The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive


Rubberwerks: Chrysalis

By Lyka Bloom

Clay flipped through the files in a nearby cabinet, searching for some clue that would illuminate the purpose of the mysterious factory buried deep in the Mexican jungle. Stephen was still rifling through the desk, but neither seemed to make more progress beyond the file they’d discovered beneath a layer of decades-old dust.

“I don’t know,” Stephen said, breaking the silence. “Maybe it’s just some random thing. I mean, who knows what these people were into. You have seen German porn, right? No accounting for peoples’ kinks.”

Clay considered it and shook his head. “No, there’s something to it. I don’t think you have pictures of naked test subjects or whatever without a reason.”

“I want to look in some of the other rooms. Maybe see if the girls found anything downstairs.”

“Mind if I hang here another minute?” Clay asked, examining the contents of another folder before returning it to the file cabinet.

“Nah, do your thing. I think I’ll check on Nareen, too. She may be a pain in the ass sometimes, but I feel bad about leaving her alone down there. She had elephantiasis of the creeps, so I should probably do the boyfriend thing and make sure she’s okay.”

“You okay with no flashlight?”

“Yeah,” Stephen said, waving Clay off, “just to the right and down the stairs. I’ll scream if I run into a Nazi ghost.”

“Seriously,” Clay said, more somber than Stephen’s light tone. “Be careful. We really have no idea what these freaks were up to. Don’t be reckless.”

“When have I ever been reckless,” Stephen replied, turning the corner into the hall. His foot caught on the frame and sent him onto his belly, stirring dust as he hit the floor. He hopped up, bouncing on his toes. “I’m fine!” he called and Clay laughed as his friend disappeared into the gloom.

Clay opened another drawer, this one mostly empty. The flashlight ran across the Germanic labels as he thumbed through the folders’ tabs, pausing as a word caught his eye.

‘Chrysalis,’ it read.

Stephen hummed to himself as he descended the stairs, jogging down the steps. Their exploration may not have yielded much in the way of information, but he’d be a liar to say it wasn’t exciting. There was something forbidden about the pace. Verboten, he corrected himself and chuckled.

He could see Nareen around the glow of the lantern at the far end of the entranceway, as close to being outside the building as she could while still resting on this side of the door. Stephen silently promised himself to be better for her, to not let his own childish impulses cause such friction between them. She wasn’t blameless, but Stephen had the nasty habit of wanting retaliation for every perceived slight delivered unto him by the dark beauty.

He found the floor of the building and started towards Nareen, her back to him. He took a second to admire the glowing halo her hair formed, reminding himself he was damn lucky to have a beautiful woman like Nareen in his life at all.

He had started for her when he heard something from behind, something coming from the dark hall the girls had disappeared into. He leaned into the darkness, unable to make out anything past a few feet in the gloom of the hallway.

“Hello?” he called softly, his voice echoing back to him. He turned back to Nareen, who stayed still, too far away to hear his voice or still too angry to respond.

With a tilt of his head, Stephen could hear something like mud striking stone, wet and thick-sounding. He took a step towards the sound in the darkness.

“Chris? Maggie?”


The voice was feminine, but Stephen couldn’t make out the speaker. There was something ragged about it, but not frightened or alarmed. If anything, the voice registered a sort of pleasant surprise.

“Who is that?”

“Stephen,” it said again. “Come here. You have to see. It’s wonderful.”

“Chris?” he repeated, taking another step towards the voice.

“Come here, Stephen,” the voice said, more insistent. It sounded like Christine, but there was something thick and wet about the sound of her voice, a tenor that sent a cold chill down his spine.

“Why don’t you come out here,” he replied and there was a pause, silence loud in the mouth of the hallway.

Then, a giggle, a staccato and murky sound that further unnerved him. The wet slapping sounds returned, growing close, and he could make out a silhouette in the darkness, a gray amidst the black, coming close. The wet sounds he heard were footfalls, and the narrow shape and long legs marching towards him told him it was Christine, after all.

“Chris? Are you okay?”

She grew more visible, her body glimmering in the distant light of the lantern, a slick, mucousy sheen coating her from her head to toe. She was nude, he could see, and he couldn’t resist the urge to drink in the sight of the tall blonde, her hair matted wetly to her skull, her hips shifting seductively as she moved slowly towards him.

“Christine,” he said dumbly, unable to make his brain recognize the strangeness of her shiny appearance, her nudity, the ecstatic smile she wore. “What happened to your clothes?” She tittered at that, moving closer, no more than five or six yards ahead and closing on him fast. He took a half step backwards, reeling.

“I have to show you something, Stephen. It’s glorious.”

He was trying to form his next thought when her hand found his cheek, and a warm tingle accompanied the sticky feel of her touch. He tried to pull away, but her other hand held the back of his head, pulling his face to hers, her mouth open, reflecting the light from the entrance.

The cry of alarm that grew in his throat and threatened to tumble out was stolen by her mouth, sealing against his. He pushed against her shoulders, finding only that same, tingling ooze coating his hands. He could feel it creeping around the back of his head, over his cheek where she had first touched him, invading his mouth with her slippery tongue.

Christine released him as he fell back against the wall, writhing as the ooze spread over him, dissolving his clothes as it swept over his form. Stephen gasped, sucking in deep lungfuls of air, his eyes rolling back into his head. His hands, slick with the ooze that consumed him, ran over his newly-exposed flesh, spreading the corruptive goo.

Christine watched, a bemused look on her face, as Stephen’s body writhed in its new-found nudity, the pools of goo that covered him meeting, merging. His cock grew erect as the slick substance covered him, and the sight of it delighted Christine. What pleasure it would bring her, she knew, and she fell upon him. He gasped, the slick coating of her walls sliding frictionlessly over his cock as she swallowed him up, his hips rocking automatically within her, igniting a sensation that was indescribable to any unlike them.

It was her entire body screaming at once, calling out a universal ‘YES!’ and reinforcing her knowledge that her body was something more than human, now, an embodiment of pleasure, christened by the roiling goo. She could feel Stephen’s hands on her hips as she rode him, and the way that his need for her drove him deeper inside made her shudder.

‘Yes!’ she heard the voice repeat, only it was not hers any longer. It was Stephen, his consciousness calling out to hers, and she reached out to it, imagining her slippery hand grasp his and entwine fingers, until their hands were as one.

‘I hear you,’ he said wordlessly and their connection to one another elevated their passion as they moved together. When Stephen came, Christine joined him in his elation, and she found that his presence in her mind stoked the blistering orgasm higher until all other thought was crowded out in their shared euphoria.

She leaned and kissed him, their slick tongues sliding against one another in passion and recognition of the other. When she rose, his member slipping wetly from her, still erect, still awaiting another opportunity to give and receive more pleasure, Stephen stood with her, their hands clasped together as they stood and regarded one another in the gray light.

‘It’s beautiful,’ he said wordlessly.

‘Yes. They have to know,’ she replied, their eyes locked together.

She turned to Nareen, huddled by the light near the door, and then turned back to Stephen, who nodded. Speech was only necessary for those who had not been baptized in their decadence. Soon, they would be as one.

Maggie slid her shorts on, raising her ass off the cot, which had been more comfortable than she had expected. It helped that Justine’s head had been between her legs, her hands supporting Maggie, during their respite. Then again, Justine made everything just a little bit better.

She watched her lover tie her long brown hair into a knot behind her head, wrapping it into a loose bun. The way the loose strands trickled down the base of her neck, giving her just enough of a look of a beautiful mess to make Maggie’s heart break with love for her. They hadn’t said the words, yet, but Maggie knew they would, just as she had known the first time they kissed that it would be one of many.

“I feel so dirty,” Justine grinned, turning to Maggie. She’d slipped on the semi-sheer panties, the outline of her dark pubic hair visible beneath, but had left the rest of her clothes jumbled with Maggie’s by the cot. Her D-cup breasts were firm, and the nipples were hardened into pointed nubs. Maggie already missed the feel of them under her hands. Where she was thin and all angles, Justine was soft and inviting. She had often joked that Justine’s body had been based on old fertility goddess statues. While Justine took it as a bit of an insult, some indication that she was overweight, Maggie adored her body and its curves.

“We haven’t had five minutes alone since we got here. And I don’t mean here-here, I mean Mexico, and I can only go so long before I start having withdrawals.”

Justine grinned and returned to the cot, resting on one knee. She kissed Maggie, holding the tip of her chin by two fingers, savoring the warmth of their lips as they met.

“We should get back. I’m sure all your friends are talking about the lesbian romp happening under their noses.”

Maggie grinned. “They’re really not like that.”

“They seem nice, but you know as well as I do that it doesn’t matter how you’re different, as long as you are different, people are going to talk.”

Maggie retrieved her top from the floor, stretching it over her arms and tugging it down into place. Her apple-rounded breasts poked at the cotton of her shirt as she stood, lazily dressing. She wanted to pull Justine back to the old cot and lose herself again. She believed she could live in her arms forever.

“We should find Christine. I feel kinda bad about leaving her alone.”

Maggie watched as Justine finished dressing, more than a little disappointed that her body was hidden away.

“She’s a little… bouncy.”

“You have a prejudice against blondes.”

“I do not!” Justine said, tossing Maggie’s hiking boot at her in protest.

“You totally do. I get a pass because of the dark hair and tats. If I bleached my hair, you would leave me in a second.”

Justine laughed, pushing against Maggie to lay her back on the cot. “It’s true. I wouldn’t be able to stand the sight of you.”

They kissed again, each smiling.

“You’d be disgusted.”

Another kiss, this one longer, slower.

“Disgusted,” Justine agreed, punctuating it with a final lick, broken only by the sound of footfalls outside the door.

“What was that?” Maggie asked, looking at the closed door. “Didn’t we leave that open?”

Justine rose, leaving Maggie behind on the cot.

“We did.” She tried the door and pressed her shoulder against it, pushing. “It’s locked.”

“Let me try,” Maggie said, joining Justine at the door as they pressed hard against it. “Okay, so it’s locked.”

“I could almost swear I said that.”

“Don’t worry. I know just how to handle this.”

Justine took a step back from the door and waved Maggie toward it in invitation.

“Help! We’re locked in! Let us out!” Maggie’s voice called out from behind the steel door, echoing down the dark hallway as her hammering fist sounded a drumbeat of alarm.

Clay held the flashlight over the open file, flipping from the unintelligible German notation to the series of photos, taken at different angles, of the same object. It looked like a sac of some kind, bands of dark material affixing the man-sized blob to the corner of a room. There were close-ups of the strips of unidentifiable material that secured it to the ceiling and floor, as well as the semi-reflective surface of the amorphous, bag-like sac itself. It appeared much like a garbage bag that had no opening and glistened, even in the frozen flash of the ancient camera.

All the photos were studies of this object save one, which showed a hand extended from within the sac, the arm up to mid-forearm exposed. The black-and-white photography made it difficult to determine what color the hand and arm were, but the coloration was not that of any person Clay had ever seen.

He turned back to the notes, his finger scanning over the unfamiliar Teutonic conjugations, hunting for something that might explain the bizarre images.

‘Verwandlung’ and ‘gummi’ were repeated often, and he struggled to find some meaning in them, besides the obvious association with gummi bears. He was certain this experiment had little to do with candy. His finger paused on one word that translated directly—virus.

“What the hell is this place?”

Nareen followed the glowing orbs with her thumb, tapping her phone, watching the pixelated balloons explode with her touch. It was a stupid game, but it was better than staring at the cement walls of the drab building. The candy-coated music tinnily playing on the phone hid the wet footsteps behind her, the light playing off the oily skin of the form approaching from behind.

When one of the animated balloons reached the top of the phone’s screen and exploded, ending the game, she turned the display off with a sigh and tossed the thin phone onto her sleeping bag. She stretched, hearing her neck pop satisfyingly, then froze, arms still outstretched, head at an angle.

It was a footstep, but load and organic, the sound of flesh meeting stone, but with some other quality that chilled her. When it came again, she understood it was the damp sound of it that disturbed her.

She seized the handle of the lantern and held it in front of her as she spun.

“Who’s there?”

“Nareen,” he said, marching slowly and steadily towards her.


His body glimmered in the light of the lantern, rippling with reflection as he moved steadily towards her. His face was beatific, head angled slightly to give his bliss an almost curious quality.

“Nareen,” he repeated.

She stepped backwards until her back struck the wall. His frozen smile, his unwavering gait, the slick oil that seemed to cover every inch of him—they all terrified her, heightened by his nudity and the rock-hard erection he sported.

“Stay back,” she whispered, brandishing the lantern before her like a weapon.

He paused, his smile widening. “It’s wonderful, Nareen. You don’t have to be afraid. We can be together. And it won’t be like before. No arguing. No misunderstandings. Only pleasure…”

His eyes rolled back in his head as he spoke the word. His cock twitched and spurted oily seed onto the ground ahead of him. She held her breath as she saw the deposit on the ground quiver and roll back to merge with the goo that covered his skin.

“What happened to you?” she whispered, crawling along the wall to the door. The jungle frightened her, especially at night, but the mysteries of the unfamiliar world outside were far more appealing than remaining indoors with this mockery of her boyfriend.

He had recovered from his orgasm, his eyes settling again on Nareen with that terrifyingly orgasmic smile, closing the distance. She grabbed the door handle and twisted it, pulling. A sliver of the night beyond filtered in through the cracked door, the sounds of the fauna spilling inside. Her panic was giving way to preparation for flight, her mind calculating her steps back to the trail, back to the small village they’d begun their hike in, back to the plane, to home.

His hand fell on hers, pushing the door firmly shut.

“You’ll be so happy,” he said as the ooze from his hand coated the back of hers, warm tingles spreading, penetrating her skin.

She jerked away from him, pushing back into the interior of the entrance room, cradling her tainted hand against her chest. She whimpered as she felt it eating away at the loose cotton top, through the cream-colored bra, flowing over her skin and caressing it with its heated embrace.

Stephen paused, watching, as Nareen stumbled backwards, falling to the ground as the viscous fluid expanded from her breast, covering her chest to her neck, up her arm until it met at her shoulder and spread further, leaving behind bare, oily flesh.

At the first gasp of pleasure, elicited by the sealing of her bare and perfect breasts within the comfort of the goo, Stephen lowered himself to her, corrupting her as his skin pressed against hers. He could feel the need in her, now, and her hands found his back, pulling him to her.

When his cock slid inside her, invading her with his member and the joy of its corruption, her pussy flooded for him, her lubrication blending with the slick coating of his member. Her legs wrapped around, hooking behind his legs as her hips drove him deeper inside, pumping mindlessly.

When the ooze drifted over her lips, into her mouth, covering her eyes with the sticky film, up and around until it sealed her within, she dug her nails into Stephen’s back. She felt him erupt within her, his semen absorbed between them as she joined in his bliss.

They moved together on the floor, nude and entangled, their bodies drifting together, thin tendrils of the lubricating ooze tying them together as they found a new rhythm, steady and penetrating.

Nareen understood, now, how wrong her criticisms of Stephen had been, how willfully she had hurt him, and now he had given her ecstasy. She knew of no way to thank him other than with her body, squeezing his shaft within her to milk more of the semen from him, bringing her mouth to his and coaxing his tongue into hers, silently offering every corner of her soul to him. And still, he gave her more.

She felt him in her head… except that wasn’t precisely right. She felt their minds meet somewhere beyond themselves, twirling together and spinning until they wound into one. And there was another.

‘Christine,’ Stephen’s mind whispered to her, and she breathed in the other, too, like sweet, sustaining air. She mourned Christine’s physical absence as she and Stephen moved together on the floor, eager to taste Christine on her tongue, but she was assured by the others there would be world enough and time.

Content with the knowledge of her togetherness, she screamed out an orgasm, her voice thick and wet through the delicious goo that surrounded them both.

Maggie’s hammering had slowed from its previous insistence to a steady, albeit lazy, knock. Christine passed by the door, slowing a half-step as she fought the urge to open the door and welcome them both to her. The image of the three of them squirming together on the floor sent a jolt through her eager pussy, and groans of ‘yes, yes, more…’ from Stephen and Nareen, whose voices now called out as one.

Instead, she followed a fainter whisper call to her from the door where she had been reborn, into the dripping and dank room where three containers hummed with life. It was only when she was near them that she could hear the voices locked away inside them.

‘Welcome,’ they said as one, and Christine heard the pleasure and need in them, recognized them as kindred minds, yet somehow different. ‘Free us,’ they said.

Christine stood before the control panel, running her hand over the dark console. Her thumb pressed against a silver toggle switch, shivering in delight at the way the indention it carved in her flesh made her whole body twitch, and pressed it forward.

Slender lights flickered and sparked to life above the tanks, the panel lighting in red, white and green. She saw three of the lights blinking with green urgency.

‘Yes,’ the voices called to her again, ‘these. Set us free.’

Before she could react, she was assaulted by a steep pain in her belly, rising up her throat. She staggered backwards, bending and holding her folded arms to her slick stomach.

‘Christine,’ Stephen/Nareen said, but she could not answer. He mind was ablaze with the pain, draining her of strength until she collapsed to the floor. She crawled towards the door, hoping to escape the stabbing sensations as she escaped the room, but another swell of agony spun her to her back, her legs curling.

“Please,” she said aloud, and susurrous voices filled her head again.

‘Soon,’ they said, ‘Don’t be afraid. You are loved. You will always be loved.’

She tried to believe them, feeling betrayed by this sudden pain after so much pleasure as she clawed her way to the door, her throat full, threatening to spill out.

She opened her mouth to vomit, her stomach roiling, burning her from within. Her hands found the wall, pulling herself up, the door beside her. As she reached for it, she felt the pressure in her throat swell and a stream of black goo burst from her, adhering to the wall. Her hands found the thick, rubbery cord in an attempt to dislodge it but found themselves were instead trapped against its surface as another strand whipped from her. Then another, and another, a fan of them clinging to the wall, some above her, some to the crease of the floor.

Something inside contracted, reeling her closer to the wall like a slippery fish, until she was flush against the stone, her elbows bent across her breasts. She struggled against the bindings that issued from her and found herself only more entangled.

Panic flooded her senses, cutting her off from Stephen/Nareen, who whispered a last call to her before growing silent. She was isolated, afraid. While her tongue explored the bands of dark rubber issuing from her mouth, something new rose inside her—more of the rubber, but fluid, spilling over her lips and down her slippery body, applying a new layer to her flesh. As before, it defied gravity, spreading outward from her mouth until she was formless, a bubble of semi-reflective rubber attached to the wall by sticky strands.

Within the cocoon, the tendrils snapped, leaving her mouth free to close again. She floated within it, the pain receding. Her ears were filled with a fluid, murmuring sound lulling her into a dazed calm. The embryonic rubber warmed her, fed her, invading her every orifice. The lust she had felt before was replaced by a peace she had never realized was possible.

‘Soon,’ the unfamiliar voices repeated. ‘You are first,’ they said. ‘You are Queen.’