"I won't be pawed by some phony over idealized psychologists!" Nancy insisted.
"Oh, they won't touch you. Not members of the A.M.S.. Listen, it's our only chance. You'll both be so lifelike they'll be intrigued."
They fought like tigers, shocked at his trickery and double-shocked to have to represent each other's devices.
"If you represent your own inventions, you'll blow it. You're too involved, you'll explode when they criticize."
They fought, but in the long run Nelson had his way, as he always did. That night, after a hard, crazy day of sweaty practice, Nelson delivered his "robot" and his "SS girl" to the Century Forward penthouse and the Rands… and made a fast escape.
Cord, in a grey jumpsuit, and Nancy, in a blue jumpsuit, stood there nervously as aides, assistants and secretaries surrounded and almost concealed the white-haired man and the erect woman who seemed to be doing twenty things at once. For a whole half hour the Rands paid them not the slightest bit of attention, after that first glance when Nelson had brought them in. Then the man and the woman stood up, as if on some cue.
"Enough!" called Monty Rand, and the hubbub subsided, as their staff scurried out several doors and disappeared, leaving the Rands alone with Cord and Nancy.
Monty yawned and said, "It would be simplest if I took the male robot and you took the suit girl," he told Gwen.
"Quickest," she agreed. She arched her back in a luxurious stretch. "It's been a long day."
"But if they're sex objects, I suppose we'll have to do it the other way."
"Monty, I have no desire to poke at a male robot."
"We're professionals," he insisted, "that doesn't stop just because it's eight o'clock at night."
She sighed, "I suppose you're right… follow me, robot."
Cord rolled his eyes at Nancy and followed the woman off into the interior of the penthouse. He thought Gwen Rand had a nice ass, not a bad figure. If she got, uh, intimate, he might be able to perform…
Monty watched them go, then shook his head. "The crazy things business people invent to sell."
"I know what you mean," said Nancy. The clear plastic under her suit made her itch.
He led her to a bedroom of which the penthouse seemed to have several. It was a gorgeous room, done in bridal white and it had a fantastic, large bed.
"Take off your clothes, and lay on the bed," he ordered.
Nancy had been near the point of revolt all day long.
"Listen, Mr. Rand, I'm no hooker. It's hard enough to show you this dumb suit naked without getting pawed."
He looked at her in surprise.
"Didn't A-C pick you to demonstrate the suit?"
"Yes, but they picked the wrong cookie. The Smart Suit is a stupid idea. It keeps you hot or cold, as if you didn't have your own skin. It makes you walk, as if you didn't have your own legs. It wards off blows as if you were a weakling. It broadcasts data to your brain, as if you were too ignorant to read or listen to tapes."
He stared at her. "This is hard sell?"
Her fury had mounted all day long at Nelson's crazy idea, and the long wait while being ignored and with these two snobs showing off had enraged her past reason.
"Listen, he's got a sleeve that fits up my vagina. It's supposed to make the sex feel better. Instead, it makes my cummy box feel like it's stuffed with soft glass. And wait till you see what it makes a woman look like!"
She practically tore off her jumpsuit to expose her naked body gleaming inside the clear plastic sheeting that was supposed to con the Rands into thinking she wore an SS.
"Whore time, huh, Mr. Rand? Hooker haven. I look like a State Street peep show."
She turned around and about, demonstrating the glitter of her covering in that elegant room, feeling like a two-bit nobody. It was all Nelson's fault.
Monty had sunk into a chair, watching her and listening with fascination. He stared when she exposed her nude body in the plastic.
"This is a colossal first!" he cried. "People beg, con, cheat, and wallow in compliments to us to sell their products."
"Now, honestly, Mr. Rand… I'm going to call you Monty… would any sensible human put on stuff like this? To go to bed yet?"
Monty stood up, still shocked. "Well, all the things you mention have some advantages, you know." It was weird, finding himself defending, instead of tearing apart, a product.
Nancy was rolling too fast to stop.
"It's supposed to broadcast microwave signals to turn the opposite sex on. Do you feel my cunt, yes cunt, broadcasting to your poor, lonely penis, Monty? Are you rock-hard? Crazy to be sucked? Wild to fuck?"
She had reached the pinnacle of her contempt for Cord's Smart Suit. She marched up to the hypnotized man and grabbed his cock in his pants.
"I'm sure you're wild to…"
She stopped. The anger began to die from her face. She stared up at him in astonishment. His cock was so hard it strained the cloth of his pants.
"Why, you are hard!"
He blushed. "Your body in that suit is the sexiest sight I've seen in months. You've got an incredible build. Your anger is balm to my ears. All I get is shit, all day long, day after day; oozing, wheedling voices."
"I… I… I…"
But her trip seemed to break through some thin membrane that contained his own inner feelings.
"You think my life's so great? I sit through hours of dull, egotistical nonsense and some secretary or woman exec comes in the room and all I can think about is her ass or her tits, or think of shoving my cock in her cute face. They bring in coffee or wine, and the room lights up. They go, and I die. I want to be out there in their cubby hole offices, fucking their sweet cunts off. But NO! The mighty Monty must sit and listen to some asshole company president grind away."
Shades of Wally Butterfield, thought frozen Nancy.
"We're at the top, you understand? No hookers, no secret loves… ever. The slightest breath of off-color cannot be tolerated because our decisions endlessly affect the lives of millions. Even the President has more freedom. Because we're the golden door to money, money, money, and besides money, sex is dust. Just once, once, I'd like to… to…" Monty's face was red and his arms sawed the air… "Just once, I would like to jump on top of the table, grab one of those soft-eyed, round-assed sweet young bitches, and fuck!"
"Honey, your wife isn't bad-looking…"
"Wife? She's in the same prison. We go to bed, try to do it. But we can't help talking about this project, or that one. You can't turn off the power of money when it coats your very brain. It's the worst drug men ever invented!"
She said: "Mister, there's an old, ancient phrase, 'You sure need your ashes hauled'!" She undid his zipper. She brought out his cock. She knelt and sucked the end of it as it became even stiffer in her hands.
"Oh, wow!"
He pulled her up and started her for the bed.
"I… I'll just get rid of this dumb…"
"No, no, leave it on, it's incredible. Like you're glittering essence of all the cute secretaries, smiling coffee-bringers, sexy receptionists I ever lusted for!"
She scrambled on the bed, he stripped and with a cry of triumph sunk his cock into her soft pink cunt, which fortunately had oiled just enough to receive him. It was free of the sleeve; she having refused to wear that.
"Oh," she said. "Oh!" Her eyes went big with his furious lust.
She had never felt such a hot, fast-moving prick in her cunt. He was like a madman with the release of his bottled-up sex need.
"Huh, huh, huh," he went. He shivered in his intensity to fuck her to a froth. His body sweated, his heart pounded. "Oh, God, I've wanted this!" he cried, his voice bounding from the walls. He was practically sobbing. "Hot, young, tight, beautiful, fuck doll. No big decision, no earth shaking, just fuck, fuck, fuck!"
He could not last. He was like a maniac in his hunger for sex. She thrilled, furiously gasping and arching up, trying to protect her cunt from his mad lunges. It wasn't that he hurt her. It felt too good. His passion exceeded anything she'd ever met.