Virtual Reality Ch. 02

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Mike gets a second chance with June Cleaver . . .
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Part 2 of the 2 part series

Updated 10/14/2022
Created 12/31/2009
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So, you came back for Round Two, I see," Jon Chamberlinne said, pushing his silver, wire-frame glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Who will it be tonight, Mr, Cooper?"

Mike had thought about that last night, as he lay in bed, gently massaging his dick, remembering his virtual experience at the Cleavers'. He had at his disposal every fictional female of significance—movies, books, TV, you name it. He could try his hand at a super hero like The Invisible Woman, he could get a crack at a young, hot thing like Julie James in "I Know What You Did Last Summer" (he had a thing for Jennifer Love-Hewitt, and getting a crack at her character when she was still a teenager gave his dick a jolt), or he could try for a period-piece encounter, like Ma in "Little House on the Prairie." Ma as played by Karen Grassle he found to be a highly sexual woman. He knew that underneath all those layers of fabric and prairie dresses was a sexual dynamo, just waiting to explode.

But for now, he decided he'd stick with what he started the first time: June Cleaver. Their first tryst was memorable, but surely it would only get better the second time. June was now eager to see him, hoping for a return visit. Well, he wouldn't disappoint her.

"I'll be going back to Mayfield," Mike said. "June and I—we have some unfinished pleasure to attend to."

"Ahhh." Chamberlinne smiled, and, though he appeared to be only in his early twenties, Mike noticed his teeth were already yellowing. He supposed that was the price Chamberlinne played for spending all his hours on his creation, his virtual reality machine. There was no time left over for such unnecessary endeavors as showering, brushing teeth, or washing hair. The fact that Chamberlinne had no facial hair was likely due more to his inability to grow any than to a regular shaving schedule. "Well, I can't say as I blame you. Mrs. Cleaver is quite attractive."

Mike nodded, and held up a razor. "June and me, we have plans," he said. He visualized what it would be like to strip her down and shave her blonde bush. Almost instantly, the beginnings of a tent formed in his jeans. She would be nervous about it, but she would go through with it. June Cleaver, with a shaved mound. If Chamberlinne's virtual reality application did indeed make it to the market, the guy deserved some sort of prize. Maybe the Nobel Peace Prize. With the ability to live out fantasies so vividly, who would want to go to war anymore?

Chamblerlinne chuckled, but before he could speak, there was a yell from upstairs. The Hansons, no doubt—going at it again. "As you recall from last night . . ." Chamberlinne said, nodding at the ceiling. "As I mentioned, they do this every night. Mr. Hanson comes home from work, they have dinner, and then all Hades breaks loose. You can pretty well set your clock around it. In fact . . ." He glanced at his wristwatch, a silver affair with a digital clockface . . . "Yes. Seven twenty-two. Right on the button. Anyway . . . before I activate the device . . . let me remind you again of the implications of your trip to Mayfield. Remember last night, you returned from the session with Mrs. Cleaver's bra. Even I had no idea such a thing could happen. It's as if the virtual and the real intercoursed with each other in some way . . . in more ways than one, I might add. Until I understand how that happens, there is significant risk involved, as I told you yesterday. But you signed the waiver, so all is in readiness. Are you sure you want to proceed again, Mr. Cooper?"

From upstairs, Mrs. Hanson told her husband that he should go find whatever whore he was fucking behind her back, and spend the night with her. He countered with, "I damn well wish I had someone on the side! I oughtta find somebody! Somebody who at least can suck my dick, or wants to!" To which Mrs. Hanson replied, "Your dick is too tiny to suck!" And on and on they went. Mike had no idea how small Mr. Hanson's dick really was, but his ego swelled with man-pride anyway. People could say a lot of things about him. He was thirty-one, had a receding hairline he hated, his job paid him just $32,000 per year, he could be an asshole sometimes. But, damn it, he had a good dick! A solid eight inches, sometimes eight and a half when he was really jacked.

"Damn right I want to proceed," Mike said, again thinking of June's pussy. Mmmm. Besides, even if he had brought back her bra (and he already had it hanging from a nail in his bathroom), what could possibly happen to him in virtual land? Even if Ward did walk in on them . . . old Ward didn't carry a gun, did he? So what was there to worry about?

"And remember," Chamberlinne went on, as Mr. Hanson defended his manhood to his wife upstairs, "the effects of your first visit to Mayfield will be in effect, Mr. Cooper. Mrs. Cleaver will remember you. She will remember your encounter. Because it really happened in her world, you see. And any ramifications from her behavior will be in existence, too. If she acted strangely with Mr. Cleaver after you left, that will now be a reality in the world you're delving back into. Nothing happens in isolation, Mr. Cooper. Your actions yesterday will have a bearing on what happens henceforth."

What was it with this guy? Geez. Mike just wanted to virtually fuck June Cleaver again. He didn't need to hear a treatise on the interaction of virtual reality and real reality. Everything Chamberlinne said seemed like it was grist for a PhD dissertation mill. Just hook him up to the machine, let him play with June, and then go back home and jerk off, thinking of the fun he had. Was that so freaking complicated?

"Look," Mike said. "I signed the waiver yesterday. You already told me about the risks. I already saw what could happen, I mean with the bra and everything." That was pretty freaky, he had to admit. Still, having June Cleaver's bra as a memento—did it get any better than that? "So, with all due respect, can we just get on with it? I want to go back."

"I like your enthusiasm, Mr. Cooper," Chamberlinne droned on, his expression thoughtful, serious, like a professor talking theory with a student. The guy could take the fun out of an all-night orgy, for crying out loud. "I am just making sure you fully understand what you're getting yourself into. With luck, you'll have a blissful, carefree time. But just be aware, always. Anything you do in the virtual world you are about to enter has unbreakable consequences—for you, as well as for the people you interact with."

Mike honestly couldn't care less. He was sure nothing would happen to him. And as far as June Cleaver was concerned . . . who cared? She was a fictional character! That was the fun of it, the harmlessness of it. Chamberlinne had discussed that very thing last night.

"Indeed," Chamberlinne said, when Mike asked why he should be concerned about a person who didn't exist in reality. "But at the same time, June Cleaver exists in her mind, you see? Tell me, when you, um, pleasured her last night . . . while you were there, did it not seem real?"

Mike nodded. It definitely had felt real.

"And that is the point, Mr. Cooper. To June Cleaver, to everyone in her world, it is real. She may be a fictional character to you, or to me. But to her, she exists. So, all I ask is that you take that into consideration."

Mike nodded again. He thought he got it now. Chamberlinne had created June, he had created all of the characters he filled his application with. They were like his children, or, better yet, his mistresses. It was like an author, who creates characters in a story. If you live with the characters long enough, they become real to you. Chamberlinne's rhetoric was nothing more than artsy-fartsy attachment to his own invention. Well, okay. That was cool. Mike could understand that.

"Get out, out!" Mrs. Hanson screamed upstairs, and then a door slammed, and footsteps rushed down a stairwell beyond Chamberlinne's door.

"Sounds like Mr. Hanson should give your application a try, too," Mike said. "Maybe it could give him a little stress relief, and a whole lot of pleasure, for a change."

"That's a splendid idea," Chamberlinne said. "I'll approach him about it shortly."

Mike rolled his eyes. He'd had enough of this discussion. "Okay, I'm ready. Hook me up, man."

Chamberlinne laughed, displaying more prematurely discolored teeth. "Far be it from me to delay a man's pleasure," he said. "Just mind everything we've discussed, last night and tonight, while you're in Mayfield."

That made Mike wonder. The first time he used this application, he'd arrived in the afternoon, in the Cleavers' neighborhood. In that virtual world, how much time would have elapsed between his first visit and this one?

"A very good question, Mr. Cooper," the young inventor said, again adjusting his glasses. "And, at this time, with the application still in a state of testing, I cannot give you a definitive answer. Suffice it to say, this is why your usage of the application is so valuable to me. Only by having live subjects test it out, repeatedly, can I learn the answers to such queries."

Good grief. Wouldn't a simple "I don't know" have gotten the job done?

"But," Chamberlinne went on, "my educated guess is . . . the amount of time that passed will be the same there as here. About twenty-four hours."

That would suit Mike fine. "All right, Mr. Cooper. Let me just attach you to the PC."

Just like last night, Chamberlinne attached something to Mike's temples, then he clicked an icon on his desktop, typed in a few commands, and then, after a "have a pleasant time, Mr. Cooper, you will have three hours," Mike felt himself being pulled away. It was as if the molecules in his body were being ripped apart, then brought back together again. There was a moment of weightlessness, and he felt a surge of panic, but then he felt like himself again, and the world around him brightened. Sun, hot, midday sun, shone down on him. He was in a neighborhood, walking down a sidewalk. It was very familiar. The same as yesterday. Yes. He was back on the Cleavers' street! And there, just ahead, was the perfectly-kept-up house, its white picket fence an open invitation.

He approached the Cleavers' front door, and without hesitation, he knocked.

"Coming!" a pleasant female voice called out. And a moment later, the door opened.

"Oh." Instantly, June Cleaver blushed. Recognition splashed across her face like a guilty secret.

"I'm back!" he said. "I don't have my AC unit, but I do have my other unit." He chuckled at his joke, as well as the story he'd concocted yesterday—about selling air conditioners.

June leaned out the door, glanced left, then right, apparently checking to see if any neighbors were watching, then said, "Come in, Mike."

She was wearing a stylish white blouse, with elbow-length sleeves, and a cream-yellow ankle-length skirt, along with a gold bracelet on each wrist, gold earrings, and her patented string of white pearls around her neck. Just like yesterday, there was a subtle, sexy scent about her—probably some expensive perfume Ward had purchased for her on their last wedding anniversary or for Valentine's Day.

"So," he said, "have you thought about yesterday very much?" He wanted to hear her answer, of course, but this was also a sneaky way to make sure that only twenty-four hours had elapsed in this world.

Wild roses unfurled in her cheeks. She nodded.

"Tell me what you thought about, and don't leave out the details." He knew he had three hours, but he figured he should cut right to the chase. Why pussyfoot around?

"Well . . ."

"Did you think of the way you sucked my cock, and loved it? Did you think of the way I fucked you in your bedroom, and how you came right then and there, showering my dick with your juices? Did you think about seeing me again, hoping I'd come back?"

She nodded again. But she wouldn't look him in the eye.

"Tell me, June."

"Y-yes, of course," she said. "I . . . I thought about you all last night, and all morning. I . . ."

"Did you play with yourself, and think of me?"

"Yes. Last night, after Ward fell asleep. And this morning. And, I . . . right before you came, I was about to . . ."

Damn this chick was hot. She had so much repressed sexuality, just waiting to come out. Ward the Dickless Wonder was such an incompetent asshole. Which reminded him . . .

"Hey. When I left here yesterday, you were braless. You said you'd stay that way, and when your husband got home, you'd kiss him with a lot of tongue and press your tits right up against him. How'd it go?"

The roses in her cheeks reddened further, if such a thing were possible. "He . . . he didn't like it. He pulled away. He didn't even notice, about the bra, I don't think. But as soon as I French-kissed him, he told me I was acting like a tramp, a Jezebel. He asked me what had gotten into me."

"I hope you told him some guy had come over and finally gave you the fucking you need and deserve."

She smiled, in an embarrassed sort of way, but it was good to see. He went up to her, hugged her, kissed her. She returned the kiss with hunger. "Ohhh," she said, as he felt her melt in his arms. She wanted this as bad as he did, perhaps even more. "I'm so glad you came back to me, Mike."

He kissed her again. "I have three hours, June. Let's make the most of them."

He took her by the hand, led her upstairs.

"Oh! I just remembered. The Beaver . . . my son . . . is coming home early from school today. He'll be here in an hour! I can't . . ."

"Nonsense," Mike said. "That's what locks on doors are for."

"Mike! You can't mean . . ."

"You bet I do," he said, and, standing at the top of the stairs now, at the entrance of the second-floor hall, he took her in his arms again, and kissed her. As they kissed, he reached around, cupped her butt in his hands, and kneaded her ass-cheeks through the fabric of her yellow skirt. She moaned in his mouth, gave him a healthy dose of tongue.

"You need it so bad, don't you?" he said, and she nodded. "Well, so do I. Where's the bathroom?"

"The bathroom?"

He reached into his pocket, pulled out the razor. She gasped. "Remember what I told you yesterday?" he said. "Time for a little grooming, sexy lady."

"Oh, but I . . ."

"Don't play coy with me. Which way is the bathroom?"

She swallowed, then led him down the hall. When they entered the bathroom, he was impressed by how spacious it was. Old Ward did know how to provide for a family financially. Too bad the old boy couldn't fulfill his wife in other, more important, ways.

She couldn't take her eyes off of the razor. "I've never seen a razor like that."

"Huh?" But then he caught himself. Of course! This was the 1950s, after all. The safety razors of this decade generally were metal, silver, he assumed. Not plastic-handled and colored blue, like the one he had. "Oh. Well, what can I say? A special razor for a special lady."

She smiled, but still looked nervous. He admired her smile. She had a wrinkle-free face, despite being in her early forties, and her cheekbones were high and pronounced. She was really a very beautiful woman.

"Now," he said, "let's see what we can do about all these clothes you're wearing."

He went to her, gave her a good, long kiss to relax her, then unbuttoned her blouse. She offered no resistance as he pulled it off of her, revealing her slim torso, bulky white bra, and bronzed, tanned skin. He licked his lips, then pulled his own shirt off. Instantly, she reached out, caressed his chest, and kissed him. She was obviously attracted to him. He was in good shape, and, being nearly twenty years Ward's junior, he offered her a chance to be with a younger man for a change.

"Off with that bra, sexy," he said, and she reached behind her and unhooked it. It fell to the floor, revealing her small breasts. They were firm, though, with no sag to them, and the nipples were pert and erect. He leaned in, took her left nipple in his mouth, and suckled it for more than a minute. She moaned, ran her fingers through his hair.

"The skirt's next," he said, but she stepped back.

"Just want to be careful, in case he comes home earlier than I expect," she said, and closed and locked the bathroom door. Damn, he was getting more attracted to her by the minute, the sneaky, kinky sexpot.

She wiggled out of her skirt, revealing the grandma-style panties she wore. She had long, toned legs, she was in remarkably good shape. But he didn't like those panties, and he told her to lose them, fast, which she did. Now her furry blonde bush came into view, and again he licked his lips. It would be a pleasure to rid her of that jungle. A true and sensual pleasure.

She stood before him, completely naked, but at ease, her arms by her side. The only thing she wore was a sexy, seductive smile, along with her jewelry and string of pearls. All of the shame, the doubt he had encountered in her yesterday, was gone now.

He kicked off his shoes, yanked down his jeans, then pulled down his briefs. His dick was fully erect, and June's eyes were riveted.

"Tell me," he said, loving the freedom they had with each other, the delight they were taking in their shared nakedness, "just how small is Ward? Yesterday you said I'm a lot bigger. I'm curious. How much bigger?"

"Well, I've never measured him. And, these days, I don't get a chance to see, um, it, very often anyway. But . . ." She knelt down, her face inches away from his dick. "I'd guess you're twice as long, and much thicker."

Twice as long? That would give Ward a four-inch dick! God. No wonder why sex with him wasn't enjoyable. The peckerless bastard had a dick like a ten-year-old, and didn't know how to use it, either, based on everything he knew.

He wanted a blowjob, but now wasn't the moment. That would come soon enough. First things first.

"Where's your shaving cream, baby?" he asked. "Or should I use old Ward's?"

She stood up, gave him a naughty smile, opened a cabinet, and pulled out a can of ladies' shaving cream. It was in a silver tin can, and it almost looked like something you'd drink. Oh well. It would do.

"You have any massage oil, any liniment of any kind?"

She nodded. "I have some grapeseed oil that I like to use to rub Ward with when he wants a massage," she said. "Why?"

"Is it in here?"

She retrieved another can from the cabinet—another silver metal affair. "This is it."

He took it from her. He now had everything he needed. "Do you trust me, June?"

She blushed, again. "Well, I suppose I must. I mean, look at me! Look at us."

He laughed. She had a cute sense of humor. No wonder why Ward had fallen for her.

"I want you to lie down on the floor, sexy. Maybe you should get a towel out of the closet, use it as a pillow."

She eyed him for a moment, probably considering what to do. But then she did get a towel, and did lie down, on her back. She comfortably rested her arms on the floor, leaving herself fully exposed to him. He loved the way she was acting, the lack of self-consciousness. But he was shocked by it, too. She couldn't have been used to displaying herself to Ward. Why was she so free with him, then? Was it a glitch in Chamberlinne's program? Or was it, maybe, that she was over forty years old and still hadn't been allowed to explore her sexuality? Maybe she was just eager to break loose, to live life to the fullest, to discover something about herself that years of quiet repression had covered up and snuffed out like an airtight vacuum of the soul.

She was lying beside the bathtub, which made things very convenient. He straddled her, facing away from her, his dick right above her mouth, and turned the bathtub water on—not much, just a slow stream.

"Okay, now I want you to relax, okay, baby?" he said. Before she could respond, he squired some shaving cream into his hand, then spread it across her pubic hair. She squirmed a little, but stayed where she was.

ms72vt
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