A yawn is building up in your chest. You fight the urge to take your hand off the wheel and cover your mouth, but you can’t quite keep your eyes from shutting as your mouth opens and the soft sound escapes. When you’re able to focus on the road again, you see it - the first sign of civilization you’ve found for hours. A green sign indicating a town called Nitif located a mere five miles away.

You glance at your fuel tank. You think there’s enough left to reach town but it’s going to be close. To be honest, the gauge is already reading as empty. You’ve been driving for six hours, after all, despite your destination only being two hours out of town. If only you’d taken your cell you probably wouldn’t be in this mess, but you were the one who wanted to get away from technology, people, and everything else. It was just supposed to be you, an old typewriter, and enough paper for a few drafts of your book. 

Instead, you got lost in the middle of nowhere. You ate all the snack food you had on you and almost ran out of gas driving helplessly about in search of a person. You honestly feel a little pathetic. But you need to focus on the bright side! You found a sign. You found a town. You’re going to be fine.

Even if this was all your fault.

The town comes into view, forcing you to push aside your negativity for the moment and focus on driving. It’s nearing midnight, and while the moon above keeps it from being too dark out, there’s a serious dearth of electric lights in this town. Even the convenience store by the gas station is closed for the night, though you’re relieved to find that the gas pumps themselves are still functional. You take a moment to fill up on fuel before continuing your drive through Nitif.

It seems like a nice town. There’s a small schoolhouse, built of red brick with a big clock atop it. There’s a small diner with a cow standing in front, holding a plate of burgers. There’s even a library - or… no, you suppose there was a library. The windows are boarded up, after all. As a writer, you can’t help but think that’s a shame.

After another minute of driving, you see a hotel. You would have preferred a cheap roadside motel with your budget, but beggars can’t be choosers. You park your car outside the hotel and open the door. Your legs tremble a little as you get out of the vehicle, and you stumble forward a few steps as you adjust to being upright again. You look around real quick, to see if anyone saw you making a fool of yourself, but the town seems to be deserted this late at night. Makes sense since almost nothing is open.

You push the hotel door open and step into a brightly lit lobby. The brown carpet beneath your feet is plain but clean and plush enough that you can feel a little bounce beneath your feet. There’s a large desk in the lobby, and standing behind it is a woman wearing a blue button-up blouse, and a black knee-length skirt. She has brown hair and grey eyes. She’s tall, and slender, and looks almost delicate to your eyes. Part of you wants to flirt with this pretty girl, but another part doesn’t want to be rude. Really, though, you’re just too tired to manage it. It was a long drive.

The woman’s eyes widen slightly when you walk through the door, but only for a second. Then she puts on her best customer service smile and greets you.

“Hey there! Been a while since we got a visitor. Honestly, we get so few people through town I sorta wonder why we have a hotel at all… Well, it’s not like I’d know what to do with myself if it shut down, though!”

You’re a little taken aback by the rush of friendly energy, but still manage a small, nervous little smile. “I’m just passing through, really,” you explain to the woman. You don’t feel the need to explain how you got lost.

“Oooh, that’s a shame. But I suppose I can at least milk it with the other girls that I got a conversation with the stranger that blew through town. There’s probably going to be gossip about who you were, and what you were after, for weeks to come.”

“Is it that rare to have someone come through?” you ask, unable to hide your curiosity.

“Oh, it definitely is. We’re a real backwater. Though, honestly, part of it’s just a hunger for entertainment.”

“Yeah, I noticed the library was closed,” you admit.

The woman laughs. “The library, huh? So that’s where your brain goes when I say entertainment? You must be a real bookworm type.”

“I’m a writer,” you explain. “I guess caring about books a little comes with the territory. What happened to the place, anyway?”

“Nothing much. It was a private library, is all. When the last owner, Mrs. Finch, passed on without children… well, there was simply no one else to run it I suppose. Shame, too. Reading more would probably do the kids around here some good.”

“It really is,” you agree, wholeheartedly. Books are important to you. You don’t know that you’d really describe yourself as a bookworm, but you definitely enjoy curling up with a good novel and a cup of tea. Exploring different worlds, jumping into the heads of different people… It’s a real shame that the people in this town don’t get to enjoy that the way they could. And that’s not even considering the non-fictional reference books the townsfolk are now cut off from.

“I’m Lisa, by the way,” the woman declares, interrupting your thoughts with another smile. It’s softer this time, a little more real. You try to return it, though you can’t help but feel yours is still stiff.

“I’m Chris.”

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Chris. If you’d like, I can get you set up with a room for forty dollars tonight.”

“Forty dollars, huh?” you mutter, reaching into your pocket. You pull out a battered brown wallet with frayed edges. You flip it open to reveal your driver’s license and a single credit card. You pull out the latter and hand it over. After a quick swipe of the card and some furious typing on a keypad, you’re given a receipt and a brass key.

“Your room’s right down the hall,” Lisa informs you. “Room 101.”

“Thank you.” You give her another polite smile and head toward your room. The key slips into the lock. You push the door open and step inside, putting the key into your pants pocket alongside your wallet. 

The room inside is plain, but serviceable, and has a bathroom attached. There’s a bed, with a grey blanket and white sheets. There’s a nightstand with a lamp. There’s a small TV in the corner, though judging by the antenna it only gets local channels. You consider picking up the remote and flipping through what’s available, anyways, but when you check your watch you’re reminded of how late it is. Less than a minute to midnight. You don’t know how far you’ll have to drive tomorrow, and Lisa didn’t mention how early checkout is. It’s probably best to get some sleep.

With that in mind, you kick off your shoes and flop into the bed. Laying on your back, head on the pillows, you don’t think it’ll take long to fall asleep. You do wish you had a book to read, though, just until your eyes get tired. But you didn’t bring anything like that with you. And the local library’s closed.

Well, not that it would be open at this hour, anyway. It’s just that you can’t quite shake the thought of that dilapidated building from your mind. You’re not entirely sure why. It is a shame that it closed. Free access to books is essential. But it’s not like you to obsess over something unrelated to you like this.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice the three hands of your watch tick over and overlap, marking midnight. At the same time, you feel a strange warmth flow through your body. You shudder despite the heat, wrapping your arms about yourself for a moment until the feeling passes.

“What was that?” you mutter aloud. Then you pause. “What…?” Your voice sounds different. Softer, breathier, and of a much higher pitch. “Did someone slip some sort of weird gas into the room or something?” 

You clutch at your throat, worried about what you might be breathing in. To your surprise, something about your throat feels off. It takes you a moment to realize that your normally prominent Adam's apple has completely disappeared. Your neck is smooth. And it might just be your imagination, but you think it even feels a little more slender, too.

You sit bolt upright in bed. You don’t know what’s going on, but it’s obvious something weird is happening. Are you hallucinating? Maybe you’re dreaming? You did technically go to bed. Perhaps you fell right to sleep, and this is just a dream? But despite the bizarre nature of your troubles, they feel all too real. You need to figure out what’s going on. You need to figure out what’s causing it. And you can’t do that sitting in bed.

Having made up your mind, you swing your feet over the mattress and stand upright. Except your feet hit the floor a moment later than you expected and you end up stumbling forward a few steps and having to catch yourself on the wall. What happened? Your legs are trembling so fiercely. And what’s this? Even though you’re standing stationary, the hand that was level with your head half a second ago is now positioned above you.

Are you getting smaller? You want to shake your head and say no. It’s impossible, after all. But it’s happening right this second. Everything around you is getting bigger and bigger. Or rather you’re getting smaller and smaller. 

The moment you accept that your heart starts to pound in your chest. Not just your legs but your entire body trembles in fear as you wonder just how small you’re about to become. What if you shrink until you’re no bigger than a figurine? What if you get even smaller than that, so small people can’t even see you anymore? What if someone steps on you and doesn’t even notice? It’s a terrifying thought and a very real fear. 

But that’s all it is. The shrinking stops. You aren’t entirely sure how much height you’ve lost, but comparing yourself to the bed you think you’re probably around five foot four. That’s a lot shorter than you would have liked, but at least you aren’t a figurine. You do hope all this is reversible, though. Especially since you have the feeling it’s not over yet.

As if in answer to that thought, you feel a faint pressure in your midsection. You don’t see any changes at first, but when you pull your white tee up you realize that your waist has caved inward, forming curves that weren’t there before. Not only that, but you’re pretty sure your hips have started to expand. Your waistline is starting to get a little tight.

No, wait, it’s not just your hips, is it? You reach behind you, pressing a hand against your own ass. The blue denim is rough against your hand, but beneath that, there’s a definite softness that wasn’t there before. It’s like squeezing an extra cushy pillow. One with enough firmness to spring back the moment you’re done pressing into it. It’s not a bad feeling, really - but it’s not how your ass is supposed to feel!

“What’s happening to me?” you whisper aloud. Is it your imagination, or has your voice climbed to an even higher pitch? And when you whisper like that it sounds so breathy and feminine. If you heard that voice on the phone, you’d probably think it belonged to a cute girl.

Your chest starts to itch. You scratch at it, almost unconsciously, only to cry out in shock when your fingers brush against a nipple. The mere touch of your fingertips against the peak was enough to make it stiffen, but it was the sensation of your nail hitting the tip through your thin shirt which elicited the squeak. It was like a burst of heat and pleasure shot through you, intertwined with a faint bit of pain. So many sensations from such little contact. Since when have your nipples been capable of that?

You tug your shirt up to your chin, wondering if there are any exterior changes to match the shift in sensitivity. Your eyes widen in surprise. Your nipples are thicker and longer than they should be. Your areolas have spread to cover a significant portion of your chest. What’s more, beneath each nipple is a faint swelling. 

You pull your shirt down, desperately trying to block out what you just saw. Not that there was much to look at as of yet. They’re so small you could probably get away with calling them bug bites. But if you consider everything that’s happened to you, it’s obvious what you were staring at. You just don’t want to admit it. You want to hope that it’ll go away if you ignore it.

But life isn’t that simple. Your shirt begins to bubble outward, giving way to two gently sloping hills, which in turn swell further into soft, yet firm mountains. Your shirt starts to pull up its way up its stomach, not having enough cloth to fully cover you and your massive tits. By the time the growth stops the hem of your white top is even with your belly button. 

“No,” you whisper. “No way… No!” You bring your hands toward your chest, irrational fear giving birth to irrational ideas as you consider physically pressing your breasts back into your body. But you remember what happened when your fingers brushed your nipples. Even now every breath you take is causing your nipples to rub against your shirt, sending little sparks of pleasure through you, and that in turn is causing a warmth to spread through your groin. As horrifying as all this is, you’re honestly surprised - and scared - that it hasn’t made you hard.

As if in response to that thought, you feel a sudden pressure in your jeans. Your cock, which had been so far content to simply sit there, is suddenly pressed tight against the fabric of your boxers, forced right against the limits of your too-tight pants. You’re so hard it actually hurts. The pressure is too much to stand. You reach down to undo your zipper, allowing your cock to pop out.

It’s a relief to see it, pain aside. You’re glad to know it’s okay. In fact, for a moment, you think it might even have gotten bigger. Perhaps this transformation isn’t all bad, after all, you dare to think.

You should know better by now. Just as you start to crow, you notice your dick starting to recede past the zipper of your pants. It’s still hard. Not only that, it’s practically throbbing with need. Yet it’s shrinking. Before you can even overcome your shock and react, it slips inside your boxers.

Without a moment’s hesitation, you grab the waistband of your underwear and tug. Already strained by the expansion of your hips and ass, your boxers tear. You pull at them without concern for that, ripping them fully free of your personage and tossing them aside. Your quick actions allow you to see what happens next. You get to watch as balls pull up against your body. The testes themselves slip inside your body, while the skin itself takes the form of soft pink folds, framing a tight wet slit that wasn’t there before. Your dick continues to shrink, becoming nothing more than a nub. It still throbs with need, desperate for contact, but you fight the urge to touch your new clit. You don’t want to go down that road.

You make your way back over to the bed and sit down upon it, cradling your head in your hands. You want to believe it’s over, at least, but it isn’t. You can feel your hair shifting beneath your fingertips. The dark tresses cascade down your back, growing down to your ass. You lift a few strands in a tiny, fragile-looking hand, letting the strands slip across your slender fingers. As you watch the darkly tinted strands lighten and shift in hue, going from pitch-black to a deep red. 

Your cheek twitches. Even without being able to see it, you know your face is changing. Perhaps it’s for the best. You don’t think you’d enjoy having your old face with this body, after all. But you can’t bring yourself to be grateful for it. You’re about to lose the last bit of your old vestige, after all. Your identity, your existence as Chris Ellington is about to disappear. 

You realize you want to see it. If your face is going to disappear, you want to witness the change. You don’t entirely care how you’re about to look. You don’t have the mental space to deal with that just yet. But you need to say goodbye to the last hints of who you used to be.

You get back up to your feet. You walk to the bathroom. Between the shift in height, and the weight on your chest and ass, you’re a little unsteady. It takes a few seconds to reach your destination, and by that time your face is already halfway gone. Your cheeks are rounder. Your brown eyes, which you would have described as ovular, are now more of an almond shape. They’ve also turned green. You’re just in time to see your thin lips thicken, though. The end product is soft and kissable. Your nose shrinks, next, going from a prominent feature to more of a cute button. Even the slope of your forehead shifts, slightly, becoming less severe. And then there’s the freckles. They decorate the bridge of your nose and dust your cheeks. You’ve always thought freckles look good on a girl, but you’ve never wanted them yourself. You’ve never thought they looked that good on a guy. But now you’re...

No. You’re not ready to think about that. You focus instead on your reflection in the mirror. You think you can still see a faint glimmer of your old self in your features, but it could just as easily be your imagination. There’s no way you could ever convince anyone you’re Chris, now, in any case. You’d be hard-pressed to persuade anyone you were even related.

You feel something shifting against your skin. When you look down, you realize that it’s your white tee. The neckline is descending rapidly, going from a tight circle to a wide and loose one that shows off your cleavage. It’s also altering itself to lay more flatly against your skin. Where before your mountainous tits were being constrained by the shirt, too tightly packaged to even allow for proper breathing, now your clothes feel merely comfortably tight. It’s also covering less skin, though; your belly button is exposed. As a final touch, a splash of green appears in the center of the white shirt, spreading quickly through the fabric. It matches your eyes.

Your jeans change next. The legs pull up your body, receding until you’re wearing shorts that cover maybe a third of your thighs. There’s a ripping noise as the inside seams then come apart, and the fabric of both legs flares out around you. The torn seams meet and join, forming a blue denim skirt. It’s so short that it barely provides for modesty and so rough that it’s uncomfortable against your thighs. 

The latter problem is soon fixed, at least. The fabric softens to something like cotton, even as it changes coloration to the same deep red as your hair. As for your modesty, however, there’s little you can do. You wish desperately to cover more skin.

Again, it’s as if someone heard your thoughts and laughed at them. Your white socks begin to stretch, climbing up your legs. They stop about halfway up your thighs, maybe an inch or two beneath the hem of your skirt. Once more the material shifts in coloration, going from plain white to stripes of red and green that match the rest of your outfit. Honestly, though, you barely even notice.

You’re wearing a crop top, a skirt, and thigh-high stockings. Your hair is long, your waist is tiny, your hips and ass are huge. And you have tits.

Could you look more like a girl if you tried?

You take a deep breath and close your eyes. Your heart is beating a mile a minute. It’s such an insane situation you can barely begin to comprehend what’s going on. You know you’ve been transformed into a woman, but you don’t know how or why. You’re scared that more changes are coming, and you know there’s nothing you can do to stop them. You want to run, but you don’t know where you could go that would make any difference.

Should you just go to bed? It’s possible things will somehow start to make sense in the morning, though you don’t see how. Is it even possible for you to fall asleep after everything that's happened? You don’t know. But you can’t think of anything else you can do, so you open your eyes and turn away from the mirror to head back into the bedroom.

You stumble over a shiny black purse. It’s a small number, tiny enough to clutch in one hand, but with a long strap that can be slung over your shoulders. It wasn’t there a moment before. As hurried as you were, rushing in, you’re absolutely certain of that much.

You hesitate a moment, worried about how it might be connected to what’s going on, then gather your courage and bend to pick it up. You know it’s rude to look into a lady’s purse, but you think the circumstances call for it. Any clue can help.

The purse is mostly empty. Some makeup, a comb, and a set of keys connected to a heart-shaped keychain. There’s an inbuilt pocket with a bit of cash and a few credit cards. You’re about to give up on it when you notice the ID card, encased in plastic right at the inside lip of the purse. It features a picture of a redheaded woman, with green eyes and freckles. She’s pretty, though that feels vain to say that under the circumstances. The ID list “you” as Alexis Finch.

“Finch?” you mutter aloud. Finch. The name is familiar. You don’t know about any Alexis, but didn’t Lisasay that the library used to be run by a Mrs. Finch? And you were thinking about the library when all this began. Maybe this has something to do with that dilapidated old building? Or maybe it has something to do with Lisa herself? She was the one who told you that name.

There’s only one way to find out. You walk back to the bedroom and bend down to pick up your shoes. They’ve transformed, too, despite not being on your body. You’re now holding a pair of four-inch black heels.

Getting them on is easy enough.They fit like they were made for you. But getting around in them is something else altogether. You were already off balance. Now you’re less walking than you are stumbling forward. You find yourself pressed up against the wall as you walk, just trying to stay upright. Still, you make your way out of the room and down the hall. Lisa is busy on the computer and doesn’t notice you coming. Even when you push your way away from the wall and stumble forward to the front desk she doesn’t notice you.

Exasperated, you put your hands on the wood, lean forward, and clear your throat. “Ah-hem?”

Lisa looks up, blinking in surprise. To your surprise, a smile slips across her features when her eyes meet yours. Is she that quick to be taken in by a pretty face? Even if she is the one who made this happen, she seems far too happy to see you.

“Hey, babe! Just finished logging out for the night. You ready to head home?”

Another warm shiver runs through your being at Lisa’s words. Your hand moves without your permission, resting itself on a hip you don’t remember cocking. What’s going on? is what you want to ask, but what comes out of your mouth is something else entirely.

“What? No comment on your wife’s sexy outfit?” A weak feeling of annoyance flickers through you, matched in intensity by a faint sense of amusement. What’s happening to you?

Seemingly oblivious to your internal conflict, Lisa regards you seriously for a moment, her gray eyes flicking across your features. “It’s sexy, alright. I like it! Not exactly your normal wear, though, is it?”

You let out a short laugh, a stronger burst of mirth flooding through you. “Well, what can I say? The library’s closed. Everyone’s asleep. I thought I’d show my wife something sexy. Is that a problem?” Wife? Did I just call her my wife? What’s happening to me?

“No problem!” Lisa hurriedly assures you, holding out her hands. “Not a problem at all. I think you dress too prim and proper most of the time if anything.”

“That so?” you ask, arching an eyebrow. You expect to feel annoyed, based on your tone, but you don’t. If anything, you feel a little morose. “...Well. It’s true Mom always pressed me to cover up everything. ‘You’re going to be Nitif’s next librarian, so you need a proper image,’ or however she put it.” 

“Hey…” Lisa comes out from behind the desk and walks over to you, wrapping her arms around you. You thought she seemed delicate, before, but there’s surprising strength in her limbs, and her embrace is tight. Your body relaxes into it almost instinctively, your own muscles melting as you rest your head against Lisa’s breasts. Her body is warm and feels comfortable, the curve of her breast soft against your cheek. Listening to her heartbeat, you feel your chest begin to heat with a warmth you’ve never felt before, but instinctually recognize. It’s love. You love this woman. 

You want to panic, to protest, to complain. It’s not possible! You don’t even know her! But those emotions won’t come, and you can’t push aside the feeling in your heart. If anything it’s growing stronger the longer she holds you in her arms. It feels so good to be held, to be protected. Why are you even resisting this? 

“Feeling any better?” Lisa asks after a moment, pulling away.

Without thinking, you reach out to pull her back into the hug, resting your head against her chest. It’s only after the motion is over that you realize that you did it of your own free will. Excited, you try to pull back, to take control of the situation - but you can’t. You could come closer to her, but you can’t move away. Maybe because… you don’t want to? Mentally you might but your emotions are screaming that this is where you belong, at least for a minute more. And indeed, after that minute is up, you’re able to part.

“Much better,” you declare, mostly as a test. It seems you’re able to speak. Though when you try to add “I’m not your wife, by the way,” nothing comes out. Maybe you can only speak if you’re playing along with the scenario? Just like you can only move if you’re going along with your new identity.

“I’m glad!” Lisa says, and her soft smile causes your heart to swell. You really wish she wouldn’t look at you like that. With love, and affection, like you’re the most important thing in the world. You aren’t. That isn’t you. She’s got the wrong person. You know that, but…

But you know you’re looking at her the same way. Your heart insists that she’s your most precious person. Your cheeks are flushed bright red just because she’s smiling at you. Is it always like this? Even though you’re already married? Is it truly possible for two people to be that happy together?

“We should head home, then,” Lisa adds, unaware of your thoughts. “Unless you’d rather head out to the city and hit a club? You might get lucky in that outfit!” Her voice is teasing, and you find yourself smiling back to match. Maybe this won’t be so bad?

“No clubs tonight,” you inform her, turning toward the door. Before you could barely walk in your heels, but now you’re sashaying out with a little extra sway to your hips. It’s a little concerning, but fine. You’re still in control after all. “I was hoping to get lucky tonight, though.” You turn your head back to Lisa and wink, swept up in a flirtatious urge. “I’m not wearing any underwear.”

You can feel Lisa’s eyes on your backside as you turn back to the door. You should feel embarrassed but you don’t. You feel excited, instead. You push the door open, exit into the parking lot, and head straight to your car. Or what used to be your car. It’s transformed like the rest of your possessions, becoming a bright blue minivan, but you feel a sense of familiarity when you look at it. Opening it up, you notice piles of books in the back. You’re a little relieved not to see any toys or car seats.

You hear footsteps, and turn to see Lisa walking behind you. A smile slips unbidden to your lips, but it doesn’t feel forced upon you like the last one. It’s more like you’re just happy to see her. Is that even possible? You didn’t ask for this. Even if you were flirting earlier. Even if you do feel nothing but love and affection for her.

You could try to flee, but you can’t see it doing you any good. Even if you managed it, it seems like your entire identity has been altered. You have nowhere else to go. With that in mind, some part of you says you should go along with this, but… 

Can you really be Lisa’s wife? You don’t even know her! But you remember the way you felt in her arms, so comfortable and warm. Not just safe, but protected. It felt like that was where you belonged. You’ve never felt like that before. Not with any woman you’ve ever dated.

Lisa reaches past you to open the passenger car door, and you slip inside. Part of you wants to protest this arrangement - not driving home together, mind, but being driven. You’re pretty sure you’re usually the driver. But it’s been a long day, and it’s amusing to see Lisa acting like she’s gotten away with something as she hurriedly moves over to the driver’s side and slides into the seat next to yours.

“Just don’t get used to this,” you warn her. Not to driving, and maybe not to you. You haven’t entirely given up on the idea of getting out of this mess. If you see an opportunity, if the control wears off, you might just run for it. 

“I won’t,” Lisa promises, leaning over to plant a kiss on your cheek.

You cross your arms, like you’re annoyed, but there’s a smile on your lips and you feel nothing but happiness inside. 

Your wife drives. You pass the library, again. It’s no longer dilapidated, but stands clean and proud. You feel a sense of familiarity when you look at it. Is that where you work in this new reality, or whatever it is you’ve stumbled into? You can’t remember anything about the job, but you can picture it. Just imagining the smiling faces of your visitors as they check out books causes a sense of pride to blossom in your chest.

The final destination is only a few minutes drive. It’s a brown house with a red door and a white picket fence. There’s a garden outfront, filled with rose bushes you somehow just know you’re going to spend hours of your free time caring for. There’s a stone path that leads past the fence, through the bushes and the lawn. You follow it to arrive at the door, and reach into your purse to grab your keys. You don’t hesitate on which one, instinctively sorting through them and unlocking the door.

You step inside, and take off your shoes. You’re suddenly very aware of how short you are without them, especially when your wife comes in behind you, slips an arm around you and presses your head against her middle, right beneath her breasts.

“Soooo what was that about you not wearing any underwear?” Lisa teases you, hugging you tight for a moment before letting you go.

You flush bright red, and take a step backward, but Lisa reaches past you and closes the door, a lascivious smile on her lips. “It’s pretty late, you know. We should probably go right to bed. But I can’t help but want a nighttime snack… Think you could help me with that?”

“I could whip up a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?” you suggest. You don’t feel nervous. You feel excited and flirty, and more than a little heated. Your clit, which had finally calmed down, is now throbbing with need all over again. Your nipples are stiff and needy, and you want nothing more than to strip the fabric that’s chafing them. But you know that if you go through with this, there will be no going back.

Perhaps sensing your hesitation, Lisa frowns. “Is something wrong?”

Seeing her worried fills you with guilt, and you hurriedly shake your head. “Nothing’s wrong,” you promise her, hurriedly. You might be a victim in this, but so is Lisa. She really believes you to be her wife.

“Hey… If you’re not up to night time fun times, we can always put it off for a night. I don’t want to stress you out.”

“Put it off for a night, huh…?” you mutter to yourself. Truthfully, that’s all it would amount to. As long as you’re stuck here, you’re going to end up going through with this eventually, right? And who knows how your body will react if you try to say no. So instead, you give into the urges of your body and smile brightly up at her. “No way! I got all dressed up for you, you know!”

“That a fact? Then maybe you should show me you mean it and get undressed for me.” There’s a wariness in Lisa’s eyes, like she isn’t entirely convinced. But there’s also hunger. She wants you. And feeling wanted by such a pretty girl feels nice.

You grab hold of your green blouse, pulling it up and over your head. The soft fabric catches against your nipples and you have to fight not to let out a moan as you tear it off your head and toss it aside.

Then off goes the skirt. You put your thumbs into the waistband and roll it down, revealing your clean shaven wet pussy. You consider taking off the stockings, but the way that Lisa’s staring at you convinces you to leave them on as you stride toward her.

“You too,” you tell her, reaching out to grab ahold of her blouse. She nods, licking her lips, not resisting at all as you stand on your toes to get the blouse off her head. She’s wearing a pink bra, but it only takes a second for you to strip that as well. Your fingers are dexterous and seem to know her underwear very well. 

“You’re so cute…” Lisa whispers, above you. “I know we do this pretty much every night, but I’m never going to get used to it. Being married to someone this cute is just… It’s too good for me!”

Your heart beats fast as you look up at Lisa. You feel the warmth of love, and affection all over again as you reach up to gently cup her cheek, and then guide her head down toward yours. Standing on the very tips of your toes, you press your lips against hers. They’re soft and warm and feel so familiar it hurts. You want nothing more than to kiss her all over.

She stares into your eyes for a moment, then grabs hold of your hand and drags you to the bedroom. When she reaches it, she grabs hold of you by the waist and then throws you onto the bed, following after.

“You’re still wearing a skirt,” you protest, weakly, as your wife grabs hold of your arms and pins you against the mattress.

“Sorry, can’t wait,” Lisa responds, before lowering her mouth to your tit. Her lips seal around your nipple and suck, sending an electric current through your being. It’s like there’s a connection between your nipple and your pussy, and every time she sucks a warm need lights up in your sex, and a pleasurable need floods through you. 

“Wait,” you protest weakly. “Don’t… stop. Don’t stop.” Those aren’t quite the words you wanted to say, but as they tumble out of your mouth you realize you mean them. You don’t want her to stop.

“Your boobs are always so sensitive,” Lisa teases, shifting from one to the other. You scream out when she sucks at it, and cry out when she nips the sensitive flesh. Then she grabs hold of your breasts with her hands, and pushes against you. The feeling of her weight on your large breasts is enough to make you cry out all over again, but what really gets you is where her head ends up after she’s done pushing. Poised right above your sex.

“Ah…” is the only sound you manage to make, before her lips slip down to your slit and her tongue darts out to brush your pink folds. You squirm, pleasure running through your body. Her fingers pinch your nipple as her tongue darts across your clit, and your body arches from the jolt of want and need that runs through your being.

Not content to stop there, Lisa continues to lick and suck at your sex, occasionally shifting her nose to rub against your clit, or working her tongue across the needy button. At the same time her fingers massage your breasts, playing with your sensitive nipples until you can hardly breathe.

It’s as if you’re at the edge of a great cliff, about to tumble into darkness. One more push and you’ll be off the edge, screaming all the way down. One more lick or suck is all it’ll take. But it doesn’t come. Your wife's hands stop moving, her tongue stops playing with your being. When you look down at her, you see her grinning up at you with an evil glint in her eyes.

Then, still maintaining eye contact, she lowers her head back to your slit. Her fingers squeeze your breasts. Her tongue presses into you. Your body arches and you let out a final scream as you’re sent tumbling over the edge. The world goes black.

When you come back to yourself, your wife is lying in bed next to you. There’s a soft smile on her lips, and a gentle look in her eyes. “Feeling better?”

“What do you mean?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. I could just tell something was bugging you. Was sort of hoping the mind blowing sex would help…”

You hesitate a moment, then reach out to place another kiss on her lips, running your fingers gently through her hair as you do so. This time you probe with your tongue, not content with simply the warmth of her touch. She opens up for you and your tongue tangles with hers for a moment in passionate need.

When you part, you’re smiling. You still don’t know that you can be this woman’s wife. You don’t know that you can match up to this girl who cares about you so much. You don’t know that you can be there for her, the way she deserves. Or that you can be the woman she thinks you are.

But you do know that you want to try.

Author's Notes: Hope you enjoyed! As mentioned in the summary, I did this as part of an art trade with https://www.furaffinity.net/user/sourpaw/ - and got a sequence of Bailey, from Demon Queened, transforming in return~

If you'd like to support me, and gain early access to stories like this - though not usually written in the second person - please consider joining my patreon at https://www.patreon.com/PrincessKay