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Omega She kicked off her shoes,
poured a glass of wine and headed for the tub without even checking her answering
machine. It had been a great day – an incredible day – and she wanted to sit
and soak and revel in it. She lit candles, poured bath
salts into the running water, tossed her underwear in the corner and slipped
into the tub, feeling the steamy, scented water consume her body inch by inch
until she was virtually weightless, only the tops of her breasts bobbing
above the water. She lay back, closed her eyes and let out a contented sigh. The AlphaO project worked!
Technically, it was AlphaOmega, a little joke among the founders: “the
beginning of the end of the world as we know it.” But it was more than a
little joke. It was true. It was the beginning of a new world. She’d tested
it herself. As the Chief Technology Officer, she claimed that right, elbowing
aside the VPs, Alpha Geeks and even the CEO since, of course, he was too
valuable to risk in the event something went wrong. She laughed when she
remembered the stunned faces; the naked shock, outrage, disappointment and
envy when she accomplished her little coup d’etat. Everyone naturally
wanted to be first. She’d put on the visor and feedback
electrodes, been logged into the artificial intelligence virtual reality
program and found herself sitting in a meeting room with a dozen other virtual representations of people
– people she’d carefully selected from the venture capitalist firms to
validate the project. If there were any small glitches in the program, she
knew they’d keep quite about it. But it had been flawless. The
table, the chairs, the white board, even the awful coffee – it all seemed
perfectly real. She walked around the table. Actually, she’d walked into it
in her excitement, bruising her hip. She shook everyone’s hand. She jotted
notes on the board. Made a phone call. It was perfect. Absolutely,
fantastically, perfect. The telling moment came when
Tonio actually screamed when Gretchen spilled hot coffee on him, accidentally
she claimed. But even Tonio didn’t mind. They were all going to make a
fortune overnight. A dozen fortunes. She began mentally compiling
a list of all those people who’d snubbed her in high school and college. When
the company went public, she was going to fly around the country in her
personal luxury jet and rub their noses in her success. Her watch began beeping and
she reluctantly pulled herself away from the bliss of the bath and the
succulent thoughts of revenge. She had a meeting at eight with the Wall
Street people and she was not going to be late for that. That was going to be
the final jewel in her crown. She slipped on her robe and
headed towards the bedroom, noticing a note that had been slipped under the
door. She grinned wickedly to herself. Word must have leaked out and the
sycophants were already getting in line. Who was she going to disappoint
first? She tore open the envelope
and read the message. There was nothing on the page but a URL. Her curiosity
piqued, she typed it in and watched the web page in confusion for a moment then slowly
sank into the chair in horror. The page started a streaming
video, her DSL connection sucked it off the Internet with cruel efficiency. The video showed a woman
having sex with a dog. All kinds of sex. Lots of it. With all kinds of dogs.
And not just any woman. Her. The pictures were the poor
quality of voyeur cams but the face and body were unmistakably hers. One
camera was positioned so that, as she squirmed on her hands and knees with a
Great Dane humping on top of her, her face was staring squarely at the
camera. Her face was staring directly out at her, a face contorted with ecstasy.
And there was the small tattoo on the inside of her right breast, the
birthmark on her hip. And the voice, the moaning and screaming and filthy
language...that was hers too. It was a fake of course, but
even she couldn’t point to a single thing that gave it away. The cameras
showed different views of her apartment. Every detail was perfect. It was
clearly her apartment, her furnishings, even her coat slung over the back of
a chair and her purse and shoes lying on the floor next to it. It was even her
underwear on the floor. She couldn’t move, couldn’t
look away. She watched in disgust as the video played on and on. Then
abruptly the scene changed to the stable where she kept her horse. And there she was, squatting
naked in the stall, wearing a leather harness on her head like a bridle,
complete with a bit between her teeth. She was stroking the huge penis of her
horse, taking it in between her lips, rubbing it over her face and breasts,
making him ejaculate in her mouth, on her face and body. There was another
scene with her taking it inside her, screaming her horse’s name as she bucked
beneath him, as his semen squirted out of her and streamed down her legs. She was physically ill. Her
stomach churned with revulsion and dread. It was more than just watching
“herself” perform those acts. Whoever had made these fakes had gone to a lot
of trouble and even more expense. He wanted something. Something big. The scene finally cut away
from the stable and she sat there trembling. The next scene was obviously
shot with a better camera. There was a man sitting facing the camera. There
was a light behind him, so that only the outline of his head and shoulders
was visible. She could not make out his features but something about him seemed
familiar, and threatening. “I hope you have enjoyed our
feature presentation,” he said. The voice was cultured with a trace of an
accent she couldn’t identify. “In four hours, the site you have just
previewed goes live with unlimited free access to the streaming video as well
as downloadable clips and stills. We will have banner ads on every major
pornographic web site – in fifteen languages. You should be pleased. You’re going global overnight.” She could only sit there and
watch and listen as her horror and rage built to an explosive level. “Now, of course you’re
wondering why we’ve gone to all this trouble.” “AlphaO,” she muttered. “You
want the damned program.” The figure nodded. He had
anticipated her reaction. “Yes,” he said, “we want the AlphaOmega source
code.” Her hand hovered above the
mouse as she willed herself to close the browser, to cut him off. She’d go to
the police, or the feds or someone. She’d have the site shut down as soon as
it opened. She knew enough hackers that could find it and kill it. But she knew it was
impossible. It would take too long even if she could find anyone in authority
who gave a damn. Even if her hacker friends could shut it down, by the time
they managed to crash the firewalls and other security features, the site
would have had a million hits. And even after they trashed the site, the mpgs
and jpgs would be floating around the Internet for years. She’d be a star. She clenched her fists in
frustration. She could not risk it. “The fountain in City Park at
nine o’clock,” he said. “Bring the source code. Oh...and even if you try to
have me arrested, the site will activate automatically. And there’ll be no
one here to stop it. Wouldn’t that be a pity?” She fumed. She could hand
over the source code but she had absolutely no assurance he wouldn’t make the
site go live anyway. It was the perfect blackmail tool. Copies of those
filthy videos could be stashed on a dozen different computers anywhere in the
world. She had no way of tracing them, no way to protect herself. “You have my word,” he
continued at last, “that the files will be purged once you’ve delivered the
code. Please understand that this isn’t personal. There is no profit in
ruining you. And, above all, we are practical people.” She recognized the voice at
last. He was the CEO of a supposedly-Hungarian software company that everyone
whispered was secretly funded by terrorists. “Nine o’clock,” he said, and
the filthy videos began again. She angrily clicked off the
browser and stewed. If she didn’t give them the code, the videos would
circulate faster than the Melissa virus and the scandal would force her to
resign. Even then, the publicity could hurt the company just as the IPO was
being readied. Maybe they could delay the IPO until the scandal died down.
She could claim they wanted to be novel and turn a fat profit before going
public. Then it hit her. Her contract
stipulated that if she resigned prior to an IPO, she forfeited her
stock options. She’d be out in the cold and totally unemployable except in porno
films. By comparison, Monica Lewinsky would have it easy getting a high-level
job. She realized she had only two
choices. She could commit personal and professional suicide by giving them
the code or by not giving them the code. It was a lose-lose situation. With blinding insight, she
understood what they wanted. They didn’t want to steal the program, to build
a competitive product. They wanted to hack it so that they could secretly
attend every private meeting held in AlphaO space. She knew, as they must
have, that every major multinational and many governments would use AlphaO.
And the inside information they gathered from ghosting in those meetings
would be priceless. But the only way they would
be able to break the security encryption would be to have the host program
itself. It would take months, maybe
another year, to redo the embedded security features. It would kill the
project, kill the company. They had to launch on schedule. Her mind focused on the
problem. They could develop some quick security patches for the initial
release. It would be enough to buy them time to reconfigure the system. Resolved, she phoned her
assistant at home and instructed him to make up some excuse for her not
attending the meeting with the brokers. She rang off before he finished his
incoherent protest. She was dressed and out the
door in ten minutes, racing back to the office to copy the program. She had
just enough time to make the meeting in the park. He had known that. He was
good. But she was better. O°°°O She walked to the fountain at
precisely nine o’clock, the removable hard drive with the program tucked in
her purse. She tried not to show her malicious delight. Embedded in the
program was a small subroutine that would alert her whenever the program was
run. It wouldn’t be found by any virus scan or even a line-by-line search of
the millions of lines of code. It was a small, unique modification of the
log-in procedure that would work flawlessly but would be detected by the
system. Once she knew they were online, she could trace them no matter how
sophisticated and devious their connection. “Right on time” he said,
startling her. She whirled around and nearly
bumped into him. He was standing that close to her. Her heart thundered in
her chest and she fought down her panic. He had meant to frighten her. It was
a subtle threat. “You have the AlphaOmega
source code?” he asked. She dug the disk drive out of
her purse and handed it to him. “Is this the current version of
the AlphaOmega program?” he demanded, holding the drive inches from her face. She nodded. “What?” “Yes,” she snapped, “it’s the
final release version of AlphaO.” “Thank you,” he said quietly.
“I will keep my end of the bargain.” “You’d better,” she snarled,
knowing there was nothing she could do if he didn’t. “I will,” he said. “You have
kept your part of the deal, I shall keep mine. Partnerships must be built on
mutual trust.” “And respect,” she added.
“Something you couldn’t possibly understand.” He laughed politely. “Oh,
respect is something I very much understand. And I know how important it is
to you. You value the respect of your peers, your reputation, your dignity.
It is something I understand very well.” There was something chilling
in his statement, something she couldn’t understand. But she brushed it
aside. She wanted to get away from him, from the park. But she knew she’d
feel unclean until she’d tracked him down and blown him out of the water. She turned on her heel and
stalked off. She hadn’t gotten more than
20 feet before two large men blocked her path and forced her to retreat. “Thank you for this,” he
said, holding up the drive before he tossed it into a trash can. “But more
importantly, thank you for your sterling performance. Your betrayal of your
company will make excellent viewing should the need ever arise.” She stared dumbly at the
trash can. “But....” He smiled. “We have had every
revision of the source code from the very beginning. What we didn’t have was
a scapegoat, someone disposable to protect our real source.” She began hyperventilating,
unable to believe what was happening. “But now,” he continued
smoothly, “we have some very special plans for you. Oh yes. Some very special
plans.” She backed away but ran into
the two bodyguards who gripped her arms tightly. “You see, you have made many
enemies in this industry. In fact, you are such a self-centered bitch that
you have no friends. And after your little demonstration today, you have even
managed to alienate the few people who tolerated you in your own company.” She struggled ineffectually
in the grip of the two bodyguards. “But I told you, we are
practical people. We have no interest in destroying you. No. Quite the
opposite.” His smile grew dangerous. “In fact, we want to use you.” “What makes you think I’d do
anything you want now?” she spat. “You’ve just shown what you’re really like!
Why would I ever...?” “Oh,” he interrupted, “you’ll
cooperate. If you don’t, we’ll leak the tape of you giving us the source
code. That’s a far worse crime than, say, fucking your horse.” “Those shots were faked!” she
howled. “Exactly,” he said. “Which
was why we needed something authentic. Even the best fakes can eventually be
detected. But the scene here tonight...even under a lie detector test you’ll
have to admit it was true.” The horror of her situation
made her want to vomit. She couldn’t see any way out of it. She could go
to...who? He was right. She wasn’t that popular. Everyone respected her. But
that was only because they feared her. She slumped in the grip of
the bodyguards. “What do you want?” she asked weakly. His smile of triumph washed
over her like acid. “As I said, there are many in your industry who would
love to see you brought to your knees – literally as well as figuratively.
And they would pay large amounts of money to have the opportunity to
personally inflict unimaginable humiliation upon you.” She shrank back, not daring
to imagine what he meant. “Oh,” he said, coming closer,
“and they shall have that chance.” O°°°O She didn’t know how she got
through the next few days. She went to work, did her job, avoided contact
with anyone she could avoid, then rushed home and drank till she passed out.
Anything to keep from thinking about what he’d “promised” her. His call dragged her out of
her hung-over stupor early Saturday morning. “The Augustus Hotel,
downtown. Room 817. Ten o’clock. Be....” She slammed the phone down. The phone rang again. She
picked it up and threw it across the room as hard as she could. Then she
fumbled for the cord and yanked it out of the wall. She curled into a ball and
tried to keep the sick feeling of desperation from overwhelming her.
Everything kept running through her mind like a looping video: the scenes
with the animals, the way he had trapped her, his mocking smile when he
informed her of the future services she’d be required to perform. She lay there, her head
throbbing, her stomach churning, trying to shut off the images, to stop the
sound of his voice in her head. She didn’t hear the front
door open, didn’t hear the men who came and dragged her out of bed. All she
knew was that suddenly she was being lifted into the air, stripped and thrown
into the shower. “Wash,” one of them grunted.
“And shave.” She cowered in the shower,
knowing the two of them were on the other side of the glass door, able to see
the outline of her body clearly. “Is this the current version
of the AlphaOmega program?” She heard the tape of his voice that night, then
heard herself answer, “Yes, it’s the final release version of AlphaO.” The bodyguard spoke again.
“Wash!” With shaking hands, she
picked up the sponge and began washing herself. O°°°O The moment she entered the
suite in the hotel, he ordered her to remove her clothes. When she hesitated,
he grabbed her hair and slapped her viciously. “We will use any means
necessary,” he growled in her ear, “to make you compliant. Any means,” he
repeated. She kicked off her shoes,
removed her blouse and skirt then, more reluctantly, her bra and panties. She wished she had more hands
to cover herself but his lewd laugh made her feel completely naked anyway. He manhandled her into the
bedroom and forced her spread-eagle onto the bed, locking manacles onto her
wrists and ankles. He pulled the bindings tight, stretching her arms up over
her head and splitting her legs wide apart. Next, he forced a bit gag into
her mouth, just like the one in the video. It didn’t silence her, it just
made whatever she tried to say sound like the ravings of a madwoman. He looked at her approvingly
as she thrashed uselessly against her captivity. Kneeling beside her on the
bed, he began lightly slapping her pussy. “We want you all rosy and
attractive when your client arrives,” he said. At first, the slaps weren’t
painful, but the repetition began to bruise her and each one became more
intense than the last. To her horror, she felt herself getting aroused. “Yes,” he said, rubbing his
hand up and down between her legs, making her twitch every time it pressed
against her clitoris. “Excellent.” He leaned close and stared into her face.
“You will make a most willing whore.” She tried to scream, to tell
him no, but it was no good. He wouldn’t have listened. He was enjoying her
humiliation far too much. And, shockingly, she was beginning to enjoy it too. He alternated slaps with
strokes, opening her, arousing her. She could feel her wetness on his hand as
he spread it over her clit and thighs. Her nipples were tight and erect, her
breath was shallow and gasping. She wanted him to take her. Now. But he only
continued toying with her until her wetness was streaming down her ass and
soaking the sheets. Need and revulsion swirled
through her. It was unthinkable that she could be enjoying this, that she
could want it so much, that she could, in fact, be such a whore. It was sick,
disgusting. But her need overwhelmed her reason and she began thrusting
against his hand in a hopeless quest for release. He got off the bed. “Now,” he
said, “you are ready.” He left the room, left her
moaning and twisting on the bed, aching for release. She was not alone for long. A silver-haired man entered
the room and stood at the foot of the bed in amazement. She recognized him
instantly. He was the President of the company she’d left to join AlphaOmega.
They had not parted on the best of terms. He tossed his jacket aside,
dropped his pants and hastily pulled off his shorts. He crawled between her legs
on his knees and just looked at her for a very long time. She was mortified and blushed
fiercely, all the way down. His hands began tracing the
blush, roughly squeezing her breasts and pinching her nipples. Her breathing became ragged
as his touch drove her to greater heights of need, as her shame mixed with it
and became an even greater urgency. She was grunting and writhing beneath his
hands shamelessly, thrusting her pelvis into the air as if it could somehow
bring her relief. He slid up further and
straddled her, his hard cock nestling between her breasts. He squeezed them
around himself and began rocking rhythmically. She writhed and moaned as he
fucked her tits, the hot pink tip of his cock peeking in and out of sight. He
squeezed her nipples painfully and she arched up against him, letting out a
high, pathetic squeal. He did it again and again she responded. Her humiliation seemed to
excite him and he came quickly, splashing her throat and chin with his cum.
He rocked back and forth for a moment, his eyes closed, smiling. He got off her and finished
undressing, then got a robe from the bathroom and belted it on. He went into
the other room and returned with a cigar and a glass of scotch. He settled
himself comfortably in a chair at the foot of the bed and stared at her. His silence made her
self-conscious. His hot eyes made her squirm. Finally he spoke. “You know,”
he said quietly, “I paid a quarter of a million dollars to have you here for
the day – twelve hours – that’s nearly $21K an hour.” He got up and leaned
over her, his expression a mixture of anger and delight. “Do you think you’re
worth more than twenty thousand dollars an hour as a whore?” She turned her head away from
him. When she didn’t answer, he got angry. He grabbed her face and made her
look at him. “You know what?” He slapped her, his voice getting louder and
angrier. He stood up and looked at her. “You know what bitch? It is going to be
worth every fucking cent.” He brought the burning tip of his cigar
dangerously close to her clit. She gasped at the sudden,
searing heat and tried desperately to move away from it. He grinned wickedly
and kept the cigar within a quarter inch of burning her. “And you know why it’ll be
worth it?” he demanded, moving the cigar fractionally closer. “Not for the
sex – even though that’s going to be great, really great. No. Even fucking
you all day isn’t worth a quarter of a mill. What’s going to make it worth it
is watching you squirm and sweat, to have you on your knees, begging, to see
you helpless and humiliated like you’ve made everyone you’ve ever dealt
with.” She pleaded with her eyes for
him not to hurt her, to let her go. She grunted at him, her spittle flecking
her lips and chin. But even as she urged him to let her go, she grew more
excited by her captivity. He pulled the cigar away,
laughing. “Don’t worry you stupid cunt, they won’t let me reduce your value
by leaving any permanent marks.” He leaned close again, grinning. “But
temporary ones are okay.” She squirmed in fear and
anticipation as a thrill almost as intense as orgasm raced along her spine,
leaving her breathless and trembling. O°°°O She was folded in half,
barely able to breathe. He’d pulled her ankles up to the headboard, spreading
her even wider. Then he’d pulled her arms up high so that she could watch as
he whipped her. Movement was impossible. Her
body screamed in agony from the position alone. And it was about to get
worse. Immeasurably worse. He casually flipped the five
foot whip onto the bed. It slid and slithered towards her like a snake and
her muscles clenched in anticipation. She gibbered and slobbered through the
bit, begging him not to hurt her, begging him to let her do anything except
suffer that. He let her rant with an
amused expression. When she finally realized that he was enjoying her terror,
she stopped trying to plead with him. “Exactly how we all must have
sounded to you,” he said, twitching the whip so that it moved like a living
thing. “And your reasons and excuses and pleas will have just as much effect
on me as ours did on you.” He flicked the whip against
her ass, letting just the tip of it lick her flesh. She howled mindlessly.
Even that first, light touch was agony. But hidden in the pain was something
so wildly erotic it robbed her of her senses. It was impossible. She hated
pain and had been known to whine for a week about a paper cut. Yet the touch of
the whip aroused her as not even her ambition had. It was dark, dirty,
dangerous. And she trembled, waiting for it to fall again. “Now,” he said, “the fun
begins in earnest.” She screamed as the whip bit
into her flesh and she didn’t stop screaming for a long, long time. O°°°O He had whipped her ass and
thighs and even her pussy till she was a mass of purpling welts, till she no
longer even moaned when the whip touched her. She hung in her bonds,
staring vacantly ahead, spittle dribbling down her chin and chest unnoticed. He dropped the whip, spoke to
her, but his words were meaningless to her. He came again onto the bed, using
her savagely. The welts on her body blazed with pain as he rammed himself
into her over and over again. But finally, with a gasping moan, he spent
himself in her. Breathing hard, he lifted her
face up to his. “God,” he said, “even catatonic you’re a fantastic fuck. Or
maybe it’s just because you look so good like this.” Momentarily sated, he
returned to his chair, smoked a cigar, drank a scotch and then returned,
taking her anally. Her ass was slick with her
juices and his semen but she was far from ready for him. That seemed to suit
his intent because he did not enter her slowly. His face showed a savage glee
as he rammed himself into her, knowing the pain it would cause, even despite
the pain it must have caused him. He grabbed her thighs and used them to ram
himself into her even harder. A small cry finally escaped
her and he came with a shout of triumph. He climbed slowly off the bed
and looked at her. “Damn, bitch. You do look good like that. Nothing but cunt
and ass. Which is just what you are.” He laughed again, seeming to
think that the whipping had broken her. But half of her screams had
been those of orgasmic pleasure so intense she did not think she could keep
her sanity if she experienced another. Her mind was numb, unable even to
understand him when he told her he was going to release her. She was
somewhere else, her essence wrapped in bright chains of pleasure that would not
release her. Even as her body lay still, somewhere else, she continued to
climax. O°°°O The day dragged on into
evening while he continued to pile humiliation on her. He allowed her to
crawl to the bathroom on her hands and knees, standing there with a triumphant
look when she winced as she sat on the toilet and averted her eyes from him
as she wiped. He clipped a leash to the
collar of her harness and led her, on hands and knees, into the sitting room.
He manacled her wrists to her ankles and made her sit on the floor and beg
for food as he ate. She had gone without
breakfast and lunch and was ravenous enough to do whatever he asked. He
tossed scraps of his supper on the carpet and she had to slide forward on her
knees and suck the morsels off the floor with her lips and tongue and teeth. He took great delight in
striking her with a riding crop just as she managed to capture a piece of
food, making her cry out and drop it. Over and over again. When he tired of that, he
took the bit out of her mouth and fucked her face roughly. He was clearly tiring and he
slumped in a chair with a scotch and another cigar. She begged him for something
to drink. He started to reach for a
glass of water on the tray then stopped, sitting slowly back and smiling. “If you’re thirsty,” he said,
“you can drink from the toilet like any good little bitch.” The thought gagged her but
her thirst drove her on. She crawled to the bathroom and, after a long
hesitation, held her breath, closed her eyes and stuck her head into the bowl,
her hair falling into the water as she struggled to get her face down far
enough. With her wrists manacled to
her ankles, she couldn’t reach the water. She struggled in vain, her mouth
less than an inch above the water but she couldn’t even touch it with her
tongue. She thrashed against the bowl, whimpering in frustration. He stood there laughing at
her. “What a disgusting piece of filth
you are,” he said. “You really were going to drink from the goddamned
toilet!” She slumped against the bowl,
finally humiliated beyond endurance. “Let him ruin me,” she
muttered. “Let him show the fucking tape. I don’t fucking care!” His laughter echoed in the
bowl, sounding unnaturally loud and harsh. “He’s already done that,” he
said. “You’re dead professionally.” She jerked her head up and
stared at him. “Without his good graces now,
you’re out on the street. No job, no money, no friends, nothing.” He began
laughing uncontrollably. “Bitch,” he finally gasped, “you’re fucked! Well and
truly fucked!” She began to cry. “No...no!” “Did he happen to mention the
video cameras in this suite? No? You’re on tape...high quality digital recording.
And this last scene, oh man, that’s priceless! I couldn’t have planned that in my wildest fantasies.” He sat on the edge of the
sink and laughed while she knelt on the floor, wishing she could get her head
far enough into the toilet to drown herself. “All you can look forward to
now is being a very expensive whore, as long as you’re still young and pretty
and people still hate you. In a couple of years, well, I wouldn’t want to
think about that if I were you.” The phone rang and he pushed
himself away from the sink, still laughing. He came back a moment later. “It’s for you,” he said,
bringing the cordless phone with him. “No,” she snarled, “I’m not
going to talk to that fucking bastard!” He grabbed her head and put
the phone to her ear. O°°°O It was impossible but there
were a dozen voices on the phone calling her name. She felt hands on her head
and tried to twist away but they gently removed the VR visor and disconnected
the electrodes. She heard only frantic
snatches of conversation in the midst of the general uproar. She shook her head and looked
around. She was in the lab, sitting in the VR chair. But why? Then, suddenly,
she realized it didn’t matter why she was there. She couldn’t be there! She
had to get out before they called security, before they had her arrested! Her
heart began racing as she struggled to rise but a half-dozen hands gently
held her down. “I’m sorry,” she wailed. “I didn’t
want to hurt the project...!” “It’s okay, it’s okay,”
someone was saying. “Screw the project...what’s important is whether you’re
okay.” She stared at the man
talking. It was Chad, the CEO. And he was genuinely concerned. She calmed her
breathing and looked around. No one was looking at her with hatred or
disgust. “What...?” She wasn’t sure
what to say next. Chad picked up the slack. “There
must have been a glitch in the host program somewhere. We were all watching in
VR but, obviously without the tactile. When you didn’t show up, we got
worried. Then someone noticed you were moaning and squirming in the chair so
we pulled you out. It couldn’t have been more than a couple of minutes.” Something was wrong. Very
wrong. But what? Then it struck her. She
pulled open her blouse and pulled aside her bra. There was no small tattoo on
the inside of her right breast. She squirmed around in the chair and pulled
up her skirt. No birthmark. Those were the two identifying marks she’d seen
in the videos. But she didn’t have them. She’d never had them. It had all been VR. She looked around and noticed
everyone staring at her in shock. She hurriedly covered herself and felt a
flush of embarrassment creep up her neck. She also realized that she was wet,
very wet. Her nipples felt like shotgun shells inside her bra and she wished
she could take it off to relieve the pressure but she’d exposed herself
enough already. “Um...” she finally said, “I
had the strangest feeling there was something there...something...icky.” Her choice of words broke the
tension and everyone laughed in relief. Everything came back to her
in a rush and she nearly cried out in anguish and pleasure. Somehow the
program had malfunctioned. Somehow it had delved deep into her subconscious,
ferreting out every dirty little fantasy, every hidden fear and secret
insecurity. Somehow it had woven them into the fantasy she’d experienced. A
fantasy that, until that moment, she would have vehemently denied finding at
all exciting. Somehow, the program knew her better than she knew herself. “Yes,” she said finally,
commanding everyone’s attention. “There’s obviously one hell of a glitch in
the program somewhere.” Her breathing became more rapid as the experience
brushed against her mind. A couple of minutes. “I think,” she said at last, “I’m
going to have to study the problem. I’ll take a copy home to work on over the
weekend.” O°°°O
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