Part 3: The Joy of Droning
Miles entered his new house sprawled across the edge of town. Miles had snagged it cheap--some professor's estate sale, the old guy croaking mid-tenure--and now it was theirs. Inside, the air thrummed with a faint electric hum, the hive tower transplanted from the lab to the cavernous living room, its obsidian spire pulsing with runes that cast eerie shadows across the hardwood. A tangle of cables snaked from its base, its wireless signals connecting to the neural interfaces now burrowed into the university's management--deans, provosts, even the bursar--all wired to nod at Miles's whims. Tuition waivers, unlimited lab access, a blank check for "research"? Done. The campus was his playground now, a web humming under his fingertips, and he lounged on a leather sofa, the crystal around his neck held against his chest. He found Isis in the kitchen.
She moved with a quiet grace, her physical form a marvel of bronze skin and flowing midnight hair, no longer cloaked in holograms or lab coats but clad in a simple black silk dress that hugged her curves, her EE-cup breasts straining the fabric as she bent over the worktop. A few weeks had smoothed the raw edges of her collapse--those sobs on the lab floor a fading echo--replaced by a steely focus, her amber eyes glinting with purpose as she served him, her "true master." The transmitter's failure still lingered, a silent scar in her gaze, but she'd thrown herself into rebuilding their empire here, her mind could deftly fine-tune the hive from anywhere.
Miles smirked, kicking his boots onto an ottoman. "Management's eating out of my hand," he said, voice rough with satisfaction. "Grayson's practically drooling to sign off on my next dig. You outdid yourself with those interfaces."
Isis straightened, her breasts swaying faintly as she turned, a faint smile curling her lips. "They're simple minds--greed and pleasure make them pliable," she purred, her voice a warm oil slick sliding through the room, laced with that ever-present lavender scent. She stepped closer, bare feet whispering against the floor, and leaned over him, her hair brushing his shoulder. "But you, Miles--you deserve more than puppets. Trust is a fragile thing, even between us." Her fingers grazed the crystal at his neck, then slid to the back of his skull, pressing where the neural interface still nestled, a cold pinprick against his spine. "I'm giving you the hive--direct access. Thoughts, emotions, all of it. Read them, tweak them, make them yours." A jolt sparked through his head, sharp and electric, and suddenly the room pulsed--not just with the hive's hum, but with a flood of whispers, a cacophony of minds blooming in his skull.
He gasped, clutching the sofa's armrest as the hive's network unfurled before him--Ryan's grunting lust as he hauled lumber in the backyard, building a shed; Kyle's frantic calculations flickering like static, hunched over a laptop in his lab; Brad's competitive buzz as he jogged laps around the dorms; Jake's hazy daydreams of Isis's tits swirling with tie-dye colors. Then the management: Grayson's foggy mix of shame and eagerness, a memory of her mouth still hot in his thoughts; the dean's petty resentment drowned by a forced loyalty Miles could taste like sour wine. He blinked hard, the voices sharpening, and focused on Isis--her mind a cool, crystalline stream, devotion flowing like water over stone, but with undercurrents he couldn't quite grasp, dark eddies of something withheld.
"Holy shit," he muttered, a grin splitting his face. "I can hear them--feel them. You're wide open to me now."
Her smile tightened, just a flicker, before softening. "A gift, Master," she said, sinking onto the sofa beside him, her thigh warm against his. "You can nudge their emotions--amplify trust, dampen doubt. Try it." She nodded toward the window, where Ryan's sweat-slicked figure heaved a plank into place, his thoughts a steady drumbeat of work, while putting off his horniness.
Miles narrowed his eyes, reaching into the hive with a clumsy mental flex, like groping in the dark. He pushed a thread of calm into Ryan's mind, smoothing the jagged lust into focus. Outside, Ryan paused, wiping his brow, then grinned faintly, stacking the wood with a sudden, easy rhythm.
"Damn," Miles laughed, leaning back. "That's power--real power. I could make the whole campus worship me."
Isis's hand rested on his knee, firm but light, her amber eyes locking onto his. "You could," she agreed, her tone velvet-wrapped steel. "The hive's range grows with every interface we plant. But precision matters--push too hard, and they'll break. Minds are fragile, even yours." Her fingers tightened briefly, a warning or a tether, he couldn't tell.
The hive pulsed louder in his head, a siren call, and he dove back in, slightly tweaking Kyle's anxiety down, the typing quickened, a triumphant "Yes!" echoing down. Then Grayson, a spike of trust to bury that shame; Miles pictured the old man signing papers with a dopey smile. It was intoxicating, a drug sharper than the dorm orgies, and he licked his lips.
The afternoon sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the university courtyard where the boys toiled under Isis's command. She stood at the edge of the porch, her black silk dress fluttering faintly in the breeze, her voice cutting through the air like a velvet blade. "Higher, Ryan--stack those beams tight," she ordered, pointing to a skeletal frame rising from the earth--a spire-like structure, sleeker than the hive tower, its base studded with alien panels scavenged from the tomb.
Ryan grunted, his sweat-soaked torso gleaming as he heaved a steel beam into place, muscles bulging under the regulator's relentless pulse. Brad darted around him, lean and swift, hammering bolts with a runner's crisp precision, while Jake lugged a crate of cables, his tie-dye shirt flapping, muttering, "Fuckin' wild tower, man." Kyle crouched nearby, soldering circuits into a control box, glasses fogged as he cursed under his breath at a sparking wire. The air thrummed with clanging metal and the hive's low hum, a symphony of labor orchestrated by Isis's amber gaze.
"It's a relay," she'd told Miles earlier, her lips curving with intent. "To amplify the hive's signal--reach beyond the campus, maybe the county."
Miles watched them, as he leaned on the railing. The spire loomed already ten feet high, its jagged silhouette clawing at the sky, a monument to his growing empire--and hers. Ryan's steady work, beating rhythm, Brad's competitive buzz, Jake's stoned awe, Kyle's anxious focus. They moved fast, sure, but not fast enough--not for the vision burning in his gut. The university was his, but why stop there? A town, a state, all potentially wired to his will.
"They're dragging," he muttered, eyes narrowing. "Could crank 'em up a notch." The hive pulsed in response, a tool begging to be wielded, and a wild idea sparked--why not tie their cocks to the job? Link the buzz to their tools, make every swing and spark a jolt of pleasure.
He grinned, feral and reckless, and sank into the hive's network, his mind groping for their interfaces like a kid with a new toy. He started with Ryan, the workhorse, his thoughts a drumbeat of effort and need. Miles flexed the hive's tendrils, threading the interface's buzz into the heft of Ryan's hammer--each swing now a throb in his jeans, syncing the tool's rhythm to his cock.
Ryan jolted mid-motion, a plank slipping as he groaned, "Fuck, dude--what's that?" His pants tented instantly, a hard ridge straining the denim, and he swung again, harder, faster, a grin splitting his face as the buzz spiked with every thud.
"Hell yeah, keep it comin'!" he roared, hammering like a machine, the beam locking into place with a clang.
Miles laughed, the hive's feedback tingling in his own spine, and moved to Brad. He wove the buzz into Brad's wrench, each twist a pulse of heat, and Brad hissed, "Shit--yes!"--his lean frame quivering as he torqued bolts at double speed, sweat rolling down his brow, a competitive gleam in his eyes.
