What Dreams May Come Ch. 05

"Very good, Rose. If you are ready, then, I shall proceed," I said, struggling to keep my voice steady.

"Y...yes, Simon. I'm ready," she whispered. I exhaled and initiated the program, when I was surprised to hear her speak again. "Oh... um, Simon?

"Yes, Rose?" I replied, trying not to sound impatient.

"Thanks for... doing this for me," she said shyly. I was again disconcerted. Her hesitancy was disarming. Once again, I had the unfamiliar sensation that I did not possess all the information about Rose that was critical, but at this point, looking into her strange violet eyes in the monitor, I did not care. I wanted to see her get fucked.

"You are most welcome, Rose," I replied. The tub material molded itself to her more intimately, around her arms and legs, cradling her neck, and starting in again with the protrusions and making them caress her entire body in the water. She seemed startled when the walls of the tub formed themselves in and around her feet and toes, giving them the sensation of being licked and sucked. Though still uncertain, she seemed to relax and enjoy it.

The program introduced the sensation of a lover's hands running up and down her body, pausing at her breasts and tweaking her nipples gently. I saw her gasp and press up against them and adjusted the settings to stimulate her faster and with more pressure. I smiled proudly when she bit her lower lip and moaned under the modified program. She was so very responsive, it was almost a pity not to feel her reactions. I stroked myself faster, dismissing the thought.

"Oh!" she said, startled, and I realized that the hands caressing her body had turned into the gently nipping teeth. I was particularly proud of the nipping subroutine, having developed the 3D simulation from a mold of my own teeth. She seemed to be immensely enjoying the sensation of my teeth running down her neck, seizing, pulling and shaking her buttocks gently. The monitor displaying her vaginal lubrication levels certainly agreed with me, because despite the water, she was positively swimming in juices. She probably tasted heavenly, I thought, considering doing additional study on the matter.

She tried bringing her hands to her own breasts to tweak them and stimulate them more, but I clucked my tongue disapprovingly and waved my finger at the monitor, smiling as I saw the program restrain her. No self-stimulation allowed, Little One, I thought, but quickly modified the program to begin nipping and sucking at her gorgeous and delectable looking breasts. My mouth watered, seeing her resist the restraints, unsure and confused, but then moan as she was transported beyond her bonds by the sensation that I provided to her.

Next, began the phase I was certain would cause her to scream her bittersweet safe word and bring an end to my play, so I began stroking faster so as to climax optimally. I watched closely, waiting to see her face when she realized what was happening. First, the surface molded, itself to her intimately, penetrating every nook and crevice it could find, just shy of going inside her body. She opened her eyes widely at this, but it was her mouth that dropped open when it all began to suck and nip and vibrate against her. "Ohhhhh Simon!" she cried out, shocking me with the intimacy of my real name. My body reacted, as well, and I began stroking furiously, panting as I watched her writhe with pleasure, struggling against her restraints. Gritting my teeth, I joined her when she came, bucking her hips and calling out my name again and again and again. She fell limp and smiled, blinking slowly. I did that, I thought, touching the monitor where she closed her eyes, content and replete. That was my work. It was perfect.

I pondered ending the program at that point, and in hindsight I desperately wished I had, but my prickled pride demanded more, and with a conflicted conscience, I watched further. This was when the program I designed veered outside of what I knew her comfort parameters to be, and into what satisfied my darker appetites. For her, it started with a slight tickle. The tickle she felt was a tendril of the tub surface, no wider than a few millimeters in diameter, snaking itself up into her rectum. I watched her face change as she came to realize what was happening.

"Simon...?" she asked, tentatively. "What are you doing?"

"Shhh... It is all right, Rose. Lie still, now. Let me take care of you," I replied.

Her uncertainty, her attempts at denial, the trembling of her lower lip enflamed hunger inside me again. I added some vibrations around her clitoris, helping her relax and continue to pretend that this was all for her pleasure. The simpler truth was, I did not want her to ask me to stop, or to discover that when she did, I had no intention or ability to do so. Then, the tendril, a tentacle now, writhing deep in her rectum began to grow thicker and thicker, stretching her slightly, but not yet painfully. A low groan came out of her lips when she realized what was happening.

"Simon... I'm scared," she said, her eyes searching the room.

"I know you are, Rose, but you are doing so well," I said as the tentacle began slowly thrusting in and out of her, drawing delicious little moans and cries out of her. "You will do this for me, won't you Rose? You will give me this gift? Let me take care of you." I said, stroking myself again, already aroused and erect again. Beneath the water, I saw the tentacle slipping in and out of her anus again and again to impossible depths. How I wished it was my cock. "I want you to relax and get ready to take the rest of me now, Rose. I want you to take everything." Rose was tossing her head and crying out, overwhelmed, and completely sensitized. The program readied a thicker, shorter, penis-like tentacle at her vaginal entrance, teasing it slightly to allow me see her anticipation. Her eyes grew wide when she felt it, despite the rigorous fucking her bottom was receiving from the anal tentacle.

"Simon, wait I... I'm—" she began, and I triggered the vaginal tentacle to penetrate her fully before she could get out her safe word. Her scream was high and piercing and so, so frightened. Then, her body was wracked with the forceful constrictions of two tentacles taking her and I watched her struggle against everything happening, helpless to stop it. I was practically vibrating as I strained to release the monstrous erection controlling my every thought, when I heard her yell, "MANTHA, REBOOT!"

I gasped in horror and disbelief as almost half the systems, applications and subroutines controlled by the user interface shut themselves down. How dare she? Furious, I left the observation room and ran to the habitat where she was housed. The door opened to my retinal scan and I charged into the entry, ready to strangle her. The lights were unresponsive as I stalked toward the bathroom, thinking of a variety of ways I could discipline her, deciding finally to simply use my hands. It would last longer that way, satisfy more of my rage. The backup generators kicked in and the glaring emergency lights flickered on. In the bathroom, the tub, my magnificent work of erotic engineering was completely inoperative. The longer tentacle was trailing out over the edge of the tub to the floor, lifeless. Such destruction, such waste. It offended me deeply.

I followed her wet trail to the bedroom where I found her curled into a ball on the bed, shaking. I raised my hand, ready to release upon her the fury she had provoked, when I saw the blood between her thighs. I became a statue, frozen with my hand in the air, a stunned expression on my face. In horror, I realized that her desperate attempt to reboot the system had not caused the shutdown at all; the shutdown was caused by the emergency failsafe. In the interests of preserving life and limiting liability to the corporation, I had programmed the system to automatically shut down upon detecting that it was causing injury to a human. She was bleeding, but I knew this woman, this girl, was not menstruating. From the data collected, I knew Rose was still 18 days from the start of her next cycle. I swallowed, lowering my hand, the rage having completely left me and a sense of utter mortification having taken its place. Her wide violet eyes opened and regarded me, and wishing desperately that I had a voice other than my own to speak with, I asked her to confirm what I already knew: "You... are a virgin?"

I lifted my head out of my body and looked bleary-eyed around the room. Sloan was sitting in a chair by my bed, asleep. I wasn't in my room on the 8th Floor. I turned to look at my body and saw that my head was wrapped in bandages, and thankfully I was still intubated. Yay me. Looking at Sloan again, I decided that when it came to dreams, I preferred being the conflicted girl getting fucked on a barstool to being Sloan/Simon remotely tentacle fucking younger Lake/Rose in a bathtub. Wait... and then I felt sick realizing that the girl on the barstool was probably Lake, too. No wonder she throws people through floors, I thought vaguely. Had I been sharing their dreams... or were they memories? Was there anything true in what I'd seen?

"Hey," I rasped, limply backhanding Sloan's knee to wake him. He opened his eyes, disoriented, then focused quickly, seeing me sitting up in bed. "Any chance you took Lake's virginity in a Jetsons kind of house using a weird tentacle tub or am I just having some fucked up dreams?" I asked.

Sloan blanched, but said nothing. Yeah, I didn't think he'd have the nerve to answer. His face confirmed it, though. I turned away from him because his face pissed me off too much. Lake was so cool, then, so funny and light-hearted and fun. He ruined that perfect light inside her just because he didn't feel like enough of a man when everything wasn't under his thumb. Fucker.

"There was more to it than what you saw," he said, predictably. I hated guys like Sloan. They always had excuses.

"Oh yeah. I'm sure," I said, staring out the window. "Tell me about how rich and smart and important and justified you were to do that. Tell me she was nothing before you met her. Tell me about everything you did to make it up to her. Tell me—"

"I meant that you did not see the worst of my crimes against her life," he said, surprising me. "I was nearly as devoid of empathy as Rope was, when I was graced to meet Rose. The fact that she forgave my actions of that day speaks more of who she once was, than it speaks of any justification or worthiness on my part. I was then, and remain now, the lowest of men. I can only hope to respect what she brought to my life by following her example and helping others along the same path," he said. I frowned at the window, wondering at what he'd said. It wasn't what I expected. Time and again, you see these guys that treat women like shit and then find all kinds of ways to paint themselves as misunderstood or blame it on her, somehow. Sloan wasn't that guy, though. From the dream, I got the sense Sloan could have become that guy, though, but for whatever reason, he didn't. Maybe Lake did that.

When I turned to look at him, I saw Lake standing behind him. She'd gone back to being Darkness Girl, and it was somehow more terrifying, now, than when I hadn't known her. Sloan followed my eyes to her and stood, opening his mouth to speak, but she held up a hand to stop him. "Don't touch me. Don't speak to me. Don't look at me. Just leave," she said, through what sounded like clenched teeth. "Go recharge and don't come back until my shift is done. Do you understand?" Sloan nodded, averting his eyes, and left the room without a word.

"Hey, Lake" I said, watching her sit down in the chair next to my bed. "Gone retro, huh?"

"It's... it's a warning to others," she said, with an effort, as if it was hard for her to speak calmly. "Like if women could change colors when they're PMSing and just warn people off before they slap the bear? It's like that," she said. I thought that was completely brilliant, but I was a little too scared to agree by saying the wrong thing, so I just nodded. Nodding doesn't usually result in violence. "How's your head?" she asked.

"I don't know," I said, honestly, "How is my head? Why is my head here instead of shacking up with you on the 8th Floor? Where is here?"

Lake let out a small laugh and I quietly congratulated myself for it. "You're on the third floor - surgical recovery room. It was just lucky Sloan figured it out in time. Your food tube was gone, but not your respirator -- so he realized that instead of pulling you off life support, they probably had you stop getting food before having surgery. Your doctor was holding off going after some of the debris still left in your head until she thought it was absolutely necessary. Your two failed Glasgow tests made her decide your head needed cracking open again."

"She wouldn't be the first woman to think that, I guess," I said. I wanted to ask her what was the deal between her and Sloan. I felt like I should tell her that I had shared her dream about the bar, and that I saw what Sloan had done to her in the automated house, but this didn't seem like the right time. Maybe when she was the blonde in the white slip again. Still, I couldn't stop myself from dancing near it. "Um, Lake... are you mad at Sloan?" I asked, hoping my body's bandaged head would inspire some motherly, or at least some non-homicidal feelings in her and she'd decide against sending me to the sub-basement.

Lake put her head in her hands and sighed. "Not as much as he thinks... and not for the reasons he thinks. I used to be, of course, and he deserved every bit of it -- God, the grammar shit alone..." she groaned. I laughed, relieved to see her lighten up a bit. "No, I'm mostly mad at myself. For getting us into this. For not being braver when I had the chance. Now, I get to walk around black half the time and he can't look at me or touch me. He's so perceptive, now, that a touch would tell him everything. He thinks I do it because I'm mad at him -- that I can't forgive him and it's what's keeping us apart. He can't know the truth, though, it would kill him," she said quietly.

"I get that, I guess. So, uh... would it kill me?" I asked.

"Well, you are kind of a pussy," she said, laughing.

"Hey, only when it comes to little girls!" I protested, making her laugh harder.

Her laughter died away and looked at me for a long moment. The blackness of her seemed to suck more than the light out of the room. I hated the thought of her being inside it alone. If Sloan couldn't go there, maybe I could. She seemed to decide and looked up at me, "All right. You're my roommate. You're bound to find out soon anyway. You tell Sloan and I swear I'm throwing you down to fucking China. Understand?" she asked, and I nodded, like careful people do.

I expected her to start telling me what the deal was. She didn't. Instead, she stuck out her hand. I took it. The same rushing current of images, sounds and sensations overwhelmed me at first, but then I felt Lake begin to control and focus it for me. Eventually, I was left with only one experience... the one her body was living through at that moment and I understood. It was enough. It was more than enough. It was too much.

When Lake released my hand, I couldn't look at her. I looked down at the floor. It was linoleum tiles made to look like marble like we were in a cool temple in Greece. It didn't help. I still wanted to die. She tilted my face up to hers and I was surprised to see that she wasn't quite as black anymore. Had I done that? I wondered.

"Not your circus, not your monkeys, Cowboy. You can't do anything about it, and neither can I. It is what it is. Sloan may come off like he's made of stone, but I know him and he couldn't handle this. He would go crazy trying to fix it and then I'd never get to see the person he's become here... and then I'd have nothing. If you take that stuck up, constipated, asshole away from me, I'll—"

"Throw me to fucking China?" I offered.

"Fucking China, Pussy," she growled, nodding grimly in agreement.

What Dreams May Come -- Ch 05