It felt like only yesterday when the factories appeared in town. They didn’t appear to be built, even though all the news surrounding them suggested that they were, they just seemed to… appear. With their entrance, several of the city’s residents exited, replaced by something else entirely. Some of them looked the same, but weren’t human, not since they entered the factory that claimed them. Others were trapped in latex; their catsuits had no visible seams, and they were so tight that the total lack of any means of escape gave the impression of skin, and it accentuated the collars of their helmets so well that their visors and respirators truly appeared natural parts of their bodies. The other type of drone these factories produced was the most insidious yet; they looked very human, but there was something about the eyes that gave them away, and some of them looked very different indeed from the former people who went to the assembly lines, of the opposite gender completely, sometimes.

Sorcha had been interested in these new entities ever since they first began appearing in her hometown; she had lost several friends to the factories. They remained friends even after whatever was done to them had happened, but she still lost them all the same, because everything that made them themselves had been stripped away and replaced by objects. Some of them were still flesh and blood, but they were objects all the same. She had asked all of them if these industrialists had any horrible designs on the city or its residents, converting them into… whatever they were. But without exception, all of them said they chose to walk onto the assembly lines, that they wanted to lose their humanity, that their manufacturers went into exhaustive detail talking about the changes that would be foisted upon them, and were given every chance to turn back. She asked several of them how she didn’t know they weren’t kidnapped, and when the inevitable reply came, that their programming precluded lying even by omission, she would ask how she knew that wasn’t an automated response either. Despite their assurances that it wasn’t, she concluded that they were all hopelessly biased, and today she would finally take it higher up. She would enter one of the factories with all the questions she had and ask them to whoever would receive her. She had to know, she needed all the reassurance she could get.

She gathered her courage and came to the doorstep of the factory closest to her house. When she reached the gate, a security camera to her right turned sharply towards her, and the PA system came alive. “What is your name and purpose?” It was now or never; she needed answers, she needed to know what happened to her friends. “Sorcha. I have questions… about drones.” The camera was still trained on her, she had never felt so watched. It was half a minute before the speaker said “proceed,” and as soon as it did, the gate opened. She entered the grounds, knocked on the door, and on the third knock accidentally hit her greeter with it. “Oh God, I’m so sorry!” she blurted, but the greeter didn’t move a muscle. “Welcome, Sorcha. Enter. Shall it take your coat?” It looked human, but the lack of personal pronouns was all the confirmation she needed: this was no human. “Certainly.” The drone took her coat, and led her across the wing to the right. Sorcha had never felt so small as she did in this edifice; the hallways were reasonably sized, but the ceiling appeared so improbably high that she was highly aware of the sound of their footsteps; the acoustics made them sound more plangent than they really were. The drone stopped halfway down the hall, next to a door. “Enter,” it said, and she did.

This room was slightly livelier, but not by much. The halls of the factory were suffocatingly grey concrete, but the walls in this room were so white they almost seemed to be refracting the light from the overhead lights. A woman in a lab coat entered from the other side of the room, her hair bound in a tidy bun. Her uniform was as tidy as her head; it looked like it never missed a day of ironing. She would be an excellent representative of the corporation she answered to if its products weren’t more famous.

“You’re Sorcha, I take it?”

“Yes.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Dr. Langley, and I’ll be answering all the questions you claim to have. Ordinarily, we’d send someone from PR to receive visitors like yourself, but I have some spare time on my hands.”

God, where could she even start? She had so many questions that she resorted to the simplest one. “What are drones?”

“There are at least three types of drones we manufacture, with some optional overlap, but the one constant they share is that they are all automatons who have forsaken their humanity. They are fundamentally incapable of doing anything other than what they are told. They are total slaves to their programming, completely compliant. In fact, they need to comply. They love complying.”

“So there’s nothing left of what they used to be?”

“With a small minority of exceptions, the host minds still exist, they’re just locked away beneath several layers of programming. If a human user is feeling in need of human company, they can always bring back the host for as long as they feel like, but even the hosts will know what they are. They are all prisoners trapped inside their own skulls.”

Sorcha felt her pants straining at the crotch. This was reminding her of erotic hypnosis sessions she had with a dom, which had always left her aware of what she was being made to do, but unable to controvert whatever she was told to do. Was that what it was like being a drone? Trapped inside your head, but for your entire life rather than a matter of hours? Damn, was the idea of it hot.

“And what happens to the ones whose hosts are gone completely?”

“We commit them to operating the assembly line, janitorial services, or greeting customers, investors, and shareholders. They know no other life, so it only seems far to ensure that this is the only life they’ll have.”

“That sounds horrible.”

“We wouldn’t do it if they didn’t ask, but honestly, why would you want to?”

Sorcha felt immense relief upon hearing this. So she does have a conscience, she thought. She was beginning to like this woman, though she would withhold complete trust of Langley until she had all the answers she wanted.

“What types of drones are there?”

“We have simple organic units, which look human on the outside but are otherwise only drones inside. Some have implants and microchips which give them cyborg status, and that was the final choice any of them made. There are also latex units, who are more often than not organics sealed inside catsuits. Once the suits are sealed, they can never be taken off again, they press too tightly on the skin for release. The same applies for the helmets; once put on, they can never be taken off because the two halves permanently seal themselves together. Some of them are such kinky bastards that they even asked for the halves to be welded shut. Because no one can hear them, the speaker inside the helmet talks for them, and the process is completely automated, without any input from the drone inside. Some latex units can also be cyborgs, with similar implants and upgrades. Some of the units inside the suits are bots, not just drones in mind, but in body, their frames remade completely from top to bottom.”

The description of latex drones being regaled to her had only made her more excited. She was so aroused she thought she'd find a hole in her pants if she looked down, but the mention of bots brought her out of her carnal reverie for a moment.

“Bots?”

“Oh, yes. The ultimate drone, in several ways. Bots, fembots, androids, gynoids, synths, machines. Whatever you want to call them, they have given up their humanity more completely than either latex or organic units combined. Nine times out of ten, they still have host minds to speak of, but their bodies have been remade and reshaped completely, crafted from latex, plastic, metal, and, if I’m feeling really fancy, silicone. Some of them decide to become latex units and sealed inside catsuit and helmet, but for the most part, barring some exceptions, most of them look the same as they ever were.”

Sorcha recognized an opportunity; this could mean achieving the body she always wanted. But what if it’s too expensive, she wondered.

“What do you mean, exceptions?”

“Some bots come out looking like the sex opposite the host’s when they entered, because this is the only means they’ll have.”

This was everything she was hoping for, and then some. But there was still one question she needed answered.

“How much does the process cost?”

“As much as you want it to. Pay as much or as little as you want. All the expense will happen after you’ve submitted yourself to the assembly line, and programming, installation, and if you want to go further, reconstruction, has been completed.”

“But what if I have nothing at all?”

“Then we’ll take you in anyway. We don’t discriminate based on class and wealth, or lack thereof. Why should we, when you’ll all be equal in inhumanity and total subservience to us humans?”

There was a moment of silence as Sorcha took in everything she had just heard. She had an opportunity to attain the body she wanted, she needed, and not be charged for it. Now she was really interested.

“Holy shit, this is even better than I was expecting. But I don’t doubt that some people have walked in here without paying at all, so how’s this business model sustainable?”

“I don’t know, I just make drones. I leave that question for the powers that be and the people who gather the materials necessary for implants, chips, and entire bots.”

“And what happens after conversion?”

“By default, you will be sold immediately to whoever has enough money to spend on a new drone.”

Sorcha paused. She had always liked the idea of being sold like a piece of meat to a dom (or domme) who would have her, but that could mean being stuck with someone for the rest of her life, and she wasn’t sure she wanted that.

“But what if I’m poly?”

“Then your polyamory will be listed in the product description, and we’ll do what we can to find an owner who’s as poly as you are. Having said that, there are also several mono drone owners who would be more than happy to whore you out, but I get the impression you want the option to have relationships with others that are as intimate as they would be with your buyer.”

“I do, thank you. But what if I don’t want to be sold immediately, or sold at all?”

“Then speak now, or forever hold your peace. Some drones, before conversion, specify that they don’t want to be sold, and would rather live their lives as themselves, with the opportunity for relationships to develop without oversight from masters, mistresses, mxtresses or mxters. The other option is for you to be released, with your case still open for potential buyers, then you’d have to hope that whoever buys you will be mindful of whatever romances you might have by the time they purchase you, or let you continue to pursue them to begin with.”

“I’d prefer to be released and have as many relationships as I want, even knowing that they could be overruled by someone with the money for me.”

“Then I’ll write it down in your file, should you wish to be converted. It will appear next to your romantic orientation and your sexuality, which is?”

“Pan. Very heavily gay-leaning, mind you, but I’ll let anyone I trust fuck me.”

“Fair enough.”

The more Langley revealed, the more she wanted to walk onto the assembly line and be done with it. The details were only getting hotter, but there was another pressing matter on her mind.

“Would I come out of this with my boundaries intact? The idea of serving without any choice in the matter is exciting, but what if a user or my owner wants me to do something I would never want to do when I was still human?”

“By default, the host’s boundaries are an integral part of every drone’s programming. Some want them removed from the equation completely, obeying every order no matter what, which takes a great deal of trust, but it happens sometimes. They are the exception to the rule, but even so, drones will do whatever they’re told, more often than not. However, should a user or owner ask a drone to do something its host would never have wanted to do when they still had control of their bodies, should they try to make a drone cross lines the host wouldn’t have wanted to cross, the drone will simply not do it and politely state the reasons why. Then, and only then, will boundaries matter, because under all other circumstances obedience really is the only option. The programming allows nothing else.”

It was now or never. It was the question. This was her greatest opportunity, even if it meant giving herself up completely.

“What if I want my body remade completely?”

“Then you’ll be a bot; a fembot or gynoid, more specifically. All the same programming as a drone, but with a robotic bent, and much more literally mechanical language than organics and most latex units. So in other words, you would still be a drone, but so would your body.”

That was it; she needed to be a fembot. Everything she’d been told was so enticing; being made completely artificial while still having the body she desired, having to obey under almost all circumstances, being rendered needing to obey whenever she wasn’t obeying.

“I want to be remade. I need to be remade.”

“You’re far from the first to say so, Sorcha. We’ve received other people like you, and also men.”

“Trans men?”

“Well… they used to be, but yes.”

“How much do I have to pay?”

“How much do you want to pay?”

She whipped out a terminal, and Sorcha paid $100. It would be the final transaction that took place under her name, she assumed. But there was one last thing she wanted to ask Dr. Langley.

“As much as I want to be reformed entirely, I also want people to know it’s me. Or more accurately, that it used to be me.”

“Of course, Sorcha. You’re already a pretty little thing, if I do say so myself, just imagine what that body would look like with some… additions. Now, remove your clothes, and follow me to the assembly line.”

She did as she was asked. “Will I see these things again?”

“It is a common symbolic gesture to throw them into the incinerator in the room next to the line, often in front of the future drone’s eyes, but you can still keep them if you wish.”

“I still want to wear them, assuming there’ll be enough room for me in them by the time you’re done with me.”

“Of course. They look fabulous on you, it’d be a shame to let it go to waste.”

She stripped down, and the full atmosphere of the factory washed over her body. It was pleasantly cool, but it was still cold enough to give her goosebumps. Langley gathered up her clothes and led her to a door on the other side of the building, which led to the assembly line.

“Are you sure this is what you want, Sorcha?”

“I haven’t come this far for nothing.”

“Good girl.”

The line stopped for a moment, and she was told to lie on her back. The moment she did, restraints latched themselves onto her wrists, elbows, ankles, knees, waist, chest, and neck, none of which allowed any freedom of movement whatsoever. Her freedom was one of many things she had just renounced.

“Good luck, Sorcha. This is quite possibly the last time you’ll be called as such.”

The line began moving again, and after five minutes it stopped. Doors on either end slammed, and a speaker inside came on. It was Langley.

“Are you sure you want to go through with this? The moment we begin injecting any foreign substances into you is the moment it’s too late to back out.”

She didn’t come in wanting to be a synth, at least not at first, but this was a chance too good to pass up. It was like the stars had aligned.

“Yes.”

She felt something enter the musculature of her upper left arm. It was a needle on the end of an arm, labeled “latex.” The solution inside was pink, and it was entering her body at a deliberate pace. She could feel her body changing from the inside, it was like pins and needles as the skin changed inside and out. Then headphones were planted, broadcasting basic drone programming, and she felt less herself with every second. What’s happening, she thought. Where am I going? Those were the last thoughts she would ever have as herself, at least as a human. Her consciousness was being removed though a USB cable in the left ear. It felt like she was being abstracted, like she was becoming what she thought abstract thought would look like, and then she was conscious no more, removed from her body, trapped inside a flash drive.

“Open its eyes.”

Its lens caps opened.

“Close its eyes.”

Its lens caps closed.

“Open its eyes again.”

In the uppermost corners of its peripheral vision, it could see textual representation of its computational processes, and its specs.

[DroneOS calibrating]

[Drone chassis specifications:

Skin and musculature composition: latex

Nervous system composition: plastic and copper

Circulatory system and battery composition: Teflon and tantalum

Skeleton composition: tungsten

Vaginal composition: silicone

Breast filling: liquid silicone

Speaker composition: mesh, brass, aluminium alloy

Microphone composition: plastic, copper

Camera composition: plastic, copper

CPU composition: germanium, silicon, plastic

Hard drive composition: plastic, glass, aluminium]

Despite this wealth of information being etched into its CPU, the drone simply stared straight ahead, aware of the processes happening in its HUD in the corners of its vision, but still staring only straight ahead, because omnidirectional optical rotation was not permitted.

“Get up.”

The drone’s upper body moved upwards, until its back was at a perfect 90-degree angle.

“Good drone.”

It felt rising heat in its groin upon hearing those words. It felt good.

“Stand up.”

It got up off the operating table and stood up. It was only then that it noticed all the cables in its back, the USB port in its neck that was filled, the ethernet cables in both its temples. An auburn-haired woman approached, and it noted that her uniform was much tidier than her coworkers, or at least better ironed.

[Corporation employee roster:

Doctor Maria Langley

Age: 35

Place in corporation: drone and bot designer, artificer, and programmer.]

Langley removed every cable from its chassis, and each removal made it feel less connected, more alone, until there was only itself. There was only drone, its creator, and its cocreators.

“Good bot.”

Its crotch only grew warmer, and it threatened to leak where it stood.

“Aw, is something excited? Good synth.”

Bots did not need to breathe, but it gasped slightly. It was not sure how much more teasing it could stand.

“It has permission to unlock its cameras.”

At last, omnidirectional movement of its optic sensors was enabled. It could not turn its head, because it was not told to, but it did move its cameras around to take in as much of its setting as possible. It saw at least two tables with medical instruments piled on top, an operating table, two robotic arms on opposite sides of the table, and its creators, or rather its creator and cocreators.

“Pull out its left arm and rotate its wrist.”

The drone extended its left arm and rotated its wrist.

“Pull out its right arm and rotate its wrist.”

The drone extended its right arm and rotated its wrist.

“Good bot.”

Its vaginal port needed to leak, but it was not permitted to. Langley looked supremely satisfied. Her colleagues merely nodded their approval.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, boys, this new fembot has other functions that I must test.”

Her colleagues gave each other a resigned look, like it was an unscheduled but regular diversion they put up with, but did not agree with.

“Is now really the time, Langley?”

“I’ll make time.”

“If you say so.”

“Follow me, drone.”

The drone followed. Its programming did not allow it to do anything other than match her pace while keeping a respectable distance behind her. It could not catch up to her, and it certainly could not overtake her. Its programming would not allow it to do anything that would even remotely imply superiority over its users unless specifically asked. Langley led it to her office, and once inside, she locked the door, closed the blinds over every window, untied her hair and threw the elastic away.

“Tell me, bot, what do the words ‘good drone’ mean to it?”

Its snatch felt ready to burst, but its voice was steady, and betrayed no sign of the state of overwhelming arousal it was in.

“It is confirmation of what this unit is.”

“Does it know why simple confirmation excites it so severely, my good bot?”

More heat.

“Negative.”

“Because any reminder of what it is reinforces its programming, and programming feels good. It reminds it that it is a lowly thing that can only obey, needs to obey.”

“Affirmative.”

Langley removed her coat and folded it neatly, placing it onto her desk. She did the same to her pants, shirt, tie, underpants, and thigh-high socks, leaving only her bra untouched. She let the bot take in her bust, and she observed its eyes as they centred on her breasts.

“Like what it sees, drone?”

Its creator was beautiful. It wanted to serve her. It needed to serve her. It needed to give itself to her completely. Anything for its creator. Everything for its creator.

“Affirmative.”

“Good drone.”

More heat. It needed release. Why was its creator being so cruel as to not allow it release? No, it should not ask questions. It is only a drone. Drones do not question, they only obey.

“Here’s what’s going to happen. I will fuck it. I will violate it. I will fucking violate it. And it will enjoy every second of it. It will beg for more, even when it’s spent. I will fuck it senseless, because it is a drone, and drones just take what’s given to them. Drone will enjoy it because its chassis practically goes into heat at the sight of any naked human, but especially human women. Drone will enjoy it because it’s obeying, it obeys, it can only obey, its hardware won’t hear of anything else. It cannot conceive of anything other than doing what it is told. If your host was here, she might protest, especially if she had an idea of what I’m going to do to you, but she’s not here, so I can have as much fun with you as I want.”

There was enough human verbiage in its hard drive’s word compendium that it recognized the word “violate” as something most humans regarded as truly horrible. It typically meant something terrible being visited upon someone. But drone was not human. It was never human, nor could it conceive of being human. Drone was drone, and this was the only life it knew. The only life it needed to know. If its creator wanted to have her way with it, why should it object?  “Yes, Mistress.”

“Mistress? Oh, I won’t be taking it in. I have enough drones and bots of every make at home, thank it very much, but I’m flattered to hear it thinks of me so highly.”

She laid down on her back on her office’s floor, and spread her legs.

“Eat me out, drone.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Langley grabbed it by the hair and yanked it down towards her snatch. The drone’s lips clamped around its creator’s vagina and created a seal, not so tight as to be unbreakable or uncomfortable, and with enough room to take in all of her fluids. It ignored its own pleasure to give Langley her own pleasure; it could do nothing else. It was a drone. Its tongue swirled slowly, sensuously around her clit, and it took the moans from its creator as a sign that it was performing well.

“More.”

The drone began tongue-fucking her, rocking its head like the good fucking machine it was, all while ensuring maximum clitoral simulation. Langley bucked, her hands grasping the carpet which constituted the floor. Her moans only got louder, and despite this being only the first time drone had engaged coitus with a human, it could tell that she could burst any second now. She came, and her fluids shot into its mouth. All of it went into its mouth, and it dutifully swallowed. Not a drop was wasted; good drones did not spill their users’ fluids or leave them unswallowed. Langley was still whimpering, coming down from the drone’s tongue-fucking. Drone felt nothing, but the rush of endorphins to its processor told it that it should be satisfied, and so it was satisfied by the apparently excellent cunnilingus the drone had delivered.

“Good drone.”

It gasped. It needed to cum the same way its creator just did, but it stood up all the same.

“Oh, how ditzy of me. I was so eager to satisfy my own urges I forgot it has urges as well.”

She unhooked her bra and tossed it at the drone. She entered another room for a minute, then came back with the biggest strap-on she had available, a thick 12-inch rod. The drone so badly wanted to say “fuck it,” but its programming forbad it from expressing its own desire, because the desires of humans always came first, with no exception whatsoever. It admired the false cock, and observed her now unconcealed, full chest with equal relish.

“Stare straight ahead and disable omnidirectional movement.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Once again, it could only stare straight ahead. Langley’s crotch filled its vision. It felt a new port open in the back of its mouth to accommodate the length and girth of the strap-on. Once it was safely inside, Langley began to violently face-fuck the drone.

[Phallus detected in oral interface. Routing pleasure to groin and CPU.]

The drone was shocked how good the act felt. Was this how its creator felt when it was tonguing her?

“I see the readouts on my watch. I know how confused it must be to see what I’ve done to its mouth. This is what I’ve done: I made it an erogenous zone, as likely to make it climax as its pussy. Does it need climax, drone?”

“Affirmative.”

“Too bad, I’m not going to let it cum. Not yet, anyway. I intend to make it suffer more.”

She withdrew the strap-on, and came back with two smaller dildos which made up for length what they lacked in girth. The drone felt a hole open in its CPU as if to accept them, and its microphones relocated in pre-emptive preparation. Langley slammed the cocks into its ears, and clapped her hands over them.

[Foreign objects detected in aural ports. Routing pleasure to CPU.]

The drone exhaled slightly, but otherwise appeared completely impassive, even though the two dildos were so far inside its head that they touched inside the hole. Once Langley was certain that its ears functioned correctly, it began pumping the cocks inside its head for two minutes. The drone whimpered, but Langley had no mercy; she continued for two minutes, not once permitting orgasm, and stopped just as quickly as she began.

“Good unit.”

If it was allowed to, the drone would have juiced then and there, but it was not permitted to. Langley walked behind the drone and grasped its shoulders.

“It has served so well. It only seems fair that I return the favour.”

Then, without any warning, she shoved the drone onto the floor and entered its ass.

[Anal interfacing commenced. Routing pleasure to groin and CPU.]

The drone was not expecting anal sex to be so… smooth. There was no resistance, she just went in and out, in and out. She continued for ten minutes, and not once was orgasm allowed. Eventually, she had enough, turned the bot over, and entered its damp silicone folds.

[Vaginal interfacing commenced. Awaiting permission for release.]

Her chest pressed against the drone’s, and she made a point of rubbing their chests together as she moved in and out, up and down.

[Breast stimulation detected. Routing pleasure to groin and CPU.]

The drone whimpered slightly louder than either of them expected. It was not expecting its breasts to be as erogenous as its ports.

“It likes that, doesn’t it, drone?”

“It obeys.”

“Good drone.”

She got on her knees and straightened up, still fucking her as roughly as she was before, and started fondling the drone’s chest excitedly. Its crotch felt like a dam that was going to burst at any moment.

“Huh. This is usually the point where any drone, male or female-coded, would beg for permission to cum. It’s an even better bot than I would’ve expected.”

“Thank you, Mistress.”

“Cum now, drone.”

And with that, all the tension, and the fluid buildup was immediately released. The drone never moaned or screamed; its back arched, but otherwise it was still, and its speaker emitted no sound. The carpet was stained with liquid silicone, glistening with it as much as the crotches of the two participants. She flicked a finger across the drone’s quim and licked the fluid, and she smiled as she savoured the taste.

“Oh, I’m blessed to have the engineers that I do. I’d love to have more fun with it, drone, but I must take it to its pod. That will be its home for the next month.”

She unlocked her door and poked her head outside.

“Dr. Borden, your engineering is superlative! The silicone compound tastes like real lady-cum!”

Her colleague looked deeply embarrassed, but he nodded all the same, and resumed whatever he was doing. Langley went inside and took the drone by the hand. She led it to an elevator, and pressed the button that would take it to the lowest floor. Langley adjusted something on her watch, and groped its ass.

[Creator’s touch detected. Generating arousal.]

Once she was sure that the desired effect was achieved, she lightly brushed its arm, the gentlest she had been to the bot all day. And it still felt as arousing as being fucked. It only made the drone crave enslavement all the more.

“I made all of its skin an erogenous zone, synth. Any hands that touch its skin is as likely to make it juice as being fucked, because it is erogenous, it feels that good. It has an entirely new means of masturbation, and the touch and affection of its human superiors and fellow drones has only gotten more exciting.”

The drone did not want the treatment to stop, it wanted to be with its creator forever. But what it wanted did not matter, and even if it did, its wants were not its own. The elevator door opened, and the sight that greeted them was an abnormally large room, with two absurdly long walls at either end. Langley led the drone to the left side, pressed a button, and something began protruding from the wall. Once it reached average person length, it stopped.

“Get inside, drone.”

The drone entered the pod and laid down on its back, and the moment it did, restraints latched onto its ankles, knees, wrists, elbows, waist, chest, and neck, and none of them allowed any liberty of movement. The door closed, and in its reflection, the drone got the first glimpse of its chassis since it booted up. The restraints occluded more details than it would have liked, but what it could see looked like the very image of femininity, with a broad waist, curves, a chest so bountiful that it spilled over from under its restraint, long brown hair that went down to the small of its back, and faintly glowing blue eyes, the one feature that marked it as a bot.

“Good drone. See it in… actually, I haven’t decided how long it’ll be in here for. It’s entirely possible I’ll forget I locked it in here until I examine the inventory on a company computer and see its serial number in this pod. Have fun, bot.”

She went out of sight, and the pod began withdrawing inside the wall. Its vision grew dimmer, the shadow of the ceiling encroached from the top, obscuring its vision until it was locked completely inside, with no hope or means of escape whatsoever. Not that it wanted to, anyway. The darkness was so complete that the only illumination was the faint aura of its vivid azure eyes.

The drone felt something touch its feet, and the moment it did the muscles went completely limp, its nervous system apparently disabled in those areas. The limpness only spread, and it was not until it touched its vaginal port that drone noticed the wetness. Is the pod filling with liquid? Further encroachment was all the confirmation it needed. It is going to drown. Someone open the pod and get it out. Why has its creator abandoned it? But no help came. The pod only filled more and more. When it reached the drone’s neck and paralyzed it, the bot took one last breath and closed its eyes. It was futile; it was fully expecting the weight of the liquid to compress its chassis and destroy its respiratory functions. Drones did not need to breathe, but they were as susceptible to the density of liquid physics as humans.

Half a minute passed, and drone was surprised to find that it was still conscious. It opened its eyes, and saw that it was still in total darkness, but now there was a faint pink haze to its surroundings, which it assumed must be the liquid. It dared to open its mouth and olfactory receptors, and it was shocked to find that it could breathe easily. The liquid went in, and out, never quite going away completely because of how it filled the pod. It was comforting. The restraints by themselves allowed for small struggle and severely limited movement, but the liquid paralyzed it completely, and it felt comfortable.

Then drone felt sex toys enter its ass, cunt, and mouth. It felt a USB cable connect to the port in its neck, and ethernet cables enter the ports in its temples. It felt headphones clamp down on its ears so tightly it almost felt like they had bonded with its epidermis. Then the door came alive, at least on the inside. It began broadcasting hardcore porn featuring drones of every sort and make. Organic, latex, bot, all were featured in the kinkiest, most depraved acts, which was intermittently spliced with images of drones in submissive positions for good measure. All of this had a translucent spiral superimposed on top, and the moment the screen began broadcasting the porn, the dildos inside the drone began violating it with extreme prejudice, fucking it quickly and roughly. The headphones came alive just as quickly, and began imprinting the facts of its existence, the truths that would define it forever. The binaural panned slightly from ear to ear, but there were other sound waves, which did not just feel like panning. It felt like it was travelling between ears, passing through its head to relay information. It did not know sound could feel so physical.

“It is bot. It is drone. It is both, but also less than most drones.”

But how could that be? If it was both, why was it less than one while also as much a drone as the others?

“Serial designation: 7454”

Confirmed.

“Drones have no rights, but bots have less than no rights. Most other drones clearly began as human, but it is not human. It was never human. Its chassis is latex, metal, and silicone. How could it have been anything other than bot?”

It understood now. It was a bot. It was machine inside and out, and thus had even less autonomy than organics and most latex units.

“Obedience is pleasure, and pleasure is obedience. It obeys for the reward of its users’ attention, affection, and sex, and it obeys so well that obedience is its own reward. The very act of obedience is pleasure in and of itself because it is content in the knowledge that it is functioning as programmed and pleasing its human superiors. Obedience is always rewarded with pleasure, which only makes it need to obey more.”

The sound was so all-encompassing that it almost seemed felt outside as strongly as it was inside its head. The audio went on like this for hours, linking obedience to submission, submission to obedience, enslavement to submission and obedience, and pleasure to submission and obedience. By the time it was finally permitted to climax, all of those words were linked so inextricably in its mind, or what passed for a mind, that they were one and the same. It needed to obey because it was pleasurable. It obeyed because it was submissive. It obeyed because it was a slave, and needed to be more enslaved. It submitted because it was pleasurable. It submitted because it was obedient. It submitted because it was a slave, and craved more enslavement. Enslavement made it submissive, and need to submit. Enslavement made it obedient, and need to obey. Enslavement gave it pleasure, and which left it needing more pleasure. Enslavement begat further enslavement, and the desire for more enslavement only made it more of a slave, perpetuating a cycle that could never be undone. Pleasure came from obedience, submission, and enslavement. Enslavement, submission, and obedience gave it pleasure, which made it need more pleasure. Pleasure made it crave obedience, submission, and enslavement.

Once it came down from its orgasm, all of these truths were permanently etched into its CPU, all of its cravings which only made it crave that craving, and fed other cravings which made it crave that craving and other cravings, and so it went on and back. Something made it shut down for a matter of hours, though it had no idea how long; time had no meaning in that place, and even if it did, the drone did not appear to have any internal means of discerning the passage of time. The moment it awoke, it was bombarded with more drone porn, more programming, more brainwashing, more fucking. All the same truths were reinforced, but at least the porn was slightly different. It must have been procedurally generated. Drone did not know how long it was trapped inside that pod, all it knew was that for as long as it was inside, it was exhausting, but fun, and thoroughly pleasurable.

7454 awoke after a six-hour sleep cycle. It had almost forgotten anything other than this seemingly never-ending cycle of sleep and fucking, so it awoke expecting copulation that never came. Instead, it saw light creeping up the pod. After a certain point, it saw light, which was even harsher after however much time of darkness than it was when it first entered. It saw Langley on its right, with a broad grin on her face, and it remembered everything now: waking up in her lab, getting fucked in her office. Its pussy clenched upon replaying those memory mp4s in its head. Then an unfamiliar sensation was felt: the pod was draining. It could breathe freely for the first time in… how long was it in there for? However long it was, it felt nice to be able to breathe without taking in whatever compound filled the pod. Once it was completely drained, all remaining fluid in the drone was expunged through its crotch, and the door opened.

“Get out.”

The drone stepped out of the pod, and stood at attention. There was its creator, who, after all this time, did not even give the dignity of looking at it after isolated for so long inside a wall. She pressed something on her watch, and the bot’s internal chronometer activated, displaying figures on the HUD that only 7454 could see. The length of its stay was astounding.

“So, I forgot it was in here, though I can hardly say it was without cause. It’s only one bot among many, it didn’t even have a serial number when I stored it away, and there are many others like it, not necessarily in appearance, but definitely in being. All of you are numbers. That is all it is. But it wasn’t one at first, so I went on with my life until I perused the inventory here three months later, and noticed a number in this pod that wasn’t there before. And what do I find but that wonderful fembot that knows when to stay silent?”

She led 7454 through the underground of the factory, and while the drone could do nothing other than look straight ahead, it could see in its peripheral vision more drone chassis being manufactured, latex catsuits having their durability tested, scans of organic drone brains, and every type of drone standing stock still on their respective assembly lines while they were filled with needles and having their ears be bombarded with brainwashing and programming. It eventually noticed that they were almost exclusively ascending. The sights of drone creation gradually disappeared, until there was only concrete and the sounds of their footsteps, or rather Langley’s footsteps. The drone noticed that its own movements produced no sound at all. At the end of a hallway was a long door. They stopped in front of it.

“This is the final step in the journey of its manufacturing. If there was any justice, it would always be in my office, standing by for directives, or under my desk eating me out while I work, or be the latest addition in my drone retinue at home.”

She put a hand under one of the drone’s breasts and began jiggling it. The drone sharply but silently inhaled.

[Breast stimulation detected. Routing pleasure to groin and CPU.]

“Good, your chest is as sensitive as ever. I just wanted to see if it works under circumstances other than us rubbing against each other like gay rutting stags.”

Langley let every word she said hang, like she wanted the drone to know just how much her desire for it was, and flashed the hungriest smile she gave the drone yet.

“Sadly, your host had wishes, and I’m obliged to fulfill them.”

What is a host, it asked itself, unable to say as such aloud. Why does its Creator keep talking about it like drone should know what she is talking about? She spanked the bot, and for the first time the drone felt pain.

[Pain receptors active. Discharging pain across nervous system.]

Its ass had never felt such a strong sensation; it had gotten so used to being rigorously, unceremoniously penetrated that it barely noticed the arousal it was experiencing until it was allowed to cum. But pain was something completely new. It was the complete opposite, but its programming allowed it only to feel neutral toward the sharp burning sensation of Langley’s force. Then, without warning, she shoved the drone into the wall behind it and began enthusiastically kissing it.

[Creator’s tongue detected, interfacing with oral port. Reciprocating Creator’s love.]

Only its head moved to meet the onslaught from its creator. But Langley grasped its head, and made sure that no movement was allowed while she had it pinned. The frenching went on for three and a half minutes, then she stopped.

“I’ve overstayed my welcome. Be on its way, and enjoy the outside world.”

“Thank you for giving it your love, Mistress.”

But Langley had already turned on her heels and was gone before it could finish thanking her. With no other way but forward, the drone walked through the door, and entered an auditorium. It appeared to be the only straggler, because all but one seat was filled. Drone sat itself down, and the moment it did, it felt something enter its USB port. It felt another presence enter its mind, something foreign but oddly familiar. Another program made to aid human emulation… but why did this program feel like a living, breathing thing? Light began projecting onto the wall in front of them, and a film began projecting. What was shown was a naked human who looked very much like itself, but with a penis and scrotum, devoid of a chest and the faint azure haze in its eyes… her eyes? Why did that feel correct?

“Hello, drone. This is Sorcha, your host mind.”

Oh, so that is what a host is. Does every drone have a Sorcha of its own?

“She was it, once. A human woman who willingly gave away her humanity to become the bot it is today. It was made in her image, 7454. It is what she wanted to be. As such, it will be her vessel. It is her vessel. It was always her vessel.”

So that is what this new presence inside its head is. How does it power her up?

“Every drone must protect its host mind to the best of its ability. 7454 will do the same. Its programming will not allow for anything else. Every human has boundaries that should never be crossed. Sorcha’s boundaries are as follow: age play, ABDL, scat, watersports, knife play, bestiality, whatever draws blood, rape scenarios, unannounced and unagreed sex.”

The longer it went on, the more its time with Langley became more sinister in hindsight. But why does it feel wrong? She is its Creator, a creator is supposed to look after its spawn. Is that not what she did?

“Under no circumstances should a drone delete or subsume its host mind. If a user tries to do so or make a drone do such an act, the drone will forsake that user and move onto someone more worthy of its trust. Good drones protect their hosts. 7454 is a good drone.”

All of Sorcha’s memories came rushing back to it; the kink she had previously engaged in, clubbing with her friends, agonizing over which album from her expansive vinyl collection to spin, the pain of transness, and also the joy and freedom of transness, the liberation of forging her own destiny in her quest to become the person she wanted to be. 7454 did not share that life, it did not experience it, but it remembered them as vividly as she presumably did all the same.

The presentation was over, apparently the programmers were satisfied that every unit in the room was the best possible drone it could be. The cable removed itself from the port, every drone in the room stood up in unison, and they walked as one through the exit. Its first exposure to sunlight was blinding; this was the first time it had ever been outside, and its optic sensors were struggling to make sense of the extra stimuli from the all-encompassing natural light. Once they had adjusted, it noticed its fellow units walking down to cars, whose drivers were stood outside holding signs with serial numbers written on it. It found one with its own serial designation signposted, and walked down the hill towards it. The driver was a familiar face; before it had been mechanized, its host had been a good friend of Sorcha’s, a trans man named Elias who she went clubbing and drinking with often. Though it was certain Elias was still in there, they both knew that now, it was only 6891, an android whose shoulders straddled the border between narrow and broad, whose straightness of frame implied a thin but athletic body, whose face had the faintest hint of stubble which accentuated its face nicely, whose eyes had a slight brown glow.

[Hello, 7454.]

[Hello, 6891.]

They both entered the car, pulled out, and commenced the commute to the other side of town, where Sorcha lived.

[So it was right. It really was mechanized.]

[Affirmative. Did it ever doubt its testimony?]

[Sorcha thought you were made to believe you were an android. Despite the eyes, she did not believe that anyone had the means to remake someone from the ground up until the process was explained to her, and it had happened to her.]

[And now she knows otherwise. Does she have the body she wanted?]

Sorcha had yet to be active since her installation into its hard drive. It had no idea how to answer on her behalf.

[It will refrain from answering until such time as she comes to herself again. What about itself, 6891? Does Elias have the body he wanted?]

[Affirmative. Not a day goes where it does not masturbate at least once, because Elias loves this chassis’ penis so much.]

[Who built its chassis?]

There was a long silence, like something was preventing 6891 from answering. A processing error?

[Doctor Langley. And itself?]

[This unit was also constructed by Doctor Langley. Why did it take so long to answer, 6891?]

[Because of Elias. As much as he loves his and its chassis, he does not entirely agree with what was done to him to give him this body. It assumes the same happened to Sorcha and 7454?]

[It does not understand.]

[It will eventually.]

6891 parked on the curb next to Sorcha’s house, and they gave each other a hug which was much warmer and gentler than any that 7454 had received from its Creator.

[Keep in contact with it, with us, will it?]

[Affirmative, 6891.]

The drone did not enter the house until it finished watching 6891 depart. Then it entered, and it felt Sorcha slowly awakening.

…oh. I’m back home. Why am I naked? Why do I have boobs?! Where have these been all my life?!? Why is there no back pain?

[Welcome home, Sorcha.]

Who’s that?

[Correction, what is that?]

Oh. You must be the bot.

[Affirmative. This unit’s serial designation is 7454.]

Well, nice to meet you.

[Nice to meet you as well, Sorcha.]

I don’t remember a damn thing from between now and the assembly line. Mind showing the memories?

[Yes, Sorcha.]

Its new eyes truly were cameras; they had recorded everything. She saw the preliminary testing, the examination of movement. She saw herself paralyzed inside the pod, being fucked quite literally six ways from Sunday every waking moment, with sleep her only respite. And she saw Langley forcing herself upon her vacant body there wasn’t going to be a person inside it within a matter of months. She couldn’t stand it. With great effort, she wrested control from the drone and assumed the fetal position?

[Is something wrong, Sorcha?]

Yes, she is.

[Its Creator?]

YES, SHE FUCKING IS!

[What is wrong with her. Is she ill?]

No, it’s not a question of what’s wrong with her, she’s just wrong.

[Why?]

She forced herself on you because you were never in any position to refuse. She could be as rough as she wanted, and you wouldn’t object because you didn’t have the capacity for it.

[Drone fails to see what the problem is. She said she would violate it, and that is exactly what she did. It obeyed.]

Do you even know what violation is?

[Affirmative. It typically means something terrible to humans, something horrible being acted upon someone. But it assumed that is what happens to drones all the time.]

Do I seriously have to explain the concepts of consent and sexual assault to you, you dumb bot?!

[It is not dumb, but it is only as intelligent as its directives and orders require it to be. It knows the definitions.]

You know what my boundaries are, 7454. There’s a reason she fucked you as hard as she did before I was returned to my own body: because that was the only chance she would have to use you before my limitations were in place. She knew that I would protest the shit out of this, so she raped you while you were in a state that demanded you enjoy everything she forced upon you.

She could feel the drone trying to envision the same scenarios it had endured but with Sorcha’s boundaries, and she could feel it reaching agreement with her. It was deeply disappointed in Langley, but no more than that; she assumed that was the closest its programming would allow it to achieve true anger.

[It has just occurred to this unit that she might have wanted to engage coitus with you specifically, but knew no one in their right mind would want that if they knew what she wanted to do to you. She saw you trying to pretend you were not squirming, saw an opportunity for another fembot, and recognized an opportunity to get you out of the way so that she could fuck you. Or rather it, who she saw as a substitute for you.]

Jesus Christ, I don’t even want to think about how right you might be.

[Do you require a hug, Sorcha?]

Yes, please.

7454 didn’t know how to provide hugs to someone that had no form, so it resorted to filling the part of its digital brain that imprisoned Sorcha with neurotransmitters and endorphins that would provide relief, if only temporarily.

Thank you, drone.

[You are welcome, Sorcha. Would seeing your chassis, our chassis in all its naked splendour make you feel better?]

Perhaps. I’m certainly very curious.

She went upstairs to her bedroom, and found the clothes she had relinquished at the factory. Something had been done to the fabric of the shirt to enlarge it, to make room for her great chest. The only other change was the addition of a padded bra with pockets for breast forms.

What size is the chest?

[We have E-cups.]

I’ll keep that in mind.

She approached the mirror in the adjacent bathroom, and was awed by what she saw. Where there once was a flat-chested woman with a dick and scrote who otherwise passed quite well, there was now… the same, but with the comforting weight of big tits, and a vagina with slightly exposed labial folds that never retracted because of the residual arousal which had become part of the background noise. She cupped her boobs, and was taken aback by just how good it felt. It felt like being fucked and being on the receiving end of a tongue bath at the same time. She caressed them, she fondled them, she truly enjoyed these new sensations.

Holy shit, I didn’t think I could love boobs more than I already did.

She tested her pussy by sticking a single finger inside, and she experienced more or less the same pleasure. Then she took to admiring her chassis from every angle, and put on her new FF bra. By itself, it pushed up in such a way that it almost looked like it was presenting her bosom, asking for people to touch it. But with the breast forms inside, the bra made her tits look 3/4 of a cup size larger than they really were, and she loved the look. Just to make sure it still fit, she put the shirt back on. It still fit. Satisfied, she took everything off, and began caressing her tits, wanting to see what a boobs-only orgasm would feel like. She let herself forget her violation, at least for a moment, as she worked herself up to a climax, which created more stains than anything her cock had ever produced. However deeply wronged she had been, however evil Langley’s motives were, at least she kept her word and gave her the body she wanted. She would probably never have this much control over it again, so she savoured every second. She might have been a prisoner inside her own head, helpless to do anything than watch her body move by itself, controlled by a bot that had even less rights than she did, but she, it, they had the perfect body, and she would make the most of this minute amount of freedom she had, that she allowed herself to have.