The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

A Clockwork Pink: Book 2

Chapter 1: “You can’t stop watching.”

“Can you?”

Liz snorted contemptuously and shook her head. She returned her attention to the remote control, surfing through three channels before Melanie replied.

“I can stop. I just don’t want to stop. It’s incredible. I mean, I can’t believe she does all that in front of an open window.”

“Well, she must want people to watch, then. Personally, I think she’s just crazy. Have you seen the pictures she puts up?”

“The full porn collage? Yes. That’s why I can’t stop watching. I want to figure out what’s going on in there, if she’s psycho or just really horny.”

“Well, you should be careful, Mel. Maybe she’s onto you. Maybe she knows that you’re watching her.”

“Me? Personally? I doubt that. This whole apartment complex watches. I mean, when you put a red light on, and run the slut show 24/7, you obviously want a lot of people to watch.”

Liz shrugged and flicked the remote again.

“Yeah. She’s a pervert. Why do you have to be a pervert too?”

“I dunno. ‘Cos I wanna?”

“Pervert.”

“Freak. I’ve seen the stuff you leave lying around your apartment.”

“Everyone needs a hobby.” Liz stopped on a video, watching flashes of navel rings, cleavage, tight leather and trashy makeup. “You need a hobby.”

Melanie blinked. The girl in the window seemed to undulate in time to the tinny pop blaring from the television speakers. She pressed her lips and nipples against the windowpane.

“I think she’s looking at us,” Melanie said hesitantly.

“She’s looking at everyone. You said it yourself.”

“It’s just...I don’t know. I think she’s dancing to the music. It’s really skeezy.”

“Maybe she’s watching the same channel, Mel. Sleazy bimbo stuff seems like her style.” Liz tapped a long black fingernail against the remote contemplatively, mulling the possible termination of the silicone-bound vamp onscreen. “How do you afford cable, being stylishly funemployed and all?”

“I didn’t order it. It just started coming through. Maybe the repair guy screwed up or something.”

“Lucky girl. If people keep screwing up like that, you can stay funemployed forever.”

The television echoed Liz’s sentiment, as a bleached blonde bubblegum princess warbled ‘forever and ever and ever,’ reaching scarlet fingernails into skintight pants.

“I’ve only been looking for a month,” Melanie replied, bristling a bit. Liz was a great friend, but her constant sarcasm and condescension grated after a while. Liz did, of course, spent 12 hours a day staring at a computer screen. This week, it might have been even more, since she had fixed Mel’s computer as well. Given Liz’s techie isolation, Melanie was willing to overlook her lack of typical social graces. Still, blame aside, Melanie was unemployed, sick, and none too secure in the first place. She didn’t need any crap.

“Maybe you can follow in skank woman’s footsteps and be a stripper. You can get some cash for what she’s giving away.”

“Fuck you, that’s not funny.”

The girls lapsed into uncomfortable silence. Liz stared at the gyrating rows of Lolita fantasy girls. Melanie stared at the exhibitionist woman posing and preening in front of her bizarre collage. Maybe she was a whore or a stripper. Melanie guessed that she was most likely a whore. She had all those different outfits, after all, and different men were always dropping by, bending her over or forcing her to her knees almost as soon as they walked in the door. If she was a whore, though, why did she leave the curtains open?

“Look. I didn’t mean to piss you off. I’m just worried about you. You sit around all day, and you just sleep or watch Wonder Whore roll around in cum. It can’t be healthy.”

“I’m going to see the doctor on Monday. My dad says he’ll take care of the bill.”

“Don’t need to think about it,” boomed the speakers. The camera view zoomed upskirt, then cut to a spring break nymphet’s pouting face. She nearly licked the lens with a pierced tongue. “It sucks to have mono.”

“I don’t know. I might not have it. I don’t know where I could have gotten it.”

“Too many possibilities, really, to know for sure. You’re like Liz Hurley.”

“Sod off. I can be single and have fun. Besides, it’s not even a venereal disease. I don’t know why you always take the piss out of me for having a social life.”

“That’s a cute expression. Social life. Do you think that’s what the whore across the way calls it?”

The whore sucked on her fingers, facing the wall now instead of the window. Melanie watched the profile as the profile watched the walls.

“By the way, Mel, we say ‘fuck off’ in this country.”

“Well, fuck off then. You have a social life too. Those whips and chains downstairs aren’t just lying out so you can reminisce about your heyday as a Goth.”

“I already told you. We all need our hobbies.”

“Of course. When did watching this tripe become one of your hobbies, anyway? That bint is twice as dirty as the whore. The exhibitionist.”

“Yes. She’s a better dancer, though. How much E do you think they pumped into her before they shot this? I just like to take my mind off things. Mindless entertainment never hurt anyone.”

Melanie thought she heard a voice echo ‘mindless,’ but shrugged it off. Her imagination had been playing tricks on her frequently over the past few weeks. She had too much time on her hands. Ever since she had been fired, she had been a bit paranoid. She heard a slight echo in her phone line sometimes. Her medicine cabinet seemed subtly different. She had found her lingerie drawer slightly ajar one morning. She knew that she was imagining things. Sitting in her apartment all day, watching that grotesque spectacle, surely made her feel strangely vulnerable herself. After all, only a thin piece of fabric separated Melanie’s body from the same hungry eyes that incessantly devoured her tart of a neighbor.

“I really am going a bit mad here. I’m not going out at all. I just can’t seem to work up much energy. I dunno. Maybe it’s mono, maybe I’m depressed.”

“Maybe. I think you slept away your last job because it sucked so much.”

“Maybe. I guess a shrink might say that. Maybe I should talk to one. I have the strangest dreams. I’ll see a shrink if the real doctor can’t figure it out.”

Melanie pushed aside the bangs of her dark Louise Brooks haircut and massaged her temples. She hated feeling neurotic and useless. Her recent days had been empty, 12 hours of restless sleep followed by 12 hours of restless pacing and sitting, trying to read, staring out the window or at her television or a computer screen. Her last boyfriend had abruptly stopped calling. She couldn’t blame him. After all, they weren’t fucking. She didn’t know why they had stopped fucking. She had lost interest. There was nothing wrong with the sex, per se. It just didn’t seem like enough, somehow. Without sex, the relationship was doomed. From the moment that Liz had introduced her to Ethan, her “cute new friend,” it had just been a raw pheromonal attraction. They had pretended to have some interest in each other beyond genital compatibility, but neither of them had really believed the pretense at all.

In a strange way, she envied that whore. She didn’t have to worry or think about anything. She just had to lie back or kneel or bend over, and let men take care of her.

“Melanie, are you OK?” Liz tugged absently at her lip ring, glancing quizzically in Melanie’s direction. “This is Ground Control to Major Mel.”

“Sorry, sorry. I’ve just been...I don’t know. I am spacey, I know it.”

“We all have blonde days, I guess. I think I’m going to go downstairs for a while.” Liz stood up and brushed potato chip crumbs off her Sisters of Mercy T-shirt.

“Melanie?”

Melanie couldn’t stop watching the whore tugging at her nipples and bucking her hips.

“Melanie?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. You’re right. I am just totally blonde today,”

Liz cocked her head and opened her dark eyes wide, doing her best Valley Girl impression.

“Oh-my-god! Totally! You are just so totally blonde today! I’ll just slide a Cosmo under your door! Totally!”

“Totally,” murmured Melanie, eyes still fixed on the window. “Totally.”

Chapter 2: “You never want to wake up.”

Melanie contorted in her bed, tangling her pale body in her leopard print sheets. The heat in her apartment was somehow malfunctioning; the apartment was tropical, even though it was well below freezing outside. Melanie had resolved to call the landlady in the morning, stripped down to a thong, and collapsed, exhausted. The clanking of the radiator worked its way into febrile dreams.

She grunted, running a hand down her dank body. Her recurring nightmare flashed through her mind.

She saw an enormous warehouse, filled with rows and rows and rows of female bodies, identically retrained and restrained. Each bound piece of flesh thrust and bobbed according to the same metronome pulse, rows of pistons tirelessly working rubbery training cocks. The girls slurped, pumped, gurgled and gagged together, empty eyes mindlessly scanning the uniform array of slaves.

Melanie pressed her hands to the glass of the observation chamber and watched the smiling mannequin girls’ chests rise and fall together. An overhead vent hissed, and pink mist billowed and swirled across the factory floor. Melanie felt her own breathing falling into unison with the factory’s deep collective inhale and exhale.

The radiator hissed and rattled. The television hummed and crackled alive. Melanie’s long fingers drifted down her stomach and reached inside her soaking thong.

The soothing tones of a man’s voice rolled across the floor. The machine girls bobbed off their pacifiers for a moment, echoing the voice’s instructions.

Melanie’s lips stirred, and she mumbled in her sleep.

“Breathe in mist.”

“Breathe out mind.”

The obedient chorus washed over Melanie. She joined in underneath her breath. It felt wonderful to just let herself go, let her self start to drift away into cotton candy clouds. She breathed in deep, and her skin started to tingle.

“Breathe in mist.”

“Breathe out mind.”

Melanie looked longingly at the mass of skin and wires, wanting to join in completely, surrender every thought and worry to the Machine. She sucked in another ribbon of mist. She couldn’t see whole bodies now, just disconnected fragments: a slithering tongue, an unblinking eye, a wired nipple, metal bonds and black gossamer electrodes. Controlled echoing heads bobbed, steel bands mounted on runners maintaining perfect synchronized precision.

“Tick tock.”

“Suck cock.”

Melanie nodded along with the rows, nodding yes to control and compulsion, yes to brainstem obedience, yes to robot submission, yes to mindless ecstasy and permanent orgasm as the circuit closed again. An orgasm rippled over the assembly line, a single current snaking along the rows.

Her fingers pushed deeper inside and her thumb ground against her buzzing clit.

“Slavery makes your cunt wet.”

“Your wet cunt makes you a slave.”

Women in skintight black rubber uniforms paced up and down the rows, stiletto heels clicking in rhythm with nodding and humping and slow slave breathing. They tapped silver prods against open palms, searching out violations of the strict dressage code. Melanie thought she saw Liz policing a row, her black hair now a bright electric blue.

Melanie whispered Liz’s name aloud as the door to her bedroom creaked open.

Half-familiar faces floated by. She stared and pressed her body against the glass. Co-workers, classmates, friends, even her family, all smiled in plastic pleasure.

“Head bobs up.”

“Head bobs down.”

Periodically, a needle emerged from the labyrinth of machinery, spindly robot arm humming as it thrust into flesh, carving letters and numbers and bar code into another processed slab. Vibrating fingers whirred and rotated inside dripping cunts, warm fleshy rubber tickling surrendered clits, instantly rewarding perfect motion and perfect brainwaves. Flawlessly brainwashed pleasure junkies struggled to conform perfectly, conform to the pulse pulse pulse, conform to the bobbing zombies all around, conform to Master’s wishes, conform to the Machine.

Liz gently squeezed the dropper. A single bead of fluid fell onto Melanie’s restless lips.

“You love to drool your mind away.”

Melanie could really feel her mind melting and slipping, dripping out onto her pillowcase and sheets as she spasmed. Liz felt a tingle herself as she watched her neighbor’s sculpted alabaster body convulse, wide hips elevating off the bed toward the Machine.

She left the bedroom smiling. Dr. Benway would be very pleased.

Chapter 3: “You want to be a slut like me.”

“Excuse me?” The insistent buzzing of the telephone had finally roused Melanie from her endless steel dreams. She was still groggy, delirious, and confused. She felt like she was still dreaming.

“I see you watching me. You watch me play with myself and you watch me play with boys.”

Horrified, Melanie rushed out to the TV room, clutching the portable. Her curtains were already flung back.

“I can see you now. You’re naked in front of an open window. Boys in this apartment building can see you now, in nothing but your cute little thong. They must like seeing your little tits bounce as you run. I told some of them to watch. Maybe you can give a cute little shake for them.”

She rushed back to her bedroom, humiliated, before she could look out at that cheap brick façade and that cheap red light. As she cast about for her robe, the voice kept licking at her ear.

“You don’t need to be shy, Melanie. Just be a happy cumrag like me. Be a bobbing zombie like me. Remember what the doctor told you last night: breathe in mist, breathe out mind.”

The reflexive urge to echo was almost overwhelming. Something was terribly wrong. All of her clothes were missing.

“Who the fuck are you, and what the fuck have you done with my clothes?”

“I’m Jennifer Lorber. I live in the building across the courtyard. You like to watch me. You spy on me. I should be asking who the fuck you are, except that it doesn’t matter.”

“Shut up!” Melanie shouted hysterically into the receiver, trashing her room as she looked desperately for her clothing. “Where is my clothing?”

“I didn’t do anything to it. You tossed it all off the balcony last night. It was quite a show. All my boys bent me over and fucked me from behind so they could watch you strip while they used me.”

“That’s not true!”

“Look outside your window, slut.”

Wrapping a sheet around herself, Melanie stormed out onto the balcony. Her small nipples hardened the instant she stepped out of her sauna into the winter wind. Sure enough, her clothing was scattered across the courtyard, strewn across the ground, a red push-up bra draped over a downstairs neighbor’s balcony.

“I like seeing that I’m not the only cumrag whore in the neighborhood. Maybe you can come over and we can play Barbie together. You can borrow some of my clothing.”

“How did you get this number?” sobbed Melanie. She looked up at Jennifer’s window. For once, the curtains were drawn.

“The name on your mailbox and a phone book. I think the boys like your sheet, especially when it flaps in the wind like that.”

A gang of men hooted and pointed, swilling beers and cheering.

“Maybe they’ll drop by later to see some more. They like your nice white skin and nice wide hips, I bet. I bet you can cram a lot of cock in.”

“Don’t call this number again. I’ll call the police.”

The voice laughed huskily. “I should call the police. You called me back once this morning. Don’t you remember?”

Melanie hung up and ran from the balcony, holding her sheet tight around her body. She drew the curtains closed, locked and chained the door, and huddled on her black leather couch like a refugee.

The phone screamed. She stared at it for a minute before clicking it on and off. It rang again. She ran to the wall phone and picked up the receiver, whimpering as she let it clatter against the linoleum floor.

Some minutes later, the mobile phone started to shrill. After a minute of fear, she remembered that her mobile number was unlisted.

“Hello? Who is this and why are you calling me?”

“Um, this is Liz, paranoid much?”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. My morning has been so terrible, I’m so so sorry.”

“It’s actually early evening, zombie queen.” Something inside unclenched when Liz said zombie. “I gathered that something was wrong when I saw your panties on my balcony.”

She felt a fresh twinge of shame, but she was still overjoyed. Liz was smart. Liz was competent. Melanie was dumb and helpless. She wanted someone to take care of her, hold her hand, tell her what to do, solve her problems for her.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me, Liz. I think I’m going crazy.”

“Hmmm. I haven’t seen the neighborhood cumrag on display yet. Are you going mad from unrequited love?”

“Liz, that’s not funny. She called me.”

“Ewwww. Skeezy. That is really creepy. What did she say?”

“It was so fucked up, Liz, it was just like an obscene phone call, it was an obscene phone call, but it wasn’t some 14 year old with a hardon dialing numbers out of the phone book, she knows who I am, she knows I’m watching her, she knows that I like to watch, she sees me and knows what I’m thinking —”

“Whoa. Whoa. Easy there, hoss. Let’s not immediately get hysterical. Just relax, OK? Just breathe in and out slowly, and count to ten.”

“Ok. Ok.” She actually felt herself relax as she followed Liz’s instructions.

“Just relax. You need a sedative.”

“I do need a sedative. I need to relax.”

“You need to just breathe in.”

“Breathe in.”

“Breathe out.”

“Breathe out.”

“Doesn’t that feel better?”

“Better. Yes.”

“Now, why don’t you come downstairs so I can take care of you?”

“Take care of me.” She shook her nodding head. She was already halfway out the door before she remembered.

“Wait, Liz. I can’t go anywhere. I don’t have anything to wear.”

Liz chuckled. “I’m not having a cocktail party, I just want you to come.”

“No, I mean I have nothing to wear. I have no clothing.”

“What happened to it?”

Melanie burned, humiliated afresh. “I don’t know. It’s gone.”

“All of it?”

“Everything but what I’m wearing.”

“What are you wearing?”

“Not very much.”

“Listen to me. I sound like an obscene caller right now,” Liz breathed heavily. “Are you touching yourself?”

“Liz! Shut up and come over. Please.”

“OK.” Liz hung up.

Melanie looked down, trembling, and took her hand out of her thong. She wrapped the sheet around herself again and waited for her friend to come and take care of her.

Chapter 4: “You are a slut like me.”

Melanie gurgled and giggled at the lovely chiming voice whispering to her through her new speakerphone. Jenny didn’t leave her curtains open for Melmel anymore, but she did call all the time. Jenny’s voice was so soft and relaxing. It was like silk and velvet rubbing against her brain.

A good girl loves to relax. It was nice to stop thinking all the time. It was good for her too. Liz said she looked better now that she had stopped worrying about things and just let herself calm down. Liz gave her pills that helped her relax, and introduced her to Dr. Jensen. She loved Dr. Jensen so much. He taught her to stop thinking so much. He taught her to stop thinking about bad things. It was better for a healthy girl to indulge herself, to just drift and let things happen instead of trying to control things and dwelling on the past. She knew she didn’t want to have a job right now. She just wanted to enjoy life. She didn’t need to worry about money. No one bothered her about rent or utilities. Dr. Jensen came and visited her at home. Dr. Jensen was so kind and considerate.

Liz brought her food, and she loved to cook. It made her feel useful when men came over. She would feed them, and then they would feed dessert. She giggled at her little joke and pushed her ass toward the window, flipping up the skirt of her French maid’s uniform. She gave her exposed ass one hard swat, looking over her shoulder out the window and licking her lips. She resumed cooking. The boys outside wouldn’t mind. They’d get to see more later, after her new friends came over for dinner.

“You are a mindless bimbo.”

She smoothed down the frilly apron of her new outfit. Liz always bought her such cool clothes! Dr. Jensen told her what was why she threw out her old clothes, because she needed to listen to her subconscience and just be herself. Dr. Jensen used big words sometimes; he was really, really smart. Mel’s not so smart. Mel’s just a silly girl who likes to lie around and watch TV and do her exercise tapes and wait for people to come and help her. Sometimes she would forget what she was supposed to be doing, but Dr. Jensen helped her by making big pretty timetables, simple instructions in bright colors that structured the empty space of her days.

“You are a silly fucktoy.”

Liz helped her by picking out new outfits for her. They were all too sexy to wear outside, but leaving the apartment was no fun anyway. She tried leaving once, and everyone pointed and stared at her red catsuit, and the sticky stuff she always forgot to wipe off her face. Besides, her apartment was so warm and comfortable. She loved to clean it and redecorate. Liz brought over some magazines. She was starting to make a collage.

“Breathe in slave.”

“Breathe out mind.”

Before, when she was sick, Melanie didn’t like techno very much. The new CDs that Liz brought over for her were so calming, though. Those swirling fades and throbbing beats helped her mind empty while she worked on her pretty pictures and cooking and cleaning and dressing up and dancing. Melanie felt like she was dancing all the time now. Floating and dancing, drifting deeper all the time. She never wanted to stop floating, and the nice doctor helped her stay dreamy and happy. He gave her new red light bulbs, because red light helped her calm down. He even put them in, so that she wouldn’t hurt herself trying to screw in light bulbs.

“Slavery makes your cunt wet.”

Dr. Jensen told her what a good friend Liz was, and he was right, of course. He was always right. The videos and music that Liz brought over for her helped her stay relaxed and healthy. She had been very sick and neurotic before, with lots of negative thinking that stopped her from being free. Her friends and family wanted her to go back into negative thinking again. They wanted her to burden herself with a job or family responsibilities, to stop being her own person and doing what she wanted to do. Mel wasn’t very smart, but she was smart enough to avoid getting tangled up in that life again. She wanted to keep being happy.

“Your wet cunt makes you a slave.”

The phone buzzed in the background as Melanie stirred a pot. Cooking was automatic for her now, like most forms of service, and she didn’t want to get distracted. Besides, she didn’t like to answer the phone, unless it rang in the special way. Sometimes her dad called and yelled at her. She didn’t like talking to him at all. He didn’t understand how good she felt, how well the therapy was working. Dr Jensen and Liz told her that she needed to ignore negative people like that until she was better.

Besides, he probably wasn’t even really her daddy. Dr. Jensen said so, and Dr. Jensen was always right.

“You love to drool your mind away.”

It seemed so important to get better. It would be so wonderful to be better again. Dr. Jensen said that there was a new form of therapy, sort of like a vacation. She could go on vacation for free. It was away from the apartment, which made her sad, but she knew that she had to get better. She had already signed the papers Dr. Jensen had brought over. She didn’t read them, of course. It was for boys. Girls who tried to read too much made themselves unhappy. Mellie only liked to read relaxing stories about good girls. She had sort of spaced off staring at the papers, though, and Dr. Jensen had to remind her of what was going on. He was so nice and understanding when she drifted and did airhead things.

“Tick tock.”

“Suck cock.”

The phone stopped ringing. Cumrag breathed a sigh of relief, and did another shake for the hungry eyes staring through the window. She looked up at Jenny’s apartment. The curtains were still drawn, but about a dozen red lights in nearby apartments winked and glinted at Mel. The girls inside those apartments winked and giggled at Mel, and she winked and giggled back at them. She stared at the rows and rows of red light, and grinned vacantly.