The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Ravi

I looked up from my terminal and asked again to confirm. “So, the sergeant touched you inappropriately?”

The young woman in front of me, Private Kruze, nodded with a commendable lack of hesitation. Witnesses had corroborated her story, but victims in her position were often still ashamed or embarrassed to report when they had been sexually assaulted. “Yes, sir. I’d just finished extracting semen from a friend when Sergeant Dawson forcefully put his hands on my chest.”

“I see. I’m… sorry to hear that.” I knew firsthand how arousing it could be to watch a woman extracting semen, but that was no excuse for Dawson’s behavior. He was a fool; had he simply asked Kruze for permission to donate his own semen, she’d have likely agreed and avoided this whole situation. However, we live in a society of laws, especially here in the military. Consent and personal boundaries are of the utmost importance.

And as HR officer of the Athens, it was my responsibility to enforce those boundaries. “Please rest assured, Private. The Sergeant’s conduct was completely unacceptable. He will be confined to his quarters until we reach the next major port, at which point he will be transferred home for a tribunal.”

Kruze was visibly relieved at my words. “Thank you, sir.” Smiling warmly at her, I responded, “Just doing my job, Private. There’s no place for sexual harassment of any kind aboard the Athens.”

As I spoke, I secretly admitted that I could understand why Dawson had lost himself. Kruze was uncommonly “cute” for a soldier. She was quite short, and couldn’t have been older than twenty. Her freckled face and girlish figure were the picture of youth. Some of our bulkier women frankly looked a bit silly in their uniforms, but the miniskirt and prominent cleavage of her jacket fit Kruze like a glove.

“Well, even so, I am grateful for the swift action. Have a pleasant evening, sir.” Our business concluded, the private made for the door. She walked in those heels as if she was born in them, her skirt swishing with her gait to reveal the uppermost areas of her nubile thighs.

“Private Kruze.” I called after her as she was about to depart. Naturally, she stopped and turned back to face me with a quizzical expression. Clearing my throat, I continued. “Before you leave, I was wondering if I could donate some of my semen to you?”

She paused for a moment, as if processing what I had said, before smiling happily. “Of course, sir!”

For all intents and purposes, I had won.

I’d had sex with Catherine Locke—willingly at that, from her perspective. Going forward, the game had changed. Her old sense of self had been sufficiently torn down; it was time to build a new one in its place.

I sat in the mess hall at the moment, watching the great Admiral Locke shake her ass for all to see. Her distaste for me personally had made her conditioning a slow, methodical endeavor during my individual “processing”, but conversely she’d completely embraced “crew-wide sexual processing”. It just went to show how deeply she cared for this ship and her crew (certain Chief Engineers notwithstanding). After only a couple short weeks, her performance up there was indistinguishable from a genuine stripper. Gone was any of the awkwardness or uncertainty from that first night. Catherine (and most of the other processors for that matter) confidently danced around their poles, every part of their bodies shaking for the sole intent of male pleasure. It warmed my heart—and my cock.

As Catherine crouched low on the table, thrusting her sex towards the men around her, I shot her a wink. She subtly rolled her eyes, barely paying me mind. That was fine. Her attitude didn’t change the fact that I’d be in her bed before long. Although, that did give me an idea of the “scene” I’d request for my “processing” tonight…

Roughly forty minutes later, I was waiting alone in the Admiral’s room. Rather than sitting plainly in a chair or on her bed, I was pressed against the wall next to the door. If someone were to see me, it’d immediately raise red flags. My position was perfect to ambush someone as soon as they walked in—which was exactly my intention.

I felt into my pocket, triple-checking that I was ready to go. Then, the door opened and a figure stepped inside. Before they had any time to react, I grabbed their arm from behind and forced them to the floor.

“Who—?! Hmph. Chief Engineer Anthony Cooper. I should have known.”

Obviously, it was Catherine. She’d just come back from “crew-wide processing” and was still dressed the part, nearly naked save for her stockings, golden thong and medal nipple tassels. Now that I think about it, this’ll be the first time I fuck her in that getup.

Catherine squirmed against my grip, but was unable to break free. “What is the meaning of this, Cooper?” There was no panic in her voice, merely a quiet fury.

“Oh, not much, ma’am,” I answered in a sarcastic tone, before pulling a pair of handcuffs from my pocket. As soon as she saw that, she struggled furiously, but couldn’t escape before I cuffed her hands behind her back. Now, unable to use her arms for leverage, it would be extremely difficult to get away from me.

“You’d best consider your next actions carefully, Cooper,” Catherine spat, her face half-pressed against the floor. “A dishonorable discharge will be the least of your concerns.”

I chuckled softly as I unzipped my pants and my rock-hard cock sprang out. Calming reaching out to feel up Catherine’s ass, I chided her, “I don’t think you understand your position here, Admiral. It’s in your best interests to play nice.” As I finished my statement, my fingers tightly gripped one of her ass cheeks.

“Unhand me. Now.” She was undeterred.

I chuckled again as I worked off her thong. “Hm… I wouldn’t expect anything less. You’ve always been an arrogant bitch.” I sat up a little straighter, putting my dick in line with her pussy. “I think someone needs to teach you some humility.”

“Don’t you da—agh…” Catherine moaned in pain, anger and maybe something else as I violently jabbed into her. She looked back at me as best she could, flames of hatred burning in her eyes. “As soon as I get out of here, your life is—oh!”

I’d slapped her ass. Hard. “You—oh! Oh!” Twice more. The last one left a vague red handprint.

Catherine took a deep breath, recovering from the unexpected pain, so I took the opportunity to speak instead. At the same time, I began to piston my cock in and out of her. “You’ve always had it out for me. And not because of my work, or because you caught me looking at porn of your sister. You just don’t like me, do you?” Another slap. “Do you?”

She tried to protest. “I don’t—ah!” Another. And another. “I—” And another. “Fine! I admit it!” She shrieked. “I despise you Cooper, as a person. You’re lazy and rude and perverted and neverendingly frustrating. It’s not any one thing; it’s everything.”

“Good.” Another slap. “Say you’re sorry.”

“S-sorry?” She sounded bewildered.

“Sorry for treating me like dirt. Sorry for acting like you’re better than me.”

“Oh, fuck you, Cooper.” Catherine had never sworn in my presence before. That felt like the most genuine thing she’d ever said to me.

It legitimately caught me off guard. I laughed, loudly, and fucked her harder. I was rewarded with a satisfying reciprocal moan from the woman herself. “Your body is going to learn obedience,” I hissed at her. “After tonight, you answer to me, not the other way around.” Catherine was growing wetter by the second. I’d given her (and all the other processors, since I can’t discriminate) an “update” to get turned on by pain and submission. It was subtle—I didn’t want to ruin my fun by turning her into a full-blown masochist—but on some level it would arouse her to lose control, for reasons she probably couldn’t even pinpoint.

“Apologize, Catherine.” I slapped her ass again and again. Her reactions became unrestrained as our sex continued, her painful yells noticeably tinged with pleasure.

“You’re not a proud admiral anymore. You’re just my little slut.” I was careful with the pace of my thrusts; whenever it seemed she was starting to feel too good, I slowed down. The pain and pleasure would create an effective cocktail, but I couldn’t allow one to overpower the other.

“Give in, and this can all be over.”. Her ass turned bright red, and her pussy sopping wet, but still she did not give in. I did not relent in turn. I stayed firmly in control, letting this encounter stretch on and on, allowing neither of us to orgasm until she said what I wanted to hear.

Eventually…

“I…” Catherine muttered, finally interrupting the chorus of slaps and moans. “I’m sorry, Anthony.”

“Louder.” I didn’t give her any time to think. My hand descended again.

“I’m sorry!” “Louder!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she cried, her self-control finally snapping under the constant barrage of pain and pleasure. “I was a stuck-up bitch who thought she was better than you! I was wrong! My rightful place is serving you and your wonderful cock!”

She moved her hips as best she could while she spoke, her body clearly craving orgasm. At long last, I had no reason to reject it. I erupted into the Admiral, her pussy clenching up around my dick at the same time. For a full minute, we said nothing, simply allowing the long-anticipated climax to wash over us.

It goes without saying, but (disregarding my “updates” in general) I had not in fact just raped Catherine Locke. The entire encounter was simply a roleplay scene for tonight’s “sexual processing”. We had agreed upon it beforehand.

There were logical fallacies with the scene, to be sure, but the emotion in our words felt surprisingly real. I suppose this let her tap into feelings of hate and anger towards me that she’d never been able to voice. Well, the same was true on my end.

However, there was one exception to our pre-planned arrangement. When I explained to Catherine that she would profusely apologize to me, she confidently retorted, “Your processing will be over before it gets to that point.” And yet, I had broken that resolve, forcing the apology out of her anyway. There was nothing sweeter than the sense of conquest I felt at that moment.

Freya

I traced my finger along the hull of the projected diagram, narrating the important data points. “As you can see, while rarely deployed for this reason, the Imperial T-48 fighter has a slight structural weakness just above its rightmost thruster. However, in contrast, it lacks the typical defensive weaknesses of the T-49. An energy missile impacting from a forward direction, even directly against the cockpit, is unlikely to do serious damage.”

The Athens was currently near enemy lines, so we pilots didn’t have the luxury of performing practice maneuvers in open space. The next best thing was simulation training but, even before that, it was important to thoroughly understand the enemy’s assets and capabilities. Intelligence briefings like this were common as a result.

A male voice spoke up as soon as I had finished my thought. “Captain Laurier, I have a question.”

I turned to face the room, taking stock of the relatively small group of pilots seated around the conference table. Discounting myself, there were four men and five women present.

The pilot who’d spoken up was near the back, Second Officer Richards. Two female comrades were seated closely on either side of him; while only their upper bodies were directly visible, I could tell from the womens’ arm movements that they were busily stroking Richards’ penis under the table.

Not that that was an issue. Unless it was an extreme impediment to urgent tasks, a man’s request for semen extraction should be honored at any time or place. I had full confidence that these three were paying attention and absorbing this briefing’s information in addition to their sexual diversion.

Although Richards’ question slightly shook that confidence. “Ma’am, would you object to removing your top for the remainder of the briefing?”

I understood the motivation for the ask. It would improve his environment for semen extraction. However…

My gaze found my girlfriend, Captain Allison Abbott. She was near the front, sharing her chair with a male pilot. Specifically, she was on top of him in a sitting “reverse cowgirl” position. They both faced forward while she sat in his lap, his penis in her vagina. They’d paired up at the start of the briefing and she had been slowly but consistently riding him ever since.

Allison immediately understood why I was looking at her and gave a subtle nod. As a lesbian couple, the realities of semen extraction had presented certain challenges. The practice was inherently sexual, but we were obviously unable to extract semen from each other. Unfortunately, it also wasn’t possible to abstain from semen extraction entirely. So, we mutually agreed to always seek the other’s permission before any sexual act. Furthermore, as much as possible we tried to be in the same room (ideally even extracting from the same man at the same time). That was how we preserved our committed relationship to each other.

Of course, we didn’t enjoy servicing men, but that was simply the way of things. Admittedly, it helped that the taste of semen was incredible.

With Allison’s approval, I took off my jacket and draped it over an empty chair. It wasn’t the first time any of them had seen me half-naked, but the men in the room were clearly excited nonetheless.

Just as I was about to continue the briefing—“Your bra too, please, ma’am.” Richards spoke up again.

Unconsciously gritting my teeth at the repeated interruption, I reached behind and let my bra fall to the floor. My breasts were average in size, but perky and well-shaped. Richards and the rest gawked for several seconds.

Sensing they needed to be brought to attention, I asked in a firm voice, “May I continue?” Semen extraction was vital, but so was this briefing.

“Yes, ma’am. Sorry.”

With a sigh, I turned back to the diagram of the T-48, concluding the remainder of my presentation in only skirt and heels. Most of the men spent that time staring at my chest rather than the display. Once I had finished, three of the four requested oral semen extraction, to which I grudgingly agreed.

Day after day, I fucked Catherine Locke. There was no doubt that she’d fully internalized the mountain of “updates” which had brought her to this point. She never objected or argued anymore, letting me have my way with her body however I pleased, in whatever clothing or roleplay I desired. She even allowed herself to get wet and orgasm during the act. I’d made sure to strongly emphasize with my “updates” that it would turn me on to see her turned on.

While that was true, the main intent was to erode her resistance through arousal. It was a vicious cycle. The less she resisted, the better she felt, and in turn the less she was able to resist it. As a soldier, her training had prepared her to endure pain, but not pleasure. Most days lately, she came before I did. Her body had learned to enjoy sex with me, even if her mind tried to pretend otherwise.

But crucially, all these “updates” had been built upon the framework of “sexual processing”. In that regard, Catherine maintained commendable self-control. As soon as I ejaculated, the frigid bitch I knew would return, as if nothing had ever happened. Until our rendezvous the next night, she would go back to treating me like a nobody.

In a way, one could say there were currently “two” Catherines: the proud officer who led the Athens during the day and the lecherous woman who lived to please me during “sexual processing”. My next task would be to adjust the balance of the two. Eventually, her “normal” persona will exist for only an hour or two a day, just as her “sexual processing” persona does right now—and maybe one day, it wouldn’t exist at all.

I’d already planted the perfect seed to facilitate that change via “crew-wide sexual processing”. While she despised me in particular, Catherine fully believed in the efficacy of “sexual processing” as a whole and was completely comfortable being a sex object for the masses. Who’s to say that should be limited to the Athens?

So…

“I’d like to record my sexual processing tonight.”

Catherine raised an eyebrow. Without even a greeting, that was the first thing I’d said to her when she walked through the door.

She crossed her arms. “Explain.” Her tone was firm, but not necessarily hostile. She was a bright woman; perhaps she had already deduced my rationale and just wanted to hear me say it.

Tonight, in a rare turn, I had asked Catherine to dress formally, such as she would wear to a press conference or medal ceremony. My “updates” had never altered that specific case, so she showed up in a truly normal, full white uniform consisting of jacket, cap and pants. Her many medals and commendations were pinned to her chest, and no skin was exposed other than her hands and face. It was the antithesis of her entire wardrobe since my “updates” began.

Which is why I had her wear it. I enjoyed the thought of Catherine wearing such dignified attire for what was assured to be a very undignified evening.

“Well, crew-wide sexual processing has been extremely effective. Do you disagree?”

“No,” she replied curtly. She had no room to disagree. Morale on the Athens was at an all-time high. Not hard when everyone was having sex all the time.

“Glad we’re on the same page. So, I started to think ‘why stop there?’. We can improve the mental health of so many more people beyond the Athens.” Catherine didn’t interject, so I continued.

“You’re such a good processor, Catherine,” I said, appealing to whatever sense of pride she still had. “It’s a waste for only a few dozen men to see you. If we record your processor duties and upload them to the web, we could make hundreds, maybe even thousands or millions, of people happier.”

Catherine stared at me after I’d finished, her emotions hard to read. A moment passed as she ruminated on my suggestion. I’d in effect asked her to become an amateur porn star. The fact that she wasn’t immediately outraged showed how far she had fallen… and the next words out of her mouth cemented that fact. “I see. Truth be told, Cooper, I had already been considering something similar. I accept your proposal.”

I was pleasantly surprised to hear that she’d been proactively thinking about the same thing. She was frighteningly dedicated to improving the lives of Unified Nations citizens, and pornography was thus a logical successor to the concept of “crew-wide sexual processing”—although she likely didn’t perceive it as “pornography”. I’m sure if I asked, she’d label it as some new form of “sexual processing” instead.

There was no thought given to the fact that this would be video proof of her infidelity, nor that it was severely inappropriate for an Admiral to be having intercourse with a subordinate. She was a “sexual processor”. There was nothing to be ashamed of.

With our mutual agreement, I set up the room’s terminal to begin recording. While I worked, I moved on to the second half of tonight’s plans. “People won’t find this recording especially stimulating if it’s over too quickly.” I finished the last of the setup and turned to face Catherine, currently standing in the center of the room.

“To ensure the video is long enough, is it alright if I cum twice tonight?”

Her eyebrow twitched. Her common sense had been warped, but she wasn’t oblivious. She knew the real reason behind the question was my own selfish lust. I didn’t care at all about the well-being of strangers jacking off to this.

If this had been the Catherine Locke of three months ago, or even one month ago, she would have immediately shut me down. But in her new existence, obedience and submission were becoming the norm. Further, my stated basis for elongating the recording—to improve the video for viewers—wasn’t incorrect.

She grimaced, but eked out a bitter “Very well”. All the bite in her words was gone these days. I loved it.

I strode towards her until we faced each other, and dropped my pants. Catherine glanced down at my cock, erect and waiting. She hid it well, but I saw the faintest hint of desire in her eyes. This woman was mine.

“Let’s go with the sex slave today.” I told her, indicating what character she should play. “Start with a blowjob.”

“Yes sir, Mr. Cooper.” Immediately, her expression and demeanor shifted. For my next two ejaculations, my pleasure is all that mattered to her.

I’d started having her call me “Mr. Cooper” when she was acting as a slave. “Master” was a tempting title, but something about “Mr. Cooper” felt more personal—and more demeaning. It reminded her that she was serving me, not some nameless figure.

Catherine crouched low, heartily swallowing my dick. She hadn’t touched her uniform yet, and the sight of the great Admiral in full formal garb, enthusiastically sucking “Mr. Cooper’s” cock, almost made me explode right off the bat. No matter how many times I fucked Catherine, it always turned me on to think about how thoroughly I had corrupted her.

Catherine never took her mouth off my dick for even a second. She had become extremely proficient at blowjobs, a combination of my “updates” and her own formidable work ethic. I leaned back on my heels and let her work, knowing I would never get tired of this feeling.

As this would be only my first orgasm of the night, I had no reason to hold back, and it wasn’t long before I was pumping my jizz down her throat. Catherine never complained about swallowing; at this point in time, every woman on the Athens was hard-wired to find semen almost addictively delicious. Catherine Locke was no exception.

After licking it clean, she released my cock and looked up at me from the ground. “What next, sir?” She’d gotten so good at this. Her face and voice were meek and submissive, but interlaced with a note of sensuality. Anyone watching the video recording would reasonably think “he owns her, but she likes it”.

“Let’s show the camera your tits.” I pulled her to her feet, and tore through the top buttons of her jacket. Her medals and the like went flying, clattering across the floor.

To my surprise, she wore no bra. Her bare boobs popped out at me, her nipples already turgid. “Where’s your bra?” I asked, genuinely clueless. Catherine blushed a little—part of the act, no doubt—and muttered, “I… assumed you would like it that way, Mr. Cooper. Forgive me if I made a mistake.”

I smiled. She was exactly right; I often found her underwear to be an encumbrance, just an extra layer to take off before the main event. She was starting to anticipate my desires and act upon them with no input from me at all. “Wonderful, Catherine. You’re perfect.” I knelt down and sucked on each of her nipples in turn, using my hands to play with the other.

She moaned in response. “O-ohh! Thank you, sir! It feels amazing.” That, I knew, was no act. Her tits were sensitive, and her body rejoiced when I played with them. In times like this, the line between her personas began to blur. Morals aside, both the “sexual processor” and the “normal” Catherine enjoyed a man sucking on her tits, and “sexual processing” allowed her to indulge.

My free hand moved from her tit to her pussy. Catherine slid off her pants to grant me access. Like her bra, her panties were nowhere to be seen. What a splendid sex slave she was.

Fingering her pussy as she moaned louder, I stood to my full height and kissed her, knocking off her cap in the process. Catherine’s tongue embraced mine, and her hand found its way to my cock. My erection had already returned.

Following my lead, we ambled towards the wall nearest the recording camera, still kissing and stroking each other. Once we were in position, I pulled back and gave Catherine a gentle shove. She read my intent and bent forward; her hands were on the wall, her ass pointing out, her tits swaying freely. Her head craned back to look at me, and she begged, “Please sir, fuck me. I need your majestic cock filling up my pussy.”

Her hips wiggled to entice me, inching closer to my dick of her own accord. With only a single step forward, I was inside her. I knew the camera framed us perfectly here. Any viewer would see a perfect silhouette of Admiral Catherine Locke, naked save for tatters of a white jacket around her torso, gleefully squealing as a man pistoned her from behind. Her loose tits swung hard with his movements, the flesh of her ass jiggling with every thrust. Her nails scraped against the wall as her hands balled into fists, an involuntary reaction to the immense pleasure pounding into her again and again.

“Who’s your master?” I shouted.

“You are, sir!” She managed between moans.

“Who?!” I said again.

“You, sir! Mr. Cooper! Anthony Cooper is my master!”

She came as she said this, but I didn’t stop. Catherine existed for my pleasure in this moment; any enjoyment of her own was just a happy side-effect.

Ready for a change of pace, I pulled out of her pussy and immediately slammed my cock forward again into her ass. She yelped in both pain and pleasure. We’d never had anal sex before, nor had I discussed this with her beforehand.

But, like a good little slave, she didn’t say a word. The tightness of her ass was a whole different sensation than her pussy. It wasn’t as lubricated, so there was more friction as it clung to me. It wasn’t at all a bad feeling.

“Do you like it when I fuck your ass, bitch?”

“Yes, sir! It’s the best! I’m so grateful to give you my anal virginity!”

Well, well, well. “Is that so? Your husband never enjoyed this plump ass of yours?”

“Never!” She emphatically denied my insinuation. “You’re my first time, Mr. Cooper!”

I’d always assumed, being a married woman at her age, there was nothing left for me to “take” from Catherine. Her sex life with her husband must not have been particularly adventurous.

I laughed and pumped harder. “Well then, Catherine! Enjoy your first experience of a man cumming up your ass!”

“I will! I will! Give it to me! Make sure my asshole never forgets the shape of your cock!” She was practically screaming, her voice and mind flooded with sexual gratification. Streams of fluid slid down her legs from her pussy to the floor. Even for her first time having anal sex, she was as wet as ever. I’m sure my mild “masochistic updates” were helping out.

I glanced at the camera, thinking about all the people who would see this in the future—all the random strangers that would bear witness to Catherine’s debasement.

And then I came.

As usual, Catherine immediately cleaned up and left once my “sexual processing” was complete. Even by her standards, her departure was unusually brusque. She was probably upset about the unplanned anal sex.

It didn’t matter. Tonight has been extremely fruitful. Taking Catherine’s anal virginity was a happy accident, but more important was that I’d gotten her to agree to being filmed and convinced her to let me cum more than once. The door to control the rest of her life had opened a small crack. With further “updates”, I can blow that door wide open.

In the short term, I’d upload our sex tape for the world to see. This wasn’t actually as risky as it appeared on the surface. Hyperrealistic AI-generated porn was prominent enough that no reasonable individual would assume this recording was legitimate, especially with such a “ridiculous” premise. Catherine Locke, dressed in formal naval wear, submissively blowing and fucking some random dude sounds like exactly the sort of thing that would be AI-generated.

To be safe, I ran the video through a filter which altered my face to be unrecognizable. Catherine was famous enough not to raise a red flag, but people might ask questions if my likeness was found in a random “AI” porn video.

Obviously, it wouldn’t normally be possible to upload porn to the internet from within a warship. Communications with the outside world were severely limited for security purposes. However, I was the Chief Engineer of the Athens. The ship maintained a network connection to HQ for emergencies, and I was able to piggyback off that connection to disseminate my video onto porn sites back home. It was child’s play compared to hacking the crew’s neural implants.

Just for my own amusement, I also coded a simple algorithm to spam politicians with deceptive ads for the video. It probably wouldn’t amount to anything, but there was a small chance it’d lead to Catherine’s husband seeing me fuck his wife. I couldn’t resist the impulse.

Handling all of that took basically the remainder of the evening. However, just as I was planning to go to bed, someone knocked on my door.

Huh. I wasn’t expecting anyone tonight. Maybe Catherine had returned for some reason?

Figuring it wasn’t a good idea to pretend to be asleep, I closed down my terminal and opened the door.

It wasn’t Catherine, although that had been a close guess. Standing outside my quarters was her sister: the Scarlet Hunter herself, Major Samantha Adams. Her hair was done up in two long unbraided pigtails, a surprisingly girlish choice. Otherwise, she wore her typical jumpsuit, although it had been significantly altered by my “updates” in recent weeks. The previously full-body jumpsuit now more closely resembled a bright pink swimsuit. In terms of skin coverage, it was as if she wore a sleeveless crop top with deep cleavage plus a pair of panties, long boots and gloves. Her shoulders, biceps, thighs, belly and most of her chest were fully exposed. Even the “panties” had a conspicuous hole running through the center, displaying her ass and pussy to the world.

This “jumpsuit” was extremely flattering on the Major, showing off both her muscular body and huge rack. It was no shock that she’d been quite popular for “semen extraction” amongst the crew.

Before I could ask why she had come, Samantha Adams declared in an icy voice, “We need to talk”. Her tone brooked no argument.