Bob’s Memoir: 4,000 Years as a Free Demon
45
Casting Call
WE HELD AUDITIONS for places in my harem. Don’t roll your eyes like that. Anyone who won a place on the crew was going to have a one-way ticket off earth. It’s one thing to agree to have sex with Bob and all the other women on the flight. That’s an easy choice for most of the aspiring actresses. It’s a different thing completely to know it is going to be for the rest of a very long life.
“So, what if you found out it was all real and you weren’t coming back to earth?” Liz suggested. She looked almost exactly like she looked fifty years ago, so no one suspected it really was ‘that’ Liz. She claimed to be a granddaughter.
“Yeah, right,” laughed the interviewee.
“Treat it as a serious question.”
“I’d sue. I need an acting gig, not a sex slave thing. Really!”
“Okay, thanks for your time. We’ll get back to you.”
“Wait. Don’t I have to fuck him?”
“Not during auditions.”
“Oh, shit. I was really looking forward to that.”
You get the idea. It was how auditions went. I was beginning to think this was entirely the wrong way to go about casting a crew for our ship.
“So, look. Word on the street is that you haven’t called a single person back for a follow-up interview or screen test. The professionals out there figure you’re just locking up audition footage cheaply.”
“Yet you showed up,” I said.
“Five hundred bucks for a screen test and I don’t even have to get naked? Hell, yeah.”
“So, you had an opportunity to look over the entire concept of the show. What do you think?” Liz asked.
“Well, I look around at you and that Mrs. Bob, and… um… even the camera crew. I figure you’ve got no shortage of pussy. So, you must be looking for something in particular. I’ve done my research and it seems there’s one question you always ask that gets girls turned down. I’m surprised no one else has figured it out,” she said.
I glanced at my clipboard with a copy of her resume and headshot. Deedee Thomas. She reminded me of someone. I couldn’t remember who. Okay, so you try remembering everyone you’ve met in 4,000 years! It’ll come to me. Or it won’t.
“And what question is that?” Liz followed up.
“What if I found out it was all real and I wasn’t coming back to earth?” Deedee said.
“And?”
“I’ll tell you after we shoot our test scene.”
Hmm. I kind of liked this girl. We’d developed a few scripts that we used for screen tests. They were short scenarios and not actually a script per se. We improvised within the scene because we figured the whole point of a reality show was improvisation. It needed to look like reality TV. We borrowed heavily from some classic sci fi for the scenarios. She read through the scenario we’d prepared for this scene and I took my place in the captain’s chair. The set was easily three times as large as what an actual ship would be, but it let us maneuver around easily. Deedee took a seat in the navigator’s chair below me.
“Captain, scanners are picking up an approaching object,” she began.
“Asteroid?” I asked.
“Not unless someone put a motor on it. It definitely shows signs of self-propulsion.”
“Put it on screen.” We pretended to look out a viewscreen in front of us. “That’s approaching a lot faster than anything we have in our data banks.”
“And it’s coming right for us!”
“Evasive maneuvers, Deedee!”
“It’s no use, Captain. It’s sticking with us. This is the end!”
With that, Deedee leaped out of her chair and propelled herself into my arms, knocking me back in the recliner I used as a captain’s chair. She began tearing at my clothes and her own.
“I can’t let it end like this, Captain. Not without showing you how I really feel. I’ve loved you since the first day I set foot on this ship. I can’t die without knowing what it would be like.”
By that time, she had our shirts open and slammed her abundant bare breasts into my chest and her lips against mine. Her tongue slipped into my mouth and my hands naturally found their way to her breasts. She would definitely be a nice addition to Areola. Her hands were busy below my waist, working my cock free. She flipped her short skirt up and planted herself on my cock with a fierceness that left me breathless.
“Fuck me, Captain. It may be the last thing we ever do and is the feeling I want to take into the afterlife with you.” By that time, there was no question that I was going to take the feeling with me as I thrust up into her amazingly wet pussy and she screamed against my shoulder. I began pumping into her as a buzzer sounded and a computer-generated voice echoed.
“Approaching object has self-destructed. The ship is no longer in danger. Repeat…”
“Yeah,” she whispered as she kissed me again. “If I found out it was all real and I was never returning to earth, I’d be okay with that.”
It’s amazing how much time people spend pretending to be something they aren’t—not just individuals, but entire countries. I think the most frequent pretense is religious. One country pretends to be Christian, another Muslim, and another Buddhist. Still another purports to welcome all religions. What is your country pretending to be?
But there are other pretenses as well. Back at Troy, the Greeks pretended to retreat and left a ‘gift’ of a large wooden horse for the Trojans. The next day, most of Troy had been put to the sword and I had collected all the priestesses of Aphrodite and taken them to the infinity room. Then I pretended to be Odysseus as I shoved off and sailed the Mediterranean, pursued by Poseidon.
Back a few hundred years ago, I pretended to be a Catholic priest and brought the Inquisition to Spain. That sucked. So, what we pretend to be isn’t always for the better. And, of course, Hannibal thought I was only pretending to be a demon. Even when we aren’t pretending, we are.
I spent enough time in the theatre back in Greece and following Alexander that I got used to playing a part. I kind of regretted that I hadn’t trod the boards with Shakespeare, but by that time, I was already in the New World. Regardless, I have often pretended to be something other than what I was. Am. Whatever.
There was this time in Japan… Now, that’s worth telling about.
It must have been near the end of the first millennium after Caesar or so—not long before I presented myself to the prince in Nihon and built a wooden temple. I was just exploring the many islands that make up the Japanese archipelago. At one island, I found a village that was beset by bandits and forced to pay a heavy tax each year that kept the people of the village in poverty and near starvation. When I heard of the place, I dressed in the robes of a wandering Samurai, complete with two excellent swords I had purchased and duplicated. I missed having either Ninra’s sword or Odysseus’ sword. I approached the village.
The elders came out to meet me and plead with me to pass their village by as they had nothing that was not required by the bandits.
“How many bandits beset you?” I asked.
“Honored sensei, there are forty thieves and they keep dozens of slaves, including women to satisfy their lust.”
That set poorly with me. Women being kept as sex slaves? Not on my watch.
I retreated from the village and opened a gateway from which I summoned my harem to bring food enough for all the village. I selected six to dress as I did and gave them swords. They were, of course, all highly trained in martial arts since our time in India.
I led the procession into the village, beating on a gong to call all the countryside in for the feast. People were wary. They were more afraid that word of the great feast would spread to the bandits and they would be punished. The vision of the seven Samurai standing at the edge of the village to protect them, and the dozen beautiful women who served them soon calmed their fears and the feast was on.
As expected, the bandits showed up on horseback and attempted to ride us down without even asking what was going on. Let us say simply that none of the bandits remained on the horses that galloped into town and were corralled by my women.
“Samurai? What business have you here? This is our island! Go back to where you came from or face your deaths!”
That was pretty brave talk for a man who had only half his band still standing. Nonetheless, they attacked and we spared only one to lead us back to their camp, so we could free the slaves and women. The place was the size of the village.
When we brought the freed slaves back to the village, would you believe the villagers we had just fed pretended they didn’t have enough resources to feed and care for the former captives?—even though most had been taken from their village!
Well, there’s no forcing people into a community that doesn’t want them. I’d seen evidence of that repeated over the centuries. I pretended to be a simple wandering Samurai and the village pretended to be starving. I led the newly freed people back to the camp where the bandits had enslaved them. There was really nothing wrong with the camp. It was pretty much a village in itself. The land around it was fertile and there were even crops that had been planted by the slaves to supplement what was stolen from the village.
“Now, you don’t need to stay here if you think you have someplace else to go,” I told them. “I did not bring you back here to make you slaves again. But whoever stays and works will not want for any needed thing. This valley is rich and will provide for you. Your labor is now for yourself.”
They weren’t exactly sure how I was different from the bandits. The next day, my six other Samurai and I began building a gate for the village. We went out hunting in the mountains and brought back wild goats and other animals we could domesticate and built a pen for them. We tended the rice paddies and pruned the plum trees. Each night we fed those who had worked beside us. We did not feed anyone who did not work. Some begged us but we refused. There was a simple way to be fed and that was to work. Within a week, nearly everyone was working.
A couple of warped individuals attempted to raid the stores of food, but they were met with the sharp point of my Samurai’s swords. One fled and took news of what we were doing to the village that had been beset by the bandits in the first place. The other wandered off into the hills and we never saw him again.
We stayed with our new village for several weeks. One of the things they noticed was that whoever was out working would find another person working beside him or her. These people were from the infinity room and took pleasure in helping those who helped themselves. It was a rule of the infinity room and was uniformly obeyed. Work for the betterment of our people and receive everything you needed to live a comfortable and fulfilling life. But at night and meal time, none of the helpers would be seen. The people came to believe the kami—Shinto spirits who had once been ancestors—were blessing them. My people pretended they really didn’t exist. They never spoke and never touched a member of our new village.
By time to harvest, our village brought in more food than they could consume. And so, on their own, they decided to take food to the village that had been beset by the bandits. They did not say anything, having learned from my women. Instead, they slipped in at night and simply left sacks of rice and butchered meat. Then they silently slipped away.
I could have predicted the response of the original village based on the response of greedy people I’d known for three millennia. And nearly all the people I’d known for three millennia had been greedy. They armed themselves and came to take what they wanted from our village. They found the seven Samurai waiting for them at the village gate.
“Do you think, having seen what we did to the bandits, that you can become bandits yourselves? These people work for their food and they prosper. If you go back to your village and work for your food, you, too, will prosper. Do not think that you can become bandits and take what is not yours. The kami protect this village.”
As if they emerged from me—actually just from a gateway I’d opened behind me—dozens of my women came out dressed in flowing white gowns and simply pointed at the invaders, gesturing them to return home.
They did so. In a hurry.
And so, we had pretended to be Samurai and kami, protecting this village, which, the last time I checked, was still there and still prospering. My women and my Samurai silently slipped away into the hills where I collected them into the infinity room.
That was nothing, though, compared to pretending we were mounting a reality TV show on which the participants had been ‘hypnotized’ to believe they were really going on a space trip to Mars, when they were really on a space trip to Mars and beyond, pretending to be on a TV reality show. I think I said that right, but sometimes it confused me, too.
The parties at Peninnah’s and my mansion in the hills were becoming more frequent as the guestlists included Hollywood movers and shakers, politicians, and our growing cast. People judged their status by whether or not they had been invited to one of Bob’s parties.
Deedee had been the first cast member we hired. It seemed she was the one who broke the code regarding how to get a part. Afterward, we started finding others who wanted to join. We discovered that, like Deedee, these were what I would call more ‘normal’ people rather than actresses we’d been sent by the casting agencies.
“I’m not a pro,” Deedee had told us after her audition.
She’d left me breathless and I continued to hold her, still embedded in her welcoming depths. Liz and Peninnah pulled up chairs close enough to us that they could touch and pet us as we cuddled. Of course, our cameras were still running and the crew maneuvered for better shots, meaning angles that would expose her breasts and butt.
“I mean, not a professional actress, but I’m not a sex worker, either.”
“What brought you to us?” I asked, sneaking another kiss before she answered.
“I’m a grad student at UCLA, studying sociology and group interaction. It’s like you’ve created a whole lab here to study how people exposed to each other on a long-term basis change their perspective in confined quarters.” It sounded like the brief for a dissertation.
“So, you really just want to study us?” Liz asked.
“Well, that’s kind of a passion, but I think I just drank the Kool-Aid and jumped from observer to participant. I don’t know that I’ll do a very good job of studying us now,” she said. She shifted her hips and I began to harden in her again. She moaned.
“There might be greater opportunities to use your skills than you ever imagined,” Pen said. “The ship is much larger than it appears.”
“This set makes it look huge already. How big could it be?” she asked.
“Infinite,” I said, thrusting up into her again. “You’ll discover more than you ever imagined. But for now, you need to keep it a secret. Agreed?”
She clamped down on my cock and rocked her hips back and forth, then began sliding up and down.
“I agree,” she panted. “I’m yours to command.”
I’d learned my lesson about commanding silence. Chione hadn’t uttered a word since she left Nebuchadnezzar’s harem—2,500 years ago. We depended on a non-disclosure agreement that would bankrupt a person for life if they mentioned anything about what we were doing on the show or about the infinity room when they’d seen it.
That was our agreement with Deedee. I joined her movements and before long, we’d both moaned our orgasms again.
We—officially, Peninnah and I, but where I went, the infinity room went—took a little trip to check on our investment in Japan and moved into the penthouse apartment overlooking the water not terribly far from Osaka. It was beautiful. Our Japanese contractors and architects had made the penthouse a breathtaking example of modern high-end Japanese fashion. It was multilevel with movable screens to divide spaces when wanted, and a very open design when the screens were pulled aside. Furniture was generally low, encouraging sitting on the floor to eat and lying on a low platform bed to sleep. The bath—separate from the toilet—was large enough for a dozen of us to soak, with separate showers. Of course, there were stools at each shower head so one could sit while another shampooed and washed her. It opened onto a rooftop pool, strictly for my family’s use. There were more staff for the penthouse than we had people who regularly used it, and they were housed on the floor below.
While we were there, we held auditions and found a very talented cellist named Rin who wanted to join us. She didn’t jump straight to sex, but she was funny and just a bright and sunny girl. And could she ever play the cello! It was amazing. The time in Japan was too short, and we all wanted to spend more time in the wonderful penthouse. I could see that somewhere in Areola, we would be constructing something similar.
We visited our partners in India and one of their software engineers asked if she could audition. Suhani was fun and bright and very suggestive in her dress and actions, without getting naked or actually trying to have sex. I could well imagine a real tease having some prime scenes in the show.
We stopped in England to visit the Queen, who was very pleased with her new domicile. Plans for the space travel theme park next to the palace were well underway and ground had been broken. While we were there, we had a really wonderful dinner of beef Wellington and herb roasted potatoes. This went well with the braised shredded Brussels sprouts. When we were exclaiming about how wonderful the food was, the Queen asked the chef to come to the table. That was how we met Valerie.
“Surely, you will need to eat on this voyage,” her Majesty said. “I highly recommend Valerie. She was trained in France, so the food will not all be typical English fare, though she did a wonderful job on that this evening.”
“May we have your permission to interview and screen test this evening, Valerie? I’m afraid we are pressed to get back to California tomorrow,” I said.
“I’d be delighted,” she said. “May I be excused, ma’am?”
“Yes, dear. Go get your things ready and leave with Bob and Peninnah.” Valerie left and the Queen leaned in close to us. “I had her prescreened. I think you’ll find her a pleasant addition to your crew.”
Ah. So, the Queen had taken an interest in providing me with an English girl. It was a good idea and would give us a girl with a nice accent, too. That night in our hotel room we had a very pleasant interview with Valerie—in bed. We found she not only had good taste, but she tasted good, too.
And so the casting went. We returned for more casting in Hollywood and found that we had much better experience and knowledge of what we were looking for. It went much faster.
So now, two months later, we had enough people to launch filming the mini-series. A dozen, make that thirteen young women—by young, I mean they were all from the current era, not from two millennia ago—plus Peninnah, Liz, Penelope, Dezi, and Laine, were ready to join our crew and move into the mansion. Dezi and Laine were both much older than they looked, but they’d joined the infinity room when they were in their teens and stopped aging. They would play our daughters—that is, Penelope’s and mine. Penelope was joining as my ‘former’ wife, still active in the lives of our daughters and determined not to let them leave without her. Penelope was chosen because she was a little older when she joined the infinity room and stopped aging. She glowed with good health and vigor, but looked more mature than Peninnah or Liz, both of whom joined me in their early twenties. No one would buy that either of them was old enough to have teenage daughters. It was borderline with Penelope.
Penelope had the most difficult time adjusting. The twenty-first century was a foreign world to someone of the tenth century before Caesar. We kept her fairly sheltered, but it didn’t take long for the cast to all adopt her as their mother figure.
Besides Deedee, Rin, Suhani and Valerie, we’d invited Wendy, a journalist, to be part of the cast, based on an equally positive response to the improvisation during her screen test. She’d been more blatantly seductive in her scene. Granted, Deedee had attacked me sexually, but the scene was played out as one rushed because of impending doom. Wendy had played the part of a communications officer, bringing me a message from control in India. We’d actually arranged a phone hookup to the tracking station in India, who were all enthused about taking part in the audition. Wendy had to relay messages between control and the bridge. She rewrote the scene on the fly, making every line into a double entendre. If what India told her didn’t suit what she wanted, she changed the message so it would sound like an invitation to take her to bed. Which it was.
The entire cast and crew were laughing when she started acting as an interpreter. Our crew in India had a bit of an accent. It was not a serious issue because they spoke perfectly good English. They just had an accent. Wendy treated it like it was a foreign language and she was translating.
“Wendy, systems are go and you are cleared for launch,” Raj said over the speaker phone, following our script. She responded in a perfect Indian accent.
“Roger, Raj. We will be launching shortly.” Then she turned to me and spoke in a perfect Valley Girl accent. “Like the guys in India are just waiting for you to get it up, you know?”
“Tell Raj we’re in our final countdown,” I instructed. She adopted her Indian accent once again.
“The man says he can hardly wait to start his booster. My skirts will be lifting in seconds.”
The entire scene was like that with Wendy sometimes hesitating as if she was trying to find the word, as if she was the only one who could understand what the boys in India were saying. Inevitably something blatantly sexual would come out. And she kept up the role right through fucking me on camera.
“Oh, Raj. He’s blasting off now!” she screamed.
The guys got into it and began suggesting things to her regarding trimming her tail and increasing thrust. All the way through an energetic sex scene, she kept up the interpreter dialog as if she was following the instructions of the control tower. It was a blast.
And when asked the all-important question, she answered, “I’d be so disappointed if it wasn’t real.”
Then there was Linda, a school teacher.
Her audition was evidence that we weren’t casting based on a sex scene alone. Some of our women did not cut loose with sex in front of the cameras. I wasn’t sure about Linda, as we finished the scene in which she was attempting to explain the diagram of the ship to me as if I didn’t understand it at all. Which really, I didn’t understand. During the scene, without my being completely conscious of it, she worked a kind of sexual magic without ever touching me, or me her, sexually.
She began with a few subtle touches, like guiding my hand to point at a particular feature of the ship, all of which she made up on the fly as if she were a real estate agent giving a tour of a new home. She touched my shoulder. She turned my head to look at her eyes while she explained that the shower was large enough to fit the entire crew and that it was conveniently located just three steps from a ginormous bed. And through it all, she was adjusting her look as well. She let her hair down, took off her glasses, kicked her high heels off, unbuttoned a few buttons. By the end of the scene, she looked like she’d just been ravished. She was panting and when I looked up at her, she moaned and shook as if she’d just had an orgasm.
“I just love these ship plans, don’t you?” she gasped.
“That was amazing,” Liz said, applauding Linda’s performance. We all joined. I hadn’t even realized what she was doing until the end.
“So,” I said as she caught her breath, “what if you found out it was all real and you weren’t coming back to earth?” I wasn’t expecting the way she answered.
She finished unbuttoning her blouse, pulled it off, and freed her boobs from her bra. While we watched, she dropped her skirt and panties as well. What was standing naked in front of us was a walking hard on.
“If I found out it was all real, I’d never wear clothes again and you’d never need to ask to have sex with me.”
All righty then! Audition successful!
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