The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The Slavers

Chapter Twelve

The moment Clio felt the projection field wrap around her stretched timelessly.

She reacted with blinding speed, her right hand a blur as it reached for her belt-hung projector. Inhuman speed… a speed that could only have been achieved through intensive body modification. It wasn’t enough. The light moved faster. It slipped through her like a wildfire scorching her painlessly. The light seized hold and pulled her into a place neither hot nor cold, light nor dark, where, for a brief time—or, perhaps, a very long time, she couldn’t tell, there was nothing to reference the moment against—the lieutenant in Celestra’s army simply drifted… fell… floated. Floated in nothingness.

Then, shockingly, she was falling, green mist surrounding her. She landed on a soft cushion.

Somebody put something against her forehead. A second later an incredible white light filled Clio’s brain, a boiling stream of molten thoughts and images, a cascade of new hopes, dreams, and lowered expectations filling her empty head. Like the previous experience, the moment was timeless, impossible to define through conventional means. It lasted… and then it stopped. Celestra’s lieutenant tried to blink and discovered she couldn’t. She felt a cold, circular impression on her forehead, but when she tried to rub it, she couldn’t. She couldn’t move any part of her body. Realization hit.

Noo! she screamed silently, piteously begging. Nooo!

She had been encoded! Already the lieutenant could feel a new stirring in her loins, in her darkened nipples and sensitive, needy lips. Through her open, teary eyes she saw two handsome (Handsome? she thought) men standing near her, both in lovely Base personnel blue and gray. One was holding a slaving module in his strong, masculine hands.

“You know who this was?” the first one asked. There was a small filter resting over his nose and mouth, and it caused his voice to sound a little buzzy. “This was Celestra’s first officer.”

“No kidding?” The second handsome man, also wearing a filter, reached down and fondled Clio’s nipples. The crude sensation sent a shocking wave of pleasure throughout her body.

She tried to resist the feeling—I don’t even like hot, delicious men!—and couldn’t.

She was a slave! They had turned her into a slave!

“Have we found her boss, yet?” the one playing with her asked. He moved on to Clio’s lower regions, sending even greater unspeakably good feelings coursing through her worthless body.

“No. We’re pulling the bitches back into phase a handful at a time. We have to be careful, too. We still haven’t managed to get back all our own people yet. It could take months.”

What he was doing felt so good! Clio didn’t bother fighting the paralysis—the antidote she had taken earlier had long since worn off—she knew that was impossible. Instead, she tried to put up a futile wall of resistance around the submissive thoughts and feelings inside her lowly head. I will not be a slave, she thought. I don’t want to be a slave. It’s not possible. It can’t happen!

“Take a note, Mok. The time is 16:15, approximate.” The rubbing hand left Clio’s clit, and her first thought, No! Don’t stop, startled her with its raw power. No, I will be strong… strong!

Strong… and this was only her first-stage encoding!

“We can, ah, let’s see, give Slave 766 her second encoding anytime after 04:15 tomorrow. That’ll be plenty of time for processing. Same with all the sluts in this row, 750 to 775. Okay?”

“No problem. 750 to 775, check.”

The two fine-looking men moved on to the next row, leaving the frozen and increasingly lonely lieutenant alone with her thoughts. They were not very comforting thoughts. By the time, 04:15 came around, the lieutenant reluctantly had to admit she had been looking forward to their—or someone else’s, at least some man’s—return for some time. Looking forward to their return quite a bit, actually.

They were very handsome men, after all.

* * *

Gordon was working when his secretary called over the intercom. “Mr. Gordon, your meeting is about to start.”

“Thank you, Lise,” he said, tapping a reply. “Tell them I’ll be right there.”

He got up from his desk and put his jacket on. He collected his folders, then stepped out of his new larger office and walked past his new, fine young assistant. Lise smiled up at him as he passed. She was uninitiated as yet into the true business of the Firm, which was going through a badly needed reorganization. The suggestion had even been floated that the name Frank, Bennet, Weschler, and Marx be scrapped in favor of something else, to reflect the Firm’s recent changeover in management. There were talks of a merger as well. He glanced back surreptitiously at Lise. She was a talented girl. He was sure he could find a place for her in the new organization once things settled, one way or another.

So far as he could tell, Gordon’s own reprogramming had had little effect on him. He hadn’t noticed any major changes in his personality. He found he didn’t enjoy action pictures as much as he had, but that was a small thing. He was a bit more formal, he thought, and he had certainly picked up a wealth of new information on the law, like suddenly earning a post-graduate degree or two, but, essentially, he felt he was the same man he had always been before his promotion.

The same, unfortunately, could not be said of others.

He crossed the busy and harried floor—the transition was turning into a real chore—and went into the wood-paneled conference room. The other Partners were sitting down, both the old ones who had been lucky enough to be outside of Chicago when Celestra stormed the place and the new ones who, like himself, had recently been promoted to Partner status. They had even elected a new Senior Partner, a man who had been with the Firm for years and earned a lot of clout in that time. He had the most influence. On the other hand, what he didn’t have was a personal appointment from the Client. Gordon’s prestige had increased dramatically since his return. In fact, he felt there was really only one other person who stood in his way to the very top. He looked at that new face seated across from him over the table.

“Let’s get started, shall we?” the new Senior Partner said. “Would you start us off, Rosalie?”

“Certainly,” the latest addition and bright star of Frank, Bennet, Weschler, and Marx replied calmly, smoothly. “I would prefer, however, if everyone here would refer to me as Rose, please.”

She smiled a confident, winning grin at the older man, and he inclined his head.

Rose activated the overhead television monitor.

“As you can see, the situation with WT&T has grown worse.” The new attorney stood and walked over to point out the key elements in the graph. Her tailored business suit looked very sharp. Gordon heard her live-in assistant, Shauna, spent three hours on her mistress’ appearance every morning. He could believe it.

The woman looked absolutely stunning, nothing at all like the awkward teenager he had met weeks ago.

Gordon could hardly believe the change.

“WT&T’s litigation against Farnsworth is going ahead, and there is every possibility of them winning the suit and setting a precedent. If we’re to maintain our position in international data management, we’ll have to convince Mr. Farnsworth to change his business strategies to accommodate this threat. I’ve worked out the steps we’ll need to take.”

Rose’s secretary began passing around file folders.

Gordon glanced at the scheme and admitted that it would further the Firm’s interests—and, of course, indirectly, the Client’s, which was absolutely paramount, the most important thing in the world—but he wished he had come up with the idea first. Like Lise, this new addition to the Firm was proving to be a very talented girl.

She’s going to be trouble, he thought, this Rose. He knew she must have ambitions to match his own.

Programmed ambitions, anyway.

“But what about the Asian market?” someone asked, and the young—very young—attorney looked at the older fellow condescendingly. “The effect of their economic difficulties are minor. The conditions for this plan are ripe, and the situation in Japan can even be turned to our advantage, which, if you would have glanced at page four first, is outlined in some small detail.”

The embarrassed man slunk down a little in his chair, fingering his tie.

“Now, if there are no other… interruptions, we can proceed to step two, the acquisitions of… .”

Oh yeah. Gordon was going to have to watch the new Rose Pitzler closely.

Very closely.

* * *

Finishing the shine on her Master’s shoes, the pretty young slavegirl put aside the polish and brush and gave the leather footwear one last excited lick on the inside, partially out of respect and adoration for her Owner but mostly for the thrill that touching—tasting—something He had worn gave her.

Of course, that thrill was nothing in comparison to the delight of being in His Arms or having His Divine Member inside her, but one took whatever opportunities were available. The slave cooed in loving memory of her past ravishings.

She got up from her crouch near the closet door and closed it. She looked around the Master’s bedroom one last time but saw nothing out of place. The room was her favorite. She spent much of her time there, either in serving the Master’s pleasures in bed—or on her knees at the base or side of it—or when she naturally seemed to gravitate there out of instinct. She stared at the pillows near the headboard for a moment and put a finger to her mouth, her heartbeat increasing steadily as she visualized some of the things He had done to her since taking permanent possession.

She was a lucky slut to have such a virile Owner!

With real regret, the slave turned away and crossed the large luxury apartment to the kitchen where she needed to get dinner going. She hummed happily taking the necessary preparations out of the refrigerator, the cool air nice against her bare breasts. The slave often did without clothes during the day. Being naked felt more comfortable, more natural. A lot of the time, though, before the Master got home, she would change into one of the costumes or pieces of lingerie that were kept in the “special closet.” Sometimes she had instructions for which ones to wear when greeting Him, but more often she was permitted to make her own selections, for His pleasure and, to a lesser extent, her own meaningless desires. She was so lucky. Her Master was so indulgent with His toys. She really didn’t deserve the great privilege of serving Him… of servicing Him. She thought about it carefully as she diced the potatoes.

She had actually struck Him!

It was unbelievable.

She had actually attacked her beloved Master and done other things to displease Him… and all because her own slut of an ungrateful daughter had had the nerve to resist being enslaved by Him!

She snorted in derision.

If she could only go back in time and fix the terrible things she had done. She would have to spend the rest of her life pleasing the Master to even begin to make up for her crimes… not that that would be such a terrible thing.

She smiled, thinking of the bedroom again. Pleasing the Master was a joy, and certainly a much better sort of life than the one she had had before He first programmed her. The slave had all her memories back now, even those from her miserable pre-slave life. In claiming her for His own, the Master had had to use a special encoder to disrupt the false instructions put in her mind by that criminal celestra-thing. The treatment had the side-effect of restoring her past, not that that life had much to offer her anymore. Quite the opposite. The slave woke up sometimes now with nightmares of being Dr. Sandra Pitzler again, of not having a Master—the Master—to please and serve, to lick and kiss.

Her only comfort was knowing how much the Master obviously cared for her valueless self, that He should not only have rescued her from her obviously insane daughter and the evil celestra-thing but continue using her as well, granting her the sublime privilege of His Divine Fluids to suck and taste, or the feel of His Divine Member in her worthless cunt.

“No,” the slave said out loud, “Sandi is a lucky slut indeed.”

Sandi. The slave giggled girlishly. That sounded much better than ‘Sannn-draaa.’

She had such a clever Master. He had been made Partner in His Firm.

Hours later, the slave was on her knees in the foyer waiting when He came in. She had her first rapture of the evening—though not the last!—just seeing His magnificent Body again.

“Welcome home, Master,” she said, spreading her legs wider, clad in a traditional harem-girl costume tonight, diaphanous in golds and reds. “Sandi welcomes her beloved Master.”

“Hello, girl,” Sandi’s Master, Martin Gordon, replied, and rubbed her empty little head. “Did you miss me?” he added.

It was becoming something of an old joke between them.

“Sandi desperately missed her Master,” the slavegirl whimpered and nuzzled the side of His Leg.

She then looked up at Him imploringly, eyes wide, her needs very much upon her. It had been hours!

“Did Master miss Sandi?” she said babyishly, in a way she knew He liked.

“I must have. I got you something.” He laughed seeing her amazed expression.

He threw her a small glass ball, one that would just fit in the palm of her hand. “It’s the last of Celestra’s tachyon accumulators. We took this one from your old hospital. We just isolated it today.”

He handed Sandi His coat. She lightly kissed it and put it away before kneeling at His Feet again.

“It’s worthless now, but I thought you might like it as a souvenir… something to put in your kennel.”

“Yes, Master. Sandi will do exactly that.” She bent to kiss her Owner’s Feet in gratitude.

“Thank You, Master. Sandi loves her present.”

It was true. Not only because it was a gift from her Master, though that was enough, but because it was the thing that had ultimately led to her being a slave… had led to her new life of joy and utter contentment.

Why, without this tiny crystal ball, she would still be a free person!

She would cherish it forever.

The slave looked dreamily from the reflection of her Master’s perfect Body in the sphere to the view of Chicago outside the penthouse window. The wind was blowing feathery-light snow in from the west.

She was such a lucky girl. It was going to be a wonderful evening.