The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Starship of Lust Ch. 04


“There, there. That’s a good boy.” Gently patting his cheek, I brought Engineer Sakamoto’s head to my chest. With the temperament of a starving infant, he latched onto my nipple and began to suck. “Oh… we were hungry today, weren’t we?”, I cooed, in the merry tone of a doting mother.

“Yes, Mommy,” the man, old enough to be my father, murmured in a childlike voice, muffled by the nipple in his mouth. No actual milk was released from my breast, but he suckled energetically all the same.

Sakamoto laid naked across my lap, his head craned upward while he “nursed”. As I held him close with one arm, my gaze shifted to his lower body—and throbbing erection. “Oh my, sweetie! That must be so painful. Just relax and let Mommy handle everything,” I told him in the same dulcet tone, my free hand reaching forward to caress his penis.

“Thank you, Mommy…” His body visibly trembled with pleasure as I slowly stroked his cock. He started to suck at my nipple more aggressively, and I felt a heat grow within my core.

I, Lisa Gonzalez, was Taichi Sakamoto’s sexual processor. It had been more than two weeks since sexual processing was enacted for the engineers aboard the Athens, and I had grown well-accustomed to my role.

This hadn’t always been the case. Originally, there was a veil of awkwardness between us. I’d never been intimate with anyone before, and Sakamoto himself had trouble holding an erection. With this combination of factors, it took nearly an hour for him to finish each night. As the days went on, I came to feel it was my obligation to address this and asked Sakamoto if there was any way I could help, anything I could be doing differently. A speedy orgasm is crucial for effective sexual processing, after all.

Eventually, after some prodding, he admitted that he held a particular fetish.

“Oh, Taichi… you’ve grown so big and strong. Mommy’s so proud of you.” I showered Sakamoto with praise, roleplaying as his loving “mother”. He, in turn, acted as my young “child”.

I knew of kinks like this from the internet, but had never been interested myself. Nonetheless, I went along with it out of my sense of responsibility as his sexual processor. Some might have found it embarrassing, but in my view there was no shame in performing one’s duty to the fullest extent of your ability.

I shifted my legs ever so slightly, trying to ignore the warmth in my crotch. I’m sure it was different for everyone, but personally there was always an unavoidable element of physical pleasure to sexual processing. I didn’t have the mental tenacity to please a man without feeling anything in turn.

It wasn’t forbidden for the processor to become aroused during processing, but I hadn’t brought this up to Sakamoto himself. It was unnecessary for his own orgasm, and there was even the chance that knowing may negatively impact his experience.

“Mommy… my wee-wee feels weird…” Sakamoto remarked, with deliberately childish vocabulary. He was likely about to climax.

“That’s alright, darling,” I assured him, rubbing his cock faster as I knew he liked. “Don’t hold back… give it all to Mommy.”

Obeying his “mother”, Sakamoto came, covering my hand with his semen. Out of reflex, he bit down on my nipple at the same time. The feeling wasn’t unpleasant.

* * *


“Mouth or condom?”


“Hmm…” I was worried that, this time, she was going to refuse but—“Alright! Where do you want me?”—she was just giving me a hard time.

“Uh, I was hoping I could sit in this chair, and y-you could…” I trailed off, having trouble verbalizing my request.

“Ride you?” She finished my sentence for me, with her usual flippant demeanor. “That works. Take a seat and put on the rubber.”

With her permission granted, I sat down and fumbled through sliding on the condom. I was already rock hard.

As soon as the condom was in place, she was on my lap. Through the hole in her jumpsuit, I could faintly feel her pussy lips brushing against my shaft. She lifted her hips to insert me into her, but suddenly stopped. “Oh, do you want me to face towards you or away?”

“Towards me is fine…”

“Cool. Thanks for always doing this, Gus.” With that—my dick was surrounded by a familiar, wonderful sensation. Even through the condom, it was one of the most pleasant feelings I’d ever experienced.

“N-no problem, Janice.” My response was somewhere between a moan and actual speech, as I looked up at her face and body. The medium-length curly hair, the modest swell of her breasts, that mischievous glint in her eyes… to me, Janice was the most beautiful woman in the world.

We’d known each other for a long time, since we were kids. She was a few years older than me and I was kind of awkward, so we never got super close, but I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She was the exact opposite of me, confident and playful. Even knowing it would realistically never happen, I’d always held out hope that somehow we could become more than friends.

Then, she started dating my older brother and the fantasy really fell apart. Oh, don’t get me wrong; I still had feelings for Janice, but I began to truly accept that nothing would ever come of them. Well… if I’m being honest with myself, some part of me might have still been faintly holding on until she and my brother got engaged.

I tried to distance myself from them, but somehow fate kept finding ways to bring us together. I’d enlisted in the military to get away—she and my brother independently decided to do the same. I was placed aboard the Athens, a top-of-the-line vessel most soldiers would never have a hope of serving on—Janice somehow received the same placement (my brother, for better or worse, was transferred somewhere else).

But now, as I savored Janice riding me, I questioned why I had been so dismayed at us being jointly deployed to the Athens. It must have somehow slipped my mind that female soldiers need to ingest semen before they exercise… and with her fiancé lightyears away, she had to turn to other options.

I placed my hands on Janice’s waist, pulling her close and digging my dick deep into her pussy. She released a satisfying moan and gave me a small smirk, wrapped her arms around my head in turn. With my face pressed against her chest—the thin layer of her jumpsuit the only thing between her skin and mine—she moved her hips faster and faster, trying to milk me with all she had.

Amidst the euphoria, I was dimly aware we would never actually be together, and that this sex wasn’t romantic or meaningful. It was just an easy way for her to collect semen. But even so, this… this was more than I could ever have dreamed of.

* * *


Something was wrong.

I couldn’t pinpoint the exact source of my unease, but in my years of experience I’d learned to trust my intuition. The unconscious mind can notice small problems, gaps in a theory or a strategy, that might escape active thought. If something gives you a bad feeling, that was usually a good sign that it’s time to reassess.

… Which is why this sense of dread currently eating away at me was so infuriating. There was simply no clear cause. The crew of the Athens had facilitated a resounding victory on Yitar, and it would be weeks before our next offensive. Usually, this would be a period to relax and recharge… but some alarm in the back of my head wouldn’t stop blaring.

What had I missed? Was I just growing paranoid from too long in the field?

In times like this, a second opinion was invaluable. Deciding to visit the training room, I stepped in and scanned for my sister. Spotting her in a corner, I approached.

Samantha was taking part in semen extraction—currently extracting from three men at once. One laid on the floor while she sat atop him, his (condom clad) penis in her vagina. On either side of her was another man, each pointing their naked erection at her face. Samantha’s mouth alternated back and forth between the two, using a hand to stroke whichever she was not immediately attending to. All the while, her hips moved with purpose, rhythmically sliding up and down the man’s penis.

She had her hair down, which was uncommon. Otherwise, she wore the standard female jumpsuit: her entire body was covered in skintight pink material, aside from a heart-shaped opening at her crotch, through which the man’s penis was inserted.

The clack of my heels unavoidably announced my presence as I drew near. Samantha’s eyes met mine, and the men on either side of her also looked my way, saluting as soon as they registered who I was. Samantha and the man on the ground started to separate and rise to their feet, but I raised my hand to stop them.

“As you were, men.” Then, turning to my sister, I added, “Major Adams, I’d like to discuss something with you. It’s not urgent, so I’ll wait here until you’ve finished your extraction.”

“Yes, ma’am,” she responded in her usual stoic tone. She’d likely have said the same even if we were alone. That’s just who my sister was, all business.

Samantha then returned to her “activities” with the group of men. To my eye, her movements appeared slightly more rapid; she was likely trying to complete her extraction quickly now that I was waiting on her. That really wasn’t necessary, but the thought was appreciated.

The man below my sister cautiously placed his hands on her chest. She did not object, and in fact encouraged him to grope her more aggressively.

Personally, I found the whole thing a little hard to fathom. Did she really have to go so far to please these men? Semen extraction, often with multiple partners, had become an increasingly common activity for Samantha as of late, but… I suppose as long as it did not interfere with her duties, it was not my place to judge.

To be fair, she was not alone in that. There was another couple having sex not far off, entangled on a chair and passionately kissing each other. The woman was Corporal Janice Watson, a young up-and-comer making a name for herself with some impressive sharpshooting.

Elsewhere, two women were crouched in front of a particularly well-endowed man, obsessively licking his penis. These two I recognized as Captains Abbott and Laurier, a lesbian couple who were both among our top fighter pilots.

With so many members of our crew participating, semen extraction was nothing out of the ordinary. I knew this, but my attitude was similar to smoking: others are welcome to partake, but I had no inclination to do the same.

A chorus of moans emanated from Samantha’s direction. Glancing back in her direction, one by one, the men finished. It was surprisingly methodical; first one came in her mouth, then the other. She diligently swallowed both of their ejaculates. Seconds later, as if it was planned, the man below her orgasmed too. With his semen still warm, he pulled out and presented the used condom to my sister—who drank from it without hesitation.

With satisfied smiles on each of their faces, all three men then departed from the training room. Had they come only to donate semen, without intending to exercise themselves? How charitable.

At last, after a moment to put her hair back up and wipe some juices from her crotch, Samantha drew near. “How may I help you, Admiral?”

It disappointed me that she was always so formal but, in this case, I had no reason to complain. There were others around, which meant we were soldiers, not sisters.

I guided Samantha to a secluded corner of the room, out of earshot of anyone else, then spoke. “I don’t mean to interrupt your training, Samantha, so I’ll keep this brief. I was hoping for some personal input.”

She nodded, never the type to speak more than necessary. I continued. “I’m afraid this will be a vague question, but… have you noticed anything unusual aboard the Athens? Something out of place, even something very small?”

Her brow furrowed. “No… why do you ask, ma’am?”

I scanned the room before responding, reconfirming that there were no eavesdroppers. In front of anyone but my sister, I had to appear in control at all times; no one wanted to serve an uncertain leader.

“Between us, Samantha… there’s this sense of apprehension I just can’t shake. It feels as if my mind is screaming at me that I’ve missed something vital, but no matter where I look, I can’t find anything amiss. I was hoping you might have felt the same…”

“I—” Despite the ambiguity of my concerns, the weight of my tone gave her pause. “I’m afraid not, Catherine. I haven’t noticed anything unusual whatsoever.” My heart sank.

“However… I’ll keep an eye out going forward,” Samantha affirmed. The fact that she didn’t question me, didn’t ask for details or accuse me of being paranoid, eased my mind. She trusted me, her big sister, unequivocally. I had to be worthy of that trust.

“That’s appreciated, Samantha. Thank you. I mean it.”

Our business concluded, we separated. Samantha began to work out, and I left the training room to return to my quarters.

It was nice that Samantha had faith in me, but the fact remains that she wasn’t aware of anything untoward happening on this ship. She didn’t even seem to have the inkling of a bad feeling that I did. Maybe I really was paranoid.

Once I’d returned to my room, I tried to put those worries out of my head, temporarily. With no obvious course of action, all I could do for now was resolve to stay vigilant. Without a lead, I was just banging my head against the wall.

Besides, I have unrelated research to complete. Taking a seat at my personal terminal, I navigated to my files and opened a video clip of a lone woman. I studied her movements closely, committing to memory everything I could about the way she acted, noting all her techniques as she manipulated herself around that pole.

* * *

It had been over one month since my first “update”, and in that time there had been significant changes aboard the Athens.

“Sexual extraction” had become commonplace, and it had expanded beyond blowjobs. The women of our crew were now accepting of practically any sex act with any partner or group of partners—as long as the men wore a condom where appropriate. For my amusement, I also applied “updates” to gradually adjust what constituted a female jumpsuit. The color was altered to a bright pink, and a heart-shaped hole at the crotch was introduced for direct access to their pussies. Even if they didn’t realize it, these women had become free-use jizz receptacles; it was only appropriate that their attire match.

But all that was beside the point. Tonight was a critical juncture for a different series of “updates”. It was as significant as the first night of “sexual processing”. Everything will change after today.

I was in the mess hall after dinnertime, along with a sizable percentage of the Athens’ male crew. We were crowded around three long tables, each implanted with five tall silver poles. No one was eating; very few were even talking. The entire room waited, staring at the entrance to the hall with bated breath.

Unceremoniously, the door opened and a group of people walked in.

“Ooh!” “Hah ha!”

The men nearby began to hoot and holler. From my position, sitting at the head of the center table, I could barely see them through the crowd. I didn’t mind; they’d be in clear view soon enough.

The figures made their ways to the tables, each climbing up to stand next to a pole. They were all women, dressed extremely provocatively. They each wore a tall pair of platform heels, black fishnet stockings, and a thin thong. The thong and heels were a different color for each woman, lending to a pleasant rainbow effect. Above the waist, they wore circular nipple tassels in the same color. Otherwise, their upper bodies were bare, leaving nothing to the imagination.

They all looked as if they had walked right out of a strip club—well, at least based on their clothing. Their physique didn’t exactly fit the image: some of the women were quite muscular, some had noticeable scars, and one had a shaved head.

Of course, that’s because they weren’t genuine strippers. They were all our comrades. They were the command personnel of the Athens, the fifteen “sexual processors” who had been serving the ships’ engineers every night for weeks now.

Therefore—it went without saying that our commanding officer was among them. In fact, she stood on the table directly in front of me, the reason I’d picked this seat.

Catherine Locke’s outfit was a bit different than the other girls’. An admiral’s cap sat atop her head, and her color scheme was flashy—glittery gold, to be precise. The gold of her thong perfectly matched the laurel design in her cap, giving the whole getup a sense of unity.

Her nipple tassels were also unique. The base—the pasties which actually covered her nipples—was star-shaped rather than circular. More striking, however, were the “tassels” themselves.

From her left nipple hung a hefty golden disc, the Medal of Courage. It was the highest decoration possible for a member of our military, awarded for supreme acts of—you guessed it—courage. If I recall, Locke had received it early in her career, when she held off twenty enemy vessels with a single ship of her own through frankly ingenious strategizing. It had been a pivotal moment of our battle over Akruze, and ultimately led to our victory.

From her right hung a silvery badge. This was not exactly a medal, but it was given to all admirals once they achieved the rank. There were less than twenty active admirals at any given time in the Unified Nations, so the badge was a considerable mark of prestige. It was the sign of a leader, someone with the experience and intelligence to be among the best of the best.

Typically, these highest honors were pinned to Locke’s jacket, along with her countless other commendations. Now, they hung from her tits like bells, only serving to enhance the image of a “stripper admiral”.

These days, I had Locke naked every night for my “sexual processing”, but it was in some ways hotter to see her dressed so erotically. It also held a different appeal than her cleavage-and-short-skirt uniform. In her head, the uniform was professional attire. What she wore now was designed to arouse, and she knew it.

Looking closely, she’d managed to keep her expression neutral, but her face was beet red. Most of the other women were the same—they would do their duty as “sexual processors”, but it was still embarrassing to dress like this in front of friends and coworkers.

“Men!” Locke spoke loudly and any chatter immediately died. To her credit, you would not have sensed any trepidation in her voice. She sounded as firm and commanding as ever. “Thank you all for coming. As many of you are aware, in the past weeks, the engineers of the Athens have received nightly sexual processing.” She looked around the room as she spoke, but her eyes never fell towards me. That had to be intentional; too nervous or angry to meet my gaze.

“However, I have come to realize that sexual frustration is an epidemic of sorts amongst our crew. It is not limited to any one role or group.” She closed her eyes for a brief moment, then continued. “While individual processing will not cease for our engineering cohort due to the importance of their positions… as of this evening, we will commence crew-wide sexual processing aboard the Athens.”

Chatter began to rise again after that statement, but she raised her hand and everyone quieted once more. Even in this situation, she commanded tremendous respect from her crew—well, from everyone except me.

“It is not feasible nor humane for the fifteen of us to individually process every interested crewmate. Therefore…” She reached up to place her hand on the pole at her side. “We will provide visual stimulation to all of you at once. Assuming there are no conflicting duties, starting today, crew-wide sexual processing will occur for one hour daily starting at 2000 hours. Any crewmates may come and go freely during this time, and you are extended permission to masturbate either in this mess hall or in your quarters. ” She wrapped her leg around the pole in time with the end of her spiel. She made no change to her body language or expression, but the action alone, paired with her attire, was incredibly seductive.

“Are there any questions?”

No one said a word. Many men already had a tent in their pants—myself included.

“Very well.” She nodded to a technician near the wall. The lights dimmed and music started to play through the mess hall speakers. Then—

Admiral Locke lifted herself up and began to twirl around the pole. The fourteen other “processors” followed suit: some mimicked the same dance, others flirtatiously ground their hips, still others crouched low to give the surrounding men a view of their ass.

On our first night of “sexual processing”, I thought to myself that Locke looked more like a stripper dressed as an admiral than an actual admiral. Seeing her now, literally pole dancing in front of her crew… that felt like a prophecy come true.

* * *

Obviously, it had taken a lot of work and several “updates” to reach this point—but it really wasn’t as difficult as you’d expect. Each of these women were already debasing themselves nightly for normal “sexual processing”; mentally, they’d already acclimated to being treated as sex objects. This just took it a step further. While it may seem extreme on the surface, as with prior “updates”, the change was rooted in “logic”.

For one, as I’d mentioned to Locke when I first raised the idea of “crew-wide sexual processing”, there had been a noticeable uptick in engineer performance once “sexual processing” was instituted. This wasn’t something I’d manipulated or influenced—it came about organically as a genuine consequence. Apparently, people are more apt to focus on their jobs if they’re regularly rewarded with sex.

This development was a pleasant surprise that I utilized to its fullest. Locke was noncommittal when we initially discussed “crew-wide sexual processing”. However, over the course of a few days, I used new “updates” to strengthen the belief in her (and the other “processors”) that ensuring the efficacy of our crew was more important than one’s personal sense of shame. These were already views Locke held to an extent; not only were they the basis for “sexual processing” in general, but she never outright dismissed the idea of “crew-wide sexual processing”, even when I first brought it up. It was the quality of a good leader to prioritize her subordinates over herself—and I’d leveraged that noble mindset to convince her that “crew-wide sexual processing” was in fact the best move for the ship as a whole.

Second, due to the prevalence of “semen extraction”, the “processors” had come to witness increasingly perverse acts aboard the Athens. Nowadays, if you made any substantial trip from one section of the ship to another, you were practically guaranteed to see a couple (or group) fucking in some room or hallway. While the “processors” still had no compulsion to participate themselves, their subconscious minds were slowly coming to regard sexual activity between crewmates as normal, even desirable.

With all of these contributing factors, it was only a matter of time before Locke authorized “crew-wide sexual processing”. I didn’t press the issue after planting the idea in her head. It was more effective if she thought she was making the decision of her own accord. Instead, I spent my time refining the “updates”, guiding her towards the “optimal” way to “process” a large group of men.

* * *

You could take a video of the mess hall now and anyone in their right mind would assume it was a recording of a strip club (albeit perhaps one with a military theme). The low light and pounding music perfectly emulated the atmosphere while, in all directions, men were crowded around scantily clad women, ogling every part of their bodies. The only notable difference, I suppose, is that a good number of these men were brazenly jacking off, their pants on the floor or thrown aside entirely.

For their part, all the “processors”—Locke included—looked awkward and unsure of themselves. They kept smiles on their faces, prancing around their poles and constantly emphasizing their sex to the audience, but there was none of the grace of an actual stripper.

Personally, this enhanced the experience. It made the show feel genuine, reinforcing that these women were still themselves, not just sex machines inhabiting their bodies. The “updates” had inclined them to research and practice pole dancing beforehand, but that didn’t magically turn them into experts. Considering they were officers stationed on the Athens of all ships, they’d almost certainly lived their entire lives in positions of comfort and authority. It would have been inconceivable to even imagine placing themselves in a situation like this—yet here they were now, nothing more than eye candy for the pleasure of countless men.

And the crown jewel, the sexiest woman in the room, was of course none other than Admiral Locke. She circled her pole with surprising spirit. Despite her inexperienced technique, none could say she wasn’t giving it her all. Every movement jiggled her tits, her distinguished medals wildly swinging back and forth, occasionally slapping against her bare flesh. She made eyes at the men around her, running her hands up her thigh and lightly gripping her ass.

In part, she was mirroring the strip shows I regularly requested for my own “sexual processing”. It would take some time for her to perfect the performance, but I think Locke was slowly coming to realize just how insanely attractive her body actually was. Once she had a proper handle on her own sexuality and the technical skill to match, she could give actual strippers a run for their money.


A particularly loud male moan from somewhere to the left caught my attention. Before I could even make out what had happened, I could hazard a guess—it was the first climax of the night.

Focusing my vision, I could dimly see a man squatting at a neighboring table. His hand was still clutching his dick, his cum splattered at the feet of the woman before him. I recognized her as Locke’s Hispanic adjutant, wearing a striking red ensemble.

Murmurs started to ripple out from the crowd, but a powerful voice immediately drowned them out. “Do not mind!” It was Locke, addressing her crew, still gyrating against her pole. “As I said, you are free to masturbate, and that includes free to orgasm! You need not worry about cleanup. This is your sexual processing, meant to be a source of comfort above all.”

There was no doubt in her mind, no hesitation in her words. She had become one of the ship’s strongest advocates for “sexual processing”, and that alone carried greater weight amongst the crew than any single “update” of mine could hope to attain.

That first orgasm was all it took to open the floodgates. One after another, men blew their loads—across the tables, the floors, and even the women themselves. The “processors” paid no mind, continuing to dance, dripping with sweat and semen.

Three men exploded almost simultaneously around Locke. Two of them only managed to coat her legs, but the third got some impressive distance, with the majority of his jizz landing square in her chest. She smiled back at them, wiping just enough off her body to not impair her dancing.

She did a great job of hiding it, but I detected the barest hint of disgust in Locke’s eyes. She may have been fully convinced that “sexual processing” was an important duty, but not one of my “updates” had forced her to like it. Her deep professionalism and work ethic was her prison, compelling her to fulfill that duty to the best of her ability.

More semen rained down, upon her and every other “processor” in the mess hall. Most of the men were touching themselves by now, but a small handful held back. I was among them, merely learning back in my chair and enjoying the sights. Don’t misunderstand—I was extremely aroused. I could probably cum at any moment if I wanted to. But, more important than that, I wanted to savor the night ahead.

For a time, I’d struggled with paradoxical dreams. I wanted to humiliate Locke, which required a certain degree of publicity, but at the same time I didn’t want her having sex with anyone but me. Looking at her now, as another man came across her torso, I was proud of myself for reaching this point. It was everything I had envisioned, a nice compromise between my two desires. To the rest of the men, she was the equivalent of a model or porn star. They could lust after her and jack off to her, but they would never have her. That privilege was reserved for me alone.

Still, a small rational part of me admitted that things were close to getting out of hand. My “updates” had turned the Athens into something completely irreconcilable with normal society. I’d have to be careful. I’d have to start thinking about how the crew was going to one day reintegrate with the rest of the world.

Fortunately, it would be another several months before the Athens docked at a friendly port to shuffle personnel. I had time, but even so… I should start looking towards the future. It wouldn’t do to come all this way only to be arrested in a year’s time. I wanted to live a life where I could enjoy Admiral Locke’s body for decades.

* * *

“I can’t believe you actually held out for this…” Locke muttered, barely audible.

We stood face to face in my quarters. She was dressed the same: heels, stockings, thong and nipple “tassels”. We’d come directly here after “crew-wide sexual processing”, and there was no reason nor opportunity to change.

Why were we here? That should be obvious. Despite the establishment of “crew-wide sexual processing”, Locke herself had announced that “individual processing will not cease for our engineering cohort”.

She still had an obligation to make me cum once a day—and the fact of the matter is that I had yet to cum at all. I didn’t even try. Why would I? If I did, she’d have had the excuse to retire to her room for the night.

“Don’t get me wrong, Catherine, you looked wonderful up there! But it just felt like such a waste to give up our personal one-on-one time. I really look forward to it.”

She grit her teeth. She knew that I’d intentionally restrained myself. Every other engineer came during “crew-wide processing”, some multiple times. I was the only one to hold out for individual treatment.

Still—she had no retort, no verbal response at all. There was a fury in her eyes, but also… the tiniest traces of plain exhaustion.

The Admiral was hardly frail, but she was not and had never been a frontline combatant. Her strengths were intellectual in nature. That hour of pole dancing had taken it out of her, not only physically but also mentally. She’d suppressed her emotions and her very mind, diligently playing out the role of a “sexual processor” from start to finish.

It’s not as if she was on the edge of a breakdown. This was Catherine Locke we’re talking about. If duty called, she’d go right back out there in an instant.

Nonetheless, there were subtle signs that she needed rest. Her usually perfect posture slacked a little. Her typically tight facial features were looser than normal. Her gaze behind those glasses lacked that razor sharp edge.

Eventually, Locke broke the silence. Ignoring my previous statement, she got straight to business. “How would you like to be processed tonight, Anthony?” Her voice was terse, but resigned.

At my insistence, we had come to use each other’s first names during “sexual processing”. She no longer kept up any pretense of being in control. She always asked bluntly what I wanted and did as I asked—within reason.

On that point, Locke had proven more resilient than anticipated. Her aversion to me ran deep. Even with my “updates” impressing upon her the importance of obeying my requests, we’d been stuck in a rut. The same old handjobs and tittyfucks and strip shows night after night; my dick had never been near her mouth, let alone her pussy.

Tonight presented the golden opportunity I’d been waiting for. She was depleted on multiple levels, her willpower at an all-time low. It was time to strike.

Still standing before her, I lowered my pants, revealing my fully erect cock. Then, looking the Admiral square in the eye, I spoke.

“Suck my cock, Catherine.”

My wording and tone left no room for disagreement. The implication was clear. This was not a question or request; it was an order.

It was a gamble, but I always knew breaking this woman would be a give and take. There was a time for subtlety, for gradually and carefully warping her mind, but also a time for the reverse. A direct challenge to her authority, forcing her to submit to me, would deal a heavy blow to her subconscious resistance—if she capitulated.

At my words, her eyes widened and mouth hung open, silently. This was the first time I had ever seen Locke look surprised—the first genuine crack I had produced in that mask she called a face. It lasted for only a split second, but in that moment, I saw a swirl of thoughts and emotions battling within her.

Her pride as leader of the Athens.

Her fatigue from weeks of “sexual processing”.

Her hatred of me.

Her love for her husband.

The relentless, insidious whisper of my “updates”, urging her to just obey.

I held my breath. This truly was a gamble. If she declined, it might set me back to square one.

After what could have been a second or an hour…

She crouched down. The medals hanging from her nipples faintly jingled. A lifetime of heroism, the symbols of all that she was, about to bear witness to what she will become.

She didn’t say a word. She didn’t look up at me. She kept her face blank, betraying no emotion. Only she knew what thoughts were racing through her head at this moment.

But ultimately, it didn’t matter. Her head leaned forward.

At long last, Admiral Locke’s—Catherine’s—lips touched the tip of my cock.