Blank Betty
by Pan
“Oh! Oh god, yes! Oh, fuck me, Chet…”
I tried to turn my headphones up, tried to ignore the sounds of my sister’s pleasure, coming from the next room. But she was being as loud as she possibly could—Chet had made sure of that—and, against my will, it was turning me on. It was becoming impossible for me to think of my sister as a person any more.
She was just a fuck toy for Chet now, in my heart I knew that. And worse, all I had to do was ask, and she’d be a fuck-toy for me as well…
But I couldn’t do that. Not to my sister.
It started two weeks ago. Back when my sister still had free will.
Well, I guess it started about a year earlier. See, my sister and I have always been close. No, not in that way, you perverts—honestly, until the accident, I’d never thought of my sister in a sexual light at all. Hell, even after the accident I struggled with it—a fact Chet was well-aware of.
He’s always had a cruel streak. I should have seen it coming, I guess…but I never thought he’d find an avenue for it.
Anyway, the accident. No, before that—the experiments.
My sister Betty and I have always been close, probably because we’re both completely obsessed with science. Mom and Dad are scientists, and their passion for it really rubbed off on us. Where most siblings would fight, we always worked together, setting up chem labs and filling the house with foul-smelling concoctions.
And where most parents would complain about mess, Mom and Dad always encouraged us—they taught us the scientific method, how to determine whether an experiment was worth our time or not…
So all through high school, Betty and me were the top students in every science class we could take. That’s how we met Chet.
Like I said, Chet had a cruel streak. More importantly, though, he had a brilliant mind—he was fascinated with taking stuff apart to see how it worked, and so he was a natural addition to our two-man crew. We brought him up to speed, and he loved it—he had ideas that Betty and I could never have even thought of, and between the three of us, we knew we could do pretty much anything.
Why the brain? I’ve asked myself that more and more in the past couple of week, and the more I think about it, the more I think that it was Chet pushing in that direction. Not that we objected—hell, the mind is a fascinating thing, and pooling our money to buy more and more sophisticated devices was a no-brainer (no pun intended).
And again, I’m pretty sure it was Chet’s idea to use Betty as our test subject. We plugged her in, started monitoring the data, and that’s when—just two weeks ago—the “accident” happened…
I can’t prove anything, of course. Innocent until proven guilty, and I’ve got nowhere near the amount of evidence that I’d need to conclude that Chet masterminded the whole thing. But I’ll tell you this:
He didn’t look shocked.
Betty did. When the breaker broke (and not the way it’s meant to) and three times the intended amount of electricity began coursing through her brain, her mouth opened in surprise, right before it fell into that wide, slack-jawed position that would quickly become so familiar. For a second, her eyes had flashed with betrayal, before going blank, that same blankness that I see every day.
The two of us stood there in silence for a few seconds, and like I said…Chet didn’t look surprised.
He looked hungry.
“Betty?” I said, sighing with relief when she turned in response. “Betty, are you alright?”
She didn’t say anything, and after a few more seconds of silence, Chet spoke up.
“Betty,” he said softly, “tell us you’re okay.”
“I’m okay,” she said, echoing Chet’s tone.
“Take the wires off and let us have a look at you.”
She did as she was ordered, and aside from very slight burn-marks on the sides of her head, it didn’t look like there was anything wrong with her.
“Betty, what day is it today?”
“Friday.”
“What color shirt am I wearing?”
“Blue.”
“Are you okay? How do you feel?”
No response. She just stared at me, and my heart sank.
She wasn’t okay.
It’s hard to explain exactly what happened—just to understand what our experiment was trying to accomplish, you’d need to have spent several years studying the topic…but I’ll try to explain.
When you toss a coin, or roll a dice, or spin the wheel at roulette, it’s meant to be random, right? But it’s not. It’s just a huge, huge number of variables—so many that no human (with today’s technology, at least) could ever hope to predict the outcome. But realistically, toss a coin isn’t random—from the second it leaves your thumb, its path is already decided. The angle of the toss, the force involved, the air particles…it’s impossible to predict, but that’s not the same as random.
Free will is similar. It’s an illusion—we feel like we’re making decisions, but those decisions have been decided a long time ago. The sunshine bouncing off a windshield, hitting our eyes at the right angle, triggering a memory of when we were young, causing the brain to release a chemical…it combines with the trillions of other factors that are in every second of every day, but it’s not free will.
We’re all slaves to our own chemistry. And what Chet, my sister and I were trying (optimistically, I’ll admit) to do was measure that chemistry. We were trying to monitor specific brainwaves, sparks of electricity bouncing between neurons. And if we could capture the patterns of a particular emotion, perhaps we could recreate it.
We weren’t even close. We didn’t really expect to be—even at the early, early stages of research we were at, it was fascinating.
But the accident, from what we can tell, erased several sections of Betty’s brain. It’s a miracle we didn’t kill her…depending on how suspicious you are, you could say that it couldn’t have just been luck.
With just the tiniest bit more electricity, she would have been dead. Instead, she was alive and well…but she’d never be the same again.
She still understood English—she knew how to walk and talk and function. She knew where her room was, and if we told her to make her bed, she’d know where to find the necessary linen.
But her free will was eradicated, illusion or nay. Instead of obeying the chemical reactions bouncing around in her head, she now did…whatever she was told.
It took us about half an hour to work out what had happened, and then we set about fixing it.
“Don’t obey anyone but us,” was Chet’s first command, and at the time I didn’t find anything even remotely suspicious about it. To my mind, he was just looking out for her—if we set her free, obeying absolutely everything she was told, she’d be a mess. The first man who asked to see her tits would be obeyed, and from there it’s just a few short steps to being a drug-smuggling prostitute.
No, Chet was on her side. At the time, I didn’t even question that fact.
We spent the whole weekend…programming her, I guess would be the best word for it. Telling her how to behave to as many different stimulus as we could. I never appreciated the automatic decisions that you make each and every day—should I get up now, or sleep in? What kind of sandwich do I want to eat? Hell, even basic stuff like “where do I sit”…there are hundreds, thousands, maybe even millions…we couldn’t cover all of them, but we tried to broadly go over as many as we could.
“And when someone asks how you are, use a cheerful tone and reply ‘Great’, okay?”
“Okay,” she said blankly.
“If they ask for more detail, tell them that you’re just excited to be graduating soon, okay?’
“Okay.”
“If you feel like you need to go the toilet, get up and head straight to the nearest women’s bathroom…”
“…that you’re allowed into,” Chet added.
“If anyone asks where you’re going, just say that you’ll be back in a minute.”
By the time Sunday night came along, Chet and I were exhausted, but confident that Betty would pass as…well, herself, at least until we got a chance to add some more commands.
“Okay, Betty. Last one…if you’re asked a question that isn’t covered by anything we’ve said so far, just say ‘You decide’, and do what they say, okay?”
“Unless it’s sexual,” I said.
“Unless it’s sexual,” Chet agreed. “Or if it’s one of us.”
That was the moment when my suspicions started. At the time I let it slide—we were exhausted, I figured he’d expressed himself badly, and that he was just making sure that there was a loophole, making sure that Betty would always listen to our instructions.
But when I fell into bed, the comment turned over in my head over and over, and I couldn’t ignore the obvious repercussions of what he’d said.
My parents didn’t believe in pushing their ethics onto us. They were both atheists, but they took us to church a few times—they wanted to show us everything that was out there, and let us make our own decisions.
So me and Betty grew up with pretty much no hang-ups about sex. Mom and Dad taught us how sex worked way before we even hit puberty, and once we turned 13, they ran us through birth control and dealing with STIs.
At no point were we ever taught to be ashamed of our bodies, and I know that when Betty came out, she never felt even the slightest bit of guilt or disapproval.
The topic of incest never came up, but I’m sure my parents would have just commented on the health risks of children born from such an arrangement, but concluded that anything between two consenting adults was fine.
Like I said, I never thought about it. I still try not to think about it…as far as I’m concerned, Betty isn’t my sister any more. My sister was interested in science—she loved green, she hated driving, and her favorite actor was Crispin Glover.
The girl I live with now? That’s not Betty. It’s a shell of a human, with no thoughts or opinions of her own.
But the next night, when I walked in to find her with her lips wrapped around Chet’s cock, that’s not what was going through my head.
Instead, I stepped forward and punched him in the face.
“What the hell?” Chet exclaimed, pushing Betty off him and turning to face me. I pulled my fist back for another swing, but at Chet’s instruction, Betty stood between us.
“Betty, move…” I said, through clenched teeth, and she began moving until Chet stopped her.
“Stay where you are, Betty…” he said.
“Ignore Chet,” I replied, “and get out of the way.”
“It doesn’t work like that,” Chet said to me, even as Betty began moving again. “That was one of the first things we told her—she only listens to you and me. That means that no matter what, she still listens to both of us. Betty, stand in front of me again.”
“Chet…” I growled, but he just stared at me blankly, even as blood ran down his face.
“Please,” he said calmly, “can we talk?”
Adrenaline was pumping through my body. I felt angry, possessive, defensive of my sister—I felt like Chet had done one of the worst things that anyone could do to another human. Taking advantage of Betty in her current state…it was like having sex with someone who was mentally disabled. It was just wrong.
And yet, despite myself, I was turned on.
I took a deep breath, forced myself to calm down, and turned away as Chet put his dick away. It was tempting to reach out and just snap it off, but I knew that wasn’t the right thing to do. We had to be rational. I’d hear what he had to say…
And if I didn’t like it, then I’d break his fucking neck.
“Look,” Chet said, once he saw that my fists had unclenched, that I was willing to talk. “I know that you’re mad…”
“Yeah I’m fucking mad,” I exclaimed. “Firstly, that’s my sister! Secondly, she’s a lesbian!”
“No,” Chet said, a hint of pride in his voice. “She’s not any more…she’s not anything.”
“Yeah…for now! Until we…until we put her back to the way that she used to be.”
“Bro, you’ve got to face facts…Betty is never going to be the way that she used to be. I don’t know what we did, or how we did it, but…we blanked her. We wiped out everything that made her her, and that’s not coming back.”
In that moment, I wanted to hate him. I wanted to hit him. I wanted to put my hands around his throat, and throttle him until he sucked his words back in, until he stopped it from being true.
But as mad as I was, as much as I didn’t want to believe a word he was saying…he was right.
Betty was gone. For all intents and purposes, she was dead. We’d been so busy since the accident, I hadn’t been able to come to terms with it, but Chet was right.
I didn’t have a sister any more.
I saw Chet tense up as I stood, and I’m sure he thought I was going to hit him again. Instead, I sank to my knees, and started sobbing.
The three of us stayed there for at least five minutes—me, uncontrollably sobbing, Chet watching me in shock, and my sist—…and the girl who had once been my sister, just standing and watching, without a thought in her head.
Finally, Chet whispered something to Betty, and she knelt down beside me and gave me a hug.
I’d seen movies where people are in a hospital, and their loved one is in a coma, and they have to make the decision to pull the plug. Even though they’re right there, alive and breathing and looking exactly like they always have, they’re gone, and they have to say goodbye.
This was like that, but a hundred times worse. Betty was gone, but she was still able to look at me, to hug me, to comfort her brother. I had no idea how to deal with it, so I just held onto her and sobbed, while Chet stood there and watched.
Finally, when I felt like I’d cried out all the water I’d ever imbibed, I looked up at Chet.
“Get out,” I said, too weak to even stand up and tower over him. “You motherfucker.”
To his credit, he didn’t ask any questions—he just got up and left me to put my sister to bed, and then collapse, exhausted, into a deep slumber of my own.
The next day, however, he was back. He didn’t go anywhere near my sister—he just came and spoke to me.
“Hey,” he said, looking—in what was unusual for him—slightly bashful, even ashamed. “We need to talk about yesterday.”
“You’re damned right we do,” I said. “What the fuck was all that about?”
“I dunno,” he shrugged, avoiding making eye contact. “I guess that was how I was dealing with what’s happened.”
“By raping my sister?” I spat, and suddenly I had his full attention.
“Dude. It wasn’t rape.”
“Are you kidding me? She’s got the mind of a child—how the fuck can you claim she can consent??”
“No,” he said, looking me straight in the eyes. “She doesn’t have the mind of a child. You’re looking at this all wrong.
“She doesn’t have a mind at all.”
That shut me up. I wish I could have come up with a clever rebuttal, but again, his words had the ring of truth to them, and when he saw that I didn’t have a comeback, he continued.
“You know I’m right. It’s not like having sex with a child, or an animal…it’s like having sex with a computer.”
“Shut up,” I whispered, but Chet kept talking.
“That’s not your sister any more. For all intents and purposes, that’s a fleshy robot. Betty’s gone, dude…what’s left is just a body.”
There was a long pause, and I tried again.
“That doesn’t matter. You know you can’t…”
“Why not?” he interrupted, and as I struggled to come up with an answer, he nodded. “Exactly.”
Everything would have been different if I’d done something. I could have stopped him, or told him to get out, or followed him and…I dunno, made Betty bite off his dick. But instead I just sat there as Chet left the room, and watched him go down the hall, and enter my sister’s room without knocking.
That was when it started.
I tried to come up with a reason it was wrong. My gut told me that there was something fucked up going on, but as I mulled the situation over from all angles, I knew Chet was right. The situation was messed up, but who was getting hurt?
Straight after the accident, we’d tried to get a reaction out of Betty—any reaction. But no matter what we told her to do, she’d obey without complaint, without even hesitating. It wasn’t until she obeyed our command to set part of her shirt on fire that we realized she’d do anything we said—what was putting Chet’s cock in her mouth when compared to that?
Except it didn’t stop there.
I wish I didn’t know, I really did. But after a week of Chet coming over and letting himself into Betty’s room, I’d built up enough rage to overcome the hollowness I felt inside. I’d waited a few minutes, and walked in after him.
Betty was naked. I hadn’t seen her without clothes on since we were kids, sharing a bath, and a lot had changed. I’d suspected that Chet would want to see her nude—I’d pictured him coming in, making her strip off, and then laying down while he plunged in and out of her.
I’d predicted, correctly, that Chet would be fucking her.
What I hadn’t expected was how much he’d make her enjoy it.
I entered the room to find Chet laying on the bed, the girl who had been my sister on top of him, grinding her pussy against him, moaning in ecstasy as she came over and over again.
“Oh, god…” she was saying, presumably at Chet’s command. “Oh my god…you’re so good. Fuck me, Chet, please…stick that huge cock inside of me. Do it. Make me your bitch.”
She repeatedly shuddered in pleasure, and my eyes were so transfixed by her motions that it took me a few seconds to realize what Chet was saying. Each time there was a pause in her speech, each time she stopped speaking even for a second, he’d just say “Cum”, and her next words would be thick with lust.
“You’re amazing…”
“Cum.”
“…you’re such a good fuck…”
“Cum.”
“…oh Jesus, Chet, do it…”
“Cum.”
I stood there and watched for a few minutes, amazed by what I saw ahead of me. Suddenly my anger died away—yes, Chet was taking advantage of her, but he was ensuring that she was enjoying it—more than him, even.
I felt sick, but I couldn’t look away. And it wasn’t until I noticed that I’d gotten hard from the sight that I turned and left the room.