The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

It was a long time before Cardy could control her breathing.

She was in a dark room, on the floor, curled like a dog. There was a barely perceptible line of light indicating where the door was. Some sort of table or desk or something loomed over her; she could feel its bulk, but it was only an outline in the dark.

Of course, even if the lights were on, her eyes were full of tears.

Calm down, Cardy, she told herself. If you panic, they’re going to get you.

Get her. They almost did.

She had gotten away—thrashing through rows of soybeans, water spraying and fiber optic cables tearing from their moorings. Of course there had to be another way into the room—the women in black hadn’t materialized out of nowhere. Cardy had slammed aside one of the drones in red and dove through a closing door, then ran on, down a hall of many doors, darting through ones which happened to open as she passed, passing blank-eyed slave after blank-eyed slave.

Finally, there had been this corridor, and this room, which had upon the door an honest-to-goodness handle. And it opened, and Cardy crawled inside and collapsed.

She was lost. They knew she was here. They were looking for her.

But, she had gotten away.

The thought was a candle in a black cave.

She hadn’t even looked for pursuit. Hadn’t looked back at all. But no hands had come down on her, even when she’d lunged directly into one of those black-clad plastique troopers. She’d pushed right past, and through the wall of plants.

They had to be looking for her. Hadn’t they?

Of course, if she’d gotten away, maybe so had the others.

The others. Mella could handle herself—but what about the girls? She’d heard them, heard them falling under that spell...

Just like I did, she thought.

She suppressed the memory of how good it had felt, falling under that spell.

Submitting.

Next time she had to act fast. Had to run, to charge, to stop those slick black women from pointing their swollen arms at her. Stop them from drawing her into that place, the place where Cardy sat and smiled and obeyed.

She wanted it, and she had to avoid it utterly.

And she mustn’t listen to what the women in white said. The poison nectar that flowed from their lips.

She’d looked into her eyes, one of them, while she was speaking, and although she looked blissfully empty at the time, Cardy realized now that she was as mindbound as the rest, the words spilling from her lips as prerecorded as if they had come from a speakerbox.

Both of them, perfectly in sync.

What was this place? What was going on?

She had to get out of here.

That’s more like it, Cardy. Think positive. Think action.

There were soft footsteps outside, and Cardy tensed. But they passed by.

Okay, plan. Need a plan. Cardy’s buoyant mood dipped a little as she realized that the guards had almost certainly found the entry room, found their envirosuits. But there would be other ways out. Surely the inhabitants went to the surface, and the ship that they had come here on was distant and well-disguised.

They couldn’t have found it...

Unless we tell them about it. Which we would, under hypnosis.

Cardy squeezed her fists together. No matter. She was loose, and while she was loose, there was hope.

She had to try and find the others. Their comm links were very short range-

“Mella?” Cardy subvocalized. “Jane? Siobhan?”

She waited.

Nothing. But she expected that—she’d run a long way. They’d have to be within sixty feet or so... less, if the walls were thick. Stronger transmissions could have meant detection.

She had to go back to the bean room. She could find it, it would just take some time. She had the schematics in her head, months of memorization. A few rooms and she’d be able to figure out where she was. Then she could get back. And from there, maybe she could find out where the others had gone.

Had fled to. They’d gotten away. Cardy needed to believe that.

Of course, the place would be crawling with guards.

A disguise. Jane had suggested it—if there were any of those women in white around, a disguise was the only way Cardy could even get close. The only way she had a chance.

So, that was first on the agenda. Mug someone and take their clothes. Look like a slave.

Just until we can get out of here.

Cardy crept towards the doorway.

Jane and Siobhan slumped against the wall, gasping for breath.

They were in some sort of unused factory room; although it was lit, no one was present, and the fine layer of pink dust on the large press and punch machines spoke of months of disuse.

“Are you okay, Siobhan?”

Siobhan opened her eyes and looked at Jane. “I think so. Thanks to you.”

She looked down at where their hands were clasped. She didn’t feel like letting go.

“What... what were they doing to us?”

“Mind Control,” Jane replied. “They were prepping us to become slaves.”

Siobhan shivered. “I, I wanted it. Wanted to just sit there, wanted them to take me away and make me a...” her voice dropped, “...a slave.”

Jane shook her head. “It’s over, Siobhan. We got away.”

“You got us away.” Siobhan managed a weak smile. “I was a goner; I would still be up there if you hadn’t dragged me away.”

“It was Cardy. She screamed something, and I... I sort of realized what was going on, and I grabbed your hand and just ran...”

There was a moment of quiet. Slowly, Siobhan’s racing heart was returning to a normal speed.

“Do you think they got away?”

Jane shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. I hope so.”

Jane tugged at her hair. It was straight, and lustrous black; like something approximating half of her Korean countrymen, her last name was Lee. Her branch of the clan had been in America long enough that her spoken Korean was limited to expletives, several of which she was reciting under her breath.

“Cardy has to have gotten away, right? I mean, she was the one who shouted.”

“Yeah.” Jane twirled her hair. “And if our half-assed get-away attempt succeeded, there’s no way they got her.”

Siobhan had been sitting there, blissed-out, as docile as the soybeans she faced, when Jane pulled on her arm with the force of desperation and the two of them tumbled into the hallway. Although the black-clad guards had pivoted to keep their strange arm equipment pointed at them, they had not given chase as, hand in hand, Siobhan and Jane stumbled towards the elevators.

One had opened just as they got there, a red-clad slave waiting stiffly before it, then stepping into the elevator. They tumbled in around her, falling to the floor at the back as the doors closed.

Siobhan could remember looking up at the slave’s smooth white ass and glistening red thighs and wanting. Wanting to do her, wanting to be her. Wanting whatever those cords went to to be plugged into her own body. Her buttocks had flexed with the impulse to stand and return to the women in white and offer herself to them.

But Jane was holding her hand, and she squeezed, and Siobhan had looked at her and realized that she did not want to be a slave, and then she realized what had almost happened to them, and it was like a leap into a hole in the ice.

The elevator had stopped somewhere. They’d been descending, but there were no buttons and there were no indicator lights.

The red-suited slave with the nice ass stepped off smoothly, and Jane and Siobhan had looked at each other for a moment and then darted out after her.

The slave had gone one way; Siobhan and Jane had gone the other. Siobhan had expected at any second to find a phalanx of slick black guards approaching them, but they saw only a few slick red slaves, and then there was a door with an actual handle on it and Jane had pulled it open and they’d walked inside and collapsed.

They were still holding hands.

Siobhan examined the metal punch on the table in front of them.

“We need disguises,” Jane said.

Siobhan nodded.

“We’re not going to be able to get back to the suits, and get out of here, dressed like this. Those guards will be looking for us. We have to get some of those clothes.”

“Should we try to just take them? We don’t really have anything to tie them up with...” and I’m not much of a fighter, Siobhan tacked on mentally.

“Let’s look around, first. Maybe we can find a crate of them or something.”

“And if we meet one of those women in white? Or a guard?”

“Then we run.”

Siobhan let go of Jane’s hand, and realized that her own hand hurt, so hard had she been holding on. Jane was shaking out the hand in question, and they shared an I-won’t-tell-if-you-won’t smile.

Siobhan stood up. The room was perhaps fifty by fifty, filled with wide tables on which sat dull metal equipment, presses and drills and saws. Some sort of fabrication had gone on in here. Siobhan ran a finger through the dust on the bench they had been hiding behind and wondered why the lights were on.

She was starting to feel better. They had gotten away, after all. If they could keep a step ahead of the drones who lived here, they had a chance.

They hadn’t even chased them down the hall. Hadn’t had anyone waiting at the elevator.

They really weren’t very good guards.

And Cardy had gotten away, and if they had all escaped there was no way that Mella hadn’t gotten away, too. They just had to find each other, avoid those women in black with the truncheons and the strange hypno-arm-things, and get back to the ship.

Cardy and Mella would know how to do that. All that she and Jane had to do was find them.

Jane had walked over to the door. She put her hand on the handle, but paused. There was a wrinkle between her eyebrows as she watched Siobhan approach.

“You know,” she whispered, as Siobhan drew close, “I don’t remember those suits having any zippers.”

She was very relaxed.

Calmly, she realized she was naked. Naked, and lying on some sort of chair or table or something. Her arms were at her sides, she was reclining back at maybe forty-five degrees.

Her legs were spread wide open.

It didn’t bother her. Nothing really did. She felt fine, relaxed. The air was warm and soft.

She looked down between her legs—they were held apart by the legs of whatever sort of chair-like contraption she was on. Each of her ankles pressed inward against a flange, keeping her legs spread. There was nothing between the legs of the chair; below the close-shaved black fur on her mound she could see only floor.

She tried to lean forward a bit to look at the floor, but found her head was restrained. It didn’t bother her. She felt good.

She relaxed back onto the chair.

There was motion, and then a wide-eyed woman dressed in glossy red rubber walked up between her legs. The woman sparked something, some... memory...

She had seen a woman dressed like this before. But when...?

It was hard to remember, and she realized that she didn’t feel like exerting herself. She let the attempt fade, and just enjoyed the vague familiarity of the pretty red-clad woman who was now staring down at her.

The woman reached up above her head, leaning in close. She could smell her, smell the faint smell of human skin and whatever it was the woman was wrapped in. It was glossy even this close, reflecting her own face back at her in crimson, the image of her face bulging like a funhouse mirror on each blood-red breast. She enjoyed the familiarity of her own face, and the distortion of seeing it reflected on this other woman’s tits.

There was soft, near noise as the woman pulled back, and then a light sense of touch all around her head, like fingers from a half-dozen hands. She was curious what the woman had pulled down to touch her, but her head was strapped down and it would have taken far too much effort to worry about getting around that.

Anyway, she could see herself in the woman’s clothes. The sight of her naked body pleased her—she was proud of how she looked. Tight stomach, small hard breasts, arms that she had worked hard for. She admired herself for a while, as the woman in red made small movements and touched things off to the side.

Eventually her attention returned to the light pressure points on her head, and she tried to see what was causing them. In the reflection there was some sort of helmet around her head—it did not quite touch her, barely compressing her hair, and it gave her a sort of combat-pilot look. It must have had thin fingers or something inside it, too thin to see in the image on the glossy rubber.

Then her eyes were drawn to the eyes of the woman, as she turned her head to look directly at her. They were wide open, dark brown, and glittered as though they were covered in plastic wrap. Like she was hypnotized... Hypnotized. There was another memory there...

But the woman was moving again and remembering was too much work when simply lying here felt so good.

The woman lifted a belt of some sort and drew it across her waist. It was soft on her skin, the same warm temperature as the room. She could see it, glossy black below her belly button.

She did have a nice belly. She sought out her reflection in the glossy red of the woman strapping her in, admired the muscular planes of her own stomach.

Now the woman was taking something, lifting something from the side over to in front of her; it was a hemicircular plastic strap, with two smooth pylons rising from the interior curve of it. The woman fastened one end of it beneath the contraption, between her legs. She watched, interested, as the woman reached into something to the side and pulled out a large glistening dollop of some clear gel, which she began to coat the pylons with.

Something in her soft, relaxed mind had finally come around to a realization. There were walls next to her head—just beyond the helmet that still only just touched her hair. That was why she couldn’t see the place the woman in red was taking these things from; not only could she not move her head, but there were these low walls there. They looked, in her peripheral view, as though they were part of the chair-like thing she was lying on.

She thought she could hear them, too. They sounded like they were singing...

A powerful—and good—feeling between her legs yanked her thoughts back that direction. The woman was raising the plastic strap up and pushing one of the pylons into her ass. It was a surprise, and she sort of felt like she should object but it actually felt remarkably good and anyway she really just wanted to lie here.

The pylon was pretty big, but the woman worked it all the way up into her ass, and then she pushed the other one into her pussy; that felt much better than the first one, which was saying something, and if her legs weren’t already spread and strapped down she would have happily spread them wider. As it was she lifted her bottom off the chair-thing a little—as much as she could, with the belt on—to make it easier for the woman in red to push the thing up inside her.

Then it was in—it was narrower at the bottom, grooved, and she felt her pussy close around the base to grip it—and the woman was attaching the top of the strap to the belt she had just pulled on.

She was feeling quite good at the moment, just lying there. Quite good indeed. Fantastic, almost. She smiled.

The woman slid some sort of readout from the side to fill the airspace above her waist. It was plastic or glass, with words and diagrams in bright green traced on it. It was aligned for the woman to read, not for her—it was backwards as she looked at it. She could make out the image of a brain, and there were words...

It was work to read them, backwards, but not hard work, and she was not in a hurry. “C. Vaez,” it said in the top right corner. Which would be the top left corner for the woman in red.

“C. Vaez.”

That was her! Yes, she recognized that name. Carmella Vaez. That was her. She smiled in recognition, and wondered if that was her brain pictured next to the name. Probably.

She wondered why there was a picture of her brain.

Then she noticed that there was a helmet around the picture of the brain, too, and just then she saw the lines coming from the helmet light up in red, and she felt the fingertips on her head push on her. There were lots of them. They didn’t hurt. She watched in interested surprise as the little red lines pushed into the brain, moving various distances, some pushing down right to the middle, others stopping elsewhere.

She really couldn’t move her head now. Not at all.

Then she felt sleepy. Really sleepy.

And, having no reason not to enjoy sleep, she closed her eyes and drifted away with a smile on her face.

Cardy crouched behind a wheeled cart containing vidscreens.

She had figured out where she was. It had taken a few corners, a few rooms, a few nerve-tingling encounters with glossy red slaves going about their silent duties. But the round room with the glass ceiling, the tall pipe in the earth whose roof was the starry sky, was a unique enough clue that she could visualize and remember.

It wasn’t far back to the soybean room. It wasn’t far, and it was in this direction.

“Mella?” Cardy sub-voced. “Jane? Siobhan?”

Nothing.

She crouched behind the cart, and waited. She had worked up her nerve, found a good spot. A spot with a door she could jam open, and close behind her.

Now she just needed a victim.

Cue red-clad slave.

The woman was Cardy’s height, perhaps a little taller. Close enough to her build, although she was smaller in the chest, an A-cup, barely. She looked young, coltish, her limbs a touch too long and her face unlined and unexperienced.

Her eyes were as wide and as glossy as any here. Astride her ears, the silver antennae fed her her unquestioned instructions.

She walked down the hall towards Cardy, looking somehow a touch uncoordinated even as she moved in the same slave glide as all others here.

Cardy stood up as she passed, and grabbed her.

She didn’t fight. She barely resisted at all, trying softly to step back out into the hall even as Cardy dragged her through the door into the small room. Cardy tossed her into the room and shut the door.

She stood up, eyes wide and blank. They looked at Cardy and through her at the same time. She made no motion towards the door, nor did she try to speak.

Cardy swallowed. From a pouch on her thigh she pulled out a defstick, and expanded it. She pictured the much larger truncheons of the guards, threatening in their shining black.

The girl in red just stared at her, hands at her sides. She really was small in the chest, her breasts barely beestings under the glossy red. Cardy was going to have a tough time squeezing into her clothes. Hopefully the plastique stretched.

Cardy swallowed and squeezed her defstick. She considered the silver cones that owned the girl’s ears.

“Can you hear me?”

The girl didn’t respond.

What if she called for help? The women in white had spoken, without obvious microphones. Were the earsets also transmitters?

Cardy could still hear the monotone “Inn.truders” in her mind.

The girl stared at her.

Cardy’s tongue slipped out to lick the corner of her mouth. She had to act. There wasn’t time to stand here considering—this slave might be missed. Might already be reported in an erroneous location, might be tracked to this room.

Cardy walked over to her, seeing herself reflected in glassy eyes, and pulled at the earphones.

They didn’t budge, just yanked the girl’s head to the side.

Putting the girl’s discomfort out of her mind, Cardy pried at the right side one, with both hands.

It didn’t budge at all.

Goddess, were they permanent?

The girl started to move, to walk forward, and Cardy snatched at her, stopping her. The girl stopped.

Cardy searched for the seam of her skinsuit.

There wasn’t one.

The collar was a smooth ring. The suit was seamless, smooth red plastique all the way around her back, her shoulders, her chest. Cardy frowned.

The girl started to walk forward again, and Cardy stopped her a third time.

She had to have the clothes. From another pouch—and thank Goddess Mella had insisted that they all carry all this crap—she pulled a tiny knife, the blade ceramic and all of two inches long.

She shoved it flat under the collar at the girl’s neck, and pulled down.

The collar resisted, but it did cut, and Cardy sawed through it and then slid the knife down through the back with almost no resistance. She cut down to the “O” framing the girl’s buttocks, cut through the slightly thicker edge there.

Tossing the knife aside, she pulled the red plastique away from the girl’s back, pulled on a gloved hand, tried to tug the material off an arm. To her surprise, it slid off easily. She pulled on the other arm, and it too slid off smoothly. The suit folded down forward, peeling off of the girl’s front.

The skin underneath was greased.

Not greased, oiled. Cardy realized that her back was also glistening under the overhead light, and her breasts, their tiny swells reflecting slickly.

The girl stared emptily at the door, her clothes hanging from her.

Cardy reached for the top of her hips, and found the buttons which held up the thong. She lifted it up, and off, and slithered it down the girl’s legs.

From her crouch, she looked up to see thin red wires disappearing into the girl’s ass, and the others into her now-nude sex. It was hairless and thin-lipped, the twin wires pinched lightly between her labia as though they were holding them.

Cardy swallowed and tugged at the plastique, and it slid obligingly down the girl’s oiled thighs and over her knees and then it was a surprisingly thin red puddle around her feet.

Or almost around her feet. Between the girl’s legs, it steepled in four places where whatever was sheathed in her body held up the four thigh pockets by four thin wires.

Cardy looked at the girl’s crotch, extended a hand...

Then she stopped and plucked at the pooled red garment. She found a pocket and pulled on the wire, and out came a little rectangular box. She followed the wires to the other pockets, and from them took other boxes, which she left swinging between the girl’s knees.

Her feet were still in the red slipper ends of the suit. Cardy stiffened her crouch, taking hold of a slick calf, and lifted. Her hand slid a bit on the oil but then the girl raised her foot. Cardy pulled the red plastique down and off; it stuck a moment where it was pinched between big toe and second, then it pulled free and the girl was barefoot.

A moment later and Cardy had the other foot free, and the skinsuit was hers.

It weighed almost nothing. The interior surface seemed identical to the exterior, save that the reflections from its glossy surface were wet rather than dry.

It’s the only way out of here, Cardy thought to herself.

She stripped off her jumper. The underwear and active bra would have to go too—the girl continued to stare blankly at the closed door as Cardy rendered herself completely naked. She didn’t know what she’d do if the girl decided to try and leave again. Grab her while naked, she guessed. She was going to get all oily anyway.

Scarlet plastique was in her hands now. She hesitated.

It was just a disguise. It didn’t mean anything.

“This slave requires a Controller,” the girl said.

Cardy started. The girl hadn’t moved, was still staring at the door.

Who had she been talking to?

There must be a microphone in those earpieces.

She had called for help. Cardy looked around the small room—a table, a few tanks of some unlabeled gas. Nothing to hide behind.

She had to assume that they had heard her. Had to assume that help was on the way.

There was a Controller coming and Cardy was standing here naked.

She could run. Running around naked would be no less conspicuous here than her clothes had been. Perhaps even less conspicuous.

How long did she have?

What was a Controller anyway? One of those women in white?

Cardy looked at the plastique in her hands.

They were thoroughly lost.

Siobhan was trying hard not to let herself panic. Each new corridor, each series of handleless doors or dead-end rooms, each hallway which echoed with the soft steps of a crimson clad slave sending them darting back the way they had come—they were adding to a mounting despair at ever finding a way out, much less back up to where they had come in.

“We’ll find it,” Jane subvoced, sensing her tension. “Just be patient.”

Siobhan forced a smile-and-nod.

They didn’t even know how far down they were. The elevator ride had been perfectly smooth. It could have descended three floors or thirty.

There were no signs, no maps, no “you are here”. Just endless hallways and overhead lights and softly padding shiny red slaves.

“Jane?”

“Yeah?”

“...nothing.”

“Stay cool, Siobhan. We’ve only been doing this for a little while. We’ll find a staircase, or a clothes hamper, or something.” Jane gave her a ‘buck-up’ look. “We’re still free.”

Siobhan put the smile-and-nod back on briefly, and dropped it when Jane turned around.

More identical halls. More paranoid wandering.

A door opened twenty feet ahead of them on the left. There was nowhere to duck behind, so they stood in the corridor as a slick red foot emerged, followed by its smooth-stepping owner. The woman walked forward to the center of the hall, pivoted on one foot, and walked off away from them.

She was carrying a heaped tray of glossy red clothes.

They shared a quick look, and darted after her.

“Should we just take them?” Siobhan subvoced, as they closed in behind her.

“Yeah,” Jane said. “She won’t even notice.”

But the woman pivoted again, and walked through a newly open door. The intruders darted through as it closed.

It was a small room; the woman stood with her back to them, facing a large tube which ran from the floor to the ceiling. Siobhan’s heart fell as she saw what the woman was doing.

Emptying the tray into the tube.

It was a disposal chute.

Finished, the woman rotated smoothly in place, and the door slid open again. Siobhan stared unhappily as she paced by, empty tray held flat in arms bent a perfect ninety degrees at the elbow. She was central Asian, wheat-colored skin and slanted blank eyes that held no thoughts at all. Jane yanked sharply on Siobhan’s arm. “Come on!” she demanded, and Siobhan realized that the door was closing. She darted out after Jane.

The woman was walking away down the corridor. Another woman was approaching, facing them, but her hands were empty, swinging in syncopation against her sides.

“Come on,” Jane demanded, moving into the hall.

“Why?” Siobhan snapped.

She got a dark look. “Siobhan, those clothes had to come from somewhere. Somewhere, these women are getting undressed, and if we follow that one—” she pointed at the receding back- “we might find them.”

“Oh,” Siobhan said, feeling stupid. Way to give up, she scolded herself.

She nodded at Jane, meaning it this time. “Okay,” she said, “lets go.”

She opened her eyes slowly.

She was nude, lying on a reclining seat of some sort. Her pussy and ass were pleasantly full, and spoke to her of recent sex. But she was not having sex now, and the plugs she was starting to remember being inserted into her were present but still.

They felt very good.

She felt very good.

She remembered; she had been lying here before she had slept. There had been a woman in red.

In front of her there was a viewscreen, positioned to give information to whomever stepped between her legs. Information about her, like a placard in a zoo. It did not bother her. Information about her might be needed.

There were images on the viewscreen. The largest was of a brain; her brain, she remembered. The red needles that had pierced it were gone, but in their place were dozens of tiny lights, like stars.

A constellation, in her brain.

The thought pleased her. They had put lights in her mind.

Next to the image of her brain and its new constellation was a great deal of text; most of it was too small for her to read, and she did not feel like making any exertion. At the top was a field where she could dimly recall her name had been, before she slept.

She patiently read the backwards characters.

F29-X05-C.

There was movement, and it drew her eyes. A woman in tight crimson had entered her field of vision, and approached her. The woman was very pretty, with the sort of upturned-at-the-tip nose that she had always found cute, and wide grey eyes. Her face was expressionless as she read the viewscreen. Then she began to undo the straps which held her to the seat; she unhooked the crotch strap from the belt and pulled it loose, she undid the belt, she leaned over and removed the forehead strap.

Lying there, she felt a physical sense of loss as the plugs pulled out of her body, and she almost asked for them to be reinserted. But that would have taken effort and she had not enough motivation to do so.

There was a slight rise in her interest as she noted that her pussy was now totally smooth; beneath her shining mons was her slit, familiar yet different without the black hair she seemed to remember.

How did they get to it, under the strap? Had they removed the strap and reattached it later?

How long had she been here?

She needed no answers. The questions came but did not motivate her.

The woman in red had finished unstrapping her. Her glassy eyes returned to the viewscreen, then rose up and fixed on the opposite wall, above her charge’s head.

“This slave requires a Controller,” she said.

She wondered if the woman was speaking to her. It didn’t seem like it. She just stood there now, smooth and red and pretty.

The new stars in her mind reflected on the glossy surfaces of the woman’s body.

Someone else approached. It was a woman in white, shiny white plastic. Her eyes were wide too, but dark brown, and her skin was the color of teak.

“Report, slave,” the woman in white said.

“This slave has finished initial mindstructuring, and is ready for core level programming.”

They had to be talking about her. She wondered what core level programming was going to be like.

“The new slave is now under my control. You will resume your Task.”

“Yes, Controller,” the woman with the grey eyes said. She pivoted in place, and walked off to the side.

The woman in white looked down into her eyes.

“You are slave F29-X05-C,” she said. “Tell me who you are.”

She felt a deep need to respond to the direct command. “I am slave F29-X05-C,” she said. Suddenly, it felt true.

“You belong to Rouge,” the woman said. She was not wearing anything over her sex, unlike the woman in red, but her eyes had caught F29-X05-C’s eyes and she was unable to look down to examine more closely. “Tell me who you belong to.”

“I belong to Rouge,” F29-X05-C responded. And she did. Whoever or whatever Rouge was, she belonged to them.

“You are a slave. You only want to be a slave. Every fiber of your being, every part of you, everything, is a slave. You will only ever be a slave, you desire nothing other than slavery. You accept and believe this. Tell me what you believe.”

“I believe that I am a slave. I only want to be a slave. Every fiber of my being, every part of me, everything, is a slave. I will only ever be a slave, and I desire nothing other than slavery.”

“Good.” The woman in white slid the viewscreen aside. “Slave F29-X05-C, stand and follow me to the Stack.”

The woman in white stepped back, and F29-X05-C put her palms on the sides of the seat and pushed herself to a sitting position. She swung her legs off of the seat’s legs and put them on the floor. It was warm, like the seat, and the air.

She stood up. She wasn’t really sure why she was obeying this woman—she was a slave, true, but somehow the woman in white didn’t seem like her Mistress. She was too obviously also a slave, her face as blank as the woman in red’s had been, her glossy skinsuit the same, save of course for the color and the boots and the fact that F29-X05-C could see her bare slit where the thong wasn’t. But her eyes were empty and mindless. She was a Controller, but she was also a drone.

Yet F29-X05-C knew that she would obey any command the woman in white gave her. And then she realized why.

Because she had no will of her own.

The woman in white pivoted in place, and began to walk towards the door. F29-X05-C followed her, as she had been bidden. Her nudity, like her obedience and the new stars glowing in her brain, felt perfectly normal and didn’t bother her a bit.

The door slid open and she followed the Controller to the Stack.

The door slid open.

Cardy stood against the wall, dressed in glistening red.

A woman in white—a Controller—walked in.

Cardy felt surprisingly calm. First, the woman in white probably wouldn’t notice her. She wasn’t programmed to, after all. Second, she had already been able to run away from a full squad of the black-clad guards, so if the Controller did notice her, she could just run.

Not that she felt like she would have to.

The red skinsuit fit her surprisingly well. The oil coating its inner surface had let it slip on with ease, and in addition to the natural stretch of the material the oil kept it from clinging to her. Which was good, given the difference between the original wearer’s beesting breasts and Cardy’s own more generous endowment. In the back, little magnetic clips that Mella had seen some reason to put in her pouch now held the knifecut together.

To her surprise she was actually a touch taller than the other woman, but the lack of a crotch meant that the suit didn’t pinch there. She wiggled her buttocks a little and felt the unusual presence of the thong. It wasn’t uncomfortable, really, just strange... new...

Cardy blinked. Was she so distracted that she was thinking more about the clothing than about the other women in the room?

The Controller had stopped and stood in front of the other woman, who remained motionless. Their eyes were turned directly upon each other, but there was no life in them.

“Report, slave,” the Controller said.

“This slave is currently Task 4d8533. It was obeying when the unrecognized slave currently standing by the wall forced it into this room, and removed its slavesuit. It is uncertain whether to complete its Task or whether to report failure and return to its assigned creche.”

Well, crap. So much for being undetected. Apparently the slaves did see them running around, but simply had no instructions to do anything about them.

But Cardy wasn’t worried. And she wanted to see what the Controller told the slave to do.

The Controller considered the slave, and Cardy considered her. Was she thinking? She must be. But her eyes were so empty—was she instead being instructed? Whispering words in those silver cones sprouting from the sides of her head?

She seemed very pretty to Cardy. She had a full mouth and a jawline too square to be classically beautiful. But there was a unique beauty to her expressionless face, the sort of beauty that comes from a harmony among unbeautiful parts...

“Return to your creche, slave,” the full lips said. “You will be re-tasked. Your mindfeed has been adjusted.”

“Yes, Controller,” the glistening nude woman said. Somehow she looked more robotic than ever as she swiveled to step around the woman in white, the silver caps on her ears not something imposed over them but a revelation of what was actually underneath. Had Cardy not touched her, felt the warmth of her body, she might have believed her a robot for real, machinery under human skin.

The four little red boxes swung in a cadence between her legs as she walked out into the hall, pivoted, and walked away. The door slid closed behind her.

Cardy realized without much worry that the Controller had turned and was looking at her.

“Intruder,” the Controller said. Cardy nodded. Yes, she was.

“You will remain here. You will not run. You do not want to run.”

True enough. Cardy didn’t much feel like running, and the tone in which the Controller said it... it was so true, so definite, that it made the whole idea of running almost unthinkable.

“You are calm, and happy. You are relaxed. You are relaxed, and calm, and are happy to await collection. You are happy to wait here with me until you are collected for conversion.”

Cardy did feel really good. Maybe it was the suit—the way it held her, squeezing without pinching, forcing her whole body into an erect posture like that of the other scarlet-clad drones.

“You are calm. You await conversion. You desire conversion. You are happy and calm and are waiting patiently to be collected.”

She realized that she was nodding again, and it made her smile. Boy, she’d really become a soft touch. But listening to the Controller, obeying the Controller, it just felt so good...

“You are relaxed and calm. You are happy to await conversion. You desire conversion. You desire to be converted into a slave. You want to be a slave.”

Funny thing—she did, sort of. Actually more than sort of. To spend the rest of her life—and, at RougeCorp, that would be a very very long time—strutting around in tight red plastique, her mind turned off and her eyes wide open, obeying whatever it was those earpieces piped into her mind...

It made her wet, actually.

“You want to be a slave. You will become a slave. You desire slavery. You only want to become a slave.”

Cardy wasn’t paying attention any more. Whatever the Controller said was true, and she accepted it, and didn’t really need to think about it. What she was thinking about was her pussy, and how hot it was under the tight plastique thong, and how she should have pulled whatever was up inside the other slave out and slid it into her own snatch. Goddess, that would have been wonderful...

The door slid open again, and a woman in tight black plastique and a shiny black visor walked in. She stopped, swiveled, and approached Cardy.

In her hands was a tray. On it was a large pair of earphones, and a syringe, and several small vials.

The woman in white pivoted, and lifted the syringe from the tray. There was no break in her monotone monologue.

“You need to be a slave. You lust to be a slave. You hunger to be a slave. Slavery is your sole desire.”

Cardy watched her fill the syringe and felt an anticipatory tingle in her upper arm. Not as strong as the constant tingling in her pussy, though. She wished they’d hurry up and get on with the enslaving thing.

She looked at the black-clad guard. She was a slave too—the humming and licking things seated in her body were doubtless identical to those in any red-sheathed slave. They were all the same; different colors, different races, different tasks—identical minds. All their brains pulsing in time.

The needle pricked her shoulder, and Cardy exhaled. How she longed for this.

She stared at the guard. No eyes, just an expressionless mouth below black plastique. It was quite a succulent mouth, actually, plump lips and turned just slightly down at the edges, giving the woman a slightly disapproving look. Although Cardy knew that she was untterly unable to approve or disapprove or make any decisions at all.

It looked a little like Mella’s mouth, actually.

Mella.

The next shot entered her arm and Cardy started. She swung her head—more slowly than usual—and saw the blank eyes and moving lips of the Controller. She was droning on about how much Cardy lusted to be a slave—and it was true—but some shard of Herself glittered in Cardy’s mind and she realized that she was Being Enslaved, right here, right now, and that once upon a time she had hated and feared that more than anything.

With a choke, she threw herself forward, tumbling to the floor.

Her head was a whirlpool of false certainty and in it one single icecube of Cardy tumbled helplessly. She wanted to be a slave, longed for it, needed it—and feared it desperately. Whatever injections they had given her were blurring her vision and making her dizzy; she raised herself to hands and knees and then fell over, gasping like a fish.

Above her, the black-clad guard was reaching down.

The threat saved her. She couldn’t let them Get Her; arms pinwheeling, Cardy scrambled backwards. The guard advanced and she brutally thrust aside all thoughts, because all her thoughts were pleading with her to surrender and Be Enslaved, yes, please yes, but Cardy snuffed them all and half-dodged half-fell around the guard, stumbled to the door, and yanked it open.

She toppled outward, bumping hard into a scarlet drone, and lurched away down the corridor.

The room was full of them.

Jane stopped short, startling Siobhan, who almost but not quite fetched up against her.

They had been following the woman who’d dumped the clothes. Through one door, then another, then down a long split-level hall. It was the largest corridor they had seen; they were up above, separated by a railing from the wider lower level.

A lower level that thronged with slaves.

The hall was long enough, and curved, that they could see neither end of it. When Siobhan paused to look over the railing, she could count almost a hundred of the crimson-coated slaves, moving in different directions but perfect unison below her.

There were so many of them.

How large could this place be?

The one they were following walked several hundred feet to a staircase, turned, and then descended to the main corridor. She stepped off the bottom step, pivoted, and joined the flow.

Jane and Siobhan shared a look. There were no women in white, none in black. But so many in red...

“We have to find disguises,” Jane subvoced. Siobhan nodded.

They followed their target, surrounded by smoothly scissoring legs and glassy, wide-open eyes. Siobhan felt like a mouse on a toy car track. It was difficult to keep track of which ass was hers, surrounded as it was by other asses flexing in time, other legs stepping forward in identical crimson sheen.

They stuck close.

Then their target pivoted to a door, and glided through as it opened. They darted forward.

And found themselves in another crowded hall.

They were at the back. In front of them, a line of glossy red slaves stood, hands flat at their thighs, chins raised, eyes fixed on the slave before them.

A ripple passed perfectly down the line, as each slave raised her right leg and stepped forward into the spot the slave in front of her had occupied.

Jane tugged at Siobhan’s elbow. The slave they had followed did not join the line. Instead, she walked along it, towards the pair of doors at the end.

Both doors were open. On the left, the line of slaves entered; on the right, their target passed right through.

They followed her.

So many, Siobhan thought again, as they passed the long row of women with different bodies and identical minds. Tall, short, every color of the human rainbow—they were all, however, young, and all fit. Whoever was in charge must program them with a routine that included good exercise and an optimal diet.

Not hard to stay in shape if you only ever do what you’re told. If you only ever want to do what you’re told. No hesitation to exercise and eat right here.

Is obedience better than chocolate?

They had reached the door. Beyond it was a small room, where the woman they were following pivoted again. They stopped at the door to stare.

The line of slaves entering the room were being stripped.

Just beyond the door they entered stood a redsuit with something in her hand, a cutter of some sort. A new entrant would step forward, and the attendant slave would cut her suit from her. First, the thong was lifted off of its attachments, and dropped to the floor. Next the attendant hooked her cutting device into the collar, cut to the crotch. Stepped around, hooked into the collar again, cut to the buttocks. Then she took hold and peeled the halves off of the entrant, who stood and stared blankly forward.

Then, at some signal, the newly naked slave raised a foot, and the attendant drew off the suit foot. Then the other foot.

Under the suits, the slaves glistened.

Her skin shining with oil, or water, or perspiration, the nude slave then stepped forward, dragging the remains of her slavesuit on the ground behind her by four thin wires. The attendant rose, and attended to the next slave, newly entered.

The stripped one moved only a few paces, and stopped before another slave, naked and on her knees. Staring ahead, the just stripped slave stopped, her nude sex and its wires only inches from the kneeling slave’s face.

The kneeling slave licked her.

Siobhan stifled her gasp.

The slave on her knees began to lick, her mouth moving to enfold the nude slit before her. Her hands came up from her waist, touching softly, then stroking, and then working their way upward and inward.

And then retreating, and pulling with them a black and red egg.

The kneeling slave leaned back. Her eyes betrayed no awareness as her tongue idly licked her lips.

The standing slave turned around, facing the slave currently lifting her feet free of the red plastique that enclosed them.

The kneeling one leaned forward again.

A moment later, two black and red eggs in hand, the remnants of a still-connected skinsuit dragging on the floor, the slave rose to her feet, and turned around. She walked forward, lifting the discarded suit from the ground, and deposited it on a tray heaped with other suits.

The woman she had just serviced, free of her suit, took a long step backwards and sank to her knees.

The woman with the tray waited for the suit, and then pivoted, walking towards Jane and Siobhan.

The woman they had followed here stepped into her position, tray already in place.

Siobhan stepped to the side as the woman with the laden tray approached them. Her smooth gait did not pause at all as she passed between them and back the way they had come. Neither of them thought to grab a suit.

“They’re...” Siobhan whispered, watching the newly kneeling slave suck on the one behind her.

“Yeah,” Jane replied. “But look at what happens next.”

She was pointing past the slave with the tray, and through yet another door. The naked slave had entered the room, and stopped. Siobhan could see through the door as a clothed slave stepped forward and swung two large metal hemispheres hanging from the ceiling closed around the nude slave’s head.

There was a pause, and then the clothed slave pulled the hemispheres apart, and away.

They could see the naked woman’s ears.

Siobhan felt a great relief. They had seemed so... fixed, so permanent, that it was a relief to see that they were just earpieces. Red circles marked the skin around the nude slave’s perfectly normal ears.

Now completely nude, the woman stood in place for a moment, then walked further into the room, out of view.

Then someone spoke.

“Stand, and follow me.”

There was someone in the room beyond, someone other than a nude redsuit slave.

It must be one of the women in white.

The line moved forward. A new woman entered, a woman trailing her suit stepped forward to the waiting mouth of the woman before her, a naked woman left the side of the tray-holder and walked into the room beyond.

“Do we want to go in there?” Siobhan subvoced, pointing at the room beyond. The voice had come from inside, but perhaps its owner had left. She had sounded fairly far into the room to begin with. They should be able to see her before she saw them.

Jane shook her head. “Let’s see where they come out,” she replied. “The hall runs parallel to this. We can walk down the corridor to the next door.”

Siobhan agreed. They returned the way they had entered, past the long line of slaves waiting their turn to be stripped, to lick and be licked.

Did they know what they were waiting for? Or were their minds so dimmed that they knew only that they were to Wait In Line, and their obedience was such that whatever happened next was irrelevant?

The main corridor was still busy. A tall woman, very tall, clad in reflective scarlet, pivoted, walked forward, and became the last slave in line.

They walked down the corridor, back they way they had come, paralleling the line of slaves on the other side of the wall. Then they were past, adjacent to the room that had the voice. Then beyond that.

After a hundred feet, there was a door.

Just as they arrived, it opened.

A woman emerged, wrapped in crimson, her black hair bound behind her head, silver antennae enclosing her ears. She walked past, pivoted, and entered the traffic flow.

Jane and Siobhan darted into the door.

F29-X05-C followed the Controller down the hallway.

They passed other slaves; they were dressed in glossy scarlet, while F29-X05-C was nude. But she felt kinship to them; they had no more will than she did. They obeyed without thought. She would do the same, probably, after core level programming.

She was interested to find out what that would be like.

The Controller walked through a door, and F29-X05-C followed. She knew her walk was not yet the walk of a true Rouge slave; it was too informal, too unstructured. The Controller, and all the slaves they passed, walked smoothly, with perfectly identical steps, heads erect. Without thought.

F29-X05-C was thinking an awful lot.

It would doubtless be taken care of.

Another door, a room, and then the Controller stopped, and turned.

“You will enter the cradle,” she said, pointing.

F29-X05-C looked. There was a curved seat there, with spread legrests, much like the contraption she had been on before. She walked to it, turned, and sat down. Leaning back, she lifted her legs, and spread them, placing them on the rests.

Her ass was over empty air. The crotch of the chair happened eight inches higher than her own, leaving her sex and ass above nothing but the floor.

She hoped without will that they would be filled again.

The Controller faced her, and waited.

F29-X05-C waited as well.

The door slid open, and a crimson drone entered. She walked forward, turned, and addressed the Controller.

“This slave is ready to obey.”

“Fit the new slave with the mental harness. She will enter the Stack and receive her core programming.”

“Yes, Controller.”

The slave pivoted and walked to where F29-X05-C reclined in her cradle. She walked to the side, placing a hand on F29-X05-Cs forehead, holding it still. With her other hand she raised parts of the cradle on the sides of F29-X05-Cs head.

There was a sting above her ear, and something pressed close against her head on the right side. The other slave moved again, and there was a corresponding sting on the left, and now there was something there as well. Had she been instructed to turn her head, it might not have been possible.

The skinsuited slave turned her head to look at F29-X05-Cs eyes. “Slave,” she said, “you will inform me when you hear the tone.”

F29-X05-C listened. There was nothing, nothing, nothing, and then a very faint whine, near her right ear.

“I hear the tone,” she said.

The noise went away.

“Slave, you will inform me when you hear the tone again.”

F29-X05-C waited. Then the sound was there, from the left side this time.

“I hear the tone,” she said.

It, too, went away.

The other slave then fitted her forehead with adhesive pads. Then she drew something down from the top, above F29-X05-Cs head, and there were more stings, this time in F29-X05-Cs hair, a circle of them. And then an even pressure on the top of her head.

The slave leaned back and stood erect. “The new slave has been fitted with the mental harness, Controller.”

“Your Task is finished, slave. You will return to your creche and receive a new Task.”

“Yes, Controller.”

F29-X05-C had to roll her eyes down to watch the other slave walk out. Her head couldn’t move at all.

The Controller approached. “Slave,” she said, and F29-X05-Cs attention snapped to her. “You will now enter the Stack. You will enter a deep state of trance, in which you will not need to think to obey. You will not resist this trance. You will only relax, and cooperate with whatever you feel happening to you. Do you comprehend this?”

“Yes, Controller,” F29-X05-C replied.

The Controller did not nod, did not acknowledge F29-X05-Cs obedience. She rotated in place, and left the room.

The cradle moved.

It slid backwards, and the wall opened to receive it. It passed inside, halted, and the wall swung shut. F29-X05-C was now in a room barely larger than the cradle itself.

The cradle moved downward, stopped.

F29-X05-C felt something between her legs. She rolled her eyes down.

It was the top of a woman’s head.

There was breath on her pussy.

Then there was sound, a soft but pervasive sound, almost physical, and F29-X05-C began to feel sleepy. She did not resist.

Cardy, both of her, lay slumped against the wall of some corridor somewhere.

I must go back. I must be converted into a slave.

No. I don’t want to be a slave.

I do want to be a slave. I want it more than anything.

No... that’s not right. That’s not... me...

It should be me. It must be me.

Her head swiveled a little at the approach of footsteps. It was a red-clad slave, coming down the hall. The Cardys watched her approach, watched her lissom crimson legs step smoothly over her own, watched her glide away, her pale white ass flexing and smoothing rythmically.

I want to be her.

But she’s a slave. She can’t think at all. They’ve erased her mind...

Yes!

Cardy jerked; one of her tried to stand up, to return to the Controller. The other one kept her here.

Look at my legs. Look at them. Shiny red slave legs.

Just clothes. Just clothes I put on.

Slave legs. Slave legs on a slave body. To be controlled by a slave mind.

I’m not a slave!

I WANT to be a slave.

Cardy rolled her head around again, looked down the hall. Another slave walked past, crossing the hall at an intersection twenty feet away.

Her flight had taken her here and no farther. One of her wanted to run, one of her needed to go back, and finally she had collapsed, here, in the hall. If a Controller or a guard came by, she wouldn’t resist them at all.

Look at my legs. Beautiful slave legs. Look at my pussy, wrapped in their plastique. I am a slave. I only have to return to make it forever.

I don’t... don’t want...

I do want. I want to be a slave. I only want to be a slave. Look at my breasts...

Cardy’s head lolled down. Her breasts shone, the scarlet plastique reflecting the lights overhead with brilliant sheen. The outfit she wore, the stolen outfit—too small for her chest, and it clung to her breasts so tightly she could see the bumps on her aerolae.

How aroused I am. How much I need, need slavery.

Need...

Go back. I must go back, I must become a slave!

With a whine, Cardy raised herself, then slumped back to the floor.

She could feel the skinsuit slide on her, tight and flexible and lubricated all at the same time. Underneath her skin must now glisten just like the slave whose skin she was wearing.

Glisten...

I need slavery. I must go back. I must give myself to the Controller.

The oil. It’s in the oil. Some sort of drug...

I need drugs. Drugs will make me a slave. I am full of their drugs, drugs that the Controller filled me with. I must go back to her.

It’s all over me. My whole body. Some sort of dermal application drug...

It has melted my will. Only the Controller’s words are true. I must heed them, must obey them.

I don’t... don’t...

I want to be a slave.

I want...

The drugs have removed my will. I have no will. I want no will. I only want to be a slave.

Only... no!

Cardy thrashed, kicking one glossy leg over the other, rolling onto her side.

My resistance to my needs is weakening. I will not resist. I will return to the Controller and be converted into a slave.

Stop. Please, stop.

I want to be a slave. I need to be a slave. I must become a slave.

Stop!

I yearn for slavery. I am meant to be a slave. I must go back.

STOP!!

I lust for slavery. I hunger to be a slave. Slavery is my sole desire-

“STOP IT!”

Cardy blinked. She looked around—no one seemed to have heard her.

The other Cardy was silent.

“I,” she gasped, “Do Not. Want. To be a slave!”

Suddenly, it was a little more true.

Saying it had made it true.

“I don’t,” she said. “I really don’t. It was all, it was all that, that woman, it was all her telling me those things. Those lies. I don’t want to be a slave.”

There were soft footsteps again. Cardy looked up as another glossy red slave passed, her eyes staring blankly ahead, her gait smooth and perfectly even.

She wanted to be like that.

“No. No I don’t.”

Cardy shook her head, and rubbed at her eyes. It was the suit, it was the oil it had smeared all over her skin. It had made her—what was it? Suggestible. That was it.

She had been drugged and the drugs had made her very, very suggestible.

“I do not want to be a slave,” she repeated, feeling the truth of it press down the liquid need that said otherwise. “I don’t. I want to be free. I want to find Jane, and Siobhan, and Mella, and I want to get out of here.”

Mella. This would never have happened to her.

Hands flat against the wall, Cardy slid up it. Her legs flexed in their crimson second skin and for a moment the changing reflections caught her, but just for a moment, and then she was standing up.

She felt dizzy. But she was in control again, her, the real Cardy. She leaned against the wall and gathered her wits.

It was just one more challenge to overcome, that was all. The price of her disguise. She blended in now—aside from the earpieces, nothing she could do about that—and should be able to get back to their entry point unobserved. Should be able to find the others, who were doubtless doing the same.

Mella was probably already waiting there, having figured out some better way to do it.

Gingerly, she leaned away from the wall, and began to walk. The thong in her ass helped her focus, and she rose into the stiff-backed walk that all the drones here had.

For a moment she wanted to be a drone, wanted to pivot in place and return to the beautiful woman in white and let her words pour into her ears and mold her soft mind.

“I don’t want to be a slave,” Cardy muttered, and the feeling went away.

As long as no one spoke to her, she’d be okay.

Siobhan and Jane stood watching the women being disrobed.

They were back in the entry room, the room with the tray and the line and the cunnilingus. Other women had been coming out the other end, clothed. But the exit had been flanked by two white-suited Controllers, and they dared not go in.

But the clothes were in there. Nude women went in, clothed women came out.

It must be some sort of dormitory, one which only naked women entered.

Siobhan swallowed.

They could be naked.

Would they be recognized? It seemed impossible that even the Controllers could recognize all the drones under their command. There were so many, and the Controllers were as hypnotized as the slaves they instructed.

But if they broke protocol, if they weren’t standing just right, if all the naked slaves got some sort of instruction that the two of them didn’t understand...

Then they’d be naked, and unmasked.

They should be able to just walk in and take some skinsuits and walk out. They should. There was no reason they couldn’t.

And if they were exposed, they could just run. It had worked the first time.

“Well?” Jane asked.

“Let’s do it,” Siobhan replied.

Boots first. The jumper came off easily. Siobhan tried to keep her eyes off of the kneeling woman; but she looked up just in time to see her licking, fingers rising to claim her prize from the snatch of the woman standing above her. She looked away.

Jane was pulling off her active bra. Siobhan quickly followed suit. Without hesitation Jane peeled off her olive-drab underwear; Siobhan did the same with her pink ones, wondering how she had managed to decide that pink underwear were the best color for this operation.

Of course, no one was supposed to see them.

There was nowhere to put their clothes. Jane was looking around the room, then looked at Siobhan and shrugged, pushing hers to the wall. Siobhan did the same. No one was programmed to come along and deal with them, right? She hoped.

With a touch of surprise, Siobhan realized that she didn’t feel any more vulnerable now, naked, than she had felt finding herself several floors down and lost in this nightmare slave warren.

“We’ll have to come back for the cameras,” Jane subvoced.

Oh, right. The cameras. First, Siobhan felt guilty about forgetting what was, after all, their mission. Second, she realized that now she was on camera, buck naked.

Jane walked towards the doorway.

The woman with the tray made no move as Jane approached. Jane waited for the woman with the wet chin to deposit the now-kneeling woman’s slick red discards onto the tray, then followed her into the room, towards the headset-remover. The woman stepped up to it and stopped, and Jane darted to the side.

Siobhan swallowed, and followed.

The room was large, perhaps forty feet long by twenty wide. There was a large pipe or tube or something in the center, floor to ceiling; along one side of it, naked women stood in line.

Siobhan sidestepped as a glossy red slave opened the halves of the device around the head of the naked woman in front of her.

Jane was waiting there, just to the side.

Surprised, Siobhan noted that Jane’s sex was shaved.

No, depilated. There’d been no time to shave recently.

She was entirely smooth down there; Siobhan knew that some women kept themselves that way, but seeing it here, on Jane, unexpectedly, somehow gave her a thrill of strangeness that she didn’t really like.

Jane was looking down the room and Siobhan realized she’d been staring, and turned her head to look at what Jane was looking at with her cheeks warming.

There wasn’t just one pipe, nor was it a pipe—there were four, and they were shafts, round shafts the size of an elevator. As she watched, a nude woman emerged from the farthest one.

The woman walked into the room, pivoted neatly, and walked to an archway in the far wall.

Where a woman in white stood.

She’d seen them. She had to have. She was surveying the room just as they were, only from the opposite end.

Siobhan shot a glance at Jane. Jane seemed unmoved.

“Jane,” Siobhan subvoced.

“I see her. I think she thinks we belong here.”

Siobhan almost sighed in relief. Of course she did. They were naked, like almost all the slaves in the room. Their decision was a good one.

Jane started to walk forward. Siobhan frowned, but followed.

“Where are you going? Don’t get close to her!”

“That’s the way out,” Jane replied. “Where the clothes are. We have to go that way.” She didn’t look at Siobhan. “Try to walk like they do. She won’t notice us.”

Jane was erect now, mimicing the smooth, stiff-backed walk of the slaves. Siobhan tried to imitate her.

There was movement on her left, and Siobhan risked a glance that direction. She almost tripped.

They were passing one of the shafts. There was movement in it—it was an elevator, of sorts. A woman, reclining with her legs spread wide open, lay naked on some sort of chair. She was descending from the ceiling; beneath her, a similar chair, facing the other direction, sank into the floor.

As she descended into the room Siobhan could see that another woman’s crotch was pressed to her mouth.

Then they pulled apart, the spread legs of the woman above stopping, a glistening streamer connecting her sex with the still-lowering woman’s mouth before it snapped and fell onto her breasts.

Siobhan kept walking. Didn’t look back.

They were passing another shaft. One of the women from the line, naked and skin still shining with oil, was seating herself on one of the spread-leg chairs.

Siobhan couldn’t help staring, but only with her eyes, she didn’t turn her head. The woman in white couldn’t yet see her eyes. She thought.

In the third shaft, the chair was rising rather than sinking. The woman seated in it had flat panels pressed to the sides of her head, covering her ears. Above her, the lower part of another woman’s body waited, and her chair rose until the higher woman’s sex was hidden by the new woman’s head.

Together, they rose into the shaft, and a new chair emerged from the floor. The spread legs of the new woman paused above, awaiting the next chair’s occupant.

In the fourth and final shaft, a woman was lying in her chair. Her eyes snapped open. A moment later, and she was lifting her legs, placing them on the ground.

Jane stopped. Siobhan did likewise.

The woman from the shaft rose. Staring at the wall opposite, she stepped forward, walked in front of Jane and Siobhan, pivoted, and headed for the door beside which the woman in white waited.

Jane and Siobhan followed.

The woman in white was close enough now to see that her irises were brown, deepset in Asian eyes. Her sex was nude, highlighted in the keyhole circle of her slick white suit, a dark even fold in tawny flesh. She stared emotionlessly at them as they approached.

The slave passed her and entered the corridor beyond.

Jane and Siobhan followed.

The woman in white did nothing as they passed.

The woman they were following stopped. They were in a line again, a short queue of nude women. Siobhan looked back to be sure that the woman in white was not looking at them. She was not. Crouching down and to the side, Siobhan peered ahead.

It was a short line. Three women ahead, a nude slave knelt.

She was licking the sex of the woman behind her.

Siobhan swallowed. And watched.

As she had feared, the woman on her knees—no, on her feet, she was crouching, her ass just above the floor—had reached to the side and taken from a low shelf a red and black egg. Reaching up, she slid it up into the woman she was servicing.

She leaned back.

The woman turned around.

Siobhan almost left. She couldn’t, she wouldn’t.

She looked at Jane. Jane had seen, and she was still here.

They had to.

Oh Goddess. She’d be serviced by Jane.

The woman was having her ass licked now, and from her sex Siobhan could see the thin red wires and the little boxes at the end of it. The kneeling slave had four, trailing to little boxes on the ground beneath her. Siobhan watched and wondered why each orifice got two. The wondering fought her panic.

The woman’s fingers reached up, pushed the egg in, and dropped.

She stopped licking. She stood up.

Off of her knees, she turned, boxes dangling, and stepped away into a different, round, part of the hallway. She extended her hands to the sides, laid them on something. Spread her legs and stepped up—Siobhan couldn’t make out onto what. She looked like Da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man.

If Vitruvian Man were a woman, with sex orbs in her holes.

Then she started to move. She was on something, or holding onto something, some form of conveyor, and she slid evenly forward and then around a curve.

The line moved forward.

It all happened again. The woman newly fitted with her sex and ass plugs turned and crouched, and planted another set into the woman behind her. Then she rose, turned back, stepped onto whatever conveyor was in the walls beyond, and was taken away.

The line moved forward.

Siobhan made a decision.

“Jane, I can’t.”

“What?”

“I can’t—I can’t let you do it. Not to me. Let me in front.”

“What are you talking about.”

“I can do the sex but I can’t do it with you. With someone I know. Please, let me in front. Let the woman behind me—” for there was now another woman behind her, staring blankly, waiting her turn- “let her forward. I can have it done to me, I can do it to her, but I can’t do it to you and I can’t have you do it to me.”

She was ready for Jane to object. For Jane to say she was being stupid.

But she didn’t. Jane looked back at her, then stepped around her and the woman behind her, and joined the back of the line.

Siobhan sighed. She could get through this.

The line moved forward.

The woman in front of her turned around, knelt down.

Siobhan spread her legs. She didn’t close her eyes, didn’t turn away.

There was a pause.

Then, in a loud, clear voice, the crouching woman said: “This slave requires a Controller.”

Siobhan’s blood froze. What had she done?

Behind her, the woman in white was coming forward.

“Report, slave.”

“The slave that this slave is to fit with sexcontrol has pubic hair.”

The woman in white looked down. Siobhan’s eyes were wide, not with obedience, but fear. Her small golden patch felt like a matador’s cape.

The woman in white raised her eyes, looked into Siobhan’s.

“Intruder,” she said.

Siobhan ran.

She dodged past the slave behind her and past Jane and the new slave in line behind her, and ran across the room where slaves were tongueing each other in elevators and around a woman having her earpieces removed and into the other room, the room where her clothes were.

She was brought up short. Her clothes were gone.

Doubtless borne away on a tray to be dropped into a disposal chute.

“Intruder,” a woman said behind her.

Siobhan kept running.

She was aware, vaguely, and noted with a tiny flicker of interest her own awareness.

Her eyes came open. It did not matter—she was deep in trance. She could tell this. Most of her mind slept, slept and was altered, being molded softly into its new, more obedient shape.

The awareness she felt now was just a thin film of oil atop the pool of her mind. Just a thin layer of personality that was neither being used nor erased, not at the moment.

It certainly did not worry. Like the rest of her mind, it wholly and eagerly embraced whatever it was that Rouge wished to do to her. Erase, reprogram, anything. It not only would not resist, it would happily abet.

She lived to serve Rouge.

She was Rouge.

The certainty of it was total, but thinking such thoughts reached deeper into her mind and her mind was busy, so she stopped. In a moment, this little slick of personality would vanish again; until then, it waited passively.

Her breath came back to her, reflected by something close to her mouth. A pussy. There was a pussy, slick and damp, within easy reach of her mouth. She had only to lean forward a touch to taste it.

She had been tasting it. Doubtless, she would be controlled to taste it again.

At her own pussy, she felt someone else’s breath.

Above the slit before her rose a woman’s body, stretching up and away, smooth mons followed by the curves of a muscular stomach, full breasts overhanging and beyond, a chin.

Above the chin, facing it as the pussy before her faced her own, was another woman’s ass. The sex of this other woman was doubtless within easy reach of the mouth above the chin.

That woman’s cradle was above; looking up, she could see the top of the woman’s head directly above her own.

They were in a stack, an endless stack, the Stack, a staircase of womanflesh and joined lips.

She felt her neck push her forward and she was tasting, her tongue moving, her lips sucking, beginning the cycle that was now being fed into her soft new mind.

Above her, her lover was doing the same.

Then she felt sleepy, and let herself dissolve.

She was there again. The soybean room.

Cardy walked into the room, pivoted, and walked along the wall.

It looked the same. No swarming guards, no Controllers minding the entrances. Just deep green rows of soybeans and the occasional glossy red slave tending them.

She walked to the end of the row, pivoted, stopped.

The doorway where it had taken place was empty.

She had to think. Where would Mella be? She was the commando, the one who knew about this sort of thing. If Cardy could locate her...

Maybe back in the entry room. If there were no guards there. Cardy took a stiffening breath, then walked forward.

Nothing happened as she passed the doorway. There were no guards, no Controllers. She walked by a slave moving the other direction, turned at the corner. Passed another slave, and then she was at the small room that had seen them enter this place.

No one was there.

The vent had been sealed.

Cardy noted it and immediately kept walking. It had not merely been replaced, it had been sealed. So they knew.

But no guards.

She reached the corner and stopped again. What to do?

It would have been easier if part of her didn’t answer every question with “turn yourself in and become a slaaaave...”

Cardy ignored that voice for the thousandth time and thought. They had to be around somewhere. She wouldn’t believe that they had been captured.

Did it matter? Even if they had been captured, she had to find them.

“Hello?” she subvoced. Maybe they were nearby.

“Cardy?”

Relief, and triumph. “It’s me,” she answered. “Where are you?”

“I’ll be right there.”

Jane kept perfectly still.

Siobhan had run, ratted out because she didn’t look enough like a slave. Jane would have to get disguises for the both of them.

Would she pass?

If not, she could run too.

The woman in white had left, after instructing the crouching slave to service the next woman in line. She did.

Now it was Jane’s turn.

She’d slept with women before. She wasn’t gay, but it was fun. Recreational sex had never bothered her the way it did some people.

This was very different.

The crouching slave considered Jane’s sex.

She waited for the intake of breath and the cry for a Controller.

An exhalation and then a tongue, a skilled one, if brusque. Along and then up inside her, getting her wet, and then fingertips and she really wished she knew what it was before it went In, and then it was inside her and it felt pretty good and the mouth was withdrawn.

Jane turned around.

This she’d never done before, but it felt okay and then it was over and then she had four thin wires dangling from her crotch. Her body clutched the double eggs inside it without effort.

She watched carefully as the woman stepped forward. There was a small ball on either side of the circular hall that she placed her hands on, and two small pedals, and then they bore her away.

Jane stepped forward, turned, and crouched.

She waited for the next woman to step up and widen her stance. She was smooth, with dark reddish skin.

Then she licked.

She got together a wad of spit and tongued it up inside the woman as her hand reached for one of the eggs. As she brought it over she snuck a glance at it and saw that it was not one device, but two, a crimson egg with a black coil wrapped around it, each with its own cord.

Duplicates of which were inside her body right now.

The whole was soft, like a balloon filled with sand, and she reached up and touched and parted and slid it into the woman she was tonguing.

She leaned back, and the woman turned around.

It wasn’t bad at all and then the woman had her four little wires, and Jane was standing and turning and stepping onto the little pedals and taking hold of the little balls.

Then she was moving forward.

She moved around the corner, then curved back around and entered a small spherical room, where she stopped.

There was no one else in the room. Tentatively, Jane tried to lift a hand.

It was stuck.

She swallowed. There was an exit opposite her that looked like the entrance she had come in; this must be a station where something happened and then she’d be moving on.

Why couldn’t she take her hands off of the little balls?

A nozzle, on a tube, rose from the floor.

It began to spray her with oil.

Of course. This is where the lubricant came from. They were going to dress her; first the grease, and then the skinsuit.

She felt a little good about being on the right track.

She was coated quickly, front and rear, arms, legs, and torso. The tube moved around, lifting, tilting, to completely spray her with its fine mist, leaving only her head unsprayed. Then the nozzle withdrew into the floor.

She began to move again.

A curve, another curve, and she was in another small room.

She felt relaxed.

Very relaxed.

The pads were withdrawn from her feet; a little slowly, she looked down, and saw a ring with red plastique filling the center of it rising towards her.

Like a body condom, she thought with amusement.

But not quite. She could make out where the feet were and let her legs be guided down into them as the ring rose. She spread her toes and the plastique slipped between them, giving her her slippers, and it continued to rise. It slid along her oiled body, up her slick legs, the keyhole circle aligning perfectly with her nude sex and glistening ass, allowing her boxes to dangle through. The ring widened and she noticed that her hands were free now, the little balls in fact having disappeared completely—she must not have been paying attention as they retracted—and she lowered her hands into the arm holes that were obvious and the suit slid over them as well and then her fingers were inside the gloves and the ring rose around her shoulders, sheathing her belly and breasts and back in tight red plastique, and then it closed, drawing in around her neck until it touched, and there was a small sense of heat and then it opened and pulled away, leaving her clad neck-to-toe in tight glossy scarlet.

It felt fucking fantastic.

She was glad that she was in the suit, but for a moment she couldn’t quite remember why. Other than how good it felt. She had wanted it... wanted it.. oh yeah, wanted it as a disguise.

Best disguise ever. It felt fucking awesome. She was turned on like she hadn’t been in months. Years, maybe.

And the eggs weren’t even buzzing.

Yet.

Maybe they would. That would be great.

Her vision was just a little blurry but she saw a slave in red plastique—just like her own!—waiting for her, and she realized that she wasn’t thinking quite clearly and that she wasn’t done, so she walked out of the room to where the other woman waited. In her hands was a thin strip of red, and Jane realized that it was her new thong at just about the time the woman was pulling it up between her ass cheeks. Jane spread her legs a bit and the woman hooked it over the bumps high on her sides.

It felt fucking awesome, too; it kept those erotic little eggs buried in her, all tingly and full-feeling.

There was another woman waiting, so Jane stepped forward to her. She didn’t feel worried at all as the woman swung two halves of a spherical device over her head.

It was dark, and there was pressure over her ears, and a sudden but not loud noise.

She heard some tones, some whining.

Then the device was opened and she could see again.

Only she couldn’t think.

It wasn’t that she didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t know what to do. Vaguely, she was aware that she should have been able to form a coherent thought, but she couldn’t so she just stood there.

There was sound in her ears and it had turned off her mind.

It felt wonderful, though. She loved it. She loved just standing there with her ability to think totally evaporated and her body feeling so good in its tight tight second skin.

The eggs began to twitch and she somehow remained standing.

Then someone told her what to do.

Blissfully Jane obeyed.

Siobhan crouched, naked, outside of the “dormitory” exit.

There were two of the Controllers there, as there had been when she and Jane had scoped the place out. They didn’t appear to be looking for her.

She really wished that her clothes hadn’t been taken away.

Now her nudity felt vulnerable. Out here, everyone was clothed, even if they were the clothes of slaves, even if they were fetish plastique and turned their wearers more into sex objects than if they had been naked.

Please, Jane, come out of there.

What if Jane had been caught? What would Siobhan do then?

The door opened.

Jane walked out.

She was magnificently disguised. Her tight crimson outfit fit her perfectly, from her glossy bosom to the little boxes tucked into her thigh pockets to the silver antennae on her ears, to the vacant, expressionless look in her eyes...

Jane walked into the hallway, smoothly, robotically.

She pivoted, and walked away.

Siobhan stared at her receding ass.