The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The women that greeted Darius at the gate could hardly be called women at all. They more like parodies of women. Living barbie dolls. The one on the right held an assault rifle in her neatly manicured hands. Two long belts of ammo hung down across her chest and in between the titanic mounds that adorned her tanned body. Apart from the ammo, she was completely naked.

The one of the left was a beach blond bimbo; in her hands was a shotgun.

“Like, stop right there, hunky!” The blond giggled and jerked her gun upwards.

Darius raised his hands slowly. The edges of his blood-red cloak came up as well, revealing a muscular, lithe frame covered in all manners of sheathed blades.

“I’m the Baron of Blades,” Darius gritted his teeth, “I have business with the Doll-Master.”

The brunette bimbo with the assault rifle moaned and cupped one of her heavy, round tits in her free hand, “What’s the password then, handsome?”

“Mind over matter, brain over brawn,” Darius recited, letting his hands drop slowly.

The blond cocked her head upward and placed a comically thoughtful finger against her chin, “Um, I don’t think that’s it...”

Darius swore under his breath as the bimbo swung her gun around to cover him. How humiliating, he thought dully, to be killed because the Doll-Master has a fetish for airheads.

“Like, yes it is, dumbass!” The brunette cried out and tore her hand away from her nipple. She slapped the blond square on her plump ass.

“I’m not a dumbass!” The blond giggled and tackled the brunette into the dirt.

The moaning, copulating pair writhed against the rough ground and cast their guns aside.

“Idiots,” Darius sneered. He stepped gingerly over the two grinding bodies and brought his fingers to his lips. A short, sharp whistle later and his companion stepped out of the shadows.

“Arishka, report.” Darius commanded as his slave stepped into the light.

Arishka was no air-head, or a sex-addled slut, or any other curvaceous parody of a woman that men like the Doll-Master created to keep from getting bored.

Arishka was a killer. Tried and true and honed until her mind was a perfect knife’s edge. Her body was even deadlier. Trained in a thousand martial arts and equipped with the sharpest blades known to man, Arishka was a perfect creation. Long ago she’d been a reporter, an investigator looking into the sudden up-rise in costumed crime. Now she was a weapon.

“He is inside, Master.” She bowed low and pressed her fore-head to the rough ground. “I did not see the women of whom you spoke, but the Doll-Master is not alone. He has at least fifteen of...”

Arishka’s slender, pale hand gestured to the groping, groaning bimbos behind them, “...these creations surrounding him. They are heavily armed.”

“They are imbeciles,” Darius’ lips twisted upwards into a cruel smile as his fingers danced across the row of blades that hung from his chest, “If it comes to it, we will dispose of them with ease.”

“Understood, Master.”

Darius sent her away with a flick of his wrist. The warehouse next to him loomed above him, dark and desolate. It’s architecture was post-gothic, Darius noted. Likely to collapse if it took a stray explosion.

Inside, the Doll-Master waited. Inside there was business to be done.

If nothing else, Darius lived for business.

He headed inside without a single glance backward.

The Doll-Master was a picture of human decadence. A portly, round stomach that stretched his purple latex suit to the limits and a knotty, mangy beard that spilled over his rounded chest.

“Titsi?” He croaked, slurping down a bottle of ginger ale, “Go see our guest in.”

“Of course, Master,” Titsi giggled and gave her giant chest a playful shake. The Doll-Master chuckled and swatted her on the ass as she bounced away towards the front door of the warehouse.

He glanced back towards the stage, “Then we can show him the merchandise.”

“No need, Brandon.” A strong, deep voice echoed around the warehouse’s interior.

“It’s ‘Doll-Master’!” The portly man protested, casting aside the ginger ale with a curse.

“Of course it is,” Darius chuckled darkly as he stepped into the light, “my mistake.”

“You’ve come alone?” The Doll-Master asked, trying to suppress the tremble in his voice.

“That’s what we agreed upon isn’t it?” Darius glanced around the warehouse. His eyes roamed over the water-stained walls and festering mould that coated the inside of the building. A row of busty, gun-toting women lined the catwalks high above. They were smiling and laughing and groaning as they played with one another.

“Of- Of course,” Doll-Master smiled reassuringly. “On with the show, then?”

“Please,” Darius nodded.

The Doll-Master clapped once.

Something rippled across the stage. Darius realized he was looking at a curtain, not a wall. A black, velvet curtain. It swung open with a grinding hiss.

The Doll-Master threw his hands wide in triumph, “I give you....”

Darius gasped, “...the Committee.”

Four women hung above the stage. Each one was locked into a metal St. Andrew’s Cross. Their limbs were spread and held in place by rounded, metal cuffs. The first three wore latex bodysuits, the third was naked.

The one furthest to the left wore blue. Electric blue, with a golden lightning bolt emblazoned on her chest. Her head lolled forward; her hair had been dyed the same shade of blue as her costume and cut into a short pixie bob. A round domino mask covered her face.

“Nano-girl!” The Doll-Master announced, gesturing to the young woman in blue, “I haven’t yet been able to determine her true identity. But I believe she is the young technical genius Allie Locke, Chief Executive of Locke and Key industries. It would certainly fit with her impressive gadgetry and 12th level intellect.”

The woman to her right wore a costume of gold and was wrapped in a cloak of red. Her features were full and beautiful, framed by her long black hair. Her skin was a perfect, olive mocha. A red ‘M’ was painted onto her chest above her right breast.

“I know this one,” Darius nodded solemnly, “the Matriarch. Commander of the Committee. The first superhero.”

“Yes,” The Doll-Master smiled broadly and gave a breathy chuckle, “Her powers are unmatched. I haven’t quite been able to determine where exactly she derives her abilities from, but the effects of it are readily apparent. Flight. Super-strength. Super-speed. Impervious to harm. The ability to project energy blasts from her eyes. A real life Superman.”

“Her real identity?” Darius raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Unknown,” The Doll-Master shook his head sadly. “Not even a single clue. It’s like she doesn’t exist outside of that costume.”

The third wore only a black pair of bra and panties. Her cheekbones were high and aristocratic. Her face was tight and severe. But pretty, in a harsh way. Her blond hair was tied back into a practical bun.

“I’m not familiar with this one.” Darius’ eyes widened in surprise. “Wait. Shining Knight?”

Doll-Master nodded pensively, “The very same. Or, as she’s known when she’s not wearing that unsightly, unflattering set of armour; Jessica DuPont.”

“The multi-billion dollar heiress?” Darius’ right hand rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I’ve met her several times at the fundraisers I’ve attended in my civilian identity. Unbelievable. I never suspected....”

“Nor I,” Doll-Master shook his head regretfully, “Nor I, my friend. But how could we? The ancient suit of armour she wears that imbues her with the increased strength and agility necessary to wield the Shining Sword conceals her identity quite well.”

“Ancient armour?” Darius’ cocked his head to the side. “Magic? I didn’t sense any during our many battles.”

“Magic. Or something similar.” Doll-Master nodded. “Legends say that the spirit of the great warrior Angelique DuPont lives on in her armour and strengthens the woman who wears it. The blade she carries, the Shining Sword, protects the body and mind against evil. Which is why, of course, I took it from her.”

“Where is it now? The armour and sword?” Darius glanced back up at the catwalks high above.

A single, dark figure stood there. At her feet was the bimbo-guards that had been standing there only moments ago. Arishka worked fast, Darius smiled.

“In the basement,” the Doll-Master jerked his thumb toward the floor, “I figured it was best to keep it safe until I could find a buyer for those particular items.”

“I’ll take them,” Darius said suddenly. Intent on keeping the Doll-Master’s gaze upon him. A single glance upward and he’d see Arishka. That would turn an organized plan into a bloodbath.

“Oh?” The Doll-Master nodded. “Very well. In any case, onto our final item...”

Darius glanced at the last woman on display; dressed in an orange and red body-suit, her hair was a volatile, brazen scarlet.

“Yes, yes,” Darius grunted, “Devil Dare. The youngest member of the committee. Absolute control over fire. Very impressive powers. I won’t be wanting that one.”

“No?” Doll-Master raised a single eyebrow, “You asked for the full set, did you not?”

“I did. But she is...” Darius rolled his tongue around his mouth as he searched for the appropriate word, “...uncouth. Not to my liking. Keep her though, with my thanks.”

“A generous gift.”

“Where is the last member of the Committee?” Darius’ eyes roamed across the stage, “Where is the Lady Justice?”

“Who cares?” The Doll-Master chuckled, “She is a lone woman. She has no powers, but that wicked tongue of hers. She’s no danger to us, now that we have the most powerful members of the Committee in our grasp.”

“My grasp,” Darius corrected him, “You are selling them to me, remember?”

“Of course, Baron.” The Doll-Master fidgeted nervously with his collar as Darius eyes pinned him to the spot.

“Forgive me,” The Baron of Blades chuckled, “But I must ask. How did you acquire them? Not that I doubt your abilities, Brandon. But you are hardly the type of man to be able to defeat the Committee.”

“It’s Doll-Master,” Brandon corrected him, a slight whine infiltrating his voice. “I was given an anonymous tip. It was a simple matter to slip some high-powered tranquilizers into their headquarters air system and then collect them when they passed out.”

Darius’ eyes narrowed, “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Then we’d best get down to business,” Darius smiled gently.

“Yes, we should.” The Doll-Master clapped his hands together eagerly. “I was thinking two hundred thousand dollars for the girls. An extra five thousand for the sword and armour.”

“Two hundred thousand?” Darius nodded slowly.

“Each.”

“Hmmm, I think not.”

“What?” The Doll-Master hissed, pointing a fat, accusatory finger at the cloaked man, “We had an agreement.”

“That agreement has changed, Brandon.”

“It’s Doll-Master!”

“I’m afraid the only thing I can pay you in....”

Darius snapped his fingers to his lips and gave a sharp, piercing whistle, “....is steel. Arishka, strike!”

The figure standing on the catwalk leapt through the air. She fell gracefully downward toward them, like an Olympian diver. She spun and slipped once, then landed flat on the ground. Legs outstretched, like a cat.

The Doll-Master gasped, then gave a strangled, girlish cry of panic.

Darius gasped too. His eyes widened into stark realization. The woman before him was not his Arishka. Not his slave. No.

His eyes traced his way up her body; noting the thigh-high black combat boots and the slick, black latex cat-suit the woman wore. The utility belt that hung from her waist and was decorated with an array of different devices, the stylized ‘J’ that was set into the centre of it. The slim, elbow-deep gloves she wore and the raven black hair that fell around her shoulders. A pair of bright, green eyes stared back at him from behind the woman’s black domino mask.

“Lady Justice,” Darius hissed, pulling free a short-bladed throwing knife from the sheath on his chest and throwing it over-handed.

The costumed crime-fighter ducked under the whistling blade and gave a curt nod as she landed, “Baron. How nice to see you.”

“Likewise,” the super-villain grunted and tugged free a flat-bladed machete, “I think I’m going to kill you now.”

He charged, roaring something unintelligible, and swung the blade at her neck.

She ducked under it and swept his legs out from under him with a circular kick. He crashed to the ground as she flipped backwards and landed on a large, flat cargo crate. “Are you flirting with me, Baron? You should know by now, I don’t swing that way. Although that girl of yours I found outside; rowr! Though I suppose it’s not that hard for them to get past your personality when you scrub their mind clean.”

Darius rose unsteadily to his feet. The machete in his hand sliced through the air between them. Once. Twice.

Lady Justice threw herself forward, over the slashing blade and kicked out with her leg. The blow connected with the super-villain’s neck and sent him crashing to the ground. He gave a heavy sigh as he slipped into unconsciousness.

“Now. Where were we?” Lady Justice said aloud, pirouetting on her heel. Her eyes fell on the shaking, fat man that was the Doll-Master. “Ah.”

“Get back, Lady Justice!” The Doll-Master pointed a thick, pudgy finger at the three women hanging on the bondage racks behind him. “Or I’ll....”

Wait, three women? He turned back to take another look. A blue-clad fist cracked against his jaw and sent him reeling to the ground.

“One thing I forgot to mention when you had me tied up back there, Doll-Master,” Nano-girl smiled and rubbed her knuckles, “the Nano-filament in my suit regulates my blood and purges all interferences; like that knock-out drug you slipped into our headquarters.”

“How did you know?” The Doll-Master grunted at Lady Justice.

“Who the hell do you think gave you that tip in the first place, genius?” Lady Justice smiled, then shrugged playfully as she stepped over Darius’ gently groaning form. “Did you really think the Committee would be outsmarted by some punk like you? This was a sting operation, and a damn good one at that.”

The Doll-Master’s face contorted into an ugly, jowly grimace as he cried out, “Titsi! Get them!”

Lady Justice jerked back reflexively as a flash of pink flesh leapt past her, howling and shrieking and giggling as it crashed into Nano-girl and sent them both flying to the ground.

“What the fuck?” Lady Justice grunted as she watched, stunned, as a busty, naked bimbo pinned her companion to the ground.

Something whistled toward her neck. She ducked instinctively. The blade whistled through the air where she’d been standing seconds ago.

“Goddamnit,” Lady Justice groaned as she kicked out and sent Darius staggering back, “Why won’t you stay down?”

“Call it professional dedication, my dear,” Darius laughed sardonically as he swept his blade back toward her.

The silver edge nicked her arm and opened a thin, red gash in her flesh. “Ow!”

She whirled around, knocked the blade from his hands and kicked him square in the chest. He fell backwards, clattering and groaning across the hard, concrete floor.

Lady Justice staggered back, clasping a hand over her forehead as a wave of dizziness swept across her. “What...”

“A numbing agent, my dear,” The Baron smiled wolfishly from where he lay, “Of the mind. In five minutes you’ll be little more than a submissive slut begging for me to take you. Bend you, break you and remake you.”

Lady Justice groaned and gasped out a hot, feverish breath of air. “That’s okay...”

“See? I knew you liked me!”

“...because in two minutes you’re going to be unconscious!” She leapt forward, arms outstretched.

Nano-Girl grunted in disbelief as the bimbo wrapped her arms around her. Her giant, round, fleshy tits pressed against the young woman’s slender frame. “What the fuck?”

“Hee hee! Like, I’m Titsi!” The bimbo giggled. A thick, sickly-sweet scent filled the air.

“I noticed,” Nano-Girl grunted and then triggered her suit’s Nano-bots with a thought. Increased strength, she thought. That ought to do it. As the command slipped from her nervous system and into her suit’s receptors she took in a single, slight breath.

The smell permeated her nostrils and crept up into her sinuses. It smelt...

....good.

Like, really good. She giggled. “Whoa.”

“You like it?” Titsi smiled madly and pressed her nipples against Nano-Girl’s slim frame. “Master made me, like, totally special. Better than all the rest! You’ll see!”

She breathed in again. She did see. An image flashed across her mind. She saw a thick, fat cock and a busty slut bending over to take it. Again and again.

Where was that smell coming from?

Another image, screaming inside her head. She saw a pair of large, round nipples and a groaning, moaning mouth.

Where was that- Oh.

A thick, creamy liquid dripped down from Titsi’s pink nipples. Drip, drip, drip. It splattered across Nano-Girl’s chest. The Nano-weave that her suit was constructed of sparked and coughed grey smoke as the liquid seeped inside and short circuited it’s inner workings.

Nano-Girl groaned as Titsi leant forward and positioned a nipple over her mouth. A thick drizzle of milk spattered across her lips.

She shook her head and tried to force the intrusive thoughts away. That damn scent....

Her arms were growing weaker, she realized. The suit was failing. That was bad. Titsi pressed in against her and pushed her fat, wet nipple up against the struggling young woman’s lips.

The milk was...

...poison. Heavenly, and sweet tasting, but still poison. She let out a wet groan as the nipple pushed past her lips and coated the inside of her mouth with the thick cream.

Titsi cooed and smiled down at her, “You’re going to, like, fucking love Master’s gifts, yeah?”

Yeah, Nano-Girl thought dumbly, that sounded nice.

Lady Justice bit down on her hand in order to stifle the groan that was rising in her throat. She pressed herself against Darius’ rock-hard cock and rolled her hips; grinding her wet, slick thighs against his rod.

“I hate to say I told you so,” Darius chuckled as he ran his hands along the heroine’s curves.

“Darius...” Lady Justice groaned, her hand tightening into a ball. Everything felt so hot, and so tingly.

“Yes?”

“I already told you,” She snapped, bringing her fist down hard, “I don’t swing that way!”

The Baron cried out in pain, then fell quiet and still as he slipped, once again, into blissful unconsciousness. Lady Justice stood quickly, and glanced around. The Doll Master was nowhere to be seen, but his slave was in the process of force feeding Nano-Girl a bucket of milk.

That was bad. “Oh, shit!”

She hurdled a stack of crates and crash tackled the squealing bimbo away from her pinned partner. A lightning fast blow to the neck and the bimbo was out cold too.

“Jesus,” She muttered, stunned, as she glanced down at Nano-Girl.

Her hand was buried between her slippery thighs as she moaned and groaned her way to orgasm. Her suit hung in tatters, the Nano-filaments that made it up had broken and burnt away, revealing the soft, pale body behind it. Her eyes were wide, vacant and glassy and she stared emptily up at the ceiling as she gurgled happily through the last of the milk in her mouth.

She slurped it down, then giggled, “Like, wow!”

“Oh, shit,” Lady Justice repeated.

This was not her forte. She had to get help. She had to get the others awake.

A flush of heat seized her body. Her muscles twitched and jerked as her thighs ground together and stoked the flame that was growing there. She reached out with one trembling hand toward her trapped compatriots.

Nano-Girl’s giggling reverberated inside her skull.

Darkness closed around the edge of her vision. The ground rose up to meet her as she pitched forward into that inky, black nothingness.

Empire City’s air always smelt beautiful. At least, that was what Deirdre Dickson thought, as she made her way through the central park. Her feet pounded against the concrete paving and sent spikes of pain shooting up her bad leg; it hadn’t healed properly since her tussle with Captain Chaotic. Her head throbbed with a dull pain that the mugger had given her when he’d given her a right hook to the temple. Her breath came in short, ragged gasps as she chased him; she’d never been much of a runner.

But still, at least the air was nice.

The mugger stumbled, Deirdre’s purse slipped from his hands and clattered against the ground loudly, spilling its contents across the grass.

“Hyah!” Deirdre cried, throwing herself forward into a diving tackle.

They crashed into the grass together, rolling and clashing and kicking and punching as they tumbled across the ground.

A woman to Deirdre’s right gasped. A man shrieked something unintelligible.

Blood pounded inside her ears.

“Stop!” She barked, driving her knuckles across the bridge of the mugger’s nose.

He jerked once, then fell still.

Deirdre sighed heavily, “Was that so hard?”

A white light flashed in the corner of her eye. The mugger’s hand rose up, clutching an etched white gem in the palm of his hand.

“Knew I’d get you, super-slut!” He chuckled.

“What?” Deirdre snapped, glancing away from the light.

“You’re one of them super-babes, aren’t ya’?” The man shoved the gem in front of her narrowed eyes. “Like what you see, wonder whore? I knew it as soon as I snatched your purse. I saw you on the news!”

Deirdre opened her mouth to spit a retort at him.

The gem was quite pretty, a voice whispered in her ear as she slowly closed her gaping mouth.

Beautiful, really.

The way the light caught off its sides; the way the etchings and carvings squiggled together and made all those pretty letters dance....

“Fuck,” Deirdre groaned and blinked once, she smacked the gem away and gave a relieved sigh as it skittered across the air and bounced into the grass. “Try that hypnosis bunk on me again, mister...”

Deirdre cracked her knuckles together. Police sirens sounded nearby. Getting closer, Deirdre noted. “....and police brutality won’t be the only kind of beating you’ll have to worry about!”

The mugger cursed, then fell silent as Deirdre got to her feet.

A crowd of onlookers began to clap.

“Thanks,” Deirdre gave a short, mock bow. “All in a day’s work.”

Off to her left, somewhere amongst the trees, a woman screamed.

“All in a day’s work....” Deirdre sighed, then rushed off toward the noise.

A fledgling superhero’s life was never dull.

But hey, she rationalized, at least the air was good.

Victoria Woode awoke. Slowly, at first, piecing together consciousness from the slick, wet fever dream she’d just been experiencing.

A silver knife with a black edge. An image of a giant, distended nipple forcing open a nubile mouth.

All forgotten. But only momentarily.

Her eyes snapped open. She surged forward, taking in a deep breath as she sat up and glanced around.

It was her apartment, the drab, sickly orange wallpaper told her that. She sighed and kicked the bed sheets off of her sweat-coated body.

A dull understanding came to her as the petulant ringing echoed in her ear. The phone was ringing.

She rubbed her eyes and headed through to the kitchen. If the bedroom was drab, the kitchen was offensively so. Paint chips stained the carpet and melted into the damp, termite infested wood of the walls. The place looked like a super-villain’s death-trap. Maybe the Executioner’s old haunt, or Captain Chaos’ hell-realm.

Victoria gave a grunt of disgust as she picked the phone up from its receiver and surveyed her apartment. She didn’t even have a TV. What kind of self-respecting woman didn’t have a TV in this day and age?

“Hey, sweetheart, how’s the hangover?” Ben’s voice. She suppressed a grunt of revulsion.

Of all the flirts and womanizers that worked at the Stiegel and Shuster Law firm, Ben was the worst. It wasn’t just that they’d been forced to work together by the senior partners, but Ben was constantly insisting that she spend time with him outside of work.

“Not a hangover, Ben,” Victoria sighed, “Just ran into a little, um, trouble last night.”

“Huh. I’ve been ringing for the past ten minutes.”

“Alright,” Victoria shrugged, “So?”

“So the deposition is tonight. The Mueller case?”

Victoria stepped briskly around the kitchen counter, balancing the phone on her shoulder. Her hand paused as it reached out for the fridge door. There was a note stuck to the front of it. “Oh. Right. Yeah.”

“’Yeah’?” A note of irritation crept into Ben’s voice. “This is the biggest case we’ve been given yet. This is our chance, Vicki!”

She plucked the note from the front door of the fridge.

It read, in flowery red font;

‘Sorry we had to dump you at your apartment, Lady J. But Nano-Girl is out of the fight, something is seriously whacked out about her. Matriarch’s pissed. She wants you down at headquarters right away. Make it there as soon as you can, I hung up your suit in the wardrobe.

Ciao, Devil Dare.’

“Shit,” Victoria sighed. She couldn’t believe this. As if it wasn’t bad enough she was almost brain-fucked by the Baron of Blades mind-poison. Nano-Girl was still messed up? “Listen, Ben. Do whatever you want. I’ll get there when I can. I’ve got business to attend to.”

“But-!” He protested. The phone line went dead with a click as she slammed it back into the receiver.

Victoria swore as she slipped out of her clothes and headed for her wardrobe. Real life would have to wait. There was real work to be done. Work that she couldn’t do as Victoria Woode, everyday paralegal.

Work that needed Lady Justice.

Her suit always clung so uncomfortably when she wore it again without washing it. It didn’t stink, Nano-Girl had once treated it with an aromatic refresher substance that saved her that problem, but it did cling.

She picked a particularly troublesome piece of the bodysuit out from underneath her breasts and pushed onward. The Committee headquarters were located in the centre of the city. Matriarch had once explained the choice by rationalizing it as the place where they could move to any point in the city’s reaches quickest.

At the time Victoria hadn’t protested, after all the building they’d chosen was nice, if a bit expensive. But Jessica, after some coaxing from Victoria, had offered to pay for Matriarch and Lady Justice’s insanity. In time she’d joined up, then others had come.

Nowadays, Victoria only regretted that she hadn’t also made Jessica pay for an apartment closer to the centre of the city for her own use. It would’ve been easy too, a little pussy licking, maybe tie Jessica up a bit....

...the possibilities were endless.

But instead, she’d decided to stick with her job. Earn money the old fashioned way; prosecuting muggers and rapists in the most corrupt city in the world. Big mistake.

Her zip-line snapped shut as she landed gently on the roof of the Circlet. The building had originally been a science museum. Flat and round with a glass ceiling and not much else. Luxodia city’s interests in education the young through the power of science had died almost as soon as the first of the super-villains had shown up.

The building had sat untouched for close to three years.

Then Matriarch had came and her and Victoria had founded the Committee, with Jessica’s backing. Others had joined with time. A domino effect of crime-fighting. A stable of like-minded women who had grown sick and disinterested with the way Luxodia city was headed.

Devil Dare was waiting inside the building’s lobby.

Her fiery red hair was matted and clumped in disarray. Her eyes were weary and bloodshot.

“You okay?” Victoria placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and steered the young woman toward the reception desk. Not that they used it for that purpose. But it was the nearest chair.

“Yeah, yeah, fine,” Evelyn Faust sighed and tore away her domino mask. “It’s just this business with Allie that’s got me bothered.”

“Yeah. How’s she doing?” Victoria glanced toward the elevator.

“Don’t know,” Evelyn sighed and slumped back into the chair. “Mama Matriarch won’t let us see her.”

“Probably for the best,” Victoria nodded reassuringly, “she’s probably in a state of shock.”

“At the least,” Evelyn nodded solemnly in agreement. “Say, what took you so long?”

“You try living out on the banks without a car,” Victoria shrugged.

“Can’t. Not broke yet.” Evelyn flashed a toothy smile. “Still got my entrepreneurs instincts.”

“Babe,” Victoria looked disapprovingly down at Evelyn over her reflective shades, “You drive a bus.”

“Yeah, today,” Evelyn scoffed. “Next week, who knows?”

The elevator dinged as it opened.

“The inability to hold down a job does not make one an entrepreneur, Evelyn,” The Matriarch said calmly as she stepped out of the elevator.

Victoria opened her mouth. One look from the Matriarch’s stern eyes shut it again.

“Victoria, this way.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Victoria murmured as she followed the older woman onto the elevator.

She glanced back. Evelyn gave her a short shrug of reassurance as the elevator doors closed behind them.

“Nice to see you to, Lucia,” Victoria quipped dryly as the elevator began to hum upward.

“Don’t play around, Victoria,” Matriarch chided her. “This isn’t the time for your jokes.”

Victoria had never really known whether Matriarch’s name was actually Lucia. She’d never given a last name and Victoria had been unable to track any woman named Lucia entering the city at the time of Matriarch’s arrival. Still, Victoria had always wondered if the name was a sign of trust, more a symbol than an actual detail. But Victoria had long since stopped trying to decode Matriarch. That way madness lied.

“How’s Nano-Girl?” Victoria asked as Lucia punched in the code for the top floor.

“Severely affected. We were hoping you could shed some light as to what happened, exactly. When we woke up and got free, there was no one there but you, her and our mutual friend, the Baron.”

“Where are we keeping him?” Victoria asked, glancing downwards. The holding cells were in the basement.

“In the cells for now,” Matriarch followed her gaze. “Listen, no one blames you for anything, but what the hell happened last night, Victoria?”

“One of that freak Doll-Master’s bimbos. One I missed. It pinned Allie while I was distracted and...”

“Yes?” Lucia prodded, noting Victoria’s hesitance.

“....fed her. Milk. Or something that looked like it.”

Lucia crossed her arms and bowed her head in thought, “And yourself? You were delirious when we woke. Screaming.”

“The Baron nicked me with some kind of poison.”

“Poison?”

“It’s out of my system,” Victoria said resolutely. I hope, she added mentally.

“Good. Nano-Girl’s predicament means we need all the able hands we can get,” Lucia’s nose wrinkled as she sniffed, the elevator doors slid open. “Do you smell that?”

“It’s...” Victoria stepped out through the open doors and glanced around, “....oh shit!”

Allie Locke, intellectual prodigy, was in the midst of pressing her mammoth tits against the glass wall of the observation room. Her face was a mask of lust and heat, her groans could be heard clearly, even through the reinforced, soundproof walls.

“Damn!” Lucia yelped and propelled herself forward; she floated a foot of the ground and moved like lightning.

The glass divider keeping Allie from them was dripping with milk.

“This what you saw?” Lucia asked, staring horrified at the slickened window.

“Yeah,” Victoria nodded, dumbstruck, “Something like that.”

Lucia sighed heavily and took in a long, slow breath. “Get the team. Tell them to get their things. We’re leaving.”

Victoria gaped stupidly and then tore her eyes away from Allie’s groaning, writhing body to pin Lucia with a fierce stare, “What the fuck do you mean, ‘we’re leaving’? We can’t just abandon Allie!”

“We’re not,” Lucia said stoically, raising a single, flat hand. “I know someone who can help. We’re taking Allie with us.”

“You know someone who can...” Victoria shook her head slowly as she trailed off, her eyes drifted back to the heaving bosom that bounced behind the plexiglass divider. “...fix this?”

“I hope so,” Lucia said quietly. “For my sake and hers.”

Victoria raised an arched eyebrow, “What’s gotten into you?”

Lucia shifted awkwardly and rubbed feeling back into her numb arms, “It’s nothing. An old friend called.”

“Bad news?” Victoria asked, stepping closer.

Matriarch moved away, “It’s all bad news nowadays. Take the jet, go with the others.”

“And you?” Victoria jerked her head toward the observation room which held Allie. “And her?”

Lucia stepped forward, an inch and a heartbeat away from Allie’s docile eyes. Her hands slid across the glass surface. “I’ll tear the observation room free if I have to. Fly it there myself.”

Victoria nodded, finding a little of her surety again, “Good idea. She’s too dangerous to fly with us.”

“Get them to the jet, then.” Lucia turned away, staring pensively at the thrusting, jiggling breasts that danced in front of her. “I should be able to move this no problem.”

“I’ll cause a hell of a big mess.”

Lucia shrugged. “Seems worth it, don’t you think?”

Victoria stared at the docile, preening slut that had once been her team-mate. “Yeah. What about the Baron?”

“Take him with you, in the cell on the jet. We’ll have to keep an eye on him and we don’t have the time to sort it out with the cops. We’ll deal with him when we get back.” Matriarch shrugged apologetically.

“Sucks,” Victoria sighed. “I was looking forward to seeing him get put through the ringer.”

“Head to Empire City. Don’t stop for anything. We’ll be back in time to give him a nice, cold cell in Atherton Asylum.” Lucia gave a half-smile, half-shrug. “We can’t waste any more time than we already have.”

Victoria nodded, and for a brief, shining moment, the world almost seemed right again.

A world away, Empire City was dying.

It wasn’t through terrorism or economic downturn or any other worldly concerns. But through an exodus.

Empire City’s population was, famously, over 80% female.

‘Dyke heaven’, one Conservative commentator called it.

Now those women were disappearing.

Women had always disappeared. Slowly, steadily, in small numbers.

But now things had changed. Someone, or something, was growing bold. Women were vanishing in droves. Entire universities were being snatched up, entire shopping malls worth of females were vanishing, as if into thin air, leaving a few, scattered empty shells of mindless men; their eyes rolling back until completely white, their mouths filled with drool.

It didn’t matter though.

The Detective was on the case.

Deirdre Dickson has always known it was a stupid superhero name. But all in all she wasn’t really a superhero. Just a woman with a knack for puzzles and a lust for Muay Thai.

In the end, combining the two seemed immensely appropriate. Of course, she’d never in her wildest dreams imagined the kind of trouble she’d get into. She’d pictured herself as something of a modern day, grown-up Nancy Drew. Everything had changed when the others had arrived; men and women who hid behind capes and masks and other vaudevillian acts and committed horrific deeds.

It was one such deed that led her to the doors of the Electric Raven.

The Raven was a BDSM club. Not where her work usually led her, but she had to follow the evidence; no matter where it might end up.

It was a week since she’d found the couple in the park; a young, screaming woman desperately trying to fight off another. The attacker had been wearing a latex bondage hood. An item that completely covered her entire face. Deirdre hadn’t been entirely sure how the bondage freak had been able to see, but she did feel the back-hand send her reeling to the ground when she tried to intervene.

The freak was trying to slip an identical hood on over the girl’s head. Deirdre had put her down without a second thought. A quick bicycle kick to the chest had knocked the wind out of her and the follow up punch and ensured she’d be asleep until the cops got there; magic hood or not.

She’d taken the hood the freak had been trying to force the girl into and stuffed it into her pocket before legging it; no need to still be there when the cops arrived.

Her next stop had been a clothing store, and after the saleswoman had finished giggling and given her instructions to the Electric Raven, and her cheeks had stopped blushing a bright red, she’d slipped into her costume and went to work.

It was simple enough; a long, dusty overcoat that she’d sliced along the back to allow for more flexibility. A nice brown trilby hat had completed the ensemble, along with a pair of jeans and a faded tie.

Her hand slipped into the pocket of her over-coat and ran along the surface of the cool, black hood.

The bouncer at the front door stopped her with an outstretched hand.

Deirdre pulled the latex hood out and flashed it in front of the muscular woman’s eyes, “I’m here to see Ms. Tress?”

The bouncer snorted, then glanced at the gently wavering slip of squeaking material, her eyes widened...

...recognition? Or fear? Deirdre wondered.

The look disappeared as the bouncer waved her in hurriedly, “She’s in the back-room, up the stairs.”

“Thanks.”

It never hurt to be polite.

The club was melting pot of writhing, twitching and jerking bodies. Latex, rubber and PVC squeaked and ground and groaned against each other as Deirdre pushed her way through the club.

On the stairs, one woman had another bent over at the waist, and a strap-on embedded inside her.

“Excuse me,” Deirdre coughed as she ascended.

The women shifted, almost robotically, out of the way.

She suppressed a shudder and kept moving.

The door to Ms. Tress’ office was open.

The woman herself was sitting behind a mahogany, lacquered desk. It was an exquisite piece, definitely late-Victorian, Deirdre noted.

“Ah, please, sit.” Her voice was a little frailer than Deirdre expected. A little less commanding, with none of that romantic, husky timber she’d envisioned when she’d heard the woman’s moniker.

“I’ll stand,” Deirdre smiled pleasantly and held up the hood, “I only need to know what this is and then I’ll be on my way, anyway.”

Deirdre dropped the hood gently onto Ms. Tress’ desk. She glanced around, the office was almost appealing, in a librarian’s sort of way. Row upon row of books sat in oak cabinets and a warm, yellow light spilled out from two burnished, antique lamps.

A latex-clad mannequin wearing a blood red corset stood stoically to her right. A rack of sex toys and bondage equipment leant against the wall behind her.

“Fascinating creation,” Ms. Tress said quietly. Her full, red lips tightened slightly, imperceptibly as her equally red fingernails danced across the surface of it. “Smooth. Impossibly so and cold too. I wonder if it’s as comfortable to wear?”

“No time for trying it on, I’m afraid,” Deirdre quipped. “I need answers. Where it comes from. Who made it. Why.”

Ms. Tress glanced up at her. Her severe, Eurasian features were held in a pallid grimace as she studied the hood. “I think I can help you. But first, a request.”

“Shoot,” Deirdre said, then immediately regretted it when she saw the smile that flitted across Ms. Tress’ face.

“Put these on,” Tress grinned slightly. A pair of hand-cuffs clinked across her desk.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I am.” Ms. Tress gently stood and pushed the cuffs toward Deirdre with the palm of her hand. “I know how much you little crime fighters love the feel of being tied up. I’ve seen it on the news; ‘caught in heat, the Scarlet Serpent bound and gagged!’”

“I’m not the Scarlet Serpent,” Deirdre gritted her teeth, “I’m the Detective.”

“Then it shouldn’t matter, should it? You can take them off as soon as you put them on.” Ms. Tress shrugged.

Deirdre swore under her breath. If there was one thing she couldn’t resist, it was a logical argument.

“Then you’ll tell me what I want to know?” Deirdre sighed.

“Everything you desire and more,” Ms. Tress said, sitting back in her chair and smiling. “I promise.”

“Fuck,” Deirdre snatched the hand-cuffs up without a second thought.

She clicked one closed around her left wrist. A jolt shot up her spine. Nothing to worried about, she calmed herself, just some strange woman trying to handcuff you.

She linked them behind her back, snapping them shut with a dull click.

“Now...” Deirdre began.

A flurry of motion in the corner of her eye cut her off. “What the....”

The mannequin was moving.

No, not a mannequin, she realized. A woman. A woman covered from head to toe in latex. Or something like it.

She pulled up her hands into a defensive position. Except they didn’t come up. Shit, the handcuffs!

She scrabbled backwards.

The latex-woman struck out with her leg and sent her to her knees.

“Now then,” The latex woman said quietly, and this time Deirdre heard the timbre she’d been expecting, the husk too. “What shall we do with you?”

The latex woman’s hand came up to her face, then tore away the hood she wore and cast it aside.

A fiery-red mane spilled out. The woman shook it lose and stared down at Deirdre, her eyes alight with mischief.

“Stop this,” Deirdre hissed, glancing between the two women. Ms. Tress had her eyes cast down toward the ground. “I’ll do whatever you want!”

“Whatever I want? Hmmm. What a wonderful image, my dear. But you know what would really go well with that, Ms. Tress?” The standing woman chuckled.

“No, Madam Masque,” Ms. Tress mumbled, “I have no idea...”

Madam Masque leant over the table and snatched the hood from Ms. Tress’ outstretched hands. “A lovely, mind-numbing, slut-puppet creating hood, of course!”

Deirdre’s eyes boggled as her mind reeled. Of course, it all made sense now, the woman in the park; the freak, had been a slave. What a mystery! “If only I wasn’t a part of it, now....”

Madam Masque smiled down at her, “Come now, my precious little slut, don’t you want to feel it’s sexy, slick sheen?”

“Fuck no!” Deirdre cried out and pulled at the handcuffs. Why the fuck did I put them on so tight?

“Hmmm. Resistant, I see. Well, there’ll be no more talking once you’re hooded and docile. There’ll only be a lifetime of pussy licking and latex from now on,” Madam Masque lifted the hood, and with a flourish, opened it up. A dim light pulsed inside. “Once the hood is on, there’ll be no more struggling, no more fighting. Just sweet, simple submission and a wonderland of wet snatch and mindless submission.”

“You can’t be serious,” Deirdre blinked once. This was crazy!

“Oh but I am, little slut. Now come, you’ve already got the kneeling part down. All you need to do now...” Madam Masque smiled wolfishly, “....is give in. Any last words?”

“Fuck y-”

The hood closed down around Deirdre’s head with ease. Like a glove. Like it was always meant to be.

She tried to think of a way out of this mess. Anything! But every thought felt like slippery, shining latex. Her fingers would brush against it, grasping tightly, and then feel it flow through her mind like sand.

Soft, impressionable sand.

She moaned as the hood tore open her pleasure centre and began rewiring it. It didn’t hurt. Nothing hurt. Nothing felt like anything at all.

“That’s right, my dear. Open yourself to it, let it in. Feel the hood taking your mind, your face. Your everything. And making you just another slave-drone for me to play with.”

She felt a memory pop like a ripe grape in a hungry mouth. Her birthday? Her...third birthday?

“Feel it plucking your pussy like the strings of a harp, feel it working through your mind, erasing all those nasty thoughts, and memories, and silly little ideas of free will. Feel your new identity subsuming your old one; a face as black and deep and thoughtless as shimmering latex.”

Madam Masque. The woman from before-time called the voice-woman Madam Masque. God, thinking was hard now. So hard.

“What is your name, my dear?”

“I..my...there is...no...no...no name...”

“Correct, listen to the Hood. Let it guide you in your new worship. Let it shape you. Let it break you and remake you. You have no name. You have only the hood. And your Mistress who saw fit to gift you with it.”

“drone....”

“Yes?”

“drone has the Hood.”

“drone has Mistress.”

“Yessss, Drone needs nothing else.” A voice, a chuckling voice. No. Mistress’ chuckling voice.

“drone’s body exists to pleasure Mistress.”

“That’s right. Drone and hood and body are one. They exist to please Mistress, to serve Mistress.”

“...drone...”

“It is all Drone needs. All Drone craves. Drones exist to please their Mistress, to bend and shape and obey at their Mistress word. You are Drone. I am Mistress.”

Mistress commands drone with a thought. The latex-clad slave obeys without a word, retrieving a strap-on from the rack and attaching it to Mistress’ perfect, shapely waist without a sound. Even the latex that covers her head doesn’t squeak.

“Open.” Mistress commands. drone obeys.

her mouth opens without a sound.

“Wonderful,” Mistress nods eagerly, tracing the tip of her strap-on around the eager, hot wet hole. “Do you know what this hole is, drone?”

drone shakes her head, but Mistress already knows the answer.

“This is your mind. This is every little errant thought that the Hood didn’t consume and cast out for being unworthy of serving Mistress. This is every last thought you’ll ever have and it is the only thing that keeps you from serving me; utterly, completely. Absolutely.”

Mistress hands encircle the strap-on that juts forward from her waist. “Do you know what this is, drone?”

Again, drone shakes. Again, it is unnecessary.

“This is my will. This is the overbearing, overpowering realization that you are a slut-drone. That every fibre of your being, every nanite that exists inside that hood. Every cell of your body, exists only to serve Mistress. This is the woman who crushed your pathetic, snivelling struggling and the Hood that made you into the perfect, complete and obedient drone that you are. Do you understand, drone?”

drone nods. Mistress smiles.

Excellent, Mistress hisses, pleased. She slides her hands along the outside of drone’s latex face; her true face, and presses the tip of the strap-on; her will, against drone’s yielding lips.

A thrust. An all consuming, thought destroying thrust that reminds drone of the Hood. Of her pledge. Of her worship of Mistress and of everything that Mistress has given her; freedom from thought. The wonder of obedience. As Mistress thrusts into drone’s willing, hot, eager mouth drone can do nothing but feel the tremor-shocks of obedience shoot through her body and obey.

A thought vanishes. A thought drone didn’t even know she still possessed and by the time it is gone drone has forgotten even the memory of it. The Hood is everything. The Hood is the pleasure she feels at kneeling before Mistress and the throbbing, thrusting brain-fuck that Mistress is giving her. drone feels nothing now; nothing but perfect, complete obedience as Mistress thrusts and fucks and penetrates every. Single. Thought. Left.

Finally Mistress relents, slipping the will-rod that is her strap-on back out of drone’s wet, well-fucked brain. “Aren’t you happy I hooded you, now?” She knows what drone’s answer will be already, but she never gets tired of hearing it....

“Yes, Mistress!”

“Good. Orgasm.”

“Inconceivable,” Ms. Tress gasped. “I never thought I’d see the process up close.”

Madam Masque smiled and detached the strap-on, placing it back on the rack without a word. “Impressive, no?”

Madam Masque gently lifted a ball-gag from Ms. Tress’ rack of toys and turned around in her pale, slender hand, watching how the light reflected off of it. “A friend once told me something about the true nature of a dominant, Ms. Tress. Would you like to hear it?”

The woman sat in the black throne glanced uneasily from the writhing, moaning drone on the ground to the ball-gag in Madam Masque’s hands, “Sure.”

“My friend, bless her soul, once said that a true Dominatrix wears a mask at all times,” she tossed the ball-gag aside, “for if they were to show happiness, or joy, or any emotion while enslaving a submissive, then they would allow themselves to be at emotion and need’s behest. My friend said that for a true dominatrix this was unacceptable; to allow themselves to be controlled, even by emotion, would be to betray themselves to their submissive instinct. Intriguing, no?”

Ms. Tress’ eyes widened slightly as she followed the rolling ball-gag. It bounced and skittered along the ground. It came to a sharp stop as it collided with a single, black, latex-clad foot. Ms. Tress gaze rose. There were three drones standing in the doorway. The one in the lead was holding another Hood.

“Would you like to wear a mask, Ms. Tress?” Madam Masque said coldly, impassively.

“Oh, god.” She sat up, her eyes darted to the window.

“drones, get her.”

As the hands secured her to her seat, and an impossibly cool latex Hood slipped down across her eyes, a lone figure perched outside the window turned and fled into the night.