Project Dinosaur Pt 03

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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As soon as she'd heard the scuffle, Christie headed straight for the facility, though the tracking app didn't show Tyron's phone location after some time. That was a bad sign: a very, very bad sign. Yet she had to keep trying, even if things with Tyron had been...a little fraught.

They'd had the usual whirlwind romance in the city, where she'd been working as an investigative journalist, though he'd called into question her integrity on more than one occasion. She chewed on a chunk of her brown hair, which had been left to grow long, as she drove, surely breaking the speed limit as she wound her way into the mountains. He'd been right, of course, but she'd only been starting out back then; things had been different.

She pushed her glasses back into place as she pulled up, taking a deep breath. The facility loomed, though it looked oddly quiet, even though there had been easy signage to the car park, which was right at the front. The tall, metal gates loomed and she swallowed hard.

"What the hell are they keeping in there? A Tyrannosaurus Rex?"

She laughed at her own joke, though it was not really appropriate. Something had happened to Tyron when the phone had cut off suddenly and the best she could think of, without wasting further time, was to head there and plead that he was sick and needed to go home.

She tumbled out of the car and headed for the gate, nicely flustered for what she had to do.

"Hey!" She called, slamming her hand on a red button that looked like it was attached to an intercom system of some kind. "Hey, I'm here to pick up Tyron! He was sick earlier today? Can someone help me? Hellooooo!"

It was a bit obnoxious but, really, what else was she supposed to do? She grunted and clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, pretending to be frustrated, hugging her oversized coat around herself as she shuffled.

"Uh... Who is this?"

The voice on the other end of the intercom system didn't sound sure about anything and she leaned in close to it, her lips close to the microphone.

"Christie, Christie Matthews," she said. "Tyron's friend. He's one of your researchers, I'm just here to pick him up. Can you send him out, please? I came as quickly as I could."

"You can come in to get him."

Christie smiled and thanked them, though she hardly knew where she was going once she walked in through the gate. The gate locked with an ominous "thunk" behind her and she shivered, trying not to think too much about the implications of that, fiddling with her glasses where they rested on the bridge of her nose.

"Ah! You're here for Tyron?"

A man appeared: older than her and handsome with a well-groomed appearance. She forced herself to put a smile on her face, despite how badly she was sweating, her heart pounding. It wasn't as if Christie had been in difficult situations before in the course of her work, but it took every ounce of her mental fortitude to stare down the man facing off against her.

He looked innocent. Maybe he was. Only time would tell.

"Yes!" She smiled widely, offering him her hand. "Ah, where are my manners - I'm Christie!"

"Michael, one of the researchers here," he said, gripping her hand firmly without crushing her hand. "I've been here for quite a while, fascinating place. Let's get you to Tyron, he was taken quite unwell. I'm so glad he was able to get in touch with you as quickly as he was."

"Mhm, I know. I just hope he doesn't throw up in my car on the way back."

She laughed lightly, hoping it didn't sound too fake. It was hard to say.

"Oof, that would be difficult, with the way back down to town," Michael said, agreeing sympathetically with her as he led Christie through the compound, skipping the buildings. "He's right this way. Thought it best to let him get some fresh air."

"Fresh air?" She laughed. "You must have dragged him out there!"

Michael's gaze narrowed - but only for a moment.

"Perhaps - ah, when was it he called you?"

She skipped over it, waving her hand breezily.

"Oh, I don't know, he was blabbering on about his head hurting and then I heard him gagging... Said he wanted to go home, so I figured I'd take the initiative."

"Ah, I'm glad he has a partner like you to come look after him, in that case."

Christie didn't correct him or let Michael know that their fling, if it could even be called that, had been a good six years back. Things had changed since then, though she was more than happy to play the part of the girlfriend if it meant she could get Tyron out of there in one piece.

"I'm sure he'll be just fine with a bit of rest."

Christie hesitated. It didn't look like they were in any kind of employee area with a tall, metal fence rising before her, thick undergrowth layering part of what seemed like a pen for a large animal. Or perhaps it was a security fence for the back of the facility?

"Where is he? I have a deadline to meet, I should be getting him home."

"In here," Michael said smoothly, opening the enclosure. "We sat him down by the little pond in there. Fresh air, some say watching the water is soothing too and he did have a frightful headache."

She gulped hard.

Shit. He knows I'm lying.

But it was too late. Woodenly, sure her phone was still a lifeline, tucked away in the inside pocket of her coat, she eased inside, though Michael followed her, as if his presence was there to shove her inside. A small remote tucked into the palm of his hand and she caught a glint of something metal behind it.

Shit, shit, shit.

Something crashed through the bushes and she whirled around, eyes darting back and forth, although there was little she could discern as a blackbird trilled fearfully from a tree, flapping away. Suddenly, there were hands around her neck - but they weren't trying to strangle her, even as the fingers groped and grabbed. No, something metal pressed over the front of her throat as a collar-like contraption was locked around her neck, with not even enough space for her fingers to get under it so she could possibly rip it from her skin.

"What the hell?"

She growled, fury rising, her pretence dropped. The game was up and she hissed through her teeth as she lunged for Michael, although he'd already backed off and was in the process of slipping back out of the enclosure. She slammed into the gate as he locked it, a laugh breaking his lips.

"Do you really think us this foolish?" He asked, tilting his head, his smile a little too wide to elicit any sense of comfort. "I don't need to know what you, exactly, know, but there's more than enough here to make sure you are merely one of our subjects."

"Let me the hell out of here - I'm warning you!"

She howled and spat like a wildcat, rattling the gate, though Michael merely blinked at her. Entirely nonplussed by her less than proper performance, he eyed the bushes behind her, although she didn't dare turn around. The news reports of animal attacks flashed through her head and she held his gaze, refusing to be swayed.

"You should take your coat off, it's going to get in the way otherwise," he suggested, though it was not as if he cared what she did either way. "He's coming now, but he won't be interested in you until you change. Not when your scent has already changed."

"What the?"

She blinked and sniffed, though there wasn't anything all that different around her. Just the soft, wet scent of the earth and crisper greenery, maybe something that was kind of musky and leathery.

"Kekekekekerrrr..."

Christie had to turn, though her heart seized, the oddly musky scent enveloping her. She didn't want to look behind her - but she had to. She had to face her destiny, although she hardly wanted it to become her end either.

Not as she faced down the deinonychus, standing shorter than a human but easily with the mass of one. His brown feathers shivered as a ripple ran through his body, the dinosaur cocking his head a little, as if he was inspecting her.

Her chest seized, frozen in place, blood draining from her face.

"Ah-ah..."

Yet the words locked in her throat as Michael watched on, a smile pulling at his lips.

"That is a deinonychus, a truly remarkable predator," he commented. "His previous name was Tyron - that's who you've come for, isn't it? I'm afraid I don't think he's going to fit in your car anymore."

"What?"

She whispered the word, though it was more for her ears than anything else as her skin ached strangely, as if she could sense the span of it, all over her body. Christie wiggled her fingers, breath coming once more in shorter, sharper pants, though nothing alleviated the tension in her chest.

That's not him... That's impossible, she told herself, fingers trembling as she backed away. He's screwing with me... This can't be real.

Still, her body ached and her glasses felt oddly heavy on her face, though she didn't think to adjust them again, not as her shoulders pushed back without her even consciously trying to do so. She should have been more focused on the dinosaur before her - the deinonychus, as Michael had said - but she couldn't. Not as she tried to balance, flinging her right hand out for balance, although it was not that easy.

"Oof..."

The world took on a soft, dream-like quality and she clawed at her neck, dull, muted sounds drumming at her ears. It was like the beat of her heart - but greater than that, as if her heart was expanding in the cage of her ribs to resonate through her entire body.

"Just let it come, Christie. You can join your partner then. If he wasn't your mate before, he will be very soon..."

She tried to turn, yet her head was too stiff at the point it joined her neck. Her jaw hung open, the bones crunching and grinding against one another as her lips pushed out over new bone. Inside, she screamed, though all that burst from her lips was a watery gargle as saliva slopped from her mouth.

Nearby, the deinonychus lowered his head, sniffing her shoulder, though her fear was not for him anymore. Dimly, she realised in the back of her mind just what the animal attacks and disappearances had been - yet it was far too late for her to do anything about that. Her spine crunched, feeling like shattered glass under the heel of her shoe, though all she could do was claw at the ground, trying to find a sense of stability there.

Her hip bones ached as her body adjusted itself, muscle pulling into new positions. Her calves slimmed a little and her toes pressed down, her toenails suddenly drawing her attention as if she had put a layer of nail polish on. Even such a small action, before, had made it impossible for her to ignore them, attention flicking back as her nails squeaked and scraped, slowly, into another form.

Christie huffed, locking her gaze with one of the deinonychus' eyes, for he had his head tilted to observe her. Her back pushed against the coat and she dropped a shoulder, shrugging out of it as it pulled up under her arms uncomfortably.

Her nails seemed sharper, though she grappled with what was happening to her, not wanting to acknowledge it. Not even as flesh flowed and shifted over her face with the malleable properties of unbaked clay, her nose flattening to her face as her vision blurred.

That locked her into sensation as she huffed and heaved, trying to come to a sense of herself, even though she fought to spread her legs, the coat mostly off. Her sharper "nails" tore through the coat with an uncomfortable rip as she shoved the offending garment aside, leaving her only in a pair of jogging bottoms and a loose T-shirt. It was not as if she'd dressed up to rescue Tyron, after all, though Christie hardly even knew what she'd expected in hindsight.

"Nnnfff..."

She grunted, a short puff of air tickling her lips, yet everything felt wrong, all wrong. Her body was no longer her own as it was forced from one shape into another, her hips pushing back as her centre of balance shifted. She stayed down on the ground, however, as she clawed at her clothes, her skin prickling and itching all over.

"Yes, the females often find their clothes a hindrance in transformation," Michael commented, making her aware that he was still watching. "They put up quite a fight too, though it doesn't affect the pace of the transformation. Yours is progressing beautifully. Why don't you enjoy it?"

Enjoy it? What kind of a sick fuck is he?

It was better to snarl at him in her head as she howled and arched her back, her nails digging into the ground and churning it up into furrows. But it wasn't like she had nails all that much but claws, which were all the better to tear into her clothes, fighting with all her might to alleviate the itching all over her body.

As rends and tears showed through her flapping, loose clothes, she kicked off her shoes, showing a little more of her transforming feet. They pressed in, losing mass as her toes melted together into three, her claws growing longer and thicker, though it was a patience kind of transformation too.

Her body knew what it had to do, even if it didn't feel right to her. Clawing at her clothes gave her room to grow and shift without her attire digging into her hips or cutting in between her legs, though her underwear still got in the way. As something pushed from the base of her spine, she rolled her hips back and scrambled down on to the ground, her chest heaving for breath.

Yet even where her body and muscles responded to the simple need for breath changed. Instead of her chest swelling with every snatch of air, her breasts flattened, the flesh smoothing out and down against her. Her chest pulled in lightly, the bone crunching as it was reshaped, and Christie heaved as her sides seemed to heave for breath, rather than her chest.

Yet there was someone there who had been through it all already and offered a different perspective.

Christie! Tyron tried to shout, hopping around her with his tail swinging out to balance himself. Christie, I'm sorry! Christie, you've got to relax, it'll all be over soon.

He snarled and snapped, acting strangely, though he wasn't thinking of Michael watching anymore. Clawing at her lightly, he did his best not to catch her transforming skin, though she was mostly covered by tiny feathers and the leathery skin around her face and feet by that time. There was not much there that would have been exposing and he caught her bra with his teeth where it was hanging loose and flapping.

It felt crude to undress her, but it was kind of something he'd seen before - and something he could never have seen. Not as her body twisted, contorted in transformation, though he tried his best to make it as comfortable for her as he could.

Not that it was doable in any way, of course, though Tyron stared at her transforming body, watching the slow stretch of her tail from her rump, clad in tiny, pinprick-like feathers. Was that what he'd looked like? It was even more grotesque when it was happening to someone else, although Tyron shuddered in sympathy.

He'd been through it all and he didn't know what he was supposed to do about it, lowering his head close to her as he inhaled her scent. It was soft and musty, with the growth of new feathers, but there was something spicy and musky woven underneath.

"Rrrrrr..."

Tyron rumbled and dipped his head on pure instinct alone, snuffling around her hind end - no! He couldn't think like that, that was her legs! That was her...her...

He shook his head, trying to back away, though his legs wouldn't move. They shook as they locked him in place, his torso bowed down with his tail balancing him. It was almost sickening how easily that flipped out behind him to keep him in place, although the motions of his new body were becoming increasingly natural.

Almost as if they were second-nature to him. But that wasn't something Tyron wanted to think about.

Christie huffed and tried to scramble away from the dinosaur as Michael laughed, though she didn't know what to focus on. Was the other dinosaur trying to hurt her? Yet he hadn't shown his teeth, even though he was far too close for comfort, making all manner of strange grunts and growls. None of them seemed anything she recognised, however: from another time that should never have been awakened.

This can't be happening... This isn't happening...

She repeated the words inside her head, over and over again. As if she could put off the inevitable as her back ached and she shuddered from left to right, as if she was trying to throw off something that had latched on to her. She huffed hotly, loathing the rake of warm breath through her nostrils.

It didn't feel right. It didn't belong there. Yet Christie was powerless to do anything against her own mortality, the strange collar-necklace that Michael had latched around her neck weighing heavily there. Yet it even seemed to tighten as her neck shifted shape, not quite slimming down or growing, but more folds of skin shifting under the prickling, itching feathers.

She tried to scramble up, swinging her head back and forth, though the weight of it dragged her back down again. A resounding pulse echoed through her head and her vision blurred as she blinked, jaws hanging open. Her tongue caught a flick of dirt and yet there was no longer a sense of revulsion there, for even in the earth that worked its way into her mouth lay a plethora of information.

Scent.

Taste.

Touch.

Everything became more important to her as she did her best to stand, getting one leg under her in a warped facsimile of dinosaur and human. Halfway transformed, to her warped understanding, Christie lifted her head as her jaw crunched out, settling a little more quietly into the shape of the deinonychus' snout opposite her. For the already transformed Tyron showed her exactly what she was to become, even though the feathers covering her seemed to take on a darker hue overall.

No... No!

She snarled, snapping her jaws, though her teeth ached as they lengthened, with a treacherous kind of slowness. She tried to swing her tail out and turn, on two wobbly feet, but a claw shoving its way out through the front of her left shoe threw her off-balance. Her shoes were a problem and, although her body had seared with burning humiliation when Tyron had stripped her with his teeth, she had to get those off too.

Her feathers covered most, but that was not a sense of modesty the half-transformed dinosaur wanted in the slightest, a disgusted ripple running through her. Her sex felt strange, like it was smoothing out and flattening, the skin and flesh of that area becoming increasingly covered and hidden. In that sense, Tyron had seen it all already - though not for a number of years.

That didn't mean she wanted to be exposed, however, as she hesitantly rocked on to her right foot and tried to shake off the other shoe. Her small, short claw working its way through the front stopped it from flying off as she wanted, however, and she was forced to bend her head, parting her jaws around it.

As her tail lifted, Tyron sniffed, his eyes lighting up with something that neither deinonychus could understand at that time. They didn't need to, not as a new scent hit his nose, the woman before him shifting from human to dinosaur - and coming with the bodily scents and pheromones of such. Curious, Tyron chattered lightly and bobbed his head in a bird-like fashion, nostrils puckering and flaring as he dragged in hasty breaths of that musky, spicy scent.