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A interesting story
Gaeren was sitting on the floor, hunched up against the 'fridge
with his arms wrapped around his head when Anya returned home. She
practically danced in, swinging the bag that contained the clothing
she had bought at the Ginza but had not worn. Oblivious to his
mood, she tossed the bag into their shared sleeping-space, threw
herself down next to him and hugged him.
`Gaeren... I made it, I'm in! Class Three Operative with the
Bureau of Procuration as of next Monday...' her excited voice trailed
off as she became aware of his lack of response. `Gaeren... what's
wrong?' He pointed at the terminal, which still showed the last
message he'd read:
----------------------------------------------------------
Bureau of Economic and Trade Stabilisation 27-22-917
00.41.023
YOUR POSITION (CLASS FOUR LIAITOR) HAS BEEN
EVALUATED AS PART OF THE RESTRUCTURING AND
HAS BEEN RECLASSIFIED AS SUPERFLUOUS. PLEASE
REPORT TO THE HUMAN RESOURCES DIVISION AT YOUR
EARLIEST CONVENIENCE FOR REASSIGNMENT
for divisional head
Francine Heybert
----------------------------------------------------------
`Oh.' was all she could say. He reached out blindly with one hand
and turned the terminal off. She knew that EcoTrade was one of the
few Bureaus that had an official policy to protect neuters; outside
that Bureau, he would be treated like a second class citizen. The
only other Bureau where he might fit in would be...
`Come with me,' she said firmly, dragging him to his feet, `we are
going to have a chat with a friend.'
They discussed his options in the cab, secure in the knowledge that
the Kaelen driver wouldn't bother translating their conversation.
`It's not the drop in pay that concerns me,' he muttered. `I worked
in Agricultural for eighteen months... I got used to being treated
like sewerage, ha ha... it's just that I'll have to go back to - to
that -' the words stuck in his throat, and Anya hugged him, noting
the way that he tensed away from her, which was something she thought
he had managed to overcome. She knew that he would find her
proposal rather unorthodox, so she decided to wait until they had
reached their destination.
They sat at in a secluded booth at the rear of the Suteriik, she
sipping her drink, he moodily staring into his, as if scrying the
path of his career in the bubbles. She firmly took his hands in
hers, fixed him with a serious look and said;
`Now, I want you to think very carefully before you answer this:
have you ever considered having your preferences modified? Re-
modified, I mean.' He glanced up at her sharply, and then closed
his eyes as if against a painful memory.
`No. I don't remember why I chose Neutership; that was part of
the deal. Something happened that was sufficiently unpleasant to
warrant changing my preferences. So that I would never want
involvement with anyone. This was before the, ah,' - here he
lowered his voice - `"Kemp" affair.' She nodded, barely moving her
head... Kemp had been one of the first neuters; psychologically
unstable, she had later become one of the worst serial killers in
history, and had done a great deal of harm to the concept of
Neutership. Despite the enormous amount of evidence to the
contrary, many people - some of them influential people in the power
structure, unfortunately - regarded neuters with a degree of
suspicion. She waited until he opened his eyes, and then, keeping
her gaze directed into his, murmured:
`I want you to consider having a custom set of preferences
implanted. It's a common procedure at BuProc; they have a set, that
while it doesn't turn you into a sex maniac,' at this, Gaeren smiled
thinly - the first sign of good humour she'd seen him evince all
evening - `it makes relating to others, of either sex, well, natural.
As easy as holding hands.' She squeezed his. His smile grew wider.
She smiled back, and then noticed her friend entering. `Hey, gen,
over here!'
A young man approached their booth; shoulder length black hair with
blonde roots; stocky build; dressed in black street armour (which was
out of fashion by at least six months). Gaeren tried to read his
mood, kinesically, as he had been taught in primary school; he
realised with a degree of surprise that genesis was hiding behind a
completely blank facial mask, revealing nothing.
He turned out to be a freelance Psychochemist, specialising in
custom neurotransmitter modifications, although he was an accredited
nanosurgeon as well.
`i do the odd bit of contract work for BuProc,' he said with a
sideways glance at Anya, who grinned. `very odd, in some cases.' He
turned to face Gaeren. `if you are considering applying for a
position in BuProc, you may like to consider a few minor mods...
nothing drastic,' he added, noting the way Gaeren took this, `all we
usually do is enhance control structures that you already possess.
someone as attractive as you shouldn't need anything major.' Although
genesis had said this without a trace of warmth, Gaeren found himself
oddly moved. It had been a long time since anyone had regarded him
as anything except a dedicated, efficient worker. Gaeren slowly
nodded, and smiled.
`Okay.'
The next day: after a morning wasted in boredom at Human Resources,
he found himself walking down a brightly-lit hall, looking for
genesis' office. This was a government building; not the sort of
location for what he believed to be a clandestine biomod operation.
He located it, between a psychodentist (stern sharp white walls and
black plastic on chrome furnishings) and a traditional tattoo parlour
(walls completely covered with ornate designs, well-worn brown
leather couches with giggling teenagers sprawled on them).
genesis was standing behind his secretary, looking over her
shoulder as she manipulated data on a holoterminal, occasionally
pointing into the focus to highlight a feature of what appeared to
be a tailored enzyme. Gaeren regarded her objectively; what remained
of his original preferences told him that she was attractive,
although he felt nothing; yet, the longer he gazed at her, the more
attractive she seemed. She looked up, fixing him with a warm smile
and brilliant green eyes, brushing a strand of copper-red hair from
her eyes. He smiled with as much conviction as his apprehensive mood
would allow; as genesis looked up and fixed him with the most
predatory look he had ever seen, his smile froze. genesis grinned
and held out his hand.
`pardon me... i have this theory about reactivity and shock... I
like to try it out on as wide a social cross-section as i can.' His
secretary elbowed him in the ribs. He gestured towards the rear
office. `If you'd like to follow me...'
The back room of genesis' office was dominated by a huge reclining
chair, soft black leather, liberally detailed with broad black straps
and chrome buckles. Noting Gaeren's wide-eyed look, genesis smiled.
`it's mostly for show... it isn't really necessary to hold the
patient down all *that* securely during nanosurgery, and the
preference-mapping is all done via tagged SN-K-RNA...' He indicated
that Gaeren should disrobe and sit down in the chair. The black
leather was cold against his buttocks and back as he lay down; it
writhed against him, creaking slightly and molding itself to him.
genesis admired the way that Gaeren's office-white skin was offset by
the black leather as he buckled the straps across his chest, arms,
waist, thighs and ankles. A remotely activated control swivelled the
chair around, stretching him out flat on his back; a delicate web of
scanner-grids, resembling the skeletal veins of decayed leaves, moved
into place around his temples and a soft hum tickled his ears, almost
below the threshold of perception. genesis appeared next to him and
pressed the cold, wet tip of an infuser against his neck. Gaeren
imagined streams of strange chemicals seeping through the surface of
his skin, snaking around and searching out his blood-vessels. `now,
if you would be as good as to remain as still as possible for the
next minute or so... uh-huh...' genesis moved out of view, and Gaeren
closed his eyes. He felt oddly relaxed, and lost track of time; he
snapped out of his dreamy daze when the end of the chair separated,
spreading his legs, and a support curved up from underneath against
his testicles, pushing his genitalia up. A respirator-mask on the
end of a robot arm whirred into position over his face, hovering a
few centimetres away. `take a few belts of that.' genesis advised.
The mask lowered, pressing over his mouth and nose. He inhaled
deeply, feeling the straps against his chest as he did so. The mask
lifted, and he suddenly felt invigorated, as if he had been
half-suffocated and had then got a breath of fresh air. He flexed
his arms and legs against the straps, experiencing an unfamiliar
feeling in the pit of his stomach, a tickling lower down. He glanced
down to see genesis wielding something like an old-fashioned
dentist's drill with a blunt, conical chrome end. He took the end of
Gaeren's flaccid penis, drawing it out, and painted it with cold blue
fluid from a jar proffered by a second mechanical arm. He stretched
it almost to the point where it was uncomfortable, coating it
thoroughly. He seemed to be waiting for something to happen; after a
minute or so, he sighed and activated a control with his foot. The
conical drill-device emitted a tooth-jarring hum; genesis held it
like a pen and slowly drew two careful strokes along the under-sides
of Gaeren's penis from just underneath the head to where the base
vanished into a mat of soft pubic hair. He could feel the strokes as
a pair of warm trails that sent waves of heat through him.
`what i'm doing is probably unnecessary,' genesis reassured him,
`but in four years of this business, i haven't met one guy who didn't
have a complex about the size of his dick. for someone such as
yourself, coming out from an extended period under a repressive
preference modification, it will help shore up your psyche...'
Another device whirred down from the ceiling; a bulbous, clear
plastic tube that swallowed his still-soft penis, the end pressing
into his groin, forming a seal there. It filled with the clear blue
fluid that genesis had painted him with before; he could feel it
swirling around in the tube, gently bumping his penis from side to
side within it.
`The preference modification?' Gaeren enquired.
`you've had it. that infuser and the scanners - i used my custom
variety of structured K-RNA, so it should take effect in the next 48
hours.' The blue fluid in the tube drained away, and the tube's
mouth widened, releasing his penis to flop against his belly. genesis
unbuckled the straps around Gaeren's arms and chest, allowing him to
sit up on the reclining seat, and handed him a towel. He wrapped it
around his penis, which was slightly sore, the towel absorbing the
remaining fluid.
`Why the straps?' genesis smiled.
`i once saw a guy having this procedure done, unrestrained. the
diffuser - ' he gestured to the chrome-conical device - ` almost took
the end of his dick off. can get very messy, if it isn't carefully
applied.' genesis handed him his clothes, and with a trace of heated
sensuality - the only emotion Gaeren could ever recall him show -
added; `besides, you looked so... so *innocent*, strapped down like
that...'
Anya was still at work when he arrived at their flat, feeling no
better or worse than before. He sat on their small couch, staring
off into space for a moment, rubbing his hand over his collarbone
through the open neck of his jumper, then moved to sit behind their
terminal and keyed a sequence that he had not needed for six years.
Within moments, he was connected to `Leosha', an artificially-
intelligent `X-Rated On-Line Chat' system. `She' certainly knew her
job; objectively, he could see the emotional hooks and catches in her
responses that were designed to arouse; physically, he felt nothing.
He kept it up for ten minutes before admitting defeat; gracefully
signed off, got undressed and showered in their tiny bathroom-space.
Towelling himself dry, he regarded his flaccid penis, which had two
angry red marks along the underside.
`Useless.' he muttered. Naked, he lay down on the mattress in
their sleeping-space, his feet raised on a pile of bedclothes,
intending to gather the strength for the next day's visit to Human
Resources; he dozed fitfully, and then fell asleep.
Anya came home about an hour later, finding him curled around the
pillow on the mattress, his features graced by an expression of
serene unconcern. There was a message for her on the terminal, from
genesis. She returned the call, but his office was unattended; his
office system took the call.
`Genesis left some sub-conscious control routines for Gaeren to
assimilate as soon as possible' it told her. The routines were
appended to the message; Anya copied them to their home system and
signalled to genesis' office that she had received them.
`No time like the present,' she murmured, stroking Gaeren's
forehead, ruffling his soft, light-brown hair. She gently clipped a
sound-button to his ear, patching it to the home system. After
checking the sound-levels, she started the routines, ensuring that
they would be assimilated into his sub-conscious control (which every
citizen had installed, as a child). She wondered what genesis was
giving him as he stirred in his sleep, frowning slightly.
He dreamed that he was lost in a dimly-lit, deserted
building, hundreds of dusty corridors leading to hundreds of
other dusty corridors; trails of cobwebs spanning the
doorways, his feet raising a short trail of dust. He could
sense, somewhere in the distance, a murmuring crowd of people,
rushing along; he was unsure if they were avoiding him or not.
He had no idea where he was headed, but he kept on, regardless.
Just beyond the edge of comprehension, he could hear a soothing,
female voice, directing him. He couldn't make out the words,
but slowly, his sense of helplessness was replaced by a
euphoric feeling of confidence; moving faster, he pushed open
creaking doors, marched down corridors lit by fading
bioluminescent strips, until he reached what he knew to be
his destination: the final door. He paused before it - and it
swung open of its own accord. Inside-
He awoke with a start, staring at the ceiling, realising that he
was holding his breath. He released it slowly through his nostrils,
and lay there for a moment, somewhat dazed, aware that he had been
dreaming and trying desperately to pick up the traces. Whatever had
happened, he felt more confident and self-possessed, less concerned
about having to scratch for a position at Human Resources.
He sat up, just as Anya emerged from their phone-booth-sized shower
recess, wrapping a towel around her waist; with a rush, he remembered
the day's events; that he was in line for a position with BuProc.
The subconscious routines that genesis had sent kicked in with an
almost tactual `click'. She gave him an amused look as he sat there
shivering, his mouth gaping; she reached over and gently closed his
loose jaw with her index finger, her touch lingering there for a
moment, long enough for him to react, to reach up and tightly grip
her hand in his. Their eyes met, and she felt a thrill as she
observed his pupils dilate. Slowly, their gaze remaining unbroken,
an axis that held them enthralled, she sat next to him on the bed.
He felt something smooth and almost inhuman in the way his neck
muscles moved to maintain the visual contact that locked them
together. Her pupils, now, were dilated also; it was a standard
BuProc trick, something she had learned even before joining BuProc,
but being unaware of this, unaware even that he was doing it in
return, the effect hit Gaeren strongly. He was peripherally aware of
his heartbeat thumping painfully as she settled down on the soft
mattress, shifting closer to him until she was pressed up against
him, their eyes still gazing into the depths of each other's. Anya
was conscious of the high level of trust that their relationship
encompassed, and initially, she didn't want to do anything to imperil
it by making the first move. She did, however, give him as much
subliminal encouragement as she could, settling down slightly into
the mattress so that she could raise her eyes to meet his, knowing
that most males reacted favourably to this tactic. Slowly, his face
moved closer to hers, his mouth open a fraction, his nostrils
quivering fractionally as her scent wafted up. Unable to restrain
herself any longer, Anya tentatively slipped her arm around his
waist, her fingers spread out against the small of his back, pulling
him even closer to her. She sighed as he returned her embrace,
crushing her to his naked chest, his quivering fingers digging into
her shoulder-muscles. The feeling of her collar-bone rubbing against
his, her breasts pressed against him, her cheek resting on his, their
thighs touching from hip to knee, triggered one of genesis' recently
installed routines; the elated feeling of confidence surged through
him and he slowly pushed her back against the bed-clothes wadded at
one end of the bed. He pulled away slightly, thrilling as their eyes
made contact again, pupils dilating until his irises had almost
completely vanished. He practically pounced on her, their mouths
meeting hungrily; he felt the stirring of an emotion that he thought
he'd left behind long ago: the wild assurance of the predator that
has cornered its prey. The primal strength of it overwhelmed him
momentarily, washing over him like a wave, leaving him with an acute
sense of what he once called `Primate Anger': the feeling that this
was *HIS* mate that he was crouched over, and if anyone else even
*LOOKED* at her, he'd tear their throat out with his bare teeth. The
intensity shocked him into self-consciousness; he resumed his
ministrations with a barely perceptible pause, but with a completely
different resolve: he would bring her to orgasm as quickly as
possible; submissive to her needs, with a complete disregard for his
own pleasure.
He set about his task almost mechanically, analysing the vital
signs he could sense from their intimate embrace, reviewing lines of
attack. He adjusted the angle at which their bodies crossed, pushing
her body around until she lay crosswise on the bed, her legs dangling
over the edge, her toes curling as he kissed her, touching the
carpet. She gave herself up to him, forgetting that he hadn't
experienced anything even remotely connected with sexual intercourse
for almost six years. She arched her back, pushing against him as
his mouth massaged her throat, and belatedly remembered that she had
to pace this, to refrain from the usual `bring him to the edge and
leave him there' tricks, which could cause physical damage in his
case. She sighed resignedly, gently pushed him back until he was
lying parallel to her on the mattress. She answered his slightly
hurt and questioning look by gently closing his eyes and then
brushing her lips across his eyelids, tickling the bridge of his nose
with her tongue.
`I - don't want to - rush you,' she murmured between kisses, `I
want you to - just lay back - and enjoy this, first time 'round.'
`But - I wanted to -' She stilled his protest by laying an index
finger across his lips.
`Shhh.' Her lips paused over his, regretfully passed on to trace
the tensed lines formed by the tendons of his neck, gently abrading
the ridges of his collarbone, biting a nipple as she passed it on her
way down. She slid her cheek over the taut hollow of his belly,
running her hands over his hips, sliding off the bed and firmly
pushing him back down as he tried to sit up. She consolidated her
domination of the situation by grabbing a long pillow and draping it
over his chest, patting it down for emphasis as if to say: don't
move. She then focussed her attention on his genitals.
She was consistently surprised by the differences in size evinced
by male organs in their flaccid and erect states; she had been unable
to develop an accurate and consistent rule for judging size, and
Gaeren proved to be no exception. When she gently grasped it, his
soft penis was slightly larger than her thumb and the base of her
hand. She noticed the twin red marks that ran along the underside;
she had seen them before and knew what they meant. She encircled the
base with her thumb and ring fingers, squeezing the shaft with the
other fingers; she moved his left leg aside and carefully pressed
her thumb into his perineum, just behind his balls, where the end of
his shaft merged with his body. She felt his thigh muscles tense
slightly as muscles contracted; his penis swelled, the blood trapped
by her fingers, the head swelling and pushing the abbreviated
foreskin back. She noted the pattern of notches that ridged the edge
of the foreskin, the sign of a particular childhood peer-group's
initiation rite. She squeezed with one hand and pushed with the
other again; he made an abbreviated `mnh' sound, fingers clutching
the pillow. The sensation was almost painful, as spaces that had
been vacant for a long time were filled; as his erection grew, she
kept one hand wrapped around the base and with the other, grasped the
shaft just behind the head, alternately squeezing one hand, then the
other; pumping him towards repletion. Her eyes widened slightly as
it grew... and continued to grow, her fingers barely meeting around
the base as he worked pelvic muscles; subconscious routines caused
certain blood-vessels to narrow, restricting the outflow of blood;
the head, encircled by her fingers, was the size of a small apple.
She lowered her head and ran her tongue along its underside, tasting
the droplets of fluid that appeared at the hole. Squeezing the base
and running her hand up his shaft produced more salty fluid, which
she spread about on the head with her tongue and lips. She repeated
the motion, her thumb rubbing over the veins that pulsed along the
underside of the shaft. Keeping the tip of her tongue against the
hole, she worked her lips around the apex of the blunt head,
lubricating it and gradually opening to envelop it completely. She
positioned both hands at the base of the shaft, slowly sliding one,
then the other along the shaft while sucking the head which pressed
against her tongue and pushed her jaws apart. Sensing his
approaching climax in the quivering arhythmia of his hip movements,
she drew several deep breaths through her nostrils; he arched his
back, under-used perineal muscles pumping furiously. As a surge of
hot, salty fluid flooded into the back of her throat, she swallowed
it; after about fifteen seconds, when nothing else happened, she
popped the head out of her mouth, surprised at the minimal amount of
ejaculate he had produced. Then, he cried out in pain; his penis
jerked violently, almost jumping from her hands, semen spurting from
the end to shoot over her throat and shoulders. She grabbed the
shaft and pressed her thumb into the base underneath the head, trying
to control the flow; he repressed another cry as the fluid surged
again and again, the pauses between each spasm growing until he was
straining, back arched, a choking sound coming from deep in his
throat; she stared, wide-eyed, at his penis as it shook like an
out-of-control motor and expelled an unbelievable amount of
translucent, almost clear fluid. Gaeren dropped to the mattress,
unconscious, his engorged member remaining upright for a few
moments, then slowly wilting like a time-lapse video of a dying
flower.
Anya kneeled between his legs, momentarily stunned; after checking
that he wasn't in state-shock (a condition that can arise from the
imposition of too many subliminal routines), she got some fresh
towels and mopped up the pool of semen that Gaeren had emitted. After
she stuffed the towels in the washing-machine, she returned to his
side, just as he regained consciousness.
`I hope it isn't always going to be like that.' he sighed. She
leaned over him, smiling as an absurdly strong feeling of affection
washed through her. She lowered herself to the mattress beside him;
reached over, taking his hand and dragging him closer to kiss him.
He resisted momentarily, then gave in to her, gaining interest as
the contact prolonged; before long, he was ready for another bout.
He recalled his previous intention - to bring her to a climax. His
mind filled with images; diagrams of female anatomy, timing and
response graphs; information that had been included with genesis'
sub-conscious control routines. He `stood back' within himself and
let the routines take over.
It was like watching a remote-control robot disable a terrorist's
bomb. He could feel every caress, every kiss and stroke; but it was
as if someone else decided to grasp her hands and hold her arms
outstretched; he could almost picture genesis sitting in his office,
editing the routine that would cause him to lift Anya's legs and
thrust his renewed erection in at a steep angle. His mind wandered;
it got to the point where he was so divorced from his body's actions
that he found himself idly wondering who would be in the network
Teleconference at the moment; his musings were disturbed by a cry of
distress. Abruptly, he glanced down at Anya, who was lying with her
arms outstretched, clawed fingers embedded in the surface of the
mattress, gasping and shaking as if someone was shooting electric
current through her. Her legs were tightly wrapped around his waist,
the lips of her cunt clutching his shaft as if she were afraid that
he'd escape. Her eyes opened, staring straight into his; for a
moment, he saw an expression of serene unconcern; a look as if she
had been pushed off the top of a tall building and didn't care where
she landed. Her arms lashed around his shoulders, crushing him to
her; he felt her shuddering orgasm lift them both off the mattress
momentarily. They both collapsed in a sweat-soaked, trembling heap,
gasping for breath. After a moment, she laughed weakly, tried to
lever herself up on one elbow, only to fall back again.
`We had better not do this often. I don't think I can take it.'
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