Gadget Whore

By: Zero Zyzzyx

elliptoid@yahoo.com

The rattle of keys reflected off the tile floors of the empty union building and careened off into the darkness. The keys technically belonged to the university, but for three years they had been the responsibility of Elsa Lopez: junior, sociology major, and student worker. Elsa roamed the dusty halls at all hours, ostensibly to keep the grand old hall free of transients and “fifth-year seniors.” Usually, however, her job was to unlock things and lock them again. The work paid her eight dollars an hour, and more importantly, it offered her privacy. It wasn’t that Elsa didn’t like people; she just didn’t like it when they needed things. Elsa didn’t need anything, and she was rather proud of that fact.

It was another winter Tuesday night; the building was practically empty save for the whir of a thirty year-old vacuum cleaner and its owner, and a few myopic club chairmen. Elsa strolled lazily through the halls, checking doorknobs, glancing into rooms for litter. Once that was done, she would retreat to a quiet corner with a textbook, get ahead on her studies, and catch the bus home.

She glanced in one of the large meeting rooms and spotted a cell phone on the table. Elsa picked it up, and made a mental note to return it to the lost and found at the front desk in the morning. In the meantime, maybe someone would call it. It was one of those new phones with the touchscreens that she saw commercials about on TV once in a while; it took her a second to figure out how to turn it on. She didn’t even have a phone, herself. Not that she could have afforded it, but she didn’t like them in principle. Phones were like ropes binding people, forcing them to answer and deal with people whenever they rang, no matter what they were in the middle of doing.

The screen came to life, displaying a girl wearing lengerie as a background picture. Elsa rolled her eyes; boys, she thought. Which boy, however, was unclear; there didn’t seem to be a name. She went to a menu called “Contacts,” but there didn’t seem to be any. It must be a new phone. Elsa closed it and glanced at the manufacturer, a company called Fukon. She didn’t recognize it, but that was hardly surprising. It seemed like some kind of Chinese knock-off. Shrugging, she pocketed the phone and continued her rounds.

An hour later, Elsa had positioned herself in her favorite old sofa in a forgotten corner of the second floor. She was re-reading a chapter on Foucault from earlier in the quarter, in case the final was cumulative, when her hip buzzed, and she gasped. She bit her tongue and mentally chastised herself for her moment of feminine weakness, then fished the phone from her jeans. “Hello?” she asked, cautiously, and waited in silence for several seconds before she realized there was no one there. It was a text message. She felt fortunate no one was around to see her. There was actually also a little song playing as well, some unrecognizable piece of techno garbage. As it played a colors flickered on screen in time with the music. Elsa stared at it for a few seconds, until words flashed up on the screen.

Elsa saw an option to reply to message, so she did so. Typing meticulously on the little keypad, she responded:

<Hello. I’ve found your phone and will leave it at the lost and found at the Union Building tomorrow morning when they open.>

The next message came back quickly:

Elsa sighed. Typing like this took forever, she thought. Why do people send text messages?

<fine. I’ll meet you then.>

Elsa sighed and turned off the display. Why had she agreed to meet the guy? He was probably some pervert, like all men. She decided she would just put it in the lost and found anyway; he wouldn’t know who she was. Besides, how would it get stolen? The whole thing was stupid. She settled back in the chair and searched for her place in her book.

She was barely a page in when the same song played again, almost too quiet to hear. Ignore it, she thought to herself. After a few seconds, though, she picked it up, watching the visualization dance for a few seconds before more poorly spelled words appeared.

Elsa growled. She wasn’t going to type in a full description. <I’ll be teh one holding up your phone> she shot back, so irritated she didn’t care about going back to fix the spelling. It’s not as though he’d notice.

<lol!!! srsly why dont u taek a pic of urself n send it 2 me?!?>

Elsa turned off the phone. Definitely a pervert. She looked at the screen, waiting for the lights to come on and an apology to arrive; if she stared she could almost see them. The call didn’t come. Finally she put the phone down and she went back to her book, but she couldn’t get started. She hated to leave conversations half finished; it was rude. She thought about texting back, but she realized it was probably faster just to snap a picture than dealing with it. Leaving her stuff, she marched over to the empty restroom.

The fluorescent lights should be flattering, she smirked as she stood in front of the none-too-clean bathroom mirror. Elsa didn’t look at herself that often; her physical appearance never really had much of an impact on her life. Her style of choice was “inconspicuous.” Her hair was tied back tight in a pony-tail, features inoffensively indistinct thanks to her mixed-racial heritage. She hid her eyes behind barely-necessary eyeglasses. She wore no makeup, of course. She wore a prerequisite three layers, even in the summer, hiding any hint of a shape.

Everything was as she left it last time she looked, she decided, and hunted through the phone menu to find the camera. She held it up and pushed the button, then figured out how to send it as she walked back to her sofa. She didn’t even bother to open her book back up. The call came less than a minute later.

Elsa hated how transparent boys were. <happy?>

She shook her head, again considered leaving the phone on the couch, and went back to her book. Even though the phone didn’t ring, she had trouble getting started again. It almost felt like it was... too quiet. She had that song stuck in her head. After trying to force it out for a few minutes, she gave up and looked in the phone to see if she could play it, and enjoy some catharsis. It wasn’t hard; it was the only file in the music folder.

She started it, and then went back to her textbook. Before she knew it the song had ended, so she started it again and found an option called “loop”. The book was incredibly boring. She’d read this part before, and it wasn’t exactly her favorite part, anyway. She found herself paying more attention to the spiraling colors than the chapter review.

She was bored. She glanced up at the clock overhead; it was 9:35. Twenty-five minutes, at least, until her bus arrived. She set her book on the floor and laid back on the couch. She was almost tired enough to take a nap, but she didn’t want to fall asleep and wait for the next hourly. Idly, she flipped through the menu options, looking to see if there was anything else in there. She came across a video folder with a series of files in it: movie_001, movie_002, and so on. She opened the first one.

A quiet series of cries emerged from the speakers, and the screen projected a blurry film of a woman bent over a desk, her skirt pulled up, while a generic muscular man entered her from behind. Elsa stopped the movie instinctively, recoiling. What else should she have expected? She set the phone down and lay back on the couch, disgusted.

It’s not as though she were a prude, she reasoned, still blushing from the accidental porn. Elsa had had sex plenty of times. Well, quite a few, at least. With the one guy. She had become infatuated with a Latino boy named Rodrigo her senior year of high school, and he had hinted and whined until she had worn down. He was even kind of sweet at first, although he’d never be confused with a romantic. She didn’t dislike the sex, exactly; the trouble is that it quickly emboldened him. Basking in machismo, Rodrigo began emulating the friends of his older brothers. He began treating her poorly, and demanding more from her sexually. What angered her most is how long she had put up with it.

She started the video again, to prove that she wasn’t insulted by it. It wasn’t disgusting, she realized, just uninteresting. The girl was just laying there, occasionally squirming, but for the most part looking bored. The guy looked fine and all, even if he had a haircut that declared “total douchebag” and a slightly inbred look to his face. In other words, his pecs were okay. He was just firing away, a balled fist awkwardly dug into his own kidney, as if it had nowhere else to go. His thrusts were short, even, and unvaried, as if he were some sort of pornographic metronome. Elsa shook her head. This got people off?

She flipped to the next video, not wanting to write off the porn industry based on one thirty second video. This one contained a twenty-something woman bouncing on top of a man lying down on a bed, hidden from view. Technically it was pretty much the same thing: 10 in, 20 out, 30 goto 10. The girl wasn’t amazing, but she wasn’t an eyesore, and at least this time she seemed to be enjoying herself. Her moans seemed more authentic, and she varied the rate and angle of insertion.

She looked up. Should she be watching these here? But of course, everyone had long since gone home.

The third video was of a brunette performing oral sex on a scruffy-looking skateboarder guy. One of the things Rodrigo had begun asking for frequently was afterschool blowjobs. Elsa had never felt comfortable doing it; she never liked how they ended, when he would orgasm seemingly at random, always catching her between breaths, causing her to choke. Then she would have to run into the bathroom to spit it out while he lay quietly on the couch, “basking”. Other times he couldn’t come and then it would be almost worse; the little prick would grow sullen and treat her as if she’d failed in some duty.

As she watched the video, she wondered if perhaps she hadn’t done it right. While Elsa had performed carefully, a compromise between timidity and teasing, the woman on the phone treated the act with all the mechanical drive of a car engine. She watched the movie with unbounded curiosity, examining the effects of her performance on the male subject. Occasionally she adjusted her technique, like the cadence of a well-performed speech, resulting in the man’s metaphorical equivalent of applause. Rather than rushing for a toilet or reaching blindly for a tissue, however, the woman’s throat contracted twice, and that was it.

Elsa continued to watch, wondering why she hadn’t before. What they sometimes lacked in titillation, they made up for in educational value. If only Elsa had known some of these things before! Or if Rodrigo’s full sum of sexual knowledge hadn’t been accumulated form a twenty year-old named Luis with a patchy goatee.

“Lisa!” grunted one model, and Elsa snapped to attention. She had thought he had said her name. It was only now that she realized how flushed she felt, how nearly her left hand had come to snaking its way underneath her cardigan and toward her right breast. Only now did she realize that the clock read 10:45. “Shit!” she cried and gathered her belongings in her arms, racing to shut off the lights and lock the doors in time to make the last bus of the night.

Elsa woke from fever dreams, a montage of random sexual scenes with faceless participants. It seemed as though she were just watching them at first, a fly on the wall, but as she combed her memory she wondered if the perspective hadn’t changed. It was difficult untangling the murky images, thoughts, and feelings, along with the pleasant sensation their recollection induced on her even then. Maybe it’s been too long since she’d been in the saddle, she thought. But the idea of dealing with a relationship with someone like Rodrigo banished the thought from her head. Elsa weaved through the small apartment and the accumulated waste of three roommates; it was as though they lived on top of each other. She grabbed a box of cereal, noting familiarly how might lighter the box was than it had been the previous morning, and poured herself a bowl of milk. She thought about skipping class for a change and staying home, but she had to go in anyway to give back the stupid phone.

Once she got to class, she wished she hadn’t. It wasn’t like her to ignore lectures, but she spent them daydreaming about last night, and the forgotten feelings that it had brought to the surface. For the first time in an eternity she noticed the people around her, the occasional cute boy peppered into the crowd. She even thought she caught one looking at her. Well, she could see why he would be confused; instead of her usual parka-in-October style, she’d just worn a T-shirt and a pair of jeans. She’d even brushed her hair this morning and let it down.

She was so relieved to be out of class at lunchtime she hadn’t had time to get nervous about her little exchange with the pervert. What was there to be nervous about? He’d probably be some little nerd, she’d swat away one clumsy pass, and it’d be done. The most tragic part about it, she discovered, might be giving up the phone. She sat in the main hall of the union building, waiting. Maybe he wouldn’t recognize her now that she was wearing normal clothes. Before she had time to worry, her hip buzzed, and she let the colors do their thing before the text message appeared.

<sorry!!! i cant come get my phone rite now. i got in a car wreck>

<yeah, it jus sux. gotta wait 4 a tow>

Elsa didn’t know what to say. <I’m sorry> she typed, feeling a little lame.

<ok>

She was about to turn off the phone when another message came.

<Okay.> He should probably know what she really looked like.

The bathroom in the auditorium would be empty even though it was the middle of the day; they usually only used it in the evenings. She unlocked the auditorium door and locked it again behind her, and wandered into the girl’s bathroom. This one was much nicer, and she checked her hair before taking the picture. She wondered if she should have tried wearing makeup, too; another thing she hadn’t done since high school.

She smiled, took, the picture, and sent it along. But instead of leaving, she stayed in and turned the lights off, leaving the room nearly black. Her shift didn’t start for hours, and soon she’d have to give the phone back. Why not get some use out of it first? She queued a bunch of movies and sat against the wall on the floor, getting comfortable. As the boys and girls did things to each other, Elsa allowed herself to imagine what it would be like. When the playlist ended, she began it again, until she knew them, knew the actress’ lines, the moments when they squeaked. She touched herself with her free hand, giving in to a temptation she had long withheld. After a while she began pretending she was them, speaking in unison with them.

The phone buzzed.

<Thanks> she typed back, but his next message had already come in.

bf? It took a minute for Elsa to realize he meant boyfriend.

<No> she typed, and before she could add more, he replied again.

She certainly couldn’t explain it like this.

<whats fb?> She didn’t have time to type correctly anymore.

<no.>

Elsa didn’t know what to say.

<want 1 more picture?> she asked, not knowing why.

<yea!!!>

Maybe it was because she was so used to seeing it, or maybe it was rebellion against her frumpy old self. God knows she was too horny to be rational. She stripped off her T-shirt, leaned forward and pressed her forearm into her chest to deepen her cleavage, kissing toward the mirror. She looked at the picture afterward, and she liked it. Without waiting for him to respond, she stripped off her pants and socks. The knowledge that this boy would see him, this helpless little nerdy boy who wanked to his porn collection, would now be wanking to her. To hell with being worried all the time, worried about grades and relationships and self-control. What had self-control gotten her? Not a damn thing since she turned eighteen.

The camera continued to flash as the girl in the mirror danced seductively, growing increasingly confident, increasingly... excited. She could do anything she wanted. No one could stop her, not even herself. If her little nerd wanted a show, why not, if it felt good? Elsa unhooked her bra and flung it to the floor. She stared into the mirror, watched the girl who had been hiding from her: a college co-ed with perky tits and a nice, tight ass. She traced a finger across the little bumps of her aereolae, and squeezed her thighs together. If he wanted a little fun, why not, if he was any good? Elsa thought about peeling off her panties as well, but decided against it. Better save something for the real thing, she thought. She fired him a message.

Elsa looked at the phone; her shift had already started. Fuck it, she thought savagely. She didn’t need that eight dollars an hour anymore, the day after day of loneliness and meaninglessness. She wouldn’t need the money, either; she could be twice as good as the girls on the phone, and she bet they didn’t have to pay rent. She felt a sort of tension building inside her body, the combination of a climactic decision followed by impatient delay. Her mystery man hadn’t replied to her messages; she could see him speeding through the university district, dodging traffic to get here early. She may as well be ready, and the auditorium was going to open up for a movie soon. Leisurely, a little sadly, she put down the phone and began redressing herself.

There was nothing to do but wait in the lobby until he arrived. Elsa picked a prime spot, a couch near the entry where she could watch the asses of the boys who walked by. Her textbook no longer interested her, and the area wasn’t suitable for the cinema, so she pulled out a pair of earbuds stolen from her roommate’s bedroom that morning. Plugging them in, she put the techno song on loop and leaned back, settling back into a light nap.

Elsa felt a hand on her arm, and opened her eyes. Her guess hadn’t been too far off the mark. The man above her wore a mud-colored goatee and two days’ stubble. His eyes were creased with worry and ringed bloodshot; he was nervous. Good. Once, yesterday, Elsa might have seen this man and thought of him as someone she might trust; now he looked like a man she could predict. She gave him a smile without showing her teeth.

“Hi there,” he said.

“Hello,” she answered calmly, feeling no urge to say more.

“You... you’re the one who found my phone.”

“I am.”

“I’d like to give you a little reward for being so mindful,” he said.

She arched an eyebrow. “Hopefully it’s not too little,” she smirked. “Your name?”

“Huh? It’s David.”

“Well, David. Why don’t we go somewhere and talk?” She led him up to the top floor, and unlocked the same conference room where the phone had been the previous night. Autumn light filtered through the blinds, painting the room dark gray. Elsa hopped up on the table, crossing her arms beneath her breasts. “So,” she said.

David glanced around the room. “So, uh...”

She smirked. “I would have thought you would have a plan.”

He swallowed. “A plan?”

“David, David.” She sighed. “Why’d you leave your phone here?”

“I forgot it.”

“David, honey, no one was using this room yesterday. I just checked. Sure, some people sneak in here to study, but you did it on purpose.” She watched him, but he didn’t say anything. “You wanted me to find it, didn’t you, sweetie?”

David looked around again, perhaps to spot menacing men hiding in the shadows. “Um.”

She got off the desk and slowly walked toward him. “You left it for me on purpose because you wanted this to happen.” She smiled and put her hand on his chest. “It’s okay, I know. I don’t know what your little phone did to me, but I’m not stupid. I just think it’s strange.”

“I... I thought...” he stammered. “Thought you were cute. B-But you wouldn’t talk to me. So...”

“So you found a girl you liked, and then you used your little nerd-powers to destroy her.”

“I just wanted...”

“But your little prudish bitch is gone now, gone for good. Instead you got me.”

His face became anguished. “I’m sorry...”

“Why be sorry?” Elsa asked. “People change all the time.” She walked back over to the table and leaned over, resting a hand on her hip. “Fact is, I’m glad. Maybe it’s wrong. Maybe I’m supposed to feel bad about it. But I don’t. At least now I’m not afraid of getting what I want. So the question is: are we going to fuck or what?”

He still didn’t move. “What?”

“So you’re a bit of a creep. But you’ve got good timing.” She stripped off her shirt and unbuttoned the fly on her jeans. “You did this to get some pussy, didn’t you? So come get it. Fuck me like the slut you made me.” She stepped out of her jeans and underwear and put her hands on the table, presenting herself to him.

David’s wariness crumbled, and he began tearing off his own clothing. He approached her, slowly, as if not knowing where to begin. She could have helped him, but she didn’t want to look at him. She wanted to close her eyes and concentrate only on the feeling of him entering her. Finally he figured it out and pulled her around him by the hips.

The sex that followed would hardly have made good porn, she thought to herself, but just because it might have looked dull didn’t mean it felt dull. She wanted to start basic. He didn’t seem utterly helpless; he eventually undertook her simple commands (most of them a single word: “harder”). And it felt great. All these years she’d been depriving herself of these earnest little boys, so eager to please. They reenacted some of the scenes from the videos he showed her, but she no longer had to recall them; they came naturally.

As the dance began to crescendo, Elsa’s body began to betray her and her aloofness withered. She began talking dirty, the way the other girls did, the words tumbling from her lips. Her breathing became ragged and she squealed as he pressed further and further in, pawed clumsily at her tits. She let him toss her around like a rag doll. How could she have gone without this? She never wanted it to stop. She needed it. And when he came, slumping over her in exhaustion, she squirmed and squeezed the last little feeling of him inside her.

Afterwards they dressed in silence, not awkward but thoughtful. Elsa finally felt alive, after years of feeling tired. She could get a new job, waitress at one of the dive bars. The tips would give her would be enough to change her style, buy some decent clothes and some makeup. Or at least pay off the credit card bills she was about to rack up. And of course there would be boys to buy her gifts... and other things.

“So...” Elsa spun around, to see her forgotten partner dressed, head bent forward to avoid her gaze, or perhaps to stare at her bra. She stuck her chest out a little and smiled.

“Yes, David?”

“Do you... would you want to go out sometime?”

Elsa ran her eyes up David once more. Why the hell wouldn’t she?

She picked up her phone and waved it, smiling coyly. “I’ve got your number.”

The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Gadget Whore

By: Zero Zyzzyx

elliptoid@yahoo.com