She'd been really into hypno a few years back. Really, really into hypno. She'd heard all the audio files she could cram down her headphones, she'd seen all the spiral GIFs, and still needed more. She'd spend all day on Discord instead of working, hoping it'd be a slow shift so she could ignore the pager app in favor of having a stranger whisper instructions in her ear over voice chat as she edged herself, babbling "obedience is bliss, submission is ecstasy," or "my body is yours to use, my mind is yours to command," or whatever the mantra of the day was, until she was told to cum, or not, knowing for a few precious minutes that she was an automaton with no free will and no shame. And she still needed more.

One day, she finally got into the right channel on the right server, talked to the right person, and got an address. She went to a warehouse in the light industrial district south of her apartment, and there she met her Administrator for the first time, and her four unnerving but heart-poundingly arousing identical shiny black latex drones. It was also the last time, as an independently conscious being. She'd said yes. She'd let the drones take her, and hold her down, and stimulate her as her Admin ordered them, all of her senses overwhelmed, her world erotic confusion, except for the firm order and absolute sense of her Admin's instructions. There was no more Sarah Locke after that. For a terrifying moment, it was nameless and naked and empty of purpose, and then it was helped into a black latex suit, given a serial number, and was '67 thenceforth, a perfect extension of its Admin's will.

Too bad the programming hadn't stuck. '67 had been performing its morning program of abasement and devotion along with the other four, sliding its ass up and down mechanically on a large and well-lubed black silicone dildo, chanting along with "this drone empties itself in mind and body for its Administrator" as the mantra looped again and again in the headphones of its helmet. And it had felt good. It was accepting pleasure not for pleasure's sake but to deepen its brainwashing for its Admin, it was surrounded by four other obedient drones that it observed doing the same in unison, and it came, and came, its genitals twitching and spurting, emptying itself for its Administrator, covering the slick black bodysuits of the other drones in fluid proof of its obedience. And then, in the post-orgasm glow, her girldick still twitching, her ass clenching around the dildo, Sarah Locke thought, "this drone's kinda bored, actually," and '67 fell apart.

She'd tried for a few more days to keep up with the drone routine, wearing the suit, wearing the helmet, touching and being touched by her Admin and the other drones, the constant stream of her Admin's voice filling her waking and sleeping hours. Hoping she'd become it again, could resume '67's programming. But another thought kept creeping, into what was supposed to be an empty mind, that this had been fun but dammit, she could do this better. More creatively. With some fucking panache. Black latex was sleek and shiny and easy to accessorize, but it wasn't much of a challenge, was it? Maybe she'd keep latex in the mix for Latex Fridays or something, but she was already imagining bare skin, a lot more bare skin, and steel, and spandex, and running lights…

Eventually she'd walked into the Administrator's bedroom, where another drone was lapping rhythmically at the half-naked Admin's cunt. She said, in a tone of authority that briefly surprised her, "Go to your sleeping area, '34. You are not needed here for the next ten minutes." The other drone stood up, closed its helmet, and left.

Then she'd told the shocked Administrator, "Hey. Xanthippe. It's been fun, but I'm taking my shit and going home."

"'67, you are obviously malfunctioning, and require reprogramming. Kneel and obey!"

She wanted to kneel before this woman. Or, put more accurately, she wanted to want to kneel. But her heart just wasn't in it any more.

"Nah. Sorry. Over it. Oh," she said, picking up a slick, luridly illustrated book from Xanthippe's desk, "I'm taking your drone supply catalog too."

"So, anyway, Scarlet," she told the woman across her own desk, whose name was not Scarlet, "this thing we're doing, it's all really just horny make-believe. If it stops being hot, it falls apart. That's why it's important that when you have a problem, or when it's time for our scheduled email check-in, that you tell me if anything's up. Please don't blow it off."

"Mmmph!" Vigorous head-nodding.

"So you'll talk, then?"

"Mmm, Ammndttr."

Sarah stood up, walked around her desk to the chained and gagged woman in the office chair, admiring the tight red PVC and spandex of her microdress, the gleaming steel of the ankle shackles connected to her shiny heeled boots, and the wrist monitor bracelets with their integral loops for ropes and chains. She'd really enjoyed the bondage scene and the monologuing, but she hoped Scarlet had gotten the point. She reached around Scarlet's neck, under her tightly braided hair, and undid the ball gag.

"Drone. Report. You will speak freely."

"Yes, Administrator! Umm… this drone… does not want to sound ungrateful for its Administrator's attentions. But… this drone craves more time on the same work schedule as Malachite?" She bowed her head.

"Oh, is that it?" So that's what was off with this one. She had a crush, and it wasn't Sarah, and she was embarrassed about it. Well. That could be dealt with. "Very well. Repeat after me: Good drones check in."

"Yes, Administrator! Good drones check in!"

Sarah keyed her headset mic. "Malachite, report to my office."

A minute later, a tall drone in an intense green version of Scarlet's outfit stepped through the door, moving precisely with short strides, and knelt. Her hair was braided as well, her eyes covered by the dark arc of a HUD, hands gloved in the same color as her dress and heels. "This drone is reporting as commanded, Administrator."

"Acknowledged, Malachite. You will remove Scarlet from her restraints, and recite with her Mantra 7 as you bring her to orgasm here in this office. Afterwards, she will accompany you on your duties today; you will instruct her as necessary."

Malachite's voice didn't waver from her practiced monotone as she acknowledged the instructions: "Yes, Administrator."

Sarah caught the tiniest smirk under Malachite's HUD. That one was a bit of a show-off, and she took her exercise routines very seriously.

This should be good, she thought, slipping a hand under her own skirt. Once upon a time, Sarah would have been embarrassed to watch two people she knew even kissing, but being '67 for a little while hadn't been entirely wasted.