The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The new mannequin stood to attention, spotlit. Its feet were planted slightly apart, its head erect, its hands behind its back. It was very striking. He walked over to the statue. He tutted slightly, and fished a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping away some invisible mark from its silvery surface. He beckoned me over.

The statue, or model, looked just like me. Not plasticky at all, this time. This was quite something. I was flattered, and I was amazed.

It stood tall and erect in its silvery heels, chest out, hands behind its back. Its posture was perfect, like mine. Like me, like mine, its body was silvery, metallic, seamless. My—its—breasts looked pleasingly firm and high. Around its neck sat a stylised collar, metal too. It matched perfectly. A single O ring dangled. Above the collar, my face.

My eyes, calm and blue. My lips, slightly parted, red. My hair, red and gold; every strand distinct and real. Truly a vast improvement in resolution, I thought.

I peered closer, examining the statue, fascinated. It was as if I was truly looking at myself, and it was a slightly dislocating feeling. The detail was extraordinary, even down to the pores of my skin, and the downy translucent hairs on my cheeks, the detail of my lips. My eyelashes. The tiny mole on my left cheekbone. It was identical, presumably printed molecule by molecule up in extreme high definition. There was no sense of this being some sort of plastic, man-made thing. It was almost perfectly lifelike, except for the preternatural stillness of the thing.

The Objekt 9000 combines precision and detail with a host of material properties. With the right materials at hand, and the right level of resolution, it can print literally anything at all.

Well, here was some proof of sorts, I thought. I reached out to touch its face. The statue was warm to the touch. Freshly made, I thought. Freshly printed. Was this my present?

I thought I saw the corner of the statue’s mouth tremble, an almost imperceptible twitch. Was I imagining it? I looked closer. Nothing moved. The statue looked calmly ahead, eyes placid. I must have imagined it.

Karsten clapped his hands, jubilant. “Yes! Look, Kate,” he said. “A work of art. Quite authentic. A whole new you.”

I laughed at the joke. “Very clever, very good, very beautiful—but it’s still only a—it’s a —”

He looked back at me, interested. Intelligent green eyes. “Only a what?”

“I don’t know,” I said, “but there’s only one me.”

“Well. The printer scanned someone named Kate at a—ah—molecular level of detail, as far as I understand it from my limited technical capabilities, and then it printed a copy at that same level of detail, using all the right raw materials. Why could the duplicate not be as good as the original?”

“Because I’m me. This copy,” I said, waving at the moving statue-thing, “good as it is, it isn’t alive.”

He smirked, scenting a philosophical debate. “But really, how do you know? How would anyone know? If it moves, and if maybe it even talks, how would we know?”

I paused, slightly disconcerted. “I don’t know. Does this one move? Does it talk?”

“Well, let’s see.” He turned to the statue, still immobile. “Come here,” he said.

On cue, the statue relaxed out of its pose and stepped gracefully towards us. Evidently he had come a long way with this, and whatever mechanism drove it, the movements of the thing were surprisingly fluid. There was no jerkiness whatsoever. High resolution indeed. This was far more than just the glorified waxwork he’d shown me before. Metallic heels ticked like clockwork. She—it—was exactly the same height as me. It stood facing me, no more than a metre away. I smelled its perfume. My perfume.

I took a deep breath and drew myself up to my full height. The moving statue, the printout, did likewise, imitating. It was quite disturbing, in its mindless way. Microexpressions seemed to flicker across its face. It almost looked sort of alive, now. However he’d done it, this was very good work indeed.

I frowned at it, and it frowned at me. I smiled at it, and the statue-thing smiled back, mimicking me. It was like looking in a weird three dimensional mirror. Statue-thing was starting to freak me out a little. I hazarded a glance at the tall mirror on the wall, and the mannequin did the same. We looked like identical twins; a mirror within a mirror. Clever, clever Karsten.

“Go on, ask something,” he said.

“Statue-thing,” I said, mustering some High-Flying authority. “What are you? What is your name?” I felt ridiculous, talking to it, to some manufactured object, however cleverly done it was. You might as well talk to a clockwork toy.

There was a second of silence. Two seconds. Three. It didn’t speak. It couldn’t speak, after all. I thought of the black and gold bird. Of course it couldn’t speak. It was an automaton.

And then it spoke. “I’m Kate,” it said, in my voice. And it smiled, wide and spontaneously, and looked at me, and said: “And who do you think you are?”

My jaw dropped. He was grinning at me. “Scanned and printed. Completely accurate, at maximum resolution,” he said. “It took quite a while to create.”

I looked at the statue-thing—the creature—whatever it was—at me—and it looked right back.

“Kate —” he began.

Statue-thing and I turned to face him. “Yes?” we both said at the same time.

A sudden image of snowflakes, drifting outside as I closed my eyes in the machine, and the incongruous warm sun when I woke. The black and gold bird, croaking miserably in its cage. The silver suit suddenly seemed very constricting indeed, and a wave of claustrophobia began to rise in me. I scrabbled behind my neck, panicked, feeling for the fastener.

I felt no zipper. There was no zipper. My breath caught. I couldn’t breathe. I wheeled, twisted, searching my back in the tall mirror. My back was smooth and silver, and I detected no seam at all. There was no seam. Seamless. It might as well have been my own skin. It felt like my own skin.

“Karsten, what have you done…” I began, and then stopped. What had he done to me?

He frowned at me—at me, Kate!—and then he said: “You. Shut up. Stand to attention. Be still.”

As if responding to some sort of—programming?—I felt my body tense, and automatically adopt the position specified, legs straight, hands behind my back, and then hold it, immobile. I tried to open my mouth to speak. I could not. He turned back to the—what? The other. “As I was saying before we were so rudely interrupted. Kate, how do you like your gift?”

“It’s perfect. Just perfect,” said the thing, the other.

It stepped towards me. Heels clicked. Its face was inches from mine. I stared straight ahead as it examined me. I could not move a single muscle. “Remarkable, Karsten.” My voice. “You would never know it’s just a man-made object. It’s almost completely lifelike. Not at all plasticky, like the first three.” Its brow crinkled slightly. “Is it actually alive, do you think? Sentient?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “As I said before, when I told you about Tallinn—how can one tell, really? As you can see, it presents as having memories—your memories. Only up to the time of the last scanning, of course. It presents as having a will, a personality. An unintended consequence, perhaps; the resolution really is remarkably high. But can we really tell?” He shrugged.

“Does it think it’s alive? Does it have feelings?” said the other.

Yes. Please—what are you talking about? I’m me. Kate. Of course I’m alive. Of course I have feelings.

“I think it might, in a way. Basic conditioned reflexes, mainly, plus the simple programmes I added.”

“But it doesn’t know what we discussed, after the scan,” said the other.

“No. It can’t, by definition, because it didn’t exist until just now.”

I wanted to scream, but of course I could not.

“Shall we take it for a test drive?” he said. “Put it through its paces? Make sure it’s working properly? There may be a few glitches to iron out.”

He cupped my chin and examined my face. “I imagine you want to get down on your knees in front of me right now,” he said, apropos of nothing at all.

Despite the non sequitur, I knew he was absolutely right. I found myself absolutely wanting to do just that, as I had done many times before, and so I did, dropping gracefully into a kneeling position. Every inch of my skin tingled with arousal, and underneath the suit I knew I must be sopping wet. The right thing to do, kneeling, seemed obvious: to cross my hands behind my back, and tilt my face up to look at his, and open my mouth compliantly, and then stay absolutely still, waiting for the next instruction.

“I haven’t time, Karsten,” said the other. “My flight leaves in four hours. JFK.” It—she- turned away from me. Its back was silver and smooth, and I saw the thinnest of seams running neatly down the spine, the tiny catch of the zipper at the neck. The other reached behind itself—behind herself—and pulled down the zipper, stepping out of the suit, naked and beautiful and incontrovertibly, inarguably real. I watched as she slipped into her jeans and T shirt, becoming realer still, becoming me.

A man-made object. I knelt there with my mouth open, unable to move. My heart raced. He had asked what I—she—wanted, and she—I—had told him, screamed it out, in the throes of climax. And what had been asked for, filtered and distilled through Karsten’s cleverness and ingenuity, was, I realised, exactly this.

I want to have it all.

But I thought, therefore I was, and I was still me, Kate, wasn’t I? If not, what?

She was fully dressed now, slipping out of her submission and back into Miss High Flier as easily as she changed outfits. She stepped toward him and embraced him. I watched, horrified, fascinated, jealous, aroused, as she rose on her tiptoes and kissed him deeply. “Thank you, Karsten,” she murmured.

“So you can have it all, it seems.” He shrugged, grinned. “Just not in one life. If you’re ever in town, or if I happen to be in Tokyo... meanwhile, take this.” He tossed her my first present, the silver dildo, and she caught it deftly in one hand. “This one works to the sound of your own voice, now, Kate. Almost every time.”

“Almost every time…?”

“Just that little bit of random unpredictability to keep things interesting. You know where I am if it won’t let you go.”

She grinned back at him, confident, High Flying Kate, in control. “Oh, for sure.” She laid the palm of her hand on his chest. “Until then, there’s all the time in the world.” She glanced in my direction. “Play nice with me, now, Karsten. Don’t break your beautiful toy. In fact why stop at just one? Why not two, ten, a hundred?”

He chuckled. “Indeed. Why not? Together, you could do great things.”

Then she, Kate—incontrovertibly real, original Kate—blew me a quick kiss, and she turned and walked away, heels clicking like clockwork on the parquet floor.

“How beautiful,” he said. He stepped back, circling me, and I felt him run his finger down the full length of my spine. “What fun we’ll have.” I thrilled to his touch, as I always do.

“And one more thing,” and he clicked his fingers as if remembering something important. “From now on, just call me Mister Talv.”