Cape City Chronicles
v1: Today the City, Tomorrow...
by Jennifer Kohl
The Viper woke groggily to find herself in a small, bare room. She checked herself for injurires first, but there were none. She appeared to have been dumped here in the clothes she passed out in, except for the helmet, but all of her equipment was gone, meaning she had to have been strip-searched.
The floor and walls were uniformly soft, white, and smooth, some kind of plastic probably. There had to be a door somewhere, but on her initial inspection she couldn’t find it. Other than that, there was nothing here: just her in a blank room.
Sensory deprivation? she thought. Trying to prime me, get my subconscious so desperate for stimulation that it’ll latch on to anything offered? She couldn’t be sure, but it seemed likely. Fortunately, it was easily dealt with: she whispered a trigger phrase under breath and soon heard soft humming while watching her hands weave intricate patterns. Normally that wouldn’t work—the human brain automatically devalued self-induced sensations, which was why people couldn’t tickle themselves—but she’d used self-hypnosis to program herself to register the motion and sound as external, even though consciously she knew she was the one making both.
After seventeen repetitions of the song she hummed—about half an hour—the walls suddenly glowed a soft blue-white. Knew it, she thought. OK, hit me with your best... whoa... The swirling colors that swept across the wall were beautiful and familiar, the same she’d seen before being captured. Soft, staticky noise spread suddenly through her mind, gently entangling her thoughts. She could feel it stalling, jamming, but the colors were so pretty, so soothing, it was impossible to worry.
Her mouth drooped open as her face slackened, her entire body loosening and relaxing. On some level, she knew that she was being hypnotized, programmed, brainwashed, but those thoughts got tangled in the soft white cottony noise filling her head, so they couldn’t go anywhere or link up to anything. Instead, she could just watch the colors, watch and learn.
Something like a coherent thought popped into her head, and she latched onto it: she needed to be naked. She didn’t, couldn’t question why; she simply knew. She stripped down, exposing her slender, tautly muscled body to the warm air of the room. A little while later, she noticed vaguely, distantly, how horny she was getting, how wet being reprogrammed made her. It felt good, so very good, and a sleep smile spread across her face as she sprawled and watched the pretty colors dance.
Another idea, a truly excellent one: if she was so horny, why not masturbate? She began playing with her tits with one hand, while with the other she stroked her wet pussy a little before sliding her middle finger into herself. She gasped in sudden pleasure and began to play with herself, driving her programming in ever-deeper with every stroke.
It felt so, so good to accept and obey what the colors told her. She loved it! What kind of person loved obeying? A slave, of course. She had to be a slave, wanted to be a slave, needed to be a slave. She was a slave—and at that revelation, she had a massive, screaming orgasm.
But the colors were relentless, and so were her hands, stroking and teasing herself as the colors directed. A slave needed a master, but who was her master? An image, hidden behind the colors all along. The face of her master, the master, the master of all.
She came, again, even harder. And then it was done, and the door-so carefully fitted that its seams were practically invisible—slid open, and Jaden Masters walked in to inspect his new slave. “Yes,” he said. “You’ll do nicely.”
That felt almost better than the orgasms.
Alex sighed and rubbed her temples. “It’s too early for this shit. What happened to the evidence?“
“We don’t know,” said the unfortunate young officer who’d been stuck with delivering the message. “It just never arrived.”
“Arrived where?” Alex demanded.
“The DA’s office!”
“Why was evidence being sent to the DA’s office? Forensics is supposed to just send them reports?”
“I... don’t know,” the officer admitted.
Alex’s eyes narrowed. “You know I don’t like that answer.”
“I did the usual morning inspection of the evidence lockers. One was empty that was supposed to be full, but that happens sometimes, I figured somebody in Forensics just pulled an all-nighter working on it. I called them, they said it was sent to the DA’s office. So I called the DA’s office, and they had no record of it.”
“Better answer. I still hate it, but you can live. For now. If you get me a coffee.”
“Yessir!” said the officer, eager to get away before she changed her mind.
“Wait!” Alex said as he turned away. Slowly, he turned back, looking anxious. “Who checked it out last?”
“Tina in Forensics,” he said.
Alex nodded. “Coffee. Now.” Then she picked up her phone and called Forensics. Once she had Tina on the line, she didn’t hesitate. “What the fuck?” she demanded.
“Huh? What do you mean?”
“What are you doing sending evidence to the DA! You’re supposed to only send reports!”
“I’m only doing what you told me to!” Tina answered hotly.
“What.” Alex’s statement was flat. “When did I tell you that?”
“Yesterday!” said Tina. “You told me to take the chips from the Carpenter case to the DA’s office. I thought it was weird, but you’re the boss. I delivered them myself!”
“I never told you that!”
“You did!” Tina replied. “I have the text!”
“I sent no such text,” Alex replied.
“I have it right here on my phone,” Tina countered.
Suddenly, it clicked. “I’ll have to call you back,” said Alex, and hung up. Tina thinks she has a text from me. I never sent one, so either it’s from someone pretending to be me, or she’s imagining it. But she also thinks she took it to the DA, and they never got it, so she didn’t take it where she thinks she does. The only explanation is that somebody’s in her head. Somebody’s got control of her. It wasn’t like there was a shortage of possibilities, with both Pheremona and Tantra on the loose. But Alex’s hunch was still tingling, that there was someone else, some mastermind pulling the strings. She’d guessed it was Carpenter, but he was just a coincidence.
Or was he? A former student of Dr. Ferris, a mind-controller, back in town at almost the same moment another former student at the same university came back to town, also with mind-control powers, and both at the same time as the most infamous mind-controller in history escaped from prison.
“Must be a convention in town,” she said dryly, but that wasn’t what her intuition was telling her. Somebody used mind-control to get Carpenter’s tech. And Pheremona is loose but keeping a low profile, and Tantra is back... somebody’s gathering mind-controllers. No. Somebody’s collecting mind-control powers! And whoever it is, they’re using the ones they’ve got to get more. But to what end? Just power, or something specific?
She swiveled in her chair and stared at—or, rather, through—the wall of her office. Why did Carpenter and Tantra come back? If I can find a connection... I’ve found my mastermind.
She stood. There were still no leads on DeShawn, Pheremona, Olympia, or Tantra... but this might link them all, if she could find the answer.
Better than sitting in her office, anyway.
Starfury shifted uncomfortably as she tried to meditate. It was a standard Tylifarian practice to meditate regularly, especially when doing a lot of deep mental dives, into to sort out one’s experiences and make sense of the newly acquired thoughts and memories. Which was most definitely what she was doing; that it meant repeatedly going over Candice’s memories of being overwhelmed in pleasure and conditioned into eager, obedient, addicted slavery was merely a necessity of the process.
The finger teasing up and down her wet slit was, admittedly, nonstandard, but in this case also a necessity.
It wasn’t like this was the first time she’d touched the mind of someone who’d been conditioned into a sex-slave. She was a superhero operating out of a college campus, it happened. But Candice was a friend, and a hero. Starfury knew her mind, almost as well as she knew her own, and to watch it crumble like that, overwhelmed and eroded by wave after wave of pleasure...
She could feel it, in a way that even her psychic powers didn’t normally permit. She knew that she and Candice had similar amounts of fortitude, determination, will—the very large amounts it took to be a hero. Which meant, for the first time, she was confronted with the possibility that it could happen to her, that she wasn’t uniquely strong enough to resist.
After all, she’d had a taste, when she confronted him in his car—she shoved that thought away. But as she pleasured herself to Candice’s memories, it grew harder and harder to focus on the fact that they were Candice’s. More and more, she imagined her own body feeling those maddeningly pleasurable caresses, her own pussy quivering in orgasm after orgasm as he fucked her will to pieces and reassembled it in service to his own.
And as she surrendered control, at least in her fevered imagination, her control over her powers began to slip as well. Tylifarians were not a hive mind as she’d seen it depicted on human fiction, but they did transmit their feelings and thoughts continually, forming a kind of background noise to their lives. She’d had to learn to suppress that to live among non-telepaths, but in this moment, her attention was otherwise occupied. Instinctively, she reached out to the minds most frequently connected to her own.
In her room studying, Stephanie began finding it harder and harder to stay focused. Halfway across campus, Aisha too found her attention wandering. Candice, still sleeping off her ordeal, stirred and protested as her dream shifted to memories.
And Cara, meditating crosslegged on—or rather, about a foot above—her bed, opened her eyes. “That’s not good,” she said.
Stephanie and Aisha shifted in their seats, squirming a little as they felt need mounting. Candice’s protests faded away. Cara settled down onto the bed, her hands falling into her lap—so warm, so near, separated only by the thin fabric of her panties.
Stephanie closed her eyes tightly for a minute. Focus, girl! she thought, and then reopened them to glare down at her book, determined to keep studying. Aisha felt a flush rising as she imagined her cute TA noticing her distress and just fucking her right there, in front of the whole class. Candice’s protests became soft moans of pleasure as a smile flickered on her face. Cara tried to think of a spell to quiet herself, but her hands were right there, already rubbing gently as if they had a mind of their own.
“I can’t!” gasped Michelle, imagining her resistance crumbling away entirely, her will shattered completely by the pleasure, her desperate need for more.
“I can’t!” growled Stephanie in annoyance. She slammed the book shut, opened her drawer for the vibrator she kept there, and moved to her bed.
“I can’t!” murmured Aisha under her breath. She hastily gathered her books and laptop, then rushed out of the lecture hall for the nearest bathroom.
“I can’t!” mumbled Candice as her dream self surrendered all over again.
“I can’t!” whimpered Cara, unable to focus on her magic as fantasies tumbled through her head and questing fingers slipped in through the waistband of her panties.
And then there were no more words, no more separation. Five women masturbating desperately, their minds incoherent whirls of fragmented fantasy, their bodies shuddering in need and rapture, unaware that their motions, their sensations, their thoughts were becoming more synchronized by the second. And then, for just a moment, there was only one women in five bodies, as all five of them felt all five of their orgasms, simultaneously.
And then there were five—and two of them realized what had just happened.