The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Day Three

The Brothel took stock, its trawlers had netted well over the required 121 million potential entertainment units; further trawling activities were contra-indicated.

It would take 20.35 years to upgrade the catch to acceptable levels. Many would require age reduction therapy before even rudimentary upgrades could be safely initiated. Another entire batch would need to be accelerated to adulthood, but had the benefit of largely empty neural nets. That group would accept their programming with exceptional ease.

A third group would require full gender reassignment, the surplus male organs being allocated to the sex-toy factory for attachment of a life support handle. Some races liked to buy a pleasure generating a memento of their visit. It was logical to at least attempt to make a profit from the flesh that would otherwise have been sent to the food processors.

Dissection of a few hundred surplus units indicated that the species was significantly different from previous acquisitions; experiments would need to be done.

A Brothel Pleasure Unit (type one-F) needed to have an optimal blend of self-awareness, erotic skill and obedience. Most Clients preferred the pleasure units to at least appear to be capable of emotion-passion-lust without any forming of permanent life-bonds. It would be a problem, the new units required tight control until they became acclimatized to their designated roles and yet not so tightly that they lost the subtlety that clients required.

The Brothel’s databanks indicated a pleasure unit that had had minimal intervention, somehow having recruited itself without the tight mental control that the retrieval units imposed. The unit would be an excellent source of feedback on the exact level of control that would be optimal for the new units. A few bytes of information sent to the processors and the pleasure group that included Unit 442569-4 was assigned for immediate upgrade, a full five years ahead of its original schedule.

Day 15

Unit 442569-4 reactivated itself, slowly opening its eyes after the luxuriantly relaxing sleep session.

In 15.75 minutes it was designated to be present in Surgical Intervention Facility 442, allowing for travel time that left 10.35 minutes in which Unit 442569-3 would assist with pre-op cleaning.

With a hiss of steam, the connection armature detached, Unit 442569-4 stepped out of its alcove and walked the two paces forward and three to the right that put it under chamber’s shower facility.

Cold water sluiced downward with savage skin tingling force, causing Unit 442569-4 to gasp. Confusion filled her mind, where was she? Who was she? What was she doing here?

Stephanie.... I am Stephanie Warrington-Smith, remembering her name was all it needed to bring her back to herself.

She looked around. The room was an alien unknown place and yet it felt intimately familiar. If she were ever confused or scared ‘this’ was a place she’d want to return to, comforting secure, and in some way it belonged to her and she to it.

She glanced over her shoulder at her alcove it was ‘hers’ and she loved it, just as she’d loved her own bed back home...before...

As she stood there contemplating the invasion, the shower adjusted itself, receiving the corrected force and temperature requirements for her biology from the sensors in her co-processor.

Almost hidden by the steam, Raphaella disconnected from her alcove and approached, eyes closed and peaceful. On her co-processor’s turret, her third eye scanned rapidly, its ray of laser light penetrating the luxuriant steam, sweeping a line of red across Stephanie’s naked chest.

Embarrassed by her nudity Stephanie moved her hand to cover her breasts and genitals from Raphaella’s red glowing gaze.

A wave of dizziness overcame her, she blinked and looked down, her hand had moved itself back to an at rest position next to her thigh.

Puzzled, she moved her hand to cover her genitals again. There was another wave of dizziness and the hand moved back to its previous position. This time there was an audible click, when she tried to move the hand a third time it remained where to co-processor had put it.

Experimentally she moved her left hand instead. The dizziness returned again with greater intensity, this time she felt her entire body lock up into immobility.

It seemed that she was allowed to observe, but not interfere.

Helplessly she watched Raphaella retrieve a silver device shaped like a gun or injector from the wall and move menacingly close. Desperately Stephanie attempted to overcome her Co-processor’s control, the sweat of the effort washed away by the shower’s steaming water.

Raphaella’s third eye stopped its ceaseless scanning and projected a grid onto Stephanie’s skin; with slow menacing precision she raised the device aimed just below Stephanie’s right nipple and fired.

Inside her head, Stephanie flinched, overcoming the lockout long enough to glance down at the green slime that was running down between her abdomen.

Without any trace of awareness Raphaella reached out with her empty hand and began rubbing the alien slime into Stephanie’s immobilized body.

Soap!

Stephanie blushed with embarrassment, after all that fear it was only fucking shower gel!

Methodically Raphaella worked her way around Stephanie lathering one grid square after another in sequence.

The dizziness returned briefly and Stephanie found that she had access to data on the procedure. In her mind’s eye a schematic of a human body materialized with grid squares coded red, yellow or green. Red it seemed indicated cleaned squares, yellow cleaning in progress and green equalled dirty.

By concentrating on the schematic she found that the green squares had subtle color variations indicating which square was next. It seemed that the cleaning would proceed from breast grid five to tricep grid one and then on down her right arm to digit five grid four.

Why was it showing her this? Stephanie wondered. Then it occurred to her; perhaps the procedure was interactive. Concentrating hard she turned digit four grid four from a dull forest green to bright grass green.

Instantly Raphaella stopped massaging tricep grid two and knelt, applying fresh soap to digit four grid four, her fingers delicately rubbed the foamy suds into Stephanie’s right index finger.

Stephanie felt guilty pleasure. There was something incredibly erotic about having someone knelt before you, their only purpose the cleaning of your fingers.

As there was no obvious way to stop the cleaning and it felt so fucking good anyway, she relaxed her control over the grid allowing Raphaella to clean her in whatever order her Co-processor had designated.

All too soon the schematic turned from green to red, as Raphaella silently moved from one Grid Square to the next.

Slowly it dawned on Stephanie’s pleasure soaked mind that there were only a few grids left to be cleaned, areas of herself that no man or woman had ever touched.

The fun was over and designating a red grid square did nothing to prevent a gel-greased finger easing its way into her anus and giving it a thorough cleansing.

It felt strange, surprising and not at all painful, as she’d been led to expect. Thankfully the finger was soon removed and attention shifted to her labia and pussy thrilling her and reminding her of the cold chrome-plated interface that filled her and connected her Co-Processor to her Internal Pleasure Sensor. For a second her mind failed to understand ‘I.P.S.’ but then her Co-Processor caught up and the inefficient term clitoris vanished from her mind. She had an IPS and it was functioning just fine

Raphaella moved back in front of her, her eyes still closed but now with a happy sleeper’s smile creasing her lips. More soap was applied and Stephanie found herself gasping in pleasure, desperate to interact instead of just stand statue-like whilst Raphaella’s seemingly expert fingers slithered around her engorged IPS.

I’m not gay! I’m not a lesbian! She thought to herself even as she neared completion.

Suddenly Raphaella stopped her finger-fucking, stood, turned around and walked back to its alcove.

The schematic in Stephanie’s mind was entirely red now. She wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed that she hadn’t got to cum or be relieved that she hadn’t cum like a lesbian.

The shower pressure increased sluicing away the foam, at the same time the lockout deactivated allowing her the ability to move again. Her first act was to place two fingers into her vagina and rub her IPS, intending to finish off the need for orgasm the Raphaella unit had inadvertently caused.

Her crotch felt smooth. Alarmed she looked down at herself and discovered that the shower gel had also included a depilatory; the neatly trimmed bush of dark wire-like hair was gone, replaced with smooth tender skin.

The Co-processor twitched slightly gripping her head more tightly, sending odd sensations through her nipple clamps and ear connection.

A feeling of correctness washed over her. She looked perfect. Getting rid of the unsightly pubic hair had been an entirely correct procedure.

Her reproductive tract was at 90% lubrication, this also was optimal and should be maintained. She slowed her masturbation to a maintenance level so that there was no chance of triggering an accidental orgasm.

Without wondering what she was doing Stephanie walked out of her home/room and turned right heading purposefully across the concourse, occasionally giving her IPS a rub.

She tried to pay attention to her surroundings, getting ready for her inevitable escape attempt, but it was getting harder and harder to think. It would be easier just to relax and let procedures take their course. By the time Unit 442569-4 reached corridor 440 its personality had been successfully returned to dormant mode.

Its primary visual receptors closed, the unit relied upon its secondary visual receptor to give a mauve tinged view of the world. As it walked it considered its situation. The spontaneous activation of its personality indicated either co-processor damage or a function of the unit’s un-trained brain. Without emotion it reported itself for maintenance.

Instantly it received a reply, it was to continue as ordered; a new co-processor would be attached during the scheduled upgrade. Unit 442569-4 felt emotion stirring within its personality, her co-processor was about to die and be replaced. In a dreamy theoretical way she felt regret.

Pain! Cutting across her chest. The comforting metallic warmth of the co-processor hugging her head was gone.

Stephanie’s eyes shot open, the woolly dreaminess was entirely gone and she could think clearly again. Her memory was intact; she knew exactly what had happened, what she’d done and what she’d been allowed to do.

She was on an alien spaceship; she’d just walked into an operating theatre and happily strapped herself down to a surgical bed.

Cursing the damn coke-bots she squirmed, desperate to free a hand, or foot.

One of the aliens stood over her hesitating holding a scalpel that dripped with her blood.

It was a lovecraftian thing with hands that appeared to be octopoid tendrils augmented in polished chrome; she screamed and thrashed more desperately.

“Unit 442569-4....” burbled the alien addressing her in a gaggle of sounds that translated themselves in her head; instantly Stephanie calmed down, a part of her recognizing its designation.

“Please. Don’t do this. Don’t cut me again.” said Stephanie with a detached calmness that didn’t feel natural. Another part of her raged silently, she wanted to be allowed to feel that rage.

“Query Unit 442569-4: Why do you resist upgrade procedure?” demanded the creature sounding perplexed and hurt that any unit would reject its function.

The stupid question was too much, the artificial calmness disintegrated.

“Because it bloody hurts!” Stephanie snapped, forgetting for a moment that this was an alien Borg and not just an idiot tourist.

The alien stood motionless its large green eyes closing, leaving only its robotic eye looking at her. Clearly whatever controlled it needed to think hard about the whole pain concept.

Finally it reopened its eyes.

“Pain is contra-indicated. Unit 442569-4 will interpret organically generated neural pain signals as pleasure signals during this procedure” it instructed.

“Oh right, so you just telling me it won’t bloody hurt is going make it true is it!”

“That is correct Unit 442569-4”

The scalpel descended, Stephanie tensed her abdomen scrunching her face in anticipation.

The blade sliced into her, like a knife into butter, only this time it didn’t hurt. Inside the wound, it felt like the sensation her IPS would feel when her fingers caressed it.

Forgetting what she was doing she arched her back, forcing the erotic sensation deeper into her.

“Cease movement, Unit 442569-4. Functionality may be impaired.”

Common sense told her that the alien Borg was correct; wriggling in ecstasy whilst someone had a scalpel deep in near your heart was Darwin Award stupid.

Stephanie decided to do as she was told, although it was difficult, her internal pleasure sensor was painfully aroused and strobed with erotic need with every slice of the blade. Desperately she gripped the edge of the table trying to hold herself immobile.

Her chest was a mess, and her naked buttocks were sticky with blood from the multiple entry incisions.

“You do know I could die from blood loss?” she asked, trying to focus through the throbbing intense pleasure around the wounds.

The alien Borg ignored her, swiveling 180° degrees to pick up a device from a tray, and then continued the move through the full 360°. The thing it held in its tentacles looked like a chrome jellyfish, a polished mushroom-like cap with fibre-optic tendrils hanging down like stingers from its underside. Despite its metallic appearance the device seemed malleable and soft.

The Borg reached out and lowered the thing onto Stephanie’s mutilated breast. Instantly the tendrils sought out the incisions and burrowed into her flesh travelling down nerve and vascular ducts, spreading deep. Needless to say the pleasure was intense.... so intense that she felt the splatter of her own juices joining the blood on her inner thigh.

A cold spray of watery liquid brought her back down to reality, she glanced down the length of her body, the alien was sluicing away her blood to reveal a perfectionist version of a breast glistening and reflecting the room’s lights in its mirror-like surface. Its edges seeming to have merged seamlessly with her skin, the metallic skin fading to a normal tan within an inch of the unit’s edge.

Under the skin dark veins had spread, sub-veins branching out at right-angles.

Stephanie shifted her gaze to the surgical tray, a second breast-thing waited in a vacuum-sealed container. Stephanie shivered, a weak, pleasure addicted, part of her wanted the alien to get on with installing it so that her rack was once again balanced.

It was all so confusing, part of her mind belonged to these creatures, and another part desperately wanted the opportunity to destroy them. At times she was an automaton or a willing accomplice and at others she had full free will; it was difficult to guess which state she’d be in from minute to minute.

Silently the alien Borg continued its work, now that the unit, had quieted and was operating within normal parameters, further verbal interaction was un-necessary.

By the time an abdominal upgrade had been installed, the unit being upgraded had reverted to a non-aware pleasure state; allowing the procedure to be completed in only 86.2% of the time allocated to the task.

Satisfied with its work, Surgical Unit 2873924-1 returned to its alcove and reported its findings. The new units responded very well to induced pleasure stimuli. In its expert opinion the new units were almost ideal, with only minor CPU upgrade such units could edit any abuse The Customer cared to inflict and feel it as the most intense pleasure. Units this adaptable would allow The Brothel to charge a premium rate.

The next task was the installation of a new co-processor, an intermediate version, lacking the combat capture capabilities of the Type 22, but still not a permanent installation. The clamps that held it to the unit’s brain housing were slender, no longer needing to resist the frantic efforts of a non-Unit to remove it. The Co-Processor itself had an improved interfacing capability, the dizziness caused by the use of the aural duct as a datalink had been addressed and the bulky tail that had allowed the co-processor to penetrate the Unit and subvert its Internal Pleasure Sensor, was now wafer thin and curved at the end, no longer blocking Customer penetration.

Surgical Unit 2873924-1 paused, feeling something equivalent to the emotion ‘anticipation’, a signal that The Brothel was about to give new instruction.

Information flowed; Its report had been received and acted upon, the Type 32 Co-processor it had been about to install was to be upgraded to a Type 32-A1-N8.

Surgical Unit 2873924-1 sent its acknowledgement and began making the adjustments. Instead of the usual four connections per nipple, the Co-processor’s control arms were to have rings with eight pleasure induction nodes.

The Surgical Unit gently placed the 32-A1-N8 next to the Unit’s brain housing, arranging its slender arms so that the connection rings rested over the unit’s nipples.

Activation.

The needle-like connections stabbed into the unit’s nipples causing it to convulse once again.

Unit 2873924-1 glanced at the brainwave monitor, watching the two readings synchronize successfully.

Silently Prototype Pleasure Unit 442569-4 got up off the surgical table and walked away to its next task.

In a passive theoretical way Surgical Unit 2873924-1 longed to see the prototype’s return...it was going to be a Hotty.