Chapter 2: Posterity's Playground
Sunlight, sharp and merciless, cut through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Judy’s living room. It glittered off the enchanted bookshelves where holographic spines swirled with unseen text, and it illuminated every smear on the polished concrete floor from the night before.
The orgasm ray lay on the driftwood coffee table, a sleek, guilty secret.
Mandy, wrapped in a oversized MIT sweatshirt and nothing else, had her feet propped up on the table, her phone pressed to her ear. “No, we’re all alive,” she said, her voice scratchy with sleep. “Just… recalibrated.”
Felicity, curled in a large armchair with a mug of tea, winced at the memory. Her body felt like it had been run through a particle accelerator. Every nerve ending was tender, oversensitized. She could still feel the ghost of that electric blue pain-pleasure crackling along her synapses.
Mai was stretched out on the long, white sofa, gloriously nude, one arm flung over her eyes. The sunlight turned her skin to gold. “Tell her the refractory period is a lie,” Mai called out, her English accent sleep-thick. “It just keeps going. I think I came in my sleep.”
On the phone, Casey Williamson’s laughter was a wheezing crackle that even Felicity could hear. “Oh, god. I haven’t heard of a toy that effective since Jan’s ‘Happy Birthday, Rebecca’ present in ’33.” There was a shuffling sound. “So, you’ve done initial field testing. Good. Now you need proper methodology. Multiple subjects, varying intensities. You gotta establish a baseline, Bug. Is it more effective on the clit directly, or through indirect contact? What’s the latency between activation and orgasmic onset? Does repeated exposure diminish returns, or heighten sensitivity?”
Mandy’s smirk was visible even in profile. “You’re telling me to run clinical trials on a sex toy my best friend’s mom sent us.”
“I’m telling you to be thorough,” Casey corrected, her tone shifting into the familiar, no-nonsense cadence Felicity recognized from a hundred parental advisories about bike helmets and suspicious strangers. “If Amy’s shipping prototype pleasure tech, it’s because she wants data. Real data. Not just ‘oh, it felt good, thanks.’ She’s a professional. Give her professional feedback. Chart the results. You’ve got Flick there, she’s got that analytical mind. Put it to use.”
Felicity’s cheeks flushed. The idea was absurd. Obscene. It was also, she realized with a lurch in her stomach, incredibly compelling. To map the unknown. To quantify the unquantifiable. Her mother wrote textbooks on paranormal energy signatures. Why couldn’t she document this?
“What about Ben?” Mandy asked, glancing toward the basement stairs. He’d fled upstairs to the guest bathroom an hour ago and hadn’t returned.
“What about him?” Casey said, dismissively. “He’s a control group of one. A lovely, embarrassed control group. His data point is ‘makes traditional penis-in-vagina intercourse seem quaint.’ Just make sure he’s hydrated. And for god’s sake, don’t point it at Jeeves. Bruce would never forgive you if you short-circuited his masterpiece.”
As if summoned, Jeeves the automaton sphere drifted into the room, its numerous brass arms retracted. It hummed softly, pausing near the coffee table. “I have detected biogenic residue on the flooring in three distinct zones,” it announced in its crisp tone. “Shall I initiate a deep-clean protocol?”
“Yes, please, Jeeves,” Felicity said quickly, mortified.
“Protocol initiated. The residue appears to be a complex mixture of vaginal lubricant, female ejaculate, and trace adrenaline. Interesting.”
Mandy ended the call, tossing the phone aside. “Well. You heard Picasso. We have our marching orders.” She leaned forward and picked up the wand. It looked inert, harmless in the sunlight. “We need to be systematic.”
Mai lifted her arm, squinting. “Systematic how? Last night was a fucking free-for-all. A beautiful, messy, soaking wet free-for-all.”
“Exactly,” Mandy said. “No controls. We need to isolate variables.” She stood, her sweatshirt riding up her thighs. “So. We take turns. One operator. One subject. We try different settings, different placements. We record responses.”
Felicity set her tea down, her scholarly fervor finally overriding her shame. “We should log it. A proper log. Time, setting, placement, subjective intensity on a one-to-ten scale, observable physical reactions.”
Mai swung her legs off the couch, standing in a fluid, unselfconscious motion. “Observable? How observable?”
Mandy’s grin was wicked. “Very. If we’re giving Amy the show she clearly wants, we go all in. No half-measures.” She looked at Felicity. “You in, Flick? This is your wheelhouse. Weird phenomena, detailed notes.”
Felicity took a deep breath. The ghost of the wand’s effect throbbed between her legs, a siren call. She nodded. “I’m in.”
“Right,” Mandy said, clapping her hands once. “Strip. Can’t have fabric interfering with results.”
They undressed without ceremony, letting their clothes pool on the floor. The morning air was cool on Felicity’s skin, raising goosebumps. The sunlight felt like a spotlight. Mai, of course, seemed to bask in it, pushing her dark hair back, completely at ease. Mandy stood with the wand, all business.
“Subject One: Mai,” Mandy announced. “Position: standing. Setting: one, presumed lowest intensity. Placement: direct clitoral contact.” She raised the wand. “Ready?”
“Just fucking do it,” Mai said, spreading her feet slightly, bracing.
Mandy pressed the top button.
The thin blue beam connected.
Mai’s reaction was instantaneous but less volcanic than the night before. A sharp intake of breath. Her hips jerked forward once, twice. Her eyes fluttered. “Oh… okay,” she gasped. “That’s… that’s a seven. A strong seven. It’s like a really, really good lick. Concentrated.” A shudder ran through her. “Fuck. It’s not stopping.” The beam held. Mai’s hands clenched at her sides. Her cunt, Felicity observed with clinical detachment, glistened, growing visibly wetter. A thin strand of fluid dripped down her inner thigh. “Eight… climbing to nine… oh, god, it’s just building…”
After ten seconds, Mandy released the button.
Mai slumped, catching herself on the back of the sofa. “Jesus. No warm-up. Just… bang. Orgasm.” She was panting. “That’s not normal.”
“Log it,” Mandy said to Felicity, who was already scribbling in a small notebook she’d pulled from a shelf.
“Subject Two: Felicity,” Mandy said, turning. “Same parameters.”
Felicity’s heart hammered against her ribs. She moved to the open space Mai had vacated, feeling terrifyingly exposed. The wand pointed at her. She nodded, unable to speak.
The beam hit.
It was like being injected with molten honey. The pleasure was immediate and intense, coiling tight in her belly. A high, thin whine escaped her lips. Her knees trembled. It was cleaner than the night before, less of a violent seizure, but just as inexorable. She felt her own wetness gathering, a hot rush. “S-seven,” she choked out. “Precise. It’s very… precise. It feels targeted. Oh…” Her back arched. “Eight. It’s an eight.” The sensation plateaued, a sustained, ringing note of pleasure that didn’t fade until Mandy cut the beam. Felicity staggered, her skin buzzing. “Log that. Latency… near zero. Offset is rapid upon cessation.”
They continued. Setting two, a middle button, produced a broader, deeper wave that made Mai scream and clutch the sofa, her orgasm visibly rippling through her abdominal muscles. Setting three, the bottom button, was different. It didn’t trigger an immediate climax. Instead, it made Felicity gasp and double over, a low, throbbing ache centering in her womb. “It’s… it’s not making me come,” she panted, confused. “It’s just making me incredibly, desperately hungry for it. I need… I need to be filled. Right now.” The feeling was maddening, a deep, empty craving.
“Interesting,” Mandy murmured, logging it herself. “A craving inducer. That’s advanced.”
They moved through placements: inner thigh, lower abdomen, the small of the back. Each produced nuanced, devastating results. The room filled with the sounds of their gasps, moans, and scribbling. The scent of female arousal, sharp and sweet, layered over the salt and parchment.
Jeeves hovered discreetly, extending a small microfiber arm to dab at a new puddle on the floor.
“Okay,” Mandy said, her own breath quickening. She’d been operating the wand, but watching had left her flushed, her nipples hard peaks. “Now. Comparative analysis. Manual stimulation versus wand-induced, on the same subject, to gauge differential intensity.” She handed the wand to Felicity. “Your turn. I’m subject.”
Mandy lay back on the rug, spreading her legs. Her shaggy brown hair fanned out. Her cunt was already swollen, lips parted. “Baseline first,” she instructed. “Use your fingers. Time me.”
Felicity knelt between Mandy’s legs, her own body humming from residual energy. She slipped two fingers inside Mandy easily. She was soaking. Felicity curled her fingers, finding the rough spot inside, and used her thumb on Mandy’s clit, applying the practiced rhythm she knew her friend liked.
Mandy’s hips lifted. “Good… that’s good,” she murmured, her eyes closing. “Consistent. A solid eight.” After a minute of steady work, Mandy’s body tightened. She came with a series of sharp gasps, her inner muscles fluttering around Felicity’s fingers. “Okay. Log it. Manual orgasm. Peak intensity: eight-point-five. Duration: approximately twelve seconds.”
She lay there for a moment, recovering. “Now. The wand. Same placement. Setting two.”
Felicity’s hand shook as she aimed. She pressed the middle button.
The blue beam touched Mandy’s clit.
Mandy’s whole body left the floor. It wasn’t a gradual build. It was a detonation. A raw, shattered scream tore from her throat, utterly unlike her controlled sounds from moments before. Her back arched so violently it looked painful. Her legs snapped straight, toes pointing.
“FUCK! FUCKFUCKFUCK!” she chanted, her hands scrabbling at the rug. Her cunt gushed, a sudden flood of clear fluid that splashed onto Felicity’s wrist. The orgasm wasn’t a wave; it was a sustained, brutal cascade. It wracked her for a full twenty seconds, her body convulsing through peak after peak. When it finally ebbed, she collapsed, boneless, her chest heaving, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes.
Slowly, she turned her head toward Felicity. Her voice was a wrecked whisper. “Log that. Peak intensity: fifteen. On a ten-point scale.”
From the doorway, a strangled sound.
Ben stood there, dressed, a duffel bag in his hand. His face was pale, his expression a car crash of horror, arousal, and profound betrayal. He’d seen it all. The clinical discussion. The screaming climax.
“I’m going to Bruce’s,” he said, his voice flat. “I can’t… I just can’t be here. You’re all… you’re turning into her. You’re turning into my mom.”
“Ben, wait—” Mandy tried to push herself up, but she was too weak.
“No. Have fun with your… your experiment.” His eyes swept over the three naked, glistening women, the notebook, the wand. “Give her my data point. It’s ‘terrified.’” He turned and walked out. The front door clicked shut.
Silence descended, broken only by the distant waves and the hum of Jeeves.
Mai was the first to speak. “Well,” she sighed, stretching like a cat. “The control group has absconded.” She looked at the wand in Felicity’s hand, then at Mandy’s devastated form on the rug. “The data is compelling, though.”
Felicity looked from the wand to the closed door to her notes. The thrill of discovery was still there, a live wire in her blood. But Ben’s exit had thrown a cold shadow over it. This wasn’t just science. It had consequences. They were playing with something that blurred lines—between intimacy and performance, between private pleasure and public spectacle.
Mandy finally sat up, wiping her face. She didn’t look at the door. She looked at the wand. “We continue,” she said, her voice regaining its steely edge. “We have a cocktail date tomorrow. We need to be prepared.”
She took the wand from Felicity’s limp hand. “Subject rotation. Mai, you’re on me this time. Let’s test the refractory hypothesis. Flick, keep logging.”
The beam glowed blue again in the sun-drenched room. The experiment, for good or ill, was far from over.
The experiment, for good or ill, was far from over. But Ben was done. The salt-tinged air outside the beach house did nothing to clear the image from his mind: Mandy’s body convulsing on the rug, Felicity’s clinical notes, the cool blue light. It felt like a violation. Of him. Of what they had. He walked without direction, the duffel strap digging into his shoulder, following the pavement along the shore.
The midday sun was a hammer on his neck.
He didn’t hear her approach.
“You look like someone kicked your puppy and then narrated the event in sensual prose.”
Ben jumped. Portia fell into step beside him, her short brown hair barely mussed by the ocean breeze. She wore simple jeans and a grey tank top, looking like any other young woman, not someone who manipulated timelines for a living. “Jesus, Portia. When did you get here?”
“About three weeks from now,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact. She glanced at his face. “Skipped ahead. This conversation seemed necessary.”
Ben stared at her. He never fully understood the mechanics of the Order of the Perpetual Sunrise, but he’d learned to accept the impossible from his sister. “Why?”
“Because you just left Mandy’s looking like your world ended,” Portia said, matching his stride. “And if you don’t sort your head out, you’re going to break up with her. Which would be stupid.”
“I don’t want to break up with her,” he said immediately, the words raw. “I love Mandy.” He kicked a piece of coral off the path. “It’s just… our mother. The toys. The fucking book. They were all there, Portia. Naked. Taking notes. It was like a lab, and my girlfriend was the fucking specimen.”
Portia was quiet for a few steps. The waves crashed, a steady rhythm. “I get it,” she said, and she was one of the few who genuinely could. “Mom’s… a lot. Her frankness is a weapon. It embarrasses you. It always has.”
“It’s not just embarrassment,” Ben argued, but his protest was weak.
“Isn’t it?” Portia stopped, turning to face him. Her eyes, usually so sharp and intimidating to others, were soft. “You never minded the crazy group sex. I’ve seen the security logs from Jan’s parties. You’ve been in orgies with your girlfriend, her best friend, and a half-elf. You didn’t blink. You only mind when Mom sends the sex toys. When Mom writes it down. You’re conflating Mandy with Mom. They aren’t the same person.”
Ben opened his mouth, then closed it. The truth of her words landed, heavy and undeniable. The night with Mandy, Felicity, Mai, Mike, and Casey—that had been wild, intense, but it had felt theirs. Private. This thing with the wand felt like a broadcast. A performance for an audience of one: Amy Bryant.
“Mandy is Mandy,” Portia continued, her voice low. “She’s more like her own parents. She sees weird shit as a puzzle to solve. That wand is a puzzle. You think she’s turning into Mom? She’s turning into Casey. ‘Be thorough, Bug. Chart the results.’ That’s not Mom’s vibe. That’s pure Williamson pragmatic kink.”
A half-laugh, choked and tired, escaped Ben. “God. You’re right.”
“Of course I am.” Portia bumped his shoulder. “So go clear your head. Then maybe use your words like a big boy and ask Mom to please, for the love of god, stop writing detailed erotica about your dick. It’s a reasonable boundary.”
“She’ll just laugh.”
“She will,” Portia agreed, starting to walk again. “But she’ll probably also agree. Eventually. Now go back. Your control group is deficient, and your data is going to be skewed.”
Ben watched her walk down the beach, her figure shimmering slightly before vanishing entirely. Time travel gave him a headache. But the clarity she’d offered did not.
Back at the beach house, the methodology had devolved. Scientific rigor had been sacrificed for sheer, chaotic curiosity.
“We need external data points,” Mai insisted, pacing, the wand looking like a conductor’s baton in her hand. “Aunt Judy’s coming by to check the outdoor security lights. And Beth texted, she’s walking over for lunch.”
“We cannot test the wand on your aunt or your sister,” Felicity said, though her protest was half-hearted. She was still logging, her notebook now filled with detailed observations.
“Why not?” Mandy asked. She was at her main holographic terminal, wires connected to the wand’s base. “It’s non-harmful. It’s just intense pleasure. And if we’re going to give Amy comprehensive feedback, a broader age and familial range is valuable.” She tapped the screen. “I’ve modified the emitter array. It can do a wide-dispersion beam now. Lower intensity, wider area.”
“You weaponized it,” Felicity stated.
“I optimized it,” Mandy corrected, a grin playing on her lips.
The front door chimed. Jeeves floated toward it. “Visual identification: Judith Kapowski and Elizabeth Williamson.”
“Perfect,” Mai breathed. She positioned herself in the center of the living room, aiming the wand at the foyer. “Welcome wagon.”
The door opened. Judy Kapowski stepped in first, stylish in linen trousers and a silk blouse, her blonde hair perfect. Behind her, Beth bounded in, her short blonde hair messy, a camera bag slung over her shoulder. “Hey, weirdos, I’m starving—what the hell is that?” Beth asked, pointing at the wand in Mai’s hand.
Judy opened her mouth, likely to ask about the strange energy readings or the distinct smell in the air.
Mai pressed a button.
Not the targeted beam. The new, wide one.
A fan of faint cerulean light washed over both women.
The effect was simultaneous. Judy’s question died in her throat, morphing into a sharp, shocked gasp. Her eyes flew wide. Beth’s camera bag hit the floor with a thud. A whimpering moan leaked from her lips.
“Oh… my god,” Judy breathed, her hands flying to her blouse. But they didn’t push the light away. They clawed at the buttons. She ripped the silk open, buttons pinging on the concrete. Her sensible bra followed, torn off with a frantic twist.
Beside her, Beth was making a similar sound, a desperate, hungry whine. She yanked her vintage band t-shirt over her head, then fumbled with her jeans, shoving them and her underwear down in one frantic motion. She kicked them away, her hands immediately diving between her own legs.
Judy’s trousers were already around her ankles. She stumbled out of them, her body, kept toned and disciplined, now shuddering uncontrollably. Her fingers found her cunt, sliding through folds already slick from the beam’s insidious command. “What is… what is this?!” she managed to cry out, even as her head fell back and her hips began to jerk against her own hand.
“Observation,” Felicity whispered, scribbling furiously. “Wide-beam setting induces immediate, compulsive self-stimulation. Inhibitions are completely overridden. Vocalizations are consistent with peak arousal.”
Beth was past words. She was on her knees now, two fingers pistoning in and out of her sopping pussy, her other hand pinching and twisting her nipple. “Fuckfuckfuck…” she chanted, her eyes squeezed shut. She came in less than a minute, a sharp, wailing cry, her body buckling forward.
Judy followed, her cultured composure shattered into a raw scream. “YES! CHRIST!” Her back arched, her elegant neck corded. She ground her palm against her clit until the tremors subsided, leaving her panting and slumped against the wall, bare-assed and stunned.
Silence, except for heavy breathing.
The sliding glass door to the beach opened.
Barbie walked in, droplets of saltwater clinging to her sea-green hair. She wore one of her stashed outfits—a simple, borrowed sundress. She took in the scene: the two naked, trembling women, the wand, the others watching. “Oh. Are we having a party?” she asked, her voice melodic, unperturbed.
Mai, recovering her mischievous spark, aimed the wand at Barbie and fired.
The beam passed right through her. Nothing. Not even a shiver.
Barbie looked down at her chest, then back at Mai. “Was that supposed to do something? It tickled a bit. Like static.”
“Fascinating,” Felicity breathed. “Non-human physiology is immune. The neural or biological pathway it stimulates must be specifically mammalian. Or human.”
“Or you just got a dud shot,” Barbie shrugged, walking further inside. She nodded at Judy and Beth. “You two look like you had fun, though.”
The front door, still ajar, was pushed open again.
Rick walked in, holding a pastry box. “Hey, Beth said she was—whoa.” He stopped dead, taking in his naked, panting sister, his mostly-naked aunt, and the general disarray. Stacy stepped in behind him, her silver-streaked dark hair tied back, her bodyguard’s eyes scanning the room in an instant.
“What’s the situation?” Stacy asked, her hand subtly moving toward the small of her back where a 9mm usually resided.
“Science!” Mai chirped, and before anyone could explain, she hit them both with the wide beam.
Rick dropped the box. Cannoli rolled across the floor. A low, animal groan ripped from his throat. His eyes locked onto Stacy with pure, undiluted hunger. Stacy’s professional cool evaporated in a heartbeat. A shudder wracked her frame, her lips parting.
“Rick,” she gasped, but it was a warning that became an invitation.
He was on her in two steps. His mouth crashed onto hers, a fierce, consuming kiss. His hands fumbled with her cargo pants, pulling them down along with her underwear. She was already wet. He didn’t bother undressing fully. He just unzipped his jeans, freed his hard cock, and lifted her.
Stacy wrapped her legs around his waist, her back against the wall by the door. He drove into her in one deep, brutal thrust.
“God, yes!” Stacy cried out, her head thudding back against the wall. Her arms locked around his neck.
Rick fucked her with a frantic, desperate rhythm, the sound of their bodies slapping together echoing through the living room. He was grunting with each drive, his hands gripping her ass, pulling her onto him. Stacy was meeting him thrust for thrust, her hips bucking, her cries loud and unfiltered. “Right there, baby, right there! Don’t stop!”
It was raw, voracious, and over quickly. Rick’s body stiffened, a guttural roar tearing from his throat as he came inside her, pumping wildly. Stacy clenched around him, her own climax a series of sharp, choked screams. They slid down the wall together, a tangled, breathless heap of limbs and half-removed clothes.
Felicity’s pen was a blur. “Confirmed. The beam works on male subjects. Induces aggressive, impregnatory-style mating behavior. Latency is near-zero.”
Stacy, coming down, blinked up at the ceiling. She breathed hard, then let out a shaky laugh. “God. Amy. Amy had something to do with this, didn’t she?”
The front door swung open one final time.
Ben stood on the threshold, his duffel bag still in hand. He’d come back, resolved to talk. He took in the apocalyptic scene: Mandy's naked aunt and Beth, Rick and Stacy in a post-coital heap on the floor, the wand in Mai’s hand. His brain short-circuited.
Mai, reacting on pure instinct, saw movement in the doorway and fired.
The thin, targeted beam hit Ben square in the chest.
He gasped. The embarrassment, the anger, the confusion—all of it was vaporized by a surge of pure, demanding lust. His cock hardened instantly, straining against his jeans. His eyes found Mandy across the room.
“Oh, shit, Ben, sorry!” Mai started, but Ben was already moving.
He stalked across the room, past the cannoli, past her stunned relatives. He grabbed Mandy’s wrist. “Basement. Now.”
He didn’t ask. He pulled her toward the stairs. Mandy, for once, didn’t smirk. She saw the desperate need in his eyes, felt the same electric hunger coiling in her own belly from the ambient energy. She followed.
Down in her neon-lit sanctuary, he pushed her against the wall of shifting constellations. He kissed her, hard, his tongue claiming her mouth. His hands yanked her sweatshirt up and over her head. He wasn’t gentle. He pinched her nipples, making her cry out into his mouth.
He turned her around, bending her over the edge of her floating desk. He fumbled with his jeans, freeing his aching cock. He was already slick at the tip. He didn’t enter her slowly. He shoved himself into her wet pussy with a single, deep thrust that made her scream.
“Fuck! Ben!”
He fucked her like it was a punishment and a prayer. Each slam of his hips drove her forward against the desk. His grip on her waist was bruising. The pleasure was overwhelming, sharpened to a razor’s edge by the wand’s influence. Mandy met his violence with her own, pushing back against him, taking him deeper. The slap of skin, their ragged grunts, the wet, rhythmic sound of his cock pistoning into her—it filled the basement.
“Just… don’t,” Ben gritted out, pounding into her, “discuss my mom… when you play with this stuff… okay?” He was close. His thrusts became erratic, harder.
Mandy nodded, her face pressed against the cool desktop. “Okay,” she gasped. “Okay, Ben. Yes.”
That was all he needed. With a final, shuddering groan, he came, pulsing deep inside her. The intensity of his own release triggered hers. Her cunt clenched around him in rhythmic spasms, milking him dry.
He slumped over her, his breath hot on her back. The artificial aurora on the walls pulsed slowly.
After a minute, he softened and slipped out. He helped her stand, his hands now tender on her hips. The frantic energy was gone, replaced by a weary vulnerability.
Mandy turned, looking at his face. She understood then. The wand was just a tool. His mother was a separate problem. His love for her was the constant. She cupped his cheek. “No more mom talk during experiments,” she said quietly. “That’s your boundary. I’ll respect it.”
He leaned his forehead against hers, exhaling as if he’d been holding his breath for days. “Thank you.”
Upstairs, the cleanup was beginning. Judy and Beth had found robes. Rick and Stacy were dressed, awkwardly avoiding eye contact with everyone. The wand lay dormant on the coffee table, a quiet center of the storm.
Felicity closed her notebook. The data was unprecedented. Barbie sat cross-legged, nibbling on a salvaged cannoli, utterly unfazed. Mai scrolled through her phone, already editing clips.
The doorbell rang.
Jeeves floated to the foyer. “Visual identification: delivery drone. Package is labeled ‘Cocktail Attire - Preview. Love, Amy.’”
The momentum of the day, of the entire bewildering ordeal, crested and held. Tomorrow, the author herself would arrive. The experiment was concluding. The confrontation was about to begin.