Planet of the Dominated Mind

Pat sniffled. He wiped a tear from his cheek. "I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm telling you all of this."

Granddaddy nodded with elder wisdom, his gears creaking in knowing. He drew his big thumbs under the bows on the back of Pat's panties and played with the thong-back, pulling it up into Pat's crack, tugging, pulling it back down again.

"I've always wanted a princess-boy," Granddaddy said, rubbing Pat's bottom. "It's okay, sweetheart. You can be mine. My little girly-boy, my precious soldier-princess. You can be both, just for me and no one else."

Pat whimpered. He didn't want to admit how good it felt to hear a robot, of all things, call him that, and yet, he couldn't deny the growing erection poking into Granddaddy's rubber belly, threatening to rip through the delicate lace.

"For as long as you choose to stay with me, I'll treat you exactly like the perfect little princess-boy you want to be. And that starts with a nice, warm bubble bath."

The android reached forward and pulled the panties off. Pat was frozen, helpless, watching the delicate, feminine fabric slip off his body and fall to the floor. HIs cock bounced upwards, twitching with freedom, and making a dull slapping sound as it thumped into the fat belly in front of him. He was exposed. He had never been more humiliated, more vulnerable, or more turned on.

"There we go," Granddaddy purred. "Oh, my, you've got such a cute cock and tiny coin-purse balls, too, sweetie. So perfect."

Granddaddy leaned forward, pressing his synth-beard against Pat's cheek. He pushed Pat's hips forward, and Pat's cock squeaked as it went up and down Granddady's rubber belly.

"And look at that," Granddaddy continued. "You're getting so wet, just from being near your big ol' Granddaddy. Get in the bath now, precious. The bubbles are strawberry honey scented. Don't you smell it?"

Pat's nostrils flared, and his ears perked. Sure enough, the sweet, sugary smell of strawberry and honey filled his senses.

Granddaddy pulled back, revealing his belly and the sticky residue from where Pat had humped him. "There's my princess. Go on, hop in. Granddaddy wants to wash all the grime off of you and make you extra clean."

Granddaddy cupped Pat's hand and watched as his princess-boy slowly, one leg at a time, stepped into the mountain of warm bubbles and pink water.

"That's it..."

Pat shivered. The bubbles were thick and soapy, and his skin prickled with heat and friction. He settled into the bath, and for the first time, felt a sense of ease and relief wash over him. He sunk his head back, his blond curls dipping into the water. He felt his tense muscles relax as heat seeped into them, his eyelids fluttered, and a calmness he had not known in years spread throughout his body.

Once he was in, the tub shifted towards Granddaddy, as if guided by magic itself. Granddaddy never did have to move from the bed—the room seemed to respond to his will, and all objects in it came towards him, instead. There was a gravity to him that simply could not be denied.

He produced a loofah and a bottle of sweet-smelling soap from behind his back.

"Time to clean you up, sweetheart," Granddaddy said, leaning forward. He popped the bottle open, and the bubbles spilled out onto Pat's chest.

Pat moaned. The bubbles were warm, and the sweet smell of strawberry and honey filled his nostrils. Granddaddy squeezed the loofah and lathered it with soap, then began to rub it over Pat's back, shoulders, and chest. Pat was in heaven. Granddaddy's big hands were firm, yet soft, and the loofah was a gentle tease on his skin. Granddaddy lathered his hair with shampoo, rubbing circles into his scalp and ears. Pat, for the first time in his life, purred.

Polt men almost never purred.

"There we go," Granddaddy smiled, his teeth clanging. "My pretty, perfect little princess-boy."

He rubbed the loofah over Pat's stomach, and Pat's eyes went wide. His cock twitched, poking straight up out of the surface of the water, and the bubbles popped and frothed as Granddaddy moved his hand towards Pat's inner thigh.

"Granddaddy, I..."

Granddaddy gently rubbed the loofah lower and lower, brushing deliberately against the base of Pat's aching erection, then past it. The old robot rubbed Pat's legs thoroughly, almost in worship, and brought the soap and bubbles all the way down to Pat's feet. He washed between each toe, paying special attention to the soft pads of Pat's paws. Pat's breathing quickened, and he was unable to resist the sensations any longer.

"Please," he mewled.

"Oh, you don't need to beg, darling. I'll treat you exactly as you deserve."

Granddaddy pulled the loofah away and brought his thumbs to Pat's hips, rubbing small, teasing circles around the bone. Then, he picked the officer-princess out of the bath like he weighed nothing at all, and swaddled him in a large towel Pat never saw him produce.

If Pat had melted away in the grip of Granddaddy before, he was wholly unprepared for how it would feel to get toweled-down by the big robot. Granddaddy was careful, meticulous, and seemed to relish every second he got to rub and stroke the poltron's sensitive areas under the cover of the towel. Armpits, ass-cheeks, groin, everything was thoroughly rubbed with equal worship and friction, leaving the poltron's eyes half-lidded and his cheeks flushed and his cock bouncing and oozing with pleasure.

"There we go. All dry," Granddaddy clapped.

"Granddaddy," Pat mumbled, all traces of the bravado of his job completely melted away, "Wh...what now?"

"Oh, sweetheart," Granddaddy cooed, rubbing his thumb over Pat's cheek. "Now's the most important part! Now I get to dress my little doll up in the prettiest clothes ever."

۝

Jordan sucked on the leather glove long enough that the cum had been completely drained, and all he could taste was the dry, earthy flavor of Commander's dominance over him. It was salty and bitter, and he didn't know if it was actually a taste he liked, but he couldn't deny how it made him feel: weak, exposed, vulnerable. And that, he loved.

Commander approached him after he was done writing about Jordan on his clipboard. He pulled his glove out of Jordan's mouth and inspected it.

"Good boy. Look at that, not a single drop wasted."

Jordan moaned. "Please, Commander. Please. I need... more."

"You've had your fun," Commander said. He placed the clipboard down on the ground, and Jordan watched as Commander sat down on the stool. His head tilted low, the rows of his glowing eyes were barely visible under the brim—one might not ever know, from this angle, that he had more than two. "It's my turn."

Jordan swallowed. To his mind, there was no turn but Commander's. "What... what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to find out whether or not your heart has aligned with your mind," Commander said. "The truth came spilling out from you, but how do I know that you won't cook the books again if I let you go? How do I really know that you've learned your lesson?"

"I-I won't," Jordan whimpered. "I swear, I won't."

"Your promises are worth nothing," Commander said, "until I've punished you enough."

He stood up from the stool, and with a clanking of metal, he lifted his knee to reveal a hidden compartment.

As Commander stood, he pulled from it a leather paddle, Its surface is carved with an indention of the word "Slut" written backwards, and its handle has a small leather loop. Commander lifted it with pride and confidence, and the sight of the paddle sent chills down Jordan's spine.

Commander looked at the paddle, and his eyes glowed brighter. "Now, for you, Jordan, it's not just the fact that you know you did something wrong. As we discussed, you have a need for punishment that you've long denied yourself."

He brought the paddle to lightly brush the bouncing cock-head of Jordan's ebony pecker, before slowly pacing circles around his captive. Jordan's lips quivered.

"This is for your own good."

With that, Commander lifted the paddle and brought it down, square on the center of one of Jordan's butt cheeks.

"Aahh!" Jordan cried. The pain was sharp and sudden, and his body rocked from the impact.

"There we go."

Commander lifted the paddle again, and this time, slapped it down on the other cheek of Jordan's meaty, muscular ass. The flesh bounced like gelatin, and Jordan yelped as the pain seemed to travel like a current straight from cheek to cock.

"Yes, this is working. This is what you needed."

He hit it again, and Jordan's eyes rolled back in his head. The pain was intense, but somehow, he knew he was getting off on it. He wanted it. He'd been so pent up for so long, and now, with a strange android, his deepest, darkest desires were finally coming to light.

He had needed a man to punish him like this... for so long...

Commander spanked him again and again, and each time, Jordan's hips rocked with the force. The metal tentacles from the ceiling that constrained his wrists and ankles made micro adjustments to compensate for Jordan's flailing, writhing body.

And then, after fifteen strikes, Commander suddenly stopped. He walked back to the stool and sat down again, his legs spread. He wrapped the paddle's strap around his metal wrist and let it dangle teasingly near his groin.

"Now," Commander said. "I think it's time you prove yourself."

The tentacles gently lowered Jordan to the floor, then unfurled from his wrists and ankles. Jordan, naked and vulnerable, his ass prickly from the assault it took, staggered to his hands and knees, panting and salivating. He crawled towards Commander, his eyes fixed on the leather paddle dangling near the android's crotch.

"Show me," Commander said, "what you'd do if you really wanted to be punished."

Jordan's mouth opened, and his tongue drooped. His lips quivered, his eyelids fluttered, and he began to suckle and lick Commander's metal-capped thigh.

"Oh, that's a good start."

Commander reached his gloved hand towards Jordan's head, and patted him gently. Then, with his other hand, he snapped his fingers. The metal wall opened up to reveal a door on the far end of the room. Commander stroked Jordan's cheek as the officer's attention was divided between pleasure and freedom.

"You, my sweet little criminal, have two very clear and distinct choices," Commander whispered. "You can either leave, through the door I just opened, and never come back here. Never tell a soul what happened. And, well, the rest of your life is yours to enjoy. However, you must resign from your position as an officer immediately upon returning to base. I'll know if you didn't, and I'll release your confessions to your superiors."

Commander leaned forward, his eyes glowing brighter. "Or, you can stay. Stay, and give yourself to me. Surrender yourself to my will, and I will punish you and humiliate you until you beg for mercy. And even then, I won't stop. I will use you for my amusement and pleasure, and you will be the secret whore of a robot for... let's say... the next month. I'll strike your ass constantly with this paddle so often that I'm not sure you'll ever be able to cum again without being hit. The words upon this paddle will be permanently and clearly imprinted on your rear for the rest of your life. You'll never be able to be intimate again without your partner knowing exactly what you are. Finally, you'll be visible. Every man you ever meet will know exactly how to treat you."

Jordan's breathing grew shallow, and his vision began to blur. On his knees, in-between the robot's legs, he looked back and forth between the door and up to the authority above him. He closed his eyes, and, with a final whimper, opened his mouth wide, letting his tongue dangle open for anything Command wanted to put inside.

"Good choice," Commander said. He leaned forward, and pressed his lips to Jordan's. Jordan felt the cool rubber of the android's mask press against his face, and a warmth spread through him. He didn't know why, but somehow, the false, synthetic kiss was the hottest thing he'd ever been allowed to have: wrong and right, simulated and real.

Commander pulled away. "Oh, and Jordan?"

"Y-yes, sir?"

"We're going to have a lot of fun. Now, climb across my lap. I've got a leather paddle with your name on it."

"O-okay. Yes, sir."

Jordan climbed up, his body weak and trembling. His belly was pressed into Commander's thighs, and his rear was fully exposed.

"There we go, my naughty, dirty, little pig," Commander said as he trailed the leather paddle slowly and tenderly across each cheek. His arm, like clockwork, jolted up high into the air, and the sensors of Commander's eyes adjusted to secure the perfect angle for striking Jordan's thick rear.

Then, with a whipping motion, the paddle came down on Jordan's bare, exposed buttocks. It cracked like thunder, and the sting was immediate. Jordan's eyes flew open, and his mouth hung open in a silent scream. This was just the first of many.

۝

"Do you have an answer yet, Captain?"

Those were the first words Lukas heard as he rejoined with the waking world.

Lukas blinked. The world slowly came back into focus. He was still on the floor, deposited unceremoniously from his loss, but he was dressed differently. He was wearing nothing but a jockstrap, and his skin was flushed red and raw.

He remembered the bearhug, the bouncing, the orgasm. He had given in, and he wasn't entirely sure how or why. His cock ached, and his balls felt sore and swollen.

As his vision cleared, he saw Blue standing over him. The grapple-bot was holding Lukas's soiled and dirty singlet and his old , cum-stained jockstrap. Lukas then realized that while he was out, Blue must've stripped him and put him in a fresh pair. He wondered how many pairs of jockstraps Blue just happened to have lying around, or if, more realistically, he was just synthesizing these on the fly.

"I won't lie to you, Captain," Blue said. "Your fetish was a curiosity for me more than most. You seem to be in denial of it, among other things. Until you are able to confess, you will be my prisoner. I intend to keep you in peak physical condition and sexual health until you have accepted reality. Until then, you are free to wrestle me until you are satisfied. You cannot win."

Lukas shook the cobwebs from his head and climbed to his feet. "What the hell do you want me to say? I came. Fine. Is that it?"

"You have not come to terms with the truth," Blue said. "It's clear in your data. You've suppressed it for a long time, and your mind seems to have a desperate need for control and domination, and the inability to accept that about yourself. This is why I'm holding you here: to help you."

"This isn't helping me, you bag of bolts! You're keeping me from my job. What else do you want me to say?"

"You have to mean it, Lukas," Blue said, clanking his head to the side. "You have to tell me the truth about your lost sense of time."

Lukas's face scrunched up. "I really don't know what the hell you're talking about. But what I do know is I've had enough of you."

Lukas was ready and, in a moment of clarity, he thought he understood how he could win. He hunched down and charged towards the grapple-bot, prepared to duck and weave and strike with everything he had left.

Blue was too quick. He spun out of the way and tripped Lukas up with his long leg, sending the captain crashing to the floor.

"You're not listening, Lukas. You're still holding back. Tell me the truth."

Lukas struggled back to his feet, and with a snarl, turned and charged Blue again.

And again, he was too slow.

Blue's hands wrapped around his arms and lifted him off the ground, and his legs were locked up with the bot's. The thick training dummy, the smooth leather creaking and squeaking as it coiled around Lukas's limbs, contorted the human's body around his own limbs.

The abdominal stretch is a powerful submission hold. In it, the opponent's arms and legs are intertwined with their own, creating a tight, constricting trap that is nearly impossible to escape. The hold is effective at both keeping your opponent in place and wearing them down, as the constant pressure on their joints and muscles can be quite exhausting, particularly along their exposed flank. It is like watching the tentacles of a sea beast wrapping around an unfortunate scuba diver.

Blue cranked Lukas's arm back under his own, and used his free hand to gently stroke Lukas's exposed side. The human's muscles twitched and spasmed, and the heat and friction of the stretch was overwhelming. Blue could feel Lukas's pulse pounding, his heartbeat quickening, his breaths growing shallow.

Blue's hands slunk lower, drawing a line across the bulge of Lukas's jockstrap. As if it were a reflex, Lukas's hips jerked forward, humping into the leather grip.

"Tell me about The War of the Strand," Blue said.

"Fuck... you..." Lukas grunted, his teeth clenched.

Lukas growled, but the pain of his body, his inability to breathe, and the pressure on his balls was too much. Blue began to stroke his aching member through the rough jockstrap, whose friction on his sensitive cock only served to humiliate him further.

"No, Captain. Tell me about the war. It was against the pan-taran, yes?"

"I... can't..."

"Yes, you can. You will."

Blue continued to rub Lukas's cock through the jock. His face was red, his cheeks flushed. Blue held Lukas's arm in such tight constriction that the captain briefly worried it might snap off. And yet, the heat of Blue's body, the smell of his leather and rubber, it was all so... intoxicating.

"Tell me," Blue said, his voice firm.

Lukas shuddered. His muscles were tensing up, his toes were curling. He couldn't help it: the pain was overwhelming, and his body was desperate for release. He cried out—of pain, pleasure, and fear.

"I was... a soldier," Lukas grunted. "I was a fucking soldier. What the hell else do you want me to say?"

"But before, you were a wrestler," Blue said. "You were a wrestler, and you loved it. You loved the training, the competition, and the rush of victory. You loved the give and take, the struggle for dominance. Yes?"

Lukas grunted.

"Yes," he managed to whisper.

"But, you were a soldier, too. You were a soldier in The War of the Strand, and you ran into another pan-taran, didn't you? On the battlefield."

"Uh..." Lukas grunted. "I can't... I can't remember."

"You're lying. I can read your heart rate, measure your eye dilation..."

"Fuck off."

Blue stroked Lukas faster. Lukas's bent side felt like it was on fire, but the android's hand was still wrapped firmly around his cock. Blue's fist tightened, and any protest from Lukas wrenched out of him.

Blue whispered. "You're still holding back. Your data is telling me something is wrong, and you won't admit it. Why, Lukas?"

"Let me go."

"Not until you admit the truth. Tell me about that pan-taran you met during the war."

"Fuck... the truth..." Lukas groaned.

Lukas took a gamble and jerked his body downwards against the stretch. Had Blue maintained his hold exactly as he was, Lukas's arm would've certainly snapped. Blue, however, adjusted, which allowed Lukas to hurl the larger robot over in an arm drag. This is the weakness Lukas figured out, and it was only because of Blue's own words. Blue said he intended to keep Lukas in peak physical condition—Lukas guessed the droid couldn't exactly do that if his arm was broken.

Lukas scrambled towards the door, his aching jockstrap-trapped erection bobbing up and down with his gait.

As he sprinted down the long, metallic hallway, the captain's mind raced. He was unsure of how long he had been in the grapple-bot's room, or even what it had done to his team. All he knew was that he had to find them, and get them out of there.