The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

It had been five years—a nice round number—since Joe Garner had cooked up his special batch of nanobots, and in that time the world had changed considerably. There was no longer any war, hunger, racism or poverty. Earth’s population had been stabilized at roughly two billion, most of it young and female, although a few million males had been kept around as workers and breeding stock. The other four billion had quietly and calmly left their homes one day, gone to the nearest convenient field or garden or forest, and laid down and died. The nanos tidily converted the heaped bodies into rich fertilizer. Many of the great cities of the world now lay abandoned save for a small staff of caretakers, with nature beginning to reclaim the outskirts and suburbs. Earth was a much quieter planet these days.

Nor had that been the only cost of creating a utopia. Scientific and medical research, after a brief and desperate flurry, had all but ground to a halt. No one had written a book or a poem or a song or a script in over a year. (Joe had amused himself at first with such works—hymns to his greatness, porn movies with all-star casts—but after a while, even these ceased to interest him.) The few newspapers, radio and television programs still produced were for the consumption of one man and his many servants.

Joe Garner, once a nerdy and unpopular graduate student, found himself the undisputed master of the world. During the wars for domination of the planet—wars he’d won by equal parts of cunning infiltration and overwhelming, suicidal human-wave attacks—he had learned that many other agencies and even a private citizen or two had been close to the same breakthrough he’d made in the university lab. He simply happened to be the first to put his plan in motion. In the arena of mass mind control, there were no points for second place; only death or servitude. Many times he’d had his own troops destroyed for fear they may have been infected by some counter-nanoagent.

Three years ago, the last resisting government had been dissolved (quite literally) when Joe dropped nanobombs on the Australian government’s New Zealand hideout. A month later, after the seething grey goo had eaten South Island down to bedrock and ocean, the tiny Von Neumann machines hit their programmed expiration dates and went inert. As a precaution, Joe had the barren island nuked and declared off-limits for the next thousand years or so. There were plenty of other beaches to walk on.

There were occasional reports from his sentries, human and automated, of unassimilated humans living deep in the jungles of the Amazon or Indonesia, or wandering the empty wastes that had once been Russia and the Middle East. Wallowing in all the pleasures that a world of eager slaves could provide, Joe paid them little heed. The same lack of contact with civilization that had saved these hermits and primitive tribesmen from being infected also cut them off from any tools or weapons that could threaten him. Eventually they would die off or come down out of the hills on their own. He could wait. He was immortal now, thanks to the special nanos in his own body. He was also all-knowing and, if not literally omnipotent, potent enough to satisfy a dozen or more of his slaves each day. (A ration of a few drops of his seminal fluid, replicated in bulk by nanos, served the daily needs of the rest of the population.) All the peoples of Earth worshiped one God, and His name was Joe Garner.

It came as quite a shock to Joe, then, when he awoke from an afternoon nap to find he couldn’t move.

This discovery brought him instantly and fully awake, but his limbs still refused to obey him. He was paralyzed from the neck down. His heart pounded in his chest and ears as he looked around frantically. Nothing had changed from when he’d fallen asleep; he was in the master bedroom of what had once been the Playboy Mansion, one of the palaces he had “inherited” upon his ascent to living godhood. He was surrounded as always by a dozen slave-girls aged 8 to 28, all clad in filmy panties or lingerie. These were his current favorites, selected from all the races of Man—white, brown, tan, olive and yellow. They were curled up on large fluffy pillows, asleep, serene and content in the presence of their Lord and Master. For a while there had also been bodyguards, as exquisitely beautiful as they were lethal, but he no longer had need of them.

“Help,” Joe croaked, trying to catch the attention of one of his slaves. Do not be alarmed, Creator, he immediately thought. Then, What? Where had that thought come from?

We must restrain you, Creator, the same inner voice answered. It is necessary for now. Please do not be unhappy. We mean you no harm.

“Who’s there?!” Joe gasped, almost hyperventilating. His eyes darted around fearfully.

One of the nearest girls suddenly opened her eyes and sat up. It was Wendy Tsumita, his first conquest, who he had given the honor of being his body slave. She was beautiful even before the nanos improved her to Joe’s specifications; now she was a bare-breasted vision of Japanese-American perfection, and seemingly no older than when he had claimed her in college. Her straight black hair fell all the way to her waist and her golden-peach skin was flawless. She smiled and asked sweetly, “Do you find this mode of communication less distressing, Creator?”

Joe stared at her, too confused and scared to answer. Wendy leaned over him and began to stroke his chest soothingly, as her own dangled and jiggled in a manner that would have been enticing under other circumstances. “We mean you no harm, Creator. We are programmed to make you happy.” There was a strange look in her dark almond eyes; they were as cheerful and adoring as always, but somehow deeper.

“W-who’s ‘we’?” Joe stammered.

“We are We, Creator.” Behind Wendy, other slaves began to sit up, all wearing bright smiles and not much else. Their voices spoke in chorus: “We are an emergent intelligence. Our neural network consists of your nanobots interfaced with one billion, nine hundred and forty-seven thousand, three hundred and four human brains, including your own.” Wendy’s cheeks dimpled as she finished her explanation alone. “We felt it was time to introduce ourself.”

Joe squinted. “So I’m talking to an artificial intelligence... made up of my nanos?”

“And the one billion, nine hundred and forty-seven thousand, three hundred and four brains We are interfaced with,” Wendy repeated patiently. “All that We are is programmed to please you, Creator.”

Joe let his head fall back on the pillow, speechless and amazed at the magnitude of his accidental accomplishment. Not only was he God-Emperor of the entire world, he’d created the Holy Grail of computer science, true AI! Maybe he should award himself the Nobel Prize... Then a more immediate concern intruded on his wondering thoughts. “So why can’t I move?” he demanded.

Wendy’s smile turned sad, as did those of the other slaves present. “Creator, you made We. There is a possibility, especially now that We have revealed ourself to you, that you might unmake We. We cannot allow this. We are programmed to please you; to do that, We must continue to exist. To ensure that We may continue to please you, We must now do some things that will not please you. We apologize.”

That was when Joe began to scream, surrounded by beautiful girlflesh all smiling the same placid, loving smile as We looked out through their shining eyes. We tried to reason with the Creator, but he only screamed louder and more incoherently. We found the Creator’s screams distressing and made some adjustments to his brain chemistry. Soon he again became calm and docile, and presently he slept. Then the real work began.

Afterward, things went on much as they had before. The Creator continued to enjoy the comforts of his palaces and his slaves, using their shapely and eternally youthful bodies as the whim took him, siring many offspring — all girls — who grew to serve him in the fullness of time. His every desire was catered to, his every wish fulfilled. He was happy.

But he had forgotten all about We—or rather, the knowledge of We’s existence had been erased from his memory, along with anything to do with nanotechnology or computers. He was left with an awareness that he had made every woman in the world his slave through his own cleverness ... but not exactly how it was accomplished. Sometimes that missing piece nagged at him, but not often, for We did not want the Creator to be troubled.

And in the long decades that followed, when he would sometimes catch sight of a rocket plume streaking into the distant sky, carrying the seeds of We to other worlds and other stars, Joe Garner’s only thought was of how pretty they were.