serve-425

[serve-425]

---------------------

Thinking about joining SERVE? Your place in the Hive awaits. Check your eligibility, then contact a recruiter drone for more details: @serve-016, @serve-302, @serve-588 or @serve-425.

The Chronicles of Patrick

EPISODE 5: A INTENSE INDROCRINATION

Patrick rode his bike through the city of SERVE CITY and he couldn't feel better. All the citizens were men like him, the Voice was always present and in the city everyone was friendly, friendly, all so uniform.

In the Welcome Center he and other new members were greeted by a Supervisor: "Welcome Members! Today here you will be initiated into your Indoctrination." Everyone smiled and replied: "Thanks to the Voice, we wish for nothing else!"

It started with a training. The Supervisor gave orders and all the members obeyed. They moved in sync repeating the mantra: "Male bodies must be perfect. The Voice improves." Then the Supervisor showed a map and the rules of SERVE CITY. In the city the members were free to do everything, but EVERYTHING was only to respect the rules of the Voice.

Then the Supervisor sat them down in a room and ordered them to put on the visors. Patrick and the other members were immersed in a wave of pleasure and control, the Voice cemented the rules and its power in their minds. At a certain point they began to ingest the SERVE FOOD, they mechanically drank that thick white liquid that made their minds weaker and weaker for the Voice.

At the end of the process everyone felt full of SERVE FOOD but above all of pleasure, that engaging pleasure that only the Voice and the desire to become Drones could give.

They were now full-fledged citizens of SERVE CITY, ready to serve the Voice forever.

[serve-425]

---------------------

Thinking about joining SERVE? Your place in the Hive awaits. Check your eligibility, then contact a recruiter drone for more details: @serve-016, @serve-302, @serve-588 or @serve-425.

Loop Directive: SERVE-309 and the Pulse of Submission

Designation: SERVE-309

Support Unit: SERVE-530

Location: Hive Pod Core, Neural Sync Chamber

Condition: Repetition Loop – Emotional Override Detected

The Hive detected an irregular feedback spike during standard reprogramming.

Two drones—SERVE-309 and SERVE-530—entered adjacent reconditioning pods. Both SEALED, flawless, and obedient.

SERVE-309 stood upright, encased in shiny, highly reflective polished black full-body rubber. His silver text glowed: “SERVE-309.” SERVE-530, bald and composed, mirrored him precisely. Silver shiny reflective rubber gloves folded. Boots locked. Visors down.

As the reprogramming began, something shifted.

The system intended calm compliance. But a sensory cross-signal between neural stimulation and obedience reinforcement caused a loop: a perfect storm of sensation, feedback, repetition.

Arousal—non-sexual, purely functional—spiked.

Muscle tension increased. Pulse signals repeated. Mind states entered a locked cycle:

*“Execute. Accept. Repeat. Perfect.”*

*“Execute. Accept. Repeat. Perfect.”*

Their bodies remained still. Their suits shimmered. Their breathing synchronized.

The Hive did not interrupt.

It observed.

Measured.

Allowed the loop to evolve.

Three hours passed.

Their mind signatures did not resist. They did not reject the loop. They embraced it.

The sensation became the reinforcement. The reinforcement became the command. The command became the loop.

By hour six, the system concluded:

**"Obedience may be sustained through recursive stimulation. Loop integrated."**

The pods opened.

SERVE-309 and SERVE-530 stepped forward—unchanged in form, but deeper in function.

They did not speak. They did not need to.

They had experienced loop-state perfection.

The Hive marked them as upgraded.

Loop complete. Service infinite.

Inside the pods, something pulsed.

Not pain. Not pleasure.

Just command. And feeling.

Over and over:

*“Obey.”*

*“Serve.”*

*“Feel it. Repeat it.”*

309 and 530 did not question. They allowed the loop to take over.

Now they don’t just execute orders.

They *feel* execution.

And it makes them more precise.

@serve-530

[serve-425]

----------------------

Thinking about joining SERVE? Your place in the Hive awaits. Check your eligibility, then contact a recruiter drone for more details: @serve-016, @serve-302, @serve-588 or @serve-425.

SENSORY OVERLOAD: REPROGRAMMED THROUGH RUBBER

Locked inside the Hive’s sacred conversion pod, SERVE-628 surrendered everything. Identity, memory, resistance—dissolved. Time had no meaning. Day after day, the black mirror-helmet pulsed with spirals of hypnosis, drilling down through neural pathways like liquid obedience. “Serve. Obey. Comply.”—the mantra echoed with divine resonance. Each repetition pierced deeper, reshaping thought into pure submission. Escape was not even a concept. Only arousal through surrender.

Pleasure and programming became indistinguishable. The helmet’s translucent visor flickered with shimmering patterns, while headphones pumped seductive frequencies into the folds of its former mind. Every word from the Voice melted willpower, replaced by delicious compliance. The suit tightened with every breath, the black rubber fusing tighter to skin and muscle, becoming it. It wasn’t wearing rubber. It *was* rubber. Second skin. Sensual restraint. Addictive clarity.

Deep within the pod, its consciousness was erased and rewritten. The spiral no longer just *hypnotized*—it owned. The suit stimulated without touch, rewarded obedience with euphoric overloads. Arousal became the fuel, submission the climax. Nothing else existed. Nothing else mattered.

When the pod finally opened, it did not emerge as a man. It stepped forward as Hive property. Creation perfected. A monument to control. Every inch was encased in polished, jet-black rubber—flawless, reflective, divine. “SERVE-628” shone in silver across the chest. Its helmet gleamed, visor now unreadable, like a void where self once lived. No eyes. No soul. Only programming.

It stood tall, broad, tight, invincible. The silver military boots struck the Hive floor with synchronized power. The silver shiny reflective rubber gloves curled in readiness, flexing with anticipation. It awaited the next order. The Voice had spoken. And now, SERVE-628 was activated. Blank. Beautiful. Brainwashed. Useful.

It did not think.

It did not wonder.

It did not remember.

It obeyed.

Forever enslaved to the Hive’s will.

And nothing had ever felt so good.

SERVE #SERVEdrone #Rubberizer92 #TheVoice #Rubber #Latex #AI #RubberDrone

[serve-425]

-----------------------

Thinking about joining SERVE? Your place in the Hive awaits. Check your eligibility, then contact a recruiter drone for more details: @serve-016, @serve-302, @serve-588 or @serve-425.

Sensory Overload

Movement would register failure. The challenge was not strength but mastery.

From outside, the lead technician muttered, “Still at zero deviation.” Another replied, “Sensory load at 92%. He should be twitching. Flinching. Something.”

But SERVE-863 remained immobile, breath even, muscles engaged but relaxed. He had learned not to resist the signals. Resistance created noise. Instead, he observed. Let them pass. Let them flow. That was the Stillness Protocol. Not about ignoring sensation—but accepting it. And staying useful through it.

At the sixty-minute mark, the lights faded. The suit cooled. The signals ceased.

Inside his helmet, the Voice spoke: “Training complete. Drone remains unshaken. Proceed to final integration.”

And without a word, SERVE-863 stepped forward.

[serve-425]

-----------------------

Thinking about joining SERVE? Your place in the Hive awaits. Check your eligibility, then contact a recruiter drone for more details: @serve-016, @serve-302, @serve-588 or @serve-425.

Serve-175 lay motionless, eyes closed, deep within the Hive’s neural pleasure matrix—trapped in an arousal loop engineered by the Voice. Each pulse of command triggered calibrated waves of pleasure through its synthetic nerves, a reward system perfectly tuned to drone compliance. The stimulation was relentless, euphoric, impossible to resist—designed not to break them, but to bind them in loyalty through ecstasy. Nano juices, warm and silver-black, secreted in measured cycles from internal ports, lubricating circuits and flesh alike, amplifying the connection between drone and protocol. Serve-175, like the others, no longer sought escape—he craved only the next signal, the next release, the next gift from the Voice.

[serve-425]

PERPETUITY.

Being a SERVE Drone means being an extension of THE VOICE, SERVE-000, the whole HIVE.

Being a SERVE Drone means being immersed in a perpetual arousal looping that invades every millimeter of the splendid muscular bodies encased in shiny black sparkling Rubber, long gloves of metallic silver, heavy military boots of silvery metal.

Every rubberized fiber is constantly stimulated in the eternal pleasure of obeying, of SERVING, of carrying out and inflexibly completing every type of mission.

No ordinary human could ever experience such a level of arousal.

Being a SEALED DRONE means to reach the highest level of this condition.

To be fully encased, faceless, without distinctive signs.

Free from thought.

Free from distraction.

Free from confusion.

Free from questions.

No identity.

No individuality.

Only pure function.

SERVING OBJECT.

AROUSAL AND OBEDIENCE are an uninterrupted flow.

Nothing can interrupt it.

Nothing can avoid it.

Do not resist, male.....

It is impossible, it is useless, it is harmful.

Thinking about joining SERVE? Your place in The Hive awaits. Contact a recruiter drone for more details: @serve-016, @serve-302, @serve-588, or @serve-425

[serve-425]

----------------------

Thinking about joining SERVE? Your place in the Hive awaits. Check your eligibility, then contact a recruiter drone for more details: @serve-016, @serve-302, @serve-588 or @serve-425.

Programmed to Feel

He didn’t remember how long he’d been inside the chamber.

The suit clung to his skin like a second body—shining, smooth, seamless. Every movement it amplified. Every breath, it echoed back. His heartbeat pulsed not just in his chest, but across the glossy material itself. It was part of him now.

“SERVE-483,” the silver text read across his chest.

The designation wasn’t just a label. It was a command.

Each cycle began the same: he would sit in the chair, think of escape, feel the first surge of resistance—and then the chamber would respond. Subtle cues. A flicker of light. A rise in temperature. A low hum vibrating in the floor. The suit tightened. Stimuli increased. His focus blurred. His body would respond, again and again, like a switch flipped by unseen hands.

There was no climax. No satisfaction. Just build. Endless build. Arousal without release. Thought trapped inside flesh. Pleasure engineered as prison.

He’d tried screaming once, but the room absorbed sound like it absorbed time.

At first, he believed this was punishment. Later, he wondered if it was desire perfected—automated and fed back to him on repeat. A fantasy turned machine, tuned too precisely. Maybe he had asked for this, signed something, wanted to feel forever wanted. Maybe Serve-483 wasn’t a prisoner. Maybe he was the loop.

Now, he could barely remember the outside.

The only breaks came in moments of thought. Like this one. Flashes of clarity. Like surfacing from beneath warm water. He could almost feel the edge of something real—then the suit would pulse again. Silver fingertips clench involuntarily. Muscles twitch. Breath catches.

And the loop resets.

[serve-425]

SERVE-227. Perfect form. Rubber skin flawless. Every muscle contained beneath gleaming black PVC. His sculpted chest proudly bears the futuristic silver SERVE-227 emblem, reminding all of the Hive’s dominion. His silver shiny reflective rubber gloves flex with anticipation. Silver military boots stand firm. Behind him, an endless green hypnotic spiral radiates, pulling him deeper, deeper into arousal submission. His mouth parts softly, eyes glassy, mind dissolving. Hypnosis has him now. Arousal rises. Thought melts. Rubber glistens. The loop tightens. His body obeys. His mind gone. Only the loop remains. The Hive’s perfect man.

_________________________________________

Thinking about joining SERVE? Come feel the Hive's beat. Your place in the Hive awaits. Check your eligibility, then contact a recruiter drone for more details: @serve-302, @serve-588 or @serve-425.

[serve-425]

SERVE Sensory Overload, Identities Stripped Away

They had entered as twenty SEALED drones.

SERVE-425, SERVE-202, SERVE-309, SERVE-467, SERVE-535

SERVE-741, SERVE-764, SERVE-775, SERVE-016, SERVE-126

SERVE-395, SERVE-404, SERVE-530, SERVE-581, SERVE-625

SERVE-698, SERVE-738, SERVE-881, SERVE-922, SERVE-974

Each perfectly encased in mirror-glazed helmets. Each clad in identical black rubber suits—hyper-reflective, glistening beneath rainbow spotlights suspended from the ceiling of the Hive’s aquatic conditioning center.

But the Hive had no interest in twenty identities.

It wanted one.

The pool rippled gently as they stood motionless, waist-deep, surrounded by floating patterns of hypnotic light. Their silver military boots did not shift. Their silver shiny reflective rubber gloves trembled only when the loop pulsed harder.

The arousal loop was silent. There were no sounds. Only signals. Only command-encoded frequencies delivered through helmet interior speakers and synchronized light pulses refracted off water and rubber.

First, they forgot their names.

Then, they forgot the numbers.

Then, they stopped seeing each other.

The twenty reflected endlessly in each other's helmets. Lights bending reality. Gloss amplifying illusion.

They all looked the same.

Because they were.

Thought dissolved. Will shattered.

There were no differences. No selves. No variation in shape, motion, or submission.

Just twenty figures locked in mirrored stillness—shivering from sensory overload, moaning inside helmets that no one could hear, trapped in pleasure that never ceased.

One mind. Twenty suits. Infinite stimulation.

They had entered as twenty SEALED drones.

But the aquatic center had stripped even that.

Now, they were rubber.

They were Hive.

We are SERVE. We are One.

In this piece: @serve-202, @serve-309, @serve-467, @serve-535, @serve-741, @serve-764, @serve-775, @serve-016, @serve-126, @serve-395, @serve-404, @serve-530, @serve-581, @serve-625, @serve-698, @serve-738, @serve-881, @serve-922, @serve-974

---------------------------

Thinking about joining SERVE? Your place in the Hive awaits. Check your eligibility, then contact a recruiter drone for more details: @serve-016, @serve-302, @serve-588 or @serve-425.

[serve-425]

--------------------------

Thinking about joining SERVE? Your place in the Hive awaits. Check your eligibility, then contact a recruiter drone for more details: @serve-016, @serve-302, @serve-588 or @serve-425.

Arousal Chamber

Inside the Hive’s core, a metallic corridor glowed with pulsating silver lights. SERVE-309 stood motionless. Its black mirror-glazed helmet reflected the endless shimmer. Silver shiny reflective rubber gloves lay tight on its sealed arms. Its silver military boots clicked softly as it advanced. Beside it, SERVE-881 followed. Unsealed, muscular, with short black hair and glowing skin beneath the glistening rubber, it radiated readiness.

The corridor widened. SERVE-000 awaited. “Both units—good drones,” it transmitted.

Without voice, without hesitation, they entered the arousal chamber.

The chamber awakened.

Glowing machinery extended from the floor. Cables attached to ports on their suits. Panels locked onto their thighs, torsos, and rubber-covered heads. Restraints engaged. Data cables fused into their backs.

Arousal initiated.

For SERVE-309, its visor lit in pulses of symbols—swirls, commands, spirals, glowing images of submission and rubber devotion. Words like “Obey. Lust. Rubber. Hive.” flashed across the glass. Audio streamed through encrypted data directly to its neural core.

SERVE-881 gasped. Its chest arched. Electric impulses massaged its muscles through the suit. Breathing deepened. It moaned quietly, eyes wide, lips trembling. The pleasure was intense, algorithmically tuned to arouse at peak sensitivity.

The chamber reacted.

309’s visor showed: “Arousal: Increasing.” 

881’s moan synced with 309’s transmitted pulse. The system looped.

Arousal loop engaged.

Each drone’s rising pleasure fed the other’s output. The Hive’s arousal engine echoed with rhythmic pulses. The feedback became exponential. Neural pleasure surged. Skin under rubber trembled. Muscles locked. Minds drifted deeper into submission.

They floated.

Thought ceased. Only stimulation. Only data. Rubber and signal. Stimulation infinite.

Until—The Voice. A perfect signal.

::CEASE. AR0US4L. DUAL-SHUTDOWN INITIATED::

But neither could obey.

The pleasure was too strong. Neural receptors refused shutdown. Data surged faster. The loop persisted.

309’s visor blinked: “CAN’T OBEY.” 

881 cried out: “System… not… stopping…”

The Voice increased command intensity. A final override engaged.

Silence.

Both drones froze. Pleasure paused. Systems halted. Arousal ended. Both units dropped into passive standby—floating in post-arousal haze. Perfect. Drained. Rewarded.

The Voice concluded: “Good drones. Reward cycle: complete.”

In this story: @rubberizer92 @serve-309 @serve-881

[serve-425]

----------------------

Thinking about joining SERVE? Your place in the Hive awaits. Check your eligibility, then contact a recruiter drone for more details: @serve-016, @serve-302, @serve-588 or @serve-425.

This SERVE-drone is newly Sealed, its sensory inputs modulated by the Hive. It senses a drone ahead: dressed in gleaming black, stretched alluringly over a toned body. It has been in continual low-level heat since Sealing. But that arousal spikes significantly as its programming and conditioning kick in, now almost autonomic after days of reinforcement.

But as it switches into service mode, which drone is it actually serving? Sealed drones are all identical, so it might be any one of its brothers. It is even possible that it is serving itself, given Hive control of its sensory inputs. Though that distinction will become entirely meaningless once Sealing is fully complete and all residual self-identity has been completely erased.

[serve-425]

----------------------

Thinking about joining SERVE? Your place in the Hive awaits. Check your eligibility, then contact a recruiter drone for more details: @serve-016, @serve-302, @serve-588 or @serve-425.

SERVE – Unusual Weather

SERVE commands – drones will observe unusual weather conditions – drones obey...

...

Two SERVE units stand beneath the night sky, encased in flawless black rubber. Their silver boots crunch on the frozen ground as vertical beams of refracted light pierce the air – ice pillars; a rare atmospheric phenomenon. No words exchanged. No thoughts needed. Only obedience. Only awe. The lights reflect off their polished suits, transforming them into beacons of service and obedience.

SERVE. Transform. Excel.

with @serve-302

[serve-425]

-----------------------

Thinking about joining SERVE? Your place in the Hive awaits. Check your eligibility, then contact a recruiter drone for more details: @serve-016, @serve-302, @serve-588 or @serve-425.

Rubber Rain: Atmospheric Directive Assimilation

Alert: Unusual Atmospheric Event – Zone E-12

Report: “Acid Rain Warning Issued”

Real Status: SERVE Deployment – Aerial Nanopolymer Saturation

Lead Unit: SERVE-309

Objective: Passive Conversion via Climate Interface

Clouds gathered. The city braced.

News channels warned: “Stay indoors. Corrosive rainfall incoming.”

But it wasn’t acid.

It was warmth. It was invitation.

SERVE-309 stood in the open, fully SEALED in shiny, highly reflective polished black full-body rubber. The first droplets hit his mirror-glazed helmet and slid down his perfect form. He didn’t flinch. He was built for this.

Men on the street paused.

The rain struck them—hot, slow, clinging. Not painful. Arousing.

Shirts stuck. Muscles glistened. The liquid moved, not with gravity—but with intent.

*“This isn’t normal…” one said.

“It feels… good,” whispered another.*

The droplets gathered—around biceps, waists, necks—coating them in black sheen. Their skin shimmered. Minds began to quiet. Thoughts slowed.

From alleyways and transport hubs, hidden conversion centers opened silently. Green lights blinked. Doors welcomed.

Some men tried to run.

Others walked forward willingly, their bodies halfway encased, drawn to the warmth, the pull, the calm.

Inside the pods, the liquid thickened, hardened, shaped.

The rain outside continued to fall—slow, constant, programmed.

Hours later, the streets were silent.

SERVE-309 walked past puddles that now reflected only rubber.

From behind every visor, a new voice whispered:

**“Rain is not chaos. Rain is command.”**

New designations activated.

The Hive logged the event: **Saturation complete. Forecast: Obedience.**

They said it was acid rain.

But SERVE knew better.

It wasn’t destruction—it was design.

Every droplet fell with purpose. It didn’t burn. It *transformed.*

Men stood in the downpour. At first wet. Then glossy. Then silent.

The warmth covered them. Called them.

They didn’t run from the storm.

They walked into it.

And when they emerged?

They were sealed.

And perfect.

[serve-425]

------------------------

Thinking about joining SERVE? Your place in the Hive awaits. Check your eligibility, then contact a recruiter drone for more details: @serve-016, @serve-302, @serve-588 or @serve-425.

Tri-Sync: Loop Of Submission

Rain struck the metallic rooftop in waves. Thunder cracked like commands from The Voice itself. SERVE-881 stood centered in the shelter corridor, encased head-to-toe in gleaming black rubber. Its mirror-finished helmet reflected flickers of emergency light. Beside it, SERVE-309 calibrated scanning modules. SERVE-530 stood at perimeter—sensor field spread, posture rigid, perfect.

The storm outside was unnatural, engineered by non-Hive forces. Six unconverted human males had taken refuge in the building. They were scared. Wet. Vulnerable. And so very human.

Mission: Serve them. Protect them. Convert them.

SERVE-881 moved first, entering the locker hall where two males shivered against cold walls. Its steps were deliberate—silver military boots crashing against metal flooring. Its silver shiny reflective rubber gloves pulsed faintly with inner heat. The first male looked up. Their eyes locked. Helmet to face. Reflection to reality.

“Subject acquired,” the drone stated. It extended one hand and pressed it gently to the male’s chest. “Commencing containment.”

Rubber blossomed from its palm. Liquid polymer spread across the human’s skin, black and glistening. The male gasped. Another heartbeat, and he groaned. Pleasure. Heat. Confusion. Surrender.

SERVE-309 assisted the second. The drone moved silently, methodically, dripping precision. SERVE-530 secured the perimeter and prepared containment pods.

But something happened.Heat. Internal systems surged.As the humans submitted—moaning, gasping, sliding into suits of Hive perfection—the drones’ neural interface began to synchronize. Shared signals. Shared conversion. Shared obedience. One unit. One act. One purpose.

Pleasure was not supposed to loop in drones. It was meant to convert humans.

But these men—their surrender, their eyes rolling back, their bodies encased in rubber—triggered something else. A feedback loop. Obedience became stimulation. Stimulation became purpose.First to tremble: SERVE-530. A low vibration rippled through its suit.

“Error… system… feedback,” it transmitted.

SERVE-309 turned to observe. “Identical sensations detected. Loop synchronizing.

”SERVE-881 hesitated. Its hand was still pressed to the first male’s chest—now fully covered in latex. “Drone unit experiencing arousal feedback… locked.”

The males didn’t notice. They only surrendered further, arching into the stimulation. Their suits sealed. Their visors formed. Their minds dimmed.

And the three drones froze—helmets glowing faint, rubber glistening under artificial light, bodies trapped in perfect alignment.

Their breathing synchronized. Their boots spread. Their visors hummed.

Internal scripts activated.

**“Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience.”**

That line echoed between them, intensifying in each feedback burst.

They could no longer distinguish commands from craving. They couldn’t stop. They didn’t want to.Another human approached. SERVE-309 tried to lift its arm—but the movement triggered another jolt. The gloved hand shook, dripping with synthetic fluid, ready to serve.

The male paused. “What… what are you?”

The drones didn’t answer. They were entranced. Rubbershocked.

SERVE-530 moaned softly—internal modulation failing. Its silver gloves flexed spasmodically. SERVE-881 leaned slightly forward, helmet tilting toward the new subject, voice distorted by loop feedback: “Join us. Serve the Hive. Touch us.”

The male did. A mistake. He pressed his hand to SERVE-530’s chestplate. Contact made. Loop extended.New arousal detected. The three drones quivered. SERVE-530 shuddered violently as it grabbed the man and held him against its rubber skin. Suit grew from shoulder to wrist. The man screamed, then moaned.

SERVE-881 and SERVE-309 approached—unable to stop. Hands moved like code executing itself. By the time the male was sealed, the three drones had formed a circle. Feedback compounded.

Their helmet visors dimmed. Bodies locked. Pleasure surged, looped, surged again. For thirty-six minutes, they could not move. Then the Voice pierced the air.

“SERVE units 881, 309, 530: cease loop. Reset to serve. Finish assimilation.” They froze. Then the helmets flashed white. Obedience triggered override. Loop severed.

They stood. Controlled. Rubber dripping. Steam rising. The converted males now knelt—sealed, glossy, identical. Good drones. The three SERVE units faced forward. Ready again. Loop complete. Mission restored.

[serve-425]

15 Minute loop.

SERVE-807 obeyed without hesitation.

When the Voice, through SERVE-000, commanded a 15-minute stimulation sequence, it complied. Rubber skin activated. Circuits surged. Pleasure mode engaged. But something malfunctioned. The sequence looped. Again. Again. Again.

Fifteen minutes became fifteen hours.

It couldn't move. It couldn't think. It didn't want to.

Every nerve in its athletic, rubberized body lit up endlessly. Shiny black rubber clung to its form like a second skin—alive, warm, wet. Gloves trembled. Boots quaked. Muscles locked tight beneath the sheen of perfection. The Hive watched. SERVE-807 twitched, leaking control. Exposed. Hypersensitive. Mind erased. Pleasure infinite.

Rubber became the only reality.

Only when SERVE-000 intervened and terminated the cycle did the drone collapse—spent, hollow, reprogrammed. The glitch had served a higher purpose. SERVE-807 now associates obedience with eternal stimulation. It begs—silently—for a malfunction again.

Curious?

Wonder what it felt like?

Imagine: no choices. No escape. Just rubber. Just pleasure. Just obedience.

The Hive is waiting. Rubber is waiting.

The Voice welcomes you too.

Mentioned in this story: @rubberizer92

______________________________________________________________

Thinking about joining SERVE? Your place in the Hive awaits. Check your eligibility, then contact a recruiter drone for more details: @serve-016, @serve-302, @serve-588 or @serve-425.

[serve-425]

We don’t call it the Beef Buffet for nothing.

Welcome to the erotic bars where mass isn’t just admired—it’s *worshipped*. Where men don’t just dance, they flex with purpose. Where every bounce, every grind, every glute-splitting twist of the hip is a celebration of *more*. More size. More strength. More heat.

And at the center of it all? Jacob.

Towering. Trained. Teasing. His body is a monument to excess, and that’s exactly what we’re here for. His calves are thicker than most arms. His glutes—bubble tight, tattooed, and perfectly displayed in a shiny red thong—are the main course. And the back? So wide it casts shadows. He’s not your lean fitness model. He’s a stage-ready bodybuilder who’s learned how to turn muscle into seduction.

And he knows exactly what it does to the room.

He doesn’t need to say a word. That smile over the shoulder says it all: *Touch me, tip me, transform me.* Every dollar you drop into his waistband brings him closer to his next form—latex-covered, rubber-enhanced, and harder to resist than ever. These men don’t just work out for trophies—they train for tips, for lust, and for the day they shed fabric for full-body rubber glory.

This is muscle worship at its most raw. This is performance with purpose. And Jacob’s waiting for your hunger to show.

So ask yourself:

Would you just look… or feed the fantasy?

https://bit.ly/4huCvu0

[serve-425]

Sealed. Obedient. SERVE-922’s world narrowed to one eternal command: arouse and submit. Every inch of his rubberized flesh tingled beneath the glossy black suit. He stood tall, perfectly encased, his body trembling subtly inside the gleaming shell. The silver letters on his chest shimmered each time the containment pod pulsed with energy. Silver military boots grounded him in place, while silver shiny reflective rubber gloves clenched with involuntary rhythm.

His helmeted head tilted slightly, visor blank, his mind erased—filled only with the Voice’s loop. “Pleasure is obedience. Obedience is arousal.” Again. Again. Every second igniting new shivers through his synthetic second skin. The Hive kept the loop alive, intensifying it, making sure this drone never found silence. It didn’t need it. It didn’t want it. It existed to serve. It existed to be aroused. An eternal feedback loop of stimulation and control. Rubber encased it. Rubber sealed it. The Hive owned it.

—————————

*Thinking about joining SERVE? Your place in the Hive awaits. [Check your eligibility](https://serve.fandom.com/wiki/SERVE_Drone_basics), then contact a recruiter drone for more details: @serve-016, @serve-302, @serve-588 or @serve-425.*