The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

‘Querey: Given that police are generally run by GED flatfoots and those unable to get better paying jobs, is it possible for one woman to do some things they can’t?’

Alexis grinned and closed the blinds before slipping into the closet. There was a reason she’d picked up a two-bedroom condo in this particular building. A big part of it was that the building manager and super were morons. That and the panic room she’d realized they didn’t know existed was located just below the condo they were offering for sale. She opened up a small panel in the closet and slid her slim, lithe body into the wall. Always one for secret projects, she needed sanctum where the best of her ideas could germinate without prying eyes. Who would suspect an 18 year old beauty was slithering through a wall in the middle of a metropolitan city?

‘Posit: If the woman is me, complete with her own secret lair and The Suit, odds are pretty good.’

The light switched on to illuminate a simply folded black silk garment. She pulled up her long sleeved tight turtleneck pajama top revealing a beautifully toned torso, with abs and lines reflecting the hours she’d spent dancing and doing gymnastics. The lack of a bra exposed her high firm upturned breasts to the cold air causing her pert nipples to tighten in response. Tossing the pajama top down next to the silky garment, she picked up the jet black top that shimmered slightly. It fit over her quite neatly but did nothing to cover her arms. She slipped off her pajama bottoms revealing floral white cotton panties covering a slender taut bottom, and flawless smooth skin that boasted the supple milky firmness of youth. The suit bottoms fit like scrubs without a waistband, and would have fallen down, but when she pinched a corner, it seemed to stay bunched for the moment. She smiled as she sat down and slipped on booties made of the same odd cloth and long gloves that ran all the way up to serve as sleeves. Finally, over her head she pulled a simple black hood, which was a bit thicker than the rest of the outfit.

She braced her chest forward and her arms out to her sides in a dramatic and heroic pose and uttered, “Power on”. The suit came to life. The arms connected to the torso, interweaving as if by magic and the pants and shirt did the same. The entire suit seemed to seal itself perfectly around her body, filaments intertwining in a ballet of precise microscopic choreography. Her hood bloated slightly to become an opaque helmet from the outside. As the circuitry of the helmet came online, the opaque filaments lit up inside in an odd pattern until finally she could see everything around her as if she wasn’t wearing a helmet at all. Overlayed in her view there was a the green text of a terminal showing her the Suit’s status.

Filament strength: 100%

Memory: 100% (28%)

HSI Booting:

Display ...

Neural Interface ...

Structural Configuration: default.

ExSensArray: operational. default sensitivity parameters

IntSensArray: operational.

Connectivity... Accessing... Connected.

Environmental Parameters: normal.

“Alright Suit, let’s see what we can do here.”

With fluid grace, she leapt back into the wall, slid into an air duct, slipped out into the alley, and landed like a gymnast for effect. A grin crept across her slim lips. Two steps and the leg filaments engaged with a thought sending her dark form up 30 feet onto the wall of the neighboring building, where she kept climbing upward.

“Not bad, not bad, now let’s see it we can do something useful.”

At the top of the building about 200 feet up from the ground, she sat in lotus position by a stone gargoyle and kicked off several IP applications. If anyone had been watching, she might have seemed like a meditating ninja, unmoving, and peaceful.

In fact, she was indeed relaxed as she sat letting her previously cobbled software do all of the hacking for her. Within seconds she was in the 3 of the Metro PD systems and perusing crime data. ‘So far, so good. The easy stuff works. Alright, so what are you clowns missing?’ She overlaid maps of recent economic strain with crime reports and rates. They seemed to be concentrating on the wrong areas, but that wasn’t news. What did seem interesting was something small and innocuous. ‘They always miss small and innocuous. Small and innocuous always bites them in the ass too.’

In a blue collar low crime neighborhood there were some foreclosures, and there was one home on Kroner Street that had a series of uninvestigated police calls attributed to it. Given its access to certain areas of the city, she found its location ideal. Given the change in mix of drugs confiscated in other neighborhoods, she had a working theory.

With that, Alexis was off, cascading down the wall slowing her fall and landing at the bottom then straight into a manhole. One might find that in this city, manholes tend to give easier access to subways than probably intended, and if a computer is telling you where the trains are every minute, travel in the city can be a breeze. Especially, when one is riding on top of the train with the tunnel breeze blowing by at high speeds. Under the mask, a smile was spreading across her thin lips.

A short time and a few train hops later, Alexis and the Suit were sitting on a roof next door to the house in question. The brush in the tiny yard had been growing wild and blocked views into the home from the neighbors. She waited, while looking over data for the area and who had sent in the reports. Just then, a beat up vehicle drove up and two large men in their twenties headed up to the house. They knocked once and waited. Twenty seconds later, the smaller of the two, the driver, went back to his car and got a key, then came back and they went in.

‘Interesting... Suspiciometer reading? On the high side.’ Taking initiative, she dived onto their lawn and rolled over to a window. She glanced in to see one of the men wave in front of him and twist his face, ‘Okay, it smells in there...’ More interestingly, his handwaving had moved his tacky short sleeved business jacket to reveal a holster and gun concealed beneath, ‘...and you’re wearing a surrogate penis.’

Sniffing the air, she even noticed a slight ammonia odor outside, along with something else. “Oh you gotta be kidding me,” she whispered harshly. She darted over to the trash and slid a filament out forming it into a little blade to cut open the bag. The most interesting thing she found.... boxes and boxes of Sudafed. ‘Nope, this is a crystal meth factory. And it is being run by morons.’

“Analysis: Chance of being incinerated by idiot wielding firearm inside a gaseous time bomb?”

Analysis Complete: volatile HxCx concentration 3.7% flammability, minor accelerants detected.

“So inside, the odds are a little hotter.”

Quietly, the form that darkened the window withdrew from the deathtrap, seeking a better way, while the duly designated morons inside remained blissfully unaware.

2 days hence...

It had been a had been long day at work today. Despite her latest patent approval, she knew the work day would be considered a disaster. A miasma of carbonic ash and smoke emanated from her lab coat and hair. She looked defeated, and had worn that look much of the afternoon. Her aura of failure helped deter her peers from questioning, prodding, or grilling too her much about her latest screw-up.

Given the initial praises and ass-kissery, she had no doubt she’d been touted as the golden prodigy before she’d even arrived. There was no doubt that there were many silent “I-told-you-so’s” and smug condescensions going around after her first few “botched” experiments.

But by the time she flubbed today’s experiment, some of that snobbery had turned to empathy. It was becoming evident that though she had a flair for brilliant (and profitable) ideas and patents, she was much weaker when it came to real life application. Phil, the physics guru from the optics lab, actually stopped by to console her and tell her to buck up. He had this whole story about a few of his past screw ups and how they led to some really neat ideas. Phil was sweet for trying. Problem is, when you are a narcissist all your life, even when you try to console someone, it invariably turns into a story about how great your really are.

So for all the pity tossed her way today, none of them would have imagined the sly smile that spread across her lips as she pulled three small canisters and some explosively tempered metallic substance wrapped in foil out of her bag.

As she lay the contraband canisters in her closet, she thought, ‘The search for a roommate will have to wait for another day, right now I needed to get down to an acceptable level of ick and get ready to prevent an meth lab from becoming the 1812 Overture.’

With her loot safely hidden away, she began to hum the 1812 Overture, stripping off the smoky mess of her clothes and dropping them into a pile with every musical boom.

One hour later, she’d successfully integrated the new filaments she’d brought into the suit as an upgraded transceiver. She arched her back every way possible and couldn’t feel its presence along her spine—another perfect fit.

An hour after that, Alexis and the Suit were approaching the little meth lab on Kroner. When she arrived, the presence of a beat up two-door let her know the house was occupied. For a moment she considered waiting till the weekend, in hopes of sneaking into an unoccupied home. ‘Being a superhero with a nine-to-fiver blows, Batman had it easy,’ she mused to herself. Resigned to another wait, she crouched low in the bushes for a stakeout, ‘Alrighty let’s see who has less of a social life. Me or them.’

About half an hour into her stakeout of failed social proportions, her Suit spoke up.

Telecom Item of Interest

911 call

Listen, Record, Ignore?

‘Listen’ she thought. Reading her brainwaves, the suit brought up the display as a miniature map overlay came up showing her location and the originating 911 call from just 2 houses away.

Operator:

911 What’s your emergency?

Caller (male):

Hey, I think I just heard gunfire...

Operator:

Gunfire sir? What’s your location?

Caller (male):

Uh- I’m at home, the TV’s off and I swear I heard gunfire from across the street.

Operator:

I’m going to send officers to the scene, but you need to tell me your address.

Caller (male):

Yeah I definitely heard- oh yeah, it’s 8821 Kroner St. I definitely need cops here like soon, I’ve called a bunch of times about weird stuff going on next door, you guys never-

Operator:

Sir?

Caller (male):

Ever send anyone, now I

Operator:

Sir?

Caller (male):

Yeah.

Operator:

Stay in your home sir, we have units on the way.

Caller (male):

Yeah, bout damn time.

click

Alexis frowned. Obviously, no shots had been fired. She remained out of site for a few moments. Then across the street from her grassy knoll, she heard a door open and a Caucasian in his late twenties to early thirties ambled out. He wasn’t exactly graceful, and he was carrying with him what looked like a small tubes strung together or some kind of wired incendiary device. ‘Are you kidding me? Ladies and gentlemen, the death of Yorick as played by... a moron.’

Sighing briefly, she made a mental image of an imposing comic book hero figure then grinned as the suit responded.

Brenden Miller only made it halfway across the street when from out of nowhere, a black clad figure dropped from the sky and landed in front of him. The figure was imposing, standing about 6′ tall with huge pecs and ninja-like body armor all completely jet black, with a completely featureless face staring him down. In a flash the figure whipped out a sword from thin air—the blade shimmering from black to shiny steel, and aimed directly at Brenden’s throat. The ambling saboteur just about shit himself and quite literally that was the only word running through his head.

A deep throaty masculine voice intoned, “Don’t. Move. A muscle.”

He stopped in his tracks and he wasn’t going anyway where, but it was hard not to move a muscle when every bit of his body was trembling in fear. The man in the ninja outfit, seemed to regard his payload. Firecrackers. All of a sudden his plan of setting off firecrackers in the problem house to get the police to investigate seemed even dumber than when he thought of it 4 beers ago now.

“Don’t kill me,” he stammered out.

Inside the suit Alexis cocked her head as far as the expanded suit would allow without moving, ‘Really? Is that the best he could come up with?’ Rolling her eyes, she admonished him with mild annoyance, “Take your toys and go back inside, kid.” Brenden heard the same words, but with the original low throaty masculine intonation. With the fear of god and ninjas prompting him, Brenden and his second-rate firecrackers ambled and stumbled back to his home.

With that part of the situation taken care of, her thoughts turned back to this house. More specifically, the meth lab drug house with cops on the way because of a shots fired call and a flammable situation inside.

One beat later, Alexis dashed towards the house. Overlaid on her display, a miniature map showed at least 2 police cruiser units approaching. ‘Plenty of time... perfect window of opportunity.’ She bounded over the fence and danced down to a small ground level window into the basement.

Upstairs two men were sitting down. One was in a brown suit jacket with rolled up sleeves was on the phone setting up some kind of deal. The second, a wife-beater clad jock was barking at a third, “Hey ass cheeks, go check on the brew!”

The third answered with a middle finger as he wiped his nose and headed downstairs mumbling to himself, “Fuckin’ numbnuts.” His clomping footsteps and the light gave The Suit plenty of time to get out of sight. Asscheeks didn’t even notice a small canister at his feet as he sat down at a chemistry bench. But even from down there he heard the pounding on the door.

Upstairs the jarred door banging was accompanied by a, “Police! Open up!”

“Fuck Harry,” the wifebeater said.

“Shut the fuck up and be cool, I got this.”

With slick confidence, the Mr. Brownsuitcoat was at the door opening it a crack. “How can I help you officers?”

“We’ve received reports of a disturbance at this address, mind if we look around?”

“Woah woah woah officers, I’m as concerned as the next guy, but there’s been no disturbance here, and as a private citizen I prefer to keep my home private, unless youse guys got a warrant, then you can come right in—can I see it?”

Behind them, the second cruiser pulled up across the street in front of Brenden Miller’s abode. One officer looked to his partner sidelong for a moment, she spoke up for him, “Sir, we’re responding to a shots fired call if there’s probable cause a warre—,”

“Wait a sec, you tellin’ me that that guy is makin’ fake 911 calls now?” He closed the door behind him as he stepped outside, “I got this neighbor who keeps on makin calls on me, some neighbor, eh?”

For the moment both officers were at a loss for words. The other squad car was indeed at his neighbor’s house knocking on his door across the street. The night was quiet, and the man was clearly not distressed.

“Look I hate the he wasted your time, but I’m not gonna press charges on him. He’s just a little touched is alls I’m sayin’. In the head like—” Brownsuitcoat shrugged and smiled.

After another beat pause the female officer chimed in, “Alright mister Jonas. We’re sorry to bother you.”

“Officer Gomez right, I remember you- three months ago this guy called, you got a new partner huh? Izzat your old partner pulled up in front of the other guys’ place?”

She gave a curt nod, “Right okay then, thank you for your time Mr. Jonas.”

She looked back to her new partner who seemed to be reaching for his gun saying, “What.... the fuck...” Following his eyes with surprise, she saw a figure drawing a gun inside the house!

“Don’t shoot, don’t shoot, don’t fuckin shoot!”

Inside, Wifebeater was drawing his gun at his screaming panicking buddy Asscheeks, now being used as a human shield by a six-foot tall ninja. This insane dude in a ninja costume had not more than 5 seconds ago kicked open the door to the basement and come out with his buddy in a neck hold. From behind them, down in the basement, a distinct hissing sound resonated combined with crashing and cracking. Something was making a mess out of the lab.

“What the fuck, ace? What the fuck!”

The insane dude in the ninja suit didn’t reply to Wifebeater.

“Let him go unless you can dodge bullets!”

Still, no response.

“I fuckin’ mean it!”

The insane ninja extended one arm forward and wagged one finger at him condescendingly. Behind the figure, a massive solid pudding-like foam ballooned out with a huge sucking sound, and in that moment of shock, the ninja whipped a canister at him hitting him squarely in the head jarring him for a moment.

‘O2 Concentration?’

O2 levels 13%, dropping quickly.

The second canister hit the floor and a second batch of pudding cloud poured out, quickly expanding. Wifebeater gained his bearings back and aimed and fired the gun at the ninja only to hear a wholly unsatisfying click. As he slowly started looking at his gun, he realized his lungs felt empty as if he’d been holding his breath. The gun fell to the floor with a clatter as his adrenaline was pumping but no oxygen was getting to his limbs. In a flash the ninja closed the distance between them and scooped him up.

Officers Reinhart and Gomez charged the door when a strange pudding compound started to seep from under it, buttressing it from any kicking. Backing out to the street they look over the place in awe as the house seemed to fill up with this odd chemical foam blotting out windows one by one. On the rooftop they spotted a figure in black with two unconscious people and a big garbage bag.

Gomez trained her gun on the suspect and yelled, “Drop it!”

Obeying, the figure sliced open the bag and dropped assloads of containers of sudafed onto the front lawn. In a flash the figure was gone.

Officer Reinhart looked to the two passed out thugs on the roof, the evidence on the ground and the completely dumbfound Brownsuitcoat, and his equally shocked partner and said:

“Probable cause?”

Alexis’ elation couldn’t be contained as she bounded from rooftop to rooftop flipping and spinning. She had probably just prevented an explosion. She was pretty sure those two were out of business unless they had great homeowners insurance. She had just made a huge impression on a couple witnesses, cops and civilian. More importantly, though quite expected, the Suit was a wild success. The filaments had maintained strength through a variety of forms, the voice modification was on superior to any number of cheesy comic book movie heroes, and the situational communications alerts were functioning within anticipated freakin’ parameters! Also, the canistered expanding foam compound had effectively sucked all the O2 out of the air preventing any booms, and as it degraded it shouldn’t even destroy any of the fingerprint evidence for the police. Probably. Hey, a gal can’t be utterly sure of EVERYTHING with such short notice. Regardless of any prosecutorial fallout, she was definitely the winner tonight. Smiling, she let her suit release from the ninja man shape and reform to her own triumphant figure. On a rooftop far away from the foamy mess, she pumped her small fist in joy and did a cute little dance of victory. ‘I’m the chick, I’m the gal, I’m the woman, oh yeah!’

So it was that Alexis Bishop began to get a reputation, and news reports started surfacing about a ninja patroling the streets bringing vigilante justice to the city and surrounding areas. Among the police she was an object of embarrassment. Among the people, opinion was decidedly mixed. This “Ninja Vigilante” was a matter of both high interest and high ambivalence. A great combination for the media...

...and a really fun hobby for Ms. Bishop.