Morphed
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Might Have Morphed Herself free porn video
MIGHT HAVE MORPHED HERSELF by Throne
When Greg Sanders woke up one morning from a restless night, he found
himself changed, right there in his bed, into a monstrous woman. Not
monstrous in the sense of 'hideous', but in the sense of 'large'. He
looked down at the shape his body made of the sheet, lifting it up into
twin breast mountains that made him think of the Grand Tetons. Gingerly,
he plucked at the edge of the sheet, took hold of it with thumbs and
forefingers, and lifted. To his dismay this was no illusion. Under the
thin fabric were two mounds of soft pinkness, topped with wide areolas
and stiff upright nipples. Greg had gone to bed naked and he was naked
still. He took a steadying breath that made those mounds rise and fall,
and dragged the sheet to one side, toward the wall which his bed touched.
Greg inched himself backwards to try to get his head more elevated on the
pillow. He was not accustomed to moving so much bulk. Those enormous
breasts wobbled slightly, though they were firmer than they might have
been. He had a terrible vision of them sagging to either side and
hanging down into his armpits. No, these were proud breasts, a bust that
a woman could flaunt, if she were so disposed. Except that he was not a
woman and had no such desire. He sighed and tried to sit upright, but
his own weight prevented it. Using his arms for leverage, he got partway
up and braced himself on one elbow. Yes, the bosoms he had acquired
really were firm for their size, though there was a certain amount of
slow motion jiggle and sway. He felt their weight pulling downward and
putting an unaccustomed strain on his back.
His adjusted position gave him a chance to better observe his strange new
shape and dimensions. Below those notable breasts protruded a soft
belly. It wasn't flabby, for which he was grateful. Moving further
down, his hips flared out on either side. And flared and flared. He had
gained a double wide bottom, which was indenting his mattress
impressively. Past that were well upholstered thighs, followed by
overlarge but shapely calves and petite feet. In fact, he noticed now
that he had absorbed the initial shock of his metamorphosis, he was a
well put together woman. His curves might be substantial but they were
all in proportion with each other and the whole, as if he were a woman of
normal size much inflated, was pleasing in a way. It was, he thought,
eyeing himself critically and approving involuntarily, sexy.
He looked beyond the impressive contours of his new self to his familiar
bedroom, to see if anything else had been miraculously made over in the
dark of night. But no, there was his usual bedside table, the single
wooden chair, and the larger table upon which sat his prosaic sample
case. He was reassured and told himself that, if he opened that case, it
would contain only the usual examples of fabric for him to show to his
customers. Encouraged, he shifted his mass and swung his legs over the
side of the bed. Normally his feet would have touched the floor but now
they failed to reach that goal by perhaps an inch. He shook his head and
wriggled his queenly backside toward the edge of the mattress and pointed
his toes toward the thin carpet below. The tips of his toes met the
solidity of the floor. He rocked himself, got the soles of his feet flat
on the floor, and paused.
As he had moved he had felt something brushing against his bare
shoulders. Shaking his head, he ascertained that it was waves of auburn
hair. It struck him that it was impossible for hair to grow so much
between his regular bedtime and when he always woke. An instant later he
conceded that such an event was much more possible (or should it be less
impossible?) than what had happened to the rest of him. Bouncing
slightly on the mattress, he eased forward on the final movement and
stood up. After several moments he risked a step forward. It felt odd
because his center of gravity had shifted. It felt odd because his
breasts demonstrated a will of their own as they shifted side to side.
Greg took a second step and then a third. He had to get ready to go to
the office. In fact, his friend and co-worker, Barry was due to pick him
up before long. He had to be dressed and prepared to leave. But how?
What would he wear? Plainly, none of his wardrobe would fit such a
shape. Even so, he went to his closet and opened it by habit. To his
surprise, hanging inside were women's clothes. He noticed several smart
skirt suits in muted colors, conservatively cut. There were pairs of
shoes lined up below them. He turned away and went toward the dresser,
already feeling himself become more accustomed to moving his new body,
taking smaller steps, appreciating the way his hips rolled. Opening the
top drawer he was confronted by a neat stack of panties. They were
voluminous, to accommodate his broad hips and the jutting twin
hemispheres of is bottom. Yet they were also seductive and he blushed in
spite of himself.
With his mind half rejecting and to an equal degree simultaneously
accepting what had happened, he fingered the panties. It was as if he
were an intruder in some woman's home. But inside that newly acquired
figure he was still Greg Sanders. And wasn't Greg male? How could he
wear those items? Yet looking the way he did, how could he not? He
lifted the top one, marveling at its lightness, the quality of
insubstantiality that it suggested, and held it up to the area below his
generous waist. At that moment he was belatedly struck by an alarming
thought. Had he changed down there? In the spot that offered the
clearest distinction between men and women? His free hand moved slowly,
reluctantly, so his fingers could probe blindly at the soft flesh and
detect what was hidden by the swell of his midsection.
First he discovered a modest triangle of fine pubic hair. In its center,
where he had hoped and silently implored that he might find male
genitals, nestled a yielding mound, in whose center was a vertical slit
bordered by rubbery, slightly protruding labia. Greg had a vagina. A
girl part. A pussy. He whimpered softly to himself, glad at least that
no one else was around to witness his unhappy discovery. Even so, what
was the alternative? To be as completely a woman as he apparently was,
with the external reproductive parts of a man? Greg whimpered, sniffled
and sobbed. He had changed fully into a female.
Be that as it may, he still had to go to work. After years of faithful
and reliable performance, how could he not? There would be explanations
to be made, proofs to be offered, but he squared his shoulders, making
those sizable breast rise, and promised himself he could do it. He would
get into the company car (thought it might be a tight fit, their
automobiles being compact models in order to control expenses) and set
off on his route, cover the portion of his territory that he was due to
visit today, and return with his sales book full of orders.
So Greg confronted his new fashion options. Somehow he had a freshly
acquired understanding of what to put on, as well as how to wriggle and
twist and turn to don it all correctly, including a bra with capacious
cups. He stood there in panties, stockings, the aforementioned bra,
which was utilitarian but also pale pink and trimmed with tasteful lace,
a cream colored blouse, and matched skirt and jacket of charcoal with
understated pinstripes in a lighter grey. In front of the full length
mirror -- which he noted to himself had NOT been part of the room's
previous d?cor -- he fluffed his hair, relieved that it showed no need
for additional effort.
He hadn't noticed it before but there was a small selection of cosmetics
on the dresser's top. Greg balked at the idea of making up his face.
His inner male rebelled at going that far. Nevertheless, his outer
female insisted on it. How could she go to the office and then face her
customers at their shops, if she didn't pretty herself up with eyebrow
pencil, a bit of shadow and liner, a dusting of color for her cheeks, and
the most essential element, lipstick? Suddenly that last primping
product became the center of his/her personal universe. If Barry arrived
before she was done, he would simply have to wait. He would just have to
understand. Well, as a man Barry wouldn't understand, but she would
merely shake her head at his masculine shortcomings, giggle girlishly to
distract him, and wave a hand close enough to his nose that he would get
a whiff of her intoxicating perfume.
Wait? She had to put on some scent. Where...? Oh, there it was, off to
the side of the collection of make-up, a collection that was distinctly
deficient. She would have to buy more. Much more. Especially lipstick.
There were only three tubes before her. How had she existed with no more
than that? With growing anxiety, Greg opened each one, noting with
dismay the limited selection of colors. Light, medium and dark red. How
unimaginative. Before deeper self-recrimination could set in, she
spotted some lip liner. Well, if she used that to make her mouth fuller,
and fussed with combining the palest and deepest reds, the situation
could be salvaged. And she couldn't go on thinking of herself as 'Greg'.
How silly was that? She would be more comfortable with... Regina. The
last three letters of the old name and an undeniably feminine suffix.
After her face was done and flowery perfume cautiously misted in the air
and stepped through, she went back to the closet to survey those shoes.
Were heels going to be a problem? Well of course they weren't. What
woman didn't know how to wear heels? She slipped her stocking clad feet
into them, enjoying how well they fit, and went to get her samples,
having zero trouble walking. With perfect timing Greg pulled up out
front. Regina hadn't eaten, but she would coo and cajole and he would be
happy to stop somewhere and get her a coffee and maybe a cheese Danish.
She knew she didn't need the calories, but told herself that pastry is
energy food. If she was extra nice making her request, Barry would
likely also pay. It would be fun to be a touch flirtatious. Men could
be manipulated so easily.
She swept out the front door of her little house and effortlessly click-
clacked along the front walk on her heels. In his car, Barry gaped at
the zaftig figure approaching him. He got out, stumbled slightly, and
hurried around to the opposite door to open it. Regina gave him a sweet
smile of thanks as she slid her considerable self onto the passenger
seat. That went better than she had anticipated. She was becoming ever
more comfortable with her zaftig contours and increased weight.
Really,she told herself, she was a BBW. Maybe she could become a plus
size model.
Barry got back in and gave her a closer look. He opened his mouth and
got as far as "Gr..." before she silenced him with an upraised finger and
a flutter of her naturally thick eyelashes.
Regina told him, her voice absolutely feminine, "Shush, Barry dear. It's
all right. I'm not Greg anymore. Am I?" He shook his head mutely. She
laid her hand familiarly on his thigh. "So we don't have to discuss
that." After a moment's pause she went on, "But if there's anything
you'd like to say about my... looks."
He swallowed and then said, "You look stunning. Regina. Dear."
She gave his thigh a little squeeze. "Thank you, sweetie. I'm famished.
Would you mind terribly stopping somewhere to get me a coffee?" She
pouted prettily. "Cream but no sugar." She added parenthetically, "I'm
already sweet enough." That got a chuckle from him. She was pleased
that he was relaxing. "And I would give anything for a cheese Danish.
If that's not too much to ask."
"Not at all." He kept stealing sidelong glances at her bust and thigh,
both well shown off by the cut of the dress. "And it's my treat."
"Oh my," she said coyly. "Then I'll owe you a treat in return."
He ran his finger under his collar and said with eager agreement, "Sure.
Whatever you say, Regina. Or do you prefer Gina?"
"Ohhh. Gina would be so nice. Thank you again, Barry dearest. That's
two I owe you."
He went through the drive-in of a fast food place. They had good coffee
and their pastries were acceptable, though she made a mental note to get
something from a bakery later. As he continued driving, she sipped the
beverage and nibbled the snack. About a mile from the office they were
going to pass a park. She asked seductively if he would mind pulling in
and parking.
"Just so I can finish my coffee without spilling. I'm so helpless
sometimes."
She directed him to a semi-secluded spot and, at that early hour, there
was no one else around. Gina set her cup in the holder and put her
pastry, atop the small paper bag in which it had come, on the dash. She
gave Barry an inviting smile, reached over, and ran her fingers up his
thigh to his crotch.
"Now you just relax and let me take care of everything, lover. I know
what I'm doing."
With nimble fingers she undid his belt and unfastened his pants, then
lowered his fly. Gina had him raise his bottom and in one movement
tugged his slacks down, along with his shorts, exposing his cock.
"Oh, Barry. Maybe I should have skipped the Danish. There's plenty to
eat right there. And I could have done without the cream in my coffee,"
she said in honeyed tones. "I know I'm going to get plenty of cream from
you pretty soon." She put her plump fingers on his member and teased it
to life, and then to full erection. "But not too soon. No need to rush
this."
With Barry watching in happy disbelief, Gina dipped her head down and
flicked his cock head with her tongue. He gasped. She purred and
engulfed the thick knob in her warm wet mouth. It felt impossibly good
to him, but even better to her. She wanted this. Needed it. Craved it.
With expert technique she swallowed him all the way. Bobbed her head up
and down. Sucked and swirled. Felt her pussy throbbing. Her nipples
hardening and tingling. It was heavenly for Gina. And she got so much
pleasure from treating a man the way she knew he wanted to be treated.
It made her feel so much more like a woman. Which is what she was, she
reminded herself as she used some tricks that would have made a whore
blush. Well, maybe not blush. But at least take notice.
Ten minutes later, not believing what a thorough and satisfying blowjob
he had been getting, Barry surrendered and let himself blast his load
into Gina's welcoming mouth. His body went rigid and then untensed . He
shuddered with post-orgasmic satisfaction. Gina licked her lips
lasciviously, making sure he saw it, and then took the napkin that had
come with her pastry and used it to pat the corners of her mouth in a
ladylike way. Barry smiled and stroked her thigh, right where it
vanished under her hem, which she had surreptitiously tugged higher while
giving that flawless and inventive cocksucking.
"Now let's get to the office," she said pleasantly. "I'll need to
freshen up a bit in the little girls' room." Without moving closer she
made a wet air kiss. "You understand."
"Um, yeah. Sure, Gina. And... thanks."
"Well, I did owe you. Hope that was enough of a payback. At least until
the next time you treat me to coffee."
He grinned. "Right. Next time."
"And then we'll see what else I can do for you. But there'll be plenty
of time later. Right now I have to get to my clients. That nice young
Mr. Garrison. And sweet old Mr. Goldberg. And Ms. Rhonda Maxwell. That
should be an interesting appointment." She chuckled. "It's going to be
so much fun. And I'm so well rested. It's amazing what a good night's
sleep can do for you."
*********
(Why did all this happen? I don't know. It might have been because of
some outside force. Or she might have morphed herself.)
(Also, the alternate title for this story was META, MORE OR LESS, but I
didn't think there were enough metafiction elements in it.)
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