The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The Royal living quarters, on board the Otrokár, some 700 miles above the Earth…

Queen Admira lay casually upon her side across her four post bed; her gracefully aging features are attractively under-lit by the soft glow coming off the interface before her. There’s a ceiling fan whirring up above, blowing cool air across the back of the royal’s neck and then down over her recently baby-oiled legs. The steady breeze is just strong enough to disturb her sheer cover-up, causing the wispy material to ripple and flutter across her womanly curves...

“—Uh!”

…The royal’s breath had caught in her throat; her eyes half-lid, while her body noticeably tenses in position. After a long moment, she expels a little sigh of relief and relaxes back into the mattress just as she was.

…Ahem.

Admira repositions her arm so that her cheek is now resting within the upturned palm of her hand, while the other rises back up to the floating interface. With her two middle digits pressed to the screen, she moves her hand in a sweeping motion from left to right; impatiently scrolling through page after page of live video feed. Most of it is just raw footage of the daily routines and operations around the fleet; something that’s of little, or even no interest to someone of her status. The queen draws a long breath in boredom, briefly drowning-out the wet licking sounds that are coming from down below...

Admira finally locates the app for the Chimera’s onboard feed and quickly maximizes the screen. The collection ship is just returning to the processing plant after an unlikely raid on what her daughter had described as “a substantial target at some sort of motorized gathering” …As absurd as the mission had seemed, it was also deemed “too high a risk” for the empress to actually witness in person. She’d eventually resigned to the idea of observing the outcome via live satellite…

The grainy screen sharpens into focus, and a quad of thrusters can be seen spreading outward from the flanks of the ship; each one intermittently flaring-up with an ice-blue flame. These bursts allow the Chimera to square herself up with the hastily painted bulls-eye on the pavement below. Four landing struts are already unsheathing from her massive underbelly, slowly extending down toward the earth. There’s a momentary delay, as the large craft maneuvers toward the makeshift landing pad, shifting itself forward and back and from side to side. Suddenly there’s a harsh bump, followed by an expulsion of steam —both tell-tale signs that the landing is now complete. There’s a lengthy hydraulic moan, as a heavy grated ramp slowly lowers itself to the ground...

Queen Admira looks-on from her bed with growing anticipation. The first human female soon appears in the opening of the payload door with her hands loosely clasped atop her head. She looks more confused than frightened.

…Ah yesss; ’tis the first of the days harvest, Admira thought to herself.

Two more women appear in the opening; their hands also clasped atop their heads. Shock troopers begin pushing and prodding their precious cargo down the metal platform and onto the pavement below.

The Royal watches intently, noting that this load is a rather motley-looking bunch, with their tight leather clothes, studded belts, and an abundance of tattoos. There are women in fishnets with dangerously short skirts and cowboy boots, while others are wearing hardly anything at all. One of them; a topless blonde bimbo in a lime green thong, seems to be struggling against her captor’s restrictive hold. Another trooper quickly runs up beside her, waving a compliance wand in front of the female’s eyes. There’s a bright flash, and the peroxide blonde stumbles on her feet. Her shoulders relax and her arms fall slack at her sides, as she’s easily induced back into a passive state. Within a few short steps the woman has already fallen back in line with the others.

…Why do they even bother to resist? Admira wondered to herself. Her critical gaze then scans over the growing line that’s approaching the opened doors of the processing center itself. An officer is walking among them, shouting instructions into a raised bullhorn. The humans are being separated into two long rows, as they continue shuffling along in their dazed stupors, completely unaware of the long sleep that awaits them inside.

The queen briefly considers how many more earth girls it will take to reach their final quota and expels another lengthy breath. ...Far too many she reasoned. The one thing that’s certain; production will have to be ramped-up after this latest batch. Early estimates are in the several hundred, and considering the thousands they’ve already salted away; they would eventually run out of floor space in the warehouse.

Admira reaches over to turn off the interface; there’s a quick ‘blip’ as the screen vanishes into thin air. The focus of her gaze then passes down over her body, where it settles on the recently enslaved bath attendant still bowing down in between her legs. Young Merta stares sightlessly into the queen’s soft underbelly —the lower half of her blank visage now hidden by the royal’s bushy triangle as she obediently licks away. The poor thing has been going at it for quite some time now, just servicing her owner’s lady-parts while she conducts her all-important business up above. The strict command had been given that mistress was not to be interrupted, and as any shrewd business woman will tell you; time management is a key to success.

…What did the Earthlings call it?

The Queen wracks her brain and then finally remembers …Ah yes: multi-tasking. She cracks a delicious smile, liking the broad human term and all that it could entail even better.

Admira’s hand slowly travels down over her bare stomach, reaching to find the younger woman’s hair. Her fingers connect and start toying with her silky black mane, twisting and twirling the lustrous tresses around until her fingers becomes entangled within. Clutching the thick lock within her fisted hand; the royal gives the creature’s head a couple of playful tugs before pushing her face even deeper into her lap. With her back severely arched and with the deep cleft of her bare ass raised even higher in the air; Merta looks like a thirsty little kitty lapping up milk from her bowl.

“What a good little pet,” the queen praised while activating her trigger. She contentedly strokes the slave’s crown, waiting for a reaction...

The trigger phrase froze Merta in place for a moment. Like a deck of cards being shuffled about; something shifts aside in her mind and another memory rises-up to the surface. The command registers and the young woman slowly rises up from Admira’s patronizing hand, like some automaton rising up from its padded crate. With unseeing eyes she dully recites; “Mertha ith a gooth little peth …Her only purpith ith to pleath her mithreth …Thee will obeyth.”

Queen Admira chortles at the young woman’s predicament …How rich; the poor little thing’s tongue is so tired that she can’t even talk!

…Tired indeed; Merta’s jaw is hanging slack and there’s drool leaking from one uneven corner of her mouth.

Still sniggering to herself, the royal leans her head over in an adoring way and instructs, “…As thou were, my dear.”

“Yeth, mithreth.”

Still staring blankly ahead; Merta reaches out and braces her splayed hands against Admira’s slippery thighs, spreading them apart even wider for better access. The slick sensation of the baby oil sliding beneath her fingers is quite pleasing to the touch, making the blood rush to the sensitive tips of her breasts. Tiny little bumps immediately rise to the surface of her swelling areolae, while her thimble-sized nipples spring forth from the center of each. The obedient thrall once again lowers her pretty face, burying it into the thick patch of springy hairs and inhaling Admira’s scent. With one hand, she sweeps the pubes back, placing delicate little kisses here and there, before dragging her parted lips up over the rubbery folds. Merta’s wet muscle starts lashing out in a feverish manner, tongue-whipping her mistress’s vulnerable pussy into all-out frenzy.

“Uh —Oh thass-it!” the queen gasped out, her hips bucking in reaction. She’d been trying to keep her cool, but quickly grasps at the sheets just for something to hold onto.

…The thrall keeps-up her frontal assault; her slick fingertips sliding around and around —her tongue teasingly rimming Admira’s hungry opening. The breathy moans coming from above are getting lower and deeper, to the point where they’re sounding more like animalistic grunts, as her mistress starts to hump her face.

With her tongue still playfully dancing across the wrinkled skin, Merta finally peels the protective hood back and her glazed green eyes immediately flare with interest. She studies the little pearl that’s waiting inside; at first curiously poking at it with the extended tip of her finger, and then sucking the hardened bud in between her front teeth.

“Ah-ah —uhhh!” the queen groaned, arching her back a little more. She tries to pick-up the pace by grinding at Merta’s mouth even faster, but the young woman releases and pulls back to leave her humping at the air…

“Gimme back that mouth, you minx!” Admira growled with impatience. She yanks the slave by her hair once more and forces her face back downward. The queen curls her spine and moans softly as Merta’s wet mouth envelopes her womanhood once again.

…Cripes, this one is really good, the Royal thought before considering …But I suppose anyone could be this good with the appropriate amount of programming.

Like a puppeteer working the strings on a marionette; Merta begins steering Admira’s body with the strategic placements of her mouth and fingers. Her lady has started grinding against her face again, desperately trying to keep in direct contact with her flickering tongue.

…Like steel to a magnet, or a moth to a flame.

“Nggh —YESSSS!” Admira cried out in pleasure.

…The royal gradually settles back into the pace of the other woman’s movements, allowing the minion to bring the climax to her. The controller has somehow become the controlee, and for the first time in her life; the queen is perfectly fine with it…

After a long moment, Merta slightly repositions herself, balancing all of her upper body weight onto her braced arm. She forms her free hand into the shape of a pistol; the thumb being the trigger, while two more fingers create the barrel. She starts working the barrel portion in and out of her mistress, casually stroking back and forth while her mouth remains occupied with the throbbing little nub up above.

“Uh —Ohh?!” Admira burst out, squirming at the unexpected intrusion.

…The royal starts driving her hips down hard in a rhythmic counter point to each thrust of the other woman’s hand. She builds up so much momentum that her tits start swirling around and around until they shimmy themselves out of her shelf-like bra. Merta had picked up the pace below her; rapidly stroking her fingers until a wet suction noise starts filling the room. The slave girl is pushing her closer and closer to the edge and leaving her to hang on the outer-most brink of orgasm.

“PHOO—PHOO—PHOO—PHOO!”

…Admira’s breathy panting is so loud and extreme that she sounds like a runaway steam train ready to chug itself clear off the tracks. The impending climax is tingling at the base of her spine, winding-up tighter and tighter like a rubber band that’s ready to snap.

And snap it does.

Admira’s body abruptly tightens and she desperately cries out, “Cum with me, Merta —cum with me NOW!”

Merta twitches involuntarily; her spine goes taught as the dimples at the small of her back sharpen into focus. Her firm little ass flexes a few times and then hardens like marble as she begins to make some sort of struggling sounds below. The queen is arching up like a rainbow against her; neck cording; limbs straining; her eyes rolling back in ecstasy. Admira’s thighs are locked so tightly around her head that she’s raising them both off the bed as they climax together!

“UGH! —UGH! —OH! —UH! —EM! —EM! —EM! —UGH! —UGH! —UGH!”

…The royal keeps fucking her slaves face; pumping away so hard that the poor thing looks like a ragdoll just helplessly hanging there from the space in between her thighs. Merta’s head shakes violently with each and every thrust; her neck looking like it could snap in two at any moment.

“UGH! —UGH! —UGH! —Unnn —Ohh Mmm-erta! —Uh—Unnn…”

After what seems like an interminable moment, Admira’s writhing movements begin to subside; her hips start grinding a little slower, while her heaving breasts settle back on her chest plate. Merta remains trapped in place beneath her; the top of her raven dome still crowning from in between her mistress’s thighs. The slave had grown silent; her limbs are just hanging down loose from her shoulders and resting limp on top of the bed. The queen finally releases the pressure, and the slave’s head immediately drops face-first into the mattress where it bounces off the surface.

…Admira gently dabs her middle finger on her sensitive clit, still twitching and quivering as she comes down from her orgasm. Completely spent; the queen’s head finally falls back against the bedspread. She remains there for a while, just sprawled out and gasping for air…

“Well, well ... (sounding winded) …that was really something, eh? ...Gave it quite a go there! …Heh-heh! …I have to say; you’re pretty good at that, Merta … (still panting) …Come to think of it; you’re really fantastic! —Phewww!”

…The queen stares up at the spinning ceiling fan for a bit, just basking in the afterglow of great sex and waiting for a reply.

A reply that never comes.

After a moment, Admira rises up on her elbows. Her eyebrows furrow in curiosity as her satisfied smile slowly morphs into one of confusion. “Merta?” she questioned with a tone of alarm. The queen then arches toward the girl; she grasps her black mane and pulls her lifeless head up from the mattress. She brushes the sex-hair away from the slave’s face; Merta’s eyes are now closed and her head is bobbling around loosely on her shoulders. The royal gives her a good shake, but there’s no reaction whatsoever.

“FRAK!”

Admira immediately swings one leg over the girl’s back and literally rolls off the side of the bed, leaving the poor thing to lol over to the side. She swiftly claps her hands three times in a row, activating the ship’s A.I.

…A velvety smooth voice appears out of thin air. “Yess, my Royal Ladyship?” it asked in surround sound.

“Lexa; I’m afraid there’s been a bit of a mishap ’ere; send some medical technicians to my living quarters at once.”

“Are you ok, Your Highness?”

“I’m perfectly fine,” the queen assured before looking over at the bed to add, “…But I’m afraid the same can’t be said for her …I’m not sure if the little trollop has broken her neck, or managed to smother herself unconscious. She doesn’t seem to be moving any...”

“Did you check for a pulse, Your Highness?”

…Admira glances over at the naked female, who remains face-planted and slumped over the end of the bed. The bent curves of Merta’s bare-ass look inviting even now.

“I’ve not, but I …well I suppose I probably could.”

The queen walks over cautiously. She draws Merta’s hair back away from her neck, checking for a pulse...

“Oh dear; I believe there’s still a pulse but it’s very faint...”

“Technicians should be arriving on the scene at any moment,” Lexa assured.

“Yes, well I should certainly hope so.”

…The A.I. deactivates itself and vanishes nearly as quickly as it had appeared. Admira is already sauntering towards a large cabinet in the back of the room. She parts the mahogany doors and then pours herself some spirits, weighing-in on the gravity of the situation. Merta had certainly been an obedient little slave; one that promised to be nearly as good a servant as she is a lover. It would be a shame to have to start all over with another pet. …Perhaps this next one should be “detuned” a bit to prevent another tragedy like this from happening she thought. The queen tilts her head back, taking a long drink from her fluted glass and then looks back over towards the bed. Merta still remains silent; knees bent, her body lying flat …her long black hair fanning out over the mattress.

…She almost looks like an erotic step stool kneeling at the edge of the bed like that. I suppose she’d make a nice piece of furniture.

As medical technicians arrive on the scene, Queen Admira pours herself another round of spirits. With her glass now raised in one hand, she draws the two halves of her robe back together with the other. She glides over to the wall beside her headboard, where Jaro —Merta’s own twin brother— has been standing throughout the evening’s festivities. Placed within the statue’s raised forearms is a couture pillow with gold piping around the border and a tassel hanging from each of the corners. She reaches for a satin blindfold that’s positioned in the center of the burgundy cushion, staring into the boy’s face as she does so. Jaro stares right through her, completely oblivious of his mistress’s presence, or his sister’s dire situation across the room.

As technicians fight to save the young woman’s life, the royal fights back a yawn, hoping it won’t take long for them to clean-up her mess…

Kendra Ford is dreaming of running through the wheat fields on the family farm. The golden hue of the swaying stalks, coupled with the back drop of the blue Midwestern sky, brings out the vivid colors of her floral-print sundress. Her feet below are barren and dirty, and there’s a freshly picked daisy that daddy had tucked behind her ear. In this dream, she’s nothing more than a restless young girl with boundless energy; just laughing and giggling without a care in the world.

…These were much simpler times and back when life was so full of promise.

The smell of wheat teases Kendra’s nose, and she can already feel a light coating of perspiration brought on from the early morning sun. She slows from running for a moment and seeks refuge beneath an old oak tree. It is then, and without any rhyme or reason, that she suddenly feels a wet coolness at the back of her neck. An unseen figure gently dabbles a wet sponge around her exposed shoulders. Kendra lets out a mischievous giggle and quickly turns to look over her back. She sees that it’s Tanya; the maturing farm girl from next door…And her playful ministrations feel like heaven. Her childhood friend continues her pampering, dipping the sponge into a pitcher of water and then wringing it out on the ground at her feet. Eventually, the wet sponge works its way up over the tops of her shoulders and a single line of water runs down the valley of her developing chest. Kendra shrugs off an unavoidable chill…

“Hey there; are you ok?”

…The voice sounded echoic and distant, but Kendra still recognized it as Tanya’s. She forms a pleased smile and breathlessly whispers, “…I feel absolutely wonderful.”

That’s when Tanya begins to shake her by the shoulders. Her muffled voice orders, “Come on girl; you have to get up!”

Kendra dazedly murmurs, “But I don’t wanna get up. I just wanna stay here with you —forever.”

…Now Tanya is poking her in the ribs with a sharp object that feels rather uncomfortable.

“Would you pleeease wake up?”

Kendra awakens with a start and expels a loud gasp in confusion. The biker finds herself in a completely different world from that in her dream; she’s now lying in a fetal position in what looks like nothing more than an overgrown lot of ragweed. Her cheek is pressed into the dirty ground, while her hair is fanned our around her head. A shadow starts to creep across her features and momentarily blocks out the sun. The biker blinks her eyes and her first thought is:

…W-what in the hell…?

“Just relax,” a voice suggested from above, “…I promise I’m not going to hurt you.”

A startled Kendra jerks back and quickly looks upward in reaction. She cups a hand over her brow in an effort to deflect the harsh daylight. There’s a figure standing above her, but their features are completely obscured by the brilliance of the sun. Said sunlight also highlights the outer edges of the stranger’s hair, creating a weird “halo” effect around their head. The end result makes whoever it is appear to be angelic and heavenly…

The voice continues to instruct, “Take it easy …everything’s going to be just fine.”

Kendra continues to blink her eyes, still trying to adjust to the daylight. It’s only then that she finally identifies the angel that’s hovering above. It’s a female with disheveled chestnut hair and she stands around 5′5″ or so. Her clothes are stained and dirty, matching her unwashed skin. She’s very lean, while her legs are noticeably unshaven. Despite the woman’s unkempt appearance, her face is admittedly attractive in a peasant-girl kind of way. When the stranger leans in close to remove a leaf from Kendra’s hair, the biker notices a set of dog tags hanging down from around her neck…

“Well good morning,” the angel greeted before going on to confess, “I thought you were a goner for a minute there.”

Kendra groggily raises herself up and comes to a rest on the backs of her elbows. The biker briefly studies her unfamiliar surroundings, looking around rather bemusedly before asking, “Wh-where in the hell am I?”

“I wish I could tell you,” the stranger confessed. “It looks like an abandoned rest stop, but I have no idea on the exact location.”

“So how in the hell did I get here?”

“Looks like you rolled in on that bike over there,” the woman said before nodding her head at a point just beyond where Kendra lay. She goes on to add, “…Nice lookin’ ride, by the way.”

The biker cranes her neck over her left shoulder. She immediately recognizes her pride and joy, “Grace” which leans on her kickstand just a few feet away.

Through her haze, Kendra begins to recall the events from the evening before. Things like the long road trip that led up to her arrival at the Hawg Fest site, and the many sights and sounds that greeted her there. …But then the biker’s expression starts to change, and she noticeably frowns when she pictures the bright wave of light in the sky, and the expressions of awe on those that surrounded her. She hears their terrified screams as they tried to run, only to get frozen in place ...Relives the high-speed chase as bolts of light rained down all around her. And then there were the never-ending yellow lines in the night and becoming far too exhausted to carry-on. The biker had come across a long abandoned rest area and decided to take a momentary breather.

…Oh my God; so it all wasn’t just some horrible dream?

Kendra hangs her head in guilt at the very thought of having left her closest of friends behind.

The stranger before her reaches out to inspect a deep cut on her cheek, but Kendra jerks her head away in reaction.

“That’s a nasty lil’ cut you have there. How’d you get it?”

Kendra replies with some questions of her own. “Wait a minute; who are you and what are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere?”

…The stranger just shrugs and responds, “You probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Oh yeah? …Well try me!”

The woman hesitates at first, as if unsure that she should even bother. Then after a pensive moment, she finally extends a hand to reveal, “Payton O’Neil—Private First Class …I’m actually a meteorologist for the military.”

Kendra also hesitates at first, but eventually accepts the other woman’s hand with her own...

“Kendra Ford; restless road gypsy …It’s a pleasure.”

The soldier gives the biker a friendly nod before expelling a lengthy breath…

—PHOOO!

“Well; …my unit was stationed at the National Guard barracks out on seventy-five. Sergeant Whittaker and I were down in what they call the “catacombs” for the night. We’d been down there for about an hour or so, just recording our barometric pressure readings for documentation purposes.—Typical bullshit stuff. …At one point, we felt the ground begin to shake and the needle started going bananas on the accelerometer. That’s when Sarge decided to make a call up to the communications tower. We only got one reply before the power went out and the line went dead.”

“So what happened?”

“We thought we might be under some sort of attack, so we split up: she went one way, and I climbed up into a ventilation duct and crawled on through. That shaft eventually led to a panel that overlooks the cafeteria. …And that’s where I saw all that weird shit going on.”

“What kinda weird shit?”

“Well there were these creatures …They pretty much looked human, but with green skin. The females were all dressed in these stretchy cat suits, while the males were in these spacey-looking coveralls. Some of them carried these high-tech looking weapons. They managed to overrun the entire barracks by that point.”

“Green skinned aliens in cat suits?” Kendra questioned, “…That is pretty unbelievable.”

“Soo these creatures …they start lining everyone up in front of these chambers. They were putting these crowns over their heads that had all sorts of wires and cables. …Once they were locked down in place, the captors flipped some sort of switch. It was absolutely horrible to watch, but I couldn’t seem to turn my eyes away.”

“Didn’t they try to resist?”

“I don’t think they could if they’d tried. …It was like everyone was being controlled and in some sort of trance or something.”

Kendra’s attention piques and she immediately sits up. “You mean like they were hypnotized?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what they looked like!”

Kendra’s dark eyes dart back in forth in thought. “That sounds similar to what happened at the Hawg Fest!”

“What do you mean?”

“I was at the Hawg Fest bike festival with some close friends. There was this bikini contest going on, when the ground began to shake. There was this large ship …like a UFO or something. It just sat there hovering in the air right above us. But then it let off this brilliant white light—it kept building and building in size just like a giant wave. …I know this will sound totally ridiculous, but it seemed to freeze everyone in place. I tried to warn my friends, but it was no use. That thing just kept creeping along, with its light fanning out over the crowd and suspending everything within its path.”

Kendra’s tale seems to stir Private O’Neil’s own experience in return.

“You said there was a brilliant white light…”

“Yeah,” the biker confirmed. “…So bright it was nearly blinding. Whenever I close my eyes, I can still see the impression within my eyelids.”

“Oh my God! …I ran from a group of aliens …they chased me from the base and pursued me through the woods for what seemed like an eternity. They kept firing these bolts of light-energy from their weapons. Whenever I close my eyes, I can still see them too!”

“Holy shit! …So we must be under some sort of alien invasion!”

“But wait,” O’Neil warned, “…there’s more.”

The seated biker leans in a little closer to offer her undivided attention. “Go-on,” she said, encouraging the soldier.

O’Neil explained in detail about how her fellow comrades reacted inside the mysterious chambers, at one point going on to add, “…When they emerged from those tubes, it was if something inside them had changed. And they had these weird pods over their ears. They were similar to a Bluetooth, but they blinked and made beeping noises. Later on, when I tried to reason with a few grunts from my unit, they seemed complacent and distant. It was as if their minds were focused elsewhere, and I think those earpieces had something to do with it.”

Kendra inquires, “Have you ever tried to go back?”

“Hell no!” exclaimed the defiant soldier. “My own comrades turned against me …They accused me of being a fugitive. They wanted to turn me in for some sort of “upgrade” as they called it.”

“…An upgrade?”

“Yeah, they kept repeating something about “submitting myself” to the conversion process.”

Kendra wasn’t exactly sure what that last statement was all about. But the thought of this young woman “submitting” herself to anything elicited an unexpected twitch of arousal. The biker secretly presses her thighs together in reaction…

O’Neil continues, “After all that went down at the base, I knew I couldn’t go back. I ran through the woods until I found this place and I’ve been living off the land ever since.”

“How long ago was that?”

“It was March 16th when I left…”

“Since mid-March? …Holy shit! —It’s friggin’ July already!”

Payton just shrugs her shoulders. “I guess I sorta lost track of time out here.”

“Payton; I say we go to the police with this.”

Private O’Neil quickly grabs the biker’s wrist and warns, “I don’t think that’s a good idea!”

“What do you mean? …We have to contact the authorities!”

O’Neil expels a deep breath and explains, “A few days after the attack, I tried hiking into a town. During my travels, I was stopped by this state trooper. He had on the same earpieces as the folks from my unit back at the barracks.”

“So you think they got to the state police too, then?”

“Well he obviously didn’t “grow” them! …Anyway, he asked for my ID and I just showed him my dog tags. That’s when his earpieces flashed red and he kinda froze-up in place. When they flashed green, his entire attitude suddenly changed; he got this dazed look and said something about submitting to the collective. When I told him I wasn’t willing to do that, and he ordered me to place my hands on the hood of the car and spread ’um, and that’s when I ran.”

“Great. So if the military and the police have been infiltrated, who else can we go to?”

Private O’Neil looks out over the field as if deeply in thought. She finally breaks her silence and suggests, “Why don’t we head back to my camp and we’ll try to throw together some sort of plan.”

Kendra looks over at the woman in surprise and asks, “You actually have a camp?”

“Well I wasn’t about to sleep in an open field!”

Kendra jokes, “Not much of a romantic, huh?”

“I’ve been out here taking baths in a shallow creek for the last four months,” the soldier confessed. “I don’t have any soap, shampoo or even a razor. I’ve got a coat of fur growing on my legs and beneath my pits. There’s certainly nothing romantic about that.”

“Mmm, I see your point,” admitted the biker. “So where is this set-up at?”

O’Neil replies, “It’s back there in the woods a bit. I just hope you’re not too disappointed by the home décor.”

Offering her hand, the cute soldier pulls her guest up from the ground with a certain roughness. Her eyes widen when she sees the biker’s true height and she comments, “Whoa! You’re quite the tall one!”

Kendra just flashes her toothy grin and reveals, “The heeled boots help a lot…”

O’Neil smiles back and directs; “Now there’s an overgrown motocross trail that goes right past the camp. If you take it nice and slow, you should be able to get your bike right through there.”

“Nice and slow is what I’m all about,” Kendra disclosed with a sly grin. She swings a long leg over the seat and offers, “Hop on the back and I’ll give you a ride.”

The soldier looks at the small seat and makes a funny face. “Umm, they don’t give you much of an area to sit on, do they?”

Kendra peeps through her overgrown bangs with her deep brown eyes, giving the woman a seductive look. “Just arch your back and hold on tight, sweetheart.”

Private O’Neil straddles the back half of the bike and wraps her arms around Kendra’s firm midsection. The engine crackles to life and a short moment later, the big Harley lurches forward. With all that power vibrating beneath her, the soldier can’t help but let out a little “yelp!” in excitement.

With Payton hugging her tighter and tighter from behind, Kendra can clearly feel the soldier’s breasts crushing into her back. Like two water balloons, they squish and roll about with every bump on the trail. Alien invasion aside; this momentary rest stop is shaping up to be a rather stimulating adventure…

A Gift to Mother

Hundreds of miles above earth’s atmosphere, the mother ship Otrakár continues to hover in place. Onboard and nestled within her private sleeping quarters; Princess Theramea is turning over on her massive canopy bed. As her body unhurriedly rotates beneath the finest of Pangorian silks, one of her arms snakes around the naked form that’s lying beside her. The smell of rose petals and raunchy sex still fills the air.

…Mmmm.

The combined scents would usually be enough to send the princess back into a peaceful slumber. But there’s a hypnotically rhythmic Tick—Tick —Ticking sound that’s now keeping her awake.

After a few blinks of her eyes and several languorous yawns, Theramea pulls back the silken sheets. She stretches her arms out well above her head while looking about for the source of the noise. It isn’t long before she notices the inviting warmth of the tight buttocks that’s pressing against her side —the deep split of the crack a near perfect fit to the indent of her waist.

Theramea fights off yet another languorous yawn, letting her quivering lips gradually curl it into a mischievous smile. Reaching over, the princess slowly runs a hand over the curvy profile of the overturned body beside her. She quietly whispers, “D’Nesh…”

The female doesn’t react to her touch, nor offer a reply in return.

…Theramea scoops up a handful of rose petals and casually sprinkles them over the female’s slender curvature. She expels a playful giggle and repeats, “D’Nesh?”

Still no reply.

Growing impatient, Theramea smacks the bare skin of the young woman’s fanny and repeats, “D’Nesh; I’m talking to you!” …The princess furrows an eyebrow before giving the unresponsive female one more opportunity. She grabs a thick lock of D’Nesh’s hair and gives it a good yank. The servant’s head suddenly lolls over in the royal’s direction, her crystal blue eyes now drawn at half-mast and staring lifelessly into her master’s.

“D’Nesh?”

Theramea notices that the creature’s pupils are dilated. Her jaw is slack and her lips are slightly parted, partially exposing the pristine whiteness of her front teeth. The princess leans in even closer, looking deep into D’Nesh’s unblinking eyes. The royal is so turned on by her lover’s vacant stare that she can’t help but lean in and steal a kiss from her unresisting lips. That’s when the princess notices the constant Tick—Tick — Ticking sound once again...

…What is that noise?

The Royal immediately turns her head and looks just beyond the side of the bed. There, atop a lone nightstand, the pendulum on an ancient metronome is slowly clicking back and forth. The chrome plated finish shimmers beautifully across a nearby wall with each and every pass. The incessant cadence is enticing enough to draw Theramea’s own attention in…

The princess cracks an even broader smile, recalling the bedside hi-jinx from the night before and how she warned the young assistant of the device’s capabilities. With one hand she squeezes her lover’s cheeks together, forcing her immobile lips to mimic the words, “Silly thrall! …Thought you could beat the metronome, did you?”

Theramea releases the female’s face, leaving the poor thing to gape half-lidded at the sheer draping above them. The princess decides to push her own luck; if not out of pure boredom then to simply test her own resolve. She bravely challenges the artifact; her dark eyes wavering back and forth in perfectly timed rhythm. But within moments, her eyes become glazed and her curious expression slowly turns to a more dumbfounded look. A puddle of drool begins to collect within the princess’s mouth and a lone strand of spittle soon forms. It dangles from her parted lips until breaking free and dropping in the center of her lover’s forehead. Then at once, an unexpected alarm buzzes in the distance, its intermittent noise gradually breaking the princess out of the ever-deepening trance…

When Theramea finally comes to, she shakes her head to rid-off any lingering cobwebs…

…Wooo! …No wonder why my assistants fall for that thing so easily!

The annoying buzz sounds yet again and a voice that’s familiar as Captain Kiyar’s soon announces, “Princess, I hope I’m not disturbing anything…”

Still a little woozy from the after effects of the metronome, Theramea nearly tumbles over her lover’s prone form. Dragging the silken sheets along with her, the Royal finally makes it off the side of the bed and onto the floor. She leaves her enthralled assistant lying naked and completely exposed on top of the mattress…

Theramea stomps angrily across the room, with her mighty green breasts bouncing freely with every forceful step.

“Hello… Are you there?” the captain pressed.

“This better be important!” the princess scoffs, as she approaches yet another naked female; this one standing stock-still in the middle of the room. Nia was a promising Cadet who was stationed on the collection ship ‘Chimera’ just 24 hours ago. The teenaged recruit considered it an honor to serve in the Orion Forces and her greatest wish was to meet the Royal Family in person. Quite naturally, Princess Theramea was more than happy to grant such a wish to the hopeful Cadet. Now Nia served a greater purpose: acting as a living statue that made for one sexy lingerie rack…

“I have the final results from the biker festival that you requested.”

The princess rolls her eyes in dramatic fashion. “…And that couldn’t wait until later?”

…A bitter Theramea strips a pair of panties from one of Nia’s daintily upturned hands and steps through a leg hole. She hops along on one foot, frantically searching for the second hole, before pulling the flimsy thong up over her thighs. The princess then yanks a wispy sarong from Nia’s outturned forearm and hastily pulls it up over her shoulders. As she wraps the sash around her waistline she scorns, “I thought I told you that I need my alone time, captain?”

“Yes, well there will be plenty of time for that later.”

Theramea rushes off to the other side of the room, leaving the recently turned statue to stand alone. Then, with a simple wave of her hand, the princess summons-up the user interface for her computer. The viewing screen appears out of thin air and the royal sinks back into her plush Boudoir chair.

Kiyar’s smiling mug soon appears on the nearly translucent viewing screen. He cheerfully greets, “Ah, there you are!” …But as the captain views the backdrop of the room beyond, a concerned expression begins to show on his face. To the left of the screen, a young female trainee stands posed in the nude. She seems frozen in place, undoubtedly the victim of a suspender weapon, or quite possibly hypnotized by Theramea herself simply to look that way. A single long stemmed rose is clamped between the upper and lower rows of the cadet’s teeth. To the far right of the screen, another nude female lay in a rather lewd position upon the princess’s bed. She too is stock still; her eyes stare vacantly through the canopy above. Rose petals, lingerie, and a myriad of sex toys are strewn about the room…

…Kiyar just shakes his head in disappointment.

“I thought you were going to take Nia underneath your wing?” the captain fired. “You said you’d personally train her to become a respected warrior?”

The princess shrugs her shoulders rather nonchalantly and goes on to openly confess, “We were just getting to know each other. But then D’Nesh uncovered the metronome to show her how it worked and the next thing you know …Well I suppose things got just a little out of hand.”

“I once told your mother not to give that relic to you. …It’s not some toy to be played with!”

Theramea looks over her shoulder at the girl who still retains her stock-still position. (It was a pose she’d surely been holding since the night before, and one that the princess and D’Nesh jokingly referred to as “the hook” throughout the entire sex-fueled evening). …The royal turns back to the screen with a noticeable smirk and cruelly suggests, “I think she makes a rather attractive piece of bedroom décor, don’t you? …Just think of the sales potential!”

Kiyar makes another disappointed face and reminds, “You can’t keep taking my fresh cadets and turning them into your mindless, sexual playthings!”

Theramea just shrugs her shoulders in a sheepish way and innocently murmurs, “And I’m so very sorry for that…”

The captain heaves a deep sigh and reverts back to his main reason for the call. “Anywaaay; the assault on the festival netted a total of four hundred eighteen females, with twelve percent of those scoring within the .090 through .100 range. The remainder of them scored within the .070 through .089 ranges.”

The princess probes, “Why so little? …There must have been two hundred thousand at that festival. I would surely think that a crowd that size would yield an impressive number of quarry.”

The captain confesses, “Well as it turns out, biker events don’t always attract the most desirable of human females. But we did take the best they had to offer.” He then suggests, “Perhaps we should focus on another, more respectable event.”

Theramea fires, “We obviously need to do something! Mother will be quite miffed when she sees those numbers!”

There is an awkward moment of silence before Kiyar suggests, “Maybe we should call upon one of the hybrids.”

“Do we have one in the area?”

“Records indicate that test subject 108 is located somewhere within the Rossville sector.”

The princess instantly questions, “What do you mean by “somewhere” in the area?”

“The communication chip the subject has is an outdated Nucleus Four model.”

“A Nucleus Four? …We just released the Nucleus Eight!”

“Yes, I realize this. But in order to utilize the Nucleus Eight’s newer technology, he would have to undergo reconstructive surgery and we’d have to insert a new cochlear implant. Cochlear implants aren’t exactly predictable and melding the two might not produce sound reception any better than what he has now. And in order to—”

A buzzing signal cuts Kiyar off in mid-sentence and alerts the princess that she has unexpected company. She apologizes to the captain for the intrusion before pressing the intercom button.

“Yes?”

The voice on the other side of the intercom replies, “I’m here to deliver the statue that you commissioned, your highness.”

…Already?

Theramea’s mood instantly spikes.

“I-I’ll be with you in just a moment!”

The princess quickly returns to the viewing screen. “I’m sorry captain,” she apologizes, “but we’ll have to discuss this matter at another time.”

“But it’s important that we—”

Theramea cuts Kiyar short and promptly lectures, “Need I remind you, captain; you’re not only responsible for the entire Rossville region, but fully accountable for the converts within your sector. Now I suggest you concentrate your efforts on locating the missing hybrid and updating his equipment so that we can proceed as planned!”

“Yes, but I—”

“No buts! …Don’t make me call my mother over such a foolish issue, captain!”

With that said, Theramea waves a swift hand over the viewing screen. The display vanishes just as quickly as it had appeared, and the captain’s heated rebuttal is instantly cut short. The princess presses another button on her vanity to release the electric door strike before swiveling around in her button-tufted chair…

“You can bring her in now!”

The reinforced door slides open with a “shush-it” noise and a strange old man appears on the other side. He’s a rather peculiar-looking fellow, attired in mismatched clothes, gaudy jewelry and with a colorful kerchief wrapped around his neck. Born of Saturnian descent, Zaftig Moon looks more like an intergalactic gypsy than the celebrated artist that he is. He enters the elaborate Boudoir with golden bangles jangling upon his wrists and rolling an upright shipping cart before him. Strapped to the cart’s tube-frame is a sheeted figure in white with enticingly feminine proportions...

“Good morning, your highness,” greeted the old man with his usual beaming smile.

“Ah, Zaftig; I’m so glad that you’ve completed her early!”

“Oh but I have, my dear!” the sculptor proudly replied. The stubby old man sets the cart down in an upright position and then dutifully bows before the princess. He waits for the royal to grant him a nod before going on to say, “…I just hope that you like the results.”

“If she’s anything like your past works, I’m sure that I will.”

Theramea looks on with a note of anticipation, as the old man quickly unfastens the cargo straps from the cart. Once the retaining straps are withdrawn, Zaftig casts them aside and then eases the cart out from beneath the figure’s base. The artist then grasps the edges of the cotton sheeting and in grand fashion he announces, “I present to you: Leeza, the Golden Nymph.”

…As the protective shroud is dramatically whisked away, the princess expels a loud gasp in delight!

“Oh Zaftig; she truly is magnificent!”

Standing between them is a life-sized female nude, coated in 24-karat gold. The statue is posed in a rather provocative manner, with head thrown back, arms outstretched from her sides and with her bountiful breasts thrust outward. One glimmering leg is upraised and bent at the knee, as if she were about to plunge into the sea from the highest of cliffs…

Theramea slowly circles the nude statue, marveling at the exquisite detailing with each new step. Every line, curve and even the smallest of dimples has been captured in gleaming gold. And there is something about the reflection of light coming off of her too; like a certain glow or maybe even a flicker of life that seems to come from within…

…Mmm; more like caught up in the eternal afterglow … Heh!

Theramea holds back a smirk as she casually reaches out and touches a hand to the statue’s body. She lightly traces the curve of a thigh with the very tips of her fingers. Then her curious hand travels down further, eventually finding the statue’s metal-coated pubic mound. There’s a small slit there— not quite wide enough to insert a finger into and far too stiff to actually be of any use. But it didn’t matter; her 24-karat pussy would no longer be tainted by the semen of mere ordinary mortals...

“Did she put up a fight?”

“She was still entranced when I posed her,” the artist answered before adding, “…A whole lot easier to dip her that way…”

“Yes, I suppose so...”

As Theramea’s hand travels over one of the figure’s gilded breasts, a hardened nipple scrapes across her bare palm. An unexpected chill runs up her spine and the princess immediately shakes it off. That’s when she starts to imagine what it must have felt like being dipped in pure liquid gold. …The mere thought of her entire body being encased forever and the sheer ecstasy of those last few moments; struggling to inhale the air that is no longer present, the blood rushing to her engorged nipples as they tighten in place, and the pinging of her enflamed clit as it permanently hardens during her final orgasm.

An orgasm that would surely last forever.

—Sigh …What a way to go!

As the princess continues on with her agonizingly erotic critique, Zaftig looks on with indifference. The artist had done close to a hundred such commissions throughout his lifetime, and not just for the royals. Devious dictators, immoral generals, and corrupt constables —anyone with far too much power on their hands and an unlimited budget would often come to him with such covert assignments. Wives, concubines, daughters—even the occasional male lover; they had all passed through the sculptor’s studio at one time or another. It was never a concern where they came from (or why) and Zaftig always knew well enough not to ask...

Although the artist had gotten over the initial excitement of seeing the naked form long ago, it didn’t necessarily mean that he couldn’t appreciate it. That’s probably why Zaftig was staring at the parted halves of Theramea’s wispy sarong and admiring the pair of ripe melons bursting from within. It was a rare treat to see the princess displaying her “Royal” goods so openly...

Theramea senses that she’s being watched and casually cinches the parted halves of her sarong back together. She glances up just in time to catch the artist turning his head away with a noticed smirk. For a brief moment she considers reprimanding the aged sculptor —but thinks better of it. …He might be an eccentric old fuck, but he’s very good at what he does!

This surely wasn’t the first “private commission” the princess had given him and apparently it wouldn’t be the last...

By now, Zaftig has turned his attention to Nia, whom still remained frozen and standing with a long stemmed rose within her clenched teeth. He studied her awkward pose and after a minute is curious enough to ask, “Is this a new toy?”

“She’s just resting with her eyes open,” jokes the princess.

The sculptor passes a hand through Nia’s line of sight but her stare remains unbroken. He then props his double chin upon his knuckles and offers a quick evaluation (as if she might hear)... “Let’s see what we have here: cropped hair; boyish hips; bee-stung breasts; and a lanky body besides? …You poor little thing; you’d never have made it out in the dilithium mines!”

The artist pats Nia’s motionless head in pity before turning to report, “She’s dreadfully awkward. …Quite androgynous, in fact… But I think I could still make something of her…”

“Sorry Zaftig, but not yet.”

“Are you sure?” presses the artist. “She’d be an excellent start for the custom bookends I’ve been promising you!”

Theramea chuckles at the thought but answers, “No, that’s quite alright...”

The sculptor turns back to the entranced girl and apologizes, “I’m so sorry that we didn’t get to know each other, my dear. But I have this feeling that we’ll cross paths again someday…”

The princess shakes her head behind him and warns, “I think that’s enough, Zaftig.”

The artist immediately turns away; his thwarted plans for a Nia sculpture momentarily forgotten…

Theramea commends, “I have to say that your attention to detail is unsurpassed and once again you’ve managed to come through for me. I’m quite certain that mother will enjoy adding this one to her private collection.”

The artist bows his head in appreciation. “But of course she will, Your Highness.”

Theramea goes to her vanity and removes a velvet satchel from one of the drawers. She releases the drawstring and dumps a considerable amount of mixed gemstones onto the vanity’s surface. She quickly sorts through them for a moment and then returns…

“Here’s four Thalonian Rubies, just as you asked for…” The princess dumps the red gemstones into the artist’s opened palm before adding, “…And I’ll toss in a fifth for getting her done so early.”

“Oh my! Well thank you, your highness! …Thank you so much!”

Zaftig quickly scans the cherished red rubies within the palm of his hand before dumping them into his front pocket. He’s about to turn and make his exit when Theramea grabs hold of his shoulder…

“Not so fast…”

“Your Highness?”

“Not a word about our little transaction —to anybody!”

“N-na-na-not a word!” stutters the nervous sculptor.

Theramea goes on to threaten, “…And if Kiyar somehow manages to hear of the whereabouts of Lieutenant Leeza here, it will surely be the last of your statue making days —got it?”

Zaftig doesn’t need to be reminded. The princess had her own ways of dealing with those that crossed her; the evidence was standing right here beside them, plated in gold. The uneasy artist nervously replies, “B-but of course not, your highness! …N-not a word!”

Now seemingly in a hurry to leave, the old man grabs his cart and the rest of his belongings and quickly makes his way to the door. As he does, he notices D’Nesh’s naked form lying spread-eagled on a canopy bed. The artist slows as if hesitant to ask something…

“Sorry Zaftig, no more statues for today.”

“Oh, ok!” the jumpy artist replied. “It never really hurts to ask, you know! Heh-heh …I’ll be seeing you!”

As her bedroom door hydraulically opens and then hisses closed again, the princess can’t help but crack a smile. She lets an errant hand glide over the sweet rise of Lieutenant Leeza’s backside and then looks into the smooth orbs that were once her eyes. She goes on to poke, “That poor old man. He’s been working with inanimate statues of women for so long that he probably wouldn’t know what to do with a living one!”

The statue remains silent and unmoving, of course. But if the pretty lieutenant could somehow offer her opinion, she’d speak of the artist’s skilled hands and the magnificent tenderness of his loving touch. She’d reminisce of the pride in his expression as he molded her body into the final position that she’s currently posed in. And boast of the pleasure surging through her body as she locked into that position. This was a privilege that only she and her fellow statues would truly ever know…