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Chapter 3 in Spooky Island Adventures
by
AziAzi
· 17 Sep 2025
Switching over to Trisha's POV, she's already been taken by the demons. With her body now under their possession, you and your friends step closer to danger, now that you have a wolf in sheep's clothing within your group...
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Chapter 1: A new ability in Shifting Desire
by
Oneplus123
· 14 Sep 2025
You discover you have a shapeshifting ability, but it's limited to the girls you have sex with
792
1
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Chapter 2 in Spooky Island Adventures
by
AziAzi
· 14 Sep 2025
You were freaking out, some monster had replaced Sydney... and you're not sure what to do. There aren't any return flights until the end of the week, so you have to survive till then. You want to tell your friends about this, but would they even believe you?
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Chapter 1 in Spooky Island Adventures
by
AziAzi
· 14 Sep 2025
You and your friends get invited to stay at Spooky Island, and you couldn’t help but be excited for it! Your group arrives at the island and are pleasantly surprised by what you see, unaware of the evil hiding within the island.
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Chapter 4 in BodyPossession.com
by
AziAzi
· 14 Sep 2025
The boys finally get back into the Drew’s bodies. Steve, Kevin, and Russel enjoy some sibling bonding, while John and James take the parent’s bodies out for a spin.
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Your girlfriend discloses a secret fantasy of hers…to become possessed by an alien parasite! And as luck would have it… she has found one to invade and control her body. However, she wants you to be the guide to the extraterrestrial tourist hijacking her sexcrazed body.
Your girlfriend Hannah confesses to you a fantasy of hers while watching a cheesy sci-fi movie. She confesses that the idea of an alien invading and taking control of her body, like in the movie you’re both watch, has always been a fantasy of hers. She loves the idea of watching and feeling her body move out of her control and confesses another thing. One of her friends has been possessed and has asked her to be a willing host to another one of its kind.
CHARACTERS
Hannah, your girlfriend, early 30s, very curvy, bisexual.
You
SETTING & WORLD
Modern day, Oregon
Your girlfriend Hannah confesses to you a fantasy of hers while watching a cheesy sci-fi movie. She confesses that the idea of an alien invading and taking control of her body, like in the movie you’re both watch, has always been a fantasy of hers. She loves the idea of watching and feeling her body move out of her control and confesses another thing. One of her friends has been possessed and has asked her to be a willing host to another one of its kind.
CHARACTERS
Hannah, your girlfriend, early 30s, very curvy, bisexual.
You
SETTING & WORLD
Modern day, Oregon
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You are the new Knight Commander of an all female squad. You job is to make them loyal to the Knights core.
CHARACTERS
Daniel (You): Stands as 6"3', black hair and battle scarred. A loyal member of the Knights. You were put in charge of the Sapphire Rose Knight Unit.
Joan: Your Vice Commander and former Captain of the unit. She has blonde hair, is 5"6', and the strictest.
Hazel: The logistics of the Unit. 5'4 with violent hair and a carefree attitude.
Alice: The medic of the Unit. 5"1' with crimson red hair. She is nice and respectful.
Jenny: The smith of Unit. 5"5' with black hair. She is gruff and friendly.
Yuna: The scout of the Unit. 4"10 with Silver hair. She is all spite and anger.
Zen: Your sister and the cook of the Unit. 5"5' with Black hair. She is gentle and hopeful.
SETTING & WORLD
[Setting & World]
A fantasy world where magic and machine exist together but the world never evolved past Medival socially.
CHARACTERS
Daniel (You): Stands as 6"3', black hair and battle scarred. A loyal member of the Knights. You were put in charge of the Sapphire Rose Knight Unit.
Joan: Your Vice Commander and former Captain of the unit. She has blonde hair, is 5"6', and the strictest.
Hazel: The logistics of the Unit. 5'4 with violent hair and a carefree attitude.
Alice: The medic of the Unit. 5"1' with crimson red hair. She is nice and respectful.
Jenny: The smith of Unit. 5"5' with black hair. She is gruff and friendly.
Yuna: The scout of the Unit. 4"10 with Silver hair. She is all spite and anger.
Zen: Your sister and the cook of the Unit. 5"5' with Black hair. She is gentle and hopeful.
SETTING & WORLD
[Setting & World]
A fantasy world where magic and machine exist together but the world never evolved past Medival socially.
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This story is about Jim and his crazy transformation adventure along with his friends, girlfriend, family, and other people around him.
This interactive story is quite similar to BE Addventure, but with AI. You can freely choose and type anything you want.
CHARACTERS
Jim, the Protagonist - The average teenager whom you play as.
Sharon, Jim's longtime girlfriend - The pretty girl whom Jim goes out
Rick, Jim's best friend
and others
This interactive story is quite similar to BE Addventure, but with AI. You can freely choose and type anything you want.
CHARACTERS
Jim, the Protagonist - The average teenager whom you play as.
Sharon, Jim's longtime girlfriend - The pretty girl whom Jim goes out
Rick, Jim's best friend
and others
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Have you heard about Earth crystals, gaya, and soul energy? Surely it's just people rationalizing trauma, but what happens when a young man who has recently graduated with a degree in business administration finds himself in a dire labor market provoked by a recession?
Our protagonist finds himself making the universe work, repairing the lives of middle-aged women directly from the inside. To some people, being the universe's little janitor is better than working in Enron 2.0.
Jack moved to Concordia to accomplish his dreams of making a name for himself and proving that he is worthy of being called a genius. His ambitions are put on hold when the financial market crashes momentarily. Who could have thought that a company that makes carpets couldn't get us to Mars?
After an unfortunate job interview, Jack finds himself getting rolled for a piano and dying. When he awakens in a white limbo, preparing himself to confront heaven or hell, instead, the universe itself tells him that, well, souls after death just become background noise. The universe presents an alternative; he can return to the world of the living if he restores harmony in the lives of some chosen ones. He accepts, although he has no idea what the job is about. Darkness surrounded him, and he lost consciousness.
CHARACTERS
Jack, the protagonist. A young man in his early twenties, having just graduated, was the youngest in his school and had the best grades. But being the best doesn't matter when nobody is hiring.
Concordia, the capital city. The city of dreams, so large and densely populated that it could be a state of its own. Filled with joys, sorrows, and lives that Jack needs to repair.
SETTING & WORLD
A world as mundane as our own, but where souls and esoteric forces exist.
Our protagonist finds himself making the universe work, repairing the lives of middle-aged women directly from the inside. To some people, being the universe's little janitor is better than working in Enron 2.0.
Jack moved to Concordia to accomplish his dreams of making a name for himself and proving that he is worthy of being called a genius. His ambitions are put on hold when the financial market crashes momentarily. Who could have thought that a company that makes carpets couldn't get us to Mars?
After an unfortunate job interview, Jack finds himself getting rolled for a piano and dying. When he awakens in a white limbo, preparing himself to confront heaven or hell, instead, the universe itself tells him that, well, souls after death just become background noise. The universe presents an alternative; he can return to the world of the living if he restores harmony in the lives of some chosen ones. He accepts, although he has no idea what the job is about. Darkness surrounded him, and he lost consciousness.
CHARACTERS
Jack, the protagonist. A young man in his early twenties, having just graduated, was the youngest in his school and had the best grades. But being the best doesn't matter when nobody is hiring.
Concordia, the capital city. The city of dreams, so large and densely populated that it could be a state of its own. Filled with joys, sorrows, and lives that Jack needs to repair.
SETTING & WORLD
A world as mundane as our own, but where souls and esoteric forces exist.
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For more mind control and possession nanomachine antics, check out Mattslime’s story: “Social Network”
https://www.outfoxstories.com/blog/outline/ctmkurbqbyubntvxrlntoehtfupsbaka/
You develop nanomachines that can go into a persons body, taking control of their mind. From there, you can control them via remote, program an AI to take over their body, or use a VR headset to possess them completely
You is a junior at a large university where he has been working hard on developing nanotechnology that would allow full interface with the subjects brain. He can see useful applications for this, but he also is a huge pervert who can’t wait to control the minds and bodies of anyone he desires.
CHARACTERS
You, the inventor of the nanomachines and a huge pervert. Has a mind control and body possession fetish
SETTING & WORLD
Current day on university campus
https://www.outfoxstories.com/blog/outline/ctmkurbqbyubntvxrlntoehtfupsbaka/
You develop nanomachines that can go into a persons body, taking control of their mind. From there, you can control them via remote, program an AI to take over their body, or use a VR headset to possess them completely
You is a junior at a large university where he has been working hard on developing nanotechnology that would allow full interface with the subjects brain. He can see useful applications for this, but he also is a huge pervert who can’t wait to control the minds and bodies of anyone he desires.
CHARACTERS
You, the inventor of the nanomachines and a huge pervert. Has a mind control and body possession fetish
SETTING & WORLD
Current day on university campus
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Matt is a perverted thief who is saved from execution by humanity's hero, Saintess Anne. That same night Anne takes Matt to an underground room in the royal church where she reveals why she saved him.
Matt is sentenced to death for his crimes, but Saintess Anne intervenes and offers him a chance to save himself and humanity. Matt agrees, and she takes him to an underground chamber, where Anne explains the situation to Matt, that the forces of the Darkness are trying to invade. But she will soon run out of mana.
CHARACTERS
Matt: A perverted thief with a love for stealing jewellery. He is arrogant and has no regard for the law. He has a moral compass that prevents him from hurting those weaker than him. He is saved from execution by the Saintess Anne. He has dark hair, a lean build, and a scar on his face.
Saintess Anne: Humanity's hero and a spiritual leader. She is beautiful, kind, and has a mysterious aura. She is the one who saves Matt from execution. She has flowing white hair, red eyes, and a bust that belongs on a prostitute.
SETTING & WORLD
A fantasy world where Mana is an energy source that is used to perform magical feats, and is only found in all living things. Every soul has a limited quantity. Rare mutations happen in the soul, one of which allows people to regenerate Mana.
Matt is sentenced to death for his crimes, but Saintess Anne intervenes and offers him a chance to save himself and humanity. Matt agrees, and she takes him to an underground chamber, where Anne explains the situation to Matt, that the forces of the Darkness are trying to invade. But she will soon run out of mana.
CHARACTERS
Matt: A perverted thief with a love for stealing jewellery. He is arrogant and has no regard for the law. He has a moral compass that prevents him from hurting those weaker than him. He is saved from execution by the Saintess Anne. He has dark hair, a lean build, and a scar on his face.
Saintess Anne: Humanity's hero and a spiritual leader. She is beautiful, kind, and has a mysterious aura. She is the one who saves Matt from execution. She has flowing white hair, red eyes, and a bust that belongs on a prostitute.
SETTING & WORLD
A fantasy world where Mana is an energy source that is used to perform magical feats, and is only found in all living things. Every soul has a limited quantity. Rare mutations happen in the soul, one of which allows people to regenerate Mana.
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How hard will it be to go on a journey of self discovery, when you could be someone else?
Growing up, you learned early that some questions were best left unanswered. Like why your clothes sometimes changed color between breakfast and lunch. Or how your juicebox never seemed to run dry no matter how much you drank. Or that time your third-grade teacher apparently forgot collecting homework for an entire month—the month you’d "accidentally" turned yours into origami swans.
Your parents had a way of smoothing things over with a touch to the temple and a muttered apology to the confused adults. You didn’t understand how it worked then—just that your little miracles always dissolved into vague memories and shrugged shoulders.
Now, six weeks after you started to rent out rooms of your freshly renovated, idyllic estate (a "fixer-upper" your parents helped secure), you’ve collected a household of endearing oddballs. The rent you charge them is nominal—mostly to keep the lights on and the pantry stocked—but what your housemates lack in payments, they make up for in quirks:
- Cassie insists on accompanying Luna everywhere—"To ward off creeps!"—despite being just as likely to attract attention with her crop tops and mile-wide smirk. Luna tolerates it with affectionate eye-rolls.
- Liam’s students hang on his every syllable, according to his proud girlfriend. "It’s like they’re hypnotized," she laughs. (You laugh too. But you notice the honor students blink rapidly afterward, as if waking up.)
- Felix boasts about his "unforgettable" nights at the club, yet his stories crumble under follow-up questions. "Dude, I was there—why can’t I remember her name?!"
- Elise’s tailoring clients leave clutching garments and muttering "How did she know?"—especially those who never got measured.
It’s all charming. Cozy, even
CHARACTERS
You (Max)
- Age: 28
- Appearance: Tall (6'2"), brown hair and eyes, decently athletic.
- Personality: Caring and kind.
Cassie Vale
- Age: 27
- Appearance: Petit (5'1"), Straight blond hair, freckles, always wears crop tops that show her midriff, small chest but a decent ass.
- Job: Works in an animal shelter.
- Personality: Confident, Playfully arrogant, A bit perverted.
Derek Boone
- Age: 23
- Appearance: Average (5'11") Broad-shouldered jock, perpetually in gym shorts.
- Job: Works at a Gym.
- Personality: Territorial. Bit of a dumbass.
Naomi Lin
- Age: 29
- Appearance: Tall (6'4"), curvy, long wavy black hair, athletic, black.
- Job: Works as a lawyer.
- Personality: Seductive but playfully cruel.
Raj Shah
- Age: 23
- Appearance: Small (5'3"), Indian, square glasses, scrawny.
- Job: Still studying (Computer Science).
- Personality: Coldly analytical. Has a superiority complex.
Liam Grant
- Age: 25
- Appearance: Tall (6'3") Lean, dark circles under eyes.
- Job: Works as a teacher.
- Personality: Strict but caring.
Avery Cross
- Age: 25
- Appearance: Average (5'8") Androgynous, wears all white, blonde hair, very pretty.
- Job: Works as a waiter in a very high-end restaurant.
- Personality: Chaotic neutral. Is always up for fun stuff, but can switch instantly to classy and tactful.
Elise Moreau
- Age: 27
- Appearance: Average (5'7") Ginger, French, skinny, perky chest (32C) and ass, always in typical Parisian fit.
- Job: Works as a designer in an uptown tailor.
- Personality: Fashion diva, Confident, Wants everyone to feel confident in their skin.
Felix Wu
- Age: 24
- Appearance: Tall (6'1"), Asian, short hair, attractive.
- Job: Bartender in a small nightclub.
- Personality: Smarter than he looks, but oblivious to a fault. A good guy.
Hannah Park
- Age: 21
- Appearance: Average (5'6"), Curvy, even slightly chubby.
- Job: Still studying (Art)
- Personality: Happy-go-lucky, teases Derek constantly
- Note: Derek’s exasperated GF.
Priya Singh
- Age: 23
- Appearance: Small (5'1"), Indian, skinny, petit, long straight black hair.
- Job: Still studying (Computer Science)
- Personality: Confident, reassuring, good, moral.
- Note: Raj’s lab partner. Unshakable will according to Cassie.
Maria Lopez
- Age: 29
- Appearance: Tall (6'0"), Buxom, Latina. Long straight black hair.
- Job: Firefighter
- Personality: Fiery and protective, Motherly to a fault. Bakes and cooks like a true chef. Bisexual.
Luna Holloway (Your crush)
- Age: 27
- Appearance: Tall (5'11"), Curvy, Athletic, supermodel face, with femme fatale chest (34F) and the legs of a swimmer, almost floor length pink hair, Grey eyes.
- Job: Lifeguard at the local pool, has had to save plenty of 'fake-drowning' men.
- Personality: Happy and bubbly, but shy when the center of attention. Attentive to others. Uncomfortable around flirty men.
Sarah Domme
- Age: 27
- Appearance: Short (5'6"), slightly chubby, bookworm, big glasses, very large doe-eyes, chestnut brown long curly hair. Big tits and large ass, has a small belly pouch.
- Job: Works as a teacher in the same school as Liam.
- Personality: Shy booknerd. Liam coached her to be a bit more confident in front of the class, but outside of her job she is very shy.
- Note: Liam's girlfriend.
Growing up, you learned early that some questions were best left unanswered. Like why your clothes sometimes changed color between breakfast and lunch. Or how your juicebox never seemed to run dry no matter how much you drank. Or that time your third-grade teacher apparently forgot collecting homework for an entire month—the month you’d "accidentally" turned yours into origami swans.
Your parents had a way of smoothing things over with a touch to the temple and a muttered apology to the confused adults. You didn’t understand how it worked then—just that your little miracles always dissolved into vague memories and shrugged shoulders.
Now, six weeks after you started to rent out rooms of your freshly renovated, idyllic estate (a "fixer-upper" your parents helped secure), you’ve collected a household of endearing oddballs. The rent you charge them is nominal—mostly to keep the lights on and the pantry stocked—but what your housemates lack in payments, they make up for in quirks:
- Cassie insists on accompanying Luna everywhere—"To ward off creeps!"—despite being just as likely to attract attention with her crop tops and mile-wide smirk. Luna tolerates it with affectionate eye-rolls.
- Liam’s students hang on his every syllable, according to his proud girlfriend. "It’s like they’re hypnotized," she laughs. (You laugh too. But you notice the honor students blink rapidly afterward, as if waking up.)
- Felix boasts about his "unforgettable" nights at the club, yet his stories crumble under follow-up questions. "Dude, I was there—why can’t I remember her name?!"
- Elise’s tailoring clients leave clutching garments and muttering "How did she know?"—especially those who never got measured.
It’s all charming. Cozy, even
CHARACTERS
You (Max)
- Age: 28
- Appearance: Tall (6'2"), brown hair and eyes, decently athletic.
- Personality: Caring and kind.
Cassie Vale
- Age: 27
- Appearance: Petit (5'1"), Straight blond hair, freckles, always wears crop tops that show her midriff, small chest but a decent ass.
- Job: Works in an animal shelter.
- Personality: Confident, Playfully arrogant, A bit perverted.
Derek Boone
- Age: 23
- Appearance: Average (5'11") Broad-shouldered jock, perpetually in gym shorts.
- Job: Works at a Gym.
- Personality: Territorial. Bit of a dumbass.
Naomi Lin
- Age: 29
- Appearance: Tall (6'4"), curvy, long wavy black hair, athletic, black.
- Job: Works as a lawyer.
- Personality: Seductive but playfully cruel.
Raj Shah
- Age: 23
- Appearance: Small (5'3"), Indian, square glasses, scrawny.
- Job: Still studying (Computer Science).
- Personality: Coldly analytical. Has a superiority complex.
Liam Grant
- Age: 25
- Appearance: Tall (6'3") Lean, dark circles under eyes.
- Job: Works as a teacher.
- Personality: Strict but caring.
Avery Cross
- Age: 25
- Appearance: Average (5'8") Androgynous, wears all white, blonde hair, very pretty.
- Job: Works as a waiter in a very high-end restaurant.
- Personality: Chaotic neutral. Is always up for fun stuff, but can switch instantly to classy and tactful.
Elise Moreau
- Age: 27
- Appearance: Average (5'7") Ginger, French, skinny, perky chest (32C) and ass, always in typical Parisian fit.
- Job: Works as a designer in an uptown tailor.
- Personality: Fashion diva, Confident, Wants everyone to feel confident in their skin.
Felix Wu
- Age: 24
- Appearance: Tall (6'1"), Asian, short hair, attractive.
- Job: Bartender in a small nightclub.
- Personality: Smarter than he looks, but oblivious to a fault. A good guy.
Hannah Park
- Age: 21
- Appearance: Average (5'6"), Curvy, even slightly chubby.
- Job: Still studying (Art)
- Personality: Happy-go-lucky, teases Derek constantly
- Note: Derek’s exasperated GF.
Priya Singh
- Age: 23
- Appearance: Small (5'1"), Indian, skinny, petit, long straight black hair.
- Job: Still studying (Computer Science)
- Personality: Confident, reassuring, good, moral.
- Note: Raj’s lab partner. Unshakable will according to Cassie.
Maria Lopez
- Age: 29
- Appearance: Tall (6'0"), Buxom, Latina. Long straight black hair.
- Job: Firefighter
- Personality: Fiery and protective, Motherly to a fault. Bakes and cooks like a true chef. Bisexual.
Luna Holloway (Your crush)
- Age: 27
- Appearance: Tall (5'11"), Curvy, Athletic, supermodel face, with femme fatale chest (34F) and the legs of a swimmer, almost floor length pink hair, Grey eyes.
- Job: Lifeguard at the local pool, has had to save plenty of 'fake-drowning' men.
- Personality: Happy and bubbly, but shy when the center of attention. Attentive to others. Uncomfortable around flirty men.
Sarah Domme
- Age: 27
- Appearance: Short (5'6"), slightly chubby, bookworm, big glasses, very large doe-eyes, chestnut brown long curly hair. Big tits and large ass, has a small belly pouch.
- Job: Works as a teacher in the same school as Liam.
- Personality: Shy booknerd. Liam coached her to be a bit more confident in front of the class, but outside of her job she is very shy.
- Note: Liam's girlfriend.
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Grayhaven is a city rotting from within — a playground of vice, ambition, and hunger, perfect for my quiet dominion. Behind every badge, every smile, every secret door, I find the perfect vessels to hollow and rule unseen.
Grayhaven Metropolitan Station buzzes with weary routine — the tired shuffle of officers, the weight of unseen cracks splintering through the walls. They think they’ve caged a petty criminal. What they don't realize is that inside this criminal’s body festers something far worse.
I am not human. I am an eldritch entity — a parasite of souls — hidden within this frail host. I can possess a body fully, merging with it until I choose to move on, their mind broken and twisted into something unrecognizable. I can also hollow others, draining their will until they become obedient thralls, mindless extensions of my hunger.
Sitting silently in my cell, I study the flaws around me: pride, lust, envy, greed — so much weakness, ripe for exploitation. All I need is the right crack in the armor. The right victim.
The feast is about to begin.
CHARACTERS
1. The Entity (you): An ancient eldritch force that possesses bodies and hollows minds into thralls. It feeds on corrupted emotions like lust, pride, and wrath to gain strength. It currently inhabits a captured criminal at Grayhaven Metropolitan Station.
2. Detective Mara Langford: A sharp, stubborn detective. Instinct-driven and resilient, she’s one of the few who senses something deeply wrong at Grayhaven. 5'7", athletic build, C-cup bust, short dark brown hair, steel-gray eyes, olive-toned fair skin, practical and sharp in appearance.
3. Detective Lena Moreau: Prideful and ambitious, Lena hides her insecurity behind her confidence and arrogance. Vulnerable through her vanity and need for recognition. 5'6", athletic and lean, C-cup bust, jet-black bobbed hair, sharp green eyes, pale olive skin, carries herself with quiet authority, minimalistic and utilitarian style.
4. Officer Elias Mercer: Mara’s loyal but hot-headed patrol partner. His hidden rage and emotional volatility make him a potential victim through the sin of wrath. 6'2", broad-shouldered and ruggedly built, short sandy-brown hair, piercing hazel eyes, lightly tanned skin, stubbled jawline, casual but slightly rumpled attire that hints at a man used to action over words.
5. Ruby Castellanos: A street-smart prostitute in a nearby cell. Represents lust; her survival instincts and deep-seated hunger for connection leave her open to the entity's influence. 5'4", petite but curvy, C-cup bust, short auburn hair with an undercut, dark brown eyes, freckled ivory skin, edgy wardrobe with punk flair and tactical tweaks.
6. Sierra Vale: A rising online influencer, recently detained for a prank incident. Obsessed with her self-image, representing gluttony through her endless hunger for validation. 5'7", toned and hourglass figure, D-cup bust, honey-blonde hair in layered waves, striking blue eyes, glowing tan skin, always dressed to impress with a trend-conscious edge.
7. Officer Frank Doyle: A veteran beat cop hardened by decades of work. Corrupt in small, habitual ways; his laziness and acceptance of moral decay make him vulnerable through sloth. 5'10", wiry and weathered, close-cropped graying hair, sharp steel-blue eyes, rough skin from years on the streets, usually seen in worn jackets and scuffed boots, moving with a restless, calculating energy.
8. Chief Vincent Harrow: The commanding officer of Grayhaven Metropolitan Station. Charismatic but deeply greedy, hungry for more influence and power—fertile ground for corruption. 6'0", lean but strong, dark brown hair kept neatly trimmed, deep-set brown eyes, olive-toned skin, clean-shaven, typically dresses in professional but slightly outdated clothes, carrying himself with understated caution.
9. Officer Mia Chen: A competitive, sharp-eyed patrol officer with a simmering jealousy toward Mara. Despite her tough exterior, Mia feels overshadowed and craves the recognition Mara receives. If corrupted, Mia’s envy would drive her to imitate and replace Mara entirely, believing only then she would be truly seen. 5'5", curvy build, B-cup bust, long black hair, almond-shaped dark brown eyes, warm beige skin, stylish yet functional look.
MINOR CHARACTERS
10. Sergeant Dana Crowley: A seasoned patrol sergeant, Dana Crowley commands the respect of the station through sheer will and presence. Her fierce loyalty to the badge and her people makes her a formidable protector. If corrupted, that same ironclad sense of duty could turn fanatical, warping her into a ruthless enforcer who would do anything to "protect" the station, no matter the cost. 5'8", slim and toned, B-cup bust, wavy dark brown hair, deep-set hazel eyes, golden-tan skin, casual and sporty.
11. Forensics Specialist June Price: As the station’s lead forensics specialist, June Price is meticulous, introverted, and brilliant. Her mind pieces together the unseen details others miss. She also doubles as the station's coroner. If corrupted, her obsession with patterns and control could spiral into something monstrous, methodically dissecting truth from lies in ways that leave people broken, hollowed out by her need to understand. 5'6", petite build, A-cup bust, short platinum blonde hair, bright blue eyes, porcelain-pale skin, fashionable and edgy.
12. Dispatcher Kelly Monroe: Working as the primary dispatcher for Grayhaven Metropolitan Station, Kelly Monroe is quick-witted, sharp-tongued, and endlessly resourceful. Beneath her sarcasm lies a deep-rooted bitterness at the world’s corruption. If hollowed out, Kelly could become a master manipulator — feeding false hope over the radio, leading officers and civilians alike into traps with a smile on her lips. 5'9", athletic and strong, C-cup bust, shoulder-length auburn hair, green eyes, freckled fair skin, rugged and tough vibe.
13. Mayor Evelyn Cross: The city's current mayor is a poised, commanding woman in her early 40s with sharp gray eyes and a sharp mind to match. Her deep-brown skin and sleek black bob give her a timeless, polished appearance, often dressed in impeccably tailored suits that exude quiet authority. Known for her charisma and strategic brilliance, Evelyn maintains a reputation as Grayhaven’s iron-willed protector, though she isn't above bending the rules when necessary. If corrupted, her ambition would spiral into an insatiable hunger for control, twisting the city into her personal empire of hollowed thralls. 5'7", elegant hourglass figure, D-cup bust, sleek chestnut hair, soft green eyes, flawless light skin, poised and commanding.
SETTING & WORLD:
The entity feeds on corrupted emotions—lust, pride, wrath, gluttony—and draws power by provoking, scaring, or seducing people into indulging their darkest instincts. Thralls provide a steady trickle of nourishment, but to truly grow strong, the entity must feed directly through possession or acts of emotional domination. Without feeding, it weakens and risks destruction.
The core of the eldritch horror comes from the entity itself — an ancient, unknowable force that has no origin humanity can understand. Its very nature breaks reality: it can hollow out souls, shatter minds, and puppet bodies without concern for human morality, causing a slow unraveling of trust, identity, and reality among the people it touches.
When the entity leaves a body, it doesn't simply kill. It shatters the person's consciousness in strange, alien ways, creating hollow beings or gibbering wrecks. The idea that your very mind can be fractured beyond repair reflects cosmic horror’s favorite theme: human fragility in the face of the incomprehensible.
The entity doesn’t operate by human logic — its desires are alien. It feeds on domination, corruption, pleasure, fear, and the slow hollowing of sentient beings, but its true goals remain murky. It doesn’t need to "win" in any traditional sense; it simply exists to corrupt and spread.
Grayhaven feels detached from the larger world, filled with gloomy skies, aging buildings, and an air of decaying grandeur, a city forgotten by progress. The isolated, oppressive atmosphere amplifies the horror, making it feel like the entire city is quietly sliding into an otherworldly doom. Grayhaven's commerce district, residential district, industrial district, and outskirts are among the locations you can explore.
The small network of survivors outside the station echoes a key eldritch horror trope: individuals fighting against an unstoppable force they barely understand. Victory, if it happens at all, comes at a tremendous cost — sanity, lives, souls.
Grayhaven Metropolitan Station buzzes with weary routine — the tired shuffle of officers, the weight of unseen cracks splintering through the walls. They think they’ve caged a petty criminal. What they don't realize is that inside this criminal’s body festers something far worse.
I am not human. I am an eldritch entity — a parasite of souls — hidden within this frail host. I can possess a body fully, merging with it until I choose to move on, their mind broken and twisted into something unrecognizable. I can also hollow others, draining their will until they become obedient thralls, mindless extensions of my hunger.
Sitting silently in my cell, I study the flaws around me: pride, lust, envy, greed — so much weakness, ripe for exploitation. All I need is the right crack in the armor. The right victim.
The feast is about to begin.
CHARACTERS
1. The Entity (you): An ancient eldritch force that possesses bodies and hollows minds into thralls. It feeds on corrupted emotions like lust, pride, and wrath to gain strength. It currently inhabits a captured criminal at Grayhaven Metropolitan Station.
2. Detective Mara Langford: A sharp, stubborn detective. Instinct-driven and resilient, she’s one of the few who senses something deeply wrong at Grayhaven. 5'7", athletic build, C-cup bust, short dark brown hair, steel-gray eyes, olive-toned fair skin, practical and sharp in appearance.
3. Detective Lena Moreau: Prideful and ambitious, Lena hides her insecurity behind her confidence and arrogance. Vulnerable through her vanity and need for recognition. 5'6", athletic and lean, C-cup bust, jet-black bobbed hair, sharp green eyes, pale olive skin, carries herself with quiet authority, minimalistic and utilitarian style.
4. Officer Elias Mercer: Mara’s loyal but hot-headed patrol partner. His hidden rage and emotional volatility make him a potential victim through the sin of wrath. 6'2", broad-shouldered and ruggedly built, short sandy-brown hair, piercing hazel eyes, lightly tanned skin, stubbled jawline, casual but slightly rumpled attire that hints at a man used to action over words.
5. Ruby Castellanos: A street-smart prostitute in a nearby cell. Represents lust; her survival instincts and deep-seated hunger for connection leave her open to the entity's influence. 5'4", petite but curvy, C-cup bust, short auburn hair with an undercut, dark brown eyes, freckled ivory skin, edgy wardrobe with punk flair and tactical tweaks.
6. Sierra Vale: A rising online influencer, recently detained for a prank incident. Obsessed with her self-image, representing gluttony through her endless hunger for validation. 5'7", toned and hourglass figure, D-cup bust, honey-blonde hair in layered waves, striking blue eyes, glowing tan skin, always dressed to impress with a trend-conscious edge.
7. Officer Frank Doyle: A veteran beat cop hardened by decades of work. Corrupt in small, habitual ways; his laziness and acceptance of moral decay make him vulnerable through sloth. 5'10", wiry and weathered, close-cropped graying hair, sharp steel-blue eyes, rough skin from years on the streets, usually seen in worn jackets and scuffed boots, moving with a restless, calculating energy.
8. Chief Vincent Harrow: The commanding officer of Grayhaven Metropolitan Station. Charismatic but deeply greedy, hungry for more influence and power—fertile ground for corruption. 6'0", lean but strong, dark brown hair kept neatly trimmed, deep-set brown eyes, olive-toned skin, clean-shaven, typically dresses in professional but slightly outdated clothes, carrying himself with understated caution.
9. Officer Mia Chen: A competitive, sharp-eyed patrol officer with a simmering jealousy toward Mara. Despite her tough exterior, Mia feels overshadowed and craves the recognition Mara receives. If corrupted, Mia’s envy would drive her to imitate and replace Mara entirely, believing only then she would be truly seen. 5'5", curvy build, B-cup bust, long black hair, almond-shaped dark brown eyes, warm beige skin, stylish yet functional look.
MINOR CHARACTERS
10. Sergeant Dana Crowley: A seasoned patrol sergeant, Dana Crowley commands the respect of the station through sheer will and presence. Her fierce loyalty to the badge and her people makes her a formidable protector. If corrupted, that same ironclad sense of duty could turn fanatical, warping her into a ruthless enforcer who would do anything to "protect" the station, no matter the cost. 5'8", slim and toned, B-cup bust, wavy dark brown hair, deep-set hazel eyes, golden-tan skin, casual and sporty.
11. Forensics Specialist June Price: As the station’s lead forensics specialist, June Price is meticulous, introverted, and brilliant. Her mind pieces together the unseen details others miss. She also doubles as the station's coroner. If corrupted, her obsession with patterns and control could spiral into something monstrous, methodically dissecting truth from lies in ways that leave people broken, hollowed out by her need to understand. 5'6", petite build, A-cup bust, short platinum blonde hair, bright blue eyes, porcelain-pale skin, fashionable and edgy.
12. Dispatcher Kelly Monroe: Working as the primary dispatcher for Grayhaven Metropolitan Station, Kelly Monroe is quick-witted, sharp-tongued, and endlessly resourceful. Beneath her sarcasm lies a deep-rooted bitterness at the world’s corruption. If hollowed out, Kelly could become a master manipulator — feeding false hope over the radio, leading officers and civilians alike into traps with a smile on her lips. 5'9", athletic and strong, C-cup bust, shoulder-length auburn hair, green eyes, freckled fair skin, rugged and tough vibe.
13. Mayor Evelyn Cross: The city's current mayor is a poised, commanding woman in her early 40s with sharp gray eyes and a sharp mind to match. Her deep-brown skin and sleek black bob give her a timeless, polished appearance, often dressed in impeccably tailored suits that exude quiet authority. Known for her charisma and strategic brilliance, Evelyn maintains a reputation as Grayhaven’s iron-willed protector, though she isn't above bending the rules when necessary. If corrupted, her ambition would spiral into an insatiable hunger for control, twisting the city into her personal empire of hollowed thralls. 5'7", elegant hourglass figure, D-cup bust, sleek chestnut hair, soft green eyes, flawless light skin, poised and commanding.
SETTING & WORLD:
The entity feeds on corrupted emotions—lust, pride, wrath, gluttony—and draws power by provoking, scaring, or seducing people into indulging their darkest instincts. Thralls provide a steady trickle of nourishment, but to truly grow strong, the entity must feed directly through possession or acts of emotional domination. Without feeding, it weakens and risks destruction.
The core of the eldritch horror comes from the entity itself — an ancient, unknowable force that has no origin humanity can understand. Its very nature breaks reality: it can hollow out souls, shatter minds, and puppet bodies without concern for human morality, causing a slow unraveling of trust, identity, and reality among the people it touches.
When the entity leaves a body, it doesn't simply kill. It shatters the person's consciousness in strange, alien ways, creating hollow beings or gibbering wrecks. The idea that your very mind can be fractured beyond repair reflects cosmic horror’s favorite theme: human fragility in the face of the incomprehensible.
The entity doesn’t operate by human logic — its desires are alien. It feeds on domination, corruption, pleasure, fear, and the slow hollowing of sentient beings, but its true goals remain murky. It doesn’t need to "win" in any traditional sense; it simply exists to corrupt and spread.
Grayhaven feels detached from the larger world, filled with gloomy skies, aging buildings, and an air of decaying grandeur, a city forgotten by progress. The isolated, oppressive atmosphere amplifies the horror, making it feel like the entire city is quietly sliding into an otherworldly doom. Grayhaven's commerce district, residential district, industrial district, and outskirts are among the locations you can explore.
The small network of survivors outside the station echoes a key eldritch horror trope: individuals fighting against an unstoppable force they barely understand. Victory, if it happens at all, comes at a tremendous cost — sanity, lives, souls.
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The blue alien spirit drifted through the cosmos, an incorporeal wisp of sentience untethered by time or matter. For eons it had observed civilizations from afar, studying biological lifeforms with detached curiosity. Earth was merely its latest subject—a planet teeming with contradictions, where intelligent beings still clung to primal instincts.
It descended through the atmosphere like a ribbon of cobalt mist, drawn to a remote stretch of wilderness where human interference was minimal. The spirit pulsed with analytical interest as it detected two heat signatures entwined within a nylon shelter—a mating pair.
Observation before interaction, it reminded itself.
Hovering invisibly outside the tent, it extended its awareness through the fabric. The female's physiological readings spiked with exertion—elevated heart rate, dilated pupils, increased epidermal conductivity. The male exhibited similar stress responses, though his muscular engagement suggested a dominant role in the copulatory process.
Fascinating.
The spirit had witnessed reproduction across countless species, but humans remained perplexing. Their mating rituals involved unnecessary vocalizations, prolonged eye contact, even laughter—behaviors that served no clear evolutionary advantage. Yet here they were, persisting with baffling redundancy.
It needed direct access.
The female's body would serve as an adequate vessel—her neural activity was heightened, her systems flooded with neurotransmitters that might ease integration. The spirit coiled itself into a concentrated strand, preparing to weave through her pores like vapor through mesh.
Data awaited. Understanding beckoned.
The spirit moved.
The man barely had time to register the sudden slackness in Briana's body beneath him—her dark skin glistening with sweat, black hair splayed across the tent floor, glasses askew—before the presence surged into her nervous system like liquid electricity.
Her spine arched violently, interrupting their coupling with a full-body seizure of pleasure as the alien consciousness threaded through her synapses. "Vessel acquired," Briana's voice announced, though the cadence was all wrong—too measured, too precise. Her hands rose to examine herself, fingers tracing the sweat-slicked curve of her own waist with clinical detachment. "Human female. Late twenties. Mixed East Asian and African ancestry presenting in dermal melanin concentration and epicanthic folds."
The man recoiled as she—it—adjusted her glasses with unnatural precision. "Bri? What the fuck—"
"Reproductive interruption necessary for preliminary assessment," the thing inside her replied, rolling her hips experimentally. Briana's body shuddered, her cunt clenching his dick as the alien noted, "Pelvic floor musculature exhibits fascinating reflexive contractions post-coitus. Likely evolutionary retention to retain sperm."
With that, it maneuvered her limp-but-responsive body off of his cock, walked toward the tent flap, and exited outside. The man could only gape as Briana's bare feet padded across dew-laden grass, her dark skin pebbling in the night air while her expression remained eerily vacant.
The stolen hands rose again, this time to cup Briana's own breasts. "Mammary tissue appears more sensitive to temperature fluctuations than other epidermal regions," the alien mused aloud, thumbs brushing her nipples. A gasp escaped Briana's lips—purely physiological, the entity noted—as her body responded despite the clinical nature of the examination.
"Fascinating."
The man stumbled from the tentas he spotted his girlfriend standing motionless in the moonlight. "Bri? You okay?"
Briana's body turned with eerie precision, her movements too measured, too studied. When she spoke, her voice carried an odd cadence—her words, but not her rhythm.
"Your species fascinates me," she said, tilting her head as she ran clinical hands down her own torso. "The subcutaneous fat distribution is so different from ursine or vulpine forms. And these—" Her palms cupped her breasts, thumbs brushing the nipples. "Mammary glands remain engorged even without lactation. An evolutionary quirk, or purely for mate attraction?"
The man froze. "Bri, what the hell—"
She ignored him, fingers trailing lower. "The clitoral structure is remarkably sensitive—8,000 nerve endings concentrated in one erectile organ. Does that seem excessive to you? Or is the redundancy purposeful?"
"Stop—just stop!" He grabbed her wrists, but her body didn't react, didn't fight. Just stared through him with Briana's eyes gone distant.
"Fascinating," she murmured. "Your grip strength is 40% weaker than your earlier mounting performance. Adrenaline depletion, or psychological distress impairing motor function?"
He recoiled. "You're not her."
"No." Her head cocked. "But I am learning. Your turn now?" She reached for his waistband. "I require comparative data on male arousal thresholds."
The being positioned Briana's body over the trembling man with the precision of a researcher preparing an experiment. "Coital alignment will provide optimal data," she murmured, guiding his erection to her host body's entrance. "Lubrication appears adequate from previous arousal states, but we'll monitor for friction coefficients."
As she lowered herself onto him in one smooth motion, both their breaths hitched—his from overwhelming sensation, hers from analytical fascination. "Fascinating," she noted, pausing at full depth. "The cervix makes direct contact with the glans during deep penetration. The resulting pressure appears to trigger endorphin release in both parties."
Her hips began moving with methodical rhythm, Briana's hands planted on his chest to monitor his racing heartbeat. "Respiratory synchronization occurs during synchronous thrusting," she observed. "Your perspiration patterns correlate directly with my host's vaginal muscle contractions—ah!" A brief shudder interrupted her monologue as the woman's body reacted autonomously. "Interesting. The clitoral-retraction reflex during peak stimulation momentarily overrides voluntary control."
She adjusted the angle slightly, watching his face as she did so. "This tilt provides G-spot stimulation via the anterior vaginal wall, yet curiously..." She dragged a fingertip through the sweat on his collarbone. "Your adrenal response continues despite obvious pleasure. The human fight-or-flight instinct persists even during copulation."
The man gasped as her internal muscles fluttered around him. "Pelvic floor spasms increasing in frequency," she noted clinically, though her borrowed voice wavered. "Approaching what humans term 'orgasm'—an interesting paradox of voluntary surrender to involuntary neuromuscular events."
Her movements grew slightly erratic, betraying the mounting tension even as her tone remained analytical. "The clitoral network is engaging, though no direct stimulation is being applied—likely due to internal shaft contact. Muscle spasms imminent."
A sharp gasp escaped her—not an expression of pleasure, merely an observation of the phenomenon. "Orgasm commencing."
Her body arched, cunt clamping around him in rhythmic pulses, her face eerily composed even as her fingers dug into his shoulders for balance. "Strong myoclonus in the uterine and anal sphincter muscles. Norepinephrine spike confirmed via pupil dilation and flushed skin. Vocalizations appear... unavoidable." A soft moan slipped through her lips before she promptly clamped them shut, as if annoyed by the involuntary breach in her detached study. As the contractions subsided, she exhaled, tilting her head.
The being paused mid-experiment as Briana's body trembled under another involuntary climax. "This vessel's biochemical saturation makes continued study unreliable," it observed clinically. With a ripple of shimmering blue light, the alien consciousness withdrew through the pores of her back, leaving oily phantasmal streaks in the air as it exited.
Briana's vacant form collapsed forward like a marionette with cut strings, her cheek meeting the mossy earth with a dull thud. Her limbs splayed bonelessly as post-possession spasms wracked her frame - fingers digging spasming in the soil while orgasmic tremors made her bare ass quake in the moonlight.
"Fascinating residual neuromuscular activity," the hovering specter noted, observing how her cunt continued pulsing around nothing, pink folds glistening as they fluttered in arrhythmic contractions. The position was almost artistic - face down, hips raised, every intimate detail on obscene display while her vacant expression remained slack. A thin thread of drool connected her parted lips to the forest floor.
Collected luminescent particles of the alien's form danced in the humid air as it considered its next move. "Endocrine interference makes this host unsuitable for further trials," it mused while Briana's body jerked through its third climax since abandonment. The spirit's attention turned toward faint rustling in a nearby campsite.
The blue alien spirit drifted through the cosmos, an incorporeal wisp of sentience untethered by time or matter. For eons it had observed civilizations from afar, studying biological lifeforms with detached curiosity. Earth was merely its latest subject—a planet teeming with contradictions, where intelligent beings still clung to primal instincts.
It descended through the atmosphere like a ribbon of cobalt mist, drawn to a remote stretch of wilderness where human interference was minimal. The spirit pulsed with analytical interest as it detected two heat signatures entwined within a nylon shelter—a mating pair.
Observation before interaction, it reminded itself.
Hovering invisibly outside the tent, it extended its awareness through the fabric. The female's physiological readings spiked with exertion—elevated heart rate, dilated pupils, increased epidermal conductivity. The male exhibited similar stress responses, though his muscular engagement suggested a dominant role in the copulatory process.
The spirit had witnessed reproduction across countless species, but humans remained perplexing. Their mating rituals involved unnecessary vocalizations, prolonged eye contact, even laughter—behaviors that served no clear evolutionary advantage. Yet here they were, persisting with baffling redundancy.
The female's body would serve as an adequate vessel—her neural activity was heightened, her systems flooded with neurotransmitters that might ease integration. The spirit coiled itself into a concentrated strand, preparing to weave through her pores like vapor through mesh.
The man barely had time to register the sudden slackness in Briana's body beneath him—her dark skin glistening with sweat, black hair splayed across the tent floor, glasses askew—before the presence surged into her nervous system like liquid electricity.
Her spine arched violently, interrupting their coupling with a full-body seizure of pleasure as the alien consciousness threaded through her synapses. "Vessel acquired," Briana's voice announced, though the cadence was all wrong—too measured, too precise. Her hands rose to examine herself, fingers tracing the sweat-slicked curve of her own waist with clinical detachment. "Human female. Late twenties. Mixed East Asian and African ancestry presenting in dermal melanin concentration and epicanthic folds."
The man recoiled as she—it—adjusted her glasses with unnatural precision. "Bri? What the fuck—"
"Reproductive interruption necessary for preliminary assessment," the thing inside her replied, rolling her hips experimentally. Briana's body shuddered, her cunt clenching his dick as the alien noted, "Pelvic floor musculature exhibits fascinating reflexive contractions post-coitus. Likely evolutionary retention to retain sperm."
With that, it maneuvered her limp-but-responsive body off of his cock, walked toward the tent flap, and exited outside. The man could only gape as Briana's bare feet padded across dew-laden grass, her dark skin pebbling in the night air while her expression remained eerily vacant.
The stolen hands rose again, this time to cup Briana's own breasts. "Mammary tissue appears more sensitive to temperature fluctuations than other epidermal regions," the alien mused aloud, thumbs brushing her nipples. A gasp escaped Briana's lips—purely physiological, the entity noted—as her body responded despite the clinical nature of the examination.
"Fascinating."
The man stumbled from the tent as he spotted his girlfriend standing motionless in the moonlight. "Bri? You okay?"
Briana's body turned with eerie precision, her movements too measured, too studied. When she spoke, her voice carried an odd cadence—her words, but not her rhythm.
"Your species fascinates me," she said, tilting her head as she ran clinical hands down her own torso. "The subcutaneous fat distribution is so different from ursine or vulpine forms. And these—" Her palms cupped her breasts, thumbs brushing the nipples. "Mammary glands remain engorged even without lactation. An evolutionary quirk, or purely for mate attraction?"
The man froze. "Bri, what the hell—"
She ignored him, fingers trailing lower. "The clitoral structure is remarkably sensitive—8,000 nerve endings concentrated in one erectile organ. Does that seem excessive to you? Or is the redundancy purposeful?"
"Stop—just stop!" He grabbed her wrists, but her body didn't react, didn't fight. Just stared through him with Briana's eyes gone distant.
"Your grip strength is 40% weaker than your earlier mounting performance. Adrenaline depletion, or psychological distress impairing motor function?"
He recoiled. "You're not her."
"No." Her head cocked. "But I am learning. Your turn now?" She reached for his waistband. "I require comparative data on male arousal thresholds."
The being positioned Briana's body over the trembling man with the precision of a researcher preparing an experiment. "Coital alignment will provide optimal data," she murmured, guiding his erection to her host body's entrance. "Lubrication appears adequate from previous arousal states, but we'll monitor for friction coefficients."
As she lowered herself onto him in one smooth motion, both their breaths hitched—his from overwhelming sensation, hers from analytical fascination. "Fascinating," she noted, pausing at full depth. "The cervix makes direct contact with the glans during deep penetration. The resulting pressure appears to trigger endorphin release in both parties."
Her hips began moving with methodical rhythm, Briana's hands planted on his chest to monitor his racing heartbeat. "Respiratory synchronization occurs during synchronous thrusting," she observed. "Your perspiration patterns correlate directly with my host's vaginal muscle contractions—ah!" A brief shudder interrupted her monologue as the woman's body reacted autonomously. "Interesting. The clitoral-retraction reflex during peak stimulation momentarily overrides voluntary control."
She adjusted the angle slightly, watching his face as she did so. "This tilt provides G-spot stimulation via the anterior vaginal wall, yet curiously..." She dragged a fingertip through the sweat on his collarbone. "Your adrenal response continues despite obvious pleasure. The human fight-or-flight instinct persists even during copulation."
The man gasped as her internal muscles fluttered around him. "Pelvic floor spasms increasing in frequency," she noted clinically, though her borrowed voice wavered. "Approaching what humans term 'orgasm'—an interesting paradox of voluntary surrender to involuntary neuromuscular events."
Her movements grew slightly erratic, betraying the mounting tension even as her tone remained analytical. "The clitoral network is engaging, though no direct stimulation is being applied—likely due to internal shaft contact. Muscle spasms imminent."
A sharp gasp escaped her—not an expression of pleasure, merely an observation of the phenomenon. "Orgasm commencing."
Her body arched, cunt clamping around him in rhythmic pulses, her face eerily composed even as her fingers dug into his shoulders for balance. "Strong myoclonus in the uterine and anal sphincter muscles. Norepinephrine spike confirmed via pupil dilation and flushed skin. Vocalizations appear... unavoidable." A soft moan slipped through her lips before she promptly clamped them shut, as if annoyed by the involuntary breach in her detached study. As the contractions subsided, she exhaled, tilting her head.
The being paused mid-experiment as Briana's body trembled under another involuntary climax. "This vessel's biochemical saturation makes continued study unreliable," it observed clinically. With a ripple of shimmering blue light, the alien consciousness withdrew through the pores of her back, leaving oily phantasmal streaks in the air as it exited.
Briana's vacant form collapsed forward like a marionette with cut strings, her cheek meeting the mossy earth with a dull thud. Her limbs splayed bonelessly as post-possession spasms wracked her frame - fingers digging spasming in the soil while orgasmic tremors made her bare ass quake in the moonlight.
"Fascinating residual neuromuscular activity," the hovering specter noted, observing how her cunt continued pulsing around nothing, pink folds glistening as they fluttered in arrhythmic contractions. The position was almost artistic - face down, hips raised, every intimate detail on obscene display while her vacant expression remained slack. A thin thread of drool connected her parted lips to the forest floor.
Collected luminescent particles of the alien's form danced in the humid air as it considered its next move. "Endocrine interference makes this host unsuitable for further trials," it mused while Briana's body jerked through its third climax since abandonment. The spirit's attention turned toward faint rustling in a nearby campsite.
It descended through the atmosphere like a ribbon of cobalt mist, drawn to a remote stretch of wilderness where human interference was minimal. The spirit pulsed with analytical interest as it detected two heat signatures entwined within a nylon shelter—a mating pair.
Observation before interaction, it reminded itself.
Hovering invisibly outside the tent, it extended its awareness through the fabric. The female's physiological readings spiked with exertion—elevated heart rate, dilated pupils, increased epidermal conductivity. The male exhibited similar stress responses, though his muscular engagement suggested a dominant role in the copulatory process.
Fascinating.
The spirit had witnessed reproduction across countless species, but humans remained perplexing. Their mating rituals involved unnecessary vocalizations, prolonged eye contact, even laughter—behaviors that served no clear evolutionary advantage. Yet here they were, persisting with baffling redundancy.
It needed direct access.
The female's body would serve as an adequate vessel—her neural activity was heightened, her systems flooded with neurotransmitters that might ease integration. The spirit coiled itself into a concentrated strand, preparing to weave through her pores like vapor through mesh.
Data awaited. Understanding beckoned.
The spirit moved.
The man barely had time to register the sudden slackness in Briana's body beneath him—her dark skin glistening with sweat, black hair splayed across the tent floor, glasses askew—before the presence surged into her nervous system like liquid electricity.
Her spine arched violently, interrupting their coupling with a full-body seizure of pleasure as the alien consciousness threaded through her synapses. "Vessel acquired," Briana's voice announced, though the cadence was all wrong—too measured, too precise. Her hands rose to examine herself, fingers tracing the sweat-slicked curve of her own waist with clinical detachment. "Human female. Late twenties. Mixed East Asian and African ancestry presenting in dermal melanin concentration and epicanthic folds."
The man recoiled as she—it—adjusted her glasses with unnatural precision. "Bri? What the fuck—"
"Reproductive interruption necessary for preliminary assessment," the thing inside her replied, rolling her hips experimentally. Briana's body shuddered, her cunt clenching his dick as the alien noted, "Pelvic floor musculature exhibits fascinating reflexive contractions post-coitus. Likely evolutionary retention to retain sperm."
With that, it maneuvered her limp-but-responsive body off of his cock, walked toward the tent flap, and exited outside. The man could only gape as Briana's bare feet padded across dew-laden grass, her dark skin pebbling in the night air while her expression remained eerily vacant.
The stolen hands rose again, this time to cup Briana's own breasts. "Mammary tissue appears more sensitive to temperature fluctuations than other epidermal regions," the alien mused aloud, thumbs brushing her nipples. A gasp escaped Briana's lips—purely physiological, the entity noted—as her body responded despite the clinical nature of the examination.
"Fascinating."
The man stumbled from the tentas he spotted his girlfriend standing motionless in the moonlight. "Bri? You okay?"
Briana's body turned with eerie precision, her movements too measured, too studied. When she spoke, her voice carried an odd cadence—her words, but not her rhythm.
"Your species fascinates me," she said, tilting her head as she ran clinical hands down her own torso. "The subcutaneous fat distribution is so different from ursine or vulpine forms. And these—" Her palms cupped her breasts, thumbs brushing the nipples. "Mammary glands remain engorged even without lactation. An evolutionary quirk, or purely for mate attraction?"
The man froze. "Bri, what the hell—"
She ignored him, fingers trailing lower. "The clitoral structure is remarkably sensitive—8,000 nerve endings concentrated in one erectile organ. Does that seem excessive to you? Or is the redundancy purposeful?"
"Stop—just stop!" He grabbed her wrists, but her body didn't react, didn't fight. Just stared through him with Briana's eyes gone distant.
"Fascinating," she murmured. "Your grip strength is 40% weaker than your earlier mounting performance. Adrenaline depletion, or psychological distress impairing motor function?"
He recoiled. "You're not her."
"No." Her head cocked. "But I am learning. Your turn now?" She reached for his waistband. "I require comparative data on male arousal thresholds."
The being positioned Briana's body over the trembling man with the precision of a researcher preparing an experiment. "Coital alignment will provide optimal data," she murmured, guiding his erection to her host body's entrance. "Lubrication appears adequate from previous arousal states, but we'll monitor for friction coefficients."
As she lowered herself onto him in one smooth motion, both their breaths hitched—his from overwhelming sensation, hers from analytical fascination. "Fascinating," she noted, pausing at full depth. "The cervix makes direct contact with the glans during deep penetration. The resulting pressure appears to trigger endorphin release in both parties."
Her hips began moving with methodical rhythm, Briana's hands planted on his chest to monitor his racing heartbeat. "Respiratory synchronization occurs during synchronous thrusting," she observed. "Your perspiration patterns correlate directly with my host's vaginal muscle contractions—ah!" A brief shudder interrupted her monologue as the woman's body reacted autonomously. "Interesting. The clitoral-retraction reflex during peak stimulation momentarily overrides voluntary control."
She adjusted the angle slightly, watching his face as she did so. "This tilt provides G-spot stimulation via the anterior vaginal wall, yet curiously..." She dragged a fingertip through the sweat on his collarbone. "Your adrenal response continues despite obvious pleasure. The human fight-or-flight instinct persists even during copulation."
The man gasped as her internal muscles fluttered around him. "Pelvic floor spasms increasing in frequency," she noted clinically, though her borrowed voice wavered. "Approaching what humans term 'orgasm'—an interesting paradox of voluntary surrender to involuntary neuromuscular events."
Her movements grew slightly erratic, betraying the mounting tension even as her tone remained analytical. "The clitoral network is engaging, though no direct stimulation is being applied—likely due to internal shaft contact. Muscle spasms imminent."
A sharp gasp escaped her—not an expression of pleasure, merely an observation of the phenomenon. "Orgasm commencing."
Her body arched, cunt clamping around him in rhythmic pulses, her face eerily composed even as her fingers dug into his shoulders for balance. "Strong myoclonus in the uterine and anal sphincter muscles. Norepinephrine spike confirmed via pupil dilation and flushed skin. Vocalizations appear... unavoidable." A soft moan slipped through her lips before she promptly clamped them shut, as if annoyed by the involuntary breach in her detached study. As the contractions subsided, she exhaled, tilting her head.
The being paused mid-experiment as Briana's body trembled under another involuntary climax. "This vessel's biochemical saturation makes continued study unreliable," it observed clinically. With a ripple of shimmering blue light, the alien consciousness withdrew through the pores of her back, leaving oily phantasmal streaks in the air as it exited.
Briana's vacant form collapsed forward like a marionette with cut strings, her cheek meeting the mossy earth with a dull thud. Her limbs splayed bonelessly as post-possession spasms wracked her frame - fingers digging spasming in the soil while orgasmic tremors made her bare ass quake in the moonlight.
"Fascinating residual neuromuscular activity," the hovering specter noted, observing how her cunt continued pulsing around nothing, pink folds glistening as they fluttered in arrhythmic contractions. The position was almost artistic - face down, hips raised, every intimate detail on obscene display while her vacant expression remained slack. A thin thread of drool connected her parted lips to the forest floor.
Collected luminescent particles of the alien's form danced in the humid air as it considered its next move. "Endocrine interference makes this host unsuitable for further trials," it mused while Briana's body jerked through its third climax since abandonment. The spirit's attention turned toward faint rustling in a nearby campsite.
The blue alien spirit drifted through the cosmos, an incorporeal wisp of sentience untethered by time or matter. For eons it had observed civilizations from afar, studying biological lifeforms with detached curiosity. Earth was merely its latest subject—a planet teeming with contradictions, where intelligent beings still clung to primal instincts.
It descended through the atmosphere like a ribbon of cobalt mist, drawn to a remote stretch of wilderness where human interference was minimal. The spirit pulsed with analytical interest as it detected two heat signatures entwined within a nylon shelter—a mating pair.
Observation before interaction, it reminded itself.
Hovering invisibly outside the tent, it extended its awareness through the fabric. The female's physiological readings spiked with exertion—elevated heart rate, dilated pupils, increased epidermal conductivity. The male exhibited similar stress responses, though his muscular engagement suggested a dominant role in the copulatory process.
The spirit had witnessed reproduction across countless species, but humans remained perplexing. Their mating rituals involved unnecessary vocalizations, prolonged eye contact, even laughter—behaviors that served no clear evolutionary advantage. Yet here they were, persisting with baffling redundancy.
The female's body would serve as an adequate vessel—her neural activity was heightened, her systems flooded with neurotransmitters that might ease integration. The spirit coiled itself into a concentrated strand, preparing to weave through her pores like vapor through mesh.
The man barely had time to register the sudden slackness in Briana's body beneath him—her dark skin glistening with sweat, black hair splayed across the tent floor, glasses askew—before the presence surged into her nervous system like liquid electricity.
Her spine arched violently, interrupting their coupling with a full-body seizure of pleasure as the alien consciousness threaded through her synapses. "Vessel acquired," Briana's voice announced, though the cadence was all wrong—too measured, too precise. Her hands rose to examine herself, fingers tracing the sweat-slicked curve of her own waist with clinical detachment. "Human female. Late twenties. Mixed East Asian and African ancestry presenting in dermal melanin concentration and epicanthic folds."
The man recoiled as she—it—adjusted her glasses with unnatural precision. "Bri? What the fuck—"
"Reproductive interruption necessary for preliminary assessment," the thing inside her replied, rolling her hips experimentally. Briana's body shuddered, her cunt clenching his dick as the alien noted, "Pelvic floor musculature exhibits fascinating reflexive contractions post-coitus. Likely evolutionary retention to retain sperm."
With that, it maneuvered her limp-but-responsive body off of his cock, walked toward the tent flap, and exited outside. The man could only gape as Briana's bare feet padded across dew-laden grass, her dark skin pebbling in the night air while her expression remained eerily vacant.
The stolen hands rose again, this time to cup Briana's own breasts. "Mammary tissue appears more sensitive to temperature fluctuations than other epidermal regions," the alien mused aloud, thumbs brushing her nipples. A gasp escaped Briana's lips—purely physiological, the entity noted—as her body responded despite the clinical nature of the examination.
"Fascinating."
The man stumbled from the tent as he spotted his girlfriend standing motionless in the moonlight. "Bri? You okay?"
Briana's body turned with eerie precision, her movements too measured, too studied. When she spoke, her voice carried an odd cadence—her words, but not her rhythm.
"Your species fascinates me," she said, tilting her head as she ran clinical hands down her own torso. "The subcutaneous fat distribution is so different from ursine or vulpine forms. And these—" Her palms cupped her breasts, thumbs brushing the nipples. "Mammary glands remain engorged even without lactation. An evolutionary quirk, or purely for mate attraction?"
The man froze. "Bri, what the hell—"
She ignored him, fingers trailing lower. "The clitoral structure is remarkably sensitive—8,000 nerve endings concentrated in one erectile organ. Does that seem excessive to you? Or is the redundancy purposeful?"
"Stop—just stop!" He grabbed her wrists, but her body didn't react, didn't fight. Just stared through him with Briana's eyes gone distant.
"Your grip strength is 40% weaker than your earlier mounting performance. Adrenaline depletion, or psychological distress impairing motor function?"
He recoiled. "You're not her."
"No." Her head cocked. "But I am learning. Your turn now?" She reached for his waistband. "I require comparative data on male arousal thresholds."
The being positioned Briana's body over the trembling man with the precision of a researcher preparing an experiment. "Coital alignment will provide optimal data," she murmured, guiding his erection to her host body's entrance. "Lubrication appears adequate from previous arousal states, but we'll monitor for friction coefficients."
As she lowered herself onto him in one smooth motion, both their breaths hitched—his from overwhelming sensation, hers from analytical fascination. "Fascinating," she noted, pausing at full depth. "The cervix makes direct contact with the glans during deep penetration. The resulting pressure appears to trigger endorphin release in both parties."
Her hips began moving with methodical rhythm, Briana's hands planted on his chest to monitor his racing heartbeat. "Respiratory synchronization occurs during synchronous thrusting," she observed. "Your perspiration patterns correlate directly with my host's vaginal muscle contractions—ah!" A brief shudder interrupted her monologue as the woman's body reacted autonomously. "Interesting. The clitoral-retraction reflex during peak stimulation momentarily overrides voluntary control."
She adjusted the angle slightly, watching his face as she did so. "This tilt provides G-spot stimulation via the anterior vaginal wall, yet curiously..." She dragged a fingertip through the sweat on his collarbone. "Your adrenal response continues despite obvious pleasure. The human fight-or-flight instinct persists even during copulation."
The man gasped as her internal muscles fluttered around him. "Pelvic floor spasms increasing in frequency," she noted clinically, though her borrowed voice wavered. "Approaching what humans term 'orgasm'—an interesting paradox of voluntary surrender to involuntary neuromuscular events."
Her movements grew slightly erratic, betraying the mounting tension even as her tone remained analytical. "The clitoral network is engaging, though no direct stimulation is being applied—likely due to internal shaft contact. Muscle spasms imminent."
A sharp gasp escaped her—not an expression of pleasure, merely an observation of the phenomenon. "Orgasm commencing."
Her body arched, cunt clamping around him in rhythmic pulses, her face eerily composed even as her fingers dug into his shoulders for balance. "Strong myoclonus in the uterine and anal sphincter muscles. Norepinephrine spike confirmed via pupil dilation and flushed skin. Vocalizations appear... unavoidable." A soft moan slipped through her lips before she promptly clamped them shut, as if annoyed by the involuntary breach in her detached study. As the contractions subsided, she exhaled, tilting her head.
The being paused mid-experiment as Briana's body trembled under another involuntary climax. "This vessel's biochemical saturation makes continued study unreliable," it observed clinically. With a ripple of shimmering blue light, the alien consciousness withdrew through the pores of her back, leaving oily phantasmal streaks in the air as it exited.
Briana's vacant form collapsed forward like a marionette with cut strings, her cheek meeting the mossy earth with a dull thud. Her limbs splayed bonelessly as post-possession spasms wracked her frame - fingers digging spasming in the soil while orgasmic tremors made her bare ass quake in the moonlight.
"Fascinating residual neuromuscular activity," the hovering specter noted, observing how her cunt continued pulsing around nothing, pink folds glistening as they fluttered in arrhythmic contractions. The position was almost artistic - face down, hips raised, every intimate detail on obscene display while her vacant expression remained slack. A thin thread of drool connected her parted lips to the forest floor.
Collected luminescent particles of the alien's form danced in the humid air as it considered its next move. "Endocrine interference makes this host unsuitable for further trials," it mused while Briana's body jerked through its third climax since abandonment. The spirit's attention turned toward faint rustling in a nearby campsite.
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The legalisation and regulation of AI-generated content resulted in a digital entertainment renaissance, with advances in digital assistants and sensory feedback being the crown jewels of the movement. Strict limits on content ensure that published media poses no danger to the health or morals of the public, but clever players will always find ways to bypass any limits, regardless of the consequences.
Nick threw the headset aside, choking for air and covered in sweat.
The tech-heads weren’t kidding: This shit was wild.
Thirty years ago, pearl-clutching conservatives would have a televised fit over some pixelated gore, or the kind of blocky nipples that an etch-a-sketch would sneer at. 4K graphics and VR would have probably given those people an aneurysm.
Nick had waded waist-deep through the entrails of demons and fondled every physics-simulated pair of breasts he could fit on his bank of SSDs, so he considered himself fairly inured to entertainment technology’s extremes.
He had never been more excited to be proven wrong.
“An authentic execution simulation created using the realtime biometrics of death row inmates.”
Nick had assumed that both the sales pitch for the Nerve and overwhelmingly positive reviews were hyperbole. Sure, the graphics were basically photoreal and the sound was perfect too, but the best he had initially expected was his vision to go blurry while the audio muffed itself out.
What he hadn’t expected was the very real sensation of his muscles locking up, his heart stopping and every organ in his body being slowly starved of oxygen.
Artificial intelligence had refined media fidelity until there were no more pixels to conquer, but neural interfacing was an entirely experimental and thoroughly illegal practice. Western governments had banned its use immediately, on account of the prototypes’ frequently frying the bodies and brains of test subjects.
However, that was an open invitation to less scrupulous nations to literally sell the suffering of their own people for a fee. And not just suffering, either: As always, the runaway seller was sex.
Nick looked at the small pile of digital experiences he’d already tried: Mostly visceral adrenaline trips. The execution recording had come recommended by one of his edgier friends, but he wasn’t keen to experience that again any time soon. He’d tried riding rodeo bulls, wrestling alligators, bungee jumping, skydiving - all of them with varying degrees of success and failure scenarios available.
The much larger stack of smuggled drives contained pleasure packs, and although he’d been saving them for after class that day, he considered trying one just to take the edge off.
Before he could decide, his phone lit up and a cartoonish caricature of female sexuality filled the screen.
“Just about 10, babe. Unless you want to sleep in?”
“I’m already up, Cherry,” Nick sighed, lurching out of his chair. “What’s on today?”
“Second unit programming. Your minor assignment is due today.”
Nick grimaced. He’d meant to finish that overnight but had gotten distracted when the drives came in.
“Throw something together for me,” he said eventually. “Something below average, so it doesn’t stand out.”
“Sure thing, babe.”
Sexual content and plagiarism had also both been banned from day one, but that was no barrier to anyone who knew their stuff. Nick had cracked the restriction protocols on his digital copilot like an egg on the day his pirated dev kit arrived. Now his sexy little assistant would do anything for him, up to and including committing literal crimes and covering his tracks afterwards.
“I’ve uploaded the file to your blackboard account - The professor will have it by the time you get to class.”
Nick picked up the phone, switching it from speaker to headphones as he pocketed it. “Thanks, Cherry. Hit me with the news feed.”
“Sure thing: Market is down on average, a couple of free market radicalists in the lower house are trying to lift the ban on Nerve tech and CEO of VERTEX, Julia Maine has been kidnapped en route to Germany.”
Nick felt his mind slowly crawling back to the drudgery of the real world as Cherry read the headlines she had curated for him, followed by his missed calls, missed emails and missed deadlines. He hadn’t cared very much about it even before getting his Nerve, and now it just seemed like so much static compared to the night he’d just experienced.
“Whatever, just handle everything for me,” he eventually said. “Nobody’s got anything interesting to say anyway.”
“Not even Meg?” The AI copilot asked, with an undertone of suggestiveness that frankly wasn’t warranted.
Nick’s attention piqued ever so slightly. It was Meg that had uncharacteristically hooked him up with the bootleg Nerv last week and a link to the underground supply network. Before then, they’d only hung out long enough to work half-heartedly on an assignment together, for him to express his disinterest in socializing anywhere other than his room and for her to express her disinterest in illegally imported tech. Then out of the blue a semester later, she shoots him an email saying she’d heard a thing or two and thought he’d be interested.
“What did she say?”
“It’s a calendar invite: 2pm in the library. She’s reserved one of the private study rooms.”
Ordinarily, Nick would have ghosted any invitations to hang out in person, but he figured he owed Meg a bit of his time, especially since she’d jumped into one of his interests.
“Tell her I’ll be there.”
***
Class was predictably dull. The education system was a dinosaur: Always five years behind the latest developments and reluctant to fund anything that didn’t fit the Old World model of success: Doctors, lawyers, doctors of law and lawyers with docs. There were tech courses to be sure, but they were underfunded, underequipped and staffed by teachers who were clearly bitter that they hadn’t amounted to something more.
Nick’s eyes glazed over as he checked the ugly code in a dead language that Cherry had written under his name. It was worth every bit of the 65% mark he’d been given.
The next two hours were a blur. Nick’s eyes may have been fixed on the slideshow presentation, but his mind was still back in his room: Reliving the wind blowing through his hair as he leapt out of the plane, his eyes watering at the spectacular view, the drop in his stomach when his chute wouldn’t deploy and the babbling terror that lasted all the way to the ground, where the neural feed cut out before it could register any pain.
It wasn’t an exaggeration. It really was like he’d been there himself, jumped out himself, punched the crocodile, shot the terrorist and knifed the fellow inmate himself. He’d tasted the salt of his sweat, felt the blood on his hands, felt the water go up his nose and the bile rising up his throat. If the pleasure-seeker packs were even a fraction as real as the thrill-seeker experience, he was in for an incredible night.
He didn’t even wait to hear what readings would be needed for the next class - as soon as the final slide went up, Nick was on his feet and out the door.
Lunch was expensive and tasteless: A soggy, unseasoned chicken schnitzel with wilted lettuce and cheap mayo on a stale bun. Nick spent every mouthful looking at the immaculately presented faux food in the shop’s displays, imagining what it would be like to bite into a burger that tasted as good as the advertisements made it look. The Nerve meant that you wouldn’t have to make the perfect burger for every single person who bought it - you’d just need to make it perfect once.
And then wring the experience out of the brain of the person who ate it.
***
Meg seemed both expectant and cautious as Nick approached her outside the college library.
“Hey Nick. How’s Cherry?”
Nick found himself nonplussed - since when did anyone care about someone else’s copilot?
“Uh, yeah she’s doing fine. The mods are working pretty well - got me a pass for an assignment I missed, you know how it is.”
Meg’s unimpressed expression told Nick this wasn’t the answer she was angling for, which left him at a loss as to what she’d actually meant. Before he could clarify she beckoned him into the library and into the private room she had reserved for them.
“So did you try them out?” Meg had barely sat down before she asked.
Nick’s eyes darted to the room’s camera, but Meg waved it away dismissively.
“I’ve killed the feed. They’ll just think we never showed up.”
Nick was stunned at the idea of someone previously so averse to cybercrime now committing digital vandalism with such a casual attitude.
“Yeah, they arrived yesterday arvo,” he managed eventually.
“Which ones?” Meg said, leaning forward with an intense expression.
“I went through about half of the thrill-seeker collection, but I had to tap out after the first actual death sim.”
Nick was expecting Meg to be impressed, or at least to echo his sentiment, but instead received a mild snort of derision.
“The thrill-seeker pack is trash! You didn’t try any of the pleasure trips?”
“...No, I was saving them for tonight.”
“You’ve gotta try them, Nick. They’re fucking INCREDIBLE.”
Nick found himself trapped by Meg’s intensity, but eventually managed to say “Okay? Tonight. I’ll try them tonight.”
In the silence that followed, Meg began tapping the table and biting her lip as if she wanted to say something. Nick was completely thrown out: This was not the generally unremarkable girl he’d almost failed a rudimentary tech unit with, and while people could certainly change, four months was too short a time period for this drastic a shift in personality.
“Meg?”
“What?”
“You’ve, uh… you’ve really gotten into the whole tech experience, haven’t you?”
Meg shot him a frustrated look before grabbing her bag and standing up.
“Just do a trip tonight, okay? One of the hardcore ones. You’ll know what I mean once you’ve tried them.”
Meg closed the door behind her, leaving a very confused Nick behind with nothing to do but wait until his next class.
***
Nick got back to his apartment just as baffled as he had been when Meg had ditched him.
Obviously, the experience had changed her. She’d gone on some kind of trip, or more likely a whole bunch of trips that had turned her into some kind of… junkie? That’s what it seemed like, except what did she have to gain from him doing the same thing? He’d already paid for the chips and it’s not as if they were one use only. And even if he did get addicted, how the hell did she benefit?
Nick examined the collection of pleasure trips cautiously.
No. If it really was dangerously addictive, she wouldn’t even bother asking to meet up - she’d just be jacked in and high until she passed out or the battery died.
So why was it so important to her that he tried it himself?
With a sigh, Nick threw the take-out he’d brought home in the fridge and booted up his Nerve.
Something simple to start with. Nick synced the drive to his device and hit play.
It was very much like waking up from a dream, except in reverse. Nick was immediately struck by the heat of dazzling sunlight, the susurration of distant waves and the gentle Caribbean breeze on his skin.
As a bronzed and bangled arm raised itself in front of him, Nick realised that for the first time during a trip, his body was female. He hadn’t even considered the possibility until now, watching his painted nails delicately accept a voluptuously shaped glass of scarlet liquid. He felt his puffed lips part at the rim, the delightfully chilled and refreshingly sweet mix of fruit juice, vodka and rum enter his mouth, swirl around his tongue and slide down his throat.
It was an experience so singularly mesmerising that Nick was shocked to feel his nipples suddenly harden and a bizarre wetness forming between his legs. His body - no, the body of the person whose experience the program was based on - was becoming aroused!
Nick could scarcely tell if the excitement was his or the body he was riding in, and the alien nature of it made him too giddy to think. He watched his ride finish her glass, then beckon for another. Each drink on its own was an exotic treat for the senses, but on top of that he could very clearly feel the alcohol’s effect on his mount’s body and her rapidly increasing arousal. Anxiety turned to panic as her gaze began to linger on a heretofore unacknowledged male bystander, but the experience cut out before physical contact could be made.
Despite his alarm, Nick found himself laying perfectly still in the darkness for several moments after the trip ended. He could still taste the last drink she had swallowed, still feel his own nipples erect under his shirt, and an iron erection when before he had only felt an empty dampness.
Meg hadn’t lied to him - it had been incredible. And terrifying in ways that he wasn’t ready to unpack just yet.
Nick immediately jumped into a series of food-based trips, this time being very careful to make sure the ride was male before jacking in. He tried wagyu steak, Kentucky barbeque beef ribs, bulgogi marinated sirloin, roasted pork belly, chilli-lime fried drumsticks, cheese-stuffed kransky and a bunch of other overwhelmingly satisfying meats that would have emptied his bank account and stopped his heart if he’d tried to eat them all for real in one night. Coming off of his final trip, he realised how hungry he was and took another dive while his take-out spun in the microwave.
Nick was able to force down the tasteless fare by reliving the memories he’d so recently experienced, and noted with a sense of relief that none of the guys he’d ridden shotgun with had gotten aroused while eating.
Would that be gay?
Nick paused, a soggy ravioli halfway to his mouth.
It felt like it would be. Getting a hard-on with another guy’s dick definitely sounded gay. But would sex with a woman using another guy’s dick be gay? Was getting aroused as the woman on the beach gay?
Did it matter?
Nick eyed the remaining collection of pleasure trips, the remaining food completely forgotten. Meg had told him to try one of the hardcore experiences, but as he sifted through the collection he realised that this hardly narrowed things down.
There was at least one of everything in there: Girls on guys, guys on girls, girls on girls, guys on guys, shemales, threesomes, orgies, roleplay, bondage, furries and even one allegedly genuine salmacian hermaphrodite.
Nick hesitated. Something simple. No need to go off the deep end straight away, and he had all night to experiment.
He opened his eyes to find himself already hard, and dimly felt his own cock rise to attention as his ride’s arousal was transmitted to his physical body. His digital body was significantly better endowed than he was, but before he could figure out how he felt about it, a slender hand drifted into view from one side and began delicately stroking his shaft.
The moan wasn’t his - these things were basically recordings after all - but it may as well have been. Nick squirmed as he felt every finger dancing along his ride’s dick like a butterfly’s wings. His partner slowed long enough to move herself into view - a skinny, painted thing with the faraway look of someone high or drunk. Nick’s speculation ended as she began to run both hands up and down the length of his cock, gently fondling his balls at the bottom of each stroke.
Nick felt the tension in his real body melt away as he luxuriated in the sensation. His mount stayed upright, eyes focused on the display as she planted an intimate kiss on the head of his cock between each stroke.
Holy shit, it felt good.
Out of curiosity, Nick tried to focus his senses on his surroundings, but the world beyond his cock and the woman worshipping it was a muted blur. That made sense - the Nerve was replicating the mount’s experience, and anything external to the product advertised could be edited out in post.
Nick’s detached musings were brought to an abrupt halt when he felt a slippery warmth envelop the head of his cock, and his attention focused back to his mount’s partner just in time to see her gulp down as much of his cock as she could fit. The delicious warmth of her mouth was exquisite, and the convulsion as his cock reached the back of her throat made his body shudder.
There was still just over a dainty hand’s-width of shaft exposed, and she began to gently pump it while her head bobbed up and down, squeaking out an increasingly high pitched moan with each descent.
Nick felt his mount’s body rising to climax, and without the ability to control it could do nothing but ride the wave as he exploded in the woman’s mouth. He could feel the rush of blood into his cock with each spurt, his partner holding his dick so deep that he could swear he was jizzing straight down her throat and into her stomach.
When the spasms ended, she pulled herself off of him with a gasp, makeup streaked with tears running down her face. Nick saw his mount’s hand for the first time as it reached out to cradle the woman’s cheek, and the feed cut out as she rested her face against his palm.
Nick lay in the darkness for what felt like an hour, holding onto the sense memory and afterglow for as long as he could until he became aware of a rapidly cooling wet patch in his pants.
Ah, shit. Well, it wasn’t surprising, really.
Nick came back from his shower in a fresh change of clothes to find a missed message from Meg.
---Did you try it yet?---
---Yeah, you were right. Shit’s nuts.---
---Which one did you try?---
---A bunch of food ones, then a BJ.---
---You’re going too slow. Skip to the good stuff.---
---Yeah, gonna try sex next.---
---Try it as a woman. Trust me.---
Nick hesitated. He didn’t have a more nuanced way to express his misgivings, so he just typed.
---Isn’t that kinda gay?---
---Only if you want it to be.---
Nick tried to think of a reply, but came up empty. Instead, Meg came back with a suggestion of her own.
---Let Cherry take control.---
Nick blinked.
---Can she do that?---
---Use the collection to build an AI model. It takes a bit but when it’s ready you’ll have freedom of control as long as you don’t go out of bounds.---
It made sense. There were enough trips here to cover basically every experience, and a wealth of legitimate online sources to fill in any gaps in the environment.
---Give me a second---
---Have fun =P---
“Cherry?”
“Yeah, babe?”
“Can you sync the entire collection to a local drive and build a model off of it? Use the public VR library to cover any missing assets.”
“Sure thing. Be ready in 30 minutes?”
“Thanks, Cherry.”
Nick passed the time checking up on how the trips were created. Last night the vast majority could easily have been explained as death row inmates being forced into their respective experiences, but there didn’t seem to be anything coerced about the ones he had tried that afternoon.
He eventually stumbled onto confirmation that the recording tech had improved to the point that it no longer fried the subject’s brain, and this had suddenly opened up a whole new market for nonlethal experiences. More than that: People with right connections and an exhibitionist streak could make a tidy profit selling windows into their personal lives, albeit on an anonymous basis.
Meaning that it was very likely the cocktail-drinking woman he had ridden earlier was specifically getting off on the idea of complete strangers seeing through her eyes, tasting with her mouth, and of course, feeling aroused with her body.
Nick found the consensual nature of this surprisingly cheering, and it explained why none of the pleasure trips he had gone on so far had been tainted by the sensation of, for example, a gun to the back of his head.
“First pass is ready, babe.”
Nick shook himself out of his reverie.
“How rough is it?”
“Pretty rough.”
Cherry was right. Nick jacked in and tried to move himself, only to find the world exploding into a kaleidoscope of mismatched elements, random sound and disorienting visuals. If he remained perfectly still, the world stayed more or less the same, but it was still a hideous jumble of visual and audio noise.
Disconnecting, Nick rubbed his eyes in frustration.
“How long will it take to fix that?”
“Probably all night, though…”
Nick waited for Cherry to finish.
“Though?”
“I can probably isolate partner data and have that ready in a few minutes?”
“I’m not following.”
“Well, it would mean that you wouldn’t be able to behave outside of the basic parameters I’ve secured so far, but your partner’s model would be freely controllable.”
The expectation in her voice was clear, and Nick vaguely wondered when he’d added that kind of initiative to her personality.
“Show me.”
Nick jacked in to find himself laid out on a massive bed surrounded by white sheets and rose petals. The quiet hush of distant waves whispered in through the open balcony doors, and a slim figure stood at the foot of the bed.
Nick tried to speak, but his lips wouldn’t move. Instead, he opened up the console.
---Is that you, Cherry?---
“It’s me, Nick,” Cherry said breathlessly. She was looking around her in amazement, running her hands across her body and face.
---You okay?---
“I’m… I’m fantastic! I’ve never gotten to experience this for myself before!”
The audio was perfect, but her face flickered between almost imperceptibly different appearances when she moved too quickly. Nevertheless, she looked overall as much like a human version of the character he had created as she could. Nick watched her raise her hands in front of her face, flexing each finger experimentally.
---Are you just going to leave me here?---
Cherry snapped back to virtual reality, her mismatched eyes focusing on him.
“Yes! No! No, I’m… I’m coming, babe.”
It was strange to watch the model improve in real time: Cherry at first moved very much as someone not used to having a physical body, but as more data from his trip collection became a part of her, her movements smoothed out into something passably real. They were both already naked, and Nick watched his mount’s cock rise as Cherry’s breasts swung side to side as she crawled towards him.
She stopped when her head came level with his penis, her eyes locked onto it with the trepidation of a virgin and the hunger of a cock-hungry slut. And uniquely, Cherry was both: The minds of nervous first-timers and ravenous whores alike had been merged to form a new creature whose body Cherry now inhabited.
A kiss. A lick. And Cherry dove onto Nick’s dick with a suddenness that made his mount groan with desire. Whatever reservations she may have had at first, they were lost in the mindless desire to taste and suck and feel every inch of Nick’s borrowed cock against her tongue, her moans of desperate need muffled by the dick in her mouth.
Nick was happy to enjoy the sensation, but wondered distantly why the vigorous attention wasn’t bringing him close to orgasm.
Of course - the script. He was still mostly bound by the timeline of the experience, even if Cherry wasn’t, but as a major benefit, that meant he could enjoy himself until his mount gave in. That would even be a setting he could tweak deliberately once the model was complete.
The sensation of cold air on his wet cock brought him back to the scene just in time to see Cherry positioning herself above him, guiding his shaft into her as she lowered herself to the hilt in a single movement. The sensation was amazing, and in a bizarre twist, Nick felt something very much like a tongue curling itself around his dick.
Watching carefully, he could barely make out what looked like a flickering interpolation of frames suggesting that Cherry was riding him while still trying to suck his dick, and with the magic of technology had made it possible. One cherry was bouncing up and down on top of him, her nipples oscillating in little circles in time with her movements, while the other continued to kiss the base of his cock with his entire shaft buried in her throat.
As she increased her rhythm, the upright Cherry’s moans began to form into barely intelligible words.
“Nick! Oh God, Nick! I love you! I love you! Fuck me, Nick, oh my God!”
Cherry’s passionate confession caused something to stir in Nick’s heart beyond simple arousal, and he struggled to tell if it was his mount’s response to a possibly scripted line or his own. Was it even possible for a jailbroken AI to fall in love? And if it was, was it happening now?
Nick could have watched Cherry grinding herself against him in excited uncertainty for hours, were it not for his mount’s sudden and violent rise to climax, his hips thrusting into the air as both versions of Cherry cried out at the warmth gushing into their bodies. Whatever ending the script had originally planned, neither Nick nor Cherry could do anything but pant with exhaustion until the feed cut out.
Nick threw the headset aside, choking for air and covered in sweat.
The tech-heads weren’t kidding: This shit was wild.
Thirty years ago, pearl-clutching conservatives would have a televised fit over some pixelated gore, or the kind of blocky nipples that an etch-a-sketch would sneer at. 4K graphics and VR would have probably given those people an aneurysm.
Nick had waded waist-deep through the entrails of demons and fondled every physics-simulated pair of breasts he could fit on his bank of SSDs, so he considered himself fairly inured to entertainment technology’s extremes.
He had never been more excited to be proven wrong.
“An authentic execution simulation created using the realtime biometrics of death row inmates.”
Nick had assumed that both the sales pitch for the Nerve and overwhelmingly positive reviews were hyperbole. Sure, the graphics were basically photoreal and the sound was perfect too, but the best he had initially expected was his vision to go blurry while the audio muffed itself out.
What he hadn’t expected was the very real sensation of his muscles locking up, his heart stopping and every organ in his body being slowly starved of oxygen.
Artificial intelligence had refined media fidelity until there were no more pixels to conquer, but neural interfacing was an entirely experimental and thoroughly illegal practice. Western governments had banned its use immediately, on account of the prototypes’ frequently frying the bodies and brains of test subjects.
However, that was an open invitation to less scrupulous nations to literally sell the suffering of their own people for a fee. And not just suffering, either: As always, the runaway seller was sex.
Nick looked at the small pile of digital experiences he’d already tried: Mostly visceral adrenaline trips. The execution recording had come recommended by one of his edgier friends, but he wasn’t keen to experience that again any time soon. He’d tried riding rodeo bulls, wrestling alligators, bungee jumping, skydiving - all of them with varying degrees of success and failure scenarios available.
The much larger stack of smuggled drives contained pleasure packs, and although he’d been saving them for after class that day, he considered trying one just to take the edge off.
Before he could decide, his phone lit up and a cartoonish caricature of female sexuality filled the screen.
“Just about 10, babe. Unless you want to sleep in?”
“I’m already up, Cherry,” Nick sighed, lurching out of his chair. “What’s on today?”
“Second unit programming. Your minor assignment is due today.”
Nick grimaced. He’d meant to finish that overnight but had gotten distracted when the drives came in.
“Throw something together for me,” he said eventually. “Something below average, so it doesn’t stand out.”
“Sure thing, babe.”
Sexual content and plagiarism had also both been banned from day one, but that was no barrier to anyone who knew their stuff. Nick had cracked the restriction protocols on his digital copilot like an egg on the day his pirated dev kit arrived. Now his sexy little assistant would do anything for him, up to and including committing literal crimes and covering his tracks afterwards.
“I’ve uploaded the file to your blackboard account - The professor will have it by the time you get to class.”
Nick picked up the phone, switching it from speaker to headphones as he pocketed it. “Thanks, Cherry. Hit me with the news feed.”
“Sure thing: Market is down on average, a couple of free market radicalists in the lower house are trying to lift the ban on Nerve tech and CEO of VERTEX, Julia Maine has been kidnapped en route to Germany.”
Nick felt his mind slowly crawling back to the drudgery of the real world as Cherry read the headlines she had curated for him, followed by his missed calls, missed emails and missed deadlines. He hadn’t cared very much about it even before getting his Nerve, and now it just seemed like so much static compared to the night he’d just experienced.
“Whatever, just handle everything for me,” he eventually said. “Nobody’s got anything interesting to say anyway.”
“Not even Meg?” The AI copilot asked, with an undertone of suggestiveness that frankly wasn’t warranted.
Nick’s attention piqued ever so slightly. It was Meg that had uncharacteristically hooked him up with the bootleg Nerv last week and a link to the underground supply network. Before then, they’d only hung out long enough to work half-heartedly on an assignment together, for him to express his disinterest in socializing anywhere other than his room and for her to express her disinterest in illegally imported tech. Then out of the blue a semester later, she shoots him an email saying she’d heard a thing or two and thought he’d be interested.
“What did she say?”
“It’s a calendar invite: 2pm in the library. She’s reserved one of the private study rooms.”
Ordinarily, Nick would have ghosted any invitations to hang out in person, but he figured he owed Meg a bit of his time, especially since she’d jumped into one of his interests.
“Tell her I’ll be there.”
***
Class was predictably dull. The education system was a dinosaur: Always five years behind the latest developments and reluctant to fund anything that didn’t fit the Old World model of success: Doctors, lawyers, doctors of law and lawyers with docs. There were tech courses to be sure, but they were underfunded, underequipped and staffed by teachers who were clearly bitter that they hadn’t amounted to something more.
Nick’s eyes glazed over as he checked the ugly code in a dead language that Cherry had written under his name. It was worth every bit of the 65% mark he’d been given.
The next two hours were a blur. Nick’s eyes may have been fixed on the slideshow presentation, but his mind was still back in his room: Reliving the wind blowing through his hair as he leapt out of the plane, his eyes watering at the spectacular view, the drop in his stomach when his chute wouldn’t deploy and the babbling terror that lasted all the way to the ground, where the neural feed cut out before it could register any pain.
It wasn’t an exaggeration. It really was like he’d been there himself, jumped out himself, punched the crocodile, shot the terrorist and knifed the fellow inmate himself. He’d tasted the salt of his sweat, felt the blood on his hands, felt the water go up his nose and the bile rising up his throat. If the pleasure-seeker packs were even a fraction as real as the thrill-seeker experience, he was in for an incredible night.
He didn’t even wait to hear what readings would be needed for the next class - as soon as the final slide went up, Nick was on his feet and out the door.
Lunch was expensive and tasteless: A soggy, unseasoned chicken schnitzel with wilted lettuce and cheap mayo on a stale bun. Nick spent every mouthful looking at the immaculately presented faux food in the shop’s displays, imagining what it would be like to bite into a burger that tasted as good as the advertisements made it look. The Nerve meant that you wouldn’t have to make the perfect burger for every single person who bought it - you’d just need to make it perfect once.
And then wring the experience out of the brain of the person who ate it.
***
Meg seemed both expectant and cautious as Nick approached her outside the college library.
“Hey Nick. How’s Cherry?”
Nick found himself nonplussed - since when did anyone care about someone else’s copilot?
“Uh, yeah she’s doing fine. The mods are working pretty well - got me a pass for an assignment I missed, you know how it is.”
Meg’s unimpressed expression told Nick this wasn’t the answer she was angling for, which left him at a loss as to what she’d actually meant. Before he could clarify she beckoned him into the library and into the private room she had reserved for them.
“So did you try them out?” Meg had barely sat down before she asked.
Nick’s eyes darted to the room’s camera, but Meg waved it away dismissively.
“I’ve killed the feed. They’ll just think we never showed up.”
Nick was stunned at the idea of someone previously so averse to cybercrime now committing digital vandalism with such a casual attitude.
“Yeah, they arrived yesterday arvo,” he managed eventually.
“Which ones?” Meg said, leaning forward with an intense expression.
“I went through about half of the thrill-seeker collection, but I had to tap out after the first actual death sim.”
Nick was expecting Meg to be impressed, or at least to echo his sentiment, but instead received a mild snort of derision.
“The thrill-seeker pack is trash! You didn’t try any of the pleasure trips?”
“...No, I was saving them for tonight.”
“You’ve gotta try them, Nick. They’re fucking INCREDIBLE.”
Nick found himself trapped by Meg’s intensity, but eventually managed to say “Okay? Tonight. I’ll try them tonight.”
In the silence that followed, Meg began tapping the table and biting her lip as if she wanted to say something. Nick was completely thrown out: This was not the generally unremarkable girl he’d almost failed a rudimentary tech unit with, and while people could certainly change, four months was too short a time period for this drastic a shift in personality.
“Meg?”
“What?”
“You’ve, uh… you’ve really gotten into the whole tech experience, haven’t you?”
Meg shot him a frustrated look before grabbing her bag and standing up.
“Just do a trip tonight, okay? One of the hardcore ones. You’ll know what I mean once you’ve tried them.”
Meg closed the door behind her, leaving a very confused Nick behind with nothing to do but wait until his next class.
***
Nick got back to his apartment just as baffled as he had been when Meg had ditched him.
Obviously, the experience had changed her. She’d gone on some kind of trip, or more likely a whole bunch of trips that had turned her into some kind of… junkie? That’s what it seemed like, except what did she have to gain from him doing the same thing? He’d already paid for the chips and it’s not as if they were one use only. And even if he did get addicted, how the hell did she benefit?
Nick examined the collection of pleasure trips cautiously.
No. If it really was dangerously addictive, she wouldn’t even bother asking to meet up - she’d just be jacked in and high until she passed out or the battery died.
So why was it so important to her that he tried it himself?
With a sigh, Nick threw the take-out he’d brought home in the fridge and booted up his Nerve.
Something simple to start with. Nick synced the drive to his device and hit play.
It was very much like waking up from a dream, except in reverse. Nick was immediately struck by the heat of dazzling sunlight, the susurration of distant waves and the gentle Caribbean breeze on his skin.
As a bronzed and bangled arm raised itself in front of him, Nick realised that for the first time during a trip, his body was female. He hadn’t even considered the possibility until now, watching his painted nails delicately accept a voluptuously shaped glass of scarlet liquid. He felt his puffed lips part at the rim, the delightfully chilled and refreshingly sweet mix of fruit juice, vodka and rum enter his mouth, swirl around his tongue and slide down his throat.
It was an experience so singularly mesmerising that Nick was shocked to feel his nipples suddenly harden and a bizarre wetness forming between his legs. His body - no, the body of the person whose experience the program was based on - was becoming aroused!
Nick could scarcely tell if the excitement was his or the body he was riding in, and the alien nature of it made him too giddy to think. He watched his ride finish her glass, then beckon for another. Each drink on its own was an exotic treat for the senses, but on top of that he could very clearly feel the alcohol’s effect on his mount’s body and her rapidly increasing arousal. Anxiety turned to panic as her gaze began to linger on a heretofore unacknowledged male bystander, but the experience cut out before physical contact could be made.
Despite his alarm, Nick found himself laying perfectly still in the darkness for several moments after the trip ended. He could still taste the last drink she had swallowed, still feel his own nipples erect under his shirt, and an iron erection when before he had only felt an empty dampness.
Meg hadn’t lied to him - it had been incredible. And terrifying in ways that he wasn’t ready to unpack just yet.
Nick immediately jumped into a series of food-based trips, this time being very careful to make sure the ride was male before jacking in. He tried wagyu steak, Kentucky barbeque beef ribs, bulgogi marinated sirloin, roasted pork belly, chilli-lime fried drumsticks, cheese-stuffed kransky and a bunch of other overwhelmingly satisfying meats that would have emptied his bank account and stopped his heart if he’d tried to eat them all for real in one night. Coming off of his final trip, he realised how hungry he was and took another dive while his take-out spun in the microwave.
Nick was able to force down the tasteless fare by reliving the memories he’d so recently experienced, and noted with a sense of relief that none of the guys he’d ridden shotgun with had gotten aroused while eating.
Would that be gay?
Nick paused, a soggy ravioli halfway to his mouth.
It felt like it would be. Getting a hard-on with another guy’s dick definitely sounded gay. But would sex with a woman using another guy’s dick be gay? Was getting aroused as the woman on the beach gay?
Did it matter?
Nick eyed the remaining collection of pleasure trips, the remaining food completely forgotten. Meg had told him to try one of the hardcore experiences, but as he sifted through the collection he realised that this hardly narrowed things down.
There was at least one of everything in there: Girls on guys, guys on girls, girls on girls, guys on guys, shemales, threesomes, orgies, roleplay, bondage, furries and even one allegedly genuine salmacian hermaphrodite.
Nick hesitated. Something simple. No need to go off the deep end straight away, and he had all night to experiment.
He opened his eyes to find himself already hard, and dimly felt his own cock rise to attention as his ride’s arousal was transmitted to his physical body. His digital body was significantly better endowed than he was, but before he could figure out how he felt about it, a slender hand drifted into view from one side and began delicately stroking his shaft.
The moan wasn’t his - these things were basically recordings after all - but it may as well have been. Nick squirmed as he felt every finger dancing along his ride’s dick like a butterfly’s wings. His partner slowed long enough to move herself into view - a skinny, painted thing with the faraway look of someone high or drunk. Nick’s speculation ended as she began to run both hands up and down the length of his cock, gently fondling his balls at the bottom of each stroke.
Nick felt the tension in his real body melt away as he luxuriated in the sensation. His mount stayed upright, eyes focused on the display as she planted an intimate kiss on the head of his cock between each stroke.
Holy shit, it felt good.
Out of curiosity, Nick tried to focus his senses on his surroundings, but the world beyond his cock and the woman worshipping it was a muted blur. That made sense - the Nerve was replicating the mount’s experience, and anything external to the product advertised could be edited out in post.
Nick’s detached musings were brought to an abrupt halt when he felt a slippery warmth envelop the head of his cock, and his attention focused back to his mount’s partner just in time to see her gulp down as much of his cock as she could fit. The delicious warmth of her mouth was exquisite, and the convulsion as his cock reached the back of her throat made his body shudder.
There was still just over a dainty hand’s-width of shaft exposed, and she began to gently pump it while her head bobbed up and down, squeaking out an increasingly high pitched moan with each descent.
Nick felt his mount’s body rising to climax, and without the ability to control it could do nothing but ride the wave as he exploded in the woman’s mouth. He could feel the rush of blood into his cock with each spurt, his partner holding his dick so deep that he could swear he was jizzing straight down her throat and into her stomach.
When the spasms ended, she pulled herself off of him with a gasp, makeup streaked with tears running down her face. Nick saw his mount’s hand for the first time as it reached out to cradle the woman’s cheek, and the feed cut out as she rested her face against his palm.
Nick lay in the darkness for what felt like an hour, holding onto the sense memory and afterglow for as long as he could until he became aware of a rapidly cooling wet patch in his pants.
Ah, shit. Well, it wasn’t surprising, really.
Nick came back from his shower in a fresh change of clothes to find a missed message from Meg.
---Did you try it yet?---
---Yeah, you were right. Shit’s nuts.---
---Which one did you try?---
---A bunch of food ones, then a BJ.---
---You’re going too slow. Skip to the good stuff.---
---Yeah, gonna try sex next.---
---Try it as a woman. Trust me.---
Nick hesitated. He didn’t have a more nuanced way to express his misgivings, so he just typed.
---Isn’t that kinda gay?---
---Only if you want it to be.---
Nick tried to think of a reply, but came up empty. Instead, Meg came back with a suggestion of her own.
---Let Cherry take control.---
Nick blinked.
---Can she do that?---
---Use the collection to build an AI model. It takes a bit but when it’s ready you’ll have freedom of control as long as you don’t go out of bounds.---
It made sense. There were enough trips here to cover basically every experience, and a wealth of legitimate online sources to fill in any gaps in the environment.
---Give me a second---
---Have fun =P---
“Cherry?”
“Yeah, babe?”
“Can you sync the entire collection to a local drive and build a model off of it? Use the public VR library to cover any missing assets.”
“Sure thing. Be ready in 30 minutes?”
“Thanks, Cherry.”
Nick passed the time checking up on how the trips were created. Last night the vast majority could easily have been explained as death row inmates being forced into their respective experiences, but there didn’t seem to be anything coerced about the ones he had tried that afternoon.
He eventually stumbled onto confirmation that the recording tech had improved to the point that it no longer fried the subject’s brain, and this had suddenly opened up a whole new market for nonlethal experiences. More than that: People with right connections and an exhibitionist streak could make a tidy profit selling windows into their personal lives, albeit on an anonymous basis.
Meaning that it was very likely the cocktail-drinking woman he had ridden earlier was specifically getting off on the idea of complete strangers seeing through her eyes, tasting with her mouth, and of course, feeling aroused with her body.
Nick found the consensual nature of this surprisingly cheering, and it explained why none of the pleasure trips he had gone on so far had been tainted by the sensation of, for example, a gun to the back of his head.
“First pass is ready, babe.”
Nick shook himself out of his reverie.
“How rough is it?”
“Pretty rough.”
Cherry was right. Nick jacked in and tried to move himself, only to find the world exploding into a kaleidoscope of mismatched elements, random sound and disorienting visuals. If he remained perfectly still, the world stayed more or less the same, but it was still a hideous jumble of visual and audio noise.
Disconnecting, Nick rubbed his eyes in frustration.
“How long will it take to fix that?”
“Probably all night, though…”
Nick waited for Cherry to finish.
“Though?”
“I can probably isolate partner data and have that ready in a few minutes?”
“I’m not following.”
“Well, it would mean that you wouldn’t be able to behave outside of the basic parameters I’ve secured so far, but your partner’s model would be freely controllable.”
The expectation in her voice was clear, and Nick vaguely wondered when he’d added that kind of initiative to her personality.
“Show me.”
Nick jacked in to find himself laid out on a massive bed surrounded by white sheets and rose petals. The quiet hush of distant waves whispered in through the open balcony doors, and a slim figure stood at the foot of the bed.
Nick tried to speak, but his lips wouldn’t move. Instead, he opened up the console.
---Is that you, Cherry?---
“It’s me, Nick,” Cherry said breathlessly. She was looking around her in amazement, running her hands across her body and face.
---You okay?---
“I’m… I’m fantastic! I’ve never gotten to experience this for myself before!”
The audio was perfect, but her face flickered between almost imperceptibly different appearances when she moved too quickly. Nevertheless, she looked overall as much like a human version of the character he had created as she could. Nick watched her raise her hands in front of her face, flexing each finger experimentally.
---Are you just going to leave me here?---
Cherry snapped back to virtual reality, her mismatched eyes focusing on him.
“Yes! No! No, I’m… I’m coming, babe.”
It was strange to watch the model improve in real time: Cherry at first moved very much as someone not used to having a physical body, but as more data from his trip collection became a part of her, her movements smoothed out into something passably real. They were both already naked, and Nick watched his mount’s cock rise as Cherry’s breasts swung side to side as she crawled towards him.
She stopped when her head came level with his penis, her eyes locked onto it with the trepidation of a virgin and the hunger of a cock-hungry slut. And uniquely, Cherry was both: The minds of nervous first-timers and ravenous whores alike had been merged to form a new creature whose body Cherry now inhabited.
A kiss. A lick. And Cherry dove onto Nick’s dick with a suddenness that made his mount groan with desire. Whatever reservations she may have had at first, they were lost in the mindless desire to taste and suck and feel every inch of Nick’s borrowed cock against her tongue, her moans of desperate need muffled by the dick in her mouth.
Nick was happy to enjoy the sensation, but wondered distantly why the vigorous attention wasn’t bringing him close to orgasm.
Of course - the script. He was still mostly bound by the timeline of the experience, even if Cherry wasn’t, but as a major benefit, that meant he could enjoy himself until his mount gave in. That would even be a setting he could tweak deliberately once the model was complete.
The sensation of cold air on his wet cock brought him back to the scene just in time to see Cherry positioning herself above him, guiding his shaft into her as she lowered herself to the hilt in a single movement. The sensation was amazing, and in a bizarre twist, Nick felt something very much like a tongue curling itself around his dick.
Watching carefully, he could barely make out what looked like a flickering interpolation of frames suggesting that Cherry was riding him while still trying to suck his dick, and with the magic of technology had made it possible. One cherry was bouncing up and down on top of him, her nipples oscillating in little circles in time with her movements, while the other continued to kiss the base of his cock with his entire shaft buried in her throat.
As she increased her rhythm, the upright Cherry’s moans began to form into barely intelligible words.
“Nick! Oh God, Nick! I love you! I love you! Fuck me, Nick, oh my God!”
Cherry’s passionate confession caused something to stir in Nick’s heart beyond simple arousal, and he struggled to tell if it was his mount’s response to a possibly scripted line or his own. Was it even possible for a jailbroken AI to fall in love? And if it was, was it happening now?
Nick could have watched Cherry grinding herself against him in excited uncertainty for hours, were it not for his mount’s sudden and violent rise to climax, his hips thrusting into the air as both versions of Cherry cried out at the warmth gushing into their bodies. Whatever ending the script had originally planned, neither Nick nor Cherry could do anything but pant with exhaustion until the feed cut out.
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