The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Carolynne, immobilized on her gurney in the Signet’s surgery, felt something close around the sides of her shaved head, holding it immobile. The paralysis was continuing to recede slowly from her body, but the restraints which Belinda had so efficiently applied made that nearly moot. The only thing she could manage was a whispered question:

“What’re you doing?”

The corners of Dr Putina’s eyes crinkled, indicating a smile hidden behind her mask.

“Why, Carolynne, this is the culmination of decades of my research into the human brain, and how to interface to it.” She reached into a container and removed a small metallic item, about as long as Carolynne’s thumb, bristling with hair-thin spikes. “We’re going to make you, and the other nurses, truly one with the wishes of the Captain. She is on the verge of a major breakthrough in astronometric research, but unfortunately all of you in the crew of the Signet are unable to comprehend her true vision and its importance. So, we need to align your thoughts with her.”

She regarded her creation proudly.

“It took a long time to get here. The human brain is incredibly complex, as you know, and although we have now mapped out its functions fairly well, it is much more challenging to engage properly with the synapses and direct thought and action. Ethics committees restricted our research to the lower primates, and even then at a very slow rate of usage. Luckily, my research facility in Canada was able to obtain a steady stream of human subjects—‘under the table’, as it were. Belinda was very helpful here, weren’t you Belinda?”

“It’s remarkably easy to gain the trust of people who are isolated,” confirmed Belinda. “Especially when you’re a medical professional. All you have to do is offer them free treatment for whatever low-level medical issues they have. And they’re out of contact with the rest of the world—who will miss them?”

“It’s a sacrifice for the greater good of research.” Putina sighed. “Sadly, that was not the perspective of the medical authorities when they found out. But by then, we were already on the Signet, and out of reach. The Captain understood the importance of our work, and suggested how it might be of use to her.

“And now, Carolynne, we can apply what we have learned to assist the Captain. She needs a truly willing crew to help carry out her vision, and this implant will supply the will. Between the four of you, and my team, we will be able to convert the entire crew.”

Putina leaned over her patient.

“Of course, there are parts of you which we will have to disconnect first, Carolynne. We can’t have any individual thoughts intruding on your service to the Captain. Or to me.”

Carolynne whimpered in fear as Belinda wheeled over the heavy surgical laser cart, locked it onto the head cradle, and aligned the laser sight onto Carolynne’s forehead.

“Anesthesia... please...” she begged.

“Oh Carolynne, I would not want to deprive you of the full experience.” Putina adjusted the machine, delicately. “Do you not appreciate the honor of being the first subject to demonstrate my success? Besides, it is much easier to place the implant correctly when the brain is active.”

“We can’t have you making too much noise, though.” Belinda applied tape across Carolynne’s mouth. “It distracts the Doctor.”

Putina checked the laser’s control console. “Everything seems satisfactory here.” She and Belinda donned shielded visors. “Starting at 0.3 kilowatts, narrow beam.”

Carolynne screamed behind the tape as the laser fired, feeling the burn in her forehead. It slowly moved over her, cutting an oval through her skin and skull above her eyes. Her hands clenched in pain, but the restraints held her immobile. It was thirty seconds before the laser had completed its path, but it felt like an hour.

Suddenly the laser was off, and the searing pain started to fade. Carolynne drew air in through her nose, desperate to stay conscious. There was a smell of cooked flesh despite the extractor fans in the surgery.

Putina removed her visor. “Removing forehead plate...” Carolynne saw her grasp something with tweezers, and lift a small disk of skin and bone away from her head. Clearly, her brain was now exposed. Belinda applied some suction in the new cavity.

Putina peered into the hole. “Perfectly positioned.” She picked up a laser-driven scalpel. “And now, Carolynne, we will disconnect you from yourself.”

Unable to move, Carolynne saw the scalpel descend into the hole out of her sight. She saw Putina frown in concentration and lower a pair of binocular lenses over her eyes.

There was a flash, which might have been in her vision or just in her mind. Carolynne tried to think calm thoughts, but it was already difficult to recall soothing scenes from her memory. More flashes, and more of herself started to fall away. Her mind felt like it was full of blank spaces. She started to forget where she was, or what was happening. She was vaguely aware of Belinda holding her hand and looking into her eyes.

“And the last synapse. Goodbye, Carolynne.” Another flash, and Carolynne ceased to think at all.

Putina carefully placed the implant into the new cavity in Carolynne’s frontal lobe, ensuring its spikes embedded in the correct places. She connected an optical cable into a socket at the top of the implant, and the other end to a complex metal plate which she’d rested on Carolynne’s chest.

“Testing connection...” She triggered a test sequence on the plate. To her satisfaction, all the test lights went green. “Success!”

“Well done, Doctor.” Belinda released Carolynne’s hand. “You’ve done it!”

“We still have to evaluate the medium-term control, but it does look very promising.” Putina placed the plate on Carolynne’s forehead, tucking the optical cable behind it. “Please fasten that in place, Belinda, then put her in Recovery and fetch my next subject from Bea; make sure she’s properly awake before bringing her in. I wouldn’t want her to miss anything.

“Right away, Doctor.” Belinda pulled out a surgical power tool, and started to drill shallow fastening points in Carolynne’s skull for the plate’s connectors.

Putina went to the scrub sink to pull off her gloves and wash her hands. She checked the camera footage that had been recording the surgery—perfect! A full 3D recording of her medical triumph.

Three more subjects to go. This was going to be a long morning, but well worth her while.

The presentation to the senior officers was scheduled for 11am ship’s time. Surgeon-Commander Putina had made her apologies, citing a mass casualty exercise, but all other officers were present for Lt Commander Nelson’s description of his recent work based on their studies of the sub-space characteristics of the black hole’s gravity well.

“...and so by applying an appropriately shaped graviton field, we can reduce the apparent gravity on Signet by a factor of nearly 100. It seems plausible that with such a field, we can safely move much closer to the event horizon, maybe to 25% of our current distance,” Nelson concluded.

Commander Harris from Engineering looked thoughtful. “What about the relativistic effects at that distance?”

“It’s hard to be certain, but although I expect them to increase, it won’t go up by as much because we’re not directly subject to the gravity well. Say, a factor of three when it would normally be a factor of ten.

There was a murmuring in the conference room. Reine tapped on the table. “Let the Lt Commander finish, please.”

“How exposed are we to any main engine failure?” McKay wanted to know.

“All of this assumes a single engine generating the field, with another in hot standby. We’re holding at this current point with two out of eight. So we still have half our engine capacity available.” McKay nodded in acknowledgement.

“Time to implement?” Reine asked.

“That’s the most difficult part,” admitted Nelson. “The changes are straight forward, but they do require significant re-engineering of a large section of the ship. We need emitters everywhere, and new power conduits to supply them. We’d need all hands on deck for at least a couple of weeks; and probably a week afterwards too, to decouple the engines sufficiently to re-enable faster-than-light travel safely.”

“Thank you, Nelson. A good presentation, and excellent work.” Reine looked around the table. “Any other questions?”

McKay caught her eye, but said nothing.

“Very well; dismissed. Number One, can you stay behind a moment, please?”

The officers except for McKay filed out. Reine waited for the door to close.

“Spit it out, Number One.”

“You know what I’m thinking, Captain. It’s an impressive technical achievement, but its effect on our return date would be considerable. Even if we only spend one week at the closer distance, and assuming that Nelson is correct about the reduced proportional relativistic effects, that’s nearly half a year; plus the time to build and deconstruct the generators at our current meridian. And I can’t really believe we’d only spend one week there, up close to the event horizon.”

“It doesn’t really matter what you believe, Number One.” Reine was doodling some maths on her data pad. “I’m not letting this opportunity pass. We’re going to build this generator, and if it works, then we are going to use it. For how long? We’ll be guided by the scientific opportunities, not peoples’ domestic concerns.”

“Aye aye, Captain.” McKay paused. “I’ll let you know what I hear from the crew.”

“Do that.” Reine pushed back from the table. “Dismissed.”

McKay started to leave then caught herself. “Sorry Captain, I had one more question. What’s up with the secondary rec room? I saw on the way here that it was barricaded with a security lock, with a sentry robot standing guard.”

“Low-level beta radiation leak.” Reine waved the data pad at her Commander. “It’s not terrible, but I don’t want anyone else going in there until Engineering have tracked it down and isolated it.”

“Okay. Thank you, Captain.”

“Thank you, Number One.”

Yeoman Jones had been seconded to Engineering for an in-depth inspection of the secondary drive units near the rear of the ship. There were many worse duties on the ship—notably in Hydroponics—and her companion from Engineering, Lieutenant Morgan, was a cheerful and friendly sort. He knew the drive area backwards, and Jones was getting quite an in-depth education on how the Signet’s drive systems fitted together. Morgan tended towards the verbose, but he wasn’t hitting on her and he was sometimes quite funny. Jones chafed at the Space Force fraternization restrictions—if only he’d been an NCO, she had at least three girlfriends on the ship for whom he’d have been a great fit as a boyfriend.

Morgan was pushing the cart stacked with diagnostic equipment himself, despite Jones being considerably his junior in rank and therefore presumptively the owner of such scut tasks. Part of this was chivalry, but mostly it was because Jones didn’t even reach five feet tall, and eighty five pounds soaking wet. The cart outweighed her by at least a factor of two.

Morgan looked up at the humming and blinking power units they were passing. “Ninety-five... ninety-eight... This one!” He stopped the cart, and Jones obligingly started to attach the diagnostic cables to the units. This was their eighth unit today, and they had fallen into a well-practiced routine.

Morgan frowned, looking at the main access panel for this particular unit. “Damn, that’s high up. I don’t suppose you want me to give you a boost up there, Jones?”

“You ‘don’t suppose’ correctly, Lieutenant, I’m sorry. I’d very likely touch the wrong thing and die messily.” Jones looked at the unit. “Can you get up there using the cart? It looks like there’s enough room for you to crouch on top, if you can reach. Then I can pass up the cables.”

“Good thinking. Put the cart brake on.” Morgan carefully climbed on top of a pile of the more robust diagnostic units on the cart, and reached up to the top of the power unit. “One... two... three!” He jumped up and pushed himself up onto the unit with stiffened arms.

Unfortunately, Morgan’s jump was not fully vertical, and the downwards force caused the top diagnostic unit under his feet to slide back. It fell three feet to the ground, and Yeoman Jones’s foot was directly underneath.

“Ah!” Jones was so stunned by the initial impact that she barely cried out. It was as if a firework had gone off in her head—she gasped for air and her vision was filled with stars. After a moment, the stars started to fade, and then the pain from her foot came flooding into her system. “Shit! Shit! Oooooooow!” Tears spilled from her eyes.

“Jones!” Morgan quickly slid back to the ground and ran around the cart to see what had happened. “Oh no! I am so, so sorry!” He gingerly lifted the heavy unit off Jones’s foot, and winced at what he saw underneath. “Come on, sit down.” He guided her to the ground.

“I think I’m going to barf,” Jones prophesied. She was quickly proven correct. Morgan held her hair back from her face as she vomited down the side of a—fortunately sealed—power unit.

Once she stopped, Morgan passed her a clean cloth from his pocket for her to wipe her mouth and face.

“We’d better get you to Sickbay, Jones.” He hit his communicator badge. “Sickbay, this is Lieutenant Morgan.”

A pause. “Sickbay here. Go ahead, Lieutenant.”

“I’ve got a severe foot injury in the secondary drive space: Yeoman Jones.”

“Do you need emergency response, Lieutenant? What’s the yeoman’s status?”

“It’s just the foot, but,” he eyed Jones, “it’s quite a mess. Mangled, though not directly bleeding too much. She’s conscious, but in pain and probably shock. I can probably bring her in myself.”

“Acknowledged. We’ll see you soon.”

Morgan put his arms underneath Jones, and scooped her up in a cradle carry. “Maybe it’s for the best that it was you who was injured. I can’t imagine that you carrying me would be fun.”

Despite herself, Jones choked out a laugh. “Maybe you’re right, Lieutenant. But ow, it hurts. It hurts a lot.” Her tears dripped down Morgan’s shirt.

Morgan trotted down the corridor. “There’s a shuttle car station just down here. Not too far. Stiff upper lip, Yeoman.”

Morgan picked up the wounded Yeoman Jones once their shuttle car stopped just outside Sickbay, and knocked on the door. He recognized Bea, the nurse who opened it.

“Hello, Lieutenant, come in. Please put the Yeoman on the bed there.” She pointed.

Morgan carefully lowered the white-faced and shivering Jones into a sitting position on the bed. “It’s the left foot,” he pointed out.

“Yes, I can see that,” remarked Bea dryly. The corner of the diagnostic unit had been driven through Jones’s instep, and in the ten minutes since injury the foot had visibly swollen. Bea pressed a hypospray to Jones’s neck. “This will help with the pain until we can fix the injury, Yeoman.” She wrapped the injured, shaking woman in a blanket. “What happened?”

Morgan blushed. “It was my fault. I knocked a heavy diagnostic unit off our cart; it fell onto her foot, corner first, falling about a yard.” He stood back, indecisive. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No; in fact, it would be best for you to leave, Lieutenant. We need to treat her, it will probably require surgery, and you would just be in the way. Thank you for bringing her here. We’ll let you know how it goes.”

“Yes, thanks Lieutenant.” Jones managed a smile. “Please cancel my dancing class tonight!”

“Consider it cancelled!” Morgan tapped Jones on the shoulder, gently. “I am really, really sorry, Jones. It was my fault entirely.”

“Don’t worry. Could have been a lot worse!” Jones giggled.

Bea caught Morgan’s eye. “It’s the pain relief. She’s going to be really loopy for a while.”

“Understood. See you later, Jones.” Morgan made his exit.

Bea took a pair of shears, and sliced off Jones’s workboot and lower pants leg. “He really did a number on your foot, Yeoman.” She inspected the instep, which was a mess. “This looks like it’s going to need a lot of work to fix.” She pulled out her personal data pad and messaged Dr Putina, then applied a temporary dressing to keep the bleeding under control.

“Sure, whatever... let me know if you need my help.” Jones was as high as a kite. As intended.

“We’re going to need surgery to repair this, if you ever want to use this foot again.” Bea started to cut off the rest of Jones’s uniform. “Dr Putina is going to want to see you.”

“I’d like to see her too, haha...” Jones was drifting in and out of reality. She didn’t even register the remains of her clothing being removed.

“Just hold your head still, Yeoman.” Bea supported Jones’s head while someone came from behind and applied clippers to Jones’s hair.

“Take good care of that, took me a while to grow... you know how hard it is to get hair dye out here?”

Bea smiled, but did not respond. After a few minutes, Jones was bald.

“On the gurney.” Hands reached under Jones and scooped her up, laying her carefully on the gurney. Her limbs were then grasped and fastened into restraints at each major joint. Jones just lay there, watching the ceiling and softly humming to herself, unconcerned by the bindings. Bea covered the yeoman’s naked body with a drape, and hooked a nasal catheter onto her face to provide oxygen; despite the pain relief, she was still in considerable danger for shock, and keeping her warm and oxygenated was going to be important.

Dr Putina entered. “What have we here, Bea?”

“Yeoman Jones, Doctor. Heavy object crushed her left foot, impacting at the instep. I’ve given her a high dose of short-acting opioids and am supplying 40% oxygen; no resistance so far.”

“Well, we’ll have to fix that foot to make her useful.” Putina touched Jones’s nose. “Hello Yeoman, I’m Dr Putina. We’re going to mend your foot, okay? How do you feel?”

“Feel kinda silly.” Jones sighed. “Tired. Foot hurts. Blanket nice and warm.”

Putina looked at the foot, and actually winced at the obvious damage. She fastened a small device on Jones’s shin, just above the injured foot. “This is a nerve block; it will keep you from feeling anything in the foot for now.” With that done, she carefully manipulated the bruised toes. “Okay, we still have circulation here. We’re not on the clock. I’ll deal with these injuries afterwards.”

She nodded at the two blank-eyed nurses who had been attending to Jones. “Take her into surgery and prepare her for me while I scrub.” They wheeled the gurney into the surgery room without a word of acknowledgement, Jones smiling vaguely at Bea and Putina as she was taken away.

Putina turned to Bea. “Our sixth conversion already. We are ahead of schedule.” She paused. “You’ll take care to make sure no-one goes looking for her over the next couple of days?”

“Mails already sent.” Bea showed her data pad. “Engineering won’t expect her in work, and I’ve told the Lieutenant that she’s going to be resting and not to disturb her.”

“Excellent.” Putina started to dress in her surgery gear.

The fog started to clear from Jones’ mind as she lay in surgery, and questions started to rise in her mind. “Why did they shave my head?” She tried to sit up, but realized that she was tightly restrained on the gurney underneath her blanket, and something soft but firm was holding her head in place.

“Hello, what’s going on?” she called, desperately.

A masked and gowned figure slowly walked over to her. As the face came into her vision, Jones gasped—the nurse’s eyes looked dead, with no spark of life or interest in them.

“Who are you? What’s happening?” She tried to wrestle her hands free of the restraints, but they had been firmly applied.

“Ah, you’re coming back to us.” Dr Putina came through the door, dressed for surgery. Her eyes, by contrast, were lively and interested. “Hello again, Yeoman. Welcome to my surgery.”

“Why did you shave my head? Why am I restrained like this?”

“Well, we are going to treat your foot, eventually, but we have something more important to do first. You see, the Captain needs a crew which will follow her orders without question. And unfortunately, there have been a lot of questions recently.”

The dead-eyed nurse locked the surgical laser in place over Jones’s head.

“We will insert a tiny implant, no bigger than my thumb, in the frontal lobe of your brain. That will make you much more controllable.”

“What, like her?” Jones indicated the nurse with a flick of her eyes. “You did that to her? Your own nurse?”

“Yes, you will be just like her. No interfering independent thoughts to get in the way of your work for us.” Putina powered up the laser. “Now, we do need you to be conscious for this process, so try not to scream.” As Jones opened her mouth to do just that, the nurse inserted an object between Jones’s teeth and inflated it, effectively gagging her.

Putina warmed up the laser. “0.25 kW, narrow beam.” She sighted it in. “Time to open your mind, Yeoman.” She chuckled at her pun, while the laser cut into Jones’s forehead and the yeoman’s eyes bulged in pain.

As Putina conducted her detailed slicing inside Jones’s brain, she watched with interest to see how the fear and pain in the woman’s eyes slowly went away as more of “herself” was removed. With the final cut, Jones was fully lobotomized and staring blankly at the ceiling. Putina wondered to herself how re-ordering the cutting sequence might change that effect. She made a mental note to add it to her list of experimental surgeries.

Once Jones had been fitted with her implant and plate, Putina moved her stool to the other end of the gurney and inspected the foot. It was indeed a real mess; the bones were fragmented and all over the place.

“You know what? I’m just going to cut it off.” Putina beckoned to a nurse. “Bring the heavy laser over here.” She placed a protective pad under the leg, and sterilized the shin area. “It’s not like Jones is going to complain. We’ll fit her with a prosthetic afterwards.” She pulled down her visor. “1.2 kW, medium beam.” The laser fired, and started to slice through Jones’s leg just about the ankle.

Several days later, the senior officers gathered together for their periodic dinner in the officers’ dining room. The large hydroponic bays spread across the Signet produced an impressive variety of fresh fruit and vegetables, and the ship’s cooks could make synthetic meat from vegetable proteins which tasted almost like the real thing. Reine’s personal indulgence was a small area of one bay given over to Riesling grapes, from which she made an acceptable imitation of Mosel wine.

The rule of the dinner was not to talk “shop”, so the officers tended to discuss art, science and literature rather than topics about the ship. Commander Harris from engineering, for instance, was an expert on 21st century science fiction, and enjoyed comparing those movies and stories to the current reality.

Reine had Maxine leading the serving duties for this dinner; the robot was quick and efficient at clearing the table between courses, and precise at plating the food for the guests. It was a very prosaic use of the robot, but Reine had her reasons.

Maxine had cleared away the main course, and now distributed a small wineglass to each of the officers. Almost like a magician, she produced a chilled glass bottle full of wine.

“Chateau Reine, 2145!” announced Reine, to laughs. “A very limited cru.” Maxine deftly poured a glass for each officer, skipping Putina who was known not to touch alcohol. The bottle ran out just before Reine, so Maxine retrieved an new one from the cooler and filled the Captain’s glass.

“A toast!” The table rose to its feet, and everyone raised their wineglass. Putina raised her glass of ice water. “To the Signet, and her crew. May we be hailed as heroes on our return.”

“The Signet! and her crew!” The officers sipped their wine, and returned to their seats.

Maxine started to distribute the dessert, a lemon souffle.

“The wine is very good, Captain.” McKay savoured the sweetness on her tongue. “Your vinification skills continue to grow.”

“Thank you, Number One.” Reine lifted her glass and gazed critically at it. “Perhaps I might purchase a vineyard on our return, and retire there. After all, after being Captain of a starship, I don’t think anything else could really hold my interest.” She looked appraisingly at her 2ic. “How about you, Number One? What will you do when we return?”

McKay shrugged. “Back to the career grinder for me. Hopefully my own command, depending on evaluation.”

Reine nodded. “Well, if my recommendation is anything to go by, Number One, they’ll snap you up.”

McKay was surprised. “Thank you, Captain. That means a lot.” She yawned. “Excuse me. It’s been a long day.”

“Quite so.” Reine surveyed the table. Several of the officers were also yawning, or blinking heavily. She nodded at Putina, who rose and made an excuse to leave.

McKay’s eyes were suddenly very heavy. She wanted to lie down, and started to push her chair back in order to leave, but it felt too hard. Despite herself, she laid her head on the table, and sighed.

“So tired...” She was vaguely aware of the others similarly slumping in their seats. All except Reine.

“That’s right, just rest my dears.” Reine rose from her seat, and gazed at McKay’s sleepy face. “We’ll take you back to your quarters.”

The dining room door re-opened and several robots walked in. McKay felt herself being scooped up, and carried out of the room. Then her eyelids closed, and stayed shut.