“Strabi!  Help me!” Meicoo called, wincing as gunfire chipped away at her cover piece by piece.  She made herself as small as she could, wishing for the first time that she hadn’t Digivolved to Champion, since she had grown by almost half her original size.  It made it so much harder to hide when she felt so much larger. She hunkered down behind the rubble, cowering away from the shots.


“Busy!  Help yourself,” Strabi growled, throwing a barrage of punches into his foe’s chest, driving it back.  He punched hard into its face, using the recoil of the hit to drive his elbow back into an approaching enemy behind him.  Still hammering the first foe, he kicked out, slamming his boot into a third’s face.


“Coming, Meicoo!” Flamemon called, springboarding off the fallen body of one of his foes.  He leaped and flipped gymnastically through the barrage of gunfire, only to get tackled from the side.  He grunted, tumbling and wrestling with the enemy, trying to extricate himself.


“No, I’m coming, Meicoo!” BlackGato growled, hacking away the ankles of one with her claws, before burying her claws to the wrist in another.  She growled as she had to duck behind cover herself, as several of the enemies turned to fire at her.


“SOMEONE!  ANYONE would be nice now?!” Meicoo called, flinching as a bullet clipped the helix-tassles on one of her ears.


“Hang on!” Heriss shouted, slamming her fists into the chest of another, and trying to wade through the sea of foes to get to Meicoo.  She growled in frustration, even as the enemies swarmed her and kept her back.


“Argh!!!  Hurry!” Meicoo gasped as the hail of fire intensified.  And then she heard a click and felt the hard round end of a gun barrel at the base of her skull. 


The lights went low, and all of the enemies slumped over.  The bullet-pocked, wartorn cityscape vanished, replaced by the orange-on-black gridlines of a holographic projection room.


“Annnnnnnnnd you’re all done,” Wizard sighed, as all of the robots shut down.  He rubbed the bridge of his nose, pulling the brim of his hat down over his eyes.


“Wait, what?  I was right there to help Meicoo!” Heriss complained.


“You ALL screwed up,” Wizard said, narrowing his eyes at the kids, crossing his arms over his chest, “Meicoo, you got yourself pinned in the first place.  If you had kept moving, you probably would have taken a hit, but you would have been fine.  The rubber bullets would sting and you would have lost a couple of points off of your assessment, but you wouldn't have needed to be rescued. Sometimes you have to intentionally put yourself in harm's way to do what needs to be done.”


“Strabi, you were right there.  You were the closest, and you had the situation already handled.  It would have taken you less than two seconds to get to Meicoo and help her… but you chose to keep pummeling the ‘bots and ignore her.”


“Flame, you chose to recklessly barge across open ground with no cover to try to get to her, and got yourself taken out because you weren’t paying attention. There's being a hero and being stupid.  Guess which you were?”


“BG… While you DID come to Meicoo’s aid… you did so by tearing the ‘bots to pieces, and this was a NON-LETHAL exercise.”


“Heriss, you also came to Meicoo’s aid… but you were the furthest away, and you had the most ‘bots between you and her!  It was completely impractical for you to even try to get to her, and a waste of time and effort.”


“And worst of all, Cute, you didn’t even bother to TRY to rescue ANY of the others.  Your abilities make you a rescue specialist!  You were just off doing your own thing and ignoring everyone!”


The little rabbit shrugged vaguely, not looking bothered by the admonition.  Wizard sighed and rubbed his temples, irritated.


“...So, all in all, you flunked,” Wizard concluded, tapping his booted foot on the ground as the six kids looked disheartened.


“That said, I expected you to flunk.  Heck, I WANTED you to flunk,” Wizard said, smirking a little under the collar of his cape.  The children looked up at him, confused.


“If you were perfect to begin with, I’d have nothing to work with, and there’d be no reason for me to be here,” Wizard said, putting his hands on his hips, “But as it is, I can see some of your problems already, and they’re easy to fix.”


Wizard tapped the base of his staff on the ground thoughtfully as he continued, “...You’re all skilled fighters overall, and you clearly have the basics down pat.  But you lack discipline, tactics, strategy, and most of all, teamwork.  Any schmuck off the street can punch and kick.  But Defenders need to be able to work towards a goal both individually and together.”


There came a loud boom from outside, followed by Agu’s outraged voice shouting.  Wizard winced and sighed, “...Unfortunately, the training field is where I’d normally take you guys to work on some of this stuff, but it’s… uh…”


“...Being systematically blown to pieces by hundreds of idiots?” suggested Heriss cheerfully.


“...Yes, that,” agreed Wizard, hanging his head so fast that his hat almost tipped off, “The more things change, the more they stay the same.”


“So what are we gonna do, if we can’t train on the field?” asked Strabi, grunting as he wrung his arm to work a kink out of his shoulder.


“We’re going to train IN the field,” Wizard said, smirking, “I just need to have a quick talk with Goma…”


******


DigiDrone G470 returned to consciousness.  It would be incorrect and inaccurate to say she “awoke,” as she no longer possessed the capacity to emerge from the permanent trance that dulled her mind and emptied her head.  Instead, like a light switch being flicked, she went from unconscious to conscious with little transition.  Behind the lens covering the upper half of her face, her eyes flickered open, prompted by the beeping of the preprogrammed awakening signal.

DigiDrone G470 was standing, her back to a wall.  She had been asleep standing up the entire time.  This meant little to her.  It was simply the way things were, and she had no reason to think about it.  She had no reason to think about ANYTHING that she was not told to think about.  At the moment, that meant she was thinking about nothing at all, her mind completely empty.


There was a rather large puddle of semen on the floor.  Her cock was still convulsing, pumping milky shots of fluid.  Jolts of pleasure ran up and down G470’s spine, but she barely reacted.  Other than a slight hitch in the steady electronic hiss of her breathing, there was little sign she even noticed the result of her nocturnal emission.   Her visor automatically scanned the fluid as it burst from her penis, displaying a large amount of data; the genetic sequence of the fluid, the temperature of it, the estimated amount being fired per shot, the total amount of semen in this particular orgasm (which was steadily climbing about a cup at a time), and even a line graph showing the estimated pleasure per second of her own climax.

It meant little to G470, but she knew it was being measured and transmitted to her master’s database.  

There was a low beep in her ear, and several lines of text appeared in the middle of her vision.  G470 read the message.  She turned and began marching down the hall, moving mechanically. Every movement was a little jerky and awkward like she was being moved by a somewhat unskilled puppeteer.


She turned, following the mini-map on her heads-up display.  She followed it to a door, which she opened and walked through.

Ebemon was inside, its back to her.  Many of its tentacles were tipped by tools, all moving and zipping about, hard at work on gadgetry in front of it.  Sparks flew as it brought a torch down on a piece of metal.


G470 marched forward and stood at attention.  Ebemon made no sign that it was aware of her presence, continuing to work.  G470 simply stood, paw raised to her forehead in salute.  She would wait as long as it took for Ebemon to address her, even if it took hours.  It made no difference to G470; when one did not possess thoughts of their own, time meant very little. 


As it was, her HUD and internal chronometer agreed that it was only about ten minutes that she stood idle, before Ebemon deigned to turn and glance at her, its own silver-lensed face expressionless.  Like the mask covering her face, it was incapable of forming emotions or expressions.


“Report condition, DigiDrone,” Ebemon demanded curtly.


"Drone-unit G470 is operating at optimal efficiency.  Drone was dormant for 8 hours. Subliminal programs ran the whole time.  Drone’s personality is suppressed.  Hypnotic trance at 97% maximum.”


“Drone's penis is at 98% maximum erection. Drone had three nocturnal emissions.  Drone ejaculated six gallons of semen total.  Drone's estimated refractory period after last nocturnal emission is two minutes and 24 seconds. 23 seconds. 22 seconds."


"Current status of Drone G470: obedience at 98.9%. Individuality at 10%.  Willpower at 2%.  Awaiting orders.  Awaiting orders," she droned.  Ebemon gave no sign that he was paying attention to her long-winded report, given in a bland, robotic monotone.  Halfway through, he had turned back to his workbench.  The drone waited patiently again for his attention to drift back to her.  It was not as if she had any other orders to obey.


“Increase arousal to 120% normal,” ordered Ebemon.


“Confirmed,” agreed G470.  She continued to stand at attention, nearly unmoving save for the slow rise and fall of her chest.  Her penis, however, gave a violent lurch, twitching up and down.  Veins bulged along the sides and the head swelled until the foreskin was stretched taut over it.  Blood pumped into the already rigid shaft, making it swell even further.  The skin turned a deeper shade of red.  Precum began to dribble and spurt from the tip, splattering the floor with strands of syrup. The metallic white skin of her thighs grew damp with her honey as it flowed.


“Arousal at 120% normal.  Penis at 113% maximum erection,” G470 reported.  Aching, needy pain radiated from her loins.  Her erection felt like a hot iron bar, heavy as it stood from her hips, bobbing up and down with her heartbeat.  Her visor could actually measure how much it expanded and contracted with each pulsation.


She felt the pain and need, but did not acknowledge it.  It was irrelevant to her purpose.  That which was irrelevant was below notice.   


“Confirm program D191dR0n3v1RU2.exe.”


“Scanning.  Program confirmed. Running at priority one,” the drone answered, “Program D191dR0n3v1RU2.exe is overriding multiple priority programs.”


“Good.  Demonstrate subprogram 21A,” Ebemon ordered.


Again, there was little movement from the drone.  However, her penis gave a violent lurch.  Without touching it, a hot gooey blast of fluid erupted into the air.  The fluid, white and milky, shimmering with blue bioluminescence, struck the floor with a loud wet splat.  A second gush followed, but the character of the semen changed.  Halfway through the spurt, the liquid turned even more opaque.  It stopped glowing, and took on a strangely metallic sheen.  It struck the floor with a gloopy, wet noise.  The third gush was completely made of the strange white liquid metal, an even larger amount of it in a longer spurt.


The drone shivered and her breath caught in a slight, raspy huff that hissed through the mask.  Unlike pain, pleasure was relevant to her purpose.  Pleasure was a reward for her obedience.  She had been conditioned to be more obedient when feeling pleasure.  It was a feedback loop that drove her ever deeper into mindlessness.


“Drone will stop ejaculating,” Ebemon ordered, almost absent-mindedly.  With no outward sign of movement, Drone G470 went still again. Her penis stopped jerking, and like a faucet suddenly being closed, her eruptions ceased.  Only a few dribbles of metal fell to the floor at her feet.


“State mental status,” Ebemon ordered, turning back to its workbench.


“Current status of Drone G470: Drone’s personality is suppressed.  Hypnotic trance at 99.3% maximum. Obedience at 100%. Individuality at 8%.  Willpower at 0%.  Awaiting orders.”


Ebemon gave a single curt nod, its oblong head bobbing up and down once.  It seemed satisfied that the numbers had changed slightly, the drone’s mind surrendering just a hint more.


“Ebemon has mission for Drone G470.  Drone G470 will listen and obey,” it stated.


“Drone G470 will listen and obey,” echoed the drone.  She stared straight ahead as Ebemon spoke, the commands drilling into her mind, filling her empty head.  They echoed over and over again; her only thoughts being the words she was told to think.


DigiDrone G470 was a good drone.  She knew what she had to do.  And soon, others would know the pleasure of obedience too.


******


The Rookies were back in the dojo, chattering amongst themselves nervously as Wizardmon entered the room.  He smirked as they noticed him, quickly breaking up and rushing to get in a line.  He could not fault their enthusiasm as they stood at attention.  He just wished they would loosen up a little; there was no need for such formality, since they weren’t newbie recruits trying to impress.


“Okay, so I’ve got good news for you,” Wizard said, planting his staff in front of him and resting his palms on it.


“Normally, you guys wouldn’t get to do fieldwork until you began your specialization training, but…  Goma gave me permission to take you guys on some low-priority missions,” Wizard explained, as the six trainees grinned at each other excitedly, “After all, there’s precedent, with Gazi doing missions before he finished his training.”


“BUT… I need to lay down some ground rules before I even let you ANYWHERE near a real emergency,” Wizard said sternly, snapping his fingers to draw the kids’ attention, “...Break even one of these rules, even for a moment, even for a good reason…  and I’ll make sure you’re kicked out of here so fast that you’ll need a complete defragmentation.”


“First: you follow my orders directly, with no hesitation or deviation.  If I tell you to run away, you do it and leave me to die. If I tell you to ignore a hurt civilian, you do it and let them suffer.  If you disobey my orders, it had better be for nothing less than saving the entire damn world, because anything else will get you chucked out of the Defenders,” Wizard stated, narrowing his eyes.


“Wait, what, really?” Heriss asked, her eyebrows practically vanishing into her quills.


“Yes, really.  When I give an order, I do so for a reason.  In a battlefield or emergency situation, I’m not going to have time to explain myself for every little thing.  So you guys will have to assume I know what I’m doing.  Do exactly as I say, when I say it,” Wizard said, crossing his arms, “And if that’s gonna be a problem… the door’s over there, and I expect your resignation paperwork within the hour.”


He paused for effect.  While the six kids certainly looked nervous (a droplet of sweat rolled down Flame’s cheek), none of them moved.  Wizard nodded in satisfaction and continued.


“Second: No special attacks,” Wizard said, tapping his staff against the floor, “If we’re forced into a combat situation, unless I specifically say so, you are not allowed to use ANY of your special abilities.”


“What?!” Strabi snarled, outraged.


“While you’re heads and tails above your fellow trainees--” Wizard paused again, wincing as he heard Agu and Gabu shouting themselves hoarse outside, “You haven’t yet shown the discipline necessary to trust you with your attacks.  Right now, as far as I know, you are as much of a danger to yourselves, your allies, and the civilians in need as you are to any actual bad guys.  So until I’m sure you’re ready for that responsibility, no special attacks at all.”


“But… But…  GRRR!” Strabi growled, kicking the ground angrily.  Wizard had to suppress a chuckle at the boy’s pout.


“The ONLY exception to that rule is you, Cute,” Wizard said.


“Why?!” Strabi howled in anguish and irritation. Strabi’s whole cool and aloof act completely crumbled, making him look more like the child he was.

“Because she’s a healer.  Her special attacks literally CAN’T hurt anyone,” Wizard explained.  To everyone’s mild surprise, Cute’s usual blank expression turned into a small grimace.


“...Is there a problem with that?” Wizard asked, frowning.

“...I didn’t sign up to patch up boo-boos,” Cute complained, her voice still monotone and bland.  Wizard rolled his eyes.  It wasn’t unusual for new recruits to want to do jobs apart from their actual specialties.

“We all have to do things we don’t want to do,” Wizard replied, trying to keep his tone level, “But that’s part of being a Defender and helping people.”

Cute gave a quiet grunt of annoyance, but did not raise any further objections.  Satisfied for the moment that she’d do as she was told, Wizard turned his attention back to the group at large.

“Finally, and this is gonna be a disappointment to all of you…  I don’t have authorization to take you guys on any high-risk missions,” Wizard said.  To his mild surprise, none of the kids spoke out.  Indeed, BG, Meicoo, and Flame all looked quite relieved. Strabi on the other hand frowned and glared, his hands on his hips.

“This is for a ton of reasons, and once you guys get some experience under your belt, maybe we’ll talk about something a little more spicy.  But for now, we’ll be doing some simple law enforcement and rescue missions. Low priority stuff,” Wizard explained.

“...Um.  Are you telling us we’re gonna be like… rescuing cats from trees?” Heriss asked.

“Nnno, because that’s a job for the local firefighters or police.  If the Defenders get called in, it’ll be a lil’ more interesting than that,” Wizard reassured her, “But at the same time, we’re not gonna be fighting Arcadimon.”


This time, all of the kids looked more than a little relieved, whether because they wouldn’t be in severe danger or because they would not be bored.  


“So, for now, we’re going to practice moving in formation and some basic maneuvers.  We’ll get warmed up, and Goma will send us our mission sooner than later,” Wizard said, “So, get ready guys.  By the end of the day, you’ll have seen action.”


******

G470 stared through her heads-up display, following the minimap in the corner of her vision towards the marked destination.  She marched forward, heedless of the pine needles brushing against her face and body; or the icy cold of the snow.  The nanocoating that covered her entire body regulated her temperature.  It was thin enough that she could feel the brush of branches as if she was naked, but protective enough that a bullet would have ricocheted off her forehead and she might not have even noticed.


The feline drone stopped and tilted her head, her breath hissing through the filters in her mask in wisps of vapor.  Her cock twitched, spurting a milky jet of semen into the snow at her feet.  The warm liquid splattered into the powder, melting it into a gooey slush.

A small city loomed from the tundra ahead, which her visor’s GPS informed her was Database City, capital of the Database Islands.  A small window opened up, displaying vital statistics about the city; population, economy, climate.  It was all meaningless (and uninteresting) to DigiDrone G470.  The only thing that did pique her attention was one statistic near the bottom of the bullet list:


Defenders Personnel: 1.

Automatically, G470’s systems responded to her attention, opening another datafile in response.  The information in the file was transmitted straight into G470’s working memory, to avoid the need for reading… or Gennai forbid, actual thought.

Independent thought was forbidden. She only needed to think what she was told to think.

The Database Islands were an up-and-coming unincorporated territory, trying to join civilized Digimon society.  They were currently working on establishing trade and political treaties with several other territories. The Defenders had no presence in the Database Islands, due to their unincorporated status. For that reason, a Defender from File Island with diplomatic specialties had been deployed to assist in the negotiations.


The profile of the Defender appeared. A plant-type Digimon, Palmon, program serial number 1827391. 

At this, G470 paused, tilting her head to the other side.  The image superimposed in her vision over the snowscape in front of her was… familiar.  A lizard-like Digimon, with large dark-green, almost black eyes.  Pink petals draped around her face like hair, tinged with orange.  A long curled stamen sprouted from the top of her head.

G470 contemplated the image for a moment, a hesitation of maybe less than a second.  Then her programming kicked in, resolving the conflict.

G470 did not know this Digimon.  G470 did not know anyone except her Master.  The reason this Digimon was familiar was that it was her assigned target.


The feline dismissed the image and began to trudge forward through the waist-deep snow. 

She would find this Defender. Her commands were all that mattered.

*****
“Good!  Now, quick. Maneuver Alpha 12!” Wizard called. The six Rookies scrambled from their previous formation, racing to find their new marks.  Unfortunately, Meicoo and Flame collided head-on and tumbled into a painful heap.  They groaned, laying there dazed as they tried to recover.

“That’s okay, it’s just practice. Pile-ups are gonna happen.  Just pick yourselves up,” Wizard encouraged the kids.  


“What is this?” asked Strabi, exasperated, wiping sweat from his forehead.

“I thought it was pretty clear.  Maneuvering practice,” said Wizard, frowning.

“It feels like we’re playing that human sport thing that the Americans go crazy for, feetballs?” complained Meicoo, groaning as she rubbed her bruised forehead, “But at least they wear padding!”

“Actually, studies show that you get injured WORSE with the padding and--” started Wizard pedantically before stopping himself mid-sentence. The kids were less than interested; their annoyed glares made that fact quite obvious.  He took a deep breath and restarted on a different track.

“Yes, it may seem a little like that, since we’re practicing moving in formation,” admitted Wizard.

“Yeah, how often do we ‘move in formation’ in the field for real?” asked Strabi pointedly.  Wizard winced.

“...Almost never,” he confessed reluctantly, “Generally, Defenders are expected to improvise their own optimal fighting positions based on their specialties, special attacks, and the situation.”


“Then why are we doing this?” Heriss asked, frowning curiously.


“Several reasons.  It improves footwork and agility.  There are occasions you WILL move in formation, though, as I said, it’s rare.  It improves teamwork and coordination and gets you in the mindset of working together and not colliding into a heap.  And most importantly, because I’m your commanding officer and I told you to do it,” Wizard said, putting a slight edge on the last sentence.  It worked.  Strabi grumbled and Heriss flinched a little, but the Rookies scrambled to get into formation without further complaints or questions.


“Okay, now, Delta 2.  And careful not to--” Wizard barked.  Before he could finish the order, an alarm blared.  Wizard’s Brand began to flash red on the back of his left hand.  The six kids stopped and looked over to him, as he began tapping at the sparks of light.

“What’s that?” asked BlackGato, reaching out to take Meicoo’s paw nervously.

“Our mission,” said Wizard, “We’ve got an alert from… Jeez.  It’s here on File Island, in the Plains region.”

“What, really?” Strabi frowned, “Who’d be stupid enough to cause trouble on the Defenders’ home turf?”

“...That’s our job to find out,” Wizard said, looking at the holographic display projected from his brand, “So let’s mount up.  We’ll take one of the transport buggies to get there.  It’ll be cramped, but we’ll all fit.”

The Rookies looked at each other and Wizard.  Wizard frowned and commanded, “...Get moving!”


With that, they scrambled.


*****

Pal groaned as she flopped onto the hotel mattress.  It had been a long, frustrating, boring day.  The Database Islands government, while reaching out to join the world at large, wasn’t quite ready to play in the big leaagues.  Their leaders did not understand why some things were done the way they were done, and Pal had to explain the niceties of international relations multiple times to get them to understand simple concepts like “territorial rights” and “why trade is better than resource warfare.”

Pal was the File Island Defenders’ diplomat and negotiations expert.  There was no one more qualified to do what she did among their number, brokering peace and trade agreements between entire continents.  That job could be excruciatingly frustrating at the best of times.


In most cases, the nations (or continental alliances) would operate in good faith, and Pal’s job was simply to oversee negotiations as a neutral third party; making sure everything was fair.

That was NOT the case here. The Database Island government seemed to think itself exceptional, deserving of the best and most important trade deals possible. Pal had to constantly remind them that their entire population could fit inside a medium-sized sports stadium; and that, in fact, on a world scale, they were exceedingly unimportant.  She also had to remind them that trying to screw over nations and alliances dozens to hundreds of times their size was a BAD idea.

In addition… it was COLD.  The Database Islands were in an arctic region of the Digital World (that didn’t necessarily mean the far north, given the odd patchwork nature of the realm).  Pal, being a plant-type Digimon, hated the cold.  The cold sapped her energy and left her sluggish and slow-witted.

Pal had to concentrate twice as hard to keep up with the negotiations.  By the end of the day, she was physically and mentally exhausted.

“Ohhh, mannn…  Goma owes me big for this one…” she moaned to no one in particular.  She closed her eyes, trying to bask in her room’s warmth.  She had maxed out the thermostat in her hotel room and even turned on the shower at its highest temperature to fill the room with hot humidity.  For anyone else, the room would have been sweltering and muggy.  For Pal, it was just short of comfortable.


She sighed, feeling her petals soak in the moisture.  She wished she could root her feet in some dirt and bask in the sun, but the Database Islands seemed to have perpetual cloud cover.  On the best of days, it was dark and gloomy. For a plant-type Digimon, it was just right to induce absolute misery.


Thankfully, her mission was almost done. Final negotiations had been completed, and all that was left was some ceremonial paper signing.  She could go home afterward.  

Pal grunted, her claws sliding between her legs to begin stroking her featureless groin.  Like most Digimon who did not wear clothing, her genitals were hidden from sight when she was not aroused.  Admittedly, Pal thought wryly, for her that was almost never.


However, the nature of her work and the cold weather had both conspired to sap Pal’s usually hyperactive sex drive.  This benefited Pal, as diplomatic negotiations were generally made much more distracting by walking around with an erection.


Pal sighed and slowly caressed her loins, willing her arousal subroutines to become active.  It only took a moment, and there was a swirl of pixels as her loins shifted shape. The familiar mound of her smooth green vulva appeared.  Moments later, it was obscured from view by the large, foreskin-covered glans of her penis emerging from its slit, followed by inch after inch of her green shaft.


Pal, being a plant-type Digimon, tended to think of her anatomy in slightly different terms than most other Digimon. To her, her penis was a “stamen,” her vulva was her “pistil,” her feminine juices were her “nectar,” and her semen was her “sap.” 


So it was that Pal’s clawtips were caressing her stamen, sliding up and down the swollen length, teasing the dark green head that peeked out from its lighter, grassy foreskin. It hardened rapidly in her grip, swelling and pulsing with blood.  


Pal sighed, continuing to tease the sensitive head of her stamen, watching the flesh swell and throb.  She was exhausted, deprived of sunlight, sleepy, depressed, and homesick…  but even that could only blunt her sex drive, not kill it. 


Pal freely admitted she was a nymphomaniac.  Her libido protocols seemed to be permanently stuck in a hyperactive state.  She was constantly, unceasingly aroused. Horny. Needy. On more than one occasion, Hawk had tried to examine her to determine what was the cause of her constant lust and arousal; but could only figure that the cause was either psychological or indeterminate.  Pal was only mildly interested in why she felt the way she did; she had long since accepted it as a part of herself and her personality.


She could suppress her arousal, her desires, her needs long enough to focus entirely on important tasks at hand; fighting evil, doing diplomatic work, even spending non-sexual quality time with her friends and loved ones.  Her willpower could hold back the constant, unceasing ache in her loins… but once she stopped suppressing it, it would drive her wild.


In the frigid Database Islands, doing the boring, unsexy work of forming international treaties, exhausted and desperate for some sunlight to stimulate her chlorophyll; any other Plant-type Digimon would have been exasperated at the thought of taking the effort to masturbate.  Pal had to do it despite herself, her sex drive crying out for relief even in its diminished state.

…At least she would only need a single round to satisfy herself rather than her usual four or five, she thought tiredly, as her free hand trailed a little lower to begin tickling her pistil, tracing her pubis mons and sliding around her opening.  She moaned, teasing the sensitive green skin, waiting until her arousal built a little more before she was ready to begin in earnest.


She watched with anticipation until her stamen reached its full 10-inch length.  As soon as it stopped expanding, she watched as her penis flexed, the glans flared under the foreskin, and a hot jet of milky pale green goo splattered onto her chest and stomach.  She grunted, lifting her hips a little as her stamen jerked and another shot followed, striking along the left side of her neck.


The downside to Pal’s overactive sex drive was that it made things incredibly messy. Like many Digimon, Pal had a unique sexual characteristic designed to improve and enhance pleasure with her potential mates.  Male Palmon, when their stamens were fully erect, began to dribble and spurt their semen constantly.  Pal (despite originally being female before the Black Collar incident) was no exception to this, and her male anatomy twitched and pulsated, pumping shots of her sap onto her belly.

Other Digimon tended to be fascinated by this. They misconstrued it, thinking she was having a premature orgasm or a constant, endless orgasm.  It wasn’t; it was merely something her body did uncontrollably whenever she had a full erection.  When she explained this, the follow-up question was always “what does it feel like, then?”


It wasn’t unpleasant by any stretch of the imagination, but neither was it the delightful burning ache of orgasmic delight. It was a warm, steady, rippling throb, her stamen flexing and convulsing as fluid pumped steadily up her length and out into the air.  It wasn’t particularly powerful; most of the time it was just a steady dribble that ran down the underside of her cock, punctuated by the occasional spurt that would only go a couple of feet. Her pelvic muscles tensed slightly and rhythmically, and she could not stop it or control it in any way; it was entirely involuntary.  


Unfortunately, this fact meant that Pal invariably made a slimy, sticky mess any time she was aroused.  And since her sex drive meant she was almost ALWAYS aroused, that meant she was almost always uncontrollably making that mess.  Pal had taken to carrying around condoms on her person at all times to avoid leaving a snails’ trail everywhere she went or accidentally ejaculating on people.  She drew some odd looks sometimes, walking around with a balloon sloshing with milky goo dangling from the tip of her shaft, but the Defenders had learned to take it in stride.


Right now, Pal watched as her stamen twitched, sending a flow of milky green sap running down onto her stomach, splashing into her navel.  Sometimes, in one of her lazier moods, she could just sit and watch the spunk pump out of her member for an hour or more; but… today was not one of those days. 


The little plant-lizard moaned again, beginning to slide her claws up and down her swollen cock again, smearing the sticky green liquid along her flesh.  Calling her spunk “sap” wasn’t entirely inaccurate; it was a thick and incredibly sticky green goo that made loud, squishy slurping noises every time she peeled her prepuce back, before rolling it back up over her sensitive glans.

Many, if not most, of her fellow Defenders, even a year later, were still ambivalent about their upgraded sexual anatomy, courtesy of Succubimon’s perversions.  Pal was one of the few who fully embraced her change, adored it even. She loved her penis and could not imagine going back to the way she was before; even as Gato and a few others had occasionally pestered Hawk and Tento to find a way to undo what was seemingly impossible.


Her free hand went to work, finally, slipping one of her claws into her pussy, pushing deep into her tunnel; and then with a slithering sensation, even deeper. Her finger extended into a vine, curling and twisting deeper into her wet, squeezing depths, working back and forth in time with her other hand.  


Pal spluttered as a particularly large gush of sap erupted from her stamen, splashing onto her face, filling her mouth.  She eagerly let it coat her tongue, savoring her own salty-sweetness.  Semen, her own, anyone’s, was by far her favorite drink in the world.  The gooey mouthfeel, the way it flooded and overflowed as it shot from a penis, the heat of it, she loved all of it.  


Pal had heard from a number of her friends that her fluids tended to have flavors that were unusual for spunk or pussy juice.  Gato still swore to this day that Pal’s vulva tasted like strawberry, and her semen was minty.  As Pal swallowed her mouthful of her own spunk, she supposed she could taste a little of what Gato was talking about; a coolness on her breath.


The sound of particularly sloppy masturbation filled the hotel room, squishes and slaps, moans and grunts; as Pal began to buck her hips into her own hands.  If she had the energy, she would have done something more complex or interesting to fulfill her body’s urges, but her own palms and fingers were enough for now.


She huffed, brushing her petals out of her eyes as she stroked faster, feeling her stamen twitch and pulse in her grip.  The hard flesh throbbed with need, aching for release.  The amount of thick fluid pumping from the tip increased.  She could feel it rushing up her urethra rhythmically as a pleasurable pressure in her cock. 


Her inner walls clenched and squeezed around the slithering, coiling vine inside her, spilling her nectar into a pool in the sheets between her inner thighs.  Her tail twitched as she grunted softly, feeling the impending eruption beginning to build deep in her loins.  She bucked her hips upward, stabbing her penis towards the ceiling, even as verdant fluid fountained onto her face and chest in wet splatters.  

Her breath came in pants now as her body prepared for the ultimate pleasure.  Pal lived for this pleasure.  If it weren’t for her sense of duty to her fellow Digimon, her desire to help people, her love for her friends, she might have given into hedonism entirely; spending all day every day seeking ecstasy.  


That said, Pal considered herself a “functional nymphomaniac.” She had other priorities in life beyond sexual fulfillment, even if it remained very high on her list. 


Trying to tip herself over the edge, Pal tried to think of the most arousing things she could; Gato’s face screwed up in orgasmic ecstasy, Agu and Gabu’s penises pulsating visibly as they pumped semen, the sound of Biyo’s voice crying out in delight as Pal’s tongue worked her pussy. 

“Gonna cum, gonna cum, gonna cummm~!” she moaned, heedless of if anyone in the adjacent hotel rooms could hear her. 


Her pelvic muscles tensed as the building pressure in her loins felt like a volcano rumbling on the verge of eruption.  Her pussy quivered rhythmically, as her penis convulsed once, twice, three times…


And then Pal’s favorite sensation, the burning ache of pleasure that ran up her urethra as her vagina convulsed and sent tingling sensations through her entire nervous system.  She howled like an animal, her raspy voice echoing off the walls as her stamen lurched and sent a giant fountain of milky green sap high enough to strike the ceiling and splatter across the tiles.  


Pal’s root-like feet kicked out as she ejaculated a second time, just as hard and long as the first, leaving a pale-green streak across the fluorescent lights; and then a third time, slopping messily from the ceiling to the corner of the wall behind the bed.  This left thick, gloopy ‘icicles’ of semen dangling down, dripping in thick globules to the floor as gravity pulled the liquid. 


She moaned in delight, feeling her own spunk coating her body, splashing across her small breasts, up her chin and neck, over her face, and onto her petals. She could feel her pussy clenching crushingly tight around the vine still inside her, trying to milk it.  Her hips pumped into the air entirely of their own accord; Pal’s body was out of control as she came like a freight train.


An entire day of diplomatic frustrations, stress from being away from home and her friends, displeasure at the cold weather and more; all exploded from the bulbous glans of her stamen into the air in streamers of viscous goo.  All the negative emotions weighing on Pal’s mind were erased in a rush of pleasure, every inch of her body tingling and spasming.


For minutes on end, Pal’s entire world narrowed only to the sensation of her stamen pumping sap into the air and her pistil convulsing and clenching, sprinkling her nectar onto the bedsheets.  She squeezed her penis, clenching the thick foreskin over the pulsing glans, delighting in the thick, sticky squelch of her semen.  


Finally, after nearly six straight minutes, Pal’s climax began to wane.  She moaned as she slumped back to the sodden mattress, panting for breath. The room was splattered with green goo, everything in a six-foot radius of the bed spattered with messy globs and streaks. The hotel would probably complain about the mess and try to charge her for the cleaning service.  


They’d tried to do exactly that at least four times before.  Pal had to remind them that she was a Defender, and that meant A: she had no money to pay for anything (she didn’t even own a wallet to her name) and B: as a Defender, she got anything she wanted or needed for free.  Showing off her Brand had been enough to end the conversation.  They’d be compensated by the Defenders later.


******


As Pal sighed, her penis still twitching and pumping weak jets onto her green stomach, adding to the horrendous mess coating much of the bed, she closed her eyes to focus more on the delightful sensations of warm afterglow.


If her eyes hadn’t been closed, her other senses sharpened by the lack of sight, she would not have heard the thump come from her hotel room balcony.


Pal managed to resist the instinct to tense up in surprise.  She forced her muscles to remain relaxed and loose, give no sign that she was alert to anything.  She peeked out between her eyelids, her blurry vision just barely able to discern a shadowed figure rising from a crouch on the balcony, reaching for the door into the room.


An intruder in her hotel room was concern enough.  An intruder coming into her hotel room fourteen stories above the ground floor was more concerning.


What was this?  An assassin?  As far as Pal could tell, the negotiations with the Database Islands government were frustrating for all parties involved, but otherwise going fine. Nothing worth killing over; and siccing an assassin on a Defender was such a profoundly stupid idea that Pal had to try very hard to suppress a giggle.  One of the diplomats, maybe, but her?  Only a lunatic or a complete moron would try it.


There was the possibility that this night-creeper had come to the wrong room and was here for someone else in the hotel… but the odds of some weirdo trying to break into the ONE room in a 200-room hotel that happened to have a Defender in it?  That seemed infinitesimally small.


Pal remained still, trying to keep her breathing slow and controlled; acting as if the orgasm had put her asleep.  It was difficult, and only years of training and experience kept her from tensing up visibly, or worse, leaping to her feet to confront the intruder as she heard the balcony door slither open.


Better to wait, to catch her intruder off-guard, rather than leap up and confront them while they were ready for it.  


The faintest footsteps padded towards her.  The figure was definitely a small-type Digimon, not a humanoid.  Bipedal, probably with padded paws for feet, judging from the near lack of sound. A faint chiming noise. Pal wasn’t sure what that was. 

The figure came closer. Pal could hear its breath, which was oddly loud, but also oddly slow and steady.  Even the most cold-blooded killer used to breaking into rooms couldn’t help but have their heart and breathing rate accelerate a LITTLE as they neared the kill. 


Pal accessed one of her attack protocols, holding it at the ready.  She wanted to catch the intruder at the last possible moment, when its guard was at its lowest.  She counted the seconds, hearing the figure step closer, looming over her bed.

When she felt its presence bend over her prone form, she struck.

“POISON POLLEN!” Pal shouted, unleashing a roiling purple cloud of dust from the curled stamen that sprouted from her hair-petals. She caught the figure in the face, full on.


What was SUPPOSED to happen was that the target would be caught off-guard, inhale reflexively, or take the pollen in via their mucus membranes.  In less than a second, the toxins would take effect, and the victim would fall to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut, frothing at the mouth and twitching uncontrollably as their nervous system went haywire.  Pal had been told by reliable sources that being on the receiving end of her Poison Pollen was one of the most unpleasant experiences of their lives.

What ACTUALLY happened was that the figure was completely unfazed, drew back its fist and threw a punch at Pal’s face.  Pal yelped, tumbling to the side and rolling away as the intruder’s hand caved in the cum-soaked mattress and the steel bed frame in one blow.

Pal wheeled around to face her opponent and immediately saw the problem.  Whoever had attacked her was wearing some sort of strange mask that covered their muzzle.  Their eyes were covered by some glassy transparent visor, their ears plugged by earbuds that trailed wires to the visor. Their breath hissed in and out of silver filters on the mask, explaining why their breathing was so loud.  The gear left no exposed place for Pal’s pollen to enter their body.


Then, Pal got a better look at her attacker and confusion whirled through her thoughts and emotions. 


It was a Gatomon.  For the briefest moment, Pal thought it was HER Gatomon, her best friend in the world, but… that was a silly thought; there were thousands of Gatomon out there, and Gato was back in File Island. 


Still, this particular Gatomon was WEIRD-looking.  Instead of fur, she had a flexible metallic shell covering her body, tinted the same colors as a Gatomon’s fur, white with purple highlights.  Glowing neon-blue circuit lines shimmered along random points on her arms, legs, and torso. It took Pal a further moment to realize that the mask covering the Gatomon’s face wasn’t merely being worn; it looked ATTACHED seamlessly to the metal shell.  Pal could only see the outline of the feline’s eyes through the visor; the reverse side of the HUD on the glass obscuring most of what Pal could see.


Its movements were unnerving. Jerky, slightly awkward, almost mechanical. It tilted its head as it examined her, and data flashed across its HUD.


Pal’s libido caused her to note, with a rush of heat to her loins and a throb of her softening erection, that the feline was VERY aroused.  A veiny, pulsing member jutted nearly a foot from her hips, leaking viscous white semen, and a river of feminine juices poured down from the pussy’s pussy.


“...You’re clearly into Gato-Mania,” Pal remarked, thinking of the current fad among Gato-fans to get their sexual anatomy hacked to match their idol’s, “But this is taking it a bit far.”

“Target identified.  Defender Palmon, program serial number 1827391,” stated the feline in an emotionless monotone, her voice buzzing through the filters, distorted and weirdly electronic.


Pal’s stomach gave a lurch. Even through the mask, she’d recognize that voice anywhere.  It sounded like HER Gato. It had to be some sort of trick, a voice-changing subprotocol or something, designed to throw Pal off-balance. Pal decided to funnel her shock and surprise into a more useful emotion: anger.


“I dunno why yer here, but ya picked the wrong room,” Pal growled, baring her claws and dropping low into a ready stance. 


“DigiDrone G470, combat protocols active,” the Gatomon announced, still sending a chill down Pal’s spine with her familiar voice, “Priority one: suppress Defender Palmon.”


Pal, like all Defenders, was a supremely skilled martial artist. If she was human, she would have been ranked easily among the world’s greatest fighters of all time.  Among the Defenders, however, her skill was considered middling.  


Pal’s specialty was non-lethal crowd control.  That meant fighting multiple (usually relatively unskilled) opponents at the same time in a large open space.  Against a single, highly-skilled opponent in the small hotel room?  That put her at a distinct disadvantage.


Then there was the fact that she was a Rookie fighting a Champion. The fact that the Gatomon was actually a little shorter and smaller overall meant nothing; the intruder could be anywhere from five to eight times as strong as Pal was.  Pal glanced at the ruins of her bed, caved in from a single punch, and decided that this weird-looking Gatomon was probably towards the higher end of that scale. 


Put bluntly, Pal was screwed, and not in the fun cummy, gushy kind of way. She only had two viable strategies: A: make a daring escape and run like crazy long enough to trigger a distress signal or get an Emergency Data Transfer away… or B: try to get the Gatomon’s Holy Ring off their tail and even the odds a little.


With the strange figure immune to Pal’s chief advantage, her wide array of pollens and poisons that could fill the enclosed space, Pal did not feel remotely confident in her ability to snatch the Holy Ring away in close combat.


That left escape. Pal glanced around the room. Two exits, front door or balcony. Balcony led to a 15 story drop. Pal’s vines could extend far, but not that far. She might be able to drop to a lower floor and make an egress that way. 

Main door would lead to the hallway.  Elevator wasn’t an option, it’d take too long to arrive.  The stairs were down the hall.  At a dead sprint, Pal doubted she’d outrun the Gatomon. She wasn’t exactly known for her speed.


The Gatomon seemed to be waiting patiently for Pal to make up her mind and make her move.  It stood, chest rising and falling slowly and steadily, its erect penis twitching up and down. If it weren’t for that, it might have been a statue.


With no warning or preamble, Pal lashed out, using her vines to snag the sheets and blankets on the bed, sodden with her own semen.  She tugged hard and twisted, flinging the sticky fabric and draping it over the Gatomon’s head.  She moved in the same moment, flinging herself towards the balcony. She heard the sheets tearing, the Gatomon’s razor claws shredding the fabric with ease.


Pal had to pause for the briefest moment to throw open the balcony door, and that was her undoing. The time it took her to do that was long enough for the weird intruder to wrap her gloved paws around Pal’s tail and yank.  Pal felt her feet leave the floor and yelped as she was airborne for a moment.  Then her skull cracked against the far wall, and stars flashed in her vision as she slid to the floor.  


The plant girl lashed out blindly with a kick, and felt her foot impact the intruder’s stomach.  The Gatomon’s breath hissed out of its mask, and it staggered back.  Pal managed to scramble to her feet.  She ducked a sweeping punch aimed for her temple, and retaliated with a three-hit jab combo to the Gatomon’s chest.  The first two blows connected, the third was batted aside with an almost lazy backhand.  


Pal lashed a foot at its shin, trying to hobble it, but it took the blow without even reacting. It was like kicking an iron post, for all the Gatomon seemed to notice. It threw a series of slashing hand chops and pinpoint knuckle jabs at Pal, its paws turning to a yellow and red blur.  Pal did her best, managing to turn away half of them with palms and backhands, blocking more with her forearms, but several blows found their way past her guard and struck with crippling force.


Pal snagged a lamp from the bedside table and swung it with all her might. She whiffed the first swing as the Gatomon leaned back, letting it sail past.  But the backswing caught the Gatomon in the temple.


As the metal and glass shattered against its head, Pal was horrified… because the Gatomon did not even seem to notice again. Whatever the metal coating its body was, it was incredibly durable and protective.  A blow that should have shattered its skull did not even leave a mark.


Pal swung her claws as fast as she could, but each time, the Gatomon simply swiped them aside, stepping ever closer.  With lightning speed, its hand snapped out and caught Pal’s neck, lifting her from the floor.  Pal felt her windpipe pinched shut by its iron grip. 


Choking someone unconscious wasn’t like in the movies.  It took minutes, not seconds. A front neck grab was probably the worst possible way to do it, as the victim was fully capable of fighting back the entire time.


And yet, minute after minute went by as Pal rained blows on the Gatomon, feeling her lungs scream for air, her vision going dark at the edges.  If anything was getting bruised other than Pal’s knuckles, the masked feline showed no sign of it.  Again, it might have well been a statue for all it moved, holding Pal rigidly aloft by her throat.  Pal could not pry its grip free, and she felt her strength ebbing.


“Who… in the Nine Digital… Hells… are… you?!” Pal gurgled.  It was a stupid waste of breath, but the question was the only thing on her rapidly fading consciousness.  And it went unanswered.


As Pal’s vision tunneled into a pinprick, her oxygen-starved body going limp, she felt the feline’s grip loosen.  At the very last moment before she would have passed out, she gave a great whooping gasp, and the blackness rapidly receded from her eyes.


That said, the fight had been taken out of her.  She couldn’t stand, stuck on her hands and knees coughing, wheezing, and gasping. She felt the feline’s hand grip her chin, forcing her to look up.


“Defender Palmon subdued.  Special attack protocol activating: Cat’s Eye Hypnosis,” stated the metallic cat emotionlessly.  Her visor glowed and shimmered, projecting whirling colors outward rather than in. Pal gasped and tried to close her eyes, but it was too late.  She met the feline’s gaze.  Pal’s body went rigid, her eyes opening wide despite herself.


Pal had been on the recieving end of Gato’s Cat’s Eye Hypnosis attack on many occasions and it always felt the same. Whirling light filling her vision, a sensation like something was being drained out of her mind into the colors, and sleepiness and warmth being left in its place.  It was so tempting to just stop thinking, to stare and just drift away.


“What… what’re… ya… doin?” slurred Pal weakly, using every ounce of willpower to try to fight out of the trance.   


“Defender Palmon will not ask questions.  Defender Palmon will obey,” the feline ordered.


“I… I won’t… ask questions.  I will obey,” agreed Pal after a moment, her eyes dimming and losing focus.  The plantgirl’s posture slumped as she shivered, warmth and coziness washing over her mind.  Her body responded accordingly; her already half-erect penis swelled between her thighs, beginning to rise up as it twitched.  She couldn’t help herself.  She knew she should fight, to struggle, to resist.


The power of the Gatomon’s gaze was far too much.  Mindless contentment washed through Pal, erasing her thoughts, her memories, her very identity.  All that was left in its place was a vague desire to do as she was told, to obey without question or hesitation.  Pal’s deep green eyes, so dark they were almost black, went glassy and unfocused, her hands falling limp in her lap.  Her posture relaxed, all the tension sliding from her body.


Pal’s last conscious thought was wishing that Gato was there to help… unaware that her best friend stood before her.


****


A line of drool ran down Pal’s chin as her head slumped forward, her mind no longer possessing enough willpower to keep it held up.  G470 watched impassively, the lights fading from her eyes and visor.


“Target: Defender Palmon.  Suppression complete,” she announced to no one in particular.  A new line of instructions appeared on her HUD, directing the drone’s actions.


“Orders confirmed.  Begin infection and conversion,” G470 stated.  She looked down at Pal.


“Kneel,” she commanded.


“I obey.  I will kneel,” murmured Pal.  The flower-lizard shuffled in position, moving from a sitting slump to a submissive kneel, resting on her knees.  She sat at attention, staring straight ahead, arms dangling from her shoulders.


G470 moved beside Pal, standing at her side. The mindless feline brushed away one of the pink and orange petals, exposing the side of Pal’s head.  Like the lizards that Pal’s form was modeled after, her ears were little, barely visible slits in the side of her head.  


The feline reached down and wrapped a hand around her swollen shaft. She stroked it slowly, smearing some of the oozing milky fluid over the swollen flesh.  G470’s arousal protocols were still at 120% normal, her penis unnaturally hard, with bulging veins pulsing along the sides. The former Gatomon gripped her cock by the base of the shaft, aiming it carefully toward Pal’s ear.  


The drone moaned softly as she slowly pushed the head of her penis against Pal’s earhole.  For a moment, there was resistance.  Then, with a faint, wet “pop”, the head slid in. 


Pal’s deep green eyes went wide.  The sensation was bizarre and like nothing she had ever felt.  


Pal had spent most of her life dedicated to sexual exploits of as many kinds as she could. She had downloaded multiple versions of the Kama Sutra into her personal knowledge database.  She had explored dozens of ways that the body could experience pleasure; everything from tickling to BDSM (not her favorite at all) to direct Digital code stimulation.  The fact that Digital Beings did not have to obey Real-World laws of biology or physics opened up new routes for finding and achieving pleasure that normal beings could not even conceive.


…This was still an entirely new one to Pal.  


She shuddered as the hot, pulsing rod pushed further and further, G470 rocking back and forth to work her member ever deeper into Pal’s head.  Pal, despite the depths of her trance, winced and whimpered at the intensely odd, uncomfortable (though not painful) sensation.  She could feel it throbbing as its rigid heat shoved a little deeper with each thrust of the drone’s hips.


And then with a final push, Pal felt something prod against something far too deep inside, and that was the last thing she knew.  Pal’s eyes were so deeply green that they appeared entirely black; irises and sclera alike.  Now, as the bulbous head of the metallic cat’s penis pushed against something vital, her eyes flew as wide open as they could, and the pupils dilated so wide that her eyes became an expanse of pure black.  Pal began to convulse, shuddering from head to toe, even as drool spilled from the corners of her mouth.  She let out a deep, husky involuntary moan.


“Hukkk…. Urkkhh…  Uhhnnnnnnn…” Pal made strange strangled noises, as her penis sprung to full, enthusiastic erection, beginning to pulsate and spray jets of creamy green liquid onto the hotel room’s carpet.


“Cranial penetration complete.  Core contact achieved. Beginning stimulation,” G470 announced blandly.  With little preamble, she began pulling her hips back, sliding her steel-hard member back out of Pal’s head and into the open.  When only the tip was left inside the plant’s ear, she shoved forward again, driving her member deep.


Pal gave a loud “GUHH!” as the fat glans struck against her mind again, eliciting a fresh river of drool down her chin and a full body shudder.  She groaned low and long as G470’s penis slid back out.  Her brain barely had a chance to recover from the assault before the next thrust drove her into random convulsions.


Despite the obscenity and perversion of what she was doing, G470’s manner was calm to the point of being robotic. Her hips moved back and forth with perfect precision, always pulling out exactly as far as the last time, thrusting forward with the exact same force as the last pump. One paw rested atop Pal’s flower-hair, keeping her head still.  The other dangled loosely from her shoulder.  She was not looking at what she was doing; instead, staring straight head into the whirling colors in her visor.  

Her mind was blank, not a thought of her own.  The only thing she registered was the main element of her display at the moment, the single repeating instruction: Thrust. Thrust. Thrust.  She did as she was told, like a good drone, pumping her hips each time the word appeared in front of her eyes.


If G470 was experiencing any pleasure from the action, she showed little of it.  Outside of the occasional electronic hiss or tiny, barely-audible grunt of effort, she made no noise. The only sound was the wet “schlurp” of her cock sliding back and forth into Pal’s head.  Her body, however, displayed the pleasure.  Her pink nipples were fully erect, poking through the armored skin she wore.  Her cock was pulsing and throbbing eagerly.  Her thighs were soaked with her feminine juices, making the metal glisten.


Pal, on the other hand, was making quite a bit of noise, though most of it was involuntary gibberish as the drone’s cock stimulated her neurons and dendrites, causing malfunctions. She wasn’t anything approaching conscious any more, no longer aware of her surroundings, her identity, or much of anything beyond the phallus prodding her neocortex.


“Hnnngrk! Ababalla. Flurglemrkle!” Pal babbled. Unlike her masturbation before, this time, she really was having an orgasm the entire time; in fact, she was having repeated orgasms every time G470 thrust into her head. Her hips thrust forward, stabbing her cock up in the air over and over, sending streamers of milky green sap to splatter the ceiling.  The fluid draped down in gloopy spider-webs, dripping down slowly.  Her pussy convulsed and clenched wildly, a frantic spasm as her thighs trembled.  Her root-like feet gripped the carpet as she grunted and squealed randomly.


The feline took little notice of the condition of her victim.  Indeed, her entire focus was taken up by the single word that flashed rhythmically on her visor’s display: Thrust. Thrust. Thrust. 


Each time the word appeared, she drove her hips forward, burying her member as deep in Pal’s ear as she could. Her pubic fur was ticking Pal’s cheek, a damp spot where her pussy pressed against the plant-lizard’s cool skin. Her long tail swayed back and forth in time with her pumps, the golden ring chiming softly.  


G470’s penis twitched, leaking thick, viscous fluid. It lubricated her strokes, squelching loudly every time she thrust into Pal’s head.  Every time her cock bumped against Pal’s brain, the plant twitched violently and randomly.  Pal’s right arm flailed.  Her left leg kicked out.


A new item appeared on the drone’s HUD, a countdown and a new instruction.  The repeating “Thrust” continued, but the cat read the line of text and processed it quickly.


“Order confirmed.  Preparing subprogram 21A.  Subprogram trigger in 20. 19. 18,” she announced aloud.  


She pumped a little faster, her hips slapping against the side of Pal’s face again and again.  Despite her entirely robotic manner, there were telltale signs of what was about to happen. Her thighs tensed.  Her tail was swishing faster, the tasseled tip flicking.  Her toes curled.  A veritable river of her juices spilled down her inner thighs.


Pal took little notice of the tension building.  She wasn’t really capable of taking notice of much of anything, really, as the drone’s penis repeatedly pushed against her very mind.  All she could do was arch her back, babble, drool, and spray like a fire hose across the room, adding to the already profound mess that soaked the wallpaper and carpet.  Every time the feline’s cock drove against the very core of her thoughts, she exploded into another enormous spasm; somewhere between a seizure and an almighty orgasm, maybe a bit of both.


“5. 4. 3. 2…” counted the cat drone, her body tensing up involuntarily in anticipation.  Even the massive amount of reprogramming that Ebemon had done, the virus corrupting her systems, and the hypnotic swirls in front of her eyes could not override certain automatic and autonomic biological functions.


“Ejaculating,” announced G470, as flatly as if she were announcing the next train arriving at a station.  


She buried her rigid shaft to the hilt, her pelvis pressed against Pal’s cheek.  The feline’s head craned back by instinct, her back arching.  Her rear end tensed and her toes curled.  With a staticky, low moan of pleasure, the metallic cat climaxed.


Pal’s eyes went wide, and her jaw dropped low.  A moan came from her mouth, different than any she had ever uttered.  It was low, at the bottom of her voice, from the back of her throat.  It lasted as long as her lungs could go, shuddering and catching in places.


G470’s pulsating cock pumped burst after burst of thick, white metallic spunk into Pal’s head. It wasn’t semen; it was a strange white liquid metal that sank in and coated every wrinkle of Pal’s mind. The fluid splashed across her brain, soaking it with viscous goo.  It pumped from the kitten’s penis in enormous, forceful jets, filling Pal’s skull with a sloshing warmth and wetness.  


Pal went completely still, her eyes rolling up in her head.  She trembled from head to toe, uncontrollable shaking.  Her ejaculations intensified to new, incredible heights, spraying the far wall hard enough that the fluid audibly drummed against it, sending green milky sap scattering in thick globs in every direction.


A thick, gooey dribble of fluid leaked out of Pal’s other ear, dribbling down her cheek.  G470 noticed, reaching out to stick her finger in, plugging it.  The cat grunted softly, bathing Pal’s mind with her spunk.  The heavy, glutinous liquid wasn’t JUST semen.  It was the same Chrome-Digizoid poly-alloy nanofluid that coated the former Gatomon’s body, molded tight to her body as a shell. And contained in every Digital particle was the program that was currently controlling Gato’s actions.  G470 held herself still, feeling the liquid, gooey metal flow from her into Pal, making sure that every single neuron got drenched.

When her semen began to seep back out around her penis and her gloved finger in Pal’s other ear, she was sure that the plant’s mind had been properly saturated; overflowing the insensate plant’s skull.  A new instruction appeared on her display, and the drone followed it without question.


G470 pulled free of Pal, her cock slipping out with a faint, wet pop.  A torrent of excess fluid drained out of Pal’s ears, flowing down her face… and across and upward, defying the grip of gravity to spread out over her green skin.  Despite no longer having the phallus inside her, Pal remained as rigid as if she had been carved from stone, all of her muscles locked up tight as she remained kneeling.

The glistening white kitten gripped her erection, pumping the foreskin up and down as she aimed it at Pal’s chest.  Thick, hot lances of fluid metal burst from the swollen tip, splattering across Pal’s mosquito-bite breasts, spilling down and… again, UP, her body. It spread out smoothly, forming a thin layer over Pal’s skin, before drying and solidifying rapidly.  As it dried, it took on the same color as the skin beneath, a vibrant grassy green.


G470 helped it along, aiming her erupting cock at Pal’s arms and legs, and then at any other spot that hadn’t been properly coated enough.  She walked behind Pal and began to ejaculate onto the girl’s back, rivers of milky metal spilling down Pal’s back, over her tail, between her glutes, and down the backs of her legs.


Drenched inside and out, Pal remained unmoving and trembling.  Little strangled gasps escaped her lips, the occasional grunt, but little else.  Her eyes were rolled up in her head, even as the strange fluid began to spread up her neck and onto her cheeks.  Pal’s antivirus subroutines were overwhelmed.  A new priority program was being installed into her software, subverting and redirecting her functions.  Her personality settings were being overwritten and emptied.


She did not react as the drone walked back in front of her and began to ejaculate right into her face, splashing her forehead, eyes, cheeks, and mouth with sticky, hot fluid.  Her colorful orange and pink petals vanished under a glaze of silver-white goo, only for it to harden and turn to a similar, but lustrous and sleek, hue of metal.


As G470’s orgasm began to wane, her penis still pumping sloppy jets of metal onto Pal’s face, the liquid began to form a mask over Pal’s mouth, grafted seamlessly to the shell covering the rest of her head. The plant’s eyes were obscured by a glassy lens that took shape over the upper half of her face.  Shimmering blue circuit lines flickered to life at random spots on the flower’s body.  


In moments, the only remaining bits of exposed flesh on Pal’s body were her deep green, perky nipples, her swollen and still erupting penis, and her smooth, drenched vulva.  Everything that identified her from any other Palmon was obscured under a skintight layer of Chrome Digizoid poly-alloy nanoskin.


“Ejaculation complete,” G470 announced flatly.  She turned her head slightly down, looking towards the plant-lizard still kneeling before her.  Pal’s trembling had stopped.  Her chest rose and fell slowly, her breath hissing through the silver filters on her mask.  She remained where she was, on her knees, completely still save for the pulsing and lurching of her stamen, still spewing ropes of green sap onto the floor.


“...Stand,” commanded G470.


Pal stood up, the strange metal coating her body flexing smoothly with her every movement.  Said movements were odd and jerky, almost mechanical as she climbed back to her feet. She stood tall, spine completely straight, head facing perfectly forward.


“State designation,” G470 commanded.


“...DigiDrone unit P4L is online and fully functional.  D191dR0n3v1RU2.exe overriding all priority functions,” Pal stated, her raspy voice distorted and buzzing as it came through her mask’s speakers.  It was drained of all inflection and emotion, an utterly flat monotone. Her usual and unique accent was completely absent, her enunciation slow and precise.


“Unit P4L, state mental and physical status,” the feline drone ordered.  The former Palmon tilted her head just the faintest hint.


“Current status of Drone P4L: obedience at 99.1%. Individuality at 4.2%.  Willpower at 0%,” she reported, “Drone’s penis at 100% erection.  Priapism subroutine active, erection is permanent. Drone is ejaculating 2.3 cups of semen per minute. No refractory period. Drone’s reproductive system is still being converted for D191dR0n3v1RU2.exe transmission.  Conversion complete in forty seconds.”


Sure enough, even as G470 watched impassively, the green milky sap oozing and spurting continuously from Pal… now DigiDrone P4L’s penis began to change consistency and color, turning metallic and even more viscous.


“Awaiting orders,” P4L announced, staring straight ahead.


“Orders complete.  Awaiting orders,” agreed G470, likewise straightening and staring past P4L now that she had done as she had been commanded.  Indeed, despite staring directly at the other girl, she had already forgotten P4L existed.  All that mattered was her commands.  Without commands, there was no thought.  She would simply stand and wait until she was ordered to do something.


“Awaiting orders.  Awaiting orders,” both drones murmured, staring into space dully, unaware of the other’s existence.  Their eternal erections twitched up and down, drooling fluid to the already sodden carpet, aching for attention that their owners had no consciousness to give.


Time had little meaning to drones beyond a number ticking on their chronometers.  They would stand and wait seconds, hours, weeks, years, an eternity, and it would all be the same to them.  In reality, it was about five minutes, during which the only sounds were their repeated murmurs and the wet slap and splatter of thick semen.


Then a new line of text appeared on their Heads-Up Displays.  There was a brief moment where they read and processed it.


“Orders confirmed,” both girls said in unison, their voices distorted by their masks, empty of individual thought, “Report to Ebemon…”

With that, G470 walked towards the door, P4L following closely behind.  They left into the hallway, filed into the elevator, and P4L pressed the ground floor button.  The two drones marched out a minute later, past the confused and disturbed hotel staff and other guests, as they opened the front door and marched out into the snow.  A whirl of white swept past, and they vanished from sight altogether.


*****