The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Thrall designate 42c-389, curled into a ball, limbs wrapped round her body, waited for her master to come ravage her.

She had no idea how long she had been waiting. Cut off from nearly all sensory input, she had lost track of the time. The smooth enclosure of the thrallvessel pressed tightly against her body, preventing motion while simultaneously isolating her from all exterior sound, scent, and light. The use of the sealed, ovoid containers was a standard procedure of the Kedia Thrall Enterprise, especially in the distribution of unbonded thralls. Inside the thrallvessel, a thrall had only the barest sensory input, and so, removed from the outside world, all the thrall had to concentrate on was her own dire thrallneeds, increasing exponentially through the lack of satisfactory use as well as by the singular level of attention.

That when the vessel was opened, the knowledge that the thrall would see her owner for the first time also increased the desperation.

I’m sold, 42c-389 thought, shivering with fear and need. I have an owner. I have a master. She was thrilled and horrified, nervous and eager. It was impossible to wrap her mind around the idea. I have a master, she thought. By the Ideal, I have a master!

Her thoughts refused to let go of the subject.

Who will it be? she wondered, frightened yet impatient to know, to get it over with and be properly, thoroughly fornicated. Her thralldesires, fuming to begin with and stoked to unendurable levels by her recent uses, tormented her. She would have screamed herself hoarse were it not for the painful echo this produced. She would have scratched the interior walls of the thrallvessel to pieces were she able to pierce the unbreakable synplastic. She needed to be used soon. Ideal, she needed to be used soon!

To even further increase her desires, to further increase her distress, as if the thrallvessel were not enough of a torture, the thrall had been fitted with a clitoral yoke. This metallic stud, not a piercing but a harness that surrounded and fit like a black cap over her delicate sex organ, prevented her from pleasuring herself. Tiny circuits within the yoke prohibited the nerves from triggering an orgasm. The thrall was thus numb to pleasure, not in the good way her anti-aphrodisiacs had worked, cooling her appetites to a manageable level. The yoke kept them constantly added to through the prevention of any possibility of ease, and it couldn’t be removed short of tearing it away, irreparably damaging the tissue beneath. Her thralldesires grew without the slightest relief her own fingers might give her. She had to simmer in her thralljuices, her blood boiling, her skin crawling, her mind teetering on utter madness.

Like thrallvessels, clitoral yokes were used in the breaking of unbonded thralls.

Unbroken thralls, who might still foolishly think of themselves as anything other than sexual playthings.

Unbroken thralls, like her.

That’s all that I am, the thrall thought. I am an unbroken thrall in a thrallvessel. I have no appellation. I have no identity. She was a clone. She knew that now. Her memories of Miyal Cate were just that. Memories. Memories encoded into her nervous system through Client technology.

She had been grown in a tank. She had never had a home. She had never owned thralls.

She was anchorless. She had nothing to call her own, save her own existence from the start as a thrall. But it means nothing, she thought. I need not submit so easily. What did it matter that her thoughts were not her own? She thought them. Therefore, they were her own. And she would resist.

She really believed that. Didn’t she? Then why did the thoughts have such a futile ring to them? Was it the memory of that all-encompassing orgasm she had had when she totally surrendered before, in her moment of weakness following the revelation of her past? Was is that? Was it?

The thrallvessel shifted. Although she couldn’t hear anything from outside, the thrall could feel her container being moved. This is it, she thought. I am Miyal Cate. I am. I care not that I am a clone.

I am Miyal.

She would hold onto that. That, if nothing else.

She felt the thrallvessel set down somewhere. She felt the vibration of the seals being released.

Dread. Anticipation. Hope of relief. Her breasts’ need to be squeezed.

She felt it all.

A soft whistling sound penetrated her ears. A whiff of steam. The thrallvessel’s final seal broke, and as a flower opening up to the light of the primary, the container came undone. Unable not to, the thrall looked up into the face of the person she knew had purchased her, as if she were nothing but a thrall.

She stared into a face she knew, the face of a Procurer. The face the memories in her head told her was her captain of security. The face she knew belonged to her owner and master.

The face of Rix Nagh.

He was smiling.

“No!” the thrall screamed. “Negative! This is an impossibility! You cannot be my owner! I despise you! I loathe you!”

“And I own you, little thrall,” Nagh replied. “And I have endured a long time for this.”

An incredible mixture of feelings passed through the thrall’s body. Anger: she despised Rix Nagh! He was the worm who had put her into this intolerable situation. He was responsible for everything!

She felt fear: he owned her. He actually, physically owned her! He could do anything to her. And, she knew, he would.

She felt desire, nay, a craving to submit. He was her owner and master. More to the point, he was a man, a free man, who had full access to the charms of her thrallbody. He could do anything to her. Anything. And, she knew, he would.

Finally, the thrall tried to ignore the horrible elation she felt, the joy of humiliation being owned by Rix Nagh would bring her. That servile happiness was only her thrallbody communicating to her, the submissiveness hardwired into her resequenced DNA, just another aspect of her inherent thrallness.

But she bore the memories, the identity, of a Processor. She bore the memories of Lady Miyal Cate. She would resist the calls of her thrallbody. She would resist!

“Come to me,” Nagh commanded. “Scurry to me, my thrall.”

And, a need to obey also hardwired into her DNA, the thrall did so, without even thinking about it.

She unlimbered herself from the petals of the vessel and crawled out into the center of the room. She was in Nagh’s pleasure chamber. She recognized the place from her surveillance tapes, from when she would watch—from when the real Miyal Cate had watched—Nagh use his femthralls.

She didn’t why she had. She just had. Now, Ideal help her, she was the femthrall about to be used.

“Position,” Nagh ordered, and the thrall assumed the submissive posture of the female thrall, open thighs and lowered head. She pushed her thrallbreasts forward. Little electric jolts tingled her skin. She had never felt so alive. The blood was rushing through her veins. Her heart was pumping excitedly.

In a corner of the playroom, opposite where her own thrallvessel now lay unfolded, was another similar vessel, still sealed. She wondered what kind of thrall was inside it, simmering in self-inflicted torment.

Nagh was a traditionalist. He followed many quaint customs of pre-corporate Molosian life, from his belief in traditional marriage contracts to the kind of leathers he wore when riding a ghirk outside the tenant arcologies. His playroom was made of stone—probably artificial—and looked like a dungeon in a constituent historical entertainment reenactment. The metal instruments on the walls were all time-honored tools for the use of breaking new thralls, before these modern days of DNA resequencing.

Only the thrallbed against the wall was contemporary. Its chains, grapples, and harnesses were perfect for holding a thrall in any position its master desired. The thrall looking upon it now felt fear and excitement. Thrallbeds like this were used in the training of unbroken thralls. They facilitated permanent bonding, allowing the owner whatever time was necessary to fully break a toy into will-less submission.

Naturally, this was where Nagh ordered her to go first.

“Please, master,” the thrall begged. “Do not do this to me. Let me serve you another way.” Though she hated him, she would have served Nagh in almost any way he wanted if he would only satisfy her thrallneeds. She would make that necessary compromise in her resistance. She needed to be fucked.

She rather badly needed to be fucked.

Instead, Nagh put her to her back on the thrallbed amidst its complicated array of hoops and bonds and ordered her to spread her limbs wide. He locked her wrists and ankles to the device and wrapped the cords around her waist. He added the necessary supports. Already a helpless thrall, she was rendered even more deliciously helpless in the confines of this diabolical torture device. She whimpered in fear.

She did not want to be broken. She did not want to be a broken thrall.

Nagh knelt beside her. For the first time, he caressed his new possession’s feminine curves.

“Please, master,” she begged. The clitoral yoke allowed the feel of his touch, but the sensation only amplified her needs more so. “Please, master. Let me serve you!”

“Do you remember that daybreak in the red marshes five cycles ago?” he asked gently. “That day after the Western Corporates had been deconsolidated? We were both so joyous, and I, in the midst of my joy, found the courage to inquire your betrothal. I gave you a token of my esteem, a band for your wrist. It was a simple band, but I cherished it, as I cherished you. It was an heirloom of my lodging.”

Despite the moisture in his eyes, his voice grew harsh.

“Do you remember, Miyal? You snickered at me and threw it into the marsh and told me to add the sum of it to my recompense. Do you remember… thrall?

“Yes… yes, master…” she said, timidly. It was the first time Nagh had asked for her betrothal.

“Revenge is sweet,” her owner and master said. He reached down and, painfully squeezing, fondled her breasts. The thrall’s body, already smoldering, seemed to catch fire anew. Her nerve endings blazed.

“I know not if you be the real Miyal or the clone I had made. It matters not. I purchased you both!”

He gestured to the other thrallvessel. “When I am finished with you, I will begin again with her.”

Before she could reply, hesitating because the thrall couldn’t find the right words, Nagh took a gag from the thrallbed’s handy shelf and inserted it past the thrall’s lips. He would not have her cries diminish his pleasures. “I will never know which of you is which. You both have the same registry numbers. You both bear the same brands.” He stood up and began undressing. “Twice the vengeance may, may, satisfy my hunger. And when you are broken, I will order you never to reveal your true identity to me.”

Totally helpless, less now than she had been before, a mere half of the property Rix Nagh had taken to complete her humiliation, the thrall’s eyes widened at the sight of her naked master. She squirmed as much as the bonds of the thrallbed allowed her. He intended to break her, to bond her to him forever.

Miyal had always preferred having her thralls delivered to her broken. Most female constituents did, just as most male constituents preferred to do their own breaking. A broken thrall was bonded to its owner, thought nothing else but of its master’s pleasure, could think of nothing else but its master’s pleasure. The thrall helpless in the thrallbed whimpered around her gag. She was not a broken thrall.

Yet.

She did not want to be a broken thrall. Ideal, give her at least that much liberty, she prayed silently.

Her thrallbody reacted to her vulnerable position. Her passion increased. Her thralldesire grew ever stronger. She would have begged, pleaded, tried any negotiation that she could design. But Nagh, her owner, her master, would not tolerate conciliation. He would have her, totally, without limit.

She would be his full thrall, in every way. The thought thrilled as much as scared the life from her.

Nagh began slowly. He put his hands to the thrall’s body and stroked her, running his hands lightly, almost soothingly over her enflamed flesh. She pressed herself against him, eager for his touch. He put his lips to her navel and gently kissed her. He used his tongue. Slowly, he played with the feelings of his thrall, knowing how sensitive an instrument her resequenced body was. He wet his fingers with his mouth and traced patterns onto her thighs. He kissed about her breasts, delicately, smoothly enflaming her more and more. He breathed on her neck. Her own breaths came increasingly rapid.

The fires in her loins grew hotter, even before he inserted his fingers inside her. He would stroke her, increasing with each pass the length of his fondling, building the thrall passions waiting to erupt, drawing them higher and higher, hotter and hotter, till they were blazing within her, her body all but glowing with their feverish intensity. He would push her to the very edge of a titanic climax… and then the clitoral yoke would prevent it. Only then, in reverse, would he allow her to relax, would he shorten his stroking of her body, would wait for her heartbeat to slow before starting again, doing the same things the same way, with infinite patience, forcing her higher and higher, drawing her closer and closer to the brink, and then dragging her down again, her muffled cries sounding with despair against the playroom’s walls.

Every time the thrall came to that the plateau, that heavenly pre-climax stage, she would remain there longer and longer. And every time she descended into enforced stillness and coolness, her stay would be shorter and shorter. Nagh knew exactly how far he could take her. He knew exactly what it would take to trigger her orgasm, the thrall orgasm she so desperately needed, that she had achieved that one time before in her moment of weakness. The clitoral yoke she wore only assisted in his control of her.

Despite her silent pleas for him to elicit that great spending, he would forestall it every time, only to draw her ever closer to it again and again. The tensions he put her through were unendurable, yet she had no choice but to endure them. She wanted desperately to serve him, to coax him into fulfilling her. Instead, he played with her body as he would a child’s toy or a general systematically seizing every piece of land within his sight.

Please, master, please, master, please, master. The refrain echoed throughout her thrall’s mind.

Eventually, Nagh stood and went to the back supporting frame of the thrallbed. He made adjustments, cranking the large wheel at the end. The supports lifted; the thrall’s body was tilted upright, exposing her luscious hindquarters. The Procurer approached Miyal’s clone from behind and wrapped his arms around her thighs, his hands brushing her damp and pulsating sex. She whimpered through her gag.

“We are not done yet, pretty one, but I need contentment.”

With that quiet whisper in his thrall’s ear, Nagh took her from behind, inserting his huge manhood into her rectum. The pain was incredible, as was the feeling of acceptance she experienced, the sensation of having something done to her that she had explicitly been made for. She felt little pleasure due to the yoke. She felt mostly the pressure of her master inside her. The savage use triggered her thrallneeds, but the climax for which she hungered, the release of her passion for which she so desperately yearned, would not come. Instead, the raging unfullfillment fed upon her desire and augmented it even further.

Thrallextract bubbled in her veins. Nagh climaxed quickly and withdrew. He left behind a burning, intolerable void within his lowly property, an emptiness that threatened her sanity on every plane.

For such was his intent, of course.

The thrall pleaded with her eyes. Please, master, she begged him. Please, I need! I need!

Slowly, deliberately, Nagh adjusted the thrallbed again. He toweled himself off and stood before his thrall’s face. He bent down and removed the gag. “Please, master! Please, fulfill me! Please!”

With a crank of the thrallbed’s frame, the thrall’s head was pushed forward to his groin.

“Please me, thrall,” he said. Unlike her own, his eyes were hard and cruel.

She did not hesitate. She would do anything for fullfillment now. Anything! He pressed forward, and she swallowed, eagerly accepting his penis into her mouth. It filled her mouth and throat. His hard body pushed against her weeping face. Her tongue intuitively exerted pressure against his mighty organ.

Truly, Rix Nagh was a Molosian male. Despite his spending of a moment before, his penis again swelled strongly. The thrall tasted her master’s fluid, and the sensation rocketed through her, setting off chemical signals in her heavily modified nervous system. Joyfully, she swallowed. Her master’s seed was so delicious, so absolutely right, she could barely comprehend the wonder of it. The thrall felt her owner’s hands let go of the back of her head and grab hold of the thralltails above her ears . A moment later he was pushing against her, fucking her mouth, taking total advantage of her helplessness. Weakly, driven by impulses hardwired into her, the thrall found herself licking desperately. Delicious, mouth-watering semen gushed into her mouth, her throat, her stomach. The taste was like nothing else in the universe, a combination of absonon, slarn, and every other delicacy Miyal’s memory could recall, amplified a million times in intensity. Her genecoded taste buds triggered the appropriate hormones. Even more thrallextract bubbled along her nervous system, and again she would have climaxed were it not for the damnable yoke. As it was, her needs only heightened to another previously unimaginable strata. When Nagh was spent, his thrall licked him clean, crying desperately all the while.

“Please, master.” Lick. “I need it.” Lick. “You torment me, master.” Lick. “Please!!”

He did not deign to answer. He merely regagged her when he was finished.

He left the playroom for a time then, leaving the thrall in her miserable anguish. Her thrallbody yearned for him. His departure after all that he had done to her was like an amputation, as if a physical part of her had been loped off. When he returned with food and sat and ate in front of her, the pain of this separation decreased only slightly. He was a part of her now, and she could not exist without him.

He rested while she suffered. He replenished himself while she burned in her augmented thrallneed. He took his time. He even slept briefly. Finally, when he was ready, he lowered the thrallbed to its original position and started on her again, repeating every step he had taken before. He kissed her breasts. He stroked her thighs. He dipped his fingers inside her. Her need for release only further heightened.

It was not long before any semblance of sanity the thrall may have had fled. Her thoughts fell apart, reduced to a constant echo in her cracking mind: Please, master, please, master, please!!!

When he needed satisfaction, he raised her and used her mouth and ass. Ungagged, she could make only incoherent sounds of distress and craving. He continued to stroke her as she pleaded, continued his little game of power and domination. His control was incredible. She tried everything to bring him to climax, to bring herself to climax, but he would only come when he wanted, and she never could.

She amused him. After the third repetition, he related yet another incident of Miyal’s abuse when he was her captain. His voice was no longer angry. He told that and other stories of his humiliation at her hands with something almost like fondness. And when he was done he would resume her stimulation.

Over and over, she would plead, and he would bring her slowly to climax, only to have it stopped at the very edge. The day was long and torturous. Her thrallflesh crawled. Her body screamed silently. Her master abused her for hours, and she counted every minute, every second, suffering in both Molosian and Earthling time. It was an exquisite torture, being so close and yet so far from fulfillment. Her body felt like it was going to explode into pieces. She felt like she was going to melt into a molten metal.

She begged one time, and, interrupted in his taking of her, he chuckled and resumed from the start.

She screamed around the reinserted gag.

At what point the thrall designated 42c-389 surrendered unconditionally to Rix Nagh is uncertain. It was certainly early in his stimulation of her, perhaps even within that initial session of her stimulation. He could have completed his task at almost any time, he knew. Kedian thralls were designed to bond to their owners, after all. It was a requirement of their condition, like eating and breathing. But Nagh’s goal went beyond such an easy undertaking. He wanted revenge, and he made sure he got it, and well.

He would not take his thrall’s surrender until he was ready to accept it, until he felt at last a faint stirring of pity for the Processor he had at one time so desperately adored. Eventually, he felt that pity, though it was a small thing, and it would have no effect on his treatment of his pretty, green property. Though he had adored Miyal, this lowly version of her, whether she was the real one or not, would be treated as any other common femthrall. Such treatment would be what both of them would want and need.

Rix Nagh was a traditionalist.

Once again replenished by food and rest, he finally removed the yoke from his thrall, using the special tool. By this time she was incoherent in her desirous ache, and she barely noticed. Unencumbered, he started over in his stimulation exercises. He knew exactly where and how to touch her. In his time, Nagh had had many femthralls, too many to adequately count. Now, he would savor this one, and what would make his enjoyment even more delightful was his knowledge that he could have this experience breaking Miyal again whenever he wanted. His other pretty, green property waited in her thrallvessel and would wait until he was ready to take her. In the meantime, he watched this little Miyal’s body twitch and spasm under his attentions. He could read the evidence of her body’s passions as if it were printed matter. She was more than ready to submit to him. She was more than ready to be broken.

He was ready as well, finally. Therefore, it was time. He removed the gag.

The thrall squirmed desperately. There was no thought in her head, only animal hunger, animal passion.

Her master raised himself from her and adjusted the thrallbed. For the countless time, she was lifted into position, to be taken from behind and then compelled to lick her master clean. And she would do it, over and over, for as long as he wanted. For he was her master. He could do anything to her he wanted, and she had no say in the decision at all. She was a thrall, and thralls were meant to be used.

She had learned that lesson well. There could be no compromises in her life now. How stupid she had been to think she could offer him a compromise of any sort. She could not bargain with her owner and master. She could not work to fulfill his needs in the hope that he might reciprocate. She would fulfill his needs because it was her place to do so, nothing more. She was a thrall. She was only a thrall.

But something was different now, she realized. Something in the pattern had changed. The thrallbed was lifted in a direction it never had before. She was lifted and her legs were spread and she was displayed for her master in a fashion that allowed him to straddle her. Her long denied thrallcunt pulsed.

Instead of circling behind, her master faced her and lowered himself upon her exposed body.

His right hand moved to her breast. He squeezed it and rubbed his palm over it in a series of circles, slowly working in to the nipple. His left hand cupped her thrallcunt and dipped inside until it was wet and slick with her juices. She moaned, crying out for her master. He stroked her enormous, thrallish clit, free now, rubbing it with his thumb. The thrall felt her master’s body press against hers, and she felt his powerful organ sliding against her slit. “Please, master,” she whimpered. “Please, my master.”

“Do you beg as a thrall, Miyal?” her master asked.

“Yes, master. Yes. I beg as a thrall. Your Miyal begs as a thrall.” Tears flooded her blank eyes.

“Very well.” He grabbed her roughly and pressed his belly to hers. In a sudden motion he was inside her. She screamed in pleasure and shock as his monstrous penis penetrated her thrallish womb.

At first there was only pain. She had been made so sensitive by his toying of her, it was as if she were a virgin again. Then, the first surge swept through her, radiating outward from the center of her body to set every square inch of her thrallskin blazing with energy. He was inside her, deep inside her, and she clenched her tight vaginal muscles around him, desperately milking him of his so hungered for potency.

His hands squeezed at her nipples. Then he handled her hips and raised them to him before pushing her down again. The thrall was totally under her master’s dominion. She was the one played with. She was the one stroked and filled. She was the one taught her place in the universe. She wanted to please him. She wanted to service him. Instead, her master took from her whatever he wanted, without the least consideration of her wants. She moaned and raised herself to him as much as her bonds allowed.

She screamed in pleasure. “Master! Master! Oh, my Master!!”

The violence of her first orgasm was such that light seemed to explode behind her featureless eyes. The stars ignited, and the world was consumed in joyous fire. Undreamt of colors cascaded across her blank retina. She fell into a boiling wave of rapture, her skin dissolving into a greenish field of light that stretched from the thrallbed to the ends of the universe. “Master! Oh, Master! My Master!”

Joy. Infinite joy.

“Master! Oh, use your thrall, Master! My Master! My Master!”

Crushing joy.

“Master!” A sharp, penetrating cry filled her ears. It was her own. “Master! You are my Master!”

The wave swept through her, drowning her thrallneed in its entirety, smothering the fires that had burned so long, so hot. Her nerves were electrified with the spasm of her delight, the elation of her submission.

She melted into nothingness and was reformed in the arms of her Master, her blessed, divine Master.

He took her face in his hands and forced her to look at him.

“Now that the preliminaries are over, let us truly begin to take you, my thrall.”

“… Master… ?” she whispered, unbelievingly. Now, now, he was going to take her!?

Then what was that she had just experienced?

He smiled, as if he had read her mind. “That was only the beginning, my thrall. Only the beginning.”

And he was right. Her Master took her again, delivering even greater attentions to her thrallbody, igniting her thralldesires until she was yet again a blazing comet, an inferno waiting to be extinguished. It was frighteningly easy. What had taken hours of stimulation to work her up to before, her Master now brought to the surface in barely a few minutes with his lips and tongue and fingers. He released her from the thrallbed. Her limbs, weakened from so many hours frozen, felt like loose bands of rubber.

Nevertheless, when he stood from the bed and made his way across the playroom and ordered her to follow him on her hands and knees, she complied, instantly, ignoring the painful muscles as they awoke.

Kneeling beside her, Nagh pulled his plaything upright. His lips covered her own, his tongue raping the inside of her mouth. His muscular arms surrounded the thrall and crushed her within his embrace.

She tasted the wonder of him. Sparks seemed to dance along her tongue. She closed her eyes and surrendered to the overwhelming sensations. She felt herself forced to her back. Her breasts pressed upward against Nagh’s broad chest. His hands gripped her ass. The strength of his thighs straddled her body. A delicious heat arose. “Now, Master! Please, my Master. Do it now! Do it now, please!”

He stopped and gripped her face. She was forced to look up at him.

“Do you give me commands, thrall?” he asked. She could not read the expression in his face.

“Negative, my Master,” she whispered, horrified that he would stop. “Negative. I am your thrall. I am your lowly thrall.” He laughed, and as he did his monstrous cock penetrated her thrallish softness.

“What are you?” he asked. He pressed inward and then, unbelievably, remained stock still.

His control was incredible.

“Your thrall!” she exclaimed. “I am your thrall! Only your thrall, my Master!” It was true.

His weight shifted, and the pleasure grew, overwhelming the thrall’s senses. His fingers pulled on her nipples. Their legs entwined. She felt so submissive. She felt so small and fragile in the grip of his arms.

Something was changing inside her. She could feel it. Something deep and instrumental. Something important. In a moment she understood. She was being used. She was being fucked. And that was it.

She understood, finally. That was the important thing.

Being fucked. Being used.

Being used was not a reward for good service. It was not a bribe to ensure a thrall’s continued loyalty and submission. It was simply the right of her Master to take what she had, and it was hers to give to him unconditionally. He had the right to use her in any way that he wanted. And that was her life.

That was what she was. A creature to be used. A creature to be fucked.

A thrall. Only a thrall.

A second and even more powerful thrall orgasm consumed her. Her heart threatened to burst from her chest, such was the force of it.

The universe exploded once again. The thrall orgasm set off within her caused her body to rock and shudder uncontrollably. He was the one in control. His was the power that dominated her.

The orgasm was like a tidal wave of energy, a charge of electricity, a charge of militia conquering her, rampaging through her thrallish nervous system like a million soldiers, leaving behind them lines of force that etched themselves into her body. She was undone. The force divided her, shattered her, and in the heat of its passage caused the pieces of herself to melt.

She dissolved in pleasure, melting in the embrace of her Master.

“Master!” she screamed. “Oh, Master!” Her next cry of submission was less articulate.

To him, it was nothing more than a casual use. To her, it was a rapture of unparallel height and power.

Nagh lifted himself from his thrall’s naked flesh. He lay beside her for a time playing with her nipples as she still shuddered in the wake of her submission. Eventually he tired of this and, grabbing her by a thralltail, pushed her face to his groin. He did not need to instruct her now. The thrall licked at his depleted shaft and cleaned their spent fluids. She rubbed her hands about his organ and took the tip of him in her mouth, gently sucking. Her master took a firmer grip of her hair; it was enough of a command.

While he lay on his back, his pleasure thrall knelt over him. Creating a suction with her mouth, she took more and more of him inside her, running her tongue up and down his already burgeoning manhood.

Her hands worked gently and methodically at his genitals, caressing them. Her technique was amateurish, but she would improve in time, or she hoped, given the opportunity. The taste of her Master’s sperm again detonated inside her. It was an addiction to which she would never recover.

Later, with the taste of Nagh’s seed still on her lips, the thrall opened her eyes and gazed upon him.

She gaped in wonder. Rix Nagh’s body glowed! There was an aura about him, about Him! a majesty she had never before realized. How could she have never seen this before? Was she stupid? Was she insane? No, she realized. She had just never been used the way she was supposed to be used before.

Even the thrallrapes she had enjoyed in the Kedia complex had been incomplete, she now understood.

They had been incomplete because they hadn’t been from her Master. Her Owner and Master!

Rix Nagh moved, and the thrall’s eyes followed the movement with utter adoration, her eyes trying to capture every flex of every divine muscle. He was so incredibly handsome! He was so incredibly masculine! And she felt so unbelievably feminine, so completely and utterly devoted to Him.

My Master, the thrall thought, amazed. I have a Master. I have an Owner!

Everything was different. Everything had changed. The world and her place in it were now clear for the first time. She was a thrall. More importantly, she was His thrall. She was the thrall of Rix Nagh!

Tremors of pleasure cascaded through her thrallish body, inspired by the very thought.

She knew she was bonding to Him—that, in fact, she had bonded to Him—but knowing and feeling were entirely separate things. Her first distinct thought after those of her realization, of her knowledge of herself as her Master’s thrall, was of how much wasted time she had spent not being His thrall. If only she had known earlier! If only she could take back those days and submit them now to her Master!

If only she had known. She would have begged as a mere free woman to be His thrall!

Rix Nagh stood. His lowly, green, and newly bonded femthrall rose to her knees and assumed a position of submission at His feet. She opened her thighs to Him, thrust out her breasts, and lowered her head. No command had been necessary. The urge to submit had simply swelled within her, and unlike before, she felt not the slightest interest in resisting the impulse. It did not even occur to her.

It was the right thing to do. Her Master patted the top of her head between her tied thralltails. The measly touch brought the heat back as well as a newfound servile satisfaction she had never before experienced. If only she had known earlier! How insane her escape attempt seemed now.

Her Master tilted her head back. She gazed as if into the shining center of a galaxy. She was warmed by the raw heat of Him, a heat mirrored by that emanating from her thrallcunt and breasts.

“Who is your master?” He asked, holding her tightly.

“You are my Master,” the thrall cried, tears of joy flooding her blank eyes. “You are my Master!”

“Obeisance,” He commanded, and she complied without thought. He let her go, and she lowered her head to kiss and lick at His bare feet. When He was satisfied, her Master lifted her face again.

“I order you never to reveal whether you are the true Miyal or her clone. Since you are the first of the thralls I used, you are Miyal One. What is your name?”

“I am Miyal One, Master,” she said. She shivered in pleasure. She had a name. She had a name!

He let go of her and gestured. “Go upstairs. See my first thrall and obey her directions.”

“Yes, Master,” Miyal One said. She stood and ran off in the direction her Master indicated. He slapped her on the ass as she passed, and the warmth of His touch blazed within her. She didn’t want to leave. She didn’t want to lose sight of her Master now that she had been found by Him. But even more important than being fucked was obedience. Obedience to her Master. Obedience caused her heart to beat faster and the heat within her loins to smolder even hotter. How good obedience felt!

She obeyed.

Miyal One ran upstairs. A bluish femthrall knelt near the head of the stairs waiting for her. Miyal One remembered the old Miyal owning a blue femthrall like this one, but for some reason she could no longer fathom it. How could she have thought to have owned anything!? She was herself a creature to be owned. The memories of the old Miyal were there in her head, but something had changed since her powerful use by her Master. She recalled events but no longer understood them. She could not understand the reason for the things she had done. They were unthinkable. How could she have thought to have given orders to others, especially to men? No, it was inconceivable. She was a thrall.

“What is your name, thrall?” the blue first thrall asked her. Miyal One knelt beside her. It felt good to kneel. “My Master has named me Miyal One, first,” she replied, still giddy with the afterglow.

The thrall nodded, then reached out and pinched Miyal One’s nipples. The pain was intense, as was the pleasure. “You are no longer a free woman,” she instructed. “I am first thrall. You will obey me.”

“Yes, first,” Miyal One meekly said. She lowered her face and performed obeisance.

“You are a hot thrall,” the blue first said, fondling the new thrall and causing her to squirm uncontrollably. “Good. You will be put to use often. You remind me of my own first day of service.”

The first thrall squirmed herself in helpless need.

“You will be cleansed and exercised,” the first said. “Then you will be put to rest for a day or two.”

“But… but first!” Miyal One exclaimed, stricken at the thought. “I must serve the Master. I must be put to some chore, some petty activity, some…”

“You will,” the first said, and Miyal One quieted.

She wanted to cook for Him. She wanted to polish His boots. She wanted to clean His uniforms. She wanted to serve Him in an unlimited number of petty tasks, all of them more than suitable for a petty little creature like her. She had been broken so well. She was hot and wet just thinking about such tasks. What an incredible difference from before. How empty her Miyal memories seemed to her now.

She felt like a new thrall. She saw the world through different eyes.

“You have been used hard by the Master. You require time to recuperate. Rest assured, you will be muchly utilized in these quarters. This is a fine lodging, and you are a lucky thrall to serve in it.”

“Yes, first,” the new thrall said. She felt shame for having even thought of herself first. She must never disagree with a command. She must obey, always. Obedience was pleasure, and pleasure obedience.

“Come with me.” The blue thrall got to her feet and sashayed down the hallway. Miyal One followed, emulating the femthrall’s movements as best she could. She would cook and polish and clean and fuck and do anything else He desired, for He was everything and she nothing. He had taught her that, after so much time wasted trying to be free. Her Master had driven her to the depths of her submission.

Now she knew those depths were without end. Her life from now on would be a constant exploration of how low and servile she could become. It felt so good to be a bonded thrall, at last. It was so delightfully humiliating. She looked forward to all the further humiliations she would suffer in the future.

And to think… she had tried to run away!