The room glowed in brief flashes of green, blue, and a faint white, the twin flat-panel monitors casting light into the otherwise dark room. Her face was motionless, but her eyes were not, darting from screen to screen as her fingers moved in a flurry on the keyboard. The hum of the two power-hungry computers beneath her desk filled the room, broken only by the hurried clatter of the keyboard. A half-empty coffee mug sat on the otherwise clear desk surface, the coffee long since cooled to room temperature. Bleary, wide eyes continued to pore over the code, line after line of complex function calls and nested methods.

She stopped only to check the clock. She had six hours left until she would have to stand before her professors and not only defend her project, but prove that the generous research funding had gone to good use. This was no longer a showcase of whitepapers, theories, or proof-of-concept works. She needed something substantial to show them. And so her fingers resumed their positions and she clattered away at the keys.

Victoria had a lot to prove, not only the youngest graduate of the university’s computer science program, but the first female graduate with the highest GPA, going for her master’s degree. It was easy for the other student to say she wasn’t the “right type,” or “nerdy” enough. Yet she would produce remarkable code, solve countless computing problems, and excel in all her classes. She met every effort with success, each more ambitious than the last. And it was a string of victories; until this one.

A database’s primary function is to retain data. And a good database will make it very easy to access the data. She’d gone much further than that. By using sophisticated algorithms, her databases were so fast they almost could predict what data you wanted. And with several lofty job offers waiting for her, she set even higher goals. Yet her project description was intentionally vague. “Rapid database access and intelligent interaction” was an abstract title to the professors who quizzically examined her introduction paper. To her, it meant she was going to map her brain.

It took the better part of six months, and endless trial-and-error before she got the database right. And then after that, three days of being connected to a machine designed to scan her brainwave patterns, day and night. After the contents of her brain (theoretically) were captured in the database, she had to make it do something, anything.

She finished typing and hit the button to begin the program. It was something she went through many times – she would wear the specially designed headband, the program would try to run, and via specially targeted magnetic impulses, she would access the data in her saved brain.

The headband fit snug, and she waited. The program’s routines had initialized, and she was waiting for something; anything. No errors showed up on screen, no diagnostic messages, nothing. And she sat in the dark, waiting.

Suddenly, she found herself lifting her head off the desk. It took a moment, maybe two, to get her bearings. She saw the screen in front of her, she felt the headband on her head. She rubbed her eyes and looked at the screen. The program’s window sat there, idle, the same as it had been before. The lack of sleep was finally getting to her. She needed a break.

The desk drawer held some caffeine pills, and she reached for it without looking. Reaching in, her hand bumped clumsily against the contents as she fished for the small bottle. Her hands brushed against something cold and smooth. Her fingers went past it, and then back to it. She grasped the object and brought it out of the drawer. It was her vibrator.

The chrome reflected the light cast by the monitors. She held it in one hand, and stroked it longingly with the other. And then, in a flash, she felt herself grow wet. Reaching down into her sweatpants, she found her panties suddenly damp.

Without warning, the screen began flashing codes, numbers, letters; a garbled mess washed across the window. And she felt her eyes widen.

It hit her body like a sudden jolt. More intense than a dream, more real than a flashback, she found herself in the backseat of her second boyfriend’s car. She felt his lips, his hands. She could smell his cheap cologne, mixed in with… popcorn? Yes, the movie theater. And then, yes, his hands wandering, between her thighs, rubbing her through the denim.

She sighed heavily then, and she sighed heavily now.

The code continued to scroll across the screen, and then, a blank again. She was suddenly back in the chair, her shorts around her ankles, her shirt pulled up to her chin leaving her breasts exposed. She was able to blink once and look around, at her own half naked body before the screen filled up again.

This time it was dark. She was lying, she felt something warm, next to her – no, on her, and between her thighs – another past lover, yes, she remembered him, with the curly brown hair. And suddenly she felt warmth slide right over her clit. Her hips shook. Yes, he was so in love with licking her pussy, and her hands went right to the head of curly hair and grasped it tight. The tongue flicking her clit before parting the lips and licking its way up her pussy. She cried out. The hot breath from his nose swirling on the sensitive skin on the insides of her thighs. The wet tongue he used to torture her pussy before fingering her. The fingers slamming in her pussy making lewd noises before his cock would finish her off.

She moaned as it seemed all three things, tongue, fingers, and cock, were on her pussy at the same time.

The screen cleared and went blank again. She was panting, her mouth dry. The panties were pushed to the side and her fingers were slick, lodged between her soft lips. Her other hand was on her breast, nipple between knuckles. She caught herself looking at the vibrator on the desk.

The code poured again on the screen, and she felt herself awash with memories. The images flashed before her eyes, playing only for an instant before melting into another memory. The bed, the flannel sheets. She gripped them tightly; she felt her arms tense and tighten. Looking down she saw his cock pushing its way deep into her. He was the older man, the one her girlfriends were jealous of as they exchanged hushed whispers at the bar. He was both gentler and rougher than her other lovers. He knew what he was doing, and taught her what felt good, both for him, and for her. He taught her to turn over and be fucked from behind, he taught her to clench her thighs together, to flex the muscles in her pussy as he would stand still with his cock deep in her. And at times, he would just fuck her without saying a word, his eyes dark and his passion burning.

He would slam himself deeper than any other man she fucked, and it scared her at first – she learned that she liked it. That she wanted desperately to feel his cock as deep as it could go, his pelvis pushing up and against her clit. Or was it his balls, swaying as he gripped her hips with both hands and stared down her bare back.

She swirled around the feeling of his cock penetrating her. Again. And maybe it wasn’t him, but the first boy she kissed in high school. Again. Was it that cute freckled boy she would bump into in the mall? Again. Her first boyfriend, who clumsily kissed and groped his way all over her body. Again. The older man. Again. The younger man. Again. She was fucked by them all, together, apart, individually, and at once. And she came, body slumped in the soaked seat of the chair, with her left leg folded back with the heel of her foot holding the vibrator deep in her pussy, her hands at her nipples, her mouth agape.

The screens went blank, no longer scrolling code endlessly. The room too, went quiet, save for the vibrator, which continued to hum, joining the droning sound of the computers under the desk, until finally, some time in the morning, the batteries ran out.

Many thanks to Z, who may not realize it, but did come up with the idea behind this story.