Genius

My thanks to MormonJack for edits and crits.

Chapter 7

I'd expected Avery to be recounting the evening for me on our drive home. I especially wanted to hear about her tour of Greta's house. But she was strangely silent. She put her arm in mine as I drove and put her head on my shoulder. I thought maybe she was tired, but that wasn't like her either.

"Greta offered to fund me," she said. She said it quietly, as if talking to herself.

"Fund you? How do you mean?"

"She wants to scale up the Transporter."

"Wow." A dozen questions ran through my head.

"She says we'll start with some seed money so I can perfect the prototype. I'll need to buy some equipment. And a small run, limited edition. Sort of a beta. And then . . ." She scrunched into me even tighter. I felt her hand between my legs. "Can I blow you when we get home? For a long time? Please? I just need to . . . you know."

The thought that she again called my place home pleased me even more than the thought of the night-long paradise ahead.

"And I have some new ideas. Really new. You're going to love them."

"I already love you," I said. It just escaped, maybe the first time I'd said that to her. Or anyone.

"I know," she replied. My admission was so obvious to her it didn't even rate a peck on the cheek. She sat up and was already typing furiously on her phone, no doubt some of those new ideas.

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

I hear Avery climbing up my stairs. The recent days have turned warmer and the afternoon sun is still shining, so I see as she reaches the top that she's traded her overcoat for an oversized hoodie with words across the front that are too fragmented and abstracted to parse. She was staying with me now, most of the time, and used her place as a workshop, but she still kept clothes there, especially her "surprise shorts", as she called them. She's arrived heavily loaded. She puts down a new, heavy backpack and a stuffed shoulder bag, and comes over to kiss me. She's been spending days regularly at her place now that she's out of the startup. She's still gone every morning and sometimes is away overnght.

I'm wondering what color shorts she'll choose when she pulls the hoodie over her head and I see they're green. That's new. And they're skin tight, a new style for her. I like them immediately but wonder what the new color means. As the hoodie comes off I see that she's wearing a matching top, same color and also skin tight. No bra.

"New outfit?"

She looks down as if she forgot what she put on. "You like?"

"Very nice." I also notice that the clothes are not entirely green. There are small white circles here and there over the garments. Not big enough to be considered polka dots and not in any kind of pattern I can figure out. "The color is new for you."

"You'll see."

I don't understand that reply at all. She's being mysterious. She's not very good at it. Her attention flits momentarily to the big backpack she hauled up the stairs. I could trick it out of her without too much trouble but why ruin the big reveal? I can see in the way her eyes smile, even though she's trying to keep a straight face, that she's excited to show me what she's brought. I get excited too.

I go to the kitchen to get her tequila and my scotch. When I return, she's setting up tripods around my couch, each with multiple small cameras on top. I'm beginning to suspect what she's doing and give her a look but get only a mischievous smile in return. I pour out her shots.

She doesn't go for one immediately. Out of the big backpack comes a thin computer, what's usually known as a slice and is usually found in a data center rack. Then three more. For several minutes I just watch as she connects them to power and another brick that looks like a RAID drive. In all, she's quickly assembled tons of computing power, and massive memory.

I've known for a while that she's been cooking up something special with Greta's seed money. She recorded some video of our sessions. I briefly thought she wanted us to make our own home porn, but it's not her thing, nor mine. And then she did a 3D capture of my erect cock. That was fun because of course she needed to keep me totally hard throughout. And she loved it when I told her about the Plaster Casters, a unique bit of rock 'n' roll history she was way too young to know about.

She sits cross-legged on the floor next to the equipment, pulls goggles out of the pack and puts them on, then a wireless keyboard, and begins working, typing and stabbing at invisible things in the air above it.

I'm really intrigued. The liquor sits and waits along with me for a while. At last she's done and stands up. "AR," she says, pointing to the goggles she's still wearing, a fact I've already deduced. "Greta is invested in this startup. Got some for me and they're next-gen, way beyond everything on the market right now." I can dimly make out her eyes behind the displays. From the shoulder bag she takes out another and hands it to me. And a new Transporter. This one is different, less bulky: what she's been calling the Block 2.

She helps me put on my goggles and adjust them. I can see her, as if in a video, and the room. "They're early beta, still a lot of work to do. But watch," she says and makes a gesture in the air.

The sudden change is astounding. Shocking. Her torso disappears where the green tights had been. She's become legs and arms, with her head like a bust sculpture. Her goggles have disappeared, another nice trick. She smiles. "Look at this."

Her body reappears, but it's covered in brown fur and cat ears appear on her head. She laughs. "I did that first, just for fun." With another gesture the fur is replaced by lizard scales. When she laughs a long, skinny tongue whips out.

"Oh my God, Avery!" is all I can manage as a response.

She giggles and waves her still-human arms. "I could wear a full suit, but the limb networks still need work." Lizard is replaced by human skin. She's naked for me. Her pubic hair is a rainbow. "Here," she says, "Try this." I'm slow to follow her gesture but soon I figure it out.

A dial appears in the air in front of me. I don't have any tactile sensation but by rotating my hand I can turn it. Her little breasts get bigger! I laugh out loud and she does too. She walks around the room, staying inside the area made by the cameras. She makes little hops and the breasts bounce. Another dial appears. I try it. Her boobs gets stiffer or bouncier as I play with it.

I put both dials back to nominal. "This is too much."

"Wait. I want to show you my favorite." With another gesture her torso turns to silver. She hops into a pose I don't get until she wiggles her petite butt and a crude surf board appears under her. "I'm Silver Surfer Girl!" she exclaims. The board flits in and out of my carpet. "I know, not quite there yet. I wanted to show you first."

She takes off her goggles. I follow. I have to sit down. The whole experience has made me a bit dizzy. She climbs onto my lap, straddling me and kisses me all over my face. "This is so much fun!"

"How did you . . .?"

"Remember my friend in BC? The one you liberated from Corp. C? She was in their AI group. I hired her with Greta's money. It's generative AI inpainting. No one's done it before real time and it's 90 frames per second! She's awesome."

"You are beyond awesome," I reply.

I'm rewarded with more kissy face. She stares right at me, into me and says in a soft voice, "I made something really special for us." She gets off me and kneels at the coffee table. She does a first tequila shot, then hands me the new Transporter. It's somehow sleeker and more compact— not the dildo part, which looks even more like, well, me. Before I can ask she says, "I eliminated the remote. It's all gesture-driven." She indicates that I should put my goggles back on. She does another shot.

While I'm putting on the goggles and adjusting them, she's taking off my pants and adjusting my genitals. She pulls on a green hood, then green lip gloss. She's grinning up at me. I can tell already that my immediate future is going to be a mind-blowing nirvana. She downs a third shot while she tickles my scrotum. I don't remember her ever before doing three shots in quick succession. I also don't remember ever getting so hard so fast.

I watch her through my goggles put on her own goggles and then in amazement as again they disappear in my display. That trick in itself puts Avery's tech ahead of other VR and AR I've tried. She climbs onto the couch next to me. She's still silver. She presents herself to me. The next step is obvious.

I put the Transporter's tip to her little silver honeypot with translucent pubic hair like glowing glass curls. I can't see it in the display but there's an opening in her onesie and it slips in. Controls appear at the bottom of my view. I try something. "Oh yes," she says. It's almost a sigh. She bends over me and takes my cock between her lips. This is all amazing but then an even more amazing thing happens.

As I work the Transporter's tip into her the silvery skin dissolves around it and I can see inside her body. Yes, I see soft folds hugging the vibrator, but it's not internal organs in my vision, it's more like the red velvet I would expect inside a jewelry box. The Transporter is a glowing, sculpted diamond. I'm transfixed. The glow pulses with the mechanism's oscillations. I can't take my eyes off the hypnotic undulations.

"Do me," I hear. I realize that the vision had paralyzed me. Spikes of pleasure from my cock jolt me out of my shocked state. My sight is yanked to what Avery is doing to me and I'm amazed again. I see myself inside her. My cock is mirror silver and her mouth is a glowing, sparkling blue around it. Later Avery tells me that she had a fantasy when she was a teenager of giving Silver Surfer a blow job. I have to turn up the Transporter. I have to make this genius that I'm inside explode with ecstasy. The Transporter glows in colors that pulse with its undulations. I push it further into her. The deep red of her inner folds turn bright cherry. My silver cock goes deeper into her mouth. She hums on my rod and her whole body lights up.

I'm lost and I don't care. Avery is a wonderland. I follow her hips up and down doing whatever I can to make her light up inside. The silver surface dissolves further up into orange liquid flames that shoot up from her sex and surge into her chest in a baroque turbulence. I play with her little nipples through the cloth and they sparkle with their own inner light. It's truly delightful. Inside her head is a ball of blue flame that swirls in a whirlpool around my cock, moving up and down on my flesh with her sucking. Some kind of synesthesia happens and I swear I can feel the tendrils of blue flux tickling my tip and there's a burning scent like a Fourth of July sparkler. My cockhead seems to swell to impossible size in the middle of her mouth and scintillations sweep over it. I can't tell whether it's her tech or my hallucination. Doesn't matter.

Her squeals and hums on me drive the colors and turbulence at both ends. Somehow she's connected them. I remember that she also recorded herself when she was coming. I see her fingers on the length of my cock that isn't inside her and realize she's playing me, as if I really am her skin flute, and it makes the patterns evolve. The whirlpool that's sucking me becomes a rainbow that's constantly mixing on me but never fades. She grins and turns her head to look up at me. She's sprouted elf ears. I have to laugh, though even breathing is becoming difficult. A unicorn horn appears briefly on the top of her head but it jumps around and she shifts to a new vision. Her body becomes opaque, her hair longer and golden. Her legs disappear into green scales and her feet become a pair of fins. I'm getting a blow job from a mermaid.

I have to make her come. I'd intended to before but got distracted. I've got the gesture controls down well enough now that I know what to do and I've used the previous Transporter enough to know what will do it to her. I build on the rhythms I've already started. Now I get to play her. She's my sexual instrument and at the same time a very private VIP audience of one. I never considered myself to be artistic in any way but I'm an artist for her now. Imagine, musicians, if you could give your synthesizer an orgasm by playing on it, and for it, the most beautiful melodies. That's what I do to Avery.

Long, high-pitched moans escape around my cock. Her body once again becomes transparent and a wild kaleidoscope of colors races up and down her torso. She told me later that she'd got her BC friend to collect sounds of women coming— there are Internet sites that specialize in orgasms— and build a generative model from them. The system, now worlds beyond a sex toy, listens and produces the patterns based on Avery's sounds. I know the sounds of Avery coming, especially sounds made around my cock. She really was brilliant, a genius. She'd put herself at the focus of an artificial intelligence (and a natural intelligence, me) and together we were turning her into an orgasmic being. She squeals at a higher pitch than I'd ever heard from her, a falsetto of unbearable pleasure. Streaks of gold and silver flow up and down her shuddering body. I tweak the controls slightly— I'm quickly mastering them— and the squeals deepen to a hoarse vibration originating deep in her diaphragm, which in VR lights up a glowing, rippling crimson.

I don't know how long I made her come. I was inside Avery, both physically and— mentally? psychically? emotionally? mystically? every way— and Avery had reached a state of constant total orgasm. The time before she was coming was a distant, faint memory, and the time when she would stop coming was so far in the distant future I didn't want to and didn't have to think about it.

But eventually her moans and squeals fade, her shuddering becomes intermittent. The internal kaleidoscope fades. I gradually turn down the toy. She's motionless, perhaps blacked out. I remove my goggles, then hers, withdraw the Transporter from her. I sit there for a long time while her breathing becomes full and deep. She's asleep. I see my scotch still on the table, totally untouched. My cock softens and shrinks out of her. I haven't come, but that doesn't matter at all. I hold her, as satisfied as if I'd had ten orgasms.

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

"Oh God, I'm really nervous." Avery put her hand on my thigh in the car as we drove to Greta's.

"Don't worry," I told her, taking her hand in mine briefly. "If this demo is ten percent as amazing as what you've done with me they will all be bowing at your feet."

Our past several weeks had been spectacular and a bit overwhelming. We actually had less sex— in terms of orgasms— and I saw less of her— in terms of hours— but wow! Avery was on fire. She might be away for days at a time, then arrive with new equipment, updated software, and an energy in her that was off the charts, even for her. New images, new 3D forms, new ways for me to make her come. On and on. And then she'd fall asleep and I'd put her to bed, myself also, and we'd sleep together, both exhausted and satisfied, for what seemed like days.

I knew Greta had to see what Avery had accomplished. For this visit, per instructions, I turned the car into Greta's garage, whose door opened at our approach and closed after us as I pulled into a long passage. Boy was waiting there for us and directed us to a spot. For once he was wearing clothes, jeans and a form-fitting top. I felt a twinge of envy, and then jealousy, when Avery got out and immediately hugged him. He had a hand truck, which we loaded with the considerable amount of equipment Avery had brought.

Already I was seeing new parts of the house as we lugged the equipment through passages and up an elevator to the greenhouse.

"Oh my God," Girl exclaimed when she saw the piles of boxes, "did you bring a whole data center?"

"Only a small one," I joked, though really Girl was not far off. Thirty-two of the fastest slices on the market. Avery and Girl hooked those up while I showed Boy how to set up the camera and 3D capture arrays on their tripods.

Avery handed out packages, green leotards with white dots. She stripped, revealing the one she was wearing underneath. I did the same. Then she handed out the goggles. With some quick instructions we were all in the environment together. "Let's see," she said, mostly to herself, and then she was a cat, complete with a puffy tail.

Girl yelled gleefully. "How do you . . .?", and then she was a lizard. "No! Wait!" and she was a cat also, then something furry but unidentifiable, then she was back to being Girl, but black and shiny, as if she were made out of volcanic glass. She moved her limbs experimentally. She was very sexy. I could see myself, a big cat, in a reflection off her chest.

Greta showed up, already in a leotard, and Avery fitted her with goggles. "Wait," Avery said to us, "don't move and don't touch." After some gestures we were all in generic white fur, except for her. She was a deep sky blue. She touched me, standing next to her, and the blue flowed over me, not mixing, just swirling through the white. Taking that as a cue, I touched Girl and the blue extended to her. Girl touched Greta and the blue stretched to her.

Meanwhile Avery had turned to magenta and touched Boy on her other side. The magenta flowed over and around him. He touched Greta on his other side. The blue and magenta danced around each other on her body. Avery launched more colors, tangerine, crimson, violet, through us and we became a whirlpool of colors that mixed without turning to mud.

"Oh my God, Avery," Greta exclaimed, "you've outdone yourself." Avery's furry body blushed a bright pink.

Girl ran over to the DJ table and started some music. We all had to dance, even me, and the colors danced with the rhythm. During the dance Greta moved to Avery and whispered something. Greta turned to gold. I thought at first that was a bit trite for Greta, but then suddenly Boy was wearing a tuxedo and looked familiar. Golden Greta took out his cock, bent over, and soon we were treated to an X-rated outtake of a classic movie, Greta as the gold-painted girl in Goldfinger, being fucked from behind by James Bond. Girl and I applauded. It was quite amazing how Greta's hair had turned golden but she still looked like Greta. She called Avery to her while being pounded by Boy/Bond and talked to her. Avery nodded, then moved back and began typing on her virtual keyboard. While she was typing Girl changed her image and went to Boy/Bond. I got to watch James Bond necking with Wonder Woman while he fucked the Goldfinger dead girl, very much alive and moaning, who sank to her hands and knees. Boy/Bond followed and was eating Wonder Woman's pussy while still fucking her.

Avery finished whatever script she'd been working on. "Oh yes!" Greta exclaimed and her moans increased. A virtual camera appeared in the room, floating and circling like a drone around the sex scene. Avery came to me and showed me how to put the camera's view in an inset and I got to see the rotating view. Greta was clearly in exhibitionist/voyeur heaven, getting fucked in front of everyone and watching it all at the same time. She came before long in big heaves that left her sprawled on the carpet, her goggles pushed off, panting. "Incredib . . ." was about all she could get out. All of us applauded the performance.

"Superhero time!" Avery announced. She'd asked me what superhero I wanted to be and I'd told her the Invisible Man. Obviously that wouldn't work so she made a starship captain skin for me. I became that now and Avery became Seven of Nine.

Boy didn't recognize the character— not a Star Trek fan— but liked when we explained what she was. "I always thought of you as part cyborg anyway." He reached out to touch her but hesitated. Avery's skin-tight body leotard was tempting.