The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“I swear to god, I have never been this horny before in my life. If nicotine was the only thing holding this back, thank god I smoked in college,” Maggie laughed.

It was a gray monday, and she sat at a table in the cafe nursing a latte across from Lena. The two girls had started at Greenfield Reynolds the same week, and had become fast friends after being assigned neighboring desks. Lena laughed in return.

“You’re sure it’s that? Maybe it’s the treatment. Remind me, is it a medication or something?”

Maggie frowned and absentmindedly rubbed her neck.

“No,” she said. “It’s… huh. I’m actually not sure. I think it was sort of talk therapy? Hypnosis or something?”

Lena laughed again, hard enough to draw a few glances from around the cafe.

“Damn girl,” Lena said. “Didn’t you say you did this a month ago? You need to get some more sleep.”

Maggie smirked.

“Who needs sleep when you’ve got coffee this good?” she said.

“Maybe you just need to get laid,” Lena chuckled back.

It was Tuesday. Maggie blinked at her desk, startling from a reverie. Her inbox sat in front of her, a glaring red expanse of unread messages stretching down the screen. She began to scroll through them, her pulse quickening as she saw how far back the timestamps stretched. All the way from 9am to… her heart skipped a beat. 2pm. She had lost track of a little over five hours.

Maggie swallowed nervously and glanced around the office. Lena was out that day, her cubicle empty, and across the room heads bowed over laptops and keyboards softly clicked away. Next to her hand, a paper cup from the cafe, still faintly warm to the touch. Maggie had no recollection of going there. Come to think of it, she had no recollection of how she’d even made it to work. She glanced down at herself, saw she was wearing her usual office uniform of charcoal slacks and a blouse. She felt an unfamiliar warmth up to her knees and lifted a pant leg to investigate. Below, the navy blue of a pair of field hockey socks she hadn’t worn since college. Had she run out of clean laundry?

As the day came to a close she found her car in the lot without much trouble, to her relief. It bothered her that she had no recollection of driving it. After the usual slog of rush hour, improved somewhat by a podcast about unsolved missing person cases, she arrived at her apartment. Maggie gave her roommates a cursory wave as she swept through the living room and into her bedroom. She dropped her bags and plopped onto her bed with a sigh. Maggie opened her laptop, seeing where to order the night’s takeout from. On a whim she checked her dresser. Drawer after drawer of clean, folded laundry.

That night she had restless dreams, the sort where the line between waking and sleep all but vanished. She stood in a vast field of wildflowers, the scent carried to her on a cool breeze. She took a deep breath and found herself sinking back, floating downwards. All around her the flowers stretched on and on and on, to the horizon and beyond. Their delicate aroma filled her nose, and she smiled and breathed deep. She felt small, smaller with every breath, vanishing more and more into the great expanse of flowers.

A gloved hand reached down, from where she did not know for certain. Somewhere above, from the light and breeze and lazily drifting clouds. It closed around her throat, gently at first and then tightened firmly. She felt a pulsing, a pounding between her legs, the feeling of an unseen phallus sliding in and out, in and out, filling her completely and then leaving her whimpering for more.

Good girl, a voice whispered to her. Soon you’ll be all gone.

She was smiling, smiling as she faded away into the field.

Lena looked at Maggie with concern as they nursed their lattes over the lunch break the next day.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look like absolute shit,” she said.

Maggie blinked. She’d been daydreaming, she thought, and had lost track of the conversation.

“What do you mean?”

“What do I mean? You’ve got bags under your eyes, I have no idea what’s happening with your hair, and you’re having some kind of breakout on your neck. Are you alright?”

Maggie sighed. She reached up to feel her neck, which felt tender to the touch. Her fingers didn’t feel her thick red hair where it usually lay and she realized it had been put up into messy, uneven pigtails. She let it down, her face reddening.

“I don’t know, I guess I haven’t been sleeping well lately,” she said.

Lena leaned forward to level a serious stare at Maggie.

“You know we get paid time off for a reason,” Lena said. “You should take some. You need to rest. Fuck, maybe you need to start smoking again.”

Maggie laughed, a little too long.

That night Maggie stood in her bedroom, looking into her mirror and not liking what she saw. Her eyes were hollow, sunken with fatigue, her hair was disheveled and her neck had what seemed like bruises on it. She took a deep breath and sat on her bed. She didn’t have much of an appetite for takeout and left her laptop discarded off to the side. An early bedtime seemed like the best move.

Maggie changed into pajamas, shut off the lights, and masturbated before going to bed. It was a rote, joyless act, like scratching an itch. She closed her eyes and drifted off into another restless sleep, the room seeming to lurch and spin around her.

Wildflowers. The landscape shifted and rolled, flower-dappled hills rising and falling like waves. The horizon itself began to rise, becoming a looming wall of wildflowers. It rose higher and higher, blotting out the sun, and crashed down on Maggie.

Shocked, staring eyes. All around her people stood at their cubicles, eyes wide and silent. Lena, a cup of coffee in her hand, stood mouth agape, her face pale with shock. Faint murmurs came from the distant corners of the office but a terrible silence hung in the air.

Maggie stood at her cubicle, naked save for her field hockey socks. Her hair was gathered into two loose pigtails. One of her hands was between her legs, her fingers working her clitoris with a feverish intensity, the other squeezed around her neck. A tear welled in her eye and began to run down her cheek.

She awoke with a gasp, her heart pounding. The motes of dust hung in the bright rays of what was unmistakably afternoon light. She’d slept past work, she realized, and felt something like relief. Maggie rolled over in bed and opened her laptop to send an email formally taking the day off. Her password didn’t work, bringing up a message about incorrect credentials. She shut it and began to get dressed. She’d let IT handle it when she got back, it was nothing a doctor’s note couldn’t take care of.

Maggie pulled on a loose hoodie, borrowed indefinitely from a college boyfriend, and a pair of sweats. She dug through her the top drawer of her dresser until she finally found the business card she was looking for.

Anodyne Therapeutics

22 Chestnut Street

Unit 301

Odd, she thought, that there was no phone number. She plugged the address into her phone, struggling to recall how she’d gotten there when she visited a month earlier. It was a short trip, thankfully. Maggie stepped out of her apartment and into the cool breeze and warm afternoon sun of a beautiful spring day.

It was a short bus ride. Maggie double checked the card in her hand as she got off at the station. The street felt familiar yet forbidding, a row of bleak modernist concrete slabs with less than three windows between the whole block. It felt industrial, a street meant more for machines than humans. Luckily the addresses were clearly marked and soon Maggie was stepping through the door of 22 Chestnut Street. She stepped into a nearby elevator, selected the third floor, and was a bit surprised when the doors opened directly into a waiting area.

The receptionist, a bookish woman with round glasses and a white sweater, beamed at her from behind a check-in counter.

“Ms. Maggie, it’s good to see you again!” she cooed.

Maggie took an uncertain step in. There were upholstered chairs, magazines, a television currently tuned to static. The air had a chemical scent, like a cheap perfume.

“I’m…”

Maggie swallowed.

“I think I’m having some issues after my treatment. Memory lapses, night terrors, that sort of thing,” she said.

The reception counter was decorated with just a single fake plant and a small basket of gold star stickers. The receptionist’s smile didn’t waver.

“Of course, and we know just how to help,” the woman said. “Please, this way.”

Maggie followed by reflex, though a bit perplexed.

“Don’t you need to, like, check me in or anything?” she asked.

“Oh no,” the woman laughed. “I think we know you well enough already.”

She led Maggie into a small exam room, which held an adjustable table, a metallic cylinder of gas, and a rolling chair. As Maggie stepped in the woman drew a curtain behind her.

“I’ll just need you to strip completely,” she said. “There’s a gown on the table if you’d like, just call when you’re finished.”

Maggie stripped down, the warm office air a welcome comfort as she slipped the paper gown over herself. She sat on the bed.

“I’m finished,” she called.

As the curtain drew, Maggie pulled her cell phone from her folded pants to check the time. An icon at the top of the stream revealed that it was in Airplane Mode, not receiving calls, texts, or emails. She switched her data back on, and the phone began to rapidly ding with notifications. The receptionist swept in and deftly plucked the phone from her hand.

“Hey!” Maggie protested.

The woman wagged a finger good naturedly.

“You know the rules, Ms. Maggie. No phones in the office. I’ll have it for you when you’re done.”

The phone was silenced and deposited in a zippered pouch with a flourish. Her clothes were also gathered and stashed in another.

“Now,” the woman said. “Let’s see about making you better. Your side effects are perfectly normal, you know. We’ll have you feeling right as rain in no time.”

She patted Maggie on the knee and began making adjustments to a white cylinder protruding from what looked like an oxygen mask.

“Say ‘ahh’,” the woman said, leaning in close.

Maggie did as she was asked and found herself gagging and choking as the long object was inserted into her mouth.

“What the hell?” she yelped, catching her breath.

“Oh, no, I’m so sorry! Let’s have a look at you and find you the right fit, Miss Goldilocks.” the woman cooed.

She leaned forward again and shone a flashlight into Maggie’s mouth, tutting to herself as she did some sort of mental calculations. Smiling, she drew back and produced a much smaller version of the device. She briefly fiddled with it and held it toward Maggie.

“I promise,” she said, “No discomfort this time. I know it feels silly but I promise it will help.”

Maggie said ‘ahh’ and the device was gently inserted past her lips, resting gently on her tongue. Maggie was finding it harder and harder to ignore how phallic the object was. It stopped short of her throat thankfully, but filled most of her mouth. She tongued its smooth surface reflexively. The woman attached a length of hose to it from the gas cylinder and tapped at a keypad for a moment. She stepped back and smiled.

“Well there you are, not too big, not too small, just right for Miss Goldilocks. I’ll check back in on you in just a few minutes. Try to make yourself comfortable!”

The door clicked shut and Maggie found herself alone in the exam room. The lights were kept soothingly low and buzzed faintly from the tile ceiling. On the wall was an impressionist painting, all indistinct swirls and spots of green, yellow and blue. She scanned a bit and found the room almost oppressively bland. No art other than the painting hung on the walls, there weren’t even brochures about medications to read. Maggie reached up and hesitantly felt the contours of the device strapped to her head.

The facemask clicked and Maggie jumped slightly, startled. A faint hiss followed the sound, and the surface of the cylinder filling her mouth emitted a cloud of something that tasted artificially floral from unseen holes in its surface.

Like an air hockey table, Maggie thought.

She breathed slowly and deliberately until the hiss stopped.

It’s going to be fine, she told herself. You’ve been feeling rough lately but you did the right thing. These people are professionals, they know how to help.

Maggie adjusted herself on the exam table, the paper cover crinkling beneath her as she did. It seemed like every time she had a doctor’s appointment the same thing happened, they promised to check in on her in a minute that soon grew to be twenty minutes. At least usually she was left with a phone to entertain herself.

When the facemask clicked again Maggie was ready for it. She breathed in as the gas hissed out. The smell was growing on her, she decided. She looked at the painting of a meadow on the wall. It gave her an unexpected pang of nostalgia, bringing up memories of running through similar fields of wildflowers when she was growing up outside the city. Rolling hills of wildflowers, still warm from the midday sun.

The mask clicked again, hissed again. Less time seemed to have passed in between clicks this time, or maybe Maggie had just lost track of time for a moment. She swung her feet, idly kicking from the edge of the exam table. It was nice to have a day off from work. Maggie had always overworked herself, chasing deadlines to the point of exhaustion since college. She couldn’t remember the last time she took a day for herself. With the low lights, the room was almost like a spa, she thought.

Another click, another hiss. Maggie took deep, greedy breaths, puffing her cheeks and breathing into her belly. Just to help things along. Helpful Maggie, maybe they’d give her one of those gold stars on the front desk. She let out a little laugh and twin puffs of gas, almost invisible in the low light, escaped her nostrils.

A hiss. Maggie hadn’t heard a click this time. She found herself gazing blankly at the painting of the beautiful meadow. Had she missed the click? How much time had passed? It seemed unimportant. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so relaxed. There was a warmth between her thighs and a growing wet spot on the table beneath her.

Maybe a little too relaxed, she thought.

Maggie knew she should be mortified by the stain beneath her. What would she say when the doctor arrived, how could she look them in the eyes? She should have been worried, she imagined, but instead it all seemed so trivial. They were medical professionals, after all. They’d probably seen it a hundred times before. It would be fine. They probably wouldn’t even arrive for a little while longer. One of Maggie’s hands drifted toward her crotch, almost of its own volition.

The door swung open and the woman from the front desk swept in pushing a wheelchair. Maggie didn’t flinch at the sudden arrival, but her hand stopped halfway up her thigh. The woman smiled warmly at her.

“Well now, it looks like you’re feeling better already, Miss Goldilocks” she said.

Her voice was like syrup on pancakes. Maggie found herself nodding a little more enthusiastically than she’d intended. The stain below her was already forgotten.

“I have great news, Doctor Ashcroft can see you now! All that’s left is to get you a little cozier and we’ll head to her office.” said the woman, clapping for dramatic effect.

She pulled a sealed plastic pouch from the cabinet and pulled it open, producing a pair of long black socks. Maggie was taken by surprise when instead of handing them over the grabbed each of Maggie’s calves and pulled the socks up past her knees. Maggie had to admit, they were as cozy as advertised and even had rubber treads inlaid on the soles for traction. She kicked her legs again, admiring them. She hoped they’d let her keep them afterward.

The mask clicked, and at once Maggie found herself being pushed down the hallway in the wheelchair. She couldn’t recall getting into it. Had the woman helped her? Men and women in lab coats stepped aside to let her pass. Behind her, the woman from the desk hummed to herself as they went. The warmth between Maggie’s thighs hadn’t lessened at all, and the seat beneath her was becoming slick and wet.

They arrived at a set of heavy glass doors, which parted for them with a hiss. They lead to another set of doors, and a row of oxygen masks hanging on the wall. The woman stepped away from the wheelchair to pull one on.

“See, I get a mask too!” she cooed, her voice somewhat muffled now.

An intercom by the next set of doors buzzed and a voice spoke indistinctly. The woman replied, though Maggie couldn’t really make out the words. At once the lights dimmed and the air around them blew about like a gust of wind. The doors opened and Maggie was wheeled into a large empty room unlike any doctor’s office she’d ever seen.

The air felt heavy, thick and humid like a sauna. The room was spacious and empty save for a metal table, a wall-length mirror and something on a wheeled base that Maggie thought might be a heart monitor. A tall woman in a lab coat was doing something with the device, an oxygen mask pulled over her short-cropped blonde hair. She turned and smiled at Maggie through foggy clear plastic.

“Aha, there’s my favorite patient!” she called.

Maggie was wheeled over to the table where the woman bent down to squeeze her hand.

“It’s good to see you again as always,” she said.

She examined Maggie briefly, peering into her eyes with interest.

“Well I think we should be good for now Beth, thank you,” she said.

“Of course, Doctor Ashcroft,” the receptionist said, and the hissing of the airlock doors announced her departure somewhere behind Maggie.

“Now,” said Doctor Ashcroft, “I don’t think you’ll need this for the time being.”

She reached behind Maggie’s head and released the straps holding her mask in place. Gently she withdrew it and its phallic extension from Maggie’s mouth, a thin string of saliva hanging from it momentarily. Maggie took a breath of the heavy air and smelled wildflowers. The room was thick with the gas, and with every breath her limbs felt wonderfully heavy.

“I’ve…I’ve been…” she started to say.

The words felt heavy as the air, enunciating each syllable felt like an almost impossible task. She knew this was her chance, the doctor to tell about her troubles. Her…something at work. Forgetting things. Yes, she thought, she had to tell the woman about-

“Up you go,” said Doctor Ashcroft, pulling Maggie gently to her feet.

Maggie felt as if she was floating. She stood unsteadily, her legs swaying beneath her. Doctor Ashcroft guided her slowly to the table, supporting Maggie as they went. The journey felt like it took hours. When she at last reached it, the doctor bent her gently forward over it. The table came almost exactly to her waist. Thankful for a place to rest after the walk, she draped herself over it completely, belly and breasts resting on its surface.

A click sounded as Doctor Ashcroft fastened first her left ankle and then her right to the table legs, spreading her legs apart to do so. The restraints were soft and padded, all the more comfortable over Maggie’s new socks. Maggie found herself staring straight into the mirror, her arms dangling loosely over the edge of the table. Behind her, Doctor Ashcroft smiled.

“God, I know I’ve said it a million times before but I just love your hair,” the woman said.

She walked around the table and ran her fingers along a lock of it. Maggie didn’t mind.

“It’s just a shame it always gets in the way in here, so let me fix you up.”

Doctor Ashcroft pulled two hair elastics from the pocket of her lab coat and pulled Maggie’s hair up into pigtails with practiced ease. Maggie blushed at her reflection, realizing that she had left her paper gown behind in the wheelchair. She flexed her ankles against the restraints but didn’t find them terribly uncomfortable. Doctor Ashcroft gently tugged Maggie’s pigtails with a playful smile.

“As usual, you are a cutie,” said Doctor Ashcroft. “Now for the icky part.”

Maggie felt the woman’s hands spread her buttocks and then an insistent pressure between them, gentle at first and then with more insistence. Her puckered hole reluctantly admitted the object and she felt it slide in, slick with lubricant. She gasped, her face reddening even more.

“Almost to the fun stuff, don’t worry,” said Doctor Ashcroft.

She fiddled with the wheeled machine and left Maggie draped over the table, breathing deep lungfuls of the thick air and beginning to enjoy the wonderful feeling of fullness between her buttocks. Doctor Ashcroft turned at last and began to attach small stickers to Maggie’s forehead and temples, electrodes with wires trailing off, connected to the machine. The doctor set a small metal pan on the floor beneath Maggie’s legs. She walked around the table to face Maggie and held up a rubber bit.

“Open wide, please,” Doctor Ashcroft said.

“Aaaaaah,” Maggie obliged.

The rubber piece was inserted between her teeth and was fastened to her head. She gingerly bit down on it, testing its firmness. Behind her came a series of clicks followed by a low, deep hum. Doctor Ashcroft, standing at the machine, gave her a wave.

“Here we go!” called the doctor, and pressed a switch.

Light.

An explosion of light, surging out like a firework, like a flash of lightning, like staring into the sun, like the dawn of creation itself. It came crashing into Maggie like something solid and at once she had the sensation of being blown back, thrown through the air away from the table, from the doctor, the room, herself. Then a weight, as if gravity had rediscovered her at last. She sank, not as something solid sinks but as a handful of sand dropped in the ocean. Maggie felt herself dissolving, leaving a trail of herself behind to dissipate into the great-

Maggie was mid-orgasm when consciousness returned. Torrents of pleasure surged between her legs, which trembled and gave way beneath her. She was supported by the table alone as she took deep, shuddering breaths and rode the warm waves that came again and again until they at last subsided.

“Now, wasn’t that nice?” said Doctor Ashcroft.

She strode around the table and removed the rubber bit from Maggie’s mouth. Maggie’s jaw hung agape without it, and she stared blankly into the mirror. She peered into the middle distance, watching floating specks of light that now drifted in and out of her vision.. Doctor Ashcroft gave a chuckle from behind her oxygen mask. Back behind the table, she reached around Maggie and hooked a finger into each corner of her mouth, pulling it up into a smile. Maggie giggled.

The mirror was better than television, Maggie thought. She watched with a distant sort of satisfaction as Doctor Ashcroft took away the pan that she had emptied her bladder into at some point, wiping her clean with a small cloth. She was a nice doctor, Maggie thought, to have made Maggie feel better. Maggie couldn’t remember when she’d felt better. For that matter she couldn’t remember when she’d felt anything else.

The airlock to the room hissed and another doctor entered, walking briskly. He was a man in his late sixties, his hair gray with time and his brow creased with decades of scowls. He consulted a clipboard and frowned as Maggie tried her best to smile at him in the mirror.

“What is this? You know as well as I do that she isn’t due back until next month” he grunted.

“Synaptic seepage,” Doctor Ashcroft sighed.

“Already? Christ, that’s the fastest one yet.”

“I know. There was an incident at her work, so I don’t think we can release her again. We may have to finish things up today.”

The man raised an eyebrow.

“This soon? Are we sure we can manage this?” he said.

“I’m confident the new procedure will work,” said Doctor Ashcroft.

“The accelerated deoxygenation? Don’t you think that’s a bit risky?”

“We can’t very well send her home, can we?”

Maggie smiled at herself in the mirror. She stood up slowly, feet still shackled to the table, and ran her fingers through her pigtails. She wiggled her toes, ensconced in the tall socks. Doctor Ashcroft, was right, she decided. She was a cutie.

“I’ll defer to your professional judgement,” said the tired-looking man.

“Look on the bright side, at least now we may have a delivery ready ahead of schedule,” said Doctor Ashcroft.

“I have three silicon valley types and half the royal family asking me for deliveries lately, I’d be happy to just have a delivery on schedule at this point,” said the man.

The three of them stood in the thick humid air together for a moment. The man rubbed the bridge of his nose, frowning. Doctor Ashcroft consulted a clipboard and scribbled some notes. Maggie smiled and rubbed herself against the table.

“Well, I’ll go let Beth know we’re finishing things up. Let’s get this show on the road,” the man sighed.

He left the room, the airlock’s hiss announcing his departure. Doctor Ashcroft unbuckled Maggie from the table and helped her back into the wheelchair. She buckled Maggie’s wrists and ankles in as well, securing them firmly in place. Maggie smiled down at her as she finished the last ankle restraint and wiggled in the chair, the plug still in place between her cheeks.

“Can I have a gold star when we’re done? I like you,” Maggie said.

Doctor Ashcroft gave her a weary smile.

“Sure. I like you too, Maggie. Say ‘ahh’ please.”

She fit the mask back onto Maggie’s face and soon it resumed its regular intervals. A click and a hiss. A click and a hiss. She wheeled Maggie back into the airlock, waited as its air cycled through, and then the two made their way back down the sidewalk. Maggie slowly turned her head to follow the golden specks that still danced in her vision. She took deep breaths whenever the gas clicked on in her mask, cheeks puffing like a chipmunk.

They arrived back at the exam room where Beth was pulling on a pair of latex gloves. She gave Maggie another warm smile.

“I hear we’re giving you a special treatment today, Maggie,” she said.

Maggie gave a chirp of excitement, muffled by the mask and the cylinder filling her mouth. A special treatment, because she was being so helpful. Beth released her from the chair’s restraints and helped her back onto the exam table as Doctor Ashcroft exited wordlessly. Maggie’s legs still wobbled unsteadily beneath her. A stain began to grow on the paper beneath her as soon as she sat down.

Beth made a quick adjustment to the gas tank beside the table. Maggie’s mask clicked, hissed, and this time didn’t stop hissing. The smell of wildflowers filled her nose, her throat, her lungs, filled her head until Maggie felt there was barely room for anything else. She felt very small, light, as if she might float away. The sensation was overwhelming and she gasped, which only drew more of the gas into her.

“Sssssh,” said Beth.

She pulled Maggie’s head to her and buried the girl’s face in her sweater. It smelled familiar, comforting, like home. The gas hissed on and on and flecks of light floated lazily in and out of Maggie’s sight. Beth pressed something firm insistently between her thighs and it began to buzz. Every nerve in Maggie’s body lit up with crackling energy as the vibrator hummed, and she let out a low whimper, the sound hollow through the mask. She came again and again and again, feeling herself dissipating like a cloud of steam every time she did.

How long she stayed like that she couldn’t say, not that she was capable of saying much at all anymore. Beth hummed in her ear and Maggie nuzzled her face harder into the woman’s sweater. She curled against her, whimpering softly and shuddering. She was beyond words then, thinking only of an abstract sort of gratitude to the woman.

“I’m going to need you to be brave now,” whispered Beth.

The words came to Maggie as if carried on the wind from miles away, and barely registered. She was gently guided back to the wheelchair, her arms and legs strapped back into place. She felt something rubbery wrap around her neck and tighten, and at once the mask was pulled from her mouth. Her eyes widened as she tried futilely to take a breath. Nothing. Maggie couldn’t breathe. Beth clipped something to her finger and consulted a beeping handheld device connected to it.

They made their way back down the hall. Maggie’s mouth opened and shut, eyes wide, face darkening. The aroma of wildflowers was fading, and in its place a dull panic grew. She realized that she had lost the paper gown and was completely exposed in the wheelchair, naked save for her socks. She began to remember something urgent, something she needed to do. She’d come here, but why? Why would she have wanted this? The world began to recede as she silently gasped for air. A tunnel of darkness closed in around her, the hallway beginning to face to a smaller and smaller point of light.

“We’re ready, brain oxygenation is at critical!” Beth called into the intercom in the airlock.

Maggie heard it faintly, her face purple and eyes half open. The door hissed open, she was wheeled back into the thick humid air, and the rubbery loop loosened from her throat. She took a deep, gasping breath, lungs filling deeply with the gas. A tidal wave of wildflowers loomed over her and came crashing down, obliterating her completely.

When Doctor Ashcroft reattached the electrodes, Maggie was smiling placidly.

“Goodbye Maggie,” the doctor said.

Maggie hardly heard the words, gazing contentedly at her reflection. The word “cutie” was the last thing she thought before an explosion of light washed away everything.

The bunk was comfortable and Maggie was making so many new friends. She shared her new room with thirty other women, all of similar ages to her. The room was quiet save for the hum of fluorescent lights, as most of its occupants either sat on their beds staring at nothing or lay back and giggled quietly as they masturbated.

Maggie rolled over to face the girl in the bunk across from her, a slightly plump brunette whose nose still bore the slight dents of the glasses she’d once worn.

“Hi,” Maggie said shyly.

“Hi,” said the girl.

“Do you like my new socks?” Maggie asked, kicking her feet in the air.

“Yes,” said the girl, and kicked hers as well.

The two giggled. A man entered the room in a labcoat, consulting a clipboard. He strode to Maggie’s bunk and, wordlessly, pulled her by the shoulders until her head hung over the edge of the mattress. He unzipped his pants and thrust into her mouth. Maggie happily accepted the shaft of his cock as it slipped into her throat without any resistance at all. She giggled happily as he pumped away, the sounds guttural and bestial as her throat bulged.

A speck of light drifted into her vision.

Her gold star.