Drone Virus - Drone TF
Tags: Inanimate, Latex, Mind control, Mental TF, Object TF, Caption, Drone TF, Rubber, Latex TF, Bodysuit TF
DescriptionIf you want to make a suggestion or have an unique idea? Join the Discord Server. Maybe there is a giveaway so don't miss it! Psss the uncensored versions are there as well!LAST PART:Drone Virus - Drone TFNeo Tokyo never slept. The rain came down in sheets, thick and warm, laced with che…
Neo Tokyo never slept. The rain came down in sheets, thick and warm, laced with chemical residue from the industrial stacks on the east side. It hit the neon signs and scattered into rainbow mist. The streets of District 7 glowed pink and blue and gold, holographic advertisements reflecting off wet pavement in smeared streaks of color. Food vendors lined the sidewalks under plastic tarps, the smell of synthetic beef and real garlic mixing with the permanent background stink of exhaust and recycled sewage. Madra walked through it all with her jacket collar pulled up and her hands in her pockets. A year and three months since Marcus became Madra. A year and three months of learning how to exist in a body that ran on different software. The first few weeks had been a mess. Walking wrong. Sitting wrong. Bumping her tits into doorframes. Getting catcalled for the first time and not knowing whether to be flattered or terrified. The orgasms had been the hardest part to adjust to, or the easiest, depending on how she looked at it. They were so much more than what she'd had before. Longer. Deeper. Full body instead of localized. She'd spent entire weekends in bed exploring, fingers between her thighs, riding wave after wave until she was too exhausted to move. The OnlyFans account had started as a joke. Post a few spicy selfies, see what happens. What happened was 40,000 subscribers in three months. Turns out a petite woman with white hair, electric blue eyes, and enhanced DD tits in a cyberpunk city was exactly what the internet wanted. The money was real. Better than the data mines. Way better. She'd used some of it to upgrade her cybernetics. A spinal interface module for faster neural processing. Breast augmentation nanos that pushed her from a C cup to a heavy, bouncing DD. Subdermal glow strips along her collarbones that pulsed soft blue when her heart rate spiked. She'd even lost her virginity four months ago to a corpo analyst she'd met at a noodle bar, and the experience had been awkward and clumsy and over too fast and she'd cried afterward and then done it again the next night. She was adjusting. She was surviving. She was even, on some days, happy. Tonight she wanted real meat. Actual protein from an actual animal, not the printed soy garbage that tasted like wet cardboard. There was a vendor on 14th and Kabuki who sold real chicken skewers for 200 credits each. Expensive as hell. Worth every bite. She also needed to stop by the pleasure district and pick up a new toy for a fan-requested video. Something with vibration settings and maybe a warming function. The rain plastered her short white hair to her forehead. Her jacket, black synthetic leather with neon yellow trim and red piping, was open enough to show cleavage. Her enhanced tits pushed the zipper apart, the glow strips on her collarbones pulsing faintly blue through the rain. She wore tight black pants and boots with magnetic soles that gripped the wet pavement. She looked good. She knew she looked good. A year ago that thought would have made her uncomfortable. Now it just made her walk a little taller. She was crossing an alley between a ramen shop and a closed electronics store when she felt it. A ping. In her spinal module. Not a notification. Not an update request. A connection. Something reaching into her neural interface from outside, like a hand sliding into a glove. She felt it latch onto her base code and grip. 'What the...' She tried to block it. Her cybernetics had basic firewall protocols. She activated them, sending a rejection pulse through her spine. The connection didn't break. It pushed harder, burrowing deeper into her interface, bypassing her cheap security like it wasn't even there. "Block. Block. BLOCK," she muttered, stopping in the middle of the alley, fingers twitching. Rain ran down her face. The neon signs reflected in her wide, panicking eyes. The virus hit her salivary glands first. Her mouth flooded. Not normal saliva. Thick, warm, excessive. It filled her cheeks, ran over her bottom lip, dripped off her chin in long, clear strings. She couldn't swallow fast enough. Her tongue pushed out of her mouth on its own, hanging over her lower lip, wet and pink, drooling openly. "Haaahhhh... whuh... whuh izzz..." Her vision blurred. The neon signs smeared into shapeless blobs of color. The edges of the buildings dissolved. People walking past became featureless silhouettes moving through a soup of light and shadow. Her optical implants were being overwritten, the visual processing software corrupted in real time, replacing sharp detail with a soft, unfocused haze. Her head. Oh god, her head. It felt like someone was stirring her brain with a hot spoon. Thoughts that had been clear and linear seconds ago broke apart into fragments. Words lost their meaning. Concepts unraveled. She tried to think "I need to get home" and the sentence came out in her mind as a jumble of syllables and colors and feelings that didn't connect. 'Nee
