The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“We’ve had a dozen cases today,” Head Clinician Natalie Romanoff pressed on, the anxiety all too evident in her voice. “So far.”

Grimacing, Doctor Xi acknowledged the words of Central Hospital’s leading physician. Normally a small, cheerful woman with straw blonde hair hurriedly pulled back into a messy ponytail, Romanoff was both conscientious and competent. That was why she had contacted her rather than the Hospital Director; the Governor’s political crony was severely lacking in both of those qualities.

“I suspected as much,” Doctor Xi sighed. “We have a number of cases here. It looks like a major outbreak. And it is spreading.”

“Yes,” Romanoff agreed, her face pale and drawn as the two women stared silently at each other for a long moment.

“Very well,” Doctor Xi announced firmly, summoning the strength to say the words aloud. “I will contact the Governor. In the meantime, I want you to initiate full Level 6 Infectious Control Measures throughout the Hospital. We need your staff and resources to fight the Pox. If Central isn’t ready, then the entire colony is in deep trouble.”

Romanoff nodded in resigned agreement. The medical facilities elsewhere on Caelum Nova were rudimentary at best; Reineport’s sprawling Central Hospital complex was key.

“Open the emergency stores and distribute full protective equipment to all staff; K-48 masks, gowns, gloves, everything. Luckily I had them replenished last month so there is plenty of stock. Cancel every operation you can, divert emergency patients to the outer hospitals, keep visitors out and clear as many wards as you can.”

Smiling crookedly, Xi went on. “If there are any queries just tell them that I called a surprise drill and am coming to inspect the facility.”

The Clinician assented readily; there would be grumbling but the excuse would be believed.

“The key is to prevent panic,” Xi urged. “We need to keep this quiet for the moment.”

Romanoff made to speak again but Doctor Xi cut her off. “I will see to the Hospital Director personally. Just concentrate on the practical preparations, Natalie.”

Nodding vigorously, Romanoff looked visibly relieved not to have to deal with the Director’s inevitable posturings.

“I’ll see to it straight away,” the Clinician announced firmly before ending the transmission.

Doctor Xi allowed herself a brief smile before her next vid-chat; she had no doubt that Romanoff would do the right thing.

She was counting on it.

Her next call was to the Bellerophon, currently orbiting Caelum Nova after completing a Sector-Wide Patrol. The crew were being rotated on planet-leave after months spent on board their ship. Any chance to escape the stifling environment of the ship, even if it was just the dubious surroundings of Reineport, was enthusiastically received. To allow the shipboard medics some time off on the planet, two medical staff from her team had been sent to cover for them.

“Well?” she demanded of the two loyal nurses who faced her on screen.

“As per your instructions, the Compound has been released into the ventilation system,” the redhaired nurse with the careful green eyes responded. “A couple of crewmembers have started exhibiting symptoms today. By tomorrow, we expect more significant numbers.”

“And the remaining medical team left on board?”

“They are efficient and diligent, but unsuspecting,” the black medic with short-cut blonde hair observed. “They have begun monitoring the patients who reported symptoms today as a precautionary measure. But once the numbers of crew reporting sick start increasing, they will prove malleable.”

“Good,” she agreed. “Proceed accordingly.”

“Yes, Doctor,” her two nurses signed off.

Checking the alignment, she ensured that the lissome woman with olive skin dusted lightly with freckles was aligned correctly beneath the device. A gaping black void edged with laser-cauterised flesh was centred in her forehead ready to receive the iron Will of Mistress.

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The unknown woman, whimpering lightly, knowing that something was horribly wrong, despite the sedative that rendered her docile lay at her mercy. The subject was afraid because she did not yet know what she had been born to be.

A slave.

A drone.

A whore.

A sexslut.

An Automaton.

Soon she would be all of those things.

Forever.

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Body pulsing and throbbing as the slavesuit pounded wave after wave of pleasure into her, sixty two fixated upon the Function her Creator had bestowed upon her.

All that this piece of fleshmeat had once been must be destroyed.

The Implant must be fused into her brain.

Mistress must own her.

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Surfing the crest of a tidal wave of sexual ecstacy that never quite crashed against the shore, sixty two thrilled with the obsessive purity of Function.

her appetite was endless.

Nothing else mattered.

Only Mistress!

she depressed the button.

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Activated, the slender probe hovering above the woman’s head descended, positioning itself precisely before the long, thin, Implant was carefully thrust into the waiting cranial cavity.

Shaking, sixty two rode the micro-orgasm of bliss as she watched the metallic shaft slide into the subject’s brain, penetrating deep into the void.

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Now only the round metal tip remained, the full eight centimetres of the Implant now buried deep inside the braincase. Brown eyes opening wide as the Converted brain registered the presence of the intruder that would forever dominate her thoughts and actions, the new slave stared vacantly upwards as a larger circular, flat cover plate was placed over the Implant and fused to the flesh and bone of her cranium.

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Quivering with anticipation, she moved on to the next subject; a pale complected, pretty young woman with a cute upturned nose. The sizzling slavesuit ensuring that the flames of desire glowed brightly, devouring all else apart from Function, sixty two kept her focus upon transforming this piece of material to please Mistress.

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A Latina with high cheekbones and full lips, parted slightly, slumbering uneasily in the human shaped recess she was restrained in as the Conversion Table brought her to the devices that would erase her.

The silver-metal Implant made a pleasing contrast with the tawny flesh surrounding it.

A brainwashed servitor for Mistress.

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An unknown female with a heart shaped face and dimples.

Glittering Implant secured in place.

Mistress’ living property.

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A burly, athletic subject with an aquiline nose, whose muscle definition indicated that she had spent some time in prison.

Implant welded in position.

Mistress’ slavedrone.

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An Asian Convertee, short, with a hard, firm, youthful body.

Implanted.

Automaton.

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Standing rigidly to attention before her, the eighty-two drones waited upon her. Slightly ahead of the massed black-clad ranks, two Automatons stood ready, the red numbers sixty one and sixty three glowing beneath their shimmering faceplates.

Snapping her fingers, the two humanoids instantly sank to their knees. Approaching them, she ran her hands over their smooth hooded heads, gliding over their masks, until she found their chins and tugged them sharply until they looked up at her. Distorted in the contoured domes covering their faces, her reflection looked all the more imperious.

“I have entrusted you with a task,” she informed the two drones, referring to their leadership of the eighty one Automatons culled from the guards and prisoners that the personnel records indicated possessed flight training and had been prioritised for Conversion.

Upon their return to Halfway, the drones would assist in loading the additional supplies of Implants and slavesuits needed to complete the Conversion of the prison population before sixty one and sixty three would fly them back. In the meantime, the remaining Automatons would prepare the stored Snype fighters for use.

“See to it,” she ordered.

“Yesss... Mistress...!” aroused voices hissed behind their dehumanizing masks.

Producing her Data Pad, she keyed in the appropriate sequence, calling up the controls for these two. Smiling, she slid the adjuster from the base rate of thirteen per cent upwards past twenty, then past twenty five, pausing to enjoy the pair of shuddering, quivering drones that swayed at her feet.

Embedded within the slavesuits that encased them, the stimulators intensified their onslaught upon the pair of black-wrapped bodies. Moving rapidly from the normal rate of constant arousal, that did not impair Function, the sexpleasure quickly intensified, rapidly building towards levels that neither of the people they had once been had ever before experienced.

Finally she settled at fifty six percent. Her tests had shown that at levels over sixty-five percent, it took hours for the mechatronised human to recover, while over seventy nine threatened catastrophic failure.

The effect was dramatic. The two masked Automatons collapsed to the floor, their bodies twitching uncontrollably, muscles firing as the intense sexual pleasure cascaded through them, shrieking behind their reflective visors as they orgasmed over and over again, crying out her name in gratitude and worship.

Her image reflected in the mirrored faces of the humanoid group beyond, she relished her newfound power.

Yet another captive was dragged towards the Conversion Table. Seated behind the controls, Karyna watched as the blank-faced Automatons secured the female subject in place; this one was a copiously tattooed, short haired, muscular woman that was a blend of ethnic types. The body art signified that she was probably not a political prisoner; she had doubtless been scooped up during one of the periodic swoops of the criminal gangs that people joined in order to survive on some of the more brutal colonies.

What number was this?

Her ability to keep track had faded.

At first, she had enjoyed the different bodies and shapes of the subjects as they underwent Implantation but as the hours had passed individual differences began to blur. The sheer scale and quantity of captives undergoing Conversion had numbed her senses. Just like the stench of charred flesh and bone she had long grown accustomed to, she no longer noticed.

Or cared.

At the far end of the Table, her Implantation complete, a lithe, pale skinned Convert was removed and the circular platform began to move once more.

The tattooed woman was rotated to the first station.

Yet, something about this particular Convertee cut through her numbed indifference. Studying the female carefully, as her hair was shorn away, Karyna suddenly had an epiphany.

She was different.

A person.

An individual, with hopes and dreams.

Her hair removed, the captive began her journey towards the waiting laser.

Why?

The sudden thought caught her off guard, surprising her.

Frowning, she looked down at the controls; the display indicated that the subject was in position.

All Karyna had to do was press the button. Something she had done without hesitation so many times already.

Yet her finger hovered over the controls, held there by some unseen force as her mind whirled.

Why??

Still under the effects of the sedative, the tattooed woman was completely unaware of what was happening.

Karyna’s hand shook.

Why?????

Tears formed in the corners of her eyes as she stared helplessly at the former criminal, paralysed.

WHY!!!!!

Poised above the anonymous woman’s head, the angular cutting unit waited expectantly.

Jabbing the button sharply as the tears rolled down her cheeks, Karyna answered the question that had troubled her.

She understood.

Because this pleased Doctor Xi.

Her call was answered on the second ring and the sharp features of a woman filled her screen, her thin lips and cold green eyes staring out at her impassively.

“Director,” she greeted Ludmylla Dorph, the sinister head of the Caelum Nova Office of Public Tranquility. A separate but intertwined organisation that ran parallel to the official structures of the Authority, Tranquility was responsible for rooting out internal enemies.

“I have been in contact with both Beth-Ahn and the Divisionist, Fehn,” she began. “Beth-Ahn intends to make subversive remarks during the Vehr-Duhn commemoration. As anticipated, the Divisionists plan to take advantage of this.”

Nodding her head slightly, the woman acknowledged the information in silence. Her revelations were not a surprise; in her guise as agent provocateur Doctor Xi had been reporting on her contacts with anti-Authoritarian elements for years.

Dorph had spotted her potential upon her arrival in Reineport and had made it clear that a refusal to work for her would result in consequences.

But it hadn’t been all one way; there had been carrots as well as sticks.

A number of awkward investigations initiated by the Defenders of Public Order had fizzled out thanks to Tranquility’s discreet interventions. And Dorph had facilitated her dealings with the MafyKa, even helping her transport the shipments of arms and illegal drugs that the Divisionists depended upon to finance their cause. Just before leaving for the prison, the latest batch of Hevraxamine that she had held back until the demand, and price, for the illegal drug had made her MafyKa contacts both greedy and careless, had been picked up. Doubtless it had found eager customers in the criminal-owned clubs that lined both McKay and Putina Streets.

The same Compound she had developed to mimic the initial symptoms of the Pox had been fabricated in both an aerosol and a powder form; the latter of which had been added to the Hevraxamine distributed to Reineport revellers.

The sudden influx of patients Romanoff was so concerned about were her doing.

Curiously, once rumours of the Pox began to circulate, she anticipated a heavy demand for the drug. Originally developed for livestock, Hevraxamine had been absorbed into to the dubious tradition of taking animal medicine to ward off infection. Doubtlessly started by some grubby charlatan exploiting the fear and scepticism of a desperate populace in order to make money and push credulous people towards some long forgotten extremist agenda, Hevraxamine, like it’s original predecessor, had no medical benefit whatsoever.

But the folly of people knew no end.

“Has the prison provided enough material?” the Dorph asked, signalling that the topic was closed and that questions about the upcoming crisis were off limits.

“Ample,” Doctor Xi agreed.

“And the Bellerophon?”

“Initial reports show that we have what we need.”

“Preparations?” the woman demanded next.

“I’ve initiated quarantine measures in the Central Hospital. Discreetly.”

“Good,” the Director announced, satisfied, her eyes glittering cruelly in anticipation of what was to come. Unlike Beth-Ahn and Fehn, this was not a person motivated by warped idealism; Dorph was only interested in power. Keeping on her good side was important.

“Continue as planned. The meeting will bring things to a head. Be prepared,” the woman dismissed her.

Before she had a chance to respond, the Director had terminated the vid-link.

Before her, an Automaton stood, the number ninety seven illuminated on her collar.

Reaching out, she removed the drone’s mask, baring the features of the former Chief Warden, a thought-terminating Implant now plugged deep into her enslaved brain.

“Sit,” she indicated the chair in front of the communications console into which the Convert obediently placed herself in.

In order not to arouse suspicion, it was necessary to maintain the fiction that all was well in the Penitentiary complex and make a routine daily report to the Administration in Reineport.

“You have been programmed with what to say,” she told the attentive servant. “Follow the script exactly.”

“Yes Mistress!” ninety seven answered quickly before calling up Reineport. The vid-link had been purposely corrupted with static but that would not arouse suspicion; the dust storms that plagued the area frequently interfered with communications.

“Chief Warden Golzari, Pen-Set Nineteen, reporting,” the servitron began after her call was answered by a bored middle-management Administrator.

Doctor Xi stretched out in a nearby chair, enjoying the convincing performance the Converted Warden put on for the bureaucrats in Reineport.

Afterwards, she had relaxed in front of the Control Hub vid-screens, relishing the scenes of the prison inhabitants being transformed into her brainwashed property. All five Tables were operating at full capacity.

Her nurses seemed to be operating well, under the circumstances. But even more pleasingly, sixty two had fully accepted her re-programming and was Functioning incredibly well. Earlier tests had shown that it was possible to install a whole new Function into a drone but she hadn’t had the chance to put it into practice until now. The results had far exceeded expectations.

Tapping her fingers over her data pad, she called up the list of prison personnel, guards and inmates, who had medical experience. There were one hundred and nine in total, forty six of which had already been Implanted.

She sighed slightly; although it was gratifying to see the numbers of those serving her rising, her simple designation system would quickly become unwieldy. Another job to add to her to-do list.

“Have these Automatons reFunctioned as Converters,” she snapped at number thirty three seated at a nearby console after forwarding her the list. “Segment alpha.”

“It will be done, Mistress,” the former hacker responded immediately.

Buried between her splayed legs, the eager tongue of the former Warden continued to lap against her sex.

In the large exercise spaces, temporary sleep-stations had been created for Automaton bodies to rest consisting of nothing more than mattresses laid on the floor upon which naked femdrones lay, programming modules plugged into their Implanted brains.

Passing by, she recognised them as the initial Automatons taken from the transport ship. That felt like an eternity ago... but in reality, how long had it been? Two days? Maybe three?

Exhausted, her thoughts cloudy as the adrenalin that had kept her going for so long faded from her system, Karyna made her way through the slumbering bodies.

Sleep.

They all needed sleep. Otherwise there would be mistakes. The Doctor knew that.

She had dismissed her loyal nurses and told them to rest before they began again tomorrow. A cohort of fully Functioning Automatons would ensure the Prison complex remained secure as they rested.

A bedroom lay ahead, calling her; one of the former guards quarters still filled with her possessions, the knick knacks of a life that probably no longer existed. She was probably outside, her impaled mind plugged into a programming cylinder, dreaming the endless dream of servitude and obedience that was now the sum total of her waking and sleeping existence.

It had been a tough day but she had persevered.

A rollercoaster of emotions had assailed Karyna after her encounter with the tattooed woman. Although she had pressed on through the day, the burning need to please the Doctor driving her onwards, she still couldn’t stop thinking about this one unknown subject.

The anonymous woman was a fully functioning Automaton by now, the markings on her flesh subsumed by the endlessly pulsating slavesuit that kept her permanently aroused, desperate to obey, her face covered by a shimmering metallic dome, all individuality effaced.

Reduced to nothing more than a number.

She had done that.

And she had gone on doing the same thing for hours afterwards. Woman after woman had been turned into lobotomised puppets. By her. All to please Doctor Xi.

Why?

Why did it matter so much that Doctor Xi had to be pleased?

Why did these individuals have to be destroyed?

And why did she have to destroy them?

Why?

Tears flowing freely down her cheeks, Karyna crawled gratefully into the vacant guard’s bed, pulling the covers over her, needing to hide, desperately craving blankness, her body crying out for sleep, wanting nothing more than to embrace the darkness and stop thinking.

Why?

Around her, other naked Automatons were preparing for the new day. Sixty two had breakfasted, sating her hunger with the basic but nutritious food provided by the enslaved cooks. Now she was returning to begin Function.

Her progress was interrupted by another Automaton, number ninety seven, who directed her to an empty room just off the corridor. she did not question this unexpected deviation from her schedule; as a droneslave she existed to obey commands. Instead, she faced the blank-faced humanoid servitron and awaited command.

Ninety seven indicated a table upon which new clothing lay.

“Dress,” she was instructed.

Complying, sixty two discovered her new uniform was dark red rather than all black. First on was a bodysuit, sleeveless and skimpier, but made of the same heavy material as the familiar slavesuits with their embedded stimulators. Next, she guided her feet into a pair of long, thigh boots, the high heels of which added an extra three centimetres to her height, before sliding the matching full-length gloves over her arms.

Tugging the turtleneck collar of her erotic slavesuit over the rear of her smooth head, sixty two fixed her mirrored facemask in place before resuming attention.

“Automaton sixty two,” ninety seven announced simply, “you will be reImprinted. Obey.”

“This Automaton obeys,” she accepted.

The familiar sensations commenced, the new Imprinting quickly overwhelming her, erasing what had been there before.

There was pleasure.

When consciousness returned, sixty two no longer existed.

All memory of that designation had been expunged.

she had always been alpha one. A specialised Automaton unit whose Primary Function was to Convert others to Mistress’ service.

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“Ah, Wilhelmina,” the woman greeted her, eyes shrewd and watchful. “I have been waiting for your call.”

“My apologies for the delay Ms. Everbushe-Pfalsz,” she fawned, “but I am sure you’ll be pleased with my latest news.”

“Do tell,” the calculating eyes waited.

“The Divisionists are going to act.”

“Perfect,” Alfredyne Everbushe-Pfalsz sneered. “Presumably, that fool Beth-Ahn is going to make her rabble-rousing speech at Vehr Dunné?”

“Yes,” she joined in the laughter, “she’s quite set upon it.”

“Wonderful,” Everbushe-Pfalsz smirked, her quick mind racing ahead as she worked out all the necessary details. “And you passed on the partial disable-codes for Khambriy Sector A.R.I.D. system? Fehn is smart enough to fill in the blanks herself. No point in making it too easy for her—she’d smell a rat otherwise! Fehn and her schemes...” she snorted derisively. “I presume you disposed of the engineer I sent you?”

She simply nodded in reply, sighing inwardly to herself, allowing the industrialist to run on without really paying attention to her ramblings. Why was it that these high-functioning narcissists always had to verbalise their schemes, over and over again? A plan had been developed. It had been set in motion. What was the point in insisting on raking over the coals and talking about it?

But she had to admit that without Everbushe-Pfalsz’s patronage, it would have been impossible to find the automated factories needed to produce the Conversion equipment needed.

“Has Dorph been informed?”

“Yes,” Doctor Xi acknowledged. “She knows everything.”

“Excellent!” Everbushe-Pfalsz chuckled. “Public Tranquility fears the military far more than the Divisionist rebels. The Splittists might conquer a couple of outer colonies, but the structures of the Authority simply cannot conceive that they might pose an existential threat to their rule.”

First Beth-Ahn, then Fehn and now Everbushe-Pfalsz; they were all the same. A message or a brief discussion would have sufficed to convey the information required. But, no. They had each insisted on long, drawn out communications; the opportunity to have somebody validate just how smart they were was impossible to pass up for each one of them. They each demanded an audience, wasting valuable time that she could have spent on more pressing matters.

“Will they intervene?”

“No,” Everbushe-Pfalsz retorted, chuckling mirthlessly. “With Beth-Ahn’s speech Tranquility is finally going to get an opportunity to prove that the military are disloyal. They’ve been itching to purge their ranks for years. No, they won’t intervene. It suits their purposes.”

Xi hid her irritation. It was all so irritatingly tedious.

“Ah, and did they receive the last four shipments I allowed their MafyKa stooges to steal from the Mauh Factory?”

Smiling reassuringly, she simply nodded.

“Excellent,” the arms dealer mirrored her smile, knowing that it was a lie.

“That’s quite a nasty little war in the making. It sounds as if the Authority might be interested in my new B.I.D.S system after all. The A.R.I.D.s were a good cash cow but it’s about time for the Authority to get excited about a whole new generation of weapons I can offer them! Particularly if they experience a few early defeats and start getting nervous. Setbacks like that tend to sharpen their focus somewhat.”

Nodding once more, she absorbed the woman’s words in silence. Profits. And power. The twin obsessions of the rich, along with immortality.

“I’ll ensure the balance of the funds are transferred to your accounts as soon as Beth-Ahn stirs up this particular hornet’s nest,” Everbushe-Pfalsz went on, her monologue winding down. “I’m quite satisfied with the way everything has come to pass. I was right to invest in your talents.”

“Thank you,” she smiled, pleased to see her patron happy. “I’m glad that we could assist one another. Perhaps we might be able to do so again in the future.”

“Oh, now that I have you in my clutches, I’m not going to let you escape,” Everbushe-Pfalsz glinted maliciously enjoying the shock slowly spreading over Xi’s face.

“You’re far too useful to allow rot on that hellhole. Once the dust settles on this particular adventure, you’ll be transferred on an Earth posting—on some excuse or other,” she waved a hand dismissively. “And you’ll be receiving a promotion.”

“I need to make some changes to the Supreme Authoritarian Council,” her eyes flashed angrily. “Those fools need to understand once and for all not to cross me. Monasche may need to end up in a Psyche Facility. The rest will fall in line once she’s been neutralised.”

She paused before continuing deliberately, her eyes fixed upon the Doctor. “And having the newly appointed Pan-Authority Medical Commissioner doing my bidding will aid my plans greatly.”

Unable to stop herself, her earlier shock vanished as a smile slowly worked it’s way upward from the edges of her lips, broadening and widening as it grew, taking over her entire face.

“Thank you, Ms. Everbushe-Pfalsz,” she replied, her voice vibrating with barely suppressed excitement. “That’s very generous of you!”

The group of naked women rose from the chairs at her command, the blank-featured females staring calmly into middle distance. With a pleasurable throb of recognition, she spied the tall former-brunette she had Converted amongst their ranks, the unperson’s hazel eyes now twin orbs glistening in hard sympathy with the cold metal embedded in her forehead.

Leading the Automatons away, alpha one brought them into the Imprinting area nearby where they lined up in silence to receive their uniforms.

Dressing on command, the nude figures of the female husks disappeared beneath the clothing each pulled on. Unlike the all-black of ordinary drones, these Conversion specialists all wore the same dark-red fetish bodysuits, boots and gloves she had dressed in earlier.

One by one, their former identities vanished as each new Automaton plugged a domed visor into her Implant, becoming yet another mirror-faced object.

Just like her.

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Activating the hand controller, she initiated the Imprinting process.

Shuddering, the red uniformed bodies of the humanoids began responding to the stimulators, the pleasure building and building within them as their Purpose was revealed, unlocking the programming burned into their psyches, their Implants asserting total control over their minds and bodies.

Riding the waves of her own slavesuited pleasure, she enjoyed the sight of these new droneunits surrendering to their destiny.

she was the designated leader of this Conversion group. They would serve Mistress well.

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Designations began to appear on their collars as new identities were formed. Hungrily she noted that the former-guard she had Implanted bore the number alpha nineteen.

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Just like the others, alpha nineteen’s body shook as the throes of Imprinted bliss consumed her. Beneath the tightly encased body and shimmering mask, she knew the femdrone was being bathed in pure orgasmic fire, the flames destroying all that had gone before, purifying her for Mistress.

While this might be the first climax granted to alpha nineteen as a fully-Functional Automaton, it would certainly not be the last.

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Muffled by their dehumanizing masks, forty six screams of service, of obedience, of worship filled the room as the group orgasmed as one, reborn as fanatical devotees desperate to Convert all to the service of Mistress.

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