Anthromorphology

(AUTHOR'S NOTE: Nothing violent is depicted herein, but it would definitely qualify as a little fucked up. Story will include/mention: cloning and modifying something just to fuck it, dubious consent, slight science fiction body horror, and cyberpunk corporatism. Also (gay!) cock worship. Reader discretion advised)

***

The Subject was biologically male, Caucasian, a bit under five and a half feet. Completely naked, its body was... average. The examination slab was near-upright, tilted back enough that it wasn't standing on its own, but not far enough to be exactly comfortable. Subject was restrained, intubated too, secured in place at the ankles and wrists, with a heavy bar over the torso. There was a display built into it, trailing little lines showing Subject's heart rate and blood pressure. A secondary display was mounted at the 'head' of the slab on the left side, showing the status of Subject's nervous system. Each electric pulse, each jitter, was recorded and displayed.

Its eyes were darting around, trying to figure out what was going on. The cocktail of drugs pumping through its system kept Subject delirious and pliant.

Eyeing it, Doctor Terrence Forrest's attention was drawn to the restraints. They were tightly secured, no chance for Subject to escape, but that itself wasn't why. The way they bit into its skin, the way Subject's muscles strained. Looking into its face, he loved the look of half aware fear. Couldn't exactly say that, though. Would be seen as unprofessional.

He turned to face the other Doctor, in doing catching a glimpse of himself on the reflective walls. He was lithe, not too tall, with back-length blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. Delicate features, thin lips, cruel green eyes. Artificial ones, of course, a birth defect in childbirth had seen to the need for those. They and he made people uncomfortable, but he enjoyed it. Forrest liked watching people squirm. The one person who was unfazed stood in the room with him, the other Doctor attached to this particular project.

Doctor Jessica Metz, anthromorphologist like himself, but much older. She was grey, lean like a hound. Dark eyes that bored right through you, thinning hair. Ex-military background, it was how she'd made it into university, and then she'd been picked up by the Company. He had to admit, she made him squirm.

"What's the Subject's brain scan looking like?," she asked. She wasn't polite either.

He turned back to look at the secondary display. It looked at him, fearful but stoned. Forrest felt himself stir below the belt but suppressed it. Too perfect.

"Right where we want him. Painkillers are in effect, so is the thiopental."

She nodded. Didn't care about its health out of decency, she didn't want another failed anthromorph.

"Excellent," she said as she pulled a recorder from a coat pocket, pressed 'activate' on its studded surface. It was hooked up to a suite of scanners throughout the room; they picked up sight, sound, even smell and taste. The necessity of biological research such as theirs. Had to track every little thing that happened in a subject.

"We begin on stage two. Prep injection," she reached to the slab's controller and leaned it back a bit more. As she did, Forrest stepped back to the secured container. It was half a meter across, set on the countertop, locked until the moment it was needed. He inserted his right index finger into the keyhole, winced at the prick, and waited as it confirmed the blood sample. Their 'product' today was a new concoction, unnamed as of yet. Probably wasn't going onto the open market. For good reason.

The container opened itself, small pneumatics hissing. Inside it was foam lined, containing two cylinders of golden green liquid. He reached in and grabbed the first, pushing the lid shut when he was done. Then he opened the drawer underneath it, under the counter, and withdrew the needle-gun. Pistol shaped and chrome, the cylinder slotted in above the grip, parallel to the 'barrel.' He turned back to face Doctor Metz.

"Injection prepped. May I proceed?"

She nodded. He stepped forward and eyed Subject up and down, deciding on a spot. He loosened the restraint on the right arm, turned it, eyed the veins. It was straining against his grip, feebly, looking into his eyes. Forrest suppressed a smile as he pressed the gun into place and prepared to pull the trigger -

His vision died. He mumbled, "Shit," and reached up to his left temple. Metz noticed.

"Problem?," she asked. Again, not out of decency.

"Eyes pick the worst time to act up."

He heard the rustle of a half nod.

"Fix it."

He pressed against the skin, a little slightly-firmer patch, and felt his face open. His eye sockets flipped upward, beneath a criss-cross of biology mated to cutting-edge cybernetics. The bones of his eye sockets were hardened plastics lined with ports for the tiny wires connecting the cameras to his brain, molded to form up with the still-present natural bone. There was a reset button beneath the right eye.

Subject tried to scream at the sight, Forrest could hear restraints groaning as it tried to move. He couldn't help but smile. His vision returned. It was an odd ratio without the sockets/upper cheeks down. Subject was terrified, unable to turn away from the man before him. Forrest waited a bit longer than necessary to lower the piece back into place. He moved back into position, placing the gun against a particularly promising vein.

Poof

It was like a tiny nail gun, over-and-done. He stepped back again. It started less than a minute later.

Subject arched its back, muscles contracting, tightening. Sweat, more sweat at least, started to pour from it. It's pupils dilated massively, eyes reddening. It started to shudder. Flowing away from the injection site toward the heart, its blood vessels were becoming a darker blue. Those vessels would themselves become stronger, more efficient as the blood they carried was adapted by the serum to carry more oxygen. Were it not for Subject's intense pain, the veins would still be more visible because of that. The progress was slow. Checking the vascular model on the wall-mounted holograph behind the slab, the serum was represented as a black trail making its leisurely way.

The serum was thick, and the blood it contacted and spread through thickening as it went. Subject couldn't see but he could apparently feel. Wherever the blood-serum mix went the muscles nearest began to twitch, jittering. It would moan, partially a gurgle from the tubing, arch its back and shutter. Sweating profusely, too. Forrest upped the fluid dosage with his own controller. Minutes later, the serum reached its heart. It spread faster then, veins almost imperceptibly pulsing as the heart went into overdrive. Drugs to counteract the dangers were being drip fed by another IV.

The sludge found its way to the brain. At the moment, Subject stopped his movement. Still. Seconds turned into a minute, more, and Forrest was worried they'd lost another when it screamed. The brain display confirmed, it wasn't purely pain; more like sensory overload. Its eyes were darting around, nostrils flaring, throat and tongue working.

Motion below got Forrest's attention. The serum had made its way down Subject's torso. Now the veins around the penis and testicles were pulsing. Subject's member jolted with one heartbeat, and the serum entered the bottom of the superficial dorsal vein, as well as the roots of the testicular veins. The next heartbeat, and both jolted, pulled the stuff further along. Subject was becoming aroused, a side effect. A suction cup attached to a motorized arm unhinged itself from the slab's underside and rotated into place, right over the tip of Subject's penis. It lowered and latched on with a rush of vacuum. Subject jolted, moaned. Heartbeat, then another, arching the back. Last heartbeat, and the whole body shook. Again and again. The fluid intake would have to be adjusted.

The sight of Subject's orgasm was enough to get Forrest in the mood. He nonchalantly covered himself with a clipboard and turned to put more of his legs out of sight. Metz would not approve.

Subject's body relaxed for a moment. The serum was partly an extreme dose of hormones, natural and Company proprietary both. Among other symptoms, one was the present extreme arousal. It breathed, ragged and tired, for a moment. This would be its last break for the foreseeable future. Even as he thought about it, Forrest saw Subject start to shake again. The serum basically annihilated the normal human refractory period while it was in effect. Heartbeat, spurt, heartbeat. Forrest's cock was so hard it hurt. As he began to drift off into aroused daydreaming Metz's voice interrupted.

"Beginning third phase. Upping painkillers. I'll give him the catalyst injection."

She retrieved the second serum from the container, slipped it into place on the needle-gun. She waited until it had finished once more, basically braindead from the repeated blasts of heightened endorphins or in too much pain to notice the injection. It was hard to tell which Subject was feeling more. It didn't particularly matter. The catalyst was much less dense than the initial dose, spreading in just a few heartbeats. Subject's eyes rolled back and it went limp, but its heartbeat only increased. The automatic orgasms halted soon after, two more torrential outbursts. The randomly jittering muscle groups now synchronized with the heartbeat.

The serum's second phase was an artificially induced second "hyper-puberty," (to use Company jargon) set up by the initial dose of hormones. The catalyst set it to work. As it did, one of the tubes running down Subject's throat began to move a superdense caloric slurry into the stomach. Another one of the IVs began pumping him full of artificially created hematopoietic stem-cells. A sister tube was filling it with another serum conducive to artificial muscle growth; it effectively made the muscle break and repair itself. Half an hour passed, more. Then, slowly, at the edge of hearing, Forrest could hear it. Sounded like grinding bones. Or popping ones, rather. Knitting too, like wet strands being joined. He wanted to step forward, feel a pectoral or something to see if he could feel it as it happened.

In another situation, the pain would have killed a person. The painkillers kept it down to a manageable level, but couldn't eliminate it. Every heartbeat, jolt of muscle, was a bit of growth and a bit of pain. Subject's eyes were open but unfocused, hazy. They fluttered with every heartbeat. Bloodshot.

It's hips bucked. The little arm whirled to keep the receptacle in place. Subject's member was a deep, angry purple, engorged with blood. The veins running down its length and down the sack were pulsing, visibly now. Every beat sent a twinge of motion through them. Forrest felt himself leaking pre into his boxers. He'd need to step out, but not now. Just a minute longer. This was his favorite part.

Subject groaned and it turned into a hoarse growl, from the back of the throat. It was trying to get its hands on itself, to relieve the pressure. Beat, a pulse, and its shaft stood a bit straighter. Got a bit fatter. Beat, a pulse. Beat, a pulse. Testes were becoming larger. Beat, a pulse. An hour of this, the slow growth, until it seemed to plateau. The shaft was now as thick around as his wrist, as long as his forearm, held up only by the grasp of the receptacle. Testicles the size of grapefruit lurched upward once, again, and in that half moment Forrest saw the underside of its cock pulse as it carried semen. Subject tried to scream from the pleasure, only let out a gurgle, and bucked.

It seemed like Subject would break free of the restraints as a wad of cum as thick as a man's finger shot from its member. Scream, buck, and another pulse. Scream, buck. It overloaded the receptacle, a stream of cum shot out at pressure where the rubber joined with skin. A fourth jolt, a fifth. The sudden smell of it was intoxicating. Forrest's stomach felt like it was full of butterflies until Metz pressed a button on her controller, releasing some air freshener. A robot the width of a basketball, carried on a curtain of nullgrav, entered through a porthole in the ceiling and deployed scrubbers. Subject twitched again, and its cock slipped out and down, releasing another dribble onto the floor.

Idly he remarked, "Longest arousal response, it seems," after checking his watch. Four hours had passed.

"Mmhmm."

"Gonna use the restroom. Post if anything changes."

Metz nodded without saying anything, her eyes switching between Subject and a nearby display. Forrest wasn't sure if she was entirely cognizant of why he was leaving, ignoring him mostly. She didn't see the tent pole currently poking out from beneath his belt as he walked to the door.

Thankfully the hallway was empty. It was very late at night, and very few people in the whole of the Company were allowed on the Bio Lab level while experiments were underway. Thank God. A left and two rights and he was in the men's room. He could hardly think, most of his consciousness focused on the burning arousal that made him feel lightheaded. Push aside the first stall door, lock it and seal. An indicator above it flipped to green, letting him know the door was sealed. It was more like a room unto itself, soundproofed and sealed for the comfort of the employee. Good.

Forrest pulled off his lab coat. His heart was beating, hard. Push down the scrubs. Boxers, dark down the front where he'd been filling them with pre-cum. He pressed the fabric down, against the tip of his penis, rubbed it around a bit to get some lubrication. The wetness made him twitch, cock jolting. Boxers down next. The air felt cool on him. He wasn't as big as the Subject on its slab, no fully natural human could be now. An image flashed in his mind, Subject's back arched and its face contorted in pleasure. He wrapped his left hand around his cock, right going to take a hold of his sack. He started to twist it as he slid the other hand forward slowly, relishing the feel of warmth smearing over his fingers and along the length of his shaft.

In his mind's eye he was crouched down, in front of Subject. Lips wrapped around the massive shaft, still pulsing in his mouth. Another was working much the same as he was, fondling the heavy sack. One of its nuts, held in one hand, heavy with cum. Gurgling with it. He moaned, loudly, almost tripped over his scrubs as he tried to lean back against the door. He imagined the smell, the taste. Salty, musky with sweat. He imagined the newly formed musculature, still hot to the touch after growing. Sweat dripped off its newly formed pecs into his imagined eyes.

"Ff-fuck," he groaned. He clenched his right hand and twisted, hard. Almost too hard. It hurt. He slid down the door as waves of pleasurable pain radiated out from his testes. He was on his knees in the fantasy too. It grunted, he imagined, and he imagined leaning back, opening his mouth. In the real world, a wave of pressure felt like it was building right behind the tip of his cock. Twist. He growled. Twisted the other way. It was close. A burning wave shot down his spine and his own testes jolted. Through the skin he almost felt the epididymis contract.

Subject threw back his head. Forrest did the same. Screamed. He just moaned. Its shaft bulged. His did too. They came together, he imagined the feel of all that cum plastering his head and chest as he sprayed his own load all over the toilet before him. It was thick, salty. Warm. He opened his mouth and ran a tongue along his lips. The thought of it made him worse. Opening his eyes, he looked around. He'd plastered the floor and toilet, thankfully avoiding soiling the scrubs. Cum dripped from his fingers. The sight...he opened his mouth, slowly licked his hand clean. Tasting himself was different, something about it told him it was foul but he didn't care.

He was still hard, so he did it all again.

Finally, God knew how long later, he was spent. His cock hurt, sack even more so, but he wasn't too horny to function anymore. He stood, shaky, pulled his clothes back on. It smelled like the lab in here. He opened the stall, washed his hands, and clicked for a cleaning robot to take care of the mess. He made sure it had arrived before he turned to leave. He caught a look at himself in the mirror. His cheeks were red and his ponytail messed up, so he fixed it and stepped out. He'd need a drink, too, so he walked by the water cooler. Downed one glass, then another. He'd been too rough with himself, he was queasy.

Walking slowly back to the lab, he cleared his throat and made one final effort to ensure he looked normal. Swiping his access key, he pushed through the outer door and waited for the interior lock to cycle.

Metz was still sat at her display. Subject was unconscious, slumped against the restraints. Checking the time, he'd been gone nearly forty minutes.

"No updates."

She didn't say anything further. Thankfully. Even in the time he'd been gone, Subject had changed further. Musculature was now well defined, and visibly taller. The hours passed and they continued to observe.

***

A lightning bolt split the night, and I opened my eyes. Everything hurt. I was strapped down to a slab of some sort. Restraints bit into my skin, the walls reflected everything back to me. Two things watched me from behind desks a few meters in front of the slab. People, like you. I tried to scream, only gurgled. Choking. I strained my eyes to see a bundle of tubes crammed into my open mouth. One of them spoke and pressed a button in front of them, and the reflex to choke halted.

"Consciousness marked," one of them spoke, I couldn't see. "Time is," they checked a watch, "twenty four hours after injection. Near exact."

He had his hair done up. Skinny compared to me. Delicate, but their eyes. Those things held nothing for me. I didn't want to keep looking at them. Turning as much as I could manage, the other was an old woman. She was worse. Those eyes looked at me with, what, hatred?

I turned away. Stared ahead. Wished I hadn't then, either. I looked different. I don't know how, but I could feel it. I had been shorter, skinnier. Who was I?

My muscles were huge plates beneath the skin. Veins stood out against the skin over them. I could look down some more and...no. No, no no. No! There were tubes hooked up to my flesh and I was different down there, fucking massive. That wasn't how I'd started. I tried to scream again, throwing myself against the restraints. Please help.

The others had turned to face each other, ignoring me. The woman was speaking.

"We're done here. Drug it, get the message sent. It's ready to ship. I'm going home."

The man nodded. I remembered, the flash of a face on a hinge and two staring, skinless eyes. Help me. Don't leave. Too late. She was already standing, turning toward the door. He was working at the computer, room echoing with a chorus of little taps. The light above the door cycled colors and the woman left. Immediately something seemed to change. The man twisted around, waiting as he glared at the door. It shut, or seemed to. He stood and practically ran over, pulling a card from his pocket and typing on a pad set next to the door. The light cycled to red. I knew it was locked.

The man turned, looked me over.

"It's a shame, you know. I've been here, watching you be reborn. Watching you grow," he started to undress, "and it'd be a waste not to...test you."

He was slender, well toned. Shaved smooth. Those eyes kept me in their center as he reached up and undid the pony tail. Let it fall. The blonde hair cascaded, flowed like water. Flared shoulders leading down to a slim waist, long legs. He was delicate but sharp like a knife. He was hard too. The air was suddenly heavy, warm as I inhaled it. Smelled strange. I couldn't get enough.