The Grand Karma
By Xerox2
twitter.com/XeroxToo
furaffinity.net/user/xerox2

(18+) The following story contains extreme-- and extremely bizarre-- sexual content and should only be enjoyed by those readers who have achieved both an appropriate age and an appropriate level of depravity.

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The valet opened the front doors of The Grand Karma. Swirls of snow gusted into the opulent entryway before the huddled couple. As eager as Richard Camdyn was to get out of the biting cold, he allowed his wife, Michelle, to pass first. The click clack of their dress shoes echoed through the old building’s mahogany-walled foyer, and it calmed Richard. They were home.

“You really don’t know about Suto?” asked Michelle.

Richard shrugged and offered a sheepish grin. The subject had come up at Michelle’s work party, and he’d once again embarrassed himself with his ignorance.

Michelle’s hand tightened around his. “Of course you don’t, my sweet, sweet angel. Well, when a woman in Suto reaches her 20th birthday, she must either choose to leave the town or undergo a radical alchemical transformation.”

“Like in Jizza?” Richard asked, pressing the elevator call button.

Michelle shook her head and smiled. “Close! But no. In Jizza, the transformations are all different, and there’s no laws enforcing it. In Suto, they use a very refined process to produce a demon-cum solution that results in the same transformation for each woman. They drink the potions willingly and become these funny little monkey-like creatures with hand-feet, prehensile tails, and--”

“Let me guess: a giant pussy right on their face,” he sneered.

“No, no, nothing like that.” Michelle chuckled. “Though they do end up with a massive cock that nearly drags on the ground when they walk.”

Richard stuck out his tongue. The elevator doors slid open, and they stepped inside.

“I don’t see why someone would willingly transform themselves,” he said. “It’s so. . . deprived”

“It’s ‘depraved,’ sweety.” Michelle corrected. “And of course you don’t understand, you beautiful hunk. For you, any change would be a downgrade.” She kissed his hand. “Some people aren’t so lucky.”

A commotion at the building’s entryway drew the couple’s attention. A man in a shabby overcoat squeezed through the building’s front door, shouldered the valet aside, and dashed for the elevator.

“Hold the door!” he shouted as he ran, boots leaving muddy prints on the marble floor.

“Speaking of those less fortunate. . .” Michelle whispered, jabbing the close-door button. Back in the foyer, the valet spoke urgently into his radio. The elevator doors slid toward each other, but the man’s arm burst through at the last second and he squeezed inside.

“Thankya kindly.” The man pressed the top floor’s button with a bulbous gloved fingertip and leaned back against the stainless steel wall. His clothes hung strangely on his body, and between his wide-brimmed hat, the coat, the gloves, and the boots, hardly a single inch of his skin was visible. The elevator filled with a musky, sweaty scent. Richard stared until Michelle cleared her throat.

“I’m headed to Suto next month on business, and you, my love, are going to join me.” she said, ignoring the man. “Think of it like a vacation.”

“That could be interesting, as long as you don’t go native on me.”

Michelle gagged. “Fat chance. I may not be a sculpted adonis like yourself, but I’m perfectly happy with my current body. No giant cocks or tails for me, thankyouverymuch. Besides, in Suto all the women are completely subservient to the men.”

Richard snorted. “Well that wouldn’t work for us. Can you imagine me making all the plans?”

“It would be a disaster, my love.”

The elevator doors opened onto the seventh floor, and Michelle and Richard hustled out, eager to get away from the strange, smelly man. They followed the velvet-wallpapered hallway to their condo. Several doors down, another couple was leaning against the wall, making out like a pair of horny teens. It was Mr. and Mrs Kinsey. Michelle despised the Kinseys. They were another young, successful couple and were always making a show of how perfect their life was. Richard constantly fell for their phoney charms, and that made her hate them even more.

Michelle wrinkled her nose and cleared her throat as she unlocked the door. Megana Kinsey caught Michelle’s eyes and started to lead her husband Peter back inside. His hand slapped Megana’s generous ass, and the couple giggled with delight as the door closed behind them.

The shabby man had spent the entire elevator ride listening to the rich couple’s conversation. His mind twisted any glimpses of their lives into hate. They were prudish, rich, and worst of all, happy. The whole building was full of such people. How he hated them all!

He fingered the vial in his coat pocket, the instrument of these fools’ comeuppance. Security would soon catch him and throw him out of the building, but not before he had a chance to empty the pure, unrefined demon cum into the building’s water supply. Perhaps this sample came from the cock of the building’s namesake: the lord of all demons, Karma himself! The thought made him giddy.

He rubbed his lumpy, misshapen body through his overcoat and moaned. His legs jerked with pleasure, and a dribble of sexual release ran down his pantleg into his boot. If the d-cum had even a fraction of the effect of the pinpoint drop he’d taken, they wouldn’t need to take an expensive flight to gawk at mutated freaks.

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Michelle slammed the condo door behind them and shook her head.  “First the man in the elevator, now the Kinseys. I swear, The Grand Karma used to have standards.”

“I don’t know. The Kinseys looked like they were having a good time.” Richard spun around and pulled Michelle into an embrace. “How would you like to have a little fun with your trophy husband tonight?” he whispered in her ear. 

Michelle sighed, gave him a single peck on the neck, and pulled back. He knew what she was going to say before she opened her mouth.

“It’s been a long night, Richard. I think I’m just going to head to bed.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty beat myself,” he said, trying to hide his disappointment. What was the point of owning an extra-large ultra-luxury bed if they rarely used it for anything but sleeping?

Once Michelle had finished brushing her teeth, Richard shut himself in the bathroom for his nightly masturbation session. It made him feel a little better. When he emerged, his wife was already deep asleep.

Michelle kept her eyes closed as Richard climbed into bed. Best he thought she was sleeping after giving that excuse.

“Pleasant dreams, love,” he whispered. He leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek, his lips hardly touching her skin. She supposed this was an attempt to be considerate, but the touch left a tickle that lingered like a fly landing on her cheek. She endured this dreadful itch until Richard’s breathing slowed and grew steady.

Michelle scratched her cheek, turned over, opened her eyes, and glared at the slack-jawed face of her husband. Having a mostly-empty head must make it easy to fall asleep. She envied the sweet oaf. She slid out from the toasty covers and stood in the bedroom’s chilly December air. Goosepimples rose from her skin. She wrapped herself in a cashmere blanket and headed to the bathroom for her own secret, nightly ritual.

Michelle locked the bathroom door. She pushed the rubber stopper into the bathtub’s drain and turned the hot water on full blast. The room filled with lavender-scented steam, and she let the blanket fall to the ground with a contented sigh.

The mirror fogged, and her reflection faded into a flesh-colored ghost. She liked it better that way. It stopped her from picking out some new wrinkle or freckle to obsess over. She sat on the bath mat and leaned her back against the warm porcelain of the filling tub, taking deep breaths of the heavy, humid air. Often, she would begin to feel drowsy before she even set foot in the bath. Tonight, she felt it more than ever.

Her lungs were like heaters, infusing her blood with energy that loosened the knots in her muscles and relaxed her joints. Her mind grew sluggish and peaceful, thoughts drifting back to the party, to how handsome Richard looked all dressed up, to how much better he looked with said clothes removed. An absent-minded smile spread across her lips. Most women had to settle for less. She recalled the caress of his strong fingers on her hip and started to regret turning him down for sex. A sensual fantasy danced through her head.

Water began gurgling into the tub’s upper drain, snapping Michelle back to reality. Her hand had somehow found its way between her legs, and she lifted it to find her fingers covered with a sheen of her own fluids. She’d never dozed off while drawing the bath before, and now she was masturbating in her sleep? 

Something was very wrong here.

Worry would have been a rational reaction, but her mind was too warm and fuzzy to produce anxious thoughts. Even so, it concluded that it would be best to skip the bath and rejoin Richard in bed. She turned slowly, leaned against the tub, and reached for the stopper at the bottom. The water enveloped her arm like a hot sleeve, gripping her, begging her to slide inside. A tingle shot down her arm and landed in her womb. The muscles of her sex fluttered of their own accord, releasing a string of fem-lube onto the expensive wool blanket below.

She couldn’t remember why she had her hand on the stopper, but the rest of her body was jealous of her arm. Gravity weighed her limbs like hunks of lead, but she heaved and slid herself over the edge of the tub, flopping into the water. The tingling warmth hugged every inch and crevice of her body, amplifying the relaxing properties of the steam tenfold. She couldn’t summon the strength to move a muscle.

She closed her eyes. With each slow breath, sensation fled her body. Her fingertips and toes melted away; she could no longer feel them, then her hands and feet. Each rise and fall of her chest saw another inch of limb dissolve away. It was a very curious, but not at all unpleasant sensation. The event horizon crept toward her knees and elbows, and she felt it in her breasts. They were already floating in the water, but now the bite of the chill air on her nipples simply disappeared. The cool, lapping surface retreated from her bosom, as if the water was growing deeper and deeper. It was a euphoric, otherworldly feeling.

Another shuddering, blissful spasm wracked what was left of her body. Its force hit hardest between her legs, straining her sex so hard that a rush of hot bathwater flooded inside. She gasped at the sudden, pleasurable invasion. Warmth bloomed in her belly, reminding her of the sensation of Richard coming inside. Ah, Richard. She would have traded anything to have him in the bath with her at that moment, powerful arms massaging her torso, hard cock pressing at her opening. The water was wonderful, but she craved something more substantial inside of her. She reached between her legs to satisfy herself.

But she couldn’t reach.

That was odd. Her eyes fluttered open to see what was the matter. What they saw turned her blood to ice. Her arms were gone, reduced to nothing more than blunt nubs protruding from her shoulders. Her legs had suffered the same fate. Their stumps were still able to brush the far end of the tub, only because her torso had lengthened considerably. It was like she’d been stretched out like a piece of human taffy. Her curly patch of pubic hair seemed lay miles away at the end of a narrow, cylindrical body bereft of breasts or belly-button. Panic set in. She wiggled her nub-limbs and twisted her back in a desperate attempt to escape the bath, but all the motion made her slip forward. She gasped a breath to scream just before her head plunged underwater.

Michelle held her breath and thrashed about in the tub. Up and down lost their distinction as she twisted and curled her elongated body in unfamiliar, alien ways. Sometimes her back would feel the cold air, but when she tried to surface, it would sink again and some other part of her body would splash free. When her head broke the water she gasped fleeting breaths of air before plunging back into the drink. She swallowed mouthfuls of bathwater, and the terrible warmth that was once so comforting blazed through her insides.

The impacts of her stumpy limbs against the tub ceased as they were fully absorbed. Additional vertebrae popped and cracked into existence, allowing her flailing to twist her body into even more confusing positions. At one point, her nose and mouth slammed against her pussy. It felt large and swollen and seemed to envelop her face before she pulled herself free.

The tub grew around her, and opportunities to breathe came less frequently. Her lungs felt like they were on fire. She was drowning. Tracking the sensations of her bizarre transformation took a back seat to a pure, primal need for air. The edges of her vision grew dark. Her thrashing slowed.

Then she saw it. Hazy through the bathwater, the tub’s black, rubber plug sat inches from her face. With every remaining ounce of effort, she craned her neck, opened her mouth, and clamped the little silver chain floating in the water between her teeth. She gave a weak tug, then another, and then, on her third and final tug, the stopper came free with a resonating THUGK.

Water rushed toward the drain, pulling her and the stopper with it. She kept the chain clenched between her jaws and stretched her body straight, trying not to get sucked down the drain. The water gurgled away, and Michelle collapsed against the damp porcelain, gasping the sweet, abundant air.

None of the signals coming from her body made a lick of sense. Parts of her midriff laid atop her lower back and chest. Her face felt numb and ridgid. The shower curtain and tiled walls rose above her like the walls of a skyscraper.

Once she’d caught her breath, she ventured a glance back at the rest of her body. Even this motion felt bizarre, as her head now seemed to be fixed pointing the same direction as her spine. Turning her head the normal way sent her tubular body rolling onto its side. It was only by laying on her stomach and making a head-cocking motion that she could turn to glimpse the extent of her transformation.

Her new body stretched away in a lengthy series of chaotic twists and coils. Strands of hair from her head stuck wetly to her skin. Skin, for even though her body resembled a snake’s, she had no scales. A star-shaped freckle that used to be just above her left hip now marked a distant section of her tube-like body. She tried to scream, but the only sound to escape her lips was a dry hiss. Somewhere distant, her stomach sank.

Michelle’s panic gave way to utterly sober shock. She flexed her back experimentally, watching various segments of her length jerk in response. If she straightened herself completely, she stretched from the drain to the opposite edge of the tub where she would usually rest her head. Her body was as thick as her neck for its entire length, quickly tapering to a blunt point at the far end. She curled around to investigate her backside and nearly puked at what she found. Instead of a snakelike tail, her body ended with a single, puffy sphincter, like a worm’s. A spike of dread shot down Michelle’s length, landing with a clench in the wrinkled pucker before her eyes. It was nearly as large as her head. Disgust of the disproportionate, lewd opening overpowered her shock and flushed her cheeks. She flicked her backside out of sight. What would Richard think?

Richard! If she could get his attention, he could drive her to the hospital. If they got there quick enough, they might be able to cure her!

Michelle’s shock, threatening to give way to panic, was stabilized by the realization of a single, material goal: get to Richard.

This proved more difficult than she anticipated. Sliding out of the tub was surprisingly easy thanks to her powerful core muscles. She landed in an awkward heap on the cashmere blanket and looked up at the towering bathroom door. It was closed and locked. Damn. Stretching up to the handle was out of the question, but if she could climb onto the counter, she’d at least be able to reach it.

She inched toward the toilet by stretching her head forward, pressing it against the ground, and dragging the rest of her body behind her. By the time she arrived, she was getting pretty good at moving around. A surge of pride welled up within her, but it quickly soured. How could she be proud of learning how to inch around in this disgusting body? Tears did not come, but only because she no longer seemed capable of crying. She had to make it to the hospital before she was trapped this way forever.

The toilet’s lid was up. Typical Richard. She gathered her body into a sloppy coil and stretched her head up high enough to give the seat a push. It landed with a victorious clatter. Bracing her chin atop the seat cover, she started pulling the rest of her body up. It was strenuous at first, but once she’d lifted half her length atop the seat, the rest came easily. From here, reaching the counter was as easy as repeating the motion. Easier, even, since she could hook her neck around the cold, metal faucet. Soon her body was coiled up inside the sink’s enamel basin. She shivered, and her body to rubbed against itself in all sorts of weird ways.

The steam had settled at this point, leaving the room coated in droplets of cold water. The mirror was still foggy, but even so, she couldn’t recognize the distorted form staring back at her. She cleared the condensation by swiping her neck across the freezing glass in a clumsy zig-zag. Had her face gone the same wormy way as her backside? Would she look in the mirror and find nothing but a pair of eyes perched atop another desperately-pursing sphincter? She took a deep breath and faced the mirror.

Michelle found herself face-to-face with a snake. She tensed in surprise and promptly felt stupid for being afraid of her own reflection. Yes, this bizarre image was now “her” reflection. At second glance, she wasn’t quite a regular snake. All the shapes were the same, but her face was covered in the same uncannily-human skin as the rest of her body. Her lips had also survived the transformation, but they now capped a wide mouth at the end of a short, blunt muzzle. Just above, a pair of beady, black eyes stared back at her, as empty and cold as any natural snake’s. She shivered under their gaze and turned away. She felt sick.

The cold porcelain on all that hairless skin was quickly sapping Michelle’s body heat. It was time to move on. The door handle was only a foot and a half from the counter, but the drop to the floor was a vast canyon. She wrapped her neck around the faucet and reached out to the handle with her rear. The metal was slippery with moisture, and each time her pucker brushed it, a jolt of unwanted pleasure shot up her guts. She tried her best to ignore the sensations as she looped her ass-end around the handle. With a twist and a tug, the door popped open. Michelle used her grip on the handle as an anchor to lower herself to the hardwood floor of the hallway.

She’d done it! But victory was fleeting. The bathwater on her skin evaporated what little heat wasn’t being sucked away by the floor and chilled her to the core. She started shivering uncontrollably. She slithered silently toward the bed, now more motivated by the primal urge for heat than any hope of finding a cure. Richard’s feet protruded from the blankets, leaving an opening in the covers between his ankles. It was via this toasty cave that Michelle entered the bed.

Concerns of waking her husband melted in the under-blanket warmth. The touch of his flesh was like wrapping winter-bit hands around a mug of hot chocolate. It was intoxicating. She snuggled her clammy, wet body up between his thighs, rubbing the remaining droplets of bathwater onto his skin. Her nose bumped against something wrinkled and soft, and her nostrils filled with the distinctive scent of ball sweat. She chuckled silently to herself and gave his sack an appreciative lick with her long, forked tongue.

Just beyond Richard’s balls lay the burning epicenter of his body heat: his penis. It rose proudly erect from his crotch, tenting the covers. Michelle coiled around the turgid spire, delighting in the heat delivered by those big veins rising from its surface. He must have been having quite the dream to prompt a boner this hard.

Richard’s dream was taking a strange turn.

It started normally enough. He was seated next to Michelle at the conference table of one of her big executive meetings. Everyone was sitting up straight, tense, as if the slightest mistake would spell the end of their careers. A man in a pin-stripe Armani suit stood in the front looking angry enough to kill with a glare.

“The option grants are vesting behind schedule!” he shouted, pounding his fist on the table. “I need answers! Richard, you’re in charge of this deal. What’s your take?”

Every head in the room turned to face him.

“I, uh…” he stammered, sweat beading on his forehead. He glanced over to Michelle for help. Her mouth was closed up, gone, lips and all, and she shrugged helplessly at him. Hope was fading. Then her eyes lit up. She dove under the table, pulled his slacks off with impossible speed, and started rubbing up and down his legs. Her hands were cool and clammy, but the touch was electric. He gasped.

The other members of the meeting furrowed their brows but said nothing. The Armani suit blinked intently, then cocked his head as it to say “well? Go on.”

Beneath the table, Michelle’s massage climbed toward Richard’s crotch. Her fingertips reached into his boxers and tickled his balls, then moved upward and freed his erection via the slit in the front. Her clammy hands wrapped around his shaft and stroked in a bizarre, spiraling touch that was unlike anything he’d ever felt. A moan escaped his lips before he could catch it.

The rest of the attendees nodded and whispered approvingly amongst each other. Whatever Michelle was doing, he hoped she didn’t stop!

Back under the covers, Michelle slithered around Richard’s cock in a tight spiral, struggling to maximize its touch against her skin. Each rub sent sparks of bliss sizzling through her body, and she reveled in mindless satisfaction. But despite her efforts, a dreadful chill remained deep in her core. The sensitive flesh of her backside’s oversized sphincter provided the only means of attacking the inner-chill. She rubbed it greedily against Richard’s groin, leaving a trail of slick juices wherever it touched. Still the deep cold remained.

Finally, she could bear it no longer. She pressed her drooling pucker against Richard’s burning glans. Her opening flexed and pursed against the turgid flesh, giving it an alien kiss. Gods, it felt like it belonged inside of her. She pressed down. After a brief resistance, Richard’s cockhead popped inside. Her guts blazed white-hot, like running hot water over an icy-numb hand. There was no discomfort, only pleasure.

Her pucker clenched around the sweltering shaft, drawing it deeper. This version of her anus didn’t seem to have a “push” mode; it was only pull, pull pull, and she couldn’t control it. It worked like some horrible parasite’s mouth, swallowing the cock one inch at a time until the hungry orifice was slurping against the organ’s base. Michelle ground her pucker against Richard’s thatch of pubic hair. Worry, doubt, and terror could not penetrate her lust’s cocoon.

Inside his dream, Richard was experiencing the blow job to end all blow jobs. How this was possible, he wasn’t sure. His cock felt like it was inside a tunnel of lips, all kissing and squeezing around his shaft. But despite the pleasure, the board members’ stares made him uncomfortable. He mumbled some excuse about needing to use the restroom and stood, only to find that the only thing left of his wife were a pair of plump, lipsticked lips, locked around the base of his cock. They were attached to a long, fleshy tube that lifted itself out of Michelle’s empty clothes and flopped onto the table. It whipped about like the tail of a giant sperm, sending papers flying. Everyone in attendance stood and began to applaud.

Richard grasped the disembodied lips and tried to yank the creature away, but it did not budge. His tugging only summoned a wave of pleasure that weakened his knees and sent him pitching forward atop the table. There he gave in and started stroking away at the bizarre monstrosity, moaning and gasping to a standing ovation and calls for his promotion.

It was the best sex Michelle ever had. Richard’s length filled her like a hot steel rod, keeping her last seven inches perfectly straight while the rest of her body writhed and flopped around in bliss. She only wished that he would thrust inside of her a little. Trying to bounce herself was no use; her opening had an iron grip around the base of his cock.

Richard’s hand shot under the covers and grabbed Michelle. He yanked hard, and a flash of pain shot through Michelle’s body. Thankfully, instead of a second yank his hand loosened and started stroking her up and down. Michelle hissed in pleasure, her entire body one giant erogenous zone. But the earlier agony of the tug had sobered her. Surely that should have been enough to pull her free of his dick. She hadn’t budged an inch from his base.

Michelle curled around to investigate, resting her chin on Richard’s balls. As close as she was to the action, she couldn’t see where her husband's flesh ended and hers began. There wasn’t a hint of the wrinkled sphincter, not even a crease, just an even gradient between Richard’s dark tan and her own white-pale skin. However, his cock was still there. She could still feel its heat and stiffness in her innards. It throbbed in time with his heartbeat, about half as fast as her own near-panic flutter. With each steady pulse its heat spread, blurring the boundary between shaft and passage. Soon, she could no longer feel his penis at all, only that steady, powerful heartbeat, forcing his intense warmth up the length of her body. In its wake, thick veins bulged from the surface of her skin, throbbing not with her own heartbeat, but with Richard’s.

“Gods,” she screamed internally, “I’m becoming his cock!”

In outright panic, she slithered over the edge of the bed, but her connection to Richard caught her before she hit the floor. She braced against the mattress’s edge and pulled with all her might, trying to ignore the involuntary shudders of pleasure from Richard’s stroking. His touch coaxed the pulsing, blissful heat up her body until it was in her chest. Her own heart raced frantically as the wave washed over it. Then it slowed and went quiet. All that remained was Richard’s steady beat.

She was no longer stuck to him. Now, she was a part of him.

Michelle’s two most primal instincts, Lust and Terror, fought for control of her brain. Richard stroked again, tugging her back under the covers. The sheets swept across her skin, kindling a storm of blissful sparks that filled her guts and left her twitching. Lust took the lead. Her stomach flipped, and ulped a glob of something familiar and salty into her mouth: Richard’s semen. Terror regained control. She didn’t want to be a cock! She had to stop him!

Michelle slithered up Richard’s chest and rose from the sheets like a cobra ready to strike. His eyes were half open, staring ahead in vacant pleasure like those of a junkie who’d just had his fix. His hands continued their blissful pumping, pushing his heartbeat to the back of her skull. Her head swam, flesh swelling with each pulse. Richard’s hot blood ran through her brain, trading logical thought for pure rapturous pleasure. What was her plan again? It couldn’t have been to stop him; she was too close to coming.

Richard stroked wildly, and he gave a loud and guttural moan. Michelle’s entire being flooded with pleasure. A pressure appeared way down at her base and triggered a reflex she’d never felt before. It was like swallowing, but in reverse. Interior muscles squeezed in a wave, starting from her backside and traveling up her length. Several tense seconds later, it reached the back of her throat. She opened her mouth and spewed. A great glob of white gunk splattered against Richard’s face, followed by another and another. She closed her mouth, but it spurted from her nostrils like a lewd sneeze, slapping wetly against her husband’s stomach.

The orgasmic contractions slowed, and the last glob of cum dribbled from Michelle’s lips. Her mind returned in sudden, terrible clarity. She tried to scream but couldn’t draw a breath. It wasn’t necessary anymore, with Richard’s blood pumping through her veins. He would breathe for both of them from now on.

Richard awoke coughing and sputtering mouthfuls of salty slime. He tried opening his eyes, but it stung. God, it was all over his face! It smelled like semen, but he’d never cum so much in his life. He sat up and wiped his face clean, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the darkness.

Then he caught a movement under the sheets and froze. There was something crawling on top of him! He threw back the covers and found himself face to face with the beady eyes of a--

“SNAKE!”

Richard slapped the snake aside and scrambled out of bed, knocking side-lamp over in the process. He made it two steps before the snake, which seemed to be following him, wrapped around his ankle and sent him tumbling to the floor. What ensued was a wrestling match for the ages: man versus beast. It was only after he landed a couple good punches and started throttling the creature that he realized something was very wrong. He paused, both hands wrapped around the creature’s neck. Why did his dick hurt so much? Glancing at his crotch, he found his cock had grown absolutely massive, as thick as both his wrists together and stretching on and on. . . He followed its length to the floor, around his leg, and up past his hands where it ended in the increasingly purple head of a panicked-looking snake. His grip relaxed a little, and the snake’s head sank into a roll of extra flesh, leaving just the tip of its nose poking free into the air. It was a foreskin. The foreskin of a penis.

“It’s my. . . my dick?”

He carefully set the snake down, now very aware that he could feel the cold floor beneath its body as surely as it was his own. It moved with a mind of its own, lifting its head and looking around blindly. He gently pulled the foreskin back from its head, and it regarded him with its black, emotionless eyes.

It was too dark in the bedroom, so Richard stood and made his way to the bathroom. The snake dragged a bit before coiling around his leg.

“Sorry,” he muttered. It felt strange apologizing to his dick, but it seemed like the right thing to do.

The bathroom’s light was already on, and under its glow the examination began in earnest. The snake performed its own investigation of their shared body, twisting around to view the situation from all sorts of angles.

The first thing Richard noticed were his balls. They were at least three times as large as normal, stretching his sack until it brushed against his inner thighs. Just above rose the snake’s body. Its pale skin was covered in blue and purple veins, some bulged from the surface as thick as his finger, others were barely visible. Its flesh was firm but had some give under his fingers, reminding him, fittingly enough, of a mostly-erect penis. The body-- or shaft-- was incredibly long, perhaps as long as he was tall. At the moment, its foreskin looked like a collar of loose, wrinkled flesh. It gathered behind a fleshy ridge that rose from the back of the snake’s head and looked remarkably like a human glans. It, and the rest of the snake’s bulbous head, were bright pink.

The snake uncoiled from his leg (an indescribably strange sensation) and examined itself in the mirror. Its face was snakelike, but any serpentine aggression was softened by its pink, swollen shape. The foreskin’s frenulum attached, in a wrinkled V, to the front center of its lower jaw, just below a pair of very human-looking lips. To Richard’s surprise, the creature opened its mouth and stuck out its tongue, turning its head this way and that, examining itself. Its maw split Richard’s cockhead gruesomely wide. His skin crawled at the sight.

He stared, stunned as his new dick checked itself out in the mirror. He didn’t have the first clue what to do. Then it struck him. Michelle could help! She always knew what to do.

“Michelle?” he called. No answer.

Richard held the snake awkwardly in his hands and searched the condo. “Michelle? Michelle!?”

There was no sign of her. She would have taken her phone if she’d left, and it was still on the bedside table. His snake-dick struggled in his grasp, first a little, then stronger and stronger until it slipped free of his hand. When he looked down, it stared him straight in the eyes.

“M-Michelle?” he ventured.

The snake’s cheeks blushed an even brighter pink. It nodded and looked away.

“Michelle!?” he cried, bending down so they were face-to-face. “By Freya, What happened?”

Michelle opened her mouth to speak, but only a strand of clear, viscous fluid escaped her lips. Richard tenderly wiped it away. The tickle of his touch made him suck a breath.

“You can’t talk?”

She shook her head. Her eyes bulged with panic. Richard tried to console her by petting her on the head like an animal.

“There there,” he cooed, ignoring the shivers of pleasure that accompanied each stroke.  “Let’s get you something to write with.”

Michelle bobbed her head in agreement, and Richard gathered her up and stood to find a pen. His mind was reeling. Bizarre, sexual transformations were not unheard of, but that it was something that happened to other people. Never once in his life had he considered that he and Michelle might be affected. He gently set her down atop her favorite mahogany roll top desk and rummaged through the drawers. The green felt surface tickled her belly.

“Okay, honey. Here’s a sheet of paper and a box of sharpies. Now open up, and I’ll just set this in your mouth like-- there! Is that too deep?”

Michelle propped the tip of the sharpie against the paper and pressed the marker a couple inches deeper into her mouth. Richard’s legs nearly buckled. As overwhelming as the feeling of the sharpie entering what was essentially his urethra was, there was no pain. His wife began to write.

“GO,” she started

Each penstroke sent a curious vibration up the marker’s shaft and into his own. Michelle rolled it over her tongue to find a better grip, and Richard swallowed a moan. He shouldn’t be getting off to this. It was an emergency! But on the other hand, there couldn’t be any harm in simply enjoying the sensations, so long as Michelle didn’t notice.

“GO TO T--”

Michelle undulated against the desk. Her lettering grew sloppy. Richard gripped the chair and bit his lower lip. This pleasure had a teasing, incomplete quality to it, like he was only using a single finger to stroke the back of his cockhead. He yearned to take hold of his shaft and jack off properly.

“You’re doing great,” he breathed, petting her back as if encouraging her.

She pressed against his hand and started on the next letter. A coil near her base rubbed up and down his thigh. He ventured petting her with a second hand, and she leaned into that touch as well. The marker slid from her mouth and clattered to the desk, shiny with saliva or precum. Richard felt strangely empty with it gone. Michelle slithered to the box of still-capped sharpies and sucked one between her lips.  This time, Richard failed to hold his moan. His wife gave no sign that she’d heard him. She was too busy swallowing another marker, pressing it deep into the back of her throat.

Now the barriers were broken. Richard wrapped both hands around his wife’s girth and started stroking, trying to find the best way to masturbate a six-foot cock. A delightful stretching in his urethra informed him that Michelle had swallowed a third sharpie. He wondered if this was sex or masturbation. Certainly there were two minds at work, each finding their own forms of pleasure, but with their shared sensations there was no need for communication, no asking of consent. It made the act sinfully self-indulgent.

For perhaps the first time in their relationship, Michelle’s thoughts were a lot less complicated. She was only curious just how many of these deliciously thick markers she could fit into her mouth. Every stretch of her gullet brought untold pleasure, and she wanted more, more, more! It was a fitting attitude for a penis.

Richard’s hands coaxed another glob of precum into her mouth, and she used the extra lubricant to slide sharpie number four all the way into the back of her throat, delighting in the click of the other markers shifting against each other.

Richard gripped below her head and everything went dark. At first she thought she’d gone blind with pleasure, but it was only her foreskin devouring her face again. The extra flesh stretched tight around her distended jaw. The only sounds she heard were the dull roar of covered ears and Richard’s muffled moans. He massaged the rubbery ridge of her ultra-sensitive glans, using the loose skin in lieu of lube.

Michelle surrendered to Richard’s touch. Far away, she felt his hefty balls lift. She opened her mouth impossibly wide in a silent scream of pleasure and, with a series of reverse-swallows, pumped an extraordinary amount of cum out into a world she couldn’t see. The deluge swept the clutch of markers from her throat.

Ah, sweet relief. 

She relished every orgasmic aftershock, then opened her mouth and rubbed her head against the desk until her foreskin hood slipped back and settled behind her softening head. She found a disaster zone. Big globs of semen covered the desk, dribbled down the green-glass lamp and embroidered curtains. The sheet of paper she’d been writing on was soaked.

“Oh, honey. I’m sorry,” Richard groaned. “I should have aimed you better.”

Aimed me like a dick, Michelle thought, to minimize the mess made by a dick. Was that all she was now? Just some filthy bodypart made for sex and pleasure? She sure had the libido of one. Her cum-soaked note read merely “GO TO TH,” a testament to how quickly lust had overwhelmed her mind. Continuing was impossible; her mouth was far too tender to hold a marker.

Michelle knew she should have felt depressed or furious, but all she could manage was a dull shame. Her mind was all fuzzy and soft with unwanted afterglow bliss. Richard was asking her questions, but it all seemed like so much effort to pay attention. She flipped onto her back and shimmied backward, pulling her foreskin over her face. She hid in her dark home, but she could never escape Richard’s heartbeat throbbing through her body.

Richard was at a loss. Terror and embarrassment blew away his afterglow. He stood at the desk, waiting for Michelle to emerge and finish offering her plan. Minutes later, he decided he couldn’t wait any longer and carefully draped Michelle’s body over his shoulders. Her head dangled down past his belly button. A flash of perverse pride crossed Richard’s mind, but he shoved it down. She was his wife, dammit, not his cock! He had to find out what happened.

It did not take him long to find the remnants of Michelle’s hair inside the bathtub and the wet trail leading into the bedroom. This was where it had happened, but how? Thinking hard was thirsty work. He turned on the faucet and filled a cup of water.

The sound of running water woke Michelle from her stupor, and the answer came to her in a flash. The bath, the moisture she’d rubbed on Richard’s skin. . .  each transformation started with water!

She flailed her head against Richard’s chest, trying to free herself from her foreskin. Richard’s hand soon came to her rescue, pulling her hood back just in time to reveal him raising the cup of tainted water to his lips.

Michelle lashed out, striking the cup with her head and knocking it to the floor. Richard jumped in surprise, then coughed. She watched in horror as he swallowed the mouthful he’d already taken.

When he finally stopped coughing, Richard glared at his wife. “Jeeze, Michelle! You nearly gave me a heart attack. What did that cup do to you anyway?”

A growing tingling in his mouth answered his question. She was trying to stop him from drinking the water.

And she’d failed.

The tingling grew into a burning buzz that enveloped everything from his lips to his esophagus. His stomach heaved. He leaned over the sink to vomit, and several of his teeth tinkled into the basin. In horror, he reached his fingers into his mouth. The slightest touch dislodged the rest of his teeth, and he spat them out like a mouthful of gravel. His face flushed, and all at once his mouth and throat squeezed in a strange, unnatural way. Sweat dripped down his blushing forehead as he waited for the transformation to complete itself, hoping and praying that it wouldn’t leave him a disfigured freak. Muscles inside his mouth gave a series of involuntary pulses that reminded him of post-orgasm contractions, and then relaxed and were still.

Everything inside his mouth felt terribly wrong. Slowly, he rose to face the mirror, fearing what he might find. To his relief, he looked the same. He breathed a sigh, and a bloom of flesh sputtered free from his lips. Meaty pink ribbons protruded from his lips like the lettuce of a skin sandwich. They were impossible to mistake. Inner labia.

Opening his mouth, Richard found its landscape radically altered. Gone were his teeth and gums. His tongue emerged from a tight opening that seemed to be the new back of his throat, though it was much closer to the front of his mouth than before. He slid a shaking finger through the unfamiliar folds and crevices. When it probed the opening, his tongue undulated and pulled his fingertip inside. He expected to gag but felt no such urge. The passage squeezed around the invading finger, coaxing it deeper. His thick digit filled his mouth pleasantly. He started pistoning the finger in and out of his mouth, eyes rolling back into his head. The bathroom filled with a wet slicking sound.

Michelle watched in a mix of horror and arousal as her husband finger-fucked his throat. She was numb to Richard’s body other than his balls and shaft, and she grew jealous of the attention his new hole was getting. All she could feel was an increase in Richard’s heart rate that made her cockhead face swell with a purple blush.

Richard pressed a second finger past his lips and gave a moan that mingled with an awkward queefing belch. A few strokes later, his knees buckled and his body gave a series of pleasured jerks that signaled his first female orgasm. His hand slurped free of his lips and dropped to the floor.

“Oh wow,” he sighed, “that was thumthing elth.”

He caught his wife’s gaze and blushed.

“Thanks for thaving me.”

Michelle looked at the floor. She’d been too slow.

Richard took hold of her head and turned her to face him. “Don’t be thad. Imagine what I’d look like if I’d thwallowed the whole glass. At leath I can thill talk.”

She looked at her husband. His lisp undermined the seriousness of his words, causing his inner labia to flirt past his lips each time he pronounced an S. He sucked them back inside. What an adorable oaf. She loved this man. Michelle leaned in and pressed her lips against his. Richard’s heart pounded in his chest, and he gave her head an appreciative stroke that felt very nice indeed.

Michelle’s tongue slipped past her lips and tasted his pussy, but he pulled away.

“What are we going to do?” he asked, looking very stressed.

Right. They were in a crisis. Michelle was embarrassed at how badly she’d misread the moment. She buried the invasive sexual thoughts long enough to form a plan and pointed toward the condo’s front door.

Richard followed her gaze. “Go to your parent’s house?”

She shook her head.

“The hospital?” he lisped. Hothpital.

She nodded. It was one thing being married to this dummy, but being attached to him? Freya help them. Richard stood, leaned over the sink, and drizzled a mouthful of pussy juice into the basin, apparently unable to swallow it. A square of TP got the rest.

“I’ll get dressed.” Drethed.

He settled on a pair of old sweatpants.

“In you go!” he said, lifting Michelle from his shoulders and lowering her into the darkness below.

What was he doing? She wasn’t some obscene body part to be hidden away. She was his wife! She pressed her head free from his waistband and glared.

“Just for a little while, I swear. Only in public.”

Begrudgingly, she sank back into his sweatpants. It’s not like he’d look weird waddling around with a beach-ball-sized bulge in his pants, but it was fine. Whatever. She didn’t exactly want to be seen like this anyway. Not that anyone would recognize her.

Dangling inside the cotton prison was extremely disorienting. Michelle grew dizzy. She coiled around his thighs and found that ignoring all the jostling and rubbing made things better. Soon she was placed on a surface and heard the slam of the car door.

She could have poked her head out during the car ride, but she was still too chuffed about the indignity of being shoved into his sweatpants like nothing more than a simple cock. These thoughts turned about in her mind for a little while. Then Richard’s hand reached down and pulled her into the light.

Unflattering fluorescent light illuminated the metal walls of a small room. Michelle was confused. How much time had passed? This wasn’t their car; it looked more like a bathroom stall. She looked down to see a giant toilet bowl inches from her face. 

“Hey honey,” Richard cooed. “How are you doing? Good?”

Michelle’s eyes bulged. She tried to retreat back to the safety of Richard’s sweatpants, but he held firm.

“I’m so thorry. I held it as long ath I could, but I really gotta go.”

He lowered her head down into the bowl, and no matter how hard she struggled, she couldn’t overpower him.

“I’m thorry!” he whispered.

Then she felt it. A rush of heat started in her base and swam up her length with an inevitable strength. There was no swallowing it. She shut her mouth in a final act of desperate defiance.

The urine shot out of her nose.

It didn’t burn, but she could certainly smell it. The torrent of acrid fluid splashed water from the toilet bowl into her face. She relaxed in defeat.

“There we go, just let it out,” he whisper-lisped. “I’m sorry. I had to go.”

She knew he had no choice, but that didn’t make it any less degrading. An eternity later, the flow slowed to a trickle. He held her in place for two final spurts of urine, and she did a reverse-swallow to produce another mouthful that she spat into the toilet.

Richard dabbed her face clean with toilet paper, whispering apologies and telling her how great she did, how brave she was, and so on. Michelle didn’t want to hear it. She sank back into his sweatpants, now with the salty, chlorinated-pool-water taste of urine on her tongue.

Back in the emergency waiting room, Richard found several of his neighbors from The Grand Karma. One resident he recognized only from his lime green pullover sweater. It was now stretched over several rows of large, wobbly breasts. His arms had become a pair of long, serpentine necks with salamander-like heads, and his original head had changed to match. The extra heads were still threaded through the arm-holes of his pullover, scrunching it up around his necks and pulling it up to reveal the bottom row of his new breasts. The center head looked worriedly around the room, while the other two licked at the dark nubs of his exposed nipples.

Megana Kinsey was there too. Richard considered saying hello, but the severe frown plastered on her mousy features told him she wanted to be left alone. Mr. Kinsey was nowhere to be seen. It was the first time he’d ever seen the two of them apart.

Richard was almost too ashamed of the bathroom experience to bring Michelle out when the doctors asked. The attending physicians administered a whole slew of tests, all the while hmming and ahhhing and jotting down notes. An older woman doctor took Michelle as far from Richard as she could reach and interviewed her. While his dick distantly twitched responses to a series of “yes” or “no” questions, another doctor, this one younger and male, asked him to open wide.

The doc shined a light and squinted at the pussy behind his blushing patient's lips. He produced a black rubber device that looked an awful lot like a dildo connected to the hand-pump of a blood pressure cuff. The doctor emptied a little tube of lubricant onto it and slid it into Richard’s mouth without a hint of pain. It was cold.

Richard glanced over to Michelle. She was watching her doctor slide a finger over a plaque with the alphabet on it, nodding when she pointed to the desired letter. He was glad she wasn’t watching his doctor stuff six inches of fake dick down his throat.

“Tap me on the hand when this gets uncomfortable,” his doctor instructed.

Richard, now worried, nodded obediently. The doctor repeatedly squeezed the little air bladder. With each pump, the shaft expanded further down his throat-pussy toward the base of his neck. A gloved hand over Richard’s mouth kept the shaft from sliding out. By the time Richard tapped the doctor’s hand, his chin was pointed to the ceiling, his eyes were watering, and his neck was visibly distended. The doctor withdrew the dildo without letting it deflate. Richard’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull at the sight of the forearm-sized shaft.

This time when he glanced over Michelle was looking, jaw hanging open in shock. He turned his eyes in shame.

The tests complete, Michelle’s doctor presented her final analysis. The changes were permanent, of course. They almost always were. The words had a grim finality that dropped rocks into Richard’s stomach. If Richard actually wanted to get rocks into his stomach, she explained, they’d have to enter by way of Michelle’s mouth. As the only one with a working throat, she would be the one eating for the two of them.

The doctor stood and gave Richard a handshake and Michelle a very professional touch on the cheek.

“It may be difficult, but you two will find a new normal,” she said with a warm smile. “Everyone adapts.”