In this post: Elf, Amazoness, masturbation, futanari, self-cumshot
My eyes opened again to the real world, my dark room, the same one from my most vivid of dreams. I was disoriented, sure that when I looked up I would see the limp body of my lover, naked and covered with a thin film of sweat, the great swaths of spit drying on her beautiful face. But the bed was empty, though my body still glowed with something resembling the passion I had felt in my dream. I felt light headed, my legs could still feel that warm, supple body pinned beneath them, my mouth still felt stretched and exhausted from that eternal kiss. I sighed and rubbed my face. A strange, wonderful dream, to be sure, but nothing more.
I threw aside the covers, finding myself still dressed as I had been when I had gone off to die. Laboriously I pulled myself to my feet, cursing the uncomfortable high heeled shoes for the millionth time. I felt strangely heavy, as if I was carrying buckets on a bar across my shoulder like a peasant woman or a servant. My legs felt strange as they rubbed together with my walk, pinched as they were into the tight pencil skirt. I ran my hands over my dress to smooth it out as I walked for the door, wondering where my husband would be so that I could ask him what happened and beg his forgiveness. But something stopped me, my hands coming to rest on my breasts. Strange...they felt different. I looked down, but I couldn't see much in this dull light, only the elegant curve they formed against the marble floor. I found a candelabra and lit it, taking it with me over to a mirror, where I gasped and nearly dropped it. My breasts had been large before, but now they were positively bulging, pushing against the tight fabric of my tailored dress so hard that the unfettered flesh curled around the top of the fabric in great piles. I turned to see my profile. I had gained five inches to my bust, at least. I was completely dumbfounded. I left before I could think about it any more, rushed through the house to find my husband, pulling on my dress as my bouncing breasts threatened to break free at any moment.
When I found him, he would barely talk to me, and I could scarcely ask any of the questions raging through my mind. What I was able to find out was that I had drank an experimental elixir, one that was supposed to make female soldiers more like men in strength, but it was nowhere near complete. He had given me the antidote, but that too was experimental. I would probably still suffer the side effects, just not as badly as I might have. When I asked what side effects, he only muttered something I couldn't understand, then refused to answer me. I felt my old fury returning, and now fear fed the flames like oil. I raged at him then, like I had been afraid to before. Something gave me strength, something in me gave my blind anger all the justification it needed. I hurled every insult at him I could think of, leveled every accusation I had kept to myself. He was too stunned to come back with words of his own. That a woman would talk to him like this...!
Finally I made my demands. He would confine himself and all his things to the west wing of our vast mansion, and he would give me the east, and neither one of us would cross the dividing line of the kitchen, which was itself neutral ground. He could have all the whores in Al Zitti, and I could be left in blessed peace to never have to look on his face again. I saw his own anger flaring up, the suddenness of my attack losing its edge. I could tell he wanted to threaten me, beat me like the other noblemen did their wives to keep them in line, but as I watched him, waiting for the slap such as I had taken from my father countless times and wondering how I would react I realized something. He was afraid of me! I was taller than him, bigger, very probably stronger. Just as he wounded my dignity with his procession of slutty outfits for me, I wounded his pride with my sheer size. He wouldn't hit me, because he feared that I would hit back! I think I smirked at him when I realized this. I drew myself up, trying to appear taller, bigger. For a long moment I kept him locked in a fearsome gaze, meeting his eyes in anger as a lady was never to do, fighting with all my will to not back down. Finally he turned away, and said that I could have it my way, what did he care if some freakish woman didn't want to be near him.
“I'll just fuck that gorgeous little whore I brought home those weeks ago when I need it. That's all your kind is good for anyway.” He shot me, trying to wound me, and I didn't care. The mere mention of her called up the image of her face quite against my will. I saw her staring at me over her shoulder as I went up the stairs, saw her drawing close to kiss me as I stormed across the house, saw her pinned and writhing beneath me as I slammed the door to my chambers and threw myself upon the bed. I closed my eyes and relived my dream, wishing desperately that I could recreate the powerful pleasure I had felt.
As I thought about kissing her supple lips, hefting her heaving breasts, caressing her smooth thighs, a change came over me. I felt the flush of excitement I always felt in my fantasies, but this time it was different. A tingling sensation came from between my legs, first the feel of skin on skin, and then skin on gentle cloth, tingling and growing more insistent. It was real, tactile sensation, and I was confused. I sat up, lifted my skirt, and stared down at the cock between my legs. I felt the scream well up in my throat. There it was, just as it had been in my dream. Long, solid, powerful, throbbing. The sound froze in my throat, my whole body went tense in alarm and indecision. Well...side effects indeed. Make the women as powerful as men...by making them into men! Had the process been stopped in me? Or had the reversal potion been one to make women more womanly, and accented my feminine features? And so now my breasts finally broke the straps of my dress as my whole body was tensed, spilled free as I looked down at the member staring back up at me. The fatalism that had held me in its grip for so long suppressed the horror I should have felt. Well, who cares if I'm deformed now, anyway, it's not as if my husband will ever see it. Shock was replaced by curiosity. It had felt so good to ravage that tight little throat in my dream, and that was just a dream, my mind's approximation of how it must feel. Good enough to enslave women for its entertainment, to pay them huge sums of gold to give up their bodies to it...
With one trembling hand I gripped the shaft of this strange thing attached to me. The pressure felt good, but not amazing. As I watched, a little dab of clear fluid came out the top and began to slowly work its way down. I lifted my hand and put my finger to the strange liquid, spreading it around experimentally. It was slick as spit. I spread it around more until I ran a slick finger over the skin of the shaft just below the head and nearly cried out as a lightning shock of pleasure shot through me. I ran my finger over it again, back and forth, a sigh escaping me in ragged breaths. It was like nothing I had ever felt in my life, not even in my dream. I squeezed my shaft again, seeing another tab of the mystery fluid come obediently out. I slicked the palm of my hand with it, then gripped the end of my member, stroking it in short movements. I had never believed that any sort of God existed before this moment, but now I was a true believer. My whole body squirmed against my will, my breath came in short gasps followed by sighs and stuttering cries. I laid back on the bed, spreading my legs a little more and stroking faster. The lubricating fluid came out on its own now, just as what was there began to dry up it would be replenished, working into a thick paste that made wet squishing sounds as I worked my hand faster, my strokes getting longer as the whole shaft became slick. On and on I went, my arm cramping until I grabbed the shaft with my other hand, working it rapidly as my dominant hand went back to short strokes along the head and the soft skin underneath. My gasps and moans became louder and more frenzied, their impassioned, abandoned music making me only more turned on. I thought again of the whore, thought of her pinned beneath me, her mouth open, her eyes closed. Thought of her leading me to the bed, her ass swaying, breasts bouncing, heels clacking against the marble floor. All at once I saw her naked on the bed, beckoning me to her, her legs spread and the beautiful pink flesh between them moist and inviting.
Suddenly my head swam, my whole body seemed to clamp down. All my energy rushed to my crotch, concentrated in my member, which grew even more sensitive, until it was a searing beacon of ecstasy, showering me in holy light. I cried out again, feeling muscles I never knew I had contracting violently and with such immense satisfaction that it seemed my whole life had been nothing but a precursor to this moment. I felt the rushing in my member, another powerful contraction that erased all thought and consciousness from my mind. I managed to keep my eyes open, and still stroking madly, greedily demanding more and more of this unbearable release, I saw the first great shot of semen fly at me, splatter on my face, fall neatly across my breasts and stomach. Another contraction, and another great shot of that fiery white liquid falling across my prone body. Again and again, each one better than the last, until finally it only seeped out, and the contractions died away. Rather than despair at the loss of my ecstasy, I felt satisfaction. I had never known true satisfaction, not until this very moment. All things seemed truly all right. All thought was gone, everything was empty, nothing mattered but the glow of my body, the release I had felt, the sticky cum cooling against my skin. Within minutes I was asleep.
I awoke feeling utter contentment, but desire. As my mind came into focus, I immediately thought of the pleasure I had given myself. Images flashed through my mind, my hand stroking, the great shot of cum hitting my face, the naked body of the whore spread out on the bed. My hand went to my member without my thinking about it, and I felt it already hard, demanding attention. But I got out of bed instead. I washed myself in the basin, finding the dried cum crusted onto my skin. In time the erection retreated, and my member became a loose thing hanging between my legs. I gathered it up, tucked it between my legs, and dressed normally, finding a garment that could accommodate my new bust, a white buttoned dress shirt very much in the style of a man that didn't make them seem so large. Still, the top buttons wouldn't hold and I stared at my deep cleavage in the mirror, strangely mesmerized by it, as if I had never seen them before.
It was a new woman who attended her duties that day. I wondered a few times why I even bothered, since my husband no longer cared what I did, but I did it anyway for I had nothing else to do. I was patient and forgiving with the servants, never raising my voice. I did some chores myself and helped a little to prepare meals. In my utter contentment, I found that I had patience enough to do anything in the world. But all day my thoughts turned to the pleasure of the night before, tantalizing images flashing in my mind. In a few moments of panic I found my new organ responding to these thoughts, threatening to grow into a telltale bulge in my tight mini skirt.
As patient and pleasant as I was that day, I was glad to escape to my room that evening. I was drawn to the full-length mirror immediately by some force I couldn't identify. I wanted to see myself. I stared intently at my breasts, followed the sensual curve of my waist down to my hips, where the satin mini skirt clung to me like my own skin half way down my thighs. I felt myself growing breathless and excited at this. Such vanity! But I watched the bulge in my skirt grow until it looked like a cucumber covered with stain cloth. I stripped off my clothes and returned to my bed, losing myself again in the pleasure.
The weeks went on and it became more incessant. I had to escape to my chambers two or three times a day to gain my release, and my thoughts never turned away from that act, or the dream that had foreseen so much of my new life. I added continually to that dream in my fantasies. I would pull my aching member from her throat that cover her face in my sticky seed, or force her to swallow it. I would pull back and put my member between her giant breasts and rub them against it. I would hold her down and penetrate her, her pretty face contorting in pain and passion as I drove into her with maniac abandon. But all I had was my hands, in the end. Even four times a day, I could never be fully satisfied. What must men do when they feel this way, I wonder? I had no wife or slave to spend my passion on.
Of course the answer came to me weeks later. I sat bolt upright in bed as I thought longingly of my dream for that pretty little prostitute. Of course! They buy their release when they had no other choice. Unlike some petty soldier saving his allowances, I was a noblewoman with a nearly limitless fortune to spend on all the carnal delights I could want. If my husband could have his whores, why couldn't I have mine?
No comments:
Post a Comment