His eyes darkened and flickered away from me. Something I’d just said had soured his mood, but I couldn’t figure out what.
I searched for an activity to pick up both of us. I found it across the convention floor, where a team was setting up a series of enclosed pods along the north wall of the hall. I recognizedthem from photographs Clara had shown me a few months ago from a C-suite retreat she’d gone to in Bali.
They were sex pods.
No two ways about it, no cutesy names to obfuscate their true purpose.
Taking after that one show in the UK where people would straight-up have sex in an enclosed box on TV and then come out to tell thousands of strangers back home how the experience went, these sex pods were commonplace at higher-level sexpos like this one. They allowed people to check out their newly acquired merchandise without having to schlep all the way back to the privacy of their hotel rooms.
Perfect.
“You know what? Forget Lloyd. I want to have some fun.”
“I like the sound of that.”
39
It’s My Turn to Use the Sex Box
As a keynote speaker at this year’s OFest, I had my choice of goodies from the Sex Pod swag table. Donated by the convention’s vendors, they were a prize selection of top-of-the-line, high-quality, cutting-edge products.
Instead, I picked the funniest thing I could find.
A Clone-A-Dick Kit.
As we read through the instructions on the kit, we settled into the sex pod together. It was a hyper-sleek room of about 250 square feet with a design aesthetic that could be described asspace yacht for rich perverts.
“Why would you want a copy of my penis when you can just have the real thing any time you want?” Hudson asked.
Because unless you tell me you love me and want to try a relationship, you’re leaving in a few days, and I want a souvenir to remember you by.
“Because it’s hilarious,” I said instead. “Also, how sexy would it be if I cucked you with a copy of your own cock?”
He grabbed my ass, dragging me against his hard length, already straining against his jeans. “You’re diabolical, you know that?”
“I’m an evil sex toy genius, what can I say?”
Familiar with the features of the sex box, I opened one of the wall panels to reveal a small sink. I set about mixing the solution.
“How does this thing even work?” he asked, gesturing to the box.
“You get hard. You put your dick in this solution. And fifteen minutes later—”
“Fifteen minutes?I’ve got to sustain an erection for fifteen solid minutes?”
I laughed and nudged him back onto a plush chair, curved for maximum spine arching—very sexy. “Yes, and then once it’s finished, you fill it with liquid latex, wait a few hours, andbam. You’ve got a clone of your dick. I’m not sure why you’re complaining, by the way. You once said I made you hardall dayat the office.”
“Emotionallyhard.Sexual-tension-ly hard. Notliterallyhard. I’ve gotten very, very good at putting that thing down when you make it crop up in uncomfortable situations.”
“Well, then. You’ll need some encouragement to keep it up.”
“Hm. I have an idea.”
The room was filled with sex furniture and paraphernalia. I’d fully expected Hudson to select a device off the wall. Instead, he excused himself from the sex box altogether and, a few minutes later, returned with one of the fifteen prototypes we’d built together.
The Fantasy.
“What are you doing?”
