Project Dinosaur Pt 02

This is a short work of erotic fiction containing furry, or anthropomorphic, characters, which are animals that either demonstrate human intelligence or walk on two legs, for the purposes of these tales. It is a thriving and growing fandom in which creators are prevalent in art and writing especially.

All work is fiction intended for fantasy only, regardless of content, and consent must always be acquired when engaging in any sex act with another adult.

Please note that all characters are clearly over eighteen and written as such in all stories.

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"Unff..."

Tyron groaned, rising slowly, though his limbs felt dull and heavy. His arms had been tied behind his back and his ankles were lashed together, though he could slowly heave himself on to his back and sit up. Dirt clung to the side of his face and he spat out another mouthful of it, screwing up his lips in disgust.

Outside. He was in a space just like the one where he'd seen that man transform into the small dinosaur. His heart pounded furiously, blood roaring in his ears, though Tyron fought to control his breath, gritting his teeth. At least he was wearing some clothes, though his jacket was gone, leaving him in a shirt and trousers, though his shoes were there too.

He wouldn't become a victim, like the others X-OM had taken. No... No, he couldn't. Christie knew about him; she knew where she was.

She'll come for me.

That was the only hope he had to cling on to.

As he sat up, legs bent and his back propped up against the rough bark of a tree, one of the higher-ranking scientists there surveyed him. Tyron didn't say a word, taking in Michael Andrews from head to toe: the devilishly handsome jawline, the crisp, clean press to his shirt collar -- all sullied by the mud on his black leather shoes. They were of much higher quality than Tyron's, though it was not as if that was of any importance in a moment like that.

"So," Michael said with a small, tight smile. "What are you doing out here? This isn't your station."

His smooth, velvety voice washed over Tyron and he held fast.

"I don't know," he said slowly. "I went for a walk... Ended up somewhere weird... Then headed back to my desk. I don't remember anything."

Of course, Tyron remembered everything. But he wasn't about to tell Michael that, not as he blinked up at him and groaned, pretending that his mental faculties were not as sharp as they actually were in that moment. His headache softened, but he acted like he'd taken a blow, letting his eyelids hang more heavily as he blinked.

"Oh, don't you?" Michael queried, a nasty little tilt to his head not quite belonging there. "That would be something, wouldn't it? But you've been here for more than long enough to know what we're doing."

"What we're doing?" He repeated, slurring his words and dragging them out more than he needed to. "Hm... Uh... The old stories... I've fed back all my research into the system, but I've not had...any feedback."

He manufactured the pauses in his speech, though hoped it would be enough. How was Tyron to tell?

"Stories?" Michael laughed, shaking his head sadly. "Oh, poor, poor, Tyron... Is that what you believe? You've actually been helping our cause. None of these tales are false."

His heart pounded, a straining beat against the cage of his ribs, fighting to be free. Surreptitiously, he wiggled his feet and tugged at his bonds, yet they held.

"What..." He knew he shouldn't have asked, but he needed confirmation anyway. "What do you mean? It's...not real. It's just a story."

He shook his head and groaned, though Michael stepped closer, peering at him.

"Seems all is in place. You can wear that collar for the rest of your life," Michael said, pointing out the heavy weight around his neck. "Consider it a gift from X-OM. Few are lucky enough to wear that."

As Tyron froze, dumbfounded, Michael brushed his fingers across the strangely elaborated collar around his neck. It looked more like a woman's necklace -- something someone might have worn to a fancy, high-class event. With several chunky links, it encircled his neck with the weight of collar, a large, blue gem set in the centre at the front, glistening faintly. It had a wet sheen to it -- though Tyron's only visual impression of it had been while Michael was transferring it to his neck. Even if he twisted his head and looked down, he wasn't able to get more than a glimpse of it from the corner of his eye.

"Take that... What the hell is that? Take it off me!"

"Oh, but it's for you, Tyron," Michael said quietly. "You've seen too much. So, you will become one of our next subjects."

Tyron grunted and shifted his weight, not understanding what was happening. His stomach felt odd, as if there was a heavy weight in the pit of it, something pulling him down. And yet it moved too, jostling him back and forth, a rumbling and a grumbling, as if his digestive system was working overtime.

"Your subjects? But I work here... Michael, this is crazy, let me go."

He dropped his act a little, sweating as he rocked his weight back and forth on his seat bones. But Tyron's breath came increasingly shorter in his chest, huffing and heaving like there was a weight there that was pressing down on him. Yet he couldn't see anything, even if the collar was in place. It warmed to the heat of his skin and he grunted lowly, half-closing his eyes.

Why did he feel so unwell suddenly? Maybe he'd eaten something that didn't work for his stomach earlier? Ah, he had no idea just how it would all cease to matter so very soon.

"Oof..."

"Oh, it's not going to matter what you think," Michael said, standing and slicking his hair back from his face with both hands, mussing up the style, fingers running through to separate the dark-brown strands. "Don't you feel it? I've watched so many change... Yet it never grows old."

Michael sighed and fixed his hair, though the strands didn't quite go back into place.

"Tell me, who else knows about this?"

Tyron steeled himself, though his stomach did not settle. His spine ached and he let out a breathy moan, despite trying to hold back.

"No... No one."

"Oh, but that's a lie. Why don't you tell me the truth before you cannot?"

Tyron huffed and grunted in the back of his throat. Too much saliva pooled in the back of his throat and he struggled to swallow. Even that reflex didn't seem to work, however, something that had been so simple to him before.

"I can't tell you what I don't...know..." He said, tongue feeling odd in his mouth, like it was suddenly not sitting between the lines of his teeth as it should have. "I don't...know..."

He groaned, eyes closing. There was something wrong, something strange. It ached through his body as he groaned, tipping to the side. His shoulder hit the ground first and he rolled on to his stomach in the grass, wriggling pathetically back and forth.

"There now, you can still talk," Michael said, bending down to cut the bonds at his wrists and ankles. "So, let it come. But tell me everything you know."

"No... I don't know... I don't know anything."

At least, that was what Tyron tried to say as he scraped his body up on to all fours. How foolish of Michael to cut him free! But he was helpless, weak and shaking as saliva spilled from his gaping mouth, although it was nice not to have that filling his mouth too. He grunted and coughed, shoulders rounding, his chest dipping lower to the ground.

Michael just watched. Somehow, that was more disconcerting than anything else, even as his body ached and crackled, his back suddenly jolting.

"Agh!"

Tyron groaned as he strove to balance himself, though it was not easy, not as he pushed his hips back and tried to find a stable position. His body didn't feel right, as if he was taken very unwell, though his skin itched and prickled like he was being stabbed with a thousand tiny needles. Trying to rub his arm to soften the feeling didn't help at all, as it pushed him off-balance -- and he was forced to slam his hand back to the ground to hold himself firm.

"Let me... Let me go..." He said, muttering the words as he huffed hotly, warm breath glossing over his lips. "I don't know anything. I've not done anything. Please..."

"Oh, perhaps. But you'll be an adequate test subject all the same."

Tyron's head spun. His skull expanded -- but that couldn't be right. Yet he couldn't liken the scraping, stretching sensation to anything else, a deep, resounding crunch echoing through his head. His hips ached and he shuddered bodily as he strained to adjust his position, wanting to rock back, to bend his legs and set his body in a way he never had done before.

He'd never had much flexibility when it came to squatting and crouching, though it was all by the by at such a time. His tongue pushed between his teeth, softer and more slippery, more flesh pulling down the length.

Oh no...

Tyron fought, heaving and scrabbling at the ground, though his fingers left only light, raking marks in the dirt as he grasped at tufts of grass. No, no... It couldn't be!

Yet he finally put two and two together, recognising why his body was so out of sorts as chilling horror swept through him.

It wasn't just the other person who'd been turned into a dinosaur -- they were doing it to him too! All as his hips and thighs bulked out with muscle, his stomach sucking in, parts of him that he'd never paid attention to before demanding he turn his mind to them.

Like the straining pinch of his toenails pushing out -- into what he could only presume were claws.

The crack of his forearms shortening, though he had no idea where the bone or muscle of him was going.

His nose pushing out, flattening and dropping his nostrils into slits where he could feel every breath tickling the edge of them.

"Unff... No..."

Tyron forced himself on to his legs, standing "up" -- sort of. He wavered and wobbled from side to side, trying to stand up straight, but his legs wanted to remain with a bend in them a lot more than they had before. He sank lower, yet his skin pulled around him in all directions, as if it was squashing in on him.

And all Tyron ended up being was a sausage that was too large for its skin in the butcher's shop. As if his flesh had lost that air of life, an otherworldly force squashed down around him, squeezing forcibly to press him into a form that was not his own.

A much-smaller form. Well, at least that was what it felt like to him as the top of his spine crunched where it connected to the back of his skull, gaping and hissing. His mouth hung open as his lower and upper jaws elongated, his entire head aching fiercely with a dull, pounding headache.

"Nnnnoooo..." He slurred, dragging his tongue as the longer, lengthening appendage slipped from his mouth, brushing against his teeth. "Caaaan't...beeeeee..."

"Fascinating," Michael murmured, pulling out his phone to make a note. "Your transformation is progressing more slowly than the others. Are you really resisting? Please, be clear."

Tyron grunted and worked his jaws up and down, though the stretch pulled into the underside of his neck as his teeth moved and started to pull into the sharp points of canines. Down the line of his neck, his skin moved over his flesh as it lengthened subtly, though the main difference there was in the new set of his head.

Still, he fought it, tipping forward on to his shorter, stubbier arms, which he could no longer stretch out as far in front of him as he had before. His fingers grew gnarled and small, losing the soft fleshiness of his palm as his nails sent a sharp, pulsating pain into his fingers.

Claws, he thought dimly, grappling with reality. They're turning into...claws.

I'm fucked.

His feet pushed out against his shoes, toes stretching forward with those new claws -- which he could only pull into his mind as he had seen the other person transform before. It gave him a little context with which to understand what was happening to him as his chest narrowed, becoming more like the breastbone of a bird.

The dull pinch of his chest grinding in didn't help in the slightest as he tipped forward, balancing on his arms that seemed to want to put a bend in them. His shoulders rang out with a jolt of pain and his arms dropped as their position adjusted slightly, restricting him from sweeping his arms up and back as he might have done if he was swimming.

It was such a small thing and yet the loss of it clawed into the pit of his belly as he heaved and gagged, eyes blurring faintly. That didn't take him away from the furious, snarling moment, however, even as the scent of grass tickled his nostrils more than it should have done. In fact, lots of other scents became obvious to him, from the coarse dirt of the ground to the leather of Michael's shoes and even the lightly spiced scent the scientist had applied earlier that day.

Tyron's nostrils twitched and he dug his toes down, claws slowly grinding and pressing their way through the fronts of his shoes. He didn't have the presence of mind to kick them off as his socks clung to his changing feet, clothes fighting to contain him.

Although he was smaller, it was more difficult than ever to work his way against his clothes, his jeans pulling against his hips as something strained down his spine. It was like someone had hold of the base of his spine and was stretching it out more and more, forcing it out over the point of his buttocks. It tried to push his jeans out of the way and he jolted, shaking his hips in a strangely instinctual motion as he tried to find a way to free it. Even the pain of it bending, vertebrae flexing where they wanted to extend, was too much.

Thankfully for Tyron, his extending spine, growing into a short, stubby tail, found freedom, teasing over the waistband of his jeans, although his belt would prove to be an issue. He rocked back on to his heels a little more as feathers coated him, the prickle and itch intensifying now that the quills had seated themselves under his skin. Beneath the feathers, as they slowly grew to cover him from head to toe, his skin turned a dark grey, almost giving the impression that it had become leathery, with a rougher texture.

"Nnnnnoooo... Canmph..."

Yet speech was stolen from him as he rolled his hips back and his right foot came up without thinking. Kicking and clawing at the air, as if he was trying to strike something under him, he ripped through his hanging shirt and jeans, a claw sinking into his leather belt.

"Rarrow!"

He squalled, hating the strange, broken sounds that ripped from his throat. Yet his body kept kicking even as it transformed until the swelling muscles down his hind end allowed him to wrench the belt off entirely. Of course, he still had a shoe mostly stuck on that foot, though he shook it off the moment his jeans fell slack on his hips, sliding down to expose his ass.

There was not much to show there, however, as his backside smoothed out, for there was no longer any need for a crease between his buttocks. Tyron heaved for breath, his lungs expanding and contracting sharply, yet it didn't help any, not even as his ribcage narrowed, as if the points of his ribs were straining to dig back into his body.

This isn't right. I'm not a dinosaur. I'll think of what I am and the transformation won't be able to go through!

Ah, it was such a futile hope and yet it was all Tyron had to cling on to at a time like that, his lengthening tail trying to twitch jerkily back and forth. It, however, grew coated with feathers that lengthened as it extended, most of them clustering in a fan-like shape at the end.

Human, yes. He had to remember he was human. It wasn't possible to transform into a dinosaur, he told himself, doubting what his own eyes had seen only a short time ago. His claws dug into the earth as he steadied himself, adjusting his centre of balance back as he rocked his weight from one hip to the other. His tail helped balance him, even though it was not yet long enough to do all that much for him.

Still, every feather overwhelmed him with sensation, as if his body was on fire, too much aching through him all at once. And yet none of that could detract his attention from his shaft and balls, his genitalia more vulnerable now that his jeans had slid down, his shirt hanging open.

"Mmmph..."

He grunted, working his tongue around his mouth in a failed attempt to make any sound at all that could have been human. For he had to remember the times he'd walked down on the beach, how the sand had felt between his toes, the rush of water lapping at the shore with every rise and fall of the waves. Tyron had to remember countless hours spent binging his favourite shows, how it felt when his chest ached from laughing so hard with his friends -- even the brush of a partner's lips on his own.

All that and more made him human: his life, experiences, all the choices he was yet to make. Yet Tyron fought a losing battle as he extended one arm and then the other slowly, better able to get a look at that part of his body with longer feathers extending from the humerus. They were dark, not quite brown but definitely not black either, as if they had found a shade that the human mind could not comprehend.

He growled and opened and closed his mouth, finding the sharp points of his more spaced-out teeth slotting into one another. It would have even been a pleasant feeling, like something easing into place, if he had not been facing it all against his will, his stomach heaving with the extremity of having his psyche crushed from one form into another.

It was not right and it was not natural, a sense of "other" digging into him, jaws slack. They were much longer than they had been with him as a man -- but he was still a man! Tyron grunted, resolutely clinging to that notion to the exclusion of all else, as much as his body did not feel at all like that of a man anymore.

Ah, yet the suck and pull of his genitalia gently melding with his body again was not to be ignored. His organs lightly moved against one another and he blinked, the blurriness in his vision clearing. That, at least, gave him a wider range of vision, with his eyes still being the forward-facing ones of a predator but offering him greater peripheral vision too. Thicker feathers layered down his back, though his neck was quite slim -- he could only see a faint sliver of it -- with smaller feathers remaining on his legs. Those feathers stretched all the way down to where his leathery skin was revealed: thick, powerful legs tipped with clawed feet.

He twisted and staggered, finding some sense of balance -- but it was tenuous. He heaved and roiled against the loss of what he thought made him male, yet he couldn't consider it in such a way, no. Not even as his member pulled back inside his body, leaving a slit before it. Yet the edges of that slit pressed together softly and firmly, sealing up as if it was something that was only to be parted at certain times.

"Ggrrrrroooow?"

He rumbled a growl that sounded more feral and dinosaur-like than ever. His eyes strained, yet there was no wateriness to them as he hissed and snapped his jaws, though he knocked his teeth against each other and sent a dull pang through his head.

"Well done, you're nearly a full deinonychus now," Michael said, though Tyron could not fathom why there was a ring of approval in his tone. "How does that feel? You're going to be one until the end of your days."

He growled, the sound rippling up from his throat, and shook his head. Horror and anger collided within him into something he could use: energy. He took a step forward, towards Michael, as his claws grew, turning wickedly sharp and hooked. Yet two of his toes were not needed anymore and had not grown, the extra appendages feeling cloying and clunky, throwing his stride off.