ONE
New York City, 2144
Ilyna found it very difficult to focus on the borscht when what she really wanted served up was a toe-curling, back-arching, scream-inducing orgasm.
She daintily dabbed at her lips with her napkin and then smiled at the recently inaugurated American president. He blinked and smiled back. As the intergalactic ambassador from Acela, Ilyna was genetically engineered to be universally appealing to Earthlings. While the former president had been attracted to her keen intellect and political savvy, it was becoming increasingly clear the current president was most attracted to her breasts.
"How do you find your soup, Ambassador?" he asked politely, no doubt feeling the need to blandly converse after being caught so blatantly staring.
"It's perfect as always, Mr. President."
He nodded and they both returned to their meals. The epitome of grace and dignity. Not a soul in the room had any idea Ambassador Ilyna's thighs were pressed tightly together to keep her from squirming in her chair.
The scientist who'd manipulated her DNA must have had his pocket protector out of whack the day he'd designed her sexuality. She was supposed to be perfect. She was beautiful, intelligent, politically adept, made sparkling conversation and never, ever succumbed to flatulence in public. Somehow she didn't imagine the Acelan scientists meant for their ambassador to be hiding intense and forbidden sexual desires behind her diplomat's mask.
Two hours later, Ilyna was squirming on the inside again. Why they insisted on throwing gala events in her honor was truly a mystery. The parties always included dancing -- gorgeous women in gowns and jewels whirling around the room in the arms of handsome men in tuxedos. And one Acelan ambassador sitting in the corner with a plastic smile, beaming her approval. To her it seemed almost deliberately cruel.
The formal ballroom of the Windsor Interstellar Plaza Hotel was awash in glowing crystal, the shards of light reflecting off the women's jewelry. An unobtrusive orchestra sat behind a translucent veil, filling the room with notes of love and passion. She used to wonder if it was some devious plan to torture her, but over time she'd come to realize that the Earthlings included dancing in most of their formal events and never stopped to consider if it might be rude to include dancing in a party for a woman forbidden any physical contact with anyone not Acelan.
After a while, she wandered toward the tall windows overlooking a central courtyard. A few more minutes and she would say good night to the president and retire to her suite.
The lights were dimmed almost to darkness in the heavily vegetated courtyard so as not to distract from the glitter of the ballroom. The area was surrounded on all sides by the hotel, offering a haven only to those who could afford the exorbitant prices. A shadow shifted in the trees, and Ilyna stepped to the side of the window, peering into the near-darkness.
A man -- a partygoer judging by the tuxedo -- leaned against the post of a dimmed lamp, his head resting on the black metal. A brunette in a glittering designer gown knelt in front of him, the expensive fabric bunched carelessly around her thighs.
The man had his hand wound through the woman's hair, directing her head as it bobbed over his cock. One of her hands held her dress off the grass, the other cupped his balls, gently kneading. He lifted his head, smiling down at the woman as his grip on her head urged her on.
Ilyna pressed her palm to the window, surprised by the coolness of the glass against her own skin, which suddenly seemed feverishly hot. It surprised her that the couple would take such a risk, but perhaps the possibility of being watched excited them as much as watching them excited her.
Her breath caught in her throat then misted the glass when the man shifted, bending his knees slightly and bringing both hands to the back of the kneeling woman's head. He pulled her away for a moment, and Ilyna was given a glimpse of his glistening cock, moist with the woman's saliva. The woman's tongue flicked playfully over the head, and Ilyna's own tongue moistened her dry lips.
"Ambassador Ilyna!"
Startled, Ilyna spun away from the window to face Minister Jerrod's approach, her breath coming too rapidly. Not wanting him to see what she had stood witnessing through the glass, she moved quickly to meet him halfway.
The minister was short in stature and stout. His skin and hair were pale because the melanin meant to protect him from the planet's ultraviolet light was injected instead of built into his biological makeup as was hers. While she had, from conception, been intended for this diplomatic assignment, the ministers who accompanied her varied.
"I've been looking for you," he chastised, as though she'd done something wrong.
"I'm about to take my leave."
"Retiring so early, Ilyna?"
"Yes, Minister. I found the dancing wearying this evening."
Jerrod frowned, considering her words. "Wearying? I don't understand. You are not permitted contact with the people of Earth, so you couldn't possibly have danced."
No, but she could suffer the agony of having to watch. "The physical activity heated the room, and the temperature and the odors were tiring."
As was watching the men and women holding one another as they moved around the dance floor. Their bodies pressed together. Gazing into one another's eyes as their hands roamed their partners' backs, waists... and lower.
Ilyna hungered to feel a lover's touch. To feel his warm breath against her ear as he led her across the hardwood floor. She closed her eyes for the briefest of moments, imagining the feel of her partner's hair against her cheek. Imagined herself kneeling in the cool grass, taking her lover's cock deep into her mouth.
"You do look a little peaked," Jerrod said, and it took all of her self-control not to squirm under his appraising stare. "Go and rest now."
She would. Right after she plugged in her vibrator and her favorite digital partner. Orgasm first, then rest. "Good night, Minister."
The adhesive patch itched like mad. As distractions went, it was minor, but it was chipping away at Ilyna's mood.
"Faster," she commanded. "Do it faster."
The blank expression on the face of the Greek god pumping into her didn't change. "I have achieved the maximum programmable rate of penetration."
"You are programmed to fulfill my every fantasy, and right now my fantasy is an increased rate of penetration."
"You are displeased. Shall I touch your breasts?"
Ilyna sighed and scratched at the adhesive patch over her nipple which fed a sensation of touch to her nerves. Ares wavered, a digital glitch flickering across his marble features. It was all so... false.
With a sigh, she withdrew the wired rubber phallus from her body. Then she pulled off the virtual sex visor and disentangled herself from the wires connecting the adhesive patches stuck on her erogenous zones. It wasn't enough anymore. And even if she had been allowed to mate, which she wasn't, that simply meant her virtual equipment would be integrated with her mate's virtual equipment. Acelans only exchanged bodily fluids by way of test tubes.
After cleaning and stowing the whole mess, she flopped back on the bed and stared at the big, dark video screen on the opposite wall. "Video on, volume low, channel three-nineteen."
One of the perks of the Ambassador Suite was complimentary, unmonitored access to every video feed, and it hadn't taken Ilyna long to discover the XXX station. She'd spent many hours watching the sexual interaction of humans on the big screen. Sometimes it wasn't very attractive, and quite often she had to mute the audio because of the bizarre mating noises, but she'd learned a lot about Earth sex.
Tonight's movie was billed as Sparky and the Horny Housewife, and Ilyna watched as the human woman called an electrician and then removed half her clothing. Within minutes of the man's arrival, the horny housewife was on her knees, sucking the stranger's cock even more enthusiastically than the woman she'd seen through the ballroom glass had her partner's.
Then the electrician bent her over the clear glass surface of the kitchen table. The camera beneath was treated to a mashed view of the horny housewife's nipples, and the squeaking of her flesh against the glass made Ilyna wince.
The view changed to a close-up of the electrician's cock sliding into the housewife's glistening pussy, before retreating and sliding home again. When she reached between her legs to squeeze his balls, the man groaned and quickened his pace.
"Fuck me faster. Do it faster," the horny housewife squealed. The man then pumped into her like a transport piston at high speed.
Ilyna sat straight up on the bed. That was it. She needed an electrician.
It took her ten minutes to figure out the telefile, but she couldn't very well buzz her aides and explain that she needed help playing horny housewife. The small black monitor next to the phone had a touch screen, and she finally wound her way through the menus to the electrical listings. Each name showed with credentials, contact info, and -- thankfully -- a photo.
She hadn't scrolled through many files before she found the face that stopped her in her tracks. He had short, tousled brown hair. Pretty baby blue eyes. A boyish grin, complete with dimples.
Bryan Cameron.
A rush of excitement made her fingers tremble as she wrote the contact information on a piece of hotel stationery. She scrolled through a few more files, and then blanked the screen. She had already found the electrician she was looking for.
Now came the hard part. Both incoming and outgoing transmissions were blocked on her room's unit. The only people she could reach were her companion, her head of security and Minister Jerrod himself. She would need Myscha's help.
Her companion answered immediately. "Yes, Ambassador?"
"Myscha, I wan...
