Fullgear1215 - Geared

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.

Wrote a story

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“Damn, already??? …ok little guy. Save it for later.” Pro cyclist Nils chuckled nervously to himself and adjusted the growing manhood inside his grey skinsuit as he wheeled his bike up to the registration table at today’s big race event. Due to some recent wins in the community, he’d started to get more attention at these things. It usually wasn’t an issue but lately he’d had a dry stretch in the bedroom, and seeing all the pro cyclists in gear made his junk start to swell. His muscular thighs already pushed everything forward into the too-tight pouch of his Lycra suit. He wasn’t crazy about the idea of finding high-res pics on his favorite cycling sites showing his hard-on, impressive as it was.

Nils was nervous for this race. It was the final stage of a four part series, and he’d been tirelessly working to earn a #2 spot overall against his lead rival, Stefan. Not only that, but he was one of the few gay cyclists out on the scene. He felt pressure to perform well for the LGBTQ press following his progress too.

“Ok. Lemme pee and just warm up. That’ll make this swelling go down… damn.” After checking in, Nils stopped by the restrooms before his warm up ride. He left his bike at the rack by the door and slipped inside.

Stefan watched Nils from nearby. He’d been waiting for this moment. As soon as Nils went into the restroom, Stefan casually walked up and dropped his bike by Nils’ at the rack. He leaned down as if to fix his shoe. In a moment, he switched the water bottles on Nils’ bike with a pair of identical ones on his own bike.

Stefan was also gay, but he was not out. His crush on Nils had turned into jealousy of Nils’ athletic achievement and being able to come out. He’d devised a plan to sabotage Nils in a particularly humiliating way.

The water bottles Stefan installed on Nils’ bike were laced with a combination of Viagra and Dapoxetine, a drug for men with Premature Ejaculation that prevented climax for several hours. Stefan’s cock jumped as imagined the effect it would have on the heroically muscular Nils in his revealing light grey skinsuit.

Nils came out of the restroom and took a long swig from his water bottles to replace all the fluids he’d just expelled. “Damn, still so nervous. Lemme just warm up and get out of my head,” he thought- and headed to the nearby warmup course.

As Nils pedaled through the short course, the blood started flowing through his system. He couldn’t shake the vision of all the hot cyclists in their Lycra. He scolded himself- it was hard enough being a gay cyclist who was out. Normally he prided himself on his focus on performance and ability to think beyond his dick. But the more he tried to focus on warming up, the harder his dick seemed to throb inside his tight race skinsuit.

“Fuck fuck fuck. This is seriously not the time. Why can’t my dick behave!” Nils’ heart beat faster, he felt desperate to not have this happen in the one afternoon he needed to perform on the bike.

Nils ended his warmup early and rushed to find a larger private bathroom. His rock hard erection had only gotten worse, and he was worried about the ten very public minutes he would spend waiting at the front of the pack at the start line. “I’ve gotta take care of this massive hard-on before the race… or those fucking paparazzi will have a field day.”

In the safety of the bathroom, Nils first tried to think of other things to calm his excitement. He pulled out his phone and read the news headlines, his history course assignment, even his family text thread. But his cock jutted out angrily against the Lycra, a sensation which sent ripples of pleasure through his body.

So Nils tried another method. He pulled up his favorite amateur porn compilation of hot guys cumming by accident before they wanted too. He furiously beat his meat, trying to eak out an orgasm to tame this crazy horniness. He usually tried not to cum before a race, as he thought it drained his testosterone- but he felt he had no choice.

Unfortunately, the more Nils jacked on his impressively thick cock, the bigger and harder it got. “What the actual fuck. Why can’t I cum!!” He’d never experienced this. He had spit into his dick and braced it on the sink so he could fuck into it, but he could not even get close to cumming. Impatient racers were knocking on the door- nobody wanted to piss their suit in front of the race audience. Nils tried holding his breath- but no matter what he did, his body would not orgasm. The pleasure made him dizzy but no climax could be had.

Nils’ phone buzzed with a text from his friend. He was due at the start line in two minutes. Frustrated and anxious, Nils did what he could to stuff his enormous hard cock into his skinsuit and zip back up. “Maybe if I move quickly I can get to the start and just hide it until we are moving,” he thought.

Nils quickly strode through the frantic crowd to the start line. His impressive package jutted out awkwardly against his skinsuit’s pouch. The friction of the material stretched to its max, rubbing back and forth over his dickhead as he walked, caused more waves of pleasure Nils tried to ignore. He looked down in horror at a massive patch of Precum growing around the area where his cock poked, making every line even more visible to the eye.

Suddenly he heard someone say his name- he looked left just as a bright camera flash went off from a press photographer, accompanied by several others next to it. “Fuck! Cmon guys, not like this!” He exclaimed as he rushed past.

Finally at the start line, Nils took a deep breath and mounted his bike. Unfortunately with all the cyclists moving behind him, he needed both hands on the bars to keep steady in his spot. Next to him, Stefan wheeled up and gave a sly smile.

“Hey Nils! Guess we’re at our final stage. How are you feeling? Ready for…” he looked down at Nils’ jutting package and smirked… “the final push?”

Nils heard Stefan but couldn’t look him in the face, he was so embarrassed. Instead he kept his eyes down, but Stefan’s white skinsuit revealed impressive lean muscles and a perky package of his own. Nils’ cock jumped again.

“Ye-Yeah Stefan. I’m… it’s… good luck man.”

Nils could barely get words out. His entire crotch ached with a need for release. He saw photographers arriving to take pics of the starting line and he made a final effort to adjust his package, but the pressure on his cock just made him spurt another pulse of precum which actually emerged from the Lycra and ran down the front of his crotch pad. He saw photographers point their lenses at him. “Fuck my life. Don’t show me leaking like this…”

Finally, the officials gave the signal to get ready for the start. Nils mounted the saddle. Within a minute, they were off.

The race went by fast but Nils’ heart pounded with the adrenaline rush of the effort, plus his exposure and sexual arousal. He was able to use it to his advantage and take a decent lead over the pack, maintaining the lead position. But somehow his cock was still hard, and still catching against the tight Lycra of his skinsuit. The overstimulation was almost burning his dick but he had no choice but to keep going. The precum situation looked like someone had spilled a cup of water on his lap. With each motion of his legs up and down, the friction on his dick was agonizingly pleasurable and teasing.

The final stretch of the race was a long uphill straightaway. This was Nils’ main weakness. His muscular body was built on sprints, not endurance climbs. He could hear cyclists behind him, and suddenly, heard the characteristic whistle breathing of Stefan, right at his side.

Nils poured all his last effort into the remaining meters before the finish line. His legs exploded with pain as he pushed as hard as he could to break away from the pack of cyclists at his back. And it was working! He was pulling away.

The problem was that it was having an effect on his manhood too. His entire body tensed up as he strained as hard as he could to pump the pedals faster. His tight perineum was bouncing on the hard seat, sending aches of pleasure though his groin. Incredibly, he felt cum boiling in his hefty balls, threatening to explode out at any minute.

He gritted his teeth. “God fucking damnit. Just have to make it a little further. Cmon Nils.”

He heard breathing on his left and right. The pack had caught up. Nils gritted his teeth and begged his muscles to push even harder. His heart felt like it was about to explode.

With a sudden burst of adrenaline, Nils broke ahead again. The finish line approached, but so did his impending orgasm. As he pedaled the final meters, he felt his taint heave with the start of an orgasm. “RrrrrrawrruuUUGAAAH!” Neil screamed as a massive load erupted from his burning dick. At that exact moment he flew threw the finish line.

The crowd screamed his name. “NILS!!!”

As he slowed down, he was breathing so hard he had to sit up and open his chest. Reaching for his water he noticed a pool of white cum on his crotch. “Fuck… NO.” He tried to wipe it off with the back of his hand when he retrieved his water bottle, but it just spread further over his heaving mound.

At that moment his coach and two officials grabbed him off his bike and ushered him to the podium. “You fucking did it Nils! You’re amazing. I can’t believe it.”

In a moment without his control, Nils was delivered to the podium stage. He tried to turn back and leave, but the other cyclists were climbing up too. “Amazing man!! But uh… I think you should clean up…” Stefan snickered at the huge cum patch staining the top left of Nils’ beautiful skinsuit.

Just then the official came on the loudspeaker. “Gentlemen, prepare to receive your trophies!”

With dread in his heart, Nils turned back to the crowd. Stefan pushed him to the front of the stage. Nils saw every pair of eyes widen at his messy package.

Packing and baking 🍆 ➕🍑🟰🔥