The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Y

8

The door had an iron ring of a knocker set in it. It was at a height appropriate for a Yn slavegirl. Bea used it as she had been instructed, timidly. “Come in,” she heard. “Close the door after you.”

The Trainer had Bea stand in a circle. The circle was a bright yellow compared to the darker stone of the rest of the Academy. There was a slight division between it and the rest of the pristine floor, which in all other respects ran smoothly up the walls, ceiling, and beyond, unbroken. It looked like a scoop had been used to slice out a section of the floor, while it was still molten, presumably, and, after cooling, a matching hunk of yellow stone set inside. The material was cold beneath Bea’s soft, bare feet.

This was deliberate, she thought: every hard surface, every firm contact at the Academy made against her supple, sensitive skin served only to further heighten her arousal. Not that her arousal ever needed anything exterior to awaken it anymore.

Bea stood before the Trainer, small and naked save for her stud, her earrings, and her collar.

“I am told you are not really a Yn,” the Trainer said, so tall. Bea had never met or been used by this particular man yet. Naturally, she looked forward to it. “I’m told you are not even from this star system.”

“No, Master,” Bea said. Her lips trembled. “I was born on . . .” But she stopped when the Trainer put a finger to her mouth. The brief contact enflamed her all the more. She had been used twelve times so far that day. She had been kindled with a dire appetite. It took all her strength not to beg this man for the fucking he could give her and which she needed so desperately.

“That no longer matters,” the Trainer said. “What does is whether regardless of your origin you are a slavegirl in all ways and can be swayed as such. I expect to train more from your vessel soon.”

There were others from the Centauri Independence on Y!? Bea had almost given up hope of seeing any of her crewmates again.

“Let us put the matter to a test.” So saying, the Trainer seized Bea, lifted her with almost comic ease, and impaled her on his mighty shaft. “Oh, Master!” she screamed joyfully as her pussy was filled.

The Trainer stood as still as a statue, legs were spread for support. He didn’t thrust into Bea. He merely moved her back and forth along his cock, treating her like the toy she was. He brought her to a quick and savage climax. He filled her cunt with his miraculous cum.

A familiar lightheadedness came upon Bea. She felt her mind become open and receptive, as open and receptive as her nether regions always were. Instead of giving her a command this time, though, in his sway, the Trainer asked Bea a question. “What is the name you were born with, slave?”

Bea answered dreamily. “Bea Stoc, Master.”

“No,” the Trainer said, and Bea felt a moment’s anxiety in her half-conscious state. She didn’t want to disagree with a man in any way. She had been born to please men! But her name was Bea Stoc!

She felt a trace of cum spread across her lips. She licked at the Trainer’s fingers.

“The name you were born with is Haru.” It was a Yn name. “You have always been named Haru.”

“Yes, Master,” Haru said. She had always been named Haru.

More fluid on her lips. Haru felt the Trainer’s cock once again slide deliciously into her.

“Forget the name Bea Stoc. There is no Bea Stoc.”

“Ohhh!” she moaned. Haru forgot . . . who? Someone? Something? She didn’t remember. She wanted to please men. Pleasing men was her greatest desire. Haru hoped this man wouldn’t be mad at her because she couldn’t remember . . . something. She wriggled her hips as she had been trained, to increase his pleasure as well as, incidentally, her own.

She was soon filled with glorious semen. She was guided into a small—relatively speaking—orgasm.

“Forget the world you thought you came from,” the Trainer swayed her. “Forget it all. You were born on Y, in the city of Nuun. You have always been a Yn slavegirl.”

“Yes, Master,” Haru, late of the city of Nuun, said when she was able. She didn’t recall anything about her home city, but she knew she had been born there. The Trainer put Haru to her feet and steadied her. When she was quenched enough through his commands, he asked her about a planet called Beta Prime and a system called Alpha Centauri. She had never heard of either of those names before.

“Do you know a woman named Bea Stoc?”

“No, Master,” Haru answered, honestly confused. There was a familiar ring to the name, and she said so, but nothing she could identify. “Should I have, Master?”

“No,” the Trainer replied. “You are a good slave. You have satisfied me, in more ways than one.”

“Thank you, Master,” the slavegirl said, happy to have been pleasing to a man. She had been born to please men. She wanted to please men. She was a little foggy as to how she had come to be with this particular man, but that wasn’t uncommon after she was fucked and swayed. She was used to it.

She had been a Yn slavegirl her entire life, after all.

Haru beamed happily at the thought, and for being so recently well-used and quenched.

She was so very fortunate.

She was a Yn sex slave!

* * *

Serry tenderly stretched her arm out in front of her. She rotated it as much as she could, then, grimacing, lifted the limb to one side and backwards. The shoulder was stiff. Whenever she drew her elbow back, the joint popped alarmingly. The post-knitting rigidity was only slowing working itself out.

Her leg was worse. Any movement at all elicited such loud cracks Serry imagined they could be heard down the hall. There would be no secret escapes on her part any time soon.

She was still in prison, still confined to her isolated room. She hadn’t seen her men for two weeks. The casts had softened and begun peeling only that morning, leaving behind ugly dermal patches that looked like gray leeches hanging onto her skin. They were secreting bone-strengthening solutions. According to Serry’s first-aid training, the patches would peel off as they were no longer needed.

She was thinking of doing some calisthenics to loosen up when there was a knock at her door. After a moment waiting, Serry made an invitation out loud. The door opened. Instead of the red nurse she expected or her guard, a much more marvelous creature glided in.

Serry’s visitor was a humanoid of roughly her own height, though initially this was hard to tell. First, there was the floor-length outer garment it wore, arranged in such complex layers of cloth they bolstered the person’s figure by several centimeters. Second, there was the being’s elaborate headdress, a great fan-shaped mane that rested on a set of augmented shoulder blades, encircled the smooth, wax-like face positioned in the middle of the arrangement, and rose up and over the entity’s concealed scalp like the tailfin of a great sea animal. Almost the entirety of her visitor’s person was hidden and decorated.

Serry stood. “Hel . . ,” she started to say and then stopped, amazed. The entity had turned in her direction. Then, before her eyes, it had started . . . shifting.

There are species of squid and octopi that have special chromatic pigmentation. Through the tensing and relaxing of certain muscles, these animals can change the color of their skin. The tint of their flesh varies in perceivable bands of motion, like ripples in the seawater. In much the same way did the still face of Serry’s visitor change. In slow, deliberate waves of side-to-side motion, the flat, mask-like features in the middle of the headdress swung from blue to white to yellow to blue again. A line of the thinnest blackness demarcated the shifting border, growing from the left, shrinking down to the right.

Before she could begin again, this fabulous entity spoke:

“I am. The floran. Ambassador. Ma’am.”

For a second the piecemeal words failed to register with Serry. Then her eyes got big. A Floran? she thought. From the Flowerworld? They were the reason for the entire expedition!

Serry practically pounced on her visitor.

“I am Commander Serry Garrant of the Centauri Expeditionary Force, representing the Sovereignty of Outer Alpha Centauri. I am . . I was the Chief Life Support Officer of the starship Flags of Centauri Independence.”

“Despite the. Circumstance. I am. Pleased. To greet. You. Commander. Garrant. Of the. Centauri. Expeditionary. Force.”

The Floran’s voice was unusual. It didn’t sound natural; it rose and it fell. It sounded too like there was a hidden speaker somewhere in the room producing an echo. The sound reverberated. The humanoid nodded deeply in Serry’s direction. She returned the gesture. She suddenly didn’t know what to do with her hands. Should I offer to shake hands? Serry questioned. Or fold them behind me? The Floran’s body language didn’t offer a clue. It held his (her?) limbs close to her (his?) chest, the hands covered in multiple layers of cloth. Serry settled for standing at parade rest. She was not a diplomat.

So, this is a Floran, Serry thought. Like the rulers of the Solarian Empire, the Florans of the legendary Flowerworld were neosentients—not humans, though genetically-engineered from human stock—but, unlike the Solarians, they were said to have retained most of their humanity. Her visitor’s robes were yellow, purple, and black. The different layers of cloth were revealed by openings along the legs, arms, and in front. Two long strips of cloth decorated in complex patterns, or the characters of an iconic language with which Serry was unfamiliar, descended from the exaggerated shoulders to the floor. Her visitor itself—Serry could identity the creature’s gender no more than she could the symbols—was currently blue again. Only its face was visible through its wimple, and what shown of that was a brilliant cobalt, so intense it was practically fluorescent. If she hadn’t seen the lips move, Serry would have thought its kaleidoscopic face a mask. The Floran’s features possessed neither nose nor eyebrows. There were no character lines. The effect was to make the Floran’s expression flatter, more chiseled.

This was in no way unattractive, though. Weird, yes, ugly, no. Serry’s visitor looked like a living, breathing work of art. With a mental shrug, she put her fashion critique aside. She had been rehearsing for this moment.

“Ambassador, I don’t understand why I’m being held. I don’t understand why our ship was attacked.” Serry took a step toward the humanoid. “Is my crew all right? May I see them, please?”

“For the. Moment you. And your. Crew are. Safe we. May visit. Them at. Your desire.”

The Floran blinked. As it did, another wave of color swept over its encircled features. Blue turned to orange, then an alabaster white. The entity turned toward the door. Serry, taking its cue, followed.

Outside in the hall was the huge Epsilonian guard. He was unarmed. Neither she nor the Floran came up any higher than to this giant’s testosterone-pumped chest. The Epsilonian ignored them. Serry felt like a little girl wandering through an ancient castle, everything about her was built on such a significantly larger scale. As she trailed the colorful humanoid, Serry was painfully aware of how little she and her people knew about the Florans and their so-called Flowerworld. She had hardly expected to be in the position of having to make what amounted to a first contact with them.

Like the Centauri, the Florans had reputedly suffered the same periodic, piratical efforts by the Solarian Empire to reassert control. Living in the closest system to Sol, the Centauri had suffered the worst of these attempted conquests, made, they long suspected, for sadism’s sake and little else. Reaching out to the Florans, rumored to possess sciences beyond even the Empire’s, had been deemed a priority after the last major conflict. Frankly speaking, though, the Sovereignty knew little about its interstellar neighbor. Intrasystem concerns, the ongoing conflict with Sol, and the enormous distances between the stars had limited their information. In fact, what little the Centauri did know about Epsilon Indi, they had, ironically, acquired from the Solarians themselves, from interrogations of high-ranking prisoners to recovered databases. Aside from maybe, just maybe gaining an ally against their common enemy, the Expeditionary Force’s purpose in coming to this star had largely been just to find out what was here.

And not a full day after that nine-and-a-half year voyage, they were attacked by a giant space blob!

Was it your kind who sent that monster? Serry thought, looking at the Floran’s back. And if so, why!? She had a number of questions she wanted answered, not the least of which was an explanation for that ominous phrase the ambassador had used, For the moment.

The two did not leave the interior of the keep. They did move from one thick pyramid-tower to another. All the huge doors were old-fashioned: hinged wood with metal fastenings. Serry and the ambassador passed another pair of Epsilonian guards, this time armed with sharp-looking blades, and opened the door between them. Serry saw who was inside and immediately rushed forward, laughing.

“SERRY!” Eben Halc exclaimed upon seeing her. He too rushed across the room and pulled the shorter commander into his arms, lifting her off the ground in his enthusiasm. “Thank my God!”

The rest of the downed shuttle crew were there as well.

“Commander!” “It’s good to see you safe!” “Where have they been holding you?!” “We were so worried!” Five of them gathered round, all speaking at once. It was a good moment. The alien ambassador stood there silently watching the commotion. Its face—shifting again—was unreadable.

“Gentlemen,” Serry said after a bit, “let me introduce you to the . . . Floran ambassador. He’s from the Flowerworld.” She said “he” and hoped she wasn’t making an embarrassing mistake.

The Floran bowed slowly. As it rose, its face went through the same fantastic array of blue, white, and yellow as before. Again, the effect stunned an unprepared Centauri audience.

“I am. Pleased to. Meet such. A distinguished. Crew it. Is sad. That our. Meeting. Is under. Such trying. Circumstances. As these. We face,”

the ambassador said, the syllables a hodgepodge. Lieutenant Halc, with a nod from Serry, introduced himself and the others. The Floran spoke to each man in his turn in its strange, almost lyrical voice.

Serry took the opportunity gladly to examine her crew the more. As representatives of the Expeditionary Force of Alpha Centauri, they could have looked a lot better. She was happy to see them all the same. Despite their bruises and scars, they looked very good to her. Eben Halc, the most-senior officer next to her, was also the tallest. He had dark skin and tightly curled hair. A recently chemigenerator-healed scar ran along his forehead. Aside from that he looked the healthiest of the lot. The worst was Damml, who was still encased in balloon-like calcium casts and restricted to bed. He hadn’t been able to join in the initial group hug, but his shouts of welcome back had been the loudest.

The others, Lieutenant Wirry, Gisha, and the youngest man, Sud, were in various states of discomfort, but none seemed the worse for wear. It was their clothes, in fact, that were in the sorriest shape: their Expeditionary Force uniforms were ripped from top to bottom. Serry’s had been in such bad condition that she had had to abandon it. The Epsilonians had given her a long white cloth robe in replacement.

Sud brought Serry a chair, and she sat down. Another was brought for the Floran, who politely declined. Its robes were so cumbersome, it likely wouldn’t have been able to fit anyway.

The Centauri crew gathered together and compared notes of their captivity. Their story, for the most part, was similar to Serry’s own. They had been brought to this large chamber with the five beds and adjoining lavatory. They had been served food by the giant Epsilonian males. They had only caught glimpses of the naked, red-skinned Epsilonian women, who were closer to their own height.

So far, no one had spoken to them.

“Ambassador,” Serry said finally. “We don’t know why we were attacked. We don’t know why we’re being held here. We don’t even know where here is.”

The Floran nodded. It spoke again in its peculiar sing-song intonation.

“The name. Of this. Planet is. Y.”

“Why?” Crewman Sud asked, and the Floran slowly shook its head. It traced out on a table the Centauran symbol for the capital letter ‘Y.’

“We whom. You know. As the. Florans. Have been. Visiting y. For some. Generations. We have. Ties of. Friendship here. From the. Time this. Planet was. Terra. Formed by. The brahma.”

“That’s nice,” Lieutenant Wirry butted in, “but what I’d like to know: What the hell attacked us?”

“Lieutenant,” Eben said in a low, threatening voice, but the ambassador, his face instantly assuming a cool soothing ivory-blue, lifted a hand to acknowledge the young officer’s question.

“Your vessel. Was attacked. By the. Brahma. Who once. Were the. Solarian. Drone slaves.”

Your vessel was attacked by the Brahma, who once were the Solarian drone-slaves, Serry translated. It always took her a second after the Floran said something. “Why did they attack us?” she asked. “Are these . . . Brahma allied with the Congress of Species?”

“That would. Be an. Incorrect. Assessment. The brahma. Attacked you. Because they. Were requested. To attack. You.”

Serry clenched a fist. “Who requested them?”

“The imperatrix. Of the. Yn matricharate. Purchased from. Brahma. Your demise. In the. Depths of. Our space,”

the Floran said with crazy-quilt equanimity. It sat there and waited for the questions to continue.

Going piecemeal like this was going nowhere. They needed to remember they were soldiers.

“Ambassador, start at the beginning again, please. Tell us what we need to know so we can protect ourselves, and we won’t interrupt you with questions.” Serry said this last part with emphasis, looking over her shoulder at Wirry and the others. It was hard enough to understand the Floran as it was.

Wirry gave her an irritated look but nodded.

The ambassador too nodded, then went on.

“There is. Much for. You to. Know to. Begin then. We are. In the. Western city. State of. Tolaam. And you. Are guests. Of the. Floran delegation. To tolaam. At least. For the. Time being.”

Serry sighed and mouthed a silent prayer, Thank You. They were finally getting somewhere. She didn’t particularly like that phrase, For the time being, though. It sounded as bad as, For the moment. “Please, continue,” she said.

“Do you. Know the. History of. The terraformers? The congress. Of species. In sol. Set up. A conglomerate. To do. Their work. In this. Regard. This group. Had much. Authority but. No freedom. In time. They became. The brahma. The god. Builders. The planet. Makers.”

Serry nodded. Centuries ago, the Solarian Empire created a race of androids called the Expansionists and sent these artificial lifeforms to the closest and most promising stars to terraform what planets they could and move on. The four habitable planets of Alpha Centauri and the three of Beta Centauri were among the first to be completed. Later, these and other worlds were settled by refugees and dissidents fleeing the Congress of Species, when that was still permitted. What had happened to the Expansionists no one knew. Most theorized they were still moving out there among the stars, slowly making room for humanity. Serry shuddered. “Androids,” she whispered to herself. “Drones.” She hated them all.

Serry felt a hand on her shoulder, comforting. She looked up. Eben nodded at her, understanding. She had told him what the Solarians had done to her years ago. No one else on the crew knew.

“The brahma. Now have. Their own. Agenda. Though they. Still contract. With the. Last worlds. They created. Among. Which is. The planet. Y.

“Your star. Ship was. Attacked by. A brahma. Vessel. That contracts. With the. Yn matricharate. The imperatrix. Of the. Matricharate claims. All that. Is not. Held by. The male. Dominated. Cites. Like tolaam. Or which. Has not. Been claimed. By ourselves. Or the. Brahma. The imperatrix. Did not. Know your. Ship was. Coming. She would. Not have. Cared you. Were a. Target. Of opportunity.”

“Gods damn,” Lieutenant Wirry whispered, clearly furious.

“You knew who we were,” Serry said, angry herself. “You must have recognized us. We came to see you! We sent signals! Why did you let these . . Brahma attack us?”

“We florans. Deeply. Regret the. Loss of. Your star. Ship but. The tragic. Truth of. The matter. Is that. We do. Not interfere. With the. Brahma. And the. Brahma. Do not. Interfere. With us.”

“I’m going to murder someone at Force Command,” Larr Wirry suddenly said, striking his palm against his chair. The Floran ambassador jumped at the sudden loud noise, as did Serry and everyone else.

“They sent us here without knowing a godsdamn thing!”

“At ease,” Serry ordered him, and Wirry gave his commander such a violent look she raised a questioning eyebrow. He was literally shaking his hands at her in his fury.

“What’s done is done,” Eben said, with finality. “Let’s move on, Lieutenant.” He stared at him until Wirry looked away, then turned once more to the Floran. “Ambassador?”

The Floran’s face had turned green at Wirry’s outburst. It shifted into a green and white checkerboard pattern for a second, returned white, then resumed its lecture.

“Once your. Ship was. Detected. The imperatrix. Ordered it. Destroyed. So it. Was destroyed. But we. Did recognize. Who you. Were so. That is. Why a. Second. Vessel. Was sent. Commissioned. By us. To rescue. As many. Survivors. As possible.”

Serry stood up hurriedly.

“There are other survivors from the Independence on this planet? Where are they? What’s happened to them?”

“That would. Be a. Correct. Assessment. Some were. Taken. Aboard the. Golden ship. And delivered. To the. Imperatrix. Others were. Taken. Aboard. The silver. Ship and. Brought to. The west. Where they. Could make. New lives. For them. Selves in. Their new. And altered. Forms.”

“Altered . . forms?” Eben demanded, also now standing beside Serry. The atmosphere grew even more tense. If it noticed the change, the Floran didn’t show it this time. It didn’t even change color.

It said:

“As you. Undoubtedly. Noticed. The brahma. Vessels. Are not. Vessels. In the. Ordinary. Sense the. Brahma. Are not. Ordinary. Creatures. They are. Composite. Entities. Made up. Of Chemi. Processors. Plastioids. And micro. Sized machines. Humans. Cannot. Survive. On board. A brahma. Vessel. So many. Of your. Fine crew. Died physically. But their. Organic. Matter. Was preserved. And then. Recreated. As life. Forms that. Could survive. On y.

“They were. Turned into. Yn.

“I am. Sorry. If this. Upsets. You.”

“Allah, Jesus, Jehovah,” Crewman Gisha softly exclaimed. He closed his eyes and began praying.

Serry sat down again. She felt stunned. She felt violated. What had been done to her crewmates was too close to what the Solarians had done to her a long time ago. She shivered involuntarily.

“It is. The fact. Of their. Transfor. Mation. That currently. Endangers your. Lives on. Y.”

“Explain,” Serry said through clenched teeth. Eben Halc sat down again beside Serry and put an arm around her. It wasn’t exactly strict military protocol, but at that moment she wasn’t complaining.

“You are. Currently. Protected. By a. Legal. Fiction.

“Understand. The yn. Of the. West are. Male dominated. And divided. Into. City states. The yn. Of the. East are. Female. Dominated. And ruled. By the. Imperatrix. Both may. Call on. The brahma. To serve.”

Serry struggled to interpret the Floran’s words. There were two Epsilonian—Yn—peoples on this planet. One was male-dominated and divided. The other was female-dominated and united. “And the . . the ruler of the East, this . . Imperatrix of the Yn Matricharate . . . she ordered our destruction?”

“That would. Be a. Correct. Assessment,”

the Floran said.

“Despite. Antagonism. It is. Sometimes. Necessary. For the. Sides to. Communicate. That is. Where we. Florans. Come in. We deal. With both. Sides when. You crashed. In tolaam. Territory. The floran. Delegate. Claimed you. As florans.

“For your. Safety. We made. This claim. The yn. Still honor. Us but. The fact. That some. Of you. Have had. Their bodies. Remade. By the. Brahma. To yn. Has set. An alarming. Precedent.”

The ambassador looked significantly at Serry as it said this. The commander bit her lower lip unconsciously.

“The Rexes. The city. Leaders are. Debating. Whether. Or not. The rest. Of you. Should also. Stop being. Human. And become. Yn.”

No one said anything for a moment. It was Serry who finally broke the silence.

“Let me see if I understand you. Right now, the rulers of this city consider us to be unofficial Florans.”

The ambassador affirmed that this was so.

“But they may end up deciding we’re not, and if that happens, they will . . .” She had trouble saying it. “They will transform us into Yn, like them.”

Again, the Floran ambassador agreed with the commander’s assessment.

“What will happen then, exactly?” Serry asked. She felt very cold inside. She already knew.

“You will. Be taken. From our. Custody. The brahma. Will be. Contacted. The brahma. Will genetically. Resequence. You as. Yn.

“As males. The rest. Of your. Crew will. Be seen. As warriors. They may. Be challenged. To duels. They may. Be put. Into a. Forced labor. Camp they. May be. Released and. Made citizens. Of tolaam. Several. Things could. Happen.”

The Floran ambassador turned to look directly at Serry. Its face once again began to sweep with color.

“Unfortunately. The yn. Would see. You in. Only one. Possible role.”

Serry closed her eyes. Despite the Floran’s patchwork phrasing, what he said next came with the solemnity of a death sentence.

“You would. Be made. A yn. Sex slave. My dear.”

. . . to be continued