Meeting Master
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Memory Master free porn video
Memory Master
By Cal Y. Pygia
"I can remember whatever I want, whenever I want?" Amanda asked.
The salesman nodded, patting the dome of the Memory Master. "Whatever
you program." He'd already explained the procedure twice, but he'd
explain it a hundred more times if need be, to make a sale. Besides, he
knew that the lady probably had understood what he'd said the first
time. Usually, customers asked him to repeat the steps of the procedure
several times for no other reason than to convince themselves--or to
let him convince them--that it was a perfectly safe process. "You just
input the date and the time period, in hours, minutes, and seconds,
and, viola, you are there. It's the next best thing to time travel. In
fact, since time travel is fiction and the Memory Master is real, it's
better than time travel."
"Are you sure it's safe?"
"I wouldn't let my teenagers use ours if it weren't."
"Wasn't the Memory Master recalled not long ago, because--"
"There was a recall, a few years ago, more as a precaution than
anything else. Seems there was a small problem with the synchronicity
mechanism, but that's all been fixed."
"What's this synchronicity mechanism?"
He shrugged. "It prevents memory diffusion."
"Memory diffusion? What's that?"
Forgetting the present-past as you revisit the past-past or vice-
versa."
Amanda didn't like the sound of that. "I'd really like an owner's
manual," she declared.
"Sorry, but, like I told you, owner's manuals don't come with the used
models, not unless the previous owner includes it with the trade-in or
we happen to have an extra one on hand." He smiled his wide, nothing-
to-worry-about salesman's smile. "But you don't need a manual for this
baby. You could operate it in your sleep."
Amanda bit her lower lip, frowning, as she considered the offer. The
salesman had offered her an unbelievable deal--only $1,800 for the
Memory Master. Of course, it was used. She'd been a little anxious that
a used Memory Master might not operate as well as a new model would. It
probably wouldn't, the salesman had agreed, but it would certainly
operate safely and dependably. The company's engineers and mechanics
had given it a 100-point inspection before they'd allowed it to be
released for sale.
"Can you deliver it?" she asked.
"You'll have it this afternoon," the salesman assured her.
Amanda was ready when the Memory Master was delivered. She'd kept a
journal of her life, both before and after she'd taken hormones, had
breast implants, undergone the surgical reduction of her larynx,
submitted to electrolysis, and learned to think, feel, believe, and
move as a woman. Although many of her transsexual friends had opted to
"go all the way" and undergo the sex-change operation, trading their
cocks and balls for artificial vaginas, Amanda had decided she
preferred to keep her male genitals. She found the incongruity of
having a female's womanly breasts, long, smooth, tapering legs, and
round, feminine bottom and a male's penis and testicles extremely sexy.
Besides, she didn't feel like a male or a female; she felt like a third
sex, like a combination of the two, like Hermaphrodite, the bisexual
divinity in ancient Greek mythology. She was neither-nor and, at the
same time, both-and. Neither a male, a female, nor a post-operative
transsexual could claim as much; she liked being sexually unique.
However, when it came to romance, she most definitely identified with
the feminine role. As a shemale, she liked to make love as a woman and
to take love as a woman.
As a man, she'd enjoyed the role of the male. However, she hadn't
adopted that role since she'd begun her partial transformation into a
woman, three years ago. Sometimes, she missed making love to a woman.
Occasionally, she'd like to play the part of the man she had once been.
She did, in her imagination, sometimes, fantasizing that she was still
equipped with an obedient and virile penis that would rise and thicken
and stiffen with lust at the sight of a woman's naked breasts, pubes,
sex, or buttocks. However, she seldom was able to achieve an erection,
and, when she did, it tended not to last long. Although her cock and
balls were still functional, she seemed to ooze, rather than to
ejaculate, sperm, her seed welling up inside her urethra to trickle
down the flaccid shaft. She missed seeing the gushing white streamers
of her warm, thick semen, erupting as if from a volcano while her
prick, hard as a nineteen-year-old stud's, lurched and strained as if
it might explode. Now, thanks to Memory Master, she could relive those
memories whenever she liked, as often as she liked.
Actually, the machine would enable her to do far more than simply
remember such experiences. The Memory Master would virtually re-create
them, allowing her to relive them in her mind as if they were happening
again, in as much detail and vividness as they had when they'd actually
occurred. The machine enhanced the memory to such an extent that a
customer could see and hear and taste and touch and feel his or her
recollections as vibrantly and intensely as they'd been perceived when
they had actually transpired. That's why the cost of even a used Memory
Master was $1,800.
Consulting her journal, Amanda chose a date from five years ago and set
the time parameters from eight p. m. to midnight. Then, she sat in the
thick, upholstered cushions of the chair that was attached to the
Memory Master's power supply and instrument-control panel, closed her
eyes, regulated her breathing, relaxed, and pressed the activation
switch. Her last thought, before the memories came alive in her brain,
was to wonder what the salesman might have thought about her wanting to
recapture her past as a man. Would he find a shemale's desire to
experience again the gender she'd left behind--in part, at least--
amusing, pathetic, or repulsive, or fashionable and trendy? He probably
wouldn't care at all, as long as he received his commission for having
sold her the product. She smiled, and, then, she was no longer seated
in the Memory Master recliner, with electrodes attached to her head.
She was a he again.
Amanda was Adam.
His chest was flat; gone were the bouncy, perky breasts that had jutted
out before him as if they were advance scouts reconnoitering the area
ahead of the rest of him--or, of the her he'd become, as Amanda. In
addition, a thick, unsightly mat of hair covered his flat chest. His
legs were hairy, too, and the space between his nose and his upper lip,
like his chin and his jaws, was covered in gritty stubble. His hips
weren't as wide, either, and his buttocks weren't as sleek and round.
His hair didn't cascade over his shoulders, spilling to the middle of
his back, and he was wearing a sports shirt, jeans, and suede boots
instead of the skirt and blouse or dress that had, with appropriate
jewelry and other accessories, become his daily attire for--he couldn't
recall, exactly, but it seemed a good while. It didn't seem to him that
he was wearing makeup, either, and a glance at his fingernails
confirmed to him that his nails were neither long nor painted. In
addition, it seemed that his penis had enlarged considerably, as had
his testicles, and he felt more virile, strong, and self-confident than
he had in--well, in a good while. In fact, he was more than a little
horny; he was half-mad with lust. He had to find a woman, and soon.
But whom could he find who would fuck him at a moment's notice? Ah!
Becca, of course! Why hadn't he thought of her at once? Maybe, he
worried, his memory was slipping. No, he thought, dimly aware of
something else having occupied his attention just a few moments ago, it
wasn't memory loss; rather, it had been distraction; he'd been thinking
about--he couldn't recall, but, he reassured himself, it couldn't have
been all that important. All that mattered is that he had remembered
Becca, and, he was quite certain, she would welcome the opportunity of
their being intimate again. Becca had always been fond of him. Well,
tonight, she could have all she wanted of him--and maybe more than she
could handle. He grinned. He hadn't felt this good for--well, a good
while.
If his memory served, her e-exchange was 555-5588L. There was an e-
exchanger at the corner of Orion Avenue and Neptune Street. He could
contact her from there.
He'd expected Becca to welcome him without reservation; instead, the
image on the e-exchanger's monitor looked, by turns, shocked,
horrified, and angry. "What the hell is this?" she demanded when she'd
read Adam's typewritten message: "Hi, Bec; this is Adam Waters. Long
time, no see. Are you busy tonight?"
He frowned at her message and the darkness that clouded her face. His
hands moved rapidly over the e-pad's keyboard as he typed his reply:
"What do you mean, ?what the hell is this'? It's ADAM, Bec. You
remember me."
He watched the letters of her reply flash on the e-exchanger's monitor:
"Adam disappeared five years ago."
Of course! Adam told himself. He had vanished half-a-decade ago, when
he'd decided to become--no, not when he'd ?decided,' but when he'd had
to become--Amanda. He'd told no one where he was going or what he
planned to do. In becoming a transsexual, Adam had ceased to exist, as
far as anyone knew. He'd quite literally vanished. No wonder his
showing up unannounced like this, claiming to be a man who'd
disappeared five years ago, had shocked, frightened, and angered Becca.
What could he say or do to put things right? Anything?
"Please, let me explain," he typed.
"How did you get my e-exchange?" she demanded. "Who are you? What do
you want from me? Are you stalking me?"
He tried to answer her questions, but they came too thick and fast, so
he just sat, numb and silent, reading her messages. Her last communiqu?
was, "I'm notifying the regulators!"
Frightened at the thought that the regulators might be able to trace
his location through the e-exchanger, Adam signed off. He looked at the
chronometer that pulsed in an alcove above a local teleport. It was
just after nine o'clock. He frowned. For some odd reason, he had the
strongest intuition that something significant was going to happen to
him at midnight, but he had no idea what it might be or why.
The transition period between the temporary, but complete, loss of his
old identity as Amanda and the adoption of the self (Adam) that he'd
been at the time and date that Amanda had input into the Memory Master
had just ended. The synchronicity mechanism in his Memory Master had
failed for the very good reason (unknown to Amanda-Adam, of course),
that its previous owner had not taken it to the dealer to be repaired
when the machine had been recalled for this very reason.
He was not cut entirely off from his past as a transsexual--not yet,
anyway; however, his sense of himself as a man and his lustful craving
to have sex with a woman as soon as possible remained. He glanced at
his crotch. His penis was a foot long, thick as a regulator's stun-
stick, and throbbed painfully. His balls ached, too. He had to get
laid, and soon!
Becca had cut him off, threatening to call the regulators on him, but
there were plenty of other women he could fuck, right? He asked
himself. Wrong! He answered. Becca had been pretty much the only chance
he'd had of getting laid, and he'd scared her half to death, calling
her out of the blue after five years of being missing. Why had he
allowed himself to lose contact with a beautiful babe like her, anyway?
What the hell had he been up to for the last half-decade?
He had a moment of intense panic when he realized that he hadn't a clue
what had transpired during the past five years of his life. He felt
terrified as he realized that he had developed amnesia, but a very
specific sort of amnesia. It covered only the five years previous to
this evening. He could remember well the details of his life prior to
five years ago, and he could remember everything that had happened
since an hour ago, but the intervening five years between those time
periods were a complete blank to him; they might as well never have
occurred. Suddenly, getting a piece of ass seemed the least of his
worries.
Think! Think! Adam told himself. There had to be someone besides Becca
to whom he could turn for information concerning what he'd done and
where he'd been for the past five years. There had to be someone--but
whom? A face flashed before his mind--a Valentine's heart-shaped face--
with wide, blue eyes, freckles in an arch across the bridge of the pert
nose, red hair, a small, pink bow of a mouth, and a friendly smile--
Britney! Britney Sullivan! He remembered her now. She'd had a crush on
him--hadn't she? He had no idea why, but he seemed to be having a hell
of a time remembering even the simplest things. If anyone could tell
him what he'd been up to for the past five years, it would be she, he
reckoned. Now, what was her e-exchange? 555-1231M? Or was it 555-1321P?
Maybe it was 2311T? He'd try the e-exchanger's numerologist; if the
numerologist couldn't help him, he'd just have to try all the
exchanges, he supposed. He typed in the first exchange, and a
Valentine's heart-shaped face, wide, blue eyes, freckles in an arch
across the bridge of the pert nose, red hair, a small, pink bow of a
mouth, and a friendly smile--"Britney!" he cried. "Don't disconnect!
It's Adam! Adam Tremont!"
She didn't disconnect. She traded e-messages back and forth with her
contactee for over an hour. It was after 10:00 p. m. when she'd finally
agreed to let him visit her at her condo-unit.
Making use of the nearest teleportation booth, Adam teleported himself
to her address, arriving within three-tenths of a millisecond, cursing
the heavy traffic, and rang her portal alert. He expected a hug and a
kiss when she opened the portal; he got a hard slap across the face
instead.
"Ow!" he cried, rubbing his smarting cheek. "What was that for?"
"You don't know?" she retorted, shaking her head in a mixture of pity
and anger. "You disappear for five years, after leaving me jilted at
the altar, and then come back, claiming to have amnesia--"
"Jilting you?"
"We were going to be married, as you well know."
"I don't well know; I don't know at all. I don't remember anything
about the last five years. That's why I came to you, so you could help
me remember."
She looked at him closely. The anger in her eyes softened to sorrow.
"You really don't remember, do you?"
"No."
"Come in. We have a lot of catching up to do."
It was 11:15 by her living room chronometer when she'd finished
refreshing his memory. Unfortunately, she hadn't succeeded. He still
remembered nothing about the mysterious, lost five years. Her
recapitulating what he'd done during that time period seemed more like
a story than reminiscence. He stared at her potted flora, looking
exactly as he felt--dazed and confused. "I wanted to become a woman?"
he repeated incredulously.
She nodded. "You had a hard time telling even me, but you finally did--
after we'd dated for three years."
"I'm sorry."
"You should be!"
"I am."
She shook her head. "I can't stay angry with an amnesiac, but I wish
you'd had the courtesy to tell me you wanted to become a woman before
you proposed to me."
"I guess I was confused."
She chuckled. "That's the understatement of the century."
"I can't believe I wanted to be a woman."
"Well, you did. The medics said you had gender dysphoria, which, simply
put, means that you thought of yourself as a woman trapped in a man's
body. They recommended sex-change surgery, provided that you wanted to
go through with it after you'd been on hormone therapy and lived as a
woman for a year."
Adam gawked at her. "You're kidding!"
She frowned. "Does it look as though I'm kidding?"
"Well, I want to be a man now."
"Now that it's too late."
"It's not too late, Britney," he said. He looked into her eyes, and she
looked back. "Is it?"
He saw the longing in her gaze. It was obvious to him that she loved
him. She'd always loved him, even after he'd jilted her to become a
woman instead of being her groom. She'd waited for him all these years,
hoping against hope that somehow, by some miracle, he might come back
to her.
"No," she agreed, a tear coursing down her cheek.
He kissed her. She kissed him back.
Neither of them remembered leaving the living room and entering the
bedchamber. Neither recalled climbing into her elliptical bed-cushion.
Neither recollected disrobing. They cared to know only one another.
They wanted only to kiss and caress and hug and hold. Eventually, their
bodies adopted positions remembered more through habit and reflex than
conscious thought, and Britney positioned herself upon her elbows and
her knees, with her legs spread and her buttocks high. Adam knelt
behind her. He guided the shaft of his gargantuan penis into the
cleavage of her buttocks. Pressing forward with his hips, he shoved his
cock past the sleek, soft walls of her buttocks, through the tiny,
tight opening of her anus, and into her rectum, filling her with his
massive, rigid organ.
Britney moaned as her sphincter fluttered around his cock. He paused,
thrilled by the clutching, squeezing sensations that gripped his prick.
When her anal spasms subsided, he withdrew his monstrous penis until
only the glans remained within her asshole. She moaned again as she
felt the thick, hard shaft retreat, drawing against the tissues of her
rectum and sliding backward through her anus. He plunged forward, his
member thrusting deep into her bowels. The sensation of the smooth,
tight ring of her anus gripping his cock as it slid into the warm-
smooth-softness of her rectum excited Adam. It had been a long while
since he'd fucked a woman in the ass, and he was enjoying it immensely.
He couldn't understand why in the world any man would want to be a
woman, not when it meant he'd have to forego the pleasures of butt-
fucking a beautiful woman like Britney. He rammed his cock back and
forth within the tight sphincter, thrusting harder and faster. Her ass
cheeks jiggled and bounced with every thrust, her buttocks flattening
before each advance and springing back into their glorious fullness
each tine that he momentarily withdrew, his balls striking her perineum
and his pubes grinding hard against her derriere.
She was whimpering, as she often had when he'd fucked her this way,
hard and fast and as impersonally as if she were nothing but a fleshly
machine built for his delight. It hurt her for him to pound her so
mercilessly, but he couldn't help doing so. He was no longer in control
of himself; lust had claimed him, and it drove him now. All he cared
about was the feel of her tight, snug anus around his cock and the
soft-but-firm cushions of her ass cheeks bouncing before his plunging
lunges.
They were going to be married, he thought, smiling. Her ass would be
available to him any time he wanted to fuck it, and he planned to make
frequent use of her rectum, anus, and buttocks, just as he had in the
past, before he'd--well, before he'd disappeared.
Despite her discomfort, Britney shoved her ass back to meet his
thrusts, so that she could take his cock as deeply into her depths as
possible. She grunted. She groaned. She whimpered, but she was giving
as good as she got, wanting to please her fianc?. "Uhh!" she would
moan, slamming her ass into his crotch. "Uhh!" she would moan as he
withdrew his thick, hard prick, drawing it backward, past the walls of
her rectum and through her impaled anus.
Passion welled in his loins, flooding him, and he seemed to lose all
his strength at once, collapsing atop his bride-to-be. His eye caught
the numbers displayed on her chronometer. It was 11:59:57. Again, the
thought flashed in his mind that something was going to happen at
midnight, something not only significant but also life-changing. Then,
all thought vanished as the building orgasm swept over him, and his
straining, lurching cock spurted semen onto his belly.
He frowned, as, looking down the length of his body as he reclined in
the Memory Master's chair, he saw the pert, firm breasts, the sleek,
concave tummy, the trim patch of pubic hair, the diminutive penis that
had not spurted his copious life-fluid inside the firm-soft buttocks of
Britney but had, rather, oozed the fluid onto his groin, where, already
it was cool and sticky instead of warm and thick. Adam--why had she
thought of Adam? She hadn't been Adam for years. She was Amanda.
Already, the memory of her as a man, fucking a woman deep and hard in
her round, bouncing ass, was fading. She frowned at the semen that had
drooled from her flaccid penis. She'd made a quite a mess of herself.
She rose, to shower, and she inadvertently jiggled a control on the
machine's instrument console.
"Happy memories!" the Memory Master's recorded voice cried.
Mara
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