The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Why the hell does my spacesuit have high heels?” asked rookie Flight Engineer Meghan Rafferty.

The din of alarms prevented nearby Asteroid Miner Technician Lori Brower from understanding the question. The technician yelled back as her visor locked into place, “Get your helmet on! We might have a breach!” Half of what she had yelled was audible across the room until her visor closed. The remaining half came through the comm system screaming from Meghan’s own helmet held in the rookie’s hands.

Meghan took a deep breath. Patches of sweat made her shear silky bodysuit undergarment cling to her skin around her chest and back. She set the helmet down, finished getting her hips into the bottom of the questionably rigged spacesuit then reached down inside the front to make certain her bodysuit’s rubber crotch access point lined-up with her spacesuit’s connectors. Quickly she raised the hard front panel of her oddly slender spacesuit and covered her torso and chest. She snapped on the locking back-to-front shoulder flaps and felt the suit motorize and squeeze around her body.

It was then she noticed the suit was tighter than any another spacesuit she ever wore.

Damn it! Was it the wrong size? There were no other spacesuits and if she couldn’t fit in the thing, she was screwed. It was too late to run back into the shuttle. The pilots were probably prepping for an emergency separation.

She tried to peer over the metal ring surrounding her neck. The shiny ring served as an interface to join her suit to the bottom of her helmet, but right now it only blocked her view. She tugged down on the ring with her gloved hands, all standard procedure to visually check that a suit had properly closed. The tightness of this suit certainly concerned her. She pulled again. The neck ring was smaller than normal. It wouldn’t budge. She couldn’t see over the obstruction like any normal spacesuit.

“Fuck!”

Higher pitched alarms sounded. The room shook again from another asteroid quake.

Looking at a semi-clear reflection in a polymer glass airlock door behind her, she did a visual check of her suit. What the hell? The view was blurry, but the damn suit had breast forms. She had been in such a rush, she hadn’t noticed the hard domes encasing her boobs and it wasn’t a smaller neck ring preventing her from looking down, it was a stiff collar that the front and back panels had formed around her neck. Normal spacesuits had a wide neck ring resting on the shoulders to interface with a large spherical helmet.

What was this thing?

She looked around and the saw that the other asteroid miners had all left. The prep room to the airlock was empty now and there just wasn’t anymore time.

A computer voice began detailing issues between alarm bursts. She didn’t have time to listen to the words. No mater what the cause, she had to get in to a suit now.

The only technical issue with her suit’s design was its thinner more form-fitting construction. It wasn’t regulation with its thin hard shell and certainly not as rugged as the typical spacesuits she had trained in. But she was wearing it now, she did fit inside, and it did seem to have properly sealed. There was no choice. She had to get going.

“Damn it!” yelled Meghan as she pushed the snug helmet around her head. It snapped tight around her cheekbones, pressed her ears down and finally clicked onto the metal neck ring. She breathed in forcing the click of the air regulator. Air flowed. Inside pressure increased. The articulated joints powered up. And thankfully, the alarm noise now resonated at a fainter volume through the closed helmet.

She could finally think.

“Where’s the rookie?” said Commander Ann Bruno’s voice from Meghan’s helmet speaker.

“She’s bitching about her suit,” said Lori, sounding out of breath from a fast sprint.

“I’m coming,” radioed in Meghan wanting to rush out into the mineshaft. Another quake hit. She knew that the shuttle had to break contact with the asteroid and at that point the pilots would follow standard procedure and just leave if the mining base could quickly resolve the problem. Such alerts either got fixed in minutes or never, requiring a total evacuation. Asteroid miners had to be tough. There was no coddling out here in space.

She took a step and almost fell. Luckily she grabbed a wall. It was hard to look and see, but lifting her right foot up in front of her and pressing the bottom soul against the wall, she could quickly make out the narrow solid heel. She had noticed odd heels a few seconds ago, but these were even taller than she had thought, at a minimum four inches high! What the hell did she encase herself inside? Who designs something like this?

“It’s just a bad sensor,” yelled Commander Ann. “Reset the alarms.” Another quake hit. “We’re OK here. The shuttle can go.”

Meghan took several more steps and finally got out into the mineshaft. The large white metal door closed behind her. Her actions had delayed the shuttle and proved herself totally useless to the crew. On top of that, she walked like a newbie on ice skates. This was not supposed to happen this way. She was looking like an idiot in front of everyone. She saw the asteroid mining crew heading back. She had missed the entire event having spent the time dealing with her stupid suit.

The women asteroid miners each intentionally bumped against her as they passed. She deserved it. She let them down. Her new coworkers’ faces were hard to see under their visors. Only their nametags on top their helmets clearly showed as they all passed: Miner Lori, Miner Tingting, Minor Teresa, and Payload Specialist Deb. Their reinforced mining suits gave even petite Tingting a large stature compared to the taller Meghan, encased in her silly thinner form-fitting spacesuit.

Commander Ann approached, stopped and faced the rookie. “I expect a faster response from you. I’d have you do donning drills with your new suit, but the ship is leaving now and with the hazards here, its standard operating procedure that we stay in our suits for the remainder of our tour.”

“I’m sorry Commander, but this suit isn’t regulation. I mean look at this thing. It has boobs! High heels!” Meghan said all that while grabbing her enhanced chest and then pointing at her feet. She then lifted a foot by folding her leg behind her to show the underside of a supposed pressure boot with its absurdly narrow wedge heel and outrageous height. She blinked when she saw the heel. The thing even had a two-inch platform under the toes that she hadn’t noticed until that second. She wasn’t on high heels. She was on platforms with high heels. So it wasn’t just four inches. It was actually six! She scoffed while standing on one foot grabbing her ankle with one gloved hand and gestured to the raised boot with her other. Both her gloves were slender with wimpy motorization that barely had any of the normal torque levels. The legs didn’t either. In fact, normal suits had too much infrastructure to even allow her the leg flexibility she had just shown. Power in a miner shaft was more important than contortions.

“Look at this heel,” she added, “the legs, the arms.” She lowered her leg. “We’re in a mineshaft, not a bordello. Who got me this suit?”

Giggling came over the intercom. Meghan had forgotten to limit the scope of her helmet mic communication system. She should have set a proximity limit so only her and the Commander would be talking to each other.

“Little whinny bit…” said a cut-off voice as Meghan changed her comm settings. She had thought her way through the menu system of her suit’s computer and narrowed the comm to ‘local.’ She wished she had heard the rest of that statement so she could recognize the voice and later deal directly with the offending asshole. She wanted to punch someone. Was this some hazing ritual for rookies? Was it a prank?

“Flight Engineer Meghan,” said the Commander Ann, “we have been off world for almost a year now and I requested a capable and willing addition. This mineshaft isn’t the bordello. Your suit is. I expect you to fulfill all your obligations. You’ll learn about them soon enough.” The Commander in her husky spacesuit brushed passed Meghan, who had to throw her arms out to keep standing. Meghan’s tall slender suit just didn’t compare to power backed movements of a regulation asteroid miner suit.

Meghan looked at herself like someone had just spilled coffee in her lap. The suit was certainly provocative in its design. Her legs were tightly wrapped down to high heels that made them look even longer and lankier approaching runway fashion model. She had heard of the miners bringing in “entertainment,” but normally such stories only came from the all male stations, and even then, never from a government-run station like this one. She had trained for years to get here. She was top in her class. This was not the crap she had signed-up for.

She rethought what she had just heard. Did the Commander actually assign her to be a whore? It must have been a statement said in anger. Any other trained rookie would have handled the alarm better. Still the suit was outrageous. Come on. Why have this kind of spacesuit available here?

“Wait Commander!” said Meghan, trying to catch-up, but forced to slow down once again because of the heels and rocky terrain.

“Mic is off,” said her suit’s computer.

“Well, mic on.” The suit ignored her. “Mic on!” Nothing. She thought her way through the menu systems like before, but the options had moved for some reason. It was right there a second ago. Where was it now?

Helmets could read only general thoughts and gradually trained themselves to be more responsive to its wearer. She thought vague notions like ‘up’ and the menu system highlighted different text. Another page of options displayed in front of her eyes across the inside surface of her glass visor. Through the glowing green translucent words drawn on her helmet display, she saw Miner Lori waving angrily off in the distance.

“My mic is off,” said Meghan then realizing no one would hear her. She started to run and then switched to a careful almost toddler-like walk. The blasted high heels were not meant for walking in rocky tunnels. She also wasn’t very adept at handling the precarious height even if given a flat smooth floor.

As Meghan got closer, her helmet speakers tuned to Lori’s radio transmitted voice.

“You stupid cunt,” said Lori, “you left your suit’s comm on local. No one’s going to be able to talk to you from a distance.”

Meghan shrugged. It probably wasn’t visible under the rigid suit with its Joan of Ark breastplate, but it was the only thing she could visually convey — aside from doing a vulgar hand gesture, and that would get her into more trouble.

The tunnel shook again. This time it wasn’t the unstable asteroid. Through the white metal frame of the airlock door’s window, the space shuttle could be seen pulling away. Good or bad, the suit she was in was going to be her home for the next week. Then she would complain to Section Command and report this Commander Ann to them. She did not sign-up to be looking like the village slut. In the meantime, if this was someone’s idea of a joke, she was going to find them, throw them into a pressure tube, climb in with them, and change suits. Surely even this mining operation had at least one pressure tube or an air locked maintenance room. For asteroid mining, a suit was required at all times, even in a supposed safe room. Everyone lived in their suits.

She felt her waist. The suit really did a number around her torso. It felt like it squeezed her boobs up into the large hard cups jetting off her chest to the point she couldn’t see over them. She had to turn sideways to see her ridiculous high heels.

“Stop preening girly girl. Come-on,” said Lori.

As Meghan followed her senior crewmember down a tunnel and around turn after turn, she mentally controlled the menus on her helmet display. She thought ‘up’ and ‘left’ and ‘down’ and finally found and selected the mic options. The damn suit’s menu system wasn’t meant for fast comm switching like normal suits. The freaking computer was making her look like a moron. She turned her mic on.

“Mic option disabled,” said the suit’s computer.

Meghan screamed inside her helmet and then noticed Lori looking back from her more capable and larger spacesuit — which looked very comfortable and roomy to wear since it didn’t cinch so tightly.

“We’re at a normal status now, not alert status,” said Lori’s voice. “You don’t have permissions set for talking unless there is an emergency and even then, we really don’t care to hear it. This is your station. It’s a stable area here in the tunnels — as stable as it gets. We don’t dig here, so you and that sissy spacesuit of yours won’t get hurt. Your daily job is to unpack the food cartridges, deliver them, and answer calls. Even a bimbo like yourself can handle that.”

“Fuck you. I’m Engineer level,” said Meghan inside her helmet.

Lori just laughed. “I don’t need a comm to know what your saying in there. Look, Commander Ann has power in the Mining Corp. We make so much money for them, they let her do anything she wants. If you fuck things up for us, you’re not getting home. I’ll flush you out into space myself. So enjoy the next six months.”

“We get a ship in a week,” said Meghan. “And I’m certainly writing a report.”

“I don’t know what your mumbling in there, but you probably think you’re here for a short jump, but we’re long term. Yesterday on the shuttle was the first time I’ve been out of this suit in months. We don’t even have pressure tubes. If your suit needs a new part, we use pressure bags around the leg or arm or whatever and let you change the part in there. It’s all field conditions from here on out. And don’t try to doff your sexy little suit in any safe rooms. This rock we’re on is just too unstable.”

Lori’s large electrically powered gloved hands tugged and pulled on Meghan’s slutty spacesuit. Something was being adjusted and Meghan didn’t know what. She should have pushed the hands away, but Lori was the superior here. Meghan knew she would regret it, but she simply stood there holding her hands out of the way as Lori adjusted yet another thing on the suit. What the hell was this bitch doing anyway?

“This,” Lori said, holding up a little computer pad, “will probably help you cope with your new situation. I would have put it on you sooner, but the emergency call got in the way.” The little terminal snapped into a dock inset at Meghan’s waist like a large Texan belt buckle. Her helmet display began flashing through menus and several lines of commands that her suit was executing without asking for her permission first. Her suit suddenly stiffened leaving Meghan standing there like a mannequin.

“Welcome to the Alpha Dogs” said Lori banging her fists down hard on Meghan’s shoulders like a Frat boy ritual. Thinking about it now, Lori did look like a tough bitchy lesbian. Lori gave a dog howl and added, “We’re the most productive mining crew in the entire Corp. We’re actually contracted out to the private sector now. The Corp doesn’t tell anyone that. And neither will you. By the way, Tingting, won the draw, so she gets you first. Your calendar is pretty full tonight.”

Lori left Meghan stuck and helplessly frozen in her sexy spacesuit, standing there in a dark mine shaft tunnel alongside a portable food center — an asteroid miner’s equivalent to a taco truck.

Meghan thought through the menu controls. There had to be a way out. The panel’s of menus and commands continued to flash. What was happening? The flashing gave her a headache, but she had to think and control it. The words ‘domination’ and ‘submission training’ caught her eye. If someone had watched her face, they would have seen her eyes dilate at what she saw flash by.

Meghan knew she was in trouble.

Pressure inside the suit changed. Her helmet grabbed her scalp tighter than any other helmet she ever wore. Her rigid suit held firm applying full pressure on all joint flexers, normally used to help add strength to a suit’s movements, but instead now fought against her body’s struggling muscles. Her hips, legs, ankles, elbows, neck, and shoulders were surrounded in unmoving form-fitted bulletproof airtight space age material. Every joint of her suit was locked. The suit was so tight, it corseted her and she couldn’t even wiggle enough to rock back-and-forth and maybe force herself to fall over — although, she didn’t know how toppling herself would help.

“Welcome to the crew,” said a woman’s voice. A video was now playing in Meghan’s head. It wasn’t on the helmet’s display. It was in her mind. Blinking and closing her eyes made no difference. The woman stayed in view wearing a kinky spacesuit like Meghan’s. The only difference was the woman held her helmet under her right arm like a pornographic version of the Right Stuff. The arrogant bitch talked like an airplane stewardess describing seatbelt buckles.

The presentation continued, “Special options have been enabled to train your brain waves to correspond to your new job requirements. You may not be a willing participant in this, but you will comply shortly enough.” The smile on the bitch’s face really pissed Meghan off.

Meghan squeezed her eyes shut, but the image persisted. The stewardess walked casually across a white floor in an all white sterile world to a white table. What was on the table frightened Meghan. There was a two-headed dildo and some various pump looking contraptions.

“First,” said the stewardess, “as we access your inhibitions and melt them away, let’s discuss your toolset. Rarely used options of lesbian love have been initiated for you.” The woman paused to smile or, maybe, smirk. “This part is still in beta testing right now, but I will try my best to convey the techniques assuming you were heterosexual and therefore inexperienced. If not, this maybe rudimentary for you, but please be patient as we’ll reach more advanced techniques later in your brain wave reassignment phases, so bare with me.” Another pause with a smile followed.

Meghan’s suit stood motionless in the corner of the mineshaft. The lectures continued, hours of orations. There was no sleep, no ignoring, no escape. It was morning and her first appointed task would be that night.

No one else was there. Her eyes darted around in their sockets, but the view in her mind didn’t change. She watched as the stewardess casually discussed seduction and submission and bondage. Meghan was alone stuck in a suit with a computer playing a horror movie into her brain.

Dust created off in the distance floated down the tunnel and passed by her feet like fog, but she didn’t notice. The mine was returning to work. A dozen women had begun to switch from their brief day of R&R to diligently digging rare heavy metals under Commander Ann’s ruthless rule of the Alpha Dogs Miners.

Meghan walked down an endless tunnel sporadically lit with a few LED lights. She had lost track of time. Her suit wouldn’t even show her a clock and out of nowhere she suddenly felt an urgency to find section A3B5E2. She knew it was her first appointment and from what Lori said, it was with Tingting.

Each letter and number of the section code represented a way to divide the endless maze of mining shafts with a regular grid. Knowing the layout made the system easy to understand, but Meghan’s damn suit wouldn’t give her access to a basic map — despite her actual rank, she was treated as no more than a Spaceflight Participant — basically a nobody. Even a cook had more access than she did.

The rookie, now an enslaved call girl, approached a white wall with a safety doorway installed to localize disasters. She stopped at a keypad as if she would know a code to enter. She didn’t, but her suit wouldn’t budge. She just stood there. Minutes went by. The stupid suit didn’t think of locks huh? She could feel heat in the tunnel start to raise her thin suits inside temperature. There was a reason mining suits were larger and thicker. She suddenly felt movement inside her suit. Great, her suit was going to bath her now skipping the real issue of her being cooked like a lobster. Might as well die clean. She struggled to move. Hopeless. A rubber snake like wiper moved across her skin. It swiped along her stomach, under her breasts and under her arms. Anywhere she perspired, it cleaned. It was a ‘feeler,’ a feature that made living endlessly in spacesuits possible. No mater how hard a person worked, the suit kept the body clean and dry.

Meghan’s slutty little sex spacesuit, despite its compact size, had the feature too.

“I’ll get that door for you, my cute little thing,” said a woman’s voice over the comm. A large articulated rigid gloved hand and arm came into view.

Meghan would have normally turned to see the nametag or better yet the face, but she felt a need to look down submissively at the plastic covered tray she carried. A buffet of sex toys lay hidden under the lid. Earlier, she had fought against her own body as she watched herself carefully select and package each item and place it on the tray. She could feel her body actually become giddy at the idea of using the toys on her first client. She didn’t share the flush happiness of her body. She only felt anger and resentment.

The stewardess had a lecture for such negative emotions and it started playing repeatedly every instant Meghan raged inside.

Meghan felt a smack against her spacesuit’s butt. The flirtatious spank was so forceful it sent her forward a couple steps. Women, here in their power suits, seemed to forget just how meek Meghan’s sexy spacesuit was. Luckily the door slid open just in time as her third step crossed the threshold.

What pissed her off now was how she panicked with genuine concern about spilling her tray of sex toys. They were each sanitized and wrapped in oddly shaped Tupperware containers, but dropping anything would be bad and require punishment. She stopped walking for a second, was she actually now worried about receiving demerits? Then again, what was this suit’s idea of a punishment anyway?

Fuck this. Throw this tray. Hit someone. Come on! Do it!

The stewardess began bloviating again. The more anger Meghan felt, the more the stewardess pushed into the mind.

When the lectures stopped, Meghan thought her way through the computer’s menu system again. She was in an elevator and being able to stand for a moment gave her time to search for a way out, regardless of the lack of control. She searched and searched the menus, but most features were disabled. Her suit’s display only provided the most basic information. Her oxygen level said eight hours, her power said six hours and the computer, with a new sexual program icon running, lowered both levels 30% due to future activity. What the hell was going to be the future activity? She paused. She knew the answer to that. It terrified her. Surely she could refuse though. She approached Miner Tingting.

The slutty spacesuit spoke for Meghan in a robotic sexy breathy voice sent over the local comm, “We have a scheduled appointment.”

Tingting set down a hydraulic powered jackhammer. She turned and looked at Meghan in her tight suit and laughed loudly over the comm system.

“What’s so funny?” thought Meghan, now realizing again she couldn’t even move her mouth. She couldn’t even grunt and it didn’t mater, her comm was permanently off.

“I like the nametag they gave you.” The miner looked around and found a tool plated in Tantalum giving it a bluish chrome mirror finish. She held it like a mirror so Meghan could see that above her visor was the name — appearing backwards, so it took extra effort to read, “Flight Engineer Trixie.”

Fuck. Ann and Lori were trying to humiliate her.

A couple hours later, if Meghan could cry, she would have been bawling. Instead her eyes remained dry and didn’t even blink when she wanted them to. She stepped her high heels over several fist sized rocks and proceeded to her next appointment. Apparently her spacesuit had a special option. A special sex faceplate could be position over her visor and sealed to let the visor inside lift out of the way giving access to the to a semi flexible foot-wide connection to the crotch area of a client’s spacesuit — in this case Tingting’s suit — more specifically, Tingting’s crotch with the rubber access area spread wide open.

Without even a second thought, once Meghan saw Tingting’s smoothly shaved holy of holies, she plunge her face forward, mouth open, and tongue stuck out so as to find a way into Tingting’s fantasies. As Meghan bobbed her head back and forth swirling her tongue, the attachment between them expanded and contracted. Outside, Tingting’s electric powered gloves grabbed onto Meghan’s helmet and at climax, shook the new sex worker’s head like an asteroid quake was shaking the ground.

Meghan was somehow now fully knowledgeable in the art of pleasing a woman. Meghan had masturbated, but she didn’t know half the things her tongue had done to Tingting. She watched as her body went at it. The movements made sense on how it all worked and of course that one move where it went — she stopped her thoughts and cringed at the objectivity she was giving the topic.

She didn’t want to do any of this.

She had heard of mental programming. It was only short-term knowledge acquisition requiring constant refreshes to be of practical use and never really took. College students had given-up on using the technology to pass tests. Maybe that meant there was a way out. Maybe Meghan would forget her new training and become normal again once she got out. Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe this technology only worked if you were trapped in a suit like this where refreshes could be periodic and frequent. She had heard about some long-term side effects. What were they though? She searched the medical database. At least that still worked in her slutty stupid over-controlling spacesuit encasing prison.

As pages of medical research flashed by in her helmet display, her body walked down a dark tunnel holding the sex toy tray like a cigarette girl would a century ago. She could think about anything she wanted. Her body was in autopilot maneuvering the tunnels. She had no control or say in how her legs stepped and moved. She was in the back seat of her own body as something else took the steering wheel. Fuck-it. She decided to focus on reading the available research. Suddenly it went blank and the blasted stewardess appeared in her mind again.

“Congratulations on successfully completing your first sexual task. The client has just rated you three out of five stars. Based on previous ratings from this client, a three star rating is the highest possible, so it will not be held against you and you will not be punished.”

Meghan stopped walking. She felt something. Her body was building towards an orgasm.

The stewardess spoke again. “I’m happy to report that your suit has finally found your pleasure points in your brain and will now reward you for your good accomplishment. Also during proper sexual acts, such encouragement will be pushed into your brain to boost better and better subsequent performance. Please, now assist us in reaching an orgasm to sync our sensors to your mind.”

Meghan tried to fight the on coming orgasm. Somehow she knew it was yet another step to the end and she wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

“Please stop resisting.”

Meghan cringed her face. Sex seemed to give way to some muscle movement.

“Please stop resisting. It will occur. We must sync to your pleasure points. Please stop resisting.”

It was the first time in hours that she felt a little control over what she was doing. Sexual thoughts were a key somehow. Her eyes actually produced tears. She felt a tear roll down her face. Inside her suit, moving feelers reached to her eyes and wiped them. The rubber snakes were supposed to only be used in keeping an astronaut clean. In this case, her suit was clearly resorting to other uses. It was wiggling a feeler down between her legs. She wasn’t expecting such an aggressive cleaning routine to kick-in down there and the smooth rapid touching threw her over the edge.

“Very good,” said the stewardess. “We are now in sync with your primitive pleasure centers. Proceed to your next client at W34A2F5. Your deep programming will commence. Mental reassignments can now begin. As you perform more lesbian sexual acts, your sexual orientation may actually change allowing you to enjoy your occupational requirements even more. If you are already a lesbian, your experience maybe enhanced as you become more submissive. Once again, congratulations.”

The suit let go of Meghan and she dropped to her knees kicking-up a dust cloud around her.

She still held the damn tray in her hands. She wanted to throw it off to the side, but the thought of that action being ‘improper’ held her back. Improper! She was whore now, but flinging paraphernalia to the dirt was improper. Come on! Was this the deep programming kicking in? Did the suit no longer have to fight her so much because she would willingly participate now?

“Please rise and attend to your client. You have limited time.”

“Fuck you,” said Meghan hearing her voice for the first time in a while. “Fuck you-mm!” Before her next word came out, a feeler entered her mouth and began cleaning under and above her tongue and around her teeth.

Great, her slutty suit was going to keep her clean and fed and wash her foul mouth when she cursed. Then she realized that this wasn’t a punishment. This was preparation for her next client. The suit wanted her mouth nice and clean for whoever was next. The feeler withdrew. She was now prepped for the next blasted client’s pussy she had to eat out.

She stood and walked towards a tunnel’s polymer glass partition door. She could see her reflection as she approached the floor to ceiling glass surface. The glass was actually a bulletproof polymer, lighter and strong than metal.

Her eyes widen as she finally got a good view of herself. Her suit made her boobs look huge. Her waist was so tiny — no wonder it hurt so much. As she walked, she noticed, for the first time, that the breastplate had a certain amount of give allowing its rigid bra cups to slide and jiggle as she walked. She continued her robotic approach towards the glass wall and lowered her all-important tray just enough to see her artistically encased boobs. They actually jiggled! They each had their own suspension system. And her shoulders and hips sashayed! She couldn’t help herself. She had to walk sexy. She took in a deep breath and as she stopped in front of the glass wall, she exhaled praying this nightmare would end. Her reflection had showed her chest rising and now as she exhaled, it suddenly dropped — again, more jiggle. Her heart was racing, her breast heaving. How was she going to escape this?

Her suit began to control her lungs. Damn it, she couldn’t even hyperventilate if she wanted to.

The door slid open and Asteroid Miner Lori stood there smiling inside her spacesuit.

“Little Miss Tingting was so ecstatic, she messaged me to say how good you were.”

Meghan entered and turned to face Lori, who closed the safety door behind her. There was air pressure in the tunnels, but nothing that could be trusted and nothing really breathable. In some areas air environments were created to help remove dust by filtering an atmosphere. Lori’s large power suit thudded across the floor. A firm air pressure meant sound actually traveled. Meghan could hear it through her helmet. She could even feel the footsteps shake her meek mechanical support frame from the feet up.

Her delicate looking spacesuit turned and placed the tray of sex toys on a table. Her blasted suit was now raising her brain’s pleasure levels every time she looked at Lori or even thought of Lori. The suit also gave a nauseating pain every time she felt anger or struggled against the suit or thought just how much of a pig Lori was — the induced punishment was horrible and the computer pushed it hard until Meghan gave in and thought of love and happiness and — fuck-it — unicorns and rainbows. The pain subsided.

Her muscles struggled to move — which at this point wasn’t much of a physical struggle at all. She just couldn’t get the control of her body to do it. There was no escape.

Lori looked at the polymer glass ceiling and the walls. “Asteroids are so unstable. I wish we could get out of these suits and do it bareback. I’d risk a week’s pay and burn some good air to properly vent this room. Mmm, to get out of this suit and fuck you hard would be so, mm-mm — but you probably have to stay in your suit, huh? Can’t have you trying to escape now. You know, we all chipped in with all our bonus money to buy all the extras for your suit. We got all the programming options. The Commander had to go out of the network to get some of the really illegal bits. You know the good stuff. That made it really expensive, but Tingting says you’re worth it. You better be.”

Meghan found herself actually smiling. The pleasure points were getting to her. Could the suit actually make her fall in love with a pig like Lori? A robotic voice spoke for her again but in its exaggerated breathy digital way, “I have several procedures that I can offer. You are scheduled with enough time for two of them.” Meghan looked down at the tray as her hand popped the plastic lid open and pointed to various sanitized Tuppleware containers. The suit’s voice continued, “We have the two way dildo, the oral sex visor, the scissor crotch-to-crotch interface, and, of course, the glove-to-crotch bridge for fingering.”

Meghan didn’t hear what Lori had said in response. The comm must have been off while the robot voice spoke. All she heard now was the robotic voice saying, “Very good choice to start with.” It was all said like a formal butler complementing a choice fine wine.

Sexbot Meghan placed a box shaped gadget into a pressure bag. The gadget had a wrist bracelet hole on one side. Her body was doing a procedure done to replace a glove, but how was the boxy attachment going to work? Her right hand plunged inside the bag and pressure inflated a bubble around Meghan’s right hand and arm. She watched as her sexbot self’s left hand grabbed a tool handle protruding from the bag. A quick twist popped off her power glove letting it drop loose inside the bag. She could feel her right hand feeling around and squirm through a wrist bracelet hole. It was the gadget and it was sealing to her arm.

As the pressure bag deflated with her original glove still inside, her arm pulled free. Unlike a fingered glove, the new boxy appendage had room to freely move her fingers around inside. It was like a cube shaped mitten had been appended to her right her arm.

Her new right-hand appendage had a docking area. Clearly her sexbot self was about to attach it somewhere against Lori’s suit. But where?

Meghan’s body turned. Now ready, it waited for Lori, her client, to relax. The sexbot side of her was flush, making her heart pound and her strange eagerness build that she didn’t really participate in.

Lori sat back spreading her legs.

‘Oh, Shit,’ realized Megan.

Lori had ordered-up a finger job.

Payload Specialist Deb gasped over the local comm and Meghan’s hips rocked over the woman’s larger spacesuit waist. The diminutive robotic sexbot shook as Deb’s gloved hands held a strong grip against the ridges of the dainty round plates covering Meghan’s hips. Deb gave Meghan’s body one more fierce shake as a double ended dildo vibrated mercilessly between them.

With every shiver she felt from her client, Meghan felt a pride knowing it took perfected skill and knowledge to reach in and extract such strong reactions of pleasure from a woman. It had been months now, and Meghan was good at her job. Mining productivity skyrocketed. Everyone got bonuses, except her. But that was OK. She was a simple stupid ignorant slutty sexbot and she loved it.

She looked down with a smile hidden behind a mirrored visor recently installed into her helmet. The mirroring surface made her appear faceless to her clients. Meghan had noticed some of the women showing signs of guilt during sex. They probably later complained to Commander Ann. But Meghan understood. It wasn’t fair to have a client distracted during sex by the terrible visual reminder that a living breathing human being had been brainwashed, her personality erased, and her body squeezed into a robotic suit.

So of course Ann’s solution proved to be as simple as a paper bag over the head. One day a one-way mirror chroming process was done to Meghan’s visor and no one, not even Meghan, could see her face. It certainly helped in making the company whore feel more machine like. That part kind of turned Meghan on.

As Meghan opened her eyes to see yet another satisfied client’s face, she saw flashing alert lights and Deb yelling from inside her large helmet.

The comm then clicked on and Deb’s voice yelled, “Get off you stupid slut. It’s a quake.”

Meghan’s body fell back as Deb used her power suit to stand. The two spacesuits remained sealed and attached at the hips despite the sex suit’s flexible legs flinging so far back that they scratched Meghan’s mirrored visor. Meghan’s arms and legs were thrown around like a crash dummy. If the seal between the suits broke they would both die. Meghan wrapped her legs around the bucking Payload Specialist and squeezed to hold on.

The idiot Specialist should have known better than to stress test the seals.

“Detach, slut. Detach!” ordered Deb.

Like on the first day, an emergency alert level gave Meghan more control. Originally, it was only one limitation regarding turning on and off her mic. But now having lived deprived of all her freedoms, it took a moment to deal with all of them being restored so fast. She could flex her muscles and move her arms and legs however she needed to. She ignored the overwhelming sensation of it all and focused on handling the deadly situation and fast.

The sexbot’s robot voice responded in its own stupid way, “A period of relaxation should be held after orgasm to max…”

“Detach! Computer override. Detach!” yelled Deb.

Meghan reached her hands along her body down to the sexual docking at he crotch.

Falling rocks broke through the polymer glass ceiling. Air instantly escaped the room, but the suits were still OK. Meghan mechanically lifted her head. She knew this was urgent, but everything she did went through a filter of numbness and objectivity. She felt her head swing widely around the room as the Payload Specialist turned and turned. Still hanging off the panicking Specialist’s larger spacesuit, Meghan could finally see the attached crotch dock and the several flip levers locking the two women together.

Any wrong move could depressurize both of them. She took her tiny right hand and tried to start the sequence. Luckily Deb’s larger suit and gloves couldn’t reach the tiny flaps and flip them open. The idiot was trying though.

Meghan squeezed her legs tighter as the Specialist banged against the abdominal area of the sex suit. There was even a malicious body slam against a wall, but Meghan held on. Normally Meghan could calmly pull away stretching a series of metal bellows between her and the client to make room and extract the dildo, but Deb was still rapidly moving and waving her arms. Until the idiot stopped panicking, they would have to stay stuck together. After all, the hatch between them couldn’t slide closed with a dildo in the way.

Control panels exploded, sparks flew in the weak atmosphere, and more rubble fell into what was supposed to be a safety room.

Then it all went black.

“Hello, Megan,” said a man’s voice.

Meghan blinked and noticed a hand waving back and forth across her view. She sat up like a machine. She wasn’t in a suit though. She felt cold blowing air. She was in a proper living environment. She felt naked without her spacesuit. It was the first time in months she felt human.

“Is she in there?” asked a Section Commander.

Meghan silently scoffed at the question. Of course she was here. I’m right here, you jackass. Look at me. Then she realized; she wasn’t talking.

“Well, Commander Ann Bruno,” replied the doctor, “had listed Flight Engineer Meghan Rafferty here as dying in an accident shortly after the mission started, which on paper is totally plausible given her rookie status and the dangers of the job. It was probably a cover story given what they did to her. Maybe we can judge from that on how long Meghan was exposed to the brainwashing.”

“Answer the question,” ordered the Section Commander. “Is her brain fried or not?”

“I’m afraid, she can’t possibly still be in there. She’s basically been reduced to a simpleton. You know, we had to cut her out of an illegal sex spacesuit still interfacing in a sexual manner to one of the crew. There was a dildo between the two.”

“Did the other woman survive?”

The doctor checked a page on his computer tablet. “No. When the ceiling collapsed, the fiberglass dildo pushed up into the crewmember’s abdomen crushing the lungs and heart. Meghan, here, was squeezing it hard enough to not let it push the other way.”

“That’s a hell of a way to die or maybe to kill someone.” The Section Commander looked into Meghan’s eyes and then at the doctor. “Hm,” continued the Section Commander, “we’re not going to publish that. I mean the whole dildo thing.”

“Agreed.” The doctor tapped the thin computer tablet deleting a paragraph. “Looks like Meghan wasn’t the only one programmed. It appears Commander Ann Bruno got all that productivity out of her women by secretly programming them. All of her crewmember suits were equipped and could program each member to focus on digging. It appears Ann found-out that the programming made her crew act more emotionally primitive and so a reward structure had to match — hence, the need for a sex worker.”

Meghan scoffed again in her mind. She was not a sex worker. She was a kidnapped Flight Engineer. Although, she was very proud at how well she had performed. In fact, she wished one of these two guys would ask for a demonstration. She confidently knew she could totally blow their minds.

“Ingenious. Just ingenious,” said the Section Commander. “You know, Ann got ten times more ore than any other crew. Maybe even twenty times.”

“I think the real issue here sir is the brainwashing of the whole crew. I checked all the suits. The sex suit we cut Meghan out of was the worst, but all the others had programming components too. We need to report this sir.”

“Do you know the scandal that would result? If Meghan here is a zombie, and there’s nothing that can be done about it, and the records show she’s officially listed as dead; well, let her stay listed as dead.”

Meghan tried to react with a ‘fuck you’ or a ‘go to hell.’ She struggled to see her surroundings. It took every effort, but she finally moved her head. She looked down and saw her body wearing a shear body stocking — the basic underwear for a woman’s spacesuit. Her breasts were so perky. Her areoles showed so clearly through the material. She couldn’t look away. Her tits peaked out against the stretchy silky material. She had such sexy full rounded nipples. She breathed in, pushing them out more. She so wanted the doctor or the Section head to nibble on them.

Why was she focusing on this!? Stop and focus on something important. She looked up. The doctor waved his hands in front of her eyes. She wished he would stop doing that shit. She yelled in her mind and felt her lip twitch and her eyes blink. That was it. That was all the motion her body would grant her. Help me!

“Yes, she’s gone sir. Nothing.”

Meghan screamed in her mind, ‘I’m here you incompetent boob!’ Oh, boobs. I love boobs. She looked down at her tits again.

“Doctor, this goes no further. Got that. This will damage the mining program forever.”

“But all the women — Commander Ann — she altered them all. She abused her power.”

“It wasn’t her — well, she found that a sex worker helped and that certainly is worth noting, but otherwise it wasn’t her. We did it. If you check her suit, which I know you would have gotten to eventually, you’ll see that hers had the same programming components built-in. We do it all the time. What I’m telling you is top secret. We, in fact, program all the men and women asteroid miners. It’s how we keep them in the suits so long. They’d go insane otherwise. It’s the real reason the regulations require them to stay in their suits. Most haven’t been out in years except for their one-day annual physicals. As for Meghan here, you know if Ann’s idea of using sex, let’s use the term ‘conjugal visits,’ helps the asteroid miners, well then I believe we should adopt that. I think we have some of those same illegal sex suits in storage. We confiscated them from an out of network raid done last week. Let’s put them to good use. Maybe we’ll get more. Hell, the Corp was the original inventors of the damn things.”

“You can’t be serious. You want to send Meghan back out to a mining station?”

“Not just her. Send them all back. Ann’s crew might have been brainwashed a bit, but they still all knew right from wrong. They deserve it. And as you said, the brainwashing will get rid of the witnesses. So send Ann, Lori, Tingting and the other survivors too. Send them all. I think we have enough suits here.” He looked at Meghan. He leaned in, squinted as he gave her pity with a slight headshake and that tisk-tisk sound done with a tap of a wet tongue against the back of the teeth.

Meghan wanted to spit back, but stayed motionless. She didn’t even blink.

“But as for Meghan here,” said the Section Commander, “send her to a Magnetic Raking ship. Those guys are all pilots and aren’t such a rough bunch as the asteroid miners. At least that’s what my gut tells me. Yep, it just seems best. Poor Meghan here deserves at least that. You don’t have a problem with that do you?”

The Section Commander looked at the Doctor with a clear ‘this could be you in a few minutes’ look.

Meghan watched the doctor studying her and her clueless Barbie eyes. Couldn’t he see her panic, her fear, her pleading?

“Yes sir,” said the doctor clicking and deleting more paragraphs.

Meghan sat upright and motionless across from a matching metal table holding down an agitated Ann. The disgraced commander fought against two armed soldiers while nurses put her wild swinging legs into a sexy spacesuit.

“I need to get back to the mines,” Ann yelled. “We have so much to dig out! I have to keep up the yields. What are you doing? Let me go! I’m too important to be here!”

It appeared that she really was programmed to focus on digging just like the others. But the Commander knew right from wrong and encouraged — no, invented — the whole mining sexbot idea.

Ann screamed and fought harder as more form fitting titanium alloy milled parts were attached over her body.

“Don’t worry Annie, it will all be better soon,” said a supervisor.

Meghan’s lips almost smiled with the tiniest flinch.

“Wait, this can’t be. No!” said Ann, looking at the breast forms of the spacesuit now lying across her chest. “This is a sex spacesuit! What the hell are you doing? Wait! Stop!”

Metal clicked around her waist and tightened against her breasts and arms. Her voice was silenced as a final metallic snap of a helmet sealed the suit into place.

Joy filled Meghan’s heart as the suit’s motors squeezed Ann’s torso tightly cinching the former Commander’s waist even more drastically than Meghan’s original suit. It was a next generation model with a snugger more ruthless fit. Very sleek. Wonderfully naughty.

The only thing that could make it even better was if someone had gotten the sizings wrong and cracked some of Ann’s lower ribs with the motorized corseting.

The nurses started through a checklist to test Sexbot Ann.

Each feature mentioned gave Meghan a little sexual pulse inside. She couldn’t wait to try it on herself. One of the nurse’s verbal orders sent handles hinged at Ann’s hips motoring up and out giving the former commander bicycle-like handle grips at her hips so that future clients could grab onto her firmly during sex, control her, and move her body as needed. Another verbal order retracted the handles downwards hiding them into the wonderfully wide rounded hips accented even more with the tiny cinched waist.

Wow. Meghan loved the look of the new suits. Then shame filled her thoughts. Why was this happening to her? No one was guarding her. No computer was there to read her mind, dissuading her opposition. She could make a run for it. She had combat training. Hell, the guards didn’t even properly protect their holstered guns. Further more, they weren’t supposed to even have guns when dealing with prisoners — which Ann was up until a few moments ago.

An empty sexy spacesuit, the same new more diminutive model as Ann’s, was wheeled in on a cart. Meghan knew her fate would match the commander’s. The difference was that Meghan’s previous programming was going to make donning this new suit so exciting and so warm and so enticing. Ann’s experience, on the other hand, was going to be pure terror — at least for a few weeks, but then again, with such a militant strong personality maybe Ann’s hell would last forever.

Meghan’s joy peeked when she heard one of the technicians add, “these models also include lactation, resulting in enlarged engorged breasts. Look at this page.” He tapped a computer tablet to zoom. “The breast plate opens so a guy can totally attach his visor to the sexbot’s chest area and get full contact against his face.”

“And you can do all that in the vacuum of space too!” added another technician looking over the first’s shoulder. “Wow, they really thought of everything.” He thought for second — hopefully that didn’t hurt too much, Meghan thought — and then he asked, “Is this really legal what we’re doing?”

“I don’ know,” said the other.

They dismissed the question. And Meghan knew why, after all, how could such a result like Sexbot Ann standing right before them be bad? And more importantly, especially with these types of cowardly men, when those around you no longer have a sense of morality, certain questions are not healthy to ask.

Meghan actually moved her hands. It surprised her. If the movement was sexually motivated, it seemed to be allowed. She cupped her own boobs feeling the shear cloth body stocking covering everything from her feet up to her turtleneck. She shifted her butt’s position on the metal table. She felt her crotch straddling a rubber crotch strip between her legs. The hard table exaggerated the strips tough thickness. It felt good to do a slow roll side-to-side across it. She felt several rubber disks going up her back and sides. All the rubber contact points allowed feelers to enter and clean. Oh! How she loved the feelers.

She looked at the men around her, all cowards going along with an evil corrupt system. Maybe if she fantasized about violently beating them and how getting away could lead to an orgasm — maybe, just maybe, that could be a way out of her mental prison. With training, revenge could become sexual. She was willing and able, even if that meant becoming psychotic.

After hours in the med lab trying to talk or write a message like, “help me,” or “I’m here,” or “I’m Flight Engineer Meghan Raferty,” it was clear she couldn’t do it. The attempts left her silent. Blinking SOS didn’t happen either.

Enough of that, she decided.

They would put her into a sexbot suit before she could prove she was mentally there anyway, and even if she did make her mental presence known, no one there would care enough to act. These bastards wanted sexbots in space.

No.

Revenge was the way out. The idea was intriguing, but it didn’t quite get her sexually excited. Not yet. It would take a while to make an association to the same levels of joy she felt doing something even as simple as squeezing her breasts. But it was possible. One day, a client would be alone with her. She would surprise him at his weakest moment. And then, an entire Magnet Raking Ship crew would be next. If needed, she would learn to orgasm when programming alarms to go off on cue to orchestrate a fake emergency alert long enough to grant autonomy from her suit. So many options presented themselves.

She took one vow. There would be no survivors. None. Meghan felt a little wet at the idea. Yes, she was going to escape, maybe have her own ship. It would just take time and a whole lot of fucking, that and a big damn goal of associating sex with violence.

Her fingers gave her perfectly round fleshy girls a good squeeze. Mmm, the feeling was pure gold. Now, how could she tie that sensation to escaping? She loved a challenge.

She took in a deep breath while keeping her hands on her chest and pursing her lips at one of the geeky technicians. Flirtations gave her some control too.

The guy she aimed her flirt at was startled and almost fell over while assisting Sexbot Ann into a standing pose. Over against a wall, also standing motionless, were Sexbots Lori and Tingting. They had already been unit tested and were probably already being mentally tormented by the stewardess. The bitches deserved everything they were about to experience. There was no greater hell than being forced to listen to that cursed stewardess as her endless reprimands and platitudes pushed directly into the mind. And from the checklist, it sounded like the newer suits’ stewardess program could be even crueler.

A fact Meghan knew to be true — one that created such a warm feeling of joy deep inside her when she looked at the three new sexbots — was that personality types like Ann, Lori and Tingting would never escape their suits.

Meghan knew from years of training with such women that they set imagination aside to focus only on the job before them. A wonderfully clear conclusion from that fact became so certain and so juicy and rewarding a thought, it made Meghan audibly giggle right there in the med lab. She knew the three new sexbot bitches would be too stubborn and rigid in their thinking to ever figure out one important thing: if you give in and think about openly offering sex, the stewardess leaves you alone.

Meghan sat with her legs hanging off the table continuing to cup her breasts. Maybe her strategy relied too much on a bug in the software. Maybe the newer suits patched that loophole. Maybe her fate was sealed as tightly as her new suit could squeeze her. Maybe, the three Mythological Fates were as bitchy as Ann, Lori and Tingting; so bitchy that, maybe, Meghan would forever be Sexbot Trixie.

She had looked at the helmet mounted to the empty suit standing next to her. She had seen the nametag above the visor. Her real name wasn’t there. Field Engineer Meghan Rafferty was officially dead, so the bastards engraved her previous mockingly assigned name: Field Engineer Trixie.

Definitely though, with no maybe’s about it, soon Meghan would know her fate and whether an ambitious programmer working in an illegal trade had patched the one bug she needed to escape.

She wanted to stick a finger through her rubber crotch’s vertical slit. It could be her last time to ever masturbate. But first she held her boobs firmly, pulled her shoulders back, arched her spine, pursed her lips, and flirted again; this time directed at the other techie. She got a similar clumsy reaction from him. It made her smile.

She looked at the empty spacesuit sized perfectly for her body. She couldn’t wait to get inside her new home. She was going to fuck everybody involved in this scandal, one way or the other.