The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

There’s More Than One Way to Skin a Traitor – Chapter One (Assault)

The assault started, traditionally enough, just before the dawn. Although modern technology rendered the timing largely irrelevant, old habits died hard. The defender’s reliance on outmoded equipment was more of a factor. Their antiquated sensors had virtually no chance of detecting the first wave of attackers. Five drones, arranged in a loose chevron formation, swept forward. Chameleonware hid them as they scoured the rough terrain, searching for lookouts and sentries.

In a matter of seconds, all four observation posts had been “pacified”. Their occupants writhing helplessly inside shiny black prisons. Eventually their body heat would shrink the wrapping to such a degree that further movement would be impossible, but by then, the second and third waves of machines would have flowed past. Only much later would the “cleanup crews” appear and remove the captives for processing. For now, the sentries could only wait, aware but entirely unable to influence events.

Emma ducked as a fusillade of projectiles whined overhead. Constantly in motion, she tried to make her movements as unpredictable as possible. There was a soft cry behind her, as one of the other soldiers fell. The woman’s body slumped to the floor, peppered with tiny needles. Emma didn’t spare her a second glance, knowing that the fallen could no longer be helped. Her only hope of not meeting the same fate was to reach the escape tunnel.

The machines had burst into the base without warning. It was clear that the defenders had become complacent. This far from the city they had felt safe, and the machines had seemed content to launch only small raids. With the benefit of hindsight it was now obvious that they had merely been biding their time, waiting to overwhelm them.

Emma focussed on the present again; she knew that if she allowed her mind to wander then she would never make it out of the base. She raced onwards, ducking through a series of small partitions. Behind her the sounds of battle seemed to recede. She could still hear the staccato thump of heavy weapon’s fire, but it was becoming less intense. It meant that they were losing, but she tried to push such thoughts aside. There would be time enough to mourn her fallen comrades later, now she could only think about escape.

By the time she had reached the tunnel entrance, the base had fallen silent. She could hear her heart pounding; her ragged breathing and she imagined how the machines would, even now, be following those same sounds, hunting her down. With a twinge of guilt, she armed the self-destruct mechanism and then dived headlong into the tunnel. Better that her friends were consumed in the ball of fire, than the alternative.

The soldier ran down the long tunnel, stooped slightly but still moving at pace. She had only minutes to reach “safe distance”, although it required a certain amount of faith to assume that she would be “safe” once she got that far. Emma was stunned by how effortlessly their defences had been breeched. All of the careful planning seemingly wasted. She could not imagine how the machines had done it, especially without tripping even a single sensor or trap.

She was so lost in thought, that she almost missed the wire, strung across the tunnel at chest height. It was only at the last moment, when it seemed to catch the light, that Emma realised what it was and more importantly what it meant. She dived forward, tucking into a roll. Even so, she felt the fine wire brush past her and tensed for whatever booby trap she had triggered.

Even after she had rolled to her feet, Emma was still braced for some response. It took several moments for her to relax even slightly, and still longer for her heart to stop racing. She couldn’t understand it; these tunnels were swept regularly, by the only people with access, the command staff. Who had rigged the tunnel? Could someone else have escaped and were they trying to delay pursuit? But if someone else had used the escape route, why hadn’t they set the destruct sequence?

Finally realising that she was spending far too long trying to understand something that seemed to make no sense, Emma started to run again. She tried to find a balance between speed and caution, but in the end, she knew that her priority was to outrun the blast. Fortunately for the young woman, there were no other devices and she managed to reach the outer hatch without further incident.

Emma clambered up the ladder, wrenching the hatch open and hauling her body out into the morning sun. The soldier glanced at her watch, and frowned. The self-destruct should have detonated by now. The mechanism was brutally simple; there really should be no way that it could fail. Not unless it had been tampered with. But again, the only people with access to (or even knowledge of) it were the command staff. Was it possible that they had a traitor in their ranks? What possible reason could anyone have for betrayal; effectively they would be dooming themselves. The machines had never shown mercy before.

She chided herself, realising that she should be moving. If the machines had booby-trapped the tunnel, then they knew about this hatch. It seemed unlikely that they would leave it otherwise unguarded. As she moved off, carefully, the solider scanned her surroundings, looking for anything that seemed out of place. She noticed, belatedly, that her sidearm was in her hand. With a conscious effort she forced her grip to loosen, easing the tension in her white knuckles.

Avoiding open ground, Emma made the best time she was able. Once again she found herself trying to balance her need for caution and stealth with the desire to flee as fast as she was able. She knew that the machines would soon be swarming over the area, and that no matter how careful she was, without equipment she would not remain hidden for long. However, she also knew that she had to remain wary, the trip wire in the tunnel was ample evidence of that.

The high-pitched, keening wail made Emma flinch. She immediately recognised it as the sound of incoming artillery. Without cover she was in serious trouble. For a split second she considered returning to the hatch. But she knew that the tunnel wasn’t safe, and the idea of merely trading one horror for another did not appeal. There was no other recourse, but to keep moving and to hope that the rounds were targeted elsewhere.

The first projectiles began impacting around the hatch and she gave silent thanks that she had not returned there for shelter. She was surprised that there were no explosions and it was only when the rounds began falling closer that she realised that they were soaking the area in viscous black fluid. Emma had never seen the machine’s weapon deployed in this way, but she knew what that liquid could do. She had left enough comrades mired in its sticky embrace.

The solider picked up her pace, hoping that the barrage would end before she tired. The intensity seemed to be slackening and she had just begun to allow herself to hope when something struck her in the small of the back. It wasn’t a forceful blow, but it did knock her from her feet. Emma rolled as she hit the ground, tucking her head and coming back to her feet. She managed to keep her momentum, running forward for several more steps until she was sure that she was no longer in the danger zone.

An eerie quiet descended over the fields, but she ignored it, focussing instead on what injuries she might have sustained. Gently probing her back confirmed her suspicions, something soft and wet resisted her prodding. When she looked at her fingers she was not surprised to find them now coated in a thin black film.

Emma wracked her brain, trying to remember everything she knew about this weapon. They had never managed to analyse a sample (although she knew that several of their researchers had been attacked by the samples they investigated). The weapon reacted almost as if it were alive and views were mixed as to whether it was organic or a colony of nanomachines. She knew that if she had been hit by a full colony, she would have been engulfed by now. That suggested that perhaps she had been caught in a “splash”.

She glanced at her fingers and was disturbed to find that the film had apparently spread while she was trying to decide what to do next. Whereas before only the tips of her fingers were coated, the dark liquid now covered most of her hand. She panicked for a moment, before realising that its progress appeared to have halted for the moment. Emma rubbed her hand violently against her leg, trying to dislodge the strange material. But, she snatched it away when it seemed to pull at her trousers. There was a ripping sound as the khaki material tore, exposing her thigh.

To her horror, Emma saw the material slowly being absorbed into the liquid. Before the process had finished, the film began to expand. She recognised the danger just in time, forcing her sleeve up her arm, and denying the weapon any more “food”. But, just as she began to understand, the solider realised that whatever had hit her, would have a ready supply of material with which to work.

To an outside observer then next few minutes would have been both baffling and amusing in equal measure. Emma twisted and turned, desperately trying to remove her clothing, but unable to use her right hand for fear of spreading the effect further. By the time she managed to strip herself completely, the liquid covered most of her back. A dark black sheen ran from her knees up to her shoulder blades. Her right arm was covered up to her elbow.

For a few moments, Emma stood there naked, her mind racing. Her body was taut and wiry, mute testimony of the synergy between her small diet and vigorous training. Where it was covered, her body felt warm, and she noticed a soft “prickling” sensation. She moved quickly out of the long grass, after she realised that her second skin was trying to use the plants in order to expand.

The soldier could feel something shifting on her back, but although she twisted, she wasn’t flexible enough to see what was happening. Dark tendrils began to ooze over her shoulders, the weapon having apparently decided that it could do nothing where it was. Emma fought down her revulsion, not noticing how her skin tingled deliciously where the liquid flowed.

Without warning, two rivulets climbed up her neck and plunged into her ears. Terrified, feeling that warmth flowing into her, she began to tear at the strange invader. But it was literally like trying to hold onto water, the fluid simply slipped through her fingers. Although it did take the opportunity to liberally coat her left hand in the process.

The young woman trashed and fought, inadvertently allowing her coating to gain more mass when she blundered into some bushes. She felt as though she was losing her mind, a thought, which only intensified when she heard a woman’s soft voice that seemed to speak directly to her.

“Calm down”, the voice urged.

Emma took several moments to realise what she was hearing. For a moment she could not believe it, but then the voice came again.

“Calm down, I don’t want to hurt you. More importantly I don’t want you to hurt yourself”.

“What the hell are you?” Emma screamed.

There was a long pause before the voice replied. It was almost as though it was considering the question, but of course that made no sense. How could this oily liquid think?

“I am keeper”, it said, “and you need to be calm or I cannot guarantee your safety”.

“My safety?” blurted Emma.

“Yes”, the voice agreed, “my instructions require that you be pacified”.

“But you can’t can you?” the soldier gloated, “There’s not enough of you, because if you could have pacified me then you already would have”.

“This is true”, the voice soothed, “keeper is not performing at optimal efficiency. I require further mass in order to function”.

Emma laughed out loud. The weapon had admitted that it couldn’t “pacify” her and this was the first good news she had heard in a long while. It had also confirmed her suspicions that it needed to “feed”. So long as it remained this size, it appeared that she was “safe” or at least as safe as possible when partly coated with some kind of intelligent weapon.

It occurred to the young woman that she might be able to turn this disaster to her advantage. If she could make it to another bunker, their analysts should be able to untangle the mysteries of at least one of the machine’s weapons. Hopefully, when they were done poking and prodding her, they might even be able to work out a way of getting it off.

Emma tried to remember where the nearest outpost was. The resistance was organised in a collection of cells. The theory being that no individual would have enough knowledge to jeopardise more than one or two other cells. No one knew what happened when the machines caught you. But, given their obvious preference for live victims, it seemed likely that some form of interrogation would be involved.

There were no coherent records of what had happened. Numerous rumours spread through the movement. The machines had rebelled against their masters, the machines were part of an alien invasion or even that the machines were still controlled by some hidden force. Other theories focussed on why the resistance was composed entirely of women. Had the men already been captured or killed? Or were they in league with the machines?

In the end, no one knew. But it was clear that the resistance was fighting a losing battle. This was quite literally a war of attrition, and without the ability to breed, the humans were at a serious disadvantage. Focussing on the bare facts, made the entire endeavour feel pointless and futile.

The soldier realised that she had been lost in thought. The machines would surely be on their way to investigate. If she remained this close to the hatch, it would be child’s play for them to locate her. Grimacing at the thought of running barefoot, Emma began to jog slowly away. She wasn’t heading directly towards the outpost; first she needed to make sure that she “shook off” any followers.

“Where are we going?” the woman’s voice asked after a while.

At first Emma tried to ignore it, not wanting to be distracted from her fieldcraft. But as time wore on, she found that she began to crave company. A disembodied voice, seemingly projected from a small puddle of black ooze, was not her usual definition of “company” but then nothing about her current situation was normal.

“I’m trying to find some friends”, she eventually said.

“Ah good”, the voice responded, “I will be able to complete my task then”.

Emma paused; she was beginning to reconsider how wise it might be to talk to this thing. It might not be acting like a weapon right now, but it had very clearly told her that its goal was to “pacify” her.

“What task it that?”

“Why to show everyone who fights so pointlessly, the pleasures of returning to the fold”, the voice replied, surprise apparent in its tone.

She thought about it for a few more seconds, then started walking briskly again. She resolved to ignore the voice from now on. The specialists could “talk” to it later, if they chose. All it was doing at present was slowing her down.

“I can’t really explain it”, the voice continued, “please, let me show you what I mean”.

With that, the strange fluid began to slide over her body again. Two streams trickled slowly down from her shoulders, each thinning as they went. Emma felt her skin prickle and tingle beneath the oily coating. The black liquid flowed gently over her chest, the streams coating each nipple as they went. The sensation made her gasp, even as her hands clawed ineffectually at her attacker.

Both streams met and coalesced below her navel, then seeped lower. By now Emma was barely managing to stumble forward. When the liquid flowed down over her sex, before crawling up between her buttocks, even that was beyond her. Emma stood stock still, warmth and pleasure subsuming her. She was still aware of the fluid’s progress, as it climbed up her spine before finally reuniting with the slick oily skin as it descended over her shoulders.

“This is just a small sample of the pleasure we offer”, the voice coaxed.

Emma willed her body to keep moving, but found that even the smallest motion, allowed the weapon to rub against her. She moaned softly, fighting her growing arousal. Even her involuntary shudders added to the stimulation. On some level, the soldier couldn’t help but wonder what an entire suit of this material might be capable of. The thought made her shudder all the more, and she was unable to decide whether this was in fear or anticipation.

The soldier felt her knees begin to buckle, but she wouldn’t give in. If she fell to the ground, she did not doubt that the weapon would be able to gather more than enough material to complete its task. Bracing herself for the sensations that she knew were coming, she forced herself to start walking again. She almost came by the time she had taken two steps. The soft voice seemed to mock her efforts.

“My, but you are strong aren’t you?” it asked, “I don’t think you will be able to get much further though”.

“Alright”, Emma practically screamed, “but I can’t do anything like this”.

“What ever could you mean?” the voice asked.

“I’ll get you to the outpost, let you share this pleasure with everyone. Just turn it off, I can’t do it when I feel like this”.

“Ahh”, the voice responded, “That is such good news. Yes of course, if that is what you really want, I would be happy to reduce your stimulation. You really will enjoy this, that I can promise”.

She felt the tingling sensation slowly recede. It was still present, impossible to ignore completely, but for the moment at least, it was enough. The voice continued to chatter away as Emma resumed her journey. It was too much to hope that the weapon actually believed her change of heart. All that mattered right now though, was that she might be able to find help.

“Now that we are working together, perhaps you’d like to tell me your name”, the voice suggested suddenly.

Emma was taken aback slightly, she was still struggling to associate this voice, which seemed to calculate and think, with the thin strips of liquid that decorated her body. It was so incongruous. She tried to imagine what it must be like, to hear such a voice when you were smothered in blackness. Not for the first time, the young soldier found herself trying to push such thoughts out of her mind. She could not admit, even to herself, that she felt a tiny thrill at the idea.

“Emma”, she replied, somewhat reluctantly.

“Hello Emma”, the voice laughed, “It is my very great pleasure to meet you”.

This was all too strange for the young woman. Again she began to wonder whether she was losing her mind. The situation was so surreal. Nothing made sense anymore. This weapon seemed to be trying to make friends with her, while at the same time practically bragging that its role was to capture her and her colleagues.

“Oh”, the voice added as an after thought, “It would be much easier for us both if I was fully functional. I don’t suppose you’d like to lie down for a while, just until I’ve recovered enough mass?”

The soldier couldn’t help herself, she tried to keep her emotions in check, but it was just too much. She laughed, a slight tinge of hysteria just beneath the surface. The request was made in such a reasonable way.

“I don’t think we trust each other enough yet”, she managed between guffaws, “How about you manage with what you’ve got?”

There was a long silence, and Emma wondered if she had somehow offended the strange weapon. Then, with a sigh that sounded all too human, the voice replied.

“Okay Emma. I understand, but it really will be better and I promise not to pacify you unless you ask me too”.

As she tried to process this new information and understand why the weapon imagined that she would ever ask to be “pacified”, Emma suddenly became aware of movement over to her left. The ripping sound as an energy weapon discharged was shockingly loud. She dropped flat, finding cover suddenly so much more important than keeping the weapon away from a potential food source. It took her a moment to realise that the machines never used weapons like this.

Her thoughts raced, but in the end she could only come to one conclusion. It had to be the traitor. They would know that she was a witness and that while alive she posed an enormous threat. Obviously they had decided to finish her off, not trusting the machine’s weapon. Emma cursed; she should never have discarded her sidearm. Even as the thought occurred to her, the soldier realised that any weapon would have been absorbed into her second skin by now.

“I can’t help you if she kills me”, Emma whispered.

“Then let me help you Emma”, the voice pleaded, “I told you, I won’t pacify you unless you wish it”.

She knew that the traitor would be moving closer and that without a weapon she had no chance. With that revelation, she made her decision, trusting in the slim hope it offered in preference to none whatsoever.

“Okay”, she hissed, “help me”.

With that the ground around the prone woman seemed to boil. In an instant she found herself lying in a shallow trench as the soil and grass melted into the same glossy black consistency that she already wore. The liquid quickly surged up onto her, coating her body and making her skin buzz with pleasure. Emma gasped, feeling the fluid shift and move.

The young soldier’s second skin started at her throat and covered every inch of her body down to her toes. The buzzing sensation had quietened, but remained there, just at the edge of her perception. Her face was clear, although she knew that the tiny tendrils were still buried inside her ears. Strength seemed to fill her, and despite her reservations, Emma had to admit that she could not remember ever having felt quite this good before.

“Go”, the voice ordered, “I have done what I can, the rest is up to you”.

Without a second thought, she launched herself out of her makeshift foxhole. Time seemed to slow and it seemed as though she had all the time in the world to close on her assailant. She recognised Samantha’s compact form, and registered complete surprise. How could she be the traitor? But by then it was too late, the other soldier’s face registered fear as she tried to swing her bulky weapon towards Emma.

The soldier batted the barrel to one side and grappled with her former comrade. The skin seemed to augment her strength as well as her reactions. It was all too easy to restrain the other woman, one hand muffling her cries while the second pinned her arms against her sides and hefted her bodily from the ground.

What happened next was as great a shock for both women. Two small rivulets of black liquid wormed from the back of Emma’s hands. Almost before they touched the struggling captive, her uniform began to unravel. Samantha fought with a strength born of complete terror, but she made no impression on Emma’s vice-like grip. Part of the young woman wanted to let go, to save her friend, but knowing that this was the fate that Samantha had intended for all of them was enough to stay her hand.

When Emma had been attacked, she had been able to struggle out of her clothes. Seeing how fast the process worked, she couldn’t imagine how this had been possible. All she could think was that the weapon had been damaged somehow. Although, given what was happening now, it would seem that this damage had been repaired. By the time she had considered this, Samantha was just a black shrouded feminine shape, her struggles slowly fading.

She let the traitor drop to the ground and took a step back. The soldier had to admit that the wrapped woman’s writhing movements had a sensuous quality, which was actually quite appealing. Slightly muffled moans escaped from beneath the glossy skin, adding somehow to the sexual nature of the imprisonment. It took another few minutes before those last movements stilled and silence returned.

“What will happen to her?” Emma asked nervously.

“She has been tagged and will be collected shortly”, the voice replied, “If you wish for the moment to remain free, we should move quickly”.

“Oh”, she said, cleverly, “and what will happen to her once she’s been collected?”

“She will be processed”, the voice informed her happily, “and once it has been completed she will understand the pleasure of returning to the fold”.

She gave the helpless traitor one final glance and then began walking quickly away. Again she started by heading in the opposite direction before doubling back on herself. Her thoughts kept returning to her former comrade. Could she really justify what she had done? Wasn’t she doing the machine’s work for them? Didn’t this make her no better than a traitor herself? In the end she had to concentrate on the here and now, but the questions remained unanswered, hanging over her head.