Truman Revisited

The man fumbled for a second getting his key out of the lock, then stood aside to allow the woman to enter. As she moved passed him, he gave her bottom a little pat, which brought out what Truman thought was a very lovely smile.

The man moved into the kitchen while she hung her coat in the closet. He returned with a glass of what looked like white wine in each hand. She took one from him, leaned up and kissed his cheek.

Truman thought that was sweet of both of them. He liked sweet.

The two sat down on a sofa by a small artificial Christmas tree, his arm behind her neck. She leaned her head on the man's shoulder. They spent some minutes that way before his left arm came up and he looked at his wristwatch.

Dropping it, he said something to her. In response, her head came up off his shoulder. She smiled, took a sip of wine, shook her head gently.

The man pointed to his watch again, smiled.

This time, she didn't appear to object.

The man leaned over, pulled a brightly-wrapped present from under the tree. Truman was surprised. He had noticed the small array of beribboned packages under the tree, but had taken them as mere decorations.

After examining the parcel for a second, the man passed it to the woman before bending over and selecting another. This one seemed to be intended for him, for he sat back with it in his lap, smiling.

What's all this?   Truman thought to himself, his cock now abandoned. If those are Christmas presents, then...

Truman leaned closer to the window, peered out at the clock steeple just visible to one side. The clock's hands showed perhaps 10 minutes after 12, making it now officially very early on Christmas morning instead of very late on Christmas Eve. Early, but that's OK, he thought to himself.

The girl's fingers moved over her parcel, thumbed off bow and ribbon, gently tore through bright wrapping paper. A small box emerged. Truman couldn't see what it had contained, but the look on the woman's face was one of delight. He couldn't hear her squeal, but could certainly see it. Her arms came up around the man, pulling him in for a strong hug.

In a moment, it was the man's turn. The package was a large one, the size of a case of a dozen bottles of wine. Once he had it unwrapped, he peered inside tentatively. His eyes flipped up to hers. She smiled back, nodding.

Reaching into the box, the man's hand emerged with a hat, a cherry-red fedora. Smiling broadly, the man put it on, stood up and stepped over to a wall-mounted mirror. Giving the brim a bit of a tug to lower it over his left eye, he turned back to the woman, a broad smile on his face.

Truman could see her laugh in her turn, her head back and her chest bouncing. She got to her feet. The two stood in front of the mirror; she gave a small tug at the hat, made a small adjustment.

The man took her into his arms, hugged her. After a longish time, he leaned back and took her head in his hands, leaned forward again and kissed her. Her arms swept over his back, circled his neck.

The kiss went on for a long time.

When the woman went to sit down again, the man went for another pair of presents. As he stood back up in front of the tree, Truman looked at the man and his hat. It takes a lot of panache to carry something like that off, Truman thought. The man did just fine; it looked remarkably good on him.

The two exchanged another pair of gifts, then a third. The kisses after each pair had grown softer, longer.

Truman's cock had softened a little. That was OK, he thought. The loving scene opposite was just plain fun to watch. There was still lots of time.

The second apartment's bedroom became suddenly brighter as the auburn-haired woman opened the door slowly and tiptoed up to the bound girl, now squirming desperately against the remorseless vibrations of the wand on her sex.

There was no sign that the girl noticed her presence, lost as she was in her own world of pleasure and frustration. Truman's cock noticed however, springing back to attention. Maybe now?  he thought. Work with me, girls!

After a few seconds however, the mistress tiptoed out and shut the door behind her, again leaving the bedroom and its wriggling captive visible only by the glow of the nightlight.

Truman's attention returned to the couple sitting by their tree. There no longer appeared to be any presents left under the tree. The man was on his feet, patting himself as if trying to find something in his pockets.

Eventually, he shrugged, smiled at the girl and turned back to the tree, plunging his arm deep within its branches. When it emerged, it held something, something too small for Truman to see.

Keeping it in his hand, the man pulled up his trouser legs an inch and knelt in front of her before extending his arms towards her as if presenting something for her inspection. Truman could now see a very small box. Raising his binoculars, he could make out a velvet-covered box of deep blue colour. Between that and something the man must have said, the woman's hands flew up to cover her mouth. Wide-eyed, her eyes flipped back and forth between the box and his face.

He nodded.

Tentatively, one of her hands left her mouth, moved slowly forward as if she was afraid the box would either explode or disappear.

Her other hand came down then and, with the first, opened the box. Truman couldn't see what it contained, even with his binoculars, but realized it had to be an engagement ring, for the girl, crying happily, began to nod vigorously. She slid something onto the finger of her left hand, held her arm out to examine it and then seized the man in a desperately firm hug.

Not bad, Truman reflected. Proposing on Christmas - how romantic can one guy get?

Their hug predictably turned to kisses, longer and more heated.

The girl, her lips still locked to his, unbuttoned his shirt, pulled it down off his shoulders and arms. At the same time, he fumbled for the zipper on her dress, slowly pulled it down along her back.

The girl shrugged her shoulders out of the dress, leaving it to fall down around her waist. Smiling, she reached up, gave the man a strong shove with both hands, pushing him backwards along the sofa, his arms tangled in the sleeves of his shirt.

Truman could see her laugh as she half-stood, divesting herself of dress and slip, leaving her in matching bra and panties. Niiice! he thought to himself.

Kneeling beside the sofa, she pulled off the man's -- now her fiancé's -- shoes and socks, then wrestled his trousers down off his legs without even undoing the belt. His boxers -- if he had been wearing any - were dragged along with them, for his cock lurched loose, flopping back and forth.

She knelt on the sofa, with a leg on each side of him, ran one forefinger slowly along its length. Both of the couple were smiling, but her smile was, Truman thought, rather mischievous. The man's cock twitched as her finger moved along it.

The woman leaned back, reached behind her, fiddled a bit. As she leaned forward again, her bra fell off. Truman's breath hissed as her breasts fell loose.

The man said something which made her laugh. She tossed the bra at him. Catching it, he draped it over his head like a scarf and pursed his lips in a theatrical kiss, causing her to laugh harder.

Truman wished desperately that he could hear, that he could be in on the joke, too.

The girl bent forward, moved slowly upwards along his body, her tongue-tip slowly moving over his skin, her nipples following as she shifted.

The man lay back with his hands behind his, his eyes fixed on her progress.

Her tongue slid back and forth between his thighs, slowly moving upwards.

Truman watched, fascinated. Unprompted, his hand slid over his balls, moved to the base of his own cock, slid up to the crown. His thumb began to roll around his head.

The woman across the way finally reached her man's now engorged sack. Softly, lovingly, she sucked one, then the other, ball into her mouth, pulled away slightly from his body. The man's eyes closed; his smile grew.

Releasing his tender eggs, her tongue continued up the length of the man's cock, its tips sweeping from side to side as she went. When her lips reached its swollen head, they flowed over it, lifted it away from the man's belly and sucked it into her mouth.

Truman began stroking himself again.

The woman's head bobbed up and down on the man's organ, again and again. Through his binoculars, Truman could see her cheeks hollow as she sucked on his pole. Her fingers rolled his swollen balls, stroked his taint behind them.

The woman lifted her head, began licking her way up the man's abdomen. Higher and higher she went, until her breasts reached his groin. Leaning forward for a quick kiss, she then backed down, lifted herself slightly up off the man's chest and reached down to catch his manhood between her boobs.

Truman could feel his pulse hammering in his ears.

Swaying from side to side, the woman's soft breasts flowed over the man's hardness. Truman could see the man smile even broader as she teased his cockhead with one stiff brown nipple, then the other. His eyes staring down at her, clearly enjoying her teasing and stimulation. The man began lovingly stroking her hair with one hand.

Suddenly, she lifted her body up, caught his shaft in one hand to aim it at her sex and slowly lowered herself into a cowgirl position.

The man's hand moved to clasp her breasts, his fingers and thumbs teasing, stroking and playing with her soft womanflesh. The woman's eyes closed and she rolled her hips against his pelvis, stroking his cock deep within her.

Truman's breath began to become ragged. He was close, very close.

The light in the other bedroom came on suddenly as the boot-clad mistress stepped quickly into the room, towards the bedpost where her blonde sub was now shaking, bouncing, writhing on the merciless wand in an agony of joy. Despite the distance, Truman thought he could almost hear the bells as the girl's enormous breasts shook, bounced and shimmied under the force of her continued orgasms.

His eyes flicked back to the couple on the sofa. The man now had both hands clasping the girl's firm bottom, pulling her harder onto him as he pounded upwards in his pleasure. Above him, Truman could see the woman's opulent breasts shake and wobble as her body bounced back, forth, up and down.

Then back to the lesbian couple. The mistress had taken the blonde down from the bedpost and dropped her across the bed before straddling the girl's face. As the blonde licked and sucked at her pussy, the older woman continued to work the girl's sex with the wand.

Back to the couple.

Then the bondage scene.

Back.

Forth.

Truman erupted in his own orgasm, semen shooting across his knees and stomach.

+

"Amazing. Such response. How...?"

"It's a specific, artificial form of anterograde amnesia, ma'am," was the reply.

"His food is laced with a drug inhibiting the consolidation of short-term to long-term memory. In Truman's case, he is always living in the present. Beyond the most general foundational memories and ones we have specifically permitted him to retain, he has no recollection of anything which happened yesterday or, indeed, anything half an hour ago.

"That his refrigerator always has food in it is not the mystery it might be if he could remember not having been shopping recently. Similarly, fresh clothes are always in his drawer for him to put on when he gets out of bed and his apartment is always clean."

There was silence for a moment, then, "How is all this arranged? Without him becoming aware, that is?"

The two spoke without looking at each other, their eyes fixed on the screens showing the three actors and Truman's tumescent response to their presentations.

"Ah, that. A good question. It's no problem, actually. We created a basic motivation for exercise. The second bedroom in his space has been outfitted as a gymnasium. He spends a couple of hours a day in there with headphones on."

"So much?"

"There was obviously a need for him to exercise."

There followed a pause as the speaker took a deep breath, held it briefly.

"We use some fairly elementary circuits to remotely stimulate the pleasure centres of his brain - at a very low level, of course - when he exercises."

Shocked, the second voice took a long time to respond. "Surely that violates the canons!"

"Admittedly so, Madame Controller. It required your predecessor's personal authority to override that basic rule. But consider this - exercise is beneficial, indeed necessary for his health. He was not originally motivated to exercise. We needed a non-intrusive way to encourage him. Given what was at stake and given the highly-unusual circumstances, it was decided that the ends do in this case justify the means."

Another pause. "I see. All right, point accepted."

"But getting back to your basic question, remember that he has no memory to speak of. We could run an old-fashioned marching band through his space and he would not remember it the next day. Our staff have indeed been caught several times since the... project started and he'd completely forgotten it within 20 minutes."

On their screens, the two could see that Truman's erection had returned. That too could be facilitated by dietary supplements of an advanced nature.

"Poor creature," she said, watching his frantically-moving hand in the dim light, "The very last of his kind. Wouldn't it be kinder to just let him die?"

Her eyes were locked on the bank of viewing screens showing both Truman and the actors from a dozen different angles.

"That's a moral judgement, ma'am," the first voice replied flatly, "and I am not prepared to argue against the High Council's directions to make his existence, such as it is, as enjoyable as possible."

+

Truman leaned forward, his eyes glued through the binoculars as the blonde girl sucked and licked harder and harder at her dominatrix's clitoris.

His hand jerked faster and faster, velvet skin flowing over oaken core.

+

"I still think that there must be a way to let him out of his cell, expose him to reality."

"Ma'am, the virologists keep saying they are close to finding a vaccine which would keep him alive, but even if they do, what then? You've read the Psych Committee's opinions; no matter how we introduced or explained his being the sole survivor of his species, we would still have a 47% chance of complete mental collapse, with suicide risk on top of that."

The redhead on the screens began to shudder, spasm as she was overtaken by her orgasm. Her torso was flushed, her breasts shook as her chest heaved. The Controller could see the tight muscles in the woman's thighs. If that isn't real, she deserves a bonus for inspired acting, she thought to herself.

Clearly Truman was equally impressed, for the screens showed his pounding hand redoubling its speed. His jaw hung open, his mouth gasping for air.

"I know," said the Controller. "Still..."

"Ma'am, I remind you that Truman is the sole surviving example of Homo sapiens sapiens. He is adrift in a world of a hundred million beings incredibly advanced beyond him. He has almost nothing in common with us. The Mortality, while killing off 98% of the population, left us survivors as infinitely superior in every way to that poor man. Intellectually, physically, emotionally, Truman is to us as a bonobo is to him. No sentient being could stay sane in such a situation."

Behind them, a door opened, a form entered the room. Turning, the two saw the slender brunette from Truman's first viewing, now conservatively dressed in a long grey robe. Seeing who was present, she bowed to the two.

"Madame Controller," she said respectfully, still standing.

"Thank you," the Controller replied. "Please sit down. We were just discussing Truman. I would appreciate your insight."

"Thank you, ma'am," the girl replied. She smoothed out her skirt as she lowered herself into a chair.

"What was it like, performing for him like that?"

The girl paused, thought for a moment.

"I feel sorry for him," she replied. "His whole life is an utter tragedy." Her head gestured towards the screens.

+

Truman's eyes were locked onto the sight of the couple on the sofa. The man had moved her to her hands and knees and had taken her doggy-style. The screen showed his glistening cock sliding in and out of the woman's sex. Her breasts swung with the impact of his body against hers.

Truman fumbled for his lager, found the bottle, took another deep drink. His hand caressed his cock gently. Rather to his surprise, he felt the beginnings of another erection.

+

"Look at him," the actress said. "It's his whole existence."

"A tolerably happy existence," the male voice commented.

"As producer of this show, sir," she replied, "you have made that very clear to the entire cast. And I accept it. I do. I'm proud to be a part of it. It's like trying to keep the last passenger pigeon alive and, well, happy. But..."

She took a deep breath, wiped a tear from one eye.

"The poor man," she said softly, almost to herself. "Whatever we can do for him, we should. Nobody should be this unlucky."

+

Truman's eyes were caught by the light of another door opening across the way. A tall black woman and two men entered the room. The hall light behind them silhouetted her figure through her thin dress, highlighted firm breasts and a plump bottom.

Wow!  he thought to himself, his hand returning to his crotch. This can't be just luck. I really must be on Santa's list this year!

Now if he could only remember what it was he had forgotten...

Thanks for reading. Please remember to vote, if not for this piece, then for one you like better.

Oh, and a Happy Christmas to us all.