Curses

(edited 21-09)

Chapter 1: Librarian's Aide

It all began with a curse. I'm not saying I didn't maybe deserve one—in a general sort of way. But the offence in question was declining a lovely woman's invitation for romance. Politely, I'd thought. She wore umpteen brightly colored layers, and she looked a little crazy, but I've never held that against anyone. It was only that I was travel-weary, not to mention that her partner was within earshot. In fact, said friend was toying with a knife when the curse was pronounced:

"Should someone entertain a sexual fantasy in your vicinity in the future, you will fulfill it ... until dawn, should they wish it so."

At the time it just sounded like dangerous advice. Sensing I was not welcome, I drank up and left. I didn't even grasp that I'd been cursed until later that evening. I suppose I'd been given a running start—there must have been a lot of fantasies bouncing around that place.

I'd flown into town late that afternoon for a business meeting the next day. To save money I had booked ahead for a night at the "Thistle Dew" Motel—which was, as the name said, just barely adequate for my needs. It was in a slightly down-at-the-heel part of town, but within walking distance of the next day's meeting and likewise of the roadhouse I'd just left.

Once outside, I shook my head to clear it, although I'd only been there long enough for a burger and a few pints of indifferent lager. Truly, I felt fine. But as I got to my motel, I had the weird sensation of my suit shifting and binding in odd places. Before I could even take stock, I felt an urge to enter the room next to mine.

Without knocking, I strode in to find a naked woman sitting cross-legged on the bed, rotating a purple dildo in her pussy. The thing was, I was a single guy and she was pretty in a librarian sort of way. But even so, walking in on a lady's private wank would ordinarily have caused me to retreat in shame. Instead, I stood admiring the view.

She had large and creamy breasts, with puffy nipples. But her black hair was even shorter than mine, in a severe cut. She even wore black-framed glasses. I wondered if she really needed them for the job to hand.

"There you are," she said. "I had to start without you."

I still didn't twig to any link to the curse, although my situation was admittedly a strange one. I finally discovered how strange when I glanced away from my horny neighbor to my reflection in the motel mirror.

My shirt and jacket were tight because a modest set of boobs were now squashed inside. And, likewise, it was broadened hips that stretched my trousers. My face was thinner and softer, and my brown hair was fuller, although the same length and color. Or nearly the same—there were red highlights you'd call auburn. Meanwhile my belt hung loose around my diminished waist, and—the most alarming change—the crotch of my pants hung slack for want of contents.

I was, in short, a lanky female version of myself.

Not too bad looking either, if I do say it (in retrospect), but at that moment I relied on whatever compulsion that had brought me in this door to get me through the total confusion that gripped me.

'Marion the librarian', my host, laughed. "Stop preening yourself and get over here." To clear a path for me, she pulled her toy out of her snatch. The thing was a clever blend of phallus and tongue, and she slipped it into her mouth as she spread her legs wider. Oddly enough, although I was still dazed, I somehow knew what to do. Not the full arc of this evening's entertainment, as yet; but my first order of business was clear.

So, beyond the obvious cunt licking that Marion was signaling for, I knew to start by stripping for her, and I knew how to do it for maximum effect. She didn't strike me as an aficionado of the bump-and-grind style. I simply did a slow peel—first the jacket and tie I'd already loosened at the pub, then the business casual shirt I'd worn for travel. She made some smacky noises on the dildo, so I arched my back to let my proud nipples make themselves known through my tight cotton vest.

That earned a nod from her, which encouraged me to milk the moment (as it were). I lifted my arms high behind my head to force my boobies forward, and then snagged my vest collar from above, to ease it up and off—thus exposing my new chest for further inspection. Not least by myself ... I couldn't help but curiously brush my thumb across one firm tit and down my side. That brought a shiver of pleasure that caught my breath, and the sensation of a most unfamiliar leakage below. It was like a phallic pre-come event, only stronger.

My wide-eyed gasp was acknowledged with a smile—at least the corners of her mouth twitched up around the wang-tongue on which she was still thoughtfully sucking. This was followed by another nod when I finally gripped my belt buckle and lifted a shapely eyebrow in question.

Having been given consent to continue, I whipped off my belt with a flourish, and then skinned off my pants and shoes. My boxers I left until I'd stepped over to Marion's bed. Thrusting my hips forward, I wriggled an invitation for her to pull the clearly masculine garment down to my ankles. Then I lifted one dainty foot free and set it on the bed next to her, knee swung outboard to improve her view.

My reward was her sex-toy being deftly inserted into my waiting pussy. I had no trouble with moving on to finally service her, since the sensations reporting in from my own newly acquired 'love tunnel' already had me dropping to my knees.

Once I'd found myself trembling between her legs, I dimly thought I was on relatively familiar ground. I had always felt I was pretty good at cunnilingus. And perhaps I was—for a man. But I discovered that my new form brought a deeper expertise, so to speak. And that was before I found I now possessed a foot-long tongue.

It couldn't have surprised her (this was her fantasy, after all), but she squealed all the same and began to writhe uncontrollably. Pitching and moaning, she howled out her approval as I swirled about her interior. Even with the mad events so far—and the unimagined input from my own cunt, which was still clutching the rude toy—I found her response to my lingual efforts to be most gratifying.

And so I focused on sounding her depths. I pushed against the hot flesh within and she came again, this time fiercely clamping down on me. When she finally released her inner grip, I had another try ... only to find her cunt wall had somehow retreated several inches deeper. This we repeated three times—me seeking and her cumming, and then tempting me further—until she laughed and pushed my head out of her tasty crotch.

I climbed up over her body, because I knew she now wanted to tongue wrestle— which was great, because her tongue was now as long as mine. At the same time she was keen to get on with the boob mashing and pussy-grinding. As for the tittie thing, well, I've always been up for sweaty skin-on-skin. And that last ... Oh My God! As a man, I'd always wondered how women, when together, could get by without penetration. But my new clit was even more sensitive than my old knob. We both came, swept into continuous, exhausting, monster orgasms.

Given the difficulty in focusing under such conditions, it took me longer than it should have to notice my clit had begun to grow. At somewhere around the stiff three-inch mark, it caught my attention—and Marion's—by slipping into alignment with her. Now lodged in place, it continued to gain length and girth. As before, while this was part of my librarian friend's fantasy, she seemed surprised and responded with a gasp and a wail, and began to writhe wildly. Well, more wildly—she'd already seemed to lose control.

Whether she'd truly willed it or not, she was coming along for the ride, as my mademoiselle-meat began to fill her ... and as I'd discovered by probing with my tongue earlier, her tunnel was magically ready for a sturdy fourteen inches or so.

Said pussy began to clutch and spasm fiercely, so the progress of my thrusting was slow. By the time I finally bottomed out with my knob somewhere deep in her belly, she was limp (on the outside, that is—her cunny-action continued, all along its improbable depth). I, on the other hand, was monstrously stiff. I soon felt that good old sensation of surging cum driving down my clit-cock; but I was not prepared for how much there would be. As I continued pumping my jism, she revived enough to wail again, louder now, as her belly swelled visibly and her own orgasm reached its peak.

By then, it was probably about midnight. Having come, Marion promptly passed out and, although I was still lodged inside her, I'd clearly been dismissed.

Once her inner grip finally slackened, I gently pulled myself free of her still quaking cunny and stood. To my surprise, my pseudo-wang continued to stand proudly erect in front of me; the cum that coated it looked like the real deal.

Gazing at this lovely creature, I thought about how her tongue had grown, and how her pussy had deepened to take me. Her body had morphed to accommodate her fantasy, and now I wondered if this had extended to her breasts. Perhaps they'd gained a few sizes while she'd waited for me ... she'd caressed and kissed them as much as she'd done mine.

Briefly, I also wondered if it was possible for me to knock her up. But both the male and female bits of me agreed that this was her problem, and that I had my own just now. Marian's screams hadn't brought the cops (yet), but I decided it was safer to shower in my own room. By the wording of the curse, she presumably had my services until dawn, but I didn't think she'd wake anytime soon.

So I pulled on my pants—there was now enough slack at waist and belly to simply lash my problematically erect cock at the vertical until I got back to my room. My jacket went over top (with my room key ready in an accessible pocket), and then I bundled the rest of my clothes together in a bath towel. After a quick peek outside, I fled to my own digs next door.

Having dumped my stuff on a chair, I stepped gracefully into the tub. I had intended to shower, but there was some bubble bath on the counter. That seemed like a nice way to quietly ponder what the hell had just happened, and soon I was easing into a sea of foam. Once ensconced in the relaxing heat, I realized my sturdy clit-cock planned to continue standing proud. It was projecting like a mast out of the soapy wavelets.

The thing still glistened with pussy juices and cum and it occurred to me that if I sat up, it would probably be within reach of my mouth. Carefully I eased up and forward, stalking my own Moby Dick, until its shaft rested in the hollow between my firm new breasts—and its knob touched my chin.

Well, that was promising. I slipped my long tongue around its tasty collar—as if it to keep it from getting away—and held it tight for inspection. Apart from being way bigger than the cock I'd started the day with, it seemed perfectly normal (given that my new pussy was hiding below the bubbly surface). Then I felt its skin slide a bit in my tongue-tied grip, and I guessed that my clit hood must have morphed into a foreskin as it grew, and was now stretched over the shaft I was staring at.

I knew I was stalling, but I felt compelled to polish the knob in front of me. I leaned in and let it stretch my plump lips, and slobbered my way up and down until its fat glans was deep inside my mouth. THAT was purely great! Actually, I'd also hit the limit of my comfort zone. Not because I was sucking a cock—after all, it was mine—but on account of gag reflex issues.

Only, I was circling around the edge of a cum, and suddenly knew that any slack foreskin must be there to give this lady-pecker room to grow more—which it did, until it was pressed against my tonsils. I gasped and sputtered some ... but now it was jammed in there: to pull it free, I'd first have to lean way forward so as to climb out of the tub. So I carried on helplessly bobbing, like I was on some sort of sex maddened auto-pilot.

Then a mind-numbing orgasm took hold, and I found myself drinking a pint of my own spunk. So there was that.

After, I leaned back in my bath and reviewed myself in the mirror mounted opposite. I approved of what I saw above the rim of the tub: a pretty face, framed with bubbles and decorated with cum, over an impressively long neck that led my eyes to a set of very comfortable breasts (which is to say, I was busy kneading them at the time). Also, said knockers were mounted with stiff and teasing nipples, which when tugged would stay there, all spiky. And then there was the top of my already recovering hard-on.

Rinsing off and toweling down, I noticed it was well past midnight. A quick sleep, supposing I didn't play with myself any more, followed by a dawn reset—and then I'd be me again, and might even get to my morning meeting before heading for home.