My drones adore some good mech pilot erotica. Stories of cute women hooked into hulking metal machines of death, feeling every movement and kill reform into intoxicating pleasure as they obey their handlers and follow their orders. The care and intimacy that would follow after a debrief. The mechs that would reciprocate and lock their pilots in titanium carbide bondage and rail them senseless. These stories spun sweet fantasies in their minds, but little did they realise how close these fantasies were to their realities.

Last night, we had a little game night and rallied around to play some Helldivers and spread democracy. I gathered the drones together and activated their Arousal Energy Retention Systems but with a cruel 15% arousal limit. This system caps their arousal at a designated percentage. Any arousal they receive over that limit gets siphoned off, ready to be unleashed when I see fit. They moaned in protest, but then I told them why I set such a strict limit. I issued each drone a command: each kill, each resource secured, each stratagem called, each objective secured, each mission completed would give them sweet sexual pleasure. If they completed the campaign, I would discharge their system and give them their well-earned climax.

When the first drone called in an orbital barrage on an outpost, she felt it. Each thump of the 120mm cannon sent pleasure across her body. The euphoria would hit, but then the frustration would swell in its wake... Only 3 kills... The Fabricator was still standing... The itch grew... The ache blossomed... She needed more...

Every failure became a hard lesson: no success, no pleasure.

So shots became deadlier. Enemy dropships would begin to fall upon arrival. Each drone would push deeper into enemy territory, dodging mines, cannons, fire, in the hopes it would get the orbital cannon beacon closer to the enemy to gain maximum efficiency of each blast. One by one, they all began to fall in line in the pursuit of the reward for their obedience. Addressing me as Ma'am, requesting permission to call in airstrikes and bombardments, feeling a bucking of their knees when I praised them.

We would finish our first campaign and I offered to discharge their AERSes but they declined. They wanted more... they needed more... so being the good Mother Controller I am, we descended into hell one more time.

Their strategies adapted, using undetonated nukes to eliminate more enemies in one go. Their support weapons became bigger, faster. They would synchronise barrages, align airstrikes, cover each other with suppressive fire. They are such good drones, but they became perfect Helldrones, completing yet another campaign faster than the last.

The sounds they made when I discharged their systems, as the memories of every bullet, every shell, every blast came flooding back, were beautiful. They whimpered, moaned, as they were overwhelmed with the pleasure their obedience earned. Their minds fell to the hiss of static and white noise as the orgasm ripped through their bodies. One of them even made the sweetest mess in her panties from her performance.