The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Valerie Caldwell was committed to her secret identity, and to her work as a superhero. No one had ever yet figured out her true identity, but she was well known by her moniker Onyx Ocelot.

The city had a lot of superheroes, but Onyx had made a name for herself. She was practically the only one in the whole city who was so willing to bend ethics and morals in pursuit of the greater good. She was willing to do whatever it took, no matter the cost to her own self-image, no matter how much it shook her up. This meant she was willing to go as dark as she needed to to get things done. This in a way made her the resident ‘dark’ superhero; she was certainly a lot darker than a lot of her colleagues, but they still let her associate with their organizations.

She was willing to go a lot farther with her vigilantism, too; she took the law into her own hands often, and she never rested until whichever nefarious group she’d targeted had finally been dismantled.

Lately her target of choice had been Over-minds. Or rather, the trail of danger she’d left in her wake. She’d been successfully taken down, by Onyx, but her technology hadn’t all been destroyed. Onyx had been going through her remaining articles of technology to make sure they hadn’t fallen into other nefarious hands. When she found them, she destroyed them. But she hadn’t been able to find Over-minds’ elusive surviving mind control helmet anywhere.

The closest Onyx had come to tracking the damn thing had been a tip that sent her into a new villain’s compound; there were rumors, too, that the villains’ alliance had been meeting there, but Onyx had no idea which villain actually owned the compound, or what they were doing with it.

Onyx had come up against the villains alliance before, and she wasn’t too frightened of it. Hell, she’d broken into villains’ lairs solo before, and the tip had told her the helmet had been acquired, and that she might find it there if she snooped around enough. It was the first lead she’d had in a long time, the first tip to come in on a trail that was otherwise icecold, so Onyx was willing to take the risk. She dressed herself up in her outfit, to cloak her identity, and she followed the co-ordinates she’d been given to reach the compound.

It was a series of single story industrial buildings; Onyx wouldn’t have been surprised if the compound once truly had been an industrial warehouse or production facility. It was night; because Onyx liked to work under cover of dark; it helped her avoid capture, helped her avoid being seen by people she didn’t want seeing her.

It was enough to creep around the compound; it was looking like she was going to have to scope out one building at a time, but so far it didn’t seem like there was anybody around but her. A good tip; or good luck; or both.

She was making her way toward the frontdoor of the first building, but something struck her from behind, knocking her unconscious; and then she didn’t know anything else after that.

When she came back to awareness, she was completely groggy. Her head was throbbing; and it took her a moment to understand that she couldn’t see herself.

It took her another to realize she couldn’t move her body either.

Who had knocked her out? Had the villains’ alliance been lying in wait for her? Had the tip only been a trap to get her here? She couldn’t see, or sense anything, and she didn’t understand why— it disturbed her so much. Where was she, and what was happening? This was low, even for an organization of villains. Just knocking out a rival without even giving them the chance to fight fair! Sneaking up on someone with their back turned, and then taking them out, only to then hold them captive. Would they hold Onyx for ransom now? She hated to be a liability for the superheroes’ alliance. She’d never been one before. Or— worse. Would they unmask her, and expose her true identity to the real world? Her head was spinning, full of worstcase scenarios. She wished she had some information; she wished she could see, or somehow sense where she was or what would happen to her next. Were they going to torture her? For information, perhaps? Would they make her give up the secret identities of the other superheroes? She was afraid.

Somehow, she was seeing something in her mind’s eye. It had happened suddenly, but she was now, undeniably, seeing. It was her first clue— the first sense that had come to her, though she didn’t understand how it could be coming in just yet.

In her head, she saw a woman. But she didn’t think the woman could be her. For one thing, the woman wasn’t wearing th uniform of the Onyx Ocelot— this was a relief to Onyx. It reassured her that the woman she was seeing couldn’t possibly be her— this was some other woman the villains’ alliance was showing her, as some kind of source of torment. Perhaps to taunt her with the fact that this was a woman she couldn’t save, while they were holding her captive. Maybe they were going to make her watch the destruction of this woman, throughout its entire process, just to make her aware of her own helplessness.

And this was a woman that did need saving— Onyx would have been trying to save her if she could have— she was not very aware of her body right then, because now that there was something broadcasting into her head, there was something else for her to be focusing on, and it was engrossing her with its contents.

The woman was bound— that was the easiest way to understand it— and as Onyx’s attention swept over the woman positioned there, she found she very much did want to understand— she let her mind focus on the details— perhaps if she paid close enough attention there would be some way of helping this woman after all.

The first thing was what the woman was wearing— it was like a bodysuit, but not like any kind of bodysuit that could be bought off the rack. This was a custom-designed one, made just for this captive woman’s body, it seemed, and unlike any other bodysuit Onyx had seen in all of her time as a superheroine.

Really the woman looked like someone had come at with her long bands of cloth— as though they had stripped her down to naked, and set the first cloth on her skin, then began wrapping cloth after cloth around her. Maybe the cloths had even been drenched in water first— so they would shrink to her skin even more— there was something unnatural about the way they were so tight to her— but that was the impression they gave, of cloth after cloth, or bandage after bandage placed on her skin, wrapped around her, wrapped around each other, one layering over the next, until every inch of her was hidden. She looked mummified almost— except it was clear that she was very much still alive— and yet, Onyx couldn’t be sure if the woman really had been wrapped in individual cloths which eventually formed a whole, or if she had simply been put into a bodysuit that created this illusion, but was really just one whole entity.

The other thing about the fabric of this bodysuit, or whatever it was, was that it had an aspect of midnight about it— it had a black base to it, but there was a shimmering illusion over this of all the spectrum of rainbow colors moving with and over the black— so it was black, and it was rainbow at once— but there was no light, no white— just colors on black, but the colors had a holographic quality where sometimes they shimmered themselves apparent and sometimes they did not.

The woman was covered like this from foot to chin— what had been done to her head was different— but Onyx’s attention still lingered on the attiring of her body— her form was so tightly held by this apparent wrapping— more like a squeezing even— that each line of her bones, and each line of her muscles showed through the material— even the woman’s nipples were obvious— it must hurt to be so tightly swaddled in cloth— drenched cloth, if it had been— but drenched cloth that had somehow been kept from drying so it could always hold so tight and never loosen even a little bit.

If it truly had been a weaving process which had put the woman in this clothing, Onyx wondered how they had kept her still for so long— how they had successfully been able to do this to her without her resisting or trying to prevent them. Even the arches of her feet were swaddled— it was like looking at the woman naked, her form was so revealed— like what she wore had been painted on her and wasn’t really material at all— and it always had that holographic quality— even if she were only seeing in her mind’s eye, when Onyx considered different parts of the woman, or from different perspectives, the colors shimmered themselves differently; there was something of them that suggested things hidden deep— as if anything could be beneath the surface of the clothing— hiding inside it— ready to do something to this woman. Onyx shivered.

If the woman had only been sitting there dressed the way she was, she would have been bound enough— but this dressing was not all that had been done to her. She was seated in a structure that clearly bound her— Onyx wasn’t quite sure if she was ready to say that it was a chair— she was only just noticing it now— a cross between a chair and a bed, maybe, because she’d been tilted back into a partially reclined position— this structure had almost no back support— it had a single pole which reached the woman’s midback, and ended in something that looked like an open plastic forcep which held her at that one point— there was another like this that encased her shoulders— and another that cradled the nape of her neck— the poles supporting these forceps were increasingly taller as they went back— so the woman was laid on a diagonal that showed her body off completely— as if ideally positioned for an observer who came to stand above her. Or, more disturbingly, as if ideally positioned for Onyx’s forced viewing of this poor captive.

At her hips, things changed— the two of them were splayed about as far apart from each other as they could be without breaking, and then her legs were not extended from there in a straight split— each leg was bent at the knee in a position that had to be incredibly uncomfortable— and then each of the woman’s feet came to rest on a flat, rectangular platform exactly tailored to it— there were offshoots from the forceps that held her straining, nearly breaking hips. These offshoots spidered out to support each ending footrest. But it was like the woman was being forced into a crouch that pushed against those footsupports— forcing her to put even more strain on her contorted knees and hips. This position made the woman’s pussy completely obvious, even through the thin film of covering her clothing gave— the lips of her pussy protruded through the fabric— even a faint outline of the woman’s fat clit could be seen— just as every anatomical detail of the woman’s breasts was shown under the same film.

The woman’s breasts stood firm and tall— they were raised above where they might have sat normally, almost pointing upwards because the woman’s encasing outfit was holding them so firmly— they were huge, and circular, jutting off her chest, the woman’s nipples jutting highest of all, almost pointing directly up to the ceiling.

The poles which supported the forceps holding the woman’s body up were shining black metal— the poles which supported every part of the structure where the same. The whole room was paneled in this same, sleek black. And yet the woman’s clothing with the black base stood out— perhaps because of the holographic detailing, perhaps because of boldness of the black— but it was so.

Onyx could see what had been done with the woman’s arms, now. They had been woven beneath the forceps supporting her back and her hips— and they were bound with tight black cords which seemed to grow out of the poles there— her elbows bound at her midback, her wrists bound behind her hips— considering her shoulders sat in a forcep holder, and then her arms had been craned lower so they could run along her back, this looked about as excruciating as what had been done to her hips.

Her knees, which each were held in a forcep of their own, were tied there tightly— so she couldn’t shift there either— and each hip was tied into its singular forcep holder— if they had shared one, it would not have been possible to force them so apart— so the women’s arms were bound behind her back in two places— her knees and hips were tied into their holders, and her feet were tied to their platform supporting slabs.

The whole position seemed to suggest the idea to the woman that she should relax her weight against the footsupports and press into them— but if she did, it would stretch her hips nearly past the breaking point, and push the fabric of her wrapping harder into her pussy, harder against her breasts— the woman was completely immobile, perhaps apart from the ability to hold herself where she was, or then lower herself into putting her weight on her feet— it looked like a very cruel position to place somebody in, though— and there was one final band of cords that went just below the woman’s jaw, making it impossible for her to even so much as turn her head in any other direction, turn her head in any other way.

The woman was trapped— first by what she wore, and which showed all the lines of her stomach, of her straining hips and knees, her protruding pussylips, clit and nipples— her breasts, aiming up almost shelf-like to the ceiling. And then after this, this clothing that somehow made her more naked to view than even her own naked body could have done, the woman was then bound to what must have been pincing forceps which held her— there was no way for her to move, or to escape— and so far, it seemed, no savior would come to her.

Onyx was becoming aware of something else, now— there was more to this structure but she had not seen it before— now she could see there metal bars above the woman’s body— there was one which ran across her chest, digging into the woman’s tits— the bar had been placed along the underside of the woman’s breasts, below each nipple by a good inch or two— and this bar, which was a gray silver, was clearly digging into the woman’s each breast at once— forcing her each nipple up— and making the woman’s breastflesh spill around its unyielding presence— then there was a second bar just above this one which was directly lined up to run across both the woman’s nipples— it rested just to them.

Then there was a third bar which rested against the top of the woman’s breasts— so her tits were being squeezed into three distinct sections— the upper third, the nipple, the lower third, and all her flesh bulging out around these firm, forceful looking silver bars.

There was a fourth bar lower down— this one rested split down the woman’s center— running down the middle of her slit, pressed right against it and pressing above her entrance— this bar was vertical, while the other three on her breasts were horizontal— there was one more horizontal bar which was a much smaller length— it was just long enough to completely run across the woman’s clit— each of these bars eventually outcropped and spidered back to support themselves off the black forcepsupporting poles— the woman was not only trapped with cords, but also pressed into by bars— Onyx couldn’t even begin to imagine how much it must be hurting her.

She was bound in at least three or four different ways at once— so tightly contained— and now Onyx was realizing, if the woman relaxed against her footsupports, it would force the bars deeper into her body— it would be even more excruciating, to hit up against that kind of firmness which would never yield.

But now something was happening— Onyx wasn’t sure if this was something she was only being shown now, or something she was imagining— but the lowest bar, the one which ran down the woman’s slit, was retracting so it didn’t touch her anymore— the whole thing seemed like one big machine, and the woman was only part of it now— not an individual anymore.

Then Onyx watched in shock— the fabric was morphing right near her crotch, inflating, rising up from her— she could see it in full detail because of how the woman’s pussy was opened up and splayed— this growth was extending outwards, growing in reverse so it was pulling away from her— but it was still held within the cloth, as if whatever was growing was something that was inside of her clothes with her— this made Onyx shudder again. It finally stopped, but Onyx could see it was a fat, thick phallic shape— and now it shifted itself— and Onyx could see it was forcing itself inside of the woman’s pussy— bit by bit, as if there were ridges to fit around— but finally it had pushed itself all the way in, and once more the woman’s pussy was tightly pressed to by the fabric, and visible through it— no part of the woman had moved, or reacted.

This same process repeated with the woman’s ass— the phallic shape there was no less big, no amount smaller— and yet once both phalluses were seated inside the woman, there was no sign they were even there, because the fabric settled back over her like the calming surface of a body of water after a shipwreck— but Onyx knew those phalluses were inside her— and only once all of this was done did the metal bar that belonged in the woman’s slit return itself— pressing against the invisible base of the pussyfilling phallus.

Then, if Onyx had not only been watching inside her own head, she would have gasped. Because it was at this moment that each of the five bars digging into the woman’s body began vibrating— and vibrating hard— making all the flesh surrounding them obviously tremor— Onyx couldn’t even imagine what that would feel like. It seemed so brutal— could it be pleasurable at all? A vibrating bar digging beneath the woman’s breasts, a vibrating bar digging into the top of the woman’s breasts, a vibrating bar digging into her nipples— a vibrating bar digging into her slit, a vibrating bar digging into her clit— and two phalluses buried up deep inside, getting jostled by the vibration of the bars too, while all her body was held so tightly, shown so clearly...

Onyx hated herself a little then. This was clearly meant to be a form of sexual torture— violating— and yet she couldn’t deny how brutally erotic it was. It stirred a little arousal in her, which disgusted her. The woman never moved… she was just another cog in this machine.

But this little scene had only played for a moment, as if it were on a quick loop which had now ended. Perhaps this was only a schematic of what was planned for this woman— for now the bars were motionless against her— and the fact that the image was identical to what Onyx had seen before thinking she was imagining made her believe that the phalluses weren’t inside the woman yet, either.

Now Onyx looked at last to the woman’s head— she had looked over every other part of this setup but this— and immediately, she was struck by the strangeness of what had happened here. Here, it did not look like the woman’s head had been wrapped in drenched cloth— here, it looked like the woman’s head had been wrapped in plasticwrap— layering over and over itself— and yet, the thin plasticwrap sheets seemed to be made of a transparent gold— so the whole thing shimmered too, sympathetically with the holographic impression given off by her clothes— but it conformed so tightly it showed the bones of the woman’s skull— clearly, her head had been shaved bald to allow this material to fit so tightly to her dome— this wrapping covered the woman’s eyes— it covered the woman’s mouth— giving it a strange mannequinlike quality— it covered her ears, it covered her jaw— it covered her nose— but there were two holes for the woman’s nostrils— yet out of these two holes came two curving, u-shaped straws with openends— so that whatever held the woman’s head could also modulate the quantity and tempo of her air entry? So held, she would not be able to speak or make a sound— it seemed doubtful she would even be able to inhale through her nose— the air would only be forced in on her.

But all this— this around her head— her head wrapped in this transparent-gold-amalgam, with the straws— Onyx had seen it before— she looked again.

No part of the woman’s skin showed— all of her body was covered in that black, holographic rainbow cloth— and all of her head was covered in that thin gold overlapping sheeting— and Onyx had seen that sheeting before— the thing that was clinging so closely to the woman’s head— showing her skullbones— that was Over-minds’ mindcontrolling helmet.

The woman held in this machine was her.

The feed showing her to herself, inside of her brain, stopped playing.

There was a certain amount of resignation present— or maybe it was so unexpected she still hadn’t accepted its reality, and this was delaying her. She was trapped. She was trapped in a way so horrible it seemed like it might have come out of a nightmare, or a string of nightmares she’d seen before— only now it was really happening to her. Or now it was happening to her again, but in a new context. She might have hoped in such nightmares that the horrors contained within might stay within those bounds and never again encroach on her present— but now, here in the present these nightmares had recurred, they were happening to her again, she would never escape them, they would be happening to her forever— she couldn’t get out.

Her mind was dark— she was being shown nothing, now— but she could feel— as if watching the feed in her mind had shut her off from the sensations in her body— but now she could feel them. She could feel how her hips were at the point of almost breaking— could feel the cords, below jaw, around hips, around knees, around feet— could feel her arms running down along her back, could feel the underside of the plastic forceps against the backs of her arms, could feel the upperside of them digging into her body wherever they were holding her— could feel the bars biting her erogenous zones— but there was nothing stuffed inside her. She could feel the space there— grateful for one thing at least.

She wondered how long she would be held in this room— she wondered when the helmet would start working its techniques on her. It was a mindcontrolling helmet and they’d put it on her head. One of the most effective ones ever made, and they’d put it on her head— it would want to control her mind. It would want to brainwash her— she wondered what they were going to try to turn her into.

She felt pain— it wasn’t only the forcepsupports digging into her— it wasn’t only the tight binding cords strategically placed— or the strained position her body had been placed in. Neither was it the presence of the bars that burrowed in her— it was also the outfit she wore— it was too tight— on its own, it felt like it was eating its way into her with teeth because it was so tight and constraining— it would have been a labor to breathe if she’d been in control of that, but as guessed it seemed the helmet was orchestrating the inflow of air through her nostrilstraws— so she was feeling in no way the lack of oxygen— but still— she ached, her body strained, everything seemed to pulse from how captive she was being held— from how trapped she was— and like all the entrapments around and on her were eating away her top-layer, taking away the boundaries between her body and the rest of the world. Just reclining here made her feel she was melding to her prison— she was becoming another mechanized component in it— the battery to lie here, or the raw material that needed to be worked on and then made into something else.

She needed rescue— she’d had one or two close scrapes in the past where she had successfully been able to escape intact, even when things had gotten close to the point of no possible return. But unlike those other times, there seemed no other way out now. Things were dire— things were dire, and she couldn’t get out— the only thing she could do was let her body sag down and press back against the footrest platforms, but for now she was holding herself up off of them, because she was, maybe rationally, maybe irrationally, afraid that if she did relax in the way intended, it would finally break her hips.

There was nowhere to go— and nothing that she could do. All that was possible was to stay, unchanged, where she was; in this state of entrapment. That was a despairing thing to think— but this time, unlike all other close scrapes, she had no other option. There was no one coming for her. When she’d looked at this scenario herself, she’d correctly identified that the woman being held need someone to save her— now that she knew she was that woman, she understood even more completely how much she needed a savior, but she’d told no one she was coming here. No one was looking for her— and no one was coming.

She had at least hoped that the things holding her would stay stationary— that nothing else would happen— but when she felt the bar come away from her center slit, she understood what it meant, and it filled her with a greater dread— then she felt the crotch of her clothing growing its bulge. It was budding its phallus, and pushing outward— but the phallus was on the inside, aiming towards her—

Just from watching it happen, she hadn’t gotten the sense of it— but when the fabric was pushed back, it pulled on all the rest of the fabric that covered her body, making the fit an even tighter one— she tried to clench her teeth, but her head was so wrapped up in Over-minds’ helmet that she couldn’t even do that much— it felt like all of her skin was being tightened, bunched up, pulled back, pulled tighter— the only way of expressing this discomfort was a faint grunting sound, and nothing more— after it was gone she wasn’t even sure if she’d actually been able to hear it.

Finally there was a slight relaxing— the base of the phallus had extended to its furthest point— the whole thing had finished growing— and then she felt it angling itself around— it was aiming for the entrance of her pussy with its splitting tip, and she felt just the tip invade her— she couldn’t close her thighs, her hips were splayed too far apart— the tip started to push into her, and she was wound so tightly by all that had happened to her, that her pussy was not relaxed— it was being worked open— and the phallus was much wider than she’d been able to tell with it hidden inside the cloth— it was so thick she didn’t know if she could take it— but when her body tried to break a sweat, she was so tightly bound in what she wore that it only absorbed directly into the material— she didn’t have even enough skinsurface to bead sweat onto.

The first ridge was swallowed by her pussy— now the second was being worked into her— she could not deny that this was starting to be a pleasurable experience— as the phallus slowly, unrelentingly invaded her, it forced her pelvis to tilt back, which forced her breasts to come harder forward onto the bars— that was three demanding touches on each breast, below, above, on the nipple— yet paired with her pussy trying to open to accommodate its intruder, even this digging in took a vaguely pleasurable form— all of it was very muted, but it was like the first stirrings of pleasure awareness were arising in her— the third ridge was in— the fourth stretched her, then was swallowed down— the fifth— there were only six of them, and finally the sixth was all the way in— the base of the phallus disappeared into the shallowness of her entrance— then she felt the cloth settle tightly over her again, hiding what had been stowed in her from any witness.

Then she felt the same thing beginning to happen to her ass— the material stretching back— but when it stretched back to allow the back phallus to grow, this pulled the material taut over her pussy— she could feel her pussylips jutting out— her clitbud— and when it did, it hit to the horizontal bar that crossed it— as if it was rising to touch it— but when it did, it hurt— and yet the way the bars at her chest made her ache seemed to grow a faint hunger in her— it was a craving ache— it hurt but as it was hurting it was faintly enjoyable— was this the helmet affecting her? She couldn’t tell. There was no way to know.

When the phallus was fully grown behind her, it angled in towards her asshole— and the tip slipped in there, also. This phallus took even longer than the first— there was no faint trace of self-lubricant to guide the way, so the six-ridged horror had to be put into her even more slowly.

It felt like the rear phallus was stabbing in towards the front phallus— as though the two of them were pointing up at each other, forming an upsidedown ‘V’ in her body— or a triangle without a base— her bindingsuit was absorbing more sweat off of her— she was grunting almost constantly— she felt the bars in her breasts— felt the bar in her clit— felt all her her bonds, all the stretches of her joints and muscles— she was being forced to take this— she wasn’t being given a choice— but she could feel how much wetter, and then how much tighter she was clenching around the phallus that was already in her.

Its presence was a constant ache— but an ache that made her want more of it, an ache that made her want to thrust, to gyrate— and then somehow the aches everywhere else were being colored by this— they were a little this way, too— three ridges of the rear phallus were into her.

In went the fourth— the fifth— time was interminable waiting for this process to be done— and she was starting to get worked up, starting to wish she could just get off and clench down in orgasm— this made the phallus in her pussy all the more frustrating— it seemed no release was readily handy to her— she just had to wait as the sixth ridge in the rear phallus went in— stretching her— she was stuffed full, stabbed full, both phalluses deep inside, sliding up into her on diagonal, pointing to each other— making their baseless triangle— her hips were screaming at her— she understood— in this position of her body, she was angled for the deepest possible penetration— and indeed it felt there was not even a quarter of an inch left inside her that could be invaded. Almost as if these phalluses had been specifically designed for her cavities. Her holes around them were as tightly fitted as the suit was to her skin. And each ridge was a painful, knobby stretch— a little more than she could take— but the fabric of her suit had pulled tight again, over pussy, and ass, and asshole alike— they were hidden up inside of her.

Her hips still screamed— it would feel better— it would just feel better if she could let her weight come down and press against her footsupports— she gave in and did this, and immediately regretted it. Her hips did not break— but in pushing herself forward in such a way, the pussyfilling phallus was shot forward another halfinch into her— making it feel like it was stabbing her on the inside— and she felt the movement of each ridge as it went— the assfilling phallus stayed more or less stationary— but now she was being even more deeply penetrated, deeply fucked than before— she’d shoved the pussyfilling phallus into bottoming out— and it was overwhelming— but with some of her weight bearing down against the footsupports, it did ease a little of the ache in her hips— however it had also shoved the bars farther up into her breasts, and into her clit— it was as if she had been guided into this position, the mechanistic cog being moved into a more optimal functioning— it made her feel dehumanized, like she had lost her identity in part.

Then she felt the last bar pressing to the center of her slit. She would have startled if she could have moved— but she couldn’t, and didn’t. The bar pressed flush to the base of the pussyfilling phallus, and forced it one quarterinch further into her that she hadn’t thought her body had available to give— it was literally being held in place by the placement of that lowest bar— there was no way for anything to relax, to ease back and become just the slightest bit more bearable. She’d fallen, or been pushed, into the most extended, the most violated position and couldn’t do anything to extricate from it now.

And then each bar began to vibrate.

It was like whitespots of pleasure on her brain— or throughout her body— it was a pleasure so searing she thought it was burning parts of her brain out of her. And it was a pleasure she’d been prepared for. All that craving aching seemed to have been craving after this— and now, as she felt each of the five bars fully vibrating she almost couldn’t understand what was happening to her, or how it could feel so good. The tremors were like earthquakes, deep into the flesh of her breasts— and deep into the flesh of each nipple— and when her nipples were vibrated this way, they tried to bud harder, but this only served to make the bar force in deeper— so it only became increasingly overwhelming.

The same thing happened with the bar over Onyx’s clit— her clit tried to bud, the bar bit deeper— it went on in this circular way. And the bar pressed to her slit vibrated so violently that it forced the pussyfilling dildo to vibrate just as violently— shaking her from the inside, making her cower in pleasure only to be held more brutally open— and because the pussyfilling phallus aimed toward her assfilling one, it seemed the vibrations that traveled up it traveled down the other— so both phalluses were violently vibrating, because of that one bar— and the ridges inside forced her even further past her comfort— there was pleasure everywhere, and the tremors went so deep where the bars were, where the phalluses were, that reverberations of them seemed present even in muscles far away from them— her whole body shook with the vibrations— the penetrations were forced deeper with the vibrations.

She could feel her pussy forcing out fluid, but it all just got immediately absorbed into her suit— she was producing liquids that had nowhere to go— they all just got swallowed by the clinging fabric— she was being jarred— she ached, and then the ache had a satisfaction— it was satisfying her in some base way to be brutalized like this— her breasts were on fire with arousal by now, only made worse by the digging bars, and their vibrations. She couldn’t move but her body was being moved by the machine with these tremors and aftershocks, and when they tensed in around them, she was stretched a little more past her breaking point in every joint and every bond— and when then they relaxed around these vibrations there was a satisfaction in this too— she was perpetually on the point of an immense orgasm— but it never fully closed around her— she was left with a more desperate wanting than before— the pleasure had only barely started but it felt like it was driving her outside of her own mind.

And then, there was an image in her head again, for her to watch.

The image was as clear as the feed of herself had been— but she was not seeing herself bound up, or present in the sleek black room empty of everything other than her and her own containment. She was seeing herself, yes— but she was seeing herself entwined with someone else— Lioness— in her lionwear costume; and she, Onyx, and Lioness were kissing each other— something about seeing Lioness set her on edge.

Something inside of herself recognized this person was not her ally— and yet here she was seeing herself kiss someone that felt unsafe, that felt like an enemy; but the only discomfort in seeing this was how she felt inside. There was no other responsive stimulus.

Then the image changed— she was seeing the league of superheroes she was a member of— these were all her colleagues, the members of her team, no matter how loosely affiliated she felt to them at times. For instance, tonight when she’d chosen to do this mission alone.

They were all standing in a line— the members of the Vanguard. There was Citadel, wearing her heavy armor, ready to take on the world either with her well-armed fighting skills and preemptive defensive dress— or else with her wizardlike ability for all things technological. Next to her was Bombshell— with her ability of flight and preference for highplaces— and her general dynamism. On the other side of her could be found Micro-Maid; a scientist who could change her size, and finally, Sentinel, the possessor of many abilities and overall a wielder of great power.

In looking at these, her colleagues, Onyx felt none of the reluctant terror she’d felt when she’d watched herself be made to kiss Lioness, or at least the likeness of herself— but as soon as she saw all four members of the Vanguard standing together in a row, there was immediate and allconsuming pain.

It took a second, in the pain’s aftermath, for Onyx to piece together what had happened. Everything touching her, everywhere it did— even everything inside her— all these things together had gathered an electrical charge, and then administered it to her. She was surprised in realizing this that it had not stopped her heart from beating with its severity— so much electrical power had just passed through her body, and it had been tied to the image of well-respected and admired colleagues— people for whom she felt great affection, even. She had been punished for looking at them— or pushed towards a conditioning that associated their image with pain.

She realized now how in control the mindcontrolling helmet was; she had thought of it as something distinct from everything holding and touching her, but now she realized it was orchestrator of it all— it had ordered the charge, and made all the other parts of the machine give it to her. She was starting to realize its real power; and she was starting to feel afraid when she thought of that.

Now there were no more images in her head— she stood in her own mind, having been placed there by the helmet itself. She hated that it could make her generate a self-concept on demand— force her into a self-visualization, but here she was, and now, in her mind, this was the only place she could move.

The first circle was really a concept; she reached for it, and understood the idea attached. Words didn’t have to be used— she understood the concept on a sublingual level, just as gestures at understanding. If she chose this circle, by reaching for it again now that she knew what it was, then she would receive pleasure like that first taste of it she’d already had— the pleasure would come from loving her enemy, from loving Lioness as she’d seen herself doing.

She had hated this idea when first exposed to it, and was no greater fan of it now. So instead, she reached for the second circle in front of her— the associated concept was even worse here.

If she chose this second circle, she would be given pain such as she had already tasted— that burning, searing, electrical charge, from the inside of her outwards, everywhere she was making contact with something. She would receive electricity like this again and again, while looking at her team members, until finally she hated them because of their forged association with pain. If she chose this second circle by reaching for it again, she would be forced to suffer her way into hating her own allies. There were no good options for her here.

She acknowledged the power of the helmet again— it had first orchestrated for her a taste of extreme pleasure, and then a taste of extreme pain; she could have one, or the other, and it was her choice. But both outcomes were horrible. She would either be brainwashed into loving Lioness through extensive, violating (…delicious…) pleasure reinforcement, or she would be brainwashed into hating the rest of the Vanguard through brutally painful negative reinforcement. She wanted neither to love her enemy nor hate her friends; but she had only been presented with two options. And she was starting to worry now that if she didn’t choose the decision would soon be made for her.

She made the decision quickly, based on quick reasoning. If she chose the pleasure reinforcement, it was possible it would leave her positive feelings for her allies intact; this would give them a foothold to potentially deprogram her. Being made to love Lioness didn’t necessarily mean being made to hate the Vanguard— whereas if she chose pain, she would clearly have no choice but to hate them. It was a terrible option, but better than the even worse one. And so Onyx reached for the first circle— and everything she was seeing in her head stopped. She was aware of the sensations in her body again— for a moment, nothing was happening to her— she was just being restrained in her absolute stillness— but she knew the helmet was sophisticated enough to register her choice, and knew what would soon be happening again to her.

She was only able to sit there in undisturbed peace for a moment or two— and then it was all starting all over again. The three bars that extended across her chest in perfect placement vibrated into her breasts— the much smaller bar vibrated into her clit— the last into her slit, against her entrance, sending its shocks into the phallus inside her which passed to the other phallus in her rear— her whole body felt like it was in a state of revelation where it was learning something that had been hidden inside it for a long time— only Onyx knew there had never been an experience of pleasure like this in her past— it was so total, it eclipsed everything— it became everything— there was something so dehumanizing in it, the machine running because the helmet made it run, and her role in this function… and yet, even so, Onyx knew she was Onyx. She knew who her allies were, and she knew what her life had been— the pleasure made her crave release, and crave orgasm— but it didn’t make her crave Lioness as she’d expected to see happen. Lioness was still her enemy, and Onyx understood that.

Thinking became a thing that was foggier— but it was a thing she was still doing— she felt each fold of her breasts between the bars shivering in pleasure— each part of each erogenous zone filling with pleasure, but the moment of climax never in fact arrived— she was constantly on the precipal point.

So this was what brainwashing was— she was learning at long last. This was the process she had only ever seen from the other side of the equation— the process of taking on Over-minds, of taking her down, of seeing what she’d done to her victims, of destroying her remaining equipment bit by ubiquitous bit. This was what each other victim that had once sat under this helmet had once felt. She was finding it out for herself— she had thought she would be the solution to this problem, and now she was being preyed upon by it. She was being brainwashed right now by the pleasure— it was swimming in her body and erasing everything else— it was held in each vibration dealt to her, held in the way those vibrations made the double penetration within her constantly felt.

Time passed— there were no images in her head anymore— so everything was just darkness, and feeling. She was the base black shade that all holographic color overwrote— the brainwashing was the color, overtaking her base foundation— no new images played in her head, but the memories were there— and when she remembered how helpless she had looked, and how those colors had shifted and danced for her consideration, she wondered if this was what losing her mind looked like— if this was the moment the brainwashing won.

But the hours passed, and she was still Onyx— she had not lost the fundamental piece of her— and this was a surprise. She waited— it didn’t happen.

The door to the room opened so much later— Onyx heard the sound— and then there was the image in her head— the redhaired villainess, in her red and black latex— Miss Behavior. Onyx had never taken her that seriously— she’d had bigger foes to contend with, and Miss Behavior’s misdemeanors had seemed more minor by comparison, below Onyx’s level of engagement. She was thinking now she should perhaps not have been so quick to overlook her— clearly, she’d been at least partly the mastermind behind Onyx’s capture, and her current positionment.

In her mind’s eye, Miss Behavior bent over Onyx’s trapped body, and traced a hand along the barforced shelf of Onyx’s breast. It was a touch that made Onyx shudder because of how sensitive all her erogenous zones had become through this process; and in Onyx’s mind’s eye she saw Miss Behavior smile.

“You think you’re being brainwashed right now,” she spoke in coaxing tones. “You think you’ve been brainwashed all these past few hours. But you’re wrong.”

Onyx’s mind clouded in confusion. How could she be wrong? What else could this be called? She was being constantly, forcibly pleasured— by a mindcontrolling helmet that wanted to change her— that had forced her to choose her own method of torture— what other word was there for that? Was Miss Behavior trying to mess with her mind further, just to manipulate her? Was this part of how the helmet worked? Was it forcing Onyx to hallucinate? Only when she’d felt Miss Behavior’s touch it had seemed so real.

“The plan was never to brainwash you first. All this time the helmet has been working on you, it’s just been working to create a map of your mind. To figure out all the pathways of your brain— the way you think, the way you believe, the way you decide. Our alliance could so easily make a drone out of just anyone. We don’t want you to be a drone. We want you to be an active and eager participant. We want you to crave the pleasure so much that it depraves you to our level— we want you to be just as twisted and sick as we are— just as sick for the pleasure… just like us. We want you to want your own corruption.”

Hearing it described in such plain terms made Onyx recoil— and yet the words Miss Behavior spoke held an erotic charge which Onyx’s sensitized body was susceptible to; hearing such lurid, lewd speech spiked her arousal higher— made her more aware of each thing that was simultaneously pleasuring her and harming her. She didn’t want to become what Miss Behavior had described, and still her body reached an even more heightened state of pleasure in hearing such a description just because Onyx had been so sexually worked up to this point that she couldn’t help reacting in further pleasure. None of it became an external action, because she was so bound. None of it became an orgasm, though by now Onyx was half-wishing for one to culminate.

“We want another supervillain in our alliance,” Miss Behavior added after a moment. “And we want one who’s twisted like we are. It’s going to be you.”

It felt the same as realizing that the woman all bound up was her— it filled Onyx with a renewed sense of despair, being shown what a serious position she was in— whether it was finally recognizing Over-minds’ helmet, and its significance, or whether it was hearing what the villains’ alliance wanted from her. This was what was being done to her. What was intended for her— and it couldn’t be avoided.

This final concluding comment seemed the only thing that Miss Behavior wanted to add— in the next moment, Onyx felt the pleasure touching her everywhere; the bars moving again, the phalluses moving again— but this time, there were images playing inside of Onyx’s head. She was watching herself kiss Lioness again while experiencing this distracting pleasure. And yet though the pleasure distracted her, it also seemed to force a focus— as if it was only distracting her from her resistance, and from her reluctance— but forcing her more deeply into what she was seeing that was pleasurable, and the association between that, and the pleasure she felt inside of herself. It only distracted her from core parts of herself— it focused her on things that she didn’t want, the things the villains alliance wanted for her and from her.

There she was, kissing Lioness— but then, there she was fucking her— the two of them entwined on a bed, on a floor, in a vehicle. It was like the passage of time throughout the interminable pleasuring that had preluded Miss Behavior’s entry into the room— she and Lioness were kissing, they were fucking, they were making out— they were doing depraved things together— they were sneaking away to do them, they were doing them in an everchanging rotation of backgrounds.

This time it felt like the helmet was affecting her— Onyx saw Lioness kissing her, saw Lioness licking her pussy— saw herself thrusting a few fingers inside of her while they coupled together— and she wanted her— or thought she wanted her, and then thought that it was only the constant presence of pleasure inside of her body that was blurring the lines. She saw the images happening— and felt the pleasure at the same time— so for a moment her mind was tricked, and believed the two things were linked until she could remind herself.

But then the images were coming faster and faster, until there was no time left in which she could remind herself that the pleasure was separate from what she was seeing.

Then it felt like as soon as she saw herself with Lioness she was already turned on— the image an immediate turnon in itself; and then it was almost like she wished the helmet to work— wished it to warp her, so she could enjoy the idea of herself with Lioness even more than she already was— and when she tried to resist, the next image appeared.

It was a barrage of images— they were happening too quickly now to tell them apart, and happening too quickly now for Onyx to be thinking at all.

Then, she didn’t know— if it was because Miss Behavior was standing over her— if this was some power that she had, and which she was now using on her— but the images were shifting. They were ceasing to be just images— they were becoming real moments that Onyx could remember. They were becoming memories— yes— she was sitting here and remembering real events that had happened in her life— remembering loving Lioness— kissing her, pleasuring her, being pleasured by her in return— fucking her— being fucked by her in return— these weren’t inventions manufactured by the helmet, handing them down to her like an authoritative decree.

There were real things— Onyx was sure now they had actually taken place. Of course she and Lioness had fucked— they’d fucked a lot, and in so many different places. Onyx could probably name them all, if given a few hours of free time in which to do so— Lioness was a great sexual partner, and Onyx always enjoyed herself greatly; it was laughable to think she had ever briefly forgotten. How could she have forgotten a loving so passionate, so full of fire? She wished Lioness were here with her right now, just so she could fuck her again. She was burning with arousal for her— she hungered for Lioness’ naked body, wanted intimate contact with her again, wanted deeply.

In fact, now Onyx remembered. She’d voluntarily put herself in this position. She’d wanted to be bound up, put under the helmet and fucked silly by a machine. She’d done it because she didn’t want to hide her affair with Lioness anymore— the experiences she’d discounted out of shame, and sneaking around, she could shove them aside now— she’d wanted to be put in this situation to achieve clarity— to be cured of her desire to hide and keep in secret.

She’d been a secret lover to Lioness for years, but she’d hid it from the superhero alliance, especially when she’d been playing double agent— but now, she didn’t want to hide anymore, so she’d asked the villains to put her in this chair and help her; and they had. Now she knew she could accept the way she loved Lioness, and knew also that she could accept the way she lusted for her. She would never deny the truth of their affair again— it had been going on for so many years, it was only fair she be honest about it happening now; she could finally be open about it, because she herself accepted it. She was eager for the chance to fuck Lioness again— for the first time, not as a secret lover but as a lover who would declare it to the world, who didn’t care what the consequences of it would be anymore. If only Lioness were here now— if only she was right here with Onyx to celebrate her newfound acceptance.

It was at this moment that Lioness entered the room. At first, she looked at Onyx blankly— was she refusing to accept their affair too? Was that why she looked at Onyx as though she was a stranger— but then Miss Behavior removed her gloves and touched Lioness with one hand— and then Lioness’ eyes lit in recognition, and she clearly understood exactly who Onyx was, and what their history together meant to both of them— what they had each been through. It made Onyx feel recognized— and in its own way, it made Onyx feel a bit loved. She and Lioness were finally on the same page; and they were free to be lovers together and to accept that in themselves.

This truly meant the process was complete— the reason Onyx had asked to be put in this chair was fulfilled— so she wasn’t at all surprised when she felt a hand press to the underside of her helmet, as if reaching an unseen button— she was sure the hand had been Miss Behavior’s. And then all the cords around her untied— and the phalluses inside deflated and disappeared— and the helmet was removed.

Both Lioness and Miss Behavior offered Onyx a hand to help her off the supports and up to standing. She realized suddenly how exhausted she was. Undergoing such a form of help had been the right choice for her, but it had taken a lot out of her; it felt good to be free from the bindings. Even the suit felt looser, but it was still with shaky legs that she stood.

And Lioness was there, in all her lionlike glory; and Onyx felt warm inside. It only made sense that they’d been lovers all these years. After all, Lioness was a lion, and Onyx was an ocelot— they were both felines; and now, finally reunited, they kissed each other deeply on the mouth; tongue touching to tongue— lips against lips— Onyx could taste what the inside of Lioness’ mouth tasted like, and knew that Lioness could taste the same of her own— and she relished the feeling of kissing her in their new life, aimed towards the future— it was like she’d been seeing this very kiss they were sharing now as some kind of precognition before it had actually happened, though she wasn’t sure where. It must have been before she was more accepting of their affair. And for a moment, Onyx was so happy that she wasn’t just Onyx anymore: she was Valerie, the woman behind her secret identity, because her emotions were so full— but then, as Valerie she knew the name Onyx Ocelot just wouldn’t work anymore. No, now that she had finally accepted her feelings for Lioness she needed a new name. She wanted to be The Cat Queen, and so she knew that she would be.

Miss Behavior smiled to herself— she had done so much organizing to reach this point. So much hard work had been put in, so much planning. She’d wanted the villains’ alliance intact before moving on to the next phase in her large scheme and strategy. But now that she’d added The Cat Queen to their ranks, there was no one else they needed.

Together, all of them, including their newest member, could execute the rest of the strategy. There didn’t need to be any waiting anymore— they could just proceed with the remaining work, and Miss Behavior was pleased.