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Walking around the apartment going "butter dog... he's the one with the butter" in my best anime dub boy protagonist voice until my roommate kills me oppa gruesome style
☆ summary: During a trial, you find yourself affected by a new Murkoff gas and discover that its design is something even more twisted than usual as Leland Coyle shares your fate.
kinktober '25 ☆ fic masterlist ☆ ao3
When the various vents within the courtroom had started to spew out a new variant of gas, this one tinged with red instead of the usual green which signalled poison, your immediate instinct to jump within a locker was stricken to realise that the room had been deprived of all its usual hiding places. Accepting your fate, you chose to sit on one of the benches within the courtroom as you snapped your eyes shut and inhaled the gas with slow, steady rhythms – hoping that it wouldn’t prove as terrible as some of the others.
Eventually, the telltale hissing of the gas dissipates and surprise rolls through your system as you realise that the gas itself hadn’t choked or irritated your nose and throat as you breathed it in. In fact, if you hadn’t seen it visually, then you wouldn’t have even known that it was being pumped into the rooms.
Cautiously opening your eyes had been quick to alert you to the fact that it wasn’t a new type of psychosis gas as your perception of the world around you remained strong with no hallucinations or looming threats of the Skinner Man popping up in your peripheral. However, just as relief started to settle into your bones, with it came something unexpected.
Heat.
Crawling across your veins and under your clothing, warmth spread through your skin like a rash and with it came a tension in your gut – something recognisable but absolutely unexpected.
Arousal.
“Fuck.” Hissing the word into the quiet room, irritation fills your chest as you realise the new depths of depravity which the scientists at Murkoff were willing to sink to. Each trial was already a total risk in terms of the horrors which the prime assets and other monsters were willing to inflict on the reagents, the whispers of the various assaults which took place within the trials being so painfully common that many people reduced their experiences to a simple shake and nod when discussing each of the assets.
Throwing caution to the wind, your mind absolutely consumed by the aching need within your gut, you drop to one of the pews benches within the courtroom and quickly hike your skirt up to expose the cotton panties below. Pulling the panties down past your ass, you gently roll them into a ball and place them on the bench beside your ass to allow you to focus without having them in the way.
You think about some of the more handsome reagents you pass in the sleep rooms as you pleasure yourself slowly. The tall redhead who always has a smile when he sees you, his hands gentle looking despite their size. You imagine those same hands in the place of your own, stroking along your slit and teasing you as you beg him to just fuck you already.
The redhead shifts into one of the scientists, the balding one who sometimes sits behind Nurse Barlow and whose deep voice tickles something in you any time he chooses to throw in a wayward comment as you trade tokens for fresh prescriptions.
So lost in your own wicked fantasies, you only realise that you have company when a gloved hand, one which is definitely not your own, laces around your throat – immediately freezing your entire body as your fingers still within your cunt and your eyes fly open in panic.
“Well,” gazing down at you from behind his dark shades, Leland Coyle looks every inch the cat who has caught the canary as his fingers squeeze around your throat with open threat, “ain’t this a surprise.”
Even through your terror, you can tell something about him is off. It’s obvious in the way that his body seems to tremble as he leers down at you and the slight huskiness of his accented voice, almost like he is actively fighting for control over his own behaviours. He’s dressed as familiarly as ever, cops uniform sitting over a stained white shirt and red tie – the tie sitting lower than usual as his top few buttons seem to be oddly undone.
“Looks like I’m not the only one who got hit with whatever new shit they’re spraying through the walls here.” Coyle grunts, leering down at your exposed cunt and the fingers which remained frozen within your hole. “That or you’re one real irreprehensible whore who doesn’t mind showing off her perversions in front of Lady Justice.”
“Coyle.” You gasp, your body stiff with fear even as heat continues to roll across your skin, a heat which continues to build as your body grows more and more neglected with every passing second.
Hanging over you, Coyle's tobacco-stained teeth flash for a moment as his focus divides itself between your flushing face and his free hand as it drops to the fly of his police uniform, his shaky fingers quickly freeing his hard cock from its confines as it juts proudly into the warm air of the courtroom.
“Now this can one of two ways, honey. Either you roll over and let me sink this bone into that whorish cunt or I can break your skull in two and make you ride the lightning as I take what I want anyway.” He grunts, his hand fisting along his cock as the head glistens in the low light, pre-cum already forming at his slit. “Time to grab those ankles, fuck-o.”
He doesn’t wait for a reply, his words an open threat rather than any genuine offer, and the feel of his hands as they grab at your body and pull you to your feet is terrifying in how easy the task is for him – his strength stealing any confidence you have at being able to escape him.
Besides, with the drugs still rolling through your veins and making every inch of your skin desperate for a little stimulation, a rough fuck from a total fucking psychopath doesn’t sound as awful as it typically would.
He spins you without any real thought, pressing your body down harshly as he forces you back to the bench – your back arched and hands gripping the back of the wood like a lifeline.
Now kneeling on the bench, you know what’s coming next and the drugs in your system welcome Coyle with a victorious squeal of delight as his thick, unseen cock bumps against your hole for only a moment before impaling itself fully. In any other circumstance, your scream would have been one of discomfort and pain but the pheromones and your own fingers have already warmed up your hole enough that he slides in with little friction – the only discomfort coming from his impressive girth which stretches you deliciously as he immediately sets a feral pace.
Mind unable to really process anything but the insatiable need which claws at your senses, you immediately fall into a frantic rhythm. Your nails digging into the wooden bench, it’s definitely the sloppiest fuck you’ve ever enjoyed as any pretence of finesse or concern about each other’s enjoyment is thrown clean out the window as both Coyle and yourself rut together like mindless beasts.
Your ass slams into his groin, every stroke of his cock along your walls making your breath come in short, sharp pants as he growls and snarls, every inch the feral dog which he truly was. So determined to fuck you through the bench, Coyle was neglecting to even use his stun baton – the weapon hanging from its holster and jostling with every frantic slam of his hips.
Drugged and lost to the overwhelming assault on your cunt, you come with a muted scream – your wrist taking the brunt of your noise as you bite into the skin there and squeeze your walls around Coyle’s thick cock, greedily stealing as much sensation from him as you can while your toes curl in their shoes and your knees shake against the stiff wood.
Uncaring of your experience, Coyle continues to fuck himself within you with such force that you know you’re going to be raw and sore for days. As you come around him, the blood rushing in your eyes mostly cancels out some of the more colourful insults which slips free of his lips as he slams his groin against your ass, burying his cock as deeply as possible.
Clearly as wound up by the pheromone gas as yourself, it doesn’t take long for Coyle to spill within you and the heat of his release filling your throbbing cunt is almost enough to push you over the edge again – your teeth drawing blood from the skin around your wrist as you continue to bite down on the site. Coyle’s hands wrap around your hips, his thick, gloved fingers digging into the flesh there and definitely leaving purple bruising which will take days to heal and disappear.
Keeping his cock within you as he rides out his orgasm, it isn’t until his snarling breaths settle into something more controlled that he pulls himself free with a hiss. The sudden emptiness is startling, leaving you feeling hollow and filthy as the tickle of your combined release immediately starts to drip free of your twitching cunt.
You turn in place, ass planting itself on the bench as you gingerly keep your legs spread – not wanting to put any additional pressure on the thoroughly-fucked flesh. Your change in position allows you to just catch the end of Coyle tucking his cock away, his cheeks flushed and a fresh cigarette already planted between his lips as he takes slow inhales and blows them free into the limited space between you.
Now sitting on the bench as silence falls for a moment, your skin still feels wickedly warm but the need which had been consuming you is now much more muted, satiated by the monster who stands over you with a shit-eating, sadistic grin.
“You’ve been a useful whore. Maybe ol’ Coyle will be kind and save the rest of your rehabilitation for another day. Give me one good reason why I should let ya live.”
Exhausted and yet determined to escape, you think quickly and drop your hand back to your cunt. You scoop up some of the mess there with your pointer finger, your mixed releases leaking from your hole with an obscene casualness, and bring it to your lips. Without breaking eye contact, you lick the mess clean from the digit, ensuring that Coyle can see every stroke of your tongue as you catch every droplet of filth.
He grunts at the show, his hand dropping to his cock as he cups himself through his uniform.
“You’re one lucky bitch that a real man needs a little bit of time to recovery. Otherwise, I’d be putting that nasty tongue to good use around my dick.” Coyle growls, blowing a soft plume of smoke from the corner of his mouth. “But you go on and get, honey. I’m sure you’ll come crawling back the next time you trespass on my property and then we’ll see about you and me having another little personal party.”
The sharpened tips of his stun baton press into the bottom of your chin, tilting your head up at him as his calculating eyes burn your face to memory. He holds you there for a moment before pulling the baton away and turning on his heel, leather boots striding towards one of the alarm-topped doors which the prime assets exclusively held access to.
Picking yourself up from the bench, your shaking hands are quick to snatch up your panties as a shameful, used feeling sits heavily in your chest as you hope that whatever sick fucks had created that gas had enjoyed their little show.
All kidding aside, a Scottish Riddler would be the best because of all the words we have for ‘idiot’ he would have as his disposal including (but not limited to) “numpty”, “fuckin’ dafty”, “glaikit”, “bampot”, “roaster”, “thick as mince”, “walloper” etc.
Ideally it would start off grandiose and work down to crude as he is captured by the Batman and left hanging upside down.
“You luddite! You philistine! You personification of cerebral mush! You fool! You dafty! Ye walloper! Ya goddamn numpty! As thick as mince and as dense as shite! Fuckin’ roaster!”
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☆ summary: Discovering a porno mag in the orphanage, you decide to indulge in a little self-love but things take a turn when you are discovered by the very interested Mother Gooseberry.
kinktober '25 ☆ fic masterlist ☆ ao3
Of all the trials to find a porn magazine, of course it was the orphanage.
Thus far, there had been no signs of Gooseberry, her melodic tones and thumping feet completely absent from the various corridors and rooms as you slowly crept your way around and adjusted the frequencies on the various radios which were littered across the building. The orphanage was as terrifying as ever, childish mannequins hiding around every corner as broken glass covered the floor in key locations to maximise possible injury.
So, to discover a porn mag, obviously well-used in how dogeared the corners are as it lay out atop one of the low beds in the girls’ ward, is something of a surprise. Flicking through the pages, it’s a healthy mixture of explicit images and erotic writing, the stories within having a special workplace focus as tales of workers fucking their bosses and being gangbanged in printer rooms filled the paragraphs.
You eye up one of the beds, a terrible thought flitting through your mind as you flick through the pages of the magazine. Taking it back to the shuttle would result in it being immediately confiscated as contraband, but using it here within the trial was something they couldn’t really control.
Besides, you seem to have lucked out with this particular job as not a single other soul has been deployed within the orphanage in the whole time you’ve been here – not even one of those doppelgangers which Murkoff liked to throw in for a little dose of chaos.
Shuffling free of your panties, you place them gently on the edge of the bed as you lay down on the ratty sheets. Your skirt is quickly hiked up, exposing your lower half to the cold air of the orphanage as you pick up the magazine and sit it high on your chest, balancing it there with one hand while your other hand drifts down past your stomach on the way to its goal.
You settle in to read a story about a postal worker, his delivery to a female-run business resulting in him being kept as their office pet for an afternoon. It’s hot and erotic, strong women ganging up to ruin some poor guy who couldn’t get enough of it, and you feel your cunt dampen as you slowly tease your fingers along your hole. You move slowly, feeling no need to rush as you lose yourself in the fantasy, familiar digits stroking along all those areas which you knew you liked.
Minutes of play later, with your pointer finger circling the hood of your clit to tease the ultra-sensitive nub, it’s not only another hand – much colder and larger than your own – closes over you fingers that you realise you are definitely no longer alone.
“Pretty little thing, what are you doing?”
A scream catches in your throat as your entire body freezes in terror. Mother Gooseberry, her voice loud and brash, stands over you with an openly surprised expression peeking through the torn skin of the face which covers her own. She wears the same outfit as ever, the fabric torn and stained with streaks of blood and other hellish liquids.
Your heart stops in your chest, a fear so genuine that you swore your vision blacked out for a second gripping you without mercy, and you are so stuck in place that you can’t even remove your hand from your cunt.
“Please don’t hurt me.” You beg, the words coming out in a single desperate blurt which sounds more like the keen of an injured animal than human speech.
“Hurt you?” Gooseberry giggles. “For being just a little bit naughty?”
“Put the dyke out her misery, Phillis.” Dr Futterman lisped, his head bobbing across your stomach as Gooseberry waved her arm. “Do it and let’s get the fuck outta here.”
“That’s enough from you, Doctor Daddy! You need to take some time to think about how you speak to the children.” Gooseberry replied to herself, scandalised by her own puppet, and her hand pushes against yours gently, grinding your own fingers against your cunt as she watches with open interest. “Especially one who’s so…ripe.”
In spite of your fear, you cringe a little at the term as discomfort washes through your gut.
“Do you need a hand, little one?” Gooseberry asks, her smile wide and inviting.
Having made it this far without violence, you doubt that refusing her will result in continued safety so you force a smile to your lips as you accept her offer.
“Yeah, that would be- umm, great.” You stutter out, hoping to sound genuine even as most of the arousal has already fled your body, replaced by open terror.
“Phyllis, you slut!” Dr. Futterman interrupts, his nasally voice filled with irritation as he hangs judgementally over your face. From this angle, you can see the bloodstained drill held within his mouth and the sight of makes you whimper. “Shut the fuck up and drill a hole in her skull. I don’t gots all fucking days.”
“You should go for a sleep, Doctor Daddy. Let us ladies have a little quiet time.”
And with that, you watch as Gooseberry reached over and uses her free hand to pull down the eyelids of the drill puppet, closing away the bright eyes and putting him to a forced ‘sleep’ for the foreseeable.
“Now, little darling, should we continue?”
Eyeing the sleeping drill with obvious anxiety, it takes everything in your willpower to force your head into a placating nod as an uneasy smile splits your lips.
“Yes, Mothe-”
“Phyllis.” Gooseberry interrupts with a slight sharp edge and there’s a lucidity to her tone which is more terrifying that any of her madness. “Mother Gooseberry doesn’t play these games with her lovely little babies.”
“Okay, Phyllis.” You say her name as an odd feeling of intimacy scratches at your senses. It feels wrong, to use anything but her moniker, but if it’ll keep you alive then fuck it, you’ve done worse for less. “Do you want to touch me?”
“Oh yes. Yes, yes, yes.” Back to her melodic tone, Gooseberry places her hand on your exposed stomach as she flexes her fingers against the skin. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had the touch of another lady. Doctor Daddy doesn’t approve of any of it but ladies seem to make him as mad as a hatter.”
Her hand swats as your own, knocking your fingers away from your cunt as you shakily pull away at her insistence, a horrible feeling of vulnerability sinking your stomach. She’s quick to replace you, her fingers thicker than your own and textures beyond belief as she takes a moment to explore your sex; her digits sliding along your slit before pushing through the folds to feel the dampness there, the results of your earlier play.
“You just relax, dear.” Gooseberry purrs, her fingers breaching your hole as you gasp at the sudden full sensation. “Wriggle and writhe and let mother take care of you.”
At her words, you spread your knees a little wider, a show of acceptance which you hope will be enough to placate her as she sets to work on you. Already aroused by your own hand, it doesn’t take long for her to reignite some of that passion – her fingers surprisingly flexible as she uses them to stroke along your walls while she hums a jaunty tune. You shift your focus back to the magazine, your mind falling into fantasy to help push along the growing heat in your gut, choosing to think about something very different than what was actually happening.
Gooseberry knows her way, you realise with some surprise. Never staying in the same spot for too long, she shifts her attention between your hole and your clit, the sensitive nub jerking with pleasure every time her calloused fingers brushes against it as she teases. Before long she has your breath coming in short, sharp pants and your thighs trembling as you feel the tightness in your groin grow almost unbearable, her ministrations and your fantasy pushing you towards your peak as fresh arousal floods your cunt.
“My poor little darling,” Gooseberry coos as she leans over your writhing frame, “I can see you want some of my sugar and mother has her ways.”
Your orgasm is soft but definite, a hard brush of Gooseberry’s thumb against your clit pushing you over that edge as you whimper out your pleasure into the back of your hand and feel your walls spasm around her pumping fingers. She doesn’t let up and her digits milk you for every inch of pleasure she can until your thighs are visibly trembling with her efforts.
Her hand pulls away from your cunt, wiping your mess off on her apron as she stares down at you with a painfully warm look, something comforting and only slightly predatory in the way her lips curl at the corners. She seems to be waiting for something and it takes you a moment to tune in to her wants.
“Thank you. Phyllis, that was,” you pause as you sit up from the bed, “great.” A bit of a lame finish but her results were undeniable as you felt the residual twitch in your groin while you sit before her, her standing position making you feel caged despite the obvious threat.
Winking down at you smoothly, Gooseberry brushes her hand across your cheek with affection, “It’s time to work on your manners, sweetling. Remember, it’s my turn now.”
Gooseberry raises her skirts enough to allow you to slip your hand up the offered space. She’s careful about not exposing herself and you take the hint to simple pleasure her without seeing what you were working with, surprise alighting in your face as your hand brushes her pubic hair before anything else.
She wasn’t wearing underwear.
Unsure if that was a typical choice or if she had taken the time to remove and hide them within her clothing before alerting you to her presence, you didn’t know but it really didn’t matter as you plant your knees hard against the floor and focus on the task at hand.
Never having pleasured another woman before, you take a moment to explore the feel of her, the differences and the similarities to your own sex. Her pubic hair is much less maintained than your own, the hair curled and rough against your fingers as you rub along her slit, and she gasps as your fingers push past and part her folds. She’s already damp with arousal, her labia slippery as you brush your fingers from her hole up to the area where you know her clit will be.
“You’re being so good to mother, darling.” Gooseberry sighs, spreading her knees wider to encourage your explorations. “Such a good, obedient child.”
You pleasure her in kind, carefully watching how her wide face responds to your ministrations – certain touches making her mouth open into a gasp as her eyes narrow in pleasure. You can’t see what you’re doing but you can feel it as warm arousal coats your fingers and Gooseberry’s walls clench around your digits to pull them in deeper, her greed shameless.
Eventually, you shift more focus to her clit, the rounded bud feeling bigger than your own against your fingers and you rub at it gently, trying to push her to her own completion.
“Oh, goodness.” Gooseberry sighs, her voice low and missing its usual melody as it rings out over your head. “Such a good little thing- so sweet for mother.”
You drag her into her release with your thumb as you press it roughly to her clit, the added sensation making her hiss and whine as she pushes down against your hand and grinds out her orgasm against your palm. The skin of your hand is wet with her juice, the noise of your fingers slick and obscene as you don’t dare stop until she tells you to.
She does with a shaky hand, the tips of her fingers flicking at your unseen hand as she drops the fabric to her skirts and stands up a little straighter; giving you a moment to pull your hand free and clean it off on the stained sheets of the orphanage bed.
“My beautiful gosling,” her voice filled with sated arousal and thicker than usual, Gooseberry keeps the Dr. Futterman puppet hidden away behind her back as she speaks, “how wonderful was that! Wasn’t that nice?”
You nod, not trusting your own voice as you smile up at her and try to hide the renewed anxiety which clutches at your chest as you realise she has no further use for you. A fear which only grows as she bends down towards your head. However, it lessens slightly as Gooseberry simply places a soft kiss on your mouth, her lips cracked and the skin which covers her own smelling foul as it invades your nose.
But you push past the sudden revulsion as she stands once again and smooths out the front of her apron.
“Now, Mother Gooseberry has some work to do, little one. So, keep yourself out of other naughtiness and maybe that nasty shuttle will be kind enough to bring you back here soon.”
She pats you on the head like a child before turning on her heel and starting to make her way back to the corridor towards the main lobby; leaving you sitting on the edge of the bed with your arousal staining your thighs and your heart feeling like its about to burst free of your chest.
Pulling your underwear back on with trembling fingers, a light headedness at your own successful encounter with the terrifying prime asset making the simple task trickier than it had to be, you try to focus on anything but the slowly receding voices which grow quieter as Gooseberry returns to her patrols.
“You’re a fucking whore, Phyillis.”
The voice of Dr. Futterman, newly awakened and audibly pissed.
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picture this: u are high rollin at the craps table, youve had a few drinks, gettin a little crazy, the juice is loose, & just when the excitement is at its peak, u toss those bad boys, both dice start leaking a viscous fluid. thats the rare double slimes babey, & youve just won a million fucking dollars
oh to be a tiny creature finding one of nature's most juicy, delicious treats, which is also several times the size of your whole body, and you have it all to yourself
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As someone born pre-1995, I can attest, so many women had no idea lesbianism was an option. This is damn near every female friend I had as a teen and below, and some of the lads-later-ladies as well tbh.
Thank god for Gillian Anderson and Laura Dern and Jodie Foster and Sigourney Weaver and
person whose birthday is coming up: yeah i'm like a bodhisattva now. i don't really "want" things. yeah i've renounced all earthly desires. so no i don't know what i want for my birthday
Biological Femboy @loathsome-goblin - Tumblr Blog | Tumlook
