If you’re scratching your head and wondering if it’s a bit over the fucking top, let me just stop you right there and remind you of one thing.
Just remember who’s telling the fucking story here, okay?
Does it say Bonnie Believable on the cover?
Or does it have my girl, Alexis Angel’s name?
I’m thinking it’s the latter. Which means in this version of reality, our society has gotten to the point where it’s not just okay to do a demonstration of a gadget that is intended for explicit sexual use, but it’s celebrated enough that one of the largest broadcast networks is holding a product competition that they’ll air over public fucking airwaves.
Over the top? You fucking bet, babe.
“I can’t believe they’re going to actually do this demo,” Brittney says quietly. “It’s so insane to watch porn in a group.”
Jesus, it’s like I can’t get a fucking break here.
“You’re pretty insane for doing this,” she says, turning her head to face me. She wriggles her body as she does so and all that means is that her ass is wiggling against my cock. I sigh. She knows what she’s doing. But if she enjoys teasing me now, that’s fine. I’m going to be making her scream later for every tease now.
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us today as we celebrate the launch of not one but two revolutionary products in the personal entertainment arena,” the announcer says into his microphone. “Throughout history, this country has been the source of innovation and ingenuity. That drive and spirit are on full display here as we pit two of the most anticipated products of the year—the Illicit Escape manufactured by Illicit Entertainment against the Wicked Wear manufactured by Conners Media.”
The crowd cheers as the announcer continues. “Due to FCC limitations, we will only be able to show the first few minutes of the experience that each of our users will be seeing,” he says. Makes sense. I doubt they’ll be able to show full scale fucking in Times Square just yet. Maybe 10 to 15 years from now, but not today. “We’ll be using the projector screen behind us and splitting it. On the right hand side will be Conners Media. On the left hand side will be Illicit Entertainment. Are the participants all ready and wired in?”
The announcer turns toward two nondescript men sitting on right and left sides of the stage. Both are already wearing glasses that are connected via A/V wires to a hard drive that's connected to the projector screen. They both give thumbs up.
“Even the glasses look nearly identical,” Brittney whines to herself.
She’s right. The Illicit Escape looks like a slimmed down and futuristic version of single rimmed glasses. The Wicked Wear is a bit bulkier but has enough similarities that it’s hard not to wonder what the fuck is going on.
“If all sides are ready, let’s get this show on the road, and let’s focus our attention to the projectors, to see what they see!” I hear the announcer say and the lights on the stage go dim. The projector screen goes black too.
Then both the right and left hand sides of the screen start flickering.
I turn to Brittney and hold her closer with one hand as I grab my phone on the coffee table with another.
This is the moment of fucking truth.
I unlock my phone and press the call button and hold it to my ear.
“Ready,” a male voice answers me.
“Go,” I respond back to the voice.
“Acknowledged,” the man says back and I hang up.
Brittney turns to look at me.
“What was that?” she asks me.
I smile. “That was the number that Cheryl gave me to call when we want to activate the Trojan Horse built into the software,” I tell her.
Brittney raises her eyes.
“What does it do?” she asks me suspiciously.
I shrug and don’t answer. Instead I gesture to the television.
The opening credits have passed and both viewers are experiencing a virtual reality environment.
The screen shows that both of them are in a bedroom. They’re free to look in any direction they want and the direction both people look is independent so on one hand of the screen you see the user looking all around the room while the other user is looking out the window.
Eventually, both users look toward the woman on the bed.
It’s Brittney. She gasps, seeing herself on such a huge projector screen. On the video, she’s wearing a lace white thong and a matching lace white bra.
“Hey baby,” she says, getting on all fours on both split screens and crawling to the edge of the bed. “Is your father home?”
Both users shake their head no and it translates itself on the screen. The computer understands this gesture and Brittney smiles.