The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Address in mind.

Jamie Laubach had grown up amongst the green and gold of the Nebraska maize fields during the second half of the twenty-first century, in what would become known as the second phase of the Final War. A dangerously perfect specimen of youthful humanity, his tousled hair a mixture of the gold corn and sandy dirt, he had lived without the fear of the first phase as there were no ground attacks now. It simply wasn’t efficient against the sparse population.

We could not have known that on our very doorstep was a civilisation whose roots stretched back a thousand millennia and who had hidden themselves not by stealth but by advancement. The primitives on the third world could no more detect the hub of this trans-system society than early man could have detected radio traffic with his flints and skins. Hidden beneath the acid vapour great minds considered the direction of trillions, the futures of vast armies and the fates of species, with the means to reach out across the void to enact plans tested on machines whose components crossed the boundaries of universes.

The population was now numbered in millions, there was limited travel between continents and new soldiers received only six weeks training. With no resource for more and with an attrition rate of sixty per cent in the first month those that survived longer had to look forward to slim rations and capture or death within another month. Those few governments that remained on Earth, along with the scattered and scant population tried their best to avoid the great elephant in the room: humanity had lost this war three decades earlier. Every new failure meant empty transports home, empty houses and weeping relatives. The world echoed to loss.

In its last act of mercy his government issued his call-up papers for delivery the day after his eighteenth birthday. No point in completely ruining the big day, even if you know the reaper has your address and will be round later. “Enlistment notice—The New United Federal Government [In Administration]” a rather mundane title for a document that would reshape a life. The paper was worn and old; clearly many previous recipients’ names had been where Jamies was now pencilled in. “Report for collection at point 5 on the first of the calendar month”.

Three days. Time runs so slowly for some and yet so fast for others, how can one express a lifetime of love, care and devotion in such a short time? How can such a new life appreciate all that is and could have been and worlds that never will be? Three days is no time for philosophy or deep thought but rather pragmatism and a knowledge that even the smallest advantage could make a difference. The fearful look of parents, the sunken damp eyes, the fretting, the worry and the rationalisations through to the early hours over a child now lost and the losses to come. Hide it, he mustn’t see.

As with all days, they came and went.

The following weeks were the Standard Pattern: targets, drills, basic tactics, armed and unarmed combat in barely enough time to put on some new muscle. Deployment was always immediate, Jamies future was a predictable path as mankind played solar-system chess against an opponent that made Kasparov look like a simpleton.

* * *

Lunar Battery Seven fell within a day in a rout that left half the company dead and the other half trapped under rubble with blasted eardrums, broken bones and shock, rendering almost all of those who remained alive of little military use. There would be no human rescue but scavengers of another kind were quickly pouring over the wreckage looking for salvage. Jamie Laubach had been saved from a poor fate by the fortuitous order in which the roof supports had fallen, trapping him in an air gap. The fates however had now handed him a worse doom as he was pulled kicking and screaming from his would-be tomb by the metal tendrils of some unseen horror. A needle in the arm brought darkness and temporary escape. The second wave of retrieval units carried the living for processing and the dead or unrecoverable for recycling. The seemingly lifeless body of the boy soldier was cut from his rubberised battle skin, carried to a processing farm, then spread and mounted onto a metal control frame.

* * *

She drew closer and looked down upon him, her eyes a cutting pale blue biting through the fog in his mind, her voice so soft it made him feel like a thousand butterflies were fluttering in his head.

“Hello Jamie”, she spoke with a smile, with his vision still blurred all he could make out was the uniform, her face and those eyes. “Am I home? Is this Earth?” his voice was still a murmur even though the drugs were wearing off fast. “I’ll be with you for the next couple of hours, just relax, I won’t hurt you.” She was reassuring, believable. Maybe kind?

The frame slid back into the machine, his eyes stayed with hers until his head was inside the recess. Sensor modules pressed in against his hair, there was no need for skin contact, proximity was close enough for them to collect data. Within the machine great blocks moved around as a mixture of field generators and analysis systems changed position, reconfiguring for their latest objective. An audible whine was evident as they started up and the smell of ozone drifted around the machine, the air gained a dry and metallic taste. Alignment with the subject was critical, neural pathways are narrow and breathing must be accounted for. Soon it could be controlled, but for now the requirements were exacting. Without visual contact the manikin no longer required the biological face, it could be peeled, sterilized and re-used in the next conversion chamber where the process was soon to start with another captive. With the psychological connection made processing started.

Vision was the primary target, with control of that any image could be projected into the mind. First some baseline for analysis was required, to that end an array of sensors were deployed, each one carefully placed on his skin. His fear causing rapid breathing, he whimpered in his youth and inexperience, unable to comprehend. The small mercy of ignorance in not knowing the near future. The process was not an easy one, pain was a considerable part of it, pain was one of the central tools of it. Jamies body was smooth, his tanned skin speckled with the assorted sensors attached to his body, his mop of hair pulled to the side by gravity, his arms and legs out-stretched on the control frame.

Below his head the only hair on his body was the light spread under his arms and the dense bush around his genitals, he had the body that youth does not appreciate and that age takes away. The machine had already targeted his penis and testicles for use in his reprogramming, the clusters of nerve endings ideal entry points for the training signals and programming pulses. His body convulsed, first involuntarily with the current, then again with the primal need for flight, but this was only the beginning of a process that could take many hours. A sheet of sweat covered his body as he strained against the control frame, he would have glistened in the light had there been enough with which human eyes could see. Pleas and reasoning were lost into the silence, he’d do what they wanted, he didn’t want this, he couldn’t deal with this. He thought she was still there but only the silent manikin looked on, immobile and still, a puppet whose part in the play was over. Consent too soon would have made him less of a prize, so he was shown the world as it was. The battle played around him, showing the friends lost in the slaughter, the brother in training. Fear became anger and he fought on in the youthful certainty that rage made him invincible.

* * *

There had been stories before the war started, visitations, ‘samplings’ as we later found they were to be called. Every few thousand years and then every hundred as the primitives approached a usable state. There would have been no war at all had the Overmind not been ignored, a mistake that exposed the impending takeover. Even for such a grand alien intelligence politics was still an unpredictable impediment.

* * *

He screamed and cried. The process was uncompromising; the machine relentless; pity was not a concept within its understanding. Her voice was there again, her vision in his mind, the pale blue eyes leading him away. “Come with me, I can take you away from this” she whispered. “Reach out and I can take you to a safe place”. His mind was fuzzy, her voice so soft. “No more pain with me, reach out to me and I can save you”. Yet another shock passed through, convulsions and cramps pushing him to agree. His heart still racing and tripping from the last jolt his body arched and flexed as his nerves were overridden by the voltage, while all the time the machine slowly reprogrammed his mind. On top of all he was suffering there was the constant powerful beat of the conditioning pulses in his most vulnerable areas. He was being slowly broken, his will eroded, coerced into a new way of thinking. The next shock followed on the last and was too much. His fingers clawed as every muscle contracted under the assault, he let forth a silent cry of terror, agony and despair, his voice worn away. He knew now his only escape was to surrender his body and mind.

She comforted him, he’d done well to resist for so long, no-one could have expected more from him. No-one would blame him for giving in when the battle could not be won. With nothing left to fight with he reached out into the darkness for the eyes, to escape the here and now of a world alone and full of unyielding white pain. She reached back and in that moment he was lost. The voltage fell, his body collapsed limp onto the frame with muscles torn, dripping sweat and tears with just the occasional twitch as the conditioning signals chased out the last of his subconscious resistance.

* * *

During the first phase of the war enough data had been collected for the human race to size up its opponent and discover the scale of its issues. Brilliant minds determined that there was no feasible battle of wits they could win against such an intellect. The Forsyth project was supposed to save humanity but was buried in the ruins of Research Facility Three. The Overmind was not unique in the universe for a time but that uniqueness was a privilege it jealously guarded.

* * *

He was safe with her now, but she needed him to be brave one last time, one last step in the process before absorption. From above a long slender rod descended from the machinery, Jamie was precisely positioned and the rounded tip made contact with the now gaping mouth of his erection.

“Brave for me”. It slid into him, he flinched but was held firm, soon it was in to the base of his shaft. A small vibration at first, gentle electro pulses as the process built.

“Surrender to me”, she beckoned his mind deeper into the darkness, the light in his eyes grew dim as the machinery processed his brain, there was little of him left. The pulses grew stronger, the vibration more intense. “Let go for pleasure, don’t resist, come with me...", he followed her deeper into the dark. He passed the trigger point, orgasm shook his body and semen overflowed around the rod as it was slowly withdrawn from his twitching member, matting in his pubic hair and running across his belly. His last thoughts as his mind was erased were how good it felt to obey, one last involuntary twitch of his penis sent the last semen he would consciously produce running down his side onto the control frame, his final resting place.

His body was one with the machine, as it changed he changed. A new template was downloaded, the new segment of memory filled in accordance with the requested types. Jamie Laubach was gone, all he was had been overwritten, he was not a boy with a name but an extension of the Overmind. He was an integer now, an address in the machine.