The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“You can’t do this! Who are you people? What do you want?” she screamed at the darkened room.

I just wanted the receptionist job, Maria sobbed internally after running out of pleas. What she’d gotten was a call-back for a second interview, a meeting with two guys, a fuzzy feeling in her body and darkness. Then she woke up strapped to a table and it was still dark, except for a few blinking lights. She’d been there for a while, obviously; the metal was warm beneath her naked body.

“Help! God, somebody help me! I didn’t do anything! Let me go! Who are you? Who are you?”

She fought against her bindings again and screamed some more, just in case it did any good. It didn’t. By now she should be blubbering and pleading. She knew it and didn’t feel the slightest bit embarrassed by the knowledge; although she was now awake, whatever she’d been drugged with still took the edge of both her physical and emotional discomfort. Still, she could shout for help, so she took advantage of it. Somebody somewhere had to have a conscience and would let her go. Or find someone who could.

Something smashed into her brain and, once inside, tried to kick its way out the back of her head. The explosion of violence unleashed a fiery shock of agony that cut through the remaining slow lassitude that lingered after the drugs. Suddenly completely out of her control, her body jerked against the bonds as coruscating, white-hot light flashed and tore a shriek from her throat. She blacked out.

Something went pop in her brain, releasing a flowing, warm wetness. A sort of slick heat that gave way to a dull tingle at the back of her skull. A weird, but sexy, feeling working its way through her body and turning her on just like a romance novel with lots of good parts did.

Just like waking up strapped to a metal table did. Being unable to move or resist was somehow weird, but very sexy.

Sexy like hell! thought Maria. I’ve been drugged, stripped, and strapped to a table. This is sexy like a nightmare is sexy. What the hell is going on? Am I still drugged? Why does this feel so … exciting?

“Hello?” Maria called out, her throat raw as though she’d been at a ball game cheering the home team and shouting to be heard by her friends for the past couple of hours. She looked around at the surrounding darkness and the blinking lights to her left until the chill of the air on her naked body distracted her. Lying in the dark, naked, was very, very sexy, but still, “Hello? Where am I? Why am I naked?”

Something went pop in her brain, followed by a pleasant fuzziness and mental hunger. She looked around her, squinting in the bright light until her eyes adjusted.

Her metallic bed took up most of one side of the small, rectangular room. One of the short walls was dominated by a door and the other was lined with blinking lights and glowing screens. The remaining wall was a large mirror reflecting a busty and tanned body in all its nude glory. A body that turned her on to no end. Pity she wasn’t a Lez. Pity it was her body, or she would go Lez.

Behind the mirror, no doubt, was a room full of horny guys ogling her, maybe even recording her predicament for future use. If she hadn’t been strapped down, she would have made it easier to use by posing. That or masturbated; knowing that guys were admiring her from afar was turning her pussy into moist soup.

But none of that mattered anywhere near as much as the stocky guy sneaking glances at her between periods of studying an undulating wave on the monitors. His eyes were making her gush, but he wasn’t much to look at. Probably couldn’t run more than ten feet before passing out from exertion.

“Hey, studly, why am I naked?” she asked. With his back to her, she couldn’t see to be certain, but she didn’t need to. There was absolutely no doubt in her mind that he’d gotten rock hard from just being in the same room as her. Being in a room with her naked and bound … Bet he’ll be fantasizing about that for a long time. Damn straps. Let me up, and I’ll really turn the fatso on. Turn him on, crank him up, and make him mine. Woo! If I’d felt like this back in high school, I’d have been a lot more popular.

“Studly” didn’t answer, but shortly afterward the door opened and a much better possibility walked into the room. Better, but not by much. Mid-thirties and reasonably well exercised, but a bit too carefully groomed and tailored, this one looked like a sleaze-ball; no way could this manufactured metrosexual drone keep up with a healthy girl like her in the real world. Still, the lust in his eyes was absolutely scrumchous.

He gestured at the door. “Jack. Go. I’ll do the final tuning. How are you feeling Maria?”

“Relaxed,” she admitted as fatso slunk out the room, pausing for a last glimpse before the door closed. She blew him a kiss. “Anxious. Kind-of horny, really. You like what you see? Uh, why am I strapped to a table?”

“Just to keep you more or less still while you get adjusted to your new job.”

Sleazy sat down in the recently vacated swivel chair and began to type and click. The relatively placid waveforms fatso had been working with spun and shuddered, becoming decidedly more spiky.

Something went pop in her brain; almost an orgasm, but not quite as good. Nowhere near as good as the orgasm she’d have when she ripped the guy’s clothes off and fucked him til’ they were both rubbed raw. If he could keep up with her that long—her initial impression still held. Whoever he was, he still looked like too much of a pussy to give her a good time or the sort of frenzied fucking she needed. He didn’t even have the balls to unstrap her; he just peeled off his pants, carefully laid them over the back of the chair, and mounted her, sliding almost easily into her dripping hole.

She whined and moaned and bucked, because she had to, not because he was particularly good. She’d known dozens of men better than Sleazy, No I haven’t! Just Carl, and even then only three times. Fucking straps. I can barely move right. He’ll get off, but I won’t.

And, sure enough, a minute later, God damn it! He came way too soon. Pussy better last way longer on the second try, or I’ll kick his ass to the curb. If I didn’t need cock so badly right now, I’d be so gone. If I wasn’t tied up, that is.

“Come on, you can do better than that,” she goaded. “Undo the straps and I’ll show you are real good time.”

Instead, the asshole pulled out and went back to his computer.

“Get back here you … You asshole! What about me EEEEEE!”

Something went pop in her brain. Wild colours blurred her vision. Maria wasn’t sure whether it was the same pop as earlier, or just because she had a pussy full of boiling hot cum sending sizzling sensations soaring through the rest of her body until she felt as though she was completely aflame.

“Oh my God!” she howled, her hips pumping at the air madly while her brain melted. Didn’t matter much, though, because she wasn’t using it anyway. Sexy was undoing the strap holding her right arm in place.

“Yes, god, please! Need you so bad. Give me that thick cock.”

One arm freed, she got to work on the other, but only because Sexy’d moved his bouncing, half-erect dick out of reach of her mouth and down to the foot of the table.

Thank God! He’s undoing my legs! Once freed, though, she moved like lightening. She had his cock sunk into her mouth as she worked it back up with all of the skill she could muster, and that was quite a bit, given all the … Fucking I’ve done? What fucking? Fuck it! Gonna make him cum in my mouth. I can get him hard again and it’s been days since I last tasted any …

The object of her insane lusts jumped in her mouth. She bobbed faster. She sucked harder in an attempt to get her entire mouth in on the action. With every thrust of her head, her legs spread further apart and she burned hotter. He tensed. She tensed, ready to drink frantically, but not swallow right away because she wanted—needed—to savour the taste. Her lips felt it first, the squirt, then the rhythmic, ambrosia-delivering pulse. It wouldn’t be enough. It’d never be enough.

“Yes,” she gargled, accidentally spitting out a bit of precious sperm as the flavour rushed up her nervous system, igniting fires the whole way, to trigger specially conditioned reflexes in her freshly programmed mind. Her eyes rolled upwards and her body shook with the pleasure her brain knew came with the sexy sensation of semen slipping and sliding in her mouth. She gulped down what she could, knowing that if she didn’t, she’d drool it all out and waste it when she …

“Cuuummmmminggg!” She shuddered, her hips rolling and her insides twisting as they attempted to massage a phantom cock. “Mnnng! Ungh uh! Cuh-cumming! Guh-guh-guh-GOD!”

Something went pop in her brain, but this time it had nothing to do with the funny apparatus around her and everything to do with the aftertaste and the swollen mass moving between her legs. It was moving far too irregularly and quickly for Sexy to last much longer, let alone long enough to make her cum, but that was just fine. She was cumming like mad anyway. She always got so worked up about getting a guy inside her that she couldn’t stop herself from falling over the edge and into an orgasmic wonderland the second her labia began to spread.

Her mind knew just what to do, even if the body wasn’t entirely willing. Mind won out over matter, but when she got more practice at doing this fucking stuff, the body’d play right along. Still, it was frustrating knowing what to do and not being able to do it right. Do my best. Certainly the best fucking he’s ever had!

As she humped her way into another screaming fit, the only thing her mind couldn’t seem to at least partially master was her mouth. No matter how hard she tried, her demands to be on top next time came out gabled or worse. Rather than, “Roll over and let me ride that cock, Sexy!” she’d say something like “Aroo!” “Huh! Huh-harder!” “Fuh-fuck fuck faster!” or the somewhat embarrassing, “Cuh-cuh-cock Guhgurlge! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Ahhhhaaaaaeeeiiiiiiiii! EEEEEEEEE! Uh! Huh huh huh. Nrrrgh!”

Se knew that would come back to haunt her, because she was almost certainly being recorded by a camera on the other side of that mirror. “C-c-ccameraaaaaaaaahhhhhh aaaaaeeeiiiiiiiii! Fuck! Harder! Cummiiiiiiiiiiingggg gggguuuhhhhhhAAA!”

If any of her three sexual encounters with Carl had been like this, no way would she have let him go to work in the morning. No, she’d have strapped him to a bed and fucked until she’d worn his cock down to a little stub. And sucked him off every now and then. I’d die without a mouth full of cum!

Sexy went off in her pussy again, and more brain pops ensued. No, for Maria sex had never been like this before. The white no doubt leaking out between her legs spawned flashes of colour that exploded before her eyes the likes of which she’d never imagined.

She lay there, head lolled over to one side and eyes open wide, but unseeing. A pool of saliva had gathered by her mouth, and her legs and muscles she hadn’t know she had (but now knew needed serious, regular exercise) worked strange, but familiar, automatic motions she knew were designed to squeeze more life into Sexy’s shaft when the door opened.

More cock? This one’s worn out, she thought. Then she celebrated. It was more cock! Skinny little accountant cock, but cock all the same.

“Cock?” she babbled. “Ride? On top? Please?”

“Howie, damnit!” said the other guy after a brief pause. “Pull that extra shit back out. She’s in for a Photoshoot overlay, not the full-on nympho!”

“Actually,” Maria moaned. The first guy was getting sort-of hard again. Maybe he was still good for one more after all. “Applied for receptionist job. Yeah! Get that thing up again! Top! Wanna be on top this time!”

“Just wanted to make sure it’s all calibrated for the boss’s special job,” explained Sexy—Howie. “Think we made some progress on reducing the interruptions caused by the implants.”

“Yeah, right. I think you made some progress on replacing the ditzy bitch that dumped you.”

“Who? With Maria here?” asked Sexy Howie, sliding his half-flaccid meat around in Maria’s warm and empty-feeling hole. “Ever wonder what would happen if you recorded some chick while she was cumming, Marty?”

“Save it for later, Howie. Maria’s needed to fill in this afternoon. We’ve got to plug that hole in the Guilty Pleasures schedule.”

“Guilty Pleasures?” cooed Maria, the decreasing amount of stimulation returning more and more of her higher level brain functions to regular operation. “The porn mag? Do I get to fuck anyone? Please?”

“No,” groaned Accountant Cock. “It’s a gentlemen’s magazine. We just use a little skin to attract attention to the fine writing.”

“Not interested then,” Maria replied. “Do I at least get the receptionist job? I promise to make you all very, very, very happy.” She licked her lips imagining all of the guys who’d come through the door, spread her on the desk, and then keep cumming back for more.

“Yeah, you get the job all right,” said Accountant Cock. “Just be a good girl and lay there for a second. Do that and then I’ll screw you blind after, OK?”

“Mmmmmmmm! You bet. Wanna do Sexy Howie one more time first.”

“Right. Lean back out to the way for a second, Howie.”

Something went pop in her brain.

I

Karen thanked the three gentlemen, rose from her seat, and departed, but not before Phil opened the door for her, complemented her on an excellent interview and politely ogled her lovely legs, taking extra long to close the door.

“What do you think?” asked Marty Long, leering. “Wasted behind a desk?”

“Writing financial reports?” said Phil Parker. “Oh hell yeah.”

“She’d be way better off with us at ‘Guilty Pleasures,’ Marty,” laughed Howie Short. Who was that crazy slut we had shooting a few months back?” …

“Maria Sanchez?” asked Marty.

“Months back, not last week. I was thinking more Eva,” replied Howie, “but nah—Maria’s combination of wit and sexuality would be great in that body.”

Marty nodded and motioned to Howie to shut the hell up as Phil sat up ram-rod straight and asked “What the hell are you guys talking about?”

“Nothing,” Marty said as he pushed back into his seat from the surprise. He could almost see the wheels turning behind Phil’s narrowed eyes.

“Didn’t sound like nothing,” said Phil, not talking like Phil.

“Lighten up,” interrupted Howie. “Who wouldn’t want to put everyday life away for a while and live out a fantasy? For all we know the kid might want to be a stripper and just doesn’t have the guts to go for it.”

“Jesus guys.” Phil relaxed into his seat. “Drop dead gorgeous or not, she’s a financial analyst. I doubt she has some hidden deep-seated need to strip for our pleasure. If she wanted to do photo’s for your department, she’d have been interviewed on the 20th floor.”

“Yeah,’ said Marty quietly, but full of meaning. “Stop joking around, Howie.”

“Who’s joking? Haven’t you ever dreamed about yer girl being a complete slut in bed?”

“Fuck you Howie,” said Phil, his face going weird again. “This sort of stuff is the reason I left my last job.”

Unnerved, Marty tried to shift the topic. “I always wondered about that hole in your resume. What was your last job, Phil?”

“I … I …” Phil stammered looking confused for a moment before the intense look flashed across his face and was gone. “Marty, if I told you I’d have to kill you. Miss Sharpe looks good. Pass her on up the chain?”

“I’ll say she looks good,” Marty joked then glared back at Phil. “Fuck you too, Phil. You couldn’t take your eyes off her, either. Yeah. We kick her resume upstairs. She knows her stuff and, Jesus, she even has a recommendation letter from Gartner. I say we give her a call back and schedule her to meet with Randy early next week. Howie?”

“She’s got my vote, not that she needs it at this point. Randy, next Monday 2:30?”

Phil punched in the time and date on his PDA. Sharpe could probably do with a friendly face before Randy ripped into her. Hell, grabbing another look wouldn’t kill Angie. Not that Angie wasn’t pretty—body wise, Miss Sharpe didn’t compare but she carried what she had a lot better. And brains too; that would tempt any man into infidelity.

II

“Phil’s gonna be a problem Marty,” said Howie over a beer in some nameless pub far from the office. “I thought he was with us, but then he got weird. Sooner or later he’ll clue that Maria was just some college kid looking for quick tuition money until we plugged in that stripper’s Overlay. Not to mention the work we did on our receptionist or Mr. Marley’s wife.”

“Yeah. Mrs. Marley was hot. I couldn’t believe the boss put up the money for the project until I actually met his wife. What a total bitch.”

“Eh. Not my taste, but his daughter, Miki … Mreow! A few minutes of Eva and she was a wildcat.”

“You Eva-ed the boss’s daughter? You took the overlay back out again right?”

“Do I look dumb? Of course I did,” lied Howie.

“I hear old man Marley personally worked over the poor sap who got her pregnant.”

“Let’s not talk about this in public, OK? Back to Phil.”

“Yeah. Phil. He’s one paranoid SOB. If we don’t fry him, thanks to your big mouth, sooner or later he’s gonna get us busted.”

“What do you mean by paranoid?”

“He checks his cube for bugs, Howie.”

“What?”

“Dead serious. When he comes in every morning he goes through his workspace for recorders and tempest devices. He actually inspects OS patches for flaws before he installs them on his PC. You ever wondered about that little box he puts on the table during meetings? White noise generator to screw up audio pickups.”

“Tempest?”

“Really sensitive radio receiver-things. Read about them in a sci-fi book. Apparently you can read the electricity inside a computer to see what it’s doing. Same sort of thing that Erik guy built to do the Overlays, but tempest reads and it doesn’t work on people.”

“I knew that, Marty. I didn’t take six years of engineering for nothing.”

Marty took a swig of his beer, stopped, and thought for a moment. “You know, the Overlay may be what we need here.”

“Way ahead of you. Karen and Phil are gonna be a cute couple.”

“That’s not what I was thinking. Waaaait. We can’t do that. Can we do that?”

“Sure. If I can make an ordinary chick into a drooling nympho, how hard can it be? We just pull the ‘I love Phil’ bit from Angie, amplify the signal about twenty-thirty dB, and stick it in Miss Sharpe. Maybe add in a dose of my improved Maria. That’ll keep him busy, and if he ever does find out what can he do about it? He’ll have been banging a girl against her will and be just as guilty as us. Besides, I’ve wanted an excuse to put Angie under. Stick a bit of Eva into her and she’d be unreal.”

“I think we should do Phil too,” said Marty.

“I dunno man. I actually like Phil. What if something goes wrong?”

“I don’t think Sharpe will be enough to swing him over to our side. He gives me this really bad vibe.”

“All the better reason to leave him alone, in my book.”

“Hey. It could come down to us or him Howie. Better safe than sorry.”

“Marty …. That gap in his resume, the stuff he knows, and the way he works. Add on that paranoia stuff you just told me about, and I get really, really bad vibes, man. He’s like a machine. You saw him today; he was like another person. The Overlays are unreliable on the chemically unstable minds. I don’t think we should fuck with him. Besides, I’ve learned a hell of a lot working with him. He’s a friend.”

“If he sells us out, it doesn’t matter if he’s a friend.”

“Maybe he won’t. Seriously, the only thing we know about him is his girlfriend’s hot as hell and her name is Angie. And he’s seriously weird. The first girl I’ve seen him actually look at, other than Angie, was the chick at the interview. Hot, but Angie’s got her beat in so many different ways, and we get strippers and effing porn stars marching through the building every day. What’s so impressive about an analyst?”

“I’ll take care of it, Howie. You get Angie, turn Miss Sharpe into Miss August, and I’ll deal with Phil. Just watch it with the Eva overlays. Sure, Evas are complete nymphos and hellacious lays, but the original is also nuts-class obsessive. Remember, she almost served time after shooting one boyfriend for cheating on her.”

Howie knocked back the last of his beer. “Meh. He lived.”

As though trying to out do his larger friend, Marty gulped down his drink as though it was water. Finished, he set the glass down and asked, “Who do we know that’s immoral enough to let us have a little fun without messing up Phil any more than necessary?”

“And we actually have a recording of,” added Howie. “Getting recordings, that’s always the tricky par …!”

The two plotters looked at each other, smiled and said together: “Chairman Marley!”

Marty whistled. “Yeah. The old man is perfect! He’ll be pissed if he finds out, though. The records are only there as part of his immortality project so he can Overlay Jacob when his body wears out.”

“Can’t believe you said that out loud, man. Time to go; you’ve had too much to drink. Wendy, dear,” called Howie, waving at a barmaid, “could we settle up?”

“Damn,” said the mildly inebriated office manager, his eyes clinging to the bounce of Wendy’s tight, black top as she strutted over. “I got married too damn soon.”

“We can fix that, you know …,” Howie hinted, a devilish grin on his face. As the busty brunette gathered up her tip, she flipped over the business card beneath it.

“What’s this?” she asked, looking warily at Howie. “‘Guilty Pleasures?’ The magazine?”

“The same. Wendy, have you ever considered doing a few cheesecake shots? We have the summer bikini special coming up. No nudity involved …”

III

“My husband will have you killed for this, Martin.”

“No, Mrs. Marley, he won’t. In fact, I think I’ll try and hit him up for a raise after this.”

IV

After the shock of her life, Michelle “Miki” Marley stormed her way down to the 20th floor, barged past the receptionist and went hunting. Twenty one and a hottie of the first order, she was ready for the eyeballing and visual stripping Howie Short, one of her dad’s geeks at the skin mag’s website, was about to give her, so she kicked him solidly and pre-emptively in the ass.

“What did you do to my mom?” demanded Miki, as Howie looked up from a computer screen covered with some squiggly lines. Fuck. Ass kicking isn’t so easy with sandals on.

“She was going to have you and Long sacked for overshooting your IT budget, but instead you all got raises, and right now, she’s in Dad’s office fucking him on his desk like a porn star. She stripped in front of me and started apologizing for her tiny boobs. To dad. She was apologizing to dad!”

“Eh,” grunted the geek dismissively. Miki bristled. No one dismissed Miki. She always got what she wanted, in the end. “Let your mom live her life. She’s got needs too, you know.”

“So? She usually gets all she needs from the gardener. Even dad knows about that, but what can he do? Mom’s got all the money.”

“Money … Marty and I went over budget because we’ve been working on things like this.” Howie flipped on the lights in the implant room. “Impressive, huh?”

“It’s a table,” she said slowly and sarcastically. “Big deal.”

“On that table, you mom learned a few new deep-seated behaviours. Like submissiveness to her husband, and of course, the ability to be aroused to a screaming orgasm with minimal effort on your dad’s part. Now when she starts to get bitchy, all he has to say is those three little words and she forgets all about … well, everything.”

“No way! She’s, like, a sex slave now? You tuned my mom into a sex slave? Why couldn’t you do something useful, like have her raise my allowance?”

“Enjoy it kid. She’s not going to be as much of a bitch anymore. If you’re good, I’ll let you in on a few of the command words. You’ll get way more than your allowance.”

Miki looked at the scumbag and considered it. “Good how?”

“You do have lovely legs, but you’re kind of flat. Still, I think we could find something—”

“You are so fucked,” spat the petite bottle-blonde, taken aback. A face like hers and he was still fixated on her tits? I mean, hello! Living proof that too much porn leads to unrealistic expectations.

Howie grinned. “Miki, do you know how sexy you are when you’re angry?”

Something went pop in her brain, just like when you remember something important that had been forgotten.

“I’ll show you sexy,” she said, both hands gripping her top at the center of the low-cut, cleavage-displaying neckline. “Give you something to remember when your cellmate is raping your ass.”

With a slow, steady motion, she tore her skimpy top in half and let it drop to the floor.

“How’s that for sexy? Bet you’d love to cum all over these.” She said, cupping her breasts to make them stand out more. “Even if they are a little small. Maybe if you get me angrier, I’ll lose my pants. Or maybe I’ll just kick your ass around the room for a while, you sick fucker.”

“You’ve got so much in common with your mom, you know that. You’re a little bitch in training.”

Miki seethed as her shorts hit the floor, her panties with them. She stood back up straight, legs slightly spread to make sure he could see everything. “You won’t be forgetting this for a long time, will you? Prime, Grade-A ass, huh? Oh, that’s right. You can’ see my ass. Lemme help you.” She turned around and bent at the waist. Looking through her knees, she taunted him further.

“I want you to remember this ass. I want you to dream about taking it—doggy style, since I’m such a bitch—when some fat guy is taking yours with a broomstick.” She slapped a cheek and then stood and spun to give him a sultry profile. Her boobs looked bigger from the side. “What have you got to say, you sack of shit? Perfection, or what?”

“Same thing I’d say to your mom. Just three little words.”

“What three little words?” she spat, dripping scorn. “Tits too small? Need bigger rack?”

“I Love You.”

Something new went pop in her brain. And between her legs. Her heart began to race. The white hot rage flip-flopped into something else. Something much, much more enjoyable.

“Omigod,” she moaned. “Omigod, that’s so sweet.” She took a step forward and wrapped herself around her lover. Tonight was the night. Her whole life had been building up to this point. Sure, she wasn’t a virgin anymore, but she’d just been a girl then. She hadn’t known what she’d been doing, hadn’t known what she really wanted. Now she did. Now she was actually ashamed that she didn’t look perfect for Howie, but, I’m rich. I can afford it. Use the trust fund to get implants so big that he can’t look at ’em without cumming all over me.

Miki always got what Miki wanted, and she did this time, too. But she had to beg for a while first. It was worth it. When he came, she shook so hard, screamed so loud, that she just about fell on the floor. And that was just from the blowjob.

V

“So Mr. Marley’s happy with the work so far. Wife’s not giving him any trouble and his girl’s behaving like a proper little girl, rather than bitching … you paying any attention?”

“’Scuse me a second,” said Howie, a smile on his face. His eyes closed and he leaned back, resting his head on the back the bench.

Marty snorted and looked around the dark pub.

A few seconds later, Howie shifted in his seat and looked up again. “Anyway, never mind the old man’s problems, you got some yourself, Marty.”

“I know. I know. Sue and I were just a bit too light on her as a kid and now she’s got no clue about responsibility. Sixteen and she’s been through a dozen boyfriends and now we find out she’s been sexually hyperactive practically since the start of high school. That’s pretty hard on a loving dad. Where’d we screw up, Sue and I?”

“Well, if it was just sex, I’d say you didn’t screw up. And I’m not down on drinking,” he took a large gulp of beer to emphasize his point, “but Terri’s a drunk, Marty.”

“I know. That puts me in a sticky position. Unlike most parents who are fuck-ups, I can do something about it. I just don’t know if I should.”

“Hey, ‘s not like we’d drop in the stripper Overlay and turn her into a Maria. From what you’re telling me, she doesn’t even need an Eva job to juice up her libido.”

“Shut the fuck up, Howie. I’m not in the mood. I just want my daughter back.”

“Why? Why have the daughter back when she’s a screw up? Any of the girls she hangs around with decent girls?”

“Define decent.”

“Catholic school girl? I dunno. She’s got to have at least one friend that who’s a hard worker, or at least has some common sense. We pick the kid up, make a copy and drop it into Terri. You get a better Terri out of the deal and I get another recording to work with.”

“Right. Gotta collect ’em all? If you could get the damn portable working, we wouldn’t have to snatch people off the street.”

“Uses too much power to broadcast. I can make a transmitter about the size of a paperback, but the current design works like a magnifying glass and directs the signal. If it sprays around, it doesn’t do shit. Behind that, we either need a battery that ways as much as you do or a really long extension cable. Portable isn’t going to fly, Marty.”

“Old Man Marley says that Erik was working on one.”

“Fuck Marley. Fuck Erik, too. If he was so hot, what happened to the guy? CIA probably took him out; either that or he’s working for the CIA now.

“Maybe I can make one the size of a desk lamp, but it’s still going to eat more power than we can store in anything small—and that’s just for the implanter. The recorder’s stuck being a fucking table.”

Howie blinked. “Come to think of it … We could put a mini programmer in the lobby and save ourselves the trouble of drugging people all the time, unless we needed to make a copy.”

“So why don’t we?”

“Hey! Sounds good. More overtime!”

“We’re salaried. We don’t get overtime.”

Howie sighed. “Well, at least it’s for a good cause. “Wendy, dear, time to zip me back up.”

“Ohhhhhh,” came the disappointed moan from under the table. “So soon? You hardly even came. Are you seeing another girl?”

VI

“Lana, could you step in here for a moment?”

“Certainly Mr. Short,” the receptionist said, getting up from her seat. She smoothed out her skirt, adjusted her blouse, and walked into Mr. Short’s office. Mr. Long’s eyes drifted down her body as she stepped through the doorway. “Good morning Mr. Long. I didn’t see you come in.”

“Marty, please,” said Mr. Long, trying to punch through her professionalism. No dice. “Howie and I have been working all night. Basically, I’ve been standing here holding things for the last, what? Twelve hours?”

“Pushing up on thirteen,” replied Mr. Short. “Your lucky number. Could you stand over there in the corner under the lamp, Lana?”

“Uh. OK,” she asked, making short-legged strides. She looked up. The light wasn’t even on. “This isn’t about a burned out bulb, is it?”

“Nope,” said Mr Short as his finger stabbed at a keyboard.

Something went pop in her brain. She quivered for what felt like a moment, then shook her head.

“How was that?”

“How was what, Mr. Short?” she asked, blinking. They’d moved impossibly fast. In between blinks when she’d had that odd sneeze a moment ago, Mr. Long had joined Mr. Short behind the desk and were watching something on the computer.

“Just about perfect then. No headache?”

“No,” she answered, confused. “Why would I have a headache?”

“Be a slut for me, Lana,” said Mr. Short … Howie.

Green eyes flashed. “MMmmmmmm. I definitely don’t have a headache, baby, and I am glad!” Hair fell around her face as the bun holding it in place died a quick death. In her haste to pull it off, she tangled herself in her pristine, white blouse and her dainty glasses bounced off the floor.

“That wasn’t the typist Overlay, was it?”

“’Course not. You didn’t think I’d start with that one, did you?”

“Jesus. I didn’t think she was your style. Too short.”

“She isn’t—”

“Hey!” shouted Lana, giving up on prying and starting to undo buttons.

“—but who am I to say no to a horny woman? I didn’t think you wanted a turn. You’re married, remember?”

“Yeah, but I’m the guy who hired her, remember?

“For her ass, as I recall.”

“I knew it wasn’t my typing!” the slutty secretary exclaimed, bending over and pulling her knee-length skirt up as high as it would go. Not nearly far enough “Howie likes it too, doesn’t Howie?”

“Be a slut for me, Lana,” said Marty.

Lana spun on the new object of her lusts, her rapt fixation on Howie destroyed. “Guhhod! Marty, you are wearing way too many clothes!” She took a step forward.

“Be a slut for me, Lana,” commanded Howie.

Her body jerked as she sucked in a breath. Snap! Lana’s eyes fixed on Howie again. She poised to jump.

“Be a slut for me, Lana.”

She reeled, trying to turn back toward Marty without proper balance.

“Be a slut for me, Lana.”

Her face was a frantic mask of raw lust as she fell onto Howie’s desk and moaned.

“Be a slut for me, Lana,” Marty said, grinning.

“Fuuuuuuck!” the sexually receptive receptionist groaned as she rolled on the desk, sending Howie’s tools flying.

Moving quickly, the two men grabbed her before she could break anything. Holding Lana on either side, both took turns whispering into her ears as she began to babble and drool, kicking and fighting to grab one or both of them. Her head seemed to be almost spinning, her hair flailed out, slapping against the two men’s ginning faces.

“Be a slut for me.”

“Be a slut for me.”

“Be a slut for me.”

“Be a slut for me.”

“Be a slut …,” over and over again—from one side, then the other—echoing through her mind and body.

“Sluuut. Slllluuuuuuttttt Slut,” Her gasping breaths even sounded like a command to her soul. She gasped over and over because she liked the sound. It made her feel good. Hotter. Wilder. Hungrier. Her needs rocketed upwards until she just couldn’t take it any more. Not that she wanted to. Losing control was her greatest need. And then she did.

Letting out a high pitched shriek that sent Marty’s hands to his ears, Lana dropped to her knees, her freed hand clawing its way under her skirt. With no easy way in, she broke the clasp and tore downwards. When Howie let go of the arm he held, the other hand got busy groping a breast.

“That was … pretty fun,” laughed Howie, as their receptionist writhed on the floor, fingering herself frantically while her undulating hips worked her broken and soiled skirt down her legs. “You know, I think she shaves down there. Not always so stuck up, Huh?”

“Nope. Look at her go! Whose turn was it when she came?”

“Yours, I think.”

“Right on. One nothing; my serve.”

VI

Lana looked different with her brown hair down, and that was before Phil noticed the clinging, hot-pink tank top.

“You OK, Lana?” asked Phil.

Lana leaned back in her seat, spinning slowly with a look on her face that said, “Lana’s too busy to come to the phone right now. Please leave a message at the beep.”

“Hello? Lana? Howie in?”

“Howie …,” she giggled.

“Huh? What about Howie?”

“I think I should get implants,” she answered nonsensically. “Howie like them big.”

Phil looked at the large, conical, and braless breasts fighting to get out of their tight container. She looked at Phil looking at her, giggled, and her nipples began to poke through the stretchy material.

“You—you look fine, Lana.”

“Thank you, Philip,” said in a breathy, appreciative voice. She looked like she was about to start panting.

“Over here Phil,” called Howie. “Lana? Maybe you should go home. You don’t look well.”

“Yes, Mas … Howie. I’ll just finish up here and—”

“What the fuck is wrong with Lana, Howie?”

“Howie fucked me!” Lana whispered, hiking up her miniskirt as Phil slammed Howie’s office door behind him.

VII

“What the hell was wrong with Phil this afternoon? He looked ready to gut somebody.”

“He dropped by the office and saw Bimbo Lana.”

“Fuck! Howie, stop screwing around with her. We need her to be sort-of useful. Her typing sucks, but she’s faster than both of us put together. You ever get around to slapping in the typist Overlay?”

“I didn’t mean it,” Howie protested. “She just showed up at work all dressed to fuck, and I just kind of … you know. I didn’t think it’d take so long for her to recover after.”

“First thing tomorrow, you put her brain back and try to fuzz out her memory of the last few days. And put in the damn typist shit.”

“Can I keep her thlightly thlutty, Marther?” Howie lisped, hunching over as much as he could while sitting.

“I don’t give a damn, as long as she can still type and doesn’t freak out visitors.”

“Freak out visitors? We share the 20th floor with a porn magazine, Marty. So far Phil’s the only guy to notice anything. We gotta do something about Phil. I was going to give him a light zap of something to distract him today, but I couldn’t get him near the lamp.”

“Don’t do anything to Phil until we have everything worked out; he’s starting to scare me. I’ve dug into his background, and he’s a black hole. Go through official channels and you get glowing reports, but when I call up people I know at places he’s worked, I get a blank. No one knows what he worked on. He worked all of these places, but no one’ll tell me what he worked on.”

“Freaky. Keep him out of my hair for a while. Send him off on a courtesy call back east or something. I’ve almost got the Marley Mix done; the hard part is getting it into the guy without him noticing anything’s changed. We can’t exactly blur things over by making him too horny to think straight in his case and I don’t want to fuck him up too badly. He’s a nice guy.”

Howie looked at his drink, took a mouthful, and then went back to looking at his drink. “You ever wonder why we’re being paid to do this stuff?”

“Yup.”

“So why are we?”

“Dunno. But I do know that we are being paid not to ask, so I don’t.”

“Right. Just curious.”

“Don’t get curious around Mr. Marley. He takes it hard.

“That reminds me, Sue’s out and Terri’s having some friends over. I think one of the girls may be useful, so it’d be great if you can help me snatch her.”

“Whoa! Hey, we hire other people for that shit.”

“This is personal. Marley’d kill me if I billed it. Besides, it’s best if her best friend’s dad does the pickup. Less trouble that way. We intercept, get a copy of the stuff we need and drop her off at the later when the rest of the girls are at the pool. You do a bit of tinkering and she won’t remember a thing. And no, you can’t implant Eva. She’s too young.”

“Shit. Long day ahead tomorrow, then. I better get moving.”

“Again?” asked Wendy, her voice echoing under the table. “You are seeing another girl, aren’t you? This Lana? Please say yes. Could you, like, maybe … introduce us? Dunno why, but it kinda makes me wet.”

“Added some of Lana to the Wendy Overlay. Did you know our lovely receptionist swings both ways?” whispered Howie.

VIII

“Uh, wow, Lana,” said Angie as she walked into the freshly remodelled front office. “That’s a new look.”

“Thank you,” said Lana, her hair, showing off the blond highlights, flowed down over her shoulders and onto a huge, firm, round bosom to help emphasize a deep cleavage. “It’s great. I’m getting along with Howie and Marty and the boys much better now. Looking for Phil?”

I’m sure you are! Howie probably creams himself when he comes in in the morning, thought Angie, somewhat sickened at the display. “Yeah. He around?”

“I’ll track him down for you. You are so lucky, Angie. Is he as good in bed as he looks?” The tips of her round and obviously plastic tits began to dent the parody business suit the receptionist wore.

Angie blinked. “I-I guess so.”

“Good. You look so hot it would suck if you were wasted on a sucky lover. I mean if you’re not getting it two, three times a day, you should sue. You have to try Howie sometime. A few strokes of his cock makes for a fabulous wake-up. Way better than coffee!

“Sit over there under the lamp,” said Lana, pointing at the one remaining seat in the lobby.

This has to be some sort of joke. She’s wearing fake tits and acting. Phil’s set me up or something. She looked around the remodelled lobby with its thick door, some sort of weird tiles on the walls and roof, two fake plants, and just the one chair. Almost as made over as the receptionist sitting behind the glass desk that showed off hr stunning, if short and scantily clad, body. “What’s with the new look? What happened to the rest of the chairs?”

The receptionist shrugged and smiled. “Off for cleaning, I guess.”

Angie sat down, Lana tapped at her keyboard with her ridiculously red, long nails for a few moments and then something went pop in Angie’s brain.

“Howie,” the receptionist told the intercom, “She’s ready.”

“Busy for a few minutes,” came the reply. “Entertain yourselves. Angie, listen to me.”

Dizzy, Angie looked up, feeling strangely excited. Whatever he said next would be very important. Howard was very important.

“Help Lana out. Do whatever Lana tells you to do.”

Angie blinked. “Uh. OK.” A pleasant heat washed over her, just like every time she did what Howard asked her to do. Every time? Howard?

Lana beamed as she looked Angie up and down. “Anything, Howie?”

“Whatever your heart desires, cupcake. Just leave some for me.”

“You are, like, the best boss, ever!” She practically vaulted over her desk and sat provocatively, legs spread. Her micro miniskirt pushed up into a wide belt around her waist as she slid forward to rest lightly on the edge. Her pink, lacy panties on full display, Lana said, “Look at my panties, Angie. Look at them and let yourself get totally turned on.”

“Huh?” Angie’s mind swam. She looked, and maybe, yeah, she got a little turned on. But it wasn’t because of Lana. Howard said …

“Keep looking, Angie. You want to see what’s under them? You do want to see! You need to see.” Lana ran a finger up the outside of the slick material, pushing in slightly and making it stick and show off the normally secretive curves.

“Lana? What’s gotten in to you?” asked Angie, unable to look away from the slowly leaking and strangely enticing fabric-shrouded slit. The problem was, though, Angie just couldn’t get properly turned on looking at another woman, so she stared at what once was a comically reserved woman—but now was a comically overdone, sex-crazed bimbo—masturbating in front of her and imagined her pussy being eaten by Phil.

“Hush. Don’t say anything. Just watch!” The receptionist’s crimson nails pressed the fabric tight against the folds and teased over the nub at the top. “Watch me and fantasize doing it yourself.”

Phil and Angie necked furiously, his groping hands everywhere but between her legs. Angie did her duty there and Phil got off on watching. That got Angie going, but what really set her off was when Howard started to apply his tongue to her nipples. “Yum,” she accidentally moaned as the scene playing out in her mind got too intense.

Lana, jumping to the wrong conclusion, grinned. “You’re getting too horny to stop yourself, girl. Come here and tear my panties off.”

Almost like a dream—Howard and Phil licking sucking and fucking her every way she could imagine—Angie stood, slipped her fingers under the thin cords holding the sopping panties on and slowly pulled down. Yuck. If Howard hadn’t said to help Lana, I’d be so so gone. I can’t believe that Lana is taking advantage of me like this. This can’t be what Howard had in mind! It can’t be! Sure Master—Howard—is a pervert, but …

“Oh come on!” groaned Lana. “Rip them off! Tear them from my body and eat me! Be a slut for me! Be a slut for me!”

I’m trying, Angie raged silently. I don’t know how, though. A slut for Phil, I could do that, but he likes smart girls, not bimbos. Maybe Master likes sluts. Imagine making out with Lana while Master watched.

That was exactly the fantasy she’d needed. Her body heat kicked up the rest of the way to boiling. “Snap!” went the panties. A pair of long-nailed hands grabbed around the back of her neck and pulled forward. Forward and down, burying her face in no woman’s land, and goaded on by her fantasy of The Master’s eyes crawling over her body as she brought off The Master’s secretary, her tongue slipped out.

Phil does this for me, how hard can it be to copy him, especially if The Master’s watching?

“Eat me, slut! Yesssss!”

Angie didn’t have to do much, actually. Lana’s gyrating hips did the bulk of the work, but still Angie was at the mercy of a crazy lesbian and trying to avoid getting the icky fluids all over her as Lana bucked and howled. A door clicked open and Angie’s head snapped up in horror.

Lana, you stupid bitch! Now we’re in trouble! Oh! Omigod! Him! I’m gonna cum!

“Just what I like to see,” said The Master. “Two lovely girls expressing their wanton desires for each other.”

Angie buried her head between Lana’s legs and doubled her efforts, trying to drive her tormentor higher and higher for The Master. He wanted two lesbomaniacs going at it, he’d get it, or as close as Angie could fake. Lana howled and thrashed under the effects of Angie’s enthusiastic tongue. This time Angie had her own beads of moisture trickling down her legs as she brought the slutty secretary off to a vocal and high pitched climax.

“I’m glad we had the sound-proofing put in,” chuckled The Master. “Phil’s in the server room, screwing with something-or-other, Angie. C’mon.”

Lana reluctantly let go. “Howie! Oooooh! I never got to use any of my toys on her. I bought the best Vibrator, ever, and—”

“Lock the door and use it on yourself, Lana. I need to talk with Angie …. You have any moist towelettes or anything like that? Her face is a mess, you gusher, you.”

“No, Howie, why don’t you leave her here and get some paper towels from the washroom? I’ll take good care of her!”

Gripping hands pressed Angie’s face back into the receptionist’s dripping snatch, but now that The Master had other things in mind for her, Angie left the sex-mad slut alone.

“Awwwwww!” Lana moaned. “You’d love the vibrator, baby. You didn’t get to cum. That’s not fair, Howie! Angie didn’t cum yet!”

The Master strode mightily across the lobby and locked the door. Angie watched and got seriously wet waiting for his next order.

“So? Give her the vibrator. Angie, I want to watch you fuck yourself like a mindless slut.”

“I wanna do it!” whiled Lana.

“Give her the vibrator,” repeated The Master.

The stupid bitch better do what The Master says, or I’ll do it myself, thought Angie, but Lana relented, fished through her desk, and handed over a vibrating, chromed cylinder. The toy clutched in one hand, Angie wriggled out of her pants and went to work, making sure that The Master got the best possible view. With the master watching, it didn’t take long at all. It was a pleasure all around.

Even when Lana joined in on the fun.

IX

Angie sat up, dazed, on the metal table.

“Uh. What happened, Howie? Woo. Hot in here. What’s wrong with me today? Feel so weird. Lana was … not Lana. Can’t remember what happened. This pop, then … Where’s Phil?”

“Phil’s busy and the rest’s nothing to worry about, Angie. Lana’s just having fun and you … you just need to get fucked. By me.”

For a fraction of a second, Angie sat shocked, but then her whole body lit up like a Christmas tree. A big, fake, plastic tree that played Ode to Joy and had a lot of blinking red lights.

“That’s not right,” she muttered. What about Phil? I love Phil, not Howie.

“That is right,” said her pussy in an annoyingly high pitched, stupid-sounding sing song. “I need to get stuffed, right fucking now.”

“And we want to be sucked on,” her breasts chimed in, sounding vaguely like the Doublemint Gum twins. “We don’t care who does the sucking.”

“Lie back with your head between the magnets, Angie. I’d like to get a few readings.”

She practically flopped over, her body shaking with desire. “Loooverrrrrrrr!” She mewled as Howie turned from a computer. It blinked “Recording In Proress” as he stripped. Normally the typo would have driven the copy editor in Angie nuts, but for now, she was, to quote her nigh orgasmic moan, “So horny!”

X

Marty caught the reflection of the grin on Howie’s in the computer monitor face as Howie manipulated a mental pattern. It was rare to see Howie so engrossed in any work that Marty leaned in to get a closer look. Whoever this girl was her pleasure center was spiking so hard that the rest of the plot was hard to see.

‘Probably Eva,’ thought Marty before he spotted the name.

“Oh fuck. You didn’t. Howie, you asshole.”

“Hey man, I was right. Angie and Eva are a hell of a mix. Especially when you turn Eva way up.”

“You plugged an Eva Overlay onto Angie. How the hell did you get her in here anyway?”

“Heh. She was looking for Phil, so I had her sit in the lobby for a minute. With Lana. That was a gas.”

“Jesus. What did you do here?” Marty asked, pointing at the pleasure spike.

“Fucked her on the recording table. That’s what an orgasm looks like in 3D.”

“You actually recorded an orgasm. Why bother? You’ve been able to force live orgasms for months.”

“Yeah, but what I’m really interested in is a bit earlier—the need for an orgasm. You know, that crazy feeling that comes right before when you just can’t stop thrusting no matter how much you want to drag it out?”

“Pff. What are you gonna do with that, I wonder?”

Howie smiled.

“Please tell me you found time in your busy schedule to get the Marley Mix ready for Phil.”

“Yup.”

“And the Patricia Kenny photoshoot Overlay? More subtle than Maria?”

“Just about done.” Howie’s smile broadened from ear to ear. “She’ll be interested in showing more skin almost immediately and be begging to have nude photos taken inside a week, but shouldn’t start stripping because some guy looks at her the right way on the street. I’d love to see the governor’s face when he finds out his daughter’s thrown off the good girl image. I even have the Sharpe 2.0 just about done.” He tapped spike on the monitor with his pen. “’s part of what I want the orgasm for.”

“Only part?”

“Only part.” Howie pressed his ballpoint pen down until the spring clicked, let go, and caught the pen as it shot back up. “So far we’ve stuck to fairly simple stimulus, but I wanna see what happens when you key raging sexual desire to certain scents. Saw this Axe commercial I want to try out.”

“Do it on your own time; the schedule’s slipping. Why does it always have to be sex with you, man? The applications of this thing … We could make babysitters who are actually available on Friday nights.”

“Because I’m not married, Marty. I still have sexual desires. How come you’ve never brought up doing a little work on your wife? That reminds me. I’ll have that attitude adjustment for your daughter, Terri, ready by Wednesday. You can bring her in anytime Friday evening.”

“Good to hear,” said Marty, apparently ignoring the wife option. “The guy she’s hanging out with this week gives me the creeps. Good job on Cathy, by the way. I dropped her of at the pool a few minutes late and nobody noticed a thing. She doesn’t seem to remember any of it.”

“I aim to please. She gives great head.”

Marty stared at his partner, shocked. “Fuck! Howie, she’s just a kid!”

Looking almost as shocked, Howie shot back, “Whoa! I can’t believe you fell for that. Like I’d do a highschooler. Marty, you know I like them with more meat. I’m a pervert, not a freak.”