What Dreams May Come Ch. 05

Warning: This chapter includes a situation wherein initial consent goes into some unexpected territory that may not have been consented to, if it had been expected. It's messy... with tentacles... which are consenting tentacles that are over 18 years old. So, be warned. Plus, there are violent threats made toward the main character, but after enduring his sexy-mood-breaking inner dialogue thus far, I'm sure you won't mind those very much.

What Dreams May Come -- Ch 05

Cerebrotech Intelligent Home Solutions was a privately-owned limited liability corporation that created products that were generations beyond any automated home solutions currently on the market. That Cerebrotech would revolutionize the residential construction market was an absolute certainty. Typical automated home solutions had been on the market for several years: automated security alarms, kitchen appliances, thermostats, doorbell cameras and motion detectors were all old news. They performed simple functions that impressed peons. What Cerebrotech did was to integrate the existing functions with a host of new features, innovative materials, and a user interface that not only responded, but used artificial intelligence that digested comprehensive data gathered about the user as well as usage pattern data to allow the home to become uniquely adapted to the user. The AI software user interface was the crown jewel and critical component of the revolutionary home concept, and the Mantha program underlying the user interface was perfect. I knew this about the program, because it was mine.

Rather than risking failure in the form of anything less than complete market dominance upon introduction of my product, I was testing the Mantha software with numerous live specimens. AI-based user interfaces require a considerable sampling of test variables to determine if the creator has written the code with sufficient adaptability. As I said, however, the Mantha program was perfect. It was mine.

The rigorous testing process was a concession of mine to the Cerebrotech majority shareholders, though as the last test subject entered the habitat for the 2 week trial, I questioned that decision. It was yet another young female. The majority shareholders, a libidinous group of male venture capitalists, had chosen the test subjects with the intelligence of a reality show casting director: anything blonde with breasts and an appalling lack of intelligence or personality would pass muster. Undoubtedly, they chose test subjects reflective of their own wives and mistresses. I nearly shut down the trial, but reminded myself that one does not achieve perfection without being meticulous. I am nothing, if not meticulous.

The final test subject, Rose Andersen, an Anthropology student at the local university walked into the habitat silently. Already, she annoyed me by circumventing the predetermined process. The Mantha introduction and setup guide was activated by the sound of the test subjects walking into the habitat and making their inevitable pidgeon-like coos of admiration at the sleek, modern, pure white interiors that were devoid of the annoying personal effects that cluttered so many homes. Personal clutter blocked cameras, ruined sound quality, and was frankly disturbing. Why humans felt the need to establish dominance over every place they spent more than five minutes in by marking it with their personal identity in the form of ridiculous trinkets was beyond me. Dominance is established by perfection. I made a note to include motion-activated subroutines to the Mantha introduction to prevent uncharacteristically silent subjects from deviating from the predetermined process. Rose Andersen, while annoying, had shown me a rare deficiency in my meticulous planning. I continued watching.

She silently prowled the habitat, touching nothing but the floor, passing like a ghost from room to room. Finally, she returned to the entryway, looking at the ceiling camera domes. Then, she waved at the nearest one. She was mocking me. Annoyed, I manually activated the introduction.

"Welcome, Rose. I am Mantha, your user inter—"

"Mantha, call IT support," she said, rudely interrupting my brilliant user interface.

I sat forward, checking the system to see if the IT Support Call feature was enabled in test mode before the greeting had been completed. It had. Another oversight. Mantha IT Support had not been fully set up, due to a lack of intelligent personnel that would refrain from masturbating during work hours. The call connected, "Welcome to Mantha IT Support. If you would like to change your password, please say or press—"

Subject Rose Andersen scrunched up her face in annoyance and made a sound of disgust. "Really? A 'revolutionary automated home solution that is generations beyond' and you have IT support on a fucking IVR? Press star pound, Mantha!" yelled the 19 year old undergraduate, mediocre, state-school, soft subject major, no doubt attending college only to find a husband capable of supporting her. My hands shook as I made a note to eliminate the outdated IVR from the Mantha IT support decisioning and wondered what the effect of selecting "star, pound" would have upon the IVR menu. Then, I remembered. It was a commonly-used shortcut to the live IT Support line.

Apparently unconcerned with the progress of her IT Support call, Subject Rose Andersen was walking around, pushing buttons at random opening and closing things. Was it impossible for her to stand still and focus upon one thing? I had just begun wondering what IT contact information had been programmed into the Mantha test mode, when I felt my phone vibrate. The caller ID display on my phone read "MANTHA IT Support Service Call." My entire body shaking in frustration, I answered, "Mantha IT Support, how may I help you?"

"Hi, this is Rose! What's your name?" she asked, as if that was somehow relevant.

I was uncertain of what to say. I had not developed call scripting for Manta IT support. I made another note, then returned to the call. "My name is not relevant. What do you require?" I asked.

The unemployed student with over $30,000 in student loan debt snorted. "You guys are sorely lacking in soft skills," she opined, as eloquently as her public education would allow. "I need a screwdriver, a crowbar and a blow torch," she said.

"I... why do you need a screwdriver, a crowbar and a blow torch?" I intoned reasonably, pinching the bridge of my nose to fend off an impending migraine.

"Man, you IT support guys always want to know why, don't you? Just the thought of someone having a screwdriver, a crowbar or a blow torch in your careful little world really seems to put you on edge. No reason for them, really. It's just fun asking IT support guys for random stuff and seeing what happens. So, will you tell me your name, now?" she asked.

"No," I said, my palms inexplicably itching. "Use the Mantha user interface for further inquiries. Goodbye." I disconnected the call before my mind was further contaminated by the conversation, and quickly looked at the monitors to see her reaction.

"What? No feedback survey?" she called out to the house in general. Then, she shrugged and began removing her clothes. This was not uncommon. Many of the test subjects disrobed and cavorted nude in front of the many cameras during the test period, in some vain exhibitionistic fetish designed to no doubt titillate those observing. The average nude human body is an awkward and sub-optimally designed biomachine that is attractive in perhaps two or three positions, none of which I found titillating while testing my user interface. I waited for Rose Andersen to casually assume one of the three positions for the cameras, as if she accidentally stumbled into the perfectly posed Instagram photo for my benefit, but she did not. She went to the bathroom, took a towel from the rack, and stared at the bathtub. She was lean, but not hardened or sinewy. Her almost white blonde hair hung down loosely as she bent over the tub and looked for any controls, the silken tendrils trailing along her back and shoulders. From a side view camera, her stomach scrunched into small rolls of softness, and her back curved gracefully, the position accentuating her slim waist and the curve of her hips from the camera above. Her buttocks were small but rounded, perfect for spanking. Yes, a bright red hand print would contrast nicely with her pale skin, I thought. It would likely improve her personality, as well.

I grew impatient, waiting for her to get into the bath. It was masterfully designed to fill itself automatically with the perfect bathing medium, as determined by data gathered from the subject's home water usage and bath product purchases. Its walls and base were designed to be self-molding and massage the occupant, as determined by their muscle density, pain tolerance, and sexual arousal. That bathtub was a modern marvel of science and she just stood there bent over it looking for a fucking faucet, I fumed. Get in the damn tub! Even Mantha would walk her through the ridiculously simple process, if she just asked how to activate the tub. "Ask, you stubborn woman! Ask for what you want! Let me take care of you!" I yelled at the monitor.

She straightened, wrapped herself in the towel, slumped on the edge of the tub, and sighed dejectedly. I actually screamed and pulled my hair at this point, and made copious notes for system improvements. All of this was in the Mantha introduction and setup that she had skipped just to irritate me! Why do I have to deal with such stubborn stupid people? Why can't they just do as they are told? I fumed. Out of concern for my own sanity, I manually prompted the system to help facilitate her bathing.

"May I help you, Rose?" Mantha prompted.

"Hm? No... I'm fine," she said, obviously being not fine. She was scowling at my brilliant AI-augmented bathtub that was capable of bringing her to orgasm within five seconds of entry like it had somehow gone out of its way to offend her.

I covered my face with my hands. This woman was a nightmare. She had dismissed my manual interface prompt. Every manual prompt she forced me to make lowered the independent effectiveness score of the user interface test. My user interfaces did not test imperfectly. My eye began twitching. I manually prompted the system again.

"May I help you bathe, Rose?"

"What? Ew. No thanks. I've been taking baths by myself for a while now. And since when are we on a first-name basis? I don't even know who desig—"

"Get in the damn bath, Rose." As I heard the system relay the words, I rolled back from the keyboard, looking at my hands in shock. I had overridden the user interface and initiated a chat session. The trial was ruined. I was supposed to let the interface independently learn and adapt from the user, not issue orders to the trial participants, no matter how insolent or stubborn or practically begging for discipline they were.

Rose stood, her eyes wide and darting around the room, then raised her hands in the air, palms out, as if she was being threatened by an armed assailant. Her towel slid into a pile at her feet. My lips pursed in annoyance. I knew she was not frightened. In fact, from what I could see, she was trying not to laugh. My palms were itching again, especially now that her perfectly spankable buttocks were in view. She was standing in the tub, now, hands still in the air. "Well, what now, HAL?" she asked, referencing the film '2001: A Space Odyssey.' My breath hissed through my nose. It was just a blasphemous pop culture reference from a dilettante. She did not watch important science fiction. She did not deserve important science fiction.

I typed again. "Lie down, Rose," I said, hearing the bland disembodied female voice issue the command on my behalf.

"Shouldn't it be 'lay?'" she asked, still standing, her arms now crossed across her delicate breasts. "I mean, if you're telling me to put something down, it's 'lay', but 'lie' means to rest or recline, so that could work, too, I suppose..." she said.

"It is 'lie,' Rose. 'Lay' requires an object. When you speak about yourself, you say 'lie.'" I typed, not fathoming why I was bothering to explain the rules of grammar to a naked woman.

"Yeah, but what about the prayer?"

"The what?" I asked, against my better judgement.

"You know, 'Now, I lay me down to sleep...'" she prompted. "You can't tell me we've been accosting God with grammatically incorrect prayers all this time," she argued inanely.

"NO. In the prayer, the word 'me' acts as the—" I began, then thought the better of going down that particular rabbit hole with this insane woman. I typed again. "God is understanding. Lie the fuck down, Rose." She smirked. She had no idea how I was going to make her pay for this.

The tub had filled with water far too hot for a normal person, but then Rose's skin turned to a deep pink color, and she sank deeper into it, groaning with pleasure. Sane people prefer bath water only slightly above body temperature, I thought adamantly. The woman was obviously deranged, but I allowed her to relax and enjoy the bath, checking the other monitors and sensors to prepare for what I planned next.

I watched the water warm her until a dew of perspiration shone on her skin. She looked like she would fall asleep at any moment. Then, I issued her the slightest flutter in the material of the tub supporting her back. She sat up and looked around, disconcerted. I watched her feel the seemingly solid wall where her back was, frowning. She seemed to dismiss her concerns and lay back into the tub as she had been before.

I waited and watched. Eventually the long sigh she had issued before upon relaxing completely was repeated and I saw her slide deeper into the water. I smiled evilly and sent the next flutter to the portion of the tub upon which her buttocks rested. She immediately sat bolt upright in the tub. "Mantha?" she asked, a slight tremor in her voice.

"Yes Rose," I typed, laughing to myself.

"What was that?" she asked.

"What was what, Rose?" I responded, then rubbed my hands together and altered the flutter to a continuous circular massage under her. She gasped, and I switched cameras to one with a better view of her face, as well as one that could provide an underwater view. She began panting and rested her head on the edge of the tub.

"This isn't a normal tub, is it Mantha?" she said, letting out a slight moan.

"The tub is designed to provide relaxing and intimately pleasurable sensations unique to your personal needs, Rose. Would you like me to give you intimate pleasure, Rose?" I typed, then commanded the tub to begin massaging her with rubbing protrusions that came and went, seemingly at random.

"Oh... well, um, gosh... if this tub can do what I think you're saying it can do... can you sound like a guy while you um... pleasure me?"

"Yes, I can, Rose," I responded, prompting Mantha to provide samples of an array of men's voices that would be familiar or appealing to her ears. Her father, her numerous male "friends" who would far prefer bedding her, various popular celebrities, the handsome, yet stupid, server at her coffee shop.

After listening for several minutes, she looked away from the camera, and sighed. She seemed disappointed. "Thanks, Mantha. I guess not... those just aren't... um, wait... could you sound like... that IT support guy I just talked to?" she asked. I could see her squeezing her thighs together tightly in the underwater camera.

My voice? While decisive and commanding, my voice is best described as dry and unamused, rather than... seductive. I sat back in my chair. She wanted my voice... I had not programmed it into Mantha as an option, and uploading my voice into the program would take too much time for a seamless user experience. Not that she deserved such a thing. Although, the opportunity to hear my own voice guiding her through what was about to happen was simply too delicious to resist. I swallowed, cleared my throat and switched from chat to audio interaction.

"Is this better, Rose?" I asked, simultaneously causing one of the protrusions to grow larger and rub slightly between her legs.

"Oh! Oh y...yes. That's him. Thank you," she said, gasping and squirming at the unexpectedly intimate touch that had come with my voice. Or had she responded sexually to my voice? The thought seemed strange to me, but I decided not to ponder it further at the moment. There was an impudent creature that needed my discipline. I was preparing to launch more extreme functions when she spoke again. "Is there... ohhhh... is there another name you use when you're using a man's voice?" she asked. "Mantha sounds like Samantha, so it feels funny calling you that when you're um... doing things to me," she said tentatively, covering her cheeks with her hands and sinking lower in the water. I smiled. She was becoming aroused at the thought of what I was going to do to her. She had no idea.

"You may call me Simon, Rose," I murmured, programming a protrusion to slide briefly up and down her slit, vibrating slightly. She rose halfway up out of the tub in surprise, her eyes wide and alarmed, before tentatively inching back down. I eased off the protrusions and returned to the milder massage. She was more responsive than I expected and I didn't want to scare her... not yet, anyway. "Are you comfortable, Rose?" I asked, attentively.

"Yes... it's fine. Better than fine. I'm just not used to it?" she said. "So, um... if it's not too personal, what was your first time like, Simon?" She wanted to hear about my product's other sexual experiences. Perhaps she was simply nervous, but the strangeness of this woman was starting to fascinate me.

"My first time being intimate with a human?" I asked. She nodded, and I thought back to development, testing the tub on myself. "I was initially designed to provide leisurely relaxation. I think it was quite unexpected when the human became sexually satisfied. The experience had completed before there was adequate time for study or reflection," I said, remembering how shocked I was that I had climaxed when a protrusion unexpectedly stimulated my anus. "Of course, since then I have been meticulously programmed with numerous techniques and responsive subroutines to—" I began to ramble defensively about the lovemaking skills of my AI-augmented bathtub. This woman's strangeness is contagious, I thought, perturbed.

"It's okay, Simon," she said laughing softly, relaxing in the water. "I hear everyone's first time is a bit of a mess. Thanks for telling me." she said. Something about the way she said it gave me pause, and I looked through her file on another monitor. Had she been raped? If she had been abused in any way, I would never consider punishing her with the perversions so vividly racing through my mind, now, even if the thought of it had already made me harder than granite. No... no police reports, no pregnancy tests, no STD tests, no emails, cryptic texts, drug or alcohol abuse, self harm, or journaling. No signs of rape or abuse. Very good. Having completed the program for her, I smiled, took my erection out of my trousers, and began stroking myself slowly. I was going to enjoy this.

"If you are ready to proceed, Rose, I would ask that you advise me of a word you will use when you wish me to stop. As many women enjoy the experience of reduced accountability that comes with superficially protesting the actions performed, I would recommend that you choose something... unusual. When you speak this word, my program will immediately cease all stimulation. Unless and until I hear your word, my program will proceed without seeking further consent. Do you understand, Rose?"

She shivered in the still hot water and I chuckled, betting myself it would be no more than 90 seconds before she screamed her word out. Served her right for ruining my trial. "Yes, I... I think so. Um... I'll say 'bittersweet' if I want you to stop."