Deep Inside (20 page)

Matt walked over to one of his glorious young boys, stroked the kid's chest, blew me a kiss, then signed off.

 

Colin, my
unwitting guinea pig, was rummaging around the equipment shelves, disengaging tubes and cords.

“What an ungainly piece of equipment,” he was muttering.

“But every attempt the industry has made to create an elegant Mancomer has failed on the market.”

“Sad to say, but I think it's because hetero men enjoy the ungainliness. We're pretty unevolved creatures, you know.”

“Maybe in a few generations,” I said encouragingly.

“All right, got it,” he said. He held up the Mancomer. It was a heavy, awkward, primitive-looking piece of machinery, about the size of a compact floor vacuum.

“Why don't they just call it the Male Milker?” he whined.

He shook his head at the heavy, ungainly machine: tubes, a sucking machine, a strap for squeezing the balls. It was nothing like the streamlined and efficient equipment women use to get themselves off.

A power supply at the center shunted energy to the suction pumps, as well as to the goggle-earplug set. Where women like to recline in an environment, hetero men liked having imagery and sound beamed directly into their brains.

As for the content of those inner movies—well, really, I'd prefer not to know. I'd once asked Colin about his tastes and preferences, and I'd been sorry I did. He told me that what he enjoyed dialing up most was porn from the 1970s. Yuck. Not something I enjoyed thinking about. All that body hair. And those out-of-shape physiques.

I couldn't stand the thought of my husband getting off on what was no doubt in reality very stinky sex. It made me want to apply an extra dose of Arousal Stopper. Thank god I'd never had to smell my pussy or Colin's cock.

I crossed my fingers, hoping that Matt's work of genius wasn't going to deliver any disgusting 1970s images. Then, as Colin became engrossed in hooking himself up to the Mancomer, I slipped over to the equipment rack and slipped in the HaloCrystal Matt had given me.

The damn machine always took a few seconds to load.

“What's that you're doing?” Colin asked. He was on the edge of his recliner, tightening the ball straps.

“Just something I picked up on remainder,” I lied.

“Well, I'm glad you've got something to keep you company while I busy myself in my own orgasm,” he said.

There. With a melodic crackle of static, imagery twinkled up onto the wraparound screens. Sounds rose imperceptibly around us, as though emerging gently into consciousness.

Matt's video environment was nothing more than a mash-up of nature imagery. Valleys full of trees and streams. Mossy rocks. Macro close-ups of damp bark on the sides of trees. The surround-sound placed us at the middle of a lot of lapping and sloshing sounds. It was bewildering.

I glanced over at Colin. To my surprise, he was staring at the images on screen. The Mancomer lay by his side. He let the suction tube drop from his fingers. It hit the padded floor with a soft plop.

“What
is
this?” he asked.

“The label said that it's organic and natural,” I lied. “Pleasant, huh?”

“‘Pleasant' isn't the word for it,” he said. “But there's something about it….” His voice took me by surprise. It was different somehow. Low, maybe. Certainly deeper.

I looked back at the screen myself. What could be hitting Colin so hard? All we were being shown was more nature imagery. Nothing unusual about that. Ads make use of exhilarating images of nature all the time. And they're better photographed than what Matt had sent me.

I moved to switch the HaloCrystal off.

“Don't!” Colin said forcefully.

The hair on the back of my neck went up. I got control, reminding myself that I was a professional running an experiment. “But it's boring, isn't it? Look at that. Just a lot of dull plants.” Gita Enterprises uses stock footage of snowy mountains and streams and transforms them into sleek perfection, with every drop and leaflet twinkling.

Matt's images were like that of real nature. Boring, raw, grotty. The motif changed to the seaside. There were surging clouds of thick seaweed, and tidal water so full of hairlike strands and columns of bubbles that it seemed as thick as fresh-brewed tea. The sounds grew even slurpier.

“Honey, what is it?” I asked anxiously.

“It's earthy. It's rich. It's slightly disgusting and utterly engrossing.” Colin gave a deep growl. He stood up and walked over to where I was standing by the equipment shelves. He slowly ran his eyes up and down my body as the light from the various screens caressed our flesh.

“What do you mean?” The montages looked murky and off-putting to me. But the point was to determine if the crystal could arouse Colin, not me.

“Can't you see?” he said. “Can't you hear it? The sound quality. It's different. It's like a pussy.”

“I wonder if the crystal is defective,” I said, once again making as if to switch the machine off. I gasped as Colin's hand came down firmly on my wrist.

“Don't touch it,” he said. His voice was harsh. I remembered again to check out his state. I looked at him again, it was amazing. The pouch of his G-string was bulging. His chest had swollen up in a very muscular way. His nipples pointed out at me with aggressive pride.

“Sweetie, you're worrying me,” I said.

“Can't you see?” he insisted. “I don't know what it's about, but it's making me feel predatory.”

“Should I administer a tranquilizer?”

In answer, Colin took my hand and placed it on his crotch.

What a hot and lively package it was. It had been months since the two of us had actually touched each other's genitals. The hardness and tautness of his G-string's contents was repulsive. Yet it was impressive, too. I couldn't resist a fast squeeze and a rub.

“Give me more,” he commanded.

Alarmed but intrigued, I stroked his shaft through the stretch iridescence of the G-string cloth. He groaned. I massaged his balls, which were tightly pulled up, and gave them a twist. Another groan. I slid my hand between his legs, back under his balls, caressing his inner thighs and butt cheeks. More groaning.

When I put my hand back on the front of the pouch, there was a spot of sticky hot wetness where the tip of his cock was. Involuntarily, my hand snapped back in horror.

Colin's hand grabbed mine and replaced it. “Colin!” I rebuked. This time I couldn't help protesting.

“Get into it, dammit,” he said forcefully. “I'm hard, and I'm oozing desire.”

“Colin!!”

“Look at the screens!” He was twisting my arm in a way that forced me to look back at the HaloCrystal's screen.

This time, I was the one who gasped. The images of oozing, brewing, flowing natural vegetative processes had been almost imperceptibly replaced by a montage of heavy machinery. The natural sounds of water and growth had been replaced by the rhythmic sounds of pistons pumping, turning grease-soaked crankshafts with firmness and drive.

I caught my breath and stared, transfixed.

Long, hard silvery shafts were drilling, throwing off gallons of caramel-like oil. Jackhammers bit into rock, splitting huge chunks apart, brooking no refusal of their power.

I registered Colin at my side again. I snaked a hand under his balls and realized that he'd taken the chance to remove his G-string and plug in his testicular probes. I fondled the crinkly, bulging, sweaty skin as the probes made the inner muscles pulse and tighten.

He turned me around to face him. Something—passion, maybe—flashed back and forth between our eyes. Was this what Matt had meant by real-time interactivity? I parted my legs as Colin's hand traced the V of my crotch and spread my pussy lips apart.

“But isn't it disgusting?” I said anxiously.

“Disgusting and beautiful,” Colin murmured. He lowered his mouth to mine. Our tongues intertwined, and our breaths moved in unconscious synch. His other hand was tracking delicate teasing lines around my breasts, circling in on my nipples. My overlong nipples.

I turned to enjoy our corrected images in the Enhancement Mirror. But Colin turned me back to face him.

“Oh please,” I said. “Don't make me look at my nipples!”

“Can't you understand that I
like
the way they're long and thick,” he moaned.

“They're imperfect.”

“And that's what gets me hot about them. They're perfect and they're imperfect.”

Colin's hand massaged my hungry clit more expertly than the stimulator ever could. I sank my being onto his stiff extended finger, which probed my glistening inwardness. The images on the screen pumped and pulsed.

He lowered his face to my breasts and his teeth urged my nipples even longer. As I was nearing orgasm, I wondered for a second how it would register on the Arousometer, then decided what I was experiencing couldn't be measured.

Colin broke away with a suddenness and urgency that startled me.

“Come here,” he said with firm mastery.

I stood by his side in front of the Enhancement Mirror, squirming with pleasure at the sight of our perfected bodies, shining with plasma intensity.

“No!” I said. His hand was reaching out. I could tell what he was reaching for, and tried to stop him. But he looked at me forbiddingly, in a way that made me lower my hand.

As I gulped in anxiety, he flipped up a little plastic panel, and switched the Enhancement Mirror off.

With a few twinkles and crackles, the screen shut itself down. Without its electronic light our sex chamber seemed dull, nothing special. Colin's LCD-diode implants faded.

It was just us, together. I looked down, trying to avoid the sight of our actual bodies.

“Stop it! You know I
hate
seeing myself without enhancement!” I sputtered. “We
never
get aroused by the way we actually look when we're naked. Turn the E.M. back on!”

But Colin lifted my chin and forced me to see his real face. As he kissed me, my body moved impulsively towards him, relishing the feeling of his hard cock in my stomach and his hands enjoying the fat on my ass.

He turned me towards the blank screen. “Feast your eyes on this,” he said.

“No,” I whimpered.

“Do it for us,” he said.

He said it with such gruff need and sweetness—how could I resist? I opened my eyes.

There before us was the gray black of the switched-off Enhancement Mirror. Gray-black nothingness, eight feet wide and six feet high.

“Have you ever seen anything so hot in your entire life?” he said. His tone was that of a prayer.

I registered what he was talking about: our images, dimly reflected in the blank gray screen. I relaxed my usual responses and sank into the sight.

My throat caught. Colin was right. That extra flesh on my thighs didn't infuriate me. It looked
hot.

Colin's balls, one of them larger than the other, weren't imperfect, they were bulging with need and arousal. The chest hair that no laser could entirely defeat didn't look gross, it looked…manly.

“Tweak them,” he said.

I didn't have to ask what he was referring to. He was staring at my nipples. “Roll them around in your fingers. Squeeze them hard.”

Automatically I obeyed his command, moaning as the lewdness of my extra-hard, extra-long nipples came to me. “They feel rubbery,” I whispered tenderly. “Yet so very different inside. There's a direct channel from them down to my—” I was about to say crotch, but I knew I meant something different.

I chewed my lips as I tugged and pinched and squeezed. I searched for the word. “From my nipples to my soul.”

“Yes!” Colin hissed insistently.

“How can they give me so much pleasure when they aren't anatomically right?” I gasped.

“That's why they're sexy,” he said. “Because they're
not
perfect.”

His words hit me in a primitive way I still can't explain. I could sense my breath in a new way, softly whooshing in and out. My blood throbbed and hissed as it moved through me. I was never more aware of my body, of its odor and its quivering flesh.

I sank to my knees before Colin.

I ran my fingers up and down his cock, inhaling its heat and odor. I gently explored where the probes entered his scrotum. I ran a loving finger up and down his ass crack. None of it was perfect, but it was all full of desire and I wanted it. I gave his balls a firm lick, savoring them, tasting his man-sweat. I took his shaft into my mouth.

“Don't close your eyes,” he groaned. “Keep them open.”

I swallowed as his dick moved deeper and deeper into my mouth, pushing aside my gag reflex, making tears and sweat ooze out of me, thrilled by the sensation of being filled so forcefully.

The gurgling and gasping sounds I made involuntarily were the kind of sound that would never make it onto one of Gita's HaloCrystals—“too gross,” she'd sniff. But it was all exactly what I needed to hear right now. My face and head impaled on his triumphant manliness, I stared up at my love with grateful adoration.

“I'm seeing the real you,” he said. I pumped his dick, squeezed his balls, and lost myself in the sensation of being head-fucked.

After a minute, Colin withdrew his cock, lifted me up, and kissed me deeply. Our tongues and mouths mingled in a shameless shared enjoyment of fluid and taste. My lips were soft and swollen and bruised from my oral efforts. I felt used, yet I liked that feeling.

I broke away and gazed proudly in the dull screen at the mess I'd become. My sweaty hair was in complete disarray. My lipstick was smeared. My skin flushed.

Colin pulled away. I reached for him.

“Don't go, baby,” I pleaded.

“I'll be right back,” he answered.

Actually, I was grateful for the moment's pause. So many new thoughts and sensations were sweeping through me. In the screen, I admired those nipples of mine after years of trying to disguise them.