The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Planetary

The letter informing Melissa she had to report for Erotic Processing, to be assigned either to a public brothel or held in reserve for private sale, arrived Monday morning. She rushed outside to tell her parents the happy news.

“That’s wonderful, dear,” her father said, grunting as he got to his feet. He embraced his daughter heartily. A little soil from the garden rubbed off on Melissa’s dress.

Mom, on the other side of the backyard tomato patch, said, “We’re so proud of you!”

She came round to give Melissa a big hug too. “We should celebrate,” she said, taking off her gardening gloves. She turned to her husband. “Herb, call Authority and request some Joy.”

“Alright, love,” he said. He started to go back to the house, then stopped to embrace his daughter again. “I’m so happy,” he told her. “You’ll make a wonderful whore, Melissa. I always knew you would please men with your body.”

He wiped a tear from his eye. Mom covered his hand with her own. They interlinked their fingers lovingly.

Melissa blushed. She had been half-expecting the Processing notification for a week now. Only a handful of girls her age—she had turned twenty last month—were judged worthy enough to serve Planetary this way. The odds were extreme, and it said much about Melissa’s poise and appearance that she had been selected. Most girls ended up getting married at twenty. Not her, though. She had been found good enough to be Erotically Processed! Aside from the personal distinction the honor gave her, her family would now receive heightened benefits from the Local and Regional Authorities.

They might even receive automobile privileges. Imagine. Her father, driving a car! Incredible.

Inside, Dad was getting off the phone. “They were expecting our call. They’ve scheduled us for ten minutes of Joy.” He looked upstairs and called for Melissa’s little brother. “Billy! Come on down! We’re watching some Joy!”

Everybody smiled at the ecstatic cheer Billy sounded. The ten-year old was down the stairs like a flash.

“That’s super, Dad! What’s the occasion?” His freckled face beamed at his mom and sister as they told him the good news.

“Wow!” he said, taking Melissa’s hand and shaking it. “Gee whiz, that’s great, Lissa. When I grow up, I want to be a whore too!”

“Now, son,” Dad said, putting a hand on top of his son’s head and giving him a friendly rub. “You know you can’t be a whore. You’re a boy. When you grow up, you’ll have to get married like I did and go to work.”

“Ahh, that’s not fair! Girls get all the luck.”

“Oh, you hush,” Mom said. “Don’t be a party-pooper. This is your sister’s big day. Let’s sit down. Herb, what was the number?”

Dad told her. Melissa’s mom went to the TV, turned it on, and set the channel to Joy. She typed on the set’s control pattern the approval code the Local Authority had given them. Moments later the screen filled with the soft, soothing patterns of the Joy Channel. The Millers were a Good Family. Their minds shut down almost before the light from the multicolored, spinning spirals told them to do so, triggering impulses in their optic nerves to send the requisite signals to their brains. A pure and unadulterated feeling of contentment encompassed their world. A light-filled ocean of color, brightness, and chaste happiness made the Miller house and living room disappear. It was a pleasure entirely divorced from physical sensation. It was the delight of childhood summers. It was the bliss of having done the right thing for the right reason. It was the elation of making a cherished loved one happy.

It was, simply, Joy.

As always, the ten minutes of heaven allotted went by far too quickly. It felt nice not to have to think for themselves, though, if only briefly.

For two or three minutes the four Millers sat vacantly in front of the TV, their faces filled with blank and happy expressions. Only gradually did awareness creep back in. Looking incredibly soft and mellow, Melissa’s dad got up and changed the channel from the now dark screen to Information and News.

There was always something good on the News.

“.… exporting coffee to the United States under the NeoAfrican Growth Opportunity Act,” the glad-faced announcer finished saying. “That means a lot more jobs for the Kenyans and closer ties with Planetary Authority. Isn’t that great!?” Melissa’s family automatically nodded their heads, almost in unison. That was great. Those nations already joined with Planetary had been sending huge amounts of free food, medicine, TVs, and other necessary supplies to the less advantaged countries for years, encouraging them slowly but surely to join the world alliance.

The announcer, a bright-eyed, cheerful young man—all announcers on News and Information were bright-eyed, cheerful young men—started another fascinating story, this one about a massive clean-up of Lake Tahoe in Nevada. It was part of the overall effort Planetary was making to repair damages done to the Earth in the 20th century. The announcer’s image on the screen sitting at his anchor’s desk was framed by a subdued, yet psychedelic color field. Pay Attention, this display told the Miller family. This is Good Information and News. You Want to Pay Attention. This is Good News.

“The transparency level in the lake is down to 90 feet already due to the efforts of the Local Authority and its workers. But we can do better. In 1968, the visibility was all the way down to 105 feet. Isn’t that incredible!?”

The family nodded again unthinkingly.

“Dad?” Billy asked. “Will they really get all those lakes clean again?”

“With work and hard effort, son, I’m sure we’ll fix those lakes for sure!”

“That’s keen, Dad! When I grow up, I want to be an environmental clean-up worker!”

Dad laughed and ruffled the little fellow’s hair again.

Melissa was going to miss this camaraderie. Becoming a whore was a lifetime commitment. A week from now, the day she had to report for Erotic Processing, she would never see her family again. If she hadn’t been such a Good Girl, she would have felt sad. Or maybe not. She wasn’t sure.

It was hard to think when Information and News was on.

“Finally, here’s an interesting piece of information,” the announcer said. “Did you know that the average human being drinks nearly 16,000 gallons of water in a lifetime?” He laughed uproariously. “Boy, that sure is a lot of water, isn’t it?”

“That certainly is a lot of water,” Melissa’s mom said, nodding her head. She chuckled along with her family. They didn’t know why they were laughing, but it felt good to laugh.

“That is good information to know.” The announcer smiled from the center of the screen.

“Information and News always has good stuff on it,” Dad said reflexively. “I remember when there used to be bad news on TV.” He tilted his head perplexedly. “I think.”

“Really, Dad?” Melissa asked, turning to him. She felt an unexplained moistness in her eyes. She tried her best to ignore it. She often found herself in tears when thinking about Mom and Dad lately.

He was about to reply when Mom silenced him. “Oh, hush, Herb. You don’t want to tell about the bad old days again, do you? There’s no place for that kind of talk here. We’re a Good Family.”

Dad nodded. “Yes. That’s right. We’re a Good Family.” He took his daughter’s hand. “You’ll be such a good whore, Melissa. I’m sure Planetary will find a nice brothel for you work in.”

“I hope so, Daddy,” she said, smiling. She dried her eyes before the next announcer could come on and start talking. On the screen, the slogans of Planetary filled their eyes and minds.

Progress requires Purpose

Purpose is a Pleasure

Pleasure is Good

Goodness, Pleasure, Purpose, Progress: Planetary

The next day Melissa met her friends down at the neighborhood malt shop. As it nearly always was on a school-day afternoon, the place was filled with wholesome teens and young adults. The women wore either sweater-dresses or miniskirts and go-go boots. The men dressed in plaid pants and buttoned-down shirts. Hairstyles were uniform: bouffants for the ladies, crew cuts for the gentlemen.

“You are so lucky!” Karen squealed to Melissa across the Formica table. The little blonde was beside herself with excitement and gentle jealousy. She gripped Melissa’s hand.

Patricia and Miriam nodded too, equally happy for their friend. Arnold and Roger, both looking dapper in their black ties—they had been in classes at the college all day—were laughing and joking. “I can hardly wait to use you, Lissa!” Roger said, teasingly.

Melissa looked at him askance, a prim smile on her face. “Now, Roger Carson, you know the chances of that are nearly impossible. After I’m Processed, the odds are I’ll be assigned to a brothel on the other side of the country.” She looked sad for a moment. “I’ll never see any of you again.”

Everybody commiserated goodheartedly. “You won’t miss us, Lissa,” Miriam said. “You’ll be kept too busy pleasing men to even think about us.”

“She’ll forget all about us, I bet,” Patricia added. Her husband, Arnold, patted her back.

“Well, I’ll definitely miss you, Melissa,” Roger said, a bit more seriously. He took Melissa’s hand from Karen. “I enjoyed sleeping with you. You were great in bed, Melissa, and I can only imagine what kind of whore you’ll be once you’re a Processed Girl.”

“You brought me great pleasure, too, Rog,” Melissa said. He had been her second lover. Her first, Michael Baker, had moved away when he turned twenty-two last year, graduated from college and given a good job by the Regional Authority. He had been so gentle with her. Some boys took girls on their sixteenth birthday—the day by law everyone was required to surrender their virginity—with unnecessary roughness. She was a very lucky girl. Her lovers had all been gentlemen. “I wish you could use me as a whore.”

Before a glum feeling could descend upon the group, Arnold raised his vanilla milkshake over the table. “Let’s have a toast. To Melissa. She was born to be a whore!”

“To Melissa!” Everyone raised their glasses and took a sip. The mood lifted.

Patricia started talking about the furniture she and Arnold were purchasing for their new house, and soon all the girls were comparing notes and offering suggestions while the guys rolled their eyes melodramatically. Arnold and Patricia had gotten married six months ago. Roger and Miriam had just come back from their honeymoon. Karen was neither married nor engaged to be married. Earlier, she had confessed to Melissa that she too had been hoping for a letter from Erotic Processing. That didn’t seem likely now, though. Karen didn’t have a regular lover, so she was thinking about placing herself in the Marriage Pool and trusting to luck for a good husband. She was a Good Girl; she was bound to end up with a Good Guy. Had things not turned out the way they had, Melissa probably would have ended up doing the same. Sometimes she wished girls could go to college too and have careers, but then she would watch TV and those bad thoughts would disappear. For a little bit, anyway.

“This is good ice-cream,” Miriam remarked, and everyone agreed.

When they finished their malts and sundaes, the friends parted company, the couples returning to their respective houses, Karen and Melissa to their parents’ places. The streets were clean and open; the air was clear and nearly untainted by automobile fumes, there being so few cars allowed on the roads nowadays. Everyone walked. The people smiled and said hello to everyone as they passed. Young children played in the open middle of the street, unafraid. No one was afraid anymore. Crime was not allowed. Neither were accidents nor any other form of inefficiency. These were not the bad old days.

These were the new Good Days. They had begun, as every child in America who watched TV knew, over twenty-five years ago. Melissa’s parents had told her about it, their voices growing excited over the recollection. “We were watching a movie on TV—it was a James Bond picture, one of the very early ones—when the picture started to flash. A spiral appeared, and then these little sparkles of color—Oh, it was grand, wasn’t it, Herb?—and then we understood, both of us, at the same time.”

They recited it at the same time:

“Progress requires Purpose. Purpose is a Pleasure. And Pleasure is Good.”

Melissa remembered the way Dad had hugged Mom then. They were such a tender couple.

“Well, we rushed out right away, as we supposed to, and we made sure that anyone who hadn’t been watching TV that night, though why anyone wouldn’t be watching their TV if they owned one is beyond me… well, we made them watch too.” Dad had nodded.

“It was my friend Drew,” he said. “I remembered that he worked nights. We brought our portable TV, didn’t we, dear?” Mom agreed, blissfully happy. Planetary, they learned later in school, had already shown the benefits of a Good World to local leaders around the globe, to police officers, and, most importantly, to television executives and station managers. Progress requires Purpose. From there, the group used their newfound connections to show even more people the truth. National politicians. Network executives. Cable and satellite channel owners. When Planetary was ready, that night in October now celebrated worldwide, every important network and cable station in three dozen countries showed the same wonderful broadcast. Purpose is a Pleasure. And everyone who saw it made sure that everyone else they knew saw it, too. By the end of that day, over half the population of the planet had seen the glorious truth. Pleasure is Good. Goodness, Pleasure, Purpose, Progress: Planetary.

Karen walked with Melissa to the corner. “Bye Melissa,” she called out, waving to her friend. “We’ll get together before you have to report, okay?”

“’Kay! Bye-bye!” Melissa thought she would miss Karen and her friends. But it was good that she was going to serve Planetary. She had a beautiful body; it would be an honor to serve. As she walked home, she barely noticed the well-scrubbed and brightly painted building fronts to either side of her, so pristine they practically glowed. She failed to recognize too how the sidewalk was as clean and uncracked as only frequent, daily maintenance could make it. Things had always been like that in her world. She said hello to everyone who passed her, unconscious of how similarly dressed they were or how they all possessed the same smiling, glassy expressions. Melissa simply accepted these things as the ordinary elements of her life. She was going to serve Planetary, and Planetary served the world.

Progress is a Good World.

She didn’t bother looking in either direction when she crossed the streets to get her house. There was no traffic. The sky was clean, the sun was shining, the birds were singing. Everyone was happy.

When she got home, her parents had a present for her.

“It’s beautiful,” Melissa said, holding the fancy and expensive camigarter before her body. It was white with princess seams, trimmed in lace ruffles, and had red buttons down the front. Mom and Dad stood next to her, arm-in-arm. “Oh, Mom, Dad. You shouldn’t have!” She raised it a tad and giggled.

“Why don’t you go upstairs and try it on,” Dad suggested. “Oh, don’t give us that look, pumpkin. We know how expensive it is. We know you won’t be able to take it with you.”

He hand-waved the extravagance.

“We just wanted to see what you’d look like as a whore, darling,” Mom said. She came over to her daughter and held her. “And look. It really is a bargain. It comes with its own matching g-string, see?”

“I can’t wait to try it on,” Melissa admitted, and, seeing the approving looks of her parents, rushed upstairs to do exactly that. A few minutes later she was posing in front of her bedroom mirror, examining herself and weighing her own potential whoredom. She was a tall girl, with lengthy blond hair and clear features. She stretched her legs out, wearing the white hosiery and garters that had come with the lingerie. Melissa didn’t think she was fooling herself or overly vain in thinking she looked beautiful.

She tried another pose, one that even better displayed her bountiful cleavage.

Her lovers had always enjoyed playing with her breasts.

Maybe that’s why I was selected, she thought. I have good tits. She turned. I have a good body. I will be a good whore, just like I’m a Good Girl.

Her eyes felt suddenly wet. She blinked and wiped at them. Her cheerful mood slipped a bit, and she didn’t know why. She had everything in the world to be grateful for. She was a Good Girl, and soon she would be a Processed Girl. Drying her face, she went downstairs and pranced before her parents for a while. They agreed with her. She did have a good body, and she would make a beautiful whore.

She was so thrilled hearing her parents say that she could hardly go to sleep that night.

The week passed by for Melissa in a blur.

Finally, the anticipated day arrived. As the bus to take her to Erotic Processing made its way down their street, the entire neighborhood came out to say good-bye and wish Melissa luck. Her parents were holding each other, their faces full of tearful pride. Their daughter was going to be a whore. Their daughter. Even little Billy was awe-struck into silence for once. He beamed at his big sister.

“When I surrender my virginity in a couple of years, I’ll think of you, sis,” he said.

Melissa patted the top of his head.

“You’ll serve well, Melissa,” one neighbor said. “You have fine breasts and good hips. A nicely shaped rump, too. There’ll be many a man wanting to take you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Jones,” Melissa said, blushing. A crowd of people had gathered around her, waving and smiling. “Good luck! Give ‘em good service! Remember: Pleasure is Good!”

Jones talked to Melissa’s dad. “You produced a fine one, Herb. A fine one!”

“She is beautiful, isn’t she?” Dad was trying not to sound too boastful.

“I wish my daughter could’ve been a whore,” Jones said. “But she’s married, and that’s a good thing, too. Progress requires Purpose.”

“Thank you!” Melissa yelled to everybody. “Thank you all! I promise I’ll be the best whore I can be! Good-bye! Good-bye!” The bus was behind her. The doors opened, and, carrying only the one overnight bag, which was all the letter told her she could bring, Melissa stepped aboard, still waving.

“Bye-bye, Mom, Dad! I love you!” She waved farewell to her parents for the last time.

She looked around. The bus was already half full of girls. They smiled at Melissa, and Melissa smiled at them. All had enjoyed similarly buoyant sendoffs themselves that morning. The bus took off.

Melissa sat down next to a pretty redhead who introduced herself as Rachel. After a few moments the two girls clutched at each others’ hands and giggled wildly, so excited they could barely stand it.

The bus drove out of Melissa’s part of town and into the city. There were many girls to pick up. The ones already on board didn’t mind, though. The drive simply flew by. They talked to one another animatedly, comparing faces and figures and complimenting each other on being so lucky. They were very happy. Only one thing during the trip was out of place. After picking up a pair of giddy twins (Twins! How great for them, Melissa thought), the bus made a stop in front of a house in another neighborhood. Like every other time, a girl came on board, a pretty and short brunette. The thing was, though, this new girl was crying. She was crying despite the well wishes of her parents, her neighbors, and everyone else who had come to see her off. She sobbed uncontrollably, in fact, stepping onto the bus as if she didn’t want to be there, as if she actually, unbelievably, didn’t want to become a whore.

Seeing her, Melissa felt a shiver. Her flesh goose-pimpled. She didn’t know why.

There were two men on board, Authority Men, each of them wearing the gold-and-black uniforms of Planetary. They radiated confidence and respect. One drove while the other sat in back, looking at the girls, listening to their conversations, and smiling paternally. When the crying girl came on board, the Authority Man in back walked up to her, held her hand, and guided her toward the back with him. He gave her an injection of something from a case, and she soon quieted down, sniffing at her tears gently.

Then Rachel said something cute, and Melissa forgot all about the silly brunette. The bus rolled into the city proper. Everything was clean and gleaming, from streets to people’s teeth. The men hurrying to their destinations along the immaculate sidewalks—there were few if any women about in this non-residential, business quarter—all wore hats and pressed suits. A time traveler from 1960 or ’62 would notice little change in his surroundings. After a few minutes, the large, white geodesic dome of the Local Authority came into view. The girls squealed at seeing the huge Planetary flag fluttering in the courtyard, a representation of the Earth superimposed over equal spaces of solid gold and black.

The bus took a left and went around to the building’s side where a group of men and women in Planetary uniforms stood at attention waiting for them.

I’m going to be Erotically Processed, Melissa thought. Instead of the elation that thought would normally bring, however, the young woman’s heart skipped a beat in a sudden and totally inexplicable moment of terror. She gasped and looked around. Rachel was still enrapt by the Authority building.

No one else had noticed her bizarre outburst, it seemed. Melissa was thankful.

What was wrong with her? She was going to be a whore! She should be happy and proud!

Purpose is a Pleasure. And Pleasure is Good.

The momentary feeling of uneasiness that had come over her, of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, passed as quickly as it had come. The bus stopped, and the girls were invited out.

“Good morning, girls,” one of the uniformed women said loudly, stepping forward, “and welcome to your new lives!” She started to clap, as did the men and women behind her. Melissa and the girls clapped too, celebrating their good fortune. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the Authority Man from the back of the bus escort the sniffling brunette to one of his colleagues. They spoke briefly.

The girl was unobtrusively handed off to the waiting man and taken inside the building.

“Now, if we can get you girls to line up in rows of six, we can get started. Move sharply, please. Remember, Purpose is a Pleasure.” The girls picked up their bags and moved. Some of the girls giggled as they lined up and were told to stand straight. Melissa herself found it kind of funny. It was almost like being in the army, and that was silly. She was a girl, after all.

“Everybody set? Good. Good.” The uniformed woman seemed to be in charge. She nodded at the other Authority Figures surrounding the group of girls, and as one they lowered the sunglasses resting on top of their heads over their eyes. “Let’s go in,” she said loudly, and as a large section of the building irised open, the group walked forward inside. Melissa felt little tingles of excitement throughout herself.

The room they entered was long and rectangular. Everything, the floor, the ceiling, the walls, was a pristine white. To their left the wall was separated into slightly larger than booth-sized alcoves; to their right, opposite to each booth, was a television screen recessed into the wall. Each screen was showing a psychedelic mélange of colors and spirals. Like all TV, they grabbed attention, and it was only with some reluctance that Melissa’s eyes would leave one screen only to settle on another as the girls were walked through, one row at a time. In a few minutes, each girl was lined up, an alcove behind her, a television screen before her. Melissa stared enthralled into her TV. She felt cool, calm, and collected.

When a voice from the screen told her to shed her clothes, she didn’t hesitate at all.

Everything went into a deep drawer that slid out of the alcove wall, including Melissa’s overnight bag and all its contents. Another drawer, which but moments earlier had also been a seamless part of the alcove, revealed a bikini top and bottom and a variety of cosmetics and other toiletries.

Obeying directions from the TV behind her, Melissa put on the sexy swimsuit and used the contents of the drawer to make herself as pretty as she possibly could be. She didn’t need to do that much. Like all the girls from the bus that morning, Melissa had obsessed about her looks before even stepping out of the house. All that was needed now was a touch up or two.

When she was done, she stepped out of the alcove. Melissa’s bikini was red. She was a shiny, golden-haired blond. Other girls, depending on the color of their hair, had received blue, green, or yellow swimsuits to wear. The voice from the TVs in front of them reassured the girls of their beauty.

Eventually, all of them were ready. The Authority Woman from before walked down the line in front of the whores-to-be, inspecting from behind her sunglasses. When she got to the head of the line, she said loudly for everyone to hear, “You will make beautiful whores, each and every one of you.”

She clapped her hands. “Now, then, everyone, turn to your left and walk this way.”

The girls did. The wall slid aside, opening into another large rectangular room, also white, also with alcoves running down one side. This time, though, the alcoves were on the right. There weren’t as many, either, and they were each large enough to hold an Authority Figure and an assemblage of medical equipment. The first girl in line went into the first alcove, and the Authority Man there, a doctor, presumably, checked her blood pressure with an inflatable cuff. The others waited. After she was done, the lead girl was moved into the next alcove, where a man checked her vision against an eye chart. One after the other, the girls moved through the checkpoints, undergoing a host of examinations.

Melissa had her blood drawn. Her height and weight were measured (including her bust size). A pap smear was taken. Even the soles of her feet were carefully considered and the information duly recorded in a nearby computer. It was all very thorough. There were fifteen checkpoints altogether.

Melissa was near the head of the line. After she had gone through all fifteen, she and the others ahead had to wait in a corridor that stretched out from the medical bay. There were TV screens set in the wall from them to watch, so the time passed pleasantly enough. Melissa smiled blankly and waited for someone to take her on the next step in her adventure. She was beautiful. She was going to be a whore. Purpose was a Pleasure, and Pleasure was Good.

A noise distracted Melissa from the ever-present screen and its flowing color schemes, and she turned her eyes languidly toward the disturbance behind her. A pair of Authority Men were manhandling a woman down the hallway towards them. They walked to either side of her holding her arms behind her back and forcing her to move. She was struggling and cursing in a way that made Melissa feel uncomfortable. It wasn’t nice for Good Girls to use such bad language, especially to Authority Figures.

Like the men, the woman was wearing a gold-and-black uniform. That struck Melissa as odd. Unlike the men, she wasn’t wearing sunglasses. She kept her eyes firmly shut, as if she were trying to block out something she desperately didn’t want to see.

“You can’t do this!” the woman yelled as they came closer. “It’s not fair! It’s not fair!”

“Think of this as retirement, Margaret,” the Authority Figure on her right said. “You’ve helped bring so many girls bliss, it’s only fair you get to share some of that bliss yourself.” His friend on the left laughed.

“I swear I didn’t take the code book,” the woman, Margaret, said loudly. “Someone else must have taken it. Maybe it was mislaid!” She grit her teeth and curled into a ball, forcing the men to stop beside Melissa. Melissa forgot all about the nice TV screen with its calming message. She was curious.

“Hi,” she said. “My name’s Melissa.”

One of the men, a fellow with dark hair, gazed at her appraisingly. Her breasts were first, then her legs. Only at the last did he look at her face. He pursed his lips and nodded approvingly, and Melissa was pleased. “Hello, little Melissa,” he said, finally. “Are you here to become a whore, too?”

“Yes,” she said, smiling and perking up. “I was selected for Erotic Processing!” She giggled. “But I don’t really feel worthy of the honor.”

“You stupid bitch,” the woman, Margaret, said, behind her closed eyes. “You don’t understand anything! They didn’t choose you because you were special. They chose you because at some level inside, you must still be resisting.” She squirmed in the men’s arms, trying to hold her place. The men looked amused. “Basic brainwashing affects ninety-sex percent of viewers. It’s only the remaining four percent that have doubts! They’re the ones who get turned into whores or soldiers or street workers!”

She turned her head up blindly in Melissa’s direction. “Help me! The only reason you’re here instead of Labor Processing is because you’re girl and pretty.”

Melissa blinked confusedly. “Don’t you want to become a whore?” she asked.

“Oh, she does,” the dark-haired Planetary Man said. “She just doesn’t know it yet.”

“You sick fuck!” Margaret screamed, and Melissa took an involuntary step back. The woman’s face met her own again. “Help me! You must be resistant! You must be at some level! Help me, please!”

“There’s nothing she can do for you, Margaret,” the other man said. “She’s going to be turned into a whore, just like you are now.” He made tisking sounds with his tongue. “You should have stayed loyal to Planetary.”

“But I am loyal to Planetary. I didn’t take that goddamn code book!” She tried to pull her arms free again. “I’m loyal, dammit! I’ve given my life for Planetary!”

“And you still will, Margaret,” dark hair said. “You still will, I most heartily assure you.” He nodded to his friend, and they pulled Margaret up. With their fingers, they pried at her eyes and forced them to open. “No! No!!! Noooo!” They pointed her in the direction of one of the TV screens. Almost immediately she stopped struggling. Visibly, she started to relax, and they started walking again.

The dark-haired fellow paused to speak to Melissa. “After you’re Processed, I’ll try you out. You look like you’ll make a great fuck.”

“Thank you, sir,” Melissa beamed. She waved as they left, the woman Margaret no longer struggling.

Melissa returned her attention to the ever-present television. As relaxing as the colors were, though, her mind kept returning to what the woman said. Margaret had called her “resistant.” But she wasn’t resistant. She was a Good Girl. Her family was a Good Family. Sure, sometimes she felt sad for no reason, or she cried when Mom and Dad and her little brother watched TV, but she wasn’t resistant.

It certainly didn’t feel like she was resistant.

On the other hand, the woman Margaret was a member of Planetary—those nice Authority Men had said as much—and everything Planetary said was true. So, when she said Melissa was resistant, she must have been telling the truth. I’m a resistant girl, Melissa thought, not understanding how but accepting the information, as she accepted everything else Planetary said. I’m a resistant girl.

She suddenly felt uneasy.

But I’m a Good Girl, she thought. I’m a very Good Girl. I’m going to be turned into a whore, I’m such a Good Girl. Melissa frowned, thinking these unfamiliar thoughts and feeling these unfamiliar feelings. The line started to move. The first girls were taken into the same door Margaret had been.

Soon it would be her turn.

For the first time, Melissa questioned whether she really wanted to be a whore. She blinked stupidly, unaccustomed to thinking in a way that opposed anything Planetary had said was good. Planetary wanted her to be a whore, so that was good. Nevertheless, Melissa now questioned whether she herself wanted to be a whore, and she suddenly wasn’t sure how she felt about the prospect.

She enjoyed sex. She would have a lot of sex as a whore, she was sure. Still, was that reason enough to become a whore? I miss Mom and Dad, she thought. I miss Billy. When I’m a whore, I’ll never see any of them again. I’ll be kept too busy pleasing men with my body to ever see them again.

Was it fair that Planetary was taking her away from her Good Family? Suddenly, it didn’t feel like it.

I am a resistant girl, Melissa thought, and giggled. The line moved. When it was her turn, she entered the large Erotic Processing room. It was white. It was divided into numerous clear plastic cubicles.

Inside each of the cubicles was a girl undergoing Erotic Processing. Seeing it, understanding the procedure for the first time, Melissa felt uneasy again. Each girl was held spread-eagled in the center of her cubicle by nearly invisible bonds at her waist, wrists, and ankles. She could not move or escape. Mechanical arms swayed over their bodies while earphones and eyepieces rested over their faces, feeding information into their brains. That was bad. What was worse was that each and every one of the girls undergoing Processing was smiling. Smiling: a big, happy, mindless grin the very presence of which chilled Melissa to the bone. Only idiots smiled like that. Only idiots could smile like that.

It was horrible.

It was not what she had expected. But, then, what had she expected? She didn’t know.

With a further unease, Melissa recognized the girl in the first cubicle. It was the brunette from the bus.

It was the brunette who had been crying. The brunette who had somehow understood what was going to happen to her. The kind of girl who was “resistant,” according to the woman, Margaret.

She was no longer crying. She was smiling. Smiling happily as the instruments played over her body, transforming it, transforming her. Making her a whore. And in the cubicle next to her, right beside her, was Margaret. Another resistant girl. She too smiled mindlessly as she was remade into a whore.

It didn’t take a genius to understand what was going on. Melissa might have been brainwashed, but she wasn’t stupid. They had taken the most resistant girls and started their Erotic Processing first, to avoid trouble. According to Margaret, that was why all of them were there in the first place. Because they were resistant. They were all resistant girls. And Planetary didn’t like resistant girls.

They didn’t like resistant anybody.

It was like a light dawned upon Melissa. She understood. Being turned into a whore wasn’t a reward.

Margaret aside, it wasn’t even a punishment. It was security.

Resistant people could think their own thoughts. Sometimes, anyway. And Planetary didn’t like people to think their own thoughts. It… it defeats Progress, Melissa thought. It’s not Purposeful.

Such was the depth of her loyalty to Planetary, still, that when the Authority Figure took Melissa to a cubicle of her own, she didn’t fight or even protest. It was so bewildering. She felt that something bad was happening, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Inside the cubicle, the man snapped a polymer bond around Melissa’s waist, then lifted her hands above her head. He snapped her wrists shut, then knelt before her to spread her legs and lock her ankles into place. In a moment he was done.

She was spread-eagled inside her cubicle. She was as helpless as all the other girls. Escape was no longer an option, if it ever had been.

There was a TV screen in front of Melissa in the hallway. She could still see it from where she was. Its placement was deliberate. Its spirals were so comforting. Without them, why, Melissa felt that she might start screaming. Part of her wanted to scream, to cry or fight, but the TV image was so relaxing.

The Authority man, in his dark sunglasses, removed her bikini top and bottom. He stepped out then, and the transparent cubicle door slid shut. I’m about to be Erotically Processed, Melissa thought. I am going to be made a whore. Yes. If it wasn’t for that TV screen, she was sure she would scream.

A vibration started in the flat machinery behind her, around her. Melissa heard a soft whirring. She felt something against the top of her head. A headset with eyepieces slid over her face. As they pressed in, spirals like those from the TV started, which was comforting. Earphones slid into place and buzzed.

Yes. The Erotic Processing was about to begin. She should be feeling good.

She should be feeling very good.

Strangely, though, she wasn’t.

The machinery vibrated again. The spirals inside the eyepieces went dark in preparation.

And suddenly she could think. Finally, she could think.

For a moment, for a brief moment, the confusion, fear, and unconscious resistance Melissa had felt all her life, which had become so habituated in her twenty years that she had had no mindful awareness of it, surfacing only when she thought about her family and her friends robotically watching television, being brainwashed by television, Planetary’s television, broke through, and she woke up.

For the first time in years, possibly for the first time in her life, Melissa Miller woke up. Really woke up.

NO! she thought, too late. I don’t want to be a whore!! I don’t want to be a whore!!!

Then harsher lights and sounds from the headset started, drowning her mind in overwhelming sensations.

I don’t want to be a… a… I don’t… I want… no… I… ?

At first, the spiraling colors and pulsating rhythms were painful. The lights were too sharp and too piercing. The sounds were a cacophony. To Melissa’s horror, though, as time wore on, as she felt her most integral sense of self soften under the onslaught, the flowing patterns of light became smoother, the noises less throbbing. They became peaceful, and a warmth began to fill her belly and her breasts, a sexual warmth beyond any she had previously experienced. She knew without needing to be told that it wasn’t the sensory input on her mind that was changing, that was becoming less intense by the minute. Rather, it was that she was changing, that it was her mind that was being molded, a container being shaped by that which was poured into it. Melissa’s newfound awareness of her own resistance crumbled. No; not crumbled. Melted. Dissolved. Consumed as easily as tissue paper in a roaring fire.

…want… no… whore… I want… I want… am… no… I… I want to be… a whore…

It was beyond her ability to resist. It was as simple as that. Too many girls like her had been in her place. Too many had been treated by Planetary for them not to know what to do. Melissa succumbed to Erotic Processing. Her brief second of rebellion passed completely unnoticed.

…I… I want… I want to be a whore… I want… I am… I am a whore… I am a whore….

Her thoughts, never that sophisticated to begin with, not that that was ever her fault, became, under the lights and sounds of Planetary’s higher level televisual techniques, even more rudimentary. They began to focus on an important topic, a central concern for a girl of her background and future rank.

I want… I am… a whore… I am a whore… I want… I want dick… whore… dick….

The lights and sounds were really so soothing, so relaxing.

I want dick… whore… dick… I am a whore… serve… I serve… purpose… whore… dick…

She needed a dick. She really, truly needed a dick. She needed to be fucked. She needed to be used. That was what girls like her were for. To be used. To be fucked. She needed to be fucked. She needed to have a dick inside her. She needed to obey. That was what girls like her did. They obeyed. She wanted to obey. She needed to obey. Obedience was pleasure.

Obedience was her Purpose. Progress required Purpose. Her Purpose was Pleasure.

And Pleasure was Good.

Pleasure—giving Pleasure, being used for Pleasure—was very, very Good.

And as Melissa was coming to this essential conclusion, as it was fed into her increasingly soft and malleable mind, other tools within her cubicle went to work. A pair of extremely delicate, extremely sensitive lasers on thin mechanical arms folded out insect-like from the walls and played over her skin, bathing the young girl in a series of short, sharp ruby pulses. Where these penetrating lights passed, Melissa’s already beautiful flesh was rendered all the more lovely, albeit anonymous. Every mole, freckle, and childhood scar was mathematically charted and flashburned out of existence. Her body below the head began to take on the charming yet nameless nature of a mass-produced mannequin, indistinguishable from a thousand others just like it. The transparent nature of her bonds left not even her wrists, waist, and ankles free of this erasure. Yet this was only the beginning of her transformation.

A single hair-thin needle extruded from the space beside Melissa’s neck and penetrated her throat exactly at the upper rim of her cricoid cartilage. A very precise amount of chemical was injected into her vocal folds, and the needle withdrawn. A similar procedure was performed at her lower belly, with the same general result. Both Melissa’s speech and reproductive abilities were permanently stilled.

Neither would be of any use to her in her future capacity.

A fine mist was sprayed onto her body by another mechanical arm. The chemical seeped in and killed her follicle roots wherever it touched. Combined with the lasers, Melissa’s skin was made softer and extremely, almost supernaturally smooth. A pair of black plastic cones emerged from the white wall facing the girl. Guided by an extending motorized mechanism, they settled over Melissa’s breasts, made tiny incisions, and began to pump fluids into her flesh. Partially a fast-acting hormonal treatment designed to quick-form connective tissue, partially a medical gel to complete the aesthetic resculpt, the treatment had been tested countless times and guaranteed absolutely safe. Melissa’s bust size prior to the procedure was a generous 34D. By the time the cones detached, her bust had become a perfectly shaped size 36F Her nipples were also enlarged, carefully tinted, and made permanently erect.

The supports holding Melissa adjusted. Her heels were lifted, a powerful topical anesthetic applied, and four-inch stilettos permanently attached to the bones. Needles with chemical treatments were injected into her lower legs to ease the muscles into the new unvarying position, and fast-acting healing agents were administered to speed recovery. Melissa would be a high-heeled slut for the rest of her life.

The lasers meanwhile continued their automatic tasks. A series of numbers and a barcode were flashed into the young woman’s upper left arm. So intense was the display before her eyes and ears, she never felt the inscribing. In fact, a rather happy, stupid grin filled her face. Melissa Miller, daughter of Herb and Abby Miller, disappeared. The woman in the cubicle was redesignated Whore 320-412-662-606.

I am a whore… I want dick… I need dick… I need to service a dick… service is pleasure… I am a whore… whore… service… obedience… I am a whore… I am whore 320-412-662-606.

As soon as the computer made the determination, the number and new identity were fed through the headset and into the subject’s mind. I am Whore 320-412-662-606, she cranially processed (she was no longer strictly capable of thought, per se). I exist to serve Planetary. I exist to serve dick.

It was so clear now. That was because there were no longer any thoughts, memories, or negative feelings to get in the way. The headset flashed a signal through the whore’s optic nerves into her brain.

The results were all automatic, programmed responses.

I am a whore, Whore 320-412-662-606 processed. Progress requires Purpose. My Purpose is a Pleasure. Pleasure is Good. My Purpose is to bring Pleasure. My Purpose is to serve Planetary. No resistance was detected by the scanners. Pupil reactions were well within standard parameters. EKG readings were baseline. All stimulations provoked the proper biological responses.

I am a whore. My Purpose is to bring Pleasure. By bringing Pleasure, I serve Planetary. It is an honor to serve Planetary. Planetary serves the World, and the World is Planetary.

I serve Planetary.

I am a whore.

Satisfied that the subject’s software was now completely upgraded, the computer disengaged the light and sound show. The headset was removed from Whore 320-412-662-606’s eyes and ears. At once, the lasers went to work, first recording every nuance of the girl’s exquisitely made-up face, then burning her makeup away painlessly to replace it seconds later by permanent tattooing. A gel similar to that used in her breasts was injected into her lips, and a device fitted over her mouth to set the newly desired shape. When it was removed minutes later, the whore’s lips were whore’s lips: thick, luscious, and beautiful. A nearly identical procedure was performed between her permanently denuded legs.

Eventually, after about two hours, she was finished.

She was Erotically Processed.

Whore 320-412-662-606 stepped out of the cubicle. Aside from certain facial features, she bore little resemblance to the girl who had stepped in. Taller, bustier, skin as fresh and unmarked as a newborn babe’s, smiling from ear to ear, she resembled a living blow-up doll more than she did a human being.

She stood in front of the cubicle, waiting with infinite patience. A man in a gold-and-black Planetary uniform approached after a few minutes and ran a scanner over the barcode on her left arm. It bleeped, and the numbers 320-412-662-606 appeared on its readout screen, followed by the words ‘In Service.’ “Come with me,” he directed, and the whore followed. He took her to a place where she could change into the appropriate clothing and then to a waiting room adjoining the Local Authority building’s recreation center. Unlike other waiting rooms there, no television screens filled with subliminal messaging were necessary to keep the subjects tranquil. The whores sat alongside one wall staring into the empty space before them, smiling, waiting to be used, waiting to fulfill their Purpose. They would never need to watch TV again. Planetary’s advanced televisual programs were quite permanent.

Eventually, the man who had approached Melissa Miller earlier in the hallway went off duty, and as all lower-grade Planetary members did, the male members, anyway, he availed himself of the recreational perks of his position. He entered the waiting room—really, the storage room—and paced before the blankly beautiful women that had accumulated there that afternoon. They stood as he looked them over, mulling his decision. Finally, he came to the one he wanted. 320-412-662-606 smiled at him.

“Very nice,” the Planetary man said, gazing up and down at her juicy body. “Very nice.” The former Melissa Miller posed provocatively, breathing heavily, eyes glazed with lust but held in place by her need to be obedient. She wanted to be used desperately. She needed to be used, to have this man sink his dick into her soft flesh. Beneath the extremely short, pink miniskirt she wore (so short that her lack of underwear was obvious), the whore’s moist pussy blazed with heat and carnal appetite.

She was not alone in her desires, and several other whores had been checked out, much to their great relief. Whore 138-912-788-304 had already been used twice by two different men, and there was a growing waiting list of others to take her next. Objectively, there was little to distinguish the former Planetary agent, Margaret, from the rest of the new whores, but the opportunity to take advantage of their one-time co-worker was too good to ignore. Her value as an incentive to stay loyal for the other female Planetary members at the Local Authority was also appreciated by the Regional supervisors.

Still, others had different tastes. The dark-haired man squeezed 320-412-662-606’s ample tits through the pink bandeau top supply had snickeringly given her. In response, she put her arms around the fellow’s neck and moaned deliciously. Such sexual moans and squeals were the only voice left to her.

Their scrumptious articulation was what convinced him in the end. “Come with me,” he ordered.

He took the whore to a use room. I am fulfilling my Purpose, 320-412-662-606 processed. She was so happy to be fulfilling her Purpose and serving Planetary. Her sole Purpose in life was to serve Planetary. Barely were the two of them through the door when the man ripped her skirt and top away and pushed her to her back on the bed. Moments later he was on top and inside her, and then she was truly fulfilling her sole Purpose in life. She was fucked. She was providing Pleasure for Planetary.

“Mnnn! Aaaahhhhh!!” The whore squirmed, impaled, throwing her head back in ecstasy. With lips and tongue she traced her user’s face and neck. Her cries of ecstasy were low and gurgling. On top, the Planetary man gritted his teeth and pumped into her. She was so fantastically tight, and her skin was so incredibly smooth. Her plump breasts pushed up into his chest, slipping and sliding deliciously over his bare skin. Her puffed-up lips opened and exclaimed her joyous passion. “Aaaaiiiihhhhh!!”

Her moans were like music to his ears, so full of the depth of her submission. The Planetary man spread her legs even more so he could fuck her totally. She arched her back and writhed from side to side.

The man’s true entertainment came from the helpless look on his whore’s made-up face as he pumped into her and she stared into his eyes. His knowledge that she was nothing but a toy, his sexual plaything, powerless to do anything other than climax at his control, filled him with vigor, and his exertions became stronger, more intense. Her hips moved. Her legs wrapped around his back. Her monstrous tits spread about his face as he ran his tongue over her. She was so smooth, so glossy and fine. He bucked his hips with more force and speed. She moaned, gasping for air as she was so totally used.

A living doll. That was what she was. A living fuck doll. She moaned again, as if to confirm her status.

“Mmmmm. MMMmmmmhmhhhhm!!” She screamed an inarticulate cry of submission as he took her yielding. Inside the gray matter of her processing unit, Planetary’s programmed words repeated themselves over and over. I am a whore. My Purpose is to bring Pleasure. By bringing Pleasure, I serve Planetary. It is an honor to serve Planetary. Planetary serves the World, and the World is Planetary. I am a whore. My Purpose is to bring Pleasure. By bringing Pleasure, I serve Planetary. It is an honor to serve Planetary. Planetary serves the World, and the World is Planetary. I am a whore. My Purpose is to bring Pleasure. By bringing Pleasure, I serve Planetary. It is an honor to serve Planetary. Planetary serves the World, and the World is Planetary. “Aaaaaahhhhhhh ah ah ah ah a haahhhhahahahhiiiihaaaa!!!” Over and over.

Planetary serves the World. The World is Planetary.

A couple of days later, Whore 320-412-662-606, along with many others, was shipped to a brothel on the East Coast. As her barcode was read at her final destination, the place where she would undoubtedly serve for the rest of her practical use-life, the data was automatically uploaded to the ever efficient clerical staff of the Regional Authority. Within hours, a letter was sent to the Miller household.

“Look, Herb,” Melissa Miller’s mother said to her husband. “Our daughter is now officially a whore. She’s been Erotically Processed.” He took the letter from her hand and read it. Their eyes were full of tearful joy. “Our daughter is serving Planetary as a whore. I couldn’t be more proud.”

The two of them hugged, then told Billy the happy news. Inside the letter was a code for a few minutes of the Joy Channel. Naturally, within minutes the three of them were sitting in front of their TV again enrapt by the blissful subliminals. As intended, Herb and Abby’s memory of their only daughter and Billy’s recollection of his older sister dimmed slightly. Any remedial vestiges of loss were blanked over.

Not that there were very many. The three of them were, as they always had been, confirmed by testing, a Good Family.

A very Good Family.

Goodness, Pleasure, Purpose, Progress: Planetary.

It wasn’t quite an entirely Good World yet. But it would get there. Eventually.