Heyo hussies!! I'm so excited to present part 4 of my Frankenstein's Awakening series!! I can't fathom that in just one week, I've penned FOUR of these stories. I can't stop thinking about our Franky Boy, and the words just won't stop. 💝
To make up for the last chapter, we're starting
extra
slutty.
For smut, did I research the meanings of various flowers during the early 19th century? Yes. Did I brush up on 1810s German men's fashion? Darn tootin'. And did I google the shit out of trending men's baby names in 19th century Germany as well? Take a wild, wild guess.
The only Easter egg I'll bestow upon y'all is the name
Hirschfeld.
(no, this isn't THEE Hirschfeld of 1800s-1900s Germany - but the homage was too good to resist.)
I hope y'all enjoy my horny descent further into historical sci-fi madness.
💕Love, Your Local Transmasc Horndog💕
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“Remember that I am thy creature; I ought to be thy Adam, but I am rather the fallen angel… Everywhere I see bliss, from which I alone am irrevocably excluded. I was benevolent and good; misery made me a fiend. Make me happy, and I shall again be virtuous.“
- Frankenstein (Chapter 10) by Mary Shelley, 1818
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My hand settled at the hilt of my prick, drinking in the scorching warmth and the throb of my heartbeat just beneath my skin. Fingertips traced lightly from base to tip as a now-familiar hardness began to blossom.
My face had been hot ever since I first closed the door of my room, and my breath was now raggedly quickening. My hand wanted to wrap around my throbbing member and pump desperately - fast, rough, breathless - but that could wait.
This intimate delight was still so very new to me, and I would take my time.
I would find every last thing that made me burn.
My thumb traced a brave circle around my silky tip, and my legs jerked.
A velvety hum vibrated in my chest as my thumb worked circles around my slit, massaging the soft skin at an agonizingly slow pace.
Mmm, hahh,
Nnhn.
Mhhn...
My lust was now an itch, the racing of my pulse beating hypnotically through every inch of my body.
My hand wrapped around my fullness and began to pump slowly, taking special care to linger at the sensitive ridge beneath my prick's head.
As my hand found a steady rhythm, suddenly the image of a person sitting atop me - fully sheathed upon my rigid cock, their legs trembling with the rise and fall of their hips - sprang into mind. All I had to pleasure myself was my hand, but I imagined the silky wetness of their body enveloping my throbbing prick.
The lover in my head began to quicken their movements, and my hand followed suit - but the friction of my dry skin was becoming a distraction.
Could the wetness in this vision heighten my pleasure?
With a shuddering breath I removed my hand, reaching for the vial of scar oil that sat upon my bedside table. My rational mind was gone, slurring sleepily beneath my growing need.
I uncapped the vial and watched as oil oozed onto my palm; I rubbed it into my fingers, warming it.
When my hand finally returned to my prick, I could have sworn I felt a shock of electricity.
I oiled my length, pressing greedily into the burning flesh with my fingers.
My hand resumed its grip and began pumping faster than before, rougher than I had been able to attempt with the dry friction.
My lips parted thirstily as my breathing became ragged, hot in my throat.
Nhhmn
Hnn
, ah-! Hah,
Hnhh...
The lover in my mind was breathing harder too, the skin of their back blushing red and glistening wet with sweat beneath the moonlight. I imagined their head falling back, their hips grinding down onto my cock in a desperate, rough, feverish need.
A gentle slapping sound now accompanied each feverish stroke. My hips were beginning to take over, bucking up hungrily into my oiled hand. Heat was blossoming low in my belly and my bollocks were growing heavier, now clenching with need as tension began to grow in my gut. This tension began rising up the length of my cock.
The sounds in my room were beginning to grow muffled as I felt tears pooling in my eyes. My feet were tingling.
I had only come once before, but I knew that I was close. I was
close.
My thumb returned to the electric shock of my prick's tip, drawing rough circles around the slit. My legs shaking, my breath hitching, there was --
A knock at my door.
A primal bolt of electricity skipped through my heart as I quickly sat up, wiping the sweat from my brow and trying to breathe through my nose. I bunched the blanket atop my throbbing prick, trying to hide the painful hardness of my erection.
The door opened with a soft creak, and there stood the Doctor - clothed in a creamy white bed jacket, a flickering candle in hand.
"Good evening, dear fellow. I know that it is growing late, but I have a query for you - if you are amicable?"
"I am listening, Doctor."
My words came out shaky and breathless. I cleared my throat and tried to focus.
"Excellent. Now, I've been thinking of all your time here at the manor - I've been thinking heavily upon your progress in lessons, and your worldly know-how. I feel as though you are well on your way to becoming a gentleman."
I nodded and smiled softly, trying to distract myself from the maddening heat between my legs.
"If you would be so amicable, I was thinking that you might... perhaps... be willing to try and leave the manor in my company, sometime this week? With all of your efforts, I believe that you may be ready to take on the arts of socialization."
My breath caught dryly in my throat as I tried to make sense of what the Doctor was suggesting.
Me, in this body? With this face?
Looking directly into the eyes of another human being, outside of the manor?
The Doctor noticed my silence, and gently added, "This can happen at any time, and only when you feel that you are ready. It does not have to be tomorrow, or the next day, or even the next month. And we - me, and some of the staff - we would be with you every step of the way."
My head was spinning, the heat in my gut now replaced with a sinking cold.
"...May I think on it?"
"Of course! Please, do get some rest. We can discuss this in the morning."
The Doctor gave me a reassuring smile as he shut the door behind him.
Click.
I could have easily returned my hand to my raging prick to finish what I had so hungrily built towards, but my thoughts were now racing elsewhere.
I wiped my oily hand on a washcloth beside my bed and pulled the covers up to my chin. I turned onto my side so that I was once again facing my dear friend, the moon.
Perhaps she could give me some comfort.
I lay in silence, the heartbeat eventually softening in my groin.
----
By this time, it had been several long months since my awakening.
My body was moving smoothly. My speech was growing more confident, and most of my finer nerves had reconnected - though on occasion, I would still feel the prickly tickles of a stray nerve finding itself.
My dreams had more color now than they had had in the beginning. Some nights brought me fleeting visions of things that I had no recollection of seeing yet in this lifetime!
I did not think to ask the Doctor, but I know now that these were
memories
embedded within the muscles and organs of the bodies that had made me.
Whether or not I wanted them they lived within my body like ghosts, surfacing gently as I slept.
My long keloid scars were softer now, in spite of their stubborn pink and purple hues. I realized one day - after catching a glimpse of my reflection in the china cabinet - that if no one came many feet of me, I might actually be able to pass as simply odd-looking.
A very odd, over 7 foot tall, raven-haired gentleman with scars on his face.
....Perhaps it was possible?
----
"Please do try and hold still, sir!"
It was hard not to fidget and flinch as members of the house patted, brushed, buttoned, and scrutinized every inch of me for my very first social outing.
