Unit 435

Please be aware: this is a dark tale of dronification and mind control. If those are your kinks, I hope you enjoy!

Big thank you to l0ver0se on deviantart for doing my editing!

***

A sharp pain shot through Unit 435's nipple, bringing it to its knees. The training kicked in. Unit 435 tilted its head back and released a soft noise of need, begging to please the source of the pain. Its fingers gently slid up the curve of its large breasts, lifting up the heavy tits to be caressed, or tugged, or licked until the sloshing milk inside its breasts burst forth in a rush.

Unit 435 stayed in this position for several seconds, eyes closed, biting its lower lip as it readied itself for the first touches against its sensitive form. Groping hands, kissing lips, anything; it was ready to service whatever square inch of skin that touched it. After a full minute of waiting, the unit refused to open its eyes. It was at fault. It had failed to hear the door open. It had failed to present itself properly to whoever had caused it pain. It had to make up for its flaws by being the best toy it could be, the perfect fuckdoll for its owner. It thrust its chest out further, trying to entice whoever was there to either punish or reward her.

Her.

Pain. Not in her nipple, but in her head. Unit 435's fingers slowly lifted to her head, fingertips digging through thick brown hair, nails pressing into her scalp. The pain was worse than anything she could remember feeling, at least since coming to the research facility. Yet it felt familiar. She could remember...

An office. Someone's fingers, touching a button. A sound, loud and keening like the whine of a drill, and then a deep headache. Only, then it had been something burrowing into her mind, and now it was something trying desperately to get out. Jillian just wished she could remember...

Remember...

What had she just called herself?

Jillian. Not Unit 435. Jillian.

And she wasn't an it! She wasn't a product. She was a woman, a human being. She was... was...

She clutched her head, closing her eyes and squeezing at her scalp, reaching out through the pain that walled away her memories. As if it had simply been waiting for her call, the pain thudded through her mind, and with it came truth.

Her name was Jillian Capek. She was a reporter. She'd been doing a story... On ReddySetWork, a temp agency run by Mimi Reddier. Her boss had asked her to do a fluff piece on them. But Jillian's research had led to the discovery that a full forty percent of young women who applied there ended up in degrading jobs far below their level of education; there were women with doctorates working as maids! It was blatant sexism, underemployment, and at best shady business practices. Possibly even sex trafficking. Her boss had laughed at Jillian's theories.

"Bitch..." Jillian whispered the word, and a small shudder ran through her body. How long had it been since she'd spoken? How long since she'd done anything but accept the poking and prodding and programming? How had she ended up... wherever she was? How had she been made to forget her name? And... how had she gotten it back?

"Unit 435?"

A wave of pleasure washed through Unit 435 as its name was called. It struck its chest out again without opening its eyes. It did not understand why its eyes were closed, but it knew that there had to be a reason. Perhaps its user wanted it to have eyes closed? Sight was not needed to give pleasure. As long as she could find a swollen clit to suck, or a needy slit to lick, she... She...

Jillian's eyes snapped open, her head swiveling back and forth for a moment, looking for the source of the voice. She was alone in a small white room, maybe ten square feet. There was no furniture to hide under, not even a bed. Which was strange, because she was sure there had been a bed at some point.

A bed, and a woman.

A gorgeous woman, with the a perfectly crafted clit that fit right between her lips, and the most deliciously wet pussy. Just a few curly hairs that tickled against Unit 435's nose, as it licked and sucked and ever so lightly bit. Of course, every nip was punished with a firm slap to Unit 435's naked rear. The rhythm of flesh slapping against flesh had mixed with the moans and slurping and sucking to form a wonderful symphony, mixed together with the constant music that filled the room. The music that told precisely when to suck and when to lick and when to bite. The music that had trained Unit 435 for mistress.

"Uh... Unit 435?"

The unit looked around in confusion. It had heard the voice of a mistress, but it saw nobody. Only an empty white room. The walls were white, and the floor was white, and even the door was so pale that it blended in with its surroundings.

"Unit 435?" The voice had a tint of concern to it now. Unit 435 wondered why. There was nothing to be concerned about. There would never be anything to be concerned about, at least for her and her fellow units. Not so long as they listened to the...

Unit 435 felt its forehead crease as a wave of uneasiness slid through it. Where was the music? There was supposed to be music. The music told it what to do. Without the music, it wouldn't know how to serve, how to behave. If it didn't know how to behave... If she wasn't being told what to do...

Then what was Jillian even doing here?

"Unit 435..."

"Don't call me that..." Jillian whispered. Her voice was hoarse from disuse. Unit 435 had never spoken; it hadn't even known it could speak. How long had she been that... thing? How long had she been someone's fuck toy? Her hands trembled with rage and disgust, and her fingernails dug lightly into her palms. The things she'd been made to do. The way she'd been made to feel. It was vague, and fuzzy, and hard to grip onto, but she knew that some bit of it would remain inside her even after she escaped this place.

Assuming she could escape. Her eyes darted toward the door, and she reached out for the knob.

"Unit 435?"

Her hand flinched back from the white knob as if the cool metal had somehow burned her, and she shook her head rapidly back and forth as if that could somehow overthrow the sudden need to put her hand down and wait. Wait for orders. Wait for music. Wait for mistress.

"I said don't call me that!" She lifted her chin, and set her jaw, full of defiance. Not only against the voice in her ear, but against the whole bizarre situation she had found herself in. She had been used. Abused. Her body had been made into someone's plaything. And the worst part? She had loved every minute of it. She'd loved being... not even submissive. Submissive implied she had a choice. Unit 435 was an object. It did not submit. It did not obey. It did. No free will. No desires. It had no needs or worries or hurts or fears. It felt pleasure, of course; but that was its natural state. The default setting of a sex toy was to feel good, so good, without having to think at all.

Why was Unit 435 thinking, then? Because the music was gone? Because there were no orders? Because no one had told it to lick, or suck, or even to stick its fingers into its needy cunt? If there were no new orders, then it would simply follow the last instruction given to it. It would stand in this room, and wait. It would wait until-

"I'm sorry. I don't know your real name."

That voice. That voice was familiar to Unit 435. Not just from the conversation that Jillian - who was Jillian? - had been having. The person who had stood here had never met the owner of that voice. But it was familiar to Unit 435. It was familiar, and comfortable. It was a voice to be obeyed. So why was it apologizing? Why was it talking about names? These thoughts did not belong in a mindless Unit like it, but somehow they would not stop coming.

"Please! Miss! You're my only hope... Please. Remember your name!"

"...I am..." Where was the voice coming from? Why did it sound so familiar? Why did it sound like someone was talking to Unit 435, when there was no one in the room? If there was someone in the room, the unit could have kissed them, licked them, fucked them. But there was no one in the room. There was only a sound coming from its ear.

Slowly, uncertain as to what it was doing, the unit reached up to her left ear. Her fingertips struck against something hard. An earring? No. A tag. She was wearing a fucking tag. Someone had tagged her fucking ear, like a toy on a shelf! And on the back of that tag, she could feel a small bump. A bump that vibrated as the voice spoke again.

"Please. You're a reporter, aren't you? That's why we're supposed to be keeping an eye on you. But that means someone has to know you're here. Right? Or at least that you can get the story to someone, right? If I get you out of here - please. I took a big risk turning off the music. Tell me you're still in there!?"

The panic of the voice hurt Unit 435. It wanted to reach out and comfort the woman. To be used by this poor human until she felt better. But the words... Was someone... looking for her? She closed her eyes, thinking. Did anyone know she was here?

Her boss. She'd given her boss the report. Her boss had read the report, and said... Said that she'd needed more information. And when Jilian... "My name is Jillian," she whispered out loud. "Please. Call me Jillian."

"...Jillian." The voice seemed hesitant, uncertain. "Jillian. Did you tell anyone you were coming here?"

Even knowing that the woman on the other end of the tag couldn't see it, Jillian shook her head. "...No..." she whispered, voice soft. When Jillian asked her boss how she should get more information, Mrs. Kessler had smiled, and suggested that she take the time to go there after visiting the unemployment line. It had been little more than a joke. She didn't know that Jillian had gone straight there. She'd intended to sneak around, look about, but she'd almost immediately been led to the back rooms and... then... the music.

The wonderful music. The wonderful music that told her what to do. She could almost remember it telling her. Telling her to strip off her clothing. Telling her to drop to her knees. Telling her to dip a hand between her thighs, part her lower lips, and gently pinch her nipples. And wait. Wait, like that. Wait to be used.

"Jillian?"

Jillian came to herself with a start, the cold floor beneath her knees a mark of how easily she had slipped under again. Just remembering that music had been enough to make her follow its orders all over again. It had been so nice, though; that music...

"Jillian!? Please! I need you to tell me. Are you sure no one knows you're here? Your friends, or family, or... anyone?"

"No one..." she whispered. "I didn't tell anyone..."

There was silence for a long moment. Then a soft click from the door. "Leave the room," came the voice. Though the words were quiet, they bore the undeniable weight of a command, and Jillian felt a shiver of uncertainty, mixed with the absolute desire to obey. She rose to her feet, and reached for the doorknob, finding it easy to turn. Rather than tugging the door open, though, she hesitated for a moment.

"Why are you helping me?" she whispered, voice soft and confused. "Why are you letting me out?"

"You're a reporter," her mysterious helper whispered in her ear. "I thought you might have a chance of getting the story out; or at least that someone might help you, if they knew you were here. Even if that's not true... There's no way I can just leave you, right?"

Jillian nodded, grateful. She could hardly process everything that had happened to her here, and she wasn't sure how she would ever write a report on it. Who would even believe her? She'd work out how to prove everything that had happened to her, later, though. After she'd escaped.

Jillian pulled the door open, shielding her eyes behind her arm as bright light filled the room. She was still blinking away dots of light, shaking her head back and forth, when the soft melody began to emanate from her tag. Unit 435 instantly dropped to its knees.

"No, I can't leave you in there. Not when you're more useful to me out here." A familiar voice.

Unit 435 looked up, its face a smile of pure empty joy as its eyes adjusted to the light. It could now see the woman standing in the doorway, radio in hand, her expression a mix of exasperation and victory. She was not familiar to Unit 435. She had black hair, and cold blue eyes that refused to show emotion. High cheekbones that would be lovely to kiss, if the unit was ordered, and soft lips. The unit was sure it had never kissed those lips before. Nor had it ever stripped this woman of her pantsuit, or sucked her clit. At least, not yet. It wanted to, though. So badly. Even though it should not have any preference at all. Unit 435 knew this was a failing, wanting someone who had not expressed any interest in wanting it. But it could not help itself. Because with the music playing, it could finally recognize the voice that had been speaking to it all along. The same voice that had been ordering it from beneath the music.

"You don't even care about the worry you put me through, do you, Jillian?"

Unit 435 smiled, blankly. It did know who its mistress was talking to. It did not care. The orders in its ears whispered to stay still, so it did. They whispered to look up at the woman, and smile, and the unit could think of nothing more pleasurable. Except perhaps being used by the one who had created it.

"You just want to be used. Don't you. Jillian?"

There was a smile on its mistress' face, now, and Unit 435 smiled back. It knew that Mistress' smile had nothing to do with the unit. It had not been used yet, after all, and it had no ability to please anyone when not being used. Still. It was grateful to the mysterious Jillian that had caused its mistress to smile. Even though it wasn't being used, it still felt happy to see its mistress smile. Then again, it felt happy just to exist in its mistress's service, so of course being in its mistresses presence would make it so much happier.

Mistress fiddled with the radio. "I think you need to make it up to me, Unit 435."

The unit's eyes widened in faint surprise, as its mistress suddenly turned attention to it directly. It did not understand what it was making up, but it did not care. It had been given a command. Not just from the woman: the music had shifted its tune, telling Unit 435 what its mistress expected of it: pleasure.

"Please," it whispered, lowering its head as if to beg. "Please," it whispered again, earnestly repeating the script that it was being fed. "This unit has been naughty. Please allow it to make its mistress happy." It had not been naughty. It was not capable of being naughty. But such things were unimportant. What was important to Unit 435 was repeating the script, and making its mistress happy. And look! Its mistress had a smile on her face, already.

"I want a bed for this," the unit's mistress declared, and gestured for Unit 435 to follow as she started to walk down the hallway. Since the unit had not been commanded to rise, it crawled on its hands and knees. When Mistress looked back with an impatient expression, Unit 435 picked up its pace without care for the hurt that the cold white tiles inflicted on its knees, making its way rapidly down the empty hallway to the door at the end.

"You can... you will stand, and climb into the bed," her mistress commanded. Unit 435 nodded. As it stood, it briefly glanced around the room. It's room. This was where it had been kept since its creation. This was where it had lived, until it had been moved to the small room for... something it did not remember.

A flicker of uncertainty slid across the surface of its brain like a raindrop on a window, and soon evaporated.

Unit 435 strode to the bed and immediately climbed on top of the soft white blanket, her body falling naturally into the position. On hands and knees. Arms pressing against either side of pendulous breasts large enough that her nipplesbgently brushed against the bed. Tongue hanging from its mouth,salivating with need and excitement, eyes wide and eager and locked on its approaching mistress. Just as it had been designed.

Mistress chuckled. "Do you know who I am?" she asked. "Respond."

"Mistress," was Unit 435's response. It was the only response that mattered. This was what the woman was to her unit. Mistress. Everything important in the world. Unit 435 would comply with commands from anyone, of course, but no words would have more power than those of its mistress.

"Yes, yes. But my name. Mimi Reddier. Does that mean anything to you?"

Unit 435 frowned as uncertainty returned to grime up the smooth, polished surface of its thoughts. "Will knowing Mistress's name makeUnit 435 a better toy for Mistress?"

Mimi smiled, placing a hand on the unit's head and gently rubbing at its scalp. She sat down on the bed, face to face with her creation. "It could. If I decided to use you as a reporter again, praising the good works of me and my company. How we find the perfect positions for brainless little dolls like you... But honestly, I'd rather just keep you. Unless you object to being my personal fucktoy?"

Unit 435 gasped softly, and bit its lip. The idea of directly serving Mistress sent shivers of desire down its spine. "This unit lives to serve," it whispered, honestly. "But..."

"But?" The dark haired woman lifted an eyebrow. Her cold eyes drilled into those of her creation, seeking a window into the polished blank space that was its mind.

"...This unit would be equally pleased to serve anyone, if its mistress told it to," it admitted, unable to lie. "There is no pleasure greater than following Mistress's orders. Not even being used by Mistress."

"...I see." The woman's voice was carefully controlled, and her lips did not smile, but Unit 435 could see happiness in its owners eyes. The joy of knowing one's creation was working as intended. "Well. It seems you're behaving properly. But I want to keep an eye on you; just to make sure that Jillian won't be causing me any trouble, you understand. So. I'm going to let you be my personal unit, Unit 435. You can celebrate by stripping me."

Unit 435 sat up. It did not understand who Jillian was. It did not understand why its presence would prevent Jillian from causing trouble. But it did not mind; not when it had commands to follow, and especially such a wonderful command as this.

The unit moved quickly, just as it had been trained. It removed Mistress's blazer with a single motion, tossing the expensive fabric onto the perfect white floor, before moving on to the buttons of the blouse. These required slightly more finesse, but the unit had a wealth of practice. Once the buttons were all undone, the white shirt joined the black blazer on the floor.

The unit could not help but gasp, and it bit its lip to keep from crying out in joy.

A black lace bra.

The treasures this undergarment contained were small, barely large enough to fill the unit's soft palms. Yet what did size matter to the worth of a glorious treasure like this? The unit could not resist leaning forward, letting its own naked nipples press against the fabric to tease against the peaks as it began to undo the hooks of its mistress's bra.

A moment of fiddling, and the fabric came loose in Unit 435's hands. With proper reverence for such a sacred item, it set the garment aside. Then it leaned back, smiling, and licked its lips as it lowered its attention to her mistress's waist. Yet here there was a problem. Mistress was sitting, so the unit could not remove her pants.. Yet it could not ask its mistress to stand. Unit 435 hesitated, then looked up at its owner with a desperate, pleading expression of conflict and confusion.

Mimi laughed in response, and gently cupped a hand around her creation's cheek before leaning in to press a soft kiss on Unit 435's forehead. "I'll finish undressing," she said. "You can show me what you've learned about breast play."