How to Train Your Drone

Editor's note: this story contains scenes of rough, reluctant, dubiously consensual, or non-consensual sex.

The drone deposits him at my feet, kneeling. His face is wet with tears, slimy with snot. "This was Jacob," the drone announces.

I smile at him. "What's your name?" I ask. He looks at me. Confusion? Hard to say. I can't read minds, after all. But I've read his file; he's smart enough to know that "Jacob" will not be the right answer. The candidates aren't trained in protocols before I get them. Had he even met a drone before today? Probably. No, revise that. Of course he has. But even if you know intellectually that drones used to be people, it's hard to think of them that way.

"For now," I tell him, "Your designation is Candidate 5-Lambda." He nods. "Would you like me to untie you?"

"Yes, please ma'am -- sir -- um..."

I had thought my gender presentation was entirely binary, and feminine, today. Apparently not. Strictly speaking, the question is irrelevant; neither "sir" nor "ma'am" are terms drones use.

"People who aren't your master are addressed as Superior unless you are otherwise instructed."

I beckon to the drone who brought him in. It walks forward and unties him. "Can you stand?"

He tries, but a moment later he's on his ass. I nod at the drone; it kneels down and massages his feet and ankles. "Can you stand?"

He climbs to his feet, but wobbles. I flick my fingers and the drone stands up. It can support him as he recovers. I let my eyes rake over him, one hand gently squeezing my crotch. This is standard procedure, but with 5-Lambda... even if it were a violation of the rules I doubt I could help myself. Candidates are always attractive, but many of them don't do much for me. Blake's tastes aren't mine, and it's his tastes that determine who qualifies. But 5-Lambda... he's a treat. Less muscled than most candidates, red hair (and the curtains match the drapes), absolutely covered in freckles, and taller than me. He doesn't have the beard he had when his picture was taken, so I suspect that someone -- and "someone" almost certainly means Blake -- knew I'd find him attractive.

"What is about to happen to you is not a punishment. Some of the things I will do can be used to punish you for aberrant behavior, but today your pain, stress, and discomfort will serve two purposes. The first is to soften your mind so it will be more pliable. Can you guess what the second is?"

He shakes his head. I grin. "I'm going to get off on it." I step forward and run my tongue from his collarbone to his neck. He flinches.

"Um, I, I..."

"You can stop this at any time. It will mean the end of your candidacy, a small memory wipe, and going home in disgrace. And you really can't afford that, can you?" After all, if he could he wouldn't be here. Blake compensates the families of successful Candidates lavishly, but it would take a very selfless person indeed to volunteer if they had any alternative.

"Let me be clear, Candidate 5-Lambda. Right now, your body is mine. Mine to look at, to fondle, to grope, to use, to hurt... and to fuck. And while all those things are in the service of your Overlord and your transformation, they are also for my own personal enjoyment. And I'm going to enjoy them. A lot."

*** "So, did you get my present?" Blake's voice is coy. "I had him picked specially for you."

"Present?"

"The redhead. He's yours."

"Wait, what?" It's not that Blake hasn't picked Candidates with my tastes in mind before. He likes using his drones to get me off, and that works best with drones I think are hot. But they've still been his. "Mine?"

"Completely yours. If you want him."

"What am I supposed to do with him?"

"Babe, you've trained dozens of my drones. You know what to do with him."

"I think it's hundreds, actually. And I train them for you. I don't have drones. I don't know how to have drones."

He raises his eyebrows.

"I don't."

One of his drones comes up to me and starts nuzzling at my neck. I grope the drone absently; my attention fixed on Blake. "Don't try to distract me with sex!" The drone squeezes my cock through my dress. I turn to the drone and say, "Override Aleph 6." The drone backs off.

"Aleph 6? Is that a new one?"

"Yeah, I use it before I go to Aleph 5. No electric shock, more humane. Your drones don't really need pain to obey. Most of them, at any rate. But that proves my point. You don't need verbal overrides, you just have to think the command to them and they obey. I don't have the implants, I'm not sure I want the implants."

His expression shifts. "The surgery is entirely safe. You're more likely to get brain damage from a root canal."

"It's not that. I know your surgeons are good it's..." I swallow, this is tough. "On some level I worry I'd wake up in the cells."

"Fuck. You know I'd never... right? I love you."

"Anxiety isn't always rational. On some level, yes, I know that if you wanted me droned you'd've deactivated my overrides and had me processed years ago. But going into surgery means putting myself completely in your power--"

He interrupts. "That's my point though! We're supposed to be equals in this relationship. You aren't my sub, I'm not your dom. But sometimes it feels like I am."

"Okay, this sounds like there's been some problem with our marriage festering in your mind for months. We're supposed to talk about those things."

"Um, babe? You're the one who apparently thinks that I might deep down secretly want to drone you and only just mentioned it."

I wince.

"If you had drones, you wouldn't need to ask me every time you wanted something done. Not that my drones aren't entirely at your service, but right now if you wanted a burrito you'd either have to ask me or make it yourself, with your own body. Like a drone. I, I... I want to throw up every time I see you doing some menial task that could be delegated out."

"I don't mind."

"Well I do! I want everyone to know your place! And that that place is besides me, not beneath me."

I make what I hope is a lascivious wink and say, "Sometimes I like being beneath you."

"Oh no, you're the one who took sex off the table. You don't get to put it back because it's convenient."

"I can't be the only one here thinking about how hot the makeup sex will be."

He blushes. "Look, I know you don't really pay attention to what happens outside the Citadel, but a lot of my subjects -- our subjects -- seem to think that you're, I don't know, a particularly autonomous drone I like to fuck. They expect someone in your station to have drones. And when you don't, it lowers you in their eyes. And yeah, I know you don't care, but I do."

"If I say I'll think about it, will that be enough?"

"Will you actually think about it?"

A pause. I reach out and grab a passing drone by the cock, briefly fondling it before releasing it back to whatever its designated task is. The stim is soothing, I feel my muscles -- which had apparently been clenched -- relax. And I realize I don't need to think about it. There are two possibilities: either I'm the love of Blake's life, he's the love of mine, and this is about wanting to make everyone in the Dominion realize exactly who I am to him... or this entire thing has been a giant, extravagant long con to get me droned. And honestly in that case I'd rather be a drone then live with the heartbreak finding that out would bring.

*** The next morning, I'm back in the cells to continue 5-Lambda's training. He should be hungry. He hasn't had any food, and only a sip of water, since our session last afternoon. I always enjoy the initial session, but it's entirely preparatory. Get the Candidate fucked, in pain, tired, and hungry. There are lots of ways to do it, and arguably "fucked" doesn't have to be part of the process, but if I subject a hot guy to intense agony I'm going to fuck someone afterwards; might as well be him.

Today 5-Lambda is naked, blindfolded, and tied to a chair. Nothing in his ears yet, and I'm deliberately loud as I open the door and walk into the room. I sit down in the armchair (designed specifically for my body and comfort) across from his chair (metal, hard, and decidedly uncomfortable). "What is your name?" I ask.

I said his new name only twice yesterday, and that was before I softened him up. I'll be impressed if he remembers. "I think it was, I don't know, a number and something. I don't remember."

Does he expect to be punished? Possibly. And I'm tempted to, just to see him writhe in pain. But no, I have to be professional about this. "Candidate 5-Lambda. Repeat it."

"Candidate 5-Lambda."

"When I ask you your name, I want you to tell me your designation is Candidate 5-Lambda."

He nods.

"What is your name?"

"Candidate 5-Lambda, Superior."

"Wrong." I slap his face. "Drones don't have names. Your designation is Candidate 5-Lambda. What is your name?"

"I don't have one, Superior."

A drone unties the bonds on his arms and wrists while another gives him a small hunk of bread and cheese.

"Eat," I tell him.

He wolfs it down. It's not enough, of course. That's the point. "What is your designation?"

"Candidate 5-Lambda, Superior."

This time a drone places a straw to his mouth. "Drink, it's just water." He sucks up as much as he can, but once again, it isn't enough. It also isn't just water, but the mind-softeners are almost flavorless and the dosage is low.

I repeat myself. "When I ask you your name, I want you to tell me your designation is Candidate 5-Lambda. What is your name?"

"My designation is Candidate 5-Lambda, Superior."

A drone removes his blindfold. He blinks as his pupils contract in the light.

There are debates on the next step. Some people think that drones shouldn't use first person singular pronouns; it implies individuality. Others think that replacing those pronouns with things like "this drone" is stupid. I tend towards the former opinion (and also, it's hot), while Blake is decidedly in the latter camp. But 5-Lambda won't be Blake's drone.

"One more change. Don't say 'my,' or 'me,' or 'mine,' or 'I.' Refer to yourself as 'this drone' or '5-Lambda.' What is your name?"

"This drone's designation is Candidate 5-Lambda, Superior."

The drone unties his legs.

"Stand up, that chair isn't comfortable."

He stands, and once again I let my eyes rake over his body, over my body.

"You learn quickly, you obey well. Good boys deserve favors."

The second line is deliberate, a mnemonic he learned before he was 5-Lambda. I haven't schooled his face to impassivity yet, so I see the flash of recognition on his face. "You're a musician?" he asks, momentarily caught off-guard, momentarily thinking like a person.

A minute later he's back on the chair, tied up, and blindfolded. "Candidate 5-Lambda, we are not two people having a conversation. In this room there are one person, three drones, and one candidate-drone. Right now, the person is talking to the candidate-drone and the candidate-drone is responding. I remind you once again that you can end this at any time. Do you wish to leave?"

I relish this. Sometimes it does happen, some of them do choose to leave. And I let them go after a quick memory wipe. But usually they don't respond; I suspect they hope their silence will be taken as consent.

It won't.

"Candidate 5-Lambda, do you wish to leave?"

My cock hardens when he says "No."

"Good drone." I put a straw to his mouth and he drinks. I let him drink his fill; the drones bring more water after he finishes the first cup. I stand and press my body against his shoulder, letting him feel my cock.

"Do you want me to fuck your face?" I ask.

I don't mind that he takes a moment to respond. This is an essential part of the learning process. Drones aren't mindless; it's just that their minds don't matter. Whether he's fully grasped this -- and in truth there's no reason he should have this early in the process -- is a different question.

"If you want to, Superior."

Not correct, but much better than many Candidates do when asked this question the first time. A few of them are brave, or stupid, enough to say "No"; they get beaten and warned that a second failure will disqualify them. "Yes" is a more common response, and while it's wrong, I don't punish them for it. Well, unless I'm in a bad mood or they're really hot.

"Candidate 5-Lambda, full marks for effort, but wrong."

He flinches. God, he really is hot as hell. Especially when he's scared. I want to untie him, bend him over my knee, and spank him. Not as punishment, I just want to get off on his cries and whimpers. But that isn't how you get good drones. And I want 5-Lambda to be a good drone.

"Candidate 5-Lambda, we've already established that drones don't have names. Drones don't have anything. That includes opinions. As a drone, you will neither give nor withhold consent. As a Candidate, the only time your consent matters is if you ask to leave. Do you want to leave?"

My cock is still against his shoulder and I grind into him as he decides his answer.

When it comes it's quiet, with a hint of a sob behind it. "No."

"Good drone. Do you want me to fuck your face."

"I --" my hand goes to his throat, a quick warning, "I mean... Superior, this drone has no desires."

He said "I." Twice. Do I punish him? I want to, but were I to punish Candidates every time I want to, I wouldn't get any drones. Just screams and cries for mercy. Fun, but not practical. And he did correct himself. But then, 5-Lambda is mine, not Blake's. If I ruin him, I won't damage anyone else's property.

I turn to one of the drones. "Count each time Candidate 5-Lambda is says 'I' starting at two. Duration indefinite." The drone is impassive, as it should be.

"I'll decide on your punishment once you've racked up enough points."

"How many --" he cuts himself off. "Nevermind, I... this drone doesn't need to know."

"You're learning. You're becoming a good drone." I turn to the drone on counting detail. "Untie him and put him in my chair. Then suck him off to orgasm." Rewards are important. If the reward is tinged with a touch of horror, with a vision of what his future will be... well, that probably helps the lesson stick.

All of Blake's drones give good head. This drone, I don't remember its designation, is no exception. It doesn't take long before 5-Lambda is squirming. I wish I could read his mind, know whether the physical pleasure he's obviously feeling is complemented or contrasted by his thoughts and emotions. I'll never be able to do that, though. The implants, once I have mine and he has his, aren't designed for that; I'm not sure whether it's even possible. Which is probably for the best: once he's a drone its thoughts and feelings won't matter.

After he climaxes and the drones have cleaned him off, I sit in his lap. "Try to cum as much as possible during your training. Candidates are allowed to, but a good drone does not cum."

The drones echo the last six words under their breaths. It's a trigger phrase, an absolute truth.

"Candidate 5-Lambda, you said earlier that you had no desires. That's going to change, because I am going to order you to want something. Candidate 5-Lambda, want to be a good drone. Do you want to be a good drone?"

"Yes, Superior."

I remove his blindfold. Once again, he blinks in the light.

"Are you a good drone?"

"This drone does not evaluate himself."

For now, the gendered pronoun will slide. He does still have a gender, and I don't think he's heard me refer to any drones as "it." Besides, otherwise the response is perfect. Third person, clinical language, almost devoid of humanity. His file said he'd scored high on vocabulary, but knowing abnegating words and using them about oneself aren't the same thing.

Praise is good for Candidates. "That was an excellent answer." It's the first time I've given him a compliment other than "good drone." "You've earned two rewards." I turn to the counting drone, "Deduct one 'I' from your count." I stand up. "Get on your hands and knees and follow me."

No, the reward isn't going on all fours. He might think it is, or think that I think it is.

The counting drone speaks, "Should I follow you, Superior?"

"Yes," I tell him. "Good proactivity protocols."

Spontaneous rewards are tricky. The ideal reward for a Candidate is one that brings pleasure with a touch of horror, like the blowjob the drone gave him. 5-Lambda needs to eat a proper meal, so I decide to go with food. I walk out of the room, down the corridor, and into another. Drones open and shut the doors as we pass.

The room is huge, but mostly empty. In the center two chairs face each other. Both padded leather, but only one has restraints for the wrists, neck, and ankles. A light-bulb dangles over them from the ceiling, the only illumination in the room. I sit in the chair without restraints. 5-Lambda looks at the other chair then back to me. "Superior, should I -- should this drone sit in the chair?"

"No. Kneel in front of it, facing me." He obeys. "Standby drone, report."

A drone steps out of the shadows. "I await direction, Superior," it says.

"Retrieve one drone meal ration and one of the meals for instructors. If Kelly's in the dining room, ask her which meal on order today is best. If she's not, engage judgment protocols, choice is permitted."

"I do not have judgment protocols, Superior. I apologize for the deficiency."

I sigh, shoddy work. "Who was in charge of your candidacy-training?"

"Instructor Michael." Of course. Michael, who failed one time too many. His son was hot, so I gave Michael the choice of execution or sending his son to the cells. He actually had the decency to choose death, but his son still ended up in the cells. I had the executioner-drone tell him that at the end. Always nice when someone's last words are "You bastard!"

"Find a drone with judgment protocols, relay my order to it, then report for training in judgment protocols."

"Yes, Superior."

I stroke 5-Lambda's hair as we wait. Two drones walk in, one holding a drone meal ration, one holding a tray with a plate of roast lamb, a small salad, and a slice of cherry pie. Given that Kelly hates cherry pie, and knows that I love it, I guess she thought the real food was for me.

"Place the drone meal ration and tray on the floor next to Candidate 5-Lambda." They obey.

"Candidate 5-Lambda, your reward is a meal of real food, a good one. This is not something most Candidates get. It will also be your last. Next to the tray is a drone meal ration: that is what you will eat for the rest of your life. Eat the real food. If you are still hungry afterwards, eat the drone meal ration. You may use your hands."

Drone meal rations don't taste bad, or so I'm told. They contain all the nutrients a drone needs for strength, energy, and muscle maintenance. But they're hardly appetizing. If he hadn't impressed me with 'This drone does not evaluate himself' his last real food would have been the hunk of bread and cheese I gave him earlier.

5-Lambda eats slowly. I massage my crotch as I watch. The occasional flicker of eyes suggests he notices. Good. Observance protocol training should be easy.

He doesn't even look at the drone meal ration when he's done. "Sit in the chair," I order.

As soon as does, five drones step out and each secures one of the restraints. I order a standby drone to remove the tray and drone meal ration.

"The time has come," I tell my future drone, "to clean your mind."

*** I leave him an hour later. The bulb flashes on and off at irregular intervals, none longer than a minute. His ears are covered by headphones that transmit a litany of nonsense mixed with trigger phrases, cacophony, and euphony. That will shift over the next several hours. As his mind softens the nonsense and cacophony will fade, and the trigger phrases will be supplemented with base protocols, axiomatic truths, and secondary directives. Then, white noise. The white noise will be the longest part. All the while the bulb will flicker randomly. It's probably unpleasant, I wouldn't know. One of the benefits to being in charge of training is that I can skip out on conducting the parts that bore or irritate me. I could skip out on conducting training altogether, but... yeah, that's not gonna happen.