I was waiting for you the whole day. I woke up from my furious dreams sweaty and unreserved. I showered and put on my new dress I bought only a day ago, a long one this time, dark black nanotech-enchanced velvet, with several purely white butterflies as single embroidery, and corset holding my breasts put. I never take off my silver Pentagram and now it rests safely between my ample breasts. I put on my high laced shoes. I don't wear panties today. Easy access is my motto. We've met one day on Pelultimate.fm, you requested my friendship probably based on my stunning avatar, an avatar which was custom made by my ex, presenting me in a rather fetching pose and revealing a lot of my milky while skin and the salamander tatoo on my back I am so proud of. We both love each other's music in general and female fronted metal specific. I know you are a natural blonde (from your picture you've send me on my prompt request) with forget-me-not blue eyes, body deliciously plump, with all the required curvature (certainly my type!), but refrain myself from iconic blonde joke to break the ice. Somehow I feel you will matter a lot to me soon. Somehow I know you want a serious relationship, not just a one night stand. I hate one night stands. I need something real too. My heart was broken so many times before, but I rush head and shoulders into this relationship, without thinking. I attach so quickly. I was born in a big city. I am your usual city child. I know many things about love, but I still learn a lot from my meetings with online and offline friends and potential lovers. I had many loves, but none of them seemed stable enough to grab my attention for long. At least I fail to recall any that did . You were born in a big city too. We both know this vibe, this urgent pulse of life in a big city. You are from New York, and New York is a woman, too. Girl Power! I make breakfast and eat it, all the time thinking of you. Will you message me on Penultimate.fm? I can't hold on to myself and check the Inbox several times until my tongue becomes tied up from repeating the command over and over to the voice recognition system. I am still sweaty, the weather seems to be rather toward the spring. I have my last few euro, so I go out to buy some legal drugs in a Wired Accessories shop, without which I cannot really perform in Wired. People look strangely at my dress, but I don't care. Why do they look strangely? It's Poland, my dear. We are catholic, and that says a lot . At least most of people in Poland provide such explanation for their bigotry and pretend that they are otherwise. What pope says means a lot in Poland, also religious schemes mean a lot to most of the populace. People don't like strangers, it reminds them of western ideas and western freedoms. We are close to religious state, even in these days. A gothic dress embroidered with white butterflies and corsetted looks unusual in the spring weather, too. Of course nanotechnologickal revolution gave us fabrics that can be implanted with climate control, as my dress is, as all my dresses are. Millions over millions of nano sized climate control mites are planted all over it's complicated, more black than black fractal surface, connected by infinitesmal carbon filaments to create a web responding to my voice commands and the amount of sunlight exposure. Right now I walk in comfortable 18 degrees Celsius, although outside is about 28 degrees. Wonders of modern female apparel. I also don't have any bag with me nor pockets on me, all I need is stored in the web containing my body (actually, it's a mesh of various webs, each one with it's particular purpose, forming a formidable processing power). The web stores my money equivalents, id information, medical information in case I get into an accident, my will, a communication device connected to my spinal cord that let's me send and receive net messages while I'm away from my computer, displayed over the visual information my brain gets from my retina. Nothing fancy, though, full immersive tech is forbidden outside the confines of ones' home. Because of traffic, of course, it wouldn't do me any good to get lost in some virtual representation while I cross a walkway. Poland still had a lot of heavy personel traffic on the streets. We care a lot about our freedom, I guess, a lot less for the environment. I hope this will change. I have a lot of hopes. I am a dreamer. I am a freedom fighter. I am a member of digital underground. You seem to share a lot of my interests, though you are not so much into coding as I am. You prefer poetry. I wonder what would they say if they knew I wear no panties. Wild imaginings flare up before my eyes as I go back home and sit before my Mac. I enter Wired, low-level, just to pass the time, not full virtualization, just the mundane screens. I read in Google News about Within Temptation's eleventh album. It seems to beat the charts. Time passes. It's ten o'clock, time to get wasted. I pressure-inject the portion of drugs I bought and wait for the stinging feeling of excitement signifying my readiness for the Wired. I feel my nipples become erect. My pupils dilate a lot and I can hear every sound of my body. My heart-bit bits like a jungle drum. Hey, I'm in love. My hair stands on ends. I get goose-bumps. I put on the virtualization helmet and say the Command. Wired! Millions of strings of data vibrate around me and one of them is your message-notion-entity, it's pink. I catch on to it and grab it in my white teeth. I pull and it hulls a huge chunk of data toward my self-image. A sudden wave of pleasure shots through my body. My clit is enlarged and full of my blood. You are close to me, so close, closer than ever. If I met you actually in so called reality, I would die of happiness, I guess incorrectly. I taste the dataset and it seems crispy enough to begin transmission. I crush the dataweb-minion between my white teeth and feel with my tongue as the web network lusciously enters my evaporated consciousness. I see you now. You wear a skimpy nightdress and I see you also waited for me all day, your eyes shine with happiness. We touch fast our left hands and thus join our datastreams. It's dangerous, but I don't care now. You are so close! I can see drops of saliva on your mouth; pristine simulation of nano-connectors. The walls around us are pulsating to Chandeen - Imagination, my choice. I smile a crazy smile and you smile back. I can see your pupils are dilated too. Your hair is red today and your eyes are so blue, like the Hawaian sky I've seen on postcards. You put out your tongue and make an obscene gesture with it in the air, swirling it around, I admire dexterity of your fine musculature. I taste the air around us, it reminds me of a deep Amazon forest, it's full of expectation and desperate needs. I would lose balance if there was gravity in the simulation. I pull on your left hand and we start to rotate around the common center of mass. I command the interface to get me closer and currently it obeys. You've set the interface to obey *my* commands! I'm so proud of your trust. I kiss your hungry mouth. I feel salty residue on your tongue, as it dances in my mouth. I know it's a virtual drug. I accept sub-vocalizing. It embeds itself in my neural interface. I also show you my trust. You smile knowingly. I put my hand beneath your slithy robes and look for your full breasts. I feel your hands closing on my tight bottom and stabilizing us. I pinch your right nipple with my right hand while my left hand is still holding your left hand in connection constant. I feel sweat coming down my spine in the so called reality. The drugs had put my body into an overdrive. I kiss your beautiful small nose, the tip of your perfectly formed ear, the corner of your forget-me-not blue left eye, right eye (which seems a little green to me now, nice touch) and continue to kiss you on your mouth passionately while stimulating your hard nipple. You moan with pleasure. It's music to my ears. I'm fascinated with the now emerald green right eye of yours. I kiss it. You close it for a blink and it comes around with host of gold particles showing, shimmering. I kiss your smiling mouth just around your smile-wrinkle and our tongues touch again in a great dance of life. I taste your *imagination* and my hand swirls with it's level after level of impressive hacks. I breathlessly ask you wispering to your left ear if you made it yourself. You put your tongue in my right ear and the sensation blends with my stunned realization as I see a signature burning on my retina neurons - it's *my* signature and a common sign for free derivative work! You used my own code from my curious past to make the taste of your saliva. I laugh aloud in appretiation of the joke. I look for a hook. It's there. I hook my ring finger to your interface and make you to feel the taste of oranges by bending it. You seem startled at first, but then smile again. I love you so much. I love every smile of yours. They make me so happy. My hand journeys down the voluptuous angle of your hip and back to the nipple, this time I press it with whole surface of my hand and caress whole breast, it fits perfectly in my grasp. So we have democratic interface binding now. I "vote" for a change as the word "change" comes up in the lyrics of the song. You begin to transform into a young male, taken from the greek sculptures. Your face is still recognizable, but now I feel the pressure of a hard, large member on my hip. It's of course impossibly huge. Size does matter if your can unlink yourself from the so called reality. We still revolve around the common center of mass. The colours of the walls are switching according to readouts of our bodies. Right now they enter crimson red, pulsing red and orange. I push you with a right hand and command gravity to enter the scene by removing one white butterfly and leting it fly away freely. It vanishes in the perspective of the scene. I stand now surely on my long, perfect legs. Your hand caress my young behind. I try to guess what you'll like to do now, with virtual, yet hard and ready manhood dangling from your hips, scaring me a little by it's size, although I know intellectually it cannot really hurt me in any way. I turn around still holding your left hand and murmur an utterance toward your mind-set. You tear at the dress I'm wearing, and unravel my hips. White butterflies detach from it and start circling us in a fluttering of movement. Suddenly I feel draft of cold air on my skin. It's freezing cold. This is the "outer space" setting you love so much. I'm so wet (there, I lied, this story contains the dreaded word "wet") and ready for penetration. I need to make it stand longer, though. I command a switch with my left ring finger. I feel your cock disappear, but soon it is replaced by a hand, I don't know which one as I look the other way. I command mirrors to become. Good idea, I hear your slight laughter. Around us appear hundreds of mirrors, above and beyond. I can see your right hand as it comes close to my pussy, two fingers forward. I feel your fingers enter me, sliding freely on my juices. My right hand in so called reality slides down to my clitoris and begins circling motions in sync to your hands' movements. I don't need two hands to control my body in Wired, I don't need eyes to see nor skin to feel your touch. I feel the third finger join the team and soon your whole hand is in me, whirling and pumping like the biggest dick you ever had. I command a switch (again) with a forking of your body-process with my right index finger, leaving your mind-process intact. I feel a the aforementioned huge member entering my anus from behind while your hand is still in my vagina, filling it all. Your mirror-body cock begins to fuck me slowly at first, then faster. I thank Goddess it's a stimulation, not so called reality, as I seem not to need any artificial wetness in my ass to make this penetration pleasurable, contrary-wise - I get large mounts of pleasure with every thrust. Your hands grab my raven-black hair and pull on it. I know it for a cue. My back instantly arches in a pose from my custom avatar. I know I look splendid now and the walls turn bright yellow, almost white, telling me your arousal levels are increased by {this} movement. Your hand is pushing on my vaginal walls and your member is pumping furiously in my fauvorite place. You seem to be so comfortable with a male body. I'm impressed. I detect a morphing function and then a slap on my bottom following it tells me you forked your hand to form another appendage, probably controlled by your...quick search in the now widely open code shows me you control them by your own vaginal muscles. It's a miracle I can think straight in this avalanche of feelings. In my mind a poem forms. Behind every invader stays A woman who got inside In oh so many stupid ways I beg you to be my bride Behind your every mask belongs My ear, my eye, my fingers long This will cancel all our wrongs You make me brave, you make me strong Behind every woman stays A man who got inside In oh so many stupid ways I beg you to be my fellow, bride I tell the interface to form the poem as a performing ideogram and pulse it onto my back for you to see as a virtual tatoo extending my real one. You gasp when the two dimensional tentacles of the ideogram emerge on my skin. You bend over me and kiss my left ear, not stopping to stimulate me at all. Wonders of modern armaments. I can see that it's a yes. My happiness is almost painful, as is my pleasure, coming now soon to fruition. A slight sadness gets over me as I realize we can't become wifen in Poland. No real marriage for the persons of same sex. This thought quickly evaporates from my mind though. I can have a much closer relationship in Wired. People generally know so little about it's tangents and crannies and nuts and bolts. Right now I feel it's too much for me. I approach fast my first climax. I come, over and over again and my climactic spasms bring your male self over the edge. I hear a deep orgasmic scream in form of a growl in my ears while waves of intense pleasure are pushing my thought processes into the place of light and calm. I lose consciousness. I wake up with a helmet on my head, darkness around. Automatic exit procedure worked well. I check my Inbox on Penultimate.fm. There is a message from you with a story like this one or at least a long comment or at least if you liked it or not :-).
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