The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The late morning sunshine seeping through the curtains finally roused her. Suzanne stirred, then stretched lazily, reluctant to throw off sleep. She had been having a wonderful dream. It involved her in a big bed with several big men.

She glanced at the clock by her bedside. It was almost half past ten! She never slept in this late. What time had she gotten to bed last night? Funny, she couldn’t quite remember. In fact, the whole week was kind of a blur.

[Somewhere, in a room pitch black and silent, a computer monitor flashed to life. Messages began scrolling up the screen. “Sleep mode—End.” read the text, “Input new filename or keyboard control.” Then, after a long pause, “Filename not found. Accessing last saved file.” The light from the monitor reflected coldly off a single chair and grey metal shelves behind it.]

Reluctantly, Suzanne sat up and swung her feet over the side of the bed. Despite a long night’s rest, she felt oddly disjointed, like she was still half-asleep. Maybe she was hung over—again. She had vague memories of drinking a lot these last few days, though she couldn’t exactly remember why.

That mystery could wait for later. It was time to get up and get going. She was very late for...

[lines scrolled up the computer screen; the hard-drive whirred.]

...something or other. She looked around for her slippers. They were nowhere to be found. There was another pair thrown sloppily by the bed, royal purple slides with gold soles, so she slipped those on instead. They had a lot of heel for bedroom slippers. They would do for the moment.

Yawning, Suzanne stumbled to the bathroom in the gaudy heels and started the shower running. It wasn’t until she started to take her nightgown off that she realized she wasn’t wearing one. When had she started sleeping in the nude?

The shower helped a lot. She spent a long time lathering herself up with soap, and feeling the tingle of the hot spray against her body. A fine, shapely body it was too, if she did say so herself. Her breasts seemed unusually sensitive. The nipples came to attention from a few soapy strokes.

As her hands moved farther down, she was surprised to discover a large stone in her navel. It looked like a big red ruby, something a belly-dancer might wear. A gentle tug revealed that it was connected by a piercing through her navel. She decided she liked it; good thing, because it wasn’t going anywhere.

Still farther down, her snatch beckoned. She felt a little sore there, which was odd, because she had no clear memory of any liaisons lately. She had gone to a party or something last night. Or was it the night before?

The shower was very stimulating. If her tits had been sensitive, her pussy was unbelievably so. In a moment she found herself panting and stroking keenly. The orgasm almost knocked her over.

The shower and the handplay cleared her head a little. She returned to her bedroom wrapped in towels and combed out her thick, black hair. She carefully checked the glistening strands for damage. She liked to keep her hair long, it was her sole concession to vanity, but it meant constant vigilance against split ends.

Her hair was perfect, she decided at last, but still she had a nagging feeling that something wasn’t right. She was supposed to go somewhere or do something. She just couldn’t remember what it was. It was definitely something...

[lines of code scrolled up the screen. “Engage mem/suppress lvl=1” read one line.]

...that wasn’t very important at the moment. Still feeling that strange mental numbness with which she had awoken, Suzanne looked about for some clothes to wear.

Something else wasn’t right.

The room was a mess. Besides the unmade bed, there was footwear, underwear, and clothing everywhere, in piles on the dresser, falling out of the closet, and scattered about on the floor. Some of it she recognized, but many items were unfamiliar. There were sexy, strutty things in bright colours and clingy fabrics. They were the sort of outfits Suzanne might briefly consider wearing to a club, except that she never went to clubs.

She frowned. She must have been on a real shopping binge this week. Oddly, she could hardly remember that either. Well, she just needed something simple for the moment, so she headed for her closet to grab a pair of jeans...

[In the dark room, the computer continued its ceaseless program. Lines of text floated up the screen.]

... and struggled into an electric blue, lycra micro-skirt and a matching bra top. She slipped them on over a pair of crotchless, silvery nylons that she found in her dresser drawer. She put her high-heeled slippers back on.

Suzanne spent a long time getting her make-up just right. Most days she hardly bothered. She put on a pair of blue hoop earrings to match her outfit. She still couldn’t shake the feeling that she was supposed to go somewhere. She decided to get some breakfast...

[A small light came on in the darkened room. A man walked in, bearing coffee in a steaming mug. He tapped the keyboard, then studied the lines scrolling up the monitor. He sat down, sipping his coffee, barely visible in the half-darkness. After a moment he pointed the mouse at an icon labelled “cue visual”.]

...but she needed to find her glasses. She found them on top of the night table, half-covered by a red stretch boot. They were quite stylish, if unexpectedly heavy. She slipped them on and headed for the kitchen.

[In the darkened room, a video image appeared in one corner of the screen. The man tapped the keyboard again.]

The rest of the flat was even messier than the bedroom. Dirty dishes cluttered the sink. Various items of feminine clothing, including two pairs of panties and a single spike-heeled shoe, were lying on the floor, along with an assortment of junk food wrappers and empty bottles.

Suzanne’s frown deepened. This was entirely unlike her. She was habitually neat, fastidious even. Yet her flat looked like a trailer park after the tornado.

She found a hand-written note on the kitchen table. “Suzy,” it read, “You were amazing! You wore me out, but it was fantastic. I’ll call you sometime.” Underneath was a signature she couldn’t read.

She stared at the note for a long time. Some man had left this. Evidently she had taken him to bed, and impressed him when they got there. She had absolutely no idea who the man was. She threw the note in the trash.

Breakfast was cold cereal because there was nothing else in the cupboard. Crunching her breakfast, Suzanne automatically reached for the remote control for the television. She habitually watched the morning news and stock market reports. It prepared her for her workday as a...

What was this? Her regular news program was nowhere to be found. She had forgotten how late it was. Instead of the news, she found daytime television and talk shows.

She stopped at one for a moment. It was a tabloid talk show, with a bunch of sleazy women on the stage. The audience hooted and hollered like hooligans at a football match. Today’s topic was “My Daughter is a Sex Addict.” Suzanne clucked in distaste. How could they show trash like this on TV? She reached for the remote control to...

[The man pulled up the chair in front of the computer. He set down his coffee and typed quickly.]

...turn up the volume a little. She didn’t want to miss any of this terrific show. She almost forgot about her breakfast as she watched, chuckling and laughing along with the audience.

When the show was over Suzanne tossed the dishes in the sink with the others. Maybe she would wash up later. She didn’t feel like it at the moment.

She looked at her watch. Goodness, it was after twelve! Suzanne was too efficient to let a day just drift away. She had to get to work. First though, she really needed some coffee. Strong coffee. Maybe that would clear her head.

[The man at the keyboard typed a few words. He was grinning.]

A few minutes later Suzanne emerged from the kitchen, sipping her martini needfully. It was going down very well. Two olives. Yes, that was just what she needed. She couldn’t remember when she had learned to make martinis, but her hands knew exactly what to do.

She wandered into the livingroom and settled on the sofa, tossing aside a black silk nightie. Maybe now she could figure out what to do with the day. The afternoon, anyway.

The television was still on. The talk show was over, but now a daytime serial was playing. Suzanne had never had time to waste on such drivel. She had never...

[The man at the computer sipped his coffee. He moved the pointer to a screen button labelled “repeat last” and clicked the mouse.]

... realized what absolute hunks the men on these shows were. No wonder the female characters were falling in love all the time. She watched the show for a few minutes, quickly getting caught up in the story. Lazily, sipping her martini, she leaned back on the sofa and relaxed.

When the soap opera went to commercial, Suzanne changed channels until she found another one. They were all good. When both soaps went to commercial at the same time Suzanne got up and made herself another martini. She hurried back so she wouldn’t miss anything.

Feeling loose and sluggish from the booze, Suzanne slumped down in her seat. She lifted her feet and hooked her heels on the edge of the coffee table. She spread her legs. Her hand drifted in between her thighs. With no panties and that convenient little slit in her sparkly nylons there was nothing to get in the way. Once again her hand knew exactly what to do.

She immersed herself in the marvellous soap opera, happily stroking. She missed a bit at the end though, because by then she was using both hands and the sensations rushing through her were overwhelming everything else. She came thunderously, crying out. One foot knocked an empty pizza box onto the floor.

Suzanne sprawled on the sofa for a long time, panting contentedly. She finished off her martini and munched on the olives. She hiccuped loudly.

[The man at the computer looked at his watch. He was chewing on a sandwich. He typed a few lines and watched the computer respond.]

Suzanne decided that she needed to get out of her flat for a while. If nothing else, she had to go buy some groceries. There was something else though, something important. What was it? Why was her memory so foggy today?

Another soap opera had started on the television. Anxious not to miss anything, Suzanne turned on the video recorder. She could hardly go out in her house slippers, so she nipped back into the bedroom to find some comfortable walking shoes.

[The man in the darkened room typed a command. He watched the video image on the monitor, grinning.]

She came back a few minutes later, wobbling along in a pair of transparent plastic slides with high platforms and tall spike heels. Automatically, she checked myself in the hallway mirror. She looked good. She liked the way her bare midriff showed off her cute navel stone.

She frowned for a moment. Was this the right outfit for grocery shopping? Something seemed not quite right, but with her thoughts still flowing like cold molasses she couldn’t put her finger on it.

She studied the shapely Asian in the mirror. The shiny blue bra top and tight, lycra mini flattered her slender figure, and her legs were pure dynamite in the shiny nylons and six-inch platform heels. Maybe she just needed to freshen her make-up a little.

She pulled out her purse and added a fresh layer of candy red lipstick. She combed her long hair a few times to make sure it was still perfect. She hated split ends. Then she made her careful way out of her flat and down the elevator to the parking garage.

Suzanne’s faithful Volvo was parked in its usual spot. Even here though, there were details that didn’t fit. There was a big dent in the front right fender that she didn’t remember. Inside, she was surprised to see beer cans and scraps of clothing on the floor. The radio, which she kept tuned to an all-news station, began playing abrasive hard rock when she turned on the ignition. The volume was turned up loud.

Suzanne shrugged. She decided to listen to something different for a change. She hit the accelerator and headed for the exit.

[Another man entered the gloomy room. “Reg! What are you doing down here? Nobody uses this part of the vault.” He paused to look at a dusty box on a shelf. “Geez, these records date from before the Depression. So this is where you have been all week. Hey, what’s with the computer?” A suspicious look grew on his face. “Reg, what’s going on here?"]

[The man at the computer had jumped to his feet when the second man arrived. He stood now with his back to the monitor, trying to hide it’s slowly scrolling display. “Carl. Uh, hi. Didn’t hear you come in. I’m, uhm, working on... a special project... top secret. Uh, internet... security issues."]

[Carl was clearly not convinced. “Internet security my ass. A special project in the back of the old vault? Tell me another one.” He paused. “Reg, please, tell me you’re not... this isn’t embezzling, right?"]

[“No!” He was still standing in front of the screen.]

[Carl was bobbing his head, trying to catch a glimpse of the computer monitor. “Then what’s going on?"]

[Reg said nothing for a long moment. Finally, he came to a decision. “Carl, you know what a bitch Suzanne is, right?"]

[“Suzanne? You better believe it. There’s a reason we call her the Torture Tyrant. Everybody in the office hates her. She nearly got me fired, twice, just for taking an extra coffee break. The woman’s heart is as black and cold as deep space. What’s that got to do with a computer in the bottom of the vault?"]

[“You know Suzanne has been off all this week. With the flu?"]

[“Yeah, the office is almost pleasant. I hope it turns into pneumonia."]

[Reg drew a deep breath. “It’s not influenza. It’s retribution. Take a look.” He stood aside.]

[Carl’s studied the words flowing across the screen. The light from the computer monitor reflected off his glasses. “What on earth..."]

Suzanne wasn’t sure whether it was her inexperience driving in platform shoes or whether it was the zing of two martinis in her system, but she had a terrible time keeping the Volvo near the speed limit. She caught a very late amber light at a busy intersection; brakes squealed and horns blared but she sped on.

She was distracted. In her tiny miniskirt, there was nothing but a thin layer of pantyhose between the cheeks of her ass and the rough-tender surface of the car seat. She was so sensitive today. Even the thrumming of the engine through the seat was turning her on.

At the next intersection the light was already red so she did stop. She slipped one delicate hand between her legs experimentally. The rush of sensation made her draw in her breath. Her lips were moist against her fingers.

A car horn sounded behind her. Startled, Suzanne looked up to find the light had changed. A van was pulling away in the lane beside her. The passenger, a middle-aged woman, was looking at her in shock.

Suzanne stomped the accelerator, mortified. What was wrong with her today? It was like her pussy was running her head.

At length she arrived at the grocery store. She zoomed into the parking lot, swerved recklessly among the rows of parked cars, and skidded to a stop right behind a man loading groceries into a small Fiat. She fumbled trying to find the brake. The Volvo stopped after solidly bumping the Fiat’s rear bumper.

The man loading groceries had jumped aside. Now he was marching toward her car, looking angry. Suzanne heaved a great sigh. This day was going from bad to worse. She didn’t trust herself to try to explain the accident. Her head still seemed to be stuffed with cotton candy. All she could do was apologize and promise to cover the damage.

The man was talking before Suzanne even got her door open. “Hey lady, what the blazes are you doing!” he demanded. “You ran right into me! Look at my car!” He gesticulated at the new dent in his bumper.

[“Excuse me, I’d better handle this,” Reg said, pulling his chair up to the keyboard. He typed swiftly and hit the return key.]

Suzanne began sliding out of the car, stepping out carefully to keep her balance on the high heels. She forgot to keep her legs together. “I’m terribly sorry, sir,” she said contritely, “I—I guess I was just going too fast. I’ll be glad to...”

She stopped when she realized where the man was looking. The expression on his face had changed from anger to astonishment. Suzanne was puzzled. Hadn’t he ever seen a woman dressed for grocery shopping? She got to her feet and absently tugged down her lycra miniskirt.

[“How does she get the signal?” Carl asked, leaning over Reg’s shoulder.]

[“There’s a transceiver in that ruby in her belly button. It was implanted when she went to the “hospital” for a flu shot. Watch this.” His fingers danced on the keyboard.]

Suzanne tried to mollify the man by explaining that she would gladly pay for repairs. Somehow, the words didn’t come out right. “I’m so bad,” she said in a silky voice. “Now look what I’ve gone and done. I put a dent in your little car. You must be so upset with me.” She took a deliberate step toward him, flicking back her long black hair.

“Well, it’s just a small dent,” the man said. His anger was waning rapidly. “Maybe we can work out—”

“Of course,” Suzanne interrupted, in the same soft voice. “I’ll take care of everything. Don’t you even worry about it.” She stepped forward and lightly laid her hands on his chest. “But, sir, I’ve caused you such distress. I can’t leave you like this. You’re tense and upset. Let me make you feel better.” She gently rubbed one leg against his.

The man looked excited and confused. “What, what did you have in m-mind?” he stuttered.

“C’mere,” Suzanne husked. She grabbed him by the arm and led him into a narrow alleyway beside the grocery store. It wasn’t really out of sight from the parking lot, but she didn’t care.

She licked her lips. She leaned the man up against a wall and reached down to unzip his fly. He was trembling nervous, but his cock was rising quickly as she fished it out.

Suzanne was amazed by her own behaviour. She was preparing to go down on him, right then, even if it was a semi-public place in broad daylight. She didn’t want to kneel on the ground so she spread her legs very wide and bent over at the waist, thrusting out her delicious derriere and leaning down to take him in. It takes real talent to do it that way, she complimented herself.

Suzanne’s long hair flew this way and that as she bobbed up and down on his cock. She felt shivers running up and down her body. Her nipples were hard inside her bra top, and down below she was lubricating. She was as turned on as he was.

She knew he wouldn’t last long. Abruptly he let out a groan and began to thrust at the hips, coming madly into her mouth. Suzanne stayed with him until he was sucked dry.

As soon as she was finished the man zipped himself up. “Ohmigod.” he panted, brushing back his hair. “Oh heavenly shit.” He turned and almost sprinted out of the alley. He turned back for a moment. “Don’t, don’t worry about the car!” he said, before dashing away.

[“This is incredible!” Carl cried. “She almost seemed to enjoy blowing that guy."]

[“At one level, she did. But consciously, she’s appalled. That’s the beauty of it. Oops, little glitch here."]

Suzanne stood up unsteadily. She could taste the man’s semen in her mouth. What had she done? She felt sick. She bent over for a moment, leaning against a wall with one hand, holding her stomach with the other, afraid that she might...

[Reg typed quickly.]

...lose the delicious taste of cummy-cum before she had a chance to properly savour it. She threw her head back, licking her lips in satisfaction. After a moment she sighed and walked into the grocery store.

Suzanne’s acrylic heels clicked musically as she made her way around the aisles. She was perplexed. Everybody was staring at her. Most of the store’s patrons were housewives, who regarded her with amusement or disdain. The few men she encountered watched her every move with keen, hungry eyes.

The attention was annoying, yet at the same time oddly stimulating. She felt warm all over. She put her head down and concentrated on negotiating her narrow, high-heeled slides. Unconsciously, she began putting one foot exactly in front of the other so her cute behind twitched beneath her lycra mini.

[In the darkened room, Carl said, “Hey, I’ve got an idea. Let me try something."]

Suzanne worked her way through the aisles of the supermarket, desperate to finish quickly. She was still feeling strangely remote and thick, like she was a distant observer to the actions of her own body. Maybe she wasn’t well; there was a flu bug going around.

Eventually she came to the checkout. She chose the lane with a young man working the till. The clerk was staring at her, his eyes roving over her legs, her ass, her breasts. She felt his gaze like groping fingers. As quickly as possible she paid for the groceries, arranged for delivery to her apartment, gave the youngster a tongue-filled kiss on the lips, and hurried out the door, tottered comically in her high-heeled sandals.

Suzanne stumbled through the door of her flat with a sigh of relief. She dropped her purse on the floor. She caught her reflection in the hall mirror as she walked by.

[“Man, I never realized Suzanne was such a dish. Will you look at those legs."]

[“Yeah. Too bad she never dressed like that to the office. I’ll put her back on the auto program now that’s she’s home."]

[“Listen, Reg, you had better put in an appearance at your desk for a while, or people will be suspicious. You’ve been down here all week. You know how fussy Travis is about absenteeism."]

[“I can’t go. Somebody has to monitor the program."]

[“You put her on auto-pilot, right? The computer is just doing it from memory? Look, I’ll sit in for a while. You go upstairs while you still have a job."]

[“Er... well, OK. Thanks. But don’t touch anything. Call me if anything comes up.” Reg rose and left the musty room.]

Suzanne was relieved to be home. She felt so peculiar today, it was safer to just stay in. All she wanted to do was lie back and vegetate in front of the television. She flopped lazily on the sofa and rewound the tape in the recorder, eager to catch up on all the daytime dramas she had missed.

[“Local memory reset,” appeared on the computer screen.]

The memory of her mortifying trip to the grocery store was already growing fuzzy, fading away like a half-remembered dream. Had she really gone outside? She must have or she wouldn’t have her pretty shoes on. She lifted her feet and carelessly flicked her sexy slides off, not even bothering to see where they landed. What was that funny taste in her mouth? Wasn’t she supposed to do something today?

It was all so difficult. There were too many questions for her fogbound mind to deal with. The effort was tiring and not very interesting. It was easier not to think at all. She was content to lie here on her sofa and immerse herself in the beautiful lives of the soap operas.

[Carl was getting restless. He watched the log entries roll up the screen. Idly, he pulled down menus and read the options. He looked around for a moment. He clicked the mouse and began typing, checking several times to see what words Reg had used.]

Suzanne felt uncomfortable. She kept twitching, changing position. It was the clothes she was wearing. They were for going out. She wanted something comfy and homey to slop around the apartment. She reluctantly stopped the video and headed for her bedroom.

When she returned a few minutes later she felt more comfortable. She was wearing a neat little combo she found in her closet. The top was a tight black crop top of some stretchy, shiny material. The matching shorts were so tight she could feel the slick fabric sliding across her slot with every step. The shorts skimmed low to uncover her navel stone. They were held in place by six straining silver snaps on each hip.

She had nothing on under the shorts except sheer-to-waist nylons with a convenient cut-out around her ass and pussy. At the other end, her long legs disappeared into black velvet ankle boots with platforms and tall block heels.

Again she examined herself in the hallway mirror. She was taken aback. This was all wrong! She wanted loose and comfortable, not skin-tight and tarty. Look at all that heel! This wasn’t right, this was...

[Words scrolled up the computer monitor. Carl watched, hopeful.]

...so fucking hot it almost made her come just looking at herself. She posed in front of the mirror, sliding her hands down her hips. “Mmmmmm, delicious,” she purred, vainly worshipping her reflection. “Hot pussy, come and get it.” She was wearing tight black armlets that came up over the elbow. She had re-done her lipstick to match the new outfit. She toyed with her long hair, checking fastidiously for damage. Not a split end anywhere.

This was just the thing to wear while watching the soaps. But breakfast had been a while back, so she decided to make herself some lunch. Maybe a sandwich or...

[More words appeared on the computer screen.]

... a martini before stretching out on the sofa in front of the television.

Suzanne had barely gotten comfortable when the doorbell chimed. She groaned. She didn’t want to deal with anybody else today. Eventually she got to her feet, took a long sip of her drink, and sauntered over to the intercom. It was her groceries being delivered. She unlocked the door and told the boy to bring them on up.

[Carl was still playing around with various menus. He read a message on the screen, frowning. The program had stopped, waiting for input. Carl tentatively typed something. He grinned relief when a list of options appeared on the screen.]

“Please just set the bags on the counter,” Suzanne said to the young man delivering groceries. She had to push aside dirty dishes to make space. She wished he would stop staring at her. It was rude and annoying. It was turning her on.

“There, that’s the whole lot,” he said, ogling Suzanne’s legs again. “I guess I caught you on the way out, eh?”

“No,” Suzanne replied, “I mean yes, I’m um... expecting someone. Very soon.” She ushered him toward the door. “Thank you for the delivery. Good-bye now.”

The young man was reluctant to leave. “Listen, if you ever need something delivered quickly, just call me, right? I’m Jeremy. OK?” He studied her figure like a tourist seeing the Mona Lisa for the first time.

Suzanne struggled with the twin feelings of lust and disgust coursing through her. “Yes, certainly Jeremy, I’ll remember you. But please, I, I need to be alone now. Please...”

Jeremy hesitated at the door. “Uhm, there’s the delivery fee?

[Carl was frowning again, trying to decipher the options in computer code. Finally he shrugged and chose one.]

Suzanne was vexed. She just wanted to get this kid out the door. She told Jeremy to hang on while she went to get her purse. Again the words didn’t come out right.

“Oh, Jeremy, I’m so sorry,” she heard herself saying, “I forgot all about the delivery charge.” Her voice was soft and sexy. “You’ve gone to all this trouble, but I’m afraid I don’t have any cash right now. I’m so bad.”

What was she saying? She had plenty of cash. Her purse was right there on the floor where she had dropped it.

“Well, uh, that’s all right, ma’am,” the boy said, almost melting now that Suzanne had stepped up close to him, “maybe you can catch me next time.”

To her own amazement, Suzanne didn’t take the way out he had offered her. “I’ve been a very bad girl, Jeremy,” she husked, running her hands down her tight crop top. One hand pulled down the zipper as it went by. “Bad girls need to be punished so they don’t misbehave.”

Jeremy’s eyes were wide, fixed on her half-exposed cleavage. “Wh-what?” he sputtered.

Suzanne’s mind was screaming. What was going on? Why was she saying these bizarre things? She took a few steps backward, intending to get away.

“I’m a bad girl, a naughty, naughty girl. You should discipline me.” She turned around slowly, standing with her legs apart a little. Then she slowly bent over from the waist until she could grab the shanks of her ankle boots with both hands.

She turned her head and looked up at the delivery boy. “Spank me Jeremy,” she whispered.

Events were clearly moving to fast for Jeremy. “What?” he said again.

“Spank me, please!” Suzanne pleaded, wiggling her ass before him. “I’m a bad girl. I need it.”

Jeremy took a half-step forward. He raised one hand, uncertain but clearly excited. He tapped her backside lightly, once, with his open hand.

“More” Suzanne said.

Jeremy slapped her again, more firmly. Suzanne jumped, but her hands kept their grip on her boots. She told him to stop.

“Harder!” she begged.

Jeremy complied. He spanked her again once, then twice, more surprised each time when Suzanne groaned instead of pulling away.

Suzanne’s mind was in a whirl. The spanking was painful, yet somehow incredibly stimulating. She wanted desperately for him to stop, but every time she opened her mouth she urged him on some more. Soon Jeremy was spanking her with vigour, raining down blows in a steady rhythm, while Suzanne writhed and moaned in pain and humiliation.

She suddenly remembered that the apartment door was still open. Anybody passing in the hall could see her there, being spanked like an errant toddler by a boy ten years her junior. Maybe it was that realization that triggered her first powerful orgasm.

[Reg re-entered the dusty room. He was carrying some reports and a fresh cup of coffee. “How’s she doing?"]

[Carl was glued to the computer screen. “Absolutely marvellous,” he said.]

[Reg looked at the command log, then at the visual field. “What... what the hell is she doing?” he demanded.]

[“Getting fucked by the grocery boy."]

[“What! Man, I told you not to change anything. How did this happen?"]

[“Geez, I don’t know. It’s your program. The computer wouldn’t do anything until I entered something."]

[“You moron! That was dangerous! We could lose control. We’ll have to watch her closely."]

[Carl grinned. “I’ve been doing just that. I made her position herself in front of the mirror.” Both men bent closer to study the screen.]

Suzanne’s long hair tossed this way and that as Jeremy’s wang pumped into her. She was on her hands and knees on the livingroom rug, her skin-tight shorts around her ankles, one row of silver snaps unfastened. Her ass was red and sore. Jeremy was on his knees between her legs, panting as he slid his cock in and out of Suzanne’s slick, inviting pussy. The young man had moved with little prompting from spanking her to “punishing” her with his rod.

He came disappointingly quickly, but Suzanne had climaxed twice already so she didn’t mind. She heard him groan, then felt the surge of his cock as he spurted inside her.

When the delivery boy was gone, grinning like a Cheshire cat, Suzanne lay on the floor for a long time, trying to collect her wits. She had just had kinky sex with a total stranger. Again. Why did she keep acting like this? She struggled vainly to understand what was happening. Nothing made sense.

Eventually she got dressed again and took care of the groceries. She tossed the frozen food in the freezer and put away the milk. She left the rest of the stuff on the counter. She was eager to get back to her soaps.

[Reg typed a few words on the keyboard. “Look, she’s back on autopilot now. I have to go to a meeting. It won’t be long. Keep an eye on her, but for god’s sake don’t screw around with the program, OK?]

[“All right, all right, I’ll be good.” Carl raised his hands defensively.]

[“Call me if there’s any problem.” Reg disappeared into the musty gloom. Carl leaned back in the chair and put his feet up beside the monitor.]

[“Local memory reset” said the computer.]

Suzanne mixed herself a fresh martini and flopped lazily on the sofa, returning to her beloved daytime dramas. It was more comfortable to lie on her stomach. Her behind was sore for some reason. The alcohol in her system was contributing to the feeling of warm fuzziness in her brain. She found her memory of the past few hours was getting foggy again, fading away like an old photograph. She soon lost herself in the perfect world of the soap operas.

[Carl watched the computer screen without much interest. He yawned hugely. He closed his eyes.]

Suzanne was unsure how much time had passed or how many martinis she had downed when the telephone rang. She fumbled for the receiver. “H’llo,” she mumbled groggily.

The voice on the line sounded vaguely familiar. “Suzanne, this is Travis.”

“Who?”

“Travis. Your employer. From the bank. I was just wondering why you hadn’t come in again today.”

A breaking wave of confusion crashed over Suzanne’s mind. Travis? Bank? Wait, that was... that’s where she was supposed to go today! To the bank! Why wasn’t she at work? Why was she lying around her flat in this ridiculous get-up?

[A message flashed across the computer monitor: “Warning: Memory Breakthrough. Override?” It blinked on and off in letters two inches high. The speakers buzzed an alarm. Carl woke up in mid-snore, blinking. “What? Huh?” he muttered. He adjusted his glasses and peered at the screen. “Oh shit.” He leapt to his feet and dashed out of the room, overturning the chair.]

Suzanne couldn’t understand what was going on. She felt completely disoriented. A flood of memories was overwhelming her. “S-sorry, Travis,” she stammered. “Some-something really strange has happened to me. I feel—I mean, I’ve been tricked or drugged or, I don’t know what. It’s all so, so weird.” She took off the silly glasses she was wearing.

Travis sounded irritated. “Whatever. Look, I understand that you have been ill, but we still expect you to phone in. Will you be joining us this afternoon?”

[Reg came charging into the room at a trot, Carl close behind. “Oh man oh man oh man, this is ser-i-ous!” Reg cried. He bent over the keyboard, typing frantically. “Better hope this works,” he said, as his finger pressed Enter.]

“Oh, gee, I don’t think so, dearie” Suzanne replied in her sexiest bedroom voice. “This little flu bug has me all in a fever. I just want to stay in bed all day. That’s where I am right now. I’m so hot, I can hardly stand to have anything on.”

The line was silent for a moment. Suzanne knew Travis was soaking up the image of her lying in bed with no clothes on. He was her boss, but he was still a man.

“Well, uh, all right then, take it easy.” His voice was softer now. “Take the weekend to recover, and we’ll see you next week.”

“Mmmm, I’m sure I’ll be back in great shape by then,” Suzanne purred. “Bye-bye now.” She put down the phone...

[“Operator full reset” said the computer screen.]

...and looked at it blankly. Who had she been talking to? She shrugged and sipped her martini. She put her glasses back on.

[“That was close,” Carl said.]

[Reg slumped in the single chair. “Tell me about it. Look, I don’t think we should let her stay home for a while. There are too many memory associations. Let’s take her out again."]

[“Are you nuts? She’s drunk! We can’t let her leave like that. She’ll be a hazard on the road."]

[Reg turned to look at him. “Carl, who instituted mandatory overtime every month-end to get the statements out one day earlier? Who was it that reduced Matilda to tears when her account balances were two hours late? Who started branch-wide monitoring of employee E-mail?"]

[Carl’s lips were pressed together. “Take her out,” he said.]

[Reg turned and began typing on the keyboard.]

Suzanne began to feel restless again. Maybe she needed to get out for a little while. She had been stuck in her apartment all day. She got to her feet, stumbling for a moment in the tall-heeled boots. She made her way unsteadily into the bedroom to get changed.

[“Hey, let me,” Carl said, “I’m good at this."]

Suzanne examined herself in front of the hall mirror. She was determined not to get distracted into wearing something skimpy and scandalous again. This was better. This was much more respectable.

She was wearing a skin-tight catsuit composed of alternating vertical stripes of white leather and black lace. The catsuit made love to her curves and smoothed her figure into a flowing sculpture of feminine perfection. The lace strips were semi-transparent; the white leather was judiciously placed to barely conceal her pubes and nipples. She had decided to forgo underwear, not wanting to disrupt the smooth lines of the material.

She fussed with the black-and-white earrings dangling from her ears and carefully checked her hair for split ends. Her long locks shone like jet. She grabbed her car keys and hurried out the door, struggling with the stacked heels on her white, calf-high boots.

Radio blaring, the boozy beauty whipped and weaved through the city streets. An afternoon of slow martinis had her feeling glorious. She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the loud music. Her nails were painted pearly white.

[“Hmmm, I have an idea,” Reg mused, typing.]

Suzanne was tearing up a narrow street in the shopping district when a small sign caught her eye. Impulsively she slammed the brakes. Ignoring the cacophony of horns behind her she slipped the car carelessly into an empty parking space beside a fire hydrant. She ignored the happy stares from passers-by as she climbed out of the car.

She leaned back in to pick up her purse from the far seat. The straining catsuit presented the exact outline of her asscheeks. A man passing by almost walked into a lamp post. Suzanne just shook her head. Everyone kept staring at her today.

The shapely Asian in leather and lace stepped into a tastefully decorated shop called “Priscilla’s Delights.” A young woman looked up from hanging backless dresses on a rack. “Suzanne!” she said cheerfully. “How nice to see you again so soon.”

Suzanne frowned. So soon? What did she mean? She had never been here before. She looked around the shop. It was chock-full of sexy, revealing fashions, club clothes and lingerie, all in stretchy, slinky fabrics and rainbow colours. There even seemed to be a fair bit of fetish wear.

This wasn’t the kind of place where Suzanne would shop. But yet... she seemed to remember seeing the store’s name on some of the bags in her room. She scowled in frustration. Thinking was so hard today.

“Well now,” the cheerful store clerk said, “what would you like to look at this afternoon? We have some wonderful new latex dresses. Just got them in.”

Suzanne looked at her in bewilderment. She couldn’t be serious. This was yet another bizarre mix-up. She was just going to leave now. She politely told the woman she must be going.

[Grinning, Reg typed on the keyboard.]

“Oooh, latex,” Suzanne cooed, “I love latex. Do you have stockings too?”

The store clerk’s smile widened. Cash registers began ringing behind her eyes.

It was well over an hour later when Suzanne stumbled out of the shop, her arms overloaded with monogrammed bags of outrageous clothing. She was wearing one of her new outfits, a girlish, high-waisted dress in peach and pink, drawn in below her breasts by a long pink ribbon. The dress hung loosely over her torso and a few inches of her thighs. Her legs were decked out in soft pink stockings tied off at the top with pink ribbons that encircled her thighs just below the high hem of the dress. She even had a long pink ribbon in her hair.

Fingerless white gloves on her hands matched her cute white purse. She wore white mary-janes modified to include wedge platform soles. The heels were important, of course; she was hardly going to walk around dressed like a little girl.

She made her way with delicate steps back to her car, feeling the breeze billow her little dress. She threw the packages in the back of the car, then sat back down in the driver’s seat. There was a parking ticket on the windscreen but she ignored it.

She sat there for a moment, stunned. Shopping had never been like that before. Suzanne had always been a careful shopper, as prudent in her purchases as she was conservative in her tastes. Yet she had ploughed through the vampy offerings in Priscilla’s Delights like a crazed chocolate addict set loose in a candy store. The steamier the item was, the more she wanted it. She spent ages in the dressing room, trying on different outfits and posing this way and that in front of the mirror. When she couldn’t decide which of two styles she liked best, she bought both of them.

Inexplicably, she found the experience exciting. As she admired her reflection in a parade of flattering fashions she was surprised to feel her skin warming, her nipples standing up, and her pussy crying out for attention. If the outfit permitted it, she could hardly resist slipping her fingers down to stroke herself for a few moments. Or more than a few. The shopclerk had politely ignored the soft moans arising from the changing room.

Fortunately, Suzanne had a very good credit rating. Even so she had to use her back-up card. Her regular card was charged to the limit.

She had to regain control of herself. She took a deep breath, then deliberately removed her glasses and cleaned them carefully. She pulled up her stockings and adjusted all her bright ribbons. As well as she could she checked her glistening hair for split ends. When she felt calm again, she gunned the engine and drove back onto the street.

[Reg began typing on the keyboard again. “Let’s see what a Volvo can do,” he commented.]

If Suzanne had found it difficult to control the speed of her car before, now she found it quite impossible. Her reliable old car practically begged to be driven fast. The hum of the engine and the smooth flow of the road beneath her seemed to feed back into Suzanne’s boozy brain and down into her cunt. She wove in and out of traffic. She screeched away from every stop light, then skidded to a halt at the next.

Driving fast was therapeutic. It helped take her mind off her confusion. Thinking was something she wanted to avoid.

She downshifted neatly, swerving around a bus and then back in front of it. She felt the tingle in her pussy. She slid forward a little, lifting her shortie dress to improve contact with the car seat. I’m turning into a fucking nympho, Suzanne growled to herself. Her white platform heel came down hard on the accelerator.

[“She needs something a little sportier,” Reg said, watching the streets flash by on the terminal display.]

Without really knowing why, Suzanne wheeled right abruptly, shooting across two lanes of traffic into a high-end car dealership. She was suddenly sick and tired of the old Volvo. It was time to get herself a real car.

A salesman approached her, as Suzanne climbed out. His eyes went wide in surprise. “May I, uh, help you, ma’am?” he asked.

Suzanne wondered again why everyone was staring at her today. Was one of her ribbons crooked? “Wanna buy a car,” she demanded, slurring a little.

The salesman was still smiling, and still staring. “Why of course you do. And you’ve come to the right place. We have a great selection right on the lot at the moment. Step inside and we’ll talk about your particular—”

[Reg was still typing on the keyboard.]

“I wan’ that one!” Suzanne declared, pointing wildly with one gloved hand.

A half hour later, the grinning salesman handed Suzanne the keys. “Well, that just about does it,” he said, taking one last gander at her pink-stockinged legs. “Don’t worry about the old clunker, we’ll get rid of it for you. I’ve had all your packages transferred to your new car.”

Suzanne’s head was spinning. She had written a very large cheque, draining most of her savings, and made credit arrangements for the rest of the price. She filled in complicated forms, then forgot about them moments later. She had been too impatient to even question the price, let alone bargain. She wanted this car the way a spoiled two-year-old wanted a cookie.

She sat down in the driver’s seat, with her feet still on the ground. She had to get a grip. This was all so confusing; everything seemed so wrong. She noticed the salesman’s eyes on her legs again as her billowy pink minidress slid up past the curve of her rump. Self-consciously, she adjusted her stocking ribbons, a delicately feminine gesture with her white-gloved hands.

She had to tell him there was a mistake. She didn’t really want to buy this enormously expensive automobile. She made a special effort to force the words to come out right.

[Carl watched over Reg’s shoulder as he typed something on the computer.]

“There’s jus’ one more lil thing,” Suzanne said sweetly. “Can’t drive a new car till it’s pwoperly broken in.” She reached down and slid the car seat back, then reclined the backrest as far as it would go. Looking the salesman in the eye, she spread her legs wide. Deep pink stockings contrasted fetchingly with her white mary-janes. She reached down and slowly pulled aside the bottom of her pink bikini panties. “Got the key for my ignition, darling?” she whispered.

The salesman gulped. He stared at her pink pussy, surrounded by pink. “Are you sure?” he whispered. He looked around furtively.

Suzanne dipped one smooth-nailed finger between the folds of her labia. “Course ‘m sure, darling. Wanna take a test drive?”

The salesman was already moving forward, unzipping as he went. He climbed clumsily in on top of her. Suzanne helped him pull down his pants. He had been hard almost from the moment she arrived in the car lot. He lowered his hips. Suzanne grasped his member in one hand, spreading herself with the other. She guided him in, wiggling on the seat impatiently to help him. “Hurry,” she panted.

The salesman sank into her as far as he could, then began to stroke slowly in and out. Suzanne held him close, lifting her pelvis to help with their awkward, urgent coupling. Her mind was in turmoil.

It was broad daylight. She was lying on a contoured car seat, with the door open. There were other salespeople in the building nearby, other buyers wandering the lot. She was eagerly fucking a young salesman she had known for less than an hour. This couldn’t be happening. The shame and embarrassment were beyond endurance.

She was on the verge of a magnificent orgasm.

A few minutes later Suzanne careered out of the car lot in her brand new, canary-yellow Porsche, her cheeks bright with shame. All she wanted to do was go away and die. It was unusual for her to climax so easily, especially from simple coitus. Yet not only had she come staggeringly, she had screamed in delight and shouted out “Fuck me baby!” at the top of her lungs when she felt the salesman ejaculate inside her.

The commotion had attracted the attention of others in the car lot. Heads turned their way. Lost in the throws of sexual excitement, Suzanne wrapped her pink-dressed legs around her partner and held him in a vise grip while she rode out her orgasm. Finally she relaxed, glowing, and the salesman pulled out of her. He staggered to his feet, hastily pulling up his pants and underwear.

The sounds of people talking and running finally roused Suzanne from her post-orgasmic torpor. She looked around in shock as a crowd of people began to arrive. She so obviously looked like a woman who had just been fucked, sitting with one lovely leg dangling out the car door, her femininity wet and exposed.

Suzanne almost screamed. As quickly as she could she pulled the seatback erect, slammed the door, started the engine and tore out of the parking lot onto the street. An older couple had to jump aside as Suzanne roared by.

[“Man, that was hot,” Carl said, studying the computer screen.]

[“Local memory reset” appeared on the computer screen. Reg typed “Override”, then pushed Return. “I want her to wallow in it for a while,” he said.]

What in the world is wrong with me? Suzanne wondered as she drove aimlessly down the city streets. It was like she had lost control of her own behaviour. Was she sick? Maybe some kind of breakdown? Every time she saw an opportunity for sex, she suddenly couldn’t stop herself.

She pulled into a back alley and stopped the car. She used some tissues from her purse to clean herself up. Unlike the other events of this bizarre and catastrophic day, the memory of her tryst with the salesman remained bright in her mind.

Strangely, her peak itself had been fantastic, even though she had been exquisitely aware of the exposure and humiliation of having public sex with a stranger. In fact, the circumstances somehow made the bang even better; her own mortification served to turn her on more.

Even now the purr of the car’s powerful engine was exciting her. She was still using tissues to clean up her love juices. She stopped when she realized she was playing with herself.

[Carl stretched, looking at his watch. “Almost quitting time,” he commented. “What do we do with her now?”

[Reg typed “Gosub 3: Name = Pub/search/open/” on the computer. “Don’t worry,” he said, “I’ve got this all pre-programmed."]

Suzanne sat blankly for a long time, trying to decide what to do next. She wished she had never gotten out of bed that morning. Her sluggish mind felt as if she had never really woken up, as if this day was all some perversely erotic nightmare. She decided to just go home and stay there. She would lock the door and take the phone off the hook...

[Reg hit Enter. “Executing Sub 3 (Pub)” read the computer screen.]

...but first, maybe she would pop into that pub down the street for a quick one. A pint or two might be just the thing to clear her head. Maybe she could even find herself a buff one-nighter to scratch her itches. With her figure and this outfit that shouldn’t be too difficult. She smiled at the prospect.

[Carl stood up suddenly. He looked at his watch again. “Reg! We have to get out of here! The vault will be closing any minute!"]

[Reg checked his own watch. “It’s still a quarter to."]

The other man was already trotting down the corridor. “The vault closes fifteen minutes before branch closing. Come on, we don’t want to get stuck in here all weekend!"]

[“But, but, why didn’t we hear the alarm?"]

[Carl waited impatiently at the end of a row of shelves. “It doesn’t sound down here, you idiot. Nobody’s supposed to be in this part of the vault without special authorization. Come ON!"]

[“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Reg’s hands flew about the keyboard. “I have to set her on automatic for the weekend."]

[“Hurry!"]

[“Done!” He slapped the Enter key and bounced to his feet. He grabbed his jacket and charged around the corner after Carl, down row after row of grey metal shelves. Their footsteps rattled in the ancient vault.]

[“The inner door’s closing!” Carl shouted, “Run!"]

In the washroom of the pub, Suzanne took out her compact and freshened her make-up. Every man in the room had watched her when she walked in. She had literally stopped conversation. There wasn’t a man there that could resist her if she decided she wanted him.

For a moment, she felt confused again. Why was she here? She wasn’t some promiscuous gadfly who picked up men at a bar. This wasn’t her at all. She decided to leave immediately. She would...

[The computer whirred quietly, executing Reg’s program]

...hang out for a while, have a few drinks, check out the scene, see what the after-work crowd provided. As long as she didn’t try to think about things, she felt fine. She definitely shouldn’t be thinking.

She smoothed down her baby pink dress and adjusted her ribbons again. Then she combed out her long black hair, making sure the shimmering locks were flawless. She pulled it around and examined the ends critically. She frowned: rats, a split end.

{And here it is. Think Suzanne hasn’t suffered enough? Follow Strand A. Want to see Reg and Carl get their comeuppance? Follow Strand B.}

{Strand A}

With Reg close on his heels, Carl pounded up the metal stairs to the new vault. The round door was swinging shut. Carl leapt through the opening and skidded on the tile floor. Reg dove through behind him, landing on one shoulder like a quarterback making a one-yard score. The giant door clanged shut behind them.

The new vault was brightly lit and clean. Banks of safety deposit boxes lined the walls. The closing alarm was buzzing in time with the pulses of red warning lights.

Carl was already running toward the main door. “Wait!” he shouted, “We’re still in here!” Reg leapt to his feet and sprinted up behind him.

Carl could see the foot-thick vault door swinging shut. “Wait!” he shouted again.

The door stopped moving. A uniformed security guard stuck his head in. “Carl! What are you doing in there? Didn’t you hear the warning?”

Carl wiped his brow with a handkerchief. “We were in the lower vault,” he said, puffing. “Uhm, working on a special project.”

“Internet security issues,” Reg supplied, stepping up beside him.

They passed through the outer door into the offices of the bank. Summer sunshine washed through the outside windows. “Somebody could have told me,” the guard grumbled. He pushed the switch to re-activate the closing door.

A few minutes later Reg and Carl strolled out the door onto the busy street. “That was too close,” Carl said, when they were out of earshot of other employees. “But what happens to Suzanne now?”

“The computer will take care of it. She’ll follow the same routine all weekend: sleep in, dress hot and steamy, get drunk, spend money recklessly, go out to a bar and proposition some guy, take him home and screw him till she passes out. Then wake up the next morning and do it all over again.

“There are subroutines to make her offer herself in various ways according to the situation, like she did with the grocery boy. There’s also a feedback loop so the more she is humiliated the more she enjoys it. I can’t guarantee how much she’ll remember.”

Carl chuckled. “Poor Suzanne. By Monday she’ll be a wreck. He laughed suddenly.

“What?”

“I just realized something. Monday is a bank holiday. It will be Tuesday before we can get in to shut the program.”

“So it is. An extra day for Suzanne to suffer. Sort of a free bonus.” He paused for a moment. “So, feel like a beer?”

[Suzanne pulled out the hair with the split end. She walked back into the bar, a vision in pink and peach, aware of all the male eyes upon her. She felt her ever-eager pussy tingling.]

Down in the darkness of the old vault, the computer monitor glowed silently. Lines of text scrolled endlessly upwards.

{Strand B}

With Reg close on his heels, Carl pounded up the metal stairs to the new vault. The round door was swinging shut. Carl leapt toward the opening, but it was too late. His shoulder bounced off the corner of the steel door. The pair watched in horror as the door boomed shut. Three steel security bars slammed into place with a jarring clang. The noise reverberated off the cold walls of the vault. The lights went out.

“Oh no,” Carl whispered.

Reg sat down on the steps. “Well, this is just great. We’re stuck here. For the whole weekend. The time-lock won’t release until Monday morning.”

“Tuesday morning,” Carl corrected him. “Monday is a bank holiday.” He sat down beside him.

“Isn’t there an emergency phone somewhere?”

“It’s in the upper vault. Nobody is supposed to be down here.”

“Oh shit. Now we are really in a pickle. Three days in the dark with no food.”

Carl grimaced in the darkness. “Food isn’t the problem. We’ll dehydrate without fresh water.”

“How long can we go without water?”

“I’m not sure. I read some place that it’s only about three days.”

A look of panic spread over Reg’s face. “Three days! But, but, the time-lock won’t open for—”

“Three and a half days,” Carl finished for him.

They sat there for a long moment, silent. The weak glow of the computer screen around the corner cast the only light. Carl sat up suddenly.

“Wait a moment! We’re not stuck! We can get Suzanne to let us out!” He charged down the darkened corridor toward the computer.

“Yes, but—” Reg sputtered, sprinting after him.

Carl gestured him toward the seat. “You can use the program, can’t you? Just instruct her to call Travis or security and say there’s someone in the vault. It’s easy!”

Reg sat down in the chair. “No it’s not,” he said glumly.

“What? She’ll do whatever the program says, won’t she?”

“Pretty much, sure. But it’s designed to make her forget who she is. It suppresses her memories so she loses her identity. It takes a lot of control at the best of times. We already had one near miss. If we tell her to do something associated with the bank, it will breach the program and give her full recall, as sure as I’m sitting here.”

“You mean, she’ll remember everything?”

“All of it. She’ll even remember where the idea came from to call security and let us out. Not to mention the rather incriminating evidence of the two of us stuck in the lower vault with a computer.”

Carl leaned against a stack of old bank boxes. He slid despondently to the floor. “We’ll go to jail,” he said bleakly. “Forever.”

“At least,” said Reg.

Carl was staring into the darkness. “So we have a choice. We can sit here in the darkness and possibly die of dehydration...”

“Or we can call up Suzanne and spend the next decade or so in prison. Which one should we choose?”

[Suzanne pulled out the hair with the split end. She walked back into the bar, a vision in peach and pink, aware of all the male eyes upon her. She felt her ever-eager pussy tingling.]

Down in the darkness of the old vault, Reg and Carl watched the silently glowing computer monitor. Lines of text scrolled endlessly upwards.