The Byte

Classifying these stories like this can be difficult, as they have many elements. I came up with the idea for this concept during a roleplaying session of Call of Cthulhu in 1986. This was just three years after the release of the Matthew Broderick movie “Wargames.” I still have the original story and six witnesses to prove it. This concept won first place at the East Tennessee Humanities Festival.  Of course, I was a young teen then. I was just 12 years old, and it was not slanted quite this way. This is a bit darker than I usually write. *   

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Chapter 1

(Discovery) 

If only one could access Dr. Horace Timothy Taylor, he would be a psychiatric researcher’s dream. He was forty-three years old and six feet tall. He weighed one hundred sixty pounds on his last visit to his general practitioner's office. Outwardly, Horace was a most attractive man who also happened to be brilliant. He had auburn-colored hair and straightforward, intelligent blue eyes. His features and manner of dress were immaculate. His mother was of Italian heritage, so he was one of those who always looked like they had a nice tan. Currently, Horace was grappling with a challenging problem that had stumped his colleagues, a case that could potentially change the field of computer science forever.

For that sake, if he was right, which he always was, the world. For his outward good appearance, Horace had what some may term issues. He had seen a psychiatrist a year back named Micheal Fischer, who had picked up on it almost immediately. Horace had a few things going on upstairs that would alarm the most skeptical of psychology and psychiatry. Dr. Fisher believed he suffered more than one condition, what they called comorbidity. He had narcissistic personality disorder (NPD) and was most likely dove deep into the waters of sociopathy.

What had tipped Dr. Michael Fischer off to this was on his second visit. He had related some of his sexual fantasies.  This opened even more diagnoses as they ran to the extreme. By the psychiatrist’s estimation, this would also be sexual sadism disorder (SSD). He had talked about having a mother who was most likely narcissistic. She had been very controlling, and this all-alarmed Michael Fisher.

There had been no third appointment, as Dr. Horace Taylor had yet to come to it, and all attempts to contact him were unsuccessful. This was not unusual in psychiatry, as patients often missed appointments or never returned. Dr. Fischer was concerned about this one, but there was not much he could do about it officially. The fantasies he had spoken of had been about controlling people, getting joy from harming them, or scaring them. Even humiliating them was a part of the modality.

When Michael Fischer asked Horace Taylor if he had ever engaged in such behaviors, he said he had not. It was only a fantasy. He also denied suicidal ideation or ever really harming anyone. The law was evident here. Was he supposed to call the authorities and tell them that a patient had described having a strange, perhaps dangerous fantasy? If such were the case, the 911 system would be overloaded.

This man was a tenured professor and a computer science researcher at the University of Chicago. He taught classes and had no criminal history. Michael Fisher had tried to prescribe him some medications, but the man had told him such things were for the weak. So, the psychiatrist’s hands were tied, and he could not do much here. 

He held degrees in psychiatry, was a neurologist, and was well-versed in psychology. He had gotten a Master’s in psychology at the University of Chicago. His practice was in a suburb of Chicago called Wheaton. Horace Timothy Taylor, the object of his concern, lived in a neighboring suburb called Glyn Ellyn, IL. Michael Fischer could not just let this go. The man had seemed disturbing, and what he had talked about seemed disturbing.

Michael Fischer had friends and colleagues on the faculty of the University of Chicago. He could at least inquire around a bit if he were right. That didn’t even bear thinking about, as it was a frightening prospect. An individual whose only sense of importance was of themselves who enjoyed causing emotional and physical pain. All as part of their inner sexual drive, which was able to influence younger college students. He had also only spoken of doing such things to other men, so he was gay. There was no psychiatric problem with that, but all the rest was a motherload. He would make some inquiries. He would just not be responsible if he did not.

 

Deep in a secured lab at the University of Chicago, Dr. Horace Timothy Taylor and his primary research lab assistant, a young man named Billy Webb. Where in the process of trying some of the newest code he had written, it was looking promising. Billy was not entirely on Dr. Taylor’s level yet, so he followed directions. He was a good lab assistant and worked hard, but all he ever got from Dr. Taylor was consternation. That was good at shoving that blade in.

Billy, who was working on his PhD, had gotten this appointment because of his talent and because he was precisely Horace’s type. No one working on advanced coding like this was a dummy.  He was always quick to do whatever Horace Taylor said unless he got cut to shreds with his insulting nature.

Billy was twenty-five, whereas Horace Taylor was a nightmare. Billy was mild-mannered and a good-looking young man. He was five feet ten inches tall, with light blond hair and crisp blue eyes. He weighed one hundred fifty pounds and was not prone to junk foods or a massive fan of sugar. He had pleasant features to match his demeanor. He was typically quiet and shy. Everything about him had been like blood in the water, like the shark of his PhD chair, Horace Taylor.

He was looking at one of the most horrific things he had yet to see: Horace's handsome countenance awash in light from the monitor, his gigantic grin on his face. The code had worked, naturally, as he was always right.  He turned to his assistant and regarded him with a funny look.

He pointed to the screen, “Do you see you fucking dimwit? I told you it would work. I was right. All the rest of them are fools.”

Billy looked at the screen, which had a bunch of coding he partly understood but quickly lost. The bottom of the monitor said the code had been executed successfully.

He said nervously, “Yes, Sir, you sure did say you could make it work. You are a genius, Sir. It’s an amazing achievement, and the other staff member who argued with you was wrong.”

Most individuals who had just proven their fundamental life beliefs. Those who were acknowledged in such a fashion might feel proud or say thank you. It was not Dr. Horace Taylor; for him, it was expected, and he deserved such acknowledgment not just from his lab dimwit here but from everyone. This was absolute proof positive of his and other’s beliefs that the world as we knew it was nothing but an elaborate computer simulation. Human beings were AI constructs designed by, well, now that was the question. Not only had he proven it, but he could hack it. Control it and do whatever he likes to anyone he likes at any time. Who could stop him? He could now change the very fabric of reality. The school’s supercomputer executed the program, and now he could do it. Then it would be so.

He turned the stool towards his lab assistant, Billy Webb. His look was different—total arrogance mixed with hunger and need.  He slowly unzipped his pants and worked for a moment, then got his hardening seven-and-a-half-inch cock out.

He said quietly, it almost sounded dangerous, “Okay, dimwit, get on your knees and suck my cock.”

Billy had taken quite a bit of shit from this man. He had worked hard to get here. This was, well, just inappropriate. Yes, he was nice-looking, and his assistant swam in those waters.

Billy said, “Dr. Taylor, I know you are excited about your breakthrough. If I have given the wrong impression, I am very sorry. This is a bit past my lab duties, Sir.”

Horace grinned at him, full of pure malice and lust. “Are you saying no to me, you cocksucker dimwit?”

Billy was not typically contentious, but this was inappropriate. He said, “I am afraid that is the case, Sir.”

Horace Timothy Taylor said, “If that is the case, I will just have to put you away in timeout for a while. Perhaps you may change your mind with the time to reflect properly.” He waved his hand, and some long code streams ran on the monitor.

Billy was about to object further and was suddenly gone. Horace’s eyes were glimmering with power. He was not gone or harmed. He was going to spend some time nowhere. He could leave him there as long as he wanted and retrieve him anytime. He would be perfectly aware, and Horace imagined what that would feel like to his assistant. He got hard and began to ooze out some precum.

He reached down and stroked himself for several minutes and shot his seed all over the floor. In the darkness of nowhere, unable to move, no sense of orientation. Helpless and all alone, his lab assistant tried to scream, but the rules of nowhere did not allow him. He was aware, yet he could do nothing. He wondered if he had or was having a nightmare. It was a nightmare, but not the kind he was thinking of.

Horace turned back to the screen and began to hide what he had done. He was smiling, poor Billy, Dimwit. No, it was the wrong path so that he would leave him there for some time. He could even make the passage of time differently in there compared to here. He could make it last for days, and it had only been a few seconds here. It would have no effect, such as aging or starvation, on Billy, and when he pulled him out for use, he would be just as he had. The psychological effects would be honest. He could easily break dimwit in any number of infinite ways. Then why pull just Billy out to play? He would now start collecting.

He would not leave Billy that way permanently or forget about him. If he went insane, then it would not benefit him at all. If Dimwit didn’t want to be anywhere, he was going to have to start earning it and treating him as he deserved to be. As he had always deserved to be and was now a God.  That is what his genius had made him into. There was no need to hold back anymore; all those appetites that were nothing but fear of trouble with the authorities or tarnishing his reputation were now.......

Now, they were all in the same place as his assistant, Billy Dimwit, nowhere at all. They would never be back, Dimwit would. Horace was grinning wickedly. Of course, he would Horace wanted to play. That one might be a Dimwit, but he was imminently fuckable. There were so many around here who were. Why limit himself? They were as if they had all ripened for the picking.

Of course, there would be so many stupid people in the world if they had discovered such a thing. The world would look like one of those Marvel movies. He was hardly stupid or anywhere near that category. He had proven that the simulation theory and the simulation hypothesis were correct. He would not do so much to draw attention to himself. If it was all a simulation, that meant something was running the simulation. Whatever that something may be, it might not, like the fact he changed the code. Perhaps it would not care. He would not take that chance.

He had craved dominance and utter control his whole life, well, since he was much younger. The difference between a God and a stupid person is that they made it happen. His superiority and intellect had done so, so he deserved this power. The ones he used it on should be glad he did not do so then destroy them. If some went insane, they were not worthy to serve him in the first place.

That stupid bitch his mother had been wrong, he did have a right to exist. He should not have been aborted. The universe did not cry as he came into it. It had been instead the opposite, and it marveled as he entered it. Why should it not have with what he had just accomplished? Dimwit would get a taste, and when he got to his home tonight, he bet that the word no would disappear. He could even make it that way, but that was no fun.

It did not bother him that he was in a simulation. It looked and felt natural. Just as nothingness felt to Dimwit at this very moment, that thought made him begin to harden again.  Have fun in nowhere at all, and tell me no again, ever again, Dimwit. There were worse places than nowhere. He could concoct. He liked the wordplay, get on my cock, or I will concoct.

 

His other teaching assistant emerged from the large classroom with several students around him. They orbited like electrons around an atom. His name was Craig White, and he taught many of Horace Taylor’s classes for him. It was criminal what universities did to Graduate students earning their PhDs. He thought slavery had been outlawed, and what was that weird concept? Oh, yes, sleep the mythical beast that was denied those like him.

This had been a networking class, and the students were all clamoring about the magical realm of subnetting an IP address. This was just the sexiest subject that Craig White had ever encountered. Hold him back, for goodness sakes. What would he ever do without people asking about the very thing he had just spent ninety minutes explaining in detail? He would like to find out.

Craig White was a ginger who was a bit overweight, according to BMI obese. He had always thought his body type was a curse; as of now, it was the best thing he had going for him. Horace Taylor did not find him attractive, but he did like his ability to absorb all the student electrons. He was five feet ten inches tall and weighed two hundred and eight. The eight was an important distinction because it needed to make it quite to ten.

Craig was a smart guy who was very patient and liked working with students. It was a hassle sometimes, but to him, there was nothing like that moment when a student struggled with a concept. You worked with them and helped them. Out of nowhere, that light would come on in their eyes. That’s what made all this shit worth it.

An older man, who was not one of the students, was now orbiting in the SP2 slot. He looked familiar.  He shouted, “Okay, everyone, as hot as subnetting is, you have my office hours. If you don’t, they are on the university's website. Come hang out, and we will chill and talk about some severe subnetting. If you're old enough, maybe go and drink a beer; see you guys. 

All the electrons whirled away in a few laptops and a calamity of chatter and smartphones. He smiled. He had been orbiting this nucleus for some time now. The older man, who had neatly kept graying hair, was dressed sharply. He remained, so Craig turned his attention to him.

Craig asked, “Can I help you? You can’t be a student. It is two degrees outside, and you are not in shorts.” He smiled and put his hand out.

The older man took it firmly and said, “I am Dr. Michael Fischer, looking for Horace Taylor’s teaching assistant.”

Craig White said, “Guilty as charged. Wow, you are that psychiatrist in all the magazines and write journal articles. You are an alumni here, right?”

Michael Fischer laughed, “In another life, that would be me. Do you have a few moments?”

Craig said, “Sure, would you like to grab a bite? I just got out of teaching class.”

 

The two sat in a restaurant just outside the university grounds. Craig had a mug of beer, Michael Fischer had a Diet Coke, and they had some potato skins. Lunch was on the way.

Craig said amicably, “So, why would you be looking for me? No one ever looks for me unless there is an exam tomorrow.”

Michael Fischer looked serene, “I must be sort of careful here. It is a matter of personal concern versus client confidentiality. I cannot tread on those grounds. However, I can question it in general.”

Craig took a big drink of the frosty mug of beer and finally managed to say, “So long as it is not about subnetting an IP address, questions are fine. Especially for such a distinguished alumni as yourself.”

Micheal asked, “How would you describe your PhD chairman to me?”

Craig grimaced and almost spit the beer out. He said, “You are an M.D., so can you prescribe acid reducers?”

Michael Fischer had been in the psychiatry game for a spell. He could see the tension wash over Craig White. He asked, “That bad?”

Craig was rather direct with people. Why should he be any other way, “My dear Doctor, may I speak honestly?”

Micheal said, “That would be a change of pace from my usual.”

The heavyset ginger said, “As to the quality of my esteemed Chair, may I say, What a grade-A son of a bitch, and how!”

Michael said, “I see. Can I ask why you hold this opinion?”

The ginger needed more beer for this, “Counter-question?”

Micheal said, “Please.”

Craig said, “If you were my chair and I worked sixty hours a week for you, taught the brunt of your classes. I got you almost perfect student reviews. Would you make it a habit of calling me the ridiculous lardass? Wide load? Sunblock? Those are just a few.”

Michael was afraid of this, “That is highly unprofessional.”

This conversation would carry on.

It was evening, and Horace made his way to his home by train from downtown Chicago. He had flirted with the notion of just zipping himself here, but he was going to be breaking Dimwit, so he was cautious.

He had a lovely home in the suburb of Glyn Ellyn, IL. It was one of many connected suburban areas around the fringes of Chicago. The Population here was around 32,000 people. The median income in this area was $439,000, which Horace shattered naturally. He showered and got his leather mask. He usually jerked off in it to all his wonderous thoughts. He went down into the large basement. It would have the most significant and oppressive impact on Dimwit.

He was naked except for the mask, and he had two big mugs of beer and a bottle of Xanax, which his general MD gave him. He opened the bottle and put a couple of milligrams and the two beers on the table. Showtime.

He reached out and used his programming to pull Billy Webb, the Dimwit, out of nothingness and placed him on his knees in front of him. He then used it again, and a giant spidery web just came out of nowhere and surrounded his lab assistant, who was immobile on the floor. 

Billy looked around, almost in shock, “What the fuck? What did you do to me?”
Horace gave him a moment to test the strength of the webbing and discover he was trapped. He said, “Shut the fuck up, Dimwit!”

Billy looked up at him in the leathery mask and recognized the voice. “Dr. Taylor, I will suck your cock. Please don’t do that again.”

Horace took the two Xanax and put them in his mouth. “Open cocksucker, they will help you calm down. He took one of the beer mugs and poured some into the immobile assistant’s mouth. He swallowed that down and just looked up.

Horace said, “A few things I would pay attention to if I were you.  First thing, you will call me Master from here on. Your new name is a cocksucker. Next, you will always do whatever I say and let me do whatever I want you to do. That word you used with me in the lab is no longer in your vocabulary concerning my needs and wants. Obey without question; let me do what I want to you, or I will put you back into that place and forget I put you there. Look into my eyes and tell me you understand, or back you will go.”

On the web, Billy Webb said, “I understand.” He thought for a moment he was scared shitless. “Master.” Whatever it took to keep the crazy fucker happy.

Horace was mollified. Only a bit of quiet time, and now the pretty young man was spinning on his web.  He walked up and pointed his hard cock at Billy’s face and let loose the stream of piss he had saved all the way home on the train. This was typically the kind of thing he would fantasize about as he jerked off. No longer, oh, this felt good to him.

He said, “Open your mouth, cocksucker and swallow whatever goes in there. I was nice and let you out and even gave you happy pills. The price is you make me cum, and maybe I let you sleep down here in the basement and not send you back.”

Young Billy opened his mouth and began swallowing the piss that got in there. Horace thought, now we are talking, just as it should have always been. He finished finally and walked forward.

He said, “I am going to stick my cock into your mouth. You will suck it, and I am going to make you gag some if you bite me, bye-bye, cocksucker. When I shoot my cum into your mouth, what does a good cocksucker do?”
Billy said, “Swallow it, Master.” He was going to kill this crazy fucker someday. He would do whatever was not to be returned to that blackness; it was horrid.

Horace began shoving his cock into Billy Webb’s mouth. It felt so hot and good. Breaking this Dimwitted cocksucker had been so easy. Now, he had his first plaything. He pushed his cock to the back of his throat, and Billy Webb gagged for the first time. It was a pure, electric, thrilling sound to Horace Timothy Taylor. Plus, it felt so fantastic. There was no need to hurry. He got to use and enjoy his plaything all weekend. He started rocking his hips, and Billy stared into his leathery-masked face.

He kept his cock towards the back of Billy’s throat and began to jab it down into his throat. He gagged several times, and some thick saliva began to drip out.  Horace didn’t care, as it was here to serve him. 

As he throat-fucked his new cocksucker, he said, “You must learn to worship me. I am everything to you. I am better than you, superior. You will learn to love me using you. It is your purpose to do these things for me. Be grateful to me. I gave you a chance to do it. Otherwise, you would be trapped in nothing.”

He continued to go at this, which made Billy Webb’s eyes tear up slightly. As one trailed down his face, Horace reached a finger down and scooped it up. He put that in his mouth, imagining he was savoring his emotions. He worked at him for twenty-three minutes before he finally began to shoot cum all into his cocksucker’s mouth.

It felt so good to Horace; he imagined seeing several spectrums of colors passing over his eyes. He said, “Ah, yeah, when you please me, I can be good to you. Swallow all that cocksucker. If you do well all weekend, you have earned a night out in the webbing. I will let you return to the lab on Monday. You are a Dimwitted Cocksucker, but you are a hard worker.”

Billy Webb was at least calming down a bit from the beer and the anxiolytic effect of the Xanax. Thank whatever higher power for that stuff.

 

Right across the street, Gly Ellyn police officer Randy Ellis was passing in front of the house where this happened. He was spotlighted on the opposite side of the street for a possible prowler call. He did not know what was happening in the basement of the house he was across from, and it would have made little difference if he had.

Satisfied, Officer Ellis turned off the spotlight and pulled away. He thought, going to be a fucking long weekend.