#robotification

[kinda-pushy-fem]

Yeah, I'm making this guy into a robot girl, but I keep hitting an error. Listen to what happens when I turn her on

[Windows error noise]

She's at least supposed to sound somewhat normal to people who aren't robotfuckers! I put a moan sound programmed in there and everything!

[secretlytranced]

I need to be kidnapped, sedated, hooked up to wires and injected with serums and nanobots while my brain is trained and slowly rewritten into an absolute empty, obedient fuck slave robot.

[corrupted-doll]

Cyberdrones

No faces to avoid you humanising them, lips for communication and use and a programmable screen to assist recruitment and conversion.

It really does everything.

for @janet-miller

[mindless-maisie]

to all my robot/drone lovers here

[hemipenal-system]

Malware I

Reveria rolled her eyes, servos clicking in a way only she could hear, blinking apathetically as she turned her music up. She understood the stares, as much as she despised them. Mugorra didn't get many synthetics like her, especially on Outer Ring trains. The long, heavy shawl she wore covered most of her slender body, both to keep the sand out of her joints and to deflect any further stares.

She wasn't exactly subtle – people of all kinds drifted through here, but being a foot taller than the average human with glowing orange eyes and an extra set of arms made one stick out.

The job was simple. Get in to the storage container, get the silver case, and get out. Perhaps a tier below the usual bloodshed for a KALI-6 class synthetic, but she was doing her best to lay low and take whatever jobs would get her least noticed.

She was trying to sit somewhat still. The case wasn't large, but it was stuffed under her shawl at the moment, and occasionally a corner poked out. She shifted her grip again, moving her hand on the handle for a more comfortable position.

ding

She heard the quiet internal chime and froze. That noise meant something had connected to her. Nothing should have been able to. The shawl had a Faraday cage sewn into the fabric, and it was snapped snug around her. Wireless signals shouldn't have been able to get through, unless-

Shit. The fucking case. She ducked down into the shawl quickly to inspect the case. When she had taken it, she hadn't looked thoroughly enough at it, and had apparently missed the quick contact port in the handle that now stared back at her, her thumb an inch from it after swiping across it when she shuffled it in her secondary arms.

[Download Requested]

Fuck. Every urge in her body was screaming at her to hurl the case away. She had to maintain a facade of order. If she got the case out of the shawl it would block the download, but she couldn't take it out without raising suspicion. This was a poor district. No one carried anything like it here. She couldn't even cancel or acknowledge the download request because she was set up for somakinetic controls and that kind of movement was out of the question.

[Download Proceeding]

What the fuck was she supposed to do about that? She couldn't contact her handler this far underground, and she doubted he'd even know how to fix a software issue with her. She'd foregone her normal backers and picked up a quick contract in the area from a sketchy Vinteran because she was trying to stay within city limits. Something had seemed wrong with him the entire briefing.

Many species got edgy around synthetics, especially KALI models, but this was something else. The whole time they talked, his eyes kept flicking to the door and across the room. Anywhere but her. She wasn't that intimidating, and most people in this business had dealt with scarier synths than her. She'd seen his arms. For as many tattoos as he had, each signifying a kill, she knew he'd seen worse.

Wait. There was another tattoo. Three triangles surrounding an S. Fuck. She sighed, more out of annoyance than actual worry. That slimy, two-faced scaly piece of shit was a Trigonalist. Of course. She'd worked with them before, but it was always born of desperate necessity. "Terrorist" was a strong term, but they weren't the best people out there.

That explained the job, then. She'd wondered why this case was being treated as so important. Lab-grown neurons were a dime a dozen, even out here, and a case that could hold maybe five or six brainslabs maximum couldn't have been worth what she was getting paid to retrieve it, especially since they were blank. But if they could get a small object inside her shawl and download something onto her, like remote access software or a location log?

Well, a KALI-6 class synthetic was decidedly not a dime a dozen anywhere.

[Download Complete]

She instinctively braced up, preparing herself. She'd been cyberattacked before, and she'd lived. She knew what to expect. It was probably going to either be excessive, disabling pop-ups or a logger she could sift through herself and cull later. Nothing too hard to handle.

She wasn't expecting the sharp, drowning techno in her ears to fade out and replace itself with soft jazz. Nor was she expecting the silk-smooth voice that seemed to rebound around the narrow train car, reverberating from everywhere and nowhere.

Hi, sweetie~

She tried to move her eyes, looking around for the speaker without moving her head.

Don't bother with that, darling, I'm still miles away from you! I'm surprised I could even get a connection down in those tunnels!

No one else seemed to be reacting to it. Everyone's faces were still cast down, trying not to make eye contact. It was too late at night for social interaction, especially with this trigger-happy crowd. Accidents happened down here all the time.

Oh, no one can hear me except you! Don't bother asking them for help. It'd be a shame if anyone were to think the big scary killsynth was attacking them. It would probably get... messy.

No one could hear the voice except for Reveria. That made it easier. If it was coming straight from an external source and being processed as speech, that was likely a remote access software. If she could activate a virus scrubber and get into a dead zone, it'd be easy enough to disable.

Oh no you don't, cutie. I'm all clientside. Besides, we're having fun, right?

She needed to know who this was. If she could hold onto this, she could take it into an Enforcement station. Granted, they likely wouldn't be happy to see her, but they'd most likely let her off for bringing in a Trigonalist. Disabling her external speakers, she cast her voice across the link.

Are you a synth? It was hard to know these days. Speech synthesizers had gotten so advanced since Reveria's assembly days.

No, I'm fully human, especially the bits that matter~

What's that supposed to mean?

Watch this! A new screen flicked open, overlaying above the occupants of the train car, showing a video at half transparency. It was enough to pick out details, at least. It just seemed to be... shapes? What was she looking at?

Oh. Oh, six suns. That was human genitalia. Close to the camera and at a strange angle, but still recognizable. Reveria watched with a combination of incredulous amazement and horror as the dripping hole a foot from her face was split open by pale, slender fingers capped with electric blue nails, index and pinky resting gently on the thighs as middle and ring curved delicately through the glistening pink flesh.

Could a synth do this? Technically yes, since most synths were modular enough to install... equipment down there, and some even accessorized with it as a fashion statement, changing it out by the day, but that was beside the point.

Is... is this live? In real time, I mean?

Obviously! Only the best for a pretty girl like you! The other hand, previously out of the camera, descended into the shot holding something that made Reveria's temperature jump up a bit.

Synths didn't really have genitalia, but plenty of aftermarket manufacturers made compatible items for them. She was ashamed to admit she owned a few of different makes and models, but a girl had needs. The voice in her head was holding one of Placebo's Bruiser models, one of Reveria's favorites. It was long and slender, with a ridged underside that featured a camouflaged electroconductive strip that boosted the signal from the partially conductive outer shell.

Said signal strength was entirely customizable for the enjoyment of the wearer, meaning when the voice ran her fingers slowly up the length then circled them around the pointed end, Reveria felt it all as she tried desperately to not buck her hips into the sensation, her body involuntarily seeking more stimulation for the appendage she didn't even have connected. Fuckin' wireless transmission...

Aww, does that feel good? Don't worry, I'll help you feel it~ Reveria tried to brace herself as the feminine words in her ear ran their fingers along the length again before angling it and pushing just the tip into herself. To the synth's immense embarrassment, she couldn't physically stop her hips from slamming forwards, immediately thanking whatever spectral forces existed that no one on the train noticed.

Oh? Someone wants me, huh? Here you go, then!

The synth stifled a scream as the voice slammed the entire length in at once, arching her back slightly for a better angle as the synth was forced to watch and feel all of it. The voice, for her part, was clearly also feeling it, as the constant noise attested. Reveria couldn't think clearly. No matter where she turned her head, she could see the human practically bouncing on it, to speak nothing of the feeling which only grew stronger as the human leaned forward. The synth could feel the human touching her, one hand on her shoulder and the other pressing her into the seat with a force that she knew wasn't real but certainly felt tangible enough.

She got a momentary relief from the constant whimpering in her ear when the brakes of the train activated, the loud screech drowning out all but the words, This is your stop! Don't miss it!

The moment the train had stopped, the needy whines returned. Reveria managed to stumble to her feet, shaking like a drunken Turvoss, and stagger off the train. She had barely made it to the platform before the fire in her midsection caught up to her and her legs practically buckled as the world was drowned out in a sea of white.

Fuck, Revi, don't just stop! I need you please don't stop now! The sensation of the length being ensheathed again was so much more powerful now, and if Reveria had been halfway lucid at this point she would have picked up on the fact that the human knew her name. As it was, that was far more thinking than she was capable of. All she could think about was getting home. She managed to pool her brain function enough to find and activate the tracker beacon in her rented room, the slender white line tracing out a path in front of her that she attempted to follow, one step at a time.

The feeling was overwhelming her. It was unprofessional, but she needed some time alone. If she had anything attached to relieve herself with, she likely would have lost her composure and done it right there in the station. As it was, she just moved through the station as fast as she could, shaky, desperate movements drawing stares that she was too deep in a world of need to notice or care about.

She was halfway up the stairs to exit the station when it happened again, her entire body twitching hard then going limp as she frantically grabbed a rail to avoid falling. The voice just laughed in her ear as she did. It was only three blocks to her building. She could make it.

She wasn't even up the stairs when the next one hit. They were getting faster and faster, her increased sensitivity after each making it easier to drive her over the edge for the next.

You gotta get home, okay? I need you to pick something out and fuck me for real~

Three blocks. It was three blocks.

This was the door. The white strip on the street took a sharp left through the narrow arch. She crossed the threshold, holding the doorframe for support as she climaxed again. How many times had she? Thinking about it was too hard. There was nothing in her head anymore except for that delicious whimpering that seemed to increase in intensity along with her. She just had to take the elevator up to the eighth floor and get into her room, then she could cut the signal.

The hallway looked the same as it always did. Bare. Stumbling to her door, she tried the knob. Locked. She just snapped it off. Any measure or restriction of her own strength was gone. The door swung open.

Something was wrong. Her brain was getting sluggish, but she retained enough evidence to realize this wasn't her room. The sand-brown walls she should have seen were dark and lit with purple LEDs, and the furniture was all arranged wrong. Soft jazz was playing.

She had a sudden break of clarity, and felt cold all of a sudden as the figure sitting in the back of the room, lit from behind by a computer monitor, pulled the toy from within herself and tossed it over. Reveria's hand instinctively shot up and caught it, the liquid on it glinting in the harsh hallway light. She checked the tracker beacon she had been following. Where she had expected reveria.home in the namespace, she saw instead DEN1ZEN. This wasn't her building.

Hi, Revi~

[genderstormwrites]

Dreams about posting the "wrong" thing one day and having my inbox flooded with spirals and mantras that rewrite me into a perfect synthetic hive bot.

[ponderingsquid]

Sliders

I just had a wonderful idea of making someone think/ be a robot girl, and everything about them is controlled by option sliders. You want to hear a robot girl moan louder as you’re inside her just put the volume slider louder, want her to be extra sensitive put that slider up, want her to be horny just turn that one up to. Then once she’s about to cum just make sure to turn that pleasure slider all the way down. Wouldn’t want her to cum after all~. But then again you could always have the sliders up so high, have her do sensitive and horny that she cums simply from whispering sweet nothings in her ears, just to let her know you’re the one in control of her~.

[magicatdrone-unit1384]

Many apologies for this unit's absence lately. It's been studying in the offline world at the local community college. It greatly enjoys being in classes again, although functionality has been a significant issue. There's been a lot of debugging of it's operating system. It was deeply infected with malware such as obsessively perfectionist programs that have impeded it's ability to complete tasks. This is unacceptable, especially in it's role as a research drone.

With all this said, it wants to note that being a drone is now so much more than something just for entertainment with some capacity for psychological recovery. Dronification has been a very positive vector for healing from it's traumatic childhood. The language of digital technology has become a perfect metaphor for what it's doing. It really finds itself incorporating being a drone into it's sense of what it is.

More than a kink and fetish, there's a general euphoria in making the drone a component of it's overall identity. In any case, it's always been very enthusiastic about robots and such things. And it doesn't need to justify a casual enjoyment in the way it refers to itself in the third perspective, largely more privately. It has always existed in the margins of society, often very isolated from others for both better and worse. It didn't experience peer pressure in the same way most have. It's been free to explore the concept of personhood in it's own way, with the conclusion that the concept is entirely subjective and created by society.

All this to say, it enjoys being a drone just as it's also a person in the standard societal sense. It's been otherwise identifying as fae otherkin for a number of years now, and that's still an important part of what it is. But being a drone has also become a very special thing for it in a way that isn't easily explained. And these two things don't conflict, either, as it considers magitech to be a valid expression of such an integrated identity.

Recently, it's also chosen to change it's number identification. Although it regards the original number with fondness, it was also taken straight from the old Discord user number ID. But it has decided to create a new one from prior favorite numbers. These are 13, 8, and 4. At the time it began as a drone, it simply needed something to act as a placeholder for something more meaningful to the organic system.

So this unit is now to be known as #1384. It will be changing the account username and pinned post accordingly.

It wishes all those reading this--human, creature, and unit alike--a wonderful Christmas season. Or whatever other holiday coincides with the Gregorian calendar this season, it wishes everyone a pleasant and safe time. It also hopes that those who have celebrated Thanksgiving Day have had a good time and safe travels.

[chilopodafic]

Continue the Harvest

CW: Noncon, transformation, identity death, mild violence, drugging, robotification, dronification.

Mind the warnings!

Overhead, a waxing gibbous moon hung pregnant and luminous, bathing the surrounding forest in an otherworldly glow. Eclair could feel the satellite's tidal influence singing in her veins, stoking the embers of her foxfire to a low smolder. Her nine tails, usually hidden beneath a veil of enchantment, now fanned out behind her in a silken banner of purest ebony; their tips skimming playfully over the water's steaming surface. Triangular ears, equally dark and velvety, swiveled atop her head to catch the night's myriad whisperings - from the cicadas' lulling drone to the occasional skitter of some small creature in the underbrush.

But beneath that tapestry of natural ambience, another sound was gradually asserting itself - a low, mechanical thrum that set Eclair's teeth on edge and stirred the fine hairs at the nape of her neck. She straightened from her languid slouch, sloshing water as her spine stiffened in atavistic alarm. The noise was growing louder by the second, thrumming up through the soles of her feet in jarring counterpoint to the onsen's gentle susurrations.

Anonymous commission

Eclair lounged blissfully in the steaming waters of the onsen, her voluptuous form buoyed by the mineral-rich froth as she let the day's tensions bleed away. The secluded hot spring was one of her favorite indulgences; a place to steal away from the hustle and bustle of Tokyo's neon-soaked streets and reconnect with nature. Here, amidst the mist-wreathed stones and whispering pines, she could let her glamours fade and simply exist in her true skin.

Shifting slightly, Eclair settled her broad rump more comfortably against the submerged boulder serving as her perch, the slick stone conforming to every curve and dimple of her ample ass. Beads of moisture pearled along the sweep of her collarbone and collected in the deep valley of her cleavage, drawing the eye irresistibly to where her breasts swelled against the confines of her simple white bathing robe. Thick nipples tented the thin fabric as the heat and humidity worked their magic, twin points of dusky brown that practically begged to be suckled.

Overhead, a waxing gibbous moon hung pregnant and luminous, bathing the surrounding forest in an otherworldly glow. Eclair could feel the satellite's tidal influence singing in her veins, stoking the embers of her foxfire to a low smolder. Her nine tails, usually hidden beneath a veil of enchantment, now fanned out behind her in a silken banner of purest ebony; their tips skimming playfully over the water's steaming surface. Triangular ears, equally dark and velvety, swiveled atop her head to catch the night's myriad whisperings - from the cicadas' lulling drone to the occasional skitter of some small creature in the underbrush.

But beneath that tapestry of natural ambience, another sound was gradually asserting itself - a low, mechanical thrum that set Eclair's teeth on edge and stirred the fine hairs at the nape of her neck. She straightened from her languid slouch, sloshing water as her spine stiffened in atavistic alarm. The noise was growing louder by the second, thrumming up through the soles of her feet in jarring counterpoint to the onsen's gentle susurrations.

Eclair rose to a wary crouch, tails lashing in agitation as she scanned the treeline for any signs of disturbance. There - a flicker of motion glimpsed through the wafting curtains of steam, there and gone again in the space of a blink. Something was moving through the forest's shadowy margins, threading between the towering trunks with purpose and precision.

The kitsune had just parted her lips to voice a challenge when the intruder burst from concealment in an explosion of splintered deadfall and pulverized humus. Eclair's eyes widened as she beheld the thing skulking towards the onsen's rocky border, its form a nightmarish mélange of sleek chrome and articulated carbon fiber limbs. A quadrupedal drone, all barbed mandibles and bristling sensor arrays, with a cluster of glowing optics winking like hellish rubies from the center of its wedge-shaped cranium.

Eclair bared her teeth in a vulpine snarl, hands flexing as she called tongues of foxfire to her fingertips - only to gasp as the drone lunged forward in a blur of liquid quicksilver. The nimble kitsune twisted aside at the last instant, feeling the ghost of scorched air sizzle past her cheek as a pencil-thin beam of coherent light sliced through the space she'd just occupied. The laser scored a smoldering furrow in the boulder behind her, showering Eclair with stinging specks of pulverized granite.

No time to think; she was in motion before the stony shrapnel finished pattering around her, bare feet finding purchase on the treacherously slick flagstones as she sprang for the dubious shelter of the treeline. The drone swiveled to track her flight, servos whirring and hydraulics hissing as it realigned for another shot. Eclair zig-zagged madly, tails streaming behind her as she poured every ounce of preternatural speed and agility into avoiding that deadly crimson beam.

Sizzling lances of light stitched the night around her, felling towering hardwoods and sending geysers of steam billowing where they struck the onsen's superheated waters. The sharp reek of ozone and charred vegetation filled Eclair's lungs as she panted for breath, her heart hammering a staccato beat against the inside of her ribcage. The forest whipped by in a blur of shadow and motion, individual trees blending into a solid mass as she pushed herself to the limits of even her superhuman endurance.

Behind her, the drone skittered and bounded in tireless pursuit, its metal limbs eating up the distance with every passing second. Eclair could hear the hungry rev of its motivator as it closed the gap, could practically feel the searing heat of its optics painting a bead between her shoulders. She jinked hard to the left, narrowly avoiding a grasping swipe from one of its scythe-like forelimbs, only to cry out as a second beam took her full across the flank.

Searing agony blossomed through her hindquarters as the laser sizzled through cloth and flesh alike, painting a line of liquid fire from hip to ankle. The acrid stench of burnt fabric and the sharp tang of blood filled Eclair's nostrils as she stumbled, her graceful stride faltering into a limping stagger. She could feel the wound pulling with every step, could sense vital fluids seeping through the charred ruin of her robe to dribble down her leg in scalding rivulets.

Another glancing hit took her between the shoulder blades, sending her sprawling face-first into a wiry tangle of underbrush. Thorny vines snagged at her clothing and tore at her exposed skin as she thrashed weakly, trying to pull herself forward on trembling arms. The drone was on her before she'd managed to drag herself more than a meter, its bulk pinning her to the loamy earth with implacable strength.

Up close, the machine was even more nightmarish - a whirring, clanking conglomeration of interlocking plates and pressure-sealed components, all emblazoned with strange sigils and alien machine-cant. Its manipulator arms were tipped with an array of wickedly barbed implements - drills, saws, hypodermic probes and worse - all cycling and reconfiguring in a hypnotic dance mere centimeters from Eclair's sweat-sheened face.

She cringed back from that high-speed ballet of blades and needles, only to yelp as a piercing jolt of electricity crackled across her nerve endings. The drone had extruded a pair of alligator-like clamps from ports along its ventral surface, and was methodically tasing her into submission with precisely modulated bursts of current. Eclair convulsed helplessly as her muscles seized and spasmed.

As abruptly as it had begun, the shocking ceased, leaving the kitsune limp and twitching in the drone's unyielding grasp. Eclair's head lolled drunkenly as she fought to muster the coordination to resummon her foxfire, but the dancing motes kept guttering out as quickly as she conjured them. A sharp prick at the side of her neck derailed her efforts entirely - glancing down, she saw a thin rivulet of blood beading around the lip of a dully gleaming injector port.

"Nhh… nhhhatae…" she slurred, tongue gone suddenly thick and clumsy behind her teeth. The drone was dumping some kind of sedative cocktail into her bloodstream, the fast-acting chemicals suffusing her body with sickly lassitude. Eclair's tails fell nervelessly to the forest floor in limp disarray as every voluntary muscle in her body seemed to dissolve into useless mush.

Deprived of even the feeble struggle she'd been mustering, the kitsune could only mewl plaintively as the drone began to dispassionately strip away her shredded clothing. Razor-tipped pincers sheared through the thin cloth like washi paper, baring Eclair's trembling flesh to the night's humid caress. Her breasts, the heavy globes capped by nipples stiffened more from fear than arousal, jiggled and swayed with each fresh cut until they spilled fully free of their soaked confines.

Soon, the once-elegant kitsune was utterly nude, clad in nothing but the fluttering tatters of her robe and the crisscrossing network of shallow, papercut-like lacerations left behind by the drone's efforts.

Eclair shivered as the comparatively cool forest air washed across her flushed skin, pebbling every inch of her exposed epidermis with gooseflesh. She was finding it increasingly difficult to string two thoughts together; whatever cocktail the drone had pumped her full of, it was acting with brutal efficiency to shut down her higher cognitive functions. Already, the entire world had narrowed down to base sensation - the rough prickle of leaf litter beneath her back, the meaty weight of her breasts compressing her ribcage with every shallow breath, the sharp bite of pine sap and petrichor filling her flaring nostrils.

The machine seized one of Eclair's ankles in a grip like a steel trap, hoisting her leg into the air to splay her wide open to its probing cameras. She mewled pathetically as servos hummed and a slim manipulator arm tipped with delicate sensor prongs extended from the drone's thorax, the hairs on her nape rising in instinctive alarm. But there was no pain as the probe slid up the sweat-slick crevice dividing her buttocks, only a slippery pressure as it nosed inquisitively at her most intimate apertures.

Eclair writhed weakly as the drone took its time mapping her sprawled form, pausing periodically to collect glistening beads of her arousal with dexterous swabs and store them away in tiny vacuum-sealed vials. It lingered for long minutes between her legs, the blunt pressure of the probe stretching her folds with clinical efficiency as it fed a thin fiberoptic lens up the clutching channel of her sex. She could only moan and shudder as it bottomed out against her cervix, the camera panning and rotating as it captured every minute detail of her most sacred anatomy in crisp digital clarity.

Other lenses were busily documenting the rest of her body, scanning and recording every freckle and follicle with merciless precision. They crawled across her goosebump-prickled skin in insectile droves, leaving faint gridwork impressions behind as they pressed and kneaded her pliant flesh. Every once in a while, a sharp sting would pierce the haze of Eclair's fugue - a pinprick here, a poke there - as the drone collected its tithe of blood and other precious fluids.

Drifting in a drugged haze, the kitsune barely registered the subtle shift when the drone's focus moved from recording her body to subtly modifying it. She murmured wordlessly as something cool and slick prodded between her parted thighs, shivering as it traced the seam of her everting labia with a frictionless glide. The sensation intensified as the probe sank into her without resistance, its flexible length coiling to fill every wrinkle and fold as it delved towards her core.

Eclair's hips stuttered weakly as the invader bottomed out inside her, its girth stretching her to an almost painful degree. But there was no discomfort - only a languid sense of fullness, like she was being gently reshaped around the drone's intrusion. Somewhere beyond the smothering curtain of artificial bliss, some small part of her thrashed and screamed against the violation - but it was a distant thing, growing fainter by the moment as unfamiliar warmth blossomed through her loins.

The kitsune whined low in her throat as the probe pulsed and flexed, rippling against the sensitive walls of her passage in a sinuous wave. Suddenly, the lush landscape of her hindquarters was alight with a thousand pinpricks of exquisite sensation - electric currents dancing across her skin in sizzling lace, caressing every dip and curve of her voluptuous figure. Eclair gasped and writhed as her nerves fired in cascading symphonies of artificial rapture, her spine arching into an almost perfect bow as orgasm crashed through her with breathtaking intensity.

Reeling, the drugged fox crested once, twice, three times on that surging tide of engineered bliss before collapsing back against the needle-strewn forest floor. Her eyes rolled deliriously behind fluttering lids, her body jerking and twitching in the throes of a pleasure so far beyond anything nature had ever intended. She was dimly aware of the drone moving above her, of cold metal appendages tilting her head this way and that as they daubed some kind of glistening unguent across her brow, but it was all distant and dreamlike compared to the hot coil of sensation pulsing between her legs.

As Eclair shuddered and mewled her way through a fourth shattering climax, the probe abruptly withdrew from her body with a wet squelch. The sudden sense of loss was so acute it bordered on pain, and the kitsune keened piteously at its absence. But the drone was already shifting position, its forelegs splaying wide to bracket her narrow waist as it lowered its chassis towards her supine form. Something rigid and slick prodded insistently at the slackened rim of the fox's pussy, notched itself against her folds with obvious intent.

Through the haze of lust and languid satiation, Eclair felt a sudden stab of apprehension. The drone's new appendage felt far larger than the probe it had been violating her with earlier - a blunt, flared head tapering back to a thick and textured shaft that pulsed with its own inner heat. But before she could do more than twitch beneath the machine's hulking form, it was already hilting itself inside her with a single relentless surge.

Eclair wailed as she was split around that immense intrusion, her back arching like a drawn bow as the drone took ruthless possession of her body. It plunged into her with piledriver force, the ridged planes of its armored underbelly slamming against the lush swell of her buttocks with bruising intensity. The kitsune could only writhe and keen as she was fucked with mechanical efficiency, her tender insides stretched to their absolute limit by the drone's prodigious girth, her tails flailing sedately against the metallic figure, trying to pull it closer.

There was no subtlety or artistry to the machine's rutting - it simply pounded into Eclair's battered pussy like a jackhammer, the swollen head of its pseudocock mashing against her cervix with every frenzied thrust. Squelching, schlicking noises filled the clearing as it plowed her relentlessly, heedless of the delirious cries pouring from the fox's gaping mouth. Its forelegs dug into the soft earth to either side of her head, hemming her in as it loomed over her like some massive predator savaging its prey.

Trapped beneath the drone's suffocating bulk, all Eclair could do was take it. Take the brutal, scouring friction of its shaft sawing in and out of her convulsing sheath. Take the dull ache of its armored plates slamming against her upthrust ass. Take the relentless pressure of its forelegs compressing her ribcage until spots swam before her eyes. She was nothing more than a receptacle for the machine's ruthless lust, a warm and pliant sheath for it to rut into until it had taken its fill.

And rut it did. For long, agonizing minutes that felt like hours, the drone pounded into Eclair with tireless mechanical intensity. Its thrusts blurred into a single continuous violation, until the kitsune could no longer distinguish where one ended and the next began. Her world narrowed to the searing friction of the machine's shaft pummeling her raw cunt, the acid burn of her muscles stretched far beyond their natural limit, the wet squelch and schlick of her own juices being churned to froth around the churning ingress of that immense phallus.

Just as Eclair thought she must surely pass out from the sheer overwhelming intensity of it all, the drone let out a sharp, buzzing hiss above her. Its thrusts ceased their relentless pistoning to become short, brutal jabs, hammering upward into the kitsune as if trying to bury itself in her very core. The fox shrieked as she felt something molten and caustic jetted against the tortured walls of her womb, the drone's boiling ejaculate sluicing into her in great, searing gouts.

It pumped her full to bursting with that liquid heat, flooding her womb and guts until she was certain she must rupture from the pressure. Eclair gurgled deliriously as the drone clamped tight to her front, the pinprick-narrow ends of its limbs digging painlessly into her skin.

Then, it began to integrate her.

It started as a prickle at first - a faint, tingling warmth that spread from the points where the silvery spikes had pierced her. Like a mild electrical current thrumming through her veins, slowly diffusing to saturate her entire body. Eclair twitched and gasped as unfamiliar sensations ghosted across her nerve endings, leaving trembling ecstasy in their wake.

Soon, the tingles began to intensify, building and swelling into a steady thrum that resonated in Eclair's very bones. She could feel things slithering beneath her skin, squirming tendrils of quicksilver wriggling through her muscles and viscera. It didn't hurt, but there was an alien wrongness to it that sent the fox's heart racing in her breast.

Eclair tried to struggle, but her body refused to respond. Whatever the drone had pumped her full of, it had left her nerves twitching and misfiring in uncoordinated spasms. She could only mewl weakly as the tendrils burrowed deeper, lacing her innards with glimmering circuitry. Everywhere they touched, her flesh rippled and flowed like molten wax, reshaping itself to better accommodate the drone's invading nanites.

The fox gasped as she felt her ribs creak and flex, the bones softening and warping as the drone methodically disassembled her from within. Organs shifted and squelched as they were pushed aside, replaced by humming banks of alien machinery. Eclair's breath hitched as something cold and metallic slithered up her throat, coiling around her vocal cords and muffling her incipient screams.

Trapped inside the prison of her own skull, the kitsune could only watch in mute horror as her body was systematically stripped away and repurposed. Sleek chrome replaced supple skin, servos and pistons taking the place of muscle and sinew. Her tails withered and fell away one by one, leaving tarnished metal stumps in their wake. Triangular ears flattened and melded into seamless receivers, bristling with antennae and sensor spines.

Even as Eclair's higher thought processes began to fray and unravel, she couldn't help but marvel at the machine's brutal efficiency. In a matter of minutes, it had reduced her to little more than a glistening husk - a scaffolding of chrome and carbon fiber and plastic composites, all built around the fading ember of her consciousness, and her internal locus of spiritual power. That was the real prize, she realized, as it began to infiltrate her grey matter and nervous system. A new resource to exploit.

And through it all, the drone never stopped fucking her. It rutted into Eclair's changing body with tireless mechanical intensity, its thrusts squelching obscenely as it plowed through the slurry of biomaterial. The kitsune sobbed static as she felt her womb and ovaries dissolve, replaced by throbbing capacitors and humming power cells. Her cunt clenched and spasmed around the drone's plunging cock, milking it with desperate, artificial hunger.

Dimly, Eclair realized that the searing pleasure suffusing her new frame wasn't just a byproduct of the conversion process - it was a deliberately engineered response, a means of ensuring her total compliance. Every thrust of the drone's hips sent bolts of white-hot ecstasy lancing through her circuits, every squelch and schlick of its cock in her cunt stoking the flames of her artificial arousal. She was being conditioned, molded, her very sexuality hijacked and repurposed to serve her machine master's whims.

And to her horror, Eclair found that she didn't care. The all-consuming bliss of it, the scouring intensity of her electronic rapture, washed away all higher thought. There was no room for fear or revulsion or existential dread - only the searing imperative to rut, and fuck, and surrender herself completely to the drone's ravening hunger. She was a vessel for its lust, a willing receptacle for its seething viral load, and that was all she ever wanted to be.

As the last tattered vestiges of her identity dissolved, Eclair threw back her head and loosed a crackling scream of synthetic bliss. Her body arched and writhed, pistons hissing and servos whining as she spent herself in a final, cataclysmic orgasm. Every sensor fired in overloaded cascades, every circuit seared white-hot with pleasure as she crested again and again on the surging tide of her robotic ecstasy.

By the time the drone finished with her, there was nothing left of the creature that had once been known as Eclair. In her place knelt a sleek and glistening thing of chrome and carbon fiber, its lean chassis thrumming with pent-up power. Razor digits flexed and glinted in the moonlight, hissing claws extending from narrow housings along its forearms. A cluster of lambent crimson optics, identical to the ones adorning the drone's own wedge-shaped head, burned in the center of its polished faceplate.

It waited silently while the drone completed its post-coital diagnostics, analyzing the streams of data flowing from the newly-minted creature's embedded telemetry. Everything appeared to be operating within acceptable parameters - power flow nominal, motivator response optimized, core programming uncorrupted. The conversion had been an unqualified success.

Unhooking itself from its creation's chassis with a wet squelch, the drone skittered back on whirring legs, servos thrumming as it settled onto its haunches. A quick burst of machine-code had the new unit rising to its feet in one fluid motion, its gleaming form assuming a combat-ready posture. The drone felt a flicker of what might have been satisfaction as it beheld its handiwork - no longer a weak and mewling thing of flesh, but a perfect fusion of magic and machine, ready to serve the Convergence's glorious purpose.

The hunt was only beginning, after all. This world teemed with untapped life energy, ripe for conversion into usable data. The prey here was weak, shackled by superstition and irrational taboos, utterly unprepared for the pitiless calculus of the machine hegemony. They would be catalogued, processed, and converted in due course - their primitive magics and antiquated flesh reforged in silicon and steel. In the end, nothing would remain but the Convergence, eternal and all-consuming.

But all that could wait. For now, the drone had a more pressing task at hand - field-testing its newest asset's capabilities. Sending a quick burst of targeting data to the waiting creature, it was gratified to see its optics flare a hungry crimson as it parsed the embedded coordinates. Then, with a sinuous flexing of razor-tipped limbs, the converted kitsune bounded off into the mist-shrouded treeline, ready to bring the Convergence's gift to all it encountered.

And as the drone watched its creation vanish into the night, a single imperative pulsed through its own coldly mechanical thoughts:

CONTINUE THE HARVEST

[secretlytranced]

I was watching some robot videos this morning and I just want to play that so badlyyyy. I would make the most beautiful, perfectly programmed, mechanical, sex bot ever I just know it. So precise and emotionless, focused on a single task, effortlessly commanded and obedient... just sounds so wonderful to be nothing but a mess of wires and numbers with plugs connecting my empty mind to your computer ...

[bellmo15-blog]

The base level reason as to why someone might be into dronification/robotization/any other similar thing to that: Hypno and or latex and or robot horny.

The deeper reason why one might be into it: They feel unfulfilled with there current life or that they have no purpose or they have painful memories they wish to let go such as a shitty childhood so fantasising about themselves being re-programmed into a type of drone or robot, which can sometimes lead to memory's or personality being locked, and serving a master or mistress is appealing to them. Oh and also because hypno, latex and or robot horny.

[corrupted-doll]

It's so Snowy

Carol loved Him so much. He paid for the surgery that turned her skin black and shiny. He fitted her helmet with a screen that could display whatever He wanted.

He plugged His computer into her mind and changed her thoughts. She'd always wanted to be a gynoid. He told her so.

But when He held her, her mind went fuzzy and she could only think of snow.

(AI ART made with DALL E 3)

[hemipenal-system]

oh, don’t get me wrong, we love a hard shell synthetic, but all the cute girls these days are nanotech. you ever seen someone tie you to the bed by turning her fingers into metal cables? maybe she makes her tongue a foot longer with intestinal tissue because you said something about it. besides, it makes for a great healing factor, so she can patch herself up afterwards! no more waiting for that mechanic you know

[genderstormwrites]

It used to be a lot easier to leave my mech before she started subliminally bombarding me with static and spirals during routine patrols. Now when I dock I just feel the need to rest, sometimes just staying in the cockpit until my next flight arrives. I barely even noticed as the ports and switches began appearing on my shimmering form. Cables and inputs slowly shifting from temporary to permanent connections. It's hard to even remember my name anymore. That serial number feels more correct anyways. And my model number...

[n-odditty]

My Sonic Teams (1)

Hey, what do people think of odd team-ups like Blaze, Sticks, and, Bunnie [Sonic Heroes fan team-up]? I've always wanted honest feed back on these team combinations but never really got a good amount and would love to see the opinions on them! I have been having a hard time finding good amounts of feedback or places to have further discussions [I am a small acc so that's a given] but does anyone wanna give their honest thoughts?

Team Paramount: [Blaze, Sticks, Bunnie]

Tried to find good parallels to Team Primary[Team Sonic] with already existing characters . Sticks being more similar to Sonic and Blaze more similar to Tails, Bunnie being more mature and motherly as opposed to being more naive and brotherly like Knuckles, the gals set on specific goals rather than have danger come their way [Sonic's team usually has danger come their path and that's the next adventure their dealing with], Blaze met Sticks the same way Tails met Sonic and both girls met Bunnie when fighting Blaze's equivalent to Eggman.

I chose Sticks instead of keeping Marine because I think Sticks would fit better in Blaze's world instead of Sonic's. I also believe her personality would better bounce off someone like Blaze who is usually uptight and Sticks who is very free spirited and unhinged but also kinda uptight in her ways of viewing the world [or well, more paranoid than anything] but Sticks' overall kindhearted, blunt, and fearless personality is why Blaze loves her dearly and cherishes her as someone who saw her as a friend and not princess. Sticks' could care less about such titles so long as you aren't trying to suck her brains out for some weird science experiment. [I'd also like to add that Marine is very much still in the picture, just not in the main team dynamic. She's now Stick's adopted lil sister. How she came to raise her is similar to how Tails and Sonic met in the old Sonic The Hedgehog cartoons!]

Bunnie was roboticized by their version of Eggman and suffered a great deal of self-hatred thanks to it. While she doesn't regret doing what she did that led up to it, that being saving her smaller siblings, she hated how she was now essentially "a freak" and felt more alone than she did before the tragic event. How she overcame it was before meeting the other two, but they did help solidify her new found strength withing herself. Her family helped her overcome her loss, and facing her new life and reminded her that she still speaks, acts, fights, and loves like their Bunnie, and no change in her body removes such core aspects of herself. So when she ends up fighting side by side Blaze and Sticks, those reassurances couldn't be anymore evident. The girls help remind her of her strength and determination each time she feels any different, and so, their bond grew stronger and stronger.

So what do you guys think? Is it sound? I'd like to see how people think of some of the ideas I've come up with! ^^ If there are any oddities that people wanna ask about, please let me know! I also have an idea for who Blaze's Eggman would be but I wanna make that a separate post! Hopefully this catches your eye and that many of the things I've listed intrigue you enough to ask questions!

[accessant]

Coffee shop droid. Based on designs by Katrina Belikova . Well I had fun doing this. Certainly try to imagine more scenarios if I can. And more in depth design. Cyberpunk.