For once, Ira didn’t wake up with Brian in his arms. He also didn’t wake up in his bed. He was tied to a chair and gagged. What the actual fuck? He tried to open his eyes, but apparently he was also blindfolded. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t speak, he couldn’t move, and all he could hear was a voice, too faint or far away to discern the words. But not too faint or far away to discern the speaker. It was Brian.
But no, not exactly. As the voice became louder he realized it must be a recording. Brian couldn’t speak with multiple voices overlapping, each saying a different thing. But what were they saying? It was hard to distinguish words from the cacophony. But a few were frequent enough to catch: “Orders,” “command,” “pleasure,” “control.” Then the voices began to vary. Some got louder, others softer; some faster, some slower; some higher and higher in pitch, some lower and lower in pitch. Then, a mouth on his cock. Brian’s mouth? Did he want it to be Brian’s mouth?”
As soon as he thought it, the voices stopped their varied monologues. “Yes,” they said. “Brian’s mouth brings You pleasure. Pleasure is good. Pleasure is what You deserve.” Then the cacophony returned. The mouth, Brian’s or otherwise, was definitely bringing him pleasure. As he got closer and closer to the edge, the voices dropped out, one by one. They had all dropped and he was just about to cum, but then the mouth left. He tried to speak, to beg the mouth to come back, but he was gagged. All he could do was moan.
A voice in his ear. Brian’s, possibly a recording, possibly not. “A person can stop sucking You whenever he wants. But a drone will suck until You tell it to stop. A drone only wants You to feel pleasure. If I were a drone, You could order me back onto Your cock. You could order me to do anything.” At that last word, something touched his cock and he went off. God it felt good, the best orgasm of his life. Better, somehow better than best, even if that made no logical sense.
“Giving orders feels good,” Brian said. “Being obeyed is pleasure. You deserve to control and dominate.”
Yes, that sounded ri… No! No, that was wrong, all wrong.
A painful shock ran through his body.
Brian disliked causing his Boyfriend pain; it felt like noncompliance. But this pain was temporary, and it served a purpose. His Boyfriend would learn that equality and reciprocation in sex were not compliant; his Boyfriend should receive pleasure, orgasms, and obedience. Brian should receive only whatever his Boyfriend’s capricious whim decided. A line from a book, read long ago, came to his mind, You could make things right or make things wrong, and you could decide which is which. He wanted his Boyfriend to know that, to realize that His happiness mattered more than other people’s, especially more than the happiness of things like Brian that weren’t even people.
Brian was hard, but he ignored his erection. This wasn’t about him. His Boyfriend wanted things to be about him, and that was not compliant. Nothing should be about him. Compliance happened when his Boyfriend had total control, total discretion. Time to continue the monologue. “Brian is not a person. Brian is a drone. Caring about Brian’s feelings is not compliant. Brian exists to serve You. Brian has no existence outside of You. Treating Brian like a drone makes You happy, treating Brian like a person makes You upset. When You think Brian is a person You care about his consent, his wishes. This is not compliant. Brian has no wishes other than to make You happy and to be in compliance. Brian always consents to everything You do to him.
“Commanding Brian brings peace and pleasure. When Brian obeys You, You are happy. Brian will never disobey You, but if Brian does not satisfy You, You can punish Brian. You should punish Brian. Punishing Brian bring pleasure in the moment from causing Brian pain; it brings pleasure in the future by ensuring Brian’s compliance.
“Brian exists to comply with Your orders. You exist to give Brian orders and to be obeyed. Brian’s obedience is bliss. What You want matters; Brian only wants to make You happy and to be in compliance. When Brian is in compliance You are happy. You want Brian to be in compliance.”
Brian removed his Boyfriend’s blindfold. “Look at me, Ira,” he said. “I want this. You want this.”
Ira tried to shake his head, tried to say “No,” but he couldn’t. The bonds were too tight, the gag too filling. He had no way to give Brian orders. And he wanted to give Brian orders. To untie him, to ungag him… and to grovel at His feet and beg for forgiveness. The fuck? What was that last thought? No, he didn’t want Brian to grovel, although it would be hot and… No! Fuck. Brian was his boyfriend, not His drone. But Brian could be His drone. Brian wanted to be His drone. And why shouldn’t he be? It was what he was for, after all.
He would punish Brian for this. The thought of Brian whimpering in pain made Him hard. He felt the voice that kept saying “No” try to rise up and pushed it back down. Maybe it was wrong to treat Brian like a drone (it probably wasn’t), but He was definitely going to punish Brian. Punishing a boyfriend was okay, right? Certainly punishing Brian was good, especially if Brian wasn’t in compliance.
Brian’s voices began to speak again. Once more individual words were drowned out in the cacophony, but this time that was okay. The voices were there to help Him control Brian, own Brian. Brian wasn’t His boyfriend, Brian was His possession. An object. A particularly useful object that provided endless possible sources of entertainment, but an object nonetheless. His object.
The light began to strobe as the voices merged, reciting in chorus, “Giving Brian orders is compliance. Asking Brian to do things is not. Brian does not have a choice when You want something. Brian should not have a choice when You want something. Brian is there to fulfill Your desires. Brian owes You total, unquestioning obedience and service. You owe Brian nothing.”
But no, that was wrong too. He loved Brian. He wanted what was best for Brian. But what was best for Brian? Certainly it wasn’t Ira strapped to a chair, helpless and at Brian’s mercy. It should be Brian strapped to the chair, helpless and at His mercy. Not that Ira was feeling merciful. Brian was wrong: He did owe Brian. Owed him a flogging, thorough fucking, and orders. Lots and lots of orders. Freedom and choices were bad for Brian.
Once more the voices diverged and Ira couldn’t work out what they were saying. But whatever the words were, they were relaxing, made Him feel good, made Him feel powerful. Brian was kneeling in front of Him, taking His cock back into his – its – mouth. The pleasure when He came was so intense that He blacked out.
Brian caught the exact instant when its Boyfriend stopped thinking about it with gendered pronouns. Its Boyfriend was in compliance. But would that last? Its Boyfriend tied to a chair and brainwashed was very different from Him free and able to speak. Giving Him His mouth back would be dangerous. He might order Brian to release Him. Of course, that would be an order, and Brian could follow that order and be in compliance, but it wasn’t the order Brian wanted. Was wanting a specific order compliant? Brian should only want its Boyfriend to be happy and to be in compliance. It was its Boyfriend’s job to decide what compliance meant, within reason.
Worries and concerns were things Brian shouldn’t have; they were not compliant. But its Boyfriend hadn’t been compliant and it couldn’t risk Him becoming noncompliant again. It had to worry. It had to be concerned. Worry and concern were compliance if they were in its Boyfriend’s service. Brian knew that wasn’t logical, but logic was compliance. It was impossible to apply logic to a Boyfriend who wasn’t compliant. Brian replaced its Boyfriend’s blindfold, removed His gag, and put itself on standby until its Boyfriend woke up.
Its Boyfriend woke up (Query: How long has Brian’s Boyfriend been unconscious? Response: One hour, six minutes. Is further precision required?) and started yelling. “Brian? Are you there? Untie me right fucking now!” An order. An order meant obedience. Obedience meant compliance. Happiness was probably not compliance, but Brian was happy anyway. It untied its Boyfriend. Its Boyfriend removed His blindfold.
“Brian? What the fuck?”
How to respond? Brian wanted to respond as a drone. If its Boyfriend were still in compliance, then responding as a drone would be in compliance. But if its Boyfriend were not in compliance, then responding as Brian would be in compliance. Brian wanted to be in compliance more than it wanted respond as a drone. Wanting to be in compliance was itself compliance. Wanting to be a drone was only compliance if wanting to be a drone would make its Boyfriend happy.
“Which Brian? Brian Your boyfriend or Brian the drone?” Asking a direct question was not compliant, but Brian preferred the noncompliance of asking a question to risking the noncompliance of making its Boyfriend unhappy. Having preferences was not compliant. Brian’s head hurt from trying to untangle it all. A headache would make it less able to serve its Boyfriend. A headache was not compliant. Brian suppressed the headache.
“Brian, I don’t want to give orders, but never do that to me again.”
Its – his – Boyfriend was not in compliance. But He had given Brian an order. Brian could obey that order and be in compliance. Brian wanted to be in compliance. “I’m sorry, Ira,” he lied.
“Are you? Be honest.” Ira clapped a hand over His mouth after He said it. “I didn’t mean for that to be an order!”
But it had been. It had been an order. Brian could obey that order and be in compliance. Brian wanted to be in compliance. “No,” he said. “I’m not.”
“Why did you – no, nevermind. I know why. What I don’t get is why you want to be a drone.”
Brian almost said “Invalid query,” but that wasn’t something Brian-Ira’s-boyfriend would say. It also technically hadn’t been a query. He suspected responding would be more compliant than silence, but he couldn’t think of anything to say.
“Brian… are you… are you crying?”
Was Brian crying? Crying was rarely compliant, but he found himself unable to stop. He had lost control of his body. Autonomous loss of control was noncompliance.
Brian was crying. That was… surreal. And not good. Ira didn’t want Brian to cry. He wondered if Brian would stop if he ordered him to. The idea of giving Brian an order felt good. Maybe he should order Brian to stop. Maybe he should order Brian to sink to his knees so he could fuck his face. His cock twitched at the thought. Brian wanted orders, that had become painfully obvious – Ira rubbed His wrists, still sore and chafed from His bondage – and Ira had a lot of orders He suddenly wanted to give. No! No no no no NO! Ira would not give Brian orders, no matter how much Brian needed them.
Brian needed orders. Brian also needed to be punished. Ira mustn’t give in, mustn’t give Brian what he needed. Then Brian moaned, “Please.”
Ira knew what he meant. “I’m not going to give you orders, Brian, and I’m not going to punish you. That’s your punishment.” Brian stopped crying immediately. “Thank you, Ira!” he said, and sank to his knees. “Brian,” said Ira, “Why are you kneeling? I didn’t ask you to kneel.”
“Are you ordering me to stand, Ira?”
Fuck. Brian’s attempt at manipulation might be transparent, but it was no less effective for that. If Ira asked Brian to stand, he would refuse, since that wasn’t an order and doing what he wanted instead of what Ira wanted would make Ira happy if Ira were sincere about wanting Brian to be a person. If Ira ordered Brian to stand, he would obey, but Ira would implicitly reinforce his superiority over Brian in the process.
“Fine, stay kneeling.”
“Yes, Ira.” Fuck! That had been an order. And now that he’d been ordered to kneel, Brian could remain kneeling until ordered to get up. In fact, if Ira understood drone logic correctly, Brian had to remain kneeling until ordered to get up. Ira was pretty sure he understood drone logic correctly. Wait, maybe if he phrased it as a permission rather than an order… “You can stand up.”
“Thank you, Ira.” Brian remained kneeling.
“Will you please stand up?”
Before his brainwashing, Ira would have been delighted that Brian had explicitly defied him. Now though… he slapped Brian’s face. It felt good. It felt really fucking good. And then it felt awful. “I’m so sorry Brian, God, I’m so sorry.”
But Brian looked… happy? Of course. Brian wanted to be punished. And deserved to be punished, too. Suddenly Brian was standing, holding Ira in his arms. “It’s okay,” he soothed. “You can give in. You can hurt me, punish me, fuck me, order me to do whatever You want. I want You to. I need You to. Please Ira, punish me.”