Does your fantasy partner enjoy giving oral sex?

Author’s note: Hi guys! Glad people are enjoying the story so far! I’ve got some plans on where things are going, but please leave some comments on what you’re liking or hoping to see as the chapters go on! Seeing likes and comments helps me get motivated and lets me know what’s working and what’s exciting. I’m always happy to see what people are thinking or what’s catching their attention. Anyway, back to the story!

Does your fantasy partner enjoy giving oral sex?

***

Charlie had been frantically trying to clean the house for when Tori arrived tomorrow. The sheets were washed, he had done his best to mop the floors without twisting his body so much. He nearly threw himself into the lake when he had to bend over and grab the sheets out of the washing machine. And again to pull them out of the dryer. And a third time trying to get the stupid fitted sheet under all four corners of the mattress. The dildo made movement possible, it did not make anything comfortable. Especially once the lube dried up. At the end of the transformations, lube would never be a consideration again. But until those new glands were built, it very much was a consideration now.

He wanted to just lie down, but lacked the strength. He was terrified of her arriving, and so felt compelled to clean. A messy house most certainly would not be a contributing factor to her leaving him. He couldn’t bring himself to read any of his texts or listen to any of the voicemails. He couldn’t survive her anger in her absence.

What could he possibly say to calm her fury? How could he possibly make this right? He rehearsed conversations in his head, tried practicing his apologies, printed out his questionnaire so she could know what was happening to her.

As the pages printed, he heard a loud banging sound as the door flew open. Instinctually he pressed himself against the wall of the downstairs bedroom, fearing that a bear had just barged into the house. He heard crashing and thudding as some large, clumsy, wild animal bumped into furniture and walls. He wanted to call 911, but his phone was upstairs. Maybe Jens could get animal control sent over?

“Charlie!” He heard her call out, bottles in the fridge clanging. “I’m home!” His heart dropped to the center of the Earth. He wasn’t ready. He had prepared himself to have the conversation tomorrow. He was ready to get drowned in the sink tomorrow. He was ready for her to leave him. Tomorrow.

But today was too soon. “No, no, please, no.” He carefully shuffled out into the hall and stopped at the threshold to the kitchen and living room. “Oh, my god.” Escaped his lips as he was Victoria standing next to the open fridge.

She was big, now. Probably three inches taller, at least, and the lower half of her forearms, uncovered by her sleeves, each had that one sexy vein. Milk poured down her chin as she chugged the remnants from a two gallon bottle. “A-am I dreaming?” He asked, but got no answer. “T-“ he couldn’t use her nickname. He didn’t deserve that. “Victoria. I was expecting you tomorrow.”

How had she gotten home? The road had been flooded only a few hours ago. It was going to take more time than that to drain.

She lowered the milk from her lips, the jug empty. She swayed on uneven feet, burping loudly. She looked drunk. Or sleep deprived. She threw the empty plastic onto the counter, sending it bouncing off into the dining room. She made no indication that she even noticed, rubbing her eyes. Definitely sleep deprived. “Bogha kyak.” She shrugged, yawning through her words.

Her hand pounded on the counter, searching around blindly for a grocery bag. Her fingers, longer now, encircled the orange bottle of—was that Dayquil? “I gatcha mmmedicine. ‘N soops.”

Charlie furrowed his brow. That actually would have been pretty thoughtful, which was unlike Tori, if he was actually sick. But now was the time for truth. No more putting this off. Charlie knew that he had to do what was right, not what was easy. Every second she didn’t know the truth was another second of him abusing her trust. She deserved to know. She had to know.

“I’m not…” He clenched his fists. “I made it up to get Frankie out.”

“Tha’ duh-n’ soun’ like Charlie at all.” She muttered, pinching her nose. “Then, fuckin’,” she discarded the bottle, letting it fall to the ground. “We’ve got ssssoup n’ mmmmedicine.”

He looked at her, really looked. She looked at least five years younger. The hair was… odd. He always liked dark hair, and had even put on his questionnaire that his fantasy partner had short, healthy, jet black hair. Always defaulting to the best kind of messy, but easily styled with product if she so desired. Her hair most certainly was messy, increasing her level of scariness, but it also got quite gray at the bottom two inches. He had thought her brunette hair would just get darker at the roots and slowly spread downwards, but for whatever reason, it seemed that the living serum was actually going to work from the ends and go up, removing all pigment and then darkening.

She’d never have brown hair, again. He did that. Maybe Jens could reverse it, but even so, he had robbed her of a piece of herself without having intended to undo it. His wicked desire for **** had driven him to recreate his muse in his own image. He intended to make her a goddess, but failed to consider that he was taking away her humanity in the endeavor.

“I think we need to talk.” He sighed, knowing that their relationship was about to explode. He’d done something he couldn’t come back from. And had it been worth it? Did he feel vindicated? Did he feel avenged?

He felt only shame.

“No!” She grunted, shaking her head, likely equal parts disagreement and trying to stay awake. “We need to argue.” She kept her eyes closed, only able to look at where she thought he was. Here it comes, he thought. There was no discussing this thing. What was to follow would be ugly.

Before he could say anything to defend himself or explain, she made a low, annoyed groan that scared him from making any attempt to defend himself. “Go lay down on the couch. Right fucking now.” She ordered. Her voice had gained a level of clarity and volume that it had been lacking before.

“Tori, I’m so sorry!” He barely managed to say, shuffling towards her. He wanted her to hold him. She could squeeze the life out of him so long as she embraced him.

“Shush!” She halted his advance, grabbing her phone, red eyes barely peeking through her eyelids enough to look at the screen. Was she about to record this? Give his confession to the police? Her finger only managed hard button presses and large swiping motions. “We will be fighting. Later.” She set her phone on the counter. “Right nnnnow, yerrrr lyin’ on the couch.”

He didn’t want to upset her further. Or risk doing anything that might be construed as aggressive on recording. So he started towards the couch, whimpering and wincing with each step rubbing the dry dildo inside him. She seemed annoyed at his pace, so he hastened through the pain and lied down, relieved to be horizontal, he didn’t know what she was going to do. Or why it was so important he lie down. But he wasn’t going to argue.

Then he heard her shoes kick off. Then her pants. Her sweatshirt sailed over him and landed on the coffee table. Oh, she’s going to kill me. He panicked as her heavy steps bounded over to the couch. His lower body was in no shape for sex. Even ignoring his erectile dysfunction, his vagina couldn’t tolerate a muscled up 5’11 woman with bad impulse control bouncing on his hips.

“Set an alarmmmm.” She rocked up on unsteady feet. “Don’t know when its’ gonna…” She tripped, nearly falling on top of him but steadying herself after only brushing his hand with her leg.

He turned his head to see the body of a goddess, shining with scentless oil that now served as her sweat. Even just her rear—the tight tone of her buttocks, the shapely lean muscles of her thighs and calves, the puffy lips nestled between—made his heart skip. Victoria had always been his standard for beauty. It seemed only right that she would be the one to change that standard. Despite the shame he felt for having done so, he had put her on the course of godhood for beauty. It was hard to not look. To not feel excited.

The sound her foot made when it hit the floor was enough to dampen that excitement. She would crush his poor, transforming pelvis, and then grind it into dust.

Just as he had tried to roll off the couch, a long sculpted leg shot over his shoulder and pinned the sleeve of the baggy, oversized sweatshirt he was wearing in between the cushions. He tugged it free, but only as her other leg came up off the floor, trapping him under her.

His face was mere inches from the grooling, glistening, perfect sex that he once worshipped. If he tried, he could have slid out and escaped. But then he caught the scent. What had only been a whiff on her panties in the laundry basket was now like being in the same room your favorite meal was being cooked in. His mouth watered, his body relaxed, and his breath shallowed.

So, he thought, this is addiction? He knew the correct choice. He needed to slide out, get her to lie down and sleep, then when she woke up, he could tell her everything. Make sure she was informed and could do whatever she thought was best. And yet, he hesitated.

87. Does your fantasy partner have any addictions? (Note, we will not program addictions to substances your partner could not reasonably attain, as this will leave them in a permanent state of withdrawal).

She’s addicted to licking my pussy. And to my piss, as previously mentioned. She’ll have absolutely no problems attaining either ;)

“Ihhua gam… ugh! Make out with this while I take a nap. When I wake up, you’d better still be licking or I’m gonna yell at you instead of… mmmm.” Charlie snapped to his senses. No, he needed to break out of this. He couldn’t violate her while she slept, no matter how much she seemed to want it. No matter how bad he wanted it. It was the pills talking.

He began scooting down, hoping to get his head past her legs so he could roll off. However, this had the effect of moving his mouth into exactly the right position when her hips dropped most of her body weight down.

His pupils blew out as her lips spread apart on his. Her heavenly musk was all he could smell. Her weight holding his head in place. Just like his most formative fantasy: Victoria Washington covered in massage oil, ordering him to make out with her most sensitive of places. And yet, locked into the kiss, bottle to his lips in a manner of speaking, he still resisted.

She leaned forwards,releasing some weight from his face and distributing it across his torso, her powerful hand snaking under his waistband and laying her palm atop his swollen, flaccid cock. He tried kicking, he held his breath, he couldn’t do this. She was blinded by the serum. If she was going to leave him, he couldn’t let her debase herself like this.

But then her voice, nothing but a satisfied whisper as her face fell against his crotch, reached his ears with a single, clear word.

“Mine.”

When she woke up, Charlie didn’t know what Tori was going to do. She might yell at him. She might make him sleep downstairs. She might even pick him up with one hand and throw him into the lake. But with that one word, he knew exactly what she wouldn’t do: leave. This could be salvaged.

He opened his mouth and did as Victoria commanded him, dopamine flooding his brain.