The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Recycled

An erotic short fiction by command of Shadow

(2017/11/18)

He hadn’t expected it to happen so quickly. He had watched many who came before him, most from behind his computer screen but today a few from across this very room. Some had been restrained, others were given a mild sedative. A few, like him, required no such treatment. Though most in that condition looked resigned, defeated somehow. They had accepted their fate because there was naught left to do. Be they prisoners, debtors, or patients with incurable psychiatric disease there was no changing what would happen here. Standing in this room with its padded walls and bright, white, all-consuming lights meant all other paths—escape, pardon, or otherwise—were only a symptom of imagination.

And for the small handful like him, the volunteers, that surrender was electrifying.

Two had gone before Marcus, both now standing passively against the wall to his left. The three to his right would come after him, currently arranged at regular intervals against the wall in various states of submission. Only one of them had his hands strapped behind his back, but he made no attempt to move.

All of them could see one another in a large wall mirror opposite them. Between it and the stark, even lighting there were no secrets to be had, no shadows to hide in. All the men were exposed to one another, nude save for the one in restraints. The two guards in the room, one woman by the only door to his right and the other working her way down the line from the left, were impossible to hide from. Marcus, of course, had hoped that he’d be placed at the end of the line, so he might savor what was to come a few more times before it finally found him. But he would not complain.

She had come upon him with a demeanor of routine and boredom. She and her coworker wore light khakis and were armed with only a small hand-baton each. No one brought into the room would justify even that much, though, so it dangled from its sling and tapped gently against her hip as she walked down the line. She paused in front of him and pulled something from a bag she then set on the floor.

Marcus’ heart was racing by now, thudding in his chest so hard it threatened to knock him over. It had been since he saw his neighbor to his left was finished. She must have noticed his trembling, as when she looked up from her bag she gave him a quizzical glance at first and then a mocking smirk. Giddy and breathing hard, his wide eyes locked with hers, such that he didn’t see what was in her hands. He didn’t have to. Exasperated, she rolled her eyes to break the trance and in a practiced, efficient motion, reached out for his neck.

The Collar clamped down on him in an instant, self-sealing with a dull thud that reverberated in his skull. It fit snugly, but not painfully from his collar bone to the base if his jaw. For a moment it flexed and warped to fit those features without any gap. The guard, observing him as a matter of procedure, was blocking his view of the mirror. But he knew the outer surface of the Collar was wrapped up in wide, silver bands of circuitry punctuated by indicator lights and junctions. He thought he could see the red glow of the large indicator centered over his Adam’s apple reflected in her light skin.

The tingling at the back of his neck began at once, eliciting one last excited shiver down his spine. Goose-bumps dappled down his back and arms, both from his excitement and as a typical side effect of the Collar interfacing with the top of his spine. A breath later, his shaking stopped. His feet slowly, but methodically come together as his back rectified itself from the slight slouch he didn’t realize he had affected. His arms straightened at the elbows and his hands opened straight and flat at his sides, perfectly symmetrical. His head pulled itself up to his fullest height, his eyes widening with pupils exactly centered. His lips flattened against one another, and then relaxed open in an expression resembling slack-jawed surprise.

Between his legs, his member had been flaccid despite his visceral anticipation of what was to come. He had masturbated near-constantly in the last few hours he had the freedom to do so, unable to help himself given the imminent realization of his deepest fantasies. Now, though, a pleasant warmth filled his shaft and it rose to a soft but shapely semi-erect before frustratingly ending its climb.

Marcus didn’t move from that erect posture. He didn’t move at all anymore; the Collar did. The circuitry within the rim of the collar had bypassed his nervous system and assumed direct operation of his body, from his eyebrows to his toes to the head of his penis. Oddly, it wasn’t restricting, like straps or rope. It was instead relaxing to be relieved of the responsibility of maintaining his posture. It felt like he was floating very still in the air, his feet tethered firmly to the floor. His breathing calmed and maintained an even, mechanical pace. His earlier trembling quiet and still, his skin automatically smoothing away the goosebumps. He felt no need to move or speak, even though his mind was aflame with lust and anticipation. He could feel the maddening semi-stimulation in his crotch, still hearing the tales told by his senses. But the Collar was his body now, and it did not move a muscle.

The guardswoman picked up her bag and moved out of his field of vision. His eyes didn’t track her as she moved on to her next charge, nor did the Collar bother to follow her in the mirror. Marcus’ shell simply stared into his own wide, fixed gaze. He did note, however, that the large indicator in the center of his neck had changed from red to yellow. In his periphery, he could also see the indicators on the two men who had come before him. The far left one, the first of his group to be Collared, glowed a solid green while his immediate neighbor flashed on and off in a similar hue. Both stood tall and staring, their members ready and presenting at half-mast like his. From the outside, the only apparent differences between them were the details of their features. Height, build, skin color, hair. Soon, those would be the only distinctions between them all.

Marcus didn’t notice the exact moment his indicator started flashing, he had been trying to see around the woman blocking his line of sight to watch the freshly Collared man to his right slip into the familiar pose. But his attention was instantly drawn inward when he heard the dull hum emanating from the rim of the Collar beneath his skull. It was almost as if he had forgotten this last phase was to happen at all. Panic and euphoria crashed against each other like waves on a stormy sea as the humming in his mind grew in intensity.

There was, in reality, no audible sound being emitted from the beta-wave jammer built into the Collar, but the sensation of it vibrating in his thoughts demanded rationalization, and his auditory centers were the first to volunteer. He couldn’t escape the vision of his body standing ramrod still in the mirror, but within he was a tumult of emotion and memory.

All those nights at home, fearfully exploring his fascination with the public video feeds of the Collarings. The initial denial of the hardness in his pants as he watched exactly what he was seeing now in his fixed eyes happen over and over again to others. The exhaustion of a weekend alone masturbating with reckless abandon as he gave in to his new fetish. More denial when he caught himself imagining a Collar clamped around his own neck while watching a late-night feed with a glass of wine. The exact moment, months later, when he had signed the piece of paper that waived his right to have decisions anymore. How many men had it taken to prove to him that all he wanted, all he needed was to be what he now saw staring back at him now four times over? Tens? Dozens? Hundreds?

Two hundred and forty-three? Marcus looked methodically back in his mind. 243 was correct. The first was 2 years, 8 months, 6 days ago, and he had obsessively observed the Collaring of 243 men, total: 145 prisoners with Collaring sentences, 87 incurable psychiatric patients committed to the Collar, and 11 fetishistic volunteers signing themselves away to the Collar. That seemed like more than he would have thought, but the figures were accurate. His panic was fading as more numbers presented themselves to him. 6 orgasms in the last 72 hours. 135 minutes since his last, and so on. His memory seemed to be stretching out and measuring itself.

The Collar’s hum grew louder and that quantity of Collarings shifted somehow. It was now 14. He didn’t know what it had been a moment before, but the hum continued, and he recalled it was 14 minutes. The average optimal time between Female orgasms to maintain a constant rate of arousal while optimally preventing exhaustion was 14 minutes. Marcus wasn’t sure how he knew that. Perhaps buried in some article he had read earlier in life.

A number 135 suddenly popped into his head, but he couldn’t remember what it was for. The hum washed over it, and it was now 78%. That was the percentage of Women who prefer foreplay for 20 minutes or more before sexual service. That reminded him of his 2nd girlfriend. Or was it his 33rd? He knew 33 protocols for foreplay, 17 of which included light bondage. This led him to think of a set of 4, no, 18 cuffs he had bought on a whim once and never used. He had 18 modes of manual clitoral stimulation he could render with his hands, with an additional 57 available as an optional download.

Marcus stared into his own eyes as the Collar hummed through him. His mind stiffened and straightened like the six Collared bodies in his field of view, the Women now leaning against the door frame. The humming filled the gaps between his thoughts, each one being replaced with numerical data and protocol. Each memory he had or person he knew became sex positions and massage techniques. As it stared. it took estimated measurements of its own height, weight, complexion, penis length, girth, and maximum erection potential from the view in the mirror. It maintained erection at 30% for optimal readiness and display.

With a start, it noticed a word it knew had suddenly become disjointed. M-A-R-C-U-S was now less of a concept than a string of letters it vaguely recognized. Its eyes registered a flashing green light directly under its chin as it felt the word rectify into the numbers 77-65-82-67-85-83. A simple addition rendered it down to 459.

The hum throbbed one last time and 459 was replaced with 7345.

Collar 7345 was now displaying a solid green light on its status indicator. It uploaded the previously estimated measurements to the assessment server and suspended operation until the remaining Collars in the room were complete. While suspended, neither of the two Women in the room activated it for service. Soon, the other Collars flashed and then held solid green, and one Woman opened the door.

Collar 7345 turned and walked lock-step with the other Collars to report to auction.