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Dream Machine 1
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.
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...
*******
That's all of "Dream Machine" for now.
Feel free to add to this one yourself; I think it's potentially as
interesting as "The Book" series. I'm not placing any copyrights or
restrictions on this storyline.
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