They fuck for hours

What a lovesick fool, Ms Kyoto thought. At least he's a good fuck. She smiled at him and drew him in for another kiss.

The next several hours were a flurry of activity in the VR environment. The new lovers got experimental, trying anything and everything to get each other off. Brad sought to bring pleasure to the sexual goddess he couldn't believe had dropped into his lap. He knew this was all virtual reality, but Ms Kyoto herself had confirmed that she, too, was wearing a VR suit and engaging in this activity with him. It was obvious when she climaxed that she wasn't just a computer program or a hallucination. Considering all the pleasure she was giving him, he felt it was the least he could do to try to return the favor. He doubted he could come close, considering how incredible she was.

Ms Kyoto had a much less altruistic motivation. She sought to squeeze as many climaxes as possible out of her prey, knowing each one robbed him of an IQ point and brought him closer to being a helpless imbecile who couldn't pose a threat to her evil plans. Still, she had to admit she didn't expect him to fuck her back, and he'd brought her more sexual pleasure in five minutes than she'd experienced in the last five years.

After hours of sexual adventure, the two found themselves lying in each other's arms, their sweaty bodies plastered together, their breaths and heartbeats coinciding. Her head rested on his chest. She delicately circled his pecks with a finger; he stroked her hair and kissed her head.

After a few minutes, she remembered her true purpose here. In the real world, she gathered her wits enough to check her monitors. She scrolled back through the data collected over the last few hours and confirmed the continuing pattern that with each orgasm, Brad's brain function decreased a bit more. Her latest readouts indicated his IQ had dropped 60 points, to 110.

Oops. This was beyond the threshold number she'd taunted him with, the 50-point drop she'd threatened to use to show him that her plan was working, and the number that was to give him his false hope that he'd achieve his freedom if she couldn't lower his IQ.

Well, she'd done it, all right, and she'd continue to do it until he was below 40, just like she'd promised.

She glanced at his smiling afterglow face. As much fun as this was, she knew it would also be fun to taunt him by continuing to fuck his brains out once he realized her evil plan was working and she intended to go through with it.

"Brad," she said, "we need to talk."