Pussy for a Night
Short story about a man partially transforming into his partner's pussy -- and some consequences of the merge afterward.
19 Jun 2022
CoryOtter - furaffinity.net/user/cherokeecory/
He leaned back into her. His head laid on her crotch and his legs dangled off the side of the bed. She reached her hand down and stroked through his hair lovingly. As she stroked, those hands began to glow. A pang of arousal went through both of them as her magic sank into his body.
First his skin became tacky to her touch, then it stuck. Their mismatched skin flowed together like a droplet of water rejoining a lake. The magic did not waste time. His head sank deep into her crotch, leaving only his face exposed where her genitals used to be as his body anxiously shifted below her.
Her hand drifted down from the remaining patch of hair and stroked at his chin. He bit his lip in anticipation of the coming change. That lip was released soon after by the disappearance of those teeth. Almost immediately, he lost control of his mouth. It had become nothing more than a sensitive opening, immobile and vulnerable. He could feel the heat from her abdomen warming the vestiges of his cranium within her, the line between their bodies blurred in a seemingly infinitely fine gradient of sensation. She stroked over his chin and up to his lips as they split vertically and pinched inward. His mouth filled with soft flesh that he immediately flexed with new muscles and filled the room with an embarrassing and wet squelch. His nose had joined with those lips, which had swollen into the full expression of her sex.
She had told him that had he been born with one, the pussy now on his face would have graced his own crotch. It was slightly too disproportionate on her body, and the skin tone did not match. So, despite being on her body, it was really his pussy. But as long as he was joined with her like this, he was her pussy. Even if he still had a body below hers, he was just along for the ride. He couldn't talk, anyway. He relished his imposed silence and squeezed and relaxed his new pussymouth to joyfully affirm with lewd squelches that he was nothing but her pussy.
Below her body was his own. They remained attached at the perineum by his neck. His prone body was erect, but they both ignored that. The real fun was on his face. On her crotch. She slid her fingers in and he closed his eyes. His new lips spread around her fingers, their entry sped by the moisture of his arousal that lingered just behind his vulva.
His body squirmed and his arms wrapped around her thighs. The embrace kept him from bringing his own hands up to play with his changed mouth. He'd have time for that later. Just then, he was her pussy. And she was masturbating. Her fingers slid in and out of that new cunt so slowly that it became almost painful for the man-turned-pussy. In and out, deeper and deeper her fingers worked into his sensitive and dripping maw. As she plunged those digits into him, her palm ground itself against the clitoris that replaced his nose. Her wrist pressed into the soft stretch of stomach between his eyes as those fingers hooked upward.
Both of them curled their toes as her rubbing became more vigorous and intense. The walls of his facecunt tried to cling to her fingers, but were foiled by the slickness of the arousal they applied to the invading digits. His arms hugged her thighs together, which only pinched her hand and trapped it in his mouthcunt.
They both arched their backs as an orgasm washed through them. For her, it was simply more intense, more pleasurable than a normal orgasm. But it shattered his mind. The sensation of his body disappeared in the overwhelming pleasure of the climax. His entire world became that hot, wet tunnel that squeezed and flexed around her fingers.
As the orgasm passed, she slowly slipped her fingers out of her pussy. They were so well-soaked in her arousal that even as she slid her fingers past those lips, the juices crackled from the friction. Drool ran down the man's neck and onto the mattress below. He was still; only his lips fluttered occasionally from the aftershocks of their climax. His eyes remained closed as she again stroked over that patch of hair before leaning back and falling asleep.
When he awoke the next morning, he found himself in an empty bed. He raised his arms just to feel the satisfaction of the stretch. He didn't even bother to try to yawn. Though he had separated in the night from his partner, their repeated sessions had left a mark in his mind.
The first time they had experimented with this merge, he was easily returned to his normal state. But the experiment proved a success and they found themselves merging with each other more and more often. One day, when she separated them, he had retained the vertical lips of his own labia on his face. At first he had panicked until they shortly returned to normal. It was then that he was warned that the more that he became her pussy, the more his mind adapted to the change and the longer it would take to return to normal. But that had not stopped them from slowing down. He was eager to join with her despite the consequences, and she seemed to enjoy the side effects.
The more he merged with her, the more his mental map of himself changed and the longer this ghost of proprioception would remain with him. They enjoyed that shared intimacy so much and so often that by now, the earliest his mouth would return would be at least two days past the merging. She'd also warned him that playing with his facepussy would reinforce the change in his mind and lead to him having it for longer. He put that theory to the test and proved her right.
Masturbating his cuntmaw did add time onto his change, but not that much. So they both enjoyed the change as often as they liked. Though that strategy had backfired on them more than once and left him trying to hide his facepussy behind a mask and avoiding conversations as much as possible in the first few hours of his work day. They hadn't been caught yet and his head swam with fantasies of being caught by a co-worker with a drooling slit on his face. Maybe one day he'd stay like this and never change back. The thought only sent a pang of arousal through him as he slid two digits past his vertical lips.