The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

As with so many supervillains-to-be, Matthew Marsters was a gifted scientist. By ‘gifted’ in the world of wannabe supervillains, we mean ‘sweeps the scientific Nobels every year, or would do were it not for Professor Vincent Von Destruction, ruler of a small and vaguely Slavic country’.

He was a research technician working in the electronics lab of Shark Industries, run by Andrew Shark, who was widely known to have as bodyguard his own creation, the Steel Knight. What was less well known was that Shark himself was the man in the Steel Knight armour.

Shark’s current drive, having already secured military supply contracts around the world, was to produce something of use to the law enforcement and penal organisations and land their contracts. Matthew, with his twin diplomas in neuropsychology and electronics, had been recruited especially for this drive. Though he did not know it, some of the research he had done since had been taken by Shark and used as the basis for a further upgrade of the Steel Knight armour. Currently, however, he was working on a rehabilitation device, or rather two; one wiped criminal tendencies from the mind of the rehab subject, and one device—a kind of mental imprinter—wrote in whole new abilities—car repair skills or something similar—and a desire to use them rather than turn to crime. There were possibilities for the tech in addiction rehab, too, once Matthew had perfected it. Andrew Shark was pleased, though he was cautious about the technology. As soon as Shark got his hands on a working prototype he was going to begin reverse-engineering a device to block the mind-wiper. In theory, it could be set to wipe anything, and the only way to replace what was wiped would be to code it back into the imprinter. Defences needed to be procured against possible criminal use; after all, the Steel Knight would be a formidable weapon for evil, just as it was for good. Suppose someone wiped Andrew’s heroic tendencies and used the imprinter to turn him into a super-powered henchman?

Andrew shuddered whenever the idea returned. He’d had enough problems already with being mentally controlled.

The typical scientist in stories such as these is utterly dedicated. He’ll only leave the lab when a friend forces him to go home, eat and get some sleep. Matthew didn’t work in quite that way. He did his best inventing in the shower, though it would often take him days of work in the lab to bring the theories up to a point where his wild intuitions were proved right. As such, he was at home resting and watching Futurama when the Scent walked in through the door. Returning to tangibility, the taciturn robot made a request for the electronicist’s aid in repairing himself and shut down, with the explanation that Andrew Shark had been busy and Matthew was his second port of call.

The Scent. A humanoid robot with a cape and the most ludicrous colour scheme imaginable, more appalling even than the original Green Lantern.

Matthew was, not entirely surprisingly, a little taken aback by this, particularly when the robot’s chest plate popped loose to reveal a series of steel ribs and a remarkable network of wires, insane circuitry, and mechanisms. Nevertheless, after the cartoon ended, he began to investigate the robot. A depraved scheme began to take form in his mind.

He showered, and emerged dripping but with the details all worked out.

The next day, he took his work home with him.

Matthew sat back, rubbed his eyes, and sighed. He’d managed successfully to interface the Scent’s head to his computer and access the source code for the robot’s personality, but...

It would have to be taken from a human’s brain engrams, wouldn’t it? Rewriting portions of the personality to allow his plan to succeed was going to be a lot harder than if it had been a straightforward artificial intelligence.

It took a lot to make Matthew think of a Turing-capable AI as straightforward.

Rejigging some of the circuitry in the Scent and adding in some newly-printed boards he’d had made during the workday to produce a mindwipe device with an impressive blast radius—able to take in the grounds and all hidden areas of Shark’s mansion, headquarters of the world’s mightiest heroic organisation—had been fairly simple. Rewriting the machine code for the device to suit his purposes had been but the work of a moment. Reworking the Scent’s mind to make all that had been done thus far worthwhile might take a while longer. But, having worked long into the night, he’d done it. The equivalent, more or less, of a single irresistible post-hypnotic command.

That was the enslavement of the Paladins dealt with, he thought as he reattached the Scent’s head. The actual repairs requested by the Scent hadn’t taken too long. Next job was getting into Paladin Mansion himself. That required a keycard. A keycard required getting hold of another Paladin, and one who wasn’t just going to alert the others to the theft of his card immediately. That ruled out the active roster. So an inactive Paladin. And that thought had, in the shower previously, led Matthew almost immediately to plan the enslavement of another merry band of heroes...

Which plan had required the prior enslavement of another. The chains of family and friendship ran strangely through these organisations, as anyone with a decent level of skill in computer hacking could find out with but a little work on a certain Government network...

Vivienne Cookson, the chairwoman of the committee on mutant affairs set up by the US Government, entered her office on the next Sunday to find the guest chair occupied by a man toying idly with a mobile phone. He wore a ridiculously overlarge and flashy watch, too.

“What are you doing here?”

“Really, Dr Cookson,” Matthew replied, smiling. “I’m sure you’ll agree there’s no need to take that tone.” And with that, he clicked a button on his phone.

Vivienne, caught in the act of taking one step forward, froze instantly, one foot off the floor. She wasn’t quite balanced properly and slowly collapsed forward onto the ground, able to do nothing to break her fall. It wasn’t that her muscles weren’t responding, it was more that her mind wasn’t sending instructions for them to respond to. Even instinctive reactions had taken a holiday.

Matthew realised this in a flash, and an instant later the possible repercussions it entailed became clear to him. Protected from the mindwipe impulse by the circuitry concealed in his watch, he sprang forward and felt along her neck for a pulse. Still there. He let out his held breath in a long, slow stream and rolled her over onto her back. She was breathing normally, with no agitation, and the movement of her chest was just barely visible against her loose blouse. He smiled, removed her glasses, tucked the phone away inside his leather jacket, and closed the office door. From his other jacket pocket he produced a slim device with a pair of lasers just visible on one side. He positioned these over her helplessly open eyes and pressed a button.

My name is Vivienne Cookson. I am Chairwoman of the committee on mutant affairs and leader of-

My name is Vivienne Cookson. I am Master’s obedient fuckslave. Nothing else is important.

Information—new information, in a total emotionless context—flooded down Vivienne’s optic nerves and into her brain. Had she been able to feel, she would have felt as if this information were scorching it’s way indelibly into her living tissue. It was, too, the word of God.

After perhaps five minutes the lasers switched off. Matthew put the imprinter away again and walked across to the office blinds. Parting them with his fingers for a moment, he looked out. All else in the area was silent; very few of those who worked in this building worked on Sundays when they weren’t being bowed down by work.

He turned away from the window once more and looked down at his unthinking captive. His control over her had to be tested; not only that, but her thick blonde curly hair framed an attractive face and her body, so far as could be seen beneath her soft blue trouser suit, was superb. “Vivienne, enter oral...” his voice trailed off as he debated whether she should be allowed to feel pleasure or not, and decided against it... “enter oral fuckslave mode.”

“Yes, Master,” Vivienne droned, her voice still human but utterly emotionless. She rose from her prone position and approached him, dropping back to her knees as she reached him. Wordlessly, she unzipped his chinos and eased them down until she could get at his underwear. Pulling that down, she took his stiffening cock into her hand and eased it into her mouth. Moving around until she could accommodate him comfortably and still bring him the most pleasure she could, she ran her tongue along his now hard cock and began to suck, sliding her mouth along his length while her hand caressed his balls with no though but his pleasure, using all the experience she had ever had. Before too long precum began to emerge and was greedily gulped down by Vivienne. Not long afterward, he came. Vivienne took all of it, never faltering even when she came close to passing out through lack of breath, and swallowed it, then ran her tongue along his member again to ensure she hadn’t missed any. Throughout she had experienced not even a flicker of emotion.

Then she disengaged herself from him and sat back on her heels, waiting patiently for her next order. She did not know what to do next; she depended utterly on Matthew Marsters, or Master as she now knew him, for her role and purpose in life.

Matthew took a couple of minutes before he was fully recovered from the experience. It looked like Cookson had done that a number of times before. She knew exactly what to do and how to do it for the best results. She deserved a reward for such a performance, he decided. Next time she would enter one of the fuckslut modes, which guaranteed orgasm of the slave, instead of fuckslave. But rather than immediately reward her by commanding her to orgasm, he decided to leave it until he was ready to take an orgasm from her as he gave her one.

“You are not an oral virgin, then.”

“No, Master.”

“And I’ll assume your cunt has been taken before me... Are you an anal virgin?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Good.” Matthew smiled, but he was not yet ready to take her last shreds of virginity.

In any case, she had work to do for him.

“You are the leader of GeneFactor,” he stated.

“Yes, Master,” she agreed.

“I have work for them,” Matthew continued, “but it’s work I do not believe they would willingly do for you. You will therefore enslave them for me.” He took off his watch and picked up her left arm, which lay uselessly by her side, and fastened his watch onto her wrist. He then picked up the slim briefcase she had set aside upon entering, before she had seen him.

“What is the combination of your briefcase?”

“675-186, Master.”

He put her briefcase on the desk, opened it, and dropped the imprinter into it, followed by a tracer bug. He then closed and locked the briefcase again, turned to her, and opened the fingers of her left hand, still hanging in the air where he had left it after putting her watch back on her. He slid the handle onto her fingers and closed them around it. He undid her suit jacket and slipped the mobile phone into the inside pocket, then placed her glasses back on her nose. They lent her extra allure, and he made a note to leave them on her in future, though she didn’t seem to need them much.

“Rise,” he said. She stood immediately, her left arm falling back to her side. He undid a couple of her blouse buttons and slid a hand inside, caressing her breasts. Both were firmly in her bra, which he decided to change. He grasped the top of each bra cup and pulled it out and down so that it sprang back into place under her breasts. He did her blouse back up and looked at it. The blouse being loose, you couldn’t tell the difference. He did her jacket buttons back up.

“Vivienne, when I snap my fingers you will return to your normal personality except for the following. First, as always, you will serve and obey me in all things. Second, you will proceed immediately to the GeneFactor headquarters and assemble the group for a meeting. Having done so and got them into a six-foot radius around you, you will produce the mobile phone and press ‘SND’. You will then open your briefcase and produce the item I used on you after the phone and use it the same way I used it upon you on Mystery Woman and Magnagirl. You will then return to the entrance of the headquarters, wait outside, and fall back into the state you are in now. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Good.” He snapped his fingers. Vivienne blinked and, as her eyes opened once more, life seemed to return to them. As they began by resting on Matthew, respect and awe shone through, but she remembered what she had to do and turned to go.

Matthew watched her leave and smiled.

Vivienne waited patiently as GeneFactor assembled themselves in the briefing room. She sat with her arms folded, tapping the phone against her suited arm. It was mildly irritating that the team was taking so long. She had to fulfil Master’s instructions; couldn’t they see that nothing was so vitally important, nothing could ever be so important?

Mystery Woman and Tools arrived first, virtually simultaneously. The shape-shifter and ex-criminal and the scientist of the group, who had lately seemed close to becoming an item, even if Mystery Woman was prone to leaving the group every so often, returning last when Vivienne once more took control of the group when it’s charter was reinstituted last month.. Next came Magnagirl, the green-haired transhuman with power over magnetism. The slightly more feral pairing of Hunter and Behemoth arrived afterward; one slim, one huge. They took their seats around her and waited patiently. She nodded curtly and pressed the SND button immediately, and watched as the slightly fidgety motion that had begun froze into place. Picking her briefcase up once more, she laid it on the table and opened it, producing the device which had had such a marked effect on her. First over the yellow, pupilless eyes of Mystery Woman and then over the innocent green eyes of Magnagirl the lasers flared, singing their messages. And yet the two women, now wholly enslaved, maintained their rigid unseeing, unthinking positions.

My name is Rachel Daccone and I am Mystery Woman of-

My name is Rachel Daccone and I am Master’s obedient fuckslave. Nothing else is important.

My name is Lisa Danes and I am Magnagirl-

My name is Lisa Danes and I am Master’s obedient fuckslave. Nothing else is important.

Vivienne let go of the imprinter, letting it fall into Lisa’s lap. No reaction. She turned and set off down the corridors to the main entrance of GeneFactor’s HQ.

Matthew pulled up outside the HQ. The tracer bug’s dot on the radar screen was a fraction above dead centre. He rolled the window down and spoke to Vivienne. “Open the garage door and get in the car.”

“Yes, Master.”

Vivienne marched over with an almost robotic gate and placed her hand against the palmprint scanner. The indicator light beside it blinked from red to green, and Vivienne climbed into the passenger seat of the BMW—Matthew’s job with Shark paid well.

He drove in and drew up alongside Vivienne’s car, then looked across at her. “Get out and lead me to the rest of GeneFactor.”

“Yes, Master.”

He climbed out and followed her down the corridor, watching the movement of her backside. “And take off your jacket and blouse,” he added. An afterthought, but one he would enjoy.

“Yes, Master.” Still walking, Vivienne brought her hands up and, without once looking down, plucked each button from it’s hole and cast the two garments aside. Now Matthew’s view of Vivienne’s buttocks was, to all intents and purposes, unobscured; the trouser suit was tight around it and each buttock pressed firm against it as she took the weight on that leg. Her bra remained, but had he ordered her to turn his view of her breasts would also have been unobscured; she would not have thought to change the arrangements he had made earlier even had she known the change had been made.

Vivienne continued to march confidently along the labyrinth of corridors until she arrived at the briefing room, where she halted just inside the door. Matthew walked up behind her, placed his hand on her back, and slid it up and down her spine for a few moments before unsnapping her bra. He reached around in front of his statuesque slave and gripped the bra between her full breasts, pulling it forward. It came off quickly, raising her arms without meeting the least resistance as the straps manoeuvred their way off Vivienne’s arms. Her arms stayed raised; currently she was in the mindless fuckslave portion of her programming. She could not change what had been done to her except when commanded to do so.

“Don’t just stand there, go and hug Lisa’s face to your cleavage,” Matthew said.

“Yes, Master.” Vivienne responded instantly, moving at once to stand in front of Lisa’s seat. She reached out and, for an instant, cradled Lisa’s head in her hands; pulling that head forward and lifting, she pressed Lisa’s unresisting face between her firm breasts, her own arms pressing them together around Lisa’s nose and mouth.

Matthew walked up to the unmoving Mystery Woman. He was looking forward to investigating the mutant he now knew as Rachel Daccone’s body and her shapeshifting abilities to their fullest extent, but she had a number of tasks for him first. “Rachel, do you remember a young mutant who calls herself Runaway?”

“Yes, Master,” Rachel replied. Her voice was clear, but still in the monotone, idiot-savant mode of speech that was all that was available to those in mindless fuckslave mode.

“And your relationship to her is...?”

“I am her foster mother, Master.”

It was at this point Matthew realised that he hadn’t actually seen Rachel’s eyes track to see her new Master. He stepped in front of her and still discerned no reaction. Intrigued, he spent five minutes trying to get her to look elsewhere or blink without ordering her to, before concluding that it simply wasn’t possible. Idiot-savant was indeed the word.

“She is currently joint leader of the GeneWarriors,” Matthew said, resuming his conversation as if nothing had happened. From Rachel’s point of view, of course, nothing had.

“Yes, Master.”

“You will assume your normal personality, but as always you will remain utterly obedient to me. You will call Runaway and tell her you have important news for her, and to come here alone.”

“Yes, Master,” she replied, before blinking and then rising smoothly out of her chair, no longer an automaton but a thinking if controlled being.

Runaway leaned against the wall of the compound, looking around in annoyance. Of all the things Momma could have done, she’d decided to call her here and then just ignore her. It made her mad.

The door opened and she spun toward it, feeling sure she’d see Momma smiling at her.

Instead, Matthew stood in the doorway, holding his mobile phone and tapping it idly against his leg. He wore his watch once more.

Runaway snarled in anger and flew toward him. Clearly this was some kind of trap and Momma had been forced to call her.

Matthew waited until the last second, then hit the SND button. Runaway froze to a halt in midair, hovering there.

Marsters produced the imprinter and played it into her gaze.

My name is Mary Denver. I am a mutant-

My name is Mary Denver. I am Master’s obedient fuckslave. Nothing else matters....

Although in this case, of course, being unable to be touched without sending the toucher into a coma was something that mattered. Fortunately for Matthew, he was aware of this. “Follow me, Runaway,” he said, turning and leading the way back inside GeneFactor headquarters.

“Yes, Master.”

“I confess I’m wondering about the white streak in your hair,” Matthew said on re-entering the briefing room. “Does it apply to your bush, too?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Lummy,” he replied, adopting a Leslie Phillips upper-class British accent. “Jackpot. Even if I can’t really investigate for myself yet. On the other hand... Listen carefully, Runaway. You’re going to do me a big favour, and afterwards... Afterwards, Tools here is going to rebuild his mutant power neutraliser and... well, being honest, you’re going to do me a lot more favours. But you’ll like them. That idea sound good?”

“Yes, Master.”

No emotion whatsoever. He decided to take her word for it. “Before that... you are going to find the Beastman. Absorb his powers and memories and put him in a coma for a couple of weeks. Then take his Paladins ID card and bring it to me. Do not allow anyone else to see you do this and act completely as normal when in sight of anyone other than Beastman. Understand?”

“Yes, Master.” And with that, Runaway rose up until she was hovering about two feet above the ground, and flew back along the tunnels to the exit.

“Vivienne, you can let go of Magnagirl now,” Matthew said, realising.

“Yes, Master.” Vivienne released her almost immediately, and Lisa Danes looked... almost relieved, for an emotionless servitor who hadn’t moved in the past two or three hours.

Matthew stood in the middle of three highly attractive female slaves; Mystery Woman, Magnagirl, and Dr Vivienne Cookson. He also stood near three other men, but that hardly mattered. Except that it did; when he could benefit from keeping his promises, Matthew Marsters kept his promises. And rendering Runaway as touchable as Lisa, Rachel and Vivienne was certainly something he could benefit from. With that in mind, he picked up the imprinter again, set the toggle switch to a different setting, and gave Tools a dose before clicking it back to the original setting.

My name is Arthur Daley. I am-

My name is Arthur Daley. I am Master’s obedient slave.

“Go to your lab and rebuild your mutant power nullifier. Then bring it back to the briefing room.”

“Yes, Master.”

Matthew then pocketed the imprinter, ran an eye over his three female slaves and, unable to decide just yet... “Rachel, show me to your bedroom. Lisa, Vivienne, follow us.”

“Yes, master.”

A triple chorus; all blankly pitched, all utterly emotionless. All ready to give themselves to Matthew or to sacrifice themselves if he decided that was to be their fate. He smiled. Power got better the more one had. And he remembered his promise.

As his slaves trooped into Rachel’s room, Matthew pulled his polo shirt off and dropped his chinos before stepping out of his underwear. He looked up at them again and smiled; with Vivienne nude only from the waist up and the others fully dressed in GeneFactor uniforms, he was the least clothed there. Which just goes to show that sometimes it’s possible to be the most exposed and still the most powerful person in a given room.

“Vivienne, I do believe I’m going to relieve you of your last vestiges of virginity now. Enter anal fuckslut mode.”

“Yes, Master,” she said. Immediately she kicked off her shoes, then undid the fastenings on her suit trousers and dropped them, then hooked her fingers into her panties and slid them down her legs, and stepped out of both. Now naked, she turned to face away from Matthew, spread her legs slightly, bent over and gripped her buttocks, pulling them gently apart from each other, offering herself easily to her Master.

Matthew stepped forward and slid a finger inside her anus. She left out a moan of near-orgasmic pleasure at even this mild invasion. “Being kind, I suppose I should really use some lube here,” he said, smiling. “But people have managed without that in the past and I don’t have any to hand, and after what I did to your mind it’s hardly going to matter to you.” With that, he gripped her hips and pushed himself in carefully. It took a number of thrusts before he was successfully sliding in and out with little resistance, but that didn’t particularly matter to him and it mattered even less to Vivienne, who had orgasmed strongly the moment his cock was fully inside her and continued to gush with every thrust. All sensations of pain, of discomfort, and everything else connected with anal sex had been twisted into sheer orgasmic pleasure. Matthew continued to pound in until he came.

He pulled out and watched as his come trickled out of her backside and ran down the inside of her legs, while her own pussy juices dampened her legs from the other side. He walked around her, still recovering, and sneaked a look at her face; at his ejaculation, when she had reverted to her mindless mode, her face had frozen. At the height of orgasm.

Matthew was lazing about on Rachel’s bed when the next superheroine fell into his clutches, though perhaps ‘leapt’ would be a more accurate word. Dozing off after a pleasant half-hour with fuckslut-mode Rachel, who now stood at attention by the side of the bed, his near-closed eyes just caught a flicker of motion in the shadows at the far corner of the room. Without moving as far as the mystery figure could see, he reached out and took hold of the phone again, thinking that he should have brought an induction device with a better range to use when the phone was no longer a useful subterfuge. One-eyed, he watched the figure slip forward out of the shadow. Female, he first diagnosed; and then recognition hit him. Psi-Shadow; the full-figured Asian mutant telepath with a red lightning strike over one eye, long, straight dark purple hair and the ability to vanish into one shadow and appear out of another.

Matthew smiled inwardly. He could use a telepath, especially one with a body like that. Runaway had not yet returned; could Psi-Shadow’s arrival be connected?

A psychic knife flared out of one of her hands and she sank it into Rachel’s back. No reaction whatsoever.

“Why are you here, exactly?” Matthew asked, looking shrewdly at her. “What are you doing in my bedroom?”

“It’s the strangest thing,” she replied icily, creating a second psychic knife. “Runaway comes here and when she gets back she’s acting a little oddly. So I decided I was going to find out why.”

“Oh,” Matthew replied, as she began her lunge toward him with the knife. He clicked the phone button.

Her forward motion halted, her psychic knife died. She was hopelessly unbalanced and fell forward, her breasts landing most enjoyably around Matthew’s naked cock, which responded almost instantly.

“Rachel, go and get the imprinter.”

“Yes, Master.”

A few minutes later Psi-Shadow—Bethany Bradley—was on her knees before Matthew, his cock in her mouth as she worked at it. Once the concubine to the Tyrant of Asia, Eleanor had had her body trained in a thousand different sexual practices; Matthew temporarily lost his capacity for rational thought as her tongue licked and gently probed, as her lips teased response from his shaft, her entire body oriented on his pleasure alone; his latest fuckslave.

Runaway landed nimbly just outside the compound. Vivienne, still in her mindless mode and now wearing a French maid’s outfit, woodenly asked Runaway to follow her in the name of their mutual Master and led her back through the corridors to Matthew’s new base of operations in Rachel’s old bedroom, where he was more or less holding court; Rachel, in the shape she had used as Runaway’s foster mother, naked, and Bethany kneeling subserviently at his feet.

Standing aside deferentially as she had been instructed, Vivienne allowed Runaway to enter the room. She did so, proffering the Beastman’s Paladin ID card.

“Ah did what ya asked me, Master. Harry’s as sound asleep as a muskrat in an abandoned house.”

Matthew took the card from her and inspected it. “Yes, well, I have no idea what that means but I’ll assume he’s not coming out of his coma for a while. And now you want your reward, yes?”

“Ah—Ah can’t stop thinking about it, Master. Ah would have done what you asked without the reward, but—”

“I know you would, Runaway. And you’ll get it, I promise. But not yet. You failed in your instructions.”

“Master? Ah—Ah got it, didn’t Ah? Have Ah got the wrong thing? Ah’ll—”

“No, you haven’t. But you were seen.” Matthew patted Bethany on her head. “Psi-Shadow here, or Bethany as we now know her, saw you. If she hadn’t been idiotic and come out here without telling anyone, you would now be in serious trouble. As it is, Bethany is in trouble. But as you watch her punishment, I want you to remember one thing. If you’d succeeded in avoiding suspicion, she would not now be under my control. And—yes, why not? Take off your jacket, strip that suit to the waist, and get playing with your tits. Bethany—”

“Yes, Master,” Runaway said, shedding her jacket.

“Thank you,” Matthew said, unperturbed. “Bethany, enter anal fuckslave mode.”

“Yes, Master.” Bethany rose and shed her Spandex before assuming the same position Vivienne had not much earlier.

As Matthew forced his cock inside her, he spoke. “It’s probably painful, although if you notice there’ll be no reaction until I finish. Bethany, when I do finish you’ll be like Runaway; your normal self except utterly obedient to me.”

“Yes, Master.”

Matthew smiled at his power and fixed his eyes on Runaway’s large, firm tits as she happily massaged them, her nipples seeming to get ever more firm. Release came soon and, as he removed himself from Bethany, she sighed and then moaned in pain.

“Your punishment, which by the look on your face you even enjoyed, is now over, Runaway. Now you get your reward.” Matthew pressed the intercom talk button. “Lisa, bring it in, please.”

“Yes, Master.”

Matthew smiled hungrily at Runaway, whose eyes were practically glowing in gleeful anticipation, and Lisa walked in, dressed in the twin of Vivienne’s maid’s outfit, bearing a silver platter on which rested a pistol that looked like a prop from some science fiction film. Matthew took it from the platter, smiled again at Runaway, and levelled the gun at her. She smiled happily in anticipation, and closed her eyes.

There was a moment of strange sound and multicoloured light, then Matthew’s sight returned.

“Bethany, I want you to get inside Tools’ mind.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Work his body like a puppet; walk him along here.”

“Yes, Master.”

In due course, Tools walked in through the door, and stood there uncertainly.

“Back out of his mind, Bethany.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Now then, Runaway,” Matthew said, his tone suggesting that perhaps he was developing a taste for supervillainy and it’s associated cliché of explanation, “What we have here is a test subject, a human being with a brain, a soul, and everything else associated with it, though the brain has been somewhat rewritten since the original version went on the market. Try to drain him.”

“Yes, Master.”

With that, Runaway turned around and placed her ungloved hands on Tools’ temples. No reaction whatsoever.

“Tools?” Matthew asked, just in case the change had happened and simply not been observed.

“Yes, Master?”

“Ah. Good. You may release him now, Runaway.”

“Yes, Master.”

“And punch him through the wall,” Matthew added, remembering that Runaway’s strength and flight weren’t mutant abilities and at least in theory shouldn’t have been negated.

“Yes, Master.”

KERRUNCH.

Matthew walked back into Rachel’s room from what had been Tools’ lab—why did he need Tools now that he had the only thing of Tools’ design he’d wanted?—and handed Runaway and Psi-Shadow a device each, then nodded as each concealed them inside their costume—Runaway’s imprinter inside her leather jacket, Psi-Shadow’s mindwiper lodged securely between her breasts. “You know what to do, girls,” he said. “I’m not going to alter your minds until you are once more unthinking, which will mean you feel some degree—some probably quite large degree—of guilt. You may take this, Runaway, as the actual penalty for screwing up, our prior event being merely a demonstration of what is to come. You, Bethany, may take it as the penalty for trying to attack me. After all, you would have become my slaves in any case, would you not? Oh—I forgot. Judging by Rachel’s failure to succumb a second time when I took you, we can probably safely say that it won’t affect you, but I don’t take chances and in any case, it might just have been because she was set on ‘mindless’.” He handed her a slim device. “Ankle strap mindwipe protection. Have fun, girls,” he said as Bethany strapped her new toy on.

“Yes, Master,” was the only reply he received before Bethany leapt into the shadows and vanished, Runaway disappearing down the corridors in flight.

He’d asked Runaway her name, since no one seemed to know it. He’d found it hard to stop calling her Runaway, however. Strange, but there it was.

That evening Matthew pulled into the Xavier Institute for Higher Learning in Vivienne’s car, accompanied by Lisa, Rachel and Vivienne. He still hadn’t got around to fucking either Lisa or Runaway, he noted. That had to be rectified. Along with not having fucked Ms. Psyche or Weather Witch, who would by now, he trusted, be willing servants—Psi-Shadow and Runaway having had more than ample time to get the job done now.

And then, as the doors swung open...

Ivory Queen!

Second best telepath on the planet now the Warriors’ mentor was gone, bowing only to Ms Psyche. Or so Vivienne’s files had it. And there she should, motionless, emotionless, unthinking... obedient. Next to her stood Ms Psyche herself and the Weather Witch. Psi-Shadow and Runaway flanked them, waiting in postures that spoke of their returned yet bound minds against these still-mindless additions to his clique of fuckslaves. An interesting contrast, and one... one to be investigated, but perhaps later. Tonight he would take Runaway, and in the morning... there were the remaining GeneWarriors, and the Scent would have prepared the Paladins for his coming by that time. But before that...

“Vivienne, what is the Ivory Queen’s real name?”

“Emily White, Master.”

“Excellent. Emily... what are you doing here?”

“I await Your command, Master.”

Bloody mindless fuckslaves... why couldn’t they think?

“OK... why did you come here in the first place?” he asked, annoyed.

“I had a message to deliver, and it seemed best to do it in person, Master.”

“You wanted to exert a little mental pressure on the recipient?” Matthew asked, catching on.

“Yes, Master.”

“Fair enough. I enjoy it myself. Umm... Oh, sod it. Runaway, show me to your room. Ladies, accompany us.”

“Yes, Master.”

Despite the monotone lacklustreness of the reply, such a chorus was remarkable. Matthew felt himself hardening even further in both cock and heart. Runaway and Bethany showed some sense of their altered selves in their reply, but still harmonised neatly with the rest of his expanding harem.

Matthew tried to decide who to have next, but really, he had set out with the intention of taking Runaway’s virginity and that should stay at the rest of the list. It wasn’t as if these girls would give him a time limit. It wasn’t as if they could give him any kind of limit. He limited them.

“Ms Psyche, I want you to create a teke-field between Runaway and her clothes,” he said. “Then expand it; tear her clothes from her. Don’t interfere with her movement.”

“Yes, Master,” and it was done. Matthew smiled as the green-and-gold spandex burst open, snapping at the seams with a machine-gun series of staccato cracks. The leather jacket and the loose belt went the same way, sadly, but one of his catch was bound to be good with a needle and thread... Runaway could be restored to her former status later, if she had to be. Yet she kept walking, even her restored self giving no indication of anything unusual happening around her. It was Master’s will, and so it must occur.

Along the way they met Eyeblink, leader of the GeneWarriors—yet excepted from enslavement by virtue of his gender and perceived uselessness. Now he had found new employment as a statue. Matthew took a moment to check the reaction of Ms Psyche, his wife as he had now learned from Vivienne’s files—nothing. She didn’t care about Eyeblink. Right at the moment, she couldn’t. He wondered if she would when her mind became conscious again—whether she would if she could.

The sex was incredible, given Runaway’s utter inexperience; she had unbelievable strength in each muscle and quickly realised how to use each. On fuckslut mode she felt the benefits of such work, too; Matthew had decided she should enjoy the loss of her virginity, the penetration of her maidenhead.

The Ivory Queen’s cloak fell, apparently untouched, from her shoulders, as she stood with breasts thrust proudly forth and legs posed for close inspection. Her immaculate, white gold hair, minutely disturbed from it’s original appearance, was brushed back into place with the merest telekinetic nudge. The knot securing the strings of her corset began to undo itself. Matthew smiled.

With the knot undone, the tension in the strings reduced minutely. Emily White’s restricted breasts pushed out... just a little...

With tantalising slowness, the strings binding the corset together began to unravel, drawing themselves smoothly through the eyeholes, until finally... with only the minimum of premature revelation...

The white corset itself fell away smoothly. Matthew smiled wider and shifted into a more accommodating position at the sight.

Emily had not even the remotest awareness about what was happening to her. Though more than competent in most fields relating to psionic power, she had not yet been woken from her automaton quiescence. Instead, the reawoken redhead, Ms Psyche, was undressing her, stripping the woman of all but her boots. Ms Psyche knew what she did and why she did it—in a word, her Master. She knew also the next step—she herself was to be dominated by the almost nude Ivory Queen until Psyche’s tongue triggered White’s fourth orgasm and sent her almost immediately to sleep. Master had wished for some entertainment and Ms Psyche wasn’t going to refuse—lack of lesbian tendency or no such lack.

Ms Psyche—Joanne Winters—focused her telekinetic force on the top of White’s slim panties, now all that stood between White and the outside world. Slowly but surely the waistband separated itself from the Queen’s waist, following which the panties descended in held form until they lay around the soles of her booted feet. A little further telekinesis lifted White, still statue-still in posture, above the panties at which point they whisked themselves from below her, before White was once more lowered gently to the ground.

Ms Psyche’s telekinetic effort ceased and her mind blanked momentarily, returning as the mind of a tall, curvaceous redhead of full sexual maturity—and no psychic power whatsoever. Her wedding dress—her one remaining souvenir from her nuptials with Eyeblink—rustled slightly as she shivered. What the hell was she doing in the midst of this crowd of—a shudder ran through her—mutants?

As Joanne’s mind lost it’s reality and found a new creation, Emily White’s mind tasted apparently free action—the constraints she was under were things she had no knowledge of—for the first time since Psi-Shadow had returned to the GeneWarriors’ base and activated the mindwipe.

Her gaze fell on Joanne Winters in her pristine white wedding costume and she felt something new stir below her hips, between her legs... the love of women touched her soul for the first time. Feeling her nipples grow rigid, she let emotion overwhelm her for but a moment before parcelling it up, balling almost all her lust up. Then she ripped a hole through the psionic barriers between her own mind and that of Winters, meeting no resistance, and forced the lust into the redhead’s mind.

Ms Psyche gasped suddenly. Now another worldview changed, and even as the change took hold, as the lust unfolded and blossomed within her suddenly-undefended mind, she felt fingers wrap firmly around her pride, her mass of red hair. A tug; she needed no second bidding. As she fell to her knees, she though she did so almost as much to preserve her hair as anything else. Then her nose tasted the odour of lust within the Ivory Queen; tendrils of psychic energy smashed into her mind and twisted and, with a last thought of this is not my doing, Joanne Winters obediently, almost mindlessly, plunged her nose into the now-wonderful scent, her tongue into the ever-moistening cavern, and lost herself. The mutant who believed herself human—not merely human but a rabid mutant-hater—became, for a time, the slave of another. Yet she never left the slavery of a human.

Orgasm number four blasted through Emily White’s mind and her legs gave, along with her grip on Ms Psyche’s hair, her grip on consciousness, and her open eyes. Muscles slackened as eyelids drooped and even as her thighs unclenched from the ecstasy she fell unknowing forwards...

Matthew left it for almost a minute before he spoke. Ms Psyche was now returned in mind, though still bound to his rule; but she had received orders not to interfere with the situation as it was when she awoke and so lay motionless save for the beating of her heart and breathing sufficient to keep life within her beneath her erstwhile mistress.

“Yes...” Matthew said at last. “I feel much better now.” He removed his trousers, leaving his erection standing as proud testament to his neglect of underwear, and triggered the recliner function on the chair. He lay back. “But not sated. Joanne, arise.”

“Yes, Master,” Joanne replied breathlessly, forcing her way upright from beneath the Ivory Queen. Emotions responded, Matthew noted, just as well as blank obedience.

He allowed himself a moment in which to study the tableau.

“You look good enough to eat in that wedding dress,” he said. “But I’m not going to eat you, I’m going to fuck you. Enter program mode.”

“Yes, Master,” Joanne said, her voice becoming monotonous halfway through as her head lowered. Matthew had put her back in a state resembling a hypnotic trance so deep that the subject can be persuaded to do even that which is utterly out of character, were such a state feasible.

He began to give her her orders. Shortly, he called upon Aurora Manson, the ebony-skinned mutant known as Weather Witch.

As if a zombie, Joanne walked forward, still in bridal gown. She stepped up onto Matthew’s reclined chair and, positioning herself carefully, lowered herself down onto his erect member. Still, unresponsive eyes gazed impassively forwards as her muscles tightened around him.

Matthew began to drive his hips upward. Joanne rode him, her every movement unconsciously calculated to bring the most pleasure to her Master, instincts learned with her husband coming to the fore. She would, had she been able, have noticed Manson begin to advance toward her, riding the wind rather than walking.

Manson did not notice her, either; having never even been freed from blank-minded fuckslavedom, she could not have done. She knew only her task, and though Joanne was involved in her task, she did not and could not perceive her until the time came—and once perception was no longer required, she would forget the entire incident.

Electricity began to build in a torrent of raw, natural power around Manson’s open hands as she neared Winters, finally unleashing itself. It danced in a blazing arc around Joanne’s breasts, almost but not quite touching them, blasting the virgin white silk of her dress’ bodice into ash which then went on to vanish, leaving Joanne’s breasts exposed, inviting. Manson was invited, though not by the spectacle. Rather by the force of the commands lodged within her that also seemed to carry her to her destination. Her mouth opened, her tongue extended and moistened unemotional lips. It had become Aurora’s only purpose in life now to give suck to Joanne’s cleavage, to her breasts.

And so she did, her own knowledge of how she most liked to be touched allowing her some way of guessing what would do the most for Joanne, as was her purpose, her role in life.

Joanne began to feel again. Sensation—exquisite sensation—returned to her. Her eyes lifted heavenward in ecstasy. She knew the man beneath her was not the love she had chosen, but she did not care. What were her choices to those of her Master, after all?

The car pulled up to the gates of Paladin Mansion, and Vivienne got out to insert the stolen Avengers ID card in the slot. She no longer wore her maid’s outfit; security footage and curious watchers would doubtless see nothing wrong with the entrance. And around Paladin Mansion, there were always likely to be curious watchers.

The gates swung slowly open. Vivienne returned to the car and it made it’s way calmly up the drive, bypassing each security system. At the door, they were met by the Scent.

“Master,” he acknowledged, synthezoid voice monotonous and unemotional. “Your command has been carried out.”

“Of course it has,” Matthew replied, smiling. “How could it be otherwise? Where have you stored the female Paladins?”

“They are currently awaiting you in the Pixie’s bedroom, Master,” came the reply.

“Take us there,” Matthew said. Vivienne, Rachel, and the still-untouched Lisa followed him. Rachel and Lisa still sported their French maid’s outfits.

The Pixie had apparently not been in her shrunken state when the Scent had triggered the induction field within him. Yet next to her emerald neighbour, she still appeared shorter than average. The Jade Giantess stood, after all, seven feet tall, while Pixie stood not much over five feet. Beside them both was the buxom blonde, her hair in a pony-tail, clad in a jet black leotard with a lightning strike down her chest and a red sash tied around her waist—Spitfire. Also with the group was the Gypsy Witch, resplendent in a scarlet-hued gypsy costume, her thick brown hair curled neatly, her face as blank as those of her companions.

Matthew couldn’t help smiling at such a collection.

He produced the device that would complete their conditioning and, one by one, imparted new information to their blank mental states. Four superheroine statues were transformed into four superheroine fuckslaves.

He stroked Spitfire’s cheek thoughtfully. “My dear girl... do you realise how much I went through to get you? All this... GeneFactor, the GeneWarriors, the Paladins... once Scent came to me for repairs, I set about making you mine, and now you are.” He nodded to himself, and walked back across to those who had followed him from GeneFactor onward. “Oh, I could have had Rachel simulate being you, no doubt...” He squeezed one of Mystery Lady’s breasts proprietorially. “But I realise it’s not you physically, not any more. Once it would have been, and then Rachel could have sated me. But you’ve kept me awake at nights for some time now, and somewhere along the way it stopped being about you and more about the idea of you. So a simulacrum wasn’t enough... it had to be you.” He smiled briefly. “Still, along the way I’ve picked up enough beauties to make me glad I didn’t stop at Rachel, even if realising I had to have you has dealt me a serious blow in the self esteem.”

He stalked over to Pixie’s bed, about-faced, and fell backward onto it with a deep sigh of contentment.

“And the question arises—among other things—are you as good as the idea of you?”

He paused, and sighed. “Frankly, I’m not even sure I want to test that. If you weren’t, I should be so disappointed...”