The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

So I was “stuck” in the hospital for the next few days. If you can use “stuck” to mean “getting seriously laid by an incredibly hot female doctor several times a day,” that is.

Oh, and equally hot nurses too. You know how hospital staff tell you to rest, only to wake you up at oh-dark-hundred for tests? Much more tolerable when the tests turn out to be nurse-administered blowjobs.

Except that it was a problem for me, because I knew something incredibly strange was going on. So in that regard, I really was stuck in the hospital, because my only reference points were the news, the hospital staff, other patients, and visitors. And as far as I could observe from those reference points, I was the only person around who seemed to think anything was strange.

And believe me, I was doing my damnedest to observe.

Take the news, for instance. Like I said earlier, I avoided political debate whenever possible pre-accident, and that extended to the news. Frankly, I viewed most news as political theater, ratings-driven viewer manipulation, and just plain lowest-common-denominator crap, and it all pissed me off or disgusted me. Usually both.

But after the Fast Times at Fox News High incident with my parents, I started watching as much news as possible. At first, it was simply to see if Fox was the only station full of horndog politicians and news people. Turned out it wasn’t. Fox, CNN, MSNBC, local newscasts...hell, even The Weather Channel had gotten into the act. And when the National Geographic Channel started advertising native bare breasts, live....OK, so obviously, it wasn’t part of Fox News’ latest plan to take over the world.

And the usual slants? Conservative, liberal, whatever? Didn’t exist anymore. It all seemed to be straight-forward sexy reporting on straight-forward sexy activity, regardless of channel.

OK, so maybe it’s just the broadcast media, I thought. Surely, the print media was immune to—whatever the broadcast media had swallowed. (OK, poor choice of words. OK, great choice of words.) So I grabbed every newspaper I could. Washington Post, Washington Times, the New York Times, the Wall Street Journal...even USA Today, if you can believe it.

Same thing. Well, I didn’t get the same “gotta screw someone now” vibe that I got from TV, but then again, I wasn’t listening to these journalists live; I was reading something they’d written hours ago. But other than that, I was getting the same story from all sources. I also learned which journalists were married (and thinly veiled hints on their sex life), which journalists were dating (and thinly veiled hints on their sex life), and which journalists were playing the field (and...you get the picture).

That led to my next paranoid conclusion: someone figured out how to use sex to take over the world and remake it in their own image. Conservatives? Liberals? No idea. But maybe those “consensus bipartisan compromises” were being tilted heavily toward Our New Secret Overlords. So I continued watching the news and reading the papers so I could examine the “compromises” and figure out who was coming out on top. (No, that pun wasn’t intentional, but feel free to jump into the gutter if you like.)

And what did I find?

Consensus bipartisan compromises, just like it said on the tin. Sure, sometimes the conservatives would win—slightly—and sometimes the liberals would come out ahead—marginally—but if anyone was benefitting from The Sexy New World Order, damned if I could spot it.

Except that everyone was having a lot more sex, including me. And I could see that from my other points of reference, limited as they were. The hospital staff, I mentioned. (I did mention the multiple daily “therapy” sessions with Dr. Toms and the recurring blowjobs from the nurses, right? Just checking.)

And I walked around the hospital floor—officially for the exercise, but I also confirmed that my hospital floor was still the medically-sanctioned den of iniquity I’d seen on my first night back among the conscious, and that all of the TVs on the floor were tuned to news programs of some sort.

Remember the patient in room 1008? Apparently, Jennie and Angela weren’t kidding about his love of rope, because I got corralled into helping tie up his wife. And in case you’re wondering, that’s all I did, and that was only because his hands were hurting that one night, so he couldn’t do the knots himself. He didn’t need any help with the sex. And in case you’re wondering about that, no, I’m not sure how he was able to handle sex with the pain in his hands, and I was there. But only as a spotter, just in case.

And then there were the visitors, and that was another level of awkward. Let me give you a couple of examples. No, make that three examples.

First, Mom and Dad. I’d made it a point to leave the TV news on for most visitors so I could observe their reactions, if any. I didn’t leave the TV on when my folks were around, because I’d already observed their reactions, and frankly, it still gave me nightmares.

Didn’t help. Like I said earlier, it never took much for Dad to go off on a political rant before my accident. After my accident, it still didn’t take much for Dad to start a political rant...but it took even less to end it. He’d start a few words into one of his well-worn verbal paths, drift off for a few seconds, and then he and Mom would exchange Significant Looks. Just like those commercials on TV, except that my hospital room didn’t suddenly turn into a beachfront tropical paradise complete with matching his-and-hers bathtubs.

And then they’d excuse themselves and leave quickly for the car.

Except for the one time when it was sleeting outside, and they didn’t want to get soaked in the parking lot. How do I know this? Because the room next to mine was vacant at the time, and I could hear them giggling as they got on the bed and.... Ugh. There’s not enough bleach in the world to wipe those images out of my head.

Anyway. Next example of awkwardness. Sam and Gina. Two of my best friends from high school, and we were going to go off to college together. They actually did go off to college, of course, since they weren’t unconscious for most of the semester. They visited me as soon as Dr. Toms cleared me for non-family visitors—which is to say, as soon as she determined that visitors’ hours no longer needed to be completely pre-empted for medicinal sex.

When they called, I debated whether I should leave the TV on, but decided to leave it off because I had a theory. Sam and his family were far right-wing, and Gina and her family were far left-wing, and they used to argue politics constantly. I wondered if (a) they’d be able to steer clear of politics, and (b) if not, if they’d get as...distracted...as (ick) my parents. Not-so-ick in this case, because Gina was hot—blond, tan, great figure. Not that I ever had a chance with her, because she’d had plenty of boyfriends, and none of them were me.

So the TV was off when Sam and Gina arrived, but I still had a dilemma: Should I bring up something from the news myself, or should I see if they start talking politics on their own? I didn’t want to let the visit pass without an opportunity to test my theory; on the other hand, they didn’t need a lot of encouragement to talk politics. Those two could create a political argument out of a Mister Rogers song.

And I was not disappointed. After a few minutes, Sam asked, “So Rich, how are they treating you here in the hospital?” I almost spilled my 7-Up because I wasn’t sure if it would be a good idea to tell them about Operation Sexual Healing.

Before I could decide, Gina answered, “Should be fine, ever since they passed the health care bill!” Now that health care had been mentioned, I instinctively braced myself for fireworks—maybe political, maybe sexual, maybe both, I wasn’t sure.

Right on time, Sam and Gina both got that glazed look in their eyes, and then I saw the problem: I didn’t really think about what would happen next. Would they be like my parents and run out to the car or another room? Would they join me in bed, and then kick me out? Would they join me in bed, and invite me to help?

Instead, Sam got up and said, “Gotta go see Jeannie—see ya, Rich! Glad you’re OK!” and ran out of the room.

“Jeannie? Who’s she?”

“Sam’s new girlfriend,” Gina answered. She was now giving me a very familiar look—the same one I’d seen on Dr. Toms and most of the nurses on the floor.

I asked, “And you?”

“Nope. No girlfriend.” Gina grinned. “No boyfriend at the moment, either. But maybe we can fix that. So, have the doctors cleared you for sex, yet?”

Didn’t see that coming, either, but this was one time where I was lucky I was too stunned for words; otherwise, I’d have been too busy trying not to laugh. Probably a good thing I hadn’t mentioned Operation Sexual Healing.

But at least one part of me wasn’t stunned, and Gina could see that through the bedsheets. “I guess that’s a ‘yes’—excellent,” she leered at it. Me. It. Whatever. “I don’t have any protection. You?”

I nodded toward the medical supply cabinets. “First door on the left, top shelf.” More signs of weirdness, in case you’re still trying to keeping track: (a) Condoms as hospital room medical supplies, (b) Gina didn’t seem to think that “condoms as hospital room medical supplies” was weird, and (c) I knew exactly where the condoms were kept within the hospital room medical supplies, and Gina didn’t think that was weird, either. Maybe I could have told her about Dr. Toms, I don’t know.

So she grabs a condom from the first door on the left, top shelf, and she struts over to me like a cross between a runway model and Sexxxy McTits from the strip joint across town.

And we had sex.

So now, you’re probably screaming at your computer screen, “Hello? Have you forgotten about that whole ‘erotic’ thing? What the fuck do you mean, ‘and we had sex’?!?”

First, if anyone heard you scream all that, I’m really sorry.

Second...well, this is the third example of awkward I promised.

Ever stumble across one of those “gazillion hours of porn” DVDs? Ever try to watch it all the way through, beginning to end? It all becomes a blur by the end, right?

OK, now imagine living a gazillion hours of porn.

Gina was hot, and sex with her was everything I’d hoped and more...but after days of medically-induced sex, blowjob procedures, and sex-crazed media reporting on sex-crazed everyone else, I can’t really tell you anything specific about Gina. Just one big gigantic pornographic blur.

Hell, I’m surprised I can remember everything I’ve written down. (Except the stuff about my parents. Still trying to forget that.)

No, I didn’t turn any of the sex down, whether it came from Dr. Toms, the nurses, or Gina—I’m still a teenaged male, after all—and I still enjoyed it, but it wasn’t like I was replaying specific sex scenes in my mind a few hours later. Usually because I was creating entirely new sex scenes a few hours later.

But I still couldn’t find an answer to my question. Just what the hell was going on?