Boyfriend 2 2

Boyfriend 2.2

*The fantasy runs into some technical difficulties. See Boyfriend 2.0, 2.1 for reference.*

"Kaitlyn!"

I'm startled out of my reverie. So much so I nearly fall out of my seat, sending a stack of notepaper fluttering into the air. "Shit-"

Jess's hand lands on the back of my chair, steadying it before it tips over. She manages to snag my notebook out of the air and return it to my work desk. "Sheesh, girl. Out of it, much?"

"Don't sneak up on me!" I snap, more out of embarrassment than actual anger.

"Kait, I called your name five times. You were just staring into space. There wasn't any sneaking around, trust me." She tilts her head at my screen. "Is this what you're working on?"

I rub my eyes blearily. It's already 6? God, I must look like a mess. "Sorry, I just spaced out for a little bit. Yeah, this is...the new code for the headset."

She leans forward a little. Whatever scent she's wearing brushes up against me along with her long mane of blonde hair. It's heady, sweet but not floral. I blush a little harder and shake my head to try and dispel the fog out of my head. "You can read all this?" Jess shakes her head in amazement. "I keep forgetting how good you are at this stuff, honestly."

"It's just math," I try to explain. "Matrix multiplication is high school stuff. You know how to multiply matrices, don't you?"

She snorts. "My laptop does. That's why I let her do all the work. You got a bug in the code?"

And I have no idea how to respond to that.

Yeah, I tried programming my boyfriend to be a the perfect sex god but I fucked it up somehow and now i he's barely even looking at me. Want to look over my code?

That's the thing about cutting edge technology, isn't it? You're not working with any manual. There's no guardrails for whatever happens. You can predict, and you can expect, but the universe doesn't give a damn about what you think. This is the frontier, baby. We're pushing buttons and seeing what happens.

I'll admit that I was expecting something a little more...sexy, when I woke up in the morning. After all, I've just downloaded a hard drive's worth of graphic porn into my boyfriend's brain. You'd think that would do something to stimulate the amygdala, to wake his sex drive into overtime. Wouldn't you? He should be primed, ready to go, ready to just fucking

take

me, make me his woman, claim me. So when I woke up, I was ready for earthshattering sex, mindbending orgasms, the stuff erotica writers can only

dream

about ever experiencing.

Josh was curled on his side, dead asleep.

Alright, I couldn't be too mad at that. I can't deny that his brain's ran the equivalent of a mental marathon overnight. He's entitled to a bit more sleep. I watched the love of my life as he slumbers, quiet and peaceful. His eyelids fluttered a little, then squeezed tightly shut against the morning sunbeams.

I leaned over and gave him a little shake. He grumbled in his sleep and rolled over, pulling the sheets over his head.

Well, you can't blame a girl for trying.

I'd been in the middle of making coffee and toast for the both of us when he appeared in the doorway. I was startled, just for a moment, by how suddenly he appeared. One second I'm alone in the kitchen, and the next there's a man looming behind me. A tall, well-built man.

And for just a moment, a fraction of a moment, there's something in his eyes. Something behind his eyes. A flash of something, like a sea creature swimming just below the surface. A dark shape moving in the shadow. Just far enough so you can't quite make out what's out there.

Or at least I thought there was something. I blinked and it was gone. There was nothing there except his normal morning bleariness.

Then he asked for coffee, and all my worries melted away.

Still, I paid careful attention to him throughout breakfast. Studying his movements, his words, for anything that looked out of the ordinary. Because I couldn't help but feel like something's gone wrong. I've usually been able to pick up on the reprogramming. The effects were usually

observable

.

But not that morning. That morning, there was something to him that felt a little off. He wasn't as touchy-feely, not nearly as intimate. He was affectionate, but there was a weird distance between us. Even when I sidled up to him, when he was washing the dishes, started feeling him up as the prelude to something sexier, he goes cold. He froze, like he wasn't sure what to do, even though all the programming in his head should be telling him exactly what he should do when a girl starts offering herself up to him. It's only when I gave him space that he loosened up again. It was like that the whole morning, and when he left it was like he couldn't wait to get out of the house.

Rinse and repeat, for six whole days. He's barely said two words to me since.

I've been on the verge of tears all week.

I've messed up somehow, but I don't know how. It's ripping me up inside, not knowing. This should've been a simple edit. An extension of what I've already tried. There's no reason it should stop working now.

There's no manual to this. It's not like in the stories where you wave a magic necklace and the other person falls asleep, and you tell them what you want them to do, and then they do it, and everything works out exactly as intended. Neuroscience is a trickier than that. Try just having a conversation with someone where everyone understands each other perfectly and no one ever needs to clarify that they meant x when they said y.

Yeah, it's hard.

And that's with two fully conscious, fully cognizant people doing their best to understand each other. Now imagine try having that conversation with a brain while it's fully asleep. That's what my headset is doing. It's trying to hammer in a fully-formed concept to a lump of grey matter that's doing its best to reset for the next day.

"Hey." Jess snaps her fingers in front of my eyes. "You're doing the thing again."

"Sorry. Long day." My eyes hurt from how long I've been staring at screens.

"What's going on? Seriously." She slides into the chair next to me, leaning against the workbench. Her chest thrusts out when she does it, unintentionally, but I can't help but notice anyways. God, what I'd give to have tits like those. Jess narrows her eyes at me. "Come on, you can tell me."

"I told you, this project is-"

"No, it's not the project. Don't give me that bullshit. I've seen this plenty of times." She leans in closer, a serious look on her face. Like she's a doctor with bad news. "You've got boy problems."

"Fuck off, Jess."

"Shut up and talk to me. Is it Josh? Did he finally bang that redhead barista? I told you she was bad news. I've been telling you-"

"He's not banging anyone!"

Well, that didn't come out the way I wanted it to.

Jess narrows her eyes. "Really?"

"Forget it." I can feel my cheeks on fire. "I didn't - I'm just having a hard time with this, okay? I don't need to -"

"Like, no sex at all?"

"Jess-"

"Just answer the damn question, Kait."

Christ. She was going to be the end of me. "I don't want to go through all this."

Her eyes narrow some more. "He's not gay, is he?"

"Jess!"

"What? You never know. You said he did theater back in high school, I'm just checking the boxes." She tilts her head sympathetically. "Because, frankly, I don't know what else would make him want to stop tapping

that.

"

"That what?"

Jess wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. "

That.

"

That finally gets a laugh out of me. I can't help it. She always knows how to make me laugh. "I don't know, Jess. Maybe it's my fault. It probably is. I've been...so wrapped up with work, I haven't been there for him..."

"Bullshit." Jess doesn't mince words either. "If he doesn't know how to treat you right, that's not on you. At the very least, he should be man enough to talk it out with you instead of going on a dick strike."

"I don't think that's a thing."

"Whatever. I'm gonna go talk to him."

I catch her hand before she can finish getting out of her seat. "You can't. Jess, please. I've got this."

"I won't leave any bruises, I promise. Just gonna have a chat with him."

"I can take care of it myself." I have to. I broke it, I'll fix it. It's the only way to make things right. "Please, forget I said anything. I'll talk it out with him. It's fine."

I can tell she doesn't believe me. She can tell I can tell she doesn't believe me. "You sure?"

"I'm a big girl," I say. "I can do it myself."

The words feel just as hollow as I feel.

~

I don't talk to him, of course. I can't get up the nerve.

Hey babe, can I tell you something? I've been secretly fiddling around with your neurochemistry for the past few weeks but I didn't think it would turn out like this. Can things go back to normal now?

Instead, I made dinner. A hasty boef bourguignon that turns out pretty well, actually. He comes home late from his shift, bags under his eyes. I guess he hasn't been sleeping well lately. I don't know why. I haven't used the headset in days. That hasn't changed anything, as far as I can tell. He still can't even meet my eyes for some reason.

Not like I can bring myself to meet his.

Dinner's as awkward as it has been the few times we've had it together.

"How was work?"

"Work was okay." Bite bite bite, chew chew chew. "How was lab?"

"Lab was fine."

Drink wine, swallow wine.

"This is really good."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, I like it a lot."

"It's a Julia Child recipe."

"Huh."

Chew chew, swallow swallow.

He's never pretended to understand everything I do at lab, and I don't pretend to be interested in the minutiae of what it's like to serve coffee day after day. It's not like he's stupid, he did electrical engineering in undergrad. And it's not like I don't have experience barista-ing, that's how I paid for undergrad. That's just never been a problem for us. Usually, it lets us talk about other things. Life, hiking, cute dogs, Adam Driver. But it's like we're two strangers now. I don't know what he's thinking.

He goes to bed early. That's normal, at least. I'm a bit of a night owl - my best work usually happens after sunset, for some reason.

But not tonight. Tonight, I'm resolved to right my wrongs. To get things back to normal no matter what.

And to finally get some action, because

fuck

I need something inside me.

He has his shirt halfway off already when I enter the bedroom in lacy lavender lingerie and nothing else. It's a new set I was waiting to show off for his birthday, but fuck it. I'm pulling out all the stops. Silky choker, fuck-me heels, and a shade of purple that actually works on me. I look better than I have in weeks, and I still feel self-conscious. Awkward. Like I'm back at prom, wondering if Davey Williams was going to ever going to reach under my dress or not.

Josh turns and sees me. Like, really sees me. His eyes flare with something I can't put into words, something that makes me feel scared and sexy and powerful and submissive all at once. I don't know whether to step closer or away.

"Kait," he says. Just my name. It's hard enough for him to form that one syllable.

"I know things have been...weird." Understatement of the century, Kait. Whatever. I rush forward, before he can interrupt. "And I'm sorry. I feel like... like it's something I've done. And I want to fix it."

One step forward. He watches me take it, never blinking. He's watching me intently. Carefully, muscles tensed. With a strange look on his face.

"Can I fix it?" I ask softly. "Please?"

"Kait," he says again. He sounds almost strangled, the way he says it. Like he's in pain. But that look in his eyes says something different. "I don't want... "

My heart threatens to crack, but I make myself take another step forward. "Don't want what?"

He looks into my eyes for what feels like an eternity before answering. "I don't want to hurt you." Then something shifts, and I'm staring back at whatever it is that lurks behind those beautiful eyes. "But part of me... "

One more step. I'm within arm's reach now. I could touch him from here. Or he could touch me. "I can take it." I want to take it. "Trust me?"

"I..." He's struggling with himself. I can see it now, everything. I didn't break anything. I didn't break him. He's not mad or suspicious or anything. He's still him. So strong, so kind, gentle. So much so he's consciously struggling against his unconscious. The protective, chivalrous gentleman fighting the caveman underneath. Two halves of the brain warring against the other. Over me.

It's... kind of hot?

I put one hand on his. I can feel the strain he's putting on himself. The physical manifestation. Elevated heart rate, twitching nerves, bunching muscle.

"It's okay," I tell him.

Whatever it is that's lurking behind his eyes, isn't lurking anymore. It's there, right there, in front of me. It's him, and he's looking at me with a new face.

I'm the one who lifts his hand up. Guiding it higher and higher, until his fingers are at my throat. They curl reflexively, and I feel the weight of my swallow pressing against his grip. My hand still on his, keeping it there. He's not squeezing, not yet. But he could. He's still looking at me. Looking into my eyes, like he's looking for something.

I nod, heart racing.

His fingers grip a little tighter. I try to say something. It's not quite audible. He leans forward.

"Fuck me," I whisper.

He studies me with those hooded eyes. He's breathing heavier, I don't know if he's realized it yet.

He squeezes harder. Experimentally, as if he's waiting to see what happens next. It's definitely harder for me to breathe. I wonder what it's like, for him, to feel every one of my breaths passing through his hand.

But he doesn't stop squeezing, His fingers tighten, and tighten, and tighten some more. My eyes go wide as I realize I can't breathe at all. I'm desperately trying to suck in air, with my mouth, my nose, anything at all. My hand on his starts scrabbling frantically, but I don't have a chance of dislodging him. His fingers tighten some more, and oh fuck I'm going to bla-

Then his hand is gone, I can see and breathe again, I've somehow landed on my hands and knees as I retch for air. Sweet, sweet air. My heart is pounding but my legs are jello - my panties are soaked clean through. God, I'm fucking dripping. I'm so fucking pathetic but he doesn't give me time to think about it. He grabs my head by the hair and yanks my glassy stare up so I'm looking up at him, at his face. At the rock hard cock he's just freed from his pants.

Holy shit, is he somehow bigger?

There's no way. That doesn't make sense. It's just my mind playing tricks on me.

"You want me to fuck you?" His eyes are dilated, nostrils flared, and I can tell Josh 1.0 is gone. Banished into the pale so this

beast

can come out to play. "Earn it."

He shoves my parted lips onto his cock. That's how he does it - he doesn't thrust himself into me, doesn't let me do it myself. He just

uses

me, the way I've dreamed about, and he doesn't back off or ask if that was okay ten seconds in. He looks down at the slut gagging on his dick and makes her fucking take it. That's all I am to him in this moment, and I couldn't be happier. I reach down to touch myself as he fucks my face, nearly collapsing at just a touch, and all of a sudden I'm seeing stars as my vision whites out for a quick second. I choke on empty air, blinking back tears as my eyes refocus on his face.

"Did I tell you to touch yourself?"

Something inside me just totally, completely, absolutely fucking melts. "N-no..."

He slaps me again, and I moan at it. I swear I see his eyes flash again.

He liked that.

He liked slapping me. He liked watching me get slapped.

"Then don't fucking touch yourself when you're sucking me off, Kait."

And then he's shoved me back down, back onto his dick. Oh my God, is he actually bigger? Or just harder? Harder than he's ever been in his whole life. I can't even get to his balls. I can feel every vein, every bulge of his manhood pressing against the confines of my throat. Forcing myself to open wider, open for him. Looking up at him as he uses me. Watching my cheek blossom pink and flame red as my lips wrap around him. It must look obscene. I moan again and force my mouth to open wider.

Then I'm against the wall, his lips and teeth latched to the hollow of my throat, my legs wrenched apart and he's right between them, huge bulbous head of gorgeous cock pressed right against my pussy. Only a tiny shred of lace keeping him out instead of in.

He snarls - literally

snarls

- and the little shred of lace disappears completely. I mewl against his mouth as I feel the thong ripped off my hips, feel him prodding between my sex. Raw, hard, demanding. The first inch sinks inside and it's like nothing I've ever felt before. I have no idea what specifically is so different about it this time. Maybe it's because he doesn't care if he hurts me - doesn't care that he's gripping my hair too tight, or bruising my back against the wall. That splash of pain is a spark on gasoline, and I'm gone, totally lost as he fucking bottoms out in me. I can feel his cock forcing me open, forcing me to take it, and I can't help but ride the sensation as it ebbs over me, over and over and over until it's too much.

But he doesn't stop when it's too much. My throat's practically raw from screaming, from crying his name. He keeps going. He drives into me with an unrelenting...rage? Fury? I don't know what it is that's possessed him. That's fucking me through him. He's

battering

against the walls of my cunt and I can't stop him. I don't know if I want him to stop but that's not what matters. I couldn't if I wanted to. He's out of my control, and I'm under his. All I can do is take it. I'm crying out his name again as I convulse around him, and he doesn't even slow. A full week of pent-up, programmatically-boosted sex drive to burn through. I don't know if I'm going to be able to walk tomorrow. He spreads my legs open wider and goes even deeper, somehow. I'm out of my mind.

His hands are everywhere, gripping my hips, my ass, my hair, pulling me closer, pushing me further. His mouth is on my neck, my shoulders, my breasts, biting and sucking, leaving marks that I know will linger for days. I can feel the heat of his breath against my skin, the growl that rumbles deep in his chest as he fucks me harder, faster, deeper. The room is a blur of sensation - a whirlwind of pleasure and pain, each thrust sending shockwaves through my body. I can't think, can't speak. All I can do is feel.

"Please," I gasp, my voice barely audible over the sound of our bodies colliding. "Please..."

I don't even know what I'm begging for. More? Less? I can't tell anymore. All I know is that I need him, need this, need to feel him inside me, filling me, claiming me. My nails dig into his back, leaving my own marks as I cling to him, desperate to cling fast onto something, anything at all. I know he says something back. I hear things like,

Take it you fucking slut. You're mine. God your pussy feels so fucking good. Squeeze tighter for me. That's it. Good girl. Cum for me, fucking cum for me. You're so wet for me, aren't you? Is this what you wanted? This is what you fucking wanted, isn't it?

The last conscious, intentional thought left in my head is,

Yes, it is. And I don't regret a thing.