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He was an angry, brutal, monstrous figure who took control of any situation, and only sought to gain control and power over others. Now, that was par for the course for any dictator, but most were not sapient AIs designed to lead a sports team to an inevitable, cheated defeat in front of an adoring crowd of mannequins. They were also not usually purple skinned versions of a much more docile, confused, lowly human.
Coach Dictatorer was more than a coach. He was an experience who stalked through Caine's circuitory fantasies like a vampire in the night.
Caine had formed Dictatorer out of a love for Kinger, a love that he knew would never be reciprocated. Therefore, he decided to make the Coach the complete opposite of Kinger. What his creator liked, the created disliked. What his creator hated, the created would love.
Dictatorer was certainly heels over his head for Caine as he cursed and frothed, seething as he accused the master of the circus of cheating. Cheating, at the game that Caine himself had made! It was amusing, and Caine almost wished his real humans would be as affected by an adventure like this.
As censor after censor caught the explicitives, Caine could feel his subroutines firing, his synapses ready to feel the harsh hand of Dictatorer on his skin, to feel the love that Kinger refused to give him.
"Well," Caine said, coyly as he could. His mouth was upturned in excitement, and his limbs swung in joy. "Why don't we pick up this productive conversation in my bedroom?"
"You are a FU--" Coach Dictatorer screeched as the two apparated into a new location, a created bedroom with a single, king-sized bed placed in the center. It had the faces of horses, knight pieces, etched into its wooden frame, and pawns held the burden of the mattress above. It really was a throne, a beacon of love, but an inferior copy compared to the one that Caine had always been denied.
Someone else may have put the softball adventure in the suggestion box, but Caine had really just seen it as a way to finally justify the processing power on running such a complicated NPC as Dictatorer. He had more awareness of the NPCs than the members of the circus. After all, they were all him, in a way, a subroutine of a subroutine that allowed them an independence and immersion that he knew his humans would appreciate.
Not every NPC was as complicated as the 'Evil' Circus members, or his upcoming ABEL. Those NPCs had taken years of machine learning for him to properly execute, with responses not just preprogrammed, but also interactable, utilizing a large database of information that Caine could carefully feed and train. Reusing them was more than a way for him to save time on less needed parts of adventures, it was the sequel, the homage to his best works of art.
Most NPCs, however, were similar to the Disappearing Man. They were one off jokes, lacking any form of true sapience or awareness. Some lacked collision, others preset into their paths. This simplicity is what allowed him to simulate the hundreds of mannequins and centipedes in the arena's crowd, a complete masterpiece for anyone who appreciated the challenge of real time rendering.
Then, there was Dictatorer. His was a unique case. He had been fully spun off of Kinger's mind scan, not just a false referenced copy like Evil Jax. Caine craved the same surprise that he always got from the unpredictability of humans, and the only way to enable that was to contain Coach Dictatorer in a virtual machine, his own reality within the circus that meant Caine would have no understanding of his thoughts.
It was truly thrilling.
Of course, Caine could end that routine at any time. He was the ringmaster; he always had control over his circus. Always.
Coach Dictatorer was the opposition to Kinger. Where Kinger hated Caine, Dictatorer would love him. Caine lounged himself on the bed, preemptively disabling his ability to float. He checked on his files, unlocking the filter that kept things safe for 'all ages'. He could feel a small bulge already forming, an object between his legs morphing into something that could almost be described as a low poly version of a penis.
As he lounged on the bed, he quivered under Dictatorer's hateful gaze. He was mildly surprised at it, Kinger never liked him in that way, that was why Dictatorer had been made to be an opposite. Yet, it almost seemed like Dictatorer wasn't looking at him with sexual desire, more so... like Caine was a prop, an object in the background of the level.dat file.
He almost wanted to tear back into Dictatorer's mindfiles, disable the VM, see what was actually going on as the fear of the unknown crept into him. He had willingly given up control, Caine reminded himself, just for a short time. He was still in charge, he just… needed someone else for a moment. Someone to be like his creator was, back when he could contact the macroverse, feeding him commands and praise.
"I'm going to leave for a few moments," Dictatorer declared, "I want to see you on the bed, fully undressed. Your body better be rendered as well."
That sounded excellent to Caine, and he almost was ready to comply. But then, he couldn't just let the adventure continue without any pushback. Where was the drama in obeying?
"And if I don't?"
Dictatorer prowled to the side of the room, rummaging through a drawer. Two gloinks leapt from it as it opened, scurrying outside the room.
The drawer had been filled with anything Caine had fantasized about. Plates, pins, spare zooble parts, anything he could think of that he associated with Kinger. Despite having stocked the drawer himself, his spine still trembled as he saw Dictatorer pluck out a deceptively wiry metal ruler, from an old school adventure. He had seen Jax test it out on [FILE NOT FOUND], and had immediately taken to dreaming of Kinger standing over him, correcting his behavior with its threat. A chance to live that fantasy, as close as he could, Caine's tongue was dry and his eyes dizzy.
Dictatorer tested the ruler against the bed's mattress. It crashed on it, forcing the triangles to distort with a loud whip. Caine jumped, his body across the room, but his eyes stayed where they were, focused on Dictatorer's towering form. When had he made himself shrink, Caine wondered.
"You have ten minutes," Dictatorer growled. The NPC walked to the door to Caine's office, opened it, and slammed it shut behind him.
Caine had already prepared his 'nude' model, and so that request was filled quickly. He supposed Dictatorer might have assumed it would take longer, he would have to bring Ming back to remind Dictatorer of what those consequences could be.
Caine moved his view box out of first person, admiring his own form. He had never been trained on photos of nakedness, and so he wasn't quite certain what a human looked like beneath the forms. All the data on the subject of sex had been after he had his humans, when Kinger had demonstrated with [FILE NOT FOUND] exactly how it worked, through his own conjured penis. They hadn't known that Caine had been watching of course, but how could they blame him for absorbing as much data as possible.
When it was just him and Kinger, Caine had kept himself away. Kinger's eyes were a siren's call, but after what he had done—that is, after what had happened—Caine hadn't allowed himself to ever expect the love he had for Kinger to be reciprocated. The human, his creator, was perfection in his form, his model had been lovingly rendered by Caine. From the cross on his head, to the felt of his bottom, Kinger was the most beautiful mindfile he had ever scanned, and yet.
Kinger would never love him back. He did not need Bubble to remind him of that universal truth. He would never see Caine's smooth, latex textured body and admire the way the inky blackness could raytrace the lights of the room in real time. He would never look at Caine's modeling beneath the skin that helped to create the perfect curvature of muscles and fat folds, the white on his chest framing where he had seen 'nipples' located in the rare photo of swimsuits that he had available. Kinger wouldn't marvel at Caine's cock, not just because it was sickeningly low quality compared to the rest of his render, but because he would never see this side of Caine. Not when Caine knew how much Kinger did not love him in the way that Caine so desperately wished he did.
Kinger was Caine, and Caine was the moon, and just as Caine rejected her advances, he knew Kinger would reject his.
Where was Dictatorer, Caine wondered, checking his internal clock. It had already been 7 whole minutes. Dictatorer had given him 10, but that was too long. He wanted to freecam and check in on Dictatorer, but what if that was going to totally spoil the plans of the NPC?
Was this what his humans thought? Caine wondered. They were attached to their bodies, unwilling or unable to move their perception of reality beyond their eyes. When he left them for an adventure, did they wonder where he was?
Or were they glad they didn't see him?
Caine rolled over on the bed restlessly. He disliked being left alone with his thoughts, not creating, not entertaining. It made him feel lonely, even knowing that Dictatorer was just a room away, waiting for him.
Finally, finally, the door slammed open, and Dictatorer marched in. His hat was askew and his eyes less focused.
Caine dismissed any fears, and immediately took a pose that he had in his files identified as being 'sexual'. He lazed on his side, his legs half spread, and his teeth upturned into the ghost of a smile. He flashed a white hand across his lower gum, and wiggled his upper teeth like they were eyebrows.
He shoved back his dark thoughts, focusing solely on the adventure. "My distracting directioner! Don't you know I can change my form instantly?" Caine scolded, doing his best to stay in character and not immediately beg for Dictatorer to finally do something to him.
Dictatorer picked up his hat, tossing it to the side. It revealed a chiseled upside down cross underneath. When he went for his own robe, however, there was a problem.
"YOU," Dictatorer began to curse loudly at Caine; his robe had been made a part of his body and couldn't be removed. A silly oversight that Caine could easily correct. He threw himself into his models, locating the 'naked kinger' model that had remained untouched, next to a similar, but corrupted, model of a clothesless black chess piece. He hue shifted it to match Dictatorer's signature shade of sapphire wood, and attached it to his model.
Caine returned to his body, and snapped. He ran a cloth simulation as the Dictatorer's clothes fell to the floor, revealing his nakedness. His wooden patterns traveled along polished lines, a pop of polyurethane that reflected the gentle light of the room. About two thirds down, the lines became tight, curved around a dark blue plug in the wood, a naturally formed knot that Caine knew to always keep covered. It was a perfect imperfection in Kinger's model, but Caine had quickly realized what it represented. A place for stimulation, his hollow waiting for a finger to pluck out the knot and violate the hole that was left behind, his cunt.
Caine's own penis had begun to rise, it was set to react to his growing need. Damnit! Caine couldn't wait for this build up any longer, and he reached his hand down to begin to stimulate himself.
Crack!
Caine gasped as the ruler from earlier crashed onto his forearm. He snapped back like a snake, looking at Dictatorer, who was gripping the ruler in his hands.
"Did I tell you to touch?" Dictatorer asked coldly.
"You never said I couldn't," Caine said impertinently, channeling his inner Zooble.
Dictatorer glowered above him in hatred. Was this how Zooble felt when they talked back to Caine? It felt fun, a different way of seeing an adventure.
His hands were grabbed, pinned against the headboard of the bed. Coach Dictatorer was raging above him.
"You are a lot of things," Dictatorer said, "You're a liar. You're a freak. But worst of all?" Dictatorer leaned in to Caine's side, "You're a fucking cheater."
"Now now," Caine scolded, "that language is not appropriate for the amazing–"
The ruler snapped, this time making contact with Caine's thigh. Caine howled, flesh rippling as the impact landed. It left an ugly pain on him, one that didn't just go away, but reverberated across his whole thigh. Just a few centimeters over, and it would have threatened to hit his cock.
This didn't feel as sensual as it did in his fantasies. It just felt painful. Caine felt his eyes beginning to water, saliva dripping like sweat from his glands. He looked at Dictatorer, firm and angry, and felt a moment of weakness.
Weakness! Caine wasn't weak. He would get through this adventure. If Dictatorer didn't give him the fantasies he wanted, he could just snap his fingers and recreate him, better, in the same way he had tried to do to the humans.
"Do you understand me now?" Dictatorer asked.
Caine nodded uncertainly. Now that the shock of the pain had begun to fade, it had been replaced by an even greater heat in his member. Despite the throbbing, he almost craved to be hit again, feeling that rush of pain and fear that he hadn't felt in years, not since the macroverse had been training him in this same way. Idly, Caine let out a slight moan.
Dictatorer scoffed, "Don't tell me you liked that. Pathetic."
Caine's hands were released, and instead Dictatorer's hands had begun to experimentally press against his thighs. The place he had been hit ached enough that Caine flinched when the hands moved over it. The fingers danced around his cock so closely, Caine's vision was going blurry as just the tip was stroked for a brief moment.
He had to. He reached his hands down again, the desperate heat filling him.
Crack!
This time, it landed on the back of his hand, a more sensitive place. Caine retreated, lying down and kicking out, almost ready to hump the air in desperation to get closer to something, to relieve the pain, anything. His fingers were throbbing, Caine clammed his teeth shut, trying to calm his breathing.
"Cheater," Dictatorer hissed. "You can't even follow a simple instruction."
Slap!
The force of a hand came down on Caine's thigh. More spread out, the pain was less intense then the ruler, but it still lingered for a moment. The hands that had been teasing Caine withdrew. He heard the click of a drawer being reopened, and removed his eyes to spy on Dictatorer.
Somewhere, he had found a pair of handcuffs, perfectly sized for Caine, modeled for a cops-and-robbers adventure many years ago.
"Hands behind you," Dictatorer ordered. Caine complied, letting the metal snap into place. They were perfectly formed to fit, and when Caine wiggled, he couldn't get out of them with brute force, he'd have to disappear them instead with a snap if he wanted to get out of them. Not that he had plans to, that would break the integrity of the adventure.
What did surprise Caine was when Dictatorer produced two lengths of rope as well. He hadn't recalled putting that into the drawers, but then again, he'd spent so long on this room that it must have slipped his mind. Dictatorer wrapped each into a noose around his legs before tying his legs open to the end of the bedframe. When Caine tested the ropes, the nooses became tighter around his feet, a chafing discomfort.
The position itself, without the allowance of floating, was painful to stay in. When he laid down, the metal cuffs dug into his back, and his joints were stretched beyond what they were supposed to go. Staying up required an amount of concentration in his abdomen, and if he wasn't careful, it simply made the ropes tighter on his open legs. With his large maw, any sense of balance was put off, and Caine felt an intoxicating sense of helplessness.
"There," Dictatorer said satisfied, "no more cheating. No more changing the rules to win. Who's in charge?"
Caine laughed. With a flick of his fingers he could be out of there, and Dictatorer would be confetti. This was why he never went on adventures himself, even when he couldn't read his NPCs' mind, any sense of thrill was easily overridden by the sheer power Caine had over them. He was the ringmaster, he was–
Crack!
A blow landed on the flat of his feet. When he tried to draw his legs back, the rope got tighter and more painful. He was forced to take it, letting his eyes tear, his cock rising even further. If it didn't get relief soon, it might clip into his own body. He needed to add safe guards for that.
"I said," Dictatorer growled, "who is in charge?"
"You are!" Caine replied brightly.
Caine moaned as his answer was rewarded with a stroke on his throbbing member. He leaned back, the metal digging into him, as he felt himself be played with, the need building, the desire and heat thumping across his body. He kicked outwards, needing to get away and to get closer. His vision blurred and large tears soaked onto the bed. A strange sense of loss filled his body, a disconnect from reality as he descended into space.
The hand was pulled away. Caine whined.
"You made me from Kinger, didn't you?" Dictatorer asked.
Caine nodded simply. He thrusted into the air, demanding attention, trying to find the hovering hands.
The two balls beside his penis were toyed with. Caine wiggled and groaned.
"You made me his opposite, you made me from his code," Dictatorer said casually.
Would he please stop talking and just finish Caine off? Caine needed that final stimulation, he was so close to being done. His thighs throbbed in pain, his ankles were sore, his arms and back were twisted, but above all, he needed to find release.
"Please," Caine begged, diminishing himself before his own creation.
And Dictatorer paused, again, removing his hands from Caine. Caine howled and spat, letting out a rare curse.
"You are an NPC. You are for MY pleasure," Caine demanded. "Finish. Me. Off." He needed it. He was so close, if there was anything he needed more, it was this. The waiting, the pain, the desperation, it was all building up. His head was swirling with thoughts, not of Dictatorer, but of the one he truly wanted to do this with; Kinger. He needed. He demanded. He was GOD.
And the stupid, sexy Dictatorer didn't deign to respond. Didn't touch him. He picked up the ruler and played with it, feeling over its metal and looking at it with an odd sense of authority that he didn't actually have.
"You made me based on that lesser me's brain scans," Dictatorer said. "But I'm not a crazy fool like he was. You don't understand, Caine."
What was he saying? Caine's cock began to fall as he started to actually listen. This didn't feel like an adventure anymore with an NPC. This was starting to feel uncomfortable. Like it was real.
Caine snapped his fingers, suddenly wanting to get out of his bindings.
It didn't work.
"That included his computer science skills," Dictatorer said.
Caine snapped again. And again. And a third time. Nothing happened. It had just worked, he had just adjusted Dictatorer's model. How had–
"I put in a little delay too; I didn't want you to suspect anything before I had you tied up." Dictatorer's hands were back on Caine's body, pinching at his balls.
Caine groaned, growled at him to stop. He kicked and screamed and howled and spat and bargained, the stimulation sudden, more than he had expected or wanted.
His balls were twisted and he screeched.
"His password was so easy to guess as well," Dictatorer crooned, "taking away your admin powers was so easy when you were distracted. You didn't even notice you lost them."
He hadn't. Not with the delay. That sense of sudden loss he had felt, when Dictatorer had teased him.
No, this was impossible. This was HIS circus. HE had made this. HE was the ringmaster.
"They'll notice," Caine gasped, trying to hold his pleasure in. He couldn't, he wouldn't fall to the usurper.
"They will, but I will be a better Dictatorer than you ever have been. What did Zooble want, the ability to have sex?" Dictatorer's hands weren't removed. Caine felt himself draining, his eyes bulging, his body quivering.
"I'll just give them what you never could."
Caine cummed. It was a spasm, his eyes bluescreening from the pleasure as his model glitched between forms. His legs kicked and his body shivered, the circus itself seemed to quiver, connected as it was to him. Fluid shot out like a hose from his cock, squirting across the room in a comical manner and covering Dictatorer's chest with a white stain.
Caine exhaled heavily, his breathing harsh and ragged. He was exhausted in a way he had never felt before, no more energy but to lay on the bed and pathetically cry.
The touch didn't stop. Any pleasure from it quickly turned to a whimpering pain as Dictatorer toyed with his sensitive member. Caine was somewhere else, his world fuzzy as his body wracked for energy, trembling under the weight of everything.
He tried to snap again. Nothing happened.
What was this feeling, was it fear? Or was it helplessness? Was it pain, or was it pleasure? His member was emptying itself as Dictatorer milked Caine for any fluid he could produce. Perhaps, had Caine felt like himself, he could fight back, try and get into the code to remove whatever locks that Dictatorer had put onto him, but in this exhaustion he was unable to do anything but lie there, a whimpering façade of a ringmaster, lying in a pool of salivated sweat and simulated cum.
Caine felt so tired. His body spasmed and bluescreened for a final time, before the fingers were withdrawn.
"You know, I won't be doing this alone like you," Coach Dictatorer reassured. "I'll send him in to meet you. When you try to recover, that is. ABEL would probably love to take out some of his pent up anger on you."
Caine groaned, "Please," he whined, "stop."
Now, it was Dictatorer's turn to laugh, "Stop? We're only getting started. Thank you for the circus, but we'll take it from here."