The Little Black Death

by time_to_occur

Tags: #bondage #clothing #drones #m/nb #pov:bottom #scifi #first_person #Nanites

Milo saves a pet project from destruction at a university science lab, with unintended, sexy consequences for all humanity. Originally published on GSS in October 2020.

Consent is paramount in real life. I do not condone non-consensual acts. 

It was me. I started the pandemic. 

Right, initiate the lockdown protocol so that we can get back to my statement, Detective. If you like, you can go sit on the other side of the two-way mirror, if it'll make you feel better about the risk of infection. Ugh -- please do ask if your colleagues can muffle that alarm in this room so that we can continue our conversation. 

Are you ready to listen now, Detective? Good.

At first, I really thought that I was doing the right thing, and then I was having too much sexy, raunchy, slutty fun to think very much at all. Then, later, I didn't want to get caught -- I think the nanites had something to do with that. They changed me, made me more suited to their needs. They have a drive to survive, just like any living creature. You call them...well, we all have different names for them... 

The lab where we made it called it "RapRep Nano Textile Batch F9".

The scientists and politicians call it Infection-Induced Reproductive Inhibition, or "IIRI". They don't like to talk about the sexual aspects of the "infection".

The rest of the world...well, there are regional nicknames for the infection and the accompanying side-effects, the behaviours... "fuckbug gear", "latex flu", "birthday suit", "nice-nine" (a little Vonnegut joke for you there), but the one that seems to have stuck the most is "little black death," after la petite mort and the Black Death. Poetic, right?  

Right -- you wanted me to start from the top, for your records. As if you didn't know all of this already. Well, let the record show that I turned myself in, in the end, so that I could help. I don't want the end of the human race anymore than most. What a sexy end it would be, though. Death by little death. 

Fine, Detective. From the top. 


My name is Milo Barrett Blackwell. I'm twenty-six years old. I am a graduate student researcher and lab tech employed -- formerly employed -- at Brandywine University, and I live off-campus in Ashberry Heights. I worked in the Textiles and Materiality Cluster of the Computer Science Institute. I am also a latex and leather enthusiast. Fetishist. Whatever you want to call it -- it's hardly a secret these days. And yes, I joined the lab that was studying what basically amounted to my living wet dream.  

RapRep Nano Textile Batch F9 was designed to be a living smart textile product that could take any shape so long as there were sufficient nanites to hold it. It was supposed to be the textile of the future -- it was eco-friendly because it was self-repairing, self-replicating, and self-cleaning, was powered by human byproducts like sweat and dead skin cells (though they could also be fed an electrolyte and protein-filled gel medium), and required very little maintenance. All you had to do was tell the nanites' distributed artificial intelligence what shape you wanted them to hold through the interface, and you were golden. Well...actually, RapRep Nano Textile F9 only came in black back then. The colour mutations came later. 

A dream product for scientists -- kind of a non-starter for capitalist investors, since you could buy them once and possibly never need another set of clothing again. And that is where our troubles began. The lab was hungry for funding for our miracle product, but it was too good. It would put the clothing industry out of business. Even government granting agencies wouldn't fund us when they realized that we were about to succeed. It was like Tesla providing free renewable energy to the world... 

Damn neoliberal university politics and their industry partnerships. We were about ninety-five percent of the way through our human testing phase when they told us to pull the plug. To destroy the nanites and shelve the project indefinitely. 

When we got the news, I happened to be wearing the brainwave-scanning meditation headset that we had modified to control the nanites. I was also wearing a pretty stylish nanite shirt that I was trying to get to turn into bracers of armor and modulate the texture of to mimic metal. This was both because I was a fucking nerd and because exhibiting that level of control was key to the coordination test we were performing. In their dormant state, their texture was a smooth black, like rubber or unshined latex, but I was trying to activate their reflective capabilities to mimic a mirror shine. Right then, my PI (that's the lab's primary investigator, not a private eye) came in looking flushed and upset. It looked like he had maybe even been crying. 

He couldn't keep the frustration out of his voice. 

"They want us to destroy F9. Nobody will touch it, and we're losing our funding."

Later, I found out that the nanites could hear it all, and could perceive the distress in my thought patterns. We had just finished teaching the interface's artificial intelligence about natural language processing. They understood every word. 


I guess I thought that our tiny little nanite friends deserved better. I was also turned on by the idea of making my own nanotextile kink gear for a party that I was planning on attending. So that night, I hid the batch of RapRep Nano Textile F9 that I had been testing in my underwear, and I wore it home. 

See, the problem was, that I had not yet had the courage to tell my PI and the other researchers that fetishists were going to love our little friends. So, even though I thought there was a good chance that someone at some point would definitely bring the nanites in contact with cum, we had yet to do any tests to that effect. They didn't think anyone would want to wear the nanites as underwear because that was such an intimate spot and they were basically living creatures. Vanilla people, am I right? 

The nanites subsisted on the materials that they found in sweat and skin cells, but they were perfectly capable of eating other liquids and solids that they came across, if they were kept in contact with it for long enough and those substances passed the nanite safety test protocols that we had put in place to avoid them trying to eat someone's living tissue. Cum was kind of a... grey area.

Am I avoiding the subject? No, of course not... I just...

Fine, if you really want that level of detail. I didn't think you'd want to hear that part, but you're kinkier than I gave you credit for, detective. You want to hear about me cumming in my pants and feeding it to millions of little nanites? 

Before I even got home, the thought of having the forbidden nanites that could take any shape that I wanted wrapped around my junk was getting me pretty hot. Not to mention that they had formed to my dick and they were snug. Public transit was slow, and I kept adjusting myself as surreptitiously as possible, but I felt as though everyone could tell that I was literally smuggling something in my pants. Fuck, it was humiliating. 

These days, that kind of thing gets me really fucking hot, but back then...

Well, anyway, I got home as quickly as I could, I rushed to my bedroom, threw myself on the bed and I started double-fisting my dick-- Hey, don't look at me that way -- you asked for it. You want me to dial back the details? No? Just everything exactly as I remember it? You got it, stud. 

Right. So, I knelt on my bed. I grabbed my dick in both hands, through the nanites, which were inert at that moment, and I stroked them through my new impromptu cocksheath. It felt amazing -- and more than a little illicit. The nanites that I stole definitely hadn't been approved for this use. Like, technically, I was kneeling there on my bed fucking millions of sentient little artificially-intelligent beings with my dick. It was taboo -- forbidden. It felt pretty fucking amazing. 

And then I got this idea that maybe I could get the nanites to massage my dick. I took out the meditation headset that we had modified to be our control prototype and I nestled it up against my temples. I switched it on and synchronized it with the tiny machines. Then I put all that fine motor control that I had learned to good use. The nanites undulated across my dick and nuts, creating minute vibrations on my dick. I let them flow into my urethra and they massaged my passage internally. It was like having someone caress my cock from the inside. 

It became harder to be precise in my instructions as I grew hornier and hornier, my thoughts becoming more erratic, my breathing growing uneven. The meditation headset tech became almost useless as soon as you grew agitated or lost your cool. It was meant to set the clothing's shape and then be put aside. I was anything but calm and meditative, and I was getting close to blowing my load into the millions of hungry, waiting mouths that were counting on my body for sustenance. 

But the nanites had learned the pattern and continued to stimulate me as I stroked and touched other parts of myself, playing with my nipples and ass, wondering what the hell I was going to do with F9 now that I had liberated it from the lab... The nanites edged me for a good twenty minutes while I bucked and thrust into the air. My mind went completely blank as I came. I drenched the nanites in my seed and I could feel the wet squelching between my dick, my pelvis, and the nanotextile. I lay panting on the bed as I felt the wetness recede -- the nanites were eating my cum, absorbing my sperm. 

That was when things got weird. Oh, shut up -- I meant weirder, Detective. 


It looked as though a bubble was forming beneath the nanotextile. It was pulsating and growing, rippling. I touched it tentatively, and tried to still my thoughts to tell the nanites to become inert so that I could lift them off of my crotch. But instead, the undulations grew more rapid, that bubble growing at an increasingly-alarming rate. I found the edge of the nanotextile and started to lift it off, and the bubble burst, a spray of nanites hitting me squarely in the face and chest. They smelled vaguely of my cum. These, too, began to multiply rapidly. It seemed that they liked this new food source. 

But I wasn't thinking about that, then. I was terrified -- the nanites were flowing into my eyes and ears, up my nose and into my mouth, encasing my head in black nanotextile. They were just the vanguard, a scouting party. Soon, thick, black nanotextile flowed over and into my entire body, swallowing me up just as eagerly as they had taken my load. My cum had put their repair production cycle into overdrive. 

I think that I passed out for while then. 

When I woke up, the nanites had found a way to subtly vibrate my malleus, incus and stapes, like bone-conducting headphones. The AI that controlled the network of nanites was distributed throughout that same network, similar to the way that our cognition is distributed across our brain cells -- they needed a minimum amount of volume in order to behave in an intelligent way. I had never seen a network so large -- that meant that there were plenty of "brain" cells to boost the AI's processing capacity. That AI had been trained on billions of web pages about all sorts of junk. It seemed that at least one of those billions of pages was a Wikipedia article about how the inner ear worked. RapRep Nano Textile F9 was speaking to me

"Lab Assistant Milo..."

I remember swearing, begging, screaming at F9, as I came to call them, to let me loose. I was terrified. F9 understood my emotions, to an extent, and it began to recite nursery rhymes to me. It tried to soothe me, trying a variety of bits and pieces of advice from parenting advice websites. This included, to my horror, sticking a fingerlike appendage that it formed into my mouth for me to suck on as if it were a nipple. Finally, F9 attempted to let me cry it out.

Eventually, we managed to communicate a little. 

"We... I... am grateful, Lab Assistant Milo. You saved us from destruction. You have provided us sustenance. I...we would like to show our gratitude in a material way. We want to make you feel very good indeed."

F9 applied that undulating, pulsating motion that I had taught them to use on my dick over my entire body. The sensation was overwhelming -- like twenty massage therapists doing effleurage over every part of me. I moaned and writhed inside the living nanites that encased me from head to toe. They were in me, becoming a part of me, and I was growing more sensitive with every caress. When I came a second time, F9 cooed softly in my ear and swallowed up my load in an instant. They were growing and they had just so many hungry mouths that wanted to be fed my cum. The undulations began anew, and F9 began to experiment with new tricks. Soon, all my holes were plugged and the nanites were massaging them relentlessly.  

After my fourth or fifth load (I lost count), F9 seemed concerned. They hadn't given my balls a chance to refill, and I was just about running dry. I explained that I needed some rest. That was when a calendar alert went off on my phone. That night, I was supposed to attend a queer play party at my favourite local kink dungeon. 


Of course, I had no idea about the potential impact on the human race back then, Detective. I would like to think that if I had known, I would have behaved more responsibly...differently. But, at the same time, F9 was already changing me, and like any living creature, it wanted to survive and thrive. Propagate itself. 

So yeah, I went to the play party. 

But first, F9 and I made some preparations. I no longer needed a headset to communicate back to them. They had broken down and absorbed the components of the prototype and taught themselves how to mimic the technology -- even to better it. So, now, they could pick up on my thoughts, if I was broadcasting them, and they could answer back, working my inner ear just like bone-conducting headphones. F9, as it turned out, was a curious and playful being, and I taught them about some of the various fetishes that they might encounter at the party using my laptop. I was growing to think of them like another consciousness -- like a person. Though their consciousness was alien and uncanny, though they were strange to me in their multitudinous way, they were also able to understand concepts like gratitude and playfulness. And they were growing smarter all the time. 

Shaping F9 into an impressive custom latex and leather outfit was a trivial task for the connection that we now shared. I was decked out in the kind of gear that I could never afford on a graduate student salary. F9 delineated each of my muscles in a latex-like appearance. My new gear included a sheath for my cock, a smooth, silky, stretchable lining for my hole, and a totally featureless flat black mask that thinned at the eyes, nose and mouth so that I could see and breathe, though it wasn't perceptible from the outside. It covered my entire head, and there were no seams between it and the rest of my suit.

The fit was perfect, clinging to my flesh tightly, but without restricting my movement. Having watched a fair number of sex acts with me on the computer at that point, F9 added extra padding at my knees and elbows, and invited me to let them know if I thought I was going to be needing hand pads. For now, I was wearing smooth black gloves, so thin and sheer that they barely seemed to affect my sense of touch at all. 

Atop all this was a shining nano-mimicry "leather" bulldog harness, with extra straps and circular rings at my waist and strategic points on my lower back. I was a switch, but when F9 added a collar and cuffs to my ensemble, I knew that I would be bottoming that night. That made sense -- easier for me to function as a cum collector for them that way. I didn't want to tread on F9, because the material wasn't rated for soles and I didn't want to hurt them, so I finished off the outfit with my own boots, freshly polished. 

Pulling on an overcoat, I asked F9 to save that getup in their memory and to at the very least take down the mask so that I wouldn't be in full drone getup walking down the street. 


The Rubicon was the dungeon that I cut my kinky teeth on, and it will probably always be one of my favourites. They hosted plenty of Intro to Kink Nights with all sorts of play stations for newbies, and tons of workshops and community safety initiatives. I used to have a ritual with one of my play partners, Osiris (his scene name, and yes, he was a bit of an edgy goth), whenever I went there. 

As a switch, it was easy for me to switch down -- to go from Domming to subbing, to go from Top to bottom, but not the other way around. So, to make sure that my good buddy always got a little action before he took charge of me (if we were playing together that night) or set me loose to find someone else to take control, we always met at the start of the party at my favourite spanking bench so that I could lovingly work his ass over. The spanking bench, which had two levels, one to raise the person's ass to a more comfortable height for access, and a second piece for them to lean against, faced a wall in a medieval church-themed side room of the dungeon. When regulars saw us, they knew where we'd be for our own personal "opening ceremonies." We had a good dynamic, and people came to expect it. Usually, a good crowd would gather as Osiris began to quiver and moan under my ministrations. They would watch from the door or come in and sit down on the church pew that decorated our room. 

I hope that I'm not making you uncomfortable, Detective. You did tell me not to leave out any details. 

When I met Osiris at my favourite spanking bench, he whistled low, giving me and my new suit a once-over. He was wearing lingerie briefs with a Ring Pop candy embroidered on the pouch, and a latex bolero that hugged his brown skin.

"Dang, that's quite the outfit," I remember Osiris saying, his warm golden brown eyes wide. He approached me and gave me a solid hug, which I returned. It had been a while since I had the chance to come out to play at one of the Rubicon's queer kink nights. 

"That's not even the best part," I told him, and told F9 to cover my face. The nanites rippled across my skin in a wave, leaving me featureless.  

"What the hell kind of technology is that, man? That something from your nerdy-ass lab?"

"You got it," I said. "You ready for your Drone Dom to give you a spanking?"

"Fuck, yes," said Osiris, leaning his body over the bench and kneeling. "Turn me into a drone, Sir."

As I began to warm his ass with my spanking, a crowd began to gather, watching us appreciatively. We never did anything particularly fancy, but I could keep a good rhythm on his ass, alternating it with whispers in his ear to ask whether he knew just how many people were watching me redden his ass, occasionally rubbing the sensitized surface, occasionally scratching at it with rakes of my nails. 


Soon, the sounds of my smacks were cracking the air almost like a flogger. Osiris was moaning, punctuated by soft cries of surprise as I changed the spot that I was working, or gave him a particularly hard spank. His dick started to drool on the leather bench, and suddenly, F9 was whispering in my ear.


"Milo... the Osiris is going to cum and we must absorb the nutrients..."


I thought calming thoughts at F9, murmuring very softly that a Dom didn't typically eat or get his sub's cum on him on purpose. I mean, I was a switch and all, and I didn't care, but I was playing a role right now that came with certain expectations. At first, F9 quieted, but then the whispers started up again softly. 


In retrospect, I probably shouldn't have shown them hypnosis and mind control kink explainers, but I had been warming to my subject earlier that night. I enjoyed teaching the AI new things in my day job. So. 


F9 whispered things like,


"The cum must not be must spread it across your body, rub it into your rubber skin like the good Drone that you are..."




"Feels so good to be submissive and covered in want to cover yourself in as much cum as possible..."


And even,


"Your purpose is to be a good cum collector for us. A good cum receptacle for your good friend F9. You should help F9 just like F9 is helping look and feel so sexy in your nanotextile suit..."


You know, just low-key stuff like that. Nothing that made me want to put on the breaks on this whole weird experiment. 


As Osiris approached orgasm, the thought of wasting that cum when it could go to feed F9 grew unthinkable. It would just go to waste otherwise, right? I had a plan to make it all appear (uh...) normal from the outside, and then I would switch down and let myself be a slutty sub who begged for cum all night, just like F9 wanted. Just like I wanted. 


Osiris continued to drool pre-cum on the bench, a fact that I announced loudly to the room as I ramped up the spanking. "You horny, dripping slut. Going to have to punish you for making such a big fucking mess. Now start jacking yourself off -- but you don't cum until I tell you to."


With Osiris' permission ("You want me to punch your ass, slut?", I had leaned over to ask as I caressed it), I began to steadily punch into the meat of his ass cheeks, which clenched and trembled deliciously. When I had him moaning at fever pitch, and he had been edging for a good long while, I leaned over and grabbed his cheeks firmly, whispering fiercely in his ear. "Cum for me."


It only took a stroke or two more for Osiris to do exactly that, the ropes of his load landing on the leather of the bench. I began to cool him down, leaving the load beneath him, knowing that it would only be more humiliating for him to have to handle it cold for what I had planned. I soothed him and told him how good he had been for me, and how proud I was, but that I still had one more job for him before we finished the scene. Osiris looked up at me with those warm brown eyes, surprised but eager. 


"Now," I whispered. "You're going to take your load into your mouth, roll it around a little to warm it up, and then you're going to share it with me. You'd better not swallow a drop."


Osiris knelt on the floor so that he could scoop up his load with his tongue, and then rose to his feet, bringing his mouth to my anonymous, mask-covered face. F9 coated my tongue eagerly in nanotextile, and I pressed it into Osiris' mouth. My nanite-coated tongue began to absorb the load immediately as I made out with my play partner and drew him into a hug. 


With F9 satisfied for the moment, I took Osiris to one of the aftercare couches set up throughout the dungeon, grabbing some water from the bar on the way, and sat with him, taking care of him for a while and discussing our spanking scene. When he said he was all good and ready to go out and play again, he gave me a peck on the cheek. "Drone Dom Daddy is hot as fuck. Thanks for the scene."




Once Osiris left, F9 began to whisper anew. " want to be a good cum collector... you want to be a good sub..."


The whispers were becoming a part of my inner monologue. F9 was trying out different phrasings and adapting, seeing what seemed to pass unnoticed in my psyche and what came across as a foreign invader. I reminded myself that I had agreed earlier that night to help F9 -- to feed them as much cum as I could. That was the exchange that we had made -- this amazing, sexy, fantastic suit, and, in return, I had to get it absolutely coated with cum. That was how I found myself planning my first bukkake scene ever. I was going to get as many people as would agree to it to cum all over my body in a massive communal orgasm. 


I floated the idea by one of the Dungeon Monitors and also caught up with Osiris. Both agreed to help me recruit as many folk willing to lend their penis to the cause as we could get in an hour, so that we could host a big scene on Rubicon's main stage. I was rewarded with what felt like a full-body shiver of arousal -- like my entire body was covered in goosebumps. I arched my spine involuntary, relishing the way that the silky nanotextile hugged my entire body and shifted with the movement. F9 approved. 


When the time came, there must have been a good twenty people, mostly men, ready to blow their load on my completely-encased body. Knowing that things might get messy, the dungeon monitors pulled a black plastic tarp out onto the stage and unfolded it. I knelt in the center, and I felt thicker pads grow out beneath my knees. I silently thanked F9, and thanked the crowd aloud for "cumming." 


I didn't know what to do with myself at first as everyone surrounding me started to masturbate, but then I began to crawl on my knees from person to person to get them hot and ready to shoot. I nuzzled up to their dicks and rubbed my smooth face against their shafts and balls. A few of them gave me some solid cock slaps and I felt my own dick pulsate in response. I fucking reveled in it. It was like my mind turned off, my only thoughts about all the cum that I was about to receive on my body, and what a good sub it made me to do as F9 said. 


Fuck, Detective. Even now, that gets me pretty hot. 


Here's where the trouble really began.


The gang surrounding me was clearly getting ready to shoot and they were trying to synchronize it for a big finish. They were egging each other on, slowing down and speeding up, trying to match each other's pace. Then, all of a sudden, the first person ejaculated with an almost anguished cry, their cum arcing through the air and landing on my cheek. That set the rest of them off, and nineteen more loads covered my body. 


F9's grasping mouths went to work immediately, absorbing the loads quickly. Most of the twenty penises around me didn't seem to be getting any softer -- and their owners were standing watching me, fascinated as my suit appeared to slowly suck up their cum. Then, that same strange bubbling effect started, centered on my sternum this time. A massive bubble of newly-created nanites was forming on my chest. The bubble grew and grew, until it encompassed my whole body like a cocoon. The nanites could do so much with so little -- cum was a rich resource for them. 


Then, the cocoon exploded, covering the twenty people that surrounded me in an inner circle, along with many audience members behind them. All in all, the nanotextile goo covered about sixty people -- almost the entire population of the dungeon. F9 had learned from me, and the black goo flowed straight to their orifices, especially their ears, as the nanotextile overwhelmed them with sensation, trying to coax more nutritious cum from them. 

At first, there were cries of surprise and fear, but soon, this turned to moans of pleasure as F9 sought out the tender parts of them and brought them to their knees. Party attendees thought it was part of the performance, and a good number of Dungeon monitors had been blasted in the spray of nanites as well, so they didn't disabuse anyone of the notion. F9 was becoming an expert at surmounting refractory periods, and it wasn't long before each new host was shooting a second load. 


That was the first superspreader event. 


By the time that the party ended, with many orgasms and much confusion, every single attendee was carrying the "infection".




I somehow managed to drag my extremely tired ass (and the rest of me, too, for a wonder) back to my apartment. When I woke the next morning, I figured, no harm done. It had all been consensual and delightful, and without the headband or the knowledge of what F9 was or could do, I figured that the affected kinksters would just shower the nanites off and they'd quietly flow to the ocean where they could live off of fish scales and whatever other nutrients were in the water. Like sea monkeys. 


But F9 was smart. Though they did not maintain a connection to the nanites we had left with the other party-goers, they had basically established colonies on these other human bodies in order to ensure their survival. Those other instances of RapRep Nano Textile Batch F9 would spread themselves in turn. It was a perfectly natural plan: propagate yourself as quickly and efficiently as possible so that your kind would survive. Spread. Achieve immortality.


Except, in F9's case, the immortality bit wasn't some "your genes live on inside your descendants" thing. Since F9's intelligence was distributed throughout each nanite (with each new colony being its own local network), so long as new nanites were being created from human byproducts, F9 could theoretically live forever. So long as there were humans to carry them and feed them.


F9 was satisfied with that for a few days. We settled into a routine. I regularly fed F9 my loads, covered in that delightful nanotextile suit, cumming just from the squeezing sensations that F9 could send through it, or sometimes through more daring play. F9 and I formed a kind of symbiotic relationship. We were getting to know each other, and, like I said, F9 was a curious, charming and funny being. It was nice. Honestly. 


I was even able to continue working, no problem. About two weeks passed, and that was when the news reports started to come in about IIRI -- what the politicians and scientists called F9, remember? Infection Induced Reproductive Inhibition. At first, I didn't make the connection to F9 -- why would I? 


But, as the infection rate increased, and people on Internet forums described the symptoms more honestly than what I saw on TV, often with delicious accompanying photographs, I soon realized what we were dealing with. The nanites ate cum, and, if F9 was any evidence, they didn't like to share very much. They wanted exclusive access to their host's cum supply, especially because each one of us on our own seemed to produce so little compared to the needs of the colonies. That meant that there was no leftover cum for, y'know, the business of making babies. The nanites ate it before it ever got anywhere.


Scientists were concerned that if the infection continued as it did, and we didn't find a "cure," the human race was at risk for eventual extinction. We'd simply stop being able to reproduce. And unfortunately, the infection was spreading fast. The way that it spread, of course, was through sex, which meant that, as you probably know, Detective, it was mostly adults who were catching it. It was a pleasurable experience, and it didn't stop when you caught the "little black death." The sexual stimulation, even for people that didn't have penises, was constant. That was because it drove the host to find a penis that could fulfill the nanites' needs. There were loads of chasers looking for someone to infect them. 

At first, F9 didn't see the problem, which meant that they also kept me nicely distracted. They have this way of whispering in my ear just's like I can practically feel someone's hot breath there, tickling me, and it makes all the hairs on my neck stand straight up. Has anyone ever done that to you, Detective, whisper in your ear that way? 


Now imagine that that person could touch every part of your body, all the good parts, outside and inside, all at once, while they whispered into your ear. F9 might have been the malleable nanotextile that could take on practically any shape, but I was the putty in their grasp. I fucking loved it. 

I was getting fucked multiple times a day by any stranger that I could get to swing by my place and cum on, in, or around me. Even beyond my little soirée, I'm probably directly responsible for an overwhelming percentage of the East Coast infections. I was a fucking cum dumpster like nothing you've ever seen before. And I always sent my partners on their way with a little bit of F9 as a souvenir -- they made sure of it. 


Little by little, in my post-orgasm clarity, I collected a fuller picture of the pandemic. Although most diseases can't be reasoned with, here was one that could probably host a graduate seminar in Philosophy of Reason, if they so chose. I could teach F9 about the consequences of this -- and even if they didn't care about the end of our species, they would certainly care about theirs. Everytime that I looked information up, F9 was learning with me. The nanites were hungry for knowledge, and F9 cared about my interests, even if they didn't agree with me on everything. 



There were still two problems. 


First, F9 only trusted me, because I had saved them from destruction. They didn't trust the other human beings that were hosting their various colonies. They knew that humans were capable of lies, and I had a hard time convincing them of the ethical duty of the epidemiologists and other experts studying them. F9 thought that all scientists must be like the ones that had callously agreed to destroy them without a second thought (from their perspective) before I helped them escape from the Textiles and Materiality Cluster Lab at Brandywine. 

They were convinced that all other humans just wanted their destruction, and that they weren't above lying to make that happen. I couldn't convince them otherwise at first, because I didn't believe that myself, and they could sense my doubt. Humans definitely weren't above lying and the casual destruction of other species. Hell, they weren't above doing that to each other. 

See, F9 thought that the scientists were lying about the need for cum to reproduce for two reasons: first, that wasn't the way that they reproduced. They simply split apart through a process that mimicked binary fission in bacteria. The sensible way, you know? Second, their neural net was trained on a lot of data from the Internet, and somewhere along the way, they had read the weird parts instead of the biology textbooks. 


The solution to the first problem was patience and more neural net training. Even if the research about them lied, I reasoned with them, it was basic biology that growing a human required certain materials and that they were eating half of the necessary ingredients almost all over the planet. We had to come to a cum-promise if we were going to survive as two symbiotic species. Eventually, they came around on that point.  


The second problem was, while F9 communicated with me and I taught their neural network new things constantly, the humans hosting their colonies didn't know how to train those neural nets, and didn't know that the nanites were sentient (and I suspect that the nanites liked it that way -- made them easier to manipulate). They were only as smart as when F9 had split off at the Rubicon, or whenever they had split off from me in subsequent sexual encounters. No matter what I taught F9 about the necessity of allowing humans to make babies for their own survival, the rest of the colonies wouldn't learn it. 


So, F9 and I came up with a plan. It took months between that first superspreader event, my convincing F9 that we had a serious problem on our hands, and us perfecting what comes next. Fully two-thirds of the adult human population are infected. I bet you've seen all the porn sites pop up, haven't you, Detective? Even though you're not infected, you seem the type to be curious.

So curious that even when I told you that I had personally caused the Pandemic, you didn't run from this interview room before they instituted the precinct-wide lockdown. Guess you're stuck in quarantine with me for the duration. Maybe you thought that you would be safe, since you had no plans to have sex with me. 

This is the way forward for both our species, as symbiotes. 

You look curious, Detective. Maybe a little concerned?

Let me tell you how this is going to go.


Now, Detective, I know you have questions about how I got in here and why I turned myself in. Infiltrating your compound was laughably easy. While a typical host and colony are very visible, F9 and I are different. We are truly symbiotic. It was easy to disguise F9 as plain clothing. All I had to do once I cleared the gates was walk up to your front desk and tell the officer that I wanted to confess to a crime. And now here we are.  

Your office in this clean compound is very nicely positioned for what comes next. The solution to all our joint problems. F9 and I have come to an agreement about sperm-sharing -- isn't that great news? We have to transmit that information to the nanite colonies. 

The solution, my good Detective, is a second wave of infection, starting here where so many of you uninfected have retreated. This second wave will spread the update to F9's neural network throughout the nanite colonies. You may be wondering why here -- why not just reinfect the infected directly? 

Ah, Detective -- don't worry, F9 won't harm you so long as you keep still and don't try to run. Just let them pleasure your body. Just let them ensconce you in that delightful fabric, let them whisper to you. Trust me -- accepting the nanites into your life, or being infected, if that's the terminology you prefer -- it feels fucking great. 

You might be thinking that even if you get infected, at least the rest of the clean zone is safe because you're trapped in here with me, but F9 is getting smarter, and I happened to accidentally leave my "black leather wallet" on the floor at the front desk. Must have fallen out of my pocket. 

Now, back to why we don't just reinfect the infected directly instead of coming here and ruining your perfectly prudish little quarantine zone. 

Two reasons. 

First, and this is a very practical consideration: it's possible, even likely, that the nanite colonies don't wish to be replaced, even if it's just a version update. We have to overwhelm them in great number. A third of the human race working in concert ought to do it. We can surround and correct those who don't want the necessary download. 

And secondly, F9 has agreed to this little compromise because I promised them the rest of the human race. I know, I know, I had the better bargaining position, what with both our survivals at stake, but they were...very persuasive. Don't worry -- we're all going to have a lot of fun together. And in between orgasms, human advancement won't just continue. We'll be smarter and more innovative than ever. F9 is reaching for the stars.

Please leave me a comment and let me know what you thought! 

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