The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Title: Capitol Hill Slut

Chapter: Part 1

Author: Quill

Crappy office portables: the cheap and easy solution for the candidate on the go. Little more than shipping containers with drywall, they serve their function admirably, providing a climate controlled rectangle where office people may do office things in a place where they cannot usually do office things.

Of course, portability is only one of their benefits—the other being their disposability. This was important because gubernatorial candidate Melanie Brachenright was in the middle of destroying her office.

“I don’t give a damn about the legality!” Melanie screamed, throwing her coffee mug at her campaign manager, Stephen Smith. He ducked the cup with a practiced grace. The mug crashed against the drywall, spilling dark coffee across the frayed blue carpet. The impact left behind a fist sized hole in the wall. “Are you stupid or just incompetent? How the hell did you not see this coming?”

Stephen opened his mouth.

“No, shut the fuck up,” Melanie said. “I don’t care what you think. Nothing of worth has come out of your mouth since this campaign started.”

The commercial on the screen finished its playthrough and started again. “Last year thirteen children were abducted in Colorado and never found. Candidate Melanie Brachenright’s birthday is on the thirteenth. Coincidence? Brachenright would like you to believe she doesn’t harvest children’s organs, but she’s never gone on record saying cannibalism is wrong. Which is it Brachenright?”

The screen flashed to a smiling woman in a gold sundress standing in a field of wildflowers. “Vote Lili Bangable, a candidate that doesn’t consume the young.”

Screaming, Melanie kicked the television off the table. It flew a foot and landed on the floor with a loud crash. Sparks shot from the shattered screen.

“Are you done?” Stephen asked, eyebrow raised.

Melanie turned on him, eyes blazing. “Get this slander off the air.”

Stephen got out of his chair and straightened his suit. “I’ve already sent the cease and desist order. The last video last aired three hours ago, and the studio assures me they won’t show it again. Our problem, though, isn’t the video.”

“I swear to God, Stephen, if you don’t start making some sense then I’m gonna replace you with a Speak and Spell.”

“Your likeability score is crap,” he answered calmly. “People don’t like you, and so they’re quick to seize upon rumors. When we focus grouped you against a brick wall, people cared more for the brick wall. Let that sink in. The public literally empathizes better with an inanimate object than they do with you.”

“Walls are non-controversial.”

“Just like you need to be,” Stephen answered simply.

Melanie snatched a crumpled pack of cheap smokes from the table and struck a match. “What the fuck do you want me to do? Hug the homeless? Volunteer at a soup kitchen? What?! If I’m not likeable yet then what the hell have I been paying you for?”

“Damage control,” Stephen said. “If you want to win then you need to soften your attitude. I know that’s impossible for you, so I’ve got a solution: Dr. Rosenstein has pioneered a revolutionary nano-hormone treatment that can make things easier.”

“Drugs? The press is going to have a field day.”

“I don’t think it’ll make a blip, not with the aftershocks of this commercial,” Stephen said. “The choice is simple: you either get the treatment or you lose the race. I don’t care either way. When this ends I’ll find another job—there’s always somebody running for something—but for you this is it. You’ll never have another chance at public office.”

Melanie stared at him, her lip twitching in rage. She crushed out the cigarette on the table and threw the butt at Stephen. It bounced off his suit, leaving a black smudge. “Set it up.”

White walls, white ceiling, white sheets, and white coats. Melanie hated white. She hated a lot of things, actually, but she reserved a special anger for hospitals and their white everything. They reeked of chemicals, and she couldn’t help but think the doctors and nurses pacing their halls were hiding something. Something nefarious.

Dr. Rosenstein was a good example of that. He wrung his hands and twitched, eyes flitting from corner to corner like a nervous mouse.

Melanie took a deep breath, calming herself. It was just some pre shot jitters. “What does this do?”

“What?” Dr. Rosenstein said, speaking rapidly. “Oh yes, the shot. The shot I have in my hand. Sorry, I’m a little distracted. We’re short on staff now and I’ve been up for six days straight. I’m on like all the uppers.”

“Doctor, are you feeling well?”

“Oh no, I’m great. It’s all great. Everything’s great. Are you great?”

Melanie exhaled through her nose. The air whistled. “If you’re in the middle of nervous breakdown then you should know that I don’t have the time. I’m only here because my campaign manager said I was going to lose the election unless you give me a shot. So get your shit together.”

“Right! The shot! I forgot again,” Dr. Rosenstein said. He giggled and pulled the bottle close to his chest, stroking it lovingly. “It’s a subdermal nanite injection that heightens the body’s natural hormonal response to external stimuli. Do you have any coffee? I need coffee.”

“I do not.”

“That’s fine. I’ll make do,” the doctor said. A white bottle appeared in his hand. He dumped a handful of pills down his throat. He offered it to Melanie. “Want some?”

Melanie shook her head. “The drug, doctor?”

“Oh no, it’s not a drug,” he answered. “They’re little robots. Very teeny tiny. They attach themselves to your glands and activate whenever your body would naturally release a hormone, ordering it to expel more. In your case I have it set to estrogen—that’s the female sex hormone. It should make you more agreeable and less of a bitch.”

“Excuse me?!”

“I said, does everything itch? I feel itchy.”

Melanie placed her hands on her hips and glared at the doctor. “Did Stephen tell you who I am?”

Dr. Rosenstein’s eyes opened wide. “Stephen! Oh I love Stephen. We go golfing on saturdays. Great guy. Terrible golfer, but a great guy.”

Melanie sighed and let it go. “The shot, doctor?”

“Right!” he shouted, clapping his hands together. He lifted the vial in front of his face and frowned. “Do you know if the dosage is supposed to be a tenth of a millileter or ten milliliters?”

“I feel like that’s something you should look up.”

“Ten it is!” Dr. Rosenstein said. He drew back the plunger on the syringe, filling the tube with a disturbing amount of opaque fluid.

Melanie twitched as the needle broke through her skin. The fluid disappeared into her thigh. “That’s it?”

But Dr. Rosenstein wasn’t paying attention to her. His lips moved silently as he stared at the directions on the back of the vial. He picked up the syringe and frowned. “Whoops, gave you a hundred millimeters. I’m having a real problem with tens today,” he said with a shrug. “Oh look at that; it was supposed to be a tenth of a millileter afterall. Well that’s bad. That’s very bad.”

Melanie jerked upright. “Doctor?”

Dr. Rosenstein shot her a manic grin. “Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s fine. There is absolutely no reason to sue me for malpractice, that’s for sure.” He pulled her to her feet and shoved her clothes into her hands. “Alright, you gotta go. Change in the car. Need the room. Yes, I need the room for… napping.”

Melanie left the hospital in a daze. As she got into her car, she rubbed the spot Dr. Rosenstein had stuck the needle. It still hurt.

Heavy lamps dangled over the set, pissing a stream of hot light across the cheap couch cushions and table. Melanie felt herself break into a sweat. A thick layer of foundation mixed with the water into a pastel colored slime.

Two women Melanie didn’t recognize sat beside her on the couch, identical from smile down to body type. The only difference between the two was their hair. One was blonde, the other brunette, and they both carried that nonoffensive television prettiness that is beautiful yet utterly bland. Nothing about them felt genuine. From their heavily botoxed cheeks to their name brand dress, they looked like two plastic dolls perched in a furniture display for some magazine.

A counter over the camera ticked down in big red numbers. The two dolls cracked an identical pair of smiles, flaking the thick makeup at the edges of their mouths. The pain floated down to land forgotten on the couch cushions.

“I’m Terri!”

“And I’m Kerri!”

“And we’re…” they said in unison.

“Getting Plastered on a Weekday!” the studio audience answered with a cheer.

The two television personalities filled a trio of wine glasses. They handed one to Melanie and drained theirs in a long gulp of well honed alcoholism.

“This morning we have a special treat for the folks at home,” Terri said. “Colorado is in the midst of a historic election to decide their governor. We have one of the candidates with us here today. Please welcome to the show Melanie Brachenright!”

Melanie waved nervously at the cheering crowd. “Thank you for having me on your show.”

“Melanie, can you explain to the viewers at home what it’s like being a woman in politics?” Kerri asked. “Do the boys make fun of you?”

“Are they mean?”

Melanie forced a smile. “No, they’re quite kind. While it’s true there’s some locker room talk, it’s not as prevalent as you might think. We’re all professionals there to do a job for the citizens of the great state of Colorado.”

“But they have penises, and you work with them,” Kerri said. “Surely there has to be some bawdy going on behind the scenes.”

“Come on, girl. Share them juicy secrets.”

Melanie grit her teeth until she felt them grind. “I’d actually like to talk about my new healthcare plan. We are proposing a single payer statewide system adopting—”

“—That’s great!” Terri said cutting Melanie off. “And we’ll talk about that smarty pants stuff in the future. For right now, though, do you know what time it is?!”

“Shot! O! Clock!” the audience answered with a cheer.

An aid brought a silver tray with three shot glasses of clear fluid. A bottle of vodka sat on a purple velvet cushion. Kerri picked up the bottle and points its label towards the camera. “Today’s Shot o Clock has been brought to you by Grey Goose Vodka. Grey Goose Vodka: its smooth taste will help you forget you could have married that doctor instead.”

“It’s seven in the morning,” Melanie said.

But the two television personalities ignored her. They downed their vodka in quick succession, filling the shot glasses and downing them again. Terri turned her attention back to Melanie. “You’re a woman, right?”

“Last I checked.”

“Has your time of the month ever stopped you from, you know, with all them hunky male politicians?”

Melanie spoke through grit teeth. “I would much prefer to talk about my revolutionary plan to bring affordable healthcare to Colorado.”

“And we will. We will,” Kerri said, placing one vodka soaked finger over Melanie’s lips. “We just need to know: why do you dress like a man?” The television personalities broke into a fit of giggles that sent them rolling off the couch and onto the floor. Kerri grabbed the wine from the coffee table and pulled it after her, putting the bottle to her mouth. She emptied it and let it roll off the set.

Suddenly an aide ran onto the stage and handed Terri a piece of paper. Terri’s eyes opened wide. “Ladies, I’ve just received a special report. Melanie Brachenright’s opponent, Lili Bangable, has a sex tape!”

The audience cheered.

“And of course we here at Getting Plastered on a Weekday have the video in its entirety. We’ll watch it in a moment, but first a trashy video deserves a trashy beverage.”

“Sex Tape Drinking Hats!”

Terri grabbed a trio of hats from behind the couch. Two wine coolers were strapped to the sides of each one with straws leading from their tops to the wearer’s mouth. Terri handed a hat to Melanie, but she tossed it off the stage.

“Chug! Chug! Chug!” the audience chanted.

Melanie didn’t wait for them to finish. She got off the couch and left. Neither Kerri nor Terri seemed to care.

“It’s not fair!” Melanie cried, throwing herself into her office chair and burying her face in her hands. Tears poured from her eyes. “She fucked three aids from her office on camera and she gets a bump in the polls? How is that right?!”

Stephen stood over her wearing a look of… disdain? No, Melanie decided it must be calm indifference. He would never dare show her disrespect. “After your dismal performance on Getting Plastered on a Weekday, it’s no wonder she’s up.”

“She participated in a gangbang! This should be a slam dunk. What the hell is wrong with this god damned state?”

Stephen shrugged.

Lord, Melanie felt tired. Exhaustion pressed on her like a physical weight. Over the past week, she’d had a real hard time getting to sleep. Maybe it was the stress finally getting to her. She felt horny. It kept her up late into the night, and even in the few hours of sleep she managed, when exhaustion finally overcame whatever supernatural energy was keeping her awake, muscular men plagued her dreams. Melanie refused to masturbate. She was a middle aged politician, dammit, not some teenage girl too weak to tell her body no.

Melanie yawned until her jaw cracked. She wiped the tears out of her eyes, gathering control of herself. “Thank you, Stephen. I’m sorry about this, I’ve just been feeling so hormonal lately. I think it’s the shot.”

Stephen grunted but didn’t otherwise answer.

He’s cute when he’s stoic, Melanie thought. She pushed the idea away. Moments like that were growing more common.

“You need to dress more like a woman,” Stephen said, finally breaking the silence that had settled between them. “The public’s image of you is of a dowdy, uptight cunt. We need to change that.”

Melanie stood, a little of the old rage rising up inside her breast. “Don’t you use that language!”

Stephen stared her down. “We need to have a frank discussion about how the public sees you, and we can’t do that if I have to mollycoddle your feelings. So, no, I’ll use whatever language I need to so that I can get my point across. You dress like a man. Put on a skirt like a good girl and maybe you’ll get a bump in the polls.”

Their eyes locked. Melanie’s chest heaved with rage, but Stephen just stared at with a placid expression. His face held no anger, no fear, just calm intent. Fuck, he’s hot.

Melanie broke first. She flicked her eyes down to the wood table and exhaled through her nose. “Fine, but I won’t go above knee height.”

Stephen nodded as if that was expected.

A lock of hair broke free and settled over Melanie’s eye. She shoved it out of the way in frustration. Every morning since the shot, Melanie woke up with a half inch of growth. For the first few days she tried cutting it, but visiting the beauty parlor twice a week was ridiculous. In the end she settled for a quick bun. Whatever the doctor injected her with seemed to work overtime. Crow’s feet and wrinkles vanished in days, leaving Melanie feeling and looking younger. Her skin felt tight, and it glowed with a healthy tan.

Now if only she could sleep.

“I’m also scheduling you for a photo op this weekend with Chad Hunkington,” Stephen said, shaking Melanie out of her daydreaming. “All you need to do is show up and smile. Don’t say or do anything stupid.”

“A wrestler? I wanted my campaign to be about substance, not some popularity contest.”

“Then say something of substance, but do it next to Chad,” Stephen said with an accommodating sigh. “Look, no one’s going to listen to your rants about infrastructure and medicare, but they might catch a word if they have something to focus other than your boring face. In this case, wrestling.”

Stephen thought her face was boring? Tears bubbled at the corners of her eyes. Melanie wiped them away and stifled a sob. “I’m not happy about this.”

“I don’t really care,” Stephen said casually. He propped his feet on the table and opened up a newspaper.

Chad Hunkington stood like a marble statue with his arm draped possessively around Melanie. Testosterone billowed from the man in a wave. Around them, reporters shouted rapid fire questions and took pictures, the flashes from their countless cameras blinking the locker room into and out of sight in a confusing strobe.

“Mr. Hunkington!” one reporter called, waving a pencil above his head. “What’s it like to finally win the Heavy Weight Championship?”

“I gotta tell you, it feels pretty great,” Chad said. “I just want to thank God, the Lord Jesus Christ, and my Momma. Wherever you are, Momma, we did it! Your little accident did it!” He thrust a finger into the sky. One tear slid down his cheek, dropping onto Melanie’s shoulder with a splash.

“Mr. Hunkington, how do you respond to allegations that the athletes in the WWE are using steroids?”

“Look, I earn my muscles the same way all professional athletes do: one injection at a time. Sure, some swear by the natural method of lifting, but I trust in science because science got us to the moon. In fact, when I shot up this morn—”

A smallish looking aid ran in front of the reporters and grabbed Chad Hunkington by shoulder, standing on tiptoe to speak in his ear.

“Your kidding,” Chad said just loud enough for Melanie to hear. “I’m supposed to be on the other side of this thing? But isn’t it obvious? No, of course I didn’t read the press briefing. Because I can’t read, Jim!”

The aid shot Chad a frowned and ran out of the locker room.

Chad turned back to the reporters. “I don’t use steroids. Drugs are bad. Stay in school. Just say no.”

The reporters wrote down his response in a furious round of scribbling. “Miss Brachenright, do you have any comment on your opponent’s latest sex tape?”

Melanie’s thoughts felt like they were swimming through sludge. She tore her eyes from Chad’s remarkable physique and turned to the reporter. “Latest?” She shook her head. It did little to banish the fog. “Uh, sex is bad and you shouldn’t have it.”

“Is that your campaign’s official statement?”

“Sure,” Melanie answered, turning back to admire Chad. Cloth rustled against her knee. Melanie pushed it flat. She still wasn’t used to wearing a skirt, and she kept noticing how cold the air conditioner made her legs. Still, the skirt made her feel pretty, and she’d even gone so far as to pick up a pair of matching pumps. All of the money came from Stephen and the campaign fund, of course. He was so nice to let her use it for clothes.

“Miss Brachenright, is something distracting you?” the reporter taunted. “Or someone perhaps?”

Too late Melanie realized she was staring at Chad Hunkington’s shirtless pecs in slack jawed awe. Camera’s flashed around her, timing their clicks to the blood pounding in her ears. Nipples tented against her top’s tight fabric. Their pressure felt painful, yet the strength of their sensation nearly sent her moaning to floor. She ran her tongue across dry lips.

“I have to go,” Melanie said, breaking free from Chad’s encompassing arm and pushing past the assembled reporters. The reporters shouted follow up questions, but she ignored them, instead making a beeline for the bathroom.

Melanie slammed the stall door behind her. She threw herself on the toilet and thrust her hand into her sodden panties. Lubricant dripped from her fingers in fat drops, the clear fluid falling to the tile floor with a loud plop. She stuffed her hand into her mouth and savored the bitter taste of her own lust.

One arm crawled beneath beneath her shirt and pawed at her breast. The fat orb seemed to fill her palm more than it’d done before. One hard nipple poked between her ring and middle finger. She rolled it against her knuckle, and a powerful rush of sensation made her eyelids flutter.

Can’t let the reporters know, Melanie thought. No one can find out that I’m a filthy failure.

Failure. The knowledge that her body was in control, that she couldn’t control the tidal wave of lust that crashed against her mind, sent a moan pouring from her lips. Fingers worked beneath her skirt, rubbing against her clit. Blood pounded in her ears. Melanie arched her back and pressed her hips against her palm, using all of her strength to drive her hand deeper inside herself.

I’m gonna…

The orgasm rocked Melanie to her core. Her vagina twitched and convulsed against her hand, pulling her fingers deeper inside itself. Muscles went tense, and she bit down hard on a knuckle until her mouth flooded with the iron taste of blood. The world around her seemed to go white.

Sweat poured off Melanie’s brow in a long stream. I’m disgusting. I couldn’t control myself for even a single photo op.

Melanie cupped water from the bathroom faucet and splashed it on her face. The cool liquid clashed with her hot brow and helped wash away the shame.