Another piece by the awesome sleepymaid, though I didn’t have any personal hand in this one.
The sleek blackness oozed over his skin with impossible perfection, paving over hair and sweat, blemishes and scars, all those pointless, unique human frailties.
He tried fighting it before (did he?) but as the latex crept over his cock, his body was numbing to everything but the latex clutching him, making everything seem distant and muted like watching it happen to someone else (where did those heels come from again?).
That numbness invaded his mind, slowing his thoughts, coating his mind, putting a shiny skin between him and what was happening, a wall between the vague, blurry image of the boy half-glanced in mirrors with the entrancing featureless black-skinned now.
Feelings and memories were so far away now, just another part of the world outside that the latex coating him separated and protected him from, and as he touched himself without thinking, he idly wondered if this was a dream, all in his mind.
Drones had no minds, no thoughts, no dreams.
The only mind was Owner’s will.
The only thoughts were Owner’s programming.
The only dream was Owner’s pleasure.
Drone felt the latex grip and stroked the fleshy cock, bringing it to attention, pitifully straining as the latex sucked and pressed, forming a sheath around it before pulling free from the featureless skin, a Dronecock of Owner’s design and desire.
With flawless swaying steps, Drone clicked forward on black heels, cock waving, as it reported for orders.