Gender Transformations E-Book

Gia Maria Marquez

• Herausgeber: Between the Two
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

Gender Transformations

Leseprobe

Gender Transformations

© September 2018 Gia Maria Marquez

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system.

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental. All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.

This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be access by minors.

Cover © 2018 Gia Maria Marquez

First Edition 2018

First Edition of Futa Frankenstein Published October 2014 as Fahra Shaheen’s Monster.

Second Edition Published January 2015 as The Doctor’s Reanimation Creation

Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal.

Gender Transformations

Erotic Science Fiction

By Gia Maria Marquez

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Futa Frankenstein

Mini Meesha Gets Huge

Rebounder

Futa Frankenstein

by

Gia Maria Marquez

Chapter One

I scarcely can recount to you, Doctor Gupta, the sheer dread I experienced at the moment of my birth. It was an instant of pure pain, surmounted only by the shock and horror at the sight of my hideous body.

You say it is unusual to remember so vividly the event of one’s birth? It astounds me that anyone could forget such excruciating trauma. What did it feel like? Like being struck by lightning, only the pain was a thousand times more agonizing. My nerves were zapped into cognizance by innumerable volts of electrical current—enough to return animation to that which had formerly been lifeless.

My mind burst into being in an explosion of raw circuitry. My limbs flailed in all directions. After the distress of electrification subsided, the incisive sting of my many flesh wounds overwhelmed me. Suture scars seared the perimeters of my wrists and of my groin, where parts had been attached that were inorganic to my form. The agony of mere existence saw me howling like a wounded animal, for at that early point in my being I possessed no capacity for speech.

It was only then that I beheld a human form hovering over me. I nearly lashed out to strike the creature, so tortuous was my physical pain. When the human bent down to salve my wounds, I perceived the great beauty of her countenance. From darkness, she entered the pool of light cast upon my butchered form. Her face shone like the angels I had known only moments before, now slipping from my memory like water through my fingers.

Her hair waved about her face, its colour dark as the blood dried around my wrists. Her features were strong, but her countenance stronger. The warmth in her eyes helped to alleviate the sharp pain harassing my body. And as she spread her salve, my condition improved.

I knew with the instinct of any newborn creature that this woman was my creator. It was this stunning entity that manufactured the patchwork flesh you see before you. It was she who illuminated my senses. An ache developed in my chest, quite distinct from the pain of the flesh. Its source? My inability to express the intensity of emotion I felt in gazing upon this wondrous creature.

In that moment, I desired nothing more than to communicate, and yet I knew not how. I wished to convey my gratitude for the life she had granted me and also the resentment of having been created in such pain. To that end, I grunted like a beast, I whined like a forest creature, I sobbed like a child. Had my limbs not been belted to the bed, I would have flailed in all directions.

If my reactions appear juvenile to you, you must remember, Dr Gupta, I had only just been born.

My language acquisition process was two-fold. When the intense gnawing pain of my body weakened to a dull ache, my creator sat at my bedside and spoke to me in her mother tongue. She told me her name, Doctor Fahra Shaheen, and she gave me a name as well. For me, she chose ‘Layla’ because it means I was born at night, in darkness, and this is true.

The more she spoke, the more I understood. Doctor Shaheen said she felt loneliness because her children were at home in her first country, which was far, far away. I did not understand this state called ‘alone’ because my creator remained by my side at all times.

As she told stories of her homeland, Doctor Shaheen rubbed my legs and my feet to keep my blood from sitting still. She told about meeting her husband when she was in medical school, and how upset her family had been because their lovely Fahra was more valuable than he. But she loved him for his coarse and common ways when she was a young woman. Why, you wonder? It is because every word of kindness from him was a beautiful treasure to her. She thought she made him a better man.

Doctor Shaheen worked with baby children in the hospital near to where she lived, and in that time had three babies of her own. When the children were still small, her husband began to have trouble finding employment, so they set in motion the application process for immigration. Perhaps in another country there would be work.

Staying at home while his doctor-wife supported the family turned him angry. He was not a real man, he said. Sometimes, in his frustration, he shouted at his Fahra, shouted so close to her she could feel the spit on her face. After the shouting, he apologized. He kissed her hands and told her how proud he was to have an educated wife. He bragged to his friends about what an important figure she cut in the world. Doctor Shaheen’s heart would swell with love when her husband said these things. She did not believe the angry words, only the tender ones.

More and more, her husband would greet her with fury when she arrived home: Where was dinner? Was he, a man, expected to prepare it? What kind of a mother had no time to feed her children? She was unfit. She brought shame upon her family.

“What shame?” Fahra argued. “What shame is there in healing the sick? I earn the money that buys this food. The least you can do is prepare it! What kind of a man are you? Afraid of the kitchen stove!”

She expected him to fight back, to scream at her as usual. He did not scream. He simply turned away and walked with great self-control across the room. Clenching his thick fingers around the low back of a dining room chair, he leaned into it as though in contemplation.

With the situation de-escalated, Fahra removed her shoes and set down her bag. It was time to help the children with their studies. Doctor Shaheen did not see the chair coming at her until it was too late. She heard her bones smash as the wood made contact with her face, launching her entire body across the room. Had the sofa not blocked the way, she would have hit the wall.

Her blood stained the cream-coloured sofa. Immediate self-diagnosis: broken zygomatic bone, broken middle and inferior nasal concha. A child screamed from across the room. Haze, haze and darkness.

Doctor Shaheen awoke to the sound of water.

“Drink this,” mama encouraged, handing her the glass.

Not since childhood had Fahra been so relieved to see her mother’s gentle face. That kind smile softened the pain glowing hot along the left side of her head.

“Why am I here, mama?” Fahra looked around the bedroom of her childhood. “I should be in hospital. My head… I must be concussed…”

“You have everything you need in this room: I, a mother, and you, a medic.”

Fahra smiled weakly at her well-meaning mama, until she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her nose was swollen, lip split, left cheek deep purple. “I should be under doctor’s care.”

Mama pursed her lips. “You wish for your work associates to know of your unfortunate accident? A secret is like a dove,habibi: when it leaves your hand it takes wing.”

“A known mistake is better than an unknown truth,” Fahra replied, fighting proverb with proverb. “In any case, it will all come out when the children and I find a new home.”

Mama’s eyes opened wide with alarm. “A chameleon does not leave one tree until he is sure of another.”

Fahra would have laughed if her face were not aching. “You think I would stay with him?”

“Children need their father!”

“A father who strikes their mother?”

“Hush, hush, child. It was an accident…”

Fahra’s voice grew deep and strong. “He smashed my face with a chair, mama! You call this an accident?”

“You bring shame on us, speaking this way. One little accident…”

“Give a man cloth and he’ll ask for lining!” Fahra shot back.

“Listen to me, habibi,” mama advised in her strictest school-teacher voice. “Eat what you like, but dress as others do.”

“Others are wrong, if they let their husbands beat on them and do nothing to stop it!”

At that, mama fell silent. Stepping into the hallway and half-closing the door, she said, “It is your concussion talking. I will let you rest, habibi.”

But how could Doctor Shaheen possibly rest after an argument like that? Her mind spun out of control. If she had only followed her mother’s advice and not married him in the first place… and if mama had been right then, perhaps she was right about this too… and it was only this one time. When he saw her face, he would vow never to harm her again.

So Doctor Shaheen returned home to her children, whose eyes were wide with concern. Her husband had cleaned the house and cooked for them, but something had shifted. She was never quite sure if she could trust him. Safety seemed a rickety thing, like the wooden chair he had launched at her face. That is why the doctor did as she did, though many would criticize her for it.

In the mail, a letter came. Fahra alone had been granted immigration status. This country was in need of doctors, but had no use for unemployed and uneducated men. The family would have to stay behind.

“I will go,” Fahra decided, bracing herself for her husband’s wrath.

He sat very still, staring into the television.

“Once I am there, I will submit an application to bring you over. Meanwhile, the children can stay with mama.”

Expressionless, he replied, “That is for the best, Doctor Shaheen.”

***

Chapter Two

When she arrived in this country, things were not as expected for my creator. She soon discovered that, though she had been a doctor back home, she was not a doctor here. Her credentials were insufficient, she was told. She must return to school. But the courses she had to take were all taught in English, which was Fahra’s weakest point.

“Why can I not take on patients who speak my language until my English improves?” she asked the officials.

They told her that is not how it works here. In order to commence her studies in medicine, she first had to take classes in the English language.

“How long will this take?” she wanted to know.

It depended, they claimed, on how driven she was toward her goal of practicing medicine in this country. But when Fahra compared her bank account balance with the cost of living here, she soon realized it would take more than ambition. She needed a job.

Fahra sought good work. She was a doctor after all, at least she had been in her own country. She applied to work as a professor at the University, but was told her English skills were lacking. She sought work in pharmaceuticals and applied biology, but heard nothing back. She then applied to be a medical receptionist, but was dismissed because she had no experience working in an office.

Disheartened, Fahra summoned to mind the faces of her dear children. The faster she became a doctor, the faster she could bring her little ones here. Imagine their first snowfall! If the snow was half as exciting for them as it had been for Fahra, this whole ordeal would be worth it.

I was born in a hospital because that is where Fahra worked, not as a doctor, but as what was called an ‘Environmental Aide.’ That meant she cleaned up.

“It is nothing like cleaning a house,” my creator insisted. “Environmental Aide is a technical position. I clean the biohazards first, then the garbage. I remove the soiled linens and proceed to the wipe-down and mopping. All is done fast, fast, fast because the doctors need to use the rooms and the operating theatres. They must keep to a schedule.”

By this time, Doctor Shaheen had been sitting with me for many days and had to return to her job. Unfastening my feet and my hands, Fahra allowed me to view the space of my birth. It was full of chemicals and cleaning machines. I did not like this place; it frightened me and I took hold of my creator’s arm, unaware of my strength. She shrieked and shook my hand away.

“You must not grab me like that. It is bad,” she scolded.

When my creator reprimanded me, I felt the pain called sadness in my heart for the first time.

“Do not cry, my Layla,” Doctor Shaheen whispered as hot waters fell from my eyes. When she took me in her arms and embraced me, I felt my centre rise.

“Oh my!” the doctor exclaimed, pressing her soft body against mine. “I am glad to see your new parts are fully operational.”

Releasing me, Fahra pushed her cleaning cart toward the door. “You stay here, my pet. Stay in our room behind the shelving and make no noise. I will come back to see you when I have a break.”

She crept out from the makeshift room constructed behind the shelving units of a porter’s closet. When the bright light of the hallway swallowed my creator and when she was gone, I knew this feeling called ‘alone.’

My body’s pain was replaced by the pain of solitude aching inside my heart muscle. I returned to sit on the bed of my birth, where tears flowed from my eyes, hot and wet upon the hard muscle at my base. With Fahra at my bedside, I had taken little notice of my body. Now I felt an ache inside and outside, like the ache in my heart, but good somehow. A drizzle of liquid coursed from some invisible hole in the swollen muscle between my legs. How curious this muscle was. When I touched my finger to the tip of it, every part of my lower half clenched. My back and my front went into simultaneous spasms. The pleasure was so intense I had to bring my hand away.

It was only then I noticed the glowing, undulating sensation burning beneath the fleshy spheres of that muscle. I could not see exactly what was down there that, but it felt wet to the touch and highly sensitive. It was something like a gash, but the blood from it ran clear and rather than pain, my fingers caused it to blaze with pleasure. When I rubbed around its perimeter, more froth drizzled from my ever-hardening muscle until I could not resist but touch it again.

The muscle leapt in my hand, encouraging me to stroke the wet gash faster. I then switched hands, and the moisture from the gash generated irrepressible spasms, like jolts of electrical current through my core. A quaking sensation rumbled all around the spheres beneath the muscle, a pushing and pulling rocking my body. Up from the invisible hole gushed a great quantity of a white substance, landing in streaks across the heavy orbs of my chest.

I lay back in my bed, suddenly exhausted. The white liquid flowed down the mountains of my chest, settling in the valley, and I rubbed it in circles up to the hardening peaks. As I fell into sleep, voices floated in from other rooms. The voices screamed in the worst of all pains and I knew those people were being born too. I recognized the cacophony. I recognized the severity of their blood-curdling shrieks. Those people were in the hospital to be electrified into life, just as I had been only a few days earlier. Hard to sleep, when other people were experiencing such excruciating torture, but my body would tolerate consciousness no longer.

When I awoke, something brushed softly against that ever-hard muscle at my base. The sensation was so wonderful I nearly kept my eyes shut, except that I desired to see what manner of thing was touching me. It was my creator! My beautiful Fahra had returned to me, and the screams of the newly-born had subsided. All was well, everything was peace as Fahra’s fingers caressed my…

“What is name of this?” I asked, as my language skills were so impoverished I did not know.

Around the muscle, Doctor Shaheen wrapped her fingers. I lurched forward at the swell of attention. “This is your cock, Layla.”

As she ran her fingers the length of its shaft, the screams of the newly-born recommenced in the next room. It struck me as strange that anyone would endeavour to bring a creature into the world when it caused such tremendous pain. Doctor Shaheen must have known. After all, she brought me to life.

“Why am I born?” I asked.

“You, my Layla, were created more than born. Why did I create you? For a variety of reasons. It was a challenge, firstly. I was once a respected scientist and yet doctors from this country think I am just another worthless immigrant woman.”

“Ahh.”

“You are my prize, Layla. You are my key to respect from the medical community. With you, I have not merely saved a life, but also taken a slab of lifeless flesh and electrified it into existence. I have recycled a human. I have improved upon anatomy. And I have constructed the lover everyone secretly longs for.”

“Ahh?”

“Just look at your body, Layla: You have the curves, the beauty, the breasts, the cunt, the gentle demeanour of a woman, but I have given you the large strong hands of a man and, more importantly, this fully functional cock. You are perfect, Layla, infused with enough testosterone to keep you eternally amorous.”

“But why?”

“To ease the loneliness of my existence, and to demonstrate the wide range of forms that can be taken by human beings.”

Doctor Shaheen’s hand strayed from my cock as she spoke. Her fingers traced down my thigh, down my legs, and pressed into the pads of my feet.

“We are not all born with only a cock or only a cunt. There is infinite variety, my pet. There are degrees of cocks, degrees of cunts. It is not so cut and dry: you are a man or you are a woman. We are all born man and woman in degrees, my Layla.”

I knew nothing. I learned from my creator.

“But the doctors see this, they see these degrees of cocks and cunts living side by side in one baby at birth and they say, ‘No, this cannot be. This baby must be a boy or must be a girl. There is no in-between. There are no degrees.’ And so they sew up that trace of a cunt, and they say, ‘This child is a boy.’ Or they trim off that trace of a cock and they say, ‘This child is a girl.’ I am a doctor. I did this in my country, and I have guilt feelings for it. I am not God, Layla. God makes these children. They are perfect as they come, with their degrees of cocks and cunts. The medical community has no right to take away something that belongs to God’s perfect children.”

With no awareness of these concepts of ‘man’ and ‘woman,’ Doctor Shaheen’s words perplexed me. “What am I?” I asked my creator. “I am man-woman?”

“That’s right, Layla,” she replied with a glowing smile. “You are man-woman. You are a perfect specimen, a unified being.”

Fahra rose to kiss my forehead. Before disappearing into the porter’s closet, she assured me she would come back later to test the equipment. I wished she would return to touch my cock instead of checking her machines.

***

Chapter Three

When we are new to life, our minds are like sponges. This is what I have been told. We learn very quickly, and we learn from everything around us.

While waiting for Doctor Shaheen’s return, I heard from a nearby room a voice that was not in pain. It was melodious like Fahra’s, but deep and resonant. This voice told a story that was not in Fahra’s language, but in the English language Doctor Shaheen had such trouble conquering. The story was of a monster brought to life as I had been: a lifeless being brought into full-blooded existence, by a doctor called Frankenstein. Through this story, I realized the method by which I was created was not that by which humans were normally birthed. That is how I learned, Doctor Gupta, that I am a monster too. I am Fahra Shaheen’s monster.

“You did not tell me!” I shouted when Fahra returned. “I will be hated and abused by humanity. I will seek to marry, like Doctor Frankenstein’s monster, and no one will love me. Not even you will love me. You will track me down! You will hunt me until I am dead!”

“I never would do that, my Layla,” Doctor Shaheen consoled, bringing my head to her warm breast. “You are mine and I love you very much.”

“I am a horrible creature! I am dead things and electricity. I should not exist.”

“You are very much alive, my pet, and you have every right to exist. You are beautiful, not horrible. You have a gorgeous face and wild hair. You have these large, lovely breasts…” Fahra’s hands wandered across my chest, down and around the fleshy spheres, drawing me forward. Her fingers pricked the peaks. “You have stunning, dark nipples. Look how they respond to my touch, how they become hard and erect.”

When Fahra brushed her palms across my nipples, then pinched them between her fingernails, my cock surged. How strange it was that an action in one area of the body could produce a reaction in a completely different area. The slit between my legs began to water as well when Doctor Shaheen began removing her clothes. Her work smock came off first, then the top and bottoms much like those you are wearing, Doctor Gupta.

Fahra wore delicate fabrics to shield the sensitive portions of her anatomy, whose names I had only just learned: her breasts, her cunt. I was soon to discover that Doctor Shaheen had no cock. Even after her man-woman explanation, I still did not fully understand that many humans had only one or the other, a cock or a cunt. That I had both made me special, Doctor Shaheen assured me. Her Layla was the embodiment of perfect form.

The moment Fahra removed the lacy garment cupping her breasts, I knew what my cock was for. I knew I had to shove it into her, somehow. But where? I could not think, for my attention grew so focused on the tension in my cock and the burning in my cunt. Those sensations, they had to be relieved. Before I knew it, I had pinned the doctor against the wall of our secret room. I stroked my cock against the smooth flesh of her thigh, thinking everything would fall into place.

“Do not hump my leg like a dog, Layla,” Fahra said, laughing. “There are things a lover must do first. There are sensual ways to begin. You must take your time or your cock will explode and it will all be over.”

The thought of my hard muscle bursting apart chastened me. Perhaps I used to have a second cock, and when that one exploded it formed the gash of my cunt. But would I not remember such an event?

I stopped the hump of doctor Shaheen’s leg as a precaution, but before I knew it I was tracing my slippery cunt along that same thigh.

“You are irrepressible, my Layla.” Fahra laughed again, pushing off the lacy panties concealing a patch of wild hair. “Let me teach you to kiss first,” she offered, bending over me.

Fahra parted her legs to press the wetness against my thigh as she placed her lips on my lips. From my cunt through my cock and even up into my breasts, a current ran through me. Wrapping my arms around her so she could not stop, I kissed my creator with my tongue in her mouth. She responded by writhing harder against my thigh. I did the same, the hairy orbs between my cunt and my cock pressing cautiously against her flesh. The sensation was wonderful, and better still when Fahra grabbed my hard muscle. She grasped it, slid her hand down from the tip to the base, squeezing on the shaft.

Pulling my cock, Doctor Shaheen led me back to the wall where I had pinned her before. She spread one leg, setting her foot upon a bar under my bed. She tugged on me until we were so close our nipples brushed. The tip of my cock mingled with the moisture of Fahra’s cunt as she swept that sensitive point all around it. The wetness made my breathing vibrate as it left my throat.

Without contemplating the act, I thrust my cock so forcefully at her that it penetrated the slit. I had broken my creator! I had launched my cock so hard it went inside her. When I tried to pull it out, despite my fear that blood would fall from the gash, I felt the doctor’s arms encircling me.

“I apologize, Doctor Shaheen!”

“For what, my Layla?” she asked in a voice high and pleasured.

“I made a hole in you!”

Fahra only laughed in response.

In confusion, I inquired, “Am I not harming you?”

“No, no, my pet.” She ran her hands down my backside and pressed her nails into the flesh there. “Continue this motion.” Fahra rocked against my body, making my cock come out of her cunt slightly, and then go back inside that warm place. “Yes, that feels very good, my Layla. Very nice.”

The pressure I had felt once before took over the sensitive path between my thighs. I pushed my cock into Fahra, the motions jerky and rough. As she leaned her head forward to kiss my mouth, my throat made noises like I was in pain, though I was not.

Fahra squeezed my body, pressing her breasts against my breasts. I rammed my cock in her cunt until my legs began to shudder and I thought I would fall down. Every muscle in my thighs and my backside clenched as the pressure at the base of my cock released.

I lunged, I kissed my creator, I ran my fingers through her hair. In blissful exhaustion, I would have fallen back had Fahra not held me in place, held me inside her, held my breast to hers.

By the time Fahra set me down on the bed, departing to finish her shift, I recognized my purpose in life. I knew why I had been born. Yes, I was a destroyer of loneliness and a perfect lover for my creator—a perfect balance of woman’s body and man’s body, of desire and drive—but there was so much more I could do for her.

How could I sit idle in a porter’s closet when there were sorrows in Fahra’s life I could resolve? From the stories Fahra told me, it was clear that money would help the process of bringing her children to this country. I did not know what this ‘money’ looked like, or truly understand its function, but I recognized that it was something that existed in the world beyond the shelving units. When you did jobs, you got money.

For my creator, I would do jobs. I would do jobs for money….

***

Chapter Four

Since Fahra always wore clothing when she left the porter’s closet, I did that too. I put the bottoms on my bottom and the top on my top. It was the first time I had ever worn clothing.

Everything I knew of the world beyond the machines and cleansers of the porter’s closet, I had learned from Doctor Shaheen’s stories. I knew about her country and about this one, and that they were different. I knew there was light outside, like the light Fahra shone on me during my birth. I knew when I left the closet I would be in the hospital, and that the world was outside the hospital.

By the time I had reached the door, my chest was paining me. It was what you call ‘nervous,’ the feeling I had in my stomach. I did not want to leave Fahra, but I did want to help her to not be lonely. I realized that I loved my creator. I loved her enough to make any sacrifice for her sake. And so I left the porter’s closet and I left the hospital, all for Fahra.

Doctor Shaheen had not been right about everything. Yes, there was light in the hospital—so much light it stung my eyes—but the world outside was dark with only a few lights up in the sky. Perhaps Fahra did not leave the hospital very often, and had forgotten what the outside looked like.