Chapter Eleven: Basic Instinct

AN: THANK YOU ALEXLUKE for your continued support and feedback! You already knew where this one was going ;)

AN2: This chapter contains material not suitable for: children, those easily triggered, farm animals, and those who suffer from vertigo.

Contains non-con/rape

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Donnie groaned, trying to make his foggy brain wake up and throw off the last vestiges of inky cotton. But no matter how much he tried, he was unable to escape the claws of sleep. Darkness kept pulling him under, filling his subconscious with nightmares.

Random fleeting images.

Dark and scary and things that made his heart race in his ears, and his shell shrink in fear.

Over and over he felt a stabbing plunge of a needle in his neck. Half delirious, he wasn't sure if it was a dream or reality, his brain unable to function properly.

There were no coherent thoughts.

No random facts burgeoning into existence.

No formulas jockeying for position.

No numbers floating around consciousness.

No words or even letters recognizable to his primal senses.

Not that Donnie would understand communication. He lacked the ability to speak, let alone recognize his own name.

And there was something else this time… a sickly sweet smell?

Donnie forced his consciousness to the surface once again, trying to focus on something, anything, to throw off the terrifying nightmares plaguing his dreams and ground him in reality.

Cognition danced out of his grasp.

He floated endlessly in the void of wakefulness and dreams, unsure what was real and what was being fabricated in his imagination, drifting aimlessly through the fog, mind totally blank, body numb, yet heavy and slow to respond. He rolled onto his belly, trying to bring himself out of the mindless nothingness threatening to drag him back into its depths of obscurity.

He smelled it again.

It was soured, yet sweet. Honey, and tangy.

What was it?

There was a part of him that knew what it was, but was having a hard time directing his sluggish form into cooperating.

Bleary eyes opened upon a blurred world of white. Robbed of his sight, he tried to use his other senses to determine where he was and what had drawn him from his mindless nightmare, though the fear of his dreams had already faded into the blankness and escaped his limited memory.

The scent wafted along his nostrils, filling his senses and making his foggy brain focus on the sweetness.

He sniffed left and right, trying to discern the source of the smell.

There, on the right.

It was strongest there.

Groaning, he moved his limbs, trying to get them to cooperate. They flopped helplessly for a moment before haphazardly coordinating into moving him forward, inch by inch. Half crawling, half sliding, Donnie barely registered the coolness of the floor or the direction in which he traveled.

The only thing that mattered was figuring out the source of the smell. Too dazed to comprehend, Donnie blindly shifted left and right, using his sense of smell to direct his motion.

Fumbling, flopping, he moved toward the right, blindly seeking the elusive thing that caught his interest.

Whatever it was, he was curious.

The scent grew stronger, calling him forth. He lifted his head, nostrils flared wide, trying to triangulate the damnable smell. It was getting stronger, so he was on the right track. Struggling he crawled forward, becoming more coordinated as he drew near the source of that strange, exotic perfume.

Blindly sniffing, his hand touched something. Being robbed of his mind and sense of self, he was unable to tell if the thing he touched was human or animal.

He dragged himself closer, snout bumping into warm, smooth, pale flesh. He was incapable of discerning the strange, warm body.

What it was.

What it was doing there.

Where he was.

Who he was.

The only thing he could concentrate on was the smell. It was drawing him in as a starving man to a banquet. He hungered for that scent.

With renewed vigor, he grasped and tugged, exploring the warm skin until he located the source of his prize.

Hands braced him upright, his nose zeroing in to the honeyed flower at the epicenter of the flesh.

Though his mind was blank, instinct translated his find.

Female.

A mating female.

His tongue darted out, swiping through the petals and burning with the tang of arousal.

And she was ripe, ready for mating.

Eagerly Donnie lapped at the bouquet that lured him in to this wonderfully delicious prize. Legs twitched on either side of his head and low moans began to filter through the fog of his brain. He continued to lick, priming the female for mounting. Thankfully, it didn't take long. She slicked his tongue with musk, signaling readiness.

Donnie rose, fumbling to get into mating position, his stiff tail quivering for a moment until his cock extended, full and hard. He hovered over his female a moment, bumping mindlessly between her legs until he located her entrance. With a fast lunge, he buried himself completely in her heat, moaning and laying his full weight over her small frame. She heaved and whimpered below, giving into the mating and allowing Donnie to take her fully.

There were no kisses.

No exchange of words.

No cries of pleasure.

Donnie was unable to fathom any of those things. The only thing he understood was the tight warmth surrounding him and the need to mark the female as his.

He moved, slowly withdrawing before thrusting back in, earning a cry to his ears that went unheeded. A few strokes and he slid out, spurting on her stomach, then returned to her heat, moving with singular intent.

On and on Donnie pumped, withdrawing again and ejaculating. Several times he came on her stomach and chest, until finally dropping onto his elbows, nuzzling the smooth, delicate flesh, smothering her scent with his own.

There couldn't be any mistake he had laid claim to this female. No other male was allowed to touch her. She was his and his alone.

A mouth was near his ear, maintaining a litany of pleasurable moans and pained cries when he thrust violently. But the sounds didn't slow his actions. If anything, they made him more determined. The only thing he wanted to do was mate the female as many times as he could.

Cries and moans filled the room as the female took his rough pleasure, basking in his attention, clenching him blissfully as she arched, wholly and totally submitting to him. Donnie soon followed, roaring as he came, powerful jets coating her womb and dripping down her thighs.

He dropped, exhausted, atop her, each panting heavily in the other's ear. She turned her face toward his, her nose caressing his cheek. Her breath ghosted his skin and tickled his ear.

Not that Donnie was mindful of such things.

He groaned, long and drawn, nuzzling into a neck. He wasn't aware of his surroundings, missing the hiss of the door opening.

However, when the scent of other males hit his senses, he became distantly aware of the sexual competition.

He jerked upright, nose high in the air, blind eyes squinting, searching for the males who had entered his domain. Dark bodies contrasted a white background, showing him several males closing in on him and his conquest.

Baring his teeth, Donnie growled, long and low, glaring unblinkingly at the dark figures standing nearby. He lowered himself over his female, giving a spastic thrust to make sure his seed was sealed inside her.

Unable to see or comprehend the words being spoken, Donnie gnashed his teeth, snapping at the males who dared attempt to claim his mate. If they intended on overpowering Donnie to mate with the female, Donnie was going to give them a vicious fight.

He wouldn't allow another male to touch her.

She was his mate.

"Looks like he doesn't want to give up his girl," Mr. Point sneered at the two armed guards who were flanking him.

The humans had observed the turtle and his prowess through the glass. Thinking he was finished, they entered the room only to find their captive still in a libidinous mood. And judging by the way he growled at them while thrusting hard and fast, his sexual appetite had not been sated.

The guards laughed darkly, hands lax on weapons. Though the turtle was openly glaring and snarling at them, he posed no threat. He was more interested in pounding the woman below him than engaging in a fight.

"Shall we let him finish or take his toy away?" Mr. Point asked, fascinated by the turtle's stamina.

Bishop stood in the doorway watching the scene with a mask of indifference.

He cared nothing for the unconscious woman being hidden from view by a growling turtle. He knew it wasn't out of modesty Donnie shielded her, his hips in violent, quick motion.

The turtle was merely reacting to instinct, the most base and primal of nature.

"We need the samples," Bishop said after a moment. "Go ahead and separate them. She has done her job well."

Mr. Point offered a noise in agreement, kneeling close to Donnie.

Donnie snarled louder, gnashing his teeth at the male. On and on he moved, his actions so violent it lifted the woman's hips off the floor. Donnie squinted at Mr. Point, (though all he could detect was an unrecognizable blob), and made a snapping motion to ward off the male encroaching on his territory.

"Sorry about this," Mr. Point said, anything but apologetic. He held up the control box and tapped the button.

Donnie screamed, bolting upright in what appeared to be a grand climax. Unfortunately, the shock coursing through his system transferred into the woman under him.

She jolted and screamed, writhing until Donnie pulled out and dropped to his side, shivering in the aftermath of his electric punishment.

His cock retreated into his tail, libido shut down by high voltage.

Mr. Point stared between the woman's thighs and the creamy coating on her torso. "There's your sample, gentlemen. Collect as much as you need."

Two scientists rushed forward with swabs and containers. The two armed guards exchanged a look, admiring the turtle's handiwork. He certainly knew how to make a cream pie.

Several minutes passed in complete silence. The scientists finished their work and scuttled out of the room, eager to observe their samples.

"What do you want us to do with her?" one of the guards asked, eyeing the woman skeptically.

Another guard licked his lips, staring at the apex of her open thighs. "Seems a shame to leave such a tasty little morsel all alone."

Bishop's tone was neutral but his dark eyes were threatening. "The turtle's contributions will not be tainted by human DNA. You will show restraint or find yourself subject of your own experiment."

Properly chastised, the man shifted nervously, gulping back the bile in his throat. Bishop's threat was vague, but with the experiments witnessed, there was no way the guard was going to willingly put himself into such a situation.

No amount of free pussy would be worth the veiled punishment that waited.

"We may need to engage her services again," Bishop said, finally removing his gaze from the guilty guard. "Keep her here in case the turtle requires further provocation to provide samples."

The guards nodded, following Bishop out the door. Mr. Point lingered for a moment, head tilted slightly, observing Donnie's slumbering face. Fresh, new, pale green scales had grown in to replace the ones collected by the doctors a week prior.

So close, so peaceful in sleep, the turtle appeared to be young. A teenager perhaps?

Which meant he had lived his entire life in hiding. If the big city had sheltered this wonderful specimen, and his brothers, for so long, and so thoroughly, what other secrets was hiding amongst the concrete and steel?

How many mutants were there?

What else lurked beneath the city streets and remained hidden from the humans?

What threat waited in the shadows?

Realizing he was taking too long, Mr. Point strode out the door, locking it behind him.

He would get answers.

Whether by force, torture, or witnessing an innocent person suffer, he would get the turtle to talk. And since the turtle appeared to have an adverse reaction to the truth serums they had given him the past two days, making him mindless, and by all accounts a brainless animal, it was time to step up the game.

Time was running out.

Mr. Point's superiors wanted answers. They would not tolerate failure.

Lest Mr. Point become the next experiment.

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Dun dun dun dun! *intrigue*

Yes, things far more sinister are afoot… if I planned this right. :D

And before anyone gets uppity with me over Donnie raping the unknown woman, they were both drugged and unable to give proper consent, so they weren't really 'at fault.'