The needle plunged deep into Brock’s deltoid, the plunger depressing with a wet hiss. The jock—six-foot-four, two-hundred-eighty pounds of veined, competition-ready muscle—knelt on the cold tile of the abandoned warehouse clinic, red MAGA cap pulled low, teeth bared in a roar that rattled the pipes overhead.
“Easy, big guy,” Dr. Harlan Voss murmured, gloved fingers steady on the syringe. “Just a little booster. You wanted to be bigger than humanly possible, remember? Told me you’d do anything.”
Brock’s roar choked off as fire exploded through his veins. The serum—Voss’s own cocktail of recombinant gastropod DNA, androgenic mutagens, and a neuro-inhibitor that kept the mind screaming inside a melting body—hit like lightning. His pecs flexed involuntarily, then kept flexing, swelling, stretching the skin until it glistened. Veins writhed like living cables under the surface.
“What the fuck… what’d you give me?” Brock gasped, voice already thickening, wet.
Voss smiled behind his surgical mask and began unbuttoning his white coat. One button. Two. “Something to make you perfect.”
The change came fast. Brock’s shoulders hunched as two thick, glistening stalks punched out from his eye sockets with audible wet pops. Eyes—his own blue eyes, wide with terror—now sat atop them, swiveling independently. His handsome face stretched downward, jaw unhinging with a crack like splintering wood. Lips split and rolled outward into a massive, tooth-ringed maw that drooled thick amber slime in ropes. The MAGA cap slid off his flattening skull and landed with a soft splat in the growing puddle beneath him.
“Doc—stop—please—” The words gargled out through the new orifice, half scream, half bubbling moan.
Voss let the coat fall. His tie next. Shirt. He was hard already, cock straining against his slacks as he watched the jock’s sculpted abs ripple and soften, then liquefy into a thick, muscular slug tail that coiled and uncoiled in spasms. Brock’s powerful thighs fused, knees dissolving into glistening foot-flesh. Between what had once been his legs, the skin split open with a obscene sucking sound, revealing a new, dripping cunt—plump, ridged, and pulsing like a second hungry mouth.
The former bodybuilder collapsed forward onto his belly, now a single powerful slug trunk, muscular arms still grotesquely human at the shoulders but ending in thick, sucker-lined digits. The eye stalks waved frantically. The giant maw gaped, strings of mucus connecting upper and lower lips, tongue—now long and purple—lapping at the air.
Voss kicked off his shoes, stepped out of his pants, and stood naked, cock throbbing, veins matching the monster’s. He walked through the slime until he stood between the creature’s writhing eye stalks.
“Look at you,” he whispered, voice thick with lust. “My perfect slug whore.”
Brock’s original mind was still in there—trapped, aware, screaming. The eye stalks tried to pull away, but Voss seized them both in his fists like reins, yanking the sensitive stalks downward until the monster’s massive maw opened wider in a silent howl. The new cunt clenched visibly, leaking clear lubricant onto the floor.
Voss dropped to his knees in the warm slime, lined up, and thrust.
The cunt was hotter than anything human, rippling with independent muscles that sucked and milked him the instant he bottomed out. Brock’s body betrayed him; the slug tail thrashed, but the cunt clenched greedily, pulling Voss deeper. The doctor groaned, gripping the eye stalks harder, using them as handles to pound forward. Each thrust made the stalks bulge and twitch, tears leaking from the monstrous eyes.
“Feel that?” Voss panted, hips slapping wetly against slug flesh. “That’s your new purpose. No more gym. No more trophies. Just a hole for me.”
He fucked harder, the monster’s cunt making wet, squelching sounds that echoed off the tiled walls. Slime coated Voss’s balls, dripped down his thighs. Brock’s arms—still powerful—flailed, thick fingers clawing at the floor, but the body was no longer his to command. The giant maw gurgled and drooled, unable to form words anymore, only desperate, gurgling pleas that sounded disturbingly like moans.
Voss leaned forward, chest pressed to the slick, heaving slug torso, still yanking the eye stalks back so the creature had to stare up at him with its own terrified eyes. “Gonna fill you up, slug. Gonna breed the last of that jock bullshit right out of you.”
He came with a guttural shout, hips locked deep, pumping thick ropes straight into the convulsing cunt. The monster’s body answered instinctively—inner walls spasming, milking every drop, the excess squirting out around his shaft in messy gushes. Brock’s mind fractured inside the horror, pleasure and violation twisting together until there was nothing left but the wet heat and the doctor’s triumphant laugh.
Voss stayed buried to the hilt, still holding the eye stalks like trophies, watching the last human light fade from those stolen eyes. The slug monster’s cunt continued to flutter around him, obedient now, hungry for more.
On the floor beside them, the red MAGA cap floated in a puddle of slime and cum, the slogan slowly dissolving into nothing.
Dr. Voss smiled down at his creation and whispered, “Welcome to your new body, Brock. We’re just getting started.”