The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

It looked like they were making Meat—and this was more interesting than following up on my compufraud lead, one skylight over.

Even though I’d sworn off work like this, I might be able to help that girl—who could be me—right now, right here.

I placed my hands against the cool perspex skylight, peering down into the circular chamber, watching the three girls pull the struggling fourth forward and locking her arms and legs into a stainless steel chair.

One of the girls—yellow tank top stretched tightly over her ripe breasts—stepped down on an unseen pedal and swung the protesting girl to a raised position, her wrists working frantically, hands opening and closing.

Another of the girls—with an identical yellow tank top—swung a square, wheeled table into position alongside the struggling girl and pulled a gleaming cutter from its neat position deep inside a sliding drawer.

My hands were sweating.

The last of the free girls—also clad in a taut yellow tank top—pulled the restrained girl’s head down and locked it into place with a dull-colored wrap-around bar. With several twists of a knob the struggling girl’s head was rendered motionless—although it was clear she was cursing a steady stream of expletives.

In a moment, the girl with the cutter had made short work of the restrained girl’s clothing, shredding it neatly and peeling the pieces away, exposing a firm, ripe body with high breasts, small nipples, a firm, tanned stomach, and a wisp of tight dark hair just above the girl’s dark cleft of thighs.

The girl with the cutter dropped the strips of clothing into a hole cut in the rolling table’s surface.

Now the three girls were speaking to the fourth, smiles on their faces as their hands roved over the restrained girl’s tanned flesh, the girl shuddering at the touches, rubbing her thighs together.

She began to sweat so I pulled my Neuron from its holster and stood, firing up the Neuron and listening to its sweet, sweet hum. It had gotten me out of more than one tight spot.

Two of the girls were on their knees now, licking and rubbing and kneading the restrained girl’s thighs and ass.

But, my eye was on the last free girl, now preoccupied with a tiny, wiry steel piece of equipment that didn’t match up with anything I’d seen before. And I knew about Meatmaking intimately.

She handed the piece of the equipment to one of the girls whose tongue was occupied flesh-surfing and the girl effortlessly bent the thing in half and snugly pushed it up and around the restrained girl’s exposed pussy—which wasn’t exposed any longer.

In a moment, the apparatus began to shudder and shake and the restrained girl’s face went rigid with pleasure—her mouth open in an obscene “O.”

The girls continued their ministrations—but that third girl had a C-shaped titanium-hued half collar in her hand.

And she was about to place it around the exposed nape of the restrained girl’s neck.

Right over the girl’s CAT.

But my aim with the Neuron was spot-on.

The third girl froze in place momentarily—her arm in an arc, just inches away from the restrained girl’s neck with the C-shaped collar that I was fairly sure caused the permanent burn-in of illegal protocols.

I took aim at one of the girls licking at the inner thigh of the restrained girl. She froze in mid-lick. The other girl, after another pull of the Neuron’s trigger, was also frozen in mid-lick.

My cutter made quick work of the perspex skylight—and the autodescenders fluidly let me down and into the space where the restrained woman was moaning in sheer ecstasy and the three other women were frozen.

Holstering the Neuron, I moved to the captive and looked into her wide, pleasure-glazed eyes. I was growing wet, in spite of myself. Her body was to die for and it was sweaty and naked and sexually writhing. And I was weak—I was human. And I’d liked the taste of young pussy since I’d been hijacked.

But I’m always in control.

“I’m Hommard,” I said to her, “I’m going to get you out of that thing.” She grunted through another orgasm that suddenly made me jealous—I felt a twinge of pleasure, a flesh-memory, deep between my thighs and in my brain.

I moved to pull the apparatus off of her mound but then I could see it clearly. Very clearly.

The thing had extended fine tendrils both around her waist and into her skin, following the contours of her flesh. There would be nothing to pull off because it had, in a very real sense, merged with her lower body. The way it was moving, micropumping, made me nervous. Biomechanical wasn’t new—but biomechanical during Meatmaking wasn’t something I knew about.

Quickly, I pulled the Neuron from its holster and snapped my vocal jack into its side. I pointed it at the girl holding the collar inches away from the restrained girl’s neck and pulled the second trigger halfway.

“You,” I said into my vocal, “stand away from this girl, place the collar on that box, and stand up straight.”

The girl complied quickly, eyes sightless, as the Neuron tapped her CAT.

“What is your name?” I demanded.

“Colleen.”

“Colleen, what is,” I pointed at the girl that was restrained, “this girl’s name?”

“Susan.”

“Colleen, tell me what’s fucking Susan—and how do I turn it off?”

Colleen’s voice was sweet, syrupy, as she said, “That’s the I-toy. It works with the Collar to make you horny. So you’ll always be horny. Forever. It’s so nice to be horny. I’m horny all the . . .”

“Colleen.” I said, snarling, “how do I turn it OFF?”

“I don’t know,” she said sweetly, sexually, honestly, “I don’t think you can. After all, you don’t ever take it off.”

I was about to ask her what she meant, but instead said, “Colleen, pull down your shorts.”

She did—and etched on her lower belly, riding down over her thighs, wrapping under the skin and back across her pubic mound, were lines and strips of fine-gauge pulsing silver wire, a whorl pattern centered on where her clit should be—and still was, enflamed like the entrance to her sex and moist. Colleen’s sex was probably twenty-five or thirty-percent engorged, and her clit, I swear, was moving slowly in and out of its own accord.

I paused for a moment, seeing Colleen’s lower body wrapped in fine bands of metal—like a chrome robotic skin that pulsed and breathed as she breathed.

So this was the newest perversion, a very, very high-tech perversion. Expensive. Permanent, truly permanent probably. They couldn’t just be satisfied with reconfiguring CAT protocols.

I was in over my head—drowned probably.

Quickly I asked, “Colleen, what’s the Collar for?”

Colleen replied, “It takes the pain away. It can kill without the collar.”

“Colleen. What can kill?”

“The I-toy.”

“Colleen. It does something to the CAT—something permanent?”

“No. The Collar just takes the pain away,” Colleen replied, “we remove it when the I-toy is done.”

“Colleen, pull up your pants and put the collar on her.”

Colleen slid her shorts up and over her perfect hips, moved gracefully to the cart, picked up the C-shaped collar, and dropped it around the neck of the restrained girl.

I watched Susan’s face as a smile blossomed across it, rising. And her cries of ecstasy grew suddenly, no longer labored, full of pure bliss.

When I lifted her chin and saw into her large, dark, full eyes, I was fairly sure I was watching years of education, a lifetime of spunk and personality, drain away.

The I-toy twitched and pumped and writhed, its center unfolding, deploying deep inside of the girl’s lower body. I could only imagine how it was grafting with her nerves, fooling her body into believing it was just another organ—an organ of complete pleasure, an organ that must be obeyed.

But I didn’t have much time. No time at all, really. I took about thirty seconds to scan Susan’s body, using the most detailed settings over the I-toy, and dropped the scanner back into its small pocket.

I gripped the Neuron in one hand and spoke firmly, with old experience, “If you can hear this, look at me.”

Colleen and the two kneeling, frozen girls pivoted their heads to look at me, eyes sightless, smiles perfect.

“I was never here. Think of the past few minutes as a pause in your work—a pause that will immediately be wiped from your memory when I leave. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

It came from three mouths simultaneously as I autoascended up to the skylight.

I’m sure the girls went about their work of caressing and pleasuring the girl whose name was once Susan long after I was gone.

And I’m sure that Susan enjoyed every bit of attention—the I-toy made sure of that.