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The Monster of Newbourne or Lady Kinstone's Lover by Wakboth

• * * It was going to be a dark and stormy night. The sky was darkening ominously, and the wind was rising. It swept over the moor, rustling the heathers; it blew through the streets of the village of Newbourne, rattling shutters and making the sign of the inn creak; it shook the trees and the bushes of the overgrown garden of the Kinstone Hall, crouched on the hill above the town. A curvaceous young rabbit woman was running through the garden, her golden hair flying in the gusts of wind that tugged at the hem of her skirt; the modesty of the dress did nothing to hide the immodesty of her body beneath it. "Come on, Tom!" she called over her shoulder. "It's starting to rain any minute now!" "I'm coming, I'm coming!" A strapping young ram appeared from the shadow of old oak trees, running after the rabbit. The youngest son of the innkeeper, Tom hadn't believed his luck when Hester, the new maid at the manor, offered to give him a tour of the place tonight. Hester had only worked at the manor for a few months, but she already had a reputation as a flirtatious girl; the village women called her by worse names behind her back, muttering about the shameless hussy. They reached the manor only moments before the rain started. "We will have to be careful," Hester whispered to Tom, closing the kitchen door behind her. "The Baron's in his wheelchair and his wife is off in the attic, but you mustn't be seen by old Wilks, or his wife." He nodded mutely, not daring to speak aloud. Taking him by the hand, Hester led the young ram on. They hurried through the empty kitchen and into a narrow corridor, lined with doors on both sides. Hester picked one, revealing a steep staircase leading up. "The servants' stairs," she explained. "Hurry, I think I hear someone coming!" Tom was ready to rush up the stairs immediately, but Hester withheld him. Placing her finger across her lips, she closed the door to a narrow crack, and peered through. After a moment's hesitation, Tom followed her example. He saw a tall, greying collie, wearing a dark suit, pass by the door, and recognized the dog as Wilks, Lord Kinstone's butler. Wilks vanished in the direction of the kitchen, and Hester smiled. "Good; now we know he's out of the way. Follow me!" They emerged from a narrow door, almost hidden in the panelling, into a wide corridor. Hanging on the walls were age-darkened oil paintings of the Baron's ancestors; haughty-looking mice and voles in Elizabethan clothes or wearing the powdered 17th-century wigs. Eyes wide with wonder, Tom followed Hester who moved with easy familiarity in the opulent rooms. He wasn't really paying attention to the rabbit's comments on the paintings or the tapestries; he was much too concerned about not bumping into any of the ancient furniture or the glass cases holding strange items from the baron's collections. In fact, Tom was so intent on avoiding collisions with the furnishings that he wasn't paying attention to where they were going. So when Hester stopped, he walked straight into her, making them both stumble. She let out a yelp, and grabbed Tom's arm, barely managing to stay upright. "Damn, I'm sorry," Tom stammered, while Hester regained her balance. She was standing quite close to him, now, and for the first time he realized how nice she smelled; like clover and lavender. Instead of replying, Hester suddenly wrapped her arms around the surprised ram, and kissed him passionately. Tom's eyes widened, as he felt the rabbit's bosom press against his chest; he returned the kiss the best he could, with more enthusiasm than skill. Eventually, Hester broke the kiss. "Come here, you handsome hunk of a sheep," she said, a hungry gleam in her eyes. Tom obediently followed Hester to a conveniently present broad divan, his cock throbbing hard in his pants. He'd hoped for something like this when he'd accepted Hester's invitation, but this was getting better and better! She pushed him down to the divan and turned to light the lamp standing on the table next to it. "I want you to see me clearly," Hester said as she started to undress. The soft light of the lamp made her fur glow, as more and more of it was revealed to Tom's eyes. Released from the constraints of her tightly-laced bodice, Hester's ample breasts seemed almost indecently large for her body; Tom couldn't help but stare at the softly furred mounds with awed lust. The rabbit was putting up a real show for him! Spinning on one leg, she shook off her underskirt, revealing her soft, shapely behind to the ram. "Do you think I'm beautiful, Tom?" Hester asked, bowing down to unlace her shoes. Tom stared at the pink slash of her vulva, visible against her fur, and swallowed hard. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he said, and at that moment, he really meant it. "That's very sweet of you," Hester said, walking towards him, wiggling her hips and smiling. "Let's see what you have for me..." She knelt next to the divan, and started to undo his trousers. Tom's erection immediately sprang out, standing proudly up from his woolly groin. "Oh, it's magnificent!" Hester said, gripping his cock with her warm, soft hands. "Your name should be Long Tom..." Tom managed to laugh; the feeling of Hester's hands on his member was driving him to a distraction. This was so much better than his callused palm! Hester gave his cock a few slow, experimental tugs that made the ram gasp. Then, to his considerable surprise, she swept her hair back from her face and took him into her mouth! "Oh God! Hester, what are yoooaaah!" The ram's hands gripped the divan's edges as the rabbit gently ran her tongue around and over his straining cockhead. Holding the base of his shaft with one hand, Hester slowly slid her lips down along the length of his ramhood, while her other hand vanished between her legs. Slowly, with skill that bespoke of considerable experience, Hester fellated Tom. She toyed with him, drawing him to the brink of a climax, then stopping and keeping him from coming. To Tom, this exquisite form of sexual teasing seemed to go on for ages, until Hester finally released his cock and raised her face to look up at him. "Did you enjoy that?" she asked, trickles of her saliva and his precum matting the fur of her chin; it was the most unabashedly erotic sight Tom had ever seen. He nodded eagerly, not trusting his voice enough to speak. "Then you will love what comes next," she said and, standing up, straddled Tom as he lay on the divan. Hester was lovely in the lamplight, with luscious breasts capped by erect nipples, luxurious hips and stately thighs. The russet thatch of pubic fur, dewy with the juices of her arousal, drew Tom's eyes to it, and he knew that whatever happened, he was going to remember this night forever. Then Hester lowered herself onto him, deftly guiding his saliva-slickened cock into the soft, warm nest of her pussy. "Mmm... you're so hard," Hester moaned as she pushed herself down on his shaft. For a moment, she remained still, letting Tom savour the feeling of her snug cunt around him; then she started moving on top of him, her breasts bouncing with her every movement. Tom was in Heaven; he had never dreamed that sex could feel so good. Driven by pure instinct, he started lifting his hips, thrusting into the beautiful rabbit astride on him. The ram's senses centered on the feeling of his cock sliding in and out of Hester's vagina; he neither heard the slam of a door in the next room, nor noticed Hester's startled expression at the sound. "Ohh yeah, yeah, yeeaaah! Hester, unnh, I'm... goin'..." he groaned, grabbing the rabbit's hips and pulling her down onto him as he finally felt his release coming. With a triumphant bray, he thrust one last time into Hester, and pumped his seed into her. In his excitement, the young ram never noticed the worried expression on his lover's face as she kept glancing to the wall closest to them. * * * Lady Frances of Kinstone walked through the rooms of the Kinstone Hall, looking for her husband. There were forty-nine rooms in the three floors, plus the servants' quarters, but Geoffrey's disability placed considerable limits on where he could go; a lift rigged from the old dumb-waiter system after his accident allowed Geoffrey to move between the first and the second floors, but he was loathe to use the creaky, shaky thing without help. Fran had suggested several times that they should have a proper lift built into the manor, at least until she managed to produce a cure for him, but Geoffrey had done nothing. After the accident, he had been sullen and morose, leaving the Society and firing nearly all of the servants; the only ones he'd retained had been Wilks and his wife, who served as the cook, and Hester, the bunny maid who had been hired only a few weeks before the accident. What bothered Fran the most was the way Geoffrey had given up on his research; he seemed to have lost the drive and the intellectual passion that had differentiated him from his stodgy relatives; it was the quality she had loved the best in her husband, and which he had sought in her as well. Now, however, Geoffrey seemed to be ignoring her experiments as well; Fran was starting to think he did not believe she could ever find a way to heal his injuries, or even alleviate them. Deep in these unhappy thoughts, the raccoon woman almost missed the glimmer of light coming from an otherwise dark room she passed. Some sound caught Fran's attention, however, and she looked back into the room. Geoffrey was sitting in the darkness, facing the back wall, where the light was coming from. Wondering what he was doing, Fran entered the room. As she approached her husband, she could hear the sounds coming from the next room: the unmistakable, muffled moans and gasps of carnal passion! Stunned, Fran walked closer. There was a peephole in the wall, she realized, and Geoffrey's wheelchair was placed right in front of it. Surely, this couldn't be what it looked like, she thought, trying desperately to think of an alternative explanation. Moving closer still, Fran could recognize one of the voices as belonging to Hester; the other, male one she couldn't place. Most likely it was some young man from Newbourne. And here was her husband, watching and listening to their copulation! Fran felt her face and ears burn and her tail bristle. With strength she hadn't realized she possessed, she grabbed the back of Geoffrey's wheelchair, and yanked him back, away from the aperture. He did not resist as Fran wheeled him out of the room, slamming the door angrily shut behind her. Neither of them spoke until they had reached the library, well away from the room with Hester and her unknown lover. Unable to contain herself for a moment more, Fran stepped in front of her husband, her still-blushed ears laid back against her head in anger. "Geoffrey! What in heaven's name were you doing?!" Her husband met her angry glare with a haughty, yet morose, expression that reminded Fran of the portraits of some of his more pompous ancestors. "Why, I thought it was quite obvious for a woman of your penetrating intellect," he said, his voice full of sarcasm. Fran threw her hands in the air. "I didn't mean that! Why, Geoff, why? I'm your wife; why would you peep upon the trysts of our maid?" she said, wanting to either start crying or slap Geoffrey on his face, and trying very hard to do neither. "You may be my wife, but I'm not much of a husband any more," he said, drawing aside the blanket that covered his lifeless legs and limply hanging tail. "Look at me, Frances. Below my waist, it's all dead flesh. No sensation at all; not a slightest stir," Geoffrey said bitterly, stabbing his withered thigh with his finger. "Why do you think I haven't slept in the same bed with you for months, now? I have nothing to give; all I can do is watch and listen, and even that does nothing to my body!" Fran stared at him, surprised by the anger and despair in his voice, and felt her anger give way to sympathy. Poor Geoffrey! It was true that she had been unsatisfied herself after the accident that had crippled him; she occasionally had dreams of him making love to her, and woke up feeling all hot and flustered afterwards. "You should have spoken to me," she said. "I'm still your wife; I'm sure we could think of something. If you wished to watch me..." she hazarded, blushing faintly. "If watching is all I can do, I would rather watch Hester," Geoffrey said with a mirthless grimace on his face. This time Fran did hit him; she slapped him as hard as she could, knocking his head to the side. Without a word, she turned and rushed out of the library, leaving Geoffrey sitting there, staring after her and holding his stinging cheek. * * * Fran was still shaking with anger and suppressed sobs when she clambered up the stairs leading to the laboratory in the attic; this was one place of the house where she could be absolutely certain of being alone, now. The rumbling thunder and the driving rain, pounding against the roof overhead, fitted Fran's mood perfectly. Pacing back and forth, her ringed tail twitched with anger as she wrung her hands. "How could he?" Fran asked herself, time and time again. "How could Geoffrey do and say such things?" She remembered their wedding night; she'd been a blushing virgin, innocent and ignorant, but eager to learn; Geoffrey had been barely any more experienced, but he had come into her bed with the curiosity and determination that had made him so famous in science. Their lovemaking had been clumsy and inelegant, but there had been certain energy in it, a connection between two young people who loved each other and sought new ways of showing it. Sighing, Fran stopped in front of an old wardrobe, converted to hold electrical transformers, and looked at her in the dusty mirror set in its door. She knew that she was no great beauty; the face behind her glasses was cute at best, and her figure was quite unimpressive. Compared to Hester, her bosom was insignificant, her breasts barely the size of peach halves. But the image in the mirror was not everything, Fran reminded herself. Geoffrey had married her, after all, bypassing women with immense dowries, or impeccable pedigrees, or more impressive breasts, for a flat-chested, slightly frumpy American girl with a brilliant brain to match his! Straightening her spine, Fran turned away from the mirror. Why should she be envious of Hester? No matter how buxom or beautiful, the rabbit could never fathom the things she and Geoffrey had done in this very laboratory! The pure beauty of physics, the intricacies of biology, the subtleties of anatomy and chemistry were closed books to her, but not to Fran. She would redouble her efforts, and discover the secret of reviving the nerveless flesh of her husband's paralysed body. When he could stand again, walk again... love again, Geoffrey would abandon his foolishness, and his love for Fran would be rekindled! With new determination, Fran slipped into one of the white lab coats hanging by the stairs, and dove back into her work. In a few moments, she had all but forgotten the storm outside and the episode downstairs, busily making notes of the behaviour of her newest chemical experiments. She had been testing the effects of various preparations on cultures of embryonic newt tissue; mostly, the transparent flesh had just rotted or withered away, but in a few jars there were signs of life even after a better part of the week. Lifting the most promising jar, Fran studied the contents in front of an electrical bulb. Yes, she was almost certain that the slice of newt flesh held suspended by the thin copper wires in the bath of fluid was still alive. This could indeed be the breakthrough she was expecting... An earth-shaking crack of thunder, directly above, made Fran jump; the jar slipped from her hands, hit the workbench, tilted, spilled her with the liquid, and tumbled to the floor, shattering into pieces. The electrical light flickered, and Fran realized that the lightning had struck somewhere very close to the house. "Damn, damn, damn!" she muttered and hurried around the laboratory, pulling plugs and throwing switches everywhere to spare the expensive electrical equipment from the effects of another close hit. She grabbed the main wire, connecting the generator in the basement with the laboratory, and started to decouple the connection just as another lightning struck the house itself. Unable to earth itself through the storm-torn lightning rod, the bolt crackled across the roof, shattering roofing tiles and throwing showers of sparks into the air until it found a way. The electricity arced through the low crawlspace and into the cable, just as Fran pulled the cable from its socket. Seeking the route of least resistance, the electricity flowed through the saline-drenched raccoon. It took only a fraction of a second for the bolt to earth, but to Fran, it felt like an eternity. Every strand of her fur and hair stood out, her body feeling like it was stuck with ten thousand fine needles. She could see nothing but electricity; she could hear nothing but electricity. Her mouth burned with the sour taste of electricity, and her nose was filled by the stench of ozone and her own burning fur. There was no pain; only an indescribable feeling of every one of her muscles quivering with the current filling her, stretching her body, twisting and moulding it. It felt strange but good; like that memorable night when Geoffrey had brought her to a climax after a climax... Then it was over, and Fran collapsed to the floor, smoking, numb and twitching. Her body felt somehow weird, and everything was blurry. For a moment she thought she had lost her glasses; then she realized they were still on her muzzle. With a shaking hand, Fran took off the glasses; immediately, the world returned to a sharp focus. Fran tried to get up, but found that her legs wouldn't carry her. Swallowing her dignity, she crawled to the workbench, and pulled herself upright. Seeing a flicker of movement at the edge of her vision, Fran turned and found herself face to face with a stranger. She was a raccoon woman, dressed in torn and smoking clothes; her hair was sticking up wildly, as was the fur on her grey-ringed tail. What drew Fran's attention, however, was the woman's bulging chest, that stretched her soot-stained lab coat to the point of bursting. Feeling very faint, Fran tore her eyes from her image in the mirror and looked down at her new bosom. Slowly, carefully, she lifted her hands and touched her breasts; they were sore and sensitive at the same time, and very, very real. "Oh my God, oh my God," she muttered, backing away from the mirror, until she found a chair and collapsed into it. "Focus, Fran, focus! There must be a reason for this..." She rocked back and forth, hands clenched against her newly-grown breasts, trying to think. It could not be the lightning, could it? Surely not... Wait! Before the lightning struck, she'd accidentally doused her front with the liquid from her tissue culture. Could it be...? Fran looked around: there were the shards of glass, and there was a puddle of liquid, and there... her heart throbbed. Lurking behind a table leg was a newt. It was a dwarfish, strangely stunted newt, but undoubtedly a living, breathing newt, instead of a slice of preserved newt flesh. She jumped up from her chair. "Yes! I have it at last!" Fran yelled, dancing a happy little jig that made the scorched fabric of her coat finally give way; her breasts, suddenly free from their constraints, bounced and jiggled with her movements in a way they'd never done before. She stopped, looked down and blushed. "Oops. What on Earth am I going to do with these?" * * * When she woke up in her lonely bed next morning, Fran was relieved to see that her breasts were almost back to normal; they were certainly a bit more rounded, but not so much that they'd attract attention or cause trouble with her wardrobe. Quickly dressing up, Fran headed downstairs for a breakfast; her head was already abuzz with ideas. She'd have to mix another batch of the regenerative preparation, and run some tests on it; how much electricity would it need to trigger the tissue growth, for example? Her good mood was somewhat deflated when she saw Geoffrey in his wheelchair at the head of the table, with Hester pouring coffee for him. "Good morning, darling," Fran said, her voice a bit more sharp than she'd intended. "How are you feeling today?" "Half of me is not feeling anything, and the rest did sleep poorly," Geoffrey grunted, not looking at Fran. "What about yourself, dear?" he asked, a sardonic emphasis on the last word. Hester's eyes flickered from husband to wife; the rabbit was obviously uncomfortable, being in the middle of what looked like an impending domestic argument. Fran decided there and then to skip the tests; she was all right, wasn't she? The sooner she had Geoffrey back in full health, the sooner she could get the bucktoothed trollop out of her home! "Oh, quite well," she said with a sunny smile, spreading marmalade on a piece of toast. "I think I'm onto something big; I hope you don't mind it if I won't be coming down for lunch?" Geoffrey cast a sharp glance at her, but did not comment. The rest of the breakfast was spent in an awkward silence. * * * It took most of the day for Fran to finish the compound, using the recipe in her notes. While the pale greenish liquid was brewing in its retort, she turned her thoughts to the issue of how to administer the chemical to Geoffrey. After last night, he certainly wouldn't be inclined to drink some strange concoction out of her laboratory, and Fran couldn't honestly blame him. If she hadn't experienced the effect of the chemical herself, she too would have been sceptical to the extreme! Slipping it into Geoffrey's drink or food might work, but then again, maybe not; she'd been doused externally, after all. Considering the ingredients, Fran wouldn't have been surprised if the chemical was poisonous to ingest; in any case, it smelled rather awful. Finally, she settled for drugging him with laudanum, then spraying the formula onto his body. The final problem still remained: how to apply the necessary electricity? Getting Geoffrey to the laboratory was impossible; he wasn't a big man, but even in his current state, he weighed more than Fran could carry up the stairs. And asking Wilks for help was absolutely out of question; the old butler would assume that she had lost her mind, and make all kinds of trouble. She rummaged through the cupboards and crates in the laboratory, taking out equipment, considering it and dropping it back. "Batteries? Nah, not enough power..." Accumulators were too heavy to haul around; Leyden jars didn't pack enough punch, and so on. Finally, Fran decided that the best solution was to run a new line from the generator in the basement into the room with Geoffrey. Luckily, there was a spool of insulated wire in one corner that would be quite ideal for this job. Checking that the temperature of the preparation was stable and that the heating coil was working properly, Fran started collecting the tools she would need. "Very soon, darling, you will walk again!" she said and burst into laughter. Then, realizing how deranged she was sounding, Fran clamped her mouth shut, and continued working with just the occasional outburst of ladylike giggles. * * * By the time Fran had the preparation ready it was already getting dark outside; a rainy day turning into a rainy night. At least there hadn't been any more thunder, although she found herself eying the spark gaps, yearning for another shock. Resisting the temptation, Fran poured the now-cooled, green liquid into an atomizer she had taken from her dressing-table; once, it had held eau de Cologne, but after a thorough scrubbing it was ready to be used for a more important purpose. Slipping the atomizer in her pocket, next to a vial of laudanum, she headed downstairs to find her husband. This time, Fran didn't have to search long; Geoffrey was in his study, sitting in his wheelchair before the fireplace. A large book was open in his lap; an empty glass stood on a small side table next to his elbow along with a bottle of whiskey and a soda water siphon. "What are you reading?" Fran asked, as she walked up to him. Geoffrey looked up at her, and for a moment his old enthusiasm was visible on his face. "It's a German treatise on geology, by one Professor Lindenbrock from the University of Hamburg; he has some very interesting opinions on volcanism, the origin of igneous rocks and geomagnetism. And his description of the Aurora Borealis in Iceland is absolutely thrilling; I'd love to take some measurements of it..." His face fell as he remembered his disability. There would be no expeditions to Iceland for him ever again. Geoffrey sighed and looked away; he suddenly appeared to Fran as much older than his thirty-five years. "Ah, to hell with it," he muttered. "The old bastard's dead now; he was probably already senile when he wrote that book." "Would you like me to mix you a drink, dear?" Fran asked him. Geoffrey made a feeble gesture with his hand and kept staring into the fire. "Just relax, darling," she said, surreptitiously drawing the vial of laudanum from her pocket and slipping it into her sleeve. "I'm sure that things will look better tomorrow..." With the sure hand of a chemist, Fran poured the whiskey and added a dash of carbonated water; feeling a slight pang of guilt, she emptied the vial into the drink and mixed it quickly. She had measured the tincture of opium carefully, based on Geoffrey's weight; it would put him into a deep sleep in just a few minutes. "Here you are." Geoffrey took the offered drink, nodding slightly as a way of thanks, and took a long draught, grimacing slightly. Fran swallowed nervously; would Geoffrey notice the taste of laudanum? He took another sip, making her relax; apparently he hadn't noticed anything strange. The laudanum took effect sooner than Fran had expected; Geoffrey's head started to nod, and slowly he slumped in his chair, limp and breathing lightly. She set immediately to work, wasting no time; drawing the wheelchair away from the fire, so that it could not immediately be seen from the doorway, she started preparing Geoffrey for his cure. The generator was already running and the cable plugged into it, so all that Fran had to do was to run the cable up the stairs, along the hallway and into Geoffrey's study. She didn't bother with hiding the wires; Wilks and his wife were used to odd electrical contrivances and wires being strung across rooms or corridors in Kinstone Hall, and knew better than to touch them. At the end of the cable, Fran had attached a switch and a rheostat, allowing her to control the amount of electricity that Geoffrey would get. Kneeling before her unconscious husband, Fran hastily pulled down his pants, revealing Geoffrey's scarred legs; his male member lay limply between his withered thighs. "Soon you will be feeling much better, dearest," she whispered, attaching one copper clamp to his big toe and another to the end of his tail. "I promise you!" Drawing out the atomizer, Fran generously sprayed Geoffrey's paralysed body with the regenerative chemical; she caught a whiff of foul-smelling and -tasting green liquid, and grimaced; it was a good thing that poor Geoffrey was drugged. As she reached for the switch, Fran hesitated for one final moment. Was she doing the right thing? What if what had happened to her had been a freak accident, a one-time event, and she was about to electrocute her husband to death? Steeling her will, Fran pushed all doubts aside, and threw the switch, sending a hundred volts into Geoffrey's body. The mouse started shuddering in his chair, the slack muscles of his legs suddenly twitching. Fran watched Geoffrey with anxious eyes, wondering if this was enough. She threw the switch again, and Geoffrey immediately went limp. He was breathing evenly, however, which reassured Fran that she was doing the right thing. "Maybe a bit more..." she muttered, adjusting the rheostat and switching the power on again. Geoffrey's eyes flicked open, making Fran gasp in fright. He stared right through her, a low moan rising from his throat, as his hair stood up on his head. "More!" Fran growled, increasing the voltage to its limit. Geoffrey's hands drummed a tattoo against the hand rests of his wheelchair; his tail was twitching and his eyes were rolling in their sockets. The metal parts of the chair were heating up, and a faint wisp of smoke was rising from the padded seat. Before Fran's wondering eyes, the shrunken muscles of his legs started to visibly fill out; his limp cock started to harden, standing up between his thighs. "Yes!" she whispered. She had succeeded! The sleeves of Geoffrey's shirt suddenly caught fire; yelping in fright, Fran rushed for the siphon and, without thinking, sprayed her husband with carbonated water. There was a sharp, electric pop and a crackle as the soda water short-circuited the rheostat; in the basement, a row of fuses blew, cutting off the electricity. Her heart pounding, Fran studied her husband. Geoffrey seemed unharmed by the experience; quite the opposite, in fact! His legs had lost their earlier, shrivelled appearance, and his breathing was deep and even. It was likely, Fran thought, that Geoffrey would need repeated treatments before he regained his full health, but after this, he would eagerly agree to them. "And then," she whispered, thinking of Heather, "you're gone!" Disconnecting the cables from Geoffrey, Fran pushed her husband back into the front of the fire to dry out his soda-water drenched clothes and fur. With one last longing glance at his still-hard erection, she spread a blanket over his nakedness, and gave him a tender kiss on his cheek. "Sleep well, my dearest," she said. "Tomorrow, you can be fully my husband again..." *** Fran was feeling hot and bothered as she left Geoffrey's study. The combination of her husband's body reacting again, for the first time in months, and of all that wonderful electricity, had left her with a strange craving. Without consciously intending it, Fran found herself in the basement and the generator room again. There was plenty of electric apparatuses here; old and broken equipment, or just too heavy to haul to the attic. Fran's wandering gaze stopped at a Jacob's ladder, sitting on the casing of a broken French electric generator. A thought came unbidden to her head: she had already proven her intellectual superiority over Hester; why not trump the loose rabbit in her own game? The more she thought about it, the more appealing the idea of appearing before Geoffrey with a magnificent new bosom seemed to Fran. She drew the atomizer from her pocket again and gave her chest a sprinkling. "We'll see who Geoffrey would rather watch," Fran muttered, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. Acting quickly, Fran replaced the blown fuses and restarted the generator. She plugged the wires in, and stepped back as a crackling electric arc climbed up between the wire antennae. Overcoming her hesitation, she reached for the antennae, feeling her fur tingling as her fingers approached the wires... Her hands closed around the antennae, forming a circuit through her body. The experience was different, this time; less intense, but longer-lasting. Fran's eyes rolled up in her head as the electrical current flowed into her, stimulating her nerves and triggering the rejuvenating powers of her compound. The burning electrical bliss filled Fran's mind and body; this time, she could feel her breasts growing, stretching the front of her prim dress. The growling of the generator faded from her ears, being replaced by the white noise of electricity; in her eyes, the basement took on a blue glow. She felt, rather than heard, her dress tear as her grey-furred breasts burst free. They were still growing, pulling with delicious heaviness at her chest as they expanded. Sparks flew from the tips of Fran's ears and her hard nipples; her tail was fairly glowing, and her shoes were starting to melt. She felt a strange, diffuse pleasure wash over her, spreading through her chest and groin, and growing into an electric climax that shook her from her toes to the tips of her ears. At this point, the old and frayed cable Fran had used to connect the Jacob's ladder to the generator started to smoke and smoulder. With a sputtering hiss, it burst into fire, dripping molten copper to the stone floor. The current flowing into Fran died, and with a deep, shuddering sigh, the now-sated raccoon collapsed to the floor in a faint. *** In the study, an equally strange transformation was taking place. Fran's regenerative chemical, initially triggered by the electricity, was still working on Geoffrey's body, but now it drew upon other sources of energy: the heat from the fireplace, and the energies of a great mind turned inwards. Geoffrey's self-pity, sexual frustration and self-loathing were now driving a complex process of biological alchemy. The change had started with his paralysed legs, but it hadn't ended there. Geoffrey was growing, his bones stretching and his muscles swelling. He was already several inches taller than before, and the transformation showed no sign of stopping or slowing down. His shirt and vest were getting tighter and tighter around his broadening shoulders and arms bulging with new muscle, until they started tearing, revealing massive biceps and a wide, tremendously muscled chest. Geoffrey stirred in his sleep, stretching his legs and growling. Dreams of unstoppable power and immense, undeniable masculinity were playing in his mind as his form changed and adapted to match them. Beneath the blanket spread across his thickening thighs, his prick was rising, half again as large as before, throbbing with potency. Soon, the seventh Lord Kinstone would walk again. *** Hester Bonney was one of those women who newspapers charitably described as adventuresses. Personally, she thought of herself an actress down on her luck, currently employed as a maid. The fact that she had never actually appeared on stage was only a minor technicality to her, just as she considered the fact that she often slept with men, who afterwards paid her for the privilege, as completely incidental; Hester would have been genuinely insulted if she had been called a whore! After her last love affair with a dashing young heir went sour - the heir's parents, finding out about Hester, had ordered him to choose between the title and the tits, and the spineless cur had picked the former - Hester had been forced to leave London with nothing but some change she'd collected from his dresser. Being hired by the Lord Kinstone had been a welcome lucky break; Hester had been fairly desperate at that point, making a precarious living as a barmaid at Derby. One of the baron's male acquaintances, a dapper young Dalmatian who had been kind enough to pay a guinea for a quick blowjob, had mentioned her to him, and she'd been called to Kinstone Hall. Hester had always been unwilling to sleep with married men, feeling it discourteous towards their wives and her own sex in general, and had been relieved to find out that the baron did not want to have sex with her. Indeed, he couldn't have, even if he had wanted, since he was paralysed below the waist. What he could do, however, was to admire a female body, and Hester's was a very admirable one. So she was hired as a maid, with the understanding that the baron would not mind at all if she did bring in lovers from the village, to entertain them; quite the opposite, in fact. Hester wasn't troubled by this; she'd been living by selling her good looks, acting ability and occasionally her body as well. Giving a crippled man a little enjoyment in his life was not a task she grudged, especially since she soon found what the physical labour and fresh country air did to men. There were only two drawbacks; the first, and greater, was the baron's wife. Hester felt certain sympathy towards Lady Kinstone; the poor woman had to live with a crippled husband, with many worries and little joy, especially in the bedroom. And now she had to live with Hester as well, which must be rather wearing; the rabbit tried her best to stay out of the raccoon's sight. Luckily, she spent a lot of her time in the attic; Hester had no idea what she was doing, and no interest in learning it. The other drawback was having to live in Kinstone Hall; the enormous, old building reminded Hester uncomfortably of the Gothic novels and penny dreadfuls she had so enjoyed in London, far away from the moors and old manors with unhappily married noblemen and their pale, doomed wives. Even her room, which was huge by the usual standard of servants' rooms, made the rabbit queasy; it was too big and empty, with a cold stone floor and grim, dark wallpapers. A distant, crashing noise woke Hester up in the middle of the night. The rabbit lay still, her heart pounding, and listened. Hearing nothing, she peeked out from under her blankets, seeing nothing. "Maybe it was the thunder..." she whispered. The noise repeated; whatever it was, it wasn't thunder! Hoping that Wilks would hear the noise and do something about it, Hester lay still, straining her ears. Eventually, there was a yet another crash from the direction of the baron's study. Curiosity and fear warring in her mind, Hester reached for a candle and a packet of matches she kept on her bedside table; when she was new to Kinstone Hall, she had gotten lost while going to the privy in the night, and now she never ventured out of her room at night without a light. Slipping out of the bed, she almost dropped the candle when she saw her reflection in the mirror on her dressing-table; wide-eyed and in her white nightshirt, Hester looked almost like a ghost herself. Opening the door to a crack, she peeked out; the hallway was dark, and there was nobody in sight. Gathering her courage, Hester padded out and into the direction the noises had come from; if the source of the noise was a burglary, she could run to wake up Wilks, who had a shotgun. Moving through the darkened mansion, Hester began to find signs that something odd was going on. One of the large mirrors hanging in the hallway had been thrown down, and the floor was full of mirror shards; she thought this might have been the first crash. The door to baron's study was open; no sound was coming from the inside. Slowly and carefully, Hester looked in. The room seemed empty, apart from Lord Kinstone's wheelchair; it was lying on its side in the middle of the room, next to the remains of a smashed whiskey bottle. The rabbit stared at the wheelchair in confusion. If the baron was in bed, why was the chair here and why was it toppled? And if he wasn't in bed, shouldn't he have been somewhere near the chair? Some sixth sense suddenly warned Hester that she was being watched. The rabbit tensed and her ears pivoted, listening for any signs of danger. Behind her, she could hear someone approaching, quietly and carefully... someone big. Someone, who now stood just behind her. Slowly, Hester turned to look. Standing at least seven feet tall, with immensely broad shoulders, thick arms corded with muscles, and legs like tree trunks, the biggest mouse Hester had ever seen towered before her. He was obviously, obscenely male; between his thighs hung a penis that seemed almost as big as her forearm. In the leering face, with its strangely glowing eyes, Hester thought she could see an uncanny resemblance to her employer. The monster's eyes seemed to devour Hester's body, barely covered by the thin shift of her nightshirt. Despite her fear, she felt a certain awe as she saw the monster's massive phallus harden, standing up from his groin. "Heesss-teeeer..." the creature grunted, drool trickling from the corner of its mouth as it reached for her. All of Hester's rabbit instincts were crying for her to run, and she gave into them. With speed that surprised herself, she dodged under the monster's arms and raced down the corridor, her candle falling from her hand and going out. Behind her, she could hear the creature running after her. The next few minutes were straight from Hester's nightmares. The manor seemed to have turned into a labyrinth of dark corridors and moonlit rooms, full of shadowy shapes that seemed to reach after her as the rabbit ran past them. The monster seemed to play with her; it hounded her from room to room, then disappeared only to lunge at the panicked rabbit just as she thought she had lost the creature. She knew she was running in circles, but couldn't stop; if she did, the monster would surely catch her. In the end, stumbling through a door she'd just noticed, exhausted and teary-eyed Hester found herself back in the study where she'd started from. As she tried to catch her breath again, the monster stepped out of the shadows and into moonlight; he had been waiting for her. Unable to believe the unfairness of this all, Hester turned and tried to run, but her legs didn't carry her any more, and she fell to the carpeted floor. Before she could get up, the monster was standing over her. He grabbed the rabbit and effortlessly lifted her up, her legs dangling off the floor. "Pretty bunny..." the creature said in his guttural voice, and shook her, making Hester's ample breasts bounce beneath her nightshirt. Apparently coming to a decision, the monster walked over to a desk and placed Hester face down on it, her rump presented to him. She felt the tip of his gigantic erection touch the insides of her thighs, and shivered, knowing what would happen next. "No, please, please don't," she pleaded perfunctorily as the monster's cockhead pressed against the furry lips of her cunt. Hester cried in alarm and amazement as the creature grabbed hold of her hips and thrust into her; over her varied career, she had been penetrated by men of all races, but the monster's massive tool filled like no man she'd known. As the creature began roughly fucking the helpless rabbit, she felt her vagina start to spasm strangely. "Oh! Oh! What-ah-is-ahh-happening-oh-to-oooh-mee!?" she wailed as the monstrous mouse took her from behind, his hard-muscled abdomen slapping hard against her buttocks. Her scalp and skin were tingling and her ears were burning; never in her life had Hester felt so aroused, so quickly. That it was happening now, as she was forcibly taken, shocked her to the core! Shifting his grip on her, the monster stepped away from the table, lifting Hester in his arms, grabbing her breasts with its huge hands, callously squeezing and kneading her tits. Her head was buzzing and her limbs didn't obey her; Hester felt herself flopping around like a rag doll as the creature drove its prick deep into her. "Nice... bunny..." the monster growled into her ear, speeding up his thrusts. Hester felt her assailant's cock starting to throb inside her as he approached his climax. She was gasping for breath now, a strange metallic taste in her mouth. Fat sparks flew from her fingers and flopping ears, and her hair seemed to dance upon her head. When the monster came, it was like a bolt of lightning; Hester felt every muscle in her body go absolutely rigid at the same time as his burning cum flowed into her, electric pain and pleasure overloading her nerves until her consciousness shut down. She did not feel how the monster, his cock still spurting, pulled out of her, nor did she feel him dropping her onto the carpet as he headed to look for more prey. *** The sound of distant screaming and yelling, followed by a blast of a shotgun, roused Fran from her faint. Groaning groggily, the raccoon sat up and shook her head to clear it. The events of the evening came back to her in a flash; looking down, she saw that her little experiment with electricity had produced the desired result. Her bosom was, if anything, even larger than when she had been struck with the lightning; she felt herself blush as she saw the enormous breasts jutting from her body. The continuing screams drew Fran's attention away from her newly augmented figure. Wobbling a bit, unused to her changed balance, she stood up and switched off the generator. She looked for something to cover her bare breasts, but found nothing; sighing, she started to climb up the stairs. As she left the basement, Fran realized that the screaming person was Mrs. Wilks, the cook. Suddenly afraid that something had happened to her husband, she broke into a stumbling run; the way her bosom moved was extremely distracting, sending strange flickers of pleasure into her brain, but she persevered. Reaching the study, Fran looked in. The first thing she saw, like Hester before her, was the toppled wheelchair. A thousand terrible fears flashed through Fran's mind. "Geoffrey?" she called, stepping inside. "Oh God, are you all right? Geoffrey?" Looking around, she saw a white-and-russet heap on the floor, close to her husband's desk; it took several seconds before Fran realized that it was Hester, unconscious and wearing nothing but a too-short night shirt, her bottom, tail and lower back covered with sticky, faintly luminous white goo. Startled, she recognized it as semen. Fran kneeled next to the rabbit and shook her, getting a slight electric shock as she touched her. "Hester! What is going on? Where is Geoffrey?" she asked. Hester did not react, and after checking that she was breathing and she had a pulse, Fran left the rabbit on the floor, rushing towards the kitchen. She found the kitchen in chaos; the big table had been overthrown and there were remains of shattered china all over the place. Mrs. Wilks was crouching in the corner, cradling the head of her unconscious husband in her lap and weeping. A shotgun, its barrels bent, lay nearby, along with a spilled box of shotgun shells. "What has happened? Have you seen my husband?" Fran asked frantically; she was starting to have an idea of what was going on, but fervently hoped that she was wrong. The distressed collie woman looked up, her eyes widening as she took in the changes in Fran's figure. "It was a monster," she explained in a voice hoarse from crying. "A monster! Seven foot tall and built like a bull! It rushed in and started to chase me around the kitchen! Then Jerry came in with his shotgun... he didn't shoot at the beast but at the roof; he kept yelling about his lordship, and then it snatched the gun from him, and knocked my poor Jerry down..." The cook burst into tears again, making Fran feel awful. "Listen, um, Belle," Fran said, fumbling for the cook's first name. "This is very important. Did you see where my- ah, the monster went?" "Towards the village," Mrs. Wilks said between her sobs. "Oh, my poor Jerry!" At this point, the battered collie moaned and stirred a bit, relieving Fran's fears; at least Wilks wasn't dead. "I'm going to follow him," Fran said, straightening up. "Take your husband and go to your rooms, and lock your door. Don't open it until the morning, or when I call you." She took Wilks' old coat from the peg next to the kitchen door and slipped it on; it was too big at the shoulders, too long at the sleeves, and too tight around the chest, but at least it covered her up. "Oh, and Hester's in my husband's study; she's unconscious, but not hurt... I think. Would you be so kind as to take her into your room, as well?" Mrs. Wilks nodded. "The monster's doing," she said with certainty. "I will take care of the girl, don't you worry. But what about you? What are you going to do?" Fran swallowed. "I... I don't know. But I will try my best," she said, and headed into the night. *** The rain had ended, and the moon had come out, throwing silver light everywhere. The monster stood in the garden and watched the moon. He found the cool night air pleasant; memories of long walks on the moors flickered through his mind. Sometimes he'd gone to the inn in the village afterwards, drinking a pint or two, meeting the villagers and letting them see him... Another memory rose into his mind: the innkeeper's daughter, Mary; a beautiful young sheep, laughing as she served the locals. The monster drew a deep breath, recalling the soft curves of her body beneath her dress. Images of Hester, together with another sheep appeared, and the monster felt his manhood harden. "Mary... pretty sheep..." he growled and grinned. "Mary..." His eyes gleaming lustily, the monster started running towards the village. It was a joy to run; to feel strong and fast and powerful, able to do anything he wanted. And just now, he wanted Mary. He wanted Mary very, very much. *** Fran was only halfway to the village, when she heard the first screams. "Damn, damn, damn," she panted and broke into a run again; she had to stop Geoffrey before he hurt anyone else! Reaching the village square, she found a crowd of half-dressed people, talking and gesturing wildly. "I saw it all myself," a squirrel Fran recognized as Mr. Nutley, the grocer, explained. "It jumped up and grabbed the inn's sign!" He gestured at the fiddle-shaped sign with its legend The Lamb and the Fiddle, hanging rather crookedly from a bent support. "Then it tore open the shutters, broke the window and went in!" Fran saw Mrs. Woolcott, the innkeeper's wife, sitting on the step in nothing but her night shirt and crying, and headed towards her, anxious to hear what had happened. Just as she reached her, the innkeeper himself came out, a shotgun in his big, meaty hand; he was followed by their three sons: Dick, Harry and Tom, all armed with stout cudgels. "I don't know what that monster is, but it took my Mary!" he shouted, tears flowing down his woolly cheeks. "We're going after it, and we're going to save her and kill the bloody creature! Who's with me?" Several members of the crowd shouted in agreement, while others, Mr. Nutley included, looked sheepishly away or murmured something about it being so dark. Fran opened her mouth, then closed it again, as the horror of the situation fully dawned to her. She couldn't tell them who the monster really was; they wouldn't believe her, and if they did, they'd sooner lynch her than listen to her pleading for Geoffrey's life. And they were right; they had to save poor Mary before Geoffrey ravished her, like he'd done to Hester back in the manor. If only she could somehow reach Geoffrey before he could do anything worse, and before the villagers found him... A memory from the happy, early days of her marriage came to her: she'd been accompanying Geoffrey on one of his walks on the moors. On their way back, they'd stopped into a steep-sided, deep dell in the hillside, overlooking the village but covered from below by the gorse bushes. They'd made love there, aroused and amused by the fact that, without the bushes, they could have been clearly seen from the village square. Somehow, Fran felt certain that Geoffrey was going there. Pushing her way out through the crowd, she started running. *** The monster was enjoying himself. The cool air, the moonlight, the thrill and the excitement of breaking into the inn to snatch Mary away, the feel of the young lamb's warm, woolly body under his arm; it was all so wonderful after the stuffy rooms and deadly stillness. "Pretty sheep," he rumbled, patting the unconscious sheep girl on her head. Crouching on the hillside, the monster waited for a cloud to drift in front of the moon; then, moving fast and surely, he clambered across the open ground, reaching the spot he wanted just in time. The moon came out again, lighting the dell brightly. Grunting happily, the monster dropped Mary to the ground and stretched his muscles. As the sheep at his feet started to squirm again, revived by the cool air, the monster reached down, and grabbing her both arms with one huge hand, picked her up from the grass. "Oh Lord... this can't be real," Mary said in a weak voice, unable to believe her senses. "This isn't happening..." The monster hesitated; was the sheep speaking to him? The word "lord" brought back memories of stern-faced mice in old paintings; of a particular old mouse with kindly eyes and mutton-chop chin whiskers; of, strangely, himself, but not as the monster... Growling, he pushed away the thoughts and, with his free hand, tore away the flannel nightshirt that covered the sheep's breasts. The sight of her bare body rekindled the lust the monster had been feeling; he leered at the frightened sheep, his cock hardening in expectation of what was to come. "No, no, no!" Mary bleated, struggling feebly. "Please, I'm still a virgin, please, oh God no!" The monster did not care. Drooling, he reached out to grab her thigh, to open up her legs so he could thrust himself into her... "Stop at once!" A female voice, out of breath but commanding, rang out. The monster stopped and turned towards the newcomer, a raccoon woman standing on the edge of the dell. His mind was suddenly awhirl with memories, all of them featuring the raccoon: her sitting at a writing desk, reading a thick book and gnawing at the tip of a pencil; the two of them walking in a garden, holding hands; Fran in her wedding dress, smiling and crying at the same time, standing next to him in the church... "Fra-aaan?" the monster said, his voice uncertain. "Yes, it's me, Fran," the raccoon said, undoing her jacket and revealing her bare breasts. "You want me, not her; leave her alone, and follow me." The monster licked his lips, mesmerized by the moonlit expanse of her bosom. "Yes... I want you, Fran..." he mumbled. He released his grip, dropping the crying sheep to the grass. The monster looked at his arms and body, and frowned. Had there been a time when he hadn't been a monster? It was so hard to think... "Follow me," Fran repeated, and scrambled away. Without a moment's hesitation, the monster went after her, Mary left behind and forgotten. He wanted Fran, now; only Fran. *** With Mary safe, Fran had ample time to start worrying about her own safety. Geoffrey had turned into a gigantic version of himself; an exaggerated, massively muscled monstrosity, endowed with a penis that she felt sure would split her in half if he pushed it into her! At least so far Geoffrey was following her, quite docile, but Fran couldn't help thinking about what might happen if she somehow enraged him... or aroused him further! Shuddering, she pressed onwards, her monstrous husband following obediently behind. The villagers had managed to organize themselves; they were moving around in armed groups, carrying torches and lanterns, and Fran was having trouble evading them. Once, they were seen from a distance, but Fran managed to drag Geoffrey into the cover of the trees before anyone could take a shot at him. Eventually, they reached the Kinstone Hall; slamming the main doors shut, Fran slumped against them and sighed in relief. Geoffrey was starting to look restless, again; the glimmer of intelligence in his eyes was fading, and he was starting to act in a more animalistic fashion, sniffing the air and glancing about him with obvious suspicion. "Come on, Geoffrey," Fran persuaded, pulling him after her. "I'm your wife, remember? Fran, that's me!" "Fran..." he grunted, looking a bit happier. To Fran's dismay, his member was becoming erect again, and it was obviously because of her. She had to find a way to turn him back to normal, and quickly! As they moved through the house, Geoffrey's arousal was becoming more and more pronounced. His cock was now fully hard and erect, bobbing slightly as he walked after Fran; she could almost feel his gaze burning on her fur! She could not deny that she was starting to feel excited, at times wondering how her husband's magnificent tool would feel like inside her. It was as if some kind of an electric field was connecting them... Fran stopped in mid-stride; Geoffrey, having paid more attention to her than Tom had to Hester, stopped behind her, his tail lashing from side to side and his hands clenching and unclenching. "An electric field..." she said, the realization dawning. Somehow, Geoffrey had become supercharged with energy; Fran, with her unnatural sensitivity, was feeling it! If she only could discharge him! Her mind flashed back to unconscious Hester, and to the electric shock she'd gotten from touching the rabbit, ravished by her husband only minutes earlier. Geoffrey had given Hester a powerful jolt as he climaxed, knocking the rabbit out, but he had not been earthed; he'd lost only a minuscule amount of the power roiling inside him, turning him into this super-masculine monster. "I'm the other pole," Fran said, her voice full of wonder. "The current must flow!" It was so simple! So elegant! So... promising! "Come on, Geoffrey; I think I know what we have to do!" she said, breaking into a run again, pulling him after her. *** Geoffrey's study was just as Fran had seen it last time, with the exception of Hester; Mrs. Wilks had either carried or dragged the rabbit into safety. The cables she'd used to electrify Geoffrey were still here; now, she could put them into another use. Thanking her lucky stars that she had switched the generator off, she hastily attached the clamps to her tail. And none too soon; apparently, Geoffrey had decided that enough was enough. Grunting, he grabbed Fran and pulled the raccoon to him. With their height difference, his erect cock pressed against her breasts, its touch sending electric shivers throughout her. "Fraaan..." he moaned, huge hands resting heavy on her shoulders. "Yes, I'm Fran," she said, looking up at his face and smiling. "And you are Geoffrey, my husband." Drawing a deep breath, she grasped his member; like the rest of him, it was exaggerated, even grotesque in its length and vein-wrapped girth, but Fran no longer felt afraid; in fact, the changes excited her, just like Geoffrey seemed to be entranced by her expanded figure. Holding the massive shaft with both hands, she started, with little skill but great enthusiasm, to explore it with her lips and tongue, every touch sending electric crackles through their bodies. Finding him too large to comfortably fit into her mouth, Fran decided to use her newly-grown bosom to her advantage. Leading Geoffrey by his cock, she guided him to a large armchair in one corner of the room, and pushed him down into it. Kneeling before him, Fran could fit his massive shaft between her huge breasts, while using her mouth on the tautly bulging head. As she rubbed her boobs around Geoffrey's member, Fran could feel the power growing in him. His scent was male and musky, with a hint of ozone and of hot metal; it filled her head with lust that had so long remained unfulfilled, and made both her mouth and nether parts water. With a deep-throated growl, Geoffrey pushed himself from the chair, knocking surprised Fran over. Lying on her back on the carpet, she looked up at monstrous form looming over her with apprehension in her eyes. "Fran..." he said, in his thick, guttural voice. "I... want... you..." Although his face was still contorted in an animalistic expression of fierce lust, there was intelligence in Geoffrey's eyes, and worry. "I duh... don't want... to... hurt you..." He flexed his huge hands before him, looking them as if he saw them correctly for the first time. "But... I'm so... large!" "You've not hurt me yet," Fran said. "I know you can control yourself. I trust you." Then, with an encouraging smile she opened her legs, revealing her yearning pussy. "It has been so long! Take me, Geoff; take me now!" Slowly, carefully, Geoffrey lowered his large body onto her; reaching between her legs, Fran guided his cock into the right place. For a moment, he remained tense and immobile, the huge, burning hot head of his cock pressed against the swollen lips of her vulva. Then, with a single, long thrust, he pushed into her for the first time in so many months, and completed the circuit. Their sex was fierce, elemental, and passionate. The air around Fran and Geoffrey crackled with energy as they fucked. He was so huge, so hard, that she thought it impossible to accommodate him, yet she did so. The electric wires in her tail thrummed and vibrated with power; in the basement, fat sparks flew from the fuse boxes and the generator. "Yes! Oh, oh yes!" Fran cried, feeling the long-lost but never forgotten feelings build up in her as the electricity flowed out from Geoffrey and into the earth through her. He was stretching her cunt wide open, filling her completely with his hard, throbbing prick. She wrapped her hands around his huge body, weeping in joy as he pounded into her, potent and willing, loving her again, giving her such pleasure. He felt unstoppable, indefatigable, monstrous; her monster, her husband, both at once. "Oh, Fran," he panted, looking down into her eyes, his face aglow with wonder. "I- I can feel everything! I'm... aahh... whole again!" Geoffrey increased his pace, fucking her faster and faster, making her gasp as her augmented breasts bounced with every thrust. Roaring like a lion, he came, and came, and came again, his cum filling her up. Coruscating arcs of power flashed between them; in the basement, the generator's coils glowed red-hot, sputtered and started to melt. Fran yowled and shrieked, trashing beneath his heavy body as their energies mixed and exploded into a shattering orgasm, leaving them lying there, physically and mentally spent. *** "Fran, are you all right? Please, wake up!" The sound of Geoffrey's familiar baritone voice brought Fran back from her exhausted, utterly satiated slumber. Blinking, she found herself still lying on the study floor, her fur matted and sweaty, her groin and the insides of her thighs covered by what felt like a flood of semen that seemed to be still seeping out of her; her chest seemed to have had returned back to what seemed to be her new "normal size"; slightly bigger than before the lightning, modest but not meek. Geoffrey was sitting on the floor next to her, naked and back to his original size and shape. His legs looked much better than before, however; still skinny, but no longer lifeless. Seeing her open her eyes, his anxious expression melted into one of profound relief. "Thank goodness! I was afraid that the final shock might have hurt you!" She laughed weakly. "You still haven't hurt me. I knew I could trust in you..." Geoffrey looked unhappy and ashamed. "But I did hurt you," he said. "I was so miserable that I tried to drive you away, to forget what I had in you, what I thought I could never have again... Oh, Fran, can you possibly ever forgive me?" Fran took his hand and looked solemnly at him. "Yes," she said. "But there's a price to it." Seeing Geoffrey steel himself, she continued, with an impish smile on her face. "I want you back in our laboratory and in our bed; we have a lot of catching up to do!" *** The search parties saw no further sign of either the monster or of the strange women some claimed to have seen with it. When the villagers came to Kinstone Hall in the in the morning, they found the manor in disarray, with Wilks the butler bed-ridden with a concussion and the maid, Hester, apparently having had a nervous breakdown during the night. The baron listened to the frantic explanations of Mr. Woolcott and others with a look of grave concern on his face. The whole thing was ultimately his fault, he explained to them; over the last months, he and his wife had been experimenting with various methods to alleviate his paralysis. Some of these had involved very expensive equipment, including electrodes made from gold and silver, and obviously the knowledge of these had been leaked. Last night, some enterprising ruffian had broken into the manor, looking for the valuable electrodes. Luckily, he had not found them; unluckily, he had caused plenty of damage looking for them, and had discovered some very potent pharmaceutical tinctures. Believing them to be ordinary liquor, he had imbibed them, and been turned into a raving maniac. He had assaulted Wilks and Hester, scaring Mrs. Wilks, and then gone into a drug-fuelled rampage in the village, culminating with his breaking into the inn and abducting poor Mary; thank heavens that the girl had not been hurt! Looking for the burglar would probably be in vain; most likely he had wandered off to the moors and fallen into the bogs, or else recovered from his madness and slunk away, hoping not to be caught. The whole thing would not have happened, the baron concluded, if he had been more diligent about storing dangerous chemicals; he would pay for the damages and offered a goodly sum to Mary and her parents as a small compensation for their distress. Everyone agreed that this was very generous of him; the good citizens of Newbourne returned to their homes, satisfied that the baron was not only a nobleman but a noble man, too. Mary had been more scared than hurt, and recovered from her shock quickly. Soon afterwards, she married a certain young farmer who had been long admiring her. To the disappointment of Tom and several other unmarried men of Newbourne, Hester refused to remain at the Kinstone Hall; she had only vague recollections of the night's events, but she knew that she wanted to get as far from the place as possible. She returned to London with a tidy sum of money, including a very generous severance payment, and, despite Lady Kinstone's distaste, a carefully worded letter of recommendation for her services. The following spring, Lord and Lady Kinstone left for an expedition in Iceland; from there, they continued to the Americas, Asia and Africa, only returning home two years later after having travelled around the globe. As for the Monster of Newbourne, it was never seen again, but its memory lives on in the local folk tales; many a story has been told of its rampages, growing more terrible with every retelling, and many a lass has gone to bed, half hoping for a half-naked monster to come and carry them away... * * * Thanks to Greg Panovich for the original idea, and for his invaluable help at all stages of writing this story!