The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

A hundred or so spectators file into the theater. On stage, the controller looks over the crowd, all silhouetted against the bright lights. The onlookers are an anonymous cluster of shadows. But you stand, well-lit. You are one in a lineup of androgynous cybernetic forms, all in different configurations, and in differing levels of conversion. Flanking the group are guards whose helmets conceal what lies beneath. A crosshair is projected onto their visors which displays where they are looking. Are they robots or cyborgs? Flesh with implants like you? Or, A crude mess of metal, wires, and sensors. Perhaps they are a combination of both, the biological components disfigured to accept the enhancements without regard for aesthetics or beauty. You aren’t even sure what you are classified as, given the recent and severe alterations to your mind and body.

You gradually become aware of your controller speaking to the crowd. “...it doesn’t need to sleep. It doesn’t need to stop to eat or excrete—it is entirely self contained. All it needs is to be plugged into a recharge station occasionally. “

“And, each one of these cyborgs are field-reprogrammable. We will now give a demonstration.”

A cyborg which appears to have been a male steps forward, its vacant eyes staring dead ahead, every bit under hive control as you are. You hear a periodic hissing sound as it is fed oxygen through tubes to its mouthpiece. There is a faint high-pitched electronic whine as its servos engage. It moves across the floor towards you. As it comes face to face with you, you can smell its PVC, rubber and plastics.

This maintenance drone examines you for a few seconds, then circles behind, just as the controller had done before. Its manipulator arm reaches around, coming across your torso, pulling your back against its chest. The drone raises its humanoid palm to the side of your head. Your conscious mind is alarmed. “What does it intend to reprogram me for?”, you think to yourself, thoughts racing. But your ear-dome obediently opens, betraying your fleeting feelings of resistance. The cybernetic tongue easily snakes inside you, pushing into the braincase, forming connections with what makes you you. Does the other drone desire this, or is it simply following its programming? It is a moot point—there is little difference between obedience and desire.

The controller looks on, pleased, as your mind is further rearranged.

And then it suddenly stops.

The drone retracts the cable into its palm, still gripping your torso with its other hand. Latches on your body open in sequence, each one audibly clicking as it disengages. Your left leg clatters to the floor. Without a signal from your spine, it aimlessly pivots at the knee a few seconds before running out of power and ceasing all motion. The right leg does the same. Your manipulator falls from the mount point in your upper arm, the tools randomly operating. Pale flesh is clearly visible around the jack on the end of the detached limb: human and machine grown together as one.

The maintenance drone pulls out. As it does, your abdomen falls in sections to the floor, one segment after the other. It is left holding just your upper chest, neck, and head, like a cybernetic bust.

“You see, these drones are completely modular”, the controller states with pride, addressing the crowd. “Every part of them is encased in a cybernetic unit which can easily be swapped between different drones.”

The maintenance drone carries you over to a stand which has a hook and cables, and slots the hook into a mount point on your back. You hang suspended as the drone connects the cables to your jacks. The familiar cold rush flows through your body. The chemical taste in your mouth. Yet another drone begins picking your old parts up from the floor and placing them in a carrying case.

“If one component fails, you can simply pull the corresponding module from another drone, or from a supply of spare parts.”

Another drone stands to the side of your station, staring blankly. The maintenance unit you were interfacing with goes over to the drone to your side. A click is heard as the drone’s arm is disengaged from its shoulder, exposing a metallic interface. From the forearm down, the arm appears mostly human, but with two wires snaking down it like a technological caduceus. They terminate at a web-like glove covering the backs of the fingers, the wrist, and wrapping around to the palm. It has two flat, rectangular implants—one on the back of the hand, and one on the back of the forearm. The drone approaches you with the appendage and secures it to your shoulder. Nerves come to life conveying sharp, prickly sensations to your brain where the skin is exposed. It continues, removing parts from one drone and securing them to your body. Part after part snaps in until you are rebuilt. And, until the drone next to you is a hanging torso. It is still conscious, and does not seem particularly bothered by being stripped. The maintenance drone wheels it off of the stage.

She turns back to the crowd and continues, “One of the best things about these drones is that they always obey. They have no choice, nor do they desire to have a choice. No matter the demand, they will do it”. She looks over at one of the guard drones in polished black plating. Her eyes flash. The guard drone pivots towards another drone, raises its arm cannon, and aims straight ahead. They pause. The other drone stands, motionless, expressionless, dutifully accepting its fate. Suddenly, lightning crackles from the guard’s cannon and strikes the drone in the chest. With a quick whir of servos, the drone jolts, quickly taking two steps backwards, its stabilizers preventing it from losing balance. A bright web of electricity dances across its muscled plating, outwards from the impact point. Its body judders and the left leg falters. Dozens of glowing electric fingers make their way down the limbs before dissipating. Sparks fly as connections are severed and circuits fuse. Smoke begins emanating from its body. Other components are now unable to function, and the drone is aware that thousands of its systems are in a cascading failure. But its face does not register any emotion. The stabilization finally fails. The drone falls to its knees, slumps sideways, and ultimately comes to rest. It lies awkwardly crumpled. The manipulator continues to whir away for another several seconds before finally ceasing. A faint odor of ozone wafts across the stage. In your mind you hear: “Unit 97-X disconnected from hive”, the sole acknowledgement that the drone has been deactivated.

The controller pauses to let the shock of the situation sink in. She then continues with her pitch.

“Not to worry. There is rarely damage that can be done to these drones which is truly unfixable. It will be up and running again within a few hours of repairs. In the worst case scenario, the braincase is impenetrable to nearly anything, and can almost always be salvaged.“

Four drones descend on the broken cyborg. One carries a leg off. Another drone arrives, taking its place. A steady stream of drones, going to and from, carrying various parts off to be repaired or recycled. Plating. The manipulator. Cables.

“These braincases have a backup which can keep both the electronic and biological components alive for two hours after separation from the body.”

Other smaller components that cannot be identified. An ocular implant. The top section of the headgear. Is one.. the face?

The pitch continues, “And remember, these fully interchangeable braincases are not only useful inserted into cyborgs or humanoid robots. They can also be used as the central processing unit for large machinery, and they are also quite powerful as a processing node for distributed AI systems. Well, AI is getting a lot less “artificial” with these advances, isn’t it? Marrying the analytical and cognitive abilities of a biological brain with the cold, raw processing speed of a computer—It is one of the largest technological leaps this decade”

As the drones begin to disperse, the fate of the damaged drone comes into view. Nothing is left but a small metal spheroid. The last salvage drone picks it up and hands it to the controller. She rotates it in her hand before holding it up to the public.

“As you can see, the green LED is on, indicating the brain is still active and healthy. Of course, it is in complete sensory deprivation at the moment. Of course, some of them enjoy that. You can keep a braincase in that state or sleep their consciousness. Your choice.”

She flicks a switch on the side of the braincase and the light turns from green to blue and begins to softly pulse. Without looking away from the audience she hands the oblong object back to the drone, which carries it offstage.

You feel something. Envy? You wish to experience this level of disembodiment. Perhaps someday you will be chosen. The thought excites you.

“The next step is to hook it up to diagnostics, where you will get a detailed rundown of which regions are damaged, if any, and require a cybernetic replacement.”

“These drones are the next generation of manufacturing, surgical, rescue, repair, and military cyborgs. Their endurance and versatility is unmatched. And, as of right now, we are accepting orders for these units. You can supply a biological body for a drone order, or for a higher price we will supply one of our own bodies which have been conditioned pre-conversion specifically for popular dronehood tasks. Costs vary depending on how your chosen drone is equipped and how extensive the cybernetic modifications are. Please ask to see a pricing chart. Thank you.“

The lights dim on stage. And you are inspired to fulfill your final purpose.