AI Era: Medusa's Daughter

This is my entry for "2023 AI: A New Era" Author Challenge! Hope you enjoy and thanks to bettiezyx for organizing the event!

For the people following me from... basically anything else I've ever written, this is a wild divergence. It's in Mind Control, but it could easily have gone in Erotic Horror instead. Check the tags. You have been warned.

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I'm speeding down the freeway like a man possessed when she asks, "You have no idea who I am, do you?"

What a dumb question. Of course I do; Melissa Dussault is the head of research for the Geppetto Project. Geppetto's going to make PanOpti Consolidated's Penal Services Division a shit-ton of money, which means huge commissions for ya boy Chazz.

More importantly, though, she's my companion for the night, and we're headed for her apartment. The smoking hot blonde had been giving me the eye from the moment she saw me at the PanOpti Summit, our annual corporate gathering. That's not a surprise; ol' Chazz has always done well for himself. I got Daddy's good looks, Mama's charm, and the family's money to back it all up. I could have had any trim I wanted.

Missy--the ladies love pet names--hung on my every word from the moment we got to the restaurant, asking about my work, my family, my school, and my hobbies. Not having to do the dance where I pretended to give a shit about her hopes and dreams made for a nice change of pace. She's got a fantastic ass and great tits, too, barely squeezed into a little black dress. Maybe if she's a good fuck, I can keep her on the hook for when I travel out this way again.

I open my mouth to answer, but no sound comes. As my lips flap uselessly, Missy's demeanor changes from hot to cold in seconds. She's still giving me the eye, but it feels less like a bitch in heat than a snake watching its prey.

"Ah, good. I was worried I'd done something wrong. This is an experiment, after all." What? "Eyes on the road, Chuck." Chazz. It's Chazz. Why can't I correct her? My face turns away from her and towards the road, and my hands move to the classic two and ten position on the steering wheel. Why are they doing that? Why can't I control myself? "Oh, that's promising! Autonomous obedience this early on? Fantastic."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see her do something with her hands; the fashionable updo she wore comes apart, and blonde curls spill down her back. "That's better. Just follow the GPS directions and listen." Her malevolent chuckle sends a chill down my spine. "Of course, that's all you can do right now, isn't it? Listen."

Melissa stretches with a groan. In other circumstances, I would have turned towards her and watched as the muscles of her small frame tensed and released. I'd have told her how hot she was and how she'd be making more noises like that once we got back to her place. But right now I'm pissed and--although I'd never admit it out loud--scared. More importantly, I literally can't do anything besides drive and listen. I want to, but my body won't respond.

"You're kind of an idiot, so I'll assume you either weren't really listening or couldn't comprehend my lecture on Geppetto. I seem to have your attention now, though, and I'll break it down into small words so you can follow along." Bitch. I'll show her who the idiot is once I can move.

"Geppetto is an injectable nanobot--that means 'very small robot'--swarm which is intended, in its commercial form, to make prisons safer and improve recidivism rates. It effectively prevents the subject from harming others. Think of it like a drawbridge between the brain and the body that we lower or raise as they do things that we want to encourage or discourage. Subjects, for the most part, know how society expects them to act; as a result, their failure to do so can be regulated and, eventually, eliminated."

Another of those sinister laughs makes me want to shiver; I can't. "People get so hung up on words like 'brainwashing' and 'mind control.' As if throwing criminals in a box for years isn't trying to force them to change their minds, or having children recite the pledge of allegiance every day isn't an attempt to indoctrinate them. But you tell a funding committee 'I can rewire their brain,' and everyone throws a fit about free will, as if we're not all just machines made of meat."

Melissa pinches my cheek. "However, if you tell them that you can teach recidivists to be better without ever directly altering their brain? That you can make their bodies do what's right and that the mirror neurons will create a positive feedback loop? Ah, then they can't write checks fast enough. All those execs understand 'fake it til you make it' down to their very core; that's how they get their jobs, after all."

She leans forward just slightly so that I can see her better. "You know, you'd be prettier if you smiled." Fuck you bitch, I... Goddammit goddammit goddammit I can feel the muscles in my face shifting against my will like bugs under the skin. I try to fight it, but I can't. Before I know it, I'm wearing my very best salesman grin. "Ah, see? Doesn't that feel better? No one likes a grumpy gus." Smug, self-satisfied cunt.

"And then, of course, other divisions get involved, like clockwork." The bitch relaxes in her seat once more. "So now there are about a dozen different variants of Geppetto being tried out in the company." God, I wish she'd shut up. If I wanted to listen to feminazis rant and rave, I'd have paid more attention in college.

"There's Ajax for the military, Sissyphus for factory workers, Aphrodite for sex workers, and on and on. Each of them, ah, encourages different behavior. But my favorite? The one I snuck into your drink earlier? That's my own special project, Medusa.

"You see, Geppetto has one big flaw: the subject needs to have more than a vestigial sense of right and wrong for it to work. There are people that just don't: sociopaths, narcissists, frat boys from wealthy families... ah, but I'm repeating myself." Fuck you, cunt. Probably a dyke, too.

"For those, well, a little more hands-on attention is necessary. They require a handler most of the time. Someone who already knows right from wrong and can act as a guide." She pats my head like a dog. "Someone who'll teach you to be a good boy! Yes, I will!" I'm going to fucking murder her.

"Ah, here we are. Pull into that spot." Melissa unfastens her seatbelt and opens the door. "Come on, Chad! Come!" She fucking laughs as she exits, and my body can't help but follow. "Grab the bags from the trunk, too. Apartment 203. Chop chop!"

She's left me alone. I have some time to think. It's nanobots, so... what does that mean? Can I, like, cut open my arm and suck them out like a snakebite? But how would I? I can't do anything but what she tells me. Maybe I can blink in morse code? ... Nope.

While my brain is trying to come up with a solution, my body is following her directives, opening the trunk, grabbing the suitcases--wait, are these my suitcases?--and tromping up the stairs. This is getting worse and worse; it feels like something out of a Saw film, if Jigsaw was a psychotic man-hating bitch with a killer rack.

She opens the door after I knock, a broad grin plastered on her face. "Hey, good for you! You can read numbers into the hundreds place. Wasn't sure. Come in and put your bags in the spare room; you can unpack later. Then go get me some wine; glasses are in the cabinet next to the fridge." I turn to leave, but she says, "Oh! Wait, one thing first. Strip."

In any other situation, I would have been happy to comply. I mean, I would have stripped her first, but naked time is naked time. Except in this case, it was naked time with a crazy person I couldn't disobey. As my hands moved to open up the buttons on my shirt, she kicked her shoes off, then sat on the sofa to watch.

"It's humiliating, isn't it? Not having control of your body? Not being able to say no, no matter how much you want to? But still being able to see and feel and fear. It was awful for me, too. You know: when you and Brody and your other frat brothers raped me."

Oh shit.

"Does that even narrow it down? How many girls did you rape, anyways? How many did you give a drink with a little something extra in it? Something that was supposed to make them forget that you dragged them to the designated rape room in your frat house?"

Oh shit oh shit.

"How many have hazy, horrifying memories of you goddamned troglodytes treating them like a little fuckdoll, or making them airtight, or maybe running a train on them like you did me? How many got told the next day by the campus cops that it was your word--and your daddy's money--against theirs?"

Oh shit oh shit oh fuck!

My body kept doing what it was told during her revelation. I'd removed my shirt, shoes, belt, and pants. Now, I'm down to underwear and dress socks. My hands move to take the socks off first, but she laughs, "Stop. Leave them. Dick out, dickhead." There's not even a moment's hesitation from my traitorous body. I stand naked before her except for a pair of black dress socks.

Melissa laughs again. "You know what the funny thing is, Chud? That night, I was out to be wild and get laid. I'd finished my masters, was headed off for my doctorate, and I planned to let my hair down. Really let it down. I was completely DTF; hell, I might have even taken you and Brody on together if you'd asked nicely. Not your whole frat, but..." She shrugs. "We could have both had a great night.

"Instead, I got to wake up with night sweats for years, and go to counseling, and be constantly afraid whenever I was out at night by myself. I got blamed for getting raped by the cops. I had to power through my academic career without any time to recover, because, unlike you, I didn't have a trust fund to fall back on if I wanted to take a year off."

She shakes her head, visibly angry. "Even my dreams changed. Not just the ones at night, I mean, but what I wanted to do with my life. I had wanted to make the world a better place. Use my research to heal people. But now... Now, because of you, all I can focus on is protecting them." Her smile terrifies me. "And getting revenge."

Melissa chuckles, and the angry woman disappears for the moment. "Where's that wine, Chunk? A nice merlot, I think." My feet move without my direction. I'm turning my back on her; that scares me as much as anything. I know it's foolish; I'm pretty sure she could stab me in the chest and I couldn't stop her. But the primitive fear of allowing my enemy out of my sight has my heart hammering in my chest. I'm keenly aware of rustling noises and the sound of something heavy hitting the floor behind me, but I can't stop to look; all I can do is grow more and more afraid. That... and pour a glass of wine.

I start to turn back towards her, but she calls out, "Would you kindly grab the butcher's knife while you're there?" My blood turns to ice, but I can't ignore her request. Request? No. Command. Just because it's phrased like a request doesn't make it one.

The quiet shing of metal against wood as I draw the weapon out of its stand puts me further in mind of a horror movie. So does her cruel smirk once my body turns towards her again. She's relaxing on the couch, arms spread across the back and one leg crossed over the other. The rustling sound must have been her dress against the leather. I'd sigh with relief, but I can't even do that. And besides, I still have a knife in my hand, at her request.

My hand reaches out to give her the wine. The other lays dead at my side, carrying the blade in as safe a manner as I know how. I stand at attention, waiting for my next command. No, my body does, not me. I'm not waiting for the command, dammit, just my body is! She can't command me!

Melissa swirls the wine in her glass and takes a sip. "I bet you're so angry in there. It would be bad enough if a man were doing this to you, but a woman? And one that you'd wronged? Or maybe you're afraid instead?" She chuckled again. "No, I know: aroused. Of course, you can't show me, not unless I tell you to. And if I tell your body to be aroused? Well, then..."

Another laugh. "You'll stay hard as long as I tell you to. Until your dick falls off, anyways. Did you know that can happen? It's just like any other part of the body; it needs blood flow. If it doesn't get it, because, say, you can't lose an erection, it'll slowly die from lack of oxygen. And then not even my miracle nanobots will be able to get you hard again. Nothing will. Ever." Oh God. She's smiling wider than ever. "In fact, why don't you get hard right now?"

I can't look down, but I feel the swelling. I try to think of anything I can to make it go away: naked grandmas, freezing showers, inheritance taxes, anything! Nothing helps. Within a few moments, I'm as hard as I've ever been.

"Hand me the knife." I do as she asks. No! My body does! My body, not me! She taps the head of my dick with the point of the knife; not hard, but hard enough to feel it. I want to start, to jump, to run away. My body stands stock still.

"Do you have something you'd like to say?" I can suddenly nod, and I do, vigorously. "You may speak. Emote, too." My face is freed to show everything. My voice finally responds.

"Please! Please, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! It was wrong what we did to you! I've learned my lesson! I'll never do it again! Just let me go, and I'll--"

Melissa laughs. "Oh, you'll never do it again anyways. I'll make sure of that." Another tap, harder.

"Stop! Stop, you crazy bitch!" Fuck! Fuck! Why did I say that?

She laughs even harder. "Uh-huh. You seem totally reformed. Shut up. But feel free to keep showing me how you feel with your face; that part's fun." Another sip of her wine, another tap of the knife. "Yes, I probably am a crazy bitch, Chonk. Why do you think that is? Do you think that maybe, just maybe, you had a hand in that? That you're responsible for your own predicament?"

Her glass, empty now, goes on the side table. "True, I'm probably insane. But I'm not a completely heartless monster, Chazz." Oh no. Oh no, she used my name. Why is she using it now? "I'm turning your pain receptors off. You'd best look away." The last thing I catch out of the corner of my eye is Melissa changing her grip on the butcher's knife and raising the blade high. God, if you get me out of this, I promise that I'll spend the rest of my life being a good person. I'll donate to charity, I'll work at a battered women's shelter, I'll even stop arguing on the internet!

The blow never comes; instead, she laughs long and loud. "Oh, Chazz. You should see the look on your face. I'm not going to cut your dick off. Take a look." My head snaps around and down; oh, thank you God, thank you. Little Chazz is just fine. "Why would I take your dick away when I can just turn it off whenever I want? In fact..." Her brow knits for a moment, and li'l C falls limp. "See? I don't even have to say anything. Nanobots, Charlie. I've got them in my head, too. Wave of the future. Go ahead and sit, and I'll explain how this is going to go."

I move towards the couch. "On the floor, Charles. On the floor. Kneel, in fact." My body does as instructed, and she uncrosses her legs, giving me a brief view of her red panties. Melissa extends one athletic leg towards me. "Massage my feet." I- My body takes her foot with both hands and begins to apply pressure. "Mmm, not bad. You'll get better, I'm sure, but not a bad start.

"You see, this is the pity, Charles--that's your new name, by the way; you're going to go by Charles now, like a grown man should." She pauses to groan with pleasure. "Mmm, not bad at all. Like I said, this is the pity. You've got almost all the elements to be a worthwhile man, but you're just an absolute waste of skin instead. Worse, you're a menace. But I'm going to fix that."

Melissa picks up her glass and regards it with a frown. "Damn, I should have had you pour me another one. Ah, well. Anyways, your problem--the main one, anyways--is that you lack more than the merest bit of conscience. I doubt you'd murder your mother, but that's about as far as I'll go. Once I'm done with you, though?" Another one of those sinister smiles. "You're going to be everything a woman could want. A real prince instead of a frog in prince's clothing. Don't forget my calves; heels are really murder."

My hands move to her calf, rubbing and massaging. In any other setting, I'd be turned on as hell; even considering the circumstances, part of me still wants to fuck her, even if my dick isn't responding anymore. She's crazy, but crazy's hot if it's not a real danger, and it doesn't sound like she's going to hurt me. She groans again as my calloused fingers work at her muscles. "Goddamn. Keep it up, Charles."

I lean in closer to her so that I can better work the muscles, and she pats my head. "When we're here, alone, you're going to call me Mistress." The fuck? No, I goddamn well am not! "If you understand, say 'Yes, Mistress.'"

"Yes, Mistress." MOTHERFUCK!

"Good boy! Such an obedient pup." She chuckles. "Well, not really. But you seem like one, and that's good enough for now. We'll get you there eventually, and you'll thank me for it. Do you believe me?"

"No, Mistress." Fuck, at least I'm able to say one thing I mean.

She shrugs. "Like I said, you will eventually. Even if it takes years." Years? "Yes, years." She can read my mind? "No, I can't read your mind, but you're a pretty simple sort, Charles. It amazes me that you've managed to do as well in sales as you have." Fuck you!

"Yes, yes, fuck me. You're such a huge talent that your manager couldn't wait to get you out of his department. Officially, you're now a liaison to my department. Unofficially? You're whatever the fuck I say you are."

She settled back in. "Do you know why I call it Medusa? You know, other than the fact that I can paralyze you at will?"

"No, Mistress."

"The god Neptune raped her, and he did it in the temple of Minerva. But who got punished? Medusa. Minerva cursed her and turned her into a monster. Later, a 'hero' named Perseus slew her and took her power for his own, at the behest of a king; the gods sided against her here, too, and helped Perseus slay Medusa.

"That's the pattern in mythology: a woman is wronged, then she's punished, becomes a monster, and is treated as the villain. Sometimes she's granted power, but it's always presented as an evil thing unless it's later co-opted by a man. Eve, Pasiphaë, Morgana, Medusa; the list goes on and on. That's the path you started me down.

"But Medusa isn't a villain. She didn't seek out people to harm them; the statues in her garden were 'heroes' that tried to slay her. I'm not a villain, either, although I'm sure you think I am. And there's no Perseus that's going to slay me, no Hermes or Hades or Hephaestus to get you out of this jam.

"I might be a monster, but I'm one you made. And I'm going to use the power you forced on me to fix you and all the other assholes who think they can get away with tormenting women because they're rich and powerful. You think you're an alpha male. But guess what? You're just my alpha test."

I feel my dick starting to harden again, and she laughs once more. "That's the first part of the test, the most important one: silent communication between the master nanobots in my body and the slave ones in yours. Does it feel nice, having your penis back for a little while? Feeling like a real man? Heh. Let's try this instead."

I don't breathe. I mean, I can breathe; nothing's changed physically, and I really, really want to. But my lungs aren't responding. All of my other muscles are working but the... fuck, what's the name? The muscle, the one named after the birth control thing. It's not working! But my hands never stop massaging her legs.