The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Jake swerved the hovermobile across the sixteen lane highway, screeching with delight, and narrowly missing a collision with several other vehicles (or more accurately, the automatic computerized drives of these oncoming vehicles managed to take swift evasive action, in time to prevent a collision). Jake was high as a kite on narcothene, a highly addictive, and highly illegal, syntho-drug, as he recklessly drove the stolen vehicle along the urban super-highway, using manual override.

“Shit, Jake, you almost got us all killed back there!” Candy giggled, equally high on the drug, as she sprawled, buck-naked, in the back seat, while her companion, Snake tried to get his massive cock back into her asshole. “Give the damned control back to the computer, you asshole,” she urged. “Your little cupcake wants ta suck your dick!”

“Shut your mouth, and get your fuckin’ ass back onto this, bitch!” Snake snarled, too far gone to find her asshole again, without some help from the girl.

“I ain’t gonna hand over control to no damn pile o’ microchips!” Jake snarled, twisting his head around to stare at her upraised, naked ass, his pupils dilated to twice their normal size.

The car swerved to the left, narrowly avoiding the electrified boundary fence of the National Power sub-station, and hitting the sub-band power transmitter aerial, full on, at over 300 kph. There was a mighty earth-shuddering boom, as both hovermobile and power transmitter, disappeared, in a huge, incandescent ball of flame, and all power went off, within a three kilometer radius.

Rick’s eyes flew open, and he found himself staring up at a white tiled ceiling. He felt strangely disoriented, as he tried to remember what he was doing there? He knew he wasn’t in his own apartment, or in his downtown office!

Something was hanging down in front of his vision, annoying him, and he realized that some sort of device was clamped over the top of his head, and that a stray blonde curl hung down over his eyes. Blonde? His hair was black, and certainly not long enough to obscure his vision?

The room was only dimly illuminated, by emergency glow-globes, set in the ceiling. He peered around, realizing that he was in some sort of private hospital room, lying on a hard, uncomfortable bed, his body covered by a single, thin white sheet. His tactile senses told him that he was naked beneath the sheet.

He tried to lift a hand, to brush away the annoying lock of blonde hair, that couldn’t possibly belong to him, and discovered that he was strapped down, at both wrist and ankle, by some sort of restraining straps. “What the hell’s going on?” he snarled. He was startled by the sound of his voice. It was his, all right, but it sounded higher-pitched, and more melodic, somehow?

Memory came flooding back, and he started to hyper-ventilate. “Oh Jesus, no! Noooooo! Please, please let it all be just a bad dream?” He noticed, for the first time, how the sheet was raised up above his chest, impossibly high, just as if...

“Nooooooo!” he gasped, his hands tugging at his bonds. “This cannot be happening!” With a start, he realized his hands were now much smaller and delicate than they used to be. If he squeezed his hand up tight, and really pulled....?

“Aaaagghhh!” The pain was excruciating, but his left hand was slowly slipping through the loop of the leather strap.

“Aaaaaaaahhh!” With a gasp of relief, his left hand came free, and with a single motion, he tugged the sheet off his body.

“Oh Jesus!” he exclaimed, wide-eyed. He’d already suspected he was naked beneath the sheet, and this was confirmed, along with the fact that he now had a pair of majestic, heaving breasts, and a pussy, where his cock and balls used to reside! “The bastards have only gone and done it!” he sobbed, swiftly unbuckling the other wrist strap, and sitting upright. “Shit!”

He had to pull off the headpiece, with it’s numerous coiled wire connectors, before bending forward and unbuckling the straps from about his slim ankles. A mass of blonde curls, cascaded down about his shoulders, and over his eyes, as he did so. His shapely boobs bounced a little, their weight feeling strangely erotic, as he swung his legs off the narrow bed, and sat upright, peering around, cautiously. “What the fuck do I do now?”

There was a name plate on the device that had been fitted over his head. It read; ‘Cerebrum Scrubber’, but the device seemed to have malfunctioned, and the console that it was attached to, seemed totally dead! With a start, Rick realized that there must’ve been some sort of power failure, a rarity in this day and age, just after they strapped him to the infernal machine, and before it had had a chance to erase his mind. “Thank God!” he gasped, with obvious relief.

On the opposite wall, a digital calendar/clock displayed the date: October 21, 2037. The time was 2:09 pm. Assuming that it was more-or-less up-to-date, he’d been unconscious for the best part of four whole days!

“I’ve got to get the hell outta here, before they come back!” he told himself with certainty, looking around, desperately, for some clothing. The only item of clothing he could find, was a white hospital gown, hanging from a hook on the back of the door. “Shit! It will have to do,” he muttered, hurrying over to it.

He pulled it on. It was one of those things you slipped your arms into, then fastened with ties at the back. “Not exactly the height of haute couture, but it will have to do!” he muttered, brushing his long hair back through his fingers, and tossing his head. He frowned. “What a strange thought?”

The corridor door was unlocked, thank goodness! He peeked out, to check that the coast was clear, then tiptoed out into the corridor, which was also barely lit by the faint glow of the overhead emergency lights. As he padded down the corridor, peering at the signs, he was acutely aware of the gown rubbing up against his prominent nipples, and a distinct draft about his nether regions. He also felt amazingly light, and there was an unaccustomed weight resting against his ribcage, as his boobs swayed, gently with his movements.

“What the hell happened?” snarled Miles Canterbury, as Helmut Smutt, his Project Manager, walked into his dimly-lit office.

“S-Sorry about this, Mr. Canterbury,” Smutt apologized, “but the problem appears to be external, and beyond our control! There’s been a power cut, and the emergency generators have had to cut in, to maintain a minimal level of lighting, and keep all critical equipment functioning!”

“Good, we wouldn’t want Summer’s rebirth to be disturbed, would we?” the heavy-jowled man declared, nodding.

“Z-Zummer?” Smutt gasped, his German accent becoming more pronounced, whenever he was under stress.

“Yeah, Rick Summer, soon to become my own personal sex-droid, Summer Childe!” Miles suddenly noticed the look of panic that had crossed his underling’s swarthy face. “The Cerebrum Scrubber IS wired to switch over to the emergency supply, isn’t it, Smutt?” he snarled.

“Vell, we only ‘ave a limited emergency c-capacity, Mr. Canterbury, and ze Scrubber vasn’t deemed of sufficient importance, to be placed on zer emergency circuit. If zer iz an interruption to the power, during ze brain scrub, it iz normally no great problem, ve need only re-set zer controls, and repeat zer operation, vunce ze power iz restored, to complete ze erasure process!”

“Hmm! Has anyone checked out Summer, since the power went down?”

“Er, n-no, Mr. Canterbury, it vas not thought necessary! She iz unter heavy sedation, and securely strapped down to ‘er cot!”

“Get someone over there, right away! This is one ‘droid I don’t want fucked up!” Miles snarled.

R-Right a-avay, Mr. Canterbury, zir!” Helmut Smutt stuttered, turning and hurrying out the room, eager to escape the wrath of his sadistic boss.

He hurried down to Central Security, where a perplexed Hans Smuts was scratching his head, and peering up at the rows of dead ‘eyes’ hung from the ceiling. Despite their similar surnames, and shared Teutonic ancestry, neither man was even remotely related.

“How the hell am I supposed to police this joint, with all my eyes and ears out?” Smuts protested, to his immediate superior, as the door burst in, and the harassed looking Smutt appeared.

“Tell your men to get their fat asses off their seats, and get out there, patrolling the corridors, and doing a bit of good old-fashioned legwork!” snarled Helmut. “And, while you are at it, get someone to check out that new ‘droid, SD-0451, Summer Childe, I think the boss has decided to call it? It should be down in the brain-scrub section, having that nosy private investigator’s thoughts all carefully erased, but this power cut may have screwed things up?”

Hans didn’t like the look of panic in the Project Manager’s eyes. “Yes, Sir, Mr. Smutt! Right away, Sir! Jones, Vargas, come with me?” Two of his minions leapt to their feet, and followed their Chief, as he headed for the door.

Rick was just making his way along a dimly-lit corridor, when a door flew open, some fifty meters ahead, and three uniformed figures came rushing out. With a girlish gasp, he flattened himself back into a shallow, shadowy alcove, alongside, trying to ignore the cold metallic nozzle of a fire hose, that was forced between his exposed buttocks, in the process, pressing, uncomfortably against his anus.

He held his breath and prayed that he wouldn’t be seen, as the three figures rushed past in the gloom. “The ‘droid is down in Brain Scrub,” exclaimed the leader of the trio. “It should be strapped down, but if it’s managed to escape, I want her recaptured, as quickly as possible, unharmed, if possible!”

With a thrill of fear, Rick realized they were talking about him. As they disappeared around the bend, he slowly released his pent-up breath, and eased his ass away from the icy-cold nozzle. For a moment, he wondered what it would be like to fuck a fire hose, then he shook his head of blonde hair, and went to step out into the corridor again.

He suddenly froze, as he heard approaching footsteps, and flatten himself back up against the hose reel, complete with icy-cold nozzle. His big blue eyes went wide, with instant recognition, as the unmistakable figure of Miles Canterbury strode past, muttering to himself, hands clutched behind his back.

“There,” Rick murmured to himself, “is your passport outta here, brother!” He crept out of his hideaway, and stealthily padded after the engrossed fat man, silently following him up the short flight of stairs that led to his office. As Canterbury unlocked his office door, and stepped inside, Rick hit him on the back of the head, with the small fire extinguisher that he’d picked up from a hook, in the alcove.

There was a metallic ‘bong’, and with a grunt of pain, Canterbury slumped to the carpet. It was a bit of a struggle, but Rick finally managed to drag the unconscious body into the office then slammed and locked the door from the inside, before resting against it, panting heavily, from his exertions. There was no doubt about it, this android body was very much weaker than his own!