"Yes," someone says, drawing out the yes in a way that doesn't sound very positive at all, "But are you absolutely sure it works?"
He's on his knees, legs pressed together because you're a slave, not a student, they'd told him. Whatever that means. But somehow it leads into there being a certain way for him to kneel. And he likes certain ways. They help add a touch of order to a life that doesn't seem to make a lot of sense.
The people over his head are talking, saying how sure they are, it'll do anything you want, and would you like to test it? It takes a few seconds for him to realize he's the it they're talking about. He doesn't know how he feels about that.
A low huff. "Very well, then. Turtle, come here."
He starts to rise to his feet, but he's cut off by a low chuckle. "No, no. Crawl."
And he stiffens because he doesn't--he doesn't know--he looks down at his green hands and the curve of his plastron and the idea of lowering himself to the level of a real animal feels so wrong--
A disdainful sniff. "I knew it wouldn't work." His gut twists at the words, at the idea of messing up (he's hated messing up, always has). He grits his teeth and starts to crawl.
"Well," and the approval in that voice wraps him in soothing warmth. "This is very interesting. Very interesting indeed. Come closer."
So he comes closer, and closer, until his hands brush against two feet planted solidly at the ground. He comes to a halt, wincing as a cool hand wraps around his bruised chin and yanks him up to face unblinking eyes.
"I have to admit," that steady voice says, now sounding like he's trying to contain his own excitement. "It looks very impressive." Fingers slide down to grip his throat, just tight enough to hurt. He swallows hard, and there's laughter.
And....rustling. He hears soft gasps, and then there's--there's a cock brushing over his face. He stiffens, lurching backward, and hears more laughter. A hand grabs the back of his head and he goes still, because he's not allowed to fight.
"Hmm." The cock nudges at his lips and he tries to twist away. A sigh. "Open up, boy. I don't have all day."
He really, really doesn't want to open up. But...but the idea of being a disappointment. It burns him up, leaves him weak and frightened and unable to resist.
It's like his mouth opens on its own. The cock slides inside, warm and wet and heavy on his tongue. He sucks in a breath through his nose, trying to keep it from sliding back down his throat, frantically sucking at it just to get a bit more control.
"That's it." He's patted on the head, and it's cruel and condescending and so nice that he just has to suck harder. A low moan. "Oh, look at you. T-those idiots really didn't have to do much, did they? You've always wanted to obey, deep down."
That feels wrong, somehow, but so much of his world does and it's not like he has any idea what right is supposed to look like, or what he would do if he found it. So he shoves it away and keeps sucking, hollowing his cheeks or bobbing his head when he's told to.
He's got a little bulge in his own slit by the time his master pulls out and comes with a gonna, splattering his face and chest. The feeling is sticky and uncomfortable, but he keeps his head high, because something tells him that's what his master wants.
"Did it get you hard, slut?" He nods, because he wants to be polite and answer questions honestly. "Do you want to touch yourself?" He blinks, then shrugs, because he kind of does and kind of doesn't, but really it doesn't matter because want doesn't come into play for creatures like him.
"Good boy. You learn well." And his head is going light with how happy those few words make him.
His master looks away, addressing the watching scientists as he puts his cock away. "Well, it looks like you haven't managed to make a mess of this yet." They bob their heads like dolls, still looking a little shocked.
And a little hungry, too, if he's being honest, like they hadn't yet realized the true potential of what they've done. He looks away quickly, hoping he won't be sent back to them.
He's not. Instead his Master smiles down on him, warm and kind. "You can come now, little one," he says gently. "But no hands--I want you to rub that greedy little cock of yours off on the floor."
He smiles back, because he's getting a reward, which means that Master is proud. And everything else--the muffled screams at the back of his head or the way that the come on his face feels just a bit like it's burning or the shaking in his heads as they press against the tile--is burnt away by light of Master's pride.
So he humps the floor, churring and purring like a little cat, looking up with big pleading eyes. His master murmurs yes, the real kind of yes, and that's enough to make him come with a wail of pure bliss.