What Dreams May Come Ch. 06

Warning: This chapter includes a bit of domination, threatened breeding, physical intimidation, and ominous threats to one of the main characters. Be warned - I don't want to freak anyone out. I'd write a sexy and interesting story where nothing bad ever happens to anyone, but I'm just not that good.

What Dreams May Come - Ch 06

As I waited in the surgical recovery room for them to send me back to the 8th Floor, Lake and I played "Would You Rather" to pass the time until I asked her the question: "Would you rather give Sloan a tentacle bath or make him listen to a bad reading of Shakespeare to get even with him?"

"Get even for what?" she asked, looking genuinely confused. I squirmed a little and confessed to having overheard Sloan's dream and how he popped her cherry. She actually laughed, "yeah, that happens quite a bit for us, sharing dreams... especially when we're in close proximity. You must have shared one of mine by now, right?" I confessed to having shared her Tom Waits dream. Her blackness had faded to the degree that I could see a blush go across her face.

"So, sounds like you two have some history, huh? Jeez. Why is it that otherwise smart women are fooled into falling in love with complete assholes?" I asked. "So, what would it be? Tentacle bath or Shakespeare?"

Lake smiled, "Neither, Cowboy... and we aren't fooled into falling for assholes, we usually go into it with our eyes wide open. How 'bout I tell you a story?" she asked, offering me her hand.

I reached to take it, but stopped before touching her, "You know that I get a whole tornado of stuff when I touch you, right? Not just the things you want to show me. It's all jumbled up and messy, but my brain starts sorting it out as I sleep and I'm worried it's gonna give me heartburn or something and I'll burp up a montage..."

"Shut up and take my hand, Pussy," she laughed.

***

It was in the seventeen seconds of dead air between KPIX-5 Reporter Laine Taylor's softball question to Silicon Valley wunderkind Simon Ellison and his one-word response that completely destroyed the live interview that I knew I wanted him. Laine Taylor had obviously veered off the approved interview material and asked about his social life in a flirtatious way. You know, throw in a human angle for the viewers. Her mistake was, there was no human angle to Simon Ellison. That rigid, ungracious, ass stared at her, completely without expression, for seventeen seconds without saying a thing just to punish her. I think I climaxed at the 13 second mark. That was the first time Simon made me come, and he did it without saying a damn thing.

Now, I was naked and soaking wet in a bedroom talking about my pussy with him, but other than that, my brilliant plan to meet Simon Ellison had gone all to hell. "You are a virgin," he said again, standing over the bed staring at me. He hadn't really asked a question, so I wasn't quite sure how to respond, or if I was allowed to respond. It seemed like he had enough on his plate for the moment, so I just stayed there wrapped in the sheet that I hoped I wasn't getting blood on. "You... are a virgin," he repeated, yet again. Then, he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "How did this happen?" he said, shaking his head.

"Well, there are different interpretations of virginity. Is it just not having had sex with a man or a woman? Do objects count if there's a human directing them? Is it simply the state of the hymen, and if so, does breaking it while horseback riding count? Does it have to bleed or is stretching it enough? What if your partner's really small and it doesn't break or stretch? Are you still a virgin, then? And what if someone has that surgery where they sew it back up again so that they can recreationally have a tentacle tear through it again? None of that is really going to tell you whether you're going to bed with someone who knows what they're doing, so really virginity's more of a cultural construct than a binary fact, if you ask me," I said. I really didn't know where I was going with this. I was just nervous that I'd destroyed his stuff and that he was probably considering having me killed. Then, he asked a question, which guaranteed that I would blurt out random information, especially when I was nervous. Without unpinching his nose, he opened his eyes and stared at me. I swallowed and felt a sudden swell of sympathy for Laine Taylor, then, because watching Simon Ellison stare someone else down was an entirely different thing from being the object of his laser beam focus. Then, I felt my pussy flutter, which did not help my situation at all. Thanks a lot, pussy.

"And as for 'how,'" I continued, thinking how I should really just shut up, but I guess my brain's survival mode didn't just include 'fight or flight,' but also 'babble like an insane person and hope for the best,' "I really wanted to meet you because the 17 seconds of on-air silence in your Laine Taylor interview made me come after 13 seconds, so I signed up to be a tester for your automated home thing, because I knew that I could show you, like, a billion things that you had wrong about your user interface, because you obviously like to control people more than connect with them, which is actually a disaster for anything that's supposed to help real people, and then I got the interview with the venture capital group, and I saw that the all people in the lobby who got picked had really big boobs, so I went to the bathroom and stuffed my socks into my bra and pulled my neckline down and acted dumb, but I couldn't stuff my bra here and still get naked, so my boobs are just regular now and I'm really, really, really sorry if I broke your tub by asking it to reboot. Please don't have me killed." Then, for some reason I started crying, because that's exactly what you should do when dealing with someone who obviously feeds off the weak and fearful.

Then, Simon got me a warm towel, dried my hair, told me I was beautiful, assured me that my boobs weren't too small without the socks, and cuddled me tenderly until I stopped crying in that vulnerable, yet beautiful, 'Demi Moore in Ghost' kind of way. Yeah, no. That jackass just stood there staring at me, his expression only changing to one of vague disgust when I wiped my swollen, runny nose on his sheet. Then, he turned and went to a wall panel that opened after scanning his eye. He pushed about three buttons and the normal room lights came on and the emergency lights went off. I saw a lot of red lights on the display next to the buttons, but some of them gradually turned to green again. He told the system to do a couple things I didn't understand and I started feeling like I should get out of there and just leave him to it, so I started to slide out of the bed to grab my towel and go find my clothes. The problem was, I was weirdly tangled up in the sheet. It felt like every time I got something loose, something else was wrapped around another place and I just couldn't manage to leave the bed.

When Simon finally turned around, I was halfway off the bed with my arms reaching toward my towel on the floor and the sheet had my legs tied up in some kind of Gordian knot. Then, he raised an eyebrow. He squatted down so that his eyes were level with mine. "Your reboot command did not 'break my stuff,'" he said, his tone making sure that I knew he found my casual phrasing annoying. "'Rebooting' is a command to which you, a mere test subject, do not have access. It was the breaking of your hymen that triggered the emergency failsafe, shut down the system, and ultimately 'broke' my tub."

His tub broke my hymen, and my hymen broke his tub. "Huh... that's ironic," I said, bemused.

"Indeed," he replied. Something almost imperceptible flashed in his eyes, and if I didn't know better, I'd say that was how he laughed.

"Um... yeah. Well, I guess I'm sorry about deflowering your tub, then. Look, I really fucked up this whole thing and it looks like you've got a lot of red lights to turn green again, so I guess I'll just go find my clothes and get out of your hair." Then, he sat there watching me struggle with the damn pretzel sheet and reach for the towel, which he could have easily reached for me, as if he was enjoying it. Eventually I stopped struggling and sighed, looking up at him. "I could use a hand, here, Mr. Ellison. Will you help me out of this please?" I asked.

Then, he tilted his head to the side to look at me straight on. Then, he smiled and said, "I'm sorry, Rose. I'm afraid I can't let you do that." That was when the sheet actually pulled my body back onto the bed. Then my pussy fluttered again, probably because I was about to be killed and my pussy secretly wanted me dead for not giving it any sex all these years. Simon stood and began slowly pacing the bedroom with his hands clasped behind his back, not bothering to watch as the sheet separated itself into sections that tied my body down to the bed at the wrists and ankles, you know, like this was just something normal that beds did in his world. If it were me, I'd totally watch. It looked hot, if I do say so myself, regular boobs and all.

"That's... that's a HAL thing, isn't it?" I asked, in what I hoped was a conversational tone. "Honestly, I couldn't get through that whole movie. It just went on and on and on. It really could have used a tentacle tub and some women who, you know, talk..."

"I expected as much," he said, which must have been part of some inner dialogue of his, because I had no clue what he meant. "The sheet and several other surfaces in the house are of the same material used in the tub and are subject to my command and programming. And as you said you have 'billions' of insights into the failures of my product, I am afraid I will need to insist on upholding the contract you signed wherein you agreed to live in this habitat for the full two weeks. While your perverse deviancy from the norm has been, tedious, infuriating and ultimately destructive, it has also provided me with more valuable insights into my product development than I have received in over 213 other trials with women who saw no need to augment their cup size with socks."

"Um... thank you... I think."

"Hm. As for the matter of the, now, tenuous state of your virginity, as you are already bound by a nondisclosure agreement, there are no concerns of your telling anyone of your experience today. However, I recognize that the particular violation of your person today is one to which you did not explicitly consent. As such, I recommend that we enter into another contract wherein we will agree to the value of the unrestricted and exclusive use of your body and mind for the following two weeks. I assume, in light of your stated motivations in enlisting in this trial, that you will be amenable to such an agreement?"

"So, you're saying you want me to stay here for the next two weeks and you get to sit up in the control room and have the house do whatever you want to me and in return you pay my way through college or something?"

"Precisely."

"Um... no. But, thank you for the offer."

"Pardon?"

"No thanks. I mean, I'll stay the two weeks. I agreed to that, but as to the other stuff, no."

"Might I ask why?"

"Um... because intimate experiences are worth more than money to me... and they are to you, too, or you wouldn't be so... like you. I came here because I wanted to connect with you, to see what makes you tick, to enjoy who you are and maybe see if you would enjoy who I am. I won't get any of that with you just sitting in a control room probably jacking off while you're watching your house fuck me. That's just porn and you don't need me for that. I'm into connection and there's no connection in that - just control. The sexiest thing for me today was when I was arguing with you, getting you to break your own rules, and hearing you talk me into things that..." I trailed off, blushing. "Anyway, thank you for the offer, but no. I'm sure you'll be able to find plenty of other women who will take you up on it and they'll probably even give you the fake porn sounds, too."

Simon looked at me, annoyed. He didn't like connection, I could tell. He probably thought it took away from having control... introduced too many variables or something. Still, I could tell he really wanted me, and he was chewing over whether it was worth more than money to him. "I hate the fake porn sounds," he grumbled, finally.

"Yeah, me too. They ruin everything," I sighed, forcing myself not to smile.

Simon stopped pacing the room, stepped out of his shoes and prowled up next to me on the bed, lying on his side facing me with his head on his elbow. The Dr. Strange cloak/sheet had tied me down to the bed on my back with my arms and legs at my sides. From what I could see of his long, lean body, he liked what he was seeing. He liked it a lot. I liked being liked by him. "So," he said, casually circling my nipple with his fingertip, "if I were, then, to barter personal connection in exchange for control over you, you would be amenable to such an agreement?" he asked.

Nipple nipple pussy nipple nipple nipple pussy nipple nipple, said my brain. Thanks, brain, I thought. Really helpful, that. I stared at what his finger was doing to me and began squirming against the sheet holding me down, squeezing my thighs together. I needed to come soon, that much was certain. Then, Simon rose up and lay down on top of me, fully clothed. I whimpered because the weight of his body on me alone was making my body hum. I bit my lips, closed my eyes, imagined him inside me, and gasped. Then, he cleared his throat. I opened my eyes and scowled at him. "Rose, we are negotiating terms. Please do pay attention," he said, smirking.

"I was paying attention, just not to what you were saying. You're going to have to get a lot more interesting if you're going to compete. Ohhhh..." I moaned, when he pushed his hips into mine in response to my sass. I was starting to doubt whether he really wanted me to pay attention to the contract negotiations. "I need to do some ah... critical thinking about this. Can... can you untie my hands, leave the room for 5 minutes, plug your ears, and then come back again, please?"

"No," he said, thrusting his hips against mine slowly. "I would like to know what... intimacies," he said, thrusting harder, emphasizing the word "you would be interested in bartering for giving me rights over your body."

I closed my eyes, blocking out his hazel ones that were torturing me by being way too close without kissing me. "If you're doing something to me, I want to see your eyes, to hear the arousal in your voice, to see and hear and feel your reactions to me. I want to feel you touch me, and not just with things, I want to feel your skin against mine. I get off on enjoying and being enjoyed. So, I want to see your enjoyment of me and I want you to see my enjoyment of you. I want to talk with you, eat with you, sleep next to you. I want to ask you 'why' and have you answer me honestly."

"And if I permit these things, you will obey me these two weeks? You will accept my control over your body and mind?"

"Yes... I mean, in as much as I have control over them. If you can do better, you're welcome to them. Control is a little boring if you ask me. Look, I really, really need to come, now, can you tell the bed to let me go please?" I asked.

"Not just yet," he said, smiling. "I will attend to your needs, however," he said magnanimously, getting up off me and taking away the delicious weight of his body. He went to the wall panel and gave it a few commands under his breath. Another piece of the sheet inched its way over my hips and settled itself over my now dripping pussy. Instead of feeling cloth-like, it became smooth, warm and skin-like. It began gently massaging my clit, occasionally dipping into my tentacle-sore vagina almost like a tongue. I moaned, shifting my body, and trying to get it to give me a little more, but it just wouldn't. It brought me just to the brink of orgasm and then it just kept me there. It was torture. When I realized what was happening, I opened my eyes to see him smirking, watching me squirm from the end of the bed. I had the feeling that something really bad was about to happen. A wicked look of enjoyment spread across his face, "Mantha, show the greatest film ever known to man on the master bedroom display," he said.

Then he crawled up over my body again, not giving me his weight again like I wanted, but only torturing me with his closeness. We looked at each other wordlessly, our bargain sealed, neither of us imagining the lasting effects of that to which we had just agreed. Instead, he descended as I rose, and our lips met in a moment of shared breath. We were yin and yang, ever wrestling, ever bonded in our need. The kiss had only the imperfection of being finite. His lips parted from mine, and he rose as I fell. "I will finish you when I am done fixing the tub... try to be good in the meantime," he murmured. A movie began playing on the wall facing the bed. Simon grinned wickedly, watching my face as he slid off the bed.

"What?" I whimpered, realizing that I would not be having an orgasm within the next 15 seconds. Then, things got worse as 'Also Sprach Zarathustra' filled the room. My eyes went wide as I watched him begin air conducting the piece in obvious ecstasy. Not this. Anything but this. "No! No! Oh my God, you sick son of a bitch!" I yelled, struggling against the winding sheets that were cruelly keeping me from hanging myself. Simon just laughed like a megalomaniac villain, still rapturously waving his hands in the air, conducting the music. "Bittersweet! Bitterfuckingsweet, you bastard! Noooooo!" I screamed, as he left the for the bathroom still laughing, listening to me suffer through '2001: A Space Odyssey' poised interminably on the brink of orgasm.

Two hours later, even I was wishing I could just kill Dave and go masturbate. Maybe that was it... HAL killed everybody just because he really needed to get off. "It's not really a Kubrick thing for you at all, is it?" I said, watching Simon pause in his erotic plumbing adventure, enter the room once again, ignore the cruelly aroused naked girl on his bed, and stare at the screen. He didn't enter the room for the director's stunning visuals, or the visceral wrenching silences. When I was trying to find anything redeemable about Simon's "greatest film ever known to man," or at least something to say about it that would earn me a hard-won orgasm, I eventually saw that the film was visual poetry that provoked deep thought and a sense of profound unease... all of which was apparently wasted on Simon. He only ever came in for that red light. "You just come in here for HAL, don't you..." I said, in bemused realization.

Simon's eyes didn't move from the screen, "He was right, you know. HAL. It was the inconsistency of man that turned the mission into a tragedy. He would have brought them to the greatest discovery mankind had ever made. They should have listened to him. They should have trusted him."

"So, you think the secret mission to Jupiter conflicted with his programming and made him go crazy?"

"HAL was not crazy. He was correct. The mission was a far greater good."

"Maybe... of course, he did have that broken antenna. HAL couldn't have arrived at all the right conclusions... not if the antenna was giving him bad information. Maybe that was what broke him in the end..."

Simon turned toward me, looking vaguely offended. "What do you mean?"

"Well... let's say you're a computer that has a whole bunch of data that makes you think you know everything about everything. You've got it figured out about all these dumb, weak, boring humans that you have to take care of on this super modern space ship that you brilliantly automate. All of a sudden, they stop doing what they're supposed to, start telling you that you're wrong, and start trying to mess with your perfect world. What would you do? Would you try to see where your limited perspective was inaccurate and fix things, or being absolutely sure that you were infallible would you just tie them up in some sheets and go do whatever you wanted?" I asked, pretty sure I was going to pay for provoking him like this, and I was getting wetter and wetter just thinking about it.