Chapter 1 #4
Worse? I don’t like this place. I don’t think anything they are doing here is going to be for the public good.
I don’t know why they want the documentation, but I have a feeling it’s going to be sealed as soon as it is finished, and I’ll be silenced somehow along the way.
It sounds paranoid, but the more I think about the potential applications for this, the more uneasy I feel.
It’s probably imperfect at the moment, after all, that mouse didn’t really entirely look like a chicken; it looked like a fucked-up chicken mouse. But they’re onto something.
Dr. Seek goes back to his work, something at the computer. I wonder how much of the machine is involved in the work. How much can he really take credit for himself?
I work through his notes, transcribing them into a less chaotic mess.
The technology seems reasonable enough. It’s simply gene-editing on the fly.
Theoretically we’ve been able to do this since ages ago.
This is how some of the best ideas are stumbled upon, though, isn’t it.
Something we already know how to do, tweaked slightly to do something we should never be able to do.
I want him.
Silently, needfully. Every moment that passes is another moment in which the memory of his hand on my ass, his lips so close to mine, his body easily dominating the space between us continues to marinate. I find myself pressing my thighs together, trying to get control of my impulses.
And then I don’t have to anymore, because he gives into the energy between us.
A hand slides around my waist, over my stomach and delves between my thighs. His fingers press lightly over my sex through my clothes. He does this all with an almost casually dominant energy, as if he is allowed to do this.
I spread my thighs, giving him silent permission to do with me as he pleases. I close my eyes and I pretend it’s not happening because that means I’m not allowing this to happen. I’m not acting like a horny little slut in heat.
I have been single for six months. It’s not as long as some people, but it’s a long time for me. He’s caught me at just the right time to do something crazy with a guy I just met who I will never see again, because no way am I coming back to this job tomorrow.
I might as well let him fuck me.
* * *
Simon
Most men wouldn’t do this. They would know better. They would stop themselves. They would say things like, oh, yes, she’s attractive, but I am at work and anybody could walk in and we barely know each other, perhaps I’ll ask her for a drink.
But that’s because they can’t smell her like I can. They can’t see the signals she is giving off as clearly as I can. My senses are tuned differently thanks to my recent indulgences.
As much as I tried to resist, in the end instinct won. Now that my hands are on her body, there can be only one outcome.
I feel her shuddering with need beneath me, and I feel all the animal impulses I try so hard to restrain rushing to the fore. It’s so hard to control myself. Even in daily life I notice that the beast inside me is starting to blend into my human moments.
I noticed it a little at first, just here and there, the urge to bare my teeth and snarl instead of simply telling someone who was annoying me to have a nice day.
I’ve been keeping my demeanor brusque in the hopes of making others think I’m just serious. Serious covers for a lot of other sins. This young woman thinks I am an unpleasant, rude, domineering man.
I am now, I suppose.
I wasn’t always.
My attempts to self-reflect and gain some control are failing by the millisecond. My touch seems to be particularly effective with her.
She rises and is moaning, arching back against me, rubbing her perfectly pert rear against my clothed cock.
And I am giving into urges that should be far more contained than they are, because they are not the desires of a man with a job and a social reputation to maintain.
They are the needs of a beast who is compelled to mate.
I can smell her. I want to taste her.
I ruck her skirt up, push her forward over the table, pull her underwear aside, and bury my face in her sex, my tongue lapping at the dew between her lips and pushing up inside the tight hole beyond those delicate petals.
She has not been mated in a long time. She is almost untouched in the way she responds, her hips jolting as I use my fingers to strum the hungry little bud of her clit while I savagely snarl and pleasure her with a ravenous mouth.
When I rise from between her thighs, my cock is already free. I don’t remember doing it; I just know that I needed to get it out of this clothing that feels like a useless set of bindings.
* * *
Lydia
“Noooo!” I whimper in protest. “Don’t stop!”
I am so fucking close to coming, but he didn’t let me finish. It was like he knew exactly how I felt, and precisely when to stop. The frustration is incredible, but so is the pleasure. I am panting with need, feeling like I am totally out of control.
I thought I hated him ten minutes ago. Now I’m considering asking him to be the father of my children. Holy shit. I am trembling, and I can’t stop, and I don’t think I will be able to stop until I come.
I have met some men who thought they were into kinky shit before. I have never, ever in my life met a man this fucking wild.
He just ate my pussy like his life depended on it. He was so passionate, and so skillful at the same time. I am writhing with need as he stands up behind me, one hand on my ass to keep me down and in place while my pussy drips with need.
I turn around and look at him. His eyes are wide. His face is contorted, his handsomeness more pronounced and wilder than ever. He lets out a sound like a howl and rips his shirt off on one side, exposing a body that is way more fucking ripped than any scientist should really be.
The sound he makes is primal and rough. Most men sound silly when they play act like dogs, but he sounds like he might be something from the woods.
And then I don’t care about any of it anymore, because I feel the tip of his cock right at the entrance to my pussy and he is pushing inside with a firm stroke of claiming that leaves me panting for more as he presses me down on the desk and holds me there, his teeth on the back of my neck as he humps agile hips to make that thick, hard cock of his surge in and out of me.
Nobody seeing me in this state would believe me, but I truly do not do things like this. I am usually so sensible and so cautious when it comes to men. My social media is full of girls’ girl content. And here I am, letting myself be fucked bare by a man who wasn’t even particularly nice to me.
It feels illegal to be doing this. It feels wrong. And that is making it even more exciting and enticing as his stunning cock works me toward a quick orgasm. Anybody could come in at any moment. We could be discovered.
The danger only intensifies my lust. He has one hand between my legs again, strumming my clit as he fucks me toward climax.
He’s going to come inside me, I just know he is.
And I know I shouldn’t let him. I shouldn’t have let him touch me in the first place.
The moment he spanked me I should have been upstairs filing an HR complaint.
Instead I am in a deeply subterranean basement having my pussy fucked.
I climax from the realization of what I am doing, from an imaginary bird’s-eye view of how primal and basic I am being.
I come on his fingers and his cock, my entire body contorting in a fierce wave of pleasure that feels like the first truly nice thing that has happened to me in months.
In that moment of orgasm, I am completely and entirely free.
And then, milli-moments later, sanity forces its way through my brain. We can’t do this. We already did it, but we can’t…
“Oh, my god! Don’t come in me!”
I gather enough sense to say that quickly right before he can finish inside me. For an awful moment, I think he might disregard that, too far gone in the throes of his own ecstasy.
He might come inside me anyway. He might fill me up even though I told him not to… my pussy tingles and my hips grind, and I do everything I can besides saying the words to make that happen because I am as entirely out of control as I have ever been.
I feel him pulling out, and a wail emerges from me, some strange but potent need. When he slides out and denies me of his seed, I feel as though I am being deprived of something very, very important.
“What do you want?” He asks the question with the tip of his cock still lodged inside me. His voice sounds rougher than before, more animal, if that is possible. It’s borderline inhuman. Am I being held down and fucked by a monster? I think so.
“Fuck me,” I moan.
He obliges. And this time there is no time, there is no quarter. There is his cock rough inside me, mating me with demanding stroke after demanding stroke until he buries himself deep inside my gripping pussy, just like I asked him to.
I moan something barely coherent, and a moment later he pulls out of my pussy, grips my hair, and pulls my mouth onto his cock, pumping thick spurts of seed over my tongue and down my throat. I am grateful for it, practically thirsty for his cum.
When every drop is inside me, one end or the other, he releases me and stands back with a satisfied expression on his devilishly handsome face.
He pushes his cock away into his pants, but the thick bulge is still there. It actually looks incredibly big, but I can’t exactly ask him to take it out so I can examine it. Who does that?
“What a good girl,” he says. “You do as you’re told without having been told what to do.”