Ten Things I Know About the Mad Scientist
by Sarhom
Three: That He Taught His Daughter Well
It was after spending close to two months with her that she announced one day that I would be spending the night at her place. It was a sudden reversal from the fit she’d thrown the last time I asked just to see where she lived. I asked her why she’d changed her mind. “Everything’s finally ready,” she told me with a euphoric grin.
Amanda lived in the basement of a dirty building on a shabby street. She had one room, with little more than a bed, dresser, and desk. The desk was an enormous tower of clutter: electronics, half-completed knitting projects, glass phials of battery acid, construction tools, disassembled laser pointers. Everything but the desk was spotless. A black curtain covered the only window. There was nowhere to sit except for the bed and a single folding chair.
“Nice place,” I said, politely.
“Where?” asked Amanda, looking around the corners of her room as though I had identified one particular spot.
“Um, never mind.” I went to sit on the folding chair, but Amanda stopped me. She said the folding chair was hers, and instructed me to sit on the bed while she cleaned up her desk.
I sat there staring at her in helpless wonderment. She didn’t actually clean her desk at all. Rather, she seemed to be snapping together pieces of some piece of equipment that looked like a USB charging dock, with five ports spaced oddly apart in a curve. She connected these to a small, glowing metal plate with significant acid scoring on it. I could see some circuitry in the contraption that looked like the inside of a computer. This whole thing was plugged into the wall, not directly, but following a series of five different power cords, each with a differently sized adapter.
She worked on this bizarre device for about 10 minutes. I watched in rapt fascination. When it seemed complete, she took a step back and smiled at her creation. There was a pause.
“What... what does that do?” I asked, in wonderment.
In answer, she hovered her hand right above the ports that I thought were for USB cables. I realized at once that they were perfectly arranged to match up with her fingertips. She lightly pressed down on it, fitting her fingertips to the contraption, and winced momentarily as if feeling a static shock. Then the entire device went dead.
“Probably just a bug,” I said, comfortingly.
“Oh no!” she exclaimed, looking at her hand. It appeared completely unchanged. “It worked!”
“It... did?”
“So far!” said Amanda.
She gave me the widest, brightest smile I’d ever seen. It was almost manic. I started to feel a hint of fear. At long last, maybe there was a simple explanation for everything: Amanda had lost every single one of her marbles.
She bounded over to the chair next to the bed, and collapsed into it. “So, how are you feeling?”
I blinked in confusion at the odd question. “Um... fine? Normal?”
“Good! I like you.” Her smile grew even wider, showing all her teeth. Some animal instinct in me saw those perfect white teeth as the fangs of a predator, and told me to run. But I checked the urge. It was almost worth being eaten if it would mean I could figure out what was up with her.
“Are you going to tell me what that... thing was?” I asked, hoping I sounded playful and not scared at all.
“It’s a subcutaneous microelectrode grafter. I made it myself.”
“What does that mm—” I started to ask, but she shut me up with a kiss. Her lips were warm and sweet against mine. I forgot about my question. She broke the kiss after a moment to look into my eyes.
I looked back, blinking but managing to retain my senses. “Going to steal something else from me now?” I joked.
“Of course!” said Amanda. Our lips met passionately again. I put my arms around her to pull her closer. In response, I felt her place a hand on my head. She stroked my hair. A wave of relaxation trickled down my body like warm honey.
Amanda broke the kiss again, but she continued petting me gently. Her fingers slowly brushed through my hair. I opened my eyes after the kiss, but found my eyelids surprisingly heavy.
“I think I’m falling in love with you,” admitted Amanda.
“...lllove youuu tooo,” I said in reply. I might have wondered why I was suddenly too relaxed to talk properly, but wondering would have distracted me from the slow, soft stroking of my hair.
She sighed happily and continued for a moment before speaking again. “To answer your question from before, a subcutaneous microelectrode grafter is a device that inserts microscopic transmitters into my fingertips. These transmitters can deliver tiny shocks of electricity at close ranges.”
“...electricity?” I managed to ask. I was feeling lazy and sleepy. My arms slipped down Amanda’s back.
“That’s right. Just enough to disrupt certain critical neural pathways in the brain. You see, the signals sent by the microelectrodes interact with the subject’s brainwaves. After a few minutes’ exposure, he is left in a receptive trance state. Mind you, the effective transmission range of the electrodes is remarkably limited. They need to be kept no more than four centimeters from the brain in order to work.” Her fingertips continued to move across my scalp, soothing me. I felt myself needing to lie down on this soft, comfy bed. I did so. Amanda didn’t stop for a second.
“Once the subject’s brain has been affected by the signals for long enough, he is left completely open and helpless, and accepting of any and all programming he is given.” She stroked my hair languidly. I sighed blissfully, thinking of nothing but her touch.
“You are completely under my control, my love,” she told me.
“...completely under your control...” I agreed.
“You are now my obedient slaveboy.”
“...your obedient slaveboy...”
“I am your mistress.”
“...my mistress...”
“My fantastic invention has rewired your mind.”
“...fantastic invention ... rewired my mind...” She stroked my hair so sensuously. It was heaven.
“You will obey my every command, my pet.”
“...obey your every command...”
“You love to obey me.”
“...love to obey you...”
She kept petting my hair for some time. I lost track. At length, she stopped stroking my hair, and leaned down to kiss me. I kissed back, and looked up at her adoringly.
“How do you feel, my love?” she asked, pulling me up to my feet.
“I feel fantastic, mistress,” I smiled.
“Wonderful! Now, undress me.”
I obeyed happily. When I took off her bra to reveal her perfect, round tits, I found myself drawn to them. I got lost in staring at them again, as I had done at the shop. She had to order me to continue stripping her.
At length, I got Amanda naked. She was gorgeous. I couldn’t see a single blemish anywhere on her body. She did have an odd tattoo on the back of her left shoulder: it just said “1.3.0”. This, like everything else about her, aroused my curiosity.
“What does your tattoo mean, mistress?”
“It’s what I am... for,” she said, giving another one of her trademark nonsense answers. “Your turn to strip, love.”
When we were both naked, I stood facing her. My back was to the bed. She ordered me to pleasure her, and then started kissing me madly, grabbing my head in both hands. Obediently, I traced circles around her soft breasts and erect nipples, letting her tongue dance wildly in my mouth.
With a moan of excitement, Amanda put her hands on my shoulders. I thought she’d push me back onto the bed. But no: she decided to fall backwards onto the floor, pulling me down with her. We got ourselves tangled in the blanket as we kissed each other madly and let our hands roam freely around each other’s bodies. In all my past encounters with women, I’d taken things very slow... but Amanda was nothing like other women.
“Fuck me, slaveboy,” she whispered in my ear. “Do me hard.”
So I banged her roughly on the floor of her little basement room. She screamed and cried out “Harder! Faster! More!” at the top of her lungs. I had to obey.
I think I came three times before I got completely worn out. Amanda, not satisfied, had me lick her pussy for about half an hour more—still on the floor, ignoring the perfectly good bed right next to us. At last she’d had enough.
“That was wonderful, my love,” she said. She drew my head into her lap, and started stroking my hair again. I sighed blissfully.
“Ahhh... thank you, mistress.”
“You don’t mind that I programmed you to be my obedient sex slave?” she asked, concerned.
I smiled blankly up at her. “If you make it feel this good, mistress, I’ll be your slave forever.”
“What a wonderful idea!” Amanda gushed. “But... I don’t know what my father will say.”
“Your father, mistress?” I asked. She’d mentioned him when we first met, but seldom again.
“Oh yes. He’s a scientist,” she told me.
“What kind of scientist, mistress?”
“A mad one.”
I just let that hang in the air.
“And you must meet him first,” she went on, stroking my hair in her lap. “And you must impress him if we are to marry. That may prove difficult, my love. He is a strange man, but he’s of course responsible for my existence.” She laughed.
I didn’t know quite what to say.
* * *