I don’t honestly know what Fiona was like before I met her. Maybe if I’d been less aggressive with testing, I might have been able to find out. Not directly, obviously, but I could have just watched what interactions she had every evening and garnered what I could from that. It’s even possible that Fiona was always a bit freaky, and despite what I’ve done to her, hasn’t really changed that much. I guess I’ll never know. All that I know for sure is that after the first night, Fiona became a lot more enthusiastic about being back before five o’clock. Surprisingly, it wasn’t even a behaviour I needed to impress upon her: She would simply be back from college earlier than she needed to be by ten, twenty, thirty minutes, even going so far as to suggest I could try squeezing in some more research by starting ahead of schedule. I have to remind myself of what happened back at the lab, when Lena and some of my former colleagues had brought the equipment out to me. I’d never consciously willed them to do that either, so maybe the same thing applied here. Whatever the case, Fiona had developed a taste for having the house - and me - to herself every night, even if she had no idea why it was happening. Over the course of the week, it became our evening ritual: Her unknowingly fulfilling my carnal desires while I watched from the back-stead of her own mind. After I linked our senses, I would watch for a while to make sure she was settled in. This gradually took less and less time as she quickly tired of whatever innocuous activity she would initially engage in. Once I had established that she hadn’t planned anything for the evening that might interrupt us, I would slowly explore our shared body again, drawing minute attention to every inch of ourselves in an erotic game of tactile mindfulness. The order might different from night to night, but I would always take the time to explore every inch of ourselves. Laid back on the couch or her bed or once, even my own bed (which she found very exciting), I would close her eyes and focus on her breathing: The feeling of dry air cooling her tongue and the back of her throat, the stretch of her ribs as her chest inflated and the subtle shift of the fabric of her top against her nipples. Completely unremarkable at any other time, but delightfully arousing in that moment. I would press her lips together, rolling them inwards before relaxing and letting them peel apart from each other, the slightly moist skin sticking for just a moment at the end. I would compel her to yawn, feeling the muscles in her jaw tense as it was held wide open and the small tears form on her eyes as her facial muscles flexed. I would run our hands through her hair, burying our fingers in the warmth near her scalp before running them down to the tips. I would trace every line and contour of her with a finger, starting with the eyebrows, eyelashes, ears, down the bridge of her nose to the tip, her lips, her chin and finish with her jawline. I didn’t need to impress my own enjoyment onto Fiona: The exercise was bewitching, and she luxuriated in the ritual of self-exploration as I indirectly guided her body. We rolled around our neck and shoulders, spread our arms wide to each side and reached up to the ceiling, feeling the muscles flex and strain beneath our skin. We tensed our stomach and arched our back, twisted left and right, savouring our youth and dexterity. By the time we reached our waist, we were already wet. Spreading our legs, we would feel the cold air drawn under our clothes and against our pussy, shivering every time before squeezing our thighs together. We would raise our long, smooth, slender legs above us, crossing and uncrossing them at the ankle as our feet perched at the top rotated and pointed to the ceiling. When I had briefly taken control of Lena’s body, I had been far too overcome by horror to appreciate the sensations of the female form. It’s possible that being her would have felt entirely pedestrian, and that Fiona was just a fortunate anomaly whose sensitivity to pleasure was exceptionally high. Whatever the case, simply being in her body was a joyous experience, and I always made sure to spend a solid hour enjoying our shared existence. From her own perspective, I’m sure it was just a moment of self-appreciation that she engaged in every evening: A moment of mindfulness and gratitude for just being alive. But this would soon escalate from self-appreciation to self-indulgence as I walked her in front of the nearest mirror - whether it was in the dining room, the bathroom or my bedroom - and pose coquettishly. I noticed that her clothing became increasingly risque as the days progressed. Naturally, I had no experience posing the female form myself, so I was happy to grant her consciousness complete freedom in that respect while I could relax inside her mind and shout encouragement to her subconscious. It was just as well that Fiona had not been a shy girl to start with, as her rapidly escalating lasciviousness and willingness to flaunt her beauty would have caused anyone who knew her to become suspicious. It quickly got to the point where she needed no prompting once we were in front of a mirror: She would automatically begin to pose for herself, cycling through positions as though at a photoshoot before smoothly switching gears into a long and sensual strip-tease. Every item was removed with panache: A long, smooth motion here, a delicate flick there, a flirtatious tease followed by a cheeky full-frontal reveal. Fiona danced for her own pleasure, oblivious that it was in fact my own ravenous desire being fed into her mind like black ink into clear water. Inevitably, we would end up completely nude, or perhaps naked except for a pair of socks. At this point, I would begin reaching into Fiona again, if only to tell her what I wanted to see next. Maybe we would spend some time flexing to see how many ways she could be spread apart, and how far. Maybe we would continue the dance, running our hands up and down our body to delight in the fluttering of our fingers against our skin. Maybe we would approach the glass to gaze lustfully into our own eyes, going so far as to press our nipples against the cold surface and make out with our other self, her hunger matching our own. My ability to keep time would break down as our activities progressed, though I would do my best to maintain some kind of order to the night, regardless of whether Fiona recognised it or not. We would begin to pleasure ourselves in earnest before the end of the second hour, though sometimes we would get so caught up in our own image that we would have only a few minutes to do so. Not that it mattered: We were always soaking and hungry by the time I led us down the stairs to my unconscious body. Other than showing beforehand, I never bothered to make preparations for myself. I rationalised it as not wanting to cause Fiona any reason to think I was expecting her or knew what was happening, but I also frankly didn’t care. There was only one thing I needed from myself at the end of each night, and no special arrangements were needed in advance. At first I would allow Fiona to take control of proceedings, having locked myself into her mind for an uninterrupted three-hour session. It had been exquisite and tantalising watching her cautiously approach my body with only the occasional subconscious nudge to keep her moving. Fiona had used her own experience to bring my body to a full erection, and her own experience to bring herself to a muffled orgasm, covering her mouth as she bounced up and down on my crotch while I passively enjoyed the feeling of penetrating myself over and over in her body. By Tuesday I had engineered a dynamic level of control that could be adjusted during transmission, allowing me to take a passive or suggestive role for the start of the night, but end it in full control of Fiona’s body. I had sole authority over how long I would spend sucking on my own cock and how deep I would swallow it, what position I would take on top of myself and the speed and depth of my thrusts. Every evening I would return Fiona to where she had started the evening before I was once again pulled out of her body and returned to my own, where I would rise feeling physically satisfied, if emotionally empty. I would return upstairs, thank Fiona for her vigilance and maybe make some polite conversation before we both went to bed. Fiona seemed to have something she wanted to say during these moments, but it wasn’t possible to compel her to speak without being actively broadcasting from my equipment. It probably wasn’t a complaint, as by Thursday night I found her already stretched out face-down on my bed, crotch already somewhat damp with her head buried in my pillow and breathing deeply. It came as a bit of a disappointment when Fiona didn’t volunteer to be home on Friday evening for testing, and I bitterly realised that she might have made plans for the weekend with a partner that wasn’t my vacant body. I shouldn’t have felt jealous - I didn’t have any more right to her time than I had to her body, but at that point I’d already transgressed on one sacred personal boundary, so it was with a fair amount of frustration that I worked fruitlessly to increase the range of the equipment I had. The real surprise came when I was woken in the night by the sensation of something warm and wet enveloping my erect penis. I remained as still as I could, and after a moment of hesitation I felt the sensation begin to move up and down the length of my shaft. It had been years since my last sexual encounter as a man, and a week spent indulging the pleasure of a woman’s body had actually made me completely forget that pleasure in my own was something that I could still experience. A sudden realisation that I had no idea who was going down on me filled me with alarm, and I clapped twice to turn on my bedroom lights. Fiona’s frozen face stared guiltily at me from between my legs; my bedsheets pulled down along with my pyjamas to my knees. We both remained completely motionless until the strain of keeping my arms above my head forced me to lower them - slowly, for fear of startling her. Taking my apparent relaxation as at least a sign I wasn’t about to freak out on her, Fiona let my penis fall out of her mouth with a pop. “I thought you were a deep sleeper,” she said sheepishly, as though that were any kind of explanation. “And what made you think that?” “Because you…” Fiona trailed off, realising her mistake but now committed to finishing the sentence. “Because you never woke up the other times.” Also running on autopilot, I said the first thing that came to mind. “Technically, I wasn’t asleep.” Fiona’s eyes widened and her face grew pale. “You were awake for that?” I sighed, my penis going limp in the absence of any further attention. “Come with me,” I said. “I need to show you something.” From my bedroom to the basement I was furiously thinking of what I would need to do. We’d both already said and done too much for an outright denial or convenient lie to be sufficient, so I’d just have to be as compelling with the truth as possible. Which, given the technology I had, was going to be pretty damn compelling. “I know this isn’t your first time down here,” I said as we reached the bottom of the stairs. “But you don’t actually know what any of this is for, do you?” Fiona looked like she was about to say something, but instead shook her head silently. “I was only half telling the truth when I said it involved hypnosis,” I said as I punched some variables into the console and lay down. “For the next sixty seconds, I need you to stand perfectly still, can you do that?” Fiona nodded her head, puzzled and uneasy. “I want you to promise me that you will stand exactly where you are and not move anywhere or touch anything,” I said sternly. Fiona nodded again. “I promise.” I lay down, and a few seconds later, I was looking at myself through Fiona’s eyes. I didn’t bother trying to suggest any actions; I took complete control of her body and walked her over to my desk, taking out a pen and a notepad. Flipping the notepad to a clean page, I wrote in it: Hello Fiona. This is Marcus Riley. You are being controlled by Marcus Riley. You might feel like you’re doing this of your own will, but Marcus Riley is inside you right now, controlling your body and writing this down. Without explicitly writing it, but pressing on her subconscious with all of my might, I tried to implant the idea in her head: And this is a good thing. It’s an amazing thing. It’s a wonderful thing. This technology and what is being done with it is magnificent. Not bothering to walk Fiona’s body back to where she had started, I waited until the timer expired and opened my eyes back in my own body. Fiona seemed to be entirely unbothered by what she had done or what she had written down. “Fiona, I told you not to move.” Fiona looked up at me guiltily, then back to where she had been standing. “I… I didn’t… I mean… it wasn’t…” “I also told you not to touch anything.” Fiona looked down at the pen in her hand and the notepad on the desk, her eyes growing wide. “I just… but this isn’t… I thought…” I held my breath as I saw her look from the notepad, to be, then back to the notepad and cover her mouth as the truth of the words I had written with her hand sunk in. “So… every night when I… and then… that was you? You were… inside me? Controlling me? Even when…?” I knew I had taken measures to prevent her from panicking or running away or otherwise losing her mind, but with no way to be completely sure if such an extreme instruction had properly taken place in her mind. I was extremely nervous when she tossed the pen aside and strode up to where I lay. I had time only to raise myself up on my elbows before she crawled onto the bed, wrapped her hands around the back of my head and pulled me in for a passionate kiss. I’d had a few girlfriends in my life with varying levels of enthusiasm, attraction and commitment. Some girls will expect you to settle for a brief peck while others are keen to wrap their tongue around yours, but none before had ever been so desperately hungry as Fiona was at that moment. She pressed herself into me, writhed her body against me, pulled me into her, squeezed me and ran her hands up and down my body as if trying to embrace my entire body at once. She came up for air, stared into my eyes and when words failed her, dove in for another kiss. No words were needed. After recovering from the initial shock and relief, I began to paw at her body, hungry to finally touch it, taste it and ravish it with my own hands, my own tongue and my own lust. Our clothes all but tore from our bodies, but unlike the passive one-sided ride we were both so used to, I pushed her from the chair, bent her over my work desk and thrust into her from behind, earning a delighted cry as I reached deep inside her. Control of my body meant control of the pace and my own climax, and what was once an episode that never went beyond thirty minutes became a debauched marathon of fucking and grunting and moaning and whispering that lasted into the early hours of the morning. I eventually found myself struggling to stay erect and was about to call it a night when Fiona wrapped her legs around me and pulled me towards her, crying out in despair at the idea of ending the night without finishing. “No!” she moaned into my ear. “You’re not done! Not yet! Give it to me! Fucking give it me!” Her desperate lust gave me the last burst of energy I needed, and I felt her tighten around me in expectation. I could feel the rising tension inside me that signalled passing the point of no return, and I gave myself to it entirely, releasing myself into her as she climaxed around me. My body spasmed once, twice, then lost all strength as an entire night of thoroughly unusual physical exertion came to bite me in the ass all at once. I collapsed against Fiona where she lay in the chair, though she didn’t seem to mind the weight of my body pressing down on her. Instead, she wrapped herself around me again, squeezing me between her legs. “It feels good having you inside me,” she panted, just as exhausted as I was. “I could feel you the whole time. I didn’t realise what it was, but every night I could feel something inside me, and every night it made me feel so happy just to be me. I’d look at my body and see myself in the mirror and I’d feel… like I was falling in love with myself. But it was you, wasn’t it? That feeling was you.” She squeezed me again, and I squeezed her back. It was comforting to know that was how she had felt when I was in control, or even just watching her. It made sense, even if it wasn’t completely true. I was brought out of my musings by a tap on my side, and Fiona grunted beneath me. “I can’t breathe,” she said with a grimace. “Oh, shit I’m sorry,” I said, lifting myself up and feeling our skin peel away after being stuck together with sweat. The cool basement air, sticky skin and fatigue gave us both the same idea. “Shower?” “Shower.” Fiona had her own in the en suite, but she followed me up to mine anyway. I didn’t stop her - I had a rough idea of what she had in mind. We didn’t do anything crazy. We didn’t even do anything especially spicy - we didn’t have the energy for it - but it was still nice showering together. There’s something pleasant about bathing in company, just holding each other for a few minutes under the hot running water. After drying together, Fiona picked her clothes up from the floor and kissed me on the cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she whispered, and left the room. I was surprised she didn’t want to spend what was left of the night with me only somewhat. More than anything, both of us needed a good rest, and she would need a while to process recent events. Was I worried that she might jump on her phone and let something slip to her friends? A little, but we’d gone well past any event horizon where that was preventable. If I were the paranoid type, or if I doubted the efficacy of my own equipment, I might have hobbled back down to the basement for one final look into Fiona’s head, maybe even drop a reinforcement impression in there just to be sure, but I was honestly too tired to care. Once I had dried off, I was in bed and out like a light. * * * I woke up to the smell of burning. Bacon, as it turned out, but that wasn’t the first thought I had, and I bolted upright in the late morning light, running out of my room to find Fiona in the kitchen. She turned to look at me with the knowing cheeriness that comes with having recently bonded over something deeply intimate and overwhelmingly illicit. “Morning, sleepyhead,” she said, turning back to the frying pan. “I’m doing mine extra crispy. Let me know if you want it the same way.” I did, and I said so, standing in otherwise dumbfounded silence at the quaint image of a young woman making breakfast in my kitchen. “You’re gonna catch a cold standing like that,” Fiona said, and I realised that I was completely nude. I strangled the impulse to cover myself: After everything that had happened, any attempt at modesty would have been pointless and Fiona’s grin made it clear she thought the same. I threw on something comfortable and came back to find a plate of crunchy bacon, eggs and two slices of bread waiting with a glass of orange juice, but no cutlery. “I didn’t picture you as much of a coffee drinker,” Fiona said by way of explanation, sitting down with her own plate before assembling a sandwich. “I’m not,” I said, taking the barbeque sauce when she offered it and doing the same. We built our respective sandwiches and ate without talking, the kitchen silent but for the crunching of bacon muffled by soft bread. I finished first, and I watched Fiona eat as she struggled to catch up with me. “Do you often eat bacon and egg sandwiches?” I asked. Fiona shook her head, chewing valiantly and forcing the mouthful down with some juice before speaking. “I’ve always been more of an avocado toast person before now.” I nodded. She gave me that knowing look again as she took as big a bite as she was able and began chewing again. I waited until she was almost done before speaking again. “And what about you? Do you like coffee?” Fiona wobbled her head from side to side while she finished. “I was. I am. But I think juice in the morning is growing on me, you know?” I didn’t wait for her to take another bite. “Since when?” She hesitated with the sandwich halfway to her mouth and raised her eyebrows at me. “Oh, I’d say I started to consider it on Monday, but I hadn’t really made up my mind until this morning.” The crunch of bacon was the only noise as she finished the sandwich off, took both our plates and glasses to rinse them in the sink and then load them into the dishwasher. “Could you load some detergent in there?” I asked. “Should be just about full.” After only a moment’s hesitation, Fiona opened the cupboard under the sink and pulled out a washing tablet. Instead of loading it into the compartment typically meant to hold such things, she tossed it into the cutlery cage and closed the door. It was just as well that she did, because the tablet case was faulty and didn’t allow water to flow through correctly. Loading the tablet into the dishwasher the correct way would have been - in this very specific instance - the wrong way. Fiona realised what she had done and smirked at me, seating herself across from me again. “You’ve clearly got something on your mind,” I said. “Go on.” Looking apprehensive but also very excited, Fiona settled herself in her seat before speaking. “I want to be your partner.” A storm of questions exploded into my mind, and I’m somewhat proud that I was able to disguise my reaction by not reacting at all. Fiona took my hand in both of hers and clutched it tightly. “Not as a romantic partner! I mean, well, not JUST as a romantic partner.” She shook her head in frustration. “We’ll get back to that. I mean with your experiments. I want to help you, but I want to be more than just your guinea pig!” I knew what was coming next. I knew it was a bad idea. Not just a bad idea - we were well past the point of worrying about bad ideas - but a… wrong idea? But I realised we were probably already past worrying about those as well. “The thing is… I can still feel you inside me. Not sexually! I mean there’s still bits of you in my mind. I can’t consciously remember any specifics, but if I just let my body move, it’s like I’ve lived here my whole life! And it’s more than that - I can feel… I think I can feel you taking over me. Filling me up. I’m sure that I’m still me, but it’s the parts of you that are still inside here controlling me.” I’d gone too far. I’d promised myself not to use it at all. Then I’d promised to continue the research purely in the spirit of furthering science. And within a week, I’d brainwashed my first test subject into a sex-hungry slave, or at least I’d gone so far as I may as well have. “And I’m okay with that. I know I should be appalled, but I’ve never been happier in my life. Not just because of the sex - the sex was amazing - but I feel like… there’s so much we could achieve together. The whole point of studying at college is to learn so I can do great things, but when I feel you inside me, it’s like some of your knowledge is soaking into me. We could work on this together! And you’ll know that you can trust me no matter what, because so much of you will be inside me!” I would only be half lying if I said I was conflicted. That I was strongly considering trying to find a way to restore Fiona’s mind, destroy the equipment and either hand myself in or maybe just disappear for good. That I was at all hesitant about Fiona’s proposal. But only half. “Marcus,” Fiona begged, and I realised that her hands were shaking. “I feel empty without you inside me. Please. I need you to fill me up completely. I don’t even know if it’s actually possible, but I feel so hollow and you’re the only person that can make it stop. I don’t even care if I disappear, I just need you inside me.” I put my free hand on hers, and she looked up at me with tears beginning to well up in her eyes. I wanted to warn her of the potential consequences, that what I was doing was deeply immoral and I didn’t even really know what I was doing. I wanted to tell her that I was wrong for making her feel this way, that restoring her sense of self was the most important thing and that my research should be reversed and destroyed as soon as possible. But in truth, I felt a different need that mirrored hers in desperate intensity and could only be sated by giving her exactly what she wanted. So really, I didn’t have any choice. “Okay.”