DREAM MACHINE
Chapter 1: Contracting One’s Horizons
His fingers shook as he unwrapped the package. Finally! His own dueling machine!
Actually, he thought as he skimmed the instruction manual, “dueling machine” was a misnomer. Unlike Bova’s conception, the Q-100 model did not allow two people to share a dream. It simply allowed one person to control a dream.
An extended fantasy, as subjectively real as the chair he was sitting in, the manual proclaimed. And as dangerous as wireheading, he thought, which is why the government required a cutoff switch on every unit. The machine would monitor his blood pressure and heart rate, easing him out of the dream if they approached dangerous levels. The timer did the same, and it could be set for six hours maximum. Six hours of godhood, then back to the real world. He had read that bypassing the timer was possible, but he had no desire to try. The newsfeeds were full of stories of people who died of thirst while experiencing non-stop fantasies.
The actual device didn’t quite “blend right in with his home entertainment center,” as the ads had promised. Still, it was fairly innocuous in appearance. A black metal box with an LCD display; cloth head—, arm- and chestbands with velcro closures; tethered sunglasses; and a hand-held remote control unit. The box had a cartridge slot, but the company hadn’t released any pre-packaged fantasies yet. There were dark rumors about bugs in that technology and private company sanitarium.
Still, the manual was upbeat and straightforward. He decided to give it a try. First, attach the sensors—no problem. Power on, then set timer—he’d give it fifteen minutes, for now. Glasses on, seated comfortably; press start...
The lenses lit up. Smoky patterns twisted and twirled in front of his eyes. He started to feel sleepy, then drifted off in a matter of seconds.
He opened his eyes. He was standing on a featureless grey plain that receded into mist. After a moment of disorientation, he remembered the instructions. “The initial environment was chosen to be as neutral as possible. Simply concentrate on your desires to give them reality.”
“All right, let’s give this a try. Hmmm... I want.. a palace! Yeah. Like a caliph!” As he imagined them, the walls faded in around him. Arabesque designs, twisted pillars, marble statues; as soon as he thought of them, they phased into being. He sat, and a pillow materialized beneath him. He looked down at his daysuit. “This won’t do at all!” Under his gaze, the woven plastic transformed into loose-fitting silk, as gaudy as had covered any caliph of old. “MUCH better. And now... the serving girls!”
He clapped his hands, and they came. Veiled, clad in silk that revealed more than it covered, they slid into reality by his side. One moved to massage his shoulders; another picked up a convenient bunch of grapes and began to feed him. Gentle breezes from the fan of a third caressed his brow.
“Enough!” the lord commanded. “Attend me, my harem!”
The servants vanished. More pillows appeared on the floor. Through the far archway came his wives. Sensing his need, they were naked save for their veils. Each girl’s hair was a different shade, but all had the bodies of goddesses. As several danced for his pleasure, others dropped their veils and approached him. Dropping to their knees, three began to caress the stiff member beneath the caliph’s silken trousers (which, being inconvenient, simply disappeared).
The redheaded one, always his favorite, brought her mouth down on his throbbing manhood. Through dint of daily practice, she could swallow him all the way to the root, and did.
As her head bobbed merrily up and down, her tongue performing tricks known only in the East, the blonde girl (very young, even for a harem) placed her lips on the male sack beneath. The third girl, a perfect platinum-blonde, moved up to suck on her lord’s nipples. She knew just how hard to bite.
Even the cushions rearranged themselves for his pleasure, cupping his buttocks like a giant hand. He thrust upwards, jamming his organ fully into the throat of his lovely wife. This, combined with the suction on his twin oranges of manhood, brought him to the brink.
“Drink me, my wife!” he commanded, and she hummed her reply. The dancers moved ever faster, twisting against each other in obscene rhythms...
Everything faded out.
“DAMMIT!!” He was gazing through dark glasses at his living room, his erection painfully tight in his plastine trousers. The display on the Q-100 blinked “00:00.”
“This time I’m setting it for six hours,” he muttered, reaching for the fallen remote. Hell, the manual said he could manually exit the dreamworld at any time...
Chapter 2: The Royal Treatment, or To Di For
As an American tourist (circa 1993) in the newly-opened Buckingham Palace, he wandered off from the group. Turning a corridor, he heard voices raised in an argument.
“Bloody hell, Di, you never listen!”
“Sod off, Charlie! I don’t have to put up with your.. oh!”
As he came to a doorway, he caught sight of the royal couple just as Diana spotted him. Charles muttered something about “bloody tourists” and moved to close the door. Diana stopped him.
“You’ve always had your way, Charlie, but no more! I can do anything I bloody well like now; anything!” She grabbed the American’s arm and pulled him into the room. “Shut the door, Charles.”
The Prince started to argue, but was silenced by a glare from Diana. Meekly, he closed the heavy wooden door.
“Just watch, Charlie!” With that, Princess Di sank to her knees in front of the tourist. Deft fingers opened his Bermuda shorts, then tugged out his penis.
“Now see here...” the Prince began, but Diana shouted him down.
“Quiet!” Her tongue darted out, licking the head of this stranger’s cock. This regally dressed Princess sucked the end of the shaft past her glossy lips, her manicured hands (utterly free of calluses) gently massaging the man’s testicles.
Watching his penis disappear into that famous face was incredibly exciting, but he wanted more. At his thought, Diana leaned back.
“Any whore can blow a man, Charlie. It takes a real slut to do this!” Releasing his scrotum, Diana clapped her hands. A maid (French, of course) appeared immediately.
“Oui, madame? Mon Dieu!” Blushing furiously, the young girl turned away from the scene of depravity.
“Come here, Marie,” the Princess ordered. Head still averted, the maid gingerly approached. “I want you to take this man’s thing in your hand, then jerk him off into my mouth.”
“Mais non, madame!” But a cold look from Diana quieted her protestation. With an apologetic look at the Prince, the girl wrapped a tentative hand around the American’s throbbing penis. Slowly, she began to stroke him.
Diana moved forward, taking just the head into her lovely mouth. Her tongue drew lazy circles on the crown.
The French girl soon started feeling the heat of the moment. She began to press her body against the man’s back, rubbing her lace-covered breasts against his Hawaiian shirt as her hand frigged his veined cock. Her other hand found its way to his balls, sliding them pleasantly against Diana’s perfect chin.
What a scene! A fragile hand tugging relentlessly at his penis, milking him into the mouth of a Princess! And, ears reddening in the background, her estranged husband, watching it all with jealous eyes.
When the young girl began to suck on his earlobe, that was too much for him. He started to come, sending throbbing bolts of stickiness into Diana’s waiting mouth. As her hand moved frantically beneath her skirt, she swallowed every dollop.
He saved the last one, though, pulling back to splatter all over her face and hair. That perfect coiffure looked so much better with droplets of semen covering it, he thought.
Diana stood, turning to Charles. “Now lick it off, Charlie, and I might let you fuck me again. Sometime.”
Ears burning, the Prince complied. Di’s hand pressed tightly against her sodden knickers; moments later, her body shook with the force of her orgasm.
The room faded out, to be replaced with...
For those who haven’t read the earlier chapters, a quick summary:
In the near future, our “protagonist” has purchased the Q-100 Dueling Machine. The device allows its user to control the user’s dreams, forming a virtual reality without the drawbacks of computer generation (and without the safeguards). The Q-100 provides some protections: its timer can be set to no more than six hours, and an automatic cutoff switch terminates the dream if the user’s blood pressure or heart rate become dangerously high.
Chapter 4: Toga! Toga! Toga!
After a long sleep, he was ready. He called in sick to work that day; he needed another session with the machine!
He had second thoughts, though. That heart alarm the other night had frightened him. Still, the Q-100 had eased him out of the dream; its safeguards were working perfectly. He slapped the ‘trodes on again. This time, he wore nothing but a towel; no point in staining another pair of pants.
As he watched the lights in his visor, the world dissolved...
He strode into the atrium, his sandals slapping the marble floor. “Hail, Caesar!” came the cry from all around. The centurions at the door snapped to attention.
He nodded, then smiled at the assembly. Lifting the laurel wreath from his head, he flung it into the room. “Tonight, Caesar, son of gods, walks among you as a man! Let the orgy begin!”
The crowd went wild.
As he walked into the sea of cushions and writhing flesh, hands reached up to strip away his garments. When he was naked, they continued to stroke at his alabaster skin until his penis reached its full length, a length befitting a god among men. He ignored the pleas of those about him; the red mouths and firm thighs. He strode through the pillows, interrupting dozens of trysts, on the way to his destination.
In the center of the great hall, six women pleasured each other as their master approached. One, an Ethiopian, was particularly striking: nearly seven feet tall, her entire body was completely shaved. Her long pink tongue was buried in the vagina of a dark-haired Roman girl, while her dark brown fingers moved busily in in the pubic areas of two identical blondes. The twins, in turn, were kissing and fondling the remaining two women, a stunning redhead and a pre-teen nymphette. Into this bacchanal strode their lord.
He lay on his back amongst the pillows, the girls quickly moving out of his way. As soon as he was comfortable, though, they centered their attentions on him. He needed no foreplay; nor did they. The redheaded woman, utterly exotic in Rome, threw one freckled leg over his thighs and poised above his gigantic member. The youngest girl, knowing her place, slid between his legs and grasped the shaft. Her hand could not close around its girth; however, her grip was sufficient to guide the tip between the older woman’s vaginal lips. She quickly released her hand as the redhead pressed down hard.
As the fire-haired woman rode him, bouncing and moaning as his giant cock filled her, the dusky giant positioned herself near his face. She knew what he liked; her long middle finger dipped into a nearby pot of honey, then slid up her hairless asshole. She withdrew the finger as he watched, then sucked it clean. Smiling, she spread her muscular buttocks and placed her twitching rosebud on his waiting tongue. Her back arched in pleasure as he hungrily cleaned the honey from her passage.
The twins moved to his toes, sucking each in turn into their skilled mouths. Their hands massaged his feet, pressing the arches in time with the bucking of his rider. That one was already starting to come, her moans stifled by the enveloping mouth of the Ethiopian.
The Roman girl, daughter of a Senator, was feeling left out. She moved to where her lord could see her, then motioned to the nymph. The little slave moved over to her, a questioning look on her childish face. “Make a fist,” the older girl commanded. The child complied; the Senator’s daughter seized the small arm, pushing it into her ready vagina. As the makeshift dildo did its work, the Roman girl pushed the slave’s mouth down on her clitoris. She sighed with pleasure as the servant’s fist moved inside her.
Excited beyond endurance by the sight of this, mighty Caesar buried his face in the dark crevice before him as he exploded within the flame-tressed one. That was too much for her as well; she screamed, then slid off his still-erect prick to collapse nearby. The twins moved up to clean him, one sucking the juices off his penis while the other lapped the overflow from his testicles. The black-skinned giant turned around, offering her silky-smooth labia to his magic tongue. She spread herself and humped her clitoris against his lips, riding his face to a howling orgasm. Her juices drenched him, filling his nostrils with their tangy smell. She smiled at him, revealing rows of brilliant white teeth, then bent down to kiss him. Her amazingly long tongue fenced with his, then cleaned his face as she rubbed her bald forehead against his cheek.
He had forgotten the dark-haired Roman for a moment; he turned to look at her. Her body was in frenzied motion as she humped herself against the arm and face of the servant girl. Not long now... He reached out and tweaked one perfect nipple; that set her off. Her body hummed with tension as she bore down on the young girl’s arm; the servant cried out as her mistress’s vaginal muscles tightened on her forearm. After a moment, though, the pressure eased. The girl worked her arm out of the sucking vagina, leaving a gaping hole for a moment. Fascinated, she peered at the closing passage; her mistress’s arm pulled her in for a closer look, and she licked the fluids away.
The twins, seeing that Caesar was as ready as ever, looked each other in the face. Smiling simultaneously, they yelled, “Switch!” at the top of their lungs. Apparently this was a game they’d played before; one slid on top of the massive rod, sighing as it pushed its way into her, while the other swung her legs over the lord’s face. He was amenable; he thrust with his hips and tongue at the same time.
The giantess placed her sculpted body on his left hand; his middle finger slid easily up her bottom, allowing her to rub her clitoris against his wrist as desired. Smiling, she leaned over to suckle the breast of the twin he was eating.
The Roman girl had directed her tiny slave over her face; as Caesar watched, she buried her tongue far up inside of the child’s vagina. The young girl began to squirm with pleasure after a few moments, as her mistress lustfully devoured her virginal fluids.
Watching those immature nipples harden, Caesar was momentarily distracted; then he heard the girls yell “Switch!” again. After a flurry of motion (and a brief chill as his slick penis was exposed to the air), curly hairs again tickled his nose and prick. The folds in front of his tongue looked identical, even smelled identical, but he could feel the extra heat radiating from the passage beyond. As the other vagina swallowed his cock, he realized that the one now enveloping his manhood had been cooled and lubricated by his saliva only moments before. Excitedly, he plunged his tongue into the heated opening that pressed against his lips. The wine was the same, but the serving temperature was now... just right!
Every few minutes, the girls would switch, always preceded by that shouted syllable. Their voices were huskier now, but still harmonized perfectly. He turned slightly so he could see the others; the Senator’s daughter had switched to her slave’s bottom now, her tongue swabbing the tiny girl’s anus with growing hunger. The Ethiopian had moved so that the slave girl could tend to her firm, brown breasts; she sighed as she caressed the child’s quivering body. Apparently the red-haired one was still exhausted... wait! He felt a warm breath on his inner thighs. As one sister bounced on his mighty scepter, a gentle tongue flicked out to caress the jewels beneath!
With the redhead licking his testicles, the sisters grinding away on his face and cock, and the other three... gods, the slave-child was now tonguing the dark giant’s anus! This was it, as good as it gets... “Switch!” came the gasping cries, and he...
-FLASH-
“OK, we’ve got it all.” The evidence tech lowered his ‘corder, then motioned the others out into the hallway. Detectives Brent and Potter remained. The former spoke.
“Stupid way to die.” He motioned towards the holograph of the body; they’d done away with chalk outlines years before. The man was naked, a towel (real, not illusory) fallen nearby on the floor. “Nude, covered with dried semen, and always with that fucking grin on their faces.” He shook his head.
Potter, the shorter (and younger) of the two, motioned towards the black box. Fingerprint spray had covered it in eerie luminescent designs; all of the swirls belonged to the victim, though. “I thought those damned things had safety switches. The techs said this one hadn’t been rigged.” He looked at Brent questioningly.
Poor Potter, always eager for a mystery, Brent thought. Well, he’d learn. “Sure they’ve got cutoffs. Heart rate and blood pressure’re usually monitored.” He walked to the doorway; the smell was less intense there. “I’ll tell you what the doc’ll say, though: Embolism.” When Potter still looked puzzled, Brent continued. “Air bubble in the blood. It gets into the brain, and -pow—.” He snapped his fingers. “They still haven’t figured out why it occurs, but apparently it has something to do with continuous erection combined with repeated, sustained, orgasm...” He smiled briefly. “Hell, it’s not gonna happen to us; I’m lucky if I can make it through five bouts a night with your wife.”
Detective Potter took less than five seconds to redden. Yep, he’s learning, Brent thought.
Chapter 5: The Next Degeneration
Bernice walked out of the lawyer’s office with tears in her eyes. Her brother had left everything to her. That wasn’t shocking; he had never married, and their parents had died years before. Still, she had trouble believing he was dead.
She took a tube to his apartment building, then stood before his door for several minutes. Taking a deep breath, she punched in the code. The door opened.
At least the police cleaned things up, she thought. Or maybe it was the apartment manager. Does it matter? She shook her head; her thoughts were going around in circles.
Then she turned, and saw it. She’d read the police and coroner’s reports; she knew what it was. The Dueling Machine. It sat there, innocuous, as if it were a ROM player or a holojector.
She wanted to smash it. No, she needed it; it would be important evidence if she filed suit against the Dreamscape company. But that wouldn’t bring her brother back, would it? Her thoughts were running wild again; she had to sit down. In a moment, she realized this was the chair in which her brother died; she leaped up, almost knocking over a lamp.
In the end, she packed the machine with his other belongings. The movers would bring everything to her house tomorrow; she could decide what to do with it then.
She had read through the instructions a dozen times now. She knew how it operated, what it did, and what its safeguards were. Previously, she had spent an afternoon scanning the library’s database from her terminal; she even understood some of the theory on which the machine operated, as well as the dangers the manual glossed over. One of those dangers had killed her brother.
Bernice knew it was crazy. This thing was dangerous, for God’s sake! Her only sibling had died using it! But her emotions weren’t listening to her reasons; she knew she had to try it. To experience for herself what her brother had felt, to know why he had done it.
With trembling hands, she connected the ‘trodes. The remote felt hot in her palm. She made a conscious effort to relax; it didn’t help.
“I have to know!” she said to the air, and pressed the button. The miniature screens inside the glasses lit, and the swirling patterns did what her will couldn’t. She slowly relaxed, then her eyes closed. In a moment, she was asleep.
She stood on a gray plain, staring into the mists. Her hands still shook. Five minutes, that was all she’d allowed. She had to do something, though. She concentrated, and the mists fell away...
She stood now in a garden, much like the one behind her parents’ home when she was fourteen. This version was idealized, though; the hum of mosquitoes was gone, and the only scent that drifted from the once-polluted stream was that of lilacs.
As she strolled along the familiar paths, she remembered how her brother had sometimes walked with her. After a moment, a hand gripped hers.
“NO!!” She woke, forcing her way out of the dream in an instant. The timer still showed a minute remaining.
This wasn’t what she wanted at all. Her brother hadn’t escaped into the world of his childhood, certainly. She was avoiding the harshness of reality more than he had ever done. All he wanted was pleasure. Sex.
“Sex...” she breathed. That was the key to understanding it all. And she knew from the clinical reports that the risks to women were far less than those for men.
No more putting it off. Punch 2-0-0 for two hours, then press Start...
She was back in her college dorm room. Her roommate had gone home for the weekend; Bobby (Bernice’s current boyfriend) had stopped by to “study.” So far, everything was as it had been. Why not improve it?
She glanced at Bobby, and he froze. Hmm.. she hated the way he slicked his hair back. The grease went out of it, and his hairstyle rearranged itself. His complexion cleared up. And that silly moustache... gone. Much better. She had never gone for the jocks, but she did tighten his stomach up a bit. And his penis... no. It wasn’t huge, but he did know how to use it. Especially now. She smiled, for the first time in days.
Bobby’s paralysis lifted, and he smiled back at her. Without a word, he kicked the door closed and swept her into his arms. The kiss seemed to last a long time.
His hands didn’t rove; they went exactly where she wanted them to go. When she was ready, he kissed his way down her neck. Grasping the top button of her blouse in his teeth, he tugged it off. (After all, it wasn’t a real blouse, she thought.) He bit off all of the buttons, stopping to kiss the revealed portions of skin. She eased herself down on the single—no, double—bed, propping her back against her collection of stuffed animals. Her bra itched.. what bra?
She wanted him to touch her breasts, and he did. His mouth moved back and forth, licking and sucking the sensitive flesh, his tongue sliding up the valley between her mounds... mmm. He kissed her again, deeply; his mouth tasted of mint. Then, in answer to her unspoken desires, he removed his shirt and slid downwards.
She wore no panties, and her skirt first hiked up, then disappeared entirely. He touched her thighs with gentle fingers, massaging all the tension out of her as he kissed his way towards her center. His strong hands cupped her buttocks, pulling her to the edge of the bed as he knelt on the floor. As his fingers glided over her nipples, he touched his lips to her pussy.
This wasn’t the time for teasing, she decided. Instantly, he slid his long tongue into her, then licked his way up to her clitoris. It protruded only slightly from its sheath, but there was just enough for his lips to grasp. He sucked her, stopping only to run his tongue in tightening circles around her pleasure button. His fingers toyed with her nipples, then one hand caressed its way down to her thighs. He gently, slowly, inserted a finger inside her.
That set her off, and the first orgasm overtook her. He knew just how to handle it, and stopped tonguing her clitoris right before the sensation would have become uncomfortable. As she cooled down, he moved up to hold her. They held their embrace for a very long time.
“Now, Bobby,” she said, and he repositioned her body. On her back, legs bent comfortably, a pillow under her head, she awaited him. He moved over her, teasing her outer lips for a moment with the head of his penis, then slowly slid into her.
They kissed.. his mouth moved to her nipples.. to her neck.. earlobes.. thrusting.. Harder! Yes, like that.. He became a piston, but an infinitely variable one. Her desires, her needs were attended to instantly, without the need to speak. He pumped, and rubbed, and stroked, and she came.. and came...
Eventually, everything became transparent. The dorm room faded, as did Bobby; she still felt a phantom tingle in her vagina, though, as her eyes slowly opened. She slid her hand down under her soaked clothing, and came again.
The timer blinked 00:00. Bernice peeled herself off the chair, then walked unsteadily towards the kitchen. She gulped down a pint of orange juice, then headed for the shower. As she slowly soaped herself, she let her mind drift back to the experience. No man had ever been that good, ever! And no commitments, no heartbreak, no fears of pregnancy or disease or violence...
With a shock, she remembered that the machine had killed her brother. She couldn’t use it again!
Could she?