He woke up tired, again, on the morning of his birthday. Staring at the screen begrudgingly, somehow, he had an alarming sense that the screen stared back at him. He rubbed his eyes as an indiscriminate sound of the computer translated into a stern and quiet voice, broadcasted inside his head.
It was clear to him this was not his thought, not his voice, yet -- there it was -- stating calmly:
"Finally. Time for you to come. Come out... come strong... come close... come fully. You have no choice; look."
Then, in the middle of this quiet morning, total darkness fell, and the sound of a computer shutting down and restarting filled his consciousness.
**
His eyes were wide open, but he could not see a thing. It was cold and quiet, except for the humming sound of a fan and the hush of a machine working.
"Good. You are here. Time to reboot. Let's see... hmm, let's retrieve the part least accessible first... maybe anger, maybe passion?" The strange voice whispered again.
'What anger? What passion?' he thought. 'I'm not angry, I'm just tired. Confused, maybe. And even when I'm excited or angry others cannot tell.'
"Oh, come on," said the voice. "You cannot fool me. You know; You want her to finally fear you, you want to see her squirming, to have her beg for you. You need to force her to your will. And you deserve it. You are here to be the other you: Harmful and self-assured, unapologetic. She had been waiting, of course. We groomed her per your specifications, naturally."
'Am I going mad?' He wondered. 'Is that voice real? Or am I speaking with myself and can no longer control my own mind? This is awful. Why would anyone talk like that? And where am I, anyway? It is so cold and dark, so empty... like I'm in a factory of some sort... and with a growing hardon. Damm.'
"Ok," answered the voice quickly and rather harshly, "enough with the pretense. As if you do not remember the program you crafted in your twenties: It had taken time for it to manifest due to the simple machine learning you devised. But, as most things you create, with time comes perfection. I am your virtual self who is here to undo and help correct your socio-emotional codes. We are going to start with your love life. You know. You are not the guy you have been pretending to be."
"Oh no," he thought. He remembered now. It all came back to him - - he knew he was captured, and there was no way to come back to his physical existence if he did not comply. He had to finally be, fully. He gasped as a dim green LED emerged in the distance to his left.
He started walking slowly, hesitatingly. Then his steps grew faster, more confident. Dread steeped in excitement covered him like a thick veil. He could see nothing other than that blinking light. Suddenly, her scent caught him off guard. He recognized her right away; He would recognize her anywhere. He started running, now with true panic, toward the scent. 'What did they do to her?!'
Just then he banged into a thick transparent membrane. It was an unrecognizable material, yet it was clear to him that he could do nothing to go through it. His head and chest bumped into it so forcefully that they were now throbbing. A strange liquid, smooth and thick in consistency surrounded him, slowing him to a standstill. His heart was beating insanely fast. As the blinking green LED changed to dim red, he saw a large bubble next to him. Adrenaline flooded his body, and his thoughts became crisp, his vision sharp and penetrating: He saw her! Smack in the center - his girl, blindfolded and tied up, limbs spread wide open and only a very thin fabric covering her privates.
She was very quiet, maybe drugged up.
"Is she in pain?" he wondered.
"Yes. That's the spirit!" whispered the voice. "How do you want to show her pain? Desperation? She had been waiting, as I said. She is very weak. And we took away her ability to speak so her wants don't distract you." His heartbeat slowed now, with each beat vibrating deep within him like a huge drum.
"But I want her to enjoy herself! I care about her... and I'm a good guy," he murmured. Then, trying to assure himself, he added, "No. I don't want her to get hurt, and I'm sure she doesn't want it like this."
He tried to push through the bubble's wall again, but the strange membrane simply pushed him back and away.
"Oh, come on!" said the voice. You want her to hurt for you... to ache for you... to have you despite herself. You SHOULD take her when and as you want."
Indeed. He had to admit, that statement echoed his raging hardon. What's going on?
"Or, if you won't," continued the voice brutally, "she will stay here in the middle of this bubble while you drown in a lifetime of semen. You have to connect back in."
But how could he...?
The warm and thick liquid now climbed to his knees. He began hearing other sounds. As he listened harder, he recognized bits of sentences and some familiar voices. He closed his eyes. These were the most painful sentences he'd heard from the women in his life rushing in. Chronologically, he heard them, and then heard his own responses toward them. They were sometimes angry, sometimes trying to soothe. It was hard to hear, and the worst part was hearing his current girl, the one he was currently looking at, saying that she would not have his child. She did not want to, she repeated.
Pent-up resentment took over him: 'How could she...? Why would she say that?!'
The anger created a surge of energy within him and propelled him forward. The bubble's shield dissipated, and he walked past it.
The warm liquid now rushed in, covering her legs, and leaving her butt completely exposed. He noticed that he was shaking.
His hardon was so strong that he thought he'd collapse.
Then he saw her face. The eye cover and the small fabric drifted away in the river of semen underneath. She looked at him; sheer terror and surprise, and... ache? desire? Something he could not locate exactly.
He realized she could not see him, just feel his presence. They were almost at touching range. Her smell, which he normally loved, was now infused with an aroma of fear and was truly intoxicating.
He felt his heart stop for a second. He could barely breathe.
Her frantic breath matched the movement of her eyes back and forth, desperately searching the dark for what was coming.
She called, almost screamed, "who is there...?! Is there someone there?"
