Volume 1: Express Delivery
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The destination was in an obscure but well-to-do suburb beyond the end of subway line J. I needed to make just one change at one of the quieter stops downtown. The platform was bustling with business types in crisp and expensive-looking suits. I felt just a little out of place and I sat unobtrusively on a bench waiting for the connecting train. I passed the time by people-watching, a diversion surely enjoying since time immemorial. I was sure I spotted another Marquis Doll, a blonde, dressed in a smart grey suit jacket and matching miniskirt. Her legs were covered in faux tights - lighter in color than my own - and dainty but very high heels. A successful executive, or someone's executive squeeze, I thought, a bonus in the boardroom. Well, either way, good luck to her. My connecting train arrived and I rode on to the terminus. Apparently, I was now faced with a walk of about twenty minutes, according to the Mapz (TM) I had acquired some months before. This piece of Value-Add Pervasive Automation - VAPAware, in the jargon - was invaluable for this kind of job, guiding me infallibly to any destination I cared to speak aloud. It worked by producing arrows, in flashing Day-Glo orange, apparently imprinted on everyday objects - sidewalks, trees, fences - even passers-by on the streets. No-one else could see these directional signs. Acquiring the Mapz had cost me an all-day fuckathon which I remembered through a haze of affection and lust. I had felt quite sore in at least three places, and it must have been nearly twelve hours - and the close attention of the pervasive automation - before I was able to fuck anyone again. The sun was way high by the time I arrived, just a little tired by my exertions and certainly perspiring a little. A droplet of sweat had formed on my left breast. Amused, I guided it down into my cleavage, dampening my upper cunt. I could feel myself moistening from the inside, too, but I shook my head and strode onwards. "Business first," I said to myself firmly. My destination was a long, low building - nowhere more than two floors high - mostly surrounded by overgrown hedges and rough stone walls. It looked like Old Money; it had probably been in the same family for centuries. The mansion was approached by a wide high gate. The local automation must have been briefed - or just deduced - that I was expected and the gate slid open in near-silence as I walked towards it. I followed a short pathway up to the formal old-fashioned front door, which was closed and apparently locked. I was unsure what to do: there was no sign of anything as archaic was a bell-push, and I wondered if I was really expected. Just at that moment, I heard voices from around the back of the mansion. I followed the sound curiously, following a narrow gravel pathway though the undergrowth. At the rear of the house were a wide deck and a swimming pool. The pool contained two young-looking people, the source of the cries I had heard earlier. A boy and a girl, both blonde and very well tanned, and quite naked were splashing around - and very obviously fooling around too. They stopped as I approached - well, mostly; I could still see her hand grasping the boy's cock while she spoke to me. "Hi," she said brightly, smiling up at me from the water's edge, "Looking for someone?" "I'm told Mister Yamamoto lives here," I answered equally perkily, not to be outdone. On a whim, I walked up and stood right at the edge of the pool, legs astride. I thought both of them appreciated the view, and I was almost sure the young man's cock stiffened appreciably in the other woman's hand as he casually looked up my skirt. "Jackie Y. Yeah, he's around somewhere," the girl drawled laconically. At that moment, a bear-like man, tall and genuinely strong rather than the physique of a gymnasium bodybuilder emerged from the darkened interior of the house. He had no obvious Japanese features that I could identify, and was wearing a lemon-yellow bathrobe and hastily-donned sunglasses. "What do you want?" he asked bluntly. I took the package from my purse and held it up. "You're the delivery agent?" I nodded. "OK, come inside," he muttered, turning on his heel and returning to the coolness of the interior. I followed him, stepping into a large open area - at least judging from the echoing sounds and sense of air movements - and filled with hulking shapes I could not immediately recognize. Once my eyes had adapted to the low light, I found I was standing in an area which must have occupied more than half of the volume of the mansion, from basement level to roof beams with monumental sculptures. The room was filled with abstract forms which all gave the most striking impression of sadness and decay, without recognizably depicting anything concrete I could identify. In this day and age, different people reacted in different ways to our age of infinite leisure. Many people adopt a hobby - often, more an overwhelming passion, a zealous enthusiasm for some artistic endeavor or other. Jackie Yamamoto was clearly one of these types, wiling away the decades in the pursuit of some artistic ideal. I handed over the package I had been given. Jackie gave a grunt of acknowledgement before taking my money card briefly in his hand to make the payment for delivery. After that, he ignored me completely. He seemed engrossed in the object I had delivered, peering at it with, I suspected, senses augmented by the pervasive automation. "I'll just go them, shall I?" I asked flippantly. He waved a dismissive hand vaguely in my direction, not taking his attention from the delivery for a second. I stumbled my way outside and stood blinking in the bright sunlight for a moment. The boy and girl in the pool turned to watch me closely. "What's eating him?" I asked. "Don't you mind Jack," the boy answered, "He's just a bit distracted. He's really into his art at the moment, ya know, and it's not going so well." I shrugged, and turned to leave, striding across the poolside flagstones. Before I had taken more than a dozen steps, the female half of the friendly couple in the pool called to me. "You look hot," she said with a giggle, "Why not join us for a refreshing dip?" Hell, why not, I thought, it's not as if I had anything particular to do that afternoon. Just another day, another delivery.
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Part 4