Buying Time

by Carlos Malenkov

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Ma/Ma, Mult, Consensual, Romantic, BiSexual, Heterosexual, TransGender, Science Fiction, Time Travel, Anal Sex, Sex Toys, Transformation, .

Desc: Sex Story: Commercial sex in a coldly impersonal hi-tech future: Vending machine sex. Gender change on demand. And even human sex workers, who are sometimes capable of falling in love.

Copyright© 2004

It's a hundred dollars to use the sex machine in the public restroom. Insert a couple of fifty-dollar coins into the payment slot to remain anonymous, though of course it's more convenient to just let the data terminal do a neural scan and auto-debit your account.

A hundred bucks buys ten minutes. Upon payment approval, the mirror slides back, revealing an oval opening. Depending on the option chosen, the window gives access to either bare buttocks or an erect penis. That leaves the customer the choice of either penetrating or being penetrated.

I'm pretty conventional in my preferences, so I usually choose BUTTOCKS-FEMALE, and, depending on my mood at the moment, insert my hard flesh into either the exposed pussy or asshole. Every once in a while, I get an itch deep inside my gut and touch the selector for PENIS-(LARGE). Then I give in to my deepest, darkest desires and scratch that damn itch by easing myself down on a hard cock.

There's also the BUTTOCKS-MALE option for those preferring to fuck male ass. I've indulged in that often enough, but still find little essential difference between the sensation of being inside a male or a female ass. Real connoisseurs, though, claim that plundering a man's ass is the caviar of sex. Active-penetrative sex, anyway. That's likely somewhat of an exaggeration.

I stepped onto the Mu-metal platform and fed the last of my carefully hoarded spare change into the slot. I prefer the anonymity that cold, hard cash gives, and anyhow my e-bucks account has been flatlining lately. Being jobless does have its disadvantages.

The autosensing hydraulics adjusted my elevation to optimal height opposite the service window. This puts the customer's groin (or ass) directly opposite the the opening. What would I choose this time?

Well, why not? Since I was now flat broke, I might as well have caviar. I stroked the keypad and the window gave me access to a perfect ass.

Slowly, reluctantly I withdrew out of that buttery-smooth, pleasure-giving orifice. Caviar indeed! I was still horny and ready for another go, but my time was up. And I had other concerns. Such as where my next meal would come from and where I was going to sleep tonight. I girded my loins, drew on my breathing mask, and steeled myself to step out into the cold, heartless night.

I had to admit it -- I was an addict. A sex addict. I was no damn good at all at relating to real people, so that pretty much left the sex machines for physical release. And an unfortunate side-effect of being such a boob in social situations was that I couldn't hold down a job for very long. If there's anything more pitiful than a sex addict, it's got to be a friendless, jobless, flat broke sex addict.

I was about to go cry in my beer -- if I could scrounge together enough for a beer, that is -- when I caught the flashing notice on the sex machine display panel.

NOW HIRING. Sex Machines, Inc. [SM, Inc.] has openings for Customer Service associates. Earn a good wage doing something you enjoy! Choose your own hours. No experience necessary. Just enter code SEXYY%543 to start an EXCITING and GLAMOROUS new career.

Customer service? I guess you might call it that, since it did involve "servicing customers." It had a much nicer ring to it than prostitution. Still, it was an intriguing notion, all the more so since I didn't have a hell of a lot of options.

I spent an hour filling out questionnaires on an ancient vintage input terminal in the potted-palm studded lobby of the SM, Inc. Tower. My employment history, references, general state of health, and sexuality index -- all the usual stuff. Though why did they need to access my genetic and psychometric profiles? It wasn't as if I were applying for a high-level security position, after all. But since I was hardly in a position to play stubborn, I thumbprinted the waivers.

The terminal printed out a visitor's pass. I was to report to room 13703. Hoowhee, the one hundred thirty-seventh floor. Moving up in the world, I was.

"Kindly step into the testing lounge, sir," the receptionist said. She was a cute little package, a tiny blonde with curves in all the right places. Her eyes were icy steel marbles.

The door clicked shut behind me. The only furniture in the room was a padded mechano-table with restraint devices at each corner. There was a very tall woman standing on the far side of it. She looked at me. Her eyes widened momentarily as if she knew me from somewhere, but I couldn't tell for sure.

"You are... Armin?"

I nodded.

"I am the regional SM staff supervisor and your examiner. You may address me as Galatea. Kindly undress. Completely." Her voice was unyielding as granite.

"Come here. Spread your legs." She took my genitals in her hand and palpated them for what seemed like hours. Her touch was cold.

"Turn around. Bend over with hands on knees, and spread your legs. Keep perfectly still." I felt her probing between my ass cheeks, then something cool and slippery was being inserted into me.

"It's only a finger. Stop squirming! Now get up on the table and lie down. Please. Flat on your stomach. Spread-eagle your arms and legs."

Galatea took my left arm by the wrist and began fastening a strap around it. "Hey, what's going on?" I croaked.

"I am securing your arms and legs for the next phase of the examination. So, how badly do you need this job?"

"Badly, Staff Supervisor Galatea," I said, and I extended my other arm for her to buckle.

"This shouldn't be too unpleasant," she said. "It's only a proctoscope. A colonoscopy is mandatory for all our candidates for customer service positions."

It didn't hurt going in. I've probably had thicker cocks up my ass. But she just kept on pushing it in, higher and higher up into my gut. It must have been a couple of feet deep and it kept going in!

"Excuse me, Supervisor. It feels like you're a plumber trying to unclog a stopped-up drain. Geez, you're using that thing like a Roto Rooter. Ahhh!"

"Oh, hush. It's not half as bad as that. We're required to examine the bottom foot and a half of your rectum and lower colon. You'll be pleased to know that your intestines pass muster. You'll do just fine."

Now I could feel that monstrous metal snake snaking its way out of me. Good thing it was lubed up or it would have pulled my guts right back out of my asshole. Funny thing, though. I had sort of enjoyed the experience. In fact, I had a raging hardon.

"Uh, excuse me, but what exactly were you looking for inside me?"

"Abnormalities and malformations, of course. But the purpose of the exam is to judge whether your rectum is suitable for intercourse... anal intercourse, that is. With a bit of conditioning, you'll do just fine in that area."

"Conditioning, Supervisor?"

"Yes. Shall we begin?"

"Well... "

"Climb up on the table again, my good man. This time on your back. Now raise up your legs, one at a time, and place them into the stirrups."

Stirrups? Her voice-command had transformed the examination table into something that would have been right at home in a gynecologist's office.

Galatea buckled my legs with the restraints, then my arms.

The bottom half of the table tilted upward, exposing my naked crotch and bottom. I felt totally vulnerable.

"This won't hurt a bit," she said.

She had pulled on a latex gloves and was reaching toward me. I felt an intense freezing shock as she sprayed something on my crotch area.

"A local anesthetic," she said. I'm going to insert a Sta-Hard implant beneath the skin of the scrotum. That will enhance your work performance."

I'd heard of those things. The implants consist of a subminiaturized electronic module that controls blood flow and nerve impulse propagation to the penis. They make it possible to sustain an erection for hours at a time.

I saw the flash of a excimer-laser scalpel, but didn't feel a thing. I was beginning to get drowsy.

I startled awake as she came back into the room. She had left me there, with my legs in the stirrups and my ass hanging out while the surgical adhesive set on the incision.

"Now we'll work on your anterior sex organ," she said.

She disrobed and I couldn't help admiring her full breasts, the nicely rounded hips and upholstered posterior of a classically voluptuous woman, and... and... her majestic erect cock.

An Androgyn, that's what she was. Hermaphrodites had for ages been a medical curiosity, but only recently has the Ragosin Procedure made it possible to support fully functional sets of both genders' sex organs in the same gen-mod body.

I'd never seen a cock that big. Nine or ten inches long and a couple of inches wide, it must have been. Pale, almost platinum in color. Of course -- it had been force-grown from a stem cell culture. And she was rubbing something glistening and creamy on it. Syntholube.

"The purpose of what comes next is to condition and train your sphincter and rectum for the requirements of a Sex Machine operative. Depending on the assignment, you may be required to have anal intercourse a dozen or more times in a single four-hour work session. Shall we begin?"

"I'm ready if you are."

Of course, I was familiar with the techniques for relaxing the anal sphincter. Most everyone nowadays is bisexual if not outright reverse polarized, and anal sex between males is no big deal, unlike in the bad old days before the Anti-Reproduction Directives. I had already been sodomized more times than I could count, just not by a woman's equipment.

.... There is more of this story ...

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