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Project Dinosaur

Part Three

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Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)

Commissioned by anonymous

_ _

_ _

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.

She was none the wiser, however, as she chewed uselessly at the shoe. Her teeth were not quite sharp enough to grip as intended, though the position strained her neck. It was not quite long enough or flexible enough to bend in that direction easily and she snapped futilely at her own foot as her weight slowly tipped her to the right.

Coming down with a solid “thud," Christie groaned on the ground, squirming and kicking uselessly on her side. Never had her body betrayed her like that, though fear gripped her heart and she thought back to her human shape, her body, and tried to hold on to it.

Soft skin.

Small nails.

Delicate facial features.

Wide hips.

One breast that was larger than the other.

She exhaled. If they had some manner of science that made her body forsake her, surely she could fight back against it. Yet her eyelids fluttered, a tear escaping from the corner of one eye, and she whimpered throatily, clinging to her last shreds of sanity.

Tyron snuffled at her, though she ignored him for the moment. He was a break in her humanity and she couldn't afford, yet again, for him to throw her off-track. A tiny voice in the back of her mind reminded her that she was kind of the reason Tyron had even infiltrated the facility in the first place, yet she thrust it down.

Yet, no matter how hard she framed her body in her mind, it still changed. It still shifted. It still betrayed her.

Her stomach lurched as her insides squirmed, although Christie was mostly glad she couldn't see how she looked at that time. She didn't want to see, didn't want to know, not as she huffed and heaved, her tail lengthening even more with a squeaking ache that resounded the entire length of her spine. It was disconcerting, a little like being unwell – but escalated to the point that her eyes watered and her jaws hung open from the painful crack of her bones slotting into their new places.

Growing bone and changing the shape of a body, after all, took a lot of effort. That would have fascinated her if she had not been in such a position, grunting and heaving, curling a foot under her where her shoe had pinged off at last. Her clawed toes tucked into the ground, biting the dirt, and helped her grip as she rolled on to two legs again.

When she didn't think about it too much, it was easier. Of course, that was partly due to her transformation almost being complete too with longer feathers prickling down the length of her tail as she swung it experimentally back and forth – and almost knocked herself off her own feet in the process.

The world around her spun sickeningly, dizziness sinking its claws into her, though she tried to grab her own head to find her hands didn't reach like that anymore. Sure, she had hand-like shapes there, though the bones were more obvious in her hands and long, shiny feathers layered their way down her arms, acting as if they were wings. The weight of her body pinned her to the ground, however, as her back smoothed out and her torso tipped forward, coming into a more natural centre of balance.

“Unff…"

She grunted and worked her jaw as her tongue spilled out, flicking over her teeth and lips before retracting again. There was too much saliva in her mouth, though swallowing didn't seem like the right action as she drooled, tipping her head from side to side to feel the new axis of it at the top of her neck.

It was wrong, all wrong, as if she had been shoved into a horror film and was working out how to move her body as the monster and antagonist. Soft crinkles formed in the skin around her eyes, giving more definition to her face, though she couldn't see the very tip of her own snout where a blind spot lay. Around her, however, she had greater peripheral vision – which was exactly what was making her as dizzy and nauseated as she was.

Christie lurched forward, standing more comfortably on her dinosaur legs with shreds of old clothes hanging from her, though it was not as if they were going to help her at all anymore. Her body felt funny, though everything quieted down, as the sound of a blackbird singing caught her ears.

A wisp of hair fluttered from her head, though she turned her head back and forth, not realising that it had simply mostly shifted into feathers. A transformation like hers, after all, did not waste energy.

She's lurched away, however, as Tyron had come in close, bumping her hind end with his snout. The deinonychus churred at her and bobbed his head, though she stepped away from him, raising her head distrustfully high.

With the tiny feathers slotting into place where space had been left for them, her teeth narrowing into deadly points, glistening with saliva, the final notes of her transformation settled around her. Completely without Christie's consent, of course, but there was no going back from what had been forced upon her.

“Hm, the female's transformation took a more dramatic turn," Michael noted into a voice recorder, though he seemed bored. “Two in one day is rather tedious. Suggest a different species this time. The breeding pair will, however, be useful for experiments."

Tyron grunted and shook his head, a shudder rolling through him. He didn't want to be as interested in Christie as he did, though he knew what that strange, pooling heat in his lower abdomen was. He might have been a deinonychus, fanning the feathers on his arms out to the sides and pushing his chest forward and out, though it didn't feel like him. None of those things were things he would have done willingly of his own accord, even as his stomach sank.

Oh no…

_ _

Yet he couldn't stop himself, shivering bodily as his feathers ruffled up, eyes glassy and needy. For the cloaca-slit that had covered his cock parted to allow his shaft back out – and it was nothing like the cock he'd remembered. It was not sexual to him, not as arousal flooded him, the scent of the female in need clouding his senses, yet the smooth lines of his lightly curved member were the most foreign, alien thing that had happened to him so far. The tip was not smooth and round anymore, but narrowed to a point – and there was no longer the extra skin that moved along the length of a human cock. It was harder and firmer, as if it was made for one purpose and one purpose alone.

To mate.

Christie blinked at him and, again, he tried to talk, though any words he sent forth were lost in grunts and growls. He cast his eyes over her, desperately trying to come to terms with everything – yet he couldn't help but notice that some of her tattoos, along her arms and her midriff, had turned white. They were not there in the same way, but they showed through as white feathers and a patterning that didn't look natural at all for a dinosaur.

No… Christie, you've got to get away!

_ _

He tried to shout, though even the grunting, growling words he pushed out sounded futile to him. She cocked her head and stalked up to him, still unsteady on her legs, her jaws slightly parted.

Christie looked like a dinosaur to him and her body responded in kind as he turned her hind end towards him, taking a half step back and then hesitating. Even though she'd managed to kick her shoes off while she'd been transforming, most of her shirt still hung over her shoulders and partway down her back, though it didn't interfere with the use of her arms. Noticeably too, her glasses had remained on, though just how they remained balanced on her face was beyond him.

She bobbed her head lightly, feeling the shift of those very glasses on her face, though Christie was struck by the need to keep them there, balancing them. It was one of the last vestiges of humanity she could cling on to, though her body rocked back and shifted with no conscious thought from her.

What's happening? I can't be doing this, I can't be walking like a dinosaur…

_ _

Yet it was far worse than that as a sick sense of dread sank into her and she lowered her body. Her hind legs curled as she took her body weight at a lower angle, just about managing to stay in place.

She didn't want the dinosaur near her. And yet Tyron snuffled around her and bumped her with his snout, even as he clambered in closer still to her.

It was wrong – he was too close! Yet her body wanted him near, a dull ache rolling through the pit of her stomach, wanting to push back against him and not understanding why.

Such was the pull of instinct as the male deinonychus took her presentation as her welcoming him in, although the set and position of his cloaca allowed his cock to curl out at the right angle for her. His length pulsed and twitched, as he pressed in closer to her, his chest bearing over her back.

Christie's cloaca was positioned slightly differently to his, which allowed them to come together. He glanced up helplessly at Michael making notes, though the man's attention was too much for him in that moment. It was so raw, so exposing – the ultimate humiliation to drag him down after everything that had taken place so far.

Don't make us do this, he begged silently, even as Christie crooned and presented herself for him with a needy rock of her body. I can't… This isn't me!

_ _

Yet it was instinct that drove him on as his stomach lurched and churned sickeningly. Horror and disgust tangled within him and yet Christie didn't fight him in the slightest as his cock poked and prodded at her, leaving a sticky glisten of pre-cum on her feathers.

No… No, I've got to…resist!

_ _

Tyron shivered and tried to pull back, but the deinonychus may as well have not done anything at all. Michael stared at him a little too intently as he took a shaky half step back away from the female deinonychus (he didn't want to think of her as Christie, not when his body responded to her like that). Was the scientist trying to work out something about him? His stomach dropped. Had Michael realised he was fighting back? What he'd said before made it sound like he was supposed to be a dumb dinosaur. Was he not supposed to still be able to think and act as a human?

“Hm…"

Michael hummed and it was that moment of hesitation that sealed Tyron's fate. Without his mind thinking about it, his body acted on instinct and lurched forward – spearing his cock roughly into her cloaca. It found the hole it was crudely meant to sink into and her tightness sucked around him as Christie growled and clawed uncomfortably at the ground under her. Her claws dug furrows into the soft soil, digging it up to the damper layer beneath the surface.

Yet he couldn't stop himself, not when her tightness grasped him. Her body was not as well naturally lubricated as he had expected, vaguely from his recollections of spending time with her, though there was little else Tyron could draw from.

He just had to keep thrusting, grinding into her as he let out a long, low growl, tail swinging back and forth. As much as his mind rebelled, he may as well have been an ant banging helplessly against plexiglass, a cage of which he couldn't break down, for all the good it got him.

Christie froze, her mind taking several long moments to catch up with what was going on. Yet she felt the spear of dark heat pounding her, sinking deeply into a part of her body that, truthfully, should never have existed. Her jaws hung open in a long, rasping groan, although the deinonychus was barely even aware of what she was doing.

No… Can't…

_ _

She growled and turned her head to snap at him, but it felt too good. Christie didn't want to be there, but it felt too good. She wanted Tyron off her, but it felt too good.

She churred throatily and dipped her head, something of a broken sob shuddering in the cavity of her chest. Nothing, there was nothing she could do, not as burning humiliation prickled through her skin. She'd rather have the whole transformation all over again rather than have him fucking her!

It was not even a small comfort that it was Tyron mounting her, her legs aching as she braced and let her tail be shoved to the side so he had easier access to her cloaca. Her torso bowed down and her hips pushed up, so her body was at a better angle for him too, though he couldn't have stopped if he'd tried.

Christie howled brokenly, a strangled cry breaking her lips.

Fight back! She snarled at herself, even though her willpower was no match for instinct. You can do it… You've got to do it! They can't control you!

_ _

And yet instinct was more powerful than human will ever would be. He slammed into her roughly, as if the deinonychus didn't care at all for her pleasure, the need of her body. In fact, he was doing more than enough to satisfy those needs, his hard length grinding into her as she quivered around him.

It shouldn't have felt as good as it did, closing her eyes against the sight of Michael standing there, a strange smirk on his lips. That was worse: much worse. To be so exposed, every part of her mutated and on show, head spinning and spinning and spinning until she barely even believed in her own existence anymore.

Somehow, her body pulsed and pulled around him, though it was only a very weak contraction of muscles. Perhaps Christie's new body was too exhausted after such a transformation to hold on to her sense of self, but there was no real way to tell.

She just had to bear through it as his cock powered into her. Every grinding thrust and shove of his body up against hers sent a ripple inside her, yet instinct told her she was exactly where she needed to be.

Christie… I'm sorry…so sorry…

_ _

He tried to apologise even then, grunting and helplessly snapping his jaws. As if that was going to change anything. He growled and his tongue slipped out, a wet splatter of saliva marking her back, as if he was a creature not even vaguely in control of his body.

His tail lifted and he took the offered position over her gladly, his cock grinding even deeper than before. Every stroke of his shaft should never have felt as devoutly succulent as it did, his body quivering, like the ripples of transformation that had run through him before. It was as if every part of his body was in a state of change and there was not a damn thing he could do about it.

Do I try to stop? What if Michael works out that I'm resisting?

_ _

He warred with himself, though it was the kind of situation where there was no right answer, no single option he could take forward and follow through. It was all about reacting rather than acting, shaking his head and letting out a sorry warble.

In a way, Tyron felt that he should have been able to talk to her, communicate in some way, though the sounds she made were just like those of a dinosaur or any other animal. There was simply no way to talk to her, to tell her it wasn't his fault, that he didn't want to mate with her.

Yet his body followed through on the motions for him as a sheen of slickness clung deviously to his cock. He grunted and licked his lips, his body relishing in the moment. It was what he needed, despite everything else, and his mind was a broken fragment battered by something far more powerful than he could ever have imagined.

The dinosaur shuddered under him, her humanity slipping away. Sure, her mind was there, but it was difficult for Christie to feel human at all as her body ached like that. Even sex felt different, her “hole" not as soft and warm as it had been, not with the velvety cling of her inner walls around a more pleasantly invading member. It was rougher and drier, as if her body was built for function and not pleasure.

She grunted, blinking her eyes open as her glasses slid down a little more, the arms catching in the feathers around her head. Maybe that was what helped them stay “stuck" there, but it really wasn't for Christie to determine.

He ploughed into her, claws grabbing at her sides, though they didn't cut in past the silken barrier of her feathers. With her nostrils flaring, her head swam with need, something exultant rising inside her as her whole body quivered. Whereas her hole contracted, the depths beyond the entrance to her cloaca, were alien to her, nothing making sense.

Yet she had to let it happen, glancing back at the deinonychus who didn't look like her former friend at all. Could he still think? Was he still in there? His eyes had a bright shine to them, yet that was no measure of true intelligence.

She submitted to him, her body playing tightly around him, muscles squeezing, though it was not Christie actively trying to stimulate him. She was just there to be bred, a soft breath escaping her as she finally accepted that, inhaling the sweet scent of grass and fresh, cut up dirt as she relaxed a little.

As her instincts took over a little more, he pounded her more roughly – yet sex came with the expected end, of course. As Tyron snapped and snarled, he loomed darkly, forgetting that she was his friend, that they had been lovers, once upon a time.

For what they were going through was no fairy tale, not as her heat tightened around his cock. His body begged him to thrust harder, faster, to breed her and take her as a male should. And his mind didn't push back against it, though Tyron could not have said why.

As he slammed into her, his pupils shifted a little larger, and he stayed buried deep. Pleasure rolled through him as he let his jaws hang open in a jubilant breeding cry, not knowing anything.

Not of his past. Not of his future. Only of his present.

All Tyron cared about was the female under him, having done all that instinct bid him to do. His seed flowed deep, ensuring he would have a clutch from her, though faint recognition flickered in the back of his mind.

When he came down from his breeding high, he'd remember who he was and why he was there. Though they would both become a little more dinosaur with every mating, taking one another as instinct demanded with no care for the consequences. The enclosure would be their territory, losing a little more of themselves while they were observed, letting X-OM continue their research.

Michael smiled and turned away, checking the gate was locked and otherwise leaving the deinonychus to their lust for one another. The last glimpse he got of them was the male's cock sliding from her cloaca, still wet and throbbing faintly, though it would soon retract into his own slit. He'd likely breed her again in a few hours, although it was going to be very interesting to see how they proceeded as one another's mates.

Even though the transformation had not interested him twice in the same day, at least he would have more to cover and delve into for X-OM and all the opportunities the company had given him.

“Well, this was a different day."

Project Mesozoic was well underway.

To be continued…