Hello, Literotica, and welcome to Cyberpunk Sex, a series of stories that will be exploring darker, more taboo aspects of sex and psychology through a Cyberpunk lense. While this wont be all I write, it will be interconnected series, all taking place in the same world. Hope yall like it!
I tap my leg nervously as I climb into the back of the flying taxi. Rain pounds the hot sidewalk and the windshield, wipers struggling to keep up even though they are automated. I beam my destination from my neurolink to the taxi's on-board autopilot, turning back to watch my old apartment disappear into the rainy Los Angeles night. I sigh and lean back, thinking about what I'd just done.
It hadn't been a fast or poorly thought out decision. Even after the law was passed stating that anyone, so long as they passed a psychological evaluation, could surrender their rights and enter legal slavery, I hadn't exactly jumped at the chance. Sure, my life sucked. I lived in a tiny apartment in the bad part of LA, worked so many jobs that I had no social life and still barely made ends meet, but was that really SO bad that I would give up my basic freedoms? No, no, no. I was a good, self respecting man.
But then, my curiosity got the better of me. I looked up some basic information about it, wondering who could possibly sign up for this of their own free will. Then I began reading articles like, "The Benefits and Abandoning the Illusion of Free Will", and "Scientists find surprising link between slavery and happiness." The thing that really tipped the scales, though, was a video. A talk show interview (Late night, obviously) with a master and their slave. The slave was a man. He was on the floor on his knees, in an old fashioned butler uniform. He answered the hosts' questions intelligently, clearly of his right mind. He even joked and laughed. His owner, meanwhile, was the very picture of wealth. A European woman in a designer suit. She was not subtle about her wealth either. She openly bragged about being able to afford an entire staff of slaves. She talked about her house in the Hamptons and having done the incredibly expensive age reduction surgery, which explained why she claimed to be in her forties yet looked fresh out of graduate school.
I was entranced. The logical part of my brain, the part pointing out how disgusting her displays of wealth where and reminding him of the years he'd put into school and work, found itself at war with another part of it that found the idea of working for such a woman strangely enticing. She'd been born with a silver spoon in her mouth. She'd never known a day of hard work in her life. She wouldn't appreciate him, wouldn't understand everything he'd been through. So why was he opening a new tab on his browser and searching for slavery agencies that specially catered to the elite? Soon he'd signed up for his psychological evaluation, which he passed with flying colors. Now he was on his way to begin his "transition."
I was stirred from my thoughts by the AI driver's voice.
"We've arrived at your destination, Mr. Anderson."
I transferred a tip into the cab's account and climbed out.
I was in front of a hospital. It was shiny white, even in the pouring rain. A holographic projection of an angel pierced the cloudy sky.
I walked inside and headed not to the reception desk, but to the slave door off to the side. From here I made my way to the exam rooms, a map having been sent to my neurolink.
Soon I arrive at one occupied by an Asian doctor. She gave me the aura of being older despite looking my age.
"Your slave one thousand eight hundred ninety four?" she asks without even looking up.
A tingle runs down my spine, ending at my dick. "Yes."
