Tim passes out

Tim awoke naked on the floor of the kitchen, covered in slimy white virulent semen. No one else was in the room. His mind raced back over what happened... Had he been there an hour, a day? The hypersexed creature that pinned him against the counter was gone. The wall showed the sticky outline where Isabelle had been encased. She was gone too.

"It must have all been a dream, or a nightmare", he whispered to himself.

His mind raced... conflicted... He felt horny, wanting to jerk off right then and there... but his adrenaline told him danger was near, and to flee this place.

Returning to the kitchen, Tim grabbed a dishtowel and tried to wipe off the now caking slime. Grabbing a pile of clothes, he then peeked out the door. He didn't even want to spend the time getting dressed. Spying no one, he ran down the hall to his apartment, and closed the door quietly behind him.

Tim's fear abated, and the arousal took over. Unlike any urge he had experienced before... he felt the need to cum. His mind raced with images of grossly overmorphed breasts and cocks. He couldn't the image of the trans man-woman out of his mind. Or the dim thought in the corner of his mind that he had mutated too...

"I just need a hot shower to get this stuff off me... and clear my head."

Entering the bathroom, the reflection was the same frumpy mid 40s office worker reflection that had seemingly remained unchanged (and unimpressive) since his 20s. No muscle definition, a potbelly. All the signs of a sedentary white collar lifestyle.

His 3" penis was rock hard and pulsing with each heartbeat. Precum streamed from its tip forming a puddle on the floor. His mind raced to the fleshlight in the vanity drawer.

Tim looked down at the pile of clothes on the floor and saw Isabelle's cum encrusted panties.

He'd worn them before, secretly, when Isabelle was out of town.