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Pheromoan
Recommended music for this story: "I told her it was an interview for kethernet's 'review.sensory' forum," Anya said as she closed the call. "Her agent told her that she should be getting out and hustling publicity, so she bought it. She's coming over in half an hour." Gaeren picked up the large, four-legged insect that was exploring the kitchenette bench top, waving its feathery antennae. He stroked the ribbed abdomen, and it made a chirring noise, pleased with the attention. "Are you sure that this won't hurt her?" "Not unless she has high blood-pressure ... and it certainly won't hurt her media image. Do you think that this will be 'kinky' enough to get us into the AnarchArtists?" Gaeren smiled distractedly, absorbed in tickling the controller-class Kaelen, which rolled on its back, waving its legs in the air and squeaking. "I think it will. My only concern is that her agent might want to copyright the performance." Anya shook her head. "This won't be a Sensory recording, just video and audio. Which reminds me - have you tested that gear? It doesn't exactly radiate an air of reliability." Gaeren put on a hurt expression and patted the top of the antique Betamax video recorder. "This belonged to my great-grandfather. Four generations of my family have maintained it, through eighty-five years of changing video standards. I have tested it thoroughly," he retorted with an air that said, '... and that's that.' "Besides, the AnarchArtists specified Betamax." "Let's try it out beforehand, huh? Once more can't hurt." Gaeren grudgingly agreed. He traced the coax lead from the back of the recorder into the bedroom-space, to a modern passive-image camera resting on the floor, barely larger than the cable plug that it was attached to. The controls were patched into their bedroom terminal; Gaeren activated the camera, which floated off the carpet, trailing cable, resembling a cobra about to strike. A window on the terminal gave a sharp picture of the camera's view as it quartered the room, focusing on the bare mattress that was lying in one corner. The Kaelen wandered in, jumped up on the terminal and began trilling. Gaeren waved an index finger at it and smiled. "Not yet."
About forty minutes later, their home system announced that there was a visitor waiting in the courtyard. Anya checked the security screen; it was her... Maryn Adelsen, the year's most popular Sensory actress. Anya signalled her to come up, and unbolted the locks. Maryn didn't 'sweep' in, as a Sensory performer usually would. Her media image was hard and cool - the distillation of one hundred and fifty years' worth of Ice-Bitch-images, always in command of the situation - but she wasn't wearing her mask at the moment. She smiled warmly at the couple as they invited her to sit. The camera floated into the room, moving in minute increments as it searched for an angle that would comfortably include all three people. The interview was fairly innocuous; covering some of the roles that Maryn had performed in recently, concerns that she might become typecast, what it was like being so popular that she couldn't go out on the walkways without a yashmak. Eventually, they got to the topic of her latest Sensory, that had featured a number of uncharacteristically submissive scenes. "Yes, it was a change ... I've been told that part of my appeal is in being able to project a subconscious desire to be dominated, and we wanted to see how true it was - " "- by realising it more fully?" She nodded enthusiastically. "Yes! And the rentals for the Sensory, Boundaries, certainly support the theory!" Gaeren suppressed a smile, and moved onto the most delicate part of their plan. "We were wondering if we could possibly set up a still shot of you in a pose from that Sensory, for the lead image in our article?" Maryn agreed, with a smile that hinted how close she had felt to the role. They led her to the bedroom. While Gaeren propped the mattress up against one wall, Anya pretended to search through a drawer for handcuffs; she didn't want to appear as if they had set this up. The camera followed them in, signalling the overhead panels to provide more diffuse lighting. Maryn stalked over to the mattress, touching the contact at her shoulder that held her wrap-dress closed with an ease that bespoke of her lack of regard for nudity taboos. Despite its heavy corduroy appearance, the dress drifted to the floor like a mass of spiderwebs. "Ah, here we are!" Anya had found the four pairs of handcuffs - custom models, three-inch wide bands lined with Pneumofoam padding - and proceeded to fasten them around Maryn's wrists and ankles, pausing to admire her lean figure. Her pale skin contrasted beautifully with her long, blue-black hair, a few strands of which fell to tickle the blunt nipples that capped her pointed, slightly exaggerated breasts. Anya took a handcuff that was attached to a wrist, and drew it up to a cerplas panel of the apartment wall, just above head height. Tapping a contact code on the panel activated the texture-mapping system; Anya entered a prearranged code that would soften the panel to the consistency of margarine for five seconds. As the panel changed colour to indicate its altered state, Anya pressed the empty loop of the handcuffs into the wall, holding it in by the edge until the panel had hardened again. She repeated the procedure for the other hand, tugging until Maryn was lifted just off the floor; when the second panel had hardened, she was left standing on her toes. Anya couldn't resist brushing her fingers across Maryn's nipples as she bent to fasten her ankle-cuffs ... as she did so, Maryn gasped with pleasure. Anya refrained from commenting on how fake she thought that reaction was, and satisfied herself with the thought, just you wait! While Gaeren checked the Betamax to ensure that it was getting the signals passed from the camera and that it was recording, Anya fixed the ankle-cuffs just far enough apart so that Maryn wasn't dangling from her wrists too uncomfortably. She noted that Maryn was completely spreadeagled and couldn't bring her thighs together, even if she bent her knees and pointed them inwards. She nodded, satisfied. Gaeren waved his hand over the terminal's keyboard, and the camera floated up before Maryn, emitting tiny clicks every so often to give the impression that it was dumping its frame buffer to the home system. Anya examined the poses as they were displayed on the terminal; Maryn tossing her head to one side, her hair fanning out to sweep over her breasts; Maryn with her eyes closed in rapture; Maryn running her pink tongue over her impossibly even teeth. Just then, the Kaelen entered the room. It saw the figure fixed to the mattress, and then angled its head at Anya in a questioning pose. Anya gestured assent, and it skittered over the carpet to the mattress, sinking hooked claws into the side, climbing up to perch on the top, about a foot above Maryn's head. She tried to peer upwards, but couldn't see it. "What the hell was that?" she said with a touch of apprehension. "It's a xenoform pet of ours. Harmless. We keep it around because it gives off a really lovely perfume ... don't you?" Anya cooed and tickled the Kaelen's abdomen. It chirped, and turned around, holding its ovoid abdomen up and out over Maryn's head. Anya stepped back and took two clear plastic filtermasks from the drawer, passing one to Gaeren and pressing the other over her nose and mouth. The Kaelen began emitting a regular bell-like trilling sound, waving its abdomen around as it did so. The pheromone it was giving off was invisible, but Anya could imagine it descending over Maryn like a slow-motion tidal wave. Maryn closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. A languid warmth was descending on her, relaxing her muscles so that she sagged in the manacles. She felt a tickling sensation stirring between her thighs, and she moved to press them together, only to be restrained by the cuffs. Her eyes opened wide. Anya and Gaeren were in the living room, watching her on a flatscreen monitor patched into the VCR. Maryn called out to them, "Hey, are you through with the still shots yet? Could you-" She stopped as another wave of warmth spread through her, settling in her belly. She arched her back, emitting a long sigh that became a moan as the pheromones gained strength. She desperately longed to pinch her nipples, but her hands were firmly fixed. Gaeren smirked, watching her contortions as she tried to find something that she could rub against; she almost touched her tongue to her swelling nipples but they were out of reach by a tantalising hand's span. As the Kaelen's scent saturated her system, she arched her back and tried to rub her behind against the mattress. She began to sigh in time with the insect's trilling, her breathing growing deeper and her struggles becoming more impassioned. She tried dragging the manacles out of the wall, to no avail. The camera drifted in for a close-up, framing her lovely face, a few strands of hair plastered to her forehead with sweat, her eyes squeezed shut, her jaw clamped with exertion. It moved down, capturing her heaving breasts, the nipples dark and protruding; her belly, taut and straining; the abbreviated strip of pubic hair, glistening with droplets of her excitement. Her leg muscles quivered as she tried once again to press her thighs together. She began to curse, feverishly: "Ahh, you low-life slime, you ... uhh, when I get free, I'm going to ... unh ... you unplanned scum ... uhn ..." Gaeren instructed the camera to move down further, level with her knees, and then aim upwards. They were presented with a view of her soaking wet fissure, fluid beginning to run down her thighs; to their surprise, they saw her pelvic muscles pulse, causing her vagina lips to press together; she relaxed, and they opened slightly again. Giving voice to a cry of relief now that she had found something she could control, she began pushing rhythmically, expending a great deal of effort in return for a little stimulation. She quickly grew tired, however, and slumped back bonelessly against the mattress, gasping. The Kaelen's pheromone had infiltrated to such an extent that her body was approaching orgasm despite a lack of physical stimulation. Eyes wide, she hung there, her videogenic features wracked by a look of shock; standing waves of sensual stimulation were slowly mounting, her breathing losing its rhythm and degenerating into a series of panic-stricken whimpers. As the climax overtook her, she screamed, straining forward, her belly arching outwards, a few of the links of the cuff-chains around her feet stretching open. She wailed until she ran out of breath, hanging there rigidly, impaled on the peak of intolerable ecstasy; then, as it passed, she fell back with a strangled sob, one leg swinging free as the links of the chain parted. Anya rushed in to free her, tapping the Kaelen's abdomen and signalling for it to stop. She felt a faint echo of what Maryn had just experienced as she absorbed some of the pheromone through her skin. Maryn was shaking uncontrollably as Anya supported her, pushing the mattress over onto the floor and then helping her down onto it. She burst into tears, and Anya kneeled next to her, hugging her more from an impulse inspired by traces of pheromone than from sympathy. Suddenly, Maryn reached up, snatched away Anya's filtermask and kicked her legs out from underneath her. Anya fell onto the mattress with a sharp exhalation, involuntarily taking in a breath of pheromone-soaked air. The chemicals began working immediately; Anya crouched there rigidly; after Maryn recovered her composure, she smiled languidly and reached out to caress Anya's quivering shoulder, drawing her down into a long kiss that started out slowly but rapidly gained in passion as Anya's senses were stimulated. Within moments, she was tightly wrapped around Maryn, their sweat-slicked bodies sliding as she desperately pressed herself downward, her clawed hands digging into Maryn's back, her tongue fiercely striking deep into Maryn's mouth. The intensity of the experience intimidated Maryn, although as she recalled the mindless drive towards climax that she had just submitted to, she could almost understand. Anya was vigorously squeezing her thighs around Maryn's waist, her pubes firmly pressed against Maryn's belly, painting a patch of wetness there. A moment's inspiration - Maryn reached up to tweak Anya's nipples - pushing her over the edge. While she did manage to refrain from screaming as she came, Anya gripped Maryn so tightly that the actress couldn't breathe for a few moments. When the sensation had burned through, leaving her a limp wreck, she collapsed over Maryn, who could not remember anything as wonderful as the feeling of Anya's breasts pressing against her side. As the air conditioning worked to clear the air of pheromones, Gaeren came in with a Betamax video cassette, trailing ribbons of twisted magnetic tape. "Sorry, girls ... the VCR chewed the tape. Can we do that over from the start?" He hastily departed when he saw Anya casting about for something to throw at him. He pressed a few keys on the terminal; the home system had captured it all. He began looking through the shelves for another blank tape. |
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