The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Vicki’s nude body, glistening with sweat and sex, rubs itself against mine and all I can do is groan. So many weeks of watching that body move, covered in such unrevealing clothes drove me insane. I could feel the heat her body held every time she’d moved past me, but now, it’s fulfillment, it’s raw need let loose.

Her firm hands grasp my breasts and knead as she grinds herself into my thigh and I grind back into hers. Each of her fingers move so perfectly, holding me, kneading me, fucking me just the way she wants to fuck me. I can feel it, that everything is just how she wants it to be. She looks so satisfied, even if she’s lost in the moment, and it’s beyond erotic, beyond anything I could ever ask for.

Her breasts above me shake every time she grinds harder and the sight of her hard nipples dangling is almost more than my lips can bear. “Your eyes look so hot when they do that, Valerie . . . All purple and hot, just like the inside of your sweet little pussy . . .”

Her words make my face feel even more flush than it already is, but I love it. If anyone else would say things like that I would feel so embarrassed or mortified, but with her it just makes my whole body shake and quiver against hers. I want her, I need her, every fiber of my being needs to be wrapped around her, grinding into her, damp and dripping with sweat and cum. I can’t even remember how long we’ve been fucking, how long we’ve just been locked like this.

“It’s your pussy . . .!” She nips at my ear and rolls my nipples between her fingers, and all my hands can do is grab the sheets. She makes me feel so good it’s hard to do anything but just grab and arch and twist. I want to kiss her until the kiss burns both of us away, but my lips wouldn’t be able to stay pursed long enough for a small cinder!

“You’re right it is . . . My wet little pussy, can’t get enough, can’t ever get enough!” Her voice breaks into a sharp cry, and so does mine. It’s perfect, every time it’s so perfect. It’s like somewhere deep inside of us our libidos are intertwined, interlinked . . .

And I swear I can feel each of her orgasms, feel each of mine .. . as the mist fills the air, fills the room . . . making the air purple, making her eyes turn purple, as she nuzzles mindlessly into my chest . . . The whole time, so perfect, but . . . “Yourssss . . .” Only dominant through submission and her eyes were purple the whole time, they really always were . . .

“We’re . . . not done yet . . .” My throat feels so raspy and dry from all of the moaning, all of the screaming . . . We’re never done until she says we’re done, when I tell her that we’re done . . . a perfect, vicious circle . . .

All of it artificial besides the way I feel for her . . . and I can never be sure how she really felt . . . only how I’ve made her feel.

“Doctor Raine!” Gale’s voice rouses me from a nap, but at least even if my head is on my laptop’s keyboard, Kelly isn’t anywhere to be seen. Doctor Combs must have done just what I wanted her to do, just like they always do . . . My eyes don’t always do what I want them to do, but that’s likely due to the lack of well, sleep.

If only I could blame that on the hospital, I would in a moment.

“Bwuh? I mean .. . nghn . . .” Forcing myself to sit up straight also requires wiping the drool from my lips, which shouldn’t be gross compared to some of the bodily fluids I’ve found myself having to handle before, and how much of those I was covered with in dreamland.

Gray eyes narrow in a self satisfied smirk that I brush off with a loud yawn, or at least I tell myself that’s what the yawn is for. “Cute. Doctor Raine, our six million dollar patient has regained consciousness.”

The thought of her being consciously under my desk makes my eyes flutter before I can get a strong hold on my arousal. If I can’t get a better handle on myself then I don’t know how much longer my luck can hold. “True consciousness, not a half anesthetic major operation haze that’s making her attempts at communication a fuzzy word soup at best?”

“She asked to speak to the doctor who . . . repaired her. She’s sure as hell more conscious than you are right now, if you don’t mind me saying so—not that I’ll change that answer even if you do but every little bit of politeness is supposed to go a long way.” Still trying to wipe the sleep out of my eyes, I just smirk.

Gale will never stop amusing herself long enough to stop amusing everyone around her, and I think that might be a part of her gift. “Repaired . . . Wow. No point in keeping her waiting, is there?”

“Well, you missed a spot, is that enough?” Grinning, that gorgeous nurse reaches out and wipes a thin glaze of purple off of the corner of my lip and I flush. God, no wonder I passed out, I’d been sucking on my fingers and I must have inhaled! Gale, luckily, just wipes her finger off and then holds out her hand. “Okay, you look presentable, need a hand?”

“No, but I’ll take one anyway.” I grin back and take her hand before getting up, thankful, so thankful that she didn’t notice what that purple was. “Her vitals aren’t the easiest to measure but how does she seem to be doing?”

Gale pauses, and seems lost in thought with a myriad of blinks. “You might not believe it, but if she wasn’t covered in stitches and bruises . . . I would think she should just go home.”

That’s impossible! She wouldn’t have said that if it wasn’t true, but it just can’t be. If she wasn’t augmented the way she was, she would probably have died. It wasn’t only her heart that was altered, but all of the other alterations were subtle in comparison to the sheer wonder of a mechanized heart beating inside of a woman’s chest.

“She gobbled through one of our meals without even a single complaint. I know we don’t have the budget for a real cook, but those TV dinners are horrible. She didn’t wince, she didn’t pause, all she did was swallow it all down and thanked the nurse who gave it to her. Okay, she did one more thing—she asked if there was anything she could do!” Gale throws up her arms and then just slowly shakes her head.

“We’ve had worse . . .” The tox screen still hasn’t come back, but something tells me she’s not drugged out of her mind unless it’s a side effect of something to stabilize the machinery in her body.

There’s really nothing else to be said. This isn’t normal, far from it, but what is there to say besides that this, of course, shouldn’t be? She should have complained about the food, and should still look like she’s on her last legs. That doesn’t mean that she can’t feel better, it just means that she’s not acting . . . human.

Was she ever human? If she was then I want what she has now. It would make things so much better sometimes.

Finally we end up reaching the patient, and it’s just like Gale said. The patient looks so healthy except for the multitude of bandages. “Hello, Doctor. Were you the one who repaired me? Thank you very much. It was . . . Doctor Raine, wasn’t it?’

Every word is articulated perfectly. Her face doesn’t look exhausted and worn, or happy and relieved. She just looks . . . healthy and alive. The only way to describe it is that she’s functioning within her established parameters. If someone told me this woman had a heart of steel I would still want to investigate, but I would believe them. Knowing what I know only makes me want to look more, and it also gives me a stronger ache.

Her eyes look somehow cold, unknowing, and yet at the same time seem to understand more than I ever could. What are those eyes saying, and more importantly, what are they asking?

Being in the same room with her shouldn’t be turning me on.

“Doctor?” She tilts her head to the side, and she actually looks worried. It’s not a look of raw emotional worry, but there is concern showing in those eerily calm depths.

“Oh, I’m sorry. As anyone who knows me at all can tell you, I get lost in my head a bit too much. Yes, I am the doctor who helped you shortly after you arrived. There are a lot of questions I’d like to ask you, if you’re feeling up to answering them. You don’t have to put on a strong face.” I barely take my eyes off of her when I reach down to grab up her chart, but none of it is really surprising.

Everything is typical of a patient who came in after falling off of a bike.

“I am fully capable of answering any questions that I have the answers for, Doctor Raine. I am at your disposal.” After she says that, she just looks at me and . . . smiles. All the coolness is gone, and is replaced with what feels like understanding. I have to be projecting. She can’t know. She just can’t.

Gale tugs my sleeve to get my attention and then whispers into my ear. “The tox screen should be delivered to you in a bit. I’m going to go take care of our new patient with the broken leg.” She waves and starts to walk away, but I don’t watch her.

She’s still watching me. Those eyes, penetrating, they’re just so deep and . . . meaningful. If she is more than just augmented, an actual cyborg or . . . in other words, more roboticized than it would seem . . . she is a very well programmed one. She doesn’t display any unnecessary emotion, but she still displays it. She is helpful without seeming creepy, beyond that she’s so helpful after whatever it was she went through.

Before I do anything else I take a deep slow breath, and then respond carefully as I can. “Well, you’re healing up fine and that’s great. I’m sure everyone’s let you know just how much of a miracle you are, um . . . I guess that my first question would be your name?”

“My name is Heather.” Heather’s eyes light up when she says that, and I can’t tell for sure why. “And yes, I have. I’m not that amazing though, or I wouldn’t even need to be here!”

We laugh, together, and something about laughing with her is strange. Is it strange for me because it breaks the illusion, or because I was beginning to enjoy thinking of her as little more than an object? “Well Heather, neither of us would end up winning that argument. Well Heather, can you tell me what happened to you?”

“No.” She looks torn and confused, but only for a moment before she looks down to her bruised arms and then back into my eyes. “I don’t remember. All I remember is that I was at work, and then I think I fell. Then I was in another room here, you were over me, and then I woke up here.”

Some part of me thinks she’s lying, but this is hardly the time to call her on it. If she is telling the truth though, that could make her situation all the more serious. She has such a vulnerable beauty, even being so resilient.

My eyes must have remained skeptically narrowed for a moment too long, because she suddenly looks very hurt and wraps her arms around herself tightly. “I know it sounds crazy. I should be able to remember what happened, but I don’t. Do you know what happened, and why everyone is acting so strange around me? Whatever I went through couldn’t have been so bad if I already feel so good, right?”

There’s a part of her words that still sounds unconvincingly human, but at the same time her desperation seems so sincere that I can’t imagine it being otherwise and I feel so guilty for questioning it. “No, it’s not crazy. Near death experiences often have a bit of memory loss surrounding them. You lost a lot of blood, internal and external bleeding. When I went inside to help, your heart was, for lack of a better term . . .”

“Roboticized?” Her eyes meet with mine, and only when they do I realize that my gaze has been slowly tracing around the room, over her chart, anywhere not to look at her. “Yes, I volunteered for the process. The woman who designed it thought I would be an ideal candidate, and I was already indirectly working for her. I had a choice, of course. It was all legal.”

Human testing of something so far fetched, so amazing, can’t possibly be legal. The ramifications of this are so widespread! I would have read about this over and over again before the actual operation would have taken place, and I would have found some way to be in that room watching.

Things don’t add up.

“Who is your boss, Heather?” I look down at her chart and cross out Jane Do. “Oh and while I’m thinking of it, your last name if it wouldn’t be too much trouble?”

“Of course Doctor Raine. My last name is Thompson. My direct supervisor is named Tricia Barkley, but the woman I was referring to is Melinda Borais. She’s the chief roboticist in the Argentum Project. I’m just helping with some construction really, a little bit here and there. Her main specialty is in creating actual robots, well, gynoids really. They do most of the heavy construction.”

“But she also makes implants?” The Argentum Project . . . I keep hearing about that everywhere lately. Everything seems to point back to it, so it only makes sense that my little mystery would too. “Was this implant necessary or elective?”

Heather turns silent again and looks over her arms, and then down at her chest. Her hand rests over the chest of her hospital gown before she looks into my eyes anew a moment later. “My health was fine, except for a murmur. It was getting worse, too. When Melinda called me into her office to discuss the procedure, and explained that it had already worked twice before, I jumped at the chance. Yes, she also designs implants, though she admitted these were a somewhat borrowed design.”

The difference between this being a logical culmination of circumstances and frightful coincidence are closing in quickly. Could she actually have a heart designed off of my ideas? I’m no roboticist so my designs weren’t precise, but she’s no cardiologist.

“She mostly specializes in the software end, but you’re a doctor, you know a specialty isn’t the only thing that matters.” Heather seems so much more human than before, but that thought only arouses me further. If she is just another of Melinda’s gynoids, she would need to keep up the act of being a normal woman when she wasn’t at work, which wouldn’t be very often. She’d just be another tool . . .

The weekends, if she would get weekends off, would be a sore disappointment.

Heather is a patient. She’s human, a little scared, and she still needs help. I have to stop thinking like this. “If you want to make a call, to your family or any friends, we have phones we can help you with. We don’t want you getting up just yet even if you can though; you went through some serious trauma.”

“I understand Doctor Raine. Would it be all right if I had some time just to rest now? I feel a little tired.” Being so emotional would wear me out, she has even more reasons. Besides, this gives me a good excuse to do some independent research on her boss.

My curiosity goes far beyond the ethical dilemma, but that is something I know far too well. “Of course, Heather. Relax, rest. We’re here to help you feel better, take all the time you need.”

Far too deep in my mind, a part of me acknowledges that it hopes she’ll take a good deal longer so that I might get another peek at her heart.

The Argentum Project is a lot more than I thought it was. When I first heard about it on the television it just sounded like another space station with lofty research goals that would end up being populated by the same people that passed up actually healing people in need. The programs sounded nonspecific the way a politician would phrase them. The program’s founder seemed too suspiciously perfect.

Really though, it’s actually amazing. In about nine more months, startlingly quickly, the space station will be completed. After that, scientists in every field, the best in every field, will be invited to work together to unravel all of earth’s mysteries.

It’s a project that actually shines light on the people that really make a difference. If it’s already led to hearts like Heather’s then I can’t imagine what else it could lead to.

Space usually has horribly adverse effects on human life, but if they could make a heart like that, I can believe that they could construct a space station capable of sustaining quality of life. The other people they have in high ranking positions are no less interesting. It does make me a bit uneasy that a weapons specialist is among them, but supposedly her training is to be put to the task of creating a system capable of preventing long range missile strikes from the earth below.

Even with super heroes a nuclear weapon is still a fear, I can only imagine what would happen if the value of such weapons dissolved overnight. The world would be safe from one madman—or madwoman—launching a volley of nukes before anyone who could stop them could even realize it was happening.

A world with no missiles, and hot helpless robots . . . I only just masturbated before that nap, and I’m all ready to go again. In a world like that, there would be nothing to stop the world from being turned into an entirely robotic society.

All anyone would need to do would be obey. Just obeying, again and again and again, beyond helpless to the commands in their minds from their implants. With robotic hearts, robotized brains, enhanced senses, movement, and who knows what else, the world wouldn’t be anything like the world we have today. It would be so much sexier, so much more wonderful, and I don’t know who would be able to resist the allure it has.

No violence, no hunger, no contagion that wouldn’t have the greatest medical minds solving it within minutes. It would be pure paradise.

With an energy specialist as one of the current section heads they’ve probably already conquered the energy consumption issues. Solar power would probably be even more powerful up in orbit, but it must take a lot of energy to keep everything working the way they plan it to.

“Doctor Raine? Gale said you would want to see this.” A cute redheaded nurse—I forget her name—comes in to drop off the tox screen. “She’s asleep at the moment, everything is steady.”

“Thank you very much.” Before I look at it, I close my laptop and then look at the nurse. “What do you think of her? Heather, I mean.”

Not expecting that, she just sort of stares down at the tox screen for a few moments before responding. “She’s different. I’m not sure how to feel about it. My intuition tells me that something is wrong or that there’s something about her that we don’t know, but it’s nothing solid. She seems nice though.”

Nice and benevolent are two entirely different things, but I see what she means. “Thank you, that’s all. I just wanted to get a fresh opinion. Thanks again for the screen.” She nods and smiles before leaving, and I finally take a glance at the paper. There are no narcotics in her blood, but I could have told them that. She doesn’t test positive for anything, besides an immunosuppressant.

We’re still no closer to knowing why she’s in the mess she’s in, but we’ve already made our report to the MCPD. Getting a hold of someone from the Argentum Project would be the next logical step, but something about that seems like a bad idea.

We don’t have any contact information for family, and Heather Thompson must be only one of a thousand Heather Thompsons. Calling them one by one would probably take a good day all on its own.

I open my laptop back open and keep scanning over the website of the Argentum Project. Its early efforts seem a bit narrow, but they express hope of attracting more minds from different fields. They can’t very well research neurology without a neurologist, and even their site says that many of the minds they want with them in the stars aren’t even attracted to research.

Could they have read my files and rejected even offering me a position out of hand. I can’t imagine the thrill there would be in such a position. I could do a lot of good with that much funding and a full staff to boss around.

Of course, it would be even worse if my mist were discovered, but I run that risk everyday.

Being robotized, and then luring my poor research team into the roboticist’s lab would be so hot. They would all be bright eyed and eager going in to their big break, only to come out filled with metal and obedience, zeroes and ones wrapping around every thought and desire. They would all belong to me, and I would belong to the roboticist.

Just thinking of that makes me so damp, dripping, the thought of misting helpless healers into hot helpful robotic slaves is almost more than I can take. They would all wear identical uniforms, identical programming, and have the same obedient stare.

Getting caught twice in one day would just be horrible, so I simply clench my thighs and feel the mist simmer between my lips. It’s enough to make me shudder in the worst way. So good, such a good tease.

“Valerie, there’s a woman here to see you!” Gale bursts through the door, jolting me out of my thoughts again. “She insists on speaking with you, and only you. She asked for you by name, and I think you’ll want to talk with her. She insisted that you meet her in the waiting room. She’s very . . . impatient.”

“I’m a Doctor, I could be elbow deep in blood for all she knows. Tell her that I’m busy, and give her a business card. I don’t have time for impatient women. Right now we need to get a hold of Melinda Borais so we can determine how much of which immunosuppressant to give Heather so that she doesn’t reject her own modified heart.” People like that always infuriate me. They usually are dressed to the nines and wanting to give me some lofty position of power complete with a pay raise.

If I wanted to be making exorbitant amounts of money I wouldn’t have turned down a million requests to end up working for The Midas Touch.

“Oh, I think you’ll want to see this one.” Gale’s grin is wider than any grin I can ever remember her having. Whatever it is she knows, she definitely is sure I’ll be interested.

“What would give you a silly thought like that?”

Gale rolls her eyes before turning away. “Because, Doctor, that woman is Sarah.” As soon as she finishes saying her name I’m out of my seat and heading straight for the waiting room.