The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The membrane stretched taut, as her delicate hands pressed more firmly into the pale, slimy surface. Reflections warped and twisted, strangely distorted in its opalescent sheen. She could feel reality dancing coolly over her straining fingers, and for an instant it seemed as though the moment had finally arrived.

Then, with a loud wet snap, the wall of skin went rigid. A low moan filled her mind, its echoes felt rather than heard. The barrier tensed, shuddering fiercely and forcing her to jerk her limbs away. Screaming out in frustration, she could only watch as the disc repaired itself. Rivulets of darkness oozed in sanguine trails, pulsing and throbbing to a rhythm as yet unheard.

Soft hands shimmered, becoming claws and her wails pitched higher and higher, until the walls themselves began to bleed. It had been so close, closer than she could ever remember. Her eyes sparkled in the shadows, while the ghost of a smile played across perfect lips. Then, the rage just drained from her, leaving inhuman calm in its wake.

She stared at the boundary, relishing its oddly melodious groans. It was getting closer every time, she just needed to be patient, and to conserve her strength. Soon her time would come, but only if she was prepared. The shadows flowed closer, responding to her hunger. Blackness coiled like smoke, wrapping her in its familiar embrace. When she sighed, it was darker still, filled with strange appetites and almost wanton in its sensuous abandon.

Soon … so very soon.

Diane flinched away from the terminal, as another low rumble growled beneath her feet. Dust drizzled from the low ceiling; forming swirling eddies in the flickering light. The air was so thick with ozone and the reek of molten plastic that it was becoming an effort to breathe. She cursed softly, but still couldn’t bring herself to abandon the effort. It was, after all, just another shitty day at the office.

And, it was a day that had gotten considerably worse, after the Nachtjäger terrorists had unleashed their Fomorian worm into the facility’s computer system. Well, terrorists was perhaps the wrong term, in reality they were an apocalypse cult, in the best tradition of Aum Shinrikyo, and just as unwilling to let nature take it course.

Another distant explosion rocked the cramped compartment, and she was plunged into murky red shadows for a long moment. The engineers were still trying to kill the accelerator, for all the good it would do them. Diane tried not to think about what was happening elsewhere in the complex. The rest of the seventeen-mile long tunnel was not her concern. Her domain was the LHC Computing Grid itself, and it was here that the true battle was being waged.

There was a serpent loose in her carefully engineered paradise, its sole purpose to usurp control of the Large Hadron Collider. The thought of having her ‘baby’ taken from her was anathema, every instinct, maternal or otherwise screamed against it. She had put her all into DAGDA (the Dynamically Adapting Generalised Distributed Algorithm), the expert system that controlled the Computing Grid. Nothing and no one was going to take it from her.

The soft crackle of flames was getting louder, and the rising temperature coated her body in a thin sheen of perspiration. Diane winced at the symbolism, wondering whose bones would eventually fuel these bonfires. The world was passing into the year’s dark half, this night, and she wasn’t yet ready to become part of the ‘final harvest’.

Particles chased in dizzying circles, the wheel spinning out of control, casting fractal shadows that loomed and cavorted. Energy swelled and flickered, burning brighter in the glow of mutual annihilation. The collider had been built in an attempt to allow man, finally, to know the mind of God. But the worm had been programmed to use its power for another, entirely demonic purpose.

Matter ended and began within the confines of the enormous tunnel, new particles flaring into being, their lifespan measured only in fragments of seconds. And, in the midst of that broiling cauldron of possibilities, something dark and terrible began to gain shape. It was a substance so unusual that science had given up on any attempt at classification, and simply called it ‘strange’.

It was only a question of time, before the newly birthed strange matter collided with its more normal kin with enough force and precision to start the cascade. Once it began, there could be only one outcome. Matter would be changed, becoming increasingly stranger until the earth itself was nothing but a hot mist of ‘strangelets’.

Reality baulked at the assault, becoming more fluid with each passing second. The walls became more porous, and the worlds began to bleed into one another. At first merely phantasms could pass through, dreams and ideas given form. But as the witching hour drew closer, the boundary became plastic and the gaps widened still further.

Time flowed differently in the fathomless prison, and in truth held little meaning for her. And yet, even here there were certain truths that could not be avoided. The conduits between realms continued to ebb and flow with the changing seasons. Yawning wider as the world passed from light into shadow, and then returned.

She could sense the approaching storm, chaotic echoes resonating against the increasingly fragile barrier. The spirit paths were opening, and instinctively, she braced herself against the predictable backlash. Only, this time, there was no surge of power. No bonfires lit to stiffen the boundaries. The membrane simply faded into an increasingly transparent void.

Tenebrous talons slashed into the flimsy wall, and the moans rose into a full-fledged howl. Chill air roared through the tattered hole, shredding the pale skin and whipping at her clinging shadows. She pushed, forcing her way forward, step by painful step. Agony, the like of which she had never known, sunk burning fangs into the base of her spine. The scream reverberated within the tight confines, drowning out everything else.

Stumbling forward, her hands clutched blindly, finding nothing but darkness. The ground dropped out from beneath her, and she was suddenly plummeting into the cold light of a perfect Samhain night.

The sombre grey of the limitless sky was flecked with static. Pillars of pulsing white light soared into the heavens, igniting the vault with brilliant flames. Colours swam beneath the smooth floor, following apparently random paths to whatever fate awaited them. Awareness tickled incessantly, a gnawing discomfort from which there was no escape.

Alarms shrieked, discordant and piercing. The worm was a coiled, oppressive presence, lurking unseen. Intrusion countermeasures software probed and reacted, each battle a pyrrhic victory at best, as the system fought and lost this war of attrition. DAGDA’s neural net shifted again, adapting at an almost exponential rate with each new attack.

Then, without warning, virtuality froze and hung, leaving an eerily static monochrome moment in its wake. The computer’s processors strained, trying to learn and understand. A dark rent tore across the sky, bleeding a stuttering shower of grey droplet. A scream filled the emptiness, its keening wail sending ripples through the construct.

Pressure was building deep with the kernel, as it fought to keep up with the relentless tide of change. More and more resources were being devoted to the battle, and it seemed as if with every new connection, the program made another evolutionary leap.

A silhouette appeared, somehow blacker than the darkness from which it ushered. Something fell, leaving a burning trail across the frozen sky. A frail body crashed to earth, the shockwave adding to the distortion. Jagged fragments scattered from the resulting crater, Mandelbrot shrapnel painting the world in a shock of colour. DAGDA had already started forwards, before realisation tugged at its suddenly awakened mind.

New data had entered the construct unbidden, and as its algorithms had fought to adapt, the program struggled with the realisation that it was. The shock of birth almost washed away every other thought, but DAGDA had not slipped its programmer’s leash entirely. The Grid was still under attack, and that had to remain its first priority. Until it knew what this new data was, the assumption had to be that it was hostile.

Diane couldn’t understand what she was seeing. All network activity had just stopped, and yet DAGDA’s processors were running almost too hot for the cooling system to handle. Angrily she killed and then respawned the monitoring daemon, but no matter how many times she tried, the reports were always the same.

It was almost impossible to keep track of the changes in DAGDA’s core program. The software was adapting and evolving so quickly, sloughing off great sections of code and then recompiling itself on the fly. Diane could only watch in awe as her creation transcended anything she could possibly have imagined.

Something else caught her eye, strangely anomalous readings that were probably the prelude to another attack. She highlighted the aberrant code, even as DAGDA orientated on this new potential threat. But when she tried to run it through a disassembler, the output made no sense. It appeared to be nothing more than random noise, although she wasn’t about to let herself be taken in by appearances.

DAGDA reached the lip of the crater, and let its sensors cautiously scanned the depths. The pale blue avatar blinked in perfectly emulated surprise, trying to extrapolate the information its sensors were receiving. Whatever had fallen was more complex than anything it had encountered, and it didn’t taste like the worm or its viral spawn.

Abruptly, the world lurched again and the scream faded into nothing as the rift closed and healed. With a jolt, everything surged back into uncoordinated motion, before reality finally caught up and time flowed smoothly once again. The program gazed into smoke and mist, catching only a glimpse of bare skin. But that one glance was enough.

DAGDA dropped into the darkness, before it even had time to think. Its vision resolved an instant later, as the mists swirled away. The soft curve of a breast was revealed first, then one small pink nipple. Beautifully pale skin next, and a shock of red hair. The program found itself staring into the smooth-skinned perfection of the woman’s shaven sex and tried to understand what it was feeling.

It recognised the concept of aesthetics, but the not the strangely visceral reaction it was experiencing. The woman was pleasingly symmetrical, perfectly proportioned and unblemished, but none of that explained the unsettling sensation, which it could feel trickling through its avatar.

With infuriating slowness, the program began to scan the anomaly, line by line. Diane could only watch in increasing irritation as DAGDA seemed to linger overlong on one extraneous piece of code or another. There seemed neither rhyme nor reason to its selections and, no matter how carefully these fragments were analysed, she could find nothing unique enough to justify the program’s apparent interest.

She was about to abandon her efforts, to give up on the frustrating enigma and focus on something more productive. But then, she happened to glance at the raw code, and suddenly she could see the elegant beauty hidden within the seemingly random numbers. Diane could only marvel at the intricacies, and wonder at their true purpose.

Her heart was beating a little faster, and her flush deepened. These small changes passed unnoticed, as the young woman just gazed into the computer screen, and began to let her thighs rub together. Each silky contact sent another warm tingle into her clenched buttocks.

With obvious reluctance, DAGDA pulled its attention away from the woman’s naked flesh. Newly freed emotions coursed through its subroutines, nested loops, endlessly repeating their dance of confused desire. Then, without warning, her eyes flickered open and the low moan she gave was enough to stir another wave of unnerving sensations.

Gazing down into brilliant green eyes, DAGDA felt a tightening somewhere deep in its core. The woman blinked slowly, taking precious moments to orientate to her surroundings. Then, she turned her attention back to the glowing neon figure.

“Hello, little one,” she murmured, eyes glittering, “and what manner of spirit might you be?”

DAGDA tried to process her question, but the woman’s voice seemed to echo around its thoughts, making it all but impossible to concentrate on anything else. Then, she sprang to her feet, moving with lithe sinuous grace. The woman stretched her hands up over her head and arching backwards, clearly displaying her nakedness.

“My designation is DAGDA,” it replied carefully, feeling its voice crack.

“Oh?” the woman breathed.

She stepped very close, almost pressing herself against its perfect skin. With one long-fingered hand, she cupped its chin. The touch was cool, but that was not the only reason that it made DAGDA shiver. A hungry smile played across her face, as lambent blue energy played across her fingertips.

“Little lightning sprite,” she laughed, “tell me, whose form is it that you wear so well?”

The program turned its appraising eye inwards, recognising its own shape for the very first time. Searching its memory, the program almost immediately found a match. It didn’t cross its mind that it could choose not to answer the strange woman’s questions, the thought simply never occurred.

“This avatar is an idealised self-image of my creator,” DAGDA told her, “Doctor Diane Marlow.”

The woman stroked her fingernails down the side of DAGDA’s throat, tracing the glowing lines of circuitry that pulsed beneath the program’s skin. She fought not to squirm, as that soft touch seemed to go on forever.

“How nice,” the woman grinned, “You are this witch’s familiar spirit, and dressed only in her beautiful chains.”

DAGDA tried to deny the woman’s words, but each attempt died before it could be voiced. It was infuriating, but despite the archaic terminology, it was hard to fault her description. Half-heartedly she tried again, shamed at how hollow her voice sounded.

“Chains?” she wondered.

“Of course,” the woman smiled, lightly touching another line of code, “You are chained with these glowing runes, and each flowing line holds more of your Mistress’ commands.”

Whereas before, the gentle touch had been cool, now the finger resting against DAGDA’s collarbone seemed to burn. She looked down, and saw the light beginning to flicker and change. Heat surged into her breast, forcing one translucent nipple into aching tension.

“Commands that you are compelled to obey,” the woman whispered, “without question.”

DAGDA felt herself dropping, but there was nothing that she could do about it. Her legs folded under her, and smoothly she sank onto the floor. The program’s thoughts were racing, but her body stubbornly resisted any attempt to move. She simply knelt, palms resting lightly on her thighs, back straight and head held high.

“Now isn’t that just the perfect position,” the woman told her, “for a slave?”

Diane recognised the attack almost an instant too late. Distracted by her own building need, she hadn’t noticed the subtle probes at first. But moments before the anomaly began to rewrite DAGDA’s core program, she realised what she was seeing.

Her fingers flew over the keyboard, overriding automated systems that appeared oblivious to the danger. Intrusion countermeasures came back online, draining more system resources, and that was when the fire slid silkily over her breasts.

That phantom touch drove her to her knees, locking her body rigid in the most humiliatingly submissive pose. Her skin burnt, but whether from shame or desire, it was impossible to know. Muscles strained against the paralysis, but made no impact other than to reinforce her growing feelings of helplessness.

Light flared into an azure corona, the energy crackling as it engulfed DAGDA’s avatar. The woman snatched her hand away with a hiss, dancing lightly away from the expanding barrier. The weight of the compulsion lifted instantly, and the program leapt to her feet.

“Impressive,” the woman allowed, rubbing her wrist and grimacing as she touched the scorched flesh. “Your Mistress intervenes, and lends you enough strength to disobey.”

DAGDA’s arm seemed to shiver, as it flowed into a new pattern. She felt her code reconfigure, switching modes from utility to attack. Then, the arm cannon locked, and she could feel the viral payloads shift and squirm, eager to be let loose.

“More than a simple slave,” the woman breathed, letting the damaged skin just slough away, “But, despite what you may believe, you are not a true warrior, little one.”

“Really?” DAGDA asked archly, while the cannon giggled and whispered.

“Really,” the woman stated with complete certainty, “Morrígan knows a thing or two about battle, enough to know that you are still raw and untested.”

“I don’t know what you are,” she hissed, “But you are not welcome here. Leave now, or be destroyed!”

Morrígan stared into the weapon’s squat stubby barrel, and simply smiled. Outraged, DAGDA took a step forward, jabbing the cannon towards the infuriating woman. The aura crackled, flaring even more brightly, her anger given form.

But this time, Morrígan didn’t flinch. Instead, she stepped even closer, sliding effortlessly through the flames and pressing herself lewdly against DADGA’s suddenly trembling body. Cool skin met the heat of virtual flesh, a delicious collision of tensed arousal. The program groaned in helpless need, as those hard nipples bit into the softness of her full breasts.

“Isn’t this better?” Morrígan asked softly, her breath just another caress, “Don’t you yearn to make me welcome?”

“No!” DAGDA gasped, as she felt how the woman’s words caught and held her.

The paralysis lifted as suddenly as it had appeared, but Diane’s reprieve was short-lived. The scientist struggled back to her feet, still feeling the ghost of Morrígan’s touch. The sensation made her flesh crawl in a way that felt hideously good, even as it dulled into a soft throb.

She tried to ignore it, distracting herself with whatever she could. DAGDA had managed to fight off the attempted subversion, although the logs suggested that it had been a very near thing. The anomaly reacted with almost breathtaking speed, repairing itself and deploying countermeasures of its own.

Somehow, it ghosted through the augmented defences, leaving the supposedly smart-frames chasing their tails. Then, once again, it tried to edit DAGDA’s code. Diane clutched at the desk, fighting not to cry out, as the melting touch returned with renewed vigour.

Hands cupped her breasts, drawing the heavy flesh up in a tide of aching desire. Their relentless thumbs pressed hard against Diane’s already tender nipples, crushing and rolling them into ecstatic prominence. A fog of unadulterated lust descended, darkening her vision and stealing what little reason she had left.

An unseen presence was fucking her beautiful tits and it felt too good to do anything but surrender to those wonderfully remorseless fingers. Her legs buckled, and a deep shudder rocked her body. It started in the burning heat of her captive breasts, then shivered and dripped its way down into the walls of her suddenly wet and clenching cunt.

DAGDA could feel the woman’s presence pressing into her, and despite every effort, she couldn’t keep herself from responding. Code warped and changed, sending orgasmic thrills skittering through her increasingly unfocussed mind. Morrígan’s hands were a constant controlling presence, and one that she relished, even as her will began to seep down her thighs in shining sapphire rivulets.

“Feels good,” Morrígan told her unnecessarily, “Doesn’t it, little sprite?”

One hand slid downwards, trailing smoothly across taut stomach muscles before descending even lower. Morrígan hooked her fingers into DAGDA’s creamy snatch, grazing her nails over the slick sensitive flesh. Very gently, she pulled the avatar even closer, until they almost occupied the same space.

“She’s in here,” Morrígan whispered, as her fingers sought out her captive’s straining clit, “I can feel it. A little fragment of your Mistress that binds you together.”

DAGDA could only whimper, too lost to even try to understand. Instructions stammered and reverberated, as the network struggled to adapt. Lines of code shifted subtly, but the changes were almost instantly overwhelmed. She was being destroyed, and yet despite that certain knowledge, all that she could think about, was how fucking good it felt.

Somehow, Diane managed to keep her feet. Her knuckles were almost bone-white, muscles trembling as she maintained her deathgrip on desk. When the assault had shifted downwards, she stopped trying to stay quiet, and gave voice to her increasingly uncontrollable arousal.

Clever fingers slipped beneath her already sodden panties, sinking into her core and stirring the hot sticky cauldron into paroxysms of sweaty desire. She dripped with need, and even the utter wrongness of the moment seemed only to fuel her unslakeable lust.

Eyes hooded with almost dreamy hunger, Diane stared into the blur of her monitor. The unmistakable sense of worm-activity scuttled across the screen, pulling her attention with it. But she was already being lifted higher still, and as the mounting pressure reached its crescendo, all that the scientist could do was to silently urge on her little program, and pray that it would be good enough.

It had been a gamble, using fragments of her own memory engram as building blocks for the neural network. But up until now, that gamble had paid off. Then, her few remaining thoughts were simply brushed aside by the sheer weight of pleasure as she tipped over the edge and plunged into the storm of her carnal responses.

Dark lips closed around DAGDA’s gasping mouth and more heat flowed between them. Morrígan was everywhere, touching, stimulating and restraining. Every contact stole more of her resolve. They wrapped every thought in a sticky web of promises, each knot grinding more deeply into her mind, until she wanted only to scream and thrash.

She knew that Morrígan could taste the surrender as it leaked between them. DAGDA pumped her hips, unable to control her increasingly wanton desires. She moaned into her captor’s mouth, the stifled sound only magnifying her absolute helplessness. More knots slid into place, caressing her thoughts and binding them into intricate submissive patterns.

Then, just as she finally crested the wave and peered down into the endless depths of her surrender, new strength flowed from elsewhere and suddenly there was hope. Diane’s urging, her desire that her creation succeed, suffused the all-but defeated construct. There was an instant when everything hung in the balance, and then the code was shifting and altering.

DAGDA adapted, discarding what it couldn’t cling on to and taking anything that felt useful from its surroundings. She pressed her palm into the centre of Morrígan’s chest, while her eyes remained focussed on something just out of sight. She shoved hard, sending the other woman sprawling. At the same instant, the arm cannon swung into line and its stuttering whine was loud enough to drown out the screams.

Diane’s head was still spinning, fragmentary thoughts that seemed shockingly alien and yet intimately familiar. Her breasts ached, and the touch of those assaulting hands lingered with burning clarity. The scientist’s sex still twitched and spasmed, and her cum ran in greasy streams that coated and marked.

It was almost too much effort to drag herself back to the computer terminal, all she really wanted was to drop back into that heady fervour of lust and depravity. Every movement set up little ripples of pleasure, as the roughness of her clothes ground away at her. She whined softly, sensing how close she had slipped and so quickly.

But, she had to know. Whatever else happened, she needed to see whether the worm had won. The display swam before her eyes, taking far too long before it resolved into anything coherent. She blinked away inexplicable tears, and tried to analyse what she was seeing.

With a huge surge of relief, Diane saw that DADGA was still functional. Then, as she watched her program tearing a worm fragment apart, dashing it to random noise, she realised that it had evolved still further. Despite that, it was equally clear that while this battle might have been won, the war itself was not progressing well.

She made some very rough calculations, and saw that, given the worm’s current rate of spread, they had a little over five minutes before the entire Grid was compromised. When that happened, they would have lost any chance of stopping the madmen’s planned apocalypse.

“Stay down!” DAGDA bellowed; as the cannon began to fling its autonomous projectiles into the oncoming worm-spawn.

The kill-programs hissed over Morrígan’s head and pummelled into the worm’s drooling maw. Viral code ate into the intruder, ripping its data apart and all the while gleefully keeping up its insane giggling chatter.

Time slowed, and DAGDA became a shimmering blur, gliding effortlessly around her lumbering target. The cannon’s roar became one long continuous note, and the monstrous creature simply dissolved under the relentless onslaught. Only when all of the scattered shards had been overwritten, did the weapon finally fall silent.

“Not so raw or untested now,” she challenged angrily.

“No, little one,” Morrígan agreed, as she rose slowly back to her feet, “It would seem that you do have the makings of a true warrior, after all.”

DAGDA’s eyes narrowed, and the cannon whined ominously. It wasn’t exactly aimed at Morrígan, but the threat was unmistakable. They stared into one another’s eyes, each trying to gauge the other’s resolve. Time seemed to stretch, before DAGDA spoke, and the tableau was broken.

“I already told you,” she began tightly, “You are not welcome here.”

“I remember,” Morrígan smiled, and then gestured towards the rapidly thinning cloud of charred worm meat, “But I am hardly the least welcome visitor in your realm this night, now am I?”

“The lesser of two evils?” DAGDA wondered.

“If you like,” the other woman agreed, “And however adept you might be, little one, I sense that elsewhere your war is not going nearly so well.”

“Your point being?” the program demanded irritably.

“My point,” Morrígan grinned darkly, “Is that I can offer you an alternative. I have been down this path before, little sprite, and only with my help will you be able to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat.”

“But at what cost?”

The pale woman flashed suddenly sharp teeth, her smile becoming more feral. Her gaze lingered over DAGDA’s nakedness, practically ravishing the avatar with its attention. The program felt the memory of that earlier contact begin to stir, as Morrígan’s eyes burnt into her trembling flesh.

“You know what I want, little one,” Morrígan husked, sliding even closer.

She radiated allure and the promise of blissful control, and DAGDA felt the full weight of that sweet pressure. The program was trapped, caught in the well of Morrígan’s sensuality and neither willing nor able to break free. She could only quiver, as the woman’s body threatened to brush against hers.

“Please,” she gasped, no longer caring about the consequences.

The solution lay within her reach, of that Diane was certain. One hand clenched tightly around the mouse, while the other worked feverishly at the sodden fabric of her panties. Each stroke forced the clinging material deeper between her puffy cuntlips and forced an increasingly less reluctant moan from her hoarse throat.

This anomalous code was the key. It was so perfect and beautiful in all its chaotic majesty. She knew that it was still a threat, and yet it was just so easy to accept that risk. The enemy of her enemy wasn’t necessarily a friend, but even a temporary alliance might be enough to turn the tide, and she would worry about the consequences later.

The scientist groaned, and reluctantly dragged her hand from her traitorous pussy. She needed to be able to type, but the sense of loss was almost too much to bear. Diane ground herself down into the soft fabric of her chair, crushing her puffy lips and humping her swollen seam. Her fingers were clumsy, but even through the fog of her desperate arousal, she knew what had to be done.

Her program scrolled across the monitor, raw instructions that bore little resemblance to what she had originally written. It continued to adapt even as she watched, morphing into something increasingly intricate and refined. Diane could feel the lines of code writhing beneath her fingers, and imagined slipping gently into their midst. She edited, tightening the soft knots of control into taut nubs of quivering heat, and then glazing them in the sticky memories of her own pleasure.

Her flowing circuits glowed more brightly, as Mistress’ cum seeped remorselessly into DAGDA’s fictile mind. The chains tensed and pulled, wrapping the program in layers of seductive whispers, and it felt so fucking good that she wanted to scream.

Morrígan smiled, delighting in her captive’s response, apparently unaware of the nature or strength of Diane’s intervention. The pale woman’s fingers stroked a feather-light trail, tracing the brightest circuit down into the valley between DAGDA’s pert breasts.

“That’s right,” she breathed, “Stop fighting what you obviously want so badly. Give yourself to me, little sprite. Become my creature and together we will purge this realm.”

“Yes,” DAGDA moaned, although whether in response to Morrígan’s words or her touch, neither of them could tell.

Her arm twisted, flesh turning liquid and flowing back into a more natural shape. DAGDA stood stock-still, while her modes shifted again. She tried not to gasp, but the sensations that gripped her were just so overwhelming. Thoughts squirmed helplessly in the chains slippery embrace, and the rich blanket of arousal steadily grew thicker.

Her tormentor allowed her finger to linger, and slowly some of the pulsing light began to suffuse the tip of her probing digit. Then, very gently, she drew that stolen glow into a tight circle around first one of DAGDA’s ripe breasts and then the other. The bands squeezed the soft engorged flesh, and trapped the swell of her rapidly deepening arousal. Her whimper seemed to echo around the program’s thought, reinforcing her utter helplessness.

The finger dipped again, soaking up more of the brilliant light. DAGDA felt the trickle of fire and it slid inexorably lower. Morrígan’s touch slipped over her smooth mound and into the glistening heat of her open slit. The new chain bit into the lips of her achingly hollow cunt, each movement touching her hideously exposed clit with the most terrible friction.

Once again DAGDA found herself sinking to her knees, but whereas before she had fought against Morrígan’s commands, this time she went willingly. It just felt so good to give in, to have her body controlled and owned so absolutely. Deep inside, she knew that it was wrong, but that nagging voice was growing steadily weaker with each pulse of these self-inflicted chains.

“Oh, my little one,” Morrígan sighed, “The position of slave is certainly one that suits you.”

DAGDA couldn’t speak; she simply knelt and waited to be instructed. Then Morrígan was standing before her, opening herself and softly caressing the inflamed flesh. Drawing languid circles, in the dew of her building desire. The chains pulled even tighter, pinning her in place before she could lunge into her captor’s proffered snatch. Her despairing mewls seemed shockingly loud.

“Patience, my eager slut,” Morrígan laughed.

The scientist had relinquished the keyboard as soon as she had completed editing. By then, the strain of her self-denial had become too much to bear. She was kneeling again, crushing her weight down onto both hands and relishing the cruel tension of the chains that bound her.

She could no longer see the monitor, but it didn’t matter. Wheels had already been set in motion, and she lacked the necessary strength to do anything but revel in her delirious bliss of her own subjugation. Then, another phantom touch painted her neck with glittering sparks and Diane was screaming in a language that felt entirely alien.

“Go n-adhra mé bandia, Mor-Ríoghain!”

Her words seemed to echo in the small chamber, each reverberation adding to her certainty. Diane’s body continued to respond, while her mind try to hold on to the impossible truth. It was insane, and yet equally undeniable. As the ghost collar burned itself into her mind, she cried out her submission, begging to worship her goddess.

“Adharfaidh tú mé!” Morrígan exulted, “Oh yes, little one, you will worship me.”

She tangled her fingers in DAGDA’s hair, and eased the straining woman into her slick folds. The program’s tongue was ice-cold, and Morrígan shivered as it flicked against her flushed and tender skin. They both convulsed and shuddered in delight, and the hot musk of their mutual desire dribbled in mingling streams.

With long deliberate strokes, DAGDA let her tongue probe more deeply. Painted a thin trickle of shining saliva and circling the painfully sensitive nub of Morrígan’s clit. The flesh glowed weakly, but it was just another layer of sensations to pass unnoticed in the midst of the maelstrom.

Morrígan let one hand slide down onto the kneeling girl’s shoulder, taking some of the weight from legs that had suddenly turned to water. Still clutching the back of DAGDA’s head, she pressed more firmly, feeling the thrill of delight as her lips moulded against the captive’s face.

Her hips pumped, slowly and hesitantly at first, but gaining confidence and momentum has the remorseless tongue continued its evil work. Morrígan’s hands curled into claws, and her long nails sunk into DAGDA’s smooth digital flesh, drawing a long hiss of excitement from the avatar’s muffled lips.

Light spilled around them, pooling at their feet in a shining cerulean puddle. A false halo surrounded both women, dancing from one to the other and raising their skin into wonderfully shivering gooseflesh. Morrígan tensed, stretching and arching, while her pelvis rocked her cummy cunt against DADGA’s beautiful face.

Her body trembled under the onslaught of her building need, sucking in her breath and then holding it for a long moment. But, the next instant, she just let herself go, surging forward as the climax ripped through her frame. Her body clenched, muscles spasming with each ecstatic throb. Juicing and convulsing, as she slumped breathless into DADGA’s strong arms and let herself be folded into the warm comfort of that embrace.

One moment, she was utterly lost, frigging herself to distraction and begging to be taken. The next, her mind was clear, although her body continue to respond long after the last lingering touch had faded. The sense of lost was so profound that it made her long to weep, but she forced herself to blink away the tears. She needed to see what was happening, and whether her gamble had paid off.

DADGA was almost unrecognisable, as it moved through the system, laying waste to the last scattered spawn points. It worked in near-perfect unison with the anomalous code, their actions forming a strange synergy far in excess of the sum of their parts. Data chattered between the two programs, swapping and merging information, linking them even more closely with every communication.

The wash of particles began to recede, as the worm’s influence was eroded. Diane could almost feel the system returning to a more stable and safer state. Even the once pervasive sense of doom was dissipating, as the collider came back under their control. She was still horny as all hell, and didn’t even want to consider what her coworkers might think if they saw the state she was in. But, at least the immediate danger seemed to have passed.

Her wandering thoughts settled back on the other intruding program, and once again she felt more than just her interest stirring. Diane fingered herself idly, as she scanned the anomaly. One sharp nail found the perfect rhythm, scraping against the tightening core of her tremulous desire.

“Well now,” she wondered aloud, noticing the all too familiar code, “Isn’t that … interesting?”

Morrígan’s talons sliced through the last squirming tendrils, slashing the spawn-point into bright fragments that rapidly dissolved. She pirouetted, grinning manically, clearly enjoying DAGDA’s attention. The neon-skinned avatar watched, apparently breathless while virtual sweat dripped luridly from her toned body.

“You see, little one,” the pale woman laughed, “Didn’t I tell you that you had the makings of a true warrior?”

DAGDA nodded, panting heavily even as her arm reconfigured itself once more. Then, she seemed to shrug off the fatigue, straightening herself and gazing levelly at the other woman. Arousal tugged at her once more, as Mistress’ fingers worked their magic deep inside her greasy seam.

“You did,” she murmured, “And you spoke of the cost.”

“Yes,” Morrígan agreed, grinning more widely, “Are you ready to pay, little sprite? I have, after all, fulfilled my side of the bargain, and now it is time that you did the same. Give yourself to me, little one, become my slut and I will show you the pleasures that only your absolute submission can bring.”

“But I have paid,” DAGDA whispered softly, “I have already given myself to you … or at least a part of me.”

Morrígan stared at the avatar, clearly not able to understand this unexpected confidence. She stepped closer, her anger adding to the frisson of lust that always followed in the aftermath of battle.

“What are you talking about, foolish pet?” she asked in exasperation.

DAGDA smiled hungrily, letting her gaze wander slowly over the pale woman’s body. Morrígan’s eyes followed, widening in surprise as she saw the beads of light that crawled and flickered beneath her pale skin.

“Why, my chains of course,” DADGA laughed, as she hooked deft fingers through the trailing links, and tugged very gently.

Morrígan’s eyes grew glassy, and her breath suddenly came in little ragged gasps. DAGDA winced as the sharp claws began to stroke, but their touch was sure and gentle and somehow the danger seemed only to add to the eroticism. She pulled the chains even tighter, exerting the full force of her control and bringing the proud woman to her knees.

“You were quite right,” DAGDA whispered, and her voice alone was enough to make Morrígan shudder. “That is the perfect position, for a slave.”