And They Were... Roommates

The colours were so slow now. Calm too.

She exhaled all the air she'd been holding and began to breathe normally, placidly watching the colours swirl as her heart beat in her ears. The colours were so pretty. She loved them. She could sit here for days, doing nothing but watching them. She was so glad Meadow had shared them with her.

The colours were almost stopped now.

She was breathing so slowly. So normally. Neal was limp against her. She wished she could see his face, but she couldn't look away and his face was out of her peripherals. She could, just barely, see his slowly moving chest, his lap, the hand he had draped lazily across his abdomen. The one that was still on her knee.

Something flickered onto the screen too fast for her to see. She focused, wondering what it was. Falling again into the slow colours. Just excited to be here.

Again.

She missed it again.

Focused harder, determined not to miss it if it came back. Determined to pay careful attention. But her thoughts were so sluggish, so slow. She felt stupid. It was so hard to focus.

Meadow moved into view. Tiny, sparkling alarm flickered up, deep in her brain. She felt her hands clench. Neal didn't move. He was more trapped than she was.

Trapped?

Was she trapped?

Bee breathed out hard, realising she was sweating. Some of the stupid feeling lifted, replaced by the alarm. She was breathing quicker. She was breaking free. She managed to glance at Meadow and saw his rapt attention on her, the fascination in his expression. She saw that he was breathing quickly too. She saw that he tenting the front of his pretentious dress pants, his cock rock fucking hard as he stared at them, and the repulsion she felt was bone-deep. She had to get out of here and away from him, the pervert freak. She had to kick his ass on the way out.

She had to save Neal.

But the screen began to flicker the symbol up. Only in flashes so she couldn't see it clearly. But faster and faster and faster. She was seeing it over and over again, each time accompanied by a strange tune through the headset. It kept dragging her back in. It kept demanding her attention.

She couldn't look away.

#

It was going better than Fielding could ever have imagined. Without the headset, he was perfectly safe from the images the program was using to brainwash his housemates, and so he could ogle to his heart's content. He watched as, at first, the both of them resisted. Neal gripping Bee's knee like he could snap her out of it through his touch, or just for comfort. Fielding watched him the closest as the programming began to work quickest on him, likely because he was already tired, or because he was more trusting, or because he was smarter. That panic in his eyes had faded, his grip loosening. He'd let his long body go limp and was now contentedly gazing at the screen, fully accepting his new role as Fielding's possession.

Bee, however, was still fighting. In some ways, Fielding was finding that this was even more exciting than Neal's quick acquiescence. She was sweating through her stolen shirt, mouth partially open as she alternated between falling into the hypnotic pattern and breathing sedately, and panting as she fought against its hold on her. There were dark circles under her arms and around the collar.

But she wouldn't fight for long, because the program had begun stage one. Alternating the patterns designed to drop them both with a symbol that demanded their minds give in. A symbol already drilled into their unconscious by the apps on their phones, which had been priming them for months. It asked them to stop thinking. It told them they were content to be mindless. It flashed faster and faster, the colours beginning to spin faster too. Fielding knew the sounds they were hearing would be quickening as well, ensuring that their bodies were reacting on every level to their programming. Fielding could control them, heart, mind, and soul. Bee was trying to fight it; she was losing though.

He stepped closer, taut with anticipation as he studied Neal, whose eyes were locked on the screen. His mouth hung slightly open. There was drool collecting in the corner and those eyes, those eyes were empty. Fielding had never been so aroused. He had to wipe his hands on his pants to try to calm down, avoiding touching anywhere near his rigid penis. Fielding had a firm rule about masturbation; he wouldn't submit to it. He avoided all bodily pleasures. That was why the temptation these two had hammered him with was so unholy, and why he'd had to fight against it with his programs. It couldn't be allowed to continue. He would make them both service him for the first and only time -- and he would look as he pleased upon their naked forms and reassure himself that they were nothing special -- and he would proceed with his life as normal.

It was academic, really.

But, fuck, Neal had gone under so easily. It was like he wanted to be owned. He must, somehow, know what Fielding was planning. He must have been longing for this all along.

Fielding's penis ached at the knowledge that Neal was letting himself be brainwashed, to allow him to service Fielding as he, Neal, must have been longing to all this time. But Fielding stepped back, refusing to give in just yet. He looked at Bee, who was beginning to give in. Her muscles had loosened and she was going limp and thoughtless against Neal's arm, her dark eyes once again fixed on the screen. Some hair had escaped her bun and was sticky against her forehead with sweat. As he watched her, something in her gaze gave way, some spark in her vanishing ... and he saw her mouth slacken. He saw the exact moment she gave in to the compulsion and became, just like Neal, empty.

The temptation to touch his penis was so strong Fielding was almost shaking with it. He'd never needed his hand so much before. He'd never been so aroused. He was even beginning to feel damp at the tip, like a nocturnal emission. It was thoroughly alarming. But the procedure must be followed. He couldn't give in now; he'd known temptation would be high throughout the process.

Stage two. The symbol to maintain their mindlessness would now alternate with one that would flood them both with pleasant brain chemicals. Bonding chemicals. They would feel happy and safe. They would be happier than they could remember being; they would feel like there was nowhere they'd rather be than right here, stupid and content.

Fielding watched closely. Watched the patterns play out over Neal's glasses and in the reflection in Bee's dark eyes. Watched it begin to take hold. But still, even though he was anticipating it, the moment the both of them -- Neal first, but Bee not so long after -- fell into the next pattern and small but satisfied smiles shaped their expressions ... he felt it all the way through his body. He had to close his eyes and remind himself to breathe. He opened them, saw his housemates' continued dopey smiles, and something in his chest hurt.

Alarmed, he took a walk around the room. Stunned by how dazed he looked in his mirrors, his hair more ruffled and less artful from anxiously running his hands through it. Shocked by the sight of his penis pushing against the tight fabric of his crotch. Surprised by the size of his pupils. And, behind him, the colours pumping on. His housemates silent and happy.

Fielding kept his hands at his side. He wouldn't give in. It wouldn't be long now. Soon they would slake his desire. Soon.

Soon.

#

Neal lazed in pleasure. He was perfectly aware of where he was, sinking into the softest, warmest couch in the universe, surrounded by people he loved with every piece of his heart. He loved this couch, and he loved Bee, and he loved Fielding, and he was so happy to love them. Those were the only thoughts he had and they were good. Oh, but he loved the colours too, and happily waited for them to keep making him feel so good, better than he'd ever felt in his life. He wasn't tired or stressed. He was just content.

The colours and sounds that were making Neal so good had slowed. Neal dozed in the slowness, his whole body slowing too. Something in the sound had altered. Neal realised that he could move like he couldn't before. But he had no desire to. He would stay here as long as the colours did. As long as his loved ones were with him.

Fielding came back. Neal realised it was a good thing that he could move now, lifting his head and looking at his friend. Smiling warmly with affection at the sight of him. Though it worried him that Fielding wasn't smiling. He looked wide-eyed and anxious. Neal wished he could feel as good as Neal did right now; he'd never had such a quiet brain as the colours had given him. No thoughts except good ones. Just empty happiness.

Distantly, Neal noted that Fielding had one hell of a hard-on. It felt like normally this would be more startling to him than it was right now. Now, it was just something he noticed and accepted warmly because nothing could make him feel alarmed now. He just hoped Fielding felt good. He wouldn't even mind if the man jerked it right here. So long as he felt good. It was important to feel good.

It was important to feel good.

Neal realised that the colours were speeding up again. The sound was different once more. A different beating heart. Soft sounds below the throbbing, like gasps.

It was important to feel good.

Neal traced the fingers of one hand in an idle circle as he watched the screen, always one step behind the flashing signs so that he didn't really know what they were. Vaguely aware he was trailing his nail along the fabric of Bee's legging, stroking her inner thigh. It didn't seem such a big deal. It was important to feel good. The heartbeat was going steadily now, Neal's matching it. He was breathing quicker. So was the headset. Soft gasps growing quicker. The colours pulsing hot. Flushing. Throbbing. A surge of heat. Neal felt it all through his body, his cock startling awake.

The receding touch of calm. He relaxed. His cock settled down. He looked around and met Fielding's eyes, smiling tenderly and seeing the other man blush hot. With that came the heat again; Neal didn't even need to be looking at the screen because when the sounds cued him, his body reacted automatically. He knew the colours were whirling, hot, passionate, longing; his body surged too. His cock thickening with every rapid beat of his heart, his face flushing, his skin prickling warm, his airways expanding. He gasped for air as his body strained, horny as hell. He felt a cool trickle of something on his belly and broke eye contact with Fielding to look down at himself, seeing the head of his cock swollen and poking from the loose waistband of his sweatpants. The foreskin fully retracted so the slit was visible, pre-come drooling from it.

Neal was examining this with happy contentment when another flush of heat came, so he got to see his body respond. His cock jerked in place, contained by his pants. Another thin spurt of pre-come dripping onto the end of his shirt. His fingers rubbing Bee's leg where she was squirming beside him. He looked at her and she was flushed red, her nipples standing hard under her shirt. The colours were making her so good too.

The heat receded and they both settled back into the couch with twin sighs of pleasure. Neal's cock softened, though his balls were heavy with come and they ached. But it was a good ache and Neal dozed in the slow colours, the small dribbles of pre-come that hadn't gotten his shirt cooling on the bared skin between his shirt and waistband.

But it was different, this dozing. The sounds were different. Much like the symbols, something was being flashed at Neal through the headset now, but in a way where his mind wasn't retaining what was being sad. Instructions, he thought, or maybe he didn't think at all. His mind was being filled up. When it was done being filled, the voices whispered, the warmth would return. It would be good. Better. He would be so happy.

So he dozed in the colours, listening to the voices, being filled where he'd been made empty.

#

Fielding was panting. He kept switching his gaze from the head of Neal's penis -- he was whole, unlike Fielding, and Fielding had never seen a whole, aroused penis, which was driving him wild -- to the way Bee's nipples were altering the shape of her shirt. Both were making him delirious with desire. He wanted to touch something. If not himself, then them. But he couldn't touch. That would interrupt. They were in the final stage, anyway. Soon they would take the headset off and love -- he meant, obey him. They would obey.

He leaned against the wall, rocking slightly back and forth so that his penis rubbed on the fabric of his briefs, even though it almost hurt. It was something. He needed something. And this wasn't masturbation.

Bee's nipples were still hard, though less than they had been, even though she was in the programming stage. She was limp all over, eyes closed, focused solely on the voices in the headset telling her who she was now. Neal, though he too had his eyes closed and was sagged, boneless, into the couch, had completely lost his erection. Fielding stared hard at his housemate's crotch, mouth dry at the memory of how it had tented up, filled out, and eventually escaped its confines. The sight of that wet head spurting like ... like ...

He rocked a little quicker, his breath coming fast. Unable to resist.

He crept forward, eyes locked on the dribbles of pre-ejaculate he could see dripped on a sliver of bare abdomen. A thin trail of dark hair leading down below the waistband. His penis throbbed hot. He was sweating all over.

He crouched by his housemate, smelling their sweat, smelling something thick and salty, and touched a trembling finger to one of those dribbles. Feeling hot, damp skin in the brief second of contact; and almost losing his mind as the merest brush of his finger to Neal's abdomen caused Neal to twitch his hips upward once along with a truly decadent gasp of a moan. His long-lashed eyelids flickering and that stupid, vacant smile settling in place.

Fielding retreated, feeling slick in his pants, feeling hot and bothered all over. With his fingertip of pre-ejaculate that he had no idea why he'd felt possessed to touch. Seeing the colours beginning to speed up on the screen and realising that the final stage was beginning.

On the couch, Bee's chest was beginning to move quicker as her breathing increased. Her nipples were stiffening fully once more. She bit her bottom lip and squirmed as Fielding stared at her. As she'd been told by the programming, she let her legs fall open so he could see between them, at the crotch of her tight leggings in their dark fabric. Darker at the crotch. She was so aroused her secretions were soaking through her panties ... or she wasn't wearing them.

Fielding put his fingers to his lips, forgetting -- or perhaps, not forgetting, but he was absurd with arousal right now, so he was sure he could be forgiven -- the substance upon them. Tasting salt upon the tip. Licking it clean anyway. Switching his gaze to Neal, whose grip was now tight on Bee's leg. His eyes were open but he wasn't looking at anything. His glasses were foggy and he was panting, pink-cheeked. His penis was poking free again, twitching like it had a life of its own. Positively dripping. His hips twitching upwards in small, spasmodic jerks.

Fielding had designed the programs. He knew what happened next. They wouldn't be allowed to come unless they submitted entirely. They would be kept here on the edge, until they slipped gleefully over. Until they threw themselves over. The animals. Beholden to the whims of their baser desires, not even realising that they were giving everything away. Bee, anyway. She would hate the submission even as she orgasmed herself into it. But Neal -- Fielding's eyes were drawn back to the swollen, purple head of Neal's penis, so different to Fielding's, and he felt again that Neal wanted this. Fielding laid a hand against his own crotch, just to feel if his penis felt as hard as Neal's looked. Pushing his hips forward into his palm. Watching the pre-ejaculate dribble again up Neal's stomach as his hips jerked. Fielding's hips twitching in unison. He wanted this. He was submitting. He must know what was happening to his brain; he was too intelligent not to. So intelligent -- a doctor, almost -- and yet Fielding had captured him, reprogrammed him, enslaved him --

Neal moaned, head tipping back. Glasses askew. His cock standing rigid as his entire body tightened in place. In the beat where he didn't seem to breathe or move, Fielding rocked his body harder against his palm. Just to feel. To ease. To test. He was breathing so fast. He felt dizzy. He felt -- he was -- he was --

"Yes," breathed Neal, his voice almost like sex itself. As he eased out the word, his body tremored all over, and then ejaculate positively burst from the slit of his penis. His penis twitched and jerked as it spewed its mess all over him, Neal going sodden into the couch, his eyes open and staring, his mouth locked into a brainless, happy smile. Bee sobbed, but the sob was a moan too, half turning to look at him with -- briefly -- full awareness in her eyes. She knew he was gone as the ejaculate coated his stomach. She knew, Fielding's brain nattered at him, as he pressed his crotch tight against his palm with his whole body locking into some inescapable motion, that Neal was his now, fully and completely, that his brain had submitted and she would submit too but that even if she didn't she could never have him back because he was happy, he was good, he was --

"Neal," rasped Fielding, his mouth moving without his input as the motion dragged over him, held back only by sheer force of will. "Neal." His command snapped. Neal sat up sluggishly, headset half off. Looked at him. The beautiful vacancy in those so-clever eyes. "Bee is resisting me. Help her. Make her feel as good as you do."

Neal smiled. And nodded.

And turned towards the girl who, as Fielding knew the programming had told him, had once been his friend but now that he'd submitted, meant nothing to him except when Fielding told him she did.

And at the thought of having so much control over someone, some much complete and absolute control -- the knowledge that Neal would now happily help Fielding brainwash his best friend into sexual submission -- Fielding felt his own control collapse. He fumbled his belt. He struggled with his zip. And he pulled his penis free into his hand, watching hungrily as Neal obeyed.

#

Bee felt tears on her cheeks. She'd never fought to focus so hard, despite the whispering, despite her body being oh so close to coming she could feel her walls fluttering like they were begging for cock, any cock. But she knew if she didn't break free now, she'd forever be happy, no, not happy -- she'd forever be content, no. She'd forever be ... be ...

That was the moment she heard Neal's gory yes beside her as he gave in, turning her head and watching as he come furiously with the force of the pleasure that brought him. Devastated as it happened because she knew he was giving in to the whispers, the beautiful colours; jealous as it happened because she knew he was so, so happy now; frightened as it happened because watching his cock come with such force almost made her come in unison, so turned on by the sight she was. She'd have done anything to roll over and whisper yes too -- no.

To have his cock inside her, coming as he cried yes and she cried yes too -- no, no, no.

To have Fielding's cock inside her.

Her pussy throbbed.

To make him feel good. To be good. To be content.

She was dripping down her leg.

She was staring into Fielding's eyes. He was ice cold attractive. She wanted to suck his cock.