- 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.

“Careful!”

“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.

“Um.”

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.

Yet.

The End