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From Delivery to Bull

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All characters are 18 or older. All consensual/non-consensual activity has been previously agreed between the parties, and fulfills specific fantasies of the participating characters.

Reader comments are treasured, coddled and fed candies before bed. Please send some comments here.

–/–

“Welcome to Display Your Best, the top-ranked mature audience participation show last week! We thank you, our loyal viewers, and our active sponsors, who make it possible for us to create DYB.” Clapping.

–/–

G. Csathy, it says on my name tag. “George.” Obviously, that is a false name, a stage name. Any resemblance to a real person is entirely coincidental. (OK, the lawyers make us say that last bit.)

I’m a sophomore at State, majoring in Forestry. I also compete on the junior varsity gymnastics team, focusing on the rings and horse events.

A few weeks ago, I was selected by the Transition Corporation to join a “high-touch” customer service project for one of its subsidiaries, Rainforest DSC. Transition Corporation is AI-run and it is seeking economic niches for humans in the post-AI world.

DYB is examining whether humans can generate economic value through amateur porn activity.

Another slightly more mainstream test concept is that some humans will strongly prefer to interact only with other humans. So much so, that they will be willing to pay a price premium for that added level of human customer service and satisfaction. That is the test I signed up for.

It was supposed to be a one-off gig, 6 hours max. I’m busy, right? School plus gymnastics. Plus, to be brutally honest, I was spending a huge amount of extracurricular time just nursing my prick with my right hand due to bad relationships with females. So, I don’t have a lot of time available to take on a new job, right?

Anyway, I was supposed to make a delivery to a random stranger and do my damnedest to make sure that the customer WAS satisfied. No matter what she wanted.

Who knew that what she wanted was so damned depraved? And I would end up testing the porno concept after all?

“Sure, sounds easy,” I said. “Sure, I’ll sign the contract,” I said.

Hah! Tell that to my butthole. Who knew that a vibrating Sybian up your asshole could cause hands-free cum harder than I ever came before? It wasn’t so surprising that it also caused bruises inside my ass.

Anyway, it’s true that those physical hurts are all healed up now. But, the mental impact just keeps on giving. These past couple weeks, I might be showering after a practice, and my mind just refocuses on how I could obtain the privilege to serve Meredith again, and how she might trigger yet another situation of deep fantasy for my previously unexplored bisexuality.

Or, I might be in between problems in the homework set, trying to decipher xylem for western Andes chincona trees (good for quinine, for example), and I just get drawn off into a fantasy about Laila and Michael and Liam, about bindings, control, and loss of control. And prostate-assisted orgasm.

Long story short, I am now sort of in thrall, mentally, to Meredith Sloan and the DYB team. It is getting to be a bit of an obsession.

Fortunately, the show sponsors thought I was doing well, I got good ratings from the viewers, and apparently I have a bit of a knack toward certain, well, sexual capabilities.

Anyway, my Rainforest-DSC contract was transferred and amended, and now, I am a performer/wrangler on Display Your Best, working on a probationary contract. For $8000! Per session! Fuck yeah!

–/–

An olive-skinned man, lunchtime, reacted to his phone alarm call.

The secure text was terse: “Reaffirm DYB terms and conditions Y/N”

“Y”

“Accept scene content: Primary Performer. Cuckold. Receive All Oral. Receive All Orifice and Multi Penetration. Deliver Oral All Contact. Co-Performer Known IRL Partner. Emotion. Restraint. Mild Pain. Y/N”

“Y”

“Complete preparations for series A6 scene. Transport provided in 90 minutes. Confirm when preparation complete.”

An hour and a half passed, preparations underway.

“Ready.”

–/–

The gymnast and DYB participant formerly known as G. Csathy received his secure text just after Post-Fire Ecology 212.

He was pushing a “B” in that class, so he attended the lecture in person. He wasn’t sure that in-person attendance made that much of a difference, but some recent articles in the school forum suggested that students might increase knowledge retention and analytical capacity by a small amount, maybe 5%.

He was also thinking about combining in-person attendance with sleep induction. But, some students had complained that the forced techniques used in sleep induction sometimes caused long-lasting nightmares. He was internally debating the relative merits of this option as he walked back to his dorm room.

The secure text app interrupted.

“Reaffirm DYB terms bağcılar escort and conditions. Y/N”

“What, now?” he said aloud.

Then he keyed “Y”

“Accept auto-generated scene content. Co-performer. Bull Roleplay. Level 2 MF Contact. Deliver All Orifice Penetration. Level 3 MMF contact. Y/N”

The twenty-year-old gymnast wrinkled his forehead, questioningly, “What does that mean? and then shrugged.

He keyed “Y”

“Complete preparations for series A6 scene.”

Dumfounded, he keyed “?”

“Remove body hair. Trim all nails. Enema + lube. Shower + approved body wash. Scent. Approved clothing.”

“Complete by 90 min. Transport provided.”

The young man grinned widely. He had a gig on DYB! Maybe $8000 for a few hours of time. And, maybe some fun coming for his prick.

He keyed “OK” and then started rushing toward his dorm.

The screen in his rapidly swinging palm showed briefly, “Confirm when preparation complete.” Then blanked.


He wondered at that last request. Transition Corporation may be slipping. Corporate maintenance staff had installed some unobtrusive video feeds throughout his small place, including the shower and sleeping area. They should be able to figure out when I am done, without me doing any kind of confirmation.

He wrinkled his forehead. Oh. Maybe it’s to check if I am mentally ready?

–/–

He had just finished dressing as if for a run – blue and green-striped tank top, thin blue athletic shorts, athletic supporter, athletic shoes – when the text alert sounded.

“Package”

He accepted the small vial from the drone. The Transition Corporation logo was stamped on it, along with his name. It contained a small blue pill. “Take entire dose at one time.” He mouthed it, swallowed, returned the vial to the drone.

He texted “Ready” to the DYB account.

He looked in the mirror. A blonde, well-appointed face returned his grin. His V-shape gymnast body strongly complemented his athletic gear. His legs and arms were swimmer-smooth, hairless. His other bits were smooth, too, but just not visible in the mirror.

Text “Multi-Trans unit 7384.” A map to the pickup point popped up. He bounced on tiptoe, then turned to go.

–/—

The Multi-Trans unit’s door rose as he approached closely. The interior was empty; his ride was going to start a new set of hop-on / hop-off journeys.

He daydreamed, looking out the window, as the transport picked up another student from the college, a man with long greasy hair. Then, an older woman with a folded shopping cart. They both departed at the Gottlieb’s grocery store. Three shoppers from Gottlieb’s entered, carrying deep, heavy shopping bags.

Idly, he wondered, Why do these people still bother to go to a store? Drones could deliver almost everything anyone could want. They must be a bit anachronistic. He mused, More and more people seemed to have that characteristic these days.

The transport entered a residential area, dropped the three shoppers off at points separated by 6 or 8 blocks. Then, it turned into a wealthy subdivision.

George pricked up his interest. He knew this area. He got even more excited as the transport pulled up right next door to the McMansion where he had his first DYB scenes — Meredith’s house.

“Holy shit!” He said. His prick was already beginning to unfurl in his shorts.

But the transport did not enter the circular drive, and the door did not open. This was not his destination.

Instead, a very pretty girl, maybe eighteen years old, flounced down from the house next door. When she approached the transport, the door opened. She got in, sat opposite him on the bench.

She smiled at him, then looked away, toward the window. George took that opportunity to unobtrusively check her out: she was thin, olive-skinned, pretty face with simple makeup. Make that a more-than-pretty face. Almost a model face. A few tats. She was wearing a khaki skirt, thigh-length. Her knees were visible. A wide scoop-neck top, also in khaki, displayed plenty of cleavage. And her titty points were clearly visible through the fabric. Were those piercings?

This new addition did nothing to discourage his prick. He subtly shifted to make it a bit less obvious.

She turned back to the interior of the transport, and smiled at him. “Hello.”

He was shocked. It was just not common etiquette to converse with strangers in the transports; you kept yourself to yourself.

“Hello,” he responded with a grin.

She consulted her app. “We have a couple more stops. I’m Aniyah.”

Hesitating, he chose his alter ego. You can’t be too careful. “George,” he said. Then, confused, “We?”

She withdrew a pair of thick-rimmed glasses and put them on. Then she handed him a second pair.

“Oh,” he said, awareness dawning on his face. “Are you… Are we on DYB? Right now?”

She grinned back. Then reached out bahçelievler escort and tapped on his hardening dick. “Maybe.”

George automatically looked around to see if any people outside the transport had seen what she had done. Then he shook his head. Did he dare?

He reached out to Aniyah, touched her lips with his finger. “I can’t wait…. You are ravishing.”

George thought, hy not? And slouched back in his seat, spreading his legs and thrusting his pelvis toward the girl. He looked meaningfully at her. “Well?”

She smiled, reached into the leg hole of his filmy shorts, and felt up on his rapidly hardening prick.

“Nice! But I don’t think this is a private journey. It’s a jitney route. So, let’s not get arrested.”

She squeezed his prick one last time, then lifted her skirt to show off the hint of tan lines. Reaching in, she pulled her panties sideways, entrancing his focused gaze with her bare cunt, labia a darker brown than her olive skin. She dropped the skirt, smoothed it, and canted her hips demurely.

The transport pulled up to the waiting zone at a busy corner. George, really preferring to fuck her brains out, instead ventured a conversational gambit with the girl across from him, “So when did you get started with DYB?”

She licked her lips in a suggestive way, then said, “Oh, I have been involved in a few things. It was a lot of fun. And it pays pretty well. How about you?”

“I was recruited just a few weeks ago. I think I just kind of fell into a scene, maybe by accident. But it was mind blowing,” he responded.

She said, “I am very glad to see you, I really love your body. It’s just, so, hard. Like everywhere. I hope you know how to use it.” Her eyes flashed a tinkle of laughter at him.

He tucked his chin down in mock humility. “I guess we will just have to see.”

The conversation died in silence for an awkward number of seconds, as they both contemplated fucking each other there and then. At the same time, this was not the main DYB event. Was it? And they were in a public transport.

The penalties for sexual activity while non-participating traveling public were viewing the acts involuntarily and against their preference……forcing them to become an “Involuntary voyeur”…were decidedly severe. There had been too many involuntary voyeur incidents in the first couple of years after automated jitneys had enabled hop-on/hop-off, and government had responded with a typical repressive approach.

George, finally kickstarting his brain back to conversation mode instead of fuck mode, said “And, anyway, just what kind of use did you have in mind?”

Aniyah “I was thinking that a…. Multi-tool approach… would be exciting.”

“Sort of like a two or three screwdrivers, you mean? So you can screw in up to 3 screws at the same time?” his flustered feelings were muddling his flirting.

She licked her lips again, and started to say, “That sounds like a good start….”

The door lifted, and her voice dropped immediately to silence with the entry of a red-haired twenty-year-old man. Startled, she slid backward deeper into her seat.

The man, Liam, triggered some intense memories in George, reflecting the intensity of the last scene at Meredith’s house.

“Hello,” said George. He reached out to shake hands.

“Oh, hello, George,” said Liam. “What a coincidence to step into a transport and meet you.”

“Maybe not a coincidence,” said George.

Aniyah, keying into the vibe with this attractive pale, freckled man, added two and two rapidly to reach four: “We still have two stops to go,” she said. “I am looking forward to your performance, too.”

Liam’s eyes swiveled rapidly toward the girl, then focused on the two pairs of eyeglasses.

“Ah, I see. It’s a DYB gig. But, you know, today is my day off. So it really is a coincidence that I am on this transport. I’m getting off at the next stop, heading to the rugby match.” He pulled out his pad and keyed up the ticket stub to show them. “Velociraptors vs. Oligarchs. At Riverside stadium.”

“Ah” said George and Aniyah together. “Our mistake.”

Knowing that DYB would give him a pass from the involuntary voyeur legalities, George moved across the cabin to sit next to Aniyah, and casually reached between her legs, tracing upward til he reached her cunt.

Liam laughed, “Well don’t mind me. I certainly am not pressing charges as an involuntary voyeur.”

Then, like George, Liam moved across the cabin to sit on the other side of Aniyah. He reached into Aniyah’s scoop-neck top and fingered her piercing-bound nipples.

“Uhhhh,” said Aniyah. “That feels good.”

The transport car resumed forward motion in silence, buffered traffic noises coming from outside. The motor and interior sounds of the transport were subdued.

The humans inside didn’t make much noise either, just a light squishing sound from George’s finger in Aniyah’s şirinevler escort cunt and the intent breathing of the two men.

“Hey, squat up,” said Liam. Aniyah spread her legs wide, drawing her panties aside and providing unfettered access for George’s busy fingers.

“Fuck, fuck, that’s good,” she said.

Liam drew his finger between his lips, slobbering additional lubrication, and then reached under Aniyah’s rear and rubbed it between her ass cheeks, stimulating the anal hole. Aniyah’s asshole relaxed open, and Liam tucked in a first knuckle to test.

Aniyah moaned.

All too soon, they were approaching Riverside Stadium transport zone.

Liam, looking up and ahead to the stop, said, “Oh shit.” The men moved back to the rear bench, and Aniyah sat down and smoothed her clothing.

A familiar figure was standing at the transport waiting zone: Laila, the no-nonsense

DYB producer/director.

“What does she want?” complained Liam.

As the transport’s door opened, Laila entered and moved to sit down, but as he stood to leave for the game, she instead remained standing and grasped his arm. “Why don’t you stay a bit?” she said.

Liam looked back and forth between Aniyah and Laila. Laila was not wearing glasses.

He wondered, Is this really a DYB gig? This girl’s ass is begging to be fucked. Liam decided to test the waters a bit, and not appear too over-eager.

“But, Laila, it’s my day off, dammit. And I have tickets….”

“I just need a few minutes of your time to get set up. Then you can come back to the game.”

“Hmmm. Only doing a setup?”

Meanwhile, as the two DYB staff were standing and discussing their schedules, George swung across to the other seat and sat next to Aniyah again. He bent his mouth to whisper in her ear, “This is DYB. And I am gonna rail you like you have never had before.” Surreptitiously, he put his hand behind her and under her buttocks, squeezing.

Laila continued the conversation with Liam, “Did you want more? You are not scheduled for performance today. And I have something very special for you tomorrow. Can you do both?”

“How special?”

“Remember, we talked about it. It’s a special production with a lot of setup and preparation. But the finale is anal stretching — both a boy and a girl. And a mom. Your specialty, right? I want a big, juicy cum. It’ll be worth a big bonus.”

“So, today, then, it’s got no sex. Just setup? Will I get the normal rate?”

“30%. You won’t really be doing much at all.”

Liam thought, Well too damn bad. This little cunt has a very hungry asshole. But today’s not my day to fill it up.

Liam looked directly in Aniyah’s eyes, drew his finger under his nose, raised his brows slightly to signal “Later bitch” and sat back down, this time again next to the girl. Aniyah squirmed in her seat, unobtrusively. Sitting on the other side of the girl, George reached his free hand to pinch her nipple, to find that it was encased in a metal piercing enclosure.

Facing Laila, Liam answered, “Fine, but no more than 45 minutes. I don’t want to miss the rugby opening.”

Laila observed the nipple play, and smiled with a little quirk to her lips.

The transport wheeled, drove about 10 blocks, then stopped in front of a high-rise apartment building.

Michael, another DYB staff participant in that memorable show at Meredith’s house, was dressed here as the doorman. Liam sniggered and winked to his co-worker. “Nice monkey suit,” he laughed.

George was a bit shocked, Was that a racist comment?

Unfazed, Michael stood at the open door, and announced, “Welcome to the Transition Corporation Interregnum Suites, ladies and gentlemen. I believe you are expected on the penthouse floor.”

The black man led the way, withdrawing a badge to key in past the security gates, and then again at the smaller lift dedicated to the penthouse.

George wondered, Why on earth they still use badges? I’m just a Forestry major in college, but still, those AI faux pas were blatant. More anachronistic behaviors.

Michael used his badge and a thumbprint at the well-varnished penthouse apartment door at the top of the elevator.

“This way, please.” He directed the two women and George into the apartment’s reception area/sitting room, where a coffee table was laid out with pots of hot beverages, teacakes, and dried fruits.

Michael and Liam left the room, moving onward into the large apartment.

“This looks marvelous,” said George, ever the hungry college student. He poured coffee for Aniyah, and tea for himself and Laila, then added a mound of dried fruit to his sandwich plate.

“Anything you want?” he asked Aniyah. She shook her head. He waggled his eyebrows at her, flirting. She laughed. He pointed downward to his crotch. She nodded.

Turning to the other woman, George asked, “Laila?” She gave a brief head nod, pointing to the teacakes. Two fingers. He placed those onto another plate.

Laila moved next to Aniyah on the couch, pulling her arm. “You know the drill right? I need a quick stick.” She pricked the skin of both performers, testing the blood. Three soft beeps sounded for each sample. “You’re good.” She looked down at George’s crotch. “I see you are already pharmacologically enhanced. Would you like something else?” She shook a small bottle at him.

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