The Outlander

You are born twice.

The first birth is one of flesh. You come into this world as something small, somebody weak and without significance. You live an unexceptional life. You go to the right school, you get the right job, you eat the right foods, you take the right pills, you date and you fuck the right people. All of the things that should make you happy.

It's all so boring.

The voice in your head has been there for as long as you can remember. It's a quiet voice, an unassuming voice. It doesn't tell you to kill, it doesn't tell you that you were born in the wrong body, it doesn't push you to greatness. It always repeats the exact same thing whenever it speaks to you.

"You could do so much better."

It doesn't affect you, at least you don't think it does. It's just a normal intrusive thought, that's what everybody says. You believe them. You tone the voice out, in your darkest moments you lump it in as just another negative thought. Just another sign of depression. But it doesn't just speak in your low moments, it's always there in your highest points. When you graduate, when you're promoted, when you feel love for your partner.

"You could do so much better."

It affects you, you know for a fact it does. Your relationships fail, you can't hold onto your jobs, your pursuits result in nothing. You believe it, it bothers you. You know it's correct but in a way that you can't describe. Days of failure slide into months which slide into years. The good news becomes a fluke, the bad news becomes the expected.

One day, you ask it how.

The second birth is one of fire. The small and insignificant person you were is scorched away with divine precision. The unexceptional thing you were wicks away in the flame, in its place is something radiant. As overwhelming as it is, the new form feels obvious. The new form is beautifully feminine. Though perhaps feminine is not... fully descriptive. Your feminine body is so voluptuous and flawless as to be written about with godlike adoration in poetry, but between your legs is the kind of wickedly male implement that would put beasts to shame. The balls that hang heavy below it seem to churn with what feels like superhuman virility. The first thing you feel is the beautiful warmth of your new form radiate through your soft skin and swollen bosom. The second thing you feel is an overpowering wave of animal rutting urge. You can't move your body at all, but you feel the blood coursing into your monstrous new tool. Perhaps it's the influence of this new place, perhaps it's the amount of blood it takes to inflate this new organ, but your mind is a thoughtless haze of unchecked desire. There is no drive within your body or mind at this point other than to empty your heaving balls.

"Is this new form... more to your liking?" The voice asks with the self-assured smugness of somebody who knows the answer they will get back.

You can think of nothing but agreeing, the fire around you weakens. You feel your new body solidifying, casting itself to your consciousness. You own it now in a way that you didn't before.

"Then... keep it. So long as you agree to do what I ask..."

You regain control of your body and throw yourself onto the ground and begin to desperately stroke your new cock. Waves of pleasure unlike anything you felt in your previous life hit you with each pump, enough to make your eyes water and your mouth hang open as you shamelessly moan. Even though each pump feels like it should be pushing you into the best orgasm any living creature has experienced, you can stand on the edge but your body won't drop.

"Do not waste my gift." The voice whispers "I will not allow you."

Your hands are pulled from the instrument, each rapid pulse of your heart making it throb in the open air. You struggle against the invisible restraints but it's like trying to lift a building.

"I need children..." It tells you breathlessly. "You will... breed them for me"

You're assailed by visions of women's faces twisted in ecstasy underneath you as you pump powerful blasts into them over and over. Nothing would make these women happier than to be filled with as much of your supernatural seed as you can possibly give them. They want you to bury your wicked tool in them as much as you want to bury it.

"Give me mothers... give me children..." It whispers one last time before fading completely.

The fire fades completely as you agree, your body fades with it. You enter complete darkness. When you open your eyes again, it's because of the noise behind you.