The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The Infinity Device

Chapter Seven

Annika:

I woke up with a start. It was morning again, and the sun was shining through the blinds. Urgh, something had happened again last night, something with Rogers and that stupid machine. I didn’t even want to think about it. This was getting old, real fast.

I had a blistering headache, anyway, something really wicked. ”Another night of changin’,” I thought to myself humorlessly. I stood up a little woozily and collected my bearings. I was in the living room, alone. No sign of Rita or mom. And I felt kind of funny.

It was my clothes, I decided. They were distracting, clingy, in a kind of claustrophobic way I wasn’t at all used to. And they were so tiny, gosh, and light, like children’s clothes...

I felt ridiculous standing there in my clothes. It didn’t feel like me at all. What sort of salacious madness was I thinking when I put them on yesterday? I was... a... a good girl. I felt a funny sense of relief admitting it. A prude. The word didn’t seem as pejorative as it did yesterday. The same way being sensuous and loose was kind of novel yesterday, but now I had matured.

Annika! The machine is making you think these thoughts! a part of me said resistively, but I didn’t care. The thought of being the attention of people — or worse, men — it made me feel mildly nauseous. I mean, I was wearing heels too, indoors, stupid. People who saw me would think... would think...

I had to change out of them. I felt lecherous, indecent. I could think about everything, the situation, my mom, Rita, once my bosom was in something a little more appropriate.

Mom, I thought, oddly. I shivered. How strange to have something so normal that wasn’t. This wasn’t normal at all. In fact, it was getting more serious every day. I pulled at my shirt in distress and started towards my room.

I stopped when I noticed a strange piece of paper sitting there, resting on the ottoman. It was a strange color, funny, like it had been plunged into coffee or something, and with such an odd smell. It was all curled and twisted with a small hole through it. I picked it up.

The first man you see,” it said in neat, if hasty, handwriting, “you’ll find out what his idea of the perfect woman is. As he speaks, you’ll conform to his words. Reality will conform. And you’ll want to be that woman. Only the people in this room will notice the changes.

My stomach didn’t a little turn. Oh no. Was that for me? Did reading it put me under a spell or something? Or was it for Rita, or mom? I had a bad feeling.

“Annika! You’re awake!” Rita said, poking her head out of the kitchen. I gave a little jolt of surprise, and then practically danced with happiness. My bosom jiggled uncomfortably, so I stopped.

“Rita! You’re okay!” I said, happily. The relief I felt to have her standing there was like warm milk... I mean, I had gotten her mixed into this, after all. I ran over to give her a quick hug, clicking in my heels. Boy, did they feel natural, and kind of good. And I felt, like, way taller than I was used to.

“And you’re not a reptile or anything! Man, Rita, this is all my fault, I’m so sorry, I felt like dying last night when you knocked on the door...”

“Oh, it’s okay,” she said, smiling. “I don’t blame you or anything. It’s hard to fight reality, isn’t it?”

“Ahah! Gallows humor! Maybe there’s hope for us yet!” I said cheerfully. “Where’s, uh... Ms. Petrova?”

“Oh, your new mom (new mom?) went out for some errands. She said not to wake you...” she said something else, but I was looking at her again with kind of a funny feeling. She was still wearing tight clothes, of course. She had taken off her chest-hugger of a sweater, and now was just in a body-forming top that showed off some discrete shapes on her chest, helped with an attention-getting brasserie.

She kept talking, and I stared at her skin that she had now, the exotic honey-umber color of her neck... and I tried to stop my lips from pursing in disapproval. But they kind of formed that shape anyway. She looked ridiculous.

You look like a tart,” I wanted to say. (”Tart?” What are you, a fucking grandmother? part of me said annoyed), but instead I just said “You look... different.” I tried to be tactful, but it was so annoying to have her so distractingly dressed. Why was I acting this way?

She blushed, embarrassed, and shuffled awkwardly. I mean, obviously, she couldn’t help it, any more than I could help being pert and an irrepressible dancer.

“You look different too,” she said, shrugging, earnestly. “I mean, I think you do. I have like two memories, one of... of the things are, and another of how things used to be. Your hair...” She pointed and I pulled my ponytail out to look at it. It was no longer dark brown — it was a dirty blond. Uh-oh.

I gave Rita a nervous look and walked into my room to look in the mirror. There was kind of a sinking feeling in my chest. Rita followed curiously.

I walked into my room — I would have to be taking down the posters of the frontmen and actors soon — and held my breath and stepped into the view of the mirror. I little dumbfounded. I did look different. I looked like my mom now.

Of course you look like your mom, a part of me said with extreme annoyance. But I shook my head. This was so weird. My eyes were no longer brown, they were a dark blue. It changed the entire way my face looked. Worst of all, I had my mom’s nose now—it was a little smaller, slightly upturned, a little, um, cuter.

Great. More stares.

“I guess...” I said to Rita slowly, “I guess I have some Slavic ancestry now.” I blinked, as that settled on me. My genetics had been changed. In this reality, I guess (or reality in general), I had literally been conceived in my mom’s womb with my father’s juices. I shivered a little.

“This is so messed up,” I said to myself, pushing back my hair. But was it messed up? I remembered at ballet class, people joking at how appropriate my eyes and hair were. Annika Petrova, I was announced before performances. But it wasn’t just my eyes and hair — the rest of me looked a little different now too. The shape of my body was a lot more like my mom: a little taller and slenderer, slightly less busty. (Of course, I think the combination made me seem even more top-heavy.) Now, when I was wearing my longest heels, I could push past six feet, something I noted with pride when I had managed it at fifteen.

Gosh. I shivered, and looked at myself again. I had to put on overalls or something, find something baggy. But instead I just stayed rooted at the spot, looking at my reflection. There was something about it, about the change, about me, that was really... well, I didn’t even want to go there.

But to look different... it was like I was a different person... in a different body — changed to be someone who was... who was...

I didn’t want to say attractive. But I leaned in slightly to peer to look closer at my face. I had a little more cheekbones now, face a little rounder, slightly fuller lips. I leaned in and ran a finger over them experimentally. Was I getting... Jesus, I thought embarrassed, turning red. What was wrong with me? I felt flushed and a little disconcerted, like I had the first time I had snuck the DVD my parents had rented into my laptop when I was twelve, scrubbing forward to the naughty scenes...

Boy, was this all embarrassing. I mean, Rita was right there. I had to change.

“Gosh, I’m sorry,” I told her, “but would you mind giving me some...?” and she gave a small oh and turned around.

I had hoped she would leave, and I almost said so — something a little snarky — but refrained. Poor Rita.

“Ms. Petrova — your mother — said this has been going on for about a week, this reality stuff, at least as far as she can remember — and for you, just a day. With Rogers, I mean.”

I stepped gracefully out of my heels, and pulled off my shorts. I looked at my legs: they were smooth and perfect, prominently muscled, slender and hard to the touch, perfectly hairless. I was a ballerina. I started breathing a little harder, and reached down and massaged my calloused big toe, and examined my calves. I was practically bent in half. I was so flexible and tight, it’s so ero...

Annika, get it together! I thought, panicking. Rita’s right there! I blushed further.

“Yeah... That sounds about right...” I said trying to sound normal. “Mom — Anastasia — used to by my roommate... I used to be a doctoral candidate, many years older... hoo, boy. A lifetime ago.”

I rummaged through my bottom drawer, searching for my (rarely used) sweatpants, still bent over. What a weird frigging week. My rear was in the air, rounded like a peach, I knew, and I had a really strange feeling that Rita was staring at it. Just the thought gave me a brief flash of anger. What was going on with me? Why was I so reactive?

“I kept trying to put on baggy clothes this morning and I just couldn’t,” Rita said, thoughtfully, “It was like trying to keep magnets together.”

“Yeah,” I said, not really listening. I had pulled on my pants and was about to pull my shirt off. I glanced at the mirror. Why was that so erotic? I was really turned on. This was so awful, and I had trouble processing these feelings. It was like trying to comprehend gibberish.

“I mean, you saw the letter?” Rita said, voice breaking. “That was for me. Rogers said he’s trying something new, and I have no idea if it will really work or not but I’m terrified to go outside.”

“That was you?” I said, trying to focus. I glanced back at Rita to make sure she wasn’t looking. Part of her back was exposed, a slender, thin back, and then quickly pulled my shirt off. “Yeah, gosh, that’s really bad. Like, you could meet someone and then something really terrible would happen.”

I thought about it some more. And we didn’t know how it worked, or to what degree, or how long. Science Annika was getting interested. All these variables. My breasts were bounced around visibly, and I squirmed a little. I wished Rita wasn’t there, I was staring at them, looking down, ashamed. Were my nipples...? Focus, Annika.

“Okay,” I said, trying to think, “You have to stay here, inside, away from men until we think of something.” I pulled on a baggy painting shirt with relief. I noticed regret I still looked pretty good in it. Geez, I would need drug-addict rags or something to tone myself down.

“Maybe we can conquer Rogers before you see someone,” I continued, my concentration returning. “Or maybe we can find a pliable male, or...” Shit. “Rita, what about your touch! The inhibitions thing!” Rita turned around to look at me. (”Did she have a guilty look?” part of me thought jealously. I had hugged her — were my inhibitions lowered?)

“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “I haven’t tested it out yet.” She hesitated. “But it seems so... unlikely.”

There was an awkward pause.

“Only one way to find out, I guess,” she said with funny look.

“Rita, don’t you dare,” I said sternly. She had a hesitant loon, and then lunged forward, but I dodged. I ran around to the other side of the bed.

“Rita, stop it!” I said, and she gave a laugh at my antics, like seeing me run from her was amusing. Why wasn’t she taking this more seriously? Ugh, I felt like I was seven again, being chased by my older brother holding a spider. She advanced, cornering me against a closet. She seemed so small, but I recoiled. What was I, if I didn’t have my inhibitions? I thought frantically. I’m a good girl!

“We’ll just give it a quick check!” she said. “You used to be a scientist. We’ll need to find out as much as we can with this stuff before anything else happens.” She looked serious now.

I looked around nervously, and then bonked my head apologetically. She was right, and I was kinda responsible for messing up her life.

“You’re right,” I said. “In the name of science, just a quick touch.” I took a deep breath and held out my hand. I felt like I was offering it to a doctor for an enormous shot, and my stomach fluttered.

She walked up, and lightly laid a finger on my palm, and then stepped back, nervously. She felt stupid, I could tell. Magic powers.

“How do you feel?” she asked me curiously.

I thought about it. How did I feel? I rubbed my palm unconsciously.

“I guess I feel... I dunno. Maybe a little lighter?” That was accurate, I thought. I did feel different. Almost... like I was a little tipsy. She reached out and tapped the top of my hand again. The feeling increased. It was a little stronger. She looked at me carefully.

The scientist in me was a little curious. “Maybe it has, uh...” I hesitated. “Maybe it has cumulative effects? That’s interesting.”

“So you feel different? You’re not really acting different.” She was studying my face curiously. I met her eyes and looked them over. She was shorter than I was, especially since I had gained an inch or two of mother-height, but I thought that made her kind of cute looking. She was so small. And she had such beautiful eyes. Exotic, curved.

“You have beautiful eyes,” I said, and then I meeped with embarrassment. It had just popped out, and I covered my mouth. “Gosh, I’m sorry. That totally slipped out! And I was trying to have some self-control.”

“Don’t worry!” Rita said, blushing for some reason. She fidgeted with her hair and looked around thoughtfully. “I wonder if I’ll have this power forever.”

“That’d be terrible,” I said without thinking, “your life would be, like, over.” Rita hung her head, miserably. Shit.

“Well,” I said, trying to be tactful, “if we stop Rogers, we can right all this nonsense. In fact,” I said thoughtfully, “we could do anything.”

My eyes dropped down to my breasts, sleeping under the gray t-shirt, and I felt this feeling of incredibly shame. It was like I was white with fire. Rita was right there, watching my head loll down to my chest like some narcissistic bimbo.

I felt dirty, soiled, and then she reached for me again, and I shrank back and tripped over my bed, landing on it in a heap. “Rita!” I said.

“Sorry!” she said. “I’m just curious.” She sighed and turned around to look at my room. I glanced at her butt.

“Ass,” I said experimentally. What a nonsense, forbidden word.

“What?”

“I’m just experimenting,” I said vaguely. “Inhibitions.”

I have an... ass, too, I thought experimentally. What a weird thing to think. It was wrong to think of yourself in those terms, I knew...

“I, uh, hope it wears off,” I said, in slight amusement.

“Me too!” she said, suddenly concerned.

“Well, I’ll let you know,” I said, “but I’ll be really pissed if it lasts longer than a short while, though.”

Rita tried to look understanding. “Well, I’ll be in the living room,” she said.

As soon as the door closed, I slithered out of bed and stretched in front of the mirror.

Boy. I had never realized how beautiful I was before. Even yesterday, waking up younger, it was nothing compared to this. And with my new exotic look—I... I god. I caressed by breasts. God... maybe it was Rita’s touch... but—they weren’t breasts. They were boobs. Who was I kidding. Jugs. Beautiful milk jugs. I blushed with shame and illicit happiness. I started caressing them. I popped my shirt over them, unclasped my bra, so I could stare at my nipples. They were larger than they used to be, the aureoles, too... — I guess I could guess something about my mom now.

I... I wasn’t sure I had ever looked at myself this way. I mean, I had, I guess. Didn’t I have all these videos on my laptop? (Don’t think about them, a voice whispered.)

Curiously, I reached up a finger and lightly massaged a nipple. I felt a beautiful, shameful, light sensation, my blood was flowing. And I felt something odd... down there.

Gosh, it felt really good. My.... t-t—...—titties.

“... t-t-t titties!” I grinned in triumph I had said it. “My titties.”

I was a little scared at what Rita could do. What if she had touched me more? I grabbed my necklace. “Please let me resist this,” I thought fervently. God would help me. And I sat there breathing, trying to focus, for a few minutes, and slowly I could feel my old self come back. I looked around and pulled my shirt down.

Gosh. There was a solution to everything that just happened in this room. I would just never think of this again.

Rita:

I walked back into the living room. Annika was acting so different than she normally was, and it was confusing. She was meaner than usual without her inhibitions! I wondered what that meant. Or maybe that was just her being a prude.

More importantly, I had seen her without her shirt on. It was just a quick glance, but I replayed it over and over in my head.

Annika. With her shirt. Off. What a wonderful combination of words.

And she was so awkward changing, she was acting hurried, like she was taking off clothes that had bird poop on them. That was... kind of attractive. Why am I feeling this way?

I sat on the couch. This was a really confusing day. I plucked at my pants. They still didn’t feel comfortable, and I felt like I was someone else wearing them. But that was nothing compared to the curse that was hanging over me. Two of them, really: a touch that changed people, and the horrible, unknown changes that could happen if I came across a man. “You’ll want to become that woman.” I gave a little shudder.

Annika walked into the room. She was so graceful.

“Well, the good news is that I’m back to normal!” she said pertly, swinging happily. “My apologies if I was weird. And now I’m off to work!”

“Work?” I said a little dumbfounded. “Now?”

She looked a little confused.

“Yeah. I mean, there’s no immediate danger to you. Just stay here, you’ll be fine. When I get back, mom and you and I are going to figure this stuff out. Maybe we’ll get Chinese food too or something.”

“But can’t you skip it?”

“I can’t just skip work!” she said, aghast. I’m a good girl, I saw her almost say, but catch herself. “It’s just three hours. Barre class. We’ll have tons of time to think everything through when I get back. Promise!”

She ran around and collected some stuff — a water bottle, some shoes — and then she waved and ran out the door.

I was pretty miserable. I wished I could call my parents, but they were asleep in Shanghai. Maybe I should, anyway. They could disappear any day, just like Annika’s mother.

I milled around the apartment, trying to think. I went into all the rooms. I rifled dully through Annika’s room, and found a large dildo in her middle drawer. Black and large, with a suction cup on the bottom. She’d probably be getting rid of it soon. Maybe I should be proactive and keep it, but I didn’t. I gave it a sniff, and put it back.

Then I tried to put on some of her clothes. She was so much taller than I was, they were pretty baggy. I worked my tight shirt over my head, and would hold the shirt close, but I found I just didn’t want to put it on. I didn’t want to, and intellectually I kept trying to psych myself into it, but there was this emotional barrier.

I tried feebly for a while, and then I threw the clothes on the bed, sighing.

In the hallway, the pictures were all strange. Annika and her family — her new mother. She used to be Annika’s roommate? I have no memory of that. Annika had no roommate, just her family, coming in and out.

The loneliness I felt here. I doodled some people on a piece of paper I found on a counter. I drew a woman on a counter, eyes wide in surprise, a man with a dark silhouette coming through a bright door.

How could things change like this? What was going on? My doodles expanded... there was a woman in a pirate’s outfit, holding a trident, with a little speech bubbles with the characters saying: “I used to be a doctor.” I kept drawing and drawing, trying to occupy myself. I drew a picture of me wearing a dunce’s cap, and Annika in a Victorian gown looking scandalized at an ankle, and suspiciously moist looking flowers.

Finally, I heard the key scrap in the lock, and I perked up. Ms. Petrova was back! I felt uplifted. I had always liked her, and she had a plan, she said so. She would...

The door opened, and I froze. It wasn’t Anastasia. But someone else. A man.

I had this weird feeling come over me. It was the paper, my heart sunk, I knew I wouldn’t be able to resist what was coming. It was like how it felt to be lifted by a wave. Change, I thought with fear and happiness. Change.