The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Martin woke up surrounded by beautiful busty women in gleaming black latex.

“Whafuck… ?” he muttered, almost coherently. The attorney raised his head above his pillow, squeezed his eyes shut, and then opened them again. He floundered for the light switch for the reading lamp above his bed. One of the women helpfully switched it on for him. The light glared in his face.

Martin put a hand over his burning eyes. “Whafuck?” he mumbled again, coughed, and sat up.

“Good morning, master,” the first woman replied chirpily. “These slaves’ owner, Master Hulfgren, requests the master’s presence at his estate without delay. These slaves are to help the master dress and travel.”

“What… ?” Martin said. He squeezed his eyes shut again. Then, through painfully narrowed slits, he looked around. The multiple images of black-garbed women resolved into a mere twosome, one to either side of the bed and looking down at him.

“Sandi!” he croaked. Instinctively, he pulled his bedsheet higher.

“The master’s slave Sandi has been rendered unconscious, master,” the other latexed woman said. Her voice was a high contralto. It was very sweet sounding, though at odds with the bridle harness outlining her face. “These slaves found it convenient not to have to deal with that slave at this time.”

Nearly simultaneously, the other girl spoke again, repeating herself.

“These slaves’ owner, Master Hulfgren, requests the master’s presence at his estate. These slaves are to see to the master’s transport.”

The third-person syntax told Martin he wasn’t sleeping. No one spoke like that in a dream.

He squeezed his eyes shut a third time, hunched against the headboard, and took a longer, stronger look around. He was still in his apartment. He was still in his own bed. All normal enough. To either side of his bed, though, a woman stood dressed from head to toe in skintight black rubber. The ultra-smooth material gleamed liquidly, as if the women’s bodies were coated in oil. They shimmered as they moved. Martin’s eyes were drawn to the glossy, ebony rondure of the women’s large breasts. His gaze drifted along their second skin to the tightness of their abdomens, pressed firmly inward as if by an invisible corset. Their long, coltish legs glimmered. Knowing they were being examined, the women pivoted slightly, revealing to Martin their sleek posterior cheeks, each a perfect half-moon of ebony perfection. They were a pair of black rubber dolls come to life. The only skin he saw exposed was in their faces, though even there, observing closer, he saw they were actually wearing thin, transparent plastic masks beneath the straps of their head harnesses. The hood of their skinsuits stretched tightly over their swanlike necks. For some reason, Martin found this sight as erotic as their firmly enclosed bosoms.

A metal ring was hooked into the hood above their eyes. Four black straps connected this ring to the bondage collars they wore. Two of the straps stretched above their eyes while the other two descended from the bridge of their noses and across their cheeks. Beneath their transparent masks, Martin saw the girls were wearing heavy makeup. Their lips were ruby red and luscious.

“Master Hulfgren has stipulated that if the master would care to use either of these slaves, these slaves are to see to the master’s comforts,” one of them said. Latex-coated breasts heaved deliciously.

Martin felt his penis stir. Last night he had gone to bed knowing his Molosian agents either already had broken into Rose’s apartment or soon would. Sandi had had to use all her deeply engrained skills to satisfy her master’s lusts. More than once Martin had had the former physician pretend to be her own daughter, shouting her submission to him in his arms. “Oh, Master! Master! Take your Rose. Take her! Take her!” It was wonderful. Knowing he would have the real thing soon only made it more so.

Sandi was an adept slut. Despite his excitement, Martin had drifted off sometime after one. He checked the clock beside his bed. It was 4:00 A.M.

“Repeat that,” he croaked to the two rubberized women.

“Master Hulfgren,” the taller slave to his left said, “has stipulated that if the master would care to use either of these slaves, these slaves are to see to the master’s comforts.” Her repetition was tone and letter perfect, like a machine recording of herself.

“No, I mean, where do you want to take me?”

“These slaves have no wants save to serve the will of Master Hulfgren,” the women chorused, flawlessly. “Master Hulfgren requests the master’s presence at his estate. These slaves are to see to the master’s transport.”

Martin scowled as he got out of bed. His brain still felt foggy. Master Hulfgren? These slaves belonged to Gustavo Hulfgren, the Firm’s Managing Partner. But what the hell was going on? What did the Managing Partner want with him… and at four in the A.M.?

“I’m not going anywhere,” Martin grumbled, reaching for his robe. They had knocked out Sandi?

“This slave abjectly apologizes, master,” the taller rubber slave said. “But the master will accompany these slaves. Master Hulfgren has commanded these slaves to see to the master’s transport to his estate.”

“What… ?”

“This slave abjectly apologizes, master. But the master…”

“No, shut up, I mean… just shut up.” Martin shook his head. Christ, he needed a cup of coffee!

These were slaves. Their programming, judging from their vocal responses, was narrow. He took a closer look at them. They were beautiful, but only now did he take note of the hard muscles defined by their skintight costumes. They looked fit, these two slaves. No, more than that. They looked like veritable Olympic athletes. He noticed the Client projectors on their belts. He noticed too the Client immobilizers. Finally, he noticed the pistols holstered on their hips, not Client made. Martin was no gun expert, but he thought the guns they carried looked extremely large. His gaze went to the closed door.

“The master may not leave,” the shorter slave said, anticipating him. “These slaves will help to dress the master if the master so wishes, but, with abject apologies, the master must prepare to accompany these slaves at once.”

Must, Martin thought. Must. No slave had ever said that to him before. He hadn’t thought it possible.

“And if I don’t want to go with you?” Martin asked, trying to be stern.

The rubber girls spoke in faultless unison. “In that case these slaves will break the master’s arms and legs and then bring the master to Master Hulfgren’s estate.”

Martin goggled at them. “Ahh, let me get dressed then,” he said slowly. He went to his closet.

Hulfgren’s slaves were thorough. They assisted Martin in putting on his pants, business suit, and a tie. They helped him in combing out his “bed hair.” One of them even went to the kitchen to get him a cup of coffee. They also deliberately kept him away from the telephone, the television, and any other electronic device within reach. They searched his coat pockets and removed the immobilzer he had hidden in one of them. When he asked for the device back, the slaves point-blank refused to do so.

This refusal more than anything else they had said or done scared Martin to death.

They were programmed female slaves, and yet they would not follow his commands.

“Would the master care to be fellated before leaving?” the taller slave asked. She licked her ruby lips.

“Uhh, maybe later,” Martin said. As much as he would have liked that, Martin thought he should keep his wits about him. Plus, there was something strangely familiar about this slave who had offered to go down on him. It took him another five minutes to figure out what it was, and when he did the realization drained away his libido. “What’s your name, slave?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“This slave has no name, master. She is a slave. However, Master Hulfgren commonly refers to her as ‘Clio,’ master.”

“Clio,” Martin whispered, remembering. He recognized the face now beneath the transparent mask and black rubber straps. This slave, Clio, had once been the chief lieutenant of the intergalactic slave raider Celestra, whom Martin had met last year when he single-handedly saved the world from that ball-chewing bitch. He had had to pretend to be a male subordinate in Celestra’s army, and he recalled seeing this former dominatrix many times with her bright red hair, tight black bustier, and black thigh-high boots.

Like all of Celestra’s Bitches, she had scared the hell out of him while making him desire her at the same time.

So this is where Clio ended up, he thought. Though Celestra had vanished, Martin had heard her officers and subordinates were all enslaved. He turned to the other slave, and in a moment he had her placed too. She had been “Kormira,” the Bitch-Officer whom Celestra had sent to Earth prior to her Base’s collapse. Somehow, Rose had disabled the woman and immobilized her. Now she and her former superior Clio both belonged to Gustavo Hulfgren. It was a small world.

Martin felt a nervous heat. Like Celestra, Clio had had her body cybernetically augmented. She could probably have lifted him in the air with one hand. Her body also once produced heightened pheromones. She had had ebony-tinted nipples. He wondered if she still did. If he asked, would she show them to him?

Did he really want to see them?

Finally, seeing no way to delay any further, Martin said he was ready. Clio took the projector in hand and lifted it. A moment later they were elsewhere, the distance between where they had been and where they now were consumed in a bright flash of light.

Martin found himself in the marble foyer of a large mansion. Pairs of thick Grecian pillars stood to either side of him and in front. The columns framed huge archways leading into the great house. The ceiling was vaulted. Behind Martin, a heavy set of double doors sat bolted. To either side were large casement windows looking out upon a gravel road and green fields extending to the horizon. It was daylight, though that meant little. Martin had no idea where Hulfgren lived. They could have been anywhere on Earth. For that matter, since they had left from Chicago, and the Firm’s projector relay could have augmented their jaunt, for all Martin knew, they could have been on an entirely different planet.

Clio and Kormira indicated the attorney should accompany them through the center archway.

The floor was marble, a spotty white in dull blues, greens, and golds. The high heels built into the slaves’ costumes tapped loudly. The place was big enough for there to be a slight echo. Martin looked around, fascinated despite his growing trepidation by the wealth of the Managing Partner. The hallway they walked through had to be at least thirty feet across. The walls in-between were filled with expensive artwork. Even with his casual acquaintance with the arts, Martin recognized a Matisse, a Monet, even a Van Gogh. The air was cool. A huge chandelier hung from the middle of the ceiling.

The three of them turned through a door into a sumptuous study filled with books, antique furniture, and many, many pictures of horses, of all things. Every table and chair was polished to a shiny gleam.

There wasn’t a hint of dust anywhere. It took a lot of people to keep a house that size so immaculate.

Martin observed them here and there going about their duties. After a few minutes, unashamed, he put his hands to the bulge in his pants and adjusted himself. Outside of the House, a Colony World, or a cargo shipment, he had never seen so many female slaves in the same place at the same time.

In fact, so far as he could tell, Hulfgren’s staff were universally bound, beautiful, and female. They pranced about the Managing Partner’s mansion in ultra-high heels, an identical coiffured hairstyle, and uniforms straight out of The Story of O: flowing green dresses snug at the waist, open in the front, and V-shaped at the bottom, exposing the women’s rouged breasts and perfumed pussies for all to see. There were dozens of them. One or two girls were in every room Martin passed through. Some were working—cleaning, polishing, carrying things—others were merely standing and waiting to be of service.

Martin could barely restrain himself. The slaves’ bosoms were large and firm. Their nipples were rigid and tinted. Their pussies glistened with need, their constant arousal obvious at a glance. Unable not to, and seeing no harm in the doing, Martin stopped and fondled the exposed leg and thigh of one. She was silken smooth, “slave smooth” as only a bodysculpted slavegirl can be. Like every other slave in the house, her hair was long in the back and at the sides. Ruler-sharp bangs hung in front. The girl had been standing near the entrance to a room full of nautical memorabilia—boats? horses? what was with Hulfgren?—oblivious to everything until Martin touched her. Then she melted in his arms and purred delicately, breathlessly. “Master,” she sighed, her downcast eyes meeting Martin’s shyly.

He kissed her. She submitted to him open-mouthed, helplessly. He felt the fire within her.

“Master, Master Hulfgren desires that the master accompany these slaves to the guest room.”

Martin broke the kiss and turned to Clio. Nonplussed, he tried to discern meaning from what she had just said. For the life of him, he couldn’t recall ever hearing a sentence with the word “master” used so many times in succession. “Yeah, alright,” he said.

He followed Clio down the indicated hallway, Kormira behind him. The slave he had kissed returned to her stance, the only difference being the even greater look of need in her expression now.

As he walked, Martin ogled Clio’s firm and shiny butt cheeks. He was afraid of the former dominatrix, but it was a different fear from the one he had had a year previously. Back on the Purple Cloud Base, Celestra’s lieutenant had absolutely terrified Martin with her man-hating swagger and chemically enhanced magnetism. Now, though the cruelty in Clio’s face was gone, the deadliness remained. Where before she had had her own particular awfulness and purpose, she reminded Martin now of a robot, a weapon of ebony latex and steel. Albeit, a sexy weapon of ebony latex and steel.

He abruptly decided to show these slaves who was in charge here.

“Mr. Hulfgren said I could fuck you anytime I wanted?” Martin asked, attempting to sound casual.

“Yes, master.” Clio stopped and pivoted around. “The master may use this slave’s body as the master sees fit. This slave is skillful in several varieties and techniques of frottage, fellatio, and coital massage. The slave to the rear of the master is also proficient in these arts but is particularly talented in analingus.”

Martin glanced briefly at Kormira, who smiled at him.

“These slaves can greatly pleasure the master,” the shorter slave said. She parted her lips and ran her tongue over them.

“Good,” Martin said, puffing his chest out. “You don’t recall, but we met once, you and I.”

Clio tilted her head quizzically. “This slave does recall the master.”

Good God, she remembered who he was!

Startled, Martin took a step back and ran into the heavily rubberized Kormira. That slave’s hand immediately reached round and gripped Stan’s groin. He stiffened, in more ways than one.

Clio approached from the other side. In a moment he was squeezed between the former Slavers who had themselves fallen slave.

“Yes, master,” said the slave once named Clio but who bore that word now only as a description put on by another. She spoke to Martin as if she had read his mind. “Master Hulfgren saw fit to awaken these slaves’ memories of their previous, unfulfilled lives. This was for these slaves’ further humiliation as well as to provide additional services to our blessed Owner that his other slaves could not.

“These slaves recall the hundreds of Colony Worlds they visited. These slaves remember the humans and aliens they encountered.” They pressed even more tightly against Martin.

“These slaves remember how to fight. These slaves remember how to kill.”

Pressing her rubber-encased breasts into Martin’s chest, Clio reached down—she had a good six inches on him—took the attorney’s face in her gloved hands, and kissed him on the mouth. Her tongue inserted itself between his teeth and danced on his. He submitted to the slave open-mouthed, helplessly.

After a timeless interval, she drew back.

“This slave well remembers Master Gordon. This slave recalls that she thought Master Gordon was a weak, puny excuse for a male servitor in Celestra’s army. Had this slave known at the time the master was a spy, this slave would have crushed Master Gordon’s skull and spit in his face while he lay dying.”

Martin groaned. Clio’s hands caressed his cheeks and forehead. Kormira, pressing her bosomy and latexed body against the attorney’s back, continued to stroke his erection through his pants.

“This slave abjectly apologizes for not previously recognizing the inherent superiority of the master’s masculinity. It was wrong of her not to understand her rightful place in the universe.”

As one, as if receiving the same inaudible signal, the two slaves stepped apart and released Martin from their deadly embrace. “The master may use this slave’s body as the master sees fit. But, first, Master Hulfgren desires that the master accompany these slaves to the guest room.”

Her smile was simultaneously warm, inviting, and completely and utterly emotionless.

“Okay,” Martin squeaked in a small voice. They resumed their walk. He staggered only a little.

Martin’s thoughts were racing. He didn’t know what to say or think. He wasn’t sure whether he had been threatened or not, and, if threatened, whether it had been by Hulfgren or the former Slavers.

The confusion he felt wasn’t helped either when, passing through a smaller hallway, he thought he saw yet another familiar face. Feeling like he was in a funhouse, he asked to stop and talk to the girl.

“Lindsay,” Clio said at once. In the hall the servant carrying the towels quickly put her burden down and hurried over for inspection.

“Master,” she said, thrusting her exposed breasts toward Martin. She acknowledged the presence of Clio and her warrior-companion-slave with a nod and a softer spoken, “Clio, Kormira.”

It took a second for the name and the face to register.

“Ah,” he said. “Lindsay Kent.” He whispered, more to himself than to the pliant young thing standing before him. Lindsay Kent had been a Partner in the Firm until a year ago. Martin had worked under her. The high-ranking attorney had had the misfortune, though, to be in her office the day Celestra took over the building. Along with every other Partner, Associate, and office worker, Kent was encoded with slave programming and sold offworld, presumably to a foreign buyer on one of the many Colony Worlds.

Now she was back. If Clio hadn’t said her name, Martin might not have been able to place her, even though he had recognized something familiar about this slave. She demurely lowered her eyes.

Never tamed for long, Martin’s erection twitched ever strongly. When last seen, Lindsay Kent had been a forty-plus year-old woman with upswept gray hair and a commanding presence. Now, breathing heavily, obviously in the vulnerable throes of a deep sexual need, the result of her conditioning, the former Ms. Kent appeared no more twenty years old. She was dressed in the same manner as Hulfgren’s other slavegirls. Her breasts were a full three times larger than they had been previously. Her pussy was plump and wet with desire. Her hair was different too. It was the same as the others now, sharp bangs in front, long in the sides and back. It was also a luxurious reddish-brown.

Martin laughed softly and, still laughing, played with his former superior’s tits. She moved closer and arched her back to allow him greater contact. She moaned softly, needfully, biting her lovely lips.

Clio and Kormira stared at Martin. Comically, they tilted their heads together at the same time in exactly the same way. An observer might have misinterpreted them as having actual thoughts, thoughts such as, What does this fool think he’s doing now?

Like slave programming, the costs of age regression and body morphing were negligible when performed in bulk. The real fortune Hulfgren had spent, Martin knew, had been in locating this one specific slavegirl among countless millions who had once been his business partner and rival. Once caught and processed, most slaves sold to the Colony Worlds were interchangeable, often physically, almost always mentally. Finding a needle in a field of haystacks would have been easier.

He must have really wanted to own this particular slut, Martin thought. Some of the board meetings he had been in when these two were on opposite sides had been tense. They would never be so again.

“You used to be my boss,” he said to the rejuvenated slavegirl Lindsay. “You were a stuck-up bitch.”

“This slave is so sorry, master” she said, not meeting Martin’s eyes. “But this slave has no memory of being other than a slave. She has always been a slave.” She looked perplexed standing there moaning beneath Martin’s hands. “This slave wishes only to give pleasure to her masters.”

“Yes, I know you do,” Martin said. She had magnificent breasts. He said to Clio, “I want to use her.”

The warrior slave shook her head.

“This slave abjectly apologizes, master, but the master may not use the slave Lindsay. Master Hulfgren’s commands were only to escort the master to his room and see to his sexual requests with these slaves’ bodies.”

Martin bristled. He took his hands away from Lindsay—the slave immediately knelt and bowed her head—and faced the two rubberized girls. He tried to appear strong. He ended up sounding like a weak king. “You are a slave,” he told Clio impotently. “You must obey me. You must.”

“This slave is indeed a slave, master,” Clio said, her face lovely but emotionless beneath the web of latex. “But this slave belongs to Master Hulfgren, and Master Hulfgren’s commands are supreme.”

Martin stared at the slave feeling angry and helpless. He had never been in this position before.

“You would really break my arms and legs?”

“Yes, master. That is what these slaves would do if the master chose not to comply.”

Defeated, Martin waved his arm for the slaves to carry on. Clio told Lindsay to return to her duties.

The guest room was an opulent chamber of white and gold. The first thing Martin noticed was the lack of windows. The walls were a pristine alabaster, the carpet thick, shiny, and the same shade as a polar bear. A lavish circular bed dominated the room. It looked like it might have been lifted from a honeymoon suite at Niagara Falls. The slaves dutifully showed Martin the bathroom and other facilities.

“Would the master care to use either or both of these slaves?” they chorused as soon as they were done. Martin gazed upon the rubberized duo critically. “I’ll take Kormira,” he said, after a moment.

“Yes, master,” they said. Clio bowed her head, spun on her heels, and left through the open door. She closed it behind her. Martin heard the lock engage. Kormira meanwhile approached the attorney.

“This slave thanks the master,” she said and kissed Martin deeply, taking his head in her latexed fingers.

She maneuvered him toward the vast bed. Martin’s hands groped at her sleek form; the slave guided him toward the ingeniously sealed ports in her suit. These parted with a murmur. Kormira’s body was as tight as her rubber second skin was, and moist and inviting. Martin kissed her back and climbed on top of her.

And then… nothing happened.

Nothing happened.

The slave worked on Martin for forty minutes trying to elicit a reaction. She used her hands, her tongue, her pussy, to no avail. She was beautiful, desirable, completely submissive, and yet, in the end, too bloody intimidating. Every time he felt even a hint of an erection, the image of what this slut could do to him filled his mind. For the first time in his life, Martin was completely unable to perform.

“Is the master incapable of functioning?” Kormira asked finally, flatly. Her tone was as matter-of-fact as a telephone operator. Naturally, this made it worse.

“No. Yes! Get off me, you goddamn bitch!”

The slave’s robotic face didn’t change one iota. Nimbly, she got off of the bed and stood at its side, her eyes expressionless. Nevertheless, from somewhere deep behind that gaze, Martin felt he was being judged. This slave would have crushed Master Gordon’s skull and spit in his face while he lay dying, Clio had said. Martin’s dick felt as soft as a wet noodle. His balls throbbed painfully.

“Does the master desire anything else?” the rubber-coated slave asked.

Martin cursed at her.

“This slave is familiar with several varieties and techniques of sexual play, yet what the master describes is not feasible. This slave apologizes for not understanding and begs the master to rephrase his request.”

Had she been anybody else, a common slave, Sandi, anybody, Martin would have killed her where she stood. But, as he gazed upon Kormira’s smooth, ebony-delineated muscles, the strength hinted at in her easy movements, her effortless, superhuman grace, he knew he would be crushed. Worse, she might not kill him. She might just break his arms and legs and leave him floundering on the bed.

The pain wasn’t what scared him (Well, maybe just a little bit).

It was the helplessness, the same kind of helplessness he had felt when Rose immobilized him on that Base a year ago. Had he the ability, he would have flensed that hatful and humiliating day from his memory. Martin actually did have the ability, but he dared not do it while Rose still remembered.

It was only one of many reasons he had to make her his possession.

“Just… just go away,” Martin told the painfully obedient Kormira.

The slave refastened the front of her catsuit with a whisper of latex upon latex.

“This slave may not leave the master unaccompanied, master. Master Hulfgren’s orders were to ensure the master’s comfort within this room. This slave can only accomplish that while within the master’s company.”

Martin growled furiously, then went into the bathroom.

“This slave abjectly apologizes, master.”

The attorney came out ten minutes later when Kormira knocked on the door and asked if there was anything he needed. He knew she would just continue pestering him. He slumped back toward the bed like a dead thing. The slave offered to fellate Martin, and he agreed, knowing it was no use.

Kormira knelt between his legs like a big black rubber doll and took his limp dick in her mouth. She licked and she sucked, yet nothing happened, just like nothing had happened in the bathroom when Martin had tried to masturbate to a dull climax. Martin’s eyes watered. His head started to ache.

He tried everything. Martin barked orders at Kormira. He had her plead with him. He imagined favored scenarios, Rose on her knees or on her back gazing up at him with helpless devotion.

Nothing worked. Nothing.

In the end, Martin told the slave to go stand by the door and say nothing. She did so.

He lay on the bed staring up at the ceiling for a long time, feeling utterly unmanned.

“You don’t have to do this,” Miyal whispered timidly. From her position at the woman’s feet, she wasn’t sure whether or not the Earth female could hear her above the crowd.

At the same time, the Processor couldn’t quite work up the nerve to raise her voice. The green girl giggled nervously. It was a habit previously unlike her, yet one which she had fallen into of late.

Miyal looked up at the seated woman anxiously.

“I can offer you anything. Money. Stock. Voting privileges in Kedia. Anything.”

The woman, “Rose,” ignored her. The Earth female went on doing what she had been doing for the last hour: watching the eclectic people promenade past them. They had an outside table at the recreational food facility. The platform upon which it rested was raised, and they had a full view of the street.

And what a view it was! Even Miyal, who had felt herself jaded—the pun was rendered painfully clear by the Brafford-tutor in her head—couldn’t help but be shocked by the utter abandon of what she saw. She wanted desperately to touch herself. She needed to touch herself, to relieve at least a little of the pulsing arousal emanating from her thralled sex, inspired by the libidinous Colonists around her as well as by her own dreadful lack of use. Miyal hadn’t had sex in days! Her body was on fire!

The Earth woman had forbidden her to masturbate. She had had to bind Miyal’s arms behind her in a tight singlesleeve glove to prevent her. That left Miyal only one avenue of relief, but though she had begged the woman many times since they had left Earth, the Earth Agent steadfastly refused to fuck her.

It was torture, sheer torture.

Her desires were so great, it felt like she was going to go mad… and the anguish of having to watch these carnal Colonists stroll by only further enflamed her!

Sadistically, tantalizingly, not five paces away, a naked man talked casually to another coated from head to foot in shiny pink spandex. Miyal’s eyes were drawn to the masculine couple’s broad shoulders and chiseled stomachs, and especially to their bulging organs, so close to one another they touched, like matched dueling swords. The green thrall bit her lower lips in frustration. Beside the men, a pack of bloated, overstuffed slaves, flesh hanging loose and in grand folds upon their bones, was herded along by their owner, a living skeleton of a woman. Another slave owner, a petite blond dressed in spikes, metal, and what looked like metallicized nerve ganglia, was carried through the traffic artery in a litter drawn by four hairy subhumans. Miyal recognized the servants as androthralls devolved into a primate stage by a DNA-retrogression technique she had read about but never before seen practiced.

Turning her head, the Processor from Molos saw a refined lady clad only in semi-opaque mists. The white-and-gold gases were held close to the aristocrat’s body by a force screen which alternately shielded and revealed her luscious body in random, titillating patches. A trio of naked youths barked at one another behind the polished performer, yelping and scratching at themselves.

Teased cruelly, Miyal’s enthralled pussy throbbed like a second, brutal heartbeat. Looking about wildly, searching for anything non-sexual to distract her, anything to keep her mind from her burning, servile thrallcunt or her aching, yearning nipples, Miyal’s eyes darted toward this nightmare world’s sky.

A gigantic hologram of a penis eclipsed the stars and spewed whitish fluid over the triple moons.

The green thrall moaned helplessly.

“Mistress? Mistress… please!”

“Be quiet,” her captor said, “or will it be necessary to gag you as well?”

Miyal lowered her head. She whimpered, though the sense-image of a ball-gag inserted past her thrall lips caused her to blush verdantly. She knelt back on her heels, unaware consciously of how comfortable the position felt. Maybe she’ll use a penis-gag on me, she thought, and grew even hotter.

Unlike Molos or Earth, where the influence of the Clients was deliberately hidden, the people of the Colony Worlds were fully aware of the existence and predilections of their alien suzerains, and they catered to them shamelessly. Even Molos, with its sexual liberality among the corporate elite, was prudish in the comparison. Seeing firsthand the depths of decadence to which these offworlders sank daily had had Miyal clutching her naked sex and rubbing it constantly since their arrival.

The Earth Agent had changed her attire to match the ambiance of the Colony, though by local standards it was still rather unadventurous. She stood beside Miyal dressed in a short, loose shirt-like garment that barely covered her upper thighs. Beneath this purple and sexy outerwear, the Agent wore a skintight net bodystocking that stretched from her lovely ankles to her pale and delicate throat.

Miyal would have given anything at that moment merely to touch her.

Please take me away from here, she thought, crouched and trembling. I can’t take this any more.

Her breasts were swelling. They felt like they were going to explode.

She’s taking me home. The thought terrified Miyal, yet she could not deny the warmth from her loins at the same time. There would be no appeal in her case. There would be no mitigation. No matter the circumstances, once a person fell thrall on Molos, that person stayed a thrall, forever.

She wondered which one of her former colleagues would claim her.

Miyal put her forehead to the restaurant platform and shook. Beside her, the Earth Agent had seen fit to provide her with a bowl of water. Delicately, the green Processor lapped at it with her tongue.

“Finally,” the Earth Agent said and stood up.

For a moment, Miyal thought Rose was referring to her taking a drink, but then she looked up and saw the Messenger approaching. Like most non-thrall but non-elite workers among the Colony Worlds, the Messenger was a mass-produced clone. His round, doll-like face and nondescript frame were a common sight in these parts. Miyal could tell he was from the Colonial Governor’s Office only by his brown-and-red uniform, the rubbery material polished to a glistening luster. The clone came over to Rose, bowed, and held open the book-like device in his hands.

Lights flashed. A holographic image formed in the air.

Miyal gasped. She recognized the semi-transparent, floating head. It was her own Administrator.

“Greetings, Administrator Rose of the well-regarded Agency of Earth, Frank, Bennet, Weschler, and Marx, Facilitators of your esteemed Client. The Kedia Thrall Enterprise of the Eastern Corporate of Molos acknowledges you and expresses the respects of our own great and majestic Client.”

The floating head nodded. “I am Jan Loprin, Administrator.”

Rose tilted her own head in response though it was unnecessary. The message was a recorded one. Relativity rendered any sort of real-time communication between Property and Colony Worlds useless.

“In rejoinder to your interrogatory concerning the disposition of the corporate property, henceforward designated Kedian thrall 42c-3891, and your application to enter our world, permission is granted.”

Thrall 3891, Miyal thought. That’s me. That me!

“Projection frequencies are herewith,” Loprin’s floating head said. “We goodly anticipate your visit.”

The image faded. The Messenger closed the device and handed it to Rose. The Earth Agent took the projector at her side and input some instructions. A second later the Client device beeped, acknowledging receipt of the travel data from the message envelope. She handed it back to the clone.

The Messenger bowed, turned, and left. He hadn’t said a word during the entire exchange.

“Come,” Rose said. Miyal raised her head and automatically curled her body, like a sleek green animal.

The Agent glanced down at herself. “I have to change into something more appropriate before we leave.”

“Mistress,” Miyal said. “Please, Mistress. Just… just leave me, Mistress! I can hide, I can flee… .”

Rose ignored her and started walking, pulling on the leash attached to Miyal’s collar.

Choiceless at last, Miyal got up and followed.

Martin had very nearly fallen back into a doze when Kormira came beside the bed. “Master Hulfgren has returned.” Her eyes sparkled with animation, the joy of a slave knowing her master was near. How she knew he couldn’t tell. She hadn’t moved at all. Maybe she had an radio built inside her hood.

“Master Hulfgren requests the master’s presence in the dining room as soon as possible.”

“Finally,” Martin whispered. “Thank god.” He got up. Although she offered to help, Martin insisted on redressing himself. A few minutes later the two of them entered a large dining room. The table was huge and made of polished gray stone. It looked positively ancient, yet simultaneously elegantly modern. Although it could have sat twenty people, arrangements had been made for only three.

“Gordon! I hope I didn’t interrupt anything.” The barrel-chested Managing Partner of Frank, Bennet, Weschler, and Marx walked in just as Martin was. He was dressed in a burgundy smoking jacket.

Behind him, a rubber-coated slave followed. For a second Martin thought it was Clio, but it was someone else. He thought he might have recognized this one too from Celestra’s army, but he wasn’t sure. Other slaves, mere servant girls, half-dressed in Hulfgren’s standard finery, came in with plates and coffee.

A woman was already at the table. She was not a slave, at least so far as Martin could see. Her dress was a combination of uniform and cocktail waitress: deep cleavage, svelte waist, and long, flared sleeves and pant legs, all in silver and black satin. Like everyone else he had met recently, she looked awfully familiar.

Standing behind the woman was Clio. Each of them at the table had his or her own rubber-dolly slave.

“Gordon,” Hulfgren repeated, gesturing toward the seated woman. “Let me introduce you to Processor Miyal Cate of the Kedia Thrall Enterprise of the planet Molos.”

Martin glanced sharply at the Managing Partner. “What… ?” he sputtered. His eyes widened in surprise. “Who? But I thought…”

“Yes, I know what you thought, Gordon.” Hulfgren turned to the woman. “Miyal Cate, this confused young man is Martin Gordon of the firm of Frank, Bennet, Weschler, and Marx, a colleague of mine.”

The lady from Molos made a dismissive sound with her nose and turned away.

“But, if this is Miyal Cate, then who… ?” Martin looked closer at the woman. He could see it now, the similarity to the green face in the photographs he had. But he didn’t understand what was going on.

“Sit down, Gordon,” Hulfgren said. He took a seat at the head of the table. One of the waiting servant girls put a plate of food in front of him.

Martin was still perplexed. “If she’s Miyal, then who is it that Met and Skil are… ?”

“I said,” Hulfgren said, “sit down.” Awareness returned to Martin’s eyes. He sat down at the table.

“I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve called you here today,” Hulfgren said, heartily digging into his breakfast. Plates were placed in front of Martin and the seated woman, but neither touched them.

“Gordon, your agents failed in their attempt to acquire Rose last night. They broke into her apartment, you see, but she subdued them. They’re currently sitting in a holding cell back at our offices.”

Hulfgren took a sip of coffee, ignored Martin’s shocked expression, and then addressed the woman.

“Processor Cate, your ‘pet’ Ealic had to be destroyed. On a more positive note, though, we’ve come into possession of an old friend of yours, a Procurer officer named Wahinan Met.”

Gordon stiffened and tried to control the rising color in his face. He failed.

“Captain Met had previously been in the custody of your doppelganger, I’m told. With the levels of Kedian thrallextract we’ve found in his system, it’s doubtful he’ll ever be a real man again. If his surgery turns out well, however, I’ll consider giving him to you as a replacement for your recent loss.”

“My internment is unacceptable,” the woman Hulfgren called ‘Processor Cate’ said. She spoke in Language, though the vocabulary she employed was pure Molosian. “I stipulate you affect my discharge forthwith or you will undergo a severe penalty. My enterprise will rebuke your firm…”

“Be quiet,” Hulfgren said. His tone more than the words themselves stopped her. “You will find I have little patience with bitchy women.”

The rubber-coated slave behind the Processor’s chair took a step closer. ‘Miyal Cate’ opened her mouth to say something more, but then Martin saw she thought better of it. She simmered.

Hulfgren returned his attention back to Martin.

“Your problem, Gordon, is that you underestimate Rose. She’s not only smarter than you are, she’s a great deal more competent.” The Managing Partner took in both of his guests with his gaze. “She has, for instance, now, done exactly as I would have done were I in her shoes.

“She’s taken Cate’s clone and left Earth for one of the Colony Worlds. There, once she feels herself secure, she will contact the Client Agency on Molos—your Kedia Thrall Enterprise, Processor—and work out a deal where she can return the clone herself, find out who sent the Procurers after her here, deal with that person, and come out on top. If she can humiliate you, Gordon, as our new ‘liaison officer’ with Molos, so much the better.”

He paused and smiled. “When she finds out you in fact were the one who hired Met, she’ll find a way to destroy you.” The Partner chuckled as if in appreciation of this anticipated strategy.

Martin licked his lips, which suddenly felt dry. “Uh, look, sir, this isn’t what it looks like.”

“Do you like the taste of cum in your mouth?” Hulfgren asked.

Martin stopped.

“I don’t make casual threats, Gordon. I’m very careful with them.” Hulfgren took another bite from his meal, considered it for a moment, then nodded to the attentive and very relieved slave at his side. “If you interrupt me again, or try to lie to me again, I’ll have your Y-chromosomes edited out, your body sculpted, and your mind encoded. You’ll end up a pretty little trollop like Marjorie here.”

The serving wench at his side dimpled prettily. Martin went cold.

“Every time I jack off in your mouth, I’ll think about the look on your face right now.”

Martin pressed his back up against his chair, as if he were trying to push himself into it. He heard Kormira behind him take a step closer. Despite the chill, Martin found he was sweating profusely.

“You see, I know everything about your plan to enslave Rose,” Hulfgren told the attorney. “I’ve known for months you’ve been in secret negotiations with the Molosians. I knew when they contacted you about Cate’s clone, although they didn’t bother to tell you she was a clone, did they?”

He turned to the woman. “Your Wahinan Met and Kal Skil had a business arrangement with my colleague here. More than one, you see. Initially, he was going to sell them slaving rights on Earth for a kickback of the profits. One or two selected girls, more for their genes and their cloning potential than for the girls themselves, am I right, Martin?” Hulfgren glanced at the attorney, and Martin nodded, humbled. “Your associates then contacted my colleague a week ago to negotiate a new deal. They wanted broad permission to search Earth for an escaped slave… you, Processor, although it really wasn’t you they were looking for, was it?” Hulfgren chuckled. “In exchange, my colleague wanted an old friend of his enslaved, a task which, because of our Firm bylaws, he couldn’t quite do himself.”

He shook his head bemusedly.

“Considering all the efforts he made to keep all this secret, it came as quite a shock to my friend here to find out Rose had set him up for a future fall. She actually made him the Firm’s contact officer with Molos, expecting him to fail, which he has now done. Very ironic.” Hulfgren met Martin’s eyes.

“If we have time, I’ll show you a tape of Martin’s reaction in his apartment. It’s fascinating to watch.”

Martin groaned and put his head to the table in dismay. Hulfgren really did know everything.

“What has the entire of this to do with me?” the Molosian woman asked, seething with barely restrained anger.

“It has everything to do with you, Processor,” Hulfgren said. “At this moment, my Firm’s top field man and your Captain Nagh are headed back to Molos.” Martin lifted his head to listen. He saw the Molosian woman’s eyes flare with rage at the mention of the captain’s name. “Our agents found the captain in California along with Skil and a few other of your countrymen, all very heavily tranquilized in some retiree’s house. Your clone has been quite the busy bee these last twenty-four hours.”

The Managing Partner took another sip of his coffee before pontificating further. “You see, I know about your problems as well, Processor Cate. In my business, information is the most valuable commodity of all.”

Hulfgren leaned back. Responding to a gesture from her owner, Marjorie started gently massaging the large attorney’s shoulders. Another half-naked slavegirl came in and started clearing the table.

“Still confused, Gordon?” Hulfgren asked. “Let me clear it up for you. This…” and he waved his hand at the woman to his left, “… is the real Miyal Cate. The creature all these Molosian Procurers have been searching for here on Earth is a clone, specially bioengineered as a green Kedian bioslut.

“Some weeks ago, on Molos, you see, one of Lady Miyal’s suitors, her Captain Nagh, rebuffed in every one of his attempts to win the affections of his lady love, secretly got a hold of the Processor’s genetic signature and cloned her. If he couldn’t have the real her, I gather, he wanted a copy of her.”

Hulfgren looked directly at Martin. “This is an idea I think you and Nagh had in common, eh?”

Martin thought of Sandi. He blushed again weakly, clenching his fists.

“Nagh went one step further than you did with your little slave. He not only took cell samples from the real Miyal Cate, he drugged her, and, while she was asleep, used a Client recorder to record her memories. When the clone woke, with all those memories downloaded into her nervous system, naturally, of course, she thought she was Miyal Cate, whom someone had resequenced into a slave.”

“I ought to have had Nagh eradicated upon my initial discovery,” the real Miyal said. “I near did. It was only his contention about reacquiring the abomination that converted me to spare his span for a time.”

“How did she… it, escape?” Martin asked, unable to keep himself from asking.

Lady Miyal was about to answer, but Hulfgren beat her to it. His response trumped hers.

“I helped her escape,” he said, simply, smiling.

“You!” Lady Miyal started to rise, but Clio put a gloved hand to her shoulder and pushed her down. Hulfgren nodded, and, quick as a flash, the latexed slave touched the Molosian with an immobilizer.

The Processor fell into her chair like a puppet with its strings cut.

“It wasn’t difficult,” Hulfgren said, going on as if nothing had happened. “I’ve had contacts with Kedia for years. That’s partially how I found out about your ‘secret’ negotiations. My spies let me know about all sorts of things. When news of what Nagh had done reached me, I knew how best to turn it to my advantage.” He got up. “Come, walk with me. Kormira, Dewal, follow. Clio, see to her.”

“Yes, Master,” the three rubber slaves spoke in unison. Hulfgren left the dining room, and Martin followed, with the two soldier-slaves only a handful of steps behind. Martin saw Clio pick up Lady Miyal as they left. Hulfgren led Martin to the huge main hall with the Greek columns and the artwork.

He spoke as they walked.

“You’d never have been allowed to keep Rose,” he said to Gordon, flatly. “Your deal with the Molosians is a good one, and I’ll use it, but Rose belongs to me and to me alone. All this planning has been for her. If your plan had succeeded, I’d have found some way to reward you, maybe. But I still would have taken her from you.”

Martin didn’t say a word. He glanced behind him. The rubber bodyguards stared intently at him.

“My spies told me about the clone’s memory encoding. I had one of them insert a post-hypnotic suggestion about coming to Earth. I then arranged for her to wake up early, before Nagh was ready to claim her. He wanted to do it in Cate’s own bedchamber, the clone thinking she was in her own room. I admire that, in a way. Anyway, the clone freed herself, and, eventually, came to Earth, exactly as planned. You, then, played your part, conspiring with Cate’s rivals in your scheme to enslave Rose.

“And that leads us here.”

Hulfgren stopped before an abstract painting full of blues, reds, and lots of black squiggly lines.

“Here, sir?” Martin asked, nervously.

“Here,” Hulfgren said. “Rose has been attacked by sources unknown but connected to Molos. She will travel to Molos, to prevent future attacks on her and to increase her personal standing in the Firm through direct negotiation.” The Managing Partner chuckled softly, sinisterly.

“It’s a trap, you see, you stupid little man,” he said. “The Chief Slaver, with Nagh’s help, will already have laid my version of events for me to the Kedian authorities by the time she gets there. Rose will bring them the clone of Cate all right, but the evidence will show that she herself was the one who arranged for the cloning in the first place, to steal secrets and claim credit for catching the ‘real spy.’

“Rose will herself, ironically, be put under arrest as a foreign spy, framed on Molos by my spies.

“She will be convicted of espionage, technological theft, and, most importantly, breaking the neutrality of one Client’s dominion over another. She will then, legally, in another Client’s jurisdiction, be made a slave. Your deal with help grease the wheels.”

Hulfgren faced Martin. His smile was unholy.

“I will claim Rose as the rightful piece of property that she is, with no violation of our cherished Firm regulations over intra-agency slaving. Rose will be mine, with no one here to dispute her fall.

“She will be mine. Forever.”

Martin felt dizzy. “But what… what about… ?”

“The real Miyal Cate?” Hulfgren asked. “I’m sending her back to Molos. I’m sure the Molosians will approve of her launching this crusade on another planet without their permission.”

He laughed. “She’ll be lucky not to end up in a resequencing chamber herself.”

“No… I mean…”

“The Molosians? Here? Who cares? They’ll be no evidence of wrongdoing on my part. I’ll see to that. The ones that aren’t slaves soon will be. And, of course, Nagh will never say a word.”

“No, I mean… me.”

“Ah, yes. You.” Hulfgren started walking again. Martin hurried to catch up. “I’m not sure what I’m going to do with you yet, Gordon. That’s why you’re here, out of sight, out of trouble, and you’ll stay here until I’m ready to deal with you.”

The Partner stopped suddenly and slapped Martin on the shoulders, badly frightening him.

“In the meantime, consider yourself my guest. You can have the use of any of my servants. Kormira, see to it. And see Gordon back to his room.”

“Yes, Master,” the former Slaver said. The rubber slaves came up behind Martin.

Each of them put a hand on his shoulder as Hulfgren walked away. He was whistling happily.

Wordlessly, Martin reviewed the intricacies of Hulfgren’s scheme. It was so complex he had trouble getting his head around it. He had been played, and there was nothing he could do about it. Yet.

He pictured Rose sucking off Hulfgren’s dick instead of his own. The image made him grimace. No, he thought, savagely. She’s mine. She belongs to me, not you, you overstuffed toad.

Kormira’s hand clenched a little tighter on his shoulder, almost painfully.

“Come, master,” the slave said, and, wincing, Martin allowed himself to be led off. He went meekly enough, but inside his mind was already turning, doing what it did best. Scheming.

Rose was his. His. He didn’t how yet, he didn’t know what he would have to do, who he would have to screw, but Rose was going to be his slave. His slave. Guest, my ass, he thought. I’m a prisoner.

Well, that was all right. That was okay. If there was anyplace he needed to be to get what he wanted, it was here, in Hulfgren’s home. He didn’t know what he would do yet, but this was the place to be.

He’ll bring her here. Once he thinks he’s won, he’ll bring her here.

Martin’s limp dick twitched.

Ah, yes, he thought. Ah, yes. He allowed his gaze to travel along Kormira’s svelte form. ‘You see,’ he said to himself, mimicking the old man. ‘You see?’

Why, already, things were looking up!