Rewired

Chapter 6: Soldering On

by MadamKistulot

Tags: #noncon #comic_book #f/f #lesbification #midas_city #pov:bottom #addiction #conditioning #D/s #dom:female #drones #humiliation #lactation #multiple_partners #robots #sub:female #tech_control
See spoiler tags : #bondage #drugs #exhibitionism #teacher

Rewired


Disclaimer: If you are under age, not a fan of lesbian mind control, or otherwise not permitted to read ahead, this is your warning. All of the women portrayed are of a legal age for such naughty endeavors, and the term ‘girl’ is not used to denote otherwise. Nonconsensual sex is unethical in real life, and any such examples within this fiction is not condoning or supporting such acts. The following work is copyright Madam Kistulot 2020, and not for reposting or other such uses. 


Chapter 6: Soldering On

Click!

Serina didn’t move for a long time after she came back to herself. She was laying on her side, again dressed in the school girl uniform she’d found herself in every single time she was in the playroom. All she could do was blankly stare ahead as she felt the need for more already begin to rise up from deep inside of her. Breathing without that taste in her mouth, without that cream sliding down her throat… it was torment. It was the most cruel, wicked, heartless torture.

That meant it was perfectly in line with what Serina would have expected from Mind Bore.

Withdrawal was never a fun sensation, but every small aspect of it felt so much worse than it felt before. All of the colors of the bright, vibrant playroom felt dim. The air that filled her lungs felt like it had less of what she needed to survive. Her fingers twitched. Her eyes felt sore, like she’d been staring blankly for a week. Her head hurt.

Her entire body was so tense, and there was no way she could force it to relax. It needed one thing and one thing only. Without that one, precious, all important substance, it refused to relent. Serina was trapped inside of herself, shuddering in despair.

Just say no… to powerfully addicting mind control drugs… Serina tried to force herself to laugh, but the defense mechanism wouldn’t work. No matter how hard she tried to laugh, to smile, the feelings were all so hollow. I feel… Unreal. Maybe all of my memories in this room aren’t even real… Maybe they’re the only real ones. Maybe the fantasies that happened from that mask, that hula-hoop, maybe they were just illusions… Or maybe one of those is the real me…

Even laughing from the depths of despair, a gallows’ laugh, was beyond anything that Serina could muster up. Mocking laughter was too difficult. Her body felt nearly lifeless, but she knew that she wasn’t dying. She knew she wasn’t really decaying, wasting away, even though her body desperately tried to convince her that she would die without another drop—and soon.

All of her skin felt like it was too tight. Her thighs wouldn’t stop twitching, clenching. They wanted something for her pussy to squeeze around. She wanted something to squeeze around. As much as it horrified her, the desire was so much less artificial than those created by her “toys” or whatever method Mind Bore was using to burn Fetishes into her libido. There wasn’t enough evidence for her to make an informed guess—and no evidence at all that she could rely on or believe.

Maybe it’s all just playing out in my head… Maybe she dresses up her drones to play out fun little scenarios for her to watch… Maybe it’s both… I have no idea what she can do, or how large this facility is… I’ve only seen two rooms. I don’t even know what part of Midas we’re in… If we’re even still in Midas. Serina sniffled, shaking her head.

Thinking those thoughts was dangerous. The more her own morale was demolished and crumbled away, the easier it was to accept the comfort Mind Bore’s control offered. The idea of being a drone was sounding less and less horrific. It sounded so much more… peaceful.

A blank empty void was preferable to constant torment.

I could be anywhere… How would I know? This might not even be real. She could be deep enough in my head that I could be staring right at her and not see anything but a wall… Doubting her senses felt even more dangerous, but she wasn’t sure how she was supposed to trust them. They were being turned against her, used to make women painfully sexy, and the idea of performing by exposing her naked body better than it had any right to sound.

Already it sounded like a reliable option to strip away the school girl uniform and touch herself, hoping that Mind Bore would be watching her. Already it sounded better to think of that sexy, dangerous, powerful supervillain while reaching down underneath her panties.

She knew the moment those tentacles moved into her ears the addiction would cease until the simulation, play, scenario ended. She wouldn’t be able to make her own choices freely. She wouldn’t be able to struggle. She’d wake up with some new fetish, some new need, some new desire… but she would have a brief period of oblivion, of safety, of something that wasn’t…

Something that wasn’t far too much for her to handle.

Serina finally moved, shifting so she was sitting up on her hands and knees. There was a great emptiness in her eyes that was deeper than any simple sorrow could hope to fill. Hope itself was in shorter supply than it had ever been. There seemed no way out at all.

Quivering in resignation, in shame, in terror that gripped her so tight Serina wasn’t sure it would ever let go, the heroine slowly crawled across the playroom. Every movement of a knee, of a hand, took both tremendous effort and brought with it a greater sense of weakness and shame. There was only one thing in the room for her to approach. There was only one thing in her world that Serina could hope to interact with for any respite from the existential dread that gnawed at the deepest parts of her mind too insistently to ignore.

The red-and-white jump rope.

It looked cheap, simple, and plain, but Serina knew what touching it would mean. The moment I lift it up, those tentacles will thrust into my ears. I’ll feel them reaching places nothing should be able to reach, and then twisting, pushing, whatever makes that… that… click and then…

There were no tears in her eyes, and no stains marring the smooth skin of her cheeks. She was beyond crying. There felt no reason to it.

Crying wasn’t a show that exposed her body. Crying didn’t attract women. Crying wouldn’t help her escape from the playroom. Crying would just let her feel that much more powerless, helpless, and vulnerable to whatever twisted experiment Mind Bore might want to use her for next if this one didn’t end up destroying her. Serina wasn’t entirely sure how much of her was left to salvage.

With a deep breath, she reached her hand out towards the jump rope, but she couldn’t bring herself to grasp it. Her fingers were just too far away to brush one of the large, plastic handles. It was so close that one more crawling motion forward and she could grasp all of it up at once.

Then… Then she’ll make me more of a horny, helpless, mind-fucked little… thing and it’ll be even harder to want to fight… even harder to be me…

What was a moment’s hesitation felt like it stretched on for an eternity. Her fingers trembled, shaking in the air as they teased at the notion of grazing the very edge of the toy. Grasping it was well within her power, but doubt gripped the heroine tighter than even the ache for that drug that came largely from her own body.

She wanted to be able to think over how much each of the toys had changed her, but it was impossible. The memory of how she used to be felt too blurry, to indistinct. It was even harder to remember how it felt to suddenly like women without craving to perform for them, to be naked for them, to make herself cum not for herself, but for their enjoyment as she fucked away all of her dignity and self-respect. It felt so good, too good, and she wanted that even as she feared what would happen to her mind if she did that “willingly” and not while so helplessly compelled.

She wasn’t sure if there was enough of her own volition left to have the power to consent. Enough of her was left to try to resist, but it always failed. She always gave in eventually.

With Mind Bore… I think if she has you long enough…? Everyone gives in eventually…

She tried to think of other heroines in Mind Bore’s clutches and shuddered in horror at the way the once proud heroines all gave in with hardly any resistance at all. Jade was an Olympic-class archer but what defenses did she have to such powerful technology? Psyche had mental powers to force villains to their knees, but if she were captured Serina was certain those would be disabled just as easily as her own had been. Lady Lapis in Los Adalid wouldn’t be able to punch her way free from a situation like this.

The only hope that existed was being rescued, was someone from outside the Skinner box to reach in and pull her out. No one is coming… So all I can do, is what Mind Bore wants me to do. All I can do is try to not like what’s happening to me…

Her hand closed around the plastic handle, and she closed her eyes as tightly as she could. She didn’t see the tentacles as they approached her ears, thrust in so deep, and lifted her off of the ground like a ragdoll. She gasped, but forced herself to not look. Nothing would make this situation better if she could see the way those long, thin, mechanical appendages could lift her entire body up by reaching into her brain.

It was only a moment before they moved inside of her, reached for that part of her that was so vulnerable to their slightest touch, but it felt like a lifetime of dangling in fear.

Please, pleasepleaseplease, please, just make it stop, just take it away, just—


“Today, class, we’re going to learn about the five core principles of ethical journalism.” Serina stood at the front of her class, smiling brightly. She was so proud of herself. Not only was she able to be a successful journalist, but she was able to teach young aspiring minds how to follow in her footsteps. It was everything that she hoped it would be—and more. “You may have heard this all before, so I’ll try to not make the subject too dry… but it’s important to make sure you have a strong grasp of the fundamentals.”

Serina adjusted her red framed glasses as she reached down and tapped at her laptop, and the large screen behind her illuminated with the day’s topic. She felt so ready, so prepared! Her classroom in Midas City University was state of the art, top of the line, with the best of MA and Draupnir tech that could cooperate together for more than five minutes. It was so thrilling to look up at her many students and know that she could help guide them on the right path.

It also doesn’t hurt that I know I look great doing it… Serina looked amazingly sharp, dressed so professionally. The white blouse she wore under the black blazer might have shown a bit of her cleavage, but it was tasteful. It was professional. Her short skirt didn’t make it too easy to focus on the garters holding up her dark stockings, but it didn’t do much to hide them, either.

Sexy, and sophisticated, Serina felt like she was living up to every hope and dream she’d ever had for herself… and then some. Teaching her class wasn’t a matter of going through the motions, but it felt that natural. That was how well she’d prepared for the day’s lecture.

It was important that she start off her class on the right foot, after all.

“The first principle…” She tapped on her laptop again, and motioned to the large screen behind her. “Truth and accuracy! Obviously, no journalist is capable of always having the entire story, or always avoiding misinformation, but the fundamental job of everyone in journalism, from being down on the street, to writing a blog… is a dedication to telling the people interacting with your story as much of the facts as you can.” The words rolled out of Serina’s mouth smoothly, just like they had when she’d practiced rehearsing them in front of the mirror so many times the night before. She’d stayed up so late, but she still felt so energized.

Looking up to her students, doing her best to make eye contact with all of them as she spoke from her loosely memorized script, she couldn’t help but notice that some of them were looking at her strangely. A few of them were passing around notes. It was a college class, so the latter didn’t matter to her. The former was just strange.

She tried to ignore the strange feeling she got from the seats her students had taken. The furthest back rows were empty, and all of them seemed to be at either side of the bleacher-like seating, making it easiest for them to approach her.

Of course, no one would do that during a class. There were so many students. It would just be embarrassing to do anything while she was giving a lecture. Serina was certain.

Hoping she hadn’t paused for too long, Serina tapped her laptop again and continued. “The second principle, is independence…! This may sound obvious, but it’s very important to keep in mind. If you’re reporting for an agency, or an individual, that wants you to create a narrative rather than tell the people what is actually there, what is actually happening…? You’re no longer serving the truth. Even if your backer is clearly listed, people will believe that whatever you say is impartial if they have no reason to think otherwise. It will be your duty as a journalist to make it so this assumption does not have a negative effect on your readers’ ability to be intelligently informed…!”

Serina blinked. She was certain that she wasn’t just seeing things. Several of her students were leaning over, whispering to each other as they pointed to Serina. They all seemed to be taking notes when she talked, but it was hard to not feel like they weren’t notes on her lecture.

For being the teacher, the authority figure, the person in control of the class, Serina felt oddly vulnerable. So many of those women were watching her, and plotting. At least, that was how it seemed. There’s no way that a bunch of students would sign up to my class for any reason other than journalism, right? I’m not… that attractive or anything… This is my first class, there’s no way any weird rumors about me would be floating around, right…?

Before she could start the next portion of her lecture one of the students rose from their seat and moved over in front of the door closest to Serina. The other door, she found, was already blocked by a student leaning in front of it. The young teacher quivered.

Relax, Serina… You’re just imagining things. There’s no way… Just… Relax. Breathe. Go through your lecture. You still have another three points to go over…!

“The third principle, and perhaps the most important…” She tapped her computer again. The atmosphere of the room shifted again, as a few of Serina’s students began to giggle. The longer she spoke, the louder they laughed. “Is that journalists should do… no… harm…?”

Confusion spread across Serina’s face. Nothing she was saying was particularly odd. She glanced down over herself. Her blouse hadn’t lost any buttons. Her garters hadn’t suddenly snapped. Her stockings hadn’t decided to tear themselves apart. Everything about her looked fine. That only left one reasonable alternative. With a deep breath, Serina looked up to the screen behind her and flushed dark as her red frames, her eyes going wide.

Blown up to what felt like gargantuan size was a picture of herself that Serina could never remember being taken. She was sitting atop a teacher’s desk, holding her glasses halfway down her face. Her blazer hung down off of her shoulders, and her blouse was half unbuttoned. Her pale, bare breasts rested over the white fabric, framed on either side by the black of her blazer. One of her legs was bent, foot flat on the desk giving a clear view of the dark red-and-black lacey panties that tightly framed her sex. There was a dark stain already incredibly visible, and a puddle forming under her.

I’ve… I’ve never…! This is my first year teaching… I never… That picture… It doesn’t… I… Serina swayed on her feet, feeling suddenly dizzier. She grasped at the small table that held her laptop, her eyes locked on her own come-hither expression. She wasn’t sure where to let her eyes rest. Did she want to look to her erotic, slutty, needy stare, to her exposed breasts, or to her panties that looked so wet she clearly needed to be fucked?

The laughter of her students only grew louder, and louder. Each laugh echoed sharper in Serina’s head, making her sway as she grasped at the table tighter, and tighter. Her ass clenched under her short skirt. Her toes curled inside of her sensible heels.

Why… why can’t I… Why can’t I… look… away…?!

Serina was frozen. Her eyes were wide, trapped on the image of herself. She felt too dizzy, to unsteady, to look away. All she could do was grasp at the wood… and then she felt her arms being pulled behind her. Before she could put up much of a fight, or even attempt to struggle, she could feel something pulled tight around her wrists.

Rope.

“S-stop…! Whatever you’re… whatever you’re doing… Stop it…! This isn’t… This isn’t… ethical…!” Serina’s voice betrayed the rising arousal that burned hotter and hotter as those ropes pulled her arms tighter together, and other hands pulled her blazer down to expose the shoulders of her blouse. “You need… you need to stop…!”

In the large picture on the screen in front of her Serina wasn’t bound, but she still couldn’t help but feel they wanted to make her look like that. Her students didn’t want the calm, thoughtful, intelligent teacher who was so ready to teach them about how to be effective journalists.

Her students wanted a sex toy.

Her students wanted a sexy, helpless, professional slut.

Her students wanted to use Serina.

The longer Serina was trapped staring at her picture, held up by the rope around her arms, she couldn’t help but feel her arousal soar. Her body looked good like that—tits out, panties on display, legs emphasized by the same stockings she was currently wearing… Something about the garter straps made her look more inherently lewd, more inherently sexualized, in ways that Serina couldn’t completely understand.

What she could understand was her panties being pulled down along her legs, and her skirt pushed over her ass. What she could understand were her ankles being tied to her podium, trapping them shoulder width apart.

“Please…! This isn’t right…! I’m your teacher…! You’re my students! You have to listen to-me…!” Serina screamed as she felt the strap-on thrust deep inside of her pussy. It was so big, so inflexible, and the shape of it grazed her clit every moment it thrust deeper and deeper inside of her already drenched cunt.

Her legs could only tense and clench, unable to pull closed or do anything to stop the invading length. Her arms were trapped together, and her blouse was being ripped open. Her bra was soon pulled down, exposing her breasts and her hard nipples. Before she could even try to react to that, or even be sure of what was really happening, rope from around Serina’s arms was being bound around her breasts to lift them up, to squeeze them, to emphasize them.

The woman behind her, the student pounding her with the incredibly effective strap-on, was tightly squeezing her hips as she thrust the sex toy inside of her teacher again, and again. Each thrust hit something deep inside of Serina, making her eyes cross, and her mouth fall open in another helpless groan. She was trapped, and her students somehow knew just how to use her.

Her body was so tightly bound, and any attempt to pull her arms free only squeezed at her breasts, emphasizing them, pressing them into hands that so eagerly squeezed at her supple flesh. Trying to tug her legs loose just made her more vulnerable and unprepared for the next thrust.

Even her eyes felt bound, trapped, frozen on the sight of the picture of herself posed like some kind of professional pin-up model. Her mind raced to try remembering when that picture even could have been taken, but not a single opportunity rose up in her mind. All she could see was herself, looking like someone’s fetish daydream of what a teacher should be, looking like she was begging her students to fuck her.

Fingers tugged and twisted her nipples. The strap-on between her legs thrusted harder, quicker, pushing itself deeper. The ropes wouldn’t budge, holding her so helplessly tight.

Serina howled, both in defeat and in pleasure. As horrifying as the situation was, she couldn’t deny that it felt so good. Each thrust felt a little better. Each struggle that amounted to nothing made her helpless state of affairs feel a little sexier, a little more like what she would ask for if she could. Instead, her students had decided on this of their own volition.

Fighting the idea that she was such a lucky teacher, that being fucked like this by her students was what every teacher truly wanted was harder and harder the longer she stared at herself.

Her own red framed glasses, the pair on her face and not on the picture, were hanging halfway down her nose. Each thrust that sent jiggles through her bare ass and caused her bound breasts to bounce made her glasses bounce precariously on her nose. If the woman behind her pushed any harder, or if she bucked any harder, it felt like her glasses might fall off and slam to the ground.

Did she even need glasses? Serina wasn’t entirely sure, not anymore. Her vision would be too hazy from being constantly bounced by the hips pressing against her ass. Her glasses were halfway down her nose. Her hands squeezed at nothing, fingers flailing uselessly.

The way she couldn’t look away from her own over-sexualized picture made it feel like her eyes were just as bound as her arms, and every bit as bound as her ankles. She was trapped, so completely trapped that even struggling only made her feel more stuck in her position. Her students continued to giggle, to laugh. An all girl’s journalism class hadn’t felt strange when she’d first walked up to her podium, but now it felt like it had been prepared so far in advance.

Her ass clenched as the strap-on thrust inside of her again and she let out a long, slow groan. “Ohh… Ohhh… y-yesss…!” Looking to those hooded blue eyes in the picture, to her own emphasized panties, to her own exposed breasts, Serina couldn’t deny that she clearly wanted this.

Serina couldn’t deny that becoming a teacher had never been her goal when she’d gotten into journalism. She’d wanted to report on the news. She’d wanted to make a difference…

Becoming a teacher was a means to an end. It was a way to fill a room with people who would pay attention to her. It was a way to fill a room with people who would be holding onto every word she said. Now, as she bucked her hips back against the student who thrust her hips forward, it felt like her attention was wrapped around the dildo deep inside of her pussy. She clenched as tightly as she could, panting and drooling as she writhed in her helplessly bound state.

There was no way that she could escape, but more importantly she didn’t want to escape. Her students’ hands were roaming all over her body, but they weren’t ripping away at her pretty clothes any more than they already had. This wasn’t about making her naked. This was about binding up a sexy teacher, and using her as a sexy teacher.

Making her naked would steal part of the thrill, rob some of the fundamental eroticism of turning their teacher from a consummate professional into little more than a bondage slut. Their touches were so reverent even as they groped and kneaded and pinched and squeezed.

All of them had bound her like this, trapped her like this, held her like this so they could use her in any way—and every way—that their hearts desired. Serina wouldn’t be getting free until they’d all had their turns filling her up, groping her, making her squeal and cry as her body was used as their plaything. She tried to struggle again, to really see if her strength was enough to even loosen the bindings at her arms, but they held too tight. The ropes cut into her arms, stinging, but the pain eased the moment she stopped struggling and that strap-on thrust again.

“Th-the… The fourth rule… of ethical journalism… Is that you need to make your bondage-slut teacher cum…!” Serina didn’t know where those words came from, but she couldn’t fight them. She could only surrender to the urge to let them flow freely from her lips. “If you don’t… if you don’t show her that this is her proper place… you’ll need to start over again when you come back on Wednesday…! Efficient journalism is… e-ethical journalism…! Oh yes…!”

Her cries were growing sharper, and quicker together. The pressure inside of her, the feeling of the other woman against her back, was feeling better and better. Serina knew that she wouldn’t be able to hold out for much longer… but she had to.

This bondage game wasn’t about her submitting or surrendering to her circumstances. It was about her struggling and being overcome. It was about how little she could do to truly resist what was happening to her. Each time that strap-on thrust inside of her, each time they squeezed at her breasts, it was another failure. She couldn’t escape, and every moment of pleasure trained Serina to love how it felt to be so helpless.

None of her students said a word, but they didn’t have to speak to teach Serina her lesson. It wasn’t a student’s job to instruct their professor. This was their review of her class, and it seemed like they were all going to give her very high reviews.

There was no way she wasn’t on the road to tenure.

“Th-the fifth rule… of ethical… ethical… journalism…!” Serina tried to speak clearly, but it was a losing battle. The mounting orgasm was too strong, and she was too needy for it. Her whole body was shaking and trembling. More than anything, Serina needed to cum as much as she needed to hold out for as long as she could. “Keep fucking your teacher until she can’t even move… fuck her until she’s a drooling, sweaty, wasted mess…!”

Her students laughed, and the humiliation of their mocking tones was the final stimulation that Serina needed to feel the walls holding back her rushing orgasm collapse. Her mouth twisted comically wide as her eyes closed to only a pair of thin slits. Even in the throes of unimaginable pleasure she was still trapped by that large picture of herself. The strap-on buried itself deep inside of her pussy and stayed there as she spasmed and shook, helplessly squeezing around the toy that was buried so deeply inside of her.

All she could do was shake, trapped in her own orgasm and the bonds her students had tied around her so effortlessly. Her eyes were still trapped staring at her own erotic expression, her own naked breasts, and her own dripping pussy so barely obscured by a pair of sexy red panties. She half wondered if they wanted her to look like that, or if they liked the ropes more.

Before Serina could catch her breath another woman stepped into the strap-on and began to thrust inside of her. In spite of the fight she’d put up before, her expression twisted into a manic grin.

Instead of struggling with the bonds that held her in place to escape, Serina began to struggle to push into the many touches assaulting her exposed body. She tried to move faster into that toy, finding her range of motion hampered as the ropes that bound her arms and breasts were fastened to her podium. She tried to arch out into the hands groping at her breasts only to find she couldn’t move very far in that direction, either.

No matter how hard she tried, Serina couldn’t make her students fuck her, touch her, enjoy her, in any way that they didn’t want to. She didn’t have any of the authority in her classroom—they did. She wasn’t in charge.

She was the main course.

“Ohhh that’s… excellent… excellent technique…! Get to the bottom of me… share all of my secrets with the world… yes… yes… yess…!” Serina’s words quickly became a meaningless string of sounds as the pleasure left her a drooling, raving mess.

The overstimulated teacher bounced on her students’ strap-on, ready for each of them to take their turn. She wanted to feel all of them make her helpless to the rhythm of their hips, to all of the many desires they had for her. She didn’t want to be able to say yes or no. She wanted them to take those things from her just like they’d taken over her class and turned her into an incoherent, needy thing.

Serina wanted to be fucked, and her students weren’t going to let her go home disappointed.

            She lost track of how many students fucked her before the metal tentacles moved out of the walls, reached into her ears and—


Author’s Note: Our glimpse in at the distress Serina “Live Wire” Alton has gotten herself into is nearly over! Reminder that to find out more about Midas City in general, and the other stories that take place therein, you can check out my website.

But if you don’t want to wait as long as everyone else to see more of Livewire’s misadventures? You’ll want to check out and support my Patreon campaign! Not only that, but it’s a good way to let me know that you want to see more of this story, and others like it! There’s weekly status updates on what’s going on with my writing, too. If you’d like to join in with a group of fellow mind control fetishists to discuss this and other stories, join us at The Mind Control Literature Discord or my personal discord, Madam Kistulot’s Domain!

This story would not be possible without the support of the following Patrons: Zyfire, Dex, Scott L, Nightcap, Aleksandra C, NekoIncardine, Carrie, darkbookmage, Kianna Skogseth, Jasmine, Jessinya, Flintnsteal, Emily Grey, Alan P, Kirbydance, Shadows and BYTOR. Thank you for reading, and I hope you’ll join me for the rest of this tale... and many others yet to come!

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