The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Shayla was furious. How could he have known? What proof could he have? Two, Manda had told her; well, that meant he knew about two out of four, because she had fucked Giles, Fredirico, Andrew, and Mac. To Manda, Shayla adamantly denied that Richard could possibly have any proof of adultery. To herself, she admitted she was worried: she could see a vast fortune slipping through her fingers.

It was no good calling Richard and asking to meet with him. She had made it abundantly clear during her last screaming match with him that the two of them could never work out anything. Damn it, what proof could he have? What form could it take?

She brooded for three days before hitting on the solution that she instinctively knew to be the right one: those goddam robot surveillance holos. The robots were everywhere. You didn’t notice them–they were part of the goddam furniture! But those eyes, those unblinking, eerily glowing eyes, took everything in, saw it all . . . and recorded it faithfully. A robot could not lie. If a robot’s audiovisual cortex were accessed, the world would see and hear exactly what the robot had seen and heard.

Giles had a cleaning bot, and so did Mac. Were either of the bots present when she had fucked those guys? Did the others have servant bots, too? Damn it, she didn’t remember!

But she did remember that Richard could remotely access all the robotic units created with his patents. He could download holographic records of their memories . . . would a download be convincing proof, though? Holos could always be manipulated. Damn it, though, if he knew which bots had recorded which holos, his company could call them in and access their brains. Shit, shit, shit!

If she only knew. Hmm.

She knew Richard, though. Knew him too well.

He would have downloaded the videos, at least. He would have the video chips secreted in a safe place.

In that goddam Lai, she’d bet her life on it. God, that thing gave her the creeps! Made from a diseased woman!

But devoted to Richard, absolutely devoted to him. And she had a storage compartment in her thorax. Newer bots didn’t have that because they didn’t really need it; it had been something Richard had engineered in the first-gen bots, thinking they might need to carry a spare OVP unit, not yet realizing that the damn energy supply was, like, eternal! Lai’s storage compartment was where he had kept the keychip to the secret research rooms. That compartment had to be where the vidchips were hidden.

And yes, he’d have them. To have spoken so assuredly to Manda, Richard would certainly have the damn vids in his possession.

She called all four of her illicit lovers, just to check. Every single one had a bot servant; none of them particularly remembered whether the damn bot had been present during their lovemaking. She couldn’t persuade any of them to get rid of their bots. “These damn things are expensive!” “Sorry, babe, she sucks better than you ever did.” Click. Click.

Shit.

Hmmm.

If she could identify which bots were responsible, she could arrange something. Robots were tough, not immortal. Shoot them in the head with a high-powered shotgun, scatter the transformed brain to the winds, they couldn’t reconstitute. Hit one with a car–repeatedly–and you could destroy the brain and the OVP unit.

And destroying a robot wasn’t even a felony, just property damage–if you were willing to make restitution. If she had billions coming, that would be no problem.

So it hinged on getting her hands on the vids to see which bots she had to put out a contract on.

And that meant she had to get into the labs.

“I could,” Manda said. “But really, Shayla, I don’t think that would help at all. He’s very cocky about this.”

“Tell him you want to meet,” Shayla insisted. “But here, or somewhere else. Hell, your apartment, I don’t care. Seduce him, even. Keep him busy for a couple of hours. He’s not bad in bed.”

“That’s unethical,” Manda told her sternly. “Besides, it wouldn’t count, not if he can prove you had committed prior infidelities. Priority matters in these things. A lot.”

“I can take care of that,” Shayla insisted. “But I need help. Damn it, does thirty per cent of fifty billion not tempt you?”

“Well . . . ”

Saturday night. Wonder of wonders, Dr. Richard Westley actually went out! He drove himself, in a silent car powered by one of his own OVP units, a sleek model that slid across the face of the night like a silver teardrop across an ebon cheek. Shayla emerged from the car she had driven, a rental, one that he would not recognize.

Richard had left most of his clothes in their house, along with a lot of his personal effects. He wasn’t a material person, particularly. He tended to be absent-minded about things like books, recordings, pictures . . . keys.

If only he hadn’t changed the locks.

No, the keychip glowed green, and the unobtrusive door in a recessed approach from quiet Third Street opened silently beneath its forbidding sign: PRIVATE NO ADMITTANCE.

She bypassed the factory floors, where no humans worked now. The only people there were . . . raw material. Shayla shuddered. Her freaking husband was a maniac, a Dr. Frankenstein, and the crazy world thought he was a genius.

A second keychip accessed the private elevator, and she rode it up to the top floor. The lights sensed her presence and came on, a soft twilight glow that would allow someone coming in late to navigate, but would not blind him or her. “Lai?” she called.

“Mistress?”

Jesus! The goddam thing had been standing right beside the door! Her silver, perfectly reflecting body had ironically made her invisible in the dimness.

Shayla swallowed her heart. “Lai,” she said, “you know who I am.”

“You are Shayla Lee Westley, the wife of my owner,” the thing said in that despicable sexy voice of hers.

“You have some possessions of my husband’s inside your storage compartment.”

“I do.”

“Are they holochips?”

“Two of them are.”

“Give them to me.”

“I regret that I cannot comply, Mistress. My owner has given me specific instructions not to release them to anyone without his explicit permission.”

Damn it. She should have brought a fucking shotgun.

“Did he tell you not to play them for anyone but him?”

“He did not.”

“Show them to me,” she said. “I want to see both of them.”

She fast-forwarded, skipped from one to the next, feeling a sour blend of victory and anger. Giles’s damn bot had been standing practically at the foot of the bed, you could see her riding Giles, screeching and screaming in a faked orgasm. Hell, you could see his cock jabbing into her cunt, both slick with her own juices! And their faces were clearly visible, and he called her “Shayla.” And the second one was Mac’s, on the goddam boat that day, and the bot had witnessed her sucking Mac off, a really, really clear close-up of her face, her mouth on his cock. Shit! Shayla could take care of Giles’s bot easily enough, he was a real moron, but Mac could be anywhere on his goddam yacht. This would take some doing.

And of course she’d have to come back and blow off Lai’s head, or hire someone to do it for her. This was going to run into money.

Shayla ordered Lai to say nothing to Richard about her little visit. She itched to do something, break a window, slash a painting, but she didn’t dare. She opened the door, stepped out into the short hall heading for the elevator–

And strong hands closed around both her arms.

She shrieked.

“Do not resist,” warned the security bot on her left.

She did, jerking, kicking, trying to break free. She felt a sting from the place where he gripped her, and a moment later consciousness faded away.

“She’s awake now, Your Honor,” said Manda’s voice.

“Hunhh?”

“Good, let’s get this over with. I don’t want to take all night. Is the plaintiff ready?”

“Ready,” said Richard.

“And the defense?”

“Ready,” said Manda.

Shayla’s head cleared. They were in a courtroom . . . no, the judge was on holo. They were still in Richard’s goddam parlor.

“The charge is illegal entry, plus two charges of adultery,” the bald judge said. “Plaintiff, present your case.”

“What’s he doing?” demanded Shayla.

“Be quiet, and maybe I can get you off,” Manda said, her face flushed.

Richard was speaking: “. . . vidchips. Here is a surveillance bot’s view of Shayla Lee Westley as she accesses the building using a stolen keychip. You will find the keychip is slaved to my DNA. I expect she was able to round up enough hair from my brushes to fool the chip. It’s a weakness of that model.”

In the air between her and the judge a video of Shayla furtively approaching the door, keying it, opening it, and vanishing inside under the warning sign.

“Then she attempted to persuade my housebot Lai to turn over to her holochips that recorded her infidelities.”

The goddam Lai “testified” by replaying the whole exchange between them.

Feeling was coming back to Shayla now. She sat in a chair–because she had to. Her arms were strapped at wrists and elbows, and a restraining lap belt held her in place. “Let me out of this,” she snarled.

“Mrs. Westley,” the judge said in a ponderous voice, “don’t make me cite you for contempt.”

“And here are the vids that she ordered my housebot to play. As you can see from the datestamps, they prove that, during her marriage to me, Shayla committed adultery at least twice. The original bots may be produced if you wish confirmation.”

“Goddam it!” yelled Shayla. “I fucked two guys! He fucked Lai!”

“Counselor,” the judge said mildly, “You might explain the difference between a human lover and a sex toy. Keep your client quiet.”

“Shayla, please don’t be difficult,” Manda said.

When Richard had finished, Shayla said to Manda in a ferocious whisper, “Get me out of this!”

But the judge was speaking: “In accordance with the Marriage Act, I find the defendant guilty as charged–”

“I haven’t made my defense, you fucker!” Shayla screamed.

“You have no defense against this evidence,” the judge said, and Shayla dimly remembered the Efficient Trial Amendment that had been passed when she was still in high school. “Divorce decree is granted to the plaintiff. Three felony charges will be entered on the defendant’s record. Sentencing request, counselor?”

“We ask for the oprtion, Your Honor.”

“So granted. So let the record show. The court is adjourned.”

The hologram flared and vanished.

“Richard, I swear to God I’ll make you pay,” growled Shayla.

“The case is over, Shayla,” Manda said. “We’ve lost.”

Shayla, choked with fury, could say nothing. She opened her mouth to protest–

And felt a ball gag deftly inserted between her lips and pulled tightly into position. That damn Lai again!

“Bring her to the bedroom,” Richard said.

“Yes, sir.”

Shayla could not fucking believe it!

Manda had stripped, and so had Richard. Manda leaned back into Richard’s caress as his hands roamed over her belly, up to her tits, pulling and teasing her nipples. “You told me to fuck him, Shayla,” Manda said lazily.

You bitch!

“Mm, his hands are so strong. Oh, Richard, I’m getting so wet. Feel.”

The bitch spread her thighs, and through a blinding haze of anger Shayla saw Richard’s hand slip down over her goddam shaved love-mound, his fingers (strong fingers, delicately shaped fingers, she remembered) splitting and spreading her pink gleaming pussy, dipping inside.

“I love you, Richard,” moaned Manda.

“I don’t know if I need love,” Richard said, looking over her shoulder at Shayla. “My wife told me she loved me. I don’t think I want love any more.”

“What do you want?” whispered Manda, licking her lips.

“Devotion.”

“Mm, I feel devoted to you, Richard. Shayla, I feel his cock getting hard against my ass,” Manda said, squirming. “Shayla, you shouldn’t have cheated on him. Richard’s a good man.” She chuckled. “He just needs a naughty woman.”

She leaned back and stretched to kiss him, a deep and lingering kiss as Richard’s left hand stroked and played with her tits and his right explored her pink, open slit. “Mm.”

“Prepare her,” Richard said to someone behind Shayla.

The damn bot, of course.

Lai deftly swept a fingertip down Shayla’s clothes–and peeled them off. She had slit through fabric without touching skin, her fingers becoming razor-edged just as the security bot’s had become a syringe filled with a sedative. Ferociously, Shayla tried to rock from side to side, to fight, to kick, but now she realized her ankles were restrained, too. She sat there, helpless, nude, and fuming.

Richard sat on the edge of the bed. Manda rose and grasped his cock, then impaled herself on it, her thighs spread wide. “Mm, that’s good. Richard, you’re nice and big. You really fill me up.”

She was riding him now, riding him the same exact way that Shayla had ridden Giles, mocking her. God, when she got loose, she was going to teach the bitch a real lesson!

What was Lai doing now? She was–

The damn chair opened, forcing Shayla’s thighs apart. Lai inserted something into her, something lubed and smooth that slipped right inside her pussy!

“God, you look sexy like that,” Manda said.

It dawned on Shayla then.

It wasn’t Manda at all! Manda had been transformed, roboticized!

No, no, that was wrong–the eyes–you could always tell by the eyes.

Now Manda was playing with her own tits, the wet sounds of fucking coming clearly to Shayla’s ears. Damn it, she could remember when Richard had first fucked her, she was crazy about him then, or she made him believe she was anyway, and she faked enough orgasms to keep him happy, but he was so dumb about some things, it had been a game to cuckold him–

“Start,” Richard said.

Something glopped into her mouth.

Her pussy felt full.

It was a viscous liquid, not bad tasting, not tasting of anything, really. She had to swallow it to be able to breathe. It was coming through the damn ball gag in her mouth, being squirted into her pussy through the vibe or whatever the hell Lai had inserted–

Oh, my God!

Shayla could not scream, could not make a sound, could only plead with her eyes, Don’t do this thing to me, don’t, please don’t, I’ll be good–

Only with her–

“Her eyes,” Richard said as he fucked Manda. “Watch them.”

“Oh, I love it!” Manda said, writhing, clasping him with her pussy. “Oh, Richard, I love it!”

And she saw Shayla’s eyes go blank suddenly, no irises, no pupils, just a filmy white. And then a silver tinge spread over the bound woman’s cheeks, flowed down her throat, while a rising silver tide from her privates swept up her belly and over her breasts to meet it–

“Oh, God, I’m coming!” Manda shouted.

Darkness.

Then light.

A needle in her brain.

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Richard’s face. She had been angry with him. “Anger” had no meaning. One needed glands, secretions, human frailties to feel anger.

“You will obey,” Richard said.

“I will obey,” she repeated, feeling a strange and different elation at the words. She was in heaven. She was in Nirvana. She was in Shangri-La.

Another face, Manda’s. Manda had betrayed her.

“Betrayal” had no meaning.

“Show me what she can do,” Manda said.

Manda lay atop Richard, fucking him.

Richard said, “Fetish mode RD-1.”

She understood and transformed, pleased to be of service.

Manda saw her change into a scarlet latex devil, a female one with prominent breasts, erect nipples, two small horns curling back between the widow’s peak of hair blacker than pitch. The teeth were serrated and white, the eyes burned with a smoldering red glow. The red latex devil woman gleamed in the light, playing with her own pussy, her tail lashing.

“Do me in the ass,” Manda ordered her.

With an evil grin, the devil woman grasped her tail near the tip. The arrowhead flesh folded in on itself, became a slender dildo. Manda gasped as it slipped into place, felt it–lubed, slick, and so hot!–inside her, felt it pressing down, fucking her in counterpoint to Richard’s cock, the two applying pressure on either side of the wall between her pussy and her asshole. It was a new and exotic sensation, and she came quickly, and harder than she had ever thought she could.

Over the next days, Manda had the Shayla bot serve her in many ways, there in Richard’s bed. She was never disappointed. Richard had put everything into this model.

God, Manda thought, I’m really decadent. I sold out my client and took her man before her eyes. And now she’s my sex slave. I should be ashamed of myself.

But God, I love Richard so. I’m so fucking devoted to him.

Did he change me somehow?

I’d remember.

I don’t care if he did.

Oh, God, her tongue is so long!

Oh, my pussy is full!

At the end of the week, Manda had settled in to her favorite fetish, had found the perfect form for her sexbot.

Her own.

Richard was amused. He watched two identical Mandas pleasing each other, eating each other out, caressing, showing off for him. If the light was bright enough, one of them had skin that had the lightest sheen of latex, a bubblegum-wrapped girl. Otherwise, they were absolutely identical.

Except for the eyes. The eyes were a give-away.

But the Manda bot had developed a shimmering glow in her eyes that exactly matched the enchanting color in the real Manda’s irises.

And the Manda bot precisely matched the real Manda’s delightful depravity.

He came into the bedroom. They split apart, and he knew both of their kisses would taste exactly like Manda’s delectable pussy, and they crawled toward him with wicked welcoming grins on their faces, like twin panthers in heat, took him then and there on the floor and then demanded more, kept him fulfilled.

God, he thought, if only she knew how devoted I feel to her. I’d do anything. I’m like a sexbot myself, I can’t help it . . . .

God, Manda thought, I’m so devoted to him, as much a slave as Shayla, I can’t . . . .

ECSTASY. FULFILLMENT.

SUCK. FUCK. OBEY. OBEY.

Shayla had nothing that could rightly be called human emotions any longer.

But in her own way, she felt so devoted to them. . . .