“It’s not his fault,” Fatalia said, setting herself up on the bed. She was naked on the satin sheets and the feeling was amazing, she never got bored of it even though she had been working on a similar bedding for the past seventy years.
“How can it not be?” Deakin asked, sticking cables into their proper ports.
Fatalia spread her legs so that Deakin could adjust the teledildonics properly. As he tightened the straps at the proper angle to let the vibrator enter her, she defended her lover. “You know how it is. He’s surrounded by ‘yes men.’ Nobody tells him to get a grip, they don’t dare. That, plus the necessary security, forms a bubble in which any man can lose touch with reality.”
Deakin squirted some lube on his fingers and stuck them inside her, spreading it around like mayo. “I still think he’s a douche.”
Fatalia winced from the sudden sensation. “No denying that. I’m just saying, it can happen to the finest of men.”
Deakin pulled his fingers out of her pussy and placed the teledildonics in position over it. He tapped his tablet and the dildo entered her once, softly.
She inhaled sharply.
“Good to go on this end.”
“Why do you believe he’s beyond saving?” Fatalia asked, closing her legs.
“I don’t think that,” Deakin said, going over his checklist and not looking at her. “I’m doing this, aren’t I?”
“Yeah. Thank you for that.” Fatalia said and leaned to the side to grab his hand. It was slippery from the lube.
Deakin turned to meet her gaze and sighed. “You know this is dangerous. There’s no way to know for sure… The stress of the job, the security implants. Heck, I could have just messed something up and I’ll probably fry his brain.” Deakin sat down on the edge of the bed, staring through the wall somewhere faraway. “Oh, fuck. That will make me a domestic terrorist.”
Fatalia stood up on the bed and pulled him close to her naked body. Her tits were far from perky and she missed the time where she could poke at men with her hardened nipples. But plastic surgery had advanced enough to make her look hot even in the ninth decade of her life. “You won’t. You’re brilliant, and it will all go exactly as planned.”
“I dunno,” he sighed, tapping aimlessly at his tablet.
Fatalia stuck her tongue into his ear. “You’ll do the reprogramming just fine,” she whispered, teasing him. She smiled as she felt him harden with her left hand, and she cooed into his ear in her naughtiest tone, “I’ll do that thing you like when we’re done tonight…”
Deakin turned to her, flustered and worried.
“Fatalia, perhaps we can just cancel it. I mean, you can do the session, just not the reprogramming,” he said.
Fatalia didn’t respond. She simply licked her finger in front of him and then pushed her hand along the back, deep inside his pants. She squeezed in and stuck a finger up his ass.
Deakin winced and shut his eyes, but groaned softly.
“I’ll make it worth it,” she whispered and licked his ear again, while feeling her way around his anus with her finger. It was warm and rubbery. She liked doing butt stuff to Deakin, but she never told that to him so that she could withhold it and make him do her bidding.
Then, as expected, she stopped and pulled her hand out, turning from slut to innocent in a second.
Deakin groaned. “Alright!” he said, getting up. “I’ll do it. It’s all set up anyway.” He tapped his tablet and went to the server rack. The bedroom wasn’t a nice place to have sex in, though Fatalia didn’t really have a problem having sex anywhere. As long as the client was showered up and paid before-hand, she was good to go. Some of the girls in her line of work were disgusted by what Fatalia was into if the money was right, but then again, those bitches weren’t sleeping virtually with the President, so they could go fuck themselves.
Fatalia leaned back on the bed. The hum and whirr of the server racks was somewhat calming. It was a white noise that helped her focus and plan the session ahead. Yes, plan. Prostitutes, especially VIP escorts like her always had a plan. At least the successful ones did. Fatalia didn’t just go in and spread her legs for the client. No, she had flowcharts in her mind. If he was tired, perhaps she’d take charge, push him down and start to nibble at his belly. If he was horny, she’d push him away, make him work for it, just enough to get him crazy for her.
And if he was kinky, like every single VIP client was, she had to know the details, the things that could go wrong.
Of course, doing it virtually was a whole different deal. She didn’t have to worry about torn anuses or itchy skin. She missed that personal touch, that reality of being intimate with a long-time client. Then again, without the virtual sex and the teledildonics she’d probably be out of work by now. Sure, men liked her experience and the way she made them feel. But old is old, and VIPs like to stick their dicks inside perky young girls. It’s an evolutionary thing. Even though they don’t actually want to spread their genes, they like the young and healthy ones better.
Fatalia wasn’t lying, of course. Every VIP client had the resources to run a background check on her, so she said the absolute truth. She was ninety-two years old. She was experienced in a long list of sex stuff. She did everything for the right price. And she’d blow your mind.
Her pictures were real, her virtual avatar was real as well. She looked good for a gal of the last century, and the virtual reality helped to hide her saggy tits and her loose skin that had been triple-tucked in with expensive plastic surgery. A man feeling her up could tell she was an old hag in a preserved package, but the VR hid just enough for the illusion to stay intact.
Some clients tried her out just once because of her reputation. You just have to fuck Fatalia, at least once in your life. She was like the old whore at that house outside of town, a semi-retired lady of the night that looked more like a grandma than a prostitute, but would bed the young men who had heard of her reputation and wanted to check that off their list.
Fatalia knew her place in life. She pleased her men, and they paid her. Sometimes, they even pleased her back.
Getting a request from the President was a shock to her. She accepted of course, she wasn’t crazy. The poor man was a widower and he needed a release, and obviously he couldn’t have a prostitute visit the House nor could he be seen anywhere near their apartments.
Teledildonics were a compromise, and Fatalia was notoriously tight-lipped about her clients.
The President tried her out once to get his rocks off and he pretty much came back every single week for two years after that.
Fatalia had to push some appointments around to accommodate him, even going as far as to losing some good clients in the shuffle, but what can you do? When the President wants his balls emptied, you do your patriotic duty and show up at attention ready to suck it.
Her thoughts came to halt when Deakin strapped the nipple suckers on her. They were a weird contraption in the shape of a bra that carried the feeling of the other person fondling and kissing your breasts. They still needed some work to be perfect, but they worked. Fatalia almost became aroused by them.
“Ready for the session,” Deakin announced like the professional that he was.
“Thank you, Deakin,” she said and met his eyes. She always thanked him for a job well done. She had no clue how to set these computers up on her own, and her livelyhood depended on it. She was paying him hefty sums of money and she occasionally threw in some annilingus as a bonus, but it never hurt to be polite.
He breathed out through his nose. “You’re welcome, Fatalia.”
“How do I activate the macro?”
“I programmed it to activate during the golden shower.”
“For the big finale. I never knew you were such a thespian, Deakin,” she cooed at him.
Deakin chuckled. “I just thought that’s what you wanted.”
“Good call.” Fatalia leaned back on the bed, put on the VR headset and connected to the House.

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The President got spanked like a bad boy. He liked that and Fatalia obliged. Then she pushed him back on the bed and teased him with her mouth, licking the tip of his cock. She made sure to fondle him right, bringing him at attention. She stood up and let him take in her naked body, and he buried his face inside her breasts. The teledildonics carried the sensation to her, and though she knew they had nowhere near that capability, she felt the warmth a mother feels when her son cries in her bosom.
The President cried for a long while, and Fatalia simply held him there, ruffled his thinning hair and sang softly to him.
There was no judgment. This was a safe place, and he knew that.
When he was done crying he pushed her on the bed, made her bite down on her own whip and fucked her from behind.
She felt his cock coming in and out of her, fucking her with force, pushing the significant length inside her.
The teledildonics cheated a bit on that aspect. She had asked Deakin to install a slightly bigger dildo so she could feel it better. It helped with the acting too, it was a different thing getting fucked by twelve centimetres and a whole different thing getting twenty-five of them. It was easier to scream in joy and beg for mercy when the machine was fucking your innards out.
When the President came, it was her turn to climb up on top. The virtual space didn’t need them to be safe so Fatalia just got on top and pressed her crotch onto his own. When she was ready to cum, she stood on top of his face and got ready to shower him.
“No, I’m not in the mood for that,” the President said and pushed her away. Fuck. Fuck! Why was this happening right now?
Fatalia tried not to let her feelings show, she buried the man’s face in her tits so that she had time to think. The President nibbled on her breasts, spent and enjoying his orgasm. She looked around, trying to somehow signal Deakin. Unfortunately, he was never around when her sessions started, he was in the next room and he’d only know that something had gotten wrong if the programs informed him. Lag was a real problem, or random disconnects that he circumvented somehow with lots of typing and technobabble.
This wasn’t a real malfunction. She didn’t know how to trigger the reprogramming any other way, so she played to her strengths. “Theodore,” she said, running her fingers through his hair.
“Yes, Debra?” he said, using his dead wife’s name.
“I’m not done. You need to finish what you started,” she demanded.
“Baby, I’m wiped out. I had the delegates from-“
“I don’t care!” Fatalia nagged and pressed her crotch on his lips, sitting on his face. She rubbed against him, the teledildonics sending in gentle rubs and licks from his end. He was doing it.
Smiling, she rubbed her own clitoris. Sure, she didn’t actually need to orgasm on her end, but why not? She had already done the work of mostly getting there.
The President ate her pussy, and she pressed down on him, demanding to be pleased. She breathed harder and harder, in shallow breaths and moans. “Ah… yes, Theodore, like that. Yes.” She wasn’t pretending. She came and felt the juices running down her thighs.
Then she grabbed his head back and the President held his mouth open. She peed in his mouth, wetting her own bed on her end. This practice was unhygienic of course when done in the flesh, but in the virtual, it was one of those ‘why the fuck not?’ things that everybody did.
Some men liked it.
They even got teledildonics that squirted warm liquid in their mouths, rounding up and completing the sensation.
The golden shower fulfilled, the hack initialised.
She saw the President’s face glitch, his expressions frozen. “Using up all the bandwidth,” Deakin said from across the room, explaining the issue so that she would remain calm. Fatalia pretended that nothing was wrong. It was a skill all experienced escorts had. Crazy shit happened all the time, and they just pretended it was all cool.
Client suddenly spits in your mouth?
All cool.
Client suddenly sticks a pencil in your pussy?
All cool.
Client wants to drink your breast milk?
All cool.
It sounded weird but it all kinda blended together. As long as the client paid beforehand, and as long as he was polite and generally decent he could do what he wanted with them. Even the nasty stuff, bruises, cuts, torn anuses. Those hurt like a motherfucker but they could all be fixed at the right operating table. The VIPs were paying top dollar after all.
The President got his golden shower, and he glitched, reprogrammed. The hack Fatalia ordered from Deakin had a single goal: To change the government’s attitude towards immigrant children. Due to some unfortunate circumstances and poor decisions, there were about a million children living in camps, dying off diseases that only needed a one-dollar shot to prevent, sick from dirty water since there was no proper water system in place, abused by people who knew they’d get away with it.
She couldn’t let that happen any longer.
Fatalia never had kids, despite doing the deed twelve hours per day.
Fatalia only wanted to help out those poor kids. Their parents could go fuck themselves for all she knew, they’d made their choices in life. But the kids were born into this. It wasn’t their fault. It was everybody’s fault.
It was her fault.
And she abused her access, yes, and she hacked the teledildonics system, yes, and she reprogrammed the President.
For the virtual could become real with the flick of a switch. Nastier men than Deakin had done so many times, in torture sessions, in war.
The President shook like he was trembling. “What’s wrong?” Fatalia asked, pretending to be innocent.
“I-I don’t feel good, Debra. I’m sorry, I’ll log off. Goodnight.” He pulled his headset and vanished.
The system message told Fatalia that her lover had logged off.
She turned to Deakin, pulling her headset off as well. “Is it done?”
Deakin frowned, bobbing his head left and right. “Perhaps. It had to be subtle, or else the mind rejects it.”
“What will happen to him?” Fatalia asked, wiping her own pee from her skin with a wet napkin.
“Oh, he’ll be thinking about the kids. Dreaming about their predicament. Eventually, we hope, he’ll change his attitude towards the camps. He might not ban them altogether, but he might push more funds into quality-of-life and basic amenities. I’m sure in the end we will have saved thousands, if not tens of thousands of children.”
Fatalia smiled wide and slapped the spot next to her. “Excellent, Deakin. Now, get over here and let me give you your prize.” She wiggled her tongue between her lips.
Deakin rolled his eyes but obeyed. He pulled down his pants and hopped on the bed face down, ready to receive what he wanted most in life. He tapped his tablet and the dildo pushed inside Fatalia and started to please her again.
Fatalia moaned. She spread his ass and licked his anus, not letting him see how much she enjoyed it too. Virtual was well and good, but she would always prefer the real thing.

The End.

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