The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Fifty-three,” The thought was an echo inside her head.

She gripped the metal bar tightly, pulling it down against her tensed trapz. A little bead of sweat dribbled down the bridge of her nose, hanging there a moment, before falling. Quads parallel to the ground, knees pointing to one and ten o’clock, her core strong; she was in control of the weight upon her shoulders. She felt her heartbeat in places it often wasn’t felt—in her calves, the back of her neck where the cold iron met skin, on her palms. It brought a smile to her face; that steady rhythm pumping blood into those places, did. It meant she had lifted more than her own body weight. Meant she had pushed past a limit that had mostly been physical.

Breathing fast and deep, huff and huff, she pushed, and lifted. Legs extending, 72 kilos moving smoothly and then stopping up high. There, she readjusted, paused to breathe, and sank down again.

Time faded into a litany of numbers in her head. Some speed metal played in the speakers, echoing all around the gym, matching the various bangs, clangs and grunts in this place alive with activity. The music helped her focus on her task, to disassociate from place and self. Slowly, methodically, keeping her form, keeping her core tight, breathing in at the top, breathing out as she rose, the numbers increasing in a slow tempo in her mind. Sometimes she imaged them floating in a dark void, everything but the task obscured and unimportant. Other times, the numbers were being drawn on a board full of numbers by an invisible hand; each new addition superimposed on the last until it was a loud, crowded mess of numbers that made you cross-eyed and slowed down your brain. And sometimes the numbers were a jumble of concepts, some her own, some not so much, all coalescing to turn this simple activity into something else entirely that left her confused as to who she really was.

Sixty appeared on her mind, big, bold, echoing in its importance.

A flush of warmth spread from the top of her shoulders to the tips of her toes. The barbell clanged as she dropped it on the rack, the metallic sound comforting in its familiarity. It was a sound of victory, of accomplishment. A sound that made ran a cold finger up and down her spine. She shivered, feeling the slow playfulness of that invisible, thoughtful finger playing with the pussy between her legs and the second pussy her brain had become. She hung there, hands resting on the bar, arms extended, bent at the waist. Smiling.

“I am making myself perfect for my uniform,” She droned under her breath, a voice like a programmed facsimile of humanity. The music drowned the code words only she knew. The privacy of the moment in such a crowded space made her flush, bite her lips or do something private and elegant with her hips.

Sweat dripped from her nose, staining the black matt floor.

With a deep breath, she straightened. Her body complained in that delicious after-workout burn, stretch and fatigue flavoured shake. She could feel her thighs full of blood and fire.

It was good.

“I am sculpting this body, to be the perfect drone,” She mouthed. Both the pussy in her brain and the pussy between her legs leaked at that. If it wasn’t for the sweat soaked into her leggings and sports bra, someone would’ve recognized the wet patch between her legs for what it was.

Clink. Clank. The weight plates came off her bar. Clink—She paralyzed as she saw a flash of blonde hair. She blinked sweat off her eyes.

“Woah, Charlie, you broke your max again?” The blonde woman said, eyes glistening with pride.

Charlie nodded, and fussed with the plate to hide just how good the surprise, pride and support in the blonde’s voice had made her feel. She had broken her max weight again, and again, each time feeling better—so much hotter—than the last. She was sculpting the perfect body for her uniform, after all.

“Yeah.” Charlie said, finally.

“At this rate you’ll beat me!” The woman laughed a melodious laugh.

Charlie felt something melt in her pussybrain; warm and fuzzy thoughts overtook any other ideas. She blinked, pressed her legs together. “Hopefully.” She said finally.

The woman’s eyes wandered on Charlie’s body, from the running shoes to her messy hair. And back down to the beads of sweat on her cleavage. “You’re coming along nicely.”

Charlie pressed her lips together at the compliment. Nervously, she brushed her ponytail with both hands and it was then that Charlie noticed that she was not just dressed in the same sportsbra, leggings and running shoes as this woman, but she had even put on the same bauble to tie her hair into a high ponytail. Even their lipstick was the same colour!

Warm fuzzy thoughts filled her mind. Eyes lost focus; then refocused on her.

“I am making myself perfect for my uniform,” Charlie said out loud. She blinked, pressed her mouth shut, then put a hand over the traitorous flesh speaker. Her cheeks were red.

The woman smiled. “Such a good gymbunny, Charlie.” And patted Charlie on the head.

Warmth spread from that pat. It didn’t course through her whole being, from head to pussy and back again, like her other programmed sensations did. This one just stayed in her head; like a good song, it wrapped her pussybrain in the warm, fuzzy goodness of correct thoughts.

“Thank you!” Charlie beamed, full of joy and warmth and a little love.

The woman laughed. “You finished your sesh?”

Charlie nodded.

The woman’s bright red lips split into a smile. “Good, finish here. Your uniform is waiting.” Then turned around and walked towards the cross-trainers

Charlie was left there with the weights and a pussybrain exploding into a mess of non-thoughts and pleasure.

Charlie lifted her hands off her lips, voice still a squeal. “My uniform!” Her voice deflated, going quiet.

The rubber felt as smooth as she had imagined—as her Maker had made her imagine—and just touching it nearly made her collapse into a heap of obedience and arousal.

She let go of it, unable to touch it any more in the state she was in. It was sacrilegious.

She locked the locker, and basically ran to the shower. The cold water helped diffuse some of the need to get naked and wrap herself up in her uniform. That would be correct, but not here in the gym.

“But it would be fitting,” Charlie mumbled. “To do it in the place where I’ve sculpted the perfect body for my uniform.”

She giggled at the thought.

And then felt the warmth feelings of unthoughts wrap around her pussybrain—all-encompassing, all-powerful, drowning out any common sense and any other thought.

Charlie the Gymbunny blinked. Correct thoughts were installed. Why was she so nervous about wearing her uniform in the gym? It was here she had become her new, perfect self, where her Maker had made her into what she now was.

So what if someone saw her in her uniform in the gym? That was the point of it, wasn’t it? To be seen in it and recognized for what she had become.

The Gymbunny dried herself thoroughly and then threw the towel on the floor. The change of clothes she had brought abandoned—all that mattered now was her uniform. Hiding under the suit, she found a bottle of lube. Her pussybrain knew what to do, even if an hour ago she would’ve had no idea how to even begin wrapping her body in the thick rubber catsuit.

The Gymbunny followed her programming. Lathering her lean body with the fluid, making herself shiny and ready for her uniform. Her skin broke into goosebumps from the excitement.

The doors opened, and a heavyset woman walked in. She paused when she saw the Gymbunny all shiny and flushed red with arousal. The woman made herself scarce rather quickly.

For some reason that made Gymbunny’s pussies warm up.

The rubber made wet, squeaky sounds as she handled it, scrunched it so she could start becoming perfect.

She nearly came as she slipped her legs into the rubber uniform. The compression on her calves was heaven, was delicious, was… just not enough words to describe the actual feeling. Gymbunny stopped trying to think, and simply gave herself to the warmth wrapping over her whole self.

In the mirror she saw a perfect Gymbunny. Wrapped up in her tight rubber uniform, completed, enhanced, completely encased. The catsuit wasn’t as smooth as she had imagined it to be—her Maker had decided to give her an outfit with ruffles on the shoulders, slightly looser around the neck than Gymbunny would have preferred… but it was her uniform. The corset compressing her chest made up for the looseness in other places, and she knew that once she put on the final part of the uniform she would feel perfect. Her pussybrain would feel perfect too.

Holding the gasmask in her hands, Gymbunny waited. She could feel the heavy bangs of barbells being dropped through the floor. Someone was showering. And here she was, trapped in shiny rubber, finally fulfilling her dream. Finally in the uniform she had worked so hard for.

“You’ve come along so well,” Gymbunny heard her Maker’s voice behind her. She felt the warmth spread from her pussybrain into her pussy.

The gasmask was taken from her hands. She could feel her heartbeat throbbing a song all over her tired, excited body; her pussy, the lead. A metronome of right thoughts.

Maker’s hands brushed against her smooth, featureless head. The gasmask was tightened and in that moment everything she had been disappeared and only the perfectly uniformed Gymbunny remained.