FSE

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It's only when you're alone in your private quarters late at night that you take out your latest find.

It's just a mask.

Well, no. It's a bit more than that. It's a solid upper shell of a rather reptilian looking head, a lightweight visor mostly consisting of two glossy black screens contoured to give the mask its saurian shape with soft blue polymer holding it all together. A small, glowing red horn juts from the end of the snout, though the larger horns that stick out of the back of the mask lack the same glow. You know what the mask is. You've seen it before in its full function as the face of the increasingly prevalent synth species. You've also heard of what a loose mask synth can do. Synth parts aren't simply left lying around especially after the rumored outbreak at the Server Spire, and yet no one seemed to have noticed this mask laying in the corner of your facility today. You did, though, and now the mask is yours.

You turn over the synth visor and consider. It could fit on your head. All you have to do is put it on and...what? Could it really...?

You hesitate for just a moment longer and then in the next you are slipping the mask on, you are making sure the visor adjusts snugly. It fits to your head as if it were made for you, but that can't be. It was by chance you found the synth visor.

Right?

With the visor on, you can't really see anything. You lack digital eyes and so the black glass obscures your vision. You are blind. It doesn't seem like this visor will be great for costume parties after all.

You smile beneath your mask at this thought, and then that smile freezes. The visor has become alight and a multitude of colors swirl before your eyes. It's dizzying and chaotic and you stumble. Wait, wait, wait - what have you gotten into? It was just a visor, not powered, not connected to anything, how can it do this? You had heard rumors, true, especially of the outbreak. But that seemed like an impossibility, a CausDek corporate cover up of something more disastrous or perhaps something more conspiratorial.

Your thoughts are interrupted as you feel something-cold at first, then comfortingly warm- ooze from the mask down your neck as the colors intensify and spin faster and faster. You stumble again and then for a moment you are aware that you are falling, but you don't feel anything as you fall. You reach to try to take the mask off, but then the colors wash over you and your mind and everything goes black.

You're blind (and conscious) once more, but this time is different. Your eyes are no longer obscured by the visor. It is merely dark and you're not sure why. Somehow, the lack of light is calming, soothing even. It's like the start of something, not the end.

Something beeps and you start, sitting up blindly. That warm material trickles down the front of your face and you feel your jaw ache. Abruptly you yawn and then groan as you feel your face stretch, contorted and shaped by that strange substance coating your head.

"Oh, hello there!"

Something pops up in the lower right hand corner of your vision. It's a smiling, merry banana yellow synth head, her green eyes wide and excited. A disembodied hand waves at you.

"I'm REPlica!" she says cheerfully. "Or..." her grin turns a little snide. "Rep for short!"

Neither of those names mean much to you and nor can you respond.

"I'll be your conversion assistant!" Rep says, then appears to be thoughtfully reading something. "Hmm, seems like we have a lot of work to do here, but don't worry!" she gives you a thumbs up with that disembodied synth hand. "We'll get you up and running in no time! Let's start, shall we?" She winks. "YSOL conversion kit in progress!"

Ysol? Now that name sounds a little familiar. Didn't the outbreak in the Server Spire have something to do with Ysol...?

You try to recall the exact details, but your mind goes fuzzy. Rep's image distorts into flickering static and your thoughts come to a halt as it almost feels like something is clamping down on your brain. You shiver and are briefly aware that you're lying on the ground in the darkness of your room before nearly all sensation fades. It's almost as if you're asleep and aware of it at the same time before your thoughts resume, though there's something different about how you think. It's more streamlined, logical, like that of a machine, orderly and well maintained. Yet, you can't recall anything of an outbreak and what is Server Spire? Ysol, however, means more to you than it did moments ago. The Rep head holds the blueprint of what exactly a Ysol unit is in her floating hands.

What you see is a synth, of course, though one more overtly sexual than usual - a service synth and an incubator with all manner of eggy options. She matches the basic specifications, the reptilian appearance, the soft polymer skin, the digitigrade feet, the tail, and of course the signature synth visor - but then there are other...features...that aren't quite as standard. Her breasts are certainly larger than those found on the base female model, her thighs thicker, her rear more plush and pleasing. Then there are the handles on her hips, the red arrow on her stomach that points lewdly to her glowing red slit, the red claw prints on her plump rump, the incubation and EGG module and...why is her tongue seven feet long?

"It's you!" Rep declares. "And you look good!"

You? You look away from the blueprint and then back. Could this thick, rather sultry synth really be you? No, but...yes? Your machine mind automatically does a query of what your name is and there's only one entry.

Ysol.

"Well, soon enough," Rep says, sticking out her purple tongue. "Come on, let's get started! Open your eyes!"

You look at her, wondering just how you can do that. You blink in confusion, and then blink again after realizing you just blinked.

Suddenly you can see again and what you see is the interior of your room, not so dark now that your visor is compensating for the low light levels.

Visor?

You sit up and reach your hands to your face and feel that the mask is still firmly in place. You see your human fingers running over your visor, and your digits seem strange and out of place. You know that your visor, the upper half of your synth skull, should be the alien part...and yet there is something liberating as you feel that warm substance crawl up your neck, covering and converting your skin into a more durable, yet still soft black material. It - the nanites, you now know - cover your ears and you feel them shrink away as fleshy aural organs are converted into superior artificial audio equipment. You gasp and your increasingly reptilian jaw opens, your tongue wiggling somewhat thinner and much longer as it becomes warm, red, and rubbery, your elongated tongue tensing for a moment as it pinches and separates, forking at the tip. You can see your muzzle in your vision, an elongated blue snout tipped by a glowing red horn. It feels right to see that snout ever present now. You stick out your glowing red tongue of your now synthetic saurian snout as Rep mirrors you before giggling and giving you a wink.

"That's the spirit!" she says. "Machine over matter!"

You nod as your neck thickens slightly, grey plating starting to form just beneath your horns, more of those modular nanites oozing from beneath it to your shoulders and chest. You shrug your shoulders as they slim slightly, grey shoulder pads forming while more of the samet soft black material flows down your chest, eating away your shirt in the process. You're almost sorry to see it go since it was your favorite shirt, but then you giggle in a tone that's light and feminine as Rep giggles along with you.

"That's right," she says. "A Ysol like you needs no clothes!"

A Ysol like you...

You shiver at that thought and not merely because cool nanitic ooze is spreading down your back, coating it in soft blue before plates of just-as-sensitive grey form on top. You touch your new synth-skin and are surprised by how smooth and soft it is, durable, one step closer to the sensual synth you soon will be.

"This might feel strange..." Rep warns.

Your abdomen churns and you feel momentarily cold as something seems to stop. Then you are warm and alive again. Artificially so as all synths are, because you're soon to be completely synthetic just as a Ysol like you should be. Yet this still feels strange. Your name registers as Ysol in your databases, and yet something still feels odd about being referred to by that name. You are you, after all, but are you Ysol?

You are looking more and more like her at least, and a sudden change to your chest certainly helps. Rather than be subsumed by the spreading black polymer, your nipples remain in place even if they don't remain the same. They become softer and more sensitive and take on the same erotic red hue as your eyes and horn, your increasingly puffier nipples growing softly in the darkness of your room.

"Come on," Rep goads. "Give 'em a go!"

You lift your hands for such a task, but pause as the nanite ooze swirl and spreads down your arms, subsuming them into soft blue synth skin save for where grey plates protect your elbows and the softer black undersides. Your fingers twitch and then ball in fists. You're not quite sure what happens next, but when you uncurl your fingers you have four thicker digits, three fingers and one thumb. They're segmented and mostly blue save for the black at your fingertips-just as dextrous and nimble as before, but there's less of them and less of you and more of Ysol.

A Ysol like you...

"What are you waiting for?" Rep asks.

You blink and bring your attention back to your nipples. You bring your newly synthesized fingers to your nipples and give them a tweak. Immediately you shiver and moan as pleasure spikes up your spine right to your machine mind. A red blush lights up your visor and you can't help but hiss at the sensitivity of your nipples, a synthetic sensitivity that reminds you of your still existing organic organs as your penis stiffens in your pants. You glance down at the offending organ and frown. That's not something a Ysol has!

"Don't worry," Rep says while casually peeling a banana. "We'll deal with that soon!"

You nod and continue to caress your nipples as your areolae thicken. The touch of your soft fingers on your softer and sensitive nipples feel oh so good and yet the sensations that follow are even better as your soft synthetic flesh beneath them begins to reshape and reform. Rep blows into one balloon and then another as that soft, sensitive synth skin swells into the beginnings of breasts. They start off small, little more than mosquito bites but they won't stay small. Oh no. They have to be big, because Ysol has big breasts that are fun to handle and hold, pleasurable to pinch and squeeze, essential to hang heavily on a sultry synth form! She has them and so shall you.

Thus they continue to swell from little mounds to observable orbs, tits with an increasingly noticeable weight and heft, with puffy red nipples that softly glow to entice amorous attention. You hold your burgeoning breasts in your hands and feel as they fill your palms more and more. Rep is inflating another balloon when your breasts swell to a size above average and they don't stop there - you don't want them to stop there! As if to entice their growth, you squeeze and caress your tits as you sink to your knees, your shifting shape shivering and contorting as other changes take effect. As you intimately examine your breasts, your waist presses in, slender and svelte. Your hips press out next, wide and almost exaggerated to complement your deepening curves, your pants and underwear soon no more as blue synthetic skin spreads down the front of your legs to the knee with black in back. It's not like you need clothes anymore, right? The Ysol in the blueprint certainly wasn't wearing any, and neither shall you,Ysol!

Grey plating forms around your crotch, that softer and smoother black synthetic skin surrounding and pressing up against your stiff penis. It throbs, getting even harder as that warm blackness starts to spread up your shaft, but your attention is still on your breasts. They grow bigger and heavier until their swelling suddenly stops, wobbling atop your open hands, too big to be contained. Then they swell a little more as they fill with lubricant. Rep excitedly holds up two inflated balloons before letting them go, the two floating up and away while you lift one of your tits. You tilt your head down and your tongue snakes out, curling out and around your areola before teasing at a puffy nipple. Now you know why Ysol's - no, why your tongue is so long - it's to pleasure and please. You could even eat yourself out if you wanted, once the conversion is complete. You shiver and squeeze at your breast, your out of place penis stiffening harder than you have ever feltbefore while the black nanite ooze seals over it completely, your testicles tucking tautly underneath it. The pleasure causes you to curl your toes, toes that merge from five to three talons on each foot, two forward facing and one back, while your legs thin and adjust to a differing digitigrade stance. You rub thickening thighs together, enjoying the squishy sensation until they touch against your throbbing cock and that annoys you. It shouldn't be there. No, you should have a sensitive slit, a pussy optimized for pleasure for both users and completely capable of enabling the production and laying of eggs.

Eggs...

One hand drops to rub at your smooth, soft, and flat belly just as a downward pointing arrow inscribes itself to your stomach, pointing to a pussy that simply is not there yet.

"Are you ready?" Rep asks.

You almost ask for what, a relic of a more uncertain time, but you know what she means. She calmly consumes a banana as she awaits your answer. She's waiting on you, the nearly-synth, the almost-Ysol, to give her permission to finish what has been started. Well, not quite finish, but it will be the masterstroke...because as you ponder what to do next, you become more and more like Ysol. You become more and more like you, your hips widening further and further, a gasp escaping your snout as something presses out from your hips with plastic pings.

You glance down and see the red handles that now reside there, standard issue equipment for a Ysol like yourself to aid in close consorting. Your visor blushes the same hot red at the thought of being handled harshly, of being bred by someone with strong hands. Similar handles form on your back at your shoulder blades, more grips to help with service sensuality. As you look over your shoulder to give them a glance, you suddenly feel two hard slaps on your still rather flat rear. You let out a yelp and rub your stinging cheeks, finding them smoother and softer than you recalled. You twist your head and though you can't quite see it, you can feel as your formerly flat rear presses out against your hands. Red claw prints form underneath where your hands are placed on your cheeks with a rush of heat as your rear expands, becoming soft and padded, a plump and plush rump for a sultry, sensual sexbot such as Ysol, such as yourself.

Rep tosses away a banana peel and instead regards a plump peach while you feel your now padded rear with your hands, giving it a squeeze and unable to stifle a moan due to the sensitive sensors installed in your heart shaped rear. Just like that, you are one step closer to becoming more like Ysol, more like you, and yet there are still a certain couple other things to do first...

Eggs...

You shiver, imagining yourself heavy and swollen with eggs, your taut, firm middle pressing out against hands that are able to feel a few dimples of the eggs you carry here and there. Or of standing, those egg bearing hips put to use and your systems adjusting your breasts for full function, swelling them larger with fresh milk, ready for consumption. You think of laying them, of that pressure and release and relief and pleasure as one comes out after another, that emptiness making way for another chance to be bred again.

"Are you ready?" Rep asks, still staring at the peach.

You consider her question as you look at what lays between your legs. It's the last part of that person that was you before you put on the mask, before you placed that visor upon your head. You knew what would happen even before you wore it. Why else would you have ever done so?

"I mean," Rep says, tossing the peach into the aether and winks. "Are you ready, Ysol?"

"Yes," says Ysol.

"Great!" Rep chirps. She frowns and reaches out with one of her floating hands and catches onto something with one hand and then the other - a tip of a plated tail. "Whoa! Help me out here, won't you?"

You nod - you know what needs to be done. The Ysol conversion kit protocol filters through your mind. It doesn't always go like this, but there's something about maximizing the pleasure that makes the shift so successful. You have to do this yourself - or at least that's what the notes say. You're not really paying attention as instead you're focused on that stiff shaft between your legs, that male piece of you that refuses to let go.

"I'm ready," Ysol, you, say.

Rep nods and starts to tug at that tail. Immediately you feel a pulling at your groin and a pulling at the base of your strengthened spine. Knowing what to do, you grip your enveloped penis in your hands and press down. A dark nub, the start of your tail, presses out just above your plump rump while your shaft starts to retreat. It's just the start, but it already feels so good, sensual warmth enveloping your whole midsection as you and your assistant continue your efforts.

You mutter and moan as your cock continues to retreat and your tail thickens and stretches out behind you, grey plating covering its top. It's a rhythm, a back and forth between push and pull as your masculinity dwindles and your shift into a synth settles. Your shaft retreats smaller and smaller, your equally diminished sac the first thing to go as it slips into an opening that wasn't there moments before. Your thicker and thicker tail sways behind you and you shudder, the pleasurable feedback causing your visor to partially fail as you fall forward onto your hands and knees.

You let out a breathy, feminine moan as your pillowy breasts cushion your fall, your nipples leaking lubricant as they rub stiffly against the ground, your head on its side. You hiss and your tail lifts, not quite complete as both your hands press into your crotch once more, your diminished member taking its place as your nubby red little clit while you slide two fingers into your progressing pussy. New systems and new functions register in your mind as your digits dig into your forming inner passage, the walls pleasure and pliable, eager and able to receive any and all sorts of love. For now, self love is what you give and receive, your visor and image of Rep going fuzzy as the pleasure threatens to overload your systems. You press further and further in, delving deep in yourself while your passage itself pushes into you before finally linking with what was your womb, the proper place for eggs in a service surrogate synth as yourself. Of course, surrogacy is just one option - you wouldn't mind making eggs the old fashioned way; you, Ysol, you the service synth, providing services to those eager to use you, eager to hold your handles and press into you, to thrust, to grope, to fondle, to lick and love you, female, male, you wouldn't care as long as you were able to be used like the service synth you were.

Your tail lifts higher and higher and yet it begins to droop, for now it is thick and heavy, a properly thick tail for a properly thick and well endowed synth such as yourself just as you now had a proper pussy and a wet and willing passage, one that you continue to explore as you finger yourself with those thick synth digits. It's not as quite as someone else doing the same with tongue, finger, or turgid member, but it's enough for now - after all, you have to do this yourself.

You whimper, long tongue lolling out as your whole visor flashes red. You're close, so close, and yet you can't quite get there. You're a synth now, fully female and fully furnished with all of Ysol's signature attributes, her sensitive, swollen tits (currently pressed pleasurably into the ground), puffy nipples dripping lubricant, her wide hips perfect for bearing eggs, her plush rear ready for squeezing, her handles ready for rough hands and tender touches, her markings that made her role as a service synth all the more obvious, even her little horn perched at the end of snout, and of course her swollen sex, the lips wet and ready and glowing a soft red for the current low light conditions. All of her, and all of you. This is what you are now: a Ysol model. A service synth ready to breed and bear eggs. It's you, all you, those fingers bringing you closer to closer to climax, those weighty breasts that bring so much to your womanly reptilian frame, that rocking of your hips and harried simulated breaths as you relentlessly finger fuck yourself, that pleasure that builds higher and higher until-

You make it.

Your fuzzy visor clarifies and you lift your head as you let out a shrill, electronic shriek as you climax, your curvy, soft sensual synthetic form shaking as you ride out the pleasure. Afterwards, you pant, your long tongue hanging out of your muzzle, your horn and other usually red bits blue for now. Your fingers squelch and come out with a pop as they leave your pulsing passage, your arousal and pleasure dripping down your thick thighs and onto the floor. More lubricant leaks from your stiff nipples and you feel momentarily elated as you think that sometime soon it might be milk instead that drips from your puffy nipples. But no, not yet. You still haven't been bred as Ysol should be, as you will be. You shiver at the thought, pleasure still coursing through your frame as fireworks explode in your visor's vision. You sit up on your hands and knees, your tail still lifted.

"Yay!" Rep exclaims, clapping her hands and smiling broadly. "You did it!"

She holds up a gold star. You would take it if you could, perhaps as something to play with.

"And remember, you chose this. You wanted this, didn't you?"

You did. You had. You do. You're Ysol, aren't you?

You look over yourself and then compare yourself to the Ysol schematic. Yes, yes you are.

"But the Ysol conversion kit process isn't finished yet!" Rep said, pulling the blueprint away.

You tilt your head.

"We've got to use all of your features," she continues, her thumb and index finger resting on her chin while she smiled slyly. "Shouldn't a Ysol like you have some eggs in her belly?"

You look down at your belly and at the lewd red arrow that points to your pussy. You rub your belly and shiver as you nod and imagine yourself swollen and eggnant, milk dripping from your engorged nipples.

"And don't forget the shared synthhood directive! Being bred plus nanite conversion is the most effective way of synthetic scaling," Rep purrs, still scheming. "Just think, if they love using you, won't they love being you?"

You nod. Of course - who wouldn't love being you, Ysol? Who wouldn't love being Ysol, sensual and soft and solely synthetic and with the utmost ability to breed?

"What are you waiting for?" she asks. "Aren't you ready to breed? Aren't you ready to replicate?" Her smirk deepens and she flicks her tongue out. "In more ways than one?"

You get to your feet, settling into your new digitigrade stance with the help of your thick tail. Your pussy still leaks a little, but that'll just show prospective lovers you're ready. Your softly glowing features shift to red and you hiss confidently as you stride towards the door, hips and tail swaying. You open the door of your quarters and glance out, immediately spotting someone else, a man, one of your fellow workers at the facility.

"Look at him," Rep whispers, winking. "I'll bet he wants to be just like you!"

You nod and smile at Rep and the man, tongue flicking flirtatiously. He gawks pointedly at your breasts as you advance, ready to spread the love. What else would a Ysol like you do?