VRansomwear

By POW

CHAPTER 5

It had been fairly easy for Evan to find the rubberlad. The VRealWorld app on his phone had said he was in Central Park, then suddenly it said he was in the area of Lincoln Square. He had the cab driver cruise the streets while he scanned the sidewalks for anyone dressed all in rubber. There were few enough people out, and the guy stuck out like a sore thumb. He told the cabbie to pull over, tipped generously, and hit “Enter VRealWorld” on the app, watching the rubberlad as he did. The effect was immediate. The rubberlad stopped his plodding walk and started looking around. Evan climbed out of the cab and stood, watching. Very quickly, the rubberlad spotted him, then started figuring out how to get to him. Evan decided to speed the process along and waited for him at the corner.

The cock-touch came, just as the app’s instructions had said it would. Then the guy knelt down and held up his wrists. Evan was ready – he tapped “Request Control” on the phone screen. In a few seconds, the phone chirped a happy tone and a green “Control Granted” message danced across the screen. He tapped the rubberlad’s wrists and murmured “cuffs”. Nothing seemed to happen.

But when he held up the phone and looked through the app, he could see the silver cuffs. And the rubberlad was certainly acting as if his wrists were now pinned together, trying and failing to separate them. Evan lowered the phone. The real-world view was almost comical, as if the guy was performing some kind of mime act.

[[WARNING: This story contains extreme elements that some readers might find objectionable. Continue reading at your own risk.]]

From the reading he had done all afternoon, Evan knew the trick was done using electromagnets in the suit. The suit could be told to stick to itself, or parts of it could be made to stick to any magnetic metal like iron or steel. Also, part or all of the suit could be made rigid. The suit didn’t have enough strength in it to completely restrict the wearer’s movements, but it could resist them. From the wearer’s standpoint, the suit would be trying to push him into a particular position, and though he could fight it, before long he would tire and take the path of least resistance, conforming to the pose the suit “wanted” him in. The cuffs illusion was a combination of the two: rigid forearms coupled with a magnetic link. In the VRealWorld, it was very convincing, as if the cuffs really did exist. Evan couldn’t wait to get to a place where he could put the headset on and immerse himself in the illusion.

He tried another trick he had practiced: the electric rope. He spoke the words “electric rope” just loud enough for the suit to pick up as he touched his hand to the spot where he wanted the rope attached. He circled his fingers to indicate where the rope should loop around, then stretched it out. He tried to be discreet, shielding the point of contact from view between their two bodies, but still, he would guess that to any bystanders his actions looked ridiculous. Not through the phone, though. On the screen he could see the electric purple-white glow extending from his hand to the rubberlad’s groin. He tightened his fingers and the rope stopped growing. Now when he moved his hand he felt nothing in his own fingers, but the rubberlad arced forward at the waist as if something was pushing his butt from behind, leading with his hips until he could get his feet moving under him.

Evan noted something about the way he stumbled that didn’t seem like it was entirely induced by the virtual rope. Walking now, pulling the rubberlad along by an invisible leash, he tried an experiment.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, glancing back. There was no response. He repeated the question into his phone. After a short pause, an answer came back on his screen: “Yes”. Best to get that fixed… Evan had a long night planned, and having his subject drop out from lack of stamina was not part of the plan.

They walked two blocks before coming to a hot dog cart. There was a streetlight post nearby. On a whim, Evan reached out as he passed and tapped the post with the hand that was holding the leash. “Rope stay” he said, then continued on to the cart. Glancing back, he saw that the rubberlad had stopped and was now standing facing the post, carefully holding his cuffed hands away from where the rope must be. There was one person ahead of Evan at the cart; while he waited, he took a quick glance through his phone to see what the scene looked like in the VRealWorld. The rope leash appeared, a glowing catenary curve connecting post and captive. Hot…

Evan ordered two dogs with everything, then made it three, along with two bottles of water. He carried them over to where the rubberlad waited and tapped his wrists to set him free of the cuffs, though he left him tethered to the post. Evan ate one of the dogs himself and gave the other two to his victim, who had devoured them both before Evan had eaten his one. The guy sucked down the water, too, so Evan gave him the second half of his own.

Then they were on their way again. Evan began walking downtown, leading the rubberlad with the invisible leash. He tried to hail a cab, but the sight of the pair of them must have made the cabbies skittish. Three of them zoomed by, empty, before one finally stopped and let them climb in. Evan directed the cabbie to the address of the company’s warehouse in Chelsea.

On the way, Evan tried to converse with the rubberlad, insofar as it was possible. The translation mechanism from Evan’s spoken (or, now, with the cabbie listening, typed) instructions through the VRealWorld app to the suit’s internal interface would only allow for simple statements and yes / no questions. If a translation couldn’t be made, the app would suggest ways he could rephrase. Over the course of the ride, the following dialog took place, slowly and fumblingly on both ends:

Are you straight?

(After a long pause) Yes.

Do you like being bound?

(A longer pause, then) No.

Is it OK if I fuck your ass?

This produced the strangest response yet: “The rubberlad respectfully requests that you honor the spirit of the rubber by wearing a condom”. Seriously? He had no problem with gloving up, but the phrasing of the request was pretty strange. He couldn’t help but wonder what question the silent man next to him had actually been asked, and what his response had been.

After that, communication ground to a halt. The system was unable to translate any variation on “Why are you in that suit?” or “Why can’t you speak?”, and Evan couldn’t learn anything more about the suit’s occupant by the time they arrived at their destination.

Evan held his badge up to the scanner and the door beeped to let them in. He looked around for a moment – a cavernous dark space, mostly empty but for a handful of support pillars here and there. Concrete floor and walls with a few metal truck-sized doors – perfect for sticking magnets to. The support pillars were metal as well. He didn’t bother with the lights – neither he nor the rubberlad would need any real photons to see with, and it was a good safety measure to keep those video cameras from recording too much. Quick look completed, Evan methodically removed his clothing down to his underwear, then put his socks and shoes back on. Then he slipped the helmet over his head, inserted the sound-muffling earplugs, and entered the VRealWorld.

He had gone through most of the first-time setup prompts when he had first donned the helmet earlier in the day to configure this virtual space. But now one more appeared, asking him whether he wanted to allow the rubberlad to make noise with his mouth. Apparently the guy had been trained out of making sounds audible to the real world, but now that Evan was in the VRealWorld with him, he had the option of allowing the lad to speak.

Or to scream.

Hell, yeah, thought Evan, and clicked the “Allow” button.

The warehouse disappeared and a forest took its place. It was deep and dark and stretched on forever. The only light came from whatever moonbeams could filter down through the black branches overhead. Dense thickets of thorny brambles lined rocky paths that led between the trees, branching and forking and endlessly crossing one another, creating a maze of possibilities. Sounds came from all around: scratching noises, the rustlings of animals small or large nosing through the night. Once, a wolf howled in the distance.

Evan stepped in front of the rubberlad and shifted the perspective so that he was looking out from the rubberlad’s perspective. The avatar he had crafted for himself was absolutely perfect – massive of chest and arm and thigh, bronze of skin, and towering over the rubberlad by a good twelve inches. (Outside the VRealWorld, the two were about the same height.) His face… his face didn’t exist. Or rather, it did, but it was a visual distortion. It was a blend of constantly-shifting shapes and colors ranging from flesh-toned to deepest black. It actually hurt to look at for too long. Evan thought it was a good visual representation of his chosen Avatar’s name, Nightmare.

He flipped the perspective back to his own view and activated the avatar for the rubberlad. Now, instead of a black, featureless suit, he saw a young, slender but still well-muscled man of about 20 years, with short brown hair and two days’ growth of stubble on his cheeks and chin. The youth was buck naked, his genitals shriveled and withdrawn from apprehension that was written plainly all over his face, apprehension that would soon blossom into all-out fear. Evan had no idea what the straight fellow in the suit might actually look like, but this was a figure that appealed to him, and it would do nicely for this stage of the evening.

Visuals taken care of, it was time to start. “Run”, he told the rubberlad. Presumably the headset would relay it to the rubberlad using whatever mechanism it needed to. He waited a few seconds, but there was no response. Evan repeated the command, more firmly, and this time the rubberlad took a few stumbling steps forward down one of the rocky paths. Evan aimed a kick at his backside but misjudged the distance and missed. Right… play by the VRealWorld’s rules. Instead of a physical kick, he cued up one of his sound effects: a monstrous, deafening roar. The rubberlad didn’t even look back, but scrambled down the path on legs that were clearly already more than halfway to exhausted.

Evan waited until the pale figured disappeared into the gloom and all he could hear were the sounds of his retreating footsteps and the occasional swipe of a branch. He played the roar once more to keep the lad properly motivated, then stood waiting until he could no longer tell what direction the sounds of the rubberlad’s flight were coming from. The warehouse’s floor space was limited, of course, and the path the rubberlad was following would eventually turn around on itself so he wouldn’t run into the walls. But distances in the game world were not the same as in the real world – Evan and the rubberlad might be standing five feet apart and never know it because in VRealWorld terms there was a mile of dense forest between them. If Evan took his helmet off, he could break the illusion, but why would he do that when he had gone to such trouble to set it up?

He took one more moment to savor the anticipation. Tonight he was going to get to live out every fantasy he had ever had since he first shot a load, all in one go. First up: manhunt. With live human prey.

He stalked off through the woods. Glancing behind him, there was no trace of anything resembling the start of a path. The woods went on forever behind him, indeed in all directions. He walked silently, his feet making no sound against the rock-strewn dirt beneath them, listening for the sounds of his prey. He allowed himself to sink into the fantasy, admiring the realism of the dark leaves and branches, the way the fog drifted wraith-like across the path and gathered in occasional thick clots that completely obstructed visibility.

There. The snapping of a twig. Evan bumped the volume of his own sound output up a few notches from “silent” – now he would emit a ragged breathing sound punctuated by occasional growls, and his footsteps would no longer be inaudible. He wanted the lad to be able to hear him as he approached, prompting him to run and thus prolonging the time until the inevitable moment of capture.

Evan reached into his briefs and fingered his throbbing erection. His cock would have been happy to get everything over with right now, right this instant, but his head insisted he take measured steps, pacing himself, drawing out and magnifying the suspense that the lad would be feeling by now.

And there, a glimpse of movement in the fog. Evan quickened his pace, jogging now as he took a branching path to the right toward where he saw the flickering flash of pale skin in wan moonlight. He glanced down at his own body – the hair he had arranged for was starting to grow in, covering his chest and arms and legs in ever-thickening mats. His nose began to stretch out before him and he could see the beginnings of fur covering it as well. His fingernails were growing longer, darkening, yellowing, becoming claw-like. He jogged on.

His prey had given up any hope of stealth and was now racing full-out through the dark woods. Evan could hear his panicked footsteps and labored breathing. He paused to let him get away, then continued, loping along, now completely covered in grey and black fur and with a full length of muzzle jutting from beneath his eyes. He couldn’t see his own eyes, but in a few moments, his prey would, and they would be bright golden yellow, and that would be last thing he saw before the wolf was at his throat…

Over and over he toyed with his victim, coming threateningly near before allowing him to escape into the dark silence of the empty woods, each time making the escape narrower and narrower, coming ever closer to his prey before allowing him to dart away. He could only imagine the fear and adrenaline that must be coursing through the man’s veins. Oh, this was not an experience he could have any way but like this. No online porn, no fictional story, no consensual role-playing fantasy scene could replicate this, the thrill of pursuit, the anticipation of the inevitable moment of capture and utter domination…

Lost him. Where had he gone? Evan stopped, listening, vulpine ears cocked in the still night air. His cock was achingly hard, throbbing with each beat of his heart. He took one silent step, then another. On the third an explosion burst forth from the thicket beside him as his prey emerged, his skin torn and bleeding from where the thorns had scratched it open. In a flash, Evan was off, bounding after his fleeing victim, roaring his triumph to the ghostly moon. Five paces behind, now four, now three. The lad tripped and stumbled, rolling, and Evan overshot him, rapidly coming to a halt and turning around just as the lad clambered to his feet. Evan plowed into him, shoving him up against a tree and spinning him around so that the two faced each other eye to eye, man to beast. The lad’s eyes were rolling wildly as he pushed helplessly against the massive weight of the creature pinning him in place. Evan reared back, then plunged his muzzle down against the defenseless pale skin of the lad’s throat, tearing it apart and reveling in the jet of hot blood that sprayed out into the wet night.

He released his victim and stepped back, throwing back his head and pouring a bestial howl out into the dark air. The lad stayed propped against the tree while his blood continued to fountain out from his severed arteries. His hands batted feebly at the gushing blood as if he could somehow push it back into his veins. As Evan stood watching, his heart pounding, he caught a glimpse of a flicker of light off to his right and his eyes flashed over to watch it. Mmm… time for the next scene. The flicker grew to a bright yellow spot, then continued to expand until it was the height of a man, a portal to another world. Swiftly it neared the pair. Details became evident as it approached – the forms of sand, scrub brush, sun-weathered wood took shape in the glow. The wave of change passed over them and now it was the deep woods that looked like a doorway, a black patch receding off to the left that swiftly shrank away into nothing.

Both Evan’s face and his victim’s had changed along with the surroundings. The lad’s wound was gone as if it had never been, along with the scratches that had laced his arms and chest and legs. His hair was now sand-colored and his face was spotted with freckles. The hair around his dangling dick had a reddish tint. The tree that he had been leaning against was still there, but now it was a dried, desiccated thing, reaching pale grey branches into a sunburned sky. Evan took a quick glance down at his own body to find the fur and muzzle gone, replaced by a strong reddish-bronze chest, a breechclout of white leather, and tan leather boots. He couldn’t see his own face, but was confident that the rubberlad was now seeing the stern, stony features of a Pawnee warrior.

While his captive was still reeling from the change of world and the sudden disappearance of his injuries, Evan strode forward and seized the aimlessly fluttering hands. He whipped his own hand through the air and a rope appeared in it, pre-knotted with two small nooses that he slipped over the wrists of his victim. Tossing the rest of the rope over a high branch, he quickly yanked it taut, forcing the lad’s hands up over his head, then secured the line. Evan kicked his captive’s legs into position against either side of the tree and conjured more rope to secure them.

Stalking back into his captive’s field of view, he gestured again and this time a bow materialized out of thin air, fitted into the grip of his left hand as if it were part of him. With his right hand, he flicked an arrow into being. He stepped away from the bound man, who stood puzzled and disoriented, squinting into the sun in his direction. Evan nocked the arrow into the string of the bow, sighted, and took aim at the tiny figure 20 yards off.

With the sun in his eyes, the lad – the captured cowboy, stripped and ready for torture at the Pawnee warrior’s hands – couldn’t tell what was happening until he heard the swish of the arrow slicing the air and felt the thunk as it drove through his wrist and sank into the wood of the tree behind him. Evan let a second shaft fly and it sank with unerring accuracy into the lad’s other wrist, pinning both in place, and it was only then that the cowboy found the breath to utter a scream. With slow, measured steps Evan strode off to the struggling victim’s left and let loose another arrow, which sizzled through the air and pierced the cowboy’s calf, spiking it to the tree. Fresh screams erupted from the cowboy’s throat. Evan repeated the process on the victim’s right leg, then paced slowly in to inspect the results.

At the sight of his approach, the cowboy jerked and thrashed, struggling to get away but held fast by the arrows placed dead through the center of his wrists and through the meaty flesh of his calves. There was only a small trickle of blood seeping down from the wounds, but as the cowboy fought, more trickled out and down the slowly-reddening skin of his arms and legs.

Evan groped the cowboy’s pale chest with his own reddish-brown hands, fingering the protruding nipples, stroking the light coating of fur on the heaving chest and stomach, tracing the outline of the exposed cock. The cowboy sobbed and thrashed, fueling Evan’s desire all the more.

Damn, he thought, all I feel is rubber. It sort of broke the fantasy for him. He was going to have to buy the full-body VR suit before his next session. It would cost a bundle, but it would be worth every penny. As long as the mood was temporarily broken anyway, he lifted the VR headset off his head and checked the scene out with his own eyes. The rubberlad stood with his back to one of the steel support pillars, arms held up over his head and legs spread to either side, looking for all the world as if he was holding that pose of his own free choice. Freaky. Evan glanced over to the side wall where the next scene would take place. He would need a way to get his captive’s feet off the ground, and one of the steel truck doors was perfect. It was half-raised now. In a short while, once the cowboy was released from his current predicament, he would find himself chased over to that door and backed up against it. There, the magnetic power of the suit would hold him in place from the waist up, and when Evan raised the door another eight inches, the captive would find himself suspended with his feet completely off the ground…

… but enough. He had done all the planning. There was no need to double-check it: everything would go fine. Time to sink back into the fantasy – that was the whole point of all the planning! He slipped the VR headset back on. The gloomy warehouse disappeared and his eyes had to squint against the brightness of the desert sun. It had to be his imagination, but he actually felt like the act of putting on the headset had made the temperature go up a good ten degrees.

The cowboy stood there, suffering in the sun, skewered to the tree by wrists and legs. Time to give him a few more piercings. The Pawnee warrior drew out his bow and stepped away to the front of his captive. Methodically, taking his time with each one, he fired arrow after arrow into the cowboy’s quaking body. He put less force into these, so they did not travel all the way through the flesh but stopped partway, where they stuck out, tracing patterns in the air with every twitch the bound man made. The thighs took three each, the arms two apiece, and he finished by sinking four arrows at the corners of a square into the cowboy’s rock-solid abs. When he finished, he walked forward.

The cowboy was fighting to control his heaving breaths because every movement he made caused the dangling arrows to swirl and sway, tearing at the holes in his skin. Evan traced the lines of his muscles with his fingers, distracted once again by the feel of rubber instead of hot, sweaty skin. Then, inspired, the conjured a pair of latex gloves from thin air and put them on. Perfect… he may have compromised the strict realism of this Western scene, but at least the sensations from his fingers now matched what his eyes expected.

He focused his attention on the cowboy’s dark, tight nipples, squeezing them between his fingers until they perked into tiny raised mountains. “Please…” the captive murmured, lost in his agony. It was the first clear word he had spoken… but Evan the Pawnee had no interest in the white man’s English. He stepped back, angling off to the cowboy’s left side, half a dozen paces. He steadied the bow, took aim, and released. His arrow shot through the air, crossing the short distance between the two men faster than the eye could follow. It struck the captive on the chest, just at the base of the peak of the tiny nipple mountain, and traveled on until it was halfway through, where it came to a sudden, impossible stop. The cowboy screamed.

Evan moved over to the cowboy’s right and took aim at the left nipple. Moments later, a second 18-inch-long shaft mirrored the first, both extending out to either side of the cowboy’s freshly pierced and bloodied tits.

One more to go.

The Pawnee once more approached his captive. With his left hand, he began stroking the cowboy’s dick (can’t feel it, but that’s OK, just do it anyway), while with his right he gingerly fondled his own, which was so close to erupting he didn’t dare squeeze it too hard. The cowboy was lost in his pain, moaning constantly with occasional louder punctuations whenever the movement of the arrows caused him a fresh burst of torment. Pain notwithstanding, the dick responded, stiffening until it was a shorter, thicker version of the many other shafts sprouting from his body. Evan materialized a stone and a string, magically binding them to the head of the cowboy’s cock. He dropped the string, causing the stone to pull the head down until the dick pointed toward the ground. He stepped back once more.

As he was raising the bow for this final shot, stretching the bow tighter than ever before, the cowboy figured out what he was going to do. His moans became shouts, which become one repeated word: “NO! No, no, NO, NOOOOOO!” The bow stood rock-steady in the Pawnee’s grip, keeping its aim squarely on its target for long seconds that ticked away steadily in the hot desert air.

Evan released the string. The arrow flew faster than lightning across the few yards of space, zeroing in on the head of the cowboy’s dick. The point landed dead center; the arrow continued on, straight through the flesh and out the back side, where it severed the string, releasing the stone to fall to the ground, and then buried itself deep in the trunk of the tree. The cowboy’s shout turned into a scream and Evan nearly shot his load at the sight.

But no, it was still too soon for that. He savored the image for one last moment, then triggered the next change of scene. His face morphed back into the Nightmare configuration, then his body transformed into a swirling whirlwind, black with flying earth and sand, that swept up into the sky and vanished.

At the same instant, the cowboy’s arrows evaporated, along with the ropes that held him to the tree, leaving not a mark on his skin. He collapsed to the ground and lay there, sprawled. His hair was more red than sandy now, his body still lean and taut.

Mere seconds later, though, he was roused by the sound of horsemen approaching. They were a small cloud on the horizon at first, but swiftly grew until eight individuals could be discerned.

Sheriff Evan rode out front, his dark, weathered face grim behind his grey-flecked beard. The leader of the posse that would bring the murderer to justice pulled his horse to a stop, then climbed down. His men followed suit and formed a circle around the “Red Renegade”, the notorious killer who would finally pay for his crimes.

The men poked at the renegade with the muzzles of their rifles, urging the naked criminal to his feet. Sheriff Evan watched as they prodded him into a run, some of them climbing back onto their mounts so as to pursue the fleeing man, toying with him as a cat toys with a mouse. Evan kept one eye on the chase as he ambled over to the spot he had chosen for the punishment. The men drove Red around in a wide loop, slapping at his exposed skin with their horsewhips to urge him to keep up his pace.

Now they came circling back, driving the renegade straight toward where Sheriff Evan stood waiting, unarmed, unencumbered by any equipment at all. The fleeing murderer attempted to skirt around Evan in his haste to outrun the pursuing posse, but just as he ran past, the sheriff whipped out his hand and flung it toward Red as he passed by. A rope appeared from thin air, snapped itself across the intervening distance, and wrapped itself around the wanted man’s neck. The pursuing horsemen pulled up and watched as the rope tied itself into a noose. The renegade was yanked to a stop, nearly losing his balance.

Evan closed the gap between them with two strides, spun the murderer around and (oh, so carefully positioning him so he wouldn’t feel the impact of his body against the steel door) gently eased him backward a few inches, then triggered the magnetic lock. He then took the end of the rope in his hand and hurled it upward into the blank blue sky. It stuck there, hanging from nothing at all, stretched up taut from the condemned’s neck.

“Now, Red. Time fer you ta draw yer last breath,” he pronounced. The surrounding men made gruff noises of approval in their throats. The murderer himself just stared wide-eyed, panting and exhausted from his run. Evan gestured upward and the rope tightened. Red’s face began to match both hair and name as the pressure increased. Another gesture from Evan and the doomed victim’s ankles began to rise up off the dusty ground. Evan held his hand in position until Red’s feet had completely left the ground, then rose a few inches more, his toes swinging back and forth as they involuntarily sought renewed contact with the earth.

There was none to be found. The Red Renegade hung, suspended by the neck from the sky itself. He swung, kicking, at the end of his noose, struggling to get air past the constriction at his throat. That was a beautiful touch, Evan thought. He can’t actually swing around because he’s glued to a steel door… but the software can just swing the whole world around him, and that’s effectively the exact same thing. No! Stay in the fantasy.

Time to ease up on him a bit. Evan gestured again and the rope noose loosened by about half, allowing the doomed man to breathe again, though painfully. “Hangin’s too quick fer you, Red. I’ve a mind to make this last a good long spell.” The man still hung from the noose, but the noose was only as tight as if it were supporting a man half his weight… the perfect arrangement for a long and torturous execution.

Evan and the posse stood for long minutes, watching Red struggle and suffer in the blazing sun. Still out of breath from the lap the men had made him run, he was desperate to get air in and out of his lungs. But every breath tore at his throat as he hung suspended from nothing by the impossible noose. His hands clawed at the rope, but his fingers couldn’t get a grip on it. They passed right through the rope as if it were a phantom. But its effect on his neck was real enough. Long minutes went by while he suffered, hanged just enough to hurt, not enough to kill.

Finally, his struggles began to grow feeble and his hands sagged down toward his sides. From nowhere, a storm blew up. Thick black clouds blotted out the sun. Lightning crackled across the sky, cutting the rope free and dropping the noosed man to the ground. The white strands vanished and the naked man was left lying in a heap. Blinding rain fell, cutting visibility to nothing and yet somehow not getting anyone wet.

When the rain cleared, the desert was gone and there were only two men left. They were on a massive starship, watching the defeat of the Rebel Alliance after the saboteurs on the forest moon of Endor had failed to destroy the shield generator.

Fuck the straight guys and their “Slave Leia” fantasies, Evan thought. THIS was the Star Wars scene that always got me revved up.

Evan gave the lad a few minutes to recover his breath. He listened to the heaving gasps as the lad reclaimed the oxygen he had been deprived of. After about two minutes, when the labored breathing had settled down a bit, Evan could wait no longer and spoke his line. “And now, young Jedi,” he said to the helpless figure on the floor. “You. Will. Die.”

With that, he snapped his hands out. Bolts of purple-white lightning hurtled across the distance between him and his quarry, who threw back his head and howled his anguish. He paused, just long enough to let his victim catch his breath once more, then nailed him a second time, and a third, sustaining the jolts longer and longer with each blast.

Oh my fuckin’ god, this is fuckin’ awesome! I am Emperor fuckin’ Palpatine, shooting fuckin’ lightning bolts out of my fingers!

The onslaught went on until the victim’s screams finally ceased, leaving him lying limp on the floor. Evan half-ran over to where he lay, picked him up, and awkwardly carried him over to a steel table, coincidentally placed in the same location in both reality and the VRealWorld. He lay the man down on his back with his head at the edge of one side and his ass up against the other. Lifting up his legs, he flung ropes from the man’s ankles up to the starship chamber’s distant ceiling, securing his feet in the air. With more flourishes, he conjured restraints into existence around the man’s waist, chest, and arms, securing him in place. Then one final wave brought a guillotine into being, its blade keen and sharp and hanging several feet above the neck of the man he was about to fuck. At the last second, he remembered to put a condom on as he had promised. His victim grunted as Evan’s cock insistently forced its way into his ass, but he seemed as incapable of forming speech as he was of doing anything to stop the assault.

It didn’t take long at all. Evan’s cock was on hair-trigger alert. It seemed he had barely had a chance to start thrusting into the restrained man’s hole when he was nearing the point of shooting, and then suddenly he was too close to the edge to turn back, and it was time to trigger the fall of the blade. He flicked his fingers toward the catch just as the first churning spurt boiled up out of his balls and jetted out through his dick. The blade glinted in the light as it fell. It struck bottom just as the second jolt of Evan’s orgasm came, slicing cleanly through the man’s neck and sending his head plummeting off the edge of the table and rolling across the floor in a spray of gushing blood. Evan was lost in ecstasy, unable to sustain a thrusting rhythm as his muscles failed under the wave of bliss that washed over him, merely quivering in place as his cock pumped out load after load of thick, hot fluid.

Half a minute or three hours later, he collapsed down onto the rubber-covered body beneath him, gasping for breath. He lay there for long minutes as the last shudders of climax faded, then stood and withdrew his dick, peeling off the condom and shoving it into a bag. He walked around to where the rubberlad’s virtual head lay on the floor, its eyes blinking and mouth working soundlessly. Gently, he picked it up and carried it back to the table where its body still lay. He waved the guillotine off into the void and carefully placed the head back into place up against the neck. Evan watched as the skin grew together, the blood evaporated, and the two parts became one whole again. Waving his hands once more, he released all the restraints and set his captive free.

Tomorrow morning he would probably regret the amount of money he had racked up during his visit to the VRealWorld – billing was a complicated mix of time spent, actions performed, physical laws violated, and pain inflicted. But right now, it was worth every penny.

 

Colin kept dying, but not.

First there was that… thing, that wolf-creature that had chased him through the woods. God, how his heart had been pounding in his chest as he fled, so loud that he was sure the thing was tracking him from the sound of it beating. He had suddenly found himself out of the suit without knowing exactly how it happened. Had he blacked out? However he had gotten out of it, it didn’t do him any good because that was when the wolf-thing had started pursuing him and all he could do was run to try to escape it. But there was nowhere to run. The woods just went on forever and all the paths wound around back over themselves so that he might have run a mile and yet ended up right where he had started. And his movements were all slow and leaden, like he was still fighting against the rubber suit even though it was obviously gone, he wasn’t wearing anything at all, where had his clothes gone? And how had he gotten here? But he couldn’t think about those sorts of questions because he could hear the horrible creature coming for him, it seemed like it was everywhere he turned and he ran and ran but was so tired he had to rest so he tried to hide but then the monster was Right There, right next to him and his heart was hammering so hard there was no way the creature couldn’t hear it so he jumped up and fled again, but it was hopeless and then the thing had him and had ripped a giant chunk out of his fucking neck oh god, the pain…

… only to be suddenly dropped into a scene from an old Western. The relief washed over him like a drug, it felt so good to not have all his blood gushing out of his torn throat, miraculously healed only to be shot full of arrows by a stone-faced Indian, left pinned against a tree to bleed out through a dozen holes in his hide only he didn’t because suddenly he was running again only to be brought up short by a noose that dropped straight out of the sky and lifted him clear up into the air, and the world spun crazily around him while he kicked and struggled for air and it had to be a dream, it just had to, only he couldn’t wake up, ever, they said that when you were about to die in a dream you always woke up right before only he didn’t seem to be waking up, the dream just went on and on and he kept dying over and over in different horrible ways.

Then somehow he was lying face up, staring at the wickedly sharp blade that was about to slice clean through his neck and he actually hoped this would be the one that did it. He was so desperate to just make it all stop he barely noticed the pressure at his ass, and then suddenly the blade was carving the air down toward his throat. Before he even had a chance to be grateful, his head was rolling and bouncing across the floor and he had to shut his eyes to stop the world from spinning around him… but even that wasn’t enough because even with his head physically cut off from the rest of his body, the nightmare still went on! He opened his eyes and could see some faceless creature humping his headless remains, collapsing on top of him and damn but he could still feel the dick shoved up his ass and the man’s weight pressing down on his stomach even though that should have been impossible because it was all happening several yards away from where his severed head lay like a discarded ball on the floor.

Then it was over, and the faceless stranger came and picked up his head and re-attached it to his corpse, somehow magically reuniting all the separated blood vessels and nerves and muscles and connective tissue. He gasped for breath, certain now that he must have died after all and that this was hell.

The nightmare creature helped him to his feet and helped him to walk. He made noises with his mouth, but the noises made no sense to Colin. He let the sounds wash over him, waiting for the next stage of the horror to begin. Then the stranger pressed something into his hand and finally, inexplicably, left.

He stood on a street corner, having nowhere else to go. The suit had returned, covering his entire body as inescapably as it had before. Perhaps it had never left and he had only hallucinated his freedom.

It didn’t really matter any more.

The night life of the city passed around him. Occasional cars passed by. No one noticed him, a black figure standing in the shadows.

After a while, a sparkling movement caught his eye and he turned, slowly, to see a tall, bronze-skinned, muscular man appear beside him.

“Come, Colin. Follow me.”

The words didn’t register as words, but the meaning was clear enough. Colin obeyed. It was what he did.

The man led him on a long walk. Buildings and cars passed in a vague blur. Colin simply put one foot in front of the other, trailing along in the muscle god’s footsteps. After an unknown interval of time, the god beckoned toward a door. Colin opened it and stepped through. The god led him to a bank of lockers, making more noise at him that carried as much meaning as the chatter of seagulls at the shore. Nothing else seemed to be happening. After a while, Colin could sense the god growing angry with him. He remembered that making the god angry was bad, and he didn’t want to hurt any more, so he tried to pay attention to the sounds the god was making.

“…teen, twenty-seven. Go ahead, put your hand on the dial. Put your hand on the dial. That’s it, yes, good Colin. Now spin it to the right a few times. Just like that, yes. Stop at thirty-four. Good, good Colin. Now left, keep going left, yes, now stop at fifteen. Now right again, and stop at twenty-seven”.

Whatever incantation the god was having him perform caused one of the cupboards in front of him to open. The god told him to take out the gym bag that was there and to carry it upstairs. Colin obeyed. It was what he did.

They entered a tiny room, too tiny, it seemed, for the god’s massive bulk to fit inside, and yet, somehow he did. He started making sounds again. Colin again tried to make sense of them.

“You have to do it, Colin, I can’t do it for you. Do you want to get out of the suit? Do you? Then you have to say so, Colin, I can’t open the lock until you tell me to. You have to say it. You have to tell me you want to spend 1,000 points to open the lock. Can you say that, Colin?”

Colin tried to speak, but his body fought his mind’s will. He could not force the words out. His subconscious mind had learned all too well that speech led to pain.

The god took pity on him. “Here. I’ll make it easy on you. How does that feel?”

The buzzing in his cock – which had never gone away, had always been there every minute of the past two days – suddenly increased and he was flooded with a wave of horniness. He absolutely had to reach his cock so he could jerk it. It would only take a few strokes, just a few. He needed to get to his cock.

“Open the lock,” he said, the words now coming effortlessly. Then, quickly, he added “Sir!”

The god smiled faintly, his eyes masked, as ever, behind the mirrored sunglasses. Colin watched as pale yellow figures descended into his view. Numbers… that’s right, they were numbers. Slowly, haltingly, his brain picked them out. There was a 1… and a 7… then a 3, and then a 2. As he watched, the 1 vanished, leaving just the other three numbers. As it did, he heard a tiny snick. Instantly, the room went dark and he felt the rubber of the suit go slack. The taut second skin that had enveloped him for so long now sagged like a limp balloon. And the hood was now just a hood – no light, no sound, just a dark, claustrophobic space that he wasn’t quite sure how to get out of but desperately needed to.

The lock. The sound had been the lock opening. He pawed at it with fingers that didn’t want to work right and eventually fumbled it out from between the zipper pulls, dropping it to the floor. He grabbed the zipper and pulled. His fingers didn’t want to keep their grip on the handle, so it took him several slipping, groping tries to get it unwound from around his neck. Once it was loose, it took him several long seconds more to pry the sticky thing off his head – it kept clinging to his skin and he had to work his hands in to loosen one section, then another, repeating until the horrible thing finally popped free and he could see once more with his own eyes, hear with his own ears.

But he still couldn’t touch his own cock. He yanked at the zipper on the chest, tugging it down as far as it would go, then wrestled with the clinging rubber of the arms and shoulders, almost tearing it in his haste to be free. Left arm out, right arm out, and then he could pull the suit down past his waist, setting his cock and balls free from their latex prison. He grabbed his cock, already at half mast, the hardest it had been able to get for days, and started stroking. Oh god, it felt SO FUCKING GOOD to actually be able to touch it after long days of frustrating stimulation that kept him constantly on edge but never letting him do anything about it!

Not anymore. His cock stiffened in his grasp now that it was able to, but it hadn’t even had a chance to harden fully before the moment was upon him and he was coming harder than he had ever come in his life, holy fuck he could not believe how long it lasted, wave after wave of surpassing pleasure, throbbing, pulsing, shooting a gigantic load that sprayed out all over the floor and even hit the far wall, explosive shuddering breaths that tore in and out through his still-raw throat as if he were having a seizure…

At last, after long minutes, the orgasm started to fade away. Colin knew he needed to finish getting out of the suit, and he would, very soon, in just a minute, but before that happened he was just going to rest his head on the nice soft gym bag, just for a moment, just to recover a bit after that massive, whole-body eruption…

Exhaustion claimed him.

 

Epilogue – Friday, November 4th, 7:00 PM

Colin fretted.

On the one hand, even contemplating what he was actually contemplating was simply impossible. Unthinkable. Not even anywhere close to within the realm of possibility.

On the other hand, he was thinking it, which made it not, in fact, unthinkable.

As he had been promised, he had, indeed, earned his freedom from the suit. But it would not be true to say that he had gone back to his normal life.

For one thing, Eva had dumped him. Or rather, he had dumped her, although he hadn’t known it at the time. He had taken a day to recover from his ordeal, then tried calling her. It went to voice mail; he hung up without leaving a message. He tried again a few hours later – same thing. Seconds later, her sister called him, accusing him of having a helluva nerve, telling him Eva never wanted to so much as hear his name ever again, then screamed abuse at him for five long minutes before he finally just hung up on her. But one of the things she said caused him to go looking back through his phone’s history.

What he found explained the tirade. The day he had texted Eva to get out of going with her to her sister’s party, he could have sworn he had typed something like “Sorry, I’ve got to cancel today. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” That’s what his eyes had seen, at least. But what his fingers had actually typed, and what his eyes saw now that they could perceive the world directly, unmediated by the hood’s optics, was “F U babe, I got other plans 4 2day”, and there was a photo of his face wearing a giant, goofy, shit-eating grin, buried between two enormous bare breasts. So that relationship was over.

Then there was the job situation. He had shown up for his next scheduled shift at Jimbo’s, only to have his boss go ballistic. He insisted that when Colin had called to beg off a few days earlier, he had told him to either show up on time or not to ever show his face there again. Colin remembered the conversation completely differently, of course, but realized that once again, the suit had been between his phone and his ear, and had obviously altered the words he had heard.

And likewise with the construction job he had gotten through his cousin. Wary this time, he called first instead of just showing up, and found the same had happened there. He was no longer welcome on the job site.

Even his friends were holding him at arm’s length. Checking his text history, he could see why. There were some some pretty scathing comments there that had supposedly been sent by him. Some of his friends forgave him once he tracked them down in person and stammered out some half-plausible explanation, but they nevertheless kept Colin at arm’s length; others weren’t even willing to cut him that much slack.

And so here he was, ten days after escaping from the prison suit: broke, unemployed, without a girlfriend or really any other friends to lean on. And the rent was now four days overdue.

He pulled out the note, the one he had found in the gym bag after waking up in the changing room, and read it through one more time.

The first time he had read the note, in the changing room with the limp rubber suit still clinging to his legs, he had scowled in disgust and nearly torn it to shreds. After the experience he had just endured, that horrific last session, they thought he would voluntarily do it all again? Ha. Unthinkable.

But he didn’t tear up the note. Some tiny little voice that he refused to acknowledge reminded him that if his memory was correct of those flashing yellow numbers right before the suit shut down, he had 732 points stored up. 500 more would put him well over a thousand, so he could bail out any time he wanted.

Not to mention the hundred-dollar bill he had found on the floor of the changing room after he woke up. He assumed at first that it must be from the puppet masters who were pulling his strings, but that didn’t quite fit their profile. It was two days later that he realized it must have been the thing the Nightmare had put into his hand before they parted. Somehow he had managed to not drop it all the way back to the changing room until it had fallen from his fingers while he frantically tore the suit off.

The little voice had grown insistently louder as the setbacks in his real life piled up over the following days. Time put its usual haze on his memories, and he found himself rationalizing that even the final experience with the Nightmare hadn’t actually harmed him. Scared the shit out of him, sure, but he had emerged from the scene no worse for wear. It hadn’t been all that different than visiting a haunted house at Halloween, just a lot more real feeling. And it had earned him over a thousand points in a single night. Sure, he hated the bastards who had royally fucked up his life, but still… a thousand bucks for a day’s work was way more than he ever got paid at any other job he’d had before. And it’s not like he had a date or anything else to do tonight.

One thing he deliberately did not allow himself to think of was that massive orgasm right after the suit came off, by far the most powerful he had ever experienced. That did not factor into his decision at all. Not one bit. This was strictly business.

Colin put the note down on the table, pulled on a jacket, and headed out the door to catch the A train downtown.

 

THE END

 

For the sequel to this story, VRealWorld , click here

For the previous part, click here

To start at Part 1 click here

 

Metal would like to thank the author, POW, for sharing this story with Metalbond Prison Library readers.

 

Disclaimer: This story is a purely fictional account. Any relationship to any real person living or dead is coincidental. The narrative contains non-consensual male-on-male sex and torture. It is intended for mature readers who wish to view such material, and for whom it is legal to do so. The author in no way condones or promotes such acts in real life.

Copyright © 2016 by POW. For spam prevention, an animal name has been added to the author’s e-mail address. Remove the animal name to get the actual address: POWauthor zebra at yahoo dot com. This story may be freely copied and distributed so long as it is copied in its entirety, unchanged, including the author credit information and disclaimer. Other POW stories are available at https://powauthor.wordpress.com. The author welcomes feedback.