By keraptis02@hotmail.com
Inspired by "The Offer" by Android675@aol.com
If you have not read "The Offer" by Android675@aol.com, to which this story is a sequel, stop right here and read it first. (It's available here, among other places.) If you don't, you're missing out on a GREAT story and you may not understand everything that occurs in this one!
Note: The following story contains explicit sexual material. If stories about sex, and particularly robots and sex, do not appeal to you, please don't read any further. This story should not be read by anyone under eighteen years of age. (You know who you are.)
"Huh?" Ben looked up distractedly from his
chair. He hated getting interrupted
while he was reading the sports section.
"I said, 'How was your day,
honey?'" Samantha came bouncing into
the room as she said this, tossing her gym bag onto the sofa. She pulled off her oversized T-shirt—actually,
it was Ben's—to reveal a shiny, sleeveless, royal blue unitard which reached
down to her thighs. She knew Ben didn't
like it when she was sweaty, but still she was hoping for a better reaction
from her boyfriend. Sam had a great
body and she felt she deserved his full attention.
"All right, I guess," Ben
replied without looking up.
That does it, Sam thought to
herself as she stormed past the living room and into the bedroom. She heard the rustle of Ben's newspaper as
he put it down, then the heavy fall of his footsteps behind her.
"I'm sorry, Sam," he said,
his hands pressing gently against the door frame. "My day was fine.
Stressful as always, but no worse than any other day. I didn't mean to blow you off like that,
it's just that I've been so distracted and I wanted to take my mind off
everything."
Sam looked into Ben's
eyes. There it was—that genuinely
apologetic look that always seemed to melt her, no matter what he'd done. She wasn't really that mad at him, she thought
to herself. But it was fun making him
say he was sorry. "Don't worry about
it," she said, a smile spreading to one side of her mouth, then the other. "Go back to your box scores—I'm just going
to take a bath."
"OK," he said, "you enjoy
yourself. I have to do some work at the
office again tonight, so I might be gone by the time you're done, knowing how
long your baths usually take. But I
promise, I'll try to get home as soon as I can." He leaned over and kissed her forehead, then headed back into the
living room.
Sam knew he wasn't lying
when he said he'd try not to take too long at work, but she also knew he
wouldn't be very successful. Ben worked
extremely hard—and though Sam often wished he could take more time off, she also
had to admit that his dedication was one of the things she loved most about
him. No use thinking about it too much,
she decided as she pulled one arm out of the shiny blue unitard. Soon Sam's clothes were strewn on the floor,
and the bathtub was filling with hot water.
As she waited for the tub to
fill, Sam took a moment to admire herself in her full-length mirror. She only allowed herself to do this after a
workout, when she felt really good about her looks. Even though Sam was a professional aerobics instructor, that
feeling was sometimes hard to come by.
Firmly planting her fists on her hips like some kind of action hero, she
sucked in her stomach and lifted her chest proudly. Her medium-length auburn hair bounced up and down in its ponytail
as she turned to look at her nude body from every side. Yes, she concluded, she looked great.
Sam remembered what Ben had
said a few minutes earlier, about wanting to take his mind off everything. That was exactly how she felt at the
moment. It was time to indulge herself. Diving onto the bed to reach the nightstand,
she picked up her radio headphones and put them on. Finding her favorite station as she crossed back to the bathroom,
she stepped into the tub, closed her eyes, and tuned out the world.
An hour later, Sam awoke
with a chill. She had obviously fallen
asleep at some point, and since then the bath water had gone decidedly south of
lukewarm. Quickly getting out of the
tub, Sam dried off and wrapped herself in a bathrobe. She called out to Ben, but he didn't answer. He'd probably gone back to the office
already. Just as well, she thought as
she crossed the room to turn on her PC.
Knowing Ben, he wasn't going to be himself until the project he was
working on was done.
While the computer booted
up, Sam headed for the kitchen to heat up some leftovers. When she returned, a bowl of pasta and a
tall glass of water in her hands, she double-clicked the icon for her ISP. Instantly, her modem's speaker produced a
dial tone, followed by the chirping of dialed numbers. The musical tones were so familiar by now
that Sam was able to whistle along with them.
She was even able to duplicate the beeping, hissing, and boinging sounds
which the modem produced as it connected to her ISP. Sam laughed nervously as she realized how silly she sounded. This was a talent she didn't plan on
revealing to anyone any time soon.
Once she was logged on, Sam
checked her email. Nothing. Her old college roommate, Kim, should have
gotten back to her by now. It was almost
time for Kim's annual visit to Boston, and more than a week had gone by since
Sam sent out her email asking for Kim's itinerary. Sam was sure Kim must have a good reason for being out of
touch. Most likely, she was traveling
on business or something. Sam decided
that she would give Kim one more day before calling her. Shutting down the email program, she opened
up a web browser and surfed around for a while.
Eventually, Sam arrived at
one of her favorite sites—the Collegiate Dance Association, which sponsored the
national dance team competitions she'd been a part of in school. Though three years had gone by since her
graduation, Sam still missed being on the dance team. That's where she had met all of her best friends—Debbie, Julie,
Kate, and especially Kim.
That was also the one time
in her life when she'd had a legitimate reason to be wearing full-body catsuits
made out of shiny lycra.
Except for Kim, none of the
girls had ever talked about it much, but it was really exciting to wear those
costumes. Sometimes she wished she
still had hers—the black one with the hood, when the team tried a spider-woman
theme, or the one from the Christmas show that was all red from the front and
all green from the back. Or, best of
all, the gold one, from the performance that won them the championship, when
the entire team dressed up like life-sized Oscar statues and danced to Academy
Award-winning movie songs.
But those outfits were team
property—and despite the strong temptation, she'd never gotten up the courage
to steal one. All she had were regular
workout clothes, and though she almost always chose shiny material, they just
weren't the same. Besides, there was no
one else to wear them with, none of the camaraderie of dressing exactly the
same as a whole team of girls focused on the same goal. There was something inexplicably exciting
about that, too.
Well, there was no going
back to college. Still, Sam suddenly
thought, maybe it would be fun to buy a dance costume for herself now. She'd met Ben after graduation, and he'd never
seen her in one of those outfits. She
wondered if he'd like the way she looked—though butterflies filled her stomach
as she wondered how she'd feel if he didn't.
As she finished her dinner, Sam finally decided that it was worth a
shot. If Ben wasn't impressed by her
appearance, or at least excited by the boldness of her dressing up so
strangely, then maybe he wasn't the right person for her after all. A girl should always make sure her man
treated her right, she thought to herself—that's what her friend Kate always
used to say. Ben was just going to have
to find a way to appreciate her little . . . what was the right word?
Sam paused for a
moment. "Fetish," she whispered aloud,
staring off distractedly into space.
Sam suddenly snapped to,
startled. She couldn't believe she'd
just said that! She'd always thought of
fetish as something of a dirty word.
Sort of like kinky, she suddenly thought. The words often seemed to connote a lot of
hard-core stuff she simply wasn't into.
And yet, as she fantasized
about making love to Ben in a lycra catsuit, it was obvious to Sam that both
words suited her. The realization
excited her immensely. Sam's heart
began to thump loudly in her chest as a feeling not unlike stage fright came
over her. She was completely alone, but
it was like a huge audience was watching her.
"I have a lycra fetish," she said aloud. "It makes me feel really kinky."
A wave of satisfaction and relief washed over her. It felt wonderful to talk like that.
Sam imagined saying those
words to Ben—not necessarily in a sexual situation, but sometime when he least
expected it. Like the next time she
came home from the gym—maybe that would get him to put the paper
down. Or during a big night out, in a
fancy restaurant, with another couple just close enough that they might,
or might not, be within earshot. Come
to think of it, maybe it was best if someone else did hear her. She'd wear that Chinese-style red silk dress
he loved so much, with its tight collar and sexy little buttons that ran down
to her shoulder, and she'd put her hair up the way he liked it. And then, just as the waiter came by to
refill their water glasses, she'd lean forward and say: I have a fetish that you need to know
about. Nothing, I mean nothing,
gets me hot like wearing shiny lycra catsuits.
Let me wear one for you tonight, Ben.
I need to show you the kind of woman it turns me into.
The thought of actually
going through with her fantasy was too frightening. This was completely crazy!
Still, she had some time on her hands and she was feeling curious. Sam knew herself well enough to realize that
if she didn't put her anxiety out of her mind, she'd never be able to go
through with this. Clearing her throat,
she returned her attention to the computer screen and began her search for the
perfect outfit.
From the CDA web site, it
was easy to follow several links to the association's approved dance apparel
suppliers. Some of the names were new
since she'd finished school. The problem
was, most of the sites had terrible graphics, and it was hard to know exactly
what their fabrics looked like. Worse
yet, they all seemed to want too much money for a custom-made costume. They were all geared toward bulk orders and
team discounts, not individual sales.
Even if she could afford it, Sam was skeptical about trying to get one
of these companies to make something from scratch. That would involve too much effort on her part, and too much risk
of embarrassment, or of getting bad, nonrefundable merchandise.
No, Sam needed to find a
specialty supplier of some kind. But
specializing in what exactly? Sam
decided to try using a search engine to find something interesting. She tried all sorts of keywords: lycra, spandex, catsuit, costume, custom,
and so on. But her queries kept bringing
up the same sorts of sites—sportswear suppliers, lingerie catalogs, celebrity
photo galleries, and other junk. She
was going to have to think of a better word to describe what she was looking
for.
Sam thought about her
fantasy a little more. What was it that
appealed to her the most about putting on the spandex? Some of it was a kind of
exhibitionism—becoming naked not by removing her clothes, but by putting
the right clothing on. Part of
it was simply the excitement of having a secret—something in her closet, a side
of herself that nobody else knew existed.
But mostly, it was the ability to become something she would otherwise
never get a chance to be—a superheroine, or even a villain; an astronaut from the
distant future, or an ancient goddess; an Olympic athlete, or an exotic dancer.
The best part was the
transformation, Sam realized at last.
Sam wanted to be transformed.
Sam typed a new string of
keywords into the search engine—lycra catsuit transformation—and waited
patiently for the results to pop up.
The third site from the top was called Forever Silver. Hmm . . . that sounded like it could be
promising! Sam immediately followed the
link.
The Forever Silver
web site was pretty simple, but it immediately grabbed Sam's attention. The page looked like a computer console from
a science-fiction film, with three dark blue display panels bounded by polished
chrome pipes. There was a subtle
animation to the pipes—a slight reflective glare seemed to dance along their
surface, and they sparkled intermittently at random points. The panel along the top read:
The second panel, which ran
along the left side of the screen, contained a simple menu whose first item, Welcome,
was highlighted. Next to the menu was
the main display panel, which took up most of the screen. The main panel was full of text, but Sam
didn't bother to read it. She was too
busy staring at the two pictures which flanked the text: a great-looking guy on the left, and a
gorgeous woman on the right, both wearing skin-tight silver spandex catsuits,
complete with shiny silver boots! The
catsuits covered everything from the neck down and left nothing to the
imagination. This was exactly what she
wanted! It was almost too good to be
true.
Sam quickly skimmed the
introductory message.
Sam couldn't wait to see the
rest of the site. Below Welcome,
the menu only had two other choices that looked like they would do anything if
she clicked them: Online Catalog
and one called Initiate Your Personal Transformation! The last two menu choices—Order Status
and The Offer—were disabled. Sam
could see why Order Status wasn't active, since she hadn't placed an
order. But The Offer—what could
that mean? There also didn't seem to be
any of the usual links for corporate background pages, like "About Us,"
"Contact Info," or "Job Opportunities."
Sam suddenly realized she was getting way ahead of herself. She'd barely scratched the surface of the
site, and already she was so hooked that she wanted to know if they were
hiring!
Sam clicked on Online
Catalog, eager to take a complete tour of the Precision Passion product
line. Surprisingly, the catalog
consisted of a single page dedicated to the Personal Transformation Kit, which
appeared to be the company's only product.
Beneath a large photograph of another attractive couple in the silver
catsuits, several smaller photos showed close-ups the other items in the
kit. In addition to the calf-high
silver boots, with their funky-looking thick heels and bright chrome trim,
there were a few optional accessories in the kit, such as stylish silver
sunglasses with opaque metallic lenses, a chrome ponytail holder, and a silver
belt with a shiny chrome buckle. The
kit also came with a high-quality silver makeup set, including lipstick, eye
shadow, and glitter hair gel, to go with the costume. It was a complete look that was sure to produce the desired
effect—namely, to knock Ben off his feet and make Sam feel incredible. Last of all, there were a few extra items—a
black duffel bag to hold the whole outfit in, a smaller zip-up bag for the
makeup, and a short black box of some kind, no larger than a wireless
phone. It was hard to tell exactly what
it was, but Sam guessed it must be a case for the sunglasses.
Sam couldn't believe her
eyes. She couldn't have dreamed up a
more perfect outfit had she been a professional fashion designer. Still, she had a hard time believing that
this company could survive selling just one product, not to mention one so
specific in its appeal. How did they
make any money? Then Sam realized that
the catalog page didn't mention anything about the price. Sure, she thought. They must not want you to know about that little detail until
you're already filling out the order form.
Sam clicked on the next item
in the menu—Initiate Your Personal Transformation!—and, sure enough,
there was the order form. At the top of
the page was the price, in large, bold numbers: $79.99. Only
eighty dollars? No way! Sam searched the page for the fine print
that she expected would say "five easy payments of" or something, but there
wasn't any. Plus, the kit came with a
30-day money-back guarantee. This was
excellent!
Suddenly, that strange
stage-fright feeling came over her again.
Sam was hit with the full realization that her fantasy was in
reach. As long as she wasn't happy
about the products she had seen, or as long as the price was too high, she'd
had an excuse not to go through with this.
But now, it was obvious that she could have exactly what she wanted, if
she only had the courage to finish what she'd started. As Sam filled out the order form—it didn't
mean anything until she hit the button at the bottom, she kept telling
herself—her heart started beating faster and faster. Though it was reassuring to know that she didn't actually have to
talk to another human being to buy the outfit, Sam still felt strange about the
fact that someone on the other end would know that a woman named Samantha
Taylor, at 1040 Robbins Street, was secretly into wearing silver spandex and
makeup.
Then Sam remembered her
restaurant fantasy—and the thrill of imagining her little fetish revealed to
the world. Suddenly she didn't care who
found out about it. Let them all say
anything they wanted! It didn't matter
at all. As Sam clicked the Submit
button, all of her fear slipped away.
She felt immensely powerful, completely free.
The site's main panel went
blank while the web server processed her order form, and the cursor became an
hourglass. Sam stared intently at the
screen, waiting for a response. Several
seconds passed, during which the chrome pipes in the display interface
continued to gleam and sparkle. Sam
distracted herself by trying to discern a pattern to the animation, but there
didn't seem to be one. She followed the
light clockwise, then counter-clockwise; down along the inner edge of the menu
display, then around the outside again.
It was very pleasant. Soon a
full minute had gone by, and Sam's eyes had never left the screen for an
instant.
Finally, her order had been
processed, and the screen refreshed itself.
The Order Status menu
item was enabled now, so Sam clicked it.
Her order hadn't shipped yet, of course, but the screen still captured
her attention. In addition to the gleaming
pipes, the main display of the order status screen had a simple animated
background whose deep blue slowly grew just a few shades brighter and darker as
she watched. Sam found it hard to pull
away from the screen. It felt good to
just relax and stare at the pulsating, gleaming display.
Ten full minutes later, Sam
finally decided it was time to do the dishes and go to bed. By the time Ben got home, she was sound
asleep. Over the next few days, Sam
furtively checked her order status every evening as soon as she got home, once
she was sure Ben wasn't watching. Each
time, the screen welcomed her with its gentle throbbing and sparkling, and she
always lingered a few minutes, sometimes clicking the Refresh button a few
times to see if the status had changed.
Sam's anticipation grew with each passing day. By the time a week had gone by, her need to visit the site had
even overpowered her fear of discovery by her co-workers, and she began to
check the site several times a day from one of the computers at the gym.
It was two weeks after she'd
placed her order, after more than fifty visits, that Sam finally got the news
she was looking for. There, against its
endlessly pulsating blue background, the Forever Silver order status page
rewarded Sam with the confirmation number for her Personal Transformation
Kit: N979.