The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Light, warm, soft and restful filtered through her eyelids.

It was easy to lie still and embrace the comfortable blanket of slumber.

So she did.

It felt so warm and safe at this moment in time that she wished it would never end.

She was content.

It reminded her... of... being in her lover’s arms...

Naobi.

The woman she loved. Who loved her. Who completed her.

Smiling, she luxuriated in the delicious sleep, relishing the joy of being with her lover.

As long as she was with Naobi nothing else mattered.

One minute merged with the next to produce a profound sensation of rest and peace that seemed to stretch into eternity.

Time passed and with it, percolating slowly up from the core of her mind, a sense of mild unease gradually disturbed her tranquility.

Naobi wasn’t really here.

Her lover existed in her imagination.

She was alone.

But that was ok. She was asleep and it was normal to dream about the woman she loved.

The light seemed to be growing brighter, breaking through the thin veil of skin covering her eyes, tugging gently at her awareness.

Lying still, her dormant mind slowly roused itself as nascent consciousness began to form. With agonising slowness, the treacle-thoughts began to coalesce and take form. In the meantime, before her closed eyes the familiar, reassuring face continued to beam warmly towards her, Naobi’s adorable dimples crescenting as her lover comforted her.

She fell into Naobi’s adorable smile.

Her thoughts had formed themselves into a familiar pattern; all the anxiety she’d been battling with for months returned.

She’d have to tell Naobi about working for Public Tranquility. If she was honest with herself, it would be a relief to be free of this life of lies and deceit. All the snooping and spying on unsuspecting people, reporting their failures, revealing their weaknesses to unknown others who would use that information to control them, wearied her. Ever since she had met Naobi it had started to repulse her.

But how could she tell Naobi? Would she think that everything had been a lie? That she had been deceived? Used? Manipulated?

And reject her love?

Maybe she should stay silent?

No. Silence was poison. A secret like this was too big, too difficult to hide. She would forever be afraid, terrified that Naobi would find out. And she would find out. Eventually. These kinds of deceptions were impossible to conceal. Besides, who knows what devious games her handlers in Public Tranquility might play with her? And that would be worse. Much worse.

In her half-waking, half-sleeping state, she wrestled with the dilemma, her foggy brain slowly working out the implications and trying to come up with a solution.

It was so hard. She had to get this right. Her whole future depended on it. Happiness or crushing despair and loneliness were the only two outcomes.

Naobi gorgeous face was before her, her eyes sparkling with life and vibrancy. Purring, she fell into this vision, her confidence returning.

She’d figure something out, somehow.

Naobi was the only one who mattered.

Wait... what...

Her lover’s face had started to fade, it’s definition and solidity vanishing... contorting... melting... twisting... changing... morphing...

She gasped.

The pair of hard, cruel orbs stabbed into her brain.

Horror.

Brown-grey eyes.

Fear, intense and overwhelming, gripped her.

Makayla in the Conversion Chamber... forcing her to watch.

Zelena and the others being Converted... Implants being drilled into their heads...

Whimpering weakly, she couldn’t stop watching in horror as the visions played out before her.

The stench of burning flesh... lobotomized brains being... erased... destroyed... becoming will-dead Automatons...

Then there was pleasure.

Unimaginable euphoria. Nirvana. Burning, agonising bliss beyond her ability to comprehend.

Her eyes flew open, heart racing at the nightmare. Blinking furiously she stared up at an unfamiliar curved ceiling less than half a metre above her, that glowed with suffused light as she struggled for breath, her heart pounding.

Makayla had forced her to watch the Conversions and she’d climaxed over and over again at the sight.

And she’d enjoyed it.

But afterwards?

What had happened to her after that?

Nothing.

Her mind was completely blank.

There should have been something there.

But no, there was nothing. Nothing at all.

Everything seemed to stop after the incessant barrage of orgasms that had pulverised her mind and body into disembodied fragments of pure, raw animal bliss.

Concentrating furiously, with sheer force of will she forced the nascent panic aside. Logic returned soon after.

Ok, she concentrated; the most likely explanation was that she’d fallen unconscious after cumming her brains out and they’d put her to bed. Wasn’t it? What other plausible alternative existed? After all, if Makayla had discovered she was an imposter she’d have been strapped into the Conversion Table and Implanted.

No, Fenisha decided, sighing with relief, the panic under control, she was safe.

Cautiously, Fenisha started to take stock of her surroundings. She was naked, lying atop a padded mattress in a narrow sleeping pod that enclosed her on three sides like an old fashioned tanning bed, diffused light emanating from the photo-therapeutic strips designed to provide nourishment to a body deprived of natural daylight.

From the edge of her vision, Fenisha could see the edge of the thick programming cable snaking upwards from her forehead.

She shifted her head slightly, cautiously looking to the side. The room was large, filled with tiers of identical beds stacked four high upon which naked figures lay, Implants jacked in.

Fenisha lay still and watched them in silence for a few moments, wondering what to do next. Suddenly, as if responding to some unspoken command, every Automaton raised a hand to her forehead and unplugged their cable before clambering out of bed. Mustering her strength, she followed suit. Soon she had joined a line of silent bodies exiting the unfamiliar dormitory area, obviously newly created to house sleeping humanoids.

Disorientated, she lost herself in the sea of nude, expressionless flesh, discreetly trying to regain her bearings.

The room they entered next was immediately familiar as the Mess on D-Deck. Triggered by the smell of food, Fenisha’s growling stomach reminded her just how long it had been since she’d last eaten.

Blankly, her naked crewmates lined up with trays upon which an Automaton cook, an apron disrupting her black uniform surreally, ladled heaps of steaming food. Soon after Fenisha bore her full tray towards the nearest communal table, not stopping to look around.

The intense need to eat overwhelmed all else.

Every spoonful of the mushy-goop tasted like nectar.

Three quarters the way through her meal her appetite was sated enough to start paying attention to her dining companions.

It was only then she realised just how eerily quiet the Mess was; there were no conversations between friends, no gossiping cliques, no laughter, no venting about superior officers and their foibles, no simmering rivalries, no flirtatious looks, no judgement, no seething jealousies bubbling beneath the surface, no regrets. Nothing.

The immensity of the changes wrought to the crew really struck home. The anonymizing uniforms and visors had partly insulated her from confronting just how utterly dehumanized they had all become. Here, all around her, the results of the Doctor Xi’s sinister work were plain to see.

Each silent, hard eyed dronewoman acted as if she was completely alone, unaware of anything or anybody beyond her. Every single one of them was fanatically fixated upon her own absolute devotion to her Creator.

There would be no rebellion or uprising from within their ranks.

Cautiously turning her attention to the humanoid slavewomen seated opposite, it took a moment to recognise the passengers from the captured Yacht, shining Implants now permanently inserted deep into their smoothly depilated craniums. Idly, she wondered what their Primary Function was?

Moving her gaze beyond the group, she suppressed a tiny gasp as she saw the nude woman seated beside them; Zelena.

Looking at the living robot that Zelena had been reduced to, Fenisha knew that she had helped to turn her into this thing. She was partly responsible for Zelena’s fate. If she hadn’t reported that blockage maybe Zelena might have survived?

She knew she should feel something... sorrow... guilt...something.

But no.

There was nothing there.

Automaton-Zelena meant nothing to her.

That should have shocked her? Shouldn’t it?

No. Sentiment had no place here.

Slowly, she was becoming inured to the horrors surrounding her.

Whether this was due to her prolonged immersion in this totalising milieu, where the norms of human behaviour and social interaction simply did not exist, or the more insidious effects of the slavesuit conditioning, she couldn’t tell.

And she didn’t really want to find out.

Finished, the former-Zelena stood, carried her tray away and left. Idly, Fenisha recalled all those passive-aggressive notices politely ‘reminding’ people to stack their empty trays.

Swallowing the last of her breakfast, Fenisha followed suit, padding barefoot behind the once-Zelena, carving the muscles of her face into a mask of hard marble. A steady line of naked humanoids entered what had formerly been the junior ranks raucous communal area.

The hot shower refreshed her. Despite her earlier feeling of dread, the much needed sleep and food had revived her, leaving her stronger and more confident.

She could concentrate on survival.

And escape.

Escape. She needed to escape.

For Naobi.

She wasn’t going to be taken away from her.

Glancing at a wall clock she calculated that there were less than six hours to go before the Probe Ship should be ready. That was all that mattered. Her only goal was to reach the Probe Ship.

A line of freshly cleansed fem-drones had formed and was being handed uniforms by a pair of Automatons. Shocked, she felt the arousal surging through her body as her primordial brain woke at the sight of the black rubberite. Embarrassed, she felt a trickle of sex juice wind it’s way down slowly her legs as her treacherous pussy began to drip with anticipation. Feeling her face reddening, she forced herself to remain calm. A surreptitious glance down at the pallid once-Zelena standing in front of her revealed that the inside thighs of the Automaton were similarly slick with moisture.

Just like hers.

Her uncontrollable physical response showed just how much she needed to get out of here; a day spent wearing that sinful suit and the primitive part of her mind had been conditioned to crave the pleasure it provided.

If it had that effect on her, what must it do to these hapless creatures?

Trembling with need and fear, she slid into the all-encompassing suit, her yearning, gushing sex aquiver as she slathered the obsidian bio-reactive material over her throbbing flesh.

Pulsating, she noted her breakfast companions suiting up. Surprised, she saw that the former passengers had been provided with different uniforms: instead of the standard outfits they wore high-cut sleeveless bodysuits paired with matching thigh high boots and long gloves, all in high-gloss rather than the standard matte black.

Then, one after another, each dronewoman carefully locked her domed mask in place.

Ending what little remained of them.

Fenisha’s greedy, hungry snatch somersaulted with joy at the sight, the tantalising flashes of flesh emphasised by the gleaming slave-black only heightened the lobotomized women’s complete and utter objectification.

Shamelessly, she ogled them, drooling helplessly at their erotic fetishisation.

Unprompted, the primitive part of her mind told her precisely what their Primary Function was.

Licking her lips, she followed the group with her eyes as the humanoid sex-slaves marched away.

Her animal-mind sent a pang of desire into her consciousness, urging her to join them, her simmering body ravenous for the artificial caresses that her own slavesuit would provide once she had joined them.

Gulping, she raised her own mask to her face, conflicted at the comparative freedom it provided and what it would try to do to her.

It meant nothing, Fenisha told herself, focussing on trying to ignore the arousal surging within, her primordial-self now desperate for pleasure. This was just a disguise, Fenisha concentrated. The mirrored dome made her invisible and gave her the ability to escape this nightmare.

The Probe Ship. She had to focus on the Probe Ship. Until then she had to keep her perfidious cunt on a tight leash.

With the inbuilt hood-speakers mercifully silent and the visual-display inactive, she followed the other newly dressed Automatons out. A number of individual archways shaped like inverted U’s were arrayed just before the exit into which freshly dressed humanoids strode and halted. An eerie green light flashed over them which visibly caused their suits to contract. Afterwards, they simply continued on their way.

Gritting her teeth, she joined the line and quickly advanced towards the alcoves. Ahead, she saw the robot-Zelena take her place, her black-garbed body enveloped by the sinister glow before she stepped away, the Designation three ninety-two now burning bright red on her collar.

Stepping forward, Fenisha took her place under the archway.

A few moments later she exited, the slavesuit now hugging her tightly like a second skin.

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There had been no orgasm. Just the figure-hugging constriction of the slavesuit and the activation of the devices within that wanted to consume her thinking-mind. Her slit purred like a contented pet being stroked by it’s Owner, the black rubberite grasping her tightly, clinging to her curves, assimilating her.

She looked just like the rest.

Fortunately, despite the waves of soft delerious arousal lapping against her hot, trembling body, her rational mind was still firmly in control.

No orders had been given but Fenisha knew that she was expected to report to Engineering to commence Function.

Exiting, she pivoted left down the main corridor, lost in a steady stream of humanoids. Ahead, she caught sight of the Automaton sex-units disappearing into a room on the left. Maintaining her stride she proceed along the corridor.

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Eyes swivelling to the left as she reached the entrance to the room into which the sexdrones had entered, she gasped softly.

All five Automatons were lined up before Servitor-Hipfer, her face contorted by a cruel smirk, her eyes aglow like hot coals mined from the deepest depths of Hell itself. Beyond, in what had been a briefing room, were rows of newly installed bondage frames and other restraining devices she dared not to contemplate.

Hurrying onwards, Fenisha gulped, working hard to suppress the part of her animal-brain that had sizzled with delight.

A few minutes later she was in Engineering, working through the issues highlighted by the overnight team.

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“Automaton one sixty-one, attend” Automaton-Mendoza’s voice barked through her speakers, “report to the Conversion Room immediately.”

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Heart sinking, Fenisha discarded the problem with the intermittently functioning A-Deck Cooling Fans she had been tracing for the past hour. Beside her in station three, the only other Eng-Tech present ignored her. Sharrlien and Rasha had been dispatched to C-Deck to replace yet another section of ruptured seven-seventy gauge conduit while Miatta remained utterly focussed on monitoring the carbon-dioxide levels on D-Deck which were showing evidence that there was yet another fault in the ever-troublesome Environmental Filtration Units.

Her mind began to whirl. Did they know? Had she been discovered?

Standing, she moved with wobbly legs past the former-Miatta who remained fixated on the Main Board.

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Turning her eyes towards her supervisor, she searched in vain for a sign. But there was nothing. The mirrored dome covering the Senior Engineer’s face betrayed nothing.

“A power outage,” the Automaton-Mendoza’s voice recited additional information as Fenisha wrapped the tool belt around her waist, reassuring her that this wasn’t a trap.

Or was it?

Her mind whirled, considering her options. Under three hours to go!

If she didn’t report to the Conversion Chamber then they’d come looking for her. Hiding was useless, as Zelena had proved. Besides, she still had to get to the Probe Ship.

But if this was a trap, the last place she wanted to go was that particular room.

There was only one thing for it, she decided. Bluff it out and hope for the best. Her luck had held so far.

Decision made, she made her way towards her destination. Had they really figured out she wasn’t one of them? If so, then why leave her free to roam about the ship? Why not just grab her.

No, the more likely explanation was that this was a genuine malfunction. With the others busy, Mendoza had simply chosen the member of her team engaged on the least critical task and dispatched her to solve the problem.

What else could it be?

With a sinking feeling, she remembered Makayla’s leering face from yesterday.

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A short time later, heart pounding and nauseous, Fenisha found herself entering the Conversion Chamber. Striding into the room as calmly as she could she was confronted by a woman being removed from the Table by a pair of Automaton assistants, the newly installed metal plate in her forehead looking like an extra eye.

Ana, her face like thunder watched from the side as the humanoids dragged their patient towards the programming couches where she soon joined the rest.

“At last,” the nurse spat furiously, her piercing green eyes ablaze with anger.

Fenisha was suddenly very aware that the pair of Automatons had taken up position behind her.

“We have a problem,” Ana snarled, venom hissing from her voice. “There’s no power. We had to finish that one by hand,” she went on, flicking her hand disgustedly towards the newly lobotomized Kyrrah Vzagg.

“Fix it,” Ana insisted firmly, glaring at her.

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After acknowledging the command, Fenisha made her way to an access panel on the floor at the far corner of the room, knelt and opened it. Controlling her breathing, she peered inside, deciphering the complex array of wires and connections within. An unfamiliar orange cable, new and in good condition, immediately stood out. Tracing it’s path she quickly discovered that it led directly to the circular table. Working backwards along the strange wire she discovered it had been neatly spliced into one of the main trunk cables.

She immediately diagnosed the problem. The Table was obviously rated for Colonial Standard and not for Universal Military, as used on board the Bellerophon. There must be some sort of an in-built regulator within the Table otherwise it would have stopped working long ago. But, with almost constant use, that must have failed.

Fenisha was actually surprised it had lasted so long.

She wanted to laugh. So much for Doctor’s Xi’s omnipotence! Obviously her brainwashing hadn’t managed to erase her underlings propensity towards idiocy and cutting corners.

A simple fix; an adaptor was needed between the two incompatible cables to balance the differing capacities.

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Ana loomed over her, peering uncomprehendingly into the mess of circuitry. “Well?” she demanded, “how long?”

“Approximately two or three hours,” Fenisha lied, thinking quickly.

Scowling, Ana stomped away angrily, barking orders at her subordinates.

In reality the job would take about an hour, particularly as the cable hadn’t burnt out. But as the Probe Ship wasn’t ready yet, she could hide here for a few hours. It would be easier to go directly to the Launch Bay and not have to look for a reason to leave Engineering.

“How about these?” the nurse snapped pointing towards the line of naked women undergoing programming.

After explaining to the furious medic that they were on a different circuit, she informed Automaton-Mendoza that she would be working on the power coupling for the next few hours. Her explanation was accepted without question.

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Fenisha began pulling out the multi-coloured tangle, spreading the cables out along the floor, deliberately making the repair look impossibly complicated.

Once more, Ana stomped towards her and looked down at the rainbow of insulated wiring, scowling with displeasure.

“This is just like Makayla,” the nurse vented, seething with self-pitying rage. “Every time something goes wrong she’s nowhere to be seen... and I’m the one who’s left to break the bad news to the Doctor...”

Finding the lead running to the room’s security systems, Fenisha cut it disabling the system as she did her best to ignore the angry nurse standing over her.

Frustrated, annoyed, Ana stormed out of the room a few minutes later, doubtless looking for somebody to take out her anger on.

Carefully, she looked around. Ana had taken her Automaton assistants with her; other than the vacant fem-drones being Programmed, she was alone.

Exhaling with relief, she leaned back. Leisurely, she rummaged through the pouches on her toolbelt, selecting the right tools, finding an adaptor that would work. Shrugging her shoulders, she set to work, happily losing herself in the task.

It took longer than expected; and hour and twenty minutes in total.

Reactivating the power to test it, she was pleased to see everything flicker into life once more. Fenisha got up from her knees and checked the control panel in the centre of the donut-shaped carousel, assuring herself that it was fully functional once more.

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Just then the door opened. Ana!

She was too far away to shut off the power. Frukk!

“Finished already, two thirty-seven!” Ana exclaimed delightedly, approaching her. “Wonderful!”

So much for dragging the job out. Fenisha simply stood as Ana skipped delightedly to the now working Conversion Table, her earlier dark mood replaced by glee.

“The Doctor will be pleased...” Ana breathed, her eyes glazing over slightly as she uttered the Name.

Sighing silently, Fenisha waited to be dismissed. She’d have to report back to Engineering now, her plan to go directly to the Probe Ship thwarted. Another delay was frustrating. But it wasn’t the end of the world. Hopefully she’d have another call-out before her shift ended? She’d just have to suck it up and play the game to it’s conclusion.

“i love to please the Doctor...” Ana went on huskily, turning towards her, her face flushed, her eyes wild. “And thanks to you two thirty-seven, we can continue the work of Converting the rest of the crew into Automatons. Serving. Obeying. Worshipping. Nothing more.”

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Ana’s sudden arousal took Fenisha by surprise. The nurse was obviously working herself up into a frenzy, her nostrils flaring as her breathing increased, her green eyes ablaze with dark desires.

“Yes, you have Functioned well, two thirty-seven,” Ana praised, her voice intoxicatingly seductive. “Unlike some others i won’t mention...”

Staring transfixed at this display of fervent sexual submission, Fenisha’s treacherous hindbrain unleashed a flood of need.

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“In fact, you’re quite an asset, two thirty-seven,” the nurse cooed, closing the distance between them, the smouldering emerald eyes boring into her. “i heard about you flushing out the hidden resistant yesterday. Mistress has another brainwashed whoreslave thanks to you.”

Breathing hard inside her visor, Fenisha felt her hold over her thinking-brain slipping, the sudden tidal wave of endorphonic chemicals inundating her mind, the surging waves starting to wash away her thoughts, eroding her sense of self.

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“i bet you were never valued before, two thirty-seven; just treated as a lowly drudge. You were probably only ever noticed when something went wrong and they needed you to fix it.”

No!” Fenisha screamed at the slavish part of her brain that wanted her to let go.

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“i was like that too,” Ana confessed. “Nobody appreciated what i had to offer.”

“Please... No!

Ignoring her pleas, her animal-mind unleashed another wave of lust, the brain-altering chemicals deluging her consciousness, drowning the Fenisha-thoughts. Simpering, she stared helplessly at the the redhaired nurse. Wanting this. Wanting to be like her.

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“But the Doctor noticed me,” the medic breathed happily. “She saw my talents and put them to good use. After she took away all the inhibitions and barriers that others had used to hold me back. And i love Her for it.”

Fenisha shuddered as she felt Ana’s hands touch her gently, sliding over her throbbing, rubberite body.

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“You and i are the same, two thirty-seven,” the redhead’s voice silky and compelling. “The Doctor has liberated us both by destroying all that went before. She has freed us from all negativity and doubt.”

The nurse’s hands were gentle, loving, full of promise. Fenisha shuddered helplessly, her yearning slit gushing with need.

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“Although you’re nothing more than an Automaton, i have to admit that i envy the absolute purity of your surrender, two thirty-seven,” Ana purred, pressing against her, pushing her backwards firmly. Squirming, Fenisha felt the sharp edge of the Conversion Table dig into her ass as she submitted to Ana domination.

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“i enjoy taking virgin slavemeat,” the twisted nurse smacked her lips. “You’ll love it, two thirty-seven. Just as you love and Worship Her.”

Ana jammed Fenisha’s grinding, rubber-uniformed body against the hard Table, her legs dangling over the sides uselessly as the upper part of her torso hovered over one of the moulded recesses designed to hold new victims.

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“It’s time to activate your Secondary Function, whore,” Ana purred seductively, kissing the emblem embossed into her rubber chest. “Worship Her. And only Her.”

Ana broke away leaving her sprawled over the Table, panting helplessly, the brain-destroying machines suspended above her.

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“Stay there, slut,” Ana smiled, skipping over to a supply cupboard and rummaging briefly within, re-emerging with a black object.

Eyes widening, Fenisha beheld the huge strap-on phallus in Ana’s hands.

“Oh yes,” Ana promised, licking her lips achingly slowly, “you’ll love this, two thirty-seven.”

Gaze fixed on the evil-looking member, Fenisha’s thinking-mind whimpered plaintively as her animal-brain rejoiced.

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“i’m told that during Secondary Function, Automatons enter a hyper-aroused state transcending the normal boundaries of human-experience. Apparently, it feels as if Mistress is with you, inside you, possessing mind and body, reducing you to nothing but an extension of Her All-Seeing Omnipotence,” Ana shuddered, her eyes losing focus momentarily. “How lucky you are, two thirty-seven.”

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By now Ana had buckled the harness around her waist and was locking the hard cock firmly in place.

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“Afterwards i’ll permit you to grovel at my feet and Worship the Doctor for Creating you...” the nurse’s eyes aglow with fanaticism and lust, “before i ride your face.”

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Squirming and moaning helplessly in her rubber-slick need, she stared transfixed at the rigid cock now jutting out between the redhaired nurse’s legs.

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“This is what you want,” the twisted medic purred, leaning over her, her eyes glowing with dark lascivious fire. “This is what you deserve, two thirty-seven.”

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Cunt gushing, her body trembled with anticipation... wanting it inside her... welcoming it... needing... desperate to be used... anticipating the hard cock sliding deep within... giving in... bliss... pleasure... joy...

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“This Table was the womb from which you were born, drone,” Ana hissed, grasping her left hand, pulling it over her head before sliding it into one of the restraints used to hold the Convertees in place. There was a click as the lock shut.

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In a few moments, her other hand would be restrained and she’d be at Ana’s mercy. She’d be stripped, vulnerable, exposed, the stiff member inserted deep inside her. Oh Goddess!! Being taken like an animal... reducing her to nothing more than a drooling sexhole that ached to be filled... Ana using her... the strap-on thrusting into the deepest recesses of her... pounding her harshly... calling out her need... wanting... lusting... begging...

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The woman’s green orbs radiated pure, compelling, hypnotic corruption. Sighing pathetically, Fenisha knew it would soon be all over. And part of her mind rejoiced.

“But lets get that visor off of you first, whore,” Ana informed her maliciously, her hands snaking their way towards her face-plate. “i want to see you scream...”

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With a final snarl of pure uncontrollable rage, Fenisha hit her.

Hard.

Ana collapsed.

Before her, the formerly redhaired nurse stood, her face drained of all expression. Ana’s eyes were glassy and dead, reflecting the quiescent brain that lay beneath the gleaming metal Implant speared into her smooth skull.

Revenge, of a sort, Fenisha growled. If nothing else, she’d had the satisfaction of taking down at least one of these monsters.

She had been temped to kill Ana, but the idea of doing to her what she had done to so many others had seemed a far more fitting punishment.

And Fenisha had to admit that it had been grimly enjoyable to set the machines in motion and give the medic a dose of her own medicine.

Shoving the new Automaton roughly towards the seating area, she jacked the programming cable into the lobotomised woman’s metal plate, stabbing it into the brain that no longer belonged to Ana.

Checking the time, she discovered that there was less than an hour to go until the Probe Ship was operational. Say, fifteen minutes to get to G-Deck and another five to get the Probe Ship systems warmed up, she calculated.

Close enough, Fenisha decided. Time to leave.

Composing herself, she returned to the corridor, walking as briskly as she dared, her heart hammering, knowing that every step brought her closer to freedom.

The walkways were dotted with Automatons but they paid her no heed as she strode purposefully onwards, soon reaching the elevators and rising up to a deserted G-Deck.

Standing in front of the reinforced blast door that led to the gantry, she could actually see the needle nosed Probe Ship through the door’s tiny glass panel.

“Automaton two thirty-seven,” the speakers in her hood barked, Mendoza’s voice harsh. “Report.”

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Was her supervisor just checking in? Looking for an update on her work? Or had they found Ana? How long did she have? Had Mendoza raised the alarm? Was a security team already making it’s way to G-Deck.

Turning to the door lock, she keyed in the access code with trembling, gloved fingers.

Upon the screen, an error code flashed.

“Automaton two thirty-seven, report,” Mendoza’s voice demanded once more.

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Cursing, Fenisha sensed the suspicion in her Automaton supervisor’s flat voice. They knew. She had scant minutes of freedom left.

Quivering, she fumbled with the lock code once more, her rubber-coated fingers providing no feedback as she jabbed at the keys.

Another error code

Frukk!

“Automaton two thirty-seven, cease all activity,” Mendoza’s voice snapped. “Obey. Obey immediately.”

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Fenisha was on the verge of panic now. Inside her mask, sweat rolled down her face causing her to blink furiously.

“The Creator Owns you, Automaton two thirty-seven,” the Senior Engineer continued, her voice firm. “Remain where you are. You are malfunctioning. Submit to all commands. Serve. Obey. Worship.”

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SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP — OWNER — MISTRESS — CREATOR

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP — OWNER — MISTRESS — CREATOR

Her vision was blurring, the formerly faint images of the Creator in her mask had grown firmer and more intense, the sexpleasure building as the bio-gel surged over her as if suddenly jolted into activity.

“Frukk!!!” Fenisha screamed, her loud voice drowning out Mendoza as she broke the hypnotic rhythm, not caring about being heard anymore. Before her, the locked door taunted her.

She was so close.

Momentarily back in control, she deliberately and with agonising slowness, attacked the door lock once again, the adrenalin coursing through her body making her fingers shake uncontrollably.

One number at a time.

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP — OWNER — MISTRESS — CREATOR

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP — OWNER — MISTRESS — CREATOR

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP — OWNER — MISTRESS — CREATOR

“Automaton two thirty-seven,” droneMendoza recited, “you are a slave. The Creator has summoned you into existence. Her Will is all. Serve the Owner. Obey Mistress. Worship the Creator.”

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP — OWNER — MISTRESS — CREATOR

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP — OWNER — MISTRESS — CREATOR

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP — OWNER — MISTRESS — CREATOR

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP — OWNER — MISTRESS — CREATOR

Her entire world now the door panel, Fenisha held her breath as waves of surging ecstasy engulfed her like a tide of liquid bliss pouring inside her.

There was a loud click. The lock disengaged.

“Halt all Function, Automaton two thirty-seven...”

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP — OWNER — MISTRESS — CREATOR

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP — OWNER — MISTRESS — CREATOR

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP — OWNER — MISTRESS — CREATOR

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP — OWNER — MISTRESS — CREATOR

“... Automatons have been sent to collect you. Submit to them,” the enslaved-Mendoza insisted.

Shuddering and moaning aloud as the sizzling flames devoured her will, Fenisha staggered on to the pierced metal walkway that led to the Probe Ship. She wanted... wanted... to give in... yesss... give in to the pleasure... let go...

“The approaching Automatons will escort you to the Conversion Chamber, two thirty-seven...”

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP — OWNER — MISTRESS — CREATOR

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP — OWNER — MISTRESS — CREATOR

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP — OWNER — MISTRESS — CREATOR

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP — OWNER — MISTRESS — CREATOR

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP — OWNER — MISTRESS — CREATOR

“...where your malfunctioning Implant will be repaired,” the superior Automaton insisted.

The Woman’s face almost filled her world. Burning into her. Her body was alive with electricity, every piece of flesh throbbing and tingling with unholy desires as the rubber-membrane vibrated with excruciating pleasure, her slavish hindbrain urging her to submit... submit and stop resisting...

Slowly, with immense effort, she raised her hands.

Goddessss... she needed to submit... she was weak... the Creator was too powerful... she would be crushed... enslaved... reduced to nothing but rubber and tantalising flesh... faceless sexdrones restraining her to the evil harnesses... Servitor Hipfer’s cruel eyes morphing into the brown-grey orbs... dissolving before the oppressive darkness of their Mistress...

“You want to be taken to the Conversion Chamber for repair, Automaton two thirty-seven...”

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP — OWNER — MISTRESS — CREATOR

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP — OWNER — MISTRESS — CREATOR

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP — OWNER — MISTRESS — CREATOR

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP — OWNER — MISTRESS — CREATOR

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP — OWNER — MISTRESS — CREATOR

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP — OWNER — MISTRESS — CREATOR

“...so that you can resume Function as the Creator’s mindless property.”

Her hands slid over the smooth glass carapace, her gloved fingers searching blindly for...

Submitting... spread on the Conversion Table... vulnerable and exposed... the loving kiss of Creator’s cold, hard machines against her forehead... the sharp bite of a mechanized vampire... tearing her apart... burning flesh and bone... every molecule overflowing with bliss... searing agony... joy... a lifetime of submission... enthralled... eternal obedience... programming overwriting everything... slashing away her synapses... Naobi fading... vanishing... replaced by a love without end... sexual slavery... diminished... destroyed... being noting but a humanoid whore... a droneslut... for her... for... for Her... Owner... Mistress... Creator...

“Once your Implant has been rectified, you will please the Owner. Being an obedient Automaton slave is what you were Created for, two thirty-seven. As you hear these words, you crave to reach orgasm...”

There!

A seam.

“...Please the Creator. Submit to Her as you Worship Her with the orgasm that belongs to Her.”

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP — OWNER — MISTRESS — CREATOR

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP — OWNER — MISTRESS — CREATOR

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP — OWNER — MISTRESS — CREATOR

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP — OWNER — MISTRESS — CREATOR

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP — OWNER — MISTRESS — CREATOR

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP — OWNER — MISTRESS — CREATOR

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP — OWNER — MISTRESS — CREATOR

“Once you orgasm, you...”

Using the last reserves of her power, Fenisha dug her fingers into the gap where the edge of her glass visor met the rubber hood.

“...will know that you are a slave, Automaton two thirty-seven. This orgasm will drain your mind of all disobedient thoughts, leaving you feeling placid and content and knowing that you are slave Created to Serve, Obey and Worship. Begin to...”

“FRUKKKKKKK...!!!!!!!!!!”

Pouring every last ounce of her strength into this one final effort, Fenisha wrenched at the ovaloid visor.

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP — OWNER — MISTRESS — CREATOR

SERVE — OBE...

The voice died.

The stimulation stopped abruptly.

Blinking, Fenisha looked around wildly, gulping air greedily, reeling from what had almost happened to her.

Adrenalin pumping, gathering her wits, she hurriedly slammed the door shut behind her, using the hard edge of the visor to hammer furiously at the door control panel, smashing at it over and over again. Finally, the deformed panel started to spark and smoke as the circuitry shattered, the lock now inoperable.

Looking up, she yelped with fright. Through the tiny reinforced glass window in the door she could see them; a pair of Automatons standing just centimetres away, stabbing at the jammed door lock.

Not wanting to think about her narrow escape, Fenisha ran towards the Probe Ship only about ten metres away. Below, she could see the Lunch Bay swarming with black-clad drones.

Quickly entering the darkened interior of the Probe Ship, she shut and secured the access hatch behind her.

After the brightness outside, her vision struggled to cope with the sudden gloom. Everything was sideways thanks to the vertical orientation of the Probe Ship in it’s launch cradle; the seats above her facing the glazed canopy were at a ninety degree angle.

Feeling her way, she found the ladder-like handholds that allowed her to climb upwards, soon finding the pilot’s seat and contorting her body into position until she was lying backwards on the seat with her feet canted upwards.

Above her was the glass canopy.

Beyond that, stars.

And freedom!

She’d punch in some rough co-ordinates into the NavComp System and then adjust once she was free of the Bellerophon. It didn’t have to be perfect—close enough to Mazzhino would do.

She imagined the Automatons calling for help and a laser cutter being summoned. As a reinforced blast door, it would take time. Maybe fifteen... twenty minutes?

Too long.

In a lot less time than that, she’d be long gone.

Fumbling with the seat belt, she twisted around towards the co-pilot’s seat.

Something red glowed in the dim light.

Puzzled, she tried to make out what it was.

Burning crimson shapes floating in mid-air opposite her...

What was that? Part of an instrument panel?

The co-pilot’s seat was a weird place to have equipment. But what else could it be?

Slowly her brain deciphered the red icons.

Numbers.

Three. Nine. Two.

And a word.

Subjugator.

Pain.

Searing, burning pain.

Then blackness.

The former-Zelena, her naked body tightly restrained to an X-framed bondage frame, convulsed, the whites of her eyes rolling back into her head once more as another burst of pleasure took her. Between her legs a large vibrator pistoned in and out of a squelching slit that gushed like a river, a heavy programming cable jacked into her forehead mounted Implant.

Shuddering, Fenisha stared transfixed at the sight, Zelena’s moans joining the cacophony of groaning that filled the entire room.

Even though her cage restricted her ability to view the whole room, Fenisha was well aware of the grinding, screeching, squirming drones that filled it, their torments being skillfully supervised by the glossy-black sex-Automatons and the Servitor who controlled them.

Fresh screams of rapture made her eyes swivel to the left; what had once been Glynna Lom-Hynde had been taken down from her bondage frame, fastened to a padded bench and was now being tended to by one of her Automaton torturers. The wails of the droned-Glynna swearing her absolute devotion to the Creator cut through the quivering mass of humanoid slavemeat willingly submitting to the sexual agonies inflicted upon them by their Owner.

Moaning, Fenisha tried to reach down and touch herself, her primitive hindbrain now firmly in control.

But the hard, cold metal held her tightly. The restrictive human-shaped, iron maiden like apparatus she had awoken in prevented her from reaching her slick, needy sex. It was like something out of a Medieval torture chamber. She’d already discovered that the seams of her restrictive metal prison had been welded shut, making escape impossible.

Fenisha was trapped.

One of the Automaton sex-tormentors, approached the juddering body of the once-Zelena. Silently, she appraised the gasping, shuddering slave lost in the throes of sexual ecstasy before moving to a small control panel located beside the bondage framework, making adjustments.

Immediately, Automaton three ninety-two’s moans grew more intense, more frenzied.

Whinnying, Fenisha stared hungrily at the scene, her cunt gushing helplessly, wanting.

The pitiless humanoid turned towards her and Fenisha saw herself reflected in her curved faceplate. Gasping with delight, she basked in the display of her vulnerable flesh crisscrossed by lines of hard metal.

Trapping her.

Exciting her.

Standing quite still, the sexdrone maintained her silent stare.

The battle between her thinking mind and her primordial urges was over. The humiliation no longer disturbed her. It only served to sweeten her debasement.

Losing herself in the distorted vision of herself, the pleasure grew and grew, superheated steam surging through the pressure cooker her body had become, desperately searching for a valve... scalding her insides... her sense of self blistering and falling away like flakes of paint being scorched away to reveal the surface beneath... overwhelming her... claiming her... she wanted to humiliate herself... debauch herself... to show this humanoid slutdrone how much she wanted... wanted... needed to be strapped into a bondage frame... begging to be fucked and fucked and fucked... like Zelena...

Her squeals of pleasure-agony merged with the rest, cumming as the merciless Automaton stared at her coldly, clinically appraising her descent into pure, wanton animal carnality.

Beyond, the droned-Zelena continued her slide into bliss, gibbering incoherently as the Creator’s unholy machines intensified their assault upon Automaton three ninety-two.

Fixated upon the moaning, groaning, convulsing shape of former Ensign Shoxra who had replaced Zelena some time ago, she ground her cleft against the hard metal bars, bringing herself to climax once more. The molten sensual ecstasy emanating from the very core of her being rose up, reached her throat and emerged in a guttural bellow of pure pleasure as she wallowed in her abject degradation.

She wanted this. She needed this.

Her hindbrain owned her.

“Very nice,” a voice chortled from the side. Still shuddering in the afterglow, she tried to focus upon the figure who stood in front of her.

Brown-grey eyes sparkling with delight, the black medic flashed her a toothy grin.

Slowly, the sex-fog dissipated, the triumphant animal-brain sated for the moment, content to let the embers of Fenisha’s rational-mind spark back into life because it knew they would soon be snuffed out. Forever.

A twinge of shame appeared as she realised just how weak and broken she was now.

“How...?” Fenisha managed to rasp, her eyes watering as the medic savoured her victory.

“How did i know?” Makayla finished the question. “You were clever, but not clever enough. Ana complained to the Doctor about me,” her face darkening with anger momentarily. “i knew that my count was right. There can only be evenly numbered totals when you fill the Conversion Table to capacity. Like i always do.”

“So i asked myself, where did this extra one come from? It took some time, but with some digging i found the loop of faked security footage. That could only mean somebody had accessed the Conversion Chamber... but who? By that time Ana had long since signed off on your Imprinting and you were just another drone free to come and go as you pleased. As far as the Automatons were concerned, your empty cabin was of no concern.”

“Then, i went exploring,” Makayla smirked. “The ventilation duct was the obvious access point. Surprise, surprise, what was there? An unused Implant and a Data Pad. That proved we had an imposter in our ranks in the last batch of Automatons.”

“i enjoy watching Conversions,” the nurse’s eyed flared with religious adoration. “Watching each new piece of fleshmeat having their pointless existence erased before one of the Doctor’s Implants is drilled into their brain drives me wild with desire. i adore it. i savour every moment of it and thank the Doctor for permitting me to please Her.”

Fenisha sagged in her metal prison, lost.

“So i went through the personnel files. i remembered all those faces lying on the Table as i rejoiced in pleasing the Doctor,” the nurse glared at her intently.

“Apart from you.”

Makayla was thoroughly enjoying herself, taunting her.

“Your arrival at the Conversion Chamber with the prisoner yesterday was pure serendipity. i wanted to check you out before informing the Doctor so i would have summoned you after my shift was over,” she shrugged. “But you saved me the trouble.”

A set of pearlescent teeth flashed as the medic beamed delightedly.

“i adjusted settings of your slavesuit to eighty five percent,” Makayla smirked, “which, predictably, rendered you unconscious.”

“Eighty-five percent should have been enough to fry your Implant,” the medic sneered. “But, after taking your visor off, there were no visible signs of a catastrophic overload. A quick scan soon confirmed that i had my girl.”

Pinned in her cage, Fenisha could do nothing except listen in subdued silence.

“The Doctor was impressed with your efforts when i informed Her about how you had deceived Ana,” she cackled. “Your continuing resilience was admirable. As was your drive.”

“Not to mention your ruthlessness.”

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes but she didn’t want to give Makayla the satisfaction.

“But instead of Converting you, She decided to let you run and see how far you got. i was the only one she trusted,” Makayla smiled serenely at the memory. “It was a test, both of you and the rest of Her slaves.”

Fenisha blinked the tears away, defiantly.

“And you did remarkably well. You even made it to the Probe Ship!” Makayla chortled. “A predictable escape route, so i took precautions by ensuring three seventy-two was on stand-by.”

Goddess, Fenisha drooped, the hard metal bars holding her upright. They’d been toying with her like a cat playing with a rodent trapped in its claws.

Clicking her fingers, Makayla summoned one of the Automatons who snapped to attention beside her.

“But your Conversion of Ana was unanticipated,” the black nurse smirked, running her hands over the flanks of the taut, featureless humanoid beside her. Sliding her hands upwards, she removed the drone’s faceplate to reveal the slack features of the former medic.

Gently, Makayla ran her index finger over the circular surgical steel plate now permanently fused to Ana’s head.

“It’s bit rough, but not bad under the circumstances,” Makayla critiqued like a master carpenter appraising the work of a journeyman apprentice. “Your technique needs refinement but you have natural ability.”

Stroking the blank-faced Ana’s cheek with the back of her hand, Makayla whispered softly to the lobotomized slavewoman. “Remember what i told you to say to our guest, four seventy.”

“Yes superordinate,” Ana’s hollow voice intoned as her intense-dead green eyes turned towards her.

“Thank you for ending my pointless life,” the former-Ana declared, “and turning me into an Automaton-whore that exists to Serve, Obey and Worship the Creator.”

Makayla’s brown-grey eyes sparkled with malicious glee, her teeth flashing brightly once more as she relished the complete defeat of her rival.

“The other good news is that the Subjugator is complete,” Makayla beamed. “We have been summoned to attend the Doctor. Four seventy will remain on board, reFunctioned with the Doctor’s new alpha protocols as a dedicated Converter. You’ll enjoy that, won’t you four seventy?”

“Yes, superordinate,” the former-Ana responded flatly.

“The Doctor has plans for you,” Makayla toyed, discarding the vanquished former-Ana. “She enjoys deconstructing interesting specimens and finding out what makes them tick. Before twisting them to serve Her desires.”

Fenisha was icy calm. The last pangs of arousal gone.

“i wonder what drove you?” the medic mused idly.

Fenisha stared at her in silence.

“No matter,” Makayla shrugged dismissively, “the Doctor will reveal all.”

She’d accepted that she’d never see Naobi again.

All that was left was how she chose to respond to her imminent destruction as a free-willed person.

And Fenisha chose to fight and rage against the dying of the light.

As best she could.

For as long as she could.

It was a futile gesture, she knew. But it was important.

Both for her.

And, more importantly, for Naobi.

It was the only way she could demonstrate her love for the beautiful woman who meant everything to her. In spite of all.

Stepping back, Makayla observed the drones unbolt her cage from the floor, heft it off the ground a few centimetres before sliding it on to a trolley and securing it in place. Mercifully, Fenisha remained upright.

At least she had the comfort of knowing that Naobi was far away from this nightmare. She’d be spared this fate.

In complete silence, the procession left the pleasure-torture chamber, the Automatons they passed paying no heed to the caged captive being trundled along behind the nurse like an intriguing zoological exhibit being put on display.

The Launch Bay was just ahead, a Med-Ship from Caelum Nova lying ready to receive them, it’s two-drone crew waiting patiently beside the access door. Without any real interest she idly noted the Designations on their collars; just numbers without the Subjugator prefix.

“Are we ready for take-off?” Makayla questioned the attentive humanoid units.

“Yes, superordinate,” the robotized pilot Designated sixty one answered crisply.

“Good,” the medic nodded before turning to the two Automatons who had been given the responsibility of transporting her from the sex-chamber. “See that the cargo is loaded securely.”

After acknowledging their orders, Fenisha was wheeled on board the waiting craft as Makayla made herself comfortable in one of the passenger seats.

The pair of Automatons struggled with their passenger, sliding the metal cage off the trolley and trying to position her in one of the recessed medical bays designed to hold patients.

Makayla’s face clouded with irritation.

“You,” she snapped at the second Automaton crew-member who was performing pre-flight checks for the pilot, “assist them.”

“As you command, superordinate,” a familiar voice chanted as number sixty three responded, approaching the group.

Stunned, Fenisha reeled, her brain struggling to process what she had heard. Not wanting to believe...

With three of them to lift her, they soon had her secured in the bay.

“Wait...” she cried out to number sixty three who was on the verge of turning away. Pausing, the Automaton turned her mirrored faceplate towards her.

Staring desperately into the ovaloid blankness that concealed the face that lay beneath, Fenisha searched frantically for anything, any sign that... that...

“N... N...” she rasped desperately, not wanting to believe...

It couldn’t be her? Could it? How had they gotten to her? Impossible! She was safe... safe on Caelum Nova. Wasn’t she? Goddess, what had Xi done to her? What would the Doctor do to her? No, it wasn’t her. There was no way. But it was her voice. Her beautiful, melodious voice, now drained of everything that had made her, her. No! She was still there. Inside somewhere. Wasn’t she? They couldn’t have destroyed...

“N... Naobi...???” she finally managed, raw emotion strangling her pathetic cry into the darkness.

Makayla’s peals of laughter reverberated through the cabin.