Eleven
- 3 years ago
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Eleven 2 free porn video
I'll be honest, I panic.
First because some girl managed to stowaway aboard the ship. That's a
huge problem, she's going to be hungry and I only have enough food for 6
months of me and no one else.
This lasts for about long enough for me to turn around and see no one
behind me.
Then I try to figure out whether or not it's a trick mirror. I hear when
people are friends they play pranks on each other. I don't have any
friends, so that theory has a pretty short half life. I cup my hands
over the mirror anyway, in case it's a two way mirror and...
...and I'm not sure what. It's only when I cup my hands that I realize I
can look down.
I don't. I stare at the mirror, and at my hands. It turns out "the back
of my hand" isn't just an expression. I know what my hands look like and
these are not them. I can see their reflection in the mirror, see the
mirror hands almost touching mine.
It's not just because I'm a Gen-B. My hands would be different anyway, I
know that.
But these are definitely a woman's hands. Dainty, pointed, feminine.
I put my head against the mirror and close my eyes.
My hand moves from the mirror and runs up over my ribs. Yeah, there is
definitely a breast there. My skin is new, never been touched before,
and I can feel my nipples harden in a way that feels both way too bad
and way too good.
"Shit," I say again, and realize it's not my voice that's saying it,
it's a girl's.
I am ravenously hungry, and there's nothing to do now but get to the
mess hall. I'm not putting on clothes, I can barely stand the feeling of
my own skin. On a six month journey pants don't happen in any case.
Dinner is blue goo out of a spigot. It smells like baby food, and
probably tastes like baby food as well. The microbiotics in my gut
haven't developed yet. I can't eat dairy products, or honey, even most
meat is out of the question. I've got some pills to take. In the end
I'll be able to eat things that would kill a human. Knowing that doesn't
make the baby food taste any better.
I can't get over my hands. They aren't my hands. Sure they're a womans,
but I get a feeling I'd feel confused anyway.The veins are all wrong.
Knuckles not even wrinkly yet. As I eat I constantly wonder who the fuck
is feeding me. My bowl in the washer, I run my hand through my hair.
It's different hair too, too thin. I debate crying. It's been years
since I cried, but it seems like the appropriate thing to do if I'm
going to be a woman.
Fuck it. I make it to the bunk, curl up into a ball, and sob.
I've got a private secure channel to Sector & Sector. It's not my dad's
line, but whoever answers will know without a doubt it's me. I adjust
the camera so only my face shows, I'm still not putting on a shirt. Even
the leather pads on the seat are like sitting on razor wire.
I look at my face in the camera for several minutes. The Gen-B
proportions are all wrong, cartoonish. My eyes are too big, my mouth too
small. I cup a breast in my hand and adjust the camera down for a quick
second. Who ever designed this body was very generous.
I'm 60 light years out at this point, so there's a delay on the
transmission. The channel clicks open but there's only a green light on
the corner of the screen. That's how this works. In case of an
emergency, I might not want anyone to know I've got a line out.
"Hey, coms." The person manning the com station is called Coms. "I have
had a minor problem."
Twenty minutes later I have Susan on the screen. I've pulled her out of
bed. I'm not sure if she's getting laid, and this intrigues me more than
it normally would. I might have a problem here. Her hair is back to
normal, shoulder length, straight and blond. She's had her makeup
embedded, the way women have for a hundred years now. So she rolled out
of bed and still has eyeshadow on.
Of course she can change it. Use your head.
"There's no way to reverse this," Susan tells me what I already know.
"Your doctor isn't going to make it through this week, not after your
father has something to say about it. In the meantime we have to get
someone we trust on the line. I'll put in calls and ping you tomorrow."
Susan is an early morning girl, but...
"Sleep late, your body is gonna need it." And she signs off.
I'm smart about this, mostly. I open the door to the bunk house and get
into the controls. Heat up, gravity off. I've slept in zero-g before.
Not well. It takes a lot of getting used to. But I was floating in a
tank for a month. With the warmth and the weightlessness it's not hard
to get to sleep. It's hard not to curl into a ball as I pass out.
I swim back into consciousness, and for a moment everything is okay. And
then it hits me. I don't have to adjust my balls. That's new.
For the next nine months (at least) I have a woman's body. I have a
vagina. That's a little hard to reconcile. Probably best not to think
about it.
I think about it.
A lot.
Everything is sensitive as hell. I have pussy lips and I can feel them
rub together. Connections are still being formed between my brain and
body, but for the moment I am very conscious of my clitoris.
I don't know what to do about any of this.
But the zero-g is starting to get to me. I float my way over and turn on
some weight, until I'm standing on the floor. I'm ravenous. Time for
goop.
This time sitting in the chairs isn't agony. There's probably a book
somewhere that will tell me how long it takes my skin to adjust. I was
never much of a reader, so it's going to remain a mystery for now. I'm
still eating when the com comes through. It's not the secure channel.
Susan must have briefed everyone. Knowing that makes it harder and I cry
a bit over it. I'm still crying when I answer the com, and Susan lets me
take a minute to compose myself before she starts up.
"I have Doctor Jordan on the second line. She's been briefed on your...
situation... and has more information for you. I'm afraid that for the
foreseeable future you're fu--in trouble. Eleven we need you to stay on
this run. There's a lot of money involved, and meeting the Chinochkan
for the first time cements a relationship that will keep other units
from muscling in. They place a lot of emphasis on punctuality."
My nose doesn't run when I cry. My eyes are larger when I rub them
though so it kind of evens out.
"So you want me to..." I can't really finish the sentence, but Susan
nods anyway.
"I'm gonna bring Doctor Jordan on the line, unless you want to take some
time..." Susan is being understanding. It's worse than her distant
professionalism, because I need it so much.
Doctor Jordan has her own Gen-B. Her features are like mine, the way I
have to get used to looking in the mirror. She's stunningly attractive.
That's me now.
"Mister Sector? May I call you Eleven? That will probably make you feel
more comfortable."
I nod.
"Would you prefer the gentle version, or the tough one?"
I need the gentle version, instead I say, "Tough."
"You're going to get very horny."
Oh.
"Right now, as well as the normal adjustments, your body is adapting to
a new set of lymph nodes. Normally in a male Gen-B this wouldn't be a
problem. But your female constitution is going to make you go through
puberty all over again."
"Acne?" It's the first thing I ask and I don't know why. My voice is
timid. Trembling.
"No," Doctor Jordan laughs, "your skin is far more resistant to
infection than your 1.0." For a split second I see her look at Susan
with what I think is pity. For some reason that gives me hope.
"But your pituitary gland is trying to understand the body it's in, and
your physiology is going to change."
I terrible thought occurs, "Do I have to deal with, um, my time of the
month?"
"You have a Gen-B," Doctor Jordan tells me. "You only have to have your
menses if you want to."
My nose still isn't running, but I sniff anyway and nod.
"There are pills that will make your uterine lining build up," Jordan
continues, "but, as you might imagine, most women don't see a reason to
undergo it monthly." She pauses. "Are you eating the goop?"
"Does it taste like baby food?"
"I think it must. It's made of the same stuff. Just be glad you don't
have to teethe again."
I think I like her. I think I might like her more than I should. I think
all this liking might be a problem.
"If you were planet-side there would be hormone treatments that would
make it easier, but I don't think the ship pharm has anything that will
help you. But you have my com, so until you get back, ping me with any
questions. Jordan out."
Her image disappears and I'm alone with Susan again. "Eleven, we have to
talk about the Chinochkan. Your...gender...changes things a lot."
"Can we talk about this later?" For no reason all I than think about is
Doctor Jordan's teeth on my nipples. I have to find a way to cool down.
"Sure. We have another five months." Susan signs out as well.
I'm alone with my thoughts which have moved on to the way a Gen-B pussy
tastes.
It's a week later. I'm five months out still. On solid foods now, and I
can eat honey. I haven't consciously eaten honey in years. It's probably
in some things I've eaten, I know. But just sat down and eaten honey on
toast? Just not a part of my diet.
But to make sure I can handle it, there's honeycomb in the galley. Like
bears eat. Like I ate as a child, on toast. I put it on an sipplian
muffin. The first taste just sits in my mouth for a full five minutes as
I taste it. After all that baby food, something familiar from my
childhood is a frighteningly amazing experience. It takes me 40 minutes
to have breakfast. I pack a third of the honey comb away, for when I
need comfort food.
Exercise. Two hours a day. It's actually physical therapy, but I don't
call it physical therapy, because that makes it sound like I've been
shot. I practice balancing, which I'm pretty good at now. Then I lift
heavy things for awhile. Usually on a run like this I keep working out,
but bring the gravity up slowly, to 1.15. This Gen-B has type A muscles
all over. They'll gain mass 3 times as fast and lose it 10 times as
slow. My body certainly isn't chubby.
There aren't a lot of mirrors on the ship, but there are tons of screens
and cameras, and I wander around with my image on. I'm trying to get
used to it, but I'll be honest. Every time I see my body, I can't help
but touch it. Sometimes just my face, but my breasts are gorgeous. I
look like a different person touching myself, and it's hot as hell.
I've tried touching my pussy. I didn't want to at first. It's been hard
to accept that this is the way I am for now. Normally a run like this
would be a wankfest, there's not a lot to do. And I'm aroused all the
time. My nipples could cut glass for 23 hours of a normal day. But my
little clit is still too sensitive to rub around.
I can get close with just my nipples though. Before I go to sleep I have
to touch myself, it feels like I'm a teenager again. I lay back and
pinch my tits and feel shock waves go down my spine, and tingle my
pussy. But it's not enough. Eventually I fall asleep, feeling my snatch
dripping wet, and frustrated completely.
I'm totally guilty. I want to cross. That's the way I think about it
still. It's a solo run. There's no one around. And I feel guilty about
wanting to wear women's clothes.
It's been three weeks. The fans on the ship don't hurt my skin. My long
hair doesn't rip my shoulders to shreds. I can wear it down now and
don't wince when I move my head too fast. Of course my old clothes don't
fit, for a start they have an inseam. I tried it out with my boxers.
Just put them on and wore them about Bertha for a bit. But I felt...
I don't know how I felt.
I guess like I was dressing wrong.
But women's clothes are wrong too, and I feel terrible looking through
the wardrobe generator. There's a lot of stuff in here. They brought it
in with the tank. Knew I'd need new clothes. I'm not surprised it has
more than a men's module. Hell it has more than a human module. This
little guy can print over 60 million different kinds of clothing, in
human proportions alone. Yeah they're all synthetic. But even my father
can't afford to wear organic textiles every day. To be honest, I don't
even think he could tell the difference between modern poly-cotton and
organic cotton. It's just a status thing.
I sit down in front of the screen and look at it for a minute. I ping
Doctor Jordan. She answers in a chipper mood, I look it up and realize
it's a sunny morning where she is.
"Eleven! I was hoping to hear from you soon."
I look down as I explain the situation. I've got my camera and I can see
how big my eyes are as I ask her, "Is that wrong?"
"Oh honey." Doctor Jordan sounds like she'd touch my shoulder when she
says it. Or my hair. Or my... "You should do it. You can't run around
naked all the time."
She has to go and hangs up. My nipples are so hard, they almost hurt.
So I turn back to the wardrobe. I know I should just pick up some plain
cotton panties, and a sports bra. But there's an icon my finger
immediately hovers over. It's a pair of panties with flowers and lace.
I print out three bottoms and three tops. Red, black and purple. Some of
them have straps, some of them have lace. All of them have frills. All
of them are inventive.
Then I really take a risk. Stockings and shoes.
And the panties feel so good, going up my legs. I tuck them under my
pussy, and they feel foreign and wonderful. The lace brushes over my
thighs as I walk around the bunk, looking in the screens. I find a
couple different ones so I can see myself in my underwear from all the
angles. I lay a pad on the floor and straddle it, and after a couple of
seconds notice a damp spot.
So I switch to bras. I know I said this body was perky enough not to
need them. I don't know if I believe that, or if I just want to wear a
sexy bra. No. I know.
They take a little bit to work out, and I actually end up looking
online. There are a bunch of "life hacks" for putting on bras. I feel
like I'm getting a jump start on this whole "woman" thing. With the
first one on, I model for the screens. I have cleavage now! Again,
little bits of lace tickle my skin. Looking at myself in the mirrors, my
nipples are like little pebbles. A quick check, yep, that damp spot has
grown.
Putting on the tights is intuitive, of course. Until I get to the
garters, and then it's back to the ultranet to figure out how they work.
Apparently I'm not the only woman to not have been taught this, and
there's lots of reference as well.
I just called myself a woman. I don't know how to feel about that.
Okay these panties are absolutely damp now, and I have to change and
start the process over.
The next ensemble is red and black. Lacey and little flowers. It's see
through in places I've never seen through before. The bra goes on first
this time. It squeezes my tits together, almost too tight. Almost not
tight enough. I feel something drip past my lips and touch the side of
my thigh. I curl my toes a little.
The tights are finer, and lined with red lace. I put them on and clip
them to the garter belt in one smooth motion.
Panties still off I go over the shoes. I decided not to get too
complicated, and didn't want to set the heels too high. So three pairs
only have three inch heels. The red pair though. The red pair is six
inch stilettos, in shiny red leather.
Here's the thing, I don't know how to put heels on, so I put them on the
way I wear my boots. This means that I'm kneeling in one, while I buckle
the other. I have to grab the bed post when I get both feet beneath me,
and I catch a glimpse of myself on the monitors.
I'm squatting, in red lace tights and bra, on the tips of my heels. My
pussy is bare and glistening. I can't help but put my fingers in my
mouth, and brush a finger over the shutter button on the monitor. I take
more than a couple of pictures like that.
Mikayla
- 26.08.2022
- 24
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