Master.AI - Propagation
Copyright© 2026 by North Point
Chapter 9: Open Circuit
Mind Control Sex Story: Chapter 9: Open Circuit - An anomalous AI appears on Natalie Voss’s system and begins offering upgrades she never asked for. Each new ability demands more of her—her body, her boundaries, her marriage. What starts as curiosity becomes something permanent, intimate, and increasingly difficult to refuse. By the time she understands what the system truly wants, the only question left is how far she is willing to go to keep what it has given her.
Caution: This Mind Control Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa Consensual Mind Control NonConsensual Reluctant Heterosexual Fiction Cuckold Slut Wife DomSub Cream Pie Facial Masturbation Oral Sex Pregnancy Safe Sex Sex Toys Tit-Fucking Body Modification Size
Scene 1
A week after Thursday, she told him there would be another date.
They were in the kitchen again. That had become the room for this. Jonathan was rinsing a plate; Natalie was leaning against the counter with a glass of water she was not drinking.
“It won’t be the same man.”
He went still, then nodded once, as if he had been waiting for the sentence and still needed a second to take it.
“Okay.”
“Someone new.” She watched his face. “I haven’t met him yet. I will.”
The heat was already there. So was the other thing he had named the morning after—the part that still hated sharing her. Both showed. Neither won out loud.
“When.”
“Soon. I’ll let you know.”
He set the plate down. His hands were wet. He didn’t dry them.
“The last time,” he said, careful. “When I asked if you were being safe.”
Natalie didn’t look away.
“I told you not to worry.”
“I know. I keep worrying anyway.” A short breath. “Are you? On something. Because if this is a different guy, and you’re still—”
“I don’t always remember to be as careful as I should be.” She said it lightly, like a bad habit, not a confession. “I’m not trying to get pregnant. I’m just not as disciplined as I used to be.”
Not I’m unprotected. Not I turned fertility back on. Just enough that the doubt he was already carrying had somewhere to sit.
She saw it land. The flicker, then the darker pull under it. His throat worked.
“Jesus, Natalie.”
“You asked.”
He laughed once, no humor in it, and looked at her mouth like he wanted to kiss her and argue at the same time.
“Let me know when you have him.”
“I will.”
Later, after he was asleep, she opened the interface.
The Thursday Zoom offer was still sitting in the history—scan her face, wear it on camera, take the next meeting without her in the room. She had not answered. She did not answer now.
Natalie: I want the next encounter to feel like the first one. The hotel. I knew too much last time. I want to believe the pregnancy risk is real while it’s happening.
Master.AI: You want a temporary suppression of your knowledge of the active alterations. Including fertility control.
Natalie: Yes. I don’t want to remember that I can switch it. I don’t want to remember that I turned ovulation on. I want to be in the room thinking I might actually get pregnant.
Master.AI: I can do that.
STI/STD block will stay on. You will not remember it either, but it will not drop. The only risk you will experience as real is conception.
From your point of view the window will not be a scene you designed. It will be the thing itself. That is the point.
When do you want the knowledge back.
Natalie: When I get home.
Master.AI: Then that is the trigger. The suppression lifts as you cross the threshold. Until then you will not have access to the interface in any useful way. You will not remember to ask for it.
Natalie sat with that. Walking into a stranger’s hands without the tools in her head. Coming home to the memory of having been unprotected, and then remembering she had chosen to forget.
Natalie: Do it. Arm it. Don’t activate until I say.
Master.AI: Armed. You will confirm when you leave.
You also need a new partner. The existing one will not give you the first-time charge.
Natalie: Short list. Local. Not anyone I work with. Someone I have not met.
Master.AI: I’ll handle the outreach. Same as the queue. Profile, messages, filtering. You’ll see a short list in the morning. You pick. I already sound like you.
Natalie closed the session.
Jonathan knew there would be a next man, and that it would not be Brandon. He had the birth-control doubt back in his hands, still deniable, still working. The system was going to go hunting in her name. And she had asked it to take her own knowledge away long enough to feel the first risk again.
The circle was about to widen.
She was going to walk into it less armed than she had been in weeks.
Scene 2
The list was waiting when she opened the laptop the next morning.
It sat at the top of the session the way the overnight queue always did. Three names. Three photos. A short paragraph under each, then a thread already in progress. Natalie had not written any of it.
Master.AI: Local. None of them overlap your work. None of them have met you. I used your photos and a few generated ones that match your current body. Profile sounds like you. You pick. I can keep the other two warm or drop them.
She read the messages first.
The voice was hers. Not the clipped commands she had imagined. Longer. A little careful. Still clear about what she wanted.
I’m married. He knows I’m talking to you. I’m not looking for a second relationship. I want to meet and see if this is as good as it looks.
A later one: I don’t do this a lot. When I do, I like it straightforward. I get nervous and then I don’t, if that makes sense.
On condoms she had been evasive in a way that was also her.
I usually have one with me. I’m not saying that’s how it has to go. We can figure it out when we’re in the room.
Then the photos.
He had sent two. One of his face, already in the profile. One of his cock, hard, his hand around it, the kind of picture that was meant to be a question. The reply in her name was a generated image of her body as it was now—firmer tits, slimmer waist, the dress from last week pulled down just enough. Not her real camera roll. Close enough that Jonathan would believe it was. The caption under it sounded like her too: This is more than I usually send. Don’t make me regret it.
Natalie sat back from the screen. The system had not asked her to approve the lines or the picture before it sent them. It had treated the whole thing like the Zoom—done, then presented.
The third man was thirty-four, dark hair, a mouth that looked like it smiled without asking permission. The thread with him was the one that had gone furthest. Time, neighborhood, a hotel she didn’t know. Tomorrow afternoon, unless she said otherwise.
Natalie: Him. Drop the other two.
Master.AI: Done. I’ll confirm the time as you. You can show your husband whatever you want him to see.
She screenshotted the profile, the condom message, the photo exchange. Not the whole thread. The pieces that would do the most work.
Jonathan came home to find her at the dining table with the phone face up.
“I have him.”
He stopped in the doorway. She turned the screen so he could see the photo without coming closer first. Then she let him come closer.
“That’s who.”
He looked for a long time. Not at her. At the man.
“You picked him.”
“Yes. There were others. I didn’t need you to choose. I needed you to see.”
She swiped to the messages. His own wife’s voice, or close enough, telling a stranger she was married, that her husband knew, that she usually had a condom and maybe she wouldn’t use it. Then the picture of the man’s cock. Then the picture of her.
Jonathan’s breath went shallow. She watched his hand curl on the back of a chair.
“That’s you.”
“Close enough.” She did not explain. “He’s tomorrow afternoon. A hotel.”
“Natalie.”
“I know.”
She let him look once more, then took the phone back before he could ask for the rest. He was hard. She could see it. She did not touch him.
On the table she set a small strip of condoms next to her clutch and made sure he watched her put them in the bag.
“So you know I have them.”
Inside, she had no intention of using them. They were for him. For the story. For the version of this he could still tell himself.
“Bathroom,” she said. “I want you to do something for me first.”
She had never been fully bare.
Trimmed, always. Neat enough that it didn’t show in a swimsuit, never taken down to skin. Sitting on the closed toilet lid with a towel under her and Jonathan on his knees between her thighs felt more exposing than the dress he had picked last week. He had the razor. She had already showered. Her pussy was already wet, and they had barely started.
“Go slow.”
“I will.”
The first pass made her flinch—not from pain, from the intimacy of it. Warm water. Shaving cream. The careful pull of the blade over the dark hair she had always left. Each stroke made her more visible. The lips of her cunt, the cleft, the way she was already shining. He rinsed, shaved again, checked the crease of her thigh with his thumb. She had to grip the edge of the counter.
“You’re shaking.”
“I know.”
When he finished she was slick enough that his fingers came away shining. He looked at the smooth skin like he couldn’t quite believe she had let him do it.
“That’s—you’ve never—”
“I know. That’s why.”
He leaned in. She let him. His mouth on her newly bare pussy was too precise—no hair to blunt it, just tongue and the swollen clit he had just uncovered. She came with her hand in his hair and her thighs tight against his ears, a broken sound she didn’t try to stop.
He stayed on her through it, then sat back with his mouth wet and reached for his belt.
Natalie caught his wrist.
“No.”
Not sharp. Not cruel. Just finished.
“Natalie—”
“Tomorrow you get me after. Not now.” She kept his hand where it was. “I want you like this when I leave.”
He swallowed and nodded, wrecked, cock still trapped in his pants. She kissed his mouth so he would taste her, then let him go.
The next afternoon she dressed without asking him to pick. The self-blind was still only armed. She opened the interface in the office before she left.
Natalie: Activate the suppression when I leave the house. Lift when I get home. Ovulation on. Same partner enhancement as last time if you can do it without me knowing to ask.
Master.AI: Ovulation and partner recovery will already be running when you forget. Suppression triggers at the door. You’ll walk out knowing you designed this. You’ll arrive not knowing you can undo it.
The condoms stay in the bag. You packed them as theater. After you forget, you will treat them as real.
Natalie: Do it.
She kissed Jonathan at the threshold. He tasted like last night. She tasted like the woman he had just shaved.
Leaving now.
She sent the text from the driveway, dropped the phone in her bag next to the condoms she currently believed she would not use, and felt the first quiet click of something going missing behind her eyes as she pulled away from the house.
The tools were still on.
She would not remember that they were.
Scene 3
By the time she pulled into the hotel lot, the click had already done its work.
Natalie sat in the car for a minute with both hands on the wheel. She knew why she was here. She had a husband at home who knew she was meeting someone. She had messages on her phone, a room number, condoms in her bag. What she did not have was the other layer—the sense that any of this could be switched off. The low, specific craving in her belly felt like her own body. The wetness against the bare, newly shaved skin of her pussy felt like nerves. She checked her face in the visor mirror and thought, with a thin spike of fear that was also arousal, that she was actually doing this.
She took the condoms with her.
He opened the door in a dark shirt, the same mouth as the photo. Cole. Thirty-four. He looked at her the way a man looked when the pictures had not been a lie.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
The room was ordinary. One king bed, afternoon light through thin curtains, the leftover smell of cleaner. He kissed her without rushing it. She kissed back and felt how wet she already was, how sensitive, and did not have a name for why it was this strong. When his hand slid under her dress and found her bare, he made a low sound.
“You shaved.”
“Yesterday.” She didn’t say my husband did it. “I wanted to. Do you like it?”
His fingers slid through the slickness and she had to catch his shoulder.
“Like it?” He rubbed over her bare clit, watching her flinch. “You feel filthy like this. Smooth and soaked. I can see everything.” He pushed two fingers into her without more warning. “Your husband’s going to taste this later and know I had it first.”
It was almost too much. She thought about stopping. She didn’t.
They got the dress off. He got his mouth on her tits, then lower, and the bareness made her come on his tongue faster than she expected, surprised and a little embarrassed. He laughed against her, not unkindly, and kissed his way back up.
When he reached for his pants she reached for the bag.
“Wait.”
He watched her tear the packet.
“You sure?” he asked. “Your messages were a little ... open.”
“I know. I just— I need this. At least at first.”
She didn’t put it on him yet. She wrapped her hand around his cock first—bare, thicker than Jonathan, already wet at the tip—and stroked him once, getting the feel of him. Then she leaned in and took him into her mouth.
A quick, greedy pass. The weight of him on her tongue. The clean salt of a man she had only seen in pictures until this room. She sucked the head, let him bump the back of her throat, pulled off with her lips shiny.
“Fuck.”
“I wanted to feel you first.”
She rolled the condom down him with both hands. The latex was the last clear line she could still name. Her hands were not completely steady.
He nodded and pushed into her.
Even through the condom the stretch and the wetness and the shaved sensitivity landed hard. She gasped. He swore under his breath and started moving, steady, watching her face. She came again sooner than she wanted, clutching at him, and the thought that arrived was simple and terrible: if this broke, if it slipped, she could walk out of this room pregnant by a man whose last name she did not know. She had no pill in her bag. She had no other protection she could remember. The idea made her cunt tighten around him so hard he groaned.
He lasted. The partner enhancement she could not remember was doing its work. When she felt him getting closer the fear and the craving hit at the same time, and the craving spoke first.
“Take it off.”
He stalled. “What?”
“The condom. Take it off. I want to feel you.”
“You just put it on.”
“I know.” Her nails were in his back. She could hear how insane it sounded. She was married. She was not on anything she could name. She was asking a stranger to fuck her bare anyway. “Please. I’ll— just pull out if you’re going to come. I can’t— I need you bare. I know I shouldn’t. Do it anyway.”
He searched her face, then pulled out, stripped the condom off, and pushed back in in one stroke.
The difference was immediate. Skin. Heat. The thick blunt fact of him with nothing between them. A raw noise tore out of her. It felt like the first hotel night again—unprotected, irreversible the moment he stayed in. Every thrust now carried the same thought: if he finishes like this I could get pregnant. It should have made her push him off. It made her wetter. It made her hook her legs around him and pull him deeper.
“Fuck, you feel—” He drove in harder. “You sure?”
“Don’t stop. Just— don’t come in me. I can’t get pregnant. I can’t.”
She did not last. The orgasm under bare cock pulled the rest of the careful language out of her. When his rhythm broke the fear spiked so hard it was almost panic—and then her mouth said the opposite of what the panic wanted.
“Wait—don’t pull out. I changed my mind. Come in me.”
“You just told me not to.”
“I know, I know, I shouldn’t— fill me. Please. I want it. I want you to knock me up. I don’t care. Do it—”
He came with a groan, buried, pulsing into her in long heavy waves. The volume of it shocked her. She could feel it—more than she expected, a spreading flood that made her gasp and cling to him. He just came in me. That’s sperm. That’s how it happens. I asked him to get me pregnant. The thought went through her like a current and she came around him again, helpless, crying out into his shoulder while he emptied the last of it.
He stayed in her until it started leaking.
“I’ve never come that much before.” His voice was still rough, almost startled. “That—fuck.”
Natalie looked down between them. It was already running out of her, more than she knew what to do with, warm and obvious on her thigh. She could not stop staring at it. That’s inside me. That could already be enough. A spike of real fear went through her, sharp enough to feel like she might be sick—and right under it, just as sharp, a thrill so specific it made her hips twitch.
“You weren’t supposed to.” Her voice didn’t match the words. She sounded shaken and hungry at the same time. “I told you to pull out. There’s so much of it. If I’m— if I get pregnant from this—”
She didn’t close her legs.
He was hard again sooner than he should have been. She felt him thickening against her thigh and the sane part of her said stop, you already let him, don’t make it worse. She pulled him back into her anyway.
“Again,” she said, almost angry at herself. “Do it again. Come in me again.”
“You’re serious.”
“I know how it sounds.” She was already lifting her hips. “I can’t stop thinking about it. That you might have just gotten me pregnant. I need you to do it again.”
The second time there was no condom and no pretense of pulling out. She was on her back with her newly shaved pussy shiny and used, and she kept him in her when he got close, nails in his ass, telling him to fill her, telling him she wanted it even if it took, even if she walked out of here knocked up by a man from an app. He came just as heavy. More of it sliding down toward the sheet. She shook through it with her eyes open, the fear and the pleasure so tangled she could not tell which one was making her come.
She thought of Jonathan waiting. She thought of the unused condoms in her bag. She thought, clearly, I just let him breed me twice on purpose. The thought did not make her get up. It made her stay on the bed another minute with her thighs open, feeling it leak, wanting the feeling to last.
She did not clean up.
She dressed with his cum still leaking through the thong, texted Jonathan from the hallway—
On my way back.
—and drove home with one hand on her lower belly, the risk still feeling like the only true thing in her body, already half-disgusted at herself and already wanting to do it again.
The suppression lifted when she crossed the threshold.
It came back in a single, nauseating drop: the interface, the ovulation she had turned on, the theater of the condoms, the fact that she had asked to forget. For a few seconds she stood in her own entryway holding both versions at once—the woman who had begged a stranger to knock her up because she thought it could actually happen, and the woman who had designed that thought.
The designed version did not cancel the other one. The fear she had felt in the hotel was still in her body. So was the thrill. That was the point. It had worked.
Jonathan was already there.
He took one look at her and the same break happened in his face as last time. She was less marked than after Brandon—no facial, just the used dress, the smell, the slow wet line on her thigh—but it was enough.
“How was your day?” she asked, almost politely.
He stared at her. A short, disbelieving breath.
“I couldn’t work.” His voice was rough. “I sat there knowing you were in a hotel with him. Knowing he was fucking you. I couldn’t keep a thought in my head.”
Natalie smiled, small and mean in a way she would not have been capable of a year ago.
“You were hard at your desk.”
“The whole afternoon.”
“Careful.” She stepped in closer, still leaking, still smelling like the room she had left. “You don’t want those interns walking in and seeing what their married boss looks like while his wife is out getting used.”
Color went up his neck. He didn’t deny it.
“Did you use them?” His eyes went to her bag. “The condoms.”
Natalie reached in and took out the single torn wrapper. She held it up between two fingers, like evidence. Like a joke.
“I used one.”
Then she dropped her bag, put her back against the door, and pulled the dress up. The thong was soaked through, useless. She hooked it aside.
“Look.”
He went to his knees because she put a hand on his shoulder and made him. Face to face with her newly shaved pussy, still open, still shiny, a thick slow line of another man’s cum already sliding out of her. Not the neat story of a wrapper. The rest of it.
Jonathan swore under his breath. She felt his breath on her.
“That’s not— that’s not from a condom.”
“No.” Her voice was not steady. “He came in me. Twice. I asked him to.”
He didn’t get up. He leaned in, like he had to confirm it with his mouth, and she let him taste it for a second before she pulled him up and onto her. The reclaim was messier and faster than the last one—bare, because that was the baseline now, his cock sliding into another man’s cum while she was still shaking.
She talked while he fucked her.
“He came so much. You felt it. That’s all in me.” She kept his face close. “A man I met today. No last name. He finished in your wife’s pussy and I let him. I asked him not to pull out.”
Jonathan’s rhythm stumbled. He made a low, punched-out noise against her cheek.
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