The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

1.

It wanted her. Now. The Thing with Karen’s face.

Amy came awake quickly to the sound of the tone, trying to get her thoughts together before they hummed away in the droning of the alien ship’s ventilation system, and realized the cabin was otherwise silent.

She’d only dreamed it. But sleep was gone, and she pushed over the lid of the horizontal sleeptube, looking around the darkened storage room in the lower part of the ship where she was kept.

It had brainwashed Amy and her friend Joanne after It . . . took . . . them from the isolated house they’d shared. It had let them know that, as though aware of how it would debase them. But even knowing what it had done to her head, the tone made Amy excited to do what the Thing told her to. She felt a shameful disappointment that It didn’t want to use her now.

As the Thing had trained her to do, she looked first down at the end of the sleeptube, where the computer sat on a cargo box, but there were no commands for her on the screen, just the starfield drifting by. She blinked, wondering—as she always did before her head cleared—if it was the screensaver or if the monitor was really showing her . . . outside.

It was her own laptop, one of the only Earthly things she still had around her, hooked into the vastly more powerful machines the Thing used. Amy knew her mind, even without being controlled, was too primitive to use the alien system, and when It took her It had taken her human machine as an easy way to communicate with her.

Amy sat up in her sleeptube and glanced over at the other tube with its laptop, but Joanne was gone. The Thing with Karen’s face must already have summoned her. Joanne’s screen showed a starfield, too.

Maybe that was what she’d heard. Joanne’s tone.

She shuddered. The brainwashing was to make her obey, not to help her feel

right about it. Not even her dreams were safe anymore. The beeping that the Thing used to call her had a way of blotting out everything else, capturing her attention and filling her with the need to find the Thing and serve It. Now she was learning to serve and obey It as she slept.

It could hypnotize her anywhere. Even in her own head.

She looked at the laptop. Once or twice, early on, she’d had a pathetic little fantasy of using it to call for help. But she had no idea how to make it do much of anything, anymore. It was hard to remember. She thought that she’d been very skillful with the computer, long ago, that she might even have had a . . . job doing that . . .

Amy closed her eyes, unable to dodge the larger problem. The millions—billions and billions?—of miles between her and the nearest computer to get her SOS. Between her and the nearest human being. Not creatures from—she shied away from where that led, remembering to be grateful that the Thing that had her and Joanne wore Karen’s face instead of . . . Its own.

With no way to tell how time had passed, Amy didn’t know when she’d stopped crying for whatever had happened to the real Karen, or when she’d started to envy their third housemate for being forever out of Its reach now. Somehow Karen had died—or worse—trying to save her friends, and Amy tried to let her fuzzy memory blot out the guilt.

God, where was Joanne? What was It doing with her?

Or making her do?

Please. Don’t let Joanne try to disobey it again.

Trying to resist or disobey the Thing was . . .

SPECIMEN

The stars were gone. Flickering letters glowed green on black. Amy stiffened.

YOUR THOUGHTS ARE WRONG

Amy fought panic, knowing what the Thing that looked like Karen would do if she flipped out. It was so easy to forget.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her human voice sounding high and weak against the strange pale walls. She kept her hand from reaching uselessly to the pain collar while it was still dormant.

THINK CORRECTLY

“Yes, Mistress!” Amy tried to put feeling into it. Wearing Karen, It sometimes pretended It was female.

She knew what to do. Kneeling upright in the narrow tube, staring at the screen in case of new commands, she reached down and started to stroke herself.

Humans are stupid, It had told her. Humans are hardly worth enslaving. But they are easy to train and control.

The pleasure was already filling her, and she let herself start to moan.

OBEY

“I love to obey,” she recited, “I live to obey, I want to obey . . .” Her voice grew ragged as she dampened and her fingers strummed her faster.

OBEY

It started to blink, and soon she found her panting matched its beat. She paced herself automatically, knowing not to climax before It wanted her to, and kept saying the words.

She could vaguely remember finding them in her mind the first time the screen had commanded RECITE. She’d whispered them, mortified to say anything like that aloud and scared at how aroused just the thought of obedience made her.

The blinking changed to a spiral and she kept staring. She couldn’t help it. And she welcomed the peace it would bring to let it hypnotize her.

“Yes, Mistress,” she whispered. “Yours, Mistress.”

2.

Sex time.

The summoning pulsed in her mind. Amy started to breathe faster as she walked endlessly through the cool, strange corridors of the ship. She was lost, and only the programming deep in her mind was telling her where to go.

The brainwashing kept her memory dim, and she’d given up trying to remember her way around from the last time she was compelled to go somewhere in the ship to do the Thing’s bidding. Each task was a new adventure in frightening disorientation.

She was in a dark hallway, and though the walls were dully-gleaming metal, there was no echo. It sucked down the sound of her panting, and she felt that even if she hadn’t been naked and barefoot, she’d be making no noise. It was so . . . wrong. Metal walls didn’t do that, not in any sane place. And they were canted out of true, in a way her eyes—or her brain—couldn’t quite get purchase on.

The promise of warmth and pleasure at sex time was fading like an old silly dream in the oppressive strangeness. She wanted to be back in her little tube. As the fear started to constrict her chest, Amy closed her eyes and opened them, and something happened that had been happening a lot lately.

She started to hallucinate.

Her mind refused to see and hear the wrongness of the spaceship’s reality and showed her . . . the first-floor hallway of the old country house she’d been abducted from.

Oh no. I’m going crazy.

What will the Thing do with me if I’m crazy?

But it helped. Walking through the illusion of her old home made her feel safer.

Amy remembered that the Thing could monitor her simpler human mind. It must know she was slipping over this edge into hallucination. Maybe she did it every time, and it was erasing that with the rest of her prior trips out of storage. She wondered if it was hypnotizing Joanne to forget, too. They never had a chance to talk, to compare notes. To practice thinking.

Maybe the hallucination was part of the brainwashing, to keep her tranquilized. The Thing probably just wanted to make sure she didn’t go catatonic, or panic and damage some really valuable equipment or cargo.

Amy prayed she didn’t grab what she thought was a doorknob and open an airlock or something.

Sex time.

It meant she’d be seeing Joanne, at least. They rarely did much together, and it was almost lonelier than if she’d been completely alone. Amy closed her eyes then. She hoped, at least, that sex time would be with Joanne, even though in her old lost life on Earth she hadn’t been a lesbian. But Joanne was pretty and smooth and warm, and she was a human being, and she was here, and Amy was learning to get off very easily with her.

Every so often, the Thing made her have sex with . . . other partners.

Her thoughts were blank but her body remembered—worms?

Amy’s mind stopped itself. She was grateful now for the way the brainwashing made her forget. Her mind was too tangled to wonder where they came from, if they were other slaves, or passengers, or crew, or what.

But she was starting to remember orgasms with them, and it was making her feel very strange.

She stepped into a bright, bright place and stopped, awaiting command.

It felt like the old downstairs bedroom. She didn’t know what it really was, and the illusion was spoiled by the lights, glaring from near the walls on spidery black mountings. Maybe this was like the sunlight on Its homeworld or something.

Joanne knelt by the mattress in the middle of the floor, hands by her sides, staring emptily at . . .

Amy noticed the little twisted Shape of metal that floated and turned slowly in the air before Joanne’s glazed eyes. Before she could even think, it captured her mind as it had already snared Joanne’s.

Amy’s body felt heavier and her eyes drooped in the glare, and she turned to walk to the mattress opposite her fellow slave, sinking to her knees. She saw her friend kneeling limply, but her focus kept shifting to the Shape that was turning her thoughts off.

Then in her mind, and in Joanne’s, It spoke.

SPECIMENS.

YOU WILL MATE.

YOU WILL USE THE IMPLEMENTS.

Quiet noises, ugly and compelling, began to trigger them both, and Amy shrugged as the urges popped into her head and her pussy. The vision of Joanne’s breasts suddenly obsessed her, and as she felt an itching between her asscheeks, she knew Joanne’s mind was filling with the taste of her back hole.

Amy didn’t know why part of her mind still worked during sex time. It wasn’t just the conditioning. A mocking memory in Karen’s hijacked voice told her this was part of the conditioning, how prolific slave species like humans were handled: induced homosexuality kept them from off-schedule breeding.

Maybe somewhere else in the ship there were male humans they weren’t supposed to mate with.

Guys. Other people. It was that idea, when she was awake again, that would make Amy cry. The Shape was gone and Joanne was kissing her, and the ugly noises shifted to a rhythmic thumping that actually sounded like some kind of techno music. Like the noises, but more pleasantly, the music got into their heads, and the weird undertone controlled the girls as they flowed together.

Amy could remember the first few times, when she’d been groggily uncomfortable fucking in the open, in the glare, with the feeling of being watched. But she’d grown to like it, and she was losing the shame she’d felt when she realized it meant she was the rutting animal the brainwashing told her she was.

It was getting easier to . . .

“Amy.” Joanne’s panting warped into her name. Maybe Joanne was learning to like her new swing, too.

Amy moaned, riding Joanne’s hand between her legs and bending down to seek Joanne’s breast and obey the impulse It had put in her mind with the Shape.

“Amy!”

She looked up, and saw something strange in Joanne’s eyes as they looked down at her between their bodies.

Awareness.

She was too aroused and dulled to answer, but she blinked once and stared back at Joanne, trying to cooperate and still keep fucking.

Joanne smiled. The sheer normality of it hit Amy with homesickness like a touch of ice on her throat and she lost the rhythm. Joanne lost the smile and looked almost irritated, and used Amy’s fade to lean down and attack her throat with her teeth and lips and tongue. She hissed into Amy’s ear as she assaulted it.

“Amy! Get it together! . . . Need you thinking, girl! . . .This is fucked . . . something . . .”

Amy shook dizzily and weakly grasped at Joanne as the biting and the rasp of her whisper drove her into a sharper need.

“It’s Karen—she . . . she’s . . .”

Amy gasped, but it was Joanne’s thigh as she kept riding Amy hard, so the Thing would think they were just lost in the sex, not

thinking incorrectly

“Nnnoooo . . .” Amy moaned. She hoped the Thing would only take it as sexual anguish, but that Joanne would sense her fear and just shut up about whatever she was spewing about before It turned on the pain collars.

Something about Karen . . .

Thinking about Karen during sex made Amy think of the times when the Thing Itself used her, when she stared into Its stolen woman’s eyes as it made her come, as she made It come.

She yelped as Joanne pinched her but then, having brought her back from the reverie, reached for one of the toys that it made them use, and she settled back.

Their eyes met, and Amy was able to fool herself for a moment that they looked like lovers in passion, not two friends getting pissed off at each other’s inability to fucking get it. Her head was spinning with sex and need and alien hypnosis and the fear that Joanne was going to get them in trouble.

She realized she didn’t want to know what Joanne was on about.

When Joanne leaned back, she reached down and slid her hand into Joanne’s pussy, sliding in on the other girl’s own slickness and watching Joanne’s eyes widen and then roll back.

Yes. This would please Mistress and it would keep Amy out of trouble. Fear and desire gave Amy strength, and she pushed Joanne over, frigging her and then taking the dildo she’d taken, finding her ass by feel as Joanne waved her arms, lost in what Amy was doing.

When Amy kissed her Joanne moaned into her mouth. It was a defeated sound.

Amy moved to her neck, knowing it was all right. Joanne wasn’t going to misbehave.

When the Shape came back and they orgasmed on command, what was left of Amy ‘s mind knew she’d earned it.

3.

Amy scrubbed the inside of the enclosure. The hallucinations were back and her poor bent brain was making her think she was cleaning a darkened, nightmarish version of a human bathroom, the one they’d had in the house.

The house It had taken them from. Her eyes stung and she hoped it was just the cleanser.

Her nose wrinkled in the ammonia smell and she looked at the rubber gloves that were the only thing she wore but the collar. She closed her eyes and scrubbed harder. She hoped it was the smell of the cleanser It made her use, because sometimes she wondered if the scents and sounds she sometimes experienced in her chores around the Thing’s spaceship were Its reality leaking through her hypnotic buffer. Leakage from Its terrifying deadly world, the one she really lived in now.

Half-remembered SF reading made her wonder whether the ammonia was incompletely-cleansed life support, if what seemed like her old bathroom was really a holding chamber for something the Thing planned to carry away from another planet with a methane-ammonia atmosphere.

Was It really only letting her wear gloves in this toxic place? Maybe the gloves were just a hypnotic symbol for even stranger protection. It must care if she died . . .

She saw It smile with Karen’s mouth as It told her, the first time, to clean the “bathroom.” She remembered crying, because it had been the bathroom that she remembered arguing with Karen about, the real Karen, before the abduction and everything else. She’d yelled at Karen for not wanting to clean it, for doing it badly when Amy and Joanne had finally browbeaten her into doing it.

Then on a night too terrible to remember even in nightmares the alien had come, and done something awful to Karen when she tried to protect them, and now Amy could never, ever tell the other girl how sorry she was.

It laughed with Karen’s laugh when Amy cried. It used Karen’s voice to send tremors along her nerves when it said Obey.

Amy scrubbed what still seemed like porcelain and tile, suddenly feeling her heart swell with a different kind of sadness as she wondered what other kinds of slaves the Thing took. Was this chamber going to be something else ‘s—someone else’s prison?

She turned to what seemed to be a toilet, staying on her knees. It had been so long since she’d used one: the Thing let her and Joanne use only the wet facility by their storage chamber down on the sublevel, only at scheduled intervals, and only together.

It had experimented, sometimes.

Amy remembered the taste of Joanne’s piss as she drank it, heard the buzzing of the training probe in Joanne’s ass and felt the bliss of the one buzzing in her own, teaching them to enjoy it.

The sound of her breathing was loud against what might be bathroom tile, bringing her out of the memory. Amy looked down, seeing the glistening between her thighs. The Thing kept them both shaved, and she could see the beads of her need there by her bare cleft. After a few moments she remembered to be appalled at herself.

Pervert. I don’t deserve to use a toilet.

Urgently, she began to clean the bowl. It was important to finish her tasks, to do them well, to earn the orgasms and the sometime peace of mind. What was vital was to learn to keep her thoughts good and devoted, to remember always that she was just livestock and meat and the Thing was her owner and Mistress. She was a human, a sexually open, mentally malleable, utterly contemptible less-than-animal. She was lucky It had raised her to the status of slave.

Not behaving correctly, not thinking correctly, would get her punished. They might, she knew, even get her—modified.

It frightened her that Joanne might get herself modified.

Amy scrubbed, and felt her slit getting warmer. I love to obey, I live to obey, I want to obey. She thought it slowly, carefully, not wanting to be lost in it, but found that it helped her with its cadence, as she worked.

The arousal had her, though. She thought about the chamber she was cleaning so well, so thoroughly for Mistress. Maybe the creature that might live in it wasn’t going to be a prisoner, a slave like her. Maybe it would be a guest.

Maybe the Thing would let it play. With Amy.

Logic told her that a creature hideous to her would find her just as ugly, but the deeper perverted self she was learning to listen to, the masturbating slave, whispered otherwise.

The—worms—hadn’t found her ugly . . .

She thought of floating helplessly in zero-G in a shadowy greenish fog, naked in her collar and a gasmask, hoping she wasn’t getting poisoned through her skin, while the alien guest grasped her arms, drew her legs open with soft irresistible—tentacles?—enveloped her weakly thrashing body . . .

Probed her.

Amy closed her eyes and tightened her thighs as she thought of being forced open with a warm, slick, stinging, hard . . .

Her forehead bumped the rim of the toilet as she sagged in the fantasy. The pain changed it.

The aliens might not let her wear a mask. They had Joanne to play with too. They might like how Amy bucked and thrashed on the things they pushed into her, while she choked and died, trying to scream in the green fog.

Leaning over what seemed like the bowl so her tears would hit what seemed like the water and leave no stains, Amy scrubbed harder.

4.

The sleep period ended. Amy sat up straight in her tube, staring at the computer.

OBEY

She shifted to kneel upright and put her hand between her legs. The dreams had already made her damp. She said devoutly, “Yes, Mistress.” She waited.

The computer showed her a spiral. She stared into it, relaxing. Soon she’ d hear Karen’s voice, softly putting her mind to sleep and then filling it with new, true thoughts. How to obey. How to please It. How to be used.

She passed into less than consciousness without knowing it.

Blinking and swaying, Amy realized she was standing somewhere near what she thought was the alien control room, and couldn’t remember what task had brought her there. It confused her but didn’t scare her, yet. The Thing, her Mistress, didn’t always give her context for orders.

She waited like a good docile slave, relieved that she needed only to wait. The idea that she was no longer really a person, that no one cared if she stood there as inertly as one of the cleaning tools she used, made her feel warm and safe. Sometimes obedience wasn’t like sex. Sometimes it was like sleep. Knowing that she’d found her level, and that the ambitions and desires she’d had were fading from her, their loss already losing its power to sadden her.

She heard footsteps on the decking that seemed more like some kind of resin than metal, behind her, and compared the sound to the old one of bare feet on a hardwood floor. She didn’t turn around. She awaited command.

Joanne walked around in front of her.

Amy sucked in a breath, feeling lust for the other girl and letting the unexpected sight of her, another naked tool of the Thing, make her squeeze her legs together. She felt Joanne’s eyes on her and liked it, and felt wonderfully free of inhibitions.

Sex time?

She didn’t get that vibe, and when her mind continued to drift with no commands to obey, her body made her pause, sensing something that would keep her from floating into a moist hot fuck with her fellow slave. She looked at Joanne again, and saw her standing differently than usual. Not slack like a sleepwalker and not like a rigid statue, the two ways the Thing usually kept them.

“Amy,” said the other girl, her head lowered.

Amy realized she didn’t have the will to respond, and didn’t mind. Joanne had something in her hand, and looked down at it, looking . . . sad. Her hand tightened on it.

Amy heard her tone and snapped awake, staring ahead, her body quivering with readiness to obey.

“Can you answer me now?” Joanne asked softly.

Looking at her, filled with the readiness to submit to Mistress but not seeing It, Amy shook her head. “Where . . . ?”

“Amy. Wake up. We’re getting out of here.”

“What?”

Joanne looked impatient. “This is all bullshit, Amy. Karen isn’t dead. She’s fucked with our minds and made us think this is a fucking UFO and we’ re ‘specimens.’ She’s been keeping us as housemaids and sex slaves and . . .” Joanne’s face had twisted in anger but now it was softening, and she was looking sad again. Worse than that.

Amy shuddered. She was terrified of what the Thing would do when It caught Joanne rebelling like this, and fear warred with her new blank passivity. Would It be angry at Amy for not doing anything? But she was also feeling bad for Joanne, who looked ready to cry.

“Huh.” Joanne coughed and shook her head. “Part of me’s hooked, Amy. Part of me doesn’t want to leave.

“But we have to leave. Now. I got you out of your sleeptime and—no, Amy, stay awake!”

Amy stiffened again and looked at Joanne, having started to submit to the sleeptime trigger.

“Shit. Just come with me, OK?” Joanne pointed down the hallway.

To the airlock, and the void on the other side.

Amy looked at it and then at her. “We can’t.”

“It’s not an airlock, Amy. We’re not in deep space. This is our house, and we need to get out. I don’t care if I’m naked and if I have to fuck my way into someone’s car on the turnpike, but I’m going. I don’t know what she’ll do when she finds me gone—but I don’t want to leave you here.”

Fighting the hateful clarity in her mind, Amy couldn’t help but get sucked into Joanne’s temptation to think. She tried to use it. “Jo . . . I know what’s happening. Your mind can’t accept that we belong to a superior being, and it’s making you see images of home. I keep thinking I’m there too, and we need to, sometimes, as we get used to being Its slaves.”

Joanne’s face fell and she leaned back as if to go. Amy shook her head. “Please don’t, Jo! You’ll die out there!”

“God,” Joanne said with awe. “You were strong, Amy. I don’t know what she did to you but she’s really done a number on you. You . . . believe this shit.”

Amy saw how deeply Joanne believed what she was saying. She felt a chill as she wondered how close Joanne might have come, before this, to letting her delusion get her killed, touching or opening the wrong thing.

“Joanne. Please. It’s not worth getting yourself killed. If you just stop maybe It’ll just deepen your trance and help you accept.” She swallowed. “I’ll tell It you didn’t mean to disobey. Maybe It will believe me, and It won’t have to—to—modify you—”

Widening her eyes, Joanne did step back. “That cunt Karen isn’t going to do anything to me now.” But her fear was plain.

Amy was fairly sure that even if Joanne could operate the airlock, thinking she was only struggling with the front door, she probably couldn’t decompress the ship. And there must be a warning, somewhere, that it would set off, though not in time to save Joanne from dying in the vacuum.

The vivid thought cut through what was left of Amy’s blankness. She could see Joanne gasping in the freezing silent dark, alone and frightened and dying, wishing she hadn’t gone out.

No!

The Thing was in her mind. She knew that.

Please! she begged It. Please stop her. Please save her. She felt tears start up as something she hadn’t felt in a long time took hold in her chest. Please. She’s not just an animal. She’s—rare. There’s only one like her anywhere and if she dies there won’t be a Joanne, ever again. You must value her more than that.

Please . . . Mistress.

She felt nothing.

Joanne held up the thing in her hand. “It’s an ordinary remote, Amy. From the electronics store. I found it. I called you before. That’s what she uses to turn us on and off.

“I don’t know if she has another and I don’t want to wait. Please just come now and—”

“Jo, I’m not going to go into that lock. I don’t want to die.” Amy’s fear was rising beside the sorrow.

Joanne’s hand started to shake. “I’ll make you come out, Amy. I’m not going to leave you here for that cunt to finish turning into a flatworm.”

Oh god she’s crazy. She’s going to get us both killed a billion miles from home.

Sinking to her knees, Amy spread her arms. “Please don’t, Joanne. Please leave me alone. I just want to stay here and be good.” She tried to think of something soothing, like the spiral It used to control her, but she didn’ t dare try to sink back into trance. Her crazy friend would take over her open mind and walk her out to her death on a hypnotic leash.

Straining, finding complex thought possible but very, very tiring, Amy found something. “Joanne . . . are you sure it’s just what you say? Are you sure it’s not interstellar space past that—door?”

5.

It hit home. Joanne lowered the “remote” and looked at her. Taking a deep breath, she sagged a bit. “Sure? Amy, I’m not sure I’m even talking to you. But . . .”

Amy was feeling an old warmth. She couldn’t tell how much of it was from sex time but she wanted Joanne not to be so sad, and it reminded her of something else very important.

“Joanne. It’s been brainwashing you, too. And you’ve gotten confused. You’re hating Karen because It—took over her body somehow. Maybe her mind was too strong to take over like ours, and It had to burn it out.” She closed her eyes at the thought but forced out the rest.

“Please stop calling her names, Joanne. Karen tried to take it on so we could get away. We were too slow or it was too fast or it just put us to sleep but . . . please remember our friend, Jo. She tried.”

Joanne shook her head. She’d really fallen under the influence of believing the Thing was Karen, and the hate she’d transferred to their dead housemate snapped her out of the doubt Amy had sown.

Amy cursed herself. Stupid. I wish I could think. She was all Mistress had to keep It from losing one of Its slaves, and this needed something smarter than just a human.

But Joanne’s face was still clouded. “Amy, I don’t know much, now. I know that my pussy gets warm when I think about obedience.” She—whimpered—as she said that, but forced herself on. “I know I can’t remember my last name. I think I remember that Karen was a psych major and that’s how she learned how to do this.”

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. “I’m a human being, god damn it, and I won’t be owned by anyone. But . . .

“I do know . . . I’m getting to like it. And I’m getting too tired to fight. I can’t wait any longer. Because if I do and I let her have more time to condition me to—obey”—she moaned—“then, then, oh god . . .” Joanne looked at Amy with searing pity.

“Then I’ll end up like you.”

Amy looked back at her, trying to recall how she should feel to hear that.

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. She owns you now, Amy. You’re beyond hypnotized. You want to be Karen’s slave. And—I’m soooo close to that, it scares me worse than anything else.” Now Joanne began to step backward, still holding the remote.

“No, I’m not a hundred percent sure it’s not an airlock on a UFO in flight. But no matter, Amy.

“I think I’d rather try to breathe space than live like that.” As if saying it aloud had helped, Joanne stood a little taller.

“I’d rather fucking die.”

She backed faster toward the airlock. “I’ve—I’m—I’ll—oh, shit, I’ll come back for you, Amy! I won’t let her keep you. But one of us has got to get away.”

Backing against the airlock, she felt for the control panel, and Amy realized how susceptible she’d been to the intensity of Joanne’s belief in her hallucination, because Joanne’s free hand actually did seem to be grasping the knob of a lock.

Amy wanted to kneel there and give up, just let it happen. The airlock would shut behind Joanne before she opened the outside hatch and . . . died. No danger. With no commands in her mind, Amy wasn’t supposed to act.

She was just a slave, and the Thing with Karen’s face would just hypnotize her to forget. Send her deeper than ever before. The terrible feelings would disappear.

But . . .

That was wrong. In a very old way, dim in her mind, she knew.

Joanne was turned away, thrashing at the airlock, trying to make it open. Amy rose quietly and moved on her bare feet, one before the other on bent legs, willing herself to be quiet, stalking Joanne. She didn’t even know what she’d do, but she knew she had to try.

Joanne turned around.

Amy ran at her, seeing the remote in Joanne’s mouth, seeing Joanne drop it into her hand, seeing the look in Joanne’s eyes as she activated the

tone

Amy melted to the deck, her mind humming and smooth and almost empty. The floor was hard against her knees and the heels of her hands as she went down but she barely felt it. She felt utterly open, blank, ready.

Everything that had just happened was still there, but it was like the tinny sound of a rehearsal in the well of a theater, seen without interest from the darkened balcony.

She knelt, blinked slowly.

Movement reached her. Right in front of her eyes.

Long sweeping curves in a warm brown tint, a scent that carried feelings like murmurs in a foreign tongue.

Leg.

Joanne’s leg.

Joanne.

Amy closed her eyes.

Easier now to wait. Blank. Obey. Ready to obey, blank until commands.

Joanne.

I’ll come back for you. Won’t let her keep you.

Amy shivered, mesmerized by the flexing of Joanne’s leg, the distant frantic sounds she was making as she stood over where Amy knelt, fighting with the airlock.

In her fog, she warmed herself with the unconnected thought of Joanne. How good she tasted.

Something colder, mixed with the memories of Karen.

Joanne was trying.

No. Not colder.

Amy . . . had to try, too. She couldn’t let Joanne . . .

I’m not. Not just a slave. I’m . . . Amy heard Joanne’s strength again. Have to try.

“I’m a human being, god damn it.” Joanne was proud of it. It was silly, against what the Thing could do to their minds and wills, but Joanne had made something glow again inside Amy.

She knew she could just kneel there and let her mind go back to sleep.

But Joanne had given her what she needed to reach down and try. She was not going to let Joanne die.

Gathering herself, Amy arched her back and canted her head up, rising into the warmth between Joanne’s thighs, finding Joanne’s pussy from below by sight and scent and feel, following the exquisite flavor as Joanne swayed over her. Joanne started to lose her balance, and her cry of surprise and pleasure flared in Amy’s mind as Amy closed her eyes and triumphantly lapped and sucked at her.

“Noooo . . . oh Amy, noooo . . .” Joanne groaned and lurched against the airlock, trying to hold herself up but overcome by Amy’s urgent attack. Her arms flailed in slow motion, no longer able to seek the controls. She kept slipping and her legs wouldn’t hold her up.

She kept falling onto Amy’s relentless mouth.

Away from the airlock. Away from dying. Amy cherished the knowledge for a few seconds, thanking Joanne for the strength to do it, before her mind dissolved in a mauve cloud of pussy.

“P-p-please . . . pleasssse . . .” Amy bent backward, and Joanne, writhing slowly, settled to the floor over her, riding her face, making weaker and weaker efforts to dismount, losing the struggle to speak. Amy felt the softness of Joanne’s ass against her head, and when she felt Joanne ‘s hands vaguely pushing at her, she reached up and took hold of her hips, and Joanne sighed or groaned again. Her thighs tightened against Amy’s face.

Joanne was reaching forward vaguely, to where Amy lay before her. Breathing in the moments that Joanne spasmed up and gave her a taste of air, she felt Joanne start to pitch forward, and wondered if her friend would collapse onto her, if her own dripping slit would tempt Joanne to lean down and complete a sixty-nine. Even that idea misted away in the sheer bliss of owning Joanne’s molten crotch.

Then it was going from her, rising away as her lips sucked loudly and then her own panting filled her ears. Joanne stood and stepped away from her. As Amy’s eyes cleared, she let her head roll back and saw Joanne standing at attention against the wall, staring forward without expression.

The Thing with Karen’s face looked down at Amy out of Karen’s eyes.

It smiled.

Amy’s mind slowed down again. What had just been in it faded and disappeared, and only a few things remained as It stared onto her.

She was alive. Joanne was alive. They were both going to be much more deeply hypnotized now, and Mistress knew their thoughts needed to be fixed. Even modified. There were worse things. It would fix them.

She was still Its slave.

They could be slaves forever, now.

Amy smiled back at the Thing that owned her.