Chloe, sitting on the bed, shook her head.
“Nothing. You’re a freebie.”
Chloe watched the man as he began to pace a half-moon around her position on the bed, raising one arm and then the other to remove an expensive-looking pair of cufflinks. He’d grown up poor. He’d made his fortune himself. But he’d done it before the NAU, before the parties had formed. So while he’d done things that a modern-day Enterprise member would do, he’d done it back when such a person was called a capitalist. Chloe could see it all, could read it on his face and in his eyes and how he used his hands. Supposedly a huge percentage of what a person said was communicated nonverbally, but Chloe had realized long before that she could read those nonverbal words as if they were written on one of the screens above the city.
The man removed his jacket and draped it fussily over a chair, then his band tie before he methodically unbuttoned his shirt. “You’re so damn green,” he continued, “that they gave me a ride on you for free. Usually, a fuck at a place like this will set you back a hundred thousand credits or more. They don’t want me angry, see. They figure I’ll accept a fuck as a fuck, and won’t be pissed off if you’re terrible because I didn’t pay. What they don’t understand is that for someone like me, a hundred thousand credits is a squirt of piss. I want to pay, because I know I’m getting something worth paying for. For someone poorer, the freebie might have meaning. Like clipping a coupon for pussy. But in my life, time matters so much more than money. If you’re terrible, I will be angry, and resent them for insulting me with their little perk … a perk of someone not ripe enough for prime time.”
The man in front of Chloe had an older sibling, probably a brother. The older brother had bullied him mercilessly. He’d never had a girlfriend growing up, but had desperately wanted one. At least one girl had laughed at him in public, and Chloe had a sneaking suspicion that he’d peed his pants (again in public) when she did. This event had earned him an insulting nickname that had followed him until he was maybe eighteen. And despite looking 30, the man was at least sixty-five. Chloe could hear anachronisms and vocal inflections that belied his age. He looked around a room like a man who has spent far longer than three decades looking around rooms. Older men knew they were mortal, regardless of whatever insanely expensive rejuvenation treatment they’d been able to buy, and that awareness of mortality showed up in the way they took steps, the way their eyes absorbed their surroundings. His arms and chest appeared cover-model lean and his face was handsome, but despite appearing totally natural, Chloe could tell it was all the work of nanobots. His muscles were too new; they lacked the subtle appearance of muscle maturity that a man of even thirty should have. His arms were too big for his mind; he used them like they belonged to someone else. He was putting up an excellent front, but was transparent to Chloe. It was ironic that she was applying for a job at O, which had built its fortune on knowing more about its customers than anyone else … because Chloe, without the help of a computer network or much money, could do exactly the same thing, same as always.
She stood, spanned the room, and leaned with her arms crossed against the far wall. The man had his shirt entirely off and was unbuckling his pants. He watched her until his pants were off, then stood opposite her and waited, his firm body clad only in boxers and a pair of black socks.
She could read Parker Barnes, too, and understood the precise demeanor of those watching her. She knew what was at stake, and how no one really expected her to succeed. There was very little she could do to make things worse, so she rolled the dice.
“You live alone,” she said. “You had a wife once; I can tell by the way your left thumb keeps going to your ring finger. She didn’t die, and you didn’t leave her. She left you. Judging by your reaction right now, I know she left you in a way that you found both embarrassing and traumatic. She found another lover. He was…” Chloe paused, assessing. Then she had it. “… a friend of yours. Someone you’d known forever. And even after this man took your wife, who you thought you loved but who you neglected in favor of work, you tried to remain friends. Because you had no other friends. And yes, you realized at the time that it seemed pathetic. But deep down, you were lost.”
The man’s face formed a deep, ugly scowl. He suddenly looked every year of the biological age Chloe had intuited him to be. He growled, “Just who the hell do you think you are?”
Chloe walked toward him. “Nobody expects me to be able to please you,” she said, looking toward the most logical wall through which Crossbrace pickups would be watching, into the eyes of the imagined Six on the other end. “Right now, they’re considering storming in, because you are an important client with a big mouth. But they don’t need to.” She kissed two fingers on her right hand and touched them to the wall, imagining the chaos and arguments that must be happening right now amongst those watching. “Because, you see, I can do things that you can’t possibly imagine. Things that will make you either forget what I’m saying now or forgive me entirely for saying them. Parker Barnes asked what I can do. This is what I can do. I can read you. I know you are older than you say. You have a least one fetish that you won’t even tell the people at O, despite O’s reputation for accepting any perversion.”
The man looked shocked. Still angry, but now also confused.
“There’s more,” Chloe said, closing the scant remaining distance between them and putting a single finger on the man’s broad, beautiful chest. “You are handsome, but I find you reprehensible. But it’s okay, because that’s another of the things I can do: choose arousal. Like a switch in my brain. You will love fucking me because I will honestly beg you for more. I will get so wet that I’ll paint your face with my juices. And in the end, after I cum and you cum and you must return to being yourself, somewhat diminished for knowing I’ll never, ever touch you again, I will feel no regrets. Because I am not a whore. I fuck, and I get money. But all I do is flip a switch, and it’s like masturbating. I fuck, and then I get money. I do not fuck for money. Right now, fucking you will get me what I want, so I want to do it. But rest assured, when this is all over, if you try to get into my pants again, I will cut your cock off and bury it with the rest of your artificial body.”
Chloe narrowed her eyes at the wall, imagining herself staring into the eyes of the watching Six. She smiled. They didn’t want to give her the benefit of the doubt? Fine. They had already decided to send her off, even after she fucked their rich client? Fine. If she couldn’t make things better, her only logical tactic was to make things worse. Because if an O girl could please a client after all that Chloe had said … well, then she could do anything.
“What did you just say to me?” The man looked more confused than angry. If he was here now, he had more money and power than 99 percent of the population. It had probably been a long time since anyone had spoken to him like that.
Chloe reached for the man’s boxers, to the lump that had failed to rise. The man slapped it away. But Chloe was undeterred. She reached again. And again the man backed away.
“I didn’t sense homosexuality in you,” she said.
“Except for that one time.”
The man was already reaching for his pants. “You will never work for O again. In fact, you will never work again. I have friends who can interfere with your Shift, too. Right now, you’re looking for a cushy job with O, and that would put you in Directorate, receiving your fixed dole. Everyone knows Directorate is normally the party for suckers, but in this case it’d actually be good, because your dole would be so high and you’d be secure for as long as you had it. But we can push you into Enterprise, where you’d have to make your own way, sink or swim. It’s what I did. But a whore like you? You’d starve in a week without support.”
Chloe pushed her client back onto the bed. He’d gotten one leg into his pants, so his feet tangled as he staggered backward. The bed caught him, one leg tied in his slacks and the other free.
“Oh, come on,” she said, pouting. “A whore like me? You know I could suck off hobos and earn my throne as Queen of the Homeless.”
Her hand was back on his cock. In betrayal to the man’s anger, it was beginning to fill with blood beneath her touch.
“Or maybe I have what I need to get what I want from anyone,” she said, still rubbing. She knelt at the edge of the bed and, her breath close to the hole where his cock threatened to spring through, let her long, slim fingers trail up and down the insides of his legs, kneading his bulge like dough. His fleshy hood began to peek out; she touched it absently, as if by accident. “Maybe all men are, at root, weak. Maybe you all put on a good front, but will sell your nearest and dearest for a fine piece of ass.”
“I’ve had the best pussy money can buy,” said the man, lying back on the bed, legs hanging off its edge near Chloe. She stood. He didn’t move, despite his anger.
“Yes. But I am free.”
“Because you are worthless.”
She turned, ass to him. Her small dress was all one piece, and she wore nothing beneath it, a shiny blue synthetic fabric, almost like thin leather.
“‘Worthless’ is such an ugly way to look at a transaction where no money is exchanged,” Chloe said, starting to unzip as she turned her head to look back at him over her shoulder. “It’s better to see it is a transaction in which I will almost certainly receive nothing, yet am willing to do terrible things to you anyway.”
Chloe’s zipper reached its bottom, near her navel. She reached one hand up, her back still to him, and slipped the garment from her left shoulder. Her other arm followed, tumbling her tits into the chill room air and stiffening her nipples. She stood facing away from him, the small dress bunched at her waist like a towel after a shower. She crossed her arms over herself, and caught him looking at the long smooth curve of her back, all willing flesh from ass to neck.
“You worthless cunt,” he spat. From the corner of her eye, Chloe could see that he’d risen to full attention. Men. Especially powerful men — who, more often than not, were measuring dicks when they balanced their credit accounts.
“What’s your name?”
“You can call me ‘sir.’ ”
Chloe turned, unfolded her arms, then bent at the waist and slipped his cock into her mouth. It was huge and throbbing between her lips. True to what she’d said earlier, Chloe felt her box getting wet. If she was going to do this, she might as well enjoy it. Anything else was supremely illogical.
She pulled his cock from her mouth.
“I won’t call you ‘sir.’ ”
“You aren’t worth my time. You’re just another girl, same as the rest.”
“Your cock says otherwise.”
“It has a mind of its own,” said the man, managing to crack a small, non-sinister smile. But then the scowl was back, strangely arousing to Chloe now that her juices were flowing. He had an excellent body and a cock to go with it — all surely enhanced, but it didn’t matter when such beauty was entering your willing and lubricated body. “Don’t worry. I can override it.”
Chloe put the head between her lips again, then ran her tongue around the ridge without removing her mouth. She lingered on a particular spot to one side when he responded in the minutest way — probably a sympathetic nerve cluster. That sometimes happened with nano enhancement; the native nerves re-grew in new places as the manufactured tissue was built, especially when such work was done around the groin. Apparently the doctors jokingly referred to it as “Frankenpenis.”
The man’s reaction was more than subtle, but Chloe saw it immediately. He liked attention there, and had probably never received it fully. And while a powerful man such as Mister X wouldn’t hesitate to tell a girl what to do, he’d stop short of requesting anything that made him vulnerable in such a tiny way. Again: men. They’d ask to be whipped, but somehow felt that wanting a favorite spot treated delicately was beyond mention. But if a girl could find it? Well. She could rule his world.
“You don’t want to override your cock today,” said Chloe, now stroking slowly, lubricating the man’s member with his own pre-cum, applying pressure to the hot spot with each stroke.
“What’s your name?” she asked again.
“Your first name, baby.”
“That is my first name.”
Chloe almost laughed. It explained so much.
“That’s not what your friends call you,” she purred, keeping her voice kind while milking his shaft.
Falteroy, who had a name that would get a kid six wedgies before lunchtime, looked suddenly shocked. Of course his friends (such that he had any) didn’t call him by his loathed official handle. Only his mother called him that. Right now, he would be wondering why he’d given the whore his name. Chloe knew why. To put a finer point on it, she used a finger on her other hand to rub the dime-sized spot between his balls and ass, just as he secretly liked.
“Falls,” he said, his angry demeanor diminished. “They call me Falls.”
With both of her hands still working, Chloe put her lips to the tip of his dick and whispered as if speaking into a microphone. “Falls.”
His head had fallen back. He looked up.
“Only a man much older than you appear would let a woman he was going to fuck see him in boxers with black socks pulled all the way up. It’s giving you away.”
Her hands were getting cramped in his boxers’ small dick hole, so she yanked hard at the fabric until it ripped, then began to wrangle them off.
“Those are imported silk!”
“Shh.” She licked it again, right at the good spot. Her hands returned, and began to move.
Chloe stood, then, while Falls watched, reached down and pushed her dress the rest of the way down. It was all she was wearing; her pussy’s full lips kissed the cool room air. Juices that had leaked out began to chill her middle like sweat in a breeze. But her hotbox was piping enough to make up for it. Once her body adjusted she felt the burn there again, lips blushing red. She stood tall, her firm C-cups high and engorged with excitement.
Chloe felt something like tumblers falling into place, as if opening a lock inside her. Each sensation, attitude, pleasure and desire felt slotted into place. It was important to collate and categorize her feelings, and she did so no different from breathing. You had to put everything into boxes inside yourself so you could measure each before diving into anything headlong, releasing lust and pleasure in desired proportions.
You couldn’t lose yourself. You had to stay in control.
Chloe had learned from a pro. Her mother had drawn a very sharp line between work and play — tricky when the two were so similar. She’d explained it to Chloe, describing how for an escort, it was vital to put the physical act of sex in one pile and emotions in another. Most escorts disassociated entirely over time, forever keeping the two piles separate. The healthier way to do things, she said, was to cross-pollenate — and stay fully conscious of when they did. You couldn’t just fuck a guy and let your feelings get away from you. But what you could do was fuck a guy … then decide if you wanted emotions to enter.
It’s like baking, in a way, Chloe’s mother had said. An amateur buys a cake mix and sees what it makes. But a pro will buy her sugar and flour and baking powder and salt separately, and mix them precisely, as needed.
And maybe, in the end, that had been what had gone wrong with Brad, her first boyfriend. He’d wanted to fuck, but Chloe had thought she might love him, and her first time had to be dispassionate so she wouldn’t inadvertently mix her metaphorical flour and sugar into something she wouldn’t be able to separate later. She had to experience sex fresh, without emotional entanglement, so that she’d know what it looked like in its pure state. She had to know sex and love separately first, before she could risk blending them. But at 19 she’d no longer been able to hold Brad off and they’d done it anyway, and she’d kept it as dry and mechanical as possible, always planning to go back and try again later — “once more, with feeling,” as they said. But that first time doomed them, and that had been that.
Chloe continued to suck, her lips and tongue moving intuitively, following the man’s smallest of cues. He was already hers. She could see his eyes closing, his mouth starting to open. He reached down and grabbed at her tits. She allowed herself to enjoy the sensation. Very carefully, Chloe allowed herself a memory of Brad, who had done the exact same thing that single time they’d made love. Falls’s hands belonged to Brad. She felt her wetness increasing, controlling it, wanting the man’s big member to fill her.
He pushed her up. She looked at him, kissing the tip of his cock. The head was red, swollen beyond swollen.
“Sit on it,” he said.
Chloe assessed the man for a long moment, trying to decide if she should let him have his way. She decided she could. She’d beaten him down hard enough earlier, and the watchers behind the wall wouldn’t see this as Chloe’s weakness. They’d see it as the client’s desire. They had to hear how his voice had changed, right? Chloe wondered. The man had been willing to screw her, but was doing it almost with a grudge, like a favor. Now things were different. She could hear the lust in his voice — the way he wanted her.
But she wanted him to want her more.
Chloe stood, spread her legs slightly, and tipped her hips up toward the man to show him her smooth pussy. She used her fingers to part the lips, exposing her clit, everything inside shiny and wet. She smeared her moisture, rubbing her clit, feeling the way it sent shocks through her, making her asshole pucker and twitch. Falls watched on the bed, his cock also twitching. Proud and thick and perfect. Chloe allowed herself to desire it, to want it to fill her. The thought made her wetter.
“Sit on my cock,” he repeated.
She stepped forward, her pussy still spread. She held herself open for him, then stood at the edge of the bed. He started to sit up but she pushed him back. His ass was on the edge, legs dangling. She was still standing. She put her legs on either side of his, then nudged forward. He scooted down further, his cock now inches below her hole. He reached for her, thrusting upward, wanting inside. But she pushed him down, gently this time. She had him. Now she would get off. She would allow herself to enjoy this. Her mother’s advice was excellent but incomplete. Yes, Chloe should learn the difference between work and play, but once she knew which was which, a good escort could perform sexual alchemy — consciously deciding to selectively mix elements from both piles, thus turning work into play.
Her hand softly pushing him down, she said, “Let me do it.”
Chloe waited. He throbbed below her. She could hear his breathing rate increase. She couldn’t even say why he wanted her so much, except that she looked good, acted sexy, and was doing all the right little things at the right time, and in the right approximate order. But she had to do more because sexy girls were a dime a dozen. He’d be in an almost hypnotic state until he came, but if she didn’t turn things up, he’d turn caustic a second after his spill.
Waiting stretched. Chloe could feel the heat of his cock below her. Her pussy seemed to yawn for it, walls wet and anticipating.
On the bed, Falls was reaching into the nightstand for something. In spa sessions like this one, O stocked the rooms for its regular clients as if they were their own bedrooms. O’s Crossbrace page tracked orders and preferences the same as all commerce pages, but O was the first to track and coordinate physical environments —one more way in which the company was living up to its tagline, becoming the future of sex.
She watched, still hovering, the tip of his dick now touching her and coming away wet. He pulled a small device the size of a pencil from the nightstand and held it up.
“Oh shit,” he said, his hips still trying to penetrate her. “Here. Use this.”
She took it, looked at it, then handed it back.
“Use it,” he repeated, trying to give it to her again.
“No.” She pushed the injector away, then gave him a sly look. “Trust me.”
“Have you ever used it before?”
“It’s Stimulex. It’ll prolong our orgasms.”
Chloe shook her head. “How long has it been since you’ve cum naturally?”
He looked at her, pretending to be insulted. But she knew from working in the spas that the elite were often addicted to Stimulex, which created an artificial feedback loop between muscular contractions in the genitals and the nerve signal that created the contractions. The result was an orgasm that fed on itself and could last for minutes, but long-term users could barely function without it. There were even rumors of a new Stimulex formulation that worked in conjunction with nanos that spoke to Crossbrace software running in a room’s terminal. If those rumors were true, it would be like getting fucked and cumming nonstop — the kind of purely pleasureful loop a person could become lost in until they died of starvation.
“It’s better this way,” he said.
Chloe lowered very slowly onto his cock. “Trust me.”
She took the injector, set it on the bedspread, pulled away, climbed up onto him properly and sat on his cock. It filled her entirely. She moaned. He moaned. She moved, watching his responses. He liked when she twisted a little at the top, squeezing his head and almost letting it fall out of her before sliding back down. Maybe it was better without Stimulex and maybe it wasn’t, but it felt like cheating. She looked at the surveillance wall, then, following a hunch, reached back and softly circled her fingers around her partner’s balls. She gripped, released, gripped, pulled slightly. Rubbed. Every movement was perfect. He looked almost like he was in pain below her, reaching up to take her tits in his hands, pinching the nipples. He raised his torso to lick them.
Chloe moved faster, feeling like she could cum any minute. Behind her, the man’s balls were slick with pussy juice.
“I want to use a rig on you,” he said, panting.
“A VR rig?”
Despite his lust, Falls managed a condescending look.
“A sensory immersion rig.”
“To enhance this.”
“You mean to provide sensory overload,” she said, already deciding against the rig. It was like Stimulex — people wanted to advance sexual pleasure, and the only solutions they could come up were more and more rather than better and better. Stimulex recirculated orgasmic contractions like a hose looped back into itself and rigs pumped in extra sensory inputs: peripheral visuals of other people fucking around you, seductive voices in your ears whispering naughty things, mnemonic triggers designed to set off physiological “burst cascades” in the conditioned (Falls would have had himself conditioned; Chloe obviously was not). But it was all more, more, more. No thought given to better.
“What are you, a prude?”
Chloe stopped moving, licked her lips, and slid a finger into his ass. She found the spot she was looking for and pressed it while contracting her tunnel, massaging his cock while it moved inside her. She felt it widen and swell, ready to burst.
“No,” she said. “I’m better.”
Chloe humped her muscles up his shaft for a few more seconds, then started to ride him again. Her finger came out of his ass. She used it to slap him across the face.
She slapped him again.
“What the fuck?” he said. His anger was so real and vivid that at first she thought she’d read him wrong, but then Chloe realized he was reacting this way for a much more interesting reason: he didn’t even know he wanted her abuse.
To shut him up, she pressed her tits to his chest, cunt still riding his shaft, and gave him an aggressive open-mouthed kiss. When she pulled up, he looked shocked. And hot. Yes, she hated him. But she’d put sex in one pile and feelings in another, and her hatred didn’t change how good his cock felt inside her.
She sat up tall, then hit him again.
“What about that girl in school, Falteroy? Back when you were a kid? The one who hated you, even though you were in love with her?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“She looked like me, didn’t she?” Chloe watched his face, knew she’d hit the bulls-eye. She moved faster, now slamming back on to his cock as its head engorged, filling her more. “But you were just a punk kid, nerdy, beneath her. You … you told her you liked her. And she told everyone else. It was a joke.”
Falls looked too shocked to respond, but Chloe read him and continued. She rode harder. The confusion was turning him on. This would all be too surreal for him. He might even be seeing that girl. God knew, he’d surely spent a lot of time imagining what she looked like naked, what she would look like riding his dick, always a bitch.
“You’re just a little shitbag, Falteroy,” said Chloe, channeling the ghost from her partner’s memory. “How dare you think you could fuck me! How dare you want to put your dirty little dick into my beautiful box!”
“Don’t,” he said.
She leaned closer. “I hate you, little Falteroy, but my hungry cunt needs you. You’ve been thinking about it all this time, haven’t you? Was it like this when you thought about it? My pretty little pussy needs your nasty little cock. Just like that. Oh yes … fuck me! I wanted it all that time ago, you little bitch.”
Now he looked like he might cry. But he’d grabbed her ass and was pushing into her so hard and so fast that Chloe felt her teeth wanting to chatter.
She got off. His cock flopped out of her and he almost screamed. He reached for her, but she turned end for end and sat on his face in a sixty-nine.
“Eat my pussy,” Chloe ordered.
The man obeyed, his mouth in her snatch in the sloppiest, most juvenile display of eating out Chloe had ever experienced. But his cock was in her hand and it pulsed with his heartbeat, and she felt herself wanting to cum, hard. She swallowed his length, feeling it touch the back of her throat. She’d never taken a dick this deep and, impetuous, had to pull back, threatened by a gag. She resumed sucking, working her hand, tasting salty drips from his cocktip, feeling everything in his groin contract as if ready to erupt.
“You’ve dreamed of cumming in my mouth, haven’t you, Falteroy?” she taunted.
“Oh God. Oh shit, yes…”
“Then make me cum. Make me cum and I’ll swallow every drop.”
Chloe had said too much. The man who’d spent decades dreaming about fucking that girl who had hated him couldn’t take it. His cock began to erupt, unloading huge streams of hot cum into Chloe’s mouth. She clamped her lips on it and sucked, swallowing all that she could and letting the rest pool at her lips. Her hand continued to work, pumping him dry. But he’d also not fulfilled his end of the bargain, so Chloe focused on the cum in her mouth, almost there herself, and pressed her pussy into his face. She didn’t care if she suffocated him. She ground her cunt hard against him, rolling up and down.
“OH GOD I’M CUMMING!” she yelled. Then, remembering her role: “YOU’RE MAKING ME CUM!”
Her knees slammed into the side of his head, boxing his ears. His face fought and jittered. Between Chloe’s lips, the man’s cock continued to seep cum. When she opened her mouth, all of the cum she hadn’t been able to take rolled out, soaking his balls and the bedspread. She put her mouth back, jerking harder with her hand, squeezing just under the head. Small pulses were still coming from the tip, and she wanted them in her throat as she came.
Chloe stayed on his dick for a while after he finished, feeling her own trembling aftershocks. Then she turned end for end, wiped her mouth on the bedspread, and laid beside him. Far enough to make it clear who hated who, but close enough that his glazed face could speak to her easily.
“Okay,” he said, panting, his cock still dribbling white, “you have skills.”