”Incursion detected in sector B-7; Norway. Threat class: B. All personnel at stand-ready. Pilots of Jaeger Arctic Falcon report for duty immediately.”

I glance up at you, my eyes watering slightly from the sustained physical effort you’re putting me through. Arctic Falcon. That’s us. My head jerks slightly, but it is impossible to slip out of the grip that your two hands are exerting on my skull, and all I am left with is a strained, muffled groan through overtaxed lips.

“Shut up,” you grunt, your grin a belabored rictus as you shift your slender hips forward to once more drive your long, hard cock into my throat. “Shut up, shut up, shut up. Almost there..!”

For a split second, our eyes meet across the few feet between your face and your cock, and I recognize the devil-driven need in you to own me, bend me and break me to your will. As if that hasn’t happened already. As if I’m not already on my knees in the middle of a corridor, swallowing your cock to the hilt through the improvised tear in your body suit. I blink, feeling another tear roll down my cheek, and flex my throat obediently around you. You groan and smile, but what little warmth is in the smile is all reserved for the thrill of power you’re experiencing. I know how it is. I know you.

To drift is to step into the mind of another person, to meld into a single, unified consciousness. It requires trust and compatibility, and a measure of vulnerability as all of your innermost secrets are revealed. When I signed up, I thought I could handle it; four years with the American infantry, then six with the UN’s aeronautical R&D division, a warrior woman from a family of soldiers, born and bred and trained to excel above and beyond what was required of me. Tall, lean, with a physique rivaling that of Athena herself and fierce, brown eyes under a swept-back length of black hair—looking at me, you’d think I was made to pilot the jaegers, and I sure didn’t have any problem getting accepted into the jaeger corps when the call went out. But a single jaeger pilot is nothing without her partner, and when I found out who I’d been given, I wasn’t exactly overwhelmed. I’d always thought that my drift-partner would be similar to me, a veritable twin from another country. As such, meeting you was… underwhelming.

Where I was tall and muscular, you were slight and slender, with a firm but unremarkable body and a modest physique that seemed to fade away beneath the skin-tight flight suit you were wearing. Long fingers that gripped mine in a coy, almost shy handshake, and a perpetual smile that I, at that point, took to be humility or modesty. You said little, but seemed to laugh at my off-handed remarks as we made our way behind the Drift Monitor Officer to where we would, for the first time, experience one another’s mind from the inside. I was, truthfully, slightly perturbed that I had been given someone so seemingly unlike me, and I was already beginning to dread our first excursion in a jaeger, and the lopsided way the power would be distributed. My strength, my brash and forward tactics, my drive to strike first and strike hard—how would that mesh with a woman whose courage barely even extended to looking me in the eyes? Naturally, I’d noticed the way your eyes kept creeping back to me, but I merely figured you were curious about me, and maybe a little bit awed to be in the presence of such raw, physical excellence.

Boy, was I wrong.

I’d only drifted once before, and then it had been with a so-called Universal, a man who (or so it was said) was drift compatible with everyone. He served as our coach, and it was from him I had learned about the fragile mental barrier that you needed to erect to keep your entire personal history from flowing into the mind of your partner. His were rock-solid and immovable, as one would expect from an incarnate professional, but I soon found my own center, helped along by his indifference to my uniqueness. Perhaps he had done it so often that peering into the mind of a career soldier had lost its lustre. Or perhaps he was simply too polite to snoop.
You, as it turned out, was not. With the melding apparatus strapped to our heads, we both closed our eyes and allowed ourselves to drift out of our bodies, intermingling in that strange, ethereal place where the only borders between minds is those which we mutually agree on. I felt myself flow with expert calm, and prepared to meet you, to experience your essence and then settle into the mutually cooperative sphere from which a jaeger can be controlled. Two minds, one thought. Two souls, one purpose.

But no sooner had I arrived there than I felt that something was different. Where I had expected you to meet me in mutual respect, I suddenly found that you were upon me, your essence flowing not merely up to mine, but into mine, breaching violently through my mental barriers and paralyzing me with uncertainty and surprise. You were in me, in an instant, flowing through my mind and into my very essence, and I could no more find a way to disengage or disentangle myself from your overwhelming force of will than I could move a finger to rip the apparatus from my head; I was locked in, as helpless and vulnerable as a babe in the woods. Helpless. Pathetic. Weak.

I felt you slither around me like a snake as you rifled through my memories and my emotions, and somewhere in the back of my mind, less a sound than a sensation, I felt you giggle your cold, victorious little laugh, a noise of equal amusement and triumph. It was terrifying, but also strangely soothing, as I found my every thought weighed and evaluated before you allowed it to flow through my mind. Total dominance, and what was most peculiar of all, I noticed that I could not gaze back into you as you did me. Where all conventional wisdom on drifting said that both partners were equally vulnerable during the process, here I found that my mind was simply, and with cold, cruel efficiency, being overruled by yours, until I could withstand no more, and I felt myself buckle under the steady, demanding crush of your will.

I gasped. I know I did, because it showed up on the post-operative transcript. I gasped, and then I gave up, allowing your mind take over for me and slip into my consciousness like a hand into a particularly well-fitting glove. In that moment, I was nothing; a mere puppet, open and exposed to you like a book, and I felt you rifle through me with a little more languid patience, reaching in and breaking open the doors of memories and predilections that I had long since believed buried and kept secure under lock and mental key. Hurts, heartaches, the very core of myself that I was loathe to admit to; all of it came to you as you probed for it, and I could muster no response but a faint resignation to my fate. Only one thing had flowed back to me from you, and that, I was certain, was something you had wanted me to see. I had no idea where this power, this sheer force of will came from, but I was suddenly all too aware that I had misjudged you terribly. And now I was paying the price.

They congratulated us on a successful drift when we came to, and I found myself unable to speak against you as you preened and smiled and played the perfect sweetheart. Ours had been, according to the tests, one of the most flawless drifts in recent history, and they were already busy planning our first trip in the jaeger that had been designated to us, a light scout/recon unit made specifically for hazardous weather conditions, when you glanced over at me and cocked an eyebrow. I knew what that meant. Your presence was still lingering like a ghost in the back of my mind, and as we left, I followed you without a word back to your cabin, where you proceeded to strip down until your long, incongruously thick cock came into view. Then you fucked me, long and hard and with such methodical efficiency that it felt halfway between a manic frenzy and a display of power. When finally you came, I felt you shudder against me, and your nails dug into my upraised ass as you called me a good little cum-dump. I had yet to utter a single word since our drift test. There was no need. You knew everything was there to know about me already.

Footfalls echo along a side corridor, and I look up at you with distressed eyes, pleading without words to not be found in this position. You merely smirk and force your cock back down to the hilt in my throat, until your pubes are crushed against my nose and I can smell the scent of spandex and motor oil and sexual musk on your skin. Another quick, shallow thrust, and then your jaw clenches hard as the pleasure peaks for you, my lungs burning with a lack of oxygen as your cock begins to pulse in my mouth, over and over and over again. I never taste it, the large, salty load of cum that you release; I only feel it flow down my throat and into my belly, stuck as I am with my nose in your crotch. And then you pull out, your cock smearing a trail of thick drool onto my face, and I crumple and gasp for air even as you tuck your cock away and seal the custom-made hole in your jump suit.

“C’mon, cum-dump,” you bark, and I stagger to my feet, eyes and mouth still watering from the sustained throat-fuck. You’re already halfway down the hall, and I rush to catch up with you, even as I feel my own jumpsuit grate pointedly against my hard nipples and wet, sopping sex. I never knew I was like this, a servile slut—I was brought up a warrior, a fighter, a self-possessed woman.

But inside that jaeger cockpit, I will be once more possessed by you. And our immaculate, outstanding combat record will continue; eight kaiju killed without suffering more than superficial damage. And when we get back, we will be congratulated, we will be lauded, and you will accept the accolades as your rightful due before taking me back to your quarters and fucking me again, and again, and again, and again, and…

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