The Saga of Tuck Chapter 20 Well and Truly Tucked
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Tonight was the night. Incredible. It was really going to happen. In just
a few hours, assuming fate didn't play another crazy hand, she was going
to experience something that she never thought possible, not in a million
years, not ever.
She smiled as she tried to unravel the pronouns in her train of thought,
difficult enough without the mounting excitement she felt in her head and
elsewhere. The "she" that she meant was herself, but she had already
decided that was going to change tonight too, and there was a he who was
also going to experience something he had not thought possible, a he that
was in the house right now, probably pacing nervously about the bedroom
and anxiously checking down his top every five minutes praying that his
boobs had shown some sign of shrinking, a "he" who had was still thinking
of herself as "he", in the face of all evidence to the contrary.
The changes had started a week ago. At first neither noticed the effect
on the other but within a day it was clear something was happening to
them both. D cup breasts became C overnight, a general flabbiness of the
chest shaped into something immediately beyond moobs, inches were gained,
lost, C cup to B, a shared size, but next morning his breasts were larger
than hers, her nipples small and unexciting, his surrounded by a lovely
dark areole and stiffening when she flicked them with her tongue, much to
his embarrassment. Her clitoris engorged, uncomfortable, parting her own
lips which subsumed back as the head pushed out, desensitised, unfurling
into another structure, hanging free as his cock became ever shorter,
smaller, cute in its desperate efforts to distinguish itself against a
tightening ballsack that pulled ever tighter behind it, and then
yesterday she awoke with a new set of nerve endings sending signals to
the core of her being, flat chested, properly erect, balls beginning to
pump testosterone through her fully masculine body, unable to stop
herself laughing at his panic as he gingerly poked at his sweet little
vagina, boobs jiggling ever so slightly as he turned this way and that to
try to see the extent of his own body. Her penis stiffened into a full
erection and the breath caught in her throat but a few experimental
strokes told her there was no sensation yet.
A vision of her penis...her cock my god...sliding into him consumed her. He
suddenly became aware of her hungry gaze and ridiculously moved his hands
to cover his breasts. Something about the completely female nature of the
gesture, however useless, inflamed her and it was all she could do not to
pounce across the bed and pull him down.
But she knew, somehow, inside, that the changes were still not 100%
finished. That there were connections, chemicals, finishing touches,
still taking place. Perhaps even they would yet reverse. Did she want
that? Not yet, not now, not until...she had fucked him. Fucked him. There
it was.
He had burst into tears, wailing, punching his own breasts and yelling,
he didn't want tits, he didn't want to be a woman, what was he going to
do, how could she be so calm? She had put her now strong arms around him,
soothed him with some platitudes about how they might change back as
quickly as they had transformed already, and they shouldn't waste the
opportunity to enjoy it. He knew what she meant by that and kept crying
quietly as she lifted his unresisting hands away from his chest, cupped
his breasts, and gently squeezed. She knew she was being insensitive but
the fascinating feeling of holding a pair of tits in her hands and
registering only the pleasure of touch from her hands was obliterating
all rational thought. They were heavy, those breasts, surprisingly so
when held against gravity. A weight she no longer had to carry, but he...he
might now carry those around for the rest of his life. She could walk
about with her shirt off, if he did that he would be topless.
She moved away, across the room to the chest which held their underwear,
segregated in separate drawers. She had nonchalantly taken control of the
one stuffed with boxers but he had been less keen to investigate the
other, still preferring to wear T shirts and jogging bottoms with nothing
underneath. She rifled through and pulled out a bra and pants set.
"I need to do some thinking," she said, even though thinking was what she
had to distract herself from, it was just time to pass that she wanted, a
tiny bit longer until she was sure everything was changed, all the nerve
endings joined up, every part fully functional. One particular part
especially. "We knew it might come to this. We can't ignore this
opportunity. I can't force you though, and of course I wouldn't try, but
you are wearing these when I come back then I'll know you want to..."
"Do you think that will start us changing back?" he had asked. Sure, why
not? She thought but she just shrugged and tried to look like there was
nothing she would like more. From the look on his face she felt she
hadn't been that convincing. Best leave before further discussion made
him and his lovely boobs nervous.
So she had wandered around the city, comfortable to walk after dark,
enjoying her strident footfall and the way that no one paid her any
attention. Men sized her up with a glance, registered no sign of
aggression, women cast him the odd appreciative glance but nothing more.
Gone were the stares at chest level, the outright leering, the
"accidental" collision, the occasional outright obscene suggestion.
She remembered the few occasions she had tired going for a morning run.
Even the few men she had encountered at that time of the morning, some
joggers themselves, had made no great effort to hide the enjoyment they
were getting watching her breasts moving as she ran. Even with her
sports bra the size of her boobs, hardly massive but a full D cup, gave
them a life of their own. That was his problem now. She imagined him
running towards her in shorts and T shirt, unfamiliar still with the
geometry of his new body. Then she edited the image and took out the bra,
picturing him swaying as he ran. Blood flowed through strange new
pathways away from her brain and straight to her groin. Her penis
twitched of its own violation and a swelling that she was beginning to
recognise began inside her jeans. She edited the movie again and now he
was running with no top on, breasts bouncing crazily, his hands trying to
hold them in...as MEN ran towards him, beside him, drinking in his
nakedness, because now he was naked in her vison, one man close behind
her, arousal clear, when he, her "he", trips, stumbles, lands undignified
on all fours, splayed slightly, head down, backside up and the man behind
him he just...OH MY GOD...the man quickly drops to his knees, pulls on the
hot thighs just inches away bringing right up close and just like
that...something throbbed...a hard, hungry, cock rams into his pussy OHHH!
knocking him forwards, tits brushing against the hard ground...
Her erection was pulsing, straining against the front of her jeans. She
felt a droplet of something make its way out from her penis, not with any
massive release, but more with a feeling akin to a drop of water set
against a raging thirst. She wanted to rip open her trousers and savagely
stroke her cock until it pumped out what she now knew she could. She
could create sperm, ejaculate, cum. How many times had she had to be
receptacle for his? Even swallowed it to please him. What is the
difference between a male and female mouth for that purpose? None,
surely. But now she had a male mouth and she would never suck cock
again...but he would. His mouth around the shaft, tongue licking the head,
the heavy smell and the taste of it in his throat...The thought of it made
her shiver.
She forced herself to stand and stare in the window of the dull shop
window in front of her, filled with knick knacks and objects for then
home. Her eye alighted on an item, two items, really, and she knew that
fate had brought her here to give her the sign she needed. A few moments
later she was striding home.
Tonight was the night.
He was sitting on the edge of the bed and her heart melted when she saw
him. He had taken his hair and tried to arrange it in a simple ponytail,
where it sat clumsily on his right shoulder. He was wearing her matching
black bra and knickers, with her gown open around him. He looked
beautiful in his awkwardness, the flesh of his soft curvaceous body all
the more alluring through his embarrassment at the smooth skin, his
breasts so close to being on display, nipples outlined, the material
between his legs clinging flat and smooth. The pants were black but
sheer and she could see pressed against the material the dark hair of his
bush. She had always trimmed hers to the point of nonexistence and as
stared she felt sorry that she had deprived him of the pleasure she now
took in the sight. Had he noticed that it could be seen? If not before
then certainly now as he followed her gaze down and blushed. He crossed
his legs hurriedly. Well, they wouldn't be staying crossed for long if
she had anything to do with it.
She knelt behind him, nuzzled his exposed neck, and skilfully unclipped
the bra, moving his hands round and under the loosened cups, covering the
warm, firm, flesh with his palms, massaging gently. She pulled him back,
slipping the straps down his arms as he came, then lifted his legs round
onto the bed. He was passive, almost submissive, as she straddled him.
Without preamble, she slid one leg inbetween his and nudged outwards,
lifting the other as she did so. Just like that she had spread him.
It took almost superhuman force of will to do so, but she didn't rush
entering him even though every nerve in her body was screaming to plunge
in. Instead she rested the very tip of her cock on the edge of his
opening. This is what had been his signature move when she used to have a
vagina, his only trick really, so she knew that he had no doubt what was
happening. The anticipation he used to enjoy was her pleasure now, and
the waiting was his. She had been fucked by him many times, but now she
had control of that verb. Someone was about to get fucked stupid and it
wasn't her. It was hard to think straight in the excitement. It was hard
all right, rock hard. She pressed her hips down and he opened beneath
her.
She could not help a gasp when she felt his warmth not only yield but
almost clasp around the head of her penis. Her gasp was lost beneath his
in any event as an uncertain sound left his lips, coming again when she
sank another inch into him. It was so natural, just to move back a
fraction, in and back a fraction more, "I don't..." he said, but didn't
finish as another inch filled him, "I..." he said, another inch, back,
another, back, another, "Oh god" he said, "Oh god you're so far in..." She
drew back and then slid inside him again, sinking the shaft more
forcefully. She hadn't even gone all the way in before but this time she
did. She was moving faster, a rhythm all of her own, building sensations
impossibly new, connections erupting across her pleasure centres. He was
making sounds, small, feminine sounds. Suddenly he moaned,
"Ohhhhh...no...this can't be...ohhhhhh...." then bit his lip. She wanted to go
further and further, to never stop, to ram herself as far as she could
inside his body, to push any remaining masculinity he might have so far
inside him that it could not survive, to crush anything male still in
him, to make him accept that he was open now, penetrable, penetrated,
fuckable, fucked, female ....fertile?
The thought of his unprotected womb was too much. The teasing pressure
which had been increasing exploded from him in spurting ecstasy. It felt
so right. A switch tripped in his head. Yes, his, he, the man, that was
who he was. And lying beneath him was the woman. She tensed and twisted
her head away as his hot sperm pumped into her, boobs bouncing
wonderfully with the force of his final thrust. He had felt her vagina
tightened and quiver around him at the end. He had though that she had
turned her head because she had not come but now understood if it was
because she had, maybe in spite of herself, her first female orgasm, the
final surrender.
Final. That was funny. This was only the first time. She looked up at him
and he noticed her mouth, wet lips slightly open. He was thinking of a
use for them even as his own, intense but fleeting, orgasm became a
memory.
He stroked her hair, comforted her. She looked a little shocked by her
experience but he did not withdraw. He sensed that she was waiting for
him to move but he stayed, filling her, preventing his sperm from being
expelled. Trying to make her pregnant through sheer force of will. That
would surely put the seal on the changes.
Eventually he slid out and rolled on to his back. No need now for him to
make that embarrassing trip to the bathroom. She began to move, and he
reached down into the bag by the side of the bed.
"Hey, I got two new towels when I was out, they were in a sale. Here, in
case you need one."
He threw one white cloth across to her, holding on to another. As she
caught it, the material unwound in her hands, the white broken by one
word, stitched large in pink thread across the base.
It said "HERS".
END
Marisol
- 19.03.2020
- 28
- 0
