She grinned her battleaxe grin, the cunning smile Nicole fell in love with, so many months ago. Like a crescent moon over the wilderness at night. "Well! We should get started, then." ----- Nicole watches the faint fog of her breath in front of her slender vulpine muzzle, lingering like a ghost in the slender beam of vertical light that pools on the dais beneath her feet. It reflects off her wide-lensed glasses, even as she folds them, sliding them into their case. She can't see much anyway, in the cool, humid darkness; just the innumerable thick cables and conduits snaking away from her platform in every direction, leading to distant glimmers of mighty chrome machinery, stretching high up to the ceiling. She pushes her copper-red bangs back from her face, and begins to loosen her tie. Her broad ears perk and swivel at the muffled sounds of banging, the clunks and groans of cold metal urged into position. She unconsciously times the unbuttoning of her blouse to the muffled sounds of banging, the clunks and the groans of the pre-initialization sequence being performed out of sight. Biting her thin, black-painted lip, occupying her mind with the process, with the theory. Not with her increasing nudity. She folds the tie and blouse over her arm, reaching back to unhook her B-cup bra, spilling that off her shallow bosom and over her narrow shoulders. he looks around, out of habit, before sliding the satin off completely. She knows full well there's only one other living soul down here, and Dr. Haoma has already seen everything she has to offer. Her plump twat buzzes as she hangs her garments on the tray-stand provided for such purpose. Thinking, partly, about the Doctor's bedside manner - any excuse to put herself back on Asha's musky, fuckstained sheets, clutching the headboard and shrieking her lungs out as the Doctor expounds upon her latest theories of hypertrophy and hormone manipulation, teaching her impactful lessons on the importance of her wideset hips, the cushion of her perky ass. Indeed, once her skirt's off, it's plain to see - the grad student's bloated cuntlips have fairly swallowed the crotch of her panties. And as she gingerly steals her underwear back from them to set aside, the fluttering, spasmodic gnashing of those distended, ruined labia synchronizes with the faint motion in her stomach, as well; a little bit of sag just above her navel squirming and flexing, much to her ongoing dismay. It's totally indecent, beyond the pale. There's getting /fucked/, and then there's... But there isn't anyone around to look. Not down here, in the sub-basement, in the little pool of light while the good Doctor prepares in the darkness. The air is cool and a little damp, which suits the machinery just fine. Whirring and whining, shivering to life. The sickly green glow of the orgone tanks indicating that the control rods are easing out, just enough to start the breeder reaction. Just a warmup. And it warms her up, too, even as she steps out of her shoes, kicking them impatiently into the darkness. Because as much as Asha's mousetrap grin jellies Nicole's knees, as much of that wombspreading mutant lady-dick curls her dainty toes and dents her sleek belly - Dr. Haoma's masterwork is so much more titillating. And speaking of which, the light from the tanks has grown enough to cast the whole room in an eerie glow. It doesn't do many favors for Nicole's gaunt figure, but the doctor pulls it off. Completely nude, as she generally is in the sub-basement, her sweatsheened skin gleams in the low light and the high humidity. She's been hard at work, twisting gigantic control wheels with all the leverage of her frighteningly muscular body, locking conduits in place with her massive overpowering hands, splaying her bulbous, bra-busting tits out across the side of the machine as she reaches the knife switch that's a little too high up. "I see your preparations are complete as well." The cavern's chill on Nicole's bare skin makes a striking contrast to Asha's warm, strong hand on her waist. Stroking her, looking her up and down with those wild green eyes. Naked with even her glasses off, Dr. Asha Haoma hides nothing. The subtle stirring of her loins is like a snake in the grass; she brandishes temptation in her heart like a torch, the urge to bend her willowy fucksocket pupil in half and breed her into a shuddering heap of overeducated cooze. But she doesn't, not tonight. "Yes, Doctor. Is that the apparatus?" "Yes. It is more handsome than in the drawings, yes?" She turns away, fingertips reluctantly sliding off the sleek, waifish vulpine, ogress feline moving to lift the device from its rack. Her fingers clutch at it, the strange staff humming in her grip, her muscles flexing blatantly to support its great weight. She turns toward her assistant, holding the shaft across her abdomen. "I have engaged the audio recordings. Are you ready?" Always that sly look, that sidelong smile. "Yes, Doctor, I hnnnngh." Nicole's hands grip her spindly knees, eyes clenching shut, then spread wide open, alternately. Orgasm would be putting it lightly: Her breath comes in gurgles and barks when it can, powerful rippling spasms following the glossy head of the staff as it strokes her abdomen. Her tail hikes and squirms, hot lubricant erupting from the overworked lips of her womanhood, splattering the expanding, pulsating glow of the dais beneath her feet. With her abdominal diaphragm trembling and twitching, she can't even manage a decent moan. "Excellent. Stage zero is a... smashing success. Wouldn't you say?" She puncuates this by bumping the staff-head against the subject's mons pubis. The distance from her lungs enables her breathing, but the force exerted on her nerves forces all the air from her in a heartstopping scream. The Doctor's hand presses into Nicole's shoulder, bracing her up, letting the heavy tool hang slack from her hand. Her own tool has grown tumnescent, lolling aimlessly from thigh to thigh, only just becoming ready to stand on its own. - if nothing else, an automatic response to the voice of her favorite prey. "Hgggh. Hnngh, yes. Yes, it makes me /cum," Nicole understates; then she groans, coughing on her own hoarse throat. It's a moment before she can stand straight again, and then only unsteadily. She shuts her eyes a moment, and focuses on the old photographs. Of the Doctor in her undergraduate days. Of a dark, rail-thin woman with mad green eyes. "What ELSE can it do to me?" "Let's find out." Asha nods, twisting the thing in her hands, turning the control ring. Three prongs emerge from behind the head of the staff, tilted only slightly forward. The color in the tanks is rising, sickly green fading into shimmering, effervescent yellow. The visible light emitting from the scepter's top splashes Nicole's modest chest, and the pulsations in the dais reverse, cycling inward instead of out, increasing in speed. Nicole glares intensely at her flat breasts, but they're still heaving from the force of her uncaught breath. She can't be sure, in the low light, that anything is happening, but for the tingling, jolting zaps in the underlying nerves, the gentle twinge of pain receptors. Everything is breathless, clenched-fist expectation, jaw slackening, tongue lolling, struggling to hold herself upright under waves of golden light. It's begun to tint orange before she's sure there's been a change, the stinging pressure in her nipples erupting, twin lances of milk gushing from her stiffened teats. Asha twists the staff again, and the lances of milk turn into steady, trickling gushes. Modest, nickel-sized aureoles flesh and swell abundantly, fat beestung cones tipped by fingertip teats, poking up and out. The spotlight on her chest - now properly a bosom - dims, gradually, as the Doctor tapers off the machine. The light is low, sunset red, and the slender spotlight above Nicole is the best she can get for seeing. She gasps as she goes to grab her own tits, and finds with astonishment that her smallish hands only cover the bulging bottoms; then yelps, as the pressure forces more milk through her tender nipples, and the sensation makes her cavernous breed tremble and jerk. She stumbles forward, and Dr. Haoma catches her, but the greed in her eyes is plain; Nicole clutches on for dear life as that rough tongue plunders her chest, lapping the gushing milk as from a saucer. The doctor spares a hand to grope her pet student's trembling, greasedrooling twat, noisily squish-stroking the bloated lips, kissing and sucking her drooling nipples, teeth dragging the vixen's flesh. The abuse continues until the breathless vulpine finds the strength to resist another climax, to straighten up for the next test. "Let down your hair." Nicole does so, unhooking her ponytail, ditching the little nylon tie. She crosses her fingers over her scalp, elbows pointed out as she teases her hair into its natural flow, her new melons joggling side-to-side as she moves. She biting her plump black lip as she feasts her eyes on her mentor's dense girltamer, hot erection drooling precum slightly from its tip. As fully prepared as it's ever been, towering over those mouthewatering fist-sized nuts. Exactly long enough to reach from her clit to the back of her abdomen, she well knows. Just above her navel. "Well, Doctor." Nicole pauses, brow knit. Her voice is lower than before, husky and smooth. And a little breathy, but that could be explained by the healthy glow burning through her from pelvis to sternum. "It does seem like phase one is a success as well." Dr. Haoma nods, tugging at the control ring, each of the three antennae hinging out a pair of fangs, swinging out perpendicular to their tips, forming the suggestion of a hexagon. She gets as far as, "I would say so," but then pauses as well when she goes to shift her stance, puissant bicep brushing her breast. "Hm. Do I look... bigger? I can't tell." Nicole very slowly tears her eyes from the throbbing totem, gulping back a mouthful of shameless vixen drool. "I can't tell either, Doctor. You were pretty big to begin with." "That is true," Dr. Haoma agrees, as a matter of obvious fact. She tilts her head, eyebrow arched as she bounces on the balls of her feet, a thin trail of prejizz splashing Nicole's stomach. But she shrugs. "Maybe I should have shielded this thing better. I'm sure we'll find out soon." She doesn't bother baiting her student this time, simply lifting her staff, aiming the beam at the younger woman's girlslick lap. The dais pulsates in and out, like a beating heart. This time Nicole is sure she can see the rays emanating from the staff's head, even if they're only guiding the machine all around her. Burning fuchsia light suffuses everything, and splashes in rings over the mound of her womanhood. She wiggles her hips just a little, fingers gripping the fur on her hips, struggling to keep her delicate digits out of the beam's wait. It tightens, gradually, focusing on the expanding tip of her clit, squeezing and dilating, narrow and wide rings alternating. The clitoral orgasm is no surprise, and Nicole sets her jaw against it, letting the Doctor augment her meager flesh. 'You could be so much more,' indeed. Nicole almost regrets the order of the experiments; the ample swells of her brand-new tits are blocking her view of her lap, cleavage packed tightly across her narrowish ribcage. But she suspects it's working when the moist flesh of hen's-egg testicles comes to rest on her thighs, and she's quite sure stage two has been fully successful when she glimpses the flaring, uncut head of her new dick emerge from beneath her occluding bosom. She reaches out to take its measure, stroking base to tip and back with both hands. "Nicole!" Dr. Haoma drops the apparatus in alarm, eyes wide as she grabs her student's hands, lifting them up to examine. Nicole, still somewhat overloaded, does not understand the Doctor's alarm, the reason for her perplexity. She soothes her anxious mentor, stroking her thick fingers dotingly, simultaneously grabbing and kneading the big cat's swollen teats just the right way. "Oh, Doctor, I'm alright. I think you /did/ grow." The mad scientist's confidence breaks. She stumbles over her accent, at a loss for words. Finally she manages, "Nicole. Nicole, you have four hands." Indeed, she lifts them up above the girl's inflated bosom so she can see - she now has four elegant forearms, two extending from each elbow. "Asha. They feel fine." Nicole smiles, her body thrumming with heat. She rests her palms on her mentor's cheeks and her shoulders. Her ten-inch virgin vixenprick grinds up the brick wall of the feline's abdomen, spitting and spurting eagerly as plump breasts crush softly together. Warm, full lips caressing warm, full lips, melting the feline's anxiety away with warm, gentle kisses. "I feel fine." Kiss. "Better than fine." Slrp. "I can't believe what you've given me. Nobody living or dead has ever had this. I never want to go back." Smack. "I. Wait." Nicole presses the doctor firmly back, her eyes going far wider than she ever thought they could as the stiff object against her hip slides away into plain view. "Doctor! Doctor, your cock!" And so they both gawp at it, as the light drifts from pink to ruddy, sensuous mauve. It towers three feet off the hardbodied cat's lap, riddled with veins, squirming and jerking and gushing multi-cup bursts of prelube. "I see we have... found out." She furrows her brow, giving it a lazy flex; the tip bobs six inches, guttering greasy spunk with spattering force against Nicole's abdomen. The balls nearly hang past her knees. "Is this okay, Nicole?" Her left hand rubs the back of her head, at the peak of her treetrunk neck. "I think I can fix this. If not, well." She waggles her dick. "I think the regular cosmetic surgeons have treatments for this, yes?" Nicole shakes her head, vigorously. She spreads her four hands over the bowling-ball glans, thumbs hitching in the foreskin, peeling it back. Licking her lips, pulling the whole thing up, gingerly kissing the yawning cumslit. Glrphing a little, her girlcock spasming and gushing in overtaut climax when her nose briefly slips inside. "No, it's not fucking /okay/. It's fucking /amazing/, don't you fucking /dare/ fix it. Slrp. Any of it." The wavy-haired mutant loudly, wetly french-kisses the towering tool before her, pulling and stroking it as it fucks her throat with clinging, liquid ropes of sleaze, gulping them greasily away, excess dripping syrup-thick from the corners of her mouth. "I want this in me. But first." Gulp, slrp. "You have to finish." Smack, snort. "The experiment." She pauses, drawing back, lapping a streamer of cum off most of her face, only a little surprised when her forked tonguetip wipes cum off her left eyebrow. Dr. Haoma watches this display in fascination. "The secondary effects are incredible. The biopsy will be most illuminating." Her intellectual curiosity is somewhat offset by the thunder in her heart, palpable through the veins in her overloaded, seething cock. "You are right, of course, my muse. We must continue." The overbuilt feline extricates herself from Nicole's many-fingered grip, bending over briefly. Her swollen breasts crush tight on her knees, obscuring her view of the ground, but she comes back up with the staff hanging loosely in her hand. Peering at it, her behemoth arm flexing and rippling as she hefts the weight. Grinning to herself. The light has cooled, chilly violet ascending toward indigo. The harmonic rhythm of the dais lights shines as Nicole resumes her position, holding her arms spread. Her toeclaws grip the rim, curling tight as the staff-beam traces her skeleton, correcting the awkward tangle of her half-arms. Muscle bunches subdivide and reinflate, four sturdy pectorals for a stacked pair of arms on each side. Taut milkbag foxtitties bulging and inflating again, splitting and subdividing too - four perky pink nipples all jutting slightly away from each other. Spewing eighteen-inch vixenhood trembling in her four doting hands, drenching her spidery grip with greasy, stringy precum. Spaded tail emerging from the sheep's clothing of fluff. Pert black devil-horns emerging from her brow. "Yes," she growls past her slavering fangs, rising onto her toes as they turn into cloven hooves. Gold leaf erupts on the good Doctor's massive hand as she works the staff like a stylus, her strokes growing more rapid, more fluid as she learns the intricacies of the mechanism. Deep, dark, midnight blue emanates from the boiling orgone tanks, offsetting the dull tracery of lambent violet pulsing along her veins as the gilding overtakes her glistening skin. Gripping the horned head in one strong hand, sculpting flesh like clay. Poking the pouting teatnipples in; fucking the squidging, drooling cavities that form with her colossal wrist-thick fingers. Pushing herself into the mold of her student's worshipful gaze, taking her divine due with overwhelming force. She crams the mutant vixen's muzzle into her lap, tangy metallic hallucino-musk drenching the new fiend's brain, staining Nicole's consciousness darkly as she finds her wobbly-fat lips spread over that hard, golden rod, polishing the sweaty flesh with her spit. Nicole clutches her mentor's columnar thighs with one hand each. The midnight blue swells and rises, whitening, the boiling coming to a stop as the tanks superheat. She finds two more hands, fingering her own dripping teatcunts all at once, her guzzling, breathless gullet bobbing rapidly as the golden idol facefucks her. Powerful hands grip her arching ibex-horns, and she savors the force on her skull, making her submission a reward for the gleaming goddess before her. Cumming for the jawstraining facefuck; cumming for the jigglejob from her beachball juggs; cumming again and again for the brutal, wrestle-down sodomy, and cumming triple for the unprotected breeding, bright dick seeding the depths of her dark cunt as many times as it can; it takes time for the devilish supplicant to tire the tyrant goddess using her body for a dickrag, her warped mutant brain taking on the contortions necessary, as a service due, a baptism in her new religion. The emergency alarms shriek, and the orgone tanks vent their back-pressure into the room, a mortal threat. But there are no mortals left in this room. ----- They lie together, slumped in the temporary privacy of the basement. The prickvixen-fuckfiend gurgles up an occasional mouthful of godspunk, most of the time managing to swallow it again before it blurts onto her goliath tits, them splayed over a six-foot bulge of stomach. And she rests in the lap of her fifteen-foot mistress, the heavy staff little more than a wand in her titanic hand. The creamy, swirling haze of orgone mist all about them is lit dully by the radiance of the monster's veins as Asha manipulates and twists it into sweet little heart-shaped clouds, swallowing it in occasional gulps, metabolizing it away. "I don't urp see why you should bother trying to clean up, Asha. Give them a taste. We mustn't be ulp ~greedy~ now," she unsteadily croons. And burps, blinking perplexedly at a jizzbubble now formed over her muzzle. Asha pops it with one massive scythe-claw, huffing up another gulp of orgone haze. The light burns on her tongue, shadowing her fangs against her cheeks, and then she exhales a lungful of clean air. "What kind of Goddess would be so careless with the little people? They would flee from our glory. We should measure their communion in a thimble." Nicole scoops up the collapsed bubble with her tongue, slurping it into her muzzle, gulping it down again. "Fuckin' big thimble."