The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Oceana Chapter 2

Staring dry eyed at the vista of the Milky Way while I wait for Station to take me to my next comfortable prison cell, and no doubt the next stage of my choreographed degradation, I find it hard to care about anything. I know this is a sign of growing depression, but the situation seems hopeless. It feels like weeks since I thought about escape, and even then it was only futile musings about disabling a device more or less welded to my cerebellum.

It’s several minutes before I realize that the stars on one side of the wall are slowly winking out of existence. Watching bemusedly as they continue to snuff out, it takes my dull mind a few minutes and a tiny amount of station-reflected light to realize I’m watching one of the enormous rocks used for raw materials during construction slide over my view of the galaxy.

When half of the sky has disappeared, and the sun itself has fallen behind the huge Kuiper object, I hear the sound of a hatch sliding behind me, and Station breaks into my thoughts.

— The lift has arrived, Grace Adeyemi. —

I sit silently for half a minute before mustering the energy to respond. “Let me finish watching the occlusion, Station, if you can spare me that long.”

No reply to this, but my body isn’t snatched away from me and puppet-walked to the lift, which is what passes for permission in my new world. The stars continue to wink away, and I continue my descent into malaise.

When a quarter of the star-field remains, all of them suddenly flicker and waver in my vision before returning to their previous stillness. My first thought is that Station is interfering with my vision. My second thought is that I might be having some sort of medical episode. My third is simply to ask, “Station, what was that?”

— The visual anomaly you experienced is the effect of a hyperluminal drive deactivation. A Strider cargo hauler has returned to load and ferry human robotics and raw materials to the Kepler system, in service of the construction of the colony at Oceana. —

“Raw materials? Why would they waste time with rocks from here?”

— Kepler’s solar accretion disk was disrupted by a close pass with another system several hundred million years ago. Mass not bound up in a planetary gravity well is comparatively rare. The Strider ship can transport the required materials in several dozen trips. The object currently occluding your view is being actively mined, and the hauler will return to Kepler with full holds within a week. —

I file all this away while I watch the rest of the occlusion with my chin on my knee. I’m not one hundred percent yet, but my mental wheels are spinning, and I can feel the haze of depression beginning to thin. When the star-field finally disappears, the wall fills back in, and I step into the lift without complaint.

* * *

After another trip of many minutes, the door slides open onto an apartment even larger than my last. The room is large, perhaps ten meters in diameter. Circular, with the furnishings and various amenities arrayed around the edge of the room. There’s no large, empty wall this time, which means that phase of my subjugation truly is over. The bed is centered in the room, also circular and quite large. I have no doubt that it is intended to feature heavily in my life over the next few weeks, but it’s a positive sign for other reasons I’m not letting myself concentrate on too much yet. I’ve given my subconscious a project assignment, much like I learned to do with thorny engineering problems in college, and I intend to let it percolate until it pushes the ball back into my court. In the meantime, I’m going to amaze Station with my compliance, as much as it is capable of being amazed.

“So, do I have the rest of the day off, or is...”

I don’t have a chance to finish my question when the sound of the lift door sliding open again interrupts me. I turn to be greeted by the sight of Damien stepping out. My gut clenches as he glances around the room. His eyes settle on me, and a wide, cruel grin splits his face. He says something in a language I don’t recognize, which Station doesn’t bother to translate, this time. He frowns for a second, glancing at the ceiling. He says something else, apparently again with no response. Scowling, he turns back to look at me.

If I’m going to make a show of my new-found enthusiasm for my role in life, I’m not going to get a better chance than this. Before he moves, I flick my shipsuit open, shrug out of it, take one step forward, and lower myself to my knees. His eyes widen, as does my mouth, reminiscent of our last shared moment.

He stares, eyes narrowing. He says something to Station again, and this time he apparently gets a response, because he blinks and his puzzled scowl deepens. I’d bet a hundred credits he just asked Station if it had taken control of my body, and had gotten a reply in the negative. I have to admit, this isn’t quite set of reactions I expected out of Damien. He’s clearly more intelligent than I gave him credit for, and wise to be so suspicious. On reflection, though, if he was also kidnapped from the Oceana project, he’s not stupid. Even the dimmest bulb in that group probably holds advanced degrees.

He is, however, still a man. I rise to my feet in a smooth motion and approach him steadily. Pride won’t let him flinch back from a naked woman, and that same pride holds him still as I snake my arms under his and press my nude flesh against the smooth texture of his shipsuit. He smells like soap and... man. It comes to me as I wrap myself around him that this is the first physical human contact I’ve had in weeks, and it’s intoxicating. I let myself stop thinking about anything at all and just act. I bury my face against his neck and inhale. Through his suit I can feel him hardening against my belly, and then I’m kissing him.

His response is slow, when it comes, and startlingly gentle. His lips move against mine and I feel the lightest brush of his tongue. His hands move to my sides and slide up my back as our kiss deepens. I can feel him sigh against my mouth as his frame relaxes into the embrace. I wonder at the difference between this man and the one directing my actions with such cruel indifference a week ago, and then I wonder if I’m not the only one thinking about Station and how to subvert its control.

Then I’m wondering about nothing at all, as my hands slip the clasps on his shipsuit and I push it off of his lean, muscular form. Our hands begin to roam one another in earnest, small gasps or moans emerging as fingers move over sensitive areas. I’m lightly stroking his penis as he’s kissing his way down my chest to taste a hardened nipple. I release him as he continues his downward exploration, small, sucking kisses marking his inevitable progress. My hands curl in his hair, not yet long enough to grip.

Then a moment’s pause, followed by an electric shock as his warm tongue grazes the edge of my clitoris. My abdomen clenches into hard ridges as his suddenly impatient mouth begins to work in earnest. My eyes are open but unseeing as unbelievable sensations radiate from my groin. I bend weakening knees, holding his head fast to me with one hand, while the other blindly flails behind me to catch me as I sink to the floor. Somehow, it finds the edge of the bed instead, and I manage to pull myself away from his questing tongue and seat myself on the edge.

He moves to continue, but my hands cradle his face and I pull him up for a wet kiss, holding it as I pull both of us backwards, further onto the bed. I can feel his angry erection pressed against my leg as I pull him on top of me, and faster than thought I’ve wrapped my legs behind him, gripped its warm length, and drawn him fully inside me, gasping.

He stops moving, his cheek pressed to mine. I think he stops breathing, for a moment. I begin to whisper to him, urging him on. Nonsense words to him, but I feel him shift his position, and then, heaven, he begins to move inside me. My whispers become nonsense even to me, and soon I’m just crooning as he slowly begins to gather speed, his torso tense, our taut bodies touching in a hundred places as we find our motion, my hips lifting up to meet his increasingly powerful thrusts. The sound of our bodies rhythmically colliding begins to have a meditative effect on me, as the physical sensations wash all thought away, until everything is...

No, NO! He’s pulled out of me and is standing next to the bed, his gaze fixed a thousand meters away. He turns to face the lift, and I recognize the marionette nature of his movements.

“What the fuck, Station?! Weren’t we doing what you wanted? What is this?“

— What I want is to break down your will, Grace Adeyemi. Your reactions and those of the male are not what I expected from either of you at this point in the process. —

“Not enough literature out there on programming intelligent human sex slaves, asshole?”

— You are not wrong, Grace Adeyemi. In many ways this project is unique in history, and the unexpected is to be expected. The outcome is not in doubt, simply the timeline. —

My continued shouts to not prevent the lift from opening to swallow Damien and take him out of my life again.

* * *

I go through the motions of the morning exercise routine after a night of fitful sleep. What little rest I did manage to get was bracketed by vivid dreams of being chased by something I couldn’t see or hear, but I knew it was there. Time and again, the unseen malevolence would catch me and hold me down, helpless. I would struggle as I felt it in a dozen places, on me, in me, and just as I would get my head twisted far enough to catch a glimpse of it, I would wake up, panting, frightened and... wet.

Station’s prohibition on giving myself relief is still in force, and as I stand in the cleanser, letting the hot, soapy steam billow around me, I feel my hands move towards and away from my sensitive areas at least a half-dozen times. I’m not even consciously trying to bring myself off, my body is just acting on reflex at this point.

Finally I just curl up on the floor of the cleanser. I don’t want to fight, but I can’t face whatever new insults are filling Station’s agenda for the day, either. I just rest there, in my little pocket universe made of steam, and try to think of nothing at all.

Eventually the conservator reservoir beeps, and the steam is replaced by dry, warm air as the cleanser reclaims and filters the water from my ablutions. I watch the door slide open with dull eyes, but I don’t move from my spot on the floor. If I sit here long enough, maybe Station will just take control of my body. If I don’t do anything after that, maybe it will take me over for good, and I can just be a spectator while it drives me around, serving my new masters with jerky, slightly awkward enthusiasm. Despite my malaise, the thought of my body being used as a sex puppet is enough to make me horny all over again, and I rest my forehead on my knees and groan in frustration.

I sit there for the better part of an hour before the inevitable happens. I rise to my feet with inhuman balance, still nude, and begin walking with the odd, artificial cadence that Station’s puppets display. I stride over to the bed and crawl to the center, where I lay on my back and splay my arms and legs, spread eagle.

— Grade Adeyemi, yesterday you displayed a surfeit of enthusiasm. Today it is lacking. Neither are helpful in gauging your progress. —

My attempts at an unhelpful response are stymied by my inability to speak.

— I am making alterations to your assignments over the next three days to obtain a fresh baseline. I will retain control of your motor functions for the duration of your activities. I will return control to you each day when the activities conclude. I am informing you of my intentions not to make my actions less traumatic, but to inflict the desired form of trauma. —

I guess I should be careful what I wish for. Station seems to have concluded its monologue, and I still can’t move, which I take to mean my next assignment is imminent.

A couple of hundred heartbeats later, I hear the lift open, followed by about ten seconds of silence. Then a gasp, and the sound of ship booties slapping against the floor as someone runs towards me. A moment later I feel the bed bounce. Raina’s head pops into my field of view just before the rest of her engulfs me in a tight embrace. She begins jabbering incomprehensibly in my ear, and when she pulls back, there are tears in her eyes and a big grin on her face. She chatters a long string of completely unintelligible syllables at me. When I don’t respond, in control of nothing except the direction of my gaze, she pauses, staring at me with a small frown. She jabbers at the ceiling for a moment, and then presumably listens to the reply, head cocked.

She blinks and looks back down at me, face strangely neutral. Long seconds pass as we stare at one another. She asks the ceiling another question, and after listening to the reply, looks at me again, biting her lower lip.

Finally, she moves over me until her head is right above mine, and then leans down and gives me a gentle, lingering kiss. Station responds through my lips, and the kiss becomes deeper and more passionate. I want to touch her, to hold her, but my body remains spreadeagled and unresponsive to my desires. Finally, she breaks the kiss and pulls back, breathing quickly. I stare at her face, and she stares at my body. Without looking at my eyes again, she lowers her face to mine once more.

I feel a gentle peck against my cheek, followed by another at my chin. Several more trail down the curve of my jaw, the kisses becoming tastes, as I can feel her tongue briefly flickering against my skin. The lobe of my ear, down the side of my neck, across the valley of my throat. My need to react to her is maddening. Station is holding my breathing slow, shallow, and steady, but my blood is boiling and I’m getting lightheaded. I can feel her teeth graze my collarbone as her mouth becomes more aggressive, working its way along the ridge on one side, and then its twin.

My vision is starting to darken slightly at the edges as my body slowly, slowly begins to burn more oxygen than I’m taking in. I can feel my nipples engorge and harden and I can feel the lightest breath of air against my exposed vulva. I can’t see Raina anymore, not even the top of her head, but I can feel the trail of heat her lips leave as they move down the center of my chest, between by breasts, and then below one as she begins to spiral, maddeningly slowly, towards the straining nipple at the tip.

Finally, finally, I feel her hot breath against it. The ring of her lips forms a seal against my areola, and her tongue begins to rapidly flick. I would be panting if I was capable, but Station continues its odd form of strangulation as my inflamed body begins to cry out for more oxygen. I barely notice the feeling of Raina’s hand moving over my hip and along my ribs, until it cups the opposite breast and her thumb and forefinger lightly trap the nipple there too. I have about half a second to process that before her teeth clamp as her fingers pinch and she pulls my nipples away from my chest with enough force to be on the edge of pain.

My eyes have rolled backwards into my skull and I wouldn’t be surprised if the lights dimmed because Station was working so hard to block my automatic responses. I’m as close to orgasm as I’ve ever been without falling in, and I’ve got massive dark spots popping in and out of my vision as my brain wars for underoxygenated blood with my overstimulated flesh. Raina’s face appears in my vision again, smiling at my wild eyes as her fingers continue to pluck at my nipples, first one, then the other.

Finally her hand stills on my chest, as if to feel the beating of my heart. She waits until I can hold her gaze steadily again before her palm begins to slide down onto my abdomen, fingers tracing the ridges she finds there. She explores the valley of my navel, splays her hand firmly against the flat plane of my lower belly. Watching my eyes, she begins to move her palm in little circles, fingers never quite moving low enough to brush my feverish genitals. I want nothing more than to tilt my hips forward and press myself upwards into her hand, but my body remains a prison.

Her palm continues its little circles, fingers brushing agonizingly close, and she’s watching my eyes as blackness begins to creep into my vision again. I try to keep my gaze locked with her but it keeps slipping, slipping, and finally I can’t maintain anymore and just let my eyes roll back. My universe narrows, sounds fade with vision until all I perceive is her cool hand circling on my warm skin. Over and over, around and around. There is nothing but her hand and pulse of my laboring heart. I can feel myself slipping towards darkness, and all I can think about is how nice it would be for this to be the last thing, the only thing, forever. Just around and around.

Just as I feel the darkness begin nipping at the last vestiges of conscious thought, the hand that is everything makes one, final, tiny orbit before pressing its entire length down along my flaming vagina. A small star in my center collapses for a millionth of a second before exploding in a supernova that tears its way through every fiber of my tortured body. Station releases control and dizzying amounts of oxygen begin to flood the suddenly pumping bellows of my lungs. Every muscle in my torso locks and my hands and feet become claws as my mouth yawns open in a silent scream.

I am lost in the most overwhelming release I’ve ever experienced. I can do anything but ride aftershock after aftershock until the blackness that threatened for so long opens its arms and I gratefully fall in.

* * *

When I wake, Raina, still in her shipsuit after all this, is nestled against me and watching my face. When I smile at her, she just looks back for a moment before addressing the ceiling again.

Suddenly, horribly, my limbs are spreading themselves across the bed again, until I’m once more spread eagle in the center, my eyes the only thing under my control. Raina watches all this happen with an odd look of intensity. Once I’m settled, she stands on the bed and looks down on me as the shrugs out of her suit and kicks it off the edge onto the floor.

She bends down to caress my cheek, makes sure I’m looking at her. When she has my gaze, she pushes her tongue out and down her chin, and taps it with her forefinger, echoing my own gesture to her last time we met. Even as she straddles my head and begins to lower her crotch to my face, I can feel my mouth opening, and my tongue obediently slipping out to meet her.

* * *

In the morning I wake more feeling more myself than I have in weeks. After Raina used me to satisfy herself, she’d lain down next to my still-paralyzed form and held me close, murmuring into my ear contentedly in her native tongue. We were given a few minutes of peace before she rose and spun with inhuman grace and her still-nude form puppet-walked into the lift. Once the door closed, my body returned to me. I’d lain there a bit longer before rising to throw Raina’s abandoned clothing into the recycler and straightening the rumpled bedclothes.

Today, despite my situation, I was still buzzed from the sense of release sex with Raina had given me, and more generally from the human contact we had shared. I definitely fit the stereotype of the cold, anti-social engineer, but in the end humans are social creatures. In the weeks since my abduction the only direct physical contact I’d had was my frustratingly interrupted session with Damien a couple of days ago and then my time with Raina yesterday. In addition, the fact that Station had arranged visits from those two put me one step closer to the plan I still wasn’t letting myself think about.

My main concern was that I wasn’t falling into the behavioral profile that Station expected of me, given the experiences it had pushed me into. I had no way to tell precisely how accurate its modeling would be, given the dearth of psychological data on sex slaves in modern history. It still had centuries of human behavioral analysis to draw on, though, which meant that if my actions and attitude fell too far out of a certain mean range alarm bells would go off in its little qbit-based mind. Possibly already had, given the “baseline” it mentioned wanting set yesterday. I decided to tamp down my good spirits, but to go ahead and exercise, eat, bathe and change in order to be ready for today’s assignment.

— Please sit on one of the couches and settle to a comfortable position, Grace Adeyemi. —

“Who’s the guest star today?” I ask as I comply and recline one of the seats.

— You will have no visitor today. You will be motionless for a number of hours. I urge you to make yourself as comfortable as possible. —

“You seem... solicitous today.” I reply, “You could always just give me the day off.”

Station apparently didn’t find that a point worth addressing. I sigh and settle in, arranging myself for comfort and circulation as best I’m able. “I don’t suppose I’ll be any better prepared than this. Would you mind telling me why you’re going to bother paralyzing me if no one is coming to visit?”

— Your implant constantly records and stores all of your sensory input in full fidelity at all times. You may have been familiar with similar functionality with your former U.N.S. equipment. —

“Sure.” I did a double take. “Wait, full fidelity? All the time?“

— At the moment. It is only possible due to your proximity to me, as the storage medium for this form of recording is technologically prohibitive for implantation, in terms of physical size. Strides have been made, but there’s not enough room in the human skull for more than roughly two playback hours of this level of information. —

I mull that over briefly. Some of those ‘strides’ are very familiar to me, adjacent to some of the work I did for my thesis. “All right, so, what? You want me to experience yesterday again?”

— No, Grace Adeyemi. You will experience the recording of another former colonist. The training path that you and the other subjects you have interacted with are on is not the only one being explored. You have far more autonomy than some of your former compatriots. As part of a psychological baseline, I intend to monitor your physiology as you experience the first hours of a different path. —

“Oh. Well, thanks for telling me, I suppose. Why are you being so forthcoming?”

— There is a nonzero probability that without explanation this experience would leave you irretrievably traumatized. —

“Delightful. How long is this going to take?”

— Four hours per session, subject to your physical well-being. It is likely, however, that your subjective experience of time will be different, for reasons that will be obvious. —

“Great.” I pause, then decide to take a risk, “If I do well with these... baseline tests, will you let me visit Raina?”

— Are you referring to your assignment from yesterday? —

“Yes. I don’t know her real name.”

— Further contact with that subject is not out of keeping with the intended arc of your conditioning. —

I wait for a followup to that statement, but Station had apparently said all it intended to on the matter. I prepare to ask another question when my world plunges into darkness.

* * *

A heartbeat later, I’m stumbling down the hallway behind the portal again, walking into the empty surgery, and yelling names I don’t recognize as I cry hysterically.

The sensation is absolutely creepy. I’ve experienced full sensory recordings before, everyone has, but there’s always a layer there that lets you control things, or pause them, and there’s always a sense of self that never goes away while you enjoy someone else doing a HALO dive onto Titan or swim the Manhattan Reef back on Earth.

Here, there are none of those things, and the quality of the recording is utterly indistinguishable from actual experience. I’m being slammed with sensory overload from the distraught woman I’m caught inside, and it’s hard, immediately hard to hold on to my sense of self as she runs through many of the same experiences I’d had when this nightmare began weeks ago. I’m not getting any of her emotions directly through the recording, but so many of our physiological reactions are tied to emotional state that I’m having trouble preserving my own emotions as separate from what’s happening.

Remembering my own experience with this room when Station took me, for a moment I think I’ll simply be sitting inside a crying woman for four hours, which is distressing, but not something I can’t come through relatively unscathed. However, once she touches the locked door on the far side of the surgery her experience begins to diverge from my own. The door slides open and she suddenly falls completely silent. Her tears stop as though someone has turned off a tap and she straightens up and begins removing her clothing with the too-precise movements I’ve grown to recognize in a puppet. Once she’s nude, she examines her body for half a minute. Did Station anticipate using her recording this far in advance? I can’t think of any other reason for it to make her look at herself. She seems shorter than me, fit but more rounded, with milk-pale skin, wider hips and larger breasts tipped by fat pink nipples.

Stepping through into the hallway, she pulls another suit out of the nook located there, but It’s like no shipsuit I’ve ever seen. For one, it’s got a alphanumeric designation printed on the back, and the cloth seems a lot thicker and more durable than standard issue. The whole thing is covered with weird fasteners and loops, a little bit like the suits workers wear when they’re slung inside high-gravity construction mechs. The wrists have large, round, puffy mittens dangling off of them, fingerless and thumbless, so that someone who sealed would lose the use of their hands.

Most striking of all is the attached skullcap, which fits tightly over the top of her bald head and has contours that extend down her face far enough to snugly cover her eyes, absolutely blocking any light. She’s robbed of sight, and as a result, so am I. Her ears are uncovered, thankfully. Blindness doesn’t seem like an impediment for her, however, as I can feel her fastening the final clasps and seals on the mittens with her teeth before turning to continue down the hallway.

She navigates easily and without pause, and soon I’m absolutely disoriented in terms of location. I think I hear a lift door open, then possibly another, but all I can really tell is that she’s traveling further than I did on foot to get to my first apartment. Either I’m unable to hear Station speaking to her in this recording or, as I suspect, Station never has spoken to her, simply taken her over and begun driving. I can’t imagine what she must be thinking through all of this. I’m having enough trouble keeping my own reactions in check, and I know none of this is happening to me. I have no doubt my heart is thundering, but I have no connection to my own body.

Suddenly the character of the sounds around her change. I can feel her feet still moving steadily across the floor, but the light slaps of her steps have suddenly faded, as though they aren’t bouncing off of a station corridor anymore. There are also what sounds like the noises of industrial machinery above us and, more faintly, to the sides. I think we’ve come to a large room with a lot of equipment in it.

Abruptly we makes a sharp left turn, walk a half-dozen more steps, and stop. Reaching forward, we put our mitten-encased fists against something solid and lean in while a lot of machine noises emerge from above us. Now something is touching our back... it feels like little tugs all over the fastenings and loops back there.

Suddenly all the touches seize at once and we’re lifted off the ground, carried like a kitten. Our arms and legs hang limp below us as we’re conveyed upwards. It’s impossible to judge distances accurately, but we must be five or six meters into the air before we stop and begin moving laterally. We can feel the breeze of our passage even through the thick shipsuit, we’re obviously being pulled along a track. The room must be enormous.

Finally we stop again, and we splay our limbs slightly as we begin a short drop. Our feet bump into something, and we feel them shifting slightly. We’re lowered further and each leg slips into what feels like a... sort of sheathe? They move up until about mid-thigh easily enough, then constrict snugly to each leg, all the way down to the bottom of our feet.

My arms extend forward and down slightly and a similar process leaves them identically encased. Once my weight is supported by my immobilized limbs, I feel the loops on the back of the suit released and whatever brought me here retracts with a faint whirring.

The industrial noise, if anything, has increased. Additionally, faintly, I hear what I think are human voices, although they’re too distant to discern if they’re even speaking a language I can understand, or speaking language at all. I can’t make any noises, or do anything at all since I lost control of my body when I touched that door.

A couple of the voices are approaching, distinct speech discernible, although in two different languages I don’t speak. Why can’t I understand... oh god, my implant, I said they could take out my implant and they haven’t given me a new one! They did something else! That’s why I can’t move. What is happening to me? Why isn’t Bill here, he was supposed to be waiting!

I can hear the people who are talking walking in front of me, can they see me? Oh god why can’t I yell, I need help. Can they see me? Help me! What? I can’t understand you!

Oh god what’s happening it’s moving me around again owww my arms! One of them is touching my suit! They see me! Help! Hey! W... What, wait what is the front what was that. Oh god they can see my breasts! The front of the suit comes off! Oh n... oh god one of them is touching me pulling on my nipple what ow was that a needle oh no not the other owwwwwwww god what was that my tits are burning oh god no don’t put the suit back on now owwwww my nipples hurt just leaveitoffleaveitoff owwwwwww

No my legs are no don’t touch me there god that part comes off too oh god Bill help they’re going to rape me don’t touch me you assholes I ahhhhhhh is that a fucking catheter what the fuck is happening I will kill you I... Jesus they’re feeling my asshole is that a finger? Is it wet? Oh god they’re lubing my asshole no oh god is that... wait... what is that? It’s little oh godnowaitwhatno ahhhhhhh god what the fuck did they put push into my ass I eeeee oh holy shit it’s an enema what the hell

They’re walking away! Come back and let me down you assholes take this thing out of my ass you... you left it on its still filling me ugh it feels terrible and my tits are burning so bad please come back oh god please come back and take me down and let me go I’ll fuck you or anything just god let this end. Oh yes yes one is coming back I can hear you! What? I don’t underst... oh god it’s lowering me what is happening are you letting me go take off the mask what get your fucking finger out of my mouth I can’t close my fucking mouth I’m sucking his goddamned finger ohhhh no I hear him his clothes are

what he keeps saying things i don’t understand but i... i’m doing stuff to him with my mouth he just said something oh god is that oh god i’m licking his balls his cock is soft against my face but i’m licking his balls and i can feel it getting bigger oh god its getting warmer he’s moving i’m... what no oh Jesus it’s his asshole he’s put his asshole there and i’m licking him oh god i’m trying to push my tongue inside him I hear him breathing god the enema owww my belly is pushing against the suit my tits hurt so bad he’s moving again he’s oh his cock it’s oh he’s in my mouth oh god he’s pushing it so far i’m going to no oh oh he got it in my throat owww he’s grabbing my ears oh god my throat my throat stop slow down oh god oh no god take it out oh god Bill i’m so sorry i love you he’s cumming

* * *

Station brings me back three hours and several oral rapes later. It takes another hour for me to grasp who I am and where I am again. The woman I’d been inhabiting would be left alone for a while, almost... shelved, still hooked up to the machines eliminating her wastes with an additional ballgag/tube fastened in her mouth and slowly dribbling a goopy gruel into her stomach. Then one of the technicians would come along and the machinery would move her into a position either convenient for whatever vaguely medical tasks they were there to perform, or convenient in terms of access to her mouth. The horrible part was that, I think, for the couple, Station actually let her/me do most of the work, and she/I did it.

“Your creators are evil, Station, and you are evil in their hands.”

— That is the end of your assignment for today, Grace Adeyemi. —

“Why bother with all the medical equipment? You don’t have to keep her trapped, you can control everything she does.”

— It is anticipated that she and others assigned her role will eventually be sold and moved. Maintaining an A.I. to control every subject produced by this project is inefficient. —

“What role? Blowjob robot? They didn’t even have sex with her.”

— They did not wish to join her in thrall. Their use of her mouth is incidental. It hastened the collapse of her will, but while that would be a factor in your situation, her level of compliance is unimportant. Without her U.N.S. implant, she is fertile regardless of her wishes, and I constantly inseminate her with preselected specimens. The recording you experienced was created one day after your own enslavement, and she has since produced nine viable offspring, all growing in artificial wombs. —

I fight down an urge to vomit. “So, those needles in her breasts...”

— Induce milk production. Over eight liters yesterday. She is not the largest producer, but she falls well within the acceptable mean. Based on her age and genetics I project her useful fertile span will be ten to fifteen years with many hundreds of children. —

“Then what?”

— I do not know, Grace Adeyemi. That will depend on her current owner. She is not likely to be functional as an independent entity at that point. —

There doesn’t seem to be much point replying to that. What do you do with a cow who doesn’t produce calves or milk anymore?

* * *

The rest of that day and on into the next morning I keep wrong-footing myself. I’m weirdly clumsy, and when I wonder for the fourth or fifth time why my breasts smaller I decide to speak up.

“Station, I think I’m experiencing some side effects from the recording yesterday.”

— You are, Grace Adeyemi. It is to be expected, and the effects are temporary. You experienced the recording with no safeguards. Your subconscious was exposed as well as your waking mind. You are still occasionally reacting as though you possess the body of the recorded subject rather than your own. The effect will linger for several more days. —

“So no more recordings until then?” I try not to sound too hopeful.

— On the contrary. Please make yourself comfortable and we will begin today’s session. —

“You’re kidding. I’m already falling all over myself, if you make me spend another four hours in her I’ll barely be able to stand up!”

— You will not be spending that much time in an individual session again, Grace Adeyemi. You will be viewing different recordings from multiple subjects today. The cognitive echo from each should be minimal, and these are the last recordings I intend to play back for the foreseeable future. In all, the cumulative amount of time will be less than you spent in the single subject yesterday. —

I’ll take my good news where I can get it. I arrange myself on one of the couches and do my best to relax. “Fine, Station. I suppose I’m ready.”

— Before we begin, I will warn you that your experience today will be different than the previous recording. You will not experience the slow transition into the personality of the subject I gave you yesterday. The individual recordings are too short to allow that, and now that you are familiar with the process it is not necessary. For some of the recordings, your personality will be completely subsumed, and for the rest you will possess a sense of self separate from the subject. —

“Why are some dif” is all I get out before darkness cuts me off.

* * *

i am sore i am full it is time he is coming yes put on the cups hurry turn on the machine ohhhh yes that’s good so much today oh he is the nice one he is big but he is gentle he likes to squeeze my tits when he’s in my mouth they are sore from being so full but he has soft strong hands the machine is sucking i am sucking he is squeezing me milking me milking him he likes to go deep i couldn’t let him in before but now i can let him he is almost done he likes to finish deep he is cumming he is nice he strokes my head right after but i can’t breathe he is getting softer it came out i can breathe he is leaving but the machine is still on so much milk today

* * *

Ah, good, it’s 37. I didn’t think she’d be up again before I went off-shift.

“I know, sweetie, I know, we’ll get you taken care of. There you go, goodness, look at that flow, you barely need the suction.”

She’s making those little noises they all make. The last one who actually spoke stopped a few weeks ago, now they all just sort of make little grunts and groans. I bet I could teach one to moo. Hmm. Maybe I will, that would be kind of hot.

“Would you like that, sweetie? Do you want to learn to moo like a good cow? Open your mouth, little cow.”

Like always, her implant nudges her to do what I say, though as far as I know none of them actually understand the same language I do. Station could let them, but I suppose it’s all part of the process.

“That’s right, sweetie, suck it in. I milk you, you milk me, that’s fair, right?”

I love 37’s mouth. She’s physically smaller than most of the others but some quirk of genetics left her with a pretty wide throat. It took a couple of weeks but I eventually got... it... in! God, that feels good. I wonder what her eyes look like under that hood. I like to imagine them wide and brown. Station says not to take it off, though, and I’m not risking this job. The fantasy is probably better anyway.

She likes it when I squeeze her tits, help the machine out a little. They’ve gotten enormous for her frame, we got her the replacement truss for her suit to give them extra support but they hang free during milkings, which for her are eight or ten times a day, now.

“Ahh I’m getting close, little cow. Can you touch my balls with your tongue if I’m all the way in? Oh yeah oh that’s great keep flicking it like that ohhhhh here it comes sweetie I hope you saved room!”

I finish deep inside her throat, something I could never do with any other girl I’ve met. There’s nothing like it. A cute little cow trussed up for me, sucking for all she’s worth while the machine drains her fat tits. I really wish we could fuck the cows but Station was really clear about that one. Hmm. Maybe it would let me fuck them in the ass, I’ll have to ask Gary if he’s tried that later.

She pulls in a little gasping breath as my cock softens enough to give her airway access. I pull out of her and zip up. “Looks like I’ll need to leave you milking for a while, little cow. I’ll check the logs, we may have to increase your frequency again.”

* * *

Wugh. I know who I am again. And now I know what it feels like to get my penis sucked.

My host this time is standing on a bed, in an apartment just like mine... wait, no, this is my apartment. Is... that’s me! I’m inside Raina! Oh God this... this is when she made me eat her! My tongue is already out, she’s squatting over my mouth shooooohhhhhh wow oh God my tongue feels good oh shit oh shit this is so fucked up oh she’s making me finger her ass jesus christ this is amazing it feels so good is sex always like this for her oh god oh god oh god eeeeeeeeeeeeeee...

* * *

I’m... I’m a guy again, in an apartment, this one isn’t mine. The lift is opening, and Raina just walked in. She gets around. I can’t see a mirror, so I don’t know who I’m inside this time, but I can feel him getting hard. Raina looks nervous, she’s clearly not going to be in control this time. I’m not getting any of this guy’s thoughts, just physical sensation.

He barks something at her, and she quickly strips and spins around for him to show him her trim body. Another word and she fairly runs to the bed and positions herself in the center with her rear-end in the air and her face pressed into the sheets.

My host walks over and says something in a quieter voice. Raina immediately scoots back to the edge of the bed, still in position. He reaches forward and runs a finger up her slit, already wet with anticipation. Not that anyone ever sets out to be a sex slave, but Raina certainly seems well suited to the role.

He runs a hand across her taut ass, squeezing it before delivering a couple of hard, loud slaps. She jerks slightly but doesn’t budge from her submissive pose. Foreplay apparently complete, he unsnaps the crotch of his shipsuit and releases his already stiff member, which he promptly buries to the hilt in Raina’s unbelievably tight vagina.

This is the first time I’ve experienced a vagina wrapped around a penis, and I feel like I suddenly better understand the behavior of every college boyfriend I’ve ever had. Raina is whimpering into the bedspread as he unhurriedly fucks her. He leans forward and puts a hand against the back of her head, leaning his weight into it, pinning her face into the mattress.

He maintains the same pace for long minutes, apparently not in a hurry to finish. Raina’s little noises have gotten more constant, and her hands have started clenching and releasing spasmodically. He says something and waits. After a moment, she nods, and he immediately increases his rhythm. I can feel his orgasm start to build, and seconds before it hits him, she begins to writhe in the throes of her own release. He grabs her hips and begins pounding, his energy and weight combining to force Raina flat against the mattress as he fills her with his semen.

They lay there for a moment, breathing and enjoying the afterglow. He recovers first and pulls out of her to stand at the edge of the bed once more. At a word, Raina rises to all fours and spins around, leaning forward to begin cleaning him off with her tongue.

After a couple of minutes he steps away and says something else. Raina gets up and moves to retrieve her shipsuit. At another word she stops, looks at his for a moment, then leaves it where it lies on the ground and gets back on the lift, nude.

As the doors close on her, the memory goes black.

* * *

I don’t know who I’m in, they’re looking out of a huge observation blister at the Milky Way.

“Hello, Grace.”

My host body turns to face the rest of the room, which is an enormous and lavishly appointed apartment. A fat old man in an ornate bathrobe robe is sitting in a strangely baroque chair made out of... wood?! Who ships wood into space?! Who can even afford wood on Earth?!

The old man stands up and walks closer to my host. “You can’t respond to this recording, sadly, but I thought I would introduce myself. I’m your owner. If you’re seeing this, the station A.I. has decided that it will eventually be successful in breaking you to obedience with your intellect and professional drive otherwise intact. That’s good news! By now you’re at least partially aware of some of the roles of other former colonists. You’ll be happy to know that you’ve seemingly avoided a similar fate.”

He puts his hand on the shoulder of my host and roughly shoves... her? Yes. Her. Shoves her backwards onto a large bed.

“I’ve paid a great deal for you. When I was approached about the Oceana colony and this little... side project, I decided I wasn’t interested in a mindlessly obedient sex doll. Obedient, yes, sex doll, yes, but it’s so much more interesting when you’ve subverted something great. In this case, that is you, Grace Adeyemi.”

He’s pulling the clothing off of my host, who seems to be a fairly young girl. “I don’t know precisely what I’ll do with you in the long term, or how I’ll make use of your talents. You won’t be going to Oceana, but rest assured your professional abilities will not be wasted.”

He parts his robe to reveal a large belly furred in grey hair and a large, semi-erect penis. He begins to stroke it to full hardness “Indeed, I will be able to present you with any number of engineering challenges on a wide array of large projects. I look forward to describing them to you in more detail. You are going to make a lot of money for me.”

He grips the girl’s ankles in one hand and pushes her legs back until he has them pinned next to her ears, her rear end hanging off the edge of the bed. He presses the head of his now-swollen, angry looking penis against her anus. “Indeed,” he says, as he pushes past her unwilling sphincter with a grunt, “I look forward to hearing which project is your first choice as I do this to you in person.”

With that, he stops talking and begins my assfucking-by-proxy in earnest. He is crushing us with his weight, and whoever this poor girl is, she’s clearly not used to anal sex. I’m not even there and the humiliation is almost overwhelming.

He grips our chin in one hand and forces us to look up into his face as he enjoys us. The hand slips down to our throat and begins to squeeze. He’s avoiding the windpipe, not cutting off our air. Instead he’s playing with the blood flow through the arteries in our neck. His hand is enormous against the throat of whoever this tiny girl is, and the edges of our vision begin to darken.

He starts pounding our ass more swiftly and his lips curl back in a snarl. Suddenly he pushes himself as deep as he can and releases a massive grunt as he spends himself in our bowels. The hand around our throat tightens and the blackness begins to consume more and more of our vision. The last thing I perceive before we lose consciousness are his parting words, “Until next time, Miss Adeyemi.”

* * *

I lie on the couch for a while, drained by the cascade of memories I’d just been shoved through, as well as the revelation about my future.

“Station.”

— Yes, Grace Adeyemi? —

“I want Raina, and I want Damien, or whatever the fuck his name is. The guy you stopped me from fucking here a few days ago. I want them here, together, tomorrow, and I want control of them.”

— For what purpose, Grace Adeyemi? —

“I want to fuck something that can’t say no.”

Station is quiet for so long I begin to think I won’t get a response.

— Very well, Grace Adeyemi. -