(Anonymous's Rendition of /m/ Quest host Lydia. We have yet to give her the bunny suit.)
(Couch said this was cool with him as long as it was strictly AU, don't blow your lids)
Synaptic Symphony #34
An adult /m/ Quest fanfic by /m/’s Haken Browning
Lydia, your adrenaline levels remain indicative of prolonged physical activity. It is advised that you delay your sleep cycle accordingly.
“But it’s already 10:00!” Lydia Salinas changed into suitable sleepwear as she admonished the peculiar colony of nanites that had taken residence inside her. “You know what I’ve got to take care of Sunday morning!”
Actually, we do not. Our recoverable timestamps indicate no activity within your systems before the preceding Monday of this week.
“So Sunday’ll be our one-week anniversary, huh? I can’t exactly get you a cake or a gift, you know…”
Of course not. But we wish to do something for you to mark this occasion.
“Really, now?” Bereft of a suitable focus for her look of bewilderment, Lydia took to staring at herself in the mirror. “Hasn’t almost everything you’ve done in my body so far been for me?” She ran her hands up her recently slimmed abdomen and mildly expanded bust to emphasize.
Statistics DO show an inordinate ratio of host benefit to colony benefit in our recent actions, especially ones performed after we revealed our presence to you. However, the sensitive nature of the next gift we wish to give you requires that we ask your permission.
“You’ve asked my permission for a lot of things already. I don’t see what would make this new request any different.”
Very well. Considering your blood pressure and heart rate are still elevated to levels unsuitable for sleep, we’d like to also request to give you this present early.
“…Sure, as long as you tell me what it is already.”
We wish to…play you a symphony, so to speak.
Lydia blinked. “A symphony, huh? I’m not really into classical music…”
Rest assured, our choice of instruments will be to your liking…if somewhat awkward at first glance.
“Some kind of Stomp! or Blue Man Group thing?”
Are these also indicative of genres unsuitable to your tastes?
“…Not really, but they ARE a little out there when it comes to the things they play.”
We would not call our instruments of choice ‘out there’ by any measure. In fact, we estimate that part of the appeal should be in your familiarity with them. But enough talk…shall we begin?
“Go ahead.”
Acknowledged. …It is recommended that you make yourself comfortable for the duration of the performance. Since you’re dressed for bed already, feel free to go ahead and lie down. Lydia did so, climbing on top of the bed. Good. Now close your eyes and try to put the day’s stresses behind you. We will begin the first movement now.
Lydia complied once again, letting her eyes rest as she reminisced about the relaxing portions of the day – the outing to the arcade with Tricia, the dazzling new colors of the fern that her nanite hive expanded into since this morning…
…And then she realized the room was still silent. “Are you still waiting to start? I don’t hear anyth-”
But then she felt the first strains of the nanomachines’ music. What felt like the fine drag of a feather across her skin resonated across her newly exfoliated legs…and yet neither hand nor clothing was touching them.
“Wh-was that…”
It has begun. Please remain seated and silent until the performance has ended.
Lydia’s face twisted into a frown as she mentally kicked herself for not considering this development. These were lost little machines trying to preserve themselves within her, of COURSE they’d use her own body as her ‘instrument’!
But then her abdomen quivered with the simulated pressure of fingers tracing in and around her belly button. At the same time, the feeling of a gentle breeze played across the earlobe currently unoccupied by the nanites’ wi-fi connection earring. Lydia gasped as the ear stimulation gave way to ticklish pangs across her neck and collarbone…and then realization struck. “Am…am I getting turned on by this? …Oh, God, I think I’m getting turned on.”
Your endorphin levels appear commensurate with approval of our performance. Shall we begin the second movement?
“…Please.”
Lydia closed her eyes again as the neck and torso sensations converged at her breasts. A thousand imagined kisses struck across the newly enhanced mounds of flesh, slowly working their way toward the nipples. As the spirals of pure sensation neared her areolae, Lydia slowly shifted an arm toward her crotch, but…
Please do not attempt to stimulate yourself during the performance. We will handle everything. Though if you wish to remove your clothing to enhance the sensations to come, that is acceptable.
“A…alright…” The hand Lydia had poised to masturbate restrained itself, merely tugging away her panties as the other arm unfastened her nightie. Casting both articles over the side of the bed, she returned to the prone position, closing her eyes to signal the continuance of the symphony.
And continue the nanites did, redoubling their stimulus of the nerves in her breasts, fooling her mind into believing them gently tugged and kneaded when they hadn’t moved an inch. Another moan escaped Lydia’s lips as the sensations started coursing back across her midsection, getting closer and closer to her…
“C-Can you make it feel like…like you’re inside me?”
We are already technically inside y-
“No, like…like you’re a man…inside me.”
This is within our abilities. Commencing…
Yet again Lydia moaned, this time as the nanites simulated the dilation of her birth canal. Nerves from labia to cervix fired randomly, confusing her vaginal muscles and throwing her cerebellum for a loop before standardizing into a series of rhythmic thrusts. Every square inch of her insides felt like it was getting the full attention of a comparable male member, the exacting pressure pushing Lydia closer and closer to the brink…
“Ah…so good…you’re not even really there and you’re so good…”
But we ARE here, Lydia. And we wish to be here as long as it brings you happiness.
“Then…do you love me?”
That depends. Do you love us?
“Y…YES! Oh God yes, I love you!”
Then it is so. We love you also, Lydia. Allow us to express it.
As Lydia came from the apex of the sensory feast, a small contingent of nanites reciprocated by simulating the male equivalent. Thousands of the machines tasked with working the nerves inside her vagina suddenly coursed through her cervix, settling within the main uterine cavity.
“Y…you’re filling me up even further…”
Do not be alarmed. You already requested we suspend your reproductive cycle and the hormonal fluctuations related to it, remember?
“I…wasn’t asking you to stop…”
An encore it is, then. The vaginal stimulus resumed at full force while the softer touches of earlier were simultaneously reprised, dragging Lydia’s mind out of the afterglow of the previous movements and into another orgasm.
[A few minutes of heavy breathing later…]
“…I guess this means…Happy Anniversary…”
Indeed it does, Lydia.
“Can we…celebrate like this every week?”
Circumstances and approval permitting, yes.
“I know what I’ll be asking for next anniversary, then. G’night.”
Pleasant dreams, Lydia. Tucking herself into the bedsheets, Lydia prepared to doze off as the little friends inside her made their own standby mode preparations.
Little did either consciousness ponder the slowly expanding gray dot in Lydia’s blanket, though, as a nanite cluster expelled by her climaxes began assessing the survivability of their new surroundings…
[TO BE CONTINUED?]
[OMAKE]
Subprocessor Haken: There’s my report. Now then, I don’t want any of the other subprocessors egging me on to simulate their crazy superhuman enhancement fantasies for another couple cycles, got it?
Chief Processor Couch: When you say another ‘couple’ of cycles…
Subprocessor Haken: At least five. Gotta be able to put in my shifts at Warrior Replication, y’know.
Chief Processor Couch: I’ll see what I can do. No guarantees, though, given the amount of passion you seem to pour into these simulations…I’m beginning to wonder if your environmental condition subset is less than ideal…
Subprocessor Haken: It can’t be any worse than what Sciencegar’s running down in Metabolic Transfer, can it?
Chief Processor Couch: Heh. Keep up that attitude and you may just find yourself getting your own host.
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