The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Weather warning, skip,” Akume informed them over the intercom. “Event ahead. Suggest we divert.”

Turning her head slightly, she saw Flight Commander Clementina Valera Lopez swear softly to herself before replying to the Navigation Officer.

“Rog. Another sandstorm, Naobi?”

“Looks like it, skip. Big one. Cat-Five.”

Looking down from the side observation widow beside her, Yasmyne saw an endless vista of beige-grey blur beneath her as the ship skimmed over the barren wasteland that boiled during the day and froze at night. Dust storms, often thousands of kilometres wide that lasted for days, were a regular feature of operations on this rugged planet. As far as she could see, the horizon was clear. But weather conditions changed fast on (the deceptively titled) planet of Caelum Nova.

As she had quickly learned.

The Mark V variant of the Black-Byrn T.3 Dart mid-altitude atmospheric transporter, developed from the original T.2 military version, was a rugged workhorse, modified to cope with the superfine dust and grit that seemed to penetrate into every nook and cranny of an engine. The constant abrasion this produced on the moving parts meant that engines had to be stripped down and checked constantly. From the tales she’d been told, the Mark IV’s had been much, much worse, plagued by constant malfunctions and catastrophic blowouts. All because some genius in Central Procurement had decided that supplying a standard design optimised for operations in “average” Colonial atmospheric environments was cheaper than facing up to the real-world challenges of life far from Earth.

“Right,” their Commander decided. “We’ll divert to Halfway Station and ride it out. No way we’re going to risk a Category Five.”

“Affirm, skip,” Yasmyne replied along with Naobi.

Halfway Station was just that: located at the mid point between their destination, Penitentiary Settlement Nineteen and the capital city of Reineport, where they had departed from seven hours previously.

Nothing more than a landing zone, an operational Hangar and storage facilities containing mothballed fighters left over from the War, the unmanned Halfway Station was the designated emergency destination for weather related diversions and was kept well stocked with supplies for such eventualities. On a previous occasion she’d explored the curtilage of the base, marvelling at the long-obsolete snub-nosed Snype atmos-rated fighter/attack craft stored in the secondary Hangars. There’d even been a couple of ungainly Snype B’s, knowns as ‘Camels’ because of the bulging long-range fuel tanks that gave it’s fuselage a distinctive hump. How long had they been there? The Sopp-Wyth company had gone bankrupt decades ago! It was hard to believe that these rather basic craft, even then, had been Reineport’s only line of defence during the bitter ten-year Divisionist Conflict. Thankfully, far from the War’s main axis, the Colony’s threadbare defences had never been put to the test.

Compared to the bleak Station, the seamy fleshpots of Reineport they had departed from were paradise. Named after the legendary explorer, the sprawling capital city of a two hundred and fifty thousand people was the only real source of civilisation on the entire planet; besides a few small settlements dotted around the barren surface, the only other main sources of inhabitation were the network of Penal Complexes that scarred the arid wastelands.

The whole raison’ d’etre for people even bothering to live on this blasted rock was the precious metals that lay beneath the surface. But getting people to move here had proved challenging to the say the least. And robots were useless; the all-consuming dust just chewed them up and spat them out. Mining on Caelum Nova relied on the sweat of old-fashioned physical labour. Hence, the reliance on a prison workforce, with the promise of a halving of your sentence being used to entice eager ‘volunteers’.

“Any indication about duration?” their Commander questioned, trying to calculate how long they would be delayed for.

“Sorry, skip,” Naobi replied apologetically, “it’s just a general MetWarnNote from Central. Hazy on specifics.”

The Planetary MetServ concentrated their meagre resources on the main routes in and out of Reineport meaning that predictions in this region tended to be flimsy to say the least.

“Ok,” Clementina sighed resignedly, “Can you notify Pen-Set One Nine that we’ll be delayed, Naobi?”

“Will do, skip.”

Ever since she had heard about Reine’s awe-inspiring voyage in school, the romance of Deep Space had called out to her. Then, after doing some research into family history, her aunt had discovered that one of her ancestors had been on board the Signet itself! Just a lowly Yeoman, of course, but still. Daniella Jones must have actually met, even spoken to, the legendary Captain Reine herself!

That had made up her mind; Space was for her!

Her first call upon arrival in Reineport had been to the statue of the founder located proudly in the Plaza that bore her name. Reine had actually set foot here!

What an inspirational figure she must have been! That part in Reine’s biopic where she’d diverted the Signet to save the colonists on Nova Terra Four never failed to give her goosebumps. She was kindness personified! And that scene where Reine’s rousing speech had galvanised the entire population to abandon their failing Colony and join her exploring the outer reaches of the universe never failed to make her tear up.

Maybe her ancestor had been present during the speech? Even helped the colonists adjust to their new lives on board the Signet?

When the city planners had turned the ramshackle settlement into a properly laid out capital, they had even used the crew to name the various streets. Reine Boulevard, off the Plaza, was where the government buildings were located, while the main shopping and entertainment area of McKay and Putina Streets was where everybody congregated on leave. It was only right; the two women’s firm friendship was known to all.

Jones Lane, alas, was just a small alleyway in the industrial zone.

But the gesture had touched her.

She’d even been invited to meet the Governor during last month’s Reine Day Celebrations, the oily politician salivating at the thought of basking in the aura of a living descendant. If Yasmyne had been a different kind of person, she might have used the connection to launch a political career.

But she wasn’t, so she hadn’t. And wouldn’t.

“One hundred and twelve klicks to Halfway,” Yasmyne informed her Commander, checking their track. “We’ll be there in less than an hour.”

“Roger,” ’Tina acknowledged briskly.

Valera Lopez was twenty years older than her, a fine pilot with years of hard-won experience she was happy to share with the younger colleague straight out of the Academy who she had taken under her wing. Friendships were rare on Caelum Nova; it was a planet full of temporary residents. Populated by prisoners, mining corporates and Authority bureaucrats, they were all counting down their time until they could escape this dismal place. And then there were the informers. The Authority had ears everywhere. Luckily, they were a tight knit crew—competence not political reliability mattered more when your life depended on people doing their job right.

Akume was tainted because she came from Sortem Aurum; the Authority had decided that the entire population hadn’t fought enthusiastically enough against the Divisionist hordes so they were all suspect. Despite her obvious talents, Naobi would spend her the rest of her career marooned on remote Colonies flying transport missions.

’Tina just didn’t care anymore and was content to settle for a quiet life on Caelum Nova.

In fact the most likely one to be an informer was her. Luckily the other two had quickly decided that Yasmyne was safe.

Nevertheless, signing up for a two-year stretch flying prisoners around the planet was a means to an end; a way of clocking up her flight hours towards qualifying for a Grade-A Licence. She’d taken lessons privately and already had a Grade-D Licence, but a Grade-A would qualify her for a place on a Deep Space ship. And a clean record of grunt flying prisoner-transfers would ensure that her SpaceOps application would be looked upon favourably by capricious Authority administrators.

Yasmyne had learned a lot in the seven months she had flown here. The reserved veteran had slowly opened up. ’Tina had her demons; she had flown a lot of missions during the War. The resourceful pilot had survived both the disastrous Ghal’Ipholii debacle as well as the titanic clash near zhJuth Land that had destroyed the Divisionist battlefleet’s dreams of Sectoral conquest, before serving under General Beth-Ahn whose defence of the embattled Vehr Dunné Perimeter was legendary. Disappointed by the peace, the General’s retirement and withdrawal to Largitio Minor had been widely interpreted as a snub to the Authority.

But ’Tina’s experiences had taken their toll. The War haunted her.

On their return to Reineport from their previous unscheduled layover in Halway, she couldn’t help but compare the crude Snypes to the menacing Pfalsz interceptors brooding in their hardened shelters on Quick Reaction Alert, kept ready to respond in an instant to any threat that might emerge on planet or off. They were the jewel in the crown of the much-hyped Advanced Rapid Integrated Defence system that the Colonies were all now protected with.

Designed for both atmos and spaceops, the sleek Pfalsz was an engineering marvel.

But with her shrewd, cynical eye, ’Tina had set her straight. Safe from eavesdroppers in the cockpit they shared, the older woman had gently, but firmly, put paid to her naiveity.

Sure, the Pfalsz looked sweet... when it worked. Procurement had been more concerned about keeping the powerful vested interests in the MilIndPlex happy with a huge pan-Colonial A.R.I.D. contract than scrutinise what they were actually buying. Some dissenting voices had been raised but were quickly quoshed once Alfredyne Everbushe-Pfalsz had intervened personally. As de facto head of what was loosely termed as the ‘Metal Eaters’, the nebulous network of commercial, defence and government interests that drove policy, she was a formidable enemy. The massive bribes she was rumoured to have slipped to members of the Supreme Authoritarian Council had soothed any lingering concerns about how capable the entire A.R.I.D. system actually was. Besides, by lumbering the Colonies with a horrendously expensive, but weak, defence system their dependence on Earth was assured. And should any future Colonial rebellion occur, the anti-Authoritarians would be armed with junk.

Unsurprisingly, the initial projected costs had quickly spiralled out of control and the much vaunted capabilities of the interceptor that was the centrepiece of A.R.I.D. had been revised downwards. But by now too many careers were on the line to back out and admit that they had bought a lemon. The price of this ‘forever partnership’ between the Colonies and the hegemonic Authority was increased taxation for all. Designing an interceptor that could operate in two vastly different environments meant imposing massive-stress loads on the structural framework. Their meagre lifetime operational hours were embarrassingly top secret—that’s why they spent most of their time parked in the shelters. Besides, the damn thing was too complex; more than three-quarters of the Pfalsz’s were unusable at any one time due to constant systems failures and finding replacement parts was like panning for gold dust. Not to mention the thriving black market for supplies of the specialist coolant, composed of 70% proof alcohol, which minor Authority bureaucrats regularly diverted to their MafyKa cronies.

No, ’Tina didn’t dismiss the Snypes. She knew precisely what they were capable of.

Peering once more out of the observation dome, Yasmyne stared at the dreary grey-beige blur that rolled endlessly beneath them. It was hard to believe that in a couple of months the entire desert would be a riot of colour as the billions of seeds lurking beneath the loose soil bloomed spectacularly during the brief period when the extremes of hot and cold moderated somewhat, allowing life to return in all it’s glory.

From what she’d been told, the Awakening was supposed to be an awe inspiring sight, one of the few positives of life on this harsh planet.

Jasmyne needed it. Her soul yearned for some joy.

Space exploration and the colonisation of new worlds had once promised adventure, excitement and riches for all. Millions of people had been inspired to follow the dream of the never-ending frontier where utopia was always over the corner. But the dream had gone sour. Space was an endless cold, dark sea of nothingness which offered nothing more than a million ways to die. Colonised planets were invariably grim, bleak places, either too hot or too cold, where you were confined to depressing pre-fabricated outposts which provided a modicum of cramped, basic comfort.

It staggered belief that centuries ago rich people had squandered their fortunes, competing with each other to go into space, drunk on their fever dreams of a life spent on dismal Martian settlements in a vain attempt to escape Earth-bound problems rather than solve them. All those toxic egos trapped in a tin can—that was sure going to work out well. Stability and co-operation were not personality traits that billionaires possessed.

So when the going got tough, and it always did, everything deteriorated. Fast.

The horrors of Musktopia, the first extra-terrestrial settlement on Mars, still resonated. Liberated from all restraints, in a reign of unspeakable depravity that would have made Caligula blush, the narcissistic founder had proclaimed himself a Living God as he vainly pursued immortality. His deluded followers had paid a terrible price.

However, over time, humanity had learned, expanded and developed ways to survive on inhospitable worlds and in the vastness of Deep Space.

But conflict, that age-old vice of the social animal, had inevitably reared it’s ugly head. The so-called Freedom Alliance had emerged from legitimate grievances about Earth using the Colonies as dumping grounds for surplus population and squeezing as much wealth out of them as possible, while giving nothing in return. Calling it ‘Divisionism’ demeaned their cause and dismissed their concerns.

The Alliance had lost.

So the name had stuck.

What had really added fuel to the fire of Divisionist sentiments had been the arrival of the Pox; a mutant strain of some sort of heretofore unknown plague it had rampaged unchecked through the tightly packed settlements and killed millions. The male population had proven particularly susceptible and been decimated. What few males survived were now cosseted safely on the jewel in the crown of the universe, Earth.

With little to lose and far from the Authority, the years of suppressed anger had emboldened the Separatists, leading to a decade of civil war which had been mercilessly crushed.

Eventually.

“You’d better inform our passengers in person,” ’Tina told her, flashing her a look pregnant with unspoken meaning.

“Understood, skip,” she nodded, acknowledging the non-verbal communication. ’Tina was not referring to the seventy nine prisoners and four guards that were located in the reinforced holding pod, rather the small group of VIPs who were tagging along.

Coming from anybody else, she would have assumed that her Commander was passing the buck to avoid incurring the wrath of an influential superior who might decide to damage her. But ’Tina wasn’t like that; her experience was needed to deal with the oncoming storm.

Removing her comms set, keeping her breathing level, Jones made her way past Naobi, who flashed her a brief, sympathetic smile, before entering the small passenger compartment located behind the cockpit. There, five figures sat, some idly looking out of the windows, others sleeping, while one was absorbed working on a personal data pad.

The woman with the pad was Doctor Xi, the Chief Planetary Medical Officer and the head of the Medical Inspection team they were transporting to the Prison for a surprise Pox survey.

Relieved, she spied the senior nurse in a seat nearby idly looking out of the window and made a beeline towards her, happy not to have to break the bad news directly to the Doctor.

“Umm,” Jones started awkwardly, as the striking woman turned towards her. She was dazzlingly pretty, tall, her long arctic blonde hair woven into a tight braid that hung over her left shoulder.

“Yes, Pilot Officer?” the woman raised an eyebrow, her cobalt blue eyes sparkling with... amusement?

Gulping self-consciously, intimidated by the sheer beauty of this vision, Jones struggled to contain the flush that she knew was slowly spreading upwards.

“Dust storm ahead...” she stammered, “we have to...”

“Problem?” a loud voice interrupted her faltering speech. Startled, looking away, she saw that Doctor Xi was addressing her directly. The woman’s piercing eyes seemed to bore deep into her like lasers.

“Errr... y... yes...” she spluttered, her self confidence withering as the Asian woman looked at her with eyes that scrutinised, judged and examined her without pretending that she was doing otherwise. If the blonde had made her pussy sing, this woman made her flesh crawl.

Mustering all her strength, she took a deep breath, striving unsuccessfully to keep the tremor from her voice. “There’s a Category Five storm ahead. We have to land and wait until it passes.”

“How long will we be delayed?” the woman asked curtly, betraying no hint of annoyance.

“Sorry,” Jones shrugged apologetically, her body trembling slightly, “you know how unpredictable these storms are.”

The ominous silence that greeted her words were long seconds of sheer, unremitting terror.

“Very well,” Doctor Xi nodded eventually, dismissing her. “It can’t be helped.”

The dazzling nurse gave her a brief, knowing glance as Jones, drained, numbly retreated back to the sanctuary of her cockpit.

“Prepare,” the voice of Doctor Xi cut through her reverie. They had just landed and were in the process of taxiing to the main Hanger on Halfway Station.

Reaching into her personal med-kit bag, Karyna retrieved the respirator that had been placed there, quickly securing it in place over her head after ensuring her braid didn’t get in the way of the straps. A quick look back, reassured her that the other nurses and Doctor Xi were similarly protected.

The engines of the craft were powering down as they entered the massive hanger, the huge doors sliding shut behind them, sealing them in safely.

“Initiating,” Doctor Xi announced, stabbing her data pad.

There was no sound, but she knew the aerosol sedative was being released through the air vents, quickly filling the entire ship.

A few minutes later, the group were standing in the cavernous Hangar, their masks off.

“Good,” the Chief Medical Officer smiled, her glistening white teeth forming a crescent that did not reach her dark eyes. Pussy throbbing pleasurably, Karyna thrilled at the sight of the woman she adored expressing her happinesss.

“We’ll start with the prisoners first to get warmed up,” the Medical Officer ordered. “The flight crew need to be fully functional so make sure that any mistakes are ironed out by the time they are Converted.”

“Yes, Doctor,” four voices, tremulous with arousal, replied as one.

Accompanied by Joselynne, Karyna made her way to the doorway leading to the Temporary Living Quarters attached to the deserted Hanger. She was pleased to see that everything had been made ready.

The bunks that would have normally filled the space were gone. Instead, a large, imposing circular Table dominated the room, above which, at regular intervals, gleaming medical devices stood ready. Without speaking a word, Joselynne took up her place in the control desk in the centre of the hollow Table and began running diagnostic checks on the equipment.

Karyna, meanwhile had gone to inspect the rows of chairs lined up facing the table. Approaching another control panel, she too began to ensure that all was ready.

The Doctor had arranged for the equipment to be installed two days ago. Tampering with the MetServ Warning system to fabricate a non-existent storm had also been her work.

Just then, Doctor Xi appeared. Leaving her task, she approached the woman she loved.

“Everything is ready, Doctor,” Karyna breathed, her sex pulsing with delight as the Asian woman reached out and ran her hands slowly over her breasts, groping her proprietorially. Her entire body shivering with arousal, she willingly gave herself to the Doctor, loving her weakness. Which only served to accentuate the power the Asian woman held over her.

She knew that her complete submission turned the Medical Officer on.

And Karyna loved it.

“Good,” the Doctor smiled, her dark, compelling eyes crushing what little remained of Karyna’s will.

“Do not fail me.”

“N... no, Doctor!” Karyna squeaked, her body automatically responding to the burning pleasure she had come to associate whenever she complied with the superior mind that dominated her.

Completely.

Just then, the door opened and the other two nurses appeared with a trolley upon which eight figures clad in orange prison issue jumpsuits lay. Wordlessly, the nurses began to hoist each unconscious prisoner on to the Table, nestling her into the human shaped indentations before securing her in place.

Doctor Xi strode towards the Table as Karyna trailed behind her, inspecting the captives now firmly restrained within.

Looking up, the Medical Officer nodded to the expectant Joselynne seated at the controls. “Begin,” she snapped.

“Yes, Doctor,” the brunette nurse replied, her eyes lidded with lust at being given a chance to please.

Doctor Xi observed the scene. Two hours in, the Conversion process was running smoothly; her well-trained and loyal nursing staff was performing flawlessly.

Before her, a hairless subject was led away from the Conversion Table, a cold, hard, circular metal plate now permanently fused in the centre of her forehead. The slack facial features and vacant brown eyes of the diminutive co-pilot betrayed nothing as she was guided, unresisting, to the area where her colleagues sat, their faces also drained of all emotion.

Stripped of her flight-suit, a firm, youthful body with small, but perky breasts, was revealed.

The small scale trials she had performed were one thing, but to see her years of research bloom into full scale production was something else.

Like everybody else, Doctor Xi hadn’t escaped the cult of Reine. At a time of strained loyalties, particularly after a half century of pestilence and conflict, the Authority had transformed Reine into a unifying figure for all the different factions to unite behind. As a scientist and explorer, her reputation was flawless. Time had smoothed away all the criticisms and questions that had bedevilled her during her lifetime until she had become a saint-like figure to be venerated and emulated.

Xi’s career was effectively over once she’d been posted to this backwater. A promotion, Assistant Authoritarian Councillor Tageu had pronounced, her calculating, lacertian eyes gleaming pleasurably as the bureaucrat had contorted the muscles of the lower part of her face into what passed as a thin, joyless smile.

The humiliation burned. Still.

Her enemies in MedMin, inferior hacks with connections and talentless creeps all, had triumphed. The position in the Central Medical Authority, and it’s coveted Earth Residence Permit, she had striven for all those years had vanished in an instant.

Resentful, angry, bored, she had festered on this hellhole. True, in this cesspool of corruption, she had become a significant player within the Planetary Administration, wielding real power that people feared. Nobody dared to cut her out of her share of the bribes paid to senior figures to ensure there were no unexpected delays in the regular deliveries of the minerals Earth craved. But her place at the top table on a ridiculous third-rate Colony was a very paltry consolation prize considering the heights she had fallen from.

All avenues of escape gone, she’d despised Reine whose success taunted her. Eventually she’d channelled her inquiring mind into researching the mercurial Captain whose incessant deification made her own fall from grace sting all the more. She was determined to destroy the presumably long-dead woman’s reputation.

While the famed final Data Transfer from Reine’s ship, before it had vanished forever, had given a dizzying depth of complex astro-celestial scientific knowledge that had provided the foundation for more than a hundred years of Deep Space travel and ship design, the second part of the long range transmission had long been neglected.

An apparently garbled stream of gibberish that experts had been unable to decipher, it had finally been dismissed as an echo of the original info-stream, distorted by the extreme distance and time.

But it had puzzled her. She’d spent months studying what had been described as nothing more than space-static. It was too regular. There was a pattern there. She could feel it.

It was only once she’d combined her research on Reine the scientist and Reine the person, and her penchant for the Medieval and Gothic, that she’d made her breakthrough. Feeding the stream through a series of decrypt-cyphers based upon codes used by various secret religious orders during the Middle Ages had revealed all.

Reine’s dark side had finally emerged in all it’s grizzly glory.

Her hatred of Reine had vanished.

Replaced by grudging respect.

What Reine had done to her crew was monstrous... but the ruthless Captain had understood the need to ensure that the petty concerns of insignificant inferiors did not interfere with her destiny.

And acted.

Xi empathised. A kindred spirit.

Yet, instead of keeping silent, Reine had distainfully challenged her detractors by broadcasting it to all and sundry. True, it had been sent in a fiendishly complex code, but that was just another sign of the snide superiority she felt towards all. The encoded data had been a challenge, a posthumous sneer of contempt for lesser minds who could not possibly hope to scale the dizzying heights of her genius.

Xi had thought of going public, but had quickly dismissed the fleeting attractions of fame.

Besides, Reine’s reputation was far too established; discovering that their idol had feet of clay was not something that would win her friends among the general public. And the Authority would not look kindly upon her efforts; eminent personages had invested too much in Reine’s personality cult for it to be undermined.

Such people were not to be trifled with; powerful, dangerous figures such as these would view her revelations as a personal attack and set about discrediting and crushing her.

She might even end up being committed to one of the so-called Psyche Facilities the shadowy Office of Public Tranquility used to squash anti-Authoritarian dissenters.

No, silence was her only option.

Until she could find the right person who would appreciate what she had to offer. Paradoxically, her apparent defeat and exile far from the paranoid eyes of her Authoritarian enemies had facilitated just that.

Her self-pitying torpor had vanished. All her former energy and drive had returned with a vengeance. Channelling her efforts towards adapting and improving Reine’s original design with the benefit of a century’s worth of technological advances and a much greater understanding of the human brain had reinvigorated her.

While based on cutting edge techniques of the time, Reine’s process was fairly crude, resulting in what was little more than a living robot with a very limited range of capabilities. Adequate to crew a ship where there were clearly defined tasks but lacking in the sophistication Doctor Xi quickly decided was needed.

Besides, bettering Reine’s work was a challenge.

Her theoretical research had lasted five years but it had taken an additional two years of practical work, and vast sums of money, to transform theory into reality.

And her patrons expected results.

Upon the seat, the blank-faced co-pilot sat perfectly still, a heavy cable firmly jacked into the Implant embedded deep within her brain, the seat-mounted vibrator thrumming softly between her legs as the initial programming was installed.

Task complete, the white-clad nurse left the seated woman, returning to the Conversion Table to retrieve the next slave.

she stared into nothingness.

Pain, dull and constant, stabbed though her forehead.

A heavy cable was plugged into her head, penetrating deep.

Between her splayed legs, a phallic intruder pulsed steadily, cocooning her in pure sexbliss as she started blankly into the middle distance; seeing nothing, thinking nothing, riding the sempiternal waves of pleasure that were all.

she was vaguely aware that she been sitting here for some time but the knowledge was of no consequence.

Dimly, she registered that the vibrator within her was slowing, then grew silent.

Staring vacantly ahead, she remained seated, all thought gone.

A female figure appeared in front of her, knelt and slid the thick cock out of her sopping cunt before disconnecting the cable that was plugged into her head.

“Stand,” the woman commanded.

Rising to her feet, she complied, registering the physical attractiveness of the blonde woman before her.

A strange table lay beyond the woman, gleaming medical equipment hanging above it. she absorbed the sight without reaction, all curiosity gone.

Which felt... strange?

No matter.

All was as it should be.

“Follow,” the sparkling, shimmering blue eyes of the woman twinkled alluringly.

Obediently, she stepped away from the row of half-filled seats trailing behind the nurse as instructed, soon finding herself back in the mammoth Hangar.

Lines of strange black-clad figures stood stiffly to one side but she ignored them as the fair-haired female handed her a small bundle.

“Dress,” the nurse spoke before taking a step back to observe her.

As instructed, she pulled on the garment made of thick, black synthetic fabric, a tracerwork of circuitry clearly visible on the interior. Her naked body was swallowed up by the top she pulled on first, her head emerging from a long, tight-fitting turtleneck collar that threatened to swamp her. A pair of matching trousers went on next, the soft plast-inners moulding perfectly to the contours of her feet before ending in sturdy built-in flat soled boots. After that, she sealed the top to the bottom.

Finished, she stood to attention. Awaiting.

The dazzling woman’s striking azure-blue eyes seemed to dance with lustglee as she watched her dress, licking her lips hungrily.

Knowing that she was pleasing this unknown woman made her feel... good?

Now a silvered hemi-spherical object from a sealed container was produced and handed to her.

“Place the mask over your face,” the stunning blonde ordered.

Bringing the visor to her face she saw that a long spike protruded from the interior obviously designed to be inserted into the metal plate that was now forever joined to her. Carefully positioning the strange dome-shaped mask over her her face, she firmly pressed the probe into the external port on her interface jack, locking the faceplate in place with an audible click.

Blinking, she discovered that she could see perfectly clearly through the super-light, super-strong mirrored one-way glass.

Task complete, her arms fluttered back to her sides.

Licking her lips once more, the blonde nurse approached her, reached out and tugged the turtleneck collar up over the rear of her eggsmooth head, pressed it to the edges of her mask and sealed it in place.

“Very nice,” the blonde woman murmured huskily to herself, her compelling eyes losing focus as she uttered the next sentence in hushed awe. “The Doctor will be pleased!”

Staring at the fascinating woman through the face-blanking visor, she made no reply. But the fact that she had been pleasing was good. she was certain of that.

“Join the others,” the nurse now instructed, recovering her composure.

Obediently, she turned and proceeded to the massed group of humanoid figures, dressed identically to her, a sea of shimmering visors glinting amidst the ink-black void of their uniforms.

Activating her comms badge, she called the Doctor. “Conversions complete,” Karyna announced proudly.

“Excellent, Karyna,” the Asian woman purred, pleased. “Very good work.”

“T... thank you, Doctor,” she quivered.

“You may begin Imprinting them en masse,” the Doctor continued.

“At once, Doctor.”

“And Karyna,” the Chief Medical Officer’s voice teased, “enjoy yourself.”

“Ohhh... Yessss, Doctorrr!!!!”

Turning her attention back to the massed ranks of Convertees standing before her, Karyna retrieved a pre-set remote and tested it. A green light flashed, signifying that all was ready.

Pausing for a moment she drank in the glorious sight of the eighty six blank faced females, her sex throbbing with delight, knowing how much this pleased the Doctor. Sliding a hand down her waistband, her fingers snaked their way towards her yearning snatch, slickdamp with burning need.

Like the other nurses, Karyna had initially been both surprised and frightened, to be reassigned from general duties to become one of the Doctor’s personal nursing team two years ago. Doctor Xi’s fearsome reputation had preceded her.

But that was before. When she had been lost and alone.

Then she had understood.

It was only once the Doctor had shown her and the other nurses the meaning of true love that she had understand how hollow and pointless her former life had been.

The Doctor loved her. And she loved the Doctor.

Utterly.

But the Doctor had enemies; spiteful, narrow-minded people, jealous of her medical breakthroughs. They had to be crushed. The Doctor was depending on her loyal nurses to assist her.

Karyna would not disappoint her.

Under the Doctor’s guidance, Karyna and the other nurses had willingly helped to turn the theoretical fruits of her research into reality, the ultimate results of which stood attentively before her, vindicating the unparalleled genius of their Asian superior.

It just intensified her love for the Doctor.

Gasping softly, Karyna slid the digits of her hand deeper into her womanhood, desperate to sate the depraved sexual appetites the Doctor had taught her to crave. With her other hand she jabbed the button on the remote, setting the Imprinting process in motion.

The black slavesuits encasing each drone started to shrink before her eyes, the heavy fabric growing tighter and tighter, compressing against each female figure, following the contours of each dehumanized body.

Hidden behind their obsidian uniforms the embedded stimulators were already starting to pleasure the Converted women. Moaning, Karyna discarded the remote and used her newly freed hand to paw desperately at her breasts, overcome by lust. Keeping her eyes firmly locked on the shuddering, quivering group as their individuality dissolved completely before the Doctor’s omnipotent will, she gasped shamelessly, overcome by her love for the powerful woman she adored.

Hot, raw, animal need surged through her as Karyna worked herself into a frenzy of passion. For the Doctor!

One by one, behind their silvered visors the drones began to speak, individual voices muffled by their masks as they responded to their Imprinting. Numbers began to appear on each new Automaton, small, neat red digits illuminating on the collar fronts beneath their mirror-smooth faces as they were relentlessly primed for their new lives.

For the Doctor.

Moaning aloud, Karyna surrendered to the boiling, sizzling pleasure that burned within. The Doctor... the scorching, dazzling Sun who the dull lesser-Karyna orbited around, drinking in Her life-giving rays, basking in Her radiance... would be pleased!

The dehumanized bodies started to sway, the rhapsodic rapture of Imprinting claiming them utterly, overwriting what little remained of their former existences.

Only thinking what the Doctor desired them to think.

Serving and obeying... and adoring Doctor Xi for creating them.

Becoming more and more servile with every breath.

More and more obedient.

More and more Owned.

Worshipping the Doctor.

Forever.

Eighty seven screams rent through the silent Hanger as Karyna climaxed in time with them.