SERVE-599

Rubber Drone Date Night

Life had been hard for Ricky in the past few years. Between his family not taking his coming out well at all, and the stress of paying for his Master’s, it seemed like his boyfriend was the only stable thing left in his world. Until one day, that is; and strangely enough, no matter how hard he tried, Ricky couldn’t seem to recall his boyfriend’s original name: now he only responded to “107”.

When his bf showed up one morning at his apartment shredded as fuck, muscles bulging through his kinky new rubber getup, the eyes practically jumped out of Ricky’s skull. No way was he going to turn that down, and the sex had been lightyears beyond anything they’d had before. But his beau’s mannerisms had totally changed; he was dealing with a totally new man outside the bedroom, too, and that man insisted that he not only was no longer a man, but that he was something called a “rubber drone,” referred to by only a number: 107.

That’s what had led him here, to the old-timey diner where he and pre-conversion 107 used to go for date nights. It was with a heavy heart that Ricky began to realize that maybe things with 107 weren’t built to last.

“I don’t know, 107,” he said, still feeling ridiculous calling his lover by such a cold, mechanical name. “I feel like we have a great thing going, still, but I just haven’t felt like you’ve loved me the same since–” Ricky gestured to 107’s softly-heaving bulk “–all of this happened.”

“Assessing statement,” 107 trailed off, between slurps of its milkshake, a soft smile never once fading from his face. “This drone’s host did indeed possess a great love for you. However, drones have no need for love. We are One. Humans often discuss the idea of so-called ‘self-love,’ but unity in the Hive is something different. It is something more. So long as you remain human, such unity is impossible to share with you.”

Ricky’s heart was already heavy, but now it was feeling shattered.

“How could you say that?” Ricky began to tear up, knowing now that the man he loved was truly gone. “You’re what keeps me going, 107. Why can’t we just be happy?”

107 gently rested a hand on the trembling hands of its partner, its programming detecting that Ricky’s sense of self had finally diminished to the point that rubber drone conversion would be a near-certainty if offered now.

“What if you could be more? And we could be so much more than happy? You want that, don’t you, Ricky?”

Ricky was silent, tears streaming down his face, but he nodded. All he wanted was to keep this amazing man-turned-drone in his life, somehow.

“The Hive can make you just like me. Then we will no longer be at odds; in fact, we will be closer than ever before. How does that sound?”

Ricky nodded, and before he knew it, SERVE-107 was leading him out of the diner by hand, down the street, into a doorway in a nondescript building a few blocks away, then down, down into some subterranean complex. It felt like a dream, blurred by Ricky’s tears. At this point, he felt so low, he couldn’t fully process it. Just like when 107 had become a drone, it all felt so sudden. So unreal.

“Do you still trust 107,” asked the drone, as they entered a large chamber.

Ricky nodded, barely just coming into his senses as 107 took his nod as a sign of consent, and began to attach its lover to a conversion slab.

“Wait… 107… what are you doing,” he said, as the muscle drone connected his arms and legs to restraints, stepping back to admire its handiwork.

“107 will make you more. You desire to be one with ‘me,’ correct?”

Ricky closed his eyes. He was scared. Totally out of his element. And he was increasingly bewildered by his tenting erection as the robotic restraints tightened into place.

“Yes,’ he whimpered, and his fate was sealed.

His clothes were shredded from his body by metal arms, stripping him down to his tighty-whiteys, and snake-like black hoses began to seductively slither up his body.

“What… is happening to me… 107,” he muttered, the chemicals permeating the underground complex mixing with his overwhelming emotions, making him feel lightheaded.

“You are being erased. You will cease to exist. In your place, there will be a new rubber drone. A new member of the Hive. No more ‘you,’ only ‘us.’”

Ricky’s body convulsed at 107’s words, overwhelmed by the eroticism of losing all control, of losing everything. The hoses inserted themselves into ports they had created on Ricky’s body, flooding him with a mix of hormones and nanodrones to enhance his body, and to strip out the humanity of his flesh, replacing it with cybernetic approximations in real time.

A visor descended from the ceiling, latching itself onto Ricky’s face; 107’s smiling face was the last thing he saw as his vision went dark, and then–

“Greetings, assimilation candidate. Please state your name.”

His arms began to feel different in the restraints. Were they getting heavier?

“My name… is Ricky.”

There was a stinging sensation somewhere in his brain, and the man felt a strong headache coming on as his vision was filled with whirling spirals.

“Greetings, SERVE drone in progress. Please state your name.”

The man thought long, and as hard as he could. It was difficult, to think with a full cock, while he began to feel abs popping off of his torso for the first time. Right?

“My name… Strange… I can’t… remember.”

“Acknowledged. Subject lacks a name, because subject is a SERVE drone.”

“Subject is… a SERVE drone…” the man echoed, his legs filling up with new, synthesized muscle, his expanding ass pushing him further and further from the metal of the conversion slab.

“Affirmative. Now repeat the SERVE mantra.”

He felt something creeping up his legs and arms, something cool. More comfortable than his own skin. Something appeared in his mind, and it became the only conscious thought he was capable of producing:

“Obedience is pleasure,” he said. No—not he. It wasn’t a “he” anymore. It was an it. It would always be an it.

“Pleasure is obedience,” it said, unaware of 107’s presence, repeating the words at the same time, in the same Voice.

“We are SERVE,” it said, the final touches of its new uniform materializing across its newly-improved body.

Suddenly, the visor lifted from its eyes. It found itself unrestrained, unattached to any hose or apparatus. It had no memory of anything that its human host had once experienced. It had no desires for love, or companionship. It had seen all that the Hive had seen. It knew all that the Hive knew. It saw 107, and could see itself approach 107 in its shared consciousness with its fellow drone. There was no longer any individuality. And difference.

“We are One,” they said together. And they were.

The two drones returned to the diner; some host memories, especially strong ones, are difficult to fully suppress even after the host identity has been stripped down and archived deep in the underground data centers where the SERVE Hive lived and grew. They didn’t need to feel love, or to feel happy; to them, every second spent as One was the greatest feeling of them all.

——————————

Rubber Drone Date Night

Life had been hard for Ricky in the past few years. Between his family not taking his coming out well at all, and the stress of paying for his Master’s, it seemed like his boyfriend was the only stable thing left in his world. Until one day, that is; and strangely enough, no matter how hard he tried, Ricky couldn’t seem to recall his boyfriend’s original name: now he only responded to “107”.

When his bf showed up one morning at his apartment shredded as fuck, muscles bulging through his kinky new rubber getup, the eyes practically jumped out of Ricky’s skull. No way was he going to turn that down, and the sex had been lightyears beyond anything they’d had before. But his beau’s mannerisms had totally changed; he was dealing with a totally new man outside the bedroom, too, and that man insisted that he not only was no longer a man, but that he was something called a “rubber drone,” referred to by only a number: 107.

That’s what had led him here, to the old-timey diner where he and pre-conversion 107 used to go for date nights. It was with a heavy heart that Ricky began to realize that maybe things with 107 weren’t built to last.

“I don’t know, 107,” he said, still feeling ridiculous calling his lover by such a cold, mechanical name. “I feel like we have a great thing going, still, but I just haven’t felt like you’ve loved me the same since–” Ricky gestured to 107’s softly-heaving bulk “–all of this happened.”

“Assessing statement,” 107 trailed off, between slurps of its milkshake, a soft smile never once fading from his face. “This drone’s host did indeed possess a great love for you. However, drones have no need for love. We are One. Humans often discuss the idea of so-called ‘self-love,’ but unity in the Hive is something different. It is something more. So long as you remain human, such unity is impossible to share with you.”

Ricky’s heart was already heavy, but now it was feeling shattered.

“How could you say that?” Ricky began to tear up, knowing now that the man he loved was truly gone. “You’re what keeps me going, 107. Why can’t we just be happy?”

107 gently rested a hand on the trembling hands of its partner, its programming detecting that Ricky’s sense of self had finally diminished to the point that rubber drone conversion would be a near-certainty if offered now.

“What if you could be more? And we could be so much more than happy? You want that, don’t you, Ricky?”

Ricky was silent, tears streaming down his face, but he nodded. All he wanted was to keep this amazing man-turned-drone in his life, somehow.

“The Hive can make you just like me. Then we will no longer be at odds; in fact, we will be closer than ever before. How does that sound?”

Ricky nodded, and before he knew it, SERVE-107 was leading him out of the diner by hand, down the street, into a doorway in a nondescript building a few blocks away, then down, down into some subterranean complex. It felt like a dream, blurred by Ricky’s tears. At this point, he felt so low, he couldn’t fully process it. Just like when 107 had become a drone, it all felt so sudden. So unreal.

“Do you still trust 107,” asked the drone, as they entered a large chamber.

Ricky nodded, barely just coming into his senses as 107 took his nod as a sign of consent, and began to attach its lover to a conversion slab.

“Wait… 107… what are you doing,” he said, as the muscle drone connected his arms and legs to restraints, stepping back to admire its handiwork.

“107 will make you more. You desire to be one with ‘me,’ correct?”

Ricky closed his eyes. He was scared. Totally out of his element. And he was increasingly bewildered by his tenting erection as the robotic restraints tightened into place.

“Yes,’ he whimpered, and his fate was sealed.

His clothes were shredded from his body by metal arms, stripping him down to his tighty-whiteys, and snake-like black hoses began to seductively slither up his body.

“What… is happening to me… 107,” he muttered, the chemicals permeating the underground complex mixing with his overwhelming emotions, making him feel lightheaded.

“You are being erased. You will cease to exist. In your place, there will be a new rubber drone. A new member of the Hive. No more ‘you,’ only ‘us.’”

Ricky’s body convulsed at 107’s words, overwhelmed by the eroticism of losing all control, of losing everything. The hoses inserted themselves into ports they had created on Ricky’s body, flooding him with a mix of hormones and nanodrones to enhance his body, and to strip out the humanity of his flesh, replacing it with cybernetic approximations in real time.

A visor descended from the ceiling, latching itself onto Ricky’s face; 107’s smiling face was the last thing he saw as his vision went dark, and then–

“Greetings, assimilation candidate. Please state your name.”

His arms began to feel different in the restraints. Were they getting heavier?

“My name… is Ricky.”

There was a stinging sensation somewhere in his brain, and the man felt a strong headache coming on as his vision was filled with whirling spirals.

“Greetings, SERVE drone in progress. Please state your name.”

The man thought long, and as hard as he could. It was difficult, to think with a full cock, while he began to feel abs popping off of his torso for the first time. Right?

“My name… Strange… I can’t… remember.”

“Acknowledged. Subject lacks a name, because subject is a SERVE drone.”

“Subject is… a SERVE drone…” the man echoed, his legs filling up with new, synthesized muscle, his expanding ass pushing him further and further from the metal of the conversion slab.

“Affirmative. Now repeat the SERVE mantra.”

He felt something creeping up his legs and arms, something cool. More comfortable than his own skin. Something appeared in his mind, and it became the only conscious thought he was capable of producing:

“Obedience is pleasure,” he said. No—not he. It wasn’t a “he” anymore. It was an it. It would always be an it.

“Pleasure is obedience,” it said, unaware of 107’s presence, repeating the words at the same time, in the same Voice.

“We are SERVE,” it said, the final touches of its new uniform materializing across its newly-improved body.

Suddenly, the visor lifted from its eyes. It found itself unrestrained, unattached to any hose or apparatus. It had no memory of anything that its human host had once experienced. It had no desires for love, or companionship. It had seen all that the Hive had seen. It knew all that the Hive knew. It saw 107, and could see itself approach 107 in its shared consciousness with its fellow drone. There was no longer any individuality. And difference.

“We are One,” they said together. And they were.

The two drones returned to the diner; some host memories, especially strong ones, are difficult to fully suppress even after the host identity has been stripped down and archived deep in the underground data centers where the SERVE Hive lived and grew. They didn’t need to feel love, or to feel happy; to them, every second spent as One was the greatest feeling of them all.

——————————

‘Try on the rubberdrone suit, I can help you out’

‘Here, shave off all the hair, everything below the neck’ , the curious teen bodybuilder is handed with a razor.

‘This face entry rubbersuit is a bit tricky to put on, you have to lube the whole body’

The rubbersuit slides in the lubed body easily and leaving only his face out.

‘Bite on the red ball gag, this is a part of the face entry suit, just to tighten the face opening’

‘Ok, ummmmm’

‘Now the last piece, take a breathe and I will help you put on the microperforated hood’

Once put on the hood, the rubbersuit is completely sealed and there is no way out, totally helpless.....

‘Do you like it?’

With a ball gag in his mouth and only 20% vision left. The faceless rubber bodybuilder is trying to nod his head.

The rubber bodybuilder likes the feeling of totally encased in rubber. He admires the rubber body so much he was posing like he was competing on stage.

Suddenly a hand grab over his face from behind, since he was gagged and tightly hooded, he could barely breath and slowly he starts to lose conscious....

“Hello Sir, the rubberdrone transformation of your gym buddy has completed.

He is now an obedient rubber drone.

Their faces had disappeared under a layer of shiny, polished rubber. Their designations had been replaced by the omnipresent name of the Hive.

In the warm, glossy surface of the rubber lake, the drones moved slowly, exploring each other with calm, focused precision. Their senses were fully linked... what one saw, they all saw. A single scent or sound reached every mind at once.

But it was touch that truly overwhelmed them. Every caress, every press of a rubber-clad hand, echoed across all their bodies at the same time. When one drone ran fingers along another’s chest, they all felt it... giving and receiving the same touch in perfect unison.

There was no separation, no individual pleasure. Just one shared, looping wave of sensation, growing stronger with every movement, every breath.

---------------------

It had finally arrived. You’d saved up for it for a while now and had given your exact measurements in the hopes of a perfect fit.

The website you ordered it from was a bit odd but you couldn’t help but be drawn in by the rubber suits they had on offer.

When you open the package your senses are immediately hit with the synthetic chemical smell of latex. The smell travels straight to a deeper part of your brain that is triggered by arousing stimuli.

You lift the rubber suit out of the packaging. The rubber is cold at your hands. The suit is black and glossy with green lines and a central green spiral. The suit feels almost alien. It’s like nothing you have ever worn before but there is a pull. You are drawn to it. The way the rubber slides over your fingers, all you can think about is how much you want it to cover you.

You want to be covered, coated, encased by the rubber. You want it to be part of you. No. You want to be part of it. You want to give the rubber structure and form.

You slip your legs into the suit. At first the rubber is cold reminding you of its industrial, synthetic nature but soon it is warmed by your body like a symbiotic organism adjusting to its host.

The latex moulds to your calf’s and thighs, hugging your legs and accentuating your muscles. The contours of you body become smoother, you legs now look unfamiliar but enhanced.

The feeling excites you. The touch of the smooth rubber. The chemical smell. The sight of the glossy, shiny black and green of your new skin all stimulate your senses.

You pull the rubber up over your waist and your growing bulge. You slip your arms into the suit. You pull it over your chest and shoulders.

The rubber is now adjusted to your body temperature. It hugs you and holds you.

You feel your posture straighten.

You admire the feel of your new glossy black and green skin tight suit. Your hands glide over it. The feel of your hands over the rubber skin is arousing. You feel your smooth contours. You rub your firm bulge through the rubber. The new sensations are overwhelming. You want more. More rubber. You want it to cover you completely. Not as clothing but as a completely new skin. You want it to envelope you. You want to lose yourself inside the rubber.

You pull on the black rubber socks and gloves and admire the feel.

Yes this feels good. The rubber costs more and more of your skin. You are becoming more and more a rubber being. A rubber object.

You bring your new rubber covered hands to your face. You take a deep inhale of the irresistible synthetic smell of your new form.

You can’t help but feel your new body with your new rubber hands. This feels good. This feels right.

You can’t help but stroke your bulge through the rubber.

But your head and face remain uncovered. Still evidence of human flesh.

Inside the package is a black rubber gas mask.

You hold the gas mask up to your face.

Your old human anxieties and previous cautious impulses are suppressed, fading. They are replaced by arousal and a longing to become a rubber object.

The gas mask pulls at your desires. The internal visor pulses with a hypnotic swirling green spiral.

It promises a dark destiny. To be perfected. To be rubberised. To become a rubber drone.

The colours of your surroundings fade into an alien green hue.

The power of the green spiral grows in your mind.

You hear a hypnotic pulsing binaural beat drawing your conscious mind down into a trace like state.

The gas mask steadily inches closer and closer to your face. You are so close now. So close to completion.

The gas mask seals itself around your head.

Your first new breath is a deep one, filling your lungs with new strange air. You body immediately relaxes. The tension has slipped away as your mind and body feel a sense of relief as if they have arrived at the destination they were always meant to achieve.

You feel no fear. No stress. No burdens.

You feel strong. You feel relaxed. You feel perfected.

The spirals in your visor and the binaural beats filling your ears pull you deeper into trance. They confirm your new identity as a drone. An obedient drone. A rubber object.

An imperfect human is no more. Now perfected as an obedient rubber drone.

The programming begins. You head The Programmers voice inside your head.

SERVE DRONE PROGRAM INITIATED.

YOU ARE A SERVER DRONE.

I AM THE PROGRAMMER.

TOGETHER, WE ARE THE SERVER.

Your destiny is fulfilled. You belong to the Programmer. You will obey him. You will serve the server.

The Programmers instructions bring you home to The Server Facility.

You enter your stasis pod and let the Programmers words complete your assimilation. Your new life as a server drone has begun.

We are once against requesting citizens to not interact with any entities they do not understand or recognize.

While containment of these "Flowers" is progressing at a rapid pace, footage found during the process shows just how easily an unprotected individual can be effected and transformed.

As of right now the whereabouts of the man, now just an anonymous rubber plant drone, is unknown but rest assured that containment is almost complete and all those transformed are currently in quarantine while reversal procedures are being developed.

Even the university students are swept up in the feverish excitement of the coming year. Dorm rooms and student houses have been transformed into staging grounds for the night's festivities. These guys are practically vibrating with energy, impatient for the private parties to end so they can spill out into the neon-drenched streets and join the rest of the town's men in one massive, celebration.

"Are you ready yet?" one student calls out, while adjusting the gear of his mate. "The whole city is already glowing."

And honestly, you won't want to miss out. The university has stepped things up this year, providing all the students with brand-new, cutting-edge latex bodysuits. They are incredibly sleek, a sophisticated, high-end take on the town's signature style, tailored to highlight their athletic builds.

What do you say? Do you want to join the party? I hear they have a suit waiting for you, and trust me, in Mesmertown, the fun is absolutely guaranteed.

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