The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Reine watched with satisfaction as the last insensible officer was carried out of the dining room. She then turned to Maxine.

“Confirm that the ship is locked down, and all crew access to systems is revoked.”

“Confirmed.” The robot’s cyan sensor swept the room, but she remained otherwise immobile.

“What is the distribution of the crew?”

“The off shift, 200 people, are all locked in their cabins. Most of them are unaware so far. The down shift, 170 people, are partly in their cabins, but 103 of them are in the mess area. They have not yet realized that the doors are locked. The active shift, 150 people, is in its normal distribution across the ship.”

“Very good. Release the sedative gas in the mess area.” Reine and Putina had previously spent a painstaking few hours in the crawlspace above the mess deck installing the gas cylinder and control unit. It was not the kind of task you delegated to a crewman who would be likely to ask awkward questions.

“Released.”

“Take over the bridge first, then send our robots to clear the mess area.”

“In progress.”

Reine pulled out a data pad and switched to a security camera view of the bridge area. She saw her bridge crew confused, tapping at panels and keyboards—no doubt wondering why they were all locked out, and couldn’t even call to other areas of the ship.

The bridge door opened, and three robots walked in. Stunner devices flashed in their hands, and the bridge crew fell to the floor one by one. The more alert crew tried to hide behind consoles, but the robots remorselessly spread across the bridge and encircled them, then stunned them too.

Once the whole crew was down, the robots started to fasten restraining devices onto the crew’s wrists. Reine nodded; all was proceeding according to plan.

McKay woke in her bed—or rather, on top of it. She was still in her uniform, was even wearing her boots, and she had a terrible headache.

For a moment she wasn’t sure what had happened; then, the memories of the dinner started to come back.

“She drugged us! The cow!” McKay sat bolt upright, and then winced at the thumping in her head. She dug a headache pill out of her bedside drawer and downed it.

First things first. She hit the comms relay in her room—nothing. She went to log on to her console—access denied. The only thing that worked was the TV, and that only gave her access to the regular streaming films and programmes; nothing live was available.

She tried the door, and—as she expected—found it locked. She would likely have been disappointed in Reine had that not been the case.

Next, she meticulously went through her possessions looking for something that would help her—either for breaking out of her room, or for making a weapon. Unfortunately, the results were thin. Some small tools, but nothing that looked to have a prospect of making a dent on the door.

Mostly to make herself feel better, she took a painstaking half hour to obscure the various sensor pads dotted around her walls which were supposed to detect smoke, weapons fire, or other life-threating issues. She doubted that this effort would help her, but at this point she had nothing else to do.

The TV lit up with a broadcast. McKay turned to look at it, unsurprised to see her Captain’s face appear. The Captain seemed calm, and well-prepared.

“Greetings to my senior officers: I apologize for this inconvenience, but I need to act on a very real threat to the safety of this ship and its crew. Surgeon-Commander Putina is assisting me. Over the next few days, we will be inviting each of you, individually, to a discussion with us about the future plans for this ship and its mission of scientific exploration. Please prepare whatever statement or questions you feel appropriate.”

The Captain smiled. To McKay’s surprise, it didn’t seem forced.

“I know this might be a difficult time for you, but this is for the greater good. I look forward to our future discussions. Reine out.”

The TV switched off.

McKay had to admire the Captain’s chutzpah—and her undoubted intention to influence the neutral officers. Scientists and engineers would likely take the Captain at her word, be frustrated at the apparent lack of trust, but rationalize the Captain’s actions as well-intentioned, and partially justify it by the Captain having the support of the Doctor.

McKay didn’t believe a single word of it, and didn’t trust the doctor as far as she could throw her.

Reine reviewed the mopping-up reports from Maxine. The robots were systematically progressing through the locked-down spaces in the ship, stunning the small number of crew in each space and then removing them to their quarters. Of the 520 crew, no more than 20 were still at large—and their positions were all known. It was only a matter of hours before they were all confined.

Putina entered the Captain’s office, not bothering to knock since the door was open. Reine had all the privacy she wanted now.

“The conversion table is finished. I am ready for my first guinea pigs.”

“That was quick. I guess our crew can really get things done when they are completely focused on their orders.” Reine put down her pad. “How likely is it to work?“

“I expect we’ll need adjustments, of course. After three or four crew go through, it should be well-tuned.”

“Well, we have more than 500 of them, so I’m sure we can spare a few.” Reine scrolled through a list. “Take some from the security team—the robots locked them in their own cells. They barely think anyway,” she snarked. “What are you going to do with the rejects?”

“We’re running low on our human organ stores. Security team would be good contributors to it—they’re the fittest among the crew. Win-win.”

“Do what you will with them, Mariya.” Reine looked up. “Just let me know when you’re ready to process at full rate. I have to work out the engineering schedule for the graviton field emitter placement.”

“Yes, Captain.” Putina paused. “I may need some additional crew to process myself, in Sickbay. I have some experiments I’d like to run, and need to use fully functional brains for them.”

“You can have... five, for now,” Reine decided. “Just crew, no officers. Let’s see how our converted crew works for a few days so we know how many we’ll need to hold in reserve.”

“Understood. And for my optometry experiment—who should I try first?”

Reine thought for a moment. “Harris, from Engineering. He’s got a good mind, but I know most things that he knows already. If it doesn’t work out, he’s no great loss. Just make sure that you’re very confident in your equipment before processing McKay.”

“Of course, Captain.” Putina made her exit.

Reine shook her head. The original PRIORITY ALERT message from Space Command had given her a good indicator of the level of ethics that her Surgeon Commander possessed, but in their collaboration for the ship take-over the doctor’s ruthlessness had surprised even Reine. Still, Putina wasn’t quite as smart as she believed herself to be.

McKay had been in her room for three days when the robots came for her.

Lacking any form of external communication, she had made notes on an old-fashioned paper notepad which she normally used for sketching. She dredged up everything she could remember about the voyage, Putina and Reine’s behavior, and the events of leading up to the takeover. She had no idea who, if anyone, might read the note, but just the act of writing it felt like rebellion at this point. Once compiled, she taped it under the lid of her personal jewellery box, a present from her younger sister.

She was glad that the Signet officer rooms came with a shower. She had managed to stay clean, though wore her uniform sparingly since she only had one spare non-dress suit in her tiny closet. If the enlisted crew were similarly confined to their rooms, they’d only have a small sink to wash in.

Food was delivered once per day, on an apparently random schedule but with a fixed process. The door opened without warning; one robot placed a tray with basic food and water on the floor, and removed tray and waste from the previous day, while another covered McKay with a stunner. Crude, but effective.

Today, though, there was no new food tray. The robot stepped into the room and addressed her directly.

“Present your hands.”

McKay thought about resisting, but knew it would achieve very little. She sighed, and held her hands forward. The robot swiftly fastened security cuffs around them, and pushed them down again.

“Raise your chin.” McKay tilted her head back. She felt something cold touch her neck, and be fastened behind her head. She shivered, suspecting that she knew what it was.

As the robot stepped back, she looked to the side and caught a glimpse of herself in the desk mirror. She had been correct; it was an electric shock collar. They had been banned for a decade before the Signet had left Earth, but clearly someone on board had brought them along “just in case”.

“Outside.” McKay obeyed with alacrity. She had seen videos of the collars being used on other people, and had no desire to experience them.

Four other crew were lined up, fitted with cuffs and shock collars, and guarded by three other robots. She recognized one of them; Jorgensen, a new ensign from Astro-Navigation.

“Jorgensen: are you okay? What’s going on?”

“Silence.” The robot didn’t need to say any more. “Follow me.”

The party walked down the corridor towards the shuttle car area, the lead robot setting a brisk pace. McKay trailed at the back, trying to keep up but hampered by her short legs.

Jorgensen’s legs were long, allowing her to reach nearly six feet in height, and as the group passed a side corridor she suddenly ducked past a robot and sprinted down it. The passage eventually led to an engineering space, and no doubt she figured she could lose her pursuers in there.

She had made ten yards before the robot activated the shock collar.

Jorgensen gave a muffled scream and crashed to the floor, convulsing and flailing at her flashing collar with her bound hands. The shocking lasted about ten seconds, then stopped as abruptly as it had started. Jorgensen let out a heaving sob and gasped for air.

The robot walked up to her. “Resistance will be punished.” It depressed the button on the collar control again, and Jorgensen’s convulsions returned, her eyes squeezing closed in pain.

“Stop it! Stop it!” McKay forgot herself and ran at the robot, which turned around to face her with its sensor. McKay came to a sudden halt, acutely aware of the collar around her own neck. “She won’t do it again. Please stop. Please!”

The robot regarded her for a while. The second shocking stopped, and the only sound for a moment was Jorgensen sobbing.

“Stand up.” The robot reached down and pulled up the tear-streaked Jorgensen by her bound hands. “Do not resist again.”

Jorgensen nodded, cowering.

“Follow me.” They set off again.

McKay was initially surprised when the robots brought them to the secondary rec room—the room that had been closed off because of a “radiation leak”. What did Reine have in mind?

The robots ushered them through the door and into the large, gloomy room. It had been substantially remodeled from its previous form. Instead of the sports areas and paraphrenalia, a large circular table now dominated the center of the room. Various complicated equipment was placed around the edges, and ominous human-shaped recesses were embedded in the table. A couple of masked figures were inspecting the equipment.

“This doesn’t look good,” muttered McKay. Jorgensen nodded but remained mute, still fearful.

“Isn’t it impressive?” A voice from behind made them turn, to see Dr Putina admiring the room. “Finally, we are no longer constrained by my time.”

“What do you mean?” McKay asked, warily.

“A fully automated conversion. Let me show you. Robots,” she addressed the guards, “put the crew on the table, but leave this one.” She indicated McKay.

Two of the robots took Jorgensen over to the table; after removing her cuffs they placed her in a recess and firmly strapped her in place. Jorgensen didn’t try to resist, clearly fearful of her collar. Once emplaced, the robots removed the collar and returned to take the next crew member.

Putina beckoned McKay to follow her, and walked over to the far side of the table.

“My researches in brain function taught me a lot about how to take control of a human. The conscious thought and individual thinking interface is located in the frontal lobe, and if you can identify and nullify it then it leaves the human completely open to control. Bridge into the brain with an electro-organic interface, and you have an automaton, someone whom you can direct as you need.”

The final crewman was restrained, and the table started to move. Jorgensen was brought to the first cluster of equipment; a frame closed around her head and there was a buzz as automated clippers started to remove her hair.

“It took a while, and much experimentation, to find the correct balance—remove enough of the self to keep it from regaining control, but not so much that the body can no longer be controlled by the mind.”

The table moved again, bringing Jorgensen under a more complex set of machinery. A masked figure was operating a console that appeared to control the machinery’s operation—with a start, McKay realized that it was Carolynne, one of the nurses from Sickbay. But her eyes appeared blank, uninterested in things around her; she was totally focused on her task.

A large medical laser descended from the equipment in the ceiling, and locked in place over Jorgensen’s head. A small pad swung into place over Jorgensen’s mouth and was locked tight, effectively gagging her.

“So, we access the frontal lobe, and make our changes. Mind your eyes.”

McKay turned away as the laser fired, burning into Jorgensen’s skull. It took about twenty seconds, then stopped. McKay nearly gagged at the smell of burned bone. Fearfully, she looked at Jorgensen to see a hole the size of a golf ball drilled into the ensign’s forehead. Despite that, the ensign’s eyes were still wide-open, and full of terror.

Small robotic arms now brought delicate instruments into the hole, and started to move around, with occasional bursts of laser light emanating from the hole. McKay saw Jorgensen’s hands twitch in her restraints, and heard muffled whimpers.

“Eventually, the self is disconnected and the brain is ready for the implant.”

The arms withdrew, making room for a new arm which lowered a complex-looking, spiky object into Jorgensen’s brain. There was no reaction from Jorgensen, who had stopped twitching and making noises, and now just stared at the ceiling.

“Once in place, we can program it and take control of the body.”

The table rotated again and moved Jorgensen to where another nurse was standing. This one delicately connected an optical cable into Jorgensen’s brain, presumably on the implant, and the other end to a plate which she placed on Jorgensen’s forehead. Machinery descended again, and whirring drivers embedded screws into the plate to fasten it in place.

“I’ve still not got a satisfactory fully automated solution for this part of the process,” commented Putina. “It’s a shame.”

A final rotation, and a robot was waiting to unbind Jorgensen. It lifted her onto her feet; she just stood there, staring ahead blankly. The robot led her to a couch, and plugged another cable into a socket on the front of the plate that interfaced to her brain.

“Initial programming takes about three hours. After that, the automaton is ready to serve.” Putina gestured around. “Isn’t this a magnificent achievement? The whole crew will be processed in less than a week.”

McKay stared at Putina. “I’m not going to bother telling you a monster, because you already know that. But why show me this? You want to me to know what’s going to happen to me?”

“To you? Oh, Frances,” Putina laughed. “You have a brilliant mind, better in some respects than mine or even the Captain’s. We’d be very silly to lobotomize you. No, my dear Frances, we have something else for you. Something much better. Come with me.”

McKay reluctantly followed Putina out of the room, as the lasers flashed over the crewmen still on the table.

Putina brought McKay and her robot sentry down the corridor to a door marked “OPTOMETRY”. McKay was confused—why here? As far as she knew, her eyes were fine. But Putina opened the door and ushered her in.

Inside the small room another dead-eyed nurse was waiting. Apparently Putina had been upgrading the optometry suite; the normal chair for eye exams had been fitted with a number of restraints, and there was complex-looking medical equipment at one side.

Putina unlocked McKay’s wrist restraints. “Strip down please, Frances.” Putina made it sound like a request, but McKay was under no illusions, with the collar still around her neck. She reluctantly started to unbutton her uniform.

Once she was naked, the nurse dressed her in a flimsy open-backed gown and pushed her backwards until she sat in the chair. The nurse then started to apply the many straps which would bind McKay in place.

“It’s not just the physical adjustment of the human mind which interests me,” remarked Putina, “it’s the possibility of permanent mental adjustment. You are a smart and strong-willed woman, Frances. It would normally be impossible to fully reprogram your obedience.”

The nurse applied several electrodes on McKay’s chest, and stuck a small metal pad at the corner of each of McKay’s eyes.

“But I have found a way.”

McKay looked at Putina, now fearful. “What are you going to do to me?” The nurse applied a hypospray to her neck, which stung. “Ow! What is that?”

“A psychoactive compound, of my own devising.” Putina reached above McKay and brought down the optometrist’s lens viewpiece—but this had also apparently been customized, with straps hanging off it.

“I trialed this treatment on Commander Harris. Sadly, his mind—though bright—was not strong. After an hour he entered a permanent catatonic state.” Putina shrugged. “At least it gave me more information about the treatment, and I realized I needed to balance the visual and aural stimulation with something more pleasurable.” She pressed a button at the side of the chair.

McKay felt the chair hum, and then something metallic started to push at the entrance to her sex. Unable to wriggle away, she felt it slowly penetrate her. Determined not to give Putina the satisfaction of seeing her distress at the violation, she gritted her teeth and stared at Putina as the probe nudged right up to her cervix before stopping.

Putina just smiled at her, and waited; the reason for that became quickly apparent. Something else was rising from the chair, and it was starting to spread her butt-cheeks: It was clearly directed to a different destination to the first probe. McKay lost her composure and started to strain at her restraints, whimpering. To no avail: she felt it push into her starfish and start to spread her. Tears started in her eyes as she was stretched.

“Stop it... please...” But Putina ignored the pleas, and the intruder continued to enter her. Eventually, blessedly, it was far enough in for her sphincter to mostly close around its base, and it stopped. McKay panted, trying to recover from the invasion.

“There, there...” Putina took out a tissue and dabbed at McKay’s eyes. “It’s in now. Just try to relax.”

She pulled out a small flashlight and looked in McKay’s right eye. “The drug should be starting to take effect now.”

McKay realized that Putina was correct. The doctor’s voice sounded echo-y, as if it was coming from underwater, and the room was starting to spin in McKay’s vision.

Putina pulled the lens viewpiece onto McKay’s face, lining up her eyes with the binocular ports, and firmly strapped it to the back of McKay’s head. McKay’s vision went black. She felt headphones being fixed over her ears, then Putina’s voice came through them.

“The program should be able to break your resistance in ten to fifteen minutes, then we will have two hours of intensive programming. Starting the program now.”

White stroboscopic flashes started in McKay’s vision, like silent explosions. In her headphones a complex hum started, making it hard to think. The drug effects were getting stronger, and it felt like she was swaying in her seat despite being strapped immobile.

More flashes appeared, this time changing in color. Vague face shapes appeared, and as quickly disappeared. McKay squeezed her eyes shut: she couldn’t do anything about the annoying noise in her ears, but at least she could shut out Putina’s images.

Two sharp electric shocks from the corner of her eyes forced her eyelids open.

“Don’t close your eyes, Frances. I don’t want you to miss any of this.” Putina’s amused voice came through the headphones, before it was replaced by the hum which seemed to becoming louder and even more complex.

Defeated, McKay stared into the binoculars. Her head started to pound in time with the flashes, and it was now almost impossible to think. Now something within her sex started to send small waves of pleasure into her, and she moaned. The flashes felt like they were drilling into the back of her mind, and the drug was scrambling her thoughts. Somehow, the only thing she wanted was more pleasure, and she understood that staring into the flashes was how to get it. She tried to grind into the probe that was now also stimulating her butt, but the straps frustratingly held her tight, so she gave in to the flashes and flickering faces, and let them flow through her. The hum started to be interlaced with words that slipped uninterrupted into her mind.

Putina consulted the ECG reading and sat back, satisfied. McKay was starting to relax, signifying that she was giving in to the program. Putina turned to the blank-eyed nurse.

“Give her another dose of the drug every thirty minutes. I will be back in two hours.” She left the room, taking a final satisfied look back at McKay secured in the machine, moaning quietly as it pleasured her.

Putina checked her watch. She still had time to perform another brain excavation before she had to return. She bustled down the corridor to Sickbay.

More than two hours later, the binoculars finally went dark. McKay was vaguely aware of someone undoing the strap around her head, then the binoculars were lifted off and she blinked at the unfamiliar light.

“Hello, Frances.” Doctor Putina’s face was peering into hers. “How are you feeling?”

“A bit dizzy, Doctor.” McKay’s eyes were still adjusting to the light, but she felt safe now that the Doctor was here.

“We’ll take you out of the chair. Just hold on.” The chair hummed, and the probes in her sex and bottom withdrew. McKay squeaked as the rear probe stretched her again, briefly, then sighed in relief once it was out.

The nurse removed the wires attached to her head and chest, and started to undo the straps. McKay waited patiently for her to finish.

“All right, stand up—carefully.” McKay did so, wobbling a little. The nurse lifted McKay’s gown and attended to her sex and butt, cleaning off the lubrication which had been inserted earlier.

Putina walked around, inspecting her. Then she placed something into McKay’s hand.

McKay looked down. It was a shock collar.

“Put it on,” Putina instructed.

Obediently, McKay fastened it around her own neck, ensuring it was correctly fitted.

Putina handed her a small remote control. “Turn it on.”

McKay looked down at the remote, then set her jaw and closed her eyes before pressing the button.

Nothing happened.

Confused, McKay opened her eyes, looked at the remote and pressed it again. Still nothing. She inspected the device, trying to understand what was wrong.

Putina gently took the remote from her.

“It’s okay. The collar is disabled; I just wanted to be sure that you would actually do it.”

McKay understood, and bowed her head. “Thank you, Doctor.” She would have been completely willing to shock herself as ordered, but was acutely aware how much it would have hurt. The Doctor was obviously taking good care of her, as a good officer should.

“You could say ‘thank you’ another way, of course,” the Doctor smiled. She pointed at the floor. “On your knees.”

McKay obediently knelt, as the Doctor carefully removed her own uniform pants to reveal her sex.

“Have you ever made love to a woman before, Frances?”

“No, Doctor.”

“Do you know how?”

“Yes, Doctor.” Her teenage years at a Scottish boarding school had been an education.

“Wonderful. Make love to me.” Putina walked towards McKay, slowly pushing her pubic mound towards McKay’s face.

McKay reached up to hold the Doctor’s buttocks from behind, and hesitantly moved her mouth towards the dark hair that buried the Doctor’s sex. She touched her tongue to the pink lips which she could see underneath.

She heard the Doctor sigh. “That’s right, Frances. More.”

Emboldened, she tensed her tongue and started to flick it along the lips. She tasted salt and a pleasant musk on her tongue. The Doctor reached behind McKay’s head and pulled it more firmly towards her.

“Oh yes, more like that. Taste me, Frances.”

Buried in the Doctor’s pubic fur, Frances pushed in deeper. Her tongue brushed across the clit, and she heard the Doctor make a noise she’d never heard before. Assuming she was pleasing her, Frances returned to the clit and probed at it, at one point taking a gentle nip at it with her teeth, which made the Doctor squeal.

“Frances! Oh, that feels... it... mmmm! Bozhe! Kharascho!” Frances felt something warm and complex-smelling drip onto her lips. She was pleasing the Doctor, and she knew that this was all she needed to do.

It took twenty minutes of loving before Putina’s appetite was sated, and she could gently push McKay away. She then held McKay’s head in her hands, gazing down at her.

“I wish that I’d done this a long time ago. You’re perfect as my pleasure companion, Frances.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” All McKay wanted to do was to serve.

“Still, I need to take you to the Captain. On your feet!”

McKay rose obediently while Putina pulled on her pants. The Doctor leaned in to sniff McKay’s mouth.

“Mmm, you still smell of me. I’m sure the Captain won’t mind though.” The Doctor fastened her lips to McKay’s, and softly tongued within McKay’s mouth before letting go. “Come on, let’s see the Captain. Put those sandals on—" the Doctor pointed at a pair by the door, “— to protect your feet.”

The two women took a shuttle car to the officer quarters, and walked to the door of the Captain’s stateroom. Putina rang the bell.

The Captain opened the door, with an enquiring look at Putina.

“The reprogramming was completely successful. She is yours to command.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” The Captain held the door open. “Come in, Frances.”

McKay obediently entered, removing her slippers as she did so.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Doctor.” The Captain closed the door in Putina’s face, then turned to face McKay who was standing with her head lowered in obedience.

“Come with me, Frances. Come to my bedroom.”

“Yes, Captain.” McKay followed the Captain through her living room into a door in the corner of the wall.

McKay was taken aback for a moment. The Captain’s bedroom had a theme which would have had psychiatrists sharpening their pencils and ordering new notebooks. The bed itself was circular and low, about eight feet across and just over a foot in height, covered with black silk sheets and adorned with small grey pillows. Around it, the walls were painted red and decorated with chains and faux torches, giving it an almost medieval look. The side tables were strewn with metal and rubber instruments for pleasure, bondage cuffs, rope and more chain.

Still, it was the Captain’s choice, and the Captain was always right.

“Take your gown off, Frances. Up on the bed, on your hands and knees.”

McKay obeyed . She heard rustling behind her, then the Captain walked into her vision. She was now wearing a harness around her waist from which projected—McKay swallowed, nervously—a long, wide strap-on dildo in dark purple.

“You know what this is, Frances, don’t you?” she purred.

McKay nodded, unable to speak for a moment. Reine leaned towards her ear.

“Do you know where it goes?” she whispered.

McKay nodded, biting her lip.

“I’m not sure that you do.” Reine walked back behind her. McKay felt Reine’s hands caressing her buttocks. “You know, Frances, I’d often watch you from behind when you were walking on the bridge; watching your tiny little cheeks rub together in your uniform pants.” Her hand slipped underneath and stroked McKay’s mound. “And I thought to myself: I would love to have some of that.”

McKay bowed her head in shame. Her Captain had needed something, and for many years she had failed to provide it.

Reine’s hand moved down to McKay’s sex, and started to caress her lips. “And now, Frances, here you are in my bedroom. Naked as the day you were born. Your little butt pointing at me. What do you want me to do?”

McKay swallowed, and whispered: “Take me if you want me, Captain. I’m yours to command.”

Reine smiled, and shuffled up behind her. McKay felt the tip of the dildo nudge her starfish, and shivered.

Reine stroked McKay’s small breasts. “Put your head on the bed, Frances.”

McKay slowly lowered her head to the black silk, feeling her bottom point further up, and Reine’s dildo re-position against her. Reine’s hands tightened on McKay’s buttocks.

“Tell me again,” Reine whispered huskily, “what can I do with you?”

McKay screwed her eyes shut. “Anything, Captain.” She paused. “Is it... going to hurt?”

“Maybe a little, Frances. Maybe a little.”

Reine thrust her hips forward, and McKay squealed into the bed covers.