A-10: A Mind Control Story
By Julian Winslow
Part 1: In the Interests of Science
They call the stuff A-10. Dr. O’Connor was in charge of the project, some sort of top secret government program – the kind they do around here all the time. I still don’t exactly what A-10 is, but then I’m no scientist. Just a lowly computer guy—“Computer Technician III” at Wildfire Labs.
It’s not a bad job; loads of spare time; mostly manning the help desk, waiting for the phone to ring. Usually pretty quiet. So quiet in fact, I used to be able to kick back and do a little porn surfing on a boring afternoon. At least I could do that till they put in the usage tracking software to spy on how the peons spent their time. Actually, I was the one who installed that particular piece of shit!
Anyhow, now I sit in my cubicle and spend my free time browsing through the inter-office e-mail. That’s how I found out about A-10. It ends up that they’re developing this stuff for the CIA to use when they interrogate some terrorists they’re holding in one of those detention camps. I found out that they’ve been experimenting – trying it out on the ones they caught to see if they can make them more “cooperative.” Now I really got interested!
It’s no big thing for me to get access to lab notes on any of the projects, even though they think they’re supposed to be so secure. I can get in there anytime I want. So I started reading up on A-10. It turns out that it’s designed to make the subject feel helpless, totally dependent on the interrogator. A few drops in the morning’s orange juice, and in an hour or so a guy’s paralyzed. He can’t move a muscle. Then he goes into a kinda trance. He can see and hear okay, but he can’t move or speak. While they’re under like that they become supersensitive to their emotions, mood swings, that sort of thing. They don’t seem to be sure of the long term effects of the drugs, but most of their test subjects would fall into a deep sleep afterwards, and when they woke up – they wouldn’t remember a thing!
I was scrolling through the weekly summary on A-10, when Dr. O’Connor herself stuck her head into my cubicle to pester me about the new security system we were installing. She was wearing sneakers, and I was so engrossed in what I was reading, I never heard her coming. She scared the shit out of me! I quickly closed the file and spun around to face her, praying she hadn’t seen what was on my screen.
Dr. O’Connor, “Meghan,” she says we’re supposed to call her, is a first class pain-in-the-ass; but she’s one hot babe—with a set of long legs that just won’t quit. In fact, the guys call her “Legs” O’Connor because one Saturday afternoon last summer, when she was off duty, she showed up at the lab in a pair of tight denim shorts with those tall and shapely legs on display from her toes all the way up to her crotch. A mouth-watering sight! After that you couldn’t help thinking of those gorgeous legs of hers, even though they were almost always hidden by the baggy pants she often wore under her lab coat. Yeah, Legs O’Connor is a real piece all right; she is also an arrogant, stuck up bitch who treats the staff like dirt. A pretty, but nasty piece, that Dr. O’Connor.
Right away she started giving me hell about not having the damned testing done. I tried to explain that we had some real interface problems here, but she didn’t want to hear it. That bitch could sure be unreasonable, especially with the technical staff. Finally, she said something about how if I couldn’t get the job done, they’d find someone who could. Then she stormed out.
Driving home from work that night I got to thinking about A-10 and Dr. Meghan O’Connor.
I planned it all very carefully. One thing I knew about Legs O’Connor was that she was a workaholic. I knew from the times on her e-mail that she sometimes worked long into the night after the lab was closed and everyone else was gone. I knew she would take a break to eat a lunch at her desk, and I also knew she liked using the watercooler just outside of her office – kept it filled with some kind of fancy purified water that she liked. I needed to hang around after work till I saw she was staying late. Then I’d make my move.
I knew it wouldn’t be a problem to get my hands on some A-10. I know this place is all top secret, and the public thinks that it’s like CIA headquarters or something. They’d be surprised. Sure, it’s damn near impossible to get in the front door, but once you’re in, and with the right clearances, you can go anywhere, do anything, and nobody’s going to say a word to you. I had an “Orange Badge,” which meant that I had unrestricted access. I waited for my chance, ducked into lab number 5, poured some of the clear liquid into a plastic coke bottle, screwed on the cap, and placed the bottle inside a lunch bag which went right into the bottom drawer of my desk. It took less than a minute. Phase one accomplished!
Now I began staying late myself, waiting for the day when she would stay, pretending to be busy at my computer as people started to leave. Tying my webcam into the building’s video system had been a stroke of genius on my part! I could now watch the lobby while, one by one, the staff signed out at the front security desk.
I had to wait almost two weeks, before I got my chance. It was a Wednesday night, and I was sure she hadn’t left her office. The door was closed, but I hadn’t seen her leave, and her office lights were still on. A quick check of her computer showed she was on the intranet. I raced on tiptoes down to the watercooler and back in record time. Then with heart still pounding, wildly excited, I sat down to wait, scared, hoping and praying that she’d take the bait. I sat in the darkened cubicle for what seemed to be forever.
It was just after 6:30 when I heard her door open. I switched the video feed to the secretary’s office right outside her door, and there I saw Dr. O’Connor go over to the watercooler. She seemed to hesitate, but then filled up her cup and turned back towards her office.
I forced myself to count slowly to 60, then I crept down the hall to her office door. I knocked. No answer.
I knocked again, louder this time. Again, no answer. I knew she was in there. Cautiously, I cracked open the door to peek inside. I saw her standing there beside her desk. Her back was to me, and she seemed to be looking out the picture window behind her desk. The coffecup sat on the desk at her side.
Very quietly I said: “Dr O’Connor?”
The woman didn’t move.
I tried it again, louder now. Again there was no response. She stood perfectly still. I fought down the surge of wild elation. I had done it. Legs O’Connor was mine!
End Part 1
A-10: A Mind Control Story
By Julian Winslow
Part 2: The Doc and I See Eye to Eye
I stepped into the room; quickly closed the door behind me. Locked it. The woman stood erect, her hands at her sides. She didn’t move as I came up behind her, close enough to touch her. Standing inches away, I realized she actually was smaller than me, a slightly-built girl with fawn-colored hair that hung in a gentle curve to kiss the collar of the white lab coat she wore. Her narrow shoulders were softly rounded, inviting a protective caress. I touched a shoulder. No response. I tapped on her shoulder, again, harder, but the rigid woman stayed in place, still as a statue.
I was sure she felt the touch, but she couldn’t respond; totally unable to move; couldn’t even make a sound. In the few seconds it took the heaviness to come over her, she must have realized she had been drugged, probably even knew what it was – A-10! By now she also knew that she was completely paralyzed, just like her test subjects. I’ll bet her mind was racing a mile a minute trying to figure it out. She would be wondering how it had happened. Probably thought she had been contaminated somehow.
Now I slid my cupped hand up along that slim shoulder, over the collar of the lab coat, and onto her neck, slipping it under the smooth folds of fine brown hair. I let a handful of loose hair sift through my fingers, then moved the hair back to uncover a perfect little ear.
It was exciting to be so close to this attractive woman, who stood with her back to me, knowing that some stranger was behind her, undoubtedly afraid by now, and totally helpless to do anything about it. I had to work to get a grip on myself, as I leaned down to bring my lips to her ear. Her hair smelt nice and fresh. I couldn’t resist sliding my tongue down the side of her neck as I nuzzled her. I whispered into her ear.
“Hi Doc. Looks like you must of drank something didn’t agree with you. But look at it this way. Now you’ll get to know what it feels like to be a test subject, first-hand. The CIA guys are gonna love your report on this particular test!”
I stepped around to confront her for the first time. Behind her wire-rimmed glasses, recognition dawned in her pale blue eyes, as she realized who I was. The circular glass disks made her eyes look even bigger. And in those searching eyes I saw confusion, and a growing sense of panic. I smiled, reached out, carefully removed the girl’s glasses, and set them down on the desk. Without her glasses she looked even smaller, more vulnerable.
“Ya know, Doc. I always thought we should get to know each other better. I know how much you like to be pals with the tech staff. We’re all friends here, right? Well, here’s your chance. See, I want to know all about you Doc.”
I stepped up and kissed her. Her lips were soft but unresponsive. It was like kissing a statue—a beautiful statue.
“Yeah, I want to learn all about you. I want to know about that hot little body of yours, your tits, and your cunt, and your ass, and the color of the hair you got between your legs. Oh, yeah, those legs of yours. Do you know that’s what they call you…’Legs?’ Well, Legs, it’s time you and I got better acquainted.”
While I was talking to her, I touched her on the face, gently stroked her cheek with a single finger. I was looking her right in those blue eyes, fascinated by the way they widened as I drew my finger over her lips, down her chin and neck and on down her front to trace the outline of her left breast through several layers of clothing. I swear I felt the rigid girl quiver when I touched her breast.
I couldn’t help grinning as I reached for the lab coat peeled it back off her shoulders and began dragging it down her limp, passive arms. Under the crisp white jacket she wore a sleeveless white blouse tucked into her navy blue skirt.
My hands were shaking as I reached for the top button. Never taking my eyes off hers, I undid the first button, and was thrilled to see her growing fear suddenly flare into wild panic; the woman knew she was being undressed. A guy was taking off her clothes, and there was not a damn thing she could do about it! She simply couldn’t move, not a muscle. Under other circumstances she would try to scream, but that too was denied to her.
I patiently worked my way down the front of her blouse, pulled it out of her skirt, pushed the loose blouse back off her shoulders and dragged it down her loosely dangling arms. Meghan O’Connor in her brassiere was an inspirational sight, and my cock responded with a surge of lust stiffening my already hard erection.
The bra was made of some kind of silvery blue fabric. The silky cups, hard and shiny, pressed snugly against her slim chest. I could see the girl’s nipples through the thin shimmering silkiness. The thought flashed through my mind: Surprisingly pretty underwear for such an uptight bitch!
I stepped behind her to get at the tiny catch, worked it open, and let the tight bra spring free to dangle loosely from her shoulders. I slipped down the shoulderstraps, then scooped it up and dropped it, letting it fall to join the growing pile of clothes on the office floor, uncovering a very pretty pair of pert breasts: sloping gently, with tautly rounded undercurves. Meghan O’Connor’s nipples were small hard nubbins, protruding like tiny pebbles from well-defined disks of pinkish auerolae.
She was staring straight ahead as I stood before her, contemplating her exposed breasts, watching them rise and fall in rapid undulations as her breathing quickened. She could do nothing but stand there, watching helplessly as I plucked a nipple between my fingers, tugged gently, rolled the fleshy tip between thumb and forefinger. I heard a tiny hiss; her lips fell open as she took a shivering gasp of air. . Her body was responding instinctively, reacting to forces more primordial, and even stronger, than those induced by the powerful drug.
“Nice tits, Legs!” I couldn’t help complimenting her as I fingered that perky nipple. I nosed the fingertips of a cupped hand into the tuck under her right breast; flicked that floppy tit up and down a few times on the tips of my fingers, enjoying its bounciness, its springy, taut wobble. I rubbed my thumb over the nipple that was already stiffening with the first blush of arousal, hardening, protruding hopefully.
With my hand cupping her breast, I kissed her again, giving her a gentle squeeze. And because her lips were moist and parted, the kiss was more responsive. I put my arm around her bare shoulders and scooped her in. And when we broke apart, her breathing had deepened. A shiver ran through her shoulders.
Looking her right in the eye, and giving her a big grin, I placed both hands on her tits and enjoyed myself by feeling her up, fondling the girl lavishly. By now she was flushed and a light sheen of sweat had broken out on her forehead; her breasts were warm and moist, and delightfully springy. I sampled that fine silky texture of Meghan’s tits, palmed them up an down, then worked handfuls of those soft, pliant mounds, all the while watching her face closely. Her eyes remained expressionless, but she was breathing through her opened mouth. I saw her eyelashes flutter, her lids slid half–closed as I worked her up unmercifully. By now she was definitely hot and bothered; her healthy female body instinctively responding to all this male attention.
But enough of that! I knew I had no more than half an hour and there was still a lot of I wanted to do. And so I reluctantly abandoned those playful tits of our Dr. O’Connor with their now protruding nipples, and
With a quick kiss on her parted lips, I backed off.
“Looks like you’re having a good time, Legs? I plucked a saucy nipple, tugged on it, and gave her an affectionate squeeze. “How do you like the experiment so far?” I rolled the nipple between my thumb and forefinger. “A definite response of the test subject, I would say. I wonder…do you think our test subject could be made to come…if we applied the proper…ah.. stimulation?”
Of course the stricken woman couldn’t answer me, but her eyes widened in alarm and I knew she understood exactly what I intended to do. I had to laugh. And still chuckling I went to her hips to find the little zipper at the side of her skirt. I opened her skirt, and worked it down her pantyhose-clad hips.
Now I stepped back to admire those gorgeous legs encased in the sheer nylon of honey-tined pantyhose.
If a woman who worked at the labs actually wore a skirt to work (a rare happening) she would most likely wear sneakers and sweat socks with her pantyhose. On getting to the office, she might change into a more attractive pair of pumps, but others obstinately chose to have the smooth delicious taper of a nice pair of feminine legs ruined by thick socks and clunky shoes, like those Birkenstocks she wore to work. That was how Dr. O. dealt with the fashion problem. Now she stood before me, naked to the hips: still wearing her pantyhose. Under the press of translucent nylon I could see a pair of low rise panties banding her hips. Her fallen skirt was ringing her ankles, half-hiding the white socks and sneakers that peeked out below.
If it were possible to move her, I would have picked up a rigid leg to take off the offending footwear, but I knew that wouldn’t work. I didn’t want her toppling over.
Well, you can’t have everything, I thought with a sigh, as I placed my hands on her pantyhosed loins. I plucked the thin elastic waistband of the pantyhose and began peeling the clingy nylon down, tugging it down her thighs baring those long slender legs to leave the tangled pantyhose with the crumpled skirt around her ankles.
Now my favorite doctor stood before me naked, but for a pair of silvery blue panties made of the same slick nylon as her bra.
End of Part 2
A-10: A Mind Control Story
By Julian Winslow
Part 3: The Unveiling
I took in the sight, appreciating Meghan O’Connor’s breath-taking nude beauty, those slim shoulders and lithe torso, those jaunty breasts and the lovely contours of those sleek bare legs.
“You know what, Legs? You are one hot babe.” I shook my head in honest appreciation. I could have sworn I saw the immobilized woman blushing!
Time was running short and I still hadn’t seen the girl’s pussy! My hands went for the waistband of her panties. I saw a silent scream well up in her eyes as she felt her thin underpants being peeled down her hips.
The vagina that came into view was a softly sloping bulge, lightly furred with springy pubic hair, wispy curlings of the same dusky brown color as the hair on her head. I drew the panties down her legs and stepped back to study the naked woman scientist who stood at attention in her office with displaced panties ringing her ankles.
I glanced at my watch. Ten more minutes; seven to be on the safe side. I walked around the standing nude, taking in the view from all angles. I paused to admire Meghan’s naked ass: a nicely curved, pertly-rounded, feminine bottom. With my cupped my hand, I patted her naked butt.
“Nice ass,” I told her, as I left my hand linger there, lightly caressing those pert, twin contours.
With a curious finger I traced the crack, probing gently between the tight-set cheeks, sliding my finger lower in the deep furrow, till I found the spot that electrified her—sending the buttcheeks clenching, hips jerking forward. Again her healthy body had reacted, overriding the drug-induced paralysis. I wondered if she would include that in her lab notes. “A subject goosed while under the influence will respond appropriately”?
Filling my hand with a rearcheek I squeezed that firm but pliant mound, testing its resiliency. Damn, I’d love to spank that pleasingly plump ass! But there just wasn’t time! Still...just maybe…I rushed over to the office desk, hunted frantically through the drawers till I found what I was looking for: a thin wooden ruler.
Gripping the thin strip of wood in my sweaty hand, I took aim and with a snap of the wrist, whacked the good Doctor’s naked buttocks straight across both cheeks. The wood ruler landed with a crisp “smack” splattering the spongy mounds that rebounded and wobbled like jello. It was so much fun I did it again, and again, happily smacking Dr. O’Connor’s bouncy bottom three or four times before I restrained myself. I didn’t want her to wake up with telltale red marks on a throbbing ass that would set her wondering.
Reluctantly, I put the ruler back in its place and carefully closed the desk drawer. Checking my watch, I realized that I had no more than five minutes till my subject collapsed into a deep sleep. I had to hurry.
I placed myself directly in front of her. Then, as she just stood there frozen still, unable to do anything but stare at me in wide-eyed desperation, I brought my hand up, dipping into the soft folds of flesh between her slightly-parted legs, finding her pussy slick and ready. I began palming the gentle mound of her furry vulva, while my fingers explored her wetness and the heat between her legs. I was looking deep into her dazed eyes as I fingered the helpless woman’s cunt, watching intently, curious to see her reactions as I heated her up, slowly raised her arousal level to the fever pitch of climax.
Her jaw dropped open and her eyes were half-lidded as she quivered, then swayed unsteadily on her feet.
I tested her wetness by rubbing my fingers together, then brought them up to press them to her nose forcing her to inhale the smell of her own cunt. I pressed my wet fingers over her pursed lips. Then I went back to work, continuing the job of masturbating the girl. Her eyes fluttered closed as I that worked over her moist warm cunt, palming the soft folds, rubbing the slick lips with probing fingers. And when I stiffened my middle finger and slipped it right up that well-lubricated pussy, her knees buckled and her body fell forward. She was leaning onto my hand as I jiggled my wrist, finger-fucking her, pleasuring the woman beyond all human endurance, forcing her to accept the pleasure her body would not let her mind deny.
Then her hips were moving, bucking in instinctive pelvic thrusts; she was riding my plunging hand. Her eyes rolled up and her lashes fluttered and then…she fainted; collapsed into a heap at my feet!
Now I knew there would be time. Test subjects usually slept it off in an hour or so. I would have to get the limp, comatose woman dressed as best as I could, and that wouldn’t be easy. But I’d do my best so that when she woke up in her familiar office she’s be intact, save for the residue of drying pussyjuice impregnating her sticky panties.
Moving her like a limp mannequin, I struggled to pull her panties and pantyhose back into place. As I hitched up her skirt and fastened it around her hips, thoughts ran through my mind as to how she would react when she woke up dazed and bewildered, and alone in her office. Dr. O’Connor was a smart girl. She’d realize she’d been drugged. Would she go on the warpath; order a full-scale investigation? Or would she merely sweep the whole thing under the rug, too embarrassed and afraid of what might come out? I’d just have to wait and see.