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Climax Community

By Ashlyn Selvatico

Copyright 2017 Ashlyn Selvatico

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is intended for adult audiences only. It contains sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. All sexual activity in this work is consensual and all participants are 18 years of age or older.

The sheer mass of tonight's executive gala would sink Boltat's pleasure zeppelin, so the corporate pimps have taken over the whole of the Clockwork Pavilion. Nakry and I partake, posing as owner-operators of a regional perfume distributor.

We slip out of our heels and make ourselves comfortable. I envy Nakry her long black hair and bronze Khmer beauty. All the boys want her. A vice president and some district managers send us drinks. The pimps would pester us too, but they know we are on duty.

A troupe of acrobatic clowns opens the show. They flip and juggle for a stola or two. Under the table, Nakry tries to distract me with one of her bare feet. It slides against mine. She leans back, and slips it between my thighs. Before long our slinky blank dresses will be on the floor, my fingers tangled in that long black hair.

My margarita needs refilling, so I lean across the table and clobber Nakry with a long, tequila- scented kiss. The patrons clap and cheer. The bulk of the crowd is cheering for the clowns of course, but I am certain Nakry and I have fans too.

The clowns exit. Before the applause fades, a giant bottle of fizzy green light appears above the stage. The live orchestra plays a jingle that nine billion humans can never for one moment forget, and the bottle foams over. This award winning ad receives more applause than the live act. This is not a commercial break, but the opening scene of the main attraction. Tonight Boltat is not shilling for a motorcycle, or dog food or even fizzy drinks. The conglomerate is selling itself. Tonight the media priests and their pimps plan to baptize six hundred clients and potential clients into the cult of Boltatism. Giant ads for drugs, for GMO pets, for entire cities and nations fill the arena. Some of the ads are holographic and some are two dimensional projections, thrown across invisible screens. None are more than twelve seconds long.

I almost feel sorry for the musicians. They are the best money can buy. Fourteen years of intense practice, four years at Julliard. Now they play fast food jingles. At least they still get to play the greats from time to time. They have Shostakovitch selling toilet bowl cleaners.

An ad for a domestic mercenary company appears. That is our cue.

What did you say?”

You heard me!”

You fucking bitch!”

Lit Kandoi!”


Nakry throws water in my face. I slap her. She leaps over the table. For a moment, our hands are on each other's throats. Nakry is big for a Cambodian woman. If she had a mind to, she could snap my neck.

I tear the front of her dress, exposing white lace C cups. She punches me. I grab her hair and she grabs my hand. It looks as if I am dragging her, but she is the one controlling the action. She takes a champagne bottle off of the next table and tries to dent my skull. We struggle for the bottle. I wrench it from her hand and smash it against the side of the stage.

Hundreds of people gasp as one.

It is a fake bottle, made of sugar glass. A waiter placed it right before the acrobats came on. Taking it from another table, seemingly at random, was a nice bit of misdirection that helps sell the danger. Of course, this is a sophisticated crowd. I am sure most of them have already guessed this is all theater. Hardly anyone gets their kicks by brawling in public these days. There are too many chemical alternatives.

I thrust the shattered end at Nakry's face. Before I can slice off her nose, security men grab both of us. They cuff our hands behind our backs and drag us out.

My cuffs are on too tight. As soon as we are backstage, I ask security to loosen them.

What did you call me?” Nakry asks.


Right before the fight.”

Oh. Thakrool. It is a mythological creature that fucks its own anus until it dies.”

She shakes her head. “You Americans have weird gods.”

You called me something. Sounded like 'lit candle'.”

Oh, that.” She smiles. “I told you to fuck my pussy.”

I kiss her. “You should ask me nicely, next time.”

We make out. She stumbles. If just one of us were in handcuffs, this would be pretty kinky. With both of us shackled, it is just awkward.

Two new guards arrive. The ones who put us in cuffs were real security officers, but this pair are costumed porn stars. Both are women. If Boltat had cast a man in the next scene, the usual killjoys would complain. I mean, the killjoys are going to complain in any case, but there's a difference between hate mail and a national boycott.

While we are waiting, I log on with my cyber eyes. Boltat has already posted our fight on one of its porn sites. We average 4.3 out of 5 stars, with requests for more nudity.

They have no idea.

The first series of commercials ends and the guards lead Nakry and I onto one of the side stages that thrusts like a runway towards the center of the main floor. The stage is made of a soft, transparent plastic. Four tall poles rise from it in pairs. The floodlights come up, and an amplified voice announces us. The emcee is Adeleke, the West African soap goddess. Her face and bare shoulders appear on several of the screens.

Honored Colleagues, Treasured Guests, I bring you Nakry and Cerise.”


They have been very naughty, haven't they? But the management of the Clockwork Pavilion- a Yubang International world class hotel and casino- have been kind enough to drop all criminal charges.”

More applause.

Of course, there's a catch!”

The guard removes my cuffs and straps me to a pair of standing poles, arms wide and high, legs apart. Nakry gets the same treatment. We face each other at ten paces, with the audience surrounding us on three sides. Starting with the rend I made in the fight, Nakry's guard rips open the front of her black dress, from neck to hemline. The guard knows what she's doing, and our costumer designed the dresses to be shredded easily. In under four seconds, the guard strips Nakry down to her flimsy white bra and panties. The applause still pulses, but lighter now, as some of the patrons have not decided if they are appalled or entertained.

In the spirit of egalitarianism- and Boltat Media's famous commitment to democratic principles- we have been authorized to permit you, our treasured guests, to decide what is to be done with these bad, bad ladies. Their fate is in your hands. ”

Together, the guards rip away my dress. All I have now is my cherry red C-string. Live cams zoom in on Nakry and me- our butts, our tits, our bellies- and throw them onto the big screens. We are in an exhibitionist's heaven, but we pretend to be outraged, cursing in three languages and straining against our bonds.

Vote now with the game boxes on your tables. If you want think Nakry and Cerise should pay for the damages, press one. If you want to see them kiss and make up, press two.”

Our chests heave with excitement. On the biggest screen, my bare breasts rise and fall, sparkling with sweat.

But if you want to watch them fight it out, womano a womano, on our main stage, press 3 now!”

Huge applause, and cheering. I do not think there is any doubt which way this crowd will vote. Not that it matters. The fix is in, and a good thing too. Nakry and I practiced too hard to just kiss and make up.

While we tally the results, relax, sit back and experience the Boltat theater of the sublime.”

The floodlights drop, leaving Nakry and I in twilight. Above our heads, a giant, naked, extremely pregnant woman floats as the band plays the Chwihan pharmaceutical jingle. The woman's legs part. Her vagina expands while the rest of her body fades away. Her birth canal grows wide. An enormous fetus appears, and speaks with the bold, clear voice of a third grader.

Did you know four out of every five unborn children get less than their recommended daily allowance of mood stabilizers?”

The fetus turns into a blue whale that sells petroleum products. Boltat is celebrating every aspect of modern civilization, with its highest form of art: the twelve second ad. Ads for vacation drones. Ads for celebrity dildos. Ads for houseplant insurance. Each one is louder and more garish than the last. I stand before them, lashed between two posts, itching to use my safe word.

I space out and return to the porn site. Nakry and I are at the top of the page. I can't find a real time feed, but clips of the porn star guards stripping us get rave reviews. Splayed out as I am, there is not an inch of me that escapes some lens or other. Cameras below the transparent floor catch me at angles the live audience will never see.

I scan the five star reviews. The C-string is a hit. Of course, a lot of people are impatient to see it off. 99 percent of my skin is exposed, and they are obsessed with the one bit they have not seen yet. The closeups of my butt get a lot of hits, which should surprise no one. If there is any part of me that is getting an unexpected amount of attention, it would be my pits, and the trace of hair I have there. Technically, it is not stubble. I do not have to shave. When I had the rest of my body hair shut off I asked the beautician to tweak the follicles on my mound and armpits. Now I grow hair the way a Levanian does: just a wisp of fuzz, to spread my pheromones. Some of the commenters wonder if I decided to go hippy as a feminist gesture. Most just think it is hot. Then again, I am only reading the five star reviews.

The second series of commercials end. Adeleke appears and announces the results of the vote.

We have a 98.1% response rate! Number one- pay for the damages. Zero votes. Number two- kiss and make up...”

Applause and cheers.

64 votes. Number three- we watch these pretty ladies catch the fair one: 505 votes!”

The crowd explodes, certifying the results. The producers would not have fudged the numbers unless they had to, and it would have taken balls of neutronium to fudge such a landslide.

Adeleke lets them roar for a moment, then kills their buzz.

“Hold on. I've just been told... Our legal department says that we can't actually make them fight against their will.”

Nakry rages against the straps. “Let me go! I'll fuck that bitch up!”

“Bring it on!”

Adeleke sounds surprised. “You mean... you consent?”

We consent.

I'll fight,” Nakry says, “but I want something from her if I win.”

We can't make her give you anything for winning.”

I want to hear it,” I say.

If I win, you have to follow me on a leash, with a gag in your mouth and wait on me, hand and foot.”

In that case... If I win, you have to follow me on a leash, naked, and do anything I say.”

How long?”

Three hours, either way.”

Make it six!”


You've seen them in action!” Adeleke says. “Which one do you think will win? Use your game boxes to make your prediction. Press one for Nakry and two for Cerise. If you guess correctly, you will be eligible for a drawing for tonight's special prize- a weekend for two in Charleroi, the cultural capital of Europe!”

The porn guards set us free. Nakry and I have rehearsed a five minute fight with two different endings. The vote is not a prediction, but a self-fulfilling prophecy. Whichever one of us gets the most love wins. The audience understands that the fighting is fake. What they do not realize is that they get to decide how the story ends.

In a boxing stance, I circle Nakry a few times, searching for an opening. With every turn, we slide a step closer. When we're close enough to make it convincing, we unleash a cascade of blows. She jumps back and I launch a high kick towards her head. She dodges and leaps. We grab each other and try to keep our balance with short hops. She leans too far forward. I step back and let her fall on her face. She starts to get up, but I plant one foot on her butt and force her down again. I drop onto her back and grab her bra. It comes off instantly, as it was designed to do, and I entangle Nakry's hands with it. We roll on the floor. Her face is between my thighs.

Win or lose, I will be happy. Nakry knows how to party. It would not kill me to spend the evening at the end of her leash. I just hope I get a respectable number of votes.

I grab her panties and strip her naked. We grapple suggestively- a dozen kinky combinations. I cannot wait to read our reviews.

The results are in. Adeleke announces them. Nakry's eyes go wide with the promise of spoils. The vote is 382 to 191. Victory is mine!

The show is over, but the party is just getting started. It spills from the arena into the dieselpunk lounges, the pool, and the covered gardens. Most of the guests remain more or less fully clothed, but the friendly staff strip down to lingerie as the affair shades inevitably into an orgy.

It takes me an hour or so to get ready, and the help of a Levanian-trained, full body cosmetologist. I emerge from the green room in a beaded flapper headdress, lace black gloves, and barefoot sandals. Aside from these accessories I am naked. I have even ditched the C-string. Nakry goes naked too, but my nudity is chic- hers is just recreational humiliation. I enjoy being the domme sometimes, almost as much as I enjoy playing the sub. And Nakry makes such a pretty slave. The only accessory she wears is that leash. I will not even let her shower. She still reeks of our lewd brawl.

We enter a cathedral of chrome statues and stained glass. Video screens are everywhere, displaying Boltat ads that could have been in the stage show, but didn't make the cut. I am on several of the screens, in digitally enhanced guises. The company is taking advantage of my twelve seconds of fame. I am the hottest property on offer. My fans gather. Women in executive catsuits or áo dàis chat me up. The men steer clear, mostly. I like to think my raw depravity intimidates them.

All the glam plutos put in an appearance. I run into Stan the Man, of Gazprom. His date is a small black bear. From the peninsula, Dr. Ri and Dr. Moon arrive, and Moon's niece, a reporter of my acquaintance. Representing the military are the superintendent of West Point, and Admiral Bell, in the navy's latest power suit. The King of Sodom sings disco karaoke with three of his four subjects, while the prime minister of Catalonia performs magic tricks. The guests are all boisterous and intoxicated, with a few exceptions. One of the Thin White Duke's Brazilian clones stands forlorn and emaciated with his face against the wall. The older guests are afraid to disturb him and most of my generation have no idea who he is.

Christine, the executive cyranoid, corners us by the bar. Tonight her skin is powder blue and she wears a harness of black tape.

I love your pet,” she says. “Can I borrow her?”

Nakry and I have a code. Whenever someone asks about her, she fidgets nervously. If she closes her eyes, it means she isn't interested. She closes her eyes.

I have plans for this one,” I say.

I do not blame Nakry for saying no. The problem with making love to a cyranoid is you can never be sure who you are really fucking- or how many.

Have you spoken to Matka, yet?”

Is she here?”

I had no idea. It is not easy to miss a woman like Matka.

She wants to see you. She's holding court in the Brando Suite.”

She can wait. A new series of advertisements is in view. A nude Levanian woman lounges beside a pool, eating ice cream. She is my alter ego. A real Levanian would never allow her image to be recorded. Levanian me covers several screens, selling ice cream and cannabis, self-driving bicycles and Wallonian sex tours. Usually Levanian me goes bare, but sometimes she is wearing human clothing or a Levanian bureaucrat's uniform.

Never mind. I've seen enough.

Matka, the Rubénista is a miracle of biotechnology. Her length exceeds 1.9 meters. I say length rather than height, since I have never seen her vertical. She weighs around 150 kilos. The trick is not putting on that kind of weight, but carrying it without having a heart attack or a stroke. Her cardiovascular system was designed by the best German engineers, and billions of nanobots are dedicated to the task of keeping her healthy. All this science is in the service of a certain standard of beauty. Clothing ruins the effect, which is why Matka is the only exec in the Pavilion who is even more naked than I am. Of course, the musclemen who fan her body and worship her feet are naked too.

Doctor Ri is with her. Ri may look like a typical Korean teenager, but I happen to know she is older than the pope. We exchange pleasantries. Matka and I flirt. She offers to swap pets. I check Nakry out of the corner of my eye, from habit rather than hope. I would love to try out any of Matka's companions, but I do not expect Nakry to agree. She has had lots of offers in the last hour, but she always turned them down.

Nakry curls the toes of her right foot. I must be seeing things. I look down, and she curls them again. Her expression betrays impatience, or maybe disgust with how obtuse I am.

I need her back in an hour or so.”

I would love to have her all night,” Matka says, “but an hour is better than nothing. You can take her off the leash. She won't run.”

I remove Nakry's leash. She approaches Matka with slow, seductive steps. She kneels and kisses Matka's feet. Her gestures are tender and precise. While Nakry demonstrates her skill and enthusiasm, I take stock of the men.

Which one is mine?”

Take your pick.”

I select a young athlete. We meet on a low couch and kiss. His patience is remarkable. He seems to enjoy the kiss as I do, for its own sake, and not just as a preliminary.

Before you get too distracted.” Doctor Ri says, “I want to know if you saw your Levanian ads.”

I did see them. They are not appropriate.”

Ri scowls. “Not appropriate?”

My man does not have an erection yet. I hope he is one of those professional subs who can get hard or soft at will. Otherwise, I am insulted.

You dressed me up in different uniforms. I cannot be naked in some ads and clothed in others. It is obscene. Levanian entertainers never wear clothes.”

You aren't supposed to be an entertainer in the ads. You're a professional woman. An architect, or a doctor.”

I move to the end of the couch and swing my feet up, so that the sub can massage them.

A Levanian immerseel would convey those roles through props and gestures.”

This is not Levania.”

If I take on the persona of a Levanian, I have an obligation to uphold their cultural values. It is not just the costumes. Some of the products themselves are offensive.”

Let's cut the horse shit. That image was created by a team of artists. You don't own it. You have no say in how it's used. You will get on board, because no one walks away from a fuck ton of easy money. So if you're done with your tantrum...”

You asked me what I thought. Was there anything else?”

If you still want the surgery, let us know by Friday. Either way, you owe us two shows a month. Read your contract.”

She bids Matka good evening, and leaves.

What did she mean by surgery?” Matka asks.

They offered to make me a Levanian. Not just with CGI. They want me to do live shows.”

Is that what you want?”

I thought I did.”

Our Levanian friends won't like it.”

They don't care. At least, they act as if they don't. The physical differences are tiny anyway. They know that. I'll never have a Levanian brain. That's the only organ that really matters. I'll never really be one of them.”

The Levanians don't have dogs, do they?”

What? No. There are no dogs where they come from. Their ancestors left Earth a million years before dogs were domesticated. Why?”

I represent the largest Agricultural consortium in Europe. Did you know we sell forty percent of all the dry dog food in the US?”

That is a lot of dog food.”

I need a woman- an Earth woman- for a whole series of ads.”

Just one?”

At least one.” She peers down at the one sucking her toes. “Maybe two.”

Nakry puts the leash back on and I lead her down to the party floor. No one is dancing, so I tell the orchestra to play the Tango de la correa and to repeat it until I am satisfied. We tango a tale of bondage. I lead with the leash, but she resists. She defies me. We struggle. We kiss. We mesmerize the crowd. Nakry spins away from me, until the whole dance floor lies between us. I steal a chair and sit with my knees wide. With a curl of my finger, Nakry returns. Before she reaches me, she drops to the floor and crawls.

It's time for Nakry to settle our side wager. If she had received more votes, my face would be between her knees. But I won, and I will have my pleasure.

I get a text at 8:17 in the AM, by way of the semi-secret address that goes straight to my cybernetics. The byline says that it is from Nakry, but I do not know anyone of that name who would be awake at such an ungodly hour.

I do not get out of bed or turn on a light. I do not even open my eyes. I plan on going right back to sleep.

its up already

holly fuck

were going 2 be millionaires

A twelve second video plays inside my eyes. Aaron Copland fanfares a beach into existence. Nakry and I are running along the tide's edge, wholesomely nude, with a border collie at our heels. An old, bucolic voice seduces me in stereo.

Pure. All natural. No artificial fillers or preservatives. Because you wouldn't have it any other way.”


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