Every Person’s Fantasy

“Are you shitting me?” said the man on the other side of the desk with more than a hint of incredulity. “I can literally have my sexual fantasy?”

Mark Thomson didn’t blink as he stabbed the remains of his cigarette into the ashtray. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard this, and he wouldn’t have believed it himself if someone else had tried to convince him of the proposition he had just offered.

“Yes, in a sense. You can have sex with your fantasy partner, in virtually any configuration that is possible and not harmful. The major stipulation is that we cannot accommodate multiples, so you’ll have to settle for a fantasy sans ménage à trois. Otherwise, we can make it happen, male or female, whatever skin color, body type, age — within reason, of course — that you want.

“In fact,” Thomson quickly added, “whatever partner you are presented with will be your choice by definition.”

The man, who had been absentmindedly fiddling with his obsidian cufflinks, raised an eyebrow quizzically. “What do you mean, ‘by definition?’ I get to pick a girl from a list, right?”

Thomson resisted the urge to sigh. He thought it was unprofessional to get impatient, especially with something as strange as this.

“No, actually, you make a blind choice. Our system here works on a subconscious level: once you step into the preparation room, we can use your subconscious desires to select the ideal partner for you. If you’re uptight or insecure in your sexual preference, then this could be quite a shock” — Thomson again resisted the urge to react visibly, although here he always wanted to smirk at the wide-eyed, glazed-over look these men inevitably wore — “but if you’re open-minded, we can guarantee that you will enjoy yourself thoroughly.”

The prospect’s eyes narrowed, obviously still skeptical. “How does payment work? Do I work it out with the girl based on what I want to do?”

Now Thomson had to smile: you could count on a businessman to get down to business. “Another aspect of our venture here that is different from more…conventional firms, shall we say. We don’t do a la carte pricing here; you pay for your partner’s time. You can stay with a partner for a hour or two or even all night, if you want. You can’t invite another person in — that would game the system, in more ways than one — and you can’t take your partner out of our bedding area. But otherwise, the sky’s the limit, as our workers are incredibly — how shall we say? — open to most anything you’d like to try. And you can stay as long as you can stand — or afford.”

It was the prospect’s turn to smirk and nod, as though he’d found the catch. “Okay, how much?”

“$50,000 per hour.” Thomson’s voice was firm, monotone, and curt.

The prospect looked mildly shocked. “Per hour?”

“You’re paying for the rarest of experiences. It isn’t every day that you get to do virtually anything you desire with your ideal partner.”

“Surely you can’t expect me to pay that much without at least an idea of what this is like,” the man said, leaning forward with his elbows on his thighs. “Do you offer any kind of…sneak peek?”

They always want proof, Thomson thought, but he couldn’t really blame them. Seeing is believing, after all, and he had long ago prepared for this question.

“I think we can accommodate that. But you should be warned that we will want to schedule your appointment in advance. We don’t generally do walk-ins, since few people keep that much cash on them.”

The man reached into his inside jacket pocket and produced a wad of bills. “I always like to be prepared.”

Mark Thomson grinned obscenely. “You’re a man after my own taste, Mr., uh…?”

“Fitzwilliam.”

Thomson nodded. “Will you follow me this way?”

The path to the bedding area, like the path to get to the office that Thomson and Fitzwilliam had just been sitting in (not Thomson’s actual office, but a spare one kept only for doing business such as had just been transacted), was circuitous and immensely perplexing. It was pretty clear to Fitzwilliam, given the secretive nature of the company and its inner workings, that there really was something bizarre going on here. He wondered if the company had trafficked in huge numbers of women in order to please the varied libidos of successful men in Silicon Valley. Or maybe, given the pseudo-technical explanation Thomson had given, these were androids, love dolls. Something like that.

Fitzwilliam had to cut his thoughts short, as Thomson had abruptly halted in front of a thick metal door with a darkly tinted window. “Here’s the hallway to the preparation room. Only prospective and paying customers proceed from here.”

The prospective customer nodded, and Thomson opened the door for Fitzwilliam to shuffle hesitantly down the corridor. He heard the door close stiffly behind him, but he continued on to another door.

A voice from his left said, “Sorry, you can’t go into the room, since you’re only peeking. But we’ll give you a preview.

“When you go into this room, move toward the black window directly in front of you. Relax yourself and imagine your ideal partner. Don’t hurt yourself thinking about this; just let an image enter your mind. After about 15-20 seconds, the room on the other side of the window will become visible, at which point you’ll be able to see your ideal partner. You’ll have a few minutes at most to view before we will turn the window off and you will need to come back down the corridor.”

Fitzwilliam nodded, although he felt strangely about having nodded to a disembodied voice. He figured they were watching him, too, anyway.

He opened the door to the next room — the “preparation room,” he thought Thomson had said — and he exhaled deeply as he walked up to the opaque glass in front of him. He tried to bring a few images into his head — Playmates, models, past lovers — but he pushed them out and relaxed.

The darkness of the window dissolved, and Fitzwilliam watched as the image of his ideal came into view.
“Holy fuck.”

The intercom buzzed. “So when can we schedule you for a session, Mr. Fitzwilliam?”

——————————–

Logan Pearse was expecting a good night out in Oakland.

A law student at Golden Gate University, Pearse had just aced his con law final and wanted to celebrate like any bachelor in a bustling metropolis. He had decided to go to Oakland because the city was too familiar to him (and, truth be told, “too gay” for his tastes). He wanted something more exotic, and for a desperate bachelor with a fairly limited budget, that means Oakland.

Logan had cleaned himself up, ditching the gray GGU hoodie and spritzing himself with a little too much of a too-strong cologne. (No one ever said he was good at this, just that he was planning to enjoy himself.)

He had found a club off the beaten path and stationed himself at the bar to scope out the possibilities. Which, unfortunately, were not that good at the moment, given that it was 7 on a Tuesday night.

Eventually, at about 8:30, as he was beginning to think that his good night out was going to be less than impressive, he noticed a well-endowed redhead in a form-fitting, deep blue dress. They had that strange moment where they made eye contact and locked it for a moment too long, and Logan broke the glance.

Let’s spare the clichés: drinks were ordered, banter made, flirting engaged in, and the club abandoned. The good night was shaping up, Logan thought.

The two were walking down 40th Street, and she — Logan thought she was probably a Fiona but hadn’t bothered to ask — pulled him into an alley. He began to think, Is this good night going to lead to sex in an alley? That was a new one for him.

She pressed her lips against his, prying his open with her tongue. He was really getting into the makeout when her lips were torn away from his suddenly, only to be replaced by a damp cloth.

And darkness sank into darkness…

——————————–

He awoke in something of a daze on a bed in a strange room, completely naked. Which wasn’t surprising at first — it was sort of what he had been hoping for — until he remembered the damp cloth in the alley.

He looked around, and upon assessing his surroundings at best he could in his mental haze, he thought, There is no way any of these doors are unlocked.

So he waited and thought of which federal and state crimes he would try to get the culprits on when he got out. Abduction and false imprisonment, right off the bat. (He didn’t get much further with his massive headache.)

And then his body began to tingle, and all thoughts of a criminal case were gone. He closed his eyes, and when the tingling began to subside, he glanced at the large mirror on the far wall (which of course was too big to be an actual mirror, so he suspected that it was one-way glass).

What stared back at him was a tanned brunette with large breasts (DD, he knew immediately, for some odd reason) and voluptuous lips. He looked down and found the same tits from a top-down view, and he reached down to press them together with his (her?) slender, manicured fingers.

Even stranger, he knew that there was a man on the other side of that glass with sandy blond hair, hazel eyes, a jacket with obsidian cufflinks, and a 7” cock that he desperately wanted — needed — to fuck.

With that thought, he arched his back and traced the outline of his new female body with those same manicured fingertips, moving down into the warm, oddly throbbing nether region where now no phallus resided. He quickly found his clitoris, the fastest he had ever located it (although he had never before been on this side of it), and rubbed longingly. He heard himself moaning, and goddamn, his new husky, feminine voice was sexy. Lucky bastard behind the glass, he thought, half in wonder of the strangeness of that thought.

And then it was all gone, both the changed body and the intense feelings of desire for the unseen but wholly felt man behind the glass. He knew that the man had money — who else wears cufflinks, let alone obsidian ones? — and that worried him. He didn’t have anything against the rich, or else he wouldn’t have pursued a law degree; but he did know, conversely, that rich people have a lot more ability to take advantage of vulnerable situations. Logan Pearse was having a hard time thinking of anything more vulnerable than this scenario.

He still felt a little twinge of desire for the man, though, like a lingering aftertaste. He found that his penis was semi-flaccid and grew less so the more he thought about that desire.

But his thoughts about the wealthy stranger were interrupted by a disembodied voice.

“Welcome, Mr. Pearse. My apologies for not making you more aware of your present circumstances, but we had a prospective client in, and well, the customer is always right. You would do well to remember that.

“Just so you know, you’re in a secure facility inside of Oakland. Don’t expect to get any communication out; all cellular service is blocked inside and around the building, and all computers and hardwired phones require an access code.

“Without going into all of the details, you have been chosen to have an experience few people get: to be the object of another person’s fantasy. You get to live inside a different skin and provide them with the greatest sexual thrill of their lives.

“If you haven’t already noticed, there is a gold bracelet around your right forearm. That’s the talisman that makes the magic happen. I mean that literally. Don’t bother trying to take it off, though; you’ll find that you can neither bring yourself to pull it off nor ask someone else to do it for you. How it works is a story for another time.

“Lest you think that this is coercion, though, you do have a choice in the matter. This is a business, and your participation in gratifying our very wealthy customers will mean that you make some money in the deal. But you can choose not to do so if this is against your ethics or some bullshit like that. The only thing I ask is that you experience a little bit of what it’s like before you make a decision.

“Remember how it felt to long for that man behind the glass? Remember the things you wanted to do to him? With that bracelet on, you’ll want to fulfill that person’s wildest sexual desires. And you’ll be the ideal form to do so as well.

“I’m going to give you another taste, and then you’ll have some time to ponder the decision.”

Logan heard a few quiet metallic sounds — metal doors opening and closing, he thought — and then the tingling began. He thrashed a bit on the bed, and when the tingling diminished, he stood up and looked in the mirror. There was a different person altogether than the tanned brunette: this time, it was a dark-haired, diminutive Asian woman, still with proportionally large breasts (C, he knew) and wide hips. He twisted around to look at the ass, which was quite nice as well. Oddly, he then looked down to his pubic area, which was shaved quite thin. He again couldn’t resist finding his clit, and within a few seconds, he was rubbing vigorously and screaming out in pleasure.

“Please,” he heard himself saying in a feminine treble, “come in here and fuck my brains out!”

A few more clicks were heard, and a muscular man stepped into the room in only a robe. It was clear from the robe’s outline that he was as ready to fuck as he (she?) was. He walked over to the bed, throwing off the robe as he reached Asian-girl-Logan, who was suddenly confronted with a very large cock with very visible veins.

Then the bitch-in-heat feelings pushed him into overdrive, and he practically dove onto the thick cock with his small little mouth. After a few attempts at enveloping the bulbous head with her lips, she rammed her mouth forcefully down the shaft, reaching about three inches from the base of the shaft before pulling back off quickly with a loud pop. She took her tongue, which was apparently now pierced, around the glans, sucking around the side of the shaft as she did so. The muscular stranger had been gyrating his hips to match, and a tug on her hair got her mouth back around the cock.

The newly-Asian woman knew exactly what her lover would want from a cocksucking, and so she placed a hand on either cheek of his ass to get good leverage. She then thrust her mouth around and back off his cock rapidly, fucking his cock with her mouth, and after about 10 thrusts or so, she sank her mouth around the throbbing phallus until her nose was nestled in his pubes, holding it there for a few seconds before letting back up to get a quick breath before thrusting back down.

After a few minutes of this, her strange lover pulled her face off his cock and reached down to grab her by the waist. He quickly spun her around so she was facing away from him (the presently subordinate male-Logan mind was grateful for this), pulling her legs apart with either hand. She knew what would happen next: he not-so-gently lowered her onto his cock, meeting a little resistance before shoving deep inside her otherwise-virgin pussy.

At this point, doing much of anything was out of her hands, so the Asian girl flexed her pussy around him, timing her contractions opposite his fierce thrusts, and they quickly began moaning in near-perfect synchronization. Her hands found their way to her left breast and clit, and the first orgasm hit her with a horrible intensity. She screamed out in ecstasy as her lover continued to ram her pussy down on his cock.

Finally, he lowered down onto his cock and then down so her feet touched the floor, pushing her over the bed to continue fucking doggy-style. She found that this tightened her vaginal canal, which only further stimulated them both. The sensation of his pelvis slamming into her ass was also quite pleasurable, she observed.

His thrusts began to pick up speed, and she knew he was about to cum. Involuntarily, she heard herself saying, “Cum on my tits, baby,” and he immediately pulled out for her to face him. She quickly got down on her knees and pressed her modest breasts together while he vigorously jerked his cock. Within a few minutes, his penis erupted with thick gobs of cum, part of which landed on Asian-girl-Logan’s chin in addition to the bulk that ended up on her tits, which she instinctively began rubbing all over. Then, almost as an afterthought, she darted her mouth around his cock, sucking at the very base while pressing underneath and upwards on his balls. Unsurprisingly (because Logan knew nothing he did in this state of mind was accidental), the cock offered up some more cum, which female-Logan eagerly swallowed down.

The man picked up the robe, threw it around him, and started tying it as he walked out. In a few minutes, Logan was back to his male form, still breathing deeply from the exertion.

“Okay, how does this deal work?”

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