Technoverse: Part One

Parts:

Linda had been staring at the same spreadsheet for forty minutes, the numbers running together into a soup of bullshit her boss would tear apart in the morning. The fluorescent lights above her buzzed like a swarm of angry bees, drilling into her skull. The stack of reports on her desk had grown into a monument to her own failure. She was stuck in this soul-sucking cubicle farm, grinding herself down for a promotion she’d never get and a paycheck that barely kept her from living in a cardboard box. Her fingers pounded the keyboard, each angry tap a pathetic little fuck you to the endless, pointless grind.

She grabbed her coffee mug and found nothing but cold, bitter sludge at the bottom. Outside, the city lights flickered like dying bugs. It had to be past eleven. Everyone else had fucked off hours ago, leaving her alone with the hum of computers and the occasional groan of the building settling. Linda rolled her shoulders, feeling the knots in her back, and tugged at her blouse, which was twisted and clinging to her in all the wrong places. The cheap fabric scraped her skin, a reminder that she still had a body under all this corporate misery.

The browser window at the edge of her screen blinked with a new advertisement. Linda’s gaze flicked toward it reflexively, ready to close the intrusion, but something about the visuals snagged her attention. Sleek frames, minimalist design, the word “TechnoVerse” in clean sans-serif lettering. AI-enhanced productivity glasses. Her first instinct was to dismiss it as another overhyped tech gimmick, the kind of thing that promised the moon and delivered a barely functional piece of plastic. But the ad didn’t close. It expanded, filling more of her screen with slow, deliberate animation.

The glasses rotated in three dimensions, light catching on their lenses in a way that seemed almost liquid. There was something hypnotic about the motion, the way the colors shifted from blue to purple to a deep, pulsing red. Linda’s eyes tracked the movement, her cursor hovering over the close button but not clicking. The ad’s voiceover began in a smooth, androgynous tone that promised clarity, focus, and efficiency beyond measure. Standard marketing drivel. Yet beneath the words, there was something else—a faint rhythm, a pulse that seemed to sync with her own heartbeat.

She blinked, trying to snap out of it, but her brain was already turning to mush. The ad’s images had slipped past her defenses and gone straight to her cunt. Heat pooled low in her belly, the kind that made her want to squirm in her chair, and she realized with a jolt that her body was getting off on this before her brain could even object. What the fuck was happening? Linda leaned in, her breath fogging the screen, as the ad looped again. The testimonials hit her like a punch—each blurred face and breathy voice whispering filth straight into her head. “These glasses changed my life,” one woman moaned, sounding like she’d just been fucked stupid, the words worming their way in deeper than any logic could reach.

The visuals glitched, flashing things she shouldn’t have noticed but did. Bodies moving, curves that screamed sex instead of spreadsheets. A hand grabbing a wrist. Lips parted, not for talking, but for sucking cock or moaning. The words “submit to efficiency” flickered at the edge, gone before she could catch them, but her body got the message. Her nipples went hard, two aching points that made her squirm in her seat.

This was ridiculous. Linda told herself to close the damn ad, to get back to work, but her hand didn’t move. Another testimonial played. A man this time, his voice low and commanding. “You’ll unlock potential you didn’t know you had. It’s… transformative. You’ll want to give yourself over to it completely.” The phrasing was odd, too intimate for a tech product, but it sent a shiver down Linda’s spine that had nothing to do with the office’s aggressive air conditioning.

The ad cycled through more imagery. The glasses on a woman’s face, her expression slack with concentration—or was it something else? The camera angle suggested submission, the tilt of her head, the way her lips parted slightly as if awaiting instruction. Linda’s thighs pressed together involuntarily, a flicker of arousal building despite her rational mind screaming that this was just marketing manipulation. But her body didn’t care about rationality. Her body was responding to the whispered promise beneath the corporate veneer, the suggestion that these glasses could unlock more than just work efficiency.

“What if?” The thought crept in unbidden. What if these glasses could give her an edge? Not just at work, but in ways she didn’t want to examine here. Linda’s hand trembled as she moved the cursor over the ad, clicking through to the product page. The website was as sleek as the ad, all clean lines and minimal text, but the undercurrent was there if you knew to look. User reviews described “intense focus” and “complete immersion.” Phrases like “I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to” and “It felt so good to just obey the prompts.”

Her cunt throbbed, a needy, humiliating ache that made her press her thighs together, trying to hide the wet spot she could already feel soaking her panties. This was fucking insane. She was getting off on an ad for productivity glasses. But the more she scrolled, the hornier she got. Every testimonial was dripping with sleaze. A woman bragged about being 'so eager to perform.' Some guy said he 'needed the sessions more and more.' It was all just thinly veiled porn, and her body was eating it up.

Linda’s breathing quickened. A flush spread across her chest and up her neck. Her fingers hovered over the “schedule fitting” button, skepticism battling with a curiosity now close to need. This was stupid—obviously some kind of scam, or at best, an overhyped product. Still, her body screamed to click, to see what the glasses could do.

She shifted in her chair, the friction against her clit sending a bolt of pleasure up her spine. Her nipples ached, rubbing raw against her bra. Linda glanced around the empty office, making sure no one was there to see her act like a desperate slut, then slid her hand down to press against her soaked panties. Just a quick touch, just to take the edge off. But it only made her needier, her cunt throbbing even harder, humiliation burning in her cheeks.

"This is fucking ridiculous, but… what if?" she muttered, her voice rough with need. What if these glasses could give her what she really wanted? Not just a leg up at work, but something filthy, something she’d never admit out loud. She pictured herself wearing the glasses, not at her desk, but on her knees, mouth open, waiting for orders like a good little office whore. The thought hit her like a slap, and before she could stop herself, Linda clicked the button.

The screen changed, and a confirmation popped up: 'Your fitting is scheduled for Thursday at 3 PM. TechnoVerse welcomes you.' A rush of excitement hit her, tangled up with a sick, nervous dread. What the fuck had she just signed up for? Linda logged off, hands shaking, not giving a single shit about the spreadsheet or the stack of reports. Her body was still humming with arousal, her panties soaked, her head full of filthy images she couldn’t shake.

She stood up on shaky legs and grabbed her shit. The office felt different now, like something dirty had seeped into the air. Or maybe it was just her—turned into a horny mess by a stupid ad and a single click. Linda told herself she’d look up the glasses at home, find some logical reason to back out. But as she walked to the elevator, thighs slick with her own arousal, she knew she was already in too deep.

Whatever TechnoVerse was, whatever those glasses did, Linda was going to find out. Some filthy, desperate part of her was already aching for it.

***

The TechnoVerse clinic was crammed onto the fifteenth floor of some glass box downtown, barely marked by a tiny steel sign that looked like it was trying to keep people out. Linda almost missed it, wandering the lobby like an idiot before she finally found the place. The elevator was so quiet it felt like it was judging her. When the doors opened, she stepped into a waiting room that looked like it was trying too hard to be a spa, but just ended up feeling cold and fake.

Blue lights pulsed along the walls, probably meant to be calming, but just made Linda feel more on edge. The furniture was all pale gray leather and glass, like someone had ordered it out of a catalog for people who hate comfort. No magazines, no other patients, just Linda and the receptionist, who looked up from her tablet with a smirk that said she knew exactly why Linda was here, and it wasn't for productivity.

“Ms. Berns,” the receptionist said, her voice professionally pleasant but edged with something knowing. “Dr. Cuntlovin will see you shortly. Please, have a seat.”

Linda nodded and sat down, suddenly hyper-aware of how her skirt was riding up her thighs and how her blouse was practically painted onto her tits. She'd picked out her outfit to look professional, but now it just felt slutty. The receptionist's eyes flicked over her, and Linda felt like everyone in the building could see exactly what she wanted. She crossed her legs, squeezed her thighs together, and tried to look calm, even though her heart was pounding like she was about to get caught doing something filthy.

The lights seemed to get brighter, or maybe Linda was just losing it. Her skin prickled with nerves, and she had to fight the urge to run for the elevator like a coward. But she stayed, squeezing her thighs together as heat built between her legs. What the fuck was she even doing here? Did she really think this was just about tech? The questions didn't matter anymore, not when the door to her right slid open with a hiss.

Dr. Cuntlovin walked in, and Linda's breath hitched. He was tall, lean, and looked like he owned the place. His hair was dark with streaks of silver, cut short, and his blue eyes looked like they could see straight through her clothes and into her dirty thoughts. His white shirt was rolled up to his forearms, showing off hands that looked like they could do surgery or just bend her over the chair and fuck her senseless.

“Ms. Berns,” he said, his voice smooth and authoritative. “I’m Dr. Cuntlovin. Thank you for coming.”

He held out his hand, and Linda stood up, legs shaky. His grip was strong and warm, and he didn't let go right away. The touch sent a jolt straight to her cunt, and when he finally let go, Linda almost reached for him again like some desperate slut. Her mouth hung open, and she couldn't look him in the eye, staring at the floor instead.

“Please, come in,” Dr. Cuntlovin said, gesturing toward the open door. Linda followed, hyper-aware of the sway of her hips, the click of her heels on the polished floor. The examination room beyond was as sleek as the waiting area, dominated by a reclining chair that looked more suited to a dentist’s office than a tech fitting. Monitors lined one wall, and a sleek case sat on a counter, presumably holding the TechnoVerse glasses.

Dr. Cuntlovin shut the door, and the click sounded like a lock on a cell. Linda was trapped in here with a man who made her body betray her. He pointed at the chair, and she sat on the edge, too nervous to lean back and spread herself out for him. She wasn't ready to be that exposed. Not yet.

“So,” Dr. Cuntlovin said, leaning against the counter with casual confidence. “Tell me about your work. What brought you to TechnoVerse?”

Linda cleared her throat, trying to sound like she had her shit together. "Corporate analysis. Middle of the pack. Too many deadlines, too much bullshit. I need something to get ahead. Your ad said you could help. Results, right?"

“Results,” he repeated, his gaze lingering on her in a way that made her skin flush. “And what kind of results are you hoping for, Linda? May I call you Linda?”

"Yeah, Linda's fine," she said, too fast. "I just need something to give me an edge. I feel like I'm killing myself for nothing. Just spinning my wheels and getting nowhere."

Dr. Cuntlovin nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. “Dissatisfaction is common in high-pressure environments. But often, the issue isn’t efficiency. It’s control. Or rather, the lack of it.” He pushed off the counter and moved closer, his proximity making Linda’s pulse spike. “Do you feel in control of your life, Linda?”

The question stung. Linda clenched her fists in her lap, nails biting into her skin. "I don't know. Sometimes. Most of the time, no."

“And when you don’t feel in control,” Dr. Cuntlovin continued, his voice dropping to a lower register, “what do you crave? What do you fantasize about?”

Linda's breath caught. This wasn't a consultation anymore, and she knew it, but she didn't care. Her body was giving her away—her nipples were hard, poking through her bra and blouse, and her pussy was throbbing so bad she wanted to grind her thighs together like a horny teenager. She was wet, and she knew he could see it.

"I... I don't..." she stammered, but Dr. Cuntlovin moved in, grabbed her chin, and forced her to look at him. She couldn't hide.

“Don’t lie to me, Linda,” he said softly, his thumb brushing over her lower lip in a gesture that was both clinical and obscene. “What do you truly desire to achieve?”

His touch sent a shock straight to her cunt, and Linda shivered. "I just want to get ahead," she whispered, barely able to speak.

Dr. Cuntlovin smiled, a slow, knowing curve of his lips. “Sometimes, submission leads to greater heights. Have you considered that? That letting go of control might be exactly what you need?”

Linda's mind spun. Submission. The word hit her like a slap. She squeezed her thighs together, but it just made her pussy throb harder. Her panties were soaked, sticking to her cunt, and she was sure Dr. Cuntlovin could see exactly how desperate she was.

"I..." she started, but he let go of her chin and stepped back. The loss of his touch felt like he'd ripped something away from her.

“The TechnoVerse glasses are designed to enhance focus,” Dr. Cuntlovin said, his tone shifting back to professional, though the underlying current of suggestion remained. “But they do so by guiding the user into a state of receptivity. You allow the technology to direct your attention, to shape your thoughts. It’s a form of… surrender.”

Linda was panting. Surrender. Submission. The words bounced around in her head, mixing with the filthy images from the ad, all those people talking about how obedience changed them. She should get up and leave, but her body wouldn't move. Her legs were locked together, muscles aching, and all she could think about was dropping to her knees and letting him do whatever he wanted.

“Would you like to try a test pair?” Dr. Cuntlovin asked, moving to the case on the counter. He opened it, revealing the sleek frames she’d seen in the ad, their lenses catching the light in that same hypnotic way.

Linda nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Dr. Cuntlovin picked up the glasses and walked over, slow and confident. He held them out, and Linda took them with shaking hands, the frames cold and smooth, making her shiver.

“Put them on,” he instructed, his voice low and commanding. “And relax. Let them guide you.”

Linda hesitated, then put the glasses on. They fit like they were made for her. For a second, nothing happened. Then the lenses lit up, swirling with blue, purple, and red, dragging her eyes deeper and deeper until the room disappeared. Dr. Cuntlovin's voice was far away, but it wrapped around her, making her feel safe and exposed at the same time.

“Good girl,” he murmured. “Just watch the lights. Let them take you where you need to go.”

Linda's last real thought was that she should rip the glasses off, that this was fucked up and dangerous. But the lights were too pretty, too much, and her body felt like it was melting into the chair. Her legs fell open, her arms limp, and she just let it happen.