel, Adam found himself head-deep in some sort of surreal wonder world of things he had no words to describe. All kinds of unknown, ultramodern appliances stared at him with overt suspiciousness from every corner of the room. Adam could not possibly imagine the purpose of most of these devices, especially the one that looked like an old-fashioned pinball machine with a naked she-male strikingly similar to a real one bending over its glass table with a three-dimensional TV screen installed in it.

  “And this,” said Director Downing, slipping in behind him, “will be your residence for tonight, and perhaps for some time to come. Like it?”

  Adam stayed speechless, totally transfixed by the sight of the naked she-male shape.

  “I see you’ve taken a fancy for that retro style sex-ball machine,” said the Director, strapping on a smile. “Frankly speaking, I haven’t seen one for quite a while myself. We stopped producing them over a decade ago with the introduction of the first cyborg sex slave. The public wanted their sex dolls to be a bit more diverse in their motions. Not just lay there like lumbered logs or bend over like this one. It can’t even change its position, you see. So, it has a really narrow application scope. Strictly for doggy stylists, if you know what I mean.”

  The Director gave Adam a wanton wink as It walked up to the weird-looking contraption from behind.

  “But I have to admit,” It went on, patting the artificial flesh of the sex machine’s bare buttocks, “the quality of this silicone skin is still exceptionally high, even judging by today’s stern standards.”

  Director Downing drew Its hand over the doll’s back, stroking it, slowly.

  “I wonder if it still works. There must be a button to switch it on somewhere down here,” the Director bent over, inadvertently copying the sex doll beside It, and carefully examined the glass table.

  “O, there it is!” It exclaimed, touching something between the doll’s spread legs. The machine instantly came into motion and vibrated, shuddering in a long mechanical orgasm, like someone holding a pair of stripped high-voltage wires.
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  “You can tune down or totally turn off the vibrating effect with this switch right here,” It said, touching a barely visible disk under the table.

  “To cut the throat of a long story short, the thing is completely controllable. Any feature can be easily regulated and adjusted to your individual taste, starting with the amount of lubricant and finishing with the video track on the screen. In a word, anything. Wanna try it?”

  “Try what?” Adam started, sweeping his eyes off the sex machine’s bare back and aiming them straight at the queer-looking Director.

  “What do you mean – what? To play it, of course!” the Director exclaimed, good-humoredly.

  “To play it? How is that?” he wondered, switching his stare back to the contraption.

  “Easily! The same way one has sex. You just get aroused and stick it in this hole right here.” It pointed to the sex doll’s gaping anus. “It can also be adjusted to the size of your penis, by the way. But what the Freud am I babbling about?! The best way to explain is always to show! So, watch and learn!”

  With these words, Director Downing rolled up Its tight miniskirt and, having tugged Its massive member a number of times to provoke a rock-hard erection, slid it into the sex doll’s adjustable anus.

  “You know, it feels almost like a real rectal route in there,” It remarked, sliding to and fro with the precision of a professional proctologist. “If you close your eyes, you won’t even be able to tell the difference. But let’s see how hard it can take it, shall we?” suggested the Director, grabbing the doll’s bulging buttocks with both hands and hungrily ramming Its rock-hard rod of flesh all the way in.

  Again, again and again, faster and faster, harder and harder, Director Downing shook the sex-ball machine with such ferocity that It almost tore the table’s screwed-in legs out of the floor.