The air in the lab was sterile, cold. It smelled of ozone and old coffee. The man, Dr. Alistair Finch, adjusted his glasses and stared at the swirling, violet-hued gas in the containment cylinder on his desk. His notes were a mess of frantic scribbles. Catalyst X-7, unstable, molecular bonding erratic.
He walked to the other side of the room, his shoes squeaking on the polished floor. “The prototype is the key,” he muttered to himself, running a hand through his thinning hair. “The bonding agent… it has to be the bonding agent.”
His stomach gurgled, a low, liquid rumble. He’d been living on instant noodles and caffeine for three days straight. He didn’t even pause his pacing. He just let it out.
Pffffffrrrrrrtttt.
A long, wet, ripping fart tore through the quiet of the lab. It wasn’t just air. It carried the distinct, sour scent of cheap beef broth and regret. He waved a hand behind him, grimacing. “Christ,” he mumbled.
He leaned over his terminal, typing furiously. “If I recalibrate the emitter to a lower frequency, the harmonic resonance might…” His theory was cut short by another internal shift. This one was deeper, a pressurized bubble fighting its way through his intestines.
BRAAAAAP.
This one was louder. Dryer. It echoed off the stainless-steel tables. A faint, shimmering haze seemed to linger in the air where the gas had been expelled. Alistair blinked. “What the hell?”
He felt a warmth spreading from his core, not unpleasant, but strange. A tingling that started in his gut and radiated outward. His skin prickled. “The gas… exposure?” he whispered, looking at the cylinder. A tiny, almost invisible leak hissed from a valve.
The warmth became a heat. A pleasurable, pooling heat in his lower abdomen. His cock, soft and ignored in his trousers, began to stir. A thick, heavy fullness began to build there. Oh fuck, he thought, not with fear, but with a dawning, bizarre curiosity. He moaned, a low, involuntary sound. “Mmmnngh…”
Another pressure built, different this time. Not in his bowels, but behind them. In his prostate. It swelled, aching, begging for release. He clenched, and another fart escaped.
Plooooorp.
This one was wet. Squelchy. It left a damp spot on his lab pants. The gas that came out wasn’t clear. It had a faint, pinkish tinge to it. The heat in his groin intensified. His cock was fully hard now, a rigid length straining against his fly. He palmed himself through the fabric, groaning. “Fuck, that’s… it’s good.”
He talked through gritted teeth, his voice dropping an octave. “The X-7… it’s not a catalyst. It’s a transmutative agent. Reacting with… with gut biomes…” He was panting. He couldn’t stop touching himself, rubbing his thick shaft through his pants. Pre-cum soaked the cotton, a dark, wet patch.
The need to fart was constant now, a delicious, building pressure that was directly linked to the throbbing in his cock. He didn’t fight it. He pushed.
Frrrrrrrrrrrt-BRAAAAAP!
A dual-toned eruption. The gas burst from him in a visible cloud this time, a deep, rosy red. It smelled like candied apples and musk. He cried out, his back arching. “Ah! Fuck! Yes!”
He kept going. He braced his hands on the table, spread his legs, and bore down.
Pffft. Poot. Braaaawk. Sploosh.
Each expulsion was wetter, louder, more colorful. Crimson, then scarlet, then a vibrant, glowing magenta. With each gaseous release, a wave of electric pleasure shot from his asshole to the tip of his dick. His mind was unraveling. Memories that weren’t his flooded in—whispers of a smiling yellow creature, a factory, a longing for a toy… a prototype.
“I… I need to find it,” he slurred, his voice now a smooth, deep purr. “The prototype. It’s calling.”
His body was shifting. His spine crackled, curving. Tawny fur sprouted from his skin, covering his arms, his chest. His face elongated into a muzzle, his ears pulling up into pointed tufts. His lab coat tore as his body expanded, becoming lithe, powerful. The last of Dr. Alistair Finch’s humanity was expelled in one final, monumental fart.
PPPRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWP!
It was a thunderclap of sound, a torrent of shimmering, red-colored gas that filled the room. Where the man had stood now crouched CatNap. The large, purple creature shook his head, his wide, glassy eyes blinking slowly. He stretched, a long, luxurious movement, and a soft, rumbling purr vibrated in his chest.
He looked down at his new body. His massive, furry paws. The thick, fluffy tail. And between his legs, now fully exposed by his new form, was his cock. It was immense. A thick, animalistic shaft of deep purple, veined and heavy, tipped with a broad, leaking crimson head. It jutted out from a sheath nestled in tawny fur, already fully erect and dripping strings of sticky pre-cum onto the floor.
“The prototype,” CatNap purred, his voice a velvety rumble. He took a step, his movements silent and graceful. Another gaseous release bubbled out of him, unbidden.
Pfrrrrrp.
A small, scented cloud of red gas. It smelled of lavender and warm milk. The sensation made his huge cock twitch, a fresh bead of pre-cum welling up and dripping down the shaft. Mmm. That’s the good stuff. The pleasure was constant now, a low hum centered in his swollen prostate and his aching, needy dick.
He needed more. He needed to fuck. The thought of the prototype was intertwined with a deep, carnal hunger. He would find it. And he would fill the air with his gas, and fill… something else with his cock. The specifics were fuzzy, but the need was crystal clear.
He padded towards the lab door, his heavy cock swinging with each step, leaving a glistening trail on the tiles. He paused at the threshold, his haunches tensing. A deep, gurgling pressure built within him, far greater than before. It wasn’t just in his bowels. It felt like his very essence was condensing, ready to be unleashed.
He bent his knees slightly, tail held high, and let it rip.
BBBBBBBBBRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWP!
The fart was a concussive blast of pure, vibrant red gas. It shot out in a continuous, roaring jet, propelling him forward slightly with its force. The room vanished behind a fog of crimson. The pleasure was blinding. It raced up his spine, exploded in his brain, and concentrated in a white-hot point at the base of his cock.
“OOOOHHHHH YESSSS! FUCK! FUCKING GAS! FUCKING… AAAAGGGHHH!” he roared, his purr breaking into a ragged, open-mouthed scream of ecstasy. His huge purple balls tightened, drawing up. His cock pulsed violently, the thick veins standing out like ropes. He was right on the edge, his orgasm a trembling promise held back only by the continued, roaring expulsion of gas.
The red cloud began to thin. The jet subsided to a steady, rumbling prrrrrrrrt. CatNap panted, drool dripping from his maw, his giant cock throbbing with unmet need. He was close. So fucking close. He needed release. He needed to find the prototype now.