One Billion Credits
Part 1 – Privation

Ivan had allotted himself six months to amass the small fortune of one billion credits. That was six months of hard work, of being the first to clock in and the last to clock out, and a spartan lifestyle devoid of the comfort and luxuries available within the Hive.

He drank only water instead of flavoured drinks; virtually free at only ten credits per glass. He also took to skipping meals in the beginning, before he got clever enough to scavenge leftovers from his colleagues in the canteen; a half-finished bag of chips here, the dregs of a bowl of noodles there, and he was eating for free some days.

He calculated how long he was spending in the shower, using as little hot water as he possibly could, and saving a few credits there too. He had used the same razor blade for over three months, had gone without shampoo since finishing his last bottle a little over two weeks ago, and had been squeezing his last tube of toothpaste to the very end for almost a week now. It was uncomfortable, but he did not care since he was close to reaching the billion credit mark.

And of course, he did not skip breaks when watching the telescreen in his cubicle, which saved him another ten credits per two-minute-long advertisement.

The telescreen was another arm of the State delving into the personal lives of its workers. Installed in every personal cubicle – and on every available wall surfaces in and around their workspaces – telescreens play advertisements, and some State-funded programmes, at every minute of every hour of every day. You could not switch them off. At night in your own cubicle, you could only dim the screens and lower the volume to go to sleep, but during the day you were not even allowed to look away from them. Any attempt to do so, and the screen would bathe your cubicle in red flashing lights, as a disembodied voice commands you to, "Please resume viewing…"

He had endured six months' worth of advertisements to the point where he knew the jingle to every bright, cheap and gaudy graphics lasered into his eyeballs.

There was one advertisement he enjoyed watching, however. Whenever he felt his resolve slipping, feeling cold and sore all over from a hard, sixteen-hour shift, parched for something stronger than water, and stomach gnawing on a disappointing dinner of refrigerated sandwiches, or whatever else was available at a hundred credits or less from the vending machines… When that advertisement came on, he was reminded of why he had resolved to do this, and it was just enough incentive to stop from ordering that thousand-credit takeaway meal from the grease shop.

"New from Sex Babes, the hottest babes doing the nastiest things!" the voiceover leered as the screen blared hot, throaty moans, and flashed close-ups of flawlessly-waxed, sweat-sheen flesh.

"Alfred," he would whisper, eyes fixed hungrily to the wheat-blond, blue-eyed figure strutting down the glass catwalk in knee-high stilettos and a skin tight costume that exposed more than it covered. The clip would cut then to a loop of him swinging athletically around a pole, his asking price displayed in stark white against a flashing, multi-coloured backdrop: one billion credits.

He would settle into the covers of his bed, hand reaching to massage his arousal, as he watched with avid greed the screen parading the new sex doll that haunted his waking dreams.

In the beginning of every season, the State introduces a new line of sex dolls to service the workers of the Hive. The dolls were available in both sexes and in a range of builds, hair colour, and skin tones, to cater to every taste. They were for everyone, as no one person could own them, and they were available on a nightly basis to anyone who could afford the price.

The prices range from only a few hundred credits a night for the old, over-worked models of last season, to anywhere in the tune of millions for so much as a glimpse of the latest line advertised on the telescreens. The prices were entirely dependent on the doll's popularity score, and this season, Alfred Jones, voted most desirable by more consumers than any other sex dolls in the past, had reached a record asking price of one billion credits a night.

"No-one can afford that!" was the angry, unanimous cry of the workers as the State had him dance tantalisingly beyond their reach.

They were angry. At work, they booed and threw things at the screens whenever Alfred came on, moaning and writhing deliciously on somebody else's cock. They watched the videos of him loop over and over again – previews to further viewing in their own cubicles, should they choose, at a special price – and they were all crazed with desire and envy.

Everyone had seen the short clips of him sucking off a stranger, and then riding his cock. Everyone dreamt of giving him their own cock one day, ramming it into his mouth and then his ass, the horny, filthy little slut. And for the nights he went unbought – for he was very expensive, few workers could afford him – he was available to view on a free live feed masturbating; stroking and fingering desperately at himself, unable to come because he was not allowed to, and begging for someone to please please please fuck him, as his impossible price of one billion credits flashed on the bottom corner of every telescreen.

In his cubicle at night, Ivan would watch the live feeds, tighten his belt another notch, and grimly tot up his expenses on a spreadsheet, looking to see where else he could squeeze in a few more savings on his credits.

On his last couple of hundred credits towards reaching his goal, he stayed at his work machine hours after his colleagues had left for home. He worked through the night, watching his credit counter crawl up and up, and when he finally reached the billion credit mark, he sank bonelessly to the floor, too tired to cheer.

He gasped for air, his every muscle screaming from the burn as sweat poured from his brows, but he did not care that he could not breathe. He simply shook with silent, happy laughter.

Welcome to Sex Babes, how may we help you?

Ivan scanned over the buttons on his screen, scrolling past the offers for pornographic films, and selecting with a wave of his hand the option which read: Buy a night.

You have selected to buy a night with us. Which model would you like to book?

Alfred Jones was at the top of the list, of course, along with his price. He beckoned at Alfred's name, which brought his profile zooming to the foreground as the back melted to the short loop of him dancing on a pole.

Would you like to book an appointment with Alfred Jones?

He waved yes.

A loading screen came on, presumably checking to see if he had sufficient credits in his account, and he settled back in bed, trembling with anticipation.

One billion credits will now be deducted from your account.

Ivan watched as the counter for his credits plummeted. He was left with only a couple of thousand credits by the end of it, but he did not care. He now had Alfred Jones.

Thank you for buying with us. Your appointment has been booked for this Saturday on July 4th 3013.

It was done. He could hardly believe it! He whooped in silent joy.

As a special bonus your model will now speak with you.

His soaring heart dropped as quickly as the counter for his credits had done.

What?

The screen went blank for a moment, before flickering to Alfred Jones in a clip he had never seen before, in a room with a large bed and soft, muted lighting which he had also never seen before. He watched, dry-mouthed, as Alfred slowly took off the plastic visor wrapped around his eyes, revealing for the first just how bright and blue they were naked.

"Hello, Ivan Braginski," Alfred greeted in a soft, husky voice.

Ivan took a sharp intake of breath. For a moment, he could have sworn that Alfred had looked right at him, but that was absurd! This was only a pre-recorded video after all or – or a live feed, the live feed light was flashing… There was no way Alfred could actually see him from the other side of the screen…

Alfred smiled as if he knew what Ivan was thinking, but he chose to say nothing.

"Thank you for buying a night with me," he said instead. "I look forward to seeing you very soon. Should you wish to cancel our appointment, however, we at Sex Babes would like to inform that you have only twenty-four hours after purchase to do so for a half refund…"

Ivan was shaking his head no, he would never cancel on their appointment, and Alfred stopped. Alfred smiled again. Ivan felt his stomach flip.

Alfred leaned in closer towards the camera – Ivan found himself leaning towards his screen as well – and in a low, conspiratorial tone, he whispered, "Here's a little something to show just how grateful I am to you for purchasing me."

He spun around on his heels, and Ivan watched as the camera followed Alfred click-clicking on his stiletto boots to the side of the bed. He drank in Alfred's profile from the back, eyes roving up from his delectable rear to the muscles of his back, and finally pausing at the barcode tattoo that was just visible on the nape of his neck: the mark of State property. Then he snapped to the object Alfred pulled out of the bedside drawer, and was holding it now at the camera for him to see.

It was a dildo, a really big dildo.

"Well, what do you think?" Alfred asked with a smirk over his shoulder. "It's one of my favourites. Do you like it, hm? Would you like to see me play with it?"

Ivan could only gape.

"Cat got your tongue?" Alfred giggled.

Then his expression softened. Suddenly coy, he dropped his eyes and whispered, "What would you like me to do?"

Ivan swallowed hard, saying nothing.

Alfred took his silence as his cue to suck off the dildo. The camera focused on his mouth as he worked expertly on the toy, licking and drooling copiously, cheeks hollowed out as he slurped and sucked on its length, his eyes heavily hooded, his breathing rolling out in heavy, shallow breaths…

Ivan let out an involuntary whimper, and Alfred's eyes flicked up with a wicked gleam. Without warning, he threw back his head – the camera rushing to focus and re-adjust its angle – and Ivan watched, wide-eyed, as Alfred swallowed the toy almost whole, letting out a low, throaty hum.

"Alfred!" Ivan whispered hoarsely, needily, reaching for his growing erection.

Alfred pulled the dildo out of his mouth with a wet, lewd pop, turning to face the camera again. "I want you in me," he breathed. Eyes never leaving Ivan's, he felt his way up onto the bed, spreading open his legs – Ivan noticed then that there was a slit in his costume exposing his genitals – and brought the saliva-slicked dildo to himself. "I want you so bad," Alfred whispered, and he pushed the dildo into himself with a half-sob.

Ivan stared as Alfred crammed in the impressive length of the toy in one hard, squelchy thrust. He bucked and he gasped, eyes widened to an impossible blue. Then he let out a long, pleasured sigh.

"Fuck me, please," he pleaded with lips moistened to a rude shade of pink.

Ivan ripped open the flies of his work trousers, brought out his erection, and pumped furiously as Alfred fucked himself with the toy, crying, "Mm, yes, yes, just like that! Mmmh… ahh… yes! Ahh… it feels good… ah… it feels so good…"

He was fucking Alfred. He was pressing him down into the soft, decadent bed, holding his legs spread as he fucked him, thrusting into him hard, fast and desperate, a punishing pace, as Alfred moaned and melted and egged him eagerly on.

"Just like that! Yes! Ah, please! More, more! Yes! Ah, just like that…!"

Ivan found himself peaking quickly, much too quickly. He felt a knot tightening at the back of his navel, and he came with a noisy, winded groan, spilling liberally over his sheets as he came hard and rough. Keeled over forwards on his knees, clutching tightly to his soiled sheets in one hand as the other cradled his softening cock, he panted for breath, blinking colour back into his vision as he brought his gaze up to the screen.

"Alfred," he whispered lovingly.

Alfred had also come, and was streaked up to his face in his own cum. He wiped some of the white, sticky mess with his fingers and, making sure that Ivan was watching, he stuck the digits into his mouth, sucking them clean.

"That felt really good," Alfred murmured, his eyes half-lidded in a sated, dreamy look.

But there was something not quite right about him. Ivan could not place just what it was that was wrong with the picture, until Alfred blinked and brought his attention to it.

It was his eyes; there was something very wrong with them. They stared blankly ahead of him, lifeless.

Alfred blinked again, and feeling suddenly self-conscious, he sat up, picked up the plastic visor that had fallen from his person onto the bed, and slipped them back on. When he looked up, he was back to his beautifully distant, seductive self.

"I can't wait to meet you, Ivan Braginski," he said, licking his lips. "Until then."

The screen fizzled out into static. A moment later, the usual run of advertisements came on, leaving Ivan knelt in his own mess to stare at ugly graphics playing to canned laughter.

Author's note

This fic is an amalgamation of concepts lifted from a lifetime of reading and watching popular dystopian fiction. There are nods to Nineteen Eighty-Four (Orwell), Brave New World (Huxley), and countless many more texts from which I've taken the usual tropes of nuclear fallouts, underground cities, an oppressed class of people and a powerful, all-seeing ruling elite. But deserving of special mention are:

1) Fifteen Million Merits from Channel 4's Black Mirror series, itself an Orwell-inspired story, from which the concept of pornography-on-demand and X Factor-style TV voting was specially lifted from along with the line: "New from Sex Babes, the hottest babes doing the nastiest things!"

2) Yoshihara Rieko's cult classic yaoi series Ai no Kusabi, for the concept of lobotomised humans sold and abused as sex dolls in a debauched dystopian future.

3) Shieunni's recalibrated!AU Hetalia doodles on Tumblr, from which the fic's taken its AU name and whose visuals I draw heavily upon, especially for Alfred's costumes.

Although none of the fic's special concepts are original to me, I must stress that every word of it is written myself, and neither consciously nor directly lifted from any text except where noted.

Thank you for reading and I hope you've enjoyed it so far :D