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NNTP-Posting-Date: Sun, 04 Feb 2007 10:37:33 -0600
From: John Ashpool <jashpool@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Weirder Science Byte 4
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Date: Sun, 04 Feb 2007 17:10:05 -0500
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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Parts 1, 2, and 4 (apparently by a different author) appeared on Usenet
many years ago.  If anyone has other parts (especially Part 3), please
post them. 



EVEN WEIRDER SCIENCE

BYTE FOUR
In Search of Raquel Welch 

I can't believe it.  Thirty minutes on every Web index, and I can't find
anything,  groused Wyatt while staring at his Mac's screen.  Lisa,
meanwhile, was stretched out on his bed behind him in one of her
trademark skintight dresses.  The sexy genie's firm nips dimpled the
satiny fire-red fabric, and closer to Wyatt, the tight dress cocooning
her spread killer thighs created a dark cave promising total sensual
delight.  A slight tinge of woman-musk drifted toward him.   

C'mon back, lover, she moaned.  Don't make me wait all night.

 No, Lise.  I really want to finish this advanced debugging paper.  And
 no, you can't do it for me.  

Why don't you do it to me, she whispered as he turned toward her.  She 
took a deep breath to make her tits swell and strain against the satin
binding.  Wyatt stared for a moment as the orbs beckoned to him.  

No-o-o, he exhaled. At least until I find something I can use.

Lisa floated off the bed, tucked herself into a ball in midair, and spun
a few feet in front of Wyatt's nose.  As she came out of the tuck, she
was dressed in a pure white jumpsuit, festooned in straps and snaps. 
Her head was almost encased in a pumpkin-sized white helmet bearing
cameras, microphones and antennas.  She landed lightly in front of
Wyatt, breasts forward.  I see that the only way I can get done by you
is to do your search myself, she purred. 

Your cyberspace outfit?  What a waste of bandwidth!  gibed Wyatt.

It was good enough for Gary, Lisa pouted.

He's an amateur, answered Wyatt.  I'd like something hot and fast, if 
you're going to search for me.  

You want style, Wyatt, grinned the genie, you've got it!

In an electric flash, Lisa was transformed into a black lycra vision
from  the neck down.  Her ample tits rose high and free, and the suit
was so clingy that a perfect round innie marked her navel.  She stood on
three-inch heels, indistinguishable from the suit, that pushed her ass
up temptingly.  Her soft outer cunt lips were lovingly outlined by the
fabric as she stood before Wyatt, hands on hips cocked at an angle, lips
pouting, eyes flashing.  Mmmm, she purred, d'you like what you see? 

Wyatt involuntarily took a step forward, ready to press his lips to hers
and invade her sweet mouth with his teenage tongue.  

Uh-uh, chided Lisa, you wanted data, not downtime with me.  And I 
could use something to stretch me a bit.  Genies don't live on sex
alone.  

Maybe I should change that, mumbled Wyatt, but Lisa was already gone 
in a blue-white flash.

Two hundred microseconds later, Lisa was cruising out of her fiftieth
Web site, courtesy of a forged military priority Violet header on her
packets.  She'd given up on normal Web sites and instead had pulled the
addresses of a few wizards.  She slowed for a moment as she entered her
prime site's firewall computer.  It was sophisticated, with multiple
levels of analysis and defense, but with a thought she upgraded herself
to super-authorized user and slid through into a Sun(tm) workstation.

Lisa found herself in a Unix jungle.  Upgrades littered the filespaces,
old processes threaded through the space like cobwebs and it was unclear
what shell was running.  She spread her arms, to sense for the directory
structure, and then she saw it - a silver monolith labeled Experimental
Debug Kernel.  She strolled over to it, licking her lips as she revealed
a triumphant smile, and activated her download routine.  As she
stretched her arms around the kernel, though, it vanished, and two red
wires lashed out from the floor to seize her ankles.  A pair of blue
wires flicked out of the wall to wrap each of her wrists, and a yellow
wire with a vicious point on the end streaked straight for her navel. 
As it pierced the lycra and then her virtual flesh, she screamed.  

The memory probe symbolized by the yellow wire had disrupted a few of
the genie's subroutines.  Her human representation routines converted
the probe software into a white-hot shaft in her belly, as if she had
been skewered.  Paralyzed by pain and shock, she hung limply, unable
even to move her head, as the remaining wires tightened and pulled her
into a spread-eagle position suspended six inches from the virtual
floor.  Then thought and motion stopped as the intruder countermeasures
froze the memory.   Lisa hung like a black butterfly imprisoned in a
Lucite(tm) block, with a yellow pin lancing her navel.  

Some time later, the workstation activated as its user logged in.  
Another kid hacker, he mumbled as he viewed the intrusion log, and began
a memory scan.  As the scan threw a memory map on the screen, he revised
his assessment.  This was one dense, elegant program, with no obvious
code.  Two hours later, having exhausted every protocol analyzer, virus
scanner, compiler, and debugger in his arsenal, he miskeyed and invoked
a MPEG reader.  As he leaned forward to gaze at the black-sheathed
dreamgirl, frozen in memory, his hands, useless for the moment, knocked
two old cans of diet cola and a moldy cruller into the pile of dust
bunnies and doodle-filled papers at his feet.  His breathing almost
stopped as he struggled to keep his mind on how to access this female
vision. 

Meanwhile, Wyatt was tossing and turning in bed.  Lisa hadn't returned,
and the tracer routine he had cobbled up to track her had evaporated at
the TechSystems United firewall.  Surely she could take care of herself
on the 'net, so had he pissed her off somehow?  His balls were beginning
to ache with need.  He licked his lips as the picture of her hot, naked
body filled his thoughts. 

What are you? came over a memory access channel to Lisa.  She could
think again, but with only a 50K buffer available, she couldn't do much
more than listen. 

I don't waste bandwidth on people I don't know, she answered.  Let's see
who I'm dealing with.  

The soft, throaty growl of her voice caused a rush of heat to his
crotch.  Grabbing an AV camera, he plugged the leads into a slot and
snapped it on.  I'm Squeers - Ford Squeers, he boasted, and you're mine.

She grabbed control of the camera and panned it.  Another Twinkies and
diet cola addict who thinks he owns cyberspace, she spat.  A Pennzoil
hairdo, grimy glasses, fluorescent light suntan, and 80 extra pounds. 
No pocket protector, though.  There's hope for you - if you let me out
in the next five seconds.  As her self-repair routines used every bit of
the 50K, her belly quivered, and the yellow probe was squirted out of
her navel.  It hung near her, point bobbing, but unable to strike again
at her now-shielded parameters.  

Not before I've disassembled you down, baby, he snarled.  But I'll give
you a fighting chance in a sealed memory space.  His fingers jabbed at
the keys, and the restraints fell away.  Lisa dropped to the floor in a
crouch as a cloud of white, stringy datagrams flew into the virtual
room.  She started zapping them, but more began to adhere to her tapered
waist and slim hips.  Anti-virals! she exclaimed, as they started to
form a corset around her shapely body.  

That's right, chuckled Squeers, straight out of that old movie.  Don't
waste your breath.

You bastard! she cried.  In a few moments, her chest, waist and hips
were enveloped by white strands and the elements began a slow
contraction.  She rolled on the floor, writhing, as her 23 inch waist
began to shrink under the pressure.  Aagh, eeee! she groaned, as she
thrust her hips forward and side to side, bucking to get a tiny amount
of slack.  She stopped for a moment to rest, and then bucked so hard she
almost bent double. 

Yaaaaaohh! Itt burnss . . .  hot! she screamed, arching her back until
her cunt faced the ceiling.

It gets interesting when you stop moving, answered Squeers.  It's like
acid - they link to code and pull it off bit by bit.  

Filling memory space . . . shutting me down, gasped the honey-blonde
genie, returning to the floor as her tortured body slowed its movements.
 Her long fingers gripped spasmodically at the white covering over her
pussy.  Ohhh - it's pushing in, it's wrapping around my clit - *eeeee!!*
she keened as the strands tightened around her love button.  Her hips
began a gentle roll and thrust, while her hands cupped her mound gently.
 The strands began wrapping around the long fingers.  Aaah, it's good,
she moaned.  Got to break, break *through,* ooohh, oooo, she cried out,
as her body tensed with a killer wave of pleasure. 

The computer jock's fingers were also busy kneading his hardening dick
through his pants.  Uh, uh, just a few more seconds.  Just wait 'till I
have all of you, he whispered.

Ohh, fuck.  What a way to go,  she groaned.  Lisa's fingers, trapped in
the white fibers, were massaging her smooth slit, intensifying the
pleasure, and a small dark wet spot could be seen through the white
envelope.  She could feel the antivirals beginning to strip her code,
but the heat from her vitals and the thrills in her crotch overwhelmed
the pain.  Mooore, mooore - eek! she whined, as her hips began thrusting
for a lover's release and her face flushed to a hot, needy pink.  More
fibers flew onto her, covering her entire body in a white shroud.  Now
the pain started mounting, as the compression resumed and her helpless
hands pulled uselessly at her crotch.  Aaagh, pulling me in. . . stacks 
tied down . . . woo-oh!  As the fibers shrank, her spread legs were
pulled together, and she was mummified within seconds.  A few ripples
and twitches were the only evidence of survival.

Unknown virus identified and disabled, reported the terminal.  Execute 
disassembler?   You're dead, gloated Squeers, and, after a pause to gaze
on his shapely prey and tweak his hard rod, he pressed the Enter key.

Helpless inside the hot cocoon, Lisa endured a maelstrom of sensations. 
Relentless compression from the antiviral shutdown processes made the 
slightest movement a test of all her strength and will.  But an equally
relentless pulsing came from her trapped hands and the vibrating fibers
swathing her pussy and clit, driving her into an intense sensual frenzy,
as waves of heat surged and flowed through her body.  At the same time,
her skin burned with antiviral acid, intensifying the sensations and
keeping her nipples hard and erect.  One or two more contraction cycles
on her cunt, and she would explode in orgasm even as her body was
devoured. 

In the memory space outside the cocoon, the disassembler appeared as a 
conventional gray monster-machine, loaded with menacing black probes and
bug-eye sensors.  Scanning the white cocoon writhing on the floor, it
found an entry point.  Two thin black tentacles snaked forward to test
the dew drops rimming the narrow black hole appearing at the center of
the white envelope. 

Until now, Lisa hadn't noticed the honey drops dribbling off of her hot,
distended pussy lips.  But as the tentacles touched her uncovered cunt
lips and withdrew for a moment, she noticed that her hot, luscious cream
was dissolving the cotton-like antivirals.  Even as she realized this,
though, the enveloping strands redoubled their squeezing and pulling at
her love trigger.  Conscious thought evaporated as she climbed toward
her final passion, straining against the steel- like threads of the
contracting shroud.  Meanwhile, a long, black probe, studded with
diamond facets, slid toward her slowly from the disassembler, ready to
ream her open hole.

No pointers . . .wuhhh . . . eeee . . . Can't execu . . . oh, oh, ohh 
terminating!  I'm coming!  Aaii-eee! Eeee - yahhh!! she screamed through
the narrow com link.  Caught in an impenetrable deathtrap, Lisa's come
only intensified as her extraordinary sexual energy fed back into her. 
With her last free memory spaces, she made a final decision as the waves
of red-hot lust washed her into unconsciousness.

Squeers was licking his lips as the black revolving rod tentatively
brushed her love hole.  As it did, a cloud of vapor jetted from the
hole, squirting around the advancing rod, and the cocoon appeared to
deflate. Damn, groaned Squeers, hardon out in one hand and a Kleenex in
the other, just a few more damned seconds . . .   A few moments later,
having recovered, he tapped a few keys.  No assembler file.  His
black-clad dreamgirl had vanished - or had she?  That probability
distribution in the memory space representation wasn't his.  

A few moments later he had confirmed it.  He couldn't manipulate her in
this vapor state, but she couldn't escape the memory space except by
slow leakage. And she wasn't trying to.  Lisa had just endured a
positive feedback electronic orgasm that she was lucky to have survived,
even as a disembodied electronic probability vapor.  Had she been
material, rather than data in a protected memory space, she would have
scorched the entire installation with her mega- come.  Maybe she could
reassemble to continue the struggle, but for now floating in a post-come
reverie was all she could handle. 

Can the sexy computer genie escape from her fantastic voyage to doom
with code intact?  Wait for BYTE FIVE of EVEN WEIRDER SCIENCE.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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