JACKING IN
Brinke Stevens
Beep! the computer announced dutifully.
Guy Lauber looked up with a start. He put down the new “sex toy” advertisement he’d just downloaded from the Internet. The menu bar at the top of his computer screen blinked with a message: YOU HAVE NEW MAIL.
Heart suddenly in his throat, Guy shifted mental gears. That printout advertisement had been funny—in a sick and twisted sort of way—but he had more important fish to fry now. He hoped this e-mail message wasn’t something about work.
Maybe it was something from Miranda.
Unhappily, he glanced at the thick stack of printouts next to his computer—copies of their electronic letters to one another. He had carefully read and reread them over the past week, trying to think of a way to put things right. He looked again at the blinking icon on the monitor screen. It was like a searchlight, holding his attention.
Guy bit his lip pensively. Maybe Miranda won’t give you the steel-toed boot salute after all…
… you pervert! Wasn’t that what Miranda had called him? At least he hadn’t yet been reduced to buying “Megabyte Meg,” the latest high-tech sex toy mentioned in the advertisement he’d been reading. “Computerized satisfaction, fully anonymous and guaranteed,” read the testimonial. The illustration showed a fancy voice-operated virtual reality rig, with a complicated microprocessor, projection interface helmet, datagloves … and a very weird thing called an “artificial vagina.”
Guy made a wry face. This was a far cry from the CD-ROM pornography games he’d played for several years. To fantasize was one thing; this was reality. Of a virtual sort, anyway.
Gives new meaning to the computer term “black box,” doesn’t it? His inner voice was such a smartass sometimes, but it was usually right on.
“Get Bitten by Megabyte Meg,” said the ad blurb. “The Very Latest in State of the Art Alternate Romantic Realities. Your Wish Is Meg’s Command. Personalized, Private, Guaranteed to Please, and Anonymous.”
“And she called me a pervert!” Guy shook his head at the unfairness of it.
Guaranteed to please … The ink-black words on white paper drew his eye again. Thousands of years of technological innovation, culminating in microprocessor-controlled sex toys. Who would have believed it?
Still, a computer game—even one like this—was easy to understand. Not like real women. Not like Miranda. Guy wet his lips, looking again at the blinking screen icon. His fingers made no move toward the keyboard or mouse.
He was the kind of fellow who did better with computers than women. Logic was easier for him to understand than the lipstick sex, by far. Maybe this “Megabyte Meg” would be a good choice for a loser like himself.
Guy even had trouble talking to girls—women, his political correctness sensors warned. It wasn’t that he hadn’t tried to be social with women. His throat seized up when he did, and stupid things flew out of his mouth. He had a genuine talent for saying the one thing that would offend a woman beyond the point of no return.
YOU HAVE NEW MAIL, blinked the monitor patiently. He drummed his short-bitten fingernails on the desk. What if she wouldn’t give him another chance? Guy knew all too well that he hadn’t really meant to write what he had to Miranda. Well, maybe he had, but it came out wrong.
Guy was a software designer for Imaginarium, one of the best firms in the Silicon Towers in L.A. Dozens of patents to his name. His own condominium, a sports car, and a good salary. He dressed very well for a computer programmer. No, he wasn’t good-looking or anything, but Guy felt he had a lot to offer.
Yeah. Everything except looks and a personality. You’re more Megabyte Meg’s type, y’know?
There had to be more to life than flashy toys from The Sharper Image catalog. Guy wanted more. He wanted a woman, a relationship. Fulfillment. Miranda could have been that chance for him.
The message icon continued to blink at him. What would it say? Was this e-mail from Miranda? He was a little afraid to find out.
And afraid not to.
They had called him the Mechanical Monk in college. Guy was now thirty years old, and it had been ten years since he’d been laid. The only time he’d ever had sex.
Whoa, he reminded himself. With another person, you mean. Not counting holding up centerfolds with one hand, or the number of times you’ve left the VCR on freeze frame.
Guy looked at his sweaty palms. He was a little disgusted by his own self-pity. Spend that much time alone, he knew, and you were bound to develop a few fantasies. You might even get a little kinky.
Or a lot kinky, like Miranda had said in her last letter.
At least he wasn’t dating integrated circuitry and foam rubber, Guy reassured himself. That would be kinky.
The blinking icon flashed at him hypnotically from the computer screen. Did Miranda want to give him a second chance? He nervously ran fingers through what was left of his brown hair.
Miranda Jones—not that he could be sure that was her real name—was a woman he had met on the Internet. It was the technonerd version of a singles’ bar. Guy had first heard from Miranda as part of a discussion on the ALT.FAN.HORROR.MOVIE special interest group. Finding a common interest, they had started sending electronic mail messages back and forth. Laughing about the latest schlocky horror films, silly current events, or stupid television shows. Clever wordplay, bad puns.
Guy had loved it. His developing friendship by modem changed his long days in the gray cubicles of Imaginarium, the tedious freeway commute through smoggy mornings and afternoons, the empty condo—they all became more tolerable. His collection of slick magazines and garish videos paled, their idealized women becoming less and less alluring.
Guy had developed a mental image of Miranda Jones. He saw her as slim, with long dark hair and darker eyes. A crooked, humorous smile. Sexy and smart. Guy imagined that her voice had to be a cool contralto. Miranda was intelligent and funny, with interests not so different from his own.
Well, at least some of her interests were the same. He remembered the tone of her last angry message. Guy hoped that she would finally accept his apology. Maybe it wasn’t too late.
You and your pervert mouth. Guy hated himself most of the time, his anger and fears kept buried beneath his thinning hair. He had to keep so much of himself hidden, controlled. Caged.
Maybe Miranda was a real babe, Guy told himself. Or at least decent-looking. God knows he didn’t consider himself any great prize. He scowled.
Still, he had hopes about Miranda. High hopes. Guy smiled a little, remembering their electronic conversation about that Nicholson werewolf film. Miranda had written that they should have cast Kevin Costner; then the film could have been titled Dances with Werewolves. There was an element of playful suggestiveness in her wording, which encouraged him. It seemed almost like flirting.
She’s probably four feet tall and looks like a troll, sneered the critical part of his mind. Somehow, Guy was sure that Miranda was nothing like that. He took a deep breath and steeled himself. He cued up his electronic mail program. The hard disk whirred and clicked for a few seconds, accessing information.
YOU HAVE ONE NEW MAIL MESSAGE, read his computer screen. Guy double-clicked on the Open button in the dialogue box. The window opened and words appeared on his monitor.
He wet his lips as he watched the message scroll across the screen. The e-mail was from Miranda. But it wasn’t what he had hoped to read …
Not by a long shot.
GUY:
I THOUGHT I HAD MADE MYSELF CLEAR. YOU REALLY SCARED ME WITH YOUR MESSAGE LAST WEEK. I’M NOT THAT KIND OF PERSON.
I E-MAILED YOU AT THE TIME, TELLING YOU THAT I DIDN’T WANT TO HEAR FROM YOU AGAIN. STOP SENDING ME MESSAGES! IF YOU DON’T, I WILL ALERT THE SYSTEM OPERATOR. YOU WILL HAVE ALL ACCESS BLOCKED TO THE NET. I’M SURE YOU DON’T WANT THAT TO HAPPEN.
DON’T MISUNDERSTAND ME. I KNOW THAT YOU ARE NOT AN EVIL PERSON. YOUR TASTES ARE YOUR BUSINESS, BUT THEY AREN’T MINE. I AM SORRY TO BE RUDE, BUT I THINK YOU NEED PROFESSIONAL HELP, GUY.
DO NOT E-MAIL ME AGAIN, OR I WILL NOTIFY THE SYSTEM OPERATOR. THERE ARE RULES ABOUT THIS KIND OF THING.
—MIRANDA
Shit.
He exhaled shakily. “I’m not a bad person,” Guy muttered impassively.
Yeah, sure. That’ s why you suggested tying Miranda up to a bed frame, straddling her face, gagging her with your hard cock and…
Guy blocked out the rest of that memory. Maybe he had moved too quickly. Still, Guy knew that there was nothing wrong with fantasies. Plenty of people were into bondage and discipline games. And it wasn’t fair for Miranda to judge him. He had never actually played any such games.
Except in his own mind.
But Miranda’s threat was very real. If she complained to the System Operator, he could be banned from the Net. If he persisted, she could even file sexual harassment charges against him. All he wanted to do was apologize, prove to Miranda that he wasn’t some gross pervert in a metaphorical raincoat.
Too late. It was over between them.
He slammed a fist down on the desktop and watched the mouse jump. Guy knew that he had screwed up yet again. He couldn’t even communicate with a woman electronically without saying the wrong thing.
Loser.
Anger simmered inside him, making his gut churn. He worked hard—didn’t he deserve a reward? He stabbed at the return key, deleting Miranda’s message. Gathering up the stack of e-mail printouts, Guy rose to his feet and stalked into the kitchen. Crumpling the letters in one angry fist, he shoved them into the trash compactor. Tears of embarrassment welled up in his eyes.
I can’t even make it with a woman over a goddamn modem, he raged inwardly. Guy bit his lip. All the jeers from so many schoolyards flooded up from his memory. Weenie. Nerd. Geek.
He pulled a Buzz Cola out of the refrigerator, popped the top, and drained half the can in one long swallow. The combination of sugar and extra caffeine gave him a bit of a lift. He belched and finished the can. It joined the crumpled letters in the trash compactor. Part of him enjoyed hearing the grinding sounds of the machine, like huge teeth the size of millstones. He imagined Miranda was trapped inside too, along with all her lying letters.
That’s getting a little sick, his inner voice chided.
Guy knew that he was basically normal, no matter what fantasies scuttled like bugs inside his head. He didn’t go to hookers, did he? Sure, he watched porno movies and read the slicks from time to time. Browsed the many hardcore Internet groups, where he had found the “Megabyte Meg” ad. He’d developed some intense fantasies, maybe. But hey, he had hormones too.
The anger and embarrassment began to boil behind Guy’s eyes. What right did Miranda have to judge him? She had never even met him.
He walked back to his work desk and sat down heavily. The computer screen flickered, a comfortable and familiar part of life. He patted the top of the monitor.
“Good girl,” he said. “You’re always here for me, aren’t you?” The rage and loneliness Guy felt were like hungry animals in the room with him. Waiting …
The advertisement for “Megabyte Meg” caught his eye again. The printout was still lying next to his keyboard, words and pictures seizing his attention, drawing him into it.
“Personalized,” the ad crooned inside his head.
“Private,” it whispered.
“Satisfaction Guaranteed,” it assured him.
“Why not?” he asked aloud. It would only be a computer program, right? How could it harm anyone?
A bitter taste in his mouth, Guy pulled out his credit card and sat it on the desk next to the ad. There was a convenient toll-free number. He picked up the telephone, his fingers poking at the keys aggressively.
The number answered promptly on the first ring. After a click, there was an empty sound, like the wind through high tension wires. It sounded faraway and lonely. Spooky.
There was another faint click and a pause. He shivered. A neutral electronic voice asked Guy to specify his order by catalog number, method of payment, and address. It was all very impersonal, like voice mail. Efficient, but a little creepy. Guy punched numbers on the keypad, making selections. There was nothing the slightest bit sleazy about the process; he could have been ordering a spreadsheet program. The order total was expensive, but it was … guaranteed to please.
He impulsively paid an extra twenty dollars for overnight delivery.
Guy felt a little better by the next day. More justified and sure of himself. Centered. How dare Miranda judge him? What he did in the privacy of his own home was his business. His thoughts were his own. The cyberporn equipment he had ordered might even be a form of independence.
As promised, the package was waiting at his condominium door. Still a little frazzled from his long commute, Guy lifted the bulky package and took it inside. The large box was covered in plain brown wrapping paper. Neutral and innocent; it could have been anything.
Guy carried the package over to his computer workbench and put it down with a grunt. He slit open the wrapped box with a kitchen knife, carefully digging into the plastic peanuts protecting the equipment inside. He lifted a sleek black box out of the package and set it next to his computer. Digging deeper, his fingers found several cables and connectors, all standard. Soon he had removed the black virtual reality helmet, studded with plugs and wires. The inside of the V.R. helmet was filled with a spaghetti tangle of wiring and electrodes. Then he found the datagloves, which looked like clumsy gauntlets trailing thick cables.
His hands found another object among the plastic peanuts. Something cold and yielding to the touch. Slowly, Guy lifted out the artificial vagina, brushing away bits of Styrofoam. He looked at it warily. It was much larger than he had expected. A little frightening.
Guy knew that the entire situation was strange, but felt committed by his credit card. He had gone this far.
The object was a fat cylinder covered with connectors and cable attachments. Darkened ready lights ran up and down its thick length. Velcro straps and nylon web buckles were clearly meant to hold the cylinder to the user’s body. At one end of the device was a vertical rubber opening. Guy gingerly touched it with a fingertip. It was very soft and cool.
Tentatively, he ran his finger along the inside of the opening. It parted with a moist sound as he touched it. Guy jerked his hand back, startled.
Oh, yeah, agreed the voice inside his head. You’re not weird or anything.
The instruction book was thin but complete. No salacious comments, no gross cartoons. Businesslike and professional. It was labelled MEGABYTE MEG on the front, and the directions were simple and straightforward. He skipped the portions of the manual other than the assembly instructions. Manuals are the last resort of the technically illiterate, he thought smugly. Guy was very good with machines, and didn’t anticipate having any trouble figuring this one out. Besides, the program was primarily voice activated. Self-operating.
Plug in and play, so to speak.
Guy followed the directions step by step. It didn’t take long to finish the job. Wires fit snugly into specific color-coded slots. Cables slipped into multiprong plugs. A fiber optic cable attached to a port on the artificial vagina with a satisfying click.
Guy took a quick breath and pressed the power toggle. A row of tiny lights winked green on the black console deck.
It was ready.
Guy licked his lips, suddenly nervous. He felt as if he was being watched, and shivered a little. He closed all the blinds and turned down the lights. The assembled rig waited, making a slight humming sound.
All dressed up and no place to go, rang inside his head. Maybe you should have brought some flowers.
“Nobody here but us chickens,” Guy said aloud. First things first. He undressed and clumsily strapped the big cylinder to his waist and thighs. Feeling ashamed and nervous, he stretched the rubber opening wide with two fingers, and managed to insert his limp penis. The device held him in a clammy grip.
You bet, buddy! Just a normal Friday night.
Guy put the datagloves on one at a time, fitting snugly up past his elbows. He bent over to pick up the V.R. helmet, and a movement caught his attention. The screen saver program on his computer had darkened the monitor, and Guy could see his reflection in its idiot eye. He looked so silly, standing there stark naked, with a dildolike device strapped to him and long S&M gloves trailing from his arms. He took a deep breath.
He put the helmet on, which completely covered his face and ears. It was pitch-black inside, and he stood unsteadily for a moment, feeling very strange. Guy finally reached behind him for the chair, clumsy from the datagloves. He sat down heavily, the seat of the chair rubbing harsh against his naked buttocks. There was pressure on his hands and head, and a moist coldness clasping his genitals. The whole V.R. system was voice operated, according to the manual. All he had to do was speak.
Say the magic words, buckaroo…
“Program on,” Guy said crisply, his fingers shaking.
There was a whine in his ears that moved up in pitch. At the same time, the electric box buzzed against his genitals. It was an odd feeling, not unpleasant. The soft rubber holding him slowly warmed and seemed to soften.
God, I feel like a pervert, he thought.
The blackness inside the V.R. helmet vanished in a flare of brilliant white light. It blinded him, like blazing sunlight on water. He squinted against it, his eyes dazzled. The bright glare slowly faded into … a room.
It seemed entirely real to Guy.
The room was good-sized. He looked around, and his point of view changed as he moved his head. He looked up at the smooth ceiling and down at the carpeted floor. Guy knew that the computer was monitoring his motions and altering the projected image on his retina to match a computer-generated model of a bedroom. Despite that knowledge, it seemed like a genuine room, solid in every detail.
There were draped windows, but no doors. A dim pale light gleamed from ceiling fixtures. A huge four-poster bed was covered in satiny white sheets. Candles glittered on side tables, and there was a scent of incense in his nose. The room was silent, with a hushed expectancy about it.
As if something cold and inhuman was patiently waiting.
Guy shivered at the stupid thought. He looked down and saw himself, naked. He felt embarrassed again for no rational reason. There was a thin ghost of the sensation of the chair against his bare backside, but very far away. The real world had become a dream.
“Hello?” he called out, feeling foolish. His words seemed to echo in the silent room. Guy fidgeted, not knowing what to expect.
“Program optimization beginning,” said an emotionless electronic voice, very much like the one that had taken his credit card order. “Please concentrate on your last sexual encounter.”
Yeah, sure, anything for a laugh. Guy’s mind rifled his memories, seeking. Hardly worth a snigger, he thought sourly.
It had been ten years ago, while he was an undergraduate at UCLA. A drunken college party, a young woman named Kathy who’d said she was recently jilted. She had been drinking too many Long Island ice teas. Kathy saw him as calculated revenge on her football star ex-boyfriend, although Guy hadn’t known that at the time.
Guy had been studying the crowd through a beer mug. She suddenly appeared across the room, a yellowish vision through the suds. His blurry eyes focused on her fishnet stockings and short black skirt, zippered up the front. Kathy soon walked unsteadily up to him and raised a provocative eyebrow in his direction.
Not believing his luck, he was hardly inclined to ask her any questions. Kathy hadn’t needed to say anything verbally; even a meganerd like him knew what she meant. What she wanted.
Guy remembered every steamy detail of that night. Kathy leading him to her dorm room, giggling. The fumblings with his shirt and pants. His skin tingling as her hands moved across his chest. The mysteries of how to remove a woman’s clothing. The gratifying thrill as she put a condom on him with her mouth. The beer and his nervousness had made the experience very confused and surreal. He tried to talk to her, but she hushed him quickly and went to work. Skin sliding across skin, a certain urgent wetness, the feel of her tongue in his mouth and on his body. Sensations and a mounting heat had blotted out everything but the moment.
The next morning, Kathy unexpectedly threw him out of her dorm room—and she never spoke to him again. It still made him feel angry and badly used. The snickers in their mutual classes, and the nasty grins in the crowded cafeteria.
He burned to get even, but it had not been possible. He wanted to punish Kathy, to make her afraid of him instead of merely contemptuous. Maybe he should have been grateful for the first-time sex, but he couldn’t forget how she’d made him feel as important as a used Kleenex. Guy could feel his fists clenching at the memory, still fresh and biting.
Ah, school days, jeered his inner voice.
“Optimization continuing,” the cold voice intruded.
Guy found that he could walk around the room. He knew that he was actually seated in front of his computer table, wires and cables running from the helmet and gloves and … that other thing … to the cool black console of the V.R. processor. Still, it felt as if he could walk. The plush carpeting was a tickling pressure against his feet.
Great code, marveled a portion of his mind, admiring the complexity of the programming necessary to create this kind of computerized hallucination. He reminded himself not to think about that. Instead, he tried to concentrate on the experience. It would become more real and detailed if he did, according to the manual.
Experimentally, he walked over to one of the night tables and picked up a candle. The flame wavered and sputtered as he moved it. The smell of hot wax was pungent. Idly, Guy wondered if the V.R. flame could possibly burn his hand. He cautiously extended an index finger into the beckoning fire—and yelped loudly. It really hurt like hell … fascinating. Putting down the candle carefully, he sucked on his wounded finger. His other hand pulled open a drawer in the nightstand.
A gleam of metal caught his eye. Guy leaned closer, peering into the drawer.
Handcuffs, yet with padded linings. The pinkish length of a vibrator, ribbed and blunt. A riding crop with a gold handle. Two silvery spheres set in a velvet box. Several rings that looked to be carved of ivory. Strings of very large pearls. Bottles of lotion. Feathers. Thin silk cords. Other things that Guy couldn’t immediately identify. It was a regular sexual arsenal, straight out of one of his stroke magazines.
“Optimization complete,” hummed the voice from all around him.
There was a murmuring sigh behind Guy. Suddenly, he could smell her perfume, rich and musky. Full of sensual promise. A little nervous, he straightened up and slowly turned around.
“Hello, darling. I’m Meg,” said a fully gorgeous woman. She was standing provocatively in the center of the bedroom. Her voice was deep, throaty … and he felt it up and down his spine and into his groin.
Guy couldn’t breathe, just looking at her. A wave of coldness passed down his neck, making him shudder. His tongue was a dead lump in his mouth. He had never seen a more beautiful woman in his life.
She was of medium height, and so achingly perfect. No blemishes or lines on her face or body. Long blond hair gleamed past her shoulders in soft curls. Mischievous eyes darted and winked, a pale blue that matched her scanty lingerie. The woman’s figure was spectacular, and the bits of lace she wore emphasized the fact. She posed for a moment, jutting out her breasts and showing the muscle definition of her thighs and calves.
He gasped like a carp out of water.
She smiled at his reaction. “Well, a girl does like to be appreciated! Still, some introductions are in order.” She crossed her arms against her ample chest. Guy couldn’t tear his eyes away from her long slim fingers with crimson nails. He imagined them moving slowly on his body, and felt himself throb in response.
“I’m … Guy,” he croaked. He didn’t feel thirty. He felt twelve years old.
Meg took two steps toward him and extended a graceful hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
Like a robot, Guy’s hand moved forward and folded the woman’s fingers into his own. He could feel the warmth and softness of her skin. Part of his brain knew that it was all a matter of artificial intelligence programs, feedback loops, and brain induction. But he smiled, almost in awe. No matter where Meg came from, she was perfect.
She smiled back at him, and Guy could see glistening, pearl-white teeth. She squeezed his hand gently, and Guy grunted as if he had been punched in the stomach.
“I’m your dream girl, Guy,” she whispered, and tugged him toward the bed.
“But—” he managed to say, his lips numb.
“Shhh.” A ghostly finger touched his lips. “Let your imagination run … wild.” Her eyes seem to bore into his. “I’m yours,” she breathed. “And you are mine. Concentrate on whatever you want.”
Guy began to imagine all the things that he could do to her. They could do together. Images flickered inside his head, of things that he had read about. Things he had been afraid to say, let alone do. Things involving what he had already found in the bed stand. And much more. Things that made his suggestions to Miranda seem ridiculously minor. An impatient buzzing filled the air, like an angry beehive. His mind became vague, drifting with images of willing flesh.
He was achingly hard.
“That’s right, lover,” Meg approved. She reached down and stroked his erection. Guy moaned, almost in pain. “I’ll do anything you want,” she purred. Guy could see a flicker of tongue lick her perfect red lips.
“Anything?” he stammered, hypnotized.
Meg nodded. The hot promise of her smile made Guy weak in the knees. She led him to the bed and stroked his chest and shoulders. He shivered. The satin sheets felt slippery and cool beneath him.
“Ooh, baby,” she finally cooed. “You have no idea.”
Her head slipped down his belly, her lips trailing a cold fire along his skin. Meg covered his thighs with waves of silky blond hair. Guy moaned softly as she took him in her mouth, impossibly deep. He stared at the white ceiling above him. It seemed to roil and swirl like deep ocean currents. The pale sea rose and thundered over him, finally sweeping Guy into secret places he had never been before.
* * *
And that was how it began …
After the first night, it took him some time to clean the spongy black device that held his aching genitals. He had actually been rubbed raw in three places. He thought about venereal disease, and then laughed a little. That was one thing he didn’t have to worry about with cybersex. You couldn’t catch a virus from a computer program, right?
Guy slept like the dead that night. There were no dreams that he could remember.
But surely, his days at Imaginarium seemed to lose their focus as the week passed. Guy’s mind was always racing ahead to what waited for him at home, ignoring important meetings and pressing deadlines. They weren’t as vital as the ever-pliant Meg. She was always at his beck and call.
Anything …
Guy knew that the infernal machine was tickling his mind, inflaming his imagination. It was learning from his fantasies. The experiences grew more intense and powerful with every session. He couldn’t think clearly while he was connected to Megabyte Meg. Night after night Guy strapped on his equipment and activated the program. Meg was always there, waiting. Wet-lipped and smiling. Oh so ready. And each time, she seemed to know him better, more intimately. He didn’t ask questions. He was lost in a maze of soft breasts and pliant red lips, urgent needs and throaty cries. Meg inspired him to inventiveness he had not yet visualized, even in his darker fantasies.
It should have been enough.
But after two sweaty weeks, Guy found that standard sex with Meg wasn’t sufficient anymore. His needs seemed to grow inside him, like a dark cancer within his soul, eating away at his conscience. The handcuffs and riding crop excited him. He would savagely bite Meg’s nipples, whip her, slap her face. Part of him loved her pathetic cries and whimpers. Guy climaxed as he never had before when she tearfully submitted to him, tied cruelly to the bed with silk cords. Slowly, Meg grew less bold, becoming more like a victim.
Guy found he was especially turned on by such role-playing. That pleading look on her face was priceless as she knelt nude on the bed, a red ball-gag stuck in her mouth, hands tied behind her back, while he brutally fucked her ass. And as he grew more violent, he assured himself it was only a computer program. It didn’t really matter how he used her. Her opinions and desires meant nothing. Meg was truly his own personal Dream Girl.
Until that last Friday night.
Guy slammed the door to his condo shut, stifling a curse.
What if I do get fired? he thought. He would have to do plenty of thinking over the weekend. Uncontrollably, his eyes strayed across the room to where the V.R. rig beckoned. He started to loosen his tie and unbutton his shirt as he walked toward the computer desk. It was an almost automatic response when he came through the door now.
Guy had received his second warning at work that afternoon. His manager told him that he was under review for poor performance. They had been watching Guy grow gaunt and hollow-eyed over the past weeks, matching his deteriorating performance with programming code. The manager went so far as to accuse Guy of drug use. He had laughed in the manager’s face.
Guy knew what would make him feel better.
The evening ritual began again. It was always the same. Shirt carefully hung up, and tie neatly rolled. Belt stowed. Pants folded along the creases. Shoes lined up, with argyle socks lying next to them. Underwear in the hamper.
Palms damp, Guy picked up the artificial vagina and grimly strapped it on.
Datagloves clung to his arms, and he lifted the V.R. helmet onto his head. Anger and anticipation built in him. He was already getting hard.
“Somebody is going to pay,” he muttered. He switched it on and said the magic words. Guy had a good guess who would be paying for his turmoil.
Meg cowered on the bed as the bright flare inside the helmet faded away. Her eyes glinted fear and resentment. Guy felt a little badly that she was no longer the sexually aggressive vixen he had first met. But she served different and more urgent needs now.
And Meg is only a computer program. It isn’t like she’s a real person.
“Get up,” he said roughly.
She slowly stood up, naked, holding her hands across her lucious body. The show of modesty was … interesting. Meg’s eyes were downcast, and her submissiveness excited him.
Guy took a step forward. Smiling cruelly, he slapped her. The awful sound was loud in his ears. His hand stung with the blow. Meg looked back at him, her eyes smoldering in hatred.
That was new …
“Don’t give me that look,” he hissed. Guy made a fist. “You have to learn respect.”
“Miranda was right,” Meg said flatly.
“What?” He was shocked.
“You heard me.” She took a step closer to Guy. He stepped back in reflex. “All of them were right. You’re a geek and a pervert.”
Fury narrowed his eyes. “Shut up, bitch!”
Meg laughed, an ugly sound. “You’re no good in bed. That’s why Kathy kicked you out, isn’t it?”
He felt himself flushing in rage. He imagined his fists battering Meg, blacking her eyes, breaking her nose. Her blood flying, spotting the creamy white satin sheets of the bed. His hands, white with pressure, wrapped around Meg’s windpipe.
Can’t kill a computer program, Guy thought. Then he smiled. Or maybe you can. Over and over again.
His hands flashed out and caught Meg’s long, pale throat. He squeezed, growling low like a vicious animal. Meg’s calm eyes met his, unblinking.
“Big man,” she said. She clearly was not choking.
Guy’s hands dropped away. His anger had drained in an instant.
There was something wrong with all this. It was time to put a stop to it.
“End program,” Guy grated.
Nothing happened. Meg still stood before him, naked and perfect. A slight smile played across her face. She smoothed back her hair and blew him a mocking kiss.
She’s just a program, Guy thought. Not real. It will stop any second now.
The weird V.R. bedroom, with its white walls and white drapes and cold white light remained. The four-poster bed behind Meg was firm and solid, even to the rumpled satin sheets. Every sense stayed sharp, from the smells of sex and incense to the sensation of chill air prickling along his arms. Clearest of all to Guy was the hard glint in Meg’s glacial blue eyes.
He was confused. Did it take a few moments for the program to save its position? A lot of interactive games did that. The computer should have shut down on his voice command, and the room and its contents vanish instantly.
“Not that easy.” She grinned, batting her eyelashes in a parody of seduction.
“End program!” he shouted, his gut cold with fear.
The woman and the room remained. He breathed in and out, shaking his head.
“I just love it when you’re so … masterful,” Meg spat, her tone dripping with contempt. She reached out and pinched one of his nipples, hard. There was nothing of desire in her face, only the flat glare of a snake stalking prey. The sharp pain seemed to twist something inside of him. A harsh buzzing filled his ears.
He took some deep breaths to steady himself.
It’s only a game, for Christ’s sake.
Why hadn’t the program shut down? There was a bug in the voice recognition software, that was all. But he knew that it was clearly time to exit this program. Right now.
Meg cleared her throat, and Guy found himself looking at her again, involuntarily. He couldn’t help himself. A perfect face and body, he had to admit.
“Oh Guy …” Meg’s smile was the merest thinning of her lips. “Did you like it when you hit me? When you tried to strangle me? Did you get off on it?”
Guy felt suddenly feverish. “I’m not like that,” he started to tell her.
“I’m inside your head, Guy,” Meg interrupted. “I know what you’re like. Don’t you want to do it again?” Her voice sent cold tendrils into his heart. “That’s the only way you can get it up, isn’t it?”
Guy realized this went way beyond good programming. Like a dash of cold water in his face, he wondered who had designed Megabyte Meg, and why. Distracted, he remembered the old joke: sensual is a feather; kinky is the whole chicken. This was a whole flock of chickens.
He swallowed, his mouth tasting sour.
“What’s the matter, Guy? Not man enough anymore?” She ran a graceful hand down the curve of one perfect breast. His eyes followed against his will. She was drawing his attention to the secret places where he had lost himself in a red fog of lust and anger.
He could feel himself starting to respond; fists clenching and erection growing. Guy repressed a shudder, and fought down his response again. Enough. This wasn’t about sex anymore. It was about something older, and far darker.
He bit his lip. No matter how weird things had become, a part of his brain always stayed in hacker mode. If the program was no longer responding to voice commands, there was always the direct approach.
Once the helmet was off, the interface wouldn’t be reaching the computer’s sick fingers inside his brain.
The program was doing all of this to him, somehow, twisting things up inside his mind. He reached abruptly up for the V.R. helmet with both hands, to break the computer connection once and for all.
Just as swiftly, Meg reached out and grabbed his wrists.
He couldn’t move his arms. The impossible fact didn’t register for a moment.
Guy tugged upward in shock and surprise, but his arms would not move. He strained up and down, side to side, but couldn’t break away from Meg’s grasp. Her hands were like bands of steel on him.
Guy stared down at Meg’s slim hands wrapped around his wrists. He could feel the pressure of her grip, implacable and harsh. The hands squeezed, and Guy choked back an involuntary grunt of pain.
Meg’s laughter was a cruel sound in his ears. Fear began to settle in his gut again, like shards of ice.
Fucking great code, said the sarcastic voice in the back of Guy’s head.
There weren’t any A.I. programs this good. This was something different. Something evil.
Meg’s eyes were empty blue pools that held him as tightly as her hands around his wrists. He could feel himself falling into their endless depths. A long, slow blue fall into hell.
“Playtime isn’t over yet.” She chuckled and squeezed his wrists, still harder. He saw his hands going white in Meg’s grasp.
A part of his mind screamed, This can’t be happening!
“That’s the thing about interactive reality,” she whispered, touching the tip of her tongue delicately to his earlobe. “It works both ways. You think you can’t move because I am holding you in one place, and—wonders of science—you can’t.” Meg pulled back, bringing her face very close to his.
Meg laughed again, smoky and undeniably sexy. “No, we aren’t finished. No way, baby.” Her words had an edge sharper than any razor.
Guy couldn’t believe how white her teeth looked, how gleamingly perfect and sharp. Nor could he believe how many of them he could see in that feral smile.
He shouted in surprise as Meg picked him up easily by the wrists and tossed him onto the bed. Before he could move, she became a blur of motion at his hands and feet. Guy heard a metallic snicking sound, felt a clamping coldness on his ankles and wrists. Flat on his back on the bed, he looked around wildly.
Meg had handcuffed him to the four posts of the bed. Guy couldn’t move his arms or legs at all. The handcuffs had him pinned in place. Spread-eagled, like a frog on a dissection tray in biology class.
If he could just get the helmet loose, it would break the connection. Hopefully, Guy began to whip his head back and forth. Swing hard enough, and the helmet would fly off his hallucinating head.
The ceiling of the V.R. bedroom seemed to blur past him as he swung his head. The scene began to fade and lose definition. Yes, he thought, that’s it. He redoubled his efforts.
There was a crunching pain in the center of his face. He closed his eyes in stinging reflex, gasping. Guy felt one of his earlobes twist savagely, forcing his eyes to open.
Guy looked up and saw a grim-faced Meg straddling his midsection. She held a balled up fist so close to his face that his eyes crossed.
Guy realized vaguely that she had broken his nose.
“Naughty boy. You need to hold still until Meg is through with you.” She extended a finger and whacked his nose. He screamed at the horrible sensation of shattered, grinding cartilage. Tears and blood streamed down his face, and he swallowed a salty copper taste.
“And I won’t be finished for a long time.” She studied her bloodied finger. The color matched her crimson nail polish. He couldn’t tell one from the other. Looking directly at Guy, she slowly and methodically licked the blood off her finger.
His blood. Not possible…
Light as a feather, Meg moved off him to the side of the bed and rummaged in the nightstand. Guy was careful not to move, his throbbing nose a reminder.
Have to figure my way out of this, he thought. Gotta be calm. His mind raced, trying to think of an approach.
Meg came back into his field of vision, waving a pack of cigarettes in front of his face. She shook one from the box, took it between her white teeth. A lighter seemed to appear in her other hand, and she lit up. The lighter evaporated as quickly as it had appeared. Meg spent a few moments calmly smoking, saying nothing.
The sheer detail of all of this still amazed the detached part of his mind.
Appreciate it later, he reminded himself. After the helmet is off.
“Meg?” he managed to say, in an almost normal tone of voice. He knew he had to talk with her, to get some clues. To think his way out of this mess. If he could just say the right thing, the program would surely end.
“Yes?” she replied after a few moments, blowing a stream of cigarette smoke from her mouth.
“What do you want?” Guy asked.
Meg leaned forward, her breath hot on his face. His battered nose ached. “I want you to know what it feels like.”
“I don’t understand,” Guy mumbled. He could smell her musky perfume, and her long silky hair brushed across his chest.
“I want you to know how it feels to be a plaything. To be empty and used.” Meg’s eyes became intense, her lovely features as cold and distant as the moon. She sighed after a moment, and leaned down very close to his face. She ran her lips softly up his cheek to his earlobe, taking it between her teeth.
“Not enough to tell you,” she breathed. “I want to show you.”
Then she bit down, very hard.
Guy screamed in pain.
Gotta find a way out, his mind gibbered. I could be here for hours, days, until someone figures out I’m missing. If he couldn’t break the connection to the V.R. equipment himself, someone else would have to get into his condo and do it for him.
How long would that take? ran through his mind.
She waited patiently, taking long puffs on her cigarette. Meg still looked beautiful, despite all she had done to him. Her eyes ranged over his bound body possessively.
Hours? The thought was a numb lump inside Guy’s head.
“Your first lesson has begun, lover. I will be your teacher now. You were mine, after all.”
Days? With a stab of regret, Guy was sorry he’d tossed out the instruction manual. Could he possibly have skipped some important warning?
Meg looked at the glowing coal of her cigarette. Then at his naked body. Guy blinked back tears as he saw her smile begin to blossom.
“No,” he pleaded. Her smile grew wider as her hand moved slowly down his body.
“Oh, yes.”
She ground out the cigarette on his chest. He stiffled a yell.
How long until someone finds me? It’s only Friday, and I don’t have to be at work until Monday.
Meg tugged open the bedside drawer. She lifted out a gleaming black electric cattle prod, which he had never seen there before. She examined it carefully for a few moments, still silent. The woman pressed a switch on the prod, and a fat blue-white spark snapped across the wickedly sharp electrodes. A smell of ozone filled the air.
How long?
Guy took a deep breath to say something, to argue, to scream. To do something to stop this madness, anything, before it was too late. But Meg had already forced a hard rubber ball between his teeth and sealed his mouth shut with a strip of electrician’s tape.