The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Writer’s Recap: Since it’s been awhile . . . the Baroness Alexandra Panara, rebel hero of the Free Centauri, was captured by her old enemy Citizen Nax of the Solarian Empire and converted into a rightless, anonymous pleasure drone. There is only one difference between her and the countless others sharing her fate: Alex can still think! Changing hands many times, the baroness has been “recruited” to act as a Drad spy in the house of an old rival, Countess Xarusha, though she holds out hope that one day she will be reunited with her true love, Peter, the Sovereign of Beta Prime.

Drone

8

Deactivation was not sleep, sleep not deactivation. Sleep was comforting, restful, and soothing. Deactivation was death. Poets compared sleep to death, but they had no true conception. In even the deepest, dreamless sleep, there was still a sense of one’s self to provide solace. There was still a basic recognition of one’s existence as a living, breathing entity. A drone deactivated was dead. There was no self-awareness, primitive though it may have been. There was no sense of the passage of time, through which existence is measured. There was simply a rough leap from one moment to the next, resulting in jumble and chaos. [Reactivating]. [System Recall]. [Reactivation/Attention Mode].

To Alex, it was like being born anew every time.

[Awaiting Orders] she thought mechanically, unable to do otherwise. Only then could her painfully reawakened consciousness gaze about. Without orders, she could not move her head. Even her eyes had to remain still. Nonetheless, something at last peered through the golden windows of her soul.

The Drad Halan Ovidius III’s bland ivory bedchamber had disappeared. Alex found herself standing in an adult playroom, a room specifically designed for sexual carousing. She was not overly surprised by the shift. As a pleasure drone, Alex spent most of her time in bedrooms, playrooms, dungeons, and such. This one was little different from those she had seen before. Set in its own alcove, a large, red synsilk-covered bed dominated one wall. Chains extended from the enclosed sides, perfectly suitable for holding a bed partner down and helpless. A smaller alcove within the alcove held an assortment of oils, lotions, and lubricants, many of which Alex had extensive memory files concerning: their uses, advantages, disadvantages, etc. A variety of other tools and toys occupied the room, from the vibrator saddle set in another alcove to a cabinet filled with dildos of various sizes, shapes, and compositions, all labeled with obsessive detail. A pleasure rack sat in the middle of the floor, and an old-fashioned whip hung coiled on the wall facing Alex. It was all very risqué, very evocative, and yet, at the same time, to Alex’s amusement, rather ordinary. Commonplace even. It was a playroom used by a woman—the saddle, among other things, was suggestive of a female—with a large libido, yet, at the same time, a conservative, even unimaginative one. The only really interesting thing from Alex’s perspective—she admitted it, as a pleasure drone, she had grown blasé, not about sex itself, which she craved constantly as a droned slut, but the actual mechanics thereof, nothing of which amazed her anymore—was the Martian “onantube,” also set in its own comfy alcove. Onantubes were banned on Beta Prime, as were most other things from Sol System, just on general principles. This was illegal for a reason. An onantube, upright, smooth, shiny, which a person climbed into and closed, was highly addictive. It was a pleasure/pain amplifier. Between its penetrations, vibrations, and neuroelectric pulsations, a mounting dependency was created with its every use. It was a tool designed to make any person who used one an abject slave. On Beta Prime, their ownership mandated a prison sentence. The Solarians had enjoyed forcing people inside them and watching their reactions through the window in front. Their victims would inevitably crawl back to them later, begging for further degradations.

It said something about Justine, that if this was indeed her pleasure room, that she owned an onantube. Then again, anyone already willing to purchase one kind of Solarian sex toy—[Me] Alex processed—couldn’t be that adverse to owning another. She wondered who had activated her.

The sound of high-heeled footsteps behind Alex told her she would soon find out. She responded automatically. [Activate Pre-Seduction Mode]. [Standby Mode]. [Awaiting Orders]. A woman in a red formal dress circled round Alex. At once she saw that it was her old nemesis Justine. The woman hadn’t changed at all since the last time Alex had seen her.

Justine Xarusha was a medium-sized woman, svelte and long-legged, with medium-length ebony hair she wore in a dark cascade down her back. Tiny red flowers the size of seed pods decorated the ends of her locks, this being the fashion among Betan noblewoman. Her makeup was subtle, adding only the barest tint to her lips and cheeks. Her eyes, as always, were her best feature. Dark and beautiful, the combination of deep shadow and long eyelashes made them dominant her face, flashing forth both imperial haughtiness and riotous passion. Her dress sported gold-thread mosaics in the shape of deadly insects. They sparkled against the crimson backdrop of the aristocrat’s voluminous gown.

She came to stand in front of Alex.

“Kneel,” the aristocrat ordered, and the pleasure drone obeyed.

“I am the Countess Justine Alicia Demetia zee Xarusha,” Alex’s new owner declared, her voice dripping with every bit of the arrogance she remembered. “You belong to me. You are my toy, my pet, my plaything. You exist solely as an extension of my desire. You have no existence beyond me. I am the sun about which you revolve. I am the center of your universe. Nod if you understand.”

Alex nodded. She understood. More, she detected in the words the ring of them having been prepared in advance, the diction of a woman having waited in anticipation of this moment for a long, long time.

“When I address you, unless you are otherwise engaged in the carrying out of my orders, you will fall to your knees as you are now. Similarly, if I should approach you, you will go to your knees. When not in use, you will remain here with my other toys.” She gave an evil grin. “I will whip you when I am angry, when I am in the mood to see you in pain, when I feel like it. Likewise, when I want you to pleasure me, you will pleasure me, unreservedly, with the sum total of your entire being, which exists only to serve me. Nod if you understand.” Alex nodded, feeling the heat of her commands.

[Bitch] she thought, and she endured the inevitable programming backlash. [Error. Error. Error].

“Stand, slave,” Alex’s new mistress commanded. She examined her body. “Spread your legs. More so. Yesss, that’s right. Hold your hands behind your head. Lift your tits. Higher. Higher, slave.”

Inside, Alex mentally gritted her teeth, enduring the humiliation of being judged like a piece of meat. Mistress Justine slipped her hands about the drone’s breasts, feeling their weight. Alex stiffened automatically; the aristocrat laughed. She circled round, her hands trailing down Alex’s sides, cupping her buttocks and sliding along her smooth thighs. She felt Alex’s pussy, slipping her thumb and forefinger inside her.

“My, you are a hot slave, aren’t you?” she said, and Alex was forced to nod, partially on account of her programming, also because it was true. She was a hot slave.

They stood face to face. Alex was taller than the noblewoman by at least a head.

“Kiss me,” she commanded, and Alex did so, the routines unloading themselves into her forebrain. One hand reached out to first touch, then caress the small of Justine’s back. The other touched her shoulder and hair. It was silky and fine. Alex lowered her head, her chemiprocessor memory circuits calculating the absolutely right way to align their faces. Their lips met. Alex’s tongue flickered lightly against her owner’s warm lips, darting in first, then gliding across more slowly until Justine’s mouth opened more.

A liquid heat blazed within the drone. Their tongues met. Alex caressed her mistress’ cheek with both hands, then slowly reached out to enfold the smaller woman within her arms as the stiffness inside her melted. Alex exerted pressure. Both of their mouths opened more, and suddenly their tongues were intertwined, tickling, sucking. The drone detected a substantial rise in heat in her owner, and so she increased the force of her kiss, holding, tonguing, drawing more and more, making Justine submit.

It was too much. The noble abruptly straightened and pushed Alex back. Her face had gone red.

“On your knees!” Alex quickly knelt before her. “How dare you touch me like that! Slut!”

She slapped Alex across the face.

The drone didn’t so much as flinch. She was incapable of flinching.

Justine breathed hard for a minute, then slowly regained her composure. She smiled. “Stand, slave.”

The black-haired Betan took a soothing breath. Slowly, she circled Alex a third time. She was behind the drone when she gave her next command. “Promenade for me, slave. I want to see you move.”

Alex walked backward and forward across her mistress’ playroom, her hips rolling seductively in the cool, serene glide of the programmed pleasure drone. Mistress Justine considered her as she might a racing animal. She even made suggestions. “Sway your hips more. Pull your shoulders back. Yes, like that. That’s how I want to see you walk. Now, go to all fours. Yes. Now, crawl for me, slut.”

For several minutes, Justine gave commands as to how this demeaning act should be performed, as if Alex’s programming did not already possess numerous examples. She could not be satisfied. She had Alex lower her head more and curl her abdomen. She made the drone raise her rump and dangle her pendulous breasts just so. Finally, she ordered Alex to stop.

To her alarm, the aristocrat took down a riding crop from the wall.

“Let’s see how obedient you are,” she said. “Stand. Go over to the saddle.”

The bench-like device indicated was one of the larger sex toys in Mistress Justine’s playroom, Alex not counting herself. It was essentially a hefty-sized vibrator mounted on a backless seat which the “rider” could then straddle, thereby bringing her into intimate contact with the curved rod in the center. Alex approached the saddle and at her owner’s direction mounted it. There were straps to either side of the sizeable device. Justine used these to tie Alex’s hands down, pulling her into a position where she was practically but not quite lying on top of the saddle. The upright phallus was poised directly beneath her.

Alex was forced to face ahead, so when she felt the crop strike her ass, even if she had been permitted to, she couldn’t have turned around. She felt a hand against her upturned posterior.

“Now listen to me, slave,” Mistress Justine whispered, and Alex strained to listen. “No matter what happens next, you will not climax. Nod if you understand. You will not have an orgasm. You will only orgasm when I say you can.” Alex nodded, feeling a chill deep within her plastioid bones.

[No climax?] she thought. [But . . but . . .]. Her programming asserted itself. [Orders Received].

Something somewhere inside her whimpered.

Alex’s owner used the crop and her other hand to guide the drone onto the rod. Then, pushing down on her butt, she forced Alex to accept the thick and chiseled shaft into her warm wetness. [Oh!] she processed, surprised in spite of herself. It was so thick! so much harder than a man’s dick.

The saddle must have operated automatically. As soon as it was inside her, the dildo started to vibrate, bouncing waves of pleasurable sensation against the drone’s clitoris. The rod was so big and so hard, and the vibrations felt so incredibly good, Alex’s responses would have immediately induced a climax had not her Mistress’ commandment forbidden it. As it was, the vibrations swelled within her, building with no possibility of release. The device pushing in and out of her, without voice to cry out, the drone began to writhe and buck, her mouth opening and closing spasmodically, forced to endure what soon became unendurable.

[Please . . please . . I . . need . . .]. Alex felt the crop against her backside again. Crack! The pain stimulus served only to augment the pleasurable but intolerably teasing sensations.

“You will not climax,” Mistress Justine repeated.

She crossed in front of Alex, standing so that she was directly in front of the gasping, writhing drone. She looked into her golden eyes. “You will climax if and only if I explicitly grant you permission.”

Smiling then, she walked slowly backwards to her bed.

[If?] Alex thought in horror. [If?] [But I need it!] [Please, please, Mistress!]

Forgotten at once was her hatred of her new owner. Forgotten was her futile internal rebelliousness.

She needed relief!

Alex watched in consternation therefore as her owner climbed backwards onto the bed, always keeping the pleasure drone in her line of sight, and began parting her dress at the skirt. Mistress Justine was naked underneath. She was wet. Alex’s drone sensors could perceive how highly excited she was.

As Alex squirmed in frustration, Justine began to play with herself, stroking her clit, inserting a finger or two inside herself. She used her other hand to rub her petite breasts, which now poked out perkily.

A facet of the slavery in which she now found herself became clear to Alex.

Her Mistress Justine liked to control.

More than that, though, she liked to watch.

For the next several minutes, Alex was put through a cruel and inhuman torture, worse in many ways to what had already been done to her. She had been transformed into a will-less, helplessly sensitive, perpetually charged, living fucktoy. Now, she was stimulated sexually and denied release. It was so unfair! The saddle was turning her on unbelievably. Her sanity was quaking under the enhanced perceptions her sensors gave her. She could count every ridge in the dildo’s shaft. She could mathematically chart the pitch and frequency of every vibration. And yet, because of her Mistress’ orders, Alex could not achieve release. She simply could not. The unfullfillment fed exponentially on her already superhumanly heightened desires and caused them to increase to indescribable levels.

Alex’s mind seemed to divide into millions of fiery pieces. Every one of those pieces glowed white-hot with her drone passion and need. Her universe burned aflame. And still she couldn’t climax!

In the meantime, Mistress Justine enjoyed herself, figuratively and literally. Reaching beneath herself, probing and tickling, mouth gasping, her other hand caressing her bosom, pinching and kneading her nipples, she masturbated furiously, always keeping her new toy in her line of sight, clearly relishing her ability to climax while her slave and plaything struggled to achieve the same thing.

Alex could only grind herself deeper onto the vibrating phallus, urging more and more out of it futilely.

[Please!] [Please!] she begged.

Finally, her owner screamed in pleasure and rolled over on the bed, her skin flush and sweaty. Her cry of release echoed through Alex’s ears, heightening her own desperate arousal yet keeping her in a state of absolute denial. She could feel the climax inside her building, a titanic climax even by pleasure-drone standards, yet her owner’s commandment remained unquestionable.

Alex lost her capacity of rational thinking for a time. She barely noticed her now naked Mistress release her from the straps. “Crawl to the bed,” she commanded. Mindlessly, the pleasure drone obeyed.

Alex’s heated condition was obvious. Her need was apparent. Nevertheless, Mistress Justine ordered the unrelieved sextoy to kneel before her and begin kissing her pussy. Compelled by programming too powerful to resist, the former baroness lowered her head between her owner’s parted thighs.

The aristocrat leaned back, propping herself by her elbows to view her smooth-headed property.

“That’s it,” she said, wincing as a particularly good tongue action stimulated her. “That’s it. Nice long strokes followed by light kisses. Yessss . . . just like that.” She closed her eyes in bliss.

[Mistress, I burn]. [I burn]. Alex was incapable of little other than that refrain. Her body was totally on automatic. Her owner rocked back and forth on her working mouth. Alex’s tongue licked back and forth along her Mistress’ clitoris. Inside, her need dominated every fiber of her artificial being. She was like a fish denied water. Her plastioid body was screaming for release, for monstrous climaxes were integral to its design. Every cell of her body was yearning for it, begging for it.

She felt hands caress her bald head. “Do you need it, my little toy?” Alex lifted her mouth to nod. She saw Mistress Justine smile. “Good.” She leaned back again. “Mode 56, slave. Begin.”

Her new owner had memorized her programmed routines. That was a bad sign.

[Orders Received] Alex’s drone mind responded. [Activate Sexual Mode 56: Heated Massage]. Her cruelly deprived need rudely pushed to the back, Alex’s hands began to sweat a heated lubricant. [I hate you] she thought, and the [Error] messages flashed through her head.

Delicately, the pleasure drone began to massage her owner’s spine. Her fingers probed deep into the muscles of her owner’s back and down between the cheeks of her lovely buttocks. Justine moaned delightedly. Alex worked up and down her legs and her thighs, exerting precisely the right calibrated pressure at the mathematically charted nerve points. She bent down and kissed the base of her owner’s spine, tonguing her in back while swirling her hands over her ass cheeks and then down again beneath her hips. Slowly, she turned her over. Justine’s legs parted, and Alex lowered her face between them. The drone’s fingers stroked from her owner’s knees to her thighs, gliding over her light skin and up to her abdomen, pressing inward. At the same time she licked and kissed. She heard her owner moan and calibrated her movements for her maximum pleasure. Her hands cupped her Mistress’ breasts. Her liquidy smooth hands slid over her erect nipples and tickled them. Justine moaned again. Alex’s tongue skimmed across her owner’s pussy lips, which under her attention were huge and swollen. Her clitoris was throbbing hungrily, though nowhere near as hungrily as Alex’s own. The drone put her lips to the pulsing bud and caused her Mistress to arch her back in response. She brought her owner to a shattering climax, the touch and sight of which only made Alex’s own lack all the more painful.

“More . . more,” her owner softly ordered.

[Orders Received] Alex processed. Dutifully, she prepared to repeat the procedures again. Before her degradation could continue, though, a chime rang throughout the playroom. Justine snarled something underneath her breath and said, loudly, “I gave strict orders not to be interrupted.”

“I’m sorry, mistress,” a contrite feminine voice out of the air spoke. Alex couldn’t tell whether the voice was real or something generated by a chemiprocessor. “Your fiancé calls, ma’am.”

“Now!?” Alex’s owner exclaimed. Her attitude of arrogance and condescension vanished.

Quickly, she pushed the pleasure drone off of the bed and composed herself, drawing her gown about herself and taking several deep breaths to calm down. Alex, without specific orders, fell to her knees by the side of the bed like the perfect automaton that she was. Beneath her façade, though, Ovidius’ words came floating back. When we of the Drad determine the time is right, if it should serve our purpose, you will be on hand to assassinate her betrothed.

Alex knew she would have to do it. She wouldn’t be able to prevent herself. It was with an understandably high degree of curiosity, and dread, that she strained to listen to her Mistress Justine’s words. The spoiled aristocrat stood, oblivious of the common drone crouching at her feet.

“Transfer the link here,” she ordered the air, “his side non-visual only. Tell him I’m taking a bath.”

“Yes, mistress.” There was an expectant pause. “It is his Majesty, mistress.”

[Majesty?] Alex processed/thought at once, horrified. Realization crashed upon her. [No]. [No, it couldn’t be]. A sob rang from the depths of her soul and pitifully went unheard.

[Please, God, no!] [No!] That would be too cruel].

A hologram formed in the air from hidden projectors, like a window into another world. For a second it was nothing more than a grayish-white disk floating above the bed. Then an image formed.

Alex’s heart stopped cold.

His Majesty, the Defender of the Centauri, Sovereign Peter of Beta Prime, appeared on the illusory screen. “Countess,” Alex’s great love spoke. The words vibrated through her mind. “Forgive me for disturbing you, but there has been a change in my schedule. I will be in Chiron next week, it seems.”

He grimaced. “I thought it . . . appropriate that I should tell you myself.”

“Thank you, your Majesty,” Mistress Justine said grandly, smiling widely and, in Alex’s view, falsely. If only she had had orders to kill her! She would done it this very second!

Her perception shifted to her beloved.

[Oh, Peter, Peter] she mechanically moaned. [Why?] [By all that’s holy, why?]

“We should be seen together,” Alex’s owner went on. “I shall have my social secretary contact your team.” Her smile, if anything, got even wider and more blatantly false. “Maestro Alar’s The Red Sun of Salvation is playing at the Chironese Operaplex. I’m sure an adequate media coverage could be arranged, even though it is short notice.”

“That would be fine,” Master Peter said tersely, distastefully. Alex was of two minds. Part of her wanted to continue listening to her beloved speak. At the same time she hated every word spoken.

How could he marry this harridan? [And God!?] [The Drads!!] [The Drads will have me murder you!!] Alex felt something inside her die at the thought. She couldn’t kill her beloved Master. At the same time, she knew she would have no choice but to kill her Master Peter, if she was so ordered.

It was too much. For lack of a better term, the former baroness “swooned.” She did not so much lose consciousness—she could not lose consciousness—but she did become lost to the outside world for a time. When she recovered, it was with her face buried once more between her current owner’s thighs.

But though it was her Mistress that she licked, Alex’s thoughts were solely on her Master.