A Report From Mid-Century

Last night, she was thin and looked young. Small breasts with tall, hard nipples barely hid under a loose halter top. An irregular bob cut of straight, reddish hair topped a face of freckles and narrow, thin-rimmed glasses. She had tomboy hips and the hip-bones pressed out against her taught skin. We were under the bleachers at some sporting event, probably high-school from the looks of the bleachers. She had slid the cutoffs down her thin legs, her thighs not even coming close to closing the gap between her legs. Her panties followed, and that gap between her thighs was capped by a neatly trimmed triangle of tangled red hair, pointing directly down to the prize.

Her hands caressed up and down my chest and belly, tweaking my nipples in passing, and the crowd cheered. Her tongue and lips lathed my hardening shaft, and her teeth nibbled gently along the ridge as if on a tender ear of corn while I lay back, and the crowd cheered again. I moaned happily and twisted slowly below her. Her eyes met mine for a moment, and a bit of laughter danced in her eyes. She twisted her head and I felt my head, the important one at the moment, slip through her lips and into her mouth, her tongue working the sensitive underside. She lifted until I was pointed straight up, met my eyes again, and slowly slid her face down the shaft. Half-way down, she bottomed with my head pressed against her tight throat. Her thin hand slipped around the rest of my shaft and squeezed gently. No deep-throat tonight, but that was OK. Maintaining eye contact, she bobbed her face up and down, twisting and turning to alter the sensations. My nerves were simultaneously protesting and loudly demanding more. The crowd erupted in time with her ministrations. I heard a deep, throaty groan, which I realized was coming from me.

Just before I could ask her, she pulled off my cock, letting it slap wetly back against my belly. She crawled ferally up my thighs. I grabbed her waist and pulled her forward, pulling a nipple and breast to my mouth. She yelped happily. I rolled her long, hard nipple against the roof of my mouth. Then I wet the surface of her breast and tried to suck it into my mouth. There wasn't enough there to completely fill my mouth, but I enjoyed the yielding firmness of the breast as my tongue dug around in what I was able to trap. I let it slide out slowly between my teeth, briefly trapping her nipple and fiercely tonguing it's erection as she had done with mine. I went after the other breast, still to the apparent approval of the crowd.

Her legs were spread wide, pulling the lips of her pussy wide apart. She settled her open pussy on the top of my shaft, and rubbed slowly up and down its length as I played with her breasts. I wasn't really in the mood for an extended foreplay tonight, so I released her. She sat up, eyes locked with mine. I could clearly see the lust that had built up there which just drove me higher. She shifted to bring her knees in a bit, and then lifted herself and my cock. I felt and saw my head find the hollow at her entrance. She slowly rotated her hips as I felt a ring of fire slowly encompass my head. I heard a whimper, a high-pitched paean of welcome, escape her, and I tore my eyes away from the sight of her pussy swallowing my cock. Her eyes were now closed and her head thrown back. She was lost in her own sensations for the moment. The crowd rose to its feet and roared in happy approval.

She continued to rotate her hips with just my head inside her. Finally, she came back from her momentary ecstasy and locked eyes with me again. She dropped, taking me fully inside her in one swift motion. I felt her pubic bone collide with mine, and heard and felt her ass cheeks slap my thighs. I yelped happily and arched in greeting. My head fell back and I let out a high-pitched groan of appreciation. She was tight, so tight I feared I could not hold on, though I knew that I would last just as long as I wanted to. The sensations were spectacular. I could even feel her vagina walls gently contracting and releasing around my shaft as she sat fully impaled and stretched around my hard manhood. The sensations were perfect, the feeling perfect. This is what a man is designed to do, where he belongs. This perfect moment hung briefly, suspended in time and space, subject only to the periodic cheers of the oblivious crowd.

She started moving. I opened my eyes to the wondrous sight of her slight body lifting and dropping the length of my shaft. Already, when she lifted I could see the lights from the field reflecting in her lubrication coating my shaft. I watched for a few moments, then caught her arms and pulled her forward. Her hands landed either side of my head. She bent to tongue-kiss me while her hips continued to stroke me. My hands found her breasts and those tall nipples. After a few moments my hands wandered her body, thrilling to the soft smoothness of her skin. Eventually, my hands found her tight ass cheeks. I started directing her movements: fast, then slow, then around in circles. She was so in tune with me that it felt like she was weightless. I only had to move my hands in whatever motion I wanted, and she matched it perfectly.

The pressure was still building. My fingers dug deeply, I'm sure, into her small ass cheeks. I lifted her, and then slammed upward into her as I pressed her back down again. The fire in my groin had spread into my thighs, belly, chest, and, especially, my brain. I couldn't think or speak; I didn't even care if the entire crowd turned to watch us. I bellowed my conquest to the heavens as my seed exploded out of my groin and convulsively filled her tight vagina. Waves of vaginal contractions, from her own orgasm, rippled up and down the length of my manhood, which felt magnificently long and strong, impaled in her tight body, filling her with my seed.

We continued striving against each other, seeking deeper connection, until she suddenly collapsed on my chest. Her body was wracked with heavy gasps for air. My own breathing was also very deep, almost desperate. I stroked her hair, her back, and the tight mounds of her ass. The crowd was standing and applauding, apparently as the teams left the field. As she calmed, she was sobbing quietly. Gradually words formed out of the sobs. "Thanks you ... thank you ... thank you ..." I smiled, and collapsed into sleep.

I woke, probably after only a few moments. It was pitch black, and I was alone. I stretched, feeling a bit of good stiffness in some recently worked muscles. I tapped the side of the VR goggles and I could again see the dimmed room. I rolled happily off the haptic couch, leaving the goggles behind. In the bathroom I took the well filled mini-condom off my cock and threw it away. After brushing my teeth (yes, we still do that), I headed off to bed.

We are about twenty years into the revolution, twenty years since the introduction of the haptic couch for home use. Despite its cost, it was adopted very quickly, since in the default set of apps that came with it was a generic male and generic female sex partner. Finally, mankind (and I mean that in the sexually specific sense) had achieved that most hallowed goal of all: an expert, totally willing, always ready, always different, sex partner; a virtual harem of sex slaves. Just sign on the line and pay us for the rest of your life.

At the same time as the introduction of the couch, a simple biochemical adjustment, considered appropriate for all, rendered passé the whole sexual obsession that dominated my youth without reducing libido, per se. No more tortured nights wrestling with unbidden and unavoidable desires and fears. The national health plan eventually concluded that both the biochemical adjustment and access to a haptic couch a requirement for good health and happiness, so virtually everyone now has access to both, starting roughly when they start growing pubic hair. That didn't happen without a fight. When it became clear what was happening, the conservatives went ballistic. This would be the orest thing since gay marriage, the last nail in the coffin of traditional values. The proponents, the men in control of business and society and making obscene amounts of money, positioned the haptic couch as the same as the girlie magazines of old, just a way for men to harmlessly fill a need that was built into their genetic make-up, and that in old times had been suppressed and led to many social ills and destructive behavior. Eventually an inquiring reported found that virtually every nationally known preacher and politician fighting the couch had a very active account, and the entire opposition collapsed.

By now, men are addicted to the couch and women are free of male demands. If a partnered woman wants sex, her partner is there, but if she doesn't want sex, she knows that her partner's needs are being well taken care of in that small room with the haptic couch. Legally, what happened on the haptic couch isn't even considered "sex". So, mostly, the couch is accepted.

The VR goggles (actually, more of a lightweight helmet) blockes out the light of reality, but primarily contains billions of nano-sensors which communicate with the billions of nano-sensors that have been injected into the bloodstream and found their way to the neurons in the body, especially the brain. Additional hundreds of millions of nano-sensors in the haptic couch worked with their counterparts in the spinal column and most importantly, the sensory nerves from the skin. The injected nano-sensors attached themselves to neurons to monitor and control the nerve activity. It took a reasonable effort to train the high-powered adaptive computer built into the haptic couch, but the results were almost total immersion. Almost.

The VR goggles alone were sufficient for normal VR. Earlier today, I attended a marketing meeting. Everyone checked in by VR, and all of our avatars, sharply dressed in crisp suits, sat around a virtual table as we argued strategy and tactics. With just the goggles, you could get up and pace, or whatever, while your avatar mimicked the motion, or continued to sit at the conference table. I had adjusted the haptic couch to a sitting position, and when I looked down below the edge of the virtual table -- not a gesture I could allow my avatar to follow -- an angel-pixie was sucking my cock. Maybe three feet tall, triangular face, long blond hair, beautifully proportioned body, breasts, hips, etc. and two pairs of gossamer wings similar to a dragonfly. And with a pixie-magic mouth, maybe 5cm deep, that could swallow my entire 22cm cock without effort. Each time she took me deep, her wings quivered. I didn't want her to take me over, so she was going very slow, keeping my nerves on edge without totally distracting me. I told myself that I need to train myself to divide my attention, and focus on two things at once. I need lots of practice. I saved her to my favorites; one of these nights I want to watch her tiny pixie-magic cunt take my whole cock.

I sometimes wonder how many other avatars at these meetings are hiding naked cocks being fucked or sucked by some virtual beauty. It's not polite to ask.

When the meeting was over, my pixie-angel pulled off my now painfully swollen cock and lifted to hover in front of my face. Yes, those wings were not just for show. Her head was tilted and her eyes wide with innocent confusion as she waited for me to decide. I guess I decided to let her continue, because she smiled, or leered, and pushed one tiny finger against my chest. I reclined the couch part way. She flew down, grabbed my hand and cock and indicated I should hold the cock pointed straight up. Then she hovered directly above my cock, straightening her body, and crossed her legs in front of her. She settled slowly until my head was pressing firmly into the opening of her hot depths. I got my hand out of the way, and I saw her wings change pattern as she used them to press down.

In a moment she had fully impaled herself. She was so tight that the sensations were almost overwhelming. Her lubrication was super-slippery, so that the tightness did not prevent her from moving. With her wings she lifted and dropped her whole body up and down the full length of my over-wrought sex. The sensations were on the edge of overwhelming my nervous system and leaving me deaf, dumb, and blind. I was quickly on the edge of cuming. She slowed, but that wasn't helping much.

I felt her tiny hand touch my cheek. She was holding still so I could maintain control. When I opened my eyes, her head was again tilted. She watched me for a second, and then spoke for the first time. "Is it time?" She asked in a voice that sounded like tiny glass chimes filtered to form words. I could barely nod yes. She smiled, straightened up again, pulled her legs up and in even tighter ... and with a quick change in her wing-beat, started spinning! I was fully inside her, tightly compressed, and she spun around my super-sensitive cock. I went into immediate nervous system overload, bucking wildly while she kept spinning. As I passed through inevitability, she stopped spinning one direction and started spinning the other way. I blasted my seed into her whirling body, screaming uncontrollably.

It was over in moments. She waited for me to recover, then kissed my forehead, and flew away. I was a mess, literally and figuratively.

But I digress. Where was I? Oh, yes....

Originally, the free generic sex partners had been exactly that: generic, with few selectable characteristics. The visual and audio were no problem and had, in fact, been available for a while, but it took time to work out the algorithms for the haptic interface to the spinal cord and skin sensors. However, it seemed like every programmer in the world was working on the problem, and the options expanded rapidly with simple software upgrades. The "app" market was frenetic and enormous. Twice in the history of home haptic use, breakthroughs had led most users to flush their nano-sensors and start over with new nano-sensors and new couches. This made a serious dent in collective retirement savings!

By now, the "free" generic sex partner has thousands of characteristics you can adjust. I am one of many that leave the selection on "random-but-consistent" so that I am surprised with a new partner with varied skills every night. (Pure random could create some really weird partners -- like my pixie-angel -- which is fun at times.) Young skinny tomboys are not my normal first choice, for instance, but she was a delightful partner anyway, and I would never see her again, so I wouldn't fall "in love" with her.

There were, of course, lots of personality "skins" that you could purchase. These set all of the parameters of the generic partner and added the visual appearance (including flaws, which made them more interesting) plus any special skills and an ersatz personality of the woman the skin was modeled on. Price was based on celebrity. Already, there was a market in old skins that were made when a current celebrity was just starting out and trying to get noticed, sort of like collecting sex tapes in the old days.

When all this started, celebrity women immediately noticed the threat, and a very aggressive industry combining detective work and lawsuits developed protecting the copyrighted bodies and behaviors of celebrities. Eventually, protections were embedded in the legal skins that provided both copyright protection (no copying!) and a royalty to the model every time it got used. I often wondered if, when collecting their royalty check, any of these models calculated how many times they had been fucked in the preceding week. Did they compare notes and compete with each other? There were actually some statistics available on the "popularity" of the better known skins, though the wording of the statistics was kept carefully clean.

Once they were protected, many celebrities immediately released "authorized" skins. These can be expensive. There was a big scandal early on, when paparazzi took several unauthorized full nude photos of a celebrity that revealed that her "authorized" skin did not match her. Not her tattoos, not one small scar, not the color or shape of her pubic hair (that one was ruled irrelevant as it was changeable), not even the shape of her free breasts (they sagged.) Lawsuits flew, ruining her financially, and all models now have to certify authenticity and be willing to prove it before a judge (in chambers, of course) if challenged.

With the continued equalization of women in the workplace and our uni-sex business attire, the couch and the biochemical adjustment resulted in the elimination of most of the sexual tension, or at least "harassment", between men and women. Equality meant we became even more separate. The old joke that "When virtual reality becomes cheaper than dating, the human race is doomed." is not actually happening, however. People, women especially, still want to have and raise children. Marriage appears to be in the process of devolving to a financial agreement protecting mother and child for child-rearing purposes and nothing else. There are couples who have chosen each other genetically, taken out a marriage, and produced a new generation without ever meeting each other face-to-face, but most still prefer the old methods. The old religious "till death do us part" style of marriage no longer even seems relevant to the younger generation. Men no longer need women for sex, and women no longer need men for financial protection. So, in a way, the opponents were right. Traditional marriage is fading.

Still, there are some people that avoid the new and try to maintain the "old" ways. To be honest, the haptic couch is far from perfect despite its popularity. First, the common nano-sensors are very short range, less than a half meter. Therefore, we have to wear the helmet-like goggles. For the same reason, the real person using the haptic interface has to have their back against the couch to keep the spine close to the nano-sensors in the couch.

Adding to that is another problem. They have not yet figured out how to completely override the sensations of the real world, especially gravity. The nano-sensors seem to add stimuli, not replace them. People become badly disoriented if lying on the haptic couch in a gravity field and experiencing a virtual reality where they are up and moving around and the gravity vector would be very different. The corporate scientists shrug, saying that the sense of gravity comes from virtually every cell in the body, and it is just too pervasive to override. Besides, the VR companies are already making obscene amounts of money without having to solve this problem.

There are HVR (Haptic Virtual Reality) rooms you can rent that are very expensive. The nano-sensors connected to the computer are much more powerful and can remain connected as the user moves around the room. These are really bleeding edge technology today, requiring one of the most powerful computers available to manage the experience. They have tried putting a man and a woman in together for a mutual sexual experience, but without much success in tests. (Why would they try this? The enhanced senses experienced in VR make the simple joys of merely fucking each other mild by comparison.)

So the user of the common haptic couch is constrained to virtual sexual experiences where the real human has his (or her) back against the couch. This generally puts you on the bottom and generally more passive than the virtual partners. Sitting up is about the only option for those of us that aren't investing their entire retirement in the haptic interface. More expensive couches are starting to include optional VR body-suits which can provide more flexible (pardon the pun) experiences, though many men don't like having to get all dressed up just to get their rocks off before bed. Along the same lines, haptic couches in zero-gravity orbit can provide a complete experience free of the constraining effects of gravity. This was done as an expensive advertising stunt. However, paying to go into orbit just to get your rocks off better is not yet a big selling point, either.