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This work is a work of fiction.
In real life, make sure you practise safe sex.
First published in 1994 by
Nexus
332 Ladbroke Grove
London W10 5AH
Copyright © Larry Stern 1994
Typeset by TW Typesetting, Plymouth, Devon
Printed and bound by
Cox & Wyman Ltd, Reading, Berks
ISBN 0 352 32953 X
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not,
by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or
otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior written
consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in
which it is published and without a similar condition
including this condition being imposed on the subsequent
purchaser.
FANTASYWORLD
1
Amber, in a fury of frustration and sheer bad temper,
crashed through the door of her apartment and threw
her bag across the room onto the couch that occupied
one side of the living space. She had had one hell of
a day. In fact she had had one hell of a week. Perhaps
the worst week ever in her career as an Icon.
It was not that she did not love being an Icon.
She adored the fact of having been chosen by the
Network to be useful when so many others lived idle
and purposeless lives. More than that, Amber revel-
led in the thought of millions of people, men and
women alike, admiring her delightfully proportioned
body and using her image to feed their own fanta-
sies.
She was realistic enough to admit to herself that
what she did was not artistic or creative in any way.
The Icon images were quite crude when compared to
the output of the movie industry of a couple of cen-
turies ago. Nevertheless, multitudes who lived their
lives through the Reality Machines relied on Icons
like Amber to feed their impoverished imaginations.
It was a turn-on for Amber too. She just loved
standing there under the lights, vamping the cameras
and knowing that the film crew's eyes were roving
over every inch of her gorgeous frame. She was sure
that they were getting horny for her too. If only one
1
of them would make a move, they would find Amber
willing - hot and ready!
This last assignment, however, had been sheer mis-
ery. The Creator she had been assigned to work with
was a complete fool and just did not relate to her. For
five frustrating days he had had her in front of the
camera, walking, smiling, sitting, standing, going
over it again and again until the fool thought he had
got it right, when she knew that the way she had
posed herself in the first place had been just perfect.
Then, unlike the usual run of Icon images, this new
presentation was a period costume piece. Normally
she would just be naked, letting the camera lovingly
record her from every angle while she walked, stood,
sat or whatever. Now, it seemed, there was a new
trend. It appeared that audiences wanted more
action, more things to happen. There was even a
rumour that dialogue and plot might soon become a
feature of the contents, just like those old-time
movies. So for this job she was constantly having to
dress and undress, and at first the strange garments
from the twentieth century had felt clumsy and un-
comfortable.
Once she had become used to the constricting sen-
sation of wearing a bra and to the strange clinging
sensation of the sheer black stockings on her legs she
became a victim of a different sort of frustration. She
had to admit to herself that wearing some of these
garments made her feel downright sexy, even more so
than when she was baby-naked in front of the crew.
But she got no reaction at all from the damned Cre-
ator. All the time he was coolly professional, remote,
like a block of stone as poor Amber flaunted herself
for the camera and for the unseen millions of her
public.
2
The shoot had finished that day. Then there had
been problems with the transport to ferry Amber and
the technicians back to the city from where they had
been filming out in the countryside. The journey back
had been hot, sweaty and bumpy. Worst of all, Am-
ber had had to sit pressed thigh to thigh with the
despised Creator as he talked endlessly about other
shoots he had worked on with other, by implication,
more professional Icons.
Totally drained and exhausted, Amber slumped
onto the couch, kicked off her shoes and put her feet
up on a low table that was piled high with books. A
large mirror was fixed to the opposite wall and Am-
ber caught sight of her reflection in the glass. Her face
was red and flushed. Her deep yellow-brown eyes,
whence came her name, were tired and had an absent,
unfocused look. Now that the shoot was over she
must try to put this dreadful experience behind her.
She must get some, rest and relaxation.
She closed her eyes and tried breathing deeply to
control her jangled emotions. Gradually, as she cal-
med, she began to wonder just what was going wrong
with her life. She had a body and a position that
would excite envy if such a negative emotion had not
long since been purged from the human psyche. She
lived in an age from whence want and sickness had
long since been banished. Yet she was never content
but always frustrated and angry.
It occurred to her that maybe the Network had
been mistaken in selecting her. Maybe she would be
more content in some other role or like most of the
rest, spending her days hooked up to a Reality
Machine.
She recoiled from the thought. It was almost blas-
phemy. Those who had set up the complex of powerful
3
computers that ran the world had programmed the
Network for infallibility. The Network did not, could
not, make mistakes. No! She was an Icon and she was
meant to be just that. Still, though, there was this
emptiness inside her. This feeling that gnawed at her.
By now the air-conditioned atmosphere of her
apartment had cooled her off a little and she was be-
ginning to feel slightly more in control of herself. She
stood up and stretched herself, arms reaching for the
ceiling.
There's no point dwelling on things that can't be
fixed. I'm only going to make myself more unhappy
that way, she thought. First I'll get cleaned up and
then think about a little relaxation.
A shower always made her feel better. Then a
session with the Reality Machine might well ease
those frustrations that had been building up over the
last four days.
She would lock herself away for a few days, she
promised herself. Forget about the stresses of being
an Icon and immerse herself in some of the old tech-
nology books that littered her flat. She couldn't recall
what had first started her in that direction but dis-
covering an interest in the intricacies of old-time com-
puters and gadgets had really saved her sanity. She'd
even managed to unearth an antique computer -
maybe a hundred years old and still working fine.
With a great sense of relief she stripped off her blue
overall and stepped into the shower cubicle. The
needle-sharp points of water, cool at first, tingled her
skin. She stood, letting the water get warmer, soaking
her as it splashed about her, over her shoulders, down
her back and cascading over the svelte swell of her
buttocks.
Amber took some sweetly scented soap and
4
worked it into a rich lather. She spread the soft,
creamy bubbles over herself, massaging her breasts,
working her hands down over her torso, down to the
fine, silky hairs that crowned her pubis. She lingered
there, soaping and massaging the little mound, enjoy-
ing the electric sensations before, with a sigh, she left
off and resumed soaping herself.
As she rinsed the remaining lather from her slick,
shining and delicately perfumed skin she realised that
the feelings she had experienced on the shoot had re-
turned. Just as she had felt before the camera when
she was dressed in the clinging black silk stockings
and high heels, feeling the eyes of the crew upon her,
that was how she felt now. She was randy as hell. She
could feel, as then, the juices from her excited quim
oozing between the sensitive lips and moistening her
inner thighs. She stepped from the shower and grab-
bed a towel.
Vigorously towelling herself dry, the sensation of
the rough terry-cloth on her already sensitised skin
serving only to increase the overwhelming arousal she
felt, she wandered back into the living area. She
paused to tug an old, comfortable bathrobe about her
and made for the Reality Machine.
She had no need to select a Reality disc to play in
the machine. She knew what she wanted to happen.
She had every detail already fixed in her head. She
flipped the mode selector to Tree Form' and drew the
visor down over her face.
She was fully dressed now, in the fashion of the twenti-
eth century; a dark blue business suit over a prim white
blouse with a high collar. She carried a black briefcase
and strode with a purposeful step. She felt tired,
though, as if coming to the end of a hard-worked day.
5
She entered the apartment and stood in the hallway
which she knew led to a spacious living room beyond
which lay several other equally spacious and well fur-
nished rooms. At once a man appeared carrying a
glass on a silver tray. He was tall and well built with
a handsome profile. His hair was jet black and tightly
curled. His lips wore a welcoming but deferential
smile. He offered the tray to Amber, murmuring a
few soft words of greeting.
Thank you, Carlo,' Amber responded, lifting the
glass which held a clear, slightly viscous liquid to her
rouged lips.
The drink was slightly bitter on her tongue, tasted
of many herbs and was delicious. It provided an
equally delicious sensation as she drank, suffusing her
with warmth and a feeling of well-being.
'Delicious, Carlo. And now you may run my bath.
And tell Vincent to be ready for me afterwards. I
need to relax tonight.'
Carlo, with a slight bow in acknowledgement of her
instructions, left her. Amber wandered from the hall-
way into the living room where she remained alone
for a while, enjoying the silence and sipping her drink.
Soon the servant returned to announce that all was
ready for her. Amber put down her empty glass and
with a sweet feeling of anticipation she led the way into
the bathroom. It was an airy, high ceilinged room,
softly lit and decorated with purest, almost translu-
cent, marble tiles. A huge sunken bath, big enough for
four people, took up the centre of the floor. It was
filled brim-full with foaming, perfumed water from
which gentle curls of vapour rose into the cooler air.
'You may assist me, Carlo,' Amber ordered in a
soft, expressionless but nevertheless commanding
tone.
6
'It is a pleasure, Miss Amber,' the man with the
profile of a Greek god replied, humbly inclining his
head.
Amber stood perfectly still as with nimble fingers
the servant removed her clothes, carefully folding
each garment and placing it on a handy ottoman. He
knelt to peel the silk stockings from her legs, his fin-
gers barely brushing the smooth ivory skin. When she
was naked he stood and, taking her hand, helped
Amber descend into the bath.
She lay back in the delicately scented water, letting
the heat draw the tiredness from her body. The twin
peaks of her breasts, like coral-capped islands, broke
the surface of the water, parting the rich foam. She
inhaled the soft fragrance that surrounded her and
glanced languidly at Carlo who stood at the water's
edge. The distinct bulge in his dark, tightly cut
trousers clearly evidenced his discomfort.
Amber debated with herself whether she should be
kind to the poor distressed fellow or whether she
should let him suffer until later. Certainly, relieving
him now would increase his staying power later when
she would want him for her pleasure. On the whole,
it seemed that an act of charity would bring her a
reward. So why not?
'Carlo, strip out of your clothes and come here!'
At once Carlo took off his formal servant's attire
and waded into the water. Amber reached up and
touched the tip of his massive erection, making the
engorged rod swing gently from side to side. Starting
at the base she raked her carmine-painted nails along
its length. The servant tensed under the shock of
pain, his buttocks tightened but still he stood staring
impassively ahead.
Amber dipped a slender fingertip at the globule of
7
viscous liquid that emerged from the tip of his penis.
Rolling the angry purple crown between finger and
thumb she coated the velvety flesh with the oily fluid
until it glistened in the subdued light. A low groan
escaped the servant's lips.
Taking a firm grip of Carlo's heavy phallus in her
palm, wrapping her fingers tightly about him, Amber
began to wank him. Slowly at first, then with increas-
ing vigour she jerked the stiff rod until a pulsing
against her palm told her the moment had come.
Deftly she caught the stream of creamy liquid that
jetted from him in her palm. When she held out her
hand Carlo knew what was required. He knelt, lower-
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