Chapter Text
Tig scowled at the dial on the elevator as it inched forward painfully slowly on its journey to the bottom floor of the compound. The distance between the basement and the floor above it was dramatic; being this deep underground was unsettling, but it made sense to keep the most dangerous specimens down here. Further from the rest of the test subjects, and further from the surface, should worse come to worst.
The elevator came to a halt with a ding and the doors slid open; the sterile, faintly antiseptic scent of the wards was familiar, but down here there was the addition of the faint mustiness of deep earth, and an undertone of what she almost wanted to call decay. That would change, when she took over—as would the deep scuffs and scratches on the floor and walls. Her lip curled and she walked along to the central control room.
The blonde dog demon nurse looked up when the door swung open, blinking her dark eyes. "Dr. Sinclair? We weren't expecting you for another forty-five minutes. The head nurses are still collecting samples, they won't be available to show you around until then."
"I came because I want to see their methods before I institute my own," Tig said. "Take me to where they are working."
"Well, they—they weren't expecting you," the nurse sniffed.
"So?" Tig asked, crossing her arms. "Is that a problem?"
"N-no, of course not," the nurse stuttered, "follow me, please."
She led Tig down a series of corridors, past various types of enclosures—the lowest security ones were closest to the elevator—the single exit and entry from the basement. They walked for several minutes, passing into increasingly secure wards. Finally, they arrived at the last enclosure, where Tig's new staff were working with a specimen.
"Working" wasn't the right word.
They were tormenting the thing, which as far as Tig could tell appeared to be some kind of hooved mammal, but it was so hideously emaciated that she couldn't identify it right away. It had dun-colored fur with a bright red mane and tail. It screeched and roared, wrists trapped in the metal pillory as it lashed out with its thin hind legs. The orderlies were holding up a collection sleeve, but the nurse waved them away.
"Don't even bother, he's not even erect. He won't mount even if he is," the spider demon nurse snapped. "Fucking bastard. Get the probe and tase him."
Tig frowned, crossing her hands behind her back as she watched these fools bumble around. The demon—indeed male, judging by the heavy pair of testicles that hung between his thin flanks—snarled and spat at the nurse, nearly catching her with a flailing hoof.
"I said tase him!" she yelled, stepping out of his range and lifting a long, narrow cylindrical device.
The hellhound orderly tased him and the specimen went limp, his whole lanky frame hanging by his wrists. The nurse unceremoniously inserted the electroejaculation probe into him—without lubricant, Tig noted, her frown deepening—as the hellhound held a cup beneath his cock, which was still in its furry sheath. The nurse flipped the device on and ESM262 convulsed, letting out a few low, choked grunts, his slight wrists rattling the manacles. Semen slowly began to drip from him into the collection cup, like water from a clogged spigot. He was panting, thin ribs heaving in and out like some gruesome accordion of skin and bone with each rattling breath.
Tig clenched her teeth and stalked through the door. She had seen quite enough. The scent of antiseptic gave way to a strong, pungent odor of rutting animal. The pheromones were so powerful that Tig squinted, flicking her ears. Now that she was closer, she could see by his ears and broken antlers that he was not the same species of demon as her, but a stag and a cow were not so different—both artiodactyls, anyway. The heady scent briefly interested the beast in her head, but she took it by the horns and shoved it back into its stall. This latest heat had been her worst, and she wanted to keep it behind her.
"Dr. Sinclair," the spider nurse said, catching sight of Tig and pulling up short. "We weren't—"
"You weren't expecting me," Tig finished. "So I've been informed. But I am here. This is ESM262? The problem specimen?"
"Yes," the nurse said quickly, two pairs of hands on her hips while third kept the probe inserted into the specimen. She flipped the switch again and ESM262 let out a wet-sounding snarl that turned into a whimper. His hind legs shook and another meagre trickle of semen issued from the red tip of his cock, which was jutting out a few inches. "Come on, give it up, you bastard."
"We can't shock him more than twice without risking damage," the nurse said to Tig in annoyed resignation. "But this is all he produces." She held up the sample cup, which scarcely contained more than 10mL of semen. "Demon his size oughtta be making at least a liter per ejaculation."
"Is what's logged here all he's getting for food and water?" Tig asked, frowning down at the chart, and the nurse blinked, face blank. "Well?"
"Well, yes," she said, "we've been instructed to withhold food and water save the bare minimum for our own safety. If he were strong enough, he'd tear us all apart—or make us tear each other apart."
"Are you stupid?" Tig asked flatly, and the nurse flushed angrily. "If you're withholding adequate fluid intake, of course he's not producing enough sample—he's dehydrated. And what do you mean he won't mount the AV? He's being pumped full of so much testosterone that he should be mounting anything within ten feet of him."
"He won't do it," the nurse said, spreading her arms in exasperation. "Even when he's been erect for hours, he won't touch it. We've managed to force him into it once or twice, but he wouldn't stimulate himself with it. We actually had to cut back his hormone dose because he came close to priapism one too many times."
Tig looked at the specimen, brows furrowing. He was watching her warily, red eyes glowing beneath the mass of scarlet and black hair hanging over his face. He turned his head and the light caught on his bared teeth—yellowed and red-flecked with foam and blood. He growled at her and something in the back of her awareness buzzed thickly in the air, like the sound of an old television, powered on but only static on the screen. There was a heavy presence in the air for a moment, but then he looked away and it was gone.
She had worked with many difficult specimens—that's how she ended up with this already-infuriating assignment—but she had never encountered this problem before. Every male specimen was compliant in this area; even the most bellicose, uncooperative beasts eagerly mounted the artifical vagina whenever they were presented with it. Tig glanced back down at the chart in her hand, flipping through it.
"I don't see any SOAP notes," she said flatly, "not since last year. Was that the last time he was examined? He could have an illness, on top of the starvation and dehydration."
The nurse flushed, narrowing all eight of her eyes at Tig, then waved her hand at ESM262, who was throwing himself against his restraints to lunge at an orderly who dared to step too close. "You're welcome to him, Doctor," she snapped, peeling off her gloves and discarding them as she capped the nearly-empty sample cup with her second pair of hands. She swept out of the room in a huff, leaving the two hellhound orderlies behind to clean up.
Tig looked at the specimen again. It had exhausted itself, sinking down onto its heels—or as far as the pillory would allow. Lips pursed in displeasure, she tucked the chart under her arm and stalked out of the room.
The elevator ride up to Lilith's office on the 14th floor felt interminable; sometimes the size of the facility still surprised her. It was the flagship—the original after which its six sister facilities were modeled. But that also meant it was the oldest, and most of the funding went into the research technology, not the infrastructure. Finally, the doors hissed and groaned open and Tig stepped out into a cold, brightly lit hallway.
"Dr. Sinclair," Lilith said, looking up from the stack of reports in front of her and taking a small pair of reading glasses off the end of her nose. "Good to see you again. I assume you have finished your tour of the wing now under your authority."
"I have," Tig gritted out, eyes narrow. "And I'm not impressed."
Lilith smiled—a thin, hard expression. "Elaborate."
"The entire operation here is inefficient," Tig said, arms crossed. "The problem specimen—ESM262. Your people are tasing him three times a day to move him instead of luring him with food. They've starved and dehydrated him to the point of debilitation—you're not going to get what you want from him this way."
"Well, that's why I called you in," Lilith said smoothly. "He's eaten seven staff members, and four more went mad. He's your charge now. Fix the inefficiency. If he's not producing what we need, we will get rid of him, but that seems like such a waste. He's powerful, and more importantly, he's one of the few deer demons left in Hell." Tig's brow furrowed, and Lilith continued. "He ate the rest of them. Deliberately. We only located two does in the entirety of the Pride ring, and they're safely in custody. There were three, but—"
Tig raised an eyebrow, twitching an ear.
"Early on, we tried in vivo fertilization because we thought the success rate might be better, but we lost too many subjects. He broke out of his restraints and killed the doe we put in with him—had half eaten her by the time they tased him."
"I want the entire staff reassigned tomorrow," Tig said, voice low and cold. "I work with a staff of my choosing, or I work alone."
Lilith smiled at her, eyes crinkling at the corners, and Tig clenched her jaw in anger. "I like you, Dr. Sinclair. Your directness is so out of place among all these liars and enveiglers. No one else in Hell would dare to speak to me so plainly—not even the Devil himself."
"That explains your efficiency problems," Tig muttered, and Lilith smiled wider. "My programs to eliminate the need for captive specimens were never over budget—not once. What's the real reason you cut them?"
Lilith blinked, a faint expression of surprise crossing over her aristocratic features before she schooled it into a smile. "Like I said, direct. I appreciate it, but most do not. Your programs were dismantled because they couldn't find enough staff willing to work with you."
"You might have told me that," Tig said flatly, ears flicking back. "I could have adapted—solved whatever problems there were."
"Solve them here, and we'll talk," Lilith said, arching an elegant eyebrow as she turned away and walked out the door.
Tig spent the rest of the day exploring the sub-basement wing of the facility that was to be her domain. The problem specimen was not her only charge—there were several other specimens on the floor. Lilith had, if nothing else, immediately dismissed the staff as she'd requested; this was reassuring in one sense, because it meant she took Tig's demands seriously. But it also meant that the test subjects were now entirely under Tig's care, and she knew from her research on the way here that there were eight in total.
Only one of the others was flagged as requiring special handling—a phoenix demon who was kept under constant sedation. The rest were just overflow from from other floors, except for the last one on her list—ESF214.
ESF214 lay curled up on the floor of the cell, huddled beneath a ragged blanket. She was shivering, and her ears were lowered and tucked behind her head. Despite the bloodied antlers growing through their velvet, it was one of the does—one of the only does in Hell, if Lilith was telling the truth, and Tig saw no reason for her to lie about it. Tig lifted the clipboard with her information and medications on it: blue caribou, apparently healthy, tolerating the hormones well, docile. Too docile. No wonder they hadn't put her in with ESM262—the notes said she was so avoidant that she merely froze in terror when touched.
She did not even defend herself when accosted; the only time she ever lashed out was when they'd tried to take the blanket from her. Tig frowned. She had been removed from group enclosures for obvious reasons, but why were they keeping this little thing in the same type of draconian cage as the feral ones? Tig entered the enclosure, and ESF214 flinched at the hiss of the door sliding shut. The doe scrambled backwards, hooves scraping on the concrete, wrapping the blanket around her trembling shoulders more tightly.
She looked up at Tig, pale eyes wide with fear that gave way to confusion. She watched Tig warily, ears twitching—listening. Waiting.
"I am Dr. Sinclair," Tig said flatly, standing over the shivering creature. "I am taking over this wing of the laboratory. Your previous custodians will not be returning."
The doe said nothing, continuing to stare blankly—it was not a positive sign that every specimen entering Tig's care thus far was entirely nonverbal.
"Your injections," Tig said, unclipping the syringes from the clipboard. ESF214 was on her feet in an instant, scrambling over to the pillory and putting her wrists into the lowest rung, head hanging. "What are you doing?" Tig asked, brow furrowing and mouth pulling into a thin frown. Why in Hell would they bother restraining her for a few injections? These idiots handled their specimens clumsily—it was no wonder sample production was so low in this wing.
"No," Tig said. "Sit."
The doe stared at her, ears twitching and swiveling in terrified confusion.
"Sit down," Tig said, squatting down next to her. ESF214 obeyed, slipping her wrists out of it to sit perfectly still while Tig gave her both injections in her quadriceps. As the doe pulled the blanket back around her, Tig reached out, seizing her wrist and extending her arm. There was a poorly stitched incision cutting across the blue fur on her upper bicep—a hormonal implant had been replaced, no doubt, but the wound looked nearly infected, and the stitches were shamefully tight and crooked. Tig's eyes narrowed. It was unacceptable.
Tig rose to her feet, tail twitching in irritation beneath her labcoat. She snatched a surgical pack and a few supplies from a cabinet, and drew up a dose of lidocaine. She dragged the chair away from the computer desk and gestured to it, and after a long moment the doe rose to her feet. "Sit," Tig said impatiently, rolling the stool out from under the table and sitting on it.
ESF214 gingerly sat in the chair, her blanket over her legs—shivering as Tig injected her both above and below the botched incision. While the lidocaine took effect, Tig scrubbed her hands and pulled on a sterile pair of gloves, and broke open a packet of suture. She scrubbed the wound, then briskly removed the encrusted, filthy stitches. Tig opened the incision, flushed it, removed the implant, and began to suture it closed.
The doe was staring at her, eyes wide, a slight furrow in her brow.
"Does it hurt?" Tig asked, pausing with the needle holders in hand. "You shouldn't be feeling anything."
The doe shook her head, very slowly, and Tig continued to suture. "I don't use implants," Tig said matter-of-factly. "Too imprecise, and the dose can't be titrated without removal. A once weekly injection is better." The doe flicked one ear, but said nothing. When she was finished, Tig rose to her feet and cleaned up, then walked over to the door, flicking off the lights.
"They," a soft, hoarse voice began, and Tig turned around, almost unnerved. "They never did this before." The doe was still sitting in the chair in the dark, her luminous blue eyes staring down at the freshly closed incision. "Numbed it."
Tig's eyes squeezed shut and she ground her teeth. Fucking idiots.
"They won't be back," Tig said, closing the door firmly behind her.
When she finished her rounds and got her lab set up to her standards—or as close to her standards is it could get while she waiting for the instruments and equipment she'd requisitioned—she located her new quarters, tucked away into a corner of the third floor. They were small, compared to her old ones, and spartan, but that suited her just fine. She was used to the complete lack of luxury; ever since she awoke in Hell, she had never even come close to rebuilding a life like the one she'd had, and she hadn't even been particularly well-off on Earth. But she'd owned her own home, her own small farm and veterinary hospital. She'd had a library full of books, she'd had her cat, her animals, and she'd had forty acres of woods between her and other people. And she'd had—
No. Tig shoved the thought away with the violence and velocity of a slammed door. She didn't think about that. Not anymore.
She sat down with a mug of tea and opened up her laptop, adjusting her glasses as she began to type. When Tig was finally finished entering her notes, she took a long, hot shower and curled up in bed to braid her hair. She had neglected dinner, but truth be told, she was so off-put by the situation she'd inherited she couldn't think about food. Nothing about this facility was ethical—she knew that. Lilith was determined to thwart Heaven's attempts at genocide, and she would use any means necessary to do so. Tig was also quite aware that the only thing that stood between her and being on the wrong side of an enclosure was her labcoat and stethoscope. The moment she stopped being useful, she would be in there with all the other animals, pumped full of hormones with absolutely no control over the doses.
She was due for her own injections tomorrow; she was permitted to administer them herself, if she did it in front of a qualified witness. She'd have to take stock of the rest of her new colleagues—she certainly wasn't going to be stripping down in front of any of the idiots she'd met today. There had to be someone reasonable, or the place wouldn't function at all.
In the morning, Tig poured herself a cup of black coffee and sat to pour over the directory of the medical staff, she finally located the names of the genetic researchers and the lab itself. If nothing else, the scientist and geneticists were less likely to suffer from abject stupidity than the nurses she'd met yesterday. Tig got dressed and braided her hair, then made her way down to the fourth level, opting to take the stairs instead of the damnably slow elevator.
Tig punched in her ID code and stepped into the genetics lab. Several people lifted their heads from their microscopes, looking at her in open curiosity, but just as many did not even look up from their work. A snake demon, a succubus, a mantis, a lizard, a goat—Tig took her chances with the lizard, approaching her desk.
"I just transferred and I need a witness to sign off on my injections," Tig said, setting down the clipboard and syringes.
"Sure," the woman said, apparently not put off by Tig's lack of friendly preamble. Her dark, chin-length curls bobbed as she leaned up from her microscope, blinking her glass-green eyes before fixing them on Tig. "Name's Calanthe, by the way."
"Tig," she grunted, unbuttoning her jeans and sliding one side down to expose her thigh. "Thanks for this."
"Don't be too grateful," Calanthe said wryly. "This is an exchange, not a favor. You've got to supervise mine in return, and scales aren't half so nice to look at as fur."
Tig shrugged—what did she care?
Calanthe furrowed her brow at the syringe, then snorted, turning the barrel over in her fingertips and flicking the label. "Your name is Antigone? Really?"
Tig shot her a mute, murderous glance, but it only made Calanthe laugh harder.
"Was your mother a high school drama teacher?"
"Worse. Classical lit professor at a fundamentalist Christian college," Tig said sourly, holding out her hand for the syringe.
"My condolences," Calanthe said, shaking her head and handing over the injection.
Tig jabbed it into her quad and depressed the plunger, one ear twitching at the brief pinpoint of pain. She resented the injections—the aches and cramps, the pain of having eggs harvested, the damned heats. Worst of all was the constant discomfort and inconvenience of producing milk. Whatever seraph or archangel decided on the infernal punishments of Sinner forms either had a sense of humor, or didn't know a damn thing about cows. She shouldn't have been lactating, not without giving birth, but she had started to the second she woke up in Hell. The hormones only made it worse.
She glanced down at Calanthe, deliberating. "I will need an assistant. An orderly. Is there anyone you can recommend with more sense and intelligence than the four I had transferred today?"
Calanthe looked sidelong at her, one corner of her mouth twitching upward. She was unusual, for a lizard demon—her features were largely human, but scales encroached on the edges of her face, and thin cracks of pale gold shone through her in places, like a well-loved porcelain doll that had shattered and been carefully reassembled. There was reptilian cunning in those half-lidded green eyes, but more than that, there was an intrigued alacrity that bespoke boredom. Tig was something new, and her interest was piqued.
"I've got just the one," Calanthe said, smiling. "She'll be in tomorrow. Ask for Bonny."
"Thank you," Tig said flatly, turning away.
"Don't thank me yet," Calanthe muttered, and Tig's brow furrowed. She glanced back at Calanthe, but her dark, curly head was bent over her microscope once more.
Tig went to her lab next, gathering the supplies she would need for her first day on the floor. She didn't shy away from her new, most dangerous charge—what would be the point? She was not here by choice, but she was not going to perform sub-par work just because she was unhappy with the circumstances. When her bag was packed and she'd finished her third cup of coffee, she took the long, slow elevator ride down to the basement.
ESM262 was already in the pillory when she arrived; she wondered briefly who had put him up there for her, because she certainly would have had no help from the people she'd dismissed. Tig checked the cuffs, ignoring his low growling and the angry stomping of his hooves. When she was satisfied that he was indeed securely restrained, she stepped back and looked up at him.
"Easy," Tig said, touching his flank slowly and deliberately. ESM262 snarled and lunged at her, spittle dripping from end of the filthy, bloodstained muzzle. "Easy."
Sunken red eyes glared at her, dim and glassy—grime was encrusted where his shriveled eyelids met in the corners. His tattered ears were pinned back, but they trembled, as did his hind legs. There was a low buzzing sound that Tig almost felt more than heard; it was like electrical feedback, or radio static. But it disappeared the moment she tried to focus on it, and she couldn't truly say whether it had been there at all.
Tig lifted the bottle of water from her tray and unscrewed the cap, taking a sip of it. His eyes grew bright with desperate need, trained on the liquid as it swished around in the bottle. His claws twitched in the pillory, wanting to grab for it but unable to do more than clench and unclench those long, monstrous fingers.
"Thirsty?" Tig asked, drinking another sip, and ESM262 hissed, throwing himself against the breeding pillory, rattling it. "I'll give it to you if you behave."
He bared his teeth at her, eyes flickering between red and black as the air became charged and the faint scent of ozone filled the room, like the moment before a lightning strike. But when Tig did not flinch away, or respond at all, he deflated, ears drooping flat to either side.
"Good boy," she said, slowly raising the water bottle to his lips. ESM262 gulped it greedily, fingers twitching as he instinctively tried to reach for the bottle to steady it. It was empty in seconds, and he looked up at her, eyes wide and ears rising hopefully. Tig pulled a second bottle out of her bag and gave him that one too, but decided to save the third for after she was done with him. They only let her bring in so much, so she had to ration it.
"They aren't coming back," she told him, and he snorted at her, losing interest immediately when she did not produce another bottle of water. He kept one ear pointed at her as she slowly circled him, wary, but he let his eyes fall half-closed—he looked exhausted, for someone who never left the confines of this small space. She supposed the starvation and dehydration were to blame; she would correct that as much as she could.
When she moved closer, ESM262 sniffed the air, leaning towards her. His ears twitched, and his head slowly swung in her direction. He inhaled again, brow furrowing in confusion, and let out a low growl. His mouth fell open, revealing an impossible amount of sharp, yellowed teeth, and his tongue lolled out, dripping saliva as he continued to sniff her. A flash of bright red caught her eye as his penis began to poke out of his sheath. She was at the tail end of her heat, but her pheromones must still have been detectable to him. In truth, it was surprising that he hadn't already been fully erect, with the sheer number of hormones pumping through his thin, ragged body. But he was stubborn, she didn't need to know him to know that—there was pride in the arch of his neck and outrage in his eyes.
But she had broken wilder beasts then he. She ignored the little pang in her chest and set about her work.
She pulled on a pair of gloves, and set the bottle of sterile lubricant on the counter. Without preamble, Tig reached beneath him and gripped the base of his cock where it lay in its sheath, gently squeezing and massaging it; ESM 262 let out a confused bleat, stamping his hooves as his tried to step away. She gripped his heavy testicles and he froze, whining in alarm. "Stay," she said firmly, and he snarled as she started to squeeze his cock.
With every passing second, he grew harder, swelling beneath her fingers as he slid out of his sheath. "Good boy," Tig said absently, marveling at his sheer size. His cock was easily the length of her thigh, and bigger around than her forearm.
She gave him an experimental stroke and he gasped, hooves clattering on the tile as he briefly lost his footing. Another and he cried out softly, hips bucking as his tail thrashed and flagged. She laid a hand on his flank, stroking his fur—he needed to learn to tolerate, even anticipate her touch. Tig had not even been been stimulating him for ten seconds before he was thrusting weakly into her hand, whimpering as he spilled himself.
"That's better, hm?" she asked him as she slid her fist up and down his length. Her eyes lingered on his knot—it was enormous, she could only fit her hand around half of it. "Not as much as you can provide, though, is it? You still have more to give me." He did not react, save to let out another gasping whine as he shifted from hoof to hoof, cock twitching in her hand. She stroked him again and he keened, trying to move away from her touch, but she did not permit him to. Tig worked him mercilessly and he wailed, thrusting erratically as she wrapped one gloved hand around his knot.
He grunted and his cock lurched in her hand; she kept stroking him and squeezed his knot slowly, rhythmically, like the muscles inside the female of his species would. He whimpered and began rocking his hips helplessly, stepping forward to keep thrusting when she tested him by moving her hand away. She squeezed his knot again and he cried out, standing still as another orgasm tore through him, cock jerking over and over as ropes of seed shot into the sample cup.
He let out several soft, whistling whines as her hand slowed down, weakly trying to keep thrusting. He soon ran out of energy and slumped against his restraints, spindly legs trembling as she squeezed the last few drops from him and released him. She cupped and palpated his testicles, manipulating them gently in her hands. He let out a snarl of protest, hooves stamping, but she was not deterred; his cock twitched as more seed dribbled out, and he groaned, going still as he submitted to the touch. Each was larger than a grapefruit, and heavier, but they felt smooth and healthy. Stuck as he was between human and demon form, ESM262 was already large—at least fourteen feet tall, were he to stand upright. But he was large beyond proportion when it came to his reproductive organs; it must have been from the hormones.
She palpated the rest of his pelvis, taking advantage of the fact that his orgasms had left him so weak that he couldn't protest too much. "Pelvic palpation unremarkable, other than extreme sarcopenia. Two functional, healthy testicles. Specimen is still erect five minutes post-ejaculation," she remarked into the tape recorder pinned to her labcoat, raising an eyebrow as his dripping cock jerked in the air next to her. She felt up past his testicles, pressing on his perineum, and he whined, freezing in place; Tig frowned, pressing harder, and the specimen mewled, cock twitching as a weak stream of seed shot from him. She was going to do a rectal exam anyway, but it had moved up on her priority list.
Tig snatched the lubricant off the counter and dragged a stool over to him, setting it up to the right of him—out of kicking range. She grabbed his tail with one hand and lifted it, and he screeched in alarm, trying to writhe out of her grip. "Easy," Tig said, frowning at the drama of his reaction, but then she recalled how his former handlers had been collecting their samples. She dribbled lubricant over his rectum and generously coated her glove before slowly inserting a single finger.
ESM262 bleated, thrashing, but Tig rested her other hand just above his tail, slowly rubbing back and forth. She was very careful not move her finger, letting his muscles squeeze and clamp and spasm around her. He gradually ran out of steam, slumping against the restraints again. Tig continued to rub back and forth across his back, grimacing at how prominent his vertebrae were. When his muscles finally relaxed, she worked a second finger in, reaching deeper until her fingers brushed something firm and swollen.
"Prostate is markedly engorged—likely from near-constant arousal with inadequate release."
Tig pressed gently on the baseball-sized gland, and ESM262 whimpered and began to shake violently. "Easy," she said, stroking his lower back just above his tail. He was panting now, looking back at her in anger and fear. "It's just my hand—you won't be shocked." She pressed on his prostate more firmly, then reached around to wrap her free hand around his knot.
She began to massage his prostate in earnest; ESM262 bleated abruptly when she inserted a third finger, but the sound died away into ragged, noisy gasps as her fingers rubbed circles inside him. His tail twitched wildly, and his hips began to thrust—it was a halting, unpractised motion, but after a few seconds his knot pulsed in her hand and his muscles clamped down on her fingers, hard.
"Good boy," she said, "that's right."
ESM262 keened, throwing his head back, eyes closed and mouth open. He came violently, seed shooting from him with such force that it nearly tipped over the sample container . He kept thrusting, heavy testicles slapping against her hand as she squeezed his knot.
"Good," she praised, letting up on his prostate and sliding her other hand up over his knot to stroke the length of his twitching cock. The slickness of his seed coated her glove, and he grunted, continuing to thrust desperately into her hand. Tig felt his prostate again, and he whined, shuddering.
"One more," she told him, pleased with the reduction in size, but it was still bigger than it ought to be. ESM262 whimpered, but rocked his hips back into her hand. "That feels good, doesn't it?" she said, and he let out a long, high-pitched whine as he leaned back even harder, tail raised as high as it could go. His muscles and tail gave a telling quiver, and he bleated as he came again.
The final ejaculation was the weakest of the four, but Tig noted with satisfaction that it was still more than that idiot nurse had gotten from him. She pulled her fingers out of him, peeling off the gloves and tossing them into the trash bin. She reached beneath the specimen and lifted the collection container by the handles, setting it on the counter. It was filled past the two-liter mark, and she narrowed her eyes over a tight smile.
"It's a start," she told him absently, and he watched her, panting, as she measured out his sample into small containers and put them in the chilled storage. She walked back over to him and he laid his ears back with a silent hiss.
"Good boy," she told him, touching his flank again, and he snarled, but half-heartedly—he was stunned with relief and pleasure, chest heaving as he shuddered. Tig stroked the thin, ragged fur stretched over his bones, but only once; she knew better than to push her luck when things had gone so well. She pulled out the last bottle of water and cracked it open, and his ears flew forward. Tig held it to his lips and he greedily gulped it down, collapsing the bottle in on itself with the vacuum his mouth created. "See?" she said, meeting his dull red eyes with hers. "This is what happens when you're good. I'll be back tomorrow."
She pressed the button on the fob in her pocket and the pillory released the chains on his manacles with a clink that made him flinch. He fell heavily to his haunches, off-balance on still-trembling legs. He looked down at his free hands, bemused, then turned to her—equal parts dazed, puzzled, and wary. He slowly flexed his arms, a little whistling whine escaping as he stretched them backwards. "Do they keep you up there all night?" she asked, a deep furrow in her brow. She looked around the room; there was no nest, no little pile of blankets like in every other enclosure.
"Christ," she said, covering her eyes with her hand. These had to be the stupidest people she'd ever had the misfortune of working with—didn't they understand that the carrot was always more effective than the stick, especially when dealing with these animals? These fucking morons were making her look like a saint in comparison, and she wasn't even a good person. She stalked over to one of the cabinets and hauled out the bedding—still in its sterile plastic wrapping, dated last year. Clenching her jaw in irritation, she tore open the plastic and shook out the thin blankets, then tossed them into the corner.
She turned back to ESM262, who had curled up on the cold metal floor, chest still heaving with exertion from the treatments. Tig watched him for a long moment, then turned on her heel, switching off the lights as she left.
When she had transcribed her notes and revised ESM262's treatment plan—cutting his unnecessarily high doses of hormones and adding as much nutrition as she would be able to get away with—she closed her laptop and climbed into bed with a sigh. All in all, a successful first day, but she had a long road ahead of her to get him to behave as she wished.
Lucky for her, she had nothing but time in this godforsaken place. It wasn't as if she could leave. Her fingers traveled unconsciously up to her neck, where the collar of her soul chain rested, undetectable and invisible, but she felt the constant weight of it nonetheless.
No, she wasn't going anywhere.