The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Starship of Lust Ch. 09


Once I’d reached the last line of the final article, I closed my eyes and removed my glasses. Rubbing the bridge of my nose with the tips of my fingers, I thought back on everything I had read.

One word kept circling in my mind: silly. It was all very silly. Boiled down to their core, these documents more or less claimed that an actor could “forget” their actual self simply by thinking hard about forgetting. Were it so easy, I think everyone would be a world-famous actor by now.

What did Cooper see in this? Loathe as I am to admit it, he is technically an intelligent man. Does he honestly believe that, if I follow these techniques, it will improve the quality of our sexual processing videos? Ridiculous.

And yet… the events of this evening gave me pause. Cooper had no right to include Samantha in his processing without my approval, but it is also true that I ever so slightly broke character when I laid eyes on her. That—that is unacceptable. I have never settled for anything less than perfection, and had no intentions to start now.

My videos were already garnering thousands of views. It always got me a little hot, imagining the innumerable men who had surely masturbated to recordings of myself and Cooper. In a way, I had become a sexual processor on a scale larger than most women ever could. That scale came with responsibilities. I had to do everything in my power to create a positive experience for the audience. If even a single person is turned off by my inexperience as an actor, the blame lies solely with me. I must be better.

I refocused my attention on the terminal before me. It’s extremely unlikely that I will have any success following these articles. They speak of “self-hypnosis” and other laughable methods to distance my “actor mind” from the “character mind”.

Nonetheless, there were few alternatives I could pursue. I had neither the time nor opportunity to enroll in virtual acting classes while serving as captain of the Athens, and these techniques had one point in their favor: they were quick and easy. It was low-risk, high-reward. If it accomplished nothing, I would only be out a few minutes of my time each night. On the other hand, if they actually worked, the efficacy of my videos would be greatly enhanced.

I sighed. The best decision was obvious. Scrolling back to an earlier document, one which I felt had the most convincing and detailed descriptions of the lot, I skimmed the listed procedures. This should be easy enough…

Following along, I lowered the lights in my quarters, to foster a quiet, comfortable atmosphere. Then, relaxing my posture and slowing my breath, I began mental repetitions. In my case, there was a straightforward scenario to focus on. For five minutes, I pictured my sense of self as an admiralty badge, one which gets locked away in the recesses of my mind whenever Cooper’s camera turns on…

* * *


“Good evening, ma’am.” “Good evening.”

Samantha and I greeted each other outside Cooper’s quarters. It has been three days since she’d begun to participate in Cooper’s sexual processing. So far, she has joined me in every evening session and all but one morning session. It shocked me how easily I acclimated to working with her like this. I never expected to be intimate with the same man as my sister, even in a professional capacity. While I suppose some would argue this new relationship bordered on incest, Samantha and I are careful never to touch each other in an overtly sexual manner—which frankly was not terribly difficult. For sisters as close as we are, as long as we do not directly stimulate each others’ vaginas, anything else is perfectly moral and acceptable given the circumstances.

Likewise, it has also been three days since I’ve begun my daily mental rituals, in an attempt to improve my acting. There has been no appreciable benefit as of yet, but the articles do contend that it will take time for their techniques to bear fruit. Of course, that’s an easy way for a hoax to sidestep showing any real results, but time will tell soon enough.

As usual, Samantha and I were dressed in costumes befitting the characters we were about to play. Tonight, we wore Asian-style dresses with a floral design; mine was red, while Samantha’s was purple. Samantha’s hair was also done up in two buns, one on each side of her head. (My own hair was too short for buns and thus was styled normally.)

We opened the door and crossed the threshold into Cooper’s room. The man himself was seated at his desk, grinning widely, naked from the waist down and clearly eager to get started. These days, we exchanged few if any words before his sexual processing; the camera’s data-feed had eliminated the need. (Samantha had also agreed to use the data-feed after our first session together.) To that point, as soon as the door slid shut behind us, Cooper tapped the camera pinned to his chest. As ever, the data streamed to my neural implant in a fraction of a second, imparting full knowledge of tonight’s roleplay.

* * *


Kneeling abruptly, I bowed low enough for my nose to touch the floor. At my side, Samantha did the same. Without raising our heads, I spoke for the both of us. “Per your personal request, Mr. Cooper, I, Catherine Locke, and my sister, Samantha Adams, have arrived. We are deeply humbled by your selection of us tonight. The Athens Brothel prides itself on client satisfaction and, for such an esteemed guest as yourself, we will do our utmost to fulfill your every desire.” Even after I had completed introductions, we kept facing the floor. Athens courtesans were expected to pamper our clients, revere them. For the duration of his session, Cooper’s wish was our command.

I heard footsteps approaching, until a shadow loomed over the two of us. “Raise your heads.” At his word, we did. Still knelt down, we looked up at the man who had bought our bodies for tonight. He stood between us, his cock trembling with anticipation. He mused, “You’re both quite beautiful. Are you really sisters?”

“We are, sir,” I confirmed. “I realize our appearances are dissimilar, but I assure you we are of the same flesh and blood.” Being able to sleep with two sisters at once, and such attractive sisters at that, was a large draw for most of our customers. While our duty is to please, it is also to seduce and entice. Considering that, I added a final thought. “However, I have been told by previous clients that we are… alike in other, less obvious ways.”

Cooper raised an eyebrow, grasping the meaning of my words. “Is that so? Well, I suppose we’ll have to put that to the test.”

Taking a sideways step towards Samantha, he stopped with his dick an inch in front of her face. “Suck.” At just the one word, she leaned forward and swallowed his cock.

It was only once I had a moment to myself, watching my sister fellate Cooper, that I realized how fully I had slipped into character. I still knew who I was—an admiral of the Unified Nations, performing sexual processing on Chief Engineer Anthony Cooper—but that information existed almost in the background, in the depths of my mind on the edge of conscious thought. Had the mental techniques finally been effective? It bordered on lunacy, but I saw no other explanation.

“Very good. Stop.” Samantha obeyed his command, immediately ceasing her blowjob and straightening her posture. Cooper hadn’t even had his dick in her mouth for thirty seconds. He was sampling the goods, making sure we were worthy of our high price—acting out a role befitting the scenario, I reminded myself.

Evidently satisfied with Samantha’s performance, Cooper started towards me. I licked my lips, fully prepared for what was coming.

“Your turn. Impress me.”

As Cooper’s cock filled my mouth, it was almost like my mind cleaved in two. One part of me knew I was acting out the role of a courtesan. The other truly was a courtesan, or at least believed itself to be. Both existed simultaneously, but the latter was “in control”, so to speak. If I focused on the real me, the sensation approached an out of body experience, “watching” myself fervently suck Cooper’s dick. If I focused on the other…

Cooper moaned softly as my tongue worked its way down his shaft. A part of me loved this reaction, no matter how many times I experienced it. I was good at my job, and took pride in that fact. Samantha too. Few could even afford us; that alone was a direct endorsement of our quality. Still, I wasn’t upset that Cooper was “testing” us. It was common for our clients to crave power, and nothing made such men feel more powerful than sexual dominance. I wasn’t here to question, only support and serve.

Could I make him cum before this little “test” was over? It was worth a try. There would be no better display of my prowess. I began to take Cooper deeper, his tip prodding at the entrance to my throat—when he took a step back. “That’s enough.” Tsk. No fun.

“You two were both remarkable,” he commented. We bowed low again as I responded. “Your words of praise are appreciated, Mr. Cooper.” “Thank you, sir,” Samantha added, speaking for the first time.

My sister was not much of a conversationalist, preferring to let her body do the taking. Rather, by mutual agreement, I took the lead on any dialogue during Cooper’s processing. Samantha’s acting, despite her best efforts, tended to be somewhat wooden.

Fascinating. Practically mid-thought, I’d shifted my mental focus from the courtesan character back to “myself”. It was a test, and a successful one. It confirmed the role was truly just a role. At any time, “I” could reassert control. That was a comfort.

Cooper waltzed over to his bed, casually taking a seat. “A double titfuck next, ladies.” Ah. Our specialty… per our characters, that is.

Rising to our feet once more, Samantha and I walked to Cooper, unbuttoning the tops of our dresses to release our bountiful breasts. Unlike a blowjob or sex itself, a proper titfuck was physically impossible for many less-endowed women. As such, it was a common request of our clients, and we had come to make it one of our signature services.

Crouching on the floor, we took up positions on opposite sides of Cooper’s cock. Our tits pressed forward, squashing into each other and surrounding his manhood on all sides. It was a rare pleasure, one which Cooper looked especially thrilled to take part in.

Samantha’s blue eyes met mine, and I nodded. With no words necessary between us, we raised and lowered ourselves in tandem. His dick disappeared into the valley of our boobs as we crested, then reappeared taller than ever on our descent. The motions were simple, but deep and rhythmic. For many, the mere act of one’s cock being sandwiched between these four melons was a euphoria all its own.

Again synchronizing our movements, Samantha and I turned our heads to look up at Cooper, with expressions as sensual as we could manage. It was another common tactic, to make clients feel we only have eyes for them. This wasn’t difficult, however; I was genuinely rather aroused.

Cooper looked down at the two of us with a broad smile. It occurred to me that, in fact, this was the first time he had received a “double titfuck” during sexual processing. I still felt some lingering revulsion at the thought of pleasing him, but… perhaps that was another benefit of “losing” myself in the character.

Suddenly, a geyser of cum erupted between our tits. Samantha and I opened our mouths wide, catching as much on our faces as we could—standard procedure, as a show for our customers. Cooper chuckled at the sight, clearly enjoying himself.

Samantha began licking strands of semen off my boobs, while I resumed my interrupted train of thought. Admittedly, I would never be able to truly process Cooper, as my subordinate, with all my heart. But as my “client”, one who had bought some fictional version of myself for a small fortune? In some ways, it was more appealing, and more effective, to “forget”.

* * *


It had been ten days, about a week and a half, since the Athens began distributing dummy network buoys, in hopes of intercepting our saboteur’s outbound communications. However…

Sitting at my desk, staring intently at the terminal, I flicked back to the beginning of the traffic report. Even after re-reading it from scratch, attentively scanning for the slightest discrepancy, the results were unchanged: nothing. “Damn it.”

It was aggravating, but not entirely unforeseen. While it’s true it had already been ten days, from another perspective it had only been ten days. The buoys had to be gradually inserted into the existing network. We’d prioritized observation of the most likely sectors, mainly ones which led into Imperial space, but if the buoys weren’t picking up anything out of the ordinary so far, we just had to keep at it until we were monitoring everything. Eventually, we would get a bite. We had to.

“Ma’am.” Samantha raised her head from my chest, unlatching her lips from my left nipple. “Shall we accelerate dispersal of the remaining buoys?” She was half-crouched between me and the desk, doing her best not to obstruct my work. Even as she spoke, she firmly massaged both of my breasts, one with each hand. I was topless, my jacket and bra neatly folded in a corner of my desk.

“No… it’s too risky,” I responded, appreciating the soothing sensation of her methodical fingers on my body. “Sporadic buoy disruptions are expected for a vessel in flight, but it’s unheard of for large numbers to go out at once. If our culprit is as clever as they seem, we’d be tipping our hand.”

Samantha nodded, fully aware of everything I’d said. It had been less a serious suggestion and more a check-in to gauge how I was faring. Judging that I was annoyed at the lack of progress but not actually angry, she turned her full focus back to my massage.

“Ah…” I sighed in pleasure, louder than I expected to, as her mouth returned to my nipple. “Catherine?” Unused to any substantial verbal reaction, Samantha paused, perhaps worried she had hurt me.

“My apologies. Don’t stop.” Slightly embarrassed at my outburst, I placed my hand on her head, guiding her back to my breast and allaying any further concerns. Samantha suckled diligently, almost eagerly—although of course I released no milk. As is typical of close sisters, we had taken to commonly massaging each other’s breasts during private conversation. I had to admit it was quite relaxing and therapeutic, especially a mouth massage. While neither of us were mothers, women are inherently maternal and find comfort in mouth-to-nipple stimulation.

Leaning back to allow Samantha room to work, I tried to put the buoys out of mind. In due time, they would bear fruit. They had to. For now, there was no point wasting any more mental energy on the topic. Instead, I found my mind turning to sexual processing and, by extension, to Cooper.

After an unimpressive first couple of days, the meditative techniques had proven astonishingly effective. I never truly forgot who I was or what I was doing, but the recognition was… dim, nearly as if the character was my genuine persona and my real life was the role. Yet, as soon as the camera flicked off, I immediately regained my sense of self, with full memory of everything that had transpired over the past hour.

Some might find such a thing alarming, but personally, I felt empowered. I knew for a fact that my videos were becoming better than ever, and the view counts reflected that. Any sexual processor would be proud.

Glancing down at my sister, nursing from one breast as her free hand fondled the other, I considered suggesting she use the same techniques. Currently, the value of her inclusion in Cooper’s processing came mostly from her physical beauty and prestigious name. She’s simply never been the most emotive person, and that extends to her acting ability. At least I can say she’s dedicated; she’s never broken character while filming.

“Thank you, Samantha.” I patted her head. “That was wonderful. Allow me to return the favor before you leave.”

Samantha’s massage ceased, her eyes meeting mine. “I have no objections, ma’am.” She then stood to her full height, discarding the upper layer of her jumpsuit and positioning her breasts level with my face.

Still seated in my chair, I leaned into Samantha’s bosom. Her pink nipples were already stiff, as if they’d been waiting their turn this whole time. I took one into my mouth without delay. Any specific conscious thoughts began to fade as I focused on the task at hand, licking and sucking at my sister’s breast. It was disrespectful to be distracted while performing a breast massage, after all. I’ll have time to think about sexual processing improvements later.

* * *


“What a cutie… you’ll make for a delicious meal.”

“What? No, don’t!”

Disregarding the pleas of the man tied to the bed in front of me, I mounted his cock. It slid into my pussy with ease, fully erect; his body betrayed his verbal objections. Every time, they tried to resist, and every time, to no avail. Men craved me on an instinctual, primal level. It was inarguable and insuppressible.

“Oh…” I moaned as I rode the man. For his part, he grit his teeth, admirably attempting to resist the doubtlessly immense pleasure I bestowed upon him. He was a hapless stranger, merely someone in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was bad luck, but I had no sympathy. It was the way of the world for us to feed on mortals like himself.

“Don’t take too long, sister… I’m starving.” Sidling up onto the bed beside the man was a gorgeous, buxom blonde woman. She lightly bit one of his nipples, seeming to enjoy herself. Like me, Samantha was nearly naked—our default state of being. My sister was clad in something resembling a black bikini, with horns atop her head, small wings on her back, and a devil’s tail growing out of—rather, attached to—her behind.

It was the uniform for tonight’s sexual processing, a succubus costume. I wore the same—was the same. We succubi lived on the sexual energy of male humans, particularly their semen.

Samantha rose, planting her sex squarely on the man’s face. I looked down at him, ever so slightly slowing my hips. Tracing my fingers across his belly, I softly commanded, “You’ll be a good boy now and eat out my sister while she waits.”

“Y-yes, my lady.” Already his previous temperament has dissipated, replaced by a timid subservience. Sex with a succubus was literally hypnotic. It was always so cute, the way they crumpled after only a few moments of my pussy.

Samantha and I both moaned now, facing each other atop the man—atop Cooper. Processing scenarios like this were rare, but I suppose even he wished to experiment with female domination once in a while. I can’t say I minded.

“M-my lady! I—!” He wasn’t able to finish the thought, but I knew that tone of voice. I’d heard it hundreds of times from hundreds of men. Tonight’s conquest exploded inside me. I felt energized, exhilarated, as his seed soaked into my womb (not that a human can impregnate a succubus). Licking my lips, I pulled myself off the man. “Your turn, sister.”

Looking as if she could hardly contain herself, Samantha and I swapped places. Not only was the man still hard, but without waiting for my command, he began to lick my clit. I was impressed. He was a tremendous specimen. This would be a night to remember, the likes of which I had not seen in centuries.

* * *


I slid my ass up the pole, bending forward to give the dozen masturbating ensigns before me a good show. The medals hanging from my star-shaped pasties lightly clanged against each other, drawing all eyes to my barely-covered tits. One of the men couldn’t hold back any longer, arcing a powerful spray of semen which splattered across my cheek. Unsurprised (rather the opposite), I smiled at the ensign and cleaned my face with one hand. His cum gathered on my fingertips and—not breaking eye contact with him—I licked my fingers clean. Delicious.

The crowd went wild. More men came, some on me, others on the table or floor. It was endless. For every man who blew his load, it felt as if two more took his place. I was incredibly wet. My crew watching me, lusting after me… it was euphoric.

Dancing around the table, my fingers snaked down to the straps of my thong, teasing like I was about to remove it. It was a common tactic I’d use to spice up crew-wide processing, not something I actually intended to do. My standard outfit was already terribly skimpy, after all. Besides the golden thong and pasties, I wore only heels, stockings and an admiral’s cap, but…

Could I do it? Need it only be a tease? I was so hot just thinking about it. They’d all seen me in worse positions, I reasoned, during Cooper’s individual processing. There was no real reason to hesitate. The men would love it.

The noise began to dim as I slowly slid the thong down my legs. Was it truly getting quieter, my crew stunned into silence, or was it just the adrenaline of the moment? I wasn’t sure. I didn’t care.

Twirling the thong with my hand, I let it fly into the sea of my subordinates, blowing a kiss in its wake. It landed across a particularly lucky pilot’s face—and sound returned. Deafening. Enthralled. Frenzied. Even the other processors atop their own tables were looking at me. Their eyes were easy to read; they were thrilled, inspired. I had proven once again that I was their dauntless captain, unafraid to go to the greatest lengths in the name of my duty as a sexual processor.

I sprawled across the table, spreading my legs and baring everything to my men. My cap fell to the floor. They cheered. A second later, my fingers reached for my pussy. “More! Give me more!” I heard myself shout. I sounded ecstatic.

* * *


I laid naked atop my bed, scrolling a tablet listing of our latest morale reports. Sexual processing, both crew-wide and individual, had never been better. I had never been better. Ironic to say, when there was still a saboteur on the loose, but it was the unvarnished truth.

It had taken me weeks, perhaps months, to realize that sexual processing was a two-way street. If I let it, processing improved not only the mental health of the processee, but also the processor. Sex was liberating. Humans were hardwired to enjoy it; the efficiency of sex as a tool for both pleasure and stress relief is something I can no longer deny.

“Mm…” There was no greater proof than the comfort I found in Samantha’s warm embrace. My sister, also naked beside me on the bed, massaged my breasts as fervently as ever, alternating between hand and mouth every so often.

Returning to the tablet, I again pondered Cooper’s sexual processing. The mental techniques to “become” my character were greater than I could have ever dreamed. Never would I have thought I could “enjoy” Cooper’s processing, but the techniques allowed me to surpass my limits. By “forgetting” myself, I could truly embrace my role as a processor. There were all the usual benefits of processing Cooper, with virtually none of the negatives. Any doubts in the moment were nonexistent. Whenever I thought back on a processing session, it almost felt more like watching someone else perform the acts. The feeling was… joyous. I still loathed sex with the man on a fundamental level, so there was nothing better than divorcing myself from it entirely like this.

Unfortunately, when I’d eventually recommended the same techniques to Samantha, she reported that they’d been ineffective. Perhaps there were simply individual variances. Everyone’s psychology was unique.

“Hah…” I sighed as Samantha’s hand abruptly found my crotch. It was unexpected, though not unwelcome (frankly, I’d grown slightly wet contemplating the act of sexual processing). I opened my legs wider, allowing one, then two, of Samantha’s fingers to slide into my vagina. All the while, her lips didn’t leave my breast.

An uninformed observer may think we were crossing a forbidden line, but context and intent is everything. Countless cultures across the galaxy were comfortable being physically close with family. As long as we trusted each other (which we did, unquestionably), it was illogical to distinguish between body parts during a massage. In principle, massages were all the same, whether we caressed each other’s backs, breasts, shoulders or vaginas. Obviously, there was no actual sexual desire between us. That would be absurd—we’re sisters. However, if an optimal massage required direct sexual stimulation, it was an acceptable course of action between close siblings. Without lust between us, it was no different than a helpful back rub (or the numerous breast massages we’d already given each other).

“Harder, Samantha.” “Yes, ma’am.” Feeling any remaining muscular tension ebb out of me as new pleasure radiated up from Samantha’s fingers, I flicked to a different screen on my tablet. It would still be a few days before we could definitively say if the network buoys were a bust, but it was starting to look that way. I’d think about the implications of that only once it was confirmed. In the meantime, I’d begun to map out a timeline of the unauthorized network access. I was only just starting, but initial findings were—

“Catherine.” At some point, Samantha’s face has risen in front of me, blocking my view. She closed her eyes and leaned forward, pressing her lips against mine. Just as the tips of our tongues made contact, she pulled back, looking me in the eye. “You need to relax. Work can come later.”

“I—” She was right. My pussy ached after only a couple minutes of her massage, and arousal is the bane of good judgment. Once I got aroused, the best course of action was to orgasm and clear my head. Those were words I’d always lived by, but recently they’d meant that I was orgasming two or three times a day, even discounting sexual processing. I was so horny, all the time lately. I tried to tell myself anyone in my position would be, devoting so many hours to sex every single day.

“Alright.” I put the tablet down, brushing a strand of hair out of my face. “Come here, Samantha.” Nearly before the words had left my mouth, she was on top of me, our tongues each thoroughly massaging the other. Her fingers again crept down to my sex, and mine to hers for the first time tonight. She was just as wet as I was. It might require multiple orgasms to get everything out of our systems. The thought aroused me even further.

* * *


Clasping my hands before the modest shrine, I knelt upon the floor, offering a silent prayer to our Lord. I remained that way for what felt like some time, when suddenly I heard the door slide open behind me.

“Sister! Come quickly.”

I turned to face the source of the voice. In a different life, the woman before me, Samantha, would have turned heads. Even now, anyone meeting her would surely notice her comely face, toned body and extremely large bust. However, much of her skin and hair was covered by a nun’s habit, revealing only her face and hands. We were, after all, sisters of the church—as well as sisters in blood.

“Has He graced us with His presence?” I questioned. I could scarcely think of another reason for her excitement, and her reply confirmed my assumption. “Yes, Catherine. He awaits our prayer in the adjoining room.”

“Excellent.” I smiled widely. “Let’s not keep him waiting another moment, then. Shall we?” Samantha nodded, stepping aside to let me take the lead. I glided past her into the room from which she had just come. She followed behind me until we stopped before a naked man in the center of the chamber.

At least, it was a being with the appearance of a man. While his assumed form was somewhat stout, I knew immediately that it was Him in the flesh. “My Lord!” I dropped to my knees, though not by intention. Rather, I was overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of his presence. Behind me, I heard my sister do the same. We had waited our whole lives for this. Tears began to form in my eyes, mirrored by a warmth accumulating in my privates. Both were natural, unavoidable reactions to our Lord’s splendor.

He turned to face me, his divine member pointed directly at my face. While he said nothing, I knew what was expected of me—of us. We had drilled this moment every day for decades. Clasping my hands again, not taking my eyes off of his form, I uttered the customary prayer. “Dear Lord, we thank you for this gift. We are but your humble servants, forever grateful to receive you in this moment.” Samantha parroted the same words, appropriate reverence in her voice. “We shall now commence the ceremony of satiation, wherein my sister and myself will milk your cock dry, starting with our slutty mouths. Again, we thank you, Lord. Thank you. Thank you.” I repeated the final thanks a few more times, genuinely grateful to be here in this moment. If only my mother could have lived to see it.

The words of the ceremony were a bit vulgar, but legend has it that this serves to excite the Lord. Indeed, My Lord’s penis twitched in response. Otherwise, He said nothing, but this was expected. His role was to exist, and ours was to worship. In a dim recess of my mind, I chuckled. Something about the whole scene abruptly struck me as childish, but I hastily discarded such impure thoughts.

My sister and I approached, not raising ourselves off the floor. Samantha positioned herself to his front, and I his back. Eagerly but respectfully, Samantha leaned forward, ready to serve Him. With one last silent prayer of gratitude, I did the same, happily inserting my tongue into his anus.

* * *


On my sixth revolution around the pole, I nearly tripped across an unexpected protrusion. While my back was turned, someone had planted a pink dildo on the tabletop behind me. It was thick and tall, with its tip pointed straight at the ceiling.

I smirked at the crowd, unsure what to think. No one said anything, perhaps scared of a scolding. Crew-wide processing had very clear rules. While this wasn’t a flagrant violation, it toed the line and interfered with my “stage”. But even so… what was the harm? It wasn’t particularly disruptive to my dance. Rather the opposite, really; this was a perfect processing enhancement tool.

I planted my feet on either side of the dildo, hooking a finger under my thong and shifting it sideways. My subordinates hooted and hollered as I lowered myself. Crouching as low as I could, I took the dildo into my pussy. It goes without saying that I was wet enough to do this in one smooth, uninterrupted motion.

Pushing my tits together with my arms, making myself even sexier for my crew, I immediately transitioned into riding the dildo. They’d seen me masturbate before, but this was on another level. More men came to watch, surrounding me and stroking themselves, more than there had ever been before. As I rode the dildo harder, for their sake and for my own, I felt fulfilled. This was right. This was good. This was the role of a female admiral. This was sexual processing.

Then I came, and so did they. Countless tendrils of semen coated every part of me—my lips, my tits, my glasses, my hair, my belly, my mind, my heels, my thighs, my tongue, my pussy, my soul. I had never known greater joy.

* * *


The patient’s penis was completely turgid. “What are my odds, Doc?” He looked up at me with a hint of shame.

“Hmm…” I examined his genitalia from all angles, prodding it once or twice. It twitched, but otherwise held its shape. Standing back up to adjust my glasses, I smiled warmly at the man. “It’s good you came when you did. If we act now, it’s treatable with a full course of sexual therapy.”

The patient looked exasperated, but relieved. “Thank you, Dr. Locke.”

“Don’t mention it. It’s my job,” I told him, already unbuttoning my lab coat. As I removed my bra, I called out to my secretary in the next room. “Samantha! Cancel the rest of today’s appointments! This requires my full attention.”

* * *


“Oh…” Samantha nestled her face against my breasts, her tongue flitting between my nipples and her sex grinding against mine. The massage was pleasant, if surface-level. My body’s warmth overlapping with my sister’s was innately comforting in some indescribable way. I wrapped my arms around her, drawing her close in a tight embrace. She wiggled downward, her tongue never leaving my body, winding across my belly only to wander at my thighs. Then—“A-are you sure, Samantha?”

The simple response came but a moment later. “Yes.” I gasped in pleasure as her tongue began to massage my clitoris.

* * *


“You are getting very sleepy.” The weirdo dangled a locket in front of me as he spoke. “Very sleepy.”

I yawned in spite of myself. I suppose I was tired. It had been a long week at the office.

“When I snap my fingers, you will fall into a deep sleep. No matter what happens, you won’t wake up until I snap my fingers again.”

How ridiculous. I rolled my eyes as he snapped his fingers. Almost immediately, to my surprise, my eyelids began to droop. It wasn’t because of what he’d said, of course, but… it’s true I could use a nap. What was the harm in indulging this loser?

* * *


“Thank you for the purchase of Locke-Bot 3000. I am a fully featured sex android developed with state-of-the-art synthetic fluid and tissue to mimic an organic human female. How may I serve you today, esteemed customer?”

“Locke-Bot, initiate blowjob.”


* * *


Somehow, I’d lost every scrap of clothing I’d had on. I paraded myself before my men, naked save for my heels and sticky from their buckets of cum. My medals were lost somewhere amidst the crowd, assuredly drowned in semen. I suppose I’d have to clean them later.

* * *


“I am the queen! This affront will not stand!” My assailant either wasn’t daunted or didn’t care. With a silent grin, he roughly shoved his cock into my ass. I screamed.

* * *


“Please, be gentle.” “Of course, darling.” My new husband took his hand in mine, drawing me in for a kiss.

* * *


Moo… Moo moo moo. Moo! Moo!

* * *


I sagged in my chair, alone in my quarters, needing a moment to simply breathe. It felt as if my time was dominated by sex as of late, but I’d finally found a spare moment to myself. It was a double-edged sword to include Samantha in my deliberations these days. She was an invaluable source of trust and comfort, but we’d found ourselves in something of a feedback loop. We both knew that serious discussions merited mid-conversation massages, for concentration purposes. However, the anticipation of said massage typically led to mutual arousal, which in turn merited deeper massages, with a focus on provoking ourselves to orgasm. It was almost becoming a problem; I’d have to consult her on possible solutions at some point. Feeling my heart rate quicken at the thought of my sister, I swiftly put her out of my mind. I didn’t have time to masturbate right now.

I pulled up a series of data charts, bracing myself for whatever was to come. At last, we had completed distribution of the dummy network buoys across our entire route. As of yesterday morning, I can say with absolute certainty that we were monitoring any outbound communications originating from the Athens. Then, it had been a matter of waiting for another occurrence of unauthorized network access, verified by our shipboard data logs. Now, all the pieces were in place.

I filtered the charts down to the same general time frame as the access log. Frowning, I widened the time frame a bit, then widened it further. For good measure, I repeated the process from start to finish, making sure to clear any caches. Unfortunately, no matter what I did, the result didn’t change.

There was nothing. Our buoys detected no unusual traffic whatsoever, either at or around the same timestamp as the access.

I stretched my neck, looking at the ceiling. “Great…” I was annoyed, but not terribly so. While it would have been far more convenient for the buoys to pick something up, a lack of data is still illuminating in its own way. There was only one reasonable conclusion to be drawn from this: our saboteur wasn’t communicating with any external parties. Any data they beamed out was being disseminated within the Athens itself.

This realization posed more questions than answers, but it was a step forward nonetheless. I’d made an incorrect assumption by assuming that the culprit was a spy leaking intel to the enemy, but now that I knew this wasn’t the case, I could examine other, formerly unlikely possibilities.

I closed out of the blank charts and opened a different document. As my eyes scanned the screen, my left hand reached into my jacket and gripped my breast. Without Samantha around, I would have to massage myself. I needed every ounce of mental acuity I could muster if I had any chance of putting this puzzle together.

This new document was the timeline of events I’d been working on, as soon as it was starting to look probable that the buoys were a dead end. Now, more than ever, this was my only lead. The timeline was massive, including everything from local shipside events up to broader changes in the galaxy-wide war and politics. However, now that I knew our saboteur wasn’t in contact with the outside world, that dramatically reduced the spectrum of possibilities. I slashed through the timeline, removing anything that didn’t have a direct connection to the Athens.

“Hm…” The timeline was now extremely sparse. The network access had begun shortly after our operation on Zixue. Did someone sneak aboard as we retrieved the troops? That seemed unlikely given the complexity of our security protocols. Regardless, there wasn’t a hint of unauthorized log access for over a year prior to that point, so I felt confident in marking Zixue as the “beginning” of this anomaly.

However, beyond that point, there wasn’t much to go on. We’d taken part in a handful of raids and offensives since then, but they didn’t seem to coincide with the network access in any meaningful way. I stared at the timeline in silence, both hands rubbing and squeezing my breasts as I contemplated one possibility after another.

“Could it be…?” After several minutes, a curiosity caught my eye. It was subtle, but the frequency of network access increased, before slightly tapering off, at multiple points in the timeline. Some of these spikes were stranded in a no man’s land, not in close proximity to any events in particular. However, two of the spikes perfectly aligned with a pair of shipboard milestones: the commencement of individual and crew-wide sexual processing.

Again, more questions than answers. How could these unauthorized accesses be related to routine military procedures? I myself had enacted sexual processing aboard the Athens, and I obviously wasn’t involved in anything untoward. Was it just a coincidence?

I furrowed my brow. If there was one thing I’d learned from my years of service, it’s that there were very few genuine coincidences. With no other avenues to pursue, I minimized the timeline and opened the Unified Nations naval code, scrolling to the section on sexual processing. It was only a few paragraphs, and I shook my head in frustration once I’d finished reading. There were no clues here. We were doing everything by the book.

I closed the code document, pausing as it blipped out. I’d been struck by a thought. All the unauthorized access had been directed to the Athens. What if—?

It was nothing more than a hunch but, using my admiralty access, I overrode the standard field communication restrictions and requested a copy of the naval code from HQ’s server. A second later, it opened. I told myself that this was silly, that I was grasping at straws—until I arrived at the sexual processing section.

Rather, I arrived at what was supposed to be the sexual processing section. It wasn’t there. I reopened my local copy of code, to ensure I hadn’t missed it.

“What the hell?” I hadn’t missed it. HQ’s naval code copy contained no references to “sexual processing”. I even ran a search on the entire document, to no avail.

I swallowed the bile rising in my throat and put both versions of the code through a text comparison program, praying that the sexual processing section was the only discrepancy. My prayers went unanswered as the program immediately flagged the wardrobe requirements. HQ’s file laid out identical uniform expectations for all personnel, while the Athens copy had an extensive section dedicated to women, detailing appropriate skirt length, cleavage exposure, and more. Cross-referencing against copies of the naval code from other servers throughout the galaxy merely reinforced this revelation. HQ’s document was correct. Ours was in error.

I had to stop myself from gaping dumbfounded at the screen. This was—this was incomprehensible. It wasn’t as simple as someone having merely altered the Athens’ naval code. My mind, my memories and moral compass, matched the alterations. It didn’t seem possible, but the truth was literally staring me in the face. Sexual processing, our provocative female uniforms—they were lies.

As much as I tried not to, I found myself thinking back to the dozens, hundreds, of times men had cum over my body—or Cooper in my body. I wanted to feel angry. I wanted to feel disgusted. And I did, but… overpowering all of it was something worse: apathy. Even with the incontrovertible evidence before me, a large part of me rejected that I had done anything “wrong”. Intellectually, I knew I had somehow been manipulated, but emotionally was a whole different story.

Imagine if you suddenly discovered undeniable proof that forks were a myth, and everyone around you had been lying about them. “Normal” people ate everything exclusively with spoons. Even if you now know the truth, the truth itself feels wrong. Just so, the logic behind sexual processing still seemed bulletproof. Morale aboard the Athens was at an all-time high, of that there could be no doubt, and solely due to the fictitious practice of “sexual processing”.

“Stop it!” I shouted to myself, shooting to my feet. My breasts jiggled slightly. At some point I’d removed my jacket and bra to facilitate my personal massage.

I sighed, returning to the chair. It was difficult to feel real shame in my actions over the past months, and that in itself was terrifying. I’d cheated on my husband more times than I could count, happily and willingly, yet even now my rationality tried to convince me it was a good thing. I could barely trust my own mind.

I had no way of knowing what else in my life had been falsified. How do you fight against something which turns lies into truth? Was Charles real? The mission? Was I even Catherine Locke—or just some poor woman who thought she was?

“Ah…” My fingers dug into my breasts aggressively, almost painfully. The massage helped to calm my emotions, thankfully. It was no use trying to speculate which parts of my life were fabrications. All I could do was figure out who was responsible and how this was even possible. Governments had experimented with brainwashing and hypnosis technology for years, with mild success, but I’ve never heard even a whisper of anything on this scale. Altering the common sense of an entire ship’s crew? It was unheard of. It was so unlikely, my mind started to veer towards extraterrestrial possibilities—before I cranked on my nipples to pull myself back to reality. There had to be a rational explanation. I would find it.

I picked up a transmitter, considered calling Samantha; I trusted her more than anyone. But… could anyone truly be trusted in this scenario? If this enemy could compromise us mentally, “trust” didn’t matter. Even if Samantha didn’t intend to do me harm, she still might without realizing she was doing so.

No, I had to solve this one alone. Luckily, there was a silver lining to these bombshells: information. Until now, I’d been flying blind. We knew of the unauthorized network access, but never who, what or why. Now, I had the “what”—at least partially. I might be able to use that to extrapolate the rest.

I returned my attention to the two naval codes, especially the differing uniform sections. As the unaltered code indicated, had I once fully buttoned my jacket, bearing no cleavage? Perhaps even worn pants while on duty? I simply couldn’t picture it, but that didn’t matter. My memories obviously couldn’t be trusted. Apparently, female uniforms were supposed to be less revealing. Paired with the fact that the culprit must have made up sexual processing as well, the most likely motivation for their actions was simple: sexual gratification.

I relaxed my jaw, realizing I was gritting my teeth. Was there really someone out there with so much power at their disposal, and they were using it just to satisfy some base desires? The thought made me angrier than if there had been an actual spy. I thought I’d been playing cat-and-mouse with some brilliant saboteur. If I was actually dealing with some horny lunatic, the stupidity of it all astounded me.

Pushing down my indignation, I followed the thread. If sex was the goal, the culprit was very likely male. While a small number of homosexual women did take part in crew-wide sexual processing, individual processing was exclusively women processing men. It’s not impossible that crew-wide processing had been the goal all along, but if so, I saw little reason for individual processing in the first place. The most logical deduction is that the culprit is a male engineer—that is, one of the crewmembers who directly benefits from the instatement of sexual processing.

Is there a chance all the engineers were involved? That they were somehow working together as a group, to brainwash the Athens and rape their superiors? I shuddered. It was difficult to say either way, but a certain man’s face instinctively flitted through my mind.

Anthony Cooper. An early suspect, one we had dismissed after Samantha’s investigation. However, Samantha trusted Cooper. Her judgment was unassailable, so Cooper must not be rela—

“No!” I shouted. I had to recenter myself. I lifted a breast, sucking on one of my own nipples. After a few seconds, my heart rate calmed… but, in exchange, I felt a bothersome heat growing in my core. Reaching down with my other hand to tend to my pussy, I masturbated for a minute or two. With full focus on an orgasm, it came quickly, and I sat back to think again with a clear head.

As much as it goes against everything I want to believe, I can no longer trust Samantha. Without knowing the mechanism of the brainwashing, it’s impossible to say if her interrogation of Cooper was legitimate.

So much circumstantial evidence points to Cooper. Not only was he a male engineer, which fit the culprit profile I’d constructed, he was the Chief Engineer. He theoretically had the power to suppress alerts related to unauthorized network access—that’s the reason we suspected him in the first place. It would be a massive dereliction of duty, one which would undoubtedly result in a court martial if uncovered, but maybe he had reason not to fear that. Thinking back, he had also been the first person to suggest we implement crew-wide sexual processing. The conversation had been innocuous at the time, but now seemed extremely suspicious.

I thought back to the incident in which I caught Cooper touching himself to AI footage of Samantha, as well as his many nights of sexual processing. There was no doubt in my mind that he was a lascivious man. Would he go so far as to brainwash me and my sister just to have sex with us? … It sounded ridiculous, but I couldn’t dismiss it out of hand.

There were too many red flags to ignore. Cooper better have some damn good answers. Worst case, it was within my power to confine him for a few days, even if he did turn out to be innocent.

I stood up, putting my bra and jacket back on. When I reached the top buttons, I paused. At this point, I was certain that the proper naval uniform was a fully-buttoned jacket. However, the entire crew had a different perception of what was “proper”. As their captain, it would draw suspicion if I closed my top buttons. Frankly, even I felt more comfortable leaving them open, despite knowing all that I did. The brainwashing, or whatever it was, was that pervasive.

So, I strode out of my quarters the same as always: open jacket, high heels, and a short skirt. Hating how at ease I felt dressed like this, I hurried to the armory, picking up a stun pistol and a pair of handcuffs. A firearm like this would incapacitate anyone for over an hour. Confirming the pistol’s charge was full, I resolved to shoot first and talk later. If Cooper was the culprit, I still had no idea how his brainwashing worked. He might be able to turn the tables on me given the slightest opportunity. I had to be prepared for anything when I confronted him. If I was wrong… well, as his superior, there were a multitude of ways I could meaningfully apologize.

Concealing the cuffs and pistol in my jacket, I headed towards the engineering sector, trying to appear as calm as possible. As I passed the training room, I spotted a young female technician fellating a middle-aged sergeant within. Could even semen extraction be a falsehood? Surely not… but the thought that I couldn’t be sure frightened me. “Ignorance is bliss…” I muttered as he came across her face.

After only a few minutes, I arrived at my destination, gazing at the vague reflection of myself in Cooper’s door. Unfortunately, the ship doors were designed to be soundproof, so it was impossible to hear anything that might be happening on the other side. Was Cooper working? Perhaps planning the next step in his grand scheme?

I tightened my grip on the pistol, assuming a tactical position. In mere moments, this might all be over. I thought about everything I had done with Cooper: the countless times we’d had sex, the millions of strangers who had watched us on video, the hours and hours of proof of my adultery. I knew Charles would forgive me, but it did nothing to abate my fury. If Cooper was the one playing with my life, I would personally make the rest of his existence a living hell.

Steeling myself for anything, I charged, timing my entrance perfectly with the door sliding away. Time seemed to slow down as I wordlessly raised my pistol. Cooper and Samantha were together on his bed, his dick halfway in her mouth. Cooper was naked, while my sister wore a racy set of pink lingerie. I knew her presence here was a possibility; she strongly favored Cooper for semen extraction. Was that yet another effect of his brainwashing?

Their eyes widened, both seeming genuinely surprised to see me. Not greeting them in any way, I aimed and fired at Cooper in the fraction of a second before they could react.

Well… before one of them could react. With impossible speed, Samantha shifted herself in front of Cooper just as I fired. My projectile embedded itself into her back and, virtually instantaneously, she slumped over amidst a sound of electricity. Even the invincible Scarlet Hunter couldn’t withstand a full stun charge directly against her bare skin.

“Fuck!” I don’t know if that was me or Cooper. Why?! Why did you have to be here, Samantha? Why would you guard Anthony Cooper of all people? I couldn’t understand… did she trust Cooper more than me? He must have brainwashed her. There was no longer any doubt in my mind.

Stun pistols take about half a second to cycle before they can fire again. That sounds short—but on the battlefield, half a second can be the difference between life and death. Before Samantha’s unconscious body had even hit the bed, Cooper stumbled to his feet, reaching for a small remote on his desk. I raced forward, knocking his desk chair aside and tackling him to the floor.

We landed in a heap, with me on top. Cooper’s penis, still erect, prodded against my underwear. Suppressing my disgust, I dug my pistol into his side and pulled the trigger. I knew I’d bought enough time. “Aghh!!” Cooper convulsed as the voltage coursed through him.

My relief lasted only until I noticed his hand. It was balled nearly into a fist, his pointer finger curled into one of the remote’s buttons. He must’ve managed to grab it, just before I intercepted him. As Cooper’s body relaxed, unconsciousness overtaking him, the button depressed. I heard a familiar electronic noise behind me—a small telltale click of a camera booting up—and sharply swung around, staring into the lens of Cooper’s wall camera just as its rec̸o̶r̷d̴i̵n̶g̵ ̷l̸i̴g̷h̷t̷ ̴̦̱̅f̷͍̬͐͂ḷ̴̘͗́á̴̮̊s̵̠͐h̶̝̹̒e̶̦̥̓——