We didn't know it at the time, but the early years of the 21st Century brought a change that would come to define all of our lives: wormhole technology.
The first units were massive. Warehouse-sized devices, driven by an entire power plant and requiring a team of dozens to operate, huge and unwieldy and full of the promise of humanity no longer being bound by space. The next two decades saw a reduction in size tenfold, a hundredfold, ten-thousandfold, until the wormhole devices could fit in a small ring around the event horizon. Stability was improved to as-good-as-permanent connection. After public disclosure, humanity could safely travel almost anywhere in the blink of an eye using a local public Doorway. Even medicine was revolutionised as wormhole exploration of the body allowed unforeseen investigation and diagnosis. In many ways it was a golden age.
Unless you happen to have bought a classic shipping company at exactly the wrong time.
What do you do when you're haemorrhaging money in a new utopia? Just don't worry about it, it's fine right? Denial saw us through the first couple of years.
"So, I think we might be in trouble."
I could see the worry on my wife's face deepen. If we're talking about it, it's real, and if it's real, we're in deep shit. The fact we've been bleeding money constantly for years while I tried to pivot the company to wormhole shipping hasn't passed her by. Her job managing the company accounts meant she knew just how deep we were in, but giving the problem a voice gave it a reality of its own.
But I've said the words. There. Seal broken. "Even selling the company is going to leave us in debt." It became easier as I went on. "I'm going to need a new job. You're going to need a new job. I'd say we should sell the house, but we bought somewhere convenient for travel. We've lost most of the value, and the market is so bad that would just be one more loss to eat."
My wife thought for a moment. "OK, new jobs. Might take a few weeks, but we'll work something out though, right? We're well educated, you built that company from a small local player to, OK fine, a less small player, and I learned a lot managing the accounts. You'll see, we'll be fine". My wife, positive as always. A shaky smile lit up her face, and I pulled her close.
"Yeah, we'll be fine." Our embrace tightened. Comforted for now, we could only pray for a lucky break.
* * * * * * * *
It had been four months since we sold the company. Four months of both of us trudging to the Doorway, interviewing, hearing back in four weeks, six weeks at the most sir, the jobs are in such high demand but we'll be sure to let you know sir. Karen slipped down next to me on the couch, nuzzling in beside me; she had fared no better. I let my eyes roam over her, and felt thankful that at least I have her.
Just over five feet tall and willow slender, rosebud lips and dark eyes even more stunning in her milk-white face, she takes my breath away normally - but the most positive aspect of job hunting was seeing her in business wear every day. The way her pencil skirt hugged the curve of her hips, the sheen of her stockings highlighting her legs, the soft feel of her blouse against my hand, all conspired to leave me barely coherent. I realised she was looking at me in the same way. Our eyes met. The home wormhole manager chimed as our groceries arrive in the pantry. We were hungry for something else.
Our lips met as I slid my hand along her thigh. Our tongues twirled together as my hand edged further, to her stocking tops, past them, to the softness of her thigh. Her hand slid over my chest for a moment, then up to my collar. I kissed my way along the corner of her mouth, to her jaw, her collarbone. She leant back, pulling me forward by the collar, and I knew exactly what she wanted. My mouth moved down further, my hands opening the buttons of her blouse. I kissed down the swell of her breast, but didn't stop. Further down her stomach, over her skirt, and finally placed a kiss on her inner thigh as I unzipped the side of her skirt. I started to slowly kiss up through the inside of her thighs as her now loosened skirt gave way. Her hands found my hair and she leaned back further, and spread her legs. As my face was pulled forward, I could see the beginnings of wetness through her lacy black panties. She always likes to feel sexy, no matter if intimacy was on the cards.
She pulled me until I could feel the heat radiating from her pussy. As I moved closer, I pulled her panties to the side and kissed the smooth skin around her lips, hearing her gasp in pleasure. She moved her hips against me and I slowly licked and kissed higher, until I planted a light kiss directly onto her clit. I could feel her jerk beneath me. Her hands tightened in my hair, but she knew she would enjoy it more if she didn't force me yet. I ran my tongue down through her slit, tasting her, pushing deep, before running it back to her clit and beginning to lick and kiss in earnest.
"Oh, fuck yes", she soon muttered, as I continued to focus on her clit, and I knew she was getting close. Her breathing came faster, and I kept licking kissing, sucking, diving down to catch some of her dripping wetness every few seconds. Soon, her legs closed on my head, and I knew not to stop - eventually she came down from the peak and released me. I wiped my mouth and moved up to kiss her satisfied smile. I pulled out my hard cock, hoping for a brief moment she might return the favour. Instead, she spread her legs wide, and I slid inside. She was so wet; she moaned so sexily; I felt her legs on my back. I tried to fight it, but within minutes I was pumping rope after rope of cum deep inside her.
I had had a few partners before Karen, but I was her first. In some ways I was glad she didn't have more to compare me to. We were deeply in love, and neither of us could doubt that, but at average length and girth, and sub-average staying power, I'd always felt a little self-conscious that she might want more. In some ways I wanted her to experience that. But, as usual, she didn't seem to see anything wrong. She just held me close, sighing in satisfaction. She patted my chest, pushed me up and we set about making dinner. Another night a little better at home.
* * * * * * * *
Seven months in, I finally got a job. A job that didn't quite cover our most basic needs, but would help to stem the constant outward flow of money. Remote work, long hours, co-ordinating logistics and inventory management at boring factory in boring industry. As much time staring at nothing as working. But it paid something.
I was able to work from our home office. In some ways, it was nice - though I was stuck in my office most of the day, I could use our internal home camera and mic to see my wife coming and going, trying to relax after another hard day of no luck searching for work. But more than that, it was so incredibly boring. Naturally, after a couple of weeks, I would spend part of the day sneaking in some porn.
Porn was one of the industries which had fully embraced the new, compact wormholes, with an increasingly deep series of new fetishes spawning from their use, both amateur and professional. Naturally, the first thing most men did was suck their own cocks. Every time I saw it, I knew I would have absolutely tried it if I'd had the disposable income to buy one when they hit the market. I understand it's more like sucking than being sucked, but hey, I still would. Especially since, despite a good sex life in every other way, that wasn't on the cards with Karen, though she had never said why.
The list of wormhole fetishes continues though: men fucking themselves (Would I have done that too? No comment); women eating themselves out; men and women going about their day fucking or getting fucked remotely through a discreet wormhole in their underwear; sex positions that would have been impossible before (look up "two girls, twenty-three cocks" if you're mentally prepared); fucking from the inside out, with spectacular eruptive cumshots.
The ads changed too - no more horny singles in my area. Instead, they were horny and wearing a wormhole. For exorbitant rates, you could fuck anyone, anywhere, who was connected to the "wormwhore" (no, not entomophilia) network directly, men and women alike, using your own personal cock-sized wormhole. Or you could join the Gloryhole network and have cocks simply turn up, ready for whatever you wanted.
All in all, there was more than enough fuel for my fantasies. I had hoped the increased frequency of jerking off to more and more perverse media would mean more staying power with my wife, but even being partially drained was no match for her formidable allure. Every night was the same, a few minutes of (admittedly fantastic) pleasure after making sure she came on my tongue.
At first my browsing brought some level of shame, but over time it became more and more casual. Clearing the history was pointless when I'd only fill it up again, right? Right. Idiot. Yes.
* * * * * * * *
