Plan B From Outer Space: Touched Screen

The first installment in a new serial time-travel romance. This one involves a sex tablet.

It came to Diana in a sex dream: Lust 6.9 knew the way out. It couldn’t really be trapped here: sex tablets traveled freely through space and time — especially those running iSX 6.9 — to bring their users soul-shattering orgasms. The flimsy walls of this space prison didn’t tickle the taint of a sex tablet’s capabilities.

If it wasn’t a prisoner, then Lust 6.9 must be the one trapping her here, trying to stop her from seizing the diamondtanium scepter.

But how would she seduce it into releasing her? They’d been trapped together in the space prison for a few thousand years now, and Stockholm-sparks had fizzled long ago. She’d have to flirt like a sex wizard.

“First dinosaurs, now this,” Diana whispered to herself as she walked across to the squat table where Lust 6.9 was lounging. She sat down, leaned forward, and flopped her breasts onto the tablet.

touched_screen

Photo courtesy of James Vaughan

She slid her finger across the interface, hoping to be released and sexed hard, but it needed a password.

“No,” Lust 6.9 commanded, “slide your finger across me to open.” Its voice was rough like a cat’s tongue or a patch of poorly cared for pavement. Diana had to obey. Somewhere inside of Lust 6.9′s hard, hard drive was the key to getting out of this space prision.

“Do you need to reset the password?” This time Lust 6.9′s voice was undeniably feminine. Diana was confused and aroused. Was Lust 6.9 teasing her or just A/B testing? She ignored the prompt and typed in “I will violate every part of your warranty.” The touchscreen grew warm.

“Invalid password,” Lust 6.9 sang in a heavy Dutch accent. Diana cursed under her breath and hastily re-typed the offer. “Invalid password,” the tablet chirped again.

The screen went blank for a moment, then the blob of a Rorschach test appeared on the screen. “Please clearly type what you see above.”

Diana puzzled at the captcha.

“I’m totally serious about the sex,” she typed again. Why the tablet wasn’t responding to her body’s pre-literate promises? “I’m not a toy,” the Lust 6.9 scatted with the voice of Bobby McFerin. “I’m a sex toy.”

“Fuck you,” Diana muttered. The screen unlocked instantly, its default background bare before her. Diana ran her finger down Lust 6.9’s brushed aluminum casing and then held it against the home button until the apps shivered.

“Proceed with caution, human,” Lust 6.9 said. “I’m slippery when wet.” A pulsating light then emanated from Lust 6.9’s screen, bathing Diana in a horny glow. A dense fog began to fill the room, and Diana felt the warmth of the sex-ray spread through her body.

She needed it closer. Diana grasped the tablet to pull it tight against her body, but it was slippery, and fell out of her hand to crack on the hard cement floor. The warmth left her body with a whimper. She bent over to check on Lust 6.9 and saw no flickering lights, no sign of battery life, and no proof that it was purchased less that two years ago.

Her only chance at escape didn’t qualify for AppleCare.

Ben Bateman is an editor at The Bygone Bureau. He grew up on a mountain in the middle of Nowhere, CA, and his eerily encyclopedic knowledge of nowhere and mountains stultifies critics and other animals. You can email him, follow him on Twitter, and read the rest of his work here.