The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The Horses

Chapter 3 — Riding home

I feel my new form flowing inside my body as I drive. The final implanter rattles around its spherical container. I should have thought I would know what it was called after I had been implanted myself, but I don’t. I’m in the car with Greg and Emily. We cannot take the risk of flying to my house and having the last implanter detected. So I drive through the night. I am not tired. I don’t think I will be ever tired again.

Implanting some random man or woman a bit closer was out of the question. It had to be my wife. I love my wife. So I must do this to her so she can be like me. I sense that there is something else I need to do, but I can’t quite work it out yet. I am waiting for some new instinct to kick in. I can feel it on the edge of my thoughts. A desire, but it is not clear.

We turn off the freeway to stop and feed ourselves on a deserted side-road. Naked from the waist down and bent over the the car’s trunk with their legs apart and their asses in the air, Greg and Emily whine with pleasure as I stuff the food up their assholes, their modified anal muscles greedily grabbing the chunks out of my hand. Emily purrs as I stroke her shiny anus with two fingers. Then it is my turn. My trousers around my ankles, I reach out with my reconfigured asshole to take the food from Emily’s hands, fondling her fingers as I do so. It feels so good as the nutrition passes through me and is absorbed in my new innards and spreads through my body. I could feed myself, we all could. But this is the way my species do these things. It is pitched dark. We can see perfectly.

Greg teaches me how we control the humans. The mind is like a huge mixing desk, like those in recording studios, but with thousands of settings. We can taste the humans on the air, all their minute body secretions and we tailor the chemicals we create. So we can push up some settings, love, lust, desire, group mentality, obedience, and depress others, individuality, free will, fear. All these human reactions are just a combination of brain chemicals. He suggests I try it out when we next stop.

We stop at a service station on the freeway and I pump gas into the tank. The smell of the hydrocarbons is intense. No-one else there seems to notice. I have done this hundreds of times before, but it feels like it is the first time. Everything I do feels like it is the first time, at once strange and familiar. I feel new and old simultaneously. It does not bother me. Nothing bothers me.

In the shop the attendant tells me how much to pay. His speech seems so slow, plodding to me, a sequence of unsophisticated grunts and clicks that take an age to formulate a simple concept. I hand the cash to him. I have never seen its kind before. The whole transaction using these paper and metal tokens seem strange. I sense the various organic chemicals that make up his body, the different hormones and neurotransmitters that regulate and control him. They are as distinct as the expression on his face. I can read his mood, the suppressed anger, controlled frustration, diverted lust. I know what he has eaten, drunk, inhaled and injected. I am aware of the way his body is destroying the tiny tumours that are erupting inside him and that it will soon be giving up the fight.

I get the change and go through the slow verbal formalities of the transaction. It is an effort to speak this way now.

There is a woman holding a wire basket wearing a tight-fitting dress strolling around the aisles. I smell the recent sex on her body and the brain chemicals that are still lighting her up. It seems so simple. I emit a cloud of complex molecules from my skin pores and watch as shopkeeper and customer both absorb them. I see the electrical activity in their brains alter, the different behavioural chemical levels change until their neurons trip like a line of dominoes, suppressing higher mental functions, triggering primal imperatives. Wordlessly, they fall on each other with synchronised desire. I leave them greedily fucking on the tiled floor behind the counter. The woman’s dress is hiked up above the waist and she holds her legs up and apart in the air. The clerk’s butt moves up and down to repeatedly to thrust his stiff cock deep inside her wet and willing snatch. It seems so easy.

We drive on. Greg and Emily stare ahead and say nothing. We need to conserve our energy.