The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Phase Zero Clinical Trial: Response To Hypnozamine In The Human Female


WARNING: The material herein is completely fictional and is intended as ADULT entertainment. It contains material of an adult, explicit, SEXUAL nature, and episodes of partially-informed sex-ual consent. If you are offended by (or it is illegal for you to read) sexually explicit content or language, please DO NOT read any further.

All characters in the story are fictitious; any similarity to any persons, places, individuals, businesses, or situations is purely coincidental. The author does not necessarily condone or endorse any of the activities described in this story.

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Chapter 1

I suppose it was because Dr. Clark had been so dismissive that what I was trying to pursue did not follow the path of his current pet theory that made me so angry. I had results that showed that something was happening, but it didn’t support his line of research so he told me to stop, and in fact chewed me out for wasting resources.

And I had to stand there and take it, while the others in the lab tried to pretend that they were too busy to hear it. They’d all been publicly embarrassed by him at one time or another, so they knew what I was going through.

Clark had had one major breakthrough about a dozen years ago and rode it all the way up to research director, and in the process convinced himself that no one else knew what they were doing. So we—accumulated Ph.D.s notwithstanding—were treated like lowly grad students.

My name would be useful, I guess. I’m Sam Halloran, Ph.D. My mother was fond of using the title when talking about me to her friends. “My son, the doctor.” She would have preferred that it had been an M.D., but was willing to settle provided she could invoke the honorific to impress her acquaintances.

I had done a postdoc after finishing my degree in molecular biology and biochemistry, and through a friend-of-a-friend-of-my-postdoc-supervisor had been offered a research position here at Rayleigh-Brown Pharmaceuticals.

I’ll call them RBP just to save my fingers. They had a pretty wide range of products, some available to the consumer, some were specific licensed and targeted drugs intended for use by physicians in the treatment of disease or amelioration of symptoms. The problem with patented drugs is that it takes years before all the clinical trials are over, the results submitted to the FDA, and (hopefully) approval received to manufacture and sell.

A long and expensive process before you earned the first dime back. And the fixed term of the drug patent starts when you first submit the application, not when you first start selling it. So after all is said and done, you might get ten years of exclusive rights to earn your research money back, as well as your profits.

So pharmaceutical companies were always researching new drugs, hoping they could find a lucrative new one before the competition did and before the patents on their current ones expired. And that is part of what drove Bernard Clark, Ph.D., to wield the whip to keep us focused on the one, true research path. His path.

Nothing wrong with that, I suppose. Focus is good. But science is not always linear. Some of the greatest discoveries in science have been the result of mistakes, accidents and lucky breaks. Goodyear’s discovery of vulcanizing rubber. Fleming’s accidental discovery of penicillin. August Kekulé’s concept of the benzene ring, which came to him in a dream and which opened up the huge field of organic chemistry. The list goes on. But Clark was convinced he had a similar vision, which few of us in the lab shared, but were too cowardly to call him on.

So we did as we were told, hoping that he would stumble and fall, and a more open-minded research director might take his place.

RBP’s latest focus was on the expanding field of drug addiction treatment, specifically the drugs that are used to mitigate the effects of opioid and stimulant addictions. Big bucks, if you have a treatment that doctors prescribe routinely. We were looking for something that was better than— and if not better than, at least different from, so RBP could patent it—the commonly available choices like methadone, buprenorphine, and naltrexone.

Clark had his pet theory which involved blocking the opiate receptors, like the commonly used treatments, but in a slightly different way. No way to say if it would be a better approach, but it would a patentable approach, and that’s what counted.

I got into science originally because I admired the purity of it. That naive concept was pretty much gone by the time I received my degree. But part of me still held on to the excitement of discovering something new, something so radical as to upend my small corner of science.

And I thought I had. I had been fascinated in grad school with the idea of how the brain learns to focus attention, and its corollary, how it suppresses stimuli that distract the brain’s focus. We’ve all had those moments, where we’re so wrapped up a ball game that we don’t hear a family member trying to call us to the phone, or so immersed in a piece of music that we can’t hear someone knocking on the door right next to us.

You can sometimes induce those states via hypnosis in people who are susceptible to hypnosis —but not in those who aren’t. I’ve always thought that those states of hyper-focus are biochemical, as is almost every process in the body and brain. Hypnotists just find ways of stimulating them externally. I had wondered if there was a more specific biochemical approach.

The brain is an astoundingly intricate machine, and science knows about ten percent or less of how it works. There are certain areas of the brain that are localized enough so that we know what will happen if that area is damaged—loss of vision or smell, for example, or a reduced ability to process complex ideas, or loss of short-term memory. There’s no way yet to fix those things when that area of the brain is damaged.

Less well known is how inputs are processed, categorized, and transferred to the proper part of the brain that handles that type of data. By trial and error, addiction scientists have deduced how certain drugs hook into the brain to produce that rush and feeling of well-being that addicts crave. And science has produced some drugs that inhibit the ability of addictive substances to attach to the brain’s receptors. But the treatments almost always have side effects, or they lose their effectiveness over time.

Clark’s approach, we thought, would be similar to the existing treatments, perhaps with a different set of side effects. It wouldn’t be a big leap forward, but it would make the company lots of money when it finally works. If it works.

I had been thinking for a long time about the brain’s ability to focus and to turn off stimuli under certain circumstances, much like a hypnotist could convince you that your arm was no longer subject to gravity and would float upward if you let it. The subject’s body ignores its own signals of weight and gravity and seems to rise of its own accord.

Or the hypnotist could convince us to ignore our body’s temperature sensors, and tell us that the temperature in the room had suddenly dropped to ten below zero. Our body would break out in goosebumps and begin shivering violently. The brain was told to ignore its own data concerning ambient temperature and to substitute the hypnotist’s observation.

We’ve all seen these theater and television acts, and we all marvel at the hypnotist’s ability. But underneath the entertainment there’s a scientific fact: The brain’s biochemistry is making this happen. There is a process occurring that allows the brain to block certain stimuli, and allow others to pass unaffected. That is not a hypnotist’s parlor trick; that’s science. And I thought that if the mechanism was understood at a biochemical level we could perhaps block the cravings that the body produced. And if that concept worked, it would also be applicable to most any kind of addiction—opiates, tobacco, stimulants like methamphetamine, even caffeine!

Of course, the path between idea and application is a long and rocky one, but I thought the idea held some promise. And in fact I had synthesized some preliminary samples and had tested them in mice with promising results. I would dose them with a small amount of the sample and then do an MRI of their brains. The results were just what I had hoped. The place in the amygdala where emotions are processed became static, no activity at all. Activity returned, apparently normally, shortly thereafter.

To prove that this was what was actually happening, I did an experiment that attempted to block all emotions, albeit temporarily. I did this by training some lab mice that they could get a kind of treat that they enjoyed by going to several locations within their box and pressing a button. But one of those locations also produced a powerful but non-lethal shock while dispensing the treat. Over time all the mice learned to avoid that one location. I put the test drug into an aerosol dispenser and sprayed it into the cage.

The mice looked slightly dazed when the dose hit them, but soon recovered and went about their normal routine. Except that they now visited the previously electrified dispenser for treats, as well as the other dispensers. I had deactivated the current so they didn’t get a shock, but their learned fear should have told them to avoid that one.

After some time, the effects of the drug seemed to wear off and they did begin avoiding that dispenser again. I had interpreted that as a temporary suppression of learned behavior—fear—and that it was the drug that had caused it. I tried the experiment a few more times, each time with a slightly different configuration, ruling out that it wasn’t just a temporary loss of memory that caused them to revisit the hazardous dispenser, until I was pretty sure about what I was seeing.

But Dr. Clark did not share my vision and called it a waste of time and resources, reading me the riot act. He gave me the ’cease and desist’ speech and told me to get back to real scientific work. Jerk.

So I did what most scientists would do in my position; I ignored him. I was careful about it. I hid my lab notes and working samples and did enough of “his” work to justify my position in the lab.

And by increments, after most everyone had gone, or on the weekends, I continued to work on my compound, tweaking it, refining it. I started keeping lab mice at home, building a sealed plastic pen for them, with a built-in aerosol dispenser to administer the latest drug sample.

And as I thought on what the drug was doing and how it might be used to treat addictions by blocking the pleasurable response from the alcohol, the heroin, the nicotine, and so on, I came to realize that there was an important component missing in my compound.

While the mind responds viscerally to these stimuli and cravings, a drug that simply blocks the craving will need to be taken continuously, much like methadone is used to alleviate the cravings that arise from heroin addiction. Until you go through withdrawal, you are still a slave to those cravings; the methadone simply abates it for a while.

What was missing, I mused, was something that allowed the mind to assist in the “detoxification” process, a suggestion that embeds itself strongly in the unconscious to tell the body that it no longer needs the addictive substance.

So my compound would need to be used in a doctor’s or a counselor’s office, who would implant and reinforce the command that the subject no longer needed the satisfaction that they derived from the use of the addictive substance. You could sometimes attain the same result by sitting through years of therapy with a psychiatrist. This process promised to be much cheaper and much faster.

The more I thought about this, the more convinced I was that I was on to something. I had one component of the drug, to temporarily suppress processing of emotions and physical stimuli. Now I started looking for the second half, something that would increase suggestibility.

There were a lot of scientific papers in the psychology/psychiatry journals that dealt with techniques of hypnosis that made subjects more suggestible—for those who were susceptible to hypnosis—and my working hypothesis posited that there was a biochemical basis for all these hypnotic tricks, like making a person feel cold.

Good hypnotists could make a subject trust them—and their suggestions—completely. At least within certain limits. It didn’t appear to be possible, for example, to make a subject violate a deeply ingrained moral or religious precept. You couldn’t hypnotize someone to go out and murder your enemy, for example, if they were morally constrained by the thought of murder as most people were.

But what about, say, convincing a painfully shy person to be the life of the party? We see that happen in hypnosis shows all the time, and good psychiatrists can, over long periods, even talk a shy person into becoming gregarious. So the brain is capable of “retraining” itself, to some extent if we convince them that it is in their interests. So I set out to find something that would add an element of suggestibility to my compound.

I’ll skip over a lot of fairly tedious, plodding science here. Basically, I had found there were a small number of substances that appeared to significantly increase “suggestibility”, by which a subject could be convinced that an action or an idea that they would not normally support or believe was in fact entirely reasonable. For example, the drug scopolamine, a derivative of the belladonna plant, and the old 1960s favorite, LSD.

Each of these drugs had serious side effects and were quite dangerous, with detrimental long-term effects. But by examining the molecular structure and how it interacted with the brain, I thought I had found a way to synthesize the specific component that increased the mind’s suggestibility.

If I had done only that, it alone would be a breakthrough in brain science. But again I was faced with the problem of testing. I could test this on lab mice or monkeys to rule out toxicity, but its effects could only be proven by instructing the subjects using language and seeing what happened.

I needed subjects that I could interview, to find out what they had felt, what they remembered. But human testing is fraught with dangers. We never know exactly what long-term effects a particular drug will have, what dangerous side effects it might induce. That’s why there are processes to review proposed drug trials, to make sure that there are no foreseeable dangers.

I had reached a critical point. I couldn’t progress without human subjects, and I couldn’t do that without exposing my sub rosa research, which would surely get me fired. While I continued to worry over this problem, I combined the two elements in a new, improved form of the drug and continued to test it on the mice in my home lab, watching to see if there were observable, long-term effects.

Circumstances forced my hand. It wasn’t planned, it just happened. I should have been more careful, but who could have foreseen that particular sequence of events?

I was pretty wrapped up in my work, as you might have surmised, but wasn’t a complete hermit. I went out with friends occasionally, went to ball games and the like. And occasionally went out on dates. I think my mother was starting to worry. On those occasions when we visited or spoke on the phone, there’d be a pause while she gathered her courage, then she’d say, “So. Are you seeing anybody?” She was so predictable that I almost laughed each time.

But I did date sometimes. A couple of times I asked out women at RBP. Pleasant evenings, no fireworks but nice enough. This time I was set up by a friend at work, who hooked me up with his girlfriend’s co-worker named Ellen. Nice girl, kinda cute, I’d met her before while we were all hanging out at a local bar.

So he asked, I said okay, we went out for dinner, then listened to some music at a bar, then she started ribbing me about being a science geek who probably had Domino’s on speed dial and an apartment full of old pizza boxes and old clothes hanging off the lamp shades. It was probably the alcohol talking, but she was on a roll and having fun with the image she’d built up for herself, until she demanded I prove to her that I didn’t live like a slob.

We were close enough to my place that I finally just gave up in order to shut her up. Once she’d seen the place she’d have to apologize. I took her elbow and walked her—she was just a little tipsy—the two blocks to my apartment.

And as soon as I opened the door I could see the disappointment on her face. She had been so sure that I was a hoarder, a classic nerd, that she didn’t know what to say. I was waiting for the apology, when she turned her head, saw the cage and cried happily, “Oh! You have white mice! I love mice, lemme see!” And like a shot she was over to the sealed plastic cage with the enclosed ventilation system, and opening the door.

“Ellen, don’t open the...” But she already had her hand and nose poking inside the hinged plastic door, petting them with one finger. “Oh, they’re adorable. And what a castle you’ve built for them! Look, you even have a mister for them so they don’t get too dry!” And she reached up and squeezed the bulb before I could yell, “No!”

She sat down on the floor looking disoriented. Putting a handkerchief over my nose and mouth I ran over and sealed the door, then backed up across the room. The mist wouldn’t disperse far, but it wouldn’t do to have both of us breathe it in.

“Ellen, are you okay? Talk to me.”

She looked up at me and gave a kind of half smile, then looked blankly at a wall. I didn’t know what to do. Should I call 9-1-1? If I did I’d have to explain what was in the mist, and that would undoubtedly get back to RBP and Dr. Clark, and goodbye job, goodbye future.

So I decided the best plan was to wait and see if anything happened. I’d keep it light so she wouldn’t see my nervousness.

“Looks like maybe you had one drink too many. Are you okay? You’re not going to be sick, are you?”

She looked at me again and smiled briefly.

“Ellen, tell me you’re okay.”

She looked at me and said, in a kind of faraway voice, “I’m okay.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear it. Glad you liked the mice. They’re refugees from a lab experiment. Let me get you some water.”

I went to the kitchen, found a clean glass and filled it from the tap, and brought it back to her. Any mist from the compound should have settled by now, so I felt okay going near her.

“Can you stand up, Ellen? Stand up.”

She stood up and stayed there with her hands by her side, still looking at some spot in the distance.

“Here, drink this.” She took the glass, put it to her lips and drained it, then stood there with the glass in her hand, looking at the horizon. I took the glass from her hand.

She wasn’t agitated, in fact she was quite calm, almost placid. She didn’t seem to be in any pain or distress, just... detached.

I couldn’t let this opportunity go to waste. I needed to get some feedback on the effects. I wished I had thought this out beforehand so I had a list of questions.

“Ellen, how do you feel now?”

“I feel fine, thanks for asking.” She continued to look at the wall, as if some secret was to be found there if only she looked hard enough.

“Do you have any nausea or dizziness, or vision problems?”

“No, I think I’m fine.”

I needed to see if what I thought had happened in the mice was also happening here. Could I change a stimulus or override it? I didn’t want to do anything to harm her, so something innocuous.

I reached over and brushed her hair away from her left ear. “Sorry,” I said, “it looked like it was tickling your ear. Did you feel it?”

“Thank you. Yes, I didn’t realize how annoying it was.”

“It looks like it’s going to keep bothering you, tickling your ear. I hate when that happens.”

And she now started, every few seconds, to reach up and brush the hair away from her ear, then scratch the earlobe.

“Did you have a good time tonight, Ellen? I hope so. I wanted you to feel good about us going out, and I was a little nervous about it.”

“I had a wonderful time, Sam. I’m glad we did this. Perhaps we can get together another time? I’d like that.”

“Me, too.” I thought perhaps one more suggestion so I could see whether they remained after the effects dissipated.

She kept reaching up to brush her ear. She was starting to look a little more focused now, bringing her attention from the wall to me periodically. I glanced at my watch without her noticing and saw that about ten or twelve minutes had passed since she dosed herself. Another datum for the log.

“Ellen, I’ll walk you home now, since you still look a little shaky. Why don’t you call me at work tomorrow and let me know that you’re okay. Ten minutes past noon would probably work best, since I’ll be heading out to lunch just after that. Would you do that?”

She agreed, and I wrote my work number on a piece of paper. I locked up, got her to a taxi, and when we got there I walked her to her door. By this time she seemed to be the same person she was at dinner, focused on the person with her. I got a quick goodnight kiss, appropriate for a first date, and took the same cab back to my place.

I had a hard time getting to sleep that night, with all the things that could possibly go wrong leaping out from behind the sheep I was trying to count. But eventually I did fall into a dreamless sleep.

I fumbled through my morning routine at work, trying to stay focused on my tasks, but watching the clock. As the time approached, I found myself reading the same paragraph in the journal Biochemistry over and over without comprehension.

And as the clock on the wall showed 12:10, my phone rang. “Hello, Sam? It’s Ellen. How are you?”

I answered, “I’m fine. The real question is, ’how are you’?”

“Really, I’m fine, perhaps just a little too much to drink last night, though I didn’t even have a bit of a hangover this morning. Does that mean I’m getting better at drinking?”

I chuckled at that, then thanked her again for the evening, ending with a hurried goodbye, ostensibly to join a group heading out to lunch. I told her I’d be in touch.

So a phone call right on the mark of 12:10. Was that her obeying a planted command, or was that just her normal punctual self calling when she said she would? If I was going to test this, I’d have to come up with a better experimental plan.