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The hot tub steamed and bubbled like it was hiding secrets, and maybe a body or two. Louisa — streaming today as Weesa HotBuns, God help us all — lounged diagonally across a rope hammock slung artfully over the water, arms tucked behind her head, legs swinging just slightly. Behind her, Kona stood thigh-deep, radiant and poised, holding a silver RainGasm tube like it was a relic from the Temple of Moisture.
The day’s program was one of our ongoing product promotion events. Sharon had opened the doors for brand adjacent advertising for products she wanted sold through our affiliated platforms, which brought every fringe inventor and promotor out of the woodwork.
Kona had insisted we could test new products live as part of our ongoing product promotion program.
“It adds realism,” she said. “It’s the same experience our viewers have when they try them at home for the first time!” Kona is an unstoppable force, most days, and this one was no different.
So we were live. Of course we were. With RainGasm. The name alone should have tipped us off.
“Welcome, lovers,” Kona purred, eyes batting at the camera as though it owed her instant applause just for showing up. “Today we’re bringing you something... transformational.” Like most advertising she does, Kona just makes the words flow, counting on heat to over-ride any real meaning or confusion.
The chat surged with heart emojis and animated flames. Weesa giggled and tossed a wink toward Kona, who winked back like a predatory flamingo.
“RainGasm,” Kona continued, unscrewing the cap with reverence. “The upgraded formula. Water-reactive, concentrated, sensitivity-boosting, scientifically approved by our internal test teams, and—” she reached forward and dabbed a dot onto Weesa’s tummy. Her finger spreading it around “—fully trigger-primed.”
Sharon’s voice crackled in my headset. “Don’t over apply! Tell her not to—Kona, dammit, do not—”
The Sharon Panic Injection was too late.
Kona smeared a liberal squeeze of gel across the inside of her own thigh and let out a soft “oh.…”
Then louder: “Oh! Oh wow!!” Her eyes went wide, her mouth opened, and a look of shocked surprise formed as one of the rare times the “kitten isn’t in control” checkbox was endorsed by the gods of stimulation. She looked at her RainGasm’d fingers like they were a flaming cactus as her legs twitched in the water.
Weesa blinked from in front. “You okay back there?” and then her eyes crossed, one of her legs lifted straight up into the air, and she started cycling in the hammock, gripping it.
Kona’s eyes fluttered like a Windows update bar at 99%. “There’s... a breeze.”
The hot tub jets burbled quietly beneath her.
“Oh—OH!” Weesa said suddenly, hips jerking once, her legs kicking the hammock into a slow, involuntary swing.
From behind the camera, I adjusted the focus and made a mental note to delay the decision to burn the storage card, or perhaps frame it. “Initial user feedback appears strong,” I said aloud, because deadpan is my love language.
Kona gripped the edge of the tub for balance. “We might be at Level Two. Possibly Three.” She may have squeaked.
“Define the scale,” I said.
“It’s mostly vowels!” She was up at least two octaves as the volume knob twisted past 10.
Weesa was trilling like a bird, going up and down the scale as her gyrations synced with her inner manifestations. She had picked up a definite vibratory trend.
Sharon was shouting something about liability in my ear. I ignored it and zoomed in on Weesa’s face just as her jaw dropped and her eyes crossed again like she’d been slapped by a holy vision.
“Oh sweet Mother Earth on a sunbeam,” she shrieked, heels jerking like a synchronized swimmer mid-convulsion.
“I’m ....” Kona went ultrasonic, her mouth moving into a hard locked ‘O’, matching her wide, unseeing eyes as she started churning the water with a rapid high step maneuver. She leaned over onto Weesa, in the hammock, to keep from melting into the tub. Water turned into a froth from her kicking, and the hammock swung precariously from Wessa’s own maneuvers and Kona’s jerky leg flutters.
“I think Kona didn’t read the directions,” I said, watching her feet blur as they flew through the camera’s viewfinder before hitting the water again.
