Chaoman16's Erotica

Story by Nephina Tsung

Salutations. I've decided to place my tales here. Soo, here's some of my stuff. I'll start with some of my older stuff. The first one is a Transformation/Gender Morph/Egglaying/Lactation thing called True Calling.

I once had turmoil as a roommate and chaos as a household, but no longer is that the case, rhythm, or reason for my existence. I came to this place with the intent to destroy, but now I am filled with a new intent, the intent to create.

Who I was is none of your concern, and no longer my own. The person I once was died a long time ago. So long ago that he became a faded memory. But I prattle too much and jump the gun far too soon. Let me take you back to the moment that taught me where true power lies.

Like many a person on Earth, I had a dream in hand and a song in my heart to power me through my life. I did the typical fare. Go to school, get in trouble, chasing skirts and all the jazz most boys do. I came from a long line of Marines living and dead. So when the time rolled around I wanted to enlist to keep the legacy strong. At least that’s the lie I fed to my parents.

My real motive for enlistment was to escape that chaos I was referring to earlier. It came in the form of (what else?) a pear shaped temptress with long blond locks and greedy blue eyes which lapped up anything they desired at a moments notice without regard for anyone but their own desires. I was one of those items on the menu. We dated for quite awhile and despite how much of a control freak she was that little black dress kept me there. What also kept me was the access to the cash to get me through school. Her father could pretty much buy and sell whom ever he desired, and Isabel thought her pappy bought the rights to me.

“How many kids do you want?” she asked while we cruised down to carnival in town during the summer that gave life to my need for escape. I told her I wasn’t fond of no kids. Of course when you tell a woman no…

“You’re silly!” she said slapping me playfully in the back of my head. I wasn’t kidding. I protested having kids during the time we got in there from the time we got back. As we bumped around in the Bumper Cars, As the Ferris Wheel went up and down; as the Carousel went round-and-round the same question lurked about bringing my mood down.

I don’t know what Isabel means but in my book it translates to a controlling overly clingy bitch that will suck the very life out of you by invading all aspects of your environment, claiming her victim as her own for the end of time. She was everywhere I wanted to be…Like Visa.

So here I am after months of training in some of the most harsh methods known to man asking myself why the hell did I leave one relationship where I’m no more then a puppet to another one of a similar nature but I can be more then likely killed. I suppose I found it as an addiction. Being controlled was a drug I was trying to go into rehab for but I ALWAYS seem to have some excuse as to why I keep missing my sessions. That, and perhaps a little bit of me was seeking death, the ultimate get out of jail free card. Who could say for sure if it wasn’t?

Fast forward a bit to the day of when we were getting a rundown of our mission where a great deal of us weren’t expected to come out alive. There was a lot of information on that screen about the conditions of the planet and those aliens known as the Xenomorph. Xenomorph’s for the most part are like raptors but twice as vicious, had far thicker armor and two mouths. “Great, they can eat me twice!” I thought to myself envisioning myself getting gobbled down alive while each mouth got a share. Made my skin crawl!

It was a long flight to the mission zone (as it’s expected since we had to travel the vastness of space. Hell it would be far longer if we didn’t have the tech to travel such great lengths but still…). The troops were starting to get restless. On my time there I decided to stay sharp with constant sparring matches with this one dude called Ace. This guy was too weird to be a person who would join the military, all hippy-dippy in personality in mannerism and speak.

Of course it was a complete opposite when we sparred. He’d drop the whole “peace-&love” philosophy for a “better him then me” attitude. One that was loud and clear in his kicks to my gut and his killer leg sweep which floored me, and his attempted stomp on my face till I blocked with crossed arms and shoved him to the ground.

Afterwards, we would hit the sauna and try to probe the other’s brain as to why we decided to take this sort of path in life. His answer was quite mystifying to say the least.

“You see. I took this route cause of all the trouble I caused when I was high. I would run cross rainbows and ride on uni

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