The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The Black-Byrn Dart skipped over the flat landscape, arrow straight on course for Penitentiary Settlement Nineteen.

Hidden amongst the mass of dust-encrusted Snypes stored on Halfway Station, the replacement T.3 had been revealed once their Imprinting was complete. Outwardly identical to a layperson, the heavily modified Mark V, bearing the same markings and registration number of their former craft, had been fitted with immensely powerful jamming equipment, the shallow bulges of which disrupted the clean lines of the fuselage somewhat, while rapid deployment bays had replaced the secure holding pod of the prisoner transport.

Seated in the co-pilot’s seat, Automaton sixty two scanned the controls as number sixty one flew the ship through the dust-laden air. Behind them, seated at the nav-console, sixty three monitored their progress, ensuring they remained on course.

Body pulsing pleasurably thanks to the embedded stimulators that her tight slavesuit kept pressed firmly against her soft flesh, sixty two focussed on her Primary Function. Concentrating on the flight controls, she scanned the screens before her, satisfied that all was well.

Looping endlessly in the background of her conscious awareness she thought, but did not think, heard, but did not hear, and saw, but did not see.

Just as her Creator desired.

SERVE

OBEY

WORSHIP

Behind the curved shimmering dome that concealed the former-clementina’s face, she heard the Implanted female activate the comms unit embedded within her facemask.

“Automaton sixty one to Mistress,” the pilot called.

“Speak, drone,” the heavenly voice of their Creator, Owner and Mistress, permitted.

“Craft functioning at optimal capacity, no adverse weather conditions ahead, Mistress,” the brainwashed slave announced briskly. “Contact has been established with Penitentiary Complex Nineteen. They did not question the reason given for the delay. Anticipate arrival on schedule.”

“Very good, Automaton,” their Mistress acknowledged, before pausing slightly. “Is the co-pilot required at the moment?”

“No, Mistress,” the servile pilot-slave responded.

“Good,” Mistress replied. “Automaton sixty two, report to me.”

Immediately exiting the cockpit she passed the mirror-faced form of sixty three focussed intently on the nav-system. Neither Automaton acknowledged each other. They were preforming Function.

Seated in the passenger compartment, the four nurses were staring vacantly ahead, their eyes glassy, headphones tightly clamped in place while thin glass tubules filled with clear fluid were plugged into their arms, dripping chemicals into them. Each woman was shamelessly playing with her sopping, gushing cunt, the pungent smell of helpless arousal permeating the small cabin.

A Woman was seated facing them, a wry smile traced over her glossy lips.

“I need them to be ready to serve me,” Mistress mused idly. “They have done well... so far.”

A ripple of electrical, joyous pleasure rippled through her as the Creator turned her intense gaze upon her, appraising her cooly.

“Tell me, sixty two, do you like being mine?”

It was as if Mistress had asked her if she liked breathing.

“Yes, Mistress!” she affirmed with certainty, her voice quivering with adoration.

she was an Automaton! This was what she was! A slave. A drone. Breathing property. Nothing more than a biological object. A thing.

Nothing more. Nothing less.

Being an Automaton meant pleasure, meant servitude... complete obedience... eternal Worship... Mistress!!!!

The Asian Woman laughed lightly.

“I know all about you, Jones,” Mistress continued, her deep-dark eyes sparkling with amusement. “You were related to one of Reine’s original crew.”

The information meant nothing to her but it obviously pleased Mistress. That was good.

“Did you know that Reine turned your predecessor into a humanoid drone? Just like you,” Mistress sparkled mirthfully. “Yes, the process was developed by her. And now I’ve used it on you. With some modifications of my own, of course.”

Sixty two accepted the knowledge calmly. Whatever Mistress said was true. she was an Automaton, just like the husk-relative that Mistress spoke of.

“Your family seems to have an affinity for slavery,” Mistress smiled. “Isn’t that correct sixty two?”

“Yes, Mistress,” she agreed. Knowing that she possessed a genetic predisposition for servitude was good. Perhaps her Creator might use that in the future?

It was only right that this ancestor, whose genes she shared, had been enslaved, brainwashed, Implanted... turned into an Automaton... an obedient slavedrone controlled by a device buried deep within her brain, tightly regulating every aspect of her life, telling her what to think, what to do...

Just like her.

“As we have some time to kill, sixty two,” Mistress licked her lips. “I can test your Secondary Function.”

“Yes, Mistress,” she responded, the requisite programming flowing smoothly from her Implant into her mind, instructing her what to do, what to think, how to behave, how her Owned body existed to please... a horny slut... all her orifices primed for use... whatever She liked... whatever She demanded... Owner... Creator... Mistress!

“You may remove your mask, whore,” Mistress indulged.

Complying, sixty two unplugging the dehumanizing visor that Mistress’ servitors were honoured to wear, setting it to one side, before sinking submissively to her knees. Entire body thrilling as the raw need took her, she knew that her whole existence revolved around bringing pleasure to the One who had made her.

Looking up at the Woman who Owned her, she relished the extended silence, her body vibrating with exaltation and rapture as she Worshipped her Creator in silence.

“Crawl,” Mistress commanded, her dark eyes aglitter with power, pointing at her booted feet.

Obediently, she prostrated herself, scuttling towards the Woman, pressing her lips to Her holy feet, kissing, loving, adoring, her tongue sliding out as it ran over the smooth flexible-hard surface of Her sacred boot.

she licked.

And licked.

And licked.

The heady taste and smell of the pungent leather overwhelmed her senses, intoxicating her, intensifying her primal need, the craving that was part of her submissive soul... Servitude... Obedience... Worship!

For sixty two there was nothing else.

her past did not exist.

her future was whatever the Woman decreed.

Nothing more. Nothing less.

Just Mistress.

Only Mistress!

On and on she went, the glistening, shimmering boot-tips swimming before her eyes as she desperately endeavoured to please her Owner... the Woman who had Created her... the Superior Entity who controlled her every thought and emotion...

MISTRESS!!!!

“Stop,” the Voice above her boomed. Automaton sixty two obeyed, leaning back slightly, still entranced by the sparkling, saliva-slick hypnotic boots that filled her vision.

“On your back,” Mistress ordered next.

Shifting position, the Automaton did as she was told, finding herself gazing up at the Woman towering over her.

Then one of Her boots was raised, the pointed stilletto heel directed down towards her, hovering above her face like a sharp nail just about to be struck by a hammer.

The vision reminded her of the dream she had upon waking from Conversion... frightening, yet not frightening... painful, yet soothing... something long, cold and hard penetrating her... thrusting deep, deep inside her... reaching into the hidden recesses of her mind... erasing what had once been there... clearing away the clutter... the flicker of a candle being snuffed out...

No matter.

“Open,” her Creator smirked, her eyes smouldering like hot coals.

Sharpness entered her. her lips wrapped around the rigid spike, sucking and slurping as Mistress wriggled her foot up and down.

Lost, she concentrated on the task, her tongue caressing and sucking the intruder in her mouth, welcoming it, needing it, body aflame with lust that burned and blistered like a single lump of raw ore being slowly submerged in a vat of liquid metal, the ingot losing all individual definition as it sank deeper into the boiling cauldron, quickly merging with the rest of the white hot molten magma bubbling and hissing, until it was ready to be poured into whatever mould her Creator chose.

Then the heel was gone.

The sexAutomaton remained on her back, waiting for what Mistress would do to her next, cunt throbbing with excruciatingly painful delight.

Around them, staring sightlessly into trancebliss, the four nurses were aware of nothing but the conditioning their Mistress was installing into their receptive minds.

Dismissing the drone, she settled back on to her seat, enjoying the unsteady walk of the Automaton as she made her way back to the cockpit.

It had been fun using the former-Jones.

She had needed the stress-relief after all the years, months and weeks of planning that had gone into this operation. Jones had certainly provided it.

Quite the talented little pussy-licker, that one.

Somehow, in using Jones it had felt as if she had transcended time and space and been one with Reine. Had the famous Captain been serviced by a similarly Automatized-Jones? Had another petite drone buried her face between Captain Reine’s legs, tongue lapping at her Owner’s pussy, burning to obey the woman who had destroyed the person she had once been?

Idle speculation, she dismissed the thoughts. An utterly ridiculous use of her time.

Still seated behind her, submerged by their programming, her nurses were oblivious to all. Two years ago, she’d systematically gone through the personnel files using them as a catalogue to assess the physical desirability of each female as well as her medical skills.

Choices made, they had quickly fallen under her spell; regular deep-hypnosis and regular quantities of the mind-altering drug cocktail she had developed had soon ensured their complete loyalty and bound them to her. After that, she’d steadily warped their ethical qualms so that they unquestioningly served her needs.

And it hadn’t been just their medical abilities she had enjoyed.

However, time was pressing and she had an appointment to keep. Beyond, the featureless vista of beige-grey sped past as the ship sped towards the Penitentiary.

Turning on her long-range comms unit, carefully positioning the cam-screen so the hypno-slaved nurses were out of sight and ensuring the security Fragmenter was working, she called Largito Minor.

“General,” she greeted the older woman respectfully; as she had discovered, Beth-Ahn demanded strict timekeeping.

The stern faced, mature woman who filed the vidscreen was dressed in full uniform. Displayed prominently behind her was a large map of the Perimeter so wearisomely familiar to every schoolchild who had endured history classes about how the Splittist Traitors had been crushed.

“Xi,” the Savior of Vehr Dunné responded gruffly, her eyes glaring outwards from the screen, one of the General’s eyebrow’s twitching impatiently.

Beth-Ahn was not someone who tolerated fools gladly.

“I bring good news, General,” she beamed. “I have discussed the situation with our friends in the Central Broadcasting Authority... It never ceases to surprise me to how many influential people sympathise with your point of view...”

“Indeed,” the General retorted impatiently, but pleased nonetheless.

“Absolutely, General,” she went on, beaming. “Many feel just as you do about the situation. They fear to speak out, of course. Far too few of us are blessed with the courage and moral fortitude you possess.”

“Naturally,” the living legend agreed, nodding as the frost melted ever so slightly.

“Of course, they also lack your stature, your vision, your analytical mind, your grasp of the complexities involved, your breadth of thinking about how just to proceed...”

“Quite so,” the General accepted, conceding that inferiors were unable to match her keen analytical mind, indulging their lack of acuity in the same manner as the nonsensical whims of immature offspring or the harmless quirks of house pets.

“But our Patriotic friends will make sure that your message is heard loudly and clearly throughout the entire Authority, General!” she exclaimed excitedly. “The Military and the people will support you!”

“Good, Xi. Very good.”

“The Military has been sadly neglected and the public is tired, General,” the Doctor sighed loudly as her eyes grew moist. “They yearn for a Leader to right the wrongs done to them. It pains every loyal subject to see all that so many have fought so hard for being frittered away by populist careerists. The Authority has been reduced to a sorry state of affairs.”

“Hah!” the General snorted derisively, her eyes flashing angrily. “All this corruption! All this incompetence! All this pandering to selfish greed and the pursuit of riches! We need to return to the founding values that made the Authority great. Respect. Duty. Honour.”

“Yes, General. You’re right!” she exclaimed.

“We have much to do, Xi. All the undesirable elements who have wormed their way into the structures and institutions must be rooted out. And dealt with. Harshly.”

“Of course, General.”

“There were none of the weasel words, lies and cowardice of today,” Beth-Ahn scowled. “The Authority has been infected by dilettantes... opportunists... upstarts!” the words spitting out of her mouth like bullets shot from an old fashioned machine gun.

“Stern measures,” the General, her face like thunder, added ominously. “Stern measures. That’s what’s required, Xi.”

“Absolutely, General!” she nodded enthusiastically. “Stern measures.”

“It makes a mockery of all the sacrifices I made...” pausing momentarily to correct herself. “The people... my loyal soldiers... made during the War...”

A look of hushed awe firmly fixed upon her features, the Doctor stared at the General attentively.

“...at least the Divisionist swine fought us face to face! When I directed my Staff to hold Vehr Dunné to the last blast-grenade and neutron round they obeyed. Without question. Even though they knew that they would undoubtedly be killed. My troops did what they were told. They died for the greater good. They understood what I... what Destiny... demanded!”

Flecks of spittle glittered from the General’s mouth as she pressed on with her speech, a more polished and rousing version of which would undoubtedly be broadcast to millions in just four days time.

“Their deaths on the field of honour... regrettable, of course... meant that they would live on forever within a glorious chapter of history that will echo through the ages! A form of immortality, really... Yes, they became immortal, under my command... That was my gift to them as their leader. Those who served me knew that I would never desert them!”

Lost in her monologue, eyes losing focus as she stared into the middle distance, the General appeared to lose all awareness of the Doctor’s presence.

“It is up to Patriots... True Patriots like me... to do their duty... to put an end to this intolerable situation... The Authority has strayed. Things must be put right.”

“That is the earnest wish of all of us who support you, General,” she agreed as the older woman slowly calmed down. “We need your guidance.”

“You have done well, Xi,” the ruddy faced Beth-Ahn declared, aware of her presence once more.

“Although you may not have a Military background, your Patriotism does you credit. I would have been happy to have you on my Staff during the War. Once the wrongs committed by these treasonous usurpers have been righted, your contribution will be noted.”

“You are very kind, General,” she demurred modestly. “But knowing that I have played some small part and ensured that the Authority is placed in strong, secure, benevolent hands is reward enough. I seek no personal advantage. What I do, I do for the future of humanity itself.”

“Well said, Xi,” the martinet trembled, a microflicker of genuine emotion visible for an instant. “Spoken like a true Patriot.”

The foreboding walls of Penitentiary Complex loomed over them as the Black-Byrn settled on to the pad for a perfect landing.

“Prepare,” Mistress’ voice boomed over the comms.

Outside, a line of guards was ready to decouple and lift the separate prisoner pod from the rest of the ship and transport it directly to the main prison area. They had no idea that lurking just behind the metal fuselage, tense like coiled snakes ready to spring at their unsuspecting prey, Mistress’ creatures waited to strike.

The guards were alert but not suspicious; there was nothing to indicate that this was anything other than another regular, hum-drum prisoner transfer.

Sixty two placed her finger upon the activation button, poised, ready to depress it upon command, Mistress’ Implant ensuring that her brainwashed, pleasure-drenched mind syncopated in perfect harmony to the waves of exquisite sexual torment that lapped against her tightly suited body.

SERVE

OBEY

WORSHIP

“Now!” Mistress barked, her harsh, imperious voice triggering and intensifying her frenzied, fanatical need to obey.

Stabbing the controls, sixty two activated the forward and rear mounted signal jammers, immediately neutralising all internal and external communications for the entire prison facility. The entire Prison Control Hub, overwhelmed by the sudden impulse burst emanating from the craft, shut down, dying in seconds.

At the same time, the bays opened and a cloud of black-clad drones were disgorged. Sharp, cracking noises filled the air. Frantic shouts and then screams were dimly audible. A smaller number of higher-pitched noises could be discerned above the cacophony but they quickly faded away as the Converted swarmed over the landing site.

Through the cockpit window, sixty two saw a lone guard fleeing towards the safety of a doorway, her long brunette hair swishing and flapping as she ran headlong for the exit. Not pausing to aim, she fired wildly behind her with the pistol she gripped. One of Mistress’ black-clad stormtroopers appeared in pursuit, the drone’s Mauh directed towards her terrified prey. A muffled snap was audible through the glass before the female guard crumpled mid-stride and fell face-first into the loose grey-beige dirt. Calmly approaching her victim, the Automaton quickly slipped restraints around the unconscious woman’s legs and wrists before moving off in search of new subjects to subdue.

“Automaton twenty nine reports, Mistress,” she heard over the comms system. “Landing area secure.”

“Very well,” the voice of Mistress acknowledged. “Automaton teams, deploy into your pre-assigned teams and begin capturing your assigned objectives. Obey.”

“We obey,” eight voices replied as the drones designated as team leaders acknowledged the command, mustering their squads of ten Automatons before setting out to swarm over the complex.

Their Function complete, sixty two and the two other flight crew exited the ship, the sinister-sleek black weapons that had been issued to them heavy and unfamiliar in their hands. Although she had never used such a device before, all the relevant information was in her Implanted slavebrain. This Mauh-5 was the Extended Range model with a capacity of 1383 shots on stun, reducing to 708 when set to lethal; once the indicator flashed red, the quick release charge pack needed to be changed with one of the two replacements she carried. The sights were pre-set to 54 meters, the range at which every target would be fully incapacitated, although the Mauh was capable of downing a victim up to 79 meters away on stun. Beyond that, the effectiveness of the charge declined precipitously. In the confined spaces of the prison proficiency in long distance marksmanship was unnecessary.

Automaton sixty-two scanned the ominously quiet landing pad, looking for threats, finger resting lightly on the trigger of her Mauh-5ER, ready to fire in an instant. The fearsome weapons all of Mistress’ Automatons wielded were far superior to the war-surplus Webb-Lees and longer range N-Feyld’s still used by Colonial forces.

Mistress, surrounded by a bodyguard of vigilant Automatons was fast disappearing behind the door that led to the main Control Hub. Otherwise, crumpled bodies lay strewn carelessly over the entire landing area, at least two of which were unmoving drones.

“You three,” the ice-blonde nurse snapped at them, distributing tranq-dispensers, “begin gathering the captives.”

Obediently, the three flight crew complied, dispersing in different directions to perform Mistress’ Will.

Ahead was the woman she had seen shot down in front of the cockpit. A ruby red trickle of blood seeped from a small gash in her forehead, doubtless caused by her sudden head-first impact with the ground, but she was otherwise unharmed. The worst effects of the stun charge were wearing off already—obviously she had not taken a full blast in the centre of her body. Although she was slowly regaining consciousness, it would take a number of hours before she would fully recover and would remain incapacitated during that time.

Mustering what must be a massive amount of mental strength, the brunette had begun to struggle pitifully against her bonds, her unholstered, grit-clogged Webb-Lee lying uselessly in the sand.

Calmly, sixty two observed the writhing guard for a moment, her body and mind relishing the throbbing joy of submissive bliss as she savoured the agonised struggles of the unknown, helpless female her Creator wanted.

Hunching down, she pressed the tranq-dispenser to the back of the woman’s neck, the slavesuit’s intense stimulation sending wave after wave of pleasure through her, rewarding her, knowing that she was serving, obeying, worshipping... loving that she was nothing more than a biological appendage to the cold, hard probe that her Creator had plunged deep into her brain...

SERVE

OBEY

WORSHIP

Quickly, the prison guard’s feeble movements ceased. The woman’s head lolled to one side, her dark, tangled hair sprinkled with grey-beige dust, her breathing now soft and steady.

Grabbing the fully sedated material under her armpits, the Automaton began dragging the guard towards a row of similarly drugged captives that her sister drones were rapidly gathering.

Three Automatons were seated at the consoles, diligently working to reboot the disrupted system. It should not take long—they were proficient. Sentenced to ten years each for multiple counts of cyber-fraud, the former prisoners knew their way around computers. A simple system like this wasn’t a challenge.

Standard Penal Department proceedure was to keep all prisoners in full lock-down whenever a transport arrived to prevent any attempt at a hi-jack. Located in the centre of a vast desert wilderness that provided neither food nor shelter, the only plausible means of escape was by seizing a ship. All the guards efforts had been concentrated upon the threat from within, not without. Confined to their cells, with the automated locking system disabled, the prison population had been powerless during their takeover.

Irritatingly, the vid-system was still not working so she had to rely on reports from her Automaton teams spread out throughout the complex.

“Report, number forty one,” she demanded of the drone team leader responsible for controlling access to the Cell Blocks.

“Automaton forty one reports, Mistress,” a voice replied immediately, a loud background din of shouts, screams and other indistinct loud sounds accompanying her words. “The prisoners have realised that the guards have been eliminated but are unaware of what has happened. The Cell system is secure.”

That explained the noise; like the highly attuned senses of caged animals, the prisoners had realised that the usual routine that governed their lives had broken down. Naturally, they had respondedto the disruption by going feral and working themselves up into a frenzy of riotous rage.

Just then the huge vid-screen on the wall opposite flickered into life as number thirty three finally got the security system functional. She could see the Cells now; individual prisoners, helpless behind their bars smashing everything they had to hand, destroying their meagre possessions in a futile spasm of incompetent anger.

But there had been no breach of security. The prisoners remained confined.

On the access points and guard posts covering the Cell Blocks, her slaves stood watching.

Satisfied, she contacted number twenty nine whose team was deep in the bowels of the utility infrastructure. A vid-screen showed her ten black-clad drones manhandling heavy cannisters they had taken from the cargo hold of modified Black-Byrn, screwing nozzles to various points within an apparently impenetrable maze of pipes and tubes.

“Aerosol sedative linked to the Cell Block ventilation system, Mistress,” twenty nine reported crisply a few minutes later.

Turning to thirty three, she barked her commands; “Activate mass incapacitation process.”

Watching her slave closely, she enjoyed seeing the throbbing humanoid’s hands skip over the controls.

“Mass incapacitation process activated, Mistress,” the former fraud-hacker replied as the gas seeped into the separate Cell Block oxygen system.

Turning her attention back to the vid-screens she could see the effects of the invisible, fast-acting vapour starting to take effect; movements became more and more sluggish, their rage slowly dissipated as first confusion, followed by exhaustion, consumed them and the noise levels steadily reduced as prisoners collapsed into deep sleep from which they would arise as her Owned property.

Karyna had taken the trouble to climb up to one of the empty guard towers overlooking the former exercise yard. Formerly just a large, covered interior where prisoners were allowed to congregate after their shifts down the mines, the Automatons were busy transforming it. Carrying their burdens, the lines of faceless black-clad figures reminded her of ants obediently following an invisible pheromone trail as they carried back the fruits of their foraging to their warm nest.

The Automaton squads had dealt with the confused staff easily. Thanks to the jammed systems, those guards who had not been stunned during the initial assault had been trapped in whatever room they had been in, unable to communicate with each other, terrified and disorientated.

Easy meat.

Below her, the five circular Tables were taking shape. Supervised by her nurses, the ever-competent drones were assembling the prefabricated Conversion Units that had been stored in the hold of the craft that had borne them here.

Pussy quivering with anticipation, she knew they would soon be ready to begin their work. A tremulous cocktail of raw desire, lust and love vibrated through her being causing her to gasp aloud.

She knew what that meant.

She had pleased the Doctor!

Karyna thought about Doctor Xi constantly, obsessing over every unspoken gesture and word, eagerly anticipating her every need, yearning for her approval so badly.

Gushing, she remembered the deliciously wicked gleam in the Doctor’s eye back in the Lab when she had strapped their primary test subject, a terrified redhaired woman with a head of gorgeous curls, into their very first Conversion Table. The naked body of the restrained material heaving uselessly against the restraints, the stench of the laser cutter as Karyna throbbed in orgasmic anticipation... The memories lingered pleasurably.

After making sure the Implant was positioned correctly into the living brain of the once-terrified material and secured in place, controlling her for as long as she lived, the Doctor had fucked her.

It had been glorious.

Later, their first fully functional Automaton had been ordered to fuck her as the Doctor watched.

That had been fun too.

Making the Doctor happy was all that mattered.

Descending from the elevated tower, she found the humanoid figure she had summoned waiting for her at the base of the steps, the mirrored visor reflecting Karyna’s white teeth as she directed a smile towards the attentive Automaton.

“Follow,” she told the drone, striding towards the waiting equipment. “You will be upgraded.”

Striding into the Prison infirmary, she was greeted by the sight of a line of black-clad drones lying on standard issue med-beds.

Casualties had been light; in the confused firefights of the assault, six slavedrones had been incapacitated by stun charges fired by a combination of resistant prison guards or other Automatons, while another nine required medical attention for various injuries.

Before her, unconscious Automatons lay still, the energy marks from the stun charges that had incapacitated them visible amidst the dust and dirt that smeared the ink-black of their slavesuits. One of her attending nurses had removed their visors to bare a series of placid, hauntingly beautiful faces, their eyes closed. They would awaken in a few hours, sore, but otherwise unharmed.

Next in line were those who had been wounded during the assault. From what she could see they looked like minor injuries; lacerations and cuts swathed in quik-heal dressings, torn muscles under repair, strained and twisted ankles and hands held in place by heavy strapping and attached to re-firming equipment.

Unlike the stunned Automatons, their eyes were open. They lay on their beds, visors removed, staring sightlessly above, the cylindrical silver shapes of portable programming modules plugged into each Implant.

Slowly, she inspected the line of what had been, until yesterday, prisoners and guards on a routine transport mission.

Now they were hers.

Her slaves.

To do with as she wished.

But it irked her to see her property damaged like this. Even when younger she had been particular with her toys, careful not to scratch the surface of the small facsimile-bodies she had used to indulge her childish fancies, lining them up on the shelf once she had finished playing with them. Even then, she had enjoyed the feeling of power she had felt over these inanimate objects, toy marionettes dancing to whatever tune she chose, will-dead plastic puppets that she could force to do anything she desired.

After all this time, after all that research, after all that sacrifice, her childhood dream had finally come to pass.

Below her, a serene face stared into space, skin the colour of warm teak surrounded by a uniform of cloying black, programming cylinder jutting proudly upwards from her Implanted brain as she was repaired.

This living toy had been placed back on the shelf.

Until she needed to use it again.

Satisfied, Karyna surveyed the scene; five Tables lay ready to receive the first batch of Convertees. They had worked all night. Everything had been checked and then double checked.

Walking over to the massed ranks of empty programming chairs in the corner of the room, she checked the display screen, ensuring the routine was complete. Karyna then approached the only occupant of the chairs; a lone Automaton, her mirrored faceplate removed, a heavy cable plugged into the Implant that controlled her brain.

Approaching the slave, her snatch weeping with pleasure, Karyna enjoyed the slack, pretty features of the co-pilot. Bereft of her dehumanizing facemask, the pale oval resting atop the high turtleneck collar of the black uniform made the humanoid look all the more achingly vulnerable.

Shivering with lust, she unplugged the Interface cable from the port on the Automaton’s head and ordered her to stand, her dead eyes slowly regaining their brainwashed awareness.

As the first attempt to re-write the entire Primary Function of a drone, the Doctor had prepared the multi-layered coding herself. Busy with far more pressing matters, she had instructed Karyna to choose a suitable slave and upgrade it.

Sixty-two had been the obvious choice; they needed an extra operator for the Tables and the Automaton co-pilot had the necessary technical experience and dexterity to master the multi-tasking that the Conversion process required.

Besides, sixty two was cute.

“Automaton sixty two,” she informed the passive puppet, “you have received programming to enable you to operate the Conversion equipment.”

“Yes,” the petite slave agreed, her eyes so deliciously trance-glazed with pure obedience that it made Karyna’s pussy sing a rapturous hymn of joy. How wonderful the Doctor’s invention was!

Pussy fluttering with joy, she thrilled how erotically dehumanized this former woman had become, the round Implant in her forehead staring outwards like a third eye.

Unable to help herself, Karyna lowered her head and pressed her lips to the smaller slave, kissing her, tongue sliding inside the mouth that quickly parted, eager to let her in.

Loving this drone was her way of showing how much she loved the Doctor.

These two beings, the Creator and her creation, Doctor and Automaton, had merged into one, the Superior Will of the woman she loved residing forever within the pulsing synapses of this droned unperson.

As it should.

Cunt juice slowly trickled down Karyna’s thighs as she continued her exploration of the pliant Automaton.

Breaking the kiss, she shuddered lightly as the devotion and adoration burned pleasurably through her mind and body. She would do anything—anything for the Doctor!

“T... thank you Doctorr...” Karyna whispered a prayer of thanks to the one she loved, looking into the wide brown eyes of the Automaton as she slowly closed her mouth.

Calming herself, she concentrated on the task at hand. Now was not the right time to indulge in such pleasantries.

“Sixty two,” she ordered huskily, “proceed to Conversion Table Five and perform Primary Function.”

“This Automaton obeys,” the drone acknowledged, taking the offered mirrored visor from Karyna’s hand, securing it firmly in place and pulling the hood back over her head.

Activating her comms unit she called Doctor Xi, staring lewdly at the firm, tight ass encased by the slavesuit of the departing sixty two.

“Yes, Karyna?” the Chief Medical Officer responded.

“All Conversion Tables are complete,” she announced. “Automaton sixty two has been successfully upgraded with the Operator Function you devised.”

“Ah, Jones,” the Doctor chuckled. “A good choice, Karyna.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” she replied, reddening with slight embarrassment.

“Are you sweet on little sixty two, Karyna?” the Doctor teased. It didn’t surprise her... the Doctor knew everything!

“Don’t worry, I’ll let you play with her. Later.”

“Y... yes Doctor,” she gulped.

“Perhaps I might even assign her to our medical team on a full-time basis? Let you keep her as a toy?” Doctor Xi chuckled, enjoying the rising arousal she knew she was creating. “You’d like that, Karyna, wouldn’t you?”

“Ohhh... yes!” she squealed. “Thank you, Doctor!!!!”

“Begin Conversions immediately,” the Chief Medical Officer barked sharply, her tone growing hard. “Remember to start with the priority subjects before moving on to the rest.”

“Yes, Doctor,” Karyna hissed eagerly, “your orders will be obeyed.”

“Beckons the Sun...” the sleek ebony woman on screen greeted.

“...From the Eoan wave,” Doctor Xi responded, answering the challenge. She was seated in what had been the Warden’s office. Stunned, bound and sedated, the senior official was already on the conveyor belt that led straight to Conversion.

“Greetings, Sister. What says the War Criminal?” the black woman asked urgently, dispensing with further pleasantries in her hunger for information.

“I bring good news, Sister,” the Doctor responded brightly. “The Beth-Ahn Murderer intends to denounce the Supreme Authoritarian Council during the Vehr Dunné commemoration! I have reassured her that her speech will be broadcast throughout the unFree, Occupied Colonies without interruption.”

“Does she suspect anything?”

“Nothing whatsoever. She knows nothing of the Sisters who have infiltrated Central Broadcast. As far as she is concerned, this is all part of her grand plan to save the Authority. I had to do some hand-holding, but she’s quite determined to go through with it.”

Pausing, Xi smirked wolfishly; “She’s lost focus on the bigger picture.”

“Excellent!” Shiela-Leya Fehn exclaimed, unable to contain her glee. “Plans come to fruition!”

Smiling in return, she allowed Fehn to continue.

“Wonderful,” the short-haired woman purred enthusiastically. “It was a masterstroke to use the Butcher of Vehr Dunné in the cause of Freedom. In one foul swoop we split the Military and create chaos! Perhaps even civil war! I have already prepared our Sisters in a number of Colonies to act. They will take advantage of our enemy’s weakness.”

“All your years of careful planing have come to fruition, Sister.”

“Yes,” Fehn glowed, lost in the dreams she dreamt with her eyes open, “the number of Colonies we have subverted are growing. Reports reveal that more and more open dissent against the Tyrants is being expressed with every day that passes. The downtrodden, oppressed people will rise up in support of our righteous cause! We are their Vanguard of Liberty. Their liberators! They await only for the signal to strike for Freedom!”

Slowly, Fehn recovered her composure, her eyes now gleaming with shrewdness. “But you are too modest, Sister. Without your careful, patient work over the years that Fiend would never have fallen into our hands.”

“Freedom strikes where it can,” she responded blandly to the compliment.

“And it will strike,” the woman responded carefully. “Soon.”

“You are to be congratulated on other matters,” Fehn went on, changing the subject. “The two weapon shipments our MafyKa contacts provided have arrived safely thanks to your smoothing of their passage with the Transport Authority.”

“Good,” she nodded. “Heyg has expensive tastes. She is always in need of funds.”

Fehn smirked crookedly; Heyg’s proclivities were well known to her from reports provided by the MafyKa prostitution groups that the Sisterhood ran.

“But tell me Sister,” Fehn asked her, a guarded, suspicious gleam returning to her eyes, “how did you manage to get the A.R.I.D. codes?”

“A delightful senior engineer from Pfalsz fell into my lap,” she chortled, remembering the lissome curly haired redhead she had bedded. Repeatedly. “She was an amusing playmate... and most helpful.”

“I trust you were careful?” Fehn asked cautiously.

“Naturally, Sister,” she twisted her face into a thin, malicious smile. “The Defenders of Public Order have filed her as a missing person—apparently, she got lost in the desert soon after I had my way with her and is presumed dead. Her silence is assured.”

Fehn dismissed the woman, focussing on her priorities. “So the Occupationist Vermin know nothing about their codes being compromised?”

“Nothing!” she grinned.

Despite her apparent indifference, she knew Fehn would check with her spies in the Defenders. They would confirm that the woman’s broken-down personal vehicle, buried in a mound of sand from a sudden duststorm, had been discovered in a remote part of the outer Highway en-route to Signetpoint, one of the few natural beauty sites near the Capital. The evidence suggested she had set off on foot and lost her bearings in the featureless wilderness. Such events were tragically common. A cursory search had been attempted but it had been discontinued quickly. Public Tranquility appeared uninterested.

“Good...!” Fehn went on. “The Sisters of Liberty will rise up from the ashes to sweep aside the rot and decay of Tyranny! Then we shall build a better, fairer, truly Free society!”

“That is all we could wish for,” Doctor Xi agreed, echoing her Sister’s sentiments. “For far too long have the foul weeds of Authoritarianism strangled the beautiful flowers of Freedom that yearn to bloom in all their glory!”

“Well put, Sister. Very well put,” Fehn smiled. “Spoken like a true Friend of Liberty!”

Seated at her station in the centre of the Conversion Table, Automaton sixty two watched as two of the drone assistants dragged a new figure towards her.

After hours of Function, the Conversion process had become a well practiced routine. A steady stream of captives were dragged in by mirror-faced guards, positioned on the Table and then a short time later, the same women, each now bearing a gleaming Implant that pierced deep into her brain, would be released and taken for initial programming. Just like flying, she had quickly gotten a feel for the controls.

Idly, she noted that the latest subject looked familiar. Brunette hair. Yes, she recalled, the guard she had tranquilised in the landing zone.

The guards positioned the helpless material in a still-warm human-shaped indentation and restrained her.

That was good.

Sixty two’s slavesuit pulsed constantly, rewarding her service, her obedience, rewarding her because she was an Automaton who loved her Creator.

SERVE

OBEY

WORSHIP

she activated the appropriate controls.

The Table began to rotate, then stopped as the brunette’s hair was stripped away leaving her smooth and weak.

The Convertee was drawing closer now, the fear and confusion in the woman’s hazel eyes evident as she fought to comprehend what was happening to her. But the sedative’s cloying embrace held her tight.

Sex thrumming with bliss, sixty two relished the sight of the last few moments of the unknown woman’s existence, the intimacy she had been granted with this anonymous subject making her whole being strum and vibrate with stimulated, radiant pleasure.

Yes, she was an Automaton. Just a number. Sixty two.

Being an Automaton was good. It meant service... obedience... worship... And pleasure. So much pleasure.

And soon this fearful female would fully understand the truth of her existence. That she too was an Automaton, created by Mistress, belonging to Mistress, serving Mistress, obeying Mistress, worshipping Mistress...

Destiny had brought her to Mistress. And she would forever be in her thrall.

The hairless woman was now beneath the laser. Body throbbing with joy—the slavesuit constantly reminding her how servile she was, keeping her constantly on the brink, addicting her to the control—she checked the display to ensure the subject was positioned correctly. Automaton flesh pulsing with delight as her Implanted brain was flooded with obedience, sixty two gleefully initiated the cutting procedure.

The familiar stench of charred flesh and bone assailed her nostrils even though her faceplate kept most of the smell out.

Her entire body singing with rapture, sixty two knew this was a good thing. Whatever the woman had been before was being removed, erased, expunged... so she could serve... so she could obey... so she could Worship... as a slave... as a drone... as a number... as a whore... as a fuck toy... as an Automaton... just like her!

The nameless former-brunette’s eyes were bulging with pain... her mouth opened wide to emit a silent, strangled scream...

Then it was over.

Shuddering with barely suppressed orgasmic pleasurejoy, the Automaton rejoiced at the sight.

SERVE

OBEY

WORSHIP

Rotating once more, Mistress’ latest creature was repositioned at the next station, readied to receive Her ultimate gift.

The sight of the probe-shaped Implant being carefully pressed into the soon-to-be-obedient brain triggered a pleasure-memory; the alluring smell and taste of leather, Mistress’ foot hovering above her, poised, the power to crush her always present.

But Mistress had been generous! The sharp, phallic heel had entered her, penetrated her, her slavish mouth and sex responding joyously, rapturously adoring her Owner, every atom of her being vibrating and resonating with bliss!

she was Her property.

A thing.

To be used.

Just like the shuddering, quivering Convert on the Table, she was nothing more than a sleeve that Mistress clothed Her Will in.

They were like a pair of matching boots carefully crafted from once-living flesh, designed to protect and empower Mistress, the Implants spiked into their minds fucking them forever like the stiletto heel she had been permitted to Worship.

SERVE

OBEY

WORSHIP