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Oppressive Compulsive Disorder by Choker Guy Chapter One - Illusion Day 1 Dan: So, how did your important 'mission' go? Carl: Would you stop trying to ridicule me? Stop making such a big deal about it, and most importantly, don't do it here. D: Ooh right, forgot the Agency spies are hunting you for your porn collection. I don't know, setting up a switch to wipe your computer seems like a big deal to me. C: What did I just say? I see no reason why we couldn't chat about this later, it doesn't affect you at all. D: Alright, calm down. See you later then, usual spot. Typical behaviour, you shouldn't really be surprised anymore. Dan's antics have been a constant companion, but it's hard to get used to when somebody makes a laughing matter of any serious subject you care about. Fortunately, it only takes switching off your phone to get some peace and quiet. He's benign enough, but the endless teasing really grinds your gears at times, which he knows too well. Anyway, you made it home, why let him get at you to this extent? Stepping inside, you throw your bag into some corner of the room and head to the fridge for something to drink. Your apartment really is quite lousy, but it's not like there are great offers you missed out on. It may not look like much, but you know you're lucky to have it, considering the alternatives. After finishing your drink and feeling a bit more settled, you slump down in your chair and admire your handiwork below the desk. Fuck Dan's contrarian pokes at your safety and privacy worries. It's not paranoia if you're really being watched. These days, you never really know when you're being watched, and where. Except... right, you wanted to meet up with Dan. You check on a couple of things before eventually picking up and putting on your VR helmet. Won't hurt to let your friend wait a while. What would you do without VR? It's probably the only development of the last ten years you really appreciate, one of the few you don't find morally reprehensible either. You've certainly tried to make good use of it, seeing it for more than just a toy. All thanks to the people who created The Construct. To think it's all so simple, a mere mirror of the world, except it's instanced. Unless you invite somebody over, you're completely private. Data transfers are decentralised and you definitely made sure what comes out of your router is encrypted safely enough. Controls aren't an issue anymore, with VR being around as long as it has been, and with cerebral steering as precise and safe as it is today. It is a true marvel of modern technology, one you can't imagine living without. "Took you long enough," you're greeted before you even see anything. "What, I came here as soon as I could," you counter, not quite able to stifle a small grin. "Goddamn Carl, are you going to start with that petty shit again? Okay, listen, I'm sorry I insulted you're admirable skills as a prospective secret agent. Surely, your ingenious construction is a marvel to behold, and will go in mass production soon enough as the nation rises up as one behind you as their glorious leader." Right, and you're the one being petty. You want to know why he always puts so much effort into making you look like a paranoid weirdo. "Because you are! Shit, I'm your friend Carl, but you constantly want to pull me down, like I should feel bad for not buying into your theories or that I'm not smart enough to keep up with you. Compare that to my light teasing for once, that's really all there is to it. If you feel something that harmless is disrespectful and unacceptable, then maybe you're actually pretty similar to your imaginary thought police." Maybe... maybe he kind of has a point there. Not about you sharing any similarities with this aspiring police state, but you do tend to get a bit arrogant and disparaging at times. Compared to that, you suppose his comments really are quite harmless, you just can't help it. Still, he deserves an apology. "You're right, man, I'm sorry. But you do know I don't mean it, right? I don't think you're stupid, not at all. I guess we just see things differently, it can get frustrating." "We agree on that." Dan manages a little smile. If you really think about it, you're lucky to have him. Your circle of friends isn't exactly of monumental proportions, and he's always been quite forgiving and accepting of your flaws. That alone is quite a testament to his character and intelligence, he can always keep up with you, that's never been the issue. Obviously you don't agree completely with what he said, but you're well-aware that you can be a little difficult to deal with at times. You swear you don't do it on purpose. "So, what's going on with you these days?" Dan takes you out of your thoughts. "We've just been over that," you chuckle. "Really, I was just taking a precaution, just like I am now, why else would we meet in The Construct? Well, aside from it just being more fun." "You and your VR addiction. That shit's not healthy, man, I'm telling you." Both of you share a little laugh at the absurdity of that statement. VR has no effect on your physical health. However, there were some odd cases you heard of. Of people breaking mentally, having their mind turned upside down. Supposedly, they saw realities much more convenient and luxurious than their own and just lost it, trying to make it their reality, convincing themselves that reality and virtual world are actually inverted for them. Lucky for you that you've always been a realist, if nothing else, so you've never worried about that happening to you. Again, these thoughts of yours are interrupted as the interface lights up with a message that a new user is arriving. "Guy will notice he's at the wrong address when his password doesn't work," Dan reads your mind. You nod in agreement. With that settled, the two of you just carry on your conversation, but this guy doesn't seem to leave. Every three seconds, your eyes wander to the user count, every time expecting it to pop back down. While your eyes divert from the conversation like that, you see movement in the corner of your view. You shoot out of the chair the two of you meandered towards and sat down in over the course of your chat and try to get a look at the body that's moving in the distance. Dan seems confused and unaware of what you've sighted, slightly taken aback by your jumpy attitude. When he notices you staring off into the distance, he looks in the same direction and notices the reason for your confusion. At least you're not imagining this shit. Whatever's moving back there, it's getting bigger; it's approaching you. As it continues to close the gap between you, it becomes more obvious that it's definitely human in shape. Female, quite feminine even. Normally, you'd be excited, but curiosity and concern overtake you. How did this woman get in here? And why did she, what's the point in joining the password-protected server of two random guys if you obviously had the capability of breaking into any room you chose? When Dan opens his mouth to interrogate the intruder, you find that he shares your anxiety. "What are you doing here? And how did you enter in the first place?" he wants to know, just like you. The woman doesn't pay him any mind whatsoever. Instead, it looks like she actually has her eyes fixed on you, now that she's so close. Before either of you can react, she stands in reaching distance, looking into your eyes, smiling. She grabs the back of your head with surprising speed and strength, planting a deep kiss and her bubble gum flavour on your lips. You're left quite stunned when she breaks it, her smile now turning into more of an arrogant smirk, when she suddenly disappears before your eyes in a quickly dissipating cloud of smoke. What the hell just happened? "What the hell just happened?" a similarly stunned Dan asks, staring at you. "Something you want to tell me?" he asks, grinning, evidently suspecting you to have set this up. Right as you open your mouth to reply though, you notice he's not looking at your face, but rather at your right shoulder. Looking down, you see two pink straps biting into your skin, continuing downwards and stopping at your waist, leading into a small, equally pink compartment. A purse. You're wearing a pink purse. Dan breaks out in raucous laughter at your puzzled expression. "Goddamn, did she put that on me?" you demand to know, but your friend's having none of it. At least not for the time being, he catches his breath after only fifteen minutes or so. Dick. "She sure did, buddy," he's still barely able to contain it. Curious, you ask him what he makes of it. "I wouldn't put too much thought into it, maybe they're running an update while we're in here and that was just a glitch," he hypothesises. "More like a bitch," you comment under your breath, your obvious discomfort fuelling his amusement. "Who cares, I wanted to take a hike anyway, not much happening so might as well call it a day." The bitch, as you so fittingly named her, really did disappear without a trace. Logs don't show a user name, a date of arrival or departure, no hint that she was ever here. One more reason to assume this is probably just some kind of bug. Regardless, it was embarrassing, and annoying, however minor a disturbance it may have been. You'll surely keep it in mind next time you find a good reason to complain, not that you usually need one. Both you and Dan say your goodbyes and you take your leave, removing the helmet from your head to log off The Construct room, the real world materialising around you again. You still can't leave it be though. Even on your return, you're furious how something like that just happens, and to you of the millions of people who use The Construct every day. Yet this rage is no match for your reaction when you see that you're clearly standing in your usual apartment, except for the nightstand next to your bed, or rather, what's placed on it. That bright pink purse. Day 2 A good night's sleep can cure anything. Right? Well, more or less. There's no denying you're a lot calmer than when you went to bed last night. Examining the purse, you discovered that there was actually a hairbrush inside, for some reason. "What, the developers of The Construct got a problem with my hairstyle now?" you joked to yourself. As bizarre as the situation seemed to you, it's free shit, so you didn't mind and took the brush for a spin. Your hair was noticeably unkempt, you'll give them that, but it's barely long enough to justify that sort of passive aggressive criticism. The purse still remains a mystery to you however. Back to the present though, where you just woke up and head into the bathroom to take care of your morning business. You wash your hands and your face, and get a good look at yourself in the mirror. The brush found its way to the shelf below already, and even after the duress of sleeping and getting it all tousled up, your hair looks pretty voluminous and healthy today. That's definitely a side effect you don't mind. Perhaps it'd be a good idea to make it a habit, so you pick up the brush again, and run it through your hair. Yeah, not so bad, you could get used to this. It never hurts to make a good impression. Vibrating noises draw your attention away from the bathroom mirror. Dan probably sent you a text. Picking up the phone confirms your suspicions. He started off with one of his usual quips and is asking whether you're going to meet up again. Actually, you're really anxious to discuss some things with him, most of all the events of yesterday, of course, and how this crap found its way into your apartment. It's hard to imagine him knowing anything specific, but perhaps he can come up with an idea, you're certainly baffled for now. Who knows, maybe you even get to see her again. Speculation won't get you anywhere though, so you tell Dan to meet up with you at the usual spot in half an hour, giving you enough time to get dressed and eat a little breakfast. Then it's off to your desk and back into The Construct. This time around, you're met with an empty space. It's the same place as always, but apparently you've been faster than Dan today. Actually, that suits you quite nicely, gives you some time to look around. Sadly, there's nothing to see, as you quickly realise. You stare off into the direction that the girl was spawned last time, only streets, buildings and air in sight. Neither does the interface provide you with any information; there's only one user here, and that's you, who else? Still, you should be on your guard. Then again, Dan's been having fun with his paranoia jokes about you. Maybe you're just proving his point. You're not alone for long though, but that's not surprise. Dan is right on your heel, you barely had to wait five minutes for him to arrive. "Took you long enough," you poke at him, just like he did yesterday. Instead of the scowl that you expected, a wide grin is plastered on his face. "What's going on with you, it wasn't that funny, was it?" You're confused. "It sure wasn't, but this is," he points to your side. You turn around but can't see anything, until you realise... he's pointing to your shoulder, where a girly pink purse is resting, just like it did yesterday. You can't believe you didn't notice that damn thing hanging on your arm, and you thought last time was embarrassing. Naturally, you try to throw the purse off but find that you can't. "Come on Dan, I know this is funny as hell to you, but I'm legitimately creeped out at this point. Look, I can't get that damn thing off my shoulder, no matter how hard I try." He shoots you an incredulous look. To be fair, you'd do the same, were the roles reversed, the bag is really only hanging there loosely, it looks like a mild gust of wind could knock it down. But as you discovered, it can't, and neither can you. Dan approaches you and tries to grip the straps, first both, then just one of them, but finds that he's absolutely unable to find space there. Next, he attempts just pushing the bag away from your shoulder, with a good amount of force. As expected, it doesn't come off, like it's glued to your shoulder joint. If it wasn't so frustrating, it'd actually be hilarious how physically impossible this whole thing looks. Trying to lift the mood, you're about to make another snarky comment. As you look up, just starting your sentence, you see Dan staring off behind you, seemingly shocked. You turn around yourself and come face-to-face... with her. That bitch. Before you can open your mouth again to give her a piece of your mind, she steps between your legs with one foot and starts rubbing her thighs against yours. It feels nice, for sure, but your confusion far outweighs your arousal. If she wanted to get you off, why is she doing it like this? Clearly, she isn't done yet, her hands now getting in on it. First, she brushes over your cheeks, but her hands trace further downwards. They snake across your chest and your stomach, marking every spot with their touch, before eventually resting on your most intimate parts. Apparently, that's just about what she needed, since she starts backing off. Not before slipping something into your-- you mean the purse, it's not yours, goddamn it. Just like that, she disappears in a familiar smoke cloud, as if she had never been here. "How does this keep happening?" Dan asks, more as a rhetorical question than anything else, you'd assume. Not that you would've replied anyway, you're still frozen. It isn't merely the sheer absurdity of the situation, how come you're always completely powerless when that bitch appears? You can't move, you can't talk, you can't even run, not that you would. "What did she hit you with this time?" your friend of little help wants to know, and this time clearly isn't being rhetorical. Expecting you to remain silent for a bit longer, he reaches into your-- THE purse to examine the treat bestowed upon you this time. "Whoa dude, you'll be the envy of all the girls from now on." You get the feeling he's joking again. At least you hope so. Finally, your paralysis ends and you feel mobile again. Immediately, you want to know what's awaiting you next, and snatch those things right out of Dan's hands. It's two things, just like last time. First, you've got a razor. Not like any kind you'd use, it's clearly marketed towards women. It comes with a little sample-sized tube of shaving cream as well. The second item is something you'd never even consider touching. Wax strips. So that's what Dan meant. Admittedly, the brush was a welcome addition, and razors aren't cheap and all work the same no matter what colour they come in, but this? This is unacceptable. Today, you're really mad. What is this nonsense? You didn't piss off anybody who would be able to do this and it being a minor irregularity with the server seems implausible now that it's happened twice in two days. It occurs to you that the best course of action might be to just walk into a customer support centre and just give the staff there a piece of your mind. You're paying their bills, so they've got no business to treat you like this. Torn up by your frustration that somebody seems to have it in for you, you have to say that you really don't feel like it though, which is rather unusual. Normally, you take any opportunity to complain, but right now, you just feel extremely anxious to get home, which is exactly what you tell Dan. For once, he shows understanding and empathy, telling you to get some rest, which you appreciate greatly. Off with your helmet and back in your apartment, your head immediately turns towards the bed. Unsurprisingly, the purse is still occupying your nightstand. Just like you did inside The Construct, you try to grab it and fling it outside, merely out of the room, so you don't have to look at the eye-catching neon colour all the time. You find yourself unable to even lift the purse an inch. Giving it a couple more tries, you confirm that the purse feels like it's glued to the table. Having an idea, you try just putting it on your shoulder. You're absolutely speechless when that actually works. Carrying the purse around your apartment is just fine too, but trying to set it down somewhere other than the nightstand once again sees it glued to your shoulder. If that wasn't worrying enough, you noticed during your little experiment that the purse is not empty. Sticking a hand inside, you find just what you feared you would see. Wax strips and a razor. You curse the bastards who are responsible for this and throw the items back in the purse; unsuccessfully. You'd expect something like this not to have a high rate of failure, but once more, the objects forced upon you stay forced upon you. Refusing to give into it like you did with the hairbrush, you simply lay down in bed and close your eyes, beauty products still in tow. Quickly, it becomes obvious that you're not going to get any sleep, not even doze off. It's rather early, but clearly that's not the issue here. Not only do you remain awake, an itchy feeling starts to spread throughout your body. Beginning in your crotch, it slowly makes advances towards the edge of your body, until everything from cheeks to ankles, from one wrist to the other is driving you mad, and scratching only seems to make it worse. Taking this sort of itch is easy for maybe five minutes, then it becomes a severe discomfort, and now, after nearly an hour of squirming in your bed like this, you're just about unable to take any more. Angrily, you push open the door to your bathroom and set the items down on the sink. Hey, that worked! You could walk away now... if only the itching had subsided too. So you do the only thing you think you can, you unpack the razor and hold it in your hand, hesitating. Your face really could use a shave, you'll look cleaner, and maybe it'll be enough, you secretly hope. This isn't a major challenge, even though it was probably designed to shave legs and armpits, you find the girly razor works just as fine on your face. Actually, it's as close a shave as you remember ever having, you can't even make out any stubble whatsoever. Unfortunately, it's done little to relieve your itching, beside your face feeling comfortable now. That would likely mean it takes more to get rid of this condition, whatever it is. You contemplate what to do next. The whole thing started in your crotch. Perhaps shaving that would help. It's also a region you're pretty comfortable shaving. You never were the type to shave your pubic hair, but you aren't averse to it either, apparently there's plenty of people that do it nowadays. So you get started on managing your rather impressive bush for now and take a good while to cut it down to size. Next comes the razor, to give it a real, more even shave. People in movies always go on about how that makes it looks bigger for a cheap laugh. You can't really say it does, but that doesn't mean you dislike the look. Credit where credit's due, this might be another change you could get used to, which doesn't mean it's somebody's right to just decide that. Sadly, you still itch all over the majority of your body and none of your efforts so far have calmed the assault on your senses. You know what you have to do, and you know you're never going to get any sleep like this, it's driving you insane after little more than sixty minutes, how would you survive the whole night? Reading the instructions makes it all sound very easy, the wax is pre-applied to the strips, so you'd just need to stick them on your legs, wait a few minutes, and then rip them off. Understanding the process and actually going through with it are two very different things though. Trying to think of something, you set the box down again, but reflection is nigh impossible with all these distractions. There's no way out. And nobody's going to know anyway, you were long-sleeved shirts and long jeans pretty much every day. It's time to test the waters. Apprehensively, you remove one of the strips from the box and warm it up a bit between your hands, as per the instructions. You peel off the layer covering the adhesive and apply it to your right calf. Following the package's recommendations, you rub the strip some more after it stuck to your leg, to make sure it really catches every hair. Now, the moment of truth. Not lingering for long, you just rip it off in one pull, the pain following right away. Goddamn, that hurts. You can't believe some women do this every couple of weeks throughout their whole lives. And you've only done one little patch! Fortunately, on that small spot, the itching is finally gone, confirming your theory that this is the only thing that can save you right now. You would go to a doctor, but once you get an appointment you've probably long gone crazy. So it's back to waxing, for the sake of your sanity, oddly enough. It's a true ordeal to go through, but after a good while, your legs and butt are smooth and done, which isn't exactly what you would normally like, but it sure beats that cursed itching. Speaking of which, your upper body is still begging for attention. Apparently, you won't get out of this before every single hair below your ears has been taken care off. Your suffering continues, but eventually, you make it through that too. Nobody would be able to find a hair left on your body, not even with a magnifying glass. It's got rather late by now, your initial hesitance having cost you quite some time, so you might as well comb through your chin-length hair a little, make it look neat. After that, it's about time to hit the sack. Direct contact with the sheets only makes you realise how sensitive and vulnerable your skin now feels. It must be soreness from the waxing, yet it doesn't exactly feel unpleasant. You have to say the feeling is somewhat akin to being caressed by a woman, soft, tender... and exciting. Sleep creeps in on you quickly. Day 3 Today, resting had adverse effects. After finishing the wax torture you felt somewhat embarrassed, but the sensation of the sheets rubbing over your body certainly was marvellous. Those feelings persist, but don't hold up long against your anger at these compulsions that were forced on you. Trudging into the bathroom, you take care of your morning business and comb your sparkly hair. Over breakfast you decide that, today, you're not going to remain patient. Somebody's trying to fuck with you, and you plan to fuck them right back. Without even consulting Dan, you finish breakfast quickly and head into The Construct after getting ready. Greeted by the same sight as always, you head towards the developer's headquarters, The Tower. They've got customer service right in the same place, and if they refuse to help you, you'll consider making a little scene, or maybe try a more subtle, and much more illegal approach. Well, at least going against any rules that pass for the law in a virtual program. Turning around, to the opposite direction that seems to spawn that bitch every time, you face the large overpass. Just to the left around the corner, in the shade right next to the highway you'll find the building you're looking for. With heavy steps and barely contained fury in your mind you turn left sharply, you close in on the skyscraper. Too distracted by venting your rage, you don't notice that the entrance bears a significant difference to its usual appearance. Somebody guarding it. And another somebody. Bitches. Two of them at once. As soon as you spot them, dreading what they might do to you, you turn on your heel, thinking you could still outrun them and quickly disconnect, when you bump into something. A third somebody. A third bitch, grinning victoriously. It relieves you that, this time around, you're not frozen in place, but that's practically useless when you're tackled to the floor by some superhuman slut. Once she has you prone on your back, she sits on your chest, roughly on your centre of gravity. No matter how hard you try to buck, she's not falling off. Her right hand reaches up into her massive cleavage, contained by nothing else but a short, skimpy, pink dress and pulls out a tube of glossy lipstick. What colour could it be, if not pink? Forcefully grabbing your chin to keep you from evading her beauty treatment, she presses on your cheeks to push your lips forward into a pout for her to generously apply the lipstick on. Generously. At the end of it, you can hardly believe such a small tube could contain so much of the substance, and having so much of it left over, but it seems you'll learn a lot more about that, with the bitch dropping the remainder of it into the purse lying next to you. This is the third instance of you not even noticing you're carrying it with you, but at least you didn't call it "your" purse this time around. To finish things off, that blonde bimbo drops another big, wet kiss on you, then stands up and leaves with that permanent confident grin plastered on her face. At this point, you just want to flee and hide, so that's exactly what you do. Lying right where the bitch left you, you fiddle with the image of the helmet to log off. Well, that plan didn't work. Apparently, something must have happened to the developers of The Construct, you've been in the customer centre before and never had any problems, nor did you face guards. Of course you barely have any resources to work with, but you know that you definitely can't give up. Reinforcing that sentiment is an unbearable tingling, not unlike the one you felt all over your body last night, manifesting itself on your lips. In reaction, you try to massage them, which seems to calm the sensation, it starts to feel nice... really nice even. The moment you let go, they start firing right back up again. Are you supposed to touch your lips for all eternity now? Not even the bathroom mirror can help you discern any information, except that you look quite ridiculous. Deep brown hair that ends at your chin, hazy blue eyes, and then that glossy, hot pink lipstick on your plump lips. Were they always that... puffy? A lot of shit has happened to you, but that would be a bit absurd, so you shrug off that part of it at least. Must be the attention-grabbing colour, these things are designed to enhance lips. It sounds like your phone is going off, probably a message from Dan. Dan: Hey Carl, haven't heard from you at all this morning. Got a little worried. Thought you'd be more eager to do this. Carl: Man, things are fucked up. Went into The Construct earlier and... long story short, it didn't turn out well. D: Let's meet up then, now you really got me worried. I'll stop by your place later. Cool? C: Fine. See you then. You aren't sure at first, but maybe it's a good thing to have him coming over. Dan's not the only one worrying; by now, you're more than concerned about what game these people are playing, and for what purpose. You should have some time on your hands. Since Dan lives across town, it'll take him a while to get here. For now, to do something worthwhile, you try to figure out what to do with your lips, sadly coming up empty in the end. No matter what object you used, none could relieve the pinpricks tormenting your mouth. The only cure you can find is your finger, which makes you look like a complete ditz. Soon enough, you're frustrated enough to give up on your search, and Dan appears not much later. "Hey. Uhh, you thinking about something?" Dan asks as you open the door. "No, I'm good, why?" He points to your finger, and of course eyes your lipstick. You forgot taking it away, but who cares, he saw it and he knows what's happened the last few days, so what's the point? Dan steps inside after you prompt him to come in. He heads right for your room and sits down on the bed, looking at you expectantly. "So tell me the whole story, what did you do in The Construct this morning? And what did you plan to do?" You clue him in on everything, how you wanted to go rip customer service a new one, that you saw the bitches guarding the entrance, looking like clones of each other, and that your retreat was cut short by one of them - probably the one tormenting you - as you turned around. That's how you got the lipstick on you, and now it's impossible to let go of your lips, lest you want to feel that incessant tingling all day long. On top of that, you pull up one of the legs of your jeans slightly, revealing your completely hairless, waxed calf to him. "Whoa, you did that last night?" You nod. "That can't have been fun. How does it feel?" You explain to him that it actually feels nicer than you thought, against soft fabric at least. Wearing your rough denim pants is less than comfortable. "Sounds like you're coping okay. Didn't take you for somebody that optimistic. Anyway, about your lips... you have to touch them at all times. Did you try what happens if somebody else touches it? Like me?" You shake your head. Dan stands up, moves over to you and reaches out a finger to touch your lips. "How's that?" It works, which is odd, but not really helpful. Then again, what in the last three days has been normal? When you look back towards your visitor, you notice, rather late, that he's actually pushed his pants down to around his legs, to your confusion. "What's this all ab-bbgeungk," your question is cut short by Dan grabbing the back of your neck, tripping you up, and pushing his half- erect dick right into your open mouth. You look up at your friend in disgust, only to find him returning it with a sly grin. Any attempts to push off his thighs prove futile; his hands keep your head tightly in place, and his hip movement does the rest. Against your will, you find yourself stuck in this position, sucking off your - former - friend. The silver lining here is that the tingling in your lips has ceased, but that's neither surprising, nor comforting. Regardless of how furious you are right now, this is happening with or without your consent. If you think about it, resisting is only going to make this ordeal last longer. That doesn't mean you need to enjoy it, you're not crazy, but at least you try to form a tighter seal around Dan's cock. Like that, it shouldn't last too long for him to blow his load, and for you to be released from this humiliation. Turns out, you're right. Your amplified ministrations are rewarded with an immediate reaction, Dan's groans ringing in your ears as his dick twitches inside your mouth, your eyes going wide in anticipation of what's about to happen. Dan's arms flex simultaneously, preventing you from escaping his grasp. Then, the torrent is unleashed, some of it flowing right down your throat, the rest pooling in your mouth. You're released from the hold and immediately sputter the load of sperm that didn't make it into your stomach all over the ground, coughing a few times. Once you're done, you glare at Dan. "What. The. Fuck." You spit those words at him through grit teeth. "Calm down, man, calm down. I was just trying to test something" What is wrong with this guy? This is the last thing you had expected from him. "Okay, I'll admit, I was out of line. It was the heat of the moment, I got overexcited. I'll try to make it up to you, listen, I found a possible lead. That was the main reason I wanted to come here in the first place." Well, you'll hear him out on that. You still don't have words to express the hatred you feel towards Dan at this moment, and you get the impression he knows it. Despite all that he starts up again, "There's this website, dedicated to some sort of feminisation hypnosis. I can't really make sense of it, but isn't that kind of what's happening to you? I mean, waxing your legs, wearing lipstick... that sounds exactly like what these bitches are trying to do to you." And perhaps more people than just them. "Alright, I get it, you hate my guts right now. Still, I hope you can find something on that website, I wrote the URL down for you. Look it up later if you want, and tell me what you found. Or don't, whatever. Hold on, what's with your lips?" Fuck, what's happening now? Immediately, you start feeling them, staring wide-eyed at Dan in confusion and horror. He speaks up, waving off your panic. "No, sorry, sorry, didn't mean to worry you. What I meant is you aren't touching them at all." Upon that sentence, you take your hands off your face. It looks like he's right, nothing's touching your lips, yet they're not tingling either. But that can only mean... "Seems like those bitches are sending a clear message of where they need you most." Dan tries to lighten the mood, failing horribly. You've had enough of this bullshit and enough of his excuses, so you tell him to kindly fuck off and leave you alone. You'd be surprised if he does you that favour, you expect a text tomorrow morning at the latest. Fuck, fuck, fuck. They expect you to start sucking people off now? No fucking way. They want to mess with you, you'll show them. If anything, today's revelation has made you more adamant in your conviction to bring those assholes down, and perhaps Dan along the way. He seemed supportive at first, his jokes and quips aside. You can't believe the shit he pulled today. You're not quite sure how to handle it, and how to treat him from now on. This clue he's got you better be good, your opinion of him may ride on that alone. At the very least, he owes you one now, perhaps even two or three for this sort of shit, and that may come in handy yet. In all this chaos you completely forgot to rinse out your mouth though. Disgusting. That's something you most certainly won't allow again. You take great care to get every last speck out of your mouth and have some sugary soft drink to wash down the despicable flavour. That's better. Now you're capable of focussing on this alleged lead that Dan procured for you. Typing in the URL he jotted down, you're unsurprisingly greeted by a page with no content, except an age verification. Makes sense, given what you've been told to expect. Even though you're in your early twenties, you sure as hell won't type in your real birthday. None of their business. That does it, and you're greeted with a blog- style starting page. Browsing through it, you find the site is run by a woman calling herself Cinder, and that she delved into hypnosis and BDSM for years. Despite her interests varying quite wildly from your own, she strikes you as a rather likeable person. You find out that actually, most files on the website are downloadable for free, which makes things easier. Yet it proves to be an obstacle as well, where would you even start? All the comments and reviews appear to be written in-character, so there's not much to go on, most people just profess their excitement and love. That leads you to a board you frequent now and then, and you know for a fact that some of the visitors there are fucked up enough to be into this kind of thing. Luckily, there's a relevant thread up at the moment, so you just ask there, and people seem to know what you're talking about right away. They give you a couple of suggestions to keep in mind, and some files to start off with. According to them, most of this is fantasy; obviously hypnosis can't change your brain or anything like that. As the download bar progresses, you set up your headphones, since people mentioned that would be beneficial, and prepare your bed, another suggestion from the folks on the forum. Finally, the download is done, you hit Play immediately and take in the impressions of your first hypnosis file, lying on your bed. The beginning is quite calm and relaxing. There's nothing in here about gender or sex, no domination or any other kind of fetishist theme. Apparently, it's just supposed to take your guard down and enable you to shut down for a bit, just listening to something you would find hot if you were the regular clientele for this sort of thing. Cinder, the hypnotist, has a very pleasant, soothing voice and uses several techniques to get you to unwind, many of which involve counting down and taking deep, slow breaths. You have to admit, it's remarkably effective; you can tell that your muscles are losing a fair amount of tension that you built up these last days. This process, the guys on the forum called it "induction", takes a good while, she must have been talking about exotic and peaceful scenery for at least half an hour. That thought however, is slurred greatly as you drift out of trance, and right into sleep. "...I will speak to your subconscious mind..." "...even if your conscious mind doesn't register, your subconscious always listens..." "...my words will be your thoughts, your truths..." "...you've never really been a man..." "...you've never really wanted to be a man..." "...it all starts with an identity, a name..." "...start to use girly names..." "...start to use real names... real for you..." "...embrace your inherent femininity my little girly slave..." It's early in the morning and the first rays of sun are shining through your half-open blinds, waking you. Amazing, you can't remember the last time you felt this well-rested and relaxed. So much of your tension is gone, you can hardly remember what you did all day yesterday. Oh right, all those encounters in The Construct, the bitches, and finally Dan, apparently completely losing his mind yesterday. And then you wanted to investigate that clue Dan gave you, but you don't really remember much about that. Looks like you've gotten yourself in a real predicament, haven't you Carley? Chapter Two - Intrusion Day 4 What a morning. All this positive energy has been a huge boon to your productivity, you feel like you took care of so many things around the house. It's like you vaguely remember being upset, but with this state of mind, you can't really tell why. Things are looking great, you're carefree, and you get things done, so what's not to like? Well, admittedly, that tingling in your lips is really messing with you, although it looks kind of cute. While certainly impractical, you don't find it too much of a bother right now, but you wouldn't mind it go away. Halfway through vacuuming, you feel your phone go off. Taking it out of your pocket, you look at the clock, surprised that it's late in the afternoon already. Time flew by, just like that! Your apartment undoubtedly needed it. Dan sent you a message, it seems. Dan: Hey Carl, haven't heard anything all day and you know I won't let you off so easily. How are you doing? Carl? Whatever, this is the least of your concerns, hearing from Dan has somewhat woken you from your bubbly, happy trance. That douchebag really has the audacity to hit you up so casually, just like you suspected he would. Carley: Seriously? You know very well I'm in no mood to talk to you. D: Sure, I guess... But you also know I didn't mean it. C: DIDN'T MEAN IT? Fuck off. D: Alright, alright, I get that it's going to take more than that. Any way I can help you out? Say anything and I'll do it. C: I already did. Fuck off. That's it, he actually, surprisingly did stop messaging you at that point. Perhaps the first time he did that, it makes you think a little. You can't say you regret saying what you said, he got off easy, considering what he did. No friendship in the world can just wash that memory away after a restful sleep. Surely, he's going to be back tomorrow, hounding you again and again, until you eventually give in. Which you will, if you're being honest, you wouldn't want to push him away forever, you just don't want to forgive him right away as if it's just some minor prank he pulled on you. In your condition, you're going to need any help you can get. Your condition... This stray thought is what gets you back on track, you realise. Unbelievable, you wasted half a day cleaning your apartment without a worry in the world. Only now does it occur to you that the morning was littered with actions that passed you by, and became routine. Brushing your shoulder-length chestnut brown hair, regularly shaving between your legs, even touching up the lipstick who's sure to spark the most precarious situations you could find yourself in. It's true, the memories come flooding back only now that you think about them. These little habits are already establishing themselves pretty firmly, and you've been distracted from your goal for hours, probably would've been for the rest of the day if Dan hadn't come along. Now you need to make up for wasted time. Well, finally cleaning up the sticky mess Dan left behind yesterday was more than necessary, but that's beside the point. Determined, you move over to your computer and get your helmet ready. In a matter of seconds, the systems boot up and you feel your vision, as well as the rest of your senses, shift. You see... asphalt. Cement pillars. Some specks of blue sky. A bitch, sitting on your stomach, grinning at you victoriously. You can't believe yourself. In your rush to action, you completely forgot to start a new session, and instead chose the standard option to continue your last one. Dan and you always met and logged out in the same spot, so you never gave the feature much thought. Since you now find yourself in the clutches of three hostile programs due to a simple mistake, you're pretty sure you'll pay it more mind in the future. At the moment, you've got other problems though. Mostly, those relate to your modesty, because to your displeasure, the bitch holding you down has reinforcements on her side, like last time, and they feel that you're weighed down by your clothes way too much. Your pants, shoes, socks, everything's flying off to the sides, torn and destroyed. Same as your shirt, which is ripped off without the bitch on top of you even moving away, that's how strong she is, just pulling the shirt off you like it's nothing. And the way you've gotten to know them, they're not done. Confirming your suspicions, they move right along, producing garments that apparently are intended for you to wear, even though they look utterly grotesque and ill-fitting for you. Evenly divided among all three, each gets to hold one piece of clothing. One displays sexy, pink panties for you, the other holds up slutty fishnet stockings in the same colour, and the last one presents a short, shiny, equally pink skirt. By this point, you've already resigned yourself to your fate, how do you overpower a God? Or Goddesses rather, feminine and plural. They are programs within programs, their power rivalled only by the programs above them, and you're their target, their purpose, for whatever reason. Here we go, one by one. First, the panties, sliding up your still smooth legs, and resting on your barely-existent, masculine hips. In an act of kindness, the bitch even tucks your decently-sized dick between your legs as well as the slim undergarment allows. That way it only looks half as mind-numbingly ridiculous. Second, the fishnet stockings, possibly the most humiliating punishment yet, at least in terms of looks. You can hardly bear to watch as they're fastened to your waist with a garter belt. When you do feel the need to take in your new style, you are surprised to find no clamps anywhere you look. Good luck getting out of this... And third, finally, the skirt is snaking up your legs. Even with your thin legs and hips, this thing is tight. Clearly, this will restrict your movement, which may turn out to be a hindrance in the future. If there's a pattern here, it's objects forcing themselves on you, and being reluctant to removal afterwards. So, here you find yourself, with the lower half of your body completely indistinguishable from that of an actual female, clean shaven and waxed, as well as dressed in an extremely provocative manner. At least you made it through the next onslaught of these bitches and can finally sweep those concerns away, getting back on track to finding solutions. Or so you thought. When the "alpha bitch", the one previously sitting on your stomach, stood up, you were expecting them to leave you alone, having done their duty for the day. Instead, as you're halfway to getting back on your feet, you're seized by the hips and pulled back. For a moment, there's some fiddling along your butt, or rather your skirt on top of it, before you feel a slightly cold fluid being spread across your rear entrance. How did they even reach there, you can clearly tell you're still wearing the skirt! To investigate the matter, you turn around and notice something you hadn't seen before. Your new legwear is lined by an inconspicuous fold, reaching vertically from the top to the bottom, and passing right over your pucker. Right on that spot, this bitch has lifted that fold, and can therefore gain access to your nether regions; the fold is covering a hole in the latex fabric. As if that wasn't surprising enough, there is more that you wouldn't have expected to see back there. A penis. Jutting out from the crotch of the alpha bitch that's currently restraining you. Clearly wet, you connect the dots that both your rectum and her fifth limb are well- lubricated and the plan's for you to be deflowered. In contrast to your humiliation a minute ago, you're far from taking this one in stride, your panic manifesting itself in shooting your assailant a wide-eyed glance of shock, which only serves to spur her on. And so it happens that you find yourself reduced to a pitiful receptacle of her massive boner that is forced into you with one determined thrust, making you cry out in pain. She quickly gets into a rhythm, so quickly that you don't even have time to contemplate the agony, the walls of your anus screaming almost as loudly as you are, forced to give way to the rigid intruder. Unable to bear the pain, you soon collapse to the ground, which naturally does not reduce the bitch's enthusiasm one bit. She merrily carries on pounding you from behind. Makes you think who the real bitch is in this scenario, doesn't it? Usually, you'd be all for snarky comments, but this isn't the time. By now, you're literally reduced to a crying mess, you don't want to imagine what you must look like right now. The ordeal seems unending, save for a brief tug on your shoulder, which didn't concern you too deeply. It seems the other two bitches have closed in and want to enjoy your torment from up close. Soon afterwards, they seem to wonder why they shouldn't get in on the action to receive a little something for themselves. That's precisely what they do. One of them grabs your right hand, to have it disappear in her snatch a moment later. The other grabs hold of your head and urges you forward, into her own nether regions. Once there, you clench your lips over her snatch, both because her intentions and demands are more than crystal clear, and for leverage. With your right arm preoccupied, you only have your left to keep yourself from having your face pressed into the asphalt, and you decide that your rectum is already burning and there's no need to add more. Your first observation catches you off-guard; you notice that the first drops of her love juices entering your mouth are absolutely delicious. While your sex life was never anything to write home about, you've had some experiences, and you're certain it didn't taste like this, not once. The act also seems to stimulate lips, although it doesn't feel quite as lovely as it did when Dan... it stimulates your lips, that's all. At the very least the pain in your rear is offset by the relief your mouth is provided with. It seems the bitches have proven their point though, as both of them at the front are willing to let you finish them off, donating a particularly large dose of their juices. The grand finale however is reserved for the alpha of the group. She withdraws from your sphincter, which clenches upon exit in reaction to the sustained damage, followed by her walking around to your front, taking the place of the recipient of your cunnilingus. Apparently, she just wants to control where she ejaculates; it doesn't take much longer until she does, of course right into your well-used mouth. The torrent overwhelms you, easily half the load being deposited right into your stomach by the sheer amount, and what remains in your mouth won't stay there long. Before you're able to discard the disgusting fluid, the alpha grabs you by the chin, pressing her fingers into your cheeks and lifting your head, angling it toward hers. Next, she uses her free hand to pinch your nose, denying you fresh air. Left with no other option, you need to swallow the massive pool of semen in your mouth, which takes you multiple large gulps. Eventually, you manage to get it all done and are able take in a breath of much-needed air, coughing a while after the ordeal, but reassuringly notice that the bitches are backing off and seem content to leave you alone now. Less reassuring is the fact that it got a lot darker; they went at you for quite a while, and considering you only remembered to enter The Construct after doing plenty of chores you didn't actually have time for, it makes sense that it would be late in the evening by now. To your advantage, you notice that the bitches seem to let up for good; they are back at their posts by the entrance, but let you pass indifferently. Inside, it's more of the same. You see mostly bitches, which is definitely not how you remember The Tower looking inside, but they pay you no mind at least. Trying not to draw attention would probably be a ludicrous and pointless endeavour, but you don't want to push your luck anyway and move about silent, but swift. In order to reach your goal, to talk to somebody in charge, you'll have to go up, and that's pretty much everything you know, sadly. You make a valiant effort to move on up as far as you can to make up for lost time, but with everything that's happened today, that's not too impressive a number. You make it to the tenth floor before your lungs are crying out for a break, which isn't something you can afford in your situation. Weirdly, The Tower closes at 10pm. You never understood why, there's only programs in here, did the union lawyer stir shit during contract negotiations? Having no time for silly thoughts you consider your options. Today, logging in at the last position has fucked you over massively. But inside here, that can be to your advantage. It's unknown what happens to people that overstay their welcome in The Tower, but even if there was a fixed rule, you're not sure the same would apply to you, and you don't want to find out to make sure. That means your choice is quite limited here. You could just stay where you are, but in the middle of the stairway is probably a bad place to be when logging in. Who knows who could already be there when you arrive? There must be a hiding spot then, and so you open the door to the tenth floor cautiously, determining that it seems to be empty as far as you can see. Fortunately, that doesn't have to be very far, since luck is trying to cut you a break. Right in front of you, a janitor's closet. Just like that. It's ideal, nobody but one person goes in there usually, and that person is spending most of the time running around the floors to clean up. Hold on, why would things even get dirty, this is a computer program? Fuck it, your scepticism won't get you anywhere now, you're pressed for time and solutions. If they designed this place to be this silly, you'll take it. You open the door, enter quickly before the floor turns out not to be as empty as you assessed. The closet is empty, save for cleaning equipment, and you, just as expected. Once inside and with the door closed, you log off The Construct and are back sitting on the office chair in your apartment. What a fucking day. With all that's happening, you have totally forgotten how hungry you are, you haven't eaten anything since breakfast. So you move along to your small kitchen area, immediately being reminded of the humiliating clothes wrapped around your legs and hips. Not only that, but the restrictively tight fabric is altering the way you walk substantively. Every step is now accompanied by a noticeable swinging of your hips, which looks decidedly feminine, as you realise when you observe yourself walking in a mirror to make sure your mind is not just playing tricks on you. It seems impossible trying to walk any differently, the skirt just will not allow you to. That's probably your cue to say "fuck it" and get on with making something to eat, lest you starve. Same as always, you just make some simple dinner whose primary goal it is to fill your stomach. Even though it's not exactly empty, as you remember... Perhaps, just for today, you should cut down on remembering a little, or you won't get anything done. After finishing your modest meal, you sit down to eat and put the plate in the sink to keep the others company. By the time you finish, it's gotten pretty late, and you're pretty tired. It's fair to call it a night at this point, you've had a long day and are more than happy to finally get some rest again after a tumultuous day. Despite the uncomfortable, tight skirt and undergarments, sleep grasps you reasonably quickly. Day 5 Rays of sun are invading your bedroom through the blinds. You're asleep, but you notice as much, more in a state of dozing than real, tight sleep. You expect your alarm to go off at any moment, but for as long as it doesn't, you simply wait for your body to wake up on its own, gradually. As it does, and you steadily grow a little more aware of your surroundings, you also grow aware of a burning beneath your skin, centred on your face, very subtle at first, but easily noticeable by now, and yet amplifying in pain even further, to the paint of waking you up entirely and having you shoot out of bed. In abject fear of what may have happened to your face overnight, you rush into the bathroom, bumping against the doorframe on your way there and gaze into the mirror. Your vision is still blurry from having just woken up, but you can soon assert that your face looks completely normal, which is highly unusual considering the circumstances you've been put in recently. Still the searing pain inside you does not relent. The frustration quickly shifts your attention to your purse, a suspicion growing within you. Rummaging through the numerous articles you received, or rather were forced to receive, there's a pretty large item nestled inside that you hadn't seen before. It seems to be an extensive, quite complete makeup set. You're immediately aware of the consequences of this discovery, and what's expected of you. While you were pondering your current condition, the intensity of the sensations in your facial muscles has only progress further, nearly driving you mad and in need of action. Make no mistake, you're not at your limits here, you could likely continue to fight this for another ten minutes, maybe a half or even full hour. The question is, what for? You've shown restraint before, and to no effect. You tried to hold off on shaving and waxing your body, but never did the prickling onslaught of invisible needles on your legs, arms and torso let up until you eventually took that razor and those wax strips into your hands and applied them all over your body. In the face of inevitability, you similarly pick up the makeup kit and approach your bathroom mirror, putting the set down and examining your... options, for lack of a better term. You find that the exterior is quite telling of what's inside; you didn't know this much make-up existed, much less fit inside a single box. Rouge, mascara, eyeliner, eyeshadow, tweezers, all at your disposal, in different shades for different moods. In the background, your phone goes off. Probably just Dan, fuck him. You've got more important issues to deal with anyway. Time to dive in. You pick up the tweezers first, suspecting that you're expected to pluck your eyebrows. It'll be the most painful, but also the easiest; you don't know what half this shit is for, so you figure it's best to start in somewhat familiar territory. So you bring the instrument to your eyebrows and start tearing them out one by one, until you've only got a thin line of hair left, looking rather decent, you must admit. Not for a man, but you hadn't expected it to look like anything less than a train wreck. Sadly, that means you have to move on to unequivocally girly material. Similar to your first choice, you try to pick by difficulty and take the brush to apply some rouge. Just have to powder your cheeks a little, don't you? You go on to do exactly that and are rewarded for it; the burning sensation is withdrawing to a degree, so at least you know you're on the right path. You brush over your cheeks a little more until you feel no further change and decide to move on to the eyeshadow. Seems pretty similar to the rouge actually, just need to apply it to your eyes instead of your now rosy cheeks. After a few hesitant attempts, you discover it really is rather simple. It may not look too professional, but you've got the basics down without any training and that's enough for now. Up next is mascara then. This one actually gets a little closer to your eyeballs than you would be comfortable with, but you've seen this kind of thing in cosmetic ads a lot. You cautiously apply it to your lashes, first very mildly, then getting progressive bolder and close to the roots of your lashes, thereby also nearing your eye itself. Fortunately, you can report that you did not stab yourself anywhere, and your eyesight remains perfect, although marginally more obstructed by your thicker, longer lashes now. That leaves you with just the eyeliner. You've seen one of your few romantic interests apply it once, and were utterly terrified to see her paint the underside of her lids, below her lashes. The pencil was a millimetre away from sticking into her eye! You've dealt with most of your face and have sufficiently calmed down, so you take the time to research this shortly and find some guides on the internet. They confirm your suspicions that this is actually a technique, but also provide relief by mentioning that it's just one of many variations, one which you immediately decide is not for you. With that concern out of the way, you walk back to your bathroom mirror, pick up a pencil and draw a simple line along the edge of your upper lid, and a short wing at the end of it, like the tutorials showed. Very lightly, you apply some to your lower lid as well, just to give it some contour, but not a saturated thick outline. Having gone through the entire repertoire or cosmetics, you end up with a heavily made-up face that you can hardly recognise. You haven't lost your masculine features, but the make-up goes a long way to conceal them. If you weren't outright cringing at your sight, you might even consider the face in front of you attractive at a passing glance. Shivering at the thought, you simply take solace in the fact that you've beaten that painful curse, or whatever else you may call it. Now you've wasted enough time though. You should ignore your razor-thin eyebrows, your accentuated, seemingly magnified eyes, plump lips and majestic cheekbones and get on with the morning. Right. That means taking care of actual morning business in the bathroom, getting ready for the day, grabbing something to eat. When it comes to the matter of getting dressed, you see that you hadn't noticed you were still wearing those humiliating clothes, even to bed. Those pink stockings, panties and the skirt are still straining against your legs and hips, making a mockery of every step you take. It also means you only have to pull on a shirt though and you'll have taken care of all you needed to do. Once you reach your wardrobe however, you pull it open and are faced with a shocking picture. Somebody cleaned it out. Going through every shelf, every closet, every set of drawers in your apartment confirms your suspicions; every last item of clothing has been removed, and apparently not just hidden, but actually taken out of your apartment. To cover your legs, you only have a skirt and fishnet stockings, and you have absolutely nothing to cover your torso. Hardly the worst thing that happened to you, as it only means you'll have to go into The Construct topless. You don't really plan on anybody seeing you anyway. Sit down in your chair. Put on the helmet. Pop in, and 'continue from last position'. Yesterday, it fucked you over, today, you make it the centrepiece of your plan. Opening your eyes after the log-in procedure has finished, you're confronted with the closet you left behind last night. For once, it appears you have the chance to really make some progress here, which is exactly what you'll get working on now. Opening the door silently, you cautiously peek through the crack to make sure nobody's walking along the far side of the hallway. More dangerously, you need to check the near side by sticking your head out. Once more, you're in luck, the hallway is as abandoned as it was last night. Not intending to wait for that to change, you leave the closet behind, not caring to close the door and simply make a break for the stairway, which fortunately is very close by. Once there, you do your best to close in on your goal. Step by step, your thighs are burning, your lungs pumping, your motivation dwindling. The lack of alternatives is really what keeps you going. It seems unlikely that there's no elevator in this huge building, but you've gone over it in your head; there's no way to know who you're going to encounter on your way up. In an elevator, there's only one way out. On the stairs, at least you have one more path to escape. Not that you'd need one, the floor is levelling out before you! There's no more stairs to go, just a hallway, you're at the top. At least at the top of this stairway, as you painfully realise this is just a connection to another staircase, leading to the upper half of the tower. You've been walking all day, and only made it half of the way you need to go! If you didn't know better, you'd think this building was designed to annoy yo