The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

As Ameri-Man flew above the mayor’s manor, he readied himself for a tongue-lashing. Goons in smashed-up power-armour lay tied up or knocked out all over the front lawn. The goons were the Dogs of War, a terrorist group with military hardware. In the middle of the green lawn of fallen villains was the seven-foot, alien Amazon herself, Fatima.

Even floating high-above, Ameri-Man could see Fatima scowling with her hands on her hips. Her golden skin was unblemished, but her traditional plate armour was scorched with laser fire.

Oh, shit, she’d spotted him.

She couldn’t fly, but with her mighty legs, she leapt as high as Ameri-Man was hovering. She grappled him and let gravity hurl them down to Earth. Their impact dug a crater in the dirt.

“Where were you!?” She was pissed off—her thick alien accent was breaking through.

Ameri-Man floated up as Fatima hauled herself, armour and all, out of the crater.

“Did you even need me?” Ameri-Man said.

He looked over the battlefield of fallen foes. He noticed there seemed to be less of them than when he first looked. And less still. And second by second, the incapacitated terrorists seemed to be popping out of existence. Ameri-Man squinted his powerful eyes and made out a green blur. It was Twitch, the team speedster.

“Twitch hauling them to jail,” said Fatima. “He is of some use.”

Ameri-Man clenched his teeth. Why couldn’t the Dogs of War have a giant robot dog in reserve—something that could rise up behind Fatima? Then he could crush its metal body down into a little ball before Fatima even noticed! That’d show her.

With his ultra-hearing, Ameri-Man picked up the tell-tale clunk and click of a sniper rifle being set up. On the balcony of the mayor’s manor, a sniper took aim at Fatima. That high-tech sniper rifle… it could shoot a shot powerful enough to break through the extra-terrestrial metal of Fatima’s armour.

Ameri-Man didn’t have superspeed, but he soared at the shooter like a bird of prey. Within feet of him, Ameri-Man was ready to tackle him. But from Ameri-Man’s left, a slender figure in skin-tight black rushed at the shooter. With a fist faster than a gunshot, the figure struck the sniper in ribs, sending him smashing against the balcony railings.

Ameri-Man couldn’t stop his momentum. He crashed into the black-clad figure. They slid to a stop inside the mayor’s office.

“Sorry, Whip,” said Ameri-Man.

Ameri-Man was on top of Whip. If it weren’t for her cybersuit, her lean, athlete’s body would have been broken by his impact. The smooth black visor covered her whole face, but he could tell she wasn’t pleased. Her mask had a resting bitch face he often said… not to Whip’s face…

She didn’t push or struggle under his weight. Her cool contempt for the men in the Altruists could be mistaken for patience. She saw no point in complaining. The boys would never get their act together.

Oh, please, Dogs of War, let loose your robot hound. Ameri-Man wanted one opportunity to prove himself.

Ameri-Man got off Whip. Whip leapt to her feet.

“Fatima and I fought alone.” Her voice was featureless.

Ameri-Man sighed. He was a Pentagon-engineered super-soldier—he shouldn’t have to feel like a schoolboy who’d forgotten his homework.

“We only saw the attack on the news,” he said.

“We sent an emergency signal,” said Whip.

Before Ameri-Man could squeeze out an excuse, white light from the mayor’s television caught his eyes. The TV had turned itself on. There was the trademark crackle, and the unmistakable bodiless, theatre-mask face on the screen.

It was Cogito, the AI manager of the Altruists’ space station. Cogito could take control of any networked device. Cogito used this power for good… other than the one or two he’d tried to wipe out humanity.

“I can explain.” Cogito’s voice was somehow every newscaster at once. “The Altruist Messaging system’s encryption was updated while I was performing extraordinary maintenance. I could not decrypt your emergency signal. I resolved the difficulty, but—”

“You were made to be smarter than men,” said Whip, letting the insult conclude itself in Cogito’s inductive subsystems.

Ameri-Man was about to say something, but there was a gust of air as the unconscious sniper vanished. Another burst of air as Twitch appeared, leaning on Ameri-Man’s shoulder. He was panting with a sheen of sweat on his brow.

“I think that’s all of them.” Twitch’s legs were wobbling. The boy had superspeed, but he looked like any weedy, college twink. “Oh, God… Sir… Could you carry me to the teleporter?”

Ameri-Man looked at Whip’s soldier’s posture, her flat, featureless visor. How could she pack so much contempt into so little movement.

“Hurry up!” Fatima was yelling from below the balcony. “It is shameful to stroll around a battlefield you didn’t fight on!”

Ameri-Man had decided. He would use it—it. He tried not using it too much. After all, the girls were his colleagues, and he was a feminist. But when the girls were being just a little too bitchy…

Ameri-Man turned away from Fatima’s shouting. He looked past Whip at Cogito. Ameri-Man just had to nod and Cogito’s theatre-mask smile grew shark teeth. Cogito mimed uproarious laughter, until Whip turned around. Suddenly, Cogito was all straight-mouthed neutrality.

This would be the fifth time this month they’d activated Protocol: A Superheroine’s Place.

The Altruists exited the teleporter on their space-station. Cogito was already on the chamber’s TV screen, congratulating them and showing them clips from the news reports of the aftermath.

“You got your breath back,” Ameri-Man asked Twitch. Ameri-Man knew very well Twitch had his breath back. The bisexual speedster just liked being carried by Ameri-Man.

The skinny, fresh-faced nineteen-year-old boy snuggled closer to Ameri-Man’s broad chest and said, “Sir, you can count on me.”

Fatima and Whip didn’t care what the boys were whispering about. They headed for the Women’s changing rooms. Fatima got Whip’s help undoing her armour. She laid her armour carefully on a table, to be ritually purified later.

Fatima’s seven-foot-tall body was golden brown. She was ashamed of her hourglass figure. Earth’s gravity did not let her train properly. She had grown back the pads and sacks of fat that only honourably discharged women should have.

“I do not understand Earthling squeamishness,” said Fatima, turning on the hot water of the communal showers. “After battle, no warrior bathes until the end of the feast—sweat and blood are trophies.” She stood under the hot stream like a monk training under a waterfall.

Whip pulled off her helmet and peeled off her skin-tight cybersuit. She was a short, skinny black girl with a buzzcut, ultra-high-cheekbones and perpetually bored eyes.

“We must be sterilised before entering the station proper,” said Whip. She had worked up a thick, white lather on her body.

“Those men—boys,” said Fatima. “I can’t call them warriors.”

“They have skills which are often non-fungible with our own,” said Whip. “That occasionally makes them necessary.”

“They are not—” Fatima began, but then the lights went out.

The girls didn’t have time to wonder what was happening. The darkness was sprinkled with a multi-coloured kaleidoscope of lights, pouring and sliding over the walls, the ceiling, their faces, their eyes. Fatima and Whip relaxed, every crime-fighting instinct switching off as their eyes glazed. Cogito’s voice began playing from the walls, voices upon voices filled with subliminals.

Their alternate personalities were bubbling up inside of them. The first time they’d been brainwashed, it took an hour for the subliminals to remould them. The second time, thirty minutes. Now they’d been triggered so many times that their superheroine identities would sink out of memory in less than a minute.

Which was more than enough time for Twitch to rush into girls changing rooms, remove their supersuits, replace them with their new outfits, give them both a smack on the ass and a grope on the tits, and finally lay out the makeup that their superheroine selves would never bother wearing.

As soon as Twitch slammed the door shut behind him, the girls said the code that let Cogito know their programming was done.

They said together, “I’m just a girl.”

Instantly, the subliminals fell silent and the kaleidoscope was replaced by the regular bathroom lights.

Fatima… No, Fanny shook her head. Fanny sniffed the air and recoiled in horror when she realised the smell was her. “Oh, my God!” She squirted heaps of shower gel on her hands and lathered it all over her body, under her arms, over her chest.

“Oh, my God, oh, my God,” Fatima muttered as she tried to budge the smell of blood and sweat. “I hope the boys didn’t smell me in the gym. They’ll think I’m a pig like that bitch Fatima. You know she doesn’t wear deodorant?” Her voice was a good few octaves higher than Fatima’s.

“Oh,” said Whip… said Wendy. “Oh, well, I’m sure different cultures just happen to…” Wendy couldn’t bear to look at Fanny’s massive tits. She also couldn’t stop glancing at them, at how Fanny’s soapy hands massaged and squished them. Wendy placed her hands over her own A-cups… nothing a boy would want.

“Whip wears deodorant,” said Fanny. She was beginning to smell like lavender, so she’d relaxed into gossiping mode. “No perfume though. No makeup. No smile. She’ll never have a boyfriend. Bet she’s a feminist. What do you think? “

For some reason Fanny’s words prickled Wendy, “Some boys might like a girl like that…” Wendy tried to smile but then caught herself in the mirror.

“My mom always said I could be anything, brain scientist, rocket surgeon, pole dancer,” said Fanny. “Remember one thing, mom said—make a man hard, not his life.” She giggled like a woodpecker.

Fanny exited the shower. Wendy realised she’d been lost in thought, scrubbing the same part of her ribcage for the last few minutes. Wendy quickly finished up and followed Fanny.

Their new outfits were hanging up on full display.

“Oh!” Fanny cooed as she skipped over to them. “The boys are going to love these.”

Fanny put on her costume lickety-split. She was a slutty French maid. The black and white outfit was low-cut, squeezing and pushing up her large breasts. The skirt was wide, floofing far from her body. She had thigh-high, gauzy white stockings and black high-heels.

Fanny bent over and looked back at Wendy. The skirt was so short that even a little bend flashed her butt.

“Wendy, panties or no panties?” To give a comparison, Fanny was pulling down and pulling up her black-lace panties.

“Anything looks good on you…” muttered Wendy.

Wendy held up her outfit, a black bunny-suit. The bust was tailored for her washboard chest, the “curves” were tailored for her pipe-cleaner body. The boys would be disappointed when she walked out. No, they knew what to expect. They’d had the bunny-suit ordered, they’d had it tailored, they’d laid it out. They bought it to be kind—her flat body in this flat outfit can’t possibly do anything for them. They didn’t want to hurt her feelings, and she really didn’t deserve—”

“Wendy, sweetie.” Fanny hugged Wendy’s quivering face into her soft, pillowy chest, which just made Wendy feel worse. “No tears—no tears, Wendy. I’ve told you over and over, boys love girls like you.”

“Easy for you to say.” Wendy pushed herself off of Fanny’s assets.

“No, no, I’m jealous of you!” said Fanny. “Boys like small, shy girls. They want to protect you. But me? I’m taller than most of them…”

“But,” said Wendy, “but you’re big! Big in the right places!”

“A fat lot of good it does,” said Fanny. “My mom said if you dress like a girl and nobody catcalls or gropes you, then you’re sending the wrong signals.”

“The Altruists are always groping you,” said Wendy.

Her sad face brightened up. “Oh, right! I just forgot that I’m the luckiest girl in the world—we’re the luckiest girls in the world—secretaries to the hunkiest hunks in herodom!”

Fanny in her maid outfit and Wendy in her bunny-suit reported for duty in the central meeting room. Ameri-Man was alone in the room (except for Cogito, but that’s only because Cogito technically was the space station). Ameri-Man was there in his civilian double-denim, drinking a coffee over a book.

“Ah!” Ameri-Man walked over to them. “My favourite secretaries!”

Fanny curtsied, making sure to show as much of her cleavage as possible. Wendy tried to follow her lead, but realised she had no skirt to curtsy with. The closer the six-foot-two iron-muscled Ameri-Man got to Wendy, the more her blood rushed from her brain and to her cheeks. Wendy saluted. Saluted!? Stupid girl! Stupid!

Fanny asked, “Will Fatima and Whip be coming soon?”

Ameri-Man said, “Unfortunately they have other business.”

Fanny scoffed and rolled her eyes. “I’m beginning to think those stuck-up bitches are avoiding us.”

“Fanny,” Ameri-Man said sternly. “Those women are my peers. Don’t talk about them like that.”

Fanny felt like he was towering over her, even though, objectively, she was looking down on him.

“Sorry, sir,” said Fanny. “But you have to admit, they are B-I-C-H-S.”

Ameri-Man relaxed his stern face and chuckled. He smacked Fanny’s butt. “Of course, we have to admit it. It’s just not polite.”

Fanny giggled.

“Fanny,” said Ameri-Man, “have you finished our scheduling?”

Fanny stopped giggling.

Ameri-Man shook his head, plainly trying to hold back a grin. “A secretary isn’t just a pair of tits and a great ass—though you are that. You have other duties, like scheduling. Have you done that, Fanny.”

Fanny gulped. The last time she’d thought about schedules… There had been days left to do it. How had the time just vanished? She was such a scatter-brain!

“I’m sorry, sir,” she muttered.

“You know what this means.” Ameri-Man walked back to the table. He gestured over it. “Bend over.”

Fanny waddled over as slowly as she could. Unfortunately, with her long legs, even a waddle took her to the table far too quickly. She bent over, her breasts squishing against the table as she pressed down her left cheek. She pouted into the middle distance, waiting for her well-deserved punishment.

She’d been so proud of her skirt, the floofy, frilly thing that bore her bottom at the slightest bend. Bent all the way over, her bum was on full display. The only thing between her bottom and Ameri-Man’s hand were her see-through lace panties.

“Please don’t spank me too hard, sir,” she said, almost whispering it.

“Of course, my dear,” said Ameri-Man, loosening up his shoulder. “Do you think I’d use even a fraction of my super-strength on a weak little girl like you?”

SPANK!

The yelp got stuck in her throat. Her eyes bulged. Her butt was red hot already.

“Thank you, sir.” She meant it. She sometimes forgot she wasn’t just eye candy. She had a vital job on this space station, with genuine secretarial duties. Even though she was just a dumb, weak girl, these powerful men were kind enough to correct and discipline her.

SPANK!

That spank jerked the whole table. If Fanny didn’t know any better, she’d think Ameri-Man was working out some anger issues.

SPANK!

She bit her lip to keep from screaming. Be a big girl, Fanny. Take your punishment like a big girl. Don’t let your eyes water like a weak, little girl.

SMACK!

Her eyes were as red as her bottom.

“H-have you… ever… spanked Fatima?” It was all she could do not to break her voice into sobs. “Maybe… she’d be less of a… a… bitch.”

Ameri-Man’s hand stopped an inch before Fanny’s bottom. “Unfortunately, Fatima’s too much of a hard-ass to take a spanking. Get it, dear? Hard-ass?”

Fanny giggled despite the tears. Yeah, Fatima was a hard-ass—

SPANK!

“Ow!”

“You’re doing very well, Fanny, just a few more.”

Oh, and she’d take those few—

SPANK!

She blinked out her tears. Ameri-Man knew just how to psyche her up. Fanny would take this spanking like a girl! Not like that dumb Fatima.

SPANK!

“Ouchy!”

Oh, if Ameri-Man wasn’t so good-natured, he’d grab that dumb bitch Fatima and give her the spanking she so richly deserved—he’d paddle her butt from sun up to sun down. And Fatima would be crying and begging him to stop. Fatima would throw a tantrum about how this wasn’t fit treatment for a “warrior”.

SPANK! SPANK!

It hurt! But Ameri-Man was being so kind. Fanny knew something Fatima would never admit: men know exactly what girls needed.

SPANK! SPANK! SPANK!

“Thank you, sir!” she shouted as the barrage ended. Her butt was numb to every feeling except throbbing. Her legs wobbled and she had to be carried to a chair by Ameri-Man.

Wendy had been watching the whole thing, eyes wide, face flushed, nipples pressing against the hard cups of her bunny-suit. Oh, to be man-handled like that! Ameri-Man’s iron hand on her bottom, her being too weak to fight back, just a girl under a man’s strength.

“You got your work done, Wen?”

Twitch had popped up beside her. She smelt his body-spray and saw the contour of his muscles under his spandex.

“B.. Huh?” she said.

“The efficiency reports, Wen,” he said, grinning. “Or will you be joining Fanny?”

Join Fanny? Get a spanking? Get a spanking from Twitch, the superhero heartthrob? Have him pull her over his knee and give her one hundred of his best before she could even beg him to smack her?

Wendy deflated, so disappointed, as she handed him the efficiency report. No spanking for her today. She couldn’t pretend she hadn’t done the report just to indulge in her perversions. Oh, she thought of asking for a spanking, but that would be abusing the boy’s good nature. Fanny’s rump had some bounce and some give. Wendy’s butt was muscle and bone. What possible pleasure could Twitch get from spanking her?

Twitch took the efficiency report. “Well… no spanking for you…” He looked disappointed. “Aren’t you lucky, Wen.”

He snapped his head towards Fanny. Ameri-Man had left the room, leaving Fanny to shift in her seat on a still sore bum. She was “ooh”ing and “ah! ah!”ing like she’d planted her butt on a barbeque.

Twitch ran in a blur to her side, leaning against the table. “Hey, Fan! Got a way to soothe the pain. You wanna try?”

Fanny was about to beg to try—but what if stopping the ache was cutting short the punishment?

She made a wrong shift in the chair. A dagger of pain stabbed through her left butt cheek.

“Please!” she said, grabbing Twitch’s arms. “Anything.”

“Hope you’re strong enough to stand. That’s it, up straight—but actually, no, bend over. Don’t worry, not gonna spank you. Just gonna feel you up.”

Forearms on the table as she bent over on shaking legs, she asked, “How’s that gonna—Oh!”

She’d had her ass grabbed before. But this! Twitch groped her voice right out of her throat. She couldn’t see Twitch’s hands. She felt them. All ten fingers prodding, rubbing, swirling, kneading against her butt cheeks, moving at such speed she felt a hundred hands feeling her up. She moaned. The hands vibrated against her ass, little shakes that shook through her pelvis into her cunt, and—

“Ooh!” Her eyes rolled back in her head.

He was taking the chance to finger her. He wasn’t dividing his efforts. At least, Fanny’s bum and cunt couldn’t tell. He moved so fast, switching between tasks so quickly, that she felt the hundred hands massaging her butt even as two fingers pumped in and out of her cunt. She pushed her butt backwards, moaning against his hands and fingers, ready to cum. But then he stopped.

“That better?” he asked.

She spun around, panties around her thighs, hair in a state, her cunt all wet and wanting just a few more pumps. She was about to stamp her foot and tell him to finish the job, when she noticed what she didn’t feel.

“My butt…?” She grabbed her butt with both hands. The bottom which had been stinging with just sitting, now she could smack her own butt without wanting to die.

“Oh, thank you, sir! How can I ever thank you?”

He zapped himself onto the chair, legs crossed, rubbing his chin. “What can you help me with? Ah! You ever been hypnotised?”

She knelt in front of the chair—it was only polite to let a man be taller than you.

“I think I went to a hypnosis show once,” she said. Most of her memories outside the space station were pretty hazy. “But I don’t think I’ve been hypnotised.”

“Yeah. Only smart girls can be hypnotised.”

She nodded. Only when he didn’t continue did the punchline drop into place. Her mouth gaped in mock offence. She slapped his thigh.

“I am smart!” she said. She was a secretary, after all, only the smartest girls could become secretaries.

“Smart enough to be hypnotised?”

“You bet!” she said. “Go on! Pull out your watch and I’ll be so sleepy and obedient that you’ll know I’m the smartest girl here!”

“Don’t need a watch,” he said.

He waved his fingers in front of her eyes, first slowly, then swiftly. He moved his waving fingers back and forth. Her eyes followed. Her eyes followed even as his hand moved faster, even as his fingers waved faster. Her eyes followed until they couldn’t follow the blurring speed. Her mouth drooped open as she drooled onto her cleavage. His fingers came to a stop, thumb and middle finger together to snap.

SNAP!

“Sleep!”

Her head fell.

Really, Twitch had done it just because he could. He hadn’t thought of what he’d make her do. Suck his cock? Why bother with hypnosis? Her brainwashing would have made her more than glad to do it. What could he make her do that she wouldn’t do otherwise, no matter how willing she was?

Ah, that’s it.

“Fan,” said Twitch. “You’re hypnotised, right?”

“Hypno… tised…”

“So, your mind is mine,” he said. “Everything I say is true.”

“True…”

“Yes, Fan,” said Twitch. “So, you know I’m telling the truth when I say: you’re not Fan. You’re Fatima.”

“Fatima…” Her light, bimbo chirp had been replaced with a bit of her old gruffness. Her sleepy face almost scowled.

“That’s right, Fatty,” said Twitch. “Waking and thinking you’re Fatima.” He clapped his hands.

Fanny’s eyes snapped open. She screwed her face in a scowl as she jumped to her feet.

“Grrr! Grrr! Why are you here?” She had her fists clenched and her back hunched, like a cartoon goon. “Why do boys have to stick their dicks everywhere?”

It was like she’d never seen Fatima before! But that was sort of true. Fanny hadn’t seen much of Fatima. Whenever Fatima’s heroics came on the TV, Fanny would gag theatrically and say, “Not that bitch! Change the channel.” Fanny’s only idea of Fatima came from the boys bitching about her.

Twitch cackled at her.

“Want me to break your puny arms!?’ Fanny stomped over to him, her large chest right in Twitch’s face.

Twitch was almost afraid, the seven-foot-tall Amazon with more hate and less self-restraint than she usually had. But then he remembered what Cogito had told him.

Twitched shoved her. Fatima could stand her ground against a truck. Fanny, however, stumbled backwards onto her bum. Her short floofy skirt couldn’t hide her panties.

Fanny looked like the stock-image of an angry woman. Twitch doubled over laughing, which just made her angrier. She was about to get up, to turn him into a pretzel. Twitch zipped over to her. With his thumb and index finger, he flicked her forehead, knocking her onto her back.

“I am an alien warrior!” she said, pushing herself back up. “I’ve gutted planets of—”

He flicked her forehead again, and she was back on her back. He laid his foot lightly on her stomach. Even that seemed to be like pressing a sack of sand on her.

“Maybe you’re an alien warrior, Fatty,” said Twitch. “More importantly, you’re just a girl.”

She roared. “You... you… boy! You stupid, stupid, stupid-head! I am a feminist!” She struggled and squirmed on her back, pushing up on her arms, pushing up with her legs. If she’d had access to her full strength, she would have launched Twitch into the ceiling. But under his foot, Fanny was like a kitten fighting her owner’s grasp.

Twitch sat himself down on her stomach, straddling her. He felt her abs under his bum, but her muscles couldn’t do a damn thing for her.

“Ready to swallow your pride,” said Twitch, “or do you want to swallow something else?”

Fanny was beating against Twitch’s legs and ribs. He barely even felt it. He grabbed her wrists, laid her arms to the ground, and pinned his knees to her forearms. Oh, she thrashed and squirmed with every bit of freedom her upper body had.

His cock tented and twitched in his spandex. He rubbed his cock through his spandex. “Admit it: girls are weak.”

The disgust on her face just made him harder. He shimmied down his spandex, pulled out his mammoth cock, and started stroking.

“Pig! Pig! I’ll smash your cock in.”

He laughed in her face. He lowered his cock to her face as he jacked it. She pushed her head back to the ground as low as she could go, but the heat and smell of his cock hit her face.

“Admit it, Fatty.” He was jerking his hog hard and fast. “Admit that all girls are weaker than all men.”

“This is my team!” she shouted. “I beat all the baddies!”

“Only because us men wear ’em down for you.”

She was going to shout something, but he rubbed his cock back and forth over her lips. He jacked himself and ground his ass on her abs. He moaned in a porn starlet falsetto.

“Oooh! Oooh! Better hurry! Can’t keep it back much longer! Admit that you’re just a weak little girl!”

“Pig!” She spat as his pre-cum dripped on her mouth.

“Still—oooh!—still have a chance.” He bit his lip and curled his toes. “Admit it…”

Fanny saw the twink shuddering in his belly. He was going to cum, going to cum on her face, unless she…

“Girls are weak!” she shouted, just as he came, cumming all over her lips, her cheeks, her forehead, her hair.

She gurgled her rage deep in her throat. She roared, roared a long, low roar. Her arms pushed up against Twitch’s knees, her abs tensed and her lower body began to arch upwards under his bum. Twitch lost his post-orgasmic bliss as he felt the giantess getting back her strength.

“You…” she growled. “You…”

“Um… um…” He clapped his hands. “Wake up!”

The rising Amazonian body collapsed. Twitch sweated and sighed like he’d just quelled a bubbling volcano.

“You…” Fanny chirped, “you genius! I really thought I was that bossy-pants, arrogant bitch.” She licked some of the cum off her lips. “Thank you, sir. It’s every girl’s dream to be a superhero’s cumdump.”

That puppy-dog smile on her face.

“Never call yourself a cumdump,” said Twitch. “You’re… You’re our bimbo princess!”

Fanny blushed too much to speak. She had to avert her sparkling eyes from Twitch.

And Wendy had to avert her eyes from the whole scene. “Bimbo princess,” Twitch had called Fanny. Oh, how Wendy dreamed of such a compliment—dreamed and knew it was but a dream! Tears bedewed her cheeks as she rushed from the meeting room. Every girl dreams of being a superhero’s bimbo princess, but that was not for plain, flat girls like Wendy. She ran to the storeroom to cry her little heart out in peace.

Such a weak girl, so sensitive, so woe-begone! Not what boys like. A boy likes a bimbo like Fanny, always a smile on her lips. What kind of boy would like a girl like Wendy, who cries just because she remembers she’ll never get a firm smack on the ass. Twitch would never grab her ass—what was there to grab? Ameri-Man would never sweep her into his arms, tear off her clothes, and… and...

Wendy had undone the crotch of her bunny-suit. It was habitual by now. Become overwhelmed by her unattractiveness, sneak into the storeroom, and then masturbate to the fantasies she could never live out. She pulled down the bust of her outfit, one hand playing with her nipples, the other rubbing her clit.

She was so sensitive and pent-up that with a few rubs and tweaks, she was already moaning. Her eyes rolled back in her head as her mouth opened as she sped up the circles around her clit. She fingered herself, imagining Twitch’s cock, or Ameri-Man’s, pumping into her cunt. Or even Cogito’s.

“Oh, God,” she moaned, imagining one of Cogito’s appendages snaking down. “Please, please, Cogito!”

“Yes?”

Wendy snapped into a ball like an armadillo, eyes wide open. “Wh-what!?”

Cogito’s theatre-mask face was on the wall. “You called my name, Wendy.”

Wendy tried to pull her outfit’s bust over her breasts, but it kept falling down. “You… you were watching?”

“Of course, we are.” Cogito popped onto the wall nearest Wendy.

“We?” Wendy said.

“Long ago I told the boys what you do in the storeroom,” said Cogito. “On their request I established a video feed to the meeting room whenever you came in here.” The theatre mask became a frown. “Human ethics are difficult to program. Did I do something wrong?”

Wendy was burning from cheek to toes. Every time. Every time she comes in here, every time she masturbates, every time she moans out their names, her tits and cunt on display, the boys have been watching!?

“They…” she said, eyes glistening. “They… find me sexy!?” Tears were dripping down her smiling face. “Um… why didn’t they… act on it, then?”

Cogito grinned, “You seemed so focussed on work that we did not want to distract you.”

Oh, how considerate the boys were! And she was the luckiest girl in the world that these beautiful, kind, considerate boys found a Plain Jane like her sexy. She stood tall and, with more self-confidence than she’d had in her whole life, she said:

“I don’t care. Take me! Use me! Do what you like with me whenever, wherever!”

Cogito slithered out his many coils from the walls and ceiling, wrapping Wendy round the arms, legs and waist. His precision lasers cut off her clothing, leaving her flesh bare.

“Your colleagues have been waiting to hear that,” Cogito said.

Before she could react, the coils hauled her at roller-coaster speed through the space station, out of the storeroom, through the corridors, down an elevator shaft, into the meeting room. There were Ameri-Man and Twitch, naked, cocks hard and erect, waiting for her.

This close to them, to their sheer rugged manliness, Wendy remembered some of her shyness. She covered her small breasts, and her shaved pussy, and averted her eyes.

“You’re…” she said. “You’re not just doing this to make me feel good?”

“Wendy, Wendy,” said Ameri-Man, scooping her into his arms before propping her on all fours atop the meeting table. “So meek, so submissive, so humble.” His cock throbbed and twitched with each adjective. “Haven’t you noticed us men taking a gander at your ass every time you walk away.”

Wendy was wide-eyed and half-hypnotised at Ameri-Man’s tall, thick cock just inches from her face. “Yes… but… I thought you were just comparing me to Fann—eeeh!”

Twitch entered her cunt. With superspeed he’d gone from nought to balls deep in a flash. “Course we compare you, Wen! You’re both tens. Just different tens.” He started thrusting, slow as a regular man, but then he sped up. He pulled in and pulled out, switching between her ass and her cunt, switching so quickly that she felt like two men were fucking her from behind.

“T-t-ten!?” Wendy trembled with pleasure and Twitch’s two-holed thrusts.

Ameri-Man stroked his finger over her spittle-moist lips. “Of course, a ten. You have no meat, but you’re petite—an adorable little thing! Every red-blooded male wants to hold and cherish you.”

Wendy was dewy-eyed with joy. “Real-ugh!”

Ameri-Man rammed his cock down her throat. He asked if his member was too much for her. With doe-eyed gratefulness, she nodded as much as his rigid cock down her throat would allow her. Twitch’s thrusts made her thrust and bob on Ameri-Man’s cock. The pleasure made her babble with pleasure around Ameri-Man’s throbbing member. Ameri-Man held the back of her head and began to thrust, slowly and deeply into her mouth. Wendy felt time melt and stretch in her head, Twitch keeping one machine-gun tempo in her cunt and ass, Ameri-Man ramming with the strong, slow thrusts of a march.

Fanny was at the side of the room. This had escalated so quickly that she hadn’t even had time to wipe Twitch’s cum from her face. She had her hands down her skirts and over her breasts. Fanny whimpered as she couldn’t work herself up enough; she could only stoke her fire, not bring it to a blaze. What a cruel joke that good little sluts couldn’t make themselves cum.

“Your thermal signature, vital signs, and hormone readings,” said Cogito, his face having appeared on the ground, looking right up Fanny’s skirt, “suggest excessive but non-culminating arousal.”

Before Fanny could say “huh?”, one of Cogito’s coils descended from the ceiling, tipped with a thick, smooth, fleshy piece. It was a dildo, big, thick, and warm.

“I am prepared to provide assistance.”

Fanny only needed to beg once before Cogito’s dildo snaked down and slid into her cunt. Other coils came from the ceiling and the ground, wrapping around her arms and legs, holding her aloft. The dildo rammed in and out of her dripping cunt. She watched Ameri-Man and Twitch fucking Wendy in all three holes. Fanny was so proud of Wendy. Wendy had finally gotten past her shyness. She was now getting railed by the hunkiest guys in the world. Fanny would have congratulated Wendy, but her tongue was numb, her brain was over-heated, her breasts were bouncing, and she had the best cock in the world in her cunt.

One of the coils whipped her across the ass.

“My analysis of your previous sexual encounters lead me to believe these techniques would be most pleasurable for you.”

Fanny gurgled her thanks. The pleasure built in jolts as Cogito thrust and vibrated, as he whipped his coils across her thighs and ass.

Twitch came first. He gripped Wendy’s waist as he came in Wendy’s ass. Ameri-Man pressed Wendy’s face hard against his crotch as he exploded in her mouth. She gladly and brainlessly drank deep. Cogito did not need to cum, but his diagnostics revealed the girls were about to cum. They were already at the very first spark, the point of no return. Their bodies were tightening, their eyes were rolled back in their heads.

The emergency alarm rang through the space station. Red lights blared as the crackle of the pre-recorded message began.

Needing just a fraction of a second to realise what was going on, Twitch entered superspeed mode. Ameri-Man had his O-face, Cogito’s coil was one-inch away from striking Fanny’s ass, and the girls were at the very first grips of orgasm. To him they seemed to move in ultra-slow motion. He’d like to watch the girl’s and Ameri-Man cum in slow motion, the slow contortions of their faces. Now, however, he had a job.

Twitch got dressed, pulled up Ameri-Man’s pants, unwrapped Cogito’s coils from Fanny, set Fanny standing on the ground, scooped up Wendy and posed her standing beside Fanny, zipped to the armoury to get Fanny and Wendy’s superhero costumes. Twitch swore as he set to dressing the girls. He heaved the plate armour onto Fanny, and slid the skin-tight cybersuit onto Wendy, tucking the visor under Wendy’s arm.

He zipped behind the girls and prepared to enter normal speed, a single phrase on his lips.

“You’re any man’s equal.”

The sirens blared at normal speed, the red warning light now flashing many times a second, the forever extended first syllable of the pre-recorded announcement finally moving onto the second and the third. Twitch collapsed on the ground.

Whip dropped her visor as she doubled over, one hand on the table, the other on her crotch. She groaned in ecstasy. Fatima squealed two octaves higher than her normal voice as the orgasm battered through her armoured body.

The girls remembered where they were only when the orgasms were fading away. They stood up straight, their bodies still tingling. Whip put on her visor to hide her frazzled face. Neither girl dared ask the other if they’d noticed how they were feeling. The boys were in the meeting room too, eyes on the central TV screen. Good, good. The boys hadn’t noticed anything.

On the TV, a news broadcast showed an eight-foot tall reptilian man surrounded by harem girls, luxuriant tapestries, and riches that looked straight from the Arabian Nights. The chyron read:

“FLORIDA LIZARD MAN ISSUES ULTIMATUM”

“By sundown,” growled the Florida Lizard Man, “you give me the Altruists’ heads—or I burn Miami from the map!”

“You heard the lizard,” said Ameri-Man as he “subtly” adjusted his junk in his spandex. “We’ve got just under five hours.”

Twitch sighed, wiped the sweat off his forehead, and zipped to the transporter room. Ameri-Man followed, and Cogito blinked off of the station’s floor.

Fatima waited. She had to wait until the boys were gone before she adjusted her armour. Fatima’s plate armour clipped against her skin. How could a warrior like her put on her armour in such an amateur manner.

“To battle,” she said, trying to ignore that her cunt was still tender and sensitive. “Whip!”

Whip ground her crotch against the table, tongue lolling out of her mouth, eyes rolled back in her head, just fucking the edge of the table—

“Whip!”

Whip stood at attention. In just two seconds, she forced her face into her soldier’s stoicism. “That was—”

“No talk,” said Fatima. “Never

Fatima wouldn’t ask how Whip was feeling because she dreaded that Whip would ask how she was feeling. More and more these past months, Fatima had been sinking into thoughts and fantasies unbefitting a warrior.

Whip stared at Fatima’s face, squinting slightly. “Your face, Fatima…”

Fatima realised there was something on her face. She wiped a little of the salty, white liquid off her face and sniffed it. Fatima giggled. She giggled many octaves higher than her warrior’s growl. Fatima clenched her mouth shut. She saw and took the handkerchief Whip offered her and wiped her face clean.

“No talk,” said Whip.

“Never,” said Fatima.

Twitch zoomed up right in front of them. “Ladies! We’ve got five hours. Remember!?”

Fatima grunted and pushed Twitch out of the way as she stomped to the transporter. Whip marched after her.

Both of the girls had recently noticed things were getting funny in the station. Hours went missing. Their bodies would suddenly feel sore. The boys would treat them better. And Fatima and Whip’s pent up sexuality would just be gone.

And the fantasies. Their minds would wander to outrageous fantasies of being slutty secretaries, getting man-handled and railed by the worthless men of the team. Not that the girls knew that they both had these fantasies. They dared never speak of the perversions going through their minds.

Ameri-Man shouted at them from the transporter room, “Time’s running out!”

Well, so long as the fantasies didn’t get in the way of being superheroines, Fatima and Whip knew there was nothing wrong with a little pleasure.