Warning:

2017: Prelude to Disaster

The notification flashed on the bottom right of my monitor, a new message. This single message as innocent as it was, hid a dark fate. That fate was so fundamentally twisted that any sane person would have smashed that computer, the router, possibly the entire internet to prevent it’s delivery. Forget time traveling to kill Hitler, forget evacuating Pompeii. Forget any political assassination or rescue mission. Destroying that message would have been the most important decision ever made in human history. That message was sent by my friend Dragonoid Apostle and would begin our short, passionate romance.

The notification chime woke me. Only a couple people could wake me at this hour, the rest went to the message queue for when I checked. I climbed out of bed, naked, and sat myself in front of the screen. Blurry eyes rubbed clear, I tried to focus. Five in the morning, my alarm wouldn’t go off for another two hours. I snarled at the screen, “Oh come on, this better be important!”

Click, click, the message opened and revealed it’s weighty importance. “Just ran across this while jerking it and thought you would want to see it too. I want to be the dragon, and you the princess. Meet me tonight?” Above the text was a photo, still downloading on my shitty boonies internet. I yawned, then read the message again. Meet tonight? Shit, I’d never met an internet friend offline before, wasn’t the kinda thing a young woman did.

I started to type back a rejection. Dragonoid had been a fun roleplay partner throughout the last year, but that was all. Say no, block him, never think about him again. He’d gotten too into it, that was all, thought he loved me or some shit. All I wanted was some online fun after all. I reached for the enter key, then stopped as the image rendered.

Her head was thrown back, mouth gaped. Her arms and legs were chained to each corner of the boulder and held wide. Above her, a large majestic dragon with golden scales perched. Between his hind legs an utterly inhuman erection protruded—perfectly rendered—like Michelangelo in elephantine proportions. That glorious spire was poised at her entrance, nudged gently between her folds, just the top of her vulva visible on the swell of her pubic mound. But he had already climaxed. The fountain of glistening golden hued seminal fluid caught the sunlight behind them, gallons of it poured into her then overflowed back out. There was a cutaway in the bottom left revealing uterus bloated, ovaries swimming. Another deeper cutaway showed a single egg swarmed by forked tailed sperm, with one penetrating the barrier to fertility.

There was more and more detail to look at in that painting, everything so perfectly done with such attention to detail and fact. Scales looked properly reptilian, the ventral slit looked right for a reptile as well. This artist had studied, studied almost as much as I had. I pulled up a couple pictures until I found the one it reminded me of, a gator from below looking up. Yup, no question, that stretched open cloaca was a dead match though the phallus was completely fantastical. Whoever painted it had stared at this very image for weeks probably.

“That is hot as fuck,” I typed back to Dragonoid and hit enter, “You wanna be him, huh? Big, powerful, pumping little old helpless me full of your sperm? You’re saying you want to rape me?” I grinned as I hit enter again. He started typing back, I continued, “And you want me to meet you in person? Sounds like a recipe for trauma and unwanted teen pregnancy. You know I’m not even 18, right? That’d be 10 years in prison I think.”

He replied, full of typos, “No no no no! I dot’n wnt 2 rap u, id love 2 full u with cum but I wnt 2 be HIM. Iv nvr wntd 2 be any thing more! Hes so handsome n strong! His penis is beautfiul! U want him 2 I know u do.”

I shifted in my seat, already a wet spot forming on the hardwood between my thighs. Yeah, I wanted him, and would have loved to be chained to that rock. I couldn’t deny it for a second. “Sure, I want him. Now calm your ass down, you’re typing like a horny tween who popped a boner for the first time.”

“Sry,” he replied quickly. Then added, “Sorry.”

“I know you don’t really want to rape me. Well, I don’t think you do anyway. And I have no interest in having kids right now so you better not get any ideas. If you put a baby in me, I’ll send you to butt-fuck-me-in-the-ass-prison for the rest of your short life. Got it? I can find any simpering little shit of a man to keep me happy, but good luck finding a kinky girl like me ever again. I am better than you could ever hope for, and you know it.”

He stopped typing whatever he was about to send, erased it, and was silent for half a minute. Then he was typing again and I waited. I waited and stared at that painting. She too was gorgeous, I hadn’t really paid her much mind, but the artist’s attention to detail extended to her as well. Her breasts were pert and hung naturally, her mouth and face was exact in it’s grotesque display of violation. She looked at the viewer in abject horror as her flesh was sacrificed to the beast. Would he devour her when he was done? Would she spend the next year with her womb full of inhuman life leeching off her nutrients? Would she lay eggs, would she give birth to live dragons, half dragons, abominations of biology?

Lust trickled from my folds to pool on the wood. I wanted to be her, yes, holy fuck yes. I wanted inhuman offspring forced on me, a womb full of unnatural life. I’d had that fantasy over and over throughout the past few years, ever since I found bestiality porn. Dogs, horses, even snakes and dolphins. By now those were tame and boring to me, it wasn’t until I’d found reptilian bestiality porn that I truly broke away from the norm. Mammals were all roughly the same, fun sizes and shapes to be certain, but nothing compared to the variety the world had to offer. Once I got over my initial squeamishness I fell in love with the bizarre. That was long before I ever met Dragonoid Apostle and he still had no idea how deep my kinky streak was in the sewer—or cloaca if you will.

“Wait, you mean you’re interested? Of course I won’t rape you! Not that a promise will suffice obviously, but no babies I promise. I’ve got condoms anyway if we need them.”

I grinned as I replied, “Condoms are good for boy scouts like yourself. Always prepared. You’ll make a noble dragon some day, proud, kind, and very fun to fuck.”

“Oh God do I wish! I want to spread my wings and fly. I would tear my own skin off in a heartbeat if only scales were beneath. I never wanted to be human, I didn’t agree to this bullshit, if only I could have been born otherwise.” His lament was familiar to my own. I would have loved to live in a world where lusty dragons, werewolves, and darker beasts roamed the realm. My eyes returned to that painting. I right clicked, saved, then set it to my desktop background on my other monitor.

I replied again, “So, you want me to be your human princess? And you want to meet me in person? I could be some fat balding guy with a two inch pecker always erect for some unsuspecting little shit. You promise not to rape a baby into me, good, but what if I want to split your sweet man peach?”

“Well then, I guess that’s just the fate this human body deserves, alas. Hahaha. Promise to end my suffering though if it comes down to it?”

“No promises here. You pays your money, you takes your chances. Where do you want to meet up? When? I’ve got work until 2 today, and one exam at 3. After that I’m free for the rest of the weekend, no one to come looking for me until Monday.” Oh fuck was I really doing this? I shuddered involuntarily and looked again to that dragon. I sat back in my chair which made the old wood creak loudly, then reached down. I was so wet, and as I pressed my finger in between my slick folds, I clenched with an audible squelch. A second later there was a faint dribbling sound as the puddle ran off the front edge of the chair to the floor. I’d have to clean up… but not yet.

-

I stood with hands in my pockets, hunched against the cold. It was snowing hard, and my lashes were caked. I’d hiked out into the middle of the park, near the wooden bridge. Below the river gurgled under the ice, and that was the only sound I heard. I’d picked the spot. It was fairly secluded, and this end of park was empty this time of year. The sledding hill on the other end would have hundreds of people, but out here only the occasional cross country ski enthusiast bothered, and the snow was new enough that they probably would wait until tomorrow.

I heard the faint crunches of footsteps approach and looked up. A dark blotch through the snowfall eventually revealed a tall figure in a light jacket with an ushanka style hat. “Dragonoid? Jim?” I called out.

He stopped and raised his head, still a good twenty yards distant, “Christine?”

“That’s me. And if you tell anyone that my name isn’t really Bitch Tits of the north star, I’ll take your balls for a coin purse.” I changed my name weekly, but that was the most recent version. He laughed a good ringing laugh. I liked the sound of it, wholesome and warm. Maybe this hadn’t been a mistake. “Come over here and let me get a look at you. You may hate your human form, but until we find a way to change it, I need to know if I can live with it.”

“Yes Ma’am,” he replied with a grin I could see from here, white teeth glinting brighter than the snowfall. He crunched over and stood before me with arms spread. A few feet away now, he looked even taller than I had thought. Six two? Three? “Well, what do you think?” He asked.

“I can’t tell, take off your clothes, lets get a good look at you,” I ordered.

He gawped, eyes widening, “Here? Now? I mean…”

“Don’t be ashamed. When you’re a dragon you won’t be wearing clothes anyway, will you? I want to see all of you.” It was a bit of a power game, I’d played this game so often online, a role I fell into easily. Internally though I was trembling like a leaf, he was so big, so strong, so… so close. I’d not even kissed a boy before, and here was one before me, who expected so very much more than that.

He nodded with a screwed up face, then started to undo his jacket. I took it from him, tucked it under my arm, and continued to watch as he revealed more and more of himself. Shirt off, I studied him. Tall, yes, but not muscular, he’d need to work on that if he wanted to be a powerful beast. He stopped there and I just cocked an eyebrow at him then looked down. His face went from pale to crimson, I continued to stare at him until with a nearly inaudible voice of complaint, he hooked his thumbs in his waist line and pulled down.

He’d worn silk boxers. If that didn’t speak volumes, nothing else would. He may not have expected to get laid, but he prepared. They were very nice looking, and tented incredibly over his obvious erection. He didn’t offer me his pants, but let them pool about his ankles in the snow. “There, you satisfied?”

“Not entirely,” I told him and gestured with my free hand at his groin, “Give them to me.”

“What?” He asked.

I gestured again, “Your boxers, give them to me.”

He reached down, then stopped and stared at me, “Are you going to leave me here, naked in the cold?” He shivered.

“No,” I assured him, though the temptation was there. I put on my most innocent and friendly smile, “I just want to see what will shortly belong to me.”

“B-Belong to you? Wha?”

“My dragon, tamed, leashed. It’s either that, or a princess raped to a dragon, forced to bare his clutch over and over until the day she dies.” His boxers jerked as I spoke, at both leashed and clutch baring. “Now drop them and let me see what you look like.”

He did as ordered with incredible haste. Even pulled his shoes out of his pants and untangled his boxers. Then he handed them to me, a damp patch below the fly button. I took them from him and stared down at that damp patch above my palm. I didn’t look up at him, didn’t look to his erection I could practically feel. Before his eyes, I brought his underwear to my face and inhaled. I felt no embarrassment, no shame, but he choked on gasp of shock. He smelled freshly washed, hint of soap, but under it was a deep musk of male. I slipped my tongue out and licked the wetness from the inside. He tasted strange, slippery if you could call that a flavor, cloying.

I looked up at last. The head of his penis was purple, with a turtle neck of foreskin to conceal the glans. I stepped forward and reached down. He stiffened as my hand encircled him. So warm. I could feel his rapid heartbeat, then a throb that didn’t keep time with it. “Do you consent, Dragon? Do you swear yourself to my side, forever and ever? Will you put me above all things but for your own dragonhood?” His inner nature had to come first, always, but it seemed fair to ask that I were second.

He looked down into my eyes, his own wide and frightened. My words sank home and his expression melted. He stood naked in the snow, helpless. I’d planned none of this, but he didn’t know it, he only saw the comfortable trap I opened for him. Then he leaned down and to my surprise, kissed me. His hands snared the hair at the back of my neck, fingers slipped under my knit hat, and he cradled me as his lips covered mine.

My first kiss. I shook, suddenly full of uncertainty. His tongue touched my lips and he pressed his naked body against me. Was he trying to take control? I squeezed his erection, then leaned forward and caught his lower lip between my teeth and bit down. Not hard, but enough to hurt. He jerked back but I held on for a long moment as his eyes opened again before mine. I stared into him, demanding an answer.

At last, he whispered, “Yes Princess, I am yours forever.”

I nodded. His eyes watered with tears. I let go of his lip and let him retreat. I stared up and grinned wide, predatory, powerful. Inside I felt like a last leaf on a tree in winter, waiting to be knocked away by a stiff breeze. “Good boy. Are you ready for your reward?”

“Reward?” He asked, intimidated but still he grinned back.

I sank to my knees in the snow before him and stuffed his silky underwear into my coat pocket. I was the right height, perfectly positioned to meet his malehood. It was intimidating in it’s own right, too thick for my thin fingers to fully encircle. I pulled the foreskin back to expose his full head, glans swollen and flared out. “This,” I told him quietly, then buried my face in his groin, nose in his pubic hair, penis lodged between my tonsils. I had no experience with oral, but I doubted he did either. I gagged, but resisted as best I could, then began to nurse upon him like an infant at teat.

Snow fall muffled his moan. It clung to his shoulders and back, wetting and chilling him. I knew I had to be quick, so I worked at him with every technique I had seen in porn, and some only played at in roleplay. It didn’t take long. He was a virgin and so was I, but he was so excited that it didn’t matter. I’d tasted his precum already, so I had some idea what to expect, but I was still not prepared for the strange unpleasant sensation and taste as he lost control. His hands still in my hair, he clung to me, leaned on me, his knees failed and nearly tumbled. I supported most of his weight as his hips jerked and thrust against my throat.

I swallowed, swallowed again, and endured his loss of control. This was what I wanted… Mostly. He though was no dragon, nor reptile. That would have been far more disgusting, but also far more satisfying to my inner hunger. Still… As he pulled away I felt a sense of accomplishment entirely new and wholesome. I knew I would do it again soon, and enjoy it more. I pictured in my mind that dragon, his inhuman spire unloading gallon upon gallon into my throat, over my face, destroying my jacket in the process.

“I wonder if we could…” I said aloud.

He gasped back, “What?” still catching his breath.

“Turn you into a dragon.”

He groaned, his cock twitched, and a splatter of pearly semen hit the snow between my knees, “Please oh please, if it were possible, I would give anything, do anything.”

I looked up at him and tried to see him as a beast of scale and claw, his swollen vent gaped open, his filth smeared cock aimed toward my lips. I leaned in and wrapped those lips around him once more, and suckled, drawing another spurt from his empty gonads and prostate. He shuddered and jerked away, I let him go without protest. “Maybe,” I said as I rolled his unpleasant flavor across the roof of my mouth, “There just might be a way. But it will take a lot of study. Have you ever heard of Crisper Cas Nine? I was reading something about it in a magazine last month. Research is on going, but…”

He shook his head and shivered with arms encircling his own chest, “No, what is it?”

I handed his shirt and jacket back to him, and said, “Put your clothes on,” I did not however return his silky underwear, those were mine now. “I think I figured out what I’m going to college for, and so are you.”

“Just like that? Huh?” He asked, all bluster and confidence now that he had dumped his lust down my throat. He took the clothes and began to redress. Then he glanced at his pants and me, I didn’t move to hand his shorts back, he shrugged faintly and pulled his jeans up again.

“Just like that.” I replied.

A few hours later, we were both signed up for per-requisites through the local community college, same classes, same path. Biology and Genetic Engineering was a relatively new field, there was no specific course, but we’d find our way.

2022: Who You Know

In the realm of research and funding, it wasn’t what you knew, but who you know. That was probably true in most fields, but far more blatant and abused here. All throughout college Jim and I had cast our nets wide, made friends, ingratiated ourselves with everyone in the field. I’d also given more blowjobs than a whore in an army encampment could have dreamed of. I was the Princess of Suck as Jim liked to call me. It was incredible what a pair of lips and a sweet demeanor could do when wrapped over a rock hard core of lusty iron will. I’d worked my way up into the good graces of two thirds the bio-research departments in the country, and the backers thereof.

Two days after graduation, Jim and I went to work in our own lab, “Practical Genetics Research Facility”, in the bottom two basement floors of a pharmaceutical company working on the latest vaccine for the pandemic. They had money to burn through government grants and had no need of the musty old basement. Technically, we were employees, but we only answered to the CEO, who didn’t even live in the same country. In effect, we had everything we needed to begin our research.

Our backers had been lulled into giving away vast sums of money, most of which just sat in investment accounts reaping the benefits of zero interest and economic booms. There were strings tied to that money, promises made that would never be kept, but by the time those promises came due, the future would be an alien thing.

At first, it was just the two of us. Day after day manipulating genetic structures, learning the language of biology, and finding ways to stabilize incompatible constructs. Month by month, we worked in data alone, nothing practical, nothing tested. The tools were like shotguns, fired off into the genome with a thousand pellets. They took out anything that matched the pattern. Redundancy was one problem, but permutations of the same pattern in other areas was another. Sure you could add scales by manipulating hair follicles, but then you would have scales growing in your ears, nose, and even inner organs that used the same hairs for other purposes. You had to target only the epidermis, and only the hair follicles on the exterior surface. Human skin didn’t grow like a reptile’s skin either, which made it more difficult still.

That was one single example of the numerous other problems we ran into before we even attempted our first trial. In the end, we did move on to real attempts with real biological samples. If anyone had ever found out about those early trials there might have been international courts lining up to sentence us to death. As it was, no one knew, no one would ever know.

I laid upon the exam table, my legs strapped into the stirrups. A few days before I’d inoculated myself with one of the more potent fertility drugs on the market. I could feel it in my system, I was like a bitch in heat, eager, hungry, and waiting. Between my thighs Jim pounded away like a dragon in rut. I saw him more and more the noble beast and less the man. I encouraged his mental adjustment. He wasn’t to think of himself in human terms, nor act in human terms. He lived down here with me, deep in our wretched basement. I, his princess, and he, my dragon. This was his hoard.

To him I spoke encouragements, “Yes my beast, dump yourself into me, fertilize me. Make me a mother of beasts!” Behind me on the wall, if I tilted my head back, I could see the painting, the original, purchased while still in school. I stared at it with longing, imagining I were her. The stirrups were close enough, but my arms were free. I reached behind my head, under the exam table, and clasped wrists. Better. Above me he panted and grunted, pounding into my aching passage. He was not yet the beast in the painting, but he was close in mind’s eye.

I came for him, the mental image of those eggs fertilized filled me. He came a moment later and made the fantasy a reality. Perhaps not gallons, but enough that it poured out of me onto the floor under us. I shuddered in my bondage, thrashed back and forth as I imagined she had, her mouth agape with horror as the monster stole her body and made it his nest.

Spent, he pulled away and stomped off, leaving me to the afterglow. It was our way now. A dragon did not care for his Princess when he was finished with her. I would call for him should I need his aid, or want his attention. A beast, my beast. I laid a hand to my stomach and closed my eyes, father of our children.

The next couple hours were spent collecting the fertilized eggs. Twenty of them in all. I took a morning after pill then, to be certain nothing took root in my womb. I wanted children, but not like that, not human filth. This was only a means to an end after all.

The eggs were healthy, embryos really, they had divided and divided again and again. Quickly I mixed the prepared solution into the eggs, inflicting on them genetic modification. Most died a few hours later, but a couple persisted, they divided again and again, grew until you could see them with the naked eye. When I was sure they were viable in the tank I injected them into the prepared mother. She was an 8 year old gator, bred in captivity, and quiet comfortable around humans. Though my handling of her this way made her a bit unwelcoming.

In the end, all six remaining zygotes were implanted. From that point on, ultrasound was the only regular procedure needed to keep tabs. Two of the six died within the first few hours, but the remaining four grew and grew. Jim and I were excited, but our excitement was premature. In the tenth week, the final child died. I collected the stillborn from the mother and began to study it. Numerous incompatibilities had crept up in the end. I took genetic samples, X-rayed the whole thing end to end in incredible detail, and preserved a number of organs for further dissection.

Somehow I couldn’t see it as my own daughter, though Jim had from the start. It was just a sample, a lump of meat, it didn’t matter that we had produced it through intercourse, it had not grown inside of me. I did feel sadness and a bit of discouragement at the failure of our first real attempt, but I hadn’t truly expected better. This attempt would only make the next attempt more likely to succeed.

-

I found her on one of those shady websites, just a simple comment made by someone too innocent to know to keep her identity concealed. The video was of a woman coiled up with a snake, made to look like they were having sex. I’d seen it before numerous times, but that woman left a dozen paragraphs long love story to the idea depicted.

It took me only a few minutes to find a valid email address for her and I opened innocently enough, “Hi there, I found your comment on one of those naughty websites and I wanted to discuss it with you.” A few hours later, we were in a privately hosted text chat on one of my personal servers.

“Amelia, I’ll lay it out straight. I have a business, and I need to hire someone to fill some very unique roles. These roles may be considered illegal, perhaps even amoral or down right abominable by certain religious conservative groups. I can pay you well for your service, but you can never share anything of your duties to the outside world.”

“Woah, that’s a little extreme. You don’t know anything about me and you’re offering me a job?” She typed back, slow to respond, but attentive.

I responded, “You have the one qualification I’m looking for in an employee. You want to be impregnated by a reptile. I can’t make that a reality yet, but you can help us move toward that goal. Any other skills you can pick up along the way, so long as you are passionate and dedicated. I can change your life, forever.”

“A reality? Are you fucking with me?”

“No joke, trust me. My partner and I have similar goals and the financing to pull it off. What do you say?”

“Can I think about it?” She asked.

I considered giving her some leeway, then decided against it. Strike now before she convinces herself it’s a mistake, “I only need one person right now, if you don’t take it, it might be a decade before I hire a second.” She was unemployed, living in her mother’s apartment. Her mother was pregnant with a second child already and would need that spare bedroom within the year. “Covid hit us all hard, this is a way up and out.”

“This is insane.” I remained silent. “I can’t believe you, I just can’t.” I continued my silence as she typed more, “but I do need a job, and even if this is some kinda screwed up porno or something, I suppose I’m in.”

“Good,” I answered, “pack quickly. I’ll have a car waiting for you in one hour. It’ll be a pleasure to work with you Amelia Harris.”

“Wait, how do you know my last name?”

I chuckled to myself as I typed back, “It’s in the email address you used to comment on that video. I’d suggest deleting that message before you pack.”

She was in another state but the same country. I bought her a plane ticket without telling her where she was going, then ordered a cab to pick her up at her mother’s place. I thought of hiring a limo, but that seemed overkill. I’d done enough to the woman’s psyche for one day.

“Alright, I’m packed and ready to go. Mom wants to know where I’m off to, what should I tell her?”

“New job, what else? I’m not going to keep you in isolation, you’ll talk to her daily I’m sure. We’re down in Florida, the rest you’ll find out soon enough.”

-

A number of hours later I had Jim meet her at the airport as I prepared a spare room in the upper floor of our facility. It was the more comfortable of the two floors, and we’d set it up as a sort of dorm and office complex. Most of the rooms remained empty and locked off, waiting for the day we needed to expand. She couldn’t go down to the second floor where the real work was done, not yet anyway.

Jim returned half past eight in the evening, and in tow was a petite woman with lovely hips and a nervous disposition. She seemed to be a bit frightened by Jim’s imposing physique, and even more so by her surroundings. We were underground, below a very large, very expensive facility, with no one about. “Welcome to P.G.R. Amelia. Jim be a good boy and stop scaring the poor girl, hulking like that.”

“Sorry Christine,” he muttered and shrank a little, hiding his bulk and height by hunching just a touch.

She scuffed a heel at the floor and looked around, then back to ask, “P.G.R.? Never heard of it.”

“Not surprised. Those who know about us, don’t actually understand what we are doing. Those who understand what we are doing, don’t know about us. That’s how we like it. It stands for Practical Genetic Research, but that’s just the tip of the iceberg. I told you why we wanted you, the one qualification. You can infer the rest I’m sure.” She blushed deeply and looked away, toward Jim, then quickly the other way. “No, not him, he’s mine. We’ll find you your perfect match eventually, or more likely create him for you. Now, let me show you to your room.”

She looked back at me with that blush present, but also a touch of determination behind those dark eyes. She was cute in a mousey way, dark skinned, dark eyed, hair a series of tight braids that exposed her scalp. I could imagine her coiled in a serpent’s embrace, hips rocking to and fro, a pair of erections buried in both of her lower orifices. It was why she was here, I could make that a reality for her. She nodded her head at last and extended a hand, “It is a pleasure to meet you Ma’am. I have a bit of a notion what you have in store for me long term, but what will I do in the short term before I am more useful?”

I took her hand and shook it, then turned without releasing to lead her down the main hallway. She followed, but slowly. “Quite right. Until I have something viable to put in your womb, you don’t serve much purpose, do you?” Her hand trembled in my grasp, but she followed without question. “Nothing glorious or particularly shameful for now, I promise. I’ll have you enroll in zoology courses through University of Florida’s remote education program. That’s a four year degree, by the way. While you are studying, you will be little more than a glorified janitor, truth be told. Half way through you should understand enough to assist in caring for the animals and maintaining the pens.”

“Wait, you’re paying me to go to college and pickup dog poop?”

“Pretty much, though right now the only animal we have on the premises is a single mature Alligator. Once the other pens are online we’ll be acquiring a mated pair of anacondas and possibly Orangutans for comparison to the human genome.”

Her hand shook a second time when I mentioned anacondas, and there was an eagerness in her steps to replace the reluctance, “You really mean it, that you want me to breed with them? Is that really possible?”

I nodded as I turned a corner, then stopped before her new home, “Indeed. Though perhaps not them but their heavily modified offspring. We’ve been at it for two years now attempting to produce a viable hybrid, with no success. I will be attempting to impregnate you with ovum and sperm long before we have a chance to mate you with a live hybrid. Perhaps if you learn to interact with these potential snakes, you might convince one to take a fancy to you.” I considered my words, then added, “What I’m saying is, so long as it does not interfere with the end goal, you are free to be as freaky and depraved with any beast you want here. I’ll even let you take in other species that interest you, so long as you maintain their pens and document everything carefully.” I thought of watching her on her hands and knees under something, in the name of documentation. Didn’t need to let her know how much I enjoyed watching, she’d figure that out in time.

“What… What if I don’t like it here?”

I squeezed her hand, then let it go as the door opened before us. “Lets not worry about that, alright? I’m sure you’ll be happy here. And if not, well, we are very well funded, with connections in the private sector as well as ties to military contractors. We can find a solution to your displeasure somewhere.” It was a threat, she knew it was a threat and she knew I knew she knew. That was all that needed to be said. “Now make yourself at home. We’ll look at getting you enrolled next semester, and I’ll start laying out some duties for you next Monday. In the meantime…” I gestured toward the open door.

“Thank you Christine, I’ll try and make you proud to have hired me.”

“I’m sure I will be Amelia, thank you for coming!”

2024: Breakthrough of Modern Abominations

Jim held her down as Amelia screamed again. Her body writhed with pain, but I managed to close the stirrup and lock it around her ankle, then the other. Her wrists were next, locked into the welded on bracing above her head; my idea of course. Then a final strap encircled her just below her rib cage. She could barely move now, but her hips rolled and thrust as the pain continued on and on.

In a soothing tone I spoke to her, “Calm down, I know it hurts, but if you struggle too hard you might risk the child. Control yourself.” She did manage some semblance of control, though her breath came in great desperate huffs. She wasn’t doing well, that was certain, but we couldn’t risk anything in her system that might affect the children’s health.

We did another quick ultrasound, the eggs had shifted and her cervix was beginning to dilate. It wouldn’t be enough, they were too big. “Jim, Get a local, novacaine, lidocaine, something. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” I’d known I would need to do something along these lines eventually, but I’d thought it would be on an animal. She had such wide hips, but…

I returned in full scrubs, hands in heavy gloves, fully washed and sterilized. Jim hadn’t understood, not yet. I took the syringe from him and pointed at her wide spread thighs, “straps in the joints, tight, I don’t want her hips to move an inch.” She looked back at me, wide eyed, terrified. She knew, she understood. I looked back and nodded, “It’ll be alright. I’m trained.” Trained, but not in surgery. I knew basically what had to be done, and knew what not to cut, but this was well beyond my experience.

She begged, “No, please don’t, I can lay them, I can!” Tears ran down her cheeks as she begged.

“No, you can’t Amelia, Your muscles are contracting hard, and your cervix is too narrow. Maybe if you had another few hours you could dilate enough, but your body isn’t going to give them the chance.” I pressed the syringe to the skin just above her pubic mound, below her navel, a shallow injection. Then another, and another, in a line to either side.

I set the needle aside on a tray and slathered her bare belly in iodine, staining it yellow-brown. She was so hugely pregnant, I could see the outline of the eggs denting her unevenly. They had been well packed an hour ago, just a normal looking pregnancy for a woman at the end of the third trimester. She was only six weeks in though.

I began to cut while Jim watched, eyes wide. This was not something he had been prepared for. Blood began to spill and I let it. I knew where to cut, my hands didn’t shake, the nervousness evaporated in the concentration. I fell into the zone and remained there. Her uterus exposed, I opened her one final time. Scalpel down, I washed the wound in clean water then reached in to collect an egg, then another. Jim took them from me one after another, cleaned them, then wrapped them in the prepared towels, then tucked them into the incubator.

They were slightly misshapen, with leathery shells that dented under my grip. But they were alive, I could feel the faint heartbeats within, and even a faint kick as I passed one over. Seven eggs in all, of the twenty eggs I had injected into her uterus. A mingling of her eggs with my DNA, two gators, and some other samples to help stabilize.

It was a tribute to all the hard work that they survived this long. She may not have been able to lay them naturally, but they were alive, seven hybrids. I looked up into her wide tear filled eyes and smiled, “Look at that Amelia, seven healthy eggs.” She relaxed a little, smiled back, then looked to the incubator. Her eyes watered again and tears trickled, but it wasn’t from pain or strain now, she too felt it.

I bent back over her and began to stitch her uterus closed. My sutures were not perfect, but they would suffice I thought. It took longer to close her up than it had to open her, but it gave me good practice for the next time. I knew, there would be more times, many more times. The human body wasn’t capable of birthing hybrids easily. I would have to focus on that as well, perhaps something as simple as inducing birth, but I’d have to watch for natal queues. Why did her body try to lay them now, instead of next month?

I tied off and snipped the last stitch, bandaged her carefully, then stepped away. She was sleeping now, Jim had given her something while I worked. He looked quite pale though. “It worked,” I told him, “We’re nearly there. Once we create a viable hybrid then it’s only a matter of mapping viable changes onto a living human genome.” Only. I laughed to myself. That would be orders of magnitude harder than creating a hybrid in the first place.

I glanced over to the eggs and smiled. They were rounded now, firming up in the warm air of the incubator. We had done it though. I reminded myself not to count my chickens before they hatched, but it was a step in the right direction. With enough iteration, success was inevitable.

-

Two of the eggs died in the night, a third the following night, then a fourth and fifth the week after. The remaining two continued to incubate, though we all grew more nervous. One month in, the sixth passed, organ failure as usual. The seventh remained healthy for the next few weeks until it began to rock and jiggle in place.

The alarms blared as I rushed down the hall to the incubation chamber. I arrived in time to see a blunt little snoot push its way from the egg and take its first breath. A few minutes passed, and the little hybrid crawled his way from the egg, hatched. The other two arrived a few minutes behind, just as excited.

“What do we call him?” Amelia asked.

Jim held out his hand and proclaimed, “This is our son, Timothy.” She looked at him, perplexed. “It’s a comic from a few years back. Just a joke. Big evil scary dragon, and his son Timothy.”

I grinned, “Timothy it is.”

Amelia reached out and touched the little hybrid’s head with a slow caress of her fingertip, “My son, Timothy, such an adorable little abomination.” She winked at me, “He doesn’t look that much different from a normal Alligator.”

“Sure, but he survived birth from a human and hatching. Incremental changes, each generation an improvement on the last. I need to study his genome and figure out where it differed from his brothers, but the next clutch should be quite a bit more human.”

Jim wrapped his arms around me from behind and leaned over to peer down at baby Tim. “He’s got his mother’s eyes.”

I looked up at Amelia and back down, then nodded, “He does, still slitted and reptilian, but the color is very close.” I could feel Jim’s erection press into my back, he was excited and eager to change himself. I was eager to change him, as well. “Soon, but not soon enough,” I told him in a whisper, then pressed my rear into his groin to seat his bulge between my cheeks.

2029: Tragic Success

Timothy’s tail wagged as I entered his chamber. He hurled himself to the floor and scrambled over. He was something other, something new, his personality a thing never before seen in this world. Yet, to my eyes, he was like a very strange dog. I scooped him up, carried him over to the sofa, and sat down with him across my lap with his head on my chest. He nuzzled and licked at my throat, then burrowed his nose into my armpit.

“Good morning kiddo,” I told him as I ran my hand up and down his tummy. Groomed nails clicked on scales, and he squirmed, ticklish. Gently, ever so gently, I pressed my palm to his vent, familiar as my own flesh. He hissed a sound into my armpit, and raised his hips, with a press of his tail against my thigh. Wet flesh parted and his erection slipped up to catch my palm. I slipped two digits inside, under him, and began to caress his length. He wasn’t large, and though he was still growing, it was slower than normal. We guessed that he would never reach the size of even a small adult male alligator.

With loving tenderness I masturbated him in my lap. He squirmed and thrust his hips, eager to penetrate between my fingers. This was familiar to him, the most love and intimacy he received every day, though he played with his siblings and watched entertainment streams, these quiet mornings was what he looked forward to most. Or at least, that’s what it seemed like to me. With a thrumming roar he climaxed. A slippery spray of mucous coated his belly, rich with hybrid sperm. Tangled ropes clung to my fingers and palm. I extracted my hand from his hot vent and brought the messy digits to my face. I inhaled the aroma, so familiar now, and slipped those digits between my lips to suckle them clean.

I had tasted so many men over the years, filthy and clean, cruel and kind. No one did I love more than my little Tim. He was sweet and sour, musky and earthy. I didn’t need a sample today, our morning ritual didn’t require it, only consistency. I lowered my head to his waist, and began to clean him. My tongue slithered into his slit, traced from one end to the other. His member slipped out again and I caught it, suckled at it, and was rewarded with an aftershock jet of semen. I spread him with fingers and pressed my face in, breathed deep of his pungent musk, then let it go with a satisfied sigh.

Tongue bath complete, I set him to the floor and rose to my feet. I turned the monitor on and set it to his favorite stream, then sat at the desk and began to work. It wasn’t my office, just a secondary terminal with access, but I’d set it up to keep company with him, and he seemed content with that. Hours passed as I worked, the flavor of his cloaca upon my tongue slowly faded though the scent of him filled the chamber.

I was interrupted from my genetic programming jam session by an out of cycle chime from Jim, “Christine, I’ve made a breakthrough and I need to test it. Amelia is currently pregnant, are you up for it? A little Christmas present you might say.”

He sounded strange, stressed, his voice deeper than normal and gravelly. “Sure Jim. What do you have?”

He replied with an air of mystery, “I want it to be a surprise. Dose yourself tonight and I’ll meet you in exam one tomorrow morning. Wear a blindfold.”

I didn’t like these kinds of surprises, he knew that, but after over a decade together I didn’t mind indulging him once in a while. “Alright, if I must.”

Once he had closed the connection, I glanced over to Tim and told him, “Looks like I have a prior engagement for tomorrow, you’ll be fine without me in the morning, won’t you?” He looked back, blank eyed, then back to the monitor. He didn’t understand of course, his brain mass was far too low for real human like thought, though he had a deeply empathic side to him, and could recognize all kinds of emotions in others.

I climbed to my feet and made my way to the entrance. He followed briefly and pressed his warm snout against my ankle, then trotted back to his couch and continued watching his show. A kiss goodbye perhaps, he did things I didn’t understand, things that pushed him above the level of an animal. Other times he was completely alien and inhuman. I shrugged, opened the door, and locked it behind me.

-

The hormones that cycled through my blood left me agitated and flustered. They did a number on my sex drive, and could alter my mood for up to a year in unpleasant ways. Right now I would have been content tearing Jim’s dick off, or pinning him to a wall and fucking a hundred babies into my womb. That wasn’t the plan though, I didn’t think. He would come down with a nice big syringe full of some juicy cocktail of genetic nightmares and plunge it right into my hole. Then maybe he’d fuck me in the ass as I was fertilized.

I sat on the exam table and waited. I was naked, ready for whatever he had in mind, and there was a puddle forming under my ass that I couldn’t stop. The blindfold made it worse, heightened the other senses. My skin prickled as the vent blew cold air across it, my nipples hardened, my labia slipped against one another as inner muscles clenched and my thighs shifted from one side to the other. I could practically feel my ovaries popping open, dozens of little eggs falling free, eager to start a new life.

The door at last opened, closed, and he stood there. He was breathing heavily, as if he had run a marathon, and there was a stench that followed, it was unpleasant, almost fecal. “Good,” he said, voice even deeper than it had been last night, “I can smell how ready you are. Oh hell Christine, you wouldn’t believe it!” he took a deep breath through his nose, then let it out with a sigh. I was tempted to rip my blindfold off, something seemed wrong about this whole situation.

I didn’t get the chance. His hands closed on my wrists as he came forward, then pulled them outward and up. Shackles clacked closed on them. My knees followed, open, wide, wider, then ankles in stirrups. He locked one, then the other.

“Okay, is this necessary?” I asked, growing annoyed and… and intensely aroused. I knew the painting hung on the wall behind me. The princess chained to the boulder in the same position, helpless under her dragon mate’s lust. “Oh shit… Jim, what did you do?”

The stench of him was intense as he leaned over me. It was a similar smell to the natural gator, sour fecal stench of a cloaca, and a masculine odor similar yet so very different from Jim. “Shut up, don’t say a word, bitch,” He snarled at me, chomped his teeth in the air with a loud clap, then laid a hand to my shoulder. Not a hand, a claw. Budding scales scratched at my skin as his fingertips dug in, pierced, and drew blood. He groaned a loud, and that stench grew more intense as a splatter of moisture struck my stomach, cold. His hand was cold too, I realized.

I obeyed his demand, scared now. He’d fucked with his own genetics, screwed himself. He was becoming the dragon in flesh now, or something remotely similar. He thrust hard, and slammed his cold sodden erection into me. I shuddered and arched my back, shocked by the feel of it. I was so familiar with his penis, could describe every vein of it in intimate detail. This thing he used on me now, I too was familiar with, possibly even more so than the one he had been born with. Alien and muscular, it curled forward to lick against the inner wall of my vaginal passage. He pressed the pointed tip against my cervix, then thrust, bounced past into my depths and bottomed out. Ridges flexed up, contracted, flexed again, then he began to ravage me like the beast he always wanted to be.

Bitch, I was his bitch. The Princess was gone now, never to be queen. I moaned and thrashed as his inhuman phallus touched me in ways no human could have ever. It flexed and curled, licked and stroked, and satisfied a need I’d had since I was a young teen. The painting had become reality, after a fashion. I cannot imagine how he had altered himself to make it so similar, but it must have taken him years. I came, shuddering upon his cold, slippery phallus, then came again, and again before he was done.

By the end, his breath came in gasps and wheezes, and he could barely hold himself up, but at last his gonads released. Oh what a release it was too, his cold semen hit my uterus like an arctic wave. I shivered as the slimy deluge poured in, filled, then splattered out to splatter wetly to the floor. Over and over he thrust, unloading, filling, emptying. I imagined the glistening golden release, but the stench of him was overpowering. There was no purity here, no majestic towering beast, but something depraved and dredged from the sewers. I climaxed again upon him, then he fell limply atop, still.

“Jim?” I asked, quietly. Silence. I couldn’t hear him breathe, I couldn’t feel his heartbeat, yet still his erection remained deep within, still drooling the last dregs of his potential. I started to cry, just tears at first to be sopped up by the blindfold. Then heaving sobs. He had been cold, so I couldn’t feel much difference, but the stillness, the emptiness of the collapsed form atop me. He’d died with a final release, his face nestled into my armpit just as Timothy liked.

Hours passed until Amelia found me. I had cried myself sick, calmed, then cried myself sick again before she arrived. She found me still as stone, stolic, and reserved. When she pulled Jim aside and unshackled me, I quietly thanked her, then asked her to leave. Only then did I remove the blindfold and look down at what my beloved had wrought.

His scales were gold, if immature. His muscles bunched and tight with rigor mortis. The erection that protruded from his mutated groin was just as I had anticipated, a spitting image for the artist’s brush. The puddle upon the floor was mingled creamy white, stains of brown and red, bloody. He had mutated so quickly, given himself a cloaca, but hadn’t survived the process. “You stupid idiot,” I told him, quietly, then sobbed again. Amelia was gone, so it was safe. I fell to my knees in the filthy puddle and wrapped my arms around his middle. “We were almost there, another few years, another few attempts, we could have figured it out. Tim survived because he is warm blooded, you knew this! Yet you let yourself go cold.” I didn’t know if that was what killed him, could have been any number of variables. Something had broken down in the process of changing.

When I had it out of my system for the moment, I collected a number of samples from various parts of his body, then began to dismember him. I felt nothing but emptiness as I sawed through muscle and ligament. Joints parted, limbs were tossed into the waste bin. Blood had already coagulated so there wasn’t too much mess. I had anticipated a situation like this, where I would have to dispose of a body too questionable to be revealed. Not Jim though, never in my wildest nightmares had it been Jim.

Alone, I carried his remains down the hall to the disposal. A single 300 gallon container of Lye lay tucked in a corner, forgotten. I broke the seal and removed the top, then began feeding my beloved to it, piece by piece. It was the worst, most horrible thing I had ever done up to this point, yet I didn’t balk nor cry. There would be plenty of time for more of that later. Even the empty bag went in. Then I closed the top once more and double checked the room for traces. It was clean.

The exam room I sterilized, bleach and scouring pads took care of every surface. The last thing I did before I locked it up forever, I took that painting off the wall, down the hall, and added it to the lye. Then I broke down completely. My dragon was gone, forever.

2030: Repercussions

A man does not live in a vacuum. Jim was not forgotten, not by his peers, his family, or his tentative employers. He had gone into a form of isolation the past five years, yet still from our little bubble of the basement, he might send an occasional email to a colleague or a christmas card to family. That Christmas, he died without sending a card. No letters were responded to. No gifts were opened, nor brief thank yous over the phone. In short, Jim had left a hole, with so many things unfinished.

No, I hadn’t seen him since Christmas Eve I said. Amelia hadn’t even realized that had been Jim on top of me, he had changed too drastically to be recognized. She remained ignorant and innocent in all of it, even as she laid in the coils of her serpentine lovers. She was the best of us, the most honest of us. I never told her the truth.

The first to pry into Jim’s disappearance in earnest however was a friend with ties to the military and space program. It was only luck and chance that brought Marcus to my door. A layover in Florida during one of our many hurricanes. He stopped by to complain, “I haven’t gotten an update from him in nearly six months. It isn’t like him, he’s always so punctual. Even if you two had a lover’s spat, he should have kept up with me.”

I stared back at the man I barely knew with hollow eyes. He could see there was something wrong, but he assumed Jim had left me. “That’s not what happened.” I said, I shouldn’t have, I realized it a second later, but the words had left my mouth. His eyebrows rose. I could lie, I could spin some tale that would fall apart at the briefest inspection. I wasn’t good at lying. Hiding a truth, yes, but lying? No.

“Then… what—did—happen?” He asked with emphasis.

“Jim… Jim’s dead. He experimented on himself, cut a few too many corners. Maybe he got too desperate, the project has been taking so long, it’s been so hard on him to look in the mirror and not see himself. I’ve caught him crying over the sink, seen the scars on his back and arms where he tore at himself in a nightmare. I knew it was bad, but… but…” Tears started to run down my cheeks as I unloaded the entire emotional slug upon this veritable stranger.

“What project? We’ve had great success out of you guys over the years. Hell! That last big breakthrough, that treatment for fibromyalgia last year? You guys would be heroes in the medical community if you let us pull back the curtain. Are you trying to tell me it’s a smoke screen?”

I laughed through my tears, “Smoke screen, fuck, we’re so deep into the illegal bio research it would land us in prison in any country we attempted to flee to…” I trailed off, then amended, “I am, he was.”

He pursed his lips and leaned forward. Hands steepled below his chin, elbows to knees. “But, you’re getting results.”

“Damn straight we are getting results.” I thumped my belly, I looked nine months pregnant, but I was only four. “Here’s the final result of Jim’s career. Twelve embryos fertilized, only five fatalities in four months. He killed himself to achieve it, organ failure as usual, but he achieved it.”

“I don’t understand, not really. I take it those embryos are somehow not your run of the mill results of a midnight romp?”

“Nope, gift wrapped christmas present given to me while I was blindfolded and restrained.” I laughed again briefly, then went stoney as I explained, “Marcus, Jim spliced some complicated genetics into his genome, then impregnated me with the result, and died on top of me due to partial change complications resulting in organ failure. Specifically his lungs and liver died first. I don’t know what the result of that genetic marriage will be, we’ve never had such a high percentage of success and I still don’t know all of what he dosed himself with. We are deep in uncharted territories here.”

“Alright. I understand. Now tell me something else; is there value in continuing this research?” He asked the question politely, but he wanted to know if there was anything of financial gain or a means to power. I didn’t like men of his nature, men too short sighted to see beyond the end of their nose. Didn’t matter now. Jim was dead. The project was dead. Every trace of him outside of a couple biological samples had gone down the drain as a chemical slurry.

The door opened behind me. Amelia stepped in, short of stature, wide of hip and bust, even more pregnant than I. She walked straight up to the man and pointed her finger in his direction, “You’re damn right there is! Have you ever wanted to live forever? Cure cancer? Eradicate hunger?” She smirked, eyes bright with feverish belief. She too had begun manipulating the genome on her own, she had taken up the tools of the trade after Jim left. She was still a novice, still saw hope beyond the despair I felt. “Last week I isolated a gene that enhanced muscle growth in large apes and mixed it with a gene that leads to a mild form of epilepsy and applied both to a litter of common rabbits. Five to ten times a day, every day, they undergo a fit that causes their muscles to bulk up tremendously but causes them no other obvious harm. They now gain mass at about twelve percent their rate of consumption. You could feed an army on these guys as fast as they reproduce and as fast as they grow. No hormones necessary, no antibiotics needed.”

“You didn’t tell me about that,” I muttered behind her.

She retorted, “I did, but you were too busy moping around with Timothy.”

Marcus interjected, “I see. So what you are saying is, you are getting results even without Jim, and with some assistance you could achieve even greater results?”

I nodded slightly, it was true, even I had uncovered a couple of breakthroughs in the past couple months. “Can we really bring anyone in on this?” I asked, then glanced at Amelia, ”she was a bit of a special case, I don’t know how we could keep something like this contained, or even find willing employees and test subjects.” I didn’t want to go through dragging another innocent Amelia up from the streets. I had changed her life, and she had changed mine, but it had been risky.

He smiled a wide knowing smile, full of false good nature, “Why, you are speaking to the one man who can help with your pursuits! In fact, there is no one better placed!” He pointed up, then grinned.

Dryly I replied, “I don’t think the execs upstairs would appreciate having their employees transferred to the basement.”

He tutted at me, “Chrissy oh Chrissy you’re thinking too small!”

“Don’t call me that,” I snapped. “What do you mean?”

“Know what I do?” He asked without batting an eye at my ire. I shook my head. Something to do with NASA and the military, but I’d not looked too deeply into it. “I spend most of my time keeping NASA’s nose out of other people’s business on Luna. The rest of the time I’m keeping other countries' noses out of our Lunar business. Which makes me the one man capable of setting up shop without anyone giving it any attention. And not to mention, Luna has no laws, no prisons, no workers rights.”

I took in what he was saying, astonished at the idea. There were problems of course. Microgravity was one of them, radiation another. “You can’t hide a base on the moon, but… you could hide a base in a larger, known complex, on the moon. One that would have round the clock surveillance and no one would bat an eye at shuttles coming and going at all hours, bringing up materials from every country on earth.” I grinned as the idea coalesced in my mind.

Marcus furrowed his brows and cocked his head, “I’m not sure I follow.”

“You said it yourself. No Prisons.” His eyebrows hit max volume and his grin began to match my own, genuine this time, “With such a problem with prison populations on earth, why not? Nations will pay us to take their inmates off their hands. If a couple exotic pets or biological samples hitch a ride with the inmates, who would notice? And if a couple inmates wind up dead, shanked, or otherwise. Well that’s one less mouth breather the world over.”

Amelia turned to look at me, her eyes were wide, her expression uneasy. “I don’t like it, but it would hide us very well, and give us ample resources. So long as we are choosy on who comes up, first pick of the litter, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.” I could see what she was thinking. People convicted of sexual crimes, especially those who consorted with animals.

I nodded my head, “No one will miss a few sex pests, right?”

Marcus nodded back, “Right.”

Amelia smirked, “Sure. Pervert.” I looked back into her eyes and thought something along the lines of pot, meet kettle.

12/25/2021

This work is © 2021 omo.works and its creator, Omo. All Rights Reserved.
For contact and queries, please write to omolaud@gmail.com