The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Lindsay’s Story: Amphetylcholemine Hydropyrinase-5

Chapter 3: Conditioning

I slept better, and woke refreshed, and bounced out of bed to make breakfast. We had some pears lying around, getting overripe, but perfect for clafouti.

I certainly didn’t feel like a great pastry chef, I’d hardly any experience baking, but I took the project on with a will, and spent several happy hours practicing. Mitchell came in, and was impressed with the clafouti, also I think relieved that I wasn’t acting shell-shocked from last night.

I spent a couple more hours baking (popovers and pecan-oat cookies, though the pecans turned to be a little rancid), then took myself down to the mall for some shoes. Decidedly a mellow day. I was able to avoid the compulsive focus on geometry that I’d experienced the day before. Mostly. At the shoe store, there was some trouble with the lights in the ceiling. I’m afraid I rather took it out on the salesgirl.

I wasn’t looking forward to further conditioning, but I didn’t let it ruin my day. I made some brownies (I was going to get fat this way), and settled in to read until Mitchell brought me the potion. The problem was, I couldn’t concentrate on the romance. I kept seeing imagery from that stupid House episode with Mother Theresa, until the plot turned into spaghetti. I had no real idea what the book was about.

Then the front door unlocked, and Cameron let himself in. Ugh! Mitchell must have given him the key.

I realize I haven’t fully described him. He was tall, with bug-eyes as I’ve mentioned. He had brown hair which I think he thought was stylish rather than messy. Glasses, ditto. A little ankh tattooed on his neck, on the left. He tended to smell of cheap shampoo. Acne...I guess I’m not very good at describing people. I can’t communicate the raw feelings I had...his eyes. His, I don’t know, the way he moved. Sat.

I hated the ground he walked on.

Anyway, I was reading at the breakfast nook when he came in, bold as brass. I felt this terrible sinking. Where was Mitchell? I glanced around.

Cameron went to the fridge and got me some orange juice, opened the ampule and put it in, right in plain sight, and brought it to me. “Drink up, sis,” he said, leering at my boobs.

It was the mother of letdowns, the teenage girl who was told she’ll get taken care of if she takes care of the nice gentleman, and the next day, she gets dumped in a cathouse.

I wanted Mitchell. I looked up at Cameron, his intelligent, grasping face, like he wanted to grab my body with his bug-eyes, to hold me, utterly unable to move. And he could. I felt he could. I shuddered, hard enough to hurt. I wanted to throw up.

One more detail, then I’ll give up: he had dandruff in his eyebrows. Does that help?

I pushed the drink away, though it felt like it weighed a ton at least. “I don’t want it.”

He chuckled, his face exuding an oily confidence. “Yes you do, sis. And you need it.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Need it? For what?”

He sat down at the little round table with its parquet. “You need it to get back to normal. Look, you’re nearly done with the hard part of this. I know it hasn’t been easy. You’ve been obsessing, confused, focussed on trivialties, probably hallucinating periodically, feeling yourself exploited. Lost. Going out of your mind. Am I warm?” He looked at me for confirmation, and try as I might, I couldn’t stop myself from nodding, just a little.

He smiled. “Good. What you’re going through is normal for someone who’s in the initial phase of AH-5 habituation. The brain has already been permanently altered, but the process isn’t complete. Your nervous system needs to be stabilized in the new configuration, or you’ll be unable to function. You’ll end up a permanent guest of the mental hospital, out of touch with reality, a danger to yourself and others. There are monsters in the human psyche, and they can get unleashed this way.”

He leaned forward, touching my hand. My skin crawled, but I couldn’t move it. “Fortunately for you, I’m here to help. This next part is a bit unpleasant, but you’ll get over it, and once it’s done, you’ll be stable. You’ll be functional. You can go back to your old life. A few things will be different, but they won’t drive you crazy – not most of the time, anyhow. And – seriously, sis – this is your only choice. Like I say, it’s this or the mental hospital.” He handed me the drink.

With a shudder, I drank it down.

Once again, the surge of clarity. But this time, I could tell it wouldn’t last. I took a deep breath. My heart was pounding. “Where is Mitchell?” I said. “I need him here for this.”

He giggled. An ugly sound. “I thought it was best if he was out of the house for this one.”

I breathed out. “Shit.” I sat back, and rubbed my face with my hands. “OK, here I am. What’s next.”

He steepled his fingers. “Conditioning. You understand the concept. You’ll be conditioned to accept instructions when not under the direct influence. We’ll limit authority to anyone approved by your brother, as I have been. I’m acting for him. We don’t want just anyone able to influence you unduly. With me so far?”

He wanted to stay out of jail. I nodded. But the brief clarity was already being replaced with the intimate internal scream of the past two days. The waving of the beige drapes to my right, separating me from the deceptively mild summer day, was a tesselating rhythm, stretching across time like a honeycomb, as I fell into Cameron’s spell, landing with a cramp.

He was speaking again, his fingers still pointing towards God. “You understand the mechanics of conditioning,” he said again. I sighed as the lecture washed over me. “With repetition, the nervous system can conform to almost any pattern. If I give you glasses which turn the world upside-down, you’ll soon adapt. After that, if I take them away, you’ll see everything upside-down.” His hands made an upside-down gesture, and the world went upside-down on me. I didn’t need glasses. “You’re now used to removing your clothes around all your brothers: Mitchell, myself, Jose and Jerry. That’s completely natural. We’ll continue that training, and today I’ll begin teach you several other patterns you’ll have need for. Today is the big one. We’ll break your will.” He leered again. “Sorry about that. Now, I need you to agree.”

The room spun. I forced myself to look into his eyes, which were larger than life. Brighter, behind the heavy glasses. “Agree to what?”

“To everything. I’m going to hypnotize you, and I need your full agreement with the process. Like I said, today is the difficult one, but once you’re through with this, you’ll be one the downward slope. It’ll all get easier.”

“Like I had a choice.” I breathed out, like fire. “You...fucker.”

He snorted. “That’s right, sis. You got it. So: agree.”

The world was spinning harder. Harder! Damn it. I was going nowhere but down. “I agree.” My vision turned blue.

Next I remember – a little time later – he was lecturing. “The drug you’ve been given temporarily increases the plasticity of the nervous system, expanding enormously on your ability to direct your own physical processes. This makes you one of the few human beings in history who have complete control of their physical and mental selves, even for a brief time. I will help you direct these changes as we go through them. Ready?” He pushed back his glasses.

“Ready,” I said, and I was. I could feel it. He gestured, and I stood to remove my clothing. We were in complete synch. He smiled, and – complementing the smile – a tear slid down my cheek. Perfect synch. I brought another tear down the other cheek.

His smile grew broader. My face flushed, spreading to warm my exposed breasts. My tears dripped over them like semen on a mirror.

“Very good.” He stood, and reached out to take my turnover, still warm from the oven. His face became glorious, his brown eyebrows arching like McDonalds, his cherry-red curly hair pouring down across my own head. “Your primary keyphrase is ‘Boot cream,’” he continued. “You are never to speak it yourself, and you cannot write it or communicate it in any way. It will drop from conscious recollection. But hearing it will activate a special protocol, and I will teach you that protocol today. This week. None of what I’m going to teach you will be available to conscious recollection.”

I stumbled forward to give him better access to my pastry shelf. My streaming eyes, my mouth, my nose, every part of me was completely open to his words. “It’s working,” I said, tears dribbling. My body rocked with the movement of his fingers, tasting, owning.

“Good,” he said, his smile touching me, kneading me. “Get ready to come for me, Lindsay. Give me your boot cream.” I was splitting open down the middle, like a banana, carefully sliced for a sundae. Sharp as a scalpel. I peeled apart, and he tasted the secret, sweet middle of me. I stood unmanned; fingers slithered through me.

If only I could look away from his eyes! It was too much. Too painful. His instructions settled inside me like weights, like 400-pound iron barbels, in my feet. He spoke them again.

“Remember your keyphrase, Lindsay: Boot cream. Only I, or one of your brothers, may speak it: Mitchell, Jerry, Jose, Cameron. Your keyphrase will unlock your mind and your heart, it will make you obedient in all things. When you submit to this now, it is forever. There is no going back.” His fingers plucked me like a ripe fruit. My mind began to unravel. There were planets coming at me, bashing me about the head. I was losing it, once and for all.

But his voice pulled me back, at least for a moment. “Lindsay, do you submit to this?” I held on to it. Evil as it was, it was all I had.. I shook my head, but I could not dislodge him. He was stuck in my head. He was looking at my soul, swelling and shivering in the cage of my body.

I looked back, helpless. “Let me die.”

His eyes speared me. “Never. You do not have permission to die, or to come. Do you submit?”

“No!” But there was a tearing. My heart began to tear away from my ribs. My soul was ripping unevenly, a jagged tear, like a plastic bag. Tyvek.

I couldn’t breathe. I was dying. His eyes never let me go, even for a blink. He worked me, smiling like the happy grave. “Come on, now, Lindsay. Say it. Submit.”

I moaned. I was caught. I was burning. I heard my nerves frizzling, literally dying as he waited.

His voice came from the sky now. “You are mine, Lindsay. Do you submit? Do you give everything? All your will?”

“N—” The pain was a hundred thousand fire ants, every square millimeter of my skin on fire. “—yes!” I screamed.

And just like that, I survived. I could feel my breath. My will was given. Gone. Forever. I leaned back and gasped, and looked at the ceiling: blackish-white, the color of horror.

My voice leaked out between pants. “Let me die, Cameron, please let me die.”

He glanced at his cheat sheet, then back to me. He touched me lightly, like a forest fire. “Do you submit, Lindsay? Say your name. Say it. Seal the compact, for all your life, and all the lives which come after.”

I was panting almost too hard to speak. My face was flushing hard, all my body pumping red, and I felt a helpless, helpless burning where his finger pressed into me, oh so gently.

My stomach spasmed, and I fell forward over his hand. “Ah!”

“Say it. Or I will make you hurt as no human being has ever hurt before.”

“Lindsay Connors. I submit. I give.” I fell at his feet, so small I could hardly see above his shoes. But he picked up my head so I could look up, way, way up, into his eyes.

“Very good, little Lindsay. You will orgasm on command, from now on, and only on command. You will come when you here these words: ‘Sammy snake sneaks inside,’ and only when you hear them. Here we go, Lindsay. This is the first orgasm of the rest of your life...” and the words boomed out into my mind: “SAMMY...SNAKE...SNEAKS...INSIDE.”

And the little sneaker started into me. The sense of violation simply can’t be described. No one who has never been soulfucked can understand it.

I tried to yank the little fucker out, but my body had turned into plastic. Waxy. Watching, as if from above, I saw myself becoming fake. “Back to human,” Cameron said, or seemed to say, and my self grew redder. Took back its pinkish tinge, so Cameron could enjoy the sight of me lying half-curled on his shoe. And I could move! I grabbed for Sammy in a panic as he crawled into me. I got a hold of him, right around the middle. I could pull him out. I could!

But Cameron said, “Relax, sis, let it happen,” and my fingers relaxed. My whole body relaxed – but not my mind. I still wanted to grab, I just couldn’t, not quickly anyhow. The snake slipped in. Farther. I managed a grab, but slow as applesauce. My fingers were soft and pink, the fingers of a servant. A helper. Not a fighter. Sammy’s tail slithered between my softly grasping fingers, between my opening knees, and was gone.

Once he was all the way inside, he took over my body. I could feel the blood pounding all through me, and the heat, and the pain, in my center. My sex. It grew redder, and hotter, and harder, like a little heart pounding, and it started to bleed, bleed a sweet, pinkish syrup. Opened like an oyster.

The pleasure was abominable. All I wanted was to die. I spasmed on the floor, legs in the air, my life seeping all over the breakfast nook, and Cameron touched my hair casually.

“Good, Lindsay, good. You’re coming along very nicely.” Patting my head. “Now. Sleep.”

My world went blue again.