The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Drone

9

It was to be a marriage of convenience. Even as a mere pleasure drone, Alex was familiar with the political realities of the Three Systems. The Drad was right. No one cared whether or not a sex toy was privy to their affairs. It didn’t take Alex long, despite being kept exclusively in her Mistress’ playroom, to gather enough pertinent details to gain her a picture of the whole distasteful arrangement.

The Sovereignty of Outer Alpha Centauri was the largest political entity in the Centauri systems. In addition to the orbiting bubble cities, satellite colonies, and inhabited asteroids that fell under his sway, Peter’s restored realm encompassed five terraformed or partially terraformed planets: the three worlds of Beta as well as two of the four populated planets of Alpha. On a sixth world, too, Proxima Five, Peter reigned, though he did not govern, the distance of that planet from the others necessitating its own government. In all, several billion people called Alex’s beloved Master Peter their ruler—the reestablished Sovereignty was the second largest polity in human space, exceeded in size and population only by the Solarian Empire itself—and a vast multitude of disparate groups, noble and common, spaceborn and planet-dweller, had to be appeased. Long before her transformation, while both of them had served in the F.C.A., Peter had confessed to Alex the inadequacies he had felt in being his royal father’s only son. He said he felt overwhelmed by the awesome responsibility of one day becoming Sovereign, if and when the Solarians were defeated. He had worried that he wasn’t up to the task of ensuring everybody’s freedom, of guaranteeing the rights of his people over a wealthy and self-indulgent aristocracy, of creating a true representative government in which everyone was represented.

Alex, in turn, told Peter the fact that he was worrying said he was a good leader, that she would have been concerned if he hadn’t had these things on his mind. And he had laughed, albeit nervously.

Now, for the first time in decades, Solarian influence in the Three Systems was gone, and the interplanetary government Peter, Alex, and their friends had worked on in theory had to be put into operation in reality. The main obstacle, at present as it had been then, were the Betan nobles. They still owned considerable properties. They still employed millions of people. The Solarians had left the Betan aristocracy more or less to their own devices so long as they hadn’t interfered with Earth’s reign. Those nobles were now used to running things their own way. While she and Peter had daydreamed about stripping her fellow aristocrats of their hereditary ranks and titles, and of their historical voice in government, Alex knew such a radical move would have left the Sovereignty vulnerable to economic blackmail. In time, it could be, and would be, done, but within ten years a war fleet from Sol was bound to arrive, and the Centauri worlds had to be unified in their defense. Even if a fleet didn’t come, some kind of rule of law had to be reestablished, and quickly. History had too often shown that no government was worse than even a tyrannical one. If a stable rule was not in place soon, if and when the Solarians returned, they would be welcomed back despite their depravities.

Alex’s beloved Master Peter had to construct and hold together a political structure that encompassed five planets. Naturally, there would be compromises. Naturally, unlikable deals would be struck.

Unlikable deals . . . such as a marriage to a woman he could only despise. Justine zee Xarusha may have been hated by the Free Centauri Army and its supporters, but, and for the very same reasons, she or another like her would have been very acceptable to the noble Beta Assembly. With Alex herself missing, she imagined it hadn’t taken long for some political advisor to make clear to Peter the advantages of a marriage to Mistress Justine. She could imagine his reaction. He would hate it, but, as in the matter of the dissemination of the Empire’s abandoned pleasure drones, he would be persuaded it was necessary. Alex herself, though she hated the bitch [Error. Error. Error], could see the many outstanding problems the match would fix and the assurances it would give in certain quarters.

She knew her Master Peter. Though he might hate it, he would always do what was necessary for the good of all. The royal wedding ceremony was scheduled for the start of the new year on Beta Prime, in a little under six months. It was going to be an extravaganza.

Alex had her own pedestal in the playroom. She stood on it in the dark thinking. What she couldn’t understand was why the Drads wanted her beloved Peter dead. It didn’t make sense. Although Bungula Secundus was not a part of Outer Alpha Centauri, it had as much to lose as the rest of the Three Systems if the Solarians regained power. Peter was a war hero, the rightful heir to the Sovereignty, and a brilliant and capable leader besides. He was, in a very real way, indispensable.

With his death so soon after the Occupation, with so little in place, the newly restored Outer Alpha Centauri would collapse, and then all the Centauri worlds would suffer. The only thing Alex could imagine was that the Drads hoped to build a new interplanetary state with themselves at the head, yet she couldn’t see how that could happen, not within the ten-year safety margin they had: 4.3 years for the message of the victory at Proxima Centauri to reach Earth, at least a year in organizing a response, and then, of course, another 4.3 years for that response to arrive.

The lights in the playroom came on suddenly. A few moments later Alex heard footsteps in the hallway leading to the secret chamber. Inwardly, she sighed. As her programmed routines unwound themselves in her mind, preparing her drone body for her Mistress’ Service, an odd combination of joy and alarm filled the former baroness. There was joy because it was her duty to see to Mistress Justine, to be her abject plaything, her sexual toy. She had to feel joy and become excited in her presence, her nipples tightening, her pussy lubricating itself helplessly. She was a pleasure drone, after all.

Her dismay came because her Mistress had never allowed her once to come. Not even once.

Alex hadn’t had an orgasm in weeks!

Months, possibly. She was losing track of time. Days, sometimes scores at a time, would pass while she was in full drone mentality, not thinking, merely responding to programming. Other times, she would mysteriously come awake again, as she had hours ago, alone in the dark, waiting. Alex wasn’t precisely sure how long she had been Mistress Justine’s property. It could have been weeks. It could have been months. She just wasn’t sure. All that she was sure was that she hadn’t had an orgasm for a long time . . . and she very badly needed one!

The door slid open. Mistress Justine entered wearing a blue jumpsuit with golden trimmings. For the first time, though, she was not alone. A man accompanied her.

Alex was shocked to immediately recognize him. [Sovien!] she processed. It was her Master Peter’s chief aide, a close and dear friend to both of them. [Sovien!] [What are you doing here?]

Alex could not have been more surprised had Peter himself walked in. Sovien was a small man—he was Justine’s height—but smart and highly capable. Although not a fighter, he was a genius at logistics. He had been instrumental in keeping the Free Centauri Army running. He came in after Mistress Justine winging his hands like a nervous servant.

He was pale and sweating. “Please, Justine,” he whimpered. “Please.”

“Not quite yet, dear,” Alex’s owner said, smiling wickedly. “Come join me on the bed first.” Sovien whined softly, yet did as she commanded. Behind her emotionless veneer, Alex was appalled.

[Sovien!] she thought. [What’s happened to you?] [Why are you acting this way?] The last time she had seen him, Sovien had been with her Master Peter at the asteroid complex advising him about the disposal of the Empire’s pleasure drones. He had seemed much more composed then.

She watched as Sovien and her owner climb onto the bed, a bed Alex now knew every square centimeter of intimately. Before Alex’s unbelieving eyes, the administrator removed Justine’s slippers with his teeth, then softly began kissing her toes. For the next twenty minutes the pleasure drone watched an utterly mind-boggling scene. She watched her former good friend and comrade in the Resistance completely abase himself before a woman for which he had had only contempt back in the F.C.A. At Mistress Justine’s beckoning, he stripped off his royal uniform and addressed himself to her pleasure, undressing her, then lowering his mouth to lap delicately at the aristocrat’s moist pussy.

He brought her to climax though he himself failed to become aroused. With a pleasure drone’s senses, Alex couldn’t help but notice. Sovien’s penis was limp throughout the entire exercise, hardly more than twitching even as her depraved owner screamed her delight (Mistress Justine was a screamer). Alex felt sick. Some of it was her own need for a drone orgasm, so long denied. Partially it was seeing Justine convulse greedily with pleasure. Mostly, though, it was Alex’s desires working at her, as they were always working at her, making her want to fuck her good friend Sovien, a man whom she respected and cherished yet had never before harbored even the slightest sexual desire.

When Justine was finished, she ordered the administrator to kneel at the side of the bed, head down.

“As always, a delight, beloved,” she said while caressing his cheek. He shook in shame. “Your tongue is almost as talented as that of my other toy. See?” She pointed toward Alex. His eyes widened.

“You . . have a pleasure drone,” Sovien said. Alex’s humiliation increased exponentially. He turned to his Mistress. “But what if Peter should . . . ?”

“Our dear Peter will never find out, will he?” She took hold of Sovien’s cheeks and shook his face as though he were an animal. “You will take pains to see that he does not, won’t you?”

Sovien nodded. “Yes.” He bit his lips. “Justine . . please. May I now? Please?”

The spoiled heiress sighed melodramatically. “Oh, very well. You may use my little convenience.”

For a moment Alex thought her Mistress meant her. Instead, moving with anguished speed, Alex’s old friend Sovien rushed to the Martian onantube in its alcove. To her horror, he addressed himself to its infernal controls with an expertise that could come only from long experience.

[Oh, Sovien] Alex processed, at once feeling immeasurably sorry for him. She recognized now the haunted look in his eyes, the eyes of an onantube addict. The onantube opened up. The able little man climbed in, and the device resealed itself. He looked out the window in front at Mistress Justine, silently pleading with her. Slowly, taking her time about it, Alex’s owner got up from the bed, leisurely made her way across the playroom, and stood in front of the device. Sovien was practically in tears.

“Are you ready?” she asked, her voice clearly displaying her relish for control.

[No, no] Alex thought, weeping inside. Sovien nodded eagerly. Justine touched a control on the outside of the onantube; it began to hum. Sovien’s eyes inside the device closed, and he shuddered as the first waves of amplified sensation pulsed through his compromised nervous system.

Justine activated an intercom on the device’s side. “Tell me again, my beloved. I never get tired of hearing it.” She smiled sweetly, inappropriately. “Do you love me?”

“. . what . . what . . I don’t . . .” Sovien was gasping. He seemed uncomprehending, totally caught up with the onantube’s effects. Casually, Alex’s owner played with the controls, increasing the level of pain its occupant was experiencing. Instantly, Sovien screamed, agony scrawled across his features.

“YES!! YES, I LOVE YOU, JUSTINE!!”

“How nice.” She touched another control. Sovien gasped again, this time in utmost pleasure. “And I, of course, love you too.” She played with the controls, calmly adjusting as she saw fit, making the administrator writhe at her careless ministrations. Alex was sickened. She had had no idea Sovien was an onantube addict. He had hidden it well. It must have happened during the Occupation, but when? So far as she knew, he had never fallen into Solarian hands. But, then, there were plenty of opportunities when something like that could have occurred. There were plenty of gaps in Alex’s old life as well, as was true of any survivor of the war. Alex’s Mistress continued to talk to the tortured man as if they were seated casually and not merely tormentor and tormented.

“If only our dear Sovereign Peter could be here to see you, Sovien. He would be so disappointed, wouldn’t he?” Sovien nodded, prompted by her hand on the controls. His face was full of shame, and Alex could tell her owner was getting off on it.

Justine sniffed derisively. “For that matter, if only he were sharing your experience. Imagine,” she said, laughing, “the sovereign of the Centauri Systems reduced to as much of a willing slave as you.”

She tapped the console. Sovien yelped. “Wouldn’t that be precious?” she asked.

“Yes, oh yes, anything . . anything!!”

“Yes. Yes.” She sighed. “It’s too bad he has to die.”

[Die!?] Alex processed, horrified. [DIE!?] [But . . but . .] A series of error messages flashed through her consciousness in direct reaction to her hate-filled thoughts for her owner. [But you’re marrying Peter!?] [You can’t kill him!] [I’m killing him!] [You can’t!] [You . . I . . mustn’t!]

So strong was Alex’s reaction to the repeated thought of her blessed Master Peter’s death that for an instant—a bare instant—her fingers shook.

Let there be no mistake. Her fingers shook of their own accord.

A whole tremor, in fact, passed through the anonymous drone. Justine, back to the hapless pleasure slave, never noticed the tiny rebellion. She continued to torture and tease Sovien for nearly another hour. Alex, in the meantime, was in an absolute whirlwind. She didn’t know what was going on.

Was Justine planning to kill her Peter? Did the Drads want her to kill him? Why? Why? At the same time, the former baroness couldn’t help but be profoundly affected by her brief but unmistakable moment of self-determination. She had moved! She had moved on her own! She had moved at the accord of no one’s will but her own! It was the first time something like that had occurred since . . . since forever! For a time, Alex’s delight warred equally with her need for a long-delayed orgasm.

[I moved!] [I moved on my own!]

It was like Beta rising out of a cloud for the first time in a long, cold Prime winter. It sparked an emotion in Alex akin to being used as the pleasure drone that she was, of achieving a drone climax.

[I MOVED!!!] Neither her owner nor the person she tormented noticed the raw emotion pervading the motionless drone, standing like a statue on the pedestal Mistress Justine had provided in her alcove.

All they saw, of course, was a mere pleasure drone, nothing more.

* * *

Some hours later, in the dark, Alex’s blank eyes popped open. Not knowing how or why, she stepped off of her pedestal and walked to the playroom door. It did not open automatically for her—she was not an authorized user, nor even, for that matter, a person—but that was no problem. The drone’s fingers worked over a nearby control panel, and soon she had access. Within minutes, silently, heedless of the estate’s various alarms, Alex was strolling through the guest wing of Justine’s grand mansion.

She came to a particular door. It opened for her silently.

Sitting waiting for her was a plain woman with short-cropped, snow-white hair. Her eyes were equally as white and blank, and on her forehead was the instantly recognizable, tattooed Mark of Drad.

The body was different, but there could be no mistake. It was her Drad spymaster, Ovidius, again.

<Ovidia> Alex heard calmly inside her head, the transplanted brain inside the new body causing its lips to form a smile. <I am Halan Ovidia III while in this shell> “She” smiled even brighter.

The door closed behind Alex. They were not alone in the guest chamber. In addition to herself and the Secundian, a Xenonic mercenary stood at rigid attention in another doorway. Something inside Alex gulped. Alex remembered fighting a whole team of Xenonic mercenaries at that Solarian relay station from so long ago, just before she was captured. The mercenary, dressed in the traditional all-encompassing, blue-and-white bodysuit, holding the equally customary long-barreled multi-rifle of his profession, looked as coldly detached as Alex supposed she herself looked most of the time. The Xen would fight for anyone. So long as they were paid, and the terms of their contracts honored, they showed absolute, even fanatical loyalty to their employers. They would even fight each other to the death if employed by opposing forces. The guard watched Alex. Usually, such devoted attention filled a drone with heated arousal. The Xen’s cold threat appraisal filled Alex with nothing but dread.

Ovidius (Ovidia!) stood while Alex, prompted by a silent command, descended to her knees. <You had a special visitor today> she heard the Drad say mentally. Despite the physical changes, “its” voice inside her mind was unchanged from before. It was cold, detached, supremely arrogant.

Helplessly, the image of Alex’s addicted friend surfaced. [Yes, Mistress]. Her chemiprocessors at least had no problems identifying the spy’s gender. [He came with my Mistress, and they . . .].

<Stop> Mistress Ovidia “said.” <Don’t tell me> <Show me>

And Alex did. The events of that day replayed themselves in her mind’s eye, every detail revealed in excruciating detail. Nothing was said aloud. Nonetheless, the Drad soon began nodding, a satisfied expression on its stolen face. <Lots of excitement, I see> the creature projected. <I wouldn’t get your hopes up about moving a few paltry fingers, though, baroness> <It’s likely an aberration caused by my neural overlay <You’re still little more than a walking extension of my senses>

[Bitch!] Alex projected, suffering feedback. The psychic pain caused the person inside the drone to wilt. The exterior form of that same drone, of course, remained, as always, unmoved.

“I’m finished with you now,” Mistress Ovidia said at last, out loud. Alex stood. “You may return to your alcove, my dear.”

[Wait!] [Please!] Alex “screamed,” and, as she stopped in mid-stride, she was evidently granted permission to continue. [Are you going to make me kill my Master Peter?] [Please, please, don’t make me kill him!] she begged.

<The sovereign’s death is something we of the Drad are considering, if it should serve our needs> the Drad thought at her, turning Alex’s heart inside-out. The creature turned from the helpless pleasure drone and went to a sideboard where it poured a refreshment. The Xenonic mercenary still hadn’t budged. He continued to watch Alex through the sealed and featureless eyelids of his mask.

The worst thing about being a pleasure drone, aside from the constant degradation of flesh and spirit, was that no one ever talked to you. All they did was use you. Alex knew only what she had picked up from eavesdropped conversations and the sometimes unendurably long times she had had to think about matters. [Is Mistress Justine working with you?] she asked directly. [Do you know she’s planning to kill my Master Peter, too?]

<Yes, I know> Mistress Ovidia projected. “And no, she’s not,” it said, nearly simultaneously. “All I am to her is an official representative from my government staying on her estate, a friendly Drad who has helped her from time to time with a few ‘unusual’ purchase.” [So that’s where the onantube came from] Alex thought, and the Drad smiled again. That made sense. The Drads still had cousins living in Sol System. “She is an innocent dupe, although I hesitate to use the word ‘innocent’ in describing her.” The creature gave a chuckle, but Alex perceived little if any humor through their link. This “thing” had fucked her previously in its “Nax” shell. But Alex now knew that had been solely to gauge her reactions. “It” laughed, “it” smiled, but nothing really came through as genuine emotion.

Nonetheless, Alex knew the creature was telling her the truth. The Drad didn’t consider her worthy enough to lie to.

<Maybe you should know> Ovidia projected. <Your insight may prove useful> Taking the drink, and casually stroking the uniform sleeve of the mercenary as it passed—he made no discernible reaction—the spy returned to the seat. <The Countess Xarusha is in the employ of a group of disaffected Betan nobles> <She thinks of herself as their peer, but, again, she is just a means to an end>

“Their plan,” the creature continued out loud, “ is a remarkably straightforward one. They intend for the countess to marry Sovereign Peter and then, at some point, arrange for his death, probably at the hands of his best friend, Sovien.” The Drad sighed delicately. Alex was horrified. “Although as consort she won’t inherit, through her the nobles will push to have a council of regents established, with themselves at head, of course. The Beta Assembly, already a powerful institution, will take over the reins of government, compelling the people’s cooperation with the threat of a looming Solarian invasion.”

[They can’t] Alex thought/processed/spoke. [They can’t].

“I assure you, despite their amateurish intrigues, they are more than capable of this thing. They have an entire apparatus of conspiracy already in place.”

[No!] [You can’t!] Alex felt herself on the verge of surrendering to her drone programming; she fought to remain aware. [What’s my role in this, Mistress?]

<The same as it was before, baroness> <You are my eyes and my ears, and my hands, too, should the occasion warrant> The creature finished the drink and held it out expectantly. With some apparent reluctance, the Xenonic mercenary came forward and took the empty glass. <Assassinating Peter now would effectively undercut the Assembly’s plans, don’t you agree?>

Alex couldn’t reply. She couldn’t form a coherent thought. Unnoticed by either, the little finger of her left hand twitched once and was still again.

<But that’s none of your concern, really> the Drad mentally projected. <Return to your pedestal now, baroness, and rest> Alex turned at once for the door. <One way or another, I’m sure you will play a part in things>

The last thing the drone heard as she left was the Drad asking its servant to prepare another drink.