The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I.

“I can’t possibly travel with someone who’s proper name is Dick Head,” Edge grumbled. Bourbon almost fell off the tree stump he had perched himself on for this outrageous exchange. Edge was completely serious. As tense as the situation was, it was the closest they had been to a humorous moment in days. For a man who had had the erotic freewheeling adventures that Edge had, he certainly was “sensitive” about some silly things.

“ I don’t mean to tell you what to do, but I do believe he might be most helpful over the next few days or even weeks,” Bourbon offered hesitantly. Edge simple sneered back, and spun around to face this new semi-permanent annoyance, this D___ guy. He was half a man, even by Edges standards. He was practically on the edge of crying for christs sake! Over what? One small whack up side the head which had been delivered open handed? A rabbit hiding in the underbrush who had almost had his head neatly removed actually.

What possible use could he be when real danger reared its head? Run little rabbit, find a hole and hide. “One more thing in the way,” was all he said. Bourbon wasn’t sure if this was an observation, a complete rejection of the idea, or sarcastic fatalistic acceptance of the inevitable (what Edge did best, at least until very recently). Bourbon chose to conclude it was the last. “I’ll keep him out of the way, till he’s needed.” Edge didn’t believe it. Bourbon would say anything necessary to manipulate him. And absolutely nothing Bourbon said was every quite what it appeared. For all Edge knew, Bourbon really didn’t want him along and this was some sort of reverse psychology bullshit. But Edge just was too tired to care any more, about Dick, or what Bourbon was really up too; or might know. He was getting no further with either, or with what was important, catching up, making up lost time, busting heads, avenging the Bunny Queen.

Dick didn’t seem to have even noticed, or be bothered by, the fact that they were referring to and discussing him in the third person like he was an unwanted object, or not even there. Edge would definitely have said something were it him. But not Doggie Dick.

Edge hated those over sensitive, neutered, 80’s she-men. The “Dick’s” of the world. He wondered if Dick sat up and begged on command as well. “Maybe he’ll dazzle the bad guys with his cooking skills.” Edge turned to go but turned back to look at this newest apparently fated hindrance one more time, hoping he’d been a hallucination. He was still there. “Yah, his quiche will save the day.”

The sarcasm had an unusually venomous tone, even for Edge. Dick didn’t notice, and Bourbon pretended not to... With that Edge headed back down the road, not really caring who followed and who didn’t. This whole thing had wasted time better spent tracking down those scum sucking slimy slaver bastards and dealing with them. They’d already lost too much time.

A sudden thought occurred to Edge. Maybe he could go trolling for bad guys with... Dick? He consoled himself with an evil grin and various possible applications of this idea. “Yah... bait”, he muttered. Edge began humming a tune he remembered from when he was a boy. One that he had hummed when they cut bait for a deep sea fishing trip. Bourbon trotted along side, looking worried and confused at Edge’s sudden unexplained mirth and apparent better humor. Dick followed about a dozen paces behind like the lost puppy dog he was.

Bourbon was very worried about Edge. He hadn’t been himself since he had found out about the plumbing. It had made him introspective. But when he found out how the emosheer in the grocery store tied into the whole grand scheme he had lost it. It was that second matter that had put him completely out of sorts, and made him uncommunicative. He had been brooding ominously for days. Most of his sentences had been of one syllable or less.

Normally Bourbon did most of the talking, but other than this “Dick” thing, he was doing all the talking, and wasn’t even sure how much, or if, Edge was even hearing him when he did speak. There were things Edge needed to know before they caught up with anybody, or reached the city; important things. Things that might make the difference in their living through it or dying real ugly. And Bourbon knew there were things much worse than dying, worse by a longshot.

II.

They were approaching the portal city Bourbon had gone on about endlessly. It had been a long silent journey, a monologue. Beyond lay the land of the wolf women. And being a cat (their favorite roast delicacy) Bourbon was unusually (but understandably) a bit apprehensive about going straight through. Even the slavers with all their technology steered clear and went the longer portal route, avoiding the city and the wolf bitches whenever possible. But to catch up they really hadn’t any choice at all. At least not in Edge’s mind, and right now Edge was the man in charge. Maybe not in control, but in charge.

Surprisingly, Bourbon hadn’t forseen Edge’s new more... (determined?) demeanor coming, and been able to dissuade him through anticipating. Edge was a lot of things, and normally predictable was one of them. And generally he did the smart thing after a lot of fussing. And always took the safer route if it presented itself. He was nothing if not cautious and predictable. Now he was a runaway bulldozer recklessly plowing everything in his path, out of his path. The next obstacle was Portal City’s high walls and the five guards unfortunate enough to have drawn night check duty at the city gates. Edge tolerated the interrogation they got upon requesting admission for all of five minites. It was clear Edge was losing patience, but Bourbon really thought they were going to make it inside before he blew. Flip the guards a couple coins each and they would be on their way to a nice quiet inn for the night. Or so Bourbon thought. They (the guards) seemed finally almost convinced to let Edge , Bourbon, and hopelessly harmless Dick pass when one of the guards spotted the bulge under Edge’s tee-shirt and reached for it. The bulldozer instantly became a wrecking ball. Fist met face and the guard crumpled back on himself, barely conscious. He was no longer an obstacle. Bourbon gasped, and Dick simply said “Oh dearie dearie me.” Everything happened so fast that that was all there was time for.

Bourbon didn’t like surprises, and the last two days had been full of them. This was one more. And besides; absolutely none of this was supposed to happen! Everything had become unpredictable, especially the very volatile wild card, Edge. At least they hadn’t violated the weapons ban of portal city, Bourbon consoled himself. This can probably still be fixed with a fine or a few days... Edge pulled the gun (formerly the bulge) from under his shirt. “Where the hell did that come from?” Bourbon sputtered. But there was no time to wonder. Once again, to no ones surprise; except maybe the guards still standing, Dick, and the almost omnipotent all seeing Bourbon, all hell broke loose...

One thing happened that wasn’t unexpected; Bourbon disappeared.

III.

“Well, I hope you are really pleased with yourself.” Edge mused over Bourbons statement. He gave it every bit of consideration it deserved. “As a matter of fact, I guess I am.” Actually he was more than pleased, actually he felt much better than he had in a long time. Bruises, black and blues and all, he had worked some of the pent up frustration out of his system and could think clearly for the first time in days. Bourbon continued in a matter of factual tone. “Because they have rather interesting penalties for illegal weapons and assaulting their equivalent of a cop here.” Edge wasn’t really all that interested. “You got yourself two years in their sexual reorientation camp.”

“That’s nice,” Edge muttered indifferently. “I said SEXUAL REORIENTATION,” Bourbon stated more emphatically. “What?” Was all Edge managed. Edge’s clear thinking went suddenly fuzzy.

“They’re going to fix you.” Why did Bourbon seem to enjoy using the phrases “fix” and “alter” so often? “Seems they feel women are less likely to be violent so...” Edge was suddenly no longer indifferent. “You mean like a hormone thing?” Bourbon knew he had Edges attention now. “No actually they’re going to cut your parts off and internalize your plumbing through a very nasty and painful series of procedures that are going to leave you wishing you were dead.” Edge swallowed hard and squirmed uncomfortably. “Then they’re going to flush out all that mush you call a brain, and when its nice and clean and totally empty, they’re going to retrain you to be a useful member of society. After you’re released you should get about two years of prostitution.” Edge chuckled despite the uncomfortableness of the situation. “I think you meant “probation?” Bourbon was suddenly curt, a direly serious. “No, I didn’t! I said exactly what I meant. They have some interesting idea’s about paying your debt to society.” Edge swallowed hard again. Why did the whole universe want to emasculate and use him? This was starting to sound really bad. But at least it couldn’t get any worse. “Of course, since you have somewhat unique (emphasis) plumbing, which will continue to repair and reorient anyway... they may operate three or four times before they give up and just put you to death, which is the only other penalty here.” Edge had been wrong, it always got worse. “But after they’ve ripped out your guts three or four times you’ll be happy to finally die,” Bourbon finished. Edge studied Bourbon closely. Oh fuck, he was completely “we are so screwed” serious. He was beginning to read Bourbon better. Of course it would be easier if he had human facial expressions.

IV.

Edge wasn’t ready to panic just yet, but he was getting his panic all set up and ready, just in case he needed it later. “So we have to escape,” Edge decided. Bourbon gave him a definitely “you are so ignorant sometimes” look. That one was easy. He got to see it a lot.

“Oh, sure, easy. Let me just ask the two heavily armed guards in the hall, or maybe the pair beyond the security door, or maybe the guards in the prison yard, or on the walls to give us a hall pass. Wait, maybe I still have a get out of jail free card on me. Oh sorry, must have left it in my other skin.” Bourbon paused for effect. “That is, right after I sneak past the infra red, ultraviolet, motion sensitive sensors and droids that are everywhere, starting with that door.” Edge sat down on the floor with a disheartened thud. Edge didn’t even bother to try and aim his ass at the acrylic block that was the only “chair” in the high tech detention cell. There were even sensors in the walls and floors he surmised. Since they were in the ceiling it only made sense. They knew if he blew his nose or yawned, and how much CO2 it produced. Bourbon padded around nonchalantly, unconcerned. Maybe he had gone just a little over the top, Edge thought to himself.

“Ok, let me think...” Bourbon didn’t relent. “Maybe you should have done your thinking first and saved your barbarian at the gate routine for a more appreciative audience that doesn’t castrate comedians.” “Shut up, I gotta think.” “And where by the way did you pick up that pistol?” Edge flashed a grim smile. “I took it off of doctor Mindfuck right after he and most of his cervical vertebrae parted company. Hope he’s as good at putting himself back together as he was at dissecting test subjects. But he should have plenty of spare parts to work with. Most of his lab assistants saw me, and strangely enough, went to pieces.” Bourbon shivered and didn’t make eye contact, or pursue it, choosing to pretend this conversation hadn’t taken this turn.

“Ok, so unless you still have that stone...” Edge stared straight at Bourbon. “You know I don’t.” Edge hadn’t put the stone back in his pocket after it had been very intimate with his...“exit”. Somehow the idea of putting it into his pocket after where it had been, just hadn’t occurred to him. “And since we still don’t have the purple one,” Bourbon continued, “Which would let you walk right out of here...", he added.

“We don’t, so get on to the next plan,” Edge snapped. “I didn’t take the god damned purple crystal, I don’t have the fuckin clear one, I don’t want to be gutted like a fuckin fish, get to the point, next!” Edge was really becoming irritated. Bourbon didn’t labor the point, or the obvious any further. He definitely knew better, under the circumstances. An awkward silence followed.

“So?” Edge growled impatiently!

“Give ME time to think,” Bourbon shot back. Then trying to sound calmer and calming: “I have to check some things out. This isn’t going to be easy. But I’ll... just have to ...see.” Edge nodded agreement. Bourbon didn’t sound too sure. this was a first.

“And there is the small matter of finding Dick,” Bourbon offered. Edge couldn’t care less what had happened to Dick and made it perfectly clear with one look. As expected he had been less than useless when things had gotten hot. Dicky boy had stood by while Edge dispatched two of the guards and was pummeling a third. Dicky managed to block one punch with his face before checking out of the hotel consciousness. Very useful. Like a lead doorstop in the desert. “Last time I saw him they were doing facial surgery on him,” Edge volunteered.

All Bourbon said was, “hmmmm...”

“Attention inmates 7492a and 7493b.”

The voice came over a speaker mounted high up on the wall. “You have been found guilty of illegal weapons possession and assaulting five of our peace keepers.” No surprises there. “The prescribed penalty is personal and sexual reorientation to commence immediately.” Knew that. The cell door unexpectedly swung open with an electronic buzz. Very tough security.

No less than six guards entered the cell. Their obvious leader (the largest one), a very muscular, hairy, dog ugly brute of a woman signaled the others forward, while (she?) looked on in a supervisory capacity.

“This will be followed by execution of 18 months probationary service in an appropriate capacity (Meaning reprogrammed sex slave.)”

Was there ANYONE in all these universes that didn’t want to use him as their personal robot bitch or cut his nuts off? Edge was really beginning to wonder.

At least Bourbon had been wrong about the length of the sentence. They hadn’t gotten the full two years. He was fallible after all. The satisfaction was very short lived and a very slight compensation considering the overall situation, but right now Edge was taking what he could get by way of satisfaction. The situation was worsening by the minute...

Edge had barely gotten to his feet when two of those testosterone Tina’s nailed him with a pair of tasers set to maximum (char and scar). One hit him high, the other came in extremely low like it was personal. They didn’t hesitate. Apparently they weren’t taking any chances with him this time, he thought to himself (very briefly) before his brain scrambled, fried, and shut down as he hit the floor hard. But after the first second or two he hadn’t felt a thing. By the time he had hit the floor he too had checked out of the hotel consciousness, cheating them out of the pleasure they would have gotten out of kicking his semi-conscious carcass.

“Take him, uh...her to the Reorientation center,” the largest guard chuckled deeply, as he/she directed his/her inferiors. The others quickly hoisted the still quivering unconscious body with little effort, and carried it out like a side of meat.

If Edge had been up to his asshole in trouble before, now he was way over his head and sinking into a bottomless quagmire at an ever increasing rate.

Meanwhile, Bourbon was having his own problems with two of the security droids that had most likely picked up his “imaginary” heat signature. Apparently he had been mistaken for a giant free roaming portal rat, which they were unfortunately cross programmed to terminate with extreme prejudice.