As a former employee of one of those massive "think tanks" which conducts secret studies into all areas of American life, I am familiar with the literary genre known as the
scenario. The latter is actually the use of fictional techniques to predict the future. In other words, the author of a scenario must create a series of characters and then a series of events and then join them in a logical manner to give a picture of the future.
Professor Diray, the author of these scenarios, is a master craftsman. He has provided us with a peek into the future technology of this country and the world that is without peer since the work of Jules Verne. But Professor Diray was not satisfied to portray merely the turbines, plans and "hardware" which make up a technology. On the contrary, he has shown how that technology of the future will be harnessed to man's most enduring passions those concerned with the erotic nature of the soul.
His vision of the twenty-first century is optimistic but not Utopian. Many of the problems which plague us, war, pollution, social unrest, will be gone, but in their places arise new and sometimes more profound problems; ones that deal with the destiny of the universe rather than man alone.
The reader will enter a world that is in many respects alien to him. Many of the personal erotic functions will have been replaced by computer technology. The scope of Professor Diray's imagination and technical competence is truly encyclopedic. In his scenario on the bizarre developments of masturbatory impulses he exhibits a profound knowledge of electronics. In his scenario on the "peace and freedom drug" he shows us his deep grasp of Psychopharmacology. In his scenario on "four dimensional sexual cinema" he gives us the benefit of his obviously deep study of the cinema of this century and the aesthetic experience.
Although many of the scenarios seem to boggle the imagination, there is no doubt that they will be technically feasible in the twenty-first century.
I have reason to believe that the name "O. M. Diray" is a pseudonym for a famous scientist who is afraid that the accent on erotic materials in these scenarios would hurt his academic and professional career if it was revealed that he was the author.
If this is so then it is a sad commentary on those "think tanks" which employ some of America's most important and most brilliant scientists. I will go even further than that and say that one of the reasons for our disgraceful lack of knowledge of the sexual appetites, almost primitive in comparison to even such new areas as laser technology, is due to the reticence of scientists to deal with these matters. But this is another story and has little to do with the technology of the twenty-first century.
There is one last point I would like to make. Although these scenarios are exciting to read, similar in form to imaginative short stories, it would pay the reader to look over them a second time in order to extract the most important details which may have lost as the reader became engrossed in the often startling descriptions. In other words, I am saying that each scenario has to be read twice; once for sheer enjoyment and the second time for the remarkable facts contained therein.
All in all, it is one of the most important books of this or any other decade.
John V. Ception, Ph. D.
SCENARIO 1
Sunday, 9:00 A.M. The wall screen in Eleanor's bedroom turned itself on after receiving instructions from the central computer bank:
"Good morning, Eleanor. Forgive the interruption but you have already slept eight hours. Would you like to hear news or music?"
Eleanor stirred and buried her head under the pillow. The figure on the screen spoke again, politely but insistently:
"Would you like to hear news or music?"
Eleanor fumbled for the selector panel by the side of the bed and pushed the MUSIC BUTTON. In an instant the figure on the screen vanished and the music started to filter into the room. It was a recording of Bartok's Concerto for Strings, Percussion and Celeste. She listened for a few moments and then decided that the music was too moody for such an early hour. Again she reached over and pressed the SWITCH button. Another type of music came on, this one more suited to the hour.
The sunlight had already filtered through the room and she could see the specks of dust rising toward the ceiling.
The specks of dust danced in the air. She could have removed them in an instant with a fresh injection of ultra-oxygens which were available to every apartment dweller, but they reminded her of desperate little men, condemned to continually climb a wall of air from which there was no escape.
At the thought of men her body stiffened. It had been so long since she had one. Only a week earlier Eleanor had been so desperate for companionship that she had walked into the Gratification Bureau but had lost her nerve at the last moment and hurried out.
Her hand reached toward the red button on the control panel but at the thought of pushing it-she stopped. It was the gratification button; the one that would solve all her problems. The music had stopped and she waited for the next piece to come on. It was a more spirited number and it made her needs even more acute. Her hand was trembling as she leaned over and pushed the red button. Immediately the music stopped and a second later the figure appeared on the screen again.
"Eleanor, you pushed the red button. I am here to help you. There is nothing to be ashamed of."
Usually the figure's tone and manner was pleasing to her, but now it seemed to mock her needs. She sat up in the bed, looking at the figure and saying, defiantly:
"I wouldn't have pushed the red button unless I was desperate."
"I understand, Eleanor," the figure said, its voice filled with compassion.
"You understand nothing," she murmured bitterly.
"If you feel that way, I can't help you," the voice responded. She had forgotten that the screen picked up every sound no matter how small.
The figure on the screen began to fade away and the sounds of the music began to filter into the room.
"Wait," she called, frantically, "I'm sorry."
The figure returned strong and clear. Eleanor's hands were shaking and she reached out for a Morning Awareness pill which she popped into her mouth. Within thirty seconds she felt herself in control of her emotions.
"What are you interested in?"
"I don't know," Eleanor replied, suddenly ashamed of herself.
"Would you like me to lead you through it?"
"Yes," she said.
"Would you like electronic stimulation?"
She turned her head away from the screen and watched the spirals of dust climb up the wall. Her body was aching as if she had received a terrible blow.
"Yes, electronic."
"Then I have to switch over to a different wave length. Would you kindly stay where you are."
The figure on the screen vanished and the screen itself began to distort and change colors. Eventually the figure returned and the screen righted itself but this time there was an eerie glow in the room. The screen seemed almost plastic, able to twist and turn with every vagary.
"Are you ready?" the figure asked.
"Yes," Eleanor replied.
"Remove your pajamas."
Eleanor slid out of the bottoms first, folded them and lay them on the rug beside the bed. Then she removed her top, folded it in the same manner, and lay it gently on top of the other garment. She was naked. Her body glistened against the white sheet, her full, round breasts heaving slightly from the excitement.
"You are a beautiful woman, Eleanor. Do you know that you are beautiful?"
Eleanor nodded her head but she didn't answer verbally.
"I repeat. Do you know that you are a beautiful woman?"
"I know it," she replied.
"And you have beautiful breasts."
"I have beautiful breasts."
"Touch them," the figure commanded.
Her fingers crept toward the white mounds of flesh. Tentatively, she touched them and a series of delicious shivers ran up and down her body. Her fingers lingered there a while, not moving, not daring to explore. Then she cupped her breasts and squeezed them, squeezing the soft glands into a hard lusting ball. Her fingers tightened like a vise, torturing the flesh but bringing to herself moments of ecstatic lust. She felt herself sinking into the bed.
"Your nipples, Eleanor, your nipples."
The voice was insistent. Eleanor released the brutal grip on her mounds and her fingers began to touch the cherry-like points which capped her breasts.
"Gently, Eleanor, gently. Feel the vibrations in your body, feel the love that you and others have for you."
She was completely under the sway of the image on the screen. Her fingers began to flick the nipples back and forth. They began to rise, to flower out of her breasts like harbingers of spring. She felt her body beginning to heat, to learn the lesson of the nipples. One was completely erect. Every time her fingers touch it, the nipple vibrated with its own song. She wanted to pluck it with her teeth.
"Imagine that I am on the bed with you. Imagine that my mouth is circling your nipples, that my tongue is tasting those luscious fruits. Imagine that, Eleanor."
The voice from the image raced through her body. She felt the lips on her nipples, she felt the sweet saliva of maleness corrupting her. Her fingers went faster until she moaned and sobbed and cried out to the screen for help.
"You must relax, Eleanor. You are losing control. Relax. Take your hands from your nipples. Lay back and calm yourself."
Eleanor did as she was told. The hysteria in her body began to ease.
"Spread your legs, Eleanor."
Slowly, methodically, her thighs moved apart, until the dark jewel of her sex was facing the image on the screen.
"You have a beautiful vagina. Do you remember the first time a man sunk his face into your sex and then pried apart your lips with his tongue? Do you remember your feelings as the tongue glided along your juicy vaginal walls?"
Eleanor shivered. She remembered, she remembered it better than she remembered anything else in her life.
"Touch yourself," the voice commanded, "see if what I say is not true."
She let her hand move between her legs and slowly rubbed her steamy nest.
"I am going to send you a soft electronic signal. Remember, it does not last for more than ten seconds. Are you ready, Eleanor?"
Eleanor nodded her head and spread her legs as wide as she could.
The screen blipped once and a strange, eerie sound filled the room. A micro-second later, the signal reached her. It was a preliminary electronic impulse; one to excite her. It reached the lips of her flower and began to bounce back and forth across the opening. The insides of her thighs began to quiver as her lips grew hot and wet under the stimulus of the electronic signal. Then it was gone.
She was shaking and wet with sweat. Every part of her body vibrated from the signal. There was silence in the room. She held her arms out toward the image, asking, begging for more her face twisted in a mask of terrible desire.
The screen blipped and another signal came. This one entered her and she cried out, a gasp of pure joy and ecstatic shock. The signal was like a snake, a berserk snake that bored into her and set the walls of her sex on fire. An instant later it was gone. She plunged her fingers into her own steamy nest and luxuriated in the wetness of her sex. Her hand moved in and out like a surrogate penis, exciting herself even more.
Then she placed her hands under her buttocks so that she could raise herself and present a more succulent image to the screen.
It blipped and a series of soft signals left the control one after another, entering her, spinning around as if her sex was a centrifuge. She grasped the sides of the bed in joy and agony as her body was spun around. Deep inside she felt the beginnings of the orgasm. The signals dissipated and she allowed herself to rest for a moment. The screen was silent. No signal came. She was on the brink caught on the tightrope every pore in her body aching for fulfillment, every inch of her flesh yearning for release.
The image on the screen said: "Help thyself."
A second later another image flashed on the screen. It was a picture of her ex-lover. The image called out to her:
"You remember me, don't you, Eleanor."
"I do, I do, I do," she whispered again and again, her flesh quivering.
"Help thyself, Eleanor," the image repeated.
There was a hairbrush lying on the edge of the bed. She reached over and picked it up. It was smooth and hard. It was pointed at one end.
"Yes, yes, it was beautiful when we made love together, Eleanor. Remember how I could climb on you, climb on your strong body and you'd open your body to me and I'd sink it in, deep inside. Do you remember?"
A second later caught up in the swirl of lust and the shock of seeing on the screen before her alikeness of her lover she rammed the hairbrush into her plunging it deep inside the palpitating
She moaned once and then plunged it deeper, her body seeming to suck the object inside her.
Tensing her body she sat up and placed the brush between both pa ms. like a woman deranged she began to twirl the brush. It began to heat, the friction scarred the moist walls of her flower. She cried out again and again as the heat and passion drained her. Her face was twisted into a mask of lust. Fast and faster until the heat seemed to shrivel her nest. She was gasping for breath. She felt the pools of vaginal juices drying up. Then-her body was silent for a moment only a moment.
The screen dimmed and a second later the screen turned into a jumble of colors; hot and violent pinks, muted blacks, a melange of alternating colors, sending her mind into orgasm just as her body was racked by the explosion she yearned for.
She twitched and shivered and then was still. She lay on the bed, her mouth open, her body trying to recover. The hairbrush fell to the floor.
"Eleanor." The image called.
"Yes."
"Are you happy."
"Yes."
She reached over the side of the bed and pressed the MUSIC button. The room was filled with the sounds of violins, soft, lyrical string instruments. A weariness was upon her.
Her hands lazily swept the rug beneath the bed, searching blindly for the pajamas. Once located, she scooped them up and lay them over her body.
Suddenly the music ceased. The image returned to the screen, saying:
"Something is the matter, Eleanor."
"No," she said, not wanting to talk anymore.
"But there is," the voice insisted, "a complete record of your responses in the computer bank ... and the response you are exhibiting now is contrary to your control card. I am not prying, Eleanor, I want to help you."
"Go away."
"You can flick me off anytime you want, Eleanor."
She was afraid to. The image remained her only link with the erotic world. To shut it off would mean to repudiate the image, to repudiate all future possibilities of her body receiving those soft electronic signals which could send her into total rapture.
"You're right, I'm sad, unfulfilled."
"Did you experience an orgasm."
"Yes."
"Then why?" The voice was perplexed.
Eleanor's eyes returned to the dust. Suddenly, she wanted to destroy those particles. She savagely pressed the console button for the room anti-pollution device the one which would sterilize the room. A moment later the particles vanished.
The moment they vanished she seemed free to speak. It was as if a curtain had been lifted.
"I want a man," she said.
"There is the gratification clinic. Why don't you go there?"
"No, not that way. I want something ... something ... romantic." She was ashamed to use that word but finally it escaped her lips.
"Very well," said the image.
A second later the screen began to blip and a succession of men appeared before her eyes.
"Pick one," said the image.
She leaned back in bed and studied the forms. She knew that everything would be all right.
SCENARIO 2
With the abolition of money and a gold-based currency as a medium of exchange (instead, there was a system of "value money" where one was given notes in direct proportion to one's goodness) crime was almost eliminated from the life of the city.
No one of the current generation could even remember when a crime such as mugging or armed robbery had taken place, although the history books were full of such deeds in past generations.
Because of these facts, when they found the man murdered beneath the walls of the Culture School, an obvious victim of robbery, the whole city was enraged. Men and women gave up their spare time in a hunt for the culprit who had committed the most heinous deed in their memory. At night, the clear, germ-free atmosphere of the city (controlled by the geodesic dome which was inflated at certain time) was filled with amateur sleuths.
Eventually they found the killers; two young people, a girl and boy, who had recently moved from the coastal metropolis.
A special tribunal was convened to try the case and it was held in the amphitheatre. Thousands of citizens turned out, not motivated by a love for the gory details of the crime, but rather by a genuine curiosity how two young people could act in such a manner.
The verdict was guilty. Then the jury retired once again to consider the punishment. The young man and woman neither cried nor laughed, nor betrayed any emotion whatsoever as they waited for the judgment as to their fate. Since the death penalty and imprisonment were no longer used as punishments, only one punishment remained; the work-cure on extra-planetary ships which was really a pleasant interlude.
Most of the spectators believed that this would be their fate.
The jury, however, thought differently. They sentenced the young couple to be treated by NNA.
Those spectators who had remained in the area to hear the verdict uttered a collective gasp. Even in that city, where drugs of the mind-expanding and truthfulfilling variety were readily dispensed with the blessing of the city administration, the spectators gasped. For NNA was the most potent drug their vaults possessed and had only recently been developed after years of research by their most prominent scientist. It was the result of hundreds of explorations into the so-called "foggy galaxies" where the base chemicals for NNA had been laboriously collected from the hives of mutated bees.
There was grumbling in the audience, for many had waited for years for a chance at the drug.
The foreman of the jury silenced them by the raise of the arm and he spoke:
"I realize that many of you are dissatisfied by my verdict. But I implore you to understand why we have suggested that the crown of our city's most precious possession our knowledge of psychopharmacology be employed in the rehabilitation of these two young people."
Again the mumbling but the raised hand and the fair-play spirit of the crowd prevailed. He continued:
"They will be taken to the laboratory and treated. Their progress will be reported to all of you."
The people began to file out. The young man and woman were led through the underground passages reserved for emergencies such as galactic storms. They walked for miles until they came to a wooden door which opened as they approached, obviously worked by an electric eye.
They stepped into a gleaming white laboratory. A tall man, in a white smock, greeted them kindly and led them into the experimentation room. Once in there, they were requested to remove their clothes. Professor Woods, the scientist in charge of the systhesization of NNA introduced himself to them and began to make small talk. He was trying to ascertain their treatment threshold; what dosage would be needed. They both seemed relaxed and the Professor was sure the treatment would be a success.
"You realize, of course, what we are going to do to you."
"You're going to destroy us," the girl said bitterly.
Professor Woods was shocked by her cynicism and her lack of confidence. He understood now how these two young people had committed murder they seemed to be totally deranged, they seemed to be without the inner light which had transformed their civilization into one of peace.
"We are not going to destroy you, we are going to save you."
The boy laughed at him. Professor Woods realized that it was impossible to carry on an intelligent conversation with them in their present state and he went to the refrigerator to remove the vial of NNA.
He held the small plastic vial up to the light.
"What is it?" the boy asked suspiciously.
"This," said the Professor gently, "will provide you with peace and freedom, two qualities which both of you obviously lack."
The corner of the girl's mouth was beginning to twitch.
"It comes," he continued, "from the 'foggy galaxy' and is one of the wonders..."
The boy slammed his fist against the wall of the room ... cursing him and saying:
"Never, you'll never give me that."
Woods ignored him and kept speaking about the wondrous qualities of the drug. His eyes searched their bodies, looking for the most convenient points of application.
"Listen to me. I am going to apply it. NNA works by establishing a link between the brain and actual behavior of the limbs. This link is, in effect, a blockage which funnels all behavior into the twin goals of peace and freedom. Do you understand?"
There was no reply from the two young people. Pouring some of the liquid onto his hand he approached the girl and tapped her nipples gently. The girl shivered. Her beautiful white breasts seemed to contract but the nipples sucked the NNA up.
Woods moved to the boy. Lifting up his inert penis, he gently smeared some NNA on the boy's globes. Then he held the drug in his hand and asked the two youngsters to immerse their tongues in it. They approached his cupped hand warily, like two animals beginning to drink at an unknown waterhole.
They lapped it up. Woods recapped the vial and moved to the side of the room where a chair had been provided for him. He picked up a pad of paper and sat down, waiting for developments.
At first there was nothing. They stood looking at each other, vaguely uneasy. Then the girl laughed.
"Why are you laughing?" The boy swung his arm at her but missed. Woods was unconcerned. He knew that the initial response to NNA was often a violent one and many experiments had shown that the drug induces, at the beginning, paranoid symptoms in the user.
"I want to talk to you," the girl said, giggling.
"What do you want?"
"Come here."
The boy approached her. They stood scarcely more than an inch apart. The girl laughed again and a second later thrust her breast into the boy's half-open mouth. For a moment the boy fought but then his mouth opened and Woods saw the quivering flesh sink deep into the pink hole. The girl stopped laughing and beads of sweat appeared on her forehead. She pushed until her breast was a flattened orb against the lips of her partner. His tongue began to race across her drugged nipple until the girl threw her head back and uttered a cry that was only part human.
Woods knew it was beginning to work. Their bodies were beginning to emit a strange glow; as if the pigments of the skin had been ignited with a new type of charge.
Suddenly, the girl pulled her breast out of his mouth and moving to a corner of the room, crouched there like a frightened animal.
"Don't sit, don't sit," the boy shouted.
The girl remained crouched, her head buried in her hands.
The boy moved toward her, slowly, almost on tip toes and stood over her. He was mumbling something but Woods couldn't make it out. The boy finally knelt beside the girl and began to stroke her naked back. The girl responded with a form of singing, almost a chant that reverberated throughout the room.
Woods saw that the girl was caught up in an NNA response, so totally caught up that her body went from relaxation to tenseness, with such speed and such shock that she could no longer make sounds. She grasped the boy's arm for help in her distress but the boy himself was beginning to reach that strange state where every internal and external motion of the body raced madly from one extreme to another. This was the NNA re-ordering human behavior.
The Professor tensed. This was the dangerous time. This was the only moment where something could go wrong.
The boy started to crawl away as if his partner represented some terrible vision. She caught him and raked the sides of his body with her nails. He rolled over like a puppy who had been hurt and a second later her mouth sunk into his globes. She licked those tiny objects, catching the skin of his sac with her teeth. The boy began to moan and with the moans came the throbbing and growing excitement of his member.
Her lips were like acid and they worked their way toward his column. Then, they slipped over the tip, like a glove of flesh. The boy cried out as her wet, moist lips began to slide up and down his column. Woods could see the purple and red veins and arteries of his maleness, growing and expanding.
Suddenly, the boy struck her, sending her reeling across the room. The girl staggered to her knees. The boy went after her and pushed her back down, straddling her and forcing his penis into her mouth. She didn't resist for long, but opened it wide and let the flesh glide in. He was speaking to her, words which Woods couldn't understand. Then, the boy's body stiffened and a second later the stream of hot, molten seed poured into her mouth. She twitched once and then was still.
Woods wrote up what he had seen in the pad. He knew it was only the beginning. He knew that the first stages of sexual frenzy would gradually work themselves out and a deeper, more meaningful erotic mode would substitute itself.
The girl stood up and stared at her companion. They both were shivering, their nudity suddenly a burden.
Woods laid the pencil and pad down. It was time for him to help the drug along.
"Po you remember the murder?" he asked.
They looked at each other dumbly.
"Do you remember the reason why you're both here?"
Again there was no answer. But Woods could see the truth syndromes in their bodies beginning to contract. Their bodies became like taut wires.
Woods questioned them again and again about the murder and each mention of it made them more tense, gave them more fuel to convolute themselves.
Finally the girl walked to the far wall, spread her arms against it and began to weep, shaking her whole body as she did so.
"We are trying to get to the truth," Woods said, lowering his voice since she was at the danger point, the point where the drug begins to pull out a confession from the culprits. Once the guilt is admitted, the drug then works it out, synthesizing the guilt, forming it, purifying it until there is only tranquility remaining.
The girl began to beat the wall and scream. The boy moved to her and touched her on the naked buttocks. The moment he laid a hand on her his maleness erected, standing in front of him like a fiery lance.
"You are both guilty," Woods screamed, rising out of his seat to accent his shouts.
The boy cleaved her buttocks, sending his column deep inside her. The girl struggled, shaking her quivering cheeks, but each movement of that flesh sent the weapon deeper. She was screaming and moaning as the boy began to pump, his hands fastened in front of her, digging his fingers into her white, shaking breasts.
He was crushing her against the wall, flailing her flesh. Each pumping motion of his penis sent her thrashing against the wall, forcing the breath from her body.
Finally, they screamed out their guilt. His column was ripping her apart. Her buttocks sucked the flesh in, drowning it in a sea of melting love. Again and again they called out that they were guilty, that they wanted absolution, that they were paying for their crimes.
Their bodies were blue and black and raw-almost incandescent from their brutality. Finally, his body lurched and he poured his love seed between her cheeks. She stumbled, fell against the wall, and slid to the floor. He fell beside her and she reached over and licked the seed from the tip of his column.
Woods walked over to them. He touched them with his heel. First the boy.
"What do you feel?" Woods asked him.
The boy didn't answer at first. He rolled his eyes at the Professor as if to make a non-verbal sign. But it was necessary for him to speak. Woods asked the question again and this time the boy replied:
"I feel ... I feel. . . "
"Yes, yes," Woods said impatiently.
"I feel at peace, in peace-I feel a part of the peaceful planet."
Woods smiled at him.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, the boy said, grabbing his leg, "I feel like a slow and gentle insect. I feel the peace of soul, the peace of this planet."
Woods touched the girl with his foot.
"And what do you feel?"
"Free. I feel free. I feel as if I was no longer under the tyranny of my body."
"Get dressed, both of you."
Smiling, they obeyed his command and dressed, leaving the room after they were finished. Woods went to the cabinet and opened it, to look at the remaining vials of NNA.
"It will do much more," he said, smiling to himself. Then he closed the cabinet, picked up his pencil and pad and began his report to the Dispenser of Justice.
SCENARIO 3
The Bubble ceased its forward motion just outside Jupiter Alley, the artificial gravitational field installed there by the Space commission. Commander Moorman, the sole occupant of the bubble, radioed to the Space Brothel for permission to land.
"Permission," replied the code computer beeper, and Moorman began sending mental instuctions into the Bubble's intricate machinery.
He had been space for three years, three years without sight of another human. His mission had been to collect samples of galactic dust from a strange floating planet that had somehow appeared in the furthest reaches of the Milky Way. The mission had been successful and in one corner of the space bubble rested a small black container, lined with lead, which contained the samples.
He felt himself shaking with anticipation as the bubble slowly ascended Jupiter Alley and made its way toward the Space Brothel. It was a spider-like platform, covered with an ionized plastic shell. As he moved toward it he could see the lush fauna of the Brothel, designed to resemble certain garden spots on earth. His Bubble ceased its forward motion and hung over the shell.
"Prepare to grapple," the code computer warned him.
He hunched himself up and braced for the shock. The tentacles of the station grasped the Bubble in a huge suction cup and pulled it through the plastic shell. The hole was immediately plugged by bombarding plastic pellets which melted upon contact and reinforced the shell even more strongly than before.
The heat coming from the tropical atmosphere almost strangled him, so used to the artificially contrived temperate climate of the Bubble.
He walked toward the control shack which was situated in a lovely glen, surrounded by a small stream and rows upon rows of hanging vines.
There was a white-clad woman behind the desk and she greeted him warmly:
"Welcome, Commander Moorman, we've been expecting your visit. In fact, you were scheduled about two weeks ago."
Moorman explained the delay; a brutal shower of meteorites which had damaged the Bubble and forced him to shut off power for at least seven days.
"There are just a few questions I have to ask you; it won't take more than a few moments. First: when was the last time you engaged in sexual activities of any sort?
"Including masturbation?" he queried.
"No," she replied, "I mean prior to your mission."
"It's been about three years."
"Do you have any special tastes?"
Moorman grinned:
"I don't know what you mean by special tastes."
"Well, you know that our function here is to provide sexual solace for space explorers like yourself. We are equipped to handle arty type of perversion."
"Yes, I realize that," he replied, looking at his hands. The questions were beginning to bother him.
"For example," she continued, "we have a wide variety of aliens who are here for short periods of time."
"You mean the plant aliens?"
"Yes."
Moorman had heard of them. They were bizarre vines which seemed to exhibit intelligence and which were used with some success for sexual purposes.
"I would like a little of each," Moorman finally said.
"Excellent," the woman retorted and stood up, signifying that the question and answer period was over.
He was escorted into a gleaming tile room where he showered and placed on his body certain lotions which would restore the elasticity of his skin, grown thick and unresponsive since he embarked on his mission. After this cleaning period he walked naked into a numbered glade. He was alone except for a small pond and thousands of plants and flowers. The brilliant color of the place hurt his eyes and made him dizzy.
Moorman heard something in the underbrush and he stiffened. A young girl appeared in the clearing. She couldn't have been more than sixteen. Her hair was cropped short and she was wearing only a multi-colored sheet which she kept draped over her shoulder. As she breathed, he could sec the brilliant outline of her succulent breasts.
"Are you Commander Moorman?"
He nodded. The palms of his hands were wet with sweat.
"I am Felicia."
A moment after she spoke her own name she dropped her sheet to the ground and stood naked in the clearing. His eyes roved over her body hungrily. He saw the firm but gentle upsweep of her nipples, like twin cherries waiting to be plucked. He followed the line of thigh into the mysterious triangle of her womanhood. He fought to control himself; he wanted to rush to her and bury his face in her steaming sex.
He closed his eyes and his head swam. It was too painful even to look. He remembered the months, without stop, month after month of tedium and loneliness, month after month of collecting specimens. He remembered the darkness which seemed to cover the universe like a shroud.
When he opened his eyes again she was standing beside him.
"We must go slow at first," she cautioned, "you have been away too long."
He reached out and touched her naked breast. It felt as if a shock of electricity had raced through his body. He took the hand away and he shivered.
"Poor man, poor hero," Felicia murmured.
"I don't want your sympathy," he said, suddenly and savagely and turned away from her.
She knelt down beside the pool of water and scooped some up in her hand. Then she applied it between her legs.
"You are hot, you are disturbed, here, drink from me, drink the cooling water."
Felicia fell to the ground and lay back, her hand curled toward him in a gesture of supplication.
He knelt beside her. A thousand conflicting thoughts raced through his mind. He remembered his home, his wife, his family. He tried to recall what they looked like but only a blur came to him.
"Drink," she said again, her voice like an erotic stream that saturated every limb.
The dark patch was like a magnet. His eyes seemed to bore into her. She spread her legs, inviting him. Suddenly, he could no longer constrain himself. The passion seemed to engulf him. He thrust his face into her sex, gurgling with joy as the wet hairs caressed his face. It was like life itself, and he buried himself deeper. His mouth opened and he bit her, tasting the wetness and the heat. Felicia squirmed and began to call him endearing names. His mouth was on fire and it sought her out, it grasped the delicate lips of her vagina, sucking on the trembling gates. She cried and laughed and called his name again and again.
"Into me, into me," she repeated.
His lips spread her open. She was wet and glorious and mysterious, filled with the juices of a child and the maturity of a woman. His tongue snaked out and pierced her. In a response of joy she crushed him with her thighs and his tongue went deep, flicking her from side to side, spiking the steaming cauldron of her flower.
Felicia began to roll in the grass, her tender body cutting a swath through the fauna. His face stayed with her, and each movement of her body sent his tongue into her deeper, with more nerve, with greater skill, until her whole body was alive with thrusts of the snake.
He sucked on her, extracting the tenderness of her body. Each deep suck caused her to groan as if he was extracting her life itself.
Moorman felt the pressure of her thighs on the side of his head. He felt himself exploding but he would rather die than remove his tongue from the flower of moistness.
Suddenly, she broke away from him and stood at a distance, smiling mysteriously. He came toward her again, his maleness erect, the point accusing her. He reached her. She grasped the column and ran her tongue over it and began to send streams of spittle toward the globes. Moorman could hardly stand, every inch of his flesh was trembling.
Then he saw it coming toward him. It was neither human nor animal. It was a vine, but the substance of the body was more like life-substance, the vine seemed to be alive, to be twitching, to be filled with human protoplasm.
It moved like a snake along the ground, screwing itself up before every movement and then releasing itself in order to cover ground. It began to crawl up Felicia's leg.
She smiled at him.
"Don't be scared," she said, "take my hand."
The moment he took her hand, the vine transferred to his body. It felt cold and unfriendly, it moved down his body until it was wrapped securely around his column.
"Don't be afraid," Felicia said again and began to stroke his face, occasionally letting her delightful nipples play along his lips.
Suddenly Moorman felt something so ecstatic that he cried out. The vine had contracted on his column. It contracted only for a second and then loosened itself. He opened his eyes as if he had seen the Godhead. He opened his eyes as if he had felt the devil. The vine had sent its protoplasmic energy into his column. It was like a jelly, filled with the most powerful aphrodesia.
Again and again the vine began to contract and loosen. It was a rhythm of hell, a rhythm beyond anything he had ever experienced in his life. His maleness burned, froze, received new signals, became a living piece of ecstatic flesh. He cried out for her to help and then cried out for more.
To ease his pain and joy she gave him her nipples to suck. He bit the points but she did not cry out. He sucked them dry, until they trembled with the fever of his mouth. But still that vine continued and burned him forever, sending his globes cascading against one another.
Felicia saw that he had enough. His column was purple and trembling, its great size now double any erection he had ever experienced before.
She pulled the vine away from him and dropped it gently on the ground. At first it seemed to lose all sense of direction but then it began its obscene yet strangely beautiful system of locomotion into the underbrush. A few seconds later it had vanished.
Moorman was weeping. He held his hands out, unable to understand what was happening to him; unable to understand the raw lust which his organ had experienced.
"Help me, Felicia."
She took him by the hand and led him deep into the glade. There was a natural bed made from a series of ferns.
Just before she lay down on it, she kissed his fiery tip and sent her shivers into his body. Her legs were spread wide and he could see the flower winking at him, calling to him. Suddenly, everything was forgotten, the vine, his fear, the long years of heroism. He wanted her body, totally.
He was on her. She murmured to him, to give him courage. And then he rammed his column into her waiting flower. It sank deep, deep, into the beauty of her body. This was what he wanted. He used her body to rid himself of hate, of loneliness, of desperation. She was the sponge for his psyche. She rolled and twisted under the terrible entry of his flesh. He tried to pin her like a butterfly, to pin her to the ground. For a moment he had her and then he began the cruel grind, tormenting her body but at the same time giving it glory and splendor and the total joys of his penis.
She began to bring up her child-like thighs to meet his, and soon the glade was filled with the noises and screams of love. He kissed her as he was pumping and thrust his tongue deep inside her delicate mouth, using his tongue as an instrument to meet the rhythm of his flesh. He felt the explosion coming, in his body and in her body. They were being transported on great waves, gliding and then plunging into the mysterious wetness of her vagina.
She cried out a long, terrible, animal cry and he knew that she had reached the threshold. He eased up for a moment and then rammed once, using every bit of strength that remained in his body. She exploded and her body filled with the warmth of orgasm. A second later he shot his seed into her, and then pulled his organ out and let the warm seed coat her naked body. He rubbed the seed into her flesh, between her breasts, into her armpits, into her lips, anywhere she could see his momentary love for her.
They rested a long time in silence.
Finally, she said:
"Again?"
He smiled and patted her head.
"No. I think I've had enough."
"But we could use the vine again; there are many more possibilities."
At the thought of that creeping, erotic alien, he shivered and held the child to his body.
"I have to go," he said suddenly.
Felicia became business-like.
"You must shower and disinfect before you leave."
He started to walk away and then returned in an attempt to plant a kiss on her cheek. It was an impulse of affection and of love.
She pushed him away.
"Don't insult me with your cloying paternalism. You're not my father."
He started to protest that he was not being paternal, but she was gone, slipping away like a wood nymph.
Moorman followed the procedures for cleanliness, signed the log book that he was there, and re-entered the Bubble.
Sitting in the tiny cockpit, waiting for instructions to break through the plastic dome and re-enter space, he felt like a man who had seen the sun and was unable to explain it.
All he knew was that he felt purged. The computer spoke and the thoughts were buried in the take-off. Only two more years and he'd be home.
SCENARIO 4
The remarkable growth of biological mechanics gave the politicians of the twenty-first century a new set of doctrines which replaced the tired polemics of previous centuries.
No longer were they tied to social problems, for most of those problems had been solved. Instead, they ran on platforms which promised the creation of new forms of animal life to excite a sophisticated and often bored populace. Furthermore, their promises were always fulfilled, for their cabinets were composed solely of the most imaginative biologists from the world scientific academies which had been created.
Lisa was engaged in just such a political campaign, working feverishly for a candidate for Premier of the Herispheric Parliament, one of the most important and influential positions in the
Planetary political structure.
Her job was the design of massive posters which would be injected into the controlled air-flow and sent spinning across the globe. These posters were composed of a special kind of paint which could be activated electronically at will, in any city in the world. Thus, they could be invisible for long spaces of time but be activated at key times. The posters were of the subliminal variety; they were composed of newly-discovered psychological combinations which could have remarkable influence on the humans who viewed them.
The candidate whom Lisa was working for had promised that, if elected, he would have his biological cabinet construct a new specie of bird. Part of Lisa's job was to translate this future specie into a visual image on the poster. Since the majority of the electorate was concerned with beauty, she had to represent the beautiful aspects of the bird with as much emphasis as possible. Since the other candidates were also promising the development of new species, Lisa had to make sure that her candidate's promise would be the most appetizing.
There was no balloting in the election. At a specific hour, every citizen was asked to remain in his or her house.
Then an electronic signal was sent from house to house. The moment it entered a house, there would be a flash of light and the citizen had to mentally cast his vote. The electronic signal picked up that silent vote, sent it back to the main computer, which stored it, and then the process was repeated time and time again until all the votes were counted.
From the moment the electronic vote gathering signal was sent out to the time all the votes were counted, not more than an hour elapsed.
Lisa waited impatiently for the results. She was sitting in the drafting room, surrounded by bits and pieces of unused posters. She was physically and mentally exhausted. Working almost twenty hours a day for the past few weeks had sapped her strength. She began to doze in her chair but kept waking up as the reports of the various districts came into the room via the Pulsar Pipe, an instrument that sent out signals which was attracted by cotton and silk and therefore took the place of radios, since the body itself became a receiver.
Other poster workers began to drift into the room. All of them had the haggard look of sleeplessness but they all still seemed ferociously committed to their candidate. Finally the results came in. Her candidate had won with tremendous margins in some areas. It was one of the most dramatic political sweeps in the history of the Premiership.
Champagne bottles suddenly appeared and everybody began to laugh and swap stories. Lisa was too tired to do anything except sit there on a wooden stool, her body shaking with fatigue and a smile of extreme contentment on her face.
Two days later she received a message from the new Premier that he requested to see her. She was extremely upset. It was almost unheard of for a newly-elected Premier to want to see a lowly campaign worker. She tried to think back over the campaign, wondering at her possible indiscretions. But all she could think of was a number of botched posters which was not serious enough for her to be summoned by so exalted a personage.
On the day of the interview she dressed carefully, wearing her black smock and garnishing it liberally with Saturn shells, those strange quartz-based objects which had such value on Earth. The Saturn shells she wore had been left to her by her father and although they were worth a lot of money on the shell market, she couldn't bear to part with them even when her financial situation was precarious.
She approached the massive building of the Hemisphereic Parliament. A guard greeted her from a booth about a hundred yards from the entrance. Then she was wrapped in a plastic sheet which completely covered her body, leaving only the tip of her nose exposed to allow her to breathe.
The plastic coated body was placed in the transport tube with the destination stamped on the outside. She felt a sudden dizziness as she was shot through the dark passageway and then a sudden burst of light as she emerged in the ante-room of the new Premier's office. One of his assistants took the plastic from her body. She was told to sit and wait and she did so.
About twenty minutes later the Premier emerged and looked around the room. His eyes fastened on Lisa.
"Ah, you must be Lisa," he said.
She was nervous, not sure as to how to address him. He held out his hand to her and escorted her into his office. The office was bare except for a massive steel desk in one corner and a few chairs near the desk. On the far wall was a blackboard which was obviously wired to various places on the planet, for a number of disparate images would flash for a moment and then vanish.
"Sit down, Lisa," he said, and eased himself behind his desk. He was even better looking than she had expected but he seemed exhausted. It must have been the campaign, she thought, the terrible pressure of speech making and promises.
He folded his hands behind his head and then began to talk:
"A number of my assistants have spent this election concerned with only one thing; why did I win? In other words, there were a number of undercover researchers on my staff whose sole job during the campaign was to isolate those individuals who had played a crucial role in my election. May I repeat, I said a crucial role. Because these people will be necessary for any future positions I wish to hold, and you can see for yourself that I am an ambitious man, it is important that I keep these people on my staff and that I reward them properly. Do you understand?
"Yes," she murmured.
"You are one of those people."
"You're very kind for saying so, Mr. Premier, but there must be some mistake. All I did was make a few posters."
"Your posters, young lady, were instrumental in my victory. Almost every one of my aides confirmed this. Your renditions of the specie which my biology cabinet will construct was so life-like and at the same time so mysterious, that I would have voted for myself."
He sat back and laughed at his own joke.
"Thank you very much," she said.
He looked at her closely.
"I had thought of rewarding you with a trip to the Outer Galaxy; it would have been quite a remarkable experience. But now that I see you, and that I notice you are quite repressed, I have another thing in mind."
He tapped his desk three times and a man seemed to materialize from one of the wall panels.
"Ah, Dr. Vincenzo, this is Lisa the Poster Maker."
The stranger walked quickly to her and kissed her hand. It was such an archaic gesture that Lisa blushed furiously.
"Dr. Vincenzo is not working on the Laser Robots. Have you heard of them, Lisa?"
"Everybody has, sir."
"Yes, yes, that's true," he said, smiling at Dr. Vincenzo.
"Explain it to her," he ordered the Doctor. "It's quite simple, my dear. The usual Laser beam is a thin beam of light of ferocious intensity. We have developed a programmed laser beam that can activate protoplasmic material for about three hours. It turns a lump of protoplasm into a human being for three hours before reverting back to its original form. But there is something even more important. When this laser robot comes to life, it seems that it exhibits a sexual prowess far beyond the normal. And that prowess is centered in the key sexual areas; the penis, mouth, arm pits, anus,-in short all the erogenous zones."
He folded his hands in front of him and smiled gently at the girl before continuing.
"You must have been a great asset to the Premier for him to have selected you for this honor."
She wanted to refuse. She wanted to say no, and end it there. But it would have been too insulting to the Premier and she was under his spell completely.
Dr. Vincenzo held out his hand and Lisa grasped it. They walked through one of the wall panels and she heard the Premier's last words to her:
"Enjoy it. You deserve every minute."
She was taken into a small room and told to undress. Then she was left alone. The room was covered with artificial rugs, semblances of species who had long since vanished. Some of the rugs even had the heads still on, ferocious looking fangs residing in open mouths. The room was over-heated and she assumed that it had something to do with the experiment. Lisa was nervous. She felt a growing passion but that could been the fibers of the rug as they rested against her naked buttocks. The heat made her sleepy. She stretched out and tried to nap.
Suddenly a panel on the wall, a window panel, opened, and the face of Dr. Vincenzo appeared.
"Prepare yourself," he said, and then was gone.
She sat up, nervous, the sweat appearing in little beads on her upper hp. She felt an anticipatory stirring in her nipple.
A second later the door opened and a figure was thrust into the room the door closing behind him. It was a young man with gloriously blonde hair. She moved away from him, frightened. He recovered himself and looked around the room to get his bearings. He seemed unable to peak but his eyes rolled in horror.
Then she saw it. It rested between his legs, already erect, a beautifully formed maleness which seemed to glitter with some extraordinary passion. She could see the veins and muscles pulsing and they seemed to be emitting a code language. She turned away, unable to look at it for long. But it pulled her eyes back, it was like a magnet of lust. She backed away from him toward the rear wall. The Laser Robot began to stalk her, crawling to Lisa with a look of despair and expectation.
Then she saw his lips. They were glistening but not with sweat. There a divine substance on them and they quivered and seemed to say that they needed her.
She had to keep away. She felt that death was in that robot. She felt that if she touched him, she would be sent into a whirlpool of lust from which there would be no return.
"Dr. Vincenzo, Dr. Vincenzo," she called out, her voice trembling with her desperation.
But there was no answer from the other side of the room, from behind the wall. The only reality was that blonde beast moving toward her, always moving toward her.
He was a foot away and then an inch. She rolled over and lay still, like a young dog who prostrates himself before a vicious enemy. She was offering her surrender but she wanted to be spared.
She screamed. His lips had buried themselves in the steamy moistness of her nest. Every part of her body quivered. Every muscle in her body seemed to lose its cohesiveness. For a second those lips were still, just resting there, arid then they began to suck on her flower, to bring the depths of her repressed desires to the surface.
His lips were against the lips of her vagina. They were joined and the divine moisture on his lips seemed to transfer to her. She spread her legs wider and began to say nonsense words anything to ease what was happening to her. A second later his golden tongue plunged into her womanhood.
She held her hands up and then clenched her fists as if she was a martyr to sex.
The tongue went deep, reaching into the hidden pools of her body, sucking out the delicacies which had rested there untouched. Then the tongue began to move from side to side in great sweeps of lust. She felt herself falling apart and she rammed her thighs together to force the young blonde god to go faster.
The edges of his tongue seemed to be notched and after each movement she caught the edge of that serpent and her whole body was lifted up with ecstasy, only to fall to the floor again once the movement was over.
Suddenly, without warning the tongue was removed and the Laser Robot moved away from her and began to prance around the room like a young deer. She crawled after him. All she wanted was his body. There was nothing else on her mind, neither honor nor shame, nor the feeling that she had to moderate herself.
She caught up to him and grasped his glorious column in her hands. She kissed it, drinking deeply of its glistening power.
Then she formed her lips in the circle of love and let the flesh move into her mouth. She shuddered as inch after inch entered.
The boy was standing and looking at her as she moved her mouth on his column, as her wet lips slid on and off like a glove. His taste was divine and she drank it in. Her teeth made tiny initials on his erect flesh but the boy made no sound.
Her hands were around his buttocks and her eyes closed as her mouth became a well-oiled machine. She couldn't have enough of the glorious movement and the unbelievable drops of moisture which seemed to coat it.
It was enough. She had to be penetrated. She was shaking with anticipation. She planted one long moist kiss on the tip of his penis and then pulled him on top of her, ramming it into her with her own hands.
The glorious face was against hers and she thrust her tongue into his mouth. The boy lurched once and then drove his flesh deep and true. She cried out and then bounced her naked buttocks against the floor so that she came up to meet his thrust.
She had never experienced anything remotely like it. It was a golden, magical penis. Each movement brought new joys, each movement brought cries of lust from her innermost being.
He began to grind into her, to drive her into the soft rug, to screw up her body until it seemed like a ball of wire.
After he would thrust he would begin to pull out and she would plead with him then the terrible thrust would send her down once more.
It took only a few moments and then her body exploded with his, hot seed mixing with the joys of orgasm and they both lay gasping, she facing in the golden hair between his legs, licking the golden seed from the now quiet column.
She slept. She fell asleep in his arms. It was hours later when she turned in her sleep and bumped against a leg. Startled, she looked up. It was Dr. Vincenzo.
"Where is he? Where is he?"
She grasped his leg as she asked the question.
"Now, now, control yourself, my dear," said the Doctor and held up a small plastic bag which seemed to contain a cloudy substance.
"What is that?"
"This is him. I told you before that the Laser Robot has a time limit a life span of almost three hours. His protoplasm is in here."
She felt sick. She felt as if a hammer had destroyed her will. She lay back down, unable to articulate her terrible despair.
The last words she heard from Dr. Vincenzo were:
"Cheer up. Perhaps after the Premier's next campaign, he will give you the same reward." Her sobs drowned out the rest.
SCENARIO 5
The almost complete lack of crime in the streets was due primarily to the success of the Early Warning Personality Scanner an electronic device situated in the cellar of the Department of Justice.
This advanced, incredibly sophisticated computer kept a constant subliminal watch on every citizen; a watch so conclusive that it could predict when a person would begin to exhibit neurotic or psychotic behavior.
The moment the computer discovered such a person, a card was immediately dispatched to the Medical Services Unit which sent out an Apprehension Squad to pick the potential criminal up.
This Squad was noted for its tact and its ability to pick people off the street with a minimum of fuss. Highly trained, they were able to instantly diagnose the person and take him to whatever automated asylum they thought fitting for immediate treatment.
Roger saw the Squad as they turned the corner, everybody knew the green and white uniforms they wore. He wondered who they were after and for just one terrible moment thought it was himself but then he laughed it off and walked into a cafeteria for lunch.
Waiting on line for his food he saw the three members of the Squad take a seat in the cafeteria. They seemed to be talking to each other in quiet tones. One of the Squad members was gesturing with his hands in a violent manner. They were obviously deciding how to pick up a person that had been judged potentially dangerous by the Early Warning Personality Scanner. Roger looked around to see if he could pick out the culprit.
He had picked up his knife and fork and was about to cut the sirloin steak in front of him when he felt the presence of people behind him. He turned quickly and saw the Squad. At close range, they seemed gigantic, the sheer brilliance of their uniforms hurting his eyes.
Roger felt the fingers of panic grasping his throat. It's impossible, he thought, totally impossible.
Trying to maintain his calm, he spoke to them: "Really, you must have made some mistake."
"Relax, Roger, relax, there's nothing to worry about you'll be away for only a few days. It's for your own good."
He looked around trying to see some escape route but the Squad had completely surrounded him and all he could see was their kindly, concerned faces.
They tried to calm him:
"Your family and employer have already been notified. Do you wish to finish your meal or do you wish to come now?"
It was too late. There was nothing he could do, nothing he could say. He looked at the food on his plate but his appetite was completely gone and he followed the squad out of the cafeteria. The people watched him go and one or two of them consoled him, saying it was for his own good and he would be back better than new in a few days.
They whisked him away in their hydrofoil and he was given a sedative to calm his shaking nerves. They skimmed over the ground for about an hour until they had left the city far behind. Finally, they pulled up before a massive concrete structure and let him out. Roger and the Squad walked to a booth where a single guard was positioned. The Squad leader handed him a card and after it was thoroughly inspected, the Squad left, leaving Roger in the care of the guard.
"Take off your shoes and socks and remove any sharp instruments."
The moment that order was given, Roger knew where he was. They had taken him to the automated asylum.
"Please hurry. Everything is being prepared for you.
He removed his shoes and socks and took off his belt.
"Now the rest of your clothes."
A moment later he was naked. The guard telephoned from inside the booth and a small passageway in the wall opened. The guard pointed to it:
"Just follow your nose."
The steel corridor felt cold on his naked feet and he walked quickly toward the dim light which shined at the end of the passageway.
He entered a small ante-room and noticed a screen high on the far wall. A second later a picture of him flashed on the screen. It was a snapshot that his wife had taken many years ago during a trip to Mars. He was puzzled for a moment and then furious that his wife would have made such a private picture available. The snapshot only stayed on the screen for a few moments and then it was replaced by a short paragraph which said:
YOUR HAVE BEEN DIAGNOSED AS A BORDERLINE PSYCHOTIC. YOU WILL BE TREATED WITH A COMBINATION OF HYDROTHERAPY AND EROTIC THERAPY. IF YOU COOPERATE YOU WILL BE HOME WITHIN FORTY EIGHT HOURS. WE ARE YOUR FRIENDS. WE WILL NOT HARM YOU. WE ARE HERE TO MAKE YOU WELL.
Then the screen went blank. At first he didn't know what hydrotherapy was and then he remembered reading about it. It was a form of water cure where the patient was placed in hot and cold baths.
But Erotic Therapy! There was nothing wrong with him sexually. He beat his hands against the wall in desperation.
The passageway! He turned to run back into the dark hallway from whence he had come. When he reached the opening he was thrust back by an invisible barrier, thrust back so hard that he fell to his knees.
The screen lit up again and he read these words:
YOU CANNOT ESCAPE. BE CALM. WE ARE YOUR FRIENDS. WE WILL MAKE YOU WELL. YOU MUST COOPERATE.
He was sweating and every muscle in his body seemed to be shaking. He buried his face in his hands and began to sob.
"You must have made some mistake," he screamed to the screen, "there's nothing the matter with me."
A second later he felt the floor give way beneath his feet and he was falling, falling, he could scarcely breathe, so fast was his descent.
The water closed over him with a rush and he fought to get to the surface. Then he found that he could stand. He looked around, dazed, as the hot water swirled around him.
It was a massive tub and the water was being sent in circles at a terrific rate of speed. It was the hottest water he had ever been in but soon his body became accustomed to it. He began to walk about the tub, trying to look for an entrance, but the tub was enclosed by walls and there seemed no way out.
Finally, he just stood still, his feet braced against the bottom.
Then he saw a silvery flash in the tub that was moving rapidly. At first he thought he was hallucinating and he blinked his eyes. Then he saw it again; it was flesh colored. He could see the sudden appearance of skin and then the object dove deep into the tub.
He searched for it again, afraid yet wanting to see something. It was a woman. He caught his breath sharply. It was a naked woman, he had seen the curve of naked breast as she dove.
Then she surfaced and floated only a few feet from him, her succulent nipples pointing straight up. She was fair skinned with long black hair which seemed to float on the water like lilies.
He called to her but there was no answer and at the sound of his voice she dived again. This time she came up near him, only a few inches away.
Roger forgot everything as he watched her; all he could see was the shape of her buttocks, the soft curve of her thighs and the dark patch of her womanhood which glistened as the hot water swirled about her.
He started to move toward her. She saw him and smiled a smile of infinite promise. He felt his organ rising, he felt it cutting through the water like a knife through hot butter. She was swimming backwards, always out of reach of his questing hands.
Roger cornered her against the far wall. She didn't fight. Instead she held out her arms to him and he moved into their divine circle. His mouth savagely grasped her nipple and he sucked on it as the water swirled in his mouth. He wanted more. He forgot everything-he wanted her. The water seemed to drive him into a sexual frenzy. He pushed her against the wall and spread her legs. She was still smiling, still calling him silently to her.
He rammed it in. He rammed it in until he could go no further. He felt as if she was crumbling from the penetration but then her body responded and she allowed herself to move to him, to begin the rhythm. Again and again he thrust his penis into her flower and it seemed to suck him up with all the mystery of the ocean. He couldn't have enough. He kept searching for her lips as he pumped but she avoided them.
"Who are you?" he screamed.
But his words were caught short as his body reacted with lust and he shot his seed into her. He was quivering as they disengaged and he felt his body burning with the fever of the water and the ejaculation.
She said nothing but swam away. On the far side of the tub she dived and he didn't see her again.
A moment later the floor beneath him gave way and once again he found himself spinning through space, spinning so fast that his ears sang and his stomach turned over and over.
It was cold water this time. Swirling sheets of cold water which numbed his body and set his teeth chattering. He felt himself being flailed alive by the whirling water.
Then he heard his name being called. Was he dreaming? Was there another human in the tank? He refused to believe it and his eyes searched the walls for one of those ubiquitous screens.
Suddenly, there was a movement beside him. He turned slowly toward it, his limbs being made dull by the frigid water.
It was a woman. She was treading water near his elbow. He looked into her eyes as if daring her to prove it wasn't a mirage. She touched him on the shoulder blade and then began massaging his skin rubbing some warmth in him.
She seemed so authoritative, so used to the tank that he gave himself up into her hands. She pushed him backwards so that a second later he was floating in the whirling tank. Then her hands moved down his body until they grasped his maleness.
The tank was beginning to spin in his mind. The combination of first hot water and then cold water had disturbed his thought patterns for a moment-which was the purpose of the cure. Roger thought of the woman as some sea creature, some great shark that had been sent to him to bring him salvation.
Her fingers were like seaweed, winding themselves into his sex. He could feel the stirring between his legs, the flesh coming to life slowly but massively. He was still floating as she gently spread his legs for him and he could see her moving between his thighs.
Then he saw her mouth open; the lips were trembling and hungry. For just a brief moment the pinkness of her mouth was visible to him.
Her lips moved over his flesh, swallowing his vibrating column. He felt himself shiver as the entry was made, he felt as if her lips were made of fiery velvet. A groan escaped him and the water, frigid and unyielding, splashed against his face.
His penis was like an electric current suddenly loosed in water. She did magic to it, she licked it and sucked it, and moved her mouth up and down the column, faster and faster until his flesh was burning with the fact of love. His hands were stretched out toward her, a silent gesture of affirmation.
Every muscle in his body was like jelly, trembling and crying out. She was swallowing more of him, bringing him to an erotic frenzy that he had never experienced before. His penis was so hot from her lips that the cold water swirling around him seemed to steam.
Suddenly, she backed off. She peeled her lips off his maleness and as they slid off he moaned with the loss. She swam over to the other side of the tank. He was caught, chained to his flesh, chained to that lance of passion which speared the cold swirling water.
He went after her. She was like a slippery fish who again and again wielded her cunning to escape capture.
But she couldn't reckon with his frenetic passion which gave him an almost inexhaustible stamina. He caught her around the waist and his hands slid up to her breasts, squeezing them warm in the cold water. Her nipples began to push forward, against his palms, and he felt the vibrations in her points as he played with them. Holding her with one hand, he slipped the other down and felt the shape of her buttocks.
She was against him. His flesh sought entry, his flesh had to penetrate, to seek relief of her body. The buttocks seemed to spread for him and a second later he rammed his penis between the two quivering buns. As he entered her and as they closed about his column, he felt his body shudder as if it would fall apart. Then, thrashing with his arms in the water like a wounded whale, he drove the flesh home again and again.
His head was thrown back as he thrust and he laughed with joy. The swirling icy water no longer seemed to both him; it was the ideal ecological arrangement for his action.
She was quivering in his arms and her body melted into his plunging maleness. He was going in deeper and deeper, cutting a wider swath of passion. Suddenly, she threw her head back and screamed. He made one last violent thrust and then his seed poured into her.
Roger floated on his back, gasping for breath, the ejaculation having drained him of energy. He pushed the girl away and he watched her float to the other side of the pool before she vanished from view.
A second later the bottom opened up and he plunged into a third pool; this one warm and silent, without the whirling sensation of the other two. It was shallow and he stood there, trying to reflect on what had happened to him. He felt strangely at ease, as if all the tensions of the past few months had been swept away by the water and his semen.
Then, to his astonishment, the water began to drain. Soon, the pool was completely empty and he felt ashamed of his nakedness.
Hearing a strange noise, he turned to the far wall and saw a screen. This time it said:
ROGER, YOUR SESSION IS OVER. YOUR HAVE MADE ALMOST UNBELIEVABLE PROGRESS AND WE THINK IT IS FUTILE TO KEEP YOU HERE ANY LONGER. WE WILL KEEP YOU UNDER SURVEILLANCE AND IF YOUR CONDITION RECURS YOU WILL BE CALLED BACK.
Five minutes later one of the walls opened up and he followed the passageway back to the ante-room where his clothes were. Dressing quickly he walked back to the entrance and was let out. A few miles from the place he realized a car was following him. He could tell that it was the Apprehension Squad's vehicle, but he no longer had that sense of panic as when he first saw them. Perhaps they were right, he thought, perhaps they were right.
At home, he outlined the details of his visit, making sure to omit the more lurid ones. That, he vowed, would be saved for his dreams.
SCENARIO 6
It was only after months of soul-searching that Jenny decided to run for the office of Political Representative from District Six. She was a strong willed woman and had specific ideas about how the District should be run and why it was going downhill.
Once having made up her mind, however, she proceeded at full speed to make the necessary arrangements to enter the race. Before anything political could be done, Jenny had to go before the Character Control Board which would minutely analyze her subconscious to make sure that she was emotionally qualified to run.
She knew, also, that the Board would run her 994 file through the computer and the latter would present an erotic program which she must follow out in order to be a candidate.
Being basically a shy woman, and uneasy about the sexual adventures the computer would outline for her she was visibly nervous as she stood before the Board. She kept on telling herself that it would all be worth it the moment she was chosen to lead District Six out of the political morass it was in.
They kept her there all day, going over her records with her and asking her hundreds of minute questions. The answers she gave were transcribed on a tape and fed into the computer. Then the computer decided which part of her sexuality was disturbed enough to make her a possible advocate of war or other illegal activities. Once this part of her was isolated, the computer would help her overcome that sexual problem.
At the end of the day she was physically and emotionally exhausted. The members of the Board took their jobs quite seriously and they ceaselessly battered her with questions.
Relaxing over a drink, she shuddered as she recalled the questions they had asked: "What is your favorite form of sexual activity? When was the last time you masturbated? When you perform the sexual act, do you often feel that you would like to do something violent to your erotic partner? Do you feel that violence is related to sex?"
And there were many more, even more intimate, which she was too embarrassed even to think about.
Days passed and still there was no word from the Board. Jenny became more and more apprehensive. She felt that something had gone amiss.
Finally, after a week had gone by, she received a message that the Board would like to re-interview her. Once again she presented herself and once again the intensive questioning began. This time there were many more questions about her sexual activity as a child, questions which made her probe deep into her memory. They thanked her for her patience and sent her home. As she walked from the chambers she saw the demonic computer, absorbing her taped words like some prehistoric sea slug.
Another week passed and this time she knew that she was being called for judgment. She was happy to get it over with since the campaign for Political Representative was already set back and if much more time was allowed to pass she would have to withdraw. It would be a relief to get it over with one way or the other.
She stood before the Board. There were seven men in all and to be appointed they had to receive their Doctorate from the Venutian Academy which was one of the finest universities in their solar system. The Doctorate program in that desolate area required nine years of intensive study.
The chairman of the Board spoke to her:
"First, we all thank you for your patience in this area and we realize that you are chafing at the bit to begin your political career however, you also must realize that we must be careful and weed out any potential leader who shows subconscious signs of being a war-lover."
"I understand completely," she replied.
They put their heads together for a moment and began to whisper. Then the chairman said:
"You have been declared unfit for office."
She felt a sinking feeling in her stomach as if the walls and floor of the room were descending. All the years of dreaming, of planning, of hoping all of it was down the drain.
"The computer," the chairman continued, "has diagnosed you as a latent war-lover, mainly because of certain unresolved sexual episodes in your childhood."
She began to leave. His voice boomed out behind her:
"Wait."
She turned and faced them hating them for their decision even though it was the computer which had condemned her. For some reason she always blamed the men and not the machines; she realized it was a failure in her thought processes but she had been unable to weed out that archaic thought pattern.
"You realize of course that it is possible to overcome this liability there is no reason why it should affect your political career."
Jenny knew what he was talking about the program the series of steps which the computer had programmed which would supposedly remove her liabilities.
She had to make a quick decision. It was, she realized, a small price to pay for her ambition. Yet, something in her past made her hold back some shred of aloofness which had always found the new order to be disillusioning.
"Come, come," the chairman impatiently chastised her, "this requires either a yes or no decision and we have many other cases to review."
"Yes," she blurted out and then felt immensely relieved.
The chairman took a card and read it to her. She could tell by the edges that it had come from the computer.
"You have unresolved and ambivalent desires concerning the sexual practice of oralism. Many of your dreams are concerned with this area. You will be given a two-part treatment, during which these desires will be resolved and you will no longer be a war-threat to the State."
He looked up at her from beneath arched eyebrows. She could catch the glimpse of a smile.
"It will take place in your home," he said, "so that no one will be aware of it. May I remind you that each of is sworn to secrecy."
Jenny went home feeling strangely elated, as if she had passed the most crucial test of her life; the ability to accept help. Her mind was on her future campaign and the various projects she would use.
A day passed and another day and still no visible sign of how the program was to be implemented. On the third day, however, she was wakened out of a deep sleep by the front doorbell. Pushing back the curtain she looked out and saw a conservatively dressed man, in his late forties, who seemed to be extremely bored. She opened the door and the moment he saw her, he said, laughing a little:
"I guess you know who I am."
She knew immediately and let him in.
"Where is the bedroom?" He asked.
She led the way back to the room, and he followed.
"Go into the bed please."
Jenny returned to the bed and pulled the covers up around her neck as she looked at the strange man. He was removing his clothes in a matter-of-fact way and placing them on a chair, making sure to fold them correctly so that no creases would be visible.
"The computer has suggested a two-pronged program and it is my job to carry it out."
He looked at her quizzically and then said:
"I never could understand why women want to go into politics."
Shaking his head, he sat down on the chair and took off his shoes.
Jenny was beginning to feel very uneasy, for deep down she had believed that it would be a romantic interlude but this man was the very antithesis of that he was cold blooded almost like a computer.
"Oralism. That's why I'm here and that's what you need. Now, Jenny, you don't mind if I call you that, do you? Now, there are two specific areas, or modes. There is the oralism which is subtle and sophisticated, which can transpose you quickly into ecstatic states, and there is the second kind; the kind that can tear you apart. Needless to say, I am un expert in both varieties."
He looked at her for a long while and Jenny felt her cheeks blushing.
"You think I'm mechanical, that I'm a robot-that I don't understand your feelings, is that not so."
She averted her eyes from him. he was almost uncanny in his ability to read her mind.
"I do my job," he said bitterly, "and I treat all women alike. But I love women, in their totality, as a specie, I love them more than any man you have ever met. I love them so much that I am unable to devote myself emotionally to one."
He began to amble on in that vein and she rapidly lost her sense of fear. He was intelligent and in an odd way, attractive.
Finally he caught himself up short as if silently chastising himself for talking too much and asked her to remove her pajamas and throw back the blanket covers. After a moment of hesitation, she obeyed.
He moved to the bed, flicking the end of the cover away as he sat down beside her. She was shivering slightly and he touched her naked shoulder:
"Now, now, there's no need for fear, there's no need for anything but relaxation."
His hand had a strange calming effect on her and soon she was breathing normally.
"The purpose of my visit is to bring you joy, among other things. I am not here to hurt you or to insult you, I am here to realize your fondest dreams."
His hands were cupping her breast and she closed her eyes. It had been so long since she had felt the assured grasp of male fingers biting into her white mounds.
She began to moan softly and his fingers moved down her body until they were rubbing the silken hair between her legs. She arched her body to derive the most pleasure from his fingers.
He was talking to her quietly:
"I know all about your dreams. I know what you want and I am here to give it to you, to remove the terrible inadequacies which are plaguing you. It is beautiful, it will be beautiful, you must accept it."
His face was between her legs. She felt a moment of panic but then controlled herself. His lips pressed against the lips of her vagina and she closed her legs about his head in horror. Slowly, patiently, he forced her legs open again, kissing the warm flesh on the inside of her thighs.
His tongue began to circle the outside of her flower, delicately playing with her lips, lolling on her flesh until it began to shiver. Her fingers reached down to scrape his bare back in her passion. The lips continued their almost religious caressing, going round and round until the gates of her vagine were coated with a thin film of love. She felt her whole body in turmoil and she cried out to him for more.
But then his tongue left the entrance and slowly but with magnificent precision, began to snake its way within her. She felt her stomach turn into knots as the strange weapon penetrated her. Once inside, his tongue began to slowly and beautifully slide over the hidden pools of her sex, darting gently, exploring, making concentric circles in her innermost passions.
She was sobbing, unable to bear the beauty, unable to bear the incredible ecstasy that his practiced tongue brought her. There was no violence, no swift movement, only the slow, sure penetration of her flower as if the most potent bee in the world was sucking honey from her flower.
Jenny's head seemed to be exploding into a field of bizarre flowers brilliant pinks and reds-deep purples and oranges all seemed to reach her senses. She opened her legs wider so that his tongue would have more free play.
The tip of the weapon felt like it was dipped in fire and then covered with velvet. Each movement, each gentle flick of the serpent brought her new joys.
Then, without warning, he withdrew it, and moved away. She held her hands up to him in desperation, calling for him to replace it, begging him not to leave her in the midst of her passion.
He sat beside her, his fingers playing with her nipples, and then, bending over, he took her nipple into his mouth, and his tongue, the same tongue which had blessed her, began to flick it back and forth. In the heat and glory of his mouth, her nipple grew straight and rigid and then began to vibrate and quiver.
She could scarcely breathe and her hands slid down him to grasp his maleness. But then he pushed her nipple away and kissed her once more on the mouth, sliding his tongue between her lips and playing with the roof of her mouth.
A second later he was between her legs again. Only now it was different, for now he would engage her in the second of the two part program, the part that would rid her forever of the disease of being a latent war lover it would rid her of the subconscious disease of violence.
The tongue slid in again and once again she squirmed her quivering buttocks against the sheet as she was impaled.
But then all resemblance between what had happened before and what was happening ceased. For, after a moment of respite, his tongue suddenly exploded in an orgy of motion. Instead of delicate motion, it began to make great sweeping movements inside her.
She was being pushed back into the bed. Each violent motion was like a red-hot brand being shoved up her womanhood.
Her legs kept closing against his head, begging him to stop, but the pace and fury of his tongue only increased. She felt burning and then cold, intense fire and then sub-zero frost the pools of love in her passageway were being sucked dry by the friction of his lance. He was sucking on her vagina with his full mouth as he wielded his tongue and the combination almost drove her insane. She began to beat him with her fists, crying and moaning.
Then a terrible shiver which moved through her body. She stopped struggling. Then-another movement in her muscles and he redoubled his effort. Inside, the explosion was brewing. Her fingers trembled as she relaxed and gave herself up to the violence of his tongue. Again and again, he thrust, he kissed the inside, he plucked her glories and he bruised her flower.
It came, terrible, bursting, total and she lay back without feeling, amost paralyzed by the most total and most fulfilling orgasm of her life. There was silence. She could see him get up and begin to dress but she couldn't speak. Her voice box seemed to have been removed.
He took out a pencil and a piece of paper and wrote something.
"What are you doing?" she finally asked, raising herself ever so slightly off the bed.
"Notes. I always take notes because I am required to make a detailed report."
He finished dressing, put his note pad away, walked to the bed and kissed her once on the forehead. Without another word he was outside the door.
Jenny felt betrayed, alone, disabled. She tried to get off the bed but couldn't. Finally, she pulled herself together and walked into the bathroom where she put her face under the cold water. The mirror was in front of her. She peered into it as if there was a stranger in the glass.
"Was that really what you wanted?" she asked the reflection in the mirror.
Then her thoughts went to politics and she began to prepare the campaign.
SCENARIO 7
The Government had instituted a special bonus weekend for all teenagers between the ages of fourteen and seventeen. During this weekend, they would be transported to a Rock Resort where various drugs and ultra-psychedelic material was dispensed free of charge. In this manner, the youngsters could give off steam while under proper supervision.
Furthermore, various good deeds which the youngsters performed during the year were paid off in week-end bonuses, so that it was entirely possible for a shrewd teenager to spend almost ten weekends a year at a Rock Resort.
The highlights of these resorts were the Four Dimensional Sexual Cinemas. These remarkable inventions initiated the youngsters into a view of erotica which would make sure of a healthy outlook. Furthermore, it was more than the normal cinema, it was participatory cinema the youngsters themselves being the fourth dimension.
After the weekend, the youngsters were encouraged to write about their experiences and many of these essays were printed in the youth newspaper, a planetary weekly which concentrated on events in the sub-culture.
One of the most interesting and lueid of these memoirs was written by a fifteen year old girl named Joan V.
Her essay concentrates on her reactions to the four dimensional cinema and gives a point-by-point description of the salient features of that process.
In The Cinema by Joan V.
I am seated in a room, all alone, My clothes have been removed and I feel free and happy, my body almost purring in the darkness.
Suddenly, a screen appears on one of the walls and the figure of a naked man is projected. One after another, two other walls light up with the cinema, and each of them show the same man.
He begins to talk to me while doing a series of movements, telling me that sex is good, telling me that my body is the most beautiful thing in creation.
I listen to him. I believe him. I feel a stirring in my body a gnawing for something more. Then the screens are darkened. When they light again, I see another dimension of his body-I see into his body and the whole glorious network of veins and arteries and electrical impulses that control his behavior.
The screens go dark and when it lights again, I see the third dimension. This dimension is his sexuality. The screen roams lovingly over his organs, caressing the shape of his globes and the angle of his male lance which rests gently between his legs. I see his tongue, up close, and it begins to wriggle for my knowledge. Soon the screen goes blank and I am alone, all alone with my thoughts.
The man appears on all three screens again. My eyes roam from screen to screen, trying to decide which one to watch. My head whirls with the motion and my neck begins to ache.
He begins to talk to me:
"Stand up."
I stand and wait silently, knowing that he is far wiser than me.
"Spread your legs."
I obey him, and spread my legs, keeping my precarious balance.
"Love yourself, rub yourself, feel the juices rise in your body."
All three screens were talking to me. I put my hands between my legs, afraid at first, but then began to rub slowly, feeling that part of my body gradually begin to heat up.
"Rub, rub, until you feel yourself whirling into a different dimension." There was a fire there now, and my fingers pried apart the lips of my flower, to feel the steamy heat emanating from it. I was beginning to tremble and I felt a profound joy coming over me. Even though I am still young, I suddenly was a woman, "Leave yourself alone."
I stood there, trembling, my vagina aching for the return of my lingers but I had to obey.
Suddenly, the screens went dark and a second later I found the same man who had appeared on the screen in the room with me.
He walked swiftly over to me and began to stroke my sex.
"Do you want to become an adult or do you want to remain a child?"
His question was insulting so I opened my legs and let my thighs wrap around his hand so that the lips of my vagina would be caressing his fingers.
"An adult," I said.
He moved away from me. A second later the screens lit up and I saw myself on the screen-squatting on all fours like a dog.
"Do it," he said.
Gingerly, suddenly afraid, I squatted on all fours. He moved behind me and began to stroke my flanks as if I was a bitch in heat.
"Walk around the room," he commanded. I walked and saw the images on the screens walk also.
Then he bent over and grasped my buttocks brutally in his hands, holding them like quivering grapefruits in his grasp.
"Lift, lift," he cried out.
I raised my back so that the glistening lips of my flower were exposed. Turning briefly to the side, I saw the screens with my image on them and they were in the same position. I knew of the invention of future-films, where the camera takes what will happen rather than what does happen--but this was my first experience with it.
He licked me once. Just the touch of his tongue against my sex sent me quivering and I began to weep.
"You are here to become an adult. You are here to become an adult who can maintain the magic of childhood and yet mature."
I turned to the screens on them I was being entered the column was slipping through deep inside.
A second later it happened. I felt the shock of the blazing tip and then the lips of my flower seemed to cringe as the inches of flesh rammed home.
He had begun to pump into me and the whole room went spinning. There had been others, but only boys of my own age. This was something else, this was beautiful and exciting beyond my wildest dreams. I became wet and sticky as it plunged in and I kept driving back into him for more.
"Now," he cried out and sent his hot seed into me, pouring from his weapon and totally inundating my body. I was stretched out on the floor, weeping and sobbing from joy, my hands flat against the wood.
The room became dark and all vanished, the man, the pictures, and my curiosity. I needed rest, a chance to recuperate.
Strains from a rock group filtered into the room Soon I recovered from my total exhaustion, and my feet began to beat time with the music. I waited anxiously for the screens to appear. I had to see my sexual future.
He was in the room again, suddenly, without warning, like an animal that moves through the woods so swiftly and so silently that no one can detect him.
"Are you looking at the walls? Don't. The next image you see will be totally different. It will be the image of the fourth dimension. You will become inside yourself."
It seemed that he was talking nonsense, that he was trying to confuse me. I smiled at him and my eyes were forced between his legs, to where his weapon rested, the very one which had split me apart in a moment of lust.
His penis called to me. Now it seems stupid to use a metaphor like that but at the time, it seemed right; it literally forced me to it.
Reaching him, I cupped my hands and let his globes rest in my palms. I shivered; they were so springy and light. I had to taste them. They were small bits of ice cream hanging together. I had to taste them. Kneeling down in front of him, I flicked my tongue and tasted the flesh.
"Are you a child?" he grinned, his question eating into my soul, mocking me. The old hatred toward adults crept into me and I wanted to remind him of the revolution only fifty years ago, before war was outlawed, when the children had run wild and strung up the adults on poles, and impaled them on flower stalks.
But I couldn't retort, for no matter what he said the reality of his flesh was more important. I opened my mouth and let one globe roll against my lips.
My mouth was inching toward that swinging glory. It was beginning to stir even before I touched it, beginning to whisper to me, to call me to it. I turned my lips into a circle of love and slowly let the flesh pour itself in. It crept in soft but after a few seconds of my tongue, it grew erect and began to pound and pulse in my mouth.
"You are no longer a child."
It was my mouth which was making him say that and I felt all warm inside. My teeth made tiny marks of passion on his column and then I began to move my mouth back and forth over his flesh in a rhythm that was slow but pounding; a rhythm like a lead guitar, that twisted his flesh and made him moan.
He had been too sure, too sure that I was only a child, but now he knew that the children have more to give.
Now he knew the power of a child, he felt it as my velvet lips slid over him. As for me, it was beyond belief the taste the shape the sheer vulgar beauty of that flesh was something I had never known before. I wanted to eat him up, I wanted to keep that live thing in my mouth forever, to be thrown from side to side by its threshing.
There was a new music pounding in my ears, a music far more powerful, far more basic than the music played by the rock groups. It shattered all my thoughts and all my defenses.
I sucked on him, sucking on his veins, sucking on the tender muscles which were pulsing under the skin. I felt it grow and grow and then I felt it shiver and a second my mouth was filled with his glorious liquid, the seed played on the insides of my cheeks and made me fall to the floor, unaccustomed to the taste.
Then something spun in my head. Everything seemed to be going round and round. When I opened my eyes I could see myself in the center of the room, lying on the floor.
It had happened. I had entered the fourth dimension-I was on the wall, in a movie screen. I was myself who was looking at myself. I thought I was going insane and I savagely beat my face in an effort to restore the sanity of the world.
Then all was quiet and black. I awoke finally in the same position as when I had started. Once again there were only three screens lit up and they showed a picture of me fully dressed.
What had happened? How was it possible to become the image itself?
All these thoughts came to me as I dressed and returned to the dormitory. I was in a fog sifting out all the details of my strange adventure. Then I saw him, sitting near the bar sipping a drink. It was the same man who had been my sexual partner, he was the "movie star" of the whole show.
"What happened?" I asked him.
He pushed his drink to one side and looked at me in a friendly manner.
"I'm afraid I haven't had the pleasure of meeting you."
Was he insane? Or was I insane?
"Of course you know me." I was blushing as I remembered the taste of his love and the thrills of his organ as it slid in and out of my mouth.
"Perhaps you've made a mistake?"
Look," I cried, grabbing his hand and thrusting it between my legs. I could feel the pressure of his hand, the same hand, through my panties.
He stood up and walked away, mumbling something about the vulgar young. At first I was destroyed by his actions but then I realized what had happened, I realized the whole purpose of the cinema. It was to show me that the fourth dimension could come anytime there was love-anytime there was an erotic passion that transcended the commonplace. I smiled as I realized how much I had truly learned. Walking back to the dorm, I could see the organs of the future, I could see my mouth discovering freedom of the male.
SCENARIO 8
Carta had saved for fifteen years in order to purchase a transplant. The rules were quite strict; the one who desires a brain transplant must show reasons that he or she is totally mediocre, without any pleasure in life, and desirous of changing his or her life no matter what the cost.
When Carla had appeared before the Board, she had broken down competely. She told them of the loneliness of her life, the terrible, dreary dullness which seemed to infect every day of her life. They listened calmly, dispassionately, without a visible sign that they were moved.
Then there was the long waiting period until finally she received a brief note to the effect that her request was granted and that she must report to the hospital laboratory in five weeks time. In the interim, the note read, she must choose the type of brain transplant she wanted.
She smiled as she read the note and went to her bookshelf and removed the copy of a book. It was written by an obscure author who had died only two years before. The novel was a tale set in the North Woods, concerning itself with a couple's struggle to create a new life in the wilderness. But it was not the plot or characterization which interested Carla; it was the vivid description which the author used, the way he had painted colors and the human body, the way he was able to describe life. It seemed to pulse and throb and to be filled with invisible colors which burst out the moment he had picked up his pen.
Carla wanted his mind. She wanted to be able to look at an object or a person or an event and see it the way he had seen it. She wanted to be able to sleep with a man and when he touched her there would be a burst of color a burst of feeling and sensitivity which had escaped her all her life. The author's name was John Pavel and she wrote the name on the letter she sent back in response to the note.
The next five weeks passed slowly, so slowly that she often despaired of the transplant. But finally, the day arrived and she presented herself at the hospital laboratory.
First there was a whole series of preliminary medical examinations during which they decided whether or not she was healthy enough to endure a transplant. After the tests she was ushered into a small waiting room, completely naked except for a white sheet which she wrapped around herself. There was a cup of tea and some biscuits on the table in the room but she was too nervous to eat.
A few moments later the surgeon walked in, carrying a clipboard which he was studying:
"Carla, you're in perfect physical condition."
Her relief was almost physical in its intensity.
"Would you like to come with me into the Cold Room."
She looked at him with a blank stare.
"The Cold Room," he laughed, "is where we keep the transplants."
She followed him through the halls of the laboratory until they came to a massive steel door with an electronic combination lock on the outside. He took out a small transistor and opened the lock.
"We can only stay in here for 90 seconds-after that there is a danger of contamination."
She shivered once she was inside and gazed at the row upon row of glass tubes which held the transplants.
"Here, Carla, come here. This is what is left of John Pavel."
The brain seemed to be swimming in the tube, turning over and over in the preserving liquid. She could only look at it for a moment and then she began to shiver. He noticed that she was disturbed and they quickly left the room.
On the next day the operation was performed. They wheeled her into a large room, the walls painted a dull blue. The surgeon winked to her beneath his mask as they placed the mask over her face and sent her into a deep sleep.
After the operation she was sent into an artificially induced coma in order to give the new brain a chance to begin working while the body was at a low state of activity in order to avoid malfunction.
The coma lasted three days and then she woke up.
The surgeon was at the foot of her bed. He smiled at her and said:
"Now remember, you are still Carla. All we have done is grafted the key areas of John Pavel's brain into yours, removing enough of the original gray matter in order to give you a synthesis of feelings and desires. But you are still Carla. Do you understand?"
"Yes," she said, too excited to speak more.
She peered out the window at a morning sun. At first all she could see was the shattering rays but then she began to pick up the more subtle colors tpink threads of light which seemed to filter through the room the tiny specks of dust which seemed caught up in the whirlwind of rays.
"Yes," she murmured again, happier than she had ever been in her life, secure in the fact that in her head was grafted the sensibility of John Pavel.
She recovered from the operation quickly and soon she left the hospital. Upon stepping out of the building she was accosted by a whole new world of colors and feelings and stances. Every leaf, every person seemed to have a new aura.
By the time she arrived home she was exhausted. She threw herself onto the bed and slept.
The next day she prepared herself for her great adventure; the sexual one. It had been her secret fantasy that once the brain was installed the erotic world would open for her like a flower.
She dressed carefully and left the house, hailing a cab to take her down to the Strip. This section of ten blocks or so had been set aside by the City as a form of open space where all types of sexual encounters were openly encouraged. During any day or night, hundreds of single men and women, or even married couples, could be seen walking up and down, sizing up each other for possible sexual episodes.
The city provided small rooms in adjoining hotels where the couples could go. Homosexuality, incest and every form of erotic behavior was rife and encouraged. Vendors lined the streets handing out free food and drink as well as various ahrodisiac equipment.
Carla moved quietly down the strip, accepting the stares of the other walkers, taking her time in her selection. At first she looked only at the men but as she passed the central fountain of the strip she saw a young girl sunning herself, letting her hair fall loosely in the sun.
The light fell on the shimmering strands and Carla felt a chill in her body as the brain of John Pavel began to translate those strands into erotic imagery. She felt her whole body yearn for the girl, the idea of touching her flesh almost transported Carla into a realm of total awareness; the ability to see everything, feel everything, love everything.
Walking closer to the girl, she looked at her figure, at the firm round breasts which were pressing against the flimsy fabric. She wanted to slip her fingers under that dress and feel the glory of her nipples.
"Excuse me," she said, trying to control her passion and speak in a normal voice.
The girl turned her face toward Carla and it was obvious right away that the girl was available, that she was willing to experiment.
There was no longer any need for words. Carla took the girl's hand and they both walked slowly toward the door of the closest hotel. Up the stairs, into the room, almost as if in a dream. Carla felt a new-found power surging through her.
She led the girl to the bed and made her lay back. Then, slowly, gently, she began to undress the girl, marveling at the images that the girl's body were beginning to elicit from her mind. In a moment, the girl's breasts were naked. Carla bent over and filled her mouth with the flesh, swallowing the juicy mound, pushing it deep in her mouth. Her tongue made small circles on the juicy nipple until the girl was moaning with lust.
As she tasted the nipple, as she let that point pierce her mouth, she felt a series of images almost overwhelm her. She was doing more than playing with the young thing she was in a cherry orchard tasting the young fruit she was in a field of fresh flowers, picking the buds with her passionate tongue rammed it deep, using it like a spear and then savaging her nest with a series of powerful swipes. Carla felt her tongue being pulled up into the girl and the further she went, the more she needed the new delights which waited for her there. She sucked out the hidden pools of lust, she pierced the moist but trembling darkness of the girl's body.
And the further she went the more passionate became her movements. The girl had her thighs around Carla, crushing her head.
Her tongue was doing more than bringing love; it was exploring the possibilities of the transplant. Carla felt herself caught up in a whirl of imaginative innovation the girl's vagina seemed a storehouse of technicolor vibrations which moved backwards from the tip of the tongue to the mouth and to her own body.
The girl was trying to escape her trying to rid her body of the tongue which was so cruel. But Carla had impaled her like a butterfly on a slide, her tongue the most powerful weapon at her command. She needed more, she was insatiable in the use of the new brain, in the images which were bursting upon her. The girl lifted herself by the buttocks and drove her vagina into the submerged face. Carla welcomed the thrust and began to weep with joy the tears mingling with the saliva of her tongue.
Then she needed more, she needed something else desperately. As her tongue continued those erotic thrusts, Carla took her own hand and began to rub her flower. She felt herself growing wet and sticky and then she thrust her finger into her own steaming nest.
The finger and the tongue moved in unison, the former in her own body and the latter never relenting in its rape of the girl's body. Soon, both of their moans filled the room and the thick odor of their love seemed to waft across the bed like a bouquet of spoiled flowers.
They were reaching their climax together, the forces in their bodies were beginning to come to a head. The sweat poured off both their bodies as they moved together. Her tongue wanted to taste every bit of moisture that the girl could give her and her own finger was like a buzz saw in the body, not relenting, always driving in a sort of insane rhythm. The bursts of sun flowers and the visions of the fields of splendor which the transplant brought to her, made her grow faint, but she only increased the lust of her activity.
They burst out a tremendous roaring of internal juices, churning, exploding, forcing their bodies into orgasm and then they lay, exhausted, and gasping, entwined in each other's arms.
Carla said nothing for a long time. Her head ached and she felt tiny prickly movements up her spine. At first she was panicky, afraid she had injured the transplant by participating in the sexual act too soon, but gradually the ache diminished and she felt a total peace with the world.
For the first time the girl spoke, turning her beautiful sloe-eyes toward Carla and asking:
"Who are you?"
Carla turned her face from the girl for the question tormented her. The girl asked the question again and this time she lay her hand on Caria's nipple.
"I am John Pavel," she finally said.
"What a funny name for a woman," the girl said and laughed softly.
Carla closed her eyes, thinking of the images that had been her joy for the few moments in bed.
"But you can call me Carla," she said to the girl.
There was silence and Carla could think only of the strange mass within her head. Am I really him? she thought and then turned away from the girl, trying to catch a glimpse of the sunlight which seemed to bounce against a vase near the bed.
SCENARIO 9
Henry Diggs rang the doorbell and then waited patiently. A peephole in the door finally swung open and he could see that he was being looked over.
"I'm Henry Diggs from the Board of Education. I'm here to collect some herbs from the greenhouse."
The peephole shut and then the door swung open. A tiny old woman greeted him and apologized.
"Sorry about all these precautions, but after the last riot, when the greenhouse was attacked by the aliens, and many of the herbs destroyed we have to be careful."
"It wasn't really a riot," he chastised the old woman gently, "we don't have those any more it was a form of mass hysteria probably brought on by the galactic storms."
"Call it what you will," the old woman grumbled and led him into the elevator. They started to move down, faster and faster. Henry knew the elevators were safe but he always felt uneasy in them. He clutched his black leather bag as if it would give him solace.
Finally the elevator stopped and when they stepped out they were in a greenhouse so hot and humid that he could scarcely breathe.
"What type do you need?"
For little girls, virgins," he said.
"Come with me."
They walked past hundreds of difference varieties of aphrodisiacs, all of them artificially transplanted from living herbs and made to grow in a formula which increased their potency by almost a thousand per cent.
"I still don't know why we call these herbs artificial," he said to the woman, testily.
"Because they are still basically grafts they can't grow naturally. They're like mules who can't reproduce."
She stopped in front of a vine which contained a series of tiny cups up and down the stem, and in the cups were hundreds of small beans.
"Here they are."
Henry opened his leather case and without further ado began to fill it with the small beans.
"How are they activated?" he asked, closing his bag.
"Just bite through the outer shell and a jelly-like substance oozes out."
"Then this is something you apply?"
"Yes, just rub it on the desired spot."
"Can we test it out?" He asked, smiling at the old woman.
She didn't think his suggestion too funny and she turned in a huff and walked back to the elevator. He hurried after her and soon they reached the street level. He thanked and left the house, clutching the bag in one hand.
Henry Diggs had been an employee of the Board of Education for almost fifteen years. His was to travel throughout the school system and deflower young virgins. This was part of their sex education courses, in fact, the high point of the course, and Henry had been selected for that job after prolonged testing found him to be an exemplary lover. The use of aphrodisiacs had come about because it was found that many of the young girls were so nervous and frightened that something was needed to break through this facade. Henry was only one of forty such "deflowerers" and there were an equal number of women who performed the same task with young male students.
The administrator was waiting for Henry when he arrived at the school. Henry could tell that he was being held in contempt and he opened the conversation by saying:
"I have a job to do and I do it."
"Oh come now Mr. Diggs you don't expect me to believe that you don't enjoy your work."
"I've been at it too long."
The administrator laughed as he began to pile up the cards which contained the names of the young girls who were scheduled for Henry.
"But I do believe," Henry said, suddenly and passionately, "in what I am doing I believe it's necessary and helpful."
The Administrator grinned and looked up at him from under arched eyebrows. Then, he reached over and handed him the cards. There were seven in all.
"Do you have the room prepared?" Henry asked.
"Third floor, last room on the right," was the reply and Henry left.
The room was completely bare except for a small bed and a chair. Henry looked with disgust at the sparse furnishings; it was always better when the room was done up with style. He sighed wearily; in the years on the job he had had worse experiences than absence of furniture. He isolated the first card and looked at it. It seemed to be the usual case; a young girl about fifteen, virginal. Even though sexual intercourse at an early age was encouraged there still were seemingly hordes of virgins. He pondered for a while on that paradox. Henry wished there had been a photograph enclosed, as there used to be, because he liked to try and understand the girl a little before he saw her in person. It was not a job for an unthinking man and Henry tried his best to inject a kind of intellectual passion into his work.
There was a knock at the door.
"Yes?"
No answer. He walked to the door and opened it slightly. The girl was standing there, head down, hands hanging nervously at her sides.
"Ah, come in."
But the girl didn't move.
"Please come in, there's nothing really to be afraid of."
She raised her eyes to look at him, decided that he had a kind face, and entered. "Sit down," he said gently.
"No."
"Are you frightened."
"Yes."
Henry smiled kindly and looked at her. She was short and dark-haired with an exquisite little figure which was set off by an extremely tiny mini-skirt.
"Do you know who I am?"
"Yes."
"Do you find me attractive?"
"No," she said, screwing up her face in disgust at him.
"Well, they never do at first."
He took the satchel and placed it on the bed. Opening it, he removed one bean and cradled it in the palm of his hand. Then he took the satchel and stored it safely on one corner.
"You'd better undress," he said softly but firmly.
"Must I?" Her voice had lost its arrogance. Now it was the voice of a small child, about to enter a world where her subconscious had lived for lo, these many years.
"I'm afraid you must."
With trembling hands she began to remove her clothes until she stood before him, blushing furiously, her face averted.
Mentally, he took stock of her. He could tell that she would not be easy; she was too tight. She seemed to be the young virgin incarnate every pore in her body tense from the anticipation of rape. But there would be no rape and he smiled as he thought of this.
He undressed in front of her, exhibiting his still young body without shame. It was a necessary part of his job to remain physically fit and he prided himself in the fact that there was not an ounce of extra fat on his body. "Are you ready?"
Her only answer to his question was to begin to cry. He liked her, he liked the way she tried to be calm until the last moment and then broke into tears. She touched something in him, perhaps it was all the years of seduction without love.
Walking behind her, he brushed her hair away and kissed her neck. The flesh was sweet to the taste although there was a layer of nervous sweat over her body.
"It will be nice," he promised her.
She dropped her head further to take her neck away from his touch. Firmly, he pulled her head back and began to stroke her neck with both hands.
"You can't fight me," he said, "above all, you can't fight me."
The girl relaxed a bit, enough for him to bring his hands over her front and cup both of her breasts.
He began to squeeze her breasts gently, trying to get the blood to circulate. She was stiff and afraid but he kept whispering soothing things in her ear. Slowly, very slowly, she allowed herself to enjoy his touching her, to allow herself to feel the expert passion in his fingers as they stroked her adolescent mounds.
Henry Diggs felt something, something he had never felt in his deflowering career. Those tender virginal nipples seemed to be beckoning him, but they were all hard and he felt savaged, threatened by them. The beads of perspiration were forming on his upper hp. He brought his hands away, quickly, trying to get hold of himself. But leaning over her, he could still the bright points calling to him.
The bean was in his palm. As per instructions he brought it quickly to his lips and bit through the outer shell. The jelly-like substance flowed out and he caught it in his hand.
Then he applied it to his lips. His lips would be the applicator.
Moving in front of the chair his eyes devoured the young thing. What was happening to him? He felt none of the abstraction that usually accompanied the job. He wanted to be with her. Bending down, he opened his mouth and plucked one of her nipples. She cried and then emitted a low steady moan as he applied the aphrodisiac.
Then he moved to the other breast, sucking on the tender point until it stood erect and quivering.
He moved back from the chair, breathing heavily, watching her.
The substance began to seep into her nipples. He watched her face slowly change from that of an innocent your creature afraid and unsure of herself to a sex-ridden, nymphet.
He smiled to himself as he watched her, remembering the matter-of-fact attitude of the old woman who had escorted him through the greenhouse.
The girl was off the chair and coming toward him. Every part of her body seemed to be caught up in the fury of the aphrodisiac.
As she approached him, he reached down and plucked another bean from the bag. The sight of her coming close, her body aching to be touched, to be penetrated, sent shivers up his spine. Quickly, he bit into the bean and collected the fluid in his hand and then brought it down to his penis. It was beginning to grow hard, to register the closeness of her body. For a moment he hesitated, thinking himself foolish for going against all rules of his job which more or less required detachment.
He spotted her sweet flower, nestled between her legs and without further ado he began to rub the substance on his column, coating it thoroughly and rubbing the remainder to his globes.
She was right next to him. He took her hand and guided it to his column.
"Rub," he said.
She needed no further invitation, being clit up in a lust she could not control. Her hands were like two flames, racing up and down the skin, burning him with her friction. The aphrodisiac began to move into the blood stream and he felt that her fingers were exquisite feathers, bringing him joy after joy.
She kneeled before him.
"Yes, yes," he murmured to her, forgetting everything including the reason he was there.
Her tiny virginal mouth opened and he could see the pink tongue lying in the cave, like an insect ready to take its first flight to eternity.
It slipped in her mouth gently, pausing for a moment at the lips. She circled it with her lips for a moment and made a tiny mark on it. Then it moved through and he felt her body shudder as the entry was accomplished. She began to dance on it with her mouth, moving her lips back and forth over it, coating it with her saliva, letting her tongue flick it and play with it from end to end. Henry could scarcely stand; he had never experienced anything like it.
He slipped into the rhythm, bringing his penis deep in her mouth and then pulling it back, putting it in and pulling it halfway out.
"Faster," he cried to her and they both moved like a pair of hounds fleeing some unseen terror.
The room seemed to explode with their fury until he pushed her away. She stood there, her mouth open, her arms outstretched as if the very source of life had been taken from her.
He pointed to the bed. She walked quickly there and sat down, waiting for him. She was nn longer the frightened child. She wanted, even needed the penetration. He pushed her gently back and kissed her vagina as she spread her legs for him.
Then he climbed on her and in one great convulsion of her body, rammed his column into the steaming virginal flower.
Her body seemed to crumble with the impact and she screamed once, a high, terrible scream, until it faded away and was replaced with a low, continuous moan which seemed to rise in intensity as the rhythm of his pumping went faster.
Their tongues were together, flicking at each other, hysterical in their rage. He rammed it into her, no longer thinking of her innocence, thinking only of satisfying the terrible desire he had. His penis was burning as it plunged into the darkness, into the tight little world of her flower and she was opening for him, wider and wider, until her small body was almost acrobatic in its position. He rammed again and again, grinding her buttocks to send the screw of love up into the child.
He felt his body stiffen and then he shot it into her the hot seed of his love, deep into her and she fell back exhausted.
The aphrodisiac completely worn off, he became bemused at what had happened. When the girl raised a passionate arm to him, he chastised her:
"Don't be foolish my child, get dressed and leave. I have others."
As she walked out the door and he prepared for the others, he made amental note not to use the aphrodisiac on himself. It was too dangerous, he thought, particularly for a man of my age. He grinned at the last thought as someone knocked on the door.
SCENARIO 10
At first the Doctors had protested when the Government had drafted them into being part of the political framework of the country but gradually they grew used to the role and actually enjoyed it.
Their job was to evaluate the political awareness of their patients during the twice a year medical exam which was compulsory for all citizens.
If they found that a citizen took no interest at all in the governing process, if they found that a citizen existed only to further his own selfish goals without a thought for the Body politic-then the doctors were required to treat them with hormonal transplants.
Treatments were short and intensive with results being obtained usually within a few weeks. No matter how the patient turned out after the treatment he or she was not required to undergo the hormonal transplants again because it could cause severe physical damage in the body. Thus, the doctors were under pressure to do it right the first time and they took extraordinary precautions so that the transplants would work. The theory behind the transplants was quite new.
It had been found that certain space aliens completely lost all sense of living in a community when there was destruction of certain glands in their body. This was the breakthrough for the new theory of social behavior which seated the root of all that behavior in the glandular chain.
Each doctor, when he performed a hormone transplant was required to submit a detailed, step-by-step account of the process. This account was then filed for future scientific and political reasons.
Below is one such paper by a physician.
SUCCESSFUL TRANSPLANTATION OF ADRENALIN HORMONE IN A THIRTY YEAR OLD WOMEN
The patient was found to be politically undeveloped. In a series of conversations the patient declared that she was interested only in her own artistic and moral development and that she didn't "give a damn" for the rest of the community.
Various other comments assured me that if the patient was not cured she would continue to exhibit such anti-social behavior and that there may even be more serious manifestations.
After discussing the case with the leading resident at the hospital, we both agreed that an adrenalin transplant would be the most excellent form of therapy. This was arrived at only after a careful diagnosis of the patient's history.
The patient (whom I will designate as N.) refused such treatment at first. Only after prolonged verbal therapy did she finally sign the paper allowing us to continue.
The hormone extract was obtained by a fellow doctor who was present at the death of a distinguished academician. He collected the substance immediately before death, making sure not to violate the Transplant Law. For the past seven months the substance has been kept in the Martian medical vaults undergoing various tests for purity. It was found to be totally without flaw.
I injected the hormone into the patient at midnight. The choice of time was selected because the patient still had certain residues of superstitions about various times and I thought it would be best not to tamper with those superstitions.
Complete photographs were taken of the operation. I saw the fluid race through the body and seek out her adrenal glands. Once there, the alien adrenalin began to change the workings of the gland, forcing it to produce other substances like itself rather than the host liquid.
The invading substance soon took complete control over the host gland, proving further, if any further proof is needed, that foreign substances in the glandular system can act as attacking forces and capture rather than kill the secreting glands.
Except for a few hours of nausea, N. showed no adverse effects to the operation and the takeover. She was placed in the restriction ward and watched closely for the required convalescence period.
I entered the room for my first post-operative interview with N. She was lying on the bed and she refused to recognize my presence for the first fifteen minutes. Finally, after severe verbal provocation she cursed me and said that she still wasn't changed, she still was interested in her own happiness and her own development.
It was obvious that the hormonal transplant would not be useful at all unless she reached a state of total excitement. It was during that interview that I realized only erotic behavior directed toward her would get the transplant working. I left the room with that thought weighing heavily on my mind.
Checking with other physicians, they also told me that the hormone needed a tremendous psychic effort in order to activate itself and that sex seemed the most likely candidate. Once the hormone activated itself and poured into the bloodstream, the peculiar combination of a foreign gland in the body would change her point of view. Although this is, in itself, a very complicated process, it is detailed in a score of medical journals.
Three days after the first visit I entered the room again.
"What kept you so long?" The patient asked, sarcastically.
I pulled up a chair near the bed and went through the ritual of checking her pulse and heartbeat.
"Please strip to the waist," I asked.
She did as I requested. Her large full breasts were magnificently shaped and she knew it; she almost thrust them in my face. It was a crucial part in the interview. I had to do something. I had to get that hormone working. Moving close as if to examine her further, I quickly sank my teeth in her flesh, digging deep into the succulent white mound until she screamed and brought her fists down on my head.
Quickly I released her and moved away. Her mouth was open in a look of dumb dismay as she watched the small trickle of blood stain her breast.
"You pig," she said.
I remained silent, hoping she would begin to curse me, hoping my action would drive her into a frenzy, but soon she calmed down and lay back.
"Why don't you get out?"
"Because I have more work to do with you."
"You want to bite my other breast?"
Moving quickly to her side, I began to lick the wound, washing away the blood with my tongue. I was becoming excited and I felt my breath straining but she remained as cool and detached as ever. Finally, disgusted, I left the room.
During the second visit I tried a more authoritative tack. Asking her to stand, I literally ripped the clothes off her and then walked around her, nodding and murmuring to myself.
"What are you looking for gold?"
Her answer was my belt, ripped suddenly from my pants and laced across her back. She cringed against the fall wall as I approached her again, the sneering look wiped from her face.
Again I brought it down against her flesh and could see the welts begin to rise. She fell back against the wall and slid to the floor, opening her body to me. The leather flicked out and I caught her on the niople. She uttered a terrible cry of pain and folded her arms over her breasts to protect her precious point.
Then the buttocks, full-bodied and firm. They waited for the last. I brought it down savagely, with the buckle first, letting the steel sink into those palpitating buns.
The sound of steel crucifying flesh resounded throughout the room. I kept at it, beating her buttocks until they looked like striped meat freshly cut from the butchers rack. But there was no response other than the normal one of hate and fear. The hormone transplant did not activate itself. Leaving the room after the severe beating, I felt exhausted and ashamed of myself.
With my defeat constantly rankling me, I called a meeting of my fellow workers and presented them with the facts of the case. Few of them disagreed with my diagnosis but one counseled me to take more overt sexual actions. To put it bluntly, I was afraid to take that action. She was a very imposing woman and she frightened me to a certain extent.
But I resolved to carry out the erotic endeavor. The next time I visited the room she practically growled when she saw me. I sat on the edge of the bed and apologized for the beating.
"It was necessary."
"Ah," she replied, "everything seems to be necessary."
"The hormone must be activated."
"For whom? Not for me."
"Yes, for you," I lectured her softly, "for your salvation."
"Salvation?" she scoffed, "you sound like one of those obsolete priests."
My hands were on her body but there was no violence in them. I let my fingers move down her flesh, feeling the firmness, feeling the latent passion in her frame. She was a magnificent looking woman and I enjoyed every moment.
Suddenly, for the first time, I felt something in her, some genuine sign of excitement. She had closed her eyes, moaned, and spread her thighs wide. My hand began to rub that silken triangle.
I felt a tremendous surge of optimism I felt that I would succeed.
Moving between her legs I let my mouth play with her flower, licking the opening and letting my tongue dart into her, piercing her for just a moment to give her a taste of what could await her. She was becoming more excited, flinging her arms up and writhing.
I moved away from her.
"Here, here," I called to her as if she was a dog.
She hesitated. I could see her caught between conflicting emotions.
"Why don't you squat, like the bitch you are," I said.
Something was happening to her. The hormone was beginning to activate. I could tell by the strange pallor of her face and the fact that her extremities were flushed, her toes and fingers and nipples.
She got down on all fours. She was beginning to take my every allusion as gospel. I mentioned the word "bitch" and instead of reasoning, she acted it out. She crawled about the floor, making strange sounds. Every once in a while she shuddered.
I came up behind her and let my flesh play against her exposed and uplifted vagina. She nuzzled back as a bitch in heat backs against a male.
In I rammed it, deep in, to the hilt. She cried out but before she could do anything I began to pump, and she howled like a bitch.
"No, no," her voice was parched and croaked.
As I pumped, I talked, trying by my words to raise the level of her hormonal action. It was successful; I could feel her body splintering apart, I could feel the wet, steamy vagina close around my shaft and with each plunge I could feel something moving through her body beside lust. It was working, it was moving, the experiment was beginning to take a definitive form.
Withdrawing my penis, she screamed for more, but I pushed her down and let my semen pour into her lips. Her eyes were shut and she seemed to be losing consciousness, but her mouth imbibed the seed.
Then all was quiet. Not wanting to interrupt the flow of hormone, I left the room and watched her from the observation entrance, she seemed distracted, almost like a galactic traveler, her feet wavering and her knees almost jelly-like.
The next day I returned.
"Well?" I asked, smiling.
She reached for me and her hands were all over my body. She was in a state of extreme excitement. The transplant was obviously pumping hormones at an incredible rate into her bloodstream. She clutched at me as if I was her last hope.
"Are you all right?"
When I asked that question she began to weep and jabber away.
It took almost a week to fully harness the hormone. Gradually, however, she lost her individual passion and the mysterious hormonal and chemical reaction began to seep into her psyche. By the time another week had passed, she was completely socialized.
There is no doubt in my mind that N.'s case has proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that massive hormonal changes through the use of transplants can permanently affect the psychic contraction of the brain, particularly in the area of political affairs.
SCENARIO 11
The Sensitivity Center was charged with the task of monitoring whole populations; checking their thoughts and actions and emotions through the use of sophisticated cybernetic equipment.
The main purpose of this monitoring procedure was to make sure that the level of hostility in the population didn't reach the level where they would be willing to break the inter-galactic law against making war.
It was a quiet morning in the center when the first lights began to flash. A series of beeps came from Territory Seven on the world map. Immediately every person in the center left his or her work and gathered around the massive wall map. They watched carefully; it could be a false alarm, where the cybernetic equipment was triggered by some natural phenomenon. But then the beeping and lights came loud and clear; it was obvious that something terrible was happening in the minds of the people who inhabited the populous Territory Seven.
Twelve hours later, Steve Jinn, field agent for the Sensitivity Center in Territory Seven, was in a transportation tube, heading toward main headquarters. Although he was not aware of the findings of the Center, he knew something was up by the urgent message to return.
He was ushered quickly through the halls, with the usual tedious security check, and brought into the Chief's office. It was the first time in his ten years as a agent that he had been allowed in that office.
The moment the chief saw him, he came out from behind the massive desk, smiling, his hand extended. They shook hands and Steve sat down, aware of the tension in the air. A number of the chief's aides were standing behind the desk, their arms filled with various readings from the equipment.
"Well, you must realize that something's up."
Yes, sir."
"It's in your territory. We've uncovered a hostility reading that is almost one hundred per cent higher than any reading we've taken in the past ten years."
Steve sat still, it was frightening information. At that intensity, the people in Territory Seven would be at War with someone within a month.
"Are you sure has the machine been checked out?"
"No mistake," the Chief said, bringing his hand forcefully down on the desk in front of him.
"I hope you're aware that our job is more then detection. It's also to head those sudden psychic eruptions off before they become fatal."
"I realize that, Sir."
"Good. It'll be your baby. Best of luck." hey shook hands again and Steve followed one of the aides out of the office.
"We're going to the vault," he said.
They entered a tube at the end of the hall and strapped themselves in for the supersonic voyage. Two seconds later they unstrapped themselves, deep in the vault caves of the center of the planet. Steve shivered as he stepped out of the tube. It was pitch dark except for a few candles which lit the way. They walked for miles until they came to the center vault.
"Wait here," he cautioned Steve.
Ten minutes later he came out with a small box and opened them. Steve saw about twenty pink pills.
"This is our emergency treatment, the strongest and most sophisticated erotic drug we've developed."
Steve reached out for the box but the aide thrust it behind his back.
"Not yet," he cautioned, "I want to be sure know what you're doing."
Steve felt a flash of anger at being doubted ba desk man but he controlled himself and recited the litany of the agent.
"In an emergency situation, I am expected t deposit the substances into the main water and air supplies, and to extirpate the possibility of war, even at the risk of my own life."
"Yes, yes," said the aide, "I know that you are familiar with the regulations."
There was a long pause and then the man gripped Steve's arm:
"This is not an ordinary situation. The Chief says it is our greatest challenge since War was outlawed. You must succeed and you must bring us some kind of proof that you have succeeded. Go out into the street, see if it has worked, make sure."
Steve assured the man, then took the pills and placed them carefully in his pocket. They made the long walk back to the tubes and strapped themselves in.
Five hours, Steve was on his way back to Territory Seven. Arriving there, he wondered how he had not been aware of the change in the psyche of the populace. It was obvious to him now, people were surly, there were fights erupting on the street and practically no one smiled. But even worse than these minor events, there seemed to be an undercurrent of desperation in the population, a desperation that could only be expunged from their souls by some great, collective act of violence and that meant war.
That night he poured over the maps and the models of both the water aqueducts and the pure oxygen manufacturing stations. Taking a pencil, he made small marks where the pills must be placed. Then he prepared himself for action. It was a fact that the water and oxygen stations were well-guarded and that would be difficult to penetrate. But there was no turning back, it had to be done. Under cover of darkness, he slipped down the slope which covered the water station; it was a massive grass shield which kept the water pure and circulating. He knew that it would be almost impossible to enter from the front without overpowering the guard and he didn't want to hurt anyone. There was another way. Taking out of his pocket a small, electronic drill, the size of a pencil, he placed it in the ground and activated word command. The drill silently and easily cut through the grass covering and even through the plex-shield which actually covered the water like a film. Then, he dropped five of the pills down the hole and covered his tracks. It was the same at the oxygen station.
Totally exhausted and almost shaking with fright at his feats, he returned to his apartment, drenched with sweat.
It would take two days before the erotic therapy began to work, if it did for it had never been used against such a powerful war urge.
The next morning he walked the streets and picked out two control persons. The first was a tall, striking looking waitress. Steve could tell that her hostility ratio was high, she seemed to ooze the desire to hurt, to wound, even to kill. Every move she made was violent. He decided to concentrate on her, rather than diffuse his energy among others. She would be the ideal control.
"A cup of coffee, please," he said.
"Don't rush me," she answered savagely and finally gave him the coffee, sloshing it half over him in the process.
"People seem to be very angry around here," he said casually, trying to make conversation.
"Yeah?"
"Even you look how hostile you are to me just because I ask you for a cup of coffee."
She looked at him with daggers in her eyes. It was even worse than he had thought and he wondered if this was not an external problem rather than a sudden explosion of internal hate. Perhaps, he thought, it was an alien invasion, utilizing subconscious weaknesses of the masses.
The waitress was cutting a loaf of bread into slices to use for sandwiches. The steel blade gleamed wickedly in the light of the restaurant. He could see the pleasure on her face as she wielded the weapon, as she let the blade fall into the soft flesh of the bread.
"Listen
She turned to him, waiting for him to continue, the knife held at chest level.
"Never mind," he said, and then paid and left. Yes, she was the one he would watch and test. As he left he reasoned to himself that the hostility was too powerful even for an alien invasion. There had to be some other explanation. His job, however, was to cure it, not to decide how it happened. Someday, historians would decide that. As he walked back to the apartment, he saw another phenomenon which worried him deeply; angry crowds were beginning to form on the street, aimless, vicious throngs with nowhere to go and nothing to do.
Once back in the apartment, he sent a coded message back to headquarters, reporting that he had made contact with the water and air.
He tossed fitfully all night unable to sleep unable to get out of his mind the horrible consequences if he failed.
The next morning he went to see the waitress again. The restaurant was empty and she was making a fresh batch of coffee. He knew he had to try even though it was probably too early for the pills to have gone into action. Silently, he slipped behind the counter. She turned:
"Oh, it's you again."
"Are you sorry?"
"Get lost."
He could see her breasts rising gently and then falling beneath the starched white uniform. He could tell that she was wearing no bra and the darkness of her nipples were like twin cherries against the white fabric.
Steve reached across and swiftly unbuttoned her blouse, then sunk his hand into the space and grasped the firm mound of her breast. He squeezed a bit, until his fingers bruised the flesh.
"What the hell are you doing?" she asked, her face hard and the violence still lurking near the surface.
"Loving you," he said, and opened another button, exposing the delicate, full bodied nipples.
Bending over, he kissed her point and then let the nipple slip between his lips. His tongue began to worry it back and forth, flipping tip until he felt his body growing excited.
A second later a hard object crashed down on the back of his neck. For a moment he blacked out and then he felt himself reeling against the counter. His head crashed into the side and he saw stars. When he came to, he was lying on the floor. The waitress was standing about two feet away from him. The moment she saw him conscious, she threw a wet towel at him which hit him square in the face.
"Here, wipe the blood off," she said.
He felt it trickling down the side of his head. Reaching it with his fingers, he felt the sticky fluid. The towel stopped the bleeding and soon he was sound enough to stand.
"Now do you understand, get lost."
He walked unsteadily back to the apartment and spent the day in bed, treating his wound. It had been too early and he had paid for his optimism.
The next morning he was ready again. The waitress was sitting at a booth, reading the morning newspaper. As he approached, he realized that she seemed to have lost some of her harshness but he had to be sure.
"Is your head all right?" she asked, smiling at him for the first time. He slipped in beside her on the booth.
"I'm fine, a bit dizzy perhaps."
There was no time for subtlety. He put his hand between her legs and slowly began to peel back her panties beneath the dress.
"What are you doing?" she asked, indignantly.
"I can't help it, I need you, you've obsessed me from the moment I laid eyes on you," he lied, trying to get the proper amount of passion in his voice.
He was at the flesh. She closed her thighs around his hand but slowly she opened them for him. He began to stroke the triangle of soft hair, feeling heat flood through her body. Then he moved his fingers along her vaginal lips, making tiny circles in the moist flesh. He looked at her; her eyes were closed and there seemed to be a look of bliss on her face.
Steve shoved his finger into the steaming nest and she moaned once as she was penetrated. Deeper and deeper went the probing hand, into her juices, into the pools of dark lust which were beginning to be activated.
"Oh please, no more'" she moaned.
He removed his finger and pulled her down so that her face rested on his lap. Quickly, he opened his pants and the excited column shot up into the air. Her mouth was there and she began to kiss his pulsing flesh, beautiful, passionate kisses that sent him back against the booth, his eyes closed in ecstasy.
She opened her mouth and his penis slipped through her burning lips. He began to move his buttocks slightly so that the column moved in and out of her mouth a rhythm of love. She sucked on him with her feverish mouth--bringing her tongue to the tip and letting it coat his penis with a thin film of saliva.
Suddenly, she broke away from him and ran to the far side of the restaurant, her body shaking.
He followed after her and caught her by the coffee urn while she had her back to him. He ripped her panties off and then plunged the giant column between her shivering buttocks. She fell against the urn, moaning and crying as he plunged it deeper and deeper.
"No, no," she cried out but her words only made him pump more furiously. Her buttocks seemed to sucking him deeper and they were quivering so much that he felt like he was going into a pool of heated jelly. Then she moved quickly away from him, the penis falling from her body. But she turned a second later and ran back, opening her mouth to receive the hot seed as it poured from him.
Then there was silence.
"What are you thinking of?" he asked.
She smiled:
"Love."
"So you remember what it means that word."
A second later he was gone, hurrying back to the hotel room. He took out his special sending equipment, for use only in an emergency, and sent the headquarters the success signal. He lay on the bed, smiling waiting for the reply. It had worked beyond his wildest dreams. In a few more hours the war-fever in Territory Seven would be completely dried up. The message came, congratulating him, and advising him that he was needed in Territory Four where there was another outbreak, this one less virulent but potentially dangerous since Territory Four contained The Space labs. Packing slowly, he wondered when it would all end. Then his face hardened and he set out to do his job.
SCENARIO 12
Everyone in the courtroom stood as the Judge entered the room. The prisoner, Number 107, stood also, her long brown hair sweeping majestically over her shoulders. She showed no sign of anxiety although the careful observer could see that there was a vein in her neck which continually trembled.
The Judge spoke:
"There is no doubt that you are guilty of one of the most heinous crimes against the universal order-the desire to use public property for your own self-interest. You were caught cutting down a White Spruce sapling in order to make something of wood;
'If there was a punishment of death, I would gladly give it out since what you have done is even horrifying to think of.
"But alas the death penalty has been long since abolished. Please hear me, 107. It is my judgment that you be sent to the floating planet of Temas, in the galaxy of Fl-9 and there be deprived of your human personality and invested with a new one from the animal world. Perhaps, only then, will you be able to see the magnitude of your crime.
"May God have mercy on your soul."
The Judge walked out of the room, his majestic cape swirling after him.
107 felt ill, her legs were trembling and there were spots before her eyes.
They shackled 107 and led her from the courtroom. A silent crowd was gathering and they watched her without compassion. Every once in a while, a child leaped forward and cried out: "murderer, murderer."
The guard who was leading her to the transport vehicle removed the shackles once they were a distance from the court house.
"You won't like Temas," he said.
"Do I have a choice?"
The guard grinned and kept walking. They walked for miles along the sky-wall of the city, which was, in reality, the base of the atmospheric cover which kept pollution to a minimum.
"There," the guard pointed.
107 followed his arm and she saw the thin vehicle anchored off the wall.
"What happens in Temas?" she asked, suddenly frightened now that the reality of her trip was almost upon her.
"It's something with animals."
"Everybody knows that but what really happens?"
"I guess you" have to wait until you get there in order to find out."
He shoved her into the loading cylinder and she braced herself as she was sucked into the ship.
She landed heavily even though the floor was covered with layers of foam. Immediately in front of her was an officer at the desk, scrawling something on an oversized pad. He looked up at her:
"So you're the tree murderer."
She stared back at him defiantly. He smiled, continued writing for a while, and then put the pad off to one side.
"On Temas, you won't get a chance to be recalcitrant. Luckily for you, you're the only prisoner on board. If you don't cause trouble, we won't have to chain you but one false move and we'll completely immobilize you. Is that clear?"
107 nodded, showing that she understood the arrangement. A few minutes later, she felt the ship take off and within seconds they were into the great space reef, which had been constructed to ease the passage ships into the outer galaxies. It was almost an electronic roller coaster the ships literally running on electronic fields, much as a trolley runs on tracks. Every hour one of the crew came around and distributed pills to slow up the body clocks. This was necessary since space travel often took hundreds of years. With the pills, the body adjusted to the length of the flight and when one landed on a distant planet, perhaps eight thousand earth years away, the body had aged only eight hours. For just a moment, 107 thought of not taking the pills an easy form of suicide. But then she popped them into her mouth she was too proud not to be able to take any punishment given to her.
Finally, they were at Temas. She stepped off the ship and into a black world. The only light came from small plants which had been bred to give off light in the photosynthesis process. These plants were spaced at a distance of about a hundred feet from each other and the light they gave off was insufficient.
Three men were waiting for her. Two of them were dressed in the uniform of guards but the third appeared as if he had some authority.
"I am warden of Temas," he introduced himself.
107 said nothing, looking at her jailer with a mixture of curiosity and contempt.
"You are here to serve your sentence and we'll make sure you do just that. No doubt, you know what happens on Temas. You are here for an identity exchange, which will be done by a series of drugs and actual experiences, the animal which you will eventually become, not physically of course, but emotionally and psychologically, has already been chosen.
"Follow the guards and they will take you to your destination. Remember, if you become difficult, we can become difficult, and if you are cooperative, we will be cooperative."
He turned his back and began to walk away. For the first time, she understood the finality of her plight, stuck on a Godforsaken black planet, undergoing an identity change which she didn't want. Suddenly, she panicked and broke away from the group and ran into the darkness. Her feet churned as she went stumbling and tripping over the unfamiliar terrain. Her breath came in labored gulps, her chest seemed to be on fire, but she ran with the desperation of the prisoner.
They caught her only a few hundred yards from the ship and clubbed her unconscious.
107 regained consciousness and looked around. She had no idea how long she had been out or where she was. There was no sign of other human habitation and the walls of the place seemed like a limestone cave. There were labyrinths running in and out of the main cave and she could hear the sound of dripping water off in the distance.
She tried to stand and fell back to the ground. She realized she had been drugged, her reaction time was slow and there was a deadening aspect of every thought and action. 107 realized that the identity exchange had already begun, with the introduction of drugs into the bloodstream, but so far, all she felt was fatigue and dullness.
Gradually, the secondary effects of the drugs wore off and she began to walk about the cave, peering into the passageways, trying to find some other trace of life. She found the water, a small, fresh flowing stream. Bending down, she scooped some up in her hand and drank it. It was clear and cold and altogether delicious. There were some plants near the stream and she smelled them? they were edible, a form of protein root which had been developed by earth scientists to meet the food problems of other planets. 107 had tasted them before and she arched her eyebrows somewhat, aware that all the ingredients for life were present in the cave. It couldn't have been a chance occurrence; it must have been constructed on purpose. The whole arrangement was the work of man; that she could tell.
Suddenly, she stood straight up, the back of her neck almost bristling. From somewhere in the cave she heard a long, terrible howl, which seemed to bounce off the walls and keep reverberating in her ears.
There was only one animal which could make a sound like that; the timber wolf. She shuddered, suddenly aware of her plight, suddenly aware that her identity exchange would have something to do with the wolf. There was no other reason shy such an animal should be brought from Earth to Temas.
That night she crawled into one of the depressions in the cave and tried to stay awake, afraid that if the wolf should approach there would be no way to save herself. But fatigue and the effects of the strange drugs overwhelmed her fears and she fell into a deep sleep.
Somewhere in the early morning, she woke, aware that something was near her. She could smell the musty odor of another living thing. Gradually her eyes became used to the dark and she saw him the wolf not more than fifty feet away, watching her, waiting.
A terrible, overwhelming fear spread through her body. She scraped some loose stones from the floor of the cave and flung them at the wolf. He turned and walked slowly away.
She was still shivering after he was gone. Her hands bled from having scraped the raw ground for missies to throw at him. Her head felt as if it was being pulled apart by two conflicting forces, but she knew this was the drug, trying to destroy her will, trying to ease her into the identity exchange.
Night after night the wolf returned to watch her and night after night she flung things at him, driving him away.
Finally, one night, she no longer cared, she was too tired to fight. She lay there, her clothes almost ripped completely into tatters, and waited for him.
The wolf approached. She could smell his musky odor and see the twin points of his eyes, gleaming in the darkness. He stopped about a foot away, watching her. Then his nose began to inspect her body, poling in every area. She was stiff, as if she was dead. The wolf buried his muzzle between her legs for a moment and then savagely ripped her clothes off, until her naked flesh covered the cave floor like a rug.
After having explored her, he backed off, and sat on his haunches licking himself and cleaning his fur. 107 lost her fear and sat up, looking at the strange creature. When he came toward her again, she lay back. His muzzle went between her legs again and this time, his massive tongue flicked out and swept across her vagina, suddenly and dramatically.
Something in her exploded, something in her reacted violently to that terrible tongue, as it swept its way across her glistening and hot vaginal lips. Then the wolf was gone, out or reach and sight, fleeing as suddenly as it had come.
That night it came again and this time the drugs and the cave had begun to do their work. As he approached her, she rolled over on her back and spread her legs. The wolf approached, on stiffened legs as if it was courting in his native habitat.
The muzzle went between her thighs and she moaned, and closed and opened her thighs a few times on the muzzle. She wanted his tongue, she wanted to feel that rasping piece of flesh.
It flicked out and caught her full on the vagina. Then, in great sweeping movements, the wolf brought his tongue against her, until 107 was left a gasping, shivering hulk. She raised her body, wanting more, wanting all that savage tongue could bring. Her arms were stretched out to him but the wolf saw only the palpitating steamy nest which seemed to suck his tongue up.
The next night the wolf came again, more boldly, as if the woman was his. She waited for him and once she saw the glaring eyes, she crept toward him, on all fours, and moved beneath his body.
It was staring at her still in its sheath, covered by the protection of swirling hair. She grasped it in both of her hands and felt the potential, felt the wildness of its shape. Under her gentle massage, the penis began to grow, until, a few moments later, she saw the pink tip. Slowly, the erect cock began to emerge from the sheath, inch after inch of shivering erect flesh, the flesh of a wild beast.
She took it into her mouth, her body almost exploding as the tangy wild taste of the flesh seemed to saturate her body. She sucked on it and it lashed her mouth, going from side to side in a sort of frenzy. There was no turning back for her, no way to release it. It held her rather than she holding it--it destroyed her mouth and tongue and all she could do was hold on and bring her mouth to love. Then the wolf shivered and a moment later she felt her mouth full of the wolf's seed, full of the strange, almost beautiful tasting seed which caressed the lining of her mouth and drifted far back into her throat. She drank it greedily.
That night she came to her senses for a while. She seemed to try and fight what was happening, to call on her inner resources. But the identity transfer was too strong; she was on her way to wolfhood and there was no force on that planet which could stop it. That night she wept, for she knew that the situation was now irreversible. What's more to a certain extent, she welcomed it.
When the wolf came again, she had already made peace with her future. She heard him when he was a long way off, her ears taking on the acute hearing of her lover's specie. She waited at the mouth of the cave for him, a strange, long-haired creature, no longer looking human because her skin was darkened by the continual exposure to the dust and grime of the cave. When she spotted him, she turned a number of circles, expressing joy, keeping her rear up so that he could get flashes of her waiting sex.
The wolf stalked around her and sniffed at the waiting prize. Then 107 fell to all fours, low to the ground and began walking away.
With a bound, the wolf was on her, suddenly ramming his hairy organ into her steaming nest. It was the first time they had coupled and 107 felt an ecstasy far beyond anything she had experienced in her life. It went deeper, sending her forward, ramming her to the earth. She struggled to rise, to impale herself deeper, to feel the thrusting column tear her body apart.
The wolf began to pump, wordless, unlike any human action, sending the wisdom of his race into her.
It was growing within her, seeking out the steaming pools of lust, twisting and turning in a bizarre dance that seemed to have no end. Her mouth was open and her hair fell, matted, over her shoulder.
She felt something wet on her shoulder as he pumped. It was the saliva from the wolf as it fell from his slavering jaws. The spittle caressed her, excited her, and she backed more savagely into him, to match the beauty of his thrusts.
In one burst of seed it was over and she moved away, squatting in a corner to lick her body.
During the nights that followed, the guards and the warden on Temas heard a strange sound. Instead of the single wailing howl of the wolf there were two. They heard the pure wolf-tones of 107 crying out in the night.
SCENARIO 13
Tina no longer went to church. It was not that she no longer believed, on the contrary, she believed very strongly it was merely that the Church seemed just another institution. There was nothing which made it unique; it paid taxes like other institutions, the priests and ministers married and divorced at will, the church services were simple and without elaborate ceremony.
Most people welcomed this change. But Tina was one of a small, dissatisfied minority who dreamed of the mysterious and the magical, who longed for some sense of the sublime beyond art and the exotic planets which everyone could travel to. She was interested in the inner depths the strange qualities of the mind and whether or not there was a divine source.
Tina had heard that there were small underground groups celebrating a new form of religion. There was little information about them but she knew that they existed. Her efforts at contacting them had been unsuccessful. The groups were not subject to any repression by the government, on the contrary, everybody was able and encouraged to exercise their absolute freedom. It was just that the groups kept secret in order to preserve the secrecy of their doctrine.
One afternoon, Tina went into one of the moving Cinemas, giant movie houses which floated about twenty feet off the ground using the hydrofoil method. After the movie, she entered a small outdoor cafe which hung from the side of one of the massive skyscrapers. It was a blazing hot day and the coolness of the coffee house refreshed her.
An electronic "bird" flew to her table and waited for her order. She scribbled it on a piece of paper, stuffed it in its beak, and pressed the return button. The "bird" flew away and returned five minutes later with a cooling drink and a dish of ice cream.
She saw a man walk into the coffee house and stand at the entrance, looking around. Suddenly, he noticed her and began to walk toward her table. She tried to think if she knew him but she couldn't remember ever having seen him before.
He sat down boldly at her table.
"Do you mind?"
"Do I have a choice? You are already seated," she laughed.
"I suppose you don't."
They sat in silence. The man's eyes roamed over her body in an extremely frank, sexual manner. But there was something about his gaze which made it impossible to take affront at his stares.
"I know who you are," he said suddenly. She stiffened.
"Your name is Tina."
"There are many women named Tina," she replied, sipping her drink.
"Perhaps," he replied, "but there is only one woman named Tina who hungers for a divine purpose in life."
She felt her blood run cold. He knew too much.
"Do I shock you?"
"How did you know?"
"We have our ways. Are you ready to follow me?"
Where? For what?"
Tina felt her head spinning. She felt a sense of desperation at being so close to her goal and yet so far away.
The man took out a pencil and then a piece of crumpled paper. He smoothed out the paper on top of the table and then wrote an address on it. Folding it, he pressed it into her palm, saying:
"Tomorrow night, at nine sharp. Be there."
With that he was gone. She called out to him but he moved through the door without turning back. Opening the paper she saw it was an address in the old quarter, a section of the city which had been preserved intact, excavated, and floated about a mile up.
She pocketed the address and went home. For the next day and one half she was totally unnerved, excited at the coming event. Nothing else could interest her, nothing else could intrude on her dreams.
She arrived at the address a half hour early and moved away from the door to wait for the stipulated time. Finally, nine o'clock arrived and she rang the bell. At first there was no answer but then she heard some steps behind the door and a woman about her own age opened it.
"Yes?" she said pleasantly.
"I'm Tina. I was told to come."
The woman looked critically at the piece of paper which Tina had handed her and which contained the address the stranger had written.
"Very well come in."
Tina walked through the door. It was dark inside, terribly dark.
"Follow me," the woman said.
They began to climb a steep flight of stairs which seemed to be constructed in the fashion of a double helix. The climb made her dizzy and she had to hold on to the thin banisters for support. They reached a door and the woman knocked. It opened and Tina was led into a room where about twenty-five people, both men and women, were sitting on the floor. The room was absolutely empty of furniture or furnishings. The people were naked.
"Take your clothes off," the woman said. Tina obeyed and was about to drop her clothes on the floor when the stranger materialized and reached out his hand, smiling:
"IT! take those."
She gave him the clothes and then she squatted on the floor like the others, painfully aware of her nakedness.
The stranger returned and began to speak to an older man who stood at the end of the room, the only one standing. The stranger was speaking quickly and pointing to her. The older man, obviously the leader of the group, kept looking at her and nodding. Then the stranger resumed his seat.
The leader turned to her: "We welcome you here. All of us know what you have gone through. All of us realize what it is to search for a divine source and to find nothing. We have discovered that source and we are offering you a chance to worship with us. Do you want to worship, Tina?"
"Yes, yes, more than anything." There was a mumble of approval among the people present and they all smiled at her. She was beginning to lose her sense of shame at being naked.
"Only the initiated can know the ways of our worship. Tina, are you ready to be initiated? Are you ready to participate in a secret pact with the divine source?"
"Yes."
"Then come here."
She stood up, suddenly very self-conscious again and began to walk toward him. She could see and feel the gazes of the other, watching her as she walked.
"Stand there," the leader commanded.
He walked to her and began to circle her, watching her body.
"Do you believe in the possibility of salvation?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Do you believe that every man and woman has a divine purpose on earth."
"Yes."
"Do you believe in the beauty of the flesh."
"Yes."
"Do you believe that the flesh can be worshipped and must be worshipped as the path to the divine?"
His question perplexed her but she was caught up in the rhythm of their questions and answers and she finally answered "yes."
He was standing directly in front of her, his eyes glaring into her eyes. She had never experienced such a powerful and total stare before. She felt that his eyes could fragment her, tear her apart at will.
He reached out both his hands and grasped a naked breast in each one. She shivered and closed her eyes. His hands began to squeeze her naked mounds, slowly and gently, drawing out her inner lusts. There was no sound in the room except for the tense breathing of the participants and the spectators.
The fingers reached her nipples and they became like pincers, driving the points into an absolute frenzy until they stood erect and quivering on the white backdrop of her breasts. His fingers were those of a magician, and every time he touched the nipples more she felt that her legs had turned to jelly and that she'd collapse.
His fingertips were still on her nipples when he said:
"Repeat after me."
She nodded her head to show that she understood.
"I believe in the almighty flesh."
She repeated after him, making sure that she pronounced the words distinctly.
"I believe in salvation."
"I believe in salvation."
It continued, phrase after phrase, each one more emotional and more melodramatic, until she felt like she was losing consciousness. Her nipples screamed for release from his magic fingers but he kept her there.
Suddenly, she heard something behind her. Turning, she saw a man standing very close.
"Face front," the leader said, and he continued his recitation.
She had just repeated the words, "I believe in the magical power of this group," when suddenly she felt something against her flesh and a second later an erect male penis slid between her buttocks.
It rested there, without moving, and her face stretched into a mask of fear. Her nipples were still excited but she held up her arms to the leader. He ignored her look and kept reciting, forcing her to continue. The moment she said the next word, the penis was rammed into her, between the quivering buns, so hard that she was thrust forward.
The man behind her began to pump, sending that live column deep with her, so deep that when she tried to recite the words died on her lips.
Suddenly the man withdrew and Tina felt as if a gust of wind was vacating her body. She felt relieved, until, a moment later, another organ impaled her, this one more forcefully.
They came, one after another, using their columns as spears, to violate her buttocks, to send their greedy flesh into her, to torment her, to crack her apart but still she stood repeating the words of the leader. Her nipples were screaming for release. She tried to push herself forward, to escape from the rear impalement and to sink her nipples into the coolness of the leader's mouth.
Her body was covered with sweat and every square inch of her was palpitating from the cruel thrusts it was more than lust it was total passion, ripping, plunging, heating her body as if to ready it for the furnace of salvation.
Suddenly it stopped, the columns left her. The leader released her nipples and waited until she had gained some of her composure.
He stepped back and motioned to the other women. They formed a line in front of her, scores of naked bodies that seemed to be strainng toward the divine.
"They are your stepping-stones, Tina, your path to where you want to go. Kneel before them, be thankful that they are taking you into the fold."
She got to her knees. The first woman approached and thrust her steaming nest into her face. She couldn't move, the heat of the circling body seemed to suffocate her.
"Thank her, thank her," the voice of the leader droned.
The woman's body seemed to open for her, to spread itself to receive the gift. Her tongue played with the woman's vaginal lips, making erotic circles at the gates of love. Then, incensed by the closeness and the possibility of the divine, she sunk her tongue into the waiting flower. The woman moaned and pressed her thighs against the side of Tina's head.
She lost control, her tongue was like a snake, going deeper, digging into the flesh and the steamy moistness of the trembling organ. Then, without warning, the woman moved away and left gasping on the floor.
But another woman took her place, another sweet nest to be pierced. Her tongue had reached the frenzy of the damned and plunged, again and again, deep into whatever was in front of it. She felt nothing, heard nothing, saw nothing except the glories of the women, her compatriots, and she paid them for their interest with magnificent thrusts.
Suddenly, strong arms pulled her up, powerful arms carried her to the far wall and held her there. Her eyes couldn't see, blinded by sweat and lust, and they couldn't see when she felt the shock of an organ ram into her waiting nest. She cried out once, more in joy than fright, and then gave her body up to the divine rhythm of the leader who pinned her against the wall and took his pleasure.
She lost consciousness and when she awoke, the stranger was kneeling beside her.
"How do you feel?"
Tina smiled softly, feeling purged, feeling freer than she had ever felt in her life.
"There will be much more, I promise you, now that you are initiated."
She struggled to her feet and joined the others, her mind reeling from the events but possessed of a strange optimism that she would prevail and survive perhaps even against the gates of Hell.
SCENARIO 14
Vincent Hanna hunched forward in his wheel chair, trying to pay attention to the speeches which were being made in his behalf. But his mind was millions of light years away, on that one fatal misstep which had cost him the use of his legs. It was a dangerous exploration mission, into the outer nebulae, and he had volunteered for it.
Everything was going well until he saw a strange crater that seemed to pulsate as if it was radioactive. Approaching the center too closely, his mind concentrating on the camera he held, he lost his footing and plunged hundreds of feet down the side. By the time they pulled him out, the strange volcanic substances had burned and scarred his legs.
The doctors had been able to save the legs, but he would never walk again.
"And because of men like Vincent Hanna, you and I have knowledge of the outer reaches of space, of the incredible storehouse of riches which awaits us."
The speaker had finished and Vincent Hanna allowed himself to be rolled to the podium to receive the medal. A tremendous burst of applause greeted his acceptance and he raised his hands in acknowledgment.
Three days after the ceremony, Vincent was sitting in his darkened room, lost deep in a brooding silence, when he heard the door bell ring. Wheeling himself over, he saw a well-dressed gentleman, with an attache case, smiling down at him.
"Vincent Hanna."
"Yes."
"May I speak to you for a few moments. I assure you that what I have to say is most interesting.
The man walked into the apartment and made himself comfortable. Vincent was curious but his face was serene, as if it was too painful to show curiosity.
"Those of us who are interested in your case and the great feats you have performed in the service of Planet Earth, realize that no amount of medals will restore the use of your legs."
Vincent disliked the way the man talked, as if he was reading from a script.
"Who do you represent?"
The man looked at him archly, as if his question had insulted him.
"The government."
He spoke the word as if it was some kind of church, where everyone who participated in it was automatically made holy.
"We want to send you for an extended stay on a Reward Galaxy."
"I'm sorry," Vincent replied, "but I don't have the foggiest notion what you're talking about."
"Of course you don't," the man continued, smiling, "few people know about such places. Let me explain them to you."
He stopped speaking and looked around the room.
"Is there anything the matter?" Vincent asked, impatiently, his legs beginning to hurt him. He wished to be rid of the intruder so that he could suffer in silence and alone.
"I need a glass of water."
"In the kitchen."
The man left the room and Vincent heard the water running in the kitchen sink. Then he returned, obviously satisfied with the quality of the water.
"Now, let me explain myself. Many years ago, when we first instituted flights to the outer nebulae, we knew that there would be many casualties. And we also knew that the men who were disabled should get some other reward beside medals and a pension.
"We constructed a resort-yes that is the only thing to call it a resort which could accommodate these men. On this reward galaxy, you'll be able to indulge your every whim, within, of course, the range of your disability. The general public knows nothing of this area and we like it better that way. There are still plenty of people in this enlightened age who would object to what goes on there. Do you understand me?"
Vincent leaned back in his chair and lit a cigarette, deciding whether to believe the man or not. It was an incredible story, a whole area devoted to wounded heroes, maintained in secrecy.
The man seemed to realize what he was thinking, for he said:
"Why would I lie about a thing like this?"
"In other words, you want to send me to a high-class brothel."
"Don't be vulgar, Mr. Hanna."
There was a period of silence. Then he said.
"Mr. Hanna, you might as well go. What are you going to do around here? Eat yourself up in self-pity?"
Three weeks later Vincent was strapped into the seat of a trans-galactic jet. As he watched the planet recede and the colors of the earth gradually vanish, he realized that he had acted hastily, that he had, in effect, played their game. To go to the reward galaxy meant there was nothing for him to do on earth.
But it was too late and he tried to sleep, to forget his decision.
A small jet tram met him at the landing zone, driven by a wizened old man.
"Just get in and shut up," he said, "I've been here for five years and I had a bellyful of you heroes."
Vincent didn't feel like talking anyway. He relaxed in the back seat and the tram pulled up in front of a series of plain buildings. They almost looked like barracks. There was absolutely no fauna or animal life surrounding the barracks it appeared to be a desert.
"There's where you sleep," the old man said, pointing out the far building.
A few moments later Vincent was wheeling into the small, tastefully furnished room which had been assigned to him. On the wall was a poster which said; WELCOME HERO--WE SHALL
NEVER FORGET.
Vincent made an obscene sign at the poster, kicked his shoes off and made the difficult transition from the wheel chair to the bed.
Two hours later he was wakened out of a sound sleep by the most beautiful looking woman he had ever seen in his life. She seated herself at the edge of the bed and began to touch his legs. "Was this where?"
"Yeah," he said, half-shocked by the woman's sudden appearance as if she was an apparition.
"I've seen worse."
"Thanks," he said, sarcastically.
"My name is June and I'm here to see that you're taken care of for as long as you want to stay."
"Well, so far it doesn't show me much."
"But you just arrived, Mr. Hanna."
"Call me Vincent."
"And, besides, heroes are always difficult to deal with."
"I may be your most difficult one."
"Perhaps," she mused, "perhaps."
Her hands began to stroke his useless and scarred legs.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
His voice was bitter and angry, as if she had entered his personal world without permission.
"I'm sorry," she said, but kept her hand there. Slowly, the hand began to move up his leg until it rested lightly against his globes. He caught his breath, not knowing what would come next.
"Help me, Vincent."
"With what?"
"Close your eyes."
He closed them, his chest beginning to heave in anticipation.
She pulled back the blanket and then his pajamas, uncovering his maleness. All was black to him, and he could hear only her breathing which seemed to excite him and which seemed to destroy all his qualms at being there.
The woman bent over and lightly, ever so lightly, pressed her mouth against the sac which held his globes. He felt a pinprick of lust, which seemed to roll through his body, delicate but potentially powerful. Then her tongue moved, he could feel the point exit from the mouth like a tiny animal moving toward the sun.
He let himself be caught up in what followed. Her tongue began to pierce his globes, to infuse their spongy quality with the hard fact of her passion. Then the tongue moved up, up to the column, which was beginning to pulse and gain strength. There was nothing he could do; she was doing it all. Her lips moved along the column, kissing it, dropping tiny specks of saliva along its length. It was growing, struggling, pulsing with life. He could feel the muscles and sinews stiffen under her expert care.
It went straight up hanging almost in thin air, a miracle of passion. She moved closer to him and opening her lips in a soft, sensuous rhythm, so that he felt his penis was in the ocean, being lapped by soft waves.
His hands clutched the sides of the bed, almost splintering the wood. She was moving faster and faster, sucking on him, eating him alive. Using his elbows he began to move his body as if her mouth was her vagina. The sweat stood out on his forehead like tiny bullets.
It was happening to him he wanted it to last longer but the juices of his body seemed to revolt against any further delay and his flesh shot a stream of hot molten love into her waiting mouth. He groaned at the joy of release and then all was silent.
She looked up at him, a slight smile on her foam specked lips. "Well, Hero?"
She didn't wait for an answer. In an instant she was gone.
The next day a valet was assigned to him, to wheel him around the premises. It was much more extensive than he had first imagined, with much of it beneath the ground. The days became idyllic for Vincent, spent reading or playing cards or just sitting in the artificial sun rooms where the lights burned his skin to a golden brown. In that heat and light he could forget everything, even the legs which hung like useless vegetables from his waist.
A week after he arrived, the second sexual adventure occurred. Again, it was late at night, only this time he was wakened by two young women, neither of them particularly good looking.
"We are here to bring you pleasure."
It was so matter-of-fact, so without any artistry that he thought of throwing them out. But he realized it wouldn't be worth the effort.
"Don't judge us by our words," one of the girls commented, as if she was able to read his mind.
They undressed completely and pulled the sheets off. The smaller one climbed on his chest and thrust her vagina in his face. He turned his head away. She took her fingers and began to rub his eyelids, slowly, passionately, unti he felt a growing tenderness toward which was unlike anything he had ever felt in his life. Her fingers were like liquid gold.
As she massaged, he found himself being pushed closer and closer to the flower before his mouth. He could smell the sweet petals of her womanhood. The fingers on his eyes made his moist, made his tongue ache to leave the mouth. Then, a second later, his snake-like tongue darted out and sunk itself into her, causing her to gasp and press her fingers against his eyes so harshly that he felt as if his eyeballs were being taken out.
He was sucking her up, sending his tongue deep inside and moving it as quickly as he could from side to side. He could feel the juices of her body move with each plunge. His lips were pressed against her vaginal lips, causing them to quiver.
Vincent had forgotten about the other girl when suddenly he felt something being shoved into his anus. He couldn't cry out because his mouth was full of her sex. The girl was pushing part of the sheet into him, ever deeper. He felt the shame of being violated and with it the unexpected joy of his buttocks closing about that fabric.
She began to move on his face, extracting the last precious bit of quivering joy from his tongue. Suddenly, the other girl yanked the sheet from his buttocks and the quick exit touched the hidden gland and made his penis erect immediately, and the semen poured from it. He was frantic, caught up in a terrible whirlwind. His mouth reflected that and he savaged her flower, drying out the steamy nest until she lay draped over him, her body drained by orgasm.
"There now," said one, "you'll sleep much better."
They left and Vincent watched the shadows dance about the wall. He felt exhausted, weary beyond belief, and the last thought he had was that he would stay as long as they would have him. After all, he admitted, he was a hero.
