Conditioned Reflex

"Effective human-response conditioning is crucial to our goal."

The pretty girl with tight ringlets of honey-brown hair cascading down her back stared across the room at me. The counselor droned on and on about 'Bench-mark tests,' and 'Jungian environments' and I felt the skin at the nape of my neck begin to crawl as the young girl kept staring.

"We hope to have the conditioned reflex implanted before the surrogates return from Seneca."

The girl was shameless, she narrowed her eyes and licked her lips, and smiled at me frankly. She was obviously enjoying my uneasiness at her blatant flirtations. She knew who I was, everyone had been introduced at the seminar two days before. I remembered her then, the look in her eyes when I was singled out as the 'Principle' in tomorrows action.

"Tomorrow, we move into the realm of hyper-plex neuromotion. Please, ladies & gentlemen, be on time."

The counselor moved away from the podium and people began gathering up their satchels & clipboards. I made hastily for the exit. It was no use.

"Excuse me..."

the light reflected off her hair and I could smell a slight sachet floating up from her tanned flesh. Her eyes were gold.

"Aren't you going to ask my name?"

My chip buzzed and I knew her name. I knew her SIN (Single Identification Number), I knew her I.Q., I even knew her shoe size. Information ribboned down into my brain and I knew what she wanted.

"I know your name." I answered quietly.

"Yes, I'll bet you do," she smiled fetchingly, goddamn her, "Do you also know that I like to be taken from behind?"

Later, in her cube, I find that she has lied. She takes my hand and leads me across tiled floors into the bathroom. There is a couch in there. She sits on it and pulls me over in front, undoes my belt and tugs my pants down. Bullets scatter everywhere. She begins to do things with her mouth, her tongue. I access the net, and time becomes something it is not supposed to be.

Naked, on the bed, another room, luminous curtains blowing in the wind.

Her hands pull and tug, ripping at the thin coverlet.

"Yes, oh my god, yes."

Naked on the floor, my knees crushing velvet carpet. She lays forward across the bed, her calves wedged against the outside of mine. She reaches back and pulls me in. Her body moves in a singular rhythm. Soft cries hang heavy in the air.

Naked, sprawled on the cool tile of the foyer. I can taste myself between her legs. Her teeth graze against me, occasional pain between the pleasure. I can read the tension in her thighs. Naked, I see what it is that she wants. I send a small message through the net, expecting an immediate reply, but her chip is security-packed. I thrust hard against her and she cushions my impact, so soft, so yielding, never missing a stroke.

It takes me 15 seconds to break through her security. The message comes back with the security flags gone and I compose a short program in the hairbreadth of a second and send it on its way. It will take it 2/34 of a second to find its way across the net, down into the depths of her cortex modem. I can almost hear the buzzing at the base of her spine.

I feel her hand cupping me between her legs. The program hits her then, and her hand convulses, squeezing me hard, too hard, pain. Her back arches and her head twists, her lips pulled back away from her teeth in a silent scream. It's not what she expected, this pleasure in her head. It's too much to take.

She squeezes even harder, and twists, and the pain is unbearable. I come; it is a purely defensive reflex.

The pressure is gone as her hand reaches for the support of the bed.

The program will last for 120 seconds. I can feel her muscles inside convulsing. I pull her back against me, cupping her breasts. I bite hard into the nape of her neck, she doesn't notice.

I fall out, withering, the pain still a lump in my stomach. She slips to the floor, spasms racking her body. 30 seconds to go. Her face goes red, the flush spreading across her chest as she curls into a fetal position on the floor. It's starting to hurt her now; the pleasure. I feel no sympathy. It was exactly what she wanted. I don't think she'll want it again. The conditioned reflex is in place. Tomorrow, she won't remember a thing, but every time she has an orgasm the program will kick in.

Later, at the 3:00 conference, the counselor's voice drones on about neuromatic responses. I look everywhere for the golden eyes, but they are gone.