AI Era: Vixen Life

The closest store to me was (ironically) Dick's Sporting Goods. Beggers couldn't be choosers. I just needed a bathroom to freshen up in.

After making myself somewhat presentable, I grabbed my purse and was prepared to head into the store when I saw my new favorite sex toy sitting next to me, glistening with my juices. I needed to wash that thing off, so I wrapped it up in a napkin, put it in my purse, and exited my car.

Luckily, the bathroom was empty, giving me privacy to clean up. Using paper towels and the lathery hand soap, I lifted my leg up onto the sink and washed my pussy. I also washed the stimulator before putting it back into my purse. The hand dryer did a good job of drying my dress. All I needed after that was to fix my hair, reapply my makeup, and spray a few spritzes of body mist into the air and walk into the cloud.

Just like that, I was ready. And it was only 12:33. On the way out, I bought a towel to wipe down my car's interior. Then, I was on my way.

I was greeted by the bookstore's cool air conditioning with five minutes to spare. I didn't even have to look hard to find the book I was here to buy. There was a big display dedicated to it as soon as I walked in, as well as a sign welcoming Rupert Thornhill.

The bookstore was brimming with activity. It looked more like opening night for a movie than a book signing. The long line snaking its way across the store led to the back, where I assumed Mr. Thornhill was seated at a table.

Grabbing one of the many copies of the book, I purchased it and stood in the back of the long line to wait my turn. I couldn't help thinking that after the cum session I had not even an hour ago, this mission felt like a bit of a letdown. Hardly worth $500.

I was still feeling a bit high. The adrenaline hadn't fully worn off yet. I had the biggest orgasm of my life, and it happened in an area that was semipublic. I could've gotten caught at any moment, but I threw caution to the wind and did what I had to do. There was a sense of accomplishment in that.

In comparison, this mission simply had me waiting in line. The only thing at risk right now was boredom.

Looking towards the front of the line, I couldn't help noticing that most of the people here were women. I could make out the bored housewives, the college coeds, the professional pant suits, all of them clutching their copy of this book, eagerly waiting to meet the same man.

Curiously, I opened the book to the back cover. I was expecting to see some suave, silver fox, sexy professor looking white guy, probably in his mid-forties, with a head full of salt-and-pepper hair and a trimmed shadow for a beard.

I got some of what I expected, minus the suave, sexy, silver fox. He wasn't unattractive for an older guy, just not what one would expect with so many women eager to meet him. He had a professorish vibe to him, but not the sexy kind. More like the kind to keep nubile coeds back after class to discuss ways to "improve their grades".

How could a man like that have all these women swooning?

Opening the book up to the first page, I figured I might as well sample the product I'm purchasing. So, I began reading.

The book was erotic fiction, emphasis on the word erotic. I'm not much of an avid reader, but the words drew me in. I found myself lost in meeting Alice, the heroine of the story. Within the first 20 pages, I knew I'd have to read this book to the end.

As I was reading, I was interrupted by my phone ringing. It was Oscar.

"Hey Oscar. What's up?"

"When you get your autograph, have him make it out to "Ana, my nasty, wet little Vixen."

"What?" I said in disbelief. "That's ridiculous."

"That's what the subscriber wants."

"Of course he does." I chuckled wryly as I shook my head.

I hung up and threw my phone back into my purse. Then, to take my mind off the annoying display of submission I had to act out, I read further about Alice. I got so lost in this world of Mr. Thornhill's imagination that I didn't realize I was almost at the front.

I now saw him, up close and in person. He looked just like his picture, only smugger and more arrogant. I watched his body language as he interacted with the women who approached his table. He leered at them with hungry eyes. He smiled at them like a shark does when it's looking at a baby seal. His rough looking older hands lightly touched the smooth skin of each woman, gently grazing their hands and wrists.

Yet, they all walked away blushing and giggling.

I instantly didn't like him. His book was amazing, his writing skill impeccable, but I didn't like him. There was something about him that threw me off.

When it was finally my turn, I stepped up to the table and put my book down in front of him. Being polite, I said, "Afternoon Mr. Thornhill. I just started reading your book and I think it's fantastic."

He looked up at me, but his eyes didn't reach my face. He took in my dress, at the abundance of cleavage, my nipples poking through the material. Then he finally came up to my face.

Our eyes met, and there was a smug self-assuredness to his smile that I could've sworn he knew me (and I mean in the biblical sense).

"And who am I making this out to?" he asked in a smarmy voice.

That's when I knew. He was the subscriber who sent me on this mission. Literally paid me $500 to come down here and feed his already oversized ego. Having this line full of women waiting to meet him wasn't enough. He needed a personal Vixen to humiliate.

"You can make it out to Anna." I said simply.

"Okay Anna." He said, though he didn't move his hand to begin signing my book. He didn't even take his eyes off me. He just sat there expectedly, waiting for the rest. When I didn't offer it, he finally asked, "Did you want a message to go along with that beautiful name?"

Funny, I don't remember him asking any of the other women that.

I self-consciously took a peek behind me and saw the line hadn't abated since I stepped into it. On the contrary, it might even be bigger.

With a sigh, I leaned in close so that I could speak quietly and whispered the rest of the message. His smile widened, like a shark's before an attack as he loudly said, "I'm sorry Anna, I couldn't make that out. Can you speak up?"

I felt heat flush to my cheeks. I felt embarrassed and powerless. That's when I realized that this was exactly what he wanted. He wanted to watch me squirm and humiliate myself in front of him, and all these people behind, for his pleasure.

"Fuck this arrogant prick. I'm not gonna give him the satisfaction of seeing me sweat."

Standing up tall, I gave him a smirk as I boldly and loudly said, "Make that autograph out to Anna, my nasty, wet little Vixen." Just to show how unabashed I was, I said nasty and wet with attitude. Not only that, but I also added, "Did you hear me that time?"

He seemed taken aback. The smile briefly left his face, and his eyes shifted away. He then nodded before answering, "Yes, I heard you."

"Good."

I took pleasure in the fact that I wiped that smug, self-important expression off his face as he scribbled on the front cover of the book. He took a bit longer than I thought it would take for such a short message, but he soon slid the book back over to me.

When he looked up at me, I was annoyed to see that his smile was back. "There you go, Anna." He said with a wink. "I hope you enjoy that book. It's my best work yet."

It was all I could do to not slap him in the face. Instead, I simply grabbed the book and stormed my way out of there. It didn't help that I had to walk past the entire line of women who heard everything. A few of them snickered, no doubt judging the thirsty, book groupie who just publicly threw herself at the author old enough to be her father.

I wanted to vomit. Fuck Rupert Thornhill.

Once inside the car, I let out a breath. At least that was all over. I can collect my winnings for the day, go home, and shower the stench of old man off me.

That is, until Oscar spoke.

"You have another mission, Anna. It's from the same subscriber as before. He requested that you follow the instructions written in the autograph you received today. He is offering a tip of $500."

I opened the book cover and let out a derisive laugh. That fucking asshole.

Inside, he scribed: To Ana, my nasty, wet little Vixen. Meet me at the Hilton on 5 ^th Street at 9 pm. My room is 306. Bring the book.

And wear that sundress. You look spectacular in it.

I growled to myself. Then I asked, "This subscriber wouldn't happen to be Rupert Thornhill himself, would it Oscar?"

"Yes." He admitted. "Do you accept the mission?"

I could feel my blood boiling as I read his message again. I kept seeing that cheeky smirk on his face as he did it. it replayed in my head.

"No." I said curtly.

"Very well."

I knew that turning down missions was kind of taboo, especially for a newbie Vixen like myself. But I did not become a Vixen to be a whore for hire. I was not going to become an on-call plaything for egotistical assholes.

As I drove back to my apartment, Oscar once again implored me with another offer from Rupert. "The subscriber has offered to double the tip if you accept the mission. Will you reconsider?"

"No."

"Very well."

As I pulled into my parking space and put the car in park, Oscar came through again. This time, the tip had tripled. $1,500, on top of the other $700, and that's just today.

Honestly, that one gave me a slight pause. But my mind went back to picturing that smug bastard's face.

After a little thought, I said, "I'm not sleeping with him, Oscar. I don't care how big he tips. If Rupert Thornhill wants a prostitute, he can go find one."

"I understand".

I needed to take a shower. I wished I could do that alone, but I knew that was impossible. I probably had 100 people watching me right now, including that bastard. Still, I had to wash, so I just shrugged my shoulders and got on with it. It was what I signed up for.

While I was in the shower washing up, Oscar once again hijacked my speakers to talk to me. He said, "Mr. Thornhill agrees to your no sex boundary. Will you reconsider the mission?"

Man! This guy does not give up!

And yet, I was now morbidly curious. Why did he want to meet me so badly? Sex was off the table. What else could he possibly want that was worth another $1500?

I let out a sigh before answering, "Fine. I accept this mission. $1,500 tip and no sex. If he's okay with that, I'll be there at 9."

"Very well."

Finally, I was left alone. Well, just me and my viewers.

__________________

I stood outside of room 306 at 8:59. My fist was suspended in mid-air, ready to knock on the door. I just couldn't bring myself to do it.

But apparently, I didn't have to. The door swung open exactly at 9, as if he'd been watching me through the peephole and simultaneously keeping an eye on the clock, down to the second.

There he stood in front of me. I was wearing the same sundress as earlier (as instructed). However, he was only dressed in a bathrobe.

"Well, hello Anna." He said, his lustful smile saying more than his words. "I almost didn't expect you to show up."

"Well, I did. You gave me 1500 reasons why you wanted me here." I answered briskly. Then, using my forearm, I pushed him aside to give myself space to enter. He closed the door behind me.

"Would you like a drink?" My gracious host asked.

"Nah. I'm not gonna be here long."

I walked over to the couch on the opposite side of the room and sat down. Then, after sitting my belongings on the cushion next to me, I crossed my legs and spread my arms over the back.

He blinked in confusion as his face went blank. "But...the mission..."

"The mission was for me to be here by 9, wear this dress, and bring this book." I interrupted him. I made a show of holding the book up in the air as I mentioned it. After dropping it back down on the couch next to me, I continued with, "You never specified what I'd be doing, or how long I'd be here."

He stood there for a moment. I watched all that smugness drain from his face. He then shrugged and proceeded to go over to the minibar. After mixing himself a drink, he sat down in the chair opposite the couch, crossed his leg, and relaxed before asking, "So, why aren't you leaving?"

"Curiosity mostly. When I left your book signing, I just wrote you off as a run of the mill asshole with a superiority complex. But then, I got to thinking."

"Yeah?" he said as he took another sip. "And what did you come up with?"

I leaned forward and crossed my wrists over my knee. My eyes narrowed a bit as I looked at him analytically. "I don't know yet. But I keep asking myself, why? Why all this?"

"What do you mean?"

"This outfit." I answered. "It's so specific. This dress, these sandals, sunglasses, jewelry. You even told me how to wear my makeup. All this preparation; just for an autograph?" I leaned back into my previous sitting position and shook my head. "Doesn't add up."

I could see my words were having an effect. His demeanor changed. He not only seemed less confident, he was agitated.

"Who was she?" I asked, watching his reaction. He didn't answer me, but I knew he knew what I was getting at. Pushing a little, I rephrased my question with, "Who was I supposed to be this afternoon when I came to you?"

"I don't want to talk about her." He said gruffly before he swallowed the rest of the drink in his cup. He suddenly stood up and marched over to his mini bar to pour another.

I shrugged. "Okay. But curiosity is the only reason I'm still sitting here. If you don't wanna waste your money, you'll answer me."

The drink he just poured was gone just as fast as it was made. He was now mixing his third.

I didn't speak. I just patiently waited, letting him go through his emotions. When he made his way back to his seat, he set his glass down on the end table next to him.

"Well?" I finally asked.

He let out a frustrated breath. "If you must know, she's my wife - err, I mean ex-wife. Her name was Breana. I called her Ana for short."

"Ahhh." I thought to myself as I heard the subtle difference in pronunciation of her name to mine. Earlier, when he signed my book, I just thought he spelled it wrong. But it was me who was wrong in my assumption of what was really happening. I mistakenly thought this was all about me. it wasn't. He wasn't trying to humiliate Anna. He was humiliating Ana.

Aloud, I gently coaxed, "Go on."

He sighed once again, like he regretted having to talk. Then, conceding to my desires, he said, "I've always loved writing. It's been my passion since I was a kid. But I always kept it as a little hobby because I never thought I'd be good enough to make a living from it. So, I did what everyone expected me to. I got a responsible job as an accountant. I drove to work, I sat in my office, and I chased numbers on a computer screen. Every...fucking...day."

He paused, sipped, and continued with, "I started writing for online erotic websites. Short stories. Lots of fantasy, lots of sex. Ana always scoffed at them; called them smut. She never read any, mind you. She just knew they were about sexual relations. At the time, I just thought it was because she wasn't a sexual person. Our sex life was minimal, and she always acted like it was a chore to do. I later found out that she did enjoy sex. A lot. Just...with her fitness trainer."

He kind of snorted a derisive snigger as he shook his head at the memory he was reliving. "Writing erotic stories helped me endure the loveless, sexlessness of my failing marriage. Ana was my muse, in a twisted way. I used the pain of being unloved to write some of the most passionate, heartbreaking stories. It wasn't long before they were noticed by a publisher. That publisher contacted me, I sent over more of my stories, and pretty soon, I was negotiating a deal for my first book."

As he was talking, I noticed how much less agitated he became. It was almost as if he really wanted to get this stuff off his chest. I couldn't help but feel a strange connection with this man. I knew the quiet desperation of wanting to escape a mundane life. It's what drove me out of my hometown, hoping to find something better than what was set before me.

He continued. "My first book took off in a big way. That's when I realized that I could really make it as a writer if I dedicated myself to it. But even with that, Ana still thought my hobby was stupid. And when I told her I wanted to do it full time, she lost it. She said she married a successful accountant, not some two-bit smut peddler." He took the final swallow from his glass and ended his story with, "Six months later, she left to go stay with her sister because she needed some space. I thought she'd come back, but then I got the papers in the mail. Soooo...yeah."

The two of us sat there on opposite sides of the room, letting his story sink in. So much about him was explained. His motivation. His strange need for female validation about his writing. Why he wanted me to grovel in front of him at his book signing.

"So Rupert, what do you want from me?" I asked genuinely. "You wanna fuck me, like you would fuck Ana? Do you wanna humiliate me as some sort of payback for what she did to you?

He looked at me with the most pained expression on his face. I knew then that he didn't want any of that. He was still in love with her.

With a sigh, he said, "All I've ever wanted was for her to see me."

That melted me. Every morsel of antipathy I felt for this man disappeared. I wanted to help him, and I had an idea of how.

"You know what? Fuck Ana." I said bluntly.

My irreverence surprised him. "What?"

I stood up from the couch. "Fuck Ana!" I said as I grabbed his book and slowly sashayed over to where he was sitting. "Fuck her and her cunty opinions. Who the fuck is she?"

He looked up at me with a bewildered expression on his face. I dropped his book onto his lap. It landed with a thud.

"Did you see that line of women waiting for your autograph? Did you see how they were all reading pages from your book, all the while creaming themselves with lust?"

With a halfhearted smile, he answered, "Yeah, but..."

"But nothing!" I interrupted, shutting him up. "You are Rupert mother-fucking Thornhill. You make women cum with just words. You don't need to work out 5 days a week, or trick sad little housewives into fucking you. All you have to do is write."

"Really?" he asked, a smile of pleasant surprise forming on his face.

"Yeah." I answered breathily as I perched my foot on the cushion of his chair, right between his legs. My toes disappeared beneath his robe, and I lightly grazed his crotch. I could see him reacting to my touch as I added, "I read a few chapters while I waited in line. I couldn't put it down. I was ready to cum just from the first 20 pages."

His eyes were locked onto my foot. He was breathing heavily. His gaze eventually roamed up my calve to my bent knee, and then to my creamy thigh. I teasingly lifted the hem of my dress to give him more leg. Not too far. Just enough to wet his imagination.

He gently grabbed my calf and rubbed it. I let him for a few seconds, but then I took it away from him.

"Do you wanna see how much your words turn me on?" I asked before I licked and bit my bottom lip. I allowed my hands to grab both breasts through my dress and squeeze.

"Yes." He said with a gulp.

"You want a live demonstration on what you do to us women when you use that big, fat imagination on us?"

"Yes!"

"Good. I'm gonna show you."

I walked back over to my purse, which was on the couch, taking slow steps. I then bent over, my butt facing him, and rummaged around in it for a second. I found the two items I was looking for, one of which was my phone.