Call GirlsChapter 8
- 1 year ago
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Prototype free porn video
“Johnny’s a very bright kid.”
“Thank you,” Deborah said. She made a minor show flipping a coffee-colored curl. “Although, he’s not really a kid anymore.”
“Indeed,” Mr. Williams said, sneaking a smile beneath his croissant mustache. Nothing completed the pudgy man’s look better than his clownish yellow tie. “Did he tell you what this is about?”
“Actually, he was a bit ... unclear. Is his work suffering?”
“Quite the opposite,” Mr. Williams said, sweeping out meaty arms. Deborah followed his motions to see projects in various states of completion on cheap metal tables. “I wish I had a classfull of Johnnies.”
“He’d give some of my engineers a run for their money,” Deborah said. “Well, if it’s not his classwork, what is it?”
“Johnny didn’t tell you?”
“I... “ Deborah said. She furrowed her brow and struggled to recollect. “No, I don’t think so ... Sorry, I said Johnny was unclear, but the truth is that I forget what he told me. Strange.”
“He showed you his new project, then?”
“You mean, the helmet?”
“Yes!” Mr. Williams said, and Deborah sensed he had taken several logic leaps without her. Before Deborah could ask for clarification, though, Mr. Williams said, “What did you think?”
“I think it’s a ... noble goal,” Deborah said. She smoothed down her strapless magenta minidress and caught a pinch of static electricity. “But it wasn’t working when he tried to demonstrate it.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I put it on, and Johnny powered it up, but there were no readings,” Deborah said. With a nervous laugh, she added, “And it didn’t teach me French, so...”
“Right...” Mr. Williams seemed to be fumbling before a flash of inspiration crossed his lined face. “That’s why he wanted us to meet, actually: he wants me to show you his new prototype.”
“He doesn’t want to show me himself?”
“I think he’s nervous,” Mr. Williams said. “And probably a little embarrassed about the first time, if I had to guess.”
“Well, inventing is iterating.”
“You would know,” Mr. Williams said. “Here, let me show you the latest iteration.”
“O-kay,” Deborah said, click-clacking her midnight platforms behind Mr. Williams. A visor connected to thick cables sat on Johnny’s table. Off to the side was a sleek console and black-screened monitor.
“This is the latest version,” Mr. Williams said, presenting the visor like a prize pig. “Would you be the first user?”
Aesthetically, the visor fell far short of blue-ribbon, primarily comprising jagged edges and sharp corners attached to uninviting wires.
“Uh...” Deborah said. She folded her bare arms beneath her generous bust and frowned before saying, “Look, I’m glad you’re helping Johnny, but I think he should just show me himself when he’s ready.”
“Oh, but it would be extremely valuable if our first user was an engineer of your caliber.”
“I really don’t-”
“I mean, I’d hate for Johnny to abandon this project because he was too embarrassed to ask you himself.”
Deborah rubbed her glossy lips together and turned her thoughts over in search of another excuse.
When she uncovered nothing, Deborah sighed and said, “Okay, but just one test.”
“It won’t take long,” Mr. Williams said. “This new version is much faster.”
Deborah suspected she had missed another of Mr. Williams’s logic leaps, but before she could inquire further he strapped the chintzy visor to her head, engulfing Deborah in darkness.
“We’ll try French again.”
Deborah heard Mr. Williams flip a switch, and the visor came to life. However, instead of French words or phrases, Deborah saw a distant lightning storm. There was thunder, too, which reminded Deborah of a booming voice. Electric bolts streaked across a cloudy sky. Deborah tried to trace their trajectories, which were aimless and wild on an indigo backdrop. Then, the first of many bolts found its target in Deborah, sending tingles of delight to all the right places.
Eventually, Deborah gave up trying to follow the bolts and just let her eyes unfocus to capture the whole picture. Surrendering also let Deborah relax and wriggle in the pleasure of the lightning strikes. Then, there was a pop, or several pops in quick succession, down around some forgotten annex of Deborah’s mind. She shrugged and drifted away, watching the show with glazed eyes.
Once the storm died, a calming voice returned Deborah to reality.
“How do you feel, Debbie?”
“I feel ... tingly. Is that good?”
“Oh, it’s very good,” Mr. Williams said, pushing unseen buttons on the console.
Mr. Williams was right. Deborah’s body hummed with warmth, like she was settling in under an afghan on a rainy night.
“What was it like?”
“Uh ... I saw a storm, I think,” Deborah said. “Is that how it’s supposed to work? I don’t feel like I learned French.”
“Well,” Mr. Williams said, pausing behind the console to push his glasses up his swollen red nose. He fixed Deborah with a forceful stare and said, “It may not be working because you’re such a silly woman.”
“W-what?” Deborah said. “What did you say?”
“Sorry, I should’ve slowed down for a silly woman like you,” Mr. Williams said. He cleared his throat before continuing, “I said, you’re a silly, silly woman who loves to giggle.”
“I am?”
Deborah giggled, and then she tittered at at how silly giggling made her feel. It was silly to be in the workshop, alone with Mr. Williams, dressed for an offensively loud nightclub. Deborah giggled again, and she shivered in electric delight. It felt good to giggle and be silly.
“You are,” Mr. Williams said, smiling so broadly his rosy cheeks reminded Deborah of a squirrel with a mouthful of nuts. “That’s why the prototype’s not working.”
“I am!” Deborah beamed back. “Wait, it is?”
“It is!” Mr. Williams said. “Because you’re a real dummy. A real bimbo.”
“I am?”
“You are!”
Debbie had always been a little bit of a ditz. She giggled, and then giggled some more until her breath grew short. Ditz was a funny word.
“But even though you’re a dummy, you’ve always been attracted to smart, funny guys,” Mr. Williams said. “Like me.”
“I have?”
That sounded wrong, even to Debbie. Mr. Williams was all he claimed to be and more, but he was not exactly hot stuff. Debbie might flash Mr. Williams as a joke, or give him a quick appreciation blowjob if he gave her son an “A” in his class, but that was as far she went.
“No ... no, I don’t think so?”
Mr. Williams sighed, but then he handed the visor back to Debbie.
“I thought it wouldn’t work on me,” Debbie said. “Cause I’m such a jolt, uh, dolt.”
“Well ... that’s because I didn’t have it properly calibrated to your level of bimbohood.”
Like most words longer than two syllables, “calibrated” and “bimbohood” sounded smart to Debbie. They hurt her head, and she failed to come up with a clever rejoinder before Mr. Williams strapped the visor to her head. Another flip of the switch returned Debbie to the lightning show.
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