Work Text:
The ship wasn’t a regular research ship, and Emery wasn’t a regular crew member. But neither was he a scientist – just your average Joe, doing a bit of an unusual job.
“Mr. Graves, please check on the progress of subject A934,” Dr. Foltz ordered distractedly. The man stood in front of an assortment of screens, switching between what he wanted to look at with lightning-quick flicks of his fingers. “And when you’re at it,” he continued," also check on its neighbor, A935. It looks like the organism might’ve slipped out. I can’t quite see from this angle."
Emery acknowledged the man’s words with a grunt, donned the face mask and the long gloves, then headed for the airlock a level below. When the air pressure stabilized – they weren’t deep below sea level, but the difference still made his ears pop – he entered the harvesting chamber A. The room was long and bisected by a narrow ramp. On both its sides, concentric pools shimmered and rippled lightly, open to the endless Vayan sea, which only the high air pressure in the room kept out. Around each opening, people sat as if in meditation. If you looked closely, you’d notice that their buttocks touched the water and were kept afloat by semi-transparent, malleable seats growing seamlessly, like fungus, from the side of the pools.
Meditation – that came to mind first because the people seemed awake but not aware. They trembled sometimes or made quiet sounds, but they didn’t move, and their eyes were usually either only half-open or completely closed. Those few who had their eyelids up stared into the distance with huge, heated pupils. Most sat where they should on their own; some were gently tied down with a soft material the color of flesh – individually matched – and the strength of steel. The latter shook harder, sometimes even squirmed, and they had to be gagged to keep the chamber’s otherwise tranquil peace.
A934 and A935 were both like that. They were part of the harvesting facility’s newest batch. Both male, their bodies still didn’t look as plump as those who spent even a few months here. The tentacle seagrass – Emery knew it had some complicated scientific name, but he and his fellow workers just called it as they saw it – aside from the potent aphrodisiac substance the company was after, produced plenty of nutrients. By virtue of how the harvesting operation was arranged, the subjects constantly had to be exposed to both. In time, it caused weight gain and a bit of dumbification – all perfectly reversible when the subject’s contract ended, of course.
Or so the company claimed – Emery had never quite believed it. Those contracts were three years on average, and being trapped here for three years...
He looked around and swallowed.
Take these two new men, for example. A934 was muscular to the point of bulky, and he had a beard and an abundance of body hair. A935, on the other hand, was so lean he almost looked malnourished. His limbs were thin, his long cherry-red hair was unkept, and his pale, freckled skin looked matted and unhealthy in the harsh, fluorescent light. Yet, despite it, Emery knew that, given a few months, they would both look very similar. The grass’s complex hormones will cause them to lose all body hair – leaving the hair on their heads strong and healthy – and the abundant nutrients they’d absorb would plumpen their limbs, buttocks, and bellies. There was a chance A934 would keep his muscles under the new fat, but A935 would leave here with a plush, soft through-and-through body.
Some people were into that, Emery thought while pushing out of his mind those times he wanked to the close-ups during night shifts.
No one touched the subjects when they were used for harvesting beyond the minimum required for maintenance – nothing but the equipment and the grass – but later, when they were out of here...
Sometimes, Emery helped with unplugging. The subjects surfaced so damn horny, and—
Better not to think about that on the job. If Dr. Foltz, staring at his monitors, ever noticed that Emery was walking the chamber with a bulge in his pants...
Well, Emery’s pay will get cut, that’s what.
Better reserve those things for the night shift when hardly anyone was watching.
He took care of the A934 first. He cleaned his body with a washcloth – after just a few days, and some of the hair was already coming out – then checked on the man’s junk. His penis was short but remarkably thick and as hard as any male subject’s here. A thin, squelchy grass-tentacle had penetrated it, letting only the precum escape the man’s slit. Gently, Emery removed it.
As he was pulling it out, the man shook.
Emery thought he saw intelligence pierce through the glassy sheen in his eyes, but he couldn’t be sure. The aphrodisiac overtook your senses pretty quickly. The doses of the purified and then diluted stuff the company later sold were supposedly nothing compared to what it felt like when the fresh, original thing was delivered into your body straight from the source. Them workers were supposed to discourage the organisms from invading penises and pussies precisely because of that, but sometimes it still happened. The plants penetrating the mouths was a rarer occurrence. It usually only happened to the better acclimatized subjects who no longer needed gagging, and only when some neglect was in play, as it took time, and the tentacles had a longer way to travel from the warm water of their natural habitat and through the – not dry, but still – pressurized air. The occupation of the mouth was easier to spot, too. When the grass got into urethras, it sometimes took a few hours – and the subject getting restless from the fullness – for someone to notice and remove it.
Well, it wasn’t like it was hurting these people. The pressure always forced the fluids to overflow at some point, even around the pesky plant. In Emery’s opinion, they could’ve just left it like that. Less work for the crew, and the love juice would eventually make it feel good, no matter what.
When Emery had shared this opinion of his where Dr. Foltz could hear, he got smashed with ‘ethical concerns’. Which – ethical concerns, his ass. They were stuffing people’s assholes full of an alien plant that secreted a mind-altering substance in enough quantities to turn those people into drooling pieces of pretty, fat, quivering flesh. Even if you consented to that at first, there was no un-consenting. Why, then, pretend anything about this was moral?
Why not let just the bored workers use the cute, naked, mindless puppets to blow some steam from time to time?
Emery massaged A934th’s cock as he was pondering that. When the man came – then pissed – and all the accumulated grass fluids were out, Emery left the still happily hard cock alone.
He went to check on A935.
At least the belly of the unappealingly thin man was already nicely bloated. His cock was hard and his small, pale nipples pebbled, but instead of obediently enjoying himself, he whined and shifted in his bonds. Emery checked his cock again, and no, zero signs of penetration. He fondled it – pink tip, tiny slit, no evidence anything had ever forced itself in there.
He had to lean over the pool to check the anus. He should be using the special mobile bank extension, as stated in the safety manual, but he thought he’d just take a quick look first. He leaned down and in – and there they were. The tentacles. Fat. Moving. Each having to pass through a harvester net first before it could reach the clenching heat of a warm-blooded, responsive, living organism. Emery had heard that, at the beginnings of the project, they’d experimented with using other animals, but the grass only wanted human holes. There was something specific about them the alien organisms required – apparently, even the scientists didn’t yet know what that was. They’d also tried the local animals, some sort of large, slug-like, soft-shelled crustation, but the things got impregnated too quickly by the grass’s microscopical seeds and simply burst open when the new plants grew. Somehow, the plant could detect when germination had started, and then immediately lost interest. How fortunate, then, that humans, as a species completely alien to Vaya, were similar enough to entice the potentially profitable grass, yet different enough to be entirely protected from its destructive breeding cycle. Or rather, not only that – it had turned out that the tiny seeds, which had the power to annihilate those ugly crustations, were easily digested in human bellies into an inoffensive pink jelly that accidentally contained all the nutrients an average human needed to live.
And this thin excuse of a man needed all the nutrients he could get – even the dumb plants must think that. Emery leaned out further, observing in fascination the writhing mass forcing its way into his taut, overstretched anus. How Dr. Foltz could’ve thought the plants had ‘slipped out’, Emery would never comprehend.
Maybe the man needed new glasses.
“Fuuuck,” Emery mumbled through gritted teeth and his facemask. “These things must like you a whole fucking lot.”
He reached, trying to pull at least a few of the tendrils out.
He overbalanced.
His knee slipped.
Warm water surrounded him. Then—
Nothing.
***
“Another one?” asked Hyde, the young first officer of the harvesting ship no. 23, his voice muffled through the filtration mask.
Dr. Stephen Foltz simply sighed.
“When would those fuckers learn,” the officer continued, “that the safety protocols are there for a reason.”
They stood to the side and watched together as the fully suited containment crew first fished out the crop maintenance employee from the harvesting pool, then cut him out of his clothes, washed him and efficiently prepared his insides – with malleable, minimally invasive tools Dr. Foltz invented himself – for proper implantation. The man trembled at each touch, his expression vacant. Before the crew had gotten to him, the specimens have invaded every opening in his body, including the mouth – by some weird instinct, keeping their new potential breeder’s nose free and above water, thank fuck – and pumped him full of their precious fluids. Since the man broke the harvesting net with his fall and it could no longer intercept any of the stuff, the secretions were far more plentiful and potent than usual. Dr. Foltz wasn’t sure how long it would take for the man to regain even the most basic of his cognitive functions.
Maybe a few days, maybe a few months.
Aside from the damn fool, all nine subjects from his pool would have to be replanted. The broken net meant they also took far more than their share of the fluids. Having been accustomed to it already, they weren’t as badly affected as their new companion, but they ejaculated far more than their testicles could handle and now made unhappy noises and shifted restlessly in their bonds. Still, they should recover much faster.
Thank fuck this pool was a new batch. If they were nearing the date of their contracted release and ended up in this state, Dr. Foltz would have some groveling and explaining to do.
It was the seventh such accident this year, and the third that involved the other subjects.
Dr. Foltz sighed again. “Fortunately, there are stipulations in the work contracts that release us from legal responsibility if precisely this happens.”
“I wonder,” said Hyde, “how many of them read the small print.”
The workers pulled the unresponsive man towards the free pool next to the one he’s fallen into and began installing him in the semi-transparent mesh of the seat – using the proper bank extensions this time, damn it. When he was positioned in the manner outlined in the manual, one worker removed from under the seat the block that protected the subject’s anus from too early access. Immediately, the tendrils that squirmed excitedly underneath shot up, looking for entrance. Soon, the first one found the warm opening and dove right in, and once the path was obvious, many more followed after.
The new subject tensed and whimpered.
“Hmm, so he is responsive,” said Dr. Foltz. “And here I thought that the initial uncontrolled dosage was too high.”
“Is this common?” asked the first officer. “I mean, I know there is an adjustment period for the subjects who come here the usual route, but with the, well, accidents?”
“No.” Dr. Foltz watched as the man’s penis hardened, then spewed a pitiful few drops of semen. “Most of our ‘accidental’ acquisitions for the first few months resemble plants more than this damn grass.” The man’s belly rippled, and his cock jumped, but there was no ejaculation this time. “This one clearly has potential for higher yields. Hey, you,” he yelled toward the crew. He looked at the designation on the person’s sleeve. “Number six.”
The man or woman – it was impossible to tell because of the cumbersome, yellow contamination suit – straightened and turned their featureless mask in his direction. “Yes, sir?” they said in a distorted voice.
“Mark this one as ‘high yield’. Gradually increase the organism’s access to him over the next three days. How much more stretching do you think his anus can handle?”
The worker shrugged.
“Well, doesn’t matter,” said Dr. Foltz, more to himself than to anyone else. “A lot can be achieved if you give it enough time.”
“Should we do it though?” asked Hyde. “I mean, it’s not like the man ended up in this position voluntarily.”
“But he did end up in it, didn’t he? And he’ll be staying here until his contract ends. Wouldn’t it be more wasteful – thus, unethical – not to make full use of him until then? We’re doing important work here. Important both for the furthering of science, and for the company.”
Since the rumors about the working conditions on the company’s harvester ships on Vaya had started, it was becoming more and more difficult to contract long-term subjects. In Dr. Foltz’s personal opinion, when push came to shove, the accidents, while still relatively few – and annoying – were a welcome addition to the operation’s productivity.
Especially since there were no pesky stipulations in the fine print of the contract the workers signed.
If he, from time to time, forgot to enforce the strict safety protocols when a worker with pleasant features – that could be further improved upon with a more nutritious ‘diet’ – didn’t take his duties too seriously, then, well.
The man’s body shifted as more grass entered. His narrow buttocks tensed, and his lean legs jerked slightly to the sides.
Soon, that butt and those legs would grow fat – Dr. Foltz smiled at the thought. The healthy plumpness would spread under the man’s skin, smoothing it and making him look well-nourished and radiant. There was something in the hormonal balance the grass’s raw excretions caused in the body that prevented chronic conditions from occurring. Whatever the subject had been afflicted with healed, and he suffered no health risks often associated with obesity. If Dr. Foltz and his science team could harness what was basically a health serum alongside the product increasing sexual responsiveness and performance, it would truly be an ultimate success. Unfortunately, the exact mechanisms of what was going on proved elusive. For now, the effect couldn’t be replicated in a lab – the subject had to be actively and continuously bred by the plant for about three months to reach optimum health.
More research was needed.
More research was what Dr. Foltz was going to do.
He scrutinized the pool next to him. “Hey,” he yelled, “Four and six, when you’re done reinstalling the rest, grab this one,”—he pointed at the reasonably plump-looking man whose round, pretty face was scrunched in continuous rapture—"and bring him to lab three for probing. And don’t forget to plug him first! Don’t want him leaking everywhere!"
They always fucking forgot.
“Come on.” Dr. Foltz turned around. “I don’t think there’s much more to see here.”
Hyde followed him.
He was still throwing around curious glances while trying to be discreet – which reminded Dr. Foltz the man was just a few months into his first tour.
“They look pretty after they spend some time here, don’t they?” he remarked.
“Ah. Yes?”
“Or do you like them lean?”
“Ah, I mean...” It was difficult to judge the man’s expression because of the facemask, but the emotion in his muffled voice was clear. “I mean, yeah. They are pretty like this.”
Dr. Foltz weighed his options.
It always paid to have higher-ups indebted to you. And the more illicit the debt…
“Would you perchance be interested,” he said, “in assisting me when they bring that subject to lab three? I know there is equipment, but the subjects can be a bit heavy, and it’s nice to have a second pair of hands around.”
And if, at any point, Foltz had to leave, and if, perhaps, he forgot to mention there were hidden surveillance cameras in the lab…
“Ah, can I? Really?”
Dr. Foltz smiled behind his mask.
Really, young things like Hyde were much too curious for their own good.
And they were so damn useful when your own foot slipped.
“Of course. In fact, I’d consider it a great favor.”