DISCLAIMER: Do not read if under the age of majority.
This story contains naughty bits, the intimation of more naughty bits,
mind control, mind control *as* naughty bits, and superheroes shamelessly
ripped off from a large comic producer. It is, in short, not for kiddies,
however much they may think it’s for them. They should go and read something
far less evil, like Jack and the Beanstalk, wherein theft, murder, cruelty
to animals, property damage and a complete disregard for the environment
hardly commendable in this day and age.
TECHNICAL WIZARDRY
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 Doctor Doom,
ruler of a small and vaguely Slavic country’.
He was a research technician working in the electronics lab of Stark
Industries, run by Anthony Stark, who was widely known to have as bodyguard
his own creation, the Iron Man. What was less well known was that Stark
himself was the man in the Iron Man armour.
Stark’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 Stark and used as the basis for a further
upgrade of the Iron Man 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. Anthony
Stark was pleased, though he was cautious about the technology. As soon
as Stark 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 Iron Man would be a formidable weapon for evil, just
as it was for good. Suppose someone wiped Tony’s heroic tendencies and
used the imprinter to turn him into a super-powered henchman?
Tony 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
Vision 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 Tony Stark had been busy and Matthew
was his second port of call.
The Vision. 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 Vision’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 Vision 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 Stark’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 Vision’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 Avengers dealt with, he thought as
he reattached the Vision’s head. The actual repairs requested by the Vision
hadn’t taken too long. Next job was getting into Avengers Mansion himself.
That required a keycard. A keycard required getting hold of another Avengers,
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 Avenger.
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…
Valerie Cooper, 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 Cooper,” 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.
Val, 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 Val Cooper. I am Chairwoman of the committee on mutant
affairs and leader of-
My name is Val Cooper. I am Master’s obedient fuckslave. Nothing
else is important.
Information – new information, in a total emotionless context – flooded
down Val’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. “Val,
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,” Val 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 Val. Not long afterward, he came. Val 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 Cooper 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 X-Factor,” 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.
“Val, 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 X-Factor 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 Mystique
and Polaris. 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. Val 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.
Val waited patiently as X-Factor 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?
Mystique and Forge 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 Mystique was prone to leaving the group every
so often, returning last when Val once more took control of the group when
it’s charter was reinstituted last month.. Next came Polaris, the green-haired
transhuman with power over magnetism. The slightly more feral pairing of
Wild Child and Sabretooth 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 Mystique
and then over the innocent green eyes of Polaris the lasers flared, singing
their messages. And yet the two women, now wholly enslaved, maintained
their rigid unseeing, unthinking positions.
My name is Raven Darkholme and I am Mystique of-
My name is Raven Darkholme and I am Master’s obedient fuckslave.
Nothing else is important.
My name is Lorna Dane and I am Polaris-
My name is Lorna Dane and I am Master’s obedient fuckslave. Nothing
else is important.
Val let go of the imprinter, letting it fall into Lorna’s lap. No reaction.
She turned and set off down the corridors to the main entrance of X-Factor’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 Val. “Open the garage door and get in the car.”
“Yes, Master.”
Val 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 Val climbed into the passenger seat of the BMW – Matthew’s job
with Shark paid well.
He drove in and drew up alongside Val’s car, then looked across at
her. “Get out and lead me to the rest of X-Factor.”
“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, Val 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 Val’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.
Val 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 Val’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 Lorna’s face to your cleavage,”
Matthew said.
“Yes, Master.” Val responded instantly, moving at once to stand in
front of Lorna’s seat. She reached out and, for an instant, cradled Lorna’s
head in her hands; pulling that head forward and lifting, she pressed Lorna’s
unresisting face between her firm breasts, her own arms pressing them together
around Lorna’s nose and mouth.
Matthew walked up to the unmoving Mystique. He was looking forward
to investigating the mutant he now knew as Raven Darkholme’s body and her
shapeshifting abilities to their fullest extent, but she had a number of
tasks for him first. “Raven, do you remember a young mutant who calls herself
Rogue?”
“Yes, Master,” Raven 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
Raven’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 X-Men,” Matthew said, resuming
his conversation as if nothing had happened. From Raven’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 Rogue 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.
Rogue 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.
Rogue 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 seshe’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.
Rogue 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. Rogue
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-
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, Rogue,” he said, turning
and leading the way back inside X-Factor 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, Rogue. You’re going to do me a big favour,
and afterwards… Afterwards, Forge 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 Beast. Absorb his powers and memories and
put him in a coma for a couple of weeks. Then take his Avengers 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 Beast. Understand?”
“Yes, Master.” And with that, Rogue rose up until she was hovering
about two feet above the ground, and flew back along the tunnels to the
exit.
“Val, you can let go of Polaris now,” Matthew said, realising.
“Yes, Master.” Val released her almost immediately, and Lorna Dane
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;
Mystique, Polaris, and Dr Val Cooper. 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
Rogue as touchable as Lorna, Raven and Val 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 Forge 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… “Raven, show me to your bedroom.
Lorna, Val, 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 Raven’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 Val nude only from the waist up and the
others fully dressed in X-Factor 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.
“Val, 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 Val, 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 Raven’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 Raven, 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. Psylocke; 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. Rogue had not yet returned; could Psylocke’s arrival
be connected?
A psychic knife flared out of one of her hands and she sank it into
Raven’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. “Rogue 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.
“Raven, go and get the imprinter.”
“Yes, Master.”
A few minutes later Psylocke – Elisabeth Braddock – 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.
Rogue landed nimbly just outside the compound. Val, still in her mindless
mode and now wearing a French maid’s outfit, woodenly asked Rogue 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 Raven’s old bedroom, where he was
more or less holding court; Raven, in the shape she had used as Rogue’s
foster mother, naked, and Betsy kneeling subserviently at his feet.
Standing aside deferentially as she had been instructed, Val allowed
Rogue to enter the room. She did so, proffering the Beast’s Avengers ID
card.
“Ah did what ya asked me, Master. Hank’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, Rogue. 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 Betsy on her head.
“Psylocke here, or Betsy 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, Betsy 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. Betsy-“
“Yes, Master,” Rogue said, shedding her jacket.
“Thank you,” Matthew said, unperturbed. “Betsy, enter anal fuckslave
mode.”
“Yes, Master.” Betsy rose and shed her Spandex before assuming the
same position Val 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. Betsy, when
I do finish you’ll be like Rogue; your normal self except utterly obedient
to me.”
“Yes, Master.”
Matthew smiled at his power and fixed his eyes on Rogue’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 Betsy, she sighed
and then moaned in pain.
“Your punishment, which by the look on your face you even enjoyed,
is now over, Rogue. Now you get your reward.” Matthew pressed the intercom
talk button. “Lorna, bring it in, please.”
“Yes, Master.”
Matthew smiled hungrily at Rogue, whose eyes were practically glowing
in gleeful anticipation, and Lorna walked in, dressed in the twin of Val’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 Rogue, 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.
“Betsy, I want you to get inside Forge’s mind.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Work his body like a puppet; walk him along here.”
“Yes, Master.”
In due course, Forge walked in through the door, and stood there uncertainly.
“Back out of his mind, Betsy.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Now then, Rogue,” 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, Rogue turned around and placed her ungloved hands on Forge’s
temples. No reaction whatsoever.
“Forge?” Matthew asked, just in case the change had happened and simply
not been observed.
“Yes, Master?”
“Ah. Good. You may release him now, Rogue.”
“Yes, Master.”
“And punch him through the wall,” Matthew added, remembering that Rogue’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 Raven’s room from what had been Forge’s lab
– why did he need Forge now that he had the only thing of Forge’s design
he’d wanted? - and handed Rogue and Psylocke a device each, then nodded
as each concealed them inside their costume – Rogue’s imprinter inside
her leather jacket, Psylocke’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, Rogue,
as the actual penalty for screwing up, our prior event being merely a demonstration
of what is to come. You, Betsy, 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 Raven’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 Betsy strapped her new toy on.
“Yes, Master,” was the only reply he received before Betsy leapt into
the shadows and vanished, Rogue disappearing down the corridors in flight.
He’d asked Rogue her name, since no one seemed to know it. He’d found
it hard to stop calling her Rogue, however. Strange, but there it was.
That evening Matthew pulled into the Xavier Institute for Higher Learning
in Val’s car, accompanied by Lorna, Raven and Val. He still hadn’t got
around to fucking either Lorna or Rogue, he noted. That had to be rectified.
Along with not having fucked Phoenix or Storm, who would by now, he trusted,
be willing servants – Psylocke and Rogue having had more than ample time
to get the job done now.
And then, as the doors swung open…
White Queen! Second best telepath on the planet now the X-Men’s mentor was gone,
bowing only to Phoenix. Or so Val’s files had it. And there she should,
motionless, emotionless, unthinking… obedient. Next to her stood Phoenix
herself and the Storm. Psylocke and Rogue 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 Rogue,
and in the morning… there were the remaining X-Men, and the Vision would
have prepared the Avengers for his coming by that time. But before that…
“Val, what is the White Queen’s real name?”
“Emma Frost, Master.”
“Excellent. Emma… 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. Rogue, 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. Rogue and Betsy 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 Rogue’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.
“Phoenix, I want you to create a teke-field between Rogue 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…
Rogue 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 Cyclops, leader of the X-Men – 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 Phoenix, his wife as he had now learned from Val’s files
– nothing. She didn’t care about Cyclops. 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 Rogue’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 White 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.
Emma Frost’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.
Emma 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, Phoenix, was undressing her, stripping the woman of all
but her boots. Phoenix 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 White Queen until Phoenix’s tongue triggered White’s
fourth orgasm and sent her almost immediately to sleep. Master had wished
for some entertainment and Phoenix wasn’t going to refuse – lack of lesbian
tendency or no such lack.
Phoenix – Jean Grey – focused her telekinetic force on the top of Frost’s
slim panties, now all that stood between Frost 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 Frost, still statue-still
in posture, above the panties at which point they whisked themselves from
below her, before Frost was once more lowered gently to the ground.
Phoenix’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 Cyclops – 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 Jean’s mind lost it’s reality and found a new creation, Emma’s mind
tasted apparently free action – the constraints she was under were things
she had no knowledge of – for the first time since Psylocke had returned
to the X-Men’ base and activated the mindwipe.
Her gaze fell on Jean Grey 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 Grey, meeting no resistance,
and forced the lust into the redhead’s mind.
Phoenix 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 White Queen; tendrils of psychic
energy smashed into her mind and twisted and, with a last thought of this
is not my doing, Jean Grey obediently, almost mindlessly, plunged her
nose into the now-wonderful Vision, 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 Emma Frost’s mind and her legs gave,
along with her grip on Phoenix’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. Phoenix 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. Jean, arise.”
“Yes, Master,” Jean replied breathlessly, forcing her way upright from
beneath the White 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,” Jean 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 Ororo Munroe,
the ebony-skinned mutant known as Storm.
As if a zombie, Jean 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. Jean 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 Munroe begin to advance toward her, riding the wind rather
than walking.
Munroe 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 Jean 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
Munroe’s open hands as she neared Grey, finally unleashing itself. It danced
in a blazing arc around Jean’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 Jean’s breasts exposed, inviting. Munroe 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 Jean’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 Jean, as was
her purpose, her role in life.
Jean 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 Avengers Mansion, and Val 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 Avengers Mansion, there were
always likely to be curious watchers.
The gates swung slowly open. Val 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 Vision.
“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 Avengers?”
“They are currently awaiting you in the Wasp’s bedroom, Master,” came
the reply.
“Take us there,” Matthew said. Val, Raven, and the still-untouched
Lorna followed him. Raven and Lorna still sported their French maid’s outfits.
The Wasp had apparently not been in her shrunken state when the Vision
had triggered the induction field within him. Yet next to her emerald neighbour,
she still appeared shorter than average. She-Hulk stood, after all, seven
feet tall, while Wasp 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
- Warbird. Also with the group was the Scarlet 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 Warbird’s cheek thoughtfully. “My dear girl… do you realise
how much I went through to get you? All this… X-Factor, the X-Men, the
Avengers… once Vision 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 X-Factor onward. “Oh, I could have had Raven
simulate being you, no doubt…” He squeezed one of Mystique’s breasts proprietarily.
“But I realise it’s not you physically, not any more. Once it would have
been, and then Raven 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 Raven, even if realising I had
to have you has dealt me a serious blow in the self esteem.”
He stalked over to Wasp’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…”