- 4 -
The idea behind a change party was much the same as one of those baby "gender reveal" gatherings. Invite everyone you know, and instead of having a hundred awkward conversations about the changes in your life, have all of them at once. Rip off the bandage. I couldn't argue with the logic, but I cringed thinking of the social crucible that awaited us that day.
Fiona, however, was less apprehensive about embarrassment and more preoccupied with her continued inability to get off.
That morning I had made another attempt to offer her relief using the better half of my forearm. Her insides hugged my hand tighter than the day before, and she said she felt a twinge if something pleasurable, but we ultimately gave up, unsuccessful.
She worried to me as we laid tablecloths on the park's picnic benches. "What if I lose control and hump one of the guests?"
I rolled my eyes. "Stop joking around."
"I'm serious! I hardly slept at all last night. Look at these bags under my eyes."
Demons leave it to my wife to be more concerned with the bags under her eyes than the 6 centimeters her neck had lengthened in the night, or the delicate webbing that now stretched between her fingers. She couldn't wear her wedding band anymore. Would this be her last day with hands? With a human face? Her scales were crawling up her neck and down her arms. Her entire rotund, bipedal, draconic body was bright pink, save a white speckling that had replaced the freckles on her shoulders.
This was all visible as we finished our preparations around the park. She would be hosting her change party in the nude. There wasn't much to see now that her chest was flat and her pussy had closed up, but her decision made me uncomfortable nonetheless.
Just before the guests arrived, I answered a call from our landlord. He said he wanted the rent on time this month, or he'd change the locks and file for eviction. I told him I understood, and hung up the phone now doubly stressed. Assuming I still had a job tomorrow, the tip from the event's organizers would be enough to allow us to pay on time. Hopefully.
The guests soon began to trickle in, and it was a who's who of people I didn't want to be humiliated in front of. Our friends were all there, along with their spouses, Fiona's parents, and, most horrifying of all, my own parents.
I had imagined a somber mood, but everyone arrived in high spirits. They laughed and joked amongst each other as if this was just another reunion. Fiona's girlfriends oohed and awwed as they ran their hands over her scales, and she was an active participant in their conversations (which seemed to consist mostly of whispering and giggling.) She looked calm, but I knew she was struggling, resisting the urge to thrust herself against everything in sight. Luckily there were plenty of distractions. When she wasn't checking in with the guests, she was busy ensuring that this would be the first potluck without leftovers in the history of the Empire. Her plate was constantly piled high with bbq ribs and potato salad. Her burps resonated loud enough to overcome the din of the party. The guests even began to applaud after each one as a sort of game.
My best friend Mark gave me a congratulatory slap on the back as if to say, "I know what crazy kinky stuff is going down in your bedroom, and I don't understand, but I approve." In reality, even I didn't know what would be happening in my bedroom that night. I suspected he was amused to think that some private desire my wife and I shared had been revealed to the whole world, which I suppose it had.
Then came the opening of gifts. These were mostly novelty items designed to make the guests chuckle and us blush. There were giant "monster-sized" condoms large enough to fit around my arm, a vibrating bullet the size of a pool ball, and a "My First Alchemical Accident" scrapbook filled with spaces to paste photos with prompts like "my first time cumming in public," and "my first transformed sex partner."
As Fiona opened her presents, everyone laughed and awwed except for one couple: my parents. They were the only guests living my expectation of a serious, melancholy event. They stood some distance from the crowd dressed in austere formalwear that would have been more appropriate for an upscale indoor venue than the public park. After the gift-giving was concluded, I gathered my courage and approached them.
"How is school?" asked my father.
"Excuse me?"
He huffed, apparently annoyed that I didn't understand. "You said you were going back to get your degree, and that she was going to support you by driving Boober. How are you going to afford school when she can't fit in a car?"
I opened my mouth to respond, but I was interrupted by that now familiar and fateful sound of my wife's pre-change stomach growl. Everyone turned to face her. She held her lower stomach with her eyes clenched shut, huffing and groaning as if she was giving birth. She leaned back on her tail for stability, giving everyone at the party a clear view of her smooth crotch and the oversized pucker at the base of her tail. It clenched and unclenched with each straining breath. Most people stepped back to give her space, but several of her friends ran forward to see if they could offer any help. I had only taken a single step when it happened.
She took a deep breath, bared her teeth, and pushed with all her might. A spherical bulge appeared in her crotch, stretching her scales like she had a softball under her skin. She bore down again, and a second bulge appeared next to the first. Fiona panted with relief as the pair began to sag, stretching her scales into a wrinkled sack.
"It's balls!" whispered my friend Sal, loud enough for everyone in the silent park to hear.
Fiona's eyes opened wide in an expression of surprise. Before our eyes, the scaled skin above her new set of testicles gathered into a bulging pocket. It was a sheathe, and it was soon pressed open by an emerging shaft. The cock unfurled into existence in a way that reminded me of righting an inside-out sweater sleeve by pushing an arm through it, only instead of a hand emerging, the tip bloomed into a large, blunt cock head.
My wife had grown a horse's penis.
But it wasn't just any horse cock; I recognized this horse cock. I knew every centimeter of it's pink and brown mottled flesh. I was familiar with each pulsing vein, the rise of the medial ring, the way the head jumped and flared as Fiona flexed the muscles at its base. This was the stallion's shaft that I pictured whenever my fantasies demanded one. This was my horse cock.
All our friends would eventually tell their own stories about where they were standing and the looks on everyone else's faces, but I was too shocked to notice anything other than the throbbing, arm-length shaft standing from Fiona's scaled crotch. She immediately bent over and put her webbed hands to work stroking her new cock. It was a clumsy but enthusiastic yank. Only seconds later, the blunt head of her cock swelled until its flare was the size of my two fists held together. Her round urethra twitched, then spewed a stream of pearlescent cum. Judging from the volume of the fluid, my wife had been desperate indeed.
Overwhelmed and inexperienced as she was, Fiona made no attempt to aim her powerful jets of semen. Thankfully, the only guest hit was her best friend Trisha, but she got it bad: a big glob landed straight into her shocked mouth. Later, my friend Boris would claim he saw her swallow it. The rest of the cum landed mostly on the potluck table, coating the food, dishes, and yet-uncut cake in a layer of sugar-frosting jizz.
Fiona collapsed onto her ass, and for a moment the only sound was her exhausted panting. Then Mark elbowed his girlfriend and said, "I told you the giant condoms were a good idea."
At this, everyone laughed, and the festivities continued. I moved to rejoin my wife, but my mother stopped me with a hand on my shoulder.
