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Pluggin' Into The Dixie Vibe 3
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Chapter Three
The program interface looks and feels like a very, very expensive laptop of 30
years ago; an antique. It's a perfect emulation of a Lapdesk 286/turbo. Which
means that there are megabytes of files and stuff to wade through before you
even hit on the proper initialization sequence. I boot up an antique comm
program and I can hear the hard drive whir, even feel a slight inertial tug as
it spins up. Nice touch; not sure I believe it...
Once it's up I load one of 20 phonebook lists, all of which have 30 year
old phone numbers. I dial a long-dead bbs; The Passion Palace. (3/12/24! 10
megs of adult files!) A little resident virus scans the numbers being dialed;
this one doesn't go to the phone; it kicks in the subcarrier interface. My
headspace rezzes out and I rez into Dixieland.
Dixieland is a virtual reality construct. It's a very wierd place, nothing
is real and anything can be. There are laws and cops and as much bullshit as
you care to put up with. It's just a lot more avoidable. Like it says on the
One Burger Bill; "In Bob We Trust", and right under that, in nice holographic
letters, "SLACK", right over top of the Great Pyramid of Scottsdale, known to
be the Slackest Place Ever. Most laws exist to add to the challenge...
I step out of the alleyway alcove that's my private rez alcove, marked
with my sigil of an erect penis and balls underlying an ornamental "L". I nod
at a giant slug with a Sanitation Department cap sucking up the cigarette
butts, used hypos and used condoms; poor bastard must have pissed off one of
the Dixiecrats REAL bad.
I passed a wastebasket on the corner; it was filled with used condoms,
cigarette butts and all manner of other trash; I was feeling public-spirited,
so I grabbed a handful and flung it into a clean place.
Random distribution routines take up an unbelievable amount of overhead;
it's a lot easier to keep the place looking properly grungy with good old
human sloppiness.
I boogie down 5th Avenue, Metropolis. I hear a whoosh and someone
(probably some antique daemon) says "Look! Up in the Sky! It's a bird..."
I walk away, not looking up. It's either Superman, Underdog, or a fucking
big bird waiting to plop on any upturned faces. Metropolis is like that.
Sometimes I think about moving over to Gotham City and take my chances with
the Noir crowd, or SpiderManhattan and just dig the angst, but hell, I hardly
ever spend time above ground anyway; I'd never notice.
I walk past the `Toons and the various Freaks, Fairies, Furries and
Supers; nodding at the odd slutty Leatherperson like me. People are funny; you
come up with a way to have free, open sex; no consequences, no hassles, no
LAWS, and no way to get caught even if there were - and they are STILL prudes.
I think most people like laws so that they can pretend that they would really
cut loose if they ever got the chance... but give `em a chance, and you'll
find `em off in the woods chasing Orcs with swords rather than fucking.
And people think _I'M_ perverted!
I bop down the stairs of PlaySpace an underground RezBar where I spend
most of my credit. I check out the Ident I'm wearing in the mirror by the
door; compact, muscular, dangerous-looking; wearing black combat boots, biker
jacket and cap. That, and a Chrome-Steel, spike-studded, vibrating codpiece,
proportioned for a healthy young donkey.
Hey, call me conservative! I pushed air over to where s\u/- was sitting.
s\u/- is an Old Hand - you can tell by the punny, texty handle. I grabbed her
hair and kissed her right on the mouth, vibrating the clit in the middle of
her soft palate with my tongue. s\u/- is a magnificent oralist...
"Hello, Lance," she said with the conversational mouth at the base of her
throat. "How's tricks?" She made a serious grab for my uvula with her
prehensile, eight-inch tongue.
"Not bad," I said, disengaging. I've never really been able to cope with
people playing with that particular dangly bit. I caressed her upper three
breasts to keep her distracted, tugging on the nipple rings and flicking the
buds themselves. "Plenty of overtime this month; enough to pay you and as much
again on account."
"I suspect you may not have a life," she said, as she flicked on my
vibrating codpiece and straddled it, mashing her pubes against the unyielding,
spiked metal.
"My life is riding the Vibe." I encourage her grinding by sticking a
finger up her anus.
"God! Half the time I think you're a rogue daemon with a bad dialogue
routine! Shut up and fuck me!"
Well, talking isn't my best thing, I admit. The other thing she wants is.
I shuck the codpiece to reveal that it is, if anything, understated; a huge,
telescopic battering ram of a dick emerges, covered with knotted veins; the
head the size of a clenched fist, the shaft the size of a thick forearm. I
picked her up and buried it to the hilt in her box without any resistance to
speak of. And she accuses _me_ of bad dialogue! s\u/- is just toooo easy to be
credible; I'm either fucking a doorkeeper AI daemon or she's a guy - probably
some 80-year old paraplegic virgin living his days out in a total care home.
Of course, running this virtual fuck-bar, he'd be a _rich_ and
_well-fucked_ paraplegic 80-year-old virgin... Like I always say, Virtuality
is what you make of it. Anyway, you appreciate at the moment I am not
concentrating on fine points of philosophy, not that I ever do!
I bore her to the ground and rammed my meat home; I felt it bottoming out
against her cervix. Her cunt started it's always-pleasing peristaltic ripples,
massaging my cock and squeezing it until the tension was almost unbearable. I
watched her face, waiting for the orgasmic blush; I watched it creep up her
cheeks felt her start to writhe and buck; I rammed home as deeply as I could,
my knees scraping on the tired linoleum. I supported her shoulders and as her
climax peaked, I shot my wad. Sturm undt Drang undt Gotterdamerung!
The blast took the top of her head off; the high pressure jet blew chunks
of bone, brain and less-identifiable bits across the floor, causing a couple
of new fish to jump; one turned and blew chunks all over one of the pool
tables.
I pulled out with a wet and bloody plop, and stood up; the new fish
looking at me in absolute horror; my dick shrank from it's previous
proportions, oozing milky come and dripping other things. One of them had just
taken a breath to scream when the re-res hit.
***BIP***
I offered s\u/- a hand and she gracefully got to her feet, not a hair out
of place. The fish looked confused as they realized that no trace of the event
remained; not bone, not vomit, not even a bad taste in the mouth. All glands
were in neutral; no adrenalin hangovers... It was just as if it was a slightly
distant memory.
Virtual reality; almost like the real thing, and so _easy_ to clean up!
"Memorable, Lance," she said. "There's nothing like having your brains
blown out with a comeshot!"
She managed to say that with a straight face; I admire talent in a whore.
Of course, she's right. They don't call an orgasm "le petit mort" for nothing;
with me it's just bigger and messier. But both of us being troupers and Old
Hands, we refrained from whooping with laughter and completely wierding out
the newbies.
I called s\u/- a whore; and she _is_, and damn proud of it, but she
doesn't get paid for that; there's just too damn much desperate and free
competition. What she DOES get paid for is the bar. Venue. Ambiance. Attention
to detail; that's what made me give her my hard-earned credits; PlaySpace is a
meat-magnet, and I'm always hungry.
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