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The Cold War


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March 7, 1978

“Gentlemen, I don’t have to tell you that any information given today is classified and not to be repeated outside this room.”  General Reese looked around the conference table.  The other officers did not nod as that would be redundant.  It almost would have been suspicious.  “What we are going to discuss today may just win us the cold war.”  This evoked murmurs from some of those present.  “Perhaps we should go directly to Dr. Merkel’s presentation.  Doctor?”

“Yes… um… yes.”  Dr. Merkel, a sweaty little man obviously not used to this much military brass cleared his throat and then started again.  “The proposal was made several years ago to weaponize pheromones as some of you may already know.”  He paused as if awaiting a response and only became more nervous when none came.  “Yes, so, both sides have been working on this.  We’ve had no success or at least no safe success… In fact we are possibly falling behind in this field of research-“

“All intelligence reports suggest that the Russians have run into similar difficulties,” Gen. Reese interrupted to keep things moving.  “It’s difficult to control who a test subject falls in love with or even prevent the pheromones from affecting the person administering them.”  Hopefully, that eliminated a lot of pointless questions stretching the meeting out.  “Continue, doctor.”

“Yes, there were problems,” Merkel repeated.  Paused again.  Realized that pausing was the wrong thing to do and pressed on.  “However, I have been looking into some more… alternate versions of pheromones that may be, by their very nature, more controllable than standard pheromones… as people think about pheromones.”

“Get to it, man,” one of the other generals ordered, starting to lose patience.  “You obviously can’t get a woman to fall in love with you so why are you wasting our time?” There were some snickers from others in the room but also nods of agreement as they all considered their time to important to be wasting here.

“It’s not about love,” Mekel stammered.  “It’s tapping into more alternative… means of control-“

“He’s a pervert,” Col. Grey interrupted.  He and Lt. Baxter had been acting as liaison with Merkel’s lab.  “The doctor and his research team have been working on kink pheromones.”

There was a pause and then laughter.

“If I may,” Lt. Baxter spoke up.  The only woman and only officer below the rank of colonel present, she was expected to remain quiet unless addressed, but had sat in on enough similar meetings to know that this was the only way to get things moving again.  “Unlike sexual pheromones that act somewhat randomly, these trigger specific desires to be controlled if they are already present in the subject.  The person administering them, by there action, would be automatically seen as the dominant.  That is the basic theory, doctor?”

The protests died down a bit but not completely.

“That is about right,” Dr. Merkel said a little more boldly.  “We have isolated some of the basic pheromones – sadism, masochism, exhibitionism – we are still trying to find the chemical that controls general submission.”

There was more interest from those around the room.  “So, we could dump this on the easter bloc and just tell them to give up?” One general finally asked.  “When can we get it?”

“Not that simple,” Merkel stammered.  “We’ve had some success with temporary submission but nothing that would last long enough to conquer a nation.  We’ve had great successes.  It’s really a matter of-“

“They’ve been making progress,” Lt.  Baxter cut in rather than let him disinterest them by saying progress was slow.

“The Lieutenant has had more direct contact with the lab than I have,” Col. Grey told them.  Commie spies would be less interested in a colonel’s aide than in the activities of the colonel himself.  “Her reports have been positive so far.”

“And the Colonel majored in biochemistry,” Gen. Reese added.  “Their word that progress is being made was enough for me to call this high-level meeting.”


It was over.  Less skepticism as Merkel stammered through more explanations but the top brass still didn’t understand how the miracle they had discovered actually worked.  He felt more uneasy now as Lt. Baxter escorted him out of the building.

They turned down an empty hallway and reached the video cameras’ blind spot before she pulled out a small spray bottle and squirted him.

“Feeling better, slave?”

“Yes, mistress.”

“Quiet with the mistress talk while we’re in the building.”  This had been the riskiest part of her assignment.  His last dose of pheromone had worn off days ago and she wasn’t sure if her last instructions would have lasted this long.  Fortunately, she had spotted natural submission in him.  “So, tell me what progress you have truly made.”

“My team has come up with a permanent pheromone.”

“And did you bring me a sample?” They had reached another blind spot, so it was safe for him to hand her a spray bottle similar to that she had just used on him.  “Good boy.  Will it do you any harm now?”

“The double dose shouldn’t-“ She sprayed him as he spoke.  The old temporary formula had been risky, now she just had to get her slave out of the building.

“Is there enough here for the rest of your team?”

He nodded.

“Good.  Tell them that the counsel was pleased with their results and is scheduling a formal demonstration in three weeks.”  The good thing about the military is that nobody expected these things to go quickly.  “Have them start producing more.  I will be by for one of my routine checks in a couple days.”


“Pack those samples carefully.”  Lt. Olga Petrovich, aka Lt. Baxter, let her accent slip as her slaves dismantled their former lab.  “Have you copies of all necessary research materials? Good, destroy all of the other paperwork.”

She would make captain when she got back to Moscow.  But why stop there, she thought as she watched her slaves following their instructions.


The flurry of activity stopped.

“There is always one – what do you Americans call them – slackers.  There is always one slacker in every group.  Who is it here?” There was some uncertainty.  “Well!?”

“I didn’t really know what I was doing, mistress,” one slave finally spoke up.  “I just followed my more competent colleagues around and shared in their successes.”

“Did you? And should you be punished for this?”

“It is as mistress wants.”

She picked up a bottle marked “MASOCHISM” and sprayed him.

“Yes, mistress.  Please punish me.”

She smiled.  “Not yet.  Or your current punishment will be to wait for me to punish you.”

“Yes, mistress,” he whined sadly and went back to packing the lab up.

She looked through the labels on some of the bottles and watched her slaves.  Yes, there were some of them she wanted to bring out more specific kinks in.  Why return to Russia and become a captain when she could be queen of her own little kingdom here?


Both the U.S. and the U.S.S.R. sent some of their best operatives to get Queen Olga.  They serve her now.  Obviously keeping her under surveillance from a distance was safer than trying to get her or any of the kink pheromone formulae.

In time it became obvious that she was happy living in her own mansion and enjoying the pleasure of a small group of slaves.  She was no real threat to the rest of the world.  She seemed to never lack money, but if she was enslaving the rich she did it low key enough that the world economy was not threatened.  She was officially considered harmless.

That is assuming that the people who reported on her didn’t also serve her.

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