The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Conviction

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Please do NOT read this if you’re younger than 18, or offended by the idea of mind control and sexual encounters. Do not repost without express permission from the author.

The concept of cowboys, cowgirls and angels comes straight out of reading Tom Robbins. Would that I could write so well.

©2004 by Sara H

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“I have something to tell you.”

That was never a good thing to hear from Randi. It always meant bad news. I sipped my tea and lifted my eyebrows to look at her. She was radiant.

I took in her blond hair, perfectly shaped around her face as it fell to her shoulders and curled on top of the breasts I loved. Breasts that were attached to the torso I loved. The torso of the woman I loved more than anything in the world.

But she had something to tell me, and I steeled myself inside... a habit from having a similar request for conversation so many times over the years.

“Spill.”

“I don’t know a good way to say this, so I’ll just say it.” She waited for a few seconds to click by.

“I’ve decided to enlist in the ADAPT Corps.”

I felt the steel twist into a pretzel in less than ten nanoseconds. ADAPT Corps.

“Randi...” I started, but didn’t have the words. All of a sudden, my tea tasted flat and lukewarm.

“I know what you’re going to say, Betsy. But you know I’ve been considering it for a long time. You know how much it means to me.”

“I know what it might mean for you.”

“Yes, I know that, too. I might end up as a...”

“Don’t say it,” I whispered, almost hissing my urgency.

She might end up as a Blunt. I felt the wetness welling up in my eyes at the thought of seeing her sitting in the small archway of one of the habitats created for such an outcome. I could picture the tubes and wires dedicated to feeding her, keeping her alive, if you could call it life. It was more like symbiotic co-existence with a Programmer, one of the machines that could fill her with a persona so convincing that even she would not know it wasn’t real until she was collected, her gathered intelligence downloaded, and she was plugged back in to wait for her next assignment. Then, she wouldn’t know reality, either... there would be no reality, no thought.

Just a Blunt where a person used to be.

It was an occupational hazard of the intensity of the ADAPT Corps. It was something no one planned when the unit was formed.

Okay, I’ll give you the Digest version. In 2032, mind control had finally become a reality. A secret reality, and crude by today’s standards, but it had still been useful. We finally had a singular weapon in the myriad wars against enemies of the state, and it was as powerful as the atomic bomb had been. You don’t have to destroy a population. You just change thirty percent of it, stir it up, wait about five years, and you have a new ally in the world.

Unfortunately, like the atomic bomb, word got out. And once that happened, it was only a matter of time before other countries had it, too. By 2077, mind tampering had swept through the most affluent countries and was in regular use by ideological extremists of every shape, size, and GDP.

But you already know all that.

Like the century before it, there were organizations created in order to protect the masses from subversion. That was us. The Cerebral Protection Service, or CPS. And like all such organizations, we had our angels, our cowboys (and cowgirls), and our elite operatives. The last category was known as the Advanced Development and Programming Techniques Corps, or ADAPT.

Their operatives were the best of the best, and Randi had been a desirable candidate for several years. I suspected a bit of underhanded motivational “guidance”, but it would have been impossible to prove. And I’ll admit to a little jealousy. Our unit at CPS wasn’t anywhere near the top of the pecking order. It was a ticket out and up, or at least it was Randi’s.

But there was a certain nine-hundred-pound gorilla in the living room, the part that everyone knew about but, as was par for the course, never mentioned: the Blunts.

Blunts were the ten percent of ADAPT operatives that were so susceptible to the programming techniques used to hide them among our enemies that when the artificial personas were removed, there was nothing left. Their minds were empty shells, waiting for the next assignment, not knowing they were waiting, but just existing in a mental non-state, a kind of catatonia of the soul.

Solutions and cures had been tried, and even different techniques, all to no avail. It was soon considered a natural consequence and an acceptable risk, at least to the people in the government whose loved ones and children were not at risk of becoming mindless lumps of flesh and bone.

Sometimes it happened fast, other times slowly, sometimes not at all.

Instead of ending the Corps, the Blunts became one more tool in the arsenal. Perfect spies, assassins without opinion or regret, seductive flesh machines to work the will of the country and devoted by programming to its interests, limited only by the few weeks they could keep a persona without an upload and recharge.

I thought of Randi as such a non-human thing, and let out a tiny sob. I couldn’t help it.

She looked across the table at me, her eyes lit with compassion and understanding. My Randi. My love, despite the rules.

The ethical question of using Blunts wasn’t the only thing the Service ignored.

“When do you have to make your decision and take the oath?”

Her face turned red and she looked down, unable to speak. It was her turn to be beyond words.

“You already have.”

She still didn’t look at me. Her head moved up and down slowly, as if the speed of it would make it hurt less. Then she said, “I’ve turned in the paperwork, but the oath doesn’t come until I report for training.”

“When does that happen?”

“In the morning,” she whispered. At that moment, my heart burst outward in love to her. She knew how it was hurting me. And it was hurting her, too. No one could accuse her of not putting her country first, of sacrificing everything, including her heart. As much as it hurt, it made me love her more.

Which made me even more determined to change her mind. No oath, no commitment.

We sat in silence for the next five minutes, with nothing to say... savoring each other and dreading a future that was nearly close enough to touch. “So,” she said, a little too lightly for it to sound completely genuine, “are you ready to order?”

“I’m not all that hungry,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

“Well, maybe we should go. I’ll sign for the tea.” She placed her paycard in the slot at the edge of the table and removed it. “Ready?”

“Yeah, let’s go home,” I said, doing my best to pretend that this was just a case of having had too much to eat for lunch.

“Sounds good,” she said.

I had to admit, it sounded good to me, too. But I had a decision to make. I could follow the rules and let her slip away from me, or I could try to sway her, to make her want to stay. I kept my hand in my pocket, twirling the illegal, unlicensed Seducer in my pocket, and let my thoughts spin with it. I tried not to act nervous as we walked the three blocks back to my building. I guess I did a good job... she didn’t seem to notice.

But maybe it was only because she was busy trying not to look nervous, too.

* * *

We got back to “my” apartment, our home, and she walked back to the bedroom to change. It was time to decide. There was no guarantee for another chance for this. Not before morning. Not before she...

I turned a corner, and once turned, I knew what I had to do. I walked to the wall and plugged in the Seducer, disguised as a tiny night-light, and set the delay for thirty minutes. I went to the hall bathroom and put in my ear filters, and returned to the living room. I’ll admit it now. I was nervous, but I didn’t feel any guilt at all. This was my love, my life, my heart. I had to try to keep her. I might not get the opportunity again.

I sat down on the couch, turned on the 3DV, and pretended to watch whatever was on. I think it was an educational show about the latest in transgender brainwave rejection, or some such thing.

She came in without a word and settled down next to me on the couch, snuggling in as if our world wasn’t coming to an end in a few short hours. I pulled her close and kissed her hair, still honeysuckle-scented from the aroma treatment I’d given her for her birthday a few months before.

I was wondering if the Seducer was going to work. It was old metasonic technology, made to burn out after four hours, having reduced a subject to a malleable blob of lust incarnate, leaving any suggestion made while under its influence deep inside where it would work its way into a more daily routine. But I was worried—after all, I’d bought it from a grey-market scavenger and it was a rebuilt model. Testing wasn’t an option when it would only work once.

Then, it happened—I heard a sharp intake of breath and felt her shoulders rise. I moved off to the side a bit, and looked over to her... she was still mostly relaxed, but her eyes were staring forward, as if focused on a different realm. Her nipples showed through the t-shirt she had donned for the occasion.

It made my pussy melt with desire, seeing the device arouse and lower her inhibitions, reducing her resistance to my advances. “Randi,” I whispered, touching the tip of my tongue to the rim of her ear, running it slowly around.

I was rewarded with a moan so deep and guttural that I felt it in my belly, creating hot sparks of passion and need. So much need... God damn, I needed her. I heard a second moan, and felt fingers press inward on my hot slit, as a shivering wave of desire moved through me.

My moan. My fingers. I gasped surprise and exhaled need.

I couldn’t see. The world was fuzzy and calling me by name. Ohhhhh, fuck. The Seducer... it was rebuilt, not recalibrated... my filters would only work to keep me able to think... maybe. My finger slid over my clit, my heated cuntlips shouting nastiness as they spasmed, wiping thought from my mind like a wave over the deck of a ship in a storm.

It came back, washed off and lighter, but still there... I held on for dear life as another wave assaulted me with pure lust.

Lips... her lips... were on mine, tongues dancing and sucking clawing at each other, trying to find purchase like greedy, starving beggars, sparks flying down and covering our rubbing nipples, pressed to each other, glued together by fuckthought, fuckneed, my inner oils coating my fingers before I brought them up to feed her, her tongue and lips coating my flesh with her slick mouth, her moans vibrating up my arm and straight into my brain.

I was losing the ability to think... fuck, that... thing... was more powerful than I’d ever... ohhhh, Jesus I... needed to call to her... to the woman... love... fuck... lose... cunt... oh fucking shit I had to think had to fuck had to taste...

My mouth slid down and tortured the offered nipple, coating it with my gloss and sex-scent... ears ringing as the... the... as it led me on, moans as one, in time, then out of time, like a see-saw, one moan and arch and writhing motion in her followed by one by me, riding a rocking fuckhorse into oblivion, into pleasure as my lips slid and teased and my tongue licked its way down her belly, obedient, following the call of lust, of fuckpassion...

And she was in concert with me as we never had been before, her hands touching in new and irresistible ways as my synapses collapsed and reformed into more and more complex and enveloping pleasure.

I found her clit with my tongue and began circling her fuckbutton like a whore, a mindless fuckslut with no other purpose than transmitting the pleasure I was getting, my words mumbled into her, words of worship and need, words of a whore, her bitch, her slave... orgasm so close as her legs wrapped around my head and pulled me in, my finger in her asshole, moving in and out, fucking her asshole, flatfucking her cunt with my chin, sharing every sensation as her words fell into my ears, begging for more, begging me to cum...

Orgasm swept though me, pleasure as clear and high as hydrogen, explosive, shattering the illusion that was no longer needed, seduced, compelled... and then... I saw, as my body heaved and bucked, as my head bounced forward and back, fucking her glorious snatch, leading her as she led me into an orgasm that would only grow stronger for hours and repeat until anything was law, anything was reality... I shouted... “NOOooo, Rann... Ranndii... must STAY must... stay... must... fuck... oh... fuck...stay...”

As I heard the words begin to repeat back to me, and as I could not help repeating them back to her, I finally let go, and gave myself over to her fingers that rubbed... and rubbed... and teased... and rubbed... and her tongue... lips...

The green-blue fog of Seduction took me then, and there was nothing to do but follow.

* * *

I woke up and groaned, my body gritty and covered with dried womanly essence. I rolled over and looked at the clock. Five a.m.

The shower was running.

I lay there and remembered. Remembered how the words had sunk so deep into her, and into me... but in me, they had stopped short, somehow. The filters. Although not foolproof, thanks to them the effect of the Seducer on me had been temporary, or I would have been joining her in the shower now, not wanting to work, to think, or do anything but keep her here.

The water stopped and I savored listening to her dry off, humming softly to herself as she prepared for her day... a day very different than the one she had imagined just a few short hours ago. I wondered if she would know.

She stepped out, and I gasped. Still radiant. Still glowing. I loved her more than I had ever thought possible, and I returned her smile as she walked over and gave me a kiss with passion that could make an angel jealous.

“So what are we going to do now,” she asked, placing her hand over my cunny, teasing.

“Well, I think we need to go down to the Corps and see about letting you come home.”

“Oh... yes. I need to stay, Betsy. I need you.” She punctuated her words with another kiss as guilt swept through me for what I had done to her.

Our ride to ADAPT Headquarters was silent except for the happy sighs she gave as she snuggled next to me. We walked in, signed the registry and waited as our DNA was scanned.

“Elizabeth Simmons, clear. Miranda Bivins, clear,” said a mechanical voice.

The door opened, and we walked down the long hallway. We had nearly reached the halfway point when a panel slid open to the right of us.

“Miranda Bivins, please be seated,” said the voice.

She looked at me then, not understanding. “Betsy, this isn’t where I signed up... I don’t understand why we’ve...”

“It’s okay, sweetness. I’ll go find out what the deal is. Just sit down and wait here. I’ll be back soon.” I gave her a passionate kiss and smiled.

I continued down the hall, waiting for the next directive. I didn’t look back. I couldn’t. I couldn’t watch as the hoses and wires slid from the walls behind her, attaching to the subcutaneous ports that would keep her alive. I couldn’t watch as Randi, the woman of my deepest and most beloved dreams, slipped from the Teflon-slick neurons of the mind she once had owned.

I couldn’t face the reality that the woman I had now proven to myself could have been saved, had I been brave enough that night five years before... was only a manufactured persona, a complex and temporary multigraph based on the imprint she had given the morning she joined the Corps.

I had not been able to fight her convictions. They were too strong, and I had been too afraid. Six months later, word had come. She had not survived the final training. My love, the woman I would love eternally, had been blunted. My radiant Miranda was a Blunt.

And now, having found the courage after hundreds of attempts, I had my own conviction to face. In the court of Elizabeth Simmons, I was, and would forever be, guilty of letting her go. Of letting her slip away into the ether, to be lost to me, and to herself.

But I have a dream. In my dream, as I let go of the last tenuous thread of my existence, as the world falls away and there is nothing but beauty and light, my love awaits me. She awaits me even now, patiently, knowing that I will come to her, and twine with her, until we are a part of everything and everything is a part of us... and we are truly, finally eternal.

I dream that she waits for me, just as I wait for her. I dream that our waiting is not in vain. I dream that one day, the waiting will be over.

God, please let that day be soon.

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This story is for someone I remember with grief and kindness, and for all those who have faced the things that have been, and those that might have been.

— Sara