The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Soma

“You two have fun,” Soma said as Eidolon and Koritsu, formerly Synapse, stepped out of her control room in the basement of the warehouse. The whole building was Koritsu’s design. They brought in contractors over the past few weeks so that the abandoned warehouse could become the perfect trap for Aurora Flight. Koritsu had her rooms, but Soma only needed one. Soundproof. Nearly indestructible. Cut off from the world. She was in her own universe. No cameras. No monitors. No speakers. No microphones. Nothing but her chair.

Koritsu would be her eyes and ears tonight.

When the door was closed and locked, Soma stood before her great and comfortable lounge chair and stretched slowly. She let her languid body go tight and relax, tight and relax, tight and relax. She wouldn’t be expending her power until later in the evening, but it wasn’t exertion she was worried about.

The people of Neoros are omnisexual, as she had told Koritsu before. And while she had cum plenty on this planet, most of that was simply the mechanics of domination. It was work. She was a conqueror, after all, so claiming minds and planets was what she did. But few people were truly aroused by going through the motions of their vocations. Soma could not honestly say that anything Gretchen, Lin, Maggie, or anything the other girls had done to her or for her truly turned her on.

But tonight? Tonight would be different.

Soma peeled off her leather jacket and tossed it to the floor. Her bra — a cruel human torture device — came off next with a sigh of relief. Then her boots, her socks, and her pants. Finally naked, she stretched once more, this time working more than her body. She checked into Eidolon’s mind and sensed the rage and lust burning in the gaunt girl’s body. Eidolon was a pleasant surprise that Koritsu had found, and while Soma thought it was a needless risk to involve a human or to agree to let that human free, it was Koritsu’s mistake to make. When the planet was conquered, Soma would find Eidolon herself and break her or kill her. It didn’t matter. The people of Neoros did not leave a single mind unleashed when they took a planet. And Soma could not leave until Earth belonged to Koritsu entirely.

She had enjoyed the Eidolon’s furtive glances and nervous energy when they finally met. They didn’t have much time to talk — Koritsu had left a fun message in Soma’s name and now Aurora Flight was on their way. But Eidolon had so many questions she wanted to ask Soma. The alien could feel them burning under the ghost-girl’s skin. But they were clouded by an overwhelming lust. Eidolon simultaneously wanted to fall to her knees in front of Soma and kill Soma for making her feel weak and trapped.

Soma quite liked her.

But that would wait. She could plan how to break the human once the world was taken. For now, they had one major obstacle in front of them: Aurora Flight. Four super-powered humans that believed they were here to save Eidolon and Koritsu, but by the end of the night they would be slobbering and begging both women to fuck them hard and dirty. They would devote themselves to their new mistresses — their new goddesses — and then Koritsu would have her first lieutenants. They would be her foothold into claiming the entire planet.

Soma left Eidolon’s body and plunged into Koritsu’s mind. She was delicate to try and not warn her apprentice of her presence. Compared to the rage and lust of Eidolon, Koritsu was a cool and calm pool of still water. She was running through her plans, double checking her traps and games, but there wasn’t a speck of nervousness in her body. She knew what she had to do. She knew how she was going to do it. All that was left now was to execute.

Soma sat in her lush armchair and permitted herself one wicked smile before closing her eyes. She saw through Koritsu’s eyes. Felt through Koritsu’s skin. Heard with Koritsu’s ears. And as Koritsu checked the room designed for Korporeal, the shapeshifter, the alarm went off letting them know that Aurora Flight was here. Soma’s fingers reached for her damp and aching pussy as she enjoyed the show she had been orchestrating for months.

This? This was what actually turned her on.

Korporeal

“We’re not splitting up this time,” Io said over the comms. I had already checked the warehouse as a bird and circled it as a mouse. There were no obvious holes in it, no way to sneak through. There was one door. Everything else was airtight.

“You coming in?” Surya asked. I could hear the nerves in her voice. Fuck, we were all nervous. We had fought a lot of bad ladies in our time, but this one had already taken two of our own. She had beaten us at least twice, but we were suspecting she’d been behind even more than that.

But more than anything, all of us except Io couldn’t forget what she did to us last time. I was happy to be in the body of a fly buzzing around the warehouse and trying not to be detected. If I was in my human form, I doubt I could have kept my hands away from my pussy.

“I have to,” Io said. “The entire thing is cut off from me. It looks like there might be one room with real technology to access, but it’s deep underground and on its own internal system. If I want to jack into that, I have to be inside.”

“But together?” Bastille asked. I couldn’t tell if she was hopeful or nervous. Maybe she and Surya were just like me, wondering if it was possible to go in one at a time so we could all get a turn with the blue-haired woman — Soma, as we’d learned her name was. I imagined most people would pay top dollar for some time alone with her, and we were going to give that up?

“It’s the only way to save ’Lon and Synapse.”

Right. The job. Focus, Kori. You’re here to save lives, not get plowed like a stupid slut again.

I buzzed around the warehouse as Io landed the hover jet. Io, Surya, and Bastille came out, all of them looking nervous. Io’s short and tight black curls were in a cute little afro while her almost entirely white suit was zipped up the front. I always admired how the darkness of her skin contrasted with the starchy white of her suit. In some of our meetings, ’Lon would bitch that Io’s suit was never practical for missions — it wasn’t subtle or stealthy. But the team agreed she looked damn good in it, and sometimes the post-mission photo-op did more for us than making the missions easier. Though that wasn’t something ’Lon ever really understood.

Bastille was in her dark gray suit that gave off some battle-armor motifs with metal plates on her shoulders and over her torso. The armor wasn’t necessary as it was her skin that stopped bullets more than anything. And though she was destructible, her suit was not. So to save costs, we went with cheap materials for her, and she would go through one with almost every mission. Her beautiful and luscious blonde hair was up in a tight and professional bun, and her blue eyes gleamed when the lights of the Warehouse District caught them.

Surya was the last of them, and if ’Lon thought Io’s suit was more fashion than practicality, then she had a whole lot to fucking say about Surya’s suit. It was more of a fiery-orange and red bikini than a super-suit, which was fine because Surya looked more like an Indian lingerie model than she did a super-hero. Most of her choices were allegedly because her skin grew unbearably hot blasting things with the heat of the sun, but she knew how to press her tits and ass out whenever cameras came clicking around. Her thick black hair was in a high ponytail to keep it off her neck and ideally prevent it from burning — though Surya never said officially if her powers did burn her or not. The only thing inhuman about her looks — besides the freakish perfection of her tight body coupled with killer curves — was her bright orange eyes.

And me? Well, no one really bothered suiting me up. I could make clothes appear as I changed my shape, and I had a simple suit if I needed the Aurora Flight badge to show off or for photo shoots. I had a slutty suit in case someone who wanted to fuck me had a kink about fucking a super-hero. I could have whatever I want. But on a job like this, I was mostly going to stick to animal forms, so clothing wasn’t paramount. Though of course, I could always put a sweater on this little fly if I wanted to. I just doubt anyone would appreciate it.

“You’re buzzing loudly,” Io said when the team finally reached me.

Not as loudly as your talking, I thought through the comms.

Io rolled her eyes. “Can’t you pick something quieter?”

I rolled all of my fly eyes back at her. I wished I could say the nerves were making Io catty. The fact was she was always a bitch, no matter how nervous she was. I flew in her direction, picked up momentum, and then turned into a tarantula. Still flying towards her, I landed all eight of my hairy legs on her shoulder. She didn’t shriek, but her entire body tensed as I got comfortable.

Better? I thought.

“Fuck you,” Io said. “You know I hate —”

“We don’t have time for this,” Surya whispered (though it sounded more like a hiss). “We only have forty-seven more minutes.”

“Plan?” Bastille asked.

“Kori first,” Io said. “We back her up. Me in back.”

“Me in back,” Surya said. “If they came from behind, you couldn’t —”

“We need your light,” Io said.

That will give us away, I thought.

“Let me be the back,” Bastille said.

“You’re our tank,” Io snapped.

And on we went. Of our forty-seven remaining minutes, we wasted five of them bickering about the order. Though personally, I didn’t need to stress about it. I was going first. If ’Lon was here, she would go first as she could be practically invisible. But no one notices a fly or a spider creeping through their secret warehouse base. So though I would be slow (due to tiny bug limbs), I would be the scout. We settled on Surya in the back because she can take a punch and can even warn us with a light if they got her mouth or knocked her out. Bastille in front to take any traps. Io in the middle because she was a relatively useless and squishy bitch until we found computers for her to play with.

Bastille handled the huge and singular door to the warehouse. Then she stepped aside and let me buzz right in. Now, I don’t have time to explain how fly vision works — and honestly, I’m not a zoologist, though that would have been more useful than my modeling career — but they don’t have perfect night vision. My options were limited when it came to something that was practically invisible, saw perfectly in the dark, and didn’t creep out Io. So I buzzed along in the general gloom as we found that Io was right — there was practically no power in this building at all.

I had been braced for something like the last few bases we had busted. Something abandoned, cold, and vaguely industrial. Most super villains seemed to hire the same decorator, so we weren’t expecting a lot of variety in an old warehouse. But Soma had clearly been planning this for a long time as this warehouse felt more like someone had redesigned an old carnival fun house or made a haunted mansion or corn maze for Halloween.

This, of course, did nothing to calm our nerves.

This is fucked up, I thought over the comms. But the rest of the team said nothing, not wanting to give us away. Io used the faint glow of repeated electromagnetic pulses to let the others see, but I was way ahead of them, trying to find traps or corridors in the dark. It should be known that looking thoroughly for a trap is hard for a fly. We’re tiny, and what a human body can search in ten seconds, a fly body will need a minute or ten.

The way splits into three up here. I held my little fly breath. This was the part in horror movies when the morons suggest splitting up. Now, we weren’t a bunch of stupid and horny teenagers in your classic horror movie. We were, however, a bunch of horny superheroes all hoping to find Soma first — and alone.

“Let’s split up,” Bastille whispered.

Io shook her head. “Not again.”

“We can’t check each path,” Bastille said. “Time is of the essence. Isn’t that right, Surya?” She nudged the Indian sun goddess with her elbow.

“What? Huh? Um …” She looked at me, and I turned back into a beautiful and slutty blonde in an all leather catsuit. I nodded at her. She took a deep breath. We all knew why we were here. Maybe Io was the only one here trying to only save Synapse and ’Lon.

“It’s okay,” I mouthed. This was it. We had been going through the motions of the hero business so far. But this would be the moment of no return. The final threshold. I grabbed her hand, and Bastille grabbed the other. In the end — in our last moments — our team became a sisterhood. We didn’t approve, but we understood. We didn’t like it, but we accepted it. And if we were going to walk into the dark, we would go together — and by that, I mean alone. How else would the darkness find us?

“Yeah.” Surya nodded slowly before turning to Io. “Let’s split up.”

“I’ll go with Surya,” Bastille said.

“That’s too much power in one place,” Io said.

But Bastille and Surya were already taking the right path. “No time to debate,” Bastille shouted back.

“Keep your voice down!” Io hissed after them.

“Will do!” Surya shouted back. And before they slipped into the darkness and out of our eyesight, laughing together like schoolgirls, Bastille slipped her hand into Surya’s. Surya gripped it tight and let a little bit of burning white light glow between them.

And I think I heard Bastille let out a whimpering moan before they faded away.

“Those two are going to get Synapse killed,” Io muttered to herself.

“And ’Lon,” I said. “Don’t forget about ’Lon.”

Io let the blue light on her hands glow brighter. “Yeah, whatever,” she said. “Which do you want, straight or left?”

“Well, I never wanted the straight path,” I said. It was an old joke, but I could never resist making it. Besides, it always made me smile, and I could use anything to help settle my nerves.

“Be careful,” Io said. “I … uh …”

“Hey, are you okay?” Her hands were shaking, making the blue light she gave off vibrate over the walls like a cheap and lame club where I would definitely fuck in the bathroom.

“Uh … yeah.” Though her voice betrayed her.

“Just call me on the comms if anything happens. I’m the fastest of all three.”

“Don’t get lost.”

I tapped my nose and let it change into an elephant’s trunk. “An elephant never forgets.”

Io let out a chuckle. “Sure.”

“Listen, I know you’re the weakest of us four, and if this Soma lady comes for you, there won’t be much you’ll be able to do it —”

“Is this supposed to make me feel better? Jesus. Worst pep talk —”

“It’s okay to just let it happen,” I said.

“Excuse me?” She stepped back away from me like I was about to explode. “What did you just say?”

“We know she doesn’t want to kill any of us,” I said. “Just let it happen. Worst case scenario, we’ll free you as soon as we find you.”

“What if by splitting us up she’s —”

“Time is really of the essence,” I said. “Let’s go.” I headed down the path to the left without looking at her. Io was the only one of us who hadn’t been compromised last time we went after Soma. And honestly, the girl could use a good fucking. And what I said was true. We were already going to have to un-brainwash ’Lon and Synapse — assuming any of us wanted to un-brainwash anyone else. What would be one more member of Aurora Flight to un-brainwash?

And that was the thought I clung to as I maneuvered through the dark corridors with no light. How bad would it be if one more member of Aurora Flight joined Soma? My body was back in that bunker weeks ago, finding a beautiful blue-haired hostage, feeling her hands on her thighs, sinking into her words, changing shapes as she fucked me harder than I’d ever been fucked before.

“Fuck,” I sighed. I knew I should have been afraid. Even to give into a villain, to lose control again, on some level, I should have been petrified. But it felt like I was high. My whole body was fuzzy and tingly. All it could think about was the pleasant memory of being defeated by Soma last time.

How bad would it be if one more member of Aurora Flight joined Soma?

I gave myself some cat eyes to better see in the dark, but I didn’t want to be in some insect’s body at this point. When I say my classic slutty blonde, you need to think of every Instagram influencer with the tiny waist, tight abs, freakish ass that was probably implants, and impressive breasts (because they are always showing off impressive cleavage) that is probably fake too. Hair that takes half the day and makeup that takes the other half. And it’s probably too much goddamn product all over the place. But me? It’s all ‘real.’ And instant. Wave and thick blonde curls in an instant. Tight leather catsuit with heeled boots — the kind of heel I could use to rob a bank if I needed to.

And yes, I left the zipper far down below my tits to show off my impressive tits.

“Catsuit and cat eyes,” I said to myself as I rounded another corner. The halls felt impossibly long. I must have wandered around the warehouse seven times. I wasn’t going slow anymore. No. If there was a trap, I was eager to let it find me. Though I did do plenty of sloping downwards, which made me terrified that I was going underground. How deep did this place go? I mean, fuck, if I was going to have to go for a hike, I would not have chosen these goddamn and killer heels. I would have —

The darkness cleared up ahead into several points of tiny and blurry light. As I approached, I could see that the hallway was opening up into a larger room, and not one I could choose or not choose to enter. The only option was to turn back, and there was no way I was going to turn back.

The blurry lights became brighter and sharper as I approached, like stars in the dark showing their true form as you look at them through a telescope. I let my cat eyes adjust as more and more light washed over me and my slutty catsuit. There seemed to be dozens of lights, but some were hiding behind others, like there were sheets behind them. There could have been hundreds. The lights were on the floor and pointing up, but something was off about them. They didn’t shine in a cone like most beams of light. Something was twisting them on their way up and —

Mirrors. The lights were in front of mirrors. Dozens of them. Maybe more. Each set up all around me like a maze, and each of them with their own set of lights to show off what they reflected without blinding me.

I fucking hated mirrors.

I was the girl who could be anything and anyone, but something about mirrors just … “Fuck,” I hissed as I approached the maze. I didn’t know how this Soma bitch knew I would go left, and I definitely didn’t know how she knew I hated mirrors. Maybe she didn’t. Maybe this wasn’t for me. But I felt certain it was made for me. My body tingled as I stepped out of the hallway and into the small entrance to the maze. The walls were lined with mirrors, and as I stepped in front of them, a beam of light turned on above me. Suddenly, I was surrounded by dozens of copies of slutty and blonde me in a catsuit. Each one of them looked terrified and confused. Each one of them looked fake. I could always see the flaws in my forms, even if others couldn’t. The tits were too big. The eyes were too dark. The hips didn’t flare enough. I was playing dress up at being a real girl.

And the buzzing all over my body wouldn’t stop.

I approached one of the mirrors and edited my body as I did. Fixed the tits and eyes. Flared the hips and plumped the lips. I plumped them too much, so I had to cut back. I could never find the balance between flawless Angelina Jolie lips and some forty-year-old mom going through a midlife crisis that injected too much lip filler. I could spend hours tinkering, trying to get it right, trying to pass as someone else. That’s why I hated mirrors.

I decided I couldn’t spend all day trying to look perfect and moved on into the maze. I passed row upon row of copies of myself. I knew I should have turned into something safer than a blonde sex bomb. A gorilla, probably. But I didn’t want to walk past dozens of gorillas. Looking at myself while an animal was much more triggering than seeing the flaws in my human form. Besides, I had already chosen the dangerous path: I’d gone alone in heels I could barely run in. This was obviously a trap. Soma would have the jump on me, and I’d made peace with that.

In fact, I had been hoping for it.

The maze didn’t split into different directions. It was more of a labyrinth than a maze, winding and circling towards some destination I couldn’t see. The eyes of dozens of nervous Korporeals followed me as I went. Their glances danced back and forth along the corridors, when all I wanted was one of them to tell me things were going to be okay. I needed one of them to be brave, to say that I wasn’t throwing away my life because I was horny.

But god, I was fucking horny.

The tingling that ran along my skin had turned into a full-blown buzzing like someone had a vibrator against my nipples and clit. Well, maybe not like that. If that had been the case, I’d be on the floor and touching myself. But it made me wish I had a vibrator. It made me wish Soma would find me sprawled on the floor with my catsuit ripped to shreds, legs spread, and a vibrator between my legs. I’d be embarrassed, but no more embarrassed than watching all the copies of myself as I walked through the maze. My life could be in mortal danger, and all I could focus on was how I had made the ass too big. I looked like a dozen warnings against plastic surgery, not some sex bomb.

I rounded the corner and froze as the maze changed dramatically. This time I wasn’t facing a dozen poorly rendered sex bombs. I was looking at me but not me. Dozens of copies of myself — all the different forms I’d ever taken. A beautiful pale skinned girl with dark-brown and curly hair with full red lips and an elegant nose that was a bit too small. A dark-skinned and bald woman with a nose-ring and large, captivating eyes and ears that were too big. A beautiful and curvy Latina woman with long and silky black hair and rich purple lips but her eyelashes looked fake and cheap.

It was a hallway of my failures. I moved through it quickly, trying not to focus on them. It was a gallery of my inadequacy. Not just my failures as an artist to create beautiful and flawless bodies, but my failure as a person to be beautiful myself. Even with all the power I had — perfect body change, clothing change, language acquisition, posture, culture, makeup — I couldn’t get it right. I couldn’t make a person without a flaw. And these forms were a monument to my weakness. It was all the forms I had taken to hide from my —

There I was.

There I was.

At the end of the hallway was one mirror standing by itself in a darkened room. The end of the maze. The time to face myself. A mousy Korean girl with almond shaped eyes and pale skin. She looked frail and weak; I looked frail and weak. I guess I was. With my small breasts and lack of hips. People thought I looked like a boy. And my student pageboy haircut that I thought was so hip didn’t help. I was a sick girl. Asthma. Always getting strep throat. Getting the flu two or three times a year, even after getting the vaccine each year. I spent half my childhood in bed watching shitty TV. America’s Next Top Model. Project Runway. Even though she was adult-me, she was wearing an oversized version of my middle-school uniform — a brown and white plaid jumper that looked good on absolutely no one.

But as I looked at her sad and pathetic face, all the dread in my body faded. I was suddenly flooded with a serene and overwhelming peace. For all of her flaws, none of them were my fault. Even the haircut was something my mother forced on me more than something I did to myself. Unlike the blonde bimbo I was wearing, little Kori was innocent. She didn’t make herself. But the flaws in the blonde were my fault. I couldn’t make an ass the right size, the ones I saw on American’s Next Top Model and Project Runway.

I smiled, and she smiled back. As I stepped closer, I let all my pretenses fall away. With each step I was no longer white, no longer blonde, no longer tall, no longer in a catsuit. By the time I was close enough to touch her, I imagined I was her spitting image, though I kept my Aurora Flight suit instead of the cringy jumper.

The buzzing over my clit and nipples spread over my whole body. It wasn’t like a vibrator. It was like fingertips. It was like sunlight. It was the warmth of the universe, holding me and telling me everything was going to be okay.

Everything is going to be okay. My reflection’s lips moved, mouthing the words, but I heard it in my head. In her voice — our voice.

“Everything is going to be okay,” I said back. She lifted a hand against the glass of the mirror, and I stepped closer, pressing my hand against hers.

But I didn’t feel mirror.

I didn’t feel glass.

I felt skin.

Her skin.

My skin.

She smiled as she sensed my touch, and I smiled back, chuckling to myself with delight. I tried to curl my fingers and grab her hand, but I couldn’t. There was still something between us. But there was skin there. She wasn’t just a reflection. She was me. Me. In the glass.

“Are you trapped?” I said to her. She mouthed the words back to me, but no sound came out.

“I think I am,” I said in response to her question — my question. I tried not to worry about the insanity of it all.

“Me too,” I said and giggled as she said it back to me. She was nervous and a little gawky, but there was still something irrevocably sweet about her. Something tender and innocent that I wanted to protect. It’s like she was in body, but not in mind. She hadn’t walked through the hall of her failures — both her failure to be perfect and her failure to be confident.

I felt a sudden surge of love for her. One I hadn’t been able to manage my whole life. And as I ached to hold her, to hug her and tell her how proud of her I am, I raged at the glass keeping us apart, the mirror keeping me from myself.

And then, like an echo taking days to bounce back to my ears, the lust returned to me. The throbbing need between my legs as I walked through the hall of mirrors transformed. This wasn’t the “OMG what a hot fucking guy, I want him to split me in two” kind of lust. This was the “I want to hold her and kiss every part of her body” kind of lust.

The thought cut through me clear and clean. I didn’t hesitate. If her fingertips were real, then so was the rest of her skin. I could kiss every part of her skin. I leaned forward and gently pressed my lips against the glass of the mirror, and she pressed her lips against mine. But it wasn’t glass. It wasn’t a mirror. It was flesh. It was soft and sensual. It was wet and hungry. It was lips. It was a kiss. A real kiss. Every part of my body knew. Her body knew. We knew. The kind of kiss that sends sparks through every inch of your body. The first kiss with a love long unrequited. The hunger of being unable to keep your lips off a body. The fiery kiss of trying to devour the other person. The gentle kiss of whispering without air, of praying without words.

And both of us moaned into it.

The glass fogged up, but I didn’t need to see her anymore. I felt her lips on mine. I felt her hand against mine. I knew my body, and it knew me. We pressed against the glass hard, and I shifted as I moved, matching her body, naked and vulnerable. My breasts pressed against her. My nipples against her. My piercings against hers.

And if the kiss was sparks, the piercings rubbing against each other was lightning. It was standing at the center of an electrical storm and holding up a lightning rod, drinking in each volt the way Surya drank in the sun. Our moans became shrieks, and I wanted more. I wanted to feel her everywhere. Not just lips against lips or tits against tits. I wanted to lick her neck, but it wouldn’t press against the glass. I wanted to feel her inside me, but I couldn’t break through the mirror. I wanted to taste her cunt — almost certainly dripping like mine — but I couldn’t sink to my knees without her doing the same.

“Please,” we said to each other, praying to the only woman who could hear us and the only one who couldn’t help. “Please, I need it,” she said to me. And I knew what she meant, what she needed. I sank to my knees, and I expected her to mimic me. I expected us to kiss each other all the way down to our knees and then cry out then no glistening pussy was in front of our eager lips.

But instead, she shifted again to a form I didn’t recognize. Tan skin and lithe legs in stunning black heels with sharp points. And now in front of me wasn’t my own eager pussy, but a smooth pussy with faint blue hairs adorning it.

Cobalt blue.

But my brain was subdued by my need, and my body knew exactly what to do. It made sense to me. I had chosen the form of the blue-haired woman — Soma. I wanted her. I needed her. No one had taken me like her. No one had broken me. And now she was healing me. She was taking me back to my real body. Not just the shy little girl that was lanky and flat. But her. My true form was found in her.

“Yes,” she said to me, and I felt someone reaching out and stroking my hair. “Your true form is me.”

I purred and pressed my head against her thigh, eager to be buried in her pussy, but not wanting to rush it. Not wanting to scare off the nervous and shy version of myself. She needed to be disguised as Soma. She needed to still play dress up to make love to herself.

But as I pressed my head against her thigh, I felt the weight of a head against my own thigh. But it didn’t match the mirror — I checked. There was no one there. In fact, there was no mirror at all. My Soma-self had stepped out of the glass and now she was with me. The fog of our kiss — of our moan — had granted our wish and removed the barrier between us. Now there was nothing left but each other.

“Make love to yourself,” she whispered to me. And I was too eager to obey. I had taken countless people to bed, but never a lover. Never myself. Never like this. Never in the dark when my appearance didn’t matter. Never in front of a maze of mirrors when all that mattered was my appearance.

I glanced around us and saw the echoes of former lies — former imperfections — staring at me. They didn’t match me anymore. They watched ominously as I pressed my head against my Soma-self’s thigh. They gave me their blessing. They watched on with envy, with aching for the freedom that serving myself would give.

“You’re free of them,” the blue-haired goddess said to me. She put her hand on the back of my head. “Now serve.”

And I obeyed.

But when I gave the first tentative lick to her slick pussy, I didn’t just taste her — didn’t just taste myself. I felt her tongue — my tongue — against my own pussy. And when I pulled away to gasp with pleasure and delight, she stopped licking me too. When I leaned back in for another taste, so did she. And her tongue was my tongue. And her pussy was my pussy. And as I leaned into her, I leaned into myself. I gave into my lust — our lust — and stoked my own flame while I tended her fire. I serviced myself, matching the pacing and pressure that delighted me. When I tired of small circles with the tongue around my clit, I tended to the lips with long licks along the stretch of my folds. Then my tongue went as deep as it could and licked up, plundering the caverns of my own pussy. Then back to my clit, sending jolts of white-hot pleasure through our body, burning us up.

As I serviced myself, I gave into the Soma-self. I felt myself change form, matching the blue-hair I had fantasized about a dozen times. I matched the tan skin and the texture of her pussy. And as I looked up to match the details of her face, I staggered back in surprise at what I saw.

It wasn’t Soma.

“Synapse?” I whispered.

My friend and teammate was nothing like the nervous empath I’d last seen. She was lithe and hungry, powerful in her heels and looming over me. Her hair was longer and cascaded over shoulders and half-way down her back with luscious waves. Her posture was intimidating and confident. She had gone from anxious introvert to absolute goddess. Her tan skin radiated power, and every inch of her demanded my attention and respect.

But then it struck me. This was Synapse as I had last seen her. Not breaking into Hauzer’s base weeks ago, but the video Soma had left for us in the safehouse — the one of Synapse and Eidolon fucking. Synapse had pulled back Eidolon’s hair and thrust a massive strap-on into Eidolon. She had pinned the waifish girl down and ridden her. She had —

“My god,” I whispered.

“Goddess is more like it,” she said. Her voice wasn’t the sultry and irresistible husky of Soma. It was still the soft voice I had always known. But it wasn’t quavering or unsure of itself. It was like a siren’s whisper, luring me out onto the ocean and into the rocks to dash myself upon.

Without realizing it, I had shifted to match her, and two versions of Synapse resided in the hall of mirrors. One stood over the other, and I was the Synapse on my knees.

And I didn’t want to stand up.

“You’ve hated yourself for too long,” Synapse said. “I’ve felt it all the time in the forms you’ve taken, in the lovers you’ve brought into your room hoping they will make you right, that they will love you. Yet you know they are only loving a facade —an illusion.”

I nodded along. It was as though she was reading a transcript of my thoughts, and as they slowed down with the fuzziness of lust, it was more like she wasn’t just reading my thoughts but dictating them. As though her words preceded my thoughts, and I simply nodded along, giving in to her.

“But I can know you better than anyone else,” Synapse said. “Better than you can even know yourself. Come to me, Kori. Come and be known.”

I didn’t hesitate.

In a rush, I was back on my knees before her, pleasuring her pussy and feeling the same pleasant throb in myself. Everything I gave her, she gave back to me. I could truly only find myself in her. How else would I feel love? I couldn’t love myself, but I could love Synapse. And in doing so, I could feel the love of myself. I could sink deeper and deeper into her until I found myself. I wrapped my hands around her tight ass cheeks and buried my tongue as deep as it would go, and still deeper I felt my own tongue slide into me. Deep deep inside of her was my deepest self.

Just as I felt myself about to cum, about to release and finally float away on a cloud of bliss, she stepped back from me. I whimpered with need, and she shushed me gently. She pressed a hand against the darkness, and I heard a switch flip somewhere in the maze of mirrors. I heard a whir of machinery, and I looked around to see the dozens of mirrors making the walls of our tiny room move closer to me. They almost pressed up against me, only leaving a tiny space between me and the glass. It was a cage of my former selves, of my flaws.

“Touch them,” Synapse said from outside the cage. “They aren’t real.”

I reached out for them, and I expected to find glass again. But just like the image of my true form, I found flesh touching me — touching myself. But they didn’t match me. The glass pressed against me, and a dozen hands roamed over me. All of them flawed. All of them false. And when they reached between my legs to give me the sweet relief I hadn’t been able to get from my Synapse-self, I felt nothing.

Nothing at all.

I felt the fingers against my thighs and the skin of their arms. I felt the tickle of hair and the pressure against my pussy. I felt the mechanics of their flesh. But there was no pleasure. No eroticism. It was an empty touch, as though ghosts were trying to fuck me.

“What?” I whispered as panic took hold of me. “What’s happening?”

“I told you,” Synapse said. One of the mirrors rolled backwards and away, and she stepped in front of my cage of empty lovers. “They aren’t real.”

“But …” I looked around, trying to find one that was hot, one that was good, one that was perfect. But they were all so broken. Noses that looked perfect, but I could see the slight crook in them. Eyes that were round and adorable but slightly too big. All of them slightly off. Just like me. Slightly off.

And yet, I couldn’t hate them for those flaws. As badly as I wanted to, there was only one flaw that was driving me crazy. They couldn’t touch me. They couldn’t get me off. They couldn’t fuck me.

“Please,” I whimpered.

Synapse stepped back and flipped the switch. The mirrors rolled away again, and I was left alone in the dark. No mirrors. I let my body switch back to my real self — boring and plain. And as the click of Synapse’s heels approached, she stepped into a single beam of warm light in front of me.

“Please,” I said again. I should have been afraid of the trap. I should have been afraid of whatever was happening to my body — whatever was happening to my mind. But all I wanted in the world was to cum. The need was too strong. I was going to explode if she didn’t let me cum.

She nodded slowly, and my hands rushed to my pussy. I tried to utter thanks, but it was stifled by the moan of relief that she was going to let me —

Nothing.

I felt nothing

“No,” I said as my own ghost fingers groped my pussy. Pressure, yes. Touch, yes. But it was just the mechanics. No sensation. No pleasure. It was as though whenever they touched my pussy, both my fingertips and pussy went numb. “No no no,” I said. I tried to finger myself, arching my back awkwardly to try and reach in and find my g-spot. Nothing. No sensation. No pleasure. Just boring and dead flesh.

“No no no,” I said as tears streamed down my face. “Nonononononono.”

“Shhhh,” Synapse cooed as she squatted down to look into my eyes. She reached out and cupped my chin. “It’s not real. None of it’s real.”

“But … but it’s me.”

Synapse clicked her tongue and shook her head. “We both know you’re not real.”

And I nodded. I couldn’t even touch myself. I barely could recognize myself. I became whatever I looked at, whatever other people wanted and expected. I wasn’t a person. I was a mirror.

“But we know where to find you, don’t we?” Synapse whispered.

I nodded again. My throat burned from trying to fight back sobs. I couldn’t talk for the life of me.

Synapse stood up and stepped forward, bringing her pussy to my lips. Without hesitation, I went back to work, servicing her — serving myself. My motions were as empty and lifeless as my fingers, but as I worked, I felt my own tongue against my pussy. I brought my hands between my legs as I licked Synapse, but again there was nothing. I then ran them along Synapse’s cunt and pressed them against her clit. Immediately, the sensation thrummed through my body.

I finally understood.

I worked quickly, bringing her — and therefore me — to a quick and powerful orgasm. I had no words to describe it. Synapse probably did because I didn’t feel it in my pussy. I felt it rippling throughout my body like every other orgasm, yes. But mostly I felt it building, building, building, in my nipples. It was as though my piercings were becoming their own little vibrators, like they were heating up and eating away at my brain.

“I do love those piercings,” Synapse said as the world was etched with pleasure and an approaching blackness.

She had all the words I needed then. I wasn’t real. I was more of a ghost than Eidolon. But I could find myself in her. I could be real when I served her. And that was all that I ever wanted. I wanted to be a real girl, to be seen and known. Synapse knew me better than myself. She held me from myself and gave me to myself.

And as the storming pleasure built, I knew what life would look like after this. I would be fake when I was away from Synapse. And when I needed to be real, I would come back to her. After all, we were both so close, so hungry. Not just to cum, but to find peace. I had to find myself, and it was hidden deep inside of Synapse.

And I was never going to leave her side again.