Jack's room was a festering pit of depravity, a shrine to his twisted ambitions. The air reeked--a rancid cocktail of chemicals, sweat, and something ranker, like rotting meat trapped in the walls. His desk, a scarred slab of wood, groaned under a mess of clinking vials, cum-stained notebooks, and a Bunsen burner spitting weak, blue flames. He hunched over it, shirt plastered to his scrawny frame with sweat, greasy hair dangling in his bloodshot eyes. His trembling fingers, slick with desperation, toyed with a syringe--its sickly green contents swirling like liquid sin. This wasn't just some junkie's fix; it was his unholy escape, a dripping middle finger to the world that had chewed him up and spat him out. Especially her--Jenna, his bitch of a mother.
He'd hated her for years, ever since he was old enough to see her for what she was: a cold, cock-teasing tyrant who'd fucked her way to the top and left him drowning in her shadow. Growing up, he'd watched her parade around the house in lingerie that barely contained her curves, flirting with every sleazy businessman she dragged home--men who'd leer at her tits while she laughed and tossed her hair, ignoring Jack like he was some stray mutt. She'd belittle him, call him weak, useless, a limp-dicked disappointment who'd never measure up to her parade of lovers. Once, when he was sixteen, he'd caught her screwing some asshole in the living room--her moans loud enough to wake the neighbors, her heels still on as she rode him. She'd seen Jack watching, smirked, and kept going. That smirk had burned into his soul, fueling a hatred so deep it festered into obsession. Now, he'd make her pay.
For months, he'd slaved over his secret project, scribbling formulas in the witching hours, jerking off to the thought of her begging at his feet. He'd tested his batches on alley rats--pathetic little fucks that squealed as their fur melted, their bodies erupting in oozing sores until they dissolved into puddles of bubbling filth. Each failure got him harder, closer to the prize. This batch, though--this was the one. A mutant serum, a perverse elixir to twist him into something godlike, something to shove down her throat and choke her with. He could feel it in his balls: this was his ticket to revenge.
The door slammed open, ripping him from his filthy reverie. Jenna stormed in, a storm of sharp edges and raw sex appeal. She was a walking wet dream--black blazer clinging to her hourglass frame, skirt so tight it hugged her thick thighs like a second skin, her severe bun screaming control. Blood-red lipstick stained her full lips, and her steel-cold eyes glinted with disgust. She froze, taking in the chaos--vials of green sludge, crusty tissues, the stench of his unwashed body--then locked her gaze on him.
"Jack," she snapped, her voice a lash of contempt that made his cock twitch despite himself. "What the fuck is this? Still jerking off to your little science projects? You're twenty-five, you pathetic shit, and you're hunched here like some drooling basement perv." Her heels clicked closer, predatory, each step a taunt. "Look at you--sweaty, greasy, stinking up my house like a rutting pig. You're a walking cum stain, an embarrassment I should've aborted."
Jack's jaw clenched, his grip on the syringe tightening until his knuckles whitened. The needle gleamed, a promise of retribution.
"You think this is funny?" she sneered, folding her arms under her heavy breasts, pushing them up like an offering she'd never let him touch. "I'm off to the office--real work, something your tiny dick wouldn't comprehend. Meanwhile, you're wasting your sad little life on this... this garbage." She kicked a vial off the desk; it shattered, green slime splattering her glossy stilettos. She didn't flinch--just smirked, daring him. "Clean this shit up, Jack, or I'll ram it down your throat myself. And trust me, I won't be gentle."
She spun to leave, hips swaying like a pendulum of dominance, but paused at the door. Glancing back, she purred, "You're nothing, you know that? A limp little boy who'll never fill a woman's cunt, let alone my shoes. Wallow in your mess, loser." The door slammed, the bang echoing like a whip across his balls.
Jack sat there, panting, rage and lust boiling in his gut. Her words--pathetic, nothing, embarrassment--dug into him like claws, but today they lit a fire. Today, he had the power to fuck her world raw. "You'll see, you bitch," he growled, voice thick with venom and arousal. "I'll make you choke on it."
He snatched the syringe, staring at the green liquid sloshing inside--his cum, his creation, his vengeance. No more waiting, no more teasing himself with rats. He tore his sleeve up, exposing a pale, veiny arm crisscrossed with scars from old tests--little jerk-off sessions with needles that never satisfied. He plunged the syringe in, the sting hitting like a lover's bite. Heat exploded through him, a molten rush that made his dick throb as his veins burned. He gasped, the syringe clattering as his body seized--skin bubbling, bones melting, flesh liquefying into a slick, pulsing mass.
The transformation was a sick orgasm of pain and pleasure. His form collapsed into a quivering pile of green-black slime, wet and obscene, dripping with power. He laughed--a guttural, dripping sound--as he tested his new body, oozing across the floor, seeping into cracks, reforming into grotesque shapes. It was raw, unrestrained, a fuck-you to nature itself. And it was time to use it on her.
