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Beta Test

By: beast5



The large box certainly looked out of place. Sure, it was sitting on the stairs where the mailman usually left packages. And sure, it had a clear address label on its top. But it didn't look like any package Erin had ever received before. The 2-foot wide box was shaped like a cube and was jet black, with no apparent flaps or openings.

The box did have her name clearly printed on the top: Erin Feston, 119 Palm Blvd, and so the young woman who had just gotten home from work bent over to pick it up. The box was made of some hard plastic material and was heavier than Erin expected. She was able to get it up and into her house, wondering who on earth could have sent her such a box.

Erin set the box down in her living room with a grunt of relief and set about trying to get the thing open. There wasn't a single discernable opening on any of the box's six sides, and the hard plastic felt like it might be quite difficult to cut. There wasn't even a return address listed, just the label with her own address. Since that label was the one thing that seemed removable, Erin pulled it off, and was rewarded by finding a note on the back that read:

"Congratulations, you have been randomly selected for a beta test of our new role-playing game. The box you have received contains highly advanced and proprietary technology. It is critical to us that we get an unbiased review of the game before bringing it to market. That is why we sought out random testers instead of self-selecting volunteers. If you agree to test this game, you must commit to total secrecy during the two-week testing period. You may play as much or as little as you want during that time. Testers will receive $500 at the end of the testing period. If you would like to participate, please say 'I agree'."

This was not at all what Erin was expecting. She hadn't really known what to expect, but she never would have guessed this box would be an offer to make $500 for playing some new high-tech game. And all she had to do was not talk about it? That wouldn't be a problem. Erin lived alone and she had recently broken up with her last boyfriend. She always got a bit of a geeky thrill out of new technology, and she didn't have any other plans for her Wednesday night, so it didn't take long for her to state out loud: "I agree."

As soon as the words were uttered, the top of the box flipped up like a lid, revealing a 2-foot wide computer screen on its underside. Beneath the lid, the box was as solid as ever. "Cool," thought Erin.

The screen came to life, displaying an androgynous humanoid form rotating slowly on a black background. A computer voice announced that the first step was to build the tester's avatar. The voice then started asking Erin a string of basic questions.

As Erin told the box about herself - female, Caucasian, 30 years old, 5'-8" tall, 125 pounds – the rotating figure on the screen began to take on her characteristics. The questions got more specific – inseam, bust, waist, hips, cup size – and the rotating avatar adopted the firm but curvy figure that Erin herself was so proud of.

The avatar stopped rotating and faced front as the box asked Erin to hold still while it took her picture. The box asked Erin to turn 90-degrees to her left and then to her right as it took more pictures. The avatar's face then blurred and a second later resolved into an incredibly accurate representation of the new tester.

Erin was quite impressed as she watched herself rotate on the screen. This was more than just photo shopping her picture onto a computer image. It was as if she was actually watching herself on the screen. Every detail had been faithfully represented –her long dark hair, her small nose-ring, the necklace she wore around her slender neck. The avatar was even wearing the same flowery summer dress that Erin was wearing, which fluttered as it spun, showing off even more thigh than the real woman.

A small door opened on the side of the box, revealing a set of four red bands. The box instructed Erin to clip one band around each wrist and ankle, explaining that these would give her avatar the ability to mimic all of her movements. Erin did this without hesitation and was thrilled to see that her likeness now mirrored all of her own movements. When Erin raised her hand, her avatar raised its hand. When she jumped, it jumped. She got more excited about the game to come.

The box then gave her a short list of options for role-playing games, and Erin quickly picked out the Police Academy option. She had always thought fighting crime would be exciting, and her real career as a city environmental inspector was considerably less fun. The box gave her a brief run through of who her character was, then explained that from then on the box would give no more out-of-character instructions. All interactions between her and the game would be as her avatar: Erin Feston – new recruit.

The screen went black, then lit up to show Erin standing with a group of about ten or so other recruits in front of the police training academy headquarters. Captain Anderson, who was apparently in charge of the place, gave them a quick motivational speech, then directed them inside.

Erin's avatar stood still for a moment as the rest of the group started leaving her behind. Then Erin quickly discovered that if she walked in place, her Avatar on the screen would walk forwards. It looked pretty sloppy at first, but she quickly got the hang of it. It was amazingly simple, really. It was also a hell of a lot of fun just to watch the depiction of herself do things like step up the stairs in time with her own raised legs or hold the door when she reached out with her arm.

Erin marveled at the technology. She had no idea that this was even possible, and she felt like she'd won a jack pot to get to be the one to test it.

-----------------------------

By the end of the week, Erin had become quite an expert at controlling her avatar. She played late into the night on Wednesday and into the wee hours again on Thursday. She hurried home after work on Friday, ready to spend her entire weekend in front of the black box.

The box had proven to be amazingly versatile. It produced a plastic handgun for Erin to use while her avatar was being trained at the firing range. It unfolded various loops and bars when Erin and the other recruits were running the obstacle course.  A full police baton slid out of a side compartment when she was taught various crowd control techniques. And the coolest feature so far had come out during hand-to-hand combat. The whole top of the box opened to unfold a full-size mannequin, complete with a padded torso and mechanical arms that Erin could physically spar with.

Erin had quickly decided that the people who made this were freaking geniuses. Even without all the nifty gadgets that popped out of the box, the game would have been incredibly cool. In just the two evenings that she had been playing, she had guided her avatar through 2 weeks of training. That was possible because she was automatically fast-forwarded through all the boring parts: law interpretation, report writing, conflict resolution, and of course sleeping.

Erin felt as though she'd formed real relationships with a number of her fellow recruits and a few of the trainers. Early on, she decided that her character would be outgoing, spunky, flirtatious, and tough – characteristics that the normally reserved Erin didn't often display in real life. But when she was playing, she felt like she could do or say anything. This attitude had made her some very close girlfriends from among the recruits, and had also irritated at least a couple of her instructors. But who cared!

Erin was happy that her house was so secluded. It wasn't far out of town, but it was far enough away from other houses that she could scream at the top of her lungs and nobody would ever hear her. Her living room, where she was playing the game, was also in the back of the house. The windows looked out onto a small yard and a forest, and she had literally never seen anyone back there. This meant she could be loud and act as ridiculous as she wanted while playing the game, and she didn't have to worry about anyone seeing or hearing her.

When Erin got home Friday, she snarfed down some very quick dinner and grabbed the clothes she was using as her 'trainee' outfit. That was one part of the game that seemed odd at first. Her avatar had arrived at the first drill still wearing Erin's flowery dress. The trainer had scolded her and sent her back to the women's dorm to change. Erin tried to mime changing into some clothes that she saw on the screen, but her avatar wouldn't change until Erin actually took off her dress and pulled on some workout clothes.

By Friday, changing clothes for real just seemed right. It certainly helped Erin to feel as if she was actually the avatar who going through the Academy. After Erin clipped on the wrist and ankle bands, she slipped out of her clothes and lay on the floor in her bra and panties. In the academy, she had left her avatar sleeping, so she'd have to pick up where she left off. The first night, she'd been ridiculed by the other female trainees in the dorm for sleeping in her clothes, so she quickly started 'sleeping' in just her underwear the way they did. It felt rather silly the first couple times to have to strip and lay on her floor for a couple moments while she was fast-forwarded through the game's night, but by now it was old hat.

Erin was excited for the first drill of the day – arrest techniques. Their instructor discussed the correct procedure for taking an uncooperative suspect to the ground and handcuffing them behind their back. The trainees were paired off to practice on each other. Erin was glad to be paired with her closest friend, Jenna, a tall red-head whose spunk matched that of Erin's character.

The box produced a set of very real-looking police handcuffs and unfolded the mannequin. It was obvious from the display screen that the mannequin represented Jenna. They decided Erin would go first, so she tucked the cuffs under her belt and took a firm hold on the mannequin's left wrist. She twisted that wrist behind the mannequin's torso, and heard Jenna on the screen say: "Oww, hey! Take it easy!"

"Toughen up," Erin replied as she pushed the mannequin onto its face and placed her knee in the small of its back as she had been shown. She then pulled the mannequin's other wrist behind it and cuffed the wrists together. She glanced at the screen when she was done and enjoyed the sight of herself, kneeling on top of her cuffed friend.

"You look great like this, hot stuff," she whispered into Jenna's ear.

"Yeah, yeah," Jenna replied, "now get off me!"

It was Jenna's turn to practice on Erin next. Erin had thought, somewhat optimistically, that this would just be skipped over. When it became obvious that it was going to happen, she got a bit nervous. Those handcuffs certainly felt real, and she was pretty sure they wouldn't come off without the key that she had just turned over along with the cuffs to the Jenna mannequin. But she felt comfortable practicing with her friend, so she wasn't too worried.

While Erin was mulling this over, Jenna went ahead and grabbed her wrist and twisted it roughly behind her. Erin said "Take it easy!" the same way Jenna had moments ago, and was ignored in the same way as well.

The mannequin easily pushed her to the ground, pulled her other wrist behind her, and had her handcuffed before she knew it. It was all rather frightening, to be manhandled so easily by the robotic arms. She was actually handcuffed and pinned to the ground in her own living room. She struggled instinctively, but it was clear that the handcuffs were indeed locked on and that the mannequin knee could hold her down.

Then she heard Jenna's voice whisper to her: "Hey, take it easy yourself."

Erin turned her head and was comforted by the fact that it was Jenna on top of her. Erin felt she knew and could trust this friend. Her fears were further abated as she saw the woman on the screen fumble with the key and then unlock her. Jenna gave her a hard time for the little panic Erin apparently had, and Erin quickly convinced herself that she had been silly to worry.

Next up, some target practice allowed Erin to blow off a bunch of energy, and she left the shooting range feeling stress free. All the recruits were then directed to change into their work-out clothes and head to the track for physical fitness. This usually just involved running, and most of the time the game just let Erin fast forward through all of it. This, however, wasn't going to be one of those times.

One big piece of feedback Erin planned to give the developers at the end of the trial was that a user should be allowed to choose which sections to fast-forward past. She knew she could just skip the exercises, but that would certainly lead to her avatar flunking out of the academy, and she really wanted to graduate and get to see some real action!

Unfortunately, it looked like she'd have to do the drudgery if she wanted to do the fun parts. She went ahead and changed into spandex shorts and a sports bra and reported to the track. Erin regretted her rather skimpy clothing choice when she found that it was Sergeant Hayworth who was going to be leading the exercises.

Hayworth was a serious hard-ass as well as a total jerk. Erin and Jenna had been regularly mocking him behind his back, and often mocking him to his face. At that point in the game, the guy totally had it out for them. And now he was going to be leading them in an hour-long fitness session. Erin hoped the computer would fast forward at some point, but figured that if not, she'd count it as her exercise for the whole weekend.

Sergeant Hayworth started them off with a warm up jog and some sprints. The jog was easy enough, since Erin didn't actually have to move anywhere, just move her legs up and down in place. But in order to keep up with the sprint, she had to crank her arms and legs quite quickly, and she started to fall behind after the 10th rep.

Hayworth called them all to a stop then strode over and stood towering above Erin's panting avatar. There was nothing standing over the real Erin, but it was impossible to ignore the feeling and Erin couldn't help but shrink back a bit.

The sergeant bellowed: "Cadet Feston, you must learn to keep up! Drop and give me 20!"

Erin groaned. Pushups just weren't her thing. When her avatar had first been told to do them, she thought she'd be able to get away with just laying in position on the floor, since the wrist and ankle bands wouldn't move from that position anyway. But it quickly became obvious that the game could pick up at least large motions from its camera, and it knew when she wasn't doing a proper pushup.

Sergeant Hayworth certainly knew exactly when a proper pushup wasn't completed, and made her start the count over partway through for not keeping her back straight. When she got to ten, Erin saw the jerk put his foot in the middle of her avatar's back. At the same time, she felt one of the box's robot arms pushing down on her own back, making further pushups nearly impossible. But Hayworth just kept yelling and easing up slightly until Erin was able to complete the 20.

Hayworth then had the whole group start doing jumping jacks. Erin was disgusted to see in the screen that the dirty bastard was lewdly checking out all of the bouncing boobs and butts on the female cadets, including those of her own avatar. In her apartment, Erin's boobs were indeed bouncing like crazy as she kept up the fast jumping-jack pace. It just felt so incredibly personal to have Hayworth staring unabashedly at the faithfully recreated bouncing boobs of her avatar.

When the perv took a step closer to her avatar to get a better view, Erin just couldn't help herself. She pulled her hand back and slapped the sergeant hard across his face. The rest of the group froze as Hayworth collected himself, then said in a dangerously soft voice: "Cadet Feston, you should think before hitting your betters."

Erin was beyond caring about flunking this game, and gave the bastard a big piece of her mind, ending with: "And don't think for a second that you are my 'better.' I could best you in any of the skills we've been learning here."

"Oh you think so," was Hayworth's reply. "I'll let you take your pick, then show you how wrong you are, foolish girl."

Erin decided that hand-to-hand combat would be her best bet. She'd gotten quite good, and thought that it would be almost impossible for the computer to beat her if she just stayed aware of those robotic arms. Hayworth announced that they would settle this immediately, and had the class form a large ring around the two of them. The padded mannequin and robotic arms unfolded from the box, and one arm made a come-get-me sign, mimicking Hayworth's mocking gesture on the screen.

Erin took a breath and paced back and forth in front of the mannequin, knowing that if she stayed out of reach of those arms then there was nothing the mannequin, and therefore Hayworth, could do to her. She made a series of feints, then went in for what she expected to be a solid punch to the stomach. But the Hayworth/Mannequin snatched her fist right out of the air. Before she could even react, her arm was twisted behind her and she was shoved flat on her stomach, just like she was earlier when practicing with Jenna.

This time she resisted hard right from the start. However, just like the last time, the mannequin easily pulled her other wrist behind her. Erin struggled and shouted "No!" when she saw Hayworth on the screen pull out his handcuffs, but there was nothing she could do to prevent her wrists from being cuffed together behind her back.

Erin saw Hayworth on the screen grin widely as he looked down at her avatar, pinned beneath his knee like captured prey. She saw him reach backward and grab her avatar's ass at the same time that she felt her own ass get squeezed hard by one of the robotic arms. The Hayworth/mannequin arm then came back around, cupped her chin with its hand, and started pulling her head up and back. Erin's chest was lifted off the floor as her back was bent painfully.

She heard Hayworth whisper: "Do you submit?"

Erin refused to give the bastard that pleasure, but he just kept pulling back on her chin. Her boobs were now off the floor, and Hayworth decided to take advantage of that fact. He reached around with his free hand and began fondling her ample globes. In reality, Erin was being fondled by the mannequin, but she was completely caught up in the game and couldn't really tell the difference at that point.

Hayworth asked again: "Do you submit?"

With the burning shame of the fondling, Erin continued to resist the pain in her back. Hayworth chuckled, then pulled the front of her sports bra down, popping her boobs out of their cups one by one. Avatar Erin was now on full display to her class-mates, and real life Erin was bare and helpless in her own living room.

Both Erins then moaned in pain as Hayworth/mannequin pinched hard on one nipple and pulled it up sharply. He hadn't stopped pulling further up on her chin either, forcing Erin's chest into a near vertical position. The pain in her back finally hit an unbearable point, and despite the humiliation of having her tits shown off and abused, Erin was forced to give in.

"I submit," she mumbled

"Loud enough so the whole class can hear you," Hayworth demanded.

Erin, desperate and beaten, obliged by shouting "I submit!"

Hayworth/mannequin lowered Erin to the floor, then lifted her onto her feet. She was still handcuffed behind her back and still had her boobs spilling over her sports bra.

"This is what misplaced pride can get you," Hayworth announced, then slapped her hard on the ass and strode out of the room.


Beta Test



Avatar Erin was left cuffed and exposed in a room filled with her peers. Real Erin was left cuffed and exposed in her living room, where she quickly jumped out of reach of the game box. On the screen, Jenna got up, quickly found a handcuff key, and brought it over to avatar Erin. But in the living room, Erin refused to get within reach of the robotic arms. On the screen, this showed up as avatar Erin walking away from Jenna whenever she got close.

"C'mon Erin," Jenna said, "You're making a fool of yourself. Let me unlock you and cover you up."

Erin finally relented. She feared the robotic arm but didn't how else she could get out of the handcuffs. As soon as Jenna unlocked her, however, she tore her wrist and ankle bands off and ran out of the room, vowing not to return to the game.

---------------------------

Ahhhh, but vows can be fickle. After spending the rest of her Friday night pampering herself with a long hot bath and a quiet evening in bed, Erin woke up Saturday morning feeling restless. She had spent basically all of her free time the last three evenings playing the game, and she had been really looking forward to playing all day Saturday. She would have been able to make some real progress at the academy...

Erin was still pissed as hell at Hayworth for what he did and at the box for abusing her. If she had any idea how to contact the game makers, she would have screamed at them last night and threatened all sorts of law suits. But her anger had cooled, and she also started questioning herself. How dumb and slow had she been to let Hayworth beat her like that? And, if she had kept her wits about her and just ordered the game to stop, would it have let her go?

These doubts nagged at Erin, and she found herself sitting in her living room, sitting a safe distance from the box, trying to decide what to do. She had to admit that she really did want to continue playing. She decided that of course the game would have stopped before seriously hurting her, and that certainly it would have stopped if she had just shouted a direct order for it to do so. She also slowly convinced herself that if she was just more careful, she could be sure to avoid another situation like that one.

So, after eating a nice slow breakfast, Erin walked up to the box in her living. She took a deep breath and clipped on the wrist and ankle bands. That was the cue for the screen on the top of the box to pop up and show her where she had left off. She would then have to match the clothing and position of her avatar before the game would start. Erin had been worried that the game would bring her back exactly where she had left, running out of the workout room with her boobs bouncing free on top of her sports bra. She wasn't sure if she would be willing to play if that was the case, so she was relieved to see her avatar sleeping in the women's dorm. Erin stripped down to her undies and laid down on the floor, starting the game.

Previously, when she came into the game with her avatar asleep, the alarm in the dorm room would go off almost as soon as the game started. This time, all the other female recruits were still asleep and it looked like it was still night-time in the game. Erin sat up and saw Jenna sitting up in the bed next to hers. Her friend whispered that she heard that Hayworth had been put on involuntary leave for the stunt he had pulled, and that all of the recruits had been sternly warned not to pester Erin about the incident. Erin smiled and thanked her friend, already feeling good about her decision to get back in the game.

The morning's practice at the firing range put Erin's mind completely at ease. She had become quite the marksman with a standard issue handgun, and unloading round after round at the target on the screen was a great stress reliever for her. She was also thrilled to learn that the next lesson was on heavier guns. While the plastic gun she held in her living room stayed the same, the guns that it represented got bigger and bigger. Her avatar tried out M16s, AK47s, sniper rifles, shotguns and elephant guns. She even got to fire everyone's childhood dream – the bazooka.

Erin spent her whole Saturday in front of the black box playing the game, with only short breaks for the bathroom and lunch while her avatar was sleeping. She was making great progress, was scoring near the top of her class on almost everything she tried, and was having a great time. As the sun was setting in the real world, avatar Erin was finishing her 4th week at the academy, and was summoned to the office of the head of the academy, Captain Anderson.

The large gruff man looked especially serious when she arrived. He told her that the local PD was planning an important undercover operation on a mafia kingpin named Tico. An hour ago, they had intercepted a car that was transporting a woman who they had reason to believe had just been bought by Tico to be his personal slave. The police were sure that this particular kingpin was responsible for a large amount of the crime in the area, but they had never been able to get good enough evidence to bring him down. Now they thought they had a golden opportunity to plant a spy directly with him in a way that he would never suspect, and that was where Erin would come in.

Captain Anderson explained that this slave bore an uncanny resemblance to Erin. They believed that Erin would be able to take the slave's place, gather critical evidence from right under Tico's nose, and bring him down once and for all. The Captain explained that under normal circumstances, they would never ask this of someone who hadn't yet graduated from the academy, but that Erin had been doing so well that they thought she was prepared. If she accepted, they would have to move fast. Any greater delay in the delivery of the slave could raise suspicions.

The Captain then took on an even more grave expression and said: "Now Erin, I am aware of the very unfortunate incident involving Sergeant Hayworth 2 weeks ago. This mission would require you to wear the same restraints that the slave we intercepted was wearing. I need to know if you will be able to handle that, and I completely understand if you decide not to accept."

Erin was getting very excited about the prospect of some real action. She'd been enjoying the drills, but was ready for more, and had recently been wondering if it would take her the full two week beta-test period just to get through the academy. This was a perfect opportunity. The fact that she'd have to be restrained did make her pause, but she quickly decided that everything would be fine. She accepted the mission. Captain Anderson was incredibly pleased, thanked her for her dedication, and sent her down to the briefing room to get changed and prepped.

Officer Doug Crowley was waiting for Erin in the briefing room. Erin was happy to see him – he had always been kind, if firm. She also thought he was pretty cute. He told her that he'd be the one driving her to the drop off location, and that they had no time to lose.

On the screen, the image of Doug handed Erin's avatar two flimsy looking garments and told her to change quickly into the clothes they had found on the slave, and no underwear underneath. The box in front of Erin had opened a side door, and garments identical to the ones on the screen were being handed to her in real life. As usual, she and her avatar would have to be dressed alike, but this was the first time that the box had supplied the clothing.

On the screen, Doug proceeded to strip down right there in the room and pull on the clothes the driver had been wearing. Erin thought this was a bit inappropriate, but understood the need to hurry, so went ahead and did the same. Of course, while Doug's new outfit left him fully covered, Erin would have been more modest if she was completely nude. Her tank top was mostly see-through and didn't quite cover the bottom of her boobs. It also squeezed her tits together and did nothing to hide her nipples.

The mini skirt was just as bad – made of only slightly less transparent material and just barely covering her ass. Erin looked down at herself in real life and had a moment of self-consciousness standing in her living room wearing such an outrageously revealing outfit just so she could play some game. Well, she thought, no real people are going to see me, so who cares!

Doug coughed to get her attention. They needed to finish her outfit quickly and get going. He pulled a pair of handcuffs out of a duffle bag and explained that the slave had been wearing them. The mannequin and robotic arms had unfolded from the box, holding the same cuffs in its hand that she saw on the screen in Doug's hand.

These were no police handcuffs. If anything, they looked more inescapable with their 3-inch-wide leather cuffs and large locking buckles. Erin took a deep breath, then, maybe against her better judgment, placed her wrists together behind her back and allowed her avatar and herself to have the cuffs locked on. She felt a bit of panic as the robotic arm closed the locks shut, but Doug's voice on the screen comforted her. This time she was doing it willingly, and Doug was no Hayworth, so she should be fine.

Doug/mannequin pulled out another set of cuffs, which Erin assumed would be going around her ankles, but which instead were locked onto her arms just above her elbows. A small chain was then attached, drawing her elbows closer together and causing her breasts to strain even harder against the fabric of her top. Doug apologized profusely for having to do this, but repeated that she had to be dressed just like the slave.

Erin told him it was okay, and that he should just hurry with whatever else she needed to wear. Doug thanked her for being such a good sport and proceeded to lock a wide collar around her neck, cuffs around her ankles, and a pair of 4-inch heels onto her feet. He apologized again as he placed a thick blindfold over her eyes.

Erin thought this was pretty ridiculous. Now she couldn't even see her avatar or what was going on. She figured she'd mention that as part of her feedback for the beta test – maybe the avatar could have a complete blindfold but the real person could get something with holes so they could still see what was happening.

Doug said he had just one last piece of gear and asked her to open her mouth wide. Erin was confused by the request, but was in the swing of just getting this done quickly, so complied. She was surprised to feel a large rubber ball pressed into her mouth, then locked into place with a strap behind her head.

She tried to say "Wait.." but couldn't form any meaningful words around the gag. This actually got her quite worried. She was counting on being able to shout at the game to stop if things got out of hand. She wondered if she should jump away from the robotic arms right then, but also wondered what that would get her. She was locked in to all these restraints, and there was absolutely no way she'd be getting free by herself. And anyway, this was the plan she had agreed to. She just hadn't realized that dressing like the intercepted slave would be quite so severe.

Doug's voice interrupted her thoughts, saying, "Okay, let's go."

A robotic hand took hold of her arm and guided her in a standing walk. She had another moment of feeling foolish. If someone walked into her living room right then, they would see her dressed like a total slut, bound incredibly tightly, and marching in place while being guided by some mannequin.

"Okay, we're at the car, watch your head," Doug said as Erin was pushed gently by the mannequin onto a bench that must have folded out from the box. He then explained that he had to lock her collar to the bench, and Erin felt her own collar pulled up so that she had to sit straight, then felt that her collar was locked to the back of the bench she was sitting on.

"Off we go!" called Doug, in a voice that was much cheerier than Erin was feeling right then. The bench started bouncing, indicating that her avatar was driving away from the police academy.

The drive took at least fifteen minutes, which was much longer than Erin wanted to have to sit on the dumb bouncing bench. But at that point she truly had no choice in the matter. She tried to work her hands free of the cuffs, or work the ball out of her mouth, but there was no way that any of her restraints were coming off without help.

Out of curiosity, she also rocked hard on her bench. She knew the box was heavy, but it was nowhere near heavy enough to prevent her from tipping it over or sliding it around. She could only guess that it had bolted itself to her floor, which also explained why it never tipped over when she was sparing with the mannequin or any of a number of activities that required stability. She was pretty irritated that the box must have gone and drilled holes in her floor without asking her, but there wasn't anything she could do about it just then!

When the car finally stopped, Erin heard her door open at the same time as the driver door, indicating that someone else was supposed to be there. This was confirmed by the new voice she heard, saying: "Damn! Look at this hot bitch! The boss sure knows how to pick 'em!"

Erin heard another voice talking with Doug, paying him for transporting the slave and sending him on his way. Doug tried to convince them that he was supposed to deliver the slave directly to their boss, but the man just laughed and told him to get the fuck out of there before he got himself shot.

Erin was unlocked from the bench and pulled onto her feet. She heard Doug pull away in the car and suddenly felt very alone. Physically she was in exactly the same situation. But it made her very nervous to know that in the game she was now in the hands of two mob men instead of a fellow cop who she trusted. Had she made a mistake by agreeing to this mission?

Erin felt something clipped onto the front of her collar, then felt a sharp tug.

"Let's go slave!" One of the men called.

Jesus, Erin thought, I'm being led by a leash. Even if she wanted to step away from the mannequin and robot arms at that point, she wouldn't be able to. She tried to stay calm and focus on her 'mission.' Since she was going to have go through with this anyway, she figured she might as well try to stop worrying and play along. 

After 5 minutes of walking (moving her legs in place in her living room and periodically getting a tug on her collar), the men brought Erin to a stop. Her leash was pulled above her head and hooked to something, leaving her standing tall and stuck in place. Finally, her blindfold was pulled off.

It had gotten quite dark in Erin's apartment, so the only thing to see was the game screen. And there she saw herself, dressed like a slut and bound like a slave, chained to a beam inside what appeared to be a large warehouse. Right in front of her was a man she recognized from her debriefing as Tico, the mafia kingpin.

Tico stared intently into the eyes of her avatar for a long moment, then said in a loud voice: "Guido, why have you brought this woman here? You know that if you find someone bound like this you should take them straight to the police. Go do that now."

Erin was relieved, and she saw that the man named Guido was confused. But when Guido reached to unclip her leash, Tico waved him away, held a finger to his lips, and reached into Erin's shirt. Erin watched the screen intently, trying to figure out what was going on. She saw Tico carefully pull a wire out of her avatar's shirt, then hand it to Guido and point him towards a van.

Shit, shit, shit, Erin thought, this is not good. Tico knows I'm a spy, and if Doug is tracking that wire, he and the rest will follow that van instead of staying here ready to rescue me.

Tico stayed silent until the wire was safely in the van and unable to record his voice. He stroked Erin's cheek while he waited, and tweaked each of her nipples. Erin tried to put a tough expression on her face though she certainly wasn't feeling tough. She was bound and trapped in her living room as a mechanical hand was toying with her tits. No, instead of tough she was feeling like a fool for letting this game trap her again, and was wondering just what would happen to her now.

"My dear," the big boss began, "I must first acclaim your bravery for dressing yourself up like this and coming here to try to snare me. But then I must acclaim the stupidity of you and your department. You do look quite a bit like the sex slave I was having delivered today, but her eyes were blue, and yours, unfortunately for you, are brown.

"Oh, and speaking of your eyes, did I just notice them widen when I said the words 'sex slave'? Exactly what kind of slave did you think you were impersonating, dressed the way you are? Yes, you are going to attend to all of my personal needs. And I think you'll do just fine. These tits are just as good as ones on the slave I bought, and if anything, your ass is even tighter."

As Tico spoke, Erin watched on the screen as he walked around her as if she was some horse he was inspecting, pinching and stroking the body parts he was admiring. Of course, she felt those pinches and strokes directly, as they were all faithfully replicated by the robotic arms, which hefted her boobs, pulled her bound arms up to squeezed her ass, and stroked her thighs.

Then without warning Tico/mannequin pressed a long finger straight into her pussy. At this, Erin screamed into her gag and tried to squirm and hop her way off the intruder, outraged that the game would be willing to cross that line. The robotic arm effortlessly kept her impaled on its finger, and on the screen Tico laughed out loud.

"My pet, you seem genuinely surprised that I might invade your well. Are you truly confused about the concept of a sex slave? With a body like yours, in an outfit like this, do you really not understand that every single straight man who sees you is going try to get himself into one or another of your holes? Ha ha ha, I am truly going to enjoy owning you. But before we play, it's time to get you out of here. I don't want those co-workers of yours showing up here while any of us are still around. Jerry, get my limo, and the rest of you make scarce."

Erin's mind was reeling as her leash was unhooked, her blindfold replaced, and she was clipped back onto the same bench on which she drove here. Presumably this was supposed to be in Tico's limousine and not Doug's sedan. She had known she was in trouble when Tico found her wire, but now she was realizing just how much trouble she was in. The game had already shown that it was capable of hurting her, and now it had shown that it was capable of fucking her as well. And Tico had mentioned 'one or another' of her holes? Shit, did that mean...?

Erin steered her mind away from that for now, but continued reviewing just how bad her situation was. This game had shown that it was very good at sticking faithfully to a storyline, and in this storyline she was being taken by the mob to some secret hideout. The cops wouldn't have any idea where she was, and if she was kept bound like this it seemed impossible that she would be able to escape. She held out some hope that when they removed her gag she'd be able to order the game to stop and release her, but the more she thought about it, the less likely it seemed that the game would listen to such a command. It hadn't shown the slightest inkling of breaking character. That had just been wishful thinking.

She had been a total fool to start playing this game again, knowing that it was capable of overpowering her and hurting her. What the hell had she been thinking?! The more she thought about it, the more likely it seemed that this game was simply not going to let her out of its own volition. She was going to be trapped here, taking whatever the game thought this group of mobsters should give her, until something external freed her.




Beta Test



But when would that be? She didn't really have any friends or family who would just stop in on her, and none of them would think it all that odd if she didn't call for a while. The stupid bureaucracy she worked for would probably just send some "letters of unaccounted absence" if she didn't show up for work. So, shit, when would she be found? Maybe one of her co-workers would look up her address and come looking for her, but certainly not for at least a week. Hell, she might well be stuck here at the whim of this game until the two-week trial period ended. Could she survive that long?

Erin started struggling harder just thinking about the hell that she might be in for. Tico, who had apparently slid in next to her on the bench, pinched her cheek and said: "Oh my pet, are you getting restless, and anxious to play? Well, daddy's gotta do some work while we drive, but we'll see if I can't entertain you at the same time."

Erin wondered if he was really going to be calling her 'pet' and himself 'daddy.' This hell just kept getting deeper. She felt her collar get unhooked from the bench and pulled down hard, forcing her to lie across the mannequin's knees. Her collar was clipped down to the floor of the limo, as was the hobble chain that ran between her ankles, effectively trapping her on Tico's knees without him having to even hold her. Her arms, still cuffed behind her back, were then lifted up and clipped onto the ceiling, leaving her incredibly uncomfortable and her ass incredibly exposed.

She heard Tico get on the phone with some business partner, discussing details of some delivery. It would probably be useful information to her police colleagues, but she was well beyond caring about that. She was instead focused on the hand that had lifted up her mini-skirt and started stroking her ass cheeks. The hand paused in the middle of her left cheek, rubbed a bit, lifted, and then came down hard with a sharp slap.

Erin hadn't been spanked since she was a kid. Actually, she wasn't even ever spanked then. She had no idea how painful it was going to be! She screamed into her gag as the slaps continued to fall. She tried to squirm her ass sideways off the mannequin's knee, but the position of her arms kept her from getting far enough.

Through the pain and sound of the slaps, she heard Tico say to his partner: "Yeah, I'm giving my new slave a light spanking now, that's what you're hearing in the background... Yeah, of course she's incredibly hot, would I accept anything less? ... Of course you can come sample her some time. What are friends for?"

Erin's whole ass was on fire. She wasn't sure if she'd have any skin left back there, and Tico was describing this as a 'light' spanking? This was something he was just doing casually as he was talking on the phone? She wondered again how on Earth she was going to make it through this ordeal.

They finally arrived at their destination. Erin had no idea how long it had taken – maybe half an hour, maybe two hours – how do you keep track of time when you are blind-folded, strapped across someone's knees, and beaten? She was unclipped, pulled onto her feet, and forced to hobble (in place) along behind her captors as they yanked on her leash. Tico told one of his goons to take her into his room and strap her over his bondage horse. Her leash was yanked a few more times, then she felt the robotic arm push her up against something padded.

Erin didn't have a lot of hope, but she decided that this might be her best chance to escape, so she'd better at least give it a shot. She kicked out as best she could with her hobbled feet, connecting with something and elicited a yell from the goon. She made a dash in the direction that she guessed was away from the box, hoping to just get out of its reach and figuring that she could then deal later with the fact that she would still be bound and gagged and blindfolded. But apparently the machine still had a hold on her leash, so her dash ended with a terrible yank on her collar that knocked her off her feet.

The goon just laughed at her. "Where the fuck do you think you're trying to go you stupid cunt? You don't even know which direction the door is!"

Her collar was pulled down and attached to something, bending her over the padded bar. The hobble chain connecting her ankles was removed, and those ankles were spread wide and locked down as well. The chain connecting her elbows was removed, which was a huge relief, but short-lived as her cuffed hands were then pulled towards her collar and locked in an equally uncomfortable reverse prayer position.

Her flimsy tank top and skirt were then ripped off. They hadn't exactly been covering her up, but at least they had been something, and now her boobs dangled freely beneath her. Finally, her blind fold was pulled off and she glanced at the screen in time to see the goon walk out of the room.

Erin was now alone, both in her real apartment and in the game world of Tico's bedroom. She took some time to take stock of her situation. In real life, it was some time in the middle of the night, though she had no way of knowing exactly what time it was because she didn't have any clocks in her living room, and might not have been able to see one in the dark anyway. She was locked quite solidly onto a padded bar that had extended out of the box. She was bent over, naked ass high in the air, bare legs spread wide, uncovered breasts dangling down, and she was facing the stupid game box that had caused this whole mess.

On the screen in front of her she saw her avatar self trapped in exactly the same position, but in the dimly lit bedroom of the mafia kingpin. The first thing that drew her attention was her avatar's angry red ass. Erin hadn't been able to look at her own ass, but looking at her avatar was sort of like looking in a mirror. That bastard had sure done a number on her, but at least it was only red and not welted. She then looked around the very posh room, complete with a king-size four-post bed, a massive flat screen TV and a big stone fireplace. And then there was the collection of bondage equipment that Erin was quite unhappy to see. Aside from the padded horse thingy that her avatar was currently locked onto, there was a set of medieval stocks, a large metal cross, and something that looked like an over-sized bird cage.

Erin was sure that her game box would be able to faithfully replicate any and all of them if Tico decided he wanted to use them. But the scariest part of the room was the far wall that was covered in bondage accessories. There were whips and paddles of every size and variety, more dildos than Erin had ever seen, gags of all kinds, bars and straps, a number of medical looking instruments, and a whole bunch of things that Erin couldn't even identify. 

It was hard for Erin to believe just how much of a mess she had gotten herself into. This was only supposed to be some game that she was beta-testing, how had it gotten so out of hand? It was all just so ridiculous. She was alone in her own living room, literally only a couple of feet or a phone call away from safety. But for all intents and purposes, she might as well have actually been in some secret mob hideout, the new slave of the big boss, securely bound in his bedroom and just waiting for him to come in and do anything he wanted with her.

This was frustrating beyond belief. Surely there was some way out of this mess, some failsafe button on the box or some way to get help that she had just overlooked. But she couldn't find anything. This game had her completely trapped. She'd be waiting like this until Tico was ready to play with her, and that gave her mind plenty of time to dread all the things that he might do with the array of toys at his disposal.

Finally Erin heard a door open. She watched on the screen as the big boss came into his room and approached her avatar. Her sore ass was stroked by the robotic hand as Tico said "Sorry to keep you waiting pet, but I'm glad to see that you've made yourself comfortable."

Erin's skin crawled as the robotic hand traced the curve of her back, reached around to squeeze her hanging boobs, then traced its way along her side, down the outside of her leg, and back up along her inner thigh. She was powerless to stop it as it brushed her pussy lips, and she was powerless to prevent the soft moan that escaped her lips.

"Ahhh yes, you are going to be a fine sex slave indeed," Tico crowed. "It's time for me to give you your first fuck, but I have a policy that I never fuck my slaves until they beg for it."

Erin was sure she was never going to ask this bastard to fuck her, but she nervously watched the screen as he strolled over to his wall of toys and selected a long thin cane.

"I am going to give you two cane strokes. I'll then remove your gag and give you the opportunity to beg for my cock. If you do not, the caning continues."

Erin squirmed and struggled with renewed vigor. Was she really going to get caned?? This was crazy!! But it was happening, and she had no way to avoid it. The robotic arm had pulled an identical long thin cane out of the box and brought it out of sight behind her. But the cane on the screen wasn't out of sight. Erin could clearly see Tico line the cane up with her avatar's poor red ass, then cock it back.

She heard the real life cane whistle through the air then connect with her own ass with a loud crack. The pain that seared through her body was like nothing she had ever felt before. She saw stars, and before her vision cleared heard the cane whooshing towards her again, delivering a second dose of agony to her upturned butt cheeks. She saw two parallel white welts across her avatar's cheeks, and was sure that she now sported the same.

Tico unlocked the ball gag from around her head and pulled it out from behind her teeth. Erin was frozen with indecision. She couldn't bear the thought of another cane stroke, but she didn't know when she'd get another chance to try to order the game to let her go. Somewhere she found the strength to try, and shouted: "End this game and release me immediately!"

Tico only chuckled. "I'm glad that you consider this a game, my pet, but no, I have no intention of releasing you, not immediately and not ever." He walked behind her avatar to deliver another cane stroke.

Erin was in a panic, and shouted everything she could think: "Stop program! Computer, end! Game, release my bindings! Quit! Escape! End beta test! Let me.. AAAARGH!"

Tico was stroking the third line that his cane had just made on his slave's ass. "This cane can elicit some crazy reactions from people, but that string of nonsense was about the craziest I've ever heard. The one thing that's always true is that eventually this cane will elicit the response that I'm looking for. Is that going to be now, or do you want another?

Erin's mind was still reeling from the pain. Ordering the game to stop had been her last hope, and it had failed. She was truly at the game's mercy, and right now that 'mercy' was awfully impatient. She knew she was going to give in, so she swallowed her pride, and.. "OOOOWWWW!"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Tico mocked her, "Were you going to say something? If so, you'd better do it quick. A slave can't keep her master waiting."

Erin wanted to rebel at this taunting, but her sense of self-preservation won out and she said, dejectedly: "Please fuck me."

The cane was brushed along her ass, and Tico said "You're going to have to do a better job of begging then that if you want me to fuck you."

The touch of the cane now terrified Erin, so she gushed as quickly as she could: "Please please fuck me! Fuck me hard master!"

Tico continued to stroke her ass with the cane, saying only "better..."

Erin redoubled her efforts: "I beg you to fuck me master. Please, this slave needs to be fucked soo bad! Master, please fuck me, fuck my brains out, fuck me hard, please please fuck me!"

Tico laughed as Erin debased herself for him. "Well... okay, if you insist, but keep asking for more and keep thanking me for what I give you, or we'll go right back to the cane."

Erin watched as the man on the screen unzipped his fly and pulled out a frighteningly large dick. She felt two robot arms grab her hips, and couldn't believe that she was actually about to get fucked like this, helpless in her own living room, by a stupid computer game and a couple of robotic arms. But more importantly, she was still desperate to avoid any more strokes from that cane, so she swallowed her pride again and dove into her role of willing sex slave.

Erin shouted: "Yes! Please ram that cock into me!"

She got that wish without any foreplay. The mannequin had apparently been fitted with a massive dildo, and that dildo had been plunged deep into her pussy.

"Owwww Yes!" she screamed. "Thank you master! Please keep pounding me with your huge cock!"

Tico/mannequin obliged, pounding all the way in and out of Erin and her avatar. The mannequin's torso was slapping into Erin's ass, rubbing painfully on her new welts, but she forced herself to continue begging for more.

On the screen, Erin saw Tico grab a vibrator, the round kind for stimulating your clit. He reached around her avatar's waist with it while he continued to pound her. A moment later, she felt a vibrator jump to life on top of her own clit.

"Oh God Yes! Give me more master!" she screamed, suddenly unsure if she was screaming to avoid any more cane strokes or because she was approaching a massive orgasm. Either way, she kept screaming, and continued to get dirtier and dirtier.

"Yes, yes! I am your whore! I am your sex slave! Oooooh yes! Thank you master! Pound me like a tramp! Pound me like nympho. Pound Me Pound Me! YYEEEESSS!!"

Erin exploded with the craziest orgasm she could ever remember having. Her body thrashed in her restraints and she screamed uncontrollably. But Tico/mannequin continued to hold the vibrator against her clit and continued to pound her like a jackhammer. Erin was worried she was going to lose her mind with the crazy sensations roiling through her body, but of course she had no way to escape them.

Tico/mannequin began slapping her ass as he continued to pound and vibrate her, demanding: "Who is your master, slave?"

The pain cut through the mess of Erin's current mental state and reminded her to keep shouting, which, once triggered, took on a life of its own. "You are my master! You own me completely! Keep pounding me! Keep fucking me! Keep spanking me!"

Erin was surprised to hear herself say that last one, but realized that right then she did actually want it. In some crazy way, the pain from her ass was mixing with the crazy sensations coming from her clit and her pussy and combining to bring her to a higher orgasmic state than she had known was possible. She orgasmed again and again, always shouting for more and always getting more.

Unlike any real human, the mannequin that was fucking her didn't have any limits. There was a vague worry in Erin's mind that this could be bad, but normal thought was now impossible for her. She had been reduced to a screaming orgasming mess. Then, impossibly, she was kicked up to an even higher level as the intensity of the vibrator and the speed of Tico/mannequin's pounding and spanking increased. Suddenly her master erupted into her, sending her on one final, mind blowing explosion herself.

Erin must have blacked out for a moment because she woke to find the mannequin's body collapsed on top of hers and its hands absently stroking her tits. The slightest touch to her nipples was like a massive electric shock given the current state of her body, but she didn't dare ask him to stop.

"I think," Tico said when he saw that she had regained consciousness, "that you'll do just fine as my sex slave. But enough for tonight, it's time to show you to your new room."

Erin was unlocked from the attachment points that held her to the bondage horse, though she noticed that Tico/mannequin took a firm hold of her leash before releasing the last lock. She was pulled over towards one of the bedroom walls where she saw Tico press a button that caused a small panel the size of a dog door to slide open near the floor.

"In you go!" She was pushed down and forward, and saw that her avatar entered a very small, low-ceilinged, windowless room. The door slid closed behind her, trapping her avatar's leash underneath it with only a foot or two to spare and eliminating all light from the room.

Erin's own leash was held firmly at the bottom edge of the box, also with only a foot or two of slack, which prevented her from standing up or moving very far. She still wore a collar around her neck, the cuffs that kept her arms in an uncomfortable reverse prayer position, and the high heels on her feet. Aside from that, she was naked and she was chained to the floor of her own living room.

She half-heartedly tried pulling her head back to test the chain, but was quickly convinced that she wasn't going anywhere. The game screen was totally blank and it was almost pitch black in her living room as well. She was completely exhausted, physically and mentally, from the insane orgasms she had just gone through, and there wasn't anything she could do about her situation anyway, so she got as comfortable as her restraints would allow and drifted into a fitful sleep.

-----------------------------

Erin woke when sunlight first started coming into her living room. She experienced a moment of hope that everything that had happened on Saturday was just a bad dream, but was disabused of this hope when she opened her eyes and found herself still naked, bound and chained to the floor of her living room.

The next thought that entered her head was: "Shit, I have to pee!" She looked up at the game screen to see if there was any sign of activity. There was a small amount of light in the windowless room, apparently coming in from under the sliding dog door. She saw her avatar looking around the small room. Then she noticed a bucket labeled 'waste' that was placed just to the right of the sliding panel. Sure enough, there was also a bucket labeled 'waste' just to the right of the box in her living room.

Erin was disgusted by what she was going to have to do, but it was better than peeing on her living room floor. Her leash gave her just enough slack to get her ass over the bucket. The position was incredibly awkward, with her arms still pinned behind her back and the high heels that were still locked on her feet, but she managed to relieve herself.

Erin then continued her inspection of the room on the game screen. It didn't take long. The only other thing in the tiny space was a nozzle that poked through the wall just to the left of the panel that was labeled 'liquid nutrients.' She looked to the left of the box, and sure enough, there was a small nozzle with the same label.

"Jeeeeesus," Erin thought, "if the game has a way to feed me and a way to take care of my waste, then it really can hold me prisoner right here in this spot until someone finds me! But that might not happen until someone comes for the box. By then I could lose my job! And sitting next to a bucket of piss and shit for that long is going to be disgusting! And who knows what this terrible game is going to do to me in that time!"

When Erin's thoughts strayed to what might be done to her, she was deeply concerned to find herself hoping for another one of the mind blowing multi-orgasms that Tico had given her the night before. She firmly pushed that thought out of her head, and tried to focus. Certainly there's something that I've overlooked.

She started by giving the game box a close inspection. Her leash seemed to be going straight into an opening near the bottom of the box's front side. She tugged at it by moving her neck, and didn't see it budge one bit, but figured she'd better try with her hands. She awkwardly turned around so that she was lying on her side facing away from the box, and shimmied in close enough so that her hands could reach the slot where her leash entered the box. But as soon as her fingers touched the box they received an extremely painful electric shock.




Beta Testing



Author's note: This one takes a while to build. Hopefully you'll find the climax worth the wait.

*****

"You worthless piece of crap!" I spit, desperate to provoke a reaction, any reaction. But all I get back is a blank, blue stare from the computer screen. I've just spent the better part of a year at this keyboard, writing and re-writing the manuscript of what I hoped would my best-selling erotic novel to date. But now queasy fear fills my stomach as I face the very real prospect that the hundreds of pages I spent countless hours conjuring are lost forever. Beyond the investment of time, I poured the lurid details of my forbidden fantasies into this soulless machine, trusted it with my most secret desires, only to be betrayed.

The computer continues to stare mutely at me, unblinking, uncaring. Bizarrely, an image of my ex-husband's face flashes in my mind. I'm so frustrated that I scream at the machine again in futile rage and pound the keyboard with my fists. It's no use, of course. I look down at the battered keyboard, it's P and L keys now missing. My anger slowly drains away and I'm left just feeling childish.

Sighing with resignation, I pull out my phone and dial the nearest computer store. An older man answers enthusiastically, "Thanks for calling CompuHut, this is Phil!"

"Hi, do you guys make house calls?" I ask.

"Sure," he replies brightly, "we offer free delivery on any new computer or printer purchase!"

"No, I mean for a repair," I clarify. 

"I'm sorry, ma'am, we don't do repairs anymore," he says, the brightness gone now.

"Is there any place else in town that does?" I ask, adding "I'm a bit desperate."

"Well, there is a kid named Milton who used to work here. He does freelance repairs now," he offers sympathetically. "Do you want his number?"

"Yes, please," I reply, and scribble down the number.

I say goodbye to Phil and make the call immediately. On the third ring, the phone is answered by a rich masculine voice, not the pimply teen voice I was expecting from a kid named Milton.

"This is Milt," he says simply, somehow infusing the short greeting with strength.

"Uh, hi, my name is Angie and I got your number from Phil at the CompuHut? He says you do computer repairs?" I say, realizing with embarrassment that these statements ended as questions, making me sound like a teenage girl instead of the 30-something woman that I am. 

"That's my story," he says smoothly. "How can I help?"

"Well, my computer starting making a funny whine while I was working this morning, and then the screen went blank," I report.

"Any error messages? Did you try restarting it?"

"No and yes. All I get is just a blue screen."

"Hmm. Sounds bad," he says, but in an ambiguous tone that could be serious or mocking. 

"The thing is," I blurt out, "it's got all my work in it, every draft of every story I've ever written."

"Do you have a backup?" he asks.

"What's a backup?" I reply cluelessly.

"I'll take that as a no," he says, but not in a snide way. "Sounds like we better focus on reviving your primary copy. It might be an easy fix. I'd be glad to take a look at it for you."

"I'd really appreciate that. When could you come over?" I ask eagerly.

"I could come now if you like. Where do you live?" he offers.

I give him directions to my apartment and say a grateful goodbye. My worries slip away at the thought that help is on the way. But then the queasy fear returns, this time for a different reason. I just invited a strange man, referred to me by another complete stranger, over to my home. Who is this computer kid named Milton with the sexy voice? What if he's a serial killer? Too late now, so I grab a cup of ginger tea to soothe my stomach and sit down on the sofa with a book to wait. Less than five minutes later, I'm startled by a loud knock on the door. I jump to the door and reach for the knob, then pause.

"That you, Milt?" I ask apprehensively through the door.

"Hi, Angie," comes the reply.

I swallow, prep my friendliest smile, and pull open the door. I didn't know what to expect, but the man standing in front of me is still not what I was expecting. Milt is younger than me, but definitely not a kid. He has broad shoulders that fill an untucked plaid shirt, and athletic legs wrapped in tight black jeans and cowboy boots. His dark hair is cropped short and slicked forward. Long sideburns extend down to a strong jaw, a micro-goatee under his lip. The thick black frames of the glasses resting on his nose would be Revenge-of-the-Nerds comical were it not for the penetrating green eyes behind them. Tribal tattoos peeking out from under his rolled-up sleeves complete the incongruous portrait. Whatever Vogue would call this look (metro-western geek chic?), he's pulling it off. I should say hello or invite him in, but I just stand stupidly in the doorway, dissecting him with my eyes while an awkward silence grows. Finally, he breaks the tension.

"Uh, can I come in?" he asks, an uncertain smile on his tanned face.

"Of course!" I exclaim, much too loudly. "Please! Thanks so much for coming!" 

Embarrassed, I usher him quickly into my living room, offer him something to drink. He declines so graciously that I begin to relax. 

"How did you get here so fast?" I ask.

"I live just around the corner," he explains with an easy smile, "we're practically neighbors."

"Lucky me," I say, "to have a computer surgeon so close by."

"Yeah," he says with a grin. "So, where's the patient?"

Only in this moment do I remember that the computer desk in my bedroom is stacked with the sex manuals and porn videos I use for research. I think I even left a couple of my favorite toys out on the bed. Though part of me is dying to introduce Milt to Elektra Lee, my naughty nom-de-plume, the Angie who grew up attending Catholic school feels a moment of panic. If he's not into kink, or not into me, I don't want to make a fool of myself. 

"Uhmmm, it's in the other room," I say, hoping my voice sounds less quavering to him than it does in my own ears. "Can you give me just a minute? I forgot I've got a bunch of, uh, laundry piled on the desk."

"No problem," says Milt sincerely. "I'm a very patient man," he adds with a wink. 

Is he flirting with me? God, I hope so. I dart into the bedroom and sweep all the books and toys under the bed as fast as I can. Returning to the living room, I say with a smile, "All clear now, follow me," which he does willingly.

If Milt feels at all uncomfortable entering the bedroom of a woman he just met, it sure doesn't show. I show him to the desk and repeat the story of how it just conked out all by itself while I was working. He peers suspiciously at the dislocated P and L keys.

"This happen all by itself, too?" he asks with wry smile.

"Ah, well, no, not exactly," I admit sheepishly. "That happened afterward. I was a bit frustrated."

"No doubt!" he laughs. "But don't worry about it. Keyboards are cheap." Then he adds, "Besides, we all get a bit frustrated sometimes."

Something in the way he says the word "frustrated," looking directly into my eyes, makes my skin feel hot. If he notices me blushing, he pretends not to. 

"So, what's next?" I ask, redirecting my mind to the task at hand. "Do you need anything from me?"

"Nothing at all," he says with cool confidence. "You can just relax on the bed while I check a few things."

Why mention the bed? Was that a subtle come-on, or am I projecting? Either way, I decide to take his suggestion and stretch out on the bed. I pick up a magazine, but have no intention of reading it. I want to watch him work. Milt bends over the desk, tugging on the cables at the back of my monitor, affording me a fine view of a tight butt clad in black denim. I'm mesmerized, my eyes tracing the V pattern stitched on his back pockets. Then he drops to his hands and knees and crawls under the desk to check the cables on the back of the computer, perfectly prone. I imagine kneeling behind him, grabbing his belt roughly with one hand while reaching down between his legs with the other to grip his manhood through the fabric of his jeans. The fantasy runs rampant in my mind, and by the time he draws himself back up to his full height, my panties are soaked through. After finishing a few more tests, he turns to me to render his verdict.

"Well," he says, "Do you want the good news or the bad news?"

"I could really use some good news."

"The good news is that your data is safe," he reports. "It looks like it's only the video card that failed."

"That's fantastic!"

Overjoyed, I bounce off the bed and grab him in a bear hug. He's clearly taken aback, but doesn't resist. Realizing that I've just stepped way over a boundary, and trampled all propriety in the process, I back off quickly, blushing again.

"Wow," he chuckles softly, "that's not the reaction I usually get. I haven't even fixed it yet and I'm already the hero."

"I'm sorry," I stammer. "It's just that my whole life is in there, so I'm really relieved. That, and I've got terrible impulse control."

"Don't sweat it," he laughs easily. Then he meets my eyes and adds, "I should be thanking you. Nerds like me usually have to pay to get a hug like that from a woman."

Now if that wasn't a come-on, I am seriously delusional. Emboldened, I take a half-step toward him.

"So, what's the bad news?" I ask in my best sexy-without-trying voice.

"The bad news is that I don't have a new video card with me," he says. "I'll have go pick one up from the lab."

"The lab?" I ask, teasingly incredulous. "What are you, some kind of evil scientist?"

"Not quite," he smiles. "I prefer the term 'rule-averse inventor'."

I laugh out loud. Then, changing gears, I purr, "So, tell me more about this lab of yours," in my best buxom-spy-pumping-for-information voice.

"Well," he says, "have you ever heard of a hackerspace?" 

"Never," I admit. "It sounds like a place where hackers break into Pentagon computers or something."

"A common misconception," he says in a clipped, fake-British accent, then laughs. "Really, it's just a shared space where geeks get together to have fun and make cool stuff."

"So, it's like a gentleman's club for 'rule-averse inventors'?" I ask with a raised eyebrow, pushing the boundaries of propriety again.

Now Milt is the one to laugh out loud. "No, but you're getting warmer," he says. "Besides, we have female members, so you couldn't quite call it a gentleman's club."

I'm just about to kick into flirt overdrive when a violin concerto erupts from Milt's pocket.

"Is that...?" I begin to ask. 

"Yeah, sorry, that's my phone," he confirms, adding apologetically, "I have to take this." 

A Vivaldi ringtone? This guy is full of surprises. While he excuses himself to the living room to take his call, I am left to ponder my next move. I wonder if it is too early to make a physical move, or if I should just keep turning up the temperature on our playful banter. I decide to play it safe and stick to innuendo for the moment. I settle onto the bed to await his return, hedging my bets with a come-hither-but-only-if-you-want-to pose. I pretend to read a magazine, but really I'm fantasizing about what's inside those black jeans, seeing myself kneeling before him, unbuckling his belt with one hand while pulling his zipper down with the other. 

My hand wanders downward to the crotch of my jeans. I grind my fingers hard against the thick fabric, wishing it was out of the way so I could feel the wetness of my sex, slide my fingers inside. An electric surge of desire rises in me, traveling all the way up through my spine until even my scalp is tingling. Too late, I realize that I no longer hear Milt's voice coming from the other room. I snatch my wandering hand back to the magazine just as he re-enters the bedroom. Did he notice?

"Sorry, that was my sister," he says. "Her car won't start, so I was walking her through some basic troubleshooting over the phone."

"You fix cars, too?" I ask. 

"Only if they're broken," he quips with a smile.

"You are a man of many talents," I observe appreciatively, then add, "Do you have any other special skills?" with a bit too much emphasis on the word 'other.' 

"Well, I can ride a unicycle while playing bagpipes. Does that count?" he answers.

"Seriously?!" I gape.

"No. But wouldn't it be cool?" he grins.

I laugh and agree that, yes, it would be cool. I love his sense of humor, but am annoyed that he deflected my thinly veiled come-on with a joke. Why is he pulling back? Did I come on too strong? He seems preoccupied.

"Listen," he says apologetically, "I hate to run out so abruptly, but my sister's car still wouldn't start and she is going to be late for work if I don't give her a ride right now. She just started last week and she really needs this job."

"Oh," I say, standing up from the bed. "It's no problem. I completely understand."

"Thanks," he says. "I'll just grab your CPU and take it with me, then give you a call when it's fixed, if that's OK?"

"Sure, that's fine," I reply. 

He dives back under the desk to untether the computer, again giving me a front-row view of his compact ass and muscled thighs. My mouth waters. In a flash, he is back on his feet with the machine under his arm.

"I've got it," he announces.

"Yes," I agree pointlessly.

"So, I'll, uh, call you as soon as it's ready, probably later today. OK?"

"Yes," I confirm.

"OK, then," he says awkwardly, still holding my gaze, as if he's not sure how to break off our conversation. Or, I think wishfully, maybe he doesn't want to. 

"OK, then," I parrot, compounding the awkwardness. Eager to end our discomfort, I add cheerily, "I'll walk you to the door," and lead him out of the bedroom.

Since his hands are full, I open the front door and usher him through. We don't speak, except to say goodbye as he hurries down the hall toward the elevator. I close the door and lean against it with a sigh. This wasn't the goodbye I was dreaming of. In my version of the screenplay, he wouldn't have a sister. I'd have lured him into bed, had my way with him all night, then made us breakfast. Instead, I'm all alone and all turned on. I retrieve my toys from under the bed, hoping to at least take the edge off my pent-up lust. Thank the good lord for dildos. I may not be able to write without my computer, I joke to myself, but at least I can get some research done!

#

When Milt still hasn't called by 9:00 PM, I start to worry. Yeah, he was hot and funny and cared about his sister, but that doesn't mean he's not a flake. Or worse, he could be a thief. Shit. Maybe his flirtation was fake, the phone call a ruse, just parts of an elaborate scam to steal computers from lonely technohobic women like me. My entire life is on that computer, my calendar, contacts, bank passwords, everything. Most importantly, the draft of my new novel is there, the one I'm due to submit to my editor three days from now. On the strength of my last novel, she gave me a generous advance for this one, sight unseen. I spent it months ago.

My left brain tells me in gentle, reassuring tones that I'm just being paranoid and not to worry so much. A much louder voice in my head panics and I grab my phone, dial Milt's number. After four interminable rings, his voicemail answers. Unsure what to say, I hang up without leaving a message. I pour myself a generous glass of wine to settle my nerves, and then another after the first disappears. I watch TV for a few hours to empty my brain. It works, and I am able to go to bed and sleep, though fitfully. 

My dreams begin with Milt, naked under me as I ride him, his eyes closed. I begin slowly, rocking my hips forward and back, feeling the full length of him inside me, then pick up the pace. Suddenly, his eyes fly open and he fixes me with an intense stare. His abs ripple beneath his skin as he arches up like a bucking bronco, impaling me on his cock. Then he is pounding up into me with such strength and speed that I struggle to maintain my balance. I feel his pubic bone slam hard against my clit with each stroke. I come again and again, seemingly without end, unable to control my own body. My vision blurs and I want to collapse onto his chest, but can't. His strong hands are gripping my shoulders tightly, holding me upright. Muscled, tattooed arms pull me down to meet each thrust. 

"Are you ready?" Milt says firmly without slowing his assault, eyes still locked on mine.

"For what?" I ask in a hoarse whisper.

"To lose everything," he replies, and closes his eyes.

Suddenly, Milt is gone and I'm in my editor's office. I see blind fury in her face. She is screaming threats at me but I can't make out the words. She picks up the phone and yells into it. Two security guards appear and yank me from my chair, drag me from the room. I call out for help, beg forgiveness, but no sound escapes my lips. This scene replays in various stripes, but the result is always ruin. Finally, the hopeless nightmare fades and I fall into a dead, dreamless sleep.

#

I wake to the sound of a phone ringing. Groggily, I fumble for my phone on the bedside table and drag it across the sheet to my ear. 

"Hello?" I manage, my voice a sultry rasp. 

"Angie?" asks a man on the other end. 

"Yes, this is Angie," I affirm, still whiskey-voiced but sounding more like myself this time.

"Oh, good," he says. "I didn't recognize your voice at first, thought maybe I'd reached Tallulah."

Milt! I am wide awake now. Wait, how does this young guy know enough about Depression-era Hollywood stars to name-drop Tallulah Bankhead? Again he has surprised me. I love surprises.

"I just woke up," I admit.

"Oh, did I wake you?" he asks, sounding genuinely concerned. 

"No, it's no problem at all," I assure him. "I needed to get up anyway," I say, looking at the clock, which clicks over to 9:15.

"I'm sorry anyway," he says. "And I'm sorry for not calling you back yesterday. After I finished fixing your PC, I got, er, wrapped up in something else. By the time I finished it was too late to call."

"It's never too late to call me," I promise. "I'm a night owl."

"I'll keep that in mind," he says warmly.

I hear a playful tone in his voice now, and conclude that he's flirting. My heart speeds up, and I respond in kind.

"So, now that you've fixed my computer, are you planning to bring it back," I ask teasingly, playing up the husky tone in my voice, "or do I have to come get it?" 

"Actually," he says, "I was hoping you could come down to the lab to pick it up. I'm here working on a project that you might find interesting."

"Ooh," I purr, "an invitation to the secret laboratory. Who could resist?"

#

Exactly one hot shower, one cup of coffee, and one hour later, I arrive at the lab. Milt's directions were excellent and I luck into a parking space right in front of the building. Things are finally starting to go my way. A sign in the window reads simply, "The Lab" in stenciled orange letters on a dark background. The door is unlocked so I pull it open and walk in. Once again, I wasn't sure what to expect, but the lab is still not what I was expecting. 

First of all, there is no workbench topped with bubbling beakers of neon liquid, no buzzing electrodes, no humming machinery. Instead, the first thing I see is a pair of well-worn sofas. They bracket a coffee-table stacked with empty pizza boxes and energy-drink cans. In another corner, padded folding chairs surround a shabby conference table, which is flanked by floor-to-ceiling whiteboards. A tall, overstuffed bookcase sags against the wall and foosball table stands in the middle of the floor. Rather than a laboratory, the place looks like a low-rent blend of office space and frat house.

Second of all, the place appears deserted. Where is Milt? Besides the main entrance, there is a door by the bookcase, but it's closed. Should I knock? Unsure, I kill time by taking a closer look at the whiteboards. One is covered by a Byzantine flow chart in which colored lines interconnect dozens of cryptically labeled rectangles, diamonds, and cylinders. The other whiteboard is filled with indecipherable writing. I recognize the words, but they are strung together randomly into senseless, oddly punctuated phrases like "Inherits System.Web.Services.WebService." 




Beta Testing



Next, I wander over to the bookcase and peruse thick paperbacks with arcane titles like "Higher Order Perl" and the "Arduino Cookbook." I pull out the Perl book and thumb through it. The pages are filled with the same sort of alien technoglyphs as the white boards. I put it back and begin to reach for the book beside it, promisingly subtitled "Electronics for Earthlings." As I do, I hear voices and footsteps approaching from the other side of the door. Moments later, a thin, dark-skinned man bursts through it, nearly bumping into me, followed by Milt. 

"Oh, hello!" the man says, obviously surprised.

"Angie!" interjects Milt with a broad smile. "I'm glad you made it. This is my friend Leroy."

"Nice to meet you," I say, shaking Leroy's hand.

"And you," he replies warmly. "Sorry to greet and run, but I'm supposed to be at work five minutes ago." He heads for the door, wrapping up with Milt on the way out.

"Like I said, tell Carla to take it easy this time." Leroy warns. "I installed a bigger servo to drive the piston, but she can still burn it out if she does a full-speed hammer action with one of those large-diameter attachments.

"I'll tell her," Milt chuckles, "but you know Carla. She'll peg the needle all day if Lauren asks for it. Hopefully the bigger motor will do the trick."

"We'll see," laughs Leroy. "Catch you later!" he yells as the door closes behind him, leaving Milt and me alone.

"So," says Milt, spreading his arms dramatically. "Welcome to my laboratory. What do you think?"

"Why thank you," I say with a smile and a curtsy. "To be honest, I was expecting something more, you know, labby. You don't even have any test tubes."

Milt laughs. "True. No white lab coats either, I'm afraid. But there is more to it than just the Brainstormitorium."

"Brainstromitorium?" I ask.

"That's what we call this front room," he explains, gesturing toward the whiteboards. "We use it to map out ideas."

"And eat pizza and play foosball?" I ask.

"Of course," he confirms with a wink. "They fuel the imagination."

"I see," I say skeptically. "So, what's beyond that door?"

"Ah," he says impishly, "that leads to the hidden workshop," adding with a conspiratorial air, "but before you enter, you must swear not to reveal the secrets within."

"I swear to guard the secrets of the nerd brotherhood with my life," I promise melodramatically, hand over my heart. 

"Good enough," he laughs. "Follow me." 

I follow Milt through the door into a room lined with dozens of transparent plastic bins stacked on metal utility shelving. Inside them, I see various tools and parts, gears and circuit boards, even a robot arm.

"This is the Toy Room, our storage area," Milt describes, gesturing to one wall. "Every member gets their own bin to keep personal stuff. And on this side," he says, pointing to the opposite wall, "is the free-for-all. Anyone can take parts from these shelves and hack it however they like."

"I thought hacking is something you do on a computer," I say.

"Sometimes it is," he explains, "but hacking just means modifying a thing to do something beyond its original purpose. For example, Leroy hacked his coffee-maker, hooked it up to an Arduino and a Raspberry Pi so he can start his brew via his phone."

"Really?" I ask, baffled. "Why?"

"Why not?" counters Milt. "He wanted to see if it was possible."

"That is both impressive and very weird," I observe.

"Most of the things we do around here are," he replies with a grin, turning to head into the next room. "And this," Milt says with pride as we pass through the next doorway, "is the Playground." 

We enter into a large, well-lit warehouse bay, maybe 2,000 square feet. The air smells faintly of burnt plastic, solder and sawdust. One corner is devoted to computers on desks. The opposite walls are lined with more shelving, tool chests, and parts bins. In the center of the room, beside a power saw and some kind of metalworking machine, are a row of wide workbenches topped with projects in various stages of completion. 

"Wow," I say, genuinely impressed. Then, recognizing my computer on one of the workbenches, I ask, "Is that mine?"

"Yep," says Milt. "All fixed up and ready to go. But before you take it away, I was thinking you might like to see the project I'm working on." 

"Sure," I say, definitely not eager to leave.

"But before I show it to you, I have a confession to make," he admits tentatively. 

"A confession?" I ask, curiosity piqued. 

"Yes," he says, then pauses a moment before saying carefully, "I read your book." 

"My book?" I ask. 

At first, I'm puzzled as to which book he means. I published two historical novels under my own name before getting into erotica. One of them sold pretty well, so it's possible he could have heard of it.

"I didn't mean to," he continues. "It's just that, after I replaced the video card in your PC, it came up into recovery mode." 

"Recovery mode?" I ask, still clueless.

"Yeah, document recovery mode," he explains. "You must have been in the middle of typing when it crashed, so when it started up again it automatically opened the latest auto-save copy."

Finally, the full impact of his admission slams into my sluggish brain and my eyes go wide. He means my NEW book! Remembering all the wildly perverse scenes it contains, my face turns instantly hot. I don't need a mirror to know that I'm blushing a deep crimson.

"You read the whole thing?" I ask, horrified, my voice rising.

"I'm afraid so. I just couldn't stop myself," he says, studying my face uncertainly. 

My mind reels and I turn away, unable to look him in the eye. What must he think of me right now? This novel contains some of the raunchiest prose I've ever set down. No taboo was off-limits. I'm very open-minded, experimental even, when it comes to sex, despite my Catholic upbringing. Yet even I would not try some of depraved stuff my characters do to each other in this book. Suddenly, an even more horrifying thought hits me. What if he thinks it's autobiographical? 

"Listen," he apologizes, "I know reading your book was a huge violation of privacy, and I really am sorry."

I am still processing, unable to speak. He interprets my silence as anger.

"I don't blame you at all for being mad," he adds hastily. "I was just hoping that you wouldn't be because..." 

Milt trails off and casts his eyes downward. I can't tell if he is ashamed of his actions or disappointed by my reaction, or both. Clearly, though, he thinks I'm angry. Maybe I will be as soon as my brain catches up. Right now, though, I'm mostly concerned about what sort of judgments he's made about me after reading my novel. Does he think I'm a freak, or a slut, or both? All right, NOW I'm angry.

"Because what?" I spit. "Because you don't want me to sue you?"

"No," he answers meekly. 

"Then why?" I snarl. "Why don't you want me to be mad?"

After a pause, he says simply, "Because I really like you." 

His reply takes me off guard, and my anger softens a bit. What exactly does he mean? Only one way to find out, I decide.

"What do you mean, you like me?" I ask warily.

"I mean," he explains, "that I like you. I really enjoyed talking with you yesterday. You're funny and spontaneous, and..."

"And what?" I prod impatiently.

"And," he says sheepishly, a bit of color rising in his face, "I think you're hot."

At this, my anger is replaced by a flush of excitement. I had no trouble getting dates back in college but it's been a long time since anyone called me hot. That this sexy younger man thinks I'm hot is a huge ego boost.

"So you think I'm hot, do you?" I challenge, raising an eyebrow.

"Smoking," he says with conviction, fixing me with piercing green eyes.

"Well, you'd better," I assert bossily. He doesn't appear put off by my aggressive tone, so I press my advantage. "So, when did you decide I was hot, before or after reading my book?" I ask, more as accusation than question.

"When you opened your apartment door," he says. 

Ding! My heart skips a beat. He just aced the quiz, but now comes the real test. I need to find out what he thinks of my twisted novel, and whether he thinks the story is fact or fiction. Outwardly, I maintain a brassy attitude, but inside, I brace for disappointment.

"And the book?" I inquire pointedly. "What was your opinion on that?"

"It's very well written," he says. "The characters seem like real people."

Ding! Ding! A perfect score. There is no music sweeter to a writer's ear. It could be just flattery, but he seems sincere. Or maybe he's trying to avoid the elephant in the room? I press him further.

"And?" I nudge. "What about the story?"

"Well," he replies, wincing slightly. "There were some scenes in there that made me uncomfortable." 

My heart falls. He thinks I'm a sick pervert. I try to maintain a neutral expression, afraid my disappointment may be showing.

"Which scenes?" I ask, dreading the answer.

"The S&M scenes," he replies matter-of-factly. "The way Katya was working John over seemed more like torture than kink. I don't think pain is sexy."

"Me neither," I blurt defensively. "It's just fiction, of course. I wanted to show what happens when S&M is taken too far. Katya and John's marriage died long ago but they keep flogging the corpse. They are supposed to be a cautionary tale." Then I add cautiously, "What about the other couple, Tara and Bryce?"

"Those two," he says, "do some freaky stuff, but they seemed like they really love each other. Neither one does anything they don't want to do." He smiles salaciously and adds, "To be honest, their scenes got me more than a little excited."

"Oh they did, did they?" I tease. "Just how excited, exactly?"

"Let's just say that I didn't get much sleep. In fact, I was rock hard pretty much all night long," he admits, blushing.

"You poor thing," I pout. "Too bad you didn't have any way to relieve your discomfort," I add suggestively.

"Too bad indeed," he agrees, matching my lascivious tone at first, then shifting to a conciliatory one. "So, are you still angry?"

"I haven't decided yet," I answer coyly. "I'll think about it while we look at this project of yours."

Milt smiles and leads me over to the farthest work table, on which something is covered with a translucent plastic sheet. Beside it is some kind of articulating padded bench, like a cross between a weightlifter's bench and a dentist's chair. 

"This," he says, "is a collaboration. You met Leroy, our robotics guy. He has done all the electro-mechanical work. Carla, who does creature effects for SFX Studios, came up with the basic design and molded all the soft parts. I wrote the control programs, and modified this," he says, picking up what looks like a video game controller, "to control the action."

"Action?" I ask. "What does it do?"

"A fair question," he replies with a mischievous grin, pulling back the plastic shroud. 

On the table is a metal-and-plastic contraption that defies my understanding. I peer curiously inside its open frame, which is filled with belts, gears, motors and wire, trying to build a hypothesis as to what it might do. So far, I'm drawing a blank. Milt oversees my inspection with a bemused expression.

"I give up," I say, "What is it?"

"We call it the Love Machine," he answers. "Carla dreamed it up as a surprise for her partner Lauren and roped me and Leroy into helping, not that we minded."

"Yes, but what does it do?" I ask.

Before he can answer, a voice from behind me calls out "Milton!" I spin around to see what at first appears to be a short Latino man entering the workshop with a tall redhead on his arm. They head toward us as Milt returns the greeting.

"Carla!" Milt calls back, "When are you going to start calling me Milt?"

"As soon as you stop being such a nerd," comes the reply.

"I'll stop being a nerd the day you stop being an asshole," Milt retorts.

"Don't hold your breath!" Carla laughs.

Up close, Carla is clearly female, but she is quite butch. As she gives Milt a manly handshake/back slap hug, I have a chance to check out her numerous piercings. The red-haired beauty with Carla leans in to plant a kiss on Milt's cheek and I deduce that she must be Lauren. What Carla lacks in femininity, Lauren makes up in spades. Her curvy figure fills out a clingy sun dress that leaves little to the imagination, and the lack of bra straps or panty lines is conspicuous. Lauren is clearly very comfortable with her body.

"So, who's your friend?" Carla asks bluntly.

"This is Angie," Milt says. "Angie, this is Carla and her partner Lauren."

"Nice to meet you," I say offering my hand.

"Likewise," says Lauren warmly taking it in both of hers. "Any friend of Milt's is a friend of ours, right hon?" she adds with a smile to Carla.

"Hmph," grunts Carla, looking me up and down. "Is she cool?" she asks Milt, rudely directing the question to Milt while still eyeing me skeptically.

"Very," Milt assures her.

"Does she know about the machine?" Carla asks.

"Not quite. I was just about to explain it when you walked in," he replies.

"Then we'll find out shortly just how cool she is," Carla retorts. Then, challenging me directly, she asks, "You're not a prude, are you?" 

"I'm about as prudish as you are polite," I snap back, pissed off by her condescending tone.

"Oh ho HO!" shouts Carla. To Milt she says, "She's got fire, I like that!" Then to me with a grin, "You might be OK, Blondie."

"Feel free to reserve judgment," I counter coldly, "and I'll try to do the same."

"Don't mind Carla," says Milt. "She's an bit of an asshole until you get to know her."

"And then I'm a LOT of an asshole," Carla adds with a belly laugh. "All right!" she says, turning to Milt. "Enough of this chit-chat shit. We're here to finish the beta testing. Is the machine ready?"

"Leroy says he upgraded the motor, so it should be ready to roll," replies Milt.

"Excellent," says Carla. "Then stop standing there like a useless prick and help me put it together."

Milt rolls his eyes in mock annoyance as he helps Carla lift the contraption from the table and settle it onto two upright supports near the base of the padded chair-bench. It clicks firmly into place and they tighten some bolts to keep it there. While they work, Lauren watches intently, shifting her weight impatiently from one leg to the other and back again. She is bent over the work table, leaning on her elbows in a way that pushes her breasts up and forward, her nipples straining against thin fabric of her dress. Milt plugs the machine into a nearby power outlet while Carla retrieves an aluminum briefcase from under the table. Lauren glances over at me with a sultry, knowing smile. I wonder what she knows.

Carla pops the locks on the briefcase and flips open the lid. Inside, nestled in form-fitting recesses, are a varied assortment of silicone dildos. Oh my, I think, raising my eyebrows. This just got interesting. I had been running out of patience with Carla's rude interruption of my private lab tour with Milt, but now curiosity has the better of me. Where is this going?

"You look surprised, Blondie," Carla says. "This too shocking for you?"

"I'm shocked that they're so small," I retort, pleased to see that Carla is now the one looking surprised.

"Oh, SNAP!" Milt laughs, praising my fast comeback as Lauren breaks into a fit of giggles.

"Hmm. I see you're a connoisseur," says Carla seriously. "Perhaps these are more to your taste."

She lifts the tray of dildos out of the case, revealing a lower compartment. Inside are a bottle of lube and three toys of far more generous proportion. The first is a foot-long black phallus with a realistically molded head and lifelike veins. The second is only six smooth, pink inches, but as fat around as my wrist. The last is large, but not obscenely so, and has a strange shape I've never seen in any toy catalog.

"This is unusual," I observe, boldly grabbing the strange dildo from the case to study it more closely.

"That's me," Lauren says with a playful smile.

"She means that literally," Milt clarifies. "Carla made it using Lauren as the mold."

"Impressive," I tell Carla sincerely. "Did you make all of these?"

"What, like I should buy them at Walmart?" she huffs, real pride behind the indignant sarcasm. "Now if you're done fondling the inside of Lauren's cunt, we have some work to do."

As Carla turns her attention to the machine, Lauren puts her arm around my shoulder and plucks the custom dildo gently from my hands. As she does, she whispers in my ear, "I hope you'll stick around to see the test results," then clasps the toy to her full bosom. A light fragrance hangs in the air as she tiptoes away, casting a Marilyn Monroe wink at me over her shoulder. I may be straight, but that doesn't stop Lauren's naked flirtation from stirring a wild tingle in my belly.

I spin around, searching for Milt. He is hanging back, leaned up against one of the other work tables, his expression carefully neutral. I walk straight to him and grab him by the shirt, yanking his face down to mine.

"Was this a set up?" I hiss, staring him straight in the eye.

"Absolutely not," he protests, hands up in surrender. "I didn't know they'd be here. I swear I was planning a private demonstration."

"I believe you," I say after studying his eyes for a moment, then let go of his collar. "You certainly have some interesting friends," I note, turning to watch Carla, who is absorbed with making adjustments to the bench.

"No kidding," he agrees, adding quietly, "I'm sorry about Carla. She's rude and crude, but she has a huge heart under all that bluster."

"I'll take your word for it," I say, then ask, "So, what exactly is about to happen here?"

"Version 2.0 beta testing," Milt replies cryptically.

"And what does that mean?" 

"This the second incarnation of the Love Machine, Version 2.0" he explains. "Beta testing means we want to work out any final kinks, no pun intended of course, before putting it into production."

"Very funny," I lie. "Does that mean you're not going to tell me?"

"I am telling you," he insists. "Look, Carla is setting up the ECG right now."

"ECG?"

"Electro-cardiogram machine," he clarifies. "It will measure the electrical impulses in Lauren's heart during the session."

Sure enough, on a stand next to the bench, Carla is connecting cables to another machine that looks like it just rolled in off the operating-room floor. Meanwhile, Lauren slips off her high-heeled sandals and bangle bracelets. Carla has detangled a gaggle of sensor leads and appears ready to attach them to Lauren. I open my mouth to ask Milt why on earth they need an ECG. But before I can speak, Lauren steals my voice. I can only stare open-mouthed as she reaches down with arms crossed, takes her dress by the hem, then lifts it up over her head with the smooth grace of a ballet dancer. 

Lauren's naked form is Botticelli's Venus brought to life, escaped from the confines of oil on canvas. Her smooth alabaster skin is nearly translucent, transcendent, seeming to glow from within under the bright glare of the shop lights. With her arms overhead, her full breasts hang high on her chest, pink nipples uplifted. Impossibly long legs lead up to wide, round hips that frame a neat triangle of hair. She shakes her long red hair free from the dress and it spills over her shoulders in loose, flowing curls. Casually, she folds the dress and sets it on the edge of the table, meets my eyes with a Mona Lisa smile, then walks over to settle herself onto the bench. My lips still ajar, I turn to Milt.

"Are you still straight?" he asks with a smirk.

"Barely," I gulp. "She's a work of art."

"And a cardiologist," he says.

"You're joking."

"Nope."




Beta Testing



"Wow," I marvel. "So, is that her cardiogram machine?"

"Uh huh," he says. "She's into the whole Quantified Self thing, so she takes detailed measurements of her cardiac response to various stimuli, then posts it online." 

Lauren is reclined on the bench now, leads attached. Carla bends over and kisses her on the mouth, gently cupping one breast with her hand. She pinches the nipple slightly, rolling it between her thumb and forefinger. Lauren curls her left hand around the back of Carla's neck and pulls her in for a deeper kiss, while her right hand seeks out her own clitoris to rub it in tight circles. They kiss passionately, yet tenderly, and Lauren's fingers and labia are soon glistening with her juices. Warmup complete, their lips part company and Carla moves around to mount a medium-sized dildo onto a smooth, padded base that is attached to the piston shaft at the front of the machine. Lauren's raises her legs up, hugging her thighs against her chest as Carla positions the dildo against her slick opening.

"Are you ready, doll? Carla asks.

"Always," Lauren purrs in reply. 

Lauren shoots a brief smile at me and Milt, then lays her head back and closes her eyes. Carla flips on the Love Machine, then takes the remote controller from the table and pushes the right joystick up slightly. The dildo inches forward, slowly parting the perfect pink folds of Lauren's pussy. She moans softly as it slides in. When the shaft is fully inserted, Carla takes her thumb off the joystick and its motion stops. She returns to Lauren's side and kisses her again, then squeezes a trigger on the controller and the machine begins to hum softly.

"Oooh," says Lauren. "The vibration is lovely. I could use a bit more of that."

"You got it, babe," Carla promises. She turns a knob on the machine and the hum becomes a buzz. "Mmmm, perfect," says Lauren. "Now let's get moving, shall we?"

Carla responds by pushing the joystick up again, causing the dildo, now wet with Lauren's juices, to slide out smoothly. When it's almost out, the phallus slows, then reverses direction to dive back in, accelerating as it goes, perfectly mimicking the elliptical path of a real human cock in motion. Carla keeps steady pressure on the joystick and the trigger, maintaining an even, unhurried rhythm. Lauren hums in pleasure, sliding her hips forward a bit so that the padded base of the shaft will thump softly against her mons with each stroke.

"Oh, mmm, could we try the twist now?" Lauren asks breathlessly.

"Absolutely," Carla replies.

Now Carla pushes the joystick to the left, still keeping it pressed forward. The dildo rotates 90 degrees to the left while continuing its rhythmic pumping. Then she pushes the stick to the right, and the dildo twists in the opposite direction. Then she moves the joystick around at random, keeping the motion unpredictable as the mechanical cock plunges and twists. Lauren squirms her hips appreciatively, biting her lip.

"Ohhh, that's, mmm, very good," she gasps.

"Do you want more?" Carla asks.

"Yes, yes, definitely yes."

"You got it."

Carla twists a different dial on the machine and the pumping speeds up, the dildo base smacking hard and fast now against Lauren. She responds to the onslaught by groaning and lifting her long legs even higher, giving the machine unobstructed access. Lauren's eyes are still tightly shut, but her mouth hangs open. A long moan of primal pleasure emanates from somewhere deep inside her. Carla is fully attuned to her lover, registering her every sound and movement. She knows exactly how to push Lauren's buttons and continues to work the controls intently, varying speed, rhythm and intensity for maximum effect. I begin to appreciate that the machine is not just a robotic sex toy. It is an extension of Carla herself, a remote prosthesis. 

I've been so transfixed by this spectacle that I had nearly forgotten about Milt, still by my side, until he corrals me with one arm and pulls me close. The clean spice of his skin permeates the air around me. I feel warm and wanted. He looks down into my face earnestly, a silent question in his green eyes. He wants to know what I'm thinking, to read how I'm reacting to all this. With a smile, I reassure him by leaning into his chest and tucking my hand into his front pocket. The fabric of his jeans is stretched taut by something big and hard just out of reach of my fingertips. He gulps and shifts his weight, obviously uncomfortable from the tightness at his crotch. I know having my hand down there is not helping any.

Lauren is on fire now, her skin glistening with a light sheen of sweat. The impact of each pummeling thrust of the machine ripples through her milk-white breasts, which shake and roll under a flow of flame-red hair. Beneath her, the seat is so slick with her juices that she has to clutch the edge of the bench tightly with her hands to keep herself from sliding. She gasps and grunts, throws her head back, railing against unbearable ecstasy. All the while, Carla is at her side, focused solely on Lauren's pleasure and nothing else. I don't think I've ever witnessed a more generous act of lovemaking.

As we enjoy the show, I slide my hand deeper into Milt's pocket, eager to claim the prize I've been coveting. To my delight, he feels as thick as he is hard, and he is very, very hard right now. I want to wrap my fingers around him, but there's not enough room to maneuver. So, I withdraw from his pocket and instead unbutton his jeans and slide my hand down the front of his boxers. Milt sucks in his breath sharply as I make contact, then moans as I encircle him with my fingers. At last, I feel the soft, smooth skin of his fully erect shaft in my bare hand. It's like a hot iron bar wrapped in silk. I grip it loosely and pull the skin taut, then release, taut, then release, pumping him slowly in my fist. He responds with an even deeper moan. The head of his cock is so engorged I can even feel his pulse. Milt's heart is pounding now, as is mine. Across from us, the excitement has reached a fever pitch.

Carla's expert manipulation pushes Lauren higher and higher till finally she clamps her mouth shut tightly, holding her breath as if to keep from drowning, as a powerful wave of orgasm crashes over her. Carla waits until just after Lauren has peaked, then slams the dildo to a hard stop, buried deep as it will go, and in the same motion cranks the vibration up until the padded base blurs and the already loud buzz becomes the staccato roar of a jackhammer. This pushes Lauren completely over the edge, her previous peak now seeming like a distant foothill. Her arms and neck go rigid as her thighs shudder and quake uncontrollably. 

The combination of my ministrations and the sight of Lauren's overpowering climax is too much for Milt. His knees buckle and he leans back on the table for support. Without warning, he erupts in my hand, stifling a groan. I feel his cock twitch and pulse with each jet.

After what seems like an eternity, Lauren's orgasm finally subsides. Her arms and legs go limp as she loudly releases the held breath, then sucks in a great swell of air to replace it, her full breasts heaving mightily with the effort. Afterward, she is left panting, legs still trembling slightly, a crooked smile on her face. 

I rebutton Milt's jeans and kiss him deeply on the mouth. I whisper in his ear, "I'm not finished with you yet. You're not spent for the day, are you?" He shakes his head emphatically, no, and smiles a hungry smile. Meanwhile, Carla shuts off the machine and sets the controller down, then returns to Lauren's side. She kisses her lover lightly.

"Well, what do you think?" Carla inquires.

"Mmmmmm hhmmm hmmm..." Lauren mumbles deliriously in reply. Finally, she regains enough of her senses to add weakly, "I think... test... success."

At this, Carla shouts, "Nailed it!" and does a little touchdown dance, causing Milt and me to bust out laughing. Carla calls him over to help with disconnecting the machines. Once free of the cardiogram leads, Lauren gingerly makes her way over to the table to put her dress back on, legs still wobbly. I help her with her shoes.

"That was quite a climax," I tell her. "Had to be a 9.0 on the Richter scale, at least."

"At least," she manages with a grin.

"So, how does it compare to, you know, the real thing?" I ask stupidly, remembering too late that I'm speaking to a lesbian. "I mean... Sorry, that was a dumb question. You wouldn't know, and..." I cut myself off, realizing that the more I talk, the more offensive I sound. I cast my eyes down in embarrassment. Lauren graciously comes to my rescue.

"It's OK," she says, putting her warm, soft hand over mine. "Before I realized that I prefer women, I was married to a man and slept with quite a few before that. I can say with authority that no man can do what Carla does to me with that machine. It's superhuman. You've got to try it."

"Me?" I ask, the idea sending a little thrill through me. "Would Carla be OK with someone else using her machine?"

"Absolutely," she assures me. "Besides, the machine belongs to Milt and Leroy as much as us. They did a ton of work on it."

"I'd love to give it a try," I say. "But to be honest, right now I'm more eager to take one of the inventors for a test ride," I add, nodding toward Milt.

"Ahh, priorities," Lauren says with a knowing smile. "Leave it to me, you'll have the place to yourself shortly," she adds with a wink.

True to her word, Lauren swiftly convinces Carla to take her out to brunch, and within a few minutes they are ready to leave. On their way out, Lauren gives me a hug and whispers in my ear, "Enjoy!" I know good advice when I hear it. As soon as the door closes behind them, I pounce on Milt and tear open his shirt.

"I've decided," I tell him, "that I will forgive you for reading my story... on one condition."

"What condition?" he asks breathlessly, eyes hungry.

"That, I haven't decided yet," I reply with a laugh. "How about you just do your best to make it up to me, and I'll let you know when you've succeeded."

"Deal!" he grins.

The End