The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Rubberwerks Part Three


By Lyka Bloom

Clay bundled the files together, unease building in his gut. What had begun as curiosity became genuine fear the more he’d pored over the documents that described some kind of experimentation that had been abruptly concluded. The last notes in the files had been hastily scribbled, contrasting starkly with the neatly-typed sheets that preceded them. The only thing Clay knew for sure was that, whatever this place had been, there was something dangerous lurking here.

As soon as he passed through the door to the stairs, he could hear the moans drifting to him through the cool air of the entranceway. He squinted his eyes looking across the vast and empty room where he could vaguely make out human forms moving together, their lovemaking apparent and wanton. His descent slowed as he tried to form the shapes into those of his friends, and only when he saw the dark skin of Nareen did he understand that it was Stephen and his girlfriend. Something about the way the lantern-light glistened reflectively on their bodies was wrong, not just the sheen of sweat but something slick and artificial covering them.

Clay’s fear became real panic, the black-and-white images of the glistening women in the files flashing before his eyes as he crept down the steps, careful not to draw their attention.

When he reached the bottom of the steps, he backed away from them, his back to the hallway Christine and Maggie and Justine had explored. He stepped back into the deeper shadows as Stephen and Nareen paused, both of them looking towards him in unison. He held his breath, so loud in his ears, as was the pump-pump of his heartbeat. After a moment, Nareen’s hands pulled Stephen back down to her, her legs wrapped around his waist, and his attention returned to her.

Closing his eyes and exhaling in a slow, measured release, Clay turned away from them and followed the left wall into the gloom.

Maggie sat on the cot, legs crossed, watching while Justine scoured the door for some secret release, or simply a fingerhold to attempt to pry the cell open. Neither were speaking following a brief but tense argument, where Maggie maintained their best bet was to wait for rescue while Justine found herself unable to sit still, the need to do something, anything, overwhelmed her.

“Please come sit,” Maggie said, her voice low and soothing. “I’m cold.”

They had dressed following their stolen moments of passion, but the chill air of the nighttime jungle had crept under doors and lent a bite to the air circulating in the abandoned factory.

Justine remained silent, and Maggie could hear rather than see her hand sweeping over the door. “Please,” Maggie tried again. “Please come sit.”

She heard silence, then the sound of Justine’s feet coming close. She could feel her warmth as Justine sat and Maggie leaned her head on her soft shoulder.

“I’m sorry I’m such a pain in the ass,” she whispered.

“It’s okay. I’m sorry I get so... focused.”

“Even if we’re stuck in some stupid cell, I’m glad you made me come.”

“Me, too.”

She felt Justine’s body turn and she found her lover’s lips, pressing against them, surrendering to them. When Justine leaned away from her again, Maggie wrapped her arms around her soft body.

“I love you,” she whispered, barely above the sound of her breath.

“I love you, too, Maggie,” Justine replied in the darkness.

Christine knew she was changing, could feel the amniotic embrace of the liquid around her, filling her every orifice and pulsing. At first, she had struggled against the cocoon of her own making, but as it stitched her into something else, she understood. It was necessary for her to ascend, to shed the humanity that clung to her. She had been given a great honor, and she would lead as she had been asked.

The voices were dormant, now, just as she had instructed. They had called to her, reassured her, until she could accept their message. She was to be their queen, and no denial would change that. When she emerged, she would take her new form, one that would separate her from the others.

She could feel Nareen and Stephen distantly, and the pleasure they gave one another soothed her. They would have new instructions in time, but until her making was complete, she would allow them their desire. There were others she could sense, too, the two girls, and the one she had taken to her bed when she had been a lesser thing. Once she was completed, she would take him for her own, the girls free to serve with the other drones.

To that end, she would need to free the drones in the tanks, the three that had survived for years, waiting. Waiting, they said, for her.

Christine felt a tremor of orgasmic pleasure, her nether lips reshaped by the fluid around her. Her whole body felt odd to her, but she would grow used to it. Her drones would attend her, serve her, and she would mold them as needed. And she would become the queen they deserved.

The rubbery cocoon shook, as if flinching away from the walls. With a sound like a rubbery flower releasing its spores, the cocoon split, spilling the black goo onto the floor, a wide swath of it spreading across the stone until it dripped into the grates near the tanks.

Christine felt her feet touch the slick floor of the cocoon as the rupture widened, opening to her touch. A bare foot rose and settled on the wet floor, free of the black skin. She pushed the rest of the way out, the cool air pleasant against the dew covering her. She stood and stretched, the viscous goo dripping from her arms and traveling in thick rivulets down her chest and legs.

She padded to the tanks, wrinkling her nose at the open spaces in the grates where her newly-formed flesh sank. She was tender, still, but that sensitivity nursed her desire, and she knew very well what a power her lust would be. Not only her own wants, but the desire for her, as she would be the focus of much worship. It was both duty and privilege.

She gripped the faucets periodically belching the overspill of the tanks, twisting them open and draining the tanks where voices had whispered to her. From within, she could hear hands find the sides and push, tapping to let their queen know they were alive, that they were ready to serve.

When the flood of liquid slowed to a trickle, Christine heard a metallic boom echo through the room as the tanks decompressed and hissed. The metal groaned and shuddered before opening, swinging open on hinges that split the tank effectively in half. All three opened in quick succession, spilling their contents on the floor.

The drones rose to their feet, and Christine smiled at the sight of them, her first look at the final evolution of the drones. They were black, wet and shimmering, their toes molded together and smooth, their skin pure and glorious rubber. The drones were identical, with narrow waists and wide hips, breasts that were little more than rounded protrusions, rising with a slightly tilting angle to suggest nipples. Where their genitals had been, now only a constantly-lubricating seam in their rubber bodies remained. Faces were replaced by smooth hoods, a seam similar to the one between their legs breaking the otherwise featureless hoods.

They gathered around Christine, kneeling before her, gazing up with blank, black faces. She ran her fingers over their smooth heads, and heard their ecstasy as she touched them. When she turned and walked towards the door, they stood and followed, marching in time with her. Christine could not resist the smile of approval as they fell into step, and wordlessly assured them that soon, very soon, she would give them their instructions.

Clay could hear the voices in the dark hallway and he followed them to their source. And there was something else, something coming from the end of the hallway, a wet and sticky sound that filled him with terror. He stared into the deeper darkness as he leaned against the locked door. He tapped-tapped on the metal, whispering against it.


The voices within came, loud and excited. “Clay? The door’s locked, you have to get us out of here!”

“Quiet!” he whisper-shouted, the volume covering the wet and sticky sound for a moment. He could make out Maggie’s voice inside and, most likely, Justine. He slid the bar free, turning the handle and cracking the door.

Inside, Maggie and Justine stood just inside the doorway, their hands entwined.

“I could kiss you,” Maggie grinned. Her expression soured as she saw the way Clay’s face darted between them and the hallway beyond. “What is it?”

“Come on. I think someone’s coming.”

“It’s probably Christine,” Justine offered, stepping into the hallway. “She wanted to explore a little farther.”

“And you let her go alone?” The question emerged sharper than he intended and he winced, swallowing the acidic taste of adrenaline in his mouth.

Justine took a step away from him, and his eyes followed her. It was then he saw the shaped emerging from the darkness, somehow blacker against the dark.

“Come here,” he whispered to her, gesturing Justine back to him.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she asked, then turned to follow his gaze.

Christine stood in front of the others, though she was clearly changed from the Christine they had last seen. Her skin was a light gray, darkened in the creases of her arms and legs, and at the corners of her eyes. Her lips were puffy, a darker gray that seemed almost blue. Similarly, her stiff nipples were black against the gray of her skin, and the hairless folds between her legs were likewise dark, and Justine could see a dark fluid drip from the perpetually wet slit.

“Chris?” she managed as Christine strode toward her, flanked by exaggerated latex forms behind her, marching in unison as they came within mere feet.

“Get away from her!” Clay called, stepping back, Maggie behind him.

Christine turned to her lover, the bemused expression widening into a real smile as she found him, her liquid black eyes swirling and hypnotic.

“Clay,” she said and spread her arms.

“Come on!” Clay cried, waving Justine toward him, who still stood, transfixed, as Christine and her train of rubbery minions approached. He had to restrain Maggie from rushing to Justine, pulling her backwards down the hallway as they called her name again.

She barely moved as one of the doll-like minions placed rubbery hands on either side of Justine’s face. Clay could see the spread of a glistening membrane-like goo, first covering her face, then descending, dissolving her clothing as it traveled down her chest and arms.

She fell to her knees, looking back at Maggie, her hand, now slick with the infectious ooze, pressing against her sex and driving her fingers into her. Her expression of wonder twisted into pure ecstasy as her fingers pumped in and out, the last bits of cloth swallowed by the slick goo that covered her. The rubber doll that had first infected her lowered to her, and Maggie watched in shock as her lover’s legs wrapped around the latex thing, its fingers replacing Justine’s in her eager and dew-covered slit.

“Clay,” Christine repeated, walking with her arms outstretched, beckoning him into her embrace.

“We have to go!” Clay called, pulling Maggie free from her paralysis and guiding her down the hall, away from the perversions of their former lovers.

“We have to get her. We have to help her,” Maggie whispered, rocking back and forth, her arms wrapped around her legs as she sat with her back to the wall. Clay peeked through the windows of the office, the documents he’d found still spread across the desk, the file he’d collected discarded in their flight from the rubbery deformations in the downstairs hall.

“Whatever happened to her, we can’t help her right now, Maggie. It’s like an infection. When that thing touched her, it spread the virus, or whatever. This place, it’s dangerous. We have to get out of here, find someone.”

“What about Christine?” Maggie asked, looking up to meet Clay’s eyes.

Clay sighed, sagging. “I don’t know. I know that I can’t help her. I don’t even know what’s wrong exactly. The only thing I could tell from all this crap is that it was some kind of experiment.”

“Maybe there’s a cure, then.” Maggie brightened, standing. She moved to the desk, rifling through the papers. “We just have to find it. What are you doing? Come on and help me!”

Before Clay could reply, the voice called from the entrance below them.

“Clay? Maggie? Come here.” It was Christine’s voice, but deeper, and somehow as wet as her skin appeared. “You have to see. You have to understand.”

“They’re coming. We have to get out of here, Maggie. Now.”

“What about Stephen and Nareen?”

“I didn’t see them. Maybe they’ve already gone. Or they’ve already been infected.”

“This is crazy,” she whispered and barked a humorless laugh.

Clay pulled her to her feet and held her eyes with his own. He nodded and lifted his eyebrows in question. Maggie took a breath and returned his nod. Clay pressed a finger to his lips and bent low, making his way to the door, pulling Maggie behind him.

Outside the door, Clay veered left instead of right, away from the stairs leading to the entranceway. He could hear something like the tearing of plastic, only deeper and louder, creeping up the stairs. As they made their way down the hall of glass-enclosed offices, they tried each door, finding most locked. Though he hadn’t mentioned it yet to Maggie, he had seen no windows on this floor in any of the offices. His plan to escape the factory hinged on a way out besides the tall doors of the entrance. It was rapidly becoming clear that the building had been designed to contain the experiments conducted here. As he thought again of Christine’s gray skin and flowing black eyes, he shivered.

The drones stood a half-step behind Christine as she regarded the cocoon near the door. It was large, and Christine could feel the thoughts of Nareen and Stephen as they clung together, the fluid of the rubbery sac working into their skin, into every opening, changing them to better serve their new queen.

Justine’s hands continued to explore her electric senses, groaning with spikes of pleasure when her fingers found her hard nipples or the wet folds of her dripping pussy. Justine had heard only whispers of the communication that flowed freely from Christine to her drones, holding them fast though they yearned to explore the upper level of the building for the two remaining uninfected. It was in their rubbery DNA to desire more like themselves, but Christine disliked the notion of taking Clay and Maggie by simple force. She wanted them to come unto her willingly, and she knew they would, in time. Her appearance had frightened Clay, a fact that hurt her. She would reveal the wonder of herself to him when he was ready, and, when he emerged from his own cocoon of dark latex, she would revel in his worship like no other conquest.

The sac stretched and bulged with motion, and Christine smiled. She gave a terse nod, and the drones moved to the sac and helped as it split open, depositing dark goo and two slippery bodies onto the floor.

Nareen had adopted the form of her sisters, now indistinguishable from the others, aside from the still-fleshy Justine. Her thoughts expressed initial confusion, dissonance in the otherwise uniform thinking the drones enjoyed. It was like a ripple on the surface of an otherwise-smooth pond, but she quickly found the proper paths of thinking like her sisters, and her voice joined theirs in the chorus of drone-think.

Stephen was similar, though unique in his suggestion of masculinity. His chest was flat, rather than curved as Nareen’s was, his waist less shapely, his cock black and seamless against his skin, curved slightly upward. The phallus waggled between his legs, the only protrusion from the blank-faced and slick body. He took his place amongst the drones, who nuzzled their own featureless faces against his, their hands stroking his sex, curious and aroused by it.

His thoughts wove into the song of the drones and they all became one, only altered in their path of pleasure by direction from their queen, who, for now, was silent. She reached out to one of them and inserted a new thought.

Justine nodded and ascended the stairs.

“We have to go downstairs. We have to get past them.” Clay stared down the stairs, careful to keep flat against the wall. He couldn’t see the steps on the opposite side, where they had initially climbed up to the offices, but there was still the dim glow of lantern light from the entrance. “Stay here a sec. I’m going to see if they’re still down there.”

Maggie’s hand snapped to his forearm. “No. You can’t leave me here.”

“I’m only going down the steps a little. You’ll be able to see me the whole time.” He took her head in his hands. “We’re going to get out of here, Mags. I promise you.”

She tried a smile, a tear rolling over her cheek. “Just hurry, okay?”

Clay crept down the steps, taking it slow, huddled against the shadows of the stairs. He looked back and saw only a silhouette to suggest Maggie’s presence at the top. Halfway down, he could see past the receptionist’s desk to the doors, where he could make out something like a black garbage bag that had been filled to capacity and emptied, glistening in the light. Otherwise, the room was empty. Looking back to Maggie, he saw the shape behind her, moving close to her.

“Maggie,” he whispered, waving her close. Come here. Quick!”

Maggie responded fast, fast enough to avoid the hand that reached for her. She was halfway down the steps, finding Clay and wrapping her arms around him, when she glanced back up.

Justine looked beatific in the half-light, her voluptuous form wet and dripping, her nude body appearing somehow more natural than it had when she was dressed. Her heavy breasts and hairless cleft were an enticement beyond words for Maggie, and the way she reached for her made Maggie want to go to her, to fold herself in that embrace again.

“Maggie,” she said, the soft smile never leaving her lips, “you have to see. I want you with me, Maggie. Please.”

“Justine.” Maggie paused, wanting nothing more than to do as she asked, to find herself pressed against the body she loved so deeply.

“Come on,” Clay repeated, squeezing her hand hard enough to shatter thoughts of abandon.

They ran, past the split cocoon, to the doors that were still unlocked, throwing them wide.

When Clay looked back, he saw Justine at the bottom of the steps, following them slowly, and then the rest. Christine appeared from the hall, five rubber-cloaked bodies behind her, marching together in unison. He felt his heart break at the sight of her, the way she seemed so similar and so different at once, and then he and Maggie fled, into the cool night air of the jungle, into the black.