Raunchy Secret Lab Tales

Private Evans felt out of place as he stood in line, at attention, with ten other privates. He didn't feel this way because he was noticeably scrawnier than the other strapping men, which were to a man nearly perfect specimens of six foot tall, lean mean American fighting muscle primed to strangle a Nazi if it came to that. Private Evans was used to being the smallest and weakest among men, but that did not hamper his determination to fight facism on the very furthest forward of the front lines. Indeed, what made him feel out of place was that he, like the other men, was standing at perfect attention in only his G.I. briefs. And the fact of the place itself.

The soldiers stood in formation along the exposed rock wall of a subterranean laboratory. Directly in front of them was the shaft for the long elevator to the surface. The lab itself was filled with all manner of scientific equipment, such as the large bulbous machine fixed with pressure valves and gauges at odd places and angles and a heavy reinforced seam down the center, and other instruments with panels of knobs and switches and meters, and an electrographic telepathy translator with a shiny chrome microphone that looked like it belonged in a radioplay studio. However, they did not have long to let their eyes roam over the lab before their attention was drawn to the noisy, precarious sounding rumble emanating from the elevator.

When the doors opened in a cloud of steam, the soldiers uniformly narrowed their attention to focus on only one of the occupants who stepped forth. It was not Dr. Grimes, despite the self-serious attempt at a commanding aspect with which he carried himself. Rather, all eyes were instantly fixated upon the second form that emerged through the lift's dissipating fog. And what a form it was...

Prof. Hatwell possessed a body that any man would have thought beyond the bounds of nature. Yet here they were, witness to the impossible swell of her hips, the way they seemed to imply swaying even after she came to a stop, the improbable narrowness of her waist, and the incomprehensibly gigantic expanse of her bosom. Adding to the impact of these physical proportions was the way they strained against the seams of the Professor's regulation issue British women's military uniform, which itself had somehow been encased in a pure white lab coat whose threads and buttons defied physics in a way that could only be attributed to... Mad Science.

Despite the effect that the incredibly curvy Professor, and apparently officer, had on each man who had been ordered there to the lab, only one Private displayed that effect physically.

Private Evans' briefs quickly tented as he swelled to erection. Even though he only stood a little over five feet, five inches tall and his fail frame only weighed out to 132 pounds, the diminutive eighteen year old recruit could be proud to boast an erection that was nearly an inch longer than the average guy's. And it was quite thick to boot.

Private Evans noticed as some snickers rippled through the rest of the lineup of men. Some of those men noticed the subtle upturning of Prof. Hatwell's lips as her gaze fell on the aroused Private. Only one person present in the lab noticed a sensor on the electrographic telepathy translator silently tick all the way to the red. That was Prof. Hatwell, few things escaped her attention.

Dr. Grimes cleared his throat in an attempt to bring the eleven assembled soldiers back to a straight-spined attention as rigid as Private Evans'... well, good little soldier.

"Men, you have been brought here as part of an important mission..." Just as Dr. Grimes began to address the nearly naked soldiers he was interrupted by Prof. Hatwell.

She leaned close to his ear and whispered. In doing so it was impossible for her to avoid squishing her breasts against the elderly doctor's upper arm. Every man, even the Doctor himself, quivered once at witnessing the moment of contact of the woman's amazing body with that of another, through many layers of lab coats, uniforms, and tweed blazers as it was. For her part, as she whispered and molded her tightly encased flesh into her colleague's shoulder, Prof. Hatwell continued to look directly at Private Evans. When she drew away, Dr. Grimes cleared his throat once more, though much less convincingly.

"Right, well... uh-hum..." Dr. Grimes continued to try to regain his composure. "Uh, Private Evans, please step forward. Go ahead. Three steps. Yes. That's it."

Private Evans hesitated to respond at first. He had begun by feeling out of place, then with the appearance of his quite prominent erection he had begun to feel understandably more than a little self-conscious. Now that he was being singled out he felt utterly exposed, briefs or not. This caused his knees to shake and his swollen organ to deflate significantly, though not completely. Dr. Grimes looked him over, then turned Prof. Hatwell, then scanned the line of soldiers who remained in the formation, before his eyes again settled briefly back on Private Evans. The recruit cut the figure of a sunken-chested pencil-neck. If he had been wearing his regulation uniform, which he normally did for the desk duty to which, much to his chagrin, he'd been assigned immediately out of training, it would have hung as loosely on his meager frame as on a coat rack.

"Are you sure we shouldn't at least..." Dr. Grimes turned to the Professor with an imploring look as he spoke. She leaned in to his ear again and began whispering, not letting Dr. Grimes get a full word in edgewise as he tried to respond, "Wouldn't... ...prowess... ...finer specimens... ...given the dangers of the procedure... ...unknown outcomes... ...Okay... okay, okay."

Prof Hatwell again drew away from the doctor's ear. This time she inhaled a triumphant breath which filled her lungs and caused her chest to expand. That a button on her uniform or lab coat did not at last surrender its grip can only be a miracle. Again the men quivered. And again the little needle on electrographic telepathy translator ticked to the red just as Private Evans again swelled to full attention. Upon observing this, Prof. Hatwell again made eye contact with the puny Private. However, this time she gave the quickest of winks and allowed the most devastating, if tight lipped, smile spread across her face.

Meanwhile, Dr. Grimes took a deep breath of his own and was able to regain something like his normal composure. "Private Evans, please remain where you are," he said. "As for the rest of you, men, you are, I guess..." he hesitated a moment. "Well, before you are dismissed I am supposed to remind you that everything you witnessed here today is highly classified. This mission is vital to beating back the fascists, and your ability to keep its secret is vital to the mission's success. You can wait again in the storage room, where your commander will debrief you and provide you with blindfolds so you can be escorted from this facility. It's location can never be revealed. Remember, secrecy. Though your part in this aspect of the mission seems to be, uh, small... You've only been here for a few minutes. But, you have no doubt witnessed things which may have seemed a marvel, or for which you will be left with a certain kind of longing... for... I mean..."

Again the doctor lost his composure as Prof. Hatwell, good little British officer as her poorly fitting uniform revealed her to be, flicked her luxurious chestnut locks from her shoulder and gave the slightest, yet undeniable wiggle of her ample hips as if that were necessary for coming to attention for the Doctor's speech.

"Men. It's the fate of the free world, men." Dr. Grimes searched for the words to bring this assembly to a merciful close. "Not a word, is what I'm saying. You will be given cover stories, some nonsense orders that you were given, typical Army sorts of things. Stick to that. Now, you are dismissed." He turned to Private Evans. "That's right, you stay. Your cover story is about to get a lot more complicated."

The soldiers filed through the reinforced steel double doors covering the passageway which had been carved into the solid rock of the cave wall to connect to the smaller, mostly empty cavern which Dr. Grimes had referred to as the storage room.

Once the ten, nearly perfect physical representations of the male form had made their exit, only the tender looking, slowly deflating erection notwithstanding, Private Evans, Dr. Grimes, and Prof. Hatwell and her devilishly round hips and her profoundly robust, stitch-stressing breasts remained in the cave's laboratory. Dr. Grimes turned to his colleague as if to say something but she brushed right past him.

Private Evans would have had to raise his eyes to meet Prof. Hatwell's even if she were in her bare feet. But at sixty-eight inches without anything on her feet, the shoes she was wearing at that moment, which judging by the nearly stiletto length of their heel were not standard issue for women in the British service, caused the buxom scientist to tower over the Private. In fact, as she came to stand directly in front of him, Private Evans was at eye-level with her massive chest.

"Dear me," she said, her particular British accent immediately identifiable as lady-like while the tone of her voice betrayed no trace of frivolity and every bit of confidence. "You will do just nicely."

Private Evans found it difficult to focus on anything. Of course there was the truly euphoric fantasy inspiring huge bust on the verge of smushing into his face because she was standing so close. But there was also the fact that he had no idea where he was, and there was uncertainty of what could possibly happen next. The Professor wasted no time in beginning to answer some of that uncertainty when she turned from him and began walking toward the large bulbous machine. She spoke to Dr. Grimes as she crossed the lab while simultaneously, and very self consciously, giving the young recruit his first glimpse of the overly ripe tomato that was her bottom. Never had a skirt been such a testament to the heroic skills of the textile mill workers and their sturdy fabrics.

"I don't see any reason to delay initializing the procedure," she said. "Do you?"

"Right now?" The Doctor offered in flaccid protest.

"There is a war to win, Doctor." Prof. Hatwell fixed the Doctor in her gaze and pursed her lips in a way that would steal any man's tongue. After allowing a moment to prove that he could make no further utterance, she continued, somewhat drolly, "Time is of the essence."

Private Evans remained mute through all of this. He watched as she began twisting knobs and pressing buttons on the machine. Suddenly steam burst from one of its askew valves and the seam in the front of the machine creaked open. Light emerged from within the machine as it opened. Once it had opened completely, it was revealed that the inside of the machine was hollow, with just enough space to accommodate a person, almost like a mechanical coffin, or a pod, or a kind of techno-chrysalis. For once, the Private was able to tear his eyes completely away from the curvaceous Professor as he stared wide-eyed into the gaping maw of the machine. In fact he was so taken by the wonder and potential horror of the scientific creation that he did not notice Prof. Hatwell motion for him to come forward.

"Private Evans," the Professor scolded. "Time is of the essence. Now, come forward and step into the machine."

Private Evans swallowed hard.

"Come. The machine is designed to be..." Prof. Hatwell paused to briefly regard the instrumentation which she had just manipulated on the machine. "Safe. This is your chance to be a hero."

The Private clenched his jaw and marched as confidently as he could to the machine.

"Step right in," the Professor guided him.

Private Evans followed orders. Once he was in the machine he finally spoke, "What should I do?"

"Just relax, and let science take its course" Professor Hatwell replied. She then took a step toward Private Evans and leaned in, not as close as she had to Dr. Grimes, but close enough that only he could hear. "I think you're going to like it."

And with that she reached around to the control panel and pushed a button. More steam filled the lab, seemingly from every direction. From somewhere, deep inside the rock from which this cave was formed, a turbine could just barely be heard beginning to spin wildly. The doors of the machine closed, much faster than they had opened, and banged shut. Prof. Hatwell looked to her colleague and raised an eyebrow. Absent the ridiculous sex appeal which the proportions of her body bestowed upon her, the Professor would still be a striking beauty of the sort that would raise the heartrate of even the coolest customer. She pressed another button on the machine. The lights hanging by thick chains from the cave's craggy, vaulted roof flickered. Sparks shot into the air where wires connected to electrodes. Prof. Hatwell twisted a big dial in the center of the control panel. Every needle in every gauge went fully into the red.

Dr. Grimes looked on with an expression the mixture of fear and boyish anticipation.

And at once, everything went dark save for an ominous, almost radioactive-looking glow which came from the belly of the bulbous machine. The belly that contained the wimpy young Private. Neither the Professor nor the Doctor breathed. And the darkness of the cave ate any sound before it could reach their ears. Then a single spark, from some random electrode, shot into the darkness and, as improbable as it seems, ignited power back into the laboratory's equipment.

With light restored, the Professor wasted no time in pressing the series of buttons and twisting the appropriate knobs in order to open the machine. As the doors began the slow process of creaking open, an immense amount of steam began to pour forth from inside. It continued to do so even after the door had opened all the way. Because of the constantly increasing volume of steam filling the laboratory cave, the Doctor came close to where Prof. Hatwell stood to try to get a closer look into the machine.

Once the air inside the machine's chamber had cleared enough, both the Professor and the Doctor gasped at what they saw.

Private Evans' skin glistened. He drew deep breaths in an attempt to steady himself. His tiny frame, unchanged from the effect of the machine, shivered. However, this tiny, convulsive movement was enough to send his now giant, meaty cock and nearly fist-sized balls ripping through his briefs. This both left him totally exposed to the two scientists and no doubt to anyone what the effect of the machine had been.

Prof. Hatwell said nothing but went directly up to the Private in the machine. Had she come two inches closer her breasts would have pinned his head against the inside of the chamber. Then, sucking in breath as she did, Prof. Hatwell slowly but gracefully dropped to her knees in front of the suddenly impossibly hung eighteen year old soldier. She reached a single finger up as if to touch the veiny, wrinkled, downright enormous shaft of soft flesh dangling before her face. At the last moment she thought better of it and dropped her hand.

"Success," she breathed.

Even in his woosy state, the situation was too much for Private Evans. Maybe he genuinely thought he was dreaming. In any case, it would be hard to fault him for becoming aroused under the circumstances, especially given his already singular ability to do so among the men who had been assembled that day.

Given their proximity, the Private's private was going to come into contact with the Professor's body even if the chamber did allow him more room to wiggle. As it was, his cock came into contact with a lot of her body. It lengthened to reach down to the swell of her chest, dragged up her throat and over the side of her jaw, and would have stood out straight past the side of her head if she had not tilted back to allow his rampantly hard, thick enough to wear a watch, and massively long erection extend all the way along the length of her head.

Professor Hatwell nuzzled one cheek against it and looked up into the dazed Privates's eyes. "You don't know what a big success you are." She reached up and cradled his massive erection with one hand while she slid her face up and down his cock. "Bigger than I ever dreamed," she said.

Dr. Grimes stood over her shoulder, flabbergasted. "Professor Hatwell," he said, imploringly.

"Right... Doc... tor...," she said, pausing between each syllable to playfully tease Private Evans' cock with her lips. "Find a ruler. We need to start documenting these results."

While the Doctor frantically searched the entire lab for a ruler, Prof. Hatwell continued to rub her face and kiss all over the Private's massive erection, and now using both hands she also began to stroke him and fondle his balls, hefting one gonad at a time in her palms. She moaned with a pleasure that might not have been known until that moment.

"I can't find a single ruler. I'm sure we must have had one." The Doctor had made his way to the far side of the lab and found nothing.

"At least bring a beaker," Prof. Hatwell said, somehow reattaining her confident tone from before. "We need data, and I don't want to get any of his ejaculate on me." She said this despite the fact that the giant penis she had been handling had begun to produce a steady stream precum which had already managed to coat the curvy scientist's face, from her forehead to the gobs of seminal fluid hanging obscenely and precariously off her chin.

Doctor Grimes came to the Professor's side. He held the beaker he had retrieved in both hands at about chest level as he stood and looked down. He watched on as his voluptuous colleague was on her knees on the verge of giving an outright blowjob to the now scientifically blessed stud in a dweebs body. "Professor, there must be some other way," he said.

"No. I've been practicing for this," insisted Prof. Hatwell, still interrupting herself to continue kissing and dragging her lips along the sides of the Private's cock even as she spoke.

The Doctor could not look away as the woman to whom he'd been assigned to 'get in line' now committed to giving a full blowjob to the young American service member. A dumb enlisted teen who had unwittingly been commanded to have his body, and life, irrevocably altered. The Professor had used Dr. Grimes to help put her crackpot scheme in motion and ultimately build this secret laboratory and crazy machine. She had manipulated him. And even when he knew that she was doing it, he couldn't stop her, or himself. He had to admit to himself though, she did appear to give exceptionally good head.

Whether Private Evans remained groggy from the machine or had transitioned to being so from the surely blissful sensation of having such an incredibly sexy woman, still and forever seeming to spill out of her uniform and lab coat yet at the same time always too tightly contained by them, giving the most expert oral ministrations to a penis that will be remembered by history, and that penis being his penis. The only sense that was able to break through what he was experiencing was that everything, all of the good feelings spinning and fizzing through his cock and balls and body were intensifying and closing down to a single, ultimate sensation of bliss.

Prof. Hatwell stopped sucking and stroked his cock with one hand. She had been going at it for nearly thirty minutes and her face had a dreamy quality that still shined through the mess of pre-cum and slobber that coated it. "Hand me the beaker," she said.

From the Private's vantage, he looked down to see the top of the professor's head, her hair was flecked with the seminal fluid which he continued to discharge without remorse. He could also see that her lab coat, which had been pure and white before, was soaked with the mixture of his thick oozing spunk and her burbling saliva. He could not really believe the way his eyes perceived the blurring of one of the Professor's hands over his cock. And that says nothing for the way it somehow simultaneously guided the tip at the end of the mighty shaft to stay in contact with the beaker held forth by her other hand. Ultimately what sent him over the edge into orgasm was when she leaned forward to give his cockhead a quick but passion filled kiss and a look that read somewhere between 'can you believe this?' and 'I know, right?'