Marcus Spain, Billionaire Entrepreneur

'Are you feeling unwell, sir?'

'Hm? Oh no, just - just thinking of the BOI merger talks is all.' His usual cold composure faltered for a moment. Even his driver noticed. 'I'm fine,' he stated with an air of finality.

Finnegan nodded - not quite convinced. He knew well not to argue though. Marcus Spain could have him fired and replaced on the spot with just a phone call.

In truth, Marc was practically vibrating with unsated lust. He was burning up in his seat, to get back to the penthouse. Three hours ago, received a call on his private number just as he was pulling up to the gallery. After three years, it was finally here.

The ensuing gala was pure . He should've cancelled and turned the car around. He was practically hyperventilating with need as he shook hands and rubbed shoulders with New York's most elite. But as always, he persevered. He delivered his speech and dropped hints about the upcoming launch of the Horizon division's new consumer-grade robotic dog.

His assistant confirmed his appearance had been a success, of course - a hundred and sixty articles already, with '#HorizonDog' trending on social media. Stock prices would be through the roof by the morning.

But he didn't care in the least that you could have your Dog speak in over a hundred different languages. Right now, his balls were about to explode if he didn't get relief soon. He was sweating. The car inched ahead in the Friday night traffic. Why the hell were there so many cars in New York City?! He knew he should've acquired that flying taxi company. He made a mental note to see them about an offer.

It took him another hour before Finnegan could deposit him at his New York pent house. He declined supper and ordered to be left alone.

He breathed slowly as the heavy door finally closed behind him. Anton, his assistant boarded the lift back down after leaving him some Asprin and some of his favorite gin.

The lights were on. He found it waiting on the large coffee table: a plain white box with absolutely nothing on it: no glossy pictures, no specs, nothing.

Marc stripped out of his fine suit. It was far too suffocating given his current condition. He kept his 6'0", 230 lbs frame well muscled through consistent dieting and weight exercises. He made it a point to fit working out into his busy schedule. Looking good gave him an advantage - something the business world hadn't yet wrapped its head around. The women were more likely to sweeten deals just to be with him, and the men couldn't help but admire his success, even if they were green with jealousy. Marc Spain had everything.

And yet, he was still dissatisfied. No, he was frustrated. Every waking day of his life was filled with meetings and dinners: thousands of faces kneeling to kiss his ass. His sex life was nonexistent, but not so much because of his busy schedule.

He'd developed an embarrassing fetish for emasculation, and he'd reached a plateau for exploration. There just wasn't anything else he could do within reason. Even discretely ordered panties and chastity devices were a logistics nightmare with all the journalists lurking in the shadows, watching his every move. His paper trail had to be squeaky clean. Even a small slip could cost his holdings billions, on top of ruining his reputation forever. Marc was a horn dog but he wasn't stupid enough to risk his company.

But now... Perhaps maybe he could finally achieve sissy nirvana. He shuddered at the word. 'Sissy.' It was garish and completely unbecoming of a man like him. The thought disgusted him and yet, his eight inch cock strained against his silk boxers. 'Sissy.'

He touched the paper on the box.

'Congratulations on your purchase, Mr. Spain!' The ink suddenly appeared before the wrapper fell apart with a clean split down the center.'

Flux-paper. Practically indestructable unless opened by the right person. He wanted so badly to acquire ARK Industries. Five times he made them an offer, and five times they'd left him wanting. He couldn't blame them though: they knew what they were worth. If they ever wanted to go mainstream, they could've acquired an empire twice the size of his.

He pulled out the headset, not bothering with the instructions. He knew how to use Latitude well enough after no less than ten visits to ARK's research facilities to sample the remarkable technology (and to pester them for his own order). The consumer version of the headset was more compact: smooth black plastic, and resembling a sort of diadem that ended in three prongs over his temples. 'Latitude cN: Beta 01' was stamped over the back.

Laying down on the sofa, he groped his leaking dick before putting on the headset. He slipped under just as easily as he remembered.