Dr. Frankenstein couldn’t understand it. His calculations were right. His infusions of vitality and electricity should be giving his creation life! He worked days without sleep, and the signs always seemed encouraging. But when he’d finally sleep out of sheer exhaustion he’d only awaken to find it as devoid of life as the corpses he built it from. He vowed to continue! He would succeed!
She stepped past her husband, passed out again at his workbench. With a wry smile, she shook her head at him, so self-proud of his own work ethic and dedication. The smile faded with the return of resentment. His dedication, his devotion, his faithfulness were to his work, not his wife. Not for a long time. However, quite by accident, she’d stumbled on a plan that might change that, or at least partly remedy it.
“Igora, prepare him.”
The hunchback was almost as obedient to her as her husband. And the quietly competent servant kept her silence, as she should. As Mary Frankenstein stepped out of her robe, Igora lifted and removed the shroud from the Creation. It lay still and dead on the slab, despite all of the energy and essence poured into it by the scientist.
Because my poor husband had missed the key, she thought
Mary climbed up onto the cold table and passed her hand up the Creation’s arm, across shoulder to neck and down the cool, muscled chest, pausing to feel the seams of each place where different body parts had been carefully joined and attached. Her trailing fingers continued down between the Creation’s legs.
I dod’t know what dead men he raided for you, she thought, looking at its slack, close-eyed face, but he chose good parts.
The cock in her hand was soft, and cold and as dead as the rest of it, until she held it, and squeezed it, and then bent to kiss and lick it. It gave the same signs of life any man would, and more. Signs that spread from the hardening, warming, lengthening shaft all through the massive body. Her husband would have been shocked, elated to see this. But his focus had simply been wrong all along. The Creation’s chest shuddered, then rose and fell, and Mary could almost hear the massive heart pumping blood into the cock.
She wasted no time, steadying the thick, warming shaft while she positioned herself, and then slowly, savoringly, lowering herself onto it. She was dripping wet, but the cock was that of a monster, and it made her wince with more than pleasure as she forced herself down onto it.
Her own grunts and stifled moans were answered by gruff exhalations from the Creation.
It feels me. He feels me. Just as I feel him.
“Raise him!” she gasped, and Igora strained to push the Creation to a sitting position as Mary finally sat fully on the massive shaft. His breath, not that of a corpse, but sweet and alive, stirred Mary’s hair making her shudder and squeeze hard inside. She started riding him. It was slow at first as she willed her body to adjust, and reveled in the mass and throb of the intrusion, but she rose and fell harder and faster each time. Familiar, desperate desire took her over as it had time and time again. Mary stared into his closed eyes as she fucked his great cock, willing, desiring.
She came, shuddering, and whimpering, but didn’t stop. Her contractions squeezed him as she fucked. It was hard to keep the rhythm but she couldn’t stop. Not until-
The Creation’s breath caught. His eyes flew open and stared into Mary’s. Those eyes – one grey, one hazel – weren’t dead or empty. Not blind. Present.
Two massive, meaty hands slapped to her hips, and suddenly she wasn’t fucking him any more – he as using her to fuck. He lifted her bodily up and then pulled, yanked, her back down onto him. Harder and faster than she had been fucking him. And Mary could only hold on for dear life, stare into his eyes, and wail in wordless pleasure and need.
He came with a roar, thrusting his hips up to her and shoving her down onto his cock. His come was hot inside her, and each spurt of semen was like an electric shock arcing through her body, womb to spine to brain. Mary closed her eyes and screamed with him, coming again. She felt his life under her, inside her, moving through her. Life she had summoned to her. She wanted it all.
When it was over, Igora laid the Creation back, and Mrs. Frankenstein slowly rose off the softening cock. He gave off a very familiar sounding contented sigh and then seemed to drift to sleep. Mary would not stay as he cooled once again to lifelessness. She couldn’t bear it.
“Bring him to bed.” she told Igora, indicating her husband. The strong woman carefully, easily lifted him and brought him to their chambers, helping Mary disrobe him before being dismissed, with gratitude, to her own devices until tomorrow. Mary climbed into bed next to him and draped her arm and leg over him. Come dripped from her still tingling lips, smearing her husband’s leg. He would wake hours later and pretend to remember making love, patting his wife’s sleepy head before getting up to go back to work.
In the empty bed, Mary rubbed her belly, then lower, slipping her fingers into herself. She always felt… electric for a day or so after. But she did’t know, was this time a little… different? There was a new feeling under her skin, as if a switch inside her had been thrown “on”.
Does it mean what I think? What I hope? she wondered. If not, I will continue. I vow it. I will succeed!