Six packages. Only one was to be of any use. The rest were to be stored, taken out when needed. These ‘rejects’ would help replenish the ranks of the client.
But the package in front was different. It was worthy of attention. Blackbeak would be keeping her around for something more intimate and long lasting. She’d need lots of time and tender, brutal care for the heroine currently squirming at the end of the line. The rest were simply collateral damage, and she needn’t worry about them too much. They’d be fine for pickup at the end of the day.
Blackbeak was the name she called herself, but few knew that moniker. She had built up small but deep reputation, keeping her name and appearance out of the public. The few that knew her name were either enthralled to her, or working with her. Nobody, for the moment, dared to fight her.
She wore the costume of a doctor, dressed to instill fear into her victims. It also made her feel powerful; the rush of wearing the advanced latex was nearly as much of a drug as her own poisons. Leaning over her victims, donning the cape and mask, seeing their eyes - yes, that too was intoxicating.
They were splayed out in the back of a stolen moving truck. The drive away from their point of acquisition had surely been bumpy, and judging by the sweat on their brows, quite a frustrating ride. It was a bit warm in the back - enough to make them groan, though not enough to cause damage. (Only Blackbeak got to cause damage. All of her victims would be in perfect condition up until that moment.)
Six projects, packed in skintight latex sheathes that covered them from toes to nose. Som the ‘rejects’ before casting them off. Were any of them worth keeping? Her client would take all of them, of course. They’d be needed as Sturmfrauen, and their processing and conversion was not Blackbeak’s purview.
But this one, she was. The one at the back of the pack. Blackbeak ignored the warm, stuffy air; she moved effortlessly through the dim lighting, daintily dancing over the other five gagged victims as she got to that special one in the back. The entire reason she’d gone out and captured these other five was just for her, after all. Her name was “Golden Eagle,” and she was very calmly staring at Blackbeak as she approached.
The villain spoke, her voice modulated by her equipment.
“These poor girls,” said Blackbeak. “How does it feel to know your acolytes and kindred are going to just…”
She paused, knelt down, and ran a finger over the squirming, pleading chin of one of them to punctuate her sentence.
“...be processed? It must tear you up, considering your staunch beliefs.”
Golden Eagle narrowed her eyes, but her resolve and visage did not waver. Blackbeak moved her thickly gloved hand back to Eagle, taking her chin.
“No response? Not a problem. We have much work to do. It’s time to show you the wonders of the industrial world.”
Blackbeak released her chin and pulled out a small gas discharger. She dropped it in the room and quietly stood up, enjoying the sound of her suit creaking and the womens’ pleading. A few moments later, the women were once again unconscious. She picked up Golden Eagle and carried her out, enjoying her heft, enjoying her newest acquisition. She had a new project to work on. Beneath her mask, she was smiling. Blackbeak ran a finger over her nicely packed, latex-sealed form. This wasn’t just a ‘job.’ This was a delight.
It had been a long time since Blackbeak had been given the request. She wondered privately if it was still active. Endsieg had sent it via courier quite some time ago, and although Blackbeak had agreed, she privately wondered - maybe even fantasized - that it would be out of date. That, when she was done training and converting and breaking and rebuilding Eagle, that she’d be keeping her.
But that didn’t seem to be the case. Blackbeak removed the mask, if only for a few moments, to read over the encrypted letter given to her by one of her client’s messengers. Endsieg, notorious villain and ubermensch dictator, had made the request. She wanted Golden Eagle captured - difficult, but not impossible - but she also wanted her brainwashed, processed, and obedient to Endsiegs’ empire. That was impossible for most. Blackbeak simply ran over the details before turning her head to her laboratory. Here, the impossible became real, and became her power. A small apartment building, all seeming very quiet and boring, but carefully hollowed out. Filled only with her home, her lab, and any servants she needed; though her hypnotized hounds would at times play the part of “neighbors” when required.
She put her mask back on, putting away the message. She ceased to be her day identity of Prathiba Prassad, and became Blackbeak once again. A quick dose of her own concentrated chemicals, and she felt energized despite it being two in the morning. She wanted to get to work quickly.
That meant dragging Golden Eagle, an environmentalist and heroine who had gotten in Endsieg’s way a few times too many, kicking and squirming over to a heavy-looking iron tube. Eagle made a few squeals this time, finally starting to show more resistance and refusing to simply be Blackbeak’s dolly. But Blackbeak was already dragging her, picking her up with augmented, drug-induced strength, and sliding her inside. This deep, horizontal tube slowly started to inflate from all sides. Eagle didn’t fear what was happening to her, but she also couldn’t deny that it made for a surprising, tight squeeze. The wind was knocked out of her, and it slowly was becoming harder to think.
Time passed, and in isolation, Golden Eagle began to meditate. She tried to think on her past, but found it becoming increasingly difficult to concentrate. Sacked and then trapped in some kind of strange inflatable prison, pretty much the only thing she could do with her body was squirm; it was utterly dark, and the inflated rubbery walls seemed to only be echoing her noises back at her.
It was then that she started to hear her own exhalations, her own thrumming heartbeat. And of course, the squeaking, oily sound of her latex suit against the exterior. She wondered how it was happening; either her suit was oiled up (possible) or the inflated prison was also oiled (also possible). Was it her sweating? How long had she even been isolated like this? Time continued to pass, and she wasn’t sure how long it was going or how fast. She just knew that the pressure seemed to be increasing.
What had started as a tight squeeze was becoming practically immobile. Golden Eagle started grunting louder, only to hear the very same sounds shot back at her in these intimate quarters. She sounded so dumb, like a big brute. Like a bruiser; an enforcer. She envisioned herself using her powers to escape, then imagined soaring out of Blackbeak’s lair to serve swift punishment on her kidnapper. She even imagined her black costume, clad in iron and steel, serving her mistress, bringing that same punishment on -
Wait, what was she thinking? Why had her mind gone there?
Blackbeak stared at the output from her Iso-Silo. Just a few hours had gone by, and already Golden Eagle’s mind was beginning to… soften. She’d let the rest of the day pass. Tomorrow she’d begin to “operate.”
The other victims were not quite so lucky as to enjoy Blackbeak’s careful observation. No, they were to be, metaphorically and literally, fed to the machine to be processed and churned out. Endsieg intended her empire to dominate fully and completely, without limits. And for that she’d always need more Sturmfrauen.
Five new recruits. The assembly lines could handle ten times that at once. And they had, in the past. The scientists, all clad in gas masks and advanced-polymer latex suits, worked wordlessly on the women to help their processing, training, packaging, and eventual deployment as loyal footsoldiers for Endsieg’s Eternal Empire.
These women, referred to at times as “Ego Engineers” for their role in hypnotizing and programming every girl who came inside. They were a diverse lot, the new recruits, all of them clearly former followers of Golden Eagle. But now… now they were just rubber-sacked slaves. Squirming, begging, desperate.
The Engineers hauled them up from the shipping unit and lashed them, standing upright, to big heavy poles. Thick, intensely heavy clamps locked around them. Some of them with fight still in them started to plead, groaning in their hooded anonymous masks. One of them was panicking quite intensely; she felt like she was a witch about to be burnt at the stake for her beliefs. But it was nothing so brutal. Endsieg would never waste someone; she wasn’t a barbarian like her creators. She was so much more wise and efficient than any of the so-called “scientists” that fabricated her uberhuman genome. The uttermost importance was to subsume one’s will to the state and to their overlords; what would be better than to turn a person, quite literally, into a tool of enforcement and obedience? She had outlined the plans herself, though she trusted engineers and programmers to design things efficiently. There was no need for micromanagement or ego; there was only a need for obedience and success.
And that was exactly what the Sturmfrauen would be; obedient and successful. The ego engineers would ensure that Endsieg would get another squad of superior, shining soldiers. The latex sacks squirmed against the heavy straps, and then, after a few moments, the metal poles to which they were fastened began to move. The conveyor line was taking them to “Programming.”
“Programming” was the most inhumane. The five new ‘recruits’ first experience was hearing the horrible, desperate pleading of a group of two in front of them.
“PLEASE! Let us go! Get us out of here!”
“We’ll do anything. No, no no, no!!!!”
It sent a shiver down their spine, and they grunted and groaned as they heard the womens’ desperate pleas slowly quiet; going from defiant to desperate and then to… defeated. They felt their hearts beating as they went forward and their turn began.
Robotic arms removed the latex hoods from their faces, exposing their diverse skin and hair to the cool air of the Programming section. The front three began to plead, the fourth one looked left and right, and the fifth was resigned to her fate - seeing the other four in front of her gave her very little confidence in her ability to escape.
The front followers were hoping that Golden Eagle would come to save them, but that rescue never came. They spent their last sixty seconds as free women in unfulfilled dread and dashed hopes.
And, one at a time, a thick and heavy visor went over their eyes. A ballgag between their lips. It was fat and juicy, and the brainwashing gear made them beg and drool. It was for protection and training, but also devilishly, cruelly kinky. The fat red ballgags in their mouths barely contained all of their begging and desperate sounds, barely at all - which was also part of the effect. Engineers knew that intense feelings made the brainwashing process easier, more efficient, and faster. The women were to be fearful, their minds cloudy with angst as hypnotic visions began to hit their eyes. And, since that wouldn’t be enough, they were also provided earplugs to fill their head with advanced Basilisk-type hypnotic suggestions. Their mind would remain… but only so they could serve Endsieg, serve the Reich. They were overridden and overwritten, and their fear was soon replaced with obedience.
For Endsieg. For the Empire. Visions of a woman nearly seven feet tall, the perfect picture of Western strength; muscles, curves, power, beauty. They were all beamed into the womens’ heads. Even as they started to thrash from the surprise, the intensity, and the pain, there was nothing they could do. Lasers implanted information into their eyes. Data filled them, overwhelmed them, tormented them. The stimulation was immense; so much filling them at once it seemed to push down all the rest. It was like hearing a buzzing in a beehive, and they were being told what to do by the Queen bee. They struggled as long as they could, but one at a time, their minds were corrupted.
Exiting the Programming station, the new, pliable women were taken to the Dressing area. #4 had been particularly resistant, practically smoking from all the intense processing. The engineers noted this, and ordered she undergo extra stimulation and processing in the next training interval. But first and foremost, they had to be suited up.
They were now obedient enough to be ordered, though of course there would be quite a bit more brainwashing to be done. But for the short term, this was enough. The straps were released and Ego-Engineers removed them from the sacks. They were quickly washed and stepped forward to be suited up. The advanced-polymer Sturmfrauen outfits were bulletproof, impact-resistant, thermally lined, and quite terrifying. Almost all black, with visible seams and notable zippers, the women stepped into the suits. Their eyes were glassy, and while they had been from different backgrounds, now they all had identical, glassy-eyed expressions. Their faces were neutral - with the tiniest hint of pleasure as they began their new lives as mere minions.
Once, they had been close acolytes of Golden Eagle. Now… now they were all dressed identically. Black latex combat suits. Reinforced straps around the thighs, waist, and chest to functional as tactical webbing. Although they weren’t armed - yet - they would be able to carry a light combat load for close-in assault operations. The jetpack would come later as well - all Sturmfrauen were well equipped for agility and close combat. There would be extensive training still to be done, of course, and they’d been physical and mental conditioning. But they were already prepared for low-level duties. And their first ‘orders’ would be coming soon.
The women had one final piece of attire to wear. Their masks; ballistic-proof combat masks that connected to tanks. With this, they could be provided oxygen, obviously - but also combat drugs, pheroware enhancements, aphrodisiacs, attitude-adjusting stims and chemicals - it was all very carefully calculated. Engineers noted that the first wave of chemicals assaulted their minds and bodies. Just as they’d soon be pouring over the battlements of enemy strongholds in the same way.
Suited. Masked. And instantly… they found themselves unable to resist. A voice in their headsets commanded them forward. They simply couldn’t resist. Couldn’t do anything but obey - what else was there to do? They were mere minions, disposable and on the lowest tier, tiny engines in a great totalitarian machine. The three women stepped forwards, and they saluted.
Across them was an image of Endseig. A massive poster, smiling back and welcoming five new recruits to the ranks of the Sturmfraeuen. She wasn’t just their leader, she was to be their goal; their very reason for serving. The masks, fitted with advanced chemicals, were slowly beginning the work of transforming them, body and mind, into symbols befitting her glory. Their hair was already bleaching, thanks in part to the neuro-programming instilled in them during their brainwashing. Behind those black masks, their eyes were shining, glassy, obedient blue; controlled by their newfound loyalty to her empire. Their appearance was as faceless minions, bodies and minds shaped to resemble their glorious leader.
Facing the poster of their new Mistress, the women were presented with a non-choice; after all, they had but one role, and that was to serve. Hypnotized, recreated, and obedient, they were filled with immense and growing pleasure. It ran across their body, from the tip of their toes to their womanhood, up their spine to their face. None could see it but one could imagine flushing cheeks against pale skin. They were being pleasured, the hypnotic triggers rewarding them as their conversion completed. The final step was a show of loyalty, and the women obeyed without question. They raised their arms in salute to their beloved Endsieg; their old allegiances gone, and a new world of conquest and glossy obedience in front of them. Pleasure flowed throughout their bodies, and glassy eyes nearly watered as they felt a deep, intimate warmth. An extra dose of gas hit them, and they could feel that warmth growing, centering deep in their core as erotic pleasure overtook them.
They saluted Endseig, their new futures, and with it, they were deeply rewarded. Latex creaked as the women shouted in unison, acclaiming their leader like a new Caesar. The minions, glossy and anonymous and uniform, were a glorious sight to behold. They would be useful; such was the fate of all who opposed Endseig.
Blackbeak was enjoying the act of dehumanizing and demoralizing Golden Eagle. She wasn’t quite introspective enough to admit it to herself, but it was greatly, greatly pleasurable. The process was just as much fun as the end product, that much she would very readily admit. She had drawn out the process for quite some time.
In fact, it had been more than a week since she first took Golden Eagle into her ‘care,’ and she had done quite a few different procedures to break her down. After being locked in the silo for a time, she was still very much a resistant and dangerous opponent. She decided she’d be generous, and give Eagle every possible concoction she could muster before training her back up. She clearly still had too much fight in her, too much personality, to possibly be given new orders.
Hands locked in latex mitts. Blackbeak ensured that she’d be properly plumbed during her hypnosis, kept alive and well, but also she’d be continually altered and isolated - for now. The gear was extensive. That included a lubricated pair of plugs that slipped inside Eagle’s womanhood, and a high-tech girdle that would ensure she could be stimulated and sustained. Blackbeak applied a paralytic drug, which prevented Eagle from responding with more than the occasional whimper while she was otherwise prepared. It didn’t stop her from making annoyed, but also pleasured, mewling sounds from the toys now inside her.
Behind her thick rubber mask, Blackbeak grinned. She loved knowing that she could force an orgasm out of her captive if she wished. But no, not yet. Only when she was deep inside her gear would that be allowed. Next up was a full-body nanite suit that went up to her neck, with a matching open-face hood. Then, she was strapped into a processing frame, an imposing chair-like device on a platform in the basement. A heavy, solid white gas mask went over her pleading eyes and face. It quickly inserted a fat, heavy plug into her mouth; the nanolatex flowed into the seams, sealing it against her face. She’d be unmasked far, far later into the process. Then, a heavy headset around her mask that bonded to the mask and would thrum endless hypnotic sounds deep into her ears. That included some pre-recorded sound clips, voices, obedient sub-conscious triggers, as well as deep, lewd sounds - licking and kissing that would help to break her down. Knowing that during this breakdown, she’d be moaning and trashing frequently, Blackbeak didn’t bother adding extra drugs to her concoctions. In fact, she wanted her to thrash; she wanted her to tire herself out, and to feel her willpower sapped. A series of long tubes ran from Eagle’s mask to heavy machinery, which would constantly pump her lungs full of drugged, gas-admixtured air. Her methods weren’t the same as Endseig’s; she had a far more intense, longer-lasting regiment. No, this was to haze her mind and also associate this sensation of bondage and latex and dehumanization with pleasure. Just to bring her lower, Blackbeak literally ‘brought her lower’ - sinking her chair into a slot in the floor and covering it with a heavy hatch to wait for her to soften up.
Time passed. Blackbeak disappeared; and for a time, Prathiba, her secret identity, reared its head once again. She pretended to be ‘normal.’ She returned to her job as a personal trainer. She met with clients. She occasionally decided on future targets. She dealt with her work, and her Work. And when enough time had passed, she returned to finish the job and ‘eliminate’ Golden Eagle.
—
Electricity thrummed through Eagle’s spine. She was quivering in place, eyes slowly moving left and right, to and fro. That was just about the only muscle she could move. Blackbeak had seen to it that this final process would not be interrupted by anything as silly as physical resistance.
“Ah… the wonders of the modern world. You’ll see them now, and you’ll come around. You’ll be reborn as… Iron Eagle.” Blackbeak said to herself - and to her captive - as she finished a final concoction of exotic gases and somewhat unstable drugs. All of this she did in an upper-floor workshop, well within sight of the squirming woman.
Although unfinished - her client would add the final touches - she’d been dressed in a suit half-provided by Endsieg. A metal armored combat frame that accentuated the curves but was also extremely sturdy, it currently lacked all the necessary power and programming to increase her strength. Instead, it was a horrible, skintight prison that pressed her body and reshaped it into something erotically charged, feminine, and powerful.
She was sat now on a high-backed bondage chair. It looked like something out of a horrid electrocution, as if she was to be executed. Her arms were strapped down at the wrist, and each of her hands locked in a bondage mitten. Another strap around her waistline kept her from bucking, even though she tried constantly to thrust and gyrate. A four-point harness around her chest ran straps above and below her shoulders, as well as to a thick harness that locked around her sternum. The leg-straps were barely necessary, as even if she could move her legs, there was nothing to do and nowhere to go.
Decanting her potion into a new container, she approached Eagle; an elder witch about to force-feed her potion to her victim.
But alas, Eagle lacked the strength. She’d been slowly made tender and pliable. She tried to resist, and let out a weak “no… away… stay away, don’t do this…” but a rub of a gloved hand on her bare head made her quite a bit more pliable. Her head was covered in a black latex hood with openings for her eyes and mouth; only the occasional flick of her eyes indicating panic or resistance. Blackbeak wouldn’t even grant her the pleasure of twitching or looking away as she locked a breathing mask over the lower half of her subject’s face. Four hoses, all connected to her concoctions and exotic drugs, would flow an endless parade of mind-altering substances into her.
Blackbeak had one final element to her subject’s intense and permanent reprogramming. She cooed, squirming at seeing how nice her subject was, how bound she was, and how she’d be the ultimate expression of her abilities. She was proving that no matter how strong, anyone could be made into her perfect latex slave.
As she did so, the finishing touches were to be applied. It was only time to throw the lever, just like in an old horror movie. She relished the feeling, and as she walked to the wall and pulled down a large, heavy analog breaker, it did several things all at once.
First, it began a low-level hum from the toys inside poor Eagle's suit. It threw to life, sending jolts of metaphorical (and literal) electricity up her spine. The smell of latex, musky chemicals, and aphrodisiac increased, matching with the thrumming between her legs.
Whummm... whummm... whumm... the stimulation came in waves. With every cresting of the vibrations and edging, gas rushed into her body. At the same time, they were rapidly building her towards something blissful.
In front her, a screen activated. Spiraling hypnotic images sprung to life. Images of Endseig, and of women obeying her. Saluting her. Crawling on their knees towards her, doing exactly as she said - turning on their friends, capturing others, bringing ruin to her enemies.
Thrum... whummm.. whum....
With each slow cresting, the images became more intense. Blackbeak had even used clever editing to further the effect; sound filled the room, squeaky kissing, moaning, and groaning that played in time with each floating and eternally rising sense of pleasure. Every time Eagle breathed in, more and more obedience entered her; every exhale were her old values leaving her body. Pleasure welled up, and she was curling her toes. Squirming her fingers. Flexing her hands. Her lips twitched, sucking down air, and her womanhood stirred.
Everything was happening at once. Time stretched beyond her. She felt like she was adrift in an ocean of blissful, hazy pleasure; of horrible obedience to her new, autocratic and shining mistress. Licking sounds filled her ears, and it sounded as if it was inside her own head. She fantasized, no, she could FEEL her dear Mistress Endseig kissing her, giving her the gift of life and brainwashed pleasure that she'd always dreamed of. Her legs were wobbling, trying to keep afloat in this ocean. Her arms could barely be restrained. Time seemed to crunch together, minutes of this process passing like seconds. In her mind's eye, Endsieg was stepping out from the picture in front of her to please her, to touch her, to inscribe her with a new name and role in life.
Blackbeak tapped a remote, and the vibrators sprang to maximum speed. The domina cupped her slave by the chin, making Eagle's dream come true. In that moment, the hypnotized and brainwashed slave detached and went over the edge. That wave of pleasure went crashing down, but it didn't simply cease. Her orgasm kept going, going going; rolling and roiling, never as big as at that first moment of titanic pleasure, but taking on new forms as it continued towards shore. She groaned, she squirmed, her body rocked. She came, losing all remaining willpower and resistance as her eyes rolled back into her head. Her body was not hers, nor was her mind, nor even her heart, for it belonged now to a Mistress.
"NMNGGGGGGGFFFFFF...."
Grunts and moans muffled by the mask echoed through the small room. She was still riding that wave of pleasure even as Blackbeak was preparing to leave the room. She'd let the program keep running and let Iron Eagle cum her brains out for a few more hours - or longer - just to ensure the programming would 'take.' She relished in it, collecting her own data and sapping the energy from her victim as she continued to squirm, slower now, as the brainwashing had its total effect. She was being replaced by something quieter, more obedient; a stillness was taking hold, one of glossy and mindless pleasure. Of corruption. Of resolve, newly rebuilt to serve a darker master. She still groaned in pleasure, but Blackbeak knew that very soon she'd be eager to dominante latex-suited slaves for her mistress as an 'Alpha Slave.'
The mad scientist was already lost in thought and pleasure of her own though. She was writing a message to her client already, typing out her next request…