The C-Phone

The C-Phone

z119z (z119z2000@yahoo.com)

© by the author

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Your usual, Sir?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You can't do that."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Beta-tester seventeen, Sir."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Assume the position, Seventeen."

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah, let see how those work."

The assistant nodded.

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

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

"We found it in a porno movie."

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

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

"That's much better."

"There are other options, Mr. Michaels."

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

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

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

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

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

"Why are you doing this to me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, Mr. Michaels."

"And how is the download coming along?"

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

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

"Yes, Mr. Michaels."

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

"Yes, Mr. Michaels."

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

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

"Yes, Mr. Michaels."

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

"Robert, pay attention."

Robert turned his thoughts toward Michaels.

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

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

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

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