Chloe knew a few things about him. She knew he liked his sex a little rough but would never admit it. He wanted to feign being in charge, then get rebuked. He wanted to pretend he was taking the role of a dominant partner but be subdued. He didn’t want to explain this — that would ruin it. The encounter was about intention and meaning. If Logan told a partner he was seeking denial, he’d be setting an expectation, and the girl, if she was good and getting paid, would rise to meet it. In Logan’s mind, this would be tantamount to putting on a show. Logan didn’t want someone to fake it, he wanted the real thing. He wanted to pretend he was in charge and getting denied, he wanted it all to happen organically. He didn’t want to hire a girl to please him. He wanted to find a girl who, on her own, acted precisely as desired.
Chloe could see all of this in the way Logan moved, how he acted, the way he watched her with his steely blue eyes. Most girls, she felt sure, would have missed it. Chloe could see that in Logan’s eyes, too — a sort of reluctance to fall into the experience, because disappointment was certain. To Chloe, that meant that he’d been disappointed before. And why wouldn’t he? The complex knot of conflicting emotions and desires inside the man were an endless tangle of games and puzzle boxes. No one would be able to unlock them, without asking for guidance, and get all of the details perfectly right. Chloe could.
She could read him by the way he circled the speciality O device in the the otherwise empty room’s center. It looked like he was staking territory like an animal, but was actually feinting, waiting to see how Chloe would respond to his feigned dominance. Would she submit, or see him as a challenge, and balk? He wanted her to balk, so she ignored him, moving instead to the device, laying across it like a divan.
She could read him by the way he looked down as he undressed — his own hands on his starched blue shirt buttons, and the slide clasp on his pressed slacks. His downcast glance was another feint; he was pretending to be shy, wrapped inside a farce of wanting to undress himself in order to rob her of the power that came with doing it for him. Logan wasn’t shy. He was watching her watch him, watching her assess his apparent shyness. Chloe intuited that the correct move would be to cross the room to him, and take over the removal of his clothes, and to persist a tad forcefully when he resisted her. Again: a fantasy of himself in control, with Chloe’s role being to shatter that fantasy. He wanted to feel want before denial. And there in that crevice, Chloe would find what he really wanted.
And oh, the things his clothes told her. The shirt was custom-tailored so the buttons were on the left. For over a hundred years, buttons on the left had been a hallmark of women’s clothing, but he’d had this shirt made that way because he was left-handed. But that was interesting too, because he reached for her with his right, and cupped the firm weight of her breasts, snaked his fingers down the smooth skin of her belly and below her panty hem with his right hand. He was faking. He’d trained himself to work with his right as his dominant hand — something that told Chloe about his childhood, parents, and the way he grew up. After he had grown, he’d had his shirts tailored in the way that was more comfortable for his true dexterity. It all spoke volumes. Logan had spent his life hiding who he really was and had (if you believed the studies and findings of cerebral specialist nanobots) re-wired his brain’s functions by doing so — yet literally wore his true self for all to see.
“I need you to fuck me,” she said.
“It’s what I’m here for,” he replied, as if doing her a favor.
Chloe had been given her choice of wardrobe, and had chosen it before she’d had a chance to read her trial client. She’d chosen something irritatingly generic, knowing it would truly fit nobody’s fantasies but would be generally pleasing to any straight man. She wore a pale pink bra and panties, trimmed with but not entirely lace, scooped and low in the front. Over this was a long, sheer white robe so thin it had to be a new synthetic material. She hadn’t bothered to do much with her hair; Barnes’s emphasis on being herself still rang in her head. She wore little makeup and had used the few items of clothes to enhance what nature had given her rather than to fall headlong into the role of seductress. Chloe knew she looked plenty good without all of that. Her tits were not enhanced, filled a moderate C cup, and were covered demurely by the bra, heaving above it with the thinnest sheen of perspiration across their tops. She’d worn heels — a cliche staple of femininity that never seemed to go out style, and they made her long legs taut and her ass firm and supple.
She went to the Rocker — a high-end O device that looked like a wooden wave with controls along one side, about which she’d been told nothing at all — and bent across it. She rolled so her back pressed against the smooth surface, then arched her body and sloughed the robe to the floor. She ran her palms up her front, down into her panties, feeling how wet she already was.
“Get up,” Logan said
“You get up.” Chloe reached for his crotch, but he backed away.
“Get up and strip for me.”
“I’m not here to play games with you,” she said. “I’m here to fuck.”
Chloe had said that just right, and she could see him respond, the bulge of his thickening dick rising under his slacks. He’d asked. She’d denied. Yet she’d done it in a way that was sexy, that implied that she’d be doing him the favor. The customer was supposed to be right, but that’s not how Logan liked it.
“I want you to suck my cock.”
That wasn’t what he wanted at all. She could hear it in his voice.
Chloe rose, crossing from the Rocker to where Logan stood near the room’s door. When it was closed, you couldn’t tell there was one. The room was perfectly circular, walls a light gray like the room she shared with Barnes. Knowing O and how it always managed to stay ahead of technology’s curve, the room’s surfaces had to be Crossbrace enabled, capturing everything she and Logan did. And if what Chloe suspected was true, those surfaces could actually do much more. They might be able to read her skin temperature, to see where and how she was becoming aroused. It wasn’t enough for an O girl to fake it. She had to genuinely enjoy fucking her clients. The surfaces would hear every word, Crossbrace AI would parse every nuance of their encounter for later analysis.
When Chloe reached Logan, she put a hand on his chest and pushed him against the smooth, featureless wall. He pushed back, looking annoyed. But that was another feint, so she pushed harder.
“I know you’re here for a job,” he said. “It’s your job to please me and do what I want.”
She pushed him again. “Fuck first. Job second. And I won’t suck your dick.”
Logan’s dick protested the news. Chloe could feel it pushing against her naked thigh. She reached behind her back, pulled off the bra, and dropped it to the floor. Her perfect, gravity-defying tits appeared under his face and he looked down, unabashed. Then, without ceremony or a sexy display, Chloe stepped out of her panties. She usually had a small strip of hair above her pussy, but when she’d been in the dressing room earlier, something told her to shave it. She was smoother than smooth, her lips swollen in a wet pucker.
“You’re going to eat my pussy,” she said.
Logan reached for his pants, ready to free his throbbing cock, but Chloe slapped his hands away, her face inches from his.
“You don’t need that to eat my pussy,” she chided.
“I’m in charge here,” he said.
“I’m the one with the hole. I’m the one with the soft mouth. I’m the one you want to cum on and in. You are in charge of nothing.” Chloe took five big steps back to the room’s center, and laid back on the Rocker. Contrary to its name, it didn’t rock at all. Not yet, anyway. She laid back, sidelong on the device, and spread her legs. If Crossbrace walls really could read her temperatures, it would see her crotch as red hot. Chloe could feel her lube rubbing onto her thighs, turning everything slippery.
Logan came forward. Of course he did. Nobody had ever fit his fantasies quite so precisely.
Chloe, for her part, felt her lips tingle as he approached. In Chloe’s experience, it was nearly impossible to fake full-body arousal. There were add-ons some of the sex dealers sold to help — sympathetic-response lubrication generators that could be installed in the vaginal walls like nozzles in a car wash, vasodilator nanos in sensitive areas that would cause the right folds to blush and swell — but in Chloe’s mind, genuine arousal was easier and more enjoyable. If she was going to fuck a man anyway, why would she pay an enhancement dealer good money to allow her to fake excitement? Why not get excited instead? It seemed so obvious. Yet all it took was a quick search of the Crossbrace network to find page after page after page filled with whores discussing the best ways to seem wet for their johns. The only method that never earned discussion was getting horny.
“Use your tongue,” she said.
Logan almost grumbled that he knew how to eat pussy, but stopped short and, instead, extended his tongue and ran it up Chloe’s wet length from ass to clit. She leaned her head back and exhaled, eyes closing. It was just one lick, but suddenly it was all in the world that she needed. Logan made another circuit, moving down and around, using only his tongue to find all of her sensitive areas. He lingered on her clit, rubbed it against her pelvis with wavelike motions of his tongue, then delicately sucked. Rockets went off along the length of her spine, her senses coming alight.
Chloe wanted something more.
She sat up on the Rocker, back curving into a C as Logan lapped her cunt below, mouth open, breath growing heavy. Chloe could feel an orgasm desperate to shoot through her. Her asshole puckered as her entire pelvic floor rolled into spasms. She looked at the Rocker. There were a series of controls along one side, and suddenly, a few of the device’s functions began to seem obvious. O was known for its toys, for its cutting edge eroticism, for its radical uses of technology to enhance pleasure. Their tagline was “The Future of Sex.” So although Chloe had never before seen the Rocker device, she thought she knew how it must work.
She pushed a button on the right, near the side. A section of the wood surface between her legs became like liquid, then poured upward and semi-solidified into something that looked like a large coat hook. Just as she’d known what the button must do, Chloe felt sure that the coat hook protrusion was only a starting point. O made dildos and other ordinary insertion toys, this was from their top line — likely either exclusive to use at the spas or a prototype that hadn’t even made it to market. So Chloe asked herself: What would O, the company that was boldly deciding the future of sex for everyone else, use their R&D specialists to develop?
“Move,” she told Logan, pushing him down further.
She slid onto the protrusion, its curve fitting neatly into her pussy as she laid back on the Rocker.
“Fit it to me,” she ordered.
Logan reacted without thinking, pressing a second button near the first. Too late, his eyes flickered up, realizing what she’d said and what he’d done. She realized that Logan wasn’t a client. He worked for O, and he knew exactly what the device did and how it worked. She’d surprised him by issuing so specific a command, and as the thing changed inside to fill her, Logan tried to regain his composure and appear as ignorant about the Rocker as she was supposed to be.
“Now the nanobots,” she said.
Logan wouldn’t be fooled twice. “What?”
O had pioneered too many advancements in sexual nanotechnology for the device to not employ nanos. Chloe pawed around until she found a reservoir where it would logically need to be, at her left hand, and removed a cold cylinder that looked like it might harbor compressed air. She shoved it into Logan’s hand.
“Spray it on me.”
“What is it?”
“Do it. I’m going to cum.”
And she was. Inside her, the protrusion was molding and changing in long, slow waves, vibrating in a hypnotic — one might say rocking, she realized — sensation. But she could almost sense the device’s chatter in the air. There was a very, very faint smell of burning ozone that suggested working nanobots around the protrusion inside her. They were tingling her from the inside, trying to talk to other nanobots. Nanobots who would be on the outside, because a girl needed her clit tickled too.
Logan sprayed the substance on her pussy, soaking her throbbing bud. Chloe dared a look down, saw a massive bulge in his pants as his cock yearned for her. This was what he wanted. He wanted to give her pleasure, but needed to be told what to do, and when to do it.
The minute the nanobot-infused liquid touched Chloe’s clit, the chatter she sensed in the air began ramping up. Millions of microscopic robots worked in tandem, from the inside and out, shaking and massaging her as the protrusion buried in her slit began to thrust and explore like something alive, like nothing Chloe had ever felt. She’d read about lovers who seemed to know her better than she knew herself (though she’d never actually had one that good), and the Rocker was like having a hundred such lovers at once. They seemed to scan her nerves, know just what she needed to feel. They raised her to the edge, then tipped her off. She came hard, bucking on the Rocker, gripping the device’s shaft with her wet hole. It moved with her, yielding when needed, bending when required, keeping her full and giving her something to bear down on.
When it passed, the Rocker seemed to know. The protrusion retracted, splashing back into its surface like a drop into water. When her ass touched the spot it had come from, the surface was firm and cold.
“Now you can fuck me,” Chloe said.