The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

It had to have been late afternoon by now. Lydia knew that her pale beauty was going to feel the stinging pains of sunburn recovery in the coming days. The flimsy white tank top, denim shorts and blue Keds were enough to keep cool, but not enough to block the sun’s rays without the aid of some kind of strong screening lotion, but she hadn’t put any on in an effort to manipulate her way back home if Brandon got too caught up in the day’s excitement.

But he had anyway, his hand slipping away from her just moments ago.

Lydia brushed past the lady in the silver jumpsuit and shoved a futuristic food vendor to the side. Where could he have gone? Brandon was lost in the mass of people. She stewed for a minute, looking around to see if he came into view, but the constantly moving throng and her own impatience overrode her better judgement, propelling her to move on into unknown directions.

Mapleton was holding their Fifth Annual Invention Show on Casper Hill and Brandon had talked Lydia into going to see what was new this year. He was in his second year at college and taking the last of his generals so he could move onto engineering school next year. Lydia was just along for the ride, as she interested mainly in Brandon’s ambition and didn’t want to miss her chance to get out of this place and go somewhere better, maybe in California.

Most of the town turned out for the event, fascinated by the various new robotics and health-care tech and rocket science thingamajigs. Lydia sometimes caught herself remarking on how this or that was ‘cool’ and instantly regretted it when Brandon would launch into a spiel about the item in question.

Maybe that’s why he’d abandoned her here, she thought. She looked around nervously, turned around and around. Walked toward the big prototype rocket ship in the middle of the grounds, walked back toward the guy showing off a family of robotic dogs that obeyed voice commands, walked east to where upcoming models of electric cars with sleek new body types were displayed.

As she traveled back and forth around the grounds in the heat, she soon felt herself swooning, her head swimming, and she walked away from the horde that surrounded her to an area nearly devoid of pedestrians.

Lydia tied her blonde hair back, took a deep breath and headed down the backside of the hill toward the giant tent shaped like a UFO and the figure standing at the podium in front of it.

It wasn’t until she was about two yards from the homunculus that she realized that it, indeed, was a man and not some kind of puppet, mechanical or otherwise.

He was a carnival barker, an unusually short man, maybe four-foot-eleven, she guessed, with twitchy limbs and glassy eyes and dressed in a red-and-white striped ensemble with a solid white cane.

Lydia came closer to the man, intending to ask about Brandon, but the sun’s incessant heat changed her mind.

“I’m hot, I’m thirsty and I feel dizzy,” she said.

“Come on in. There’s a chair just inside the flap,” he said, pointing at the tent’s entrance. He grinned a pervy grin and let his eyes wander over her lightly-covered body. The effect was especially unsettling due to his longish neck, oversized eyes and toothy smile.

“Creeper,” Lydia muttered and pushed flap open.

The only thing inside of the room was a chair with a curtain partitioning a second, hidden room. “Brandon?” she called out. She expected no answer and received none. Exhausted and thirsty, she sat down into the metal chair to clear her head.

That’s when she heard the whirring inside the chair and behind the partition. Bands circled her arms and legs, confining her to the seat.

A pair of goggles with some kind of view screen pressed into Lydia’s face while a metal frame pushed the back of her head forward, leaving her head completely immobile. She twitched and struggled, but the metal bands around her arms and legs gave no ground. She was well and truly trapped.

A soft hum signaled some movement at Lydia’s right arm, where she felt the pinch of a needle slide into her arm, her muscles contracting involuntarily and then calming.

The image on the view screen exploded into blocks of colors, which faded into neon green numbers and what looked like a quickly scrolling group of charts, graphs, chemistry symbols,heart monitor readouts and what seemed to be her body measurements. None of it made sense and no single image lasted long enough for her to catch more than a glance at any particular screen.

Lydia opened her mouth to call out, but felt the bulbous end of a mechanical arm force itself into her mouth and begin to softly vibrate. Other arms swirled about her, gently cutting away at her clothing and removing the material to a receptacle hidden behind the curtain.

Next, a series of hisses sounded. Her skin tickled and tingled as some kind of liquid was sprayed onto the entirety of her exposed flesh. The sensation was brief as the dampness quickly dried.

Her smallish breasts rose and filled out as nanobots swarmed around her fatty tissues to re-proportion her body.

New images flooded the screen and her brain. Ballerinas, burlesque performances, tap dancing, followed by performances by Jean Harlow, Marilyn Monroe, Jane Greer, Ava Gardner and more. Then the vocal performances: Ella Fitzgerald, Patsy Cline, Billie Holiday, Mariah Carey, Shakira. The bulb-arm withdrew as she began mimicking each vocalist, her voice enhanced by way of the nanobots coursing through her.

Without warning, all of the restraints fell away. The goggles pulled away from Lydia’s dry eyes.

“Why hello there.” Lydia tilted her head in the direction of the voice. The carnival barker stood at the doorway, swinging his cane. “We haven’t been formally introduced. I’m Professor Iverson.”

“System designation is Lyd-1A.” Lydia’s eyes widened. “What have you done to my neural processor?” she asked, her voice cold and hollow, her words alien.

“Why, you’re being converted for my very special group: Iverson’s Repertory Company. A permanent addition to our little performance group. You’re going to be one hell of a singer, I can tell you.”

Lydia was flabbergasted, “I sing?”

“Yes, you sing. And you’re going to be a treat to watch on stage, too. Adept as a comedienne and a femme fatale. There’s just going to be a few minutes more of potential discomfort, but once the program is fully updated, your operating system will run smoothly.

“Would you care to see yourself?” he asked, producing a hand mirror from his barker’s jacket.

The young woman stood up and shuffled toward the little mirror the man held in his hand. Her body didn’t work properly, each movement was jerky and unnatural. Fear clouded her mind, the nanobots running through her system struggling to complete their work.

Lydia let out a voiceless scream. Her face, her whole body had been painted in a thick coating of silver. Only her blonde hair had been left untouched by the spray.

She pressed her fingers into her cheeks. Her flesh wasn’t just colored. It had been transmuted into a breathable, soft foam-rubber composite casing while her nails had hardened into steel shards.

She knocked the mirror out of Professor Iverson’s hand and held him close, simulating the sound of a human sobbing. Wet globules forced themselves from her tear ducts.

“You’re lubricating. That’s a very good sign.”

Lydia cocked her head quizzically.

“There’s still the ‘bio’ part of ‘biomechanical’ so it’s important to make sure both systems are working properly. A robot entirely devoid of feeling is useless to my cause.”

She prodded with a metallic nail at the place the needle had stuck her. There was no hole there, but her neural processor was still receiving the pain input from that location. No blood. Her veins had hardened into plastic tubing, her blood now copper wire. The white film overtook the last of the blue in her eyes.

Lyd-1A withdrew from the professor.

She blinked. She smiled broadly. She clenched her silver hands and then relaxed them.

Her diagnostics had checked out. The conversion had been a complete success.

“Look at you! You’re going to be a great addition.” The imp of a man was jumping up and down with excitement now.

“Thank you, sir,” Lyd-1A said, her voice coldly inhuman except for the slight digital warble that reverberated around her words. “I will sing. I will dance. I will act at your whim.”

The old inventor chuckled and ushered her out to the back of the truck where the rest of the company lie dormant. He’d filled all thirteen spots he needed before the Expo came to a close.

Three Weeks Later:

Lyd-1A stood just off to the side of the stage with the rest of the robots in Iverson’s Repertory Company, her hair swept into a fancy updo for tonight’s performance, an original work written by her owner. A pair of technicians walked over to her naked form and scrubbed her down from her forehead to her soles with a cleaning agent that helped to polish from a dull silver to a shiny chrome.

Her eyes fluttered as the scenes from plays flashed through her processing center until it reached the correct act and scene. The technicians busied themselves by slipping a black and white cocktail dress on the beautiful fembot and sliding black four-inch heels over her polished feet.

The scene called for Lyd-1A’s character of Margaret to be in hysterics. The nanobots immediately went to work firing up an unused section of Lydia’s brain, the part where she realized she would never see home or Brandon again. That part of her brain went dark again as the processor took over. It was just enough to begin the process of forcing oily simulated tears down Lyd-1A’s silver cheeks before she took the stage.

When all was dark and the last stragglers faded from view, the other units began to dismantle the sets. Lyd-1A, normally expected to provide some assistance with these efforts, had been given a new directive by Professor Iverson tonight. She could sense the nanobots in her system rewrite her routine to accommodate this change.

She stood by his side now, silently watching the others perform their duties. When she made attempts to think about it, it made little sense to her to stand there and do nothing, but there was something the Professor seemed to get out of this modification to their schedule. He drew closer to her, ran his fingers down the small of her back, said things that would make a human feel special. None of these things could be done for the robot-girl’s benefit. Human contact could be understood, analyzed, and replicated by her processor, but the nanites made no effort to tap into her memories for an appropriately reciprocal emotional response.

Presently, the other units began lining up in their places to activate their power-saving modes for the evening.

Professor Iverson took her slender hands into his. A strange look of longing crossed Iverson’s oddly inhuman face, “Shall we?”

Every question a command, Lyd-1A put a hand on his shoulder while the Professor placed his on her waist. At his command, she trilled a romantic tune as they danced in the darkened venue.