The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Master PC—Licensed Edition

Chapter 2

Time stretched into a falling tunnel as I held myself over her, unable to breath. I’d killed her. Well that was quick. You’d think I would have had a bit more fun with MPC before it was taken away from me. Little demons would be dragging me into the shadows any second. Most of you readers will be the kind of people familiar with that horrific future history moment when you see the probable course of the consequences of some awful event you are guilty of. I was having that play out before my eyes right now. My heart clenched with grief at what I had done to my sons and with my own loss. I switched off my erection in shame, pulling out of my poor dead wife. And her eyes opened.

With a gulping intake of breath she coughed and stared at me.

‘Oh fuck honey that was soooo intense.’

‘Ummmm yeah.... You okay? You scared me...’

‘Why?’

‘Well you were (don’t say DEAD you dumb fuck) gone for a bit... Out of it you know?’

‘Mmmm it was so dreamy...’

I didn’t sleep at all well.

In the morning Jen was up early doing some exercises. She was usually in a good mood the day after sex, but today she was positively sunny. It was my turn for dropping the boys off to school so after the usual flurry of activity, argument and cajoling they were in the car and I was off after a far more passionate kiss from Jen than usual. Drop off at the school is hectic in itself, settling the youngest into his morning activity, dealing with the separation and charging off to get the older one into line to be marched off like well like little kids marched off to class. I’ve always kept an eye on the milfier mums but with the possibilities open to me now I was much more aware, and hard, watching all these sexy thirty somethings to-ing and fro-ing. And then a wave of boisterous kids rolled past and one of the mums stepped back into me to get out of the way. From the way she reacted at feeling my boner against her ass, I guess I should have been more careful with my comma

nds...

She gave a discreet wiggle against it to show me she felt it and approved, before making a blushing show of apologising for stepping into me. ‘Oh please Trish don’t worry about it... Better me than you going down under a scrum of 2nd graders’ Her lips parted slightly at the going down bit... and I was wishing I’d done a bit more about changing my appearance, but apparently I’d put her in flirt mode rather than anything more adulterous. Drop off conversations between parents are usually brief and moving, literally, as you hurry back to the car to get to work to pay for fees you can’t really afford, and the subject is usually school events. Trish promised to bump into me again at the upcoming food and wine night with a slow grin that was causing a lot of reaction in my pants. She walked off with a fair bit more sway in her hips than I recall her using before, and a coquettish look over her shoulder to make sure I was enjoying the show.

I finally got to work, wishing I’d had the time to check the program and figure out what had gone wrong, and right. I needed the program to be more mobile than just sitting on my home PC, and I was adding to the list in my head of the things I wanted to do to my own profile. The near miss last night really should have had a profound cautionary effect, but the horror of that moment was already dimming. It’s amazing how an erection can change your perspective.

I looked about the floor with renewed interest. It’s a big organisation with plenty of female employees, some of whom were cute, some were pretty, and some were drop dead gorgeous. A straw poll taken over drinks at lunch one day with my workmates established this truth: Every guy makes an assessment of every woman he sees. Would I do her? There are only a limited number of responses to this:

With the possible addition of ‘if she was rich enough’, that about exhausts the possibilities. It’s also worth noting that the probability of a rendezvous with the woman in question is completely irrelevant. It doesn’t matter if you’re partnered or she is, and certainly has nothing to do with your chances of actually scoring with her. Reality doesn’t matter, and yet your willingness to listen, help or otherwise deal with this woman is largely predicated on the assessment result. Of course I’m not saying that’s the only factor, but it’s a biggie.

Lisa was do-able. She was short but well proportioned, waistlength blonde hair with something exotic about the set of her green almond eyes, she had a generous smile and a generous bust, a tight little bum and beautifully tapered legs. She wore stylish business clothes in a way that made them maybe just a little bit flirty and had a twinkle in those to die for eyes that let you know she was no lie back and think of England girl. She also thought I was a lecherous old bastard. Honestly, it was just the one time, it was summer and the sun caught her from behind and outlined her legs all the way to a distinctly pouty camel toe. I was about 30 feet away talking to friends, miraculously looking the right way at that godgiven moment. and still had my mouth open (possibly drooling?). She had the most contemptuous ‘oh you’ve GOT to be kidding me’ face, looking directly at me. I didn’t even know her name then. She turned out to be good friends with some of my work buds, always

sunny and sexy for them, reserving THAT look for me. I probably made it worse because I started smirking or even outright laughing when she gave it to me. After a year or so she started smiling at me too, perhaps my friends had put in a word, perhaps I’d been privately sentenced and had served my time, I don’t know, but at least these days she was (warily) nice to me too.

Lisa was the only one on deck for her team when I went to see them about a project dependency. She smiled as she explained their absence. The guys I actually wanted to see were friends and colleagues, and the slickest pair of salesmen in the company. Not that we actually sold anything. I’m talking internal politics and convincing upper management they ought to hand over buckets of money for a cowboy style IT solution that won’t ever be documented. These guys were good. They were also a lot of fun to go on a boys weekend with. While the work part of me was saying appropriate things to Lisa, my mind was of course creating a variety of bent over the desk scenarios, all of which required me to find an excuse to rub my erection against her. The likelihood of this event in a cube farm 100 metres long wasnt good. Clearly, I had some work to do tonight on the program. But as I stood there I spied my friend Steve’s family photo on the desk, his gorgeous half Burmese wife and

there stunningly pretty young daughter. Emma was born with cerebral palsey—she was a smart girl whos body didn’t respond to the commands she gave it. Her speech, her ability to walk, her hand eye coordination were all severely affected. And I could do something about it! Not, you perverts, for the nefarious purpose of having sex with a beautiful young girl, but simply because if you have the means, how could you not? I wasn’t about to turn into some crusading miracle worker, I couldn’t care less about people I don’t know, but I could do this! And have sex with her gorgeous mum. Honestly it’s like there’s a little voice from down below that has to inject the possibility of a sexual encounter into anything. That statistic that on average guys think of sex every 4 minutes? I’m one of the ones that keeps the average low.

Funnily enough, Lisa was being extra nice today. She’d just thrown out a line about the lunchtime drinks I was always heading off to with her friends. Any departure from a work script with her was new territory for me. Perhaps it had something to do with me standing up, and her sitting down, and the resulting indications she had of the new engine I was sporting under the hood.

‘How can you guys head off there every day and do any work at all in the afternoon? I know what I’m like after a few’ Her eyes twinkled as she said this and I was watching her lips do an adorable pout as she said ‘few’

‘Why not join us and find out? I’m sure Jesus’ll scoot over to give you a seat’ Jesus was a South American friend with a wicked sense of humour, a genuine way with women, and a dangerous air about him. I was a kind of project of his, the soft mate who was really as perverted as him and just needed some encouragement to become really bad. It amused me that the guy who was trying to lead me down the dark path had that name. Jesus was the one Lisa was the most flirty with.

‘Hmmm well I was thinking more of sitting on your lap but if you WANT me to sit with Jesus...’ ??? What was going on here?

‘Oh so you’re opting for the comfy chair then’

‘I’m pretty hard on chairs you know, I’ve always rocked back and forth on them. The stuffing’s been known to come out’

‘If I blow a coil I can afford the repair bill. Don’t know what it’ll do to your skirt though’

‘A gentleman would offer to fix it’

‘I don’t think you’ll ever be short of offers for being fixed up Lisa’

‘Oh so you’re not a gentleman?’

‘I’ve been a lapsed gentile for a long time, but recent events are leading me to the existence of God’

‘Did you have an epiphany? I had one last Saturday, and I bet mine was more fun’ her smile was getting wider, more inviting, and her eyes were getting more green.

‘Was it a private revelation?’

She giggled ‘you should see the size of my prayer beads’

By now a few heads were peering over partitions. Don’t you just hate it when the person you are talking to enjoys the conversation and someone ELSE finds it demeaning? Political correctness can go fuck itself. Lisa suddenly looked embarrassed. ‘Maybe we can continue this at lunch?’

As I walked back to my floor I wondered about the change in her. I’d seen her that flirty and suggestive before, but never to me. God it’s fun being on the receiving end of that kind of attention... Bathed in the sensual warmth of her full attention. She knew that I’m married, and yet didn’t blink before starting in on getting my gander up... But maybe that’s all she was up to. Either way, I’d find out in a few hours.

So the thought of helping Emma got me thinking about other people I knew who could do with some repairs... There was my dad, who was on the verge of falling apart with a bad heart, prostate cancer, a bad hip and maybe a touch of senility. Mum, well she could probably do with some medical work too, but the prospect of seeing her naked on the MPC screen was daunting, maybe I could turn that off? I should check out my kids for anything lurking inside them... Maybe give them a boost? The changes could be subtle, no cause for government agents to swoop or such. None of these things could trip me over the license agreement could they?

What I had been pondering for a little while was how I could use the program to make money safely. The program had said that there were hundreds of copies active, which made me wonder why someone like Osama bin Laden was still at large. The positional awareness of the program would make locating him a snap wouldn’t it? And with such a huge reward on his head... So why hadn’t someone done it? Surely I’m not the first person to think of using the program that way? Of course it would draw attention to yourself, though you could set up a patsy to bear the brunt of that and then have them hand over the reward... Did he maybe have a copy of the program himself? Nah, how could HE have not breached the license? Unless he never used the program to further his religious and political goals? But then if he was using the program to avoid capture, shouldn’t that come into conflict with the agreement condition about actions detrimental to the global condition of humanity? Then I r

emembered that the license condition said ‘actions since taking up the license...’ So ANY action, whether assisted by the program or not. If he DID have a copy, then I didn’t understand what it took to breach the license agreement at all, and if he didn’t have a copy, what was to stop me from locating him and collecting the reward? Fear. Not knowing WHY everyone else with the program hadn’t done it already. Perhaps I could get some information out of the program...

My mind really was all over the place this morning. I worked through with my team—Jane (Nuh!)—Marguerite (Nuh!)—Sabina (totally), Michael, Craig, Tai and Paul. A little after midday I went over to the club next to work for drinks. Jesus was there with his partner Kiera (Rabbit boiler), Alex the token gay mate, Dave the country lad, Sharon (if she lost a few pounds) and her boyfriend Warren. No sign of Lisa. Jesus said hi with his customary ‘wassup bro?’ But after taking one look at my face he knew something was up. He’s a cunt, but he’s intuitive. He wasn’t about to get me to spill the beans with Kiera sitting right there, so he followed with ‘yeah we’re gonna talk you and me’. We sat and spun the usual lunchtime conversation, paying out on those absent, and those present, turning the conversation to sex whenever possible, talking TV and news and film—the sort of inane but occasionally laugh out loud banter that people who see each other a lot have. Scientifi

c evidence supposedly indicates that having one or two alcoholic drinks a day is good for you. It’s not the drinks. It’s the fact that you’re relaxing in company when you have them.

Lisa arrived toward the end of the first round. Since I was sitting next to Jesus and I really didn’t expect her to sit in my lap, I drew up a chair between us, but in the process I managed to slide my way past her, my groin making contact with her hip. A not so smooth move that drew some guffaws from the assembled, who were after all, paying a great deal of attention to Lisa, for whom a lunchtime drink was a rarity. Lisa didn’t laugh, didn’t wiggle. She turned to me and put her hand on my chest. Her eyes were smouldering and she practically purred ‘Aren’t you going to be my comfy chair Rob?’ The look on Jesus’ face was priceless. Kiera and Sharon seemed to close ranks immediately in instinctive defence of Jen’s rights, and the rest of the guys wanted to be me.

* * *

‘He was actually nerding on about what happens to heart valves for fuck’s sake’. The salicious babe with the gently swaying tail made sympathetic noises as she listened to Peter Cook going on and on about his latest client. When the waiter came around again he ordered Black Russians for the both of them and continued to bemoan the virtues or lack of them of Rob Richards.

‘Oh I so laughed when his dear wife croaked. Totally legitimate interpretation! And then in steps the almighty third umpire, overruling me because of the illness and injury clause that Richards had put in. Where’s MY right of appeal eh? Downgrading a heart attack to a little death. Totally unfair.’

The barman in the meantime was pouring something ethereal into two glasses, something that shifted and shimmered in a most unliquidlike way, the light on it seeming to pick out strange ripples that might, to a casual observer, appear to outline a screaming mouth and fearful wide eyes as its substance stretched and tore to fill the two high balls. If one could lipread, in Russian, one might have even understood exactly what it was trying to say. The emotional content was quite evident.

End of chapter 2