Dream Drive Ch. 01

"...that's really sexy," Jackson said.

"What? This?" She folded her legs back the other way.

"No. When you bite you lip."

"Huh?" She blinked. "I didn't even realize. I do that in real life too, I guess. So...you like it?" She bit her lip again and batted her eyelashes.

"Yeah. I do."

"What else do you like?"

"A lot of things," Jackson said. He walked up to the bed and pressed himself between her legs. He pushed her onto her back with a kiss. He raised himself back up and cupped her cheek. "Just about everything."

"...would you...say that I'm hot?"

"Yeah," Jackson said. "Definitely."

"You want to fuck me?" she whispered.

The question was blunt, surprising. He found himself immensely turned on.

But maybe they were the same. Playing in a dream, an endless masquerade, still wondering if their masks would fall off and it would all vanish.

The thoughts only flashed for an instant. His body was flushed; his mind felt hazy. He didn't have any room left for self-doubt.

"Yeah," he growled. He kissed her neck, and hissed the words. "I want to fuck you."

Her legs wrapped around his waist. He explored her body with his his lips, kissing her neck, her shoulders, her chin. He felt at the curve of her hips and her breasts. She arched her back, exposing herself to him as he ran his hands over her body.

"Take off your shirt," she said.

Jackson stood. He pulled his shirt up over his head. It stuck on his elbow. He fought with it for a moment, then flung it off.

When he looked back down, she was naked, except for a thin black thong. Her smile was back. "You know there's an option for that in private rooms. Taking off clothes, I mean."

"...I do now."

"Heh."

The dress had been revealing, but seeing her revealed was approaching a religious experience for him. Her body was perfectly proportioned. Her skin was smooth, flawless. She was perfectly symmetrical in a way only a computer could emulate, almost doll-like.

She made a sexy pout with her lips. "Like what you see?"

"Yes."

"So..." She extended her foot and gently pressed it to the bulge in his pants. "Do something about it." He brushed her leg aside, leaned down, and kissed her naked breast. She groaned. "Mmm..."

Her flesh was soft in his mouth. He licked her nipple a few times, then let it fall from his lips. It hardened as he watched, the little nub rising up above tiny pink areola. He dove back down and licked, sucked, bit at it. It was salty, musky. He liked it.

He moved to her other breast. He was more aggressive, sucking, using his teeth. She murmured encouragement. He tried taking as much of her breast as he could into his mouth, pulling the flesh with a hard suction, harder, before finally letting it snap back with a wet suckling sound.

He felt a hand on his crotch. She was stroking him through his jeans. She gripped him tight until his erection formed a clear outline in his pants. "I want that," she said, "in me."

"Then why are you still wearing a thong?"

"Because I want you to take it off."

Jackson felt a slight nervousness as he undid his belt buckle. He hadn't modified anything down there. The options had been available, but it had seemed crass to even look at the genitals menu when he was designing his avatar. He hadn't exactly predicted this situation.

He pulled his underwear and jeans down together. He was hard enough that his cock flicked out of his clothing. He glanced up at her, watching for a reaction.

She bit her lip. Her neon eyes glowed.

He felt a surge of confidence. He stepped out of his jeans and placed his hands on the string of her thong. She lifted her legs as he drew the cloth back over her thighs, then her ankles. And then they were both naked.

He could see her pussy. Her vagina. It was small, and tucked in. There was a trimmed brown patch of hair just above it.

"Put it in," she said. "I want it in me."

He lowered himself over her. He didn't need an explanation. He slowly pushed the tip of his cock into her sex.

That first penetration was almost frustrating. She couldn't take him very far. He could feel the warmth, a hot, wet softness tingling the tip of his cock. He wanted all of it.

He drew back, and pushed in again. She stretched a little further for him, wrapping up a good third of his length. "Oh, shit." Her hands clutched at the comforter. "Fuck. Just, slow, at first. Please."

He drew back out, and then pushed back in. She felt hotter, and he got in farther. On his fourth slow stroke, he bottomed out inside of her.

He inhaled as her heat engulfed him. She moaned. "Fuck. Fuck, that's good. You're so fucking hard."

He drew back out most of the way, then plunged in again. She gave a muffled yelp. He did it again, then again, setting a steady rhythm. Her breasts quivered as his hips met hers. "Oh, fuck yes. Fuck me like that. Get that big cock in me. Just like that."

Her stream of words urged him on. He kept it slow, full, and steady. Her ankles crossed behind his back, locking him close. She groaned as he bottomed out again. She grabbed her left breast and worked it in her hand. Taking that as a cue, he leaned down and took her right breast into his mouth as he slipped in and out of her.

"Ooh, yeah," she said. He felt her hands run through his hair. "Suck on my nipple while you fuck me. Mmm."

An idle thought drifted across his head-it was lucky he had a talkative partner. He didn't have to guess at what he was doing.

He'd been so concerned with getting it right that he'd barely paid attention to himself-but now that needy burn was back. He could feel it building with each push into her pussy. Her hole was wet, slick, accepting. He could see the point in the distance when he wouldn't be able to hold back. It was getting close, fast.

"Fuck me harder," she said.

He suckled on her breast on last time, then let it go so he could push into her harder. Her mewling turned into a high, short moan as he repeated the stroke. He shoved into her again, harder, faster. Her hips rocked against him, meeting his thrusts.

"Yeah baby, mmm, ooh, shit. Fuck, you're so deep in me. Fuck me. Faster. Fuck me harder! Shit, yes. Fuuck..." Her last shout morphed into a bestial groan. She was panting. A red blush bloomed across her skin.

He was lost in the moment, pounding himself into her, driven by the pleasure building in his crotch as much as the words shouted at his ears. Their pace filled the room with a hard wet slap, slap, slap. Her breasts shook every time he slammed into her.

He leaned down again, and he was kissing at her chest, then her neck, half-biting, gnawing in a mindless sort of possessiveness. His toes worked for purchase on the carpet as he shoved into her again and again. He felt her nails rake his back. Her perfume wafted over him, mixed with the aroma of sex and sweat.

"Fuck me! Fuck me until I come! I'm gonna come, don't stop, don't stop, just like that, just like that!"

His words were hard grunts. "Me...too."

"Come with me!" she shouted. "Come inside me! Fuck meee...!"

Her last 'me' turned into a shriek. She transformed into a knot of tension, arching up, legs squeezing his back, nails scraping. He felt the tight walls of her sex flutter around his cock. That set him off.

He growled something through his teeth. He buried himself into her, as deep as he could go, and came hard. He could feel his muscles clench up, release, clench again. He squeezed off bursts cum into her until the spurts turned into a sluggish dribble.

He fell over her, propping himself on his elbows so he didn't crush her. They were both heaving their breaths. They sat there for a time, breathing, slowly recovering from the high.

"...shit..." Sophia shifted her hips. "...are you still hard?"

Jackson blinked. He was still inside her. He'd softened somewhat, but not that much. "Yeah...mostly."

"All that for me?"

"It's definitely for you."

She bit her lip, then licked it. "Want to go again?"

###

That experience felt like it was a lifetime away. 3 months was a long time when you were 18.

He was a lot more naïve, then.

He'd equated their one-night-stand to love at first sight. He saw too much of himself in her. It was his first time; maybe that was why he ascribed something special to their relationship, even though he had little basis to do so. He got emotional. He got invested.

Sophia liked him, liked his attention, but she didn't want commitment. They hooked up a few more times, but he realized how shallow their relationship was when she started outright ignoring his messages. At first, that just made him cling harder. When she publically rebuked him, in front of all his new friends, he got the message loud and clear.

It turned out his bar buddies weren't much good for anything other than mooching drinks after he'd won a game. Once Sophia's female friends considered Jackson a pariah, none of them wanted anything to do with him. He became someone they knew from that one time, the creeper that didn't grasp the concept of a casual encounter. Ass-backwards Jack, living in the sexual stone-age.

He deleted them all from his contacts list as a way of cutting it off. It was drastic, but they didn't want him around, and he didn't want to see them. It was a way to cauterize the wound. He didn't see Sophia again after that.

It hurt. A lot of things did. It became just another one of those throbbing scars that every person accumulates; something to linger on in dark moments, but otherwise ignored. It was a lesson on life in the Hub. Everything was fast-paced and twice as superficial.

He became a sort of social drifter. He spent most of his time playing games for cash. He won much more than he lost, easily making a steady profit, besting the competition in everything from poker to go-kart racing. It was easy to keep a straight face when you were operating through a virtual avatar. That was money enough for groceries, utilities, amongst other things. He put the rest into his mutual funds.

People would actually watch him play. Just from winning, he earned a group of followers. You could Follow anyone in the Hub, and you'd receive updates on what they were doing or playing, assuming they made it public, along with any status messages they posted. Jackson's settings on most things had been public by default, and after a string of victories, there was a crowd of regulars that started showing up to watch him play games.

Privately, he thought that their lives must be awfully boring to watch him. Or hell-maybe he was better than he thought. The positive attention soothed his ego more than he cared to admit, so he didn't change his personal settings.

But his first experience still rung in his ears; he avoided his little posse, spoke to them as little as possible. His antisocial behavior didn't turn them off; if anything, it made the crowd grow. He accidentally cultivated an atmosphere of being the strong, silent type that let his skill do the talking.

He had a handful of sexual encounters, women that Followed him from his games to the bars he frequented. He definitely enjoyed the sex, but all the girls started looking the same-the same unblemished skin, the same vibrant eyes, the same perfect hair. When every woman was a supermodel, they were all equally boring. Sex became something he did to let off steam, not something he pursued out of boyish idealism.

He'd go to drink quite often. His brain enjoyed it. It was a pleasing sensation, and it had no consequences. Virtual drinks were cheap, and if he really wanted to, he could tweak an option and shut down the effects instantly.

Some people rigged up their own 'drinks', hard and soft mods that created the same effect. They were the virtual equivalent of moonshiners. Workarounds like that were heavily policed by the Dream's moderators and punishable via permanent bans and real-life prosecution. Just like prohibition, the strict rules served to cultivate an underground modding community. Some of it was harmless fun-such as enabling graffiti on the normally invincible walls of buildings in the Hub. Others were not so nice; stealing vitcoins from people in rigged games, ripping money straight from their accounts, or disguising themselves as others and conducting legal business in their stead.

Jackson could understand why they kept a lid on it. Sure, stealing was illegal, but more importantly, the Dream Drive was as heavily regulated as the healthcare industry. New additions to the neural interface went through progressive stages of animal testing, much to the chagrin of PETA, and eventually withstood double-blind clinical trials with highly-paid volunteers as the test subjects. Stories of people going into the trials and emerging with their brains microwaved were rare, but it definitely happened. As per contract, the families were generously compensated in exchange for keeping quiet about the gory details.

Any mods to the Dream Drive were considered a breach of contract and punishable by lifetime ban, as the modder was considered not only in violation of the law but a high-risk health hazard to himself but those around him. The wrong line of code could and did affect the mind. Particularly bad cases turned into poster children in the public campaign against modders.

Jackson's heavy personal modifications to his helmet definitely qualified for punishment, but they were a lot harder to detect. Software mods could inevitably be recognized, because they had to change the virtual world directly in some fashion. Hard mods could simply be built so that they couldn't be detected. And he wasn't doing anything really bad-it was just to increase the power of his system, minimize lag. He was competent enough on the programming side, but he wouldn't dare touch the Dream's code.

Sometimes he wondered why he'd told Sophia his name was John.

He hadn't thought about it. It just came out. But in that experience, with the nervousness he was feeling, wouldn't he have just told her his real name?

He combed over his memory, and that tiny flash of inspiration he'd had drifted back to him. He'd put up a fake name as a sort of mask. It was a defense mechanism. He'd rejected something very fundamental about the Dream.

The Hub was missing something essential. For all the people, all the games, all the events, corporations, celebrities, championships, food, drink, dance, music, art, you name it-the Hub was fake.

Perception is reality. That was the banner-slogan of the Dream Drive. But knowing it wasn't real changed things.

Dream Drive made most of their money by renting space in the Hub. Downtown plots were more expensive, while newly-created plots on the outskirts were cheap enough for private individuals to purchase. With a will and enough vitcoins, one could build a skyscraper that defied the laws of physics. But when you were surrounded by buildings as wild as yours, what was the point?

Compared to the real world, you could have anything you wanted in the Hub at an extremely low cost. You could build your dream home, you could purchase a virtual servant. The seedier places even offered custom-programmed sex slave programs. A road packed with such institutions made up the Hub's very own red-light district. Jackson visited once, out of a sick kind of curiosity, and quickly resolved to never go back.

There was energy in the Hub, but it was empty calories-literally. Virtual food tasted great, but the fullness only lasted for a few minutes for safety reasons. There was a thriving economy, a kaleidoscope of sight and sound, but it was paper mache over a wireframe of programming. It was devoid of what made humanity what it was-the fight. The conflict. The fierce struggle, the danger of risk, the afterglow of accomplishment.

That was what it was missing. A sense of accomplishment.

Was that all people were? When presented with all the resources in the world, did mankind just fuck off and play games? It was disappointing to watch. He wondered if this is what people felt like when the old internet was finally picking up steam, only to watch 90% of it devolve into pornography.

The Hub wasn't really all that great. But real life sucked a lot more, so Jackson made do.

Isis, though-Isis would be different.

###

Dream Drive Applications totally separate from the Hub were still rare. The Hub basically took care of everything you could want-it was a city and a casino rolled into one, and you could live right in the middle of it. Plenty of people used the Drive to play video games, but that essentially turned their visor into a television screen.

The first game made to take advantage of the Dream's full immersion was, of course, a first-person shooter. Against all expectations, it was a giant flop. It had been too realistic. People wanted to play a game, not actually get shot at. Jackson had played it a few times, and thought the realism was interesting, but he didn't find it all that much fun.

Isis was a new type of game-a totally stand-alone virtual world separated from the Hub. It was a bud off the virtual bubble, its own unique space with its own rules.

Isis was an RPG; an MMORPG, to be precise, a Massive Multiplayer Online Role Playing Game. It was being made by the game development company, Crux. When Jackson heard that, he got goosebumps.

The president of Crux was Emil Mohammed, a man of Arab and French descent with his headquarters in the United States. He was a genius of game design. Against the will of his shareholders, he insisted that Isis not be available on any other device or console. After the failure of the first-person shooter genre, long considered a money-printing machine on every platform, many were concerned about the ability to create a good, stand-alone game in virtual space. Contrary to that concern, Emil wanted himself and his team totally focused on the Dream Drive.

His stated goal: fully and totally transport his players into a fantasy world.

Jackson felt an instinctual kinship with Emil. He was the only Hub presence that Jackson Followed. The man was a giant of industry, a master of-in a word-fun. Jackson had played all 17 games published by Crux since Emil had founded his company after dropping out of college. Most of them were RPGs. They were all some of the best games Jackson had ever played.

Emil was notoriously public in all his interactions. He was charismatic and bombastic. People called him the Tony Stark of video games. He was everything Jackson was, and everything he wasn't-everything he couldn't be.

Isis had been in development for five years, starting just one year after the Dream Drive came out. It was more or less the reason Jackson bothered with the thing in the first place. Five years was a long time for any game, but considering the amount of work they had to do, it wasn't too unreasonable. The team they'd put together for the project was legendary in size and scope-thousands of programmers, artists, designers. It was the single biggest investment for any video game ever. The amount of hype being generated was insane, almost to the point of making Jackson suspicious.

The trailer, though. When he saw the trailer, he understood why people were treating this as something different.

Jackson had seen the trailer online; it was rather tame, more or less a slideshow of fantasy vistas set to music. In the Dream, he'd heard it was a totally different experience. After that first night with Sophia, he'd downloaded it from the Hub Market, where it was freely available. He was transported from one of the Hub's many city squares and onto a hill.

Rich green grass covered the ground. The air smelled like springtime. He could feel the humidity sitting on his skin. The sky was cloudy.

Down the hill, a few miles away, there was a long, lazy river, and past that, a massive tree. It was the biggest tree he'd ever seen-taller than the hill he stood on, as tall as a mountain. The branches leapt into the sky as if the clouds were its leaves. Here and there, where the sky was blue, he could see that the tree continued to spread higher.