Memory Master

Passion welled in his loins, flooding him, and he seemed to lose all his strength at once, collapsing atop his bride-to-be. His eye caught the numbers displayed on her chronometer. It was 11:59:57. Again, the thought flashed in his mind that something was going to happen at midnight, something not only significant but also life-changing. Then, all thought vanished as the building orgasm swept over him, and his straining, lurching cock spurted semen onto his belly.
He frowned, as, looking down the length of his body as he reclined in the Memory Master’s chair, he saw the pert, firm breasts, the sleek, concave tummy, the trim patch of pubic hair, the diminutive penis that had not spurted his copious life-fluid inside the firm-soft buttocks of Britney but had, rather, oozed the fluid onto his groin, where, already it was cool and sticky instead of warm and thick. Adam--why had she thought of Adam? She hadn’t been Adam for years. She was Amanda. Already, the memory of her as a man, fucking a woman deep and hard in her round, bouncing ass, was fading. She frowned at the semen that had drooled from her flaccid penis. She’d made a quite a mess of herself.

She rose, to shower, and she inadvertently jiggled a control on the machine’s instrument console.

“Happy memories!” the Memory Master’s recorded voice cried.