Monday, January 17, 2011

Trojan Horse

This is a dark tale, filled with the dark acts of despicable people. If you are the sort that such tales alarm or offend; don't read, move on, for the Net is filled with sunnier, happier catch and the outcome of these events will shift not one degree for one less bug-eyed observer.

My name is Menelaus Mikanedes, MNM to friends and enemies alike. You know my company's name if you use a computer so I won’t need to waste any time explaining how my inventions have made me rich as Croesus before he gave away 90 percent of his fortune to his pet charities. I am not there yet. I'm not the type to relax and play the benevolent king. Business is battle and you need ruthlessness, ever-sharper weapons and a bottomless war chest to be a winner. Nature of the beast. They say confession is good for the soul, but I won’t be able to affirm that. My conscience is clear.

Three months ago, with contracts pending for two large highly proprietary projects, my security team found a very clever breach into our software development farm that wasn't in the security spec. My guys laid everything out and by the coding architecture and the sheer brashness of the hack, I immediately knew the work by its signature. When they asked if they should close it down, I replied no.

I stared across my desk at these men awaiting my next command. Generals. Good men, two former CEOs of successful firms who I'd bought out for 5 times their companies' market valuations, then hired them back to lead MNM Cyber-Security. Like all good hunters, they were proud of their catch and here I was ordering them to throw it back. They are the most loyal soldiers money can buy, so I doubled their salaries and swore them to silence. While we plotted our vengeance in secret, MNM lost both projects to Hee-Len Leda of Priamic Systems, our Chinese arch competitor. I endured a lot of heat over this from our board of directors. Had they known the truth, they no doubt would have attempted to unseat me. Not that they would have ever succeeded. MNM lost billions. Our stock plunged. My own ranking on the "Forbes 50 Richest List" dove from 10th to 49th. None of which I cared about. A well-run company is not a democracy.

Hee-Len and I have history. If the blatant espionage wasn’t enough motive to destroy her, I could tell you about the humiliation I suffered as her fool for love when we were starry-eyed geeks at MIT. I won’t waste your time. There’s not much to that story to like either, but that’s your problem. My problem was how to get a packet sniffer the other way through Hee-Len's backdoor and we solved this by encrypting folded code into dummy financial reports that Priamic stole off my mainframe. Once inside, our little sniffer unfolded, reassembled and stood silently by the gate, holding open the door and waiting for our counter-assault.

One night last month, we made it. Our main server farm houses a VR lab unlike any the world has seen. The algorithmic refinements are too proprietary to discuss, but it’s all based on MNM's enhanced bluesuit, a wetware interface that converts rich datastreams into physical response with total realism. We demonstrated this dramatically for the White House when the president’s youngest daughter knocked him out in a virtual boxing match. Priamic has their own prototypical bluesuit technology. We were counting on it, though I was fairly certain that Hee-Len hadn’t yet developed or stolen all the enhancements we’d made.

Entering Priamic's backdoor was easy.

While my retrieval techs scoured their mainframe for damage control and a bit of payback espionage, I went on a private raid. What I was sought I found in a rendering of Priamic's corporate boardroom with its 100th floor view of Hong Kong’s spectacular Repulse Bay. Though she was in the middle of a board meeting, Hee-Len was hardly surprised to see me. That changed the instant I stunned her security team and threw her face down on the jichimu wood table in front of horrified telepresent images of Priamic's entire board of directors. As I tore the sexy black dress off her curvaceous frame, I sneered:
“Hee-Len you’ve put on some weight.”

She was always so insecure about her tits, but here in VR a woman’s rack is her own construct. And now it was my toy. I shredded her lacy bra and panties and threw one stout black-stockinged leg up on the table. Pulling her hair back, I grabbed a fistful of her virtually augmented breasts and squeezed until she howled in pain.

Entering her ass wasn’t so easy but Hee-Len’s vigorous protests and pained squeals encouraged me until I was pumping her dry hole like a pussy. Her virtual body's internal rebellion against my intrusion brought me to the brink of climax, but I had no intention of finishing that way. I flipped her sunny side up and when she fought me, I punched her face and split her lip. Oh, how she squirmed and resisted, spitting blood and curses, but I pried her thighs apart like a prize oyster and hauled her legs over my shoulders. I pounded that tight little cunt and didn’t stop until I’d exploded in a convulsive wave buried knife deep inside her. Her blood-stained, quivering lips formed a single word, the question, “Why?”

Here you lie all fresh as dew,
And comely as one whom Apollo has slain with his painless shafts.


Because it was like Christmas, Easter, New Years and Independence Day all rolled into one and when I was spent and she was used, I withdrew and answered:

“I wanted to see you cry.”

The thrills of that night, the assault, the feel of her virtual body yielding, taken by force, her used, dripping holes, swollen face and bruised body, sprawled in her own boardroom on the tatters of her clothes, these virtual images and real sensations make me rock hard every time I think of Hee-Len. Real sex, and I’ve had plenty since, pales in comparison.

According to international law there was no crime. Despite the witnesses, no judge or jury could ever convict me. I was nowhere near Hong Kong and technically, any physical violation was done to her by her own bluesuit. Surely, Hee-Len Leda got what she deserved. There are a couple of loose ends that I find more puzzling than anything else.

Item one. I ejaculated so much that the crotch of my bluesuit should have been a slimy dripping mess when I peeled it off. It wasn’t.  It was bone dry. I had the suit analyzed. It contained not one trace of sperm or semen. Item two. I learned that Hee-Len has gone into seclusion and subsequent hacks into her private medical files have confirmed rumors that she’s pregnant.

The question that keeps me up ...


I only wish my fury would compel me
To cut away your flesh and eat it raw
For what you've done.  No one can keep the dogs
Off of your head, not if they brought me ransom
Of ten or twenty times as much, or more.


  1. This is a different sort of story for me. It contains descriptions of violence and non-consent. I neither condone such actions in real life nor do I subscribe to the notion that stories of this sort encourage such behaviors. It is my view that an artist must travel wherever his muse takes him. Sometimes that is a dark, forbidden place. For a fuller discussion of this subject, please read

  2. Ricci, This is a certainly a dark and violent tale but captures the virtual world so many people live in today in a high-paced, upbeat tone with a theme so pertinent to today's security threats but with a mythological bent.
    Saluti di Roma,

  3. Thanks Vi, I've had fun updating Greek myths and hopefully getting readers to ponder whether a rape committed in non-real world of bits and bytes is indeed a real rape. As you know, this is an older story, though it appears today. I held off posting because it is so dark and I hope readers used to more consensual romantic fare won't be too put off.

  4. Yes Ricci, that really is the question- is rape committed in cyber space real rape or not? It is certainly not romantic reading fodder for those used to consensual erotic fare but there is nothing wrong in stretching the boundaries of literary erotica, IMHO.
    Ancora baci di Roma,