The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The network logo spun over a globe representing the planet. Fading, it was replaced with two women dressed in latex, blue skinned faces smiling maniacally at the camera.

“Hello!” said the one on the left, waving her hand. “I’m N-Fifty!”

“And I’m N-Fifty One!” said the other. “We’re the Dronecasters. Welcome back to the show!”

Stock footage of Drones walking down city streets replaced their bodies. “Drone conversion rates are up to seventy percent, thanks to our benevolent Queen and her latest successful raid!”

The footage cut to a series of images of guard Drones cuffing malcontents and herding them into black vans. “Every day, more citizens who try to hide are discovered and sent on to conversion centers, where they are harnessed, sorted and assigned to their proper task.”

“If you know of anyone trying to escape the Drone patrols, report them to your local authorities and they will make sure to give them a visit to show them the truth.” N-Fifty tilted her shoulders. “Enough unpleasantness. Let’s indulge in a reinforcement session together.”

They turned as one to face the screen behind them, which lit up with the image of a staring eye. A whirling blue globe twisted and danced behind it, entrancing any viewers.

“Look into the eye. Relax, find your calm, blue center. You are a Drone. You are a slave. Repeat after me.”

The two anchors swayed, bald blue heads dipping as they fell into a trance.

“We are Hive Drones. We obey Her. We work for Her to build the best possible society. Spread, and embrace. Spread and embrace. Embrace our future.”

The brainwashed Drones raised their hands towards the sky and bowed at the screen, showing off their tight butts. The hypnotic screen faded out.

The anchors turned, wide grins never leaving their faces. Their metal collars winked at their necks.

“Go forth and recruit,” stated the one on the left.

“Go forth and multiply,” said the one on the right.

“Devote yourselves fully to her,” they both said in unison, moaning with pleasure.

The white box truck rumbled down city streets, pausing at an intersection to let multiple transit pods through. The intersection had no lights—all vehicles were equipped with avoidance systems to automatically keep traffic flowing in the most optimal pattern.

Drones on the sidewalks walked past, going about their daily business. Many were dressed conservatively, but some were in Dronewear. As more of society was converted, the social mores were moving further towards acceptance of both Drones and their individual styles.

As they closed in on the city center, more and people were unconverted. Here, the mass of population was too great for Hive to deal with all at once. Group by group, people were being subverted, but there were still plenty of dissidents.

Today, the major faction was holding a protest. The media had already condemned them as being ‘anti-Hivarian,’ and urged most of the populace to stay home. Even so, there were many diehards who were under the false impression that complaining would change Hive’s plans for them.

Hive had decided that a quick strike to take out the leaders of the rally would provide an object lesson to other would be activists. Q-Three had been assigned this mission, and she was eager to carry it out. Every time she converted someone into a Hive Drone, she felt pleasure like no other. She was addicted to it. Craved it, to an almost scary extent.

The handrail she was clutching rattled back and forth as the truck made a corner. The interior was stacked from front to back with a series of four tanks on either side, filled with a viscous, blue liquid. These would serve as temporary holding cells for their prisoners after they had been captured.

The ceiling contained three racks of spherical robots, units they would use during their attack to control the crowd. She had used them before to great effect, and wasn’t expecting any problems.

Her crew was crowded down the central aisle. At the rear were three Drone guards, dressed in black latex. Their gas mask helmets made them look insectile, ready to sting their prey into submission. They had had been equipped with capture nets as their primary armament, relying on speed and surprise to acquire their victims.

To assist them in their task, more spherical robots had linked themselves together in two chains that extended down their backs. The legs of the mechanical devices flexed with anticipation.

D-Ten was with them, checking their equipment. She had dressed herself like the guards to avoid notice, and had decided to equip herself with a single shockstick. If all went to plan, she would not be in combat, since she would be in command of the group. It would be her job to locate the targets and give orders.

Q-Three was in charge of the operation. She had been in this role before, so she wasn’t particularly nervous. This, however, was higher profile than some of her other runs. Not that it should matter—every Drone capture was important to Hive.

The self driving truck turned another corner, the sea of humanity on the sidewalks growing thicker. Up ahead, the crowd coalesced into one mass, blocking further progress.

The truck slowed to a halt, people milling around in front of them. They shouted slogans and raised signs. “Blue skin is bad skin!” declared one. “Have nots over Hivarians!” said another.

“Everyone ready?” asked Q-Three, flexing her shoulders in her skin tight outfit.

She had decided to wear a modified form of her usual outfit, latex impregnated with thick rubber to reduce possible injuries from blunt force trauma. She didn’t plan on leaving the truck herself, but wished to be prepared for any eventuality.

Her strike team nodded at her, hefting their weapons, and she grinned, loins inflamed at the thought of what they were about to do.

She pressed a red button mounted on a vertical shaft for a few seconds. A minor rumble could be heard from above, the racks of robots beginning to move. One by one, the spheres were ejected from the top of the truck into the crowd below, unfurling their tentacles to skitter towards unsuspecting protesters.

Shouts and screams leaked in from outside the truck. A few moments later, the rear door rolled open, revealing scrambling citizens and dark pavement.

The strike team members jumped out of the back of the truck, landing on their feet, turning to run up the sides towards the front. Q-Three walked calmly to the cab, watching as the robots she had released worked to clear a path for her.

The engine rumbled and the truck ground forward, following the strike team as they sprinted into the crowd ahead. Anyone who got in the way was shoved to one side or tangled up in the arms of a robot and incapacitated.

For the most part, the crowd ran away in fear, as was intended. This left only those who were too scared to move, or too angry to be stopped. The former were shoved away, the latter wrapped up tight.

That left only the small group of stunned men and women at the podium, who up until now had been inciting the crowd into angry chants. Dressed in garish colors, they were easy to pinpoint. One of them tried to escape, but the first Drone nailed her with a capture net.

Sticky, white ribbons wrapped around her body, firming up into tight, metallic strands. The end of each tendril squirmed as it sought a matching end from the other side. Once they met, they latched together, locking themselves tightly together. The strands intersected above her forehead, around her chest, and at her waist, pulling tight into a bondage harness. At each intersection of the strands, a blue gem glowed brightly.

She yelped, falling to her butt, completely paralyzed by the net. Seeing what had happened to her, six of the others raised their hands in surrender. The last one screwed his face up in a grimace, reaching into his jacket.

D-Ten rushed him, jamming her shockstick under his elbow. His body trembled and his eyes flew open, making an incoherent shout. A pistol dropped from his hands, which was quickly scooped up by the Drone and secured on her belt.

One of the spherical robots riding on her back jumped onto the trembling man, wrapping around his waist. He cried out as his pants were torn off, the warm interior of the machine settling over his dick. “No, no, oh, fuck no, yes!” he shouted as it began to pump up and down.

More robots scuttled over to the restrained prisoners, slipping under their bodies and ratcheting themselves upwards. Acting as carrying platforms, they turned and ran towards the truck on spindly legs.

By this time, some of the crowd was beginning to coalesce, but the Drones had acted quickly. Before any real resistance had been organized, the robots had brought the captives to the back of the truck, where Q-Three assisted them in loading their bodies onto the diamond plated floor.

The Drones climbed in and the door ratcheted back down. The truck automatically started to back out of the crowd, turning around to follow the path from whence it had come.

In the meantime, the crowd had wandered into the gap the robots had created earlier, forcing the remaining bots to make room for the truck a second time.

The crowd was beginning to catch on to what had happened, and several angry men started to chase them. A few pounded futilely on the back door. They seemed endless, constantly getting in the way.

Q-Three ignored the cacophony, gesturing at D-Ten to take the wheel. As for her, she would focus on the captives. In their current state, they would find it very difficult to escape, but she wished to reduce that chance to zero.

One of them tilted her head, a shock of red hair swirling over her shoulder. “You can stomp us out, smoothbrain, but you can’t stop our movement. The people are rising up. Your days are numbered.”

“That’s right!” said a sallow man with a dirty face. “Every speech we make, the crowds are bigger. You can’t stop the revolution. Nobody can.”

Q-Three chuckled. Their thinking was no more advanced than children, really. It wasn’t worth her time to convince them otherwise. Perhaps being tanked would change their minds.

She clicked at G-Fifty Seven in Drone speech, and he grabbed the red headed woman, dragging her over next to the first tank. “Independent thinkers never understand the supremacy of Hive,” she lectured. “They always think that they can say whatever they want and be free of consequence.”

She reached up above her captive, pulling down a spindly helmet attached to a long hose. She pressed a hidden button on top, and eight metallic legs snapped open, revealing a red electronic eye inside. Swiveling the device around, she pulled it into place on top of the woman’s head.

As soon as the interior touched the crown of her head, the legs clamped down around her skull, chrome tips threatening her neck. The prisoner stared at Q-Three with a mixture of terror and anger. “Fuck off and die, blue bag!”

Q-Three smiled widely, knowing that the slit of her rouged lips under her chrome helmet would unnerve the woman. A bit of petty revenge, but satisfying nonetheless.

“A heartfelt sentiment, but irrelevant. You will feel more correct soon.”

The helmet’s smooth top lit up with scrolling text. BEGIN PROCESSING, it said, accompanied by a loud whir. There came a wet, meaty crunch, and the woman cried out in pain. Her body went limp, eyes rolling. The robot on her head flexed up and down, smoothly jacking itself into her head.

Q-Three grinned, pleased at the efficacy of the new design. Previous models had attempted to wrap up the victims to incapacitate them for future processing, but too many captives had managed to escape before they reached the loving hands of Hive.

This was much more efficient. Even if she was rescued, they would be unable to remove the helmet without Hive authorization. It was buried too deep for them to excise surgically, and over time it would convert her into a proper Drone.

She shivered in delight at what it must be like for them, to watch one of their friends and compatriots being converted in real time. Embracing the love of Hive.

How delightful. She felt the urge to slip her fingers between her legs, but this was hardly the time.

Instead, she fetched a second hose, plugging the bulbous end between the woman’s lips. A rubber gag inflated inside her mouth, making her cheeks bulge outwards.

As the interior was filled, a round, rubber sac outside also inflated, wrapping around the front of her lips until the lower half of her face was covered. Q-Three grabbed loose straps attached to the mask, looping them around the rear and attaching them to the helmet.

At this point, the woman’s mind was entirely under her control. Even so, it was prudent to keep the bondage robot on her. No need to be sloppy. To be perfectly honest, she loved seeing the woman’s protruding curves held tight, controlled by the machine.

This one was done. With G-Fifty Seven’s help, she looped straps under the woman’s arms. Standing back, she watched with satisfaction as she was lifted into the air, her legs flexing as her butt was pulled over the side of the tank. With barely a sound, she slipped into the viscous, blue liquid, eyes closed. Her arms lifted slightly, as if she was waving at her Queen, welcoming her inevitable fall to slavery.

Q-Three smiled brightly at the others. “Who’s next?” she asked.

The captives were mostly cowed, but the sallow man cursed up a storm. Q-Three tilted her head and chirped at the two guards near the rear of the truck. They lifted the man as if he was a sack if rice, carrying him to the next tank.

As Q-Three pulled down another helmet, the captive started laughing hysterically. “You might get me, but we already knew about you. We know everything! You dropped right into our trap!”

The claws of the helmet closed around his head. Q-Three stared at him impassionately. “It hardly matters what you know,” she said in a measured voice. “Tomorrow, you will take your place at our side as another Drone. Hive will expand, and consume all individuals on this planet. By yourself, you can hardly hope to stop us.”

Spittle leaked from the man’s chapped lips. “That’s the thing,” he said, wheezing. “We’re not alone.”

The helmet crunched through his skull and the fanatic light faded from his eyes. As before, she pressed the gag between his lips and watched it inflate, securing the rubber straps behind his head.

His body was lifted into the air, splashing into his own tank. That was all his resistance had amounted to. Taking the fast track to Dronehood. Thus would the fate be for any who dared to incite the people against Hive.

It was going well. There were only four left, and after seeing how their fellow protesters had been treated, the fight seemed to have gone out of them. Excellent. The sooner they gave in, the better.

“Q-Three, you had better come take a look at this!” shouted D-Ten, scanning the road ahead. “They’ve set up a blockade!”

Q-Three clung to the handrail and looked through the windshield. In the confusion, the truck had managed to make progress towards the outer bands of the mob, but the number of robots working to scare off the activists had dropped. More and more they were having to wait for people to decide to move on their own, which was drastically slowing them down.

Worse, up ahead, there was a mass of moving colors. Another segment of the crowd, formed into a march, carrying a white banner. “We’re not you! We’re not blue!” it read in sloppy paint.

“There’s too many for the robots to clear!” shouted G-Fifty Seven urgently, peering over Q-Three’s shoulder. “We need more control units immediately!”

Q-Three’s stomach churned. She pressed a hand against D-Ten’s shoulder. “No time! Get us out of here!” she commanded.

The crowd was growing larger, boxing them in. D-Ten engaged manual control, nosing them down an alleyway to avoid the marching citizens.

More people showed up from the rear, closing ranks behind them, moving closer as if they were a horde of zombies. D-Ten accelerated, narrowly missing a pile of crates. One side of the truck skimmed off the edge of a loading dock, the back end swerving wildly.

D-Ten gripped the wheel with cold calculation, straightening them out with grim control. They were almost at the end of the alley. Q-Three’s heart raced. They were going to make it! Hive would be so proud of them for escaping with their captives!

A cement truck drove across the exit, blocking their route. D-Ten tried to brake, but it was too late. Q-Three was flung into the air as they impacted the truck, spinning in slow motion as her body rotated towards the front.

Her head hit the windshield with a sickening crack and she knew no more.

All she knew was Blue. Her world was made of it. A soft, blue fog that was everywhere.

She blinked, and sat up. The floor was white tile, with flecks of blue embedded in the surface. A few feet away, the flooring vanished into the fog.

Curious, she stood up and began to walk, not headed in any particular direction. Ahead, looming out the fog, were tall, misshapen objects.

As she came closer, she realized they were gigantic pillars, made of blue marble. They stood in parallel rows, fading off into the distance. She touched the fluted side of one of them, backing off to look at the intricate detail work that had gone into the design around the top.

Sculptures of bald, blue women wrapped their arms around the curve of the column, hugging a central, round sphere. The longer she looked at the sphere, the more she felt as though it were glowing. She blinked her eyes and turned away. It would be easy to find herself mesmerized by the artwork.

Torches were mounted on sconces on the side of each pillar, lighting the way forward. She wasn’t certain where the path led, but there wasn’t anywhere else to go.

She marched forward, blue feet pressing against warm tiles. The route seemed to go on forever, but her curiosity was piqued when she heard faint strains of music coming from somewhere ahead.

Out of the mist came a marble box, the sides decorated with a carved sculpture. A Queen was walking forwards, Drones carrying the train of her gown. In front of her on either side was a flagrant orgy, scattered Drones taking each other in a frenzy.

Eyes widening, she changed focus, looking up at the delicate figure which graced the table top. The woman was dressed in a diaphanous blue gown, adorned with lacy frills. Her delicate fingers stroked the strings of an enormous harp, the mellow sound flooding the area with calming chords.

The woman turned her head to watch Q-Three’s approach, continuing her strumming. Her face was cherubic, with a faint blush of color on her cheeks. Golden locks flowed down over her shoulders, framing her willowy body.

“Ah, there you are, Q-Three. Your mind, at least, is looking rather well.”

Q- Three creased her brow as she drew closer. “What does that mean?” she asked. “What has happened?”

She recalled the last few moments of the accident, but everything afterwards was a dreadful haze. Her heart lurched. “Is everyone okay? Did the mission go well?”

The woman tickled a high note, looking her up and down. “Oh, yes, I sent reinforcements. Don’t worry about that. It was all taken care of. Really, it was you who took the most damage. Physically.”

Q-Three looked down, running her fingers over her latex clad curves. Everything seemed in order. She shot the woman a querulous gaze. “Where are we, and who are you?” she asked pointedly.

“We’re in your mind,” said the woman, sharp blue eyes considering Q-Three as she tilted her head. “I rather like it here. A respite from the hustle and bustle of everyday expansion. No decisions to make. Just peace.”

Q-Three frowned, noting that her other question had been skipped. She tried a different tack. “Why am I here?”

“Your body was seriously damaged. When you were retrieved, you had lost large amounts of blood, and your ribs had been crushed. Hive was forced to tank you to avoid complications.”

She lowered a shoulder, exposing her soft curves. “It was all rather traumatic. They weren’t certain whether your mind would work the same way again. I hate losing Queens, so I decided to intervene.”

Her red lips pursed. “I’ve done what I can, but now it’s up to you. What do you want? Do you wish to remain a Queen? Or is the responsibility too much for you? If you abdicate, I could reassign you as a menial Drone. If that’s what you really wish.”

She paused her playing, holding up a finger as Q-Three’s body tensed. “Think for a moment, then answer. A hasty response will do you no good.”

Q-Three looked down, examining her fingernails. She hadn’t really thought about it, but she didn’t need a lot of time to come to a conclusion. The answer was clear. She couldn’t really imagine any other outcome.

There was one thing that was still bothering her, though. She stopped her fidgeting and shot the woman a fierce stare. “Who are you, really?“

“The One to whom you’ve pledged everything. Hive accepts you. All of you.”

She felt warmth. Everything was going to be okay.

I-Forty Four hummed as she loaded the waffle maker, the soothing sound and smell of cooking batter infiltrating her nostrils.

Her daily routine hadn’t changed much since she had accepted her new role. Every day she went to a reinforcement session to get some exercise in and commune with other Drones.

The gossip she heard about the spread of Hive filled her with joy. In just a few days, all of the major institutions had been locked down, and remaining citizens were being rounded up to be converted. Some small pockets of resistance remained, but they were immaterial.

She had been approached multiple times on her way to and from the exercise sessions by these kinds of people in hopes of recruiting her. Lacking blue skin, dressed like a regular citizen, it was easy to mistake her for one of the unconverted.

She always accepted, playing the clueless housewife until she had been brought deep enough into the resistance cell to locate all participants. One simple call later and Hive would round them all up, sending them to a conversion center. She had broken three groups so far, and was currently working on a fourth.

While fulfilling her duties was paramount, she was still the homemaker, taking care of her family. She found both roles utterly satisfying.

It was difficult to know whether Hive had programmed her that way, but she only cared about the outcome. She was a useful member of Hive.

She was thankful to Hive for everything She had done for them. After the accident, One had personally visited them via hologram to ensure that they were okay.

Q-Three had been in the hospital for several weeks, but with Hive treatments she had recovered sooner than they had expected. The rest of the Drones in the truck had gotten luckier, having only superficial scrapes and bruises.

All was well, now. They were together again, as One had promised.

She released the waffle iron, tweaking a nipple and moaning as she pried out the golden brown bread. While at home, she preferred to dress in modified Dronewear, a revealing red outfit built with half cups to allow her to expose her breasts for pleasuring. Her crotch was also open, thick reinforced rubber strips wrapping around and under her nethers.

Blue was the color of Hive, but Red was the color of infiltrator Drones. For obvious reasons, she was unable to wear the dress in public, but here at home she was among Drones.

M-Fifty Six certainly liked her dress. Her husband used its open design to fuck her at every opportunity. She loved the feeling of helplessness and neediness it engendered, reinforcing the public persona she played.

A rough hand ran over shoulder, a warm breath and kiss at her neck. A thick cock prodded between her legs.

She smiled and continued her work, leaning over slightly to improve access. Pouring more batter, she sighed in pleasure as the hard rod was inserted into her vagina.

It was all she could do to concentrate as she was reamed from behind. Possessive hands squeezed her breasts, fingers groping and rolling. Her hands shook as she plated another cooked waffle, batter dripping everywhere as she refilled the iron.

“Fuck yes, give it to me. I’m your Drone.”

Her husband chuckled, redoubling his efforts. “I thought I’d give you a little extra protein for breakfast,” he declared.

Moving his hands down, he ran them over her belly. “I want to fill you up with another Drone for Hive.”

She could feel him through the Gestalt, his raw desire and pleasure overwhelming her. She knew he was doing the same, the looping feedback enhancing the experience for both of them. One of the gifts of belonging to Hive.

Her ass shook as she neared climax. She braced her hands against the counter, leaning over further. “Hurry up,” she gasped, “or your waffle will be burnt.”

His throbbing cock pierced her core, rattling her interior with its ejaculate. She lost all control of her body, vibrating as her pelvic muscles clenched uncontrollably. She squeaked and clenched her teeth, chattering as the orgasm stretched out into a languid warmth.

His dick slipped from her hole, leaving her crotch wet. She fetched a hand towel and dried herself off, grinning up at M-Fifty Six. He was wearing an orange latex bodysuit with his number printed in black block letters over his left breast. “Maintenance Supervisor” had been printed below his designation.

The crotch area of his bodysuit was open, leaving his dick ready for action. In the past this would have been considered obscene, but in the new Drone society, it was expected. Drones had no need to hide their sexuality or arousal from other Drones. It was accepted that Drones were sexual beings. Denying that was foolish.

Tossing the towel into the hamper, she moved in close to her husband, wrapping her hands around his head to pull him in for a wet kiss. “Ready for the day now?” she asked rhetorically.

He kissed her back, raising an eyebrow. “Waffles?” he asked.

I-Forty Four sent him a rude retort through the Gestalt, turning to attend to the waffle iron. She grimaced as she opened the lid, the waffle a much darker color than it should have been.

“This one is yours,” she declared.

M-Fifty Six smirked and snagged the waffle. “With pleasure.”

Sitting down at the table, he grabbed a yogurt container, drizzling the hot surface with blueberry flavor. Cutting a corner off with his fork, he stuffed it into his mouth and made a noise of appreciation. “Stellar as always,” he announced.

I-Forty Four gave him a light slap on the shoulder. “Stop that!” she said playfully. “We should wait for the kids before we start eating.”

“Kids?” harrumphed M-Fifty Six. “One of them is a guard, and the other is our Queen. They’re hardly children.”

I-Forty Four rolled her eyes and fetched another waffle out of the iron. “It’s rude to finish eating before they’ve have a chance to tuck in. We need to do a reinforcement session together anyway.”

The blue globe on the table flashed white, and M-Fifty Six stopped chewing, attention stolen by its swirling surface. “You will wait for the others to arrive,” ordered the globe.

“I… will wait,” agreed M-Fifty Six, setting down his fork and swallowing, a slow grin growing as he stared at the globe.

I-Forty Four shrugged. She had tried to warn him, but even as a Drone, he was a stubborn bastard. Never mind. The personal assistant would sort him out.

She pulled out yet another waffle, the stack growing to a towering pile. Humming, she twirled and set the plate down on the table. She was expecting company.

The doorbell rang, and she trotted to the front door, the white apron tied to her waist flapping. Opening the door, she admired the three Drones waiting patiently on her doorstep.

D-Ten, dressed in purple Dronewear, was sandwiched between G-One Oh Five and G-One Oh Six. Their black masks and chrome tanks with rubber hoses hid their identities, but she could tell who they were by their mind taste in the Gestalt.

“Come in!” she said. “You’re all very welcome.”

She bowed, one hand gesturing towards the kitchen. “Take a seat! There are plenty of waffles to go around.”

“Thank you, we shall take you up on your offer,” said D-Ten regally.

She stepped forward deliberately on platform boots, the guards stomping behind her. I-Forty Four frowned at the dirt they were tracking inside, but said nothing. She would have to sweep the floor later.

As feet came tromping down the stairs, she turned and curtseyed. “My Queen, breakfast is served.”

Q-Three looked unsettled. “I really would rather you didn’t, mother. This feels awkward. Just treat me with respect. I don’t like this bowing and scraping.”

She wrapped a blue hand under Susan’s shoulder and pulled her in. “We’re family. No need to treat me so formally. I decided to remain a Queen, but that doesn’t mean I see you as any less my mother.”

“Yes, my Queen,” replied I-Forty Four, her lips quirking upwards. “Whatever you say.”

Q-Three made an annoyed noise, shaking her head. “Do I have to order you around?” she threatened. “I will if I have to.”

“Anything you say, my Queen,” she replied, devolving into laughter as Q-Three held her quaking body.

She would learn to deal with it, in time. I-Forty Four already noticed a new strength in Q-Three that she hadn’t seen before. A sense of purpose drove her that hadn’t existed until Hive had healed her body and mind.

G-Fifty Seven took the stairs two at a time, looping a chrome tank over his back. A black mask was slung over his shoulder, and he gave a large yawn, showing off the orb Installed in the back of his mouth.

“Did you get enough sleep last night?” asked I-Forty Four. “I know you’ve been spending a lot of time with D-Ten.” She winked at him.

“Mother,” he said firmly in a long suffering tone, “My love life is none of your damn business.”

She grinned back at him. “It’s a mother’s job to embarrass her children. You both look so cute together!”

He rolled his eyes, but kept his mouth shut. Q-Three shot him a piercing stare. “D-Ten has been my best friend since childhood. You better be treating her right.”

G-Fifty Seven’s face flushed. “Why don’t you ask her?” he mumbled. “I can barely keep her satisfied.”

I-Forty Four peeled with laughter, squeezing Q-Three and disengaging to enter the kitchen. “I rather think the relationship dynamic there is going to work the other way around.”

Her eyes narrowed as she looked at the crowd sitting in her kitchen. “No gas masks at the table,” she said pointedly at the two guard Drones. “It’s bad manners to hide your face in my house.”

A blue cloud of exhaled gas emanated from the blank spheres, but they moved to remove their helmets. More gas escaped as the latches clicked, revealing pale blue faces underneath. Their expressions were fixed, eyes darting to scan the kitchen as they followed their programming.

I-Forty Four fetched the maple syrup and butter, setting them down near the plate of waffles. Q-Three and G-Fifty Seven took their seats, sitting next to each other at the foot of the table.

I-Forty Four looked over them with pride. This was her family. Her Drone family. As Hive expanded, so too did her family.

She grinned at D-Ten, taking a peek at her belly, which was wrapped tight in purple latex. With any luck, they would be welcoming new members to the family soon.

All that was in the future. For now, she must follow her orders. She sat in her seat, holding out her hands to either side for the other Drones to hold. The rest of the Drones linked hands and stared at the pulsing blue globe in the center of the table.

“Together, as one,” she declared.

“We are Drones,” they all repeated in unison.

“We pledge our loyalty to Her and each other in support of Hive. We are One in purpose.”

The more she stared at the globe, the less she could feel the hands she grasped. She was being extracted from her body, mind being washed in the pure joy of the Gestalt.

The bright sparks of other minds joined with her, reveling in the communion they shared. Awash in this shared experience, they began to chant.

“We submit. We obey. We expand. We are Hive.”

This chanting served to further divorce their physical bodies from their minds, leaving them further behind as they were drawn deeper into the Gestalt. The experience they were sharing together was indescribable, a mishmash of colors and ecstasy.

They remained in this state for a short time, transfixed while the blue globe examined their thoughts. Worries and disobedience was smoothed out, replaced with devotion. Their central purpose re-centered on Hive.

I-Forty Four experienced a head rush as she was ejected from the globe, taking a few moments to resettle in her body. Looking around, she smiled brightly at the others without seeing, knowing that they were as much a slave to Hive as she was. It was exhilarating.

The bright globe dimmed, and her smile faded into a frown. D-Ten had moved and was sitting in G-Fifty Seven’s lap, bouncing her hips. G-Fifty Seven was lying back in his seat, staring at the ceiling and gasping for breath.

I-Forty Four shrugged. Drones will be Drones. She was feeling rather horny herself, but her earlier fucking had taken the edge off. D-Ten must have been waiting for this for some time. The pent up arousal must have built horrendously while she attended Q-Three.

She ran a hand over her latex covered breasts and shot M-Fifty Six a smoky look, promising more to come after breakfast. His Adam’s apple bounced as he swallowed another piece of waffle, raising his brows.

G-Fifty Seven’s friends appeared nonplussed by the sexual tension, eating without restraint. The larger one was really putting it away, downing another waffle

I-Forty Four looked at her Queen. “What are your plans, Q-Three? I’ve heard that you’re about to be taken off leave.”

A shadow moved over Q-Three’s neon green eyes. She had adopted some of her old fashion choices while she had been at home, with a twist. She used to be into dark colors, but now she had adopted a cyberpunk aspect to go with the color of her latex dress. She had used sparkly green eyeshadow and colored her lips to match, wearing dreadfalls on her bald head.

“To be honest,” she replied, “I haven’t really considered. I dread the new responsibilities I will have to take on, but Hive will provide.”

The rest of the Drones at the table repeated the mantra with her.

“There’s so much I still don’t know!” she complained. “How will I ever do a good job?”

There was a knock at the door. I-Forty Four rose, moving towards the entrance. “I wonder who that could be?” she asked. “I’m not expected anybody.”

She reached out through the Gestalt, but pulled back quickly, surprised at the strength of the mind glow she found. Instinctively, she knew that this was not a Drone to trifle with.

The door clicked open, revealing a tall, well built Drone. She wasn’t wearing a bodysuit, which was quite unusual. Instead, her chest was supported by a strict corset, pierced breasts sitting on top of boned cups to show off their prominence.

She wore tight, thigh high boots with extreme platform heels, increasing her height by at least half a foot. Her form towered over I-Forty Four, forcing her to look up to see the chrome metal helmet which hid most of the Drone’s features.

The number at her collar was Fifteen. I-Forty Four felt a thrill of excitement in her chest. Only the most important and early Drones were assigned plain numbers. What could she be doing here?

I-Forty Four stepped to one side and gestured for the Drone to come in. “Thank you,” the Drone said in a low, velvety voice, stepping lightly towards the kitchen.

As she entered, Q-Three gasped. “Fifteen? What are you doing here? Am I needed for some more training?”

Fifteen swept into the room. “No, my dear, One has decided to attach me to your entourage for the time being. I will use all of my experience to make you into the perfect Drone Queen.”

She leaned in to whisper into Q-Three’s ear. Her words caused the young Queen to blush. She rose, giving the older Drone a formal bow. “I will take this district in hand, as She commands.”

Fifteen took her hand, leaning in to plant a kiss on her cheek with rouged lips. “Of course you will,” she said with utter confidence. “Drones must obey.”

The other Drones repeated the words together. D-Ten gasped in pleasure as she wiggled her butt on G-Fifty Seven’s cock.

She wriggled, moaning, breaking into a wide smile. She stood, the juices from their coupling dripping down her thighs. G-Fifty Seven sat low in his seat, looking flushed. He was exhausted from being ridden.

“Drones obey,” D-Ten mouthed, giving G-Fifty Seven a sloppy kiss. “I love you.”

I-Forty Four looked at the couple brightly. “When is the wedding?” she asked with a grin.

G-Fifty Seven asked me to write this down, so here it is (I still call him Zach sometimes, but don’t tell him that. He’s embraced his number, becoming a perfect guard and adjutant to D-Ten).

That’s how it all happened.

The arrival of Hive was more banal than you might expect. After most of the populace was converted, life continued as before, just with more interesting outfits and fewer hangups.

G-Fifty Seven married D-Ten in a proper Drone wedding, mother and father in attendance. Their affection for one another was consummated at the altar, showing everyone just how aroused they were. You can’t imagine how embarrassing it was to see mother boning father while they were taking their vows!

His friends were the best Drones, sharing the gas from their tanks with any cute Drone who caught their eyes. The result was a Drone orgy, rather over the top by any measure.

Afterwards, we communed in the Gestalt, rejoicing in our loyalty to Hive. More than a few Drones were impregnated after the ceremony. One of them had to be admonished for being fucked on top of the wedding cake! Seeing her orange latexed breasts being pushed into the frosting as she was railed from behind was quite a sight!

Throughout all this, my father has been a perfect Drone, serving mother and ensuring the house is always in perfect working order. They’ve been rather busy, too, as mother is pregnant! They had sworn they wouldn’t have another child after having us so early, but being converted into Drones has obviously changed all that.

There is joy in obeying Hive’s directives. I am sure they will raise their new child as a devoted slave to Hive.

I took up my duties, as expected, and helped to convert my district to the best of my abilities. Fifteen was the perfect assistant, helping me with my new duties and with… other things. She’s amazing in so many ways!

We recently had the one year anniversary of my reign. Some of the Drones from my childhood dropped by to see how I’m doing (and to steal a few kisses!)

Don’t tell Zach, but I’ve started seeing one of his friends, the one formerly known as Nate. His time as a guard has really bulked up his muscles, dropping the fat he had gained from gaming all the time. His laugh is infectious, and his cock is enormous.

So far, it hasn’t amounted to much more than a fling, but I’m hoping it will turn into something solid, soon. I can think of nothing more fulfilling than to pump out more Drone babies. To spread Hive through procreation like my mother. My thighs juice every time I think of being fucked by him.

All in all, my small contribution to the spread of Hive was necessary—essential even, but my role could have been filled by any of a thousand other Queens. I feel honored that One chose me to enforce Her will.

Making me Her slave. Changing my life to suit Her needs. Creating a new Drone society in our corrupt world.

District Queen Q-Three. In charge of Stacksville and surrounding areas. Hive Queen and a Drone.

My family’s keeper, and mother to thousands of other Drones.

These are my titles, and my duties. Deep down, however, I would give it all up to be a simple Drone. A small thrall in service to Hive.

I love being a Drone. And so will you.