Planet of the Dominated Mind

۝

"Now, Jordan," Commander puffed his cigar smoke in Jordan's face again, then waltzed back to a metal stool. He lifted his leather boot onto the stool and used his leg as a balance for his clipboard. "If the only thing I had to write down was your failure to alert your captain about the grooves on the wall, this'd be a short report, wouldn't it?"

Jordan, tears in his eyes, yelled through the ball gag. He wanted to yell, "I thought maybe an old mining company did it!" but it came out muffled and unintelligible.

"Oh, I know. It's not just that," Commander waved his cigar dismissively. "You've been cooking the books. That's a lot more serious. You'd have had to turn yourself in a long time ago if anyone around you were suspected, since it'd all come back to you, yeah?"

Commander paused, as if waiting for Jordan to respond. Jordan yelled in the gag. He tried to say, "I never stole anything," but his voice was too muffled to make out.

"Oh, that's nice." Commander tilted his head, as if he heard. "Right, all that money laundering was just you following the orders of your old chief. You're not the corrupt officer, you were just doing what a corrupt officer told you to do and not reporting it, right?"

Jordan's eyes welled up. He couldn't deny it, couldn't explain himself, gag or no gag.

"You're real good with reports, aren't you, Jordan? That's always been your thing. You see every detail... and you know how to make changes to keep them exactly as good as they should be without anyone seeing what you did."

"Uuh mmm! Uuh mmmm!" Jordan protested.

Commander waved the clipboard. "Well, let's see how good you are when I show off your records. Your real records. Hell, maybe I should just go straight to the head of the precinct itself."

Jordan shook his head wildly, his body still splayed in an "X" by the metal tentacles all the while.

"What do you think, Jordan? Should I show everyone who you really are?"

"Mmm! Mmmm mmmm!" Jordan was desperate, but his pleas were still muffled by the gag.

"That's what I thought," Commander stepped closer, and his voice became softer, almost soothing. "It's okay, though, Jordan. You can get out of this... if you let me punish you for what you did."

Commander placed his hands on Jordan's broad chest, and rubbed the man's heaving pecs through the constraint of his now-sweaty tank top. Jordan's eyes, already wide with fright, furrowed in a new type of surprise.

"I know, I know, this is a little unorthodox," Commander smiled, his hands trailing downwards. "But sometimes, we just need to bend the rules a bit. Besides, you're not like other officers. You're a special case. You love following orders so much, right? Then you'll need to learn to follow mine."

"Uuh mmmm!" Jordan protested, trying to push his body away. He rocked in the tentacles like he was suspended from a sling.

"Oh, don't be shy. Let me take care of you. It's the least I can do... to you."

Commander's hands reached the band of Jordan's white underwear. The officer was shaking, sweating. He was completely at the android's mercy, and he didn't have the slightest clue what was about to happen.

Commander pulled the underwear down, revealing the thick, hard shaft underneath. Jordan was already half-hard and aching, despite what his protests would've had one believe.

"The way I see it," Command puffed another cloud of smoke into Jordan's face, and watched the big ebony pecker bounce in response, "is that you've got a real issue with being 'seen.' Now, for you, it's the fact that you know you did something wrong, and there's a part of you that, for survival, really needs to hide it. But then there's another part of you that... well. It's this part."

Commander's leather glove seized itself around the base of Jordan's cock.

"This part really wants you to be seen. This part really wants you to be punished. Doesn't it, Jordan?"

"Mm mm!" Jordan's tongue pushed against the ball gag.

"It's okay. We're gonna do you a favor. You want to be punished, and you don't want anyone to see. Well, we'll just keep it between us. Well, us... and the cameras filming this whole thing."

Commander stroked the thick, stiff, bouncing cock. Base to tip, base to tip, his rough leather grip bringing tears to Jordan's eyes.

"It's gonna feel so good. You'll cum like you've never cum before, and then, after you've let it all out, we'll make a report. And I'll keep it, and the footage, on file... as long as you behave."

And the tears flowed.

"Don't worry, Jordan. Just a little humiliation. And besides, don't you think you deserve it? Your boss told you to do something real naughty, and you didn't even think twice. That's what's wrong with the police these days: if they aren't corrupt, they're just horny little subs for the corrupt."

And with that, Commander unhooked the gag. To Jordan's own surprise more than Commander's, he wasn't yelling or screaming: he was whimpering, and, through pathetic sobs, almost moaning.

"You like being submissive," Command puffed a ring of cigar smoke into Jordan's face, "don't you, Jordan?"

Jordan's cock bounced again, and to this, his response wasn't anything coherent—it was a full on moan of deep, needful pleasure leaking out of him against years of resistance.

"Tell me the truth, Jordan," Commander whispered. "The cameras are waiting."

"Y... yes. I..." Jordan swallowed. "I like being submissive. I've always wanted to be punished... by... one of the other officers... for..."

"For?"

"...for being naughty."

"For being naughty." Commander rubbed his gloved fingers up and down the shaft of Jordan's pecker. "That's good. That's a real good start. You're doing good. I think you should be rewarded for that."

"Oh God," Jordan had trouble relegating his breath, now that the words had escaped his throat.

Commander wrapped his hand firmly around the shaft. His other hand squeezed and tugged on Jordan's balls, rolling them gently in his grip.

"Do you want me to take care of you, Jordan? Do you want me to treat you like the naughty little bitch that you are?"

"Oh fuck," Jordan moaned. His legs were weak, and his knees were buckling. "I need... I need..."

"Tell me what you need, Jordan. Don't be shy."

"I... I need to..."

Commander's hands pulled, pumped, and massaged, and his thumb rubbed circles on the tip of Jordan's cockhead, teasing the sensitive underside. "I can't do it for you, Jordan. You have to tell me."

"Oh god. Oh fuck. Please, punish me. Please punish me."

"What would be the punishment, Jordan? What would be fitting for a naughty officer like yourself?"

"Fuck, fuck, I don't know! Whatever you want, just don't stop touching me!"

"Whatever I want! Goodness. So many options."

Commander removed the hand that tended to Jordan's balls and kept his other firmly milking Jordan's cock. With the now free left hand, he slapped Jordan across the face. The smack, in conjunction with Commander's words and strokes, sent him over the edge, and he came with a loud, pathetic cry. He shot string after string of submission to the floor, and as his orgasm slowed, oozed onto Commander's gloves.

Commander continued stroking and rubbing, and his voice was a synthetic purr. "That's it, Jordan. Oh, you're just making a mess, aren't you? So naughty. Such a naughty boy, getting off on getting slapped across the face by his superior. Who knew you had that in you?"

Jordan whimpered and shook. He caught a glimpse of the cameras as they filmed his messy defeat. Somehow, between seeing that and the android's continued stroking of his softening cock, Jordan found himself still wanting, no, needing more.

Commander chuckled and leaned into Jordan's ear. "Well... I knew, of course."

He brought the messy glove up to Jordan's face to show him what he had done, then slowly, one digit at a time, removed it. Then, he put it directly into Jordan's panting mouth, effectively gagging him again with leather and his own spilled seed.

"Clean that off for me, boy," Commander said. He walked back to the stool and picked up his clipboard. "I gotta put this down in your report."

۝

"You were such a promising wrestler," Blue said as he hurled Lukas to the opposite side of the room. Lukas's body landed flat-back, mercifully so—with the power that Blue possessed over him, Lukas was certain any other landing would've been the end for him. It scared the captain far more, in fact, that he landed safely from such a powerful long range throw than if he hadn't.

"Shame about the war taking all that away, huh, Captain?"

Lukas staggered back to his legs. He'd been running towards, around, and between Blue's legs for far longer than he could remember. Blue was at least right about that—it's hard to keep track of time when you're getting ragdolled around by someone twice your height and three times your weight.

"What do you want from me?" Lukas asked.

"The truth. All I want is the truth behind your movements."

"Are you doing this to the others?"

"The others don't have a wrestling kink."

Lukas snarled. "Why would anyone program a robot to be a smart-ass?"

"Why, indeed?" Blue tilted his head.

Lucas hunched down, threatening to go low towards Blue's ankles for what must've been the twentieth time, even though he absolutely wasn't counting. He didn't move, though: he just stared into the grim yellow slices for Blue had for eyes, and thought:

It doesn't matter how much stronger he is. It doesn't matter how perfect his technique is, either. "Perfect" is still exploitable, in the grand scheme of things. Every perfect AI in the history of "play" on Earth has lost at some point to something stupid it couldn't predict. I just have to find what that is, get out of here, and save the rest of the team. We leave, we tell the top brass that the starbark dealer got away, and we never talk specifics about what happened on ER-14. And then, I retire. Forever. No one will ever have to know what happened here, except us.

"The valuable data I collected from the others," Blue said, "is that pain and pleasure are often closely related stimuli in organics. At first, this did confuse me: why would a fragile, sapient living creature seek out or find enjoyment in that which harms it?"

Lukas found his tensed-up body relaxing against his wishes.

"But as I have studied the connection between the two, I have come to understand those needs and wants from both an emotional and evolutionary standpoint. It makes more sense than my earlier cycles could have imagined: thrill releases chemicals like adrenaline, dopamine, and sometimes, even serotonin. Important chemicals to long life and what I understand you perceive as 'happiness.'"

"I don't know if I like hearing a computerized weight bag talk about emotions or imagination."

"Within reason, I have come to respect the relationship. I think I may have even found my own concept of 'happiness,' through helping those lost... find themselves once they land on me."

Lukas's eyes darted to the floor, then back to Blue. "Land... on you?"

"When you scanned me," Blue said, "I scanned back. It seemed only polite."

Okay, this is pointless, Lukas thought, and charged the grapple-bot.

Lukas, still on the ground, scrambled to his feet and lunged at the grapple-bot. He knew this time would be different—he had seen Blue's patterns before, and was confident that this time, he could avoid being scooped up and tossed. He ducked under Blue's arms and grabbed at the android's legs, twisting his body and throwing his weight into a take-down.

But it was no use: the grapple-bot micro-adjusted in moments, planting his weight in a wide enough stance to maintain balance. Sculpted arms clamped down around Lukas, plucked him up, tossed him just high enough to spin his body in the air. It caught Lukas, like a pet owner playing with a light pet in his arms. They were chest to chest now, and with Blue's massive height difference, Lukas's legs dangled helplessly around the robot's torso. It lifted Lukas's body in a bearhug, and pressed his muscular arms tight around the human's torso.

"Gotcha," Blue said.

Lukas grunted, struggling to breathe in Blue's iron grip. He knew he had to act fast, or he'd be suffocated, or worse, suffer a cracked rib. Assuming Blue wanted to crack a rib, at least. It occurred to Lukas that Blue's movements were perfectly measured and, as a bot, probably could've hurt Lukas far more if he actually wanted to.

"I like exploring the pain-pleasure relationship of organics, and helping them live out that which gives them the most serotonin release. Except you, Captain. Your data troubles me, deeply."

Lukas looked down. Blue's chest was smooth and sculpted, with no obvious crevices or seams that Lukas could stick his fingers into and twist apart aside from that of the bot's silicone-and-leather pectorals, which, built as they were, pressed firmly together during the painful embrace. He couldn't pry anything loose, and up close, he saw no button or wires to grab at.

Lukas grimaced and tried to push his legs against the clasping hold. Blue simply squatted into a wider stance, forcing Lukas's legs apart, making the human straddle around his waist.

Lukas huffed. If physical escape couldn't work, perhaps he could talk his way out.

"Okay, uh, your scans clearly aren't perfect, then, because I'm not into kink-shaming. I just like rolling around with dudes sometimes, Jesus. I think I'm pretty vanilla, and... honestly? If that's all you wanted to know, please let me go: my team and I have an important mission, one far more important than some weird robot sex therapy."

Then he met Blue's eyes. Glowing yellow slices of intensity. Up close, he could see they were lenses scanning him, measuring Lukas's vitals and analyzing his movements. He considered that, if he could free an arm from the hold, he could jab a thumb into Blue's eye and blind the camera. But Blue's own muscular arms were like pythons around him, hopelessly depriving him of oxygen and hope.

"Captain. Your fetish isn't the problem."

The bearhug was crushing, and the longer he was held, the more Lukas's vision began to swim.

"How long have you attempted to grapple with me?"

Then, Blue began to bounce. First, it was a jerk. One. Wait. Two jerks. Wait. Then the bouncing grew rhythmic. Thick, muscular arms held Lukas firmly as the grapple-bot bounced his body up and down.

Up, and down.

Up, and down.

"When did you first lose your sense of time, Captain?"

Each time the bot dipped low, he pulled Lukas back hard with an equally powerful impact, slamming the human back into Blue's body. The air pushed out of Lukas's lungs each time. Black dots began to appear in the human's vision. Lukas's head swiveled, his eye-lids fluttered.

Though it took a few impacts into the grapple-bot's front for him to realize there was another sensation, too. He was getting hard in his singlet. Each bounce rustled the spandex-cage his cock sat in, and the friction and pressure on his balls and shaft was driving him crazy. He tried to will it away, but his body was betraying him.

Blue bounced him harder, faster, and Lukas felt his cock twitch and swell. He grunted with each impact, closer and closer to unconsciousness, and yet, his erection still grew. He was sure, if Blue were measuring him, that he'd have noticed it, too. But he didn't stop the bearhug, not at all: he just bounced Lukas with dedicated rhythm. Through his foggy vision, he saw Blue's emotionless yellow eyes and cold control, and he knew he was completely at the boy's mercy.

Lukas started drooling. He couldn't even think anymore. He couldn't struggle, couldn't fight.

"That's it, Lukas. Give in. I've got you."

The words were muffled, but the tone was unmistakable. It was the first time Blue had said his name, and the sound of his own name coming from the grapple-bot's speakers was all he needed to finally let go. He shot a thick, heavy load into his singlet, and as he came, Blue squeezed him tighter and bounced him higher. The deprivation of air, the pain, the pleasure, all orchestrated with knowledge far beyond Lukas's own. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he lost consciousness.

۝

Pat sniffled. Tears began to form in his eyes. Granddaddy's big, roaming hands kneaded his hips, and Pat, despite his overwhelming embarrassment, couldn't help but sway a little. He watched the little white bows on his little pink panties dance with the motion. He loved watching that, even here among these conflicting emotions.

Granddaddy leaned forward and planted a kiss on Pat's forehead. Without lips, though, it was just all synth-beard and cool metal teeth. And even that did something to Pat's trembling body.

"You're so beautiful, Pat. Such a sweet, beautiful, adorable little girly-boy."

Pat moaned, his eyelids fluttering. He felt the tears begin to roll down his cheeks, and he was helpless to stop them. He didn't want to stop them, though. A great need welled inside him—to explain why he was like this, to express how badly he wanted to be seen and understood.

"That's it, sweetie," Granddaddy cooed, his mechanical voice soothing. "Just let go. Don't fight it. Cry. Wiggle those cute little panty-covered hips for Granddaddy. Be the real you..."

Granddaddy's big hands reached for the back of Pat's panties, and he peeled just the back of them down, he revealed the poltron's soft, round cheeks.

"Oooh, look at that. A nice, juicy peach. Just like you."

"Do you..." Pat choked up, "...do you know what it's like on Poltron?"

"I bet it's hard," Granddaddy said, his hands rubbing and squeezing Pat's butt. "It's hard, and it's not fair, huh?"

Pat whimpered, his pointed ears pinning back. He hated being this vulnerable.

And yet... and yet.

"Humans never get it when I tell them," he sniffled. "Poltron is matriarchal, and the gender ratio is like... six males to one female. Most Polts are bigger than me. Most Polts are stronger than me, especially the men. They're so tough and cool, and I'm just a tiny, weak thing in comparison..."

Granddaddy leaned forward and rubbed his beard against the cat-ears.

"You are beautiful," Granddaddy cooed. " My pretty little princess."

Pat couldn't stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks. He hated how weak he was. He was a man, goddamn it. "I'm man. I'm a man! I don't mind that! I like it, even! I work so hard to be as strong as other men because it was the only way I could be male, I got confused so easily for a girl, otherwise. I was always so afraid of not being masculine enough."

"There's no 'masculine' or 'feminine' here," Granddaddy whispered into the flickering ears. "There's just you."

"One day..." Pat leaned in against the big, wide, overhung rubber belly of Granddaddy. "A big chubby Polt... not gonna lie, kind of like you, Granddaddy... he started hitting on me. The sweet things he was saying made me melt. And I got so excited, and I wanted to give him a chance, but then... I knew it, he mistook me for a girl. Once he knew I was a guy, he just kind of ran away."

Granddaddy's arms held Pat gently, and Pat sunk into the simulated fat.

"I've never wanted to be a girl. Not really. But he called me so many sweet, hot things and I just... so known, then. I bought a pair of panties and I fell in love with how they felt on me. After I fell for that guy, I guess it's no real surprise that I discovered I was gay, too. I went to my first gay pub and there were so many big, masculine polts... there was another real fat, older Polt, like you. I wanted him to so badly look at me, to take me against his big belly and... and... of course he didn't. No one did. Gay polts wanted masculinity in their partners. They wanted what they were: height, and muscles, and... I can't blame them, of course. I'm just... I'm so tired. I'm so tired of being in between."