Date: Thu, 14 May 2015 11:40:46 +0000 (UTC)
From: z119z 2000 <z119z2000@yahoo.com>
Subject: The C-Phone

The C-Phone

z119z (z119z2000@yahoo.com)

© by the author


"See that guy over there. That's Avery Michaels--you know, that guy
. . . oh you know, the guy they call the Apps Wizard. Remember--*Inc*--did
that profile on him last summer. He's got a huge penthouse overlooking the
park."

"Jesus, he's ugly. Isn't he supposed to be worth billions? You'd think with
all his money he could afford plastic surgery. Or at least some
liposuction."

"Don't kid yourself. If he offered you $10K, you'd fuck him."

"Yeah, right. Like you wouldn't. Face it, we're both sluts."

Robert glanced at the two giggling women standing beside him at the bar and
then let his eyes follow the direction of their sneers. They were looking
at a man in his late twenties slumped over one of the small round tables
along the wall opposite the bar. Michaels, if that was who he was, was
wearing an old T-shirt, a pair of sweat pants, and ragged tennis
shoes. Irregular blotches of what appeared to be food stains obscured the
design on the front of the T-shirt, which was fighting a losing battle to
contain Michaels' fat, sagging manboobs and to cover the gut drooping over
the waistband of his pants. As Robert watched, Michaels shifted his weight
from one flabby buttock to the other. The hem of the T-shirt rode up,
partially exposing a roll of fat covered with thick black hair. It has to
be someone with as much money as Michaels, Robert thought. The Treasury Bar
would not have allowed anyone who looked like that inside its doors who
wasn't rich--very rich.

Across from Michaels at the table sat a young man dressed in a gray
business suit and wearing a red tie. He was as meticulously groomed as
Michaels was messy. The young man was staring at a tablet computer and
working on it as Michaels spoke to him. As Robert watched, the young man
nodded in response to a comment from Michaels and then pulled out his
phone, keyed in a number, and then spoke intently into it.

"Your usual, Sir?"

Robert swiveled back to face the bar and nodded to the barman. He idly
watched Jake prepare his drink. Jake? It was Jake, wasn't it? He couldn't
remember. Well, whatever the guy's name was, he was a pleasure to watch,
and not just because he prepared the drink so efficiently. Definitely a
great body and a spectacular ass. Jake slid the drink across the bar and
placed a paper napkin emblazoned with the logo of the Treasury Bar beside
it.

Robert placed a twenty-dollar bill on the bar. Beneath it was a fifty. Jake
palmed both bills and rang up $12.50 on the cash register. The twenty went
into the till. The fifty went into his pocket. He pulled $7.50 in change
from the register, put it on a small tray, and pushed it across the bar to
Robert, who took the five and left $2.50 on the tray.

Robert took a sip of the drink. He pulled the napkin toward himself. With
the tips of his fingertips, he found the two pills hidden within its
folds. He folded the napkin in half and put it into a pocket of his
pants. He walked away from the bar, weaving his way through the throng of
patrons, carefully holding the glass close to his body to keep it from
being jostled. Several people looked at him and smiled invitingly. Robert
nodded to a couple of them, storing their image for further consideration
after he had checked out all the possibilities. As he squeezed through the
crowd, bodies pressed against him. A hand lingered across his buttocks just
long enough to suggest interest but briefly enough to be excused as an
accident. "Oh, sorry. It's so crowded in here tonight." The culprit giggled
and slid his hand against Robert's. There was a brief rasp of hairs. The
man's shirt had been chosen to accentuate the results of hours spent at a
gym, an effect he spoiled by simpering. Robert glanced at him and instantly
evaluated him as not good enough. He murmured, "No problem. Already
forgotten," as he moved on.

He made his way to the far wall and casually leaned against it. He knew
from past visits that it was a great vantage point for surveying the crowd
and for being seen. He felt for the pills and pulled them out, hiding them
with his fingers. He covered his mouth with his hand and then washed the
pills down with a quick sip of his drink. Now, he just had to find a
suitable partner, someone as good-looking as himself--he had already
identified several candidates, both male and female--and he would have
everything he needed for another Saturday night.

*****

"God, how much did I drink last night?" thought Robert. He shuddered as he
opened his eyes again and took a second look at the guy next to him in the
strange bed. The man lay on his back. His mouth hung open, and he was
snoring. His jowls sagged into his double chin. He was entirely bald except
for a horseshoe of hair around his head. That he wore long and pulled back
into a thin greasy ponytail, which was draped across his shoulder, a few
inches from Robert's nose. The blanket covering his torso was tented but
not from a hard-on. To judge from the size of the mound, he was grossly
fat.

"Those pills Jake sold me must have knocked me out. I don't remember
anything after I swallowed them" was Robert's second thought. All he could
dredge up was a confused memory of bending down and putting his ear close
to the mouth of a man wearing a red tie so that he could hear him over the
uproar in the Treasury Bar. Which didn't make any sense--the Treasury Bar
wasn't usually noisy and conversations rarely rose above a murmur. And
hadn't he been riding in the back seat of a car at some point? He seemed to
recall the hot body of another man sitting beside him, pressing against
him. Or perhaps two bodies. At some point, he must have leaned back and
rested his head on the back of the seat, because he had an image of staring
up, out the back window, at rows and columns of brightly lit windows
extending high into the night sky as they floated past. He had felt so
tired and so dizzy.

His third thought was "I've got to get out of here before he wakes up."

Robert eased himself out of the bed, holding his breath. He found his
sports coat, shirt, and pants neatly draped over a wooden clothes
stand. His shoes, which gleamed as if they had been spit-shined to satisfy
a Marine master sergeant, were carefully aligned on a rack at the base of
the stand. His briefs and his socks had been folded and placed on the seat
of a nearby chair. The neatness was unusual. He couldn't believe that he
had taken the time to be so fastidious. Usually the floor was littered with
his and his partner's clothes, tossed off in the rush to get to bed. There
had been mornings when he found them crumpled and wrinkled on the floor
just inside the front door. This time, his clothes were neatly pressed and
looked clean. It was as if someone had washed and ironed them before
arranging them on the clothes stand. They didn't smell or look like he had
worn them for several hours in a bar. No lingering, pungent odors of
perfume or alcohol, just a wholesome faint scent of something fresh. He
picked them up, careful to be as quiet as possible. He would dress as far
away from the bedroom and as near to the front door as possible.

Gray, early-morning light coming through a half-opened door that appeared
to lead to a hallway provided enough illumination for Robert to see. The
room was huge for a bedroom, and the furniture looked
designer-expensive. He smiled ruefully. At least he had found someone with
money. His talent for picking winners was still working, even if he had
selected for wealth rather than looks. Next time, he reminded himself, he
had to find someone with both.

Besides the king-size bed surrounded by an acre of space, the bedroom held
a large dresser and an ornate armoire in some dark wood. A bench with
cushions on it stretched across the foot of the bed, facing a TV screen
that had to be eighty or ninety inches wide. Heavy, thick curtains blocked
any light from coming through the windows on either side of the bed. A wall
of sliding mirrors twenty feet long appeared to be the doors to a row of
closets. A door in the opposite wall was ajar, revealing a bathroom that
was larger than Robert's bedroom.

"I need to go." Seeing the bathroom triggered that thought, and once the
thought appeared, the tip of his cock stung with the effort of holding the
piss back. Robert didn't want to risk awaking the man by using the toilet
so close to the bed. A place like this had to have a second bathroom. If he
couldn't find that, he could use the kitchen sink. He eased the door into
the hallway open and stepped out of the bedroom. The thick carpet felt soft
beneath his bare feet. He quietly closed the door into the bedroom, turning
the doorknob and then slowly releasing it to keep the latch from clicking.

The bedroom door was at one end of a hallway about fifty feet
long. Opposite was an office. The other two doors along the corridor opened
on spare bedrooms, also huge and expensively furnished. At the far end of
the hallway, Robert walked into the living room of the apartment. His
entire apartment could have fitted into the room two or three times, with
space left over. There were enough chairs and couches and tables in the
room to furnish several normal-size apartments. Floor-to-ceiling windows
opened onto a balcony that appeared to surround the entire apartment. On
the far side of the room were a foyer and a huge carved wooden door that
could only be the main entrance to the place.

To one side of the foyer, Robert found a bathroom. He must have been a
hundred feet away from the sleeping man by that point, but he still thought
it best to take precautions. To avoid making noise, he held his cock to
direct the stream of urine against the side of the toilet rather than into
the water. When he finished, he didn't flush, for fear that the man would
hear him.

He automatically glanced in the mirror as he washed his hands. Several
streaks of crusty white patches dotted his face from his forehead across
his cheeks and chin. "Is that dried cum? Jesus, that guy came on my face."
He grabbed one of the washcloths and scrubbed his face in
disgust. "Shit. Never, never again," Robert swore. "I will never take pills
from that bastard Jake again. I'm an idiot. A fucking idiot." He hurriedly
pulled on his clothes and thrust his feet into his shoes.

When Robert opened the door, the man was leaning against the front door,
holding a cup of coffee in one hand. The foyer lights had been turned on,
and Robert could see that his partner was the man the two women at the bar
had identified as Avery Michaels. Michaels was wearing a silk bathrobe. It
was open nearly to his waist. Wiry, scrappy black hairs protruded through
the V at the front. Michaels's hairy calves and feet were visible beneath
the robe. With his free hand and arm, the man was blocking the door. He
lifted the cup. "Coffee, Robert? It's my special blend. You take it black,
right?"

Shit, he knows my name, thought Robert. "Oh, sorry, did I wake you? I was
trying to be quiet." Robert tried to sound concerned rather than
repulsed. The man smirked.

"I have to get to work." Robert offered the first excuse that came to mind.

"On a Sunday?" Michaels's right eyebrow arched.

Michaels was enjoying his discomfort. "Yeah, I have a presentation that I
have to get ready for Monday."

"A presentation. How impressive. Well, I won't keep you then. I have your
phone number and address. I'll be in touch."

"I'm not going to be available for a while. Last night was sort of a fling
before I leave on a business trip." Robert winced at the pathetic
excuse. He was really reaching for it. Michael wasn't going to buy that.

"Doubtless you'll be making your `presentation' on your trip then. I wish
you success." Michaels was openly smirking at him now. "Here's my
card. I've written my personal phone number on the back. You can reach me
at any time."

Michaels pulled a card from the pocket of his bathrobe and tucked it into
the pocket of Robert's shirt. Robert's flesh cringed at his touch. The
other man pressed a button next to the door and pulled it open. "The
elevator will take you directly to the lobby. My driver's waiting for
you. He'll take you back to your apartment. I imagine you will want to
clean up before you go to the office. If you like, he'll wait and drive
you. Wilson Plaza is on his way back."

Robert leaped into the waiting elevator. Michaels smiled at him as the
doors closed. Robert grimaced. "Fuck," he hissed to the elevator walls. "He
even knows where I work." It was not a comforting thought.

The elevator was an express direct to the ground floor. When the doors
opened, two men wearing identical gray suits, white shirts, and red ties
squared their shoulders and stood to attention behind a counter that ran
along one wall of the lobby. Robert was too embarrassed to meet their eyes
and mumbled a reply to their cheery "Good morning, Sir." He rushed toward
the front entrance. A doorman stepped forward and opened the door for him,
touching the bill of his cap in a salute as he did so. A uniformed driver
waited at the far end of the canopy that stretched across the broad
sidewalk from the door of the building to the curb. When he saw Robert, he
opened the door of a black limousine and invited Robert to get in.

Robert pretended not to see the driver and turned to the right, anxious to
get away. On the next street corner, the city had fastened a wire mesh
trash bin to the pole of the traffic light. A metal label attached to the
bin encouraged him not to litter. Robert pulled the card Michaels had
stuffed into his pocket and, without looking at it, crumpled it into a ball
and tossed it toward the bin. He didn't even check to see if his aim had
been accurate. He hailed the first cab he saw. By the time he got to his
apartment, he was certain that bugs were crawling all over his skin. He
threw several bills toward the cab driver and then raced upstairs. He took
a long hot shower, scrubbing his entire body several times. Then he gargled
until the muscles in his throat began to ache.

*****

Robert did not relax until two weeks had passed. Michaels hadn't called,
and Robert began to hope that the guy had lost his phone number. Just to be
safe, he stopped answering calls from unknown numbers. He avoided his usual
after-work and weekend haunts. He didn't want to risk running into the
creep again. He had felt sick for the first three or four days after the
encounter. Not bad enough to see a doctor. Just a slight headache now and
then. When the headaches stopped, he decided that they had been
psychosomatic. He had been overreacting.

The second Sunday, he was sitting on a stool at the counter that separated
his small living room from his even smaller kitchen, drinking coffee and
checking his messages. He barely noticed the first vibration. It was a
momentary tingling that made him shift position slightly. The second was
more insistent and lasted long enough for Robert to realize that something
was happening with his cock. When it vibrated a third time, he unzipped his
jeans.

A line of black letters had appeared across the head of his cock. "Call,"
it read, followed by a string of numbers in three groups separated by
hyphens. It looked like a phone number, and what would be the area code
matched one of the codes for the city.

Robert stood up, nearly tripping over his jeans and knocking over the
stool. His breakfast rose in his throat and he dashed for the sink. He
hadn't eaten much for breakfast, just toast and a glass of orange
juice. All of it came up, along with the three cups of coffee that he had
drunk. He bent over the sink. Vomit dripped from his lips. When his stomach
stopped heaving, he turned on the water and the disposal and sluiced the
mess down the drain. It had to be a hallucination. It couldn't be real. He
had to be imagining it.

He gulped down a glass of cold water and then, without looking at his cock,
he pulled his jeans up. His hands were still trembling. It's all those
drugs I've been taking, he thought. I'd better call the doctor
tomorrow. His cock vibrated again. He tried to ignore it. It wouldn't
stop. This time he could feel the letters and numbers forming on his
cock. His hands moved independently of his will and grabbed his phone and
punched in the numbers that were being written on his cock.

The call was answered immediately, with a bark of laughter. "I see you got
my text."

"Who the fuck is this? What are you doing to me?"

"Forgotten me already, Robert? That's not polite. Especially after I gave
you my number. I waited for two weeks. Two lonely weeks of sitting by the
phone waiting for you to call." The smirk in the voice was audible. "I have
been very patient with you. I'm not used to waiting, Robert, but I thought
maybe you were busy. With that presentation and your business trip."

"Fuck you." Robert tried to end the call, but his fingers weren't working,
at least not working for him.

"Now that is just plain rude, Robert. Time for you to learn a lesson."

Robert's cock suddenly began to burn. The pain grew stronger and
stronger. It felt as if a red-hot needle had been thrust down his cock. He
screamed, "Stop. Make it stop."

The man chuckled, "Now that's better, Robert. Much better." The pain
stopped. "The C-Phone has such lovely little apps. That was only one of
them. You're going to become well acquainted with all of them, Robert."

"C-Phone? What are you talking about?"

"C-Phone--it's short for cock-phone. It's my latest invention. Although in
your honor, maybe I should rename it the P-Phone, for prick-phone. You're a
beta-tester. You signed the papers the evening you were here. I can show
them to you later, if you're curious. Not that it matters. My lawyers made
sure that you have no legal grounds for refusing to participate in the
tests. Of course, you can't refuse in any case. It's physically impossible
now. I would explain the technology to you except you wouldn't understand
it. The simple explanation is that I've used microcellular technology to
take over your body and mind. You may have had some mild headaches last
week. Sorry about those. I haven't worked that bug out yet. Those were the
cellular processors multiplying in your brain and attaching themselves to
the DNA in each cell. Once they finished taking over your brain, they
spread down your spinal cord and throughout your nervous system and then
into every cell in your body."

"You can't do that."

"Oh, Robert, can't?" Michaels chuckled. "Never say `can't' to me. You've no
idea what I can do. In fact, I've already done it. I admit that the phone
technology is unnecessary, but it amused me to shape the control device
like a phone. It's a very smart phone, the smartest one I've devised. I set
the first call to vibrate. Would you like to hear the ring tone I've chosen
for you?"

Robert stared in disbelief as his cock started playing "If you liked it,
you should'a put a ring on it. Oh o oh o o oh oh." His cock bobbed and
danced in time with the music.

"Just one of my little jokes, Robert. You'll get used to them. If you
like--or rather, to be more precise, if I like--I can program you so that
you sing the lyrics and dance along as well. We'll reserve that for some
night when I'm feeling playful and need to be entertained. Now, I want your
beautiful little ass over here a-s-a-p. I have plans for you."

"I won't." Robert's cock twitched painfully. "I mean, I can't. I'm not
here. I'm away."

"Not according to the GPS on the C-Phone. According to it, you're in your
kitchen. So just follow the instructions the C-Phone gives you. Well,
`follow' is a bit misleading. You don't have a choice in the matter,
Robert. It would be more accurate to say that the C-Phone will deliver you
to me. My driver is waiting outside your building. See you in a
while. Don't keep me waiting--not that you can." The call ended with a
nasty chuckle.

Robert stood up. He stepped toward the hallway door. He tried to resist,
but his body wasn't responding to his wishes. It was as if it had been
disconnected from his mind. He was sending out commands to stop, but his
legs kept moving. His hands unlocked the door and pulled it open. His body
crossed the hall to the elevator. He hadn't stopped to put on a coat or
socks and shoes. The floor of the elevator was sticky and cold beneath his
bare feet. The other person in the elevator glanced at him and edged
away. When the elevator reached the ground floor, Robert strode briskly
through the lobby and stepped outside. Michaels's limousine was waiting for
him. The same driver was holding open the same door. Robert took a seat in
the back. The door closed quietly, so quietly that the tiny snick of the
lock engaging reverberated in Robert's mind. The windows on all sides were
coated with an opaque covering. Robert couldn't see out. The ride was so
smooth that he hardly felt the car moving.

Robert tried to move his arm and pull up the lock on the door. He wanted to
escape. When the car stopped at a light, he would jump out and run. But his
hand would not move. He couldn't even budge it. It lay there unresponsive
on the seat, tan against the black leather upholstery. He was
trapped. Trapped inside the car. And trapped inside his body. He wanted to
scream, but his breath kept moving slowly and evenly in and out. His lips
and tongue would not form a sound. Anyone seeing him would think he was the
calmest, most relaxed person in the world. He was even smiling slightly, as
if anticipating a pleasure.

The car slowed and made a left turn. It went down a steep slope, inscribed
a wide circle, and came to a halt. Robert heard the front door open and
close. For a minute nothing happened. Then the door beside him opened. His
body slid out. They were in a basement garage. It looked like it was a
block square. The far corners disappeared into darkness. The limousine was
the only car parked there. The driver took him by the elbow and guided him
to an elevator door. He punched in a code on a keypad. When the elevator
doors opened, Robert stepped into it. The doors closed behind him. He was
alone. He felt light-headed as the elevator rose swiftly upward. When the
doors opened again, he stepped out, into a small, bare room.

Like all of Michaels's servitors, the young man waiting for Robert was
dressed in a gray suit and a white shirt and was wearing a red tie. The
color scheme looked like the logo for Michaels's company. A gray rectangle,
bisected by an inverted white triangle, which in turn was pierced by a red
line positioned at the top of the triangle and extending almost to the
bottom.

"Your clothes, Sir." The servant waited while Robert's hands removed the
polo shirt and jeans that he was wearing. He hooked his thumbs into the
waistband of his briefs, pushed them down his legs without hesitation,
nearly touching his toes with his hands, and stepped out of them. He
realized suddenly that with his back to the servant the motion of bending
over while keeping his legs straight had pulled his buttocks apart,
exposing his anus. Inwardly his mind throbbed with shame and embarrassment;
outwardly, however, his body stood at ease, waiting for the next command.

When Robert was naked, the servant said, "This way, Sir," and led Robert
down the hallway and into a cubical room about eight feet along each
dimension.

"An attendant will be with you in a moment, Sir." The servant closed the
door. Robert heard the lock engage behind him. Robert's body turned around
so that he faced the door. He stood at ease, arms hanging loosely by his
sides, his eyes staring forward. There was no handle on the inside of the
door. He was trapped in the room. Even if he managed to regain control of
his body, he couldn't open the door.

Gleaming white tiles covered the walls and floor of the room. A bright
light coming from behind clear plastic squares high up along the walls
bounced off every surface, magnifying the glare. The floor sloped gently
from all sides toward a drain in the middle of the floor. Four large flat
shower heads were equally spaced across the ceiling. Three metal hoses were
attached to the wall beside the door. Each had a different nozzle. Even
though the room was hot, Robert shivered. At least he trembled
mentally. Physically he still had no control over his body. Mentally he was
banging on the door and screaming "Let me out," but physically he stood
still over the drain in the floor, his feet positioned about a foot
apart. No sound reached into the room from outside. He was totally isolated
and helpless.

Robert lost track of the time he waited. His body never moved. He wondered
if he had been forgotten.

The attendant's entrance was almost noiseless. One moment Robert was alone
in the room; the next a man wearing rubber boots and gloves and a black
rubber apron that covered the front of his body from his neck to his knees
was standing beside Robert. The tops of plastic tubes and bottles peeked
out from a row of pockets in the apron at hip level. A clear plastic
faceplate held in place by a rubber strap around the man's head covered his
eyes. When he turned to close the door, Robert could see that the man was
naked beneath the apron and other gear.

"Good morning, Sir. My name is Benjamin. I will be your personal service
attendant while you are with us. Now, if you will bend over, Sir, and just
relax."

Robert's body bent forward at the waist of its own accord. Benjamin stepped
behind Robert. He heard a cap being snapped off a bottle. The next thing
Robert felt was Benjamin's finger spreading lube in his ass. The gel was
cold at first, but it warmed quickly as the attendant spread it
generously. As frightened and as angry and panicky as Robert was, he
registered a small gasp of pleasure in his mind as the man's finger probed
deeply into his rectum and slid back and forth spreading the lube. Benjamin
then removed a hose from its holder on the wall of the bathtub. The hose
ended in a tube about six inches long perforated along its entire
length. He rubbed a thick coating of lube on it. Then he slid the entire
length of the tube into Robert's ass. Robert's mind froze.

"This will just take a minute, Sir. I will be as quick as I
can. Mr. Michaels likes his test-subjects to be clean." Benjamin held the
tube with one hand so that it was above the anal ring and would not pop
out. He slowly opened a valve with his other hand, letting a stream of warm
sudsy water flow gently into Robert. Robert felt the pressure of the water
rising inside his gut. Benjamin slowly pulled the tube out and then pushed
it in again several times. He's fucking me, thought Robert. He felt as
violated as if he were being raped, but his damn face was grinning with
pleasure. Even though his mind was protesting the assault, his body seemed
to welcome the sensation of being penetrated slowly and repeatedly by the
metal tube and the warm water.

"That should do it, I think, Sir." The attendant pulled the douche hose
out. A stream of filthy water spurted out of Robert's ass. He would have
cried in embarrassment if he could have done so, but he still had the same
vacuous smile of pleasure on his face. One part of his mind even felt
relieved, not that the enema was over but that he was clean. It was
important that a beta-tester be clean for Mr. Michaels. When Robert was
drained, Benjamin began soaping Robert's body. His fingers and hands
reached everywhere. He peeled back Robert's foreskin and washed the
penis. His soapy hands kneaded Robert's balls and then scrubbed vigorously
between Robert's ass cheeks. He washed Robert's hair. He cleaned beneath
Robert's finger- and toenails. When Robert's entire body was encased in
suds, hot, steaming water poured out of the showerheads. After fifteen
minutes, the water stopped and blasts of hot air began to dry Robert's
body. His arms lifted by themselves and he spread his legs so that the hot
air could dry all parts of him.

When Robert was completely dry, the door clicked open. An attendant--Robert
thought it might be the same one as before--waited in the hallway. "This
way, Sir."

Robert walked, his legs automatically following the attendant, down a long
hallway. They passed several people working in offices and labs off the
hallway. Some of them greeted the attendant. Most of them glanced at
Robert. Their looks were clinical. Robert's body was still hot from the
shower, and his skin was red. His mind was equally red from humiliation at
the intimate invasion he had suffered and at the way he was being so
casually displayed. He had no choice, but that made no difference. He still
felt degraded--and worried about what might happen next.

At the end of the hallway, a staircase led upward. The door at the top
opened on the foyer of Michaels's apartment. The attendant led Robert
through the living room and then into the passageway that led to Michaels's
bedroom. Michaels lay on the bed, his head and shoulders propped up on
pillows. He was naked, his pale legs spread apart. His balls sagged in
their sack, and his cock lay flaccid beneath his huge belly. He was eating
a bowl of popcorn, cramming it into his mouth by the fistfuls. He stuffed
so much in he had trouble closing his jaws to chew. Stray kernels littered
the bedspread. "Ah, that's better," he mumbled. "But you don't look happy
to see me, Robert."

Michaels picked up a cell-phone from the bed. "We can't have that." He
punched in a series of numbers. Instantly Robert's cock grew hard and
rigid. "Better. Much better. You should always greet me with an erect cock,
Robert. It will be your way of saluting me." Michaels laughed. He shoved
another handful of popcorn into his mouth and then set the bowl aside.

"Time to show you what the C-Phone can do. You're going to love this,
Robert. I could make you love it, but I'm not going to do that. I want your
mind to be fully aware of what is happening to your body. Later, I may
erase what remains of your consciousness, but for now I want you to
experience all the apps I've invented. It will increase my pleasure to know
that you're suffering. Suffering mentally, that is, not
physically. Physically, you're going to enjoy everything I do to you. Now
face the mirror."

Robert's body pivoted ninety degrees to his left. Spotlights came on,
illuminating him. Michaels walked over and stood beside Robert. He snorted
at the side-by-side images in the mirror. "Quite a pair, huh? Beauty and
the Beast. Well, if the beta-testing proves the C-Phone a success, then it
will be the Beast and Beauty. But I'm getting ahead of myself. You may be
asking yourself `Why me?' The answer's quite simple. I've been looking
around to find the perfect testers for the C-Phone. You've no idea how many
people I looked at and checked out, Robert. I even sent agents to scout
other cities, even other countries. And then suddenly one day you were
there, right in front of me. My lawyers' offices are in the Wilson
Building. My car pulls up to the plaza, and who do I see but a young god
hurrying across the plaza. It took a little work to identify you, but it
was money well spent. All that information on your habits--your Saturday
night visits to the Treasury Bar, those little pills you buy from that very
cooperative bartender to make sure you and your partner enjoy Saturday
night. For a trifling sum, Jake was only too happy to cooperate in slipping
you the pills I had prepared for you. And soon you're here, signing the
consent forms. A minute later, a small prick, and the injection is
done. Within minutes, all those little processors were busy at work,
burrowing into you and multiplying until every cell in your body is at my
command. Let me show you a small sample of what we can do now."

Michaels held the C-Phone up so that Robert could see the rows and columns
of icons on the screen. Michaels frowned and shook his head. "No, none of
these apps is quite good enough for the first demonstration." He pursed his
lips and pulled another screen into view. "Ah, this will do." He activated
the app and stared at the menu screen.

"You have an almost perfect body, Robert. Except for that barbed-wire
tattoo. That's just silly. You probably wanted to follow the current fad
for tattoos but didn't want anything gross. So you opted for a string of
barbed wire around a calf. It's annoying. Skin as beautiful as yours
shouldn't be insulted with such a timid cliché. It's an offense to your
body and, what is more important, to my eyes."

Michaels pressed a button, and the tattoo disappeared. One second it was
there, two interlocked spirals of wire with barbs pointing outward, black
against Robert's skin, and the next second it was as if it had never
existed. "Better, oh that's much better. I think you will agree, but then
it doesn't matter whether you agree or not. So now we need to replace it
with something more attractive, more original." He devoted a few seconds to
considering his options. "Let's try this."

A garden of flowers burst into bloom on Robert's body. The colors were more
intense than any Robert had ever seen in a tattoo. And the flowers swayed
gently in the wind as dappled sunlight played over them. They were alive
and growing on Robert's body. Bees and butterflies hovered over them. As
Robert watched in the mirror, a large butterfly settled on his right
nipple. He could feel its wings fluttering against his skin and then the
prick of its proboscis as it uncoiled and fed on the flower surrounding the
nipple.

"That worked even better than I had anticipated. Teddy, make a note to
remind me to develop more tattoo programs."

"Yes, Sir." In the mirror, Robert saw one of Michaels's assistants standing
behind him, entering a note on the computer he held. So I am still being
displayed, he thought. I have no privacy.

"That's enough of that for now." Michaels pressed another icon, and the
tattoos disappeared. "Another thing I don't like. You don't have enough
body hair to qualify as hairy, but you have too much to be considered
hairless. Let's try more hair."

Robert suddenly looked like a gorilla. Even the backs of his hands were
covered with a pelt of black fur.

"Hmmm, no, no. That was a mistake. Bad mistake. Not for you." Michaels
pressed another button, and just as suddenly, Robert was hairless except
for his scalp. His body gleamed in the light. "The whiskers too," said
Michaels, and Robert's cheeks were as smooth and pink as a boy's. "Yes,
that's the look I like. Make a note, Teddy, Robert is to have no body hair
anywhere. For now let's leave the hair on his head."

Michaels walked around Robert, examining his body critically from every
angle. "What number is this one, Teddy?"

"Beta-tester seventeen, Sir."

"Seventeen already?" Michaels sounded genuinely surprised. He stopped in
front of Robert and then stroked Robert's chest. His hands were greasy from
the popcorn and left shiny trails on Robert's skin. "I was having so much
fun with your sixteen predecessors that I lost track of the numbers. Time
flies when work is combined with pleasure, doesn't it? I can assure you
that I love both my work and my pleasures, especially when I can enjoy both
at once. So, Seventeen, how will you work out, I wonder. Will you be the
last beta-tester? Or will I have to find a number eighteen? What do you
think? Hmmm?" Michaels smirked. "I've devised some *killer* apps, but you
had better hope that I don't have to use those on you. But you won't need
to concern yourself about being replaced for several months. It will take
that long to run you through all the tests. Speaking of which, we had
better get started."

Michaels consulted the screen on the C-Phone again and activated another
app. Robert dropped to his hands and knees. Robert's back was tilted so
that the tip of Michaels's cock dangled just before his lips.  Robert's
mouth opened, and he began licking the tip of the cock with his tongue. He
wrapped his lips around the piss slit and gently sucked the head of the
cock into his mouth, while extending his tongue and running it wetly along
the length of the cock. He was mewling with pleasure, the sounds rising
automatically and unbidden in his throat.

"You love to suck my cock, don't you, Seventeen? But you're not very good
at it, are you? Too many years of picking up all those boys and girls in
all those bars and taking them home and then lying there on your bed like a
wet dishrag pretending to be a top and making them suck you. No wonder you
are so bad at cocksucking. You just haven't had enough practice. Well, you
are going to learn how to suck cock, Seventeen. That's what this app does."

Michaels pressed several buttons on the C-Phone. Deep within Seventeen's
mind, several cellular processors interacted and formed links in the center
controlling the nerves in Seventeen's mouth.

"Robert, you still with us, buddy?" Michaels giggled in a high-pitched
voice. "I know you must find it confusing to be a passenger in what used to
be your body, but you'll soon get used to it. Pay attention now to what's
happening to Seventeen. You're going to love this app. It's one of my
favorites."

Robert's consciousness was shunted to a corner of his mind and walled off
from physical control of his body. What used to be his body was now this
monster Michaels called Seventeen. He could feel what Seventeen's body was
experiencing and doing, but he, Robert, could no longer send signals back
to move his own body. He was helpless. Michaels could use Seventeen as he
wished.

"Is everything in place, Teddy? How is the signal?"

"We're ready, Mr. Michaels. The data stream is optimal, and we have five
bars."

"Good. Let's see how Seventeen performs then."

Michaels input a code into the C-Phone. Instantly Robert felt Seventeen's
mouth lengthen and narrow. Seventeen's tongue curved up around the full
length of Michaels's cock, the two sides almost meeting around the upper
surface. It began to secrete a gel lubricant. The portion of the tongue
covering the piss slit roughened slightly to provide more friction against
the slit. The muscles of the cheeks stroked Michaels's cock from base to
head as Seventeen sucked the cock deep into its throat. Seventeen's face
was pressed against Michaels's groin. Robert could sense each hair against
Seventeen's face. Michaels's ball sack pushed against Seventeen's chin and
the soft flesh of his gut covered Seventeen's nose and
forehead. Seventeen's mind began receiving data from Michaels's cock and
automatically adjusted its movements to maximize Michaels's pleasure. It
was as if Seventeen's mind knew exactly what each nerve ending in
Michaels's cock was feeling and then adjusted the muscles of its mouth in
response. Seventeen knew exactly how much pressure to exert on every point
of Michaels's cock. It knew exactly when to mewl with pleasure to stroke
Michaels's ego. Seventeen's precisely calibrated sucking brought Michaels
to the point of pre-orgasm and then held him just at the point. When
Michaels moved nearer to orgasm, Seventeen would modulate its actions and
help Michaels back away from cumming. If Michaels became distracted,
Seventeen's mouth drew him back immediately.

Michaels began to moan. "Make a note, Teddy," he gasped. "The new
modifications are . . .  are . . . oh, my god, they are incredible."
Michaels tossed the C-phone on the bed and grabbed the back of Seventeen's
head in both his hands, lacing his fingers together and pulling Seventeen
hard against his groin. The two of them began to rock back and forth as
Michaels thrust his cock deeper and deeper into Seventeen's
throat. Seventeen's arms encircled Michaels's body and he ran his hands
over it, unerringly finding Michaels's erogenous zones and increasing
Michaels's pleasure. Michaels's breathing grew ragged. His gasps turned to
groans and then to shouts as he came in Seventeen's mouth.

Seventeen greedily swallowed the cum. When Michaels's body stopped
shuddering and convulsing, Seventeen gently licked his cock clean and
swallowed the last drop of cum. Michaels pulled away just enough so that
Seventeen could see past the bulge of Michaels's gut. He smiled in
gratitude and said, "Thank you, Mr. Michaels." In the mirror, Robert could
see the look of simpering adoration on Seventeen's face. He shuddered
inwardly.

Michaels sat down heavily on the bed and then flopped back. His belly rose
and fell as he labored to catch his breath. It took him a minute before he
recovered enough to speak. "I love my work. God, do I love my work." He
laughed. "Make a note, Teddy. No further adjustments needed on cocksucking
app."

"Congratulations, Mr. Michaels. I've sent the complete file on the session
to you. You can examine it later."

"Good, good," Michaels languidly flapped a hand in dismissal. "Take
Seventeen away and begin running the diagnostic programs on it. I need to
rest for a few hours before we continue the testing." He rolled over on the
bed. Within seconds he was snoring.

*****

"You will really like this app, Robert." Michaels smirked as he pointed at
an icon on the C-Phone. "We used your ass and mouth as the sources for the
image. I think you will agree that it is appropriate." The icon consisted
of a pair of lips positioned low on the ass crack. "I like to fuck,
but--and I'm speaking as one fucker to another. Well, your days as a fucker
are over, and your fucked-up days are just beginning, if you get my drift."
Michaels guffawed and smacked Seventeen across the ass.

"But, as I was saying, the problem as I see it is that the asshole gets too
loose. It's great when you first ram your cock in. Everything is nice and
tight and the fuckee is screaming and crying and begging you to stop. But
the longer you fuck, the less stimulation there is. Some guys have been
fucked so much that they have no squeeze left in them. You might as well be
fucking a four-inch sewer pipe. And some guys have a sewer pipe back
there. All that shit. I don't need to tell you what a turn-off it can
be. And don't get me started on condoms. So you see the problems,
Robert. Fucking is fun but the asshole is just not as versatile an
instrument as the mouth. That's the genius of this app. Well, I could stand
here and talk about it all day, but a demonstration is worth a thousand
words. Are you recording, Teddy?"

Michaels held the C-phone so that Robert could watch him finger the
ass/mouth icon. He immediately sensed a changed in Seventeen's body. His
anus felt hot for a few seconds. Michaels stepped behind Seventeen and
pushed his shoulders down so that Seventeen bent forward at the waist. He
spread Seventeen's ass cheeks apart. "Get some shots of this, Teddy."

In the mirrored wall of the bedroom, Robert watched as Teddy pointed the
camera at his ass. No, Seventeen's ass, thought Robert. This isn't me
anymore.

"Send the image stream to the television," ordered Michaels.

"Yes, Mr. Michaels." The assistant touched the screen he was holding and an
image of Seventeen's ass appeared on the television. Where the anus had
been was a pair of lips. Robert watched as the lips pursed and flexed in
kissing motions. Michaels giggled. "Ain't that a pretty sight, Robert? Now
you're probably asking yourself What next? What could that genius Avery
Michaels have thought of now? How could he possibly top himself?"

Michaels pulled off his bathrobe and tossed it on the floor. He was
naked. His hairy belly bulged and a roll of fat overhung his groin. He spat
in his hand and then reached down and pulled at his cock until it was
hard. Robert could feel Seventeen's ass expanding and contracting. It grew
wetter. It was almost as if it was hungry for Michaels's cock, anticipating
it, wanting it, and lubing itself up for it.

"All systems ready, Mr. Michaels. Data transmission has begun. Seventeen is
prepped for you."

"Assume the position, Seventeen."

Seventeen presented his ass to Michaels. He could see Michaels approaching
him on the television screen. He held his cock in one hand. He reached
forward and grabbed Seventeen by the shoulder with his other hand. The view
on the screen split. One half showed Seventeen's anus, its lips open
wide. The camera shooting the image on the other half had to be right above
the anus. The head of Michaels's cock grew larger and larger until it
filled the screen.

Seventeen's anus and rectum sucked Michaels's cock into Seventeen until its
entire length was inside. They swiftly adjusted to every contour of
Michaels's cock, faultlessly stimulating every nerve ending as they
established a rhythmic pulse that surged from the top of the cock to the
base.

Michaels groaned. "This . . . is . . . oh, my god . . . this is
perfect. Turn it down a bit. I don't want to cum right away."

"Yes, Mr. Michaels." The assistant keyed in the commands. Robert felt
Seventeen's grip on Michaels's cock lessen and the pulse of the
contractions slow.

"Do you want to test the speech options available for this app,
Mr. Michaels?"

"Yeah, let see how those work."

The assistant nodded.

"Oh, you're huge. Give it to me, stud. Fuck me, big boy. Oh, oh, man, pound
me until I scream." A look of faked ecstasy appeared on Seventeen's
face. The words came out in a feminized voice.

"That sounds like some queen talking. Where did you get that?"

"We found it in a porno movie."

"I suppose someone might want that. What else do we have?"

The assistant touched another key on his pad. Seventeen begin to gasp in
time with the thrusts, as if each thrust was forcing air from its
lungs. Interspersed among the grunts were moans of pleasure.

"That's much better."

"There are other options, Mr. Michaels."

"Can we return speech control to what's his name? Robert? I'd like to hear
what he thinks of this."

"Hmmm, let me think. We've never tried that before." The assistant walked
over and showed Michaels the tablet. "Do you think this will work?"

"Maybe. But this before that, I think. Give it a try. . . . Can you speak,
Robert?"

Robert extended a wisp of thought toward his vocal chords. "Please, let me
go."

"Great. It worked. I knew it was a good idea not to destroy his
consciousness from the start. So, Robert, what do you think?"

"Why are you doing this to me?"

"Why? Because I can. And because the human race needs this. I'll make
trillions from this. Everyone's sex life will be improved. Of course, I'm
not going to make the full range of apps available, at least not to
everyone. That will be reserved for those who can pay millions for the
privilege of having the perfect sex toy. Someone like Seventeen. But for
most people, it will just be an app that improves their sexual
skills. We'll have cheap versions for straights, bis, gays, lesbians. My
sales department projects a 95 percent saturation of the market within two
years. Everyone is going to want at least the basic apps. And there will be
apps for those with more specialized tastes. We already have the
slogan--The Final Evolution in Human Intimacy. And the possibilities extend
far beyond sex. That's just the opening wedge. Everyone--at least those who
can afford it--will be able to download an app and instantly become the
master of any subject, be able to speak any language. This is what we've
been working toward since the first computers. You're in the forefront of
the next wave of human development, Robert."

"I don't want to be. Let me go. Please let me go."

"Why would I do that, Robert? You're perfect." Michaels patted Seventeen
proprietarily on the back. "Now, turn him off. I've heard enough. And let's
get back to testing this app. I'm ready for my close-up. Program a slight
increase in speed every minute."

Seventeen responded immediately. Michaels moaned and began thrusting harder
and faster. Seventeen adjusted automatically. It knew exactly how to arouse
Michaels without making him climax. It could keep him up for hours, if
Michaels could last that long. In the event, an exhausted Michaels
collapsed on his bed forty minutes later.

*****

After every session, Michaels dismissed his Seventeen toy with a wave of
his hand. The human-shaped gadget had catered to his pleasure, and for the
moment Michaels was sated.

Benjamin was always waiting for Seventeen outside the door to Michaels's
bedroom. He was the one who cleaned Seventeen and tended it. Not that there
was much to do. Seventeen did not eat or drink. Its body repaired
itself. No matter what apps Michaels had tested on it that day, it resumed
what was apparently its basic, normal form within seconds. It was as if it
had been wiped clean of any modifications. Benjamin simply led it back to a
cubicle and plugged it in. That's how Robert thought of it. Benjamin backed
Seventeen into a niche in the wall and attached electrodes to various
places around its body. Then he positioned a helmet on Seventeen's
head. When he was finished, he flicked a switch on a console near the
niche.

Robert had heard one of the senior attendants speaking to Benjamin. He
guessed from their comments that the electrodes and the helmet were used to
run diagnostics on Seventeen and to input new programs. Sometimes Seventeen
stood in the niche for hours at a time. Sometimes a whole day or two passed
before it was taken back to Michaels for further testing. Benjamin came
back to check on him occasionally. Sometimes he would pat Seventeen and
smile at him as if trying to reassure the robot. "Won't be much longer
now," he might say. Or "You must be getting bored."

It was the only human contact Seventeen received. The other attendants
treated him like a piece of furniture. It was as if they didn't want to
recognize that Seventeen was a human being. But was he still a human being?
He had become this machine. He couldn't even respond to Benjamin.

After a few weeks--Robert was sure that at least a few weeks had passed,
but he was finding it more and more difficult to keep track of time--he
began to hear increasing references to The Download. The way Benjamin and
the others spoke of it, it was capitalized. "The Download is 35 percent
complete." "Mr. Michaels wants The Download to be over 50 percent complete
by the end of the week." "Mr. Michaels wants to run some tests on The
Download tomorrow."

*****

Each day brought new evidence that Michaels was in complete control of
Seventeen's body. In the small corner of Robert's mind that was still his,
he plotted elaborate revenge on the "fat pig," but first he had to regain
control of his body. He tried to focus and exert his will to send out a
command to his body. In his mind's eye, he saw an electrical charge travel
down a nerve and trigger some small movement--a twitch of an eyelid, a
minute shift of the index finger on his right hand--but nothing worked. His
body remained beyond his control. He couldn't even call it "his" body any
more.

At first, he had paid attention when Michaels activated an app to test
it. Now, he shut his mind to what was happening. He tried to convince
himself that if he ignored "Seventeen," then Seventeen was not real. At
most it was a bad dream, but he would wake up. He clung to that thought. As
soon as Benjamin began detaching the wires that connected him to the
machines and began cleaning his body to deliver him to Michaels, he shut
down his awareness of his body. Or he tried to do that. He tried to
superimpose events from his previous life on what was currently happening
to him. He re-imagined them in great detail. He played loud music in his
head to drown out the sound. He saw vivid colors. He ate hot food. He
enjoyed past orgasms.

But nothing worked. He would catch sight of himself in the mirrors in
Michaels's bedroom. He would see Seventeen obediently carry out Michaels's
commands. He would watch the Fat Pig crow and preen after Seventeen had
given him yet another stupendous orgasm. Michaels had an endless supply of
apps to test. If a new app did not work as well as planned or an old one
ceased to satisfy, he would tinker with them and test and retest them on
Seventeen. Robert tried not to care but he always ended up
humiliated. Every day brought further proof that Michaels was evil. But
some days left Robert feeling even dirtier than usual.

"Benjamin, stay. We need your help testing some apps today." Michaels
motioned the attendant forward. "I can guarantee that you're going to like
this. Sit down. You know what the goals of the project are?"

"Yes, Mr. Michaels." Benjamin looked uneasy. Robert had never before seen
Michaels speak to Benjamin other than to issue orders about the beta-tester
assigned to his care. Benjamin's face betrayed his apprehension about the
implications of Michaels's question, an apprehension that Robert shared.

"Well, Seventeen is a great improvement over the previous versions--by at
least an order of magnitude. I'll be the first to admit that the early
models were not satisfactory. But I learned from our mistakes, and
Seventeen has been performing beyond expectations. But naturally I can test
only--well, what should I call them? Its bottom functions? Yes, its bottom
functions. Marketing is adamant that our new device has to have apps for
all tastes. So you can see, can't you, that we will need to test the top
functions as well. And that's where you come in, Benjamin. You can help us
test Seventeen's top apps. Now, I don't want you to feel under any
pressure. If you don't want to do this, we can find someone else."

Robert watched in the mirror as Benjamin glanced about nervously. The
attendant's gaze darted furtively toward Seventeen. The naked robot was
standing off to one side, apparently unconcerned with the conversation
between Michaels and Benjamin. Robert had listened to the conversations
between Benjamin and the researchers while he was tethered to the
machines. Everyone was excited about Seventeen's performance. Teddy and the
other select researchers who had witnessed Seventeen in action or seen the
videotapes raved about it. He had also overhead the darker rumors of what
happened to employees of the project who had developed moral scruples about
what Michaels was doing. They simply disappeared. The official word was
that they had been dismissed and sent packing. The unofficial word was that
something worse awaited them. One of the supervisors had taken Benjamin
aside in Seventeen's presence and whispered, "Never cross Michaels. Just do
what he says and do it right away, and you won't have any problems."

It took Benjamin only a few seconds to decide. He smiled warily and said,
"I'd be glad to help in any way I can, Mr. Michaels."

"Great. Let's get started then. Teddy, if you would show Benjamin where he
can get undressed. Teddy will need to attach some monitors to your body so
that we can track what's happening to you. Don't worry. There will be some
red marks on your skin afterwards, but they're not permanent. They'll fade
in a day or two."

Ten minutes later, Benjamin stood naked beside Seventeen. Here and there on
his body patches of white adhesive tape marked the location of the sensors
that would monitor his heart rate, his blood pressure, his breathing rate,
the flow of saliva and the number of times he swallowed, the flow of blood
to his penis and the hardness of his erection, the tension in his lip,
mouth, cheek, and throat muscles, the contractions of his anal ring, his
overall muscular tension, and the strength of his orgasm. A collection
pouch had been affixed to the head of his cock so that his ejaculate could
be collected and measured.

Benjamin shivered. Robert didn't think the room was cold. He suspected that
Benjamin's nervousness had grown during the ten minutes he had had to think
about the implications of "top apps." Both Teddy and Michaels were being
their usual clinical selves and going on about the testing protocols. Teddy
had barely paid Benjamin any attention while fastening the monitors on
him. He treated Benjamin the same way he treated Seventeen--as a test
subject and nothing more. Now the other two men were discussing Seventeen's
program and ignoring both Benjamin and himself. An image from a movie or a
TV show he had one seen popped into Robert's mind. A group of alien
scientists had been experimenting on a human that had been abducted. The
human actor was attached to machines by innumerable tubes and wires. Only
the actor's eyes moved. And they were terrified--just like Benjamin's were
now. Benjamin was probably thinking that he had made a bad mistake. He knew
he should back out now, but he sensed it was too late. If he tried to stop
the test, then he too would "disappear" and be the next rumor..

"Okay. We're ready then." Michaels activated an app on the C-phone.

Seventeen turned toward Benjamin and embraced him. His hands, his lips, his
body began an elaborate seduction. Seventeen reacted immediately to
Benjamin's every move. When his eyes fluttered and a small moan of pleasure
escaped his lips as Seventeen stroked his right nipple, but not his left,
Seventeen focused his attentions on the right nipple. When Benjamin's mouth
opened, Seventeen insinuated his tongue deep into Benjamin's throat. Its
shape altered subtly. Longer, more tubular, wet, smooth, filling.

Seventeen bent Benjamin's body backward as he embraced Benjamin and lowered
the young man's body onto the bed. His right hand began stroking Benjamin's
thighs, gently pushing them apart, as he began thrusting his tongue in and
out of Benjamin's mouth. Benjamin's breathing grew ragged and his moans
became louder and louder. When Seventeen guided Benjamin's head down across
his stomach, Benjamin's mouth opened wide and engulfed Seventeen's
cock. The cock adjusted automatically to fit, swelling to fill Benjamin's
throat.

Seventeen reached across Benjamin's back and began stroking his ass. His
fingers reached between the crack and slowly and so delicately began
probing Benjamin. One long finger, then two, three. The hormones and drugs
pumped by Seventeen's cock into Benjamin's mouth and by his fingers into
Benjamin's ass were formulated to increase arousal and stimulate
desire. They worked flawlessly. When Benjamin impaled himself on
Seventeen's hard cock, his eyes rolled backward into his skull. He was
oblivious to everything but the pleasure of Seventeen's thrusts. He
collapsed when Seventeen came.

*****

"Will there be anything else, Mr. Michaels?" Since the day that Seventeen
had fucked Benjamin, the attendant had been super-attentive to
Seventeen. He bathed him carefully, and he had even begun massaging
Seventeen's body, although that was unnecessary. Seventeen's body didn't
benefit, and he felt nothing. Robert dimly registered that Seventeen's
personal service attendant was showing signs of infatuation and wanted a
repeat session, but he didn't care.

"No, that will be all. We'll send for you when we're finished for the
day. It will be several hours."

Michaels waited until Benjamin had left before speaking to Teddy. "How he's
doing?"

"His supervisor reported that he complained of a headache for the first few
days after the inoculation. Nothing serious. He should be ready in two
days."

"I want to supervise Benjamin's testing personally, Teddy. We do need a way
to spread the microprocessors from a superhost to selected bodies. I'm
working on a program that will allow the superhosts like Seventeen to
evaluate each body it has sex with and inoculate those who are worthy for
conversion to the full model. Marketing is already testing focus groups to
see which body types will sell best to which groups. But we can't proceed
with manufacturing more models until we can be sure the transfer doesn't
affect the microprocessors adversely. The revised versions we're testing on
Seventeen are exhibiting no degradation after seven months. I'm cautiously
optimistic that we've finally perfected them. If the tests on Benjamin show
that the microprocessors are performing as well as they do in Seventeen,
then I will begin testing viruses on him to see if the auto-repair
functions work. We don't want to start selling the preliminary version of
the microprocessors until we can be sure that some hacker can't infect them
with a virus. Once we saturate the market, I plan to release upgraded
versions every six months or so, and we need to be able to reassure
customers that the programs are safe. Each version will come with its own
virus-protection program. Marketing thinks it will be a great incentive. No
one wants a perfect sex life to be interrupted by some hacker trying to
gain control over an army of drones."

"Yes, Mr. Michaels."

"And how is the download coming along?"

"Ninety-six percent complete, Sir. It will take another 35 hours to finish
up. All the diagnostics we've run on it show that the transcription is
perfect, Sir."

"Good, good, good. I will want to test it as well. We can reactivate
Fifteen and Sixteen when the time comes and use them as the guinea pigs."

"Yes, Mr. Michaels."

"And now, Teddy, I think you can leave. I don't have any tests for
Seventeen today. I think I will reward myself for all my hard work."

"Yes, Mr. Michaels."

Michaels reached for the C-phone. "What am I in the mood for today? So many
choices. It's hard to decide."

***** "Is the original still conscious?"

"Yes, Mr. Michaels."

"I want him to see what he helped create. Of course, his input was only a
small part, but I want him to share in the success."

"Robert, pay attention."

Robert turned his thoughts toward Michaels.

"You'll want to see this." Michaels held up the C-phone. "It's my latest
app. It's meant for people like me who weren't as generously gifted by
Nature as you were. Remember all that downloading we did--all those hours
you stood in that cubicle attached to those machines. Here's what it was
for. Watch."

Michaels fingered an icon on the screen of the C-phone.

*****

"See that guy over there. That's Avery Michaels--you know, that guy
. . . oh you know, the inventor of the C-phone. Isn't he gorgeous? Plus
he's super-rich now. I hear that there's a new version of the C-phone
coming out in a couple of weeks. I can't wait."

"Me neither. I hope the lines aren't as long this time. I spent two days
standing in line, most of them outside, to get the C-Phone 17. But it was
worth it. I can't imagine how we survived with C-Phones. Did you read that
article about Michaels in *Inc*? He used to be so grossly fat and flabby,
but he's really changed in the past year. He must have gone on a diet and
started working out big time. It looks like he had plastic surgery and hair
transplants too. Whatever he did, you have to admit the results are
incredible. He reminds of this guy I dated once. Robert something. Only
Michaels is better looking. Or maybe, it's just the money. I hear that
Michaels has some private apps that haven't been put on the market yet. Sex
with him is supposed to be fantastic."