---
Three days later the doorbell rang. Ben got up to let Corliss in. He had been expecting her.
"Don't need a cane any more, do you, Ben?"
"Thanks to you and your treatments, no."
"Well, after today's session, you should be fully restored to health. What do you say we get started."
He was flat on his stomach on the bed again. He had let Corliss know that no restraints would be necessary this time. She had smiled and commended him for being a good boy.
Ben voluntarily opened himself up to the metal shaft, and it slid smoothly up into him. No pain at all -- in fact there was an exquisite sensual pleasure to the liquid friction of the chrome penis pumping in and out of him. He had asked Corliss to fuck him with it before turning on the current, just so he could find out what it felt like, to find out what queers got out of being being the bottom in anal sex. She had been most happy to oblige. She enjoyed fucking him in the ass. And he found that he enjoyed being fucked.
All too soon, he felt the tingle of electricity deep in his gut.
"Sorry, Ben, time to get down to business."
He was floating in a dream-trance once more, with his limbs flailing about spastically, babbling nonsense. But this time, this time, it would be different. Ben had prepared . . .
---
The image on the monitor showed Corliss from the rear. From time to time there were glimpses of the gleaming dildo protruding from her mesh belt as it penetrated into the man's behind. Now the body laying facedown on the bed went rigid, as if from a massive jolt of electricity. And he was babbling. Earthquake in Nicaragua . . . 7.6 on the Richter Scale . . . Positron Semiconductor up 10% on news of a new breakthrough in fabricating . . . SEC halts trading in Barbary Pirates Group shares on news of CEO Harl Groombie's fraud indictment . . . Dark Desire wins the Preakness at 11 to 1 odds . . . Fed Funds rate increased a full point, mortgage rates expected to rise . . . Terrorist strikes in . . .
The news. Not today's news, though. None of this had happened. But suddenly Ben got a premonition that it would happen -- tomorrow, or next week, or next month, or . . .
Foretelling the future? He had heard vague rumors about a super-secret government "Remote Prediction Project." Supposedly, subjects had the precognitive parts of their brain awakened by jolts of current, or something like that. This was supposed to make them temporarily clairvoyant -- able to peer into the future -- but there had been problems of some sort. . . . Shit! It was all beginning to make sense now. This was what Corliss was after!
If you knew what the future held, you could make a killing in the stock market, on horse races, and in a dozen other ways. You could avoid both natural and man-made catastrophes. Hell, you could easily end up ruling the fucking world!
Ben had come up with a bright idea, all right, hiding a video camera overhead so he could record the action when Corliss dropped in for a visit. But he hadn't expected anything this strange.
Curing him of his crippling injury? Making a whole man out him again? That was fine and dandy, but it paled in comparison to . . . Yeah, Corliss had done him a huge favor, all right, but the payback, oh, yes, the payback . . .
Now the screen showed the shining dildo withdrawing out of him. But, what was this? She was pulling what looked like a metallic glove over her right hand. The glove went all the way up her arm, past the elbow. Now she was attaching a wire harness to it -- and what was that? -- dipping the gloved hand into a jar of something, and now . . . She was inserting the hand into him, into his butt, fingers first; and the metal-gloved hand was disappearing into him! She was fisting him, fisting him, and now her arm was pumping in and out!
At one point Corliss had her arm inside him almost all the way up to the armpit, it looked like. And, all the while, he kept babbling. Forecasting the future. The future that he now had a glimpse into. The future that could hold certain very interesting possibilities for him . . .
---
The doorbell rang.
"No treatment today. I'm here to say goodbye."
"It's been a pleasure knowing you, Corliss."
"Likewise, Ben. I see that your circumstances have improved a bit since I was last here. You're moving around without any impairment, but that was to be expected. And you've made some expensive-looking alterations to your house. Your financial situation has improved, it appears. That was also to be expected. My associates were wondering how long it would take you to catch on and record one of the sessions."
"Yes, I'm doing much better now, thank you."
"So, before we part, is there anything else I can do for you?"
"You know there is, Corliss. I've wanted you since I first saw you walk through that door. At the time I wasn't in much of a position to do anything about it, but now . . . "
"I take it then, that you wouldn't settle for a farewell kiss."
"Bingo."
"Well, in that case . . . "
In a sudden fluid motion, Corliss pulled down her uniform skirt and stepped out of her drawers. She winked, then turned away from Ben and bent over forward.
"I'm yours, Ben, all yours. Take me . . . if you can."
He couldn't. Even staring hungrily at her gleaming bare ass and the naked pink lips of her shaven pussy, he couldn't, just couldn't get it up. Couldn't.
Corliss straightened up and drew up her skirt. She looked at him and smiled.
"You see, Ben. For all the benefits you got from your treatment, there happens to be one rather unfortunate side-effect. You've been rendered conditionally impotent. You can no longer be physically aroused by a woman in the normal manner. The only way you can obtain release, and experience orgasm, is to be anally penetrated. You're healthy and you're wealthy, but you're permanently bent."
"I had intended to thank you for healing me, Corliss. Now, I don't know if I should curse you instead. Get the hell out of my sight before I do something we'll both regret."
"Goodbye, Ben."
"Fuck you, Corliss."
THE GLASS BOX
Greg shivered as he stared at the wall. Even with the temperature steady at 84, blood heat, he was cold. Maybe it was the tension. Or knowing that he was being watched.
At his side, Marilyn breathed softly. She was stunning. Tall and blonde and soft and round in all the right places. Every teenage boy's fantasy lover. And she was his, his for the taking. If only he had the nerve to take her.
It was tough being a virgin at 18. Not knowing the moves or what exactly to do with a woman, even when she was naked and all spread out and ready and willing. But then, that was why he had been picked for this deal. Because all those folks out there were curious to see what would happen. Welcome to the ultimate in Reality TV: The Glass Box
Yes, folks, every week we bring you new players and new situations. In today's show we have an eager, but shy adolescent male, barely of legal age, and an experienced older women. Let's call it: Beauty and the Geek. And both of them stark naked in the Glass Box for your viewing pleasure!
The Box wasn't really glass. Not that it mattered. Think of a 15-by-15-foot plush mattress, bounded by ten-foot high plexiview walls and roofed over by a mirror ceiling. In one corner an open Porta-shitter with absolutely no provision for privacy. It was sort of an illuminated transparent plastic jail cell suspended in mid-air. And, with dozens of high-resolution videocams and mikes strategically positioned at various angles -- above, sideways, and below. Seeing all. Hearing all. Recording all. All! Every kiss. Every whisper. Every touch, every fondle . . . And, transmitting it, all of it, live. It was like being a bug under a microscope.
A million fucking dollars he was supposed to get for this gig. Even if he didn't manage to boff the broad, he'd still come out of it rich. And, a celeb to boot. But, think of the hit to his reputation if he couldn't get it on. And, so far, four hours into show, he hadn't been able to. Couldn't get revved up. Couldn't get it up!
Every move you make going out at light-speed on international TV. Think of it! Every time
you let slip a fart millions laugh, and they're laughing at you. Every time you use the can, millions are getting their rocks off peeping at you, watching you peeing and pooping, and wiping your damn ass! All those people watching! How he hated them! Those stupid, gaping, masturbating morons getting their jollies watching him! He looked down at his limp noodle and slammed his fist into the padded floor. I had a hunch the guy'd turn out to be a schmuck. A dipshit. A gold-plated asshole.
Shut up, Larry. The review panel agreed he was perfect.
Perfect, right. He was so eminently qualified. He's an erotic story site groupie on the Net. That alone had to have made him a super sexpert. Not to mention that he blew away the surrogates in the test screening. Fucked them a mile a minute.
Those were inflatable vinyl dummies. Not the real thing.
So, what do we do now? Two hours left in the broadcast, and no action to speak of. The ratings on this episode are in the toilet, and no wonder. It's a total fucking disaster.
Calm down. That's why there's Plan B. Ready to switch over the video feed?
To the other Box? The one with the lookalikes? The pros?
Sure. With the seamless transition electronics, the viewing public will never know the difference. But, they'll get the hot and heavy stuff they're expecting. The Greg substitute can go all night if he has to. Unlike the fucking original.
"All right, chump, up and out!"
"What???" Greg jumped to his feet, startled. The far wall of the Glass Box had dropped out of sight and three burly techs were standing there staring at him.
"Show's over, friend. Now, be a jolly good fellow and trundle on down to the dressing room to get cleaned up."
Marilyn languidly sat up, studiously ignoring the smirking studio stooges. In no great hurry she got to her feet and walked out, her swaying naked behind riveting the eyes of the men following. Greg had a raging erection (too late!), and no damn place to stick it.
---
"What???"
"You really should have read the contract, Greggy baby. That's right, the non-performance clause. If you don't fuck, you get fucked. So, instead of the million, you get bupkis, though with generous travel expenses thrown in. It comes to a grand total of $573.48. Don't spend it all in one place, buddy boy."
Humiliated! Cheated! With his reputation in tatters and teetering on the ragged edge of poverty. Things were not looking good in Greg's little corner of the world.
"Hey! Greg! You lookin damfine! Gimme the highest five you got!"
Shit! He just had to run into Jimmy from the neighborhood. What was he going to say? That he was sorry he'd let everybody down? That he wasn't usually that bad in the sack? That it was an impersonator up there on the TV screen, an actor with a face like his doing a friggin comedy routine?
"Greg, you the man! You tore that bitch up. Musta set her hole on fire. Sure, not much action the first coupla hours, but I betcha you was just warmin up, huh?"
"Yeah, Jimbo, you got it. Warming up. Say, you ain't puttin me on now, are you? Y'know, maybe I wasn't at my bestest up there in the Box, but with all them cameras all around and knowin everybody's watching, it's kinda rough . . ."
"You joking, right? Greg, you musta boffed the broad at least half a dozen times, up, down, and sideways. Sheeit! Where'd you learn about that there double-strokin shit, and doing her from behind and all the while fingerin the clit? And you a certified virgin before that? Sheeit!"
"Well, sure, Jimmy, y'know all those books they made us read in Sex Ed class at Coolidge High, and . . ."
"Yeah, r-i-i-ght . . ."
What??? Jimmy wasn't pulling his leg, it didn't sound like. Something very strange was going on here.
Oh, my. Well, that sort of explained it. He was sitting in an easy chair in Jimmy's living room, holding a cold brew and watching a replay of the show. He saw himself (no, not himself!) boffing the broad half a dozen times. Up, down, and sideways. So, they must have had a backup crew of lookalike actors ready to take over in a remote studio, in a different Glass Box, just in case. Just in case they had a player who flamed out. Like he did.
Cheated again! Megaversal Studios had made out on the deal, made millions using his name and his face, while he got . . . what? A crummy five hundred little ones. He had gotten fucked.
Well, at least his rep was intact. For all the rest of the world knew, he was a world-class lover, a bigtime bimbo bopper, a boffo boudoir bonzo, a supersmooth sheik between the sheets. So, maybe he'd salvaged something from this fucking fiasco. And, maybe more than something . . .
Hey, if the studio could pull a scam, why shouldn't he benefit from it? Why not cash in on his celebrity status and lover-boy expertise? Sure, why not?
---
"The word's out on the street that your client's a phony baloney. A fake. A hotdog. A lollapaloser. They say Megaversal doctored the video feed to make him look good."
"That's a damn lie! Look, call up Gordon Samuels at Megaversal and he'll tell you if Greg is for real."
"I already did, Evvie. Gordie didn't return the call, which is rather strange, considering how far back the two of us go."
"Well then, at least give my guy the benefit of the doubt. Let him have a shot at the leading role, the lover boy character. I mean, what do you stand to lose? All those tens of millions of people saw Greg do a virtuoso job on the woman, and now he has prima brand name recognition. So, even if, heaven forbid, he falls flat on his face, the odds are that you'll still make back the upfront money on the package."
"Well, maybe. We could always market it as a comedy if he fucks up. But, I'll tell you this: if he's not the real thing he'll never work in this town again. And for that matter, neither will you, Evelyn."
---
"Look me in the eye, Greggy boy. I'm well aware that you screwed up in the Box, even if I don't know the exact details. Look, don't you dare lie to me, fellow! I'm your agent, remember?"
"Oh, man, Evvie. What am I gonna do? Here I am with a chance to star in a major production and make a few hundred thou to pay off some loans, and maybe even put a down payment on a house for my widowed mother. And, here you are seeing right through me, as if I was made of glass. You're looking at a guy who couldn't get it up, even with a naked and willing woman right next to him. What the hell am I gonna do?"
"What you'll do is shut up and listen. This thing is important to both of us. As it happens, it's even more important to me than to you. I'm a has-been as an agent, nothing but a washed-up old broad who blew the last of her retirement fund on the horses. We're both in dire straits, kiddo, and, guess what? You will succeed at this even if I have to hit you over the head with a two-by-four. Even if I have to personally show you how to make love to a woman."
"You really must be desperate, Ev. But, you know, for a washed-up old broad you're not all that bad looking. You serious about teaching me?"
"Considering that you're a pimply teenager and possibly the world's geekiest geek, you're not all that bad looking yourself, Greg, dear. Come here. I'm going to show you how a man kisses a woman when he wants to show her he's serious. . . . Hmm, not bad, for a first effort. But, part your lips when I want to stick my tongue in. Now, drop your pants so I can check out your equipment."
---
Greg couldn't believe it. He had made love to a woman. Fucked her, actually. Or, maybe it had been the other way around. (She had been on top, after all.) But, what difference did it make? He had enjoyed it. No performance anxiety, just letting the feelings flow and the vibes vibrate. It was fun. It felt good! And, he couldn't wait to do it again.
"I think I love you, Ev."
"Hush, kid. That's just your glands speaking. But, you're sweet and I cherish the compliment."
---
Greg landed the role in the film, and he did just fine. The female lead responded quite nicely to his on-screen kisses and caresses, and it wasn't just acting. Off the set, she did her best to seduce him, but he wasn't buying. He already had a love interest.
"All of
a sudden, you're a hot property, honey. Leave Me or Love Me earned seventy million in the first week after release."
"And, I owe it all to you, Ev. All."
He looked up at her. He had climaxed but he was still deep inside her. She was straddling him and softly moaning as she slowly rocked back and forth on his shaft.
Hey, what more could he want from life? He had a solid-gold career and a solid-gold lover. So what if her hair was mostly gray? So what if her boobs drooped and her ass sagged? So what if her pussy wasn't as tight as an 18-year-old's? He had found comfort in her arms and passion in her embrace, and that was all that mattered.
"Evvie, I want this moment to last forever. Would you marry me?"
"Hon, I thought you'd never ask."
The Syntax of Seduction Page 10