Control

The human is young, strong, an ideal host even if for a limited time. You may overcome him or evolve him in time, but with a few "upgrades" he's a more than ideal starting point.

It starts with a quick jab to his crotch, finding the vein that trails into his organ and becomes a large raised ridge running along his member. You taste a second of watery-thin blood before you push the toxins into his bloodstream.

There are two disadvantages to working with hosts with external genitals, one inherent to how he is constructed and one due to this host in particular. For this host, your toxin could be twice as strong and it would still only give you half the time you wanted to fully reshape him. As is, you need to work fast and make precise changes where they set up the greatest power for later. It's foundation work, a stitch that will save many in due time. However, even working as an artisan in biological machines, one cannot fully modify an external mechanism as one could an internal. Again, you are limited, the only way to enact more sweeping changes as you require is to fuse partially with the new host. Now, you trap yourself in a way, there becomes no way to properly separate from the host without killing him or, at the very least, leaving him emasculated.

That isn't a concern, there isn't time for it to be one. Perhaps by some cosmic twist, your paralysis will likely prove beneficial to him as you now will share a great interest in extending and sustaining his life. On a cellular level, you share a genetic secret with him, the one that unlocked a certain level of agelessness for your kind long ago. His cells receive something of a reprogramming, both allowing for greater flexibility to future morphs and likely quadrupling his natural life span. There's nothing to stop him from dying if he should suffer some mortal wound, of course, but that's why you're going to take over. To keep him from being in such a jam.

Of course, to live for several hundred years without sex organs, ones capable of procreation or not, would be an unpleasant fate. Even without genitals, his body would have no way to understand that it should stop producing the hormones that punctuate the sharp desire sensations of his youthful form. If he proves unreceptive to more positive conditioning, the threat of this could put an appropriate fear into him. While you may not have any proper code of ethics when it comes to this species, there are certain fates that even you wouldn't wish on them.

Your semi-skin twists and contorts, changing structurally. If somebody were to come in right now, it would look like a thin film of rainbow-accented scales was shifting and distorting around a garishly oversized member before gradually reducing in hue to settle to match the color of his skin. Stealth will be important, this is a dumb species, but even dumb species don't often allow withing chitinous things inside of them. You are binding to your host, as much becoming a part of it as you are changing the nature of it.

His testicles are impractical, of limited usefulness as they are. You have enough of his genetic code in his semen that it would be better if they produced something more beneficial. You take one of the individual spermatozoan, poking and prodding the clump of DNA. It's a near single-celled form with basic genetic instructions, ones far easier to overwrite than it would be to overwrite the entirety of the male's testicle. You turn it into something of a virus, something which can be returned to its former home and used as the new "template" that his seed should now resemble.

When finished, the project sperm returns to its host. The body wants to reject the new coding, but you overcome every impulse one by one until it is accepted. His body surges, the new genetic rules coming into the brain. A far more powerful wave of hormones than he was previously capable of hits him all at once. Where previously his body used them in the process of maturation, they now work in a new cycle. His testicles begin to swell with potent new seed. So long as he is awake, he is to be flooded with breeding urges. Once released into a partner, he will come down enough to sleep. Though, his orgasm will now be as strengthening as it is pleasurable. Perhaps parasitic ethics wouldn't be a good idea, creating a creature that exists only to breed as often and as efficiently as possible would be frowned upon even by other members of your species, but you can only work with what you have. The needle-knitted link of your nerves with his might be for less than scientific goals of course...

The ultimate goal should be to put the new seed in as many hosts as possible. Each one will contain a little of you, claiming a new possible host if this one should die. Of course, each one will also have to be **** into sex, **** is a dangerous game to play and one that has a very strict limit on how many times it can be used. As such, play a more safe and certain game, one that this species has latently but that can be empowered. From the strain of hormones, you build a simple pheromone, again sending it along for approval.

Lastly, you use what little time and power you have left to do a little housekeeping. The ultimate goal is that the host accepts you willingly, doing your bidding without needing to be coaxed. The oppressive hormones should have a desired amount of impulse, but he still can't be trusted on those alone. Try the carrot before the stick, show him how good it can be. You quickly parse his mind, something that will be far harder to do while in control but that could be done indefinitely if he should become a willing servant. In his mind, there is an ideal of what he should be, a few shameful pieces of his body that were more like this or that. Some are misguided boyhood fantasy, some are workable ideas. You burn precious power and time knitting scars away, enhancing a couple of muscles, adding some bulk to the jawline. He wants to be like the "cowboys" on TV, you take him a little closer. And not a moment too soon, he begins to stir.

"Oh Lord, my head." He thinks to himself.

Several moments of preparation have lead to this, you hold back the hormonal rush.

"Get off of the bed." You tell him.

He freezes, the battle of human and animal in his head starting to rage. Smarter men than this simpleton wouldn't fully grasp what was happening. He opens his eyes, alone in his room and mostly clothed. The alone part scares him, where could the voice have come from?

"I said, get off of the bed." You command, a little more sharply.

He rises, unsure what to do next.

"God?" It's a question, in his mind, there is a holy figure he thinks you may be, an omnipotent being that he has never heard the voice of like his parents seem to. Importantly for you, it is a term and association that will earn you obedience.

You do a quick search of terms in his head, perhaps it would be easier to lie to him, even mature beings at times understand little more than youthful ones.

"Yes, David, I am your lord. Fall to your knees, my child."

He does, dropping to his knees with his hands clasped in front of his face. Whether his god exists is irrelevant, his dogma is very real.

"I'm not worthy God! I'm just a farmer! I am not without sin!"

"Quiet, my child. I am here to give you a chance to prove your devotion."

"Anything!"

"Stand in front of the mirror, look how I have empowered you."

He rises, stepping to the mirror. He would react in shock to his bloated new rod and testicles as well as the changes to his body, did he not believe this was either a dream or an act of the all-powerful.

"I have improved you, my child. Do you like your new body?"

"Yes, Lord! Very much so!"

"That is good, you will need it, I need you to perform a special task."

"Am I to be a warrior for you? Like the boys over in Korea? I wanted to go sign up but ma said-"

"No." It's quick, curt, booming. It gets him to shut up. "You are not a warrior, my son, you are something more important to me."

He's disappointed, he's not going to question you, but he was sure he was at least kind of a warrior. "What is it?"

"My son, a great tribulation is coming to the Earth, it has already begun, but there is still time."

"Will my family be spared?" Afraid, begging, animal response.

"Do as I ask and all close to you shall be saved."

He falls to his knees again, "You are too merciful my lord!"

"I have improved you, you are to be the Adam of the new world. Go forth, spread your seed as far as you can. Spare your desires for neither man nor woman, all that you do shall be among the righteous."

For the first time, something in his brain turns, you must have contradicted some part of the dogma. A rookie mistake, but one that can still be overcome.

"But Lord, my mother told me that my lust was a sin. Your teachings say so as well, were we wrong?"

Luckily, he phrases it in a way that tells you he's still subservient, he wants to put the contradiction on his species and not on you.

"Do not worry yourself, my child. Your faith to me in the coming days will be the measure of those close to you, not the previous actions."

He accepts it, seemingly. It seems like the greater hangup was the "men and women" part and not the encouraging lust thing. You'll have to be more careful about that, though you do still want more male hosts and not just more female ones. Even with his hormones held back as they are, he still doesn't need any encouragement to want to go fuck every woman he's ever seen.

Speaking of, "Before I claimed you, you had plans to go meet your lover."

His eyes shoot open, "Oh crap, how long was I out?"

"Not more than ten minutes child, go to her, she still waits."

He practically jumps into his outfit, you start to let the hormones come trickling in, taking care to slowly expose him. You need him rational enough to make it to a partner. Once dressed, he slips out of his room, noting his sister's absence before sliding out of the front door into the night.

He starts to move slowly out down a dirt path through the dusty field, it's a path he's taken a dozen times, there's no need to rush.

But you're impatient, so there is.

You unleash more of the hormones, it takes a moment to register, but when he does catch it he feels it as an overwhelming heavy tightness in his balls. He starts to pick up his pace a little, his mind slowly becoming dominated by thoughts of his waiting partner. You could unleash the floodgates to make him run, but there's no real point. It would save maybe a few minutes, and you're still not sure he's ready for the full dose.

The Grishman farmhouse comes into view behind a scant treeline. The house is just as run down as his is, but their barn is a lot nice. Even if it smells like straw and horse, it's the closest thing to a love hotel he's known. The dumpy little box sitting next to it houses Mrs. Grisham, he gets in trouble if Mr. Grisham catches him, but Mr. Grisham is out of town. Mrs. Grisham doesn't get mad at him if she catches him, Mrs. Grisham gives him those hungry looks. He thinks it's wrong to think about Mrs. Grisham like that, perhaps he should be corrected.

No time for that now, he slides into a window instead of using the barn door. A horse snorts as he swings a heavy boot down onto its pile of hay.

"Hey, Butch." He whispers, stroking the thing's nose.

"David!" A sharp little whisper comes from up in the loft.

He climbs the old splintering ladder quickly, he always winds up picking slives of wood out of his hand after visiting.

There's a young woman at the top, immersed in the half-light of the moon. They don't light a lantern anymore after knocking it over once, almost burning the barn down.

Her arms go around his neck, a sloppy kiss in the dark, then "You're late."

"Sorry, something incredible happened baby."

There's no telling if she'll believe him, "You must not tell her, my child, not yet."

"David, I don't care if the good lord himself stopped you, get your ass up here."

Convenient. David hauls himself up into the loft, fumbling hands falling onto his partner's body. Hers are on his just as fast. She's stripped down to her nightgown, he's overdressed but that's how she likes it. She opens his shirt, rubs her hands over his chest with a happy chuckle. He presses his lips against hers, fingers climbing up her skirt. Her pussy is already wet, she must have been waiting pretty eagerly. She moans softly into his mouth, you uncork the hormones a little more. You don't need much, she's already got him ready to tear through his overalls. She slides the straps of them off of his arms, reaching a hand down them and into his boxers. Her hand is cold, but it doesn't lessen the surging effect it prompts. His balls have probably never churned like this before, luckily you can do his thinking for him if you need to.

"Feels like somebody wants some fresh air." She giggles.

He doesn't need telling twice, leaning back and sliding his overalls around his knees, then his boxers. There isn't much room for foreplay, he leans back down and presses his tip against her entrance. Bracing himself on the grating straw beneath her with one hand, he trains himself against her and steers with the other. With a long-anticipated push, he slides in snugly. In the cold air, she's like a furnace.

"Oh Lord, David." She gasps, "Did you get bigger?"

You push his hand against her cheek, subtly sliding a finger against her lips. It's a familiarly coded sign for the pair, one tied both to the intimacy of the moment and the desire to quiet one's partner.

"Just relax," You whisper back, "You'll get used to it." He speaks your words.

Any protests the host may have had are fading quickly as his partner's slick body stretches tight around him. Her arms wrap around his body, holding him close in a clumsy embrace. The way she moves and the way you have to **** him not to move belies the deep clumsiness of two young members of a species, driven to intimacy by hormones but with little understanding of how the actions are to be performed. Even then, there is muscle memory to the clumsy actions, practice incorrect motions long and they become familiar and easy. One eventually becomes an artisan in performing inelegant music. Inelegancy that can be forgiven in the presence of hormones as overwhelming as those of the young male. Judging by the young female's whines and whimpers, inelegancy that she's come to expect. Now, forcing the puppet to move with what you expect to be more pleasing certainty, she seems incapable of dealing with how good it makes her feel and how fast the feelings come. You move as much in tandem with him as you do control him. You have to nudge him in the right direction, but he doesn't need much encouragement. He's a prime host, receptive to the right stimulus. Though... his stamina leaves a bit to be desired. He starts to whine and throb, surprised he isn't releasing like he normally would be.

His partner writhes beneath him as her sex clenches around him, whimpering into her hand clasped over her own mouth and holding onto his neck with the other. They usually finish at near the same time, internal clocks finding a happy match, but for now, he's outpacing her.

"Oo-h fuck, aren't you close?" She whispers while sucking air through clenched teeth. Even as her climax subsides, he still pounds quietly away.

He grunts back. He is close, or rather he's been close for a while now, but he isn't hitting his mountaintop for whatever reason. You're as confused as he is, you aren't doing anything to hold him back, you're not sure why it isn't happening. You do a quick check of his biology, looking for any crossed wires.

... it's the simple things you overlook. His new set of equipment is producing a bucketload of seed, but you overlooked the most basic thing seed needed to know how to do. His body pumps and pumps, but the seed inside of him is both too thick and too opposed to leaving to make it easy. You can't rewrite their code until he falls asleep, but you need to find a way to get this batch out of him. You fully unblock the flow of hormones.

His thrusts get faster and more frantic as the breeding urge overtakes him. His partner has to clap her hand back over her mouth.

"Ooooooo-h fuck, are you trying to make me say I love you?" She squeals through her fingers.

Your host grinds his teeth in frustration. In his head, he chants almost religiously to you with a steady "Please God. Please, My Lord."

You can't do much to speed it up in actuality, but you do feel the seed slowly churning and forcing its way up and outward. You may have to **** biology's hand and manually enact one, though as soon as you begin thinking it, you feel the contractions of release start.

He drops his head down beside that of his partner, gasping for air as his groin heaves to **** the alien seed out of him. With each strain, he gets a little closer to the first drops actually coming out. Luckily, until they actually come out, there's nothing to stop him from simply experiencing a permanent albeit dry orgasm.

It takes more time than is probably normal for a human, but the goopy load inside of him eventually comes spraying out like a tapped well. Once the first pump sprays inside of his partner, causing her to shudder under him, his body seems to pick up on the right **** and motion. Each spay afterward comes easier than those before it, eventually resembling a normal if oversized human ejaculation. His release brings every one of the "Thank you, Lord." -s you might have expected. When finally spent, he rolls off of his partner. You'll need to get to work quickly as soon as he falls asleep.

"I've never felt anything like that before honey," His partner murmurs in his ear.

"Sorry."

She pulls herself close to him, "Don't apologize, that was a compliment."

They entwine and fall asleep in the hay.

You start at work, there's a lot of say... redesigning that needs doing. You do a quick check of the genes inside of the partner. To your surprise, the viscosity and composition of what you made has caused it to bind to her far better than expected. If you can get that same sort of results but in a way that is less inefficient to release, it would make any of his partners stick by his side. It would prevent him from having to re-seed any new hosts, though the act of doing so would only strengthen your hold. For this first recipient, her pre-existing loyalty makes an accurate reading impossible, but you would guess that you don't need to re-seed her for close to a full year without fear of losing effectiveness.

You go back to work, reprogramming the viral seed at the core of his reproduction. You make the content a little more diffuse, a little more liquid-based. You'll need to experiment more to find the perfect ratio. You increase the muscular strength of his groin everywhere you can. Less threat of damage and, hopefully, more powerful contractions. Then another little smoothening of the skin, another bulking of some of what he would call the "look muscles". Mostly just broadening the shoulders. You start to morph his ass slightly, he might find a need for it in time.

It's slow work, but that's a blessing this time. You would have nothing else to do to while away the dark hours that didn't wake him. There will be a time to test his limits or do more sweeping changes, but those would be when he is willing.

The sun is starting to rise when his partner does before him. You're surprised he can sleep as long as he has on the straw and wood, but the first time experiencing his new biology properly has likely thoroughly drained him.

At first, she stirs, pulling herself closer to his warmth. When he doesn't wake she teases her fingers over his face, even pinching his nose. Out like a light. She seems to accept this, snuggling up closer to him and running a hand down his stomach. She reaches her hand back down into his boxers, sending a surge of blood along with her even as he sleeps.

You hadn't planned for this, usually, males of a species will perform sleeping acts on a female, not the other way around. You could send a hormonal surge through him to wake him up, but you don't actually know what will happen if he doesn't.

She pulls his cock out of his waistband softly, she doesn't normally get to see it in the light. She makes it stand straight in the air, wiggles it, slaps it against his stomach. The blood pumps into it slowly, swelling and getting warmer in her hand.

She untwines from her lover, sitting up and looking around. She's told him about wanting to do this for a long time. Though she can't be sure now that he isn't merely pretending to sleep so that she can indulge her fantasies, she doesn't care either way. It seems he's done the same thing in reverse more than once.

She gets onto her knees beside him, watching his sleeping face as he starts to get fully hard in her hand. Still out like a light. She leans over him and plants a soft fluttering kiss right on the head of his cock, still nothing. She drags her tongue up along it, beats up and down twice with her hand, peeling the skin back from the head, licks under the skin around the head. All get no reaction. She leans her head down, trying to hold her mouth open wide enough to slide him in. She manages it, but just barely. Forcing it down her throat is another issue, one that she gets nowhere with. Even without the rush of hormones, his balls are churning like crazy. It seems like you don't need much more than suggestions, you couldn't have asked for better.

She doesn't go for long, leaving him standing up in the morning air as she pulls her mouth and hands away. She takes a moment to straddle him, pulling up her nightgown with one hand and guiding him with the other. She slides him in quietly, letting her gown fall as she moves her hand back over her mouth. She takes great care not to wake him as she slides more and more of him inside of her, bottoming out and letting her hips grind softly against his. She puts both hands over her mouth, squeezing her eyes shut as she takes joyous movements with agonizing slowness. It seems like her goal is maintaining his sleep as much as it is her own pleasure. She starts to bounce softly on him, stopping her hips from slapping against him.

She rides him silently for several minutes, the moans stifled by her hands intermingling with the sounds of her wetness and the noises of the barn beginning to wake up. Her exceptional care for quiet leads to such a slow but powerful rhythm that it's hard for her to keep her breath from becoming frantic. While David groans or stirs occasionally, you make sure you work with her to not awaken him. The urge to climax is everpresent within him, every time you suppress it, it comes back stronger. It's like a pop-up that only comes back more forcefully with each passing moment. You could simply let the hormones flow, wake him up, but you refuse. His balls begin to swell slightly, being pushed to their enhanced limits. Since he's still asleep, you quietly up the limit, letting them continue.

His partner turns into a shivering sloppy mess on top of him, her body shaking as she tightens in climax again. Her hips buck, settling against his waist again without meaning to. Her hands can only barely repress the half-yelped groan, it punches sharp and shrill through them before being followed by a deeply guttural whine.

When she comes down again, she slides him out of her just as softly. She climbs between his legs, looking up at his body as she starts to jerk his wet member. She puts her face down as she strokes, kissing his balls.

The sound of a cock crowing makes his eyes shoot awake.

The instant his sleep ends his body surges with a powerful over-repressed orgasm. The floodgates open, causing him to whimper. His partner sees the first few splattering bursts shoot up into the air before she desperately closes her mouth over his head. The free spurts shoot almost to the ceiling before landing wetly on and around him. Even as he drenches himself, he pumps yet more down his partner's throat as she does her best to swallow it as it appears. You feel your genetic data flowing into her stomach, soaking into her body, it seems more potent this way when paired with the thick pool of it soaked into her womb. David's hands ball into painful fists, the sensation of this one is far too much.

By the time it subsides, his partner has stopped **** and sputtering and is letting it flow down her throat freely. By the time David opens his eyes, he can barely remember where he is, his senses come trickling back slowly.

His partner lifts her head from his drooping cock, "Well, good morning sugar."

He gasps for air as he straightens up, she kisses him on the cheek.

"I didn't know you were part horse."

He grabs his head, "Me neither."

She giggles and starts to disappear down the ladder, "You overslept, less you wanna stay for breakfast."

She leaves you two to clean yourself up as best you can. Ultimately, David decides to sacrifice his boxers to wipe up the rest of him, balling them in his pocket. The feeling of denim on his highly sensitive cock is rough, but the friction is oddly exciting. David clambers back down the ladder to the floor of the barn. He says a quick goodbye to Butch, who whinnies back in response.

David ducks out the window directly into the path of Mrs. Grisham.

Well, more accurately, he almost knocks both of them over. Mrs. Grisham just barely manages to save her basket of eggs.

"Sorry."

"Well don't you apologize sugar," She chimes. "Did you and Annabelle have fun?"

David blushes, "I was just gettin some shuteye is all-"

Mrs. Grisham scoffs, "You ain't gotta lie dearie, Annabelle's a big girl."

David is still trying to get away, Mrs. Grisham is a very good-looking woman, but she's like a second mom. He doesn't want to admit he feels "some sort of way" about her.

"Oop!" She stops him, puts a finger to his cheek, and then puts it in her mouth. "Missed a spot."

She walks away teasingly, giving a little sway with her hips. Oh yeah, he feels "some sort of way" all right.

That said, he has no intention of acting on it. He's going to need a push. You could do it now, doing so would probably assert a little more control. Plus, it would be another new host. There aren't any downsides really, it's kind of a pointless question.