FamtasyWorld Pt. 01

tagIncest/TabooFamtasyWorld Pt. 01

FamtasyWorld 01
This is the first of a series of stories of a potential future—or, is it the current present?
This story contains taboo fantasies, imagery and topics in a frank and graphic manner. While the imagery is of incestuous fantasy, the story contains no actual incestuous acts. However, if this type of content offends you, this story is probably not for you.
All characters, real and imaginary, are above the age of 18.
"How was your vacation, Mike?"
Monday, the day Mike returned from his vacation. He'd been gone a week, and Carl had been curious the whole time why his co-worker had been so mysterious about his plans. Luckily, they ran into each other at the coffee machine in the break room at 9:30.
"Best vacation ever, dude." Carl saw it in his coworker's eyes. Excitement, maybe something more. Mike actually looked giddy. He leaned in like he was sharing a secret. "Look, I can't really tell you about it here. If you're free after work, let's grab a beer. You won't believe it. Seriously."
"Sounds good. TGIFriday's at 5 after 5?" The watering hole was directly across the street from our office building. Everyone met there for drinks.
"No. Too many people we know." He suggested a bar a few blocks down the street. Carl could hardly wait. This has got to be good.
He waited for the waitress to bring their beers before beginning the story. Carl soon understood why. "Have you heard of FantasyWorld?"
"Sure," Carl answered. Their ads were all over the TV. When it opened about a year before, it caused all manner of outrage. A virtual park designed to cater to the vacationer's wildest dreams. Want to be a Columbian drug lord in Miami? No problem. Miss out on the 1960s and want to experience sex, drugs and rock & roll? Return to your freshman year of high school knowing what you know now? The park had robots the guests were free to shoot, fight, screw—whatever sick fantasy your mind can come up with.
Critics crawled out of the woodwork. Anti-violence advocates claimed it would breed serial killers. Women's groups argued it objectified women, not to mention the virtual adultery of husbands screwing beautiful robots. Real women could not compete with robots sculpted in a studio to beautiful as a work of art. Of course, the usual religious groups said it was created by Satan to destroy society.
"They're all right," Mike said. "But, it's even better than that."
"Did you fuck a robot?"
Mike shook his head and leaned over the table. "I fucked so many robots, I lost count."
Carl whistled. "What's it like to fuck a robot?"
"It's like screwing a woman, maybe even better. Here's the thing—it's exactly what you want. I've screwed hookers before, and they'll do whatever you want, to a point, but it's nothing like this. Whatever you want."
Carl leaned forward, too. They were practically whispering over the steady Reggae music in the bar. "What do you mean, whatever you want?"
"The girls are exactly what you want, and they are programmed to give you whatever you desire. Black girls, White Girls, Japanese girls. Fat, skinny, big tits, bigger titties. One guy there was into older women. I mean 60, 70 years old. He was banging them like crazy! There's basically 2 rules, but anything else goes."
"What rules?"
"You can set up any scenario you want, and the girls play the roles perfectly. Hard-to-get, sluts, your teacher, your neighbor. They never break role because they ARE that person. It's programmed into them."
Still not understanding the 2 rules, he asked, "What does that have to do with those 2 rules?"
Mike looked over both shoulders. "These girls are hot. I guess if you want an ugly-ass girl, they have some of those, too. The thing is, they all say they are over 18. They refuse to make kid robots."
"That makes sense."
"Yeah, who wants to spend their vacation surrounded by perverts, right?"
"What's the second rule?"
"You can't kill them if you screw them. You can stab a robot dude in a bar fight, if that sort of thing gets you off. But if you screw that guy, you can't stab him." Mike struck his palm on the table loud enough for several people to turn their heads, so Mike leaned in again. "Everything else is copacetic. Everything! I'm not sure which is worse, hanging out at the restaurants there with child molesters or serial killers, but you don't need to worry about either."
"That's a relief."
"You choose your package. They have so many levels. It costs extra for multiple women, but let me tell you, it is worth every penny. I paid for the unlimited women option. I'll be eating mac & cheese for 6 months, but seriously, I could have been screwing a different woman every hour. Or, you can choose one girl; I suppose there are some losers out there who want to feel loved and that shit, but if you're going to live a fantasy for a week, why not go all out? I can take a woman to Sandals for half the price they charge if all I want to do is lay on the beach and screw one woman all week."
Carl lifted his beer for a swig. He missed what Mike was saying. His mind was deep in his own thoughts.
FantasyWorld has the hottest saleswomen Carl had ever seen, and from his look around the sales office, underwear must be forbidden by their dress code. An amazing redhead with nipples poking through the button up silk blouse she stopped buttoning halfway up, who led him to a small office and closed the door behind him. Carl wondered if she was real or was she a robot?
"What do you want in a vacation, Carl?"
He felt his face burning. How do you explain what type of women you want to have sex with to another woman? It might have been easier if she was not so gorgeous herself. "It's hard for me to talk about this with someone. Can't I just pick from a website or something?"
"Now Carl, how are we going to fulfill your every desire from a website? We need to discuss it with you face to face. The more we can learn from you, the better we can meet your expectations. Our goal is to exceed your expectations, not just meet them. Can we do that on a web app?"
"Probably not."
"Don't worry—we've heard it all. We don't judge. Gender, race, age, personality, fetishes—whatever you want, FantasyWorld can give you."
"Well, I want a woman, naturally…"
"I could tell," the redhead said.
"A very specific type."
"Only one woman? You can always upgrade while you are there."
"No, I only want one."
"Would you like to choose today? No pressure, of course, but we can get her all set up for you today."
"How many are there to choose from?"
She turned a touch-screen monitor toward him. There must have been 50 small thumbnails on the screen. "Why don't you spend a few minutes scrolling through. Click on the ones that catch your eye to enlarge the photo and get their details: height, weight, eye color, breast size. Since you are selective about your match, you can utilize the filters on the left."
The selection shocked him. Every photo on the screen was a woman more beautiful than he had ever seen. Maybe ten women he had met during his lifetime would have made this selection.
"Here, let me show you." The redhead leaned across the table, and for a moment her cleavage distracted him. Her C-cups dangled in nearly full view, and he could see all the way down to her belly-button between the swinging orbs. "Tell me about your ideal companion. White or…"
"White," Carl said. Pressing a button, and all the non-White images disappeared, replaced by more white robots. He had the hang of it and could have gone on from then, but he was enjoying the view and decided to keep looking down her shirt for as long as possible. A bird in the hand is worth 4-dozen on a computer monitor any day. "Blonde, very petite, with blue eyes. Five foot two."
The redhead hit the buttons, and in seconds, the screen filled with petite blondes with blue eyes. "How many women…robots do you have?"
"Thousands. One for every taste. Maybe ten for every taste. She stood and smiled when she saw him ogling her tits. "Can I show you more, or would you like to browse yourself?"
Carl browsed on his own, amazed that he could select breast and butt size, weight; specify dirty blonde, plantinum blonde, strawberry blonde, short, long; dark blue or aquamarine eyes, whatever he desired. He selected dirty blonde, wavy, the correct shade of blue, B-cups, 110-115 pounds. 6 photos remained. Under normal circumstances, any one of the 6 would do, but these were not ordinary circumstances. Two were close—damn close. He enlarged their photos.
"You can program exact personalities and scenarios. You can choose who is the pursuer and who is pursued, for example."
One other detail was needed to complete the illusion. "What about the voice?"
"Any of our companions can have any voice you choose: French accent, soft, loud, Marilyn Monroe."
"Southern accent. An alto."
A few minutes later, the redhead charged his credit card $14,000. $2000 per day, more than he'd ever spent on a vacation. This better damn well be worth it.
Carl had never flown a chartered jet before. The 737 touched down on a private landing strip. Passengers left in two groups. The larger group had no scenario beginning at the terminal, so they deplaned first. It shocked him how many women were among the guests, and a few couples. This place was going to be freakier than he imagined.
Well, maybe.
Ten remained to leave with Carl. Maybe they were meeting a long-lost lover or were a celebrity about to be mobbed by horny fans at the gate. One wore combat fatigues, despite being in his sixties and in no shape to be in the military. The remaining group deplaned a few minutes after the first.
Carl recognized her from 50 feet away. She looked perfect. Better yet, soon as she saw him from only a few steps closer, she broke into a wide grin and began waving wildly. Jumping in excitement, her boobs bounced alluringly under a Go-Gos tee-shirt. His sister had a shirt exactly like that back when they were teenagers.
The girl ran to meet him, throwing her arms around him and pressing her cheek to his neck. Her skin felt warm, like any other woman's. Her breasts smashed against his chest. A voice almost familiar said, "I am so glad to see you! I never thought I would miss my big brother so much!"
The house closely resembled the one he and his sister, Becca, grew up in. He could have ordered an exact replica in one of the costlier packages, but he didn't come for the house. Besides, the house they grew up in was not on the beach with a rear deck on the water offering a spectacular ocean view a few steps from the kitchen.
And what a view it is! Carl opened the sliding glass door and stepped onto the patio to soak it in. A 180-degree view of lazily rolling waves, white sand, scattered palm trees and beautiful blue sky with almost nobody else in sight. The beauty made him realize they were at a vacation resort, in addition to the real reason he came.
Becca stood in the sea breeze beside him. "Mom and Pop are gone for the whole week, so we've got the place all to ourselves!"
He turned to look her up and down, head to toe, enjoying that view more than the beautiful setting of this house. The resemblance was startling. Her hair was an exact match, her slender body just as he remembered it, the same cute round ass over long doe-like legs. Wind off the water pressed her shirt against her body, allowing him to make out breasts underneath the way he remembered them, tiny, firm and perky. Only her face was slightly different, but close enough anyone would think she must be his sister's sister. In a way, that was pretty hot, too. Their noses were a little different, her accent slightly off, but if the light was low, even he might not be able to tell the difference
"I'm going to need a favor from my big brother," she said, staring at some invisible spot far out on the ocean.
"Sure. Name it." If she asked him to rob a gun store using only his finger in a pocket in place of a gun, he would do it to put her in his debt so soon on his first day here.
"Since I am only 18, can you go to the liquor store for me?" She turned to him. "I mean, we are going to party with this place to ourselves, right?"
"Oh, yeah! We will party all week."
"That's what I want to hear. It's weird—everyone else is gone the same week as our parents. Everyone I know took vacation this week. That's why I am soooo glad you are here. Otherwise, I'd be stuck here all by myself with only what they left in the liquor cabinet, and they probably have the bottles marked so they will be able to tell exactly how much I drank while they're gone."
Exactly the way his sister's mind worked back then! "Where is the nearest liquor store?"
"There's a new one about a block away. Opened a week ago. I don't have much money to pay, but I do have some pot I can share with you. To repay you."
Carl had other ideas how she could repay him. "What are we waiting for? Let's go!"
In his closet hung several shirts straight out of a time machine. Pastel pink and blue tee-shirts, a Kelly green Izod, in the drawer an island-print bathing suit. All in his current size, of course, two sizes larger than he wore back then. He pulled on the bathing suit and grabbed a beer from the fridge. MTV videos played from the square TV, but Becca was nowhere to be found. He smiled at the realization he already thought of her as Becca. This felt like a vivid memory, every detail perfect for the late 80s. If she is 18 and he is 21, then this is 1987. The only difference being he never spent a weekend at the beach or at their home alone with a case of beer, three 2-liter bottles of white Zinfandel, a bottle of Tequila, his sister and a large jar of testosterone supplement.
Billy Idol's White Wedding played on MTV. Carl found himself singing along.
Hey, little sister, what have you done?
Hey, little sister, who's your only one?
It's a nice day for a little beach action. Now, where is little sister?
Through the glass door, he saw a colorful beach towel hanging from a lounge chair, the back raised and pointing out toward the ocean.
Hey, little sister, shotgun!
He downed the rest of his beer, grabbed another and a towel and went to join Becca for a little sunbathing on the porch.
"Hey, I didn't know if you need anything, so I…" He stopped dead in his tracks. Jaw gaping, his unopened can slipped from his fingers, bouncing on the wooden decking.
"The hell? What's your problem?" Becca stared at the Budweiser can rolling under her chair.
"Sorry, I just…I didn't expect…"
Shutting her eyes and leaning her head back on the angled chair, she said, "Haven't you ever seen a girl sunbathing topless before?"
Not in a long while. Then, it wasn't his sister. Her tiny titties were perfect, beautiful round nipples of bright pink topped with the small points of a woman still in her late teens. Her body had a deep tan except for her breasts, a pale, virginal white in the outline of a strapless bikini top which was nowhere to be seen.
"I haven't seen you topless before," he said, regaining his composure and sitting in the chair next to hers trying to play it cool, but finding it impossible to avert his eyes.
"Oh, please! It's not like there is anything to see," she said. Before he could say anything, she opened her eyes again. "I think your beer rolled under my chair."
There is something amazing about small breasts when a woman bends over. The V they form, nipple pointing, too firm to sway yet jiggling with every move. Becca leaned toward him, reaching under, groping blindly. Her fingers missed it by inches, moving away, sweeping past it the other way without quite touching the can that rolled to about the midpoint of her chair. Carl had no intention of helping guide her. If he had nothing more than this view for the rest of his week, this would go down as his most memorable vacation ever.
Her fingers finally found cold aluminum, eyes the color of the sky turned up to meet his, and a smile lit her face. "Thought I'd never find it."
"Thanks," he said taking the can from her.
"You'll probably need a new one; that one is shaken up pretty good."
"Naw, this'll do." For some reason, he stuck his Swiss Army knife in his pocket, probably in case he needed to open a bottle. He opened the blade and drilled a tiny circle in the side, covering it until he got it to his lips and popped the top. Foam sprayed everywhere, but most of the beer shot down his throat.
Hey, little sister, shotgun!
"That is a great idea!" Becca jumped up and jogged across the porch and into the house. Tiny tits bounce so beautifully! She returned with 2 cold cans she vigorously shook as she returned. Her boobs jiggled like jello in a 9.0 earthquake. Make it a 10. The stirring in his bathing suit when he first saw her tits lifted his cock upward. "I need your knife."
After drilling her hole, Becca covered it with her thumb and handed it back for him to poke a hole. Soon as his beer spurted foam, she quickly counted, "1, 2, 3!" They popped tops simultaneously, downing their beers while spraying a burst of foam everywhere. Tiny bubbles glistened on Becca's tiny titties, and a lucky trickle slowly ran down the bottom slope from her right nipple. He swelled into a raging hard-on in 2 seconds flat.
She giggled, still choking on the foam, keeping the wonderful jiggling going. "That was fun!"
Maybe an understatement. He stared at her chest. "I like your tits."
The giggling and jiggling stopped. "What?"
"I like your tits." He said it matter-of-factly, because it was true.
"Are you hard?" She stared at the tent he pitched in his swim trunks.
"Looks that way."
Becca grabbed a tee-shirt from underneath her and held it across her breasts, scrambling to her feet. "Jesus! What is wrong with you?"
Stunned, he asked, "What's the matter?"
"What's the matter with you? Jesus!" She stormed off, slamming the door to her bedroom, leaving Carl wondering what the fuck happened.
During orientation, they told him to dial 911 to reach customer service any time, day or night. "There is something wrong with my sister, I mean, my companion," he told the operator who answered.
He called from a payphone outside the liquor store two blocks away. Becca had not come out of her room since storming in there, but he didn't want her to overhear. He explained what happened. "Now, she is so pissed at me, and I don't know how to turn her off! It's totally fucked up!"
"I'm sorry to hear that, sir. Our companions are designed to be as close to the real person as possible, based upon your input. Failure of a companion to respond in appropriate ways is the easiest way to lose the sense of believable reality our guests desire."
"I get it, but I paid good money for a week of fantasy. If I wanted my sister to reject me for hitting on her, I could have just gone to visit my real sister and hit on her!"
"If you wish your companion to be more compliant or more aggressive, we can make the necessary adjustments. That is no problem at all. We guarantee a satisfying, fulfilling stay. Your companion can be virginal or she can be as slutty as you wish. Most of our guests prefer something close to reality, making them work for it, to find a way to solve the puzzle. Others, however, enjoy being pursued. It is up to you."
The bewildering questions they asked him when planning the vacation came back to him. He recalled asking that she be flirty and receptive, but the thought of her acting like a full-on slut attacking him did not appeal to him. Well, maybe a little.
"If I want to make any…adjustments—how does that work? How long will it take?"
"It is a minimal inconvenience to you. It usually takes a half-hour. We can accommodate requested changes as often as you desire. Every day, if you wish."

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