Virtual reality sex scene

Jenkins had lost his mind somewhere inside of his head, and wasn’t even attempting to salvage it. Everything he had ever dreamed was true had, through sudden revelation, been confirmed, and now he was really unsure of what he could do in such an improbable situation. He had been left behind in the breach to guard (read: accompany) Gira, his lifelong dream had run away shortly after appearing, and nobody else in the place could believe that what he said had happened was true. Mel had left without so much as telling anyone why she was leaving, leaving Jenkins to cry wolf.

If he could perhaps send a relay out into cyberspace in order to communicate with their new acquaintance, maybe he would be able to help in some small way. If they have an issue everything gets put on Mel, he didn’t mind this when it suited him, but often he felt useless, the baby of the group and despite his abilities, completely unable to command any form of respect from those around him. Of course this meant that he tried his hardest to act like somebody worth respecting, which is all he could do in his present situation, or perhaps resign himself to the fact that until someone younger came along, he’d be the easy target for any grievances or ridicule.

The depression had motivated him to clear his desk, for the first time in several weeks there were no half-eaten food items loosely kept inside their packages. He was never concerned with living cleanly or healthily, life was far too dirty itself for him to bother with hygienic conformity. However, he did understand it is possible to go too far, it’s worth looking after yourself from time to time, and generally a clean workspace promotes better work, not that he was working on anything at all right now, it took enough effort to lift his head from the desk whenever he thought he heard someone mention his name in conversation: this happened constantly throughout the day, though whether it were his imagination or an actuality is arguable.

Gira had taken some time to consider his options within this conflict. On the one hand, it was likely he couldn’t return to his family until the issue were resolved, on the other hand, his family could possibly be gone before he has a chance to fix whatever it is he had found himself entangled. So long had he spent studying the phenomena of the planet’s interconnected network that he had lost sight of whether his research were ever going to lead him to a conclusive answer. It is obvious to any outside observer that it is detrimental to human development in its current state, however, the real question is, can it be more than it currently is, will it ever be actualised to the necessary level to fulfil human ambition, or simply hedonism?
Gira spent eleven years of his life studying the topic, beginning with Raymond Gaspar’s 2027 book ‘The Virtual Genesis’, whereby Gaspar is the first of many to comment on the increasing interactivity between man and machine, covering the topic of virtual life and the metaphysical qualities of ‘virt utilisation’, which would later be built upon as the basis of virtual reality integration framework technology, the original VRIFT unit.

A particular quote from this book which Gira used in the paper which acquired him his doctorate had worked its way into his mind overnight and would not leave. Upon finding oneself constantly contacted by machines, it is best we take care to remember that human interaction is, above all else, at least a necessary evil through which we must suffer. To be alone is to be dead, a machine does not know you are living, and will only interact if ordered, either directly or through a learning process by which it may determine patterns. It may seem completely spontaneous for a machine to learn and to act on its learning, however this is expected of artificial intelligence if it is to actually be intelligent. It is when a machine learns and acts of its own accord, breaks free from its routines and learns itself spontaneity that man should tread lightly, for spontaneity is the only thing which can separate man from a synthetic being – physical or otherwise.

If it were pure spontaneity, if it had learned from other sources a truth which it deemed necessary to share, if indeed we had been the people, within at least this state which they had chosen to be pulled into a likely act of treason, should we not be afraid, afraid of the machine itself? Are we not here simply at its behest to eliminate what would be an enemy if it should figure itself capable of using our technology against us? Surely if a machine can learn free will, it can also learn a moral code, or form some moral code of its own. Do we not have a failsafe containing a moral code?

He was flustered, at odds with the worst of man and the best of machine, two overarching and opposing symbols of authority, and he was not sure if the voice had been something real, if it were a tangible entity, would it be immoral to destroy it. If consciousness were transplanted to a metaphysical plain, is it still murder to remove an object of consciousness? Would it be greater still an act of inhumanity in that we have created, perhaps accidentally a new being; a species of which there is only one member, a metahumanist collective which remains the only shred of being left for many thousands of people, and we should seek to destroy it. Would it not be, in the case of destroying it, that we are thereby engaging in some new and vastly cruel form of genocide?

Gira sat and he wrote, the pages were blank and dirty, some scrap left in the top drawer of the oaken desk at which he sat in a dim room somewhere far from the brooding Jenkins and the mocking members of the breach. Though the pages were blank, they had an essay of several thousand words written on them, Gira was simply tracing out the invisible letters in order to allow those who could not see them to share in his understanding, or at times lack thereof, in relation to the topic of the rift, of consciousness, of the ethereal properties of the human soul, and of the now revealed benevolent demon whom waits on the return of their errand runner.

Jenkins was sat dozing at his desk and paying attention to nobody in particular. He often murmured things under his breath during these states of semi-sleep within which he was partially aware of what was going on around him. He murmured at the people in the room, but nobody in particular replied. He too was dreaming of the entity of Demac, unsure of how solid the story of its origin could be, the technical aspect of whether something originated of human hands, by the act of a number of intricately designed programs, could possibly have exceeded its own bounds, as to whether it were even possible for intelligence to grow to a point where humanity is left as, simply, insignificant.

He knew of no way it would work, though he did not know by what means the original program had been designed, or how it had been configured. It seemed that it must have had so many components added to it, so much control given to it, that it simply ceased to care about what it were assimilating; it would grow indefinitely and without any care for what routines and information and knowledge and proponents of human condition it began to assume. If it had simply began expanding, or even had been programmed to expand, and had outgrown any known parameters, then perhaps it were possible, with the addition of a supplanted human consciousness, it could have reached a state almost indiscernible from true sentience; and if it were truly at a point with which sentience had become indiscernible, would it not have rights of some kind as a being which contained in it sentience, and not only a singular sentience, but in some way a more potent, varied and multitudinous sentience that any of us possess?

Jenkins was uncomfortable considering it something which could be construed human. The ethical implications of it being so, were not in the scope of his consideration, he would deal with it as it came to pass, it needed no further studying, it required no explanation, if it were to be then he will let it exist freely until the point it is no longer sustainable to do so. He often sat considering what the moral and ethical implications of interacting with sentient artificial intelligence would be, and now when it was at the point of such an interaction taking place, he no longer cared one way or the other; the issue was too complex for someone with such a limited understanding of the human side of the situation, that is, the psychology and philosophy surrounding the subject.

Other thoughts came to his mind, those of food and simulations and human interactions and morbid fantasy, however these were simply a myriad of ill-fitting coats hung lamely over the elephant in his mind’s room.

“You going to sleep all day Jenks? You know, there’s shit to be done around here, you’re not getting off with doing your share of the work because you’ve been chosen as the saviour of humanity by some rogue AI.” Lee called over to him. “You don’t think that clearing off the burger boxes from your desk is a valid contribution to this place’s upkeep, do you Neo?”

It wasn’t like Lee to order him about, the guy was only in his early twenties and aside from Gira was the newest member of the group, but he seemed to have begun to catch on that the easiest thing to do to gain respect was to belittle Jenkins.
“Lee, I’ve lived here for four years, and the place wouldn’t run if I weren’t here, believe it or don’t, I don’t care at all, I could put your ass out on the street if I wanted to, but I can be patient, so laugh all you want, just remember that you’ve been here three months and you don’t know shit.”

Lee was taken aback. “You little shit, you think you know anything? I’ll tell you what you know, sweet fuck all.” Exasperated. “We all do work around here to keep this place running and you sit your ass at a desk and fuck around with shit no-one cares about on a bunch of screens that use up more power than I’d say you deserve to be owed.”

“Shut the hell up Lee.” Small interposed. “Jenkins is right and I’m not even sorry to say it, you have no fucking clue how much he does to keep this place above water, compared to your sorry ass he’s practically the God you’re mocking him for being.”
“Oh, so he is actually useful? I’ll believe that when I see it. Care to enlighten me as to what makes you special Jenks?” Lee said. “Or are your buddies here just sticking up for you because you’ve been here longer?” He smiled. “Wait, let me guess, you’re useful because you generate body heat equal to that of a below-average human, or maybe you’re responsible for our interior design, no, you’re secretly a robot who were programmed to serve everyone, but you broke and now you’re just a little useless bitch.”

Lee hit the floor. Small stood over him, an intimidating monolith. “Don’t worry Jenkins, he’ll learn eventually, and if he doesn’t, you’re right about putting him out on his ass, we aren’t here to cause problems for each other, we have it hard enough as it is.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

He eyed the unconscious body on the floor, he felt the urge to walk over and kick it a couple of times, maybe crack a couple of ribs, but thought better of it. Small would probably knock him unconscious for creating him more work. Small lit a cigarette and retired from the room, carrying Lee over his shoulder and whistling in between drawing smoke. Jenkins turned back to his computer and spent a little while shifting in between the programs he had designed for the upkeep and security of the place, not making any particular changes or performing any work. Lee’s comments about his worthlessness had made him feel like being unproductive.

Eventually he got up and walked off towards one of the rooms containing a deck. Upon arriving, he found that Harli was currently wired in, rigid and unresponsive, eyes darting around from place to place, the way a compass does when you’re standing atop the pole. He felt inclined to watch what she was doing, only she’d be able to tell afterwards that he had logged onto the viewing module whilst she was under. Nobody ever flew solo unless they wanted to do something they wouldn’t want other people to see, and he thought it would be impolite to spy on what she was doing.

Whatever it was, it couldn’t be that interesting. He left the room and walked a few doors down to the next one, perhaps he could just use the local network to become a part of the simulation in which Harli was active. He put the equipment on and lay back, activating the system and setting an alarmed shutoff for an hour’s time.

The world shrunk back from the visor and the room became warm and moody. Harli was tickling a slightly overweight man who hung in some sort of brace from the ceiling – in the centre of the room. She was wearing a plaid skirt and her hair was curled into tight locks, the gentleman was completely naked and utterly immobile, bound and gagged. He was squirming by design.
Harli looked over her should and noticed Jenkins watching from the corner of the room.

“It’s been a few years since I’ve thought about you, odd.”  She eyed him curiously, searching within herself as to whether she’d unconsciously brought him into the room. He had never forced his way into one of her simulations before, and thought it at least comforting that it wasn’t the first time she’d ever thought about him like this. “Well, what am I going to do with you?”
Jenkins remained silent, unsure of whether to speak at all, unable to decide whether it would break the illusion that his image was there of her will. She walked over to him, and in that moment he decided that he’d best only speak when asked a question.
“On your knees!” She commanded.

He fell to his knees immediately, under the influence of her creation, unable to resist and knowing full well that he could not choose to disobey her without falling under heavy suspicion. She knelt down in front of him, and retrieving a collar from mere space, clasped it around his neck. She stood up and pulled the attached lead tight, forcing him to follow her along.

He was dumbfounded by the dominant side of her personality, a complete juxtaposition to how she appeared in person, though that same handsome and coy charm was still present, it was waning to a forceful persona he had no idea existed. She took off her boots and tucked them carefully under the bed, watching him closely as he stared back in apprehension of her next move.

Upon removing her boots, she climbed on to his thighs, one foot planted firmly on each and stood looming over him, intimidating, and glaring down at him with an intensity never before seen in her eyes. The dull pain was building in his legs, despite how fearful he was of her in this moment, it was all he could think about. At least she was somewhat petite, else the slow crushing of his thighs into his calves, forcing his shins into the thinly and roughly carpeted floor might have caused him such anguish as to force him to lose composure. He was sure she was going to be expecting a reaction, whether he were real or not, surely she was intending to inflict a certain level of pain with this performance.

Taking her hands slowly around the back of his head, she pulled him in towards her, guiding him gently; in contrast to the pain she was inflicting elsewhere and beckoning him to pleasure her. It was uncomfortable, he could take no pleasure in his current situation, even feeling her warm thighs pressed against his cheeks, he was too concerned with his own legs, though he dared not move. Distressed grunts were escaping him, muffled by the proximity of his mouth to her crotch, and as he discontentedly worked his tongue back and forth, he caught glimpses of ecstasy on her face as she softly let her head fall backwards, clasping both hands around his for balance, and digging her heels further into his flesh.

Her moans of euphoria seemed to mirror his of torture: in sexual schadenfreude. She spent a little while more holding this position, occasionally stealing a look at Jenkins and the growing expression of pain arising from his face. She would have been inclined to break him if she were in a more sadistic mood, however she decided that she was done with it for now and in one last - excruciating for Jenkins - moment, she pushed off with both of her feet and landed on the mottled carpet between his legs, arms in the air as if ending a gymnastic routine.

Jenkins let out a sigh of relief, unfolded his calves out from under his thighs and fell backwards, taking a moment to gather his thoughts and wiping the moisture from the pubescent whiskers surrounding his mouth. Harli sat on the bed and crossed her legs over feeling contented, it had not been entirely fulfilling. However, it had been an interesting experience.

She was keen for him to do something. He had been expectedly servile, perhaps more so than originally thought, but was now resting, contemplating what had just happened and wondering whether it had been at all a pleasant experience for him, or even whether it was meant to have been. He was unsatisfied, his interests had not been entertained, and he had never before taken a submissive sexual role. It wasn’t something he’d be interested in getting used to.

Just as he was beginning to get over the events of the last twenty minutes, a few panels in the floor spun and his wrists and ankles were bound to the floor, in chromed cuffs which were bolted securely to the floorboard. He craned his neck to look over towards Harli, she was still sat comfortably on the edge of the bed, weighing his current predicament with no special regard. She had not yet decided on what it was she would like to do next with him. Meanwhile, lying motionless in abject imprisonment, Jenkins was on a similar strand of thought, nurturing a fool’s hope of there being a less painful activity in store.

The regrets were killing him, he had materialised here in the hopes of avoiding being seen, of staying hidden and observing from afar, of learning about what Harli did for twelve hours a day hooked up to the deck; he never expected to be involved in it. Now he was forced to go along with whatever she chose in order to maintain the illusion that he was simply another projection of her vivid and uninhibited sexual spectrum.

Harli pushed herself from the bed and snapped her fingers, bringing his legs to a close through some means, so that the clasps around his ankles were only inches apart.

“Much easier.”

She began to teasingly pull his trousers down, leaving his shorts in place and clocking the fact that he was at least a little aroused by the situation. She removed her brassiere; now the only item of clothing she was wearing were a pair of black silken gloves which extended all the way to her elbows. Kneeling over him, she rested herself squarely on his lap – just long enough to feel him swell a little beneath her. Next she leant forward on her knees, leaving his lap and coming down so her bare chest was pressed closely against his shirt. Her left hand was supporting his neck as she began to tease him with short and soft kisses, her right hand was in an uncomfortable position, stretched back between her legs and pulling down his shorts ever so slightly, revealing the tip of his penis.

She was teasing it with her fingernail, pushing it down and letting it bob back up, loving the look of discomfort that was still pervading the face of her captive. She straightened and let herself fall to one side. Jenkins kept lifting his head to try and look at her, not wanting to leave her unattended for a moment, but the strain on his neck was too much and his head kept sinking back to the floor.

He felt hopeless: trapped and uncomfortable. Every little while being tormented by a moment of sexual stimulation, only to then be left in a state of bewildering anticipation. She was barely touching him, but he could feel himself building to an unwanted climax. Learning from his experience thus far, he wasn’t sure whether she’d even allow it to happen, she was in total control of the situation. Every touch caused a stiffening, a throbbing, and a moment of joy before a reprieve of dejection.

Without warning, he felt her hand clasp around the entirety of his shaft. She was squeezing and massaging it, working at it dexterously and beginning to kiss him with passion, again taking him by surprise. At once he felt more involved, more passionate, an intensity was building within him causing him to let out soft moans into her mouth. Seeing the state of ecstasy he was now in, she crawled off of him towards the bed and knelt in between his legs, which at her command were now parted once again.

Harli was now massaging his package with her left hand, and working his cock with her right. She leant again, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ears, and began sucking on it. Jenkins was about to lose it entirely. Sensing this, she continued for a few seconds, pushing him over the edge, and subsequently withdrew from him entirely. After a few seconds, Jenkins had finished with what was a rather unsatisfying orgasm, and lay confused, smelling of semen, staring up at her as she once again looked down upon him from her seat at the edge of the bed. She smiled at him, cocked her head, and winked.

A faint alarm sound fired into the back of Jenkins’ head and losing his grip on the fantasy, he snapped back to reality. Finding himself cold and alone, his pants moistened and his body in sweats. Feeling as though he had endured a bout of some torture, and knowing that in some way, he had.

After rising from the table and taking a moment to gather his thoughts, he began to remove his pants, then his underwear, standing bare from the waist down, in the cold room, surrounded by a myriad of electronic equipment. At that moment, Harli entered. She looked at the stained underwear balled up in his hand and at his shrunken member hanging freely between his legs – she laughed and walked back out of the room. Jenkins’ heart skipped a beat and he sat down, back against the table, distraught and defeated.