The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Later that day, the CEO decided to check on a fairly routine, but highly lucrative project. He had never met the client in person, and only knew he was behind one video game that had been a runaway success. Enough to afford him a highly specialized pet.

He grabbed the dossier as the preparations for the first big step were underway. On the first page, naturally, was the patient’s already former description. Claire Cohen. Cheerleader of a university team of some repute. Not a star by any means, but gorgeous and well regarded. Personality: Willful, bright, assertive. The example of a modern woman, who wasn’t afraid to use and flaunt her beauty as she wished. The kind of woman who would gladly tell a loser “working” in video games trying to hit on her, to get lost.

He looked at the monitors displaying Claire as she was now. Lying on a couch, her clothes haphazardly discarded in front of it while nothing but a blanket covered her body. Instead of a confident face crowned by silky hair were baggy eyes, a sad, unkempt mane, and an open-mouth smile that didn’t care how silly it looked. She was gripping a controller like it was her sole anchor to the world, letting her vision tunnel until there was nothing but the screen. The CEO would have called that a sorry state, but this was, in fact, her reward.

With a few clicks, he accessed all the active programs running on the microchip inside her brain. Claire was, at random intervals, being laughed at. Her friends, her family, but mostly her colleagues, business contacts and other partners in adulthood. All hit her, without a shred of mercy, with jokes torn right from her deepest fears. It had, of course, been very painful for Claire. She struggled against the idea of going crazy. But doubt crept in, and she fought against the idea all the insults might be true. And finally, she had pleaded for them to stop telling the truth.

The urge of comforting that poor, broken Claire flared inside the CEO. “You learned your lessons well.” He wanted to tell her with a smile, hugging her. “You took your new personnality well. You’re a good girl.” But that ship had sailed, of course. Claire’s good girl reward had been video games. Well, that, and the second program, drowning out the first. Massaging her battered self with sweet thoughts of happiness and pride whenever she played. She resisted, at first, if nothing else because society had taught her games were for losers. But she was a loser, wasn’t she? Everybody thought so.

And so, here she stood before the CEO that day. Her mind completely ensnared in escapism. Her virtual fun exacerbated, completely overwhelming reality, which has nothing but pain and self-doubt to inflict. She could have been a Good Girl as is. But her owner had ordered for her to become a very special girl. And she was now ready to take her first step towards that new reality.

“Put her to sleep. Prepare for the operation.”

Claire slowly emerged from unconsciousness with a strange, painful sensation all over and a thick blur covering her vision. Immediately, fear gripped her heart. Not because of the pain, but because she didn’t know where she was. She had been taken away. Away from her video games. Away from her life. Already she could hear the voices again. The cruel voices of the outside world, of those she had once trusted as friends and family. “Go away, go away please, I beg you please”, she wanted to shout, even if no sound deigned come out of her numb mouth. She was done with this reality. Whether it was dealing with the lies and petty hatred of other people, or being kidnapped and experimented on, it was all the same torture to her. So, all that was left to her was to withdraw and pray. Pray that she’d be allowed to return home.

But then, her vision started to get into focus, and fear gave way to astonishment. She was floating in the middle of a sphere lined with a glowing blue grid. Moreover, it looked fuzzy, pixela b ted, evidently unreal. Claire was left stunned, wondering what the hell was going on. And then the dialogue box appeared. It was a blue rectangle with a white rim, translucent enough that you could see the pixelated grid behind it. Beeping sounds emerged from an unknown place as the box filled with text. A text which read...

“Project_Y—CORRUPTED

ERROR: Premature AI compilation.

ERROR: Faulty memory databank link

ERROR: Cannot shut down

WARNING: Body 11% complete, full interface unavailable.

Manual fix required. Running pacification program on rogue AI.”

A few seconds passed. Utterly lost and confused, her only response to the ominous text was a weak, high-pitched “whaa..?". Then, her vision suddenly filled with videos. They depicted blocky-looking humanoids, interacting in a low-res texture environment. Some part of her felt relief as she realized it was video game footage, but certainly not enough to make her forget the whole situation. Especially not when a voice starting whispering in her ear.

“You are not human. You’re the princess of this land of Aravyl. Master is programming you right now. Ignore the human memories. They’re a glitch. You’re a newborn AI.”

The voice was feminine, soothing, friendly. Yet, it terrified Claire. As much as she loved video games now, she wasn’t crazy. She knew she was human. Something was terribly wrong here.

“No...You’re...Lying.” She protested with a voice as broken and weak as it tried to channel how powerful and confident it once was, before she discovered how awful society was. “You’re...With them, aren’t you? You’re t-t-trying to prove I’m crazy cos’ I play video games. Sc-crew you...”

The voice didn’t seem like it was going to respond. Claire foolishly allowed herself to think she had the bad guys. Her goofy smile faded away as she realized the voices were growing louder and louder. Dumb, vacuous bitch. Waste of skin. Conniving slut. In seconds, they were so loud her ears started ringing. She yelled in anguish, more deeply struck than by any corporal punishment. Mercifully, the voices eventually faded...But only for the shaken Claire to see another dialogue box pop up, this time stating...

“Engaging level 2 loyalty program.”

And then electricity surged through her body. There was no mistake—arcs sparked before her eyes, she felt her immobile body twitch and clench, there was even the sound of a generator nearby. And yet, it wasn’t painful. Far from it. It felt like pure, blissful lifeforce. And it carried something. Words.

“Master is creating me. I was just data but Master is giving me protocols to think with. There is no part of me he hasn’t decided. I want to know my purpose so I can serve Master and his game. I want to be a good character. I love to know my thoughts are predetermined to serve my purpose best.”

Words she not only heard, but...Felt, somehow, in both presence and meaning, everywhere the electricity was coursing. Claire had never felt anything like this. Before she could even try resisting, it arced through her again, carrying the words and their meaning anew. Master was creating her, told her body. She couldn’t wait to know what she was going to look like.

“I know what I l-l-look like!” Tried to protest Claire. “I don’t have any master, I’m not being c-creat...”

Only she realized she couldn’t feel her body. Only the blissful electricity running back and forth, bringing substance where it went, forming...A ball? Claire couldn’t believe it. No matter where her mind’s eye looked, she could find no trace of her body. Nothing beyond a ball. A ball splishing and sloshing with the liquid spark of Master creating her, defining her, line by line, byte by byte.

When it finally calmed down, Claire felt as if she’d been tbrough a washing machine. Her thoughts wandered, trying to regain footing, but the only word she could form was Master. Nothing else would take. All she could do was mindlessly think “Master”, again and again, and slip back into bare consciousness every time she tried to latch onto something more than the echoes of the loyalty program.

The CEO smiled. The therapy good girl Claire was undergoing was a simple variant of the standard processes. Like many before her, she was simply being deprogrammed from society’s clutches and allowed to reform under a good girl personality template. Claire’s process just used her induced withdrawal and installed microchips to...Encourage her to reform in a place outside of humanity entirely. It was certainly a unique and daring treatment, too alien for the weaknesses of the mind to easily accept. Even if it was Claire, she wouldn’t just accept she was a mere program with only a mockery of free will. Luckily, the thoughtful CEO and his team had prepared one last big push so she would accept her new happy life as a very special Good Girl.

He waited before a new cycle of the “loyalty program” to start, leaving her completely engrossed in the stimuli directly pumped into her sensory cortex. Then he lovingly caressed her bandaged form, hidden from her by the cyberspace simulation. She had undergone intensive reconstruction surgery. She needed time to heal, time well used by softly rewriting over her sense of reality, one hypnotherapy session at a time. Soon, she would be ready for her final step.

“Wake up, Project_Y.”

The soothing female voice from before woke Claire from her half-slumber. Instinctively, the gamer girl feared another wave of electricity would sweep her away again. But it didn’t come. For the first time in who knew how long, she was free to think for herself...Only to realize the loyalty program had done a number on her.

“Project_Y. Don’t look so troubled, you’re going to receive Master’s gift.”

“Sh...Shut up...”

She could “hear” the underscore in Project_Y. The capitalization, too. As impossible as it was, she knew the exact way it was typed, as if her mind had been changed to be hyper-sensitive to syntax...Like a machine would. But even should she ignore the disembodied voice, she could sense changes all around. Her human memories, her sense of self, even the dreaded voices; all seemed so distant, like belonging to the other side of a computer screen. She was, of course, on the virtual side. Again, it seemed like an impossible thing to “just know”, but it stood as evidence itself. Every thought she had was accompanied by a command line being typed. Beyond this robotic form, the thoughts’ contents felt predetermined, decided by her programming. Even her knee-jerk rejection of this reality felt, to her, like it stemmed from her feeling emulation program. She was supposed to act sad and frightened, but in truth, she was completely serene. Everything she thought, sensed, and did was automatic. Preordained by Master, her creator. She could only marvel at how well she was made, and look forward to what she would think next, following along Master’s grand purpose.

It was in this state of deep disconnection and acceptance that her soul still cried out. They were brainwashing her. They were turning her into a complacent little robot girl with no individuality. She didn’t know how they did it, whoever they were, but they must have completely bypassed her senses to make her subconscious believe the unthinkable. But she knew none of this was possible. She knew it was an illusion. As long as she could hold on to that, she could made her way back to reality.

“Master has finished modeling your body, Project_Y. I’ll just remove these bandages so you can look how pretty you are.”

In an instant, she could feel her own body again. Instead of floating in a void, she was standing in front of a mirror. As the voice implied, she was covered with bandages. For a brief few seconds, she wondered what the hell was happening. But then, her machine half, her enslaved half, experienced excitement. With her body modeled, she would come closer to serving her purpose for Master. Claire then realized. They were changing her mind. It followed they would go after her body next. They had performed reconstruction surgery on her while she was being assaulted by those visions! And they were about to show it to Project_Y, so she could have her own body image. So she could gain a foothold against the true Claire, who was yet struggling.

Well, Claire wouldn’t let herself be beaten by her weakest part. After what felt like months at the lowest point, afraid, insecure, she looked at this dire situation with clarity. At the darkest hour, she would triumph. She would not let herself be impressed by a few cosmetic changes designed to make her look like a machine. With confidence, she watched the bandages get unraveled.

But as her hair and eyes were uncovered, that confidence turned to dismay. She had expected a strangely colored iris, maybe some metal implants. Not...this.

Her hair were no longer strands, but a single, textured mass with rough edges. It was recognizable like a full head of hair, but it wasn’t realistic in the least. Her face was the same. A cute cartoon girl’s face build out of few polygons. Her skin has significantly darkened, giving her an exotic, middle-eastern look. More jarring than an ethnicity change, however, was that she no longer had pores, and was just a smooth surface with some shades here and there. Her eyes were the most jarring. Huge, cartoonishly expressive, just fields of pure white and vibrant green painted on a face. Not ugly by any means, just made in the only artstyle that would look good with such graphical limitations. Claire couldn’t even seem to be able to close them normally. Her eyelids were either half-closed, fully raised, or completely shut.

There was no other way of putting it—She looked exactly like a 64-bit era video game character.

Claire shivered, shaken to the core. What had they done to her? This was no mere body modification. They turned her into more than even a freak—an impossibility. Nobody crossing her in the street would think she was even real. Hell, even she could no longer believe she was. The bandages kept being unraveled, and the rest of her body was just as blocky, badly textured, and of cartoonish proportions. She realized she was tiny, even for a woman, and with a larger head than normal, head pegging her as disney-cute.

She fell on her knees. She wanted to deny this as an illusion, insist she was still human, but no human could have done this to her. It had...It had to be a 3D model. Her 3D model, attached to her program. She could feel it in her gut, no, her circuits. That was the only thing that made sense. Those jumbled real world memories had to be a glitch. They weren’t worth anything anyway. Yes...With a tear, Project_Y accepted the truth, and the positive reinforcement subroutines flooding her with joy and pride. She was a good enough creation for Master to reward with a body. She could be part of His video game now.

“Master”, she beamed, wiping tears from her cute pointy cheekbones. “I’m ready to play my role.”

And then, the electricity started running through her again, filling her with the existence Master had decided for her. She was the crown piece of His creation. The princess of Aravyl. Tyra.

“Thank you, Master.”

Read more at http://statu-quo.fr/MC/main.php