Josie And Dr Blago Ch 01

This story contains (perhaps vivid) descriptions of deliberately and maliciously induced psychosomatic states resembling sleep hypnosis. It frankly depicts psychiatric torture. It describes acts of mental, emotional, sexual, and physical abuse. Contained herein is the purloining of sexual pleasure without the consent of all participants. Those who suffer from germane conditions, have a history of abuse, or are otherwise sensitive to emotionally troubling themes are advised to avoid this work of fiction.

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The mad Dr. Blago needs to test some ground-breaking technology in the field of mind control. Unseen hands guide the fate of one Josie Mimieux, elite supermodel, into his clutches.

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Doctor Blago and his assistant had developed the hypnotic control machine to a level that the Doc felt it was ready to be tested on a human subject. They'd found a nice volunteer, too. Even now she was sleeping comfortably in the antiseptic white room on the other side of the one-way glass.

Well, "comfortably" might not have been the right word, Blago mused. Come to think of it, "sleeping" probably wasn't, either. What she actually was, was unconscious. Slumped prettily in a corner of the largely bare examination room, her right shoulder hunched as she tilted to one side. Her bare knees extended at an odd angle, chastely wedded even in her soporific state. She kept her maidenly, bare thighs, elegantly aligned, close to her midsection, and her arms she kept neatly symmetrical at her sides. The girl showed poise and elegance even when unaware of herself, which was maybe to be expected from Josette Mimieux, elegant French supermodel for Elizabeth's Riddle—and now an unwitting and unlikely abductee in Doctor Blago's quest to perfect the hypnotic control machine.

He had been looking at Josie for the past few minutes from the control room on the other side of the one-way glass as he completed the final setup and calibration of his instruments and gauges for the upcoming study. The more he eyeballed her, the better she looked. The thugs who'd delivered her to his lab had been surprisingly gingerly with her. Their government handlers seemed capable of intimidating even these drug dealing hoodlums, Blago surmised, although his offhand quip—"What, you couldn't get Adrianna Peru?"—visibly irritated them in a way that had worried Blago a bit. But in the end they'd left peaceably.

Since the thugs had snatched Josie from her trailer during a beach photo shoot, she looked extremely good. Her red-black hair, slick-smooth, shimmered even in the antiseptic light of the testing room. She'd had it brought back from her ears in a loose ponytail, but her chin-length bangs still dangled over her kewpie-doll face and waved as if in the wind as she breathed in and out in slumber. When Blago had installed the control halo, a crescent-shaped wire device for receiving and distributing the mind control signals to her cortex, he'd been careful to interfere as little as possible with her lustrous hairdo.

The doctor regarded her as he completed his work behind the control panel.

Josette's inward-pressed upper arms bunched her curvy milk mounds together in the cups of her hoopy orange bikini bra, creating a succulent furrow of bronze cleavage at the vertical center of her womanly chest. The Doc couldn't contemplate Josie's succulent twin turnovers without experiencing a tingle under the apron of his lab coat.

Primed as she'd been for the shoot, Josette was done up perfectly, with an all-over, barely-there coat of base makeup and lotion all over her body that gave her skin a copper shine; a perfect peach glaze of lipstick and gloss on her sleepy, parted mouth; a powdered blush of rose on her vibrant cheeks. Her assistant had perfectly aligned her bra and matching hoop-waisted bikini on her; there were no twists in their straps and neither side was higher or lower than the other.

He was going to really enjoy this.

Taking a second look at the array of instruments on the panel in front of him, Doctor Blago saw nothing out of place and decided it was time to get things underway. He cleared his throat and shook his head vigorously to drive away the arousal that had built in him from ogling Josette so that he could focus on the task at hand. He flicked a knob and the indicator light on her control halo toggled from red to blue. A moment later a fumbling twitch went through Josette—guess they didn't teach you how to regain consciousness in finishing school, Blago thought—and she lifted a hand to her forehead and looked around.

"Oh," she mumbled, "what? What happened? Where am I?"

"Greetings, Miss Mimieux. Welcome to my testing room. You're about to participate in a most interesting experiment."

Josette had been dreaming about sitting against a rock face on the beach at the shoot, relaxing, with the sun glowing orange through her closed eyelids, and in her dream the light had brightened and the sand under her seat and legs had morphed into hard, thick glass. Then a wave, wholly unfamiliar, had pulsed through her, and she'd realized the sand and the beach were a dream. The last thing she actually remembered was taking photos in the shade, showing off the Beach-Sexy, Low, Gold-Ring Triangle Top and Low-Rise Bottom bikini for the Autumn catalog.

For some reason her handlers made her learn the names of the pieces she wore.

She had decided to take advantage of a five-call to go back to her trailer for a low-fat yogurt cup and as soon as the trailer door had closed, some firm cloth had closed over her mouth and nose and then, suddenly, she'd been there, at the beach on the sandy glass. And now here. Curious it was indeed to wake up without having remembered falling asleep. She supposed that was why they called it "coming to."

And where was this, exactly? This wasn't simply a coming to, not like those few times she'd blacked out drinking too much in college, but something stranger. An unfamiliar room was being brought into focus now, a cube of blank white walls and a sheet of dark glass that seemed to be what the glass on the beach became, and a tinny voice came to her though she could see no one.

". . . in a most interesting experiment," the voice said. She suddenly felt something on her scalp like a hair clip, and she reached up to feel what it was.

"Keep your arms at your sides if you please, Miss Mimieux," said the voice. She screwed her eyes up to the ceiling of the sparse room and saw a speaker there, like the ones that play Muzak in cheap restaurants. Her curiosity to figure out what was on her crown was overwhelming, not to mention mixed with a growing sense of anxiety. At the sound of the voice in the speaker, though, her arm fell back to her side as if on its own.

"Where am I?" she asked, fearful and a little angry now. "What's going on? Who are you?"

"Better for scientific purposes if you are less inquisitive at this early stage of the experiment," said the voice. "I'm going to ask that you refrain from asking any further questions unless I give you explicit permission. Otherwise, you are allowed only to answer questions and orders with declarative statements. Understand?"

"Why," Josette began, intending to ask, Why can't I move my arms?, but somehow the sentence got lost somewhere between her mind and lips, like a name she couldn't quite remember.

Okay, she thought. This is seriously frickin' weird.

"Understand?" the voice repeated. "I order you to answer."

"Yes," she said, an anger rising in her that mysteriously failed to find its way to her voice; instead, her response came out docile and agreeable in a way she hadn't intended. "I know what a declarative sentence is."

At least she managed to get in a little sarcasm.

There was a moment of quiet; she looked around. The room was mostly white and completely featureless except for the aforementioned broad pane of reflective glass along one wall, a high mattress like an examining cot off against another wall, faced by a tray full of medical instruments, and a sturdy-looking door on an opposite corner.

Strange thing was, the door stood open. Josie had apprehended quite readily that she about to be asked to participate in some sort of procedure she hadn't agreed to, so it was odd that whoever was doing this to her had forgotten to secure her in this terrible room. If she could only work up the will to make her way to the door, maybe she could make a break for it. That, or scream for help. These seemed to be her only two options. But she noticed sadly that the walls were lined with sound insulation tiles typical of interrogation rooms so unless someone heard her through the open door, yelling was likely hopeless.

"Stand up," came the voice again.

Josie drew a breath to tell the voice to fuck itself, but instead, much to her surprise, she, or something acting through her, ballasted herself by weighting her shoulder and elbows against the wall and shimmying herself upright.

"Get out of the corner, but continue to stand with your back against the wall."

Again she complied, outwardly timid and obeisant even as, inwardly, in turmoil. What was going on?

"I should read you the background, Mademoiselle Mimieux. We are about to conduct a two-stage experiment in electronic microwave impulse and experience management. The first stage will measure our ability to achieve compliance assurance, and the second will measure our ability to direct and mobilize organ and object cathexis. In layman's terms, to control what a subject wants and doesn't want."

Josette felt an angry protest rise up in her once more. This time it found her voice.

"I don't even know what you're talking about." It came out sounding groggier than she'd expected.

"You will also refrain from unsolicited declarations and will speak only when your verbal contribution is requested or demanded."

She didn't reply.

"Silence is understood, as they say, to mean consent. For the first stage of the experiment, I have to ask you a question. I feel mostly certain of the answer but it's important to confirm. I ask your forbearance; you may find this somewhat disturbing."

With that, through the doorway Josette had so recently been casing as an opportunity for escape walked the most nakedly hideous, bizarre creature she had ever seen. It had a humanoid size and shape, but it was nearly skeletal, as though its greenish hide had been cooked on its bones. Its skull-like visage was particularly horrifying; its eyes sank deep into wide black sockets; its flat nose, devoid of cartilage, consisted merely of two wet, dark cavities in the center of its face; and its mouth was turned up in a mad grin that seemed a result more of its bone structure than any uplift in mood. Although it looked as though it lacked all soft tissue, it did have thin lips that stretched tightly over its teeth. A pair of sagging features on its chest resembled breasts—more the breasts of an aging man, though, than of a woman. Most horrible of all, a large, red swelling that could maybe have been considered a reproductive organ, but more like the crimson dugs of a monkey than those of a human being, bloomed nauseatingly between its legs.

The thing, whatever it was, made its way toward Josette on reverse-jointed, prehensile feet like the ambling legs of a dinosaur.

She blanched. She shimmied along the wall, recoiling from the beast, and gasped. The jangling reflex that rippled through her reminded her of a time, once, when she'd jumped goosily on being surprised by a rat in her kitchen. Only this, plainly, was a thousand times more terrifying.

Jesus, it was coming right at her!

"Do not advance!" said the voice.

To Josette's limitless relief, the hideous creature stopped in its tracks and stood regarding her, its chest swelling and shrinking with rapid, frenzied breath.

"Mon Dieu!" cried Josette. "What is that?"

"Relax, Miss Mimieux. No physical harm will come to you."

When she heard this Josette did in fact feel a wash of relief glow comfortingly through her, though she certainly had no reason to trust this disembodied voice in any way.

"It is the result of an earlier experiment. One with some . . . unforeseen side effects. However, it is malleable enough."