*Author's note: This is a sci-fi story/fanfic set in the Star Trek universe. It's meant to be a fun little story, in no way cannon or anything. The goal is to simply entertain.
"Come on, come on," I say under my breath with a hint of frustration as I look at my diagrams for the millionth time. My eyes hungrily find the section I need, to which I already knew I was right before I looked.
Currently I'm sitting at my personal workstation, made perfectly for me. Everything is right where I need it, with all my tools within reach. Tools that have been modified by myself, for myself. Not to mention the six screens that I have in front of me, each one showing a different schematic of my invention.
I know I should stop and take a break as I've been at this for hours, but I can't. I mean, I'm so close to finishing! I know I am. I can feel it. I know I've said that very thing before as I sit day after day in this position, but I am so close I can taste it.
I'm an inventor, and a damn good one too, no matter what anyone says. Sure they laughed at me and my ideas at the University of Kaijinhji. Said that I was nothing but a loser with loser ideas. A loser pervert at that since most of what I was after had something to do with sex.
Sure, what I am working on is something that no one thinks they need or will want, but I know better. More than that, I'll prove them wrong. What I am creating will change the world.
What am I working on? Well, it's a bit complicated, but the purpose is as simple as simple can be. You see, there are many men, much like myself, that enjoy sex. I don't mean enjoy sex whenever they can get it, like how joined couples have sex on date night, but need sex like they need air.
Men like myself need sex or it changes us. If I go without sex for too long, I feel myself change, becoming more of a jerk. Without it for too long, I could easily become violent and dangerous. So I must have it. Which isn't much of an issue as Sex Palaces are aplenty here, so as long as you are ready to pay, they will play.
Hell, there are days where I spent the entire day trying to have sex. Where every minute of the day was devoted to sexual conquest. Where I blew off work and went to my favorite haunt to release all of my sexual energy.
Hence is the problem. The issue is that after sexual intercourse for too long, a man's sex organ gets tired and doesn't want to work properly. No matter how badly your brain or heart wants to go again, the sex organ refuses to respond in the required way.
There is nothing worse than wanting to have sex and not being able. It messes with your mind, making you feel like a loser. Doesn't matter how many times you had sex that day, the moment you can't perform, that's when you are a true loser.
So what's a guy to do in that situation? Medication? Sure. But then you are a slave to the medication. And medication wears off. Not to mention that in a lot of cases, you can't take it because of the risks involved.
That's where my invention comes in. The invention of a lifetime. It's going to be a true game changer, especially in the world of sex.
My invention will prove that I'm not crazy. And those that called me a pervert will be begging me for what I'll have. Oh yes. More than one has called me a pervert. A sick pervert. Gross. Ugly. Soon they will be begging me for a spot on my team from the money I will have.
"Oh hell!" I gasp as every screen cuts to the viewer at the front door. The sudden abrupt change scares me and makes my heart pound, as if someone just snuck up against me. It's enough to jolt me out of my thoughts and make me scoot my chair back.
"Oh, hell, I forgot about her," I mutter to myself, seeing the young, good looking female waiting at my front door. If the viewer went into Interrupted Mode, which it did by appearing on all screens, it means she's pressed the doorbell at least three times. From the look of the poor girl, I bet she's been waiting out there for a while. I probably didn't hear the chime due to how hard I was concentrating.
"You from Sexy Time Hard Time?" I ask after hitting the speaker button on the middle screen. To this the woman looks directly at the camera, putting on her most sexy smile. Like most of her kind, her face is made up with makeup and more to hide any defects.
"I sure am baby. I was just about to give up on you, which would have broken my heart as I heard just how sexy you are," the female says in the same sort of fake sexy tone that all of her kind uses.
I say nothing about the obvious lie, as it's all part of her job description. She will say anything in hopes of making me happy, which should make our time together go faster so she can leave sooner. Either that or she thinks I will pay more.
Her smiling face still fills up the screen to which I hit the "Open" button to allow the front door to open remotely. Once it does, I see her enter, where the screens return to what they were showing before, the schematics of my invention. Immediately I go back to what I was doing, checking the last insulated wire.
"Heya sexy, I'm Stacy. You ready to do this?" The escort asks as she comes into the open room. At once she stops and looks around, no doubt turned off by all the machines and technology that I have disassembled and are laying around. All these parts everywhere makes the place look trashy and messy, when it's really not.
I get a real "I wanna leave" vibe about her, which I hate. But what do you expect when you hire on the cheaper end of the escort tree? I used to hire from the best Sex Palaces, but slowly but surely, less and less took my bookings.
Complaining didn't do any good either, as they said it wasn't the girls' fault, but my own. Each one gave some crap excuse, either saying I was too aggressive, or I wanted too much, or that I was a creep and made them scared because they were uncomfortable with how much I talked about sex. But come on, they are whores! Who better to talk about sex with?
"Yeah, yeah. Just...go into the bedroom, I'll be there in second," I tell the escort, already forgetting her name as I test the lead wire on my invention.
The escort sighs softly at this, and I know why. The more people they serve in a day, the more money they make. So she wants to come in, get it done and leave as fast as possible. Doesn't matter if you paid for an hour either. They want to leave as soon as possible, where what I want, no, desire is, to get my time and money's worth.
"You sure baby? We could do it right here, right now," the escort offers in that sexy voice of hers.
"I could service you as you work on...whatever that is," the escort offers, no doubt trying to make the idea of having my organ service while looking a popular kink.
"All you have to do is just sit there, and I'll move under the table," she offers. I hear her say this, but don't pay much attention, as I've actually tried this many times. As far as sex goes, it's ok, but you can't really concentrate on either work or sex during the act.
"Or I could hop up on your tech table there," she suggests, making rage rise in me as it sure seems like she wants to destroy my invention and research.
At this I hit the circle button on the side of my chair, which turns the seat all the way around so I can face her. When I do, I give her a hard stare. A stare that reminds her that I'm the one paying her, so that makes me the one in charge. Since I am in charge, I'll tell her when she's to suck me off, spread her legs and when to get fucked.
How dare she think I would mess up my greatest invention with her body of all things? Doesn't she understand just how hard I've worked on this? Why would I dare mess up any part of my invention with whatever she may have wrong with her? She's just a whore. No purpose, no value, no nothing.
"What...what's that on your eye?" the escort asks, pointing to my face, seeing what I call my "Viewmaster." Since I was turned around when she entered, she didn't see it before.
My Viewmaster is another of my inventions. Well, I can't lie, I didn't fully come up with it. Instead, what I wear is sort of like a combination of multiple other ideas and technologies. It did take a lot of research and searching around the planet to get all the parts I needed to get it the way I wanted. I can honestly say no one else has anything close to my version of it.
"It's an ocular implant," I tell her, sharing this with her only because I am proud of my invention. I continue to look at her, making sure she can see my invention clearly.
The Viewmaster is a circular black device that connects over my right eye. It's the shape and size of a coffee mug, but is made of metal and plastic. And it connects to my brain via diodes that I had surgically implanted in my skull, allowing the device to stay firmly in place.
"Watch," I offer the whore, grabbing the Viewmaster and gently twisting it to disconnect it from its port. Once it is disconnected, I lift it to completely remove it from my skull. Once I do this, the whore is able to see my real eye, as well as the three small metal diodes sticking out of my skull that the Viewmaster connects to.
"Oh, that looks...painful. And why are there so many lights on it that blink?" the escort asks, clearly freaked out by my invention instead of impressed. This makes me sigh again, as I actually considered she may be smart enough to appreciate the brilliance of it.