Some Sort of Mutagenic Serum

As you felt the goey liquid touch your back you could barely stop the evil grimace spreading across your face. She hadn't taken the right vial.

She looks at you perturbed as though you hadn't perceived her intent to kill. As she keeps pouring you see the realization sink in. The gelatinous substance isn't completely leaving the vial, adhering to itself like a salve.

Her eyes loom over yours, her face almost cracking apart as she realizes how difficult it is to tear her gaze away from yours. Her breathing is heavy, the sort of deep hyperventilation that only occurs when you have to face up to a deeply bottled up fear. Your face unwinds as you hear her scream out in pain, she clutches just above her chest as if she's trying to stop a self-induced heart attack. As you look down at her, crouched on the floor her own breasts squeezed up against her knees, you stop yourself from patting her head or comforting her. The unearthly sympathy you feel for the woman who just tried to kill you, prevents you from disturbing her. She needs this moment for herself, and meddling in her emotions would mean she'd never truly get to piece herself together.

The gelatinous liquid has slid back into the tube with a bit of a toot noise. Whether or not she would use it on you again, you don't know, but it would seem to be safe, looking at how she hasn't tossed it aside yet.

As you distract yourself sadly, looking at objects across the room you find papers on the table detailing the plan. Things like going through with the mission, killing you, delivering the earrings to your mysterious adversary, were all detailed in a way that confused you. Did she always go out of her way to tell them about the powers? Why would she be so focused on telling people that they couldn't resist rather than just not telling them about the power to begin with?

Your thoughts are interrupted by the angry rage of the woman behind you, she pours the slime out of the tube and throws it on your back, leaning up sensually against it. "Why would you do this to me?! None of this was ever my choice yet you went out of your own way to curse me like this!" The tears are welling up in her eyes. Had it not been for the fact that her mascara had already been smudged from before, it would probably looking even worse now.

"You were already reacting to the idea that I had somehow altered the fabric of the reality you knew. It was always going to end up like this." She glares at you as you respond, the sort of look of betrayal where you hate yourself more than the person you're supposed to, just because you're unable to look beyond your own rose tinted view. You continue, stipulations still fresh in your mind from nights on end regarding the morality of it all. "Humanity and morality are entwined because of incapacity, cooperation always having been more favorable than running your own race." Your self-vindicated tone sours as your mind breaks down convention after convention. "I now have the capacity to be whatever I want... with nothing holding me back." Missed opportunities that you plan to make good on flash in front of your eyes. You never got to get Ryobi to let you freely grope her plush ass. You never got to have Imu and yourself be the instructors of advanced sex ed. for the shinobi class. You never got to get Murasaki to give you a titjob while trying to vacuum out your cum. "Normal humans have modest wishes and modest wants. I can now have all my wishes and all my wants, because I am no longer just a normal human."

"Yeah, you're a sociopath." She retorts. You whip around your hand angrily snatching her jaw and forcing your tongue into her full lips. Her eyes glaze over as she imbibes the kiss, rolling her tongue around yours. As you break the kiss you turn around again, hands maliciously and forcefully placed on the table. You can feel the slimy rod that for the last few minutes had been lodged between her tits get smushed between them and your back. She starts moving her body, sensually lubing your back with it. You feel the nub like protrusions of her nipples grinding against your back, as she moans, her hand cupping your balls, the other stroking your still naked penis, the cold ventilated air feeling having been awkwardly cold had it not been for the body heat she was sharing.

"Perhaps a sociopath is just what his material conditions make him?" You sling back, clearly feeling vindicated in your new realizations.

"How can you say that? I don't see the previous owner of those earrings immortalized in the rest of the world. This is just a reflection of you and your rotten, dramatic, sensual, sweet smelling-" she trails off, her own neurons compensating for negative overstimulation the same way you would want to squeeze a cute kitten.

"We can't know, can we? The previous owner, might just have created half of the things that we take as fact. Say for example, what if clothes used to be some sort of sexual idea, and he just topsy-turvied it." You don't feel like continuing your point, the truth is it's irking you a bit to consider. Instead, you look back at her face which has reached the final point of pleading. She was now trying to convince you to give her mercy through logical reasoning alone. You feel your muscles twitch, as your arm expands with muscles. She yelps in uncontrollable excitement at your expansion. The serum having begun taking effect. She starts talking again, but before she can get a word out, you stop her. "I don't want to hear it, maybe some day in the future I'll start considering the implications of it all, but for now, I think it's time I shut you up." She feverishly tries to make you reconsider. It angers you. You feel the size and soreness of your beefier digits as you move your hand back to her pussy, groping it.

A crystalline voice breaks out as you touch her, the squeal completely melting apart the sentence she was trying to form. Her teeth are digging into your shoulders as she breathes into your back. The pregnant self being unable to disobey her own emotions as her body feels more sensitive than ever, anticipating your further touch. "You went all the way to make me a perfect fit for you..." You start, referencing back to your now steadily skin straining musculature. Her hands seemingly shrinking atop your genitals as you speak. "...but how about you start taking the extra step and show some subservience. I am after all, your god now." The engrained behavioral patterns of your past cringe at your own self-gratification, but you know it doesn't matter, there's no one to hold you accountable for your own arrogance anymore. You can feel her gulp in fear against your back, her breathing seemingly stuck in her throat. You can feel her nipples hardening even further, stabbing your back like a miniature pool noodle, her clitoris hardening like a shark fin. "Sit"

In complete discord with her own psyche, her body's, now seemingly non-slimy tits, unsuction themselves from your naked back. You turn around, your gaze lingering on her expansive tits, the pink nipples that took part in one of the biggest efforts to save your own life. She's crouching again, this time, her back is no longer arched forward, making her tits stand on full display. It's like a candy shop for your eyes. Her entire face is twitching, she's sorely trying to hold on to power against a steadily more paining **** from her own senses. The sight worries you, not the way her hands are moving up to the sides of her chest like a pleading dog, or the way she keeps her mouth open like she's waiting to gobble a bone, those were all to be expected, but in the way that you can clearly see she's averting her eyes from yours, seemingly checking in every second or so to see if something has changed.

Your penis now casts a shadow from the lights above eclipsing her face as her dopamine addled mind tries sniffing it. The only thing that comes out of it are velvety snorts blessing your ears. You slap your elongated meat across her face, precum mixing in with her mascara's tear trails. "What was in the mixture?!" You demand to know, the glans of your penis pushing up against her right nostril giving her a deep waft of the dick. She doesn't answer, your idea of an interrogation tool not functioning very well against a cock drunk adversary. "What was in the mixture?!" You repeat, rapidly retracting your cock from the slow steady suction of her nose. The pain on her face is visible as she attempts to stop herself from spilling the beans, by instead further distracting herself with pleasure. She reaches her tongue out, planning to lick the shaft.

Before she gets to, the cock is moved already far enough away from her face that she would have to break her own subservient dog pose, her own prayer pose to her god and master, in order to reach it. "You will get it, when you tell me, the answer." Her face freezes up again, her already weakened legs, being unable to hold her pose while simultaneously trying to salvage her mind from giving in and telling you. You can see her eyes gliding about in her sockets in a terrifyingly inhuman way. In spite of her weakness, she finds the capacity to gyrate her hips as her mind tears itself apart. She's holding on, but what is she holding on for?