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The customer, in a gray three-piece suit that screamed lawyer, sat opposite the desk as Tommy sank back in his office chair. The guy had picked up his Mercedes the week before. A problem with the front-end job?
Nope. It was about a visit to a crummy east-side bar two years ago. Tommy had set up a gang bang for Alison, his long-time sex buddy. And played traffic cop to make sure the it ran smoothly as seven lucky guys took turns in a back room.
“You probably don’t remember me, but I remember you,” the guy said to Tommy over the blast of pneumatic wrenches. “You ran interference for a young lady who, uh, was entertaining some men on a busted pool table.”
“You a cop?”
“No, one of the customers, although I guess that’s not the right word, since she was free. Highly remarkable, considering how beautiful she was.”
“It might’ve been me.”
“I’m looking for that young lady,” he said and leaned forward. “This is going to sound fantastical, but it’s about an investment. Long story, so I’ll cut to the chase. After you and the young lady left, all seven of us lucky males who had enjoyed her services sat at the bar. We all agreed. She was absolutely, bar-none, the best any of us had ever had.”
“I’ll pass the compliment along.”
“Even Mike, the black guy who gets more high quality sex in a week than most of us get in a year, said she was extraordinary.”
“I’m working with a scientific concern that’s developing a sex surrogate using robotics and virtual reality. Know what a sex surrogate is?”
“A woman who has sex for therapeutic reasons, I think. Help guys who can’t get off.”
“That’s right. I’m heading up a venture capital group to get this thing on solid financial footing. The goal is to fully automate a female sexual surrogate using robotics, micro sensors, body imaging and, most importantly, virtual reality. This isn’t going to be a cheap, inflatable sex doll. Or a high-quality silicone corpse that looks great, but just lays there. Using vision goggles, tactile simulators, sound, aroma, and, yes, direct genital stimulation, it’s a system that will respond and even initiate sex with a man. There’s a huge need.”
“That many men can’t get their rocks off?”
“It’s amazing the number of sexually dysfunctional males who need skilled therapy for problems like anxiety, body-image issues and premature ejaculation. Yet skilled, legitimate sex surrogates are scarce. It is, to put it mildly, a niche occupation that’s easily confused with prostitution.”
“Because it is prostitution, right?”
“No, it’s not. Sexual services for pay in a therapeutic situation are not illegal.”
“Dude, I strongly suspect—hell, I know—a lot of hookers who say their work is highly therapeutic.”
The guy held a hand up. “No argument. Regardless, a fully functional sex robot can fill that void. Our team is about ninety-five percent of the way there, but we’ve hit a snag.”
“Something that Alison can fix?”
“So that’s her name. Yeah, Alison can fill a void. We need to profile a fully sexually responsive woman for our computer models.”
“Profile? What’s that involve?”
“Basically, touching herself while hooked up to a bunch of probes and sensors.... In a room lighted with overhead fluorescents and geeks running around with clipboards.”
“In the nude?”
“Of course. It’s a scenario that shuts down the sexual responsiveness of most women…but that's what we need.”
Tommy looked up for the first time. “Alison’s your girl.”
100 Erotic Stories has blisteringly hot stories; Threesomes, Lesbians, Domination and Submission Erotica, Paranormal Erotica, and more. This is a massive Erotica Collection.
Warning: This ebook contains explicit descriptions of sexual activity. Therefore, only mature adults who won’t find that kind of content offensive should read this massive collection.
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A peal of ear-splitting thunder echoed throughout the room. The atmosphere felt charged as the sky opened up and heavy splats of rain fell on the stones of the patio outside the glass doors.
Our eyes locked. I moved toward Moriah and ran my finger down her cheek and on to her lips. Her mouth opened and she sucked my finger, twirling her tongue around it.
I slipped a cuff on each wrist and raised her arms. She was just short enough that her hands didn’t reach the ceiling. I ran the rope through the hook and pulled it taut. She stood almost in the middle of the room, her arms stretched high, standing almost on tiptoe.
“What are you going to do to me?” she whispered.
I stood behind her as I made a knot on the hook and lowered my mouth to her ear. “Give me a safe word. Give me a word that, when you say it, I’ll stop whatever I’m doing and let you go.”
“No, I want you to be able to say ‘stop’ without really meaning it. Something else.”
Her hands now secured above her head, I walked in front of her. Reaching down, I rolled her cotton ribbed sweater up above her breasts, revealing a pretty lace bra. Her eyes widened. The rain was coming down hard, and the room darkened from the storm clouds.
I undid the button on her jeans, slowly lowered the zipper, and pulled her pants down toward her knees. She shook one foot, then the other, sending her slip-ons across the room.
I pulled her jeans off her. All that was left were her bra, panties and socks. And her sweater scrunched up to her chin above her small breasts.
Moriah had a look of wild passion in her eyes as she watched my every move. I left her there and looked around the room for some inspiration.
In the corner were my walking sticks, high-tech poles make of carbon fiber, with rubber-coated tips and leather-wrapped handles with loops that secured them to your wrists while hiking. I picked one up and walked back to Moriah.
She licked her dry lips.
Lightning flashed, followed quickly by the crash of thunder. The fresh smell of ozone filled the air. The excitement was palpable. The atmosphere was charged with electricity, both literal and metaphorical.
On the eve of the Civil War, Melanie’s love life sucks, what with her plantation-owning husband away to militia trainings and state’s rights conferences. The house servants are swooning over Big Jim, a black field hand who’s big in every sense. Soon, Melanie’s cornfield trysts are filling her needs—until the Master of Oglethorpe confronts the randy 19-year-old. She confesses, but causes more trouble. “Really, Beau, this ownin’ of other human beings is so…so distasteful. Why not pay them a paltry wage and rent them their hovels?” Outrage! Nearly as outrageous as the hot and humorous ending!