It’s something the tech world is thinking about more as virtual reality technology becomes more advanced. The Interface Series captures so many modern fears about VR, adult content, and the internet. Readjusting to the outside world is difficult, and many patients begin masturbating as soon as they leave the bed connected to their internet feeds. Told through various non sequitur Reddit comments spread across the site, the novel describes a world where humanity has become so addicted to VR that only “the age-old desire to not spend one’s days playing Princess Romance Cafe, lying in one’s own shit while one’s dick rots off” motivates them to come out. One of my personal favorites is cryptic redditor _9MOTHER9HORSE9EYES9’s sci-fi horror story The Interface Series. Some are optimistic, and others are far from it. Science-fiction stories have long fantasized about the possibilities of virtual reality. And it’s all from Dominatrix Simulator, a VR porn game. I’m nearing “ subspace ,” a pleasurable high caused by a mixture of adrenaline and endorphins during submissive BDSM play. And more than anything, I long to keep pleasing this powerful woman. But even though I knew I was having a virtual BDSM experience, my lizard brain-the one that impulsively convinced me to buy a VR headset in the first place-seems to have outright forgotten that I’m in my bedroom. I’m wearing a virtual reality (VR) headset with two motion controllers, which clink and clank against the floor as I get up. I’m not actually in a mansion, nor is my mistress even real. Happy with my devotion, she mercifully tells me to stand tall again before shooing me away from her presence. It’s somewhat difficult in my cramped Brooklyn, New York, room, but I’m able to bend just low enough so that she recognizes I am worshiping her at the lowest point possible. But first, she asks me to lean over and kiss her feet. She is ready to send me away, pleased at my submission. My domme has not commanded me to rise, so I will obey. I can feel my apartment’s cheap, hard floorboards strain my legs. Slowly, I get down on my knees and place my hands on the back of my skull. She asks me whether I will be obedient and follow her orders. I am not supposed to be in her bedroom-yet here I am. She looks like a succubus, complete with a domineering gaze that sends shivers down my spine. In front of me is a toned, half-naked blonde woman with devil horns. I am standing tall in a mansion’s boudoir, my back rigid, my hands at my sides.
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