"You want this."
The turtle groans groans, twisting desperately in his restraints as the breath comes hot and heavy in his chest. A hand brushes across his crotch and he lets a desperate churr, his desire thick and heavy in the air.
"Fascinating," the man in the suit says, clucking his tongue as he traces a finger up a trembling green thigh. "You're responding very well." He casually reaches up to unbutton his suit, exposing the rippling planes of his glorious body.
A fresh whine comes from the turtle's throat and he blushes, even while his muscles strain every harder to reach out, to touch. His owner is so big and strong, so beautiful. Then there's a massive cock brushing over his face and oh, the smell. He sucks in a breath, frantically lapping at the tip.
Agent Bishop chuckles, reaching out to squeeze the turtle's cheeks together. "Fascinating," he says. "You really are just a stupid little whore now, aren't you?" He nods as best he can; anything to get that perfect cock inside of him.
"Do you even know your name?" Bishop asks tenderly. He shakes his head now, and maybe that should bother him, but it doesn't because the feel of Bishop's skin on his makes his heart sing.
Bishop laughs some more. He has such a pretty laugh. It makes the turtle even harder just thinking about it, and he can't remember a good reason to keep his cock in his shell, so he drops down.
"Now this is very interesting," Bishop muses as they watch his purple cock emerge, flaring out into soft petals. He runs a finger across the side and the turtle cries out, eyes rolling with pleasure as he spasms and shakes.
As the stream of cum dies down the turtle comes back to see Bishop staring down at him and for a moment he tenses, caught off guard. Did he do something wrong? But then his owner smiles, a razor-edged smile that gleams so prettily.
"I suppose I'll just have to adjust the dose to compensate for oversensitivity," he says thoughtfully. "But that doesn't mean we can't have some fun in the meantime." And the turtle knows that everything's all right.
He watches Bishop slick his strong, callused fingers with something from a bottle and then he's being opened up. It's fast and rough, sloppy, almost painful, but he loves it so much. By the time Bishop fits his dick inside he's already on his way to a second orgasm.
His owner fucks him fast and hard, fingers digging into the turtle's shoulders. It's the most brutal kind of heaven and he's crazy for it, gasping and wailing and thrusting his hips like a goddamn porn star. He wants to be perfect for his owners, wants to share all the wonderful feelings swirling in his veins.
Words flow from Bishop's lips, like bitch, whore, slut, a ragged mess of tangled syllables. The turtle doesn't even remember what half of those words mean, but the idea of his owner addressing him in any way means he's doing something right.
The turtle comes again, and again, and again, until he's slick with his own cum. He orgasms until it starts to hurt, starts to burn, but it's still so good, so he keeps orgasming even as tears start to trickle in his eyes.
Bishop has a monstrous stamina, pounding away like he doesn't notice the sweat slicking their bodies, the way blood stains his fingers from where they scrape at green scales. He goes so deep and hard the turtle thinks it might tear, and he knows he'd orgasm anyway.
"Look--look at you," his owner whispers, voice rasp. "A ruined, f-- fucked -out bitch." He grabs the turtle's throat, dragging sharp nails down his neck. "Maybe the other cretins will rescue you, but it's too late, is it? I'll live inside you  until the day you die."
The turtle smiles at that, because the idea of his owner being with him forever sounds pretty good. Agent Bishop rolls his eyes and smacks him; the pulsing, pleasure-torn mass that is his brain flares with joy.
He's still smiling when his owner finishes, letting out a roar of triumph as he comes. The sensation brings the turtle to yet another orgasm, and this one hurts so bad his churr sounds more like a sob.
And yet never felt so loved. Because this is love, right? It must be love.
Bishop pulls out with a soft squelch and walks away, muttering to himself about initial findings and semen collection. The turtle is left shivering on the lab table, staring up into the painfully bright light, trying to remember how to breathe.