Date: Mon, 19 Oct 2015 11:03:26 +0000 (UTC)
From: z119z 2000 <z119z2000@yahoo.com>
Subject: GIF

GIF

z119z (z119z2000@yahoo.com)

Copyright by the author 2015

"Wow, where did you find this?"

"I created it."

"It's so lifelike. I've never seen a statue move like that."

"It's not a statue. It's a real human being. I've just programmed him to do
that."

"Programmed?"

"Yes."  *****

When Jeremy had expressed polite interest in a painting hanging in the
foyer, the man had invited him to view the rest of his art collection. "At
least what I have in the house at the moment. Several pieces are on loan to
museums. And then I keep another hundred pieces or so in storage—some
because they're too fragile to display, others because I simply don't have
enough room for all of them. I wish I could display them all. I'm a very
visual person, and I like to look at my possessions." The man's art
collection didn't really interest Jeremy. What interested him was that the
collection was so large that the man's huge mansion couldn't hold all of
it. An art collection this large meant money.

He had hit the jackpot this time. The man had booked his services online
using the link on Jeremy's website. Lots of people tried to do that. The
videos that featured Jeremy thrusting his generous endowment into various
orifices of his fellow actors and the ecstatic looks on their faces as well
as the explicit photos he had posted on his website had made him a star in
the gay entertainment world. Jeremy intended to parlay that prominence into
a permanent gig. He wanted to retire long before his physical charms began
to fade. Marriage with a rich old man would set him up for the rest of his
life. He foresaw no problems seducing a person who met his financial and
age requirements and arranging for a marriage that provided a nice
car—no, make that a great car—a generous monthly allowance, and life
in a mansion staffed with servants to cater to his whims. Sex with someone
rich enough to supply those was a small price to pay, no matter what the
guy looked like. And he would see to it that the sex was spectacular. So
spectacular that the new groom would happily bequeath his entire estate to
Jeremy.

That's why he had the website. It allowed him to check on the men who tried
to hire him. The geek who had set up the website (Jeremy paid him by
re-enacting a sex scene of the guy's choice from one of Jeremy's videos
with the nerd cast as the bottom) supplied him with the address and
financial data on everyone who filled out the online contact form. All that
cost Jeremy was an occasional fuck. So much information was available
online. With the address it was no problem to find pictures of the person's
house. Jeremy had already limited his search to a few select zip codes. He
had no intention of leaving southern California—maybe for the occasional
trip to Europe or Tahiti but certainly not permanently. It didn't take any
brains to look at a house and figure out whether it would meet his needs,
but the financial data were harder for him to interpret. Another bottom
paid in fucks who understood such matters helped Jeremy decipher the
figures.

His criteria were simple. The target had to live in a certain area, he had
to be worth over $250 million, he had to be single with no children, and he
had to be over 65 (Jeremy wasn't willing to wait forever for his
inheritance).  Ross Kirkman easily met all those standards. His
6,000-square-foot house sat on 10 acres of meticulously groomed lawns in
Holmby Hills. A high wall backed by thick groves of trees and shrubs
insured privacy. The pool was perhaps not as large as Jeremy wished, but
that minor detail could be fixed later. According to Kirkman's biography on
Wikipedia, he had been a professor of chemistry at UCLA. He had quit at age
38 to found Kirkman Pharmaceuticals and then developed Vyroxinile and
several other major drugs. Jeremy personally did not need Vyroxinile, but
enough men did to ensure that Kirkman became very rich. Kirkman remained
the CEO of Kirkman Pharmaceuticals. His estimated wealth was well over
Jeremy's minimum requirement. Kirkman had never married and was an only
child. There were no relatives close enough to contest an inheritance to a
spouse of several years' standing. Jeremy thought he could survive ten
years of marriage to someone like Kirkman. If Kirkman didn't cooperate by
shuffling off on his own soon after that, there were other means of
ensuring his departure. Death by vigorous fucking three or four times a day
should do the trick.

The tour of Kirkman's art collection took almost an hour.  Jeremy took
careful note of all the treasures. He knew some of the names Kirkman
mentioned. Picasso, Monet, Rembrandt (that one was just a small drawing,
but surely a Rembrandt drawing would fetch a good price when he sold it
after Kirkman's death), van Gogh.  There were others he didn't recognize,
but they looked expensive and Kirkman clearly expected him to be impressed
by the names. The house would also be worth millions, Jeremy thought. It
sat on the crest of a hill, and the view from the upper stories alone would
add several millions to the selling price.  He had lost count of the
numbers of rooms they had been in, but there had to be at least ten
bedrooms, each of them larger than his entire apartment.

Jeremy was lost in a daydream fueled by his forthcoming wealth when Kirkman
stopped before a pair of closed doors and said, "I keep my favorite piece
in here." Kirkman ceremoniously opened both doors simultaneously and
motioned Jeremy to follow him in.

The other rooms in the house were filled with objects. Paintings hung from
every open space on the walls. Every table top was cluttered with
objects. Statues and enormous Chinese vases occupied the corners. After all
that wealth of art, Jeremy's initial impression of the room was that it was
practically empty. A small couch upholstered in a shiny white fabric faced
a curtained-off area. In front of the couch was a coffee table made of
stainless steel and plate glass on which sat a bottle of champagne in a
silver ice bucket and two champagne flutes. Those were the only visible
objects in the room. The windowless walls were painted white. The floor was
highly polished dark wood. Ebony, Jeremy guessed.

"I intentionally kept the best for last," Kirkman said. "Sit
down. Champagne?"

He didn't wait for Jeremy to reply. He opened the bottle and then poured
Jeremy a glass before serving himself and sitting down beside Jeremy. He
briefly tipped his glass toward Jeremy in salute and took a tiny sip. He
set the glass down on the coffee table and picked up a remote.

Using the device, Kirkman turned off all the lights except a spotlight
focused on the curtain. "A bit dramatic, I know. But there shouldn't be any
distractions. That's why I keep this room almost bare. I don't want to have
anything else competing for my attention." He lifted his champagne glass
again, and said, "Drink up. It will put you in the proper frame of mind."

Jeremy took a large swallow of the champagne. It was very good
champagne. He had never had this particular kind before but he knew that it
cost a lot. Far more than he could afford—at least for now. In truth he
didn't care for champagne, and this tasted a little bitter, but the price
more than made up for that. He resolved to drink only this kind of
champagne in the future. Nothing else would do for Kirkman's husband.  When
he sat his glass down, Kirkman refilled it.

"Now, I think you are ready."

The curtain rose silently into the ceiling. The statue stood on a low
platform in an alcove. It was lifelike down to the last detail. The flesh
looked like human flesh, and the hair on the statue's head and the neat
patch of trimmed pubic hair looked like human hair. The statue depicted a
well-tanned young man (no tan lines, Jeremy noted), with an athletic build,
not unlike his own.

Kirkman pointed the remote at the statue and pressed a button. Jeremy
gasped. The statue, the machine, whatever it was, began to move. Its right
hand grasped its cock and began stroking. The cock quickly grew to an
impressive size, almost as large as his own. Beneath the surface of the
skin, the muscles rippled smoothly and realistically.

"Wow, where did you find this?" Jeremy dropped all pretense of
sophistication and because what he was—a farm kid two years away from
his high school graduation in Manteca.

"I created it."

"It's so lifelike. I've never seen a statue move like that."

"It's not a statue. It's a real human being. I've just programmed it to do
that."

"Programmed?"

"Yes. I was inspired by GIFs. I was looking at porn online one day, and
there was one of those GIFs in which a handsome young man endlessly repeats
the same action. And I thought, why not create a three-dimensional object
that endlessly repeats the same action? Paul will continue to stroke
himself like that until I tell him to stop. I seldom keep him at it for
more than a half hour, however. I don't want to wear him out. So I don't
really know how long he can keep it up. Hours, I should imagine. He's also
been programmed to perform other actions, but this is my favorite. He has
such a beautiful cock, don't you think? It's almost hypnotic to watch him
stroking himself. I can't get enough of watching him."

"But he's a human being?"

"Yes. So, of course, I can't keep him on permanent display up here. He
needs to eat, sleep. And he has his duties about the place. He takes care
of the yard and the pool, and he has daily exercise routines. I don't want
his body to deteriorate. More champagne?"

Jeremy glanced down at the glass in his hand. Without realizing it, he had
emptied the glass. He held it out to Kirkman to refill. The bitter taste he
had noticed earlier had disappeared. He must have gotten used to it. He
didn't know what to think of this Paul guy. When he moved in, he would have
to do something about Paul. He didn't want any competition for Kirkman's
attention. But it was weird. The statue, the whatever it was, was
mesmerizing. He couldn't take his eyes off Paul's hand stroking his
cock. He had to admit that Paul was almost as good-looking as himself. But
the idea was repulsive too. A man under control like that. Paul's eyes
looked so lifeless. Now that he was moving, his eyes were the most lifeless
part of him. It was like he was unconscious of what was happening.

"Does he know what he's doing?"

"I don't think so. The drug overrules higher brain functions, things like
consciousness, the sense of self, the will."

"What drug?"

"I'm head of a pharmaceutical company. We're developing a drug for the
military. It has several potential uses."

"Is it legal?"

Kirkman shrugged. "Paul isn't suffering."

"But won't he cum if he keeps doing that?"

"Not unless I key in that program."

"Does he remember what he does?"

"He may. If he does, he hasn't said so."

"Aren't you curious what he's feeling?"

"Not really. The drug makes him anxious to please. Since he is pleasing me,
I imagine he feels pleasure at that thought. But even if he doesn't, it
wouldn't matter. He performs as programmed."

Kirkman's mad, thought Jeremy. He decided against letting his feelings
show. Perhaps Kirkman wasn't a good choice for marriage after all. Who knew
what he would do if crossed? Best to pretend to be interested and then
leave as soon as possible. "You said he does other things. What?"

"Well, that is the problem. He can do all the things one man can do by
himself. At first that was enough to amuse me. But lately I've wanted
more. I want him to interact with a second man."

"A second man?"

"Yes. I've already selected the man and administered the initial dose of
the drug. I'll begin his programming shortly." Kirkman pressed several
buttons. On the platform, Paul ceased to move. His hand dropped to his
side, and his cock grew flaccid. The curtain descended and the room
brightened as the lights came on.

"I think that's enough of a demonstration. Here, drink the rest of your
champagne."

Jeremy's hand lifted the glass to his mouth. He emptied the glass in
several swallows. He noticed that Kirkman had barely touched his glass. It
was still full.

Kirkman took the glass from Jeremy's hand and set it on the table. "I think
that's enough of the drug for us to get started. I have a lab in the
basement. We'll go down there and start your programming. Your movies have
given me lots of ideas. They're very inspiring."


(Comments are appreciated. Please send them to
z119z2000@yahoo.com. Thanks.)