tagMind ControlRevenge of the Nerdette

Revenge of the Nerdette

byNoJo©

"Hi. You're Mick Clarke, right? Thanks for coming. Please remove all of your clothes, and then sit on the blue chair on the other side of this lab bench to me." Alice didn't remove her gaze from the computer monitor.

Mick peered around the cluttered, strip-lit electronics lab while he undressed efficiently and smugly. He'd replied to her emailed request for volunteers as a response to the ribbing by his drinking chums from the University Rugby Club: He'd once confided to them that he thought he could have made a good male stripper. He looked the part: a virtually hairless body like a Rodin sculpture, with a slightly brutish face rendered unthreatening by a scruffy mop of straw-coloured hair, giving him (when clothed) the appearance of a viscount who liked to race vintage Bugattis. He relished (and often received) lascivious stares from women.

He was also intelligent, wealthy, charismatic and unaware of any immediate danger.

He could see the pale-blue glow of the phosphor characters reflected in the lenses of Alice's large glasses. Her eyes were small and pale-lashed, two fruit flies behind the thick lenses. A small beak of a nose and, down-turned mouth gave her the look of an emaciated, featherless owl.

Mick, to one of his friends, had previously described her "a bit of a minger" and "either a total nutcase, nympho or a dyke, possibly all three". He would turn out to be at least 33% accurate in this character assessment.

"Do you spell your last name with an 'E'?" She pecked at the keyboard with two ink-stained and almost nail-less fingers

"..A..R..K..E. Okay! You're entered in the system. Now Mick, do you know why you're here?" She peered at him myopically from across the lab bench.

He had a sudden urge to say, "So you can watch me play with my dick" but decided to play it straight.

"Yes, I got your email along with all the other lads in the team. Not that any of us understood much besides the fact that you wanted volunteers -- male volunteers, for a kind of 'lie detector experiment' for your final year thesis.

You know, if you weren't such a genius, we'd all have thought – I mean, you're going to get a first anyway, so why bother? Everyone knows you've cleverer at biophysics than – than that chap in the wheelchair. I bet you'll end up winning the Nobel Prize."

"Wheelchair? Oh, Stephen Hawking. Not actually the same field. 'Why bother?' Well, Mick, I just want to make sure of my theory."

"What exactly is your theory? – Answers on one side on the paper only."

"Well, putting it simply, I'm ascertaining whether the M2 segment of acetylcholine receptor channel displays different physical characteristics in, erm, young men than it does in other people. You see I believe that... Sorry, boring! Anyway I'll hopefully publish my thesis in the Journal of Bioelectronics. You can read it then, if you want."

"You're going to discuss me masturbating in an electronics journal!?"

Alice, as Mick had expected, took this question seriously and sought to allay his anxiety. "No, as my email told you, all volunteers will be assured of absolute anonymity, no names, or photographs, and besides..."

"Besides what? Don't know how to describe this?" He hooked three fingers under his ample penis. God she was either a total sociopath, or was absolutely brilliant at keeping a straight face.

"...Besides, I don't think that I'll have enough room for any detailed descriptions of individual subjects' behaviour". Alice's lips twitched and she adjusted her glasses slightly. Mick took this gesture to be as close as she could get to actually smiling. Chalk one point to him. "Okay. Just breaking the ice".

There was a pause while Alice returned to the computer keyboard and tapped furiously. Lines of code scrolled frantically up the screen.

"What's going on now? Hey how long is this going to take, I'm going out tonight".

Mick was hoping to "slip one in" later with a girl he'd met yesterday.

"I'm kicking off the program. Okay it's initializing now. In a few minutes we'll be ready to start. In the meantime I'll wire you up with the probes."

"What probes, look, I'm not into..."

"The probes, Mick, have two functions." Alice assumed the tone of a science lecturer giving an oft-repeated talk (which was exactly what she was doing). "In the first place, they measure information about your skin resistance, body temperature, the ratio of certain amino acid components of your sweat, and relay those measurements through these wires, to my computer here." She tapped the side of her monitor with the chewed end of a ballpoint pen.

"In the second place, they act as transmitters, sending signals back from the computer to your body in the form of slight electrical sensory and motor stimuli to your skin. And the muscles below your skin." Mick noticed her flick an almost guilty glance at his chest. Victory.

"Olfactory input is also utilised," she continued, looking up hastily, "Again all under programmatic control. Observe that plastic horn above your head..." - he snickered at the word - "... well, that device will waft a series of largely subliminal aromas to the vicinity of your nose.

"Finally, this VR headset will display a computer-generated sequence of sounds images, providing audiovisual feedback."

"Well," said Mick slowly with a grin that showed a two-hour old chewing gum, "You know, it all sounds to me like you're basically going show me a film. A porn film! It's not one I've seen, is it?"

"You can tell me afterwards."

"Aah. Hang on, I think I get it! You'll be able to tell what turns me on, just by looking at the output of your program, right?"

"Only after the data has been analysed. But that's not the main purpose of the exercise".

He rubbed his nose and leaned back, anticipating an amusing fairground ride. "Well, wire me up, Doctor McCoy!"

Alice walked around the lab bench over to him and began attaching the probes to his forehead, cheeks, neck, shoulders, arms and hands. Each one trailed a thin pair of wires. "I doubt if it interests you in the least," she chattered, to avoid the awkwardness of their sudden proximity as she leaned over him, "but the heart of the system is actually a very sophisticated neural net, which completely reprograms itself over one hundred thousand times a second..."

"Well, you're a neural nut, anyway", Mick said, not nastily, while Alice continued attaching further probes to his eyelids, the sides of his nose, his chest, stomach, waist, knees, even to the soles of his feet.

"Hey, you forgot one bit." Mick thrust out his pelvis.

"No I didn't," Alice replied, handing him the final four probes. "But I think I'll leave the last few for you to do yourself."

"Alright, if you want to pass up a chance of a lifetime..." Mick shrugged, which loosened one of the probes on the nape of his neck. Alice pressed it back while she instructed him on the exact placement of the final probes.

"And now we're almost done. I'll put the VR headset on you myself, so we don't dislodge the probes on your face. There, all ready. Now please rest your hands gently on the end of the armrests... and please try to keep still and not to talk".

Alice returned to her side of the lab bench and resumed tapping at her computer keyboard.

" Okay, Mick. Relax. Can you see a small reddish dot in the foveal centre of your field of view?"

The dot was impossible to avoid, following his eye movements precisely. As Mick watched, the dot began to distort and pulsate. It grew steadily, past the edges of his vision until he felt as though he were engulfed by a swirling, blood red sea. He heard, (imagined he heard?) a humming, burbling noise, the synaesthetic analogue of the image.

After few seconds (minutes?) concrete images began to form. Mick's eyes roamed. The probes on his temples and eyelids monitored the smallest dilation of his pupils, or flicker of his optic muscles.

The pictures seemed almost random at first: houses, trees, buses, a schoolroom, cows in a field, a palm beach by moonlight.

Gradually Mick noticed that images of people started to predominate. There were film stars leaving the Oscars, famous politicians, even students from his own college. A woman that looked like his brother's wife flicked in and out of view too quickly for him to recognise for sure.

He could feel the probes working, as though thousands of ants were marching purposefully in complex patterns all over his body. He dimly imagined the ants continuing their march back and forth along the wires connecting him with Alice's computer.

He smelled oranges, heard galloping horses.

Soon the images started clustering around a definite theme. Women, girls, young men, attractive, sometimes naked or semi-naked crowded the screen. Some of the women were real dogs, he murmured to himself vaguely, others were fit! Fuck, some of the men were pretty fit too, he thought privately. Numbers flashed past on Alice's screen.

"Oh, shi-i-it...!" Mick murmured. He'd begun to sense that every time he lingered on an image he liked, other, similar images began to cluster around it, almost as though they were vying for his attention.

The images were becoming definitely sexual now – Well-endowed smooth-skinned men posing in handcuffs, ice-blond Nordic girls licking each other's breasts, raven-haired dominatrices brandishing whips.

The ants on his skin were now racing about crazily -- the probes were stimulating him quicker and more powerfully. The pulses made his muscles twitch and convulse. The feeling was not unpleasant. He grew hard.

Now Mick's skin felt like a bubbling sea of lava. The meaty aroma of overheated sex engulfed him. He heard a cooing, sighing chorus of women calling him from a vast crater in a black desert. "Come down to us, come lower, that's right, down the stairs, the spiral stairs..."

He moaned. Sweat dripped from his nose and ears. His eyes fluttered closed. The chorus, from a great distance it seemed, sang, commanding him to keep looking. The images raced down upon him like a flock of maddened pigeons. Every photo he'd ever masturbated over, every man or woman who'd given him a real or imagined sexual thrill seemed to surround him, touching him, prodding, stroking, poking, scratching, tickling, licking him.

His penis felt as if it would tear itself apart. He was about to come, he knew it... but "Not yet... not yet...you are not deep enough..." the voices sang to him.

Suddenly the mood changed, the images becoming more disturbing, more ominous, stranger, and also more detailed – realer but more fantastic. Violently, like a rush of black lava they erupted from a grinning volcano in his mind.

Now they coalesced and cooled... now they were reality...

...He was in a familiar bedroom, crimson, cream and white. Two identical scrawny girls (he recognised them, they were one of his friend's twin nieces) sat naked on him facing his feet, one on his erection, one on his face. His hearing muffled by her legs, he heard the girl on his face say, "This is what you get for stealing my Snickers, Uncle Mickey", as she began defecating in his mouth.

The girls bobbed and jiggled on him, singing and giggling. Then he felt panic as he realised he could no longer breathe – they were going to smother him. He came, yielding to the sensation of their small, cool buttocks pressing against his face and groin...

...He was in a curtained alcove in a bazaar that smelled of cumin and saffron. A grotesquely fat Asian-looking man appeared and smiled at him revealing a gold tooth. The man was naked except for a yellow chiffon neck scarf. He was oiled with patchouli and ylang-ylang.

He turned away to show Mick a great oily behind, and backed slowly towards Mick until it pushed against him. Mick's penis slithered between the huge slippery cheeks and he came deep inside the man, who crooned and wiggled, urging him on in a strange language. The man farted loudly with every thrust.

Mick twisted and tightened the scarf at the man's neck with his right hand, while with the other he reached around and grabbed the man's short, wide erection, feeling hot semen trickling down his wrist as he strangled him...

...Now the scene changed to the college library where a very tall and sinewy vulture-woman with red-lidded eyes and a cruel grimace came nose to nose with him. She screamed a fierce curse in his face and he became paralysed.

With a swoop of her arms she dug deeply and powerfully into his flesh and quickly tore through into his abdomen with her long, black razor-sharp nails. She ripped him open like a dolls' house, reached inside him, wrenched out his stomach, and began to devour it like a starved dog, covering her face with his blood.

Then she dropped suddenly to her knees and chewed off his penis while he stood helpless and transfixed, unable even to scream in agony. She lifted it and held it close to his face, waving it at him triumphantly. She grabbed him by his hair and jerked his head down towards it. He began to weep. He watched his disembodied member ejaculating in her tight grip. She laughed, and leaned towards him. Licking his ears, she hissed at him that she would suck out his eyeballs while he bled to death...

...Now he beheld a paper-white young girl with crimson hair by Munch laid out spread-eagled on the cold tiled floor of a vast church.. She was emaciated and tubercular looking. She breathed quickly and shallowly, almost in a faint. He knelt, lifted her pelvis and fucked her. He turned her and fucked her anus. Turned her and fucked her mouth, eyes, ears, hair. He pinioned her arms as he lay on her, watching a trickle of his semen drip slowly from her lips, mixing with a sticky stream of blood from her nose.

She begged him soundlessly to stop.

He stifled her silent cries, squeezing her nostrils together with one hand, holding her lips together with the other. He watched her, feeling the ever-weakening attempts to free herself, till she expired. He fucked her corpse again and again, tearing and grinding her lips with his teeth. He heard her flesh rend as with superhuman force he hooked his arms around her legs and pulled them completely apart from her body...

...Then, suddenly, the hallucinations stopped. He was once more in the electronics lab. Standing before him was Marie, his date for that evening. She was naked. Alice was nowhere in sight.

Looking down at his arms he saw that the probes were still attached. They had slowed their stimuli until there were only intermittent sparks. He felt his face convulse with weird tics.

"Marie", he said, "You're early, we're not due to meet till later. Fuck, you look sexy!"

He only vaguely remembered what Marie looked like, having been pretty drunk when he first met her last night on a pub-crawl. He recalled her as a typical cheerleader type, with streaked-blond hair and a "fit" figure. Big tits, not too big though. Strong, runner's thighs.

But now as she stood before him her skin was a rippling surface of living, swirling erotic tattoos. Her labia seemed to continuously unfold like a shiny, bulbous flower, drawing him to her inexorably. Her glistening nipples were large and black-brown.

She gave off a magic perfume that captivated him, distilled from all the sweat and secret potions of all the whores since the dawn of time. He staggered towards her, almost swooning with desire, inhaling the maddeningly sweet, animal smell.

She stepped back. "Mick. It's me, Alice. You're awake now," she said, in a familiar voice.

She reached her hands to her hair and pulled slowly upwards. Her arms appeared to grow impossibly long as she continued pulling. Her hair and face stretched and stretched, ludicrously, eventually pulling off like a latex mask.

And he perceived that she was indeed Alice. But her body remained just as agonizingly desirable. The face was Alice's, but transformed by his deranged senses into a sucking, fluttering, pouting essence of sexuality. As he stared in dim awe at her purple evolving lips, he felt a tsunami of an orgasm rushing towards him. He plunged into her, drowning his face in her hair, frantically breathing in the overwhelming perfume till he choked and drooled.

He came, deep inside her, for minutes. When his orgasm was abating she pulled away slightly and looked into his eyes. "Come. Again. Now." She said. He lunged and immediately came again, sharply and painfully. Over and over, she pulled away a little and repeated the order. "Again. Come. Now." and he came. His felt his heart spasm. He must stop, before he suffered a coronary. But he knew he couldn't stop, not until she let him go. But she didn't let him go. The orgasms were dry now, and excruciatingly painful. Come. Now! He gripped her electric hair with one hand and her gyrating buttock with the other. He closed his eyes and clung onto her desperately as she writhed, a shipwrecked man to driftwood, praying for the wave that would finally drown him.

Finally she released him and spoke. "You will now dress, and then go through that door into the next room, where you will find a bed. You will sleep on the bed. When you awake, you will remember none of what has happened to you. You will get up and leave quietly through the fire exit at the far side of the next room."

She removed the probes and placed them carefully on the lab bench.

Mick dressed, swaying slightly, eyes half closed. He left the lab and instantly collapsed on the bed in the next room, unconscious.

Alice dressed, resumed her place at her computer and typed a few lines of instructions. The computer beeped.

There was a knock at the door. A tall, athletic looking boy came in with a slight smirk on his face.

"Hi. You're Paul Morphy, right? Thanks for coming. Please remove all of your clothes and sit on the blue chair on the other side of this lab bench to me... OK, You're entered into my system. Now Paul, do you know why you're here?"

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