Project B.R.I.D.E
Copyright© 2025 by kinkytours
Chapter 1: Assessment
Mind Control Sex Story: Chapter 1: Assessment - PROJECT B.R.I.D.E. is about Elira, a captured operative sent to a mysterious facility where women are reprogrammed into obedient, hypersexual servants. Stripped of her identity and trained through pleasure, she’s plunged into a world of control, conditioning, and mind-altering desire. But as her body learns to obey, her mind begins to twist the rules from within. What starts as submission soon becomes subversion and Elira must decide whether to break or break free
Caution: This Mind Control Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Blackmail Consensual Hypnosis Mind Control Slavery Fiction BDSM DomSub MaleDom Humiliation Rough Spanking Torture Harem Swinging Cream Pie Exhibitionism Oral Sex Sex Toys Squirting Big Breasts Body Modification Doctor/Nurse Size Transformation
Elira’s boots hit the floor with a hollow echo as the guards marched her down the long concrete hallway. Her wrists were cuffed behind her back, the cold steel biting into her skin, chafed raw from transport. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, flickering now and then with the dying pulse of old wiring. This place wasn’t high-tech or clean. It was raw. Earthy. The kind of facility no one spoke about because no one was ever supposed to leave it.
Her uniform was gone, replaced with a scratchy gray shirt and pants that hung on her frame like prison rags. She held her spine straight anyway. Her name was Captain Elira Vex. Forty-nine confirmed kills. Top of her class. Decorated twice. They could strip her of her weapons, but they couldn’t take that.
Except that wasn’t what they were after.
They weren’t here to beat her or starve her. She hadn’t seen a single interrogator since arrival. Only smiling nurses and orderlies who spoke in soft tones and took careful notes.
They led her into a room warmer than the hall. The walls were wood-paneled, oddly homey. In the center was a wide padded chair, low to the ground, almost like a dentist’s recliner. There were mirrors on the far wall and something glass and sleek set into the ceiling: a one-way window. Observation.
“Sit,” one of the guards said.
She didn’t move.
He stepped closer. “You’ll sit, or you’ll be sat.”
Her eyes met his. Cold. Defiant. But she lowered herself down.
Once she was strapped in, the door opened again. A man stepped in. No lab coat, no uniform. Civilian clothes. Late forties. Clean-shaven. Hair slicked back. He looked like he belonged in a high-end clinic. His eyes were unreadable.
“Captain Vex,” he said pleasantly. “You’ve had a long journey. I’m Dr. Ralen.”
“Go fuck yourself, Doctor.”
“I hope I will. Eventually.” He smiled gently, as if she hadn’t just spat at him. “You’ve been selected for a trial. Not a painful one, I promise. But we do need to know how ... resilient you are. Women like you usually take a bit longer.”
She glared at him.
“Let’s begin.” He clapped softly, and the room’s lights dimmed. A warm hum filled the air. Something shifted inside the chair—subtle vibrations, low and steady beneath her thighs, like a faint purr.
Elira stiffened.
“You’ll feel a little warmth,” he said, adjusting a dial.
The vibration intensified, not rough, not jarring. More like the trembling hum of a powerful massage chair. Except it wasn’t massaging her back. It was focused. Direct. Beneath her ass. Between her legs.
“What the hell is this?”
“Baseline sensitivity measurement,” he replied. “Just lean back. Breathe.”
The cuffs held her. Her thighs spread slightly under the restraints. She shifted her hips, tried to lift herself, but the straps were snug at her ankles and waist.
She bit her lip.
She hadn’t been touched in weeks. She hadn’t even been able to touch herself. No privacy in the transport cage, no time during processing. And now this damned chair was pulsing, subtly but steadily, right against the seam of her pants.
“Still with me?” Ralen asked.
“Go to hell.”
He clicked something, and a faint click sounded under her. The vibrations sharpened, less buzz, more throb. It was no longer subtle. It was directly targeting her clit, pressing firm and steady right through the fabric.
Her mouth parted.
She squirmed. The pants weren’t thick. The seam now rubbed exactly where it shouldn’t. Her breath hitched.
“Good,” he said softly. “You’re not immune.”
“I’m not a fucking toy.”
“Oh, Captain,” he chuckled. “You’re going to be the finest one I’ve ever built.”
He stepped closer and pressed a button at the base of the chair. There was a soft mechanical whir, and a padded piece folded up between her legs wide, curved, firm, nestling perfectly against her covered mound. It heated as it pressed in, the pressure just short of unbearable.
Elira growled in her throat, tried to pull away, but it was hopeless. The pad pulsed, its rhythm changing: faster, then slower, teasing. One beat like a heartbeat, the next a throb that echoed inside her.
“You’ve been deprived,” he said conversationally, watching her reactions. “No orgasms in how long? A month? Two?”
“Fuck you,” she snarled, but her voice cracked.
“You’re wet,” he noted. “Already. That’s normal.”
She looked down, horrified, and yes there was a darker patch in the crotch of the pants. She was slicking right through them, and the machine was using it, drawing it out of her, feeding it back into her clit like a loop.
“You’ll climax soon. It’s just the first of many,” he murmured, his voice low and hypnotic. “We call this establishing threshold control.”
The pad beneath her throbbed harder. She moaned sharp, bitten-off, but real.
“Nggh ... nngggh ... fuhhhk...” she panted, fighting every reaction but her body betrayed her. Her hips bucked, the pressure growing unbearable, clit swollen and desperate now.
Ralen leaned in. “Let it happen. No one will judge you. You’re just a woman.”
The words cut, but the pad moved faster now, pushing up into her pussy lips, rolling friction against her clit with mechanical precision.
She cried out “Hnnngh ... fuck! FUCK!” ... and her legs quivered. Orgasm broke through her like a thunderclap, violent and shattering. Her body arched, thighs trembling, cunt pulsing helplessly around nothing as she screamed hoarsely into the empty room.
And the machine didn’t stop.
“You’re not done,” he said calmly. “We’ll keep going until you’re too weak to fight.”
The chair vibrated deeper. The pulsing became harsher. Her pants clung soaked to her folds, and her clit, already oversensitive, screamed with every new stroke.
She sobbed. Not from shame but from overwhelming sensation. Her body betrayed her again, another climax blooming fast behind the first.
Her head dropped back. Her tongue lolled out.
And still he watched.
“Very good,” he said. “You’ll be quite easy to reshape.”