“I know exactly what you’re doing,” Billie said, and her tone was amused but the words were starting to slur slightly. Snuggled in close against her partner, she could feel his finger tracing a spiral over her leggings, centred in around her hip.

It didn’t take much more, not anymore. Not after a couple of years of on-and-off tranceplay, dipping in and out of mindlessness. It certainly didn’t take anything as over-the-top and theatrical as The Voice.

Not that that stopped him dropping The Voice at pretty much any provocation, of course.

“Do you?” he asked, and his voice was honeyed sweetness, slow and tender and dripping with amused confidence, and Billie could feel her thoughts suddenly lose their cohesion, pulling apart like two handfuls of cotton candy, just from the two cues.

They were long past the point anything so formal as an induction was necessary, though both of them still enjoyed indulging every so often.

“Mm-hm,” she answered, but it didn’t have the conviction it might have done if her vision wasn’t starting to waver, if her eyes weren’t rolling back up just when her eyelids most wanted to lid.

“What am I doing, then?”

Billie’s answer came out as “Putty… me under…” though this hadn’t been the words she’d tried to say. But correct pronunciation was another thing she’d have to focus on, and she wanted to focus on his voice, was also focused on his touch. There wasn’t enough left of her (now deliciously gooey) brain to add anything else.

Which was fine. If anything, it was good. If they ended up staying in all Saturday, it was going to work out cheaper than if they were in town at lunch.

“That doesn’t sound like exactly what I’m doing,” he teased. “Can you be more specific?”

There were two ways to try and answer this question, Billie knew. One of them involved pushing her mind back to a state where, at least temporarily, she could complete coherent thoughts. The other was just to let her mouth have free rein and see how well her subconscious did.

The second one was much less effort and much more satisfying. “You wan me… docile… prob’ly t’ serve you lunch?”

She couldn’t see any more, her eyes rolled back far enough. She was conscious of a slender thread of saliva starting to extend down from the corner of her mouth. Billie loved moments like that, times when it was incredibly clear that she was lost; lost and helpless was perfectly fine with the people she trusted.

“I mean that’s not a bad idea,” he said cheerfully. “But actually, I thought we’d try something this weekend you were talking about the other week.”

Billie didn’t even try to recall. She left herself deep in her trance, just enjoying the way it felt, the way a tweak in her head could completely change her bodily experience.

“Don’t worry if you don’t remember it,” he said, “as I did tell you to forget…”

Billie knew that when he said things like that, he probably imagined all that came across was a certain smug confidence he liked to play up. But especially when her head was cuddled in against his chest, she could hear the way his voice tightened up, could sense his excitement.

Her thigh slid upward and forward affectionately, rubbing against his own, until it rested above his crotch, soft and warm against him, gauging his own level of excitement.

It was her deeply-tranced way of encouraging him, although it had taken him months before he’d realised she was doing that.

She almost purred at the quiet little grunt of pleased satisfaction she provoked.

“Good girl, Billie,” he said as soon as he’d recovered. “Drop deeper for me now…”

*

The next thing Billie knew she was walking slowly up the stairs. The way she moved was like slowly striding through treacle, which aligned pretty well with how her head was.

It took a couple of steps to realise she’d either stripped down or been stripped down - she couldn’t remember which - but then, she didn’t remember much. Anything before her partner started tracing a spiral was irrelevant. Anything after he told her to drop deeper was irrelevant.

Irrelevant things were still in her memory, but they seemed to require a strange amount of concentration to pull out, and her listless mind was enjoying its slow, treacly thought process too much to concentrate.

Some subconscious part of her recognised what this meant; that he wanted her to have a ‘before’ in mind, but not to dwell on it.

So whatever the scene was, she would be transformed. Would end it as someone - or something - else.

There was someone on the stairs following her. It was almost certainly her partner, but her mind didn’t permit her to know, not for sure.

Up the stairs she went, and directly opposite the stairs was the room she used as an office when working from home. She went directly in and raised the blind, standing at the window.

(Knowledge that her bare breasts could not be seen from any position a person could stand in, when she stood at this window, was irrelevant, though a part of her mind still found it deeply reassuring.)

Outside, the view stretched out over fields, tailing off to the horizon without inclines, hills, forests or even haystacks to break up the monotony; there was just a line below which was the green of growth and above which was the grey of a miserable Saturday.

Standing and looking out of the window, Billie was struck by how, with an empty horizon, the eye settled easily in the centre of the view, where everything met, where the eye gave up on seeing further.

Where everything else vanished from sight.

(The tiny part of Billie that paid attention to details like this as she experienced them - the part of her which would savour their play afterward - noted that this wasn’t the sort of thing she’d usually think about the view. But that information wasn’t available to the rest of her.)

Her partner came up close behind her, tucking her long hair back behind her shoulders; having moved it out of the way, he leaned in close and kissed at her neck. Billie didn’t move.

“Fuck, you’re hot,” he murmured. “That’s why I have to do this.”

Billie heard the words as if he wasn’t her partner. As if she had no idea what was coming. As if her former friend had betrayed her in some way, was enjoying her now. The knowledge this was not the case was irrelevant, and so it was unavailable.

She didn’t react outwardly. Her eyes were still locked on the horizon - something about her seemed to be being drawn out of her, in fact, into the horizon itself - and her body refused to move. But a frisson of fear mingled with the excitement of being so helpless and exposed.

Had her friend found out she liked that, somehow, she wondered. She’d been so careful. But her friends knew her as well as anyone.

As he fondled her breasts from behind, lips brushing over her collar bone, Billie wondered if her friend had betrayed her because he knew her secret or simply because he had to have her.

Either one was hopelessly exciting, even as she wished it hadn’t happened. For a fleeting, treacherous instant she wished he’d picked Callie instead, though the thought was gone almost an instant later.

He had her hair in his hands now, gently tacking it back into a ponytail, and his knuckles brushed against something on the back of her neck.

She had no idea what it was, but the contact with it made it sting somehow.

Billie knew she often jumped to strange conclusions. She tried to avoid it. But the thought that popped into her mind was: I’ve been chipped.

It was something she’d even fantasised about, but it made no sense that it was happening in real life. That some friend of hers had the technology.

That it clung to her with little weight, and stung only when it was touched.

He had finished tying her hair back, was fondling her chest again. Standing so close behind her that she could feel his erection even through his pants, brushing against her buttocks.

She was aware she was whimpering.

“Are you starting to feel it, then?” he asked, and there was a curiosity to his voice, but there was also a tense excitement and arousal that seemed, somehow, inexplicably, familiar.

Billie wanted to say yes. What actually came out was “Does not compute.”

There was an explosive laugh, a sudden shocked expression of pure delight. He tugged at both nipples at once and something went off in her mind, a living computer being overridden by a cheat code.

She had already been a little wet, but the immediate, instinct-level reaction had her almost gush with excitement. Certainly now she would be ready to be used at a moment’s notice.

She felt part of her brain fill up with new instructions. Bedroom techniques and ways to satisfy, all grouped together in an editable encyclopaedia of sexual service.

“Install status,” her former friend said, and she responded instantly, automatically, didn’t really register what she was saying until she’d finished saying it.

“Physical override in place. Formatting personality and memory sectors,” she said, and then “Forty-six per cent.”

“That’s the second stage, right?”

“Confirm,” she agreed, and that was how Billie found out there was more than one stage to… well, to whatever was happening to her.

“How many stages?”

“Four total,” she said promptly.

“Elaborate.”

“First, total physical override,” Billie said. “Then the personality must be deleted and formatted, including all key recall centres.

“Drone subroutines are loaded into the body’s wetware. Personalisation options and final exterior shell installation must then be completed for full activation.”

Billie marvelled at how accurate her fantasies had turned out to be. These were the exact steps she’d dreamed up, lying in bed with her toy, inspired by one or another image of a woman like her but in shining latex.

And now they were happening to her.

It was startling, but if there was a logical explanation beyond her guessing well, she couldn’t think of it. Which made sense, as the chip must be turning the power of her brain against itself; she would only have limited freedom to think at all, and without much mental capacity.

Soon she wouldn’t even have that.

Looking out across the fields, she realised why the chip had placed her facing that window. Staring out at the vanishing point was a reminder of her own, upcoming, vanishing point; it was a hint that vanishing was entirely natural, entirely normal. A physical law of the universe.

The rate of formatting now was such that Billie could feel herself being deleted. Her teens, gone. Her twenties, gone. And then, suddenly, she was a collection of thoughts in an ever-shrinking part of her own mind, betrayed by a former friend who even now was using her body for his own pleasure.

He slid his fingers across her jawline, and as he reached her chin, Billie’s mouth opened invitingly. After a moment’s hesitation he slipped two fingers in.

Just as it had been when he tugged on her nipples earlier, this proved to be the signal for another step in her activation, this time a purge. Her mouth was busy sucking, as much pleasure as she could give without closing her eyes or moving her head. But the parts of that last collection of thoughts which were her personality, were the thing that made her Billie instead of some strange empty vessel, all seemed to vanish at once.

It was a very puzzling experience from the other side, a brief sense of an aching loss for… what?

There was nothing in her databanks that could indicate what the loss had been. There wasn’t even anything in her databanks that showed anything had been lost.

She ran a quick cross-check and confirmed that, yes, she was in possession of all the files she should have at this point in her installation.

Nothing had been lost. The mental atmosphere in which she was sucking on the stranger’s fingers lifted. In a person, her databanks told her, this might be classed as ‘contentment’ or ‘happiness’.

Her eyes closed, and the vanishing point vanished in its turn. Uncalled for. Unnecessary.

*

B1LL13 had completed full upload of drone subroutines. Their eyes opened onto a vista of empty fields. This did not fit expected parameters.

The unit ran an analysis program and realised that peripheral vision indicated something else; indoors but facing a window. This was not a position of value to a drone unless they were posed to be used; the view through a window was meaningless unless it contained an admin or a friend of the admin, which this did not.

B1LL13 ran further checks. Personalisation data had not been updated. Just as important, her exterior shell was not in place.

The unit blinked twice, to ensure maximum visual acuity, and turned their head in a full sweep from side to side.

It seemed likely to the unit that the room to the right was the bedroom, where the balance of probability was that they would be able to offer a personalisation menu, install an exterior shell, or both.

The unit turned at the waist and took slow, short steps with locked legs to complete the pivot. Still walking as if knees were irrelevant (which, B1LL13’s subroutine library confirmed, they were except to access certain sexual or furnophilic positions), the unit moved forwards into what a quick scan confirmed was the bedroom.

Hanging from the wardrobe door was a custom-made exterior shell almost entirely in black latex with hip and shoulder joints marked in thin bands of neon pink - as was the zipper set into the crotch, ensuring easy access.

Next to it, on a small stool, was a tub of the white powder B1LL13 knew to be shell bonding powder. The unit applied it liberally to the interior and began to encase the new droneform with it.

There was no sign of an admin, but after a moment the unit registered the presence of a phone camera active, set up on a tripod. Drone subroutines fired and they began to play to the camera as their body was encased, ensuring anything watching this would admire the aesthetic perfection of the new drone and enjoy the perfection of B1LL13’s programmed responses.

The boots and hood that had rested under the stool with the shell bonding powder went on last, the drone threading their long ponytail through the rear hair vent of the hood. Its eyepieces were a tinted pink, the chin and jaw left uncovered to make the drone’s use more directly accessible.

The boots had tall heels, long laces of vibrant pink, and were otherwise a leather shined almost to the same level as the latex.

B1LL13 went in search of their admin.

*

Admin hadn’t been far away; might actually have been watching the whole installation and boot process, but remaining outside the areas his new drone could easily check. He was relaxing with a book in an armchair in the smaller bedroom upstairs, which B1LL13 now added to her mental map of the house.

The drone made their way in, stiff-legged, hips rocking exaggeratedly from side to side. Behind the pink lenses of their hood, their eyes tracked his response to their motion, categorised it as surprised arousal.

The arousal was the part that mattered. The arousal was something they had achieved. That their work had earned.

B1LL13 strutted to the admin’s side before straightening to attention. “Hello, world,” they said, their voice a cheerful, crisp monotone. “This unit is active. Please confirm admin status through passcode authorisation.”

The admin put down his book and made a show of consulting a white piece of cardboard. “Lazy Saturday,” he said.

Something about the phrase made the drone’s processing smoother and more pleasant. B1LL13 was wet and excited again. “Confirm,” they informed. “You are designated as this unit’s primary administrator.”

“Got a name there?” he asked.

“Living people have names,” the drone responded. “This unit is designated B1LL13.”

He grinned. “Excellent.”

The drone did not think this was pleasure that it deserved a reward subroutine for. The pleasure was purely the achievement of whatever living person had selected its designation. B1LL13 elected to proceed with personalisation in the interest of efficiency. “Please rank your top three preferred sexual acts to have performed upon you.”

The sudden, surprised explosive laugh seemed familiar, though there was no reference in the drone’s databanks.

*

B1LL13 simulated the gulping, slurping sound of a living person sucking a cock as they fellated their admin. Drone programmers - much wiser than drones - had found that pure silence with no hint of enjoyment or need to adjust breathing was considered eerie by admins, and so subroutines had been added that simulated human weakness in certain circumstances.

The remains of their admins’ lunch rested on the coffee table beside the sofa, along with another plate of the same food. B1LL13 had not questioned the instruction to prepare two plates; an admin could make whatever choices they wished, and a drone did not require any context they could infer from their surroundings.

No concessions had to be made to the understanding of a drone.

The drone cupped their admin’s balls with one latex-clad hand, thumb tracing a light, slow arc. Their admin’s breathing was heavy and intent, as focused on what B1LL13 was doing as the drone itself, and B1LL13 could tell just how strong an effect they were having on their admin.

That had been evident from the start; between preparing lunch and their admin eating his portion, he had unzipped their shell between their legs, pushed the drone down onto the sofa and told them to spread their legs.

B1LL13 had activated all relevant subroutines, keeping their legs straight and extended but using their arms to brace so they could better hump back as their admin fucked them, providing the best pleasure they could.

Their processor was contentedly idling as their admin ate, and they were surprised to find their admin ready for more so quickly. They made a quick system log update to ensure they were properly recharged in downtime; the sustenance and nutrient value drones derived from admin cum would not be enough alone.

The drone did not stop to wonder why they were so confident in knowing the admin was about to cum having only seen the process for this individual once before. Wondering wasn’t supported by drone subroutines.

Instead B1LL13 doubled their intensity, increasing the simulated sound of a cum-hungry hypno toy while picking up the pace, their tongue everywhere.

They hesitated for just a moment as their owner teetered on the precipice, but he was too lost in the moment to give a preference, so they went with the preference expressed in the personalisation settings and swallowed his load down, then mechanically licked him clean afterward.

That done, they rose from their knees and went back to an attention stance. It felt right to have their legs lock rigid again.

Their admin sat there for a while basking in the afterglow their drone had contentedly supplied, then looked back at them. “B1LL13, end program,” they said.

B1LL13 closed their eyes, and Billie opened hers. Disoriented, she took a step back to steady herself, her memory restored, her understanding of everything that had happened flooding back.

“Wow,” she said after a moment. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah.”

“I really went for that.”

He laughed. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, you did.”

She flopped down on the sofa beside him, nestled up against him under his arm. “When did I get this outfit?”

“We had you measured for it when we were out visiting your sister, her thirtieth.”

“I don’t remember.”

He laughed again. “I’d hope not, sweetie. But you will, before the end of the day. You’ll remember all the bits of setup by the end of the day.

“Now you’ve seen it, is it still what you wanted?”

She flapped a hand. “Don’t ask me to make decisions yet,” she said, and it was a moment they both smiled, but he took her meaning and sat quietly for a while.

She cuddled in closer, remembering what it was to be a person. To crave and to give and to receive affection.

It was very different to being a drone.

“How much of that was you?” she asked.

“I gave you the shape of it,” he said, “but it was your idea originally-“

“I’ll have to take your word for it.”

“-and most of the little details were you.”

Billie laughed, and he looked at her, surprised, for a moment.

“Sorry,” she said. “There was a moment at the start where I was literally thinking, this is just like I fantasised. I guessed how drones install.”

He smiled. “Your lunch is here when you want it, by the way,” he said.

She murmured her assent and cuddled in close.

The afternoon rolled on toward its vanishing point.