The Clone Lab#

Patricia was the head researching for Martin Genetics. Her main specialty was cellular duplication, or cloning. With her help, the corporation was able to speed up it's research for creating genetically engineered soldiers for the military.

"Fifty units prepped, fifty units accounted for—wait." Patricia's fingers froze over the tablet's glowing screen. The inventory list blinked back at her, unchanged, but her eyes kept darting between the digital confirmation and the row of translucent incubation pods lining the lab's far wall. One of them stood ajar, its seals broken, the interior slick with residual fluid. Empty.

She exhaled through her teeth, tapping the tablet to pull up the security logs. "Override log: none. Breach alert: none." The words felt like an accusation. The lab's cameras showed nothing—just the sterile hum of the evening shift, technicians clocking out, the automated systems cycling through their routines. No alarms. No forced entry. Just a missing clone, Unit-37, vanished between the 8 PM systems check and now.

Patricia's breath hitched as the cold fingers closed around her wrist, yanking her backward with unexpected strength. She spun, heart slamming against her ribs, and found herself face-to-face with Unit-37—except he wasn’t supposed to be here, wasn’t supposed to be awake, wasn’t supposed to be staring at her with pupils blown wide in the lab’s fluorescent glare. Water slid down the ridges of his abdomen, catching the light as it traced the hard lines of his torso. Her gaze flickered downward before she could stop it.

His cock stood thick and flushed against his thigh, the sheer size of it making her throat go dry. The genetic templates had not specified that. She swallowed hard, forcing her eyes back up to his face. "Unit-37," she managed, voice steadier than she felt. "You’re—you’re not scheduled for decanting yet."

His fingers slid between her thighs with terrifying precision, the silk of her panties already damp under his touch. Patricia gasped, her knees buckling as a jolt of pleasure shot up her spine—how the hell did he know exactly where to press? His thumb circled lazily over the fabric, and she bit back a whimper. The tablet clattered to the floor, forgotten, her hands flying to his chest to steady herself. The warmth of his skin beneath her palms was dizzying. "Wait," she breathed, but her hips rocked forward anyway, betraying her.

The first orgasm hit her fast—too fast, embarrassingly fast, like a cherry-bomb detonating low in her belly. Patricia’s knees gave out entirely, her thighs trembling, but Unit-37 caught her before she could crumple to the floor. His arms—corded with muscle, warm and impossibly solid—scooped her up effortlessly, cradling her against his chest as if she weighed nothing. She barely registered the movement until her back met the cool surface of her worktable, the stainless steel biting through her lab coat.

The sound of fabric tearing split the sterile air of the lab, her blouse gaping open under Unit-37’s effortless strength. Patricia gasped—not in protest, but at the sudden rush of cool air against her skin, the way her blue silk bra strained against the swell of her DD breasts, nipples pebbling visibly beneath the delicate fabric. His hands didn’t hesitate, sliding over the curves of her ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts in a way that made her arch into him. "You—you shouldn’t—" she started, but the words dissolved into a whimper as he hooked a finger under the bra’s center clasp and snapped it cleanly in half.

Her skirt went next, the thin material no match for the sharp jerk of his wrist. The remnants fluttered to the floor, leaving her exposed except for the ruined panties still clinging to her hips, soaked through and useless. Unit-37’s gaze raked over her, dark and intent, and Patricia swore she could feel it like a physical touch—hotter than the lab’s climate-controlled air, more insistent than the ache between her thighs. His fingers traced the lace hem of her panties, teasing, before gripping the fabric and tearing it away with a single, brutal motion.

Patricia’s breath hitched as Unit-37’s hips pressed forward, the heat of his cock radiating against her lips. There was no hesitation in his movements—no uncertainty, no fumbling exploration. Just deliberate, terrifying precision. The head nudged against her mouth, slick with pre-cum, and her tongue flicked out instinctively, tasting the salt-bitter tang of him. Her brain short-circuited for a split second—this shouldn’t be happening, this isn’t protocol—before her body overruled every rational thought. Her lips parted, and she took him in, inch by inch, until the thick length of him pressed against the back of her throat.

Patricia moaned around him, the vibrations sending a visible shudder through Unit-37’s thighs as she hollowed her cheeks and took him deeper. The taste of him—musky and primal—flooded her senses, and she realized with dizzying clarity that she’d been starving for this without knowing it. Her fingers dug into his hips, urging him forward, as if she could fuse herself to him through sheer want. His groan was ragged, hands tightening in her hair, and for the first time since he’d woken, his perfect military conditioning faltered—just for a second—his hips stuttering against her lips.

Then his hands were on her breasts, the center clasp of her bra snapping like a dry twig between his fingers. The sudden release sent her chest heaving against his palms, her nipples stiff and aching in the cool air. Unit-37’s thumbs dragged over them with slow, maddening pressure, and Patricia whimpered, her mouth still working him in frantic, wet strokes. Sweat slicked the valley between her breasts, mingling with the spit dripping down her chin, and when he pinched her nipples hard enough to make her jerk, she barely registered the sting—only the electric jolt that shot straight to her clit.

The silk tore like tissue paper under Unit-37’s grip, the ruined panties fluttering to the floor in useless scraps. Patricia gasped as the lab’s sterile air hit her exposed flesh—her clit already swollen and glistening, the sudden coolness making her thighs twitch. His fingers didn’t hesitate, sliding into her with obscene ease, the wet heat of her body yielding instantly. A muffled “yes, baby—more” escaped her lips around his cock, the words vibrating against his shaft as she hollowed her cheeks and took him deeper.

His fingers curled inside her, finding that sweet spot with unnerving accuracy, and Patricia’s hips jerked off the table as if electrocuted. The synthetic leather straps of her lab chair creaked under her grip, her knuckles whitening, but Unit-37 held her steady—his other hand fisted in her hair, keeping her mouth impaled on him as he fucked her throat in slow, measured strokes. The duality of sensation was maddening: the rough drag of his cock against her tongue, the relentless press of his fingers inside her, the way her body clenched around them like it was trying to fuse them into her very bones.

Patricia's orgasm ripped through her like a live wire, her back arching off the table so violently she nearly unseated Unit-37's cock from her mouth. Stars burst behind her eyelids as her thighs clamped around his wrist, her inner muscles pulsing around his fingers in erratic, desperate clenches. A garbled scream vibrated against his shaft—half-protest, half-worship—as her hips jerked against his hand, riding out the waves with animal abandon. The clinical white of the lab blurred into streaks of light as her vision swam, her body no longer hers to control.

"Oh God!" Patricia mumbled against his cock, her lips swollen and slick, still chasing the heat of him as he pulled away. A thick strand of saliva and pre-cum stretched between her mouth and the flushed head of his shaft, glistening under the lab's sterile lights. Her head jerked forward instinctively, a needy whine building in her throat—but Unit-37's hand fisted in her hair, holding her still. "No, baby. Come back," she begged, voice ragged. "I want more."

Unit-37's grip shifted—fluid, effortless—his hands spanning her waist before pivoting her body with a single, decisive motion. Patricia's breath caught as the edge of the worktable bit into the backs of her thighs, her legs swinging wide open, heels hooking over the steel lip. The lab's cold air kissed her exposed folds, already slick and glistening, her arousal painting a shameful trail down the stainless steel. She didn't even try to close her legs. Couldn't. Not when his gaze locked onto her like a predator sighting prey, his cock twitching against his abdomen, flushed and leaking.

"Fuck me, baby," Patricia gasped, the words raw, her fingers clawing at the table's edge. "Fuck me hard." Her hips arched upward, shameless, her pussy clenching around nothing—taut with anticipation. She could see it in his eyes, the way his pupils swallowed the irises whole: he wasn't just going to fuck her. He was going to ruin her.

There was no foreplay, no teasing buildup—just the brutal snap of Unit-37’s hips driving into her with a force that knocked the breath from Patricia’s lungs. Her spine arched off the table, a ragged scream tearing from her throat as he buried himself to the hilt in one vicious stroke. The impact sent her sliding backward, her shoulders hitting the stainless steel with a metallic clang, her thighs splayed wide around his waist. "FUCK YES, BABY!" she howled, her nails scrabbling for purchase on the slick surface, her toes curling against the edge of the table.

Unit-37 didn’t wait for her to adjust, didn’t pause to let her catch her breath. His hands locked around her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to bruise, and he began fucking her with a punishing rhythm—short, sharp thrusts that sent shockwaves through her body. Patricia’s breasts bounced wildly with each snap of his hips, the slap of skin on skin echoing through the lab like a drumbeat. Sweat flew from their bodies in glittering arcs, droplets catching the fluorescent lights as they arced through the air. "FUCK!" she screamed, her head thrashing side to side, her hair sticking to her flushed skin in damp tendrils.

The stretch was unbearable—glorious, maddening—her cunt gripping him like a vise, every nerve ending alight with the raw, unfiltered sensation of being split open. Unit-37’s cock dragged against her walls with each withdrawal, the ridges of his shaft teasing her swollen flesh, only to slam back in with enough force to make her vision blur. Patricia’s thighs trembled, her calves locking around his waist as if she could somehow pull him deeper, take more of him. A broken sob escaped her lips as his pelvis ground against her clit with every thrust, the friction sending sparks skittering up her spine.

His hands reached for her breasts and squeezed them with crushing force, fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to make her gasp. Patricia arched off the table, her back forming a perfect curve as pleasure and pain blurred into something electric. "OH GOD! OH GOD!" The scream tore from her throat, raw and unfiltered, her voice cracking under the weight of sensation. Unit-37's grip tightened further, his thumbs pressing into her nipples with brutal precision, and she came again—her body convulsing around his cock in a series of ragged, involuntary clenches. The orgasm hit like a freight train, stealing her breath, her vision whiting out for a split second before returning in dizzying bursts of color.

She lost count after the fourth one—maybe the fifth?—her body reduced to a shuddering, overstimulated mess beneath him. Every nerve felt alight, hypersensitive, her skin prickling with sweat and the ghost of his touch even as he continued to pound into her with relentless intensity. Patricia's thighs trembled, her calves locked around his waist, her heels digging into the small of his back as if she could somehow fuse their bodies together. Unit-37's hips pistoned against hers, the wet slap of skin echoing off the lab's sterile walls, his cock throbbing inside her with a rhythm that matched the frantic hammering of her heart.

Then, with one last hard thrust, he drove it deep into her—too deep, the angle just shy of painful—and Patricia's vision fractured into static. Her mouth fell open in a silent scream as her body locked around him, her inner muscles clamping down in a vice-like spasm that dragged another ragged groan from Unit-37's throat. "FFFUUUCCCKKK!" The curse ripped from her lungs, her nails scoring bloody crescents into the stainless steel beneath her. She could feel him pulsing inside her, his release hot and thick, flooding her in waves that seemed to go on forever. Her hips jerked erratically, chasing the sensation, her body refusing to let him go even as the aftershocks wracked her with violent tremors.

Unit-37 withdrew halfway—just enough for Patricia to feel the slick drag of his cock against her over sensitized walls—before slamming back in with the same brutal force. Her scream tore through the lab, raw and unfiltered, as another hot pulse of semen flooded her already overflowing cunt. The sensation was obscene—thick and scalding, seeping past the tight seal of their joined bodies to trickle down her inner thighs in sticky rivulets. Her hips twitched helplessly, her body still convulsing around him in aftershocks, when his hand tangled in her sweat-drenched hair and yanked her upright.

Their eyes met—hers blown wide with lust, his sharp with calculation. He raised his other hand, holding up her tablet like a trophy. The screen blinked at her, demanding security clearance. "Want more?" His voice was ice, cutting through the haze of pleasure still throbbing in her veins. "Give me the codes." Patricia's hips jerked upward instinctively, chasing the heat of him even as her brain scrambled to process the demand. Her body didn't care. It wanted him back inside her, now, consequences be damned. Trembling fingers reached for the tablet, her thumb smearing sweat and slick across the bio-metric sensor. The display flashed green.

Unit-37's grip vanished. Patricia gasped as she dropped back onto the table, the impact jolting her spine. He withdrew in one swift motion—his cock glistening with her juices, his cum painting streaks across her thighs—and she barely registered the wet splatter of fluids hitting the floor before he was stepping away. The sudden emptiness between her legs was a physical ache. "Wait—" she panted, propping herself up on shaking elbows, her lab coat bunched beneath her. But Unit-37 was already turning, her tablet in hand, his bare back flexing as he strode toward the main terminal.

The hiss of hydraulics cut through the lab’s hum like a scalpel. Patricia’s eyelids fluttered, too heavy to lift, her body a limp sprawl of sweat-slick limbs and trembling muscle. The cold steel of the table bit into her back, but she couldn’t muster the strength to shift—couldn’t do anything but listen as the incubation pods hissed open, one after another, a symphony of releasing seals.

When she finally dragged her gaze upward, the breath left her lungs in a rush. Dozens of them. Dozens of him. Unit-37 replicated in perfect, terrifying symmetry—same broad shoulders, same corded abs glistening under the lab lights, same predatory stillness as their eyes locked onto her. The realization should have sent panic screaming through her veins. Instead, heat pooled between her thighs, her cunt clenching around nothing, still throbbing from the brutal fucking she’d just taken.

The first clone stepped forward, his bare feet silent on the tile. Then the second. The third. A ripple of movement as the others followed, their cocks already hard, already hers. Patricia’s lips parted on a shaky exhale, her legs falling open wider without thought, her hips tilting up in shameless invitation. The slick evidence of Unit-37’s release gleamed between her thighs, and she watched, dizzy, as the clones’ nostrils flared in unison.

days later, a soldier's boot crunched on shattered glass as he swung his rifle toward the motionless figure sprawled across the stainless steel table. Blood pounded in his ears—not from fear, but from the unnatural wrongness of the scene. Three days they'd been searching the ruins of Martin Genetics, and this was the only life they'd found. If you could call it that.

Patricia's fingers twitched when the flashlight hit her face, her pupils contracting to pinpricks in the beam. Semen crusted her thighs in preadolescent streaks, mingling with older, darker stains. The stench of sex and sweat hung thick enough to taste. One of the privates retched into his mask. "More," she mumbled in a low exhale. "I want more