The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I.

“Drew! I said to get up!”

Fuck you. My mother, Addison McGreggor, had a very large stick up her ass. I’m not sure how it got there, but I had spent many fruitless years trying to extract it.

“I’m getting up!” I moaned as I flopped the sheets down and let the morning sun sear my nocturnal flesh.

No, I’m not a vampire and the sun doesn’t literally burn me. I always have prefered to live at night, though. There’s something seductive about the darkness. I know that most kids are afraid of the dark, but I never was. I had always actually wanted the creature who lived under my bed to come out and drag me down to the underworld.

It had to be better than here.

“I’ve hung your outfit in the bathroom!” came Mother’s shrill voice from somewhere a floor below me.

“Yes, Mother!” I called, my mind recoiling in fear at the thought of actually wearing something that she had picked out for me.

I grabbed my bathrobe and headed out toward the shower. Once inside, the warm water did a nice job of washing away some of my trepidations about what the day might hold for me.

This morning, just a few weeks after graduating high school by the skin of my teeth, I was due to start my summer internship at NanTech Pharmaceuticals. I hadn’t earned the position by any stretch of the imagination. My grades, especially in science and mathmatics, were always borderline, at best. My summer job had come to me only through manipulations on the part of my mother—she had used the leverage afforded her by her position on the Board of Directors to get the right strings pulled.

No one had bothered asking me what I wanted to do for the summer, though. As always, my life’s plan was not yet my own. From the day of my birth, Mother had devised and intricate course that I was expected to follow. No matter how hard I had tried, I could never quite derail her plans for me. My poor grades and generally shitty attitude had forced some minor adjustments over the years, but the course was still straight and clear.

I, Drew McGreggor, was expected to intern at LabTech for the summer, enter college in the fall, and study to one day take my mother’s spot among those at the helm. Unfortunately, my lack of knowledge and skill in the field wasn’t necessarily enough to quash Mother’s hopes that I might, one day, reach that position. It wasn’t so much what I knew as who I knew.

And, sadly, I knew Dr. Addison McGreggor.

In the shower, I tugged and twisted sharply at the gold stud that pierced my left nipple. I was, at once, out of my depressing thought process and back to deal with the events at hand. The act of inflicting minor pain upon myself to bring me out of the morbid depths of my dark hopeless soul was a technique I’d developed as a young girl. For a while, I’d even experimented with cutting myself. Once I discovered body piercing and learned that I could achieve the same effect without blood or other unsavory evidence, that became a thing of the past.

I was depressed, not suicidal.

With the pain in my nipple still fresh, my mind was free to focus on the brighter aspects of the coming summer. Though the miniscule amount of money I earned at NanTech would be going directly into an account controlled by Mother, my nights would be free—and it was at night when I truly thrived. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do, yet, but the plan was to get a job and sock away the cash. Once I could manage to save enough, I would move away from this place and finally be able to start along my own chosen path.

“We’ve got to leave in five minutes!” Mother’s voice shattered the soothing of the shower.

Yeah, but you should be fucking off right now!

II

I had met Jenna Carlisle, the technician who would serve as my summer mentor, during a visit to NanTech during the previous week. She seemed decent enough and had scored an extra point or two when she had rebutted one of Mother’s negative comments about my choice of clothes.

“I’m here, Ms. Carlisle. What would you like me to do?” I asked in a tone which conveyed no doubts regarding my position on the great Do-I-or-Don’t-I-Want-To-Be-Here Debate.

The red haired woman looked up at me from the desk in her office cubical and grinned. “First thing I need you to do is call me Jenna. Once you’re finished with that, I need you to grab that stack of financial projections and.. and..”

Jenna’s bright blue eyes seemed to glaze over for a second as she looked me up and down from head to toe.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

It took a moment for her focus to come back, but once it did, her fast pace and exuberant attitude seemed to be as good as new. “...Grab those financial projections and collate them into three packets.”

I had hoped that I might be given my own private workspace for the summer. To my despair, my mentor had set up a smaller desk in the corner of her cubical. I sat down and began sorting the dozen or so pages into three piles.

“What are these for?” I asked, not really caring.

There are few things that someone can say to me that will instantly win over my heart. I tend to keep my distance from most people. The few who do work their way in there do so over long periods of time and with considerable effort.

“Those, dear Drew, are our weapons,” she explained. “In about twenty minutes, you and I are going into battle. Your mother and her two evil companions have a whole bunch of money. They already have a plan for that money and, unfortunately for them, that plan doesn’t include giving any of it to us. And so it is those numbers and that shiny, happy outline for the future—all of which I pulled directly out of my ass—that are going to fuck up your mother’s plans.”

With that, Jenna turned and faced me. “Doesn’t that sound like fun?”

Somehow, after having spent a grand total of maybe ten minutes with me, Jenna Carlisle had found her way into my heart.

III.

“Last year NanTech, and rightly so,” said Jenna from her seat beside me at the table before the Board of Directors, “ceased funding on a project designed to create supplemental vitamins and drugs to compliment a line of Self-Help software programs from a company called StareWare. It was soon discovered that the software was buggy, lacked appropriate safety protocols, and generally crossed many moral and ethical lines. There was, and is, no way that NanTech could endorse or otherwise associate themselves with such a company.”

Beneath the table, from an angle at which only I could see, Jenna’s legs were slowly moving together and back apart. It was obvious that she was nervous about this presentation. The way her face was scrunching up in concentration proved to me that it was important to her that we manage to obtain the funding for this project. Even though I had no idea what the project was, I found myself rooting for her.

“The fact of the matter is, though,” she said, locking her gaze upon my Mother who watched on with her usual snarl of disapproval, “that the StareWare line of products worked. I’ve taken a considerable amount of my own personal time over the past week and have analyzed the software and how it actually works. I am certain—beyond a shadow of a doubt—that these programs can be reverse engineered, improved upon, and rebuilt with the necessary safety protocols in place.”

“So,” sneered my mother, the bitch. “What’s in it for NanTech?”

Jenna brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, took a deep breath, and seemed to exert a certain amount of will to come up with the answer.

“The human mind is medicine’s final frontier,” she explained, her words once again flowing and full of excitement. “It has powers of healing that we are now only just beginning to understand. Within two years, we’ll be able to virtually rid the world of things such as debilitating phobias, depression, post traumatic stress disorder, sexual disfunction, obesity, and, to some extent, we will even be able to slow the effects of aging. Beyond that, this technology will lead us toward curing cancer, eliminating sickness of all kinds, and possibly even overcome death due to aging. In between it all, there are literally millions of minor and not so minor afflictions that this software will be able to help with. Personal self esteem, shyness, phobias, and insomnia—these can all be things of the past.

“What about things like heart disease and multiple sclerosis?” asked Dr. Rayburn, a grizzled old man with an attitude only slightly better than my mother’s.

“Of course,” Jenna said after closing her eyes and spending another moment gathering her thoughts. “There’s no way I can possibly list every potential here in this meeting... We could spend eight hours a day for the next twenty years throwing out new ideas. The point is that this, the... um... the tapping into someone’s mind and improving or altering its processes is the future of medicine. One day, in the not too distant future, all the drugs we make here at NanTech Pharmacueticals will be obsolete... And... if we don’t develop and... grab our chunk of the market share now... someone else will.”

Jenna’s legs were moving much faster under the table now. A band of sweat had formed on her brow and there was definitely something wrong with her. Several times during her last statement, she had lost her train of thought—and I hadn’t been sure that she’d get it back. I slid my glass of water over to her, but she pushed it back and smiled as if she was trying to convince me, and maybe even herself, that she was okay.

“Everything you say makes sense,” said Dr. Kopezak, a forty-something woman and the only one on the board who actually seemed to enjoy what she did for work. “The only problem I’m having right now is that the government is just now starting to create regulations in this area. It seems like a great risk to sink a bunch of money into the research and development of this right now. A year from now, when the new laws and regulations materialize, we could be forced to scrap the project completely and our investment would be lost.”

Beneath the table, my new mentor was nearly frantic. The turmoil in her legs had moved upwards and her ass was now wiggling uncomfortably in her chair. Above the table, she was doing a much better job at hiding her overwhelming anxiety, or whatever it was, but there was a frantic storm below.

To the Directors, the only visible aspect of her problem was that she didn’t start to speak.

In my own head, I knew the answer to the question. I had played it’s solution out in my head a hundred times. My life would have unfolded differently had I developed my own plan before Mother had developed hers. If I could have shown her that I was capable of making good decisions and that I had put myself on a course toward success, she would have no need to force her own will upon me. Unfortunately, as an infant, I wasn’t smart enough to get my plan in place. She had beaten me to the punch and I was forever subject to her will.

The trembling woman beside me now had both hands under the table and I saw Jenna attempt to pull a technique from my own bag of tricks. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she pinched her arm—and pinched it hard. I could see little droplets of blood forming where her fingernails had pierced the skin.

“That,” she started to say. “That is...”

I didn’t know Jenna Carlisle very well at all. I did know that she somehow understood me, though. I knew that she felt passionately about this project. I also knew that it would really piss off my mother to be bothered by the need to rework NanTech’s research budget and redirect funds into a whole new direction.

But mostly, I knew that I had the power, for the first time in my life, to fuck up dear Mother’s plans.

“I’m sorry,” I said as all eyes in the room fell upon me. “I was asked to do the primary research on this last week and was running late this morning. I didn’t have time to brief Ms. Carlisle before this hearing.”

I played with some of the papers in front of me as if searching for my notes on the subject. I heard a sound from beside me as Jenna realized that I had selected a market analysis sheet to read from.

“If you’ll allow me,” I said as I stood up with a firm hand of reassurance on Jenna’s shoulder, “I’d be happy to respond to this question.”

The look on Mother’s face was priceless. Somehow, that wrinkled old hag managed to convey both a sense of shock that I had actually started my internship early and a sense of pride in that her daughter had, for once, actually taken it upon herself to do something to forward her peronsal agenda for me. Too bad for her that neither was the case.

“It’s the lack of current regulations that should be encouraging us to start this project immediately,” I said as I moved to the far end of the table to direct attention away from Jenna’s growing affliction. “If we sit and wait for the governement to establish a strict set of guidelines in this field, we will be forced to work explicitly within those restrictions. Not only will we not be able to move toward our own desired outcome, but the path to get there will be met with resistance and obstacles that will not only hinder us, but will prove to be completely ridiculous and self serving.”

I glanced up from my fake notes and discovered that I still had everyone’s attention. “If, on the otherhand, we act as pioneers in the field and lead through good moral and ethical example, we will be in a position to help define the regulations rather than be hindered by them. Rather than having a bunch of people who know nothing about what we’re doing in control of our plan, we will develop our own agenda—one governed by our desire to make the world a better place and NanTech’s undeniable high standard of ethics. New legislation will be made instructing those who follow us to do it using the protocols and guidelines that we developed rather than by those who only understand that they need to get the stupid thing signed and ratified before they can go home for Christmas.”

The room fell silent. I glanced over at Jenna who was looking at me in awe. When the three people at the other end of the floor slid back in their seats and began whispering amogst themselves, I returned to my seat.

“Are you okay?” I whispered while the Board’s attention was still on each other.

Jenna nodded, her breath coming in short bursts that suggested that the woman was close to hyperventilating. “Thank you so much,” she whispered as she placed a hand on my thigh. Her thumb started to stroke the denim of my jeans, which I thought was quite odd—it had to be part of her anxiety.

“Thank you ladies,” said creepy old Dr. Rayburn a moment later. “We’ll go over these figures and projections and let you know our decision sometime on Wednesday.”

We all rose and filed out of the room. Jenna, her lab coat flailing behind her like a cape, darted directly across the hall and into the restroom. Kopezak and Rayburn headed off to wherever people like that go, but my mother stopped in the hall and spoke with me.

“That was pretty impressive,” she said with a smile that sickened me. “I had no idea you had spoken with Ms. Carlisle other than on the occassion I introduced you two.”

“There’s a lot of stuff you have no idea about.”

“It’s unfortunate that the budget is so locked up at this point,” she said. “I would have enjoyed seeing how you worked on this project. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen you show any interest in working in this field.”

“Who said I was interested?” I said upon deciding not to wait for Jenna to come out of the restroom. “And you’d think that eighteen years of not being interested might have rung a little bell in that supposedly smart brain of yours.”

IV.

I had been back at my makeshift desk for about five minutes, still waiting for Jenna to return. To kill a little time, I decided to fire up my PDA and check for messages. Of course, there wasn’t anything interesting except for an e-mail from my friend Darla; she wanted to know if I would like to hang out after I got out of here. I wrote her back and told her to meet me outside at five and we’d go get something to eat and maybe scope out the job scene.

“You’re Jenna Carlisle’s new assistant?” asked Mike Kaplan, his head peering over the top of the cubicle. I’d met him a few times before, but didn’t remember his name until he came around the corner and the nametag on his coat came into view.

“Yep.”

He leaned in close and his voice took on an ominous tone, “Be careful. She’s dangerous.”

I wasn’t sure if it was fear or a thrill that passed through me as he said these words. Frankly, I didn’t really care. In my life, the most common emotions were despair and an overwhelming sense of futility. His statement evoked neither of these.

“I’ll keep my eyes open.”

As suddenly as he’d appeared, Mike Kaplan was gone.

Despite my outwardly apparent lack of ambition, I’m not completely stupid. I had listened to what Jenna Carlisle had proposed to the board and I knew that messing around with peoples’ minds was a dangerous prospect. Mike wasn’t telling me anything that I hadn’t already worked out on my own.

“Hungry?” Jenna leaned into the cubicle. Her demeanor had reverted back to the way she had seemed when I first saw her this morning. “I’ve got some stuff I’d like to go over with you.”

During the ride down on the elevator, I regarded my mentor as she watched the numbers above the door tick downward. She was a tall woman who appeared to be in her early or mid twenties. Her position within the NanTech eschelon suggested that she was probably closer to thirty, but it wasn’t unheard of to see exceptionally gifted people move up the ranks more quickly. Her long curly red hair hung down past her shoulder blades with a natural bounce and body. When the elevator doors opened and she led the way out toward the street, I also noted that her figure was one that had the potential to stop a man dead in his tracks. The looks she got as she strode through the NanTech lobby confirmed that opinion.

“Is pizza okay?” she asked once we were out on the street. “I could be talked into something else if that doesn’t do it for you.”

“That sounds fine,” I replied as the smells and sounds of Megopolis at noon invaded my senses like an angry mob.

We crossed the busy street and ducked into a dimly lit little pizza parlor that was wedged in between two huge retail stores. Even though it was lunch hour, the place was nearly empty and we had no trouble finding a secluded table in the back. After sliding ourselves onto the padded benches, we sat and regarded each other for a moment.

“I need to know where you stand on this project,” Jenna said very bluntly.

I looked at her for a full second, trying to determine exactly what sort of answer she wanted from me. I couldn’t tell.

“What do you mean?”

“As of this morning,” she explained, “I was fairly certain that you were going to be pretty useless to me—not that you’re a useless person... I just thought that you were here only because your mother had forced you into it. I figured that you would be good for doing mindless and menial tasks all day just so long as they helped make the summer go by.”

I nodded and confessed, “That’s pretty much the gist of it. Mother has my life pretty well worked out. I think I get to make my first personal decision on the third Thursday after my 80th birthday.”

“But then,” Jenna said, her finger absently running over her metal fork, “you stepped up and saved my ass during the presentation. You didn’t just push me out of the path of the bus, but you climbed right up into the driver’s seat and steered it to safety.”

“It was nothing,” I said. “When someone needs help pissing off my mother, I’m only glad to help.”

“You can see, though, where I’m having difficulty in determining what you want your position to be during your internship this summer. Do I give you things to pass the time? Or do you want me to make you a real part of this project?”

What I want my position to be? Do I want to be a real part of the project? Try as I might, I couldn’t ever remember someone asking me about what I wanted.

“I think,” I said as I started to feel the table move ever so slightly, “that you really get me, somehow. No one has...”

“Are you ready to order?” The waiter and, it seemed, the chef stood over us with a cheery smile.

“I’m good with whatever you’d like,” Jenna said, her foot gently prodding at the table pedestal below.

I ordered a small pizza for us to split and listed a few toppings to throw on. Jenna didn’t wince at any of my suggestions, so I guessed that I’d chosen well.

“As you might have noticed,” she said once the man had left, “I’ve got a little problem with my attention span and ability to focus over time.”

Yeah. I’d definitely noticed.

At this point, she put one hand down below the table while her other hand was grasping and releasing the fork. Over and over, her hand would squeeze tightly, then release. Squeeze and release. The sleeve of her blouse had slid up a bit and I could see a number of welts on her forearm. With my own dark penchant for utilizing pain to keep me in the here-and-now, I felt a slight twisted thrill as I imagined what her other hand might be doing out of sight beneath the table.

“I’m sorry,” she said as she suddenly rose from the table. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

She headed off in a sort of odd swagger and ducked into the restroom.

With nothing better to do with my time, I started to think about the proposal we’d made earlier in the day. It was the only thing going on in my life at the moment that was of any real interest at all. There were, of course, plenty of things going on in my life that I could think about, but each of those would have taken me into the dark place. I didn’t really want to visit there right then, so Jenna’s project seemed a good choice to occupy my mind.

The project was based upon another project that NanTech had scrapped. Being the night owl that I am, I’d seen the StareWare infomercials—though I don’t think I’ve ever sat through an entire 30 minute presentation. Most of them dealt with self-improvement type things like weight loss, self-esteem, sexual performance, and the like. Apparently, the software altered brainwave frequencies and trained it to be able to return to those frequencies when required at a later date.

So, for example, if I were afraid of large crowds, my brain would do a series of functions to create that fear every time I was in a large group of people. The StareWare program would somehow condition my brain to do something else while in the midsts of a crowd and, thus, rid me of my fear. With different entrainment programs, one could conceivably curb cravings for fatty foods, overcome shyness, create sexual arousal, and...

...and then it struck me. NanTech had abandoned the project because StareWare was dangerous and, without a set of regulations to govern them, had gone ahead and released the products anyway. Was it possible that Jenna Carlisle’s interest in this project was more self-serving than that of curing sickness, disease, and mental and emotional problems? Might she have purchased a dangerous program and done something to her mind that was affecting her ability to concentrate and to even function normally? Did she, in fact, need this project to be approved so that she could study the process that had already affected her mind and to be able to repair the damage?

The symptoms I’d seen over the course of the day suggested that this might be something more than a strong possibility.

My thoughts were interrupted when the pizza arrived. I stared at the steaming pie for a bit, still waiting for Jenna’s return from the lavatory. If I had ordered onions instead of mushrooms, that pizza would still be a pizza—but it wouldn’t be the same. If the pepperoni had been replaced by anchovies, the entire experience of eating it would be completely different—and not in a good way. One seemingly insignificant change to the recipe could affect the entire resulting product. We would hope that our changes would improve the pie, but without careful planning it was just as likely to go the other way. The sweetness of pinapple with the saltiness of ham can create a pleasing result—but put clams with pickled artichokes on and you could easily end up getting ill.

“Sorry about that.” Jenna slid back onto her seat, her bright and chipper attitude revitalized. “Where were we?”

“I was just about to tell you that you can count on me to see you through this,” I said. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure that you can fix whatever is broken.”

She looked at me as if a weight had been lifted, but there behind her blue eyes was the fear that I’d run off and tell Mother exactly what was going on.

“Don’t worry, " I assured her. “Your secret is safe with me.”

For a moment, all either of us did was take a few bites of pizza. I didn’t know exactly what kind of condition she was in, nor could I guess exactly which specific brain functions had been compromised. It seemed best to just remain silent and let her process the situation however she needed to do so..

“It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?” she finally said with no small amount of sadness. “I was afraid of that.”

“Tell me what happened,” I said in hopes that she’d decided to trust me.

Her mind still clear from whatever she’d done in the bathroom, Jenna told me a story of how she had accidentally been exposed to the affects of StareWare. Now she, her two roommates, and two other women were driven more by feelings of primal lust than by conscience of mind.

Somehow, I found the whole story to be quite arousing and almost liberating. This was especially true as it wore on and I could see her concentration begin to falter. The tale became punctuated with uneven breathing and fidgeting in her seat.

“Pain helps to stave off the effects?” I asked during one of her longer pauses.

My mentor nodded, “That, or an orgasm. Of course, orgasms are hard to come by, especially in public. And inflicting pain tends to...”

“Pain tends to leave marks,” I said, extending my scar pocked arm so that it lay next to her own welt riddled limb. “Believe me, I know the story.”

She ran her fingers over my scars and licked her lips. It was as if her poor misfiring mind was getting turned on by the sight of it.

“How much time do we have before they’re going to start missing us back at NanTech?” I asked.

Jenna’s head snapped up as if suddenly realizing that the most recent set of words I’d spoken required an answer. I could almost see the question bounce around in her head, looking for an elusive bunch of synapses that might stand a chance and formulating a response.

“There’s um,” she replied, the thought still not fully formed. “There’s nothing really going on this afternoon... I could... call in and say that we were at the library doing research. Why?”

“I want to show you a little trick I learned.”

V.

Jenna’s car was closer than mine was, so we elected to take it. She held my arm along the way as if some sort of storm was brewing down below her waist and it was hindering her ability to walk. Once, as we neared the top of the stairs in the parking garage, she needed to stop and catch her breath for a moment. As she stood there, doubled over on the railing, I wondered if it would help if I just hauled off and slapped her hard across the face. I could feel my own darkness welling up inside as I also considered whether it would do anything for me to inflict pain on another rather than myself.

I pushed the thought aside in my ongoing effort to keep the darkness at bay. Instead, I placed a hand on her shoulder and waited patiently for her composure to return.

“You can drive,” she said as she used the side of the car as support and guided herself to the passenger seat.

I got in the other side adjusted the seat since I was more than a few inches shorter than her. Jenna waved her PinkLinked PDA over the ignition console and the car came to life. My own car still used a standard key, but Mother had owned cars with PinkLink ignition and theft deterrant for a number of years. She loved her technology as much as she loved herself.

As I guided the car out of the garage, I could see the vast amounts of effort it was taking for Jenna to maintain even the slightest semblance of composure. Now that she’d confided in me and I knew the truth, it was clear that the source of her torment was of a primal sexual nature. It was visible in how she moved her legs in such a way as to fight back a yearning in her sex. It was evident in how she heaved her bosom so that the fabric of her blouse might rub against her nipples and provide a moment of satisfaction.

“Is there anything I can do?” I asked as we pulled out into the street.

“You could pull over and let me fuck your brains out,” she gasped as if the mere act of speaking those words provided a bit of release. “Since you’re my intern and your mother is my boss, I don’t think that would be quite appropriate, though.”

“No,” I assured her. “I don’t really swing that way, boss or not.”

Despite the fact that I’m a tried and true heterosexual, the whole thing was a bit of a turn on. This was especially true when I suddenly realized what Jenna had been doing during her frequent trips to the restroom over the course of the day. In my mind, I could picture her locked in a stall with her slacks around her ankles and her hand frantically working over her pussy. Driven by some compelling set of insideous thoughts that weren’t her own, the only way to go was forward.

I could definitely relate to that.

“But it’s okay,” I said as I turned onto the parkway and accellerated, “if you need to do whatever. Pretend I’m not here.”

She wanted to let herself go, I could tell. Yet, somehow she wasn’t able or willing to do so. As I got the car up to speed on the highway, I tried to put myself in her shoes. It wasn’t much of a stretch, really. While Jenna was controlled by artificially created signals in her brain, I was controlled by the unyielding will of my Mother. In order to free her conscious mind from the oppression, she needed to push forward through the haze and come out on the other side of an orgasm.

In an act of mental role reversal, I imagined myself in one of my frequent uncontrollable falls into the emotional darkness. If she were driving and I were in her spot, what would it be that kept me from executing my own method of temporary release. Of course, I knew what that was.

“Don’t worry,” I assured her with a hand on her thigh. “I won’t think any less of you, I promise. You’d be surprised if you knew just how much I can relate to your predicament.”

My hand back upon the wheel—I had wanted to reassure her, not give her the wrong idea—I watched as she contemplated what I had said. We were almost complete strangers, but worse, over the course of this summer we needed to maintain a fairly high level of respect for one another. If we lost that respect, there was no real way the project could have any hope of succeeding. She needed me for my clarity of mind and I needed her for her knowledge and first hand experience on the subject. Even though the specifics of it all hadn’t been discussed, I knew that it would be my job to keep her focused and pick up the slack during her lapses in reason.

“Really,” I insisted. “Get your hand down in there and take care of it. Once we get where we’re going, I’m going to need you to be able to sit still for a few minutes. You’re going to need to do it sooner or later.”

A tear was running down her cheek at this point. I wasn’t sure if it was because of the futility of it, or not. After all, she could humiliate herself by masturbating beside me as we sped along the Megopolitan Parkway, but in twenty minutes, she’d be right back in the same situation.

I hoped that the tear was one of relief, though. According to the story she’d told me over lunch, the only other people she had been able to share her despair and anxiety with were others who were equally deranged—all under control of a will that wasn’t there own. Even though it appeared that several of the victims had become so by their own choice—for whatever perverted reason—I was really the first person who knew of her predicament and had the will and clarity to execute a plan to help her out of it.

And though I wasn’t sure I was correct in my assumption, I truly hoped that her tears were happy ones. As she slowly unbuttoned her slacks and slid her hand into her panties, I hoped that she knew that she’d found an ally in her quest. I wasn’t even sure what force was driving me to take on the role of savior. I just knew that it was a role I’d gladly play and that I’d stop at nothing to ensure that she was delivered safely from the darkness.

“Oh fuck!” she cried as her body began to buck and quiver beneath her own twisted manipulations.