The suit is kept in its own private closet with a built-in humidifier and degaussing unit, to keep the suit’s thousands of tiny sensors free from excessive air moisture and static electricity (the little fuckers can short out at the slightest provocation). I strip naked, and as I pull the suit on, I marvel once more about how light it feels, no more than a couple of pounds, and yet woven within its metallic fabric are countless miles of circuitry. The suit immediately contracts to conform to the shape of my body. The greatest density of sensors can be found in the crotch area, but as I activate the suit, I can also feel my asshole, nipples, and lips tingle as a low-voltage charge courses through the fabric. I put on the goggles and olfactory plugs.
I sit down in front of the computer console and flip the switch to activate it. The monitor screen, which takes up an entire wall of the room, lights up to a pearly gray. All the sensors in the suit terminate in one plug, which I now insert into an outlet in the side of the computer. A single word pulses on the screen: MENU, and below it, all the letters of the alphabet. I click the mouse on the letter T, and the screen fills with options: tank commander, taxi driver, telephone repairman, terrorist, thug, trailer trash, traffic cop, trapper, Trekkie, trick, trucker… I click on thug. The screen pulses blank, flickers, and suddenly a bar scene fills the screen. A nod of my head activates the program, giving me the illusion of walking into the bar.
The place is a dump. The floorboards are warped, and the walls are coated with years’ worth of grime. What light there is comes from a string of incandescent bulbs dangling from the ceiling. There’s a scattering of beat-up tables and chairs, and one long bar that stretches across the length of the room. I take a deep breath and get a whiff of stale cigarette smoke and old piss. Some old Sinatra tune plays on the jukebox; Frankie’s voice sounds thin and tinny over the gimcrack speakers.
About a dozen or so men lounge at the tables or lean against the walls, slugging away at their drinks. I eye them curiously. They’re a bunch of badass motherfuckers, all tattooed flesh, raw-chuck faces and hulking muscle (in reality, these are the computer-generated images of guys who, like me, are sitting in their homes in their sensor suits, plugged into this particular fantasy). I go over to the bar. The bartender is some trog with a sloping forehead and beady eyes that fix on me with weary disgust. The computer program informs me his name is Max.
I order a whiskey, neat. There’s a mirror behind the bar, and I take in the reflection that looks back at me. It’s a face that could stop a clock: blunt features, thick lips, a squashed nose and cheekbones so high they push my eyes up into a permanent squint. A long, jagged scar, like frozen lightning, zigzags from my left ear to down below my jaw. I’m wearing a T-shirt, which stretches tightly over my body, revealing a heavily muscled torso. There’s a tattoo of a grinning skull on my left, hugely bulging bicep. I give a low laugh. I asked for thug and the program gave it to me in spades.
“Something funny, Spike?” Max asks.
“Naw, Max,” I say. “Nothing at all.” I lift my whiskey to him. “Cheers.”
Max watches me, saying nothing, his face as expressive as a slab of beef. I down my drink and push the empty glass toward him. “Another,” I say.
Max fills it again. He nods toward his left. “The boys are waiting for you, Spike,” he says. I look in the direction he’s indicated. There’s a heavy metal door, half open, leading into what looks like some kind of back alley.
I quickly drain my glass. “Well, shit,” I grin. “Then I better get a move on.” I reach into my pocket, feel some paper and pull out a twenty-dollar bill. I drop it on the bar. “Keep the change,” I say. Max stuffs the bill in his back pocket as I slide off my stool and walk through the bar’s back door.
I find myself in a narrow alley, lined with trash cans and ending in a blank brick wall. The alley is dark except for a pool of light at the far end, coming from a single shaded lamp mounted on the wall. Two men stand together under the light. The program informs me that the black dude with the shaved head and bull-muscled torso is Alfonzo, and the hawk-faced man with the greasy, combed back blonde hair and lean, hard body is Rocco. They’re facing each other with their jeans down around their ankles. Alfonzo has his huge hand wrapped around both their dicks and is jacking them slowly. Rocco pulls Alfonzo close and Frenches his mouth.
Alfonzo is the first to notice me. He breaks his lip-lock with Rocco and grins, his teeth gleaming in his dark face. “Hey, Spike,” he says. “We’ve been waiting for you.” He keeps on lazily jacking the two cocks in his fist.
“It sure doesn’t look that way,” I say, unbuckling my belt.
Alfonzo laughs. “Don’t start getting pissy, Spike. We were just warming up.”
I unzip my jeans and let them drop to my ankles. I step out of them, kick them aside and pull off my T-shirt. I strut naked down the alley toward the waiting guys. The computer program has given me a hot body, muscular and beautifully proportioned, with a thick, meaty dick that swings heavily between my thighs as I approach the two men. My torso is covered with tattoos: bloody knives, demon heads, devil chicks with horns and big tits, that kind of shit. Alfonzo and Rocco drink me in, their eyes hard and bright, and my dick quickly stiffens under their collective lust. By the time I reach them, I’ve got a full boner on.
Alfonzo wraps his hand around my dick and pulls me to him. We kiss, with heavy tongue action, and the two men press against me, their hands pulling and stroking my flesh. The three of us swap spit, rubbing our bodies together, hard dicks batting hard dicks. I lift Rocco’s arm and nuzzle into his armpit, savoring the sharp, acid taste of his sweat, then slide my tongue across his chest and around each nipple. Rocco’s fingers pry apart my asscrack and massage the pucker of my bunghole as Alfonzo jacks me off with a spit-slicked hand.
I drop down to my knees and look up at the two cocks twitching in front of my face. I start with Alfonzo’s. His uncut dick arcs up, blue black, thick, roped with veins, ending in the rubbery dome of his cockhead. I skin the foreskin back and swirl my tongue around his cockhead, pushing into the piss-slit. The warm tube of flesh pulses in my hand; I squeeze it and lap up the little clear pearl of precome that oozes out. Alfonzo plants a hand on each side of my head and slides his dick deep down my throat. With an effort I manage to work it all down until my nose presses against his crinkly, black pubes. I hold that pose for a few seconds; I always fuckin’ love the sensation of a mouth full of cock. I give Alfonzo’s low-hangers a tug. “Baby, that feels so good,” he sighs.
I look up, and my gaze locks with Alfonzo’s across the length of his muscled torso. I slide my hands over his hard six-pack, across the mounds of his pecs and give both his nipples a good tweak. Alfonzo’s mouth curls up into a lazy smile, and he closes his eyes. “Yeah, baby,” he murmurs, pumping his hips. “That’s right, keep doing that.” The night is warm, and Alfonzo’s body gleams with a sheen of sweat, like polished wood. I take his dick out of my mouth and bury my face in his balls, breathing in the ripe, funky smell of a man in rut. I tongue one ball, and then the other, as Alfonzo rubs his dick all over my face, and then suck both balls into my mouth, rolling them around with my tongue. I go back to blowing him, Alfonzo fucking my face in long, slow strokes.
I pull Alfonzo’s dick out of my mouth and starting working on Rocco’s. Rocco’s dick is cut and fat and candy pink, with a pair of plump balls hanging underneath, dusted with light-blond hairs. His cockhead is a cherry gumdrop on a shaft that widens as my lips slide down it. Rocco’s ready for bear; he doesn’t fuck my mouth slow and easy like Alfonzo did, but pumps it with fast piston thrusts.
I work the two dicks in front of me, feeding off one and then the other, back and forth. Alfonzo and Rocco lean forward and kiss each other, stroke each other’s bodies, pull on flesh, squeeze ass, twist nipples, finger fuck assholes. This goes on for a long time, the still summer night punctuated by the slurping sounds of my cocksucking, and the grunts and groans of the two men standing over me. Alfonzo finally pulls his dick out of my mouth and pushes me on my back. “Enough with the cocksucking,” he growls. “I need to fuck some ass.” He pulls a small bottle of lube out of his jeans pocket and squirts a dollop on his hand. I lean back, propped on my elbows, and watch him grease up his dick. Alfonzo kneels down on the gritty pavement, grabs my ankles and spreads my legs wide apart. I feel his cockhead push against the pucker of my asshole, and I breathe out and relax as Alfonzo slides into me, inch by inch, his eyes fixed on mine. “You like that, baby?” he croons.
“Fuckin’ A,” I gasp.
Alfonzo slides in the last four inches with one quick thrust, and I arch my back and groan loudly. He wraps his arms around me and lies on top of me, churning his hips. It feels like I have a couple of feet of dick inside of me. Alfonzo pulls his dick out slowly, until just the tip of its head is in my asshole, holds that position for a couple of beats, and with one quick thrust, slides his whole cock full into me.
“Goddamn!” I groan. Alfonzo laughs. He starts fucking me with a hard urgency, lips bared, eyes fierce, his cock slamming in and out my ass like a pile driver, his balls slapping against me with a soft thwack with each thrust. I wrap my legs around his hips and push back, meeting him stroke for stroke. Alfonzo gives a low whimper. I plant my mouth on his and shove my tongue deep down his throat. We play dueling tongues for a while, and then Alfonzo breaks away, gasping. “Get on your hands and knees,” he gasps. “I want to fuck you from behind.”
Alfonzo starts plowing my ass doggy-style, his hands holding on to my hips as his cock tears up my asshole like so many miles of bad road. I look up and watch Rocco beating his pud, his gun-metal blue eyes trained on us. “Come over here,” I growl, and Rocco doesn’t waste any time. He comes up next to me, squats and shoves his fat dick down my throat. I start making hungry love to it, sucking on it, my tongue playing with it. Rocco pulls out, grasps my head with both hands, gives me a long, lingering kiss and then slides his dick back into my mouth.
It is so fuckin’ hot to be stuffed with dick at both ends! The two men slam into me, pull out together, leaving me empty and hungry, and then fill me again with their hard, fat dicks. I close my eyes and sink into the sensation of getting my holes plowed. Rocco and Alfonzo lean over me and kiss, never missing a stroke.
Rocco pulls out and turns around. His ass is a very pretty thing, pale cream and downed with fine blond hairs, the crack a tight line between the muscular half-moons of his cheeks. He bends down, and I bury my face in the crack, lapping up the tight, pink pucker of his bunghole. “Ah, fuck, yeah,” he growls. I push my tongue into his asshole, feeling the ass flesh press in against my slobber-drenched face. I reach in front of him and slide my hand up and down his spit-slicked cock as I tongue his asshole. Alfonzo skewers me with another long thrust and leaves his dick full up my ass, churning his hips, pushing my face even deeper into Rocco’s asscrack.
Rocco straightens up and turns around again. He starts beating off, putting on a show for me, his eyes locked with mine. It’s such a fuckin’ hot sight. Rocco’s body isn’t as massively muscular as Alfonzo’s, but it’s lean and cut, every muscle beautifully defined. He spits in his hand and slides his fist down his fat dick, the gumdrop head winking in and out of sight with each stroke. I watch hungrily, eating this up, while Alfonzo plows my ass like it’s springtime in Kansas. “Get the fuck over here,” I snarl, and, grinning, Rocco steps forward and stuffs his cock down my throat again.
We go back to the old rhythm of me getting plugged at both ends. I can hear Alfonzo’s labored breath, like some draft horse struggling up a steep hill. He’s leaning forward, with his arms wrapped around my torso, his dick sliding in and out of my ass in quick, staccato thrusts. “Fuck,” he gasps. “I’m going to pop any second now.”
Rocco’s cock is crammed down my throat, and I can’t do anything but grunt in reply. Alfonzo pulls out until only the tip of his boner is in my ass, and as he slides full into me, I clamp my ass muscles tight and push back. Alfonzo gives a long, trailing groan, and I can feel his body shudder violently. No condoms are needed in cybersex, and Alfonzo cries out as his cock squirts his spunk deep into my asshole. His body spasms with each pulse of his dick. “Fuckin’ A,” Rocco growls. Even after he’s shot the last of his load, Alfonzo stands behind me, his dick full up my ass, panting. He finally slides off me onto his knees, and collapses onto the pavement. A last few drops of jizz ooze out of his cockhead.
“Get on your back,” Rocco orders. I obey him, and Rocco sits on my chest and drops his balls into my mouth. I suck on them as he beats off, interrupting his strokes from time to time to slap my face with his stiff cock. Alfonzo wedges himself between the V of my legs and blows me, his finger sliding in and out of my asshole. I push my hips up and fuck Alfonzo’s face as I slurp and suck on Rocco’s meaty pouch. Rocco’s breath is coming out in quick gasps, and he cranes his head up, eyes closed. “Oh, yeah,” he pants, as he beats himself off. “That’s right, that’s right. Yeah, okay, yeah, here I come, aw fuuuuuck…” He groans, and his spunk splatters against my face, one volley after another. Rocco bucks and heaves, knees clamping my sides, and right at the moment, when the last of his load comes blasting out, Alfonzo’s wet mouth and busy finger take me over the edge and I blow my load.
“Goddamn,” I groan, as my spunk squirts down his throat. Alfonzo sucks greedily, draining my dick of every drop as I splatter his tonsils. Rocco bends down and kisses me hard while the orgasm sweeps over me. When I’m finally spent, Rocco rolls off me, and the three of us collapse onto the pavement in a tangle of arms and legs. Rocco’s load drips sluggishly down my chin, and I wipe my hand across my face and lick my fingers, one by one. I look over at Rocco and grin. “My favorite flavor,” I say. Rocco laughs.
The three of us climb unsteadily to our feet. I take Alfonzo’s head in my hands and plant a big, wet kiss on his mouth. I can taste my load on his tongue. I do the same for Rocco. “So long, guys,” I say.
“So long, Spike,” Rocco says. Alfonzo just grins. I look up into the night sky. “Abort program,” I say loudly.
Rocco, Alfonzo, the alley around us blink out of existence. I’m back in my chair in front of the blank computer screen. These program aborts are always something of a shock. It takes a couple of moments to adjust to reality. I climb, a little unsteadily, to my feet, unzip the cyber suit and step out of it. My dick is still half-hard, and there are a couple of drops of jizz dribbling out of my cock-slit.
I take a shower, shave, pick up the newspaper from the front step. I fix breakfast. I’ll give myself another hour to prime the pump, I think, as I sip my coffee. Then I’ll try trailer trash. I should be through with the T’s by Sunday evening. I can’t remember exactly when I last set foot outside my apartment. Four days? Five? I glance through the paper. It’s full of murders, war, natural catastrophes, the usual shit. Thank god for fantasy, I think. I eat everything on my plate. I’ve got a busy day ahead of me, and I’ll need my energy.