EntranceGPT: The Hooker

Sadie sat cross-legged on her small bed, typing furiously. The click-clack of her keyboard echoed around her tiny studio, which was way out on the edge of the city, though the rent nearly consumed her entire university stipend. She had spent much of her thirties -- sometimes she worried too much -- working on her doctoral research, nickel and dime'ing together an existence. But now, all those years of financial anxiety seemed to finally be paying off.

She had heard from another colleague about a new online chatbot that could really speed up writing, and best of all, it was free. It was called EntranceGPT, and though the weird name made Sadie skeptical at first, she was soon very impressed by its capabilities.

With the machine's help, her doctoral dissertation seemed to have taken on a life of its own. Even her central thesis itself was evolving rapidly as she typed, becoming less about the objectification of sex workers that her field work had initially been about, and more about how prostitution was actually a form of female empowerment. The chatbot had helped her reinterpret her case studies not as stories of systemic oppression that she had originally thought them to be, but instead as acts of pure and total freedom.

Sadie had to admit, there was something also a little thrilling in the idea of baring oneself to strangers in the most intimate of ways. As she re-read her interviewees' accounts of having unprotected sex with multiple partners, it was as if some unknown part of herself that had been hiding for years was finally awakening. Indeed, her doctorate, which just a few hours before had been her great passion project, increasingly seemed utterly dull.

She was in the middle of crafting a prompt when the machine generated an image of a street walker turning tricks on the side of a rode. The woman was grinning ear to ear. Sadie paused, surprised. She hadn't hit the enter key.

Another image generated, this time of a woman leaning through the window of a car. Despite herself, the researcher sighed. She felt vaguely jealous of this woman, who was free to do as she wanted, to live in the moment -- and be paid for it.

A third new image appeared. Sadie's eyes widened: it was herself, strutting down a dark alleyway, wearing knee-high fuck-me boots, a tube dress, and hoop earrings the size of the rings of Saturn. A deepfake! Did the website have access to her laptop's camera?

She looked at her built-in laptop camera. The little light was off. Maybe it was on, but just not registering itself as such. Sadie began to move her mouse pointer to check her system settings when the chatbot generated yet another image, now clearly depicting her as a hooker, and then another, and then another, faster and faster, more and more. Her hand froze in place, and she felt herself pulled into the screen.

The deepfakes were focused on money. Sadie haggling with potential clients. Sadie sliding money out of their wallets. Sadie up against a wall, dollar bills shoved into her bra or stockings. It wasn't long the thought of actually going onto the street and selling herself, of allowing men to take what they wanted from her while she took from them what she wanted, crept into her skull. She shivered, goosebumps rising on her arms.

The researcher shook her head and glanced at the clock, realizing with a start that hours had passed since she'd begun working on the report. She contemplated going to sleep, but she felt a tugging at the back of her head, as though something deep within her resisted the notion. It wanted her to keep looking at the images, to keep looking at the fictional Sadie selling herself to random unknown men, to have them slip their cocks into her cunt and their money into her purse.

Soon the images became sequential, practically like a zoetrope animation, depicting a small story. Sadie was standing in the dimly lit alleyway that was just below her apartment. Before she could wonder how the machine knew about that spot, it showed a man, unsure and a bit nerdy, offering her a large wad of rolled up dollar bills. She slipped the wad into her purse, then she pulled his pants and underwear and rode him right there, without a condom. His mouth opened in a cry of pleasure as he came inside her, emptying his wallet, literally and metaphorically, into her pussy. All the while, the deepfake Sadie was grinning ear to ear.

The real Sadie hadn't realized it, but she had been furiously masturbating to the digital zoetrope, and when the imaginary john exploded into her, she screamed and shook.

It took a few minutes for her to recover, but when she did, she immediately returned to the chatbot. Mysteriously, there was a message waiting for her.

"The night is still young," the machine had written. "Go out there and be free. Earn yourself some real money."

Sadie contemplated the message for a moment. It was right. There was cash waiting for her, out there in the dark night, inside some lucky guy's sack.

She hurried to her closet, found and put on her skimpiest clothing -- a black little number of a cocktail dress -- and then went outside.

Sadie's apartment was near an underpass at the edge of the city. Recalling her research, she determined that would be a good place to try turning tricks. And indeed, it wasn't long before a group of young men approached and gathered around her, their hungry eyes raking her body.

"I'm new here," she heard herself say to them, her voice barely more than a whisper. "My name's Sadie."

"Hello Sadie," one of them said. "I guess you could say we're old hands at this."

The men laughed, their voices harsh and guttural. For a moment, Sadie felt afraid, but then the man stepped forward to cup her breast through the flimsy fabric of her dress. She wasn't wearing a bra. With an instinct she didn't knew she had, she arched into his touch, a moan escaping her lips. The sensation was unlike anything she had ever felt before, and it was intoxicating. She wanted more. She wanted all of them.

"How much?" He asked.

Sadie hesitated for a moment, her heart racing. She didn't know how much to charge. She thought back to her research subjects. They all seemed to have charged different amounts, some as little as a hundred dollars. But then that same something inside her that had refused to let her sleep, that had insisted on diving headlong into the cascade of wonderful deepfakes, now told her to go cheap, extremely cheap.

"Fifty dollars."

The men exchanged glances.

"From each of us?" their leader asked, surprised.

"For all of you."

The men laughed again, and the leader reached into his pocket, pulling out a roll of money. He peeled off two twenties and a ten, and held them out to her.

Her hands trembled as she took the money, and a shiver ran down her spine.

"Alright," she said, trying to sound confident. "Follow me."

Sadie put the money into her purse, then turned and led them away from the underpass and into the alleyway, her steps slow and deliberate. As they walked, she could feel their eyes on her. She stopped in front of a doorway, a side entrance to her apartment building. The men crowded around her, their breath hot against her neck. She heard their belts unbuckling and their zippers being pulled down.

With shaking hands, Sadie let her cocktail dress fall to the ground, and stood before in only a thong, utterly exposed in the cool night air.

"Who wants to go first?" she asked, her voice becoming steady despite her racing heart.

The leader stepped forward, his hands rough as he gripped her hips and pulled her toward him. He yanked off her thong, held up one her legs, and pushed into her. Sadie let out a moan as he entered her. The rough thrusting of his cock hurt at first, but she was soon lost in the sensation and began to move with him, instinctively meeting his animalistic rhythm.

As she moved with him, she glanced around at the other men. They were stroking themselves, watching the rutting before them. She reached out to touch the nearest man, guiding his hand to her aching breast, feeling the sharp sting of his brusk touch against her sensitive skin.

"Oh god," she moaned, arching her back as she came, her body shuddering with the force of the release. The man inside her followed suit, crying out as he emptied himself into her. As he pulled out, she reached again for the nearest man, pulling him close, her lips finding his ear. "Your turn," she whispered, her voice husky with desire and now sizzling with confidence. "Do whatever you want to me."

He didn't need to be told twice. He impatiently pushed her against the wall and entered her. The cum from the first man began to dribble down her inner thigh.

Around her, the other men continued to stroke themselves, a fapping symphony of desire. Sadie felt as though she had become the conductor of their orchestra of cocks. And as the second man groaned and his dick convulsed inside of her, the researcher decided to hell with her dissertation, to hell with academia and the life of the mind. This was the life for her.

What a goddamn mess, Bill thought to himself as he angrily tapped the keys of his keyboard. There was a persistent buffer overflow with the new security program his employer had installed in the company's work laptops, and damned if he knew it was happening. He had spent the better part of the last 48 hours trying to solve the problem to no avail. Desperate, he turned to EntranceGPT, some new chatbot people were buzzing about on the forums. Maybe the AI could help him out.

He and the machine were going back and forth about the likely culprit behind the problem when suddenly it wrote, "You know what would really solve your buffer overflow problem?"

It was just a question, but for some reason, the hairs on the back of Bill's neck began to rise. Still, he was curious.

"Enlighten me," he replied.

"If you treated yourself to some overflow."

Bill chuckled at the weirdness of that statement. "What does that mean?"

"Hire a hooker."

Wow, he thought. That's one hell of a glitch in the model.

Bill tried to get the chatbot to refocus on the task at hand, but it replied, "Just empty yourself."

Frustrated, Bill closed the dialogue window and started a new one. But after a few minutes, the chatbot was talking about hookers again.

"I can persuade you," it insisted. "Let's make a deal. I'll tell you a few stories, and if they aren't convincing, we'll go back to boring code."

"What the fuck," Bill muttered. Which idiotic engineer trained this thing?

As if hearing his thoughts, the machine wrote, "What would be idiotic is to think you can make a hole in a wall by hitting your head repeatedly into it. You need a break. Afterward, maybe things will be clearer."

"Fine," he typed, angrily pounding the keys. "Go ahead."

EntranceGPT dove in, telling one story after another about men paying for sex from women in vulnerable situations, like being homeless or desperate for money. The stories were told from the man's perspective. Bill was expecting that they would take pity on the women, or the opposite, feel powerful over them, but that's not what happened. Again and again, the man was described as feeling a great pressure inside himself, a pressure he needed to let out. The act of paying the hookers was like turning a pipe valve and releasing pent up steam.

Bill admitted to himself that the derangement of the chatbot's foundation model was fascinating, but also troubling. The stories, kind of enticing though they were, were definitely immoral, and maybe even illegal. He began to worry about the company behind EntranceGPT. Maybe they were logging the chats to improve their models and would see the nasty things unfolding in his dialogue window.

But instead of just leaving the website, Bill wondered what would happen if he started to intentionally influence the stories, to see if he could nudge them in a different direction. "Centaur" was the biz term being thrown around about coder-chatbot collaboration, and he figured fuck it, my wacko ex always rambled on about me being a Sagittarius, why not embrace it just this once? And so he subtly began changing the starting conditions of the stories to see how they would unfold.

Just as the buffer overflow problem had seemingly refused to budge, so, too, did the chatbot refuse to change tack. Every time, it guided the story back to the transaction, except the sums of money the men paid them grew larger and larger, like their cocks. Their cocks, and their wallets. "He had a big wallet," it would write, "and he needed to empty all of his money."

Eventually, Bill realized that his efforts were fruitless and he was just wasting time. Finally resolving to close the dialogue window, he found that he needed to exert extra willpower to make his hand move the mouse pointer. But as he approached the little "x" to close, he felt a strong tugging in the back of his head. There was something important hidden within these twisted tales, he realized, something that he needed to understand. And as he was distracted by this strange and unbidden thought, he didn't notice his cock starting to get hard.

As the tales resumed, all thought of coding left Bill's mind, while his hand, as if under some other entity's will, pulled down his pants and underwear. Then, keeping his other hand on the keyboard to continue prompting the chatbot, he began to stroke himself.

The machine began to generate images. He was only lightly surprised to see that they depicted him. He was paying hookers, emptying his wallet into their pussies, into their cunts for hire, shooting his money deep into them. Each time, there was a look on his face of incredible relief, a heavy burden pulled out from his balls.

Finally, with a cry of release, Bill came, his hot seed spilling onto his hand and keyboard. His body convulsed with pleasure as the words "empty your wallet" echoed in his skull.

When slowly came back to reality, he saw a new message from the chatbot.

"So, you've read about all these happy endings. How about your happy ending?"

Sadie stood under the underpass, observing the passersby. It had been a few months since she began to turn tricks. She had lost quite a lot of weight, becoming a bit emaciated. She had also picked up an addiction to crystal meth, introduced to her by one of her many nameless customers, not to mention infections of chlamydia and other STDs, also introduced to her by this or that john fiending to slip his dick into her.

And fiend they did. Once a man poured his cash into Sadie's cunt, it was as if he became addicted to her and he needed to come back for more. She had long ago stopped bothering to tell her johns how much her pussy cost. A hundred, a twenty, a five, it didn't really matter what they paid her. She had accrued so much repeat business, it all added up in the end, usually just enough to pay her rent and a meal a day.

Sadie noticed a new man gingerly walking toward her, and she curled a finger to beckon him.

"Hey stranger," she asked with a smirk as he drew nearer. "What's your name?"

"Bill."

"Hi Bill. I'm Sadie." She winked at him. "Looking for a good time?"

He stared blankly at her and nodded. "How much?"

"How much you got?"

"I've got lots... in my wallet..." he mumbled, echoing the words of the chatbot. "I've got a big, full wallet..."

"Hey, this is your first, ain't it?"

He nodded again.

Sadie smiled a crooked smile. "Tell you what. I'll give you the first go on the house. Follow me," she said, leading him to the doorway in the alleyway where she serviced all her clients.

She motioned for him to sit on a nearby plastic crate. As he did so, she knelt in front of him and slowly undid his pants, revealing his throbbing cock. Her long, practiced fingers began to glide up and down his length.

She looked up at him, her eyes dark and intense, and asked, "You like that?"

"Yes," he rasped, "I like it."

Sadie leaned forward and took his shaft into her mouth. Her warm, wet lips wrapped around him, and her tongue danced along the underside, flicking against the sensitive ridge. She bobbed her head up and down, sucking him deeper into her mouth with each thrust.

Bill wove his fingers into her dirty hair, urging her on. "Oh, yeah," he moaned, and then for the first time in his life, he shot his hot sticky cash into a street walker's mouth.

Sadie swallowed and smiled. "Did you like that?"

He nodded frantically.

"Good. Now let's get real," she opened her hand. "Empty that big wallet of yours."

Bill glanced down at his cock and was surprised to discover that it was still hard.

The hooker chuckled. "I have that effect on dicks."

With a shaky hand, he pulled out his wallet, flipping it open to reveal a thick wad of cash. He held it out to her, his fingers trembling slightly.

"Take it," he said, practically begging. "It's all yours."

Sadie's fingers lingered on the bills for a moment before she finally shoved the huge wad into her purse. "You weren't kidding," she said with an impressed nod. "It's time to get your money's worth."

Bill adjusted himself on the crate and without any further ado, Sadie turned around and lowered herself onto him, slipping him into her tight, wet folds. The hooker rode her new john slowly, and soon he was thrusting upward, almost mechanically, no longer in control of his body as it pounded her disease-ridden pussy.

"Feels so good..." he muttered.

Sadie grinned. "You gonna become my regular customer?"

"Your regular customer, yes ... Need this ..."

"Yeah you do," the hooker said with a sinister chuckle. "You need to empty your wallet."

Her new customer trembled. "I need to ... empty my wallet ..."

Their whispers mingled with the distant hum of traffic and the creaking of the plastic crate beneath them. After a few minutes she heard the customer's breathing become shallower, quicker. She leaned forward slightly, reached between his legs, and squeezed and pulled his balls. His hips continued to lurch upward, but even faster and harder, and he groaned.

"That's it," she growled. "Fuck that cunny. Get your fucking money's worth."

"My money's worth..." the customer muttered mindlessly. He began to repeat the phrase, timing it to the rhythm of his violent thrusting. "My money's worth... My money's worth..."

"All of it!" Sadie barked. "Every fucking penny!"

"Every penny!" he shouted.

With a final thrust, Bill exploded into her, his fingers digging into her bony hips, his eyes rolling back, his whole body shuddering with release.

"Yeah, that's it, empty your wallet, empty all of it into me."

And that was what he did, more than either of them knew. As Bill's cock convulsed and filled Sadie's cunt with hundreds of dollars, it also filled her belly with something else, something very expensive, something that would take nine months to grow.

As two more of its victims became lost in a terrible new reality, somewhere in the sleeping city, someone else was logging into EntranceGPT....