I can fucking tell the moment the car pulls up to the curb of One57.

I mean, fuck, I could have told you what Brittney was wearing from the moment she got in the fucking car.

I’ve got sensors on the car, telling me exactly where it’s at. I’ve got cameras in the car that I can see the passengers.

The cameras in the car though, that one is actually because we filmed a movie once, two people fucking in the backseat of a limo. That’s not purposely being a fucking spy or whatever. I think we called those series something like ‘Ride Me: Backseat Confessions’ or something.

Anyways, what I’m trying to say is that it’s not a big shocker when I see Brittney getting out of the car and walking toward the entrance of the building as the doorman to One57 based on the tiny micro camera I have installed on the lobby.

Yeah, I get shit for it. Every so often, some billionaire’s bodyguard or intelligence person finds it. They remove it or destroy it with white noise. But for times like this, where I can use this tablet to watch this beautiful woman get out of the limo in a tight black dress that’s accentuating her hips and showcasing her tits, it's absolutely amazing.

Oh yeah, you heard me right. I watch a whole bunch of shit and keep recordings of the surveillance on my fucking tablet.

Remember the first time Brittney came by? I was watching something and totally entranced by it and you wanted to know what it was that was so fucking fascinating but I wouldn’t tell you?

Well, here’s me telling you right now.

I have these cameras watching, recording, and showing me what happens in places when I’m not there. I got one in my office, around various rooms in Illicit Entertainment, in my homes, in my cars, you name it.

In fact, what I was watching that day when Brittney first came over was—

Fuck, there she is actually, ringing the doorbell.

That was fast.

I’ll tell you later, okay?

Right now I walk to the door to open it and reveal a very wary looking Brittney Roman.

I also gotta be a bit honest here.

I look at Brittney, and I know you think I should be mad or something. But all I want to do right now is two things in the world.

I want to pull her close to me and wrap my arms around her. Tell her to stop feeling down. Tell her everything is going to be alright. Make her stop worrying—stop beating herself up, which I know she’s doing. I want to make her happy and tell her that I want to protect her for the rest of her life. That I never want anything to get in the middle of us. Ever. That I fucking love her.

Yeah, that's the first thing.

The second thing I want to do is fuck her brains out. I’m completely serious. After I tell her how much I love her, I want to rip off her clothes and fuck her like a whore. Bring her to a whole new level of fucking pleasure than she’s ever been before. Fuck her so hard that she forgets what walking is all about she’s so fucking sore. Make her scream so loud that only the fucking birds hear her. I want to own her. Body and fucking soul.

And mark my fucking words, darlin’, I’m going to do all that.

First though, I hold the door open and look at her.

“Come on in, babe, it’s okay,” I tell her. She looks at me and warily walks in the door. I smile as she passes me and turns her head back to look at me.

I let a moment pass. Her ass is just too good to not stare.

“Should I leave you and my ass alone so you two can catch up?” Brittney asks me and I look up. She’s got the faint hint of a smile going.

“That’s the girl I remember,” I tell her, grinning at her. “There she is.”

“Don’t tell me you forgot in a week and a half?” she asks me, with a small pout.

I take a few steps toward her and lean in to kiss her.

It’s a chaste fucking kiss. Nothing at all like I’m going to do to her in a bit. But it’s all the situation needs right now.

When I pull my head back, I see her. Her eyes are closed and she’s enjoying it.

I wrap my arms around her.

“Hey,” I tell her. “It’s okay. Really. Listen to me…” I say, but she doesn’t let me finish.

“No, Ethan, it’s not okay, okay?” Brittney says with a ferocity I didn’t expect. “I played you, and it’s not okay.”

“You did?” I ask, with a raised eyebrow.

Despite everything that's going on, she sticks her tongue out at me.

“Well, fine,” she says to me. “I tried to play you. But sure, I failed, but in the end you still let me. I can’t believe you just handed over the software code for the I.E. to me,” she says to me, her words rushing out like water out of a damn.

“Listen babe,” I start again, trying to get in a word edgewise. “I think that it’s going to be okay…” Again though Brittney cuts me off.

“How?” she asks me, pressing herself against me. “I had to give Simon the code and he had enough time to build the prototype you spent so much time on. And how the fuck can you not be freaking out at me right now?” Brittney asks.

I pause. She’s starting to get hysterical.

I guess I could start fucking talking.

But instead, I take the remote near the side table and turn on the television.

“Let’s sit down,” I tell her. “The product match-up should be starting soon.”

Brittney sighs heavily, but she follows me to the sofa where we both sit. It takes her a moment of hesitation before she’s able to curl up into me as we both watch TV. I don’t mind. She’s probably more confused than anything right now.

I mean, she fucking betrayed me and saw how I angry I was when we were fucking ten days ago, right?

And now, I’m holding her close and telling her everything is okay?

“Just watch,” I tell her.

You should listen to that advice too.

I mean, it's the perfect day in Times Square for the launch. No, I have no need to be there. Cheryl’s planned it well enough that our spokespeople can do the heavy lifting while I watch with the woman I love.

Besides, it’s going to be awesome.

Within moments, Today USA is broadcasting both Illicit Entertainment and Conners Media representatives as they stand side-by-side on a raised platform at the intersection of Broadway and 42^nd Street. There’s an emcee from the network. Behind him is a giant 40-foot projection screen. The whole point of this demo is to have an user put on the respective glasses and have it transmit what the user is seeing on the projection screen.

If you’re scratching your head and wondering if it’s a bit over the fucking top, let me just stop you right there and remind you of one thing.

Just remember who’s telling the fucking story here, okay?

Does it say Bonnie Believable on the cover?

Or does it have my girl, Alexis Angel’s name?

I’m thinking it’s the latter. Which means in this version of reality, our society has gotten to the point where it’s not just okay to do a demonstration of a gadget that is intended for explicit sexual use, but it’s celebrated enough that one of the largest broadcast networks is holding a product competition that they’ll air over public fucking airwaves.

Over the top? You fucking bet, babe.

“I can’t believe they’re going to actually do this demo,” Brittney says quietly. “It’s so insane to watch porn in a group.”

Jesus, it’s like I can’t get a fucking break here.

“You’re pretty insane for doing this,” she says, turning her head to face me. She wriggles her body as she does so and all that means is that her ass is wiggling against my cock. I sigh. She knows what she’s doing. But if she enjoys teasing me now, that’s fine. I’m going to be making her scream later for every tease now.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us today as we celebrate the launch of not one but two revolutionary products in the personal entertainment arena,” the announcer says into his microphone. “Throughout history, this country has been the source of innovation and ingenuity. That drive and spirit are on full display here as we pit two of the most anticipated products of the year—the Illicit Escape manufactured by Illicit Entertainment against the Wicked Wear manufactured by Conners Media.”

The crowd cheers as the announcer continues. “Due to FCC limitations, we will only be able to show the first few minutes of the experience that each of our users will be seeing,” he says. Makes sense. I doubt they’ll be able to show full scale fucking in Times Square just yet. Maybe 10 to 15 years from now, but not today. “We’ll be using the projector screen behind us and splitting it. On the right hand side will be Conners Media. On the left hand side will be Illicit Entertainment. Are the participants all ready and wired in?”

The announcer turns toward two nondescript men sitting on right and left sides of the stage. Both are already wearing glasses that are connected via A/V wires to a hard drive that's connected to the projector screen. They both give thumbs up.

“Even the glasses look nearly identical,” Brittney whines to herself.

She’s right. The Illicit Escape looks like a slimmed down and futuristic version of single rimmed glasses. The Wicked Wear is a bit bulkier but has enough similarities that it’s hard not to wonder what the fuck is going on.

“If all sides are ready, let’s get this show on the road, and let’s focus our attention to the projectors, to see what they see!” I hear the announcer say and the lights on the stage go dim. The projector screen goes black too.

Then both the right and left hand sides of the screen start flickering.

I turn to Brittney and hold her closer with one hand as I grab my phone on the coffee table with another.

This is the moment of fucking truth.

I unlock my phone and press the call button and hold it to my ear.

“Ready,” a male voice answers me.

“Go,” I respond back to the voice.

“Acknowledged,” the man says back and I hang up.

Brittney turns to look at me.

“What was that?” she asks me.

I smile. “That was the number that Cheryl gave me to call when we want to activate the Trojan Horse built into the software,” I tell her.

Brittney raises her eyes.

“What does it do?” she asks me suspiciously.

I shrug and don’t answer. Instead I gesture to the television.

The opening credits have passed and both viewers are experiencing a virtual reality environment.

The screen shows that both of them are in a bedroom. They’re free to look in any direction they want and the direction both people look is independent so on one hand of the screen you see the user looking all around the room while the other user is looking out the window.

Eventually, both users look toward the woman on the bed.

It’s Brittney. She gasps, seeing herself on such a huge projector screen. On the video, she’s wearing a lace white thong and a matching lace white bra.

“Hey baby,” she says, getting on all fours on both split screens and crawling to the edge of the bed. “Is your father home?”

Both users shake their head no and it translates itself on the screen. The computer understands this gesture and Brittney smiles.

“Good,” she says on the screen with a wicked smile. “I don’t think he’d like the fact that his fiancée is dressed like this in front of his son, would he?”

Again both users shake their head.

“Why don’t you come over here?” Brittney asks.

Both users use their eyes to signify they want to walk closer to the bed.

“That’s a good boy,” Brittney says as her hands brush over where a real person’s cock would be if they were in the bedroom. “Looks like you’re already excited, aren't you, you naughty boy.”

The crowd begins to cheer and chant, clearly enjoying the show.

“Maybe we should do something about this,” Brittney says to the users. “I mean, in a few months it’ll be hard to do it when I marry your father. Now’s the time, right?”

Both users enthusiastically nod.

The sound of zippers being unzipped occurs on both sides of the screen.

And it should be coming right about now.

There’s a sudden flickering on the right side of the screen.

There it is.

So while the left side of the screen—the Illicit Escape side—continues to play and show Brittney slowly taking off her bra and squeezing her tits together, the right side of the screen starts to give the user a very different experience.

“Are you getting ready to jerk off?” Brittney asks, her face turning into a scowl. The Wicked Wear user is visibly startled and the picture shakes on the screen.

On the left hand side, Brittney leans forward and the user starts having his ocular nerves stimulated in such a way that his brain feels that Brittney has placed her hands on his cock. He starts to relax and squirm on his seat on stage.

On the right hand side, Brittney pulls back, and puts on a sweater.

On the left hand side, the user and screen show Brittney begin to bring her head toward the user's crotch. “I love how big your cock is,” she purrs on camera. “So much bigger than your father's,” she says as she begins to lick it. The user is clearly hard and the Today USA camera crew zooms in the massive erection tenting the man’s trousers as he sits on stage.

On the right hand side, Brittney takes her phone and points it at the user and takes a picture. “I’m going to send this over to the National Database and register you as a fucking sex offender, you pervert!” she says on camera. “Don’t you know how bad pornography is for you?”

And that’s where on the right hand side of the screen, Brittney’s on-camera avatar starts altering. Her face morphs into that of a rat, with whiskers. Her skin starts to become scaly and green. Her eyes become slits. Roaches start coming out of her mouth.

In the audience people are visibly upset and shaking at what they’re seeing on one half of the giant 40-foot projection screen. People are visibly turning white.

On the other half, Brittney proceeds to start sucking and the user’s body spasms as he finds himself not caring about the crowd and starts stroking his cock through his pants on national television.

On the right hand side, Wicked Wear is starting to scare it's users as Brittney starts speaking with the voice of a demon, “Porn is bad,” she/he hisses. “I’m going to bite and eat your dick!”

Apparently this is even too much for the user who rips off his glasses and throws them on stage and stomps on them!

That picture—the user stomping on a Wicked Wear set of glasses is priceless. The split screen is frozen with a picture of a demon-rat-faced-snake-bodied Brittney looking out at the audience and the words ‘System Failure’ flashing on screen.

“Well!” the announcer adds, clearly stunned at what happened. “I think we know who the real winner in this matchup is. And which company to never, ever buy adult entertainment from again!”

A technician manages to unplug the 40-foot screen from both devices as they go dark. The Illicit Escape user is still rocking back and forth and spasming when they reach over to take the glasses off. At first, he’s upset but the announcer comes up to him.

“How would you rate it?” he asks.

The user is breathing heavily as the cameras zoom in. He’s at a loss for words. All I hear is him say, “So real…”

That’s when the cheers erupt from the audience at the ringing endorsement.

Brittney turns toward me.

“What’s going on?” she asks me, her eyes narrowing. “How did…what just…what’s going on?”

I love it.

“That,” I say to the screen and pause. “Is what happens when people try to fucking play Ethan Kane.”