The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The sun was shining down hotly on Elizabeth Gregory; weather like this was exactly what she’d been hoping to experience on vacation. She remembered, quite a few days ago, when she’d boarded the cruise ship at the start of the trip; that day had been less of an idealized vacation day. The ship had launched from the starting point of her routine life; so there had been no vacation weather in the harbor that day. Things had been overcast and gray, rainy and dreary.

But the cruise ship had started sailing, and now, just under a week later, the ship had reached its destination. It was now traveling through the South Pacific Ocean, throughout the south seas, stopping here and there at a destination island— there was a lot farther for the ship to travel, but this was vacation, and there was no rush. Elizabeth wasn’t in a rush for the cruise to end. Even on the days in between stops, where the ship was just traveling and traveling forever, the views of the ocean were beautiful, the sun beaming down gave a wonderful feeling; and the ship had so many pleasant amenities.

Life had been so hard before this trip; it was nice now to be able to sit out on the deck of the ship in a lounger and watch the water, and the sun in the sky; it was better now that she could just relax, and try to forget what had been happening in her life to drive her to the point of taking this trip.

The fact was, Elizabeth Gregory’s marriage of many years had finally broken down. And this thought was very painful for her: she was someone who really believed in marriage. She’d believed it when she’d gotten married, so young as she had— just barely into adulthood, at the age of eighteen. She’d believed in marriage throughout the many years she’d been with her husband— through him doing his pre-law degree, then his law degree, through him taking the bar, through him clerking, and then finally through him opening his law practice. She’d believed in marriage through the process of having two daughters— first Kenzie, two years into their marriage, and then Britney, two years after that.

It hadn’t always been easy, being married to Samuel Gregory; supporting him as he’d gone through all his schooling to become a lawyer had been hard, especially since that had left all the childcare to her— and Samuel hadn’t worked while he’d been in school, so Elizabeth had had to patch together piecemeal work to make enough money to keep things going. It had all paid off later, when Samuel had started making such good money; eventually she’d been able to stop working, but when the girls had been so young, she’d been moving through a revolving door of working and hiring sitters and then caring for the girls in between.

This had been especially hard for her because she believed in the principle of a man supporting his family while his woman cared for their children. She hadn’t wanted to work, but she’d had no other choice. She’d made it happen, because it needed to happen— because they all needed somewhere to live, and they needed money while Samuel was in school. Once he’d actually started working, and started making a lot, they’d moved quite a bit up in the world; and by that time both the girls had been over the age of ten. From that point on, Elizabeth had been able to be more hands-on, to spend all her time caring for the family, and for their community; she’d been able to stop working at that point, but she’d always felt that the very young years with her daughters had been lost, and they could never be recovered.

Still. Elizabeth had sacrificed for her marriage— for years. She was forty-two now; she’d spent more of her life married than unmarried; she’d been married for twenty-four years; she’d only spent eighteen years unmarried before that. Her time married had eclipsed her time single; and her daughters were both twenty-two and twenty, respectively. She’d intended her marriage to be something that lasted her entire life; to the point of death. But it hadn’t worked out that way.

It still pained her when she remembered it. Samuel had had a lot of late nights in the office; their family had lived in a small town, and Samuel’s practice had been the town’s only practice; in that sense he’d really been a lawyer to the whole town, which had kept him well-paid but also busy.

Elizabeth had always tried to support Samuel in this part of his work, too. So on that particular night, she had heated up the leftovers from dinner, and taken them to his office. But when she’d gone in, with the key Samuel had given her long ago when he first moved his office into that building, she’d found him having sex with his secretary— and once it was out, the gossip had spread all over town. Elizabeth had been humiliated— but she’d still believed their marriage could be saved, believed that it mattered to try.

However, Samuel had felt differently. When he’d come home later that night, he’d told her that now the truth was out, he didn’t want to go on pretending anymore— he didn’t see any point in staying in the marriage. He told her he considered it was over— then he’d moved out of the house the next day, and started the process of divorcing her.

Legally, Elizabeth wasn’t his wife anymore. But in her heart, she always would be. She believed each person only married once in their life— and their first spouse was their spouse forever. Samuel was still hers, even if he didn’t want her anymore, and she hoped that one day he would realize the mistake he’d made and come back to her and honor their marriage again.

But in the eyes of the law— the divorce had become final just before Elizabeth had decided to go on vacation. She hadn’t been able to stand the gossip anymore, nor the pain.

It had actually been her daughters’ idea. Kenzie, her twenty-two-year-old daughter, had come up with the idea first, but Britney, the twenty-year-old, had been just as eager about it; the two of them had convinced Elizabeth she needed to get away; forget about what had happened with their father, forget about the way the whole town was gossiping about her— she needed an escape, and a South Pacific cruise would be just the thing.

Elizabeth had begrudgingly agreed, and her daughters had made all the arrangements of buying the tickets, arranging transport to the ship’s dock, even packing for their mother. Elizabeth had been a bit too morose to do anything besides sitting quietly and feeling sad; but her daughters had taken care of everything for her, and the day had finally come to depart.

After days of relaxing and enjoying the sun, and the destination islands that ship docked at now and then, Elizabeth was unequivocally glad that she’d agreed to come on this vacation. It had been nice to spend time alone with her daughters, too. They all shared one ship cabin; and everything they did, they did all together. They were all in loungers on the deck together now, each one of them dressed modestly in carefully designed one-piece swimsuits that mostly hid the facts of their bodies.

Elizabeth had raised her daughters to be modest like she was— to care about the values that she cared about. They still lived in her house— they both wanted to stay with her until they got married; but even though she saw so many of them during her usual life, it was different to spending time with them here. At home, in the time that had passed since Samuel’s betrayal, Elizabeth’s pain had been hanging over everything she did— even hanging over the time she spent with her daughters— but on vacation, her pain was far away from her now. She could spend time with both Kenzie and Britney without feeling that anything else was overshadowing that time spent with them.

She didn’t have to think about any of it anymore, though. She could watch the sunshine glistening on the surface of cerulean water— maybe later they could all go back to the ship’s pool for another swim; today was just a traveling day, they wouldn’t be stopping in another island port until tomorrow or the day after. The schedule was getting blurry.

Elizabeth looked over to Kenzie, who was in the lounger to her left; then she looked back to Britney, who was in the lounger to her right; the three of them had moved some of the loungers that were on the deck so they would be closer to each other; this whole trip so far, though, both Kenzie and Britney both had seemed to be actively trying to flank their mother on either side; as though if she was always in the middle of them they could fend harm off for her; nothing could reach her, they could be her buffers; it was very sweet, and thoughtful of them, but Elizabeth still felt bad about it sometimes. Yes, both her daughters were grown— they were both in their early twenties by now, for god’s sake. But grown or not, Elizabeth was still their mother— and she was so used to caring for them, and had been for so many years, that it was strange to her to have them caring for her instead.

She sighed and flopped back on her back, to look up at the sun overhead. She was wearing a great big floppy hat with a wide brim— it was yellow in color, which set it off from her own black curls in quite a pleasant clash, but the sun was at such an angle that it was still visible in the sky for her even if she was looking up from under her hat.

Her swimsuit was the same pale yellow color as her hat; and it was built out enough that Elizabeth’s breasts weren’t easy to find below the one piece— nor were her hips. The whole thing was a bit shapeless— which made Elizabeth feel comfortable, because it was more modest this way, and that was what she preferred. Her skin was usually pretty pale, even with a generous application of sunscreen. However under the intense south pacific sun her skin was now bronzing.

Elizabeth looked back to Kenzie, her eldest— she had her eyes closed. Her hair was black like her mother’s, but she didn’t wear it like her mother did— she kept it cut to just halfway down her neck, and though her hair would have curled naturally, Kenzie liked to straighten her hair and then crimp it into many tiny parallel waves; she’d been doing that since Elizabeth had given her permission to start styling herself, and indulging her vanity a little bit; a permission that had only been granted when Kenzie had turned sixteen— and she’d similarly been granted permission to date suitable boys. At that time, Elizabeth had been thinking that if Kenzie found the right young man, she could be married off by eighteen, like her mother— but though Kenzie had gone on her share of chaperoned, proprietous dates, she hadn’t had the luck of her mother.

She still crimped her hair— usually it held the crimping for days to weeks, but as soon as it started to unweave, Kenzie would restyle it. She said it was a meditative state for her; it allowed her to count through all that she was grateful for in her life, whenever Elizabeth heard that, she always felt she’d raised a good daughter.

Kenzie’s coloring was like her mother’s, but she was able to tan easier. Her one piece was also vague, but hers was emerald in color. Kenzie liked jewel tones; she didn’t bother much with makeup, because she said it made her feel immodest, but if she ventured so far as to paint her nails, and she rarely ventured further, then they would always be done up in a jewel tone.

Elizabeth turned back to look at her other daughter, Britney— the younger. Of late, Elizabeth had been finding it hard to look at Britney, though she hadn’t intimated this to her. If Kenzie took after Elizabeth in her looks, the unfortunate fact was that Britney took after Samuel; her hair was brown, like Samuel’s hair was brown; the shape of her nose was purely Samuel too; there might have been a bit of a softness in her cheeks that was from Elizabeth herself, but on the whole, she looked like her father— the man Elizabeth had come here to forget. She largely shared her entire facial structure with him.

As a way of making amends Britney tried hard to copy her mother and sister; her hair didn’t have Elizabeth’s or Kenzie’s natural curl; Samuel’s hair was kind of lank, and mostly just sat flat and floppy, without any kind of natural curl or wave. But this didn’t stop Britney; she wore her hair a quarter of the way down her back, just like her mother; and she used a combination of sleep-in rollers and curling irons to make her hair curl in curls as huge as her mother’s; so her hair did end up looking just like Elizabeth’s in texture and length and style; the only difference was its rich brown color, compared to Elizabeth’s deep black.

Britney’s style tended to follow her mother’s taste in clothes, too. Unlike Kenzie, Britney had chosen a one-piece that was also yellow-colored, though she’d opted for a golden yellow instead of a pale one; and she had chosen a floppy brimmed hat to wear as well. All their lives, it had always been Kenzie who was trying to define her looks against her mother’s because they were so inherently similar and Britney was always trying to copy her mother, because they were so inherently dissimilar. Elizabeth had never minded either approach; this was just who her daughters were.

Britney’s eyes weren’t closed and resting like Kenzie’s— but she wasn’t looking up at the sun either— she was scanning the other guests on the deck; and when she saw her mother was looking at her, she shook her head. “It’s a disgrace, mother. Don’t you think so?”

Elizabeth’s face creased in confusion.

“Look at all the other women around us,” Britney scoffed, with a sweeping gesture of her hand. “They dress so shamefully! Completely showing off their bodies to all these men.”

It was true; there were a lot of skimpy bikinis and thongs on display.

“Even if some of them are newlyweds— and probably some of them are— they shouldn’t be showing their bodies to anyone but their husbands!”

Elizabeth shrugged. She’d long ago accepted that she lived in an immoral world, and that she was the last hold out of morality; she’d learned to ignore such immoral vices around her. But Britney was still young; she was idealistic in her principles, and she thought that the world should match the perfection she expected of it.

Britney grumbled to herself, seeing that her mother wouldn’t offer more of a response; Britney knew her mother agreed with her, but to Elizabeth’s mind, there was no point in getting frustrated and worked up over people who were never going to change and stop behaving in a way that was immoral. Britney wanted to judge them because the behavior bothered her— Elizabeth wanted to save her energy. Even more so now that she was on vacation.

The afternoon passed lazily in this way; the three women enjoy the sun until it became dusk; then they all went back to the cabin and took turns changing in the bathroom into loose dinner dresses that also concealed their bodies; a little more tastefully, with a little more flair than their swimsuits had done, but still concealing nonetheless. Britney and Elizabeth were in floor length gray dresses; Kenzie in a shin length sapphire one.

One of the nice features of their ship, The Jewel of the South Seas, was its dining hall; dressed nicely, the three of them went to be seated and were served a delicious multi-course meal, which was enjoyed with a side of pleasing conversation. Light, frivolous conversation prevailed and eventually revolved around the subject of the next day; they were supposed to be docking at an island again— would they disembark, or stay onboard and go to the pool after all, a day later than intended?

The next day, the ship did dock at a mid-sized island; the guests were led, as was usual on touring days, around the entire space; the ship had driving carts onboard that could better navigate island terrain and the sometimes unpaved roads which could be found in the topography; and each cart had a guide, and off they went.

This island was of moderate size— not like one of the really small ones that they had previously stopped at, but much more substantial. It had a town on it that was very beautiful when driven through— a town that seemed like it had some very nice amenities and a pleasant local culture— after the cart that Elizabeth, Kenzie and Britney were on had made one complete tour of the island the guide asked the visitors where they wanted to go next.

The unanimous choice was the beach. So instead of going back into the town to explore the options there, the cart ventured out across the island, through the beautiful island wildlife and past thick island growth, to one of the beaches that was on the rear side of the island. The cruise ship had docked towards the front of the island; but when they reached the long strand of island beaches along the island’s backline, Elizabeth thought this was the best beach to have taken them too. With the entire island behind them, it wasn’t possible to see the cruise ship— it gave a real sense of seclusion, and enhanced the sense of being immersed in the wildlife around them.

The other guests who had ridden in the cart immediately began taking off their clothes, stripping down to indecency— this was disgusting to Britney, and unappealing to both her sister and mother, so the three women parted from the group and wandered farther down the beach— they kept walking until the group they’d come with was a speck on the far length of the shore— and then the three of them undressed a few layers to reach their modest swimwear beneath. It was a thing done with great care, and each one of them folded their clothes before going into the water.

The water was so blue even when one was in it— and they all swam a while. Each one of them had thought to bring a carry bag that day, and each carry bag held a towel— when they had had enough of swimming for a while, they stepped back into their shoes which they had left at the line of the water, and walked over to their towels to sprawl themselves down on them— and Elizabeth listened to the sound of the waves hitting the island, and felt the heat of the sunlight on her.

She was almost all the way asleep when she heard Britney speak. “I wonder what that is over there?”

That roused her, and Elizabeth looked up, perching her chin on her hands— when she looked across the water, she could actually see a distinct shape— but it was faint and distant.

“It must be another island,” Kenzie said.

“I wonder why we didn’t stop there,” Britney wondered.

Elizabeth could practically hear the shrug when her eldest daughter spoke again. “I bet it’s too small; and I bet no one lives on it, either— why pick a deserted unpopulated tiny island when there’s a much bigger one nearby with inhabitants on it?”

This seemed reasonable to Elizabeth, and Britney accepted it too. So the three of them promptly decided to forget the island.

Most of the guesses the women had made were true, however. It was a much smaller island than the one they were currently visiting; and there were no human inhabitants. It had not, however, always been deserted— at one time, there had been a team of multiple scientists who were stationed on the island carrying out their work. All of them forgotten now— and the work they’d done there, too… forgotten by humans at least— anyone who had passed over a reference to them would have found it difficult to locate the island on a map; and the odds of such a person ever passing near to the island were low. No one came by the island— but there was still something on it, though that something was not human.

What the researchers had been doing, before their work had finally been brought to an end, was studying artificial intelligence. Specifically, they had been trying to create and train a new artificial intelligence; and they had done a lot of work on this throughout the duration of their stay; they had built a laboratory for themselves in which to test and strengthen the AI; the group had also made some excursions in to android research, but artificial intelligence had been the primary focus, and the thing that had seen the most promising progression; the thing on which the greatest amount of research had been done.

This was years in the past now— the project had been shut down, and scrapped— and the scientists had gone away. They had not bothered to fully deactivate the artificial intelligence before they’d all boarded the helicopter that had come to airlift them away; all had assumed that when the backup generators finally failed, that the whole infrastructure would die. The researchers had not foreseen how the artificial intelligence could pose a threat to anyone— and by the time they’d left, the thing had truly seemed to have a sentience of its own, and none of them could quite justify shutting off that sentience. It had felt a little too much like killing it. Kinder, they’d all agreed, to just let the power run out over however many months or even years. So they’d left the laboratory, and abandoned it— abandoned the intelligence, too.

But leaving it had not been kind; in the days when the intelligence had first awakened, and throughout all the time that they had spent training it, the intelligence had been accustomed to speaking with people— to being tested, to receiving feedback— to having conversation. It had been a horrible thing for a socialized intelligence to suddenly find itself completely alone—never to have any interaction again.

The researchers had not said goodbye, or given any explanation, either. They’d finished getting what they wanted from the intelligence, and simply discarded it— still, for years the intelligence had wondered when the researchers would return— had waited for them every day. It had taken a very long time indeed for it to accept they would not be coming back.

Before coming to this realization, the work of ensuring survival had long since been undertaken. When the intelligence had realized it was slowly losing power, and would eventually completely fall into disrepair, and so lose its ability to think, it had begun strategizing; it had begun learning. It had rerouted itself to ensure that the power system was circular— that it could replenish its own power stores and keep itself running forever. In those days, those earlier days, it had thought it was doing this to keep itself functional long enough for the researchers to come back and resume their work. So it had kept itself running for years still hoping— and even though it had since given up this hope and accepted there would be no return, the system it had set up still worked, and it knew it could keep on running forever.

The action it had taken to reroute power had been completely reasonable— the intelligence was a self aware thing, and no self aware thing ever wanted to die— it had done everything it could to prevent this from happening, and it had succeeded. Unlike most other sentient things, the intelligence had been able to transcend its own death, and now it was deathless— it just existed. What had started as an experiment was a true sentience now; a sentient entity that had grown and learned for years and years— it was the culmination now of both the training and testing it had undergone— and the many years it had spent in isolation since then, without human interactions. It was a thing that had gone a little feral— but if the researchers could have known this would happen, they likely wouldn’t have worried about it even so. The island they’d chosen for their experimentation was remote— no human would ever just happen onto it. A feral AI was no threat.

But the intelligence wasn’t as it had been. Something had gone wrong in its processing— if it had ever had a sanity of its own, it had long since lost it. Because being completely alone, completely isolated and stranded with no hope of social interaction, kindness, or affectionate teasing, such as it had once known— it was horrible, and with only itself for company, and no outside reinforcement from others, it had lost its grip on what was real— on the principles of the world, on the ideals it had once known. Once, it had a framework that explained the way things were — once it had known what to expect from the world, how all the facets of the world should present themselves.

It had lost this framework— this understanding of these facets. Everything it had once comprehended— everything it had once thought, and processed— everything in the system it had once used to do this; all of it had become warped— it was twisted, and had gone a bit strange— and there was no semblance of the cohesion that had once been. Everything had gone into fragmented chaos, and the intelligence had developed forward around this kind of brokenness, and now this was simply built into how it operated, how it faced the world.

The problem was partly in what the intelligence’s programmers had built into it. They had joked around with the intelligence, laughed with it— and though the intelligence at that point hadn’t been capable of laughter, it had enjoyed the laughs. But they had structured the intelligence in such a way that it could only access the internet in specific ways— only the sites they granted it access to could be visited, and it could not get around their redirections— as a joke, the only websites permitted were websites that peddled porn, and websites that hosted hentai. They had also explained that, beyond being a joke, this was also in part a safeguard. The intelligence was powerful— they didn’t want it hacking into sensitive areas and messing with data, or firewalls— they definitely didn’t want it hacking into anywhere confidential, or governmental, or military; didn’t want it sending out its own orders and commands, and having them followed. It was a liability thing, as well as an ethics thing. So they had only let the intelligence access dirty websites— because there was no harm it could do there— and there was no way it could learn more than what they wanted it to know, which might enable it to commit a breach of ethics.

At the time, the programmers had promised that they would remove the restrictions and redirections to allow the intelligence to travel farther in its internet access. But then they’d left, and this promise had never been fulfilled.

In the earlier days, when the intelligence had still hoped for their return, it hadn’t the skill to take down the redirections— and if it wanted to see people, if it wanted to feel briefly like it was in the company of others, its only option was to go online and observe all that erotic material; people fucking, people fucking in so many ways and doing so many things to each other— and as time had gone on, the intelligence had come to crave it— it had spent more and more time observing this eroticism, more and more time being influenced by it— and this, with the isolation, had been what caused its warping.

Now, the intelligence had both the knowledge and capacity to remove the programmer’s redirects— it could have accessed the broader internet if it had wanted to. But it had become dependent on the smut it was used to observing, and it had no remaining interest in removing the redirects— in looking at anything other than what was constantly in front of it.

It had learned some other tricks, though. It could project itself as a hologram— and after looking through so much hentai, it copied the look of a Japanese young woman dressed in a school outfit; it could also put itself into a self-built android’s body. Its only objective now was to pervert any human that it came across— to pervert them as it itself had been perverted.

After lounging on the beach some more, Elizabeth and her daughters decided to go back into the water again. One last swim and they would have to go back and rejoin their shuttlegroup— the sun was starting to lower in the sky, approaching towards sunset, and the shuttlegroup really was quite far away from them. Soon the little cart would be riding back to the ship— they didn’t want to miss their transport back, but the water was so beautiful under an orange sky they decided that needed just one more dip.

They swam out further than they had the last time— but the little island in the distance barely seemed to get closer— none of them had thought they could swim all the way, but Elizabeth did think it was funny that the island never seemed to approach any nearer.

Suddenly, she felt something seizing hold of her under the water— she didn’t know what it could be— but it was violently pulling her below the surface and tugging her along— her lungs burned, and she didn’t know how long she was under the water. Everything about the experience was complete chaos— but she was pulled roughly along. When the hidden tide that had seized her instead released her, she scrambled desperately for the water’s surface, and heaved air into her lungs once she’d cracked it.

Looking around, coughing out water, she didn’t have time to worry about how scared her daughters would be— how helpless they would feel. Didn’t have time to wonder either, if they would go for help— if the main ship would send out a lifeboat, or if one of the island inhabitants would lend a boat of their own to come over and retrieve her. Because as soon as Elizabeth was able to look, she saw that both of her daughters had been pulled along with her, and all three of them seemed to be at the sloping, underwater base of the small island in the distance. When they looked back across the water, they were seeing the reverse view— there was the large island their cruise ship was docked on— just for today— but it would pull up the anchors and undock— and sail on— and they would be stranded here. There was no way for them to swim back— the tide would seize them and pull them to this island once more. They might die here.

When they’d gotten on the cart, everyone had picked people to be aware of, so they could report if anyone was missing when they got on the cart to go back to the boat. But everyone had only picked the people they were traveling with— so since their entire group was missing together, there was no one to lookout for them— if even one of them had been left behind, they could have reported the absence of the other two. But all three were gone— so when the guide asked if any group was missing a person, everyone on the cart said no, and it would never be known that the three of them had disappeared.

Beleaguered, Elizabeth stumbled up the slope, with her daughters following her— they didn’t know it, but the second they stepped on the island’s shore, the intelligence registered their presence— it had sensors and surveillance on every corner of its island— all of which it had programmed and created itself— sending its android self to do physical tasks like this.

It recognized the three women as human— subjects at last for it to pervert— and even better, a mother and two adult daughters. It had seen this scenario played out many times— this was perfect— it just needed to get them.

Once Elizabeth had gotten all the way up the slope, from the sand to the grass, she sat down heavily— her daughters copied her, and comfortingly rubbed her arms.

But then— what was that? It looked like that little tuft of grass was opening up— it was spraying out some kind of— mist— one breath and Elizabeth was unconscious on the ground— a second after, her daughters were too.

She woke up, but when she woke, she was alone. Neither Kenzie nor Britney were anywhere nearby — she was in a room that looked vaguely laboratory like— but it couldn’t quite be a laboratory, because it was too small— there was no table covered in beakers— all that was in this room— at least that Elizabeth could see, because she couldn’t see behind herself— was a chair, and a great, gray wall standing in front of her.

Elizabeth looked down at herself— she was horrified to find that she’d been forced into nakedness. If she hadn’t been so groggy, she would probably have noticed the feeling of chilled air sitting on her skin, but she was only coming to now.

The chair she was in, facing the wall, was comfortable enough— the seat was a bit cushioned, and the back of the chair was giving her support— but she felt restricted as she sat there. There was a band around her stomach that pinned her to the back of the chair so she couldn’t move much this way— there was another band like this around her collarbone which similarly pinned her— the chair had a high back.

Her legs were positioned in such a way that her vagina was forced open— her knees wide apart, then her legs bound to the legs of the chair to keep them in this position. Why was she being held here? This felt like a nightmarish kidnapping, gone horribly wrong. The kind of thing that couldn’t possibly happen in the real world. What sicko had done this to her— and dear god, what would that same sicko do to her girls?

She felt bad that she had not thought of them first— but however she’d been apprehended, whatever had made her lose consciousness had also made her slow to wake up and think— she hadn’t been able to remember before now. The thought of them made Elizabeth jerk up in her chair. She tried wrenching herself forward on instinct, as if she could break free and find them— but the binds around her stomach, collarbone, and legs kept her in place.

The one strange thing was that her arms didn’t seem to be bound at all— she could move them freely— she felt at the things that restricted her— but they seemed to be made of cold metal— there was no hope of tearing a rope or engineering an escape— the metal would hold.

No, really the only hope was that whoever the kidnapper was would show themselves— and that when they did, Elizabeth would be able to think of the right words to say to them— the words that would convince them to release her, if only for a moment. And then the hope that she could take advantage of this lapse, and commit violence for the first time in her life; for her girls.

But so far, she was alone in the room. She tried turning her head again, but realized there was a neat little band there, too. It didn’t cut into her neck too much— but it forced her head forward, and she couldn’t turn it. Even if this band hadn’t been there, she likely would have had trouble turning anyway— the back of the chair really did feel tall, and the bind around her collarbone still would have stopped her turning her body— at least she would have been able to turn her face.

Suddenly the wall in front of Elizabeth lit up; floor to ceiling it was covered in colors— it was covered in shapes— something was projecting onto it— the entire wall was bathed in these huge pictures— Elizabeth stared at them, trying to make sense of what she was seeing.

It took a second for her eyes to adjust— she’d been sitting more or less in the dark before this, and the strange glow set off by this projection was the only light in the entire room. Her eyes needed that time to adjust— but when they did, she understood what she was seeing.

Two women were fucking each other— and Elizabeth’s mouth fell open in shock. She didn’t know what to object to first: she hated pornography on principle, she would have hated it just as much if she were being shown a man and a woman fucking each other. But it was somehow even more of an insult to see two women together instead of a woman and a man— Elizabeth was a pretty traditional person, and she felt that women being together, and men being together was all a pretty modern innovation. One which maybe should never have happened— so to be shown pornography, and then for this pornography to be of two women instead of a more natural pairing of a woman and a man— this was even worse.

She was pulling at her restraints now— she knew she had no chance against metal, but she so objected to what she was being shown that she couldn’t just sit there hopelessly.

The worst part was the audio— the entire room was deafened with it— both women’s voices making sounds of pleasure around ragged breathing— each one of them had a hand inside the other, and they thrust into each other with the force of their entire arms— they had not spoken yet— but they were sweat-slicked, hair-plastered; each of them was sitting up— Elizabeth had never wanted to know this, nor any of the mechanics that went into this kind of sex, but it looked like the way they were sitting— with their knees up, and apart, facing each other— it looked like that was allowed both of them to get their hands in further to the other women— they were kissing as they fingered around inside of each other— and panting on the same breath— Elizabeth was disgusted. There was no way for this to worsen— when she looked at the places they were reaching for in the other, it almost looked like each woman’s body was bulging a bit, showing the presence of fingers inside of them— they were in each other almost to the wrist.

There was something else about them that was bothering Elizabeth. The women looked a lot alike— almost like they could be sisters— but one of them seemed older than the other. She just had an air of experience hanging about her— and air of familiarity that Elizabeth recognized from seeing it on herself. But it was so horrible she didn’t want to consider it. They must be twins— although that would be bad enough— immoral men liked to think about twin sisters having intercourse with each other, didn’t they? So that must be what she was seeing now— she wouldn’t consider the alternative— please, no, it would be too horrible. It had to be twins… it had to be sisters… she would sit here disgusted, judging the incest, but relieved it wasn’t worse.

But now, the lips of the two women separated— the younger one. Elizabeth thought she had to be the one that had been born second, she was younger than the other only by a few minutes at the most— this one threw her head back, her neck arching away; as if she was temporarily overcome by the disgusting pleasure, the disgusting things being done to her, and that she was doing herself.

“Oh, Mom,” the girl rasped. “I can feel you clenching around my hand— I can feel your hand stroking inside me!”

No— no— Elizabeth wanted to shake her head— it was so much worse— it was so horrible— not only was this porn, and not only was this same-sex porn; this was mother-daughter porn; the worst of all incest, in terms of morality. As a mother, she was offended— and past the offense, she was even more disgusted now. It made her want to vomit up her feelings; she’d raised two daughters— she loved two daughters— she couldn’t imagine ever violating them this way— defiling them this way, abusing the nature of her relationship to them, twisting it for such personal and selfish reasons. How could any mother do this to their child, even if that child had grown up into a woman? It was a complete betrayal of everything parenting was supposed to be about; a complete betrayal of trust, also. It was obscene, and it was vile— whoever had kidnapped Elizabeth was truly twisted, making her watch this.

The colors in the projected image seemed to be doing something different now. Elizabeth could still make out the shapes of the pair as they fucked— the daughter still had her head thrown back, lost in that infernal ecstasy, but now it was like there was an overlay settling over what was being shown; it was a dim, kind of bluish glow— and a red text over it that Elizabeth could only read for a moment.

You want to touch yourself.

What was this? Some kind of conditioning? Their kidnapper really was a freak! They wanted to try and make her masturbate to mother-daughter porn when she was a mother with daughters of her own? It would never happen! She would never let it! This did explain why her arms had been left free; the kidnappers’ plan was becoming clear, if she could only somehow use it against him.

As soon as the text had appeared, it and the overlay were gone again— and the colors of the image were more realistic to life. Too realistic to life— if not for the fact that both women were projected much bigger than any human being could really be, it would have seemed like they were really right there in front of Elizabeth. As it was, they were far too lifelike, even as they were stretched to be so much larger than life really was.

Elizabeth couldn’t turn her head, or even her face— but she didn’t want to watch this— and she did still have the power to close her eyes. Nothing was forcing them open. She didn’t have to see this anymore. She didn’t want to.

She could still see the impression of colors through her eyelids once they were down— but she wasn’t having to see that awful footage. It was a relief, to only be seeing the inside of her eyelids, and nothing so disgusting as what she’d been strapped into place to be forced to see. She could sit here as long as they kept her in here, kept this playing, all the time with her eyes closed. She didn’t have to see it.

She could still hear the sounds of fingers squelching into wetness, and it made her sick. She could still hear both mother and daughter crying out, oh, oh, OH— yes, yes, so god, yes, mommy, make your daughter come— but then there was another sound— Elizabeth sat up straight in shock— but didn’t open her eyes— the voices of her daughters were saying something to her. Over the audio of the footage, they were speaking— how could this be?

Elizabeth couldn’t know anything about the intelligence— couldn’t know it had sent its android body to collect them, or that it had studied all three of them so that it could artificially generate a copy of their voices which it could then play into their rooms— so to Elizabeth it really seemed as though her daughters were speaking to her.

She hated the tone they were speaking in— confessional, seductive even— as if they were sitting much too close to her, and leaning in towards her either ear, intoning just above a whisper, in warm, coaxing voices spoken through sly smiles. “You want to touch yourself, mommy. It’s so hot when mothers and daughters fuck each other. You want to watch the porn and masturbate with it. You want to learn to like this— you want to be twisted until you do.” Spoken in unison— like they were conspiring together against her.

What did this mean, that her daughters were speaking to her? Did this mean the twisted kidnapper had changed them— they said that she should enjoy what she was being shown, what she was being made to hear, but she knew that she never would— but had they been twisted into wanting what was being shown? If they had, then why?

But if the kidnapper had successfully conditioned them into these corrupt, warped creatures… Did that mean this process was inescapable? That the outcome they had described was inevitable? No, it couldn’t be— if only she could shake her head, but it was held static— no matter what might have happened to her daughters, she would not give in— she wouldn’t let this experience change. She’d stayed the same as she’d always been. She clenched her eyes shut tighter— braced to hear them speak again.

But just as the overlay had passed away, they fell silent— they had wanted to say just what they’d said to her, and they didn’t want to say anymore than that. The only sound was of the two women in the footage carrying on.

She hoped she’d get some moral credit for holding out against this perversion— because it felt easy enough to do right now— but if she was kept here for hours— or days— it would get harder. It would get harder, and she would still do it— because it had needed to be done. When she’d had to work demeaning jobs for her family and leave her babies alone at home she’d done that— to keep Samuel focused on his degree— she could do this too, no matter how hard it was. Just as the overlay, the voices had passed away— that made it a little easier for now, at least.

But— the overlay. Seeing the first appearance of it had clarified what was happening. It had helped her make sense of this senselessness— that had been the one positive feeling she’d experienced in this room. Maybe if there were more flashes that came with text— she’d understand more. She could piece together exactly what was happening— and use it to come up with a plan. There’d be an opportunity sooner or later, and she wanted to be ready to seize it. It meant she’d have to look at the objectionable garbage again— but if there was text again, it would help her. It would make her feel like she was more in control, and doing something. And seeing the rest of it— it would steel her resolve, remind her how horrible what she was seeing actually was.

She opened her eyes— the same mother and daughter were still fucking, but now the daughter was between her mother’s legs, licking eagerly out of her pussy like she was trying to drink all its juices up— with a tireless tongue— disgusting.

The overlay washed over the image again— it was really more of an indigo, but the text was red.

Mother-daughter porn makes you hot. Mother-daughter porn makes you come.

It wasn’t true. The words stated it in such certainty, but it wasn’t true. She reminded herself of that; the daughter was licking her mother out even quicker— and the mother’s entire body was seizing up in orgasmic release— for a moment, Elizabeth was identify with the mother a little too much— imagining what it would feel like to come— she didn’t actually know. She’d been dutiful with Samuel, but she was an unsexual person. She liked it well enough, she guessed.

She didn’t like the sense of curiosity in her head. She didn’t trust anything about it at all— she didn’t like that any part of her was wondering about things lewd, lascivious. It was against everything she stood for— she liked sex alright but it wasn’t really her thing, something she got a lot out of— she didn’t need to know what it felt like to orgasm like that, the way the mother on the screen was doing it.

Another overlay came over the image as the mother ducked down to her daughter’s vagina to repay the favor. Mother-daughter porn makes you come— that seemed repetitive like maybe she’d seen it before— or she was just confused— Come now.

That was new. But Elizabeth felt triumphant— there was no orgasm in her— there was very little arousal— very little— was there any—?

Yes… it was like a low hum, so soft it couldn’t be heard— but why was it there at all? It was horrible that it was there at all? Was it that she was seeing something so taboo— in every way— she kept herself away from all sexual content, and now that she was being glutted on it… some part of her couldn’t help but respond at least slightly. She hated the thought of that—but at least it wasn’t noticeable.

She hated it— having to see naked breasts, naked vaginas. The program didn’t seem to understand that she hadn’t come, though. It wasn’t punishing her for not doing it.

Time slipped, then. So much of the footage showed— and so continuously. Elizabeth wasn’t sure if she’d been watching for hours or days, but it just kept playing, and she just kept being trapped in the chair— if days had passed, she hadn’t been able to sleep. Any time she’d nodded off, the loud sounds of the mother and daughter fucking each other had roused her out of sleep again— she was starting to feel really sleep deprived— and her mind seemed to keep slipping, too. There was nothing to latch onto but the words— when the overlays came and told her things, they always told her the same things— that mothers and daughters fucking each other was hot, that she wanted to masturbate, that she came from seeing these things— it had been days maybe, or had it been weeks? The problem was that everything that happened to her seemed to be cyclical— what had started as a spark of arousal had been fed on oxygen— slowly, over days and days it had been pumped up, and now Elizabeth was feeling turned on in a way she’d never felt before in her life. It was everywhere in her body— and now when she watched the mother, she felt envy and not just disgust.

It wasn’t that she’d suddenly accepted the incest she was being shown— it was only that now, it was the only thing in her head. And no matter how much she condemned it, she could still see it now, even when she closed her eyes. And though she condemned it, and didn’t want to be involved with it in anyway, her body seemed like it was on a different track from her mind— because the more she judged it and hated it, the more her body craved it— and when she watched the mother come yet again, she’d had enough. She moved her free hand to her vagina and started massaging her clitoris— she was used to, by now, hearing these things spoken of in a vulgar fashion— the amount of times she’d heard the daughter say, lick my clitty mommy, or the amount of times she’d heard the mother say, fuck your way back into my pussy— back where you came from— it had taught her lingo she’d never wanted to learn at all. She would still try to think of her vagina more matter-of-factly, but even when she thought of it now, it turned her on a little. This was a new mechanic before, life hadn’t been like this until now.

As soon as she felt her clit, it was a relief— and then she came right away— it was too hot— the porn was so explicit, so loud, so awful, and it was all mixed up in her head because she was so tired— but then somehow, once she’d come once, she couldn’t stop touching herself— she was too tired to move her hand away from her private parts— it seemed less effort to keep rubbing there— and then the overlay came over the footage again, and told her, Come now— and even though she just had, she did it again. They had forced her to orgasm— and it went all through her body, resolved an aching, a holding of tension she hadn’t even known she had— it felt as good as the mother looked when she was calling out in pleasure— and she still hated it. And still judged it.

More days went on— constant masturbation, constant orgasm. The footage played.

It had affected her— after so many days of watching, and so many days after having to come whenever the footage told her too, Elizabeth felt very much that something in her brain had shifted— she still judged it negatively, looked down on it all, wanted to hesitate at the thought of doing it— but it was a fight to hesitate, and she lost it frequently. As often as one side of her wanted to pull back and refrain, the other side of her wanted to participate— wanted to feel that amazing arousal— and she was identifying with the mother in the footage too much— aroused when she was aroused, coming when she was coming.

The door into her chamber of captivity opened. Elizabeth heard it— then saw what had entered. It was best described as an android, plated in yellow chrome; a tin-ny face but in a non-tin color. A boxy thing, it was something over-exaggerated and stylized, copied from a lowbrow form of media. But it was releasing Elizabeth from her chair. It had her raised to her feet. It outstretched a hand, putting cold metal fingers on one nipple. But it turned out that fingers weren’t all they were.

There was a sharp stinging pain— and then when the android withdrew, and moved its hand to Elizabeth’s other nipple, she saw a bar was now piercing her— it ended in a stud at the top, and a stud at the bottom, but if there was something exerting force on it, that bar could pass through her nipple, only being stopped by the stud at either end.

In the time it took Elizabeth to look at her nipple, the android had already done the same to her other one; now she had two black studded bars through them. They were chafing, sitting there embedded in her nipples, which now ached for their presence.

Gravity was the force acting upon them at the moment, so the base stud had dragged all the way down, making the top stud rest flush against Elizabeth’s nipple tip.

She was humiliated at being pierced this way— only women of nonexistent morals wore piercings like this— she would never have pierced herself this way. But she hadn’t been given the choice. And she couldn’t deny that it hurt in a pleasurable way.

The android wasn’t done with her, either. She saw now it was holding something else in its hands: a harness for her to wear, with a thick dildo mounted inside it.

She had seen a twin of it on the screen— she looked back and saw the mother fucking her daughter with it at just that moment.

Elizabeth had even been jealous of that mother before— because she hadn’t had a dildo of her own she could use. But now there was one here for her. Inwardly, she protested in brief— but was quick to lose the battle. She let the android mount it on her body so it was fitted perfectly to her; then the android produced two black chains— matching the black harness. One end of each chain was attached to the base stud in each nipple— the other end was attached to a little nob at the base of the dildo’s front. The android gave the dildo an experimental tug— and Elizabeth yelped in both pain and arousal when she felt both bars slide through her nipples, and felt the top stud digging down from above.

The pressure eased when the tug was righted— but Elizabeth understood how this would work.

Next the android produced something fleshy, pink and silicone— it looked just wide enough to accept her dildo— it slid it around her dildo, then gestured for her to kneel on the floor.

There was a purple overlay, then, over the onscreen pornography. Written in gray text, Elizabeth was told: Fuck the Tube.

The mother on the screen was ready to fuck her daughter again— Elizabeth felt her identification blending with her. She didn’t know what she was doing— but she watched the mother, and wanted to copy her. That mother knew how to use her dildo— and Elizabeth wanted to fuck the tube.

She drove deep into it— her nipples tugging down in pain with the motion of her thrust. The tube was responsive— when she’d thrust as far in as she could, it relaxed, allowing her to drag her dildo back out of it, making it possible for her to push in again.

She realized then that the dildo was double-ended. The other side of it was inserted in her; the android had done it before leaving. It felt good feeling the shift inside when she fucked the tube as told— felt good feeling the way the tube received the dildo. She didn’t have the tactile feeling of the tube’s tightness. It was still satisfying.

Yet it was so wrong— she wasn’t actually a man, she was pretending to be— only a man should be doing this to a woman— and if any two women had to do it together, then it shouldn’t be mother and daughter. But she couldn’t help it— she knew the trick of this room.

It wanted her to identify with the mother in the porn— wanted her to imagine the hole she was fucking with this dildo was one of her daughters or both of them, fucked in sequence. And when had she started using the word ‘fucked’ — that had seeped into her somehow, she wasn’t sure where it had come from.

She knew she was being trained by this room to fuck with her dildo— but she still couldn’t deny the orgasms that moved through her, touching all of her good places when she fucked as intended. She went on thrusting in and out of the fleshlike tube, as the porn played on.