Use the vibrator

You slide the humming shaft into your pussy, and are instantly aware of its thrumming presence inside you, pressing against your vaginal walls, jiggling them.

You lean against bathroom tile for support; this thing is making your knees weak.

“Jesus, Sophie,” you mutter - and suddenly you feel John's hands in your hair, jerking your head back, so that you see his face towering over yours.

“Never call me that, slut,” he says angrily. “You're Sophie. You're the one with the pussy.” He says it so convincingly that you believe he isn't acting. Your legs feel wobbly now; something about the anger in his voice has softened you even more.

“I only wanted to say,” you reply in your high-pitched voice, “that I had no idea how that really felt - how you felt when I did things like this to you.”

His expression softens. “Well, now you know. I have a feeling that body's been tweaked a bit, you know. Your erogenous zones are probably more sensitive than is usual for a woman, and your libido is higher too. But I do want to stress that you may only call me John, or Gerald if in mixed company. If you call me Sophie again, I'll whip your ass so hard it'll bleed. And I do know how to do that very professionally.”

“You'd - you'd do that to me?” you ask, your voice trembling a little.

“If I have to, yes,” he replies. “Sophie, understand me: now that I know your true nature, I will do whatever it takes to keep you in your place.”

You let that sink in. He has no compunction about punishing you. And you wouldn't be able to stop him. Your breathing grows a little ragged, your heart races, as you realize John isn't just playing dominant games to cater to your fantasies.

His story about dominating his secretary, Janice, was most likely not an exaggeration.

He's dominant. The real fucking thing. You look up at his face, your face, worn now by a soul much more capable of claiming male advantages than you ever were. You look down at your own soft breasts, glistening and damp, and the fact of your feminization fully sinks in.

John, you realize, will never let you be a man again. He'll block any attempt to switch to a vat-grown body. You're stuck with this body, possibly for the rest of your natural life.

You're still fingering your pussy as these thoughts race through your mind, and the sheer overload pushes you over the brink. You cry out as your legs give way, a little panicked as you remember belatedly that Sophie always faints when she orgasms. John catches you as you collapse, your thighs clenching involuntarily around the vibrator, and you pass out.

You awaken in his arms. He's carrying you into the bedroom. Overcome with the situation, you sob uncontrollably against his shoulder. Your tears soak into his shirt fabric, and your wet flesh soaks his shirt as he lowers you the the floor.

“It's all right, baby,” he says. “It's okay for girls to cry, you know. No shame in it.”

Out of the blue, you think to yourself as John bends you over the edge of the bed, your soft breasts crushed under your ribcage - you feel the vibrator pulled out of you; he lays it close to your face, still vibrating - his cock's pressed against your cuntlips now - Out of the blue, your deepest, most secret fantasies have been fully realized. So complete has been the realization that it's no longer fantasy; you no longer have any kind of editorial control over the things that will happen to you here. The ball is in John's court now.

He slides into you effortlessly, and gives you the fuck of a man who hasn't been laid in three years, and plans to squeeze every last drop of pleasure out of it, bending your wrists painfully behind you, making sure you know you have ****.

You sigh heavily, spent, as he pulls out - a sensation that leaves you feeling with an empty ache. His semen dribbles out of you as he pulls you onto the bed, turns you onto your back, and climbs onto the bed beside you.

“Wow,” you say.

“Yeah. Wow,” he replies, amusement in his eyes.

“That was nice.”

“Understatement of the day. Was it what you expected?”

“Yes. No. Of course not. I never even let myself try being a woman in IVR, you know. Too scared to find out how much I liked it.” John sits up, reaches for one of the wine glasses, takes a sip. He finds a pack of cigarettes, shakes one out, lights it. Blows out smoke.

“Don't tell me you're going to go ahead and crap up my pristine body with that shit,” you say.

“It's not yours, Sophie,” John says firmly. “This is me now. The sooner you start internalizing that fact, and the fact that you're Sophie, the better.” He chuckles. “You know, in my day, this stuff was so addictive, so fucking toxic it was a fucking crime. I almost miss my nicotine cravings. Those were the days.” He sighs. “But it's a brave new world, where cancer is treatable with a pill, you can regulate mood and sex drive with a pharmacopeia of DNA-editing nanobots, and you can even grow yourself a new fucking body.”

“What, you miss the 20th century? How many people died in wars, John? Hell, in car accidents?” You sit up and look at the man your old body belongs to now, realizing he really isn't the same person Sophie was.

“I know, I know. Total barbarians they were, right? A little fact. My wife is only twenty three - born well after the turn of the century - and she still had an evil enough turn of mind to take my life from me. And don't even get me started on IVR. I write - I wrote - IVR for a living, so I know a lot of the sick shit that happens in there. Just because it's simulated doesn't mean the minds inhabiting it are healthy.”

“What are we going to do about that?” you ask. “Laura, I mean. And this whole business with the encryption code. And your old body.”John is silent for a moment. “Did you know that I'd applied for a job at GeneIVR Tech?” he says finally. “I didn't think anything of it until just now. Jesus.”

“Your old company? As an IVR programmer?” you ask.

“No, actually. That's the twisted part of it. I'd convinced myself that IVR programming wasn't for me. I wanted to be a secretary. I thought it fit my, um, personality better. I can bet where the idea came from though. Laura. What better **** than to really make me in the image of the girl I was fucking, wholesale?”

“Wow. Did they make an offer?”

“Yeah. I hadn't accepted yet. But I'm thinking you should. Laura's clearly expecting you to, for one thing, and it gets you on the inside, where you can do a little spying for me.”

You think about this for a moment. Clearly John is expecting you to help. And really, it's not like you can continue to work as an IVR programmer in Sophie's place. Besides, there are all those secretary fantasies you've secretly held...

“Okay,” you say. “I'll do it.”

“Great,” John replies, grinning. “But we'll need to get you some appropriate attire.”

“A business suit?”

“No, dear. Remember Laura's expecting a thoroughly conditioned submissive slut. You'll be wearing what I would have worn, if I'd actually accepted the job - a sleeveless blouse, a miniskirt, and fuck me pumps.”

John heads down to the arcology' mid-tower mall level to pick out clothes for you - which makes sense, since you don't even know your clothing sizes. You finish your wine and are a bit tipsy when he comes back with a broad selection of work clothes - all in various shades of innocent/slutty - plus wide assortment of lingerie. He has you try on various outfits while he sits back on the bed, smoking. Finally he picks out a hot pink sleeveless blouse, a matching miniskirt, and pink spike heels that you can barely stand up in.

You call GeneIVR Tech HR department the next day, and just like that, you're a secretary. For a guy named Norman Smith.

John winces at the name. He's done a bit of research in various IVR info nodes by now, and has learned quite a bit. “That's Laura's husband. The bitch remarried.”

“That's to be expected,” you say. “Strange she'd give you a job with him, though.”

“Not really,” John replies. “I did a bit of back-end stealth work. Norman's medical records indicate he's been altered. Specifically, his sexual makeup has been keyed so that he's submissive to Laura - it's pheremone driven - and dominant to you.”

“So what exactly am I looking for?” you ask.

“Okay. John Carruthers is legally dead. I want to find out if she's actually disposed of the body. Let's start there. See what you can find out.”

“I won't even know where to look.”

“That's okay. I'm coming with you.”

“You think they'll let my boyfriend hang around on the first day of my job?” you ask.

John smiles. “No. But I'll load a feed into your IVR implants. I'll be able to see what you see, hear what you hear. We won't have bandwidth for a full senseshare, but I can guide you, and you can talk to me. You see a ghost image of me, to make things a little easier, and I can point stuff out easier that way too.”

The next day, dressed in your best slutty secretary gear, you head out the door, into the main garden of Ebbetts Arcology Enclave Level 125D, wait for your tube, and climb in with the other commuters.

You feel incredibly small and fragile among all the hulking bodies, and feel absurdly feminine in your little pink outfit, but the looks you receive are more appreciative of your face and figure than anything else. These days, you can wear a Japanese schoolgirl outfit to work and not be out of place.

You forget John's with you - he's hidden his Ghost so as not to distract you - it's a surprise when, as you're surreptitiously stealing a glance at the handsome business man standing across from you, you hear his voice in your head:

“Oh, go ahead, check out his crotch. You know you want to.”

Startled, you think back to him, “Shut up, John. This is distracting enough as it is.”

It's a half-hour trip over to Smitts Arcology Industrial Park - not too bad. Smitts sits roughly where the whole of the Red Hook waterfront used to be in Brooklyn, so when you step out of the tube, the view out the hallway window is of the New York harbor. Governor's Island Arcology looms in the foreground, and off in the distance you can see the Statue of Liberty, and the squatter's shantytowns dotting the star-shaped island.

You find the front door to GeneIVR Tech's administrative offices.

GenIVR Tech Front Lobby

This is the front lobby for GeneIVR Tech. A long front desk, faced in jet black marble, is manned by a security guard. A luxurious black leather sofa is arranged directly opposite the front desk, and a rack of magazine is mounted on the wall beside it. There's an endtable on one end of the sofa. The lobby entrance is to the south, and there's a set of frosted crystal doors to the north.