Genius Ch 02

My thanks to MormonJack for edits and crits.

Chapter 2

The alert was from Canary1. That's what I call a node I leave somewhat exposed. If you want to scare yourself sometime I suggest you log into your router (yes, you have one) and watch the incoming. You'll see a constant rain of attempts to get into that device. If you have a decent router and a strong password they won't get through. But they never stop trying. I have Canary1 set up to look like one of those stupid Internet cameras, a favorite target. The hackers get in easily but then are stuck in a dead end because to them it looks like a broken camera-- a broken camera that is trying over and over to reconnect to its server, which has now somehow become them, and won't let go. So they break off. But not before the Canary has turned into a vulture and scraped enough data to locate the intruder.

They were pros, whoever they were-- a teenager in his bedroom won't find a Canary-- but not experienced. Canary1 picked up some breadcrumbs. Then, just as I was starting to trace the crumbs they compounded their mistake by hitting the same Canary again. Foolish. I hopped their close links by hand and let Canary1's scripts take it from there.

It was Corporation C. They were after me again. You know Corp. C, probably use one of their Internet services. They didn't know who I was. They hated that and they hated me-- the feeling was mutual-- but I knew who they were. Big advantage. Their PR department does a good job of making outsiders think it's the coolest place in the world to work-- high salary, free lunch, luxurious gym, RSUs, beer bashes, and so on-- but the corporate culture is shit. I earn a Lambo or two every year ID'ing talented managers and brilliant scientists for their competitors.

I spent most of the night taunting their security database, leading it to big, "secret" data repositories they could mine, looking like low hanging fruit to their algorithms but really just dry husks. And so to bed.

** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **

I wake uncovered with a head of dark hair at my waist and lips around my growing erection. Avery is giving me what she calls her "balancing" blow job. Yes, she needs to balance last night's blow job with a blow job. It's almost recursive. She did have more orgasms than I did, but still.

However, there's no talking her out of it. She's on a mission. I'm way short of enough sleep. Faint early morning light is starting to seep around the blinds. But if I have to wake up now there's no better way than between Avery's lips. And I know she'll be done with me all too soon and send me back to dreamland with a big smile.

I'm wrong. When I'm right on the edge she shortstops me for a bit of cowgirl. Her pussy needs attention. Okay, fine. An orgasm or two on my cock, taking her time, and she's back to work on me. I get ready. I don't realize yet that there's something a little different in store this morning.

"I had this dream," she says, lifting her mouth from my cock. It's both torture and relief. When she gets me this way, it's always the case. When she's sucking me the pleasure is always more than I can take, and I'm helpless to resist; yet there is always this contentment underneath that I'm getting my cock sucked again, and by a cute woman who could give master classes in the act. Now, when her lips have just left my cock, I feel relief that I've made it through another pleasure torture; and yet still I long for her and wish for nothing more than to feel her lips once again on my cock. It's a paradox, one which, paradoxically, I never want to figure out.

"I dreamt there was this planet with these humans. And when they settled the planet the men, who controlled everything, had the first generation of colonists genetically engineered so that all the men produced this powerful hormone in their semen and the women were engineered so that the hormone was a powerful stimulant and totally addictive. Like, a guy comes in her mouth once and she's addicted for life."

"To him?"

"To any cock."

"Sounds great for the guys."

"Exactly. That was their evil plan. But wait." She holds up her hand, the one not holding my cock, like a teacher. "That happened centuries ago and their computer models were flawed. Since then some unintended evolution has taken place. The hormone is really a variation on testosterone. For the men it's a super-hormone that turns out to have its own addictive properties for

them

. Makes for great sex, but it causes certain areas in the male brain to be overdeveloped at the expense of certain other areas."

"Are you sure you didn't just read this in Nature Genetics?"

She laughs. "The result is a limitation of intelligence in most men, something about the-- what's it called-- prefrontal cortex?" She points here and there on her forehead. "I think. On the other hand, the super-hormone turbocharges a female brain."

"Hmm. I'm beginning to see trouble in guy paradise."

"You don't know the half of it." My cock gets more oral attention. I groan in appreciation. "In fact," after she's enjoyed a bit of phallic appetizer, "that's the name they gave the planet, Paradise." Her head starts to dip back down.

"Wait." I'm trying to recover from the latest onslaught and slow her down. "You dreamt all this?"

"Well, the first part. Then I woke up and remembered and... you know."

Did I know? I can't decide because she's going down on me again without waiting for a response. She might be showing me what a blow job feels like on this planet, the way she sucks me, deep, hard, rhythmic, unrelenting, as if she owns me. It's a clue to the next chapter in her dream/story, but I don't pick up on it because as she does this to me I lose body control and begin to curl up around her head and shoulders in a fetal ball. I can't help it. Just happens. She's uncontrollably intense. She pulls off me then and gives me a few seconds to begin to uncurl and catch my breath.

"The men aren't stupid, FYI, they haven't turned into cattle, but the women outsmart and eventually dominate them. The men become a slave class, milked for their, um, biochemical treasures."

"I think I felt that. And wait," I manage, slowly stretching out and sitting up a bit in the dimness, trying my best to regain my wits and keep up with her, "This man, in your dream, is about to be, did you say milked?" It's a broad hint.

"Yes!" Replied as if she were the teacher and I had correctly answered an exam question, "When a woman needs a dose." I'm enjoying her dream and want to hear more, but Avery is such a turn-on in so many ways. I need to come. Electric pleasure shoots up my cock as she eats me again, intensely enough that I think this could be it, maybe that's the end of the dream; or maybe my hint worked and this could be where I give myself up to her. I'm ready. I have been for some time, since before her cowgirl. The pure physical pleasure is more than my body knows how to handle. I'm more than ready even though I came super-hard single digit hours ago. I need to come. I desperately need to come.

But I'm also foolish.

My shivering cock is exiled from her mouth again. She bestows a smile that a warrior queen might smile as she looks over the land her army has just conquered. She strokes my body with one hand while she strokes my cock with the other. "But you're not cattle. I mean the men on the planet are not cattle. Many women develop a true affection for their men, you know, like pets." She strokes me some more to make sure the concept sinks in.

"Not a bad life for a pet."

"I knew you'd agree." Now her smile is one of contentment. I can't tell whether it's her dream persona basking in the pleasure of owning a man's cock or it's Avery herself enjoying the thought that she owns

my

cock-- assuming there's even a difference to her. Avery inhabits a rich and complex inner world. "And some men are, let's say, superior." She moves her head down toward my cock. I tense. But she's only licking off some fluid her hand has extracted from me. "Evolution. Thoroughbreds."

As if those two words are enough to explain everything, I'm bestowed with, subjected to, treated to, charmed with, and compelled into a thorough sucking in which it seems every nerve cell in my cock is pleasured by every muscle, taste bud, tooth, and nerve cell in her mouth. Fetal position again.

While I lay on my side, panting, feebly testing my ability to unclench my body, she continues: "You see, over the centuries through a compensatory natural selection some men have developed in their metabolisms the ability to produce more of the super-hormone. These men are rare and highly valued." She takes my balls in her hands and massages them. That has an amazing effect. My body calms quickly. All my sexual energy, and right now I'm mostly sexual energy, contracts, like a reverse video of a splash, into my balls. In her hands. "In the dream," she goes on, brushing back her hair, coal black in the dim room, "I'm posing as a rich girl." She smiles primly and sits up straight next to me on the bed, getting into the character. "My rich mother has bought me a thoroughbred. One dose. You're very expensive. He is."

"I see." I relax back against the headboard and put my hands behind my head. "I like the idea of being a thoroughbred." And I no longer need to come this millisecond. She's got me on a cloud of pleasure and excitement and I'm on board for the flight.

"And not just any thoroughbred. My mother is very influential and has got me a specially bred and genetically engineered thoroughbred man who not only is going to produce copious amounts of male super-hormone for me to ingest, but also his variation is a particularly potent mutant strain still only available in small, select, um, batches-- if you know what I mean. She's giving me a special coming-of-age present."

"Ah. So then, rich girl, this is right now your first... let's call it... taste of a man?"

I see a twinkle in her eye. "My mother thinks so."

The next suck is mostly French kissing my cockhead, which always drives me crazy. Makes me twist and turn and writhe and jerk all over. Which she loves. I do that for her now, letting myself go a little and putting out the groans, knowing she'll appreciate how I get into my own character in the story.

After she's done with that fun I return to my semi-sitting position with my hands supporting my head, trying to act as if nothing has happened. She hasn't destroyed my mind, not yet, and I have a comeback. "So you said you were posing."

She nods, a minor acknowledgement of my modest intellectual achievement. Avery has politely hinted that she thinks she's smarter than me. I can't prove her wrong. "Yes, I am. I mean my character, the one in my dream, is. I'm, I mean she, has secretly replaced the daughter. I'm, she, is a spy."

"Of course."

"And a hired thief, like a master jewel thief, that's what they think. And she's been given this cover to get in and get it."

"They? It?"

"They are the huge government monopoly that hired her. They control the supply of super-hormone. They're paying her a large fee to get to you. I mean the man. The thoroughbred."

"I'm the experimental thoroughbred?"

"In the dream. He looks like you. Anyway, here we are."

Avery is endlessly inventive in her fellatio. If I'd softened slightly in the most recent interregnum, that affliction is immediately cured with some of the most truly delicious cocksucking I've ever experienced, even from her, the kind that just makes a man happy he's a man and alive and has a cock.

As I recover, I respond, "Do I need to ask what she's stealing?"

That snarky remark earns a quick peck on a penis that was already on fire. I jump, but more in anticipation of whatever she might get into her head. Such as that penis.

"Since you're a man--" another kiss on my tip-- "She, I mean I, can forgive you for missing her essential dilemma, a woman's dilemma. As a thief she is obligated to deliver the, um, brain juice, that's the slang term for..." She wiggles my rod. "But she's a woman also, a woman of the future, with needs, not just a spy and a thief. So..."

"Oh, I get it! She wants it for herself? Is it that powerful that it's worth the risk?"

"Oh, yes. Extremely powerful. Could turn her into a superwoman."

"And this corporation, her employer, is evil? Just guessing."

"Of course. Silly question. But remember she's posing."

"As a rich girl that wants my come."

"The superior man's come, yes, and as a thief hired by the company to steal your-- the man's-- come."

"She's posing as a poser? And that's where the spy angle comes in?"

"Double agent. For the rebels."

"Rebels. Ah. Let's see. She's a spy for the rebels, posing as a master thief hired by an evil monopoly to pose as a rich girl and get me, or the man, to give you, or the spy slash thief slash rich girl, a mouthful of my, I mean the mutant thoroughbred's, super-semen. Did I get that right?"

"More or less." She bends down to resume our nonverbal communication.

"Wait! Um..." I need to think of something fast or I won't last. She does this to me. I want to come immediately and at the same time I want to last forever. I want my cake and I want her to eat it too. Now I want to last. "What about your mother? Is she part of the rebellion too? You know, a mole in the planetary government?"

"Oh, no." She stares off for a few seconds. "She's a big wheel in the matriarchy, remember? I've been seduced by a rebel man who's a new kind of mutant. Did I forget to mention that part? It's the coolest. He gets turbocharged the way women do. So whenever he produces his semen, both he and the woman get stimulated. And smarter. Much smarter."

This is a segue to more sucking, of course, the intensity turned up several levels at once. There comes a time in every blow job with her when I realize that she's been toying with me the whole time, that my belief that I'm able to withstand her oral assaults is just an illusion, that she always knows exactly how much I can take and is always giving me just a little bit more. And that

now

she's no longer holding back, now I'm a goner. When she's sucking me that hard, I swear I can feel my brain tugging on the inside of my skull, trying to pull free because it and my entire nervous system want to be sucked down my spinal column and into her mouth. I can't decide anymore whether I want to come right now or beg her to never stop.

And yet she pauses again as my body has stretched and strained itself to the max and has bent itself backwards-- I'm beyond the fetal ball phase-- as if I'm a giant bow and my cock the super arrow, on the brink of launching the primal energy bomb in its explosive tip. I can't speak, I can barely open my eyes to look at her. "You may be wondering, then, why I'm here in this secret lab, risking everything, to extract the super-hormone from this experimental mutant male when I have my own superior mutant male back in the rebel camp, whom I can milk any time I want."

I'm wondering something entirely different, namely how long she's going to torture me before allowing me release and how am I possibly going to last that long, but I try to nod, more a vertical tremble of my head. She accepts such a reply. Her tongue dips down to lick my tip, which is now dribbling continuously, and the tremble follows her tongue dance to become a full shudder in the base of my cock and pelvic area. She bestows a very satisfied smile on me. I know my time is near. "You see, her rebel lover has also infiltrated the secret lab and has surreptitiously replaced the matriarchal empire's experimental male, which was all a hoax anyway because the rebels have better technology, and he is now seducing the matriarchy with his super-duper mutant super-hormone."

She bends down again and I think this is it, but she raises up. "Oh, and by the way, my rebel lover's come has been further genetically engineered to be delicious, a gourmet delicacy that no woman could resist even if it weren't addictive. Did I mention that your come is addictive?"

I don't even try to nod, it's impossible. But it doesn't matter because she isn't looking at me, in fact her eyes are now closed. When her lips calmly slide down and over my cock and her tongue hugs me against her palate I'm overcome with pure male energy. I'm in her story. My male hormones, super or not, are addictive to me, soaking my organs, liberating them from my conscious control, which has been locked in a futile last stand against ejaculation. I'm hers, her pet, her male, the source of her addiction, totally hers.

I can't say I come against my will. I have no will left. I'm just male and do what pet males do, I give her everything I have, turn myself inside out for her and pour myself into her, shoot my essence over her tongue and down her throat repeatedly while she accepts everything, eats me, drinks me, consumes me, ingests me, uses me, satisfying herself with my cock and in fact my whole body. And mind. And everything else that makes me what I am.

I don't know how long I'm coming, or when I stop, or when she stops. She cuddles me, comforting me during the aftershocks as if I'd just survived an ordeal and she's so happy to have me back. Then it's her turn to kiss me goodnight.

"I feel so much smarter now," I manage to whisper.

"Me too. I need to get to work." And she's gone. And so am I.