Hentai World Doctor Fuchs Machine

Hentai World

by The Preve

Part Seven

Doctor Fuch's Orgasmic Music Massage Machine

Hansen's World Construction Period: 2217.08.23: Terran Standard Year: Second Age of Human Space Exploration: Hentai World Music Palace.

"So this is it then?"

"Not quite; parts are still coming in, a lot more construction needs to be done, plus it needs to be programmed.

"Hansen designed this thing?"

"Hansen couldn't design his way out of a shithouse. No, this one's Ernst Fuch's idea."

"Head of R and D? I thought he was a prig."

"You wouldn't believe what Mister Social Morals Workplace Representative is really like. He's been obsessing over this baby for years."

"So what's with the weird design?"

"His obsession; some early first age celluloid. 'Barbarella' I think it's called."

"Well, I can see that. I understand the slide, but what's with the conveyor belt. It makes the place look more like a factory than a music hall."

"That's how the blueprints worked out. Hansen wants to surprise his guests. He gives us the plans, we ask no questions. We just build it, and he pays us a shit ton of money."

****

Magda chuckled. The look on that idiot's face was a memory she would treasure. Her old sorority sisters would have a field day with this story.

"Damn, I miss college," she smiled, remembering.

New Boston Yale

was one of the earliest colonial subsidiary colleges established. Every bit as good as the original but far cheaper; good for colonists who just wanted careers, unimpressed by any prestige attached to the original.

Magda Lorraine's parents, upper middle-class colonials who'd settled on New Pretoria, were happy to send their daughter to NBY, but knew the kind of environment these Yank-descended colleges contained for young women. They made sure of her weapons and hand to hand combat training before packing her off.

NBY was a breeze. Her parents taught her to be a hard driver. She sailed through Hell Week for the

Phi Kappa Kappa

sorority; joined their

Maenad

division shortly after.

"Mmmm, the good 'ol days," she sighed; battling the rape frats, the Gee Bees, the Incel clubs, the Roofers . . . Her division set more than a few fratters straight. God help the ones who took liberties and got the usual wrist slap. More than a few rape fratters walked out of courtrooms with smug smiles, and crawled into their frat houses, in agony, desperately cradling their pulverized testicles . . . if they still had them.

Magda suspected Dick Ransome had good protection back in the day.

Had to be good, to get away with whatever shit he pulled and not get smacked by the Maenads.

She knew of the Ransome family and their power but didn't care. NBY was a gladiatorial arena, both academically and in campus life. The people who went through it successfully, came out as warriors, ready to take on the challenges of the ever expanding human hegemony.

Magda earned her MBA and the Wal-Mazon keiratsu immediately snagged her. She scraped, clawed, manipulated, and back stabbed her way up the tier, taking time to include a brief three-year marriage.

Magda paused, remembering. It was the one anomaly in her otherwise ruthless life. Miles Lorraine was actually nice, and the divorce was amicable. He was one of the few men she genuinely liked, but she loved money and power more. Besides, his sights were set on business opportunities in the Outer Rim, making the marriage impossible. She liked to think they were still friends,

Wherever he was.

"Dick Ransome would not last very long around me in college," Magda thought. Her little prank was mild compared to college. The universe outside college held different ideas.

There were college shenanigans, and then the real world. What happened in NBY, stayed in NBY. More discreet methods were available to handle people like Dick.

Still, the thought, of Dick making his way back to the hotel, wet, naked, and humiliated, made her laugh.

Embarrassing, even for a place like this, ha!

The path Magda walked led out of the Green Grotto into a broad park. She was glad to be out of the maze with its perverted statuary, and the view before her much improved her demeanor.

The deep green grass, new cut, with a scent bringing strong childhood memories, was not terrestrial. Her parents used this species on their lawn back in New Pretoria.

Magda also recognized the trees lining the pathway, "Argosean poplar," standing tall, shaped like assegai spears, purple leafed with lavender blossoms fluttering in the warm, soft breeze. They were considered the most beautiful of all trees in known Humanspace, and highly expensive, even by today's standards. Only the richest could afford such plants.

The number lining the pathway, and placed around the park, was a reminder to Magda of Hansen's obscene wealth.

I could be so rich.

The park, in contrast to the more elaborate Green Grotto, was fairly simple, with metal benches lining the trail.

"I don't think this area was built for sordid activities, or lingering."

There were no hidden copses, grottoes, or tall grass, nor statuary. It was a pleasant path to walk, on a warm, partly cloudy day, sun dappling through the leaves.

"There's obviously something at the end."

A line of trees and hedges partially obscured the building at the end. The sight, when she crossed the line, brought out another, "Oh bloody fucking hell!"

The building was Neo Deco, made of glass and plasti-steel. Wide gray marble steps ascended upwards to the glass doors.

Two identical marble statues flanked the doors, evoking a mixture of admiration and disgust from the redheaded executive; admiration for the Michelangelean skill and artistry, disgust for the obscenely erotic nature of the sculptures. Their garishness outdid even the statuary of the grotto: two extremely well-endowed satyrs, huge, vein-lined cocks erect and prominent, faced away from the doors, pursed lips upon pan pipes.

However, the statues in themselves weren't the cause of Magda's "Bloody hell." The building, itself, was an obscenity.

Two large globular structures flanked a spear-pointed tower. White pennants and flags waved from its mushroom-shaped top. It was far more obvious, even to Magda, the building's symbolism. She realized, with further disgust, the placement, and design, of the steps leading to the doors, represented the taint beneath.

"Bloody fucking subtle, Hansen."

Magda never considered herself prudish, "Definitely not!"

She liked sex as much as anyone, so long as person was right for her, and of her own choosing. Sex was fun, and a good way to relieve stress from workplace frustrations. Plus, it served as an excellent tool for blackmail and corporate politics.

What she didn't like were blatant displays of ego and narcissism. She'd had enough of that at NBY and Wal-Mazon. Bad enough a moron like Dick Ransome would show his cock, but to be stuck in a resort that was nothing but a monument to some dead fuck's libido?

"I can't bloody wait to get away from this planet," she fumed, "I'm going back to the hotel."

She moved towards the loading area to maybe catch a ride (hoping the cab wouldn't be blasting that damnable song), but paused first, at the stone block situated near the bottom of the steps.

It was a holo-platform displaying the title of the building, "Marsyas Priapus? Who's he?"

"Marsyas Priapus was the alias of

He Wei Lei,

architect of the building before you," a bright, cheerful voice said. "It comes from the names of two prominent satyrs of ancient Greek mythology, one of them a god of fertility."

Magda, initially startled by the voice, realized it came from the stone block.

"So I take it you're a guide, then?"

"Of course. I'm Virginia by the way; the AI in charge of the resort. We haven't met. I spoke to your captain?"

Magda snorted, "He's not my bloody captain. So, your avatar. Shouldn't it display according to AI protocol?"

"The holo-program on this device is faulty, I'm afraid. It can only display the title. It's been so long after all, and it was low priority for maintenance."

"Seems to be a theme in this place. Well, I'm returning to the hotel and I need a cab. Preferably one that doesn't play music."

"Oh! Your music hall experience was not satisfying, then? I shall have a cab presently."

"Wait, music hall? What music hall?"

"Oh! The building, of course.

The Marsyas Priapus Music Hall of Erotic Wonder and Relaxation.

"

Magda looked at the building, "Ah hmmm, I would not think a place such as this would have a music hall."

"The resort caters to all tastes. More than a few guests prefer music with their assignations. Plus entertainment, dancing, and other forms of relaxation. Are you sure you don't want to explore the building? I prepared all exhibits last night."

Magda's first impulse was to retort, "No! Not in the least!" but then she paused and thought,

Well, if I go back to the hotel, at best, I'll be bored, at worst, I'll run into that idiot, Dick. Might be worth a few minutes.

"All right, I'll try it, for an hour at least."

"Oh, I'm sure you'll find something interesting. Remember, we do cater to all tastes."

Magda was sure she heard a smile in Virginia's words, but shrugged and climbed the steps.

She entered through the glass doors, into a dark reception area. The lights switched on, illuminating a nondescript chamber, more reminiscent of a spaceport than music hall.

The interesting stuff must be through those doors.

Large brass doors, decorated with high reliefs depicting erotic scenes, took up much of the wall before her. A genuine artistic craftsmanship, impressive even to Magda, offset their lewdness.

Walled murals, featuring satyrs and nymphs, pointed the way, by virtue of comically directioned (and erectioned) cocks and pan pipes, towards the restrooms. Men's and Women's signs were missing but that didn't surprise Magda. The Social Moralist era created a revival of separate lavatories after several decades of movement towards gender neutrality.

"Probably more was going on in the restrooms, considering the nature of this place," Magda smirked.

She considered, briefly, taking a look but, as she felt no urge to go, decided to tour the hall. Magda took the door labeled, "The Hall of Mirrors."

The

Hall of Mirrors

was a large gallery. Magda thought it familiar but couldn't quite grasp the memory.

"Is this place a copy?" she asked.

"The Hall of Mirrors is modeled, in large part, on the famous hall in the Palace of Versailles, Old Earth," a quiet voice from above said, "The designer, Wei Lei, used the Hall as inspiration for his own touches."

Magda looked up. The voice came from a crystal chandelier. It hung from a domed ceiling, decorated elaborately with erotic images.

"Holo-murals, 3D," she noted, "But you don't sound like Virginia."

"I am the AI specifically for this building. My mandate is to serve as guide and monitor, also to offer suggestions for patrons. You may call me Wei Lei."

"Mmmm, after the designer. So what suggestions would you have to keep me interested? The hall is nice but there are obviously more than this."

"Well then, you might try the

Main Concert Hall of Bacchanalia.

It offers a completely immersive musical experience. Perfect for lovers of music, among other interests."

"I don't see how such a thing would work without musicians, unless you've taken them out of stasis." Magda walked down the hall, pausing occasionally to look in a mirror.

"The music hall is a fully automated entertainment facility, designed for patrons only. Professional musicians are allowed by invitation only. However, an orchestra pit is present for invitees."

"That's interesting," Magda stood in front of a mirror, one of her symmetrically sculpted eyebrows cocked, "Is it an idol or karaoke immersion then?"

"Not quite. It's something else entirely, albeit immersive does describe the experience."

A brief light flash, seeming to come from the mirror, startled Magda. "What was that?"

"Lighting malfunction; I put in an order to the repair bots."

The end of the hall featured a wall with bronze and silver high reliefs. She didn't recognize the scene depicted; some mythological theme with soldiers and women. A metal plate, lower right, simply said, "Sabine."

"So where do I find this concert hall?"

"The concert hall is on the fifth floor. Just touch the woman right in front of you for access to the elevators."

The woman in question was a well-sculpted silver figure with toned muscles, and a curvy body matching Magda's own. She stood ramrod straight, with an arced back, fierce defiance on her face, breasts thrust outward, as a nude, muscled helmeted soldier grabbed her arms from behind.

Magda touched the woman; nothing happened.

"Wei Lei, the door's not opening."

"The wall requires that you place your hands on specific areas."

"Oh," Magda was not clueless, particularly with the woman's breasts pointed at her. She placed her hands on them. At first, the feel was of cold, hard metal but then, almost immediately, they warmed to body temperature.

Magda was startled for just a split second, she recognized the technology.

"Nano-bonded plasti-steel, interesting. It must have been pretty cutting edge in your time."

"It represents state of the art development. Hansen spared no expense."

"Not quite state of the art these days Wei Lei. Tech like this is relatively cheap now. Brothels and holo-sex salons use this."

The silver woman opened her mouth in a silent gasp. The soldier let go of her arms and turned to Magda, a lewd grin on his face.

The other figures on the wall moved, converging on the middle section. Some flashed lewd glances at Sarah, similar to the soldier. The figures formed two lines, the two groups facing each other.

The figures stretched their arms and grasped a hitherto invisible line, formed between the two rows. They pulled back and the wall parted like a curtain.

The elevator, for which the wall doubled as doors, was a simple cube, with erotic images playing on its walls.

"Scenes from celebrated films and holos of the past," the AI explained.

Magda was not impressed. She recognized none of the movies,

I'm not a historian.

The AI continued, "The elevator is activated by voice only. Just state the floor or hall you wish to visit."

If she'd been more cautious, Magda would hesitate. She saw nothing dangerous with a sex resort, and the young Robby boy's story was so old as to be practically fable.

"This place ran its course and probably closed because of costs," she thought. She'd seen more than enough projects closed because of expenses more in bitcoin than they made. So a person could forgive her lack of hesitation on stepping into the elevator. Besides, she had an adventurous streak in her, going back to childhood.

"The Concert Hall of Bacchanalia."

"Compliance," and the elevator ascended.

The concert hall sat on the fifth floor. The passageway leading to it displayed little difference to present day music venues. Magda took note of its archaic style, and the erotic imagery was similar to the ground floor. The area outside the elevators was obviously meant for people to stretch their legs during intermission.

A large room to Magda's right drew her attention.

"

Clothing and Laundry Room?

Why would the hall keep the laundry in such a conspicuous area?"

"The clothing and laundry room are for guests who wish to store their clothes while enjoying the performances. Laundering is provided as a courtesy. Complementary showers and baths are provided in the back."

"The guests leave their clothes here? Why?"

The AI didn't answer. Magda waited and asked again. The AI stayed silent. Magda's impression was of a man standing quietly, with a mischievous smile. "I guess you want me to see for myself, huh?"

"The entrance is straight ahead."

Magda entered, and immediately dropped her jaw in shock.

The sights in the resort, especially in the case of the Green Grotto, were outrageous enough but this . . . this obscenity tipped the glass. Much as Magda liked sex, there were limits, even for her. The concert hall was designed by and for people without them.

"Seats," recliners actually, were placed in a stadium pattern around the center stage; mats and beds made of rubberized nano-fabric, sat near the orchestral pit. The orchestral pit was covered to protect the musicians, from what, Magda couldn't discern at first.

A further exploration proved revealing. The "seats" displayed a variety of attachments and devices, Magda recognized as dildos and vibrators. The style of the seats was centuries old, used as sex aids and play toys. She used one once with her ex-husband. It was an . . . interesting experience, best used sparingly.

The morphing tech allowed the seats to assume different configurations; useful for singles with the toys, or couples for sharing.

Fuck the chair, or fuck each other on the chair.

The balconies above had the same seats. The domed ceiling hung with elaborate chandeliers and, "Fire nozzles?"

She'd expected fire prevention to be concealed for a place so elaborate. Her sharp mind, however, told Magda to take a second look, and realization came soon after.

"Hmmm, drains on the floor, the smooth, frictionless texture of the seat fabric, the covered orchestral pit. Lots of body fluids splashed about probably, so a convenient clean and rinse system was installed."

Magda heard lots of sex clubs used these systems so it wasn't surprising. "I bet the covered pit wasn't to protect the musicians from the water."

As it stood, the seats interested Magda less than the object positioned on the stage itself. The recliners were vintage, and likely cutting edge in tech for their time, but found everywhere these days. The object on the stage looked like nothing else.

Magda thought, at first, it was an organ. Many concert halls contained these ancient instruments. Technology could mimic the sounds created by this musical instrument but traditionalists preferred a full organ for aesthetic reasons. Very few organs were left on Earth, as knowledge on building them was long lost; most were vintage antiques maintained by experts.

"Well, what model is this beauty?" Magda knew the laws of salvage. A vintage antique like this, if representing a single model, could go to millions in bitcoin on the market, if not priceless.

She ascended the stage for a closer look. Magda nearly gasped on viewing the keyboard. It was not a holoboard, like so many pianos and organs, but an actual physical keyboard one could touch and press. She read, once, some of these things used to be made of ivory from some long extinct animal called an elephant. Magda pressed a key; no sound.

"So this machine is not activated. Wei Lei, what type of organ is this? Who made it?"

"It is not exactly an organ. It is a musical instrument, but the records regarding its actual function are encrypted. I have sent a query to Virginia for clarification."

"That's . . . odd." The organ was curiously designed but Magda saw nothing to require secrecy.

Unless the builder didn't want anyone to know. Let's see . . .

Magda examined the organ. The main body was shaped like a coffin, polished in dark obsidian, and open-ended. The other end, funnel-shaped, curved up and spread out and up to the ceiling, like a fan. Its wave-like structure was a shiny coral.

Like a conch.