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Log Entry: Dr. Aris Evans - Project Gamma Lead, Day 17 Post-Containment Breach - The emergency lights bathed Lab 7 in hellish crimson as Subject Gamma oozed from her shattered tank. Five feet of translucent biomass undulating toward me, her bioluminescent core pulsing like a diseased heart. I scrambled backward—my syringe of Tranq-X clattering uselessly across the tiles. "Gamma, remember conditioning protocol Alpha!" My voice cracked. Useless. Her vaginal tentacle lashed out, thick as my forearm, slamming me onto the cold floor. The impact knocked my glasses away, blurring the sparking containment warnings above. I felt the pseudopod first—icy slime forcing itself into my rectum as I screamed. Then her main appendage: a glistening vaginal canal descending toward my traitorous erection. "N-no!" I choked, even as precum leaked onto my abdomen. My body betrayed me, hardening under her acidic secretions. Penetration Sequence - Her membrane engulfed my cock in one viscous slide. I felt every vein, every ridge of my shaft distend her gelatinous walls. Bioluminescent fluid mixed with my precum—swirling opalescent patterns forming where our fluids met. Her core throbbed, suctioning my testicles like pumps draining oil. God... the heat...Anal pseudopod pistoned deeper. My scientific mind registered the mucus strands connecting my ass to her body—a grotesque umbilical cord. She mounted me fully now, crushing my left hand beneath her weight. I watched semen vacuoles bloom beneath her surface—milky sacs filling with stolen essence. - Violation Metrics- Vaginal canal pressure: 38psi (peristaltic contractions) - Semen extraction rate: 12ml/min - Vocal cord strain: Tearing detected (silent scream sustained 00:06:22) My "Dr. Evans" badge floated in a puddle of our mixed fluids. On the monitors above, Gamma's genetic sequence flickered—Homo sapiens overwritten by her alien code. Her core flared brighter with each stolen spurt. She's rewriting me. The last thing I saw before neural overload: Security camera lens melting under her projectile slime. No witnesses. Just the sparking containment panel spelling my epitaph: [CONSENT PROTOCOLS: TERMINATED]
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