PeculiarChangeling
patreon
The Drone Legions - Invasion
🕑 Added 2023-06-05 20:21:12 +0000 UTCWritten as a commission.
...
Heat and fumes wafted from the autofactory complex, matched by the sound of whirring servos and bubbling pre-formation latex armor.
Thousands had already gone through, and millions more would be next. The drone sentries guarding the line were an ominous warning of what would happen to the people fed into the machine.
“Oh god…” Julie whimpered, forced to step up to the edge of the conveyer belt. “Oh god, oh god–”
“It’ll be okay,” Kate promised. “Watch out for a moment to run–these things don’t seem too smart. And even if we can’t, someone will rescue us.”
Behind her, Sarah made a choking sound. “Are they all wearing diapers?”
The bulging puffiness between the legs and around the waist of each drone stood out–Kate had thought it might be some kind of battery, but now that she had it pointed out to her, she couldn’t un-see the silhouette of a diaper beneath the black latex.
They were penned in by hundreds of figures, all in shiny skintight suits and diapers and helmets, and in a moment the three friends would be in the same boat.
As space opened up, Julie was prodded forward onto the conveyor belt, and she gave Kate an excellent view of what would happen next: A needle on an arm pricked her in the neck and she fell limp, falling onto the belt helplessly. Her eyes still moved, and her chest still rose and fell with breath–she’d been paralyzed.
(It’ll be okay,) Kate told herself. She’d already tried to run once, but the pain of being shocked by the drone’s weapons was enough to convince her not to run again. Stepping forward, she felt the needle, and heard Sarah’s whimper behind her.
Kate fell forward, getting an excellent view ahead as her friend was rotated, had her legs spread, and ultimately fell victim to a dozen careful lasers went to work. They first cut away her clothing, scraps of charred fabric falling off in clumps, then went to work with a more delicate setting, burning away her hair one follicle at a time with a hundred thousand tiny blasts of focused heat, accompanied by quiet energy pulses that combined into white noise.
Unable to turn her head or look away, Kate stared forward, up between Julie’s legs. She felt like she should avert her gaze and give her friend privacy, but she couldn’t so much as close her eyes, only stare as her friend was rendered hairless and smooth between her legs.
A moment later she felt the lasers start to work on her own body. It stung, not quite hot enough to permanently scar her, but like she’d left the water in her shower all the way up and couldn’t reach down to turn it off–bad across her whole body, but particularly squirm-inducing as it cut away the hair over her sex. She’d never gone in for laser hair removal, never gotten a tattoo, and winced when she got her shots at the doctor–this made all those problems pale in comparison, and her throat let out an involuntary whimper.
A fan blew away the remnants of her formerly luxurious head of hair, now a pile of char, and she felt the cool breeze on her own nether regions. She was as exposed to Sarah as Julie was to her, though indignity was the least of her worries at the moment.
Metal collars and cuffs lifted Julie, Kate, and Sarah in turn, locking their bodies out spread-eagle, and with an emotionless whirr, another metal implement pushed up between their legs. Kate could not look down and watch, but she felt something like silicone push up into her sex, deep enough that she’d have moaned if she could move, and then felt steel snap in place over her. She couldn’t see any locking mechanism on Julie, just a pair of bead welds.
The dildo inside her was permanent, and–it started to buzz.
The second penetration came from behind, a barely-lubricated plug that forced her bottom open, heavy and solid, pulling inside her and resting there, enhancing the unwanted sexual desire that’d been forced upon her. Violated in front and back, she expected that the buzzing would rise, forcing her to orgasm, but there was no such relief–as soon as her body started to respond to sensations inside her, the imposition stopped, denying her relief.
And then, before she could catch her breath, it began again.
The diaper pushed up between her legs felt too thick, too wide, almost unreal–but she could see Julie’s, which looked like it could absorb an ocean with room to spare.
She understood what it meant with an uncomfortable flash of insight, one that came just as the vibrator inside her pussy died again, leaving her on the frustrating edge of orgasm. (They won’t change these unless they have to.)
Still dangling by neck and hand cuffs, her feet were released, and latex, hot like it’d been left out on the pavement on a summer day, began to slide its way up her body, forming tight against her skin, making her start to sweat and wish she could squirm. There was no relief, no chance of a cool breeze to waft through the factory, and even the sweat that began to pour into the latex didn’t help, only making things wet and stifling.
It came up over her diaper, over her naked chest, and finally up to her neck. She noted two small tubes for air flow, and when she sniffed, she got a vague scent of medicated plastic. It was hard to think while being constantly edge, constantly left breathless and in a state of pure sexual torture, but she got the meaning.
(My diaper. The only air flowing out of my suit comes from…my diaper.)
She’d be breathing in anything she put out.
Finally, a claw pulled her mouth open, making room for a deep gag that went to the back of her throat. Even if she had control over her body, her ability to make sounds beyond whimpers was stolen. She could see Julie in front of her, similarly gagged, and then a helmet came down, covering her head.
(Please,) she thought. (Let it be over, let it be–)
Lights began to flash, and sounds, in a chaotic, disorienting pattern. Her mind–already fragile from the heat, the sweat, the claustrophobia and the sexual agony of being edged by a perfect machine–broke.
Drone #58008-PFLS came off the assembly line, falling into a heap with other drones. They would be left there until the chemicals wore off, until their brain was fully reprogrammed, and until their diapers were full.
Then they’d be sent out to war, and to bring back new humans to be made into pliable, obedient soldiers.
…
Drone #58008-PFLS stepped forward into a new space, though their own personal torment remained roughly the same.
Five steps forward, turn.
They couldn’t properly tell where they were, not with a helmet sealing away their senses. Lights flashing in their eyes and white noise pumping into their brain had bypassed all their motor controls, anyways–some computer integrated into the helmet dictated their motions, leaving their limited remaining brainspace to do little except whimper and wonder.
Scanning. Their head turned, slightly, so that the cameras on their helmet could get a look at the area–they didn’t even get to see any sort of video feed, the gesture was exclusively to benefit the computer that controlled their movements. The space felt vaguely familiar. They could tell they stood on carpet, and they’d walked up three flights of stairs to get there.
Sometimes, their latex suit felt a little hotter, other times, it felt more stifling, though the sweat and body heat inside was never less than sweltering. Some of the heat came from the constant effort–they were rarely left idle, more often being sent to gather others, humans who would soon be given the same treatment. More heat came from their midsection, though, the foul muck stewing in their diaper and the constant, mind-crushing depravation coming inside their permanently filled pussy.
They stepped forward helplessly, feeling their body get right to the edge, right up to the brink. A different kind of heat, the kind that promised crashing endorphins and incredible pleasure, rose up inside them–only for the vibrator to die completely, killing that ecstasy in the crib.
Turn, open door.
In the past…days? Weeks? Months? Since they’d been sealed into this suit, they’d been given diaper changes only sparingly, and the plug holding their bottom wide open, keeping them feeling permanently full, also ensured that it took little more than minutes before the diaper was radiating stink right up their suit into their helmet once again. Food came in bland paste forced through their gag, and water went right to the back of their throat, denying even that slight refreshment.
They couldn’t remember what an orgasm felt like anymore, only that it was satisfaction like nothing else. Satisfaction they wanted so desperately to feel again, something to distract from the heavy bulk and mush between their legs–though they had no way of telling time, it seemed from the weight that they had to be in the worst point, halfway between changes. Too long to feel anything like clean, but with no hope of a reprieve for days.
Inhaling deeply, Drone #58008-PFLS realized they’d started struggling–fighting with someone. Their latex armor and enhanced reflexes made the combat trivial, but it meant they had to breathe more heavily, all but panting, senses overwhelmed by the earthy, mind-numbing stench they’d poured into their suit, the only thing that could cut through the pure, thought-shattering frustration rippling up from their vibrator.
(I…) they thought. They couldn’t quite remember their name, but they knew that they were a person. “I” was their last bastion of personal identity. (Want…) They still had desires, too. Weak, feeble, humiliating desires.
They no longer had the capacity to want freedom, even a reprieve from the heat, the sticky, sweaty stink, or the captivity. They just wanted the bliss of an orgasm, if only…
Their bowels shifted, something they felt as an extra weight on the plug. An indication they’d be filling their diapers further in just a moment, adding to the weight between their legs.
Whoever they’d been fighting had fallen still. They’d won. All they had to do was drag the victim out, and…
They could feel the victim’s hands, even through latex, as they tugged the unconscious body towards the door. They had on two rings, and a little notch on the back of their palm, and…
(Friend?) They thought, unable to articulate anything more complex.
They knew that hand. They knew the person attached to the hand, too, or they had known them, back when they had thoughts more complex than base desire and smell.
The person they’d just knocked out, the person they’d doomed to an identical life of orgasm torture and filthy diapers and a complete lack of autonomy, had been their best friend. As they shuddered, riding to the verge of another denied round of pleasure, they tried–and failed–to think.
(Why?)
(I must…I want…I’m gonna…)
They realized what they’d forgotten. As a machine made only to experience frustration and ruin diapers, it wasn’t that they couldn’t orgasm–it was that they’d misremembered what an orgasm was.
Need grew inside them, as the vibrator brought them to the razor edge of climax. Their thoughts were always weak, but the lightheaded need of being edged this close rendered their brain as mushy as their diaper, totally vacant of thought.
Then the vibrator cut out, but there was no denied pleasure this time–Moaning, they felt the muck spill out into the seat of their diaper. This had to be it. The reason they were kept from holding it was so that they’d experience the pleasure more often, the bliss and pure release of pushing solid, putrid mush into their pants.
They couldn’t properly make sounds of pleasure, not with their mouth held open, but a guttural moan still escaped into their throat as the warm, soft mass forced its way into their diaper, spreading between their cheeks and adding further warmth and disgust to their personal environment of stink and satisfaction.
It was, simply, a release. The highlight of their time in their latex prison; pressure relaxing inside them, sensory input beyond frustration. What more could anyone ask for in the world beyond the sheer bliss of using their diaper?
Drone #58008-PFLS’s friend would be joining them in this, soon, and then they’d get to learn the truth: This was the real pleasure. They just had to wait until the next time they filled their diaper to experience it again. As their climax tapered off, a little fart rumbled into the diaper, a final addition to the smell growing thick and overpowering in their helmet.
They could hardly wait until next time.
…
The dark smoke trails of landing dropships littered a new sky, a new planet. Another target in the galaxy, another ripe colonization target for the drone’s interstellar conquest.
Forces tried to fight back, humans on the ground. They’d heard what happened to other planets, and they refused to let it happen to them. They’d had a scant few years to prepare for combat, but they did their best, and could only hope their countermeasures would be enough.
Jo made a silent gesture to her companions, a small cluster of survivors, coaxing them forward. She’d kept them safe so far, on the quest for a safe house, some kind of refuge.
Three others held back. Emmerich had a hesitant scowl on their face, and Ian outright refused to leave the safety of their hiding spot for the danger of a run across the courtyard. Arlynn, at least, raised up slightly and scanned for danger.
“I promise we won’t go to a factory.” Jo whispered, standing up straight to inspire the others. “I’ll show the way, just follow m–”
A taser blast hit her, and she fell prone.
Drones swarmed in from all around, only distinguishable by the faint serial numbers printed on their helmets. The survivors scrambled away, taking cover, but they were surrounded. Their capture was inevitable.
Drone #58008-PFLS stepped forward and grabbed Jo’s prone form, dragging her free.
“We have to get her!” Emmerich called, looking at the others. “If they get her to a factory…”
But Drone #58008-PFLS wasn’t taking her to a factory. Instead, right there in the courtyard, they tore the seat of Jo’s pants away, raised an oblong plug as thick around as their wrist, and forced it into Jo’s waiting exposed ass hole.
Jo cried out, but the discomfort of the enormous plug inside her quickly turned to fear, shock, and pain as a black sort of ooze spread out from the plug.
Nanomachines. The drone legion had made improvements of their own.
In seconds, her clothes were burned away, along with her hair, leaving her girldick exposed for just a fraction of a second before it was covered by buzzing nanites, sealing her into the same orgasm torture as the other drones, just with a higher-tech veneer–which, in turn, was encased by black, shiny ferrofluid spreading over her whole body.
She began to whimper on the ground, overwhelmed by the sudden erotic torture overwhelming her, the heat, the burning, the naked shame of it all. She had one moment to acknowledge her failure, helplessly looking to her friends for relief, then the suit spread its way up her neck, over her mouth, her nose, and finally over her eyes.
Already, brain-crushing hypnotic patterns and sounds flashed in her eyes, erasing her thoughts, shutting out the ability to act independently.
As a finishing touch, the space between her legs and over her crotch swelled, as nanites foamed into an efficient, hyper-absorbent diaper. And, as it finished puffing out, the plug opened her bottom, taking away her last ounce of control–hot, solid mush spilled out of her into the diaper, flooding her suit with putrid fumes.
By the time the suit had encased her head and the diaper finished swelling, she was no longer Jo. They were Drone #40962-PFTB.
Accepting a trio of plugs from the nearest drone, they began marching towards their former friends, helpless to disobey the commands. They stepped over the slight barricade, seizing Emmerich’s collar.
“But–” Emmerich whimpered, but they couldn’t escape the drone’s iron grip. “Jo, you can’t–”
Forcing them to the ground, Drone #40962-PFTB inserted the transformation plug into Emmerich. It spread quickly, penetrating them and covering them, destroying their clothes, taking away their identity.
Their other former friends tried to run, but they were surrounded, with no escape. Ian managed to make it two steps, but was downed by a taser blast, left sprawling and helpless on the ground.
Arlynn didn’t even make it that far–Drone #40962-PFTB caught his leg before he could make it two steps. The trip sent him sprawling, and in a second, the plug was forced inside him, eliciting a cry of discomfort and shock. Arlynn couldn’t recognize what was happening to him, but he could watch as Ian met the same fate a moment later. Ian had a small metal cage wrapping around his cock and began to pulse, sending him into spasms before the black ooze covered everything, and Arlynn felt himself penetrated by a similar device, a dildo filling his sex and sending him into torturously intense spasms of pleasure.
Jo had been right–they wouldn’t be going to any factory. She made sure of that personally, and before two minutes had passed, four more recruits were added to the drone legions.
…
The scene was the same across every populated planet in the galaxy.
Drones stood, idle, aimless and with no more worlds to conquer. Occasionally, one would moan loud enough that it could be heard through their helmets, not that there were any people around to hear it. The only other sound was the occasional rumble and squelch of a swelling diaper, as a drone experienced its next-best-thing to pleasure.
Drone #58008-PFLS spent most of their time squatting out in a courtyard. In as much as she could like anything, she enjoyed it–the weather rarely made her latex unbearably hot, and she’d ended up near a feeding and diaper changing station. Her needs were cared for, allowing her to devote all her attention to the utter bliss that came when she poured muck into her diaper, and to savoring the heady smell that built up in her helmet between rarer and rarer changes.
If she could have been asked what she wanted to be done to her, she’d have had no response. Nothing she could imagine would be any better.
The universe was at peace.
