They were messing around the office one afternoon; things there were slow at that time of year. Experimental Gerar (a feline-like humanoid hybrid) had bought a cache of old data from some Timonier who lived in the Ruhrik Zone, she’d showed it to Nol (a human non-hybrid, who are very rare these days), and the two were going through it, trying to identify what kind of information it was. It turned out to be low-resolution pictures, 2D, from the early 21st century. At the time, there’d been a powerful puritan push in the West; a lot of then-clandestine things (which seem pretty tame these days) had been hidden inside people’s computers.

They’d finally established the picture format (a variation on the old JPEG compression) and were looking at the ones that hadn’t been encrypted. Digital pornography.

A particularly impressively hung specimen appeared on the screen; Nol laughed and pointed. “Wow, get that.”

Gerar zoomed the screen in to the relevant point, and the two examined the patterns of pixels. “‘Sbeen modified with a paint program,” she said.

“You sure?”

She restored the whole image as Nol brushed one of the nanotech insects – a mantis – off the top of the display. “No,” she said, tossing her long black braid behind her, “but statistically, that’s pretty close to the upper limit -“

“Oh, and of course, you’ve made a study of penis lengths of the late twentieth century?” She grinned, an ‘ah, shaddap!’ expression on her face. She was about to reply when she thought of something, a feline grin lit up her face and her large orange eyes sparked mischievously. She cleared the screen and made an inquiry on the human anatomical database. Nol laughed out loud at this, but Gerar waved his derision aside and pointed to the monitor. It was a diagram of the penis’s nerve structure.

“Imagine this,” she said in her slow, this-may-be-a-moneyspinner voice. “A nano prosthetic, that goes over the normal penis, passes the bloodstream and the nerve-impulses through -” Nol cocked his head to one side, thinking about it. They had looked at similar schemes before, but had come up against a lack of knowledge in the genome area. Some day, someone would devise a way of altering human code in situ, but it would have taken far too much work for them alone. This, however …

“It could be actuated by the same – ” Nol added.

Gerar cut him off, “And parallel – no, direct-linked response -” … and they were off on another tangent.

Their actual work was growing repair tissue from banks of standard cells, stacked into place by nanotech ‘performers’. Like most graduates of Nexus, they’d had solid groundings in related fields, and the bewildering (to the outsider, anyway) array of pets and nanotoys that cluttered the office were testimony to their skills. Gerar and Nol had even been able to sell the designs of some of them.

One of Nol’s recent successes was a glove made of living tissue, stronger than ordinary skin. It had a web of nerves which passed pressure sensations straight through to the hand in the glove, while protecting it against severe heat. It had proven useful for people who cooked their own food.

Just after Nol’d finished the testing, Gerar had shown him a model. It had belonged to a medical doctor of the late 20th century; a grossly distorted mannequin, meant to represent the relative intensities of nervous tissue throughout the body. The lips, tongue and fingers were oversize; the genitals were, in relation, tiny. Various ideas that they’d both had during the past month suddenly came together on this concept.

Nol put a few tentative models through the simulator while Gerar stood behind him and watched, rubbing her index finger along the ridge of purple velvet that covered her crotch. Nol glanced to her and saw the dark spot in the junction of her legs that attested to her excitement.

“What’s the deal in having a big dick, anyway?” he said offhandedly.

Nol could see her smile reflected in the monitor. “Are you telling me that you’ve never seen some guy whose equipment made yours look tiny in comparison -“

“Despite what you think of me, I’m not in the habit of examining genitalia -“

“- and wondered what it’d be like to have a really huge -“

“I can’t believe that I’m having this conversation.”

Gerar Escort Beylikdüzü burst out laughing, and then pointed to the screen. “There … yes. It should detach itself on receiving, say, a pheromonal signal. Something unique, preferably scentless … one of the KS93 analogues should do. In case the wearer can’t find pants to fit.” This last was said in a mocking tone.

Nol turned in his seat to face her. “Do you want one of these?”

Gerar stared back at him incredulously for a moment, then smiled. “About three months ago, I had this implant – a mood stabilizer, releases tiny amounts of some nonadrenaline analogue, or something like that, into my bloodstream. It was for that pseudoreligion that Bruxham wanted us to represent. It’s still in me, and ever since I had it put in, I’ve had no interest in sex whatsoever. I don’t think I’d make a very good test subject … whereas you are obviously turned on by the idea … come on, don’t pretend that you aren’t.”

Nol gave her a disbelieving look, then admitted grudgingly, “Well, it would be interesting, just for a while …”

She smirked. “Of course it would …”

All businesslike (in appearance, at least), Gerar summoned up the relevant structural data from the database, and displayed the model, in its erect state, on the holo. She touched the dataplate and using virtual effectors, made some small changes in the model.

“Personally, I’ve always been rather fond of this shape … very thick just behind the head, here -” illuminating the indicated section with flashing red arrows, “and … yes. That’s about the right shape … so, let’s just scale the entire model by 1.45 … wow!” Nol had to admit, he was impressed. The prosthesis, when complete, would fit over the original member, with anchor segments fitting down around the scrotum and into the pubic hair. When in place, millions of microscopic cilii would hold it on firmly; veins near the base would intrude through the skin and divert some of the blood from the regular circulatory path. Because it wouldn’t function with the regular mechanics of erection, nanoprocessors would emulate the effect, diverting blood through the spongy, centimeter-thick layer, swelling it to about two-thirds of its original size. There was an opening at the end which would allow the urethra to pass through.

“Anything else you can think of?” Nol asked casually. Gerar thought for a moment, her small chin resting on her fist, stared at her painted gold and blue nails for a minute and made a few minor changes to the general color scheme, darkening it slightly, then she increased the diameter of the veins that ran along the underside, until they were almost as thick (in the model) as her little finger. “Not many girls go for that lumpy look,” Nol cautioned her.

“You aren’t going to waste a beautiful tool like that on a girl, are you?” she asked with mock dismay.

Nol smirked at her. “You’ll be the first.”

She trained her attention on the model, plotting cell-stack paths. Distractedly, she said, “Actually … I’ll be the second. If you can masturbate through it successfully without pulling it off, then it’ll be a success.” She set the substrate up, poured the nanoproducers and the base material in, and set it off. The device started growing; while it worked, Nol went and had a shower.

While he vigorously soaped his thick red shock of hair, he called out:

“You really think that there’ll be a market for this?”

“Come on!” she scoffed, poking her sable head into the steamy shower, “Everyone’s been telling us that size doesn’t count for centuries, but you remember what Captain Brenten said in Tank Police…”


“I quote: `This is a MALE THING! When it comes to male things, the bigger, the better!’ Anyway, it doesn’t really matter if they never actually get used for fucking … it’ll probably become a status symbol, like wide ties were in the late twentieth century.” She continued in slightly more subdued tones: “Oh, boy. Um, maybe that’s just a little bit too…”


“Oh, nothing … ‘t’s finished.” Nol touched the control pads, turned off the water, and grabbed a towel. He dried himself off and went back into the work room.

When he saw the result, Beyoğlu escort he frowned. “That’s definitely too much. That’s….. that’s positively obscene!”

Gerar gave him a hurt look. “It’s still in the last cell stack phase! Give it a few seconds … there. Is that better?” Nol went over to the nanoproducer output tray and poked it with his forefinger. It felt like flesh (technically speaking, it was flesh); warm, slightly damp. He ran his finger from the wrinkled pads at the base, along the shaft and up to the more-than-usually pointed, torpedo-shaped head. The whole assembly was about twenty centimeters long in its flaccid state.

“Better? Not much. Well, might as well get it over with.” She looked at him and he looked back; for a moment, they were both as serious as they ever got, and then they both burst out laughing.

Nol picked up the assembly and took it over to the work chair, which was loosely modeled on what dentists had once used to hold their patients down. He sat down, his wet skin squeaking against the slick black leather, and rubbed his crotch. Gerar came over with a spray tube of the standard activator pheromone; Nol massaged his semi-erection into full life and cautiously fitted the prosthetic over the end, sliding it down until the base pads rested against his scrotum. Gerar sprayed the activator on the end and the whole assembly squirmed into life. The sensation of it snuggling up against Nol’s skin was an interesting one; it made tiny farting noises as excess air was expelled from the edges, forming a perfect seal with his skin. The pads at the base writhed, merged with his body, and there was a brief pang as the venal diversion valve dug into him. Nol felt numb for a moment, and then suddenly its nervous system linked up with his.

It felt cold; he expected that this would pass as his blood started flowing through it. He reached down and touched it; it felt natural. Part of him. Gerar poked the end, pinched it between thumb and forefinger, wiggled it. It didn’t feel like something slipped over the outside of his penis; it felt like it was his penis.

She grasped it around the base, tugged gently, then more insistently. It wasn’t about to detach itself until it received the appropriate pheromonal signals, chemicals which were in another one of the multitude of spray tubes lined up on the workbench.

“Just think,” Gerar whispered, “what every man has dreamed of … finally, we can promise them a penis-extending treatment that works!” Nol had to admit, he was beginning to get caught up in the excitement; the prosthetic darkened appreciably as venal constriction somewhere in the base prevented blood from flowing out as easily as it went in; the age-old mechanics of erection. It felt as it usually did, except more so. Gerar wrapped her fingers around the base, squeezed gently, Nol gasped involuntarily at the sensation.

“That feels good … did you-?” Gerar nodded.

“I stepped up the receptors by a factor of two-point-five,” she said. Nol stroked it, feeling the veins along the underside pulsing with warmth, rubbing his fingertips around the end, pressing the pad of his index finger into the knot of flesh where the skin was attached to the underside of the head. Nol grasped it with both hands, his fingers interlaced underneath, closed his eyes and squeezed gently. It felt incredible.

Nol opened his eyes, and the damned thing had grown until it was almost thirty centimeters long, and as thick as his wrist. Gerar was staring at it with admiration and lust plainly expressed. She bit her lip and admitted, “You know, I wasn’t exactly telling the truth about that nonadrenaline analogue …”

“I didn’t think you were.”

“It wore off weeks ago.”

“Uh-huh.” She was silent for a moment, and then said quietly, “I want you to fuck me with that thing.” Nol smiled, got out of the chair and stalked over to the workbench, the prosthetic waving in front of him. He grabbed a tube of neutral substrate-base that was fairly slippery in its inactivated state and brought it over to the chair. Gerar had taken off her purple bodysuit and with a few touches of the control arm, had ordered the chair to evert its seat; the middle humped up and she lay face down on it, spreading her legs slightly. Nol Bomonti escort bayan squeezed some of the substrate onto his fingers (surprisingly, it was colored bright blue) and rubbed it along the crack of her behind, pressing his fingers into her. She arched her back and moaned; Nol rubbed his index finger around her clitoris and carefully worked the tip of his finger inside her. She tightened against him briefly; relaxed, contracted again and relaxed once more. Nol withdrew, dripped some more lubricant down onto where his finger entered her and slowly pushed in again, up to the knuckle this time.

This substrate was slick stuff; Nol added his middle finger and worked them both in, sliding them around until he could press down gently on her front wall, sliding his fingers in and out slowly, hooking them over and widening her, then adding his thumb until Nol was practically shoving his whole fist into her. She squirmed, arched her back and drew her legs up until she was half-kneeling before him.

Nol climbed onto the chair behind Gerar, smeared some of the substrate on the end of the prosthetic (it was increasingly, uh, hard, to imagine it as something separate from him …) and aimed the head at her vagina. Nol rubbed the end along the line from just behind her pussy up to the small of her back and down again; she gasped and thrust herself back at him. Nol didn’t need any more encouragement; grasping it just behind the head, he pressed the end of the penis between her lips, slowly forcing it inside her. Nol could feel her lips alternatively contracting and relaxing, as they had before; she wriggled and spread her legs further apart as he worked more of the head inside. With a gentle swaying motion, together they squeezed the head in. It felt tight and hot; Nol could see veins along the sides bulging alarmingly. He dripped some more lubricant on the taut ring of muscle which clenched the end of the shaft and with a slow yet insistent movement of his hips, pushed into her further. Gerar reached back, grasped Nol’s hips and practically dragged him down onto her. Nol fell forward, his hands hitting the chair on either side of her arms, and suddenly wondered what he’d say if the manager of the operation had decided to pay a visit just then. Nol grinned, and thought she’d be impressed with their work.

Gerar relaxed her grip, and Nol withdrew, feeling the exquisite pang as she forced the bulbous base of the head out. He remained poised, the torpedo-shaped end still inserted, and slowly pushed forward again. He could feel her relaxing, allowing him in; the feeling as the widest part of the head finally slipped inside was unbelievable. Gerar gasped as Nol pulled out and then quickly shoved himself in again, thrusting as far as he could. Gerar’s legs came together and she squeezed around him as hard as she could; this was all Nol needed to set him off. He gripped the edges of the chair and tugged the thick shaft out until all that was left in was the head. Gerar squeezed the muscles of her vagina around the head as it began to slip out, signaling to Nol she wanted him to continue. He began to pump her vigorously, every time he went in as far as he could, eliciting squeaks from Gerar. On every pull-out, he stopped right where the head was thickest. Gerar suddenly arched her back and shoved herself onto the prosthetic, a moan escaped her lips as she came. Nol couldn’t stop the sensations of her tightly squeezing him in waves, so with his shaft firmly planted as deep as it could be in the depths of his lover, her vagina still contracting wildly around the shaft, his belly against her back, he came with a series of wrenching sensations.

Sweating, Nol slumped down against Gerar’s back, feeling the slick warmth he’d just expelled lubricating the channel he’d forced himself into. It was then that he noticed something alarming.

“Gerar … it isn’t detumescing.”

“What?” she said, coming to attention.

“It’s not going down! There’s something wrong with the diversion valve!” Nol slowly slid out of her, her pussy still tight around him, and the penis popped up, turgid as ever, coated with streaks of pearly semen and sky-blue substrate. Gerar got off the chair and went over to the console.

“Ah.. Here, see? It’s that problem with the seventh module interface that we had with the tracheal support platform, remember? Easily fixed.” Nol sat on the edge of the chair and wiped some of the goo from the head of his penis, which was still pointing at the ceiling.

“What about this?”

Gerar gave him a very feline grin. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

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