Prompt: A mecha pilot gets some “stress relief” from the AI in her machine.
tags: flash fiction, mind control, nsfw, transgender
You’re not doing it right. You need to—
“Shut up,” Vic growled, continuing to rub the balm into her shoulder. “It’s just a bruise. How can I possibly be doing it wr—”
You have to knead it into the muscle, like—no, no, not like that. Here, I’ll do it.
Vic felt her hand tingle, little pricks along the nerve endings of her flesh. And then it wasn’t her hand anymore, but Celeste’s, massaging the pilot’s sore muscles with a firm, gentle grip.
The link between Vic’s neural implant and her mech’s CELESTE-grade artificial intelligence worked both ways: the same connection that let Vic elegantly pilot her warmachine allowed Celeste to seize control of Vic’s body. Officially, this ability was to be invoked in only the most dire of medical emergencies, when a pilot’s life could only be saved by the reaction speeds and mental clarity that an artificial intelligence could command.
Unofficially, Vic and Celeste had a very, very expansive definition of “medical emergency.”
There, the AI said again in her mind, isn’t that better?
As much as Vic hated to admit it, it was better. The bruise had bothered her for days now—damage from getting thrown against her restraining harness one too many times—and now, in just a few moments, the pain was already ebbing.
“Fine, that is better,” she tried to reply, only for Celeste’s efforts to unexpectedly redouble, the sensual pain turning her thanks to a noise somewhere between a groan and a moan.
You’ve certainly worked up a lot of tension from a week in the command seat, her AI continued, coyly oblivious to Vic’s visceral reaction. It’s a good thing I bought a ticket to the ballet.
Vic’s possessed hand took this opportunity to wander ever so slightly, beginning to massage the edge of a breast.
“That’s a shame,” the pilot replied, affecting a level voice as her other hand tingled and slipped under Celeste’s control. “I—unf—had been planning on a quiet night in.”
The shoulder bruise was all but forgotten now, both of Vic’s rogue hands beginning to gently roll around her breasts, cupping the flesh
You can’t lie to me, you know. In punishment, Vic felt a finger drift just above one of her hardening nipples.
“W-well, what about what I want? You can’t just use my body whenever you want.”
Vic. My love. My pilot. My plaything. The hands were growing more aggressive now. One drifted up, gliding along the balm-slick shoulder and spreading the gel to her neck. The other hand slid down, over her heaving chest and dimpled abs, slipping inside her pants and gripping her already turgid cock. I know exactly what you want.
Vic felt her lips tingle, and she heard her own voice continue Celeste’s thought. “And I can use your body whenever and however I want.”
The pilot released a long and tortured moan, free to vocalize her lust now that her lips and tongue were no longer under her command, now that they could no longer betray her need. She relaxed into Celeste’s control, and her reward was feeling her chest reverberate with the AI’s chuckle.
Her whole body tingled now, and Celeste slid off the bed and walked them over to the wall mirror. “How should I dress you tonight?” she asked, knowing Vic’s input no longer mattered, knowing that what Vic wanted most of all was to have no input at all. “I think I will show you off with that little red number I bought us. You would like that, wouldn’t you?”
In her mind’s eye, Vic could see it: her toned, scarred muscles wrapped up in Celeste’s decadent red dress, a long slit and high stiletto heels revealing her stockinged legs to the world. Her curves and strength would be on display, attracting looks of lust and envy as she moved through the crowd like a shark, as if an alpha predator. Little did they know, she would be bound and gagged in her own mind, helplessly watching as her body was coolly and dispassionately exhibited for the world to see.
Evidently, Celeste had not seized control of all of Vic’s body; at the thought of how she would be paraded out, her cock sprang further to life, hard and thick and demanding release.
“Oh, Vic,” her lips moved, dripping with faux concern. “Whatever would you do without me?” Celeste clenched a fist around the cock, moving faster and faster. “Unable to keep even your base needs in check.” She looked herself in the eye now, seeing Celeste’s cold command layered over her own mewling lust. “I will handle this… distraction… for us, but if we’re even one minute late to the ballet, I will not be pleased.”
Vic was glad she couldn’t control her lips, lest she betray herself with a smile. Celeste might know what Vic needed—the peace of not being in control, the serenity of having no say and no power, if only for an evening. But Vic knew, too, what her AI companion needed from these evenings.
They were always late to the ballet.
Another pandemic flash fic from my Patreon, this time with a prompt from Modren! Modren is a fellow smutateer, whose stories you can read on EMCSA.