The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.

I snapped awake with a start. The room was light again, pale grey and opalescent. Takeshi was online, avatar blinking; always watching.

How are you feeling? No rogue programmes seeping in?

“Fine. I think. How long was I out?”

A few hours. No more. Hungry? Thirsty?

My mouth tasted dry from tension and sleep, and my stomach was eating itself with hunger. I eyed the tempting feeding tube, and decided that was a very bad idea. Even Takeshi didn’t know what came out of those tubes, but she suspected it was all part of the programme, feeding the thing in my head. I drank a little water from the faucet in the simple bathroom instead. Other basic needs could wait. Time to find my sister.

I rolled off the bed and shimmied into the too-tight bodysuit. I reached under the pillow for the Tasers. Checking myself in the mirror, I saw they left an unsightly and obvious bulge in the otherwise smooth surface of my second skin. I sighed; that wouldn’t do for recon purposes, not at this delicate stage of heightened security. With regret, I stowed them back under my pillow, and smoothed the suit back to seamlessness.

“If she’s here, how do I find her?” I subvocalised to Takeshi.

What does she look like?

I grimaced at that. “Stupid question, Tak. Take a wild guess.”

Like everybody else?

“Bravo, maestra. You win a cigar.”

A weird electronic giggle: I don’t smoke. It’s dangerous. And her avatar burst into flames and dissolved into a shower of sparks, a pretty firework in the corner of my eye. I couldn’t help smiling.

I remembered the stars, behind her on screen, there in Talv’s apartment, flowing in an endless structured river of millions, billions of twinkling lights, clouds, galaxies, stark against blackness. The HD sky was breathtaking, constellations I’d never seen before.

“Where are you, Takeshi?” I’d asked. “What are you?”

To my left, Mister Talv had stifled a laugh. “The ghost in the machine. She’s nowhere. Takeshi doesn’t live in the real world.”

She’d smiled on screen then, unperturbed, as the stately river of stars flowed by behind her. Realer than yours, Karsten Talv.

“What’s that?” I’d asked her, indicating a particularly bright cluster of spiral galaxies that’d swum into view. They were fizzing with activity, spitting sparks, orbiting slowly.

Social channels. All the usual, and many and various others. Voices, thoughts, everywhere. She’d spread her arms and turned, glorying in the view. Home.

Home was always where you belonged.

Takeshi’s avatar popped back into view, her tiny morale-booster over. I straightened up, assumed posture, and walked out into the endless corridor with a confidence I didn’t feel.

The next day she rose at the wake-up call, sucked her viscous breakfast from the feeding tube, and set off down the windowless grey corridor. She passed the work area, and walked on for an age, past cubicles and bedrooms and hallways, a quiet maze of organic oyster grey.

There was a small locked quasi-metal door at the end of the long grey corridor, labelled ‘access restricted’. It was heavy, and locked, and when she jiggled the handle it didn’t move.

A woman approached her. It was like looking in a mirror; mirrors everywhere, a constant dislocation of strangeness.

“Hello,” said the woman, glancing at her curiously. “Are you lost?”

“I don’t know. Yes, I’m lost.”

“This is the end of the corridor.”

“I can see that,” she said bitterly. “I’m lost. I want to get out.” A flood of longing. “I wish my sister would come and get me.”

Yes. She had a sister. She held onto the thought like a precious jewel. What was her name, though?

“We are all sisters,” said the other woman calmly.

Memories surfaced. She was suddenly on the verge of tears. “I was in jail. I remember being in jail. We both were. Then I went to sleep and woke up here.”

“That is not possible. It must have been a dream,” replied the young woman. She paused, seeming to think. “I had a similar dream once.”

“You did?”

“Yes. I dreamed I was working in a beautiful supermarket, and lived in a pretty house in the suburbs. But that was silly. This is home.”

She pondered this. “I can’t remember my name. Or my sister’s name. What’s your name?” she asked.

The young woman frowned, puzzled. “Name? You mean identifier. Number. I am female 304.”

She eyed the other woman. “But your name? I don’t have a number, I have a name. I just can’t remember what it is...”

“You must have a number. I will show you where on your body you will find your number.” The woman unzipped her bodysuit, deftly pulled it down, and turned. In tiny print at the top of her left buttock was a number: 304F.

She did the same, and turned, craning her neck. She could just make out the tiny print on her own bottom. Her breath caught in her throat.

She whirled back to the other woman, her eyes wild. “Where did that come from? How long have I had that?”

304F shrugged. “It has always been there, 715F.” The woman’s placid brow crinkled again with the vestige of a frown. “You should know these things. We all know these things. Is there something wrong with your memories? Are you unable to perform your duties? I will escort you to the maintenance centre.”

She felt slightly faint, woozy. She assembled her face into a facsimile of calmness and in as neutral a monotone as she could manage, replied: “No thank you. I am fine. It was a simple mistake. I am 715F. There is nothing wrong at all. I got lost. I do not need to go to the maintenance centre. I am sorry.”

But the woman didn’t smile, and she didn’t go away.

It didn’t take long to realise that the task might be even more difficult than I’d expected. I carefully wandered the disorienting grey corridors and numberless grey rooms, watching, gleaning what I could. Already I craved sunlight. The flowers in the left hand corner of my vision were the only respite from greyness; that and the identical peachy skin, blonde hair, and red lips of the other women wandering aimlessly and alluringly by.

There didn’t seem to be any men around today. I wondered why, until I came upon the first guards.

“Takeshi. Any insights?” I subvocalised as I strolled past, not looking at the guards, looking neither left nor right, not breaking stride at all. “No men here. Guards only. I’m guessing security escalation?”

Takeshi’s avatar blinked gently, silent for a moment. Trawling the depths whatever vast galaxy-sized pools of data she swam in, perhaps.

I have retrieved a memo from Collins. They have not found the intruder, by definition, Takeshi finally replied. Therefore they are looking within. They are checking all the men first. Checking for imposters.

“Why the men?”

Because men are always more dangerous than women, are they not?

“Sure, Tak,” I snorted under my breath. “If you say so.” Good. Another small advantage; more time bought.

The workroom was silent and empty; I walked on, checking every almost-identical face I passed. Would I know my sister’s eyes if I saw them?

A few dozen yards down the gently curving corridor, I came to a crossroads. I called up Takeshi’s floorplan. To the right lay the ‘recreation zone’, and a host of other things too. To the left lay ‘accommodation’. I chose right.

The recreation zone was cavernous, perhaps two hundred feet to a side, and thronged with identical naked women, all in the throes of ecstasy.

As I looked through the doorway I saw there were women kissing, entwined on the floor; women in groups, heads between legs, tongues feverishly licking; women alone, pleasuring themselves with a whole variety of interesting looking implements; a cornucopia of naked breasts and nipples and so much else besides. The heaving field of flesh was made endless by the fact that the room was mirrored on all sides. Women, women, everywhere, stretching away to infinity.

The sign above the doorway read: Practice Makes Perfect.

I entered the room and was assailed by moans and pheromones. I steadied myself, trying to stay alert amidst the distraction, and began to make the rounds.

A woman immediately approached me breathing heavily, swaying, her pupils clearly dilated. Her face was flushed. She reached out her arms to me, inviting, and for an instant I wanted desperately to kiss her, to feel her tongue on mine. Just the thing in my head. I concentrated, looked her in the eye.

Not my sister.

Another woman looked up and began crawling across the floor on her hand and knees towards me, her bare ass up in the air. She looked up at me with an expression of unfocussed lust. “Don’t you want to touch—” she began, but she was immediately distracted by the hand of another on her bottom; her eyes closed and she began to writhe and push against the hand, moaning with joy.

Not my sister.

A small knot of naked women were pushing and wriggling against each other, hands and mouths and breasts everywhere, limbs intertwined, sheened in each other’s sweat, eyes wide in crazed arousal. I couldn’t even tell which legs belonged to which body. I was breathing hard by now; my hand reached for my zipper, residual programmes crying out to be free, and I forced myself to behave.

One by one, I checked their eyes.

Not her. Not her. Not her. Not my sister. Not here.

Where, then?

My heart sank. Perhaps she’d already gone, to wherever or whoever the women were sent when they were the finished ‘product’.

I was suddenly conscious of new eyes on me. I turned, slowly, outwardly calm and untroubled as my stomach churned in alarm. A guard was watching from the doorway, frowning slightly. Watching me. Staring at me. I immediately knew why; everybody else in the room was naked and lost to their paroxysms of lust, and I was just casually wandering around there fully clothed, at least as far as that went round here. I stood out like a sore thumb.

I stilled my palpitating heart and faced him; I gave him my best sultry sex-doll look, the fuck-me pout that was designed in as the default expression.

“You. Come here,” he barked.

That was exactly what I’d hoped he’d say. I walked towards him slowly, hipswaying provocatively and making sure he got a good look at my cleavage, which was bulging out encouragingly. His attention was glued to my chest.

The biotech residuals were doing their work in any case, and I didn’t have to simulate too much at all. I stopped in front of him, squashed the urge to rip off his uniform, and said huskily: “Is there some way I can serve you, sir?”

He looked by body up and down. “Why have you got your bodysuit on? This is the recreation area. Practice makes perfect.”

I slowly undid my zip. “Yes. Practice makes perfect. I am sorry. I was just about to take it off.”

“Good,” he said, eying my excellent breasts. “Take it off then, and turn around and bend over.”

Takeshi’s avatar flashed suddenly red. Don’t turn around. Don’t let him see your number.

Don’t let him see your number. Like she was bothered about me being fucked senseless by some random security guard. Admittedly, the urge was almost overwhelming to drop the suit, spread my legs, and bend over to take the sweet thrill of him, according to my purpose, according to the call of the thing in my head. But instead of that I dropped him with a well-aimed knee to his temptingly swollen groin and sealed the deal with a fast sharp blow to his stupid muscular neck.

He’d never once looked at my eyes.

Shock to the carotid artery, jugular vein, vagus nerve, whispered Takeshi. Instant unconsciousness. He will awaken with involuntary muscle spasms and intense pain. I doubt he will know or remember what happened when he wakes up.

“Yeah, well, Tak. That happened to me once. But they’ll find him before then. In about ten minutes.” I glanced up at the CCTV camera in the corner of the room. “Depending on how much attention they’re paying.”

Karsten Talv’s avatar came alive in a fizz of green eyes. What did I miss? What’s that big room you’re in? What does it mean, ‘recreation’? Is it interesting? Have you found her yet? Don’t forget to keep a lookout for any unfamiliar-looking biotech while you’re in there. They might have all sorts of new things… hold on a minute, I’ve got a call coming in…

The man had all the attention span of a child, sometimes. I didn’t even bother answering. I took a last look at the heaving sea of female flesh in the recreation zone, zipped myself up, stepped over the prostrate guard, and headed out into the wide grey corridor once more.

On automatic pilot now, I checked the heads up. ‘Recreation’ was behind me now; ahead, a series of other rooms, and the final stop: ‘Discipline’.

Sounds like fun, giggled Takeshi.

I wasn’t so sure about that.