A Half-transformation free porn video

"Holy shit!!" "In here, hon." "My dick is gone!" "I'm out in the living room." I rushed to the living room. "Fuck!" I started hopping up and down. "I stubbed my toe!" "Oh, sweetheart, I'm sorry," said my wife Samantha, with sympathy. "Are you OK?" she said, turning away from the TV. "Yeah, I'll live." Wonder if Jack Daniels said that after kicking his safe? "But didn't you hear me? What the fuck is going on?! My dick is gone!" "I heard you. I'm trying to tell you, it's happened all over the world." She gestured at the news on TV. "The phenomenon was first reported at 5:01 am Saturday Greenwich Mean Time, as the sun rose over the western British Isles, like Skye, Islay, and Man," the newscaster intoned. "People awake at that time report dizziness lasting only a few seconds, while the changes took place. The phenomenon seems to affect everyone: young and old, man and woman. No one knows yet the cause, or the cure... " "Men and women?" I said. "Wait, does that mean... ?" "Yup," Samantha said, pulling down her sweatpants. There, on my wife's lovely body where her lovely mound should be, was a flaccid penis and testicles. I couldn't help staring. I've seen other men's penises before in locker rooms, but seeing one on my wife was stupefying. "Shit, you could have just told me... " My wife let go of the elastic, and it snapped her new cock. "Ow!" "You have to be careful. It's sensitive," I said. "That barely grazed the balls, but I can still feel it stinging!" We sat and watched TV together for a while, not saying much. There were lots of theories about why it happened, but no one really knew: a bizarre virus, an alien prank, a Celtic curse -- frankly, the more outlandish the theory, the more credible it seemed. No one knew if it would reverse any time soon, either. In the mean time, everyone on Earth would just have to deal. It was a little comforting to know that it wasn't just us. All of humanity was in this together, whatever the hell this was, which still didn't make it any less weird. "Sweetheart, please stop fidgeting," I asked, after the fourth time in as many minutes that my wife had re-positioned herself on the sofa. "I can't get comfortable. Honestly, how did you live with this thing between your legs?" "First of all, stop trying to cross your legs at the knees. That isn't going to work. And don't keep trying to tuck it between your legs. Let it be free," I said. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. I have to go to the bathroom," Samantha said, getting up. "Don't forget to shake after you're done." "Eww," she said. "Not shaking is worse." A minute later, she was back. "That was kind of cool. You can aim it wherever you want." "You can even pee straight up." Her eyes widened. "You can?" I nodded. "Sometimes I do... did... in the shower. So... Did you miss the toilet at first?" "Uh, yeah." "Of course. Not as easy as it looks, is it?" "It's hard to get the stream started!" she protested. "... and hard to finish strong, too," I finished for her. "Look, it happens to all of us. I wasn't criticizing, although I'd like to remind you how much grief you used to give me. Well, all this talk about peeing, and I need to go." "Don't forget that --" "How could I?" "If you poop, wipe front to back." "Why would... eww," I said and closed the bathroom door closed behind me. I sat down to pee. It felt like it splashed everywhere. I definitely understood now why women always wipe. Once I had finished, I decided to have a good look at my new body. I took off all my clothes. There was my body, as I had always known it: well built, muscled, and masculine... except for the absence of a cock. There was just a patch of fur. I put my left leg up on the counter to get a better look at my new vagina. I felt my lips pull apart slightly (weird), and I smelled the unmistakable odor of 'tang. In the mirror, I could see all the confusing folds of my new genitalia, a labyrinth of flesh. I slid a finger down my slit, and I gasped at just how sensitive it was. That felt good. But I didn't want to go down this road yet. I hurriedly began to put my clothes back on. That first day, all we did was watch TV together. The news was already reporting some amazing facts. Women who were pregnant during the Change showed no visible effects, but as soon as they had delivered, they changed over. Maybe the hormones of pregnancy impeded the Change. Whatever the reason, there was video footage of the Change happening to women, post-delivery. The news mentioned it but did not play the footage, and my wife and I looked it up on the Internet. It was so remarkably quick, 30 seconds or less, that it looked like time-lapse photography. The clitoris enlarged; the labia swelled until fusing together, forming the scrotal sack. That was it: no more vagina. They never did find any videos of men changing, since 100% of men had changed simultaneously, and believe it or not (I didn't), there was not a man worldwide who just happened to have a camera pointed at his genitals at the exact right moment. It was a Friday night in the U.S. when the Change had happened. A lot of people were about to get married. Weddings were being postponed or canceled. Still, there were a lot of them that went ahead, too, and that was one kind of human-interest story on the news, rife with uncomfortable, lame jokes about being pronounced "man and wife." The honeymoon night had to be either very surprising or terribly disappointing, depending on the couple. We laughed a little bit thinking about people who had saved themselves for marriage, only to find that they'd waited a day too long. We laughed because, like most people, we were pretty uncomfortable at first, too. When we went to bed, I realized my wife was being careful not to be naked in front of me. She wore sweatpants to bed, which she never did. We kissed, and I held her, with us lying side-by-side, upper bodies touching, separated below the waist. I smelled her hair, and I realized I was horny. But she pulled away after a few seconds and turned over. Sunday morning was always breakfast out. We rolled out of bed, dressed casually, and went to our favorite place. We ate omelets and corned beef hash. We talked, drank coffee, and read the paper. Everything seemed perfectly normal. I take my "special" Sunday shower after breakfast: I trim my beard, cut my nails, and take the extra time to relax I don't during the week. This week's shower was special in another way. I was washing my new pussy and really investigating it. A thought occurred: I had heard the shower spray was enough to get some women off. I tried out a few positions and ended up on my back, shower pointing directly down onto my crotch. Oh, it felt good, like having your balls tea-bagged. I spread my legs to get more direct spray, but either our shower wasn't powerful enough (damn low- flows!) or I wasn't sensitive enough. I sat up to rub myself. I wanted something to stroke, but I quickly learned that my clit was too sensitive to touch. I rubbed myself side to side like my wife said she liked, and soon, I was really grinding onto my own hand. My labia were slick and wet, my hand was a blur, and I had to stifle a grunt as I came. I could feel my vagina muscles clench tight and release, and clench and release, but it was weird to not have that feeling of cum being squeezed out of my balls. The orgasm was good. I finished my shower, very relaxed. Sunday evening rolled around, and work loomed. A few people might have planned to stay home "sick," but most employers let their workers know that the Change was not, strictly speaking, an illness. My wife and I discussed what to wear. "I wonder if our bodies will change completely, like, you'll grow breasts, and I'll lose mine," my wife said. "What would you wear if you grew breasts? Dresses? That'd be weird." "Look," I said, "that's not something we have to worry about tonight. Our bodies are basically unaltered in size and shape; I say we go with the clothes we have." "You're right. There's just one little problem: my penis won't stay in my panties. Panties are too small." I blushed despite myself at hearing my wife talk about her penis and an implication of its large size. Then I remembered that even a small penis would probably seem very large to her. "Yeah, I know what you mean. These boxers are kind of, um, chaffing me in the... wrong spot." "Then we should switch underwear." And so we did with some reluctance. I get up for work first. I took my shower. I was still half-asleep during my shower and startled myself awake by touching my new pussy. Washing it still felt weird. I toweled off and went to my closet. I looked at the underwear my wife had given me. There were pink panties, panties with little bows on them, and thongs. No, no, and hell no. There was a plain black pair that looked promising, until I realized they were an anniversary gift from me to my wife--and crotch-less. I suppressed the memory of how they had last been put to use and dug around deeper. In the back, there were some plain, white panties--"Granny panties" my wife calls them. I slipped them on. They were not so bad; just like tighty-whiteys. I got dressed as normal, putting on my gray suit, kissed my still-sleeping wife goodbye, and headed to work. I was a little late, and there was a company-wide meeting already in progress. Our HR person was talking. "... we understand how disruptive this has been, for all of us, but we have a job to do, and we need to stay on track. We're putting a moratorium for the next month on vacations and personal time off." "Jerks," whispered my supervisor Linda, who was standing next to me. I nodded. We were adults; we'd be here like always. After all, it looked like everyone was here today. "One last thing," the HR person continued. "For some obvious anatomical reasons, men can no longer put the men's restrooms to their full use." Trust an HR person to euphemize an idea into oblivion. "That's why we're switching them. All the signs have already been swapped." From now on, men's rooms would have only toilets; women's rooms would have the urinals. Cheaper to swap signs than re-design the bathrooms. "Have fun using the urinal," I said to Linda, a little sarcastically. "Why do you think I wore a pants suit with a fly? Oh, don't think about what the trashcan in each stall is for," she replied. Too late. The day proceeded normally. A little before lunch, Linda stopped by my office. She looked a little pale. "So... I thought urinals were in stalls," she said. "No," I chuckled. "Sometimes they have little partition walls, but that's it." "But you can totally see someone else's you-know-what!" "You're not supposed to look," I said. She looked down. "You didn't?!" "I couldn't help it! Tell me you wouldn't look at a woman hiking up her skirt and pulling out a big, well... " "Who was it?" I said, forgetting how inappropriate this was. "Melissa from accounting." Melissa was a little on the short side and had long black hair and a nice C-cup rack. I had seen her this morning. She had on a light blue blouse and a tight black skirt. An image came into my mind of her standing at the urinal, leaning back a bit because she wasn't tall enough, with the front of her skirt pulled up to her waist. I guess I was lost in thought, when unbidden, my eyes drifted over Linda's crotch and noticed a slight bulge growing in her pants suit. Oh jeez. "Yeah, I'm going to ask about some partitions," she said and abruptly left. I guess women would have to get used to spontaneous erections. I worked hard the rest of the day, but the image of Melissa wouldn't leave my mind. The thought that she had a real trouser monster hidden under her tight skirt, well, it was playing in my mind like some tranny video. I did a furtive Internet search. Women were giving each other tips: how to get skirts and underwear out of the way, protocol, you name it. They had already uploaded thousands of pictures of themselves using urinals. One amusing photo was from a wedding: the bride, white dress hiked up, and all her bridesmaids were lined up using a row of urinals. Although their backs were to the camera, they were turning their heads to look at one another, and they were obviously drunk and quite amused with their new ability. This is stupid, but I kind of envied them. Men had never treated the bathroom as a social place. If you've ever been on a great vacation and told people about it, only to have them ask how much you absolutely loved the whatever you didn't know you were supposed to see... that's a little how I felt. No one told me peeing at a urinal could be fun and friendly; I had only ever worried about seeming gay. I looked at the picture of the bride again. I wondered what the rest of the wedding was like. What was her new husband like? She was young, maybe 22 or 24. Her dress was modern, backless and sleeveless, tight fitting but tasteful. It showed off her curves. And hopefully hid her cock. She stood there, back to us, at the urinal, her two hands at her crotch: one presumably holding her white dress out of the way, the other hand must have been holding her cock. I thought about how big it might be. What did she and her new husband do that wedding night? They got back to their suite, and she was drunk. I wondered: Did he get on top and ride her cowboy-style, or did she get on top in missionary position? Did he spread his legs wide or only a little? Did she know how to thrust, or did she just fumble around at it? Did she come too quickly? Did she have to eat him out after sex to get him off? And that made me wonder: Did he suck her off before they fucked? Did she stand there, in her wedding dress, while he knelt before her, lifting the dress out of the way, smoking her sausage? I realized how horny I was and panicked. Then I saw that the picture was a little risque but not pornographic. I needed to masturbate, and damn that it was at work. I started to strategize. I could take the Johnson files with me and walk towards Linda's office, then pretend I forgot something and turn back, and duck into the bathroom. Wait, that's a women's room now. The men's room is on the second floor. Hmm, I could pretend to be going to talk to Rick in accounting and take my receipts. No, it's too early in the month for that. Then I heard the stern voice of my eighth grade gym teacher, Mr. Kolnut. He had given us boys the sex talk. Dumbass, you got no dick. There ain't no erection. So stop hiding nothing with your damn binder. I stood up. I was ragingly horny. I felt the blood engorging my crotch. My pants fell smoothly in front. I walked slowly to the second floor. I even said a quick hello to Rick on my way. "Get those receipts to me next week," he said, and then I was in the bathroom. I closed the stall door. I pulled my pants down. I put a hand on the outside of my underwear. Hot and wet. I pulled down my underwear and sat. I spread my knees as wide as possible, but that wasn't very much in this narrow stall. I couldn't really rub side-to-side like I had in the shower. I started rubbing front-to-back, which also felt pretty good. Pretty soon, I was grinding the heel of my palm into my clit (had I seen my wife do that?). My fingers were cupping my labia. Before I could think about it too much, I stuck my middle finger into my vagina. I remembered the first time I'd had a serious girlfriend, my senior year of high school. After the after-prom party, we'd driven to her house, and while we sat in the car and her parents slept, she'd let me reach under her dress, pull her underwear aside, and finger her. It felt like a warm, toothless mouth. Here it was, a decade later, and it felt the same way to my fingers. But what wasn't the same was to feel the fingers slide in, the penetration. What if my dates had done this to me? It felt more intimate than a hand job already. Plus, hand jobs suck. This, this was ok. I tried stroking in and out, which felt good, but fireworks starting going off when I rubbed the front of my vagina from the inside, the G- spot. I kept grinding my palm into my clit, and I came hard. My vagina involuntarily clamped tight on my finger. I moaned a little and worried that someone else might be in the bathroom. But no one was, so I sighed and slouched. It had felt a lot like rubbing the perineum behind the balls hard, except I had never been able to come that way. I reached for toilet paper, but realized I didn't have anything to clean up. This could get addictive. I washed all the juices off my hands and went back to work. When I got home from work, I asked my wife about the bathrooms at her office. "Yeah, of course they switched them. You men need more seats now. Enjoy those lines the next time we go out to a game. Women are just going to have to learn to deal with urinals. It's only fair," she said. I let the sarcasm slide. "Did you use one?" "I tried. I wore pantyhose, and they're a nightmare to roll down on a good day. Anyway, um, I kind of sprayed myself." "You peed on yourself?!" "No, it was like kind of mist coming back off the urinal." I chuckled. "Splashback!" She frowned at first, but then she giggled a little. "Anyway, that's one reason I want to go shopping for some thigh-high stockings, and some new underwear." "Aren't the boxers comfortable?" I asked. "For around the house, yeah. But boxers are like shorts! They obviously aren't going to work with stockings. Plus, there's a VPL." "A what?" "Visible panty--er, boxer line. You know, when you can see the outline of a woman's underwear under her skirt. Ten times worse with boxers," she said. "So what did you do today?" "I just wore pantyhose, sans underwear." I started to chuckle. The idea that my wife went commando struck me as very, very amusing. She didn't share in the humor. "Just for that, you're coming with me!" "Huh, where?" "Shopping for underwear, of course!" It wasn't as bad as I feared, since I have a pretty pessimistic imagination. A few hours later, my wife had bought out every pair of stockings and small men's (formerly) thongs she could find in three stores. There weren't that many left; a lot of other women had gotten this idea. When she went to try on "just one shirt," I stood there with the cart and picked up a package of the stockings. Stockings were sexy as hell, as always. I wanted to see these on my wife. I picked up the thongs. Why do men's underwear models always have the biggest packages? "Specially designed for extra support, with firm cloth cup." Verily, this be a comfortable hammock for your mighty banana. My wife had been unfazed when she read aloud that it had extra support. I guess the language of cupping and supporting was familiar to women already. I think these men's thongs with extra support made me more uncomfortable than her. I put my thumb over the picture of the man's face and torso, leaving only the lower half of the body visible. I imagined my wife's lovely face and chest on top of that well sheathed pork sword. Her penis wasn't that big, was it? I had only seen it for a few seconds; now I wasn't so sure. And thinking about her semi-naked again was making me hornier by the minute. "What are you doing?" said my wife, as she returned from trying on her shirt. "What?" I was rattled. "Oh, I guess, I've been shopping for men's underwear all my life, and I never realized they made men's thongs," I covered. "No, you haven't." "Huh?" I said. "You haven't been shopping for underwear all your life. Your mom probably bought them for you until you were thirteen. Then, you went out and bought yourself a pack of boxers, until your mom got the hint and stopped buying you tighty-whiteys and bought boxers for you instead. We've been dating since just after college, and I buy your undies. I bet, I bet you've bought your own underwear, like, what, six, seven times?" she said. I grinned sheepishly. "I guess you're right." "Most women buy their menfolk's underwear. Why else would men's underwear models always have such big packages?" "Not any more." And I took a little schadenfreude pleasure in knowing some Lothario making trade on the photographic qualities of his junk was now looking for a new line of work. On that note, we bought underwear for me, as many pairs of large plain women's cotton panties as I could find. I had wanted to buy some men's tighty-whiteys, but my wife pointed out that they wouldn't be cut correctly in the crotch. "Believe me, I've tried," she said. Interesting, seeing as how I had never owned a pair. "Oh, I snuck them from my older brother's room. They're just too loose in front; you have to stuff in like three socks to fill it." So intrigued I was by her admission that I relented and bought the women's panties. In time, underwear for both sexes was repackaged. Sensing my indignity at buying "women's XL panties", my wife decided to push the envelope. "How about these?" she said, holding up a lacy number. "That's going to be a 'no' for me." "What about these?" she said, holding up a G-string. "Absolutely not." She laughed out loud at my discomfort. "And these, a 'no' to these?" She was holding up a modestly high-cut pair of silk panties. I just about ready to storm out of this damned department, when she sidled up to me and kissed me. "These are really special. I think you'd look sexy in them." "Umm, I don't know... " I equivocated. "Would you wear them for me, as a favor?" she purred. I dumbly nodded. "Good," she smiled, "plus, you have no idea how good they feel, rubbing against your cunt." "Damn, woman!" "What, that's what you have between your legs now, isn't it? I bet it's all hot and wet, right this very minute." "Ok, shopping is over now. We're going home." She laughed, a sincere, warm laugh. It was only after paying that I realized that she'd gotten me to do exactly what she wanted in the first place. When we got home that night, she turned on the news, which was still on 24-7 about the Change. Now reports were coming in of suicides: more men than women, and more in the countries with less sexual equality. Of course, the Change was a psychological shock, to say the least, and some already fragile people could not cope. But the larger pattern was the sense of shame or disfigurement that men in the more patriarchal societies felt. Disfigurement I got. We had been literally disfigured. And, come on, a vagina looks like a traffic accident. Going from being an outie to being an innie was hard on all of us. But shame? It's not like there were penis pride parades before the Change. The worst news that came in was of "honor killings," where women in arranged marriages were put to death by their own families for the crime of disappointing their betrothed by growing a penis. Seems like it didn't dawn on these folks that, once the hysterical groom calmed down, he might actually want a wife who had a good rod and tackle. A few of these countries had to step in with harsh punishments to quickly put an end to this insanity. There was nothing much to be done about the suicides, though... Horrors aside, I felt sorriest for teenagers who were just starting to be accustomed to their adult bodies after puberty, then had to adapt again after the Change. Especially the boys. Puberty still caused young boys to develop facial hair and strong muscles -- and get their periods. I'm sure it was toughest on them. Some boy had just jerked off for the first time, and the next day he was menstruating. "Sweetheart," I said in my most dulcet tones. "You know what we forgot to do?" "What's that?" she played along. "You forgot to give me a fashion show of the clothes you bought." She never did, because I would never be able to sit through it, but I was considering an exception tonight. "Did I?" "Yes." "Well, that'll never do. And I'd like to see your new underwear, too -- you know, the special ones." She went to the bedroom, and I broke for the bathroom with my new underwear. I pulled off my jeans and my plain whites. I pulled up my new silk briefs. Damn, they did feel good, gently caressing my snatch. I pulled my jeans back on. She would have to work at least a little for it. I walked into the bedroom. She had turned the lights down low. She was lying on the bed, wearing a short black dress, and I could just see the top of her stockings underneath her dress. "Come on over," she said. I laid myself down next to her. I could already feel myself getting steamy. We started kissing, and I fondled her breasts. She rubbed my back and butt, like she always does. We kept at it for a while, until she finally said, "Are we avoiding moving forward?" "No, no. Well, maybe. Yes." "Look, this isn't wrong. We're still the same people. We still love each other." "I know. I'm just, it's just that, I'm having a hard time with this. If we stay above the waist, it just feels like normal. Below the waist... " "It's not normal at all," she completed the thought for me. "It's gay." "What?!" "Look, I've never been intimate with a man." "I'm NOT a man," my wife said indignantly. "You know what I mean. You have the equipment. I've never touched anyone's but my own." "And I've never touched another vagina besides mine," she said, and then grabbed my crotch, "until now." I couldn't help myself. I inhaled sharply; it felt good. Even through the jeans, the soft silk rubbed me just right. She leaned in and kissed my ear. "It feels good, doesn't it?" She rubbed, and it did. "I know just how to make a pussy feel wonderful," she breathed. "Now put your hand up my dress." "Honey, I -- " "It's not gay. You're a man and I'm a woman. It's just a little different, that's all." The heat in my snatch won out, and I ran my hand up her stocking. That was reassuringly familiar. "A little farther," she said, and she hiked up her dress above her underwear. "Touch it," she said, and I slid my hand onto her underwear. I felt a twitch. That was a surprise. I was excited by it. I ran my hand over the outside of her underwear, cupping it. After a minute, she pulled off her underwear completely, and I saw her semi-flaccid penis. I couldn't help but stare. There on my wife's beautiful, feminine body was the appendage that had up to a week ago defined my sex, an appendage whose absence I still noticed daily. I looked up at my wife's face. She had her usual seductive expression, but there was a trace of fear. I knew why. A virgin wonders, "Will I weird out my partner by asking for...?" She was experiencing lust without knowing how I would respond. I knew I loved her, and it was time to dive in, no matter how surreal this was about to be. I gave her a kiss, grabbed her cock, and started stroking. She responded positively at first, but after a minute, she pushed me away. "Something is wrong," she said. "Is there some trick or something?" she said, sounding on the verge of tears. "To what?" "Getting an erection." "No." Despite the Change, women had kept their lower sex drive, so getting good erections would be challenging for them. I told her to relax and think sexy thoughts. "Plus," I said, "handjobs suck. They didn't do it for me back in the day, anyway." "What did work?" she asked. "Blowjobs always did it for me," I said without thinking. "Oh." I knew what I had to do. If we were going to have sex, then I was going to have to give my wife fellatio. I leaned down quickly so I wouldn't think about it too long. "What are you doing?" she said with a note of panic. My wife had always been nervous about getting eaten out -- nervous that she smelled. And as my head got closer, I could smell her this time, only she didn't smell like poon. It was the smell of salty, stinky balls. But the smell of her balls enticed me closer. It was like trying a hated childhood food and discovering that now you love it as an adult. "Only this." I put her semi-hard cockhead in my mouth. "Oh, oh" she said in surprise. I licked up and down her shaft. I circled my tongue around the glans. I cupped her balls, gently at first, and then giving harder squeezes. I felt her dick stiffening in my mouth, and then she started rocking her hips. Her cock was sliding in and out of my mouth. I looked up at her face. Before, when I had given her cunnilingus, she closed her eyes, laid back, and moaned softly. Now she was staring at me, eyes hungry, filled with lust. "You are so sexy," she said. She was rock-hard and ready. I was certainly wet enough, and as ready as I would ever be. Hell, I was shit-my-pants nervous. When I had fantasized about this moment, I knew that I had to be in control and on top. So I moved away from sucking her dick, and quickly took off all my clothes. I kissed her belly, then her tits, and then I kissed her. I ran my hand up her thigh and grabbed her cock again. I swung my leg over and straddled her stomach. I kept my hand on her dick to guide her in as I sat back, just as she'd done hundreds of times. I had told myself that it would feel a lot like sex always did: warm, wet, pressure, friction. But the moment of penetration belied that. I felt her cockhead press against my vagina, and then my labia parted, and she was in. It didn't feel like a gentle squeeze. It felt like my insides were getting pulled apart. My face contorted. "Take it easy," my wife said. "Slow down." After a minute, the pain subsided. I kept lowering myself, and finally I felt her pubic bone against mine. "You're doing it," my wife said, encouragingly, "you're taking my whole cock! You look so fucking sexy. How does it feel?" "Weird and a little painful." "Then I won't start moving until you're ready. Just relax. It's going to feel really good in a second." I breathed and waited. My vagina muscles relaxed. It no longer felt painful, just a too-full sensation like I needed to take a huge dump. I started to rock back and forth. "Yeah, baby," my wife cooed, "does that feel good? Riding my cock?" It did. I nodded. "Then you're going to love this." With that, she grabbed my hips and stopped my rocking. She thrust her hips in the air and buried her cock deeper than I thought it could go. I gasped in pain. She released and her hips feel back to the bed, and her cock slid part of the way out. "Ow, Samantha," I started to say, but she was already thrusting again. I winced. "Sam!" She released. "How does your pussy feel now, baby? After the shock wears off, I bet it's purring." She was right. I moaned. That was all the invitation she needed. Samantha didn't have the motion down perfectly, and I thought I was going to bounce right off the bed. But she had the rhythm and aim down. She was churning my pussy into butter. I had wanted to be on top to control things, but she was fucking me so good that I didn't care. On every stroke, I felt my labia spread and get wetter, and I heard the slurp of her cock entering. Every time she thrust in, she almost leered at me. It wasn't long before I felt the tingling in my clit. "Oh, I'm coming," I moaned, and she thrust even faster. "Fuck. Fuck." The orgasm was intense. I felt my pussy contract, trying to milk her cock. She stopped thrusting. "How was that?" she asked. "Oh, God, oh, that was good," I panted. I closed my eyes and just soaked in the afterglow. After a minute, I asked, "Did you come?" "No." "Oh, I'm sorry," I said. "Why? We're not done yet. Get on your back." It suddenly dawned on me that I could have multiple orgasms. I rolled off her and lay on my back, spreading my legs a little. She clambered over and knelt between my legs. I could feel my pussy spreading open; I could imagine exactly how gaping it looked, and I felt ridiculous. "If you had told me a week ago how good a pussy looked," she said, staring at my cunt, "I wouldn't have believed you. Now all I can think about is fucking the shit out of your tight little pussy. Now tell me what you want." I knew what she meant. A week ago I couldn't have imagined that someone else's cock would be penetrating me, or how much I would love it. "I want you to fuck me." "Say it again." "Fuck me, Samantha, with that big cock of yours." "You ready?" "I want you inside me." "Then grab your knees and pull them toward your head." I did it. "No, you can go farther." She pushed my legs up more, until my knees were nearly at my ears. My pussy was obscenely spread. Her cock was rock hard and inches away. Then I felt the head touch, and with a push, she was in. Fuck, it stretched me so much, and she just kept pushing in. "In this position, I can get the deepest penetration," she said. She then started to pound away at me, so hard my head kept hitting the wall. It wasn't hitting me in the right spot. It felt alright but wasn't lighting my fire. It was so bizarre to lie there and be her receptacle. She was really getting worked up and I could tell she was getting close. "Fuck me," I moaned, and she grunted and tensed up. I could feel her dick pulse inside me. Samantha collapsed on my chest, winded, her boobs mashed between us. A minute later, she rolled over, and as her cock pulled out, the cum slid out of my pussy and down onto my anus. If the Change never reversed, I was happy to spread my legs for her for the rest of my life.