On his third official day of imprisonment, Steel awoke unusually early and bided his time by using the remote to play around with one of his "paintings." His "paintings" were in fact rather like the telescreens prophesied by Orwell, TVs capable of watching the watcher -- but at least he could select some new image to loom at.
He felt grimly amused as he came across cityscapes. Cities at night, cities with skyscrapers, cities with monuments -- the views were grand and dazzling, and he sighed.
"Well, aren't we up bright and early!" came Roshumba's chipper voice.
"Hi, Roshumba."
"Your breakfast is under this cover, all ready to eat. What pretty pictures!"
"They're pictures of freedom."
"Oh, I hope they can make you feel better." He sensed her sitting beside him. "So how ARE you feeling?"
"Very healthy."
"That's nice. And ... ah ... how is your penis feeling?"
He nearly laughed. The question got asked so damn often, with so little subtlety leading right up to it. "So healthy you have no need to examine it."
"Oh, Steel, you silly man! You know the rules." So saying, she eagerly reached for his pajamas and deftly unsnapped them, allowing his infamous endowment to come flopping out.
Steel sighed. "Roshumba, I have rights. I need to be out in the world."
"Mmm!" she hummed, struggling to concentrate on his words. "I didn't understand it all at first, but I think Dr. Luckey is right. It's too dangerous to let you go. It would turn the whole world, all male-female relations, upside-down."
"i can behave myself."
"It's the female race we're worried about," she reasoned as she slowly hefted his gargantuan snake of studhood. "Women will do ANYTHING to get their greedy selfish hands on your awesome cock!"
He faced her, amused by how the irony of her words was completely lost on her. "Anything, huh?" |