Morning, Sergeant

Chapter 3

by scifiscribbler

Tags: #cw:noncon #comic_book #dom:female #dom:male #f/f #m/f #sub:female #kraft-bimbeau

Christina met Ellie at the door. Her junior had made good time; an estimate of twenty minutes had been closer to ten. Unfortunately for Ellie, Christina had predicted this.

“Used the siren, huh?”

Ellie grinned. “Until I figured I’d be in earshot.”

“So you beat the buzzer in. What if it had been a trap?”

“I figured your mystery girl wouldn’t have it ready in time if she thought she had twenty.”

Christina smiled and wrapped her into a hug. “Well, I’m glad you made it. I do feel better with you around.”

“Don’t get soppy, Chris. She in the house?”

Christina nodded. “I’ve put her on a sofa in the lounge, where I can keep an eye out for her.” She stood back from the door, inviting Ellie in, and now only a tiny part of her hoped Ellie would smell a trap.

She did no such thing. Buoyed on a cold fury that a trap had been set for her friend, aware that Christina had gone through a mental hell dealing with the fallout of the botched arrest, Ellie practically surged into the building.

She found Marcie sat on the sofa as advertised, a leather jacket hiding quite how much she’d worked on her arm strength, arms behind her and feet close together, a glower on her face. Although there seemed to be something wrong with the glower…

“She’s still under the ‘fluence,” Ellie remarked, moving closer to inspect their ‘captive’. “I thought this shit was meant to run out.”

“It was,” Christina said, moving up behind her. “That’s what the shrinks say, anyway.”

“Yeah.” Ellie took a moment to nod at whatever she read in Marcie’s expression, mistaking amusement for a fanatic’s light offsetting frustration, and turned her head to start taking in the room. Which, judging by how neat it was, her superior had been doing a piss-poor job of searching.

Her eyes wandered around the room until she saw, through an open door from the kitchen, two coffee cups set out close to each other.

That stood out. That was wrong. It took her a couple of moments to realise how it was wrong, and she was just turning her head to look at her partner when Christina, just a couple of paces behind, lunged forward, getting her arms under Ellie’s and lifting up her hands. Ellie realised there was trouble before Christina could lock her hands behind Ellie’s neck, but she didn’t have the gym routine her partner did. Especially not the last few months, when she had frustrations to work out.

She attempted to squirm free, and Christina was suddenly effectively lifting her, Ellie’s legs kicking, and she couldn’t get her fingers locked, but Marcie was rising now, hands coming out from behind her where they hadn’t been cuffed at all, and there was something in her hand and it glowed -

Abruptly, Ellie’s eyes were trapped in one position, fixated. Which meant she couldn’t turn her head, and even her shoulders were less willing now to co-operate. Her struggles were no less intense, but she was limited in what she could do. Meanwhile, Christina’s eyes were also fixated, but Ellie’s movement stopped her seeing. She had a sudden extra incentive to clasp her hands and control the woman’s movement.

Ellie didn’t stop struggling. She aimed a kick at where she figured Marcie had to be, based on where the spiral in her hand was. But she didn’t have a good brace and Marcie simply lifted her free arm, took the kick against her leathers, and closed her free arm around it. And now Ellie definitely didn’t have positional advantage.

“Don’t fight it,” Christina muttered into her ear, but Ellie didn’t respond.

“You shouldn’t fight it, you know,” Marcie said.

“I shouldn’t fight it,” Christina and (to her lasting surprise and bewilderment) Ellie echoed. But Ellie didn’t stop fighting -she threw her heel back hard into Christina’s shin. It was the sort of impact that deserved results, and might have got them if Christina wasn’t used, by now, to wanting to see the spiral. Her body had effectively locked into place, and while she registered the pain mentally, her body was already in her Master’s service, even if parts of her personality were still trying to find a way to resist.

“Fuck you,” Ellie told Marcie. “In fact, fuck both of you.” There was a fragile frustration to her tone there; realising it was a trap and realising Christina had turned on her had been two different levels of panic and despair, it turned out.

“You can fuck me after this,” Marcie said with a grin.

“I can fuck you after this…”

Both partners echoed her, the words imprinting onto their thought patterns as they did. Marcie giggled. “I forgot you were getting this too, honey,” she told Christina. “Enjoy it.”

Christina wasn’t sure she wanted to enjoy it, but she also wasn’t sure how much choice she had.

Ellie was definitely putting up more of a fight than she had. “Do you have any more chemicals?” Christina asked. Marcie grinned. “A few more doses. But I’m holding off on them for now.” She looked at the woman trapped in Christina’s arms. “After all, you’re going to give up soon.”

“I’m going to give up soon,” Ellie said, the words spat defiantly. But Christina read the way her attempts to squirm free faltered, and knew the idea had hit home.

“You’re going to have to be more thorough to get her ready for Master,” Christina said. “If she fights it, anyway. She never went under for him.”

Ellie growled. “You’re not supposed to be like this, Chris. You’re supposed to be the good one.”

“I really don’t know what I’m supposed to be any more,” she said. And then, realising a truth suddenly. “But I know Master will.”

“Oh, puke.”

“You respect the Master!” Christina blurted, irritated, and flushed as she realised she was stepping on Marcie’s prerogative. But Marcie didn’t seem to mind, and against her better judgement, Ellie echoed and imprinted Christina’s words.

Christina wanted to look to Marcie for a cue, but her eyes were as locked on the spiral as Ellie’s.

She should have realised that was a risk with this hold.

“Go ahead, Christina,” Marcie said with a grin, evidently reading her question from her face.

Christina smiled.

“You’re not a cop, Ellie.”

“I’m… not… a… cop.”

“You’re a slave. Waiting for a Master.”

She wasn’t sure if the next sound Ellie made was a grunt, a groan, or a moan. “I’m… a… ssss… I’m… a… I’m… a… slaaave… waiting… for… a Master.”

“Ooh,” Marcie purred. “I think that one hit a nerve.”

“Fuck you.”

“You were wrong to arrest him, Ellie,” Christina continued.

“I… was wrong… to arrest him.”

“You feel super guilty.” Christina should feel sympathy for her partner. Should be trying to make it easier. But it had occurred to her by now that if Ellie had failed, Christina would have been his slave for a month already. Would have been able to pervert the investigation, maybe. Frame someone else. She’d missed out… because of Ellie.

“I feel… mmf… super guilty.”

“You’ll do anything to make it up to him. Anything the Master wants.”

Less hesitation this time. The foundation was being built. “I’ll do anything to make it up to him. Anything the Master wants.”

“You’ve got to obey me.”

“I’ve got to… obey… you.”

Christina smiled. Interview technique number five for recalcitrant witnesses; keep asking the same thing in different ways. Cut off the lines of retreat, cut out the areas they could hide in.

“You want to obey me.”

“I want to obey you.”

“You must obey me.”

“I must obey you.”

“You need to obey me.”

“I need to obey you.”

“You still trust me.”

“I still trust you.”

“Christina is always right.”

“Christina is always… right.”

“You can’t disobey me.”

“I can’t disobey you.”

“You will not disobey me.”

“I will not disobey you.”

“You won’t sabotage us.”

“I won’t sabotage… us.”

“You won’t act against us.”

“I won’t act against us.”

“You… what was it you did, Marcie? You must give us complete, honest answers, and leave out nothing that would help us.”

“I must give you complete, honest answers and leave out nothing that would help the truth.” Ellie grunted. “The number of interviews I never knew I needed this for…”

Christina laughed. Cop humour, as always, was bleak. But they’d been - were now again, she supposed - partners, so she wanted to give her something good.

“You’re going to enjoy every command you obey.”

“I’m going to enjoy every command I obey.” Repetitions were automatic, rote, and monotone, but somehow this was a happy monotone, not a grouchy one.

“You going to tell her to obey me?” Marcie asked. Christina, suddenly realising she no longer needed to hold Ellie still, released her arms, stopped arching her own back. Ellie settled to a standing position.

Christina shrugged. “You control me, for right now,” she said. “There’s a chain of command.”

“Good enough,” Marcie said after a moment, and shut off the spiral.

Both the police blinked heavily, their eyes suddenly released. “Next time,” Ellie said ruefully, “just don’t call me.”

Christina gave her a sideways look. “Stand to attention.”

Ellie’s hands went to her sides, her back straightened, and her heels clicked together as fast as if she was still at the Academy. And she smiled… then frowned at herself for smiling. “God dammit, if I end up giving up the fight to this thing because of a regular dopamine hit…”

“No, you’re going to give up the fight because Marcie told you you’d give up soon,” Christina pointed out, and Ellie frowned.

“I didn’t need to get that pointed out,” she said sourly.

Marcie shrugged. “Whatever. Let’s sit down at the kitchen table and hash this out.”

Ellie and Christina turned to go with her, but Christina reached out to stop her sullen partner. Both of the other women looked up at her, puzzled or frowning respectively.

“Follow me to the table,” Christina instructed. With a command to obey, Ellie smiled again reflexively.

Marcie nodded, and Christina shrugged. “I know how stubborn she can be,” she told her harem sister. “We’re going to need to hammer her buttons to get through this.”

Ellie sighed, smiling ruefully.

The three convened around the table, Christina commanded Ellie to sit down, and they got into planning.


The Thoughtsmith would be moved from jail to on-site cells in the courthouse the night before the trial. One van. Three outriders on Boston PD’s signature choice of Harley-Davidson police motorcycle. Polarised goggles on each officer, a blindfold on the captive, and cuffs and ankle cuffs set to prevent him being able to remove the blindfold on his own.

Preparation for this trial had been intense. The case was clear, there was plenty of evidence, and there were expert witnesses aplenty. That side of things was simple, and the Thoughtsmith hadn’t asked for anything more than a public defender.

On the other hand, everybody was going to have to wear secured polarised goggles. There was too much risk of Thoughtsmith getting to someone otherwise, even if their glasses slipped for just a moment, and kicking off a tidal wave of subjugation.

Hence also the night-on-the-premises security precautions. Boston was not prepared for supers. Empire City, they said, had a courthouse which had been specially reinforced and had a bunch of state-of-the-art precautions against other powered types. But that was Empire City, and frankly nobody in Boston PD wanted that.

Sergeant Lane went over her troops’ gear one last time before the motorcade was going to start up. “Word is he might still have some lackeys in the city,” she reminded them. “So watch the streets. The crazy shit you see in movies, where someone rams the van? We can’t guarantee he doesn’t have anyone sufficiently whammied to do that. If they try, I expect it to go badly for them. All clear on that?”

Five other be-goggled faces nodded back at her. She nodded in turn. “OK. Let’s move.”

With that, she swung up into the van’s passenger seat, riding shotgun with, per city procedure, an actual shotgun.

And beanbag rounds, because there was no reason to think anyone bulletproof would be in town.

Minutes later, the convoy was on the road.


Christina slid the retractable stinger across the road on the lane next to the one she expected the van to drive in. She tested activation with her phone, then got back into her car, parked by the side of the road, and waited to activate it again, punching spikes up designed to shred tyres.


Ten minutes from the courthouse, everything seemed to go wrong at once. The flanking Harley and its rider abruptly fell and dropped out of sight. The radio crackled into high-speed life as the rest of the convoy tried to establish what had happened, but it wasn’t entirely clear; no collision, so maybe equipment failure, maybe user error… maybe outside influence?

“Look sharp, people,” Lane said into the radio, cutting through the panicked tones of her colleagues. “Get your bearings. Keep an eye out. Watch for suspicious vehicles.”

She hit the button to lower her passenger window and re-checked her shotgun.


Ellie’s department-issued plainclothes car swung out around a corner into line with the convoy, hurling itself at speed. She’d been ordered not to worry about speed or impact, so when she sideswiped the rear rider, she did it at speed.

He was well-trained and well-padded, but he would still spend some time in hospital. His radio transmission died in an abrupt impact squeal.

At the same time, Ellie’s airbags deployed. The car, damaged, slewed to a stop and only repeated refresher courses in advanced driving allowed her to halt it safely.

Her neck was already screaming in pain. She knew whiplash would be a feature of her life for weeks to come. But she was smiling, safe in the knowledge of a command correctly obeyed.

She pawed around on the passenger seat for Marcie’s kitchen knife and punctured her airbag. Despite the pain, she still had to get moving. There were more orders to follow if she was going to link back up with her friends.


In the van, the driver was freaking out. Panic is contagious; Lane could see that their lead rider was starting to wobble.

Which meant not much time.

She swung the shotgun out of the window, lined up her sights, and took out the rider with a well-placed beanbag.

The van skidded to a half in the driver’s panic.

“No, keep going,” Lane instructed, pointing to an upcoming turn. “Alternate route. Take that turn.”

The driver was just staring at her. Lane brought her shotgun back inside the cab, racked it, and pointed it at him. “You heard me.”

She took a moment, as the van surged back into life, to push her goggles up to rest on her forehead, giving her clearer visibility, and she grinned. Anyone looking at her would have said she was riding the high of her life.


As Ellie staggered out of the car, Christina pulled up next to her. Ellie opened the door and settled very gingerly into the passenger seat. The high of obedience was starting to wear off.

“This had better be every bit as worth it as you promised,” she said.

“Fasten your seatbelt,” Christina commanded, and Ellie basked in the dopamine as she obeyed.

The car sped off. They had to hustle now; by this point, the biker brought down by the Stinger would have logged an issue with dispatch. Police cars would be moving in soon.


“Pull up there,” Lane indicated, apparently moving the shotgun away from its direct aim at the driver, who did so.

“How did he get to you?” he asked.

“He has friends. I’m one of them,” was all the answer Lane gave. She hit him with a taser, then cuffed his hands behind his back while he was out of it.

And then she hopped down out of the van’s cab and walked around to the back door. Her armoured glove back rapped against the door. “Stand back from the door, sir.”

She swung it open and stood there, smiling. “Your escape plan, Master.”

Thoughtsmith looked up at the sound of her voice, blindfold still in place. “I don’t know that voice,” he said as Lane climbed in to unlock him.

“But you know mine, Master,” Marcie offered, appearing around the side of the door. Lane flashed her a smile. Like Christina, she remembered all too well how much better Thoughtsmith’s control felt than what was in Marcie’s gadget. Like Christina, if her choice was between the two methods of control, she’d choose Thoughtsmith every time.

“That I do.” Thoughtsmith smiled, and Lane removed the blindfold. Thoughtsmith met her eager, waiting gaze. She felt his power hit her, wondered if he’d ever been able to look another human in the eye without taking control since his powers developed.

“Ahhh,” he smiled. “I do know you. I’ve seen into this mind before. But you were unfinished.”

“I still am, Master. But I’ve had time. I’m ready to learn.”

Marcie smiled. Lane had been a good recommendation. She was, however, watching the road.

“Forgive my interruption, Master, but we need to hurry. Time is of the essence.”

Christina and Ellie were approaching. Thoughtsmith smiled thinly, looking away from Lane, breaking the flow of hypnotic energy from him into her. “Ah. There’s a plan.”

“In a manner of speaking, Master. You take over the Sergeant the moment she sees you…” The car pulled up alongside the van. “Which will be now. We should hurry.”

Lane helped him out of the van and Marcie opened the back door for him. Before getting in, though, Thoughtsmith stopped at the bonnet of the car. Rapping his knuckles on it, he drew the attention of each woman, and met their eyes in turn.

Ellie was a little envious of the thin smile of recognition and satisfaction he gave Christina. She was jealous, too, of the sigh of bliss Christina gave when her eyes met those of her Master, but then she in her turn met his eyes, and understood.

Now confident that everyone in the car was with him, at least for now, Thoughtsmith sat. “You’ll all be properly brainwashed later.”

“Thank you, Master,” chorused from four mouths.

“For now, we need to get out of here. Head out of town. West. Drive until the next village and we’ll get a place to stay for the night.”

“Yes, Master.”

The mind controller watched the beginnings of his new harem scurry to follow his commands. He rested a hand on Sergeant Lane’s lap. “You’re going to need to be out of your armour soon. It’s been months since I had any amusements.”

“Yes, Master.” She lifted a hand to the shoulder strap, and allowed herself to smile - but not nearly as much as he was.


Three of them stood before Thoughtsmith, at attention (which was producing an ongoing ache in Ellie’s whiplashed neck, but she had been told, while in full eye contact, that it was a good pain, and she thus believed it), in the nude. Christina and Ellie flanked their taller, better-muscled harem sister, the former Sergeant Lane. They’d been told they would soon have new names, but still had to await them.

Thoughtsmith occupied an armchair, and Marcie, also nude, was on all fours, head bowed, before the chair. The mind controller had one foot up on her back, one on the floor, and an arm hanging over the back of his chair, holding a glass of the most expensive alcohol the house’s former owners had owned.

The house itself had been a bed & breakfast. It still had the sign outside saying it was, but the owners were under instruction to remove that sign the next day.

The three police were chanting. They were unaware of what they chanted, but they knew how it made them feel. Meeting Thoughtsmith’s eyes, each repetition made them more fully his. Meeting Thoughtsmith’s eyes, each repetition removed more barriers from the pleasure of submission.

They were all changing, and none of them truly understood what they were becoming. It didn’t matter. Master wanted them to change this way. Master would have his way.

He cut across their chanting with a single word, an instruction, and their minds whited out into orgasm.


May 2009

Their jobs were gone, of course. They lived, now, the former bed & breakfast; one former owner was still there, serving as a cook, happily helpless to resist. Her husband was now on the road constantly, acting as a go-between for Thoughtsmith as he reconnected the threads of his former mind control empire.

And they were closer than ever before, and growing closer, under their Master’s control and tuition.

Thoughtsmith, though… he harboured designs on returning to Boston. Christina wished she could help, but there was now no way she wouldn’t be recognised. The same was true for all of them, except Marcie.

They were, he had told them eventually, better off just being in his harem. But they’d be recruiting the next generation of operators for Boston.

Thoughtsmith lounged back in the big bed in the master bedroom, trailing his fingers along Christina’s body. Her dedication to fitness turned out to line up exactly with his delights.

“…and once they’re in place,” he said, “I’ll need someone on the police force. Someone who can feed me information before investigations ever get near me.”

Christina nodded. Thought. Bit her lip.

He pushed himself up on one elbow, reading her reaction effortlessly. She sometimes felt as if he could read her mind, as well as control it.

“You just thought of something,” he said. She nodded. Denying it was against her programming, and would in any case have been futile. He knew. He could see. “What?”

“Not something, exactly, Master,” she said, and took a deep breath. The next four words, whether he followed her suggestion or not, would change her life. Just saying them would be admitting to an even deeper surrender than before.

As she nerved herself, he reached out, put her back on her back with a gentle two-fingered push, barely more than a tap, to her shoulder. She fell with learned response, her legs reflexively parting as they did. She felt so conditioned, and so proud to have been conditioned.

He shifted position, ready to reward her new offering with the pleasure of his full attention, ready to fuck further obedience into her. And her admission of deeper surrender instantly became easy. Became what she wanted.

“I have a sister,” she began…


Thank you for reading! This story takes place within a larger series of stories, not all of which are written yet. When the story has been written, Kraft Services will be the next story in chronological order.

Thank you for reading! The next story to feature these characters is Sisters in Arms. The next story in the overall sequence will be Kraft Service.


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