Chapter 1: Tank-Born

I don’t yet know if I’ll make myself the hero or the villain in recording the details of my life. To begin it should be known that I went into the tank at three. Before that time I have few distinct memories, more the vague impression of a disappointed father and a loving mother. So I begin my life with my rebirth, which occurred on a Friday, just before noon, three centuries after end of the world.

Mine was an inauspicious start; I stumbled naked from the tank, moving on legs that had not been used in more than a decade. The world was new to me, the room’s dim fluorescents almost blinding and the tank’s low hum overwhelming.

I blinked, trying to adjust to the onslaught, and looked around. The tank room was mostly empty. It contained the tank, I’d just emerged from, and a mattress in one corner, with a mass of blankets piled at one end. There was no other furniture in the room, which was windowless with only one door.

I moved towards the door, ready to escape, but as I reached for the handle I heard a noise behind me. I turned to see the pile of blankets shift and realized there was a cunt hiding under the blankets. I say cunt, not to be vulgar, but because that’s what I thought at the time. It was perhaps the first thought of my new life.

“It’s locked,” said the cunt, gesturing past me at the door. Now that she was uncovered, I could see that she was a pretty thing, lithe and slender with a petite body and small, firm tits. She had long red hair and intelligent green eyes. Around her neck was a black leather collar that attached her to the wall by a heavy metal chain. She was also eyeing me with obvious fear.

“Who are you?” I asked, my voice gruff from lack of use.

“Clara,” she said. “I belonged to your father.”

I considered the cunt. Beneath the blanket, I could tell she was naked. One breast peaked out, nipple hard, her pink areola small and puckered in the cool air of the room.

The cunt saw where I was looking and blushed, but didn’t try to cover herself. She even lowered the blanket, revealing the other nipple and the soft, bare curve of her belly. I could see the indentation of her navel and a hint of soft, red hair just above her covered mound.

The words woman and girl came from my memory, part of the education I’d received in the tank. I applied them in my head to Clara, but it was like they wouldn’t fit. She wasn’t a girl or a woman; she wasn’t a person; she was a cunt, a warm and inviting hole for me to defile or destroy.

Clara fidgeted on the mattress, and the chain that bound her to the wall clanked softly. “Are you a prisoner here?” I asked her.

“No more than anywhere else,” she replied, her tone laced with sadness and resignation. She pulled lightly on the chain, causing it to rattle. “The chain’s for the girls who panic,” she explained. “I’m told most cry. Some just lay there until they’re taken away. I know not to fight or run.”

“You say that,” I said as I took half a step towards her. “But I can tell you’re afraid of me.”

She flinched, at the movement, before stealing a glance between my legs. “You’re more lucid than I expected. But you’re still awfully large. Much bigger than your father.”

I looked down between my thighs, noticing for the first time that I was naked and fully erect. My cock was long and thick, and even though I’d never seen an erection it seemed bigger than it ought to be. I’d been reborn with what my mother would later call my third leg. She declared, and some women in the neighborhood agreed, that this meant I was destined to be unlucky with women, or at least unlucky for women.

“Why is it so big,” I asked the cunt.

“You’re tank-big,” she explained, and when I looked at her with a puzzled expression she continued, “It happens with some rebirths. Incubation interferes with puberty and the natural hormone levels become imbalanced. They compensate with synthetic hormones, but it’s an imprecise calculus.”

Clara shifted again on the mattress, the chain clattered softly. “In your case,” she said, eyes glued to my impossible cock, “They clearly used too much.”

I couldn’t help but smirk at her assessment, my ego swelling as much as the appendage between my legs. I stepped towards her, feeling inexplicably drawn to her nakedness, her vulnerability, and her fear. She flinched as I approached, her eyes growing wide in anticipation, but she didn’t pull away or scream. She just lay there, waiting for me, trembling like a leaf caught in a storm.

I reached out and gently stroked Clara’s cheek, relishing how she flinched at my touch. “Don’t be afraid,” I whispered, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Clara looked up at me with wide, fearful eyes, but there was a slight defiance in them too. “Let’s not start things with a lie,” she said. I could see her stomach muscles tighten as she adjusted her position on the mattress, then she pushed the blankets back to reveal her pussy.

My cock twitched in response to the sight of her glistening pink folds, but I restrained myself. “Would you prefer it if I let you go?” I asked, my finger tracing the line of her jaw.

She pulled on her chain, causing her small, firm breasts to jiggle slightly. “I’ve never been free, and wouldn’t know what to do if I was. It’s not something that girls like me worry about.”

I could tell the cunt was lying, to herself as much as to me, but I didn’t press her on it. I gripped her jaw tightly, forcing her to look up at me. “You’re not a girl,” I corrected her. “You’re a cunt.”

Clara’s mouth formed a little ‘o’ and I felt her cheeks warm in my hand—a deep pink spread from her face down her neck and chest. “Just like him?” she said softly, and then she lightly kissed the palm of my hand.

“My father?” I asked, feeling a pang of sadness and confusion at the mention of the man who had brought me into this world, and then taken that world away from me.

I felt Clara nod under my hand, then she looked up at me with those big green eyes of hers. “He called me cunt, too. When we were alone in his bed. Usually when he was inside me.”

My cock throbbed at the thought of Clara being used like that by my father, but I kept my voice level when I asked, “How old were you the first time he fucked you like a whore?”

“I was fifteen when he took my virginity,” Clara whispered. “It was my birthday. He said it was my present, and that I should be happy because he was giving me a chance to be his favorite.”

Her voice was laced with disgust and sadness, but I could sense a hint of pride in her tone. “I kept his bed for two years,” she continued. “Even when things got bad and he sold his other slaves, I remained. He told me that he kept me because I was younger and tighter than the others, but I suspect it was because he loved me, in his own twisted way.”

Clara’s words hung heavy in the air between us. I could tell that she was still haunted by the memories of my father.

I moved my fingers down her delicate neck, tracing the curve of her throat, feeling the heat of her skin and the soft leather of her collar. “I’m going to take you now,” I told her, my voice low but firm.

She swallowed, her eyes flicking back and forth between my face and my enormous cock. “Would it make any difference if I asked you to be gentle?” she whispered.

I shook my head. Clara had been right, there was no point in starting things with lies. My hand was on the center of her chest, pressed between her breasts. I could feel her heart racing. I could see the fear in her eyes, but there was something else there too. Desire, maybe? I couldn’t be sure. But I knew I wanted her. I wanted to fuck her, to own her. I wanted to resize her hole with my impossible cock, and hear her scream as I emptied myself inside her.

Clara looked up at me with her big green eyes and nodded, her breath hitching as I teased the curve of her breast. “Okay,” she said, her voice trembling.