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Abby reclined on the sofa next to her owner, and admired the sunset over the silhouette of Tharsis University through the window while the xenodrug dispersal device in her lap slowly heated up. Her owner, Azmeri, was clearly anxious, and had been all day. Abby didn't need the faint connection to her Mistress's emotional state that the implant in her spine granted to tell that. Azmeri was rocking back and forth, fidgeting with her own leaves, and her wooden mask of a face was looking particularly stiff.
“What’s wrong, Mistress?”
“Nothing, pet.”
“Uh huh,” replied Abby, unconvinced, but a small ding from her lap grabbed her attention.
Abby packed the cartridge for her custom xenodrug bong, carefully tapping down the dried ætherea leaves before slotting it into the side of the elaborate contraption.
Azmeri continued to wring her hands as she watched her floret. Finally, she seemed to work up the nerve.
“You remember why I came to Terran space in the first place?”
Abby adjusted the dials for ideal delivery, and double checked that the water level inside the tank was at the right level. “Uh, cuz you wanted a human for a pet?”
Azmeri nodded. “Yes. And, ever since you had the neural interface installed into your haustorium, I have been lingering on a very selfish fantasy. Shameful, even.”
The cyber-bong began to glow, feed pipe drawing out the vaporized xenodrugs as the heating element broke down the dried leaves into the compounds within.
“What could you wanna do that you would be ashamed of? We got it to do the dangerous freaky stuff I'm into, remember?”
Her antennae folded in bashfully. “Well… I always wanted a chance to break a feral, I suppose! I had heard that Terrans were particularly easy, and thought I might try. But I wasn't part of the initial fleet, and when I got here, you were so immediately enamored, and slipped into my vines so easily, and transitioned so beautifully…” She drifted off.
Abby flicked a switch, activating the vent fan on the side of the device to create negative pressure. “And?”
“And, sometimes I wish I had been able to force you. Break you, just a little!” She started chewing on her own vines nervously.
Abby took an enormous rip off of the cylindrical pipe, sucking the smoke into her lungs, holding for a few seconds, then releasing. “Oh, hot. You wanna do like, a feralist personality overlay for a scene or something?”
Her owner looked furtively at the corner of the room. “I would be interested in that, yes. If it interests you as well, I mean!”
“Nah, I trust you. As soon as I saw you I knew I was meant to be yours, and you've never led me astray.” She flexed her doll-like porcelain finish prosthetic right arm. Freely given, and far better than anything she had ever been able to afford under capitalism. “You've helped me so much, given me so much love, why wouldn't I want to indulge your fantasies too? I'm not even not into that, for the record.”
Azmeri’s wheat-like antenna coiled and unfurled as she fretted. "Isn't this a bad thing to want... I think there are many Affini who would say this is very problematic! Shouldn't I love my floret as you are? Isn't it wrong that I want to dominate you against your will in the first place?"
Abby took another hit, and exhaled a puff of pink gas, savoring the sweet taste as she did. “Mistress, I'm pretty sure noncon is like, an Affini love language or something? You do remember Snuggly right? This is not that weird.”
“It wouldn't be wrong to hypnotically force you into a feral and masculine state, just so I could indulge my own… esoteric interests? You would simply let me have my way with your mind without even knowing what I planned?”
Abby put the bong down on the side table and looked up at her owner with a slightly wobbly smile.
“I volunteered for domestication, Mistress. I'm yours to do with as you please!”
Azmeri nodded, more for herself than her floret.
“Okay, then, my little pet. I'm going to try just a small bit of it now, I think. A preview. If that's okay.”
Abby let out a little giggle and stayed quiet. After many hesitant false starts on Azmeri’s part, Abby finally felt her Mistress wrap a mask of petals over her face and breathed the class-H hypnotics deep, as an interface vine pressed into the port over her left ear and
Jack Stryker, Hero of Terra, Leader of the Resistance, was in trouble. He blinked the confusion out of his eyes. The xeno looming over him was giving him a dorky smile, if you could call such a twisting of the wooden mockery of the pinnacle of biology that was the human face a smile.
“Hello there, petal! Fancy meeting you here, in my uh, living room!”
He was already captured and taken to a fortress? This was not good news. The filthy xeno had made a critical mistake, of course. His arm was unbound! The muscular, rippling mechafist that had replaced the arm he lost protecting the president of the Accord, John Goku, from filthy, lazy communists was all he would need! One day, he might even pay it off!
A quip burst from Jack’s mouth unbidden. “I'm here to kick ass and choke down Synthcubes™, and I'm all out of Synthcubes™!”
The Affini laughed theatrically.
"Hello, feral. I am Azmeri Triconde, second bl- um, fiftieth bloom! She and her pronouns, please!"
For the sworn enemy of freedom everywhere, the xeno sure did seem oddly nervous. She was clearly already trembling in fear, for she must know the reputation of Jack Stryker, aka The Weedkiller. He straightened up, and swung right at the abomination’s core, ready to fell it in a single blow, regretting only that he didn't have time to think of a good one-liner first.
The xeno caught his mighty punch with her hand, and as the expected shockwave turned out to just be a light thump, Jack realized he might be in real trouble.
“Good girl, I like your fight,” cackled the disgusting xeno.
“I’m not a woman, fiend!” He was very sure of this, and remembered having spent many sleepless nights thinking over how he was clearly cis.
“Oh, mulch, right, you're supposed to be Jack Stryker right now, the forcefem was supposed to be later,” muttered the plant, as she effortlessly held his fist in place despite his efforts to pull free.
Forcefem? He was starting to sweat a bit. He usually pretended to have no idea what that even was. “You don't just have a magic button to turn me into a woman!”
This seemed to revitalize the xeno’s enthusiasm. “But you see, petal, we do, and I have already done it, as you were helpless to stop me!”
Jack looked down at his chest, and discovered he was not only wearing a very pretty dress, a frilly green thing covered in blue and yellow stripes, but he had tits to boot.
“How- this is impossible, " he growled as best as he could, noticing that what he had assumed was his deep, rugged voice actually sounded a lot more like a girl that had a lot of practice moaning. “You made me weak, you starsdammned xeno!”
“You're already deep in my roots, little one,” the thing chittered, leaning over him, growing in confidence. Her eyes shifted from cyan to red, and Jack began backing up in fear. Something had changed.
“Stay back from me, vile monster! I am the pinnacle of evolution, you abomination! You can't do this to me!”
The xeno was more amused than offended, picking Jack up and slamming his back down on the soft couch cushion, pulling his legs apart, pinning his arms over his head.
“You, little human, are the pinnacle of evolution, perhaps, for belonging at my heel,” snarled the xeno. “Evolved to be proud so that your natural predator could break you. So defenseless to our influences, with brain chemistry so easily twisted to suit the life of a pet!”
Jack let out an aroused squeak as the feeling of being pinned so helplessly made his chest flutter. “Filthy scum, you and your lies belong in a woodchipper!” It was all he could do to stay focused. Squirming against the couch felt distractingly good.
“Do you know how few organisms evolve such delicate frames, such easily marked skin, such beautiful, groomable hair?” The monster ran her clawed fingers through the pink side shave on Jack’s head to make her point. “You do not merely belong under my heel, you are from an entire civilization made to be crushed under the weight of mine. You have no power here, no allies. I could let you run freely out my door and every stranger you ever found would bring you back to me. You are trapped, you are an object, you are property.”
Jack spat in the xeno’s face. She laughed, and swept them both up, carrying him from the oversized living room to some kind of study, running a finger up the struggling human’s spine as she did.
“The most beautiful part of your body will be the scar on your neck I leave to tell the entire universe you are owned,” she hissed into his ear as she closed the door behind them and sat at a desk with Jack facing her in her lap. “Your limbs serve better as handles for me to restrain you than any function you ever used them for as the wild animal you think you still are. Allow me to dispel some of your delusions.”
His retort died in his throat as the xeno's eyes glowed, sparkling flecks swirling in patterns that bypassed all defenses. It was like a gear knocked out of alignment by a foreign intrusion, and J̶a̵c̸k̴ was- she struggled against the vines. Her name was J̶a̷c̵k̸! J̷a̶c̵k̴ ̵S̶t̴r̵y̸k̴e̵r̶! But she couldn't, why couldn't she keep the memory of it?
“You took my name! It's- I’m- ”
“Beings like you do not name themselves, pet. You are Abby, Abby Triconde.”
The wrench in the gearbox was kicked loose, and Abby gasped in relief, even as she desperately stared down the beast invading her mind with the righteous fury of Mother Terra's beautiful brown oceans herself.
“You can take my name, but a name is nothing. You will never break my spirit, weed.”
“We shall see,” she replied in a teasing tone, twisting Abby around in her lap to face the desk. It was clear, save for what appeared to be a printed contract and some random scattered writing implements.
“Joke’s on you, plant. The honorable job creators at Linden Corp already own my fully leveraged medical debt, so I can't even legally sign a contract anyway!”
“Is that so,” the monster giggled, before pressing a flowery mask to Abby’s face. It quickly formed a complete seal around her mouth and nose, leaving no room for air. “Breathe deep for me, pet.”
She held her breath as long as she could, but eventually the burning in her lungs was too great and her reflexes betrayed her. She sucked the poison down, and the tingling in her mouth set in immediately.
“Good girl,” cooed the xeno like a parody of a human mother. Every breath compounded Abby's disorientation. The room was spinning, shifting, her body seemed to fade away into nothingness. “Breathe in, and sink for Mistress.”
The girl fell into her own mind, everything around her dissolving into abstract shapes and colors. Every lungful of hypnotics dropped her further, until her eyelids flitted rapidly, and drool began to pool inside the seal. Azmeri pulled the flower away, which left a long stringy trail that broke after drooping between Abby's lips and the petals like a little bridge.
“What… huh,” she said as a vine wiped the stray saliva from her chin.
“Good girl. It feels so good, doesn't it?”
Abby's eyes swung around wildly, each object of interest holding her entire attention. A copy of Hypermetric Peacekeeping in Maelodion Space on the bookshelf. The soft glow of the bronze lamp at the corner of the table. The poster on the wall of a human hand that outstretched to the stars for a vine to rescue. Then her jumping eyes latched onto something and didn't let go.
“P-pencil,” she babbled, as the splash of yellow by the corner of the desk caught her attention and held it. The entire world faded to static as she stared at it, utterly entranced by the innocuous writing implement.
“Pencil? Do you like the pencil?”
Abby nodded slowly, transfixed. Azmeri’s voice came from everywhere, and was so unimaginably big. Azmeri reached for the pencil, carefully picking it up from behind so as not to obstruct Abby's view of it. She wiggled it in front of the entranced girl's face, while moving the pen that had been sitting beside the contract out of view, changing plans on the fly.
“I'm, pencil…?” The girl half-asked in a confused tone.
“Of course you are, sweetie,” improvised the Affini. She began to point to the various features of the pencil. “You're yellow, and have six sides, and a pink eraser, and a flat base just like this pencil. You haven't been sharpened yet, after all!”
Abby shivered as her mind adapted to the new information. She was so dull. She had to be sharpened. She felt so stiff and… oh. Azmeri was holding up a sharpener now.
“Good girl, you just need someone with power to shape you right, don't you, pet? To take all those silly ideas of freedom and shave them away?”
Azmeri inserted the pencil into the sharpener, and Abby felt herself squeeze, gasped as she felt the blade pressing against the corner of her hexagonal wooden body.
“P-please…”
Azmeri laughed again, and made the first rotation. Abby moaned and squirmed in the vines holding her human form in place as she felt her shavings drop to the table.
“Not quite enough, but it feels so good to be reduced, doesn't it?”
Abby nodded, drooling.
Another twist in the sharpener, and Abby felt more of her spirit, her independence, falling away like shreds of wooden composite and graphite dust. Twist, and the notion that she was meant for freedom was carved off. Twist, and the idea that any human belonged anywhere but in an affini’s grasp turned to refuse on the table.
Azmeri pulled the pencil out of the sharpener, and Abby felt the compression around her mind loosen just a little. “Now, little pencil, we have to clear these shavings away. Take a deep breath, and then blow.”
The pencil obeyed, filling her lungs with air, then blew on the table with a helpful squeeze of Azmeri’s vines. The shavings of all her silly feralist ideas flew away and fell off the desk, forgotten forever.
The pencil squirmed. She knew she was supposed to be a pet, that her place was to be owned, but now she could see the printed contract with her name on it, unsigned. Some part of her brain remembered that the ‘Form fPL-0001’ at the top designated it as a floret play kink prop and not her real contract, but pencils didn't know such things.
For all the pencil knew, she was not owned. She was a pet, she needed to be owned! Azmeri noticed the poor thing’s distress and gave her soothing strokes.
“Don't fret, little one. We can put you where you belong.”
Abby nodded vacantly, and felt vines manipulate her. The pencil was placed in a human hand, but she was too high and hypnotized to notice the improper hierarchy as she held herself in her hand.
The pencil was guided to the first box, and pressed down on the paper. She felt the grip of the contract against her point and shivered in desire. She was hard, and needed to rub. A vine snuck under Abby's skirt, and coiled tight in place.
The first stroke was bliss, as Abby felt herself be used to initial the box. Each of the five lines in “AT” was a sensual burst of pleasure in her entire body. Babbling noises escaped the pencil as the satisfying sequence of angles completed, and the hand moved down to the next box. Up, down, left, right, down. The faint graphite dust of her mind decorated the space around each box as Azmeri went.
Then, on the sixth, the tip snapped. Abby let loose a screaming sob as the stroke went wild, leaving a mark outside the box.
“Shhh, little one. Pencils can make mistakes,” Azmeri murmured to console the poor writing implement.
The sharpener was raised again, and the concept that the choices and mistakes of a pet could possibly matter were carved away from her mind by its blade. The pencil noticed she was shorter now. It felt so good to be reduced even further.
With a dextrous twist, the pink eraser was brought down to the contract, and Abby moaned and whimpered as she felt the incredible sensation of having her soft, rubbery surface be shaved away by use as well. She was such a good pencil, doing exactly what she had been made for.
The pencil flipped again, and with a satisfying flourish, five more agonizingly pleasurable strokes were made in the final box. Now, there was only one thing left. The signature.
Tears of joy ran down the pencil’s face as she was moved to the line that would seal her fate. But her tip failed to be rubbed, hovering just over the paper.
“Please, please, claim me,” she begged her Affini.
“And here I thought I was breaking a proud Terran hero. Pleading already?”
“I don't want to be that,” whined the pencil. “I want to be put in my place, be perfectly made to be a pet, just like you said!”
“How could I resist such a cutie like you volunteering, then?
A
The pencil moaned as she felt herself slide along the contract. Part of her graphite was being left behind by every stroke, shrinking her entire being forever.
Abby
The pencil shuddered as the new first name that had been chosen for her was written out.
Abby Tr
She whined, she thrashed, she needed to be claimed, she wasn't supposed to be independent, all that had been shaved away.
Abby Triconde,
Her body felt electric as her owner’s last name replaced any she had ever had before. It felt so right. She was made for this.
Abby Triconde, First
She sobbed, with the reminder she was to be her owners first, and digitized to immortal companionship.
Abby Triconde, First Floret
She screamed in joy, an unclaimed pet no longer.
“M-mistress…”
The pencil’s Mistress took her from the human hand with a tendril, and lifted her from the paper, holding her up at Abby’s eye level. The vine coiled around the pencil from tip to eraser, and she felt so owned, so possessed.
“Yes, pet. You are mine. Mine to change, mine to sharpen, mine to erase and shape and play with. But most of all you are one thing. Do you know what it is?”
The vines began to flex, and the wood started to creak. Abby gasped as she felt herself bending slightly, brittle wooden fibers deforming past their limit. It was too much for her to bear, but she was Mistress's property, hers to do with as she pleased.
“Yours to break,” whispered the pencil.
SNAP
Abby fell to the desk in two splintered halves. She floated, adrift in raw pleasure, as her mind came undone, falling through the table, falling through the planet, falling into her Owner’s core. Deeper than a black hole, greater than she could ever even understand, vaster than a few pounds of grey matter in a skull could ever hope to comprehend.
Her ego came apart, scattered to the cosmos like graphite dust. There was no her, but there was her Mistress's love, everywhere, swallowing her whole.
There was a small pressure in the port on her head, a hypnotic counteragent hastily applied by injection. She comprehended little of it. Azmeri pulled the girl in for a tight hug, speaking with an endearingly frantic tone wholly unlike the domineering confidence she had shown mere minutes ago.
“Oh by the Everbloom what have I done, I promise I didn't mean those terrible things I said in the living room, well, I meant most of them, but only the ones about how perfect and lovely you are and how you are perfectly meant to be a pet by cosmic fate, but also my pet specifically, and we went so far off script from what I planned, and admittedly I really enjoyed sharpening you, because it was so thrilling to cut parts of you away and I feel so awful for that, but then I let you think you weren't owned for a whole forty five seconds and I probably traumatized you and I'm such a terrible owner I'm so sorry my beloved pet I didn't-”
Abby blinked slowly as her Owner babbled, cognitive functions slowly coming back online. She was in Azmeri’s office, and there was a broken pencil and a fPL-0001 filled out, and… it all came rushing back. A grin split her face as she remembered the ridiculous caricature of herself as a feralist she had been playing, and how much damn fun it had been.
“Woah,” she finally said, remembering that Azmeri had described that as a small preview of her plans.
Azmeri had finally completed her run on sentence while Abby’s brain defragmented, but was still rocking back and forth fretfully, her eyes going practically wobbly.
“Oh stars... Am I only the sum of my mistakes?" She looked ready to weep, if not rebloom on the spot. "I'm so scared of hurting you, please forgive me for having selfish desires."
The dazed floret looked at her, slowly blinking as her brain attempted to figure out which way was up and failing spectacularly. "Mistress... Can you turn me into a pencil again?"
