Lose yourself to become yourself

I live, what people would call a very boring life. Single, work, responsibilities, decissions, few friends. Dull, grey. Still straining. Not the kind of life others would envy one for. And frankly, I’d hate it too. If it wasn’t for my secret.

Evey once in a while, when the days become to taxing, when I need a break – I clear my schedule, canceling my plans and do something nobody would even consider as possible in their wildest dreams.

Oh – you might think something illegal, something vile. No. Far from it.

There’s partitions in the basement of the building I live. Little rooms, one for every appartment above.

Mine has a few curious twists.

One is, the door leading to an old maintenance tunnel ending right over at the old factory building.

The other is the warderobe.

It has been there, when I first rented my rooms. My landlord even apologized for my basement partition wasn’t as big as the others. And for that old wooden monstrosity blocking most of the space.

Told him to not worry – this would be my way to Narnia.

I didn’t anticipate how right this throw away line turned out to be.

Nobody knows what it contains, but me. I carefully open the locks securing the heavy metal bands. I had to install them after I pryed open the thing the first time, for a lack of a key.

I brace myself for the waft of rubbery smell filling my nostrils. Shivering I touch the things hanging neatfully or resting on shelf boards. Cuffs, ropes, a thin black catsuit, a harness made from heavier rubber and my mask. The mask. The things yearn for me. They whisper.

No.. really. I don’t need any effort to put those clothing pieces on. They seem to fly and float all over my body, encasing me in a few moments. The only thing I have to do by myself is puttin on the mask – a featureless headpiece with no discernable openings. I should be afraid about smothering myself… but somehow this isn’t a concern. The mask embraces my head fuses with the suit and from then on… the ‚me‘ is fading away. Voices, emotions, knowledge, purpose. The fading ‚I‘ knows what to do. Before I become part of the voices, the swarm, I feel rubber tubes filling my nostrils, my mouth and something poking in my behind, encasing my private parts filling them. I can see, hear, through the eyes of the many. While ‚I‘ step into the background, becoming one with the crowd, I breathe, feel the calm, feel the freedom of not having to make decissions, of not being responsible. I have become a drone of the swarm.

I will occasionally keep using ‚I‘ and ‚me‘ – for convenience. But, dear reader, while being a drone, there is not really a ‚self‘. It is hard to describe to someone who never has felt the embrace of the swarm, merge with the collective mind. Yet I keep recollections of everything the drone that is my body feels, sees, hears and does. I also have memories of every other drone in the swarm – but those concerning my own body are more prevalent after I come back.

It’s easy for the drone to leave the building unseen – the tunnel leads directly into the hunting grounds claimed by the swarm the drone belongs to.

You might have heared the urban legends – rubber drones hunting innocent people wandering the abandoned districts after dark. Capturing them. Playing with them, milk them for their cum or their vaginal fluids. Sometimes even taking them to dark hidden places full of rubber, deviant machinery and debauchery. You might even believe them. Maybe they disturb you. Keep you to the lit paths… maybe they make you curious. Lead your feet down the narrow dark alleys. Along old factory walls…

You might find out soon enough if they are true.

But let’s not get ahead of ourselfs.

First we, the swarm, meet at a certain place – a nest if you will. There the drones get their tasks for that hunting trip. There’s the hunters who capture and abduct. There’s the harvesters, who actually do the work with the prey. And sometimes there are fighters, tasked with protecting us against threats.

Some drones get the same tasks everytime, some get to do different things.

This time, I feel that I am needed as a harvester. I feel the latex shift and squirm, the mask change, while cuffs, bags and a tornister are installed on my harness. It fuses to the rest, becomes a part of me. Instinctively I know exactly what kind of gear this drone can access. Every rubbery rope, every dildo, every artificial vagina, vibrator and electro pad.

The once featureless mask still gives away no identity – but it has changed to a more animalistic form with a protruding snout ending in a rubbery opening, just large enough to snuggly fit a penis. If the drone had a personal feeling it would be excitement.

We leave the hidden compound swarming near the side where the abandoned factory district borders on the clubs and bars between the inner city and the university. Lot’s of students are there. Lot’s of curious, stupid students, daring each other to take the ‚shortcut‘ through the dark paths.

The first one we approach seems to be a newbie. Young, frightened… tries to keep out of sight. But the swarm knows where he is.