Out Of Body, Out Of Mind

That, of course, made me think of earlier today, when I was injected with whatever it was the scientists had given me.

How lame did that sound - the scientists. Like this was some Hollywood sci-fi with a conspiracy or something. All I'd done is signed up for a medical trial, thinking it would be a new vaccine or something. Even when the guy, the scientist, had told me what was up, it was with rolled eyes and shrugging shoulders, as though everyone thought it was bullshit, all for a paycheck from some crazy benefactor with a fringe theory about 'psychic energy'.

And now here I was, possessing people.

I laughed. There, leaning on my door as I was. I laughed at myself for how silly the thought was. How backwards an idea could be.

It made more sense that the injection made me hallucinate the experience. Made me create the experience in my drug-addled mind as I listened to the two hot neighbors fuck. Somewhere in my madness, I had got up and gone outside, looking to join them properly.

That made far more sense. It wasn't exactly reassuring, especially in the sense that I might be losing my mind to some untested drug - I was patient number one, of course - but at least it wasn't, you know, psychic powers.

The sound of the soup burning over brought me back to reality, as the sour scent of my ruined dinner found my nose. Hurrying through to the kitchen to turn off the stove gave me a sense of reality that was much too lacking, apparently.

I laughed again, not really convincing myself this time of my levity, and decided that I needed to sleep off the madness. I would order some take-away, knowing the thousand pounds was coming before my rent went out, and use a pizza to eat away my worries before falling asleep in my own bedding.

Right. Yes. Good idea, Phoebe. Good, reality-based idea.

~3~

I awoke to the rude interruption of my alarm, blaring out some awful new pop tune the radio station was insisting was the 'new hot thing'. Ugh.

It was Sunday, which, depressingly, meant work. My weeks were a mix of Uni scheduling, shifts as an intern in an office across the city (I barely cared what they did - it was just about getting enough paid hours in to feed myself), and finding time to do coursework at home as well. I was studying English, with a focus on Language Acquisition, which was interesting and fascinated me to no end - but didn't really translate into getting a day job.

Someone once made a joke about how archeologists only got jobs training other archeologists, with the promise of exploring the pyramids as empty incentive, which made it a literal pyramid scheme. Chances were, my career was on a similar trajectory, just without the satisfaction of a good punchline at the end.

I rolled out of my twin bed, checked my phone, saw that I had a missed call from a number I didn't recognise and hoped that those fucking scientist guys hadn't sold my phone number in some elaborate scam, and went to make some coffee to wake me up.

A chill ran through me, the November frost starting to seep in through the single-glazed windows of my flat, and I decided I should probably start wearing more than undies and a t-shirt to bed. Time to invest in pyjamas.

My phone pinged at me, and I flicked it open to see a text from the same number I'd missed a call from . Only now did it register that the call was from this morning, not last night. At 6am sharp. Huh.

The text said, Ms. Canning, this Martin Finley from your volunteer work yesterday. Since your participation, the study has ceased due to health concerns brought on by a subsequent participant. You will still receive your compensation this coming Friday, but if you have any questions or concerns please do not hesitate to get in touch.

Well, now I had a name at least - Martin Finley.

Health concerns from other people involved wasn't a great thing, but aside from some hallucinations and some burning headaches I was fine. Well, maybe that wasn't fune. But I wasn't dead or anything.

Plus, if I was still getting paid, frankly I had other things to think about.

I texted back, Hi Martin. Thanks for letting me know. Will get back to you tonight - I have work today. Had some headaches. Phoebe.

That should do it.

I dressed - the same clothes as yesterday with a spritz of fabric cleaner and a heavy layer of deodorant to freshen me up - and packed my stuff for work. As an intern, most of the time I was just filing papers for people, but I knew that my boss was looking to hire some new people on, and I'd rather keep this shit job than search for a new one.

With one last suspicious glance at the sofa that had been the scene of my episode, or whatever you want to call it, I left. On with the day. Immediately out the door I was confronted with a tone that I feared would follow me around for the whole day - Zara and Alex, getting ready for their morning run.

Alex barely looked at me, and I felt my heart sink at the fact that my rug-induced fantasy wasn't real. He was beautiful, and had felt so good. It was a little shameful, but there was no part of me pretending that my tryst with Alex, however fabricated, wasn't going to be the basis for a lot of my self-love sessions going forwards. The thought of him cumming in me, me whimpering and calling him daddy - it was too good to let go of.

Zara's eyes didn't glaze over me so easily. She gave me a look that I hadn't seen in her before - I'd felt annoyance, mistrust, even disgust.

But never whatever it was on her face now. Suspicion? Confusion? Hatred, even? Whatever it was, it was intense, and following on from yesterday's psychedelic trip or psychotic episode, or whatever it was, I didn't need that doubt in my head. Doubting my own reality. What had happened.

The only explanation was that I was high. Anything else was ludicrous.

So, I chose to just move past them. I sped up, trundled down those manky steps, and almost ran from that building before anything had a chance to catch up with me.

Work, seeing as I managed to get their fifteen minutes early, was blissfully quiet when I arrived. The office manager, Neil, was a bloated man of fifty-something and a habit of having no other life to think of, so it wasn't a surprise to see him there; the fact that it was only him was a treat. Slightly less treat-like was the fact that we arrived at almost the same time, meaning we would be sharing the trip up.

We had a floor of a high-rise in central Newcastle to ourselves, effectively. Floor fifteen. The lifts were cramped and cold, just like everything in this city, and Neil's mass almost filled the box. I hated to be cruel about weight - lord knows I'm no stick insect myself - but with Neil it was a case of personality, too. He was big, boisterous and loud, filling up a room with his personality as much as his person. Most of the time this meant he was fun - at least to the other guys. But for myself and the other women who had worked here (most of whom quit not long after), it was an environment of testosterone and misplaced sexless anger that didn't exactly feel welcoming to a twenty-something with a money problem. Neil had power over me, in more ways than one. And he knew it.

Not that he was the type to take advantage or anything like that. No, he was more a watch-your-butt-as-you-walk-past type of guy. He'd come over and stand over me while I sat, so he had a clear, unobstructed view of my cleavage - but he'd never actually touch me. He knew what the lines were. For a lot of places, this was a welcome dynamic. For me, it was... distressing, but I was able to deal. I could manage a guy who wanted something he knew he couldn't have. As soon as he decided he could have it, there was a problem.

So, we rode the lift up together, gave a polite nod, and Neil went off into his office on the left while I went right, into the communal office. It was a box room, with off-white walls and grey carpets, with eight computers on desks separated by thin blue dividers - god forbid any actual human contact in a work environment after all. At the moment, I had a desk to myself, but that was only because we were understaffed. Of course, this was the best thing for me, because it meant I had an opportunity to show Neil that I wanted the full-time job. I knew this would destroy any hope I had of effectively managing my tie with Uni, but without money there wasn't much point in worrying about anything else. A girl gotta eat.

So, I dropped my bag and phone, and even though it would be my second coffee before nine am, I walked through to the kitchenette to make myself and Neil a drink. I figured it might put him in a good mood, and I could do with all the good karma I could get.

It took less than a minute, so by the time I was walking the cup through to Neil it was barely ten-to. No one else had bothered to come in yet. That must all count for something, right?

I pushed Neil's door open, and he straightened up all of a sudden, flustered. I got the feeling he might have been doing something... inappropriate, but despite a brief freeze I tried to power through, ignoring it.

'Coffee,' I said, planting it on his desk.

'Oh, uh, thanks. Phoebe.'

I nodded, and he smiled, keeping his waistline pressed to the edge of his table. Don't look grossed out, Phoebe. Don't give it away that you know.

I gave him a last smile, realised that as I'd bent down to put the mug on his table, he'd been staring down my top, and left without another word.

After closing the door behind me, I shivered a horrible shiver, and went to my desk to consume my own red-hot caffeine-kick. God, I hated this place. Why was I trying so hard to stay?

Oh yeah. That's right. I had nowhere else to go.

I sat, and as soon as I did I had that pressure again. I groaned, more annoyed than anything. If I was having residual effects from that injection, I was going to have to call that Martin and have my voice heard. No way was I putting up with this forever. To be honest, the thought of maybe getting some compensation crossed my mind. That would be lovely.

Still, I rubbed my temple as the headache quickly turned nasty - and all of a sudden-

*

I was in Neil's office. In his chair. At his desk.

Oh, God, this is real isn't it. I could feel him in me - or myself in him. Like a visitor. That was different to last time. Last time I was alone inside Zara, taking her over, feeling things instead of her. Now I was with Neil, like a passenger. Watching, feeling.

What could I feel?

I could feel his arousal. He had been playing with himself before I came in. The pretty intern. He had a fantasy about being the big, powerful boss, using my job as leverage to fuck me. To turn me into his workplace slut. He would make me sit under his desk and suck his cock while he sent emails and video-called colleagues.

He wanted me to be his slut. I could feel it, the lust at my memory in his mind. He thought of my tits, imagining my body, bent across his desk as he fucked me from behind. Maybe he would fuck me anally. He was sure I hadn't done that before - I looked too stuck up. He wanted to take my anal virginity.

I should have been horrified. I should have been revolted at the thought of my boss, this ugly man who wanted nothing but to dominate and humiliate me, being in the next room fantasising about what he would do to me.

But I wasn't.

It was like I wasn't just along for the ride in his body - I was along for the ride in his mind. I could feel the arousal, the lust - all of those powerful untapped urges roiling under the surface. It was intoxicating.

Under the desk, I felt his cock. He had had it out when I walked in. He liked to have it out for hours at a time at work - and he would stay hard the entire time. The risk made him insatiable. Not like at home - his wife was frigid and unappealing. No, he wanted the intern.

He wouldn't wank. No. Instead he would edge himself, softly humping the underside of his desk all day, the tip of his fat cock dragging against the wood, never doing more than the very least needed to keep him rock hard. Then, at the end of the day, he would wait until everyone had left, and go to the toilets to cum into the sink - it was always huge, especially when he had been fantasizing about the intern. Phoebe.

I felt him resist from wanking, his cock begging for attention. I needed it, too. I needed to feel his release, and I didn't want to wait all day.

So, I made him touch it.

He was shocked, knowing this wasn't what he wanted to do. I could feel him in here with me, trying confusedly to stop me. He didn't know I was here. But as I made his fingers wrap around his cock, reaching under the desk like the pervert he was, I knew I had power. I could control him, like this. I could make him cum, and I could feel it alongside him.

So, I made him move. God, it felt so different. It was so direct, so simple. As a woman, an orgasm was to be tempted, teased and toyed out with experienced hands, tongues and cocks. As a man, it could be pumped out, a freight train of pleasure rocking through his body, unable to resist, unable to stop.

The tip felt the best, but it was almost too sensitive. It felt amazing to stroke the length, with tension on the head, softly twisting as I went. It was an instrument of lust, after all, and the simplicity didn't mean there weren't tricks.

I realised, after shifting back on the chair a little, that Neil's cock was actually rather well-endowed - an easy seven inches. All of a sudden, in my lust-filled mind, it didn't seem like such an ugly idea to be stuck under that desk, tasting the tip of his cock for hours on end. I imagined, as the thoughts came to me or Neil - it was hard to tell - fucking my own throat, my lips spread lewdly around the thick shaft as he held my head in his fat fist, forcing it down me. I didn't care whether it would feel nice on the other end - I knew it would be incredible on my cock.

Neil's hand kept pumping as I imagined the swell of my throat, remembering swallowing cum and how it felt to taste it on my cum - how would it feel to have it sucked from my shaft?

I needed to cum. I needed Neil to cum, right here, under his desk, like the sexual animal he could be. I needed to feel his orgasm, while he thought of me.

Oh, god it felt so good.

'Huhhhn,' Neil's mouth moaned, and I realised that wasn't me. That was the real Neil, also along for the ride, his cock being ravaged by a phantom hand, not obeying his will. How must that have felt? 'Fuucl,' he hissed, trying to keep his voice down. Again, he thought of me, on the other side of the office. He wondered whether I would walk in on him.

He had no idea.

So, I fucked him with his own hand. I fucked myself, had my pleasure build and build and build, before erupting from me in streams of thick cum. It was heaven, sharp and smooth and electric, making my whole body shake as Neil's cum painted the underside of the desk.

With that, I sighed, and allowed myself to slip.

The heat wasn't so bad this time. Nor the pain.

*

I was still in my chair, but as my mind came back to my body I jolted up, as though I had almost dozed off in a meeting, but my head dipping woke me up. The memories were real - I could tell that straight away. But only one thing would confirm for me whether that had just happened, or if I was going crazy.

Well, I might be going crazy either way.

I needed a video.

I needed concrete, actual proof of what was happening. I needed to get myself, and someone else, in a closed environment, and have video evidence of my control over someone. Because that really didn't feel like an episode, or a hallucination, or anything else like that.

So, as I heard the lift open and the chatter of some of the actual employees enter, I formulated a plan. One that would make everyone happy, and let me know if I was losing my mind or not.

~4~

As predicted, the day passed without much activity. I was mostly ignored by the people who worked here, I didn't learn anything about what the company actually did either than need expense report filing away, and Neil seemed awfully reluctant to leave his office all day.

The plan I had devised earlier in the day was... daring. Maybe stupid. But, if I was crazy, and none of the things I'd been seeing - or feeling - were real, it wouldn't have any lasting effects.

If they were real, I'd have proof. And some other perks.

Either way, I needed quiet, and I needed privacy - which meant I had to wait for everyone but Neil to leave. As it was a Sunday, and loads of the people here had negotiated split-days on weekends, most of the workforce had ducked out by four pm, and the stragglers were all running home for that last hour of daylight by five.

Now or never, Phoebe.

'See ya,' I mumbled to one of the accountancy guys as he was on his way out. I waited until the doors to the lift shut, and immediately went to Neil's door. I took a moment, hyping myself up, and kept my phone in my hand.

I knocked.

'Yeah?' came the answer, so I cracked the door. As soon as he saw me, he straightened up again, though because I knocked this time I assumed he wasn't actually cock-out this time. Probably just nervous.

'Hey, could I talk to you about something? About balancing work and Uni.' It was the best cover I could think of. If nothing else happened, I could actually talk to him about it, and it would be enough of an issue to justify my next question.

He nodded, so I entered, making sure to shut the door behind me. 'Do you mind if I record the conversation? I've been told by the University to keep a record.'

He frowned, but shrugged. 'Sure, Phoebe.'

He remembered my name now, at least.

I set up my phone, using the case so it was pointed at me, and hit record. I'd made sure to dump enough storage-clogging content throughout the day, so I had way more than enough space. No chances being taken.

Now I was all set up, I feigned nerves. I wanted him to be open, even caring. Really, I was just trying to focus. On that heat, that pain - those sensations I was getting good at. As well, I wanted this to be the version of 'psychic' - if that's what I was to call it - where we would share his brain, instead of whatever happened with Zara. I needed to figure that out later.

I focused, searching my mind for that feeling. Willing the headache into being, like a deep bassline thrumming in my forehead.

It started. I couldn't help the smile.

*

I was Neil again. The sensation was... unreal. Piloting him like he was my own body, and yet there was always this... resistance. I could feel him in there with me, fumbling for control, but I was stronger. I was directed, and committed. Plus, I needed proof. I needed to know what I was feeling, experiencing, was real.

So, as Neil, and knowing the camera was filming, I put the plan into motion. I knew it would be, in a way, cruel - but I needed to know what was happening to me, and that required using another person. To make sure this never got out, I knew I needed some way to stop him talking about this to anyone. Combine that with knowing how he felt about me, and the idea had come to me almost fully-formed. All I had to do was suppress my conscience.

Before me, slumped in my seat, was the body of me. Currently vacant. I had wondered how it would look, and it was almost funny. I was limp, like I was asleep. Or drugged. Perfect.