Drone
5
Shiver. Dizziness. The tiny spark of consciousness illuminated, again.
[Reactivating]. Click! Alex opened her eyes.
What? Where?
[System Recall]. Peter . . ? Master Peter, where . . ? [Reactivation/Attention Mode]. Alex lifted her breasts for display. She parted her fulsome lips. Her arms first stiffened, then loosened at her sides, all the way down to the fingers. All over, her body assumed its programmed neutral stance.
She became aware that she was not alone.
Who . . ? But her thoughts were again interrupted. [Activate Pre-Seduction Mode].
Men. These were men. Heat blossomed within Alex. With the heat came knowledge. How to stand so as to flatter her curvaceous figure. How to make eye contact with her potential users. How to mirror their body language so as to draw attention to her [the drone’s] body. How to show these men [Masters] in a hundred subtle ways that she [the drone] was wanting, open, and available. Everything else in Alex’s [the drone’s] mind was smothered by the sudden swell of information and duty.
And heat.
Always, the heat.
The men were talking to one another, and she wanted them. She needed them. They were talking, and the words sifted through Alex’s perceptions [sensors], making her hot, making her want them more and more, need them more and more. They spoke, but she did not understand what they said because their words were not directed at her. They were not issuing her orders, hot orders, orders to make her hot, make her crawl or lick or suck or fuck or do any of those things she [the drone] desperately wanted, needed to do. She was in pre-seduction mode, and she was so desperately eager to fuck.
But she could not initiate. She must remain still. She must remain still because she was:
[Awaiting Orders].
Yes, she was awaiting orders. She was a drone awaiting orders. She was a pleasure drone await . . . .
Stop it! Stop It!! STOP IT!!!
The slavesuit’s directives echoed throughout Alex’s head as they tried to reduce her to an unthinking, impulse-controlled automaton. [Awaiting Or . . NO!! I am not a machine! I am NOT a machine!!
Somewhere inside her, Alex’s hands took hold of the fabric of her (the skin’s?) thoughts and flung them away. She felt like a child buried beneath her bed’s covers, and it was as if someone (the suit?) were placing even more and more covers atop her as she struggled to free herself, to lift her head up, because it was so hot, so incredibly hot! and she was hot, she was boiling, she needed a man, she needed to serve, yes, she needed [to obey] yes, she needed [order] she needed to [Await Orders] she needed . . . NO!!! I am NOT a fucking machine!! Wake the fuck up!!
Alex woke up. Though she could not move, she became aware. Before her deactivation, she had been in a warehouse with Master Peter, his aides, and a host of her fellow pleasure drones. She remembered this. She remembered being deactivated. And now, apparently, she had been reactivated.
Where am I? she asked herself, and through blank drone eyes Alex took stock of her position.
She was in a bedroom. It was a large and oval-shaped room, with two levels and a wide, sweeping staircase leading to the second floor. A sunken bath sat beside the wall-sized window, which was darkened for privacy. Various side doors led off to other chambers. The bed, the focal point of the room, was huge. It was round and sumptuous and raised from the carpet by a series of low steps, making it seem like an altar. The furniture and decorations were soft and rounded, with hardly any corners visible. The lighting was diffused. Overall, the room projected ease and restfulness.
The ceiling was mirrored.
[Awaiting Orders]. NO!! Alex focused. She listened to the men’s conversation. They were very handsome. No, no they’re not! she tried to resist. But they were, the drone inside her insisted.
She [the drone] wanted them.
“I’ve never seen one close-up before.” The first speaker was the shorter of the two men. He had a round, plump face. He was pale and well fed. His business tunic was a conservative brown and gray, and around his neck and shoulders was a white cloth mantle, a popular Betan fashion for men. He had a Prime accent, from one of the Northern Duchies, it sounded. He looked like an accountant.
“You can do more than look, friend,” the other man spoke. His lean, athletic build and close-cropped, snow-white hair indicated he was from Bungula Secundus. The pupil-less eyes—so much like Alex’s own—and forehead tattoo proclaimed him a Drad aristocrat: a green brain wearing a cloned body.
Despite all that she had been through, Alex found she could still feel revulsion. The Drads were philosophers, and their chosen philosophy was Cerebral Nihilism, the belief that nothing outside of the brain was either important or real. ‘The brain was the self, and the self was the brain,’ they taught. The Drads wore custom-designed bodies the way other people wore shoes, exchanging them as whim or circumstance dictated. Their “shells” were cloned explicitly for the purpose, though persistent gossip said they occasionally harvested particularly beautiful people who came to their attention. The F.C.A. had had to negotiate with them throughout the Occupation, but Alex had never trusted them.
What’s he doing here? she asked herself.
“She is totally yours,” the Drad spoke again, stylishly sliding up to the Betan and placing a hand on his shoulder. “She and the other six. You should try her.”
The milquetoast raised a stubby hand to his face. “I don’t know . . . this is solely a business venture.”
He sounded nervous. His voice was squeaky. Perspiration dotted his thinning hairline.
“That is precisely the reason you must try her.” The Secundian sidled up to Alex and lifted her chin with one finger, tilting her head back. The touch was enflaming, as always. Suddenly Alex couldn’t have cared in the least that he (she? it? What is a transplanted brain’s gender anyway?) revolted her.
Please, please, fuck me, she begged silently. [Awaiting Orders] the drone voice inside her declared.
The Drad released her (Too soon! Too soon!) and turned round to face the other. “How else will you be able to judge for yourself and your friends’ investment?” Alex caught the edge of his smile.
“I know,” he said suddenly, decisively. “Tell her to give you a ‘Pink Decade,’ Torim.”
“What’s that?” Even as her fellow Betan asked the question, the routines were unveiling themselves inside Alex’s head. Drone eyes stared at the small man, estimating his height, body fat content, general physical condition, and a host of other characteristics and averaged them within her internal chemiprocessor relays. [Modify Pre-Seduction Mode. Activate Sexual Mode 171: The Pink Decade]. Alex unthinkingly shifted from one leg to the other, rolling her hips and adjusting her balance.
The initial dance steps laid themselves out in her mind’s eye. Alex saw what was ahead of her, after the dance, and somewhere inside her she screamed.
“Trust me, you’ll like it.” The Drad picked up a cloak draped over a nearby chair, swung it over his black pantsuit, and began up the stairs. “We’ll talk afterwards . . . after you recover.” He laughed.
The exit was on the second-floor balcony. It slid shut. Alex and the Betan accountant were alone.
He gulped slightly. “All right,” he said quietly, speaking to himself, only to himself, and definitely not the animated sexdoll standing in front of him. “All right.”
Hesitating at first, he went to a table and took off his tunic and mantle. He glanced surreptitiously at Alex from time to time. He was sweating more profusely than before. He sat down on the bed at first, then, changing his mind, stood up again, nervously.
He noticeably gulped. “All right,” the man said, louder. “All right. Give me a . . a Pink Decade.”
[Orders Received]. Alex started to dance.
Slowly, sinuously, Alex lifted her hands over her head, intertwining them at full extension in an exquisitely delicate and feminine manner. [Mode 171a: Enticement Dance Variation]. She undulated to an inaudible music. Her sensuous and erotic movements at once elicited a gasp from her audience of one.
Bending her knees and drawing in her abdomen, Alex twisted from side to side in a steadily building melodious rhythm, curling and uncurling, extending one lithesome leg out and spreading her thighs, all the while rotating her body gently. Her featureless eyes remained riveted on the Betan’s as she used her hands to glide over her silk-smooth form, lightly touching and drawing attention to her lips, breasts, stomach, sex. She bent at the knees and rolled her hips back and forth. At the same time, she approached the man watching her, gliding over to him as though she were as weightless as a feather.
More sweat appeared on the man’s brow. He sat down on the bed. Alex coiled and turned her back to him. She continued her rising and falling motion, knowing [Statistically Predicting] that his gaze would focus on her velvety ass and the darling small of her back. Her drone body was feline in both grace and gesture. Her muscles were taut and shiny; they flexed with the utmost perfection and polish.
Alex danced faster, building up speed. She turned around, her hands falling to her hips. She lifted and uplifted the palms enticingly, beckoningly. She turned her face from side to side blowing kisses. Her hips rotated. Her abdomen drew in and out in a virtually hypnotic pattern, like the waves of an ocean, rolling, rolling. Her drone body was of course superior to any conventional athlete’s. Her dancing motions were perfect, programmed perfect. No hesitation. No false steps. Only seduction heightened by an idealized feminine figure performing recorded routines thousands of years old, first danced in barbaric tents by frightened girls when all the human species lived on the one planet. Those dancing slaves of long ago would appear clumsy and ill-trained beside that pink simulacrum’s superlative show.
She thrust her breasts back and out. If Alex moved an arm in an upward and refined gesture, then she performed an equally spellbinding action with her opposite leg. She was in constant motion, building to a higher and higher peak. In a flash, almost startling her [Master], Alex dropped to the floor before him. She made a sudden half-crawl forward and then, again with almost breathtaking speed, came to her feet, shook her breasts seductively first one way, then the other, then did the same with her head.
The drone twirled and began anew her carnal gyrations, faster, ever faster. All the while, no expression whatsoever crossed her blank and emotionless countenance.
Alex turned around again, and, with a contortionist’s skill, spread her legs and bent over unhurriedly, drawing attention to her perfect buttocks and revealing herself even more intimately. Her flexibility was like rubber. She lowered her head between her legs, bent over at the hips in an almost total reversal of her vertical stance. From that perspective, she peeked at the [Master] with her empty golden orbs.
He was drenched with sweat. The drone determined he was ready.
[Mode 171-24: Anal Frottage]. Alex went all the way to the floor and twisted round, resting her weight momentarily on her arms. She slowly coiled about and then stood once more. Her artificial muscles contracted deliciously. Rocking back and forth in front of the Master, the drone cupped her generous bosom. She spread her fingers over the swollen flesh and tickled her stiffened nipples. She drew closer. The man involuntarily drew back. Letting go of her breasts, the drone pressed them against the Master’s chest and sighed soundlessly. Her lips parted to give him an invisible kiss. The man, delicately at first, then with increasing confidence as the object of his desire made no movement away, was in fact encouraging his petting of her with every flutter of her body, put his hands on Alex’s hips, holding her, stroking her, marveling at the amazing texture of her drone flesh. Alex’s hands snaked their way into her use-Master’s shirt, parting the front and slowly drawing it away from his shoulders.
She placed her engorged nipples against the man’s bare chest, rubbing them first one way, then another.
When he was in position, Alex turned about slowly and, bending forward in a way that encouraged the man to reach round and grab her tits, pressed her ass directly into his groin.
His hardness was exhilarating. Its pressure against her buttocks enormously increased the rate of fire burning through her veins. She began grinding against him.
The drone felt him grow harder, ever harder.
Her use-Master groaned and squeezed her breasts, kneading them as an old-fashioned baker does with raw dough (they practiced many ancient arts in Alpha Centauri). The tight cuddling filled Alex with dual pleasure: the incredible touch of a man’s hands on her sensitive, synthetic skin and the conditioned ecstasy of fulfilling her station in reality, of bringing pleasure and entertainment to a man, a Master.
Alex’s use-Master finally groaned and climaxed uncontrollably in his pants. A surge of delight passed through the anonymous drone, mirroring the one she had produced behind her, literally.
“Oh . . . I’m sorry,” the man said, blushing at his hair-trigger response. “I tried to hold on but . . .” And then he stopped, embarrassed. He must have remembered that he was only talking to a fuckdoll.
Alex faced her use-Master. She rolled on top of him. She raised a hand in front of his face and waited until he focused on it. She smiled—like everything else, this was automatic—and lifted one finger.
One, she silently mouthed to him. He stared at her uncomprehendingly.
The pleasure drone glided from the bed for a short moment, just long enough to manually activate the sunken bath. It heated instantly, bubbling and releasing a fragrant scent into the air. Alex then went to her hands and knees and crawled back to the bed and her use-Master. Licking her lips, she removed his stained pants, stood, and then walked him to the small pool, guiding him in and following herself.
His skin was still red and growing redder by the moment.
[Mode 171-29: Mammary Intercourse]. Alex started massaging the Betan in the heated water. She stroked his hairy arms and legs. She bent forward and kissed his pale chest. He began making inarticulate sounds with his mouth whenever Alex wasn’t pressing her own lips and tongue against it.
She quickly got him hard again. It was easy. All she had had to do was follow the directions in her [processor] with total obedience.
Drawing his form out along the bath’s interior steps, Alex lowered the front of her body against her use-Master, took his renewed cock in hand, and began fondling him. He gasped immediately and tilted his head back, luxuriating in her fantastic touch. Alex pressed her huge breasts against the man’s penis and enfolded him. She was smooth and silky naturally; the water only enhanced the unnaturally soft texture of her skin. With his dick between her drone tits, Alex used her hands to press her firm yet yielding flesh together, over and over, building a rhythm. She squeezed and squeezed until he was screaming.
In a few moments he came again, shudderingly.
Alex lifted her fingers again before his eyes. Two, she languorously indicated.
The man groaned unbelievably, finally understanding what he was in for.
No drugs were employed in a Pink Decade. The man required neither surgical enhancement nor any especial skill. All the real effort lay on the part of the pleasure drone, who had entire volumes of erotic techniques encoded within her memory cells. True, few Masters ever reached the full Decade, ten continuous orgasms in a row, but through frottage, massage, and a very thorough grasp of the male nervous system, it was a rare pleasure drone that could not bring her Master at least close to that ideal.
Alex took her Master out of the bath and laid him on the bed on his back. She went back to work.
She began caressing the Betan with her lips. She tenderly kissed his eyes and then his throat, working her way down steadily. Her touch was light, almost ephemeral. In a way, this was more effective than a stronger series of contacts; her touch barely brushed the nerve endings, exciting them but not satisfying them. It was not a choice; it was [Mode 171-18a: Preliminary Intercourse]. Her every stroke was computed with the greatest accuracy, the effect gauged by analyzing skin and breathing response, and the results fed back into her chemiprocessors. Alex’s use-Master kissed her back and stroked her long legs as the drone climbed on top of him. He let her, and her chemiprocessors reacted accordingly.
[Mode Shift: Mode 171-13: Coitus: Receiver On Top]. Alex straddled her use-Master, resting on his hips with her legs folded to either side of his thighs. His cock, still limp from its previous exertions, began to quiver slightly beneath her open lips. Alex bent over and let her dangling breasts brush over the Master’s chest, an action which served to harden him further. She took his head in her hands and kissed him long and lingeringly on the mouth. [Mode 171-13c: Insertion]. Her pussy became wet. Alex straightened slightly and took her Master’s cock in her hands. She took a moment to rub the tip of his now throbbing organ against her mound. Then she guided him in and shifted her weight, sinking down upon and enfolding him within her tight, engineered muscles. The Betan groaned delightedly, his hands roaming over her body from tits to head. [Mode 171-13c1: Coital Massage]. She squeezed once and then let go and rose slightly. She applied pressure and then again rose, lifting his shaft almost out of her narrow channel but not quite. She clutched him again, the tip of his dick riding just slightly inside her. Then Alex reversed her direction, lowering herself and squeezing, lowering herself again and squeezing, welcoming him snugly within the firm confines of her plastioid body. She bent over and kissed him again. She drew his cock in and out of her, knowing to the exact moment when she should release so as to prevent a premature ejaculation. Her use-Master moaned and let her do everything.
The drone bobbed up and down on the shaft inside her for ten minutes, intermittently squeezing and driving the Master wild with desire for her. [Mode 171-13c2: Fellatio]. Finally, she took one long grip on her use-Master’s penis and let go, lifting herself up and disengaging completely. She crept down the length of his body, placed her head above his erection, juicy with her fluids, opened her mouth, and swallowed him. For a protracted moment she just held him, and then she drew back and back, letting go but not without giving his pink glans a moist kiss goodbye. Alex put two fingers at the base of his stalk and gripped him, hard, preventing his climax. The Betan screamed in frustration, but before he could complain Alex bent over him again and renewed her suction. She let up with her fingers slightly.
The taste of his pre-cum sent tiny rivulets of pleasure coursing through the former Baroness of Panara.
[Mode 171-13d: Reverse Receiver On Top]. Alex let her mouth linger on her use-Master’s shaft for another moment, then pressed her lips to its bushy base. Her body curled like a snake’s. Lifting her legs over his body, she shifted position again and put her back to him. Once more the pleasure drone settled herself on top of the Master and let his quivering organ sink inside her. Riding him backwards, allowing him the sight of her back and ass working him, she inched forward and back, forward and back, resuming her strokes. Finally, he climaxed explosively, blasting her womb with his pulpy seed.
Three.
The drone knelt at his side. She let him rest for a few minutes, then crept over and ran her specially textured tongue—a sex tool designed by the best of Old Earth’s carnal adepts—over his limp organ.
“I can’t,” Alex’s use-Master exclaimed. “I just can’t.”
Alex processed. [Query: Orders: Yes/No?]. It took her less than a second; her Master had not given her a command; he was expressing an opinion. The validity of the opinion was not considered.
Opinions were irrelevant to a pleasure drone.
Only orders mattered.
Alex gave one more luxurious lick, opened her jaws, and once more gobbled her user’s cock meat.
[Mode 171-2: Fellatio]. A simple routine. The drone suckled on her use-Master’s burgeoning shaft: fast, faster, with greater force and fervor. He moaned. Fluid leaked onto Alex’s tongue, and the taste only encouraged her heat and appetite. Her tongue worked over the veined surface of the cock. She reached with her hands and stroked the Betan’s throbbing balls, rubbing them vigorously, expertly.
She practically bathed his cock with her mouth. She licked him clean of her juices. She sucked on one testicle at a time, teasing. Her tongue worked up and down, side to side. The Master’s hands settled on her smooth, bald head and pushed, holding on desperately, obviously enjoying the use of his force.
Eventually, he came inside her mouth. Sperm flowed into Alex’s throat. She sucked continuously this time, having no need for breath. The fluid electrified her nervous system [sensors], and the automaton swallowed. When he was finally spent, she lifted her wet fingers.
Four.
Alex put a hand on her Master’s chest. His heart was strong. He, and therefore she, could go on.
Despite his apparent exhaustion, all it took was a touch near his navel there, a precise application of pressure to the soles of his feet here, and once more a gentle sucking to his scrotum there to get his blood flowing again, and violently. A drone knew more about a person’s body than most physicians.
Prompted by her ministrations, Alex’s use-Master climbed to his knees on the bed, groaning, a raging hard-on once more enthralling him. Alex raised her hind end high and lowered her face to the bed.
[Mode 171-15a: Coitus: Reception From Behind]
The drone’s Betan use-Master reached between her legs, his throbbing penis in hand. Groping about almost blindly for her vagina, he suddenly stabbed deep inside the drone’s drenched cunt.
It was an incredible high being such a low and submissive thing.
He reached round and grabbed Alex’s tits. His balls bounced up against Alex’s ass. He pumped her.
The drone’s pussy tightened around the shaft sliding in and out of her. She was finally being used! She was finally being used like a drone. She was no longer guiding her use-Master’s carnal experience.
Instead, she was being fucked like the sex object she truly was!
It felt wonderful.
Alex’s Master slapped her bare ass. The pain was sharp and biting, and it was utterly degrading, just the way the drone of her preferred it, as much as a will-less toy like her could have preferences.
The use-Master fucked his obedient drone with greater and greater force until he came. Five. He spasmed, and Alex went off herself. A star exploded inside her womb. Her mouth opened and closed soundlessly, for all the worlds like a fish gasping for air. If she could have screamed aloud, she would have. She would have ripped the ceiling away with the force of her submissive cry.
Yes! By all that’s holy and unholy, yes, yes! Yes! YESSS!!
Another spasm. Another taste of utter bliss. Her drone body reacted.
Aaaahhhhh!! Oh, Arr . . Aaaaaahhhhhh!!!
The Master withdrew. Alex’s programming would not allow her the luxury of lying there and writhing more. Whatever writhing and squirming culled from her would serve but one purpose, the pleasure of her current user. She got up. After he finished, body red and sweating, shivering with the force of his exertion, Alex climbed back around and lowered him to the bed again. He was nearly unconscious.
While the Master was in a daze, the drone went to the rest room and heated some towels, which she brought back to the bed before he could register that she was gone. Gently, she wrapped the towels around his dick, soothing it and bringing a smile to his worn-out lips. Alex massaged him tenderly, starting with his scalp and working her way down to his shoulders and chest. Her proficiency was such as could only exist in a pleasure drone. To “Torim,” her use-Master, it would feel as if her fingertips were quietly passing through his skin and into the muscles themselves. In Alex’s drone eyes, a system of vital points overlaid the Master’s body. She knew exactly where to touch, where not to touch.
Please, please, no more, no more. I beg you.
Alex didn’t who she begged. Regardless, it was a futile request, heard by no one, to be consented to impossible. Her drone programming reacted accordingly, without malice.
[Input Error]. [Error. Error. Error].
Exhaustion, and the aftereffects of her own multiple orgasms, allowed Alex to put up no kind of a fight, no amount of resistance. Relentlessly, her drone programming drove on.
She brought about Master Torim’s sixth climax through acupressure to his feet and hands alone. A seventh she achieved by slowly lubricating his cock with her tongue and then carefully inserting it up her anal cavity. The manipulations of her muscles, clenching and releasing, clenching and releasing, building pressure and then slowly releasing it, caused him to explode within a mere two minutes.
That seventh one finally burned him out. At last totally exhausted, Alex’s use-Master collapsed into a dreamless sleep, as judged by his lack of R.E.M. as she robotically monitored his health state.
Further sexual servicing, she quickly determined, would only cause her Master discomfort. As it was, a part of Alex predicted he would be sore for a long, long time. Sore . . . but thoroughly satisfied.
She had brought a Master satisfaction. A warm glow settled through her. It was an electric tingle, a genial, mindless feeling of contentment. In some ways, it felt almost as good as the fucking had been.
Almost.
[Sexual Mode 171 Completed]. Alex’s programmed routine ground to a halt inside her. [Activate Post-Coitus Mode]. The drone got up from the bed, removed the towels, brought new ones from the bathroom, and gently massaged her use-Master in a way that would guarantee a perfect night’s sleep.
Her actions were mechanical. Inside, Alex was dazed and unthinking.
It was an exceptionally easy condition to fall into.
The drone stood silently at the foot of her Master’s bed for the rest of that evening.