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Sometimes the dated feeling is due to the blatant extrapolation of trends ascendant when the work was written into the far future. It's possible that the prediction turned out to be technologically or aesthetically accurate (or at least on the right track), but the prediction still fails because of the designer's implicit assumption that social values will be the same in the future as in their own time (as demonstrated in the page image).

Often the datedness behind zeerusty designs lies in the attempt of the designers to get an advantage over the technology of their time, only to find out that more mundane designs are actually far more efficient if advanced engineering and craftsmanship are used on them.

They couldn't know she was obeying, but that wasn't important, she knew. Ordered to buy a bustier, she bought one and wore it before the screen. Stockings and stay ups followed, charcoal, fishnets, cream. No stockings, she'd learned to wait to be told what stockings. She piroueted and then wiggled her ass for their camera, and then wandered off in Mike's direction as the teenagers found someone else to point the camera at. In fact, if she noticed him at all, it was because, alone of the men in the skytrain cabin, he never glanced at her. Peter marked the station she got off at, and then, exceeding the agreed plan, he got off to follow her. She glanced at it warily, now almost uniformly suspicious. Lynsey stared at the barrel of the pistol pointing at her, frozen. Lynsey stopped, overcome with a powerful urge to flee. Oh he might do her again, he thought, but never again like this. If he reached a little higher, her panties soaking. He slapped them hard, shoving her until she lost her balance and swung free for a second, dangling from her stretched arms, until she could again find her balance on tiptoes. I mean really, I don't think we could get away with raping you over and over, could we? Jack allowed a note of hope to creep in his voice, a warning that sent shivers up her spine. The horror of previous rapes mingled in her unconsciousness with Jack's lies about secret willingness and her own bodies betrayals.

She shaved her pussy for the silent masters on the other side of the screen, her shimmering smoothness making her unbelievably wet. Mike had paid the teenagers a hundred dollars and loaned them the camcorder for the express purpose of getting her on video without her fully realizing who and why. She crossed her legs to draw his attention, slid one hand down a fishnet clad thigh. He trailed her down two streets until the crowd thinned out, and then ducked into a Subway Shoppe. She hesitated, knowing there was no way out, before finally conceding, Yes. A hard shove propelled her forward, she stumbled, almost falling, staggering to the center of the room. You like it, don't you, he said, and ripped her blouse open, glorying in the sound of buttons popping, fabric tearing. He reached between her breasts, pulling the bra out. No, no, she said quickly and tried to smile, offer good for one time only. She simply could not allow herself to think, her mind would not function.

Something — a character design, a building, anything — used to be someone's idea of futuristic.

Nowadays though, it ironically has a quaint sort of datedness to it more reminiscent of the era the work came from (or imitates, in case the zeerust is deliberate).

She might have known if she'd checked the member logins, but that was her mistake. But worse in his view, she had no respect for the mechanics of a good well structured fantasy. He doubted it, the self absorbed bitch would never really put herself at risk. Then he emailed a few of his internet friends in Vancouver to let them know about this fascinating little game.... She skipped at work, riding the skytrain she couldn't help glancing around, wondering if one of those faces belonged to the someone from her chatroom. He could tell she was still undergoing an internal struggle.

And if once in a while, when her dildo was deep inside, and the vibrator on her clit, if it was her face and body in skank outfits, bent over and on all fours to some gangbanger... She was far too fastidious to do these things, or even to contemplate doing these things. From there, she discovered story sites, which fed her wicked fantasies. So, one night, Lynsey was in an internet chatroom, masturbating slowly, playing with the men. Watch for clues, put them together, find me and..... The game, of course, had evolved, as games always do. It upped the risk level just a tiny bit, and the effect on her was orgasmic, paralyzing, thrilling. And so, the requests, finding compliance, became a little bolder. Why not, she thought, trying one on, it made her ass look good. She might say or do anything on line, and he mostly believed her when she told them about her lingerie. No, she might be pushed a little there, but not too far, not yet. The red knit dress was a party dress, it looked good on her, clinging to the curves of her body, showing cleavage, but not too much, moderately short, but not as short as her miniskirts. It was the sort of dress a woman wore to show she was fire in bed, though not necessarily for anyone. The idea sent shivers up her spine and thrills down her cunt. He could tell she noticed his quickly averted look, he caught her half smile, watched as she forgot about him almost instantly. A flicker of terrifying irritation showed on his face. It was an hour and a half of walking, and one tortuous hitchike before she finally made it home. Alone, she could deal with it, but she couldn't deal with what they might think of her. Then, he stepped out, straightened his jacket, and walked with deceptive calmness to the passenger side back door. He'd seen her naked in photographs, watched her shower and masturbate on computer cam, he'd even fondled and posed her semi-conscious body. Finally, he had her in his unfettered, unlimited possession. He opened the door and pulled her out, gratified by the way she struggled forward, as if to help him. She could only precariously try to keep her balance. More than any of the others, Jack was a genuine sadist. He stepped around her, enjoying the way she dangled from the hook. Mike enjoyed her thrashings, letting her play herself out like a fish on a line.There were other women there, but Lynsey was never sure if they were real women. When the intensity had lagged, although never by much, with clues, it had gained a little more edge with suggestions. Buy a particular brand of moist, wet looking lipstick. Of course, she never took a real chance, if she was shopping an item to order, she always made sure to go to some out of the way place and never went there twice. Mike thought a second, I want you to wear this to go shopping today. Not that she'd do it, but she could actually visualize herself doing it. His heart pounding, his cock pushing against his pants, he turned away. She drew a hot bath and crawled in, soothing her aching body, gently washing the grit from her knees and palms. She couldn't believe how easily it had happened, how easily she'd been lead to it, how little resistance she had offered. Finally, he uncuffed her ankles, allowing her to walk. She followed willingly, he was amused that he didn't even have to drag her. It was just slightly too high, leaving her perpetually wobbling on tip toes. Finally, she collapsed in exhausted passivity, panting fiercely, her body drenched in her own sweat. Lynsey's eyes opened wide when she heard the sound of a vibrator being switched on.Some, she thought, were, some she was sure, weren't. She loved chatting with the men, encouraging their brutal fantasies, nothing too violent, just degradation and possession. Then she had a little idea, a delicious little idea, an idea that sent a little surge of wetness down her lips. I'll give you a clue, and if you can find me, you can have me. Minor suggestions, wear a particular set of earings today. It was when she was in front of the computer screen that the sexual intensity was hottest, that she got the wettest. It was okay, up ahead, he knew Mike was waiting, he'd seen him. Eventually, she eased herself into bed and laid there staring at the ceiling for half an hour before the tears came, and she sobbed herself to sleep. But it was only a faint idea, she was terrified that the police would interpret it as an act of prostitution. She stared at herself in the mirror, trying to understand how she had been such a pushover. She walked into the house, followed him awkwardly down the stairs. He fondled her breasts through the fabric of her clothes, making her wince as he found and pinched her nipples. Her body twitched at its gentle touch at her labia. She signed off without explanation, as she usually did, and went to watch TV. Abruptly, he created a new database directory, named it Linsey, and dumped all the clues' in there. He lead her to the hallway, and stopped her there, taking her chin and kissing her. And reading that, Lynsey's fingers slammed into her cunt, pulling her lips wide, fingering her clit to an explosive, thrilling, delicious orgasm.

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