Crow's Feet

Story by trez

Hi all, long-time lurker here. I've been wanting to write a story with real, visceral, spewy, gooey futa madness + mind control for awhile, but I want it to be decently presented and prosed. So here's the first chapter, no futa yet but will engorge itself shortly, all criticism welcome!

Elizabeth used a fresh scalpel blade to remove the remaining reddened, subcutaneous layer of skin. The replaced razor had slipped off the edge of the operating surface and rebounded softly on the lower legs of her BH scrubs, resting on the sterilized floor of the operating chamber.

“Doctor Lourdelais, I’m picking up the dropped razor now”, Carey said a bit nervously.

Elizabeth’s narrowed eyes widened slightly as her final incision severed the xenanthropos’ left seminal vesicle from its (apparent) apulla wall. Fluid flowed from the precision, filet-like cut. Tiny, threadlike strands of lipofuscin and spermatozoa oozed from the cut into her sleep-deprived vision. She shook her head slightly. “How long have I been at this damned unearthly autopsy”, she asked herself. “Thirty-one hours? Thirty-anything?”

“Carey, han me an esseff please”, she slurred tonelessly. Carey Donover palmed the sterilized specimen flask gently into her boss’ hand, her glance worried.

“Go to cot, Liz. I’ll clean up hon. “

Elizabeth nodded, finished carefully scraping into the flask what she had perceived as liquid from the cut. “Thanks luv”, she halfheartedly winked at her nurse and stumbled away from the operating table. Ordering the shift changeover to Dr. Easley, she dismissed her underlings for the day and padded quietly to the Institute’s showers.

In this half-conscious state Dr. Elizabeth Kay Lourdelais, Shift Medical Lead of Section Seven and United States Marines equivalent of colonel, passed the decorative mirrored underhang in hallway 9-12C, noting for the twelfth time of two hundred and four passings of the mirror her face. Elizabeth had rarely looked at herself casually in mirrors, normally only noting her own home bathroom to apply minimal “work makeup” but this mirror always saw her at her afterwork, exhausted worst. Bagged eyes, deflated face in general. “Meh, screw Loreal and their marketeers,” she thought. “These other dumb broads are hung up on their crow’s feet, and I kinda like ‘em.”

She paused only slightly straightening her back, then with a final glance at the mirror continued somnambulantly toward the showers and a cot. After a slight brush with wet, she fell heavily into one of the three physician’s shift bunks, dead asleep two centimeters before hitting the cozy fabric.

She dreamed. Of strong ligaments. Of severed connective tissues. Of mummified, palsied flesh. Fluid had come from the incision. Fluid, not water or condensation or fucking dripping from her sweat from her fucking forehea…

Elizabeth woke with a start. She slowly pulled herself upright, glancing at the clock. Reading 9:00 AM she’d been asleep 11 hours. “Enough for breakfast” she thought, still feeling a bit tired but ravenous. Professionally reviewing in her head yesterday’s events, most was a blackout. This was rarely an real issue, although her daily report on the xenanthropos was in three hours. since all operational procedures were witnessed and on the record by approved shift nurses and doctors. “I’ll still have to review that last hour or two with Carey”, she pondered.

“Screw it,” she thought, pulling on her bottom scrubs. “What the…”

Her hands had slipped into the bottom pockets of her scrubs. Liz reeled, overcome by an odor assaulting her smell, then senses. Her hands, shuddering continued unscrewing a poorly-sealed flask, smearing the minute amounts of fluid over her hands, then moving almost involuntarily, toward her face. Deliriously, she smeared the remaining stickiness into her mouth, even squirming her tongue into the flask’s opening.

The security cameras of the CDC’s Section Seven were well placed and well staffed. But not one was placed in the physician’s quarters. If so, a camera would have recorded Dr. Lourdelais’ initial ten second seizure, then twenty minutes of her sitting perfectly upright, with her hands in her lap.

After twenty-one minutes, Elizabeth stood slowly from her cot and donned the rest of her medical scrubs. She still felt hungry.