For all the anger and bravado, I'm now just hurting. How could people possibly be so… ugh.
As tears start running down my cheeks, I make my way to one of the cargo holds, and lock myself in… and sit down, wrap my arms around my knees, and start crying. Why did I… at least they won't need to deal with it for long.
“Just the rest of their lives,” Patricia agrees, “Some decades… a century or two at most.”
Wait… “I thought it would wear off when the spells do… five minutes or so.”
Patricia laughs, “That's when it's us. Nobody else can climb back up that slope we shoved them down.”
“So I've cursed them forever?” You’re not doing a great job of comforting me, Patricia.
“They're not CURSED, they're BLESSED. How can you not see…?” She’s confused.
Right, she doesn't see it the same way… “Regardless of whether or not we see it as a good thing, we just changed who and what they are, quite deeply, in a fit of rage. They don't match their identification: They'll have trouble collecting money owed to them, they won't be recognized by their families and friends… we basically turned their lives upside down.”
“There's some disruption, sure, but…” whatever my pink ghost was going to say is lost to a knock on the door.
“May I come in?” The voice is very feminine, and sets off an intense need within me; what little is left of my manhood is at full attention almost immediately: That ‘May I come in?’ somehow carries an undertone of ‘I want your babies’.
I really did a number on them. I wonder which one is asking?
I suppose it doesn't matter… I need to face the music eventually… “Sure. There's no lock.”
The door creaks open, and a head of long blond hair with a pink rose on her cheek pokes through the door. Ah, Peter.
He seems distracted… “I… came to apologize. What the gunners did wasn't right, and I took advantage and…” he steps in, holding a blanket around himself.
“My eyes are up here,” his gaze is not focused where I expected: He seems fascinated by the tent in my pants, small as it is.
He jerks his blue eyes up to meet my mixed color ones, “Right! Sorry. Umm… I just… want something… and you smell so nice…”
OK, so I'm going to have to either get used to him talking to my crotch, or space him… maybe shock therapy? Does that work on androids? “How is it you seduced women on the station if you couldn't look them in the eye?”
He jumps his gaze back up, “I can! I could. I just knew what I wanted and how to get there, now, I just want…”
SERIOUSLY!? “Eyes. What do you want?”
Peters eyes meet mine again… for a moment, “Something. I just… I don't know….”
“Oh, that's easy,” Patricia whispers, “They have feminine desires: They want babies. Moreover, they all want to be on the receiving end of their previous kinks now, and desperately at that. They just haven't figured it out yet. In her case, she won't be able to rest until she knows she's pregnant… and she'll want to do it again immediately after she gives birth, for as long as she can. And right now, you're the only one on board with any baby batter.”
“Can he… she?” I think back, “She's a constructed being.”
“Oh yes,” Patricia seems proud of herself, “The essence exchange saw to that. He could get women pregnant, and very effectively, so now she's an extra fertile woman. If she’s not carrying, she will be very shortly after the next man puts his seed into her. The mechanisms changed along with the rest of the body.”
“Who are you talking to? You’re subvocalizing…” I focus back on Peter when she speaks up.
“Sorry, myself,” the way Patricia explained things, this is technically true. “I'm puzzling something out… you used to like making mothers out of women, right?”
“Yes…” she's looking at my tent again. Ugh, I give up.
“That's reversed now. Picture a man going off in your new plumbing,” she licks her lips as I continue, eyes still glued to my crotch “sending his seed up your pipes to meet the eggs that are waiting there,” she's rocking her hips, now, starting to close her eyes… “merging with them,” she drops the blanket, because her left hand is busy fondling her oversized melons while her other is snaking down to her baby bakery, “turning into little babies that will grow and grow inside of you until they have to come out…” she's pistoning herself hard and fast, “and then finding another man to start the whole thing over.”
She screams out, “YES!” as she shudders through the fantasy, “That's… oh no. That's why I keep… and I don't care who, I just… I want….” she gets up and runs off, her jumbo jugs and massive caboose jiggling joyously free, leaving her blanket behind, a wet trail showing exactly where she's been.
Not that there's really anywhere to go. We're in a starship in transit. There's only so many places to hide… and I'm the only one here that has what she wants. She'll be back. Well… until I don't have it anymore. No telling when that will be.
I break the silence with a mental question to Patricia, “So what is it the others want now?”
“The two ratfolk will get off on the idea that someone is secretly watching them or that they'll get caught doing something naughty… they'll enjoy exposing themselves and acting extra sexy when they think someone might be secretly watching or when they expect someone to come in soon,” she considers, “... which will be pretty much any time they're not in a more public space, because they'll never know for sure. The butterfly lady will want to know she's being looked at and desired… she'll probably want to wear as little as she can manage - nothing, if she thinks it won’t cause her too much trouble - and will constantly want to strut and show off, putting on a show wherever she goes.”
Those are going to be some crippling kinks. I think I know this next one, but I have to ask… “Why the constant drip from them?”
She chuckles, “You called it earlier. Part of the seed of my being, a specific fantasy from a subset of humanity. They're always ready for a man… and as blessed as they are, they'll be eager to let anyone have a sample… and they'll all have babies quite easily. I'm so excited to see them balloon up! Such blessings to bestow! Thank you for letting me do so. Their male essence was such a delight to devour.”
Right, umm…“So until we make our next stop, I am the only one on the ship who can satisfy four highly exaggerated women - who won't say no - and will be eager to get knocked up?” Maybe this is a dream.
“They're hardly exaggerated. Their proportions seem tame to me.” Ah, right. I forgot who I'm talking to for a moment.
“You are… or at least, were, an incarnation of exaggerated female features. How big would a chest need to be to seem outrageous to you?”
Patricia considers a bit, “You may have a point.”
Now, it's incredibly tempting to taste all four of my crewmates, and spend the rest of the trip filling all of their holes and feeling up their curves in a hedonistic orgy of delight, leaving them all with child… I don’t even get tired, so I could keep them all worn out. I understand they’d like that, even. But no. The civilized part of me says their consent is… questionable, at best. Taking advantage of what I turned them into… that’s… ugh. It rubs me the wrong way. Then again, they didn’t ask for MY consent… maybe it’d be OK if I took advantage a little bit? And they will enjoy it… but am I ready to be a father?
Curse my conscience!
But I think I'm done with the pity party, at least. I take a breath, and head back towards the bridge.
When I get there, Eric, Zachary, and Joseph are waiting for me. They have blankets wrapped around themselves… they don't look very comfortable.
Eric speaks up first, “So… how long is this spell going to last? Can you please turn it off?”
I consider, and Patricia answers before I properly phrase the question, “No, we can't. We ate their male essence: It's gone. Theoretically, if they were to encounter our opposite and he did the equivalent, they'd have NO essence, and would just die.”
“What about magic or surgery?” I’m curious for myself, too….
“Nothing originating from us can make anyone less feminine, ever. Spells from other people wouldn't work either, unless they restore life essence: They're out of male essence, so they simply can't exist in a masculine form.” She considers, “Surgery or hormones… could maybe change their shape, but they'd still be female through and through; they'd have their desires, but no way to fulfill them.”
Which is my answer, so I focus on the people in front of me, “Forever, and no, I can't. And that IS ‘can't’ rather than ‘won't’.”
They look at each other in silence.
Yeah. I have a similar sentence, it's just going to take longer.
For all the anger and bravado, I'm now just hurting. How could people possibly be so… ugh.
As tears start running down my cheeks, I make my way to one of the cargo holds, and lock myself in… and sit down, wrap my arms around my knees, and start crying. Why did I… at least they won't need to deal with it for long.
“Just the rest of their lives,” Patricia agrees, “Some decades… a century or two at most.”
Wait… “I thought it would wear off when the spells do… five minutes or so.”
Patricia laughs, “That's when it's us. Nobody else can climb back up that slope we shoved them down.”
“So I've cursed them forever?” You’re not doing a great job of comforting me, Patricia.
“They're not CURSED, they're BLESSED. How can you not see…?” She’s confused.
Right, she doesn't see it the same way… “Regardless of whether or not we see it as a good thing, we just changed who and what they are, quite deeply, in a fit of rage. They don't match their identification: They'll have trouble collecting money owed to them, they won't be recognized by their families and friends… we basically turned their lives upside down.”
“There's some disruption, sure, but…” whatever my pink ghost was going to say is lost to a knock on the door.
“May I come in?” The voice is very feminine, and sets off an intense need within me; what little is left of my manhood is at full attention almost immediately: That ‘May I come in?’ somehow carries an undertone of ‘I want your babies’.
I really did a number on them. I wonder which one is asking?
I suppose it doesn't matter… I need to face the music eventually… “Sure. There's no lock.”
The door creaks open, and a head of long blond hair with a pink rose on her cheek pokes through the door. Ah, Peter.
He seems distracted… “I… came to apologize. What the gunners did wasn't right, and I took advantage and…” he steps in, holding a blanket around himself.
“My eyes are up here,” his gaze is not focused where I expected: He seems fascinated by the tent in my pants, small as it is.
He jerks his blue eyes up to meet my mixed color ones, “Right! Sorry. Umm… I just… want something… and you smell so nice…”
OK, so I'm going to have to either get used to him talking to my crotch, or space him… maybe shock therapy? Does that work on androids? “How is it you seduced women on the station if you couldn't look them in the eye?”
He jumps his gaze back up, “I can! I could. I just knew what I wanted and how to get there, now, I just want…”
SERIOUSLY!? “Eyes. What do you want?”
Peters eyes meet mine again… for a moment, “Something. I just… I don't know….”
“Oh, that's easy,” Patricia whispers, “They have feminine desires: They want babies. Moreover, they all want to be on the receiving end of their previous kinks now, and desperately at that. They just haven't figured it out yet. In her case, she won't be able to rest until she knows she's pregnant… and she'll want to do it again immediately after she gives birth, for as long as she can. And right now, you're the only one on board with any baby batter.”
“Can he… she?” I think back, “She's a constructed being.”
“Oh yes,” Patricia seems proud of herself, “The essence exchange saw to that. He could get women pregnant, and very effectively, so now she's an extra fertile woman. If she’s not carrying, she will be very shortly after the next man puts his seed into her. The mechanisms changed along with the rest of the body.”
“Who are you talking to? You’re subvocalizing…” I focus back on Peter when she speaks up.
“Sorry, myself,” the way Patricia explained things, this is technically true. “I'm puzzling something out… you used to like making mothers out of women, right?”
“Yes…” she's looking at my tent again. Ugh, I give up.
“That's reversed now. Picture a man going off in your new plumbing,” she licks her lips as I continue, eyes still glued to my crotch “sending his seed up your pipes to meet the eggs that are waiting there,” she's rocking her hips, now, starting to close her eyes… “merging with them,” she drops the blanket, because her left hand is busy fondling her oversized melons while her other is snaking down to her baby bakery, “turning into little babies that will grow and grow inside of you until they have to come out…” she's pistoning herself hard and fast, “and then finding another man to start the whole thing over.”
She screams out, “YES!” as she shudders through the fantasy, “That's… oh no. That's why I keep… and I don't care who, I just… I want….” she gets up and runs off, her jumbo jugs and massive caboose jiggling joyously free, leaving her blanket behind, a wet trail showing exactly where she's been.
Not that there's really anywhere to go. We're in a starship in transit. There's only so many places to hide… and I'm the only one here that has what she wants. She'll be back. Well… until I don't have it anymore. No telling when that will be.
I break the silence with a mental question to Patricia, “So what is it the others want now?”
“The two ratfolk will get off on the idea that someone is secretly watching them or that they'll get caught doing something naughty… they'll enjoy exposing themselves and acting extra sexy when they think someone might be secretly watching or when they expect someone to come in soon,” she considers, “... which will be pretty much any time they're not in a more public space, because they'll never know for sure. The butterfly lady will want to know she's being looked at and desired… she'll probably want to wear as little as she can manage - nothing, if she thinks it won’t cause her too much trouble - and will constantly want to strut and show off, putting on a show wherever she goes.”
Those are going to be some crippling kinks. I think I know this next one, but I have to ask… “Why the constant drip from them?”
She chuckles, “You called it earlier. Part of the seed of my being, a specific fantasy from a subset of humanity. They're always ready for a man… and as blessed as they are, they'll be eager to let anyone have a sample… and they'll all have babies quite easily. I'm so excited to see them balloon up! Such blessings to bestow! Thank you for letting me do so. Their male essence was such a delight to devour.”
Right, umm…“So until we make our next stop, I am the only one on the ship who can satisfy four highly exaggerated women - who won't say no - and will be eager to get knocked up?” Maybe this is a dream.
“They're hardly exaggerated. Their proportions seem tame to me.” Ah, right. I forgot who I'm talking to for a moment.
“You are… or at least, were, an incarnation of exaggerated female features. How big would a chest need to be to seem outrageous to you?”
Patricia considers a bit, “You may have a point.”
Now, it's incredibly tempting to taste all four of my crewmates, and spend the rest of the trip filling all of their holes and feeling up their curves in a hedonistic orgy of delight, leaving them all with child… I don’t even get tired, so I could keep them all worn out. I understand they’d like that, even. But no. The civilized part of me says their consent is… questionable, at best. Taking advantage of what I turned them into… that’s… ugh. It rubs me the wrong way. Then again, they didn’t ask for MY consent… maybe it’d be OK if I took advantage a little bit? And they will enjoy it… but am I ready to be a father?
Curse my conscience!
But I think I'm done with the pity party, at least. I take a breath, and head back towards the bridge.
When I get there, Eric, Zachary, and Joseph are waiting for me. They have blankets wrapped around themselves… they don't look very comfortable.
Eric speaks up first, “So… how long is this spell going to last? Can you please turn it off?”
I consider, and Patricia answers before I properly phrase the question, “No, we can't. We ate their male essence: It's gone. Theoretically, if they were to encounter our opposite and he did the equivalent, they'd have NO essence, and would just die.”
“What about magic or surgery?” I’m curious for myself, too….
“Nothing originating from us can make anyone less feminine, ever. Spells from other people wouldn't work either, unless they restore life essence: They're out of male essence, so they simply can't exist in a masculine form.” She considers, “Surgery or hormones… could maybe change their shape, but they'd still be female through and through; they'd have their desires, but no way to fulfill them.”
Which is my answer, so I focus on the people in front of me, “Forever, and no, I can't. And that IS ‘can't’ rather than ‘won't’.”
They look at each other in silence.
Yeah. I have a similar sentence, it's just going to take longer.
