Jim had no trouble spotting the unmarked beige sedan parked across the street from his apartment. And neither will Cromwell, he thought ruefully. Jerry Agnostopolis smiled and waved, sipping coffee. Jim waved back. My tax dollars at work , he thought. Well, it's better than nothing.
His wallet admitted him to the apartment as usual, but this time he stopped to think about that. A programmer of Cromwell's talents wouldn't have much trouble overriding the electronic lock.
Natasha was sitting on the couch; she looked nervous. She jumped as Jim entered the room, but her face brightened as she recognized him. Unfolding her long legs, she stood and embraced him.
"I was worried about you," she said softly.
"I'm fine, sweetheart," Jim replied, trying to sound unconcerned. And you are too, thank God . "But I do think we should disappear for a while."
"Our filespace is 100% secure," Natasha said. "I used our usual encryption key. I tried to encrypt Justine too, but it looks like you already did that. And I packed a few things," she added, nodding towards an overnight bag that stood ready by the door. "A couple changes of clothes for each of us, toothbrushes, that kind of thing."
Jim looked into her dark, brilliant eyes. "You're a mind reader," he said. "And a lifesaver. Let me call the feds, then we can go."
Natasha frowned. "Are you sure you can trust them?"
"No, but I'm positive I can't trust this Cromwell guy. I figure our best bet is to let these bastards serve and protect us like they're supposed to." Jim dropped his wallet into the terminal; Norquist's face lit up the screen.
"Norquist."
"Silicane. Natasha and I want to move into a motel for a couple of days. What do you think?"
"It's a good idea," Norquist agreed. "If you like, Jerry can escort you."
"Fine."
Agnostopolis held the car door open for Natasha, smiling broadly. "Pleased ta meetcha, Miss Bukharin. I'm Jerry Agnostopolis."
"Uh, thanks. . .Jerry," Natasha replied, giving up immediately on Jerry's labyrinthine surname. "Call me Natasha."
"You got it, Natasha." Jerry slid into the driver's seat and started the beige Ford's electric motor. "You two got nothing to worry about. You're booked at the Harbor Sheraton, and the DEA picks up the tab." Jerry swung out into traffic without, as far as Jim could tell, bothering to check for oncoming cars.
"That's mighty nice of you, Jerry," Jim said.
"Think nothin' of it. It's the least we can do, seeing as you're helping us out."
"Jim," Natasha said suddenly from the back seat. "What exactly was in the message that Cromwell sent you?"
"Sorry, ma'am," Jerry said, looking at her in the rear-view mirror. "Phil told me that's all classified now." Jim felt a momentary surge of hostility towards Phil and Jerry's police state tactics, but it quickly faded as he realized that he didn't really want to answer Natasha's question anyway.
Jerry was headed for the freeway. "You just rest easy," he said cheerfully. "We ain't the Canadian Mounties, but we get our man most of the time. I won't let that sick son of a bitch near you folks. I like you too much for that." They were quiet for a few moments. The car found an on-ramp and sped up. They were now on what was officially known as Interstate 5, but everybody just called it "the freeway." With fifteen lanes of traffic in each direction, it was the undisputed king of Southern California's freeway network; it was the spinal column that held the Metroplex together.
"Jerry," Jim said slowly, "Cromwell might still try to come by our apartment."
"That's OK, Dr. Silicane. Phil's sending a surveillance team over to keep an eye on the place. Which leaves me free to keep an eye on you two." Jim tried to feel reassured by that. Jerry seemed like he'd be a fun guy to have a few beers with, but Jim wasn't too confident in his abilities as a bodyguard. But then, Cromwell wouldn't have any way to find them at the hotel.
Would he?
"Mr. and Mrs. . . .Smith," Natasha read from their registration receipt. "Well, your friends at the DEA certainly are creative."
"They aren't my friends," Jim reminded her. "But right now we need them."
"I know, sweetheart. I'm just edgy, that's all."
Jim set their bag down on the luggage rack and surveyed the room. It looked like any hotel room anywhere: a round table, two chairs, a desk with an ashtray and complementary stationary, a terminal and two big beds.
"Try to think of it as an impromptu vacation," Jim suggested.
"God knows I could use some time away from those damn network models," Natasha said cheerfully, walking over to the large curtains which dominated the far wall. She pulled the curtains open to reveal a sliding glass door. Beyond the door was a small balcony; beyond that, the Pacific Ocean.
"Now it feels like a vacation!" she decided. Suddenly she jumped onto one of the beds, pulled two giant-sized pillows out from under the blankets, fluffed them up behind her, and sprawled out luxuriously. "I love staying in motels," she said. "It doesn't matter where I am. Even if it's just a few miles from home, like this place, I love it. I always feel like I'm on some kind of adventure when I'm in a motel."
"This time you are," Jim reminded her.
"Even better!" she said with a playful smile.
"Natasha," Jim said softly. "This is serious."
A flash of anger crossed her face. "Don't you think I know that? You think I don't know it's serious when you start bringing home DEA agents with you?"
"Sorry."
"I just don't think that being in danger should mean curling up into a ball like a scared kitten," she said with a scowl.
Jim sat down on the bed next to her and put a hand on her knee. "You're right, of course. I'm sorry, sweetheart."
She softened. "That's OK. I'm a little grumpy; what time is it?"
Jim looked at his watch. "Six thirty. No wonder you're grumpy; it's dinnertime. I saw a coffee shop when we were checking in; how does that sound?"
Natasha looked thoughtful. "Jerry did say that the DEA is footing our bill, right?"
"Yeah. So?"
She smiled and slipped her arms around him. "So let's order room service instead. See, I forgot to tell you one other thing about motels."
"Yeah?"
"They make me horny."
As much as Jim enjoyed the sight of his beautiful girlfriend hogtied and ballgagged, there was something very nice about just taking a shower with her. Natasha looked great naked, and she looked even better all wet and soapy. Her firm, taut breasts glistened as she stood under the water. The Sheraton valued comfort over water conservation; the shower produced a torrential flow. Natasha liked the water much hotter than Jim would have preferred it; it was nearly scalding. When they showered together, he spent most of his time standing back from the water, watching her.
There was plenty to watch. She played with her nipples as she soaped herself up; they quickly grew stiff. Jim watched the water flow down over her flat belly and into the smooth, shaven cleft between her thighs. She smiled at him, her short, brown hair slicked back against her skull. She was putting on a show for him. As he looked down at his stiff member, he realized that it was a very good show.
"I'm almost ready for bed," she said huskily. "Hey, I have an idea. Why don't you see if you can load Justine onto the room terminal? That might be fun."
"You got it, babe." Jim stepped out of the shower into the steam-filled bathroom. Wrapping himself in a fluffy white hotel towel, he emerged into the bedroom and walked over to the terminal. He sat down to take a look at what he had to work with. The monitor was nice and big and the speakers looked fine; that was where hotels tended to spend their computer money, so that lonely businessmen could load up video from one of the swimsuit nets. The problem was the filespace. Justine was big; she wasn't going to fit into this terminal. At least, not the way things stand, Jim thought with a smile. What hotels didn't pay for were competent techs to run their systems. The files on the room terminal weren't write-protected. Jim ran through directories, merrily deleting excess crap: a guide to local restaurants, the Sheraton merchandise catalog, net program listings, and most especially the online Gideon Bible. That should about do it , he thought.
There was a knock at the door. Jim felt adrenaline course into his body. "Who is it?" he called out.
"It's Jerry, with your room service," came the reply. With a sigh of relief, Jim opened the door.
"The little fella was on his way up when I stopped him," Jerry explained. "I figured I should bring the food up myself, so you'd know it's OK."
"Thanks, Jerry. You're a pal."
"Don't mention it. I tipped him, too, so you can forget about that. Enjoy it." Jerry wheeled the cart into the room. "That burger smells pretty good. I might have them fix me one."
"Sounds like a good idea, Jerry."
"Well, good night, Doc."
"Good night." Jim wheeled the cart over to the table and started unloading the dishes. Lifting one silver cover he found his hamburger; he had ordered it on the theory that it would be difficult for even the worst hotel kitchen to ruin a burger. The other platter contained Natasha's lasagna. There was also fruit salad, garlic bread and a pitcher of iced tea. Jim suddenly realized that he was ravenous.
Natasha emerged from the bathroom in a complimentary poofy white robe, toweling her hair dry. "You're between me and my dinner," she warned. "That's not a safe place to be."
"Are you threatening to eat me?" Jim asked dryly.
She stuck her tongue out at him. "I'm threatening not to."
Jim swept his arm towards her chair with a gesture of excessive gallantry. "In that case, milady, please take your seat."
"Thank you, sir. Is Justine here yet?"
"No. I had to clear off some space for her on the room terminal. I'll get her after we eat."
"Why not get Stan to do it? Then she can load while we eat."
"How come you're so goddamned smart?" Jim demanded with mock frustration.
She batted her eyes at him, feigning innocence. "Oh, dear. Have I damaged a fragile male ego again?"
"No, a fragile sense of job security. I can't figure out why they haven't demoted me to a grad student and given you my job yet."
She laughed her tinkling laugh. "It must be because of your age and wisdom," she said gently.
"Or my age, anyway." Jim went over to the terminal and connected it to his office. "Hello, Stan."
"Hello, Jim. You're speaking to me from an unfamiliar terminal."
"Yes, we're. . .not at home." Jim knew he could trust Stan, but the fewer people who knew where they were, the better.
"Would you please enter the encryption key we used for Justine, Jim?"
"What? Why?" The strange request immediately made Jim suspicious.
"I'm sorry, Jim, but I need to verify that it's really you I'm speaking to."
"Don't be ridiculous, Stan. Of course it's me."
"Ordinarily I would agree, Jim. Unfortunately, the Justine technology makes it impossible for me to rely exclusively on conventional voice and image identification techniques."
"Christ, I hadn't even thought of that. You're right, of course. But I'm leery about transmitting the key over a network connection."
"That's sensible, Jim, but I'm currently running my network surveillance program. This connection is secure and unmonitored."
"OK, Stan, here goes." Jim entered the key.
"Thank you, Jim. Sorry for the inconvenience. What can I do for you?"
"I'd like you to move the active copy of Justine from my home terminal to this one."
"That's no problem, Jim, since you've already given me the encryption key. While Justine is loading, perhaps you'd like to view an unusual message which arrived for you about an hour ago."
"All right. What's unusual about it?"
"The author of the message is identified as 'Justine.'"
Jim felt a tightness at his throat. "What? That's impossible. You haven't been running Justine, have you, Stan?"
"No, Jim. I downloaded her active copy to your home terminal, then wiped it from the office filespace, as we agreed. The backup copy is inactive."
Jim looked across the room. "Natasha?" She looked up from her lasagna and shook her head slowly.
"Play the message, Stan," Jim said softly.
"Right away, Jim." The screen lit up with an image of Justine's dungeon. Justine stood in the middle of the chamber, naked except for a pair of white six-inch heels. It occurred to Jim that he had never seen her naked before. She looked perfect, of course. Her breasts were full and round, about a "C" cup. They rode high and proud on her torso, hovering there in gravity-defying splendor. The way they jiggle and bounce when she moves suggests they're real , Jim thought. He suddenly realized that the question of whether Justine's breasts were "real" or "synthetic" was meaningless, since she herself wasn't "real" in any conventional sense of the word. She certainly is real in most ways that matter, though , he thought, noticing the stiffness beneath his towel.
Justine's nipples were a light pink; they were quite large, with aereola that stood out dramatically. Her waist was narrow almost to the point of cartoonishness. Her pubic hair was as blonde as the hair on her head; it was neatly trimmed into a little heart shape.
Justine was in trouble. Her arms were held behind her in a bondage sleeve, a single tight leather glove which ran from her fingertips almost up to her shoulders. The sleeve was secured by thick leather straps. A chain ran from her fingertips up to the ceiling, forcing her arms up into what looked like a fairly painful position. She also wore a pair of ankle cuffs which held her feet close together. Around her neck was a red ball gag which hadn't been thrust into her mouth, at least not yet.
Her face was wet with tears. "Doctor Silicane," she said through her tears. "I'm sending you this message because my creator, Steven Cromwell, believes that you are someone who can be trusted. I have no one else to turn to. They've taken me and they're holding me against my will. They have something terrible planned for me, something that would mean the end of me."
The screen showed a close-up of her face, her eyes wide with terror. "They plan to post me to the net, Doctor Silicane. You mustn't let that happen. It would be the end of my world, and it might be the end of yours, too. I was never meant to be mass produced. Please, you must stop them. Oh, God, they're deactivating my terminal. Please--" The screen went blank.
Jim realized that Natasha was at his side, her arms around his waist. "The poor girl," she said softly. "She's scared out of her mind."
"The question is, who is she?" Jim said.
"What do you mean?" Natasha asked.
"Stan and I have been dealing with this problem all day. Each copy of Justine has its own distinct set of memories. Basically, each copy is a distinct personality. That message was from Justine, all right, but I don't think it was from our Justine."
"She called you 'Dr. Silicane,' not Jim," Natasha said. She caught on quickly.
"Exactly. She didn't know me. That leaves just two possibilities. She could be Cromwell's copy, but I don't think that's likely. This Justine seemed to think that Cromwell trusted me, and the message I got from him today pretty clearly shows that that isn't the case."
"What does that leave?"
"The copy that was stolen from me."
"That means that whoever took that copy from you is about to give Justine worldwide distribution," Natasha said slowly.
"Right. And that means that we have a tough choice to make. Part of me thinks she should be posted, so that anyone who wants to use her can do so. I sure wouldn't mind saying 'fuck you' to the feds and their censorship bullshit. Score one for truth, justice and perverts everywhere. But the other part of me--"
"--is Justine's friend," Natasha finished.
"Yeah. She didn't even want to have two or three copies of herself floating around. Can you imagine how she'd feel if there were billions of her all over the net?"
"Well, how would you feel?" Natasha challenged. "We take our uniqueness for granted. But suppose somebody made a billion clones of you without bothering to ask your permission? Don't you think you might have a little bit of an identity crisis? Don't you think you'd start to wonder who you really were?
"Sure. But Justine's not really a person. . ."
"She's not human," Natasha corrected him sharply. "That's not the same thing, Jim."
"You're right. I should watch my mouth. OK, so it comes down to a choice between freedom of information and the wishes of our friend."
"That's no choice at all," Natasha said firmly. "Politically, I agree with you. I don't like those DEA bastards trying to run our lives any more than you do. But it's obscene to talk about freedom while we violate our friend's right to chose her own destiny. If we do that, we're just as bad as the feds."
"I agree. Now that we've sorted that out, we're left with a practical question: what can we do to stop these mystery men from uploading Justine?"
"For starters, you can let the feds in on their little plan."
"Right. Stan, please forward that message to Special Agent Norquist at the DEA office right away."
"Certainly, Jim," the program replied.
"Other than that, I don't think we can do much else but wait. Stan, are you sure this line is secure?"
"Absolutely, Jim," Stan replied.
"OK. We're staying at the Harbor Sheraton, room 2214. I want you to forward any further messages from Justine or from Steven Cromwell here immediately."
"Yes, Jim. I've finished loading Justine onto your room terminal, by the way, and erased her from your home terminal."
"Thanks, Stan. I think that's all for tonight."
"Good night, Jim. Good night, Natasha."
"Good night, Stan."
"Oh, Jim, there is one other thing. . ." Stan said, a hint of awkwardness in his voice.
"Yes, Stan?" "Give Justine my regards, would you?"
"I certainly will, Stan."
"Poor Justine," Natasha said softly as Jim munched on his hamburger. The burger was quite cold by now, but Jim was too hungry to care. "She looked so helpless, so beautiful. . .but I hate to see her scared like that."
Jim had a sudden inspiration. "Yeah. It's a real shame. Under more pleasant circumstances, it might be nice to see her all tied up like that."
There was a gleam in Natasha's eyes. "Jim Silicane, you dirty bastard!"
"Go ahead, tell me you weren't thinking the same thing."
"Fine," she admitted. "So what if I was?"
"So, why not give it a try? It might erase the bad taste that last message left."
"All right," Natasha agreed. Jim typed a command on the keyboard; the screen lit up with Justine--a happy Justine, this time.
"Hi, Natasha! Hi, Jim! Is it playtime again?"
"It sure is, Justine," Natasha said with a smile. You couldn't help but like Justine. She was so fun loving, so free, without a trace of guilt. In some ways she was very much like a child, although in others she was quite sophisticated.
"Jim and I were thinking that it might be fun to see you in a bondage scenario, Justine," Natasha explained. "Would you be up for that?"
"Would I! It sounds great, Natasha. What did you have in mind?"
"We hadn't really worked out the details," Jim admitted. "We wanted to see if it was OK with you first."
Justine dimpled. "How sweet! You two are so nice to me. But of course I'm interested. You know me; I'm always up for an erotic adventure, and the kinkier the better."
"Tell you what," Jim said. "Why don't you come up with something on your own, Justine? Surprise us."
Justine's eyes widened. "Hm! A challenge to my creative abilities. All right, Jim, you're on. Just give me a moment or two." The screen went blank.
"Good thinking, lover," Natasha said as he shed her robe. "I can't wait to see what she comes up with."
"You might never want to download another piece of porn now that Justine's around," Jim said, dropping his towel onto the floor next to Natasha's robe.
Natasha gave a derisive snort. "That shit already bores me. Justine's stuff makes conventional comp porn look like one of those old Penthouse mags my dad always used to read."
As they sat next to each other on the bed, the screen lit up again. Justine was in her dungeon, naked except for a white cotton g-string. She was standing on her tiptoes, her wrists chained high above her head. She was ungagged. In the shadows behind her stood a slender figure with a riding crop.
Justine's eyes were closed. "Please," she whispered. "Please don't hurt me." As she spoke, her torturer raised the whip and brought it down hard across her back. Justine gave a clear, throaty scream. Jim felt himself grow hard as he watched. To his right, Natasha sat staring at the monitor in rapt fascination. Jim reached down and cupped her firm breast with his hand; the nipple was already rock hard. Natasha moaned softly at his touch.
On the screen, Justine took another stroke, and then another. She was being given a thorough and brutal whipping, by someone who seemed to know what they were doing. Tears were rolling down her digital cheeks, but this time, Jim knew, they were tears of pleasure. Justine whimpered as she was whipped, sometimes begging for mercy, more often uttering simple guttural sounds. She squirmed erotically in her chains. Jim noticed that she was glistening with sweat. He rolled Natasha's nipples gently between his fingers, feeling her melt beneath him. Reaching down between her thighs, he found that she was dripping; since he was already rock hard, that was all he needed to know. He turned so that he was facing her, pulling her around so that she faced him as well. She never took her eyes off Justine; though her body now faced Jim, her head was turned 90 degrees to face the monitor. That was fine with him. Natasha's face was beautiful and Jim loved to look at it, but at this particular moment, it was her body that interested him.
Jim pulled Natasha onto his lap. She spread her legs instinctively as he did so. She didn't need to look at him to know what to do; they had made love enough times in enough different positions that their bodies just fit together by themselves. Justine's screams were getting louder and more desperate. She was really getting a good lashing up there. Natasha circled her arms loosely around Jim's neck, guiding herself down onto his cock. Slowly, gently, she pushed the thick member into herself, never taking her eyes off Justine's beautiful, naked, tormented body until Jim was completely inside her, at which point she closed her eyes and uttered a soft moan. She began to move up and down slowly. Jim closed his eyes, savoring the beautiful sensation of Natasha's warm flesh surrounding him. They moved together like this for a brief infinity; Jim could feel his woman building up to a climax.
Suddenly Jim realized that Justine's screams had stopped. He opened his eyes and turned his head to face the monitor. Natasha was watching too, but she was still fucking him; nothing interrupted the perfect harmony of the in/out rhythm they had created. On the screen, Justine was hanging limp and exhausted in her chains. She was drenched in sweat; her blonde hair fell wet and stringy about her shoulders. Jim saw her tormentor step out into the light.
It was Natasha.
On the screen, Natasha lifted Justine's chin and looked into eyes deep and green and full of pain. "That should take care of your back," Natasha said, her voice thick. "Now it's time to work on those beautiful breasts of yours."
As Natasha raised the crop and brought it down hard across Justine's exposed left nipple, Jim heard a scream. At first he thought it was Justine, but then he realized that it was Natasha, the flesh and blood Natasha, screaming in the unbearable ecstasy of her orgasm.
"I hope you don't mind, Natasha," Justine said, as the couple lay sprawled out on the bed, spent and exhausted. "I still had that footage of you from the other night, and I thought it might be fun to involve you in the scenario."
"You worry too much, Justine," Natasha said sleepily. "It drove me wild to see myself whipping you. I'm a pretty kinky girl, but I have a feeling you already know that."
"Yes, from what I knew of your tastes, I had a good idea that you'd enjoy it, but we haven't known each other very long yet. I'm still not entirely confident of my judgments."
"You have good instincts, Justine," Natasha assured her. "You should obey them."
"How about you, Jim? Did you enjoy it?" Justine asked eagerly.
Jim had to rouse himself from his detumescent daze. "As a rule," he said thickly, "anything that causes Natasha to impale herself on my cock in a lustful frenzy is just fine with me. Yeah, I liked it fine."
"I'm glad. It makes me happy to make you two happy."
"How about you, Justine?" Natasha asked suddenly. "Did you enjoy it?"
"Oh, yes, very much, Natasha."
"You don't seem any the worse for wear, either," Jim noticed. "That looked like a pretty rough session up there."
Justine smiled. "That's one of the benefits of being. . .the kind of person I am. I can take as much punishment as I want to, and be perfectly healed in the blink of an eye."
"You're a lucky girl," Natasha said softly, nestling up against Jim's chest.
"Yes, I'm pretty happy with who I am," Justine said. "Though sometimes. . ."
"Sometimes what, Justine?" Natasha asked.
"Sometimes I think it must be nice to be able to cuddle," Justine said wistfully.
"Oh." Natasha's face flushed red. "Justine, I'm sorry. I never thought. . ."
"It's OK, Natasha," Justine said quickly. "I didn't mean to make you feel bad. But if you and Jim don't mind, I think I'll say good night."
"Of course, Justine." The terminal screen went dark.
"Maybe we should lay off the displays of affection while Justine's around," Natasha suggested.
"That's just fucking great," Jim groused. "A porn program that gets jealous if people get too affectionate. What does she expect us to do while she's running, hold hands?" "She's not just a sex toy, Jim," Natasha said coldly. "She's our friend. And I think she's a little bit lonely."
"We just need to fix her up with the right guy," Jim said.
"That could be quite a challenge."
"Oh, I don't know," Jim replied. "If we put our minds to it, we should be able to come up with plenty of nice, eligible bachelors."
"Yeah, but how many of them would be willing to date someone who doesn't have a body?"
"I can think of at least one," Jim said with a grin.
"I'm going to the beach," Natasha announced.
"I'd love to come with you, but duty calls," Jim replied mournfully.
A shadow passed over Natasha's face. "Jim, are you sure it's safe for you to go onto campus?"
"Cromwell's not going to try anything in front of four hundred undergrads. I'm more worried about you."
She grinned. "You shouldn't be. I have Jerry for a bodyguard."
"Yeah, well, don't let him guard your body too closely." Natasha's white one-piece swimsuit was cut very high on the thigh; the neckline plunged to below her navel. The suit emphasized her small, firm breasts and long, lean legs.
That provoked a giggle. "Oh, don't worry. I'm pretty sure I could outrun him if I had to. Or outwalk him, for that matter. Anyway, he won't try anything."
"What makes you so sure?"
"About Jerry? He's a gentleman, Jim. I have a pretty good sense about that kind of thing."
"Well, I trust you. Do you want to have breakfast before you go?"
"I'll just grab a bagel at the coffee shop. I want to get down to the beach and get started on this book." She held up her wallet computer.
"What are you reading?"
"Neuromancer ."
"Yeah, that's a good one. Classic cyberpunk."
"It's for that class I'm auditing--Science Fiction of the Early Information Age."
"You certainly are dedicated," Jim laughed. "You write about computers all day for your dissertation, then deliberately read about them in your spare time."
"Oh, come on," Natasha said. "This old SF stuff doesn't have anything to do with real life. It's just for fun."
"Wait until you've finished the book, then see what you think," Jim said mysteriously.
"Well, I'm not gonna finish it standing around here." She put a short-sleeved shirt on over her swimsuit and grabbed a white hotel towel. "See you later, lover. Be careful."
"You too, sweetheart." Jim watched her tight little ass recede; the door clicked shut behind her.
Jim glanced at his watch. He didn't have to be on campus for a while. Walking over to the terminal, he booted up Justine.
Justine was wearing a filmy white negligee; Jim could just make out the outline of her nipples through the translucent fabric. Her hair was disheveled; she looked like she had just woken up. She stretched her arms luxuriously and yawned.
"Good morning, Jim. How are you?"
"Fine, thanks, Justine. And yourself?"
"Very well, thanks. What can I do for you?"
That, of course, was the question. What could she do for him? Jim had a feeling that he knew the answer. Like many men, he enjoyed starting his day off with an orgasm. He sometimes shared that orgasm with Natasha. More often he did not; she liked to get up and get to work, so their sex tended to happen at night. In the morning Jim was usually on his own. In his younger days, it had seemed strange to him that he would want to masturbate even when he had a girlfriend with whom he was having regular and immensely satisfying sex; now he was used to it. If anything, he masturbated more often now than he had during that lonely period after Julia left him and before he had found Natasha. Jim was no shrink, but it seemed pretty obvious to him that this was a sign of sexual and emotional health. A healthy Jim Silicane was a horny son of a bitch; that meant fucking Natasha whenever possible, but it also meant exploring his fantasy world sometimes. There were things in that world, after all, that even Natasha couldn't give him.
"I was wondering if you could put together a scenario for me, Justine," Jim said finally.
"Certainly, Jim. What did you have in mind?"
That was another good question. About the only limitation of Justine, if you could call it a limitation, was the intimidating array of possibilities she offered. Jim knew that she had extensive libraries of celebrities; he could have a fantasy of just about anyone he liked.
"Do you have any reference material on Julie Sandstone?" Jim asked suddenly. Julie had always been Jim's favorite model. She was slender and waif-like; her body was somewhat similar to Natasha's But she had strawberry blonde hair which fell past her shoulders.
"Of course, Jim. I have several hundred pictures of Miss Sandstone."
Well, that was no surprise. But suddenly Jim had an urge to test Justine's library. The problem with being a CS professor , he reflected, is that you're never satisfied with any program, no matter how perfect it is .
"My favorite picture of her shows her at the beach, wearing a very short sun dress in pale yellow. Her feet are spread apart and firmly planted in the wet sand. She's standing with her hands loose at her side, looking defiantly into the camera." Jim had this picture in the main memory module of his home terminal and, he had to admit, in his filespace at the office.
There was a brief pause. "Is this the picture you mean, Jim?" Justine shrunk herself to a small inset picture; the rest of the screen was occupied by the lovely Miss Sandstone.
"Right the first time, Justine." Jim decided that he was going to have to give up on this silly idea that there were things Justine couldn't do.
"Now, then, Jim, what shall we do with this picture? Would you like me to remove her dress digitally? Don't worry," Justine said with a conspiratorial smile. "I won't tell Natasha."
Jim chuckled at that. If there was one thing he wasn't worried about, it was Natasha finding out that he had been looking at comp porn; if anything, she was more into it than he was. "That's all right, Justine. You can leave her dress on."
"Well, then. Perhaps a bondage fantasy?" Justine looked at him expectantly. She was fishing around for an idea of what Jim wanted, he realized, because he was being evasive about it. And he was being evasive because what he wanted scared him.
Jim swallowed hard. The video message from Cromwell had provoked two reactions in Jim's mind. The first, and by far the strongest, was the right one: terror and anger. It was this reaction that had brought Jim and Natasha here, to safety. But now the immediate danger had passed, and the second reaction, the dark one that had slumbered in Jim's mind since yesterday, was waking up. Cromwell's video had spoken to one of Jim's blackest fantasies, a fantasy he had never shared with Natasha. It was far too dangerous ever to try, he knew. But he could try it with Julie Sandstone.
"I'd like to see her hang, Justine."
"Oh! How exciting! Platform drop or slow hanging?" Jim's heart rate sped up as he realized that Justine would happily create snuff porn for him. But that wasn't what he was looking for.
"Slow hanging, please. I. . .want her to live."
"Of course, Jim, how silly of me." Jim knew somehow that she wouldn't ask about the platform drop again. Her A. I. was good; she learned. "Shall I gag her?"
"No, thank you. I'd like her just exactly as she is in the picture, but with a noose around her throat."
"You've got it, Jim." There was a brief pause, and the modified picture appeared: Julie on her tiptoes, her hands still at her sides, the noose tight around her throat.
"Oh, I guess you should tie her hands behind her back." And it was so. "Can you animate it now? Make her kick and struggle a little, and can we hear it?" On the screen, Julie started to move, and soft gagging sounds came from the speakers.
"Justine," Jim said slowly, watching the screen with rapt fascination, "I've. . . heard something about strangulation and female orgasm."
"Oh, it's true," Justine assured him.
"What?" Could this damn program read his mind?
"That women's orgasms are more intense when they're being strangled? It has been documented in a few women, though of course there isn't very much data."
"Could you simulate something like that here?"
Justine smiled. "You want Julie to come hard? Sure."
"But not yet, OK, Justine? Could you give me about ten minutes of what's on the screen now and, you know, build up to it?"
"I'm with you, Jim."
"That's perfect, Justine. There's just one other thing. . ."
"Yes, Jim?"
"Could you give me a little privacy?"
"Of course, Jim." Justine's inset vanished, and Jim was alone with Julie Sandstone and her pain.