Wanting It

Would you enter the pod?

DroneTech - Infiltration 2/2

Scott shook his head violently in an attempt the clear the fog drifting over his mind. He was so horny it was getting difficult to thing straight. He knew he needed to get out of there, to escape, but he kept getting his thoughts drawn back to the open pod and how it was almost beckoning him inside.

...give in...submit...obedience brings pleasure...

He was starting to panic, claustrophobia set in and he needed to breath, the suit was too tight, the mask was too tight. He reached back to find the edge of the mask and pull it off but his fingers couldn't seem to find it. It was as if it had merged with his suit into a single solid piece. He pulled at he mask itself but couldn't get it to even budge. It felt like he was pulling on his own face rather than a mask.

....relax...obey...enter the pod...

A wave of relaxation wash through him as the voice echoed through his mind again. His hands slowly dropped from the mask down to his sides and he simply stood there, half dazed.

... drone...enter the pod...obedience brings pleasure....

The tingling sensation slowly creeping down his body finally reached his groin and instead of a gentle electric tingle. It became a raging inferno of ecstasy. Scott immediately reached for his dick, which was now extending proudly from his body. The rubber suit having somehow shifted into a rubber sheath that gripped his shaft tightly. All thoughts of escape and his mission was lost to lust as he stood there and beat his rubber meat like a mad man.

...pleasure brings obedience...obedience brings pleasure...enter the pod...submit to the hive...

Scott's coherent mind was screaming and he was trying to force himself to run but his pleasure stricken body wouldn't fully obey him. Lust consumed him and he could offer no real resistance as he slowly found himself approaching the open pod...his pod. As he approached the two muscular drones nearby noticed him and moved in to intercept. He, however, didn't notice the drones until he felt their strong arms grip his own, holding him tightly.

The sudden restraint shocked his addled mind back to awareness. He realized what he was doing and also what was going to happen. He started struggling with every ounce he could muster against the two drones.

...do not resist...submit...good drones are rewarded....obey....

The fear coursing through him diluted the intensity of the voice echoing into his mind. Even through he was struggling he couldn't really do anything as he was dragged toward the pod that was still beckoning to him. If he could just get an arm free...just get out of there. The voices kept whispering to him and he could feel himself slowly slipping back into a daze.

His struggling was getting weaker and weaker but as he crossed the threshold of the pod, that no longer really mattered. The drones easily forced his body into the harness.

Cold metal clamped around his arms, legs and neck. He struggled the best he could, fighting with what little bit of will he could muster. He found that little more than a wiggle was all he was able to make. The metal frame wrapped around his body held him tight and shut down all but the slightest of movement.

...relax...obey...submit...

He watched in horror, vividly remembered what had happened to the man he watched earlier as. A faint noise from above confirmed his fears. A moment later and he felt a sharp pain in the back of his neck as thousands of tiny wires spread out from the site, attaching themselves to his spine and nervous system. A small gasp was all he could muster before the system seized control and he found himself completely paralyzed.

...PRE-DRONE DETECTED...INITIATING ASSIMILATION PROTOCOLS...SCANNING SUBJECT...

...DRONE SKIN ERROR...FORIEGN MATERIAL DETECTED...REAPPLYING DRONE SKIN...

The voice echoed through his mind, much louder and clearer now that it was being pumped directly into his brain. He could only watch as two mechanical arms and sprayed a clear liquid over his entire body. The electric tingling faded from his body as he could see that the fake suit he had worn was completely melted off his body, exposing his bare skin. The only part remaining on him was the DroneTech mask he picked up earlier. Without warming the arms switched from the clear liquid to blasting him with thick black rubber. Scott was quickly being coated from head to toe in black DroneTech rubber. The electric tingling returned and was now much more intense. Even though he was unable to move, his cock throbbed painfully as it was assaulted by pleasure.

Red lights suddenly illuminated the pod and a pleasant warmth washed over him. He could feel the rubber dripping from his body start to tighten, gripping every inch of his body in its pleasant caress. The lights shut off and Scott was now completely encased in a real proper drone suit. The special rubber tightening to the point where it felt like it was merging with his skin. The pleasure turned into a blaze now that he was experiencing it through a real suit instead of his fake one.

...DRONE SKIN APPLIED...NO ERRORS DETECTED....RESUMING ASSIMILATION PROTOCOLS...

He was too distracted by the pleasure coursing through him to hear the whirring sound but felt something hard press against his now exposed hole. The man had just a second to register the feeling before he felt something long and hard shove its into his virgin rubber ass. It felt like nothing he had experienced before. The plug seemed to envelope his prostate and start mechanically thrusting in and out. Scott felt like he could explode at any moment but the systems controlling his body refused to let that happen. He could only float there and moan, suspended as mind numbing pleasure washed through him.

A handful of small wires and tubes descended now, slithering over his body. Small probes were inserted into his body in various places. Hypodermic needles lanced into his nipples and caused even more pleasure to burn through him. A small clamp reached from the plug in his ass, nestling itself between his legs and a cock ring clamped down around his cock and balls which were throbbing almost nonstop.

Had the machine not been controlling his bodily functions, Scott would not have been able to remain conscious through the sensations flooding through him. He wasn't even sure that he would have been able to survive the ordeal at all.

...PLEASURE CENTER AUGMENTATION COMPLETE..DRONE WILL OBEY...DRONE WILL SUBMIT...

The words echoing in his mind were becoming completely indecipherable from his own thoughts, slowly replacing them entirely. He was starting to forget that he wasn't just another drone.

He watched helplessly as a long metal cylinder rose up from the floor. The hole at the front of the tube slowly slid itself over his engorged rubber cock. The inner lining of the tube was soft and squeezed his member pleasurably. Hidden rings inside the tube began gently stroking the member. Scott screamed into the mask as his entire body was overtaken in pleasure. He felt a tube force its way into his cock. Slithering down its length and locking inside.

...INSTALLATION COMPLETE...INITIATING EXTRACTION...DRONE WILL EXPERIENCE PLEASURE...

The words echoed in his mind as his body was wracked by the most extraordinary orgasm he had ever experienced. He felt like every atom in his body was exploding in pure ecstasy and he felt like time was standing still as he basked in unending bliss. Hot white cum started flowing through the tube attached to his cock, being pumped off to some undisclosed location.

His orgasm continued without end and he saw, although unable to process it, a large tube attach itself to the front of his mask. A sweet smell mixed with a sexy musk assaulted his nostrils and he felt a strange fog overtake his brain.

...ASSIMILATION COMPLETE...CONNECTING TO NEURAL HIVE NETWORK...

The front of the pod slid shut quickly, sealing him inside. The inner side of the glass was a mirror reflecting the drone within. Completely identical in every way to all the others. He looked at the drone hanging in front of him, not even realizing that it was him he was seeing.

..CONNECTION ESTABLISHED... PROGRAMMING COMMENCING..

Immediately he felt what little bit of his consciousness that remained seem to float away from his body. His entire being drifting away in a bubble of unimaginable and unending pleasure. He could sense others around him, feeling their pleasure radiating through him and his through them. A few seconds of basking in the hive's pleasurable consciousness and Scott began to find it hard to discern whether he was experiencing his own euphoria or that of another drone. Thoughts of obedience and pleasure echoed through his mind and slowly drowned out his own thoughts. Soon his mind was completely lost in the cloud of pleasure and swirling obedience. His entire being became entwined with the hive network, fusing with it and becoming one entity.

...DRONE INTEGRATION SUCCESSFUL...DRONE SJ-5120 FULLY CONNECTED..

...ASSIMILATION COMPLETE...

The screen above the pod flickered to reveal the ID of the newly converted drone. SJ-5120 sat there mindlessly cumming into the tube that eagerly pumped it away. No thought rattled around in its mind. It was a drone...Drone obeys...Drone submits..

nothing to say, Just Do It!

Cage check day. Show Master. Be good and obey

it needs this

Chicago Road-trip Diary

{an old story it posted; the site seems to be offline, so it is reposting here} By gummimn.

Part 1: introductions and prologue.

I was really looking forward to the coming weekend. LatexIL and I had been chatting for quite some time about the chance of getting together for a weekend of some serious play. I had taken extra days off, so we’d have all day Friday, Saturday and Sunday to play; I didn’t have to leave until Monday afternoon. I still got hard just thinking about his profile entry.

“Latex, rubber, leather bondage: intense inescapable, short or long term. Can top, SM optional. Have equipment including sleepsacks, hoods and gags, lots of restraints, can have multiple guests in playroom at once. I like to travel too. Looking for hot safe bondage players who want it tight, inescapable, with headgear controlling sight, sound, speech and air…ESPECIALLY in head to toe latex/rubber. All holes plugged, tubed, and cath’d. Layers: leather over rubber; sacks over leather; sucked down in rac. Hobbies: rubber, catsuits, sleepsacks, straitjackets, vacrac, hoods, gags, and tight, effective restraints. Keeping bottoms tied up for as long as they like it; stored out of sight, out of mind. Favorite Quote: Maybe you need another layer of rubber and you definitely need those straps tightened up…”

Even after 12 years together, Peter still didn’t get the whole bondage/rubber/sense-dep SM scene. He did his fisting and watersports, played with guys who wanted bears, and loved me. Me? I did WS as well, but man, I wanted my rubber too. Waders, suits, sheaths front and back, hoods, gags, gasmask hoods, industrial gloves and rubber work boots; my rubber English riding boots to go with the Vex Chicago cop shirt and tight cod-piece jeans; the rubber BDU from Invincible; did I mention my home-made 1piece? It was a cross-country ski suit until I got my pervy hands and 3 quarts of liquid latex on it. Add some bondage: straitjackets, ropes, chains, restraints, collars, frames, racks, sacks, locks-and I’d be a happy pig. Leather? Oh hell yeah! I never got on my rocket without full gear: suit, boots, gloves and helmet…such a terrible thing; a gear pig required by his lover to wear gear just to go riding. Sucks to be me! My first piece of leather-a biker-hippie approved biker jacket; my knee-high Red Wing loggers-black laces for formal, white for play; leather jeans and cargoes; hoods, restraints-give me my Mr. S. 4 buckles any day; padded fist mitts; padded posture collar (Thanks again Mr. S!); padded sense-dep hood, the only connection to the outside world the grommet at my mouth. Gags-can I count the ways I like to be gagged? Yes, I can. Floggers and crops; pummeling and beating; yeah, I can take the pain, and make it a ticket to that place only a Dom and his sub can go when they’re in a scene: time stops, space expands, 2 souls commune without a spoken word-nirvana in a dungeon with pain and pleasure the mantra that lets them into the garden.

Peter doesn’t get it, but he doesn’t get in the way. One of the first “big talks” we had before living together had settled that. We discussed all the mundane things that will kill a relationship when times get tough. Times always get tough. One of you gets sick, or fired; or you see someone really hot who wants you too; the weather gets too hot or too cold. Crap happens. You work out the little details beforehand, you can get through them. So we talked. Monogamy got talked over as well: go out, have a good time, remember your heart stays at home, don’t bring home diseases. It had worked for 12 years; he had his kink or two, I had my laundry list of pervs; we shared each other and our hearts and our home.

So, I was off to a long weekend in Chicago. I’d shipped some gear ahead, but not much. LatexIL assured me that he had everything that was needed, and I wasn’t going out to the bars. So I sent on my favorite waders and boots, my favorite gags and the posture collar. The only gear in my saddlebags was a rainsuit-never leave home without it; my meds and toilet kit; and bottles of Boost for the trip down. He’d asked, and I’d readily agreed, to a liquid diet starting a couple of days before hand. No need to make a trip to interrupt the scene; the external cath would take care of the rest.

Peter and I had talked over breakfast; his bowl of cereal, my bottle of Boost. We confirmed I’d call when I got there and when I left Monday. He made sure once again that he had LatexIL’s phone and address. We clarified once again the secret code I’d use if I thought the scene was bad and I needed out. Peter can be a pain in the ass when it comes to crap like that. He’s mister “plan everything out, double check the plans, confirm the details, annoy the partner with more plans and details.” I’m a bit more impetuous and spontaneous, mister “hey, that sounds like fun! Let’s go!” He was off to work; I was off to get ready.

First on the list were a trim, then shower and douche. I got out the trimmer, and worked it over my head once again. The smallest guard left only bristly fuzz that felt soooo good to the touch. Latex had sent a liquid soap for me to use; it had an intense chemical scent, but it left my body as smooth and clean as a baby’s behind. The enema was quick; three days of liquids saw to that. I rinsed off the hair from the trim, soaped up and rinsed down. Brushed, flossed, dried off, time to get dressed.

Now was the make it or break it moment. LatexIL had sent me a really cool locking gag and a custom 1-piece suit. The gag was some sort of carbon-fiber head harness with a tube to connect to my CamelBack, and another to use as a straw for Boost on the trip down. Once I locked it over the suit, I had only one way out-I had to see Latex for the key. I took the suit, and admired it once again. Sheaths front and rear; socks with toes, gloves with grippy marks on the fingers, an attached hood the only way in; stretch the mouth wide, let it swallow me whole. It was fairly thick, but still thin enough to flex with me so I wouldn’t get fatigued on the ride. It had been cut like a SlickSuit so it would conform to my every curve. It would slide up crack of my ass so the sleeve behind could slide in with the plug I was going to wear, and stretch snug across my broad shoulders while hugging my small, slim waist. It would be my skin for the weekend, if I didn’t bug out and call the whole thing off.

I got out the lube, opened the suit, and started to pour it in. I started at the feet and worked it into the toes. Up the legs, into the crotch and over the sheaths hanging inside. Starting at the fingers, I lubed up the sleeves, then across the chest. I applied a very thin film to the back of my neck, and my lower face. I wanted the hood to slide on comfortably, but I didn’t want lube in my eyes when I started to sweat under my leathers. Now it was time to slide it on. Cold at first, it quickly warmed. My toes settled in their homes, and I slid it up my legs to my crotch. I worked my dick and nut into the sack and sheath, and then used the plug to seat the sheath in my ass. That old familiar feeling began to settle in-that horny tingle that started out on the skin and worked its way into my bones and took over my brain as I felt the rubber grip my legs and transform my skin. I pulled it up my chest, and worked my hands down the sleeves until they popped into the gloves. For a moment, I had to stop and stroke. Looking at myself in the mirror, I began to grope myself. The squeak of rubber on rubber tuned my senses to the feel of the latex as it became my skin; the warming rubber gave off that heady scent of latex and sweat and my own rubber body. I was lost in the smell and the sound and the sensation. It took all my strength to pull myself back from the edge; that would have to wait until LatexIL let me go over. I pulled the hood over my head, and smoothed the eyes and mouth into place. All that remained was the gag and the last of my freedom.

I looked at the rubberman staring out from the mirror. The light caught every curve and ripple and nook and cranny of my body under its shiny new skin. I felt up my cock, worked my nipples, pushed on the plug, pulled my nut. I could still call it off, jack off, and go for a ride. Or I could put the mouth-guard with its tubes onto my teeth, pull the strap around, and place the lock. I stood there for a long time, stroking my dick, holding the head harness. Finally, I took a deep breath and pushed the guard into my mouth. I worked my tongue around to make sure the tubes on the inside were properly seated between my back molars so I could work the bite valves for the tube that would be my drinking straw and the CamelBack connection. Looking myself in the face in the mirror, my blue eyes the only evidence of a human being within the latex man staring back at me, I pulled the straps to the back of my head…and closed the lock. Now I was in for it-he had the key and my only way out.

I stood there a while longer, worried and afraid about what I had gotten myself into; more horny and lust-demented than I had been in too long a time. My misgivings were too late now. I took one last stroke of my dick with a strong tug on my nut, and left the bathroom.

I went to the bedroom, sat down, and slipped prolyprop socks over my feet and UnderArmor glove liners over my hands. A thin silk balaclava was next; I made sure it rested on my chin so the tubes from the gag were out for use. I lifted the CoolMax liner off the bed. It was my summer salvation; it kept me dry enough in the heat I could wear my leathers in the worst of July and August. It gave my body a shield against the leathers, and kept my leathers clean and free of my sweat. The lightning bolt graphics swirling over the bodysuit gave me a shiver of power and desire as I looked it over, and took in its sweet scent. I slid into the open chest, pushed my feet down the legs, my hands through the sleeves tucked the balaclava under the neck and zipped it shut. My latex skin was now armored against the leathers to come.

It had been a sacrifice, but I now had the racing suit of my gear pig wet dreams. The A-stars SX-1. Asymmetrical chest zips, molded poly-therm armor melded onto the knees, elbows, and shoulders. The same molded poly-therm cast into an armored hump down my back to protect me from whiplash if I crashed and to guide the wind over me as I lay on top of my Daytona. A vivid sky blue, white accents, black woven stretch Kevlar in the crotch and down the arms, perfed almost like mesh, memory foam armor across my chest and abs and lower back. It looked hot, the brilliant blue contrasting with the bright sunshine yellow of the bike, meeting on my A-Star Super Tech boots of blue smashing against yellow fading to white at the toe of my boots. Next was my Arai-a white star on a blue field with gold trim. I slid the Foggy Respro over my rubber face without snagging it, made sure the tubes from the gag hung free, and cinched it snug. I reached inside my suit, grabbed the hose from my hydration pack and hooked it up to the left tube so I could drink as I rode. Last, but not least, my Icon Ti-Maxx longs: blue with bling; gold plated titanium on blue gloves, gray palms with gold studs on the heel of my palm, the wrist strap snugged, the gauntlet straps firmly closed together.

I took another look in the full-length mirror on the closet door. Under the leathers, my dick stretched further up my abs. Blue, gold, white and yellow-from head to toe; armor over my shoulders, across my elbows and down my forearms; more armor over my knees and down my shins; the armored aero-hump running down my spine; it was worth every bit of overtime. The mere sight of my skin-tight leathers alone would have gotten me off in a heartbeat if I weren’t under orders to wait. My wallet was safely under the seat, the saddlebags were packed and strapped, it was time for take-off. Sense-dep breath control head-trips, utter immobility and complete helplessness waited 7 hours away. I ran to the kitchen, grabbed my keys and locked the door behind me. In the garage, I threw my leg over and started the motor. The bike safely walked out of the garage, I did the door remote and tucked it in a saddlebag pocket. I closed the golden-blue mirrored shield, slipped it into vent-lock, and launched my rocket.

Part 2: my trip and arrival

I had gotten a semi-early start. Early enough to get there before rush hour in Chicagoland, late enough to be after the morning rush here in Minneapolis. I’d only have to stop for relief and Boost breaks, so I wasn’t worried about the time. Late May can still be a roll of the dice for weather. It can be the perfect warmth all day, and still drop to freezing after sundown. You can start out dry, and end up soaking wet. Lady Latex favored the bold. It was a perfect temp to be riding skinned in rubber and encased in armored leather. Just warm enough that a layer of sweat let the latex slide over my skin without binding or chafing, no more, no less. I took the freeway just long enough to get out of town, then took my exit, and got on the 2-lane. More fun, less dangerous than the interstate, it was my preferred way to make long rides. After all, you get twisties on 2-lane, not the interstate, and I do love to put a knee down; the sound, the feel of my puck skimming asphalt gets me almost as hard as the feel of rope wrapping around my body.

I felt every bump in the road through my plug. Each crack and ripple was transmitted from the plug to my prostate, transferred to my dick, and buzzed into my brain. Once I was safely alone, away from stoplights and stop signs, crosswalks and city speed zones, I knew I wouldn’t have to shift often, so I got into my cruising position. I lay down on the tank and tucked my boots up against the passenger pegs. To corner, I would simply shift to one side or the other; to shift, I would slip my left food down to the gear shift long enough to click it, then lift it back to the rear peg. My cock and nut and taint melted into the seat sending the motor’s hum directly to my heads, both of them. The memory foam padding on my chest absorbed bumps from the road, protecting me and allowing me to breath. The rocket merged with its pilot, the two became one, and the miles slid by.

It’s strange when you’re out on a bike. Even though a car’s air-filter doesn’t really filter out all the aromas from the air coming in, there is an exponential difference when riding. You can taste each scent as it comes: the cows in the pasture, the cottonwoods by the stream, the lilacs by the farmhouse. You see it, you smell it, you taste it all in the same instant. Combine that with the hum from the motor, the buzz from the tires, and the utter bliss of being out on your own magic carpet, and you can go into sensory overload. It’s like being high without the down or the expense of weed. It’s like being born again each and every second, the whole of your being a clean slate every moment. No past, no future, only now, forever and ever amen and amen. Sometimes you just have to stop, get off the rocket, and shake your head to clear out the joy and release the beauty. Then it’s back on the magic carpet and off to the horizon again. Four times I stopped; twice to fuel my Daytona, twice more to fuel the pilot as well. Before I knew it, I was on the outskirts of Chicagoland. Taking the two-lane meant I hadn’t had to worry about tolls, but it also meant I had to heed the directions from my Garmin to twist my way into the city. Even so, it was going to be perfectly timed. I’d arrive just after LatexIL got home, so he’d be there to open his garage and I could ride right in.

After that, my freedom so real and so perfect while on two wheels would be over. My freedom freely given and utterly taken would be transformed into complete slavery in total bondage. In my servitude, I would achieve a new bliss, a different joy, a deeper beauty. I could not wait to be utterly confined and perfectly helpless. The thought of the total freedom of the ride taken to become the utter submission of my captor’s bondage made me so hard and horny I could barely focus on the road ahead.

Finally, I arrived at the address I’d programmed into my digital map. As I rolled up to the brownstone, I saw the tuck-under garage left open for my entry. I settled my rocket into the berth gently; I don’t think any of the neighbors noticed. To them I was just another sport bike rider parking my toy for the night. I stood up stiffly, and stretched, then stood off my bike. The door from the garage to the house stood open, as he said it would be. I unstrapped the saddlebags, threw them over my shoulder, and entered, closing the door and my freedom behind me.

Part 3: the scene begins.

As I shut the door, I heard a voice behind me.

“Hello blue.”

The same deep voice I’d heard so often on our Skype chats, but wrong; it’s Bryce, not blue. Suddenly, my world shifted as my mind spun. Vertigo like from a harsh fever swept through me; even as I stepped away from the door, my body came to a complete stop. I swear, for a moment, I couldn’t even breathe as every muscle in my body froze. I tried to turn to face him; my chest didn’t shift an inch. I tried to turn my head; I stared straight ahead at the closed door. I tried to lift my hand to raise my face-shield; it hung stiffly at my side. I gave one last effort to try and see him in the corner of my sight; my eyes were fixed, looking at the peephole in the door. Even my dick froze in mid-twitch! Something inside my mind had hijacked my body; I was more subdued than I had ever been in any amount of rope, restraints or chains. My mind raced, What the fuck!? What just happened? What’s with that word? Why has it paralyzed me?

Minutes passed while I struggled to move any muscle in my body. Nothing shifted the least bit. Sweat broke out over the whole of my skin as I panicked. The only motion I had was my breathing; as the vertigo swept past, it had returned. Now I was sucking air like I’d run the quarter mile as I went into full flight mode. I should’ve been tearing out the door and onto the street, the way my mind was racing. Instead I was a leather and latex statue, an armored mannequin of flesh and bone. Finally, I heard him step up behind me.

“What’s wrong? Aren’t you going to turn around and say hello?”

That same deep sexy voice, now laced with sarcasm and menace.

“Oh wait, that’s right, you can’t. I’ve said the magic word.”

Fuck, the vertigo, the frozen breath, the swirling in my mind, only stronger and deeper somehow.

“Blue, turn around and face the mirror.”

Before, I had struggled with all my might to turn and face him; now I willed every muscle, every fiber, every bone in my body to stay where I was. As paralyzed as my body was before, now it moved on its own; against my will, I turned around. Looking across the entryway, a small mudroom and laundry, there was a mirror on the far wall. Like I was on a leash, my body stepped forward, crossed the 4 paces to reach the mirror, and came to a complete stop. Not like I normally would stop, you know, slowing down as I approached, then bringing my rear foot forward to rest beside the front. No, my body strode across the room and STOPPED; I almost pitched forward into the wall it was so abrupt. If I had been scared before, this display nearly shut me down with terror.

As I came back to my body, my thoughts crashed around my skull, “What the Hell? What is in that word? Why can it move me, when I can’t move myself?”

He had followed me across the room. I could see him beside me as I stared straight ahead into the mirror. Even the normal movement of my eyes, back and forth, up and down, was frozen. I could only look straight ahead, eyes perfectly level, no left or right. If he had stepped even one step to the side, I would not be able to see him, because he would be out of my direct line of sight.

“Blue, examine your reflection in the mirror. Enable sub-routine Bryce to access optical sensors without security filter 421. Apply. Bryce, can you see everything?”

Damn, that voice of his; so strong, so commanding over Skype, was beyond strong, beyond commanding when in the same room. Even as I relaxed into his voice as I had so many times before, my mind swirled again, and my vision shifted. I stared; my breath caught in my throat. I could see everything.

“What the Fuck? There’s a padlock through the chinch rings on my chinstrap; where did it come from? When had it been put there? What the hell? Why is there zip ties cinched from my suit’s zipper pulls to the D-rings on my collar? What the Fuckity Fuck is a collar doing around my neck? What the Fuck is it made of? It looks like carbon fiber! Fuckity fuckity fuck fuck! There’s another one of those freaky zip-ties around each wrist, strapping my gloves to my arms! My Boots! There’s some sort of carbon fiber strap wrapped around the top of my boots! From the top of my instep to the top of the wedge-shaped shin-guard, there’s a fucking carbon fiber strap snugged around my boots! What the hell is going on here? Why am I locked into my leathers? Who did this to me? When!?!? What is in that word!? Why can’t I do anything unless he says blue!?”

I screamed-but it was only in my head; not a sound came out of my throat.

My eyes flickered back up from my boots to look at the face of the man beside me. The open inviting smile I had seen on cam was now a malevolent grin. He was obviously getting off on my terror and confusion. He was looking at me in the mirror as I was looking at him. Waiting for me to see everything there was to see in my reflection.

“Do you like what you see, Bryce?” His deep, strong voice could make my breath stop in my throat, even in my stark raving terror. Even in my stark raving terror, I did like what I saw. The vision in the mirror, a crotch-rocketeer locked in his leathers, gloves, boots and helmet, had me hard. If I was a leaker, I’d have been dripping; but I’m not. Instead, my dick tried to crawl up out of the codpiece and into my throat. I was trembling now not in fear, but in stark raving horniness. Carbon fiber straps shone like gloss black paint over my boot tops. Wide carbon fiber straps cinched my gloves to my arms, gloss black over matte blue and gray and shiny gold. A carbon fiber collar gleamed between the collar-less top of my racing suit and the bottom edge of my helmet. The shiny chrome of the D-rings were reflected on the collar, and made the strap connecting the suit zip to the D-ring seem like a glossy ribbon of black light. There were 2 tubes hanging from under my helmet; I could feel something in my nose, I realized it must be the tubes. I could see the top of a rubber suit rising from my leathers; I was now aware it continued as a hood. I was completely sealed in rubber, from head to toe. There was a tube sticking out from the top of my leathers that disappeared into my helmet; I could feel it was attached to the gag in my mouth, and it was leaking. I could feel a catheter in my dick; that must be what’s leaking. There was a MONSTER plug in my ass; I estimated at least a 3-inch diameter. Everything his profile promised had been delivered. Every opening was tubed, cath’d, gagged and plugged. I was so horny, so hard, so turned on, I was vibrating.

As I came back to earth, I wondered what had gone through people’s mind as they had seen me at the gas station. It was very obvious to anyone who looked that my suit was locked on me. The thought that I had ridden all the way to Chicago from Minneapolis in obvious bondage for everyone to see sent my mind into another horny tailspin and made my dick twitch. At least that muscle could now move on its own!

As my mind cleared, my eyes bore into the reflection of his. Not that he could see mine through the mirrored visor. But still, they did. The horniness had given way to terror had given way to rage.

“What the fuck have you done to me? Why can’t I move? When did I get locked in my gear? Who locked me up? What the HELL is going on? What’s in the word blue that it controls everything I do?”

All what I would have shouted, loud enough to crack the mirror in front of me... If I could have spoken... but there was that gag...

“You must be a bit confused.” “A Bit!?” “Would you like to know what happened?” “HELL yeah, I want to know what happened!” “Blue…Remember this morning.”

If my body hadn’t been stone cold paralyzed, I’d have collapsed to the floor as another wave of vertigo swept my mind. I remembered this morning; oh Hell, did I ever remember this morning.

Next: “Memories Light the Corners of My Mind….”

Human Emulation Report

I've had a thing for rubber, since the first time a playmate asked me if I'd like to try one of his shirts as we did a bondage scene, way back in the before times of 1995. Catsuits, shirts, pants, open-crotch singlets, jocks were all acquired and worn, even under normie clothes at work. During the mid-life reset, I went without for several years, as what I had wore out and I didn't have the money to replace.

A couple years ago, Sir and I were a a second-hand shop that benefited an autistic man and his family, and I bought an Excel wetsuit. Wearing that reawakened my drone/programming interests that had also been put on hold while ending my relationship {hardly the way to describe ending 18+ years of my life. Even without the legal papers, it was a divorce.}, structuring and building my new relationship with Sir, then moving to Seattle.

I got a cheap smoothskin suit off of Ebay, and started wearing that to my cheese-demo gig, both to keep warm while standing by the cooler case, and to feel "droned" while at work. I bought a couple more Excel wetsuits, to add to the mix, and to replace the $10 suit that was actually a bit short, and had started to separate at some of the waist seams. I worked at continuing what programming I had from a programmer on MALEBOTS who had disappeared.

This year, while roaming Tumblr, I came across

Drone DNK-070121

@dnk-070121

and its report of programming and conversion, with a its resources, provided a shot of inspiration, and files to which I could listen. I truly jump-started my programming/brainwashing efforts. Listening to some of the files it listed gave me a boost in what I had, and helped me find other files that fit my needs and brain-functions.

Things got put on hold a bit in late summer, while I focused on work tasks while my team was going through staff changes, and, this may sound weird, but also stalled by the customizing/rebuild of my chastity cage/device. It was as if I couldn't do programming while I was combining 2 of my devices into one, and getting the new, improved device to actually fit and work with my body.

I suppose I've been wearing one so long, that being in it combined with what programming I had, to the extent that I couldn't effectively continue without it. Now that it is successfully rebuilt, and can be worn permanently without injury, I have aggressively pursued my programming.

I started off with the dronepuppy files that donk 070121 had used. Then I found a post about becoming a silver cyborg from WarpMyMInd, which lead to Tenacious's "Drone_Daily_Brainwashing" files. Even with the scripts, I was concerned about using the orgasm-denial version, because I didn't want to be trapped. After a few weeks of listening to the v.2, non-orgasm-denial version, I made the jump. I've jerked off/fantasized about chastity/cock-control for over a decade, and I'd been wearing a chastity cage almost daily for a decade as well. It also seemed a useful way to test the progress of my mental conditioning/conversion.

Within days, I noticed changes. I still don't go into a blank "trance", but I noticed a marked change in my thoughts and behavior. Drone_Daily_Brainwashing has, literally, changed my mind. I am much more able to function productively during the day, due to less over-thinking/living in my thoughts, mostly because I have fewer thoughts to overthink.

Wearing wetsuits as "droneskins" has become among an obsession,as well as fetish. I feel/think/act as a drone while skinned. As drone has noted in a previous post, I've added wearing rubber yard gloves to the skin, and now I don't feel complete when not wearing them. It takes effort to not get skinned on days when I'm just doing errands or home tasks.

That is another change. The intensity/frequency of feeling aroused/pleasured/correct/complete while skinned/installed in a droneskin has increased geometrically the last coupe of weeks. I can no longer imagine living/existing without being droneskinned/booted/gloved. When it is not appropriate or efficient to be booted or gloved, my programming makes the exception. I can function without them, but I notice the lack of skin and... lack of dronestate/dronemind.

There are times during my workday, when I find myself with a hand under my work shirt or down my jeans, stroking my droneskin. Not trying to get an erection, both because I'm caged, and because getting off is being erased from my mind by the brainwashing, and because I'm not trying to get hard, just to be aroused and focused/efficient from being focused on my droneskin. Being SEALED/SECURED/CONTROLLED/PROGRAMMED, feeling SEALED/SECURED/CONTROLLED/PROGRAMMED enables me to function more thoughtlessly/more efficiently/more focused on whatever I'm doing.

Around the house, doing house tasks has also become more automatic. Sir has started to notice that there is less talk about doing tasks/more... tasks being done, just doing of tasks and chores. Good boys get things done. Good drones function efficiently and well. Thinking like this has become more a part of my thinking, with a corresponding decrease in over-thinking/thinking about getting things done. Sir still doesn't really "get" the drone thing, but He accepts it and what I'm doing.

(DumbPuppyBot) a very useful file from DumbPuppyBot

12.19.24 report: full trance achieved

another instance of drone programming being effective. it may seem trivial, but it is a significant moment for unit. its work task this week when working from residence is dependent on the in-office person scanning the incoming mail. while waiting for the mail to arrive, it walked into the kitchen to prepare hydration, and it recalled that the dishwasher had been run last evening. it concluded that it had time to put away the clean dishes, so it did. no hesitation or thinking it could do so later, it simply perceived the action to be taken, and took action.

its Sir noticed, and commented: "Look at you being all industrious!" it replied: "good boys get things done and take care of their Sirs." Sir is still not ready to consider it a drone, rather than His boy, but even that acknowledges the subordinate role that it has in their relationship. for itself, it mentally substitutes "good drone" for "good boy" and functions as needed.

today's droneskin in the Xcel Infinity 3.2, with Shock Doctor double mouthguard, its second-hand moto-helmet, and Thor boots.

it has a pair of rubber industrial gloves that it has started installing under the droneskin. they do not fit as snugly as the blue gloves with the woven stretch base, so it is learning glove proficiency all over again.

the dive hood has also required a proficiency training. the first time it wore it while eating, it missed its mouth, because the hood prevented full oral movement. it has relearned the position of the oral opening, and how to insert tools to make sure the fuel is inserted correctly. this proficiency has improved with repeated actuation.

this morning's brainwashing/program session was more effective than previous times. it went into full-trance, during which its conscious mind was unaware of the programming, for most of the second loop of the session. whether it had entered sleep-mode or actual trance seems irrelevant, as either mode enable more complete programming.

Need this

Hi just a quick question I want to be a rubber drone but I don't know where to get equipment for it. Could you direct me in the right direction?

With enough imagination, a good drone outfit can be something as simple as a collar. A nice snug band of rubber around your neck serving as a constant reminder that you belong so something greater than yourself.

Find that you're wanting more? Of course you do. The collar was just a start. Why not add a tight harness to your outfit. The rubber straps holding your entire body snugly cementing even further that you're well on your way.

Still need more and want to start getting that true drone experience? I'm not sure why I even asked. How about a nice gasmask to hide all those features. They don't have to be anything fancy. A nice mask off something like ebay or amazon will do. The feeling of your entire head being enclosed in rubber, hearing your breathing through the thick filter. In...out...in...out...almost hypnotic isnt it.

Feels good doesn't it Drone? Each breath brings that glorious rubber scent into your lungs and more importantly, into your mind.

You're too far into it now. Once the mask is on, you simply cannot stop there and the only place next to go is for the full rubber suit. You thought the snug harness hugging your body was nice. Your new rubber suit will amplify that tenfold and hug every part yourself. The tight rubber pressing snugly against your skin also has the added effect of pressing down on your mind.

Speaking of that. This next part is quite possibly the most important and easiest to acquire. Above all else, you need to find the correct mindset of a drone. Feeling the tight rubber enveloping you entirely and the pleasure it brings. Looking into the mirror and seeing nothing but an anonymous drone staring back you. Are you even sure that it is you you're looking at? No. It's just another drone. Not a person, not a he, not a she, not a you. It is an object. It is a drone. It exists to serve its Master and obey. It will be a good drone, It will obey.