- Title: The Superior Gender
- Subtitle: The Triumphants and The Infradigs
- Author: Yu Sakurazawa
- Gender Swap Type: MTF
The rule of the Regime is a skewed one, wherein women are persecuted and treated like cattle. The mirific waters of the Well of Reincarnation subvert The Regime by transmuting potent, tyrannical men into comely helpless maidens called ‘The Infradigs’. The prototypal women organize themselves into an all-woman clan called ‘The Triumphants’. The principal motto of the clan is vendetta: paying ‘The Infradigs’ back with the same coin.
How far will ‘The Triumphants’ go with their theorem of hate? Are the canons of avengement more imperative than concerns of humanity?
Trevor/Tia: is the tyrannical 40 year old leader of a depraved government known as The Regime. Trevor is tall, bronze-skinned and well-proportioned. The most impressive distinguishing mark Trevor possesses is a scar running vertical along his face, a feature that he retains even after transmuting into Tia, a beautiful curvaceous 20 year old woman. As an Infradig, Trevor gets a dose of his own despotic medicine. He is deprived of basic human rights, is persecuted and tortured.
Kaya: is the wife of ex-tyrant, Trevor, and the leader of an all-woman clan known as ‘The Triumphants’. Kaya is beautiful: she has coal black eyes and long straight hair which she later contours into a crew-cut. In a bid to limit excessive identification with the female gender, Kaya wears (and instructs her subjects to wear) a loose-fitting asexual shift.
Masha: is a 25 year old witch whose appearance goes against common stereotypes. The slim, sylph-like, orange-haired Masha is responsible for having concocted the Well of Reincarnation that has the miraculous power of transmuting males into younger females.
Asin: is the lovely, bespectacled second-in-command to Kaya. Asin has been especially brutalized by The Regime for her sexual orientation, yet she refuses to change it. Asin is an interesting muesli of severity and compassion.
Reva: is the 19 year old clone of Kaya’s. Reva is born of Kaya’s ova and DNA, but is carried to term in the womb of Tia.
Greg: is the 80 year old head of a clan of old men called The Silvers at an atoll adjacent to The Triumphants’s country. After a humiliating defeat at the hands of The Triumphants army, Greg expects to be decapitated. However, he is spared on account of his advanced years and entrusted with the task of bringing up The Triumphants’s male offspring.
Rod, Seth and Anubis: are the three eldest sons of Kaya, who, along with their little brothers and the sons of the other Triumphants are sent off to the atoll of The Silvers.
Shakti, Marco, Xenon, Rudra and Lee: are the ministers of Trevor who also metamorphose to women.
Carla: is the Triumphants’s minister who is in charge of ‘looking after’ The Infradigs. Carla is in charge of the refrigerator that stores drugs like adrenaline that she routinely administers to The Infradigs so that they never get slack and untiringly work 24×7, 365 days a year. Under Kaya’s orders, Carla injects doperidone into The Infradigs in order to induce lactation and inflict unbearable agony in The Infradigs.
Malia: is a sandy-haired confident Triumphant who gets Masha from the top of the icy snow-covered peaks.
Lalaj: is a bold, brainy woman who is the commander-in-chief of The Triumphants army. She suggests that in the absence of men, children could be produced by cloning.
Dr. Shiela and Dr. Scarlet: They are women from the clan who are able to get away from the regime to get a professional education. Shiela is a scientist while Dr. Scarlet is a gynecologist and obstetrician.
Sugar: is one of the women who is brutally beaten up by her husband, Xenon, for expressing herself through dance. Under the despotic regime, women are kept away from art, literature, dance, music et al. Xenon’s bestiality towards Sugar is one of the incidents that trigger a silent revolution among the women oppressed by The Regime, leading them to capsize it.
The Superior Gender
The Triumphants and The Infradigs
The Myrtle Waters
Masha didn’t suit the description of a stereotypical witch. She appeared quite young, say, twenty-five, and was slim and sylph-like. Her skin was as soft as a baby’s and her hair a curious flaming orange.
She was bestowed with a few powers, of which the greatest was that of a diviner’s. Masha could, with a fair degree of ease, predict which part of land on earth was a source of water. She was very spiritual and used her intuition—the ability to tap her subconscious—to help her decide where a well had to be dug. Masha carried a number of tools, especially a huge stately-looking pendulum to help her get a good idea of the direction, position, quality, quantity and the depth of a potential source of water. Presently, she was sensing something—pure, mysterious and magical.
Her instinct led her to a cave, the mouth of which was covered by a huge boulder. Masha was small-built and looked frail, yet was able to cast the boulder aside so easily that it might as well have been a feather. She went inside to find that the cave didn’t end in an abrupt cul de sac as she had anticipated. It branched out into a long, deep dank tunnel.
It was rather dark, but the psychic radiance that emanated from within her helped her find the way. Masha instinctively knew that the source of water wasn’t very far off. She alighted a series of steps made of blasted granite and stood on the ground that beckoned her. ‘Yes!’ she thought ‘this is very much the source of the well—the Well of Reincarnation!’
With rising excitement, she started digging. Masha didn’t have to dig too deep before clear, green waters met her eyes. And she knew that this was much more than just drinking water……
She picked up her flute and raised it to her lips.
Inside one of holes in the tunnel, there lived an old male rat. He was old and frail and didn’t think he had very long to live. Besides, since his once shiny coat wasn’t as thick as it used to be, he felt immensely cold. The dampness of the hole sent icy chills down his spine. He silently trembled, not knowing what to do.
Then he heard it—the music. It seemed to be emanating from the opposite end of the tunnel. The rat picked himself up and slowly crawled out of his hole. The music was sweet, yet ominous. The rat wanted to stop. Yet he was dragged on further into the tunnel. As he reached the beginning of the granite steps, he saw it. The clear, myrtle waters. Hydrangea flowers, plush and blood red, grew around it. So did ivy creepers.
The rat plunged into well. The water was soothing, sweet and somewhat mildly electrified. Oddly, it felt erotic, as if he was in the arm of a female partner. He then felt an odd crackling, tingling sensation all through his body. Subsequently, he dozed off.
When he awoke, he found that the music had stopped. The rat felt an unaccustomed lightness and sprightliness in his body. He sprung up the shallow well and found that his movements were quick. He beheld his reflection in the crystal clear waters. The sight that met his eyes astounded him. He’d turned into a young female rat.
We’re the Triumphants
The black clouds have gathered over the skies. In a minute, the thunder rumbles menacingly and the lightening threatens to blind and strike down whoever dares to look at it. The trees stand silent and ominous, as if wanting to pounce on and garrote whoever even passed their way. It’s almost as if these elements of nature are symbolic of me, Kaya, the leader of a very special clan comprising only of ladies. In keeping with my status, I have been given a crown, a special gem-studded sword and a scepter. I am a woman, but do not find it essential to endorse the fact. I’ve cut my hair into a short crew cut much like sailors and wear a long asexual black shift which hides my curves. My seven year old daughter, Reva, who is a homoloid clone of me, sits beside on her own-mini throne. I see in her steady clear eyes and square determined jaw, the successor of me. Already.
In a line underneath the altar my throne is poised on, stand my cabinet ministers. They are dressed in much the same way as me, in a long black shift, and sport the same close-cropped hair-style, but have a crescent running vertical on the top of their heads to indicate their relatively subordinate rank. Each is in charge of a portfolio: one agriculture, the other industry, education, home, defense, wildlife conservation and so on. We, The Triumphant girls, are very competent and are able to run our country with a fairly good degree of self-sufficiency. At this point, I must tell you that even though we have industries et al, we are primarily an agrarian economy. We subsist on growing rice, millets, wheat etc for our own needs and export.
‘Carla’ I beckon my minister who is in charge of The Infradigs. ‘It’s time to give our girls their shot of doperidone’. You might be wondering at the undue emphasis of ‘girls’, but don’t worry, you’ll soon be enlightened. ‘Yes, Ma’am’ Carla winks coyly and opens the door of one of the adjacent rooms. The Infradigs come into view. To the amateur unpracticed eye, they’d look like any other women. Very beautiful ones, as a matter of fact. I’ve ordered them to be draped in pink gossamer, as delicate as a spider’s web, and their lush hair to be grown long enough to sweep the floors. Their beautiful eyes are lined with kohl and long, and curly lashes rendered more attractive by applying a double coat of mascara. Their winsome high-boned cheeks are accentuated with rouge and their nubile lips laced with strawberry flavored gloss. The Infradigs may present a very pretty picture to you, but they are quite rotten within, I assure you. Especially, the one called Tia, who once used to be my husband, Trevor.
‘Sit!’ Carla barks and The infradigs lumber on their labor-fatigued legs to follow her orders. They are reluctant, one can see that, yet don’t dare to refute orders. If they do, we’d make them wield the plough three times as heavy and threaten to remove their outer clitoris, inner and outer labia and vulva—female genital mutilation. This is enough to keep them in their place, literally and metaphorically.
As Carla strips The Intradigs with ominously fragile care, a high-pitched tragic cry breaks out. I follow the direction of the cry and find that it’s emanating from Tia. She’s the most lissome of the lot, I notice, with pale, soft skin, a long swan-like neck and rich dark burgundy hair that has now grown up to her waist. I smile satisfied. ‘Her first’ I tell my minister. As Carla strips the finespun fairy-wing like gauze from Tia, her big tits come into view. She was a respectable C cup initially, when she’d just metamorphosed from Trevor, but we Triumphants have now made sure that she’s now a double D. And we don’t intend stopping at that.
Doperidone is injected into her and all the other stripped Infradigs. The drug causes an increase in their prolactin levels stimulates lactation in the bastards without their having to give birth. I notice with a kind of grim sadistic satisfaction, that Tia’s and other Infradigs’ breasts are slowly filling with the white fluid. They’re increasing in size much like balloons, into which some secret mysterious air is being blown. A net of greenish-blue veins is conspicuous against the skin surrounding their pink areolas and comparatively dark erect nipples. When their mammoth-sized breasts engorge to the extent of bursting point, the Infradigs start wriggling and writhing in their chairs in agony. ‘Please’ I hear them plead more or less in unison ‘Milk us’. ‘I can’t hear you’ I deliberately say and notice with satisfaction that a deep crimson blush of mortification spreads across their faces. ‘Kaya’ Tia says, not meeting my eye ‘We cannot take the pressure any more. The pressure that’s building up is agony. It’s making us feverish. Therefore, I beg you to order your ministers to milk us’.
‘Bovine you’ve become, haven’t you, Trevor?’ I ask in a gelid yet tantalizing tone ‘Had you shown an iota of mercy on us before, you won’t have had to beg and beseech today’. I have no intention of obliging him, not for the next three or four hours, at least. Let the bastards suffer for the agonies they have put us through in the past.
Soon I see all of them: Tia, Sia (originally Shakti), Mia (Marco), Xena (Xenon), Rina (Rudra), Chelsea (Lee) and the rest of the Infradigs start itching themselves like possessed animals. Their eyes go red and start swelling to the size of tiny lemons. The faces follow suit and bloat to the size of water-suffused cadavers. These, I recognize as the side effects of excessive doperdone. ‘Please Kaya’ Rina, the ex right-hand man of my husband supplicates ‘May I have a drink of water?’ Thirst. Yet another sideeffect of doperidone. ‘Sorry’ I tell him curtly ‘You’ll have to bear up with it.’
‘Kaya’ comes another of those irritating whiny high-pitched voices and I realize that it’s coming from Tia. ‘Kaya’ she says terribly embarrassed this time ‘Please let me use the toilet’. ‘Why?’ I ask. You may think me a terrible monster to ask this manner of a question that is so detrimental to human dignity, but once you hear my story, the history of what this man (when she was a man) did to the state and its subjects, you’ll cease to judge me.
‘What else would people go to the toilet for?’ she says with a hint of dissent in her voice ‘It’s either to throw up, micturate or defecate’. ‘Yeah, but which one’s your call?’ I persist. ‘Okay, I have diarrhea’ she says, the last shreds of dignity taken away from her. Diarrhea. Yet another symptom of doperidone overdose. I ask Carla to escort Tia to the toilet. Please don’t mistake my action for human kindness; it’s just that I can’t afford to have my sanctimonious floors desecrated in any manner.
I keep a close vigil on the watch. Two hours have passed from when we’ve been injected with the lactation-inducing hormone. I ask Carla and the other ministers to do the needful i.e. milk the profuse venom off the bastards. ‘Throw the milk down the drain, else flush it down the bathroom basin’ I direct Carla ‘We can’t have our little ones consume milk produced by their snakes’. I leave the unpleasant task of squeezing, collecting and flushing to some of my Triumphant clan-sisters and get ready to set out on my adventures, ‘And by the way, Carla’ I say turning back ‘send them to the fields as soon as you’re done. Give them the heavier plough. And make them work the entire day, without a break’.
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