A Conspiracy of Order

Dapper-Drone was released from the Nest into a pool of his own seed, something that did not surprise the host in the slightest. The constant pleasure that came from being hooked up to the Nest meant that it was the only time that he really felt the utter bliss that he used to feel with each coupling before the parasite had become part of his life. It was…odd, in some ways, knowing that he had decided so very willingly to get rid of that part of his pleasure, his life, his fun.

As he stood in front of Westin Regalis, the pegasus’s eyes completely dazed as Twilight fed him another dose of urine – the scent of which was surprisingly fruity, all things considered – he knew that he had a brief moment while the parasite within him was pulling itself together with its new orders. There was no full control just yet, no shoving into the back of his own skull where he would sit idle until needed.

For the moment, for this brief moment, he had some awareness, some will.

Not that he could use it, nor would he use it against the Nest. Despite everything, some part of him – programmed or not – still approved of the great and powerful being, and he knew for a fact that it was better for the ponies of Equestria to have this come for them. The Nest would make life better for everyone, he was sure.

Yet, there was still some vague sense of regret, something that Dapper-Drone couldn’t entirely quantify despite his best attempts. There was a loss, a sense of something missing, and there was no getting it back.

Not now.

Not ever, perhaps.

As he watched Westin’s eyes glaze over again, he knew that it wouldn’t be long before he was fully released. Twilight-Drone was already stepping away from his face, the mare backing up to take her shift against the Nest to finish off the programming. Her time connected to it always did more for the Nest’s processing power than his did, and he knew that the Nest would prefer that Twilight-Drone stay hooked up to it permanently, but there was only so much that any host body could take. Staying perpetually connected to the Nest would eventually overheat the skull and mind, burning the host out completely and possibly killing them. Perhaps, in the future, there would be a use for prisoners that way, for those that had defied the Nest too violently and would never be useful elsewhere, but for the moment, with two – and soon, three – hosts, there was no point in wasting them.

Westin jerked, and for a split-second, it almost seemed like he was trying to fight. His wings flicked, almost extending, but stopped in mid-reach. His eyes rolled back, his cock spurted once, and then…

Then it was done.

With a soft ‘splorch’, the tentacle up the pony’s ass came free, allowing the stallion to stand on his own. He still stood with his mouth hanging open, panting softly, but the panting sound was slowly fading away.

Dapper-Drone knew the feeling. The other stallion was slowly coming to grips with the programming rammed into his brain during the last day and night. The long session of pushing, changing, and altering his mind would be taking effect now, gradually pulling the more conscious part of his mind towards the back of his skull. Not quite making him a passenger in his own body yet, but more like following a set of predetermined channels through his thoughts, focused on the goals of the Nest and no more.

He remembered his first days, but he knew that Twilight-Drone had been different to him. He remembered how she had been…almost damaged when she had first finished her programming. It had taken putting a parasite in her to be able to pass again, and he knew that he had been different. The first host, the one that had been the most experimental, the one that took it in stages, while the others had been forced through to the end as fast as possible without any breaks.

It’s no wonder that they are…damaged…by the programming, Dapper-Drone thought. They were changed harder, more abruptly, no in-between stages…

Whereas he…he still remembered. Not well, not with fondness, but he remembered.

As Westin slowly woke up, his body still adjusting to the different feelings he had, the Nest took the next step. Dapper-Drone watched as one of the many hollow roots of the plant lifted from the earth, and he saw not one, but multiple worms inside of it. The Nest had grown massive in just a few days, looming over ten feet high and with roots that were much longer and more wide-spread than they used to be. It was rapidly becoming something unstoppable, and even in his state of mild regret, he still felt like there was something to be proud of there, that he was part of this whole thing.

It lowered the root to Westin’s ass, and the heir to the Regalis fortune lifted his tail as he – as all of them – had been programmed to do around the Nest. The worm at the end of the root slithered forward, slime-covered, and it passed the already-stretched pucker with ease. It was inside of him, then, deep inside, and the stallion twitched, his cock flexing out, in, out, in.

It was at that moment that Dapper-Drone felt his own parasite finally seize control again. The pressure inside changed, and there was a clenching feeling around his prostate. The sensation went right down through his dick, almost like there was a tube running through his insides – which, in some ways, there was – that forced his shaft to extend in kind.

Down.

Down.

Up.

Up.

Down.

Up.

It was a signal of sorts, though he knew that it was an obvious one. The Nest was still experimenting, learning, figuring out –

Westin responded, pushing his cock out, flicking it twice, and then pulling it back in. The parasite in Dapper-Drone’s ass surged with a sense of satisfaction.

Call and respond, via the body. It was a rough thing, something that would only work with stallions, but it was a start. It was the beginning of a code, and something that might be workable…in some areas. Not in the cities, not in –

Another cut-off, and Dapper-Drone felt the pressure that he had become all too used to shoving him further and further towards the back of his own head. He went with it, fading to little more than audio as he heard Westin talking.

“There is a plan,” the pegasus said.

“A plan for more hosts.” His voice, his mouth, but not his words.

“We take stallions for security.”

“Then subjects for hosts.”

“Build up a group.”

“Built up a ‘herd’ of hosts.”

“Such…imprecision.”

“It is a limitation.”

“This host…craves pleasure. It wants to use them, the way that it has used others.”

“It will learn its place. If it does not, teach it.”

Dapper-Drone’s own voice had just pronounced an odd judgment on his old comrade, and despite himself, he would have smiled if he could. He had always thought that Westin had been a bit much for all that he had been a useful pegasus and a useful investor. The idea of the hedonistic stallion getting a taste of his own medicine was almost an enjoyable thought.

But that was enough of him. He was pushed away, and he knew that time would pass.

And pass it did. He ‘woke’ as two other stallions approached a table. He didn’t recognize the locale, but he could tell that they hadn’t gone far. His body was still energized, awake, which meant that they hadn’t spent a day walking, just a half hour, maybe a full one. The other stallions sat down, the two earth ponies each getting a cup of cider from a passing bar-mare.

“Thank you for coming,” Dapper-Drone said. “This is a marvelous opportunity for you.”

“Heard that you needed someone strong,” one of the two ponies said, the blue one to the silent green one. “Thought that we’d come take a look.”

“That’s correct.”

“What’s the job?” the blue one said.

“Just a simple thing. Keep an eye on the door in the library while Twilight Sparkle runs some experiments. You know how it is with the alicorns; all that magic has to be kept in one secure place, after all.”

They nodded; the reputation of the various alicorns had been embedded in the country for years, and it was easy to play on it now.

Dapper-Drone had various thoughts of how to bring the con around, to make the stallions want to be part of this. The art of the sell was to make the buyer feel like they were getting something amazing, that they had an opportunity that they couldn’t just walk away from. There were few enough that could do that, but he knew how to pull the minds and wants of others to his purposes.

However, he wasn’t getting the chance. The parasite had been given a mission, and it was pushing forward to accomplish it, giving only lip-service to the various ideas that bubbled up from Dapper-Drone’s isolated cell.

“We’ll be paying well,” his voice said. “And there’ll be no need for you to ever come in contact with the magic.”

“Mmmph. That’s…better than some of the other offers. We don’t have to actually be used for experiments, do we?” the green one asked.

“Not at all.”

There were ways to do this better. They could sell this as a sort of tease. These two were country bumpkins, probably from out past Apple Acres, which meant that they were lonely. They were done with the season, which meant that they would want interaction. It would be all too easy to say that there’d be times when Twilight would be so busy that they’d get easy looks up under her tail, or that there’d be some mares that’d need carrying and imply that there was a chance that they could get a feel or a look, or that there’d be magic that’d give them some fun between the different experiments.

There were all kinds of lures that they could use to not have to spend too much money and make the pair of stallions more interested, but his parasite wasn’t using them, nor was it using him. Dapper-Drone was ever-more a shell and little more.

The parasite addressed their fears, but was relying on them to provide the want. That wasn’t how it worked. That wasn’t how any sort of salesmanship worked.

Completely as expected, Dapper-Drone watched as they bargained rather than taking the deal. It was too late to try and make it sound better, and it was pure damage control from that moment on. In the end, the stallions took the job, but for 50% more pay than they were supposed to be offered.

The purse that Westin-Drone must have given them upon leaving the library was a great deal lighter when the stallions left with their down-payment, and Dapper-Drone was put to sleep again.

“Yeeep, I reckon I could.”

Dapper-Drone woke to the familiar voice of Big Mac, the sound of largest stallion – or near enough that it made no difference – in Ponyville shocking him out of his own isolation. He would have blinked if it weren’t for the fact that the parasite, once again, was in full control of every function of their body.

Of his body.

“You think you could keep an eye on things? Or you think that you could take the deal?” his voice said.

“I reckon. Yep. I reckon I could take a deal.”

“…If?”

The impatience of the parasite filtered up through the link, and Dapper-Drone would have laughed if there was still humor to be had. His memories of Big Mac were filled with moments like this, reminders that you couldn’t talk to this stallion the way that you did any other client. You had to build your questions around the idea of one or two word responses, three if you were really lucky. The fact that the parasite was stuck in a loop with these repeated answers meant that it still didn’t understand the situation, not entirely.

Dapper-Drone tried to push an answer forward. The parasite, out of desperation, took it.

“We have security. We need someone in the lab, keeping Twilight safe.”

“Yeeeeep.”

“You’re strong.”

“Yeeeeep.”

“We want you for that job.”

“We?”

“Me, my partner, and Twilight.”

“Ah reckon, I could.”

“For the right price?”

“Yuuup.”

“And that price is?”

Exactly the wrong question to ask. Big Mac just shrugged.

Dapper-Drone would have been tearing out his own mane watching someone else push this sort of amateur line of bargaining. The idea had been to take it slow, and then offer a price that actually played into helping Sweet Apple Acres as much as it did Big Mac himself. Say that part of the deal would be coming by during the next Applebucking season and putting some of the subjects out there as low-paid workers and volunteers. Say that some of the experiments would go towards making bigger and better apples. Say that they were developing something that would help their business.

Any lie would do. Big Mac would be taken in and infested soon enough. They didn’t need to come up with a good story. But the parasite just took the idea of getting him in slowly and then asking him what he wanted.

That.

Wasn’t.

How.

It.

Worked.

Dapper-Drone, even in his place way down deep in the back of his mind, knew that, but the parasite was different to how it had been when it was first pushed into him. That first infestation had been done days ago, now, and while it hadn’t been equal, he had still been more than just a vapid passenger in the back of his own head. With each successive iteration, however, with each new programming session and download time with the Nest, he had been pushed further and further back, the parasite given more and more overall control and less requirement to listen to him, or use him, or anything.

Dapper-Drone knew that this was bad. He knew that this was a detriment to what the Nest wanted, but due to the position he was in, he couldn’t say it.

It didn’t help that he was loyal to the Nest, completely loyal. Whether that was programming or his own need for management was impossible to say any longer, but what was certain was the fact that he wanted the Nest to succeed. He wanted everyone in Equestria to come under the common direction of the Nest and its needs. The fact that its own subordinates, the parasites, were behaving so stupidly really annoyed him.

But there was nothing that he could do except keep offering ideas and hope that the parasite took them. He threw out payment suggestions, possibilities, but knew that every one of them was going to have to be more expensive now that they had passed the point of no return. The gentle lie would have given them a discount, ease of access, and trust from Big Mac that they’d now have to buy.

Stupid.

Stupid.

Stupid.

Another flicker, and he woke to find Applejack right in his face. The mare was all but furious.

“What the cotton-picking hay did you tell my brother?” she shouted.

This time the parasite was listening. This time the parasite was begging him for an answer. And a less loyal, more vindictive host might have actually waited for a few seconds, forced themselves to silence out of petulance for the sake of what had been done to them before.

Dapper-Drone was not one of those hosts. He wanted this to work. And for the first time in too long, the parasite listened completely.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about. I thought the season was over; if I was wrong, I’m terribly sorry. How can I make it up to you?”

Customer service was part and parcel with selling goods for any merchant. If you didn’t take care of your customers – a fact that was lost on many merchants as the days of contracts faded and the days of whimsy had fallen upon them – you weren’t likely to keep any when you hit the first hurdle of displeasure. It was key that you kept a constant upkeep of your clients going, making sure that they were happy with you.

Applejack’s fury abated, if only slightly, and she pulled her face back. They were just outside of the orchard, he realized, and that meant that they’d probably met Big Mac at the orchard itself. They were ranging far afield, indeed.

“Sorry. I’m just a little upset, ya know? Ain’t like a pony to come by and poach my brother off me, ya know?”

Dapper-Drone nodded, the parasite pushing him for what to do next. It had clearly been knocked around a great deal, and thankfully, one piece of programming that the Nest had pushed in seemed to be that, if it failed multiple times, it was to use all sources of information for its survival rather than continuing to follow just the objective directives that it had been given. There was an outlet, it was just one that came in as too-little, too-late, or near enough to it.

Dapper-Drone kept it to the nod, and Applejack, honest Applejack, continued to explain.

“See, I was planning to get a jump-start on the next season. Plant early, clear some ground before the winter came in and froze it all up. Keep the cursing to a minimum next year when we started working hard, heh. But I can’t do that without Big Mac.”

“Ah, I see. That is a problem.”

“So, the way I see it, I gotta talk to you about it. Any chance that you can replace my brother with someone else?”

Dapper-Drone considered it. There was the possibility of getting other stallions, but they had Big Mac under a contract now. Releasing him from it would mean having to get two other stallions to do the same job, and likely paying more. The amount of bits was immaterial to the Nest, but Dapper-Drone had been a merchant long enough to know that even the Regalis fortune that they now had access to was finite. There was only so much that Westin would be able to give them without arousing some sort of suspicion.

But even aside from the financials, having Big Mac on their side gave them something else: muscle. The sheer size of that stallion frightened off most of the other stallions, the rough ones and the annoying ones that wanted to just do what they wanted. More to the point, he was informed by the parasite that getting Big Mac to agree had opened up a great deal more interest in the experiments, which would lead to more hosts.

Cutting him loose wasn’t an option. The parasite would have just said no, and that would have started the argument up again. The smarter option, the option that furthered the Nest’s priorities, lay elsewhere.

“I’m afraid that we cannot,” Dapper-Drone said. “But what I can promise is many more volunteers working for you.”

“What are ya talking about? This whole experiment’s just you and Twilight, right?”

“That’s correct, but we can put down a volunteer clause in the contract that we have everyone participating in the experiment sign off on. That means that when planting time comes around, you’ll have a small army of volunteers – free workers – going through your orchard.”

“…Huh. You’d do that?”

“We’ll pay for that.”

A small lie, but this was the time for it. And it seemed to work, as Applejack clearly considered the option. But there needed to be a sweetener, something to make it work out for her. Dapper-Drone came up with it instantly.

“And in return, we’ll throw in some spells from Twilight; hovering baskets, self-sorting containers, and dewormers as needed.”

“Oh-ho, now that’s a bargain!” Applejack grinned. “Dapper, you got yourself a deal.”

They tapped hooves on it, and the mare turned with her head held high and a tune on her lips. Dapper-Drone, on the other hand, was already being pushed towards the back of his own head once more. He had fulfilled his function, and that was all that mattered to the parasite.

Nevermind that he had just saved them from an inquest.

Nevermind that he had just made sure that they weren’t going to be chased all around town.

Nevermind that he had just kept Big Mac as part of the plan.

No, all that mattered was that he had done his job, and now, he could be silenced and sequestered in the back of his own head once more. The parasite was too focused, and that could be problematic…

The parasite in the body of Westin Regalis was in the process of getting bits from the Ponyville bank when its host started complaining. Due to the relatively new nature of the host, and the fact that it had been programmed around the tolerance that it had for the various drugs and substances that it had abused pre-infestation, there were still some annoying levels of individuation within. Outside, the host was no different as it passed one letter of withdrawal after another to the teller on the other side of the barred window, but within, the arguments were more fierce than desired.

I was promised that this would pleasurable, Westin said.

There will be pleasure.

I was told –

The host will be given pleasure when the task is done.

The task can wait. I am not accustomed to being held back.

The parasite within did not feel anger, but it could feel something very similar to frustration, and that was building up rapidly. It had full control, and the host could do nothing, but the barrage of pleasure from the Nest programming this pegasus had done little to quell the desires that Westin Regalis had become accustomed to fulfilling at the drop of a hat. The temptation to shove the stallion’s personality into a little dark hole and keep it there was rising, but the fact that they were still in the process of dealing with bits – a custom that the newly-formed parasite still had only a vague understanding of – meant that it needed the pony’s mind front and center for the moment.

Unfortunately, that meant that the spoiled-rotten part of the stallion’s personality was just as present as his business acumen. The way that he had treated Derpy Hooves, the mail-mare, had been more than slightly slimy, and while the parasite had allowed some of the ‘flirting’ that the stallion wanted to do through for the purposes of staying true to his personality, it held back the rest that would have ended with the equivalent of offering the mail mare a few dozen bits for some back-alley humping. They did not have the time to carry a drugged-out mail carrier back to the Nest for further infestation, and, though it did not understand entirely why, there were rules against further copulatory practices in front of uninfested ponies.

I was allowed.

The host will be quiet.

I am going to be given the pleasure I was promised.

The host will be quiet.

I want –

“Here’s the last of it, sir,” the pony on the other side of the bars said. “Ten thousand bits, all counted.”

“Thank you, good stallion,” the parasite said, pushing the voice of the host to the back of their shared head for the moment. “Do make sure that you keep more bits on hand; I may need to do another withdrawal in the near future.”

The way that the stallion on the other side paled was something that the parasite took note of, but pushed forward without questioning. The objective of the moment had been achieved, which meant that it was time to move on to –

When do I get what I want?

The parasite’s priority list shifted. It had intended to go back to the library, collect Twilight-Drone, and then begin the process of papering the town with the advertisements for the experiments. Dapper-Drone was supposed to be nearly-done with the collection of security, and they would begin the conversion of those overnight. Once they had one, they could leave them tied to the Nest for a longer session, which would speed conversion. The Nest was gathering up more tentacles, and once they had doubled their current host numbers, they could start converting two at a time, or even three, without sacrificing the speed at which it was done.

But with the constant pressure from Westin-Drone, it was time to take steps. It pushed the command ‘Break-In Westin-Drone’ from the bottom of the list to the top, and force-marched their body around the bank. The alley behind was quiet, sandwiched between the bank and a retirement building for other, older equines, and nobody ever stepped back there as far as the stallion’s memories showed.

If Westin-Drone wanted pleasure, then the stallion would receive it.

The parasite twisted itself ever tighter around the stallion’s prostate. The location of its embedding would soon become a place of melding, where a portion of the parasite’s body would become utterly embedded and entrenched against the prostate, to the point where the nerves within that little point of pleasure would be directly connected to the parasite itself. Mere movement would be akin to the pleasure of being anally rutted, and more intense stimulation would be orgasmic beyond measure, if the parasite chose to give it.

But as it stood, there were other things that it could do, more intense, more forced things that would make the point that it desired.

The parasite extended its feelers through the tubing down to the stallion’s orbs, and began swishing them around. The personality-bubble of Westin-Drone seized up slightly as the tendrils stirred up the inside of his balls, pulling at the seed within, forcing pleasure through the nerves that dangled down into the sac proper.

Elsewhere, it forced stimulation through the nerves of the host’s penis, forcing it to drop, making it fall, rise, slap against the belly. Westin-Drone, unlike the other personalities within the Nest, was still feeling the pleasure. Twilight-Drone had subsumed herself into thought-pleasure, allowing herself only the ‘fun’ that came from being connected to the Nest and the hyper-bliss that came from that thought-processing brain work that the Nest put her through. Dapper-Drone, the parasite knew, had become numb to his own body, focused more on the pleasure of the Nest.

Westin-Drone was new.

Westin-Drone was an addict.

And more than that, the parasite didn’t block any of the pleasure. The parasite forced it through to the bubble, inflicting the pleasure on the host, and the host moaned in a way that only a paralyzed, totally controlled stallion could as the body was forced to get erect, blood rushing to the shaft and forcing it harder, harder, and harder still until it was bobbing and leaking.

If Westin-Drone wanted pleasure, then pleasure it would receive.

There was no build-up to the first orgasm. With its total control of the body, the parasite didn’t need to force stimulation to make the orgasm happen. It could have merely drained the sac between the stallion’s hind legs by applying pressure to the sac walls and forcing the testicles to push upwards, to empty themselves through the forced-open passages that connected the testes to the shaft. The emptying could have been as empty of sensation as the parasite wished.

It did not wish that this time. It wished for crippling pleasure.

It forced its connection to the stallion’s nervous system to full strength, and blasted the feeling of pleasure straight through from groin to spine to brain. The stallion’s legs locked as the host’s shaft went up, spasming, squirting, spraying across the ground.

The parasite noted that the first splash had hit the belly-fur, and it adjusted the next spray. Not out of modesty, but to avoid being exposed as a deviant that did such things in the public.

Westin-Drone was panting, happy, but this was no lesson. It was not done yet. It had to break the host.

Pulse.

Another shatter-point of pleasure rammed its way up the host’s spine, and the bubble that was Westin-Drone in their head shook, gasping, trying to shiver and shake. The host did not; the parasite saw to that. But the pleasure continued to rise, the shaft forced down slightly, spraying between their front hooves and creating a filthy puddle of slime and spent seed amid the dirt.

Again.

Again.

Again.

At the sixth burst of forced pleasure, the host started begging for mercy. At the seventh, the coherence of the host was starting to break down. At the eighth, there was no more complaining, merely moaning, and by the ninth, there was just a silent, ragged sense of a mind trying to breathe with lungs that it did not have.

The physical result, of course, was a mess that was beyond the pale, and the parasite turned the stallion’s body away from it. The parasite could feel the little aches of exhaustion and tiredness running up and down the legs of the host, and knew that it had pushed its luck further than it should have. Even with all its control, the physical manifestation of so many rapid orgasms could not be entirely denied.

Its cock slithered back into its sheath by the time it reached the exit of the alley, and the rich, bag-carrying pegasus stumbled as it reached the edge. The parasite cast about for options of how to keep moving –

“Oh dear. Oh, sir, are you okay?”

The parasite turned Westin-Drone’s head to look at the source of the voice. It came from a mare, a white-furred mare with a pink mane and a nurse’s cap on the top of her head. She looked down with kindness and concern, probably no more aware of their debauched doings than anyone else, only seeing the exhaustion that came afterward.

Westin-Drone’s thoughts turned to sensuality. The parasite’s directives of finding other useful hosts saw the nurse’s attire, and knew that there were possibilities there.

“I need…some help.”

“Here, let me get you back on your hooves,” she said. “I’m Nurse Redheart. Do you have a place to stay?”

“Mmmph…I’m staying with Ms. Sparkle. A research retreat.”

“Oh, dear, dear. Let me get you to the library, then.”

Bits and a new potential host for the Nest. The trip had been more than a little productive, after all, despite the general hindrance of Westin-Drone. That would be solved soon enough, however, and the next connection to the Nest would make sure that he was properly educated as to his place within the Nest.