Synthie Ch. 01: A Whole New Life

Zara pushed him away as the cab slowed. "No one has ever wanted me this much before," she whispered. "This is my place. Let's get inside."

Mike followed her in. It was a small apartment with kitchen, bathroom, lounge and bedroom. They hurried through, Zara stripping out of her uniform as she went, Mike struggling out of his tight trousers and knickers. His cock sprung blessedly free and pointed straight at Zara. Her eyes went wide, but she lay back on her bed, legs spread wide, her pussy glistening with her lust for him. "Fuck me, Mike. Fuck me with that beautiful cock."

He didn't need to be asked twice. He knelt between her wide-spread thighs and positioned his hard length at her entrance. Always before he had worried about being too small to give pleasure. Now it was the opposite problem. He wondered what it would be like to have a huge cock like his pushing into his own new virgin pussy.

He shook his head to clear it, and concentrated on nurse Zara's gorgeous, wet pussy, rubbing the head of his cock up and down the slit, rubbing her clit with it, spreading her juices all over. Then pushed in slowly. She gasped. "Stop! Stop! Wait! Wait!" And he did, but soon he was pushing again, working deeper, pulling out then driving in again, and again. He couldn't believe how good she felt, taking so much of him, so deep, so tight.

He bent down and sucked at her nipples as he built up a slow, steady pace, thrusting deep into her, fucking her sweet pussy as she fucked him back, thrusting her pelvis up at him. "Harder!" she hissed. "Harder!"

Harder and deeper he thrust, until it seemed he was ramming the tight muscle at the entry to her womb. She cried out as if in pain, but when he paused she hissed, "Again!" He was happy to oblige and was soon pounding into her, bouncing against her cervix.

His biosynthetic body seemed tireless, able to sustain the long assault without breaking a sweat. He was trying to hold back his climax when she suddenly dug her fingernails into his back and screamed, "I'm coming!"

The pain was the last straw for him and he screamed back at her as he pushed as deep as possible into her and exploded there, his hot cum erupting into her depths and flooding back. He clung to her tightly until the last tremors of his orgasm subsided.

"That was amazing," Zara whispered. "Thank you, Mike."

Lodged deep in Zara's ravaged pussy, Mike's length was still rock hard. He pulled out slowly, turned Zara over onto her knees, and drove easily back in, ignoring her half-hearted complaints. "You like this, don't you," he said.

"Fuck, yes," she gasped.

"Tell me how much you love my cock," he ordered, thrusting easily, evenly, into her. In the mirror by the bed he had a wonderful view of himself and Zara, one beautiful woman fucking another, doggy style, with a huge, thick cock.

"I love your big cock," Zara growled. "Fuck me with your beautiful cock."

Mike spanked her across her right bum cheek. "Say it again."

"I love your big cock!" she screamed, driving herself back against it, impaling herself on it. He spanked her again as she pulled away. They set into this new rhythm, Mike spanking her as she fucked herself on his proud length like a wild animal, screaming her love for his cock as orgasm after orgasm tore through her, until --

Zara collapsed, exhausted, sated, her breathing ragged and heavy. Her thighs and the bed between them were soaked from her juices. Mike bent down to lick around her pussy, delving inside with his tongue. She mewled complaint when he kissed her clit.

Mike was still hard. He had been getting close when she had run out of steam. He rolled over onto his back next to her. "Please," he begged. "I need release."

After a few deep breaths she nodded and moved between his legs. "You are one horny bitch, Mike," she said. With one hand she stroked the thick shaft of his cock. With the other she stroked the tender lips of his pussy. "You are so fucking wet, Mike." She pushed her fingers in, first one, then two, finally a third. "Tell me what a horny fucking bitch you are, Mike."

It felt so good what she was doing, stroking his shaft, finger fucking his tight, wet pussy. Maybe it was that so unfamiliar penetration that made it possible, but Mike yielded to her command and embraced his feminine side. "I'm a horny bitch," he said.

"Again, Mike. Convince me." She pushed a fourth finger in, stretching him wide.

"I'm a horny bitch," he shouted. "A horny fucking bitch!"

It pushed him over the edge and he wailed as he climaxed, his pussy clenching tight around the invading fingers. Zara wrapped her lips round the head of his cock just in time to catch the first jet of his cum. It was his third orgasm of the day, but it seemed his flow was undiminished. Zara swallowed as fast as she could, but more escaped out down his shaft, which she continued stroking gently until at last his pulsing finished. "Tastes nice," she said with a cheeky grin.

*

As a thirty year old space freighter pilot he had never once questioned his gender identity. He was a man through and through, and heterosexual to the core. Thinking back on his life now, there were perhaps a few hints that his identity and orientation weren't quite as rigid and absolute as he'd liked to believe.

This wonderful new body with its feminine beauty and exaggerated sexuality was allowing him to express facets of his personality that he would have ruthlessly crushed before. He still felt himself essentially to be a man, but the thrill of release he had got in shouting, "I'm a horny bitch," both shocked and excited him.

While he couldn't deny the intense pleasure of Zara's fingers teasing and penetrating his pussy, and while the idea of having a pussy intrigued him, nevertheless it was the one part of his new body that he struggled to accept, and the one part he was reluctant to touch and explore.

He wondered how he would have felt if the only body they'd found for him was female. Would he have adapted so well to that? Somehow he didn't think so. He still thought of himself as a man, and his cock was a vital part of that identity.

His biosynthetic body was built for sex, and seemed indefatigable. In the middle of the night he woke Zara for sex. She told him to use her as he wished, then half-slept while he fucked her sweet pussy gently for an hour. In the morning they made love properly, then after a quick shower she dressed hastily for work. "You've ruined me," she complained. "I can hardly stand, let alone walk. And where will I ever find a man who can do that to me?" She fled the apartment, not waiting for an answer.

It was a brutal reminder that, however much he had loved spending the night with Zara, for her it was just about the sex. Great sex. Fantastic sex! He had no complaints there. But ultimately for her, just sex. She had made that clear in the hospital, and again now.

But Mike needed to be more than a fuck toy. Otherwise he might as well just be a real biosynth. He knew then that if he stayed with Zara she would break his heart. Sighing heavily he headed for the shower, preparing himself mentally to head out into the world, as such, alone.

*

The main outer ring was constructed with four main layers. The top layer, with that fantastic rotating view above of the planet and stars, was a long stretch of parkland edged with apartments. Larger apartment complexes clustered near the station's great spokes. The plants had been engineered and bred over the hundreds of years since the dawn of space flight to adapt them to artificial environments. The uneven rocky ground was deceptive, a layer of topsoil over lightweight structural foam. A never ending stream meandered around playing fields and through copses, some shallow ponds here and there with boats.

Mike had grown up in Earth's great urban sprawl where greenery meant weeds breaking through the ancient cracked concrete, where the sun was harsh during the day and the nights long and humid. Space for him was freedom from that soulless chaos. Solitude was peace. The station habitats dotted around the proximal galaxy were like mythical faery realms to him with their natural life and unnatural order. They were lonely islands of unimaginable richness forever at war with the hostile reality of existence outside a planetary atmosphere. What had happened to his ship was just one of the many threats a station habitat faced.

That he had survived that at all was astonishing. Mike wondered how many people in all of human history had survived being holed by a micrometeorite. "Where is the Elephant?" he asked his A.I.

"Hub 3," it said immediately. "Scheduled to depart at 12.03 today."

He was glad his ship had survived, but the thought of it leaving without him hurt.

The main deck of the habitat was two below the surface. Sandwiched between the main deck and the parks on top was a warren of access crawlspaces and transport infrastructure through a vast nest of cables, conduits and pipes. Below the main deck, the outer layer was used for storage and workshops and one or two more unusual things. The famous Station 6 brothel was located there. A luxurious mansion built inside a dark, subterranean space, invisible to all except those who knew where to look.

Mike took a transport cab to the main deck, getting out at his company's office, 'ZooM!' splashed across the windows in bright blue. Inside, a middle aged man sat at a desk surrounded by displays showing inventories and schedules. He glanced up when Mike walked in, then looked away again with a scowl. "What do you want, synthie?"

Mike flinched at the coarse insult. He'd used the word himself often enough, but it frightened him to be the target of it. To be called a 'synthie' was to be called the lowest form of life imaginable.

"My name is Mike Alson," he said carefully. "I'm the Elephant's pilot."

The man looked at him in confusion. Mike could almost see the gears turning in the man's head. Slowly the confusion eased from his expression to be replaced with curiosity and naked hunger, and he stared directly at Mike's crotch where the tight pink trousers bulged noticeably. Mike was ashamed to think that this was probably how he himself would have acted.

"What can I do for you, Mr Alson?" the man said at last. "Or is it Ms Alson now?" It sounded polite, but Mike sensed the mockery in it.

"It's 'Mr'," he insisted tersely. "I'm the Elephant's pilot. I should be on my ship."

The man shook his head. "I'm sorry, Mr Alson. Company insurance doesn't cover biosynth crew. A severance package has been arranged for you, which I think you'll find is more than acceptable. Unless you'd like to take this to court instead?"

Mike glared at him. Going through the court would take months, perhaps years, with slim chance of success. If he couldn't be on the Elephant then he needed money immediately just to live on Station 6. He had some savings, but not enough.

"Payment pending," his A.I. said, and details and conditions overlaid his vision. "Do you accept?"

Mike studied them briefly. It was a decent amount. "I accept," he said, speaking both to his A.I. and the man, who grinned at him, waving goodbye.

*

His A.I. gave him directions to the housing office. It was a short walk away, although even a short walk was a challenge in such high heels. The long arcade wasn't busy, only a few people moving about, but they all watched him. He started to avoid looking at people, not wanting to see the suspicion and disgust in their eyes. That he understood their feelings, and even shared them to some extent, did not alleviate the claustrophobia he was starting to feel.

In the housing office the secretary glared at him. "What do you want?" she demanded.

"My name is Mike Alson," he explained. "The pilot of the Elephant. Ex-pilot. I'll be staying on Station 6 and I need an apartment."

Her expression softened as she listened. "I heard about you," she said. "Must be awful being stuck in that."

"It has its good points."

"I guess..." She looked through some lists on her display. "Do you want somewhere busy or somewhere secluded? How big?"

"Small and secluded is best." Somewhere far away from hostile faces.

"How about a cabin on the edge of the woods?" She showed him a map of the surface and pointed to the location. An image of the cabin itself appeared next to her finger, along with the price -- expensive, but within reach.

"I'll take it," he said, and his A.I. reported an immediate payment request. He gave consent and winced as his balance dropped almost to where it had started the day.

The secretary smiled warmly. "Thank you, Mr Alson. I hope everything works out for you."

He smiled and thanked her.

Outside the office, exposed again to glares from passing strangers, he summoned a cab to take him away immediately to his new home.

*

The ground around his cabin was carefully sculpted to create the illusion of a valley far from civilisation. In truth, his nearest neighbours were five minutes' walk away, if that. The rock formations and dense vegetation around the cabin cut off all line of sight and made approach very difficult except along a narrow, overgrown path through a fissure.

The sense of isolation was wonderful, liberating. The tension that had built steadily all morning eased as he surveyed the cabin. From the outside it seemed to be constructed from logs, but inside the design was identical to Zara's apartment. The decorations were neutral, however, and the furnishings minimal.

It was his. All his. He'd never had a home of his own before. He kicked off his heels and dived onto the bed. Resting there happily, thinking of everything and nothing, he fell asleep.

*

For four weeks Mike stayed home, venturing out only for his weekly check-up at the hospital. He didn't like being in public. He didn't like the way people looked at him. Didn't like the way that made him feel about himself. Far better to stay at home, safe, relaxed, only the strange and beautiful woman in the mirrors for company.

She was less strange every day, increasingly part of his self-image. He had fun sometimes dressing her up, not only in the clothes that had come with her, but also in other clothes that he had his A.I. purchase. He experimented, trying to find a style that suited both her femininity and his masculinity, which usually meant trousers and high heels. Skirts and dresses made him feel like a fraud, even if they did look fantastic on her.

He also tried to dress in ways that concealed rather than emphasised his biosynthetic abnormality. Loose-fitting tops that hid his narrow waist. Over-bust corsets that flattened rather than lifted his large breasts. Ultimately, though, it was his eyes that gave him away. Like everything else about his body, they were designed for beauty, but more clearly than anything else they marked him out as non-human, and the only way to conceal them was with sunglasses, an absurd fashion choice on a space station, and not effective viewed from the side.

The first time he ventured out in his new disguise the effect was profound. Apart from a number of puzzled expressions and disapproving frowns he was more or less ignored.

At home, free from judgement and increasingly confident of his privacy, he often walked about in the nude, or in just a bathrobe. In part it was his act of rebellion, to expose all in private that he had to conceal in public. In part also he just enjoyed seeing himself naked. After all, what was the point of a perfect body if you had to keep it hidden.

Sometimes in the evenings, once the sun's reflection had faded from the sky, he liked to lie naked on the grass and watch the universe turning above him. For over ten years he had travelled between the stars. The bright blackness of space was in his heart. Silence and solitude.

And it was lying thus that Vanity found him.

*

"Mr Alson?"

Mike shot to his feet and backed away from the woman, suddenly embarrassed over his lack of clothing -- and utterly furious with the woman who had invaded his space. That she was quite possibly the most beautiful woman he had ever seen didn't help at all. "Why don't you go put something on," she said, clearly amused, "and then we'll talk."

She turned her back to him and looked up at the sky. Mike glared at her, lost for words. If he had not been naked he would have demanded she look at him, answer him, but he was naked. He stormed off to his cabin to get dressed.

By the time he returned, he had calmed a little. He was startled to find her lying on the grass just as he had been. "It's strange," she said. "We who were born here never look up. I can't remember the last time I did. Perhaps we don't like to think about how fragile our home is. A handful of well aimed meteorites could destroy this entire station." She sat up and looked at him. "Of course, you know that better than anyone."

She had incredibly pale skin with slightly Asian features, dark eyes and long straight black hair. Her black silk dress was embroidered with a fearsome dragon. "My name is Vanity," she said, standing up, "and you have my body."

Mike was uncomfortably aware that he had yet to say anything at all, but he was completely baffled by her. He'd composed a whole speech in his head while getting dressed, but couldn't remember a word of it now.

"Not of course that I intended it for myself -- I'm perfectly happy with the one I've got -- but my establishment is famous for always having the latest greatest models and now it's missing one."

Suddenly Mike knew who she was. "The brothel!" he gasped. "Vanity's. You --"

"Yes, I'm that Vanity."

"But you can't be! Vanity's has existed for hundreds of years! And you can't be more than... thirty?"

"Well, it's true the brothel has existed in one form or another almost as long as the station itself, but it has been Vanity's for only fifty years. Fifty two, almost. And I am a lot closer to eighty than thirty. Old enough indeed to be your grandmother."

She winked at him and walked off towards his cabin. Mike studied her, admired the perfection of her figure and her graceful movements. There was no way she was eighty, unless --

He hurried after her, followed her into the kitchen. Vanity opened his fridge and inspected the contents, choosing eventually a lemon drink. "Care to join me?" she asked.

"Same for me," he said.

They took their drinks outside and sat on the grass. "So, you're a biosynth," he said.

"Have been for thirty six years. This is actually my second. The doctors have made it clear that I won't survive another transplant. They're even doubtful whether I'll survive much longer in this one, but I'm determined to make it to a hundred." She grinned at him suddenly. "I'll do it, or I'll die trying."

"You don't look at all like a biosynth," he said.

"This is a custom model. I designed it myself. It's based on the original me, but adjusted, improved. I've done a lot of design work on biosynths over the years. Have you had sex yet?"

"Huh?"

"In your new body. Have you had sex?"

Mike laughed at the clinical directness of the question. "Yes."

"Was it good?"

He grinned. "Oh, yes."

Vanity nodded. "My first body, the sex was so boring. It was okay in certain positions, but the mind-body connections were so primitive. The engineers who built it had never had to live in it, so it was all based on educated guesswork and numerical models. Basically, for me to enjoy sex again, I had to completely redesign my own body. And you get the benefits."

"Well, I'm certainly grateful for that," Mike said.

"Listen," she said. "It's very lonely being a biosynth. I know why it is you're hiding away like this, but I'd like you to come and work for me -- not as a sex worker, just helping out with day-to-day stuff."