Fuck, fuck, fuck. This interrogation was going badly.

I’d brought turkey Calvin to my office and pulled out a heat lamp from the garage, the one regular Calvin uses to keep the turkey and sides hot until serving. I put it just inches from his face.

I knew that human skin would begin to feel pain within 10-20 seconds if held up to the lamp, and by extrapolation first degree burns should start in 30 or 40 seconds, second degree burns in less than a minute. But the sentient roast did not seem fazed at all.

“That all you got, honey?” he said.

“As a matter of fact, no.” I brandished the electric carving knife, and turkey Calvin trembled. “I’m sorry Cal. I swear, I’d never do this to you, but you aren’t you, and right now I need leverage. I can’t help prevent catastrophic misuse of my tech if I’m not there and not informed!”

The creature shook its head warily as I approached.

“Susan, honey, stop! Think about what you’re doing! It’s me! A version of me any—”

He went quiet as the knife sliced diagonally through his breast meat. It took a few seconds to get through it; then the meat plopped down into the juice-filled bottom of the roaster.

“What do you have to say now, turkeyhusband?”

Looking down at his pathetic form, I could see a mouth and other facial features beginning to take shape on the stump where the turkey’s head would have been. A tiny tongue lolled out of the mouth. It was moaning incoherently.

“Ohhhh uhhh ohhhhhhhhh. Do that again?”

“What?”

“Cut me again! I can’t feel pain, but I can apparently feel pleasure, lots of it. ”

“You perfected nociceptive modulation. Now there’s a plot twist.”

“Not only that, Sue. I feel like I just came a little. But that’s impossible, I have no dick!”

“Actually… holy shit, you do have one. A tiny one but still.”

“This is insane! Destroy me already!”

“No. In fact, I think I’ll leave you to stew awhile, see how far you regenerate. Then we’ll see if you’re ready to talk.”

***

When I returned 90 minutes later, the continuing development of the specimen was nothing short of jaw dropping. Not only had Turkey Calvin nearly finished regrowing the hunk of flesh I'd cut away with the electric carver; his wings were slowly becoming hands, and what was just a mouth recessed into the neck stump was gradually becoming an entire face, an adorable little clone of Calvin’s. Strangest, he had a dick on his belly. Anatomically it made zero sense, yet there it was, 4 inches long and covered in crispy skin.

“Well I’ll be fucked. Calvin, do you realize you’re packing? And more than 50% scale by the looks of it.”

“Oh!” he said. “Y’know, I thought I felt an odd and familiar sensation when you bent over to examine me. Like a draft blowing over my naked... cock. Susan!”

“What,” I said, my thumb and forefinger gently grasping what seemed to be the head. “I had to know. Amazing. No pulse, but you’re unmistakably erect. I think the machine’s nanotendrils are programming you with cartilage and bone in place of spongy erectile tissue. And it’s working! How the hell’d you do it?”

Turkey Calvin shook his head. “I wanna tell you all about it Susan, but I can’t. Not... just... yeeeeahhhhhohhhgod. No, Susan! It’s not right!”

I was stroking his little cock gently; the skin, while crispy, was loose over the flesh and had just enough pliability to slide back and forth like a foreskin. An odd sensation, since Calvin was of course circumcised as an infant, and not really my thing, but the intrigue of the thing pushed aside such concerns. On instinct, I dunked my hand into the juices at the bottom of the roast pan. Then I went back to rubbing his cock.

“Susan... ohhhhh-ahhhh-ohhhh... that is... awesome in every sense of the word.” Though not all Calvin’s mannerisms came across in the bird, I thought I did recognize the slight list in his neck, as his head flopped to one side in absolute bliss of having his penis stroked.

“Calvin,” I said sweetly, “you built the whole project without me. I need to know how it was done, how far you are from trials, and to what end.”

“Oh, Sue,” he said, all flush with love and lust for me. “I want to tell. Everything. Especially right now.”

Abruptly I took my hand away. “Then tell me,” I said, and I licked my fingertips.

By this point, Turkey Calvin’s deep brown eyes, quivering pink lips and even some of the expressiveness of his brow lines were quite apparent. At the moment he looked like he wanted to cry, and probably would if he could.

“Sue, please, understand—”

“Holy balls,” I said, staring at the grease left on my fingers. The delicious juices had immediately gone to my head, producing a slight but undeniable feeling of giddiness. “No wonder you can’t feel pain. You’re saturated with opiorphin. Makes you taste like sex.”

On impulse, I pinched the head of his cock with two fingers and tore away the skin, which peeled away from his bulbous tip to reveal white meat and a cartilaginous cap like the end of a thigh bone. I popped the skin in my mouth, and it crunched softly between my teeth, liberating more of the divine juices. My pulse and breathing quickened. I began to salivate so profusely that I could barely keep up by swallowing it back. I felt heat in my ears, neck and sternum, and wetness in my panties. My whole pelvic floor clenched with bewilderment.

Turkey Calvin, for his part, screamed, not from pain but from astonishment. A potent cocktail of synthetic neuromodulators was converting the nerve signals from his flayed skin into sick pleasure. His head flopped even farther to the side, stunned.

I found myself muttering the words to the Giver of Life blessing: “...shehecheyanu vekiymanu vehigi’anu...” as I got to my knees, fished a hair tie from my shirt pocket, put up my hair in a ponytail, grabbed the supine body of my turkeyhusband with both hands, and set him upright in the pan. His bone-hard cock was now projecting out over the edge where I could access most of its length.

“Tell me,” I whispered right to his face. “Tell me the secret to your creation.”

Now he was really looking nervous. “I, uh...”

I gave him no time to answer. Reaching out with my long, drooling tongue, I made contact with the flayed underside of Turkey Calvin’s still growing cock, and I leaned down onto it. With consistent firm pressure my tongue slid down the length of him until it was running over it and onto the bird’s lower abdomen. I could feel the greasy joint cap and smooth fascia of dark meat, could feel the crispy roasted skin crinkle and peel back just slightly; and I could taste savory roasted paradise, with a hint of rosemary and thyme.

“Please, Calvin,” I groaned. “Don’t make me leave you here alone. I don’t want to have to wait until your dick is full-grown and makes me gag. I just want to swallow your perfect little amuse-bouche while I jerk off. Over and over and...”

“Alright! I give in, I’ll tell! Just... go slow. Your mouth feels so good on me, I can barely speak, barely even think! Please, promise me you’ll forgive Calvin for the secrets they made him keep, and help him without compromising—”

“What do you take me for, little turkeyhusband? I only want what’s best for us and for the world. Now, you spill, I swallow.”

I held Turkey Calvin in front of me, shot him a quick grin, and began to slide my pursed lips over his still-growing dick. Damn, it must be getting close to 5" already...

“Ahhhhhhh. Yeah. That’s the shit.” With long, slow strokes, I was running my lips up and down the entire length of him, so that at one end my lips were right on the bony tip, and at the other they were flush with his meaty body.

“We assembled the finished apparatus six months ago,” he continued, “in anticipation of partial live trials driven by small tissue samples... I’d already been telling my bosses we needed you—damn, that’s good—and that the cog-scan process will never be made reliable or scalable or safe enough without your help. But at this point I stepped up my efforts... I bugged my boss almost daily for updates. Fuck, that mouth feels so fucking good... Then two months ago, over my protests, they started running the tissue samples. My work at home became... a race against theirs. Yes. Yes. Oh, fuck, yes!” Calvin didn’t seem to have the facilities to come, so by this point there was just a continuous dribble of his juices into my mouth, and down my lip onto my chin and neck.

“...And I finally got the okay to present to the brass in November, including a hiring pitch to someone from the joint chiefs of staff... That was September 28. My memories stop just a few days after that.”

I came up, not so much for breath as to look him in the eyes and make him feel the absence of my lips. His cock was big enough by this point to reach the back of my throat, not that I minded or seemed able to gag in this blissed out state, but he still wasn’t at his full length or, especially, girth, so as long as I made sure my prodigious drool didn’t go down the wrong pipe, I could breathe.

“Sounds like you’ve done about as well as you could under the circumstances,” I said. “But I can’t count on it that you will come home tonight with good news. So,” and I gave the turkey cock a few vigorous strokes with my hand, knowing it would continue to tear at the remaining skin and wear away at the brittle, denatured fibers of turkey muscle... “tell me about the pluripotentiating vasculator. You’ve managed to make it at least 5 times more efficient than the old model. How?”

As I put my lips to his little drumstick of a penis and resumed sucking, heat blossomed in my pelvic floor, and my cunt began to pulse softly with what was sure to be only the first, and smallest, of a long escalating series of orgasms. My eyes slammed shut, and my skin burned with desire to not just keep feeling this, but to be fucked as well, to be stuffed with dick as one stuffs a turkey with mirepoix. I realized Calvin was speaking and I was too fucking blissed out to absorb it. Shit. This was gonna take force of will if I wanted to actually absorb the intelligence he was spilling.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “but you’re gonna have to start over.”

“Sue, what the hell is—”

But the voice wasn’t coming from Turkey Calvin; he was muttering incoherently between groans of pleasure. The voice was coming from behind me, prompting me to jerk back and then stand up so quickly I hit my head on the stand lamp that overlooked my desk.

“Ouch!”

“I said,” Calvin replied with eerie calmness, “that of all the ways you might try to snoop on my work, I never imagined this. Bravissimo, cara mia.”