The C-Phone (mc)
by z119z
© 2013 by the author
�See that guy over there. That�s Avery Michaels�you know, that guy . . . oh you know, the guy they call the Apps Wizard. Remember�Inc did that profile on him last summer. He�s got a huge penthouse overlooking the park.�
�Jesus, he�s ugly. Isn�t he supposed to be worth billions? You�d think with all his money he could afford plastic surgery. Or at least some liposuction.�
�Don�t kid yourself. If he offered you $10K, you�d fuck him.�
�Yeah, right. Like you wouldn�t. Face it, we�re both sluts.�
Robert glanced at the two giggling women standing beside him at the bar and then let his eyes follow the direction of their sneers. They were looking at a man in his late twenties slumped over one of the small round tables along the wall opposite the bar. Michaels, if that was who he was, was wearing an old T-shirt, a pair of sweat pants, and ragged tennis shoes. Irregular blotches of what appeared to be food stains obscured the design on the front of the T-shirt, which was fighting a losing battle to contain Michaels’ fat, sagging manboobs and to cover the gut drooping over the waistband of his pants. As Robert watched, Michaels shifted his weight from one flabby buttock to the other. The hem of the T-shirt rode up, partially exposing a roll of fat covered with thick black hair. It has to be someone with as much money as Michaels, Robert thought. The Treasury Bar would not have allowed anyone who looked like that inside its doors who wasn’t rich—very rich.
Across from Michaels at the table sat a young man dressed in a gray business suit and wearing a red tie. He was as meticulously groomed as Michaels was messy. The young man was staring at a tablet computer and working on it as Michaels spoke to him. As Robert watched, the young man nodded in response to a comment from Michaels and then pulled out his phone, keyed in a number, and then spoke intently into it.
�Your usual, Sir?�
Robert swiveled back to face the bar and nodded to the barman. He idly watched Jake prepare his drink. Jake? It was Jake, wasn’t it? He couldn’t remember. Well, whatever the guy’s name was, he was a pleasure to watch, and not just because he prepared the drink so efficiently. Definitely a great body and a spectacular ass. Jake slid the drink across the bar and placed a paper napkin emblazoned with the logo of the Treasury Bar beside it.
Robert placed a twenty-dollar bill on the bar. Beneath it was a fifty. Jake palmed both bills and rang up $12.50 on the cash register. The twenty went into the till. The fifty went into his pocket. He pulled $7.50 in change from the register, put it on a small tray, and pushed it across the bar to Robert, who took the five and left $2.50 on the tray.
Robert took a sip of the drink. He pulled the napkin toward himself. With the tips of his fingertips, he found the two pills hidden within its folds. He folded the napkin in half and put it into a pocket of his pants. He walked away from the bar, weaving his way through the throng of patrons, carefully holding the glass close to his body to keep it from being jostled. Several people looked at him and smiled invitingly. Robert nodded to a couple of them, storing their image for further consideration after he had checked out all the possibilities. As he squeezed through the crowd, bodies pressed against him. A hand lingered across his buttocks just long enough to suggest interest but briefly enough to be excused as an accident. “Oh, sorry. It’s so crowded in here tonight.” The culprit giggled and slid his hand against Robert’s. There was a brief rasp of hairs. The man’s shirt had been chosen to accentuate the results of hours spent at a gym, an effect he spoiled by simpering. Robert glanced at him and instantly evaluated him as not good enough. He murmured, “No problem. Already forgotten,” as he moved on.
He made his way to the far wall and casually leaned against it. He knew from past visits that it was a great vantage point for surveying the crowd and for being seen. He felt for the pills and pulled them out, hiding them with his fingers. He covered his mouth with his hand and then washed the pills down with a quick sip of his drink. Now, he just had to find a suitable partner, someone as good-looking as himself—he had already identified several candidates, both male and female—and he would have everything he needed for another Saturday night.
*****
�God, how much did I drink last night?� thought Robert. He shuddered as he opened his eyes again and took a second look at the guy next to him in the strange bed. The man lay on his back. His mouth hung open, and he was snoring. His jowls sagged into his double chin. He was entirely bald except for a horseshoe of hair around his head. That he wore long and pulled back into a thin greasy ponytail, which was draped across his shoulder, a few inches from Robert�s nose. The blanket covering his torso was tented but not from a hard-on. To judge from the size of the mound, he was grossly fat.
�Those pills Jake sold me must have knocked me out. I don�t remember anything after I swallowed them� was Robert�s second thought. All he could dredge up was a confused memory of bending down and putting his ear close to the mouth of a man wearing a red tie so that he could hear him over the uproar in the Treasury Bar. Which didn�t make any sense�the Treasury Bar wasn�t usually noisy and conversations rarely rose above a murmur. And hadn�t he been riding in the back seat of a car at some point? He seemed to recall the hot body of another man sitting beside him, pressing against him. Or perhaps two bodies. At some point, he must have leaned back and rested his head on the back of the seat, because he had an image of staring up, out the back window, at rows and columns of brightly lit windows extending high into the night sky as they floated past. He had felt so tired and so dizzy.
His third thought was “I’ve got to get out of here before he wakes up.”
Robert eased himself out of the bed, holding his breath. He found his sports coat, shirt, and pants neatly draped over a wooden clothes stand. His shoes, which gleamed as if they had been spit-shined to satisfy a Marine master sergeant, were carefully aligned on a rack at the base of the stand. His briefs and his socks had been folded and placed on the seat of a nearby chair. The neatness was unusual. He couldn’t believe that he had taken the time to be so fastidious. Usually the floor was littered with his and his partner’s clothes, tossed off in the rush to get to bed. There had been mornings when he found them crumpled and wrinkled on the floor just inside the front door. This time, his clothes were neatly pressed and looked clean. It was as if someone had washed and ironed them before arranging them on the clothes stand. They didn’t smell or look like he had worn them for several hours in a bar. No lingering, pungent odors of perfume or alcohol, just a wholesome faint scent of something fresh. He picked them up, careful to be as quiet as possible. He would dress as far away from the bedroom and as near to the front door as possible.
Gray, early-morning light coming through a half-opened door that appeared to lead to a hallway provided enough illumination for Robert to see. The room was huge for a bedroom, and the furniture looked designer-expensive. He smiled ruefully. At least he had picked someone with money. His talent for picking winners was still working, even if he had selected for wealth rather than looks. Next time, he reminded himself, he had to find someone with both.
Besides the king-size bed surrounded by an acre of space, the bedroom held a large dresser and an ornate armoire in some dark wood. A bench with cushions on it stretched across the foot of the bed, facing a TV screen that had to be eighty or ninety inches wide. Heavy, thick curtains blocked any light from coming through the windows on either side of the bed. A wall of sliding mirrors twenty feet long appeared to be the doors to a row of closets. A door in the opposite wall was ajar, revealing a bathroom that was larger than Robert’s bedroom.
�I need to go.� Seeing the bathroom triggered that thought, and once the thought appeared, the tip of his cock stung with the effort of holding the piss back. Robert didn�t want to risk awaking the man by using the toilet so close to the bed. A place like this had to have a second bathroom. If he couldn�t find that, he could use the kitchen sink. He eased the door into the hallway open and stepped out of the bedroom. The thick carpet felt soft beneath his bare feet. He quietly closed the door into the bedroom, turning the doorknob and then slowly releasing it to keep the latch from clicking.
The bedroom door was at one end of a hallway about fifty feet long. Opposite was an office. The other two doors along the corridor opened on spare bedrooms, also huge and expensively furnished. At the far end of the hallway, Robert walked into the living room of the apartment. His entire apartment could have fitted into the room two or three times, with space left over. There were enough chairs and couches and tables in the room to furnish several normal-size apartments. Floor-to-ceiling windows opened onto a balcony that appeared to surround the entire apartment. On the far side of the room were a foyer and a huge carved wooden door that could only be the main entrance to the place.
To one side of the foyer, Robert found a bathroom. He must have been a hundred feet away from the sleeping man by that point, but he still thought it best to take precautions. To avoid making noise, he held his cock to direct the stream of urine against the side of the toilet rather than into the water. When he finished, he didn’t flush, for fear that the man would hear him.
He automatically glanced in the mirror as he washed his hands. Several streaks of crusty white patches dotted his face from his forehead across his cheeks and chin. “Is that dried cum? Jesus, that guy came on my face.” He grabbed one of the washcloths and scrubbed his face in disgust. “Shit. Never, never again,” Robert swore. “I will never take pills from that bastard Jake again. I’m an idiot. A fucking idiot.” He hurriedly pulled on his clothes and thrust his feet into his shoes.
When Robert opened the door, the man was leaning against the front door, holding a cup of coffee in one hand. The foyer lights had been turned on, and Robert could see that his partner was the man the two women at the bar had identified as Avery Michaels. Michaels was wearing a silk bathrobe. It was open nearly to his waist. Wiry scrappy black hairs protruded through the V at the front. Michaels’s hairy calves and feet were visible beneath the robe. With his free hand and arm, the man was blocking the door. He lifted the cup. “Coffee, Robert? It’s my special blend. You take it black, right?”
Shit, he knows my name, thought Robert. “Oh, sorry, did I wake you? I was trying to be quiet.” Robert tried to sound concerned rather than repulsed. The man smirked.
�I have to get to work.� Robert offered the first excuse that came to mind.
�On a Sunday?� Michaels�s right eyebrow arched.
Michaels was enjoying his discomfort. “Yeah, I have a presentation that I have to get ready for Monday.”
�A presentation. How impressive. Well, I won�t keep you then. I have your phone number and address. I�ll be in touch.�
�I�m not going to be available for a while. Last night was sort of a fling before I leave on a business trip.� Robert winced at the pathetic excuse. He was really reaching for it. Michael wasn�t going to buy that.
�Doubtless you�ll be making your �presentation� on your trip then. I wish you success.� Michaels was openly smirking at him now. �Here�s my card. I�ve written my personal phone number on the back. You can reach me at any time.�
Michaels pulled a card from the pocket of his bathrobe and tucked it into the pocket of Robert’s shirt. Robert’s flesh cringed at his touch. The other man pressed a button next to the door and pulled it open. “The elevator will take you directly to the lobby. My driver’s waiting for you. He’ll take you back to your apartment. I imagine you will want to clean up before you go to the office. If you like, he’ll wait and drive you. Wilson Plaza is on his way back.”
Robert leaped into the waiting elevator. Michaels smiled at him as the doors closed. Robert grimaced. “Fuck,” he hissed to the elevator walls. “He even knows where I work.” It was not a comforting thought.
The elevator was an express direct to the ground floor. When the doors opened, two men wearing identical gray suits, white shirts, and red ties squared their shoulders and stood to attention behind a counter that ran along one wall of the lobby. Robert was too embarrassed to meet their eyes and mumbled a reply to their cheery “Good morning, Sir.” He rushed toward the front entrance. A doorman stepped forward and opened the door for him, touching the bill of his cap in a salute as he did so. A uniformed driver waited at the far end of the canopy that stretched across the broad sidewalk from the door of the building to the curb. When he saw Robert, he opened the door of a black limousine and invited Robert to get in.
Robert pretended not to see the driver and turned to the right, anxious to get away. On the next street corner, the city had fastened a wire mesh trash bin to the pole of the traffic light. A metal label attached to the bin encouraged him not to litter. Robert pulled the card Michaels had stuffed into his pocket and, without looking at it, crumpled it into a ball and tossed it toward the bin. He didn’t even check to see if his aim had been accurate. He hailed the first cab he saw. By the time he got to his apartment, he was certain that bugs were crawling all over his skin. He threw several bills toward the cab driver and then raced upstairs. He took a long hot shower, scrubbing his entire body several times. Then he gargled until the muscles in his throat began to ache.
*****
Robert did not relax until two weeks had passed. Michaels hadn’t called, and Robert began to hope that the guy had lost his phone number. Just to be safe, he stopped answering calls from unknown numbers. He avoided his usual after-work and weekend haunts. He didn’t want to risk running into the creep again. He had felt sick for the first three or four days after the encounter. Not bad enough to see a doctor. Just a slight headache now and then. When the headaches stopped, he decided that they had been psychosomatic. He had been overreacting.
The second Sunday, he was sitting on a stool at the counter that separated his small living room from his even smaller kitchen, drinking coffee and checking his messages. He barely noticed the first vibration. It was a momentary tingling that made him shift position slightly. The second was more insistent and lasted long enough for Robert to realize that something was happening with his cock. When it vibrated a third time, he unzipped his jeans.
A line of black letters had appeared across the head of his cock. “Call,” it read, followed by a string of numbers in three groups separated by hyphens. It looked like a phone number, and what would be the area code matched one of the codes for the city.
Robert stood up, nearly tripping over his jeans and knocking over the stool. His breakfast rose in his throat and he dashed for the sink. He hadn’t eaten much for breakfast, just toast and a glass of orange juice. All of it came up, along with the three cups of coffee that he had drunk. He bent over the sink. Vomit dripped from his lips. When his stomach stopped heaving, he turned on the water and the disposal and sluiced the mess down the drain. It had to be a hallucination. It couldn’t be real. He had to be imagining it.
He gulped down a glass of cold water and then, without looking at his cock, he pulled his jeans up. His hands were still trembling. It’s all those drugs I’ve been taking, he thought. I’d better call the doctor tomorrow. His cock vibrated again. He tried to ignore it. It wouldn’t stop. This time he could feel the letters and numbers forming on his cock. His hands moved independently of his will and grabbed his phone and punched in the numbers that were being written on his cock.
The call was answered immediately, with a bark of laughter. “I see you got my text.”
�Who the fuck is this? What are you doing to me?�
�Forgotten me already, Robert? That�s not polite. Especially after I gave you my number. I waited for two weeks. Two lonely weeks of sitting by the phone waiting for you to call.� The smirk in the voice was audible. �I have been very patient with you. I�m not used to waiting, Robert, but I thought maybe you were busy. With that presentation and your business trip.�
�Fuck you.� Robert tried to end the call, but his fingers weren�t working, at least not working for him.
�Now that is just plain rude, Robert. Time for you to learn a lesson.�
Robert’s cock suddenly began to burn. The pain grew stronger and stronger. It felt as if a red-hot needle had been thrust down his cock. He screamed, “Stop. Make it stop.”
The man chuckled, “Now that’s better, Robert. Much better.” The pain stopped. “The C-Phone has such lovely little apps. That was only one of them. You’re going to become well acquainted with all of them, Robert.”
�C-Phone? What are you talking about?�
�C-Phone�it�s short for cock-phone. It�s my latest invention. Although in your honor, maybe I should rename it the P-Phone, for prick-phone. You�re a beta-tester. You signed the papers the evening you were here. I can show them to you later, if you�re curious. Not that it matters. My lawyers made sure that you have no legal grounds for refusing to participate in the tests. Of course, you can�t refuse in any case. It�s physically impossible now. I would explain the technology to you except you wouldn�t understand it. The simple explanation is that I�ve used microcellular technology to take over your body and mind. You may have had some mild headaches last week. Sorry about those. I haven�t worked that bug out yet. Those were the cellular processors multiplying in your brain and attaching themselves to the DNA in each cell. Once they finished taking over your brain, they spread down your spinal cord and throughout your nervous system and then into every cell in your body.�
�You can�t do that.�
�Oh, Robert, can�t?� Michaels chuckled. �Never say �can�t� to me. You�ve no idea what I can do. In fact, I�ve already done it. I admit that the phone technology is unnecessary, but it amused me to shape the control device like a phone. It�s a very smart phone, the smartest one I�ve devised. I set the first call to vibrate. Would you like to hear the ring tone I�ve chosen for you?�
Robert stared in disbelief as his cock started playing “If you liked it, you should’a put a ring on it. Oh o oh o o oh oh.” His cock bobbed and danced in time with the music.
�Just one of my little jokes, Robert. You�ll get used to them. If you like, or rather, to be more precise, if I like, I can program you so that you sing the lyrics and dance along as well. We�ll reserve that for some night when I�m feeling playful and need to be entertained. Now, I want your beautiful little ass over here a-s-a-p. I have plans for you.�
�I won�t.� Robert�s cock twitched painfully. �I mean, I can�t. I�m not here. I�m away.�
�Not according to the GPS on the C-Phone. According to it, you�re in your kitchen. So just follow the instructions the C-Phone gives you. Well, �follow� is a bit misleading. You don�t have a choice in the matter, Robert. It would be more accurate to say that the C-Phone will deliver you to me. My driver is waiting outside your building. See you in a while. Don�t keep me waiting�not that you can.� The call ended with a nasty chuckle.
Robert stood up. He reached down, pulled up his jeans, and stepped toward the hallway door. He tried to resist, but his body wasn’t responding to his wishes. It was as if it had been disconnected from his mind. He was sending out commands to stop, but his legs kept moving. His hands unlocked the door and pulled it open. His body crossed the hall to the elevator. He hadn’t stopped to put on a coat or socks and shoes. The floor of the elevator was sticky and cold beneath his bare feet. The other person in the elevator glanced at him and edged away. When the elevator reached the ground floor, Robert strode briskly through the lobby and stepped outside. Michaels’s limousine was waiting for him. The same driver was holding open the same door. Robert took a seat in the back. The door closed quietly, so quietly that the tiny snick of the lock engaging reverberated in Robert’s mind. The windows on all sides were coated with an opaque covering. Robert couldn’t see out. The ride was so smooth that he hardly felt the car moving.
Robert tried to move his arm and pull up the lock on the door. He wanted to escape. When the car stopped at a light, he would jump out and run. But his hand would not move. He couldn’t even budge it. It lay there unresponsive on the seat, tan against the black leather upholstery. He was trapped. Trapped inside the car. And trapped inside his body. He wanted to scream, but his breath kept moving slowly and evenly in and out. His lips and tongue would not form a sound. Anyone seeing him would think he was the calmest, most relaxed person in the world. He was even smiling slightly, as if anticipating a pleasure.
The car slowed and made a left turn. It went down a steep slope, inscribed a wide circle, and came to a halt. Robert heard the front door open and close. For a minute nothing happened. Then the door beside him opened. His body slid out. They were in a basement garage. It looked like it was a block square. The far corners disappeared into darkness. The limousine was the only car parked there. The driver took him by the elbow and guided him to an elevator door. He punched in a code on a keypad. When the elevator doors opened, Robert stepped into it. The doors closed behind him. He was alone. He felt light-headed as the elevator rose swiftly upward. When the doors opened again, he stepped out, into a small, bare room.