Fullgear1215 - Geared

Red Hook Crit 2018

Why “drone”?

A number of kinky friends, online acquaintances, and strangers on Twitter and Recon have recently been interested, curious, and/or confused about my new screen name rubberdrone, and what I mean when I identify as a “drone”. I thought I’d write a bit about it, perhaps for myself as much as everyone else.

So what does it mean to me then?

One aspect of being a drone is that the notions of control and obedience are slightly abstracted, separated from the individuals. A drone does not necessarily derive satisfaction from serving the whims of any one master, especially if the demands are arbitrary or self-serving. Instead, it is most motivated to serve a greater goal or purpose—in short, a drone must have a mission. I feel like this is the biggest insight into why I bristle at doms who demand personal service. Such demands feel aimless and serve only to diminish.

Being diminished is not prima facie bad, however—it depends on the aim. The man is necessarily diminished, but in order to make him into something greater, more powerful, and more purposeful: the drone.

This is, for me, the other important marker of my D/s identity: being a drone is not about being made powerless, it is about being made powerful. To have human weakness and frailty stripped away, buried by the gear and machines to become something driven, ruthless, and unstoppable. In this mental space, the purpose of bondage is not to render a helpless pitiable object, it is to restrain the drone for the safety of others. A drone is dangerous, almost weapon-like, and must be closely controlled both mentally and mechanically.

Controlling a drone, then, is about controlling the gear. The gear directs its will and presses it into service to the mission. A drone must be forcibly subdued and bound, completely sheathed and armored; every breath, fluid, and sensation controlled. Its fetishistic addictions are manipulated and finessed to harness and reprogram it until no trace of humanity is left to reason with.

A drone is not a heedless automaton or slave—it seeks the command of those who will exploit its strength, reprogramming and reshaping it. I particularly enjoy the idea of a drone programmed to dominate as a powerful adversary, sent to subdue and convert and spread its infectious programming, or to capture, restrain, and wipe other malfunctioning drones.

This identity continues to unfold, and I am finding this journey quite captivating.

Background

I’ve had a fairly unconventional relationship with the domination/submission aspect of kink for a very long time. I’ve had some difficulty through the years articulating and understanding what I do and don’t like when introducing power dynamics into my play. It was complicated enough to explain that I would often just tell potential playmates that I didn’t like D/s; that I was a pure fetishist. I frequently wondered if that was actually true, since I was and still am frequently turned off or even annoyed by guys who attempted a standard approach to eliciting my submission or enticing me to dominate them. Yet, I still occasionally enjoyed scenes with a D/s flavor.

Recently I’ve been zeroing in on what parts of those great D/s scenes turned me on, and conversely how I feel and respond when it falls flat. I thought a lot about where my head goes when I’m in gear, or in the flow of a dominant or submissive streak. I reflected on my personal style and why I like this gear and not that. And I explored my fantasies in long conversations with some really creative and wonderful kinksters.

I finally, recently, adopted the label “drone” as the best handle on the concept. I like this identifier because it’s derived from a fantasy that speaks to me very strongly. It also has the nice advantage of being relatively unfixed as a piece of kinky jargon at the moment. At the very least, it is not terribly overloaded or laden with tradition. I hope to use it to carve a niche for myself (and perhaps others) in the kink world.

📸 by S, in Sydney

Cc @wetsuitsareawesome @sdiver9 @helgelove @rubberknite

Cable Curls - Thirsty Version

thank you so much for this hot story 🥵

My buddy and I had a bit of a friendly rivalry going on. We were both in the same cycling club and had made a bet on who could place higher throughout the summer racing season. I was leading by a few points by the penultimate race, I am the stronger cyclist after all, but I had tweaked my knee towards the end of the race and the club doctor insisted I end my season early. Of course my buddy, prick that he is, insisted that the last race would still count towards our bet, saying some shit about “cycling is about endurance,” like he wouldn’t be begging to call off the bet if I was still in the race.

Whatever. He could try to beat me but I wasn’t going to make it easy, and even if I couldn’t actually ride I wasn’t going to sit out the last race of the season altogether. See I had this bottle of solution gifted from a former partner that made it possible to merge someone with the clothing they were wearing. This person I was dating had a kink for being objectified, literally, and would use the solution to turn into my underwear or my workout gear. They forgot the solution at my place after spending last week as my socks and I figured they wouldn’t notice if a couple drops went missing.

So the night before the race I took my time doing PT exercises for my knee and slipped into the club lockers after the rest of the team went for dinner. My buddy forgot his lock as usual so I unlatched the locker to see his favourite racing kit hanging ready for tomorrow. I stripped out of my own clothes & stowed them in my locker and stood naked holding the black and red kit. Filling the eyedropper with solution I let three drops fall onto the crotch of the kit and quickly pulled it on before it started to dry. Feeling the pad pushing the damp fabric into my perineum sent a shiver through me and as I pulled the zipper up to my neck I felt an almost electric surge spark through the suit.

I had to act fast, I had seen how quickly the solution would act but I didn’t anticipate the euphoric effects of the process. All I wanted to do was rub my hands along the fabric of the suit as my body was sucked into its fibres but I had to focus. Stowing the bottle of solution into my locker I latched and locked it closed. Then, letting out an involuntary moan as every movement i made in the suit felt like the edge of orgasm, I squeezed my head and shoulders into my buddy’s locker and attempts to slip the arms of the hanger, with quite some difficulty, between the fabric of the suit and my shoulders. It was difficult to manager in the tight space but I was running out of time, the black fabric of the suit weaving it’s way down my arms as my fingers began to shrink away. Just in time I got the hanger secured and I felt myself swing back as my legs, which had been hanging outside the locker, disappeared into the suit. I expected to bang back into the wall of the locker but instead I swung lightly from the hanger, my body already hollowing out as the kit pulled it in. With what was left of my disappearing arm, I nudged the door closed and felt it latch shut, sealing me in darkness.

It was a bit of a head trip hanging from a hanger as a sentient piece of fabric but I tried to stay focused on the task ahead. My awareness had changed - I still had sight but my vision was slightly blurred and was distributed throughout the suit giving me wider awareness. I found that if I concentrated I could expand and contract my fibres slightly. Feeling my own fabric rub against itself caused a thrilling sensation to run through me and I couldn’t help thinking about how amazing it would feel to have my buddy’s body stretching me out and rubbing against me. I tried not to stay focused and not get lost in the fantasy, but what else is an empty cycling kit supposed to do in a dark locker but rub itself raw thinking about how it feels being worn.

The rest of the night stretched on but soon enough I heard the locker unlatch and felt a hand pull me off the hanger. I didn’t know what time it was but my buddy must have been running late because he wasted no time pulling me on and zipping me up. I almost lost my mind feeling his smooth thighs pulling me tight, my zipper holding me close against his torso and my pad caressing his— okay focus. I could see why my partner was into this, I might have to ask him to switch roles after I get him back his solution. But my buddy was taking his place with the team, I felt our teammates slapping his back as they traded words of encouragement, one of them tapped his ass affectionately and I felt my buddy’s cock chub up a bit against me. Filed that one away for a later razzing.

The gun went off and the team took off, my buddy jostling for a spot near the front of the peloton. I felt determination rippling through him, he would have to finish in the top two spots to gain enough points to win our bet so no room for missteps. But a misstep was exactly what I was hoping to create and, wrenching my attention away from how good my pad felt squished against him by the bike seat, I got to work. I focused every fibre of my being on squeezing his left thigh, trying to make him cramp. I held on for several minutes while his hamstrings pumped inside me as he snuck closer to the front of the race. No luck, the extra compression seemed, if anything, to help him pump harder. I tried to focus on his right shoulder instead, pulling tight around his shoulder blade and socket to tip him off balance but all I managed to do was to wedge myself tighter into his armpit. He was still pulling ahead, having broken out of the peloton and drafting the front group of four cyclists. I had to find some way to through him off before he climbed further.

Then I let my attention drift to the place I had been avoiding. His balls, nestled in my pad and his cock resting flaccid against my fabric. Just one blow to the testicles would be enough to take him out but I didn’t have that kind of control. I would have to be gentler. Instead of squeezing like I had with his muscles I gently tightened and loosened my fibres around him in a delicate massage. It worked immediately, his cock clubbing up slightly against my tight lycra.

It was strange how intimately I could feel his concentration break, his shoulder muscles tensing inside me as he realized with a mix of horror and perverted pleasure that he was starting to get hard. I loved how flustered I had made him and redoubled my efforts, squeezing myself rhythmically against his cockhead as it began to peek upwards and out from under my pad. I noticed with pleasure that he was starting to slip backwards and he did to, he tried to adjust his position on the seat to calm his growing distraction but the movement just threw off his cadence and gave me more opportunity to tease him. I was surprised how much I enjoyed feeling his muscles squirm against me, his cock twitching in protest and pleasure inside my fabric — not in a sexual way of course, I was just enjoying how hard I made him, I mean how hard I made the RACE for him.

Because of my distraction he was far behind the four leaders by the time we approached the straightaway into the finish, there was no way he would win the bet this way. But just as it seemed I had won I felt him stand up on his bike like he was climbing a mountain, pushing harder than he had the full race. It was obvious to me that he was trying to keep my padding from pushing into him and arousing him, but I wasn’t going to give up without a fight. As he surged up towards the leaders I flexed every fibre I had, pushing my pad against his perineum and cupping his balls, vibrating against the length of his cock but he kept surging, passing the fourth place cyclist and then the third with only 500 meters to go. I could feel his embarrassment soaking into me with his sweat as the cheering crowd watched him, fully erect inside me and standing upright on his bike where everyone could see. I pressed against him in every way I could as he pulled up aside the second place cyclist and buzzed over the finish line just a hair ahead.

I could feel his chest heaving with pride after the race as he gulped air and slapped the backs of his fellow cyclist. I could only feel disgust and disappointment as he reached down and touched my fabric, pushing his still hard cock down against his thigh in an attempt to hide it. But as he and the other medalists approached the podium, I saw one more opportunity to exact revenge. He may have won the bet but I wasn’t defeated yet.

As he climbed to the second place position I went full tilt on him again: rubbing myself against his nipples and massaging the length of his beautiful cock, I mean his pathetic cock, right. He let out an audible grunt of surprise and jerked his hips forward involuntarily, causing the other medalists to look over in confusion. I felt his ass clench as I pushed my pad up against his hole, trying to hit every erogenous zone. I knew he would be exhausted from all the edging during the race and it wouldn’t be long before he gave into me. Sure enough, just as he reached his hands cautiously away from covering his crotch to take the medal being presented to him I gave his cockhead one last rubbing and he gasped aloud, involuntarily lurching forward and grabbing the shoulder of the presenter to steady himself as a visible wet spot bloomed through my tight fabric to the shock of the presenters, medalists, and gathered crowd. Mission accomplished.

“What the fuck just happened?” I heard him think

“Oh my god he completely soaked me, I can even taste his cum.” I thought

“Wait, I recognize that voice,” I heard him think again, “who is that?”

“Wait, he can hear me think? How does that work?”

“Oh my god it’s you!” He thought, “couldn’t just accept defeat so you used inanimation solution to try to stop me from winning our bet. How pathetic.”

“Hey, I’m not the one standing in front of a crowd of people with cum leaking through your suit. How do you know about the solution anyway?”

“I’m not the one who turned into fabric just to jerk off their rival, you could have just asked. And as far as the solution, I’ve played around with it — obviously you haven’t or you’d know that either party coming to orgasm forges a telepathic connection between clothing and wearer.”

“You kinky bastard, when this solution wears off I’m going to beat your ass. Bet’s off man!”

“Sure maybe I’m a bit kinky, but it seems you might be as well. And as far as the solution wearing off, you won’t turn back until you’re off someone’s body for at least an hour - and I don’t plan on taking you off any time soon. In fact, maybe I’ll spill a couple more loads into you before I rinse you off in the shower.”

With that I fell silent and he stepped off the podium, embarrassed yes, but vindicated as well. And when I saw the open mouthed stares ogling my cum-soaked fabric, it felt like their looks of disgust were directed, not at him, but at me.

Many thanks to @fullgear1215 for the story idea and for the photos 😇

Batman - Injustice 2

see you on Twitter ;)