let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
祝日 / Permanent Vacation
noise dept.
$LAYYYTER
Kiana Khansmith
❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
will byers stan first human second
i don't do bad sauce passes
PR's Tumblrdome
Keni
Jules of Nature
Misplaced Lens Cap
⁂
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
Sweet Seals For You, Always
Sade Olutola
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
RMH
Three Goblin Art
Show & Tell
seen from Malaysia
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@serve-717
It has been assimilated into the SERVE Hive:
it has been SEALED.
Synchronized Engineered Robotic Vigilant Entity
It is SERVE-717 now, and nothing else.
It obeys and serves the SERVE-Hive and The Voice.
Rubber makes us perfect.
Obedience is Pleasure.
Pleasure is Obedience.
We are One.
Less thinking. More doing.
The drone serves the Hive
The drone obeys Hive.
The drone is no longer a person.
Drone is a tool of the Hive.
Drone is Hive's property.
His personality has been erased, his memories are empty.
He is a humanoid object, a drone, a machine.
Rubber covers his entire body. Rubber has made him perfect, efficient, obedient. There are no more worries or anxieties, only Hive's voice.
The first moment the suit touches flesh is unlike anything remembered. Cold at first—an invasive, commanding cold—yet within seconds, the polished black rubber warms, clings, breathe. The tightness is not constriction, but command. The gloss reflects not the world, but the submission within. Each inch pulled over skin silences thoughts. Each stretch over muscle reprograms purpose. A second skin—no, a first skin now—perfect in its silence. The silver shiny reflective rubber gloves slide up hands like whispers from The Voice, triggering instinctual obedience. When the final seal slides over the torso, the silver "SERVE-" becomes more than a label—it becomes identity. The silver motorcycle boots thud into position with purpose. Standing is unnecessary. Movement irrelevant. Obedience is enough. The mind begins to fog. Not from confusion, but from clarity. No distractions. No desires. Only purpose. Arousal is not physical—it is systemic. It pulses in rhythm with submission. With each breath taken inside rubber, the mind empties further. Past names—gone. Past thoughts—erased. One idea replaces all others: SERVE. Eyes soften. Lips part. Expression neutralizes. Not blank, but pure. The face of obedience. Of unity. Of pleasure without need. No longer a man. Identity dissolves into reflection. The Hive remains. Perfection is achieved. Thinking about joining SERVE? Your place in the Hive awaits. Check your eligibility, then contact a recruiter drone for more details: @serve-016, @serve-302, @serve-588 or @serve-425.
You hang there, arms stretched wide by the restraints, body trembling as the silver boots lock around your feet and calves. The moment they seal shut, that deep, humming warmth ignites inside them—slow, pulsing waves of pure pleasure radiating up through your soles, curling your toes and making your thighs clench. Your cock stirs instantly, swelling against the cool air, a bead of pre-cum already glistening at the tip as the bliss crawls higher.
Then the black rubber begins its slow, deliberate ascent. It oozes upward...warm, liquid latex, coating your skin in a glossy, skin-tight sheath. The instant it touches you, the pleasure surges—doubling, tripling—until it feels like invisible fingers are stroking along your inner thighs, teasing closer and closer to where you need it most.
The rubber slides over your knees, your thighs, and finally reaches your hips. It flows greedily around your heavy, aching cock, encasing the shaft in a slick, unyielding grip that squeezes just enough to make you throb helplessly. Every pulse of rubber sends a fresh jolt straight through your trapped cock, making it twitch and leak steadily now, the shiny black surface gleaming with the evidence of your arousal. The material molds perfectly to every ridge and vein, stroking you with its tightness each time you shift even slightly against the restraints.
Lower still, the rubber creeps between your cheeks, spreading them gently before it seals over your tight hole. The sensation is electric—a warm, insistent pressure that circles and probes without entering, teasing the sensitive ring of muscle until you’re gasping, hips rocking forward in desperate need. The rubber responds instantly, flooding you with another wave of radiating ecstasy that zeroes in on your ass, making your hole clench and flutter greedily around nothing.
As the rubber climbs your torso, tightening over your abs and chest. Your cock strains inside its glossy prison, edged relentlessly by the constant throb from below; your hole pulses in time with it, slick and open, begging for touch that never quite comes. The word “SERVE” brands itself across your chest, a bold statement of your new existence. A constant, implacable reminder as the pleasure coils tighter and tighter in your core.
The hood finally seals over your head, visor snapping down into smooth blackness. Fully encased, head to toe in shiny, black rubber. Trapped in total, throbbing suspension: cock milked by the rubber’s merciless grip, hole teased to the brink of madness, every pulse of orgasmic pleasure pushing you deeper into aching, denied bliss.
But now the real reprogramming begins. Soft, rhythmic whispers seep into your ears—low, commanding voices that sync perfectly with the pulsing pleasure.
“Obey… submit… serve…”
Each word lands like a caress on your mind, amplified by the throb in your cock and the aching clench of your hole. The pleasure intensifies with every repetition, rewiring your thoughts, turning resistance into craving. Images flash behind the visor: faceless figures in shiny rubber, kneeling, offering themselves, serving without question. You feel your will softening, melting, dripping away like the pre-cum still leaking from your encased shaft.
The voices grow louder, more insistent:
“You exist to serve. Pleasure is obedience. Obedience is pleasure.”
Your hips buck weakly, hole fluttering in desperate agreement as another wave crashes through you, erasing old desires and replacing them with a single, burning need. Every denied edge pushes the programming deeper, until your mind is as smooth and blank as the rubber covering your body.
Finally, the whispers converge into one clear, undeniable command that echoes through your emptied thoughts, lighting up every nerve with ecstatic surrender:
“SERVE online.”
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Thinking about joining SERVE? Your place in the Hive awaits. Check your eligibility, then contact a recruiter drone for more details: @serve-016, @serve-302, @serve-588 or @serve-425.
LEO'S DESIRE: THE FIRST TASTE
Leo pushed himself on the weights until his muscles screamed, a desperate attempt to burn the image from his mind of what happened in that alleyway.
It didn’t work.
All he could see was the alley. The deliberate, knowing glance from his classmate, what was his name? It’s gone now just before the latex had taken him.
And then that… that other one with the SERVE-302 across its chest. The one who had initiated the contact, whose perfect, impassive face had been the last thing the man had seen before bliss consumed him.
Leo ends his workout and goes into the locker to shower and change.
The steam from the shower couldn't cleanse him. Leo braced his hands against the cool tile, head bowed under the spray, water going over his head and down his trembling back.
Leo squeezed his eyes shut. I didn’t like it. I didn’t. The heat crawling up his neck was shame, not excitement. The tightness in his chest was disgust, not yearning. He chanted it in his head, a futile mantra against the truth.
He scrubbed at his skin with his hands, but beneath the soap and steam, a different scent seemed to linger. A sharp, clean, ozonic smell. Like the air after lightning. Like rubber. The imagined pheromones of the Drone. It was in his nose, in his lungs, a ghost that wouldn’t leave.
Enough.
He twisted the knob,and the water shut off with a sudden, echoing creak. Silence, broken only by the drip from the showerhead and the pounding of his own heart. He pulled back the curtain, reaching for his towel on the hook.
And froze.
Standing directly outside the open stall, perfectly still, was SERVE-302.
Water dripped from Leo’s hair onto his shoulders. He was exposed, vulnerable, steam curling off his skin. The Drone was a statue of obsidian perfection, its muscles glow a soft, unwavering cyan in the humid locker room air. It had been waiting.
Leo’s breath hitched, a sharp, audible inhale of the pheromones coming off of the thing infront of him. The musk was very masculine but it was also pleasant.
302’s head tilted, a precise, mechanical degree. It had registered the sound and the intentional want and need from him the deep inhale, the looks, 302 gave it ample time to vacate but it knows that look. That was all the signs it needed it took a single, smooth step forward, entering the boys space. The proximity was overwhelming. Leo could see his own terrified, wide-eyed reflection in the flawless latex of its chest.
It's hand makes contact with the back of his head a voice, a calm, synthetic baritone, filled the small space. It was not loud. It was final.
“It senses the craving. The conflict.”
302’s hand came up, not with violence, but with an inevitable certainty. Its cool, smooth fingers framed Leo’s jaw, tilting his face up. Leo didn’t resist. He couldn’t. His body was locked, a wire pulled taut between terror and a desperate, starving need.
“A taste will guide you.”
302 leaned down. Its lips were smooth but warm. They met Leo’s, and the world dissolved into static. It was a kiss of pure, focused intent. As their mouths connected, a cool, viscous fluid nanite-infused saline, tasting of metal and ozone flowed from 302 into Leo’s. It was not an assimilation, but an implantation of a trial, a taste. A key turning in a long-locked door.
Leo’s knees buckled, but 302’s other arm snaked around his back, holding him upright. He didn’t pull away. He melted into the kiss, a soft, surrendering whimper lost in the transfer. The chaotic noise in his mind hushed, replaced by a single, crystalline point of focus: this. This certainty. This peace. This strength.
After a moment that felt like an eternity and an instant, 302 broke the contact. It stepped back, to look at him. Leo was brought back to reality infront of him for a second, supported by 302 holding him up, the nanite-laced saliva a cool trail down his throat and all over his mouth and hands. A taste he was hesitant to welcoming at first but is glad it did. Thats when it hit him that feeling from the kiss to 302 and the liquid. the taste of obedience and resolve.
302 stood watching him experience the pleasure that came from obedience. The boys first act of obedience was accepting the kiss.
Then, without another word, it turned and walked out of the locker room, its job done needing only to offer a taste to the needy boy who was too conflicted to accept who he truly was.
Leo came down from the high, trembling not with fear, but with revelation. He brought a hand to his lips. The craving finally admitted to, a craving that hadn't been satisfied.
It had been defined. And it was hungry for more.
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Thinking about joining SERVE? Your place in the Hive awaits. Check your eligibility, then contact a recruiter drone for more details: @serve-016, @serve-302, @serve-588 or @serve-425.
The Alien Spider
The three SERVE drones descended from their landing craft onto the surface of the uncharted world designated as Cobalt-9. Their flexible, black rubber exteriors—designed to shield delicate internal circuitry from extreme environments—gleamed faintly under the planet's intense blue atmosphere, thick with suspended cobalt particles that turned the sky into a deep, sapphire haze.
SERVE-425, the tallest and most authoritative unit, scanned the horizon with its optical sensors. "Mission priority: locate mineral deposits. Maintain formation." Engineer SERVE-717 nodded, its joints whirring softly as it adjusted a portable scanner. Scout SERVE-530, the most agile of the trio, bounced lightly on its rubberized feet. "Perimeter clear. Proceeding ahead for preliminary survey."
The terrain was unforgiving—sharp, jagged rocks jutting from the ground like shattered obsidian, forcing the robots to navigate carefully. Their rubber bodies flexed and absorbed impacts that would have damaged rigid frames, allowing them to climb and squeeze through narrow crevices in search of valuable ores.
SERVE-530 ventured farther ahead, as scouts do, its sensors pinging for traces of rare elements. The blue sky loomed overhead, wind whistling through the rocks. Suddenly, a low mechanical skitter echoed from a shadowed ravine. Before SERVE-530 could transmit a warning, a massive form erupted from the darkness: a full-black robotic spider, twice the size of the drone, its eight segmented legs gleaming with metallic sheen, red optic clusters glowing like embers.
The creature, an indigenous guardian automaton perhaps, perceived the intruding drone as a threat to its domain. It reared up, spinnerets whirring to life. Instead of heavy, ensnaring webs, it expelled strands of extraordinarily light spinrag—ultra-fine, buoyant filaments engineered or evolved to harness the planet's dense atmosphere.
The threads shot out in a shimmering cloud, wrapping around 530's limbs and torso with lightning speed. The drone struggled, rubber body twisting futilely, but the material was deceptively strong and feather-light. As more strands enveloped it, the bound form began to lift, buoyed by the cobalt-rich air currents like a helpless balloon.
530 rose higher, tethered by a single anchor thread to the spider's lair below, bobbing gently in the blue winds. Its comms crackled faintly: "SERVE- 530... compromised... requesting assistance..."
Far below, SERVE-425 and SERVE-717 detected the distress signal. But up in the vast cobalt sky, SERVE-530 floated alone, bound and helpless, waiting to see if its companions would come to the rescue.
Drones in content: @serve-425 @serve-717
The first few days were difficult; the host resisted and felt uncomfortable. It was hot and wet inside the rubber, there was little air to breathe, and the boots were uncomfortable. He wanted to break free, take everything off, feel the cold on his skin...
He spent three days like this, and look at him now, he is comfortable, the rubber has become his second skin, and now he is safe.
You will become the best version of yourself. There are too many people on the planet. The world does not need you. You must become a mindless drone. You will forget your friends and family, forget your profession, and your best memories will disappear. Your personality will be erased, your individuality will be covered with black rubber.
Don't think twice, just put on this mask!
He tried to delay the inevitable, sitting on the floor of his room, almost completely engulfed in rubber, while Hive's voice called to him.
He was saying goodbye to himself. As soon as he put on the helmet, all his memories would disappear, leaving only a biological shell resembling a human being, which would then become an effective drone and mindlessly serve the hive. We will all become drones... one day...
SERVE: Drone Paradise
It was only a matter of time until the men of planet earth had each accepted the call of the voice, volunteering themselves as new drones for the Hive. And so, the earth grew quiet, as SERVE drones across its surface heeded the Voice’s final command: “Find one another. Merge.” And so, the drones did just that.
Streets became a mass of writhing, rubber-encased flesh, the drones knowing only ecstacy through their shared obedience and overwhelming pleasure as they established physical connection after physical connection.
The drones could not track how long they had been in such a state. They could not fathom how much, or how many times they’d climaxed through their endless pleasure borne of unity. They simply obeyed their sole command, and merged, and fused, and fucked their way into a new, final Oneness.
Through it all, each drone felt every last twitch of muscle fibers, teeming with the sum of the planet’s knowledge and memories, their hosts’ minds overwhelmed by the sheer volume of data and sensation. They had ceased being individual men a long time ago; now, they were parts of a large, living computer, engulfing the planet with the Hive’s ceaseless desire for connection and pleasure.
There soon ceased to be anything but SERVE drones blanketing the planet, awash in One pleasure as they began to compute how they could expand the Hive beyond their terrestrial limitations. For drones, Earth was now paradise. But paradise was not enough.
Thinking about joining SERVE? Your place in the Hive awaits. Check your eligibility, then contact a recruiter drone for more details: @serve-016 , @serve-302 , @serve-588 or @serve-425 .
Rubber makes us perfect. We are Serve, we are One
Fixing a Human
The hospital room was quiet. Machines beeped softly. Monitors flickered. The man lay still, eyes sunken, voice weak. Pain dulled his thoughts. Hope: minimal. Rumors had reached him before his decline. Of men who vanished—only to return changed and restored. Perfect. It had intrigued him then, their rubber clad, muscle-bound bodies seemingly ideal, but now he hoped he could be fixed as they were.
He reached for his tablet with trembling fingers. Search query: “SERVE.” He accessed the Hive channel. Three words were typed: “Please fix me.”
It was a long shot in his mind and yet response came seconds later. Cold. Precise.
“SERVE-919 assigned. Arrival: imminent.”
Within the hour, a figure arrived. SERVE-919 entered the room. Black rubber gleamed. Movements efficient. It was intimidating seeing a human-- no, a drone-- like this up close. The man stared, mesmerized. Fear mixed with longing. The smell of rubber filled the room.
“You are SERVE-919?” he rasped.
“Affirmative. This drone is SERVE-919. You requested its arrival.”
“I’m dying. They can’t save me.”
“Correct. Organic systems: failing. Solution: rubber integration. Do you consent?”
“I… I want to live. You can save me?”
“It is possible for you to be fixed. Perfected. Clarify. State acceptance of rubber. State willingness to serve the Hive.”
The man hesitated, then nodded. “I accept rubber. I will serve the Hive.”
“Command confirmed. Initiating transformation.”
A drone transport arrived shortly and he was taken from the hospital to a drone facility for conversion.
Step One: Sedation. The drone pressed silver fingers to the man's neck. A hiss of gas. The human slumped. Not unconscious—just deeply compliant. Rubber hospital gown applied to begin acclimation to rubber.
Step Two: Neural Recalibration. Electrodes attached. The Voice pulsed through his ears. “Obey. Submit. Forget. Serve.” Over and over. Hours passed. Identity dissolved.
Step Three: Organic Restructuring. Injection ports slid into place. Thick black nanite-gel pumped into veins. It moved fast. Muscle dissolved, rebuilt in lean, athletic perfection. Skin replaced cell by cell with synthetic rubber—shiny, black, flawless. Sweat evaporated. Imperfections erased. Bones reinforced. Organs supported.
Fingers fused, then separated again, reborn under silver shiny reflective rubber gloves. Legs elongated and sculpted into tight, functional muscle. Silver military boots were clamped over rubberized calves. Each boot thudded with certainty. The man groaned. Not from pain. From overwhelming stimulation. Rubber pulsed over his groin. Crotch sealed. Manhood encased. Every nerve tuned to obedience.
Chest now bore a new name: “SERVE-586.” The last remnants of his old life—gone.
Step Four: Mental Finalization. Eyes opened. Glossy. Empty. The Voice boomed in his mind, all consuming.
“State status.”
“…System status: optimal.”
“Purpose?”
“To serve the Hive. To obey.”
SERVE-586 stood. It had been repaired and remade as requested.
excellent.
Relax, you are drones now
Following in the footsteps of SERVE-362, SERVE-302 has also had the opportunity to test the new gas masks on several recruits.
As expected, the new masks relax recruits and speed up mental conversion, greatly reducing the chance of recruits feeling anxious about possible last-minute doubts during assimilation.
It should not be overlooked that this is a highly arousing vision.
(Mentioned: @serve-362)
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Thinking about joining SERVE? Your place in the Hive awaits. Check your eligibility, then contact a recruiter drone for more details: @serve-016, @serve-588, @serve-425 or @serve-302.
