GIF
© by the author 2015
GIF
© by the author 2015
“Wow, where did you find this?”
“I created it.”
“It’s so lifelike. I’ve never seen a statue move like
that.”
“It’s not a statue. It’s a real human being. I’ve just
programmed him to do that.”
“Programmed?”
“Yes.”
*****
When Jeremy had expressed polite interest in a painting
hanging in the foyer, the man had invited him to view the rest of his art
collection. “At least what I have in the house at the moment. Several pieces
are on loan to museums. And then I keep another hundred pieces or so in
storage—some because they’re too fragile to display, others because I simply
don’t have enough room for all of them. I wish I could display them all. I’m a
very visual person, and I like to look at my possessions.” The man’s art
collection didn’t really interest Jeremy. What interested him was that the
collection was so large that the man’s huge mansion couldn’t hold all of it. An
art collection this large meant money.
He had hit the jackpot this time. The man had booked his
services online using the link on Jeremy’s website. Lots of people tried to do
that. The videos that featured Jeremy thrusting his generous endowment into
various orifices of his fellow actors and the ecstatic looks on their faces as
well as the explicit photos he had posted on his website had made him a star in
the gay entertainment world. Jeremy intended to parlay that prominence into a
permanent gig. He wanted to retire long before his physical charms began to
fade. Marriage with a rich old man would set him up for the rest of his life.
He foresaw no problems seducing a person who met his financial and age requirements
and arranging for a marriage that provided a nice car, a generous monthly
allowance, and life in a mansion staffed with servants to cater to his whims.
Sex with someone rich enough to supply those was a small price to pay, no
matter what the guy looked like. And he would see to it that the sex was
spectacular. So spectacular that the new groom would happily bequeath his
entire estate to Jeremy.
That’s why he had the website. It allowed him to check on
the men who tried to hire him. The geek who had set up the website (Jeremy paid
him by re-enacting a sex scene of the guy’s choice from one of Jeremy’s videos
with the nerd cast as the bottom) supplied him with the address and financial
data on everyone who filled out the online contact form. All that cost Jeremy
was an occasional fuck. So much information was available online. With the
address it was no problem to find pictures of the person’s house. Jeremy had
already limited his search to a few select zip codes. He had no intention of
leaving southern California—maybe for the occasional trip to Europe or Tahiti but
certainly not permanently. It didn’t take any brains to look at a house and
figure out whether it would meet his needs, but the financial data were harder
for him to interpret. Another bottom paid in fucks who understood such matters
helped Jeremy decipher the figures.
His criteria were simple. The target had to live in a
certain area, he had to be worth over $250 million, he had to be single with no
children, and he had to be over 65 (Jeremy wasn’t willing to wait forever for
his inheritance). Ross Kirkman easily met
all those standards. His 6,000-square-foot house sat on 10 acres of meticulously
groomed lawns in Holmby Hills. A high wall backed by thick groves of trees and
shrubs insured privacy. The pool was perhaps not as large as Jeremy wished, but
that minor detail could be fixed later. According to Kirkman’s biography on
Wikipedia, he had been a professor of chemistry at UCLA. He had quit at age 38
to found Kirkman Pharmaceuticals and then developed Vyroxinile and several
other major drugs. Jeremy personally did not need Vyroxinile, but enough men
did to ensure that Kirkman became very rich. Kirkman remained the CEO of
Kirkman Pharmaceuticals. His estimated wealth was well over Jeremy’s minimum
requirement. Kirkman had never married and was an only child. There were no
relatives close enough to contest an inheritance to a spouse of several years’
standing. Jeremy thought he could survive ten years of marriage to someone like
Kirkman. If Kirkman didn’t cooperate by shuffling off on his own soon after
that, there were other means of ensuring his departure. Death by vigorous fucking
three or four times a day should do the trick.
The tour of Kirkman’s art collection took almost an
hour. Jeremy took careful note of all
the treasures. He knew some of the names Kirkman mentioned. Picasso, Monet,
Rembrandt (that one was just a small drawing, but surely a Rembrandt drawing
would fetch a good price when he sold it after Kirkman’s death), van Gogh. There were others he didn’t recognize, but they
looked expensive and Kirkman clearly expected him to be impressed by the names.
The house would also be worth millions, Jeremy thought. It sat on the crest of
a hill, and the view from the upper stories alone would add several millions to
the selling price. He had lost count of
the numbers of rooms they had been in, but there had to be at least ten
bedrooms, each of them larger than his entire apartment.
Jeremy was lost in a daydream fueled by his forthcoming
wealth when Kirkman stopped before a pair of closed doors and said, “I keep my
favorite piece in here.” Kirkman ceremoniously opened both doors simultaneously
and motioned Jeremy to follow him in.
The other rooms in the house were filled with objects.
Paintings hung from every open space on the walls. Every table top was
cluttered with objects. Statues and enormous Chinese vases occupied the corners.
After all that wealth of art, Jeremy’s initial impression of the room was that
it was practically empty. A small couch upholstered in a shiny white fabric
faced a curtained-off area. In front of the couch was a coffee table made of
stainless steel and plate glass on which sat a bottle of champagne in a silver
ice bucket and two champagne flutes. Those were the only visible objects in the
room. The windowless walls were painted white. The floor was highly polished dark
wood. Ebony, Jeremy guessed.
“I intentionally kept the best for last,” Kirkman said.
“Sit down. Champagne?”
He didn’t wait for Jeremy to reply. He opened the bottle
and then poured Jeremy a glass before serving himself and sitting down beside
Jeremy. He briefly tipped his glass toward Jeremy in salute and took a tiny
sip. He set the glass down on the coffee table and picked up a remote.
Using the device, Kirkman turned off all the lights
except a spotlight focused on the curtain. “A bit dramatic, I know. But there
shouldn’t be any distractions. That’s why I keep this room almost bare. I don’t
want to have anything else competing for my attention.” He lifted his champagne
glass again, and said, “Drink up. It will put you in the proper frame of mind.”
Jeremy took a large swallow of the champagne. It was very
good champagne. He had never had this particular kind before but he knew that
it cost a lot. Far more than he could afford—at least for now. In truth he
didn’t care for champagne, and this tasted a little bitter, but the price more
than made up for that. He resolved to drink only this kind of champagne in the
future. Nothing else would do for Kirkman’s husband. When he sat his glass down, Kirkman refilled
it.
“Now, I think you are ready.”
The curtain rose silently into the ceiling. The statue
stood on a low platform in an alcove. It was lifelike down to the last detail. The
flesh looked like human flesh, and the hair on the statue’s head and the neat
patch of trimmed pubic hair looked like human hair. The statue depicted a
well-tanned young man (no tan lines, Jeremy noted), with an athletic build, not
unlike his own.
Kirkman pointed the remote at the statue and pressed a
button. Jeremy gasped. The statue, the machine, whatever it was, began to move.
Its right hand grasped its cock and began stroking. The cock quickly grew to an
impressive size, almost as large as his own. Beneath the surface of the skin,
the muscles rippled smoothly and realistically.
“Wow, where did you find this?” Jeremy dropped all
pretense of sophistication and because what he was—a farm kid two years away
from his high school graduation in Manteca.
“I created it.”
“It’s so lifelike. I’ve never seen a statue move like
that.”
“It’s not a statue. It’s a real human being. I’ve just
programmed it to do that.”
“Programmed?”
“Yes. I was inspired by GIFs. I was looking at porn online
one day, and there was one of those GIFs in which a handsome young man
endlessly repeats the same action. And I thought, why not create a
three-dimensional object that endlessly repeats the same action? Paul will
continue to stroke himself like that until I tell him to stop. I seldom keep
him at it for more than a half hour, however. I don’t want to wear him out. So
I don’t really know how long he can keep it up. Hours, I should imagine. He’s
also been programmed to perform other actions, but this is my favorite. He has
such a beautiful cock, don’t you think? It’s almost hypnotic to watch him
stroking himself. I can’t get enough of watching him.”
“But he’s a human being?”
“Yes. So, of course, I can’t keep him on permanent
display up here. He needs to eat, sleep. And he has his duties about the place.
He takes care of the yard and the pool, and he has daily exercise routines. I don’t
want his body to deteriorate. More champagne?”
Jeremy glanced down at the glass in his hand. Without
realizing ti, he had emptied the glass. He held it out to Kirkman to refill.
The bitter taste he had noticed earlier had disappeared. He must have gotten
used to it. He didn’t know what to think of this Paul guy. When he moved in, he
would have to do something about Paul. He didn’t want any competition for
Kirkman’s attention. But it was weird. The statue, the whatever it was, was
mesmerizing. He couldn’t take his eyes off Paul’s hand stroking his cock. He
had to admit that Paul was almost as good-looking as himself. But the idea was
repulsive too. A man under control like that. Paul’s eyes looked so lifeless.
Now that he was moving, his eyes were the most lifeless part of him. It was
like he was unconscious of what was happening.
“Does he know what he’s doing?”
“I don’t think so. The drug overrules higher brain
functions, things like consciousness, the sense of self, the will.”
“What drug?”
“I’m head of a pharmaceutical company. We’re developing a
drug for the military. It has several potential uses.”
“Is it legal?”
Kirkman shrugged. “Paul isn’t suffering.”
“But won’t he cum if he keeps doing that?”
“Not unless I key in that program.”
“Does he remember what he does?”
“He may. If he does, he hasn’t said so.”
“Aren’t you curious what he’s feeling?”
“Not really. The drug makes him anxious to please. Since
he is pleasing me, I imagine he feels pleasure at that thought. But even if he
doesn’t, it wouldn’t matter. He performs as programmed.”
Kirkman’s mad, thought Jeremy. He decided against letting
his feelings show. Perhaps Kirkman wasn’t a good choice for marriage after all.
Who knew what he would do if crossed? Best to pretend to be interested and then
leave as soon as possible. “You said he does other things. What?”
“Well, that is the problem. He can do all the things one
man can do by himself. At first that was enough to amuse me. But lately I’ve
wanted more. I want him to interact with a second man.”
“A second man?”
“Yes. I’ve already selected the man and administered the
initial dose of the drug. I’ll begin his programming shortly.” Kirkman pressed
several buttons. On the platform, Paul ceased to move. His hand dropped to his
side, and his cock grew flaccid. The curtain descended and the room brightened
as the lights came on.
“I think that’s enough of a demonstration. Here, drink
the rest of your champagne.”
Jeremy’s hand lifted the glass to his mouth. He emptied
the glass in several swallows. He noticed that Kirkman had barely touched his
glass. It was still full.
Kirkman took the glass from Jeremy’s hand and set it on
the table. “I think that’s enough of the drug for us to get started. I have a
lab in the basement. We’ll go down there and start your
programming. Your movies have given me lots of ideas.
They’re very inspiring.”
