
Message-ID: <56202asstr$1183954201@assm.asstr.org>
From: Don Winslow <dwin2001@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASSM} "A-10: A Mind Control Story" (D/s, M/F, mind control, exhib.)
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Date: Mon, 09 Jul 2007 00:10:01 -0400
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A-10:  A Mind Control Story (D/s, M/F, mind control, exhibitionism) 
By Don Winslow

Part 1: In the Interests of Science

They call the stuff A-10.  Dr. O'Connor was in charge of the project, 
some sort of top secret government program - the kind they do around 
here all the time.  I still don't exactly what A-10 is, but then I'm no 
scientist.  Just a lowly computer guy--"Computer Technician III" at 
Wildfire Labs.

It's not a bad job; loads of spare time; mostly manning the help desk, 
waiting for the phone to ring.   Usually pretty quiet.  So quiet in 
fact, I used to be able to kick back and do a little porn surfing on a 
boring afternoon.  At least I could do that till they put in the usage 
tracking software to spy on how the peons spent their time.  Actually, 
I was the one who installed that particular piece of shit!

Anyhow, now I sit in my cubicle and spend my free time browsing through 
the inter-office e-mail.  That's how I found out about A-10.  It ends 
up that they're developing this stuff for the CIA to use when they 
interrogate some terrorists they're holding in one of those detention 
camps.  I found out that they've been experimenting - trying it out on 
the ones they caught to see if they can make them more "cooperative."  
Now I really got interested!

It's no big thing for me to get access to lab notes on any of the 
projects, even though they think they're supposed to be so secure.  I 
can get in there anytime I want.  So I started reading up on A-10.  It 
turns out that it's designed to make the subject feel helpless, totally 
dependent on the interrogator.  A few drops in the morning's orange 
juice, and in an hour or so a guy's paralyzed.  He can't move a muscle. 
Then he goes into a kinda trance.  He can see and hear okay, but he 
can't move or speak.  While they're under like that they become 
supersensitive to their emotions, mood swings, that sort of thing.  
They don't seem to be sure of the long term effects of the drugs, but 
most of their test subjects would fall into a deep sleep afterwards, 
and when they woke up - they wouldn't remember a thing!

I was scrolling through the weekly summary on A-10, when Dr. O'Connor 
herself stuck her head into my cubicle to pester me about the new 
security system we were installing.  She was wearing sneakers, and I 
was so engrossed in what I was reading, I never heard her coming.  She 
scared the shit out of me!  I quickly closed the file and spun around 
to face her, praying she hadn't seen what was on my screen. 

Dr. O'Connor, "Meghan," she says we're supposed to call her, is a first 
class pain-in-the-ass; but she's one hot babe -- with a set of long 
legs that just won't quit.  In fact, the guys call her "Legs" O'Connor 
because one Saturday afternoon last summer, when she was off duty, she 
showed up at the lab in a pair of tight denim shorts with those tall 
and shapely legs on display from her toes all the way up to her crotch.  
A mouth-watering sight!  After that you couldn't help thinking of those 
gorgeous legs of hers, even though they were almost always hidden by 
the baggy pants she often wore under her lab coat.  Yeah, Legs O'Connor 
is a real piece all right; she is also an arrogant, stuck up bitch who 
treats the staff like dirt.  A pretty, but nasty piece, that Dr. 
O'Connor.

Right away she started giving me hell about not having the damned 
testing done.  I tried to explain that we had some real interface 
problems here, but she didn't want to hear it.  That bitch could sure 
be unreasonable, especially with the technical staff.  Finally, she 
said something about how if I couldn't get the job done, they'd find 
someone who could.  Then she stormed out.

*****
Driving home from work that night I got to thinking about A-10 and Dr. 
Meghan O'Connor.

I planned it all  very carefully.  One thing I knew about Legs O'Connor 
was that she was a workaholic.  I knew from the times on her e-mail 
that she sometimes worked long into the night after the lab was closed 
and everyone else was gone.  I knew she would take a break to eat a 
lunch at her desk, and I also knew she liked using the watercooler just 
outside of her office - kept it filled with some kind of fancy purified 
water that she liked.  I needed to hang around after work till I saw 
she was staying late. Then I'd make my move.

I knew it wouldn't be a problem to get my hands on some A-10.  I know 
this place is all top secret, and the public thinks that it's like CIA 
headquarters or something.  They'd be surprised. Sure, it's damn near 
impossible to get in the front door, but once you're in, and with the 
right clearances, you can go anywhere, do anything, and nobody's going 
to say a word to you.  I had an "Orange Badge," which meant that I had 
unrestricted access.  I waited for my chance, ducked into lab number 5, 
poured some of the clear liquid into a plastic coke bottle, screwed on 
the cap, and placed the bottle inside a lunch bag which went right into 
the bottom drawer of my desk.  It took less than a minute. Phase one 
accomplished!

Now I began staying late myself, waiting for the day when she would 
stay, pretending to be busy at my computer as people started to leave. 
Tying my webcam into the building's video system had been a stroke of 
genius on my part!  I could now watch the lobby while, one by one, the 
staff signed out at the front security desk. 

I had to wait almost two weeks, before I got my chance.  It was a 
Wednesday night, and I was sure she hadn't left her office.  The door 
was closed, but I hadn't seen her leave, and her office lights were 
still on.  A quick check of her computer showed she was on the 
intranet.  I raced on tiptoes down to the watercooler and back in 
record time.  Then with heart still pounding, wildly excited, I sat 
down to wait, scared, hoping and praying that she'd take the bait.  I 
sat in the darkened cubicle for what seemed to be forever.

It was just after 6:30 when I heard her door open.  I switched the 
video feed to the secretary's office right outside her door, and there 
I saw Dr. O'Connor go over to the watercooler.  She seemed to hesitate, 
but then filled up her cup and turned back towards her office.

I forced myself to count slowly to 60, then I crept down the hall to 
her office door.  I knocked.  No answer.
I knocked again, louder this time.  Again, no answer.  I knew she was 
in there.  Cautiously, I cracked open the door to peek inside.  I saw 
her standing there beside her desk.  Her back was to me, and she seemed 
to be looking out the picture window behind her desk.  The coffecup sat 
on the desk at her side.

Very quietly I said: "Dr O'Connor?"

The woman didn't move.

I tried it again, louder now.  Again there was no response.  She stood 
perfectly still.  I fought down the surge of wild elation.  I had done 
it.  Legs O'Connor was mine!

End Part 1

-----------------------------------------------------------------------
------------------------------

A-10: A Mind Control Story
By Don Winslow

Part 2: The Doc and I See Eye to Eye

I stepped into the room; quickly closed the door behind me.  Locked it. 
The woman stood erect, her hands at her sides.  She didn't move as I 
came up behind her, close enough to touch her. Standing inches away, I 
realized she actually was smaller than me, a slightly-built girl with 
fawn-colored hair that hung in a gentle curve to kiss the collar of the 
white lab coat she wore.  Her narrow shoulders were softly rounded, 
inviting a protective caress.  I touched a shoulder. No response.  I 
tapped on her shoulder, again, harder, but the rigid woman stayed in 
place, still as a statue.

I was sure she felt the touch, but she couldn't respond; totally unable 
to move; couldn't even make a sound.  In the few seconds it took the 
heaviness to come over her, she must have realized she had been 
drugged, probably even knew what it was - A-10!  By now she also knew 
that she was completely paralyzed, just like her test subjects. I'll 
bet her mind was racing a mile a minute trying to figure it out. She 
would be wondering how it had happened.  Probably thought she had been 
contaminated somehow.  

Now I slid my cupped hand up along that slim shoulder, over the collar 
of the lab coat, and onto her neck, slipping it under the smooth folds 
of fine brown hair. I let a handful of loose hair sift through my 
fingers, then moved the hair back to uncover a perfect little ear.  

It was exciting to be so close to this attractive woman, who stood with 
her back to me, knowing that some stranger was behind her, undoubtedly 
afraid by now, and totally helpless to do anything about it.  I had to 
work to get a grip on myself, as I leaned down to bring my lips to her 
ear. Her hair smelt nice and fresh.  I couldn't resist sliding my 
tongue down the side of her neck as I nuzzled her.  I whispered into 
her ear.

"Hi Doc.  Looks like you must of drank  something didn't agree with 
you.  But look at it this way.  Now you'll get to know what it feels 
like to be a test subject, first-hand.  The CIA guys are gonna love 
your report on this particular test!"

I stepped around to confront her for the first time.  Behind her wire-
rimmed glasses, recognition dawned in her pale blue eyes, as she 
realized who I was.  The circular glass disks made her eyes look even 
bigger.  And in those searching eyes I saw confusion, and a growing 
sense of panic.  I smiled, reached out, carefully removed the girl's 
glasses, and set them down on the desk.  Without her glasses she looked 
even smaller, more vulnerable.

"Ya know, Doc.  I always thought we should get to know each other 
better.  I know how much you like to be pals with the tech staff.  
We're all friends here, right? Well, here's your chance.  See, I want 
to know all about you Doc."

I stepped up and kissed her.  Her lips were soft but unresponsive. It 
was like kissing a statue -- a beautiful statue.

"Yeah, I want to learn all about you.  I want to know about that hot 
little body of yours, your tits, and your cunt, and your ass, and the 
color of the hair you got between your legs.  Oh, yeah, those legs of 
yours.  Do you know that's what they call you...'Legs?'  Well, Legs, it's 
time you and I got better acquainted."  

While I was talking to her, I touched her on the face, gently stroked 
her cheek with a single finger.  I was looking her right in those blue 
eyes, fascinated by the way they widened as I drew my finger over her 
lips, down her chin and neck and on down her front to trace the outline 
of her left breast through several layers of clothing.  I swear I felt 
the rigid girl quiver when I touched her breast.

I couldn't help grinning as I reached for the lab coat peeled it back 
off her shoulders and began dragging it down her limp, passive arms.  
Under the crisp white jacket she wore a sleeveless white blouse tucked 
into her navy blue skirt.  

 My hands were shaking as I reached for the top button.   Never taking 
my eyes off hers, I undid the first button, and was thrilled to see her 
growing fear suddenly flare into wild panic; the woman knew she was 
being undressed.  A guy was taking off her clothes, and there was not a 
damn thing she could do about it!  She simply couldn't move, not a 
muscle. Under other circumstances she would try to scream, but that too 
was denied to her. 

I patiently worked my way down the front of her blouse, pulled it out 
of her skirt, pushed the loose blouse back off her shoulders and 
dragged it down her loosely dangling arms.  Meghan O'Connor in her 
brassiere was an inspirational sight, and my cock responded with a 
surge of lust stiffening my already hard erection.

The bra was made of some kind of silvery blue fabric.  The silky cups, 
hard and shiny, pressed snugly against her slim chest.  I could see the 
girl's nipples through the thin shimmering silkiness. The thought 
flashed through my mind: Surprisingly pretty underwear for such an 
uptight bitch! 

I stepped behind her to get at the tiny catch, worked it open, and let 
the tight bra spring free to dangle loosely from her shoulders.  I 
slipped down the shoulderstraps, then scooped it up and dropped it, 
letting it fall to join the growing pile of clothes on the office 
floor, uncovering  a very pretty pair of pert breasts: sloping gently, 
with tautly rounded undercurves.  Meghan O'Connor's nipples were small 
hard nubbins, protruding like tiny pebbles from well-defined disks of 
pinkish auerolae. 

She was staring straight ahead as I stood before her, contemplating her 
exposed breasts, watching them rise and fall in rapid undulations as 
her breathing quickened.  She could do nothing but stand there, 
watching helplessly as I plucked a nipple between my fingers, tugged 
gently, rolled the fleshy tip between thumb and forefinger.  I heard a 
tiny hiss; her lips fell open as she took a shivering gasp of air. .  
Her body was responding instinctively, reacting to forces more 
primordial, and even stronger, than those induced by the powerful drug. 

"Nice tits, Legs!"  I couldn't help complimenting her as I fingered 
that perky nipple.  I nosed the fingertips of a cupped hand into the 
tuck under her right breast; flicked that floppy tit up and down a few 
times on the tips of my fingers, enjoying its bounciness, its springy, 
taut wobble. I rubbed my thumb over the nipple that was already 
stiffening with the first blush of arousal, hardening, protruding 
hopefully.

With my hand cupping her breast, I kissed her again, giving her a 
gentle squeeze.  And because her lips were moist and parted, the kiss 
was more responsive.  I put my arm around her bare shoulders and 
scooped her in.  And when we broke apart, her breathing had deepened.  
A shiver ran through her shoulders.

Looking her right in the eye, and giving her a big grin, I placed both 
hands on her tits and enjoyed myself by feeling her up, fondling the 
girl lavishly.  By now she was flushed and a light sheen of sweat had 
broken out on her forehead; her breasts were warm and moist, and 
delightfully springy.   I sampled that fine silky texture of Meghan's 
tits, palmed them up an down, then worked handfuls of those soft, 
pliant mounds, all the while watching her face closely.  Her eyes 
remained expressionless, but she was breathing through her opened 
mouth.  I saw her eyelashes flutter, her lids slid half-closed as I 
worked her up unmercifully.  By now she was definitely hot and 
bothered; her healthy female body instinctively responding to all this 
male attention.

But enough of that!  I knew I had no more than half an hour and there 
was still a lot of I wanted to do. And so I reluctantly abandoned those 
playful tits of our Dr. O'Connor with their now protruding nipples, and 
With a quick kiss on her parted lips, I backed off.

"Looks like you're having a good time, Legs?  I plucked a saucy nipple, 
tugged on it, and gave her an affectionate squeeze.  "How do you like 
the experiment so far?"  I rolled the nipple between my thumb and 
forefinger.  "A definite response of the test subject, I would say.  I 
wonder...do you think our test subject could be made to come...if we 
applied the proper...ah.. stimulation?"

Of course the stricken woman couldn't answer me, but her eyes widened 
in alarm and I knew she understood exactly what I intended to do.  I 
had to laugh.  And still chuckling I went to her hips to find the 
little zipper at the side of her skirt.  I opened her skirt, and worked 
it down her pantyhose-clad hips.

Now I stepped back to admire those gorgeous legs encased in the sheer 
nylon of honey-tined pantyhose.
If a woman who worked at the labs actually wore a skirt to work (a rare 
happening) she would most likely wear sneakers and sweat socks with her 
pantyhose.  On getting to the office, she might change into a more 
attractive pair of pumps, but others obstinately chose to have the 
smooth delicious taper of a nice pair of feminine legs ruined by thick 
socks and clunky shoes, like those Birkenstocks she wore to work.  That 
was how Dr. O. dealt with the fashion problem.  Now she stood before 
me, naked to the hips: still wearing her pantyhose.  Under the press of 
translucent nylon I could see a pair of low rise panties banding her 
hips. Her fallen skirt was ringing her ankles, half-hiding the white 
socks and sneakers that peeked out below.

If it were possible to move her, I would have picked up a rigid leg to 
take off the offending footwear, but I knew that wouldn't work. I 
didn't want her toppling over.

Well, you can't have everything, I thought with a sigh, as I placed my 
hands on her pantyhosed loins.  I plucked the thin elastic waistband of 
the pantyhose and began peeling the clingy nylon down, tugging it down 
her thighs baring those long slender legs to leave the tangled 
pantyhose with the crumpled skirt around her ankles.

Now my favorite doctor stood before me naked, but for a pair of silvery 
blue panties made of the same slick nylon as her bra.

End of Part 2
 
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
------------

A-10: A Mind Control Story
By Don Winslow

Part 3:  The Unveiling

I took in the sight, appreciating Meghan O'Connor's breath-taking nude 
beauty, those slim shoulders and lithe torso, those jaunty breasts and 
the lovely contours of those sleek bare legs.

"You know what, Legs?  You are one hot babe."  I shook my head in 
honest appreciation.  I could have sworn I saw the immobilized woman 
blushing!

Time was running short and I still hadn't seen the girl's pussy!  My 
hands went for the waistband of her panties.  I saw a silent scream 
well up in her eyes as she felt her thin underpants being peeled down 
her hips.
 
The vagina that came into view was a softly sloping bulge, lightly 
furred with springy pubic hair, wispy curlings of the same dusky brown 
color as the hair on her head. I drew the panties down her legs and 
stepped back to study the naked woman scientist who stood at attention 
in her office with displaced panties ringing her ankles.

I glanced at my watch.  Ten more minutes; seven to be on the safe side.  
I walked around the standing nude, taking in the view from all angles.  
I paused to admire Meghan's naked ass: a nicely curved, pertly-rounded, 
feminine bottom. With my cupped my hand, I patted her naked butt.

"Nice ass," I told her, as I left my hand linger there, lightly 
caressing those pert, twin contours.

With a curious finger I traced the crack, probing gently between the 
tight-set cheeks, sliding my finger lower in the deep furrow, till I 
found the spot that electrified her -- sending the buttcheeks 
clenching, hips jerking forward.  Again her healthy body had reacted, 
overriding the drug-induced paralysis.  I wondered if she would include 
that in her lab notes.  "A subject goosed while under the influence 
will respond appropriately"?

Filling my hand with a rearcheek I squeezed that firm but pliant mound, 
testing its resiliency.  Damn, I'd love to spank that pleasingly plump 
ass!  But there just wasn't time!  Still...just maybe...I rushed over to 
the office desk, hunted frantically through the drawers till I found 
what I was looking for: a thin wooden ruler.  	  

Gripping the thin strip of wood in my sweaty hand, I took aim and with 
a snap of the wrist, whacked the good Doctor's naked buttocks straight 
across both cheeks.  The wood ruler landed with a crisp "smack" 
splattering the spongy mounds that rebounded and wobbled like jello.  
It was so much fun I did it again, and again, happily smacking Dr. 
O'Connor's bouncy bottom three or four times before I restrained 
myself.  I didn't want her to wake up with telltale red marks on a 
throbbing ass that would set her wondering.

Reluctantly, I put the ruler back in its place and carefully closed the 
desk drawer.  Checking my watch, I realized that I had no more than 
five minutes till my subject collapsed into a deep sleep.  I had to 
hurry.

I placed myself directly in front of her.  Then, as she just stood 
there frozen still, unable to do anything but stare at me in wide-eyed 
desperation, I brought my hand up, dipping into the soft folds of flesh 
between her slightly-parted legs, finding her pussy slick and ready.  I 
began palming the gentle mound of her furry vulva, while my fingers 
explored her wetness and the heat between her legs.  I was looking deep 
into her dazed eyes as I fingered the helpless woman's cunt, watching 
intently, curious to see her reactions as I heated her up, slowly 
raised her arousal level to the fever pitch of climax. 

Her jaw dropped open and her eyes were half-lidded as she quivered, 
then swayed unsteadily on her feet.
I tested her wetness by rubbing my fingers together, then brought them 
up to press them to her nose forcing her to inhale the smell of her own 
cunt.   I pressed my wet fingers over her pursed lips.  Then I went 
back to work, continuing the job of masturbating the girl.  Her eyes 
fluttered closed as I that worked over her moist warm cunt, palming the 
soft folds, rubbing the slick lips with probing fingers.   And when I 
stiffened my middle finger and slipped it right up that well-lubricated 
pussy, her knees buckled and her body fell forward.  She was leaning 
onto my hand as I jiggled my wrist, finger-fucking her, pleasuring the 
woman beyond all human endurance, forcing her to accept the pleasure 
her body would not let her mind deny. 

Then her hips were moving, bucking in instinctive pelvic thrusts; she 
was riding my plunging hand.   Her eyes rolled up and her lashes 
fluttered and then...she fainted; collapsed into a heap at my feet!

Now I knew there would be time.  Test subjects usually slept it off in 
an hour or so.  I would have to get the limp, comatose woman dressed as 
best as I could, and that wouldn't be easy.  But I'd do my best so that 
when she woke up in her familiar office she's be intact, save for the 
residue of drying pussyjuice impregnating her sticky panties. 

Moving her like a limp mannequin, I struggled to pull her panties and 
pantyhose back into place.  As I hitched up her skirt and fastened it 
around her hips, thoughts ran through my mind as to how she would react 
when she woke up dazed and bewildered, and alone in her office.  Dr. 
O'Connor was a smart girl.  She'd realize she'd been drugged.  Would 
she go on the warpath; order a full-scale investigation?  Or would she 
merely sweep the whole thing under the rug, too embarrassed and afraid 
of what might come out?  I'd just have to wait and see.


End of Part 3
The End

Copyright 2002, Don Winslow
More stories may be found at: http://www.asstr.org/~Don_Winslow

Comments: Dwin2001@yahoo.com.  Use story title in "Subject" line.










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