The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Her first impression was of being penetrated.

The slave woke as she was mounted and felt the weight of a Master settling upon her. As this was her Purpose in life, the slave automatically began servicing the Man, whomever He was. She gripped and pulled back on His Member, stretching out the length of His filling strokes through careful biorhythmic muscle control in her slavecunt. Her tongue licked at His Ears, Face, and delicious Mouth. She felt His Hands cup her slavetits, and she gasped in slave ecstasy as the overly sensitive girlflesh was squeezed and played with. “Master,” she sobbed, writhing in joy and blissful submission.

Then she screamed in pleasure as the first slave climax sparked.

The last thing she remembered was being lowered into a tank of green fluid. But that had been… how long ago? Time was a blur. It could have been days or even weeks. Ultimately, it didn’t matter. She was being fucked. She was being Used!

That was the important thing.

At His urging, the slave climbed on top of her Use-Master. She straddled Him, pulling Him deeper inside her worthless, albeit highly skilled, slavepussy. His Hands reached up and grabbed at her breasts again and kneaded them. She, in turn, clenched and unclenched steadily, massaging His glorious Penis as that delightful Male Member worked inside her.

“Oh, Master! Master!!” she cried out again, joyously.

This was so good. This was so much better than before. Better even than her expert fucking by the Master Supervisor Bors, who had favored her so much in showing her her place as a slave. Her body was on fire. She was melting, dissolving in wave upon wave of ecstatic pleasure. Having a Penis inside her made the slave feel more complete than she could ever have thought possible. The sensations induced by her Use were stronger this time, deeper, as if the senses themselves had been enhanced. The slave could taste the chemical excitement in her Use-Master’s sweat. She could count every ridge and vein of the glorious Member pumping within her slavepussy. And the pleasure… By her slavery! the pleasure was unearthly! She climaxed again, and the ecstasy of it rolled through her like a boiling tidal wave. The sensations overwhelmed her reason and left her skin tingling and her slave appetites hungry for still more.

She would have explored this heightened carnality more, discovered for herself the absolute pleasures she could have given her Use-Master, and what depths of submission she herself could descend to, but a shapely, black leather boot kicked the slut in the side first, interrupting her state of bliss.

The man using her grunted roughly, surprised, and pushed off the squirming slave, who, denied another euphoric release, plaintively sobbed as he pulled out of her. She looked around wildly, her insides churning, her breasts and lips on fire.

God, she was so empty. So empty!

The crack of a whip, wielded by the black rubber-clad manager who had interrupted them, brought the nameless slave back to attention. “To your knees, slut,” the woman said and brought her whip to the floor with a sharp crack.

Reminded of her place, the former sandra pitzler pulled herself together and knelt before the woman. She spread her knees and thrust her breasts out. Her skin shone red where the worker had seized and abused her. Her clit and nipples throbbed hugely and were engorged with fiery slaveblood. The slave looked up in natural awe and obedience.

The supervisor, for that was how the slave’s mind recognized the woman, wore a skin-tight, black and red jumper, polished and glistening like wet latex. Small circles were cut out over her rubber-enveloped breasts; her large pink nipples poked through playfully. A similar hole between her legs brazenly exposed her naked pussy, which looked extremely wet and inviting to the still needy slave kneeling mere inches away. Long blond hair fell down over the woman’s shoulders. For a moment, the slave thought the woman might be the Mistress Celestra, but no, it wasn’t Her. She sighed forlornly.

The thought of the Mistress Celestra brought such a powerful wave of passion over the slave that for a moment it almost felt as if she had a Penis inside her again. Her vision blurred. She almost didn’t hear the supervisor (No, she rethought. Supervisor) speak.

“Hurry up, clod,” she scolded the worker sitting on his ass beside the kneeling slave.

The man groaned and clutched at himself but nevertheless did get up, slowly.

“I was just taking a short break, mistress. A relaxation. You can’t begrudge a man a little relaxation, can you?”

“I have three other units to program and put into service before my duty period ends, man,” the Supervisor said. “Hurry up and clean your fluids off this slut.” They spoke Language, the liquidy syllabic speech of interplanetary commerce. It was a tongue uniquely designed to fit human vocal ranges no matter what planet they came from. The slave knew this fact instinctively. The two-stage slave protocols implanted in her mind provided all sorts of useful information to her now, now that they had blended completely with her base personality. This made her all the more a pleasurable commodity to her Masters and Mistresses, or so she hoped.

The worker took a hose from the white-plastic wall next to him and twisted its nozzle. A jet of cold water jetted from it, and he turned the freezing stream over the former sandra pitzler. The blast elicited a sharp intake of breath from the slave, and she was forced to the floor by the deluge. She cried and cringed and huddled back into a corner while her Use-Master washed His glorious Semen from her slutty slavebody.

The cold did nothing to quench the raging fires ignited inside her. If anything, the spray only emphasized the burning hunger in her loins, a hunger that had begun anew the instant—the very instant—her Use-Master had pulled out of her. Water splashed across the slave’s face. Her thick, sensitive lips opened to suck instinctively. She curled her slavebody, her breasts plump and aching to be fondled, her skin smooth and tone. Her long, dark hair flared around her body to waist-length.

Hair? This slave has hair again, the slave realized, shocked. It must have been regrown while she was in the tank.

The water turned off, and she heard the Supervisor call to her. “Yes, Mistress,” she replied, her voice soft and low, and the slave was surprised a second time in as many seconds by the sound of her own voice. It was high and girlish and not at all like the voice of the person she had been before, that “doctor” from Earth, that sandra pitzler nobody. She had had an inappropriately authoritative voice for a slut and a slave, one which she had used in talking to people whom she had thought her equals and subordinates, foolishly. This voice, now, on the other hand, sounded like a cartoon character’s: an often frightened little girl’s voice, like a Betty Boop’s accent, or a Barbie Doll’s childlike lilt.

The slave thought her new voice sounded very appropriate.

It was a slave’s voice, perfectly pitched to be pleasing to the ears when crying out in either pain or pleasure.

The wet and shaking slave got to her hands and knees again and crawled toward the Supervisor. The woman ordered her to stand and walk, she was in a hurry, and the slave of course tried, but the moment she got to her feet such a deep and lancing pain swept through her ankles that she fell to her face again on the floor. The slave screamed in agony.

“Stupid cow,” the Supervisor said. The slave felt the whip lash savagely against the skin of her back.

The slave immediately apologized for her clumsiness, whispering, “Yes, Mistress. Sorry, Mistress,” over and over.

The tendons in her legs felt damaged. Every step she took inspired pain, as if a knife were carving away the skin from her ankles. In spite of this torture, though, the former sandra pitzler still had to keep pace with the deliciously clad Supervisor, who stalked off down a gleaming white hallway without a second’s glance at the slave. Keeping her moaning as low as possible, the slave chased after. The Supervisor’s uniform had handily spaced gaps in rear that allowed tantalizing glimpses of the woman’s ass. It was a lovely ass, and the doctor-turned-slave hurried, driven as much by desire now as pain. Her need kept her closer to the dominatrix than any tether could. She knew if she ever wanted to be fucked again, she would have to obey every instruction with perfection.

They hurried through brightly lit corridors. Everything was colored either a white or metallic shade. Outside of an open archway, the Supervisor told the slave to stop and kneel, which she did at once and gratefully. Moments later she was handed two strange black-colored objects.

“Put these on, slut,” she heard. “We have a long way to go tonight.”

After a second of fumbling around with the leathery items, the slave recognized them as lace-up boots, although of a rather peculiar design. From the ankle down, their shape mimicked a horse’s hoof. A two-inch circular platform hung in front while the back ended in long stiletto-like heels. The slave hurriedly fixed them on. Almost at once the pain in her ankles diminished. The heels inside were built up at least six or seven inches; she stood practically en pointe inside them. The slave realized then that the modifications performed to her feet would make wearing such “fuck-me” pumps a necessity in her new life. She remembered the sandra pitzler doctor person had never worn such things. Even high-heeled shoes had been too feminine for that person.

Only sluts wore such high heels, she remembered saying once to her daughter. Well, they were perfect for her now.

She was a slut.

The slave laced up the heavy boots to a point just below her knees, then stood and looked down at herself. Her legs seemed longer and shaped at an impossible angle. The way she had to arch her back to balance herself had her slave ass stuck out in invitation. She liked it. It was very slutty.

It was very slave-like. It felt very appropriate.

By the time the slave was finished lacing up, the Supervisor had come back with two other slaves, each equally shod in high-heeled “fuck-me” boots. With a loud crack of her whip the Mistress marched the three girls to their next stop.

After a few minutes marching and getting used to stepping in such high, high heels, the group came to another nearly empty room. A fourth slave knelt there waiting for them. She had long and luxurious red hair flowing down to a trim waist. Rubbery straps, each no more than an inch or so in width, were wrapped tightly above and below her breasts, lifting her engorged nipples skyward. A center strap, studded with bright metal buttons and connections, lay between the slave’s tits and joined with the horizontal fastenings to either side. A bridle and harness of similar materials bound her head and face, much as a horse’s head might be, and were connected to a high collar that lifted her chin. A thin black rod was held tightly between the captive slut’s teeth and connected to the bridle.

A light, metallic triangle of thin silvery chains hung from rings in the slave’s nipples to a third connected between her legs.

“Stand in a line against this wall,” the Supervisor told the three she had brought in. The slaves complied instantly. “Face me. Spread your legs. Hold your hands behind your heads.”

Water, and possibly other fluids, dripped from the new slave. She shivered in anticipation. The Supervisor produced a gun-shaped tool and several small metal objects from a nearby work station.

She approached the former physician first.

“Hold still, slut.” Involuntarily, the slave closed her eyes. “Move, and I’ll have you used for piercing practice.”

“Yes, Mistress,” the slave whimpered.

Despite her overwhelming and submissive desire to obey, the slave couldn’t help but squeal as the piercing gun pressed coldly and tightly against her right breast. The jaws pinched around her engorged nipple. This will please this slave’s Owners, the wise voice of slavery sounded in her head, and then a sharp and agonizing pain eclipsed all further thought. A tiny bolt shot through the slave’s tender flesh.

When the gun’s pinchers released her, they left behind a small and delicate silver ring dangling from her nipple. The weight felt alien as it settled heavily against the slave’s plump breast.

The Supervisor moved onto her left breast and repeated the procedure. The slave sobbed loudly. The pierced nipples were soon throbbing painfully in tune with her heartbeat, yet, at the same time, deliciously. The pain, like everything else in this new life, served only to increase her carnal appetites.

She had thought of little else but fucking since waking up.

The slave’s nipples felt red hot in contrast to the chilliness of their new piercings. Then, when she thought the worst was over, the slave felt the Supervisor’s hands brush against her thighs. The hunger—her need—swelled ominously. The slave bit her lips in frustration.

The Supervisor’s rubber-gloved hands peeled back the hood of the slave’s clitoris. She fondled that little nub of flesh, and the waves of electric rapture this insignificant action inspired made the slave gasp. The raw intensity of the sensation stripped her of all bearing. It was like a direct feed had been set into her brain, as if the Supervisor were stroking the pleasure center of her brain itself. The pleasure was crushing. The bliss of it made the world disappear.

She climaxed explosively. The orgasm had a materiality about it that was devastating. It shook her like a physical thing.

Light burst behind the slave’s closed eyelids.

Every cell in her body vibrated.

There was another sharp pain—Ecstasy and agony combined!—and another tiny bolt passed through the center of this enslaving pleasure. The sensation was equally unreal in its intensity. The slave’s eyes burst open, and the world took on a vivid Technicolor distinction. A piece of metal had just been passed through her slave’s clit!

The slave cried out, though the force of her Mistress’ commands kept her firmly in place.

Fluids—not water by any means this time—flowed down the slave’s thighs. As the Supervisor stepped back, the slave felt another stunning pain-pleasure as her nipples and clit all at once shifted together. A slightly heavier weight settled down against the front of her soft body. She looked down involuntarily. A triangle of chains exactly like that which the redheaded slave sported had been fastened to her slavebody. The Supervisor tugged on the former doctor’s newly pierced left nipple. The pressure was immediately transferred to the slave’s right nipple and to her throbbing slaveclit.

More indescribable pain-pleasure sensations. The universe narrowed to one newly punctured piece of flesh.

Ecstasy! Sheer ecstasy!

She had been chained.

Moving rapidly, the Supervisor perforated the slave’s ears multiple times to each side and then put two studs to either side of her nether lips, four altogether. Compared to having her clitoris pierced, the slave barely noticed these additions to her labia. The black-clad woman applied her piercing gun to the slave’s navel next. Finally, one last piercing was made to the middle of her face. When finished, a large silver ring hung from the slave’s nose and pressed solidly against her upper lip.

“Clean yourself off,” the Supervisor told her. “There are towels and other necessaries over there.”

She pointed toward a series of alcoves set in a far wall.

“Yes, Mistress,” the newly pierced slave said, in her new and childlike girl-voice. “Thank you, Mistress.”

She staggered for a moment, regained her balance mechanically on her horse’s hooves, then ran to the nearest recess. The slave knelt inside the curving shelter, looked up, and nearly screamed again.

Another slave was inside with her!

Then she saw who it really was. The former sandra pitzler barely recognized herself in the mirror across from her. For the first time she looked upon her transformed body. This is a slave, she thought. This is this slave. She reached out a hand to delicately touch the mirror’s reflective surface and saw the beautiful, wildly exotic young trollop she had become respond accordingly.

The perfect slave. The perfect plaything. Her.

The doctor—the sandra—had been in her late thirties. The slut in the mirror looked no more than eighteen or nineteen. Twenty at most. Long dark hair cascaded around her face, hair far richer than that other person’s had been. Her skin was porcelain fine, completely without blemish or imperfection. Her face was more heart-shaped and dainty than it had been, yet it was still recognizably her own. The slave’s eyes were large and childlike, doelike, yet wanton at the same time. Her cheeks were blush and rosy, without benefit of makeup, the slave knew. She looked down.

The slave took her hands and gently cupped her still stinging breasts.

Fingers sank deeply into the expanded flesh. Her bosom was twice the size it had been before. Her breasts jutted out like a plastic lovedoll’s. They were plump, full, and quivered when the slave released them. The sensation passed on in soft waves to her so recently penetrated clit, and the slave shuddered in the resulting mixed pain-pleasure response. The nipples were pink and proportionally large. They poked out in perpetual engorgement. Silver rings glimmered and hung from them—through them—and a thin chain linked the two together before dropping down to the third ring below.

The weight was unreal, dreamlike. The slave touched the chain and delicately pulled on it, enflaming her through the peculiar ecstasy it caused. By design, the arrangement drew attention to her sex, which, now that that had the slave’s attention again, spoke up again in a desperate, overwhelming sexual desire that made her earlier yearnings insignificant.

The slave moaned. She held a precious and perfectly manicured hand to her howling slavepussy.

Her skin felt like it had ants crawling all over it.

Her blood was boiling in her veins.

This slave is in heat, she realized. The doctor she had been knew this. Her body’s glandular systems had been modified somehow. The bodysculpting and youth reversal were only the most obvious of the changes done to her. Her body, possibly down to its genetic level, had been refit to match the slave personality implanted in her brain.

The slave closed her eyes and rested her face against the cool glass, suddenly overcome by a mysterious depression.

Heat. Sensitization of her erogenous zones. Probably other changes too, things of which the sandra had had no medical knowledge. Far too many things for that doctor creature to ever resist. She remembered the Masters who had first awakened her slutty self. She remembered the irresistible sensations They had invoked in her lowly slavebody while the changes in her had merely been in her head. Now that her body had been improved too, her senses honed, her physical capacity for pleasure amplified to superhuman levels, there were no limits to the depths to which she now might be sunk.

The slave whimpered, though whether in fear or delight she couldn’t say.

The thought of what her future Owners and Masters would make her feel soon, how deeply They would make her their all-too-willing slave, left her gasping. She had been rebuilt to fuck. Fucking was now her sole purpose in life.

Good, the slave thought. That’s good, because this slave is going to be fucked.

She blinked.

This slave wants to be fucked. Fucking is this slave’s sole purpose in life.

She opened her eyes.

Why was she dawdling so?

She had been given an Order by her Mistress!

Shame settled through her, as well as a small but rather explosive jolt of pleasure as she felt so wonderfully submissive.

This slave needs to get ready. She looked around for a towel, found one, and dried herself. There was no need for cosmetics. Her face and slavebody had been redesigned so grandly that such things would never be needed again. This idea gave her pause for another moment, and the slave shook, trying to get rid of that nasty doctor feeling she was still suffering from. She smiled, getting busy again.

There was so much to do and so little time to get fucked in.

She found a rubber harness like the one the red-haired slave had been wearing. Various studs and connections dangled from it, and, picking and choosing automatically, the slave in the alcove was able to quickly attach its straps around her breasts. The arrangement lifted and separated, and she hissed in involuntary pleasure as the material squeezed her tits close to what felt like a bursting point. She noticed that whenever a connection was made—a button, a stud, whatever—the material immediately ‘tinged’ and would not open again. She was sealing herself into the harness, but that was all right. If and when it was removed, it would be removed for the pleasure of a Master or Mistress. This slave is a good slave, she thought. She wanted so much to please. Her skin felt so flush. Her glands released even more powerful aphrodisiacs into her bloodstream, and the slave matrix in her mind amplified their induced desires another hundredfold. This slave is a good slave, she thought again, and joy rushed through her. The harness looked and felt so delicious she almost wept in happiness. There was a similar bridle set-up for her head, but she knew that was for the Mistress to put on her. She fondled the plastic bit in her hands and sucked on it while she waited to be called forth.

She heard the other two slaves receive their piercings—the former doctor cringed each time one of the sluts cried out, yet simultaneously felt a sympathetic surge of passion—and then their orders from the Mistress. Soon they were all ready, and they were called forth. The three rubber-bound sluts knelt in a row before the Supervisor, who strode first in front and then behind them, inspecting. The whip cracked harshly, and one of the slaves cried out in pain.

“Stupid cow,” the Supervisor said. “That strap is on backwards.”

The offending slave abjectly apologized.

The matter was set right. The bonds opened at the Supervisor’s touch, though not the slave’s. Afterward, the Mistress took out a by-then familiar device to the slaves—an encoding module identical to the ones that had inducted them into their wonderful new lives. The former physician shivered in delightful anticipation.

These devices had made her a slave. She wondered what marvelous new thing this next encoding would make her.

The Supervisor checked a gauge on the module’s side, then planted the encoder on the forehead of the first girl, the one who had made the error. This slave is glad not to have done that, the once sandra pitzler thought. Slaves must never be displeasing. The crying slattern—tears of pain or regret for her mistake, one could not tell—dried up as the module hummed and downloaded information into her brain. The slave’s eyes widened in blooming astonishment and understanding, and she released a sharp cry of joy. The other slaves trembled, each eagerly waiting her own turn.

The operation took but a moment. “You are Unit 315,” the Supervisor told the first girl, lifting away the module. “You belong to Mistress Celestra.”

“Yes, Mistress,” the new Unit 315 said, tears still drying on her lovely cheeks. “Thank you, Mistress. This unit exists only to please.” She leaned forward and kissed the Supervisor’s boots.

Mistress Celestra, the nameless slave from Earth thought, watching as the Supervisor moved on to the next slut. This slave will be Owned by Mistress Celestra. She closed her eyes and tried to picture again that tall and commanding Woman. Heat blossomed between her thighs. This slave will be Her slave. That was good, because the slave remembered the way the Mistress had so ruthlessly Commanded her earlier. The memory woke many passions in her enhanced body. Male or Female, Mistress or Master… it didn’t matter to her. The only thing that did matter was her giving of service and pleasure. She wanted to be Used. She opened her eyes.

The Supervisor stood before her. It was her turn.

“Head up, slave.” The property girl looked up at the Mistress, anticipating the new download with only minimal trepidation. Whatever it would teach her, it would help her serve better. She felt the cold device press roughly against her forehead.

She heard its humming. For a third time her slave’s mind was peeled open and exposed.

There was no sensory overload this time, though. This was not, after all, a neural framework download like her first-stage programming had been, nor was it a second-stage personality rewrite, which worked to fill the empty mental architecture the first had created with the most exhaustive of slave protocols, from how to sew buttons onto her Owners’ shirts to how to provide Them with the greatest oral pleasure with her tongue and lips. This download was more like… customization. The slave’s eyes fluttered as hundreds of images rolled past her vision. The chamber seemed to shimmer and shake, as if the slave were flying through a desert mirage. She felt a certain intangible something in her mind, an unidentifiable but important quality inside her, almost physically shift to one side, and then, as if space had been made in a crowded room, many ideas at once became clear to her, with pristine crystal clarity.

Why had never realized any of this before? It was so obvious!

This slave belonged to Mistress Celestra, and Mistress Celestra was this lowly slave’s Goddess.

How stupid had she been not to know that? Of course Mistress Celestra was her Goddess!

She worshipped Mistress Celestra, completely, everlastingly.

Yes, utterly, for how could she not? The Goddess was Everything. She was Everywhere!

She wore (or would soon wear) Mistress Celestra’s Collar, a Symbol of her Total and Perpetual Embondment, her Complete and Utter Slavery. What an honor that would be!

A single image flowered in front of all others: the face of her Goddess… the Face of Mistress Celestra… cold and perfect, ever-knowing and all-watching.

The Goddess… the Goddess… my Goddess! Oh, by the Goddess, my Goddess!!

The slave (unit) knew that whenever she closed her (unit’s) eyes from that moment on, that Divine Face would be the first fiery image she saw. Her entire being, her entire blessed existence—the passion, the hunger, the absolute craving she (the unit) constantly felt—was for Her benefit. She (the unit) would fuck the Goddess’ Servants because that was what the Goddess wanted. The unit would please them with her worthless slavebody, with her cunt and her lips, her breasts and her ass, her hair and her fingers, but it was Her—HER!!—that she would always truly Love and Need.

The Goddess. Her Goddess Celestra.

She was the property of the Goddess Celestra.

The encoder left the unit’s forehead.

“You are Unit 317,” the Servant of the Goddess informed her. “You belong to Mistress Celestra.”

The Goddess Celestra! Oh, yes… yes!!

“Yes, Mistress,” Unit 317 said breathlessly, blessing the Servant of the Goddess in her mind, thanking Her a million times for the honor of breaking that unit into the Goddess’ Service. “Thank You, Mistress. This unit exists only to please.” The words came to Unit 317 automatically, just as she now knew the necessary thank-you gesture.

The unit leaned forward and kissed the Servant’s Boots, drawing her tongue luxuriously over the smooth leather.

She drew back on her heels again and silently blessed the Goddess once more.

She had a function! She was Unit 317. She was Unit 317 in the Service of the Goddess Celestra!

Oh, Blessed Goddess! The unit was Her fucktoy… a pleasure model serving the Goddess!

The Servant reached down and grabbed 317 by the chin. “Open your mouth, cow,” and the unit complied. Taking the bridle the unit had brought with her from the alcove, the Servant wrapped the black rubbery gear around 317’s head. One thick strap went around her forehead while another fit snugly beneath her chin. The black plastic bit was forced into her mouth, and then the whole assembly was cinched tight in back. As before, every connection sealed with a ting.

“Lift your head,” the Servant said, and the unit did so at once. A high-necked band—the Goddess’ Collar—was locked around 317’s throat. It was tapered to lift her face high and clicked shut in back with an ominous fusing noise.

She wore a collar! Her collar! The Goddess’ Collar!

The unit swelled with pride.

Male Servants in tight rubber and latex uniforms—subordinates to the Goddess’ Bitch Corps, though still unimaginably higher in rank than mere pleasure units like 317 and her sisters—entered the chamber at the Female Servant’s command. She was still in something of a hurry. She cursed the men and threatened them with her whip as they prepped the units for travel. A large open platform with oversized wheels was brought out, and the four units—the redhead had joined them—were ordered to stand in a row with their backs toward it. It’s a chariot, 317 observed.

Five long, metallic yet flexible poles were lined up between the sluts. Harnesses of rubber and leathery materials were stretched between the girls and the leads and attached to convenient rings on their costumes. One of the units whimpered in discomfort and was spanked. Conveniently spaced gaps in the assembly allowed the girls’ breasts to poke out. The chains attached to their nipples jingled madly. Long, leathery gloves were drawn over their arms next, the ends of which were strangely without spaces for their fingers. Her hands folded down into useless fists, 317’s leather-encased arms were locked to her sides, as were her sisters’. Her teeth dug deeply and sensuously into her bit.

Crotch straps were strung between the units’ legs and linked through harnesses to the central prop. The fit was tight, though deliberately not skintight. A small nub set inside each thong was there to press tantalizingly close to each unit’s clit: a constant yet feathery touch that would enflame them more than merely cinching the straps in closer would do.

The irritation would keep the units at the very edge of orgasms.

It would greatly increase the speed that could be whipped from them.

The last thing to go on was a single long nipple bar: a black pole arranged horizontally in front of the girls and fastened through clips to each nipple ring. Soon, eight perfect and enlarged breasts were heaving in unison. The units would have squealed were it not for the bits in their mouths. As it was, their yells were barely audible as the Servant finally mounted the vehicle in back.

“Open the gate,” she commanded. A subordinate pressed a switch.

The wall in front of the chariot rolled up into the ceiling.

A cold wind brushed past 317’s bridled cheek. Her doubly-bound nipples stiffened even more than they already were in reaction to the chill and produced in the unit an almost indescribable mixture of pleasure and pain.

“Give me that,” the Servant ordered. Another male subordinate exchanged her whip for a long, flexible riding crop. She brought it down on one of the middle units—317 was on the outside right—and the girl emitted a muffled squeak.

The Servant pulled sharply on her reins. She raised the crop. Unit 317 felt a sting on her exposed back. The joint nipple bar was tugged. As one body, the units straightened, their heels comfortably arched by inches-long support. A second pull on the reins drew the heads of the units back. They jingled. Little bells chimed in a row alongside each unit’s crossbeam tie. This unit is going to meet the Goddess, 317 thought, and another crop sting flashed across her bare ass. Her muscles flexed. The nub inside her thong brushed over her clit, and she shivered in tormented ecstasy.

“Let’s go!” she heard the Servant yell. The bit tugged over her jaw. The units began to run.

The chariot flew out into the night air and down a wide ramp set outside the open gate. The cold made 317 and the other units shiver for a moment before exertion warmed them up again… that, and the constant tickling at their oversensitive sex. A paved road stretched before them into the distance. It was clearly visible. The sky was lit by a million dense stars, more stars than Unit 317 could ever remember seeing before. A broad purple cloud, lit with its own internal radiance, covered a large expanse of space just above the horizon and added to the unearthly night-time glow. If the unit had needed any more convincing she was no longer on Earth—and for some reason, the name of that world was becoming more and more foreign to her—this would have been it. She clearly wasn’t in Kansas anymore.

Kansas? the unit thought a moment later, breathing heavily around her bit. She had expected to suffocate once setting off, but actually she felt rather comfortable. Her enhanced body was strong and healthy and built for this kind of work. Kan-sas? She frowned.

That was an obsolete reference, a something from the time before her Blessed Enslavement to the Goddess Celestra. Other similarly strange words came to her: sandra pitzler, rosalie… chi-ca-go.

Chicago? Very odd sounding. The sandra pitzler had been her pre-unit name, the unit knew, though she was beginning to have a hard time accepting that peculiarity. The rosalie had been her daughter. But the chicago? The chicago had been her… her city? She couldn’t remember. In any case, it didn’t really matter. She was going to meet the… .

I’m losing everything so fast!

The alien thought staggered the unit and earned her a painful lashing across the ears. The Goddess’ Servant screamed at her, and 317 quickly redoubled her efforts, aghast at even momentarily being displeasing. Where had that come from? It was as if someone had yelled at her from some deep, dark well inside her. It didn’t sound like her at all! The unit silently resolved not to think about anything too much anymore. Thinking too much was counterproductive. It could interfere with the Goddess or one of her Servants taking pleasure from her. Such a thing was inconceivable. No… far better not to think at all.

Besides, she found, not thinking was becoming increasingly easy to do.

The desolate, Mars (mars?)—like environment rolled past her. 317’s legs, like those of the units’ next to her, danced smoothly. They sprinted along at a pace that would have exhausted terrestrial athletes. The scenery was rocky, empty, and colored in spectral reds and yellows. The few plants the unit saw were semi-crystalline, with sharp crescents and triangular hollow spaces instead of leaves. The silence was absolute all around them. Only the sounds of the units’ own breathing and occasional squeals, the Servant’s lash, and the Servant’s screams broke the preternatural stillness.

They ran for many miles. 317 lost track of time.

Like not thinking, that too was easier to do.

Eventually, a light other than from the purple haze in the sky appeared before them. A large structure gradually came into view. Is this the Home of the Goddess? 317 thought, and then winced, realizing she had had another thought. She must try harder!

Her mind fell blank again—deliberately—as the chariot approached.

The structure was huge and round and shaped somewhat like a baseball (Baseball? the unit blinked, mystified; the word meant nothing to her) stadium. The unit-pulled vehicle galloped toward what looked like the main entrance, a monstrous opening in front and through which numerous male and Female subordinates walked or gathered.

317’s mind flickered. Males… males, but Females. Males were just males… but Females were Females.

The unit accepted this new classification easily.

Necessary information from her most recent encoding became clearer to her. Males were just males, but females—Females—were Servants of the Goddess. Such was the order of the Goddess’ Universe.

Some great activity was going on. Rubber-clad male subordinates lugged heavy pieces of equipment around while under rightful Female supervision, equally clad in revealingly skintight uniforms. The chariot went through the main entrance and into a long, wide tunnel. Beyond it, beneath an open sky, an immense and roughly circular space sat enclosed behind high, curving walls. Hundreds of male subordinates and Female supervisors were at work. Large, box-like machines were lined up in rows across the grand space. Between them, what looked like hundreds—perhaps thousands—of cots were arranged. A distant yet somehow important memory rose in 317’s dim mind: an office somewhere (on earth? the chi-ca-go warehouse?) filled with hospital beds. The unit fervently prayed her Goddess would find all the slaves She wanted to fill up those empty beds. Surely that was what they were all there for?

She felt a pull on the joint nipple bar. The pleasure units slowed down and were guided toward an area near one of the great walls. Numerous male workers knelt or otherwise acknowledged the Servant as she arrived.

“Whoa!” she yelled and pulled on the nipple-rein again. The pleasure units halted, breathing heavily but steadily. One of the males, a large, bare-chested and shaggy man in blue-and-red tights, approached.

“Mistress,” he said, bowing. “My men were worried you wouldn’t show this evening.” He grinned. Several of the men behind him, similarly garbed, laughed goatishly. The Goddess’ Servant sneered at the male underling.

“I keep my duties, Kreg,” She said. “These sluts are for you.”

317’s ears perked up as they did now whenever she heard the word ‘slut.’ The Servant climbed out of the carriage.

A pair of men began unhooking the bridles and harnesses from the poles, and incidentally groping the pleasure units as they were detached. The girls sighed and squealed helplessly around their bits, aroused by the touch of warm male flesh. Females were Females indeed… yet nevertheless the units had been redesigned principally for the pleasure of men. Such was the Divine Will of the Goddess.

“Are the tertiary projection platforms ready?” the Servant asked Kreg, and the man nodded, smiling and leering at the redheaded unit as she was released. The bit was pulled from 317’s mouth. She impulsively licked the groom’s fingers.

The Servant sighed and snapped her fingers in front of Kreg’s face to get his attention back. He nodded again.

“All the receivers are nearly done,” he said, grunting. “The gas sensors are online too. We’ll meet the deadline.” He returned his glance to the units, who, having been released from the harnesses, automatically had fallen to their knees, panting hotly, though only partially from exertion. After a good, hard run, they needed a good, hard fuck.

“Are these the new ones from the Property World, Mistress?” He licked his lips as the Supervisor nodded.

317 flushed. This unit serves the Goddess. That, at least, was a worthy thought for a pleasure unit to have.

“A preview of things to come,” the Servant said. “Enjoy yourselves.”

Tossing her long hair over one shoulder, the rubber-clad woman turned and strode off toward an adjoining narrow tunnel. She didn’t look back. The men, meanwhile, at least a dozen of them, gathered around the new camp sluts.

Unit 317 saw briefly, before she was grabbed and pulled to her feet, several other units already in service… older pleasure units, who, through no fault of their own, for they would always, surely, want only to please and serve perfectly, had grown stale with the Goddess’ men. She and the other three models were the promised fresh blood, so to speak, though the others were obviously still handy. One was on her knees in front of a man providing him oral pleasure, her lips wrapped tightly around his organ, her eyes closed in blissful sucking. Another was being used by three male servants at once, each of them enjoying a different orifice. All of the sluts were clad in the same tight black rubber webbing and light chains. 317 looked down at herself and saw no difference in the comparison to her appearance.

She, like them, was a reward for loyal service, and the Goddess’ male workers worked hard for their rewards. This unit serves the Goddess, the good thought came again, and then one sweaty, smelly worker pushed his face into her own and crushed 317’s lips in a savage kiss, a kiss, which, of course, she immediately and passionately returned.

The fires inside her were primed for release.

Short of serving the Goddess Herself, the unit could conceive of nothing better than fucking Her workers and giving them their just reward. Her arms snaked up and embraced the male servant as he lifted her up, parted her legs, and roughly pressed his organ against her lower lips. She squirmed around enough to allow him penetration, and as he did, she screamed in utter rapture. Her hands, released from their confining gloves, grasped at his firm buttocks.

“Yes… YES! Oh, Master. Fuck this unit! Oh, yes, oh, fuck, yes!”

Still inside her, the servant carried the screaming unit to a simple cushion conveniently spread nearby. They fell together atop it. Her long, dark hair flung around her, 317 reached out and clasped her user with her supple arms and legs, pulling him deeper inside her. She screamed again in total pleasure, feeling the male servant’s meaty warmth burying itself in her willing flesh as his hands plundered her body’s beauty. A monstrous passion consumed her soul. Her cunt flexed around him. She was serving him—Him!—and the Goddess too at the same time!

Nothing could be better.

For a timeless moment, she served… sucked… pleased.

Hands grabbed the unit’s hair and pulled her face up. Someone—not the same worker who was using her, but what did that really matter?—slapped her ass. 317 screamed in pleasure and felt the first worker’s seed erupt inside her. Her muscles clenched and unclenched around him, milking him of his substance. He buried his face into her plump, sensitive bosom, taking the metal chain in his mouth and pulling. The unit grabbed the back of his head—clutched at the back of his head, helplessly—and did nothing to stifle her ecstatic cries.

“Yes… thank You, Master! Thank You! Oh, Master!”

Another male servant abruptly pulled the unit away, flipped her around, and penetrated. She never had a chance to see his face. Two men fought for her, fought even while one of them was still inside and using her, and the unit thanked them both, urging both to fuck her harder… harder and deeper. She cried out as they took her, breasts quivering madly.

Out of the corner of her eye, 317 saw the other new units enjoying their fucking too.

All of the sluts were enjoying their fucking. They had, certainly, been made to fuck.

As for the men, it had clearly been a hard day for them. They needed a break from the Goddess’ Divine Work. Across the field, in enclaves around that huge building, other men were enjoying their pleasure units as well. The sounds of ecstatic submission filled the air, and 317 rejoiced, having finally found her place in the Goddess’ scheme of things.

The second man to use her won the fight. He took and slapped 317’s back against the nearest wall, and the unit pressed against him as he slid in and out of her, his thick cock sliding back and forth through her attractive opening. She screamed like the slut she was, like the pleasure unit she was.

“Oh, Master, Master, please! Fuck! Oh, Yes! Yes!”

She could never have enough orgasms. Her body was addicted to orgasms. Her mind had been structured to have orgasms, over and over again, endlessly, constantly, addictingly, her enhanced body augmenting each to hopelessly tripping levels. The worker used her like an animal, grunting in simple, primitive pleasure. The unit’s hands squeezed at his ass and the small of his back, pressing inward, deeper for greater and greater penetration. He could never go deep enough, though she hoped he would certainly try! She lost count of her climaxes, as, for that matter, as the evening wore on, the exact number of her users. She was passed about more than once. 317 recognized little difference in any of them until one grabbed her hair again and pushed her face to his groin. She swallowed eagerly, looking forward to the creamy and meaty taste of a good hard penis. The delicious shaft bumped hard against the back of her throat, but her jaws widened more than adequately to accept him. This was another benefit of her reshaping, she discovered. The joints in her mouth had been loosened. Modified. The unit had no trouble whatsoever in taking all of that worker’s foot-and-a-half-sized dick. She could, in fact, have swallowed much more. It was a boon for which she was profoundly grateful.

Her sucking not only Served the Goddess (That was the important thing!). It allowed her to give greater oral pleasure, which in turn gave her greater pleasure. She was a pleasure unit, after all. Giving pleasure was her life… her duty… her entire state of being. She sucked deeply and swallowed, the raw cum tasting like the rarest ambrosia.

As the unit provided pleasure, though, using her sensitive and specially textured tongue, the neediness in her cunt returned. It was constant, especially after having been stoked all evening. She was thus even more grateful than usual when, after she was finished with the one servant, another came up behind her, grabbed her by the hips, and plunged inside her. The two equally powerful yet uniquely wonderful climaxes felt so shortly together, the first from the sudden and unexpected penetration of her cunt, the second from her taste of cum, the sensation of which shot through her nervous system like an electrical charge, was almost more than she could take. Afterwards, she was used by the second for oral pleasure too and then abandoned, and she lay there for a brief while, listening, her body left tingling.

She had been battered, slapped, and used savagely, yet she had felt little if no real pain.

This unit is an extremely resilient fuck, she thought, and frowned, realizing she had been thinking and not fucking.

The emptiness—the terrible, yearning void inside her cunt—came back, as it always did, and she whimpered, needing to be played with again. 317 raised her head and looked around. She saw one worker relaxing against a set of stairs, and she quickly crawled over to him. He was apparently still recovering from his last encounter, but he offered no objection when 317 knelt down before him and began licking gently at his dick, hoping to stir him up again.

Besides, she loved that absolutely divine taste.

She knelt there, then, in a moment of relative peace and calm, her first since her awakening, sucking at a worker’s limp but potentially powerful member. 317 felt serenity. Nothing in her old existence had ever felt this rewarding.

And with each passing second, it seemed, that old existence was being erased, bit by bit.

It felt wonderful.

Please, Master, she thought, sucking, hoping to excite the servant enough to mount her and fill the horrible emptiness inside her. Please, this unit needs you so badly.

She believed he would, in time. She knew many techniques to excite men. They had come with her programming. And, soon enough, she did indeed tease the servant enough to use her, filling her cunt, which was all the reward she would ever want or need.

And after he was done, there was another to serve. And so she serviced him.

And the next man.

And the one after that.

And so on, for a long, long time. It was a blissful way to Serve her Goddess.