Chapter Text
Coruscant City is pretty in the fall, Osha thinks. Pretty in a way that feels old and new, peaceful and violent at the same time, with its shiny high rises catching the sun at golden hour as it peaks through the dark clouds, the sidewalks quieter than usual as the wind blows wet leaves in her path and causes her braids to tickle her cheeks. Vehicles and trains fly by on the magnetic rails that lead up above Osha’s head to a tangle of transportation networks that are littered with hologram ads. She breathes in the cool air that has hints of pumpkin spice wafting from the nearby coffee shop, one that she frequents often.
A touch of the old world in a high-tech city.
But she can’t stop there today. Today she’s late, coming back from a photoshoot she just did with Calrissian Designs. She felt like a rockstar, wearing some of the coolest clothes—no, art pieces they were—she'd ever seen, made with materials that felt like they were imported from a different universe.
Now, she has to go back to the day job—the one that actually pays her rent. Not that she’s complaining. She likes her fans, and the work is actually pretty fun. She’s certainly never bored.
Her apartment building is like a spire that pierces out from the cold concrete, puncturing the clouds above, its metal exterior harsh but beautiful. Osha wouldn't dare to touch it, always entering through the front door carefully, respecting its boundaries.
She stops at the mail depot at the bottom floor, punching her apartment number into the kiosk and swiping her watch over the pad.
“Seven packages,” a robotic voice says, emanating from the kiosk.
“Seriously?” Her fans are getting more and more gracious, which doesn’t make her uncomfortable, but it does bring with it a totally different vibe compared to how she started. She used to have to do riskier things to hold onto subscribers. But now? Now they send her presents just to thank her for continuing to make content.
“Osha,” Yord’s voice calls to her, causing her to spin and wave.
“Hey,” Osha responds, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek.
“How many is it today?” he asks, his mood dropping. Yord’s been a good boyfriend. There are not many guys who would be okay with what Osha does for a living. But Yord started as a subscriber, so he knew what he was getting himself into.
“Just a few,” Osha lies. “You can go up. I actually have a session…” She checks her phone. “...in five minutes!”
Yord had proposed just a few months back, after only having dated for a little over ninety days. Of course, Osha had reacted to that proposal by immediately walking them back to just living together, then walked it even further back to just living in the same apartment building when she realized that she didn’t want Yord in the other room while she moaned other guys’ names.
“Alright,” he says, kissing her on the forehead. “Text me after?”
“Will do.” She watches Yord walk away, making sure he’s out of the mail depot before she turns towards the panel where she’s meant to retrieve her packages. She unlocks the panel using her watch and then sighs once she sees what she’s dealing with.
She’s going to need to take two trips, it seems.
By the time she gets them all inside, she’s a few minutes late for her session and out of breath. She doesn’t waste any more time opening the damned things, just shrugs off her clothes and frantically looks for something cute to wear.
It’s a new client, one that had no special requests. He just wants “whatever she usually does.” So she gets her holo setup on her bed, wearing a simple purple, lacy teddy. Her toys are all within reach, along with water and a towel.
She clicks on the holoboard, and it sends her to the chatroom site since it was on her calendar. There’s no more time to waste, so Osha enters the chatroom and forces herself into a position that’s casual, but sexy, her feet tucked under on one side. She checks her braids in the hologram holding her reflection, then smiles wide.
At least she looks good.
A message pops up from the new client, and Osha clicks on it. A voice fills the room.
“Hey, Osha.” It’s modified, sounding distorted and somewhat robotic—cold and unfeeling. It causes Osha to shiver. Whoever he is, he doesn’t want her knowing his real voice.
“Hey,” she answers, “Stranger?” It’s the only name on the screen. She winks as though she gets the joke. She’s going into this blind, not knowing anything about him—except that he is a “him.” One of the requirements to sign up on the site is providing your pronouns.
“So how was your day?” He’s sending voice notes, so there are pauses for Osha, whereas she’s completely live on his screen.
“Great, actually. I had a shoot for a designer brand I really like.”
“You want to be a model?”
“Yes—I mean…” Isn’t it pathetic to be a cam girl who wants to be a model? It’s a stereotype she’d rather not be stuck with. So she explains. “I like being on camera…” Her fingers tease a strap of her teddy. “Whether it’s for a magazine, or an audience of one.”
“What about a larger audience? With a partner?” His voice is less grating when he asks questions, his natural inflection sounding more gentle.
She smiles, thinking about his question. It’s not the first time someone’s asked if she’d consider doing porn more professionally, with other performers. Toys are great, but some guys just don’t get off on it.
“I enjoy being in control of my content. That way I can do what I like to do—for your enjoyment.”
“I would like you to show me just how much you like to do what you do,” he answers.
That sends a flutter down to her core. “Okay. Maybe you could tell me a little bit about what you like first.”
“No. Show me what you like to do, Osha.”
She shifts uncomfortably on the bed. Bossy clients are not unusual, but Osha usually attracts a more… “old world” clientele. Ones that have fantasies of long walks on the beach or coffee shop dates that end in a little fun on the bed—pan to flowing drapes style. That’s how she markets herself, amongst her vintage furniture and hand-woven blankets.
In a world so inundated with chat bots, AI-generated porn, and virtual reality, an alternative culture has evolved in cities like Coruscant, one that values authenticity and tangible experiences over sexual gratification.
Thus, Osha’s seven packages likely consist of stuffed animals, DVD movies or television box sets, and vintage lingerie, robes, and jewelry.
So either this new client's tastes are more… Eclectic… Or he’s a tech-bro with a boner for power and control who just happened to wander into the wrong side of the internet.
“So I should undress?” she asks, trying to find some direction. She really doesn’t want to waste his time. He paid a lot for one of her more in-demand hours.
“I assume that’s what usually happens next.”
She smiles at that. Okay, so maybe he’s not bossy. Maybe he’s still feeling her out too. This is a two-way street, after all. It's a transaction.
“Well some guys prefer the pretty lingerie to stay on.” Osha slowly pulls her arms through the straps, then holds the teddy up over her breasts, teasing him a little.
“I’m not some guys.”
“Oh, so you’re a ‘not like other guys’ kind of guy.”
“Is that a kind of guy?” His voice sounds warmer suddenly, even through the modulator.
Osha scoffs playfully. “Definitely.” She lets the teddy slide off her breasts, but keeps her arm over them, not showing him yet.
“So you’re a tease.”
“That’s kind of half the fun, you know—the teasing?”
“I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”
Osha bites her lip in a shy smile. Her favorite part about her job is definitely praise and adoration, and although this isn’t that exactly, it seems like it was close enough for this particular client. She supposes, from his terse tone, he doesn’t give it out so freely.
In appreciation, she moves her arms down and arches her back, showing him her breasts, her nipples tight from arousal.
“Keep going.”
Osha frowns. “You’re not going to tell me how pretty I am?”
“I have no interest in telling you what you already know.”
Her eyes narrow. Does he want her to be a brat? To fight back and whine and pout?
“I want to see you. Please.”
“That’s better,” she mumbles, leaning back to pull off her teddy. She puts her legs up in the air, letting him get a glimpse of her recently waxed pussy, just a little heart-shaped patch of hair left over her clit. When she sits up again on her knees, he’s already sent another message.
“Spread your legs for me.”
Osha licks her lips and sits back on her butt, spreading her legs before her.
“Now show me what you like to do to yourself. Show me what feels good, Osha.”
Her mouth is suddenly dry. She reaches for her water and takes a sip quickly before grabbing her most used toy—a pink, smooth vibrator with attached clitoral suction. But when she looks up, the client has sent more instructions.
“No toys,” he says tersely. Then, in a warmer tone, “You’re very old school, right? I was expecting you’d use your fingers.”
“It’s been a while since I’ve…” She shakes her head. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. I want you to make yourself feel good. I’m just watching.”
Osha bites her lip. “Okay…” She puts her hand to her mouth and licks three fingers before placing them on her clit. “This better?”
“How does it feel?”
“Good,” she answers. Obviously. Being on camera always makes it more exciting, making her just a little more sensitive. She teases her entrance, not really for her pleasure, but to see if he’ll react.
“You want to be filled up?”
“Yes,” she breathes out.
“Do you have to be told what to do in order to do it?”
Osha scoffs. “Well it would make this a lot easier if you just told me what you liked.”
“Stop touching your pussy.”
She sighs, dejected. “Okay?” She waits for further instruction, resting back on her elbows.
“I want you to take your time. Play with your tits, if that’s what you like.”
Osha swallows nervously. “I think I understand your screen name now. You are pretty strange.” But she does as he requested, rolling her nipples between her fingers and pinching them gently.
“That’s a good girl. Feeling better?”
Osha moans in response. It does feel better. She moves one hand down between her thighs while the other continues to play with her breasts.
“Show me how wet you are, Osha.”
Dipping two fingers into her pussy, she coats them with slick and pulls them back out to show him.
“Fuck. You’re dripping.” She can hear it in his voice, just a slight shakiness, like he’s pleasuring himself as he watches.
“Well, I enjoy what I do,” she says.
“I see that. And I would love to see more from you.”
There it is again. It’s not invasive, but it is a little nudge. Of course she has considered it, many times. And she would have no hesitations, except she knows Yord wouldn’t be okay with it, not to mention others in her life.
“I told you, I like being in control of my content.”
“What if you had complete control over the shoot?”
What, is he some kind of recruiter? She shakes her head. “I couldn’t. Sorry.”
“We can table it, for now. Do you want to come, Osha?”
Osha smiles. “Yes.” She rubs herself in tight circles over her clit.
“I would ask for you to come for me, but I want you to do it for you.”
She huffs. “How generous.” Osha presses three fingers inside of her, pumping them in and out to build more pressure.
“You really want a cock right now, don’t you?”
The inevitable orgasm puts Osha in a daze, and she responds, “Yes,” without thinking.
“You want to be filled up and fucked so hard.”
“Yes,” she breathes out, fingers still inside her, trying to reach that sensitive spot.
“Desperate little slut,” he says, voice dark and distorted, biting on the words.
“Oh, fuck,” Osha exclaims. It’s the opposite of praise, and yet, it sends a pulse to her cunt. The shame of being exactly that—a desperate slut—rises to the surface.
“You like that, don’t you?” Curiosity, a pitch in his tone. Then, even darker, a vibration under the surface as he adds, “My hopeless little whore.”
It feels so wrong. Usually she’s met with such praise and encouragement. But this? This is devious. It should make her feel disgusting and ashamed. And maybe she does feel those things, but, for once, those emotions are accompanied by pleasure.
Like he wants her to feel good about her shame.
“You are a dirty girl.”
Yes. Yes, I am, she thinks.
“Fucking filthy.”
Osha’s orgasm pulses out hard from her core and she writhes on the bed, back arching into it, then falling. It lasts for a long time, much longer than usual as she slowly rubs her clit through the waves. She grits her teeth to keep from yelling too loud, lest she annoy the neighbors, but she can only hold back a little, the intensity of it felt in her limbs.
“Perfect,” he says with a heavy sigh. “Have a good night.”
Osha exhales roughly, propping herself up on her elbows. “That’s it?” But he’s already gone, the chatroom closing automatically. The holodisk beeps with a new message and she reaches to check it, hovering her hand over the light.
A new screen pops up in front of her with a voice message from Mae.
“Don’t forget about brunch!” she says, louder than she needs to.” You know how Jecki gets about brunch!”
Osha lays back on the bed, annoyed, and kicks the holodisk off. It clunks to the floor, taking the hologram light with it, and leaving Osha in darkness. She turns on her side, looking out the window, down over the city as the sun starts to set.
A perk of moving into this building is that it has amazing views and one-way windows, which prevent anyone from seeing inside. Osha never has to obstruct the view with curtains or blinds, and she doesn’t.
She stands from the bed and looks out at the horizon. The sky starts to turn bright orange, contrasted next to the bright blue and green lights of the tall buildings and the transport lanes. She runs her hand through the tall, holographic plants that line the floor next to the window, their magenta and orange lights bathing Osha in a warm glow, as though she’s part of the sunset itself.
Then her gaze is drawn back out, over the vast city that extends so far beyond the horizon, it seems as though it will never end.
It’s sex that runs this city. Coruscant City practically pulses with pleasure, and the red light district is the main vein. Negative views about sex and sexuality only still persist in the Church of the Force, which Osha grew up in. She doesn’t carry those beliefs any longer, something she’s kept from her adoptive father. Though the shame still punctures her seemingly well-crafted bubble every now and then. It seeps in through cracks. It percolates even when she thinks she’s doing just fine.
The hologram ads become brighter in the dim light, the closest one to Osha’s apartment promoting the very site Osha uses for her work.
In it, a pretty woman winks at the camera, then proceeds to tease removing her clothes. She fades before things get too spicy, revealing the name, “Cam and Chill.” Then, as it always does, the ad rolls to one for the popular paid porn site, “Purple Palace.” Osha takes a deep breath, watching the ad play out with attractive men and women in slow motion, jumping on a bed in their underwear.
Two years ago, Osha nearly joined Purple Palace. They produce tons of videos a week, and the industry chatter is that their actors get paid the most compared to similar producing brands. She had an offer from them, but turned it down because she was terrified that her adoptive father would find out. Keeping the cam stuff from him is much easier. She makes her own hours, in the privacy of her apartment. And Sol thinks she’s a model.
And she is. Sort of. Enough to send him proof every so often.
But she can’t help but wonder sometimes what her life would look like had she accepted the offer. She’d be making more money, certainly. She would probably have more friends that she’d meet through work. And they would all have that in common. No shame or guilt to carry around solo.
The Purple Palace performers also regularly show up on magazine covers, their faces and bodies familiar to this city. They each have their own fansites who follow their projects and they do a lot of charity work with underserved communities, especially those bordering the Red Light District.
But, Osha would have a hard time dating, had she joined the Purple Palace. And dating someone who also sleeps with other people on a regular basis? That must be difficult.
No, she has Yord. He’s good to her. And Sol still sends her credits every now and then. It usually goes towards refreshing her wardrobe. You know, “Dress for the position you want,” and models wear the latest and greatest.
But so do the Purple Palace performers—No, no. No reason to think that way.
She shouldn’t yearn for something she doesn’t need. She has everything she needs, right here. In her studio apartment across from Yord’s, with her holographic plants that are pretty and don’t need watering, and, of course, this gorgeous view of a city that pulses with desire.
Saturday is “Brunch Day.” At least, that’s what Jecki calls it. The energetic blonde bounds up to Osha when she finally arrives at today’s chosen hot spot which serves the usual brunch items—eggs and pastries, but done with a trendy flair.
Osha, on the other hand, hates brunch. She ate eggs for breakfast, as she always does. She needs the protein for her morning workouts. Now it’s lunchtime—she wants lunch.
“I heard the chicken and waffles are amazing,” Jecki says, grabbing Osha’s arm and dragging her inside where Mae is already sitting at a table. A pitcher of mimosa sits there as well, and Osha’s glass is already filled to the brim.
“Pineapple mimosa?” Osha asks, seeing the color is much too yellow to be orange.
“Jecki ordered it,” Mae says as Osha sits next to her. “She remembered it was your favorite.” Mae jabs her elbow into Osha’s side as if to remind her sister to be kind.
Which is annoying, because Osha loves Jecki. It’s the concept of brunch that she takes issue with.
As usual, she finds the lunch-iest item on the menu—some fancy burger, “No fried egg, please”—with a side salad, and two mimosas in, she’s enjoying herself.
“So how’s cam life?” Jecki asks, always curious about Osha’s work.
Osha hesitates. “Same ol’, same ol’. One of my fans sent me a stuffed penis. It’s like half my size.”
“A stuffed penis?” Mae asks, putting on a face.
“It’s cute,” Osha says, shrugging. “It has a face. I’m calling him Mr. Peen.”
Jecki giggles at that, then gasps. “Oh, that reminds me!” Jecki turns her wrist and taps her watch. A holo image shoots up over it, promoting an All Hallows Eve party. “I’m helping my friend Jake host this. It’s at his new apartment, in Uptown. Extremely spacious, perfect for ragers. And yes, it’s a costume party, so we all have to dress up.”
“How did a stuffed penis remind you about this, Jecki?” Mae asks, just as confused as Osha.
“Oh, right.” She’s vibrating with excitement as she adds, “Jake’s roommate is Qimir Ren.” She nearly squeals, but Osha and Mae don’t react the way she expected. “Qimir Ren!” she adds, as if that helps.
Jecki rolls her eyes and taps on her watch again. A new holo image appears, floating just inches from Osha’s face.
“Oh, that guy?” Osha asks. She recognizes him from the one meeting she had at Purple Palace. He hadn’t said much to her then, mostly sat across the table from her and ran his eyes all over her body as she showed it off in a lingerie set.
She had been so nervous and excited that day, actually wanting the job. It wasn’t until later, when the reality of it sat in, that she got cold feet.
“That guy is Qimir Ren. I thought you were in the industry! Don’t you watch porn?”
Osha’s brows raise. “I thought he was a producer. He’s an actor?”
“Yes! And he films all of his encounters. He uploads almost daily.”
Osha reaches into her purse and finds her tablet. She pulls it out and searches his name.
“Put it up on the holo,” Mae says, trying to see what Osha’s doing.
“No way,” Osha responds, trying to hide the screen from onlookers as she finds a porn video of his to watch. Even though the people in this city are generally chill about sex, Osha likes to keep some things to herself when it comes to arousal.
And Qimir arouses her. She remembers that even then, when he looked at her with such scrutiny, she admired his looks. His sharp cheekbones, kind but dark eyes, and his full lips. His hair long, tied up in a small bun at the nape of his neck, with dark, thick strands falling in his face, casting shadows onto his sharp features. Just a little bit of stubble on his lip and chin, which made him even more enticing.
“Straight people are so prudish,” Mae says, teasing her.
“Shut up,” Osha responds, focusing on the video before her. Qimir Ren is fucking a petite Asian girl with tattoos. He pushes his wet hair back, but it just falls into his face again. His skin glistens a little, like he’s covered in a layer of sweat.
“He looks…” Osha tries to find the word for it. “Greasy.”
Jecki smiles wide. “He’s known for that too. Slick and slippery.”
“Ew,” Mae says, taking a bite of her waffle.
“What?” Jecki says. “I can appreciate the male form, unlike you.”
Osha laughs and shoves her tablet back into her bag. Mae’s always been solely attracted to women, while Jecki’s interests are more diverse. Osha can relate, though she’s certainly not as experimental as Jecki, mostly sticking with safe partners who can take care of her—like Yord.
“It’s been, what, six months?” Osha says, remembering something.
Mae casts her a glance. “Six months, minus a day, since I asked her out.” She looks at Jecki. “Is it cheesy if we celebrate our six month anniversary? Even though it’s not technically an anniversary?”
Jecki finally realizes what Mae means and she beams. “Oh my god, six months?! We should do something!”
Osha smiles to herself, enjoying listening to the two bicker over what their first date entailed, and whether they should recreate it to celebrate. Yord always had things planned for random anniversaries. She stopped trying to keep up with them once she realized that he just enjoyed planning dates with her. He simply wanted the day to be an auspicious one.
As brunch wraps, and the three are all several mimosas sloshed, Osha finds herself thinking about Qimir Ren again. It’s not that he was unkind to her—he never had the opportunity to be kind—but she remembers being uneasy in his presence. Aroused, of course. Those cheekbones could cut glass. She would curl up between his fluffy pink lips if she were small enough. And his eyes—it’s the eyes that really magnify his looks. Because even though he looked at her with intense judgement, she saw a whole new world behind those dark eyes. They beckoned her, teased her, called her, like a siren song…
“Oi! Twinsie!”
Osha snaps out of it. They’re sitting in the lounge area of the same restaurant, and Osha’s curled up into the corner of the sleek, velvety sofa, feeling comfortable and warm.
“We’re going as triplets,” Mae says with a mischievous smile.
“Going as… what, where?” Osha asks.
“God, how drunk are you?” Mae responds. “Don’t worry about it. Jecki and I have it covered.”
That certainly doesn’t reassure Osha but she actually is too drunk to protest. “What the hell was in those pineapple mimosas?” she says as Mae drags her to her feet.
“Are you okay to get home on your own?” Mae asks. “You took the rail, right?”
Osha nods. “I just have to do what I did, but backwards,” she says with some exaggeration, using her hands to illustrate.
Mae chuckles. “Yeah. Well, call me if you get stuck. Love you, Oshie.” They hug before separating, Jecki and Mae going one way, Osha going the opposite.
But as she walks, Osha’s curiosity gets the better of her, and she opens up a browser page on her holowatch. Walking and reading is probably not wise, especially when she’s in this state. But Osha manages to get a few steps while reading a few words, so she continues on.
Qimir Ren. 36 years old. Born in the outer territories, in Bal’demnic, he was raised in the Church of the Force.
Osha’s heel catches an uneven crack and she wobbles. This was indeed a bad idea. She stops and reaches into her bag, pulling out an earbud and placing it in her ear. Then she presses an icon on the watch, which prompts it to read the results for her through her earbud.
At sixteen years old, he left the church and moved to Coruscant City, where he quickly fell into a life of crime.
Osha watches the ground as she walks, imagining a young man, still mostly a child, trying to survive in the rougher parts of the city. This was decades ago, of course, before wealth poured into these neighborhoods and slowly reformed them. It was before the Republic went through a reform, which sought to revitalize neighborhoods rather than gentrify them, giving people access to basic needs as well as small luxuries—free transportation, free healthcare, access to fresh food, and so on.
Not that Coruscant City is perfect. It’s just that the crime has shifted in the decade, from drug dealers to drug lords, from vehicle theft to illegal, hostile takeovers, and from shootouts to evacuated and quarantined, mini war zones. Crimes mostly involve the elite. The politicians and their financiers who fight amongst each other over what the city needs more right now: a new water filtration plant run by the husband of the mayor’s niece, or additional railways, contracted out to the daughter of a judge’s best pal.
Same city, different problems.
Mr. Ren soon rose ranks to become one of the city’s most prolific smugglers, dealing mostly in illegal and off-market pharmaceuticals. For a decade, he eluded police, seemingly due to his connections both in the underground as well as in the highest levels of Monument Plaza.
That causes Osha to raise her brows. What connections could someone like him have, exactly? She tucks her hands into the pockets of her coat, eyes still on the walkway. She hears the sound of transport vehicles rushing by, as well as footsteps falling here and there, all in the background. The cool air feels good on her face and in her lungs, especially after having drank so much.
In 2314, Mr. Ren turned a new leaf, leaving his criminal enterprise behind and donating his acquired wealth to the city. He was pardoned by the mayor soon after, and eventually founded the adult film production company Stranger Danger, which focused on kink content and feminine fantasies. In 2320, Stranger Danger was bought by the Purple Palace, and absorbed into the larger production giant, where it maintains brand recognition on certain sites.
So she was right. He’s a producer as well as a performer. Maybe he likes to sample the merchandise. Maybe he has a weird casting couch kink.
Or, maybe, he gets off in front of the camera just as much as Osha does. Once she got a taste of it, she couldn’t stop. Maybe it was like that for him too.
Osha looks up to where she’s at currently. She doesn’t recognize this block. Most of the shops here are empty, and construction holotape lines the sides of the sidewalk, blinking bright orange and yellow. Did she pass the entrance to the rail?
Someone bumps into her, hard, and she spins, trying to maintain her footing. She really shouldn’t have drank so much.
It’s alright, she thinks. Just gotta pull up the directions on my watch.
She tries to recount the way she got to the restaurant, but she wasn’t paying attention much then, relying solely on her watch to get her there. And now, inebriated and irritated, she can’t get the damn thing to recognize which street she’s stumbled onto. Did she take a left? Did the road veer to one side and she just didn’t realize it?
Just as she thinks the watch is recalibrating, zooming in on her precise location, she gets a notification from Cam and Chill.
“What’s up?” That familiar distorted voice, this time emanating from her earbud.
Osha huffs a laugh. Of all people. She sends a voice note, “Nothing, just… wandering around downtown Coruscant. Trying to figure out where the hell I am.”
“You’re lost?”
Osha winces.
“It’s 2325. And you’re lost.”
“I’m not lost! I just… I got distracted and my watch is being weird.”
“Please tell me you didn’t take the rail.” He actually sounds concerned, and the question makes her uncomfortable.
“There’s nothing wrong with the rail.”
“Of course not. But you’re alone, aren’t you?”
He’s right. She knows he’s right. And she hates that he probably knows that she knows that he’s right.
“Send me your location once it calibrates. I’m sending a car.”
“What?” She pales. “No, no, no, don’t do that!”
“Why not? It’s the least I can do.” A pause. Osha rubs her temple, thinking. “It’s my way of trying to get on your good side. If you even have one.”
Osha scoffs. “I have a good side. Actually most of my sides are good, you know.” What a dumb thing to say. She slams her palm on her forehead.
“Personally, I’d like to get to know all of your sides, Osha. But let’s just stick with getting you home for right now.”
He’s being nice, too nice. A strange contrast to the man she spoke with the other night. She didn’t even realize he was paying for the all access package. She only has a handful of guys who pay enough to send her a message whenever they want, with a guarantee they’ll get a response within an hour.
The blue light pulses on the side of her watch, letting her know that it’s finished calibrating.
“Fine,” she gives in, clicking the little navigation arrow that will share her location with him. “But it’s just the car, right? My rules explicitly state that I don’t meet clients.”
“I’m sure you’ve broken that rule before.”
Osha finds a bench nearby and sits down, rubbing her temples. Of course she has. She met Yord, and now they’re dating.
“I can neither confirm nor deny,” she says in a sigh.
“No worries. I won’t be there. It is my car, though, so please don’t scratch the leather.”
“Is it fancy? Oo, let me guess.” She stands again, pacing as she runs through luxury brands. But no, nothing too sleek. Something… fast? “Is it a Saber Sport? The ones with the bucket seats?”
“Close. You have good taste. It’s a Saber.”
“I knew it.” He does have eclectic tastes, then. Not entirely old school or new. Not retro or modern. Saber engines still roar like the old cars used to. They aren’t solely self-driving if you want to sit in the driver’s seat. But they’re sleek and luxurious and offer all the latest bells and whistles.
And Osha’s about to sit in one.
They chat some more about the benefits and downsides of having a car in the city, a conversation in which Qimir has no strong opinions about one way or another. Mainly, he allows Osha to rant to him in voice notes, drunkenly recalling all her car knowledge, perhaps trying too hard to impress him, though she doesn’t know why.
Finally, a blood red Saber BNX pulls up, the door opening on its own. Osha stands, jaw dropping.
“A BNX? Really?” A top of the line luxury vehicle, but it can reach speeds on real roads that Osha’s never experienced. Most cars these days focus on the functionality of the vehicle in the sky, fixed to a transport lane, where it must achieve a specific speed for safety reasons.
But this car can actually go fast—really fast.
“Go ahead, take it for a spin.”
“Shut up,” she retorts, mouth agape as she climbs into the passenger seat. The car will do perfectly fine on its own, without her fudging up the controls.
“You don’t drive?”
“Not random stranger’s cars!” She presses a finger to the large console screen and it opens up to a map. Osha types in her address, leaving out the apartment number (luckily even in her drunken state she realizes it would be a bad idea to give this stranger that sort of information), then presses the button to start.
“Have fun.”
The car lurches forward, engine revving to life and pressing Osha into the seat. She smiles wide, laughing at what she got herself into. The car leaves the road quickly though, and the sensation leaves her as it connects to the transport lane, now floating along rather smoothly.
She leans back and rests, watching the view outside the car.
“Afternoon. I am Saber,” a disembodied, robotic voice states, causing Osha to jump. “Apologies, Ms. Aniseya. Would you like to watch something on the way home?” The screen changes from a map to a streaming platform with a selection of titles, and Osha realizes it’s the Purple Palace.
“Uh…” She reads some of the titles and suddenly feels like she’s being watched. “Do you have something less… hardcore?”
“Allow me to provide you with some of the less hardcore categories.” The content shuffles, putting Masturbation, Handjob, Massage, and Romantic categories at the top.
“I mean like… not porn,” she says in a laugh.
“So sorry. The Saber is only equipped with Purple Palace media. But if you would like to sign in to your—”
“No, thank you,” Osha responds. The last thing she wants to do is sign in to one of her streaming accounts in a stranger’s car. He would undoubtedly be able to access that information if he wanted to.
Instead, she clicks on the romance category and a video of a couple on a bed. Then, her watch vibrates with a new message.
“Decent choice,” Stranger says in her ear.
“Are you watching me?” she asks, suspicious.
“I’m not. But you would like that, wouldn’t you?”
Osha smiles, hand instinctively running between her thighs. “I’m a little tipsy,” she says.
“I know. Which is why I’m going to leave you to enjoy yourself.”
“Aw… okay.” She’s not sure why she’s disappointed. Perhaps it’s the porn in the background, clouding her judgment. Or perhaps it’s her curiosity for a life she almost had. The research she’d done on Qimir Ren, and then the encouragement from this stranger, all making her imagine a more luxurious life, one free of shame.
Osha gathers that he really isn’t watching, and asks the car, “Saber? Can you put on the latest video featuring Qimir Ren?”
“Certainly, Ms. Aniseya.” The screen flickers, transitioning to a video of Qimir and a different partner, this one curvy, with golden brown skin. As usual, Qimir’s body has a specific sheen to it, highlighting his muscles, and his hair is wet, coming down into his face like thick, dark curtains hiding his true intentions.
He’s certainly a performer, speaking filth as he rails into his partner. He glances at the camera now and then, smiling wickedly, and Osha sinks further back into the seat, hand working its way under her skirt and plunging into her underwear.
By the time they arrive at Osha’s apartment building, she’s disheveled and in a daze, her braids sticking to her sweaty skin. She checks her clothes, putting everything back in place before stepping out of the car.
A cool breeze shoots up under her skirt, reminding her how hard she just came, and how much slick is on her thighs. She clears her throat, then her watch vibrates.
“Did you enjoy yourself?” Stranger asks.
“I did,” she responds. No reason to lie, not with the sexual nature of their relationship, even transactional, it’s still based on flirtation and sexual fulfillment.
“Once again, I must say you have excellent taste.”
Of course he could see what she watched, but she assumes that’s all he could see.
Osha walks into the apartment building, bringing the watch close up to her mouth to respond quietly, “A fan of Qimir Ren?”
“Something like that.”
“Osha, baby,” Yord says, coming up behind her and taking her by the waist. “How was brunch?”
Yord invades her space, coming in for a kiss before Osha realizes it’s actually him.
“Oh! Yord, I—uh… It was fine. You know how I am about brunch.”
“Yeah, which is insane. Brunch is the best.” He guides her by her waist towards the elevators, but Osha gestures to the mail depot.
“Wait, I have to check—I didn’t check yesterday.”
“Oh come on, you can check later today. I was hoping you’d be a little tipsy so we could… you know.” He raises his brows, insinuating something. And Osha knows what he wants but she’s also sort of drained from her orgasm and sleepy from being a little more than just tipsy.
“I have a meeting later,” she says, rubbing her temples, “with a customer. I really wanna take a nap. I need to sober up.”
“You can take a nap at my place.” Yord pulls her inside the elevator and Osha huffs as he pulls her into his arms. “It’ll just be a minute, then you can nap right after, I promise.”
She doesn’t fight him on it. In any relationship, one has to concede a little bit, especially if the other person is feeling a tad insecure. (But honestly, when is Yord not feeling insecure?) So Osha allows Yord to lead her up to his clean, sleek, high-tech one-bedroom apartment, and she lays down on his bed like the pillow princess he expects her to be, and he fucks her until he comes.
Which doesn’t take long. It never does.
Then Osha rolls over, ignoring the cum dripping out of her. She also ignores Yord’s annoyed sighing as he proceeds to strip the bed under her, forcing her to roll onto a towel. And she ignores him still as he takes a phone call, loudly chatting and laughing in the room nearby.
Her mind clouds with images of the Saber BNX, the stranger’s flirtatious banter with her, and Qimir Ren’s perfectly-sculpted ass clenching as he fucks into his partners.
Osha rubs her eyes in the elevator as she takes it back downstairs to retrieve her packages. She knows she’s messed up her makeup by napping without washing her face, but she was just so tired from the day’s activities.
“Four packages,” the mail depot kiosk says.
Osha lazily stacks them, barely able to keep her eyes open as she carries them up to her apartment. They’re all fairly small, the largest of them about the size of her forearm.
She opens that one first.
Like a kid on Christmas, she just can’t help herself. She tears it open, finding a smaller box inside. It’s shiny, and she spins it around, finding a picture of—
Osha yelps, dropping the package and jumping away from it like it stung her. “What the fuck?” she says, approaching it carefully. She looks down at it, pushing her braids behind her ear as she reads it.
Qimir Ren, Ultra Realistic, Dual Density, Soft, Skin-like Exterior, with Solid Core, Body Safe, 7.5-INCH COCK WITH BALLS
Osha leans over the counter pressing her hands to her face. Which of her clients would gift her this? Or maybe it’s a gag gift from Mae or Jecki? Surely it’s a prank of sorts.
And yet, Osha’s curiosity gets the better of her. She grabs the box and opens it, pulling out the soft, skin-colored dildo and setting it upright on the removable suction cup.
For a moment, she just stares at it. It is a nice penis, with a gentle curve upward, a pleasingly pointed tip with a gentle flare. The balls are pretty nice, too, hanging low, seemingly heavy.
Is she really admiring a replica? Well, yes, because she couldn’t get a good view of it from the porn she watched. He was buried in his partners for so much of it, it was nearly impossible.
Osha takes the dildo and places it with her collection of toys, in a cabinet in front of her bed. It wiggles when she puts it down, as if it’s waving at her, asking her to use it next.
“If you’re lucky,” she says, “I might consider it.” She glares at it, then closes the door, met with her reflection in the mirror that covers the outside of the cabinet.
She is a mess, with black lines streaking from her eyes, still swollen from napping on her face. Only a few minutes to refresh before her appointment with a regular client. Just enough time to take a shower and throw on some light makeup.
But even as she plays with herself on camera, she can’t help but make plans with her new toy, which will certainly accompany one of Qimir Ren’s videos. Even after she comes, she knows exactly what she’s doing when she signs off for the evening, after she’s eaten her dinner, gotten herself a glass of wine, and gets curled up in bed with her holodisk.
She puts on a different video featuring Qimir.
“That’s it, baby, you like how that feels?”
She takes the dildo and slides it down between her legs, teasing herself with the tip.
Yes.
Yes, she really, really does.