#mylar

Photo by Mauricio Artieda from Pexels

Your sci-fi peccadillo is easily satisfied with a minimum of costuming. The silver mylar boots left over from Halloween will be enough to represent the genre you sexually crave. Once you see the metallic halter that drapes my pert breasts, your Star Trek uniform twitches in a convincing show of approval. Shiny reflective hologram disc earrings add the final touch to distract you from the tacky git-up. Your imagination is strong and capable of filling in a much richer scenario. You reverently approach me with your tri-coder to scan my thong, front and back, deducing I am an alien sex robot from the beeps it emits. Slipping the business end of the device inside my thong, you reset it to ‘stun’. It activates just enough of a vibration to trigger my reaction and compliance to my programming. I moan realistically, as any good sex-bot worth its weight in transistors would and request an inspection of my breasts, to be sure they meet the specs you’re expecting. Lifting the flimsy chain mail, you are surprised by my jogwheel pasties, meant as dialable controls for levels of aggression and exhilaration. I hint there is an adjustable slide bar between my thighs to fine tune the juicy levels and aperture of my fleshlight-like entry portal. You are so thrilled with my attention to detail, you can’t stop kissing my breasts, twisting the pasties to intensify my moans from whimpers… and a cradling of your balls with an increasing expertise. You command me to show you the present juicy levels of my tightened sex sleeve. by removing the thong… provocatively. You sit down to enjoy the unveiling, and once unhitched, I raise my calf to your shoulder, so you can inspect it up close enough to kiss. You indulge yourself with my familiar flavor, congratulating my sex-bot self for intuitively knowing your favorite taste. At this point, most of the premise is dropped as you are overcome with desire and urgency to inhabit me. I become less robotic and more human, needing my own desires gratified with a good old 20th century orgasm. You are inside me and pumping me passionately in moments. We will cum swiftly and return throughout the day for follow-ups… as long as I’m sporting the sexy ‘cloaking device’ that compels you to boldly go where no man has gone before… in your mind.

Untitled cloudscape by Hilary Brace, 2020. Charcoal on matte polyester drafting film, eg. Mylar. American artist born 1956, based in Santa Barbara, California.

sorry for disapearing and not posting anything substantial in like forever. Here you go. [hands you a crumpled up digital image] A barely visible Mylar.

!!!!!!!!!!!!! THEY MADE UP!!!!!!!!!!