Ai Era A Nerd Girls Story Ch 06

Note to non-nerd readers: to help you navigate through Gracie's world, I have published a glossary of special terms

here

, which covers Gracie's several nerdy interests. Please consult it as needed.

Chapter Six

Where are,

Gracie began typing on her phone, but stopped. Damon wasn't Paul, and she wanted to start in character. Be professional. She erased the line and tried again.

Hi Damon. Are you free?

I can be for you,

Damon replied a few minutes later.

What's up?

Gracie wanted to reply,

Your cock will be.

Instead she wrote,

Want to have some fun?

She liked the open-ended subtext of the last word.

With you? Sure, any time. What kind of fun?

Damon was taking the bait.

Something new,

she answered

.

Now she could ask the question she'd first intended:

Where are you?

Just leaving work. Dinner?

Let's meet at your place,

she replied, leaving his polite invitation unanswered. She didn't need dinner. She needed a gourmet experience.

Okay. Forty-five minutes.

Which tie are you wearing?

She waited. To make sure he didn't get the wrong idea she added,

Keep your tie on. I won't mess it up.

No reply after a full minute, but maybe he was in a dead zone. She was excited. Not to waste time, she laid out her clothes for the evening, the tube top and miniskirt that got mauled during the first oral night at Paul's place, and that she'd thrown in the wash with the T-shirt that had soaked up his come from the office hand job on her tits. In an indirect way, Paul had helped her dress for Damon.

At last he replied,

I had to buy a new one.

She might have dwelled on the ambiguity of that answer, but he added a tearful laugh emoji. She hurried her prep. She could maybe meet him as he walked into his building. That would be optimal.

Her ride share let her off at the building just as he texted her,

Traffic. 10.

A middle-aged woman at the concierge desk let her into the lobby. Under the woman's watchful eye she took a seat at a pricy lounge setting in front of a large abstract painting. Damon was doing well and his building showed it. She'd brought Dahlia's lipstick and a mirror and wanted to put it on while she waited— yes, New Gracie told the old Gracie, lipstick, a totally logical implementation of social engineering— but the building residents were coming in and out and every single one inspected her. In her mind they all had to suspect what she was here for. If she did her lips in front of them they would know for sure. She didn't want that concierge woman confronting her and telling her they didn't want her kind around and please take her business elsewhere.

# # #

But her trepidation should have been expected. She was entering, for her, an unexplored territory. The oldest profession was totally new to Gracie.

She hadn't been surprised to feel herself stretched technically when Dahlia had first shown her the new image set and hyperparameters she wanted Gracie to build for her on version 3.0, with its variable topology and metrics, controlled with Dahlia's new user interface. Those additional features in themselves would power a major improvement in performance. But Dahlia wanted more. She also proposed adding control of the image sequence. The Neuro team had found evidence that images could be coded to suggest early, middle, and late actions. It was a complex update. So 3.1.

But the images themselves! Just viewing them stretched Gracie in an emotional parameter space she didn't know she had inside her.

"Kellen is going to be visited by a very high class call girl one evening soon," Dahlia explained. The images left no doubt who that call girl was going to be, nor that, whatever Kellen paid, the evening's entertainment would be worth the price.

"You're actually including pictures of money?" Gracie asked, seeing photos of hundred-dollar bills among those of sex organs and positions.

"Definitely. Critical image sequence. His money gives him permission to use me. I want that vision to penetrate all the way into me. Like his cock will. Potent symbology."

"Oh."

"It's a super turn-on to give it up for him, to just become his total slut. I've already done it for him without your tech, so I know it's going to be insanely hot. We should call our app Dial-a-Slut."

"I'm . . . I'm not a slut."

Dahlia laughed. "Maybe not yet. Try it. You're at least half a slut. And the Dr. Bell I know never does things halfway."

Gracie was already excited to try out 3.0. Version 3.1 should be even more thrilling. She skimmed over the images. There were a lot of them, a progression as the photos worked their way through Dahlia's body. As Kellen soon would. She especially wondered about the sequences at the end.

"I know, Grace, this is maybe a lot for you."

"No, no. It's fine."

"That spanking shot is making you blush as pink as my ass."

"No, it's just . . ."

"You can leave out the parts you're not ready for. I made it modular."

"I'll . . . think about it."

"I'm sure you will. Here, you'll need this." Dahlia reached into her bag and brought out three small tubes, checking each. "This one. You can't go wrong with a simple red."

"I— already have some. Thanks."

"Left over from your high school prom, no doubt. Just take it. You don't have to use it. But note how my lips look in those images, and how your face will look after you've converted me into you."

# # #

Gracie now regretted not having taken the time to do her lips before leaving home, and had just taken the red-outlined tube out of her bag to do it sitting in the lobby, no matter who was watching, when Damon walked in the front door. "Sorry," he said. "Have you been waiting long?"

"Way too long." He was still in his suit and looked very appealing. The concierge eyed them together. She reached out and touched his tie. Silk, a creamy almost-cyan. She wanted to grab it and lead him up to his place. She settled for a motion toward the elevators. "Let's go upstairs."

He smiled broadly, his eyes traveling up and down her. "You look awesome, by the way," he said.

In the elevator, since the lipstick was already out, she did her lips while he watched. She was way out of practice— Dahlia's joke had not been far off— and only got a light smear done before the elevator doors opened and she was walking with him to his door. It was enough just to have him watch her prepare her lips for him. He had to be wondering and imagining what was going to happen. At his door she put away the lip stuff, pursed her lips before his steady gaze to give him a hint, and took out her phone, setting up version 3.1WG.

Inside, he began heading down his hallway. "Stop," she said as soon as the door closed behind her. He turned back to her. "Cash." She felt almost as if she'd already done the video on herself, she was so bound up in it already. She'd spent hours working on the images, both of Dahlia and then her own face and body. "Pay me."

"For . . .?"

"For me." She held out her non-phone hand, palm up, while she waggled her phone at him. "You'll get your money's worth."

He shrugged. An eyebrow went up but he smiled. From his jacket he took out a wallet and from that some bills, two twenties. "How much do you want?" he asked as he placed them in her hand.

"That's a start. You can tip me later. Here." She handed him her phone. "Aim it at me and press the side button." She didn't know what to do with the twenties, still in her hand, but that didn't matter when the flashing started— he hadn't wasted any time, grinning as he did to her what she had previously done to him— and soon she was on her knees, opening his pants the way she might open an IDE to begin solving a tough problem. She wasn't consumed with pure cock hunger, the way the 2.2GF video had made her. She felt fully conscious and clear-headed. But her consciousness had narrowed to the cash in one hand and the cock in the other. There seemed to be a meta-Gracie like a drone floating above her, witnessing Gracie the Working Girl extracting a new kind of solution from a challenge that was growing in a new way. Doing her best to take that hard tool into her head, literally, she felt again that wonderful sense of being in many places at once, because this was a new cock in her, similar to but distinct from her first two, and the part of her floating above her was already pleased with the way this deal was progressing with this handsome businessman.

Gracie looked up at him. He was still grinning. Damon couldn't compare to Brady in academic smarts, or Paul in tech, but he had plenty of street smarts. He opened his stance a bit and put his hands on his hips, holding his jacket back to give her better access and him a better view. "So now you're a whore?" It was shocking to hear that word applied to her but she couldn't deny the truth. He laughed, almost a giggle of delight. "Awesome."

A new phase began, per the sequence she'd modified from Dahlia's original, an irresistible urge to give him a steady, rhythmic sucking, to do a good job and earn her payment, although the bills had somehow slipped from her hand when she reached to pull his ball sac out of his boxers. She didn't know or care where they had gone. She just sucked. She had a job to do and she was going to do it. New Gracie was still Gracie. Gracie loved her work and always did a great job.

"Here." He took his wallet out again. Another bill floated down like a leaf over her, then another and another, each bill glowing in her vision as if made from fluorescent green paper— Dahlia had been so right about the cash images— until the wallet was empty. He flashed her again but it had almost no effect on her because she was already on a mission from the rain of cash, still eidetically in her vision, and the word 'whore' still ringing in her ears. He tried to hold out, even trying weakly to slow her down, but she was determined. She was using every trick she'd learned on her first two cocks and there was no way he wasn't giving up all his come to her after giving up all his money.

She hummed in pleasurable satisfaction when the first warm pulse of salty slime poured out of him and onto her tongue. She didn't hesitate to go deeper on him with her come-coated cheeks sucking hard, the way she'd done Paul, siphoning his repeated ejaculations out of him until he had nothing left.

She stood. She didn't know why. Then she did. The sequence had ended and there was no point in being on her knees. She was a little amazed to find herself in the hallway of a handsome man who was trying to keep his balance with a hand on the wall, holding his wilting cock after a spectacular orgasm. She must have been the one to do him because her mouth was full of a tangy gloop that wasn't food, different from what she'd tasted before but clearly come, his come. One last vision compelled her to open her mouth and show him.

"Gracie, you never cease to surprise me."

Was that her name? Didn't working girls invent their professional names? She wanted to reply, but she didn't know what to say, whether to pretend that wasn't her name or to pretend it was. Yes, she had a name, but it had no more meaning to her than her driver's license number. It was crazy, but she felt free, free of something though she didn't even know what she was free of, some postulate she'd been accepting her whole life that no longer applied in this new space she had entered. Just free. She tried to smile with her tongue still out. She'd done it. Done

him

. She felt unaccountably happy. But she had to close up to keep his seed from dripping down her chin. It was her come now.

He moved in close. She felt his hand go up her skirt. "Want another tip? How about this one?"

A finger slid up, pushing away her panties, and into her. Of course she was soaking wet. Damon also knew what to do with a G-spot and a clit. Soon she was leaning back against his front door, his come leaking from the corners of her mouth as she struggled to keep from opening her lips to cry out. But in one of her quickest orgasms ever she was swallowing a man's come while she was coming herself. She stayed on her feet through it only because his hand in her crotch kept her weak knees from collapsing.

"Th-thanks," was all she could think to say. She took her phone from him, slipped out his door, and staggered down the hallway to the elevators, his very handsome, very surprised face the last sight of him as his door closed. She stopped a second, searching for her purse, and realized it was still on her shoulders. She hadn't even bothered to take it off to blow her first customer.

# # #

"Go ahead," Dahlia told her during their next one-on-one, "indulge. You've earned it. Version 3.1 is amazing."

Gracie had to laugh at herself when she heard that remark. Yes, she'd earned her pay, and a bonus, the other night at Damon's, but in her daze after he'd made her come, and with his new and different taste filling her head, she'd totally forgotten about the cash littering his hallway floor.

I'll keep your fee for next time,

he'd texted her later that night. It should have been embarrassing, a dis-honorarium, but when she returned to the lobby, not twenty minutes after she'd first entered, the men's stares made her feel so sexy, and the woman's glare from behind the concierge desk made her feel so superior, that she didn't care. A glow of sexuality seemed to radiate from her, maybe even warmer than what she'd felt after doing her other two boys. The men wanted her; the women envied her and had to wonder what black magic this plain girl was wielding. She stood outside on the street, waiting for her ride, as if she were a chara in the last, concluding page of a hentai. She licked her lips, tasting Damon again. Out loud, to no one, as if putting her chara's words into a speech bubble on that last page, she said, "Damon tasted good. I want more." It was a pledge to her audience— her future selves— that there would be more episodes. She even did her lips again with Dalia's red, out there in public, for no reason, and walked up and down the street a short distance while she waited, doing her best to prance the way she imagined a working girl would.

"You're smiling. You did it, didn't you?"

"No comment."

"Haha. Already professional, hard on the outside but giving a new definition of soft-

where,

soft where you want to be. Paul? No?"

Now Gracie felt embarrassed. Dahlia could read her like a book.

"Another

boy

from your male harem? That's fine, but you really should do Paul more. He lights up whenever he's around you. Whatever you two are doing together, he's obviously digging it as much as you do. The sex will just keep getting better with the right guy. Or guys in your case. Oh, you have to see these new scenes I made, they're incredible."

Dahlia had taken over the user interface responsibilities for their app, in many ways taking over the app itself, at least in directing how it would be applied. She'd added a feature to the interface in which they could save hyperparameter sets that controlled the subject's appearance and sexual appetite, which she labeled 'personas', and was in the process of building up a different set that she called 'scenes', which were series of situations for the personas to act in. "Look at this trailer!" she exclaimed, rotating her laptop on her desk to show Gracie. At her request, Gracie had added code to generate sample images based on a particular combination of scene and persona, so the app users— Dahlia and Gracie— could preview what the hyperparameter sets would do for them. And get them to do for their men.

"That's . . . that's . . ." was all Gracie could stutter as Dahlia scrolled through the images the app had generated per her parameters.

"I know. It's super hot, isn't it? Your gen AI model is the best!"

The figure on Dahlia's screen was recognizably Dahlia, but with red hair, pale skin, glowing violet eyes, and bigger breasts. And dressed in some kind of leather harness, black of course, that covered a lot of her body, though no intimate body part that clothing usually covered. That was not the aspect of the images that disturbed Gracie. She'd seen hundreds, maybe by now thousands, of images of every part of Dahlia's body when building the several models of different sex acts Dahlia wanted. Dahlia enjoyed a wide range of sex, that was clear, and apparently found time to photograph a lot of it.

Gracie's difficulty was that the harness had metal eyes and loops all over it. Ropes that threaded through those loops and eyes had Dahlia trussed up— that was the only way Gracie could think of to describe the positions— in a variety of contortions that had to be uncomfortable. Dahlia's face was contorted also, whether in pleasure or pain it was hard to tell, from the long cock, no doubt Kellen's, lodged deep in one or another of her orifices.

"Kellen's really getting into these dungeon scenarios. I'm a Viking warrior queen, and he's captured me. Or sometimes we had a duel and he defeated me, and now he's training me to be his sex slave. I always pretend to resist, but with your amazing tech I won't be pretending, though of course, thanks to your tech, I will eventually be overwhelmed and surrender. We're both going to love it. Oh, I almost forgot. The trailer. Grace, dear, you've really outdone yourself on that ask."

Gracie couldn't take her eyes off the sight of Kellen's rod pumping Dahlia's pussy. Dahlia calling the preview a trailer was not inaccurate. The images used for the actual video, because of the way the ventral/dorsal neural circuits worked, had to be stills, but Gracie, responding to another of Dahlia's suggestions, had added a generative AI animation engine that turned the trailer images into GIFs. Kellen's cock, shiny with Dahlia's juice, moved to Dahlia's mouth and slid in smoothly. Gracie could not help imagining . . .

"Earth to Ms. Bell. Ha! Really a turn-on, isn't it?"

"Um . . . ah . . . yes. But then the . . ." Gracie motioned over her body to indicate the harness, "It's virtual, so when you and Kellen, you know, do it, you have to pretend . . ."

"Oh no, no, look." Dahlia switched to a Web site, a store that seemed to specialize in a wide variety of gear like the harness. And much, much more. "A little dress up helps. I'll send you the link. I know you're into that anime stuff. You must do cosplay, don't you?"

# # #

When Paul texted her,

I have a special gift for you. Are you at home this afternoon?

Gracie panicked. She couldn't refuse whatever it was Paul was bringing. Paul was too nice. But what if it was something symbolic, jewelry, or tickets to some resort, something implying . . . a relationship? She couldn't imagine saying yes. But how could she tell him no? His puppy dog eyes would turn so sad! What would Dahlia do in this situation? She couldn't imagine that either.

But when he showed up at her door, it was with a hand truck heavy with boxes. He had a whole stack of server blades for her. "We're running out of room and the Neuro team's boxes are faster. But these servers aren't dog doo-doo and I thought they might make a nice addition to your stack. I mean, I noticed your server rack, you know, when I was here, before we . . . you know."

She hugged him. It was such a relief. Paul understood her. Silicon was way better than gold or silver. He spent the rest of the afternoon setting it up while she sat at her desk and worked on hooking up Dahlia's new front end to her engine.

"Whoa," she heard him say behind her. He was looking over her shoulder.