"Happy Birthday," Andrew Jackson Howard, said to himself, staring at the reflection of his baby face in the back of a Jinteki company hover limousine. Surreptitiously, he ran a hand over his raging hard cock and sighed. Andrew swallowed ruefully, then rapped on the glass and motioned for the driver to drop him off in the middle of Broadcast Square at the heart of New Angeles. Instead of buildings, the square was surrounded by gleaming steel and glass monstrosities, festooned with larger than life video screens blaring all the latest ads, film trailers, and insipid reality shows, fully half of them showing off perfect celebrity fuckdolls with perfectly genetically remodeled faces and titties, courtesy of Jinteki. None of this was helping his rogue hardon.
Ground level was no better, full of glitzy shops and clubs, featuring even glitzier young women mostly dressed in sparkly barely there club dresses. New Angeles was located on the equator of former South America because the "Beanstalk" space elevator demanded that it be anchored there, in a messy new mixed country made up of the former Ecuador, Colombia, Peru, Brazil, and Bolivia. There was no better broadcast tower than the Beanstalk for the world's biggest media conglomerate, NBN, so here Broadcast Square sat. At that moment, however, all these complex socioeconomic factors amounted to was a sea of exquisite Latin caramel colored asses on women who spoke little English but fluent thongback. Full breasts split shiny skintight tops, and snuck out of strapless dresses. Huge, tight asses overpowered microskirts with a dizzying array of slits and cutouts. Perfect doll-like faces with full lips and flawless pancake makeup belied the clumsy stratospheric heels that made the girls' titties and booties shake and bounce, assuring that each of these sluts was fully down to fuck.
Indeed each of these fucktoys were all their over rich corporate boyfriends, clinging to them for support, both physical and economic. Being who he was, Andrew ignored all of the men. Slowly pushing through the crowd and rubbing up against any exposed female flesh he could, Andrew got stuck behind a busty slut with blue hair that matched her shiny green thong perfectly in the harsh light of the square. Instinctively, he seized her voluminous brown buttcheeks so hard that he accidentally buried his thumb up her butt, finally popping her strained tiny thong. Letting out an enraged shout, she turned and promptly stumbled over her own heels, knocking the little man into the gutter; she stood a good foot taller than him and he had tripped over her long legs. She leaned hard into her date for the night, who slipped a possessive arm under her shoulders. Seeing Andrew sprawled in the filthy rainwater, wearing a dorky old fashioned business suit, he laughed and grabbed the girl by the breast, sinking his fingers into the underside. "C'mon bitch," he said, "I've paid enough for you to lose more than some disposable ass floor tonight, gutterslut." She gulped and let him lead her off.
Keeping low, Andrew scurried off through the square towards the towering arcology he called home without further incident. "Happy Birthday, little man," the doorman said, smashing his fingers into his brick red hair, almost stopping him as he pushed through the entrance and slammed his back into the elevator, falling to the floor. "Happy Birthday, Master Howard," the elevator chimed as it read his biometrics and smoothly shot up towards the penthouse. Tears welling up in his eyes, Andrew stood up to face a video feed through the window of a milfy brunette actress sashaying down a red carpet, her juicy bubble butt wrapped in a rhinestone studded scoop back dress that dipped all the way down to the crack of her ass. The dress's crop top of her dress bit into her big milky white tits just above the nipples, with the tops of her breasts bulging out hard enough to almost kiss the cameras. The movie trailer in the corner showed the same slut tightly bound in a leather monokini, oiled and gleaming, as she stood atop a big rig truck screaming across an apocalyptic desert. The suspenders crossing her breasts were barely an inch thick and looked to be held on by thick piercings through her nipples.
Crying softly, Andrew fumbled with the tight suit pants digging into his raging 10 inch erection, a secret "I'm sorry" gift from the Jinteki genetic engineers who had botched his experimental neural enhancement. They had not, however, informed Andrew of his upgrade or the company tailor, and Andrew had been so disoriented after his release from the modification tanks that there was no time to tell him before he demanded a ride back home.
Before he could finish his inept fumbling, the elevator door opened into his family's penthouse.
"In here Junior," his father called from the dining room.
Sighing, Andrew sulked through the main hall and around the corner to find his father, the renowned Jackson Howard, seated at the head of a fancy real wood dining table. Howard's trademark empty wide grin and lantern jaw beamed at his son over his clasped hands, framed by his own brick red hair. Sitting to Howard's right was Andrew's newest stepmother, Andromeda, wearing wore diamonds, and a sparking blue strapless, backless evening gown that complimented her permed curly blonde hair. She had been reclining lazily, sipping at a fizzy red drink until Andrew entered, when she looked at him with a smirk and an arched eyebrow over her glass. Andrew missed her expression entirely as his eyes briefly played over her 34HH breasts with the front of the dress pasted on them so tight he could see her nipples.
On Howard's left, was a twitchy Eurasian woman with a nervous grimace on her face and disheveled raven black hair. She ignored Andrew because she was too busy adjusting and readjusting her little black microdress over her toned, athletic body for some semblance for modesty. Her outsized 32GG were conspicuously out of place on her tight frame, as did her cheap, blocky cyberarm bearing faded Russian Federation government markings. The graceless mechanical left arm undid her every effort, the hem of the dress slipping out of the clunky fingers like fog through a gate.
"Do you feel any older after almost year away from home son? You know, turning 18 is the first real step into manhood," Howard said as he looked proudly at Andrew, noting his small but perfect musculature, another patented prototype courtesy of Jinteki.
