The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Quantum Brainwashing

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He’d done it! He’d successfully leapt into the body of his sexy next-door neighbor! ... So now what?

Quantum Brainwashing

by SleepyTimeSlut

There was a rushing noise, streaks of amber and crimson, a physical sensation of being wrenched apart—no pain, but only because anything that would feel pain was far, far away—and then a distant pinpoint of light. Not light, not really, but an impression of light, of warmth, a confusion of senses, an indefinable destination-ness, and then—whoosh!

Silence.

He opened his eyes, slowly. A bedroom ceiling, painted some kind of off-white (eggshell, came the thought), and a ceiling fan, slowly turning. No ceiling he’d ever seen before, yet it felt familiar. Why bedroom? How did he know? He scanned his senses without moving, yet, and felt the bed beneath him, the sheets covering his body. Dozens of thin slices of contextual information had come to him in the first second of awareness, and they’d added up to the word “bedroom.”

Slowly, he inched a hand up from under the covers, touching the pillow his head lay on. He felt ... hair. Long, auburn hair, cascading across the pillow. (How did he know it was auburn without looking? But he knew. And he knew how he knew.) He curled the fingers enough to snag some of the hairs, then gave them a tug. He felt the tiny sharpness in his scalp and knew the hair was attached. He almost crowed, but kept his rejoicing internal, for now.

He’d done it. He’d successfully leapt into the body of his sexy next-door neighbor!

He lay there in her bed for a moment, blinking, adjusting his thoughts to her brain, feeling her arms and fingers from the inside, as he stretched. He held her hand in front of his eyes, moving it to and fro, the slender fingers, the painted nails (that he somehow, suddenly knew were called French tips). It was like being in a VR game. Except it was real, so real.

Slowly, taking his time, he pushed down the covers and gazed down at her body, lying before him. Even in a sweatshirt and underwear, Lydia was beautiful.

He drew in her long, tanned legs, and turned to sit her up on the edge of the bed. He had the strangest sensation that he was piloting her, as if from a small cockpit behind her eyes, but he told himself that he was still adjusting. The real ease, fully embodying her body, that would come.

When he had first begun looking for a guinea pig—when the months of work were finally at a point where he could start thinking about who the first test subjects would be—Lydia had been an obvious choice. Physically fit and mentally agile—plus, she was right next door, giving him easy access to her. It was easy to learn her habits, watching her routine. And he’d theorized, apparently correctly, that she would be less resistant to his mental advances while she slept. So, as soon as he’d observed her getting ready for a mid-afternoon nap, he’d swung into action, racing down the stairs to his basement lab, the equipment, the workbench, the fussy little wires that had be stuck to his temples and his chest and everywhere else ...

He stood up, walking across the bedroom, wobbling at first then more confidently. This was incredible! He had full control! He walked carefully through the door, touching the door frame as she passed, and stepped into the bathroom. He stopped in front of the mirror, and spent a moment staring at herself—then, as a test, he stripped off her sweatshirt and her panties with minimal fumbling. (She hadn’t been wearing a bra, which, he thought, was a good thing. He would not have been able to figure out how to get it off himself!)

She stood before the mirror, admiring herself. She was gorgeous! And her tits—she cupped them, caressed them—they were fake! Ha ha! She knew it ...

But mmmm they felt so good ... She loved how good it felt to play with her big, firm titties ...

How strange. He could feel echoes of her consciousness, her knowledge, still in this brain he’d temporarily borrowed. He remembered picking the paint colors for the bedroom, remembered her last manicure—and now, thinking his own favorite word for breasts, her mind pushed it away, as a word she rarely thought and never applied to herself. Thinking “tits” and “titties” felt foreign to her brain.

Ohhhh, he thought, semi-maliciously. I just love my big, fake tits. My tits feel soooo good...

She giggled.

He moved his hands—her hands—down to her belly. Her skin was so soft. Her pubes soft and curly. Bouncy! He had a momentary thought of trimming them, of shaving her bush, even got a little soap in her hands ... but then doubted she had the manual dexterity to do it smoothly. He rubbed the soap on his tummy and smiled at her reflection.

Lydia’s fingers reached down and she finally touched herself. Her knees almost buckled with the sensation. The combination of his arousal at the situation, and her physical pleasure, was electric! She couldn’t believe it ... Everything felt so alive—he didn’t think he had half this many nerve endings in his whole body! (Did he? It was ... hard to remember ...)

She needed to get off. Needed to get off now.

She looked back to the bed. Why not? She probably had at least half an hour before she woke up. Let’s enjoy it.

He stumbled to the bed and stretched out, fully and gloriously nude, and commenced a thorough exploration of every inch of her body. Every inch of her was tingling as he touched it! She was writhing in moments at her caress, fingertips across stomach, hips, breasts, the inside of her thigh... (his thigh... her thigh... Why was he having so much trouble with pronouns?)

Her cunt was throbbing, dripping, with arousal. He’d been trying to hold off, after that initial touch, but now he moved her fingers to graze her clit... and her hips bucked. He gasped. She felt amazing! Is THAT how a clit feels? She LOVED having a pussy!!

She stroked, finding the spots that felt best inside and outside, as she kneaded her breast and tugged at her nipple with the other hand. Ffffuuucckkkkk, she thought, I’ve clearly been doing it all wrong. The next time I’m with a woman I’m—uuunnggh!!—touching her just like thiiiis...

She had completely forgotten she’d ever had a cock by this time—she was so in love with her pussy. She clenched her thighs together, rubbing her clit harder, then softer, harder again, a little higher, a little faster...! It was coming! So close! She needed it so desperately!

She was screaming. It was the most intense orgasm she’d ever had. She needed more of this... Why did she not spend more of her life cumming? Her back arched, another scream—She had a sudden flash of that inventor guy next door...

And his eyes popped open.

He was panting, his heart racing. He rolled, blindly, and fell off his workbench, tangling in the wires. He heaved... gasping... He felt weak, and his limbs weren’t responding properly. He felt like... like for a few moments he’d almost forgotten who he was... But he’d made it back. He was okay.

His arms were rubbery, his legs were not yet taking his orders. But he would be able to get back into the driver’s seat, after a few moments.

He lay on the floor, taking deep, shuddering breaths. He was okay. Success.

* * *

Next door, Lydia awoke, her fingers buried in her slick folds. She was panting, her heart racing. What a dream! A sex dream... with herself? And a... heh heh... successful one, too. She relaxed, and stroked herself, enjoying the afterglow.

She’d dreamed that she’d gotten out of bed, and she’d ... taken off her clothes ... then looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. She’d gotten aroused just looking at herself, then ... came back to bed, and ... and she’d masturbated like a wild woman! Damn ... and apparently sleepwalking at the same time. Sleep rubbing!

Mmmmm... She guessed it had just been a while since she’d gotten off, and her body had sent her a message. Mmm... she was getting closer to number two. Message received, she giggled.

She twisted a nipple, cupped the fullness of her improved breasts. She remembered for a moment getting them done, who she’d been then, why she’d done it—Best thing I ever did for myself! I love my big fake tits! Fuck, men love my tits tits tits ...

She plunged her fingers into her sopping pussy. Not just men, she thought. Women love them too I bet! The next time I’m with a woman I want to touch her just like this ...

Now that was a strange thought. She’d never been with a woman, or even thought about it ... She shook off the thought mentally, getting closer ...

Oh! Another flash from the sex dream suddenly came to her. Her neighbor had been in there somewhere! Hadn’t he? She’d thought of him just when she climaxed. That inventor guy. Simon? Scott? Kinda nerdy, but also, she thought, kinda cute ...

Now why had she thought of him? Was her mind telling her something?

She thought of him some more as she approached the crest of another orgasm. The thought was definitely getting her there, for some reason. Was her body, or her mind, sending her another message? Based on ... dozens of thin slices of contextual information, picked up subconsciously ...

Maybe ... uuunnff ... Maybe she should see what he was ... was doing tonight ...

But first:

She had a sudden desire to shave her bush.

Yes! A shaved pussy—maybe he’d like that!

She came. Hard. Her eyes rolled back, and the darkness claimed her, as she fell back into her interrupted nap ...

* * *

Scott spent the rest of the afternoon in his basement lab—making notes on the first day of his trial experiments, and cleaning up the mess. Wires had been tangled and pulled out of their respective machines by the force of his violent journey back into his body. He thought he’d seen a shower of sparks from somewhere when he’d slammed back into the lab and fallen off the bench, and sure enough, here it was: the front panel of the EKG was fried. The damage was mostly cosmetic, but he still had to replace some fuses and rewire a ruined section. He carefully checked over all the equipment and made a few notations on the equation-filled white board before taking out the garbage—stuffed with broken bulbs and fuses, wrecked wires and various other detritus.

It was while Scott was dragging the garbage can down to the curb that he finally allowed himself to really think about what had just happened. Not the scientific and logical list of theories and how they were being fulfilled or disproven so far—but what he had done. He had leapt into the body of another person!—taking over her mind, and achieving full physical control of her body’s active capabilities, actually walking around in her stolen body!

He imagined what he might do—what he might have her do—the next time. What was possible? And what would change over time—would he have greater control with practice? He tried to think scientifically, listing tasks to work on, and work up to... trying not to think about the desires that had filled him once he was in her body, and the exquisite pleasure of masturbating. He would not—he should not—do that again. That was not, after all, the point of the experience. Of his research.

Speaking of practice: How long could he last? Could he spend more time in that (beautiful, sensuous) body... could his stays inside Lydia last longer after he’d made the leap a few more times?

He turned away from the garbage cans and the curb, still caught up in this mix of scientific and sexual curiosity, and was startled to see his smiling neighbor hopping down her front steps and hurrying toward him.

“Hiii!” Lydia trilled. “I was just looking out the window and I saw you and I realized we hadn’t talked in a while so I thought I’d come say hi!” Her cheeks seemed flushed and her breathing was quick—but there was no reason to think that short walk would have left her breathless...

“So hi!”

It took him a moment to catch up. “... Hi...?”

“I had the craziest dream this afternoon. I can’t tell you much about it, partly cuz I don’t really remember it, but I do remember that—I mean, I think—that you were in it. Isn’t that funny?” She smiled warmly, and touched her cheek, then swept her hair behind her ear. “So... How you been?”

Scott blinked. This was a new and unexpected level of interaction with his attractive neighbor, and he’d never heard her speak in such a high and breathy pitch. “Oh I’m good... umm...” he started, making his best attempt at small talk. “Busy, you know...”

“Oh!” Her eyes got big, and she blinked rapidly. After a moment, she shook her head slightly, and her voice dropped an octave to its normal range. “Of course. Of course you are... And you don’t need to be wasting time talking to me when you’ve got work to do! Silly me,” she said, starting to back away. “I’m sorry. I just—I’m sorry. You must think I sound like a complete tits.”

Horror passed over her face, her cheeks coloring rapidly. “I mean ditz! Ditz... Oh God...”

Her complexion was dark pink, from forehead to neck, by the time she had clapped a hand to her mouth. She turned and fled into her house.

Scott stared after her, his mouth open. What on earth was that all about?

To be continued

* * *