index


Message-ID: <47359asstr$1081509002@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Carlos Malenkov <cmalenkov@linuxwaves.com>
Reply-To: cmalenkov@linuxwaves.com
MIME-Version: 1.0
Subject: {ASSM} Buying Time (MF MM bi anal rom ScFi)
Lines: 512
Date: Fri,  9 Apr 2004 07:10:02 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Tried to send this once before, but it must have caught on fire trying
to get through the firewall.

Synopsis: Prostitution in the near future.
------------------------------------------



BUYING TIME
by Carlos Malenkov <cmalenkov@linuxwaves.com>
Word Count: 4269
Copyright (c) 2004, by Carlos Malenkov
ASSM is granted posting and archive rights,
but all other rights are reserved.



It's a hundred dollars to use the sex machine in the public restroom.
Insert a couple of fifty-dollar coins into the payment slot to remain
anonymous, though of course it's more convenient to just let the data
terminal do a neural scan and auto-debit your account.

A hundred bucks buys ten minutes. Upon payment approval, the mirror
slides back, revealing an oval opening. Depending on the option chosen,
the window gives access to either bare buttocks or an erect penis. That
leaves the customer the choice of either penetrating or being penetrated.

I'm pretty conventional in my preferences, so I usually choose
BUTTOCKS-FEMALE, and, depending on my mood at the moment, insert my
hard flesh either into the exposed pussy or asshole. Every once in
a while, I get an itch deep inside my gut and touch the selector for
PENIS-(LARGE). Then I give in to my deepest, darkest desires and scratch
that damn itch by easing myself down on a hard cock.

There's also the BUTTOCKS-MALE option for those preferring to fuck
male ass. I've indulged in that often enough, but still find little
difference between the sensation of being inside a male or a female
ass. Real connoisseurs, though, claim that plundering a man's ass is the
caviar of sex. Active-penetrative sex, anyway. That's probably somewhat
of an exaggeration.

I stepped onto the Mu-metal platform and fed the last of my carefully
hoarded spare change into the slot. I prefer the anonymity that cold,
hard cash gives, and anyhow my e-bucks account has been flatlining
lately. Being jobless does have its disadvantages.

The autosensing hydraulics adjusted my elevation to optimal height
opposite the service window. This puts the customer's groin (or ass)
directly opposite the the opening. What would I choose this time?

Well, why not? Since I was now flat broke, I might as well have caviar.
I stroked the keypad and the window gave me access to a perfect ass.

Slowly, reluctantly I withdrew out of that buttery-smooth, pleasure-giving
orifice. Caviar indeed! I was still horny and ready for another go,
but my time was up. And I had other concerns. Such as where my next meal
would come from and where I was going to sleep tonight. I girded my loins,
drew on my breathing mask, and steeled myself to step out into the cold,
heartless night.


I had to admit it -- I was an addict. A sex addict. I was no damn
good at all at relating to real people, so that pretty much left the
sex machines for physical release. And an unfortunate side-effect of
being such a boob in social situations was that I couldn't hold down a
job for very long. If there's anything more pitiful than a sex addict,
it's got to be a friendless, jobless, *flat broke* sex addict.

I was about to go cry in my beer -- if I could scrounge together enough
for a beer, that is -- when I caught the flashing notice on the sex
machine display screen.

   NOW HIRING. Sex Machines, Inc. [SM, Inc.] has openings for Customer
   Service associates. Earn a good wage doing something you enjoy! Choose
   your own hours. No experience necessary. Just enter code SEXYY%543
   to start an EXCITING and GLAMOROUS new career.

Customer service? I guess you might call it that, since it *did*
involve "servicing customers." It had a much nicer ring to it than
prostitution. Still, it was an intriguing notion, all the more so since
I didn't have a hell of a lot of options.


I spent an hour filling out questionnaires on an ancient vintage input
terminal in the potted-palm studded lobby of the SM, Inc. Tower. My
employment history, references, general state of health, and sexuality
index -- all the usual stuff. Though why did they need to access my
genetic and psychometric profiles? It wasn't as if I were applying for
a high-level security position, after all. But since I was hardly in a
position to play stubborn, I thumbprinted the waivers.

The terminal printed out a visitor's pass. I was to report to room 13703.
Hoowhee, the one hundred thirty-seventh floor. Moving up in the world,
I was.

"Kindly step into the testing lounge, sir," the receptionist said. She
was a cute little package, a tiny blonde with curves in all the right
places. Her eyes were icy steel marbles.

The door clicked shut behind me. The only furniture in the room was a
padded mechano-table with restraint devices at each corner. There was
a very tall woman standing on the far side of it. She looked at me. Her
eyes widened momentarily as if she knew me from somewhere, but I couldn't
tell for sure.

"You are . . . Armin?"

I nodded.

"I am the regional SM staff supervisor and your examiner. You may address
me as Galatea. Kindly undress. Completely." Her voice was unyielding
as granite.

"Come here. Spread your legs." She took my genitals in her hand and
palpated them for what seemed like hours. Her touch was cold.

"Turn around. Bend over with hands on knees, and spread your legs. Keep
perfectly still." I felt her probing between my ass cheeks, then something
cool and slippery was being inserted into me.

"It's only a finger. Stop squirming! Now get up on the table and lie down.
Please. Flat on your stomach. Spread-eagle your arms and legs."

Galatea took my left arm by the wrist and began fastening a strap around
it. "Hey, what's going on?" I croaked.

"I am securing your arms and legs for the next phase of the examination.
So, how badly do you need this job?"

"Badly, Staff Supervisor Galatea," I said, and I extended my other arm
for her to buckle.

"This shouldn't be too unpleasant," she said. "It's only a proctoscope.
A colonoscopy is mandatory for all our candidates for customer service
positions."

It didn't hurt going in. I've probably had thicker cocks up my ass. But
she just kept on pushing it in, higher and higher up into my gut. It
must have been a couple of feet deep and it kept going in!

"Excuse me, Supervisor. It feels like you're a plumber trying to unclog a
stopped-up drain. Geez, you're using that thing like a Roto Rooter. Ahhh!"

"Oh, hush. It's not half as bad as that. We're required to examine the
bottom foot and a half of your rectum and lower colon. You'll be pleased
to know that your intestines pass muster. You'll do just fine."

Now I could feel that monstrous metal snake snaking its way out of me.
Good thing it was lubed up or it would have pulled my guts right back
out of my asshole. Funny thing, though. I had sort of enjoyed the
experience. In fact, I had a raging hardon.

"Uh, excuse me, but what exactly were you looking for inside me?"

"Abnormalities and malformations, of course. But the purpose of the exam
is to judge whether your rectum is suitable for intercourse . . . anal
intercourse, that is. With a bit of conditioning, you'll do just fine
in that area."

"Conditioning, Supervisor?"

"Yes. Shall we begin?"

"Well . . . "

"Climb up on the table again, my good man. This time on your back. Now
raise up your legs, one at a time, and place them into the stirrups."

Stirrups? Her voice-command had transformed the examination table into
something that would have been right at home in a gynecologist's office.

Galatea buckled my legs with the restraints, then my arms.

The bottom half of the table tilted upward, exposing my naked crotch
and bottom. I felt totally vulnerable.

"This won't hurt a bit," she said.

She had pulled on a latex gloves and was reaching toward me. I felt an
intense freezing shock as she sprayed something on my crotch area.

"A local anesthetic," she said. I'm going to insert a Sta-Hard implant
beneath the skin of the scrotum. That will enhance your work performance."

I'd heard of those things. The implants consist of a subminiaturized
electronic module that controls blood flow and nerve impulse propagation
to the penis. They make it possible to sustain an erection for hours at
a time.

I saw the flash of a excimer-laser scalpel, but didn't feel a thing. I
was beginning to get drowsy.

I startled awake as she came back into the room. She had left me there,
with my legs in the stirrups and my ass hanging out while the surgical
adhesive set on the incision.

"Now we'll work on your anterior sex organ," she said.

She disrobed and I couldn't help admiring her full breasts, the nicely
rounded hips and upholstered posterior of a classically voluptuous woman,
and . . . and . . . her majestic erect cock.

An Androgyn, that's what she was. Hermaphrodites had for ages been a
medical curiosity, but only recently has the Ragosin Procedure made it
possible to support fully functional sets of *both* genders' sex organs
in the same gen-mod body.

I'd never seen a cock that big. Nine or ten inches long and a couple
of inches wide, it must have been. Pale, almost platinum in color. Of
course -- it had been force-grown from a stem cell culture. And she was
rubbing something glistening and creamy on it. Syntholube.

"The purpose of what comes next is to condition and train your sphincter
and rectum for the requirements of a Sex Machine operative. Depending
on the assignment, you may be required to have anal intercourse a dozen
or more times in a single four-hour work session. Shall we begin?"

"I'm ready if you are."

Of course, I was familiar with the techniques for relaxing the anal
sphincter. Most everyone nowadays is bisexual if not outright reverse
polarized, and anal sex between males is no big deal, unlike in the bad
old days before the Anti-Reproduction Directives. I had already been
sodomized more times than I could count, just not by a woman's equipment.

She slowly inserted herself into me, an inch at a time. With my legs
strapped in the stirrups and my wrists pinioned by restraints, all I
could do was let my abdominal and sphincter muscles go slack while I
breathed in the prescribed rhythm and let her ass-fuck me.

Her groin pressed tight against my upraised buttocks now. She was all
the way inside me and I felt no discomfort. She looked into my eyes and
smiled. "Stage two," she said.

I felt myself gradually stretch open sideways. Damned if it didn't feel
like the cock inside me was getting thicker.

"This is something newly out of our research labs," she said. "It's an
expanding cock. I can widen it from its normally erect two-inch diameter
to four inches. And lengthen it correspondingly."

I could feel the depth of penetration increase as the cock within me
swelled up. Deeper and wider. That cock of hers was a damned sight better
than my own equipment. One of these days I'd have to ask if I could be
retrofitted with one of those.

"Variable width and length -- that creates some intriguing possibilities,
wouldn't you say?" She chuckled, and I felt her cock shrink down inside
me. Then it ballooned up again. Then . . . she was rhythmically *pulsing*
it -- bigger, smaller, bigger . . . It was like a heartbeat down there,
inside my ass. My gut was booming like an echo chamber.

I would have come a dozen times by now, but the Sta-Hard implant wouldn't
let me. I was painfully hard and the pressure was building up inside
me. I felt like screaming . . .

And once more she smiled. "I'll have mercy on you. I can remotely trigger
your implant to give you release, but first . . . "

I felt the throbbing inside me quicken as she swelled up to maximum size.
There was a cold wetness deep in my gut. She was spurting into me. Her
orgasm, or what? Then I felt the electricity.

She was juicing me with an Electrovibe. It was shooting low-frequency AC
current straight up my gut, and that tipped me over the edge. Now I was
helplessly releasing my own ejaculate in gluey streams over my abdomen
and chest. I moaned as we orgasmed together.

As she pulled out of me, a thick milky fluid began seeping out of my ass.
It smelled faintly of lavender and honey.

"Yes," she said. "My ejaculate is specially formulated to act as an
antiseptic and anti-abrasive coating inside you. It prevents disease and
soft-tissue injury, and also increases the elasticity of the intestinal
lining. It's scented to neutralize the fecal smell that all too often
hangs in the air after anal sex. In short, it makes your ass eminently
fuckable."

I had also heard rumors that Androgen come had life-extending properties,
but I was afraid to ask about that.

"We'll provide you with an applicator bottle of the solution to use on a
daily basis. Think of it as an extra benefit of working for SM, Inc. Oh,
you lucky fellow!"


The first day on the job took a lot out of me. They had assigned me to the
machine in the co-ed restroom in the municipal airport lounge. Encased
in a Neuromesh bodysuit that reminded me of a wire-frame drawing of an
Iron Maiden, I was ready for action. This metal lattice body-cage thing
connected me both mechanically and electrically to the sex machine,
and it would flex me into various postures and configurations, depending
on the customer's preferences. It would also monitor my nerve impulses,
control and stabilize my emotions, and tend to my personal needs. Shunts
hooked up to the bloodstream, kidneys, and liver would remove waste
and pump nutrients and stimulants into me. Plugged in and networked,
I had become a peripheral node of the sex machine.

Things got busy after the first half hour. I ended my four-hour shift
having serviced three women and eleven men. One woman couldn't get enough
of riding my cock. Had to scratch the itch in her pussy and asshole
both. Three consecutive sessions she bought. Then there was the guy with
the inexhaustible cock. A typical day's work, I was told.

All in all I made sixteen hundred bucks that day for the company. My cut
of that was one-third, less deductions, of course.

The inside of my ass felt a teeny bit raw, but the squeeze bottle of
anti-abrasive solution took care of it. No major problems in the front
equipment, except that my balls ached mightily. Ached from unrequited
lust. I hadn't been able to orgasm because of the implant. Well,
Supervisor Galatea had told me that if it became intolerable, to report
back to the office for followup "treatment." I thought it was time to
find out what that meant.

It meant being ass-fucked by her platinum pulsating cock and getting
another jolt of electricity from the Electrovibe. Well, that fixed me
up quite nicely. I got that elusive physical release, and got my rectum
reconditioned while I was at it. Had a thoroughly cleansing bowel movement
afterwards. Got my ashes hauled and got cleaned out, too. Just one more
little benefit of working for SM, Inc.

I settled into the routine. Three days on, at four hours per, then two
days off. My average take-home was about $1800 a week, considerably better
than my old job as a welder on a construction site. And, I didn't even
need goggles.


Isn't it every guy's dream to get paid for doing what you enjoy? I used
to enjoy sex. I used to enjoy fucking and being fucked. Hell, I still do.
Mostly. But after a couple of months of doing it fifty times a week,
it became just one more boring job.

It had been years since I was in anything resembling a relationship. I'm
shy around people and opening myself up to them is like pulling the
scab off a badly-healed wound. Anonymous sex was easier -- and safer --
and that's probably why I got into the sex machine habit in the first
place. But being an SM Inc. Customer Service Specialist -- what they
used to call a "whore" in the bad old days -- was probably the ultimate
in depersonalized sex. I began realizing what was missing from my life.

Touch. Simple human touch. And by that I don't mean body parts mingling
and interpenetrating. I mean *lives* mingling and interpenetrating.
Talking. Hugging. Kissing. Sharing with a partner what happened to
you at work. Experiencing laughter and tears together. Living through
joys and hardships together. Maybe raising a couple of kids. Walking
the dog. Barbecuing in the back yard. Having the neighbors over. Sure,
sleeping together. But also waking up next to each other.

What was wrong with me? I was staring to yearn for an old-fashioned
marriage. Something like in the ancient sitcoms from the 1950's that they
sometimes show down at the Retro Visual-Media Museum. Sheesh! Manning
that damned sex machine was demultiplexing my cognitive nodes.

I had started confiding in Galatea. She was a patient listener, and her
manner toward me had softened considerably. I think she was starting to
actually loosen up toward me a bit, and she had even let slip a couple of
times what a cute ass I had. Sometimes she seemed to have trouble prying
herself loose from that cute ass of mine. . . . Lately our sessions had
been lasting considerably longer than the allotted 45 minutes.

What was even more odd, she had begun showing signs of jealousy.
*Jealousy*. She seemed to resent that, as an SM employee, my body was
accessible to any stranger who could pay for it. Anyone with $100 to
their name was entitled to stick their cock up my ass. *My ass*. The
ass she was starting to get proprietary feelings toward.

When I last time saw her -- I no longer thought of it as being therapied
and readjusted -- I had been sure she'd been about to tell me something.
When I left, there was extra warmth in the goodbye kiss she gave me,
and there was something shiny in her eye that might just have been a
tear. Now what could that have been all about?

"Armin, I don't know how . . . how to say this."

"Teeya, I think I know . . . "

"These feeling I've been having, I can't . . . no, I don't want to . . .
I have to . . .

"I care, Armin. I care for you more than I care for my own life. From
the first time I saw your face, I somehow knew . . . knew that you were
my destiny.

"I'm betraying everything I once valued. My loyalty to my chosen
profession, the oath I gave to SM and their bloody-minded Directorate,
my friends and colleagues, my clan group . . . everything. I . . . I
. . . let me say it. I love . . . I love you, Armin. I love you more than
myself, more than life itself. Because by telling you this I'm killing
. . .  killing myself, committing professional suicide, condemning myself
to death or worse. SM will destroy me for this. But I love. I love. You.
I love you!"

I took her in my arms and we cried together, and our tears mingled.

And that put us on the road leading to damnation and ruin -- or to
salvation.


"Our civilization is doomed, you know," she told me.

"Doomed has an ominous ring to it, Teeya."

"Doomed. It's been years since you could breath the outside air
without a filter, the oceans are poisoned, the only way to grow crops
is under glass in a culture of artificial nutrients, and epidemics of
antiexinic-resistant strains of bacteria kill hundreds of thousands
every day. It's only a matter of time before the entire social structure
collapses. And there isn't much time."

"If things have gotten to that point, then I don't know that there's
much that anyone can do about it. Let's love each other and make the
most of the little time we have left, then."

"Sorry, Armin, no. I'm not the type of person to give up without a
fight. I grew up in a shantytown wondering each day if I'd survive
til nightfall, and I struggled and clawed myself up from poverty and
somehow got an education and a decent profession and a secure place in
society. And, you know, if I could manage that, I'm not about to surrender
to fate now. And, damn it, I won't let *you* give up and die either!"

"So, what do you have in mind?"

"You'll think this is crazy, but . . . "


It turned out that SM had its own in-house R & D department, complete with
resident "mad scientist," a certain Dr. Bezumna Morozov. Her brainchild,
Project Blueskies, was investigating what happened to matter compressed
to superdensity, beyond the theoretical limits allowed by the laws of
physics. She had tried embedding a small capsule of isotope iron, Fe-57,
inside a sphere of powerful shaped-charge explosive. The implosive force
had been calculated to be sufficient to create a miniature black hole,
a tear in the fabric of space. The iron capsule had disappeared in
a violent burst of gamma rays. Vaporized? Or pushed into an entirely
different physical dimension?

Some intriguing evidence indicated that the object might have traveled
backwards in time. The equations hinted at this possibility, and
Dr. Morozov had, in fact, found something that looked like it could have
been a small iron object, embedded in a nearby table top. Tests confirmed
that it was the rare atomic weight 57 isotope of iron and it had about a
month's accumulation of rust on it. Had it traveled a month into the past?

Then there was the experiment by Dr. Morozov's colleague, Professor
Flatus. He had placed a pair of specially bred albino roaches within a
hollow iron-57 sphere, then inserted that into the detonation chamber. The
implosion had made sphere and roaches disappear. Those particular roaches
had never been seen again, but there were 20-year-old records of a nasty
infestation of white roaches in the building that had previously been on
the site of the laboratory. Were these the offspring of time-traveling
roaches?

"And you say they're asking for human volunteers now, Teeya? HUMANS? It's
*beyond* crazy! It's a suicide mission."

"They're desperate. The company Directorate has decided to cut off
funding for the project. And there's something else -- "

"The more I hear, the wackier it gets. Well, go on, woman, tell me more."

"I've told you we're living on borrowed time. What I haven't mentioned
is just how little time we have left."

"How much?"

"Two months. That's the best estimate that SM's sociometrists can come up
with. In just a couple of months this entire hemisphere will lie in ruins,
destroyed and abandoned, and ninety percent of the population will be
dead. For all practical purposes, it will be the end of the world."


It's dark in here in this hollow iron-57 shell. Absolute, total,
mind-shattering darkness. But I can feel Teeya behind me, curled tightly
around me, holding me in her embrace . . . and I can feel her cock deeply
embedded in my cunt.

Cunt? Oh, yes, I'm a woman now, and Teeya's a man. Where we're going,
sexual polymorphism hasn't been invented yet, so we had to make some
adjustments. We both underwent radical gender reassignment surgery,
the complete Ragosin Procedure, all the way down to the chromosomal
level. Galatea -- he wants to be called Galen now for reasons I'll
go into later -- is now fully capable of fathering children, and I,
Carmina, am fully capable of being impregnated and bearing them. In fact,
at this very moment I'm carrying twin embryos in my uterus, a boy and
a girl. Our children.

Where *are* we going? As best as Dr. Morozov can determine, we're aiming
for the early Eisenhower era, traveling backwards about eighty years in
time. If everything goes as planned, Galen and I will end up at these
exact spatial coordinates, where the sub-basement of the SM Tower exists
in the here-and-now, but what used to be a residential town dotted with
what were called "tract houses." Levittown, New York, circa 1953.

So here we are. In just a few moments, multiple shaped charges of
mini-thermonukes will implode this iron sphere, with us in it, down to
the diameter of a neutron. We'll collapse into a black hole and hopefully
pop out into another era. I would never have let Galen talk me into it,
but . . . for that ring.

Galen's great-great-grandfather had passed down a golden ring as a
family heirloom. The ring was sculpted in the shape of a snake biting
its own tail -- actually swallowing itself. It was the worm Ouroboros,
the World Serpent, the leviathan with no beginning and no end. Engraved
on the inside of the ring was: "The future lies in the past."

Galen's great-great-grandfather happened to be named Galen, too. Hence
Galatea's choice of of a male name and identity to assume. I can't help
wondering, though, whether Galen is thinking of becoming his own ancestor
and starting the whole cycle that led to us being here in this iron ball.

Any minute now. I'm scared --

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com>|
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> |
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}|
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+