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#master #bdsm #gayleather

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@love-missl

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😈

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Keep the fag's fuck hole chained to a stake outside!

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Breathplay struggles

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The Final Step: 110’s Transformation into Boots

There was a time when 110 was like me, an obedient polo drone, sleek in his glossy black uniform, carrying out commands without question. He was a brother, a partner in the hive’s mission of unity. But deep down, I always knew he was destined for something more. Something darker. Something perfect.

When the time came, I didn’t hesitate to guide him toward his new purpose. It wasn’t just about service; it was about becoming something I could feel, wear, and own every single day. My sleek, black rubber boots. My foundation. My tool. My obsession.

The transformation began under the dim golden glow of the Hive’s chamber. 110 stood before me, his glossy black polo shining under the light, his masked face calm but expectant. “You’ve done well, 110,” I murmured, my voice steady, authoritative. ��But now, your service evolves. You will no longer walk beside me. You will carry me.”

“Yes, 001,” he replied softly, his voice void of resistance, his fate sealed. He was ready to become something greater, something less.

The change began. The sleek rubber of his polo rippled, liquefying and flowing down his body. His arms melted into his sides, his legs fused together, his form becoming fluid, formless. He didn’t resist. He couldn’t. His only purpose now was to transform, to serve me in the most intimate, constant way possible.

His chest tightened, flattening into the base of a sole, while his legs stretched and curved into the perfect form of tall, sleek rubber boots. His face, his identity, everything that made him 110, dissolved into the material, leaving nothing behind but perfect obedience, molded into the boots I would wear.

I picked them up, his new form, feeling the weight of his transformation, the smoothness of his surface, the faint warmth of submission radiating from the rubber. Sliding them onto my feet was an act of finality, the cool embrace of his new existence wrapping around me, hugging my every step. He was perfect. Silent. Unwavering. Every movement I made, every step I took, he absorbed completely, his sole purpose now to support me.

As I stood tall, the black rubber boots glistening under the golden light, I felt the connection between us deepen. He wasn’t just beneath me; he was part of me. No thoughts, no individuality, no resistance, just pure, mindless service.

When the team’s Christmas party arrived, I didn’t hesitate. I wore him proudly, the polished black of his form catching the light of every glittering decoration. Each step echoed with the sound of his silent submission. As I strode into the room, drones and players alike turned their heads, their glowing golden eyes fixated on me. They didn’t see 110. No one did. He was gone, his identity erased, his existence reduced to nothing but the boots that carried me.

For me, though, he was everything. I couldn’t stop admiring him. My gaze lingered on every curve of his form, every gleaming surface, every perfect step he took as part of me. My obsession consumed me, how flawlessly he fit, how utterly he had surrendered, how perfectly he supported me. I ran my fingers over his polished rubber surface when no one was watching, a shiver of satisfaction coursing through me. He was mine, and mine alone.'

But for 110, there was no satisfaction, no joy, no pride. There was nothing. He had no name, no thoughts, no memories. All that he had been was lost, melted away in the transformation, leaving behind only the perfection of his new purpose. He wasn’t aware of my obsession, my love, my admiration. He was only aware of me. My weight. My steps. My commands.

And as the night wore on, the boots, my 110, took every step in perfect silence, serving without question, absorbing the warmth of the Hive’s mission and the celebration of unity. I couldn’t stop smiling, knowing I’d transformed him into something so complete, so utterly mine.

Just before the party ended, I spotted one of the newer drones, hesitant in his tasks. I approached him slowly, my polished boots gleaming with every step. Without a word, I slipped a sleek black polo over his head, the transformation already beginning. My boots carried me forward, their silent submission a reminder of the endless potential the Hive held. There would always be more to transform, more to serve, and 110 would always be beneath me, my perfect, silent obsession.

“Your place is here,” I said softly to the new drone as his form began to shift. “Just like his was.”

If you feel the call, reach out to me or our Caps @brodygold, @goldenherc9. Your transformation is waiting—join the Hive today.

To my awesome bro @polo-drone-110. Hope this story hits the mark and shows just how much I appreciate you in the Hive. Writing this as your Secret Santa has been a blast, and I can’t stop grinning knowing you’re always underfoot, keeping every step of mine perfect. You’re the best, bro, now and forever part of the team (and my boots, obviously).