“Shit shit shit shit,” I yelped, yanking the cable from the dataport in my neck.

“What was that?” Kristen called from the kitchen. “Something wrong?”

I blinked, frantically assessing if anything had changed. I didn’t feel different. There weren’t any porn-ups on my vis-gui, no looped sexual moans playing in my ears. But the antivi had registered a latent mindvi cluster in the code, and… and…

Focus, I reminded myself. Assess. I didn’t feel any different – I’d feel different, right? I just felt… foolish. Amateur mistake. Bad dive. But I was okay. My racing thoughts slowed. I breathed in, then out, then in. I laughed.

“The comp’s antivi says I got hit with the Lesbos worm,” I called back, embarrassed. “But I unjacked in time.”

I heard Kristen set down her breakfast and move across the apartment toward me. “You know extranet etiquette, roomie. We gotta check that you’re clean.”

“Kris, I feel fine.“ I turned to her in reply, and–

–I had never really noticed Kristen, you know? Like, noticed noticed her. The way her tank top stopped a few centimets above her navel, or the way her panties hugged her hips. The way her beautiful brunette mane framed her eyes, or the way her olive skin–

“Shel? Shelly?” Kristen asked, her perfect lips forming my name. Those lips. Those perfect, fuckable lips. I wanted them to– 

“I, uh,” I glanced away, trying to clear my head. “I, um–”

“You said it was a Lesbos worm?” she asked in disbelief. “Shit, Shel, that’s amateur hour. You sure about that?”

I was jittery, my skin prickled with goosebumps. Something was wrong. I’d know something was wrong, right? Something was wrong.

I wasn’t looking at her. Why wasn’t I looking at her? I needed to look at Kris, to steal another glance at her tight body. To see how her top hung off her firm tits, to watch her ass as she sauntered across the room–

Focus. Assess. Ass.

Focus on her ass, right? Focus on my need–

No, that wasn’t right. Focus.


“Yeah, I’m…” I squawked, my tongue thick. It was like every drop of moisture in my mouth had pooled in my pussy. My wet, empty–



“Yeah, I’m pretty certain. Lesbos. Lesbos worm”

“Fuck, you don’t say,” Kris said, turning away to fire up her own machine. “Okay, you know the drill. Plug back in. Let’s see how bad this worm is.”

I sighed, relieved she had turned her back on me. I could shamelessly stare at her muscular shoulders, watch how her dark hair flowed down her back. Without looking away, my left hand groped for the datacord, found it, plugged it in. My right hand–

Oh shit, my right hand.

I sunk deeper into my chair and spread my legs. My right hand slipped into my boy shorts, groped for my pussy, found it, plunged into it. What if she hears? I thought, a thrill running from my cunt to my hardening nipples. What if she hears me fucking myself, the wet smacking sound of my fingers betraying my need for

I bit back a moan, trying to focus on what she was saying.


“Okay, wow. Shit. Looks like a pretty aggressive Lesbos variant. A forget-me-not layer to convince you you’re okay, with lots of mental and physical stimulation protocols running just underneath. And what’s this? Some sort of exhibition subroutine, increasing the likelihood of further spread. Fuck, this is a piece of work. Hmmm…”

Kris was quiet at the screen, contemplating something. Probably my vitals. I couldn’t tell. Didn’t want to tell. Why wasn’t she looking at me? Why wasn’t she fucking me?

“Well fuck,” she said. Every time she said that word, fuck, my pussy clenched. “Fuck me.” Please. “Okay, I think I’ve isolated the infection site in your neural black box. But I need some feedback to pinpoint its exact location.” A few keystrokes. “Question time. How do you feel?”

“I’m–” I gasped out, trying to sound normal. “I’m feeling a little warm.”

“God, Shel. It’s like this is your first rodeo. You know how it goes. I need something more specific than–”

She turned and froze, our eyes finding each other’s. I was slouched in the chair, my legs splayed open. My right hand had crawled down, under my leg, and was playing with my pussy from behind, in as provocative manner as I could manage. My left hand slid from the nipple it was toying with, sinking across my abs to collect a dollop of cum from my slit. I brought it up to my mouth, lewdly running my tongue across my fingers, then my lips. I never broke eye contact. Neither did Kris.

“That’s… that’s a pretty fast mindvi,” she said.

“You want feedback?” I breathed, my voice husky with need. “I want you to fuck me. I want you to pin me down and fuck me with your tongue, then your fingers. Then I want you to dress me up in the sluttiest clothes you have. I want you to march me down to the sex shop on the corner – not the nice pink one, the crass one across from it. I want you to humiliate me. Make me beg for the longest, hardest strapon they have. And then I want you to take me, right there. Fuck me in the store window. I want… I need you to show everyone what a lesbian slutdyke I am. And don’t… don’t call me by my name. I’m just… a thing for you, okay? Your lesbian fuckpuppet. A clitwhore. A cuntmuncher. A–”

“Okay, fuck. I get it? You can stop now.” The computer binged behind her, and she turned back toward it.

“Please,” I gasped, confused. Why didn’t she need me back? Why wasn’t she fucking me? I pulled myself out of the chair, prostrated myself on all fours. I crawled toward her, my nipples hard against the cool wood floor. “Please, help me. I need… I need…”

She smiled a sad smile down at me and, almost lovingly, stroked my hair. “You need time. You gave me enough feedback. We got the infection site, and the antivi is working now. But it’s going to take a few days to make a new counter. In the meantime…”

Behind me, I heard the clunk-clunk-clunk of the heavy window shutters falling into place. The apartment door answered with a hard metallic clang of its own.

“In the meantime, we follow protocol. Standard quarantine, three days.”

“Don’t worry,” she continued, her gentle hand suddenly clenching around my hair, aggressively yanking my head back, my eyes meeting hers. Her dataport was plugged in, and her eyes were starting coat over with the same lust I knew shone in mine. “The antivi will collate faster if it has two datasets.”

“And fuckpuppet? After last time, I bought the best strap-on they had.”


This story is an unabashed homage Tabico’s Sub Routine, which I just posted about. I also want to give a shout out to romulan-star-babe and lillyluvslippy, who have both sent over long lists of incredibly provocative story inspirations, and to whom the germ of this story is owed. I wrote this story without an accompanying picture – but the universe provided at the last moment; the gif comes from a hot post by whipsandwhispers.