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Chapter 1: Contracting One's Horizons

His fingers shook as he unwrapped the package. Finally! His own dueling
machine!

Actually, he thought as he skimmed the instruction manual, "dueling
machine" was a misnomer. Unlike Bova's conception, the Q-100 model did not
allow two people to share a dream. It simply allowed one person to
_control_ a dream.

An extended fantasy, as subjectively real as the chair he was sitting in,
the manual proclaimed. And as dangerous as wireheading, he thought, which
is why the government required a cutoff switch on every unit. The machine
would monitor his blood pressure and heart rate, easing him out of the
dream if they approached dangerous levels. The timer did the same, and it
could be set for six hours maximum. Six hours of godhood, then back to the
real world. He had read that bypassing the timer was possible, but he had
no desire to try. The newsfeeds were full of stories of people who died of
thirst while experiencing non-stop fantasies.

The actual device didn't quite "blend right in with his home entertainment
center," as the ads had promised. Still, it was fairly innocuous in
appearance. A black metal box with an LCD display; cloth head-, arm- and
chestbands with velcro closures; tethered sunglasses; and a hand-held
remote control unit. The box had a cartridge slot, but the company hadn't
released any pre-packaged fantasies yet. There were dark rumors about bugs
in that technology and private company sanitarium.

Still, the manual was upbeat and straightforward. He decided to give it a
try. First, attach the sensors - no problem. Power on, then set timer -
he'd give it fifteen minutes, for now. Glasses on, seated comfortably;
press start...

The lenses lit up. Smoky patterns twisted and twirled in front of his
eyes. He started to feel sleepy, then drifted off in a matter of seconds.

He opened his eyes. He was standing on a featureless grey plain that
receded into mist. After a moment of disorientation, he remembered the
instructions. "The initial environment was chosen to be as neutral as
possible. Simply concentrate on your desires to give them reality."

"All right, let's give this a try. Hmmm... I want.. a palace! Yeah. Like
a caliph!" As he imagined them, the walls faded in around him. Arabesque
designs, twisted pillars, marble statues; as soon as he thought of them,
they phased into being. He sat, and a pillow materialized beneath him. He
looked down at his daysuit. "This won't do at all!" Under his gaze, the
woven plastic transformed into loose-fitting silk, as gaudy as had covered
any caliph of old. "MUCH better. And now... the serving girls!"

He clapped his hands, and they came. Veiled, clad in silk that revealed
more than it covered, they slid into reality by his side. One moved to
massage his shoulders; another picked up a convenient bunch of grapes and
began to feed him. Gentle breezes from the fan of a third caressed his
brow.

"Enough!" the lord commanded. "Attend me, my harem!"

The servants vanished. More pillows appeared on the floor. Through the
far archway came his wives. Sensing his need, they were naked save for
their veils. Each girl's hair was a different shade, but all had the
bodies of goddesses. As several danced for his pleasure, others dropped
their veils and approached him. Dropping to their knees, three began to
caress the stiff member beneath the caliph's silken trousers (which, being
inconvenient, simply disappeared).

The redheaded one, always his favorite, brought her mouth down on his
throbbing manhood. Through dint of daily practice, she could swallow him
all the way to the root, and did.

As her head bobbed merrily up and down, her tongue performing tricks known
only in the East, the blonde girl (very young, even for a harem) placed her
lips on the male sack beneath. The third girl, a perfect platinum-blonde,
moved up to suck on her lord's nipples. She knew just how hard to bite.

Even the cushions rearranged themselves for his pleasure, cupping his
buttocks like a giant hand. He thrust upwards, jamming his organ fully
into the throat of his lovely wife. This, combined with the suction on his
twin oranges of manhood, brought him to the brink.

"Drink me, my wife!" he commanded, and she hummed her reply. The dancers
moved ever faster, twisting against each other in obscene rhythms...

Everything faded out.

"DAMMIT!!" He was gazing through dark glasses at his living room, his
erection painfully tight in his plastine trousers. The display on the
Q-100 blinked "00:00."

"This time I'm setting it for six hours," he muttered, reaching for the
fallen remote. Hell, the manual _said_ he could manually exit the
dreamworld at any time...

*******

Chapter 2: The Royal Treatment, or To Di For

As an American tourist (circa 1993) in the newly-opened Buckingham Palace,
he wandered off from the group. Turning a corridor, he heard voices raised
in an argument.

"Bloody hell, Di, you never listen!"

"Sod off, Charlie! I don't have to put up with your.. oh!"

As he came to a doorway, he caught sight of the royal couple just as Diana
spotted him. Charles muttered something about "bloody tourists" and moved
to close the door. Diana stopped him.

"You've always had your way, Charlie, but no more! I can do anything I
bloody well like now; anything!" She grabbed the American's arm and pulled
him into the room. "Shut the door, Charles."

The Prince started to argue, but was silenced by a glare from Diana.
Meekly, he closed the heavy wooden door.

"Just watch, Charlie!" With that, Princess Di sank to her knees in front
of the tourist. Deft fingers opened his Bermuda shorts, then tugged out
his penis.

"Now see here..." the Prince began, but Diana shouted him down.

"Quiet!" Her tongue darted out, licking the head of this stranger's cock.
This regally dressed Princess sucked the end of the shaft past her glossy
lips, her manicured hands (utterly free of calluses) gently massaging the
man's testicles.

Watching his penis disappear into that famous face was incredibly exciting,
but he wanted more. At his thought, Diana leaned back.

"Any whore can blow a man, Charlie. It takes a _real_ slut to do this!"
Releasing his scrotum, Diana clapped her hands. A maid (French, of
course) appeared immediately.

"Oui, madame? Mon Dieu!" Blushing furiously, the young girl turned away
from the scene of depravity.

"Come here, Marie," the Princess ordered. Head still averted, the maid
gingerly approached. "I want you to take this man's thing in your hand,
then jerk him off into my mouth."

"Mais non, madame!" But a cold look from Diana quieted her protestation.
With an apologetic look at the Prince, the girl wrapped a tentative hand
around the American's throbbing penis. Slowly, she began to stroke him.

Diana moved forward, taking just the head into her lovely mouth. Her
tongue drew lazy circles on the crown.

The French girl soon started feeling the heat of the moment. She began to
press her body against the man's back, rubbing her lace-covered breasts
against his Hawaiian shirt as her hand frigged his veined cock. Her other
hand found its way to his balls, sliding them pleasantly against Diana's
perfect chin.

What a scene! A fragile hand tugging relentlessly at his penis, milking
him into the mouth of a Princess! And, ears reddening in the background,
her estranged husband, watching it all with jealous eyes.

When the young girl began to suck on his earlobe, that was too much for
him. He started to come, sending throbbing bolts of stickiness into
Diana's waiting mouth. As her hand moved frantically beneath her skirt,
she swallowed every dollop.

He saved the last one, though, pulling back to splatter all over her face
and hair. That perfect coiffure looked so much better with droplets of
semen covering it, he thought.

Diana stood, turning to Charles. "Now lick it off, Charlie, and I _might_
let you fuck me again. Sometime."

Ears burning, the Prince complied. Di's hand pressed tightly against her
sodden knickers; moments later, her body shook with the force of her orgasm.

The room faded out, to be replaced with...

*******

For those who haven't read the earlier chapters, a quick summary:

In the near future, our "protagonist" has purchased the Q-100 Dueling
Machine. The device allows its user to control the user's dreams, forming
a virtual reality without the drawbacks of computer generation (and without
the safeguards). The Q-100 provides some protections: its timer can be
set to no more than six hours, and an automatic cutoff switch terminates
the dream if the user's blood pressure or heart rate become dangerously
high.

Chapter 4: Toga! Toga! Toga!

After a long sleep, he was ready. He called in sick to work that day; he
_needed_ another session with the machine!

He had second thoughts, though. That heart alarm the other night had
frightened him. Still, the Q-100 _had_ eased him out of the dream; its
safeguards were working perfectly. He slapped the 'trodes on again. This
time, he wore nothing but a towel; no point in staining another pair of
pants.

As he watched the lights in his visor, the world dissolved...

He strode into the atrium, his sandals slapping the marble floor. "Hail,
Caesar!" came the cry from all around. The centurions at the door snapped
to attention.

He nodded, then smiled at the assembly. Lifting the laurel wreath from his
head, he flung it into the room. "Tonight, Caesar, son of gods, walks
among you as a man! Let the orgy begin!"

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The crowd went wild.

As he walked into the sea of cushions and writhing flesh, hands reached up
to strip away his garments. When he was naked, they continued to stroke at
his alabaster skin until his penis reached its full length, a length
befitting a god among men. He ignored the pleas of those about him; the
red mouths and firm thighs. He strode through the pillows, interrupting
dozens of trysts, on the way to his destination.

In the center of the great hall, six women pleasured each other as their
master approached. One, an Ethiopian, was particularly striking: nearly
seven feet tall, her entire body was completely shaved. Her long pink
tongue was buried in the vagina of a dark-haired Roman girl, while her dark
brown fingers moved busily in in the pubic areas of two identical blondes.
The twins, in turn, were kissing and fondling the remaining two women, a
stunning redhead and a nymphette. Into this bacchanal strode
their lord.

He lay on his back amongst the pillows, the girls quickly moving out of his
way. As soon as he was comfortable, though, they centered their attentions
on him. He needed no foreplay; nor did they. The redheaded woman, utterly
exotic in Rome, threw one freckled leg over his thighs and poised above his
gigantic member. The youngest girl, knowing her place, slid between his
legs and grasped the shaft. Her hand could not close around its girth;
however, her grip was sufficient to guide the tip between the older woman's
vaginal lips. She quickly released her hand as the redhead pressed down
hard.

As the fire-haired woman rode him, bouncing and moaning as his giant cock
filled her, the dusky giant positioned herself near his face. She knew
what he liked; her long middle finger dipped into a nearby pot of honey,
then slid up her hairless asshole. She withdrew the finger as he watched,
then sucked it clean. Smiling, she spread her muscular buttocks and placed
her twitching rosebud on his waiting tongue. Her back arched in pleasure
as he hungrily cleaned the honey from her passage.

The twins moved to his toes, sucking each in turn into their skilled
mouths. Their hands massaged his feet, pressing the arches in time with
the bucking of his rider. That one was already starting to come, her moans
stifled by the enveloping mouth of the Ethiopian.

The Roman girl, daughter of a Senator, was feeling left out. She moved to
where her lord could see her, then motioned to the nymph. The little slave
moved over to her, a questioning look on her childish face. "Make a fist,"
the older girl commanded. The child complied; the Senator's daughter
seized the small arm, pushing it into her ready vagina. As the makeshift
dildo did its work, the Roman girl pushed the slave's mouth down on her
clitoris. She sighed with pleasure as the servant's fist moved inside her.

Excited beyond endurance by the sight of this, mighty Caesar buried his
face in the dark crevice before him as he exploded within the flame-tressed
one. That was too much for her as well; she screamed, then slid off his
still-erect prick to collapse nearby. The twins moved up to clean him, one
sucking the juices off his penis while the other lapped the overflow from
his testicles. The black-skinned giant turned around, offering her
silky-smooth labia to his magic tongue. She spread herself and humped her
clitoris against his lips, riding his face to a howling orgasm. Her juices
drenched him, filling his nostrils with their tangy smell. She smiled at
him, revealing rows of brilliant white teeth, then bent down to kiss him.
Her amazingly long tongue fenced with his, then cleaned his face as she
rubbed her bald forehead against his cheek.

He had forgotten the dark-haired Roman for a moment; he turned to look at
her. Her body was in frenzied motion as she humped herself against the arm
and face of the servant girl. Not long now... He reached out and tweaked
one perfect nipple; that set her off. Her body hummed with tension as she
bore down on the young girl's arm; the servant cried out as her mistress's
vaginal muscles tightened on her forearm. After a moment, though, the
pressure eased. The girl worked her arm out of the sucking vagina, leaving
a gaping hole for a moment. Fascinated, she peered at the closing passage;
her mistress's arm pulled her in for a closer look, and she licked the
fluids away.

The twins, seeing that Caesar was as ready as ever, looked each other in
the face. Smiling simultaneously, they yelled, "Switch!" at the top of
their lungs. Apparently this was a game they'd played before; one slid on
top of the massive rod, sighing as it pushed its way into her, while the
other swung her legs over the lord's face. He was amenable; he thrust with
his hips and tongue at the same time.

The giantess placed her sculpted body on his left hand; his middle finger
slid easily up her bottom, allowing her to rub her clitoris against his
wrist as desired. Smiling, she leaned over to suckle the breast of the
twin he was eating.

The Roman girl had directed her tiny slave over her face; as Caesar
watched, she buried her tongue far up inside of the child's vagina. The
young girl began to squirm with pleasure after a few moments, as her
mistress lustfully devoured her virginal fluids.

Watching those immature nipples harden, Caesar was momentarily distracted;
then he heard the girls yell "Switch!" again. After a flurry of motion
(and a brief chill as his slick penis was exposed to the air), curly hairs
again tickled his nose and prick. The folds in front of his tongue
_looked_ identical, even _smelled_ identical, but he could feel the extra
heat radiating from the passage beyond. As the other vagina swallowed his
cock, he realized that the one now enveloping his manhood had been cooled
and lubricated by his saliva only moments before. Excitedly, he plunged
his tongue into the heated opening that pressed against his lips. The wine
was the same, but the serving temperature was now... just right!

Every few minutes, the girls would switch, always preceded by that shouted
syllable. Their voices were huskier now, but still harmonized perfectly.
He turned slightly so he could see the others; the Senator's daughter had
switched to her slave's bottom now, her tongue swabbing the tiny girl's
anus with growing hunger. The Ethiopian had moved so that the slave girl
could tend to her firm, brown breasts; she sighed as she caressed the
child's quivering body. Apparently the red-haired one was still
exhausted... wait! He felt a warm breath on his inner thighs. As one
sister bounced on his mighty scepter, a gentle tongue flicked out to caress
the jewels beneath!

With the redhead licking his testicles, the sisters grinding away on his
face and cock, and the other three... gods, the slave-child was now
tonguing the dark giant's anus! This was it, as good as it gets...
"Switch!" came the gasping cries, and he...

*****

-FLASH-

"OK, we've got it all." The evidence tech lowered his 'corder, then
motioned the others out into the hallway. Detectives Brent and Potter
remained. The former spoke.

"Stupid way to die." He motioned towards the holograph of the body; they'd
done away with chalk outlines years before. The man was naked, a towel
(real, not illusory) fallen nearby on the floor. "Nude, covered with dried
semen, and always with that fucking _grin_ on their faces." He shook his
head.

Potter, the shorter (and younger) of the two, motioned towards the black
box. Fingerprint spray had covered it in eerie luminescent designs; all of
the swirls belonged to the victim, though. "I thought those damned things
had safety switches. The techs said this one hadn't been rigged." He
looked at Brent questioningly.

Poor Potter, always eager for a mystery, Brent thought. Well, he'd learn.
"Sure they've got cutoffs. Heart rate and blood pressure're usually
monitored." He walked to the doorway; the smell was less intense there.
"I'll tell you what the doc'll say, though: Embolism." When Potter still
looked puzzled, Brent continued. "Air bubble in the blood. It gets into
the brain, and -pow-." He snapped his fingers. "They still haven't
figured out why it occurs, but apparently it has something to do with
continuous erection combined with repeated, sustained, orgasm..." He
smiled briefly. "Hell, it's not gonna happen to us; I'm lucky if I can
make it through five bouts a night with your wife."

Detective Potter took less than five seconds to redden. Yep, he's
learning, Brent thought.

Chapter 5: The Next Degeneration

Bernice walked out of the lawyer's office with tears in her eyes. Her
brother had left everything to her. That wasn't shocking; he had never
married, and their parents had died years before. Still, she had trouble
believing he was dead.

She took a tube to his apartment building, then stood before his door for
several minutes. Taking a deep breath, she punched in the code. The door
opened.

At least the police cleaned things up, she thought. Or maybe it was the
apartment manager. Does it matter? She shook her head; her thoughts were
going around in circles.

Then she turned, and saw it. She'd read the police and coroner's reports;
she knew what it was. The Dueling Machine. It sat there, innocuous, as if
it were a ROM player or a holojector.

She wanted to smash it. No, she needed it; it would be important evidence
if she filed suit against the Dreamscape company. But that wouldn't bring
her brother back, would it? Her thoughts were running wild again; she had
to sit down. In a moment, she realized this was the chair in which her
brother died; she leaped up, almost knocking over a lamp.

In the end, she packed the machine with his other belongings. The movers
would bring everything to her house tomorrow; she could decide what to do
with it then.

*****

She had read through the instructions a dozen times now. She knew how it
operated, what it did, and what its safeguards were. Previously, she had
spent an afternoon scanning the library's database from her terminal; she
even understood some of the theory on which the machine operated, as well
as the dangers the manual glossed over. One of those dangers had killed
her brother.

Bernice knew it was crazy. This thing was _dangerous_, for God's sake!
Her only sibling had _died_ using it! But her emotions weren't listening
to her reasons; she knew she had to try it. To experience for herself what
her brother had felt, to know _why_ he had done it.

With trembling hands, she connected the 'trodes. The remote felt hot in
her palm. She made a conscious effort to relax; it didn't help.

"I have to _know_!" she said to the air, and pressed the button. The
miniature screens inside the glasses lit, and the swirling patterns did
what her will couldn't. She slowly relaxed, then her eyes closed. In a
moment, she was asleep.

She stood on a gray plain, staring into the mists. Her hands still shook.
Five minutes, that was all she'd allowed. She had to _do_ something,
though. She concentrated, and the mists fell away...

She stood now in a garden, much like the one behind her parents' home when
she was fourteen. This version was idealized, though; the hum of
mosquitoes was gone, and the only scent that drifted from the once-polluted
stream was that of lilacs.

As she strolled along the familiar paths, she remembered how her brother
had sometimes walked with her. After a moment, a hand gripped hers.

"NO!!" She woke, forcing her way out of the dream in an instant. The
timer still showed a minute remaining.

This wasn't what she wanted at all. Her brother hadn't escaped into the
world of his childhood, certainly. She was avoiding the harshness of
reality more than he had ever done. All he wanted was pleasure. Sex.

"Sex..." she breathed. That was the key to understanding it all. And she
knew from the clinical reports that the risks to women were far less than
those for men.

No more putting it off. Punch 2-0-0 for two hours, then press Start...

She was back in her college dorm room. Her roommate had gone home for the
weekend; Bobby (Bernice's current boyfriend) had stopped by to "study." So
far, everything was as it had been. Why not improve it?

She glanced at Bobby, and he froze. Hmm.. she hated the way he slicked his
hair back. The grease went out of it, and his hairstyle rearranged itself.
His complexion cleared up. And that silly moustache... gone. Much
better. She had never gone for the jocks, but she did tighten his stomach
up a bit. And his penis... no. It wasn't huge, but he _did_ know how to
use it. Especially now. She smiled, for the first time in days.

Bobby's paralysis lifted, and he smiled back at her. Without a word, he
kicked the door closed and swept her into his arms. The kiss seemed to
last a long time.

His hands didn't rove; they went exactly where she wanted them to go. When
she was ready, he kissed his way down her neck. Grasping the top button of
her blouse in his teeth, he tugged it off. (After all, it wasn't a _real_
blouse, she thought.) He bit off all of the buttons, stopping to kiss the
revealed portions of skin. She eased herself down on the single - no,
double - bed, propping her back against her collection of stuffed animals.
Her bra itched.. what bra?

She wanted him to touch her breasts, and he did. His mouth moved back and
forth, licking and sucking the sensitive flesh, his tongue sliding up the
valley between her mounds... mmm. He kissed her again, deeply; his mouth
tasted of mint. Then, in answer to her unspoken desires, he removed his
shirt and slid downwards.

She wore no panties, and her skirt first hiked up, then disappeared
entirely. He touched her thighs with gentle fingers, massaging all the
tension out of her as he kissed his way towards her center. His strong
hands cupped her buttocks, pulling her to the edge of the bed as he knelt
on the floor. As his fingers glided over her nipples, he touched his lips
to her pussy.

This wasn't the time for teasing, she decided. Instantly, he slid his long
tongue into her, then licked his way up to her clitoris. It protruded only
slightly from its sheath, but there was just enough for his lips to grasp.
He sucked her, stopping only to run his tongue in tightening circles
around her pleasure button. His fingers toyed with her nipples, then one
hand caressed its way down to her thighs. He gently, slowly, inserted a
finger inside her.

That set her off, and the first orgasm overtook her. He knew just how to
handle it, and stopped tonguing her clitoris right before the sensation
would have become uncomfortable. As she cooled down, he moved up to hold
her. They held their embrace for a very long time.

"Now, Bobby," she said, and he repositioned her body. On her back, legs
bent comfortably, a pillow under her head, she awaited him. He moved over
her, teasing her outer lips for a moment with the head of his penis, then
slowly slid into her.

They kissed.. his mouth moved to her nipples.. to her neck.. earlobes..
thrusting.. Harder! Yes, like that.. He became a piston, but an
infinitely variable one. Her desires, her needs were attended to
instantly, without the need to speak. He pumped, and rubbed, and stroked,
and she came.. and came...

Eventually, everything became transparent. The dorm room faded, as did
Bobby; she still felt a phantom tingle in her vagina, though, as her eyes
slowly opened. She slid her hand down under her soaked clothing, and came
again.

The timer blinked 00:00. Bernice peeled herself off the chair, then walked
unsteadily towards the kitchen. She gulped down a pint of orange juice,
then headed for the shower. As she slowly soaped herself, she let her mind
drift back to the experience. No man had ever been that good, ever! And
no commitments, no heartbreak, no fears of pregnancy or disease or
violence...

With a shock, she remembered that the machine had killed her brother. She
couldn't use it again!

Could she?