Topic: Of Wives and Wyverns

Fiona Swan uses a potion that promises to temporarily transform her into the object of her husband Martin's sexual fantasies. Things do not go as planned.

Of Wives and Wyverns
By Xerox2

I suppose the most appropriate place to start this story would be with the panic attack I had in my apartment’s parking space. It was my 30th birthday, and I had made a big mistake.

I am of the firm opinion that people should get their 30th birthday off of work. Better yet, they should be restrained so that they don’t bring harm to themselves or others, the same way we do with the criminally insane or werewolves on the full moon.

For those who have not yet had the pleasure, the big 3-0 is the day you realize you’re running out of runway for fuckups. It’s the day to assess the current state of your life and wonder how you ‘ended up’ this way. How did I end up less successful than all my friends? How did I end up coming home to this slum of an apartment complex? How did I end up trapped in a loving but utterly sexless marriage?

These were the exact questions that had been rattling around in my head all day, driving me mad. I had to do something to change my lot in life, and rash, impulsive decisions were made. Decisiveness had met impulsiveness, and I already regretted what I had done. Now it was time to march up to our apartment and break the news to my wife. Daydreams of my wife embracing me as the romance of our marriage was reignited gave way nightmares of her flipping out and holding me to task. After all, her thirtieth birthday had been just last week, and she hadn’t made any big, irresponsible decisions.

I took a deep breath, steeled my nerves, and made my way to our front door.

“Honey! I’m ho-- oh, hello.”

Fiona was waiting inside. She was wearing leggings and a sports bra. The way her athletic wear lifted her breasts and accentuated her curves made it, in my opinion, one of her sexiest outfits. But it was odd that she should be wearing it at this hour, and there wasn’t a drop of sweat on her.

“Welcome home, handsome!” she said cheerily, greeting me with a kiss on the lips. She handed me a glass of red wine, and before I could get a word out of my mouth, she lifted her own glass and made a toast.

“To Martin: my birthday boy and the love of my life.”

I clinked my glass against hers and took a polite sip. Fiona took a much larger one.

“Thanks, love, that was very sweet,” I said, nearly choking on my anxiety. “Listen, there’s something I need to tell you.” 

She nodded and took my hand. “Here, let’s sit together as you say it.”

Fiona led me to the couch and sat close beside me so her hips and leg pressed against my own. The end table had been cleared to make room for a trio of flickering tea candles.

“Now, what was it that you wanted to tell me?”

I swallowed. It was time to come out with it.

“I bought us a vacation to the island provinces.”

She furrowed her brow as she processed the information. “That’s where we were going to take our honeymoon.”

“The one we couldn’t afford? Yes.”

I braced myself for the coming storm, but it never came. Instead, Fiona raised her hand to her heart. “Martin! That’s so romantic.”

I shook my head. “We still can’t afford it. Even if I could find a few more weddings that needed a photographer this month, you would have to pick up another three or four Boober rides each day. . .”

“We’ll figure it out. Don’t worry about it.”

This was not right. I knew my wife. We had always been open with each other about our worries. It was one of the great strengths of our partnership. At the very least she should have shown some hesitation, some anxiety, but there was not a hint of worry in her eyes.

Shee laid her arm around my shoulder such that her breasts pressed against my arm. “Let’s just focus on having a good time tonight.”


She silenced me with a kiss. This one was deep and intimate, and it caught me off-guard. We hadn’t kissed like that in months. I caught a whiff of the perfume she’d worn on our wedding day. She broke the kiss and gazed at me with half-lidded eyes decorated with eyeliner. She never wore perfume or makeup.

She was trying to seduce me.

This was odd. Our love life was on the rocks. We hadn’t been intimate in over a month, and neither one of us tried to initiate anymore. I would have thought it was a forced attempt at a birthday gift if not for the husk in her voice and the way she drew her breath through her lipsticked lips in rapid little gusts. She was genuinely horny. Somehow, that made her behavior even more unsettling. It was as if she’d been possessed by a succubus.

“Honey I’m not--” I started, but she interrupted me with another kiss. Her hand dropped to the crotch of my jeans and squeezed a pulse into my penis. The situation was ringing alarm bells in my mind, but I was still a man. I allowed my lips to mingle and return her romantic gesture. Soon our tongues began to play, and our hands slipped under each other’s clothes for a chance to feel the touch of skin. Before long, touching transitioned into groping and fondling. She pushed down the front of my jeans and wrapped her slender fingers around my stiffening penis. I slid my hand between her bra and her breast and cupped its supple flesh.

She broke the kiss and stared at me with a look of desire so intense it was frightening. “Let’s go to the bedroom.”

“Yes,” I whispered, and she pulled me to my feet only to embrace me once again. We stumbled toward the bedroom, awkwardly kissing and undressing each other as we went, catching our balance against the walls of the hallway. She skipped pulling off my shirt and went straight for my zipper, freeing my cock and fondling it as we went.

When we arrived, she slipped out of her pants in record speed and laid face-down, with her shapely ass raised high in the air. Her plump ass cheeks and thighs made a gorgeous frame for the delicate frills of her pussy. She was very attractive.

For a human.

What would I turn her into tonight? I stroked my dick absently as I approached her, and my imagination kicked into gear. Something reptilian would be nice. Something powerful. I pictured a thick, substantial tail sprouting above her heart-shaped ass, twitching as it grew long enough to obscure her privates, then curling upward and flopping forward, revealing her altered genitals. Her pussy was gone, replaced with a scaled, horizontal cloaca. It twitched in anticipation as her tail wagged back and forth over her head. \n\tFiona had no idea the fantasies I conjured when we made love. I kept my obsession with transformed girls locked deep in the depths of my own imagination. It might sound silly, considering how commonplace alchemical transformations were becoming in certain parts of the empire, but it comes down to the way I was raised. Every time I pictured coming clean, I felt sick with terror. And if I did tell my wife, what would she hear? That I didn’t find her delicate, painstakingly maintained, wonderfully-proportioned human figure attractive? That I wanted her to change everything, her body, her lifestyle, her very role in society to satisfy my bizarre fetish?

No, I had accepted long ago that I couldn’t muddle my relationships with my depravity. I was content keeping these fantasies private, doing what I was doing at that very moment: mentally changing my partner’s body into something more thrilling, more taboo.

I uncapped the lube and drizzled a little onto my penis. Some transformees naturally produced thick, slimy fluids like that. Maybe she did too. I could see her scaled cloaca glistening with them in my mind’s eye.

Fiona had her kees planted on the edge of the bed, putting her ass in the perfect position for me to fuck standing up. What if she was standing on all fours? What if she was some creature with thickly muscled, reptilian legs? A wyvern would do. A wyvern that was submitting to little old human me, or better yet, demanding satisfaction from potential prey.

I pressed the head of my penis between her nether lips, and discovered that she was, in reality,  wetter than I’d ever seen her before. The lube had been unnecessary, but the extreme slickness played right into my fantasy.

I closed my eyes-- like I always did when we made love-- and the hole I was fucking was no longer a pink human pussy, but a slick reptilian vent. Her opening milked my penis eagerly and effectively, considering I would have needed a horse’s cock between my legs to truly fill her depths. She was desperate enough that even my human length elicited churrs of pleasure.

I gripped those powerful draconic hips. Her scales were stiff and cool under my fingertips. I wasn’t able to see much past her tail, just a wide, scaled torso stretching forward, muscles rippling under the scaled skin. Her neck lengthened as I fucked her, stretching  to and fro like she was trying to loosen up a pulled muscle. Now it was long enough for her to turn and look back at me as I thrust into her. She had a pleasured look on her ever-more reptilian face, fan ears twitching with each thrust. A crown of little horns gave her draconic head a regal embellishment. A long, forked tongue lolled from a cute bluted muzzle. Inside was a row of meat-ripping teeth that would seal my fate if I didn’t properly satisfy her.

The creature spoke.

“That’s right, love. I’m nothing but your fucktoy tonight. I’ll do anything you want.”

Fiona’s generous words melted through my fantasy. I was back to fucking my human wife, the extra pudge we’d both put on in the years since our wedding jiggling a little with each thrust. I would have to lay off the birthday cake.

“No more words, honey, please.”

She let loose a passionate groan of pleasure that turned bass and beastial as I rebuilt my dream. The winged forelegs she kept folded under her body would have been useless for pleasuring herself, so it was no wonder this wyvern was desperate enough to task her satisfaction to a mere human. Her cloaca gripped my shaft in a series of blissful spasms. It seemed I was performing my duty well.

This thought, and the very real climax my wife was experiencing,  was enough to take me over the edge, and I came as well. The volume of my cum surprised me, but it had been a while since we were intimate.

We collapsed atop the covers and snuggled together in our afterglow. It was the best sex we’d had in years.

Fiona kissed me on the forehead. “Happy birthday,” she said. There was subtle disappointment in her voice.

“Is something wrong?”

She sighed. “This didn’t exactly go as I thought it would.”

I ran my fingers through her red curls. “What do you mean? I enjoyed myself.”

“Well, don’t be mad at me” she started, her body tensing, “but I kinda sorta found your porn collection on our computer.”

My eyes shot open. “You what!?”

We sat bolt upright to face each other. She looked as nervous as I was.  “It wasn’t my fault! You left it open! I logged on, and there it was.”

“Oh no.” I buried my head in my hands. All these years without a single slip-up and now this. I could only guess what embarrassingly lewd transformee smut she’d seen.

She pulled me into a hug. “Don’t worry, big guy, I don’t mind. In fact, I kinda want to try it out myself.”

“You do?” I sniffed. My chest lifted with hope, then tightened again. She didn’t understand the weight of that offer. She was trying to make me feel better.  “I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true!” she urged, pulling away so she could look into my eyes. “I was going to do it tonight, as a gift for you. Last week I emptied out my personal savings and bought a demon-cum potion from a traveling alchemist. I drank it before you got home.”

“You drank a potion you bought off the street!?” I grasped her shoulders and searched her eyes for some hint that she might have been joking, but there was none. “That’s crazy! You’re lucky you didn’t turn into my cock, or melt into a puddle of genitals!”

Fiona rolled her eyes. “Calm down. It was supposed to be temporary, and it was clearly a dud anyway. The man told me it would make my body match whatever you were picturing in your head as you fucked me. So unless you weren’t fantasizing about anything at all. . .”

I looked down in unspoken shame.

“Well then, I guess I got scammed.” She collapsed back onto the bed.

I laid next to her. “A potion that did those things would have cost a fortune. And besides, honeysuckle,” I said, giving her cheek a kiss, “I love you just the way you are.”

“I know you do, honeybee,” she sighed. “I just want you to lust for me too.”

That was the last we spoke of my freshly revealed kinks and Fiona’s inadvisable trip to the potion-seller that evening. We had some cake, did the dishes, and watched TV. I was nervous about the followup conversations we would have to have, but for the moment, as we went to bed and drifted off to sleep, everything was as it had always been. Normalcy had been restored.

It did not last through the night.

I was half-asleep when I noticed something was amiss. Fiona slept on her side. I rolled over to spoon her, but I couldn’t get comfortable. It felt like her knee was jabbing me in the stomach, but that would have it pointing the wrong way. My groggy mind slowly figured it out. If her legs were both down there, and her arms were out in front of her, then that meant the lump above her ass was something else entirely.

I rocked her awake. “Fiona, something’s wrong.”

She yawned and tried to roll over. The motion bent her new appendage the wrong way, and she leapt to her feet with a yelp. Now I could see it clearly. Starting at the base of her spine and standing proudly above her butt crack was a thick, stubby tail. It was no more than twelve centimeters long, but it was fat enough that its base pushed the top of her ass cheeks apart with its girth. She reached down to feel it and gasped. It twitched anxiously in her hand.

“Don’t worry, Fiona,” I said, my voice shaking, “We’ll go to the doctor. They’ll figure out what to do!”

She turned to face me, but instead of looking horrified, she had an ecstatic grin plastered on her face. “It worked! Babe, it’s really happening! I have a tail!”

I watched, entranced, as she grabbed her cell phone off the nightstand and craned her back to take a video of the little wedge of her tail. “Hello, tail!” she said, waving her hand in the frame. Her tail wagged in a mock return greeting. She giggled furiously.

My mind flooded with an exotic cocktail of fear and arousal. Shock as well, if that’s what you call the blank indecisiveness that gripped me while my instincts to flee and fuck battled it out. I watched my wife run her hands up and down the length of her tail. Blood rushed to my groin, and for a moment it seemed that arousal would win out. Then she turned to me with an expectant look on her face, and the long-honed reflex of hiding this particular kink tied my stomach in a knot.

“We have to go to the hospital,” I said.

Fiona’s face dropped in disappointment. “The potion is temporary. You want to spend that time in the hospital?” She turned so her tail was pointing toward me like an accusing finger. “Don’t you want to touch it?“

I wanted to, but I had a feeling the situation was far more grave than Fiona understood. I tossed her a pair of panties. She frowned in annoyance but begrudgingly stepped into them. With her tail in the way, the panties barely hung to the curve of her hips. She turned around and leaned forward to give me a better view of her backside.

“How’s it look down there?” she asked, with a teasing glint.

The lacy waistband was wedged underneath my wife’s new tail, and something surprising was visible behind it: her asshole. The growth of her tail had drawn it up to the top of her crack in the same way a landslide might pull a geographic feature some distance down its destructive path yet leave it undisturbed. But now that I was looking, the dark pucker did seem different. Was it bigger?

I shook the thought out of my head and returned to the task at hand. Clearly, pants were out of the question, so I grabbed a dress and helped her Finoa pull it on. Her tail tented the rear like an exaggerated mockery of my own cock, which, despite the tense situation, refused to go flacid.

Thankfully, none of our neighbors were awake to see me ushering my transforming wife into our car. As soon as we were buckled, I sped off to the hospital.

Fiona shifted in her seat, trying to find a position that didn’t cramp her tail. “Why are you so anxious, honeybee? Isn’t this what you wanted?”

“No!” I cried.

Her face fell. “You’re telling me you didn’t picture me growing a big thick tail last night?”

I swallowed, and my wife’s face split into a smug smile. “Hah! I knew it. You’re still keeping your secrets from me. That’s okay. Now at least I know you like tails. Big thick ones, from the feel of it.”

“I do not!” I wailed.

“Oh yeah?” Fiona’s hand shot out to my lap and gripped my erection through my pants. “You can lie with your mouth but not with your dick.”

She gave my penis a couple strokes, eliciting an erotic tingle that caused me to swerve within my lane.

“Honey, please! I’m driving.” I pulled her hand away from my crotch.

“Sorry, I’m just so damn horny. I haven’t felt like this since we. . .well since ever.”

Her fingers wandered under her dress and down her panties. I listened to the wet, slicking sounds of her self-pleasuring for the rest of the drive and resisted the urge to pull over and join in on her fun. The potion was clearly affecting her mind, and as the level-headed one, it was my duty to get us to the hospital.

I parked the car in front of the emergency room. When we stood, my wife left a dark wet spot on the seat’s upholstery. Her face flushed bright pink. She grabbed some paper napkins from the glove box and made a token effort to wipe up the slimy spot, but it was no use. We headed inside to get some answers.

Unfortunately, there were few to be had.

Doctor Tanaka was a short woman who wore her hair tied up in a bun. “Whatever you drank, the effects are almost certainly permanent,” she said as she measured my wife’s tail. “Fourteen centimeters.” The nurse jotted the number on her chart.

For the first time since we’d awoken, my wife’s giddy excitement disappeared. “Permanent? I’m going to be like this forever?”

She paused as the diagnosis sank in. Her mouth twisted into a nervous smile, but her eyes betrayed a mounting dread. “Guess I’ll have to cut tail holes in the back of all my pants when we get home.”

“That’s the spirit,” said the doctor, “though it’s anyone’s guess how long you’ll fit in them.”

I spoke up. “You mean growing a tail isn’t the end of it?”

“I wouldn’t count on it. Considering the shady source of the potion and the nature of demon cum, I’m surprised you two didn’t merge into something that looks like it belongs in Karma’s realm.”

It was as I feared. I laid a comforting hand on Fiona’s shoulder.

Her tail drooped. “A creature from Karma’s realm. . . something so twisted it can hardly do anything but shamble around and fuck anything that moves. Is that what I’m becoming?”

Doctor Tanaka pointed her pen toward me. “He has a better idea than any of us, I should think. That said, even if this potion had a mental aspect, there’s no telling how you’ll end up. Thought-guided alchemical transformations take years of intensive training to master. A single stray thought could manifest itself in drastic and unpredictable ways.”

“Oh,” my wife and I said in unison.

“The only thing you two can do is wait and see what happen--”

She was interrupted by a groan from Fiona’s stomach so loud it sounded like she’d swallowed a full-grown drake. When it was over, the doctor and I stared in silence, and she grinned sheepishly.

“Maybe it was something I drank?”

Fiona grunted, clutched her stomach, and pitched forward onto the floor. I moved to help, but Dr. Tanaka stopped me with a gloved hand. All I could do was watch as Fiona’s tail thrashed about inside her dress and began to grow. The sound was like peeling away a strip of heavy-duty tape mingled with the popping of stiff joints. The bulge of her tail snaked across the floor until the tip extended past the bottom of her dress. The growth stopped as suddenly as it had started, leaving Fiona panting on the floor. At this point, the Doctor let me go to her. She was rattled but otherwise safe.

The doctor knelt and pulled her measuring tape down the length of Fiona’s tail. “Eighty-nine centimeters,” she announced. The nurse dutifully jotted the number down.

“Is there anything we can do?” I half-begged.

“You can start by exploring your options,” the doctor said, handing us a brochure. It as titled “So You’ve Transformed into a Hyper-sexed Monstrosity.” The front had a photo of a transformee that I recognized from a porno.

With that, Dr. Tanaka wished us the best of luck and ushered us out the door so she could see patients she had some hope of helping.

We got into the car and sat in silence, both of us trying to process what was happening. Fiona sat at the edge of her seat with her tail curled uncomfortably to the side. It laid over the center console, and each nervous twitch brushed against my arm. She was the one to break the silence.

“Wanna go get General Tang’s?”

That caught me off guard. After our outlandish morning, it was such a mundane suggestion. But it was past two, neither of us had eaten, and cheap comfort food was just what we needed.

“Sure,” I said with a hint of a smile. Her tail tip flicked with excitement.

We went through the drive through, parked, and ate in silence. General Tang’s portions were ridiculous. I was stuffed halfway through my order of  sweet ‘n’ greasy chicken, but Fiona was still eating. She downed her sticky beef and started on our side of fried rice without missing a beat.

“So, honeysuckle, how’s it going?” I asked, tentatively.

Hearing this, she paused her feast for the first time. She looked at me with distress. “I’m freaking out. Can’t you tell?” she said around a mouth full of rice.

“It looked like you took the news pretty well. It certainly hasn’t hurt your appetite.”

Fiona swallowed her mouthful in a single gulp. “I thought eating would calm me down, but I’ve had so much and I’m still so hungry.” She lifted the box of rice and poured the remainder down her throat like she was finishing a drink. She reached for the box of steamed pork buns, then had a change of heart and threw them back into the bag.

“I shouldn’t eat any more, but I’m a bottomless pit! And even though I’m ravenous and terrified, I’m still hornier than ever! Demons, what’s happening to me!?” she wailed, tears forming in her eyes.

Guilt choked my insides like a noose. I had to help, but how? I took her hand in mine. “Fiona, honeysuckle, it’s going to be okay. I’m here for you. I love you.”

She sniffed and wiped her eyes. “Thanks, honeybee. I love you too. I just feel so conflicted.”

I pursed my lips in thought. “Once you drink a potion, you can’t fight it. People say it’s best to try to embrace the changes. Listen to your body, become what you’re going to become. If you’re hungry, you should eat.”

Fiona managed a weak smile. “You read a lot of transformee blogs don’t you?”

I broke eye contact. “A couple.”

“Embrace the changes?” she pondered, reaching for a pork bun. “I’ll try, but it’s scary. It’s like I’m caught in a river, and if I stop swimming against the current, who knows where I’ll end up? What I’ll become?”

Fiona snapped her head to the side and let loose a burp so loud it rattled the windows. She held her hand over her mouth bashfully.

“Excuse me.”

I chuckled. “You’re excused.”

With that, she devoured the bun. It was surreal watching such a lithe woman put down that quantity of food, but I didn’t want to stare. I gazed out my window waiting for the smacking, slurping sounds of her eating to finish. After a couple minutes, I grew confused. There hadn’t been that much food left.

I turned to find her laying forward on the dash, tail curled up against the roof. Her hand was up her dress, rubbing furiously at her pussy.


“I’m sorry,” she said guiltily, though she didn’t stop. “I told you I was horny, didn’t I? It’s been like this all day. I’ve been so desperate for touch.”

I glanced around the parking lot. “I get it. Just try to be discreet. Someone might see you.”

“That would be kinda hot, wouldn’t it?” she moaned, then blushed bright pink. Embarrassed as she was, her eyes stared at me with pure, unbridled desire. Her hand made a slow, deliberate motion under her dress, and her mouth opened in a silent gasp. How many fingers was she using now? Two? Three?

Another mighty belch escaped her gaping mouth. It rumbled forth for several seconds, and she didn’t stop her hand or change her gaze for the entire time.

“I’m still hungry, too.”

Once Fiona had summoned the willpower to withdraw her dripping hand and sit down in her seat, we went through the drive through again. This order was even larger, but it didn’t even last the drive home. When she finished, her stuffed belly pressed visibly against her dress like she was showing a second trimester pregnancy.

Back at our apartment complex, Fiona clutched the bannister as she hauled herself up the stairs. Her leg muscles strained to carry the combined weight of her incredible meal and the thick tail that nearly dragged on the ground behind her. Her panties were stretched hopelessly around her knees, pushed aside by her relentless new limb, but she was either too absorbed by the effort of climbing the stairs to notice or she simply didn’t care.

Once inside, Fiona immediately pulled her dress over her shoulders and tossed it into the corner. I rushed to draw the curtains.

“What a day,” she yawned, stretching her arms. “Let’s see what’s in this brochure the doctor gave us.” She took one of the pamphlets and collapsed belly-down on the couch. As she read, her tail swayed back and forth in the air.

Fiona’s changes were already far more extensive than I’d realized. The whole shape of her body had shifted to accommodate her hefty tail. The base was as thick around as one of her thighs, and it pushed apart not only her ass cheeks, but the very bones of her hips. They were inhumanly wide, and her rear had bulked up with muscle and fat, giving her a bottom-heavy look.

With her tail lifted in the air, I had a clear view of the changes to her privates. Her asshole had swollen into a muscular pucker at least double its original size. It had finished its migration to the underside of her tail, though it was getting difficult to tell exactly where her groin ended and her tail began. Her pussy was as human as ever, but it had gone completely bald and was practically dripping in feminine fluids.

“Enjoying the view back there?” Fiona cooed without looking up.

I busied myself by hanging up my keys. “View of what, honeysuckle?”

“I think you know.” Her asshole and vagina clenched in a vulgar mockery of a wink. My heartbeat raced to keep up with the demand for blood in my loins.

“Some of the transformees in this brochure are pretty sexy. Look how many tits this woman has! And this guy’s tongue got turned into a cock. Apparently, it sticks out past his lips whenever he gets horny. No wonder you like this stuff. I’m starting to see the appeal.”

She dipped her fingers between the delicate folds of her labia and began to stroke.

I swallowed. “I guess”.

“Come on, you love it. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have a fifty pound hunk of meat hanging off my ass, would I?”

Fiona flipped over onto her back and gazed at me with the same mindless lust that she had last night. She spread her pussy’s lips with her fingers and flagged her tail in a beckoning gesture.

“It’s just the two of us. Why don’t you come over and get to know the new me a little better?”

My erection strained against my pants, eager to take her up on the offer, but I shook my head.

“No. I can’t.”

Fiona froze with surprise. “What? Why not?”

I sighed. “You don’t want me to fuck you. It’s just the potion talking.”

“No, I do!” She cried. “I want you to come over here and fuck me until we both pass out in each other’s arms, just like you used to.”

I crossed my arms. “No. I’d be taking advantage of you. You’re not yourself.”

“Wasn’t that the point?” she asked with pleading eyes. “If this is the new me, then I’m a freaking nymphomaniac. I can’t stop thinking about that dick of yours, and I know you can’t stop thinking about me. So get over here and let’s fuck already!”

I broke into a cold sweat. This was everything I’d fantasized about, but I couldn’t handle it. It was all too sudden and far too terribly real. I searched for excuses but there were none.

“I just can’t, okay?!”

A flash of hurt crossed Fiona’s face, but it soon shifted to a devious sort of look. “Fine, play hard to get. I’ve been seducing you for six years, and the potion is only going to make it easier. I can feel it worming through my body, rearranging all my pieces to match whatever wonderfully lewd fantasy was swimming around that head of yours.”

I opened my mouth but didn’t have anything to say. Finally I sputtered, “I’m going to take a shower!” and turned to do just that.

“Think of me when you’re in there,” My wife called after me, her hand starting to work between her legs again. “I’ll be thinking of you!”

I shut the door, turned on the water, and wrapped my hand around my cock. She was right: I did think of her. Isolated behind the locked door of the bathroom, behind the shower curtain and the concealing wall of steam, all my unfocused social anxiety washed away. My “alone time” did a good job of untying some of my emotional knots, and the same seemed to be true for Fiona.

The rest of the evening was a lot more harmonious, though she did still run the tip of her tail up and down my thigh every chance she got. When she wasn’t teasing me, she was cooking and eating just about everything we had in the fridge.

“I wonder what kind of food they have in the island provinces,” she mused between bites.

I smacked my forehead. “Oh, demons! I forgot about our honeymoon!”

I started pacing like a madman. “How are we going to pay for it? You can’t drive for Boober if you can hardly sit in the car. You’re going to have to find a new job and buy new clothes. . .” I groaned. “And I forgot to call in to work today! So hopefully I don’t lose my job too. We’re going to have to cancel. Oh, all those non-refundable fees!”

On my next lap around the kitchen, Fiona caught me in her arms. “Calm down, honeybee. We’re going to take that vacation. I promise.”

“But how?”

“The brochure actually had some useful information in it. We should visit the Bureau for Transformed People tomorrow. We might be entitled to some money from the government.”

“I. . . I suppose that makes sense.” I said.

Fiona gave me a peck on the forehead. “Don’t worry, honeybee. We’ll get through this.” 

That night we laid on our sides, Fiona hugging me from behind. She quickly slipped into a noisome, snoring, stomach-rumbling slumber, but I laid awake wondering exactly what my wife, and our lives, would become.

- 2 -

In retrospect, the feet were the first sign that something had gone wrong.

Fiona and I stood at the door, all ready to go to the bureau save our lack of shoes. I had already called in sick to my job -- which it turned out I still had, though my boss made it clear there was no more room for fuckups. We’d eaten breakfast, and my wife was wearing the only dress that fit her anymore (and even it was stretched near breaking around the incredible girth of her hips). Now she stood staring at the shoe rack with a puzzled look on her face.

Her legs had changed overnight, and not in the way I expected. Instead of growing into the powerful, draconic hind legs I’d pictured in my fantasy, they’d been compressed. I say ‘compressed’ because for each of the twenty or so centimeters they’d lost, they’d gained an equal share of muscle and fat. Now they easily bore the weight of my wife’s extraordinarily wide hips and growing belly. It was clear that not all of the food she had been guzzling was turning into new muscle and bone. Her stomach was downright rotund, but she looked more pregnant than fat. Her belly still formed a smooth curve between her splayed legs to join her tail.

Fiona wobbled as she tried to shove her foot into a flip-flop. Her shortened legs were much worse for balance, but she stabilized herself using her tail, which now dragged on the ground behind her. With my help, she managed to maneuver the thong of the flip-flop between two of her three remaining toes. They’d fused in the night, leaving a trio of swollen, padded digits. Each one was tipped with a powerful talon that caught on the carpet with every step. The overall configuration of her enlarged feet were still human: she still walked on their flats, not on their balls like a true wyvern.

She stood up on the sandal only to have her massive feet spill over the edges.

“Ugh. It’s way too small,” she said, kicking the shoe away. “I’ll have to go barefoot.”

I nodded. “Maybe we can buy you some larger shoes when we’re finished at the bureau.” This morning’s changes had hit Fiona fairly hard. She had me take photos and videos of her body soon after we woke up. She thumbed through them with a sober, almost somber look on her face that made me feel even more guilty about the erection I was trying to ignore.

We made our way over the hot asphalt and crumbling cement sidewalk. I grimaced thinking of how it’d all feel on Fiona’s bare feet, but when I looked over, she was grinning.

“This doesn’t hurt a bit! The bottoms of my feet are very tough. In fact, going barefoot is kinda liberating.” She looked at me with that familiar devious spark. “So I’m turning into some sort of reptile-woman, then? Is that what you were picturing, love? thick legs, thick tails, and smooth scaly skin? What’s next, a big forked tongue I can use to tickle your hard-to-reach places?”

“I told you, I hardly remember what I was thinking that night,” I said. Yesterday it was an excuse, but today I was beginning to believe it. I didn’t dare tell her that her legs were the side effect of some unknown stray thought and not the focus of my fantasy.

Intended or not, my wife’s hips and tail were too massive to squeeze into our car. The public bus was our only option, and it felt very public indeed. Passengers waited patiently as I helped Fiona take wobbling steps up the stairs. We stood in the back under a blue placard depicting a person in a wheelchair and a bipedal penis.

A group of children near the front of the bus watched us and whispered jokes to each other. I had done the same when I was their age, making jokes about “monster-lover” men and speculating about what sorts of odd positions they would need to use to fuck their transformed wives. I felt terribly exposed, and Fiona probably had it worse. She tugged her dress down to cover as much of her legs as possible, but it did little to hide her alterations. 

The Bureau for Transformed People was headquartered in a large brutalist spire that looked suspiciously phallic. Inside, the walls and floors were smooth tile, and there were no carpets or upholstered seats anywhere to be seen. A glance at the other people waiting in the room made the reason for all the waterproof surfaces obvious. One woman sat naked, reading a magazine as the forearm-sized penis between her legs dripped a steady stream of precum onto the floor. Another man sitting close to me had a large brass ring pierced through his nose, and his blushing face had swollen into the start a bovine muzzle. He was clothed, but it did little to help his modesty. His unseasonal sweater couldn’t conceal the large, wobbling breasts on his chest, and his pants were unbuttoned to accommodate the taught, veiny udder resting between his legs. Each time he shifted, his teats leaked small streams of milk onto the ground, eliciting little gasps of pleasure.


That was our number. We were directed to a small booth for our consultation. The woman sitting on the other side of the desk had an absolutely giant pair of breasts squeezed into her blouse, but it was difficult to tell whether she was a transformee or simply fat. Her name tag read “Bess.”

Bess barraged us with questions and recorded our answers without looking up from her papers. Her every word dripped with impatient boredom.

“Well Mr. and Mrs. Swan,” she said, peering at us over the rims of her glasses for the first time since we sat, “the matter of financial aid will take a while to settle, but I should be able to get you into some temporary transformee housing starting tomorrow.”

“Oh, that sounds excellent,” beamed Fiona, “I’ve been having a hard time fitting through doors and using the toilet in our apartment.”

“I’m sure,” Bess continued in her bored drone. “Now you put here that you’re still in the process of transforming. To figure out where to put you, I’m going to need to know what you’re turning into.”

“Oh, I don’t have any idea.” Fiona looked at me, and that devilish glint reappeared in her eye. “But he does.”

A ball formed in my throat, and I tried, unsuccessfully, to swallow it.

“I see.” She crossed her arms over her generous bust. “You wanna leave while we discuss it?”

“Oh, no. I think I’ll stay.”

Bess raised her eyebrows, closed her eyes, and shook her head as it to say “some people. . .” She picked up her pen and turned to me. “So what’s your wife gunna be when she’s done?”

I scratched my forearm. “Well. . . I’d rather not say. It’s kind of personal, you see.”

She heaved a sigh and looked down at her forms. “Is she going to be mobile?”

“Sure. Absolutely”

“How about an udder? Any lactation?”


“Is she gunna grow a dick or need any male masturbation aids?”

“Heavens, no.”

Bess looked at me, lowered her glasses, and frowned a frown so utterly venomous, I was genuinely frightened. “Are we gunna have to sit here playing twenty questions all day, or are you gunna tell me what she’s turning into so I can fill out the damn forms?”

My wife stared with her. Under their combined glare, the mass in my throat had grown so large I could hardly speak.

“Fine!” I finally choked. “She’s turning into a wyvern, a big scaly dragon with wings instead of forelegs, a cloaca instead of a pussy, and no breasts or anything!”

Fiona squeezed my hand lovingly.

“I know what a wyvern is.” Bess said, replacing her glasses and starting on the forms. “How big are we talking here?”

“Big. As big as a horse, maybe,” I said. The mass of anxiety in my chest was gone. I gazed into Fiona’s eyes. The deviousness in her smile had been replaced by tender pride. “I like to imagine she’s big enough to force me to do whatever she wants. I’m afraid, but she’s in heat. She’s needy. My life is on the line, but it’s easy to perform because the situation is just--”

“Okay, that’s more than enough, Mr. Swan. I’ll ask the questions.”

Fiona wrapped her tail around my waist and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “That wasn’t so hard, was it, honeybee?”

I wiped the sweat from my forehead, and the ball in my throat disappeared. “No,” I admitted, “It really wasn’t.”

We spoke little on the bus ride home, but all the same it felt like a barrier between us had been lifted. The bus was crowded, and I squeezed close against Fiona’s flank. Standing so close to her stomach, I was the first person to hear it growl. It started as a near-silent groan but quickly grew to a cartoonish rumbling. This time, everyone on the bus really did turn to look.

My wife grimaced and clutched her stomach. I gave her room, and she would need it. Despite her dress, the changes were obvious. She rocked side to side on her shortened legs, widening her stance, and her pelvis broadened with a muffled creaking. Her thighs swelled under her dress, lifting it from her ankles to her knees. Hollow popping signaled a lengthening of her back, and she regained the inches that had been stolen from her legs. Finally, her midsection, which was already a tad rotund, swelled like a water balloon. The floral pattern on her dress distorted as the fabric stretched far beyond its limits. 

Fiona’s expansion halted, and for a moment it seemed the dress would hold. Then there was a loud ripping, and it gave way. It didn’t just tear along a seam, either; it practically disintegrated. She yelped in surprise, and shot her arms out to cover herself. Despite her expansion, she still wasn’t fat or flabby. “Rotund” would be a better word, like a dragon from a childrens’ cartoon. One arm moved to cover her crotch, but, with her elongated torso, she had to bend to reach. The other arm slapped over her chest. My wife had always been well-endowed, but now her arm easily covered her breasts. Were they smaller, or had her chest simply broadened?

The passengers reacted viscerally. An older woman gasped and covered her mouth. A father turned away and told his children not to stare even as he caught a couple glances himself. A teenage boy furtively pointed his phone’s camera in our direction and began to film.

I dropped to the floor and scrambled to gather the shreds of Fiona’s dress, but she placed a hand on my back to stop me.

“It’s okay, sweety.”

I looked up to see that she’d relaxed her other arm, revealing her nudity.

“Are you sure?”

She nodded, and I stood up. True, it was perfectly legal, even normal, for transformed individuals to go nude, but I hadn’t considered that Fiona might someday do the same, let alone that it would happen so suddenly or so soon.

Her face was calm, but her cheeks burned pink. In fact, her whole belly seemed to be blushing. The skin on her lower body had changed since the last time I saw it. Everything up to her navel was completely smooth and hairless, and the skin between her legs had split into a carpet of bright pink, pebble-like scales. The scales around her pussy glistened with moisture, bringing further attention to her privates.

We waited patiently for our stop. At one point, Fiona bent over, acting like she was gathering the few remaining threads of her dress, but I was in a position to see her grinding her rampantly wet vent against an unused armrest. The musky, exotic scent of her arousal filled our section, and I’m sure I wasn’t the only one who smelled it.

Fiona’s body had none of the graceful strength I’d pictured in my fantasy, but there was power behind her movements nonetheless. At this point, she could have beaten me in a wrestling match. The thought sent a flutter in my stomach.

Fiona’s hips got caught in the doorway to our apartment. I placed my hands on her ass cheeks, pushed, and she came loose with a jolt.

She sighed. “Thanks. To think, after all these years of watching my figure, I’m going to turn into a fat wyvern.” Fiona turned and embraced me, her bulk pressing me against the door.

“Thank you for coming clean today, Martin. I’m so proud of you.”

“I’m glad I did,” I said, honestly.

She caressed my cheek and guided my face into a deep, romantic kiss. Despite the shortness of her legs, she was now as tall as me.

“So, if I’m turning into a wyvern, I guess I’m going to lose my hands.”

“We don’t know that for certain,” I said, reaching my hand down my pants to readjust my dick. “The doctor said anything could happen.”

Her hand slid sensually down my cheek. “Well if my arms do transform into wings, I’m going to need a human to help me out with all sorts of tasks that require a more delicate touch.”

I shrugged and started to squeeze past her. “Well I suppose--”

She braced her arm against the door right in front of my face, blocking my escape. “Suppose? What if I insisted? I already outweigh you, and I’m only going to get bigger. Would you rather see me angry, or pleased?”

That fiendish, playful smile was back. The window’s light glinted off teeth that had reshaped into little pointed cones. It sent a chill down my spine and into my groin, causing my penis to flex between us.

“Pleased?” I peeped.

“That’s a good boy,” she cooed, dragging her hand down to my belt. “If you’re really good, maybe I’ll let you use this.” She punctuated the sentence by flicking button of my pants open and gasping my cock.

I gasped. “Oh, I-- I’d like that.”

Fiona scoffed, pulling her hand away. “That wasn’t a free offer. You have to earn it.” She took two steps back and crossed her arms. “First, take off all those silly human clothes.”

I nodded eagerly and pulled my pants down, freeing my erection to stand proudly in the air. I hadn’t been this hard in years. Fiona licked her lips. I pulled my shirt over my head, kicked off my socks, and stood naked and exposed. My hand started idly stroking my penis.

“Ah! No touching yourself until I say.” Fiona ordered. I immediately stopped. “Good. Now stay put and don’t move a muscle. I’ll know it if you do.”

She turned and sauntered over to the couch. After puzzling a moment how exactly to use it, she turned and let herself fall backwards into the cushions. By curling her back, lifting her legs in the air, and gripping the edges for support, she was able to “sit” facing forward. Her tail extended between her legs and rested on the floor below, leaving her underbelly and crotch exposed. She shifted to get comfortable, and the wooden frame of the couch groaned a complaint but held.

“There,” she said. “Now come here.”

I approached obediently.


I did so. Her exposed crotch was within arms reach, and the scent of her sex once again filled my nose. Her asshole was now a plump, horizontal slit that pursed and shifted with each twitch of her tail. The opening was covered in thousands of delicate scales that had a darker, reddish color than the others. Just above, her pussy was nothing more than a subtle crease in the scales between her legs, only noticeable as the source of the clear fluid that ran in little rivulets down her tail onto the couch cushions below.

“Well? What are you waiting for?” she rumbled impatiently. “Pleasure me!”

I reached a trembling hand to her pussy, but the tip of her tail slapped it away with startling quickness.

“I still have hands of my own. This time, I want you to use your mouth.”

And so I did. I straddled her tail, lowered my face to her dripping-wet vent and went to town. The taste was different than when she was a human. It was the flavor of roasted mushrooms, sweat, and raw sugar. My tongue flicked between her smooth, scaly folds, and Fiona let loose a sigh that sounded very much like a pleasured hiss. I kept my hands off my desperate erection but stole a sliver of relief by humping her tail. If she noticed, she didn’t mind.

“Do you want to fuck me?” she asked between gasps.

“Oh yess,” I moaned, only lifting my face enough to form the words.

“Then beg, little human.”

The look in her eyes was one of diabolical bliss, and I could no longer tell whether she was acting dominant for my benefit, or if the days of intense lust had finally cracked her. This made the situation even sexier.

“Please, Fiona--”


“Please, Mistress,” I begged between licks. “Please let me fuck you.”

“Yess. . . Do it! Do it now!” she barked impatiently.

I stood, maneuvered the tip of my cock into position, and penetrated her. She was so slick, I hilted myself inside of her on the first thrust. To my surprise, despite her increased size, her pussy was tighter than ever before. It clenched and pursed powerfully around my cock.

“Harder!” she moaned, “faster!”

I obeyed as well as I could, shifting my stance so that I could really plow her. My balls brushed against her swollen asshole with each thrust, and each time it pursed as if to kiss them in thanks.

We were in such ecstasy that it’s difficult to remember how long our lovemaking lasted. It couldn’t have been more than a minute. Fiona’s climax was intense. Her tail lifted between my legs and pressed against my back, forcing me close. She threw her head back, mouth and eyes fixed open in shock. Her passage clenched around the base of my cock with such strength that I’m not sure I would have been able to pull myself free even if I wanted to.

My climax started halfway through her own, and, to this very day, I believe it was the best orgasm I ever had.

We remained intertwined, slack-muscled and panting, for a few moments before sliding onto the carpet below. There we laid together, steeping in the hot wash of our afterglow, letting our emotions wordlessly intermingle. The tender, caring touch was back in Fiona’s face, and I was relieved to see it.

“You’re really good at playing the ‘big, dominant dragon,’” I said.

“It helps to have such an excellent costume,” she giggled. “And besides, you’re not the only one who dabbles in a sexy fantasy from time to time.”

I propped myself up on an elbow and looked at her. “Is that so? You fantasize about dominating me?”

“Oh no,” Fiona’s eyes bashfully dodged mine. “I just had a good idea about what you wanted because it’s similar to what I’d want.”

“You’re going to have to do better than that.”

“I know, I know,” She sighed. “I like to imagine being a pet.”

“A pet?”

“Yeah. You know, just lazing around the house all day, waiting for my master to get home, throwing myself at his feet when he finally arrives. He takes care of me, and in return I do anything he wants.” She bit her lower lip and looked me in the eyes. “Anything.”

“I see.”

She buried her face in my shoulder. “It’s silly, I know.”

I kissed her neck. “Oh, I don’t think so. I wouldn’t mind having a pet wyvern from time to time.”

She looked into my eyes with immense relief. “You’re serious? Oh, thank you so much, Martin.” she gushed, wrapping her tail around me and hugging tight. “You’d make a good master. It’s going to be a lot easier to embrace these changes knowing you’ll be there for me, wherever they lead.”

“I’ll always be here for you.”

We sat in silence for a moment, then a smile tugged at her lips. “Maybe you could have me on a leash for my change party?”

At this I bolted up. “Change party? You didn’t say anything about a change party!”

“I am now. Come on, we can have it in the park. It won’t cost us a dime.”

I felt sick to my stomach. “When?”

“Soon. The day after tomorrow? I don’t want to be too. . . far gone when it happens.”

I begrudgingly agreed. The thought of having a change party filled me with profound dread, but I pushed the worries aside. After this evening’s excellent sex, I was confident the worst was over. No matter what happened in the coming days, we would endure it easily.

I was wrong.


Re: Of Wives and Wyverns

- 3-

“I told you. I don’t need it,” Fiona said. Her annoyance was on the edge of anger.

Nevertheless, I waved the bedsheet toward her once again. “No one needs clothes. We still wear them. It’ll be fashionable, like a gown.”

“For the last time, no. I count the right to go nude as a silver lining in this whole affair, and I’m not going to let you steal it away.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. It would be inappropriate to say her breasts. As of that morning, she no longer had any. Pecs perhaps, or generously ‘moobs,’ but not womanly breasts.

“Now stop wasting time,” she continued. “There’s a lot of work to do.”

“Fine.” I tossed the sheet back into our linen closet with a resigned sigh.

I had made peace with the body Fiona had last night, but the changes were relentless. It wasn’t the loss of her breasts that was putting me on edge, it was what replaced them. The pecs, like her legs and stomach, continued a disturbing pattern. They were humanoid and draconic, and yet they were completely out-of-step with a transition from one form into the other. Whatever she was becoming, it certainly wasn’t what I had been envisioning on that fateful birthday night. I wracked my memory, desperately searching for stray thoughts which might hold some clue as to what form she-- and I-- would be stuck with for the rest of our days, but all that was left were vague images, like sand drawings on the beach that had endured a wave.

I hoped with all my heart that the potion had run its course, but the steady creep of pink scales up her torso threatened that these wouldn’t be the last unwelcome transformations.

“Are you all packed?”

“Yup!” I sat on my floral-print suitcase and zipped it up. This was the luggage we’d bought for our original honeymoon to the Island Provinces. Now the collection of like-new bags were stuffed with enough clothes and comfort items to last our month-long stay in the Bureau's temporary transformee housing.

The closest bus stop to our new building was only a kilometer away, but with our heavy bags, it was still quite a trek. I stopped halfway, set my backpack and suitcase on the ground, and stretched my aching shoulders.

At this, Fiona was surprised. “Why are you stopping? We’re almost there.”

“Let’s take a break. No need to injure ourselves.”

“I’m not tired at all. Here, let me help.”

I laughed, assuming she was making a joke. She unhooked one of her pack’s straps, leaned over, and hoisted my own backpack onto her free shoulder. Ropes of muscle in her lower back bulged with a casual strength.


“I’m fine,” she smirked. “Next time I’ll use the ‘for him’ set, and you can carry ‘for her.’”

I gave a mirthless chuckle, and we continued.

Our government-provided apartment was larger than our actual home. It had the same number of bedrooms and bathrooms, but everything was, well, bigger. Bigger sofa, bigger toilet, bigger bed. Fiona rushed from room to room, delighting in how easy it was to pass through the doors.

“And look how little clutter there is for my tail to knock down!”

Like the Bureau's office, the whole place was done in easy-to-clean, waterproof materials. The floors were rigid foam mats that reminded me of gym class. Our bed had been spared plastic sheets and was instead outfitted with white linens for which there was a twice-daily laundering service, free of charge.

“I feel like a queen!” Fiona squealed, dashing to meet me in the kitchen. She picked up quite a bit of speed, and each heavy footfall rattled the silverware and plates. “You know they have a cafeteria that offers free delivery three times a day? It’s like we’re already at a resort!

“I’m sure food in the island provinces is a lot better than whatever government-sanctioned slop they’ll feed us here. And don’t get too carried away. We’re only here for a month, and then we’re going to be back in our old apartment until the lease is up.”

Moving in took less time than expected, and I started to regret using my last sick day at work. My next absence would be unexcused. Tomorrow was the change party, and I couldn’t miss it. Fiona spent the next few hours sending out invites. The day was practically boring until I heard a yelp from the bathroom.

“Martin! Get in here!” I was on my feet before I knew it. I dashed into the bathroom to find Fiona standing in the center of the room, tears streaming down her face.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s gone!” she sobbed.

“What? What’s gone?” I said, glancing around

“My pussy! I. . . I can’t find it!”

I leaned in for a closer look. I ran my fingertip along the scaled crease that had marked her sex yesterday, but there was nothing. The only trace of her opening was a patch of quickly drying lubricant. It would be washed away with her next shower.

“You’re right. It’s closed up.”

“What the fuck, Martin!?” she shrieked. “You didn’t say anything about this! How in Freya’s name am I supposed to deal with my insane libido if I don’t have a pussy to rub? How are we going to fuck?”

I laid my hand on her bulbous belly. “Try to calm down. You’re probably getting your cloaca.”

Fiona sniffed. “My what?”

“Your cloaca. It’s the kinda junk wyverns have. That’s what I was picturing when I was fucking you.”

“They don’t have pussies?” she asked, her voice calmer but still quavering. “What’s a cloaca like?”

“Their assholes do double duty. They use it for, you know, doing their business, but they also use it for reproduction. I can’t believe you haven’t heard of this.”

“You’re the kinky fucker, not me,” she snipped. “Sorry. I’m a little freaked out right now.”

“It’s okay,” I said, standing.

“So how does it work? Do I consciously ‘change modes,’ or is it automatic? Or are both paths available all the time and you have to aim carefully when we’re fucking?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. You’re the one with a cloaca. Why don’t you bend over and we’ll see what we can learn?”

Fiona smiled a sultry grin. She turned around, braced her hands on the toilet seat and lifted her tail. “Alright Doctor Swan, proceed with your examination.”

I knelt behind her. There was no missing her remaining opening. It had taken on the cartoonish proportions of her tail and hips. Her scales grew smaller and darker as they neared the center, becoming delicate enough to be mistaken for maroon-colored flesh near the center. The opening itself appeared as a horizontal fold, but the knot of flesh stood proudly from the area’s elegant curves. Her pucker had about as much muscle mass as one of my biceps, and it twitched powerfully in anticipation.

I popped my finger in my mouth to lube it up, touched it to the wrinkled skin of her opening, and paused. “Um. . . Do you need to use the bathroom before we start?”

Fiona blushed. “That’s why I came in here. I haven’t felt the need to go in days. I’m starting to get worried.”

Demon-cum potions had a tendency to alter the drinker’s metabolism in strange and mystical ways. Many transformees subsisted by absorbing mana from the atmosphere and neither ate nor excreted waste. Of course, this was not always the case.

“Well then, let’s hope for the best. Try to relax.”

She unclenched, and her asshole dilated to nearly double its size. I took a deep breath, squinted, and pressed my finger into the center. For some reason, I was surprised at how easily it slid in.

“Ready when you are, babe,” Fiona said.


I pulled my finger loose, half expecting a torrent of filth, but thankfully, there was none, only a small dollop of clear, viscous lubricant. I gathered it with my fingers, and pushed two inside, then three.

My wife gasped. “Oh! There you are.”

“How does it feel?” I asked, inserting my fourth finger with little resistance. Her lubricant coated my hand in a slick film, and I pushed easily into her silky depths until only my thumb was left outside.

“It’s different. I kind of feel like I’m taking a crap.”

I folded my thumb and pressed it in to the second knuckle. “How about now?”

She gasped once again. “How many fingers do you have in me right now?”

“Five,” I responded.

“Five?!” Her opening clenched shut with surprise, pulling my hand all the way inside with a wet slurp.

Last week, if you had asked, I would not have expected myself to end up elbow-deep in a wyvern’s behind, and I certainly wouldn’t have expected that behind to belong to my wife. I used my fingers to gently prod around at her insides, trying to figure out what was going on. I didn’t feel any “forks in the road” so to speak, or encounter any unpleasantness.

“Does this feel like your pussy did? At all?”

“Not really,” she said through clenched teeth. “It feels weird, not really pleasurable.”

I pulled my hand free with a pop, and Fiona exhaled a shuddering sigh of relief.

“Maybe it’s not done forming yet?” I suggested as I rinsed my lubed up forearm in the bathroom sink.

Fiona massaged the smooth, featureless scales of her crotch. “But I’m still so fucking horny!”

She spent the larger portion of that evening humping the furniture and pacing around with a look on her face like she wanted to sneeze but couldn’t. Thank the demons that all the furniture was easy to clean. Every time my wife rubbed her asshole against something, she left a patch of that viscous fluid. I must have gone through two rolls of paper towels keeping the place neat.

We even tried having sex again. Fiona was too desperate to attempt any sort of roleplay and was still disappointed by the lack of sensation in her ass. I eventually came, but the experience was more stressful than enjoyable, and my wife was left doubly unfulfilled.

That night she laid in bed with her tail curled between her legs, and I fell asleep to the sounds of her scales scraping together as she humped in vain.

- 4 -

The idea behind a change party was much the same as one of those baby “gender reveal” gatherings. Invite everyone you know, and instead of having a hundred awkward conversations about the changes in your life, have all of them at once. Rip off the bandage. I couldn’t argue with the logic, but I cringed thinking of the social crucible that awaited us that day.

Fiona, however, was less apprehensive about embarrassment and more preoccupied with her continued inability to get off.

That morning I had made another attempt to offer her relief using the better half of my forearm. Her insides hugged my hand tighter than the day before, and she said she felt a twinge if something pleasurable, but we ultimately gave up, unsuccessful.

She worried to me as we laid tablecloths on the park’s picnic benches. “What if I lose control and hump one of the guests?”

I rolled my eyes. “Stop joking around.”

“I’m serious! I hardly slept at all last night. Look at these bags under my eyes.”

Demons leave it to my wife to be more concerned with the bags under her eyes than the 6 centimeters her neck had lengthened in the night, or the delicate webbing that now stretched between her fingers. She couldn’t wear her wedding band anymore. Would this be her last day with hands? With a human face? Her scales were crawling up her neck and down her arms. Her entire rotund, bipedal, draconic body was bright pink, save a white speckling that had replaced the freckles on her shoulders.

This was all visible as we finished our preparations around the park. She would be hosting her change party in the nude. There wasn’t much to see now that her chest was flat and her pussy had closed up, but her decision made me uncomfortable nonetheless.

Just before the guests arrived, I answered a call from our landlord. He said he wanted the rent on time this month, or he’d change the locks and file for eviction. I told him I understood, and hung up the phone now doubly stressed. Assuming I still had a job tomorrow, the tip from the event’s organizers would be enough to allow us to pay on time. Hopefully.

The guests soon began to trickle in, and it was a who’s who of people I didn’t want to be humiliated in front of. Our friends were all there, along with their spouses, Fiona’s parents, and, most horrifying of all, my own parents.

I had imagined a somber mood, but everyone arrived in high spirits. They laughed and joked amongst each other as if this was just another reunion. Fiona’s girlfriends oohed and awwed as they ran their hands over her scales, and she was an active participant in their conversations (which seemed to consist mostly of whispering and giggling.) She looked calm, but I knew she was struggling, resisting the urge to thrust herself against everything in sight. Luckily there were plenty of distractions. When she wasn’t checking in with the guests, she was busy ensuring that this would be the first potluck without leftovers in the history of the Empire. Her plate was constantly piled high with bbq ribs and potato salad. Her burps resonated loud enough to overcome the din of the party. The guests even began to applaud after each one as a sort of game.

My best friend Mark gave me a congratulatory slap on the back as if to say, “I know what crazy kinky stuff is going down in your bedroom, and I don’t understand, but I approve.” In reality, even I didn’t know what would be happening in my bedroom that night. I suspected he was amused to think that some private desire my wife and I shared had been revealed to the whole world, which I suppose it had.

Then came the opening of gifts. These were mostly novelty items designed to make the guests chuckle and us blush. There were giant “monster-sized” condoms large enough to fit around my arm, a vibrating bullet the size of a pool ball, and a “My First Alchemical Accident” scrapbook filled with spaces to paste photos with prompts like “my first time cumming in public,” and “my first transformed sex partner.”

As Fiona opened her presents, everyone laughed and awwed except for one couple: my parents. They were the only guests living my expectation of a serious, melancholy event. They stood some distance from the crowd dressed in austere formalwear that would have been more appropriate for an upscale indoor venue than the public park. After the gift-giving was concluded, I gathered my courage and approached them.

“How is school?” asked my father.

“Excuse me?”

He huffed, apparently annoyed that I didn’t understand. “You said you were going back to get your degree, and that she was going to support you by driving Boober. How are you going to afford school when she can’t fit in a car?”

I opened my mouth to respond, but I was interrupted by that now familiar and fateful sound of my wife’s pre-change stomach growl. Everyone turned to face her. She held her lower stomach with her eyes clenched shut, huffing and groaning as if she was giving birth. She leaned back on her tail for stability, giving everyone at the party a clear view of her smooth crotch and the oversized pucker at the base of her tail. It clenched and unclenched with each straining breath. Most people stepped back to give her space, but several of her friends ran forward to see if they could offer any help. I had only taken a single step when it happened.

She took a deep breath, bared her teeth, and pushed with all her might. A spherical bulge appeared in her crotch, stretching her scales like she had a softball under her skin. She bore down again, and a second bulge appeared next to the first. Fiona panted with relief as the pair began to sag, stretching her scales into a wrinkled sack.

“It’s balls!” whispered my friend Sal, loud enough for everyone in the silent park to hear.

Fiona’s eyes opened wide in an expression of surprise. Before our eyes, the scaled skin above her new set of testicles gathered into a bulging pocket. It was a sheathe, and it was soon pressed open by an emerging shaft. The cock unfurled into existence in a way that reminded me of righting an inside-out sweater sleeve by pushing an arm through it, only instead of a hand emerging, the tip bloomed into a large, blunt cock head.

My wife had grown a horse’s penis.

But it wasn’t just any horse cock; I recognized this horse cock. I knew every centimeter of it’s pink and brown mottled flesh. I was familiar with each pulsing vein, the rise of the medial ring, the way the head jumped and flared as Fiona flexed the muscles at its base. This was the stallion’s shaft that I pictured whenever my fantasies demanded one. This was my horse cock.

All our friends would eventually tell their own stories about where they were standing and the looks on everyone else’s faces, but I was too shocked to notice anything other than the throbbing, arm-length shaft standing from Fiona’s scaled crotch. She immediately bent over and put her webbed hands to work stroking her new cock. It was a clumsy but enthusiastic yank. Only seconds later, the blunt head of her cock swelled until its flare was the size of my two fists held together. Her round urethra twitched, then spewed a stream of pearlescent cum. Judging from the volume of the fluid, my wife had been desperate indeed.

Overwhelmed and inexperienced as she was, Fiona made no attempt to aim her powerful jets of semen. Thankfully, the only guest hit was her best friend Trisha, but she got it bad: a big glob landed straight into her shocked mouth. Later, my friend Boris would claim he saw her swallow it. The rest of the cum landed mostly on the potluck table, coating the food, dishes, and yet-uncut cake in a layer of sugar-frosting jizz.

Fiona collapsed onto her ass, and for a moment the only sound was her exhausted panting. Then Mark elbowed his girlfriend and said, “I told you the giant condoms were a good idea.” 

At this, everyone laughed, and the festivities continued. I moved to rejoin my wife, but my mother stopped me with a hand on my shoulder.

“Don’t think this lets you off the hook for grandchildren,” she said, then let me go.

By the time I pushed through the crowd to Fiona, her penis had withdrawn back into its sheath, leaving only a knob of dripping, wrinkled flesh. Being so close to the alien genitals between my wife’s legs unsettled me, but I swallowed my doubts and threw my arms around her bulk.

“Honey! Are you okay?”

She kissed me on the forehead and said she was fine-- relieved, even. I offered to help her cover herself with a tablecloth, but she declined.

“Isn’t showing off my body the point of this party?”

Much to my chagrin, the guests cheered in agreement, and the party continued much the same as it had with the notable addition of a few more furtive glances, raised eyebrows, and whispers.

As the sun dipped past the treetops, guests packed up and filtered out. The spectacle was over, and it was time for them to return to their routines. Once everyone was gone, we went to work cleaning up.

I snuck a fair few glances between my wife’s legs as she packed up the leftovers. Her plump sheathe jiggled with each step, and her testes were large enough that the longer blades of grass tickled them. I shuddered at the sight. Despite my odd sexual attractions, I was not gay. I had no idea how to process the unexpected arrival of a cock between my wife’s legs.

On the bus ride home we talked about everything other than the elephantine penis in the room. It wasn’t until we arrived home and I had taken a shower that the silence was finally broken. I emerged from the bathroom to find Fiona standing in front of the bedroom’s full-length mirror, craning her elongated neck to get a closer look at her reflection’s intimidating package.

“My balls are moving all on their own,” she said. “Do yours do that?”

“Yes,” I replied without looking. The mental image of my wife’s grapefruit-sized balls shifting in her scaled scrotum was all too vivid. “Some people call it ‘churning.’”

“I never noticed!” She looked up at me with an amused look on her face, but upon seeing my nakedness, her expression shifted. She opened her mouth to breathe, and her fanned ears lifted subtly. She looked at me like I was a steak dinner. A motion between her legs caught my attention. Her sheath was engorged, and her shaft was starting to slide free, pulsing with her heartbeat as it stretched for the floor.

Fiona licked her lips with a tongue that was long and slender. She spoke with a sultry, seductive voice.  “Why don’t you come teach your husband how to use his new equipment?”

“Ha!” I laughed. “My ‘husband.’ Very funny.”

At this, Fiona cocked her head. The length of her neck gave the gesture a decidedly inhuman quality.  “I wasn’t joking. I’m male now. That makes me your husband.”

My pulse quickened. “But your cloaca. . .”

“I don’t have one, dear. Just balls, taint, and an asshole, like you.”

Fiona’s horsecock, flacid but fully extended, rested on the floor like a sleeping python. When he noticed me staring, it stirred to life, straightening and lifting from the ground to point directly at me like some sort of weapon.

“Just because you have a penis doesn’t mean you’re a man.” I stammered, wrapping a towel around my waist.

“I want to be a man,” he said, stepping toward me. The lengthening of his neck had deepened fis voice. Earlier I thought it sounded matronly. Now it was androgynous, almost masculine. Combined with his size, lack of breasts, and general build, it would be difficult for fresh eyes to see anything other than a male creature in front of me.

“You were the one who told me to embrace the new me, whatever I became. I’m a man now.” He took another rumbling step forward. “Or if not a man, at least male.”

“Honey. . . we should talk about this.”

“Yes,” he said. “But first, I need your help. I know those hands of yours know how to handle a dick.”

He took another step closer, cock bobbing within reach.

“I’m not really feeling it,” I said, backing up.

His eyes were filled with a lust-addled haze that I recognized all too well from my own adolescence. It was single-minded lust, strong and decidedly male. He was reading the situation the way he wanted, not the way it was.

“Aw come on,” he said, closing the distance again. His cockhead was so close I could feel its heat. “You know you wanna.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “No.”

“What?” For a moment, Fiona was taken aback, then his smile returned. “You want me to dom you again?”

“No.” I repeated firmly. “I don’t want to fuck. I need time to think about all this.”

“What!?” Fiona frowned and huffed in annoyance. “Fine. I guess I’ll take care of this myself, then.” He turned and headed into the bathroom, cock bobbing painfully erect in front of him. He slammed the door.

I collapsed back onto the couch. The sound of a running shower echoed from the bathroom, followed soon by grunting, moaning, and the sound of flesh rubbing against flesh. The image of Fiona grasping his cock and pumping away dominated my thoughts. I stood, got dressed, and grabbed the car keys.

“Honey?” I called to the bathroom door. “I’m going out on a drive. I should be back soon.”

The grunting paused long enough for my new husband to bark a dismissive “Okay!”

Driving helps me think. All the nervous energy that makes organized thought impossible is focused on keeping my car on the road. I steered the vehicle that had once been Fiona’s Boober car down dark, unfamiliar streets. There was no course or destination; I followed any turn that struck my fancy and let my mind sift through the day’s events.

Fiona’s other changes had been strange and alien, but I recognized this one. My wife was now a male. He acted more like a boy than a man, but he was male. Unfortunately, the familiarity did little to ease my mind. I understood having a wife, even a wyvern wife. But a husband? As I said before, I wasn’t gay or even bi-curious. Was our sex life at an end? Our marriage was already strained from a lack of intimacy, and it now it would be even worse. Was it time to file for divorce?

This story is filled with many intimate and awkward details about my life, but I am most embarrassed to admit what happened next. As I said, I was stressed, and I drove for a long time, deep into the night. The rural roads wound hypnotically through the hills. My mind had exhausted itself running in circles. The radio was off. The heat was on. My tired blinks grew slow and long.

It seemed my eyes were only closed for a moment, but in that time the car drifted across the center line, over the shoulder, down a hill, and into a tree. Exploding airbags make a nasty wake-up call, but I’ll be damned if I wasn’t immediately more alert than I’d ever been in my life. Of course, by then the action was over. The car was some four meters downhill from the road, wedged between a boulder and the splintered remains of the tree. The engine sputtered its final breaths and all was quiet.

I was lucky to survive, and even luckier that my worst injury was a ruptured ego. That’s not to say my body was completely scratch-free. My ankle screamed in pain with each tiny motion, and I prayed to Freya it wasn’t broken. I pushed my door open and crawled from the wreckage. Standing was out of the question, so I crawled up to the side of the road and sat leaning against a tree. As I caught my breath, I pulled out my cellphone to call Fiona. No service. I spat a few curses at our cheap, useless carrier, but there was no one around to hear them.

So I waited. There was nothing else to do. The wreck and I were visible from the road, and the next driver would be sure to stop and offer help. Minutes passed. The creaking and clicking of the settling wreck soon faded and gave way to the encompassing not-silence of the country: cicadas buzzed, bats fluttered, and leaves crashed under the feet of unknown animals. I started to get nervous. I was isolated, injured, and completely alone.

My imagination went wild with stories of the corrupted creatures that lived out in the wilds. I’d be a prime target for a lucky Dakini worm. It could sneak up and paralyze me with its venom before I even noticed it. I’d be helpless to do anything but watch as it crawled up my pant-leg, pressed itself into my asshole, and took control of my body. It was a real possibility that the next time I saw Fiona, I’d be more of a twisted, sexual monstrosity than her.

Or him. I wasn’t used to thinking of Fiona as a male. Exhausted and terrified as I was, it made little difference. I missed him, and I would have given anything to have him there with me.

I awoke to the sound of tires crunching through the gravel. The sun was high in the sky. The truck pulled onto the shoulder,, and an older man in jeans and a tucked-in flannel emerged.

“Odd place to take a nap,” he joked. He helped me into the passenger seat of his truck, and I thanked him profusely. I asked him to take me to work. As much as I wanted to see Fiona again, there was no way I could miss today. If I didn’t get that rent money, we’d be homeless when our month of free government housing ran out.

As we neared civilization, I pulled out my phone to call Fiona only to find that he had left me a voicemail.

“Martin, my love?” The tinny voice on the recording was distraught, but I was overjoyed to hear my spouse. Despite being slightly lower, it was still the voice of the woman I married, and a pang of longing rose in my chest. “I guess you’re staying out late tonight. That’s fine. Listen, I’m sorry I was such a, well, a dick earlier. Please hurry home. I need--” His word was interrupted by a rumbling belch. “I love--” another inappropriate burp. I swear to you, I could hear his stomach rumble over the phone.

He was changing.

My heart raced as his pleasant voice gave way to a sequence of half-formed words that broke into grunts and growls. There was a beastial screech followed by a loud pop as his phone clattered to the ground and then silence.

My fingers were trembling as I hit the “call back” button. The phone rang, but there was no answer. I tried again and again, but all I got was the cheery, feminine voice of Fiona’s answering machine greeting. I checked the time on the voicemail. It had been left almost 12 hours ago.

We were almost at my work, but I turned to the old man and begged him to take me to my apartment. It was far, but he could hear the panic in my voice, and he agreed. When we arrived, I lowered myself from the truck, thanked my rescuer, and limped through the temporary housing complex as quickly as I could. I paused at the door to our apartment and braced myself for whatever awaited me on the other side of the door.

I took a deep breath and stepped inside.

- 5 -

“Fiona? I’m home!” I called. No answer.

The musky smell of sex was so thick in the air, I could practically taste it. The couch was absolutely drenched in cum. Then there was a shuffling sound, and I jumped. It sounded like something scratching at the walls, and it was coming from our bedroom. I crept and peered through the crack in the door.

Inside, Fiona was on the bed, contorted into the strangest position. He laid on his back with his stubby legs  and thick tail swinging high above him. The goal was obvious: he was trying, unsuccessfully, to suck his own dick.

Scaled wings that had once been his arms flapped noisily against the sheets in an attempt to keep his body from rolling this way or that. They were comically small for the size of his body, nowhere near large enough for flight. I couldn’t see his face from where I was standing, but his neck was longer, thicker, and covered in pink scales. It should have helped him reach the massive horsecock dangling above him, but the curve of his belly kept the shaft angled away from his head. A small spurt of stringy precum dribbled from his urethra and splattered onto him. He hissed in frustration, and I chuckled.

Hearing me, he craned his neck to look, and I beheld the new face of my husband for the first time. My laughter caught in my throat. There was no trace of the woman I married in his draconic head. It was draconic, yes, but the second word that jumped to my mind wasn’t ‘fearsome’ or ‘terrifying,’ but ‘cute.’ His large, dark eyes peered at me over a short, blunt muzzle. A small pair of horns adorned the top of his head, resting behind a pair of ear frills that seemed more decorative than functional. His nostril slits pulsed as he breathed.

“Fiona,” I said with genuine concern.

The creature flopped over and rose from the bed, maneuvering his tail and neck to make up for the lack of arms. He stood halfway across the bedroom and opened his maw to speak.

“Eep,” he chirped. It was a timid sound, and he looked at the ground after making it.

“You lost your voice?” I offered.

Fiona nodded, still not making eye contact. “Rrrah. Rrrawgr,” he said, drawing out the sounds as if trying to form words. His wings bobbed a shrug.

Looking now, I could see that there was something of Fiona’s human form remaining. The speckling of white scales across his face matched the pattern of the freckles I’d grown so familiar with over the years. A wave of pity and longing washed over me. I closed the distance between us and wrapped my arms around my husband’s big scaly body. He returned the gesture by folding his wings over my back and lowering his head next to mine. It was a satisfying embrace. Hugging a loved one that was far larger than myself was a comfort I hadn’t felt  since I was a young boy.

Fiona’s penis brushed between my legs, still erect. I didn’t care. I was so taken with a genuine sense of relief and love that nothing else in the world mattered. In that moment, I wouldn’t have minded if Fiona’s next change left him as nothing more than a giant walking cock and balls. We loved each other, and we had each other. Together, we were invincible.

We finished the hug, and now Fiona made eye contact with me. Blood rushed to my groin, and my penis swelled inside my pants. I wasn’t aroused, but my manhood had a habit of intruding on romantic, heartfelt moments. Fiona’s penis was as hard as ever. Veins as thick as a drinking straw throbbed across the rigid length, and his balls were swollen. It must have been incredibly uncomfortable, and there was no way he could relieve himself with those tiny wings. No wonder he’d resorted to humping the couch.

“Do you need some help with this?” I asked

He nodded.

I laid my hand on the rigid shaft and gave it a single long stroke from the head to the base. Fiona gasped at the touch. His balls drew up and the blunt head of his cock swelled as another dollop of cum dribbled from its tip. The smell was a mixture of horseflesh and male musk, but there was a strong sweetness underpinning it all.

“Follow me.”

I led him toward the bathroom. If I was going to do this, I could at least avoid making a mess. Fiona’s penis swung back and forth as he waddled behind me. I steadied it with my hand. Now I felt like I was leading him by a perverse leash. Judging by the rapid pulse I could feel through his shaft, he enjoyed it.

Once we were in the bathroom, I stripped naked. As I lowered my boxers, my own penis sprung free. I wasn’t sure why I was erect; I still didn’t lust for my husband’s body. I was anxious but excited. It felt so incredibly taboo. Jerking off a man, with an animal’s cock? It was a rush.

I stood on my tiptoes and gave Fiona a kiss on his scaled lips. His tongue pressed into my mouth, filling it. Then, without any other delays, I knelt down in front of his cock. I had always been happy with my size, but seeing my average dick dwarfed by my husband’s massive penis left me feeling inadequate.

In my haste, I’d forgotten to grab any lube, but it wasn’t a problem. I simply scooped my hands through the small puddle of precum that was forming under Fiona’s dick. I rubbed my hands together to warm my touch and grasped his shaft. It was a two-hand job.

I wasn’t quite sure how to please a horse cock, but I did my best. I rubbed the rigid, rubbery flare of his glans and massaged the mound of his medial ring. Fiona grunted, chittered, and gasped a variety of monstrous sounds that encouraged my attempt.

The experience of rubbing the alien flesh was strangely hypnotic, and I wasn’t ready when his balls lifted, his horsecock flared, and he came. It was a torrent. The stream of semen caught me right in the face, stinging my eyes and splashing into my mouth. To my great surprise, I found that it tasted very much like birthday cake, and before I knew what I was doing, I’d swallowed it. I lifted my face so that the subsequent spates of cum hit my chest. By the time the flood became a trickle, I was absolutely covered.

I wiped the jism from my face. It wasn’t as disgusting as I would have thought, perhaps due to the inoffensive taste. It was more like being covered in food than sexual gunk, but even so, it was enough to wither my own erection.

Fiona looked down at me with wide and nervous eyes. I considered how ridiculous I must have looked and burst into laughter. He joined in with a relieved nicker, and when I made it to my feet, he cooed appreciatively and nuzzled my cheek. I gave his muzzle a peck and stroked the scales of his neck like he was some sort of giant dog. For an instant, I was worried petting him like an animal would offend him, but he leaned into the touch.

He might have been satisfied with my performance, but I was left unfulfilled. Giving Fiona a handjob had been a caring, gratifying experience, but it hadn’t done anything for me sexually. My unease about the future of our relationship resurfaced as we showered away the mess. Fiona held a loofa in his mouth and scrubbed my back as I went to work wiping down his scales. When I was done, they were as shiny as polished river stones, and he squealed with delight.

The thought that I would never have another idle conversation with my soul mate put rocks in my stomach, but there was hope. He could always write his thoughts using a paper or tablet. After all, he still had his intelligence.

Or did he?

I gazed into the dark pools of his eyes once again. Yes, the mind I loved was still in tact. I was sure of it.

After the shower, we went straight to bed. I’d hardly gotten a restful hour of sleep sitting out on the side of the road, and I’m sure Fiona had tossed and turned all night trying to deal with his sexual frustrations. They say the average transformee’s libido is five times as high as a normal man’s. I couldn’t imagine. Fiona spooned me from behind and draped his wing over my shoulder. I drifted off to sleep cushioned by his hot, scaled belly.

When my eyes fluttered open, the room was dark, and there was no light coming through the windows. Fiona was gone, but I could hear his heavy footfalls elsewhere in the apartment. I checked my phone to see how long I was out. Five hours, and I had a voicemail from work.

“Fired.” The word hit harder than last night’s tree. I knew something like this was coming, but hearing it out loud was a real kick in the guts. I imagined a future where Fiona and I wandered the streets begging for food, pausing several times a day so that I could give him a sad, passionless handjob. It was a bleak picture.

The sound of shattering glassware echoed through the apartment, followed by a frustrated huff.

“Are you okay out there?” I called.

“eeEEee,” Fiona replied with an annoyed inflection that seemed to say, “Of course I am. It’s only a broken glass.”

It was true, we could always buy a replacement. If we had enough money, that was. Rent was due, and finding another job would take time. Fiona wouldn’t be able to work again unless we could find an occupation for a hyper-sexed bipedal dragon that couldn’t even speak.

I sighed and headed out to the kitchen to see what all the commotion was about. There I found Fiona wearing an apron that was comically small on his large body. He clumsily held a broom between his stubby wings and his mouth and struggled to sweep up the remains of a broken teacup. When he saw me, he chirped a greeting, set the broom aside, and lowered his head toward something on the counter: a saucer with another teacup. This, he carefully grasped between his teeth and balanced as he made his way over to me.

“For me?” I asked as he ‘handed’ it to me. It was filled with hot chocolate, my favorite.

He nodded and barked, “Rruh!”

The gesture lifted my spirits for a moment, but they dropped just as quickly. I carried my chocolate over to my laptop and opened up the airline’s website. Fiona followed me and churred quizzically.

“I have to refund the vacation,” I sighed, bringing up the reservation page.

Fiona drew back in shock and shook his head vigorously.

“Sorry, honey. I lost my job this morning, and we need to pay rent. Maybe honeymoon number three will prove to be the lucky one.”

I hovered the mouse over the refund button, but Fiona knocked my hand away with his muzzle. I reached again. He shut the laptop with a wing.

“Look, I don’t want to do it either, but we have to!” I said, getting cross.

My wyvern husband held up a wing as if to say “wait one moment,” and then dashed off looking for something. I crossed my arms and stayed put. He returned with my camera bag dangling in his muzzle.

Now I was getting frustrated. “I already told you, I lost my job.”

Fiona set the bag on the desk, then started gesturing wildly to it, me, and himself. He was trying to communicate something.  He turned around and lifted up his tail, giving me a good view of his asshole, then turned to face me and gyrated his hips, causing his balls to slap gently against his thighs.

“I’m really not in the mood to fuck right now,” I tried. He shook his head, then repeated his dance. I sighed. “Here, use the keyboard to type it out.” He shook his head again. It seemed he preferred playing charades.

Fiona huffed a sigh and tried gesturing to the two of us again.

“You and me,” I said. He nodded, then did the thrusting motion again.

“You’re horny?”

He started shaking his head, then paused and gave a shrug. He repeated the gestures.

“Us fucking?”

Another nod. Next, he pointed to the camera bag.

“You want to film us fucking?”

This guess won me a big grin as he bobbed his head enthusiastically.

“But I don’t understand. How does that--” Fiona tapped his nose to the computer, and I understood. My heart jumped into my throat “Oh, Demons. You want to sell it. You want us to make and sell a porno.”

The wyvern that was once my wife locked eyes with me and nodded a final time. I was at a loss for words. My first instinct was to dismiss the idea out of hand, but I owed Fiona proper consideration.

If Fiona wanted to sell sexy videos of himself online, that was fine by me. But that wasn’t what he was suggesting. The people who bought those kind of films, people like myself, preferred videos with at least two actors. If we really wanted to make money off of this idea, I’d have to be on-camera.

I searched for reasons why I couldn’t, but I came up empty. Everyone I knew and cared about already assumed I was fucking the creature Fiona had become, and I wasn’t some politician with a public image to defend. We were desperate for money, and a good video amateur video with a new, unique transformee could be very lucrative. I had to admit, after a week that had seen my personal barriers stripped away one after the other, co-starring in a porno would be a fitting climax.

“Okay,” I announced. “Let’s do it.”

Fiona fluttered his wings and squealed with excitement. His penis started to slip free of his sheathe, but he would have to wait. There was work to be done.

“I’ll set up the cameras. You write down some basic script ideas.”

Fiona hopped over to the computer and pecked away at the keyboard as I busied myself setting up the shots. My professional mind joined forces with my sexual deviancy, and a giddy excitement washed over me. We had the makings of an exceptionally high-quality amature kink video. I knew how to light the shots and edit the footage. On top of that, I knew what made transformee-smut sexy. When we were done, I’d pay to see it.

If I could manage to cum, that is.

By the time I’d finished setting everything up, Fiona had come up with two scripts. I read them and felt a rush between my legs.

“I love them both,” I beamed. “Looks like we’re making two videos tonight.”

Fiona flapped his wings with excitement and fetched a prop I didn’t know we had: a dog leash and collar.

“Where’d you get this?” I asked, fastening the black leather strap around his neck. He fluttered his eyes coyly. I tugged the leash to guide him into a kiss.

“Lights, camera, action!”

I entered the apartment through the front door and set my suitcase down. “Whew! What a long and difficult day at the office it’s been!” I said, trying my best to enunciate the words. “Where’s Precious?”

Right on cue, Fiona bounded up wearing the collar. He bounced around me and lapped my face with his long, serpentine tongue.

“Okay, Precious. Okay, that’s enough,” I sputtered. His tongue slipped into my mouth, but I pressed him away. He plopped down on the ground in front of me and looked up expectantly.

“We’re going to learn a new trick today. ‘blow job.’”

Fiona cocked his head that perfectly communicated stupid confusion. He was a much better actor than I was. I hooked the leash to his collar and led him to the couch. ‘Precious’ stared blankly at me as I slipped my slacks and underwear down around my ankles.

“This is a way you can help me relax after my long and difficult days at the office.”

I held on to his stubby horns and maneuvered his head to my crotch. Fiona sniffed innocently at my balls, and if I didn’t know better I’d have thought he really was a dumb pet. The touch of his breath brought me fully erect, finishing the job my anticipation had started. I guided his mouth open and taught him how to lick my dick, then to take it into his mouth. At this point, Fiona must have figured I’d played my part, and started pleasuring me with all the skill and experience of a thirty year old woman who was no stranger to sucking this particular cock.

His mouth felt different than the human mouth I was used to. What he lacked in lips, he made up for with his dexterous tongue. He spiraled it around my length and massaged it with inhuman dexterity. As ecstasy flooded my mind, the mouth around my cock ceased to be a male. It was a wyvern’s mouth, the wyvern I loved.

With that thought, I came hard. A second before my climax, Fiona pulled his mouth away so that the camera could see me shooting my load.

“Good boy,” I sighed with genuine relief. I’d done it! Not only had we gotten the shot, my husband had gotten me off. There was hope for us after all.

Fiona lapped up the cum that had landed on his snout, and I patted him on the head. “For your reward, we’re going to take a semen sample. You’re prime breeding stock, and I’ll sell it to buy a new jacket.”

Fiona ran in a small circle, wagging his tail and barking with excitement as his cock slid free from his sheathe. Apparently ‘Precious’ understood the phrase ‘semen samples.’

Before the shoot, I had opened up the pack of assorted novelty condoms we’d received as a gift and set aside the one labeled ‘horse.’ Now, I kneeled down before Fiona and unfurled the latex sheathe over his penis. It was a snug fit, and I felt a strange pride that my husband was well-hung even by horse standards.

Once the condom was in place, I went to work “milking” my pet for his precious semen. I tried focusing on the base of his shaft this time. The teasing touch drove him crazy, but the moment I touched the head of his cock, he came. Jet after jet of semen flooded into the condom. By the time his orgasmic spasms stopped, it was the size of a basketball.

I carefully removed the condom, and gave ‘Precious’ a scratch below the ear. “Good boy! With this, I’ll be able to buy a whole new suit!”

We paused a moment, and then I smiled. “I think we got it.” Fiona gave me a peck on the cheek. I was giddy as I emptied the condom down the bathroom’s drain, and the now-familiar smell of horseflesh and birthday cake filled the room. This was a blast, and it was sexy as hell.

Fiona was ready to shoot the other script immediately, but I needed time to recharge. I’d never been in a relationship with someone who had a more active libido than myself, and it turned out to be very demanding.

The next video started much the same as the first one. I entered through the front door and said a corny, overly-expository line.

“That concert was killer! I’m going to pass out the second I get in bed.”

I was playing a bachelor in this one. I walked into the bedroom and let out a big, exaggerated gasp. “What in Freya’s name?”

Fiona was draped over the bed like he owned it. He wasn’t wearing the collar this time.

“Where the hell did this wyvern come from?” I asked. “Get out of here, you beast!”

I walked over and started pulling on Fiona’s tail, trying to remove him from the bed. He was far too heavy to move, and after a few seconds he flicked his tail and threw me aside. I crashed into the dresser, causing the lamp to fall and hit my shoulder. A look of concern flashed over Fiona’s face, but when he saw I was okay, he dropped back into character. He curled his lips to show his teeth and growled so loud it shook the cameras.

“That’s it! I’m calling the cops!” I shouted, my voice quavering with a touch of genuine nervousness. The moment I turned to leave the room, a fat glob of saliva splashed onto my neck. It was an impressively long-distance shot, but I tried to filter the happiness from my surprised reaction.

“What the--” I looked at the slime on my fingers with disgust, then curiosity, then let my face relax into a vacant stare. The dragon on my bed let loose a long a breathy hiss, and beckoned me with a nod. I stumbled over in a daze.

“What did you do to me?” I asked in monotone. “I feel so blank and relaxed and. . . horny.”

Fiona locked eyes with me and started swaying his head hypnotically, like a snake-charmer’s cobra. I followed his gaze. “This is your apartment,” I murmured. “You own everything inside of it. And I am inside of it. That means you own me.” 

The dragon rolled over onto his side, and gestured to his erect horse cock. I took a step forward, then shook my head. “No. . . I can’t.”

He had only to wait. I leaned my face close to the monstrous penis. “Maybe just a taste.” I whispered, wrapping my hand around the shaft and pulling it to my mouth. I spent about a minute giving Fiona’s cock a tongue bath. Then he rolled over, lifted his ass in the air, and beckoned me with his tail.

His pucker glistened with arousal. It had picked up my fantasy cloaca’s self-lubricating capabilities, and without any sort of waste to worry about, he would always be ready to go. I whipped out my penis, hugged his tail, and guided myself inside. Despite his size, he was incredibly tight. And the muscle! The way it pulled and sucked my cock, I’d never felt anything like it before.

I let myself engage my well-practiced imagination for the first time since my birthday. It was a small alteration to remove Fiona’s dangling balls. Turning a drake into a female was much easier than turning a woman into a wyvern.

One wall of his passage was more rigid than the rest. Later, I’d learn that I was thrusting against his prostate. It had swollen to replace much of his digestive system and was absolutely massive. The head of my penis tickled it each time I rocked my hips. Fiona grunted and churred with pleasure as a flow of precum leaked from his cock. Then, his large balls lifted until they pressed against my own, and he unloaded right onto the bedspread. My own orgasm soon followed, depositing my meager spurts into his anus where it would be absorbed and converted to feed his reserves of semen like any other food he ate.

The scene ended with me curling up at the foot of my new master’s bed like a good, obedient human.

I might have felt self-conscious editing the footage if I hadn’t been riding on such an incredible emotional high. It hardly mattered how well the videos sold. I’d found a path forward with the love of my life. It turned out I didn’t have to be gay to have a fufilling sexual relationship with a male, so long as that male was Fiona.

As soon as the videos were finished, I uploaded them to a digital publishing site. After that, I went on a tour of my favorite transformee-specific kink sites and chat rooms to promote the video and post previews. Everything was now in place. All we could do was sit back and hope the videos were successful.

I shut the laptop and turned to face the reptilian visage of my husband.

“No matter what happens, I’m glad we did that,” I said, placing my hand on the side of his muzzle. “I love you, Fiona Swan, and I want the whole world to know it.”

- Epilogue -

A hollow slurp echoed out of the coconut as I sucked the last of the booze through my straw. Time for a refill. I looked up from my book to wave down a cabana boy and saw my wyvern husband approaching across the beach.

“Hello there, Finn,” I said in greeting. Finn was the new name Fiona had chosen for himself. “Having fun swimming?”

He barked happily, then leaned close to my ear. “Ahka-a-a,” he chittered quietly.

“Ah. Of course,” I smiled. That was the sound he used to tell me he was horny. It was hardly necessary, considering how expressive his horsecock was, but I humored him. Who knows what set him off this time. It was probably all the gorgeous women with painted-on swimsuits. Last week he had admitted to finding women a lot more attractive since the change.

I hooked his leash into his collar, and together we headed to the public beach showers where swimmers washed the sand and salt water from their bodies. We waited our turn, then took the position we had come to find most comfortable: Fiona bent over with his tail raised high in the air, and me behind with my sleeve rolled up. I gathered my fingertips into a point and pressed my fist into his slippery asshole with a single smooth motion. Several bystanders gasped, whispered, and laughed at the sight. It didn’t bother me anymore. My fingertips massaged the mass of Fiona’s prostate with expert technique, and a minute later, he bellowed a monstrous roar and came. Almost all of the jizz went straight down the drain. His aim was getting pretty good.

I pulled my arm free with a wet slurp and dried it on my towel. There was no point in wiping Fiona’s asshole; it would be glistening with moisture a minute later anyway.

It seemed a waste to let so much of Fiona’s cum go down the drain. It was valuable. We’d signed a deal to sell Fiona’s semen to a food manufacturer. It turned out that its composition and taste made it a great base for a fancy protein drink. One orgasm of his cum was worth about half of what I used to make after a day of shooting. Considering that Fiona came about ten times a day, we’d be living comfortably for the foreseeable future.

I’d found a new job for myself, too. One of the big transformee porno studios was impressed with the camerawork in our smut videos and had offered me a position. I started the week after we got back.

All in all, our little early-life crises turned out pretty well. We’re better off financially, I’m holding on to less emotional baggage, and our relationship has never been stronger. The only thing bugging me these days are Fiona’s suggestions that I get transformed myself.

I’ve told him a hundred times: I’m not ready for that.


The End