“Then came the Internet, and it revolutionized everything,” I say, and the screen flips to show pictures of webcam girls and streaming media. “Until today. Today, Illicit Entertainment is proud to announce the next generation of pornographic entertainment.”
I pause as the music starts.
A drumroll and then the video shows a simple pair of eyeglasses—sleek and minimalist.
“Behold, the Illicit Escape,” I say to the audience, as if showing them the fucking meaning of life.
People pause for a moment as the video starts to pan around the glasses and goes from looking at them from the front, to showing what they look like from the point of view of a wearer. It shows the glasses being worn, and tiny cameras and sensors on the rims.
“Based on revolutionary new software, the Illicit Escape uses a built-in operating system that looks at where your eye is focused to highlight what you see. And what you see, is a whole new world of sex,” I say, reading from the script.
I turn around to look at the video because this is fucking cool. A holographic image of a woman materializes on the inside of the eyeglass like an object. She’s in perfect detail. She’s only visible to the wearer and she starts doing a bit of a dance.
That’s when a holographic image of a shirtless man shows up. I had wanted to be in this shot, but Cheryl told me that doing so was crossing a fucking line. I would have still done it, but she went ahead and scheduled the shoot for when I was in another meeting, and I didn’t find out till too late.
It’s a fucking shame too, because while this guy on the screen is hot, I’m in way better shape.
And when the girl gets down on her knees and starts to take off the guy's boxer briefs, the crowd begins to ooh. When she puts his cock in her mouth they go aaah.
The video then rotates the POV and shows that to the outside world, it looks like the wearer is just wearing regular clear eyeglasses.
“Watch virtual reality porn, wherever you go, safely, discreetly,” I say into the microphone and the crowd begins to cheer. “But, now, Illicit Escape takes it one step farther.”
The video zooms out to show a diagram of the glasses on a human face.
“Using groundbreaking new technology, the Illicit Escape uses subconscious visual cues to make your brain believe that what you're seeing is something you’re actually experiencing,” I say to to the audience. I can tell they’re looking at me, not believing.
“That means that when she does this,” I say and point to the video as it changes to a user POV and shows what it looks like when one wears the glasses. A hologram of a woman is sucking a dick. “You feel the sensations of the mouth on your cock. Your brain feels every aspect of hands on your body.”
There’s a silence as the idea sinks into people. To put on some glasses and trick your brain into thinking you're really having sex?
Apparently everyone comes to the same conclusion that we did; this is a fucking great idea. Because the next moment, they’re cheering louder than ever before. It seriously takes me a few minutes to get the last line of my speech in.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the Illicit Escape. Available for sale this year,” I say and pause as the cameras get one last shot of me. I wave and then Cheryl comes up to me. She’s smiling and she guides me off stage.
Lots of adrenaline, I’ll be the first to fucking admit.
But that’s not all that catches my eye.
At the curb, there’s a limo. And as I look over to see it, I notice the window gets rolled up. When I try to walk toward the limo—I don’t know why, okay?—it pulls away from the curb and drives away.
I don’t know why it fucking bothers me so much. Corporate espionage? Maybe.
“Cheryl,” I tell her as she handles some press inquiries at the base of the podium. She looks at me, waiting for me to speak. “Pull the surveillance cameras and get me the license plates and registration for that limo that just went by when you get a chance, will you?” I ask her.
She nods.
Maybe I’m being a bit too paranoid, you know?
But with this high of stakes—with something that’s going to take me from a regular billionaire to the richest man on the planet—you can never be too careful.
Brittney
I don't make it a habit of jumping inside of strange limos, but I acted on impulse and here I am. Walter didn't seem concerned, and I trust his instincts. He's never steered me wrong in the past, and when the man said it would be worth my while, I figured I'd hear him out. A new business prospect will always pique my interest, and like I said, I'm not worried; I can handle myself. If I can handle one man, I can handle them all. As I scoot into the limo, I look across the leather seat and find a man with long, stringy blonde hair. It's thinning and he pushes it behind his ears. He has a thin, crooked nose that he's rubbing with the back of his hand, and he's wearing skinny jeans that make him look more feminine than masculine. I don't see a bulge in his crotch. I was curious; can you blame me for looking? But I bet he has a small cock. He's rail thin with watery eyes, and I immediately second-guess my decision to get into this vehicle with him.
"You want a bump?" he asks. He's holding out a playing card—King of spades—with a small pile of white powder heaped on it. I wasn't born yesterday. I've been with enough loser ex-boyfriends to know what he's offering me. But believe me, I'm not about to go down that path.
"I'll pass," I say. "I'm not here to waste my time. Why did you call this meeting?"