Job Reassignment
Commissioned by JustAnotherWolfFurry
Written by TwistedSnakes
Illustrated by Qundium
E-reader link (Mobile-friendly, themes, EPUB and PDF format)
The eagle in the next room looks at me with pleading eyes, and for a second I forget there's a one-way glass pane between us. He's in a white-panelled room just like mine, but our rooms have very different purposes. I stand in front of a touchscreen control panel that shows his biometrics on a digital display. It tells me his name is "Elliot Simon", but it wouldn't matter in a few minutes.
"Hey, please," The brown-feathered eagle whimpers pitifully. He struggles in vain against the restraints that keep his body spreadeagle in an "X" shape. His nakedness adds to his vulnerability. "I know you're there. I'll pay it all back, promise! I just need a little more time."
I sigh. We're both in similar situations. We've both racked up debts in the Silver Serpent Casino, and now we've got to pay it off. He just got the shorter end of the stick. A box that says "Begin" flashes on the control panel and I tap on it. The ceiling panel above the eagle slides to the side, and a mechanical arm descends from behind it, carrying a black gas mask.
"No! Wait!" the eagle yells. "Please, I--mffnt!" An in-built tube in the mask is shoved into his open beak, muffling him as it slides over his face. Adhesives on the inside of the mask keeps it stuck to his head as the arm releases him. Everything moves swiftly. A floor panel slides open and more robotic arms emerge. One of them is holding a large anal plug, another two arms hold up a black latex suit.
The avian's frantic breaths come out as hisses from behind the gas mask. He yelps loudly as his rear is ruthlessly fitted with the oversized plug. Arms stretch the neck of the latex suit open, slipping the eagle's legs and feathered tail into it. His feet talons slide into the lubricated suit and two arms adjust his cock into the null bulge on its front.
Too shocked to resist, the eagle finds his torso being suited up in the latex too. Mechanical arms encase his biological arms in the rubber sleeves of his suit, turning them into shiny black. The arms release the suit, letting it snap around his neck, flush against his golden feathers. A latex hood goes over his head, encasing his head in black rubber save for the gas mask. A heat sealer joins all three parts of the suit together, leaving a seamless latex eagle struggling in the restraints.
I tap another button, and a metal tube is lowered over the eagle. It connects with a valve on the side of the gas mask. The eagle squirms and lets out muffled pleas, but his struggling quickly subsides as a purple gas is pumped into his mask. His eyes look dazed and his body slumps weakly in his restraints. On the display panel, his name is scrubbed away and replaced by his new identity: Drone P-194-841-722.
Another tap of a button releases him from the frame and he stands numbly in the middle of the room. Picking up the microphone, I test his obedience with basic instructions like walking around the room, kneeling, and presenting himself. The gas seems to have done its job, making his mind pliant to my commands. Using the control panel, I open a door on the other side of the room and instruct him to exit through it.
I sit back against my chair and close my eyes. The next slave-to-be will be here in a few moments, and it'll be back to work for me. I envy these people sometimes. Sure, it's not a pleasant experience being turned into a brainwashed drone, but it's only a few years of mindless servitude. After they work off their debt, we'll turn them back to normal and let them go. Meanwhile, I'll be spending the next decade or so in these labs. If I'm not turning debtors into slaves, I'd be tasked with finding ways to improve the process. It's mindlessly boring.
"Lab staff Tarik, ID T93-902N. Report to Lab 3-82 for your job reassignment."
Huh? They actually considered my request? About a week ago, I made a request for a promotion, or at least a change of position. Like I said, this is a terribly mundane job. I wouldn't mind doing something else. A job at the front desk would be nice, but a promotion would be the best-case scenario for me. If I got promoted, it'd mean no more menial labour. I could oversee the slave-processing without having to get involved myself. It'd also mean I get a pay raise which will pay my debts off earlier. I could be free of the Silver Serpent!
I make my way through a maze of corridors until I come to Lab 3-82. The Head of Operations, Javek, is waiting for me inside. I walk through the control room and into the processing lab where the tern is waiting for me. With him are two lab assistants, a rhino and a panther. In the middle of the room is a raised platform that functions as an operating table.
"Tarik, ID T93-902N, reporting for duty. Something about my job reassignment, sir?"
"Yeap, you heard right. I'll go straight to the point. We're currently experiencing a shortage of drones. Not the common slaves which you have been processing, but the premium ones we assign to VIP guests."
"Will I be trained to process premium drones then?"
"Almost right, but not quite. You're correct in saying you'll be trained. And I daresay you'll make a good drone."
"Thank you. I'm looking forward to--wait. No, no!" I make a dash for the door but it materialises shut in front of me. "Wait! I've changed my mind. Can we talk about this?"
The rhino and panther grip me by the shoulders and drag me to the operating platform. I pride myself on my muscular frame, but my captors are much stronger than me. They lift me up and lay me on the platform, pinning my wrists and ankles down despite my desperate thrashing. Steel cuffs are snapped around them.
"Actually, I'm perfectly happy with my current position, surely there's someone else who can--ackk!"
Javek pries my jaws open and pushes a clear acrylic tube into my mouth, making it impossible for me to talk. He slides it in deeper down the back of my mouth, activating my gag reflex. My body spasms as I choke, but Javek continues with professional precision. He manoeuvres the tube down my throat until the other end of the tube is at the entrance of my maw.
The unwelcome intruder spreads open my gullet with its smooth, cold walls. Leather straps are buckled around my head, holding the tube in place. The discomfort makes me tear up a bit, turning the ceiling lights into blurry shimmers in my vision. A hose is connected to the tube in my mouth, and a stinging liquid is pumped down my throat.
My eyes roll to the back of my head and I'm shivering. No matter how much I clench my throat, I can't stop the liquid from gushing into my stomach. It fills me up, and I feel painfully bloated before passing out.
I wake up to darkness. Latex surfaces are pressed against the bare fur of my body, squeezing me from all directions. My mind takes a while to clear, but I quickly figure out where I am. This is how we store slaves: enclose them between two black latex sheets and vacuum the air out from between them. By hanging them vertically in our storage sectors, we can store a lot of slaves in a small amount of space.
Cuffs on an unseen metal frame restrain my arms above my head. My ankles are similarly bound, confirming my suspicions. A breathing tube is in my mouth, and a metal intruder in my tailhole acts as the waste disposal system. Ugh. This must be how slaves feel when I prepare them for storage.
My rear feels sore with a burning sensation, and I realise what the liquid they had fed me was. It's a non-toxic cleaning agent meant to clean out a slave's digestive system. After that, they can put me on a liquid diet without having to worry about me producing solid waste.
Is it bad that my work has made me knowledgeable of what's happening? I try to imagine what an unacquainted slave might feel. I'd wake up scared, maybe struggle for a couple of minutes before I give in to the feeling of despair. Yet knowing about what is to come isn't comforting either. I clench the metal plug in my rear and I shiver from the cold.
There is a sudden jerk and I'm moved forward. My vertical vacbed is sliding along metal rails, bringing me out of storage and into a processing lab. Sure enough, my restraints come to a halt and the latex sheets are peeled away. The bright lights sting my eyes and I close my eyes. When I open them again, I see a lab technician looking at a digital tablet in his hands.
I spit out the tube from my mouth. "Hey." I look at the bear's ID tag. "Perce. There must've been a mistake. You see, I'm a lab staff too. I think there must've been a mix-up, and I found myself here. If you could just--"
"Your name is Tarik, yeah?"
"Yeah, but if you could please--"
"That's your on the clipboard." He points to the tablet in his hands and shrugs.
"What...what does it say on the clipboard?"
"Erm, let's see. Tarik. Premium-tier drone. Requires long-term obedience conditioning."
"Obedience conditioning? No, wait--nff!" He forces a ball gag into my mouth, interrupting my speech. "Mfnhg!" I protest with glaring eyes.
Perce brushes me off. "I'm just doing my job."
I struggle in the restraints, but they don't yield. What did I expect, when so many slaves before me have failed to escape these industrial-strength cuffs? I watch helplessly as a panel opens up, revealing a black leather collar, a metal anal plug, and a steel chastity belt. The bear picks it up and comes over to my squirming form.
He removes the disposal tube from my rear and replaces it with the metal plug. I shiver and gasp as the cold steel in my rear saps my body's inner heat. Before I can recover, he locks the chastity belt around my crotch with the unfeeling efficiency that only a Silver Serpent lab staff can achieve. I hear the familiar click and the whirring of gears as the locking mechanism engages, only this time it's my fate being sealed.
I look down at my crotch. My manhood is nothing more than a steel bulge that takes the form of my unsheathed cock and balls--a visual reminder of what lies beneath. The metal presses my unerect shaft against my nuts and hugs the entire package with its form-fitting curves. I adjust my hips, feeling the device's snug grip on my body. The rigid plug in my rear moves as I shift my rear.
The device fulfils a number of purposes. First, it prevents a slave from pleasuring himself. Only through servitude will he be rewarded with sexual relief. Second, it reminds the slave of his lowly position. There's only room for one dick in the relationship, and it's not the slave's. The bear clasps a metal collar around my neck and another electronic lock secures it in place.
The third reason: the sexual frustration coupled with sheer humiliation is an effective method of breaking a person down into an obedient slave. Well, maybe it'd work on a mentally weak slave, but not me. Unlike the people who come here to be processed, I know how the lab procedures work. I won't succumb to the mental tactics used by us lab staff.
As the bear leads me out of the room, I strengthen my resolve. If the Silver Serpent thinks it's going to turn me into a lowly drone, it's in for a nasty surprise. I'm stronger than that. You can't break me down like the other slaves.
I bite my lip and wince, allowing no more than a soft whimper to escape my throat. I had just served a cocktail to a white-plumed eagle, and he is now stroking my bare chest with his talons. He brings his hands down my sides, around the front of my thighs, then up to my crotch. His fingers grope the chastity cage where my balls are trapped beneath the tight metal.
Fuck.
I'm still wearing nothing more than my steel collar and chastity belt, but I can almost feel his talons massage and knead my wolfnuts. I thought I wasn't that needy, but my arousal tells me otherwise. The sheath-shaped prison of the chastity device refuses to let my red rocket leave its furry scabbard. The tip of my dick presses against the unforgiving steel and I let out another frustrated wheeze. I want to step away from the sexual torture. I want to thrust my hips into the eagle's skilful hands. I want to moan in euphoric pleasure. I want to cry out in frustration.
But slaves aren't allowed to do any of that. I need to keep still so the eagle can have his way with my body. The avian looks at my expression and chuckles. I bite my lip harder to stifle my moans. I'm not sure if I'm thankful or disappointed when he finally pats my metal-encased crotch and I return to my position behind the bar. I glance at the eagle, hoping he'd call me over again for another drink.
"Slave." A heavy hand clamps down on my shoulder and I turn around. My manager is there, accompanied by a taller stag. Unlike my manager, the stag isn't wearing a black business suit--the typical uniform of service staff. Instead, he's sporting a white tuxedo that admin staff wear.
"Yes, sir?" I ask nervously.
"It's time for the next phase of your training," the stag says coldly. "Follow me."
Next phase? There's still more? I look at my manager for help but his stern stare reminds me of my place. My ears are pressed against the back of my head and I hang my head submissively. I quickly follow the stag before he can punish me for hesitating.
The sight of a nude slave dressed only in a collar and chastity belt is commonplace. Cognitively I know nobody is paying me any heed, but I can't help but feel like everyone is staring at our little procession.
I want to ask about this training. I've been serving obediently, and my boss has no complaints about my performance. What about me needs to be improved? Why do I need more training? But I don't open my mouth. I'm not allowed to speak, and even then it's only to answer when I've been asked a question. It's not that bad, though. It's easier to leave the responsibilities of decision-making to someone else while I keep my head low and obey orders.
We enter a dimly lit lounge. People stare in interest as the stag leads me to the middle of the room where a bondage bench is installed. I've seen this before in one of the kink bars here; the slave would kneel on the padded supports, resting his chest on the middle platform. His legs would be spread apart, leaving his rear perfect for someone to fuck: just the right height and utterly vulnerable. The same goes for his maw once a ring gag is applied.
Am I here to clean the bench? Wipe it down? Maybe a sex slave will be tied down there and I'll have to care for him. Slaves can't do much once bound in that rack, so they need to be fed a liquid diet and cleaned from time to time. Wipe down his fur, flush out the residual cum in his rear, make sure he's as comfortable as the restraints allow.
"Get on."
Huh? Wait, no! Something's wrong. I'm a service slave, not a sex one. I don't understand.
"Get on," the stag repeats sternly. The glare in his eyes tells me this is no mistake.
I hastily get on the bench before he can repeat himself a third time. Its leather surfaces are black with red highlights, which I now realise match my fur colouration. My arms rest on the forearm supports, and I position my shins on the leg supports. The stag swiftly brings two leather straps across each arm. Unseen buckles secure the straps in place with electronic locks, never coming off until an authorised staff member lets me go.
I nervously turn my head to follow the stag until he disappears behind me. He restrains my legs similarly. I can barely budge from beneath the straps; they are tight enough to hold me down, but not too tightly to the point of restricting blood flow. There's the sound of sliding metal as the leg supports are pulled apart, exposing my metal-clad rump.
The stag isn't done yet. I can feel him using a specialised screwdriver on the rear of my chastity belt. The anal shield comes away and he tugs on the base of the plug lodged in my tailhole. The lube in my rear has long since dried up, so there's immense friction as the stag eases the plug out of me. I stifle a gasp with each twist of the toy, until with a soft pop, it emerges from my loosened tunnel. A sigh escapes my maw before I can stop myself. There's a calming sense of relief as my rear muscles get a chance to relax, accompanied by a feeling of emptiness in my gaping hole.
Two thick straps are pulled over my upper and lower back, restraining my torso to the central padded support. He pulls my tail up to these straps and buckles it to their cuffs, making sure I can't defend my exposed rear. The stag comes back to the front, but another presence immediately takes his place behind me. Who's there? I try to look behind me, but the restraints don't provide enough yield.
"Is this one ready for use?" says the voice behind me.
"Be my guest, sir." The stag gestures with an open palm, offering my rear up for the unseen guest to exploit.
"H-hey wait, I'm not--hifff!" My frantic protest is reduced to a high-pitched whimper as the stag grabs my hair and pulls it back roughly.
"What is the fourth rule of being a slave?" he asks. His cold green eyes stare into my soul with incensed fury. Without thinking, I had spoken out of turn.
"S-slaves shall only speak when spoken to," I stutter.
The person behind me slides the tapered tip of his lubricated dick into my tensed tailhole. He aligns himself carefully before ramming forcefully into me. I clench my throat to stifle a yell of pain. He's bigger than the toy I was plugged with, stretching my tunnel beyond its usual limits.
"Good. If you have forgotten your training, I will not hesitate to send you for correction. Do you understand, slave?" Before I can reply, he shoves a metal ring gag into my maw. It bites into the gums on my upper and lower jaws, keeping my mouth wide open. It hurts if I try to close it.
My collar is secured to the bench, keeping my head in place and my maw at a fuckable height. I look up at the stag pleadingly, and he responds by clasping a black visor around my eyes. It acts as a blindfold, except that it has attachments around my temples and behind my ears that keep it secured around my head. Not even a sympathetic bystander can take it off me.
I hear the stag step to the side, and another manly scent hits my nose. Something firm and fleshy slaps my face, a hardness that I immediately recognise as a dick.
"Get ready for my meat, toy."
Toy. He called me a toy. They've broken me down from a person to a slave, a process I've stopped resisting, even if only to reduce the suffering. Now, they are turning me into a toy. An object for the sexual pleasure of others.
The cock enters my maw without hesitation. My gag reflex activates and I choke, but the metal ring keeps my maw open despite my violent spasms.
"New to this, eh?" There's a chuckle. "Don't worry, we'll get you used to this in no time."
He fucks my maw relentlessly, stretching out my throat with his girthy shaft. The other sizable dick continues to plough through my rear too, rubbing my insides raw with heated friction. My body is trembling, assaulted by a mixture of pleasure and pain. The torso support presses the chastity belt against my crotch as my body rests on top of it. If the cage felt tight before, this feels ten times worse. My unwilling erection feels compressed and compacted within the unyielding metal prison of the chastity cage.
My frantic whimpers are muffled by the cock in my mouth. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the satisfied stag exit the lounge, leaving me to my training. The person behind me plunges his knot into my hole and I scream. He pumps my rear full of his warm, sticky cum and I feel disgusted to the core. I let out a defeated groan as the other cock continues to throat-fuck me.
I hope when the other slaves come and tend to me, they'll do a proper job and clean me out properly. I'd appreciate a head pat or two, just a bit of comfort to tide me through this predicament. In the meantime, though, I'll have to be obedient and accept my training, just like a good slave.
Cum fills my mouth as the guy in front of me orgasms. He lifts my chin, letting his salty-sweet spunk flow down my throat.
"Swallow it all down, toy. Don't waste a single drop of my precious seed."
I swallow. Just like a good slave.
I've lost track of how long I've been here. Weeks? Months? Probably months by now.
I hear someone step in front of me, and I offer my maw to them. The person doesn't immediately shove his dick into my mouth, so I guess it's a slave coming to feed and wash me. I'm wrong on both counts because I feel the person unlocking the blind visor. The dim purple lights of the lounge are harsher than I remember, and I screw up my eyes in pain.
When I open my eyes again, I see a snake in front of me. White tux. Admin staff. He's releasing my collar and undoing the straps from the bondage bench. After that, he unbinds my legs too.
"Get up."
I stumble unsteadily to my feet. It's almost as if my body has forgotten the existence of my legs.
"Follow me."
With my jelly legs, I stagger after the snake. I'm barely aware of my miserable state. My fur is matted with dried cum. Residual spunk leaks out from my rear as I walk. Too tired to look around, I keep my gaze on the snake's back and let him lead me.
We go through an employee entrance into the white corridors of the staff area. An elevator ride brings us to the lower floors of the Silver Serpent where the labs are located. My body moves on autopilot as I obey commands without question or hesitation. Soon, I find myself lying on a table in a white sterile lab. It seemed like ages ago when I was last here as a lab staff.
The snake releases the collar from my neck and unlocks the chastity device, leaving me truly naked for the first time in forever. The missing collar feels strangely unsettling, and I'm not sure what to think of it.
"I'll hand him over to your team," the snake says.
"Yes, sir."
The snake leaves the lab and the door re-materialises behind him. I feel a warm jet of water spray over my chest as three or four pairs of hands scrub my fur. Someone is directing the jet of water over various parts of my body. I smell the stinging scent of the chemical soap that's used on processed slaves. Someone's carefully cleaning out my ear, and another person is paying close attention to my sheath and balls as he scrubs them.
As they wash me, I'm like a limp corpse being prepared for a funeral. It's not just physically too. I feel like my emotions have been drained away and dumped into the bottom of an abyssal pit. Escape...I'm too tired to even think of it. Guards will apprehend me before I can even get out of the labs. Whatever they have planned for me, I'll just let them do it. It's easier that way.
They flip me over so I'm lying on my belly. Brushes scrub up and down my back, smoothing out the matted fur. The jet of water is directed to my rear. The cool water feels rejuvenating to my sore tailhole and I gasp from the unfamiliar sense of release. One of them pry my maw open and brush my teeth with a plastic toothbrush. I'm hosed down, and jets of warm air are blasted at me. Once my back fur is no longer damp, they flip me over a second time. In a matter of minutes, my fur is completely dry.
"Perma-application of suit?"
"Yep."
I close my eyes as they smooth my fur down. A dense liquid is sprayed over me, sticking to my fur and weighing it down. That's the lubricant we use to suit slaves up in latex. It helps the rubber material slide up fur and scales. One of the lab staff retrieves a full body latex suit hanging on a wall panel. The rest of the team assists him as he tugs the white latex up my left leg. The rubber glides smoothly over my body, stretching over my calves and thighs. A pair of hands eases out the creases, pushing the excess material up my leg until my foot is encased in tightly stretched rubber. The exterior of the white latex is shiny, reflecting the ceiling lights across the smooth curves of my leg.
My other leg gets the same treatment as the suit is pulled up. Tugging, squeezing, smoothing. As the rubber reaches my hips, I realise that the front of the suit has a hole. My cock and balls are pushed through the hole, and the latex is released so the edges of the hole snap around the back of my nuts and the base of my shaft. I grunt weakly.
One of them adjusts the rear of the suit. Something is nudged against my tailhole. I close my eyes, reluctantly accepting the rear intruder. It's longer than I thought, and it delves deeply into my flesh as it spreads my tunnel open. I clench to get a feel of it. It's stiff but pliable, yielding slightly as I squeeze it. It doesn't shift though; the latex suit must be keeping it in. I've seen this before. It's an anal port built into the suit to give full access of a slave's rear to anyone using it.
A large anal plug is shoved into my latex tailhole. Its tapered tip force me open and I gasp painfully. It takes everything within me not to scream. As the widest part of the plug is shoved past my pucker, my ring of muscles swallows it up and squeeze around its narrow neck. Despite its size, I feel a sense of filling comfort. An oval-shape shield is brought out. My manhood is carefully tucked into place as the shield is put over it. Metal attachments on the latex suit immediately latch onto the edges of the shield, electronically locking it in place. My bulge is now a smooth white dome.
They said perma-application, right? The lubricant is probably laced with glue. It'll stick to my fur, bonding it to the latex permanently. I close my eyes. If they're going to do it anyway, then let's get it done and over with.
More lubricating glue is smeared across my arms and torso. On either side of me, the lab staff fit my hands through the arm sleeves of the suit. I smell the scent of treated rubber as the suit is pulled up my chest and shoulders. The torso of the suit sticks to my chest, rising and falling with each breath I take. After letting out another breath, I realise that this white latex is my new skin. Gah. I whimper softly. Drones don't complain. Drones don't make noises.
I'm rolled over to my side, allowing them to pull the back of the suit together. A heat gun seals the two rubber flaps together, giving me a seamless latex skin. They lower me back on the operating table. A white hood is pulled over my head, encasing every inch of it in latex except for my face. An earplug in each ear of the suit is plugged into my ear canal, held in place by the rubber material. They function as both earplugs and speakers, allowing someone to mute my surroundings, or feed me audio input.
The heat gun seals the hood to the rest of the suit. I'm fitted with a pair of white leather boots. As they lift my legs to put them on, I feel their hefty weight pull on my feet. More glue is added, making them a permanent addition to my outfit.
I think back to all the slaves who I've processed in the past. They were all scared and squirming, desperate to escape. Why aren't I feeling the same desperation? All I'm feeling is an empty numbness. Like I've been broken into a thousand pieces inside with no strength left to stand. I don't even want to get off the table as they prepare the last piece of the suit.
"Neulink."
"Got it."
Neural Uplink Mask. They're going to override my thoughts too. This one looks modified. Instead of a full face visor, there's a visor on the upper half and a curved metal mask on the lower half. Inside the mask is a tube that's shoved into my mouth. The tube gag goes deep into my throat, but I'm used to taking things without it activating my gag reflex. The rest of the mask is pressed against my face, filling my vision with nothing but the white of the visor. My nose is pressed against the filtered ventilators and my breaths come out as faint hisses. Glue seals the mask to my latex skin.
The staff leave the lab and I lie on the table motionlessly. My visor turns black and I feel an electric shock run across my scalp. There's another pulse of electricity and I see nothing but colours.
"Mental resistance at 0.04% -- negligible. Commencing drone reprogramming," I hear a staff say.
My thoughts go fuzzy. Hard...to think...
Slipping away anyway.
I see a faceless figure in my mind, but I immediately know he's a master I must serve. I see myself in my white latex body and black featureless visor. My mouth salivates, filling my oral fuckhole with lubricant to please my master's dick. I clench and squeeze my rear port, readying my other hole should he wish to use it instead.
If I had been despondent and hopeless before, I'm filled with renewed vigour now. I now have a purpose: to serve my assigned master. Whoever I'm tasked to serve, I will serve devotedly, with no questions, no hesitation, and no objection.
I'm itching to get up. To find my master. To serve. But for now, I shall lie here and allow the mental programming to finish. I shall be a good drone for my master.
The wolf in the next room lies on the operating table. The only sign that he's still alive is the rise and fall of his shiny latex-clad chest, accompanied by the hissing of his breath through his face mask. I don't think I've ever seen a slave that defeated.
I'm in the adjacent white-panelled room, separated by a one-way glass pane. I'm standing beside my mentor, a brown-feathered hawk by the name of Mr Baril. The rest of the team has left to attend to another slave assigned to us, but Mr Baril needs to oversee the conclusion of the process and so I'm watching too.
I eye the digital display in front of me. It shows the wolf's biometrics, along with a diagram of a brain. Various sections of the brain diagram are turning green, and a progress bar below it is slowly filling. 5%, 7%, 9%. "V-41X-8AQ-9" is all that is left of the wolf's identity. Once the progress bar fills, even he wouldn't remember his past life.
Out of curiosity, I check his admin history. Apparently he used to be a lab staff too until he foolishly requested for a position change. It turns out training a drone--especially a premium one--costs a lot of money. The hours spent training the drone, the equipment for him, and the high-tech reprogramming equipment we need to use aren't exactly cheap. We're talking 2 billion bucks for this drone model. Since he requested for the change of position himself, it was added on top of the debt he owed. No wonder his suit application is permanent: he'll be paying it all back for the rest of his life.
What was the wolf thinking? I shake my head. As much as it's his fault, I can't help but feel sorry for this dumbass.
I look out through the glass wall that overlooks the nighttime cityscape below me. There's the chatter of people behind me. Their reflections in the glass are milling in the grand ballroom as they sip on cocktails and indulge themselves in the buffet spread. Even without their reflections though, I can sense their presence through their soul auras. In fact, I believe one is approaching me now. The aura is immediately unlikeable. Pushy, bootlicker, sycophant. I resist furrowing my brow.
"Mr Decro Castor, it's you!" he calls.
I turn around and find myself face to face with a brown stallion sporting an overly eager grin. He grabs my right hand in his, pumping it up and down with an enthusiastic handshake. It's a miracle the martini in my hand didn't spill.
"I'm so honoured to be invited to such a prestigious event," he says. "You have no idea how much it means to me to be able to make acquaintance with the distinguished guests here. Of course, I did earn my place as a Master Gambler, so I guess that makes me distinguished too." He chuckles at his little self-compliment.
"Pleasure," I reply.
The coldness of my reply sails over his head and he continues talking. I tune him out and instead focus on his aura. It's a nauseating yellow, with a tinge of sickly green. There're some hints of calm blue, but it's not channelling through his incessant chatter. Around the edges of his aura, though, is the purple-black corruption of his soul. His time spent at the Silver Serpent is gradually eating away at it, and it's only a matter of time before it's completely consumed.
"...I hope you'll consider me for a position among the board members of the Silver Serpent. Obviously, I'm not expecting to be your right-hand man, competent as I am, but I'd really appreciate it if you could put me among the higher-ranking ones, if you know what I mean. Of course, if after the first few days you see that I'm more than qualified for the job, you can promote me accordingly. I promise I won't disappoint--"
"Ah, the honour would be mine. I'll get my secretary to consider your application process."
"Oh, okay." He seems disappointed that his encounter with me did not somehow expedite his preposterous request. "Well, I'm sure you can put in a good word for me to help make things go smoothly."
"I will do everything within my power to ensure the evaluation process goes as planned."
"Good, please see to it. Thanks for your time!"
He grabs my hand for another forceful shake before going back to the buffet and heaping food on his plate. Raising my wrist communicator to my mouth, I tell my secretary to blacklist his application.
"Follow me," I nod towards my personal slave--a white rabbit dressed in nothing but a shiny black collar and onyx latex trunks.
He bows and follows behind me as I make my way through the crowd. People turn to smile and greet me, stepping back to keep a respectable distance. I make conversation with some of them, mildly pleased to note that nobody else is brazen enough to importune me with puerile requests. Most of the guests have semi-tainted auras, although a few of them have souls completely darkened by the corrupting nature of this place.
As I break off from another pleasantry-filled conversation, one of my staff members approaches me. "Excuse me, Mr Castor," the tiger says. "Sorry to interrupt, but you said you wanted to be notified as soon as we have trained up the next premium drone."
Ah, yes. Quite the unfortunate shortage. Thankfully, my staff is working to supply the facilities with more drones. "Is he ready for inspection?"
"Here, sir?" He looks surprised. "But--"
"Yes, here." I send the tiger off before he can protest further. I turn to my slave and hand him my empty glass. "Fetch me a tequila sunrise, please." He brings it to me and I take a few sips before handing it back to him. The buzz gets me into the mood to put on an outstanding performance.
I make my way to the middle of the ballroom where an ornate couch has been quickly set up for me. The guests have given it a wide berth, waiting like an excited audience ready for a show. Beside the couch is the tiger from earlier, and behind him is the premium drone I'm about to appraise. My slave remains among the crowd as I step into the centre clearing. The tiger gives me a bow.
"I have nothing else for you. You may leave."
The tiger hastily leaves with a relieved look on his face. In the meantime, I study the drone. His entire body is clad in latex, except for his leather boots and face mask. Apart from the mask, everything is white, with not an inch of fur or scale showing. His cock is locked behind a curved plate, leaving him with nothing but a smoothed-out bulge. I have no use for it, anyway. His black visor covers the entirety of his face, and the lower half of it is an open port that leads into his mouth. The Silver Serpent logo is emblazoned across the centre of the visor.
What impresses me the most about this drone is that I can barely sense his aura. His soul has been broken down into fragments, crushed into pieces, leaving him completely obedient and attentive to my desires. He looks at me, and I imagine an expectant face behind that blank visor. Time to put him to the test.
The room is silent as everyone's eyes fall on the two of us. Master and drone, centre stage for the world to witness. I nod. Without hesitation, the drone gets on his knees. His hands wrap around my waist and he nuzzles his smooth face against the crotch of my pants. I let my pleasure escape in soft gasps. My hands stroke his sleek visor, feeling my fingers glide over the glass. With a firm shove, I push his head against my bulge.
The drone continues to service my manhood as I focus my attention to undoing the buttons of my blazer. I take my time, savouring the attention of my audience. My movements are swift and deliberate, yet without the boorish haste that is characteristic of many uncultured guests. I drape the cashmere blazer over the back of the sofa and loosen my silk tie, letting it fall on the couch. The drone continues to keep himself busy as I unbutton my shirt. I leave it hanging open, letting the cool air of the room caress my chest.
I indulge myself in a few more seconds of the drone's servicing before I sit back on the couch. My drone crawls between my legs to give my manhood his undivided attention. My silver leather belt comes off next, followed by the button of my pants. I unzip my pants, allowing the drone to delve deeper into the cleft between my legs. His muzzle slides beneath the weight of my bulge, gently lifting my wolf nuts teasingly. I bite my lips and shift my hips. This drone is good.
His muzzle traces the outline of my erect dick on the lycra, nudging against my pre-stained tip. I pull the elastic of my trunks below my jewels, revealing my maleness in its full glory. He slides his snout below my shaft, allowing my throbbing length to rest on the cool glass of his visor. With a swift movement, he takes the tip of my cock in his oral port. The inside of the oral port is made of soft silicone, allowing the drone's maw to close tightly around my shaft as he sucks and licks it.
"Oh, fuck..." I let out a passionate gasp as I throw my head against the couch. One of my arms rest against the back of the couch, and the other is on the drone's head, guiding him up and down my shaft. My efforts are inessential, for the drone is proactive in thrusting his head back and forth, accompanying it with fervent sucking. His oral tunnel is clenched tightly around my cock, forming a snug grip around my flesh.
My mind is reeling. I can feel his warm saliva dripping down my red rocket. His mindless hunger for my manhood is addicting. Every squeeze of his silicone maw around my shaft sends a wave of euphoric pleasure up my spine, and I'm filled with the primal urge to buck my hips, to thrust myself fully into the fuckhole. Yet, I exercise some self-control and rein in my impulses.
But he grabs my furry orbs with his gloved fingers and squeezes them gently, and I can't help but thrust into the drone's mouth. Both my hands are behind his head, holding him over my cock so he can't pull back. My hips rise and fall in undulating movements, satiating my atavistic instincts with his zealous performance of fellatio. Still, I hold back. One does not put on a good show by giving in to one's barbaric impulses. A phenomenal performance is like a well-written story; skilfully paced plot, a dash of style, and a satisfactory ending.
Our show of sexual unison mesmerises the audience. All the lights in the ballroom are dimmed except for the glowing chandelier above the two of us. I can't see the eyes of my audience, but I can tell their auras are captivated, drawn in by pure, visceral lust. They are eager for the next part of the performance, and I'm more than willing to indulge them.
Putting the knuckle of my index finger below the drone's chin, I lift his head up so his faceless visor gazes into my eyes. "Up, boy."
The drone places one knee on the couch, and then another. He puts his hands on my shoulders and straddles my legs. Our gazes are locked on each other as he carefully positions himself over me. The tip of my dick brushes against something firm. His rear port has found its mark. The drone descends just a bit so that the apex of my sceptre presses against the entrance of his tailhole. I let out a gasp as his warmth meets the head of my sensitive cock. My intense stare wavers for a split second as my arousal manifests in a euphoric haze.
My breaths are almost as loud as the drone's hissing gas mask. I grab the drone's hips, giving him a firm squeeze in an expression of fervour. The drone recognises my need, and he obliges me by lowering himself. My saliva-lubricated dick enters his tight tunnel with ease. I stifle my moans, struggling to hang on to lucidity. It's been a while since I've last fucked a slave, but I don't remember one as skilful as this.
I pull the drone down as I thrust my sceptre deep into his rubber-lined hole. He clenches around the length of my shaft and slides up slowly. It takes me a while to realise the moans I'm hearing are coming from me. I lower my head and close my eyes, feeling my warm breaths wash over my body with the rise and fall of my chest.
"Gnng..." This feels so good.
He lifts his hips until the tip of my cock rests against the entrance of his tunnel. Then he descends once again, gyrating his hips to further stimulate my maleness. The drone's moans escape the visor through its hidden vents, coming out as soft hisses each time he plunges my mast into him. He knows my pleasure is his pleasure, and he's devoting his all to it. Any other slave would be serving me because they are after the reward that comes with serving. That, and avoiding punishment. Not my premium drones. Premium drones like this one have neither an identity nor a concept of self.
I grip his rubber-clad sides harder, guiding him up and down my dick. Premium drones have no true soul left. Each one is broken down to the point where he has no sense of self, and so his dedication to his master is total and absolute. Transcendence beyond the carrot and stick, filled with an empty void that can only be satiated by the will of a master. I don't doubt this drone's devotion to me as he relentlessly rides my pole.
Even I can take it no longer. I support myself on the couch as I thrust my hips in time with his movements. Yes, fuck yes. The thought of putting on a show is at the back of my mind. At this moment, all I want is to indulge myself in this pure, primal pleasure. Everyone else can watch for all I care. My movements are driven by unbridled libido, and I avidly pound the drone's rear. I'm close. I'm fucking close.
The drone pumps faster. His rear clenches and unclenches, repeatedly massaging my rock-hard flesh with his firm inner passage. Every action is tireless, as if there's nothing else in the world he'd rather be doing than serving me with his body, mind, and soul--or at least, whatever remains of them. He's so good, so fucking good. I can focus on nothing but his tense tunnel as it fiercely consumes my cock.
I'm going to cum! I grab his shoulders and pull him down as I thrust deeply into him. My knot enters him and I hold him there, spewing rope after rope of cum into his waiting hole. The drone shudders as he feels my warmth enter him, and I can hear his stuttering hisses of bliss. He continues to clench, slowly rising and falling to milk every last drop of seed from my dick. As we gently descend into the afterglow of my orgasm, I rest against the cushioned seat of the couch and he sits on my lap, still gripping my rod in his rear.
I hear murmurs of approval. Our passionate performance had drawn my audience in completely, leaving them thoroughly transfixed where they stand. Their auras are red with pure arousal, tainted with the deep purple of my corruption. The sight of this pleases me, adding on to the satisfaction of my orgasm.
As the drone gets up, my knot leaves his rear with a muted pop. Residual cum drips down my shaft as he gets off me. He takes his position on the couch, kneeling and facing me in a submissive position. My personal slave comes over with a wet towel and begins wiping up my spent cock. Once I am clean, I get off the couch and dress up. The rabbit helps me into my blazer.
"I'm done with my inspection," I declare to the audience. "You're free to use the new drone as you please."
As I step away from the couch, guests gather around the drone, eager to have a go with their new toy. I return to my seat on a raised platform at the front of the room, giving me an excellent view of the action. Two guests are taking the drone from both ends, hungrily fucking his maw and rear. Many more are lining up for their turn with him. The sounds of chattering returns, filling the ballroom with excited conversation.
The drone is exceptional at his task. That's why it costs so much to hire one, even just for a day. Despite the price, though, many guests still make bookings for them. It's a pity we have a shortage of them; they are so hard to train. The thought of the stallion from earlier comes to mind and I furrow my brow. Then the annoyance disappears and I chuckle. He has a nice body, does he not? Sure, I'll consider him for a very important position indeed. With my wrist communicator, I scratch out my earlier command. In a year, maybe less, we'll have yet another premium drone in our ranks.
I take great pleasure in breaking in new drones.
~ End ~