GIF
z119z (z119z2000@yahoo.com)
Copyright 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—no, make that a great 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 it, 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."
(Comments are appreciated. Please send them to z119z2000@yahoo.com. Thanks.)