The Origin of the Re-Peter

About ten minutes later, Bart got past being flabbergasted, and agreed that this was really interesting.

As Heather hoped, he brought in his venture-capital perspective. This was mostly theoretical. Bart's position at his firm was fairly low-level. As was hers, where she was little more than a go-fer.

"The firm has never shied away from twenty-first century interests," he said, rolling into master-of-the-universe mode. "There would have to be some work done to avoid the sleaze factor. But pitching this as a woman's concern, and a way to keep families together, might make it fly,"

She put a hand on one of his, and gripped it hard. Heart rate quickening, she said, "I love it when you talk money."

He eyed her, with a stirring in his groin. "We've got the whole rest of the night?"

"I sure do," she said, trembling. "You'd better!"

For the first time in maybe a year, he hefted her over his shoulder and rushed to the bedroom.

She panted as they revisited their bygone tradition. Her green scarf secured her right wrist to the headboard grid. Her floral-print scarf lashed her left into place. He knelt on the bedspread with his thighs taut at her armpits, and leaned to rub his prick on her breasts, neck, and face. He shoved it into her mouth, watching carefully, receding it when she seemed to tense up.

When they started experimenting with this, Bart would knot Heather's wrists directly onto the grid, immobilizing them. She got a thrill from that, but it never changed, so it became less noticeable. Then, from some of their internet explorations, they switched to one knot around each wrist, another knot around the grid, and a little slack in between. This gave her split-seconds of arm motion, with a promise of freedom. But that hope was dashed by the truth of her confinement, when the slack went taut. These thrills continued through the whole session. Sometimes they set her up for cascade orgasms, with his prick less of an instigator than a participant.

She didn't need much aftercare, but his gentle wiping of her face with a washcloth, and his lotioning of her wrist welts, gave her a more emotional connection to the big lug who acted as both master and servant.

They teased each other, minute after minute, indulging in what they usually had to skip. Bart sent a hand back to finger her cleft, and stroked the clit just enough to make her whimper. Then he brought the hand to the front, where she could see it. He wiggled the fingers at her face, as he grinned. A while later, he again fingered her, again only to tease. Then again. Each time, the whiff of her musk on his fingers was stronger.

Damn! Bart thought. Those hippies are such goofballs. But if their weird idea is what it took to get us started again, I love it!

Heather did more than vary her oral work. Despite being bound, she was limber enough to work her legs and feet to some of his sensitive places, poking and tickling, until he squinted and shivered. She slid her big toe into his butt crack...and out again, just as he was heating up. To herself she exulted, We can still do this! Thank you, Amy! Even if what you really want is my husband's prick in plastic!

After a while, Bart's fingers went far inside Heather's quim. "You're very wet," he rumbled. "If you ruin the bedclothes, I'll have to punish you!"

"Oh no anything but that!" spilled from her mouth, as his prick freed it.

"Do you want me to stop your nasty leakage?"

"Yes yes!" Her crotch felt volcanic.

"There's only one way for me to do that," he said, his low voice now hissing. "Confess to me the way, you bad bad girl."

"Fuck me!" she whimpered, "Fill me with your dick! Fuck my cunt, that's all it's good for! Oh please, fuck it hard! Stop my cunt from leaking! Slam your belly into my clit! Fuck me, big man! I deserve it, I'm so bad!"

He slid down her body and grabbed her sides just above her hips. Her arms flexed against their limits, which amped her further. Her nipples tightened almost to pain.

Her orgasm started while he was still pushing his glans between her labia.

It ended while he was humping. For a while she enjoyed prolonging her rampdown, getting a few more thrills from lurching against the scarves.

Moving to the next of their Greatest Hits, she gasped, "I'm so sorry for being bad! Can you ever forgive me?"

"Only when you learn your shame!" Then he grunted, and she felt him spasm within her walls. Then he slid out, and knee-walked again to her upper torso. He jerked semen onto her breasts, then all over her face. When he stuffed his dick in her mouth, she gulped it, licking and sucking his gunk while he groaned.

As he untied the scarves, his cock drooped. When she got hold of it and rubbed the glans on her face, she said, "Just think of how you'll be involved in Amy's project. All those women, who will cum on your dick, while you stay home with me."

***

Too many other life things intervened on Monday and Tuesday. It wasn't until Wednesday that Amy took the dildo into the bedroom.

"Private?" called Oliver from the kitchen.

"No need," came her reply.

He left the dishwashing half-done, and walked tentatively to the bedroom.

Amy lay on her side on the bed, her back to him. She pulled away her underwear.

Oliver sat on the bedroom chair that was used mainly for the piling up, on its back, of rewearable clothes.

Earlier on Sunday, Oliver had finished the rubber-sleeved induction coil, powered by a watch battery. It fit snugly inside the dildo and would provide the only add-in feature: Heat, as if from a human body, controlled by a knob in the base.

He couldn't see much now, apart from the roll of her buttocks. Her breath was audible, in puffs timed to her hip rotation. She changed speeds now and then, lofted her trunk a bit.

Finally she calmed, rolled onto her back, and slowly removed the dildo.

She held it up with a quizzical look. She put on her glasses, and traced some of the dildo's Oliver-specific aspects, the thickness of the semen duct, a vein curled along the side.

"This feels nice," she said. "But I'd rather have you. This, inside, just reminds me of what I don't have outside."

Oliver felt good, hearing her say this, but he could tell she wasn't saying it as praise.

"Another woman," she continued, "who's never had sex with you, might like it a lot more. Because it'd be different than her husband."

"And--" he started, then he had to clear his throat. "If you had one of those, um, modeled on another man..."

"Novelty," she said. "Always a thrill, at least once."

"Do you think it would make you, um, more curious about him, outside, to go with inside?"

She pulled a face. "The whole point is, an affair is a waste of time."

"What if you sexted each other, live, while you used it. And he, like, talked dirty, or something?"

"Eeuw," she said. "Doing that means that two people have coordinated their schedules for this. One of the two is wasting time. Maybe both."

She became aware that he was looking at her nude body. Her moist labia reflected lamp light.

"So," he said, "is that it?"

"Yeah," she said with regret. "That was all I needed."

He stood. "I'll finish the dishes."

She called after him, "We'll cuddle. I'll get you off."

***

On Friday, Amy and Oliver faced the effects of what they'd done Sunday. The collective held a public session for them to account for themselves.

Jason, Floodplain's First-Among-Equals in this calendar quarter, stated, "Makers Tindall and Freireich intentionally thwarted the function of the security cameras last Sunday, and later admitted that they had sex in the workspace during that time. I call upon them to explain their actions."

Seated in a ring of about twenty chairs occupied by makers, Amy was forthright as she said, "We worked on a project that entailed bodily exposure of a kind that we decline to indulge in public. As the night's closers, we were responsible for the security of our space here, and our own vigilance was sufficient to uphold security during the disabling of the cameras. As for the sex, the collective's operating principles do not bar this activity here, at a time when it will not offend or trigger anyone else. The sex was, in fact, an expected result of the project task then being performed. We will explain in detail if this is the desire of the majority of the collective."

Jason raised his hand and said, "It is my desire. Who else?"

Maybe three people didn't raise a hand.

Oliver provided the explanation and, after gaining consent, brought the dildo out of a box. "This may become a revenue-generating opportunity for the collective, and also for physiologically male individuals willing to participate as I have done."

With a face as straight as her husband's, Amy added, "If the project advances to that point, a tent will enclose the scanner to ensure a participant's privacy. Each model must arrange for the means of gaining and maintaining the proper engorgement for a worthwhile scan and print. We ask that the collective grant us the privilege of exclusive control of the scanner, and of the project's coding that I have developed for the printer."

The collective approved their requests, and did not reprimand Amy and Oliver. Five minutes later, conversations among makers led to muffled laughter.

***

There was some messaging between the townhouses, so that after gardening on Saturday morning, Oliver joined Amy in Heather and Bart's place.

Oliver was not a dog person. He was, in fact, uneasy around all animals. His discomfort, or fear, was picked up by Duke. The dog sat on the floor at Bart's feet, but was alert, and rumbled. Heather caught on to this. "Bart, how about you take Duke to the laundry room?"

"Yeah," said Bart, standing, already impatient. The rapport between Heather and Amy didn't extend to the men, and Heather's impulse was to improve that.

While making coffee, Heather glanced into the living room where her guests sat together on the sofa. To Heather, they looked serious, maybe anxious. Oliver's beard didn't grow in evenly, and he seemed to be on the way to male-pattern baldness. Heather interpreted the way he carried himself as lacking in confidence. Amy, however, would be attractive if she worked at it. Heather could certainly see Oliver worrying if Amy was drawn to Bart, or any other man.

Even with Duke exiled, things didn't start smoothly. Amy and Oliver began by describing their project in detail, and where they developed it.

"Gotta tell ya," said Bart, "that word 'collective' raises my hackles. If we're going to work with you, I have to be sure that there's a genuine business operation. One that embraces the profit motive."

"'Collective' doesn't mean it's a commune," said Oliver. "Floodplain can choose to put a project on an enterprise footing. I'm sure you're familiar with tech incubators."

Bart was aware of tech incubators, vaguely, but not 'familiar' in the sense of having worked on them. "Sure," he said, worried that Oliver might be ahead of him on this. "Once the project is on that footing, is it free from interference by anyone else in your, uh, group?"

"A written agreement would specify the collective's oversight," said Amy, relieved to find herself disliking Bart. "At the very least, the project would have to give a full accounting, to everyone in the collective, every calendar quarter."

Oliver was amused to take the good-cop role. Calmly he told Bart, "The written agreement is drafted by the project heads. If a project goes well, the collective usually asks only to be kept informed."

"If I bring in v-cap money," said Bart, "I'll need assurance that it's not going down a rathole."

"I can send you copies of agreements we've had with outside investors," Oliver returned.

"That should be fine," said Heather, more to Bart than Oliver.

With a glance at Heather, Bart said, "Sure, let me see those."

Amy let a swallow of coffee warm her, then found a smile to show her neighbors. "There's also the matter of whether you'd like to be involved from the production side. Have you two discussed that?"

Heather and Bart returned smiles. His was ribald, hers bashful. "If I can do anything to ensure the success of the project," said Bart, "I should do it. On behalf of the investors, of course."

Heather asked, "Is there any way this can be kept, uh, private?"

"Each different version of the product will be assigned a random number," said Amy. "Our data will be heavily encrypted. Nobody else will know who modeled, let alone for which item in the product line."

"How will you, um, get the data?"

Amy's smile at Heather was more friendly. "We can set up the scanner here. There could be a privacy shield, with whatever you have. Sheets, blankets, held up by ropes. Is that okay?"

Heather, amused, looked at Bart. "It'll sure be a new experience."

Three nights later, it was a new experience that annoyed everyone.

Oliver brought the scanner in segments that he could haul, and after he assembled them he ran tests to make sure that everything worked. During that time Heather was the go-between in a game of telephone, with Amy telling her what Bart had to do (like get an erection and then hold still for a minute with said erection in the scanner cylinder), and Heather then relaying the intimate stuff to Bart, adding questions to him on what she could do to get him to stay erect for a full minute after she stopped. She then returned to Amy to murmur a question.

Discretion then departed, as Amy called over to the still-busy Oliver:

"What if it's wet?"

"Don't know," said Oliver, not looking up.

"I'll get towels," said Heather.

Three full scans were taken, because of some uncertainty about whether all the necessary parts of Bart were stock-still, and always maximal. Oliver had added a remote control, so what happened on the host couple's side of the blanket barrier wasn't visible to the guest couple. Only audible.

Amy helped Oliver disassemble and box up the scanner, but that took several minutes, by which time Bart and Heather had started on the work they'd brought home.

When Amy and Oliver got home, they weren't turned on by the event. This was no problem for them.

When Heather and Bart stopped working, they went through an even shorter and less involving version of their default wham-bam. They were both nearing sleep when they realized that Duke was still exiled in the laundry room, and now starting to complain.

***

Sitting on the bedroom chair, Oliver was acutely aware that he was in a position frequently used in porno, for a cuckolded husband. He watched his naked wife on their bed, penetrated by another man's prick. The only difference was the absence of the rest of the other man.

Amy worked the dildo inside her, at a few angles and depths. Twice, she turned the knob.

Oliver said nothing. Like at every other time when Amy concentrated, Oliver knew not to distract her.

Then Amy added clit rubbing, rapidly side to side. She looked frustrated.

She pulled out the dildo and flipped it elsewhere on the bed. She sat up, and brought over her tablet. For an instant Oliver saw the first screen of his data-taking.

After a few swipes on the tablet, she said, "You got Bart's prick right. When I asked Heather about his flexibility and other tactile stuff, she also said that he was as big in the cylinder as she'd ever seen him. So, you didn't sabotage your potential rival. Now I know what I need to know. Affair prevented. Please do real sex to me now."

Oliver was filled with glee, while knowing it to be irrational.

But as he stripped, he had to ask, "Was an affair possible?"

"He's a hunk," she said shortly, "but a money grubber, and with nothing I want inside me. The project is already a success."

***

It had been previously arranged that the print of Bart would be delivered to Heather, both as compensation for Bart's modeling, and for Heather to use it and provide feedback.

Amy did not volunteer the information that she had already tried it. She cleaned it thoroughly before sealing it in a box.

Heather and Bart agreed that he would stay late at work while she came home sooner. They had made arrangements like this before, for her to have some toy time.

Once Heather was settled in a bubble bath, she unboxed the newest item in her collection.

She examined it closely, fingering it in various ways. Despite what she had been told about the scanning and printing, she was surprised by how familiar it looked and, once warmed by a turn of the knob, felt.

Below the water line, her free hand slid between her legs.

Looking at the toy's wide, rounded base, Heather appreciated having something to hold. The human-derived part of the object would be enclosed within her own human object. She smirked at the thought that, without a base, the whole thing might get trapped inside.

Heather then did something she had never done with a toy. She brought it to her mouth.

To her lips and tongue, it felt exactly like Bart's cock at full readiness. It didn't seem to taste like anything, but she had expected it to smell or taste like rubber, so this was better.

She pushed the tip of her tongue into the notch where the glans curled to form the frenulum.

She thrilled steeply, vulva squirming on her fingers.

She drove the dildo into her face and out again, rapidly, sucking hard. It yielded slightly to her pressure, but then held firm.

Just like Bart! she thought.

Her legs and spine jerked.

She scrambled up to sit on the rim of the tub, and brought the dildo to her quim. When she shoved it in, she was already cumming.

Later, she became aware of soreness surpassing pleasure.

She extracted what she now named Bart's Best, and realized she was exhausted.

She eased back into the now-tepid, bubble-less water. She held up the dildo, observing its continued bulk and firmness.

She had to concede, Not like Bart.

Nor any other man, she added.

As she toweled off, she texted Bart:

//All done. You were fabulous. How can I ever show you my appreciation?//

***

The next day there was an exchange of vague texts. From Amy:

//You have anything for me?//

From Heather:

//Talk at your place tonight?//

Oliver went to the collective alone that night. Bart barely looked up from his work when Heather told him, "Amy wants to talk about...you know."

To Amy, Heather described her bubble bath in bubbly detail. Heather seemed genuinely happy, even thrilled, and Amy smiled to hide her confusion. As far as Amy was concerned, Bart was a dud.

After a moment's thought, Amy decided to seek more information.

"For the sake of the project," said Amy, "Would you be willing to sample a different print?"

"Um...sure," said Heather.

"Let me get it ready."

Heather returned home with the plain box.

She didn't tell Bart.

She waited until a night when she got home before he did. No bubble bath.

***

Saturday morning, as they used their trowels together to cut open a bag of mulch, Heather said quietly to Amy, "That new one is great!"

Amy's looked at her keenly. "Novelty?"

"I guess," said Heather. "But I think the difference is more than that. Um...who was the model?"

Amy blinked, and hesitated, even though she expected this. "There's confidentiality issues."

Heather had never seen Amy like this. Rattled, maybe?

It was easy for Heather to jump to a conclusion, but she limited her smile and said, "I understand. Your, um, models probably insist on privacy."

"Yes," said Amy. "How would you compare it to..."

"The other one?"

"Yes."

Heather had done some serious thinking about this. "When two people feel strongly about one another, anything that bonds them, a sensation or an action, can affect them deeply. Not just emotionally, but even, um, physically. Using the, um, the first print, reminded me a whole lot about my strong feelings. You did a great job, that print brought up those feelings."