The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Scrabbling the last few meters up the hillside, I tossed my pack to the ground, and flopped down with a heavy sigh. After three days of driving, and another one spent skirting the chaos around Guadalajara, I’d finally made it to the outskirts of Tequila. The self-contained little oasis of a town sat nestled in the western foothills of the Sierra Madre Occidental range. Other than the village, there was nothing in view but rocks, pine trees, and field after field of spiky blue-green plants.

From what Hector had said, the area only had a single Queen and a modest-sized colony of no more than thirty-five thousand. Normally, places like this didn’t interest me, but my employer had picked the colony, and the target, and I’d already taken half of his payment. Hector was one of the Dirty Dozen—the twelve Queens of Paso-Juarez—so when he offered me eight and a half kilos of gold and thirty liters of diesel to come down here and pick up a special package, how could I refuse?

The town looked like it had been sleepy and run down even before the GODS and the Great Separation. The buildings were small and close together, with faded paint and overgrown yards. Narrow streets meandered through at random angles. From my vantage on the hillside, I could see the town center, with an ancient, well-preserved Christian church across the stone-paved plaza from a large, official-looking building. The blocky, rectangular structure had probably been the town hall or something similar, but from the fresh paint and well-kept garden, I’d guess it was now the Queen’s residence.

The local Queen’s name was Rodrigo, according to my employer, but that was all the info he had. I normally asked for more intelligence before taking on a job, but Hector didn’t know anything else about this place, except the reputation of my target. I’d traveled over 1,600 kilometers based on a rumor, and if I didn’t return with positive results, Hector would not be pleased.

He hadn’t told me why he insisted on this particular colony, but some nosing around Paso-Juarez had given me a little bit to work with. None of it made sense to me, but then again, I wasn’t a Queen. Supposedly, Hector had an obsession with the particular liquor that was named after this town. Rumor said that he wanted to start making it in his own colony, but the secrets of producing it had disappeared from the Tex-Mex area. So my target was a skilled Worker called a “distiller” who knew how to brew the stuff.

I’d tried tequila before, and hadn’t been impressed, but I would never question a Queen when it came to his or her pleasures. I’d found that the more frivolous their reason for hiring me, the more they were willing to pay.

I rummaged in my pack and got out my long scope. It was harder to blend in with these isolated colonies than in the bigger clusters, so recon was always the first order of business. I steadied the scope on a rock and scanned the streets, trying to get a feel for the place. The sun was high, and I searched the pack again for my hat, before settling onto my folded jacket and putting my eye to the lens.

The streets were surprisingly empty, making me wonder if the colony had collapsed. Then I remembered another Moon telling me once how the Workers down south sometimes took a break in the middle of the day, to avoid the heat. I hadn’t believed that any Queen would let their Workers get away with something like that, but as I scanned my way from one end of the town to the other, I grudgingly admitted that she may have been right.

A flash of movement caught my eye, and I swung the scope back to check. A couple of blocks from the central square, two Workers were going at it in the street. A woman with long black hair braced herself against a white stucco wall, while a man with a shaved head took her from behind. The woman’s red skirt was bundled up over her hips, and her white top had been hiked up to free her swinging breasts. The man had simply dropped his pants around his ankles, and bent his knees to get the right angle. They were too far away to see their expressions clearly, but both of them seemed to be enjoying themselves. The woman reached up to maul her own breast, as the man gripped her hips tightly and pounded into her with conviction. Two other Workers rounded the corner and stepped around the rutting pair, hardly giving them a glance.

I dug out a pad and pencil, and started scribbling notes. Standard clothing looked like long skirts and braless white tops for the women, and draw-string pants and tank tops for the men. Flat sandals seemed common for both genders. I’d have to score a set of clothes before I infiltrated the colony later tonight.

The couple fucking in the street also told me that Rodrigo had some version of free use in effect. Hetero it looked like, or maybe Worker’s choice. Most Queens insisted that their Workers bang each other since it supposedly kept them easier to control, but not all of them let it happen randomly in the middle of the day. I’d have to see a few more couples going at it before I picked up the nuances, but seeing these two having sex out in the open meant it would be that much easier for me to…ahem…penetrate the colony’s defenses.

As the sun started heading west toward afternoon, I realized that at this time of day, my target probably wasn’t in town. She would be out in the fields, or in a factory, directing Rodrigo’s other Workers while they produced his tequila. Northwest of the square, I could just see the rooftops from a collection of warehouses, and made a note to check them out later. Hopefully, this distiller would be easy to mark in the crowd. If not, I’d have to try later tonight when I went among them. If I got lucky and found her, I could work the extraction before dawn. And if everything went perfectly, I could be on my way back to Paso-Juarez by tomorrow afternoon.

I wiped the sweat from my eyes, and shook my head at my idiotic optimism; when had an extraction ever gone perfectly? Colonies were as varied in their rules and security measures as were the Queens reigning over them. Learning the quirks and weaknesses of a target colony was half the fun, but it was also 100% of the headaches when something went wrong.

Two years ago, trying to extract a particularly skilled musician out of Peoria, I’d tried to separate my female target from her group by ordering her into an alley for sex. Only when the other Workers started calling for the colony enforcers, did I find out that the Queen had randomly declared it same-sex week, just that morning. I’d been able to subdue the target later, but I’d cursed the whims of Queens long after I’d gotten my payment.

I hadn’t had any Worker pussy in a couple of weeks, and my dick strained in my pants as I watched the couple on the street finish up and part ways. The woman was cute from what I could see, and I tried to follow her movements so maybe I could find her later.

By the time the sun was setting, I’d scoped out the major pieces of the colony. Nursery and creche were behind the church, in an old school. Kitchens and dorms were to the west, although they were fairly dispersed, maybe based on family or work assignments. As it got darker, a steady stream of adults filtered into the town center. Some came up the same road that I’d used earlier, probably from working the fields.

It looked like Rodrigo had some restrictions on sex, like during transition times, since groups of men and women were forming in the streets with no one taking time out for a quickie. I’d only caught one other couple in the streets earlier in the day; a woman riding her man in the shade of several palm trees. The fact that she’d been on top told me even more about Rodrigo and the kind of Queen he was. With over forty thousand colonies in the world, each with their own Queen, and each Queen with his or her own kinks, any clue I could get about this particular one would help.

My conclusion so far was that Queen Rodrigo wasn’t a sadist or a tyrant, which was a relief. In fact, his colony was pretty laid back compared to many I’d seen. From the sex I’d witnessed, he was probably straight or bi. The number of pregnant women I saw in the crowds said he was likely a chauvinist, not caring how or when his female Workers got knocked up. But from the woman riding cowgirl earlier, he probably wasn’t a misogynist. The people looked generally healthy and happy, at least for drones. I hadn’t even met the guy, but I was already beginning to like him.

It was too bad that another Queen had offered me so much gold to come down here and steal a Worker from him. Still, a job was a job, and I had a reputation to protect.

Methanol generators had kicked on, and the central square lit up with strings of white, red and green lights. Groups of people formed, then divided, then formed into new clusters, chatting and laughing as they sat down to their evening meals. My estimation of Rodrigo rose as I watched the nightly routine kick into gear. The creche emptied as the children poured out among the population, laughing and running through the streets. If all of these people weren’t under the absolute control of their Queen, I might envy them.

I figured that the action in the residence would get going sometime after dinner, so I needed to get ready. Packing up my scope and my notes, I picked my way down the hill in the dim light of the rising moon and the glow from the square. First stop would be clothing, so I skirted the center of town, slinking through the outer streets until I reached the quarter where the Workers slept.

Rodrigo didn’t seem to have any security concerns, since he hadn’t posted any sentries for the night and none of the houses were locked. It’s not like there would be any crime committed by his own enslaved Workers, but colonies that were part of a cluster, or had natural hazards nearby, often had people stationed at the borders for safety.

I remembered one Queen in Kansas City who used to play pranks on the others in her cluster by programming her Workers to steal small items from her neighbors. Once a week, they’d leave the stolen loot in a pile at the border between their colonies. The other Queens had been forced to reprogram some of their own Workers to counter her games, which had led to even more daring robberies. Eventually, the Guard had stepped in to make sure that it didn’t escalate further, but it showed that even in a world where 99.99% of the population couldn’t lie, cheat or steal, as long as the 0.01% still had free will, conflicts would arise.

I slipped through the streets, keeping to the abundant shadows. One house seemed better kept than its neighbors, and the lights were out—perfect for a bit of burglary. I dug my goggles out of the pack and dialed in the night vision filters. It took a minute for my eyes to adjust to the amber world, but once I could see my hand clearly, I headed up the back stairs of my target house.

The inside reminded me of a Moonie house, rather than a Worker’s, with individual rooms, and separate storage for everyone. That was a huge difference from the larger urban colonies, who often bunked their entire population in cavernous warehouses, with beds stacked three high, and central depots for clothing, toiletries, and food. Not that a colony’s housing arrangements mattered in any way to the Workers. Everything in this house, just like everything in this town, was set up for the comfort and pleasure of one person: the Queen. Rodrigo could tell his people that they were blissfully happy sleeping out in the fields every night, and they would take it as absolute truth.

I wondered what the succession of Queens had been like in Tequila, since even though Rodrigo had been born decades after the GODS, he seemed to be basing his colony on Pre-Separation society. Maybe he’d heard stories, or read books, or had his views formed by the previous Queens, but it was unusual to have so much of the past included in his Workers’ programming. Queens as a group were lazy and selfish, and did what was most pleasant for them, not for their slaves. There was no rule that said they had to have any continuity with the past.

Having such old-world variety was actually making it harder to accomplish my tasks, since I had to search room after room for suitable clothes, rather than just raiding a storage room. I found a tank top right away, but it looked like most of the men in the town were shorter than my 190cm, and the pants rode uncomfortably high on my calves. I settled for the best of the five different pairs in the house. Then sandals.

Gathering my loot, I looked for an interior room with a mirror. I needed light and privacy to complete my costume, and the second-floor bathroom did the trick. Shutting the door, I got out my utility light, followed by my disguise kit, then stripped off my regular clothes.

All the men I’d seen had close-shaved heads, so that was the first bit. It was too bad I had to lose my shaggy locks, because hair was a useful way of shifting attention from the face, and my black hair would have blended with the locals. I tried to catch the clippings on my used t-shirt, to keep from leaving them in the house.

With that done, I tackled the hardest part; turning my face into one that no one would notice.

My father was from a place called Japan, and Mom had come from somewhere called Poland. Whenever I had to change my appearance to blend into a colony, I cursed both of the countries that had birthed them for giving me such unique features.

It didn’t matter in most places, especially the colonies on the coasts, where there seemed to be enough diversity for me to pass as a local. The trouble really started when I headed south, and the population got more homogenous. At least I’d known in advance this time, so I’d been able to prepare.

I started with the stick of modeling putty, molding in thicker brow ridges to hide the shape of my eyes. It made me look like I had a permanent squint, but it worked. A little along the bridge of the nose and chin to bring them out more. I worked the stiff putty in with my fingers to make it blend with my real skin. After the shape came the color; a bronze-brown cream that I rubbed over my entire body. The effect was dramatic, and while I couldn’t change my body shape, I thought my overall appearance was well within tolerances for this colony.

I changed into the local outfit, saying goodbye to my comfortable cotton boxers for the duration. I could count on one hand the number of colonies where Workers were allowed to wear underwear. At least the drawstring pants kept everything covered and didn’t chafe too much, which was nirvana compared to the job I’d done in Fresno—those crotchless leggings had been pure torture.

I posed in the mirror, looking for flaws that might get called out by the other Workers. In a colony this small, there was a greater chance of being recognized as a stranger, but at the same time, it didn’t look like the Queen had instilled a lot of suspicion in his Workers.

“Bueno,” I said, getting ready to go full Spanish in a few minutes.

Adrenaline was kicking in, and I had to take a few deep breaths to stop my hands from trembling. This was the part of my job that I loved and feared the most. Mostly, I got off on outwitting the Queens. Regardless of how good or bad they were, in my mind, they were the enemy. They had everything, while their Workers had literally nothing, and the Moonies like me had to scramble for scraps. But trying to fool the absolute rulers of the planet also came with risks, since getting on the wrong side of a Queen could lead to my instant execution.

I grinned like a lunatic in the mirror as everything seemed to get brighter, and my body tingled with growing energy. I’d become addicted to the thrill of stealing slaves from under the noses of the arrogant Queens, which was why I was here in Tequila, instead of on caravan duty or standing sentry, like the rest of my kind.

Rodrigo didn’t use any Guards, probably because he’d never felt threatened, but other Queens didn’t always trust each other and often relied on the small population of immunes—“Moons” like my parents and me—to smooth the friction between colonies.

I’d been destined almost since birth to join the Guard since both of my parents were high-ranking members, but I’d only lasted a year before quitting in disgust and setting out to find my own way. Still, the training had been invaluable, and a lot of my unique views had been formed by contrasting that life with the one I lived now.

It was time to move—any longer and I risked missing the start of the night’s routines. I flexed my hands and swung my arms like I was getting ready for a fight instead of a stealth extraction. After one last look in the mirror, I gathered my things, tidied up the room, and headed out the back.

The night was still in full force on the streets. People talked and laughed and drank. I’d never understood Workers getting drunk since it couldn’t alter their Queen’s control, but in this case, I figured the whole colony was based on making alcohol, so why not? As I moved among the crowds, someone shoved a bottle into my hand. I took a shallow sip—just enough to get it on my breath—then spit it back out. I stashed my pack behind some bushes in an overgrown side yard, and kept moving toward the center of town.

It looked like the kids had returned to the nursery, because the fucking had begun in earnest. It was maybe five blocks to the central square, but I must have stepped over or around a dozen couples. Outwardly, I ignored them as I walked past, but I observed them carefully, trying to absorb every nuance of what they’d been programmed to do.

I picked up the pace as I approached the square, worried that the nightly renewal would start without me. While the Queen was the undisputed master of the colony, their control was organic and faded over time, so I was headed to wherever the reinforcement was happening. Most Queens chose to reassert their control every day, cycling through batches of Workers in a pre-arranged cycle. The larger colonies needed to process thousands of people every day, which always seemed like more effort than it was worth, but a place like Tequila, with its small population, could get away with just a few hundred. I hadn’t seen Rodrigo’s setup during my recon, and I was curious how he managed it.

I made it to the square without having any woman proposition me, which confirmed that sexual choice was male-centric. The men were the ones who initiated the encounter, probably based on a mental timer, or an implanted trigger. It also looked like Rodrigo wanted his Workers to actually enjoy themselves during the act. It was tough to spot, and I was probably the only person in the world who’d even cared to study it, but there was a looseness and spontaneity to the real thing versus the pretend. In the end, the result was the same, but I was glad that they got at least that small amount of freedom.

I’d seen some colonies where the Workers fucked more like machines than people, since that was their only instruction. The sex robots were the exception more than the rule, though. Most of the Queens I’d talked to—those who weren’t sadists or sociopaths—preferred having obedient “real” people around them, rather than emotionless puppets. So they often let their Workers have a brief bit of human normalcy during sex.

Of course, Queens were also unpredictable in their whims, and often gullible to the point of stupidity. One popular theory among them said that letting their Workers feel sexual pleasure led to healthier babies. Maybe Rodrigo was simply trying to increase his population of Workers.

The square was crowded and noisy. It took a while for my ears to get used to the Spanish, but I started getting bits of conversation as I wove through the masses. A band with five guitarists and three horns played a kind of up-tempo music from a raised platform on one side of the plaza. There were more couples dancing than fucking in this part of town, and my estimation of Rodrigo rose again. I’d never seen a colony where so many regular behaviors had been left untouched by the Queen’s control. He was still their absolute master, but he did put on quite a show.

A large section of the crowd was filtering into the open doors of the church, while a smaller group was steering toward the residence. I’d only heard the barest minimum about religion in my Guard training, but from what I understood, there weren’t any more organized faiths left in the world. Every Queen was the personal god for each of their Workers, so why bring another higher power into the mix? I was curious about the church, but all the young, pretty women were heading into the big municipal building, which told me that Rodrigo would probably be there.

Joining the stream of Workers, I let myself get carried up the wide granite steps and through the tall oak doors into the grand foyer of the building. I was right that it had been the seat of government eighty years ago, since the floor still held a mosaic of the city seal. A grand double staircase split left and right, curling up to a central landing on the second floor. That seemed to be where the action was, since most of the crowd was headed that way.

Ready to see how this Queen compared to all the others that I’d seen in person, I took the left-hand staircase and climbed to the second floor. A set of doors let us into a gallery that overlooked a large open room. I imagined that in the past the government had met on the floor below, and the common people had watched from up here. Now, the lower floor looked like the typical Queen’s pleasure room.

The center held a raised platform bed probably four meters to a side, covered with bright cloth and dotted with cushions. That would probably be the site of the main attraction for tonight. To either side of the oversized bed, specialized equipment stood piled against the wall, until the time it might be needed. I saw a wood and leather piece that I’d heard called a “horse” by a Queen up near Denver, and another contraption called a “rack.” A table at the head of the bed was laid out with an assortment of whips and paddles, and other objects of unknown purpose.

Because I didn’t know the protocol for finding a seat, I waited along the back wall, watching the gallery fill with spectators. With the men’s shaved heads and the women’s long hair, the pattern became clear very quickly; one male and one female alternating down each row, with no one sitting next to someone of their own gender. Other than that, there didn’t seem to be much organization. People filled in seats as they arrived, then sat silently, staring down at the room below.

I’d taken off my watch earlier, and didn’t see a clock anywhere. I also didn’t hear a signal, but suddenly the quiet got more intense and all random fidgeting ceased. Down below a door opened, and a procession of young women filed in. Everyone in the upper gallery had taken their seats, and I was sticking out like a bonfire in the desert, standing against the dark paneling in my white tank and white pants. With my heart thumping, I looked around in desperation and found an open chair. Third row down from the back, third seat in—right between two women.

Trying not to look like I was rushing, I made my way over and snuck into the row. The man and woman on the end barely acknowledged me, but the woman on my left looked up as I sat down. She was lovely, and I wanted to smile at her, but I was totally unsure of the protocols, so I kept my expression neutral. I heard a noise from the back, and took a quick glance over my shoulder. Another male Worker was just coming in the doors. He stared around for a moment, confused as to why all the seats were filled, then turned and left.

My pulse raced, and I had to slow my breathing again to match the calm look of everyone around me. All my senses were on full alert. These were the situations that I lived for…that got my blood flowing.

Every time I’d infiltrated a colony on a job—or sometimes if I just happened to be in the neighborhood—I’d sneak into the Queen’s control ceremony. This was the sixty-seventh time that I would witness a Queen subjugating their Workers. Some were intimate gatherings—no more than a dozen people in the room—while others were full productions, complete with rotating stages, and people descending from the ceiling on wires. They all had one thing in common though: the Queen, whether male or female, would end up having sex and at least one orgasm by the end of the night. There were plenty of other ways for their control to be spread among the population, but in all of my travels, I’d never seen anything except variations on this same theme.

My lovely neighbor had stopped staring at me and was looking down at the floor of the chamber. I followed her gaze and saw the Queen of Tequila making his entrance. Like most of them that I’d seen, he was grossly fat. Workers had health and self-discipline forced into their brains, but the Queens were creatures of pleasure and excess; everything was at their disposal, so why hold back? In order to be useful, a Worker needed to be healthy and in good shape, so they were programmed to never overdo anything. Queens were the sole focus of the entire colony, with no one forcing them to restrain themselves. Their only responsibility was to breathe and fuck, and they could still do those while weighing 150 kilos or more.

As if on cue, I heard the whine of powerful fans starting up. Moving air brushed the back of my shaved head. I looked up at the high ceiling and saw the intakes. I’d assumed that these hundred or so Workers were going to be the night’s renewal subjects, but I’d been mistaken. They were probably just the audience for Queen Rodrigo’s sex show.

With the direction of the airflow, there must be another group nearby, receiving the output from the fans. I thought of the church across the plaza, and all the people who’d been filing in, and knew that it must be the final destination of the air being sucked out of this chamber. The Workers sitting in the church would get the benefit of the pheromones excreted from the Queen’s sweaty skin, and the microbes expelled from his lungs as he panted on the giant bed.

From studying the historical records, I knew the actual mechanism that Queens used to establish their control, but most Queens didn’t really know why they went through this routine every night. They’d simply been told to do it, either by their predecessor, or by a surrogate Guard trainer. If they didn’t cum at least once a day, they’d been warned, the colony would suffer. Actually, an orgasm wasn’t really necessary for the process to work, but try explaining that to a hedonist Queen.

Rodrigo had paused to look over the array of sex toys and equipment laid out next to the bed. He turned to an older woman who seemed to be the director of the production. “I’m feeling energetic today, let’s go without the extras.”

While servants wheeled away the trays of props, Rodrigo reached the side of the giant bed and raised his arms. Everyone in the gallery stood and lifted their own arms, shouting “Reinne Rodrigo!” I leaped to my feet, trying to copy them before I was noticed. They cheered him three times while he basked in their fake adulation, and then everyone sat just as suddenly.

Fucking Queens and their fucking egos…

I dropped into my seat just as Rodrigo’s eyes swept past me. I kept my face calm and tried to mimic the guy sitting in front of me. I saw the Queen hesitate and squint his eyes, but then his gaze moved on.

“Come, my beauties,” he said, in a hoarse, high-pitched voice. He waved at the row of women who’d waited patiently at the foot of the bed. Nine of them, I saw, wondering how a fat lump like this Queen could take on nine lithe, lovely women.

The group surrounded Rodrigo, their hands reaching for the buttons on his embroidered shirt and the zipper on his real denim pants. In seconds they had him naked. His gut hung so low that it covered his crotch. Hairy and round, he looked like a forest creature more than a human, but none of that mattered to his Workers. They’d been told long ago that he was the most beautiful and desirable man on the planet. The nine women quickly shed their own clothes and surrounded him, rubbing their taut, smooth bodies against him.

A hand fell into my lap, and searching fingers quickly untied my pants. I checked to my left and saw my companion totally engrossed in the scene below. Her hand moved like it was following a well-rehearsed routine. When she had the waistband loose, she dove inside, circling my inflating cock with her cool fingers.

I checked quickly to my right, and then in front of me, to see if there was something I was supposed to be doing in return. For the time, it looked like it was exclusively the ladies’ job. The men around me sat still, watching the show, although some leaned back to give their partners better access.

Since we hadn’t been introduced, and probably never would be, I gave my impromptu partner a name in my head. Tonight she was Adriana, even though she looked nothing like my mother’s assistant’s adopted daughter. It always helped me if the Worker had a name, especially if I was required to fuck her by the end of the night.

“Adriana” had a good grip on my cock, stroking firmly while her eyes stayed glued to Rodrigo. Her Queen was getting a tongue bath on the giant bed, with his nine mistresses licking every bit of flesh they could find. Lying on his back, his folds of fat all fell to the sides, leaving him looking like a blob of runny turd that someone had dropped on the colorful sheets. One enterprising girl had fished out his dick, and I watched her head bob up and down as she took him in her mouth.

The Workers in the gallery must have been commanded to mirror their Queen’s activities, because all around the gallery, every woman was leaning over into their partner’s lap. Adriana tugged my pants lower and bent over my hard dick. Her hair spilled over my legs, hiding my view, but I felt her soft lips slide over me as I sank into the warmth of her mouth. It looked like half of the audience had disappeared as they went down on their partners.

Adriana had great technique, sucking hard on my dick as her tongue found all of my sensitive spots. I looked around again, trying to gauge how much freedom I had. Around half of the men had their hands on their partner’s heads or were stroking their hair, so I did the same. Adriana’s hair was soft and sensual, and I caught the scent of flowers as I ran my fingers through it. She never stopped her rhythm as I tangled my fingers in the strands and pushed gently on her head, urging her to go deeper.

Below us, Rodrigo had opened his legs wide, and three women had crowded between, taking turns on his dick. The rest surrounded him, touching, kissing and caressing. His hands were active, grabbing asses and tits, or sinking his pudgy fingers into wet holes. His head was tipped back, his eyes closed and his mouth open as he panted in pleasure. The whirring fans faithfully sucked up the microscopic organics produced in his lungs, along with the pheromones that sex produced in his sweat. Air ducts would carry the charged air to the church, where it would be blown over the crowd. It wasn’t the most efficient method of control, but it required the least work from the Queen. In the church, the people would sit and listen to a recording of their life orders, while their brains responded to the pheromones. Glands would be stimulated to produce receptor cells in their lungs, so when they breathed in, their master’s organic key would fit into the lock of their minds.

Very few molecules were needed to trigger the reaction, but once it started, it cascaded, flooding the Worker’s brain with a cocktail of neurotransmitters, all of them commanding the subject to submit.

I understood very little of the actual chemistry and biology, but I was an expert on the process itself, especially compared to most Queens. Many of the younger ones only knew the routine that they’d inherited from the Queen before them. Rodrigo was probably the third or fourth person to rule this colony, and nothing I’d seen so far said that he was an innovator. Just the fact that the Workers still pretended to have a social life told me that there were a lot of legacy commands in their programming.

Adriana’s hot mouth was getting me worked up. I’d gone more than two weeks without a compliant Worker like her, and whoever had trained her to give head had done a very good job. I was at the point where I needed to distract myself, to make sure I didn’t erupt too early; there was no better way to stand out in a crowd than to be the only one cumming. I used my grip on her hair to get her to ease up a bit. She was beautifully responsive to the subtle pressure.

I was about to pull her away completely, when a rustle went through the gallery. A quick check of the floor showed that one of Rodrigo’s girls had climbed on top of him, while another held his modest dick upright. Just as the girl sank down on the Queen’s shaft, Adriana got up from her seat and moved in front of me, crowding into the narrow gap. I opened my legs to give her room, while she lifted her skirt and gathered it around her waist. The way she stood, her delicate pussy sat right at eye level, covered in a sparse patch of black hair. Her scent told me she was already aroused, so I took my clue from the other men around me and leaned back in my chair, letting her do her thing.

There was no room in the wooden seats for her to straddle me, so she spun around, showing me her smooth ass before she lowered herself down toward my waiting dick. She had one hand holding her skirt, and the other on the chair in front of her for balance, so I figured it was up to me to help the situation along.

I gripped my cock at the base and aimed it straight up. When I felt the first brush of her soft hair on the tip, I used my other hand to slide the head through her crease. I was surprised at how wet she was, but that just made it easier to slot the end of my cock into her tight entrance. She dropped down a bit more and I slid inside, sucking in a sharp breath at the heat of her channel. Adriana didn’t make a sound, and her eyes stayed locked on her Queen, as she sank down on my dick. Her warmth surrounded me, as her weight came down in my lap, and her firm ass settled on my thighs.

She didn’t give me any time to savor the feeling of her tight hole, immediately lifting back up and then dropping down. Gripping the seat in front of her with both hands, she fucked herself on my standing cock. I caressed her back and her smooth ass, then ran my hands under her white top, over her soft belly, and up her ribs to find the balls of her tits bouncing with her movement. I captured one in each hand, and attacked her nipples while she kept up her steady rhythm.

She was a beautiful young woman, but not virgin tight, and as I squeezed her soft breasts, I decided that she’d had at least one child before this. The number of pregnant women out in the plaza had shown me Rodrigo’s lax attitude toward birth control, and I wondered if I might actually give her another bambino tonight. Just the thought had my cock ready to erupt inside her. Most other colonies were more methodical with their fertility programs, so I rarely had an opportunity like this. With all of the Worker pussy I’d fucked in my travels, I must have a kid or two out there already, but it was the possibility of making this one that had me right on the edge.

How great would it be if the kid was born a Moon like me? My chances were low with a Worker mother, but not as low as two Workers having a Moon baby. About one in seven million children worldwide was born immune to the control of any Queen. That was actually higher than the rate for new Queens being born, which was more than twenty million to one. Not that I would want our baby to be a Queen; give me a Moon every time.

My musings were interrupted when Adriana suddenly stiffened and squealed in ecstasy. Her pussy clamped down on me just as the entire galley erupted in sounds of pleasure. I held her as she shivered through a very real-seeming orgasm. When I looked past her shoulder at the spectacle below us, I saw Rodrigo’s first girl curled up on the bed, shivering through the remnants of her own climax, while the next girl in line quickly climbed onto him. Once she got his cock seated and started bouncing, Adriana took up her rhythm again, fucking me like nothing had just happened.

It was obvious now that during the nightly ritual, every worker followed a strict protocol. None of the spontaneous acts that I’d seen on the street were allowed in the presence of the Queen. I was a little disappointed, since that meant my pleasure was at the mercy of Rodrigo’s rules.

My cock felt incredible, cruising in and out of Adriana’s slick hole, but I already knew how this was going to end, and I wasn’t looking forward to it. At some point, maybe after Rodrigo had made all nine of his women cum, he was going to get off himself, and every man in the gallery would have to cum at the same time. I hated being forced to ejaculate on command, but with enough stimulation from Adriana’s pussy, I could probably manage. It was just too bad that if I did end up getting her pregnant, it would be by some stupid ritual, rather than from pleasure.

That was the conundrum when having sex with Workers. Sometimes you could get around their worst programming and get a really good fuck from them, while other times you just had to take what you could get, and essentially masturbate with their bodies.

My recon had taken longer than planned, so I’d decided to put off my abduction until tomorrow. Maybe after Rodrigo was done I could find out Adriana’s real name and where she slept. We could continue this in a less formal setting later tonight, and I could enjoy her without all of the rules.

I watched Rodrigo the next time he made his girl cum. The guy wasn’t very subtle about it, simply tapping his mistress on the forehead and telling her to orgasm. She went into spasms as he grinned up at her, and when she stopped shaking, he unceremoniously pushed her aside. Because of the advance warning, I wasn’t surprised by Adriana’s reaction, and actually enjoyed the sensations as she clamped tight around me once again.

We’d barely gotten back in rhythm when Rodrigo made his third playmate squeal and shake. The fourth barely got his dick inside her. He cycled through eight of his nine women in short order. The fat fucker was having trouble keeping it up, and wanted to get to his reward before he passed out from exhaustion. The galleries were filled with squeals and moans as the spectators tried to keep up.

I couldn’t really blame Rodrigo. While sex with beautiful, willing slaves sounded like fun, for most Queens, this was the part of their day that could almost be considered work. Control over their Workers relied on the apiscene in the air, plus the pheromones and microbes that their bodies produced. While sex was the most reliable method, whichever way each Queen chose to spread their control to the colony, they had to exert themselves to do it.

Tequila, with its thirty-five thousand Workers, would only need around six hundred of them renewed every night. Depending on the capacity of the church, and the efficiency of the delivery system, Rodrigo might even get nights off. I’d seen more efficient setups, especially in the larger colonies, where reasserting control over five thousand Workers a night took some ingenuity. A Queen named Cristale in Tampa ruled the largest colony I’d ever seen, and her system involved two hours of sex every day, along with computer scheduling and conveyor belts. Personally, it sounded exhausting.

Rodrigo was down to his last girl, so I stopped daydreaming and tried to concentrate. I kept a close watch on his face, looking for signs that he was close. Adriana hadn’t varied at all in her rhythm, and I was impressed by her stamina, especially after eight fake orgasms. What I needed now, though, was more than mechanical humping. I gripped her waist and helped her bounce on my cock, lifting my hips on every stroke to get that extra stimulation. Tipping her forward on my lap changed the angle, which stirred up a bit more friction as my dick slid through her wet tunnel. I tried to concentrate on the sensation of her warm pussy, imagining the moment when I finally came inside her.

Pressure built at the base of my dick—the tingle that said I was getting close. A quick glance at Rodrigo’s sweaty face made me speed up my thrusts; his eyes were closed and he was biting his lip, like a man on the verge. The Workers in the room could sense it, too. The tension climbed, as everyone got ready for the big finish.

I started to panic a little, since I wasn’t quite ready. I thought about faking it, wondering if anyone would notice, but Queen Rodrigo saved me by holding on just long enough. When he gripped his girl’s legs and heaved his fat ass off the bed in one final thrust, the whole room exploded right along with him.

Adriana went nuts, almost falling off my lap in her contortions, but the pulsing grip of her pussy was the last bit that I needed. Trying to echo the wordless noises of the man next to me, I thrust up one last time, and held my partner tight against me as my cock unloaded in her depths.

It felt incredible, and the idea of Adriana possibly being fertile got a couple extra spurts out of me. Rodrigo had pushed aside his last playmate, but the rest gathered around him, licking his spent dick as he wheezed and puffed from the exertion. The whole show had taken barely twenty minutes, and I found myself wondering if there was a time limit on exposure for the Workers in the church. If there was, then I was in for a long night, since Rodrigo would probably take hours to recover enough for a second round. No one around me was complaining though.

I guess the Queen judged that he’d done his duty, because at some hidden signal, Adriana stood right up from my lap, leaking my cum and her juices onto my legs. She spun around and crouched down to take my spent dick in her mouth, licking softly to clean me up. I stroked her hair in appreciation, even though she wouldn’t notice.

Now that I’d seen the Queen, and gained a feel for the mood of the colony, I was ready to tackle my assignment. Security was non-existent, and none of the Workers had challenged me as I moved among them. My confidence soared as I realized how easy this extraction would be compared to some of my others.

My lovely partner tucked my limp cock back into my pants, then took her seat next to me, her long skirt covering any evidence of what we’d just done. With the fans going full blast, there wasn’t even a whiff of sex in the air. She sat with her hands in her lap, watching her Queen as he was helped up from the bed, and dressed by his servants. Another female Worker approached Rodrigo carrying a tray, and the pudgy man slammed down two shots of his local brew before waddling out the side door.

Everyone stood up at that point, and I followed them out.

One way you could judge the health of a colony and the intelligence of its Queen was by the level of sanitation. I was impressed with Rodrigo, not for his sexual prowess, but for keeping his water and sewage system in good repair. No outhouses in this colony; all the plumbing functioned as intended.

Because of his care, I was standing in the shadows of a grove of palm trees, keeping watch on the Workers’ toilets, instead of haunting the rear of an open latrine.

The tequila distillery buzzed with activity to my right. In ones and twos, Workers would exit the huge warehouses, and make their way to the squat, concrete building off to my left. Even with adequate plumbing, the smells coming from the open doors, combined with the thick, burnt-sugar scent coming from the distillery, created an odor that I’d never experienced before.

I tugged at the crotch of my thin pants, longing for the time when I could get back into my regular clothes. As soon as my target heeded the call of nature, and came out to use the facilities, I was going to grab her and get the hell out.

The distiller that I’d been hired to extract was a Worker in her fifties named Elisenda. My new friend Maribel, the former Adriana from the ceremony, had pointed her out that morning, just before she’d gone off to her job in the colony laundry.

I’d done just like I’d planned last night, and followed my lovely companion home from the ceremony. Once I was able to talk to her, and once she wasn’t under the strict protocols of the ceremony, she’d turned out to be quite chatty. She’d told me her real name, and then told me much more about the colony and the people. Never once had Maribel questioned my reasons for asking about things everyone should already know. And she’d never questioned my terrible Spanish. My only blocks had come when I asked her about Rodrigo. She’d been conditioned to never talk about him, falling silent every time I brought him up.

That didn’t really matter, since the Queen wasn’t my target. Maribel had even given me a crash course in liquor distilling, and I understood now why an expert Worker was so important to Queen Hector’s plans.

Maribel and I had also shared a much more pleasant session in her bedroom after the questions were over. I was right that Rodrigo had imposed a male-dominant dynamic among his minions, and my sexy friend had done everything I’d asked her to, without complaint. As far as sex with Workers went, it was probably one of my most enjoyable nights.

Not that I had any lasting feelings for Maribel. She was a Worker enslaved to a Queen, and while I could probably break her enslavement, that would just leave her vulnerable to the next Queen she encountered. Workers were who they were, and there was no changing it. Still, I thought it might be cool if I’d gotten her pregnant last night. She’d said that the timing was about right, and we’d tried hard enough. But unless by some miracle the baby was a Moon, it would end up as just another enslaved Worker in Rodrigo’s colony, along with its mother.

I was so lost in other thoughts that I almost missed Elisenda as she headed for the bathroom. Luckily, to make her easier to identify as la jefa in the giant facility, she wore a bright red ruffled blouse, and a red bow tying back her hair. I saw the flash of color as she crossed the open space, and grabbed my bag.

Circling around the isolated building, I positioned myself at the exit. It was too bad that the free use rules didn’t apply at the distillery, since it would have been much easier to just call her over to have sex. Instead, I would have to knock her out and carry her. With the lax security of this colony, it wouldn’t be as dangerous as it sounded.

I took my special glove from the pack and pulled it on. The dermal patch on the palm was only potent for thirty minutes after exposure, but I didn’t expect Elisenda to take that long in the bathroom. I peeled off the protective face, leaving the thin layer of gel coating the surface.

Two more Workers emerged from the building. My heart beat faster, and I felt the rush of the hunt as I waited. Finally, the red shirt came out of the open door.

“Elisenda, come here,” I commanded. Please and thank you were for Moons and Queens only.

She turned her head, looking at me curiously. “Why did you call me that?” she asked.

I knew I’d goofed. Maybe she had a title that everyone used? It didn’t matter. No one was around as I stepped closer to her. She didn’t shrink away, still waiting for an answer.

“Why did you call me—?”

Her eyes went wide as I put my gloved hand on her exposed arm. I held it in place for the required four seconds, then pulled it away.

Already paralyzed, Elisenda didn’t move as I stripped off the glove and stuffed it in a protective bag. I watched her while I tucked the bag into my pack. Just when I’d slung the pack over my shoulder, I saw her eyes flutter closed, and her knees buckle.

I caught her arm and pulled her closer. She had no control over her muscles anymore, and flopped around like an empty sack. I heaved her up onto my shoulder, tucking away her long skirt as it threatened to cover my face. The treeline was less than fifty meters behind the bathroom building, and no one else had come from the distillery to witness my abduction.

Adrenaline surged through me, making the small woman feel as light as a feather as I carried her away from the only life she’d ever known.

The back of my car wasn’t the best place to deprogram my target, but I wasn’t familiar with this region, so I couldn’t risk looking for an abandoned building. Instead, I’d parked the Land Cruiser deep into a wooded area, and then walked back to cover my tracks.

Elisenda should wake up any time now. That was the best time to work, because the after-effects of the sedative actually helped with the re-programming. I got my kit out of the back, and arranged all of my equipment on the seat next to her.

I covered her mouth and nose with the breathing mask, and slipped the elastic over her head to hold it in place. The tube coming from the mask had a quick connector so that I could swap out inputs as needed. Next was the immersion goggles, with the fitted earpieces. I taped one neural sensor to her temple, then lifted her shirt to tape a second one high on her right breast, over the lung. I flipped on my tablet and called up the files I needed, then took a deep breath and sat back to wait.

The bit of untouched woodland that I’d parked in was beautiful in the afternoon light. I’d always preferred cities over raw nature, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t appreciate the natural world. Some creature was moving through the undergrowth, and I reached for my scope to see it better, but unfortunately, Elisenda chose that moment to groan and fidget as the knock-out wore off.

I put nature out of my mind and focused on my task. This woman was worth over four kilos of gold once I got her back to Paso-Juarez. She was also worth a whole lot of trouble if I didn’t get her re-programmed correctly; I’d already taken the first half of Hector’s payment, and he would want more than just a refund if I didn’t deliver what I’d promised.

I hadn’t restrained her, mostly because she was an older woman, and I didn’t think I’d have trouble holding her if I needed to. Some Workers came out of the sedative relaxed and passive, while others fought like demons. Ripping a mind-controlled drone away from their master wasn’t good for their mental health, but the disruption would only be temporary.

As the knockout wore off she thrashed in the seat, flailing her arms and kicking at the seatback in front of her. I cursed at myself for calling it wrong; Elisenda was a fighter. I dove at her, holding her legs first, because replacement seats for an eighty-year-old car were expensive. I looped a nylon tie around her ankles, then through the metal rail of the seat mount. By then, she was fully awake and beating on my back with her fists. It took me a moment to catch both her wrists, and by then I had a long scratch down one cheek from her nails.

“Stop moving,” I said in my best Queen voice.

Sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn’t. In this case, it didn’t. Elisenda screamed, knocking the mask askew on her face. When I fastened her wrist restraints to a hook in the ceiling, she stopped thrashing around, but kept up her screams for help. Her programming would have a checklist of different responses to different situations, and the only way to fully subdue a kidnapped Worker was to take away all of their options.

I should have been better prepared. It took me almost a minute of searching to find the rubber gag. Once I had it, getting the mask off and the gag on took more time. All the while, anyone nearby could hear her cries, since idiot me had left the window open to enjoy the fresh air. We were far away from the Tequila colony by now, but pretty close to the Guadalajara cluster—any one of those eight colonies could have people out this far.

The gag seemed to do the trick; Elisenda finally ran out of protocols for resisting. She settled back in the seat, watching my every movement but not trying to communicate.

Kidnapping was so rare in the world that I was surprised so many Workers had triggers for it. I’d often wondered if it had been a thing during the Dark Times, just after the Great Separation. Queens and colonies had been constantly at war, struggling for survival in the new world. A third of the world’s population had died before it had settled out two decades later. Maybe stealing Workers had been a common thing, and those early Queens had set up the resistance triggers. Most current Queens copied ninety percent of their predecessor’s control protocols—only tweaking the last ten for their personal pleasure—so Elisenda’s struggles were probably an eighty-year-old legacy from Tequila’s first ruler.

In any case, she was calm now. Having the gag in was a minor complication, since she would only be breathing through her nose. The cilia and nasal mucous might filter out some particles, but I had more than enough supply to get past that.

I checked my screen, noting her respiration and the gas exchange in her lungs, as well as her baseline brain pattern. Everything was ready.

The first part of the process was the quickest, but also the most mysterious as far as how it worked. At the time of the Separation, before the Queens had completely taken over, some of the ancient “governments” had discovered that the GODS had caused the change. They had filled the air with a strange chemical later called “apiscene,” and that as the levels of the new substance rose, more people had changed, becoming Queens, Workers, or Moons. By the time the connection had been made, it was far too late to reverse.

Apiscene was inhaled with every breath, by every person on the planet, but after a newborn baby had absorbed enough to Separate at about nine months, it wasn’t needed any more…except by me. I hadn’t discovered the conversion method by myself—my old mentor Sascha had passed it on to me—but I’d moved beyond his crude system to create something that I was pretty sure was unique in the world. That was half the fun of doing what I did: no one else could.

The only limit to my technique was the contents of the green canister that I hooked up to the hose in the breathing mask: concentrated apiscene, four thousand times the amount in every normal breath. My supply came from a Moonie up in Winnipeg, who refused to tell me how he got it. All I knew was, it did its job.

I heard the hiss as the gas flowed into the mask, and caught a whiff of the sweet odor as it leaked around the edges. It was amazing the effect it could have on someone like Elisenda, while having absolutely no effect on me.

I watched the screen, seeing the dip in oxygenation as the gas filled her lungs. One of the delicate parts of the process was making sure the Worker didn’t suffocate. I dialed back the delivery a half-turn, then shifted my attention to her brain pattern. She’d shown a spike in activity when I’d turned on the gas, either a vestigial flight response, or another implanted trigger. After that, everything had calmed down…and down. As Elisenda’s body sagged into the upholstery, her brain waves leveled out to nearly flat lines.

The apiscene didn’t seem to affect the brainstem, so the body kept working, but all higher functions were slowly being reset to zero.

I’d done this over fifty times now, and had a good feel for how it was going to progress. My captured distiller looked like she wouldn’t have any complications; her brain would be ready for programming in just one session. The screen flashed when her levels hit the proper thresholds, and I shut off the gas completely.

Now came the long, boring part. My subject was a blank canvas, ready to be painted, but the picture I would put in her mind couldn’t really be called “art.” Instead, it was the same tedious process that I’d witnessed in Rodrigo’s ceremony, just without the sex.

Every time I was recruited for a job, I asked my client for four things; half payment up front, a bit of clothing or a sheet from one of their recent ceremonies, an inflated balloon, also blown up during their ceremony, and a recording of their standard conditioning. The last three things were for me to replicate the programming that every Worker went through.

The second item that I’d arranged on the seat was the primer for the new painting. Hector had given me a large swath of silk sheet, from which I’d cut out the most sweat-stained, odiferous patch. That had gone into a plastic tub, with tubes running out both ends. A tank of compressed air did the rest. Hooking Elisenda’s breathing mask to one end of the tub, I turned on the air from the other side, delivering Hector’s Queenly pheromones to the mask.

Elisenda’s oxygen uptake increased as she breathed in the pressurized air, but that wasn’t what I was concerned with. As she inhaled, the pheromones blew through her nasal passages, and the chemical signature went to work on her endocrine system. Glands mutated by the apiscene started pumping out special chemical receptors and moving them to her lungs. The blips on the screen increased as her brain woke up the smallest amount. I set the timer and waited.

After six minutes of pheromone stimulation, Elisenda’s lungs were primed to move on to the next phase. The tub with the cloth was replaced by the white latex balloon. This is where the process would paint Hector’s face on the canvas we’d prepared.

Before I opened the clip on the balloon, I adjusted the immersion goggles over her eyes and made sure the earpieces were in place. I started the recording, which would show Hector’s fleshy face in the goggles, while his instructions would repeat on a loop in the earpieces.

When everything was running, I released the clip on the balloon, letting the microbes from Hector’s breath make their way to Elisenda’s lungs. When they hit the waiting receptors, the chemical reaction would trigger a cascade of other processes in her body. This initial programming could take anywhere from an hour to a full day, depending on a shitload of variables that I barely understood. All I knew was that when my brainwave monitor dinged the next time, I would be four kilos of gold richer.

I still had a long trip ahead of me, and my captured Worker could absorb her programming on the way. I packed away everything I wouldn’t need and started the car.