Unconventional by TOM

 

Eventually, you hit a point in your life where it feels like the world is working against you.

When I was a kid, my parents told me I was different. Lots of kids probably heard this from their parents, but for me, it was far more meaningful. I was born with an ability; some would call it magical, but I hate that word. Something about it sounds so whimsical, which is far from what it feels like to have this ability. “Superpower” might be a little closer to the truth, but that implies I’d be able to go out and stop crime, which trust me: I can’t. I tried, once. Just once.

I don’t remember the first time I changed. It was, according to my parents, a cold winter’s day shortly after I was born. I was in the crib, crying my little eyes out like babies do, and my father couldn’t get me to shut up. No matter how hard he tried not to (knowing that I probably inherited my mother’s ability), my Dad really wished I would quiet down. And then, I did. I turned into a perfectly silent baby, albeit one without a mouth. Naturally, I began writhing and kicking and groaning, panicked by this sudden change, and my father panicked as well; he focused on me having a mouth again and, lo and behold, I changed back into a normal babe.

From what little I know, raising me as an infant was a goddamn nightmare.

My parents tell me the ability dates back to an old race of shapeshifters. Nowadays, people would most commonly relate them to succubi or incubi, but those are creations of the church; demons, ones associated mostly with sex. And don’t get me wrong, as soon as I hit my teens, the sexual potential of my ability was all I could think about--but the ability is far more than that.

I can change myself based on somebody’s desires. Not fantasies--those are too nebulous to have much of an impact, unless you’re obsessing over a specific one--and not passing whims. When I change, it’s because I’ve let somebody’s most fervent desire in that moment affect me, body, mind, and soul. Although I never forget who I am, my own perceptions change based on the sender’s desires. For example, as a kid, I hated doing chores, but if my mother really wanted me to do my share--and I let my internal guard down--I would change into a version of myself that was all about doing the chores.

It’s like having a door in your mind that is always trying to pop open. It’s up to me to make sure it stays shut until I want it open. And if I lose a grip on it for too long, the door will swing wide open and anything can come through.

As an adult, I’ve learned how to keep that door shut pretty consistently, but the greater issue--one that has only become clearer with age--is the mental and social toll of having this secret thing inside me at all times. The older I get, the harder it becomes to relate to people, much less get to know them; everything “normal” in my life that I could share pales in comparison to the secret that I can’t tell them, so I lose my grasp on what kind of things to tell people about myself. I’ve gone through terrible breakups simply because past girlfriends think I’m lyings to them--which I am, just not about what they think. I’ve tried to bottle up my ability and go on with my life like I’m a normal person--I barely ever use the damn thing--but the ripples of my secret still leak out into my life.

Only two people in the world know about my ability (apart from my parents). My best friend and now-roommate, Thomas, and the girlfriend I just had a shitty breakup with. Thomas has been my best friend since I was a kid, and despite having a far more normal life than I--a decent circle of friends, a sibling, a gym pass, a healthy diet, all the usual stuff you look for in a stable individual--we understand each other better than almost anybody else in our lives. My theory on how we manage to find common ground--despite everything--involves Thomas’ very own secret: he is a cancer survivor. He got it when he was just a young kid, and his parents were told he may not live to see another year. Against all odds, he survived, and grew up with a secret that he found difficult to share. When, after a long friendship, I finally told him about my ability, he agreed that the situation was hardly the same, but we shared both a desire to keep secrets secret, and a distinct sense of fear because of them. For me, it was the fear that if I was unable to keep the door inside me shut at the wrong time, somebody could potentially take complete control of me; for Thomas, it was the fear that the cancer could one day come back.

Katie was a different story. She was not only tall, smoking hot, and whip-smart, but she was also kind. Patient. She recognized early on that I had secrets, and understood that sharing them was my choice; Katie’s choice was seeing that I was keeping things from her, and deciding to trust me anyways. I fell for her hard and fast, and, I’m very happy to say, she did the same.

However, that was eight years ago now. We met when I was 20, she was 22, and we were young, dumb, and full of stupid ideas. We partied with each other, we fucked like rabbits, and we moved in after just a few months of dating. After a year, I told her my secret, and after a period of complete and utter shock, she agreed to keep it--on the condition that I change for her once in a while (which I had admittedly fantasized about for a while). Our sex life, and our attachment to each other, only became stronger; it stayed strong, and we stayed together through thick and thin--until two weeks ago.

Katie just turned 30. A big deal for most people, but for Katie, who had thrived on her own manic energy throughout her teens and twenties, it was a momentous thing. I think, to her, it was like she was suddenly a hop, skip and a jump away from being dead. I’m not sure what caused her to think this way, but despite my best efforts to cheer her up, Katie was obsessed with being “old” now. The only thing I could do was have sex with her as often as possible, to remind her of when we first got together. Naturally, I had no problem with this--until two weeks ago.

It was Saturday. Katie and I, and more importantly, our roommate James, were all at home. Katie and I woke up feeling frisky, and had our hands all over each other. Nothing out of the ordinary for us--nor was Katie’s request that I go brush my teeth. She’d always had a problem with “morning breath,” so I hopped out of bed to go get rid of the problem.

It’s always the tiny, stupid things that get the best of us, isn’t it?

The bathroom was downstairs, right next to James’ bedroom. I ran into him right after he hopped out of the shower, wearing only a towel. Again, nothing terribly strange for people who live in the same apartment; we said an awkward “hello,” then went our separate ways--he into his room, while I tucked into the bathroom to brush my teeth.

While I brushed, my mind drifted to the thought of Katie in bed, then to her anxiety around being 30. Still somewhat groggy, I lost control of my thoughts while brainstorming ways to make Katie feel better--and the door opened.

One of the reasons I’m so afraid of my ability (and the reason it would make a terrible superpower) is that I can’t just pick a target. My ability reacts to whoever is physically closest to me; that morning, the person closest to me was James.

I felt the door opening and panicked, quickly willing it closed, but it was too late. James’ desire burst through like a gale, and I began to change.

James’ desire was strong, desperate, and--I realized fearfully, even as my flesh and bones shifted into something new--his desire was engulfed in lust.

I noticed my face first; I squeezed my eyes shut as the sensation came over me, and felt my cheeks, nose, and brow soften and round out. My lips felt numb and settled into a natural pout. My ears, strangely, seemed to get larger, but I didn’t want to look in the mirror to check; as the rest of the changes occurred, I opted to keep my eyes closed until they were finished, afraid of the end result.

Most of my muscle mass shifted away, though my abdominals, core, and legs still felt okay. My back actually seemed to get stronger, though as my fat deposits shifted around, I could immediately understand why. My thighs, butt, and chest became heavier, and wobbled when I moved; nowhere was this more noticeable than my chest.

At least, my manhood withdrew, and after the uncomfortable sensation of my cock and balls essentially inverting themselves, the changes came to a stop, and I could feel the cool air of the washroom against my pussy.

I was a woman.

When I opened my eyes, I was even more taken aback than I expected to be, for I was not--strictly speaking--human. I knew my ability was capable of some strange physical transformations, having grown weirdly long legs and arms, and--of course--a huge cock in the past, but one thing I’d never transformed into before was an elf.

I had soft, lightly tanned skin, brilliant blue eyes, pouty, soft lips, and long, pointy ears. My tits were large, but less “anime” than I’d worried about; DD cup at least, but they had a natural teardrop shape to them, and small, pick nipples. There was no hair on my body, save for the gentle locks of brown hair cascading down my back and around my shoulders. Turning around, I saw my ass was probably the most noticeable new part of me, simply because my hips had become almost wider than my shoulders, and my butt had become round, soft, and perky. My boxer briefs were ripped nearly in half. I tore them away and tossed them in the trash.

In short, I had become a fantasy geek’s wet dream--and as I thought it, I could detect James’ desire, still pumping through to me from the other room. As the shock of my transformation left me, all I could feel was his lust, spreading through my like wildfire. My nipples got hard, a blush rose to my cheeks, and white-hot arousal spread down my abdomen, making my legs shake. He was masturbating, I realized--and the thought of it immediately made me moan a little, then gasp in surprise at the high, sensual sound of my new voice. Soft and breathy, but high-pitched--a little like an anime character, I realized to my great disappointment--but there was nothing to be done, but go to James.

I wanted to fight it, of course, but he desired a sexual elf woman; a woman who desired him. So that was what I was feeling, even as my internal self was horrified that I’d let this happen. However, the handful of accidental changes I’d had in my life had taught me the best way to deal with them was to let them happen. You see, I can’t change back until I’ve satisfied my target’s desire. Sometimes that was simple--like doing chores. However, as I left the bathroom entirely naked and approached James’ door, I suspected this wouldn’t be.

The door was open a crack, and I could hear him breathing heavily within. Another wave of desire washed over me, and I could feel what he wanted: my lips, wrapped around his cock. I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

James was lying on his bed, still naked and damp from the shower, looking at something on his phone and stroking himself. When I walked in, he jumped in fright, opened his mouth to say something, and froze. His eyes ran all over me, and his jaw dropped. I just smiled, feeling weirdly flattered--and more aroused--by his attention.

“Hi James,” I said breathily.

“Who--who are you?” He stammered. His face was beet red. Out of arousal or embarrassment, I couldn’t tell, but my eyes were glued to his naked body. He wasn’t a particularly interesting looking guy--average in almost every way--but right now, he was everything I wanted. He was Adonis.

“My name is Mira,” I said, the name coming to me from somewhere deep in James’ subconscious. “And I’m yours,” I said, and climbed slowly onto the bed.

“But--you were--where did you come from? What is this?” I leaned over him, inhaling a little as my soaking wet nethers touched his cool, damp leg, and pressed a finger against his lips.

“I’m here when you need me,” I said, then took the hand that he’d been pleasuring himself with, and pressed it into my breast. He squeezed the soft flesh hesitantly, and I gasped as the alien sensation of pleasure rippled out from where he touched me. “I’m here, and I want you,” I breathed, and kissed him.

Whatever uncertainty James had left in him disappeared when my lips touched his. Hands wrapped around me and pulled me against him tightly; I whimpered a little in lust and kissed him passionately, opening my mouth to let his tongue explore my own. My nipples dragged against his chest, creating little bursts of pleasure that shuddered down my body to my loins. My hips moved against him in little circular motions, stimulating a clit and labia that I wasn’t used to having in ways that drove me crazy.

However, this wasn’t James original desire. I yanked myself away from him, gasping for air, and began to slide down his body. “I want you in my mouth,” I whispered. James just groaned.

I slid my tummy down over his erection, then my tits; he groaned against as the soft pillows wrapped around his manhood. I kissed down his stomach until my cheek rubbed against his member, and I took him into my mouth.

He was soft, but rock-hard, and hot. The moment I lowered my head, pressing my soft, pouty lips around his shaft, pre-cum leaked out; it was creamy and salty, and I couldn’t get enough of it. I began bobbing my head enthusiastically, revelling not only in how hot this made me feel, but the new sensation of the ribbed edges of his cock slipping against my sensitive new mouth.

“Oh, fuck,” James mumbled. His hips began to twitch. I bobbed my head faster, feeling my tits jiggle underneath me, and then his cock began to pulsate. Hot, thick cum quickly filled my mouth--more of it than I expected--and I swallowed it all happily. When James was finished, I ran my lips up and down him a few more times to make sure I’d cleaned him up, then pulled my mouth away with a wet slurping sound.

“You taste so good,” I breathed.

“I’m sorry… I don’t usually lose control like that,” he said.

“It’s okay,” I whispered. “I loved it.” Internally, I was hoping this meant we were done. In my desperation, I tried to flip the switch back--even if it meant changing in front of James--but it was to no avail. I realized I would have to see this to the end, which probably meant fucking him until he passed out.

My thighs twitched at the thought of it.

“I want to taste you now,” James said, shaking me from my thoughts, and he flipped me over with ease. I squealed a little in surprise, then began to moan and writhe as his lips worked their way down my body. I arched my back at the sensation of him sucking on my nipples and squeezing my tits, and my hips shuddered as his mouth neared my groin. The moment he began to lick me, I cried out in my first female orgasm; it was downright electric. My whole body shook and I had to clutch my tits to keep them from shaking around too much--which only served to make it better. I came down from it only to get fired right up against as he continued to run his tongue along my labia and against my clit.

Before I peaked again, however, I felt his mouth lift from me, and I saw that he was fully hard once more. I couldn’t blame him; this body was all sex, and if I’d been in his position, it would have taken me no time at all to get back to full mast.

He rubbed the head of his cock against my pussy, still dripping wet from his ministrations.

“Please,” I begged. “I need you inside me.”

James pushed forward and slid quickly into me, meeting almost no resistance at all, and I squealed in delight. His cock felt huge, the way it pushed out against my inner walls--although I had nothing to compare it to. He slowly withdrew, then slammed his hips back in again, and it was like fireworks. The feeling of his hips against mine, his balls bouncing against the soft globes of my ass, his fat cock in my cunt--I loved it. My vocalizations were out of control now; I was a screamer, and I didn’t care. Everything in the world was James, fucking my brains out on a Saturday morning.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” I cried out with each thrust. WHAP. WHAP. WHAP. The wet sounds of our lovemaking echoed through his bedroom. My tits bounced with each impact, slapping my chin, and I grabbed them and squeezed roughly. It hurt a little, but the pain only seemed to accentuate the pleasure. I pinched my nipples, screamed, and came again; my pussy clamped down on his cock, even as he continued to fuck me, and my back arched into the air.

When I finished, James pulled out, grabbed me, and rolled me over roughly. “I want you from behind,” he gasped, panting from exertion.

“Yes, please, use me,” I groaned, and got onto my hands and knees. He spanked me, and I yelped happily before he slid into me again. Now I got to feel both my tits and my ass jolt with each thrust; I could only imagine what James was thinking, seeing his stupidly hot elf waifu with her ass in the air, screaming in pleasure as he took her over and over again. The thought of it was too much, and before I knew it, my elbows gave out and my face pressed into the pillows as I came for the third time.

There, face down, ass up, moaning like I was being paid for it, I saw a shape in the doorway. It was Katie, and judging by the horrified--but conflicted--look on her face, she knew that it was me getting piledrived by James. Of course, she couldn’t do anything; she knew how it worked, and barging in now would neither stop this from happening, nor do me any good otherwise--after all, she couldn’t tell James the truth.

A mix of emotions washed over her face as she stood there while I moaned wantonly, and for a moment, her hand slipped into her pajama shorts; she blushed a little, then suddenly yanked her hand free and disappeared.

I had no time to think about it. James bent over me even further, and I could feel his thrusts getting more aggressive. “Fuck, I’m getting close,” he said. Another desire washed over me, and I pushed myself up again.

“I want you to come on my tits,” I whined. James pulled out immediately, and I rolled onto my back, sending my tits jiggling. James straddled my chest, his cock still slick with our combined fluids, and thrust into my cleavage. I squeezed my big, soft breasts around him and moaned happily. James fucked my tits with abandon, his face red with effort.

“Oh, fuck,” he stammered. “Oh, fuck, Mira I’m--”


He thrust deep against me, his balls half-buried in my breasts, and came all over me. His cum splattered against my face and tits, and I groaned in satisfaction, licking some of it up with my tongue.

“Oh, baby, yes,” I breathed.

James collapsed on the bed next to me, even as I made a show of scooping his cum off my body and licked it up. Within moments, he was asleep; finally, I felt the overwhelming desire abate, and I gently moved myself out of bed.

I immediately wobbled; my legs were like jello, and my pussy was sore as hell. It felt good still, and some part of me wanted to stay for round two when he woke up--but I pulled away from it, staggered and jiggled my way out of his room, and flipped the switch back.

The moment I was myself again--albeit still a little wobbly--I made sure that door was slammed shut and made my way back up to Katie and I’s room. She was there, waiting for me, sitting up in bed with tear stains visible on her cheeks.

“Katie,” I started, but she shook her head.

“I think we need to break up,” she said, her voice shaky.

Katie wasn’t mad because I cheated; she knew I had no control over what happened. Rather, she felt like she was just going to get older and older, and I could turn into a younger person at any moment. I tried to tell her that wasn’t how it worked--she should have known--but she insisted that she needed time to “reevaluate her life.” Nothing I said would change her mind. All that insecurity and frustration flooded out of her, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t make it better.

So we broke up. I moved into Thomas’ house, and Katie and James searched for a new roommate.

James, from what I heard, walked around the house very shellshocked for a couple of days after the incident. He never figured out the truth, but Katie apparently caught him searching the web for “real life elf girls.” Katie and I remained in touch after the break up, but our conversations were brief and awkward. We’d planned to hang out in person after we’d both had time to think, but then COVID cases starting spiking again, and we decided against it.

On the bright side, for the first few months, living with Thomas was great. He had inherited his parents’ house after they retired to Canada, and it was a nice place. Spacious, which was more than I could say about Katie and I’s place--not to mention, it had a pool--but more than anything I was happy to spend time with my best friend. We drank beer, played video games, and generally just relaxed. I was out of work during the pandemic, and Thomas worked from home--it was like a stay-in vacation. The only person who occasionally visited was Thomas’ girlfriend Lia, who quarantined herself for the sole purpose of seeing him; from what I could tell, she was really head over heels for Tom, until he broke up with her.

I’m not sure why he did it. I heard muffled crying and hurried words exchanged the night it happened, but caught only snippets. When it was all over, I emerged from my room to find Tom sitting in the kitchen, pouring himself some whiskey.

“You want some?” He asked as I approached.

“Sure,” I said. “We celebrating or mourning?”

“I,” Thomas said slowly, “am feeling guilty.” He downed his whiskey, grabbed an extra glass for me, and filled them both up. “I should have broken up with her a long time ago.”

“Why?” I asked, sipping my drink. I figured I should take it slow if Thomas was in a “feel bad for myself and drink ‘til I pass out” mood.

“My heart was never in it,” he admitted. “I thought it was. On paper, she seemed like everything I should be looking for in a partner.”

“But…?”

Thomas looked at me with wide, shameful eyes. “She bored the hell outta me.” He swirled the whiskey around in his glass and slumped into a barstool. “That’s a terrible thing to say, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “It’s an honest thing. There’s no formula for the “right one” or anything like that. The spark is either there, or it isn’t.”

“You and Katie have that spark?” He asked.

“We have chemistry,” I said with a smile. “But chemistry doesn’t mean we’re perfect for each other.”

“You think you two will ever get back together?”

I slumped down onto the stool next to Thomas. “I have no idea,” I said. “But I miss her.”

“So do I,” Thomas said. “She was definitely the cool one of the two of you.”

“Won’t hear me argue with that,” I said. We toasted to each other’s loneliness, had a few more rounds of whiskey, and went to bed.

Things changed over the months after that. There were far more days where the two of us would do nothing all day; we’d neglect showers and deodorant, resign ourselves to sleeping in and staying up late, and generally just be lazy as all hell. Tom’s job kept him to a bit of schedule, but oftentimes when I’d see him in the morning, it looked like he’d stayed up all night--then he’d fall asleep as soon as his work day was over.

Depression hits slow and quietly, but before long it’s all you know.

Then, of course, there was the matter of running into each other at bad times. Tom was the first culprit; he walked into my room after we’d had a few drinks--a few too many, in his case--and ran into me having some “private time.” He giggled like a lunatic, but apologized and ducked out immediately. I was mortified, of course; however, the next day Tom was severely hung over, and the incident wasn’t spoken of again.

As luck would have it, the tables would turn not more than a few weeks later, when I walked into the bathroom while Tom was still in there, and he wasn’t using the toilet. There was no alcohol to hide behind this time; Thomas was beet red all day. I simply said that we would never speak of it again, and that was that.

We were both horny as hell, being single dudes stuck at home. There wasn’t anything particularly strange about that, but as is the case with my life, there was one thing that I did not talk to Thomas about. Seeing him that day, in the bathroom, sitting on the edge of the bathtub and stroking himself--it turned me on.

It wasn’t some powerful wave of lust that came over me, but I felt an unmistakable tightening in pants, and it embarrassed the hell out of me. That whole day, the memory of myself as that elf girl, pleasuring James, replayed in my head, only now I was imagining Tom’s dick instead of James’. I’m not gay--I think. I imagine having sex with men as myself, as a man, and feel entirely turned off.

But when I think about my experience as a woman… I feel curious to try it again.

One night, staying up watching shitty movies with a couple of beers, a film with Alexandra Daddario came on. You might remember her from Baywatch, or True Detective--there’s that one episode where she gets her tits out--but all I can say is, she was a hardcore crush for both myself and Tom. We both raised our drinks to the sky and cheered when we saw her face.

“My one true love!” I cried. Thomas laughed, then his smile faded, quicker than I expected. Even with the two of us being down in the dumps, stuck at home as we were, the joy on his face was fleeting.

“What is it?” I asked.

“I just miss having female company,” he groaned. “I’d do anything to have a woman in my life for a night.” He paused, then turned to me. “I almost called Lia the other day. I was sure I could convince her to come over.”

“But you didn’t?” I asked.

“No,” he said. “I thought about it. I came really close. But it would have been such a shitty thing to do.” He shook his head. “I just gotta tough it out.”

“I understand,” I said. “I might have done the same in your position. I don’t have anybody I could call. Certainly not Katie.”

“I mean, you wouldn’t even have to call, would you?” He asked quietly.

“What?”

“I mean, at point you could just… You know.”

I turned to face him fully. “I could what?”

“You know what I’m talking about,” he said, more firmly this time. He sat up a little straighter and chugged down the last of his beer.

“What, Thomas? Turn into a girl? Get some action that way?”

“I mean, if you’re desperate enough, then…”

“You put a lot of thought into this, huh?” I asked, a little annoyed, but more taken aback. Thomas never really asked about my ability. This was a kind of big leap for him; but as he said, when you’re desperate enough…

“I’ve put some thought into it,” he said. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Let’s just… Never speak of it again. You know?”

I was quiet for a minute. I felt bad, shutting him down, even though my gut reaction was a simple “no.” Even so, that small part of me that had gotten turned on when I saw him jacking off--it was curious.

“I’ve thought about it too,” I admitted. He turned to me, pretending not to be too excited.

“Really?”

“It crossed my mind,” I said quickly. “That’s all. I’m still paranoid I’ll do it by accident again, especially after what happened with James.”

Tom nodded, licked his lips, then asked: “What was it like?”

“The sex?” He nodded. “I, uh,” I backpedaled, wondering how much I should reveal. “It was different. Weird. Good,” I added quickly, “but it has to be. That’s how it works.”

“You ever think about it?” He pressed further.

“Sometimes,” I said. “And that’s where we’re leaving this conversation.” I downed the last of my beer, and we both turned back to Alexandria Daddario. “Fuck, she’s gorgeous,” I admitted.

“Yeah,” Tom said wistfully.

Weeks passed, then months, without it coming up again. But I couldn’t shake it. The feeling I got when I heard him talk about it. The prospect of shifting into a partner for someone I knew--someone I trusted. Someone who would probably treat me better than a fuckdoll, even if that was my only purpose; ideally, someone who wouldn’t turn me into some fantasy fetish.

We survived Fall, then Christmas; Winter passed, and although the thoughts had faded somewhat, after Valentines day they all came back. The night of V-day, we were up drinking again, dressed in our tuxedos and video chatting with other single friends just for the hell of it. That night, tipsy and horny, I almost did it--almost opened the door. At the last moment, however, I heard Tom puking in the bathroom, and that killed the vibe enough for me to drop it. I woke the next morning completely aghast that I’d gotten that close.

Finally, Spring arrived. The sun started coming out enough that it almost felt like Summer already; the COVID cases hadn’t diminished, but we started getting out more. Walking, going for runs, and we even cleaned the pool. The day we decided to go for a swim, I went outside to meet Tom and found he wasn’t there. I went back into the house looking for him.

“Thomas?” I called out, approaching his door.

I heard some sudden shuffling, then: “Come in!”

I opened the door to find Tom sitting on his bed, his legs crossed. His face was flushed, and as I glanced away, I saw the tent in his swim shorts. “You, uh,” I said, and faltered at the word “coming.”

“I’ll be right out,” he said. “Just… About to put some sun-tan lotion on.”

“Of course,” I said. “Don’t wait up.” I went to leave, but something else caught my eye. On the floor behind Tom’s feet was a black-and-white, leopard print bikini. “That your new bathing suit?” I joked.

“Hah, no,” Tom said embarrassedly. “It was Lia’s. Found it just now when I was looking for my trunks.” He picked the two pieces up and ran his fingers over them fondly. “She looked… So fuckin’ hot in them,” he breathed.

“I can imagine,” I mumbled. Thomas seemed almost sad, despite the fact that he was whacking off to the swimming suit not moments before. It was in that moment that I realized, despite the very different natures of our breakups, Tom was taking things much worse than I did with mine. Perhaps it was because he was the one responsible for it, or perhaps he was just far more dependent on intimacy than I was, but seeing him like that changed something in me. Until then, I had mostly just seen him as a horny friend, who one time asked for me to throw him a bone and be his playmate for a day. Now, I realized it ran a lot deeper than that. Sex wasn’t as important as an emotional or psychological connection with another human being, but for some people--people like Tom, I had to imagine--it was really their love language.

“I gotta swim,” Tom said suddenly. “Take my mind off things.” He dropped the bikini onto his bed and pushed past me, to the stairs.

“Right behind ya,” I said. “Just grabbing a towel.” I waited until I heard the sliding door downstairs open and close, then turned around, picked up the bikini, and went into the bathroom.

I was sweating. Part of me was really worried about what would happen, but more than anything I was just excited. I think I’d been looking for a way to rationalize the decision to myself, and Tom’s emotional state today was enough.

I opened the door.

The lust that washed over me was painful and desperate. Whatever feeling Thomas had kept buried away inside him for so long had been practically overflowing; the sensations flooded through me and the transformation began so quickly, I barely had time to slip my swimming shorts off.

The first thing I noticed was my height--it changed very little. I felt myself grow a bit shorter, but otherwise, I actually felt more muscular. Skinny and wiry, at first, but there was an energetic feeling that built up in me as the shift continued. I wanted to run and jump, and fight and, well, fuck.

Next was the breasts. I clutched at my chest and felt the soft, firm tits fill my fingers until a decent size had grown; not quite as big as the elf girl, but large, with small, pale brown nipples. My hips cracked, widened, but I didn’t grow an insane hourglass; my ass, though I felt it fill out, didn’t seem heavy. I did half a squat to test it out, and sprang back up again without any effort at all. This body was more fit than I was.

Finally, as my cock withdrew into my belly and formed my vagina, I saw a thin patch of black hair grow along the groin above it, and long, straight raven locks fall down around my face. I licked my lips, looked in the mirror, and my jaw dropped.

I was a lithe, beautiful girl of Asian descent, with a perfect heart-shaped ass, and an incredible rack. My face had no makeup on it; my long lashes and pale pink lips were all natural. My skin was fair, and soft, but devoid of excess weight, and the dreaded “stretch marks.” I wasn’t entirely proportionate--my tits and ass seemed a little too pronounced for the rest of my build--but otherwise I looked like a normal, if beautiful person.

Thomas’ presence called to me. I ran my hands down my body, shivering in anticipation, then grabbed the bikini. It took me a minute to make it fit, as my hips were wider than Lia’s, and tits were far bigger, but I made it work. My chest was barely held in place by the tiny pieces of fabric, but I figured that the bikini would be coming off soon anyways.

I headed downstairs, enjoying the energetic spring in each step, and the jiggling sensation from my tits. I walked confidently out into the backyard and stood there quietly. Thomas was shirtless, lying on a lounge chair with his eyes closed, enjoying the sun.

“You jumping in?” He asked.

“I’ve been thinking about that conversation we had,” I said. My voice was high, but firm, and far less waifish than the elf.

Thomas sat bolt upright in surprise, then froze, his eyes glued to me. His gaze ran up and down my body in a way that sent a shiver down my spine.

“The bikini,” he mumbled.

“I thought you’d like that,” I said, with a coy grin, and jumped into the pool. The water was cool, and for a moment flushed away the heat that had been growing between my legs; but this was all part of Tom’s fantasy. The dip in the pool, as enjoyable as it was in this more athletic body, was all for show.

I swam around in a quick circle, then rose to the surface, grabbed the edge of the pool, and pulled myself up, making sure to keep my elbows squeezed in so my breasts were pushed together for Thomas. Judging by the fact the tent in his pants had returned, it worked.

“What do I call you?” He asked as I walked towards him, dripping wet, my hips swinging from side to side.

“Kali,” I said breathlessly, and kissed him.

Thomas’ mouth was hot against my lips, cold from the water. To his credit, the man didn’t waste any time; he immediately kissed back, wrapping his arms around me and pressing my body into his. He ran his hands down my back and squeezed my ass; I moaned happily and felt his cock twitch against my stomach. I hooked a leg around his waist and ground myself into him. Thomas stumbled back a little, and I guided him back to the lounger and let him fall onto it.

“I need you inside me,” I said, and pulled the top half of the bikini up and off. My tits bounced free; Thomas stroked himself through his shorts. I leaned down, letting my breasts swing back and forth, and grabbed his trunks. Tom lifted his hips and I pulled them off slowly, my mouth watering as his cock was revealed.

He was bigger than James. Tom was a bit taller, so it made sense--but I didn’t remember being this in awe of his size. “It’s so big,” I gasped, and stroked it. Tom groaned happily.

“You like it?” He asked. This caught me off-guard; James had led me to believe this would be a largely wordless affair, apart from the occasional “oh my gods” and “fuck mes.”

“I love it,” I said. “I want to taste it.” I leaned forward and licked him from base to tip, then latched my lips around him and began to bob my head.

“Oh, fuck yes,” he mumbled. He leaned up in the chair and thrust himself into my mouth, pressing his cock towards the back of my throat. “Fucking take it. Yes.”

I fought the gag reflex and deepthroated him. I could feel his hot, throbbing manhood stretching against the walls of my throat, giving me the strangest sensations of needing to swallow. I pushed my head forward and let him fuck my throat, my eyes watering, his balls bouncing against my chin--and loving every second of it.

At last, he pulled himself free with a wet suction sound, and I gasped for air. “You’re a good little cocksucker,” he said, “but I need to be inside you now.” He pulled me up, kissed me, then threw me down onto the lounger. I squealed in surprise, then stared up at him demurely and bent my knees inward, concealing the fact I was soaking wet.

“You want my tight little pussy?” I breathed, playing with my tits.

“God, yes, baby girl,” he moaned. He shuffled onto the lounger in front of me, grabbed my knees and spread them apart. “You’re so fucking wet,” he said happily, and stroked my labia. I shuddered, then gasped when I felt his cock push against them. “Tell me how much you need this,” he said commandingly.

I was on autopilot. “I need it so bad,” I whined. “All I can think about is how I want your big, fat cock inside me. Please, fuck me, daddy.”

Daddy? I had only a moment to process this part of the fantasy before Tom pushed himself inside me, and his dick stretched my pussy wide open. I moaned so loud it was almost a scream; it actually hurt for a moment, in a very non-sexy way, but I was so lubricated that the painful stretching sensation quickly faded away; after that, all that was left was the hot, wet feelings of him fucking me.

“You’re so tight,” he moaned, drawing his hips back slowly, then thrusting back in quickly. I gasped and groaned as his hips began to move.

“You fuck me so good,” I whined. “Harder, daddy.”

Tom grunted and began to slam his hips into me more forcefully. My tits jumped with each thrust, and I could feel the skin around my hips and thighs begin to get a little raw. His cock felt like everything I needed in the world; my chest and face were flushed hot, and I was almost hyperventilating. My orgasm was rapidly approaching-

And then he stopped and pulled himself out of me. I cried out in frustration, only for him to grab me by the hips and flip me over.

“You’re a naughty girl,” he said, and spanked me. I cried out in surprise, and pain, and pleasure, even as my ass stung from his swing. “That means you get punished.” He spanked me again in the same spot; it was really smarting now, but I loved it. Unlike the sex with James, which had felt entirely one-sided, this was a sexual form of dominance--one between two consenting partners. I submitted to Thomas, and he dominated me.

SMACK. Again, the other cheek this time. His cockhead brushed against my labia again. “Please, daddy, fuck your naughty girl raw!” I cried out desperately. Tom guided himself back into me from behind.

“Yes,” he murmured, and started doing just that. He pounded me fast and hard, my tits swinging back and forth, my ass bouncing against him; my cries were loud and incoherent. All I could feel was him taking me. I came hard, once, then one more time as Tom’s breathing began to get haggard. I was shaking uncontrollably, my face pressed into the back of the lounger, my rock-hard nipples dragging against the leather.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he whispered.

“Oh, please, daddy, cum in me,” I begged. “Fill me up. Put a baby in me!” I cried.

That did it; he half-moaned, half-roared, thrust his hips home, and his cock pulsated inside of me. White-hot ejaculate poured into me, and I came again at the new sensation, loving every moment of it. We both shuddered as our release finally came, then went limp.

Tom lay down on the lounger next to me, and I instinctively snuggled up to him. My legs were like jello; I was pretty sure it would be a few minutes before I could walk again.

“That was everything I needed,” Tom said. “Thank you.”

“You’re so welcome,” I groaned happily.

But as the pink haze lifted, I had to wonder: where do we go from here?