Testosterone-X Ch. 01

A/N: This story contains semi-frequent use of needles and doctors as the main character injects testosterone to medically transition from female to male. There is very much a medical theme to this story, as well as transformation, drugging, piercing, and dubious consent to injections and sex later on. If this is not your thing, I recommend going back now. You have been warned.

The injections came weekly. When the trials had begun, Wren worried he would have to stab himself with a needle, like he had seen online. His worries were unfounded though, as the scientists in charge of the experiment preferred to have doctors perform the injections.

Wren was bent over the table for the twelfth week in a row, feeling cold nitrile gloves rub an alcohol pad over a section of his ass cheek. Then, with little warning, a sudden pinch as the needle was inserted. He gasped, but grit his teeth and clenched his eyes through the odd sensation of being penetrated by the sharp object. He did not expect to ever get used to that feeling, though he bore it as well as he could.

When the needle retreated and a bandage was spread over the injection site, he was allowed to pull up his pants and shuffle out the door to let the next person in.

Wren had signed up for a medical trial to test the effects of a potentially very potent hormone replacement therapy; Testosterone-X, the scientists had called it. His insurance had been denying coverage, and he couldn't afford to pay for regular treatment out of pocket, so he found this to be the next best option.

He, along with about two hundred others, had been brought into a large facility, where they would be housed and fed for the two-year study of the effects. It was only month three, but already Wren was seeing the effects of his weekly doses.

In addition to being sweatier and hungrier, and much hornier, he had noticed a fair bit of bottom growth. This in particular interested the doctors, who measured him now weekly. He was able to watch as he grew, centimeter by centimeter over the last month. That was the benefit of this new hormone-- they claimed it was much more effective than current testosterone, able to stimulate the body to change faster, and possibly further than ever before. He was willing to deal with daily showers to keep getting these results.

Wren was to go back to his room and rest for an hour after his injection. He entered the small cube that made up his living space, lined with generic furniture and decorated sparsely. He had been allowed to bring a few things in with him, namely his clothes and books, and little else. The room reminded him of a college dorm, dead and lifeless before students moved in to make it their own.

He certainly felt like he was in college again, going to the dining hall at the scheduled meal times, being able to walk to any of his friends-- which he did not have many of-- but spending his time mostly in his room. That didn't bother him much. He was happy to be in his own company.

He stripped down in front of the full-length mirror on his wardrobe door. He was able to look at himself daily and see the changes brought on by each injection. The fat redistribution had come first, his hips slimming but his thighs and belly taking more weight. Not that he had been particularly big in the first place; weighing only 150lbs at 5'5, but his body felt better aligned, less curves than there had been previously.

Wren reached down and pulled aside the hairy lips that hid his clit. It had swollen recently, small but thicker and growing longer each week. He had to admit it was sensitive and sore most days, but when he found the time, he would play with it, stroke it like he'd always dreamed of.

He smiled as he took in the sight. He was feeling more like himself each day he spent at the facility. Even the weird, silent doctors couldn't keep him from feeling joy as he became who he was meant to be.

He was hot, Wren thought to himself. His sparsely bearded jaw was straighter and stronger, and his now masculine body had a confidence he had not felt in years.

That sent a spark of desire through him. He bit his lip as he began to rub two fingers along the hood of his clit. It twitched in response, pink flesh pumping full of blood the moment it got attention. He could see himself growing in the mirror. His little dick was suddenly hard and aching. He was supposed to rest, but...

Surely the doctors would not mind him having a little personal fun before dinner.

Wren took one of the crisp, cotton-covered pillows from his bed and set it in front of the mirror. He looked up, his dark eyes peering through black hair as he straddled the pillow. His hole was already wet, the moisture gathering between his lips.

He had dreamed of this for years, being able to fuck like a man, put his dick against something and rut, and when he started to move the pleasure nearly knocked him over. His hips rolled against the cotton, its dry fibers catching on his skin, but he did not care. It just felt so good.

He gripped the white pillowcase in one hand, the other pulling back his lips to give his dick more stimulation. The little clit throbbed, urging him to hump harder.

Wren's long, patient thrusts devolved. He curled over himself, hips fucking forward in a desperate rhythm. He panted and whined. His fists curled in the fabric and he pushed down hard, holding his pillow in place to take the hard thrusts he gave into its plush surface.

He felt powerful. It was amazing to just rub himself, hard and aching, against the softest thing he could find. He was leaving a trail on the pillowcase, his pussy dripping.

His thighs shook and he moaned. His little dick was so sensitive, so hard, he couldn't hold back any longer.

His end came with a punched-out gasp for air and a high groan. Wren pressed himself tight to the pillow as he made a mess of its cover. He shivered when his clit became overly sensitive once again, and he was forced to pull away. His slick stained the white fabric, soaking into it and sticking to his thighs when he fell back off of the pillow.

He would need to throw that in the laundry bin and request a new pillow tonight.

It took a moment for him to recover and find the strength to stand. He was soaked, his hole just as eager as his dick whenever he put his fingers between his legs. He used a dry portion of the pillowcase to wipe off his excess, then flopped onto his bed, panting.

A sheen of sweat had gathered under his armpits and on his chest. He'd shower before dinner, but for now, he lay in the warmth of his afterglow. His tender clit still throbbed and pricked up between his lips. He resisted the urge to rub it again, get himself off a second time despite the pain he knew it would bring.

He spent the rest of his time before his next meal kicking his legs and wandering around, looking at his naked body in the mirror. When the bell rang at six o'clock to call him to dinner, he dressed himself in the clothes he'd worn to his injection once more and made his way down the hall, joined by the others in his section.

He noticed a few were absent, and wondered briefly if they'd already gone to the dining hall.

There were fewer people in the room, and some of the seats were now empty, but no one mentioned why. Wren wondered if they had dropped from the study, and shook his head silently as he ate with his friends. He would stay as long as they would let him.

His next month and a half were spent in much the same manner. He would receive his weekly dose, check himself out in the mirror, and then get incredibly aroused and hump whatever crossed his path first. Sometimes it was the corner of his bed, sometimes his pillow, and sometimes he even found himself on the corner of his desk, letting the smooth wood grow slick with his juices.

That part of the routine leaked into other days as well. It was only two weeks before he was finding something to rub against morning and night, every day. Even standing in line waiting to get his breakfast tray, he had to ignore the pressing need to rub the front of his underwear. When he felt daring enough, he would let one hand drift to his lap while he ate, when no one was paying attention. He could never really get off there, but his fingers between his legs soothed the ache some.