The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Alienne”

by ”URN My Power

“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you.” said the rotund mountain of flesh behind the desk as Marshall’s fingers had begun to inch toward the handle of the metal briefcase containing his payment for the 250 MB ZIP disk in the other’s hand, and the computer viruses contained thereon—one a worm which would spread to every bank in the world and truncate all penny-fractions from interest calculations, sending those fractions of pennies to a protected account; the second being a worm which would cause interest to be calculated daily instead of quarterly; and the others being mere “bodyguard” viruses designed to protect the worms from attack by antivirus and user machinations before the March 25th deadline. The man-mountain, an organized (to the point of being obsessive-compulsive) criminal by the name of Hansel Strauss, could recognize the function of code when he saw it, although he had no gift for programming himself. Marshall had inserted a function in each of his viruses which would cause the stolen money to be used to pay off back taxes for Americans who owed the IRS money, unless they received a cancel code which would be assigned to them upon upload by a program he had already placed on the Internet—a failsafe in case the criminal decided not to pay. Strauss was wondering aloud whether he should let Marshall continue in a mistrustful existence, thus prompting Marshall’s slow, almost imperceptible move toward the money.

“Excuse?” Marshall asked.

“I said I wouldn’t touch that if I were you.” Strauss replied.

“Yeah?” Marshall asked, feeling a touch of panic wash over him. Some psychological defense mechanism kicked in, causing him to laugh. “Well if you were me, than I’d be you, and then I’d own the briefcase! You can’t stop me no matter WHO you are!” He laughed again, snatching the briefcase and rushing out the door amid the sounds of magnum fire.

“After him, you idiots!” Strauss shouted loudly enough for Marshall to hear it over the pounding of his feet, his loud breathing, and the blood roaring in his ears. He burst out the lobby door and ran across the street, much to the fury of those in traffic. He kept running until even the adrenaline of abject terror failed to energize his abused legs. He staggered, his momentum carrying him a few feet further although his spasming legs no longer resisted the pull of gravity. He only just managed to turn his head to the side before he would have become Marshall Mushface, although consciousness did not fare very well when pitted against concrete and momentum.

He awoke in an antiseptically clean room, aware that his legs no longer hurt. Strangely, he found he was not lying down, at least in the traditional sense of the word. Four females, standing about six feet in height, walked about before him while he clung to the wall like a static-charged balloon. He found he couldn’t lift his hand, but he could slide it along the surface, so it plainly wasn’t shackled. Turning his eyes to the side, he saw others similarly adhered. Just beyond them was his suitcase full of money. Fat lot of good it would do him when he was getting an anal probe or whatever, he thought.

* * *

The comm unit beeped. A slender hand rose from the helm to activate the screen. The face on that screen was that of a crustacean race known for succinctness. The being’s eyes blinked on their stalks.

“We have a job for an agent of your caliber.” it said. “Prisoner 9ad35f has escaped custody and is recruiting an army from an overpopulated backwater planet through the use of illegal mind-control, most likely hoping to regain her throne in Galaxy 9. Your ship is closest to the planet. Coordinates have been transmitted to your computer. Orders are to recapture.”

“Understood.” the pilot acknowledged, turning off visual. She brought her ship about on the new heading and entered the coded sequence to enable the Singularity Jump.

* * *

A regal-looking woman strode into the room, her six-inch heels making her stand over the rest of the women. Like them, she would be six feet tall were she standing barefooted. Like them, she was well-muscled without detracting from her beauty. Like them, she wore an armored chestpiece over her revealing, leatherlike catsuit, shelving her breasts as if to taunt those who beheld them with the knowledge that they would never know the supple softness displayed so enticingly before them. Unlike the rest, she wore a long, flowing cape that hid her most likely delectible ass, and a glistening, jeweled crown.

No need to ask who’s in charge here, Marshall thought.

“Is this the latest batch?” the woman asked.

“Yes, Your Majesty.” one of the technicians said. The leader picked something up off a tray and strode over to the man on the far wall, first of twelve, apparently. The device was touched to the man’s forehead and there was a humming sound.

“Lower the restraining field.” the woman commanded the technicians. They complied, and the man slid down the wall. “Now, slave, to the center of the room, and disrobe.” she commanded. The man moved in blank-faced obedience. The leader’s back was to him as she began to examine her first victim. “No, no, no.” she said after a few minutes. “This will never do. He hasn’t the endurance to make a halfway decent minion.” She looked directly in his eyes. “Walk into that room over there.” she said, pointing to a door which opened for the man. He obeyed, and the door was closed. A monitor lowered itself from the ceiling as doors on the other side of the room the man was in opened on stars, and he was blown out into space. The other men gulped nervously. “Close the bay door and re-pressurize the airlock.” the leader said, striding purposefully to the next man in line. Nervously, Marshall inched his arm to the left. He managed to shift his butt next, followed by his leg. Inch by extruciating inch, he shifted to the side, hoping to encounter the outer edge of the restraining field and escape its hold on him.

* * *

Two Singularity Jumps had brought the agent to the system indicated on her navigation chart. She recognized the ship berthed in a visual-stealth field above one of the major continents. Her sister had designed that ship herself, before using it to usurp their father’s throne. Now the agent would finally restore honor to the Royal Family, even though Galaxy 9 was now a democracy. She had lived in shame too long to let her family meet a sullied end. She engaged stealth mode as she passed the ninth planet.

* * *

The pressure-sensitive wall panel emitted a chirruping alarm as it suddenly registered no input from its occupant. The Queen and the technicians turned in surprise, seeing only a white rectangle glowing whiter as it attempted to re-acquire its prisoner by extending its attraction field.

“Turn it off!” the Queen snapped, and the technicians obeyed, though the panel did have time to pull some tools from the nearby console to its surface. The Queen tapped a button on her chestpiece. “Attention all hands, search the ship! I want that escaped prisoner found!”

Marshall ducked into the first door he found which didn’t look like an airlock. He heard footsteps coming, but there was no place to hide in the janitor’s closet.

“Wonderful.” he muttered to himself before he realized the narrowness of the passage...

The door hissed open, and the closet was searched, finding no trace of the prisoner. The searchers moved on. Marshall allowed himself to slide down the walls he’d climbed.

“Eat my dust, Spider-Man.” he whispered to himself, flattening himself against the door panel to listen for more footfalls. He opened the door, peering around until he felt the coast was clear, then crept out of his hiding place to find another already searched. He found himself in a room about the size of his last apartment, and the bed, desk and chairs indicated its function. The entry here was narrow enough for him to climb as well, and climb he did when he again heard footsteps in the corridor. The Queen strode in, holding her head in the manner of the stressed. Wonderful, he thought to himself, I would pick Her Majesty’s bedroom to hide in. She set her crown and something else on the nightstand, and flopped backwards onto her bed, eyes squeezed shut against the light.

“Computer, discontinue illumination.” she said, and the lights went out. Marshall had the theme-song from the Spider-Man cartoon stuck in his head as he slowly and carefully snuck down from his perch. Earworms could wait, he had to get out of here. Then he recognized the device lying in the reflected Earthlight on the nightstand. Creeping quietly in the semidark, he wrapped his hands around the handle, still warm from the Queen’s touch. He touched the device to the Queen’s forehead and pressed the button he’d seen her press. Her eyes snapped open, but in the Earthlight they were without expression.

“Turn on the lights.” he whispered.

“Computer,” she said without inflection, “illuminate.” The lights obediently came on.

“Now quietly lock the door.” Marshall said, stroking his raging hard-on.

“Computer, initiate privacy lock, authorization...” a string of nonsensical syllables streamed from her mouth, though her voice was lowered so that the microphones in the room could barely hear her.

“Now, how do I work this thing?” he asked, worried about the three different buttons, the topmost of which he had pressed.

“By pressing the device to the forehead of the intended victim and pressing one of the three buttons.” the Queen replied, again without inflection.

“What does each button do?” Marshall asked, impatient. In her current state, she was like a computer, he realized. He had to ask the right questions for the result he wanted.

“The topmost button initiates a state of helplessness in the subject for a period of one hour.” the Queen said. “The subject can only obey commands given or answer questions asked.”

“Next?”

“The second button is for memory erasure.” the Queen replied. “Episodic personal memory is erased by temporal units demarked by beeps of varying frequencies.”

“Next?”

“The bottom button causes the subject to accept everything which is said to them while it is depressed, without question. The statement becomes part of their nature, their core self.” the Queen stated.

“What is your name?” Marshall asked, stroking himself. A string of nonsensical syllables issued forth from the Queen’s mouth, followed by the title of “Fugitive former Queen of Galaxy 9.” That would never do. He pressed the bottom button. The Queen jerked once, her eyes rolled back in her head. “From now on your name is Alienne. You are my slave. I am your master. My will is all will. My desire all desire. You exist to serve and please me. My pleasure is your pleasure, my life is of paramount importance to you, above and beyond your own.” He released the button, and Alienne flopped back into the bed, eyes closed. Marshall sat in one of the chairs, stroking himself through his blue jeans. Alienne opened her eyes, but they remained without expression. Either the rather sloppy bit of programming he’d just done didn’t leave her any room for free will, or she was still under the helplessness effects of the top button. Well, there was one way to find out...

* * *

Sneaking up on an inner planet of a wide, nine-planet solar system such as this one was always tedious, especially when one was imagining what horrors might be visited upon the helpless pre-lightspeed civilization living on the planet orbited by the Royal Spaceyaught. By the time she passed the sixth planet from the sun, she was growing impatient. To fill time she activated a passive scan of the system.

“By the stars!” she gasped to herself. “Such a wide variety of ecosystems, all on one planet! Ocean, forest, desert, tundra, ice caps...we’d heard that the B’narli had studied such a world, but we thought it was boasting...They certainly hadn’t been forthcoming with coordinates...”

She allowed herself to speculate on what a more active scan would reveal, but restrained herself to mere speculation. Such activity would certainly give away her position. All too soon, she encountered the asteroid belt between the orbits of the fourth and fifth planets. She had to concentrate on avoiding the flying chunks of debris—a system’s ransom in ores just floating about. If she were of a mind to, she could leverage herself into the mining business and retire. She scolded herself. She had a job to do, and here she was sightseeing in a backwater pre-lightspeed system. A Princess should have better sense.

* * *

Once the brainlock wore off, Alienne proved herself to be fully in Marshall’s power. Her eagerness to please was something no one he’d ever met could possibly duplicate. Well, unless he used the mind-control device on her.

A chime woke him, and he panicked as he realized it was his enslaved Queen’s doorbell. He hid himself in the closet and told Alienne to act as she previously would have and pretend he wasn’t there, in such a way as to not arouse suspicion. He listened as some subbie reported that the escaped prisonar—Marshall—had not been located, and Alienne, in her role as her former, royal-bitch self, administered a suitable tirade. There were sounds of fear and supplication, cut off by a humming sound.

“Step inside.” Alienne commanded. The door hissed closed. Alienne appeared at the closet door and indicated that it was safe to emerge. A woman who could be mistaken for Asian if it weren’t for the fact that she stood approximately 5′10″ and had mid-back length cobalt-blue hair stood in the center of the room, her face showing the same lack of mental presence that Alienne had shown. “She knows nothing except what she is told, Master.” Alienne said. “I was unsure how you would feel if I were to simply kill her, but she is no longer a threat.”

“You did well.” Marshall assured her, caressing her face. The joy that crossed that face was such that Marshall would trade his whole suitcase full of money to see it again—though he realized he didn’t have to. He asked the helpless subordinate her name, and received a string of nonsense as her reply. He relieved Alienne of her device and placed it on the girl’s forehead. He gave her the same speech he’d given Alienne, but changed her name to Cobalt. He had Alienne lock the door, and they waited for the helplessness to wear off. Once Cobalt’s new mind was working, he asked Alienne how many more of these devices were on board.

“There are four individual units, and the Recruitment Theater.” Alienne replied.

“Is that how you program your human ‘recruits?’” Marshall asked.

“Yes, I also make my speeches there, and public executions for the crew, and stage trials by combat, and...”

“Okay, I get the idea.” Marshall said. “It can accomodate the whole crew, then?”

“Yes, Master.” Alienne responded.

“And change them just like Cobalt here.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Any chance you could get them all into the Recruitment Theater without arousing their suspicions?”

“I have a few ideas, Master.” Alienne said.

* * *

The agent limited herself to a gravity-deflection course, so that her drive signature wouldn’t show up on the enemy ship’s sensors. Currently, she was using the gravity of the third planet’s moon to slingshot herself toward the cloaked cruiser. At this range, her passive scan could intercept shipwide intercom transmissions from the ship.

“Attention all crew and personnel!” the Queen’s voice declared. “The escaped Earthling has been captured. You are all ordered to the Recruitment Theater so that you may witness what happens to those who defy me. Repeat, ALL crew and personnel!”

Damn, the agent thought. It was probably too late, but nevertheless, she had never been one for being late. The autoguns would be programmed to detect and fire upon any object, but a drive signature with no mass-reading attached would not register as an object. She hit the throttle and the ship lurched forward at four G accelleration. A photon torpedo breached the hull of the shuttle bay, and she powered inside, stopping just millimeters from the inside wall. The force field kept most of the air inside, as it was programmed to. The agent dove into one of the ventillation shafts, knowing that the corridor would probably still be swarming with her sister’s loyal agents.

* * *

Alienne ordered the battle drones to take care of the intruder. She needed each and every hand in the Recruitment Theater. There was only one person in the explored universe who would be sent to recapture her. If she was right, her Master would get a nice bonus. As soon as Cobalt had seen everyone to their seats, leaving one front-row seat open, Alienne slapped the control for the shackles.

Laser fire sounded from the theater entrance, breaking the closed, but unlocked, shackles which appeared to bind Master to an inclined table. He slid down and hid behind the table. Alienne raised a blast-shield around her control panel.

“Your mind-control plot ends now, sister!” declared a blonde beauty from the entrance. She strode as regally as any princess had a right to, and ascended the stage, firing four times on the shield. Master sprang from hiding with a heavy object in his hand. Alienne watched as her sister whirled, only to be sent sprawling by him.

“Give credit where it’s due, sweet cheeks.” he said. “This is MY idea. Now, Alienne, find her a chair. She’s going to want to see this.” Alienne lowered the blast shield and picked her dazed sister up in her arms and planted her in the empty front-row seat. Master strode over and unzipped the front of her Galactic Agent uniform.

“I look forward to serving with you, dear sister.” Alienne said. She returned to the panel and activated the Recruitment Theater’s neural matrix. All present widened their eyes as their resistence was melted under the machines’ onslaught. Master ascended the stage and began to speak into the amplification unit.

* * *

In his human guise, Agent Kibrr checked the wrist-mounted scanner again. The remains of the Queen’s vessel should be somewhere around here, he surmised. There was no evidence of a crash. There was only a local eating establishment. His scanner said the power eminations were coming from beneath. He quelled his nausea. The humans were among those races that liked to eat dead things. Sometimes he pitied them. They never got the satisfaction of feeling their prey squirm in futility as powerful throat muscles pulled it down to their stomachs. He opened the little metal door, and immediately beheld a very familiar face—a former princess and former Galactic Agent. She was alive? Yes, apparently she was, and so was something else if the bulge in her midsection was not to be mistaken.

“May I help you, sir?” a cheerful voice asked. Kibrr’s head automatically turned to face the one who had spoken—and he nearly defecated on himself in shock. It was the Queen, or a dead-on lookalike. A very, very pregnant lookalike, judging from her swollen middle. She was obviously very close to term, and carrying twins at least. There was nothing in her eyes or expression that said that this woman was capable of ruling a planet, a galaxy, or even herself. He spoke her name questioningly. “I’m sorry?” she asked, inclining her head uncomprehendingly.

“The deposed Queen of Galaxy 9.” he whispered. She only furrowed her brow, then turned to the former Galactic Agent, who was taking some human’s order.

“Hey, Astra, this guy here’s asking about some Queen and galaxies and stuff.”

“Don’t know about any Queen, except on the jukebox.” the woman called Astra said. “Take him to see the boss, Alienne.”

Alienne turned to Kibrr. “Come on, we’ll talk to the manager, okay?” She grabbed him by the hand before he could protest. There was a hint of her old strength there, but she had softened considerably since contact was lost with Agent 4ff6ed, who apparently was going by the name Astra. “Alienne” was practically bouncing with glee. Apparently the prospect of seeing “the manager” thrilled her. At the entrance to the medium-sized office, she released Kibrr’s hand and knelt at the side of a human dressed in the manner of those who are well-off. A female with cobalt-blue hair withdrew herself from his genitalia, and the former Queen attacked, deep-kissing apparently in an effort to glean some of this human’s seed from the other female’s mouth.

“Nowhere in all my years have I ever seen such behavior.” he muttered to himself.

“The girls are under instructions to bring people here who ask about star agents or galaxy queens.” the human said, putting away his sexual equipment. When he was properly situated, he rose and cleansed his hands at a sanitary facility nearby. Only when his hands were dry did he extend one to Kibrr. “If you’re worried about Queen What’s-Her-Name taking over this or any other world, relax.” He pressed a device into Kibrr’s hand. “I assure you, sir, that that woman no longer exists.” Kibrr looked at the device and failed to repress a shudder. These things had been outlawed in a thousand systems.

“What of the ships?” Kibrr asked.

“Reconfigured into a nifty little subterranean housing development.” the human replied. Kibrr looked at the two pregnant women happily sharing the human’s seed in their mouths, and knew that though the body had once been Prisoner 9ad35f, the mind was that of a completely different person. He handed the device back.

“Sorry to have troubled you.” Kibrr said. “It is clear to me that the deposed Queen of Galaxy 9, and the threat she posed, no longer exists. I don’t think I’ll need to bring her, um, remains, with me.”

“I’d appreciate it if you’d discourage expeditions to retrieve those...’remains.’” the human said. “I’ve grown rather attached to them.” He turned to his two pets. “Girls, you do have a shift to finish, don’t forget.”

“Sorry, Master.” the two responded simultaneously, touching up their makeup and departing hastily. Kibrr strode out of the office, with the manager close behind.

“I have a V.I.P. room downstairs if you’d like some ‘specialty food.’” the manager said.

“No, thank you, I really must be getting back to the Council.” Kibrr replied.

“Hey, Fatass!” the manager called.

“Yeah, Boss?” asked a sweaty mountain of flesh.

“The health inspector’s coming this afternoon, so no slip-ups, capiche?”

“Yes, sir!” the man-mountain said.

“A little bit of vengeance.” the manager explained as he walked Kibrr to his ground-conveyance. “I used to work for him, practically at gunpoint, but that’s the way it used to be.”

“I understand.” Kibrr responded. “I would probably do the same thing myself in your position. May you live long and prosper, good sir.” The human raised one hand, fingers splayed in two pairs, thumb extended.

“You too.” he replied as Kibrr closed the door. He drove the conveyance back to his ship, and began to chuckle. What a fate for a former queen! Waiting tables and bearing children! The chuckle became a laugh, which threatened to blind him with tears and send him careening off the beaten path. He was still laughing as he parked the conveyance beside his cloaked vehicle, hidden behind a “Welcome to Roswell” billboard.

“How the mighty have fallen.” he sighed, climbing out of one vehicle and shuffling happily to the other. Another conveyance rattled the gravel and parked next to his own, and the former Queen pulled herself from it with difficulty. She withdrew a box from the back seat and hobbled to the ramp.

“Master says I should give you this.” she said. “Now I have to get back to work.” She returned to her conveyance and turned its nose back the way she’d come. Kibrr carried the package to his ship and initiated the preflight sequence. Once he was safely past the asteroid belt, he set the autopilot and opened the package. He startled as something burst from within, but it was only a foolish, smiling head on a spring, with spongy arms holding some flippant banner. He laughed at his own foolishness for being frightened by such a decoy, before he noticed that the inside was not as deep as the outside. Removing the false bottom, he discovered an Agent’s uniform with “Astra’s” old identification number, as well as the ornate costume of the former queen. He returned the false bottom to its place and put everything back as it had been. He could blame it on the human if the Council didn’t like the joke, but the uniforms would be a clear message to them. He laughed again as he pictured the surprise on their faces when they opened the box, then rose from his chair and began to remove his disguise.

End.