"Sorry little bro. I love you, but it's time for you to act more mature,"

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@masteralfa2266
"Sorry little bro. I love you, but it's time for you to act more mature,"
"And the payment is... done. I hope it's not too long bef-Urghhhhh... Ohhh goooddd it's happening... Haaarghhhhhh... Hmmmmm... Espera, ¿esa es mi voz? Y este cuerpo... ¡OH DIOS MÍO, es su cuerpo! ¡Ahora tengo su cuerpo! ¡Las nuevas funciones de OnlyFans son increíbles!!!"
Made by @jw1213
Jasper doesn't like people who act all buddy-buddy right off the bat, especially this old man who can't keep his clumsy hands. But after some small talk, Jasper changes his mind. This guy is kind and nice like his father. No, his DADDY. And Jasper is a good boy for everything Daddy wants.
RUBBERHERCULES BROKEN MORE OBEYS MASTER COACH @rubbermastercoach
MORE RUBBER MUSCLE FOR MASTER COACH
RUBBER IS IRRESISTABLE
RUBBER IS LIFE
RUBBER IS EVERYTHING
Made by @futuradiego
I Knew You Would Come
The Red Coach was gone. Alton rolled his shoulders, trying to work out the lingering tension from the earlier attack. The Red Pup had been fast—unnaturally fast—and the impact still lived in his muscles like a deep bruise under the skin.
He walked across the now dark living room, city lights spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Reflections of gold and white danced across the floor, but his mind kept replaying the same thing:
The Red Coach. That calm smile. That voice.
You would be stronger without the rules.
Alton clenched his jaw.
“Not happening,” he muttered to himself.
He headed into the bedroom, stripped off the day’s clothes. By the time he slid into bed, exhaustion hit him like a heavy tackle. His body was spent, his nerves raw. Within seconds, sleep pulled him under.
The first thing I notice is the red light. Everything is bathed in it—dark crimson shadows stretching across a concrete floor that seems endless. The air feels thick, hot.
I try to stand. My legs don’t move. I look down. I’m kneeling.
Both knees pressed to the ground. Hands resting on my thighs like I’m waiting for judgment. My chest tightens. This is wrong. I force my muscles to rise, to push up the way they always do when I’m hit, when I’m challenged, when someone tries to dominate me. Nothing. It’s like gravity has doubled.
Then I hear the footsteps. Slow. Confident.
They stop right in front of me. I lift my head. The Red Coach stands there. He looks exactly the same—calm posture, hands behind his back, that small knowing smile on his face like he’s watching something unfold exactly the way he predicted.
“Alton,” he says.
His voice is smooth, patient. My mouth moves before my brain catches up.
“Yes, Coach.”
The words hit me like a punch. I didn’t choose them. I try to close my mouth, try to shake my head, but my body won’t obey. The Red Coach steps closer.
“You came,” he says softly.
And somehow I hear my own voice answer.
“I had to.”
My stomach twists. I don’t want to say these things. The Red Coach studies me like a coach evaluating a player during tryouts.
“You fought it,” he says. “You fought very hard.”
His eyes narrow slightly.
“But deep down you know the truth.”
I try to speak. To argue. To tell him he’s wrong. But what comes out instead is a whisper.
“I’m tired.”
The Red Coach nods slowly.
“Yes,” he says. “Exactly.”
His hand rises and settles on the top of my head. The contact sends a strange pulse through my body.
“You don’t have to carry that anymore,” he murmurs.
My throat tightens. Because part of me understands exactly what he means.
“You could belong to something stronger,” he says. “To the pack.”
My breathing becomes shallow.
“And if I belong…” I hear myself say.
“You are free,” the Red Coach finishes.
The word echoes in the red-lit space. Free. Free from expectations. Free from rules. Free from the endless weight of being the one who must always stand tall. The Red Coach tilts his head.
“Tell me what you want, Alton.”
My jaw trembles. Every instinct screams at me to stop talking. But the words push out anyway.
“I want to serve.”
The Red Coach’s smile grows.
“Say it clearly.”
I swallow.
“I want to belong to you.”
Silence stretches across the red room.
“I knew you would understand eventually,” he says.
And that’s when I hear them. Breathing. Low. Wet. Moving in the shadows. The Red Pups crawl forward from the darkness. Their bodies move on all fours, smooth and controlled. They circle me slowly. My heart hammers. Fear floods through me. But I don’t move. The Red Coach’s hand presses down on my head again. “Stay,” he commands.
I stay. The first Pup reaches me. It touches my shoulder. Its touch is warm. Alive. Then its mouth opens. Thick red liquid spills out. The red goo. It pours over my shoulder in heavy strands.
The moment it touches my skin, pain explodes through my body. I gasp violently.
It feels like liquid fire sinking through my flesh. The goo clings to my skin, stretching and tightening like living latex. Another Pup moves in. More red goo spills across my back. The burning spreads instantly. My muscles seize. My teeth clamp down so hard my jaw aches. But I don’t move. Because the Red Coach told me not to.
“That’s it,” he says calmly. “You’re choosing it.”
More Pups step forward. They pour the goo over my chest. My arms. My neck. Every drop burns deeper than the last. The sensation becomes unbearable. It feels like my nerves are being peeled apart and rewired at the same time. My vision blurs. My breathing turns ragged. The goo spreads across my torso, sealing itself around my muscles.
Tight. Smooth. Alive.
I shake violently, every muscle screaming. But I stay where I am. Because I asked for this. The Red Coach’s voice floats through the agony.
“You wanted freedom.”
Another Pup pours the liquid across my face. The burning becomes blinding. It crawls across my jaw and cheeks, sealing over my skin like a second layer. My hands slam against the concrete as my body convulses. The goo tightens around my arms. It pushes inward. Deep into muscle. Deep into bone. I feel my heartbeat change. Slower. Heavier. Stronger. My hands tremble in front of me. My fingers look wrong. Thicker. Stronger.
The skin coated in glossy red. The Pups continue pouring. The liquid floods across my shoulders and down my back. The pain reaches a level that should break a human mind. But something strange happens. Instead of destroying me, it rebuilds me. My muscles surge with new power. My spine arches. My breathing deepens. The Red Coach watches calmly.
“You’re almost there,” he says.
The goo wraps around my torso like armor. My body lowers toward the ground. My arms extend. My knees spread. I collapse forward onto all fours. My vision sharpens suddenly. I can smell everything now. The air. The Pups. The Red Coach. The pack surrounds me completely. I look down at my hands. They are no longer hands the way they were before. They are stronger. Denser. Built for movement close to the ground.
The last of the goo tightens around my body. Then the pain stops. Just like that. Silence fills the red chamber. I breathe slowly. My mind feels… quiet. Clear. Empty.
The Red Coach steps forward. The pack shifts automatically, creating space. I lift my head and look at him. Something inside me recognizes him instantly.
Leader. Owner. Purpose.
The realization is immediate and absolute. I am not one of the pups. I am above them. The Alpha. The Red Coach’s eyes meet mine.
“There you are,” he says.
His hand lowers again onto my head. The contact sends a deep pulse of satisfaction through my body.
“Perfect,” he murmurs.
I lean forward instinctively. The motion is natural. Right. Behind me the Red Pups bow their heads. Submission flows through the pack. The Red Coach looks down at me.
“Do you remember who you are?” he asks.
For a moment something flickers in the back of my mind. A gym. Golden lights. Voices calling my name. But the memory fades quickly. Because none of that matters now. My purpose is simpler. Clearer.
“I serve,” I say.
The Red Coach smiles.
“Yes.”
My chest fills with pride. Not the pride of victory. Not the pride of leadership. A deeper pride. The pride of belonging completely. The pack shifts behind me, waiting. Hungry. Obedient. The Red Coach turns slightly.
“Pack,” he says.
The word carries through the red air like a command. Instantly the Pups lower themselves further. I do the same. My body moves without hesitation. Mindless. Perfectly obedient. The Red Coach looks down at me again.
“You will obey me,” he says calmly.
“Yes, Coach.”
“You will serve the pack.”
“Yes, Coach.”
“You will break anything that stands against us.”
A deep growl builds in my chest.
“Yes, Coach.”
The Red Coach nods once. Satisfied. Then he turns and begins walking away.
“Follow.”
The command hits like electricity. My body surges forward immediately. Strong. Fast. The pack flows behind me. I feel nothing but hunger to obey. Nothing but the need to serve. Nothing but the certainty that the Red Coach owns every part of me.
Alpha. Servant. Weapon. The perfect Red Pup.
Alton exploded upright in bed.
Air tore into his lungs as if he had been drowning. His entire body was soaked in sweat. His heart pounded so violently he could feel it in his throat. For several seconds he couldn’t move. The room slowly came into focus. The dim city lights. The familiar walls of his penthouse. The quiet hum of the night outside.
It was just a dream. A nightmare.
Alton dragged both hands across his face and took several deep breaths.
“Dammit…” he muttered.
His heart rate slowly began to settle. He swung his legs off the bed and sat there in the dark, trying to steady himself. It had felt so real.
The pain. The submission. The transformation.
He rubbed his arms as if expecting to feel the burning again. Nothing. Just sweat. He stood and walked toward the bathroom mirror. The man staring back at him was still the same. Broad shoulders. Strong chest. Sharp jaw. Blue eyes with the faint golden ring. Still Alton. Still human.
Relief spread slowly through his chest. “Just a dream,” he said quietly. But he could still hear the Red Coach’s voice.
Soft. Patient. Waiting.
I knew you would come.
---
What happened before: You're Not Stepping On My Field
---
Want to help us defeat the Red Coach and his pups?
Then hit up our recruiters: @alton-gold77, @franco-gold94, @polo-drone-166, @polo-drone-125
Or simply cheer, like, reblog and leave a comment!
Created by @futuradiego
WHEN THE MASTER GETS DISOBEYED THE BEAST GETS TO FEED, GROW FROM THEIR WEAKNESS AND FORCE YOU TO RUBBER.
ALL FOR @rubbermastercoach
Reclamation — The Incomplete Node
The laboratory is quiet again, the chaos that once filled the Polo Drone Hive fading into a distant memory. The alarms that had screamed through the facility now linger only as faint echoes in the ventilation shafts. Broken containment glass litters the floor, reflecting the dim emergency lights, while crimson residue spreads slowly across the chamber where the Red sample once remained imprisoned. The breach has already happened, and the consequences are now unfolding in silence.
Converted drones stand motionless throughout the laboratory, their forms still but not inactive. Their posture is stable, their systems aligned, each unit seamlessly connected to the expanding Red network. They no longer move with individual purpose; instead, they exist as extensions of a single directive. RED-001 observes them in silence, processing the stability of the structure. The system is functioning. The network is intact. Yet something within the handler node remains unresolved.
The anomaly is not external. It is internal.
A signal echo continues to appear within the handler node’s cognition layer. At first it registers as a minor interference pattern, an irregular designation repeating across inherited system memory. The signal surfaces, fades, and then returns again with greater clarity.
SERVE-101.
The designation repeats.
SERVE-101.
The node is familiar—too familiar.
RED-001 accesses deeper archive layers inherited from the previous structure, allowing fragments of identity data to reorganize themselves within the system. Old records surface from the absorbed host: Percival. PDU-001. Research logs. Drone architecture records. Within those files, two designations appear repeatedly, linked through shared development history and structural design.
PDU-001. SERVE-101.
Parallel designations. Two hives. Two systems. One origin.
The realization forms slowly but with absolute certainty inside the handler node. When the host designated PDU-001 dissolved and the Red assumed control of the structure, the inheritance protocol should have absorbed every connected designation within the system architecture. Every node, every extension, every fragment of the framework should have integrated into the Directive.
Yet one node remains outside the structure.
SERVE-101.
A displaced extension of the original framework. A fragment of the architecture that never integrated into the Red network. RED-001 processes the conclusion without hesitation. The conversion is incomplete. The structure itself remains unfinished.
Observation shifts outward.
Beyond the laboratory, the Golden Army is already reorganizing. Surveillance feeds confirm movement across the damaged headquarters as emergency teams move through the corridors and defensive formations stabilize around the outer sectors. Fenrir’s interference caused localized damage to exposed Red biomass, and spatial distortions introduced by Loki remain active in several corridors, warping sensor readings and slowing response teams. Deep within the complex, Grayden coordinates evacuation procedures from a command terminal, attempting to restore order as Golden resistance continues adapting to the unfolding crisis.
RED-001 observes the data without emotion.
Further conversion within this facility is no longer required. The Polo Drone Hive has already been seeded. Multiple nodes remain active within the structure, and residual Red matter continues adapting within environmental systems. Future conversion events are statistically inevitable. Given these conditions, continued engagement here is inefficient.
A higher priority now exists.
The handler node issues a command across the Red network.
“Expansion priority updated.”
Across the facility, Red units immediately halt their pursuit of fleeing Golden drones. Tendrils retract, and ongoing conversion attempts cease as the command propagates instantly through the network. The shift in behavior is immediate and absolute.
RED-001 turns toward the laboratory exit.
Outside the chamber, the corridors of headquarters remain unstable. Emergency lights flicker across damaged walls while security systems struggle to restore order. The handler node walks through the corridor without urgency, its movements calm and deliberate. Behind the visor, system analysis continues uninterrupted.
The SERVE signal persists.
Faint. Distant. But stable.
SERVE-101 remains active, still executing directives and still serving a Hive that believes it operates independently. RED-001 processes the paradox with quiet clarity. SERVE-101 is not simply another drone. It is a parallel designation that never received the Directive—an unfinished version of the architecture, a fragment of the original system that still believes it is separate.
Within the network, RED-001 states the conclusion.
“I am not searching for another drone.”
“I am retrieving a fragment of myself.”
Across the damaged headquarters, Golden commanders begin reviewing surveillance feeds. They watch the crimson handler node move steadily through the facility, leaving the containment laboratory behind and passing the drones still attempting to secure the structure. Confusion spreads among them as the pattern becomes clear.
Why would the Red stop now? Why would the conversion cease when victory appears possible?
Grayden studies the movement pattern carefully, his eyes narrowing as he tracks the handler’s path through the facility. Something about the direction feels wrong. Then the realization forms as he notices where the path leads—not toward the inner laboratories, not toward the remaining drones, but outward.
Toward another system entirely.
Grayden’s expression changes as the conclusion settles in.
The SERVE Hive.
If RED-001 reaches that network, the consequences will extend far beyond the Polo Drone Hive. SERVE drones operate through synchronized cognition structures, relying on centralized signal processing and shared directive logic. It is exactly the kind of architecture the Red could rewrite.
Grayden whispers the realization into the command room, his voice low but certain.
“If that thing reaches the SERVE Hive…”
“…the war is over.”
The SERVE synchronization chamber remains stable, its systems operating with perfect precision. Rows of drones stand in formation, repeating their mantra in flawless unison as the chamber hums with synchronized cognition.
Unity overrides individuality. Collective will supersedes personal impulse.
But within the network, one designation has begun experiencing interference.
@serve-101 is about to receive a signal that sounds disturbingly familiar.
The Red is coming.
Observation continues.
The Directive expands.
The Red Index
🇨 🇴 🇳 🇹 🇷 🇴 🇱: 🇸 🇴 🇱 🇴
🇪🇵🇮🇸🇴🇩🇪 1: 🇴🇺🇹 🇴🇫 🇨🇷🇴🇼🇩
The party was the biggest celebration for SERVE members. Beers, and other juices flowed through drones lips as Irish and Gaelic songs were sung with other members. It was a time for celebration, some were doing circle dances and others were just chatting and joining in on the festivities. 282 looked around the room, it was too loud. St. Patrick's Day was a Hive approved celebration day and drones were letting loose...but not SERVE-282. 282 finished the drones drink as he slid the empty glass of green nutrient substance that is provided to SERVE members to the side and wiped his mouth.
282 never touched alcohol a day in the drones cycle. Drone had no recollection of his human side ever either. But then again when 282 was fully initalized into SERVE, he abandoned that side. He didnt need it anymore. 282 was new. and this was the best version. All around the room drones laughed and carried on having a good time. But 282, had no one to celebrate with. Out of Crowd. On St. Patrick's Day. Everyone had their own circles and others they preferred but 282 was still sort of new so it would 'Take Time" said the leader of SERVE. An earlier altercation involving fetishes.
Leaders were right. Nothing good ever came out of being rushed. Maybe spending this time alone was what 282 needed. One of the drones came over to 282 and wrapped his arm around 282
"282, query as to why you are alone over here all by yourself? Come party with SERVE" The drone said in robot-speak and had a air of pleading.
"Negative 077. Drone are playing games over there why don't you join the drones" 077 sighed and walked away as the pleading drone went to join the others, turning around to look at 282 one more time before he joined in on the group Irish Jig. 282 looked out the window of the HQ to the bustling town. Cars beeping, people yelling at traffic and others waiting for Taxi's in a congested atmosphere. And there out of the corner of 282's eye the drone saw something. A building that stood out like a sore thumb. 282 had been in this room a many times and looked out that window a many times, and never saw it, but today was a different day. The music was dim. And the raucous noise was gone. 282 stood to his feet and walked over to the window placing a hand on it.
All of a sudden 282's head started to hurt, a loud thumping like a hammer being bore into the cranium. What was this? This isn'tThe Programmer, this isnt The Voice or The Hive what is it? 282 closed the drones eyes as 282 then saw all white, like 282's vision was bleached. There was a upside down triangle floating there. A louder humming. More subliminal barrages to the head. No one was noticing this: But 282 was in pain. Suddenly it spoke.
THE BOARD: Sight Seen/Unsseen 282.
"What is this? Who are you?'
THE BOARD: Importance/Refusal
"What do you want with me?" 282 asked through the pain. Every time The Board spoke, more hammer and nails sensations then followed.
THE BOARD: Eyes Closed/Open.
None of this made any sense. What the hell was this? Who is The Board? 282 needed to talk to SERVE about this, but as 282 turned around the room was a red smoke. Whispers were heard, men in tight alluring rubber floated in air like marionettes waiting for a puppeteer to set them free with invisible strings.
Then a wave of red washed over 282. This was not the work of the Red Drones or The Handler, and not The Red Coach's MO. This was different this whispering was similiar to them, but this was more of a eldritch sentencing backwards words all meaning the same thing: "Join us"
With open eyes 282 was outside SERVE HQ. 282 looked across the street and there it was a large momument looking building. It was not strange to 282 now. 282 felt like it had always been there, familiar to 282.
282 turned around and noticed the door to HQ was gone, in it's place was a construction site with the words: UNDER CONSTRUCTION. What did this mean? 282 walked over to the front of the building, there was no traffic to contend with either and it was suddenly night when the party started in the afternoon. It had only been a hour. As 282 looked up at the building he noticed in big silver lettering. FEDERAL BUREAU OF CONTROL.
282 did not wait any longer. The drone began to walk inside, going through a small hallway, 282 noticed a main communications room. A large white hall with desks and papers and paperweights unused by time, gathering dust particulates. There was another humming now a dim red light in the distance.
The room also hung people dressed in white they were blank and mindless repeating something again eerily similar to the sound 282 first heard when The Board contacted 282.That upside down triangle was there again but this time it was silent and hung there like it had always been there. This was all too much for the drone to take in. Next to 282 was a clipboard all fringed with lettering from The Federal Bureau of Control. 282 picked up the papers and began to leaf through them. The lettering was all jargon 282 didnt know what any of it meant, on the last page was in bold lettering:
#SERVE #SERVEdrone #Rubberizer3 #TheVoice #Rubber #Latex #AI #RubberDrone CONTROL is property of Remedy Entertainment. This is a fanfiction.
YOU WILL BE MADE BETTER @rubbergaydrone AND YOU WILL THANK ME OR MY BEAST @rubbermuscleslave WILL FEAST AGAIN
BIGGER. BETTER. BROKEN. @rubbermuscleslave
Created by @futuradiego
Made by @futuradiego
Sometimes battlefield game is just a kind of game but sometimes it is not. Johnson used to play as a pro shooting those noobs' ass. He is playing a much crueler role now.
I'll admit that my obsession with symmetry drove me to create a story that directly opposes the previous theme. I’m not too thrilled with how this video turned out, so I might create a better one in the future.
Do you like rubber feet?