Free Sample
Preview from chapter one
I tapped commands into the console, spiking the complexity of the simulated landscape I was testing on my mother. Threw her off balance with strobe-bright bursts of impossible geometry. Now the sky wasn’t just pink, but an orgiastic kaleidoscope of undulating fractals, the ground beneath her a splintered funhouse that bucked and rolled with every micro-movement. Her breath came fast, near-panting, as she tried to make sense of the senseless, her hands flexing in the haptic gloves as if she could claw her way back to normalcy.
My cock was already hard. It had been non-stop since I’d first imagined this scene weeks ago, and now the flesh-and-blood reality was exponentially hotter than the fantasy. Watching her struggle, watching the way her skepticism collapsed into confusion, then mild panic, then the first quivers of genuine fear, made me feel like I’d discovered a new law of nature: if you can control the world, you can make anyone do anything. Even your own mother.
I tweaked the settings further, layering in an auditory feedback track. A binaural pulse mapped directly to her heartbeat, amplifying every uptick of stress. Her face, shielded by the VR visor, was still readable in the way her neck muscles tensed, the way her legs strained against the foam-padded restraints. I could see her toes curl inside her sandals, the last vestige of resistance in a body already 90% conquered.
I drifted to the window, half-watching the sailboats drift through the marina, half-entranced by the spectacle unfolding in the center of the room. Every so often, I’d tap another command, ratcheting up the sensory overload by infinitesimal degrees, each change engineered for maximum psychological wear. It was a form of foreplay, in a way—an exquisite edging of her willpower, bringing her just to the brink of what she could tolerate before letting her sink back for a moment’s peace.
After three minutes, she was sweating through her cotton blouse, gulping air like a diver surfacing from the abyss. The VR program piped in a “mission complete” chime, but I didn’t release the restraints. Instead, I queued the next simulation, this one a zero-gravity freefall with rapidly shifting orientation, calculated to induce a nauseating sense of vertigo.
“Xavier!” she yelled, voice muffled by the helmet, but urgent enough to make my name sound like a distress signal. “I need out. I think I’m going to be sick.”
I let her dangle there for another ten seconds, her body shuddering with the effort not to vomit. When I finally cut the simulation and unlocked the helmet, she slumped back, blinking tears from her eyes, the remnants of her pride dissolving in streaks of mascara. Hyperventilating and sweating, her eyes rolled with fear.