I saw Alan, from the Networking department, over by the water cooler. He was a tall slim guy with hairy arms, in his late twenties. I watched him turn the spigot with his long, thin fingers.

"Hey, Alan," I said, "what brings you over to this part of the world?"

"I had to fix Jeff's interface," he said.

"Problem with his jack again?"

"Yeah. Well, the jack was okay, but he wasn't using it correctly. Those people in PR just don't know how to use the equipment. I don't know why the company even bothers giving them implants. It's a waste of good money."

Alan and I were on pretty good terms. In my department, because we did technical work, people knew how to use their implants, and even how to troubleshoot minor problems, so we didn't have to call on Alan and his colleagues in Networking very often. They liked that.

"I hear Suzanne got a new memory chip," I said.

"Yeah, she got the latest terabyte implant. Pretty expensive, but I guess with the kind of work she does, she really needs the storage space, so it's well justified," Alan said.

"Yeah," I said. "But Erica got a new personality chip, and I just don't see the point of that. Nowadays, people use those chips like they used to use make-up. Sure, she's fun when she's so bubbly, but it's all just superficial and cosmetic. When she turns the chip off, her real personality comes out again, and I like her well enough then. So what's the point?"

"Everybody seems to be using some kind of consumer implant these days. Jennifer was telling us how her son got a game implant, and now he interfaces with it all day long, and won't do any of his chores. You have any implants?" he asked casually.

I was a little reluctant to admit it, but I said, "Yeah, a medical one. I have one of those old mood enhancer chips they used to give for mild depression." I wish they didn't call them "mood enhancers;" it made them sound almost as self indulgent as personality chips.

"Oh, lots of people got those, a few years ago. It was quite a fad. What's the make?"

"It's just an old cheap one," I said. "A NeuroTronic Ought-Seven."

Alan nodded. "Never got the upgrade?"

"No, never seemed worth the money. Its works fine for my needs."

"Well, then, best to leave well enough alone."

"Yeah," I said.

Alan got a far-away look, and tipped his head as though he were listening to something (a useless habit, of course, since ears were not involved). "Gotta go," he said. "Emergency in Accounting."

"Okay, see ya, Alan!" I said. I got my drink of water, and went back to my office.

I worked for about an hour, and then it got to be lunch time. A strange thing happened then. I felt a twinge in my whole body, as though I'd been given an electric shock, but though the sensation was unpleasant and made me jerk in my chair, it wasn't particularly painful. A minute or two later, I was overcome by a brief but intense itching sensation. I thought this was quite odd, and I puzzled over it for a while. Then, after an interval, I started to feel good about it, as though I had solved the mystery, and sat back with a huge stupid grin on my face, feeling quite proud of my achievement. Except, of course, that I hadn't actually achieved anything. When I thought about that, I realized what was going on. I'd experienced similar sensations when I first got my mood enhancer, and the neurotech was calibrating it. So the thing was finally breaking down. It wasn't too surprising; after all, as I'd told Alan just that morning, it was a pretty old model. Funny coincidence, though, that we'd just been talking about it. Anyhow, I decided that I'd better go back to the shop where I'd gotten it and talk to the tech. It seemed to have settled down for the moment, though, so I waited until after work.

When five o'clock came, I stepped outside the lobby door, and looked around. When I turned to the east, I felt a momentary sense of rightness, and so set off in that direction. But the neurotech shop was a few blocks to the west. So I was wrong. Confused. I stopped. The sense of rightness left me. I took another step, and the sense of rightness returned, low in intensity, but steady. So I continued walking, slowly. Was there some reason I should be going east, that I had forgotten? I got to the corner, not knowing which way to go; but when I turned to the south, the sensation of rightness was a little stronger than when I turned to the north or east; so I turned and continued walking. That felt right. Where was I going? I was so lost in wondering that I didn't see Alan until I almost bumped into him, at the end of the next block. "Oh, hi," I said. He was standing with his hands in his pocket. He might almost have been waiting for me.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"I'm going to the NeuroTronics shop," I said.

He laughed at me. "That's the other direction," he said. "That's what happens when you don't look where you're going."

"I suppose so," I said, embarrassed. After all, I didn't really know why I was walking in this direction, and hoped he wouldn't ask any more about it, so I wouldn't have to admit it. Though it seemed funny enough, if I didn't mind laughing at myself.

"Well, since you've started this way, why don't you come with me the rest of the way with me. My apartment is just a few blocks from here. I don't think you've ever been there, have you?"

"No," I said, hesitating.

"Come on," Alan said, taking my arm. "This way."

While trying to decide, I haphazardly took a step, and it seemed like the right thing to do. I took another, and my mind appeared to be made up, in the sense that I felt it was the right thing to do. The decision made me feel good. "Okay," I said, now walking beside him.

"You live pretty far from here, don't you," he said.

"Yes, I live in the 14th district," I said. "I usually take the bus."

The blocks passed by as we chatted, and we were soon at his apartment building, as he said. We ascended to the third floor and went into his apartment. It was quite nice, but rather messy. There were shelves covered with electronic equipment, and a table littered with chips and nerve-soldering irons and manuals lying open.

"My hobby, you see," he said.

"Yes, you're quite the geek," I said. "All work and no play..."

"My work is my play," he said. "Go get me a beer from the fridge."

"What? But I don't want a beer," I said.

"That's okay, I do."

This was very strange, but I couldn't think of any reason not to, so I went and got him a beer. I was glad that I did. As I walked into his kitchen area, I felt the warm glowing sensation of doing well. I guess I liked Alan or something, that I didn't mind doing things for him. In fact, I apparently liked it. I returned and handed him his beer. He was sitting down now.

"Turn left," he said.

"Why, what for?" I asked, looking in surprise to my left. I was rewarded with a strong sense of rightness, of pleasure even. "Oh!" I exclaimed. I looked at him. "What was that?"

"Very good," he said. "Do it again," he said. "Look to your left."

Without thinking, I turned to my left again - after all, I had no reason not to - and once again felt a wave of good feeling.

I looked at him. He now openly held in his palm a small box with a few buttons, dials, and what looked like a 900 MHz antenna.

"What's that?" I asked.

"I've hacked your implant," said Alan. "As I think you might have started to suspect. NeuroTronics is such a crappy outfit. They always rush their nerveware into release before they've fixed all the security bugs, and then they come out with patches afterwards. I don't know how they maintain their market dominance with the lousy product they put out. But you never inloaded the upgrade. You should have, you know. They patched the hole in the security."

"You little asshole," I said, starting for him.

"Stand still," he said, with a twist of the knob. I was overcome with such a wracking burst of pleasure that I stopped involuntarily; I was so overwhelmed that I was totally unable to move.

"Don't try that again," he said. "This doesn't have to be unpleasant. I have the power to give you pleasure; accept it."

"Why?" I said.

"You'll like it," said Alan. "Turn left."

I didn't want to, but I remembered the pleasure I felt when I did it before, and the muscles of my neck tightened; my head turned ever so slightly to the left, and he gave me a jolt of pleasure again.

"You see," he said, "it is pleasurable to obey me. You don't have to; it's your choice. But to obey is pleasurable. It is pleasurable to obey." And as he said it, he pushed the button, and a sense of well-being washed over me. Damn it, it made me feel happy, in spite of myself!

"Alan," I started to say.

"That's right," he said, giving me another quick shot of pleasure. "Say my name. It is the name of your master now, and it gives you pleasure to say it." I stood with tight lips. "Never mind," said Alan. "You will learn."

"Never!" I said.

"Yes you will," he said. "Turn left."

I turned left, but was not rewarded.

"Hey!" I said, and hated myself for obeying, and for wanting it, and for revealing it.

"Intermittent reinforcement," he said, laughing at me. "But you want it. Turn left," he said.

I turned left, and was rewarded.

"Say my name," he said.

"No, I will not!" I said. If I resisted, he would not reward me; and if he did not reward me, he had no power over me. But it was already hard to resist. The pleasure was so... pleasurable. I wanted it.

"Raise your hand," he said.

He caught me off guard, and I started to raise my right hand without thinking about it, without thinking why I shouldn't. His finger was on the button, and I got the jolt of pleasure. I instantly lowered my hand. The pleasure stopped. My hand started to rise again. Before I could control it, he said, "Raise your right arm and hold it straight out in front of you." My arm rose up and stood straight out in front of me. The sense of rightness grew. This was what I wanted to do. It felt right. Except that it wasn't what I wanted to do. He turned a knob, and it felt so good that I knew it was right and it was what I wanted to do. "You want to obey. It feels good to obey," he said.

My arm stood rigid in front of me.

"At ease," he said. With the touch of a button, the pressure on my mind released, and I lowered my arm.

"Why are you doing this to me?" I asked.

"Because it feels good. Because I can. Because I want a slave," Alan said.

I looked at his crotch. A massive erection swelled within his pants, making an obvious, ridiculous, obscene bulge. It taunted me with his sexual desire, his power.

"Pervert," I said.

"Raise your right arm," he said.

"No," I said.

"Turn to the left," he said.

I turned to the left. It felt good.

"Raise your right arm," he said. "All the way above your head."

My right arm started to rise. I started to oppose it, then I changed my mind and held it straight above my head. It felt right. It felt good.

"Obedience is pleasure," he said. It felt good to obey. I enjoyed it.

"Say my name," he said.

"Alan," I said. I was rewarded with a burst of pleasure. His name was a pleasure to say. "Alan, Alan, Alan." Oh, it was sweet on my lips.

"Very good," he said. "At ease, now." The sense of rightness faded, and I lowered my arm and relaxed.

"This isn't right, Alan," I said. (I remembered the taste of pleasure as I said his name.) "I am a human being, I have rights, I am free."

"You are free to choose; you choose to obey. You like it, you enjoy it; accept it. Turn to the left."

I turned to the left, and was rewarded.

"Excellent," he said. "You're responding quite well. I think it helps that I guided you out of the office before you were aware of what was going on. It began the conditioning process. Of course, verbal instruction is much more effective for training purposes, but it provokes resistance."

"You bastard," I said.

"Shut up," he said.

"No, I won't." I was not rewarded.

"Well, the more complex behavior will take a while to control, I guess. I think you're doing very well so far, though. I'm almost done for the day. But I want to try something hard now. For this, you'll need to get down on your knees."

"No fucking way, Alan. You don't control me."

"Don't I?" he asked mildly. "On your knees!"

I felt a burst of pleasure. I sank to my knees. I knew the pleasure was my reward, and I wanted to earn it. I was afraid that if I didn't obey, the pleasure would stop. But I obeyed, and was rewarded with the sense of well-being and fulfillment that came with doing the right thing. Yes, being on my knees was what I wanted to do and it made me feel good because it was what I wanted to do.

"Very good," he said. "Well done."

Now he was standing in front of me and opening his zipper. He towered over me, since not only was I on my knees, but he was so tall to begin with. His cock came out of his trousers and mocked me with the pleasure he took in controlling me. It was long, and surprisingly thick. The head was broad and swollen purple. For a cock, it was a nice one. A copious tuft of hair peeked out around its base.

"No way, Alan," I said. "You can't make me do this. I don't want to be your slave, and I won't suck your cock. What you're doing is disgusting and horrible, and you're sick for enjoying this kind of power game."

"Open your mouth," he said.

"No way," I repeated.

I felt a burst of pleasure.

I opened my mouth, and my jaw hung open. I had to earn my reward.

He thrust his cock in my mouth, and put his hands behind my head, drawing me in to meet him part way. I put my arms around his hips and began to suck him. I felt so good about it. It was the right thing to do. It was what I wanted to do. I caressed his bloated organ with my tongue and lips. I could feel his body trembling with pleasure in my arms. I wanted to feed that pleasure. Alan made me feel so good, I wanted to make him feel good too. Was this gratitude? It was almost like love. I loved Alan, and wanted to give him pleasure. His hands guided my bobbing head, setting my rhythm, but I worked with my tongue and lips to do my share. I knew what was effective, because I could feel his cock growing even harder in my mouth when I did it right. His involuntary response to pleasure. He was gasping and groaning, now, and writhing in my arms. His cock drew back, and then with a mighty thrust, blew a blast of hot sticky liquid into my mouth. His hands clutched at my hair while he spurted again and again, and then at last he grew still.

"Swallow," he said. He withdrew from my mouth, and I looked up at him. He stroked my throat with his hand, and I swallowed the bitter-tasting seed of his body. I was rewarded.