REAL WORLD – DREAM INC. SESSION ROOM
The simulation released.
The lights overhead dimmed up from black, soft and low, but even that was too much for her eyes.
Sera blinked.
Her breath hitched—too loud in the quiet. Her body felt heavy. Buzzing. Her skin hot.
She reached for her chest like it would help calm her heart, but all she felt was silk. Her dress was back in place. Her body untouched. No marks. No heat. Nothing but memory...
She blinked down at herself.
Her legs were still trembling
Her thighs pressed together beneath the chair. There was heat between them. Wetness.
Her breath still shaky. Her mouth—
Open. Dry. Wanting.
She looked down at her hands.
They were shaking too.
She sat up slowly, almost disoriented.
The weight in her chest wasn't dread.
It was… something else.
It wasn't like with Callahan—where she just wanted it over, where she counted down the minutes in her head, where every moan was a performance and every touch felt like she was being broken into.
This was different.
She didn't want it to stop.
She hadn't wanted to be still. She wanted to move into it.
Into him.
Whatever that sensation was—like her body had been lit from the inside—she hadn't known it could exist. She hadn't known her skin could feel that alive. That craved.
Her hand pressed against her own chest.
Her heart was racing. Not from fear.
From want.
And not for escape.
For more.
The worst part was, she didn't even know what "more" meant. She only knew that it wasn't done.
She was unfinished in a way that ached.
She stood, quiet.
Tried not to look at Ryden.
He was still in the chair, removing his headset slowly. Too composed.
She glanced once.
He didn't meet her eyes.
Didn't say a word.
His movements were smooth. Controlled. Just another completed session.
But Sera…
She felt like her whole body had been rewired.
Her dress felt too tight. Her skin too warm. She took a breath that didn't help.
The room was silent.
Just the soft whir of the cooling system and her heartbeat in her ears.
She stood up—legs weak, hips sore from tension she hadn't even noticed building.
Ryden stood slowly. Walked over.
His expression was calm. Clean. He moved with easy efficiency—no tension, no stammering, not a hint of what just happened.
He offered her his hand.
She hesitated.
Then took it.
He helped her up with quiet grace, steady and practiced. Like she was glass. Like he hadn't just made her legs tremble from the inside out.
"Session complete," he said. Neutral. Professional.
Sera didn't answer right away.
She stood, but didn't let go of his hand.
She looked up at him.
Eyes wide. Lips parted like she was about to say something—but she didn't know what.
"I…" she started.
Ryden waited.
Nothing in his face gave him away.
She let go of his hand.
Looked down.
It wasn't acting for her.
Not the way it was supposed to be.
Clients usually said something now. A polite thank-you, a compliment, something to close the curtain on the performance.
She'd seen it on the feeds:
"You were incredible."
"Thank you for the scene."
"You made me feel so real."
And Ryden always replied the same way.
Smiling, warm, never personal:
"It was a pleasure. Take care."
That's how it went.
Fantasy in. Fantasy out.
What happened in the sim stayed there.
But this?
This didn't feel like it stayed anywhere.
Sera could still feel the heat on her skin. The pulse between her legs. The pressure in her chest.
She hadn't made anything up.
She had given him a memory. And he had rewritten it.
And she didn't know how to walk away from that.
"I hope you had a good time, Miss Shaw."
Ryden nodded once. Polite. Almost kind. As he led her to the door.
"The receptionist will call your service for you," he said smoothly.
Then stepped back, giving her space.
"Take care," he said.
Like he meant it.
Like it was the only thing he could say.
And she walked past him slowly, skin still on fire.
Not looking back.
Because if she did—
She wouldn't be able to pretend it didn't matter.
The door hissed shut behind her.
Ryden stood there for a few seconds.
Still. Breath steady. Jaw locked.
Only when he was sure she was gone did he finally drop back down to his chair, slowly. Exhaled through his nose.
He ran both hands over his face. Scrubbed once, like it would shake the heat out of his system.
It didn't.
His fingers still remembered touching her.
He stared at the console for a long beat.
Then reached forward and tapped the report module.
SESSION COMPLETE – Tier C. Script Deviation Noted.
His fingers hovered over the keyboard.
He could still see her—chest rising under silk, thighs trembling, breath coming apart in his hands. That look she gave him when he stopped. Like her whole world had shifted and she didn't have the words yet.
He scrubbed a hand over his face again.
She didn't even know what that feeling was.
She was scared of it—but curious.
And fuck… he liked that.
He liked how she reacted to him.
He liked that she gasped, not from pain, but from surprise.
He liked the way her body opened up under him—not because it was scripted, but because it was new. Honest.
He liked that she didn't fake it.
And for a second—just a second—he wasn't her actor.
He was the first person to ever make her feel good.
He shifted in his chair.
Shame flushed under his skin. Not because of what he did.
Because of why he did it.
It wasn't about the performance.
It was about her.
That's the part that bent the rules.
Not the touch.
The intent.
The way her file mirrored a real trauma. The kind you don't invent. The kind that leaves marks deeper than the Dream system can track.
He'd seen trauma reenactments before.
But not like this.
Not a client who flinched when she was supposed to moan. Who froze before contact. Who braced like she was back in someone else's bed.
And not a client who melted when he eased off the script.
That's what messed with him.
She didn't just want to play victim.
She was trying to rewrite it.
And he had felt it—that trust, that soft tension rising in her when she started wanting.
That was the most dangerous part.
Not her gasping.
Not her thighs twitching under silk.
But her reaching for him, without knowing she was doing it.
He stood finally, slow. Stiff.
At the console, he keyed in the log:
SESSION COMPLETE. PARAMETER "PAIN/CONTROL" ADJUSTED MID-SIM. CLIENT DID NOT OBJECT. POST-EVALUATION REQUESTED.
He hovered over the box for a moment.
Then typed:
"Client responsive. Recommend further observation."
He hit submit.
Closed the system.
No.
He didn't break the rules.
He followed parameters. The system allowed dynamic modulation based on client response. The briefing even encouraged actors to "adjust intensity as needed for realism."
He didn't break the rules.
He went off script. That's different.
Technically.
It wasn't like he touched her in real life. Wasn't like he did anything Dream Inc. hadn't sanctioned in thousands of other simulated contracts.
Actors have sex scenes.
Actors improvise.
Actors move on.
But that didn't feel like acting.
That felt like watching someone rediscover her own body in real time.
No.
He didn't cross any lines.
He just…
Went off-script.
That's what actors do.
They find the moment.
They make it feel real.
But her voice still echoed in his head.
Breathless. Unscripted.
And worse—so did his own.
How's that for an A/B test?
He muttered under his breath.
"Fucking idiot."
Then walked out.
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SERA'S BEDROOM – LATE NIGHT
The lights were off.
The city buzzed outside, far away.
Sera lay still. Sheets tangled around her legs, her skin hot under the thin fabric of her sleep shorts.
She'd showered.
Twice.
But his touch was still there. Embedded under her skin.
The breath against her stomach.
The thumb over her nipple.
The slow, maddening pressure between her thighs that made her body want.
Not brace.
Want.
She slid her hand under the blanket.
Touched herself, hesitantly.
Tried to replicate the pace.
The way he waited.
The way he watched her.
Nothing.
She adjusted.
Slower.
Changed pressure.
Still nothing.
No build. No ache. No heartbeat between her legs like when his mouth was there.
Because it wasn't about sensation.
It was about him.
And now that she knew what it could feel like—every other touch felt wrong. Flat. Silent.
She yanked her hand back.
Threw the blanket off.
Sat up.
Breathing hard.
Confused. Embarrassed. Wanting something she didn't know how to ask for.
Wanting him.
But not the actor.
Not the contract.
Ryden.
And that scared her more than anything