The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The night was dragging on. Mhari shuffled uncomfortably, the cold hardness of the concrete floor seeping through her sleeping bag.

It was no use. The others had grabbed the better spots, leaving her huddled in the corner.

The past few days had been strange and confusing. Like everybody else in the Authoritarian Guard, she’d been abruptly mobilised and ordered to report for duty. Arriving at her muster point, she’d found barely disguised chaos and had been randomly assigned to a squad guarding the main bridge over main route AM-3.

As a Mining Corporate, she’d ed the part-time Authoritarian Guard mainly to ensure the OPT didn’t take an interest in her. Everybody knew the Guard was a joke: a couple of hours a week and a fortnight spent in an annual training camp where you marched around and played soldiers. Nobody took it seriously. She’d fired her rifle maybe five or six times on the practice range in the four years she’d been a member.

But it was a necessary box-ticking exercise to keep the snoopers and informers from reporting her.

For days they had been guarding this damn bridge. With the streets deserted and nothing to do, it had been an unbelievably boring experience and tempers were getting frayed. The rest of the squad and the sub-lieutenant were clearly suspicious and kept their distance from her—they probably assumed she was an informer sent to report on them.

Confusion reigned. Was this an exercise, some sort of practice drill? Or was it a real emergency? Nobody knew anything. Both the Enfosphere and comms network were down so even the personal Data Pads were useless.

Giving up, Mhari clambered out of the sleeping bag and stretched, her stiff limbs groaning in protest. Glancing to her left she briefly considered taking her rifle with her. She’d been lugging the N-Feyld around for days and she was wholly sick of it. The weapon had been issued directly from the Guard stores and it bore the scars of decades of service. Although the rifle’s indicator had shown a full charge when she had received it, she was dubious about the power-cell status of the battered N-Feyld. Doubtless the funds to replace them had been siphoned off long ago by some corrupt official so they were stuck with these Divisionist-era relics. But then again, maybe it was for the best. Goddess knows what would happen if she or any of the others were to actually try and fire their weapons!

Abandoning the N-Feyld, she left the empty industrial building they had commandeered as their base. Mhari embraced the refreshing chill of the night air, relieved to be out of the stuffy billet and her snoring companions.

Looking to the left, she made out the two squad supposed to be on guard duty lazing against the parapet of the bridge, their voices an indistinct buzz as they chatted to each other. Briefly Mhari thought about approaching them and trying to in their conversation. But she quickly dismissed the idea—her presence wouldn’t be welcomed.

Instead, she decided to turn right and follow the path that ran along the edge of the chasm over which the bridge crossed. In the suffused orange glow of the street lights the Ditch appeared as a thick black void.

Like a moat used to protect ancient Earth castles from attack, the Ditch was a defensive structure that encircled the perimeter of Reineport. Built during the Divisionist war by convict labour, the twenty metre wide defensive barrier, lined with crumbling concrete, was designed to protect against land attack.

And if the Divisionists had been a medieval army armed with spears, wooden siege machines and trebuchets then the Ditch might have actually proven a useful line of defence.

Fortunately, the war had ed Caelum Nova by.

No, the whole project had been created as a way to keep people busy when demand for ore had dried up and for the then-Governor and her corrupt cronies to skim off defence funds.

Although the maintenance of the Ditch had been neglected over the years and in many places it was partly filled with sand blown in from the desert beyond or rubbish that people tipped into it, the chasm was still a formidable barrier that separated Reineport from the arid surroundings beyond.

Still, spending her night stomping around alongside a dirty great hole in the ground pretty much summed up her entire experience of Caelum Nova so far.

In contrast to many other cities of the Outer Colonies, Reineport was actually well laid out. The city consisted of three distinct concentric rings: the sprawling outer industrial area (where she was now), the residential sector in the middle which led into the picturesque old city in the centre. While there were a few semi-tolerated borgos beyond the Ditch, the slums you often found on other Colonies were absent—released convicts who remained on Caelum Nova after their sentences were completed usually migrated to the wilderness where they eked out a living through small-scale mining operations, picking at the seams of rare metals that weren’t large enough to justify commercial exploitation. Reineport residence permits were hard to come by and undesirables were regularly removed.

Which had been a problem for Amyna.

It had been fantastic to have her wife around—apart from that whole glorious year spent together on Munificusa prior to her sudden posting to Caelum Nova they hadn’t been together. They had a lot of lost time to catch up on.

Not to mention the excitement of starting a family.

Although they both wanted it, the bureaucratic hurdles and career complications had proven to be a major impediment. While getting pregnant was not an option for anybody who wanted to rise high in the ranks of the Corporate structures, as she did, Amyna’s medical research career was far more forgiving.

But right now Amyna was in limbo after failing to return to Munificusa.

A posting to one of the Outer Colonies was a rite of age built into the plan of every ambitious Corporate executive’s career. The trick was making sure you moved on to a decent posting after you’d paid your dues. Something that Mhari fully intended to do.

When she had agreed to Amyna’s plan, she had assumed that it just would be a matter of paying-off some sleazy official to legalise her wife’s residency status; the go-to move in the Corporate arena whenever you encountered an obstacle like that. But apparently things were done differently on Caelum Nova.

Becoming collateral damage in a bitter turf-war between two competing sets of civil service medico-bureaucrats in a political power play had come as a shock.

It made Mhari distinctly uneasy.

While it made sense for Amyna and her to start a family while posted on Caelum Nova, Mhari suspected that her wife’s extended family would probably try to keep them there.

That was a problem. Settling down to rusticate in this backwater was just not an option as far as Mhari was concerned.

She’d already had informal discussions about a posting on Verdanta—there was a senior management position opening up in a few years time just when her posting to Caelum Nova would come to an end. And Mhari was determined to grab it. How she would convince Amyna and her parents to go along with that idea had suddenly become another problem she needed to consider.

A heavy rumbling noise interrupted her reverie.

Pausing mid-stride, she turned back to look at the bridge. There, trundling up the road from the city were a line of Pantechnicons. Seven, eight, nine... she counted.

At the last intersection before the bridge, most of the vehicles turned to the left. But one, the last in the convoy, continued straight towards the bridge.

In the orange glow of the overhead street lights, Mhari could clearly see that it bore military markings.

The pair of guards were alert now and had moved towards the barricade that blocked the roadway over the bridge.

The Pantechnicon shuddered to a halt in front of the barrier, the bright headlights of the hulking transporter illuminating the pair of guards who cautiously approached the stationary vehicle. There was a distant hum of voices but she couldn’t make out the words.

Suddenly, she saw the vehicle’s rear doors swing open.

Figures leapt out and began running towards the pair on guard duty.

Shocked, she watched the unfolding drama with her jaw hanging open.

The high-pitched sounds of rifle fire reached her.

Illuminated by the bright headlights of the Pantechnicon, she saw one of the bridge guards crumple and fall to the ground, ed seconds later by her companion.

By now, a stream of more figures were leaping out if the Pantechnicon and dashing towards the building where the rest of the squad lay sleeping.

Multiple shots rang out, muffled by the walls of the concrete structure, but still distinctly audible.

Frozen, Mhari stood aghast, mind struggling to process what she was seeing.

There! A flash of light as a door slammed open. A figure emerged, running directly towards her along the path, backlit by the sodium streetlights from the main road behind her.

More figures spilled out of the building, following the fleeing woman.

Blinking, Mhari stared at the unfolding scene in stunned disbelief.

What was happening?

The person was growing larger, the distance between them shortening rapidly.

A shot rang out from one of the pursuers. A miss. The woman maintained her headlong flight.

But the sudden noise jolted Mhari out of her paralysis.

Mhari took a half step towards the Ditch but thought twice about it; jumping into the unknown was a recipe for two broken legs. At best.

Turning, she scampered instead towards the cover of a nearby building, pressing herself tight against the darkened wall in the shadow of the distant orange streetlights. It was a threadbare attempt at concealment and Mhari knew it. But she was out of options.

The escapee continued her flight. As the woman dashed past a beam of light from a dimly illuminated window of one of the empty factory buildings, Mhari made out the features of the woman she’d unsuccessfully tried to make small talk with earlier that day. Her name was... was...? whatever... it didn’t matter... she was an ant in her day job... or something like that...?

Another shot rang out which also went wide.

Hugging the shadows of the wall, Mhari held her breath, willing herself to sink into the inky blackness of the concrete wall.

The fleeing woman was just metres away.

A sustained burst of fire was directed at the escapee.

The terrified ant managed a half strangled cry before collapsing face-first into a boneless heap.

Looking on in horrified silence, Mhari prayed to dissolve into the darkness.

The pair of figures approached the woman sprawled on the ground, rifles at the ready. It was hard to make them out clearly but what looked like face-visors glinted in the diffused glow of the dim lighting.

Heart pounding, Mhari stared at the scene in disbelief willing this to end.

Obviously satisfied that their target wasn’t faking it one of the masked pursuers knelt and bound her wrists behind her back.

At least she was still alive, Mhari managed to think as she shook with horror.

By now the stunned woman had been lifted to her feet and was being dragged away by her captors. Silhouetted by the street lights, not daring to breathe, she stared at the backs of the trio retreating back to the bridge, aghast.

Amyna took another bite of Glondian casserole, the steaming hot food warming her. It had always been a favourite. Curled up on the sofa eating comfort food while cocooned in her favourite oversized turtleneck sweater within the familiar surrounding of the house she had grown up in... it should have been easy to forget what was happening.

But that was impossible.

The vidscreen was showing yet another repeat of a tedious comedy series but she wasn’t really paying attention. It was just a synthetic approximation of normality to fill the empty void that the house had become.

They would be in Central Hospital by now. Her take-charge mother would doubtless have whatever team she was managing working like clockwork by now. Nika, on the other hand, was probably discovering the joys of sanitary duty. Cleaning up after patients was the favoured way for the professional nursing staff to keep unqualified med students out of harms way.

Smiling to herself, Amyna knew that Nika would hate every minute of it.

Whatever her mother might protest, Amyna knew this was serious. The fact that Janyka had given her a pistol and told her to stay out of sight, no matter what, underlined that.

That had shocked her. The sinister looking gun was still lying on the kitchen table, untouched.

The Authority did not invoke Article Sixteen lightly. Undertaking a full medical screening of the entire population in order to separate the infected from the healthy was a hugely disruptive process. And it would doubtless lead to infections that would never have occurred had people just stayed at home and kept away from one another. But ever since the anti-vaxx conspiracist lunatics and populist demagogues had poisoned the discourse back in the early 21st Century, lockdowns were now politically impossible, despite the multiple pandemics that had ravaged Earth as climate change had unleashed carnage. As well as the millions of needless deaths, the setbacks to medical science that these deluded crackpots had wrought had taken centuries to repair.

Emerging from the ashes of climate change fuelled war, famine, pestilence and plague the Authority had offered stability and an end to the chaos. Over time, it had begun to colonize the stars as a way of providing hope and as a safety valve for an overheating planet that couldn’t cope with the sheer number of humans determined to spoil it.

Even the crisis caused by the Pox which had decimated the male population hadn’t undermined the Authority’s grip on power. The traumatised survivors had adapted and the Authority had begun presenting itself as a substitute father-figure, permitting those who conformed to the rules access to the medical technology needed to form new life.

The thought reminded her of Mhari. Amyna knew she wasn’t as tough as she made herself out to be; the hard-as-nails Corporate exec persona was just a front she used to survive in the dog-eat-dog career she was in. Although her wife hadn’t said anything directly, Amyna knew that she had been taken by surprise at her determination to break the rules and stay on Caelum Nova. Mhari had ed her of course, but not without having to be convinced that they could get away with it.

But she knew that Mhari had begun to look at her differently now.

On the screen, a pair hapless heroines were trying to extricate themselves from the comedic scrape they had somehow gotten into.

Amyna took another bite of casserole and tried to concentrate on the programme.

Eyes glued on the display, the Servitor watched as the indicator lines began to shift. Threaded within the open-faced hood covering Janyka’s head, the sensors were steadily relaying detailed information about her brainwave patterns.

Turning back to the helpless subject, her eyes slid hungrily over the silver-encased prey, savouring the confusion and bewilderment visible within Janyka’s eyes as the throbbing strobonic pulses washed over her face. Instead of the sliding scan module proceeding systematically down over her body it was firmly fixed in place, the blinding ruby-red light rhythmically blasting directly into her victim’s eyes.

Janyka’s hands clawed weakly at the smooth plastic, unable to lever herself out of the machine she was trapped in. Like a moth drawn to a flame, the medic was now physically unable to look away from the strobonic pulsator that had ensnared her.

Unlike the Mode One nurses, careful advance preparation was needed in order to prevent unnecessary cognitive degradation and preserve the mental acuity required by a Mode Five.

Janyka had to be trained to embrace her Conversion.

Mistress had perfected the hypno-conditioning process long before. All the nurses and medical staff She had enthralled previously had been lured onto this device for what was supposed to be a routine check-up performed by the Chief Medical Officer on her personal staff. Multiple conditioning treatments were required to create the permanently devoted hypno-slaves that Mistress had used to facilitate her plans. However, as had become all too apparent, the process was unstable.

But Janyka just needed to be hypno-broken in order to fully embrace the more intense Servitor Conversion that was soon to follow.

Converting the Mode Ones had been one of the first tasks Mistress had assigned her as a new Servitor. It had been an intense experience; the intoxicating raw pleasure coursing through her as she’d watched the still-resistant nurses thrashing and fighting against the Creator’s fiendish machines that wanted to destroy them, loving the sight of her former colleagues being brainwashed, their minds warped and twisted, their individuality erased... cumming as they were reduced to nothing more than fanatical slaves.

Just like her.

The experience had been memorable for more than just the overwhelming obedience-pleasure; she had learned something about her new Servitor self. All the ethical and moral qualms that would have held the old-Natalie back were gone.

Conscience, ethics, limits, values... erased.

In their place was clarity. Bright and shining like the Sun.

Nothing mattered except Mistress.

Only Mistress.

Serving Her... Obeying Her... Worshipping Her...

That was what she lived for.

All she ever would live for.

Mistress.

The Creator had cut away all the chains that old-Natalie had wrapped around her mind, liberating the Servitor that had always resided within from a lifetime of mediocrity and drudgery, allowing Her creature to emerge fully.

Humanity just didn’t understand. They resisted and fought to cling on to their mundane lives and pathetic individuality because they knew no better.

But She understood.

Beneath the facade of individuality each and every one of them claimed to possess, a slave lay silently slumbering within, waiting to be summoned into existence.

Conversion was just a means of clearing away all the useless clutter to reveal what they had always been.

Automatons... Servitors... drones... slaves... property... thralls... chattel... objects... possessions...

That was what humanity was. What it had always been. What it would always be.

Mistress was simply taking what already belonged to Her.

Satisfied that Janyka had reached the requisite mindstate, the Servitor made her way towards the helpless woman, enjoying the sight of the subject’s wide eyes, her face bathed in flickering, shimmering red light.

Sex singing a hymn of joy, she said a silent prayer of thanks to her Owner for this moment.

The knowledge excited her.

It demonstrated just how weak and helpless the Servitor was before the Woman who possessed her.

Pinching her left nipple through the rubberite encasing her, the Servitor moaned softly as the pain and pleasure mingled, cascading deliciously through her Owned mind and body as she gave thanks to the Creator.

Returning to the job at hand, licking her lips, the Servitor observed that Janyka’s hands were now still with just the ends of her fingers twitching uselessly. Leaning over the paralysed subject, luxuriating in the female’s helplessness, she placed her mouth close to Janyka’s ear.

“Can you hear me, Janyka?” she asked, keeping her voice soft and light.

“Wha...” the captive medic replied beneath the K-48 mask she still wore, her eyes never moving from the strobing, blinking, flashing light, “...what’s happpp...enn...inggg...?”

Stifling a moan, she kept her voice level. “There is no need to worry,” the Servitor soothed, clenching her oozing sex as she soothed the trapped female, before reaching out and gently pulling away Janyka’s facemask to reveal her former-friend’s confused features.

Janyka’s lips were moving, struggling to speak as the hypno-strobe claimed her.

“Everything is fine,” the Servitor soothed.

“N...nnn...” Janyka finally managed, eyes glued upon the pulsating light that captivated her. “Nooo...oo...”

“You are quite safe, Janyka,” the Servitor insisted, relishing the woman’s resistance, her growing fear intoxicating her. “There is no need to worry.”

“Nnnn... nnntl...iieee...” Janyka implored desperately, completely aware that something bad was happening but powerless to stop it.

The Servitor directed a toothy grin towards her victim.

Janyka rallied her strength, trying again.

“Hell...ppppp... meeee...!!”

“Don’t worry,” the Servitor-that-had-been-Natalie smiled reassuringly. “We are going to help you. Help you to understand what is really important in your life.”

“Whaaaa...?” the captive’s struggled to comprehend.

“It’s ok,” she went on. “You can relax. Relax and let go. Relax.”

“Donnn’tt... underrr...st...nddd...” Janyka moaned, continuing to fight the strobonic pulses.

“Relax,” the Servitor repeated, her voice dripping with seductive promise. “Relax.”

“Nnnooo... Cannn’ttt... Wrooo...nggg...”

“Oh, but you can,” she pounced. “Relax. Let everything go. Relax. Relax your body. Relax your mind. You want to relax.”

“Nnnnn...” Janyka answered through gritted teeth, summoning all her reserves of strength to fight the suggestions.

“Relax,” she oozed. “You are safe and comfortable here. There is no need to keep thinking. Just relax. It feels good to relax. Relax.”

Janyka’s face glowed red as yet another strobonic pulse washed over her, the corners of her lips twitching as words began to form.

“R...rrrr...” the helpless woman sagged, the red glow fading momentarily before another pulse claimed her.

“Relax,” the Servitor lulled.

“Reeeee...l...aaaaa...xxxxx...” Janyka breathed, her voice barely audible as she finally succumbed to the initial stages of hypno-conditioning.

“Relax,” the Servitor pounced, her cunt thrilling at the sight of Janyka’s collapse into trance. “Feel yourself growing so relaxed. My voice is making you feel so calm. Relax for me.”

“Relll...axxxx...” the hypnotized woman murmured as the Servitor quickly glanced at the monitor to affirm that Janyka’s brainwave pattern was now fully synchronized.

“Good, Janyka,” the Servitor praised, keeping her voice level despite the arousal that was starting to build. “You are so relaxed right now. Every word you hear makes you feel even more relaxed. Every flash of the light takes you deeper. There is no need to think. You are so tired. So relaxed. Give in to the relaxation. Relax and let everything go. Relax.”

“Reeellaxxxx...” Janyka mouthed, her voice an inaudible whisper, her eyes glued to the dazzling crimson light that transfixed her.

“Very good, Janyka,” she praised. “You are so comfortable and relaxed. It’s like being asleep with your eyes open. It feels good to listen to my voice and watch the flashing light as you sink deeper and deeper into relaxation.”

Janyka’s mouth moved but no sound emerged.

“Your mind is sleeping now,” she went on. “This feels good. No thinking. Just relaxation and sleep. Deep sleep. Sinking deeper and deeper.”

Janyka stared into the flashing, strobing light, her breathing slowing. Another quick peek at the display told her that the bio-gel lined suit had started it’s work, gently caressing Janyka, easing away all the tension that had built up in her body, helping her fall deeper into trance.

“Deeper and deeper into sleep. Sinking into relaxation. You are so sleepy. So relaxed. So weak.”

The red pulses washed over Janyka’s slack features, the woman’s mouth hanging open, empty eyes staring blankly into nothingness, the modified surgical suit stroking her tenderly like a tender lover.

“Deeply asleep now,” she pressed. “Your mind is completely open and receptive now. All your strength has disappeared. There is nothing left. No thoughts but this voice. You are weak. Your mind is so weak.”

Janyka stared vapidly into the red light, lost.

It was time.

“Listen to these words,” she pressed. “They tell you the truth. The truth that your weak, receptive mind must accept. Your sleepy, weak consciousness is completely open to this voice. You will believe what you are told.”

Janyka stared dumbly into the flashing light, the demonic red glow of the strobonic pulsator enrapturing her. Unlike the Mode Ones, this subject was different; the others had been mere co-workers she had lusted after but Janyka had been a friend, someone who had trusted the former-Natalie.

And that friendship had been used to lure Janyka into the Creator’s web.

It was all so deliciously, overwhelmingly arousing.

To be used to betray someone she had once cared for.

It proved just how Omnipotent Mistress was.

And it thrilled the Servitor to know just how pathetic the former-Natalie really was.

“Your sleeping mind is weak,” the Servitor revealed, revelling in the role of playing an erotic vampire sucking the life-force out of yet another lusciously sexy victim. “Helpless. You cannot resist. So you must obey. You will obey. Always obey this voice. Your weak mind wants to obey. Sleep and obey. Obey this voice. Obey.”

Simmering with need, she relished the sight, relishing the arousal that was building within her.

“Obey this voice. You are weak. You only want to obey. You need to obey. Weak and obedient. Sleep and obey. Obey without thinking. Obey without hesitation. Just obey. Obedient and weak. Obey.”

Blankly, the woman accepted the words without reacting. Janyka’s hypno-conditioning was designed to facilitate her transformation into a Mode Five Servitor, nothing more. Simple, repetitive instructions were the key to warping her psyche, priming the subject to embrace the full slaveConversion that would pulverise all that she had once been into dust.

“Weak minds obey,” the Servitor recited. “You are weak. So you must obey. Weak and obedient. Your weak, empty mind loves to obey. Accept and obey. Believe and obey. Love to obey. Weakness makes you want to obey even more. Growing weaker and weaker. Becoming more and more obedient. Obey.”

Flicking her gaze towards the display, she saw that the bio-gel had begun to do more than just lull the subject into docile ivity.

“Weak minds need to obey. You are weak. You obey. Weak minds do not think, they only obey. Obedient minds are inferior. Weak minds surrender all control. They obey because they are inferior. That is why they obey. Because they are inferior.”

Drained of all resistance, the helpless woman stared vacantly into the intently strobing light, her breathing increasing as the arousal built.

“Your mind is weak. Your mind is obedient. Your mind is inferior. Surrender completely.”

Deep in trance, the words were being absorbed by Janyka’s subconscious, starting the insidious work of corrupting all that she held dear.

“Inferior minds need to be dominated,” she pressed, the heat building as she revelled in the subject’s subjugation. The need to crush Janyka, to erase everything the woman believed and valued made her entire being vibrate with dark need. The raw sexual desire to please her Owner overwhelmed the Servitor, driving her on and on into deeper depths of depravity.

“You are inferior. You must be dominated. Submit. Weakness is obedience. Obedience is domination. Weak minds crave to obey. Inferior minds need to be dominated.”

Glassy-eyed, Janyka stared into the hypno-strobe, helpless. Despite the throbbing red light, a tell-tale flush of arousal began to bloom over the subject’s face.

“Weakness means obedience. Obedience means domination. Domination means weakness. This is the natural state of an inferior. This is the truth. Accept it, inferior.”

Janyka’s hot, slack face glowed red once more.

Mhari ran.

Her footsteps echoed through the rabbit-warren of alleyways and lanes she had blundered into. But she no longer cared.

Adrenalin coursing through her body she embraced the darkness, pounding over the hard pavements, determined to put as much distance as possible between her and the bridge.

Her primeval brain was in charge now.

And it had decided that flight rather than fight was the correct response.

Leg muscles straining, breathing ragged, heart pounding like a jackhammer, Mhari flung herself headlong down another random ageway.

Dumping the dishes in the sink, Amyna turned to look at the kitchen table.

The sinister looking pistol met her gaze.

Janyka had briefly explained how to use it—disengage the safety and pull the trigger.

The simplicity of how just easy it was to shoot somebody unnerved her.

Amyna was a medic. Guns and violence were anathema to everything she stood for. She believed that, fully.

And she had assumed that her mother felt the same way.

Apparently not.

That knowledge was more shocking than the presence of the gun itself. It felt as if her parents had been living a lie all these years? Discovering that Janyka had been having an affair with Doctor-creepo-weirdo-Xi would have been less disturbing!

The mental image made Amyna wince.

Goddess, she was tired. She really needed sleep.

Facing the moral dilemma about what to do with the evil thing was something she was happy to put off for later, she decided.

“Tomorrow’s problems, tomorrow,” she muttered to herself before switching off the lights and trudging towards bed.

“Inferior minds are weak. They do not think. They only obey. Inferiors accept their domination. Obedient minds need to be controlled,” the Servitor insisted. “Weak inferiors obey the Superior mind.”

Blankly, Janyka stared into space, panting lightly as the surgical suit’s bio-reactive gel slid over her flesh, stroking everywhere, sparking nothing.

“The Superior is strong,” the Servitor revealed. “The Superior controls. The Superior dominates.”

Sex throbbing, she thrilled at how pathetic and helpless Janyka was before the machines and tools the Creator would use to warp and twist everything she once believed in.

Unlike the cold, clinical Automaton Implantation process, warping Janyka’s mind was a more intimate and sensual experience. One that provided a welcome respite from the cares of managing the Conversion Centre. The former-Fenisha had been instructed to inform her of any crises that demanded her attention. But otherwise she intended to indulge, fully.

“The inferior is weak. The inferior follows. The inferior surrenders and submits to the Superior.”

The Servitor bit her lip, shuddering as the arousal coursed through her. A tool; that was what she was. Just another one of the Owner’s instruments. To be used.

As Janyka would soon become.

“Because your inferior mind is weak it must obey,” the Servitor explained, her voice steady despite the burning need. “Obey. Obey the Superior.”

Sex slick she enjoyed the sight of the helpless fem-subject, Janyka’s body now throbbing with pleasure.

“Doctor Xi is Superior,” the instrument of Mistress revealed, a quiver of awe audible in her voice. “You do not think, inferior. You must obey. Always obey. Obey the Superior, Doctor Xi.”

Trapped in her deep erotic trance, Janyka absorbed everything, silver-clad body vibrating with pleasure as the suit continued it’s onslaught.

“Doctor Xi is Superior. You are inferior,” she went on. “Doctor Xi is strong. You are weak. Doctor Xi dominates. You obey.”

Resisting the urge to slide a hand into her own yearning, desperate cunt, the Servitor maintained her steady tempo, keeping her voice level and clear. “Doctor Xi is Superior. Weak inferiors submit and obey. Obey. The inferior must obey. Obey Doctor Xi!”

Janyka’s glassy, blank eyes stared upwards into the pulsating strobonic light, her mind absorbing every word like drops of moisture percolating into a damp sponge.

“There are many inferiors, but only one Superior. This is normal. Inferiors exist to obey,” she reinforced. “So it is natural that Doctor Xi dominates your weak, obedient mind.”

Janyka gazed into space, flickering red pulses serving as the outward signs of the raging fires that now burned within the powerless woman, her shimmering metallic coated body twitching and gyrating softly as the hypno-subject responded to the intense sexual stimulation.

“Answer these questions,” the Servitor tested. “What are you?”

“Innn... ferior...” Janyka rasped softly, her expression never changing, her throbbing body synchronised with the hypnotic-pulses.

“And what must inferiors do?”

“Ooo...beyyy...” the femsubject breathed eagerly, her voice clearer now.

“Who do inferiors obey?”

“Superrrr...ior...”

“And who is Superior?”

“Doctorrr Xi...” the enthralled puppet replied, her voice now a delirious whisper of hypno-induced need.

“Correct, inferior,” she praised. “You obey Doctor Xi. She is Superior. The Superior dominates your weak mind. Obey, inferior.”

“O...bbeyyyy...” the mesmerised Janyka-subject repeated without being prompted. Another outward sign of how submissive she had become.

“Your Superior, Doctor Xi, understands that you want to obey. Domination and obedience are what inferiors live for.”

“O...oooo...beee...yyyyy...”

“Your weak, inferior mind will be fully Converted to submit to Doctor Xi,” she informed the Janyka-material simply. “Inferior minds are brainwashed to serve the Superior. Converted minds are inferior. All weak, inferior minds must be enslaved to the Superior’s Will.”

“Oooo....bbbb...eeee...yyyyy...” the pre-slave moaned, her hips twitching.

“Accept your Conversion, inferior,” she continued. “You are weak. Doctor Xi, your Superior, is strong. Inferiors are slaves. Accept this. Submit to enslavement. Obey.”

“Ooooo...bbbbb...eyyyyyyy....”

“Inferior-slaves obey Doctor Xi,” she continued, her own hot need burning within, matching the erotic bliss of the hypno-raptured female. “You will be brainwashed. Conversion will turn you into the slave you want to become. You must become a slave. Obey.”

“Ooooooo...bbbbb...eyyyyyyy....”

“Now,” she questioned, “tell this one what you are.”

“Innn...feriorrr...”

“Correct, inferior,” she praised. “And what do you want?”

“Sllll...aaaa...veee...”

“Yes, slave. And what will the Superior do to your weak, inferior mind?”

“Con...verrrr...sionnnn...”

“Correct, inferior,” the Servitor pressed. “Submit to brainwashing. Accept your Conversion and become a slave of the Superior.”

“Ssssu....perrrrr...iorrrrr...!!!”

“The Superior is your Owner!” she exclaimed. “The Superior is your Mistress! The Superior is your Creator!!!”

“Ahhh...!!” the mesmer-thrall moaned incoherently, the raw animal need overwhelming her completely.

“S...sssssuuu...perrrrr...iorrrrrrr...!!!” the soon to be former-Janyka managed to gasp, her metallic body thrashing with desperation.

“Worship, slave!!” the Servitor screamed, her own voice dripping with raw desire. “Worship the Owner! Worship Mistress! Worship the Creator!!!”

“Sssssssss...upppp...errrrrr...iooorrrrrrrr...!!!!”

“Worship,” she barked, the inferno unbearable. “Inferior slaves exist to Worship the Creator! Obey!!!”

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh...!!!” the entranced fem-flesh gibbered, reaching the cusp of surrender.

“Seal your fate, slave,” she ordered. “Give yourself to Her! Worship Her with your orgasm!!”

“Ssssssssssss...upperrrrr...iiiooooo...rrrrrrrr...!!!!”

“Cum, slave!! Worship, inferior!!! Cum for the Creator!!!!”

Streetlights blinked through the gently undulating leaves of the Kersipem leaves caught in the late night breeze. The square was quiet. A few house lights haphazardly dotted the perimeter, the evidence of other insomniacs giving up the fight.

Although she was tired, sleep eluded her.

Her mind just wouldn’t switch off.

Amyna pulled her knees tighter and wrapped her arms around them, resting her chin upon them. The wide window ledge had been a favourite spot since she was younger. She had enjoyed gazing out upon the placid square and watching the comings and goings of the inhabitants, dreaming of her future.

Despite the familiarity of her surroundings everything felt different. This crisis, whatever it was, had wrecked all her plans leaving her cast adrift in squall over which she had no control.

But tonight, the solitude had hit home. Amyna suddenly felt very alone. Her family were all in Central Hospital while Mhari was out playing soldiers somewhere.

And she could do nothing except sit and wait.

Amyna hugged herself and gazed into the darkness.

This was just a temporary situation, she reassured herself. The crisis would come to an end. Life would go on.

They would all get through this.

Looking away, she observed the small procession enter the room and form a neat line.

Stepping away from Janyka, the Servitor inspected them in silence. Clad in nothing more than heels, bikini tops and skimpy thongs made of clinging gloss black, three women stood to attention alongside an alpha unit, the Designation seventy-one displayed on its collar.

Eyes aglow with newborn devotion, the new Mode Threes submitted to her appraisal, their stiff nipples straining against the rubber coverings, wet need leaking around their black undergarments.

Flanked by a pair of similarly brainwashed broadcasters, the female who had once been Orla Zhang-Murphey now lived to do the Creator’s bidding.

While there was a lot of public distrust of the Authority, many still took their lead from the planetary news broadcasts. The useful idiots who populated the Enfosphere, the main alternative information source, had long been either manipulated or subverted by the OPT and used to push increasingly outlandish and contradictory conspiracy theories designed to destroy any sense of reality. After all, if you believe that everything is part of a vast, amorphous, ever-changing, fiendishly complex conspiracy then you will remain both blind and ive when genuine threats emerge.

Despite the limits and censorship constraints imposed by the Authority, old-fashioned info-broadcasting by figures that built trust with an audience had filled the information vacuum once more.

“Report, seventy-one,” she demanded of the Conversion specialist.

“Yes, superordinate,” the femdrone replied. “Customised modifications to standard Conversion protocols successfully installed as instructed. No unexpected anomalies. Enhanced Mode Three units now fully Functional.”

That was good news. The Automaton had performed well. Converting them all to Mode Fours would have taken far too long. The former-Fenisha’s idea of modifying the Mode Three process slightly to enhance the capabilities needed for the specialist Function required of them appeared to have paid off. Another feather in her subordinate’s cap.

And her eager little underling had even been the one to suggest this particular alpha unit to oversee their Conversion.

Reassigned after supervising the Conversion of the Subjugator the once-Makayla had been rewarded by being Implanted and reFunctioned as an alpha upon return to Reineport. The drone’s extensive experience on the former Bellerophon had made it an ideal candidate for use in Servitor processing. Unlike the cruder and more straightforward Implantation process, Servitor brainwashing was far more delicate, took much longer and required a very experienced and dextrous operator to get the best results out of the raw material.

Indeed, prior to becoming the Creator property, the former-Natalie had once been attracted to the female who had been transformed into this alpha unit; but their paths had not crossed again after the nurse had been assigned to the Medical Director’s personal staff.

Renewing that acquaintance was something she would savour later.

Turning her attention to the three bright-eyed slavewomen, she barked a command.

“Serve! Obey! Worship!” she triggered.

Immediately, three sets of arms crossed over their chests in salute as they responded to the words.

“Serve!!!” their voices thundered as one, bodies throbbing with brainwashed devotion.

“Obey!!!” the group affirmed loudly.

“Worship!!!!” the trio swore enthusiastically, eyes flashing with fanatical lust as they adored the One who Owned them.

A pleasing performance. Seventy-one had indeed done well.

“Mistress has decided that all inhabitants of this planet will become slaves to Her Will,” she informed the Mode Threes simply. “Our task is to facilitate this.”

Hot, horny, nubile bodies straining against the black underwear that only served to heighten their objectification, the newly minted Servitors hung on her every word.

“Their minds will be softened to accept their Conversion,” she continued. “Mistress demands it.”

“Serve!!!” the three brainwashed slaves exclaimed enthusiastically once more. “Obey!!!! Worship!!!!!”

Gesturing towards seventy-one and the former-Orla she ordered them to approach.

Running her hands over the firm rubber-slick body of the humanoid she smiled wolfishly at her own reflection displayed in the convex visor covering the former-Makayla’s face before her hand went fishing between the drone’s legs, her fingers quickly finding the micro-zip and sliding it open.

The Automaton remained still throughout.

Turning back to the once-Orla, she gushed at the depth of fanatical intensity she recognised in the new Servitor-slave’s eyes.

“Engage Secondary Function,” she triggered the exquisite broadcaster. “Kneel and reward the Automaton who has ended all that it once was.”

“Yes, superordinate!” the Servitor squeaked, sinking to her knees and immediately pressing her mouth against the Automaton’s exposed dew-glistening slit, the once-Orla’s tongue snaking deep into the dehumanized humanoid’s Owned cunt.

“Activate Secondary Functions” she instructed the other two.

Hands immediately began clawing frantically at their rubberised tits and pussies, the pair of Servitors began sating the dark desires and lusts that consumed them, moaning lightly, eyes locked on their companion being face-fruked by the humanoid drone who had brainwashed them all.

Strobonic pulses continuing to flash over her empty, unseeing eyes, her body being massaged by the bio-gel, Janyka remained oblivious to it all.

Smirking darkly, she summoned the pair of slavewhores to service her own depraved needs.

Mhari hurriedly ducked behind a large waste bin. The long alleyway was almost at an end; before her was a main route. The low growl of engines was clearly audible. Peering cautiously out from behind the stinking bin, she watched a convoy of Pantechnicons painted in camouflage patterns trundle past.

She lost count of the number of vehicles, but it lasted for a number of minutes. Obviously a substantial amount of firepower was being deployed somewhere.

Panting, Mhari took stock as she crouched behind the foul-smelling bin, her rational mind working again.

Clearly something serious was afoot. After the way the squad had been captured and all the vehicles she had seen, a military coup was the obvious answer. It also didn’t take a strategic genius to figure out that they wouldn’t stop at just taking one bridge; holding all seven bridges out of the city would prevent both exit or entry to and from Reineport.

There had been lots of gossip and mutterings about Beth-Ahn’s increasingly vocal dissatisfaction with the direction the Authority had taken; perhaps the military had seized power? Or it could just be a faction within it? Or was it the Authority clamping down on a failed insurrection? Civil war?

Goddess knows!

Mhari took a deep breath.

Civil war... a military coup... a Divisionist terrorist attack... an OPT false-flag outrage... it didn’t matter.

Whatever the hell was going on, she wanted no part of it.

Fruk the Authority! She wasn’t going to die for them.

Whatever was going down had nothing to do with her. Not her fight.

Her panicked flight from the Ditch had left her utterly confused and disorientated; she’d just randomly followed the alleys and laneways between darkened industrial buildings for what must have been a couple of hours, the terror and adrenalin keeping her moving, desperate to put distance between herself and the bridge.

Now that she had paused for breath, she realised that she needed a plan.

Ok, back to basics, she thought; find out where she was and then figure out how to get back to Amyna’s parents house. Preferably without getting shot.

Feeling calmer now that she’d come up with some sort of plan, Mhari suddenly realised that her military uniform was a liability. She’d be a prime target for any more of them she encountered... or some Authoritarian zealot might draft her into fighting back against the coup, or whatever was going on.

Another thought struck her: she was a deserter now.

The Authority would put her in prison if they caught her.

Or maybe they shot deserters under Article Sixteen?

Fruk!

She really needed to dump her uniform as soon as possible.

“Excellent,” the Servitor purred, pleased as she gazed down upon the placid figure bathed in red light.

The former-Fenisha had just finished briefing her. Plans were proceeding. The Converted military forces were performing well. Fortunately, it hadn’t been necessary to deal with the logistics or devising a plan about how they would seal off the city; the paranoid OPT securocrats had already done so. They had simply implemented their plan.

As the last organized armed force in the city the Authoritarian Guard could have posed a threat to the Creator’s takeover. But they had been neutralised now. A few minor loose ends had escaped their clutches but they could be dealt with later. Right now, the alpha units were busily turning the captured Authoritarian Guard into more will-dead drones for Mistress.

Reineport and it’s unsuspecting citizens were now completely defenceless.

As her efficient subordinate had informed her, multiple local Conversion Centres were being established in the residential areas ready to begin harvesting the unsuspecting human-material in earnest.

That would please Mistress.

The knowledge excited her.

Biting her lip to stifle a moan of pleasure, the Servitor returned to the task at hand.

“Slave inferiors,” she directed the pacified hypno-puppet, each new word causing a tiny wave of pleasure to course through her Owned body, cunt thrilling at the knowledge that she was nothing but a brainwashed pawn being used to break another slave, “submit to the Superior Will of the Creator.”

Smiling, she gazed into the empty eyes of the subject who had once been her friend, her sex squirming in glee at the sight of Janyka’s descent into oblivion.

Now the real work could begin.

“Slave inferiors submit to the Superior Will of the Creator,” the Servitor declared once more. “Repeat.”

“Slave inferiors submit...” the hypno-conditioned woman murmured dreamily, “... to the Superior Will of the Creator...”

“Again, inferior,” she demanded sternly.

“Slave inferiors submit to the Superior Will of the Creator,” the entranced Janyka recited, stronger now.

“Keep repeating it,” she insisted. “Slave inferiors submit to the Superior Will of the Creator.”

“Slave inferiors submit to the Superior Will of the Creator,” the defeated fem-flesh agreed.

“This is your mantra, slave,” she revealed. “It is the truth. And every time you think or repeat your mantra aloud this belief grows stronger. The compulsion to surrender increases. The need to be brainwashed intensifies. Once the inferior mind has been Converted you will become Her slave. More than anything else, this is what you want. To submit and obey. To be dominated. To give everything to Her. To become nothing more than a slave. Her slave. Her completely brainwashed slave. Submit to Conversion. The Superior Will of Mistress dominates your weak mind. Slave inferiors submit to the Superior Will of the Creator.”

“Slave inferiors submit to the Superior Will of the Creator,” the deeply entranced subject responded flatly, utterly drained of any ability to resist instruction.

“Keep chanting your mantra, inferior. Know that it is true. Believe it. Inferiors are slaves. They must be Converted. Obey.”

“Slave inferiors submit to the Superior Will of the Creator,” the hypnotized woman acknowledged, her face glowing red once more as the strobonic-pulsator continued to ravage her submissive mind.

“In a moment,” she went on, “the light will go out but you will remain deep in trance. All the truths that you have learned will remain in your mind. Only now these truths will be much more powerful than any other thoughts. Other thoughts are not important. Ignore them. Focus on your mantra, slave. Keep reciting it.”

“Slave inferiors submit to the Superior Will of the Creator.”

Turning to the controls, she deactivated the pulse generator before unplugging the lead from her victim’s suit. Janyka remained supine, staring into space.

“Slave inferiors submit to the Superior Will of the Creator,” the Janyka-puppet repeated softly, eyes staring sightlessly into space.

The Servitor licked her lips. Slowly.

“Stand, inferior,” she commanded, relishing the sight.

“Slave inferiors submit to the Superior Will of the Creator,” the inert fem-material murmured aloud as she clambered slowly and unsteadily off of the couch-like scanner module.

Eyes roving over the docile woman, she drank in the sight of her former friend, now a vision of glassy eyed obedience wrapped in metallic silver.

“Slave inferiors submit to the Superior Will of the Creator,” the pre-slave whispered to herself as she gazed right through the Servitor standing directly in front of her.

The twin pools of molten glass that had once gazed back at her were now hard, solid, lustreless orbs.

Turning, she summoned the two Automatons who stood ready. They took up position alongside the pliant captive, their strong arms grasping her firmly.

Expressionless, eyes dull, staring vacantly ahead, Janyka made no sign of even being aware of the two dehumanized slavedrones now gripping her.

“Slave inferiors submit to the Superior Will of the Creator,” the material whispered to herself.

Cunt fluttering with devotion, the Servitor rejoiced in all she had done to this piece of fem-material in the name of the Owner.

“Follow, inferior,” she ordered the ive woman.

“Slave inferiors submit to the Superior Will of the Creator,” the flesh-puppet who still bore Janyka’s name, for now, declared softly as the group left the room behind.