Weapon 356
by TMax
Copyright© 2026 by TMax
Science Fiction Sex Story: Genetically perfect, highly capable, and designated as Weapon 356. A super-soldier trainee who wants to do a good job. But in a dystopian facility where "recycling" is the penalty for stepping out of line, she’ll have to push her engineered body to the absolute limit just to stay alive. Warning: Beastiality, dehumanization/objectification, abuse of power/instutional abuse, implied death, body horror, psychological stress
Caution: This Science Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Mult Coercion Reluctant Slavery Horror Superhero Science Fiction DomSub MaleDom Rough Sadistic Gang Bang Group Sex Orgy Anal Sex Bestiality Cream Pie Double Penetration Exhibitionism First Fisting Masturbation Oral Sex Big Breasts Public Sex .
Day 2
A short, bald man sits hunched in a metal chair. Smooth chin, narrow, small eyes, with no eyebrows. He has a large nose and dirty fingernails.
A busty blond naked woman towers over him. Beautiful with a diamond face, high cheekbones, large eyes, and a button nose. Above her, fluorescent lights buzz.
He stares at his clipboard before he looks up at her breasts. His gaze fails to move higher as he asks, “How are you doing today?”
“Today is great,” she says, and smiles. She stands erect, rigid.
“I didn’t like yesterday.” Her frown casts a shadow across the room like a cloud in front of the sun.
“Tell me about yesterday.”
The man shifts in his chair, obvious to the other observers that he needs to adjust the position of his erection.
“I spent the day sitting in a classroom. Quiet, to learn. I wanted to move. I wanted to talk. I wanted to use this wondrous body, but I wasn’t allowed to use it.”
The naked girl widens her stance, shifts onto her left leg, leans forward, and tentatively moves to a horizontal position, balances on her foot, her other leg bent towards the ceiling, arms wide, and heavy breasts hung towards the dirty floor. Her left leg muscles twitch as she holds the pose longer than a man expects.
“That is just cruel. I have this wonderful voice, but I was not allowed to talk,” she sings, quiet, sad, like a country singer worried about their dog. With small pauses, as if to assess the situation, she moves back to her tall position.
His mouth hangs open as his fingers dig into his knee, and the clipboard hides his erection.
“One girl made a noise. I wanted to make a noise. They recycled the noisemaker.” Her voice breaks and pauses and rises an octave, hands on her hips, legs spread. Trimmed blond pubic hair, shaped like a landing strip, covers her slight pussy slit. Her body glistens with sweat.
The man holds his breath as his pen pauses above the page. Her eyes narrow, and she stares at the blank wall behind him. Her back arches backward, and she shifts her gaze to the lights above her. Cobwebs flutter in the cool, air-conditioned room. A fly struggles as a small black spider moves toward it.
Her pink lips, bright, full, with no lipstick, pout as she whines, “That’s doubly cruel.”
She returns to her tall, rigid posture.
Her whole body vibrates in an effort to stay still. A red blush covers the top of her chest, her neck, and up to her cheeks. However, the man does not notice or care as he stares at her pink nipples, small for her breast size.
“Tell me more about yesterday.”
She relaxes, she smiles, and the room brightens.
“First day of my life.”
Her eyes narrow and her right hand closes into a fist.
“What more can I say?” She sings. Her voice causes the mirror to vibrate.
With visible effort, she relaxes her hand, shifts her weight more onto her left foot, and sticks out her right hip. She smiles and shifts back to an erect position. Her right ass cheek flexs and the female observer wishes for such a perfect, small ass.
“Being part of an elite special forces team that accomplishes the dirty work that humans can not or will not do is awesome.”
She frowns, pushes her chin out, and angles her head to the right.
“Do you know what the dirty work will be? I want to get promoted and not recycled like the noisy girl.”
She sniffs and identifies the disinfectant soap on the man’s hands. She keeps her arms bolted to her side. Behind her, the floor-to-ceiling one-way mirror shows her trim ass, narrow hips, and impossibly thin legs. Her blond hair covers most of her pale pink back.
“Have you picked a name?”
She smiles and thrusts out her firm, hard-nippled breasts. Two small dimples appear just above her ass as she spreads her legs a bit wider and puts her hands on her hips. The pose of a superhero.
With a twinkle in her eye, she shouts, almost in operatic song, “Yeah, Supergirl.”
The man sighs and stares at her nipples, which vibrate as she bounces on her toes. Her blonde hair flutters, and she spreads her fingers. She holds her breath and does not dare stare at the man. Instead, she focuses on a dent in the wall behind him. A small grey cut in the bland pale wall. A dark stain surrounds the cut.
“That’s taken.”
She widens her stance, slightly spreading her furry vagina lips. She straightens her back. Her ass muscles flex. A power yell, “Ok, what about Powergirl?”
His tongue rests on his lower lip as he stares at her nipples.
Her toes move out and in, as she balances on her heels, legs rigid, ass taut, firm, flexed, dimples about it, spine straight and long, her hair cascades halfway down her back. Her fingers tap on her thigh. Her lips glisten after her tongue moistens them.
“Taken.”
She steps forward, her moist pussy inches from the small man’s nose. He can smell her clean, fresh musk. Her body still. Her musk strong. Eyes narrow. Arms and legs flexed. Her heart beats so loud that she almost can not hear the man.
“Ah, Strong Girl, then.”
His tongue darts out, but she does not stand close enough. Though if she knew it would make a difference, and it would have, she would have moved closer.
“Taken.”
Her fists clench while she bends over him. Her hard nipples almost poke him in the eyes. Moisture fills her eyes. A roar fills her ears.
“Grrrr, what isn’t taken?”
His gaze stays on her pussy. Yellow teeth show between his pale red, dry, cracked lips.
“Weapon 356.”
She straightens and steps back. Her smile shows her perfect, bright white teeth. The room feels warmer.
“Oh, is that a good name? Should I take that name?”
His tongue scrapes over his lower lip as his gaze follows the small slit of her pussy.
“Yes.”
She smiles and poses with her arms high. Her breasts lift. The man, with great difficulty, lowers his gaze and writes on the clipboard.
“Ok, I am Weapon 356. Six for short.”
She jumps into the air, twirls a full circle to the left, lands, and jumps to twirl a full circle to the right. She lands with her arms above her head and hands clenched in fists.
“No, 356 for short.” The man almost apologizes.
Frown, the room cools. She lowers her arms. Her magnificent, oversized breasts thrust and push her blond hair off them.
“Isn’t that a bit long for a short name?” Her eyes narrow. Her lips pout. Her hands spread wide on her thighs.
“No. Tell me something that you learned yesterday?”
She moves back to a rigid, tall position, arms firmly pressed to her sides. Her hands relaxed, her pale, long, sharp nails pointed at the ground.
“I learned that I am disposable and in the instructor’s words, ‘Barely worth the organic material used to construct me.’”
She does a back flip and lands with slightly bent knees. She thrusts her arms up and out, like a V. “I am 356!”
356 spins and cartwheels, much like an Olympic-level gymnast. Her hair whips around and flutters. Her firm, oversized breasts bounce and mesmerize the man and the other observers.
“Anything else?”
She arches her back to stand taller, and her breasts heave in pride.
“Yes, if I do a good job, I will be promoted to a better position.”
356 twirls on her left foot, and the man lets out a soft groan. Her hair falls across her breasts. Her pale pink nipples peek out between the honey gold strands. Her pussy lips glisten with excitement.
“Good, I will show you pictures. Please move into those positions so I can assess your movement skills.”
She stands in the first pose, right leg pulled straight up past her ear, wet pussy spread and exposed to the examiner. Her toes and shift to keep her balance. Left leg muscles quiver.
“I like this position. Will I get promoted to this position instead of the tall position?”
The man walks around her, his gaze bounces between her stretched breasts and her open pussy. He touches her shoulder to check stability. She wobbles, but a quick shift of her left foot keeps her stable and upright.
She then switches legs. This time, he runs a finger up her spread lips, pleased with the moisture. Checking the taste, he nods in approval.
“That felt good. But the teacher yesterday put it in, and that felt better.” Her voice has a song-like quality to it. A bit high for her height, almost childlike, but still pleasant to hear.
The second pose bends her over, both hands spread flat on the floor, legs straight, body straight, her breasts touch her chin, and her hair spreads out on the black matted floor. Her toenails need a trim and nail polish.
“I don’t like this pose as much. I hope I don’t get promoted to this position.”
Again, he checks for stability. This time, he presses a finger into her exposed asshole. She whimpers with pleasure. He moves his finger side to side, and she shifts her weight to counter the motion.
“Oh, that’s new. I like that.”
The pair moan in unison.
“But I still do not want to get promoted to this position.”
The man removes his finger, brings it to his nose, nods, and, out of habit, wipes his clean finger on his blue tie.
The man writes some notes on the clipboard. His white coat flutters against her right leg and almost causes her to giggle. However, she didn’t want to get recycled and did want the promotion, so she held her laughter.
The third and final pose has her lying on her back. Bent at the waist with both legs pulled up past her ears, vagina almost at her mouth. With a look of concern, the little man moves beside her and pushes down on her hips until she can lick herself. He nods and checks some boxes on the assessment sheet.
She licks twice. “Oh, I really like this position. But I thought I would taste stronger. I smell like I should taste stronger.”
The man, his erection large against his brown polyester pants, writes more. He spreads her pussy. Makes notes. He pinches her nipples while she licks the moisture from her pussy. He makes more notes. Her chin glistens with her juice, and a small riverlet has run down her left cheek and past her left eye.
He returns to his chair and gestures for her to stand. She frowns but stands tall, feet together, arms rigid at her sides, chest thrust out, and ass flexed.
“Two hours on the treadmill. Study the rest of the time. I will see you tomorrow.”
She turned to the metal exit door, paused, turned back to the man, and said, “Thank you for giving me a name. I will cherish it forever.”
The man did not look up from his clipboard as he said, “Sure, whatever, hurry along, I have eight more interviews to get through.”
356 skipped out of the room and nodded to the unnamed black girl in the hallway. The exact opposite of 356, 357, as the man would name her, had short black hair, a plump body with wide hips, thick thighs, strong, sprinter-like legs, and weightlifter-like arms. Her forehead only came up to 356’s nipples. In equal contrast to 356, 357 had small breasts with large aeroa, thick black pubic hair, and her meaty pussy lips hung outside the pubic hair. 356 loved 357’s ebony skin and wished her skin could have more color.
357 felt sorry for 356’s height, large breasts, and skinny body because it appeared too frail and easy to break.
Day 3
“How are you doing today?” The man wears the same outfit as yesterday, except today he wears a blue tie. 356 stands erect, tall, and naked again before him. She has her hair in a single long braid that runs down her spine. The female observer makes another note about the need to recycle his agent.
“Sore but much happier. Yesterday rocked.”
356 back flips into a twirl and lands with her arms up. Her perky, heavy breasts thrust out toward the man, and a male observer rubs his crotch. Her thigh muscles, a tiny bit more pronounced today, quiver as she holds the pose. The man, in his sixth interview of the day, groans and wishes for release. He adds a note to make more agents like 356.
“I passed my tests and am certified for duty.” She smiles, her white teeth shine in the harsh fluorescent lights, while a bead of sweat rolls down her left temple and into her left, blond, almost invisible eyebrow.
“How does that make you feel?” The man shifts to better expose his erection, a faint hope that she might enact his wet dream from last night. He no longer cares about the three observers behind the mirror.
“Awesome. I am finally useful. Look out, world.”
356 stares at the man’s erection. She knows, in an abstract way, what it means, and she has studied the different styles, sizes, and shapes, but she does not know how it feels. Nor how it tastes. With enhanced orifactory glands, she smells the pungent aroma, which she likes better than the body odor the man emits.
“We have an assignment for you. You will be known as Sally for the duration of the assignment. You will be required to seduce and collect a DNA sample. Please interface with the computer to download the full specifications of the assignment. We expect the assignment to last one day. You have the rest of today to prepare. Do you have any questions?”
356 steps closer to the man. A small trail of thick liquid leaks down her right inner thigh. Her fingers tap on her thighs as she licks her lips and almost sings the words, “Yes, a lot.”
“You may ask them.”
Two quick steps forward until her toes touch his scuffed brown shoes. She leans forward to capture his attention.
“Why Sally?”
Her left foot moves, and her left calf touches his right knee. He groans. He gazes at the widened lips of her pussy. Moist. Wet. Tiny on such a tall body.
“Why did the instructor say that I was too smart for my own good and might get recycled?”
The clipboard falls to the floor with a clang, and the pen spins off into the back left corner. In the observation room, the female frantically writes while the two male observers lean forward in their frayed cloth swivel chairs. Their clipboards lay on their laps to hide their erections.
“Why are your hands on my breasts?”
The man’s dirty, calloused fingers cup her perfect, smooth, pale, soft, heavy breasts. The nipples press the center of his palm. Warm. Hot. Sweat beads on his forehead. He shifts lower in the chair to better see her breasts.
“Will I have any team members?” 356 asks and moans.
She shifts her right foot forward, and her right calf touches his right knee. Her pussy spreads like a pale and deep red flower. Thick, clear nectar leaks. The man and the two male observers lick their lips. Time pauses as the female observer stares at her colleagues’ erections, but while she has instructions to make notes about inappropriate behavior, she can not bring herself to write anything.
“I will answer one of those.”
356 smiles. She didn’t expect any question to get answered. The teachers have refused all her questions so far.
“I am touching your breasts to assess the likelihood of the success of your mission.”
The green-clothed man in the observation booth mumbles, just loud enough for the other man to hear but not his female colleague, “Good answer.”
356 jumps backward into a back flip and lands with her arms up. Her fingers wide, she shouts, “I will succeed.”
The three observers in the small, musk-filled room snap to attention, and with the realization that they need to pretend to do their job, all three write gibberish on their papers.
The man, with a frown, hunches over and retrieves his clipboard. His gaze darts to the corner with the pen. 356 smiles at him, launches herself across the room, grabs the pen, puts it between her pink full lips, and cartwheels back to her position in the center of the room.
She licks the tip before she hands it to the man. Like a penis, even the woman behind the one-way mirror admires the gesture, and her thoughts move to the two men beside her. They hold no attraction for her, but they do have large bulges, and with no husband and such long work hours, she could use one or both of them.
The man sits taller in the chair, and his fingers tremble as he takes the pen from her perfect, delicate, long fingers. Her nails have grown. His stare stays on her lips while his peripheral vision captures her oversized breasts. A sour smell fills the room.
356 moves into standard position, rigid, tall, breasts up, feet wider than before to allow the man to enjoy her slit. She smells coffee and theorizes that it comes from the room behind the two-way mirror.
“Now, interface with the computer and begin your mission.”
356 dances from the room, her breasts bounce. Her ass flexes. She waves to 357 and cartwheels down the concrete hallway, past two mirror-faced guards, whose gaze follows her pale pink body, though they do not move their heads, nor twist their bodies. They stand like statues, evil black weapons held close to their chest. They love the sights and sounds of their jobs, and so do their significant others when they return home for an evening of raunchy love.
Into the dormitory, where twenty triple bunk beds fit in a room designed for twelve at the most. She threads her way past other agents in their beds. Each looks completely different from any other. Red hair, brown, raven, dirty blonde, white blonde, fire red, auburn. Dark skin, pale skin, black, olive, tan, rustic, tawny, golden. Tall, short, thin, chubby, busty, flat.
Identical twins, olive skin, small breasts, short like gymnasts, with defined abs, shoulders, and legs, stand just outside the door to the washroom. 342a has a mole on her left cheek, just below her eye and beside her nose, while 342b has the same mole on her right cheek.
“We have successfully,” 342a begins and 342b finishes, “Our mission.”
A few girls grind their teeth. Others make fists. Some glare at the pair while a few ignore the statement and talk louder. One girl, chubby, straw colored hair, small conical breasts with almost no nipples, slams her fist on her mattress.
Only two girls cheer. 356, who waves, claps, and gives a thumbs up to the pair. The other, a dirty blonde with the classic 36-32-36 hour glass figure and bright red painted fingernails and toes, smiles and does an elegant small clap. Her fingers on her right hand tap the palm of her left. Five times.
356, with hope in her heart, jumps onto the top bed of her three-story bunk bed. Immediately below her, 355 groans as her eyes flutter and her fingers twitch. On the bottom, 354 rubs her temples.
Delicate and with great precision, 356 plugs a USB-C cord into her left ear and downloads her mission.
Day 5
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