Panopticon/off
They do it in near-silence
You never know who’s listening she’d said or even watching, these days. Before you know it, you’re a viral internet star then every randomer and his dog has an opinion on what an awful person you are.
Neither of them had found that prospect appealing, so he keeps his lips tightly clamped over hers and she locks her breathless moans at the back of her throat as they roll and writhe together in a tangle of limbs on the lounge floor.
They’d dimmed the lights, just in case there was a camera they’d forgotten to cover, or the telltale LEDs had been hack-tricked into darkness – he sings in a whisper, subverted snatches of an old country song-
you can hide your lying eyes
the ‘off’ switch is a thin disguise
-until she pulls his head down onto her breast, offering him one dark rope-end nipple to fill his mouth, sliding his cunt-slick fingers between her lips for the taste of herself.
Their excited fumblings cause the Mylar survival blanket wrapped around them to rustle furiously. With the temperature sensors for the smart central heating system being sensitive enough to track body heat, he’d suggested the reflective covering for both privacy and a kinkily space-age feel to their fucking.
astronaut sex she breathes into his ear, and feels his chuckle ripple against her.
The dog is shut in the kitchen, wearing both of their fitness monitors and provided with a luxurious selection of chewables to keep him amused while he in turn keeps the monitoring software entertained. She checked her pill packet that morning so there’d be no post-coital contraceptive alerts sent by the fitness tracking servers, but something in her rebels against the notion of a sexless algorithm tracking her orgasms in virtuality. He’s added his monitoring band to hers, muttering that he was damned if he’d let them assume a solo pattern from his must therefore be one of infidelity. Even aside from the implied insult, his credit rating won’t support the resulting risk tariffs such a conclusion would attract.
Naked of both clothes and devices, hidden in their insulation, they nibble and bite, stroke and squeeze, rock and thrust together. Skin to skin, their only data exchange is the code of sensuality – the taste of his tongue, the softness of her thighs, the pounding of their hearts. In hushed darkness they explore their pure unquantified selves; conversing in the language of touch and desire.
he shudders with unvoiced pleasure as she grasps him by the hilt and welcomes him into her
she arches and spreads herself wide with delight as her cunt clenches around his hardness.
Without calculating intermediaries to analyse and translate, urgency arcs unimpeded between them, a signal boost to the other’s arousal.
he grasps her buttocks and draws her closer, burying his head in the lover’s cradle between her neck and shoulder
Devoid of distracting notification graphics, shorn of scoreboards, bereft of badge counts; they tally pleasure with sighing breaths and clutching hands.
she bucks her hips and rakes long furrows across his back, grinning into his hair as he catches his breath in response, and rubbing her clit harder.
oh yes, oh
so good
Sensation unfiltered and left to his own interpretation tells him she’s close to climax, even before she meets his eyes and nods. He slows and deepens his stroke, eking out her pleasure and watches with unaugmented fascination as her mouth falls open in a silent cry of urgent pleading.
her fingers digging into his shoulders, twitching thighs against his hips and spasming cunt around his cock
-overwhelms the last traces of his self-control; he throws back his head and grinds himself into the ebbing waves of her orgasm, his own release chasing hers until-
“WHOOP WHOOP WHOOP WHOOP”
The burglar alarm shatters his focus, slamming the brakes on his climax and freezing them both into shocked alertness. Deprived of homeowner-input, the smart security system has decided that the furtive movements in the living room are a close enough match to its programmed ‘home intrusion’ recognition parameters to trigger its shrill automated scream for help to the rest of the neighbourhood.
She races to the wall panel to hit the system reset button as he flops down onto his back and groans. Torn between annoyed frustration and adrenaline-stung hilarity, he scowls at the ceiling until the giggles take over. She snorts with laughter as the irony sinks in.
Plan B he chuckles weakly garden shed?!
