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The witch looked skeptical. The bear tapped the end of the cigarette holder against her cheeks as she thought, staring out into the distance. Each tap was timed with the tick of the grandfather clock that stood behind her. "Just for... a weekend?"

Adina squirmed in her seat. The jackal bit her lip, swallowed and did her best to speak politely, as one did with magic users. "Yes, ma'am."

The witch, who stylized herself as Miss Marybelle (no first name), took a long drag on her cigarette holder and puffed out a whorl of smoke that spun and danced through the air before dissipating. The bear turned over her hand, making the holder twirl through the air as her wrist sparkled and gleamed with the many bangles decorating it. "You do understand that we are not a vacation spot, yes?"

"Absolutely, ma'am. Of course, ma'am."

"We do very important work here."

"Yes, ma'am. I know."

The witch looked at the jackal. Her gaze seemed to bore into her and made the jackal want to disappear. She reached down and buzzed an intercom she had on her desk. No computers or tablets or Alexas here. Everything had the slight air of vintage. "Number 12," she spoke clearly into the intercom, "please report to my office."

Adina's ears swiveled as they caught the sound of the door to the office opening, and then the swift click-click-click of high-heeled boots strutting across the floor. The jackal kept her gaze forward, on the witch, until the newcomer had stopped at the side of the desk.

She was a drone. Her entire body was covered in a black latex-like substance, and her head was equally encased in a thick hood that obscured all her features. Judging by the build, she was a jaguar or leopard. Maybe a well-built cheetah. She stood in place, unmoving except to breathe.

"Number 12," the witch said clearly, "please remove your helmet."

The drone lifted her arms robotically to her head, and peeled the hood off. Underneath was a jaguar, staring directly ahead, mouth slightly open but unmoving. Adina glanced down and noticed that the interior of the hood had a phallic gag which would be held just inside her mouth.

Miss Marybelle took another long drag. The smoke this time rose slowly out of her mouth as she spoke. "Number 12 was the victim of a spell gone awry. An apprentice wizard was working on a simple befuddlement charm. But he got the ratios disastrously wrong. She has been like this ever since."

When the bear's lapse into silence persisted, Adina tried to speak to get her to continue. The jackal's voice was timid, even to her own ear. "I hope that wizard is not practicing magic any longer, ma'am."

"Indeed not." The bear wrapped her knuckles briefly against the desk, her many rings clanging against the wood. She pointed the cigarette holder at Adina like a dagger. "I want to make this absolutely clear. Despite all that has happened to her, number 12 is still a person, still deserving of basic respect and dignity."

"Of course, ma'am! I wouldn't suggest otherwise... ma'am." She bit her lip again, worrying her hands in her lap. "But I'm sorry if I misunderstood. You do take... volunteers, don't you, ma'am?"

"I do. Usually for much longer periods than a weekend. About half my staff are here 'in recovery' as it were, like number 12. The other half are volunteers. Some want to get away from their own troubles. Some need a break from their routine. Some have a fetish for it. They stay for a year, for a summer, for a week, but rarely much shorter." The witch's eyes narrowed. "Those who want just a day are usually hoping to wriggle out of the magic and spend an afternoon fucking a mindless sexdoll unobserved. That I do not condone."

"No, ma'am. Of course not, ma'am. That's not why I'm here though." She rubbed that back of her neck, and then belatedly thought to add, "Ma'am!"

"Why then are you hoping to volunteer to be a drone for a weekend?"

"Insight, ma'am."

Smoke puffed out of the bear's nostrils and encircled her head for a moment, even though Adina could not remember the last time she had held the cigarette holder to her lips. "An unexpected answer. What kind of insight were you looking for?"

Adina struggled to answer. Eventually she gestured for the bear to lean closer. The witch did, and the jackal also leaned forward and began to whisper frantically into the bear's ear, as if afraid or ashamed to say the words too loudly.

When she was done, she collapsed into her seat, tongue lolling and panting, and the bear considered, once more tapping the cigarette holder against her cheek in time with the grandfather clock. "Interesting. And understandable. I take it then you wish to experience a more sexual side to being a drone."

"If possible, ma'am," the jackal said, worrying her hands in her lap once more.

The bear considered for a long time. Adina kept checking the grandfather clock nervously to make sure she wasn't trapped in some time loop. (You never could be sure with witches.) "Very well. Number 12, please take our guest to the induction room. She will be number 85."

The feline began walking out of the room without so much as a nod of acknowledgement.

"Better follow her, girl."

Adina bowed a quick thanks and rushed out after the quickly moving drone. It didn't give her much time to think about her situation. The witch lived in an enormous mansion (because of course she did) and Adina had only seen a brief glimpse of it when a different drone had escorted her to the Miss Marybelle's office earlier. Now that she was going to be here for the weekend, she tried to understand the layout, but they were moving through it too briskly.

They passed by a variety of other drones, all dressed in the same sleek black rubber, although some wore more or less over different parts of their body. Most were attending to various cleaning duties, but in the main foyer several were living works of art, posed in decorative positions and moving every now and then to relieve stress on one muscle or another. Each of the drones, regardless of their duties, had a number emblazoned somewhere on their clothes. Adina saw 5, 18, 24 and 61 just among those posing the in foyer, and as she followed the jaguar, she was surprised at how easy it was to think about her simply as 12.

Number 12 took the jackal to side room, opening the door, and powering through with her quick high-heeled step. Inside was what Adina imagined a study would look like. Walls were covered with bookshelves. There were a few desks covered with reading materials, and a pair of elegantly carved wooden chairs arranged to look out of a tall window.

The jaguar spoke suddenly, her voice low and distant, as if coming from someone half asleep. "Please sort the discarded books back onto the shelves. One book at a time. The shelves are arranged alphabetically."

Adina glanced around. "This is... how to become a drone?"

Number 12 did not seem to understand the question and just stood in the middle of the room, repeating her previous instructions.

The jackal sighed. Well, witches were odd some times. Maybe this was the equivalent of a practical joke. Or maybe this was the work to prove she was serious about what she wanted. Either way, she picked up the first book from the desk. It was a popular history book. Adina scanned the shelves until she found the right place and slid the book home. She expected the job to be done quickly, but as she picked up the second book, she realized that she had forgotten where she had filed the first book; indeed, she had forgotten where any of the letters were in the room except that the A's were in a certain corner. She had to essentially start from scratch. That wasn't so bad on the second book, but it happened again on the third, and here she realized that there were so many books that she needed to carefully run through not just the first letter but the second letter and the third. (What sort of name for a book was "Chposs Home" anyway?)

Soon she got into a rhythm, chanting off the letters of the alphabet like a kid singing the song, until she got to the right place for the first letter, then again until she got to the right place for the second letter, and so on. It was a surprisingly enjoyable task, but not one that took much thought.

"Please remove your jacket to make sorting quicker."

Adina quickly slid the jacket off and laid it on the end of the desk, taking as little time to do it as possible, so she didn't lose the rhythm of the alphabet now firmly lodged in her mind. The next book was slid quickly into its place on the shelf.

"Please remove your shoes to make sorting quicker."

And off they came, set by the side of the room as she continued to sort. Then off came her jewelry, her phone and wallet, her shirt, her pants, her bra and panties, until she was sorting completely naked and thinking nothing of it. All she needed to do was sort, and to do that, she had to keep chanting the alphabet. On the next book, however, she struggled. What were the X books doing right after the Q's?

"When lost, start at the beginning again."

She returned to the A's and found the right spot for the book with no trouble at all.

On the next round, the title had numbers as well as letters. She had completely ceased to question why a book would be titled "Exqnzwo73". However, for the numbers, she found herself counting every single number one at a time. In this case, she counted slowly from "Exqnzwo1", then "Exqnzwo2", then "Exqnzwo3", and so on up to "Exqnzwo73".

The next book had a simple title of "24". She walked the room again, starting at the A's and on to the Z's, before starting at the number 1. But this shelf was in a hallway that hadn't been there before, leading to another room, nearly identical to the first. There were more desks with more books to be sorted. These books had only numbers in the titles, so there was no reason to go back to the previous room. This room held the numbers. Instead of chanting the alphabet, she counted. Every few times, she got lost in the shelves and had to start over, but now she did this automatically.

After the next book, the jaguar drone spoke again. "To make sorting quicker, please wear the gloves."

On the desk next to the book was a pair of long latexy gloves long enough to stretch up to her shoulder. She put them on mechanically as she continued counting in her mind. When she adjusted each finger to make sure the fit was tight, she counted another number. When she rolled the sleeve up her arm an inch, she counted another number. And then, once both were in place, she took the book, started over from 1, and found its place on the shelf.

"To make sorting quicker, please wear the stockings."

Same sheer latex-like fabric rolled up her legs. One had the number 85 clearly labeled on the thigh. And once they was snugly in position, she sorted and placed the next book.

"To make sorting quicker, please wear the heels."

These were slipped on easily, although it took two more books worth of time to adjust to walking in them. Simple, short steps were needed.

"To make sorting quicker, please wear the hood."

It took the jackal a few moments to understand how the hood was supposed to be worn, and the sight of the phallic gag in it nearly broke through the thick fog of numbers and books and sorting that had become her world. Then she thought that it looked rather like her boyfriend's cock, and she happily accepted it into her mouth. The rest of the hood rolled easily over her head, with minimal assistance from the jaguar to ensure a snug fit around her neck.

The jackal's ears could not turn inside the tight confines. Her nose constantly smelled the rubbery tang of the latex, and forced her to breathe through slow, labored gulps of air. She could only see directly in front of her. With so little sensory stimulus, her world contracted even tighter around the numbers, the counting, and the books.

"Continue sorting."

She had to work in simple, steady movements. Each action took a conscious effort. Breathe. Step. Count. Breathe. Step. Count. Breathe. Step. Count. Sort. Place.

The jackal paused at the next book. Its title was "85".

"This book is you," the jaguar drone explained. "Read and understand who you are."

For the first time, the jackal opened the cover of the book and began to read. There was only one sentence on the first page. It said, "You are 85."

She was 85. Any connection to the name Adina was gone, like a childhood nickname long unused.

85 turned the page.

"85 is a drone."

She was a drone.

85 turned the page.

"85 is property of Mistress Marybelle."

She was the property of Mistress Marybelle.

"85 will follow all orders from Mistress or her drones."

She would follow all orders from Mistress or her drones.

"85 is eager to obey"

She was eager to obey.

"85 is aroused."

She was aroused.

"85 is horny."

She was horny.

"85 is needy."

She was needy.

As 85 continued to read, she continued to count as well, counting the pages one at a time. And in the pauses in between numbers, her sex clenched gently. It was as though desire was filling up the crevices of her mind. Anything that wasn't counting or following orders was rapidly becoming full of half-formed images of her boyfriend. Throbbing shafts, flexing muscles, tongues running eagerly over lips, a feeling of fullness and deepness of a cock sunk deep inside her.

The jaguar drone had taken the book and set it down. 85 had read the last of it anyway. She stood, awaiting orders, counting silently to herself and clenching on nothing.

But not for long.

The jaguar had the jackal lift first one leg and then another, fitting her legs into some new underwear. As she lifted it up, the jaguar ran her fingers over the new drone's labia and spread them open. A dildo attached to the inside of the garment was pressed to her sex and then eased inside as they were hiked upward. A moment later a plug was positioned against the jackal's tailhole and (after a brief command to relax and let it in, which 85 obeyed without question) both toys were lodged deep inside.

"There is one book remaining. When it is placed on the shelf, your task is completed and you may go."

This book had the simple title of "100". 85 started from 1 and began counting up along the bookshelf, her sex grinding and clenching against the toys inside with each number. She could feel an unexpected anticipation rising in her as she got into the 90s, and then, suddenly, a vibrator went off deep within the dildo. The sudden wave of ecstatic pleasure overwhelmed all else and the drone lost count. So she began again. But once more, as she reached the 90s, the vibe went off.

"Number 85 will maintain composure."

The next time the vibe went off, 85 did not even shudder in reaction, even as her mind reeled. Twice more she tried to make it to number 100, and she failed.

"Number 85 will set the book down and shelve it later."

The jackal drone set the book down and waited, legs quivering slightly in need and her short tail wagging instinctually, for an order.

Her induction was complete.

* * *

85 stood in the foyer. She was just past the front door and was leaning towards it, hands outstretched in a beckoning posture. She barely moved except to switch which leg she put her weight on. She had no knowledge of the passing of time except for the eternal counting in her mind.

She also had no knowledge of what was happening around her. It simply wasn't important to her job, which was to welcome guests as art. She only knew that guests arrived when the opening and closing of the door blew cold air over her naked chest and made her nipples harden.

Every now and then a hand felt along her body. Her breasts were groped. Her butt was kneaded. A finger slid under the panties and caressed over her clit. But still 85 stood still. She did not moan. Art did not moan. But she sucked a little harder at the gag in her mouth and clenched tighter around the toy in her sex every time she was touched.

* * *

85 was on her knees. An unknown male was standing naked in front of her. She had her hands around his shaft and was pumping steadily, rhythmically with the numbers she counted. He came on 164. Hot seed splashed over her breasts, but she barely noticed. Her hands dropped to her side until the next male came to stand before her. She reached out and wrapped her fingers around his shaft, starting to count the strokes again.

After several more males, the vibrator within her lit up, pulsing and pounding away until lights burst in her eyes and she came hard. Her subconscious flowed to the forefront on a tidal wave of fantasies, imagining herself kneeling in front of her boyfriend, pumping his shaft until he came all over her chest.

And then the orgasm was over, the next male stood in front of her, and she began stroking him again. The only sign that she had even cum was the dripping of her juices onto the floor below.

* * *

85 was serving tea. There were two cups for two women. One with sugar, one without. One was Mistress Marybelle. 85 did not know the other. She did not need to know the other.

When not actively serving, she stood in the corner, on display. She adopted a pose subtly provocative. One arm was outstretched towards the ceiling, the other held across her chest, hiding one breast but not the other. Her hips were turned just to the side, hiding her sex from view. In her subconscious, she remembered adopting a similar pose in bed one morning, seeing the way that excited her boyfriend, a bulge growing visibly under his boxers.

The plug inside her thrummed and buzzed occasionally, but by now she was so well conditioned that she did not move even as an orgasm overtook her.

Then she prepped the next cup of tea.

* * *

85 was thrusting. Her form had been augmented by a strap-on dildo. Beneath her was the vixen she had served tea to, moaning lewdly. Every now and then, the vixen would call for her to thrust faster or slower, and 85 did. 85 obeyed. Regardless of the pace she worked, she counted. Each thrust was numbered and sorted in her mind.

The vixen cried out in ecstasy as 85 continued to jackhammer away with deep plunges. Finally she couldn't take any more and cried out for the drone to stop.

85 stood stock-still not even needing the buzz of pleasure within her to be satisfied anymore.

* * *

85 was cleaning. The duster slid in mechanical motions through her hand. Left and right. Left and right. Left 1, right 2, left 3, right 4.

In the gaps between sweeps, in between the numbers, there was an ache of desire. 85 was horny and aroused; the book that was her had said so. But there hadn't been an orgasm in minutes? hours? a day? The dildo and plug had been removed. But she knew and understood: obey and you will be rewarded.

Left 1, right 2, left 3, right 4.

85 cleaned a little faster.

* * *

85 held a book in her hand. She had to place it on the shelf. She counted along the numbers. 1... 2... 3... It was familiar. It was comforting.

90... 91... 92...

A part of her half-expected a vibrator to go off inside her sex and scramble her counting. but it didn't.

97... 98... 99... 100...

She placed the book on the shelf. And as soon as she had done so, Adina remembered who she was.

Awareness creeped back into the jackal's mind. She reached up and began to ease the hood off. It tugged and pulled at her fur for a moment, but otherwise came off easily. And once it was off, a part of Adina missed the feel of it clinging to her fur and the feel of the shaft holding her muzzle open.

She turned and nearly jumped when she saw the witch sitting there, sipping on her tea.

"I hope you found the insight you were looking for," she said and took another sip. The cloud of smoke from her cigarette holder had formed a little halo over the bear's head. Adina had to fight to think of her as Miss Marybelle or as the witch, not as Mistress. Her Mistress.

"I... uh... yeah... hold on." Adina swallowed and took a deep breath. She'd been a drone. A drone for two and a half days. It was Monday, almost noon. She knew that. She knew that because 85 had to know what time it was. "I'm just..." her brain supplied many possible conclusions to that sentence. I'm a little confused still. I'm standing nearly naked in front of a woman I barely know and I don't mind. I'm unbearably horny. That last one took greatest prominence. Again it did not matter that the witch was there. Her hand found its way to her sex and started thrusting away as she moaned.

"Hands at your side."

Adina obeyed before remembering that she wasn't a drone. She didn't have to obey. "But I..."

"You'll want to hold on to that desire a little while longer, dear."

Adina sluggishly realized what the witch meant. It was Monday. Almost noon!

"I'm going to be late! Where are my clothes? I need to--"

The witch waved a hand in the air. The door to the room opened, except it did not open into the witch's mansion, as it should have. Instead it opened right into Adina's home. "Go, dear. With my blessing."

Adina dashed through the portal and home. She had just enough time for a quick shower.

* * *

There was a jingling of keys at the door. A male jackal came through and let his heavy suitcase fall with a thud. "Honey, I'm home!" he called out. He staggered into the kitchen, got himself a quick glass of water, and then nearly dropped it as his eyes focused on the sight before him. There, at the entryway to their bedroom, was Adina. She wore almost nothing, only a pair of shoulder-length black gloves and thigh-high stockings with a number 85 faintly visible on her thigh.

Whatever words he wanted to say were blocked by the other jackal as she flung herself onto him, kissing him deeply. There was hunger in her touch and she began to slide down his body, undoing the buttons of his shirt with her tongue (where had she learned that?) and then throwing his pants to the floor. She had never before wrapped her breasts around his shaft and let the soft fur of them tickle his length as she gave him head, but he was not going to complain about it.

When he got close, she knelt back and just stroked him, strong rhythmic mechanical strokes as she stared hungrily at his cock. He couldn't hold back. He came with a grunt, shooting his load all over her breasts.

But she wasn't done. She leaned in, nuzzled and licked all over his shaft and suckled briefly on his balls. His length spent about three seconds thinking of going soft before it surged to full mast again, ready for more.

"Bedroom, now," she said.

He followed her like a lost puppy, tail wagging, cock dripping onto the carpet, and head dancing among the clouds. And there, on the bed, she rode him, bouncing on his lap until they both came.

What he didn't know was that she was counting every thrust.

* * *

"That was... that was something," the male jackal said as he panted on the bed post-sex. "Apparently I should go on more weekend work trips."

Adina laughed and kissed him again.

"So what brought this on? I want to know so I can make sure it happens again."

Adina blushed just a little, and one of her ears went a flat against her head in that cute way it did when she was feeling embarrassed. "I was just thinking about what you said last week, about what you like. Aaaaand I did some research, and I think I have a bit of insight into this drone fetish of yours."

"You weren't so sure about it before."

"And then I did the research. And I'm open to exploring it more."

This time he lifted his head up and kissed her. "Any ideas on where you'd like to start?"

Adina traced a hand down over his form and ended at his sheath, brushing a thumb along it. "I have heard about this witch in town..."