Remote control units

The Rag ‘desert twenty-five’ had been in place as a collective, for more than a few years. That number had been found to be the optimum quantity of actual ‘on the ground’ men required, to keep the mine running and to keep the group busy for six, occasionally seven days a week. As the operation ran day and night, they were loosely rotated through three nine-hour shifts.

The last batch of three new recruits had been drugged and collared in the city, loaded into a wooden crate and helicopter cable dropped in the mine’s disused car-park. This bunch didn’t get the benefit of a profit wasting plane ride or even a start out boiler-suit.  As the onsite ‘meat bag’ number approached the magic twenty-five, all pretense had ceased.

The mine site work was never complex. It was typically as simple as lift and shift or dig and fill. The powerful shock collars kept the crew on task but after everyone’s initial resistance passed, the devices were rarely used. The men it seemed, resigned themselves to their lot and just got on with it.

Entertainment was limited to TV reruns of sitcoms like MASH and the Dukes of Hazard. There was a library of books but it was never fully utilized. The most popular time burner was that of video games, the huge library was accessed almost every day by every member of the crew. Any bad behaviour on site resulted in usage lockouts via the finger print coded handsets. A team member faced with a week-long ban rarely offended again quickly. There was zero internet or cell signal.

Crew member specific, pre-packed meals were droned in every day, to ensure weight was carefully monitored. With sharing or leaving food on a plate banned, the team were kept at around 2% underfed, they were never ‘full’.

The buildings and facilities themselves, were utterly basic. To match the number of shifts, there were three temperature-controlled dorm rooms, each contained nine vinyl topped single cots. There were no sheets, blankets or any fabric at all. The raised built-in pillow bump held a secret magnetic charger, which every night covertly returned the shock collars to full power.

Crew cleanliness had been a consistent problem for management. Getting the guys to bathe or cut their hair was an ongoing issue. The wet zone was a single open large room with shower roses along one wall and toilet pans along the other. The showers were typically underused, most of the time the on-site team resembled a ramshackle troupe of bums. When doctor Tennyson had been asked for a professional opinion on how the company might address hygiene, he parroted perfectly everything the Dark Crew had bribed him to say.

* * *

“With the buildings arranged this way” repeated the Doc pointing to his presentation. “I think we’ll find the hygiene problem, self-solving.”

“Forced to shower at least once, sometimes twice a day?” asked one of the Turner’s Board. Tennyson nodded yes.

“Any risk with the chemicals used?” Asked another, “We can’t afford them sick.”

“The tasteless chemicals are just designed to dissolve hair, any dose absorbed by the skin or swallowed will be low and completely safe.”

“No health impacts?” Asked a third member, wanting confirmation.

“None have been recorded. The thioglycolate salts and sulphides dissolve keratin. Two weeks of these showers will see the units hairless.”

“There is the side effect I mentioned before,” Added Tennyson, moving from medical fact to Dark Crew fantasy. “The units will find themselves, more ‘aroused’. Physically aroused, that is.”

“Why is that again?” Queried the Chair.

“Hair insulates environmental stimulus such as wind, temperature, physical contact, etc. Less hair, more stimulation.” The table nodded. “Also, the sulphates I mentioned prompt an increase in testosterone production. Nothing harmful for units in their twenties, a similar effect to those who play a lot of sport for example.”

“So, hornier you’re saying?” Asked one of the members.

“Yes, they may be slightly friskier,” advised the doctor, “but I mean more of a physical response. They’ll find themselves ‘firm’ more often, and sometimes without being horny at all.”

“I’m not sure, I was horny all the time at twenty-two,” interjected one of the Board as the table laughed.

“I think we’ve all been there,” replied Tennyson, “but you were probably surrounded by young women and at least, opportunity.” More nodding.

“I take your point, but we don’t want a distracted crew.” Continued the member.

“Well, we do have some mitigation measures.” Began Tennyson.

“Err, about that Doctor,” said the Chair interrupting quickly. “I think the Board supports your efforts to mitigate and we don’t need to discuss it. Do what you need to do.” It was not a topic to be placed in the minutes, or ever heard by the Board. They wanted plausible deniability.

“Gentlemen, are we agreed that the site buildings should be arranged as suggested and the Doctor here should do as he sees fit to keep production stable.”

“Agreed” The table acknowledged.

* * *

Rearranging the mine site buildings wasn’t a major undertaking. The semi portable dorms, games room and dining were all moved around the washrooms which remained fixed in place by plumbing. Four new time-based walk-through showers were installed in the wet building as the only structural alteration.

While Rags could exit the building through any door, they could only enter through the washroom. On arrival, they stepped into one end of a shower booth, and exited from the other. It was the only way into the rest of the building and forced a two-minute unheated shower. The water was laced with the sulphate the doc had detailed. 

With the relocations completed, all the Hands were called together for a rare site meeting. The Doc spoke from within his robot with Tony and Alex standing back in security droids.

“Over time, the water will dissolve your hair,” he began, “you won’t have to bother with cutting. You’ll notice it falling away over the next few weeks. If you have any concerns you can speak with me at your medicals, next week.” The Rags couldn’t be less interested, it was just another fucked up rule!

* * *

One by one the six avatars blinked into existence, filling the gentlemen’s club as usual.

“Men of Dark Crew,” greeted David in his usual fashion. “Welcome, you saw the Rags were called to the site meeting today?” everyone nodded.

“Drivers and Operators will be called to meet tomorrow.”

“Why?” Asked Stuart. “We’ve all seen the buildings moved, some of us even helped shift them.”

“It’s not just about the facilities, it’s to make sure everyone is on the same page as far as the Rags losing their hair and stuff.”

“Is Doc going to speak?” asked Ted.

“He’ll say a few words, Rag medicals are next week, so he’s going to mainly talk about that.”

“When are we going to sync our steel cocks?” asked Jim

“Let’s do it the week after next” suggested David. “Have you all managed to secure and hide your deliveries?” All confirmed they had.

“I think mine started syncing already,” confessed Tony.

“Did you turn it on?” asked David. The avatar opposite sheepishly confirmed he had.

“It linked almost immediately, scared the crap out of me. I swear, holding the cylinder was like I was holding my cock. I could even feel the cold metal of the truck cab’s robotic hand. I turned it off straight away, but it was good.”

“Well, I’m going to link by the manual, week after next. I don’t want to crush my real cock with a 400-pound robot hand accident.”

“No, I’m definitely going to wait” affirmed Tony, “just thought I’d pass it on that’s all.”

“Guys I’m getting a proximity warning, one of the other drivers must be looking for me on site, I’d better log back in and get the truck moving,” Jim vanished.

“See you guys tomorrow.” said David, everyone acknowledged and logged off as the virtual room vanished.

* * *

The Driver and Operator meeting was a mix of real and virtual bodies. Those logged in to their pods on shift attended via the video feeds, everyone else crowded into the level 14 Downtown lunch room. David who was physically present, casually looked around trying to spot Lachlan, or Andy. He saw they were both sitting at one of the other tables. He sucked in the visual, without being obvious. They were the hottest guys on the entire team, pity they were such straight homophobic jerks.

“So, the compulsory showers will fix the team’s cleanliness problem,” Doc continued with his presentation, “and they just pass their boots and socks through these smaller bolt holes either side of the wet recesses.”

“Their hair will simply fall out over the next week?” Asked one of the team.

“Yes,” confirmed the Doc, “their medicals are next week, I’ll discuss it with each then.”

“Those of you who work directly with the mine-based Hands, will notice they may find themselves more aroused.”

“You mean like ‘amorous’ toward us in robotic suits?” The entire room snickered.

“No,” said the Doc straight faced, “they’re just going to be a little harder in the dick department, more often. I expect it to die down, I just wanted to let you know.”

“What do you want us to do?” asked someone.

“Nothing,” said the doc, surprised by the question. “Just ignore it. They’re not going to be jacking off around you, just hard occasionally.”

“I don’t speak with them anyway,” offered one of the guys. Most in the room nodded.

“Fucking dumb idiots, all of them.” More sounds of group agreement.

“Well, you can think of them what you will. They’ve got their job, you’ve got yours. The last thing management want is people interfering in how the business runs. Like I said, ignore them. Anyone not understand?” Doc asked the room pointedly. There were no objections and the meeting dispersed. David hung back to slip in behind Andy as he left the room, fuck, the guy had the best-looking arse in the building!

* * *

As the Dark Crew gathered for their dick syncing, they were excited. While the avatars occupied the virtual gents club. At the mine, six machines invisible to Master Control, were scattered around the site fitting the new accessory to compatible sockets. The metal cylinders were loaded with sensors and designed to attach to any robotic arm being operated on site by the drivers. While the wireless connection transmitted sensation back and forth, it still managed to keep the electric cocks unseen by the monitoring programs.

The operating pod’s standard ‘dick sheath’ and ‘butt pipe’ were essentially designed to move any waste away from the operator. If needed, he could simply relieve himself while on duty. Focused on efficiency, it meant he didn’t have to disconnect and exit the pod, just to take a piss.

The sheath was made from intelligent plastic, pulled on, it activated to fit the operator. The anal plug was memory metal activated by body temp. Both materials custom moulded to the bodies of the individual operators, regardless of size or shape. The conductive constructs were electronic extensions of the machine’s sensor array. The AI programming worked with the operator’s mind and responses to provide tactile feedback in both directions.

Back when the secretive group was first formed, David had easily hacked the pod’s operating system to allow the Dark Crew to take control of the sheath. When the onsite metal cocks were synced, what ever happened to the metal cylinder was transmitted to the exact same position on the operator’s dick, back in the pod.

In the club, the six buffed avatars stood around buck naked, dicks swinging. The virtual personas resembled their owners, but all had taken some creative license to add extra muscle, higher cheek bones or slimmer waists.

“Wow Dave, these are amazing,” said Alex, as he looked down at his oversize cock. “I know it’s metal and a thousand kilometers away, but here in my pod I can literally feel everything along my dick,” he declared, a little breathlessly. “I’m fucking hard as rock,” he confessed.

“Same here,” added Ted.

“Is everyone’s working?” Asked David, as all acknowledged they were fully operational. “Line up,” he suggested as the avatars sought to arrange themselves with their backs to the virtual club’s library shelves. “Hands behind, let’s see how these work virtually.”      

Starting at the end closest, David reached forward and took Tony’s and Jim’s firm meat in each hand. They were hard in an instant.

“Jesus Dave!” stuttered Jim, borderline overwhelmed, “it’s, it’s just as good here as at the mine, oh fuck!” Dave worked the cock back and forth. “Oh fuck! I’m gunna cum!” Dave firmed his grip slightly and resumed his gentle tugging, “Oh shit, don’t stop, for god’s sake!” Jim groaned as a virtual cum shot splashed across the club’s imaginary carpet. It would match the load he’d just produced in his pod’s dick sheath.

Tony wasn’t far behind but he simply couldn’t talk. His bliss had rendered him mute as his brain struggled to compute stimulation which was out of this world. Dave focused and worked the dick before him, root to tip and back again. His workmates spine locked rigid, his seed imminent, he blew. He remained voiceless.

Next in line, Alex and Ted were beyond eager. Having seen Tony and Jim’s deconstruction, they were now utterly desperate for release. Dave took his time and tortured a huge deposit out of each. Who knew avatars could end a sex session so bedraggled and sweat covered?

With Stuart’s meat in his grasp, David took his own length in his free hand. He worked the last of the dark crew and himself towards a synchronised unloading. Whenever he’d back off Stuart, to catch himself up, his workmate would plead for mercy, ‘please let me cum, please!’ The coordination continued unabated until Dave simply couldn’t hold on a second longer, his balls discharged with a force he knew would leave him aching tomorrow. He smiled broadly; life couldn’t possibly get better!