The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The Adjusters IV: Running to Stand Still

Awry (1)

It’s dark. Middle of the night. I can’t sleep. I’m on my back, on my bed, my arms folded with my hands underneath my head. I’m staring at the ceiling. On the other side of the room, Allison is sleeping soundly, having none of my problems. I envy her for that.

My name is Jennifer Hansen, and by now I should be used to things being out of my control and they should not keep me up at night. Yet here I am, worrying about the fact that in order to get that Pig Gutierrez in trouble enough that he has to abort his plan to sell Mouse to animals who want to take revenge on her, I’m setting myself up bait to get the Pig to molest me so that we can record it and show it to representatives of whatever agencies are funding the Institute that are coming to visit in three days time.

That’s a reasonable plan on paper, but I can’t shake the feeling that something is about to go horribly wrong. And that’s despite having spent all my life being referred to as the optimistic happy-go-lucky one.

* * *

Sanderson dropped by my room earlier today to discuss our plan. It really is Cassandra’s plan, but considering that in its original form her plan revolved around killing the Pig in rather imaginative and bloody ways, I like to think that our input helped make the plan more realistic.

Cassandra. What a strange woman. At the last party that the Pig threw, the one where I was only half drugged because the idea was that I would run away from the Institute with Sanderson because we thought that I was the target of the Pig’s entrepreneurial efforts, Cassandra and I finally came to a head. She tried to subjugate me—physically, psychologically, sexually—but my Biff-trained slut-side whom I’ve started to call Jennie because if I can’t have some fun with any of this I’m going to go insane for real, recognized that what Cassandra deeply craved was to be subjugated herself, by force, and in short order Jennie took over and did just that, dominating Cassandra and leaving her a whimpering puddle of post-orgasmic bliss, and in the process giving me just a tiny bit of an ascendant upon her, enough to ensure that she could be an ally.

Of course, it’s really the fact that the Pig wants to sell Mouse that made Cassandra an ally. When she learned that, she went ballistic. Because she loves Mouse. I don’t think she knows, or if she does I don’t think she could verbalize it given the fairly limited dominance-submission vocabulary that she finds herself saddled with as a consequence of her illness, but it’s as clear as day, and Mouse knows it and treasures it. If only because of that, I’m willing to forgive Cassandra a great deal. After all, she’s not herself. None of us are, least of all me.

In any event, Sanderson showed up earlier, and we reviewed the basic plan. The idea is pretty simple. The Pig really liked fucking me when I was in my induced catatonia, going so far as asking Sanderson to figure out a way to put me under again, in exchange for getting free access to fuck Allison at one of his parties. Long story.

So Sanderson is going to give the Pig exactly what he wants: me, knocked out, freely available for him to molest and generally abuse however he wants to. And Sanderson is going to spread the word that I might be transferred soon, forcing the Pig to get his jollies before then. And to help sell the whole story, Doctor Agnieska—whom we learned Cassandra is able to control because the Japanese doctor is a born lesbian submissive completely under Cassandra’s thumb—will be the one instigating my return to catatonia-land. That’s probably the weakest part of the plan, but Cassandra assured us that Agnieska will do as she’s told.

I have to be honest, I don’t particularly relish the though of letting the Pig have his way with me. When he did back in the past, at least then I was shot full with drugs that made everything stars and rainbows. Now, not so much. I did ask Sanderson about putting me under for real, but he seemed nervous about the idea. And he’s right—if anything goes south, if the Pig suspects that he’s being set up, I’d be unable to defend myself.

So it looks like I’m going to have to do this sober, so to speak. We can’t even reduce my meds to let Jennie out and take the brunt of the Pig’s assault, because I’ll need to fake being sedated, which means not moving and especially not reacting, and I can’t trust Jennie to do that, for all the obvious reasons.

“There’s still a problem,” I say, glancing meaningfully at Sanderson.

He looks at me with the cutest frown. And I feel a slight pang of… of what exactly? Regret? I think it’s just because in many ways, he’s the one person around me that reminds me the most of Daniel. Of course, Sanderson is not Daniel—he’s too waffling, too undecided, too uninterested in the world around him—but he’s a good guy, with a good heart, and he looks at me sometimes with those big eyes filled with veneration and that gives me a boost of self-esteem that I’m going to miss.

I know Sanderson likes that cute blonde nurse Beatrice, and I’ve been telling it him to go to her, because it’s not good for him to be with me too much. It’s not really me he sees when he looks at me—it’s his old girlfriend, the one that broke his heart. Not that I’m much better—the more I’m with Sanderson, the more I think of Daniel. That’s not healthy, for either of us, not healthy at all.

“What do you mean, a problem?” Sanderson replies. “Allison managed to hook up the laptop to offsite cloud storage, which means we have the system set to fully record all the time, and there’s no risk to miss anything. When they move you to a new room after we sedate you, we’ll start it up and we’ll be good to go.”

“Not that.” I know he’s still feel a bit weird about the fact that he’s been hanging out with Beatrice, and he feels like he’s betraying me. He’s not. But it gives him a bit of a blind spot.

“Then what?”

“Well, the plan is to fake Jennie being put back under, so that the Pig can make a move on Jennie.”

“Right. I know that.”

“Agnieska’s on board, because Cassandra says Agnieska’s on board. But what do you think Doctor Dante will say when he learns that Jennie’s back under sedation, when he’s the one who determined that Jennie should not be?”

Sanderson’s face is a study in situational comedy.

“Fuck,” is all he says. And indeed, there is little to be said beyond that. I got stuck on that part of the plan for a good part of the night, and I came up with maybe the only solution short of killing Dante. But it has to be Sanderson’s choice, and in fact, it has to be his idea.

“Dante must be distracted,” I say, as an opening gambit.

“It’ll take more than a distraction,” Sanderson replies, grabbing his head in his hands. “I think at this point you’re a matter of professional pride for him.”

“Tests can be faked to show that Jennie needs to be put under.”

Sanderson shakes his head. “I don’t think he’d fall for it. I mean, that was done before, and he’d be suspicious. He ordered multiples backup tests before waking you up, and he’d do it again.”

Sanderson gets off the bed and starts pacing the room, the way I’ve seen him do when he’s agitated.

“If we had the time,” he muses, “we could maybe arrange for the lab to falsify the results or something. But we don’t have the time. And I don’t trust Dante not to run the tests himself, by hand. No, we need to keep him away from this place—not for long, just for three days or so, until we snag Gutierrez. Maybe we can have him called away or something? Does he have family?”

“Maybe Beatrice? She could lure him away?”

Sanderson makes a face. “Aside from the fact that he’s got a wife that may not take too well to her husband going somewhere short notice for three days, Beatrice has ended the affair. Seems Dante was getting a bit too… violent and angry and possessive.” He touches the side of his face, which still bore a nasty bruise from his encounter with Doctor Dante, the details of which I never learned but I could guess.

Sanderson’s face changes. His eyes widen. He looks at me, and I’m pretty sure that he’s come to the same conclusion I have. I merely look back at him without giving anything away.

“I… Huh, I think I got it.” His face is ashen. “But… fuck!”

He drops on the bed next to me.

“What is it?”

Sanderson’s eyes are still wide when he turns to me. “Dante. He was waiting for me outside the Institute the night of Gutierrez’s party. He wanted me to stop seeing…” Sanderson hesitates.

“Beatrice,” I supply helpfully.

“Yeah. I don’t really remember what I told him, but he didn’t like it because next thing I know I’m on my ass on the ground and my face is on fire. The guy has a fucking wicked hook. Never saw it coming. Anyway, there were a few people around that saw us, and I’m sure that if I were to report him to Management, they would suspend him while they investigate. That’d take him out of our hair while we took care of Gutierrez. Especially if I said I was worried he might attack me again.”

“But?” I added after a long silence from Sanderson.

“But he’s going to know exactly who complained about him, and huh… well, it’s going to put some oil on the fire. Between that and Beatrice dumping him…”

“He’s going to be upset.” I conclude, but there is no need to spell that part out. “Maybe you can submit the complaint anonymously.”

“Right, because I’m sure Dante punches enough people on a daily basis that it’s going to be tough for him to figure out who filed the complaint.”

I let his snark pass because I figure it’s his way of dealing with the situation.

“You don’t have to do this, Richard,” and I put a hand on his arm.

He puts his own hand over mine. “That’s the only way. Beside, it’s what you said yesterday, right? Sacrifice for helping Lillian. And if you’re going to go and let Gutierrez… huh…”

“Fuck Jennie.”

“Right… let Gutierrez fuck you, then having Dante pissed at me is minor in comparison, no? It’s not like he’s pleased with me right now anyway.”

He nods twice, forcefully, as if he’s come to a decision and is convincing himself it’s a good one. But he keeps his hand on mine.

* * *

Sanderson comes back later that evening, at the end of his shift, before leaving for the night. Allison is with me. We’re playing Gin Rummy, a game I used to play all the time with my mom when I was a kid. Somehow, it helps me feel close to my mom, and keeps me centered, and stupidly gives me hope I’ll see her—and Daniel—again one day. I’m still me.

Sanderson gives Allison an uneasy glance, and I nod.

“Allison,” I tell her, “do you mind giving Richard and Jennie a bit of privacy?”

The cute redhead looks up and glances at Sanderson before giving me a knowing grin. “Of course,” she says. “But no peeking at my cards. I’ll know,” she says mysteriously.

Allison isn’t in on the plan, but I don’t actually know how much Cassandra told her. She knows we’re going to record stuff—she’s the one who hacked the camera system— and generally cause trouble, and she seems happy to go along with it.

When she’s gone, Sanderson speaks up. “It’s done.” He looks tired, and almost dejected.

“Jennie knows,” I say, and pat the bed next to me. He sits down, and I hug him. He resists for a second—pride?—before letting himself go. “The rumor’s already making the rounds.”

Sanderson snorts. “Guess that’s a good sign for us, right? Shows that rumors spread fast enough.” He sighs. “Dante was pissed. He’s suspended until the internal investigation comes up with a recommendation. I’m talking to HR tomorrow afternoon, and I think they’re going to talk to Beatrice as well, and when that happens I think the shit’s gonna hit the fan. Their affair’s bound to come out.”

“Dante won’t like that.”

Sanderson snorts again. “His wife certainly won’t. The next few days are going to be… interesting.” Then he realizes who he’s talking to, and blushes. “Huh… sorry… not that what you have to go through isn’t easy or…”

“Don’t worry about it.” I shrug. “Jennie will make do. She’s done worse.” And trying to actively forget about it, too.

Sanderson gives me a glance. Before he can say anything, Cassandra is at the door, smirking as usual. But there is a joy in her eyes that is not directed at us. She’s enjoying this, I think. And that’s pretty clear. She’s relishing not just the revenge on the Pig, but also the anticipation of that revenge, and even worse, while I’m certain she deeply wants the plan to work, she’s also enjoying the possibility of failure and getting caught and punished.

“Good job, Young Thing,” she says, her voice flirty. “I heard about Brown Eyes being out on his cute ass.”

“It’s just a suspension,” Sanderson replies. “He’ll be back.”

Cassandra walks up to us. “I don’t know—he did deck you.” She drops on the bed next to me, and she’s so close I can feel the heat of her body, and I know it’s no accident. She wants to provoke something. It’s what she does.

And my body reacts to it. It always does. Jennie is still there, beneath the meds, listening, watching, feeling. And she loves Cassandra. So it is always supremely distracting when she’s close.

“So step two done,” she says. Step one was plugging into the cameras circuit. “Time for step three.”

“Agnieska,” I reply.

Doctor Agnieska has to come visit me after I make a bit of a fuss, and judge me to be needing to be put under emergency sedation again, due to a recurrence of my Syndrome. And then…

“And then,” completes Cassandra, as though she’s reading my mind, “the hook is baited, and we wait for Slimy to weasel in and paw you like a cheap crack whore he’s purchased for five bucks.” She’s smiling when she says that, and Sanderson frowns at her.

Poor Cassandra. Slave to her drives. I know exactly how she feels. Not for the first time, I wonder what her story is, wonder if she’s aware of how she is, the way I am aware of how I am—the way Biff made me. I guess not, because she’s genuinely ill, while I’ve been… tampered with. But then again, is there any way to know? It’s not like if someone asked me I could tell them the truth anyway.

“Come on, Cassandra,” I grin right back at the brunette. “Admit it: you wish it was you that the Pig’s gonna fuck like a whore. Jennie can smell it from here.”

“Urgh—the man’s disgusting!” she groans. “It takes a filthy slut like you to fuck him.”

Thing is, this is Cassandra, and it’s not entirely clear she means filthy slut in quite the negative way her words suggest.

And I’d bet anything that she in fact wishes she were in my place—that she finds the Pig repulsive only adds to the attraction—but only because she would wish the Pig to bowl her over by being assertive, dominant, even dangerous. But that’s not the Pig. Not at all.

Sanderson watches our exchange, and doesn’t understand it. He’s fundamentally way too sweet to be involved in any of this. And he can’t understand what’s going on in our heads. Certainly not in mine. How could he?

He clear his throat, and then stands up. “Well… huh… okay, so I’ll go tell Doctor Agnieska, then.”

But Cassandra stops him. “I’ll do it. Agnieska always responds better to my arguments.” Her grin is ferocious, and I can just imagine what she means. Jennie inside certainly does. “You should go and make sure that Slimy’s distracted. We don’t want him to interact with Agnieska too much.”

“I think he’s out today,” Sanderson says.

“Go make sure,” says Cassandra, and her tone says that it’s not a request. “He comes back sometimes, off shift, to hook up with Mouse, or Agnieska, or any of the more submissive girls. And to plan out his parties.”

Cassandra’s in her element, at the head of the action, directing things, in control. And that’s perfectly fine with me. I need to be in a good place to face what’s coming, and knowing that Cassandra has my back helps a lot.

Well, fine, so she’s really got Mouse’s back. But it’s good enough right now. She’s on our side. The enemy of my enemy, and all that.

Sanderson gives me a last glance, and I nod to tell him it’s okay. He leaves quietly.

Watching him go, Cassandra smirks. “You got him pussy whipped good, Sweet Cheeks. He’s got the hots for Blonde Slut”—Beatrice—“for sure, but if you were to tell him to dump her ass he’d do it and never look back.”

“But Jennie won’t.”

Cassandra looks at me. “No, you won’t. Even though part of you wants to.”

I make no comment, just close my eyes and lean back.

“I’ve got no idea what to make of you, Sweet Cheeks. I mean, everyone here in the Gallery’s a mystery, what with their minds half fucked up, but they’re like pretty puzzle boxes that look confusing at first but are pretty straightforward when you unlock them. You… you’re not a puzzle box. You’re more like a Russian doll.”

“A Russian doll?”

“You know, those dolls that all fit one into another? You’re like that. I mean, right now, you’re nice and normal, but underneath there’s this hot slut that can’t help spread her legs and beg to be taken hard, and beneath that there’s this dominant bitch that makes me so wet I want to abuse you just so that she comes out to play, but beneath that even… there’s someone who’s pinning for Young Thing there… and beneath that… there’s someone that I can’t figure out but she’s there and she’s thinking and she’s watching and plotting and who the fuck knows who she is. And I bet that’s not even the smallest doll in there. So who are you, Biff’s Cunt?”

I open my eyes to find Cassandra staring at me. She’s a lot more aware than I gave her credit for, that’s for sure. And then I realize that just like I’m unsure of her allegiances, she’s unsure of mine. She’s looking out for her friend—for her love.

She’s nailed it, of course. I’m a Russian doll. I’m trapped inside a larger version of myself, Jennie, a version of myself crafted by Biff, while she’s herself trapped inside a larger doll produced by the meds that are designed to keep Jennie at bay. And underneath that? Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t answer her question. Who am I? That’s a good one, Cassandra. I’m Jennifer Hansen, daughter of Carole Hansen, engaged to Daniel Malcolm; I’m a student in English and in journalism and in law, caught up in events that escape me and that I can’t control. I want to get married, find a job I love, and eventually have kids. I want to be happy.

And beneath that self, I’m a scared little girl who hopes against hope that someone will just show up to save her and sweep her away from this nightmare and make everything all right.

Maybe no one is coming. I did send out a message, but maybe no one will hear it. It’s such a long shot. So for all I know, I’m alone. But I’m me. I’m me. And that’s a lot.

I don’t know what Cassandra sees in my eyes, but I know what she wants to hear, and it’s easy to be sincere when I say it because it’s true. “Jennie is Mouse’s friend.”

And I take Cassandra’s hand and squeeze it, the way I saw Mouse do, and Cassandra’s gaze lingers on me a few more seconds before she nods, apparently satisfied. She squeezes my hand back.

“I’ll go get Agnieska. And then let’s fuck that bastard.”

* * *

A few hours later, I’m on the bed reading Zadie Smith’s NW on my tablet when Sanderson returns. Allison is taking a nap on her bed.

Sanderson looks at me, then at Allison, and then he nods slightly. That’s the signal. I guess I won’t find out for a few days what happens to the Caldwell folks.

I do continue reading, but I become more and more agitated. As if I don’t feel comfortable in my own skin. As if I can’t find a position that accommodates me. I try to imagine how things would be like if I were to give Jennie inside some leeway, if I were able to let her come out and take over—it’s not happening, of course, because of the drugs running through my veins, but she’s right there, underneath the surface, and I’ve had such close contact with her in the past few months that I’m attuned to her, intimately.

So I keep on reading—though I’m barely paying attention to the words now—and I let my hand drop between my spread legs, and slide underneath the elastic waist of my pants. I caress myself, gently, almost absent-mindedly.

I try not to think that I might be doing this for an audience. Because Cassandra told us that the Pig has made friends with some of the security guards, and it is possible that he might check the recordings to see exactly what it was that forced me to be put back under sedation. And so I have to make it convincing.

Making it convincing is easy. My body is what it has become and Biff’s imprint is everywhere, and after a few minutes of my fingers rubbing my pussy lips, it starts to feel really good, and it’s no act when I close my eyes and moan softly as I press my fingers harder. I’m slick down there, and my body is quick to remind me that I haven’t fucked anyone in days now.

The drugs keep many of Biff’s instructions at bay, but do nothing for the deep desires he hammered inside me. Because of him, I’m essentially a sexual being.

Since the plan is for me to appear to be going out of my mind with lust, there is no need to control myself. Any pretense at reading is forgotten as I drop the tablet and slide another hand into my pants. With one hand rubbing my clitoris in widening circles, I press two fingers into my pussy and they sink in easily, and I get a flash of what it might possibly be like for a man to slide his cock inside me and it gets me hot, like anything remotely sexual does these days.

Allison sleeps through my self-pleasure, but not for long, because the plan is to make a fuss, and that’s what I do after pulling off my pants and spreading my legs wide and starting to masturbate like crazy, my hands running all over my body, taking on shameful poses and exhibiting all of my charms to anyone that might be looking on. My hands are on my breasts, and on my ass and in my pussy and they squeeze and they pinch and they rub and before too long I’m groaning and then I’m panting and then I’m shouting that I want a cock, that I need a cock, that I’d do anything for a cock.

Allison’s awake by that point and she’s staring at me with wide eyes—and she mindlessly reaches for the bowl of lollipops she keeps by her bedside and starts sucking on one while watching my display, fascinated.

That fascination turns to fear when I turn to her and stare at her the way a panther might stare at a chubby piglet. It is a look I have seen too often on Biff and the dozens of boys he gave me to when I was with him, a look that says everything it needs to say without a single word being uttered.

And Allison understands that look without difficulty, and she slowly reaches for the button that summons the nurses on duty. I have to time this well—I do not want to hurt Allison, and so I slowly step off my bed, as if I’m anticipating the action to follow, stark naked, aroused, hoping beyond hope that Jennie will not take advantage of the events to burst out and really bring down the house. I need to trust the meds. I need to trust myself.

Jennie does not show up, though she stirs and purrs and growls underneath the thin shell of my skin. It’s not her but me that takes two slow steps towards Allison, one hand frantically squeezing my tit, the other caressing my side down to my hip. I have to appear crazed, out of my mind with desire, and ready to assault the poor redhead. I have to sell it.

By the look the orderly Rasmussen gives me when he enters the room, my acting abilities have not diminished since high school. He does not even bother looking at Allison, he simply steps up in front of me and squarely picks me off the ground. He holds me at an angle, probably to prevent me from kicking him between the legs.

When he picks me up, I up my game. He looks as imperturbable as ever, strong and capable and silent, as he brings me back to my bed.

“Please! Jennie’s hungry! Jennie’s so fucking hungry! Jennie wants your cock! Jennie wants all cocks!” I struggle, then look at him with wide eyes and an open mouth and I run my tongue over my lips and part of me feels silly but part of me just listens to what Jennie is shouting from deep inside and remembers how she acted in the past when Biff ordered her to act like a stupid little cock-hungry bimbo for the amusement of his friends.

Rasmussen is a big guy, and I have no worries that he can handle me and since I can’t really hurt him that leaves me leeway to struggle as much as I want, as much as I can. He’s also incredibly tolerant to abuse, something that I guess one has to be to work in a place like this.

“Fuck Jennie, you big lug! Fuck Jennie hard! PLEASE!”

I twist myself to pummel him on the shoulders as he lays me down on my bed, humming what I guess might be a soothing song, but really just looking at me quietly with his steely eyes, and his vise-like hands wrapped around my waist.

Jennie stirs underneath my skin, aroused at the way he just manhandles me as if I weighed nothing, and the keening noise that escapes my lips before I beg him some more to “Fuck Jennie like the little pig slut she is!” is not altogether faked. I find it way too easy to get in touch with Jennie now, something that should worry me but that I just file away as I try as hard as I can to rub my body against Rasmussen, to try to rub my tits against his arms, my crotch against his hips, anything, anywhere.

At that point other people rush through the door, and I spy Sanderson from the corner of my eye, and I play up my agitation. Allison is standing by the door, keeping out of the way, her eyes still wide.

“PLEASE!” I scream, trying to push Rasmussen off. “Jennie needs a COCK! ANY COCK! Take Jennie! ALL OF you! FUCK her! DESTROY her! DROWN HER IN YOUR FUCKING—”

I don’t have a chance to finish because Rasmussen’s hand presses on my mouth as other orderlies take hold of my limbs to pin me down. Jennie inside is going crazy, and I can almost picture her foaming at the mouth wanting to be abused by the men and women surrounding me.

“Let me through,” comes Doctor Agnieska’s weirdly soft voice and she appears. “Hold her tight,” she tells the orderlies around me. Sanderson is looking at me over her shoulder.

I put up a struggle, but not so much as to keep Doctor Agnieska from plunging a syringe into my shoulder, and for a second I worry that she’s truly injected me with the sedative because a bit of a fog descends upon me and I panic for real and struggle but the hands that hold me down are strong and I can’t move.

I’m not blanking out though, and while I do feel a bit more mellow than earlier, I’m still me. Agnieska is looking at me, and I remember the script. I calm down, and close my eyes, and let go of everything, as if whatever Agnieska injected me with had just put me out.

I hear Agnieska tell everyone to leave, and one by one the hands leave my body, and it takes more control than I care to admit to resist the urge to tell them to stay and touch me again.

I steady my breathing, turn my focus inside, and try to center myself, blocking out everything but the sound of my breathing.

“You’re okay, sweetie.” Agnieska is whispering in my ear, as she runs her hands on my neck as if to check for swollen ganglions. “I’ve just injected you with some plasma and a mild tranquilizer. Just relax now.”

Easier said than done. But I manage not to stir as Agnieska goes through the motion of examining me before calling to a nurse to bring her a cart with a litany of drugs that I don’t know and can’t follow. An hour later, I’ve come full circle, lying in my old bed in my old room with an intravenous drip in my arm connected to a drug dispenser, as if Sanderson and Dante never woke me up.

Except I am not in a medically-induced catatonia this time.

The drip only delivers a saline solution, with a mild relaxant.

The bait is set.