The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

He’d started working on an idea, he said—another present for me, a really good one, according to him—a sort of going away present, for both of us, in fact. It was in its early stages.

The mannequin stood there, in a glass case. I could see immediately that it was supposed to be a likeness of me.

“Is this what I think it is?” I said. Echoes of the first time he had given me one of his printed presents.

He grimaced. “Early days. What do you think?”

I looked at the work, the sculpture he’d printed. The proportions were correct, I thought, and it was clearly anatomically accurate, but it looked like nothing so much as a weirdly over-detailed shop dummy.

“How did you do this?” although I thought I already knew the answer.

“From the scan. The same scan I used for your play suit, the one you’re wearing now.” I was, as always, wearing my wonderful silver skinsuit. I could see how the smooth surface of that had translated into the smooth surface of the mannequin—the doll—but in this context it was all a little too abstracted.

The hair, a poor facsimile of mine, looked like what it was: white nylon strands. A low draught was drifting from somewhere in the apartment, and the strands drifted slightly.

Karsten watched me inspect his work. I could tell he wasn’t expecting me to be gushing over it.

The skin was flesh toned, but too evenly shaded, the contours of my body too perfect.

Its face—my face—was certainly recognisable, but too smooth, too symmetrical. The eyes, wide, too blue, too glassy. The mouth of the doll was lightly parted; the lips a little too red, the teeth a little too white. It looked exactly like what it was; a 3-D printed version of me. It didn’t really look like High Flying Kate, but it looked like something.

“It looks like a sex doll.”

He sighed. “I know. All a bit plasticky, isn’t it?” said Karsten.

“That’s the word. But nevertheless…”

Nevertheless, the fact that he’d managed to do it all was amazing. I thought of the model bird. “Does it move? Do anything?”

“No. That would be seriously complicated. This is a first try, that’s all. A basic model.”

The printer just wasn’t delivering, he said. The resolution was too low. He was placing too heavy a demand on the original scan. He was pushing its capabilities to the limits, and what I saw in the glass case was as good as it was going to get. He needed to scan me again, he said, at a higher resolution. And I should leave my suit on; he thought the model would look better in silver, and with heels.

There were no objections from me. I was a convert, even though I knew I would have to leave his wonderful presents—and him—behind in just a few short weeks. Perhaps he would give me something else to remember him by.

I climbed into the chamber once more, lay down, and got myself comfortable. He’d said this scan would take a little while, given the resolution required. The door hissed shut, and I heard the dim whine of the scanner starting up, the clicks and whirrs of complex machinery getting ready for action. Outside the window, the winter sun was setting. The last vestiges of the season’s snow sparkled thinly on the flat roofs outside.

I must have fallen asleep in the chamber, lulled by the quiet humming of the machine, because the next thing I knew the noises had stopped, and there was a puff of air on my skin as the door popped open. The sun was high in the sky, now, and any hint of residual snow on the roofs had gone. Clearly it had been a long session in pursuit of the required resolution. It felt unseasonably warm, almost spring-like.

I thought of Tokyo. Only a few weeks left with Karsten, now. I was almost reconciled to it. You can never have it all, and I needed to make the most of these moments, the long goodbye. But I must have been burning the candle at both ends a little too much. A double life taking its toll, perhaps. I felt absolutely exhausted, and my eyes felt gummy with sleep.

I slid out of the chamber, stood, and stretched, woozy; I could hardly keep my eyes open. Karsten was looking at me appraisingly. My skin tingled all over. In the corner of the workshop, the black and gold model bird croaked despondently in its cage.

“You’re awake, then,” he said.

“Yes. Just about.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Terrible,” I said. “Exhausted. Did you get the resolution you needed?”

He eyed me curiously. “I think so, yes. It looks that way.”

I walked over to the workstation. Multiple images of me, my body, finely detailed, on every screen, a silvery Goddess.

My legs felt like jelly. I could feel another wave of drowsiness rushing in, a looming Tsunami of sleep. My tongue felt thick in my mouth, and my eyelids were drooping. I needed to curl up somewhere. “Karsten, I’m sorry, but I—”

“It’s okay. Sleep. We can talk tomorrow.”

I awoke refreshed, renewed, vibrant, feeling alive again. It was early morning. Glimmers of orange at the window, and the ever present low thrum of New York, muted now for dawn.

Clearly I had needed that, I thought.

Karsten wasn’t in the bedroom. I guessed he had probably been tinkering with his machine all night. He didn’t seem to need a lot of sleep. Nor did I, normally; High Fliers lived on adrenalin and determination. But sometimes needs must. And I felt absolutely fine now—great, in fact.

I got out of bed, stretched. Better, much better. Checking myself in the mirror I thought I looked as fresh as a daisy; my cheeks were positively glowing with health again. I was still wearing the silvery skinsuit, and it gleamed, spotless. Good. I cleaned my teeth and went to find Karsten.

It was sometimes difficult to track him down, given the size of the place. He wasn’t anywhere in the wide open plan living room, nor in the kitchen, but there was fresh coffee in the pot, and I helped myself to a couple of shots.

Better, much better.

I knew where he’d be, of course.

I pushed open the door of the Officially Designated 3D Printer Workshop and New Product Development Centre.

“Good morning. I thought I’d find you here.”

“Feeling better?”

“Much better. What are you doing?”

“Just checking a few things,” he said. “It’s technical.” Stuff scrolled across the screens: letters, numbers, symbols; it may as well have been Chinese. Technical, indeed.

“You’re becoming quite the expert, Karsten.”

He stood, and smiled that smile of his. A self-deprecating shrug. “Perhaps. We’ll see. Now come with me, I’ve got something to show you.” He opened a door, and ushered me through from the Official 3-D Printer Workshop and New Product Development Centre into another ancillary room. Metallic heels ticked.