Train to Lanzhou

A steel blur ran through the Gansu barrens. Across the aisle, a young man sat down, then absorbed himself in a book. Tall, sandy-haired, radiating a Scandinavian ease. Dane, judging by the worn flag patch. He was handsome, oh... really handsome. No, don't think that. Don't think about it. A treacherous, unwelcome warmth bloomed in Dylan’s belly, a demanding feeling with a life of its own. It was Jin Fen.  The body rebelled. Muscles not designed for the coming new frame spasmed uncontrollably. A wave of giddiness,  her giddiness poured out. Full sentences broke into Chinglish shards. No more look at sand, boring to death. Finally nice man here! He felt dizzy, empty-headed, and horny, absurdly so. Reduced down to a caricature of desire.

It had sounded so romantic. He was between jobs, a history graduate. Seemed good for the resume back in Canada. Ancient trade routes, Buddhist grottoes, Border deserts. Instead, he’d lost everything at that back-alley bazaar in Dunhuang, lured by a promise of "authentic Silk Road objects." Stupid, he wasn't going to be able to appreciate these things and care about them soon. Won't even have the intelligence. Playing professor? Stupid Chinese expert. She mocked. Glad you touched that cicada. So blue and pretty.

He tugged at his sweat-damp T-shirt in the rumbling train compartment, skin suddenly too sensitive, the fabric scraping like sandpaper. His fingertips brushed his own chest—and froze. "No" Just beneath his nipples. Two hard knots, swollen and hot. Pain pulsed in time with his frantic heartbeat. "Not in here, this... nowhere to run, nowhere to hide" Fatigue. Inflammation. Anything else. Fen’s laughter slithered through his skull and out his ears as loud as any real physical person. 奶头硬了吧？啧啧，Di-lan变骚了" (Nipples hard already? Tsk tsk, Dylan’s turning slutty) Dylan want ride that man. He imagined himself on his lap, sucking face.

Stupid whore brain wants the Viking, a vicious but confused inner voice sneered, laced with Fen's characteristic Chinglish accent. Yes, he no like rough Canadian boy. He want hot soft Chinese girl. Me.
"I don't like men you stupid bitch." He said under his breath, with a Chinese accent creeping into his once perfect Canadian English.

Dylan’s tried to meditate, compartmentalize her. He meticulously catalogued the geology outside. Rocks hard, like men. The world seemed to sharpen and blur simultaneously. The rhythmic clack of the tracks pulsed in sync with a deep, internal tremor. He felt… slippery. Inside his skin. Dates became meaningless numbers. Memories of university lectures vanished, replaced by purple flashes of crowded night markets, cheap KTV karaoke rooms, the feeling of slick nylon against skin. Fen like that… sparkly dress. So pretty. Make men stare. I hate you Dylan self, hate sharing! Talk with body and get it done idiot. 

 His face was already starting to...to... squirm. Get up stupid. It came not as a thought, but as a bodily imperative. Dylan stumbled upright, legs nearly buckling from the random pains and shifts through his abdomen. He lurched down the aisle, feeling every eye on his strange rippling tomboyish face, that surely caught the Danish traveler's glance, deepening his mortification.

Dylan’s reflection stared back in the bathroom, and it was almost entirely wrong. His familiar blue eyes showed panic… and then glazed over. His frantic intelligence fading, replaced with a vacant, almost bovine confusion, then with a slow coquettish calculation. The pupils seemed to dilate unnaturally. His lips, fuller now, quivered… then parted in a slack, empty smile belonging to a very different person.

Fine muscle built from hiking and walking dissolved with sickening speed, sucked away by some internal vortex, leaving a delicate frame beneath his t-shirt. Lacking curves now, but soon we get. His collarbones became prominent, sharp ridges against skin that was rapidly smoothing, losing the faint weathering from travel, becoming unblemished. Body hair fell off into the sink.  Ligaments, tendons, the very socket joints forcefully re-positioned in his long limbs, following behind the spreading golden dusky tan gradually taking over his body.

The budding chest began to throb. Get them off me! Chinese characters flashed through his mind. 啊...变大...好性感... 金毛要看呆了... (Ah... so big... sexy... blonde will stare dumbly...) The physical sensation felt good in a way Dylan couldn't process, yet the thought was pure Fen. Which feeling was him? The terror? Or the twisted excitement?
"涨奶的时候…会更痛哦~" (When the milk comes in… it’ll hurt even more) 
Dylan choked back a bitter sob—just as his first lactation pang cramped deep in his new glands. These were pure, breeder, suckling nipples. The kind that ancient peoples sculpted fertility idols of and painted on cave walls. He shuddered as he gave one a sharp tug. The nipples tingled furiously. Then he felt them coming again. Those milk bags. They grew so big this time that they seemed to compress his lungs. Dylan gasped for air, then moaned, babbling in untranslatable Chinese pleasure words that his mind hadn't caught up with just yet. Nerves meant for another body. His shoulder blades ground under the weight pulling him forward. His neck muscles ached. The train rattled over tracks; his new flesh jiggled faintly. His dick hardened as he looked at the dark brown nips.  Hands ran under his t-shirt and sunk into the spongy tissue, lifting and pawing and let them drop and bounce. Look, touch, take.. 

His hair was growing, texture changing mid-strand, his dark blonde hair losing its coarse filaments, becoming unnaturally straight, voluminous, and black from root to tip. Long hair for pull by strong hands! He remembered that Frenchman in Jiuquan, and.. the Nigerian. He tried to fight with his own memories, while wanting to remember and forget at the same time. The taste of Thanksgiving turkey, weekends in the forest with dad, his crush on Miss Baker. his masters degree graduation ceremony. But Fen’s mind was a sucking swamp, greedy and simple. Concepts dissolved. Ambitions vanished. Vocabulary collapsed into simplistic fragments. Fun… money, sex, hard… sexy… want… good time.

Fen's desires were creeping in, she wanted release, freedom, and she knew how to get it. A big round belly. No, no no no. I no want give birth. Dylan doubled over in pain, groaning. Neither did Fen, but baby will keep Dylan away. Need time for the baby to grow. Baby needs its mother. This my body! Mine! Ugly stupid Dylan hide! We need that strong foreigner! Fen know what men like! You not know anything!
He screamed as he clutched his head. Any other country someone might have checked the bathroom. Not in China. A deep, seismic crack shuddered through his pelvis. His pelvic bone felt like two hooks were embedded in, pulling it apart, bones groaning under the strain. Globs of fat rushed downwards and outwards, swelling his buttocks and thighs with terrifying speed, forcing the denim seams to whine audibly. Oh gooodddddd..noooo grrraaahhhh. His balls sucked up into his body dragging broken veins, sperm and tissue with them. His cock jumped up and let out a dying spurt as it joined the retreat. A dark bumpy frill appeared down the smoothness between his legs and then tore. He fell backwards against the toilet and shook his head, trying to breath deeply in and out. The wound heated up as magic did something about the opening it just made. Labia swelled from the wound, flushed and puffy. The leftovers of his dickhead were made into a clit. It swelled, the little nub hungry for attention. Then deeper, past the trembling entrance, canal walls formed in nauseating waves of contracting muscle. His intestines rearranged themselves to make space. His belly cramped around the new organ, muscles spasming as if trying to expel the invader. His new pussy, slickened itself nearly instantly, it was already experienced, up for it. Already remembering every cock it had taken in its few days. Vagina, clitoris... cunt. It my cunt. He threw up some bile and uterus wall. Fuck it hurt, fuck.
Baby big responsibility, if Dylan go, then baby disappear. No fair for baby. Dylan-Fen knew it was over today, the divide was eroding. His resistance was adopting her vocabulary, her focus. Need something big. Blunt and hard force. Need filling. 

His jaw clenched tight, teeth grinding. Dylan-Fen gasped, a strangled sound. His eyes span and rolled.  Skull plates shifted fluidly. His hands flew to his face as molten pain seemed to flow into the microscopic faults between cheekbones. The structure subtly shifted, cartilage groaning as his nose became slightly finer, more petite. Agony flared, sharp and localized.  Collapsing against the tiny sink, Dylan-Fen stared. The kind blue eyes in the glass flickered frantically. His O'Brien blues. Panicked intelligence still sharing space for one terrible second with her dumb lustful mind. Then the light disappeared from his eyes and they took on their final hazel colour. His eyes reshaped into slanted exotic gorgeous windows. Dylan drifted to sleep and woke up as Fen. She smiled with a doll-like simple satisfaction, tracing a slender finger over his swollen lips. The only internal monologue left was  pure, grating Chinese, simple, relentless, and utterly unaware of anything beyond the next moment, and getting her big baby.

Fen preened and adjusted the t-shirt on her voluptuous frame, hiking it slightly to emphasize her new cleavage. It felt wrong, big ugly man clothes. She pouted at the reflection. Fen need pretty dress next station. She giggled, a high, nasal sound Dylan had never made. Kristen! That his name! The Dane's name had been visible on his luggage tag, a detail Dylan barely processed, but Fen gleefully stored away for use. She pulled out some short shorts she managed to sneak into her other side's back pocket. Keep the idea hidden, Dylan think he so smart.

She peeked out of the toilet door at the Dane. He's so hot. I want that man. Want him to watch. Watch me play. She pulled back into the room as she shut the door. Soft… hot… mine! Her nails scraped, seeking the hard, pebbled centre of each mound. YES! A choked gasp escaped her. Fen’s voice, high and needy, as sharp, electric pleasure powered through her nerves straight down to her 屄  (cunt). 奶头硬硬！ 痛痛好！(Nips haaaarrdd! Hurt hurt good!) She squeezed harder, mauling her own flesh in the mirror. One hand abandoned her tortured breast, plunging downward. Spread my legs oooooo. Longer! Stuff my hole full! Break me! Her thoughts were pure animal need, vivid imagery of the Dane’s imagined cock splitting her. Her reflection showed flushed cheeks, lips parted, eyes glazed and possessed of one thing. A now dainty hand went deep in stolen denim, the heel of her palm grinding hard circles against her 阴蒂 (clit) , while fingers explored with a rhythm she somehow knew but Dylan never had. In-in out-out! Fast fast! She gave out low, grunting moans as she fucked herself. Fen threw her head back and nearly sucked in her own hand as she came. She swept up the self-love drooling down her tanned skin and licked it. Hm... rehearsal time over.

Dylan’s stiff gait had become a rolling, exaggerated sway. Shoulders back, breasts thrust forward beneath the loose t-shirt. She tripped a little. She hated that the body sometimes remembered Dylan’s strength or posture. It made her sad and angry. This meat should be hers, perfect for luring men like Kristen away from their books. When he see my tits, he no care about book. 

Fen sauntered over, no longer hiding anything. Her tiny shorts hugged her plush ass, her roasted colour nipples visible through the t-shirt. Kristen’s eyes flicked up. She saw the change, curiosity to hunger.
“Hi, handsome” she purred, slipping beside him. “Train boring, yeah? Fen make fun” Her Chinglish dripped with lust. He gave her a glance. Fen giggled, leaning conspiratorially close, invading his personal space, the scent of woman cloying the air. "I Fen, I always pretty," she declared with simple confidence. "Fen see you…saw you." She giggled again, then bit her lower lip, moving closer still. "…Kristen very handsome man. Fen like." He leaned back, visibly uncomfortable by the intensity. "That's…uhh kind. I'm good though, just reading." He lifted his guidebook defensively. "How do you know my name." He stated, then before he could protest, her hand was on his thigh, sliding higher. The Dane inhaled sharply. 

Dylan-Fen managed to think and feel for a moment. He felt everything: the alien friction of her soft skin against Kristen’s heat, the betrayal of his own hijacked flesh responding to a fucking man's aroused breath. Then those thoughts shut up. Why bad?
“You like Fen?” she whispered. Fen’s thumb rubbed slowly through the cotton, timed perfectly to the train's rocking lurch. “Fen good girl. Fen girl.” She said 'girl' with a hint of confusion. She paused and looked nowhere in particular downwards. Kristen tried to look behind her.
"Hvad fanden? Are you unwell? Se-security!? Get away!."
Fen blinked, a flash of genuine confusion crossing her features. Why he no happy? Always men want this. I am not sexy? Danish men have no cock? She felt the hot sting of tears prickling behind her eyes - her frustrated entitlement. Why he no want me? Dylan's fault! Make me no seem right. Definitely his fault, gotta try one more. Her nose finished slimming down and her lips plumped up a bit more.  Dylan's resistance finally exhausted. She gripped and rubbed again. Kristen was about to shout but...
"Ha. Danish bamboo… harden so fast.”
 She said as her fingers teased the growing bulge in his jeans Kristen's jaw clenched—struggling, but not resisting. His fingers dug into the seat as Fen unzipped him, her soft, tanned hand wrapping around his cock with practiced ease.
"No pretend, you want, really want." Kristen’s knuckles whitened on the armrest. His hips gave a tiny, shameful jerk.
"射射 外国公牛" (Cum cum, foreign bull.)
A stifled groan escaped Kristen. He shuddered violently as Fen squeezed, milking thick ropes of release into his trapped underwear. The desert continued its indifferent slide past the window as Kristen stared at her, breathing heavily as she stared back.

Outside the grimy window, Lanzhou’s neon lights began to blur, indistinguishable from the stars just emerging in the desert sky. The train was already rattling towards obscurity somewhere in the darkness, and the horny Chinese woman and Dane were halfway to a cheap hotel room. 

Fen’s grin deepened into something feral. Kristen hauled her up, spun her, and slammed her chest-first against the old bed. He yanked off her shorts. Her bare ass arched out. Kristen’s hands dug into the plump flesh of her wide hips, creating obscene, wet slapping sounds. Sweat rained down his brow, lips parted on guttural breaths. Fen’s tits bounced enticingly against her chest. She moaned theatrically for him. "Give me... give me your golden hair baby."
"What?' Kristen said, ears perking up by the mention of baby.
"Golden-hair man, love you." Kristen groaned and started to speed up.
"Kom for mig luder" (Cum for me slut)

He flipped her over and pinned her to the bed with his cock, like a butterfly to canvas. She shuddered and squealed. Fen's eyes widened. Her hand was shaking, little hairs trying to grow on her arms. Dylan wanted back, as much as an instinct can be considered Dylan. He hated seeing his own white masculinity on top of him, reflected back at him. Fuck this. FUCK this! He’s...he’s just some roided-out backpacker, not Mr. Universe..why the hell is he..why does he get to...why am I... He felt it all—the fullness, every squelch, every wet slap of flesh against flesh. He felt the obscene pressure, the alien stretch adapted to a function never meant for him. But he also loved being bare-breasted, of mounting a man, of being a- of be sexy woman. No I don't... STOP. PLEASE. THIS ISN’T MY BODY, NO MY-I am... DYLAN. I DYLAN... NO DON'T FILL ME UP. NO FILL ME, But.. I want! I want so bad! He so strong! Fen purred inside their shared brain. Feel what real woman feel. Dylan-Fen tried to move their head to the side, avert his eyes, but Kristen hit just the right spot and they let out a high moan. Their head snapped back. He's so good... I don't think I was ever that good. That masculine instinct that was hanging on was losing to heterosexual femininity. Have solution. Stop try to be man, because who you kidding? You no alpha. He real man. He could do you in this body or any other body. She clenched those little pussy muscles around Kristen’s shaft, begging to him, take more, milk me. Need his seed, need win this body. Victory! Fen’s body now. Fen’s womb. Fen’s baby. GET OUT! GET HIS COCK OUT OF ME! Because no can take anymore! So good. Dylan-Fen looked into the Dane's eyes as he ruthlessly fucked her brains out. They began to calm as a love cocktail overwhelmed their senses. His dominance wasn't a threat. His cock was a friend. A friend that was going to give him a big baby. As Kristen roared, he claimed her womb with an enormous load. Pleasure ripped through the last bit of membrane separating host from parasite. Dylan was Jin Fen.
She collapsed on his chest, belly pulsing with life. Fen went utterly still. "God..." Kristen murmured. His large hand smoothed the tangled black hair from her forehead. "You are... incredible."

Three months later, rain lashed the Lanzhou Civil Affairs Bureau roof. Fen displayed her pregnant belly pressing against a scandalously tight white dress. Milk stained the silk above her swollen left breast. She giggled as her engagement ring glistened.  Kristen signed the papers, eyes flicking between her fertile belly and her big brown almond eyes. The newborn kicked and as the clerk stamped the document. Petersen Jin Fen placed Kristen’s hand on her womb. Fen grinned. Then she muttered in the playful, manipulative, cutesy Chinglish she loved to use her on big blonde.
"Too much milk for baby. Later need little help get rid of so much."
"Oh ja baby, gladly. Amazing creature."
She couldn't wait to give birth to this yellow-haired brat so she could be sexy again. We'll see what life her big Viking could give her far away from Gansu and China. For now, they would take the next train to Shanghai together.