I want to start by saying that I've never shared this story with anyone before, but it has become too much to keep to myself. And, for you to appreciate what I'm going to tell you, it's important to know something about who I was before my transformation: My real name is Cathy, and I was a thirty-five year old wife and mom living in the suburbs. In some ways, I was really average. I was popular in high school, but when I got pregnant just after graduation, my whole life changed. I quit going to college, moved in with my fiancΓ©, and was married with children within less than two years. My body started to change and I gained a considerable amount of weight. As the years went by, I noticed the swell of my belly, thighs, and hips as I softened from the comfortable routine of my suburban life.
Never having been especially shy or self-conscious, I hadn't bothered to change my swimsuit wardrobe and was still wearing bikinis well after I'd become noticeably too fat for them. Especially after the kids were born, I figured that my boobs were nice and full even if my thighs had grown and my belly hung in a pronounced muffin-top around the waist band of my bikini bottoms. The real problem was my ass, which had always been big, but reached a wobbling (almost comical) size after I had gained the weight. It was certainly responsible for the occasional snickering or staring that I noticed as I perused the boardwalk, particularly since the elastic was overstretched, causing it to occasionally ride up on me. I didn't mind on account of the fact that any attention from strangers seemed to fill the void of disinterest left by my husband.
But my new body became suddenly real to me years ago as I was enjoying just another late summer's day down at the seashore. I had just finished my last swim of the day and was making my way back to my girlfriend's beach house when I noticed someone behind me. A couple of quick glances over my shoulder revealed a young guy with a backwards cap and some fraternity letters across his t-shirt. I didn't think much of it until I was almost back to the house and there were now six or seven of them gathered and following me at a conspicuous distance. I felt unusually self-conscious because I knew they were staring at my ass and making jokes about it. I was embarrassed and remember considering at that moment that I should get some new swimsuits.
The three blocks between the beach and the house were uncomfortable, but I was relieved to finally get there and use the exterior shower to wash away the sweat and sand from my long afternoon. I waited for the water to get nice and warm before stepping beneath the nozzle. I closed my eyes to the rush of water over my face as I soaped and rinsed my hair. The muted sound of children playing in the neighbors' yard filled my ears when suddenly I felt two hands grasping my hips. I turned with a start, realizing that I was surrounded by the boys who'd followed me back from the beach. They were all smiling and staring at me and one of them was holding the bag with my lotions, towels, and keys to the house. I was breathless and panicked as he grabbed me again and pulled me close. He started to kiss my neck and move his hands down my back, but almost instantly lifted his face to my ear and snorted loudly as he slapped both hands down on my butt, eliciting a muffled wave of laughter from his friends. Before I could think he had hooked his thumbs under my bikini bottom and pulled it down sharply so that I could feel my cheeks pop out with an awkward jiggle. The boys behind me were suddenly grabbing at my ass and reaching between my legs as he unfastened my top and wrestled it away. One of them reached over my forehead and flattened my nose into a snout, eliciting a chorus of snorts and squeals from the giggling boys. I thought of punching and kicking, but what about the kids next door? And what if they ran off with my bag so I couldn't get back into the house? How would I explain that to my friend and her husband when they got home with their own children? So I endured the humiliation of kneeling down and taking each of them into my mouth, sucking seven loads of cum out onto my face. Then, in the ultimate climax of my shame, they squashed my nose back and took a picture of my dripping face, disfigured by the fingers up my nose and still gagging on the remnants of their cream. Then they gave me back my bikini and let me dress, seeking not to call attention to their crime. For some reason that seemed the worst part, having to put myself back together in front of them.
When they left I turned the shower back on, washing the slippery mess off of my face and out of my hair. Then I got into my car and drove home in silent agony. At some point during that trip everything changed for me and I lost my conscience. I hated my husband, resented my children and felt a deep loathing for everything.
At home, I began to wear longer skirts and one-piece bathing suits, avoiding the mirrors in the bedroom and bathroom when I was nude. On the occasions that I did see myself, I felt like I was looking at the pig they had made me into. Sometimes I'd even stand in the mirror and, in grotesque self-parody, I'd squash my nose and oink just to see how it looked. Other times I'd turn around and bend over to look at my ass in the bathroom mirror. It was wide and deep and I had a slight pink rash on the inside where my butt pressed together and I thought of how much it looked like a pig's ass.
My sex life was limited to the darkness of my bedroom where giving blowjobs seemed to become my personal duty. It was like I was making up for what had happened by drinking gallons of my husband's cum over the sixteen years of our marriage. Sex with my husband had been on a downhill slide since before we were married and we had arrived at an unspoken bargain about fucking: because he had a lower sex drive, I really had to go after it, and this usually meant lots of sucking cock and licking balls and ass while I jerked him off. He was an unimaginative man with a habit for Internet porn that he thought was secret to me, but was obvious from his need to see my face splashed with cum or to hear me gag on his dick or (worst of all) make me taste it just after being lodged up my asshole. That was his favorite, and he knew I wouldn't refuse because I needed the physical contact to get off. So I got used to the taste of my ass and, in exchange, he'd fuck me for a few minutes before rolling off and going to the bathroom to wash himself. It became an act of revenge to force the filthy taste of my kisses into his mouth. But things were about to change again, just as our story begins.
My husband just bought a little motorboat and we decided to do some lake-front camping. As I was packing for the trip, I stumbled upon the bikini I was wearing that day at the beach when everything changed. What was it doing here? I thought I'd thrown it out! My eyes welled up as I held it to my lips, imagining I could still smell the ocean on it. For reasons I'll never be able to explain, I felt a surge of angry glee and stuffed it in my gym bag.