By H.K. Kiting and Dean Chills
Simon slipped the dummy debit card into the payment slot by the door. What he was about to do was technically illegal. Because of that, he didn’t want to leave any payment trail that led back to him. The best way to cover the use of the Imaginarium was to pay cash for a loaded card with a false name.
The door opened with a beep, and he walked inside. The room was plain black on all the surfaces. Floodlights mounted on the ceiling shined onto the walls and gave everything a shadowy appearance.
“What is the purpose of your visit?” came a mechanical sounding voice from nowhere. “A. Adventure, B. Educational, C. –”
“F: Sex.” Simon said, interrupting the list. “I’ve done this before, we can skip the menu. I want a female model.”
A fairly plain-looking woman stepped up behind him, literally appearing out of thin air. She was about 5’6” with a bland Caucasian face and medium-length brown hair.
“Blonde, please,” he said.
The woman smiled vaguely in his direction, and her hair lightened before his eyes.
“Lighter,” he ordered.
Her hair changed a shade lighter.
“Good,” he said.
“Taller, about 6 feet and thinner too, a higher forehead, smaller ears, a rounder chin.” He fired off a barrage of additional specifications as if he were ordering a fine machine. Which in a way, he was. As fast as he could issue commands, the cohesive nanobots reshaped themselves to his ideal woman.
Simon knew that he would have her tonight.
He ordered broader hips and larger breasts. “That’s good,” he said. “Now dress her in a red evening gown. Wearing black leather undergarments. And red spike heels.”
The gray jumpsuit that she was wearing morphed into the costume he requested.
Before him stood Mrs. Richards, his high school gym teacher, as she was dressed at the senior prom. He’d always had a crush on her, and the memory of her dressed like she was that night gave him something to masturbate to for years. He still occasionally got off fantasizing about her.
“New surroundings: Generic hotel room. Cheap but clean.” The black room flowed like liquid until it formed the most generic hotel room he had ever seen in his life. Everything was bland and ordinary looking in shades of brown and white.
“Make her seductive, aggressive, she needs to want me, and want sex very badly.” He took one last look at her and issued the final command.
“Run.”
Immediately, Mrs. Richards took a breath, and her eyes focused on him. She walked over to him slowly, put her hand on the back of his head and leaned in for a slow, passionate kiss. She pulled her head back a few inches and looked at him eye to eye.
“Hello Simon,” she said. She had the voice of a dominatrix. He’d forgotten to say anything about her voice, but luckily it was feminine with the undertone of strength that Mrs. Richards had.
“Hello there,” Simon replied.
She raised her right hand and slapped him across the face with an impact that almost knocked him over. “You will address me as Mrs. Richards at all times.” She said sternly.
“Yes ma’am,” he said meekly. “Mrs. Richards!” he said, catching himself, “Yes, Mrs. Richards.”
“Why are you out of uniform? How many times have I told you? When you come to gym class you need to be in uniform. Get out of those clothes!” She commanded.
“Yes, Mrs. Richards.” He hustled to peel everything off. It wouldn’t do to keep her waiting. He looked up, and a riding crop had appeared in her left hand.
She tapped him on the shoulder with it and said, “You aren’t finished undressing. Why aren’t you obeying me?”
He looked down and realized that he had slipped his pants off but his underwear was still in place.
He scrambled to pull off the briefs. He had an enormous erection that had been tenting the front of the white fabric. Now it was pointed straight at her.
She exclaimed, “That is inappropriate!” and tapped the crop on the tip of his dick. “Put that where it belongs!”
He looked around stupidly until she went over to the bed and flopped down on her back. He went over to her, leaned over, and hiked up her dress. He climbed on top of her, straddling her waist.
“Well, are you going to fuck me?” She asked sternly.
He did. He unsnapped her leather panties, pushed them down around her knees and inserted his cock directly into her snatch. He pumped up and down vigorously for several minutes, like a nervous schoolboy. He started to sweat. She looked bored.
“Is that the best you can do?” she asked.
As she spoke, she reached up and wrapped both her hands around his neck. She started to squeeze.
Simon’s face immediately started to turn red. He gasped for air. As spots started appearing before his eyes he shot his load into Mrs. Richards.
Mrs. Richards vanished before his eyes and he flopped face down on the floor of the now empty black room with the floodlights.
He grinned and rolled over onto his back. He had come before she choked him to death. Maybe next week, he’d go slower.
by H. K. Kiting and Dean Chills
