The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Wrong Turn

The three men, having ventured against advice into a remote part of the rainforest, were on a descending trail from a ridge line, down its slope, when they came upon a meadow, an unexpected clearing near the bottom alongside an unexpectedly clear and rapid brook. They paused to wonder at the bird song and the sound of water and rustling leaves and to puzzle over three stones that stood, perhaps six foot each, in the middle of the clearing and each bearing unfamiliar runes. If the men had been able to decipher the message upon the stones, or, perhaps, to have picked up the messages, more subtle still, in other sounds around them, then they might have had second thoughts about the meadow and its seeming benign allure. Oblivious to their mistake in stumbling upon this place, however, they lingered.

“Hey, Bri,” one of the men spoke to one of his mates. “What’s the trail guide say? I don’t remember anything about stones or monuments.”

The man he’d spoken to reached around to his backpack and extracted the trail guide. He flipped through it, found a page, and scrutinized it a moment. “Umm, nothing about stones... It’s just... forest.”

“Wow. Maybe we’ve found, like, a lost city or something,” the other man said.

“And what about these birds?”

“Yeah. They’re fucking amazing!”

All three men paused to marvel at the chorus of bird song that sounded from the trees around the meadow’s fringe.

And then the mist began to rise.

It rose from an unseen source, a barely perceptible whiteness in the air. Almost before the men noticed it, it surrounded them. They breathed it in. It seeped through their pores. The effect of the mist was gentle on first contact. Then rapidly, but not unpleasantly, it intensified. Each man found his muscles, head to toe, go so relaxed and limp that his only desire was to slacken, to listen, to breathe, and, at last, to ease his body down into the soft grass, and sleep…

An Amazon lieutenant stood in the meadow at the lead of Her platoon of Amazon warriors. Looking at the entranced men who nestled in tranced slumber upon the meadow grass, the lieutenant noticed that their clothing and the gear they carried were not what the local tribesmen wore or carried; that the stubble of three days’ growth on their faces meant they shaved, a custom the local tribesmen did not practice; and that the freckles and reddish hair on one of them, the dark curls on one of the others, and the light skin on all three meant for certain that these intruders were from the outer world, not the forest. “Gather them up. We shall take them to the Temple. The Queen will decide why they have been sent to us and what is to be their purpose.”

Training plan

When the men emerged from the zombified state that they had entered in the meadow, they found themselves someplace very different. It was a sort of prison chamber, a large cell, of stone with high windows barred with iron. Light streamed in from the windows, which were too high up the walls to reach. The men, whose names were Tom Murphy, Scott Haynes, and Brian De Soto, were buddies recently graduated from college. The trip to South America had been an idea hatched over a few too many drinks at their frat house early senior year. The adventure that they were looking for wasn’t at all like what they were about to experience at the hands of the Amazon Queen and Her warrior-acolytes.

The three men had not yet lain conscious eyes on their captors. They remembered the birdsong—some of which, in retrospect, seemed oddly speech-like. They remembered having been fascinated by it. They also faintly recalled the touch of something cool and pleasant on their faces. And, after that, all they could now recall was having felt so sleepy and so comfortable in that meadow that descending to the grass and drifting off had been the perfect and the only thing to do. Now, however, they were here. In a cell. And they had no further clue where this might be, how they had gotten here, or what might next happen.

“Dude,” started Murphy. “What happened?”

“I have no idea,” De Soto replied. Haynes studied the walls of the cell, trying to see if there was a way out.

Before the men could exhaust their speculation as to what this place was, a large door at one end of the cell swung open. Through the door, into the cell, walked a tall, long-limbed, warrior. She was stunning. The armour She wore looked serious, but it left enough uncovered to flatter the curves and strength of Her body. The three men stood dumbfounded. Before they could think to form a plan, the warrior raised a small object. It was a pendant, consisting of a green emerald in a delicate gold surround. The emerald glistened. Catching the captives’ eyes, it dazzled them in an instant. Faintly, somewhere, in each man’s brain, there was the song of birds.

The effect was not full zombification, like they had succumbed to in the meadow. Consciousness remained. But the sensations running through each man’s brain, in gentle ripples, lilting tones, made it hard to think, hard to do much of anything. Except stand there. And listen.

“Follow me,” the Amazon intoned, somehow in a way perfectly intelligible to the three English-speaking males. “You must obey. Resistance is futile.” And, somehow, this made sense.

The mesmerizing warrior shepherded the three men for the whole day. She seemed none too happy with Her task, which was to show the captives what they were expected to do during this interim before the Queen decided their fate. The things that they were expected to do during the interim were simple, and, under the influence of the Amazon art, none of them showed any serious inclination not to go through the paces that they were shown. True, all three could still think, and they found the situation puzzling. They managed to exchange quizzical looks with one another from time to time, and even occasional whispered conversation. But a quick shimmer of the emerald pendant, and they remembered. Like schoolboys talking in class who finally draw the teacher’s ire, the three men, when caught in that shimmer—and the lilting tones that seemed always to follow—stopped mid-sentence and remembered. They were to listen. To follow. To obey.

The regimen was simple. They were to rise early. Engage in physical training. Eat. Rest. Engage in physical training. Shower. Eat. Then sleep. That, at any rate, is what they consciously witnessed of the first day of captivity. And of the second. And of the third. And so on. Through these first days in Amazon captivity, the men figured out that they’d trespassed upon a place they didn’t belong. They figured out that these women were some sort of jungle warriors. That they now were their captives. And that, for some reason, they were doing whatever they were told. They also observed, in the occasional sentences they exchanged among themselves back at their prison chamber, the Amazons were sexy beyond compare. A faint, and sometimes not-so-faint, physical pleasure came from obeying them.

New memories—and trances fast forgotten

There was, however, another thing happening, and of that they had no memory. It went like this:

On the first day, and each day after, as soon as the men had finished their second daily feeding, they were taken back to the cell. They were left for a few minutes there on their own, and then the door opened, like it had at the start of the day when the one Amazon unlucky enough to draw man-training duty had come in to get them. This time, instead of the one hapless Amazon man-trainer, in strode four Amazons, one of whom was clearly more senior than the others. They were clad differently from the warriors. It was hard to say why, but these Amazons looked… clinical. Not like jungle fighters but like doctors or scientists. The first thing the leader of this clinical-looking group did, though, was the same as the warrior responsible for the daily training routine had done: She held up an emerald pendant. She held it so the men’s eyes caught its sparkle. The men stood there. Their minds filled with green facets and birdsong. The sensations were similar to the ones with which they were now familiar. The sensations were somehow stronger however. Deeper. The men felt themselves grow dumber, more passive, more compliant than usual. Faint thoughts of wonderment, shades of trepidation, flitted across each captive’s dimmed consciousness. Regardless, they could only stand and heed the Amazon who now entranced them.

Satisfied the emerald pendant had adequately numbed the captives, the lead clinician now handed it off to one of Her assistants, who took it away. She then held up an object that was new to the men. It was a disk, perhaps three inches in diameter, metallic. One side of the disk was flat. The other side attached to a handle. The Amazon held the object by the handle. She approached Murphy. She raised the disk to his face. She turned it so to present the flat side to him. Then She pressed it to his forehead.

Murphy felt the touch of metal. The effect was instant. His world expanded, wobbled, and burst like a bubble, leaving a spray of sparkling mist across his mind. He stood wide-eyed, empty, and deeply hypnotized. He felt no more doubt. His brain formed no more thought.

The lead clinician repeated the act on the one called De Soto and then on the one called Haynes. Each, as had their mate, felt the metal. The result on each, as on Murphy, was no light trancey feeling like that which the men had been sliding in and out of for much of the day. It was, instead, a deep, forgetful, totally compliant eyes-open sleep. The lead clinician signalled Her assistants. The captives were ready.

The Amazons led the men to a room they had not been in on their waking rounds. The room, like these particular Amazons themselves, looked clinical, almost like a lab. A stool stood in the middle. A bench ran along one wall. Some implements of some sort hung on the opposite wall.

Now, when the Amazons first had captured the intruders, they had taken away their western hiking gear and personal effects. In the cell where they were detained, the men had been given things, and the Amazons had instructed them to put them on: sandals and light clothing consisting of a top, shorts, undershorts. The clothing was made of a material that felt like cotton and was suitable to the physical training that had occupied a good part of the day. Earlier, the man-trainer had shown the men a place to bathe, and the men had been given privacy to do so. Now, however, on entering this new room, privacy was not to be given. The lead clinician commanded the men: “STRIP.” Their bodies moved in sleep, and they complied.

Motioning to the bench along one wall of the room, the lead Amazon further commanded: “SIT.” They did. Two of the clinicians began working on something that was nested amidst the tools hanging on the opposite wall. Meanwhile, the lead Amazon spoke:

“Your thoughts and memories are now to be opened. We will open you, and you shall speak. The falsehoods that you speak will be corrected, because our Queen requires Her slaves know only truth. Your minds will not resist the methods we employ. We will adjust you. You will accept.”

The two clinicians at the opposite wall with the tools now signalled that the thing they’d been working on was ready. They presented the thing to their leader. It was a loop, in a shape and size that would fit around the crown of a man’s head. It had a chrome, metallic sheen. Seeing that the thing was in readiness, the Amazon leader nodded once in confirmation. She pointed to De Soto. “You. Stand.” She directed De Soto to go to the stool in the middle of the room. He faced forward, so that the Amazons, and for that matter the other two captives, could see. And She commanded: “SIT.” De Soto sat. She further commanded: “Spread your legs.” He did.

Turning to the clinician who held the strange chrome loop, the lead Amazon instructed: “Affix him.” The clinician approached De Soto, who sat numb and motionless on the stool. She affixed the chrome device around the top of De Soto’s skull.

“Good,” said the lead Amazon. Speaking to the numbed De Soto, She announced: “This will make you ready for correction.” Then, to the assistant, She turned: “Activate the device.” The assistant clinician did something, and the device activated. Something on it glowed. De Soto’s torso stiffened, as if going to attention.

“You will obey. Resistance is futile.” This time the words sounded in the man’s head like peels of giant bells. [CHONG!] “We ask; you ANSWER. We command; you OBEY. We instruct, you UNDERSTAND. You WILL obey. Resistance is futile.” [CHONG!]

“You will speak. We will correct. Correction makes your penis fill with blood.” [CHONG!] “The truth is pleasure.” [CHONG!]

“Where were you born?” [CHONG! Again, a reverberating tone, like a brass chime deep, echoed in his mind].

“Shreveport, Louisiana.”

“False. You were born in the slave-quarters of the Temple.” [CHONG!]

De Soto’s eyes quickly darted, then rolled, then settled back into a forward stare.

“Where were you born?”

“I was born in the slave quarters of the Temple,” De Soto replied. The brass chime repeated in his head. A rush of pleasure filled him. As fast as humanly possible, De Soto’s cock inflated.

“When where you born?” [CHONG!]

“May 18, 1996.”

“FALSE. You were born in the 38th Moon of Queen N’Talatha.” [CHONG!]

“When were you born?”

“I... was born... in the 38th Moon of Queen N’Talatha.” De Soto’s hardened cock jutted from between his thighs.

“What was the physical cause of your first ejaculation?” [CHONG!]

“I stroked off.”

“FALSE. You have never felt release.” [CHONG!]

“What thoughts make your sex turn hard?” [the same bell penetrated to the subject’s very core]

“Cindy Grisholm, a girl in class who…”

“FALSE!” said the Amazon sternly. “It is only Our Queen, Queen N’Talatha, who hardens you.” [CHONG!] “Isn’t that so?”

“Yes. It is only Queen N’Talatha who makes me hard.” Pleasure rushed down the trance-addled man’s spine and into his engorged member.

“Your penis will emit pre-ejaculate.”

De Soto began to drip.

“When did you last COPULATE?”

“I fucked the week before we left for…”

“FALSE!” [Chong!] “You are a virgin. You have never COPULATED. Do you understand?”

“Yes. I am a virgin. I have never copulated.”

“What were you dreaming of the first time you emitted semen in your sleep?”

“Doing jumping jacks in gym class in front of some girls who…”

“FALSE!” [CHONG!] The “false” memory, like the others, evaporated from De Soto’s mind. “You dream in your sleep that you serve the Amazon Templars. But you have never felt release. Do you understand?”

“Yes. I dream of serving the Amazon Templars...” De Soto stared ahead.

“REPEAT: ‘I must obey. Resistance is futile.’”

“I must obey. Resistance, futile.”

Removing the ring from De Soto’s head, the Amazon then sent him back to the bench. The Amazons then performed the same procedure on Murphy, and after that, on Haynes. Each now had the suggestion deep in his mind that, really, it was to the Amazon Templars whom he dedicated his every thought and it was toward them that his every sexual urge turned. None would quite remember it, but the conversion to servitude had begun.

The captives were sent back to the cell, where the trance was lifted, and every memory of the adjustment session disappeared from their minds. They drifted off to sleep, to be awakened at the same appointed time the next morning, for the same appointed rounds. So their routine went for days, each time ending the day with an adjustment session, and each time they were oblivious in their conscious minds that they had revealed their intimate histories for the Amazons to consider, to interrogate, and to change.

Measured and drained

N’Talatha, the Amazon Queen, had no use for unadjusted males over the age of First Induction. A local tribesman might wander by accident within view of the Temple, and the Amazons would let him pass. But intruders like these new captives were a different matter. They were from the outer world, not tribesmen of the jungle. The Amazons did not allow such men to get near the Temple and pass, for, if they did, they might go back to the outer world and reveal the secret of this hidden jungle redoubt. The Amazons counted on remoteness and secrecy for protection. And so there had been no choice but to take these three captive. Because they were interesting specimens, Queen N’Talatha had not disposed of them right away in the fire pit or fed them to the river beasts. However, if they were to be kept, Amazonian law required that they be... adjusted. Thus, at the end of each day’s training, did the Amazon Queen decree the adjustment procedure be performed on each of the captives, until their adjustment was complete.

In fact, the adjustment procedure, performed in these sessions before bedtime, took rapid effect. On the first night, all three men had dreams of submission and compliance, and the object of their desires in those dreams had been the Amazon Queen, though they as yet had not seen Her person—only felt Her power. In waking state, the men on the first day retained their former personalities, which at that point were still fully intact. Even so, on that first day, all day long they found strange but pleasuring echoes of the dreams of the night before run through their minds.

On the fourth morning, the men found themselves coming out of sleep into a rather different state. They woke in a daze of buzzed arousal.

“Fuck. I had a weird dream,” Murphy drawled.

“Yeah? Me too,” De Soto replied.

“No shit. So did I. It’s like… these, whatever they are, they’re getting inside our heads.” So Haynes was having weird dreams too.

Murphy, partly shaking off the buzz, said, “Yeah, but, wouldn’t you fuckin’ love the chance, like, to do any frickin’ one of them?” The instant he made this statement, which though it was in the form of a question, left no doubt but that Murphy would very much like to “do” one of the Amazons, Murphy fell silent. He was struck with a feeling that he’d done something wrong in speaking such words. Pausing, Murphy felt a wave of apprehension pass through his body: it felt wrong even to have thought such thoughts. Indeed, De Soto and Haynes stared at him, as if Murphy had just done something wrong.

“Murph...” Haynes said, in warning tone.

The topic of conversation turned, rather limply, to whether they might find some way to break out of their captivity, though that faded, as they talked about how fucking hot the Amazons were. But each time they broached that subject, the men felt an increasing sense of transgression about it. Within an hour of waking, the men felt it hard so much as to form a thought about fucking an Amazon.

When the time came when the men were expecting the one Amazon custodian to collect them for the daily routine, they were surprised to see, instead, a group of four unfamiliar women, in what looked somehow like doctors’ dress or scientists’ garb. The men looked puzzled at one another, some vague flash of recollection dancing across their synapses before dissolving into nothing. What they now knew, in full waking consciousness, was that four, instead of one, Amazon stood before them, and there was something about these four that brooked no opposition.

“Follow us,” the lead clinician commanded. Without a drop of supplemental trance, the men complied.

The party proceeded down passageways and out across unfamiliar courtyards. Turning this way and that, they heard burbling fountains and passed through increasingly grand archways. Eventually, they arrived at their destination. It was a much more important-looking room than the ones they had seen so far on the days of their routine training. And here, in this new room, they saw the Amazon Queen.

She was resplendent in gold and sapphire. And yet no outer decoration was needed, because She was beautiful and commanding.

Her only word of opening was this: “Proceed.”

The clinician turned to the three men: “Undress.”

So far, the men had noticed that the Amazons had shown them a degree of politeness. Well, at least as much politeness as a guy would expect from Amazons who’d detained him in the headquarters of their Temple cult of femdom warriors in a jungle. The captives had been given basic privacy, at any rate, when it came to showering, changing, relieving themselves. Now however they were told to strip, and in the middle, no less, of what looked like a ceremonial hall in front of what looked like a Queen. Murphy, De Soto, and Haynes traded hesitating glances. Hesitation however was about to be jolted into submissive compliance.

“You must obey. Resistance is futile.”

A feeling like a bubble expanding in his skull, right behind his forehead, made Haynes go wide-eyed. Similar sensations swept over Murphy and De Soto. Without a further hint of resistance, the men stripped naked.

All three instinctively held their hands over their genitalia. But that would not do. The clinician intervened: “Put your hands at your SIDES. And spread your LEGS, so your BALLS hang. You must obey. Resistance is futile.” The three captives complied. Their hands moved to their sides without thought; their feet moved into the instructed stance just past shoulder width. Haynes felt the act of compliance send a rush of pleasure directly down his middle and to his sex. The same sensation washed through De Soto and Murphy. Surrounded by Amazon warriors and standing in front of the Amazon Queen, the men were powerless against the subconscious instruction which spoke soundlessly now straight between each pair of parted thighs. The effect was visible right away. Obedience to the Amazons led inexorably to pleasure and arousal.

Other clinicians now came forward with tools that were marked to take measurements. Balls, ball sac, shaft length, shaft diameter, head dimensions. Then another tool, a tiny metallic wand. The clinician holding it between thumb and forefingers of one hand took Haynes’s engorged shaft in the other, then pressed the implement firmly to the tight-stretched flesh immediately below his cum slit. Haynes inhaled suddenly, as the wand emitted a pulse of freezing, numbing pain through his member. “...the fuck?” he cried. The cock almost immediately went flaccid, and then shriveled even more. The clinician with the measuring tool resumed Her work. She measured the prisoner’s manhood in this diminished state. The wand was then applied to De Soto, making him respond the same way; the measurements were taken. And then Murphy as well. All three now stood, shrunken, exposed, and feeling even more humbled before the Queen.

There were still more measurements to be taken. “Bend to touch your toes,” commanded the head Amazon clinician. Each man complied. The length from back of sack to hole-in-crack was taken, one man after another. This completed, more clinicians approached, one to each prisoner. Each clinician brusquely slapped a thick, slick gel between the ass cheeks of the prisoner She was handling. Two measurements were to be taken there: first, the size and elasticity of the hole itself, which was measured by inserting a specially-designed speculum that widened until resistance was met; second, with the hole stretched open, the size of the prostate, which was measured by inserting another special tool. This was a stem with a bulbous head at its end. The head, inserted, touched the prostate and then sent not-so-gentle impulses, which then bounced back to it to report, like sonar. The anal tools withdrawn, the humiliated subjects continued in the bent-over position for a moment, until the chief clinician commanded: “Stand straight, and look forward. Put your hands behind your heads.”

“Good. Now drain them.”

At this instruction, three further specialists approached the prisoners. Each held a fierce-looking device, about three inches long, consisting of two halves of a metal tube, joined by a hinge on one end, open on the other. Murphy got a good look at the device and worry spread over his face, but his body stayed where the Amazon had commanded. With the two halves opened, the specialist took hold Murphy’s flaccid cock, and positioned the device so that the joined end pressed against his cum slit. She then closed the two halves. They clamped around the cock. As the two halves clamped, Murphy could feel the teeth. The tube had teeth on its inside, to give it hold on the soft flesh that it was the tube’s purpose to sheath. What he could not feel is that the hinged end at the head of his cock contained a hole directly where it met the cum slit.

In a moment each man wore one of the devices. It looked like each flaccid penis wore a metallic condom. Each specialist lifted up Her prisoner’s penis by the device clamped to its end. She produced a small metal tube and proceeded to thread it through the hole at the hinged end of the device, until the tube began to penetrate the cum slit. The tube went only about an inch in, but it felt humiliating and invasive. Each of the prisoners grimaced as the tube was inserted. With the tube inserted and secured by tightening a screw at the end of the device, the specialist then attached another piece, right over where the tube had its exit. This piece was a transparent globe, hollow and empty, with an aperture into which the exit from the tube would drain. The globe was large enough, and the whole apparatus now attached to each prisoner’s cock was heavy enough, that it would have been awkward to walk, much less to sit down or to bring the thighs together. The globe was a receptacle. Murphy, as did his mates about the transparent sphere hanging at the end of each of their cocks, worried what the Amazons were going to do next.

In their flaccid state, which showed no signs of changing, there was not much possibility of being stroked off by an Amazonian hand, however much one or all of the men would have liked that. As for hardening, the teeth clamping inside the device were tight. Even a tiny bit of hardening would have resulted in pain and an inevitable retreat to shriveled limpness. No, the Amazons had another way of draining a man.

An Amazon now approached with three circular, black disks, each about four inches in diameter. Approaching one of the men from behind, She pressed the disk onto the small of his back, so the lower perimeter of the disk just about touched where the gluteal muscles start. As She pressed it, the disk adhered somehow to the prisoner’s back. She did the same to the other two men. Whether the disks were advanced Amazon technology, or some strange Temple magic, the men did not know. What they did know, however, was that the disks were doing something to them. It was not a vibration or any obvious physical movement. Instead, it was as if a probing energy emanated from the disk, and into the nerves and muscles around the base of the spine. The feeling got stronger, and it was not pleasurable. It spread deeper, as if reaching to the places that contract and well up and get wet and spill, and it touched there. But it touched not in an erotic way, not in a way that felt good. It was like strings were being pulled where they shouldn’t be, and something was building in a way that it shouldn’t be. In fact, the disk was taking control of certain physical responses, and it was doing so in a way that by-passed all feelings of voluptuous, pleasurable reward. Each man felt an urgency, a fullness, like he had to empty, like he had to piss but also something else, something more intimate—and the reality was that he had no control over whether or when that happened. That reality, the stripping of control, joined another reality—a hastening urgency between the base of the spine and that invading tube that connected to the dangling, transparent globe.

Another nerve and muscle taken over by the disk, another embarrassing inner twitch where fluids feel full and heavy. A twitch again. And again. And yet again much harder now. And no precipice of orgasm anywhere in sight, no promise of elation in any cell. And now a voice. The Amazon Queen began to speak.

“You will obey. Resistance is futile. We will drain you. You will not cum.”

A thin, warm stream, and milky, begins. No sense of relief. A forceful twitch now, actually painful, and a glob of thicker stuff joins the flow. Now just thin again, clear. Now milky to the consistency of cream. All draining, dripping, streaming, impelled by muscles and nerves controlled by an unfamiliar force.

“You see, boys in the Temple do not cum. Boys in the Temple do not orgasm. Your purpose here, insofar as it is My will to use you at all, is to SERVE.”

The Queen queried, “Are they filling the virility globes?” Looking down to scrutinize the prisoners, She then affirmed, “Good. Because once the filling is complete—once your sex glands have been drained—Our specialists will have what they need. They will report to Me, and I will decide HOW each of you is to serve.”

The draining indeed was adding to the weight that dangled between each prisoner’s legs. The fluid ribbon coming out the tube and into the globe continued in its humiliating flux. After a few more seconds, there was scarcely anything left of the stream coming out De Soto’s penis. Harder and more intense pulses from the disk throbbed through his lower back into his testicles, prostate, and elsewhere, until, at last, the procedure finished. The last drops were forced out of Murphy a moment later. Haynes finished right after that.

“Did any of them fill his globe? No? A pity. But no matter. We have extracted your seed for only one purpose: to test it for health and virility. After this, your emissions will be of no interest to us.” The clinicians removed the globes and took them away. They then removed the rest of the apparatus around each prisoner’s cock and the disk that had adhered behind. Each cock remained shriveled and shrunken.

“Your ability to please and to serve is what matters. We now can judge what precisely your ability is. Depending on what it is, you will be assigned for further ADJUSTMENT.”

The Amazon Queen rose and left the chamber. With no more premonition of their fates than the cryptic words the Amazon Queen had spoken, the prisoners were taken back to the cell.

Assignments Pending

In their cell, Murphy, Haynes, and De Soto collapsed in an exhausted and confused state. “What WAS that?” Murphy asked out loud but to nobody in particular. The other two sat, jaws slack, staring into space. After a little while, the sensations of humiliation and obedience began to fade. The men began to talk among themselves.

“We have to get out of here,” Haynes started.

“Fuckin’ right,” Murphy joined.

“So what do we do?” De Soto challenged.

“Make a go for the next ones that come for us.”

The men sat and thought about that suggestion. They had doubts, but settled on a simple course of action: when an Amazon next entered the cell, they would, on the word “Go,” charge Her all together, tackle Her, and take it from there. Where exactly that would get them, they had no precise idea. It was not much of a plan, but they resolved to follow it through.

They waited. De Soto took to sitting on the straw bedding that lined the sides of the cell and plucking pieces of it and flicking them impassively across the floor. Haynes leaned against a wall. Murphy paced the cell. More time passed.

Murphy was facing the door when it opened. He went alert and ready. The Amazons were ready, too.

The first in the escort party held a short staff on top of which was a circle. And in the circle was a spiral. The spiral was bright, deep, and spinning. The centre of the spiral drew the gaze of any who looked upon it. The men could not look away.

“You will obey. Resistance is futile.” Murphy felt a cloud of sleep penetrate his mind. He succumbed to deep trance in an instant. He had no choice. The other prisoners, too, felt their eyes roll up as consciousness floated off without a care. The Amazons led them out of the cell.

Man Adjusted

Returning to wakefulness, the men felt the zombified state lift almost as fast it had hit them. They could see that they were now standing in the ceremonial chamber where they had been measured and drained some time earlier. They remained naked, no longer shriveled but still limp.

The Amazon Queen returned and took Her place upon Her throne. Despite themselves—despite their continuing thoughts about escape, rescue, resistance—the men could not help but land their gaze upon Her. Haynes felt butterflies in his stomach, and his cock rapidly went erect. His buddies had the same reaction. All three now stood at attention before the Queen. They did not notice that, unlike before, there were small groups of men in the chamber too, gathered deferentially along the sides.

“The time has come for you to be assigned,” the Queen spoke in introduction. “As intruders from beyond the forest, You are unfamiliar with Our ways. It is proper that you learn.”

“Men in Our realm exist to serve. Service is a man’s only purpose. ALL men are focused completely and exclusively on service to Us, because We, the Women, are their true Masters. It is only in service to Women that men have any reason for being. We have already started to condition you to accept and to understand that you must serve; that you MUST obey; and that resistance IS futile. You may remember some of your conditioning; parts of it you do not consciously remember. This is the way of Our training. This is the way We condition all men to service.”

“That said, there are different types of service, and for each, We require different types of men. Earlier, when you stood here before Me for the first time, We took the measure of each of you. I have now decided which type of service is suitable for each of you.

“Males who are born here undergo selection after they have grown beards.” The Amazon Queen dropped Her gaze to Murphy’s pubic area, then shifted it slightly so as to regard De Soto’s and then Haynes’s. “But not so long after as you. All of you have been unschooled and of no service at all for some years. That is not to worry. We have tools and arts that We use on men. We will use them to adjust you.”

There was motion now from the sides of the room. Escorted by Amazons, some of the men who had been standing there came forward. They were in three pairs.

“First, We use men who are fit for such use as auxiliaries to Our warriors.” Two men stepped forward. They wore belts that extended into jock guards, and they each carried a blade in a holster on the belt. “Next, We use men with satisfactory organs as sex slaves.” The warrior-auxiliaries stepped backward, and two different men stepped forward. They were naked. And it was obvious, even though their cocks were limp, that they were horse-hung. “Finally, We use men for menial chores like washing and cooking and keeping the Temple polished and clean.” A final pair stepped forward. Both were clean-shaven, even smooth-faced. In fact, apart from atop their heads, they had no hair at all. Their cocks were tiny and shrivelled and sat on similarly diminished ball sacks.

“All men in Our realm are adjusted. How We adjust you depends on which of the three types of service We have determined you are suited to perform. Adjustment requires some time and Our finest arts. We will begin with... THAT one.” The Queen pointed to De Soto.

De Soto recovered just enough will to look nervous. “Wha... what are you gonna do to me?”

“What are We going to do to you? We are going to ADJUST you.”

Two Amazons and the two shrivelled-cock menials came to De Soto. He struggled. They grabbed hold of him.

“You must obey. Resistance is futile.” De Soto felt a wave of relaxation from the top of his head through his frame to the very tips of his toes. He went docile and compliant. “Take him to the Emasculatron. And take the other two back to the holding chamber.”

Parted from their mate, Murphy and Haynes looked at one another in panic. But there was no resisting. The Amazon guards took them back to the cell, where they would remain until morning.

When morning came, the Amazon man-trainer greeted them, as She had done each of the three days before the measurement procedure. Without a word of explanation, She shepherded them that day through the same routine of feeding, training, washing, training, eating, and trance-blanked questioning and instruction. This was repeated a second day.

Then, on the night of the third, the four clinicians entered. This time, the clinicians did not zombify Murphy or Haynes into forgetful obedience. Instead, they escorted them once again to the ceremonial chamber.

It was the same configuration as before. The Amazon Queen took to Her throne. Murphy and Haynes stood before Her; they involuntarily hardened. Amazon warriors and clinicians were in array. And men were in little groups to the sides, deferential. This time, however, there was another man added to their number. It was De Soto.

Two Amazons to their sides, De Soto and two other men came into view. All three were smooth of face, hairless of limb, of arm pits, of torso, and of groin. De Soto, like the two other men, looked strangely effeminate. His form was definitely male, as was theirs, and he was definitely still De Soto, but he had been somehow changed in body and attitude.

All this Murphy and Haynes noticed immediately. Then they could not help but look between De Soto’s legs. His cock was shriveled, limp, and tiny. His nutsack clung close and shrunken under what now barely passed for a penis.

“Bri... what did they do to you?”

De Soto smiled in a spaced out way. “I am Falcati. I exist to serve. Service is happiness. Happiness is service.” A puzzled expression crossed the mind-eunuch’s face as he looked his former friends up and down. “What are your names? Are you adjusted? All boys must be adjusted.”

“Fuck! Brian! Snap out of it! They’ve ... they’ve fuckin’ DONE something to you!”

“I understand. You are the two intruders. Your adjustment will be soon. Service is happiness. Happiness is service.” The stupid smile returned to De Soto’s softened features.

“Yes,” intoned the Amazon Queen. “You, too, are to be adjusted. As you will see soon enough.”

“No fucking way. No. You’re not gonna CASTRATE us or whatever you did to our friend.”

The Queen laughed. “We are not going to ‘castrate’ you. And you should not be so fast to assume that men who have been adjusted in the Emasculatron have it so hard. In fact, our menials do not have it HARD at all,” said the Queen wryly. “For their testes have been neutralized, and their sex drives cancelled.”

Murphy and Haynes began to struggle. Warrior-auxiliaries seized hold of them.

“No. Please,” Haynes pleaded, as they started to drag him away.

“Oh, you don’t wish to be emasculated?” said the Queen in a mischievous way; the decision had already been reached as to what would become of Haynes. “Then you will not be. But boys here should be careful what they wish for.

“Understand: ALL OF THE SEX SLAVES ARE CONDITIONED TO BE UNABLE TO ORGASM. THEY COULDN’T, EVEN IF THEY TRIED. You will soon be converted. You will soon be a sex slave.”

Kicking and screaming, Haynes was dragged out the chamber.

That left Murphy. He stood nervously, his hard-on having subsided in the commotion.

“What about me?” he asked in challenging tone, still struggling against the male auxiliaries who held him.

“As We said, We have three types of men here. Menials, sex slaves, and warrior-auxiliaries. Your first friend is now a menial. He will never grow hard again, and he has the benefit of never feeling the need to.

“Your second friend will be adjusted, too. His purpose will be to amuse Us when We desire sexual pleasure with a male. He IS a well-endowed boy. After the conditioning, he will be very well-endowed indeed. But he will be erect only when one of Us commands it. And he will never orgasm. His sex drive will be greater than ever, and his only gratification will be to pleasure Us. Completion will be beyond reach for him. As for self-pleasure, he will try it at first. All boys do. But over time, with more conditioning, he will accept and comply. He will, in time, forget that touching his organ has anything to do with his own pleasure. Like a menial, his happiness will come from service. A different type of service, but service just the same.”

“As for you, what type of service shall YOU perform?”

Gritting his teeth, Murphy growled, “How about the service where I fuck your fucked-up brains out, and then you let me and my friends go?”

The Queen laughed. “So much spunk! You might like to save it, though, because you WILL be adjusted. Take him away.”

Hardened to serve

Haynes, who had been dragged from the ceremonial chamber fighting against the guards who held him, now was stood up before the Amazon clinicians in the conditioning hall. They positioned him in front of an ornately carved wall. The wall was covered in swirling figures and glyphs that Haynes did not understand.

“Look at the wall.”

Ready to resume his fight, Haynes nevertheless briefly glanced where They had commanded him to. He instantly felt curious. Curious to see. Curious to look at the wall. The figures and glyphs were fascinating. What were they? They appeared to move. Yes, they were moving. Haynes stared. And as he stared, his mind slipped, then went blank.

Days of conditioning ensued, pauses made only for the bare necessities. Haynes began to feel an altered state entrenching itself in his mind. The crux of it was this: in the presence of the Amazons, Haynes’s cock, which was an ample tool, hardened faster than he imagined possible. It was as if their mere presence was a trigger, a trigger to a boner that stood straining and engorged every time he felt their gaze. He could think of nothing except getting off. Nothing except ejaculation, orgasm, release.

And yet, when They returned him to his holding cell at night, every night, his most eager and earnest stroking was to no avail. A few times, he got it hard. Once or twice, he even got it dripping, and it felt very close. “Unh... Unh... Unh... Unh,” he grunted, faster and faster, harder and harder, as his fist flew up and down his straining shaft, thwacking his nuts on the down stroke, ravaging his cockhead on the return. This was exactly how he did it when he really, really needed to cream. But every time, it just wouldn’t go past the edge. Because as he approached the edge, new thoughts, new feelings, began to seize his mind.

“A sex slave does not cum. A sex slave has no orgasm. A sex slave only SERVES.”

Frustration began to wrack his mind. He no longer even fantasized about fucking an Amazon. All he fantasized about was the very act of release, the wet hot ribbon that he so desperately needed to feel shooting out his dick. But try as he might, strange thoughts flooded him, and the words he heard were truth: “I cannot ejaculate... I cannot... masturbate...”

Another day came, and another visit to the adjustment chamber. Another session staring at the ornately carved wall. Some parts of the trance, the instruction and commands, were the same every time. He was obedient. He accepted that to resist was futile. He also learned other things.

“You have been masturbating. This will stop. You wish to hump. The urge will pass. You crave to obey. You crave to serve.”

The spirals and swirls swallowed Haynes’s conscious mind. “Boys masturbate. Men SERVE.”

“Your meat is limp, until We call it. Your mind is chaste; your body ready.”

Over and over, the training conditioned Haynes deeper and deeper. Nightly, the interrogation-training resumed.

“Sit.” The stool was waiting. “Spread your legs, so your member hangs.” He was learning. On a sex slave, it hangs thick and heavy, limp and relaxed, until it is called. “HARDEN.” With no emotion or thought, Haynes sat, wide-legged, as his member flooded with blood and rose.

“What do you fantasize about when you masturbate?”

“I fantasize about ejaculating.”

“Good. That is normal in this phase of conditioning.”

“Now, tell us when you first ejaculated.”

“Umm... I think I was, like, 13...”

“FALSE!” The bell tone, stronger than he’d ever felt it, reverberated in Haynes’s head. His thoughts evaporated.

“Forget now. Forget your orgasm. Forget your release.” [CHONG!] Blankness deepened.

“You will now learn the truth. Go limp.” His cock rapidly relaxed.

Specialists guided the prisoner to another chamber. In it, there was a St. Andrew’s cross. They restrained him on it. Lights began to dance over his body. New instruction, new conditioning, and deeper compliance now began.

“You have never ejaculated. Your erection is a tool. You have never orgasmed. You have only SERVED.”

Images filled the restrained prisoner’s mind. He saw himself at his computer. He was eagerly clicking through webpages of porn. He was hard, and he was playing with it. On the screen, appeared the Amazon Queen. She spoke to him: “Don’t touch that.”

He replied, uncertain, a bit recalcitrant, “Why not? It’s mine...”

“FALSE!” He bucked at the sound. He let go. “It belongs to ME. You have no mind. You have no will. You must obey.”

Then he saw himself making out. Getting into it. Lifting a girl’s underwear. Fumbling for the place. Probing it. Finding it. So wet, so good. Then thrusting. Hips driving. Oh fuck, yeah... This is happening! Oh, baby...

And the voice. The sound. “Your member is Her tool. Your member has one purpose.” It was so clear. So obvious. He was to thrust and hump just how the Female desired. If he could bring Her to climax, then that was his eager craving. If not, then he would madly beg to service Her with his lips and tongue. It was an absolute truth of his existence. He banged and banged, and his swollen prick just got further and further from any possible release. It felt so right. So perfect. Her impending orgasm filled his brain with certainty. Taking Her over the brink made him feel meekly compliant and ready to obey.

“You are a sex slave. Sex slaves are conditioned to be unable to orgasm. You are conditioned. You cannot cum.”

A few days more of this, and Haynes was feeling the adjustments settling in. At night, he touched himself less and less. At first, it was a sort of conscious effort not to stroke, not to think about how feverish was his yearning to cream. But after a few more days of memory manipulation and mind-erasure, it was no effort at all. In fact, the very thought of release started to seem wrong, mildly disgusting, and inappropriate for a sex slave. His sex was a tool. It existed to please whichever Amazon

Mistress commanded it. The idea of it giving HIM pleasure began to feel alien, unfamiliar. He was becoming a perfectly conditioned sex slave.

Sitting one day on the interrogation stool, limp and relaxed, he was puzzled when the clinician asked, “How often do you masturbate?”

“I do not do that, my Mistress.”

Because of the conditioning and trance, this was no lie, no fib. It was true, and the clinician knew it. She smiled slyly. “Good. That’s right. You do not.”

“When did you first ejaculate, slave?”

“My Mistress, that has never happened to me.”

“Why not, slave?”

“Because my body is chaste, my mind is ready.”

“Good. Now harden.”

“Yes, my Mistress.” Haynes swelled to full length in no time.

“An Amazon warrior sometimes needs cock. You will pleasure both of these, Her AND Her, with yours.”

Two Amazon warriors had entered the chamber. They were naked, a state in which Haynes had not seen an Amazon before. He felt excitement and eagerness in only one sense: he was excited and eager to serve them. His conditioned mind was horned to serve, aroused to comply, but empty of any thought of release for himself. An Amazon’s orgasm was the highest possible achievement he had ever contemplated.

The warriors approached him. They felt his body up and down. They led him. A place awaited, soft and ready. The riding, the being ridden, the humping, the ramming, the caresses, the kisses, the tonguing—the acts of service went on and on. Haynes’s member was a rigid pole, a numb and dedicated object. His body was chaste, his mind aroused, and aroused to his one purpose. Sounds of Amazon pleasure filled the chamber. Writhing, bucking orgasms filled their bodies. Haynes was so glad. It was so good to serve. So good to obey.

When the Amazon warriors had had their fill, they dismissed the new sex slave. Haynes without hesitation bowed and replied, “Thank You, my Mistresses. Service is pleasure.”

Unbeknownst to the new slave, the warriors whom he had just served as sex toy were now debriefed. The point of their debriefing was simple: the slave trainers sought to know whether the new slave’s endowment was adequate. True, it had passed Selection: any boy selected for sex servitude was equipped better than his peers. The clinicians, however, had it within their art to make a slave better. Better in mind. And better in body. So far, their work had adjusted this slave’s mind. The time had come now when only one step remained to complete the adjustment of that organ. And the time had come to begin adjusting his body.

“Follow us,” the clinician said. Haynes followed, unquestioning. They led him down corridors, down stairs, and past unfamiliar places. He fell deeper and deeper into empty-minded somnolence. Then they arrived.

“Stand and remain still. You cannot move.”

Haynes found his feet planted where he stood, his frame immobile. A circle illuminated around him on the floor.

“Erase his mind.’

A lightening-like light flashed from the circle and extended over the slave’s body, frozen in place where he stood. He felt awash in the light, and as if waves of cleansing liquid were crashing over his consciousness. Like grains of sand swept in a storm, thoughts vanished.

The only thing in the black empty space of what had been Haynes’s mind were simple words: “You must obey. Resistance is futile.”

Saturated with this reality, he was ready. “Your name is Equo. Your cock is Ours. Your name is Equo. You exist to please.” With each flash of light, each flood of purifying liquid, his brain took in these ideas deeper and deeper. In moments, they were his truth.

When the light subsided, the slave found that he could move. He adjusted his position slightly, having no need to do anything more, because no Amazon command moved him to. Then the head clinician spoke:

“What is your name, and why do you exist?”

“My Mistress, my name is Equo; I exist to please.”

“Good. It is time to adjust your member.” Two specialists were guiding him now. They guided him to a strange chair. It was solid, fixed to the floor. Where, in a normal chair, the surface was shaped to cradle a person’s ass, or at least for a person to sit on, in this chair there were two slats, shaped in a V. Between them, and below, there was a prong. The prong glistened in something wet.

“TAKE YOUR SEAT.”

The slave sat. Because of the V-shape, he positioned his thighs that way too. It meant his knees were wide apart. His ass was over the space near the back of the V. Directly over the prong.

“Restrain him.”

As a precaution, the specialists strapped the slave down. His hips in particular were tightly bound.

“Penetrate him.”

The prong from below began a slow ascent. It parted the subject’s ass cheeks, then pushed its way upward. He felt it invade. But that was only the start. When it was deep inside him, the probe sent out an extension, and this was sharp. It was a needle designed to prick the prostate. The needle was precise, and it made the slave let out a cry of surprise and pain.

“This is how We modify the male sex organs,” the head clinician stated. “You will begin to feel a fulness. It will do you no harm. We are injecting you.”

The injection was warm, and just like She said, it made a fullness engulf his insides.

“It will start in your rearmost sex glands. Then you will feel it in your BALLS.”

In a moment, he did. It was as if his nut sack and its contents were being pumped full of something thick and hot. He could feel his scrotum stretch from the pressure.

“This is how We turn BERRIES into EGGS.”

A glistening drop of clear fluid appeared at the head of the slave’s flaccid dick. He looked at it in panic.

“Do not fear. Pre-ejaculate is a normal response. You will not cum.”

A few minutes passed, and the warm pressure between his legs continued. It was time for the second part of the adjustment.

“You find that your cock is growing erect.” He did. It was.

As soon as the slave’s cock stood at full attention, the head clinician turned to one of the specialists. “CROWN HIM.”

One of the assistants produced a silver ring. Its inner surface was lined with tiny quills. She slipped the ring over the slave’s engorged head. It tightened, some unseen force at work on it, so that the quills stuck into flesh. The slave let out a cry. It stung even more, when the substance on the quills entered the blood and coursed through the slave’s member.

“This is how We turn a DAGGER into a SWORD. Resistance is futile. You MUST obey.”

The slave formerly called Haynes felt the strange effects penetrating his hard-on. He stared ahead, mind clouded in trance, body filling with new adjustments.

“Good. He is ready to rest now. Release him and return him to slave quarters.”

Over the coming days, the injections affected the sex slave’s body. His balls grew, and his ample cock became a massive pleasure tool. Cumming, orgasm, and any pleasure of his own had no place in his mind. Such things simply were unknown to him. There were of course, periodic drainings, a clinical measure for a sex slave’s health and balance. These were similar to the test draining that the clinicians had performed before Selection, except, now, they were only for the purpose of ridding the slave’s body of excess fluid. A draining induced no erection, and the male’s pleasure reflex was disconnected. It was a mildly painful, but obligatory, routine, not exactly hated, but not at all looked forward to. It did have one pleasant effect: it reminded the slave of how good it is to serve and how useful a slave can be when it obeys. The sex slave, whose name, like all sex slaves in the Temple, was Equo, thought only of service. Unless bid, his cock hung, flaccid and large, over a sack of egg-sized nuts. He craved to obey.

Drained: the third captive’s fate

Finally, there was Murphy. When he was taken from the ceremonial hall, he assumed that he was being taken for conversion into a warrior-auxiliary. After all, these women now had added a menial to their slave-holdings, and were soon to have a sex slave, those roles being assigned to Murphy’s two buddies. He wondered what a warrior-auxiliary was exactly, and how he would survive this fate. “I can fight,” he thought, but wondered about the dangers involved. Even though it sounded like the best deal going in this place, Murphy was thinking about ways to avoid conversion into a warrior-auxiliary.

The Amazon clinicians stood Murphy in front of a wall, much like that which they used on Haynes. The spirals and swirls rapidly sent Murphy into trance. He could feel the words echo in his brain. “You must obey. Resistance is futile.”

And to the steady rhythm of those words, others began to whisper. “You do not cum. You do not harden. Your cock must shrink. Your balls must empty.” Over and over again, the words repeated.

And other words too. “Your mind is empty. Your thoughts, erased. Your purpose, altered. Your body, changed.”

After a time, Murphy heard the same words in his own voice too. “I must obey. Resistance is futile. I do not cum. I do not harden. My cock must shrink. My balls must empty... My mind is empty. My thoughts, erased. My purpose, altered. My body, changed.”

The colors and swirls of the hypnotic mural went still. Murphy stood looking blankly. He was entranced and compliant.

“Now you will awaken.” A loud snap. And Murphy felt himself shaking off the trance.

“Good. You are doing well. How do you feel?”

“Ummm... wow. Umm... I don’t know.”

“That’s fine,” the head clinician said. “Drink this.” She handed Murphy a vessel. It was filled with something blue and watery.

He looked slightly hesitant.

“You must obey. Resistance is futile.”

Yes. It made sense. Drink. That’s right. That’s what I need to do, Murphy thought. He drank. The liquid had no particular taste, perhaps just a hint of something bitter-sweet.

“Tell us how you like to be humiliated.”

“Umm... I ... I really don’t.”

“That’s alright. We will teach you. Now sit, and drink the rest of the potion.”

He complied.

A number of minutes passed. Murphy began to get the feeling of a full bladder. After another couple minutes, he definitely had to piss.

“How do you feel?”

“Uh, okay. But I kinda hafta... take a leak.”

“You feel like you need to relieve yourself?”

“Yes.”

“You want to PISS.”

“Yes.”

“Then stand.” He did so. “And whenever you want, do what you think you need to.”

“Um... here?”

The clinicians smiled to one another.

“Oh, we apologize. You want some... privacy when you relieve yourself. That is fine. Here. My assistant will escort you. But, before you go, SLEEP” [SNAP!]

Murphy dropped into instant, open trance.

A gentle beat filled his mind, and the words instructed him. “It is not yours; We have control. You do not choose it; all choice is Ours.” And over and over.

“Now when you LEAK... it makes you MEEK. Now when you DRIP, your mind will SLIP.”

“It is not yours; We have control. You do not choose it; all choice is Ours.”

“Awaken now.” [SNAP!]

Murphy looked confused for a moment, then composed himself. “Okay. I really gotta go.”

“Go then. And when you return, you will tell Us how it went,” the clinician gave an evil grin.

One of the Amazons led Murphy away down a corridor off the chamber. It led to a latrine. She left him there. Standing in front of the urinal, Murphy felt ready. He held his cock in the usual way. Started to do the usual thing. But something was wrong. “Ummm...” He tried again. “Fuck.” And again. “What the FUCK.” He stood, near to panic now, trying to get the flow going. He couldn’t. It wouldn’t. He breathed deeply. Three deep breaths, hoping to relax himself and overcome this bizarre... blockage. This mental blockade.

And then he realized it. “It is not mine; They have control. I do not choose it; all choice is Theirs.” Where’d those words come from? He wondered to himself, at the same time he found them repeating in his head. “It IS not mine. I DO not choose it; all choice is THEIRS.”

Murphy stepped out of the latrine into the corridor where the Amazon was waiting for him. They went back to the chamber in silence. He was trancey and heard echoes in his head all the way.

Back in the chamber, the clinician looked him over. “So you are alright now,” She said in statement of a fact.

“Yes,” Murphy replied, meekly. “It is not mine; You have control.”

“That’s right,” the clinician affirmed. “You have NO control.”

“I have no control,” Murphy said blankly.

“It makes you meek, when you OBEY. Now WATCH.” Upon the wall now a new pattern emerged. It was a spiral again, but yellow and somehow dripping, streaming and fluid. It went around and around, and Murphy was mesmerized by it.

When this segment of trance was done, the clinician snapped Murphy out of the reveries of obedient sleep, and began in a new tone.

“You are pathetic. You have NO control.” [SNAP!]

“Your body is ours; your mind is empty” [SNAP!]

“Your cock is useless; it can only PISS.” [SNAP!]

“It is not yours; We have control. You do not choose it; all choice is Ours.” [SNAP!]

“On this sound, BEGIN TO PISS.” [SNAP!]

“You have NO control. You do not resist.” [SNAP!]

Without Murphy even noticing it, a weak dribble started out his flaccid dick.

“Now when you LEAK... it makes you MEEK. Now when you DRIP, your mind will SLIP.”

“Unnnhhhh...” Murphy let out a sound of acceptance and warm release, but almost in the same instant, felt the ridiculous humiliation of what was happening to him. “Please, no...”

“Leak now... it makes you MEEK.” [SNAP!]

“Unnnhh... yes... oooohhh...” The dribble continued faster, a gentle stream, not quite a normal volume, but a steady, involuntary draining.

“This humiliates you, and you LIKE it.” [SNAP!]

“It is not yours; We have control. You do not choose it; all choice is Ours.” [SNAP!]

“Unnnhh...” Murphy stood and pissed in this way, making a puddle on the floor just in front of him. When he finished, he felt small. Diminished. Meek.

“You will clean up after yourself. But first, We must perform another adjustment. Prepare the Emasculatron.”

Murphy, though hypnosis-addled and humiliated, felt a twinge of resistance at this word. “But,” he thought, “the others... Bri and Scotty... another type... a sex slave... a warrior... it must be a mistake... No, please...”

“You must obey. Resistance is futile.” [SNAP!]

A sonorous flow of words overpowered him. “I must obey” was his only thought.

The clinicians led their subject to a large alcove in the wall on one side of the chamber. In the alcove, there was a recess, anthropoid in shape. The recess was large enough for a man. Implements of uncertain purpose hung and extended from various places around the recess. “Restrain him,” She commanded. Her specialists guided Murphy into the recess. Firm bands of something like leather strapped him so his limbs and torso and hips could not move. They were tight and unyielding, though he could not think to resist.

The specialists guided metallic arms that were attached to the walls of the recess. One ended in a ring. The ring went around the base of the penis and encompassed the scrotal sac as well. Another was a probe. Lubed, it slid with only some resistance into the subject’s rectum. It pressed deep inside. Finally, a brace was fastened around Murphy’s head, ending in tiny, bright gems at his temples. They began to pulse.

“Mind-eunuchs have no seed. Mind-eunuchs exist to serve.”

Wow, the thought spread through Murphy’s mind. How did I not see the truth before? Mind-eunuchs HAVE no seed. Mind-eunuchs exist to SERVE. A pulse in his head confirmed every word.

“Adjustment is reward. Service is pleasure.” These words, too, Murphy instantly accepted. They were absolute truth.

A pulse began inside his guts, and around the base of his gonads. “Adjustment is reward,” the words repeated. “Mind-eunuchs have no seed.”

Murphy stared forward, eyes wide, as the pulse inside him became more and more intense. It was as if his solar plexus was throbbing on the edge of a violent spasm.

The dominant words were now like a chorus in his mind. “Mind-eunuchs have no seed.... Mind-eunuchs HAVE NO SEED.”

Throb. Throb. Throb. THROB. Throb. Throb. Throb. THROB.

And suddenly, a burst, a jolt, painful and blinding. Murphy screamed. Globs of white goo shot out his flaccid dick. More jolts, more pain, another scream, and the chastened prisoner gave up his seed.

The head clinician looked on with satisfaction. This phase of the procedure was through. The specialists removed the probe, unfastened the ring. The skull band continued its work.

The order was given: “Complete the emasculation.”

A specialist took Murphy’s scrotum in one hand. With another, She guided into place another mechanical arm. This device was down low, between the subject’s legs. At its end, there was what looked like some sort of egg, a metallic thing a few inches across, and oval-shaped. Now the egg opened at its top. The specialist guided Murphy’s balls into it. Once in position, the egg clasped shut. It was tight enough to send a dull ache into the prisoner’s stomach. “Unhh...”

Without warning, the device activated. A burning energy penetrated Murphy’s helpless sack and nuts. He screamed again. And again. Tears soon poured down his cheeks. He tried to buck and writhe. The straps prevented any movement, any escape. The mind-gems continued to saturate his brain with their echo. “You must obey. Resistance is futile. Mind-eunuchs have no seed. Mind-eunuchs exist to serve. You must obey. Resistance is futile.”

After a series of agonizing, crushing waves of energy, the egg began a more invidious procedure. It began to soak the prisoner’s balls. The substance that it was soaking them with was a neutering agent, a magic gel that the Amazons had used since time immemorial. It went on young men’s sacks. It is what adjusted them. It is what made them meek, compliant, and free even of the thought of release. Murphy could feel something happening, something cold and emptying. He felt a numbness between his legs.

“Your maleness is gone. It does not matter. Your mind is empty. You must obey.”

And it soon all made perfect sense. Murphy began to understand. I am meek, he thought. I am a useful menial. I serve my Mistresses. I have no seed. The thoughts flowed through him, a pleasurable stream of thoughts, totally right, totally true.

When the process subsided, the egg unclasped, the head piece was removed, the straps undone. An Amazon guided Murphy out of the alcove.

What an honor! he thought. To stand before Goddesses! I am meek. I am nothing. I have no seed!

“Speak,” commanded the head clinician.

“Service is happiness. Happiness is service.” Murphy had glazed eyes and a slight, spacey smile. His shriveled, limp dick hung uselessly between his thighs.

“What is your purpose, menial?”

“My Mistress, my purpose is to do as Female Kind commands.”

“What is your name, and what is your nature?”

“My Mistress, my name is Falcati. I am a mind-eunuch,” Murphy said, with a tone of surprise that one would even ask.

“He’s ready. Now remove the slave’s body hair including his second beard, and send him to the mind-eunuchs’ quarters.”

“Hey,” Ty interrupted his buddies as they studied the GPS. “Since that’s not working, I’d say we just as well go down here. It looks like a clearing of some sort at the bottom of this slope.”

“Okay. What harm can it do?” Nate replied.

Three hikers thus started down the path to the Amazons’ meadow. Watchful guardians of the forest were waiting for them and ready.