The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

In the thin atmosphere above the planet, a piece of space bent in on itself for less than a millisecond, and a starship appeared, coming back into existance too close, coming in too fast. It was hulking, scarred, wreck, caught and stretched between the planet’s gravity and the tachyons it had been riding, in much the same fashion as a horseman meeting a hefty treebranch slung too low across a bridal path. Even so, the vessel wallowed in place for a moment, its crippled engines trying to defy gravity and return to the stars, a fish trying to hop back into the sea.

The attempt failed, and the ship began its plunge towards the cratered landscape. The engines struggled on, now trying to keep the descent from becoming terminal. They were more successful at this new task, helped by the friction of the atmosphere.

If anyone had been on the surface to watch, it would have been a spectacular sight: the enormous ship steaked slowly downward at a angle, a seeming meteor now against the hard, cold stars, with long trails of flames and debris spiralling away behind it.

The impact was equally spectacular, the engines’ final life-ending effort pushing the ship into a long, shallow, smashdown. The ship plowed through the ridges of rock thrown up by previous celestial visitors, kicking up clouds of dust and gouging a gigantic furrow in the planet’s hide. The remains seemed to slide forever before finally, grudgingly, slowing and then coming to a halt, a large bulk of the ship now buried underground.

The silence and the stillness came roaring back.

Except down in the heart of the ship. In a dark, sheltered, corner, one last spark flickered back to life. It tapped a passing tachyon, and began spinning out a thread into the endless void, a whisper amid the cosmic shout.

There are always people listening for whispers.

It was a room, somewhere, one of a million such anonymous rooms scattered down through history. A large metal table dominated its center, standing in a tight, bright, circle of light. The light emanated from a large globe high overhead that floated free of the ceiling and walls.

The room stood empty and still until, from a panel near the room’s only door, a synthetic voice spoke to nobody, its tones tinged with a trace of syrup:

“TACHYON LINK ESTABLISHED. ACTIVATING HOLOFIELD. OPENING CHANNEL M.”

There was a flickering hiss, and a figure appeared in the shadows at the edge of the table, pixelling quickly but methodically into existence.

“TACHYON LINK ESTABLISHED. OPENING CHANNEL O.”

“TACHYON LINK ESTABLISHED. OPENING CHANNEL N.”

Two more figures solidified in an identical fashion, seated at evenly-spaced positions. A glance or two was exchanged among them, but no words were spoken. They waited.

Abruptly, silently, the heavy door slid open, and a fourth man entered the chamber in a more conventional fashion, his low red shoes noiseless on the thickly-matted floor. A good match for the room, he was bland, anonymous, a figure only seen skulking in shadows in crowded taverns and stimjoints, in the back alleyways of the Strips on a dozen different border worlds. In rooms like this...

The door slid shut. A ring of subdued red lights flashed on around its frame as the various privacy fields kicked into place. The newcomer stood in front of the table and smiled at the three waiting men, each of whose physical body sat in a room that orbited another star, or in one case travelled forever between the stars, a chamber of exile in more ways than one...

These men, like himself, moved in shadows, although shadows of a... higher quality. He merely lived in the darkness built up by the society that surrounded around him. Men of their calibre cast their own umbras in which to lurk and spin their galaxy-spanning webs, shadows that covered whole landmasses, entire star systems. He wasn’t terribly jealous of this fact; these shadows slopped into all sorts of interesting corners, and usually covered much more than their creators originally intended...

“Gentlemen. Thank you for coming. So to speak.” A bland voice, an ordinary voice, a totally forgettable voice. It had taken him years to cultivate it.

“This had better be good, Smith.” one of the figures at the table growled from behind the pinpoint of a lit weedcigar. A great deal of greenish smoke wafted around him, the groping tendrils abruptly disappearing as they reached the edge of his section of the room’s holofield.

“Have I ever brought you anything that wasn’t, Mr. M?” Unconcerned, Smith set his slim case on the table so that it stood upright before him. As soon as it touched down on the table, the case popped open of its own accord, the cover peeling itself back with the silent, graceful, symmetry of an opening flower. “I will venture to say, however, that what I have to offer today for your consideration... should be even higher than my usual standards.”

“Get on with it.” The new voice was, as always, masked behind an electronic distorter, just as the face that went with it wore the usual Delnovian voidmask. Smith had been vaguely tempted, on occasion, to try and ferret out Mr. N’s true identity, but had always squashed such thoughts as unproductive. Still, one had to wonder... was it just caution... a personal eccentricity... some well-known personality... a slumming Tribunal member... Considering his height, he might even have been a small Rigellian, but the thought of a member of that species of morally-upright prudes being an outlaw of N’s well-established standing was rather amusing...

“Of course, Mr. N. Unfortunately, the item I am offering for sale today requires a bit of background history in order to be fully appreciated. May I?” A polite pause. There was no objection. “Thank you.” He produced a lazdis from the open case and slipped it into the appropriate slot at his edge of the table, then brushed a few controls with his fingertips. The holoemitters ringed tightly around the lightglobe manipulated the field that had brought them all together, darkening a space above the table and then filling the center of that space with a gruesome figure. This figure began rotating slowly against the blackness. It was a short, scrawny, stooped, greenish humanoid, with bulging red and yellow eyes, and a lipless mouth filled with sharp teeth. Pipe-cleaner limbs ending in splayed hands and feet. Bulging braincase and equally large groin region, both wrapped in a thick sheet of plasteel. “I assume you gentleman recognize this creature?”

“It is what is colloquially, and rather inaccurately, known as an Orion Pack Raider. The species’ name for itself is... or rather was... quite unpronounceable.” Mr. O spoke for the first time, his narrow aesthetic’s face displaying. also for the first time, any outward sign of interest in the conversation. O was known as something of gentleman historian and antiquarian in certain quarters, which was one of the reasons his hologram had been invited to this room. He continued in a slightly pedantic tone of voice. “An extremely... unpleasant and disharmonious species. It is believed the race was rendered extinct almost forty standard years ago when their last known stronghold was comet-bombed by a United Earth Defense Force fleet. During the height of their power, some ten years previously, they gave the UEDF quite a... ‘run for its dollarbytes,’ I believe is the phrase.”

“Perhaps a bit of an understatement, Mr. O.” Smith resumed. “Even now, the general public is quite unaware of just how close the Orions came to winning their little war with the UEDF, and UEDF Central Command has made quite a sustained effort to keep it that way. A man in my position, however, hears things.” Noting a shifting in his audience, he smoothly moved on. “One of the things I heard about was the recent discovery of the remains of a Pack heavy battlecruiser in Sector... well, it doesn’t really matter what...”

“Are you saying there are still Orions running around out there loose?” N broke in. The sizeable figure’s electronic burble was as emotionless as always, but Smith somehow knew he was excited.

“No, no, Mr. N. Calm yourself. The wreck was over forty years old. The vessel had evidently been involved in a fire-fight with UEDF ships, and come out rather decisively on the losing side. Somehow, it escaped the battle with a Tachyon Jump, but was mortally crippled, and ended up... ah... crashing. It was the flagship of a Pack known as the... Gee-Fagcak? I’m probably mispronouncing it. As Mr. O has already pointed out, the Orion language was hideously complicated, and each Pack spoke a different dialect. In any event, the team that located and scavenged this ship managed to salvage part of its central datacore. Most of what was found on the datacore would only be of interest to... er. Ahem. ...would be of great interest to historians. Forgive me, Mr. O.” O nodded, waved his hand in a dismissive fashion.

M spoke: “Fine. You can sell O here his Orion T-Drive maintenance schedules, or whatever the fark the little vomiters stored on their datacores. Why did you invite the rest of us here?”

“I said MOST of the data, Mr. M. Just before their ship met with an unfortunate accident, the recovery team recovered one tiny tidbit of information that would be of great interest to many parties. It may, in fact, explain, in part, why the Orions were able to do so well against the UEDF for so long.” He spun out a moment of hesitation, unable to resist the dramatic touch. “It appears that the Orions had... may have had... spies working for them within the UEDF itself.”

There was a long silence at the table.

Finally M spoke. Smith noted clinically that even he sounded slightly aghast. “Humans worked for those things? After what they did...”

O spoke, a trifle sadly. “Corruption is infinite. Everyone has their price, my dear M. You yourself have proven it time and time again. In more ways then one, if certain stories are to be believed.”

“But they wanted to kill every last human in existence. What they did to people they captured....”

O again: “It is my understanding that the Orions desired to kill every last human male. Their plans for the feminine half of humanity were, as indicated by my regrettably limited research in this area... a great deal more unpleasant. The exact nature of these plans is another fact that the UEDF has seen fit to conceal from the majority of society, and I find myself in agreement with this decision. The Packs’ notion of... sexuality... may be... unique.. in the annals of recorded history.” He picked his way through this last sentence like a man working his way across a razorvine field during the budding season.

“In other words, O, they were a bunch of farking perverted—”

N cut in, his electronic squeal slicing through the other’s conversation: “To put this discussion back on track, I agree with M.” He pointed emphatically with his clunky metal gauntlet. “No human in their right mind would work for the Orions. And even if they did, the psiscans administered by the UEDF’s Internal Security Division, even forty years ago, would root even the slightest hint of treachery.”

“Exactly, Mr. N. " Smith rubbed his hands, the gesture of a professional admiring the deft handiwork of a fellow expert in his field. “No human in their right mind did work for the Orions. And any spies would have passed the standard loyalty tests of the day with flying colors. It seems that the Orions had achieved, or more than likely, considering what little we know even now of the species’ history, stolen, previously unsuspected levels of ingenuity in the field of... behavior modification.”

There was another long pause. Finally O spoke, the voice of a poker player finally calling on the man on the other side of the enormous stack of chips to spread his cards.

“What exactly, Mr. Smith, was on that datacore?”

Smith tapped a control. The picture above them changed, showing now the same view no matter from what direction it was viewed. A sinister-looking green chamber. Orions stood in frozen positions around the room’s edge, in the middle of preforming various incomprehensible tasks.

In the center of the chamber was a large, purple-colored tube.

“It would seem that the Orions constantly recorded what happened on board their ships, searching much like the UEDF’s own Internal Security Division, I imagine, for treason and inefficiency. They also recorded... their sexual exploits. As Mr. O has again pointed out, they were rather fixated on this particular point, even more so than the most... er... driven of humans. This is a recording from... well... maybe you’d better just watch. I’ve taken the liberty of punching in the usual semantic overlay on the dialogue...” Smith started the recording and fell silent.

The two thin creatures jerked into the high-ceilinged chamber deep in the bowels of what appeared to be a spaceship. They jabbered softly and gesticulated, their skinny arms glistening in the dim green lights. Others of their kind worked hurriedly in the darkness at the edge of the room.

In the center of the melted, blurred, space stood a tall, transparent tube. Inside the tube, a multitude of thick, bruise-colored, strands swirled up from the deck below, half-tentacle, half-vapor. They held up in their clammy grasp a naked human female.

She hung limply in midair, limbs akimbo, her small cloud of jet-black hair twisting in the flowing color. Her thick lashes fluttered spasmodically, half-closed, her full lips frozen somewhere between a smile and a scream. A throbbing strand of purple easily penetrated deep between her strong, twitching, legs. In and out, in and out, deeper and deeper into her body with every thrust... a half-dozen smaller coils slid greedily and endlessly around her large, firm breasts, fingering her nipples. Others held her aloft, wrapped tightly around her legs and arms.

The two small beings stood silently, their goggling red and yellow eyes watching her body twitch and spasm for several long seconds. Then the taller of the newcomers flashed a black tongue across a narrow lipless mouth, and spoke loudly enough for the surveillance microphones, or their Orion equivalent, to have recorded him clearly.

“Is she... prepared?” Smith’s overlay flickered through and around his words, imparting meaning without replacing the actual sounds. It also sent out near-subliminal flashes of meaning about the scene itself; for instance, the speaker was labelled: PACK-LEADER.

One of the peripheral figures (CHIEF BEAST-TAMER) immediately smarmed his way across the spotlessly sterilized deckplates to where the Pack-Leader stood. “Thoroughly, oh Terrible One. We apologize again for the unconscionable delay, we, none of us, are not worthy to lick the vomit off of our leader’s boots, but her will was one of the strongest we have yet encount...”

The Pack-Leader irritably waved him to silence with a hand the size and shape of half of a crumpled umbrella.

“Yes, yes. All of what you say is true. Perhaps the Pack will punish you someday, in the event a more efficient Beast-Tamer is found to take your place. Begin.”

“Yes, thank you, your Worshipfulness.” The underling reverse-grovelled to where his team hovered, and began snapping out orders. There was a frantic scramble to obey.

The purple strands flickered, began to shift, withdrawing reluctantly from their captive and lowering her gently to the ground. The last to pull free, with an ugly slurping sound, was the massive central vapor that had speared her. In moments, the tube was clear, each of the long, mindless, rapists caged back in its cramped, reinforced, holding pen, waiting eagerly, hungrily for the next victim. The tube abruptly cracked into four neat segments, the previously-invisible divisions running up and down the object’s length. The four pieces slid away from each other with an audible ‘clunk’, and then swiftly lowered themselves out of sight beneath the deck. The tube’s top remained floating overhead, casting a pale, sickly, yellow light down on the women who stood beneath, unmoving.

Her eyes remained closed, her hands now dangled limply at her sides, her chin resting on her chest. Her hair was sticky and tangled, her body still coated with the slimy residue left by the strands. Her chest rose and fell, evenly. Occasionally, a drip of slime slithered off her and fell to the padded floor of the tube.

The Beast-Tamer spoke, hesitantly: “Her activation phrase is

The holoemitter fuzzed and hissed, sound and picture vanishing for a moment in a white spray.

, Oh Mighty One. As always, only your voice will trigger her.”

The Pack-Leader’s bulging eyes narrowed to amazingly thin yellow slits. He smiled, showing, as with the earlier hologram, overlapping rows of sharp teeth. ”

fuzzhiss

.”

The woman’s head rose, and her eyes snapped open. While still composed of an iris, and pupil, and cornea, they were not human eyes. Not enough light was reflected back out- at the very center was a point of endless, absolute, blackness. Her stance was wrong, head too far forward, her arms bent unnaturally..

“Who are you?” The Pack-Leader’s voice was cold, dead, gloating.

“I have no name. I am the property of the glorious Pack G’Fgcac. I exist only as an extension of the will of the mighty Pack G’Fgcac. My sole purpose is to expand the power and the glory of the Pack, and thus that of all Packs everywhere. Hail the Pack.” The dripping, squirming Orion phrases somehow flowed effortlessly from her lips. Her dark violet eyes burned with absolute fanaticism.

“And enemies of the Pack?”

“All enemies of the Pack must be destroyed.” She hissed the last word. Seeing her expression, the (SUB PACK-LEADER) took an involuntary step backwards. Next to him, the Pack-Leader smiled, wider than before

“Excellent. Her dedication to Earth must have been truly impressive. It is almost a shame we were not destined to meet in battle. Beast-Tamer! What is her spy activation phrase?”

“
squawkscratch
, Exalted One.”

“
squawkscratch
.”

The woman blinked for a long moment. When her eyes opened, they were human. Her stance shifted, and she stood at military attention.

“Who are you?”

“Sir! Lieutenant Marla St. Clair, United Earth Space Marines, UE Sharehold Number 1253-U5-98001, Sir!” She was now speaking Human Global Standard, and the overlay’s translation faded away when she spoke

“And what is your mission, Lieutenant?” Overlay.

“Sir! To protect and defend the citizens of United Earth against all threats, external and internal, Sir!”

“And your specific mission?”

“Sir! To defend against incursions by Orion Pack Raiders into Earth space, Sir!”

“And what is your personal opinion of Pack Raiders, Lieutenant Marla St. Clair?”

Her eyes narrowed to icy slits, but she remained stiffly erect, hands straight at her sides.

“They’re vermin, Sir! They need to be hunted down and annihilated, every last one of them! They live only to kidnap females of other species and make them into sex slaves! We must..”

“Enough, Lieutenant. Tell me, where are you at this moment?”

“Sir? I’m..” She stopped and looked around for the first time. Her eyes widened in fear, which almost instantly turned to anger. “Oh, my God. Orions... You little...”

“
fuzzhiss
.”

The property stood awaiting further orders, her eyes dead and burning.

The Pack-Leader licked his non-lips again. “I’m sorely tempted to keep this one, Nidgd. But our Oracle has spoken to me from His darkness, and the Pack shall heed His words. The Past Ones have placed her in the claws the Pack as one of their great tests. And it is a test that I will pass. She will be of much more use to the Pack as our spy in the Earth’s Space Marines. With the extra ambition and talents we have programmed into her, she should rise quickly in their ranks.”

“When Earth and its armies lie broken at the feet of the Pack-Leaders and the Past Ones, great leader, you can have a dozen, a hundred, like her, and better.” The Sub Pack-Leader paused, consulted the read-out clinging damply to his wrist. “...And, in the meantime, the.. former... Lt. St. Clair is not due back from her unstructured time for another..” he paused again, salaciously, “..six days. Surely even the Past Ones, and their representative, will allow their loyal servant a... small reward.”

“Mmmm...” At a specific touch, the Pack-Leader’s metal codpiece slid apart, and his massive, ridged, member bulged out into the light, squirming and glistening.

“Come here, property, and perform your function.” The thing now inhabiting a woman’s mind and body stepped off the platform, and crossed the room, smiling, but only with its mouth. The other pack members quickly crowded around, at a respectful distance, to watch. Perhaps the Pack Leader would be generous, and share his property once he was through with it...

Smith froze the display, thought better of it, and turned it off all together. He spoke without emotion.

“Six Orion days were about four Earth Standard. Every minute of those next four days is recorded on the datacore. It’s not particularly pleasant to watch, and not relevant to our discussion.”

“Marla St. Clair.”

Something peeped inside the case on the table. Smith glanced down for a moment, continued in a carefully nonchalant tone.

“Yes, gentlemen. Marla St. Clair. Former UEDF Space Marine Brigadier General Marla St. Clair. UE Senator Marla St. Clair. And, if the current psipolls are any indication, the next President of United Earth. You will have no doubt noted that certain words have been excised from this holofootage. Those words, gentlemen, is what is for sale in this room today. Those words, and total, absolute, control of Marla Louise St. Clair.”