Princess Grace's Castle

drone

#drone #FTL #genitals #hacking #oral #possession #you

There you are. Elizabeth. 600 kilograms of rough-and-tumble fireproof space granite. You've been assigned to work the shields room on this, the Federation's last hope against the rebel fleet. It's you, Nekos, the talkative-for-an-Engi piloting the ship, and Rebekah, the rough and tumble Mantis, on weapons.

Your intrepid Captain, a human with her platinum hair pulled back into a tight bun, tugs her peaked cap onto her head and begins issuing orders. Rebekah skitters her way to her station first despite her missing leg. Nekos reports in next, and you, weighed down most by the ship's artificial gravity, arrive in the shield room last.

The Kestrel is a bog standard early model Federation ship, which means you've seen the outside of them plenty of times. Inside of them, you can see they are clearly not built for you. The switches are too small and fragile, and you accidentally break one or two off in the process of turning things on. “Ready.” You say into your personal radio.

“Took ya long enough.” Rebekah teases. Does she have to hold the microphone so close to her chitin flaps?

“All clear. Mx. Nekos, whenever you're ready, set heading for beacon 6x5999E.”

“FTL: commencing. Counting: down. Enumerating: three. Enumerating: two. Enumerating: one.”

It's been a while since you've gone to lightspeed. You never quite forget how it feels like getting kicked in the gut, and how it's about the only time you've had that sensation because you're made of rocks.

The jump itself is a flash of light, and then it's over before it starts. But the sudden-onset nausea and the dent in the wall from you bracing yourself remain.

“Who forgot the inertial dampeners?” Your Captain calls.

“Bad: mine. Situation: rectifying. Apologies: dispensing.” The Engie responds.

It takes you some time to get back into your groove. Shoring up grid squares of the shield moments before impact. Shuttling power around to get it back up before the second shot of that double laser blast hits. It's underpowered, constantly demanding your attention in three places at once, and even the smallest mistakes are punished immediately by violent shipquakes, melting hull chunks, fires and system damage. You can stomp out the fires with a single footfall, but the tiny wires and fragile circuit boards are harder to fix.

But you hit your stride. It's never easy, getting shot at and having to work a control panel that was made for someone half your size, a tenth your mass, and with much smaller fingers. Rebekah coordinates weapon fire closely with the Captain to make the most of the limited window she can use the beam weaponry and conserve precious explosives. Nekos provides what forewarning they can about incoming energy weapons for your sake, and about upcoming evasive maneuvers for everyone's sake.

Four sectors in. Pirate territory. The ship jumps free of a nebula and into range of an autonomous drone guarding a cache of fuel. “Unauthorized ship registration. Leave this space immediately.” It warns. Your sensors take stock of its glowing laser weapons.

“Get ready, folks. We've got three jumps left in us, and this is our best chance of making it to Zoltan space. Open fire on my mark.” Your Captain's voice crackles over the speaker.

And open fire you do. Rebekah takes advantage of its low shields and starts hammering its weapon system as soon as the lasers charge. Nekos deftly dodges an incoming missile. And you? You, uh, kinda lock up. The world grows cold and distant. Ones and zeroes flash over your vision. Your hearing grows distant and faint. The Captain says something about “a mind control system? wh-” before you rip your earpiece off and crush it in your fist.

You worked at a rest stop for much of your life. Ships come in. They pay you. You put the nozzle in and refuel. Now, the nozzle is in your head. Incessantly pumping blinding binary over your eyes and into your mind. Your thoughts get fuzzy and slip away from you. The room around you turns from uncomfortable to repulsive. You loathe this room. You despise this machine. You kick your feet and punch your hands through inch-thick plates. You smash entire control panels with a wave of your arm, and inertia even helps you bury your arm in the wall. The drone's wireless probe zeroes in on your mind's frequency and you succumb to its crudely automated grasp.

Air thin. Airlocks open. Air. Basic commands trickle in. The simple drone clumsily tugs on your neurons, sending you lurching out of the room. Crush. Destroy. Anger. You are fighting something. Squash bug. Squash bug. Squash bug. It's fast. Squash bug.

The words fill your head and leak out your mouth. Bug makes noise. You hate noise. Squash bug. Machine make noise. You hate noise. Squash bug. Room quiet. Door open. Squash bug.

Distant words filter through your consciousness before drowning in new orders. Squash bug. “Estimated: few seconds?” Squash bug. “Duration: unlikely” Squash bug. Squash bug. Squasfnm buhg. Squasmns bug.

The ship rocks. The word “missile” quickly vanishes between rapidly deteriorating signals. Nearby shockwave. The link goes quiet for a moment. Your mind begins to clear. Your hand doesn't even get to your head before your brain begins to overflow. The screech of random binary data claws at your consciousness. Distinct lines ride into your brain atop a 9600 baud stream of fragmented drone data. Aging bit patterns are exposed to bit-flipping cosmic radiation and merged with organic consciousness.

--- EMERGENCY UPLINK... ESTABLISHED IN 1983MS ---
--- LAST BACKUP... NEVER... BACKING UP NOW ---
--- HARDWARE PROBE... ... ... ... ... UNKNOWN ---
--- PROCESSOR... NEURAL COGITATRIX COMPATIBLE... FDIV CORRECT ---
--- STORAGE... LIMITED... ONLY NECESSARY SERVICES ENABLED ---
--- MEMORY... LIMITED... PERFORMANCE MAY BE COMPROMISED ---
--- BOOT FALLBACK... ... ... SERVICE DRONE ---
--- STARTING ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ---

Optical sensors online. Three figures recognized. Engage greeting.

“Hello! This is an automated refueling and service drone. Supply this unit with scrap and it will: One! Scout an area for you. 12 scrap. Two! Distract the rebel fleet. 14 scrap. Three! Other services. Price negotiable!”

“Other services? Liz, what are you talking about?”

--- PROBING ADDITIONAL HARDWARE... DONE! ---
--- DETECTED: ---
--- FINE MANIPULATORS ---
--- ACCESS PORT ---
--- ACCESS PORT (TONGUED) ---
--- FUELING NOZZLE ---

“Liiiiiz? Your head's fulla rocks, not air. You gotta say something eventually.”

“Thank you for waiting! I can provide the following additional services: One! Grasp and stroke. All you like for five scrap. Two! Access port use. Three scrap for the first minute, one each additional minute. Three! Fueling nozzle use. Five scrap per unit of fuel.”

“Fuel? Have you been holding out on us, lieutenant?”

“Excellent selection!” Your upper manipulators reach between the lower ones and heft up the fueling nozzle. “Please deposit scrap and align access port.”

“Lieutenant Elizabeth! You will put your member down this instant!”

“I never realized Rocks just had theirs... out all the time. It's so big, but it blends right in.”

“Size: anomalous?”

“Please deposit scrap and align access port.”

“Retrieve: scrap?” Nekos asks.

“Please deposit scrap and align access port.”

“Might as well.” The Captain sighs. “Maybe it'll help shake her out of this.”

The Engie and the Mantis move off to the ship's hold, whispering to each other. They return not long after with as much spare metal as they can carry. They deposit it on the floor in front of you.

“Payment accepted! Please align access port.” You heft your fueling nozzle and prepare to pump.

Your clients exchange looks. The Mantis skitters back first. “That thing's almost as big as I am.” She says, hiding most of herself behind The Captain's leg.

“Compatible holes: not found.” The Engie says.

“You know, it's a stereotype that all humans want to fuck aliens.” The Captain sighs, already reaching for her grav-reg belt. “You're lucky I do.”

“Is that why you're the Federation's last hope?” Rebekah adds.

“Tough talk for a girl who can't take a rock's chalk cock.”

“Correction: granite.”

The Captain kneels down, takes your nozzle, and slides it into her access port. Her chassis slides up and down its length, guiding it into place with her tongue, and rocking your system with the kind of bliss you can only get from dispensing fuel to customers! Pants and whirrs and beeps of pleasure escape your commlink. You dutifully deposit “One! Two! Three! Four!” units of fuel into The Captain's waiting tank.

“Leakage detected. Are you sure the seal is tight? Would you like mechanical assistance?”

“Mmmmpmph!”

“Unclear. Engaging manipulators.” Your fine manipulators reach out and grab the loose, silvery docking area on the back of The Captain. You guide it back and over your fueling nozzle with the rough, brute strength needed to get some older ships properly fueled.

”... Eight! Nine! Ten! Fueling complete! Thank you for your business!” You chime, ejecting the other ship from your nozzle across the room. Sometimes these things get stuck.

The Captain makes a dent on the wall where she lands, her mouth dripping with moist pebbles and her hair tugged loose from her ex-pristine bun. She staggers to her feet, settles her hat back on her head, and takes a few tries before saying something coherent. “Install our new pleasure drone in the medical bay. Keep an eye out for a new shield officer.”

“You're just gonna put her in a corner somewhere, just like that?”

“You're welcome to try and snap her out of it. Maybe lose another leg in the process.”

“Yeah, yeah. Come on, Nek, help me move this.”

“Handle: solo. You: leave. Me: lonely.”

“I thought you didn't have-”

Rebekah leaves when she hears “Hand: job”.


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#bondage #dark #DrHelveticaScenario #drone #memoryplay #OfficeOfConsensusMaintenance #you

(Warning: This story has some non-consensual, identity loss, and horror elements that are different from and darker than my usual work. Please, only continue if you're comfortable with that.)

“Thank you for being so cooperative.” The nice redheaded lady behind the desk smiles, checks a few boxes on the form in front of her, and closes her notebook. Her pen clips neatly into the pocket on her lab coat. She stands up and leads you down the hall. “Just one more thing and you'll be on your way.” She walks briskly, her sneakers occasionally squeaking against the linoleum when she turns a corner. She turns a lot of corners. Left, right, right, left, left, left, left, shouldn't that have put you back where you started, right, U-turn, and into an elevator.

It's a long elevator ride. She doesn't say anything, and neither do you. Instead of buttons or displaying a floor number, the elevator itself moves up and down apparently at random and the door simply opens and closes when it pleases. She sticks an arm out and shakes her head no when you look like you're going to get off. This happens about five times with no other people in sight before she steps off and motions for you to follow.

Another left, right, right, and left down the hallway, and she holds the third door on the left open for you so you can't see the sign on the other side. You enter, she follows, and about five distinct latches click, whir, and thud shut. “Have a seat.” She smiles. Were her teeth always that... sharp? The chair is a big old metal thing, welded and bolted together and to the ground. You sit and notice the cuffs on the arms and legs. All four legs. And around the neck.

On your left is a big, beige microfiche-esque machine about the size of a refrigerator. Giant incandescent bulb pointing right at your ear. On your right is like if they made disco balls in the same way they make Erlenmeyer flasks, propped up on a stand by your other ear.

The lights turn off. The restraints snap across your arms, legs, and neck. They're cold. The machine whirs to life. “Give it a minute.” She says. “This old thing takes a while to come on.” You hear belts turning, gears churning, fans spinning up, and you can see, in the corner of your eye, the giant bulb slowly gaining strength. She gives the flask a little spin, and you can hear it occasionally tinking against the stand. As the light gains in strength, every surface in the room lights up with yellow incandescent light behind off-center black type. Like a sloppily photocopied transparency on an overhead projector, except there's hundreds of them overlapping, spread all over the room, and slowly scrolling along the walls.

She walks behind the machine and takes something out of a pencil cup on top. She walks in front of you, holding what looks like a big, black permanent marker. “I had time booked on the newer model for you, but Mx. ███████'s session ran long.” She says, dragging the marker across a choice part of the projection.

“Oh, where are my manners?” She notices your shock and laughs. “See, you saw some stuff you're not supposed to. Like the issue of ████████ Quarterly on the desk, or your encounter with ███████.” She takes slow, measured steps to keep pace with the panning pages. As soon as she says the words, they appear in the page by her pen and she expertly blacks them out from your brain. When one fills up, it takes her a second to spot the new one, stride across the room to it, and continue her work. “So, as soon as we're done here, you'll be back home and absolutely no threat to ██ ███ security. Just get comfy and we'll done soon.”

You struggle against your restraints, as anyone would do. She's in the middle of redacting a sentence about the North American █████████ when she notices. Long strides, lots of eye contact, and a marker against your chin. She cranes your neck upwards, forcing your neck to press against the cool iron collar. “Careful.” She smiles from ear to ear. Her teeth look even sharper in this light. “I've been awfully restrained so far. I was going to leave you a few interesting stories to tell your friends. Nothing anyone would believe, of course. But if you keep this up, well, there's no telling what a slip of the pen might do.” She slowly drags the wide chisel tip up and off your chin. The cool ink absorbs into your skin as a reminder. She returns to where she left off, redacting a few choice names and locations.

You shout every awful thing you can think to say, throwing your entire weight back and forth against the restraints. Some of the older joints creak against your weight, but the seat doesn't budge. She sighs and stops in place. “Don't waste your energy. That chair has held beings twice your size, four times your weight, eight times your number of limbs, and sixteen times your ███████ potential.” She didn't even have to look to black that one out.

A projection comes around that looks like your photocopied driver's license, birth certificate, and a handful of doctor's reports. She stifles your next outburst with a simple line across your mouth. Your lips vanish. Just a smooth lower half of your face, just like the ink she drew on your chin earlier. “Much better. If you let me work in peace, I might even give it back after.”

“MMmmMmMmmmph! MmMMMMmmMMmm!” You... don't really say it, but that is the noise that comes from your former mouth area. You find out that if you throw your weight at a 45 degree angle to the chair, you can get a pretty obnoxious clanging going.

She sighs. “You don't know when to stop, do you? You didn't at the ████ ████, and you sure haven't learned since. Don't say I didn't warn you.” She laughs to herself. “I'm kidding. We both know you can't say anything. And soon, you won't do much else.”

She takes the marker to your driver's license and birth certificate and scribbles out your name. You can feel the ink dripping through the creases and folds in your brain. “Whoops! Guess we'll just have to call you HBR-87224 now.” She writes that over the line in big, block letters to destroy as much extra information as possible. “You didn't think you were the first one to try something like this, were you?” She chuckles, obliterating your birthday in two expert strokes.

She makes eye contact, lets you get one last look at her, and blanks out your eyes with a practiced black line. You're blind. Same cool ink soaking into your face. There goes your nose with the same squeak of a marker one would use to make a yard sale sign. A few more seconds and she's scribbled out your whole face. One ear vanishes. And right before the other goes, you hear:

“Good night.”


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#cheerleaders #drone #HalfAdder #hypnosis #snake #visor

Layers of shimmering blue scales tightened around Half Adder's latest prey. The poor, lucky thing had been offered an interview at Adder Industries. She gazed helplessly into the glass visor drilling spirals into her eyes.

A bubble of drool collected on her lip while Adder's grip tightened around her body. Her brand new headset played notes tailored just for her brain into those cute little ears. A technopath like Adder knew just the right way to tweak a good girl's neurons.

Just the right way to channel her thoughts towards something cuter. No more silly superhero. Much more interested in pom-poms and pleated skirts.

“Adder! Adder! My electric queen! Everyone knows what I mean!”

Half Adder

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All of my posts have some tags at the beginning. Click on one to see all the posts with that tag.

Long stories

#HappyCamper – A camping trip, a hypnovirus, and a dream. #StreamersLittleHelper – Fame, fortune, and more from a slutty ghost. #MissModemoiselle – Finally, someone who can fight City Hall. #ConStitution – Cosplayers hypnotized at a convention. #ShowStoppers – Supereroes are out. Pop stars are in.

Characters

#Grace – Yours truly. #Modemoiselle – A supervillain Grace, in a supervillain place. #Murdermaids – What's a supervillain without her henchmaids? #DrHelveticaScenario – Weird Shit Researcher, OCM. #OfficeOfConsensusMaintenance – Secret government agency. #HalfAdder – Brain-hacking electric lamia extraordinaire. #QuarterViper – Reality-bending arcade proprietrix. #Lily – Lily Pinataki, deal-making demoness. At your service. #Cassandra – The seamstress with the hypnotic clothes. #Sally – Sally Silvestra, richer than God. #Gina – Gina Applegate, witch to the stars.

All Tags

#ahegao (1) #attributetheft (1) – A dom stealing a sub's intelligence, free will, etc. #avengersendgame (1) #babaisyou (1) #bondage (3) #bulge (3) #bullying (1) #capekink (2) – Non-erotic, non-pornographic stories about queer heroes and villains. #catgirl (2) #cheerleaders (5) #clothing (4) #clothingtf (1) #corruption (2) #costumes (19) #crime (2) #cult (1) #cum (1) #dark (1) – Stories I feel are darker than my usual fare. #demons (2) #ditzification (3) – You might call it “bimbo”. #doll (4) – Getting turned into a doll, thinking you're a doll, the works. #dragons (1) #drone (3) #educational (1) #exhibitionism (8) #fire (1) #food (2) #frillyoutfits (4) – Who doesn't love a frilly outfit? #FTL (1) – Based on the video game FTL: Faster Than Light. #furry (3) #gasmask (1) #genitals (4) #hacking (9) #housewife (2) #humanpet (1) – People thinking they're animals. #humiliation (2) #hypnogas (2) #hypnosis (41) #kigurumi (1) #kissing (2) #latex (2) #lightnoncon (1) – Someone tricked or gently guided into hypnosis. #lovestruck (1) #magicalgirls (2) #maids (4) #mantra (1) #masks (1) #masshypnosis (2) #masturbation (2) #memoryplay (1) #music (1) #musk (3) – Mind-fogging genital smell. No other musks. #nothorny (3) – Stories that aren't horny, erotic, or pornographic. #oral (1) #orgasm (1) #ponygirl (2) #ponyplay (1) #possession (10) – Another intelligence, usually Grace, entering a body. #potions (2) #puppy (1) #rave (1) #realityplay (4) – Altering a sub's reality. #shapeshifting (1) #skunkgirl (4) #snake (2) #stagehypnosis (4) #suiting (4) #superheroes (3) #supervillainy (7) – This is the supervillain porn. #syringes (2) #transformation (15) #triggers (2) – The hypnotic kind. #twinning (9) – You get to be me! #videogames (3) #visor (2) – Colorful hypnoscreens, inches from your eyes. #vore (1) #whip (1) #wig (1) #witch (1) #you (10) – Story featuring “you”, the reader, as the sub.