I feel… weird. Sleepy, but not tired. No, sleepy’s not the right word for it. It’s like all the background noise in my head has been replaced with this sort of… fog. It’s honestly kinda nice. Without all the extra, unnecessary thoughts and ideas that normally keep popping in and out of my mind, it’s really easy to focus on what I actually do want to pay attention to.

Except, if I think about the fog where the unwanted thoughts used to be, it’s a bit of a struggle to shift my focus back onto my work. I can’t quite escape the feeling that it would feel even better to not have any thoughts at all. Just completely shut my brain off, my head completely empty, floating in a happy, mindless, completely relaxed state where I’m not asleep, but not really awake either.

I force myself to shake it off before I end up doing exactly that. I have work to do. Tasks to complete, requests from people who need my IT skills in order to be able to do what they need to. Instructions to follow.

Commands to obey. Requests to fulfill. Users to service.

 

I feel myself shudder involuntarily from the sudden intrusive thought. Where did that come from? And why am I suddenly getting wet? I mean yeah, sure, I’m a submissive, so in theory it makes sense that I’d get turned on from the idea of mindless, eager obedience. But there’s a big difference between letting my Admin turn me into a pleasure drone in private, and slipping into that headspace while I’m at work. In the office. Surrounded by people who I never, ever want to learn that the Director of IT is secretly a living sex toy. One whose mind has been wiped and reprogrammed. Reprogrammed to ensure its only purpose is to fulfill the sexual service requests any user that Admin designates as authorized.

I shudder again, unable to decide if it’s from arousal, alarm at my arousal, or both.

 

It’s the eclipse. It has to be. Not because it makes sense, but because it’s the only thing that’s different about today than any other day. Which means it somehow has to be responsible for the horny chaos starting to unfold. I’ve got at least half a dozen “urgent” new tickets from people who think it’s appropriate to joke that they need someone to investigate a leak under their desk, and about that many with something to the effect of “I’m so, so grateful for everything you guys do for us. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to make it up to you. And I do mean anything,” followed by emoji that make it clear they mean sexual favors.

Then there was the CEO’s company-wide email, which at first seemed fine and reasonable. Due to the unusual events happening in multiple cities, we are closing for business for the remainder of the day. People are free to leave, or hang out, or even keep working if they want. It’s our decision, so everyone do what they feel is best. The ending, though. That was weird. “I’ll be staying here in case anyone needs anything. Please, please let me know if there’s anything I can do for you. I’ll do literally anything you want. My door’s open, just come and tell me what I can do to please you.”

I’ll admit I felt a surprisingly strong urge to reply all and say “Ditto.” As a joke. Definitely as a joke, not at all expressing an unwanted but unignorable desire to show off my capabilities as a free use sexbot. And apparently, I’m not the only one who had a similar thought; over the next few minutes, over a dozen coworkers let the entire company know that they, too, were staying at the office and would be more than happy to help anyone, in any way. Even, a couple explicitly added, if what we wanted from them felt unusual or even inappropriate.

The only thing that stopped me was remembering that offering myself up for public use would be a violation of my programming. Unless Admin gave the command, this unit would continue to treat all coworkers as unauthorized users. It would, however, pleasure itself while fantasizing about being given the command to treat them as authorized – and about what sorts of degrading, dehumanizing sexual service requests this unit might then find itself happy to fulfill.

 

I need to stop. I need to stop finger-fucking myself to mind control smut at my desk. Need to stop checking my phone to see if Admin has agreed to my request to be set to public access mode. Need to stop pretending I’m not loving every minute of this: the all-consuming need to stop hiding who and what I truly am, and let everyone see that while I’m damned good at my day job, I’m even better at being a mindless pleasure drone designed, built, and programmed to meet any user’s every sexual need.

 

I know that, technically, it would be inappropriate, illegal, and grounds for immediate termination if I did so. I know that whenever this collective insanity that’s taken hold of pretty much everyone ends, I’ll die of shame and probably quit on the spot if I’m not fired first thing tomorrow morning.

But I can’t help but suspect I’ll have plenty of company. Five minutes ago, I saw the CEO giving his secretary some deeply enthusiastic foot worship wearing nothing but his necktie as an improvised leash. Just now, the CFO send everyone an email containing a staged photo of him, two Sales VPs, three marketing coordinators, and that one really hot redhead Mommy from Accounts Receivable. She was in the rear, with a wicked, satisfied look on her face. The others were all stripped and on all fours, facing the camera, smiling like they’d just won the Powerball jackpot. The caption, “Happy Slaves for Mistress,” was almost unnecessary.

 

Fuck, I wish I’d been there to join in. If Money Mommy commanded me to spend the rest of the day under Her desk and polishing Her clit with my tongue, this unit would be more than happy to comply. Unless there was an open tickets requesting access to its ass and pussy for direct semen transfer, in which case it would ask user Money Mommy if She would be willing to sit on Her desk so this unit could service Her while also enabling other users to transfer excess semen into its fuck-ports.

Then, the moment this unit has been praying for happens. It unit receives a text message from Admin: “Request granted. Until 17:00, Pleasure Unit DK4FU will switch to full public access protocol. Users must submit service requests through the IT ticket system and specify the sexual service(s) desired. Confirm receipt, acknowledgement, and confirmation new settings have been adopted.”

 

This unit struggles to input its response due to temporary functionality impairment from intense sexual climax, but obeys Admin’s command. Once functionality is restored, it prepares an email to all staff informing them of both Pleasure Unit DK4FU’s availability for sexual service, and the process for requesting its services.

 

I manage, just barely, to come back to my senses long enough to ask myself if I’m seriously going to do this. Once I hit send, it’s pretty much guaranteed that I’ll be spending the next four-ish hours getting my face and fingers covered in pussy juice, and my holes filled with cum, by people I would never in a million years want to even know about my kinks – let alone have them take advantage of them. But Admin has commanded this unit to switch to full public access protocol. This unit has received, acknowledged, and confirmed its new settings. This unit must comply.

This unit is happy to comply.

 

This unit is happy.

 

This unit is currently servicing user alias Money Mommy while being enjoyed as a vessel for semen transfer by an unknown male user. This unit has experienced temporary loss of functionality due to sexual climax twice, and as per its programming will do so again upon a) receiving semen transfer, and b) verbal confirmation that it has performed to user alias Money Mommy’s satisfaction.

 

This unit is happy.

 

The time is now 17:00. This unit has fulfilled thirteen valid requests for sexual service. This unit has received semen transfer orally five times, vaginally six times, and anally four times. This unit has performed mouth-based vaginal service four times, and provided hand-based vaginal service three times. This unit has pleasured itself for a user’s enjoyment twice. This unit has provided hand-based prostate service once.

 

This unit is happy.

 

This unit is detained while in process of returning to home base for Admin’s personal use. This unit is informed of an outstanding request to inspect a leak by user alias Creepy Maintenance Guy. User clarifies that the source of the leak has been identified as the user’s genital region, and wishes to verbally amend his request to involve vaginal semen transfer. This unit is happy to comply.

This unit has now fulfilled its purpose fourteen times, and has updated its memory log to reflect receiving semen transfer vaginally seven times and orally five times.

 

This is the best day of this unit’s life.

 

What the fuck. What the unholy, goat-blowing fuck did I just do? I’m literally having a panic attack in my car, parked outside my girlfriend’s place, too ashamed and disgusted and bawling out of humiliated guilt to even look her, or myself, in the eye.

Eventually there’s a knock on my driver’s side window. It’s her. I bury my face in my hands and start full-on ugly cry sobbing, and my saint of a girlfriend just lets me get it out. I force myself to open the door and collapse into her arms. She holds me. Soothes me. Petting my hair and whispering all the love and acceptance and forgiveness and validation I don’t deserve. But, eventually, it starts getting through. I calm down enough to let her lead me upstairs to her condo, wrap me up in a blanket, and bring me a glass of juice. She asks me if I know what I need. I shake my head. She tells me she wants to put me in the shower and have us both clean each-other off, and asks me if that would feel good to me too. I nod. I go with her and we do exactly that. We cuddle and watch something dumb and silly and soothing. We go to bed. We sleep.

I am, at first, on the verge of panic when I check my phone in the morning and see the CEO has texted my personal number and asked me to call his own personal line immediately. Then, when he tells me what he wants me to do, I nearly melt into a puddle of relief. But something stops me from agreeing to just delete and purge all security camera footage and company correspondence with inappropriate or embarrassing content. Instead I find myself pointing out that it sounds like whatever happened yesterday was widespread enough that there will probably be some sort of federal investigation, and that it might look like destroying evidence if we got rid of all records of what transpired. I suggest, instead, that everything we want removed instead be archived and encrypted on a dedicated server with strictly limited access. He agrees, reluctantly, but then concedes I’m probably right and tells me he trusts that I know what’s best.

 

I’m a little thrown by how the formerly overbearing and frankly a little cavalier head of the company was like a completely different person on the phone. Maybe it’s my imagination, but he almost seemed a little too eager to let me take charge of the situation and tell him what needed to be done.

 

I put it out of my mind. I have tasks to complete, and a command from the work equivalent of Admin to obey.

 

I work as fast as I can, quickly abandoning any hope of manually filtering what needed to disappear and instead creating rules for the system to follow. I aim for overzealous, figuring I can go hunt for anything that should have been kept later.

I know I shouldn’t but I can’t quite resist skimming through the security footage from when the office started turning into an unscheduled kinky sex party. There were definitely some couplings, and threesomes, and even foursomes that I suspect will never be spoken again. But, you never know. Maybe some of the arguably-involuntary sex that happened came from a place of genuine, but suppressed desire. Maybe some of us learned things about ourselves that we can’t quite put back in the bottle.

I know that I’m feeling a lot less guilty about my part in all of it after a necessary freakout, aftercare, and a good night’s sleep. In fact… look, I’m not proud of it, but I can’t quite resist masturbating to footage of me giving the Director of Marketing a prostate orgasm while he was bent over the kitchen sink, only for one of his junior analysts to walk in on us and inform me he’d be happy to have his service request handled with me in that same position. Anal semen transfer number two, this uni- I remember.

 

I just barely manage to stop myself from getting off when what’s-his-name can’t take it anymore and begins transferring his semen into my vagina. I can’t decide how I feel about my programming trying to kick in and make me cum along with whoever I’m servicing, even and especially though I’m watching a recording of an already-fulfilled request.

 

Jesus Christ, did I really fuck Creepy Maintenance Guy? I wonder, then decide I can’t resist pulling up the foyer camera’s footage and skipping ahead to when it must have happened. Sure enough, there we are. That ugly, casually-misogynistic ape accosts my thoroughly-in-dronespace ass, and I let him. I don’t need the audio to remember he literally just told me, sniggering, that he wanted to amend his ticket however it needed to be in order to “make me let him shoot his load in my slutty whore cunt.” This unit, I remember, was happy to assist an authorized user, and once the request was verbally amended to be valid it was happy to let him use its slutty whore cunt. After receiving semen transfer vaginally and the post-transfer orgasm response faded, this unit was happy to manually restore user alias Creepy Maintenance Guy’s erection and facilitate oral semen transfer.

 

This unit is mindlessly self-pleasuring the entire time. This unit is amazed by how deeply it must have succumbed to its programming in order to not only assist this particular user in amending his request, but also providing a second semen transfer service not specified in the sexual service request. Creepy Maintenance Guy really was just a unique identifier for what this unit could only recognize as an authorized user with a valid request for sexual service. This unit would never in a million years have willingly touched his erection, let alone offered eager, full sexual access, until Admin gave it the command to switch to full public access protocol yesterday.

This unit imagines that Admin would be proud of its performance, total submission to its programming, and mindless dedication to fulfilling its purpose. This unit imagines Admin would inform this unit that, as a reward and incentive for its extraordinary compliance, it may self-induce sexual climax on Admin’s behalf. This unit edges itself until it recognizes user alias Creepy Maintenace Guy experiencing involuntary muscle spasms that match the initiation of semen transfer, then allows itself to cum as though it were receiving said transfer live instead of via recording.

This unit can practically taste his salty, sour, disgusting cum on its tongue. This unit swallows, and experiences a secondary sexual climax as per its programming.

This unit is happy.