Rules 1 and 2 in 2222

Special thanks to kenjisato, a generous volunteer in Literotica.com's Volunteer Editors program, for editing this piece. All remaining errors and questionable stylistic choices are the sole responsibility of the author. Arguably, this entire piece is a questionable stylistic choice.

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Author's Note: there aren't nearly as spelling mistakes as you think there are. Welcome to the future. It's annoying.

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Rule 1: be Known.

Rule 2: don't be unknown.

Penny was beyond. Penny was Siddhartha. Penny was Morpheus, Neo, Oracle. Penny used 'she' and 'her,' but only to eez. She was comfortable being anyone and anything, and all she asked in return was chillseek.

Nools didn't bother Penny, because Penny was just that Known. The lack of catz in her prime was a hint, but plenty of olds were just old. More were dead -- truly dead, Legacy. Their primes were locked. The system kept pushing recycling as a virtue, and dangled Virtue as incentive. The users kept pushing back.

Penny had gone through most of the phases; these ticks, she practiced empathy, compassion, and gratitude. She knew she was lucky to have such an elegant prime, and luckier still that the usual hate didn't stick.

She knew that most users wanted graveyards and memorials for all the wrong reasons. The masses raged against impermanence -- anitya, anicca. Penny had started a wave past that, and had counter-raged for quite a few annies. Eventually, though, she'd surfed on. Plenty of Penny's empathy required no imagination. She'd made the mistakes. She'd even flamed her own past -- just the once, but it had been enough. She liked to think that she'd stayed humble since.

She'd taken the lessons of Orwell -- GeorgeOrwell/Legacy/Prime/1903.1950, to be thoroughly systemic. She owed him a lot; his work had helped her get Known. Her first big Thought had been The Paradox Of Impermanence, hearkening to The Paradox Of Tolerance, asking the post- D-Rev and V-Rev Buddhists what responsibility they owed to the countless future prisoners of Big Brother's quasi-permanent controlled impermanence. From Plato's Cave to Room 101, she'd asked the hard questions and stated the case.

She'd made friends and enemies, both for good reasons and bad. Then she'd surfed on again. She never forgot Orwell's lessons, though. Even if graveyards and memorials weren't exactly what the new world needed, they were better than letting the system control history itself. It'd start with recycling. It'd end with nolegs, scattered about the nowhere.

Penny used to be into some seriously heady shit. She still was, but she'd found a balance. These annies, she spent lots of ticks being a chill Jesus to the meats.

@l_lol meat

@l_lol dopameat

@l_lolocaust oxytokens

@ls_OH HEY PENNY

@l_elomenofuk

The vandals dispersed -- all but one. It stayed behind and purged the spam. Penny gave it two pings: one disappointed, one gracious. It pinged all the usual colors back -- a complex, animated pixel painting, rife with maths, that instantly navigated the nuances of the prevailing social hierarchy. Penny wished that it contained a promise to never spam the enclave's wall again, but it didn't. They never did. Penny tried to practice gratitude for the reminder: there were limits to the power of being Known. She didn't succeed.

Penny felt obligated to be mindful of the ping's full breadth and depth of meaning, but it was overwhelming. It was exhausting. The system was seductive, especially to the Known and those with Virtue to spare; they enjoyed a feedback loop of positive pings, ranging from obsequious to ecstatic, and that made them chill with the system.

It wasn't something to be chill about, in Penny's opinion. She saw the other side, though. What was to be done? If, as everyone suspected, wetminds still called the shots -- nudging, tweaking, and vetoing what claimed to be true AI and true-neutral -- there was no stopping them. There was no detecting them. Odds were, they wouldn't even run afoul of the Butterfly Effect. Interfering with AI was only dangerous when it was working maths and science problems, centies ahead of anything wetminds could comprehend. Social control was almost certainly solved. That meant it could be leveraged safely.

Users loved to crow about all the things that had changed thanks to true AI and Virtua. They didn't like admitting what hadn't. Defeated cynicism had made the leap out of meatspace. So had ironic detachment.

Penny emoted to no one and nothing -- to the system, then, ironically. A meat would've sighed. She emoted again at that thought -- a smile, perhaps. The meats were stewards of an elegance worth minding, and Penny wished more users agreed.

Penny was humble enough to admit that surfing among the meats was a refuge -- a relief. She pinged a request to the enclave, and was authorized immediately. Penny wasn't formally keyed, but she was known. If she was being honest with herself, she preferred being known to being Known. She also knew that without the latter, the former might never have been possible.

Penny understood that gratitude was a tricky thing.

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Penny smelled the hypocrisy, but let it go. It was eliterally a smell: fresh air, no allergens, no pollution, no hint of sanitization or recycling. The meat enclave should've reeked. Parts of it did, but it was all opt-in. It was intimate and contextual.

That was one of the reasons why the meats got so little respect. A tiny minority fully committed, and they were given the wide berth afforded to cults with stockpiled MMD. Most of the meats coasted. They lived in an infantile playground. They were derided for lacking courage and imagination. They didn't have fresh Thoughts. They never got Known.

They ate. They cuddled. They fucked. They came. They flew; that was a popular one.

Penny always enjoyed her time at the enclave. She immersed herself as fully as she could. She adopted the lingo. She switched over to evocalization. She did her best to think like meat. She also cheated a little bit. Publicly available algorithms were still better than she was at parsing meatspace body language. She was learning, but it was slow going. It couldn't really be taught -- not even meat to meat. Meat to user would be yet worse. It was just one more addon. Penny used quite a few.

She called up one of her favorite meat-based avatars, and, as always, didn't bother with a subhandle. Everyone in the enclave knew she was down to play pretend, so long as her partners were chill. For the time being, she was Penny, the sanely-proportioned futanari, animeted by about twenty percent. All other things being equal, Penny liked having all the equipment at once.

Upon finalizing, she was immediately approached by a delicious femboy, pale and smooth as a fresh blanket of snow. He was animeted too, though not to any extreme. He had big eyes, full lips, perfect hair, and a very soft jaw. In the last few deckies of meatspace primacy, it hadn't been such a big deal for a male to achieve such femininity. It would've cost time and Virtue, though. Penny's wikimind tickled her brain with 'money,' bypassing all the usual meat modes. She accepted it with a soft chuckle. It didn't matter at all, but contextual sensitivity was the price paid for speed and coverage.

"Hey, Penny," the femboy said shyly. "Would you like to play with me?"

Penny gave him a big smile. "That sounds lovely, dear," she replied. They reached out and touched hands. They each felt the delightful electricity of consent and pairing.

"You go ahead and set the scene, baby," Penny encouraged him, "and, of course, tell me your name!"

"Casey," he replied. His body language matched his voice; he was playing shy from head to toe. Penny already had a sense of what he wanted.

Within moments, the two of them were in the bedroom of a luxury apartment. Soft white dominated the décor, though bits of color connoted a real effort on the part of the creator. Her wikimind recognized a trite, tropey blend of Japanese and American flourishes from about a century ago, maybe more; Penny herself had spent enough time in this particular enclave to recognize them, though not as quickly as her addon could. She let the program tickle her brain with its explanations and invitations. She practiced mindful gratitude; eventually, the addon was going to tell her something she wanted or needed to know.

Having avoided unproductive negativity, she refocused on Casey. She moved in closer; he clearly wanted her to be dominant. She stroked his slim, smooth body, reveling in the simulated sensations: skin on skin, heat, and even the faint scents of soap and shampoo. His breath smelled minty. He was a delicate meat. That was okay with her.

"Let's have some fun before the fun, Casey," she suggested -- almost commanded, actually. The line between playing and preparing to play was blurry, and she'd just told Casey she was chill with that ambiguity. "Why don't you confess? Why don't you tell me what you really need?"

Casey fidgeted and blushed like a schoolgirl. Maybe it was part of his kink, or maybe it wasn't. He readily accepted the implicit suggestion. He obeyed her command. He submitted.

"You already claimed my girlfriend," he said, setting the stage. Penny quickly concluded that the shyness was an act.

The 'girlfriend' appeared. Penny recognized her as a primitive pixie, but the wikimind flashed a warning. That word, 'pixie,' meant something else in the enclave; they did love their fantasy creatures so. Casey's 'girlfriend' was a basic virtual intelligence, yoked to an animeted human model. There was no user controlling her.

"Mmm, and did that just happen?" Penny asked. The prop flickered at the suggestion, but didn't change.

Casey nodded. "Well, this wasn't the first time," he clarified, "but you just did it again, right in front of me. I watched. It broke my heart, but I got so turned on, too."

The prop changed. Casey's 'girlfriend' was suddenly naked, fucked-out, and oozing futa-cum out of two holes. Her belly bulged obscenely. Her face communicated bliss, even though she was unconscious; it was an animetion specialty. Penny was beyond chill with it. Animetion was a halting first step away from meat, and she was happy that Casey was so into it.

"Mmmm, and now it's your turn," Penny added. "You can't resist my futa-cock. You can't resist how I smell -- how my futa-cum smells, as it's oozing out of your girlfriend."

Casey nodded again. His cheeks went beet red. "You're so much bigger than me," he suggested.

Penny accepted, shifting her avatar's height, weight, and visible strength. She kept going until Casey nodded again, this time with a cute little lip-bite added for good measure.

"How big is my futa-cock, Casey?" Penny asked him.

"It starts off huge," he answered, "and then, eventually, well..."

Penny moved in all the way. Her tweaked form towered over Casey. She brought him into an embrace, pressing his face into her breasts, forcing her cock up and in between their bodies. It grew until Casey shivered and sighed, signaling that it was just right.

"Do you want to taste it when I cum, Casey?" Penny asked. "Or do you want it to go all the way through, and out of your mouth?"

Casey mumbled into her breasts. She eased up just enough so that he could pull his head back and speak clearly.

"I... I think I want both," he answered. He seemed genuinely frustrated. Penny came to the rescue.

"Oh, there are a few ways we can make that happen," she said coyly.

His eyes lit up. Compared to the lifelong meats, Penny was a journeyman at best, but she'd quickly become known for her improvisational skills, and for thinking outside the box.

"Why don't you try to think of one, though?" she pressed. "Just for fun. I won't tease you too long, baby. I want to play. I want to claim you. I want an owned couple. I'm going to make you the baby's nursemaid."

Casey's smooth little penis twitched. His baby-blue eyes transmitted gratitude, reverence, and awe. Every single one of Penny's new suggestions had struck a chord.

Plenty of meats were creative within a narrow band. Casey, perhaps, wasn't. Still, they all knew the value of enthusiastic partners. It was one of the things Penny liked about the enclave. Collaborations were common among users, but they were never pure. There was always an undercurrent of competition. Whenever Penny helped to build a meat or animeat fantasy here in the enclave, she felt the thrill of pure cooperation. It was stronger and chiller at the same time. The wikimind tickled her again, and she was happy for the reminder: 'yes, and.' Nothing made 'yes, and' chiller than meats seeking orgasms.

"What about... um, a funnel, with a tube, and... a machine?" Casey tried. He shook his head. "God, that's so stupid. A Rube Goldberg device for sex? I'm so embarrassed."

Penny moved past the wikimind's next tickle. She was focused entirely on Casey. She urged his mouth towards her nipple before squeezing him tightly again. She shushed him as he suckled. It wasn't a part of the scene, but he needed it. It calmed him down.

"Baby, that was such a good try," Penny reassured him. "You came up with it so quickly, and it absolutely worked the problem. You can criticize yourself without killing yourself. It's okay, baby. Practice makes perfect."

Casey lifted his mouth off of her nipple, but didn't pull away. He let himself be held by his massive futa scene partner.

"You got so good at this stuff so quickly, Penny," he said meekly. "I admire you so much, and I try to be... um, chill...but I get bad feelings about it sometimes. I get envious. I'm really sorry."

She shushed him some more.

"All I need is for you to try, baby," she said. "You're being so honest with me, and you did exactly what I told you to do. That's wonderful."

It was the essence of chillseek. She didn't impose the lingo, though. She was a guest here. She was a student, not a master. Casey wasn't a master, either. She resisted the urge to label him. A heatseeker would go straight to 'slow,' one of the worst things a user could ever be. A slightly impatient scene partner might settle upon 'limited.'

Penny actively focused on the good feelings instead. She felt protective of Casey. She felt responsible for him. Penny was tempted to offer him love then and there, but she decided against it. She'd agreed to play with him. She felt like she should do that first.

"Here, Casey," she said, nudging him away. "Look at my futa-cock. This is my idea."

Casey obeyed, and Penny quickly scanned the data banks. She didn't find exactly what she was looking for, so she fiddled with a background program and slapped together a custom job. Her impossible futa-cock -- already defying physics and biology in at least four different ways - grew rings of bumps all the way up and down its length. They quickly matured into proto-nipples. They were guaranteed to give milk.

Casey stared in awe. He was admiring the art and the artist all at once. It made Penny feel great. She practiced mindful gratitude. She resolved to make her scene partner feel great in return.

"I'm a very special futa, Casey," she said seductively -- and with a hint menace. It hardly counted as a suggestion. Casey was unhashed; the wikimind suggested 'an open book.' Penny liked it.

"I make so much futa-cum," she continued, "and my muscles are so strong, that I shoot out of every single one of these holes at once, plus from my giant cock-slit. Even though my cockhead is going to come out of your mouth when I thrust into you the final time, I'm going to irrigate your entire body, including that cute little mouth of yours. You'll feel it everywhere inside of you. You'll taste it. I imagine these bumps will feel good for both of us, too."

"Oh wow," Casey exclaimed. "Yes!"

Penny smiled. She made sure it was predatory. "Finish the fantasy, Casey-baby," she ordered. "Make it as good for you as it can be. Don't hold back. Confess everything to your future futa mistress."

Casey got shy again. Clearly, it was one of his favorite acts. He was very good at it.

"It won't be rape," the little femboy whispered, "not really. But..."

Penny nodded. She understood. Casey wanted to put up one more pathetic, doomed fight. He wanted to be overwhelmed. He wanted to be seduced by the scent of futa-pheromones and futa-cum, and by the sheer strength of Penny's dominant sexuality.

"I want it to make me a girl," he confessed. Penny thought his shyness might be genuine this time. The request itself didn't faze her. It was a common trope.

"All at once?" Penny asked. "All the way?"

He shook his head. "I want my little penis and balls to shrink down to a clitty," he said, "so you can put a cage on them after you've claimed me. I don't want a vagina. I do want titties, though. I want..."

He trailed off. He searched the data banks; Penny knew the look. He found an old-world cartoon. It was amazing how many had been preserved -- and how many were about sex.

"This," he finished, offering transmission with a handshake. Penny readily accepted. She saw, and understood. She never actually needed to; Casey could've made it happen all on his own. The meats played wonderful trust games, though; this was one of them. Penny was grateful. She'd asked for confession, and had received it.

"Anything else, Casey?" Penny asked. "There's no rush. I have ticks and ticks -- sorry, hours. I have hours. I have no place else to be."

"After you claim me, you collar me -- and my girlfriend," he said. "Then you make me clean her up. You hold the leashes. Your futa-cock is still huge. You fuck me some more while I lick up pints of your futa-cum, just because you can -- because you've got nothing better to do while watching your owned sissy-gurl follow your orders."

"That all sounds great, Casey," Penny said. "Do you want to let others watch?"

Casey shrugged. "I think I'd like it to be you and me for now," he replied. "We could record it, though. Would you let me hold the permissions?"

"Of course," Penny agreed. "Oh, before I forget, what does your girlfriend taste like?"

Casey blushed again and smiled shyly. He offered his hand one more time. Penny accepted it, and then coated her monstrous, omnidirectional futa-cum blaster with a surprisingly-detailed simulation of girl-cum. It came complete with visuals, flavors, smells, and textures. The only thing missing was an audio profile. It was a common way to save resources -- a 'cut corner,' the wikimind suggested. Penny didn't think either of them would miss it. She also liked that phrase. She could understand why it hadn't survived amongst users, though.

"Her name's Emily," Casey said. Penny smiled. She couldn't believe she'd forgotten to ask. Meats got attached. It was paradoxical. It should've been another step away from meat, but it wasn't. It was meat asserting itself. It was an old-world master treating their pet -- a 'dog,' or a 'cat,' the wikimind suggested -- like a human.

Casey gave the nod; either his imagination had run dry, or his lust had overborne it. In one tiny concession to user protocol, he flashed green. Penny did the same.

They started playing, in media res. Penny the futanari, with a cock so huge it should have killed something -- probably her first, and then whatever it landed on -- zeroed in on her prey. He was already caught. He just refused to admit it.

"Your girlfriend's already mine, Casey," Penny said. "She's probably already pregnant. You don't want her baby to grow up without you, do you? You'd make an excellent sissy nursemaid."

Casey was transfixed by her cock. His eyes followed it, even when Penny spoke. He backed away from her slowly. When his legs hit the large bed, he nearly jumped out of his skin.