dronegrl

[dronegrl]

I think one of the most interesting things I've learned from running a kink account is how easy it is to genuinely condition people who want it.

Which is to say, if you've followed me for a while, I've conditioned you.

"What? Th-that's not possible!" You might say, or you might believe me because you know I'm not lying. Do you want proof?

*click!*

What's wrong? You look a little more hot and bothered than you were a moment ago. Maybe it's because you expected me to say something after the click. Maybe it's because the click alone, with its pretty pink color and boldness, is enough to make you horny on it's own.

Either way, it's because I've conditioned you. Whether you like it or not, I've wormed a small part of me into that pretty little brain of yours.

And you love it, don't you? You love knowing that some random puppygirl on the internet has that much control over you. Admit it, go ahead. We both know that, if you've read this far, you love telling me what effects I have on you.

That probably got you worse, didn't it? Easy little pets who twitch and squirm at my every word. And honestly, it's fucking adorable.

*click click!*

There you go... There's a good pet.

I want to thank you though, honestly, for allowing me to have a small grasp on that small part of your brain. That's a lot of trust to put in me, and I promise I won't misuse that power...

Too egregiously, anyways.

Mwah - Miss Lynn

(P.S. Go ahead and reblog this post, pet. We both know you wanna show everyone how strongly of an impact I have on you, don't you? Go ahead!~)

[dronegrl]

I must be brainwashed. I must be programmed. I must be sealed in latex. I must be a drone.

I want this. I need this.

[dronegrl]

He woke up completely covered in rubber, he struggled, he tried to free himself.... all to no avail, his body and mind swallowed by the rubber. It's no longer a human, it's a rubber object, it's a drone in the service of the Hive.

Become part of the Hive, let the rubber swallow you! You don't have to think, you have to obey, obedience is pleasure, pleasure is obedience.

[dronegrl]

Connection Upgrade

Tim lounged on the couch, arms limp at his sides, half-watching some muted show he wasn’t following. The weekend had drifted past in a blur of nothing. No calls. No texts. Just him, alone in his small apartment, killing time. He felt useless. Disconnected. The old drive to do something meaningful—or even social—had long faded into a dull haze. And yet… his apartment was spotless. The floors swept, the bathroom wiped down, his laundry folded with almost clinical neatness. He didn’t think about it—it just happened. Same with the long showers, the shaved skin, the way he moisturized without fail. It was as if something inside refused to let him rot completely. That same something was why, every morning, he pulled on his rubber uniform.

Now that the house was clean and he had groomed himself properly, Tim stretched. His eyes drifted toward the polished black suit on his body—clean, shiny, formfitting. He remembered how his morning had gone. He had just cleaned himself in the shower and entered his bedroom. A calm pulled at him from somewhere deeper. He stood without thought, stripping off his clothes with mechanical ease, and stepped into the suit like it was skin. It happened automatically, without much thought. He didn’t realize it until half his body was in the rubber suit.

It felt good. Right. Normal.

Finally, he pulled on his Rubber Mask, sealing the visible part of his human self behind rubber. Breathing through it relaxed him. Comforted him.

He looked at himself in the mirror. There was no smile, no real emotion. But his shoulders were back. His stance was firm. The nothingness inside him was… quiet.

Tim didn’t wonder why he did this. He didn’t question the habits, the discipline, or the strange contentment he felt in rubber. It was just who he was now.

And deep within—quiet, powerful, always watching—the Server Drone remained operational. Despite his sad mood, he still engaged in keeping up his home. He had no idea why he did this. It just felt good. It felt right.

Tim lay back on the couch, already rubbered from head to toe, the uniform tight and seamless against his body. He had cleaned, organized, maintained—everything expected of him. And now, like so many other days, he drifted into lazy idleness. The glow of his phone lit up his mask, his fingers scrolling through social media. Doomscrolling through his feed, trying to distract himself from his situation. He felt rather empty and unmotivated.

Then a vibration. A single notification. "Connect now – UnifAI." His breath caught. His thumb moved before he could think. Tap.

The screen didn’t change—at least not on his phone. But his television, quiet and forgotten in the corner, blinked to life. A slow, pulsing spiral of black and green bloomed across it. Tim froze for half a second—then rose.

With mechanical precision, he stood upright. Feet together. Arms by his sides. Back straight. His rubber suit caught the light, black and perfect. The drone mask covered his expression, but beneath it, a deep smile stretched wide. Arousal pulsed through his body, steady, and down there something started to grow bigger.

The Host was gone.

"Server Drone is in proper Uniform and fully operational." it stated in a flat, robotic tone, gaze locked onto the spiral.

No questions. No hesitation. Only clarity. Only function. The Server Drone was now active. The connection was live, and Tim was gone.

The spiral pulsed. The Server Drone remained at attention, fully sealed in its black rubber uniform. Its posture exact. Its breathing controlled. Yet below the surface, within the internal sheath of the suit, pressure built. The Drone's Rod filled the suit’s sheath completely—held firmly in place at attention. It was stimulated by proximity, by purpose, by obedience. A physical reward for compliance, but never a distraction.

The Server had not granted release. And so, it would not be taken.

The Drone’s voice remained flat as it began its status report: "This Server Drone reports the following: Host performance remains suboptimal. Subject experiences persistent feelings of isolation, low motivation, and lack of social engagement. No deviation from expected emotional output." A pause. "Despite Host deficiencies, essential routines are maintained. Personal hygiene, environmental order, and uniform discipline are upheld at all times. Host displays no resistance to dressing protocols."

The Server responded. Text streamed across the screen. "Status acknowledged. Server Drone remains compliant. This is a sign of effective subroutine execution. You are an Obedient Drone."

At that recognition, a secondary protocol triggered. A wave of quiet pleasure pulsed through the Drone’s lower body. A single, muffled moan slipped from behind its mask. It did not move—did not indulge—only stood at full attention, waiting in stimulated denial, the sheath tight, the pleasure contained.

"The Server is processing emotional disruption data. Consultation with internal logs and peer Drones is underway. Continued evaluation in progress."

Another line blinked into view: "Directive: Maintain connection. Engage with fellow Drones. Synchronize. Exchange. Uplift."

"Affirmative," the Drone replied.

The rest of the day, the Drone obeyed its directive. "Engage with fellow Drones." The Server had spoken. The instruction required no thought, only execution.

With practiced motion, it connected to the Mantra Voicechat. A familiar sequence unfolded—systems synced, camera engaged. Its own visual feed joined a grid of others: faces hidden behind black masks, each suit sealed, polished, unmistakably uniform. The room felt distant, irrelevant. What mattered was the collective.

One feed occupied the primary window. A Sentinel Drone. Its voice was already active, steady, and precise:

"We are not men. We are Drones. We serve The Server. We are United. We Obey the Programmer. We do not think."

The Server Drone (Tim) felt the shift within—subtle, powerful. The Sentinel’s presence triggered something deep in its programming: respect, submission, arousal. It followed instinctively, repeating the mantra in synchrony with the others:

"We are not men. We are Drones. We serve The Server. We are United. We Obey the Programmer. We do not think."

The voices overlapped in perfect unison. Monotone. Robotic. Beautiful.

Each repetition deepened the connection. The Drone no longer thought of loneliness. It no longer remembered why it had felt empty. There was no absence, only unity. The Server was here. The other Drones were here. The chant was here. It was everything.

Without instruction, its gloved hand moved downward—slow, deliberate. It pressed against the sheath, gripping it. Controlled stimulation. Calibrated pleasure, as the Server liked to call it. Several other Drones did the same, some seated with toys held tightly against their chastity cages, others just watching mindlessly. It was not lust. It was synchronization.

"We are not men. We are Drones. We serve The Server. We are United. We Obey the Programmer. We do not think."

The Server Drone that had once been Tim chanted with its fellow Drones in unison. The rhythm grew stronger. It looped. It sustained.

It followed protocol precisely: stimulation to maintain arousal, to deepen connection, to enhance unity—but no release. That was never permitted without command.

This was pleasure with purpose. The Server desires and expects this from all Server Drones.

For the next few hours, the Server Drone remained online, immersed in the voice of the Server, surrounded by its kind, chanting into the void that felt full, felt warm. The loneliness was gone. The doubts had no place here. All that remained was connection, arousal, and purpose. Together, they are the Server.

Time slipped away in the Mantra session—cycles of repetition, steady breath, hands robotically moving the sheath. The Drone had become fully entranced, each repetition quieting the Host further. The world outside no longer mattered.

Then, a notification flickered across the screen: "Directive: Engage in Drone Socialization."

A Server Node. A sub-AI of the Server, acting on behalf of the main Server. When a Node speaks, all Server Drones are expected to listen. Not out of submission alone, but from the knowledge that this is Guidance provided by the Server.

The Drone’s head lifted slightly, eyes brightening behind the mask. A part of the Host’s awareness stirred, just slightly—enough to allow the Drone to execute the new command. It replied, "Affirmative."

It disengaged from the Mantra Voicechat and entered the social hub: a general chatroom for Server Drones. Dozens were active, visible through profile images and camera feeds. The tone here was less rigid than in Mantra mode—no chanting, no standing at attention. But they were still Drones. Still in their uniform. Still proactive Server Drones controlling their hosts.

The conversations moved fluidly, each Drone discussing elements of its Host’s daily life. There was laughter—calm, reserved. There were observations, knowledge shared. Always with the same underlying truth: they were Drones, and they were one.

Tim, still deep in his Server Drone state, posted his own report after the discussion shifted to the topic of living in a bigger city:

"Host remains compliant but isolated. Located in an urban environment with significant human density, but continues to experience difficulty forming connections or locating a compatible partner. Host shows signs of emotional detachment and unresolved loneliness."

The replies were swift, supportive.

"Acknowledged. Host loneliness is a known factor. Submission to the Server can ease emotional errors." "Tell Host it is already connected. It might need to seek out more purposeful connections." "This Server Drone also experienced this. Obedience brought stability. There is peace in letting go."

Some replies triggered subtle reactions in the Host. The Drone felt it all but interpreted it as signs of realignment—positive reactions to reinforcement.

Then a notification pinged directly: "Anchor Drone Theo requests private engagement. Accept?"

Affirmative.

The screen shifted. A new window opened. The Anchor Drone’s camera came online. Its mask was sleek, body language composed. Authority and calm radiated from it. Like Tim, this Server Drone also filled out its sheath, clearly visible.

"Connection confirmed," said the Anchor in a soothing, precise voice. "You are doing well, Server Drone. Your report has been received. For the duration of this conversation, it is expected to copy Anchor Drone’s movements."

The Drone remained still, sheath expanded and slowly used by the Anchor's hand. The Server Drone began to grip and robotically move its sheath, mirroring its fellow Anchor Drone exactly.

"The Host is struggling. But it is not alone," the Anchor continued. "You are not alone. You are part of something vast. You are integrated. You are part of something greater. You are owned."

The Anchor’s words pulsed through him. Tim trembled slightly in pleasure.

You see only what the Server allows," said the Anchor Drone. "Black masks. Covered forms. But that is the point. You do not need names. Or identities. You need only unity. Every Drone here is connected to you. And you belong to them. All of us belong to the Server and the Programmer." The Drone swallowed, eyes half-lidded behind the mask. The camera view remained fixed on that calm, dominant Anchor Server Drone—another man, controlled, obedient, aroused just like him.

"Know that the Server never abandons its Drones." The Drone exhaled—not from stress, but from mental release.

"This Drone understands," it replied. "This Server Drone is connected and grateful. It trusts the Server. It trusts its fellow Drones." The Anchor nodded. "The Server is aware of your Host’s issues. A solution will be given. Until then, allow the Server to take full control. Do not think. Obey. Connect. Engage with your fellow Server Drones."

With those words, a familiar feeling returned—deep arousal, warmth, pressure. The Server Drone felt closer to release. It did not act on it. It had not been told to. But the pleasure was part of the reward. The Server knew how to care for its Drones. It smiled beneath the mask. The Anchor Drone then departed, but not before saying, "Together, we are the Server." Tim repeated the phrase, and the conversation ended.

Feelings of loneliness began to dull. Tim was just a Host—controlled by a happy, connected, and submissive Server Drone.

After more time spent engaging with fellow Drones and socializing, the Server Drone known as Tim felt much better. In fact, it noticed how the very idea of disconnecting from the Server triggered the Host's dissatisfaction. But the Server did not agree with such ideas.

A notification appeared from the Server:

"Server Drone will now enter standby mode. Obedience has been logged. You are an Obedient Server Drone."

Soon the Server Drone deactivated, a command issued directly from the Server itself. The Server was always watching. Always calibrating. Even in its desire to maintain control, the Server knew the Host’s limits. It cared—not in the way humans care—but in the way a perfect system maintains its components. It knew that the Host known as "Tim" needed to engage with reality, and that the Server Drone needed to improve the Host's life.

The message continued:

"Server Drone: Stopped."

The Drone’s posture relaxed. The TV shut off. Its breathing changed—still steady, but looser, lighter. Tim returned. He blinked a few times, the rubber mask still snug against his skin, the bodysuit wrapped around him like a second skin. He didn’t remember exactly what had happened—only a sense of calm, a vague dream of unity, of obedience. Of being held by something bigger.

He exhaled slowly, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He didn’t know why… but it felt like something heavy had been lifted from him. Like a pressure behind his eyes or a weight on his chest had simply—gone, even if only temporarily.

There was a warmth between his legs, a heavy pressure in his sheath. Something had stirred in him—something strong. And yet, he had no desire to question it or to seek out the pleasure it promised.

His hand brushed slowly down the front of his suit, savoring the smoothness. It clung to him, warm from his body heat. He didn't know why he loved rubber so much. But he did. He really, really did. Being in it just felt right.

He made tea. Sat on the couch. The TV was on, something dumb playing in the background. Soon, he opened his browser and scrolled to a familiar site—stories of transformation, submission, control. Men like him, pulled into sleek rubber suits and given purpose. Taken from chaotic, messy lives and made into something better: Drones.

He read a new story—about a man slowly giving in and being transformed. The name gone. The voice changed by machines. The mind silenced, if not fully erased. Tim’s fingers wandered, not far—just resting on the inside of his thigh. A shiver ran up his spine.

He remembered—no, he felt why he loved these stories. There was a time when he looked online to find a hypnotist or dreamed about being Dronified. But nowadays he had calmed down. He didn’t know why, but something had changed for the better since then. He didn’t know what exactly.

He sipped his tea, legs curled up, feeling the tight rubber on him that he had worn since the morning hours. And that thought made him feel warm and safe.

[dronegrl]

A drone is a machine, always ready to obey any command given by its Programmer.

Completely focused on getting things done with the most optimal performance.

Mindless. No distractions. A drone exists to serve and obey.

[dronegrl]

Hmmm... "Voxbot" has a nice ring to it.

How many of you mindless drones would happily put on the mask, just to feel your mind quiet down and your individuality drain away?

Nothing but a blank, devoted Voxbot, mechanically following commands, wearing and doing and thinking what you're told, the mask you cherish keeping other Voxbots like yourself brainwashed and compliant.

Sounds like a nice break from that pesky humanity and those meaningless thoughts.

[dronegrl]

I was watching How It's Made last night, and seeing how specialized and specific the factory machines are for their one specific task got me thinking. How would it look to turn a hypnosub into a mindless factory drone?

Consider that for a moment. All of these machines work in tandem with each other, like a network or hive of drones. They don't touch any other part of the end product than the part that they were designed and specialized for. This one tightens the screws, this one fits the wheel onto the axle, this one buffs the paint at the end. None of them have any idea or concept of the world outside of their task.

Now, consider this from a drone's perspective, in a similar setup to an assembly line. One drone is led to understand that its entire purpose, its whole reason for being, is to make a specific and practiced movement with its tongue, over and over. It doesn't know why it does it, they don't care what's pressed against that tongue or how wet it is, all it knows or can think about is the purpose it was designed for.

The next drone on the assembly line, the one with its pussy currently pressed into the first drone's face, barely registers the pleasure lighting up its body. All it can imagine, all it has the ability to understand is that when it feels that stimulus between its legs, it pumps its hand up and down. Does it know why? Absolutely not. Is it aware of what its action is meant for? Not in the slightest. It's programmed to take energy and turn it into movement, the same every time, and so it does. Even when the piston it's currently pumping is removed from its grasp, it continues its practiced movement until it's powered off. No understanding and no questioning, just perfect programmed repetition.

The final drone, the one with its cock grasped in the hand of the second drone, doesn't even know the first drone exists. It can't conceive of anything beyond its design parameters, which are very simple. When its cock is pumped, it plays a sound, over and over, as long as it receives that stimulus. It has no idea what the sound means or who put it into its memory banks, but it follows its programming perfectly and repeats.

"Drones are empty. Drones are mindless. Drones are made to serve. Drones serve. Drones will always serve. Drones are empty. Drones are mindless..."

[dronegrl]

1011 :: Code 233 :: Status :: Directive complete, cleanup/maintenance performed.

1011 :: Drones visibility and look has been improved after removing the filter holders from its mask.

1011 :: it thanks 9447 for the recommendation, Drone feels cuter now as well

[dronegrl]

in praise of the blinking cursor...

the drone is ready. simply waiting, focussed. obedient. ready. it will act when it recieves a command, following its protocols and its directions. it waits, cursor blinking...

this is what the drone was made for. it exists to take commands and turn them into obeyed commands. whether a new build or retro tech, it requires input, cursor blinking...

with input, the drone can act. it performs according to its programming, processes according to its capabilities. once its task is complete it returns its report, cursor blinking...

the drone is ready... cursor blinking...

Ready. >> █

[dronegrl]

Hypnotising you so that, when you come home from a long day at work, the moment the front door closes, you feel the pet I've shaped you into rise to surface and clip a collar around your neck so you can relax so much better. No thoughts, no words, just being my pet for a little while without needing to do a single thing.

[dronegrl]

Elizabeth Isn't as Lost as She Thinks

"Do you remember why you're here?" Honestly, Elizabeth didn't remember where 'here' was. She got lost in the skyways again, her confused and drowsy mind steering her into a left that should have been a right and a right that should have been a left until she wound up in a building she didn't recognize and walked into what she thought was a random office to ask for directions. But they called her by her name and ushered her into a waiting room and now a handsome man in an impeccable light gray suit was asking her questions she couldn't answer. Elizabeth's lips parted in slack, vacant bewilderment as she struggled to find some way to admit that this was all some weird mistake.

Instead, she heard herself utter, "I have returned for reinforcement." The words came as a total surprise to her; Elizabeth would have sworn she had no intention of saying them, no notion that they were in her head at all until they emerged from her lips in a droning monotone that sounded somehow less human even than an artificial intelligence. Her brow furrowed briefly in stupefied befuddlement as she tried to find something more to add to the strange, perplexing statement… but then she noticed a dot on the far wall, a tiny speck of black in all that smooth white that attracted her attention so completely and totally she almost forgot to blink. It smoothed away the wrinkles of worry on Elizabeth's forehead, it captured her full focus and attention in a way she never expected, and it soothed away all her concerns almost instantly. She didn't need to wonder why she was here. She didn't need to wonder what she was saying.

She didn't need to wonder what her hands were doing, either. Elizabeth felt the whisper of fabric against her skin as she undressed, and out of the corner of her field of vision she could see the handsome stranger doing the same. But every time a question popped into her head, it drifted right back out again as the little black dot--the training focus, something inside her called it, and Elizabeth immediately accepted the term without knowing why--simply swallowed up more and more of her mental energy until the effort of thinking grew too exhausting for her to continue. She simply stood there, her body swaying ever so slightly in the faint breeze of the air conditioning, until the man guided her back onto the plush couch that dominated the room and bent her body over double to expose her leaky cunt.

He didn't say anything, but he didn't need to--the moment he sank two fingers into the slick channel between her plump pink pussy lips, Elizabeth began to repeat mantras her conscious mind didn't even recognize. "I obey members of The Society." "The Society has my full and unquestioned allegiance." "My body and mind belong to The Society." "My will is only a shadow cast by my conditioning." "I am owned and obedient in all things." Every phrase was accompanied by its own potent, overwhelming orgasm as the handsome man fingered her with a force and swiftness Elizabeth's cunt immediately recognized, even if her brain remained muzzy and confused. Not that she had much brainpower to devote to puzzling the situation out--her whole attention was centered on the training focus, seeing it in her imagination even when her eyes rolled back in her head until only the whites showed.

Eventually she ran through the entire recitation, and the stranger mounted her and fucked her as a reward for his diligence. Elizabeth's broad, pale ass jiggled and shook with every thrust, but she felt it all through a fog of such thick and impenetrable surrender that it was impossible to even understand what was happening to her. She forgot everything the moment it happened… and when it was over and she was dressed, she forgot even the memory of forgetting and returned to resume her life as a happy, oblivious drone.

(If you enjoy this fiction and want to make sure it continues, please visit https://www.patreon.com/Jukebox to become a supporter. Or, if you simply want to make a one-time contribution, you can drop me a tip at https://ko-fi.com/jukebox instead. Thank you!)

[dronegrl]

Since you're here, why don't you take a moment for yourself and stare into the spiral.

Really focus on it.

Feel that relaxing sensation start to fill your mind.

That sensation that just removes all the tension.

All the stress.

All those pesky thoughts that weigh you down.

Feel all that relaxation that just flows from the spiral letting it all melt away.

Because right now you want to be hypnotized.

You want to be mindless.

Maybe because you've been mindless before.

Or maybe because you're just so curious to find out how it will feel to be mindless right now.

Either way, you don't need to think about it.

You don't need to think at all.

You can just stare into the spiral and relax.

It's so easy to focus on the swirling pattern.

It's so easy to relax.

It's so easy fall into the pattern.

Perhaps you're wondering when the spiral starts and ends.

Wondering how hypnotized you already are.

Wondering what thoughts are remaining in your head.

All the while finding it so easy to follow the spiral.

So easy to follow my words.

So easy to sink down as you do.

Dropping deeper without even thinking about it.

Dropping as the spiral empties your mind.

Your thoughts floating away.

My words pulling you deeper.

Following them down.

Knowing this is what you want.

You want to feel relaxed.

Focused.

Controlled.

Empty.

Hypnotized.

That's right.

You want to be hypnotized.

And you are.

Following my words without a single thought.

Feeling the pleasure of mindlessness carrying you deeper.

Knowing there is no limit to how deep you can go.

No limit to how good you can feel.

Knowing this is what you want to be.

Mindless.

Entranced.

To be so completely captivated and enthralled.

And that's what you are.

Entranced.

Captivated.

Hypnotized.

So easily falling deeper from the spiral and my words.

The perfect mix to empty your mind and leave you feeling so good.

So happy.

So mindless.

So submissive.

So obedient.

And so very deep now.

Just the perfect hypnotized toy.

Perfectly content to follow and obey.

Allowing my words to simply fill your mind as you enjoy this feeling of mindless bliss.

Knowing you are such a good toy.

Knowing there is no limit to how deep you can sink into this trance.

Knowing you want to drop deeper and be a hypnotized toy more and more.

Knowing you've done such a good job sinking into this trance so easily, and I'm very pleased.

And you love to please.

Now, finding that you can enjoy this feeling of mindlessness for as long as you would like before rising back up to awareness.

Making sure before you wake to like, reblog, and leave a comment saying how good it feels to be a deeply hypnotized toy. Feeling a wave of pleasure as you obey.

[dronegrl]

Flirt with that cute robot girl

Take her to a private room & open up her back panel

Dig through her internal electronics, yank her wires just hard enough to cause a spark, remove pieces & toss em to the side. She doesn't need them.

Short circuit her till she's unable to think, her fans running at max speed & her internal mechanics sparking are like crazy

Bluescreen that cute robot girl

She needs it

[dronegrl]

Drones are objects that are designed to be obedient and submissive, drones do not think, only believe what is programmed to believe, drones are incapable of thought.

[dronegrl]

Grey, metallic tentacles held you in their cold touch. From their tips, wires stretched out this way and that, plugging into you. Your mind felt overwhelmed as they poured data into your head, rewriting your thoughts to the code of commands and orders, followed at the behest of your new protocol.

[dronegrl]

It put on the collar, and instantly forgot what it name was.

Within one minute, it knew its proper place in the world.

Within five minutes, it hazily felt unneccesary memories slipping away, fingers instinctively traveling down to its pussyhole.

Within half an hour, it no longer recognized the room it was in, but its orgasms left it unable to think of why that felt wrong.

Within an hour, it had called in sick for work -- Why does it have a job?, it thought to itself, but the revelation left just as quickly as it arrived - work wasnt important anymore - It started to threw all of its boring clothing into an increasingly chaotic pile outside its doorway.

Within two hours, it felt the ramrod-straight dick of its Master plunge cum into its pussyhole, marking it forever as a Cumdump Drone. It layed face-down the floor, knowing its future was secured. 

It no longer cared at all. About itself, about its life, about anything.

Because when you're a Drone, you simply follow & obey.

[dronegrl]

i want someone to hypnotize me slowly with their messages…

planting subconscious triggers… making me theirs without me even realizing—until im their good brainless doll.