BY 2069 THE BLOWJOB IS NOT ONLY LEGAL, IT IS COMPULSORY!
Swallow slopes into the sumptuous room where the three-member Tribunal is ready for him. The high luminescent ceiling is rippled coral. He slumps down into the chair facing the desk-curvature.
"Ah yes, Swallow" says the central of the three, the tone of her voice making something of an attempt to put him at his ease. "You understand that an issue has been raised which demands a resolution. We are here to explore the circumstances. Not yet to apportion blame."
"Nevertheless, the complainant had every constitutional right to request a blowjob from you. You had no legitimate right to refuse him." The interrogator to the left is less sympathetic. He'll need to watch out for him.
"We'd like to hear your explanation, Swallow. Please" she coaxes.
He squirms uneasily in the chair. His hair shaved to a shadow across his head, emphasising his fine, almost delicate features. He's lean, wearing only contoured straps of leather. The white flash of his specialisation flared on his shoulder where the thong crosses down over his hairless chest to link up with the waist-belt. His bulging cod-piece decorated with studs and beads, forming a wide thick-lipped mouth. "With respect, I would prefer not to say."
There's an uneasy silence. He looks around. There's an art-collage of naked men in heroic poses engraved across the mirrored inner wall, blurring and diffusing the reflection thrown back at him. Behind the tribunal the glassine curve looks out over the sprawling city.
"You have an enviable service record, Swallow. It seems most unfortunate to jeopardise your status at this stage in your career. We're here to help you. We want to understand."
"You know perfectly well what's at stake here. Since the wide-scale introduction of what is commonly termed 'The Cock-U-Like Code' the incidents of social violence, rape and sexual abuse have fallen to virtually zero. What our departments do is provide a vital civilising influence..."
"Yet, for no reason that you're apparently prepared to divulge, you refused this perfectly-reasonable request for oral sex. What if, due to the pent-up repressions your refusal allowed to remain unexpressed, this man was compelled to commit a sexual attack? You would have been responsible. And the department would have been brought into disrepute. I fail to understand your attitude..." The left-interrogator has a brown shoulder-flash, anal.
Madame Chair holds her hand up in a censorial way. She has a pink shoulder-flash. "We are your family. Since you volunteered to join us, we are the only family you have. Let us review random glimpses from your career to date."
She thumbs the trigger and a holo nebulates in the space between them, the dialogue muted. Swallow is approached on the street by an agitated-looking oldster in a dismal grey drape jacket. Swallow's lean height and dark features contrast strongly with his florid tubbiness. There's a hurried exchange between the two, Swallow nods, after which they retreat into a nearby booth. Space is restricted within, but Swallow courteously indicates the client to sit, and busies himself unfastening the catches on the man's loose pants.
As he stoops, pulling them down to knee-height, beneath a white hairless chest and flabby folds of stomach, a limp length of cock droops free, into clear view. The oldster bites his lip in nervous anticipation, trying to control the flow of blood to his cheeks - and his groin, as Swallow bobs his head down to suck it efficiently into his mouth.
The three members of the tribunal watch critically as the holo-scene develops. His practised skill soon results in the cock stiffening and erecting, he works it with tongue and lips, slightly back, then taking it deep, clear down to the sparse white tufts of pubic hair. Holding it there. The oldster's sagging ball-sac crawls and flexes as the sucking intensifies. He throws his head back in ecstasy as the sensations begin.
Swallow scarcely pauses, holds the pulsing organ firmly in his mouth as it spurts its load, then resumes sucking more gently. At length the oldster's porky sausage fingers indicate completion, and Swallow stands, wiping the man's groin free of saliva conscientiously. The two shake hands, a little self-consciously, emerge back into the street, and separate. The transaction satisfactorily fulfilled.
"Exemplary. So let's spool back further. This is the Ocean City Convention, remember?"
The holo shifts dizzyingly, zoning in low over the Eurasian megacity where the global trade-conference was assembling. Private enterprise concerns were moving in intent on making a commercial killing. There are low-end 'dalek-bots', squat mobile units within which unseen suckers are concealed, indeterminate in age and gender. Simply insert penis into the appropriate glory-slot, to have it sucked to completion.
There are high-end sex-cyborgs and awesomely beautiful GM-Ladyboys with the fully-functioning sexual organs of both genders. Others have been genetically-modified to include extra sexually-penetrable orifices, mouths with clits, vaginas with tongues, lubricating rectums and extra organs that have yet to be named. And endless after-hours parties to explore every tantalising variety. Naked copulating bodies swim across the fish-eye of the holo curvature. Central to it all Swallow is there, taking cock after cock, sucking each one with every appearance of pleasure.
They're watching. He's lying naked on his back across a Perspex table. An enthusiastic group of party-people chant and applaud as a guy slides a massive cock into his throat. It's obviously plasma-sculpted, can't be that big naturally, surely? But it slithers in between his lips, into his mouth, past his epiglottis, into the trachea, and just goes on, feeding in all the way, without causing apparent discomfort. Of course, he's been trained and tutored in deep-throat techniques, it's standard procedure. Nevertheless this performance is singularly impressive.
