Mastoora's Breakfast Protocol


Written by Septia.


Dawn struck me across the face with a fevered smack – most assuredly a punishment for my continued habit of burning midnight oil down to the wick's end. That damned sun stung my retinas something fierce. At least it would have the courtesy to dry the drool I had leaked on my latest reports, so it was useful for something. I turned my head away from the rays of light basking through my home office. The damage had already been dealt, I was far gone from that supple, nurturing slumber. Thus it was time I returned to the land of the awake and living. The only factor keeping my strides sturdy was the fact that I would soon turn this realm also into the one of my dreams. This thought served as the kindling to finally get off of my ass, drool tethers stretching from my smacking lips down to my desk. While awake I was not in a state to begin the day. Rest wasn't sufficient to fuel a body alone after all, I would need something to top off the tank. Glancing at my calendar stirred me awake. 
	“The incubation,” I mumbled, “it should be complete.” The new batch was ready. Suddenly I was getting quite excited for breakfast.


It went against all codes of conduct to consume sustenance within a laboratory setting, which is why I had sectioned off an area of the lab for this express purpose: my 'nonboratory'. Constructed just a few steps away from my main station and wall-to-wall with the incubation pods. Despite being in the same room as my laboratory, they were technically separate. I sat down on the modest chair in front of the simple table, surrounded with not but warm gray walls in order to control the mood-chroma effect. That and the lil spice rack I had glued to the wall last week, a minimum amount of colour with a necessary function. Stylish. I dialed in on my tablet, surveying the status of my subjects. 
	“Hmmm, seems #4 has progressed well, #5 could just a bit more time in the oven… Who was #7 again? Oh that's right, Genna.” I made my selection.
	The wall next to me wirred into motion, parting as the conveyor mechanism revolved into action. Through the plexiglass pane I could see pod #7 open and connect to the above loaded conveyor. The top hatch sliding out of view to give a view into the lime sustenance fluid filling the vat. A piece of apprehension mechanism lowered into the vat to apprehend the subjected inside. It proceeded to convey the subject my way, drooping dollops of goop on the way over. 
	Once the mechanism had reached me I was given a good look at the suspended subject: Pale skin still clotted with a thin film of growth fluid; suspended in a box tie pose from the conveyor rail; eyes closed, black locks hanging slack down her face. Perfect. She had been through a splendid amount of growth and maturation. I leaned back in my chair and steered the mechanism above me, letting the body's legs loose to ease down. I had considered installing a cleaning mechanism, but the growth liquid was lime flavoured, so did it really matter?
	“Beginning breakfast experiment with subject #7.4, also known as G-.” A beep of the tablet rang out, and it recited as per my orders: “Initiating protocol, survey log, of subject: that bitch Genna.”
	“Ah yeah, almost forgot that's what she's registered as~.” I smiled and let my jaw hang open, just in time for the tips of those lime clotted feet to decrescendo past my jaw. 
	The toes tickled my tongue, which instinctively reached out to curl over her heels and draw them down my neck, guiding the bulge of her feet past my cheeks and into my throat. The lime complimented the supple sweetness of her skin with a tang of acidity, the tartness tickling my taste buds something wonderful. I prolonged the descent to savour her calves and tighs, feeling those plump drumsticks of hers blot out my maw, expanded into a vague figure eight around those trunks of womanly ham. 
	Soft swallows guided the vat grown me morsel through my gullet -Gllouglskk-. I do not recall her thighs being, quite this fat, though what was a lil gene manipulation in favour of flavour, right? I was coming up on her hind, gnawing into that soft ass to tug it down my grasp. Though something was missing. It was a touch quiet. Suppose it didn't feel quite as it should with such a… limp subject. This could be remedied. Fumbling with the tablet I hit the consciousness injection switch. A needle dug into a hatch ion the back of subject #7.4's head -Chthtngkk-, and Genna opened her eyes. 
	“Ggrpahhagash, w-wha. Where am I? What's happening? The… is this some sort of lab? A hospital?” 
	I rolled my eyes. Of course Genna would be unable to discern the ever important difference between a laboratory and nonboratory. Though her cluelessness was already adding a certain something to her flavour. Another swallow sent her stomach down my neck -Glliuugpsk- -Shhrlrlpltchh-. 
	“Uauahwak. Whah, What? W-wait, Mastoora? W-what are you doing?” 
	Her legs begun to thrash down in my stomach, this was more like it. I reached to grab over her shoulders, tugging her downwards, biting into her flesh, harnessing her body down my frame. Her struggles evolved into screams. 
	Her form winds down my neck with a refreshing struggle and vigour of her writhing body. It was so much more satisfying than randomly stimulated muscle spasms in a still body. Mechanically the effect should by all means be the same. But, there was something to the intent, that drive for survival to make herself free. It was the essence of the hope for life, which would soon to be snuffed out and fed to my own desires of gluttony. Mmmmmf, delicious.
	Her skin grinds against my lips, enveloped and rubbing down my throat as peristalsis ferries her through to my expanding gut. Her squirms bumping and jostling my stomach wider and wider with each thump of a swallow. The drive and passion of a life siphoned into the tomb of my flesh. -Gllrougugmp- -Ooguugllklp-. 
	I could barely see her head above my lips, muffled by my lips overtaking her own -Glooummpgk-. She's squeezed into my maw, inflating my cheeks around her head, my breathing stealing her struggled breath. I fold her arms in past my gape, and let her linger at the precipice of my maw for a while. I trail my palms along the contorted bloats down my gullet and belly, cradling the form of her worming body pinned under my skin suit. I smile around her head, and pat over her hair gently. 
	She stares at me.
	My hand clamps down, and I thrust her down my neck with a squelch of a cork pistoned down a bottleneck -Thhwwrllllptwp-. 
	My neck protrudes into a dome around her head -Glltuuusmmph- With a solid swallow she is pressured down under my collarbone, winding through my throat, packed into my gut like a bitch of a sardine -Ghhrbllptthb-. My engorged gut billowed into my lap, juggling and lurching of her struggles as he comes to settle in the broad cushion of meat. 
	I pat my chest unleashing a wet burp that rattle the air of the nonboratory -BHuuraaaoooororusp- as the last rattling locomotion spurs more life into my gut passenger. A soft sigh, wiping the drool from my lips. 
	“Mpmma… aaa, see now that's how to start a morning off properly…” I mumble with a wheeze of sheer glee, playing with the writing mass weighing down my lap. I glance to my side, and my expression cracks. There sat the spice shelf, unused. 
	“Aaaaah, dang it, I forgot again…,” I lamented with a palm to my forehead, though my smile remained, “chalk this up to a control case, and schedule a reminder to spice up subject #7.5.”