What’s your favorite OR least favorite hormone? (Note: you must pick one option or the other and must specify which option you’re describing.)

What’s your favorite OR least favorite hormone? (Note: you must pick one option OR the other and must specify which option you’re describing.)

***

“D-do you remember that questionnaire?” Charlie asked after minutes of silence, setting a freshly brewed coffee on the side table next to me as I tried to wake up. I pinched my arm, I rubbed my eyelids, I even clicked my heels together.

I hate dreams inside dreams, I beat the heels of my hands against my forehead. Too many mindfucks today. He nervously padded over to the pantry, retrieving a broom and dustpan, leaning them against the counter as he grabbed the trashcan under the sink. “Moonlight?” He urged me, sliding the can over to the broken glass.

“Yes.” I groaned, reaching for the coffee. “I remember that weird questionnaire.” I looked up just as he bent down to pick up the lampshade, baring his asshole and… vagina… Fuck, this was so weird. And hot.

He tossed the lampshade into the trashcan and squatted down, breasts bouncing as he started sweeping glass into the dustpan. I could hardly recognize him. His face was familiar, but not the same. His body was wholly foreign. Even his dick, bobbing like an anteater, was not computing as Charlie.

The behavior was 100% him, though. Nervously cleaning, rambling, fishing for a response, **** for me to give him attention but afraid that I’d somehow hurt him if he didn’t choose his words carefully

“Well, that’s what the pills do.” He chuckled, lifting the dustpan and pouring its contents into the trashcan before sweeping again. “My friend, Jens, took the answers, programmed them into a serum, and that’s the pills.” He smiled at me, pleading for some reaction. “Sweetheart? You’re not talking…” He pivoted his squat, pushing his chest out. “Th-they’ll get bigger, I promise!”

I looked down at my lap, abs glistening. Milk beaded on the ends of my nipples, but I couldn’t bring myself to squeeze them despite the pressure. The coffee cup felt smaller than I remembered.

“So…” I sucked in a deep breath. “We’re both turning into my darkest, most fucked up fantasies.” If this wasn’t so serious, I’d be riding him like a horse right now. Not that that ever stopped me before… I was trying to grow, be more mature and shit. Chasing sex had done nothing but extend my confusion and hurt people.

Initially that sounded so hot. Our bodies and lives getting corrupted and ruined until we were nothing but unmitigated, hedonistic, animals of instinct. There was no ‘but’, it just was super hot. I knew there were rational considerations—how was I not freaking out about my career right now?—but I just kept trying to remember some of my answers to that questionnaire.

“No! No, just me!” He laughed, running his hand through his hair. He looked to be on the verge of tears.

Ooh, there’s that urge. I wanted to leap over the couch, pin him to the floor and claim him. Down, girl! Be a wife, right now. Not an animal. I lifted the coffee to my lips. He knew just how I liked it, the cream and sugars measured and mixed perfectly even in the somewhat frantic state he’d prepared it in. I was beginning to not want this to be a dream.

He stood up and bounced away, heading down the hall, huffing sharp breaths to indicate that he was hurrying more than his pace was. Look at ‘em jiggle. He made some noises from within the office, returning a minute later with a stack of papers covering his breasts. “Um… th-this is uh…” He blushed, looking like the perfect girl next door. “These are my answers.” God he’s so adorable when he’s embarrassed. Why don’t I tease him more?

He tentatively extended the pages toward me. “I’m not… I’m not vanilla. I wanted to try and show you that.” I nodded, grabbing the papers from him. I still wasn’t convinced that this wasn’t another of those weird dreams.

1. Assuming the impossible, what is your fantasy partner’s sex and presentation?

Female, tomboyish but unashamed of her femininity.

Yeah, that tracked for Charlie. I was a proud woman, but I was a bit on the masculine side. I wore cologne, I preferred pants and suits, I liked having command and control.

2. What’s one word that you would use to describe your fantasy partner?

Goddess.

3. Does your fantasy partner exist in fiction/real life? Or do they exist in your imagination?

She’s based mostly on a real person, but is perfected in my imagination.

4. Is your fantasy partner short, tall, or average?

She’s tall. Taller than most any woman, but can still function in the regular world. Her presence can’t be ignored and she looks up to no one. Maybe the mid to high range of six foot?

I cracked a grin. That might explain the shrunken shoes and car seat adjustments. My hand slipped to my slit, fingers circling my clit. I kinda liked the thought of that. Being a giant, intimidated by no one, ignored by no one. Charlie whined, eyes locking on to my pussy with a **** gaze. Fuck, that’s so hot. “What?” I asked, trying to hide my excitement. Trying to appear impassive. Godly.

“C-can I…” He licked his lips. I lowered the papers, unable to hold the image of disinterest. “P-please?”

“You little slut.” I couldn’t suppress my smile. “I rode your face for over twelve hours and you still want more?” Say yes. Say yes. Say yes.

“W-well you put on your, uh, answer sheet that your fantasy partner would be addicted to… eating you out.” His hand grabbed his flopping dick, unconsciously stroking it. That’s so much hotter than a yes! I resisted the urge to remove my hand and call him over. Watching him ****, embarrassed. Why don’t I tease him more?

“And the pills can do that?” I asked, continuing to gently circle my clit. He looked jealous of my fingers.

“Not just can. They did.” He said, nodding.

The answers hadn’t challenged my assumptions that Charlie was vanilla. He was submissive, maybe a bit more than I gave him credit for, but his tastes were still within this world. Grounded in reality. He wanted a tall assertive tomboy to tell him what to do. That wasn’t all that kinky.

But vanilla could taste really good with a refined palate. Maybe I was just so obsessed with trying exotic flavors I just forgot to play with my food.

“Maybe.” I shrugged. “But there’s still that pile of glass.” I pointed my chin in the direction of the broken lamp. He whimpered, nodding. “Put on a show and tell me how this works. If I’m satisfied with your explanation and performance, I’ll let you finish me off.” No matter what he said or did, I’d be cumming on that face. But let him squirm.

He slipped over to the broom lying on the floor. It was clear he wasn’t yet comfortable or confident in his body. He grabbed on to a stool, supporting himself as he best over at the waist, the boobs having some effect on his center of gravity.

“Well,” he picked up the broom, trying to ascend slowly and shake his butt in a clumsy way. It was enough, watching his cock wobble. “Each pill has a chemical in it called living serum. This stuff is like a bacteria that can reprogram DNA.” He started swiping the glass into the dustpan, continuing to explain and shake his hips at the same time. “It’s smart, too. It doesn’t need to even be told how to get something done, it just needs to know the effect and it gets it done. From how I understand it, it eats old DNA and poops out the new. That’s a real oversimplification, but—“

“Keep jiggling, please.” I sighed, glancing down at the questionnaire, looking at a random page.

85. Does your fantasy partner have wet dreams?

Occasionally, and they’re always very cozy and leave her feeling very satisfied, loved, and well rested.

Well, that explains the dreams I’d been having. It was sweet. All my answers had been very… not so sweet. Maybe his answers were only sweet because he had been aware that I’d actually have to live with them. But no, I felt like that was just Charlie’s nature. He was satisfied with making people feel good. If I had known Charlie was actually going to have to live with what I wrote down?

I wish I could say I would have gone easier on him. But glancing up again and seeing those fat, pierced nipples? He was lucky I didn’t go much harder.

113. If your fantasy partner can ejaculate, how large is their average load?

She squirts in relation to how powerful her orgasm is so I know how good I’m doing. A few droplets for a very weak orgasm, up to a liter for her most powerful.

Ok, that was a little kinky. Some conditional stuff. Squirting wasn’t really my kind of thing, along with most water sports, though for some reason I’d had a fixation the past few days. But squirting was still kind of vanilla. Most dudes think they want to make a girl squirt, as if that was some ultimate measure of pleasuring. Charlie was just literally giving himself a metric to rate his sex. I guess he can’t trust me to be honest.

33. Please describe your fantasy partner’s general build.

She’s all lean muscle. She looks like she’s on a permanent cut after the most insane bulk of her life. Her size varies based on her commitment to exercise, but she never loses her muscled appearance and can only get as muscular as she feels beautiful and comfortable with.

Ok, maybe I underestimated how much he liked muscles. But who didn’t want a healthy partner? He knew I hated bulking, he knew I got more confident after a cut. I felt like this was still about serving my likes more than his. He could have locked me in with his ideal body, but still chose to make it dependent on me exercising so I could keep the hobby, and then locked my progress to my comfort. The next answer confirmed it.

“Get over here, right now.” I ordered, pulling my hand from my burning pussy. He stopped the explanation I’d been missing, looking back at me afraid that he misspoke. “On your knees.” I grabbed one of the pillows, tossing it on the ground in front of me. He gingerly set the broom down, shuffling over with his head down like a puppy who got in the garbage. He kneeled and I held up the paper, reading out loud.

“34. Please describe your fantasy partner’s diet. Food that tastes good to her is considered healthy food. Food that tastes bad to her is unhealthy. She eats whatever she wants in large quantities. If she eats too much, the food just stays undigested until she needs more calories.”

He kept his eyes at the floor, ashamed. I opened my legs, staring down at him. I hated dieting. I hated eating small meals. I hated tracking calories. I hadn’t had more than a slice of chocolate cake a year since I was twenty-five. “You are the best person who exists. Reward.” I hooked my ankles around the back of his head and pulled him in, mashing his lips against my dripping pussy. “You stay there as long as you want.”

I started skimming the pages, grabbing his hair and smushing his face in more whenever I saw something a little hot. Very little of it was all that surprising and mostly seemed tailored to making my life just generally better.

How old will I look? However old she feels most confident looking. How high will my libido be? High, but she can multi-task and focus exceptionally well. She needs sex often, but only needs some of it to be focused, dedicated lovemaking. How are my periods going to be? Painless, bloodless, and characterized by higher levels of oxytocin and a general sense of contentment. I didn’t even know what oxytocin was, but he got a few praises and pumps for that.

My life was going to be awesome! “Mmm, so why am I eating metal and plastic?” I asked, loosening my thighs so he could pull back an inch and talk.

“Piercings.” He answered, going right back to licking, but then pulled off once more, kissing the immediate area around my pussy. “Or other things. The—“ kiss “serum needs—“ lick “materials for stuff.”

I nodded, turning the next page, finding the entry for most formative fantasy. It took up most of the page! “Make me cum.” I said, not trying to sound as demanding as I did. He picked up his pace as I started reading.

“Fuck.” It was a detailed, ashamed account about his high school fantasy of serving as my personal masseuse for volleyball, being **** to rub and tend to my body several times a day, slowly taking over his life. All the while being trapped in a humiliating committed relationship with my pussy. Not me. Not his dick. His whole self and just my pussy. Dating.

I’d make him endure humiliating rituals and serve me for unreasonable requests to gatekeep his access to his girlfriend, culminating in him MARRYING MY VAGINA!?

I grabbed his head and dropped the papers, bucking my hips against his lips. If ever there was a liter sized orgasm, this was it. I didn’t fight the squirting, now knowing where it came from. It sprayed down his throat, splashed off his face, made a fucking mess of the place. It wasn’t piss, though. It didn’t smell like it, and it was ever so slightly thinner. Closer in consistency to milk despite being clear. I reached up and squeezed my nipples, sending jets of actual milk shooting across my body and onto my legs.

Fuck, that was so hot! Charlie wrote that? Charlie fantasized about that since fucking high school? I looked down and saw a drunken look on my husband’s face as he licked, enthusiastically but sloppily. This wasn’t the Charlie I knew, was it? How could white bread, ‘how-you-doing,-neighbor?’, inoffensive Charlie Parvel be drunkenly licking the soppy remains of my orgasm from my pussy?

I placed my foot on his collar bone and firmly kicked him backwards, much to his dismay. He slumped on his back, catching his breath on the rug. I didn’t give him much time to breathe. I leapt off the couch, knees flanking his stomach, my hands pinning his wrists above his head. This position made me acutely aware of a pressure in my core that I had been writing off as a fetus. I didn’t have time to think about it any more.

I leaned down and locked our lips, tasting my juices. He’d had the pills make it a pleasant, sugary flavor to make him more enthusiastic when giving oral. It certainly made me more enthusiastic in kissing him.

“You’re a girl now.” I declared, pulling our lips apart, a line of spit connecting our tongues. She nodded, eyes sparkling like a nebula—even more so with the pinks that were beginning to overtake the brown in her irises. She was so in love right now. The poor thing. I leaned back in, forcing another kiss, my tongue trying to go down her throat. After a few minutes, I pulled back up. “What’s your name?

“Y-you decide!”

“You’re the creative one.” I argued back.

“Charolette.”

I chuckled. “That sounds exactly the kind of uncreative name I’d have picked.”

“I can t-think of a new one!”

“No, Charlotte's perfect.” I slammed our lips back together again. I reached one hand down, pinning her wrists with just one hand, and gripped her thick, flaccid cock. I stroked and smushed and flopped it, but it just stayed in that pathetic, half-hard state. She whimpered into my mouth but I didn’t relent. After a few minutes of drooling precum, I reached my hand lower, firmly but gently cupping her swollen balls. The skin was tight and smooth, keeping the testicles close up to her body and mostly out of the way.

My fingers dipped inside her quivering snatch and felt her seize up. No endurance, the little whore. I felt cum splatter off my ass and I withdrew my hand from within her, choosing to grip her snake and let it bathe my hand in her warm spunk.

Feeling the spurts cease and what little strength was in her oversized cock fail, I dropped her dick in the puddle collecting on her stomach and brought my glazed hand to her cheek, tenderly holding it. I slipped my thumb in her mouth and she submissively closed her lips around it, sucking her own cum off the digit as I slapped it on her cheek. She didn’t seem to mind. She seemed to love it, staring up at me with such joy at my amusement. All of this, she did, just to see me smile and feel my affection again.

I just miss feeling like I was the thing you wanted.

I pulled my hand from her cheek to her dismay as she tried leaning in to my palm. I resisted the urge to slather her funbags with cum and instead pressed my palm against the space just next to her sternum. I could feel her fluttering little heartbeat.

“Mine.”

I pressed my forehead to hers, kissing her glazed, kiss-swollen lips. I’m not fucking it up this time, my love.

“Yours.” She answered. She believed me. She trusted me. She belonged to me. But I wasn’t satisfied. I’d made that vow before. I’d broken that vow before.

I gripped her wrist and slid it under me, pushing her palm against my heart. “Yours.” I offered, again breaking our kiss. She was crying, just like I was that night I’d proposed.

“Mine.” She accepted.

***

The rug was a ruined mess by the time we were finished. I could go another round, but I weirdly felt content just lying on the floor with her on top of me, her weight a blanket as another episode of Friends ended.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me you were such a pervert?” I teased, kissing Charlotte on the cheek. She blushed, letting her head fall against my chest, seeking solace in the warmth of my heart. “Marrying my pussy? I mean that’s some of the hottest shit I’ve ever read.”

“I don’t know.” She giggled, blushing. “I’ve always felt a bit ashamed about that kind of stuff. It was easier to indulge your fantasies than explore something so uncomfortable for me and confront my sexuality. I’m a pleaser, Love. I’m ok with just making other people happy. It feels nice.”

“Speaking of, I want to play that video game. Portal.”

“You were serious?” She lifted her head off my chest to look me in the eyes.

“Y-well, yeah.” I said, nodding and giving her a quick peck on the lips. “Well, actually, I want to play Portal 2 with you, so you have to help me beat Portal 1 because I still do not understand what the fuck Steam is.”

She gave me another peck and laid her head back down on my chest. “That’s actually pretty thoughtful, Moonlight. I love those games.”

I smiled, slapping my hand into one of the discarded papers, some cum that hadn’t yet dried making it stick to my hand as I waved it teasingly in front of her face. “Maybe you put it on your questionnaire.” I teased.

She giggled back. “Oh, that’s not likely to be reliable for you anymore.” She sighed, happily planting a kiss on my breast, which leaked a line of milk in excited response.

“Yeah…” I chuckled, shaking my head and starting to zone out on the TV for a second. “Wait, why?” I asked, looking back down at her.

“Because you drank two glasses of wine.” She said, as if she’d already told me.

“What?”

“Were you zoning out my explanation?”

“N—well, yeah.” I huffed defensively. “I was reading and you were… jiggling—a lot was going on!”

“Oh, well, remember when you wanted phone sex but I told you I was busy doing something really important?”

“Yeah. I was like, super horny and angry.” I nodded.

“Well, **** overwrites the serum’s programming to make accelerated changes. Whatever you see, especially if it makes you horny, becomes the new programming. That’s why I couldn’t look at your nude or do phone sex. I’d drank some of your wine—blech, by the way—and then curated a carefully selected collection of porn that fit with the answers of your questionnaire.” She explained, bringing her mouth up to my nipple and sucking a quick spurt, electricity contracting my bloated abs. “You won’t find anything about lactation or red colored eyes in my answers.” She hummed, taking another drink. “But I should have, this is so fun!”

Red eyes!? I grabbed her shoulders, easily lifting her up and away from me with my powerful arms. “Are you telling me that you have no idea what’s happening to my body, right now?”

“I have some idea. But unless you remember everything you saw from the moment you started drinking to the moment you suddenly felt super drunk, then no, we won’t know for certain until you finish taking your pills.” She said, shrugging. “Speaking of, you only missed the dose from last night, right? Miss more than one in a row and the serum starts to get… Jens said ‘panicky,’ but he has a weird metric.”

I kept holding her at exactly arms length away above me. Her legs dangled onto mine, but her torso was held up so I could look at her as if we were standing next to each other. “Last night.” I grited my teeth. “And the night before because I thought they were pregnancy pills and I was under the impression that I was already pregnant.”

She looked down at me with a frown. She stayed like that for a few seconds, just staring down at me with a disapproving glare. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t blink. She just stared.

Checking if she was still alive, I tilted her body left, then right. She stayed limp as her dick. Back to left.

“You said two pills, every night, no exceptions.” She sighed. I righted her so she stayed upright. “I’m not saying this to be mean, or to bring up the past. But I just need to sincerely ask at this point: are words just things that you say?”

That was not like Charlie to say. He never took that tone with anyone, especially me. This was Charlotte. “I thought I was pregnant!” I answered. She just closed her eyes and sighed.

“And I thought you were willing to trust me!” She barked back, palming her forehead.

“Charlotte, please! Baby, I swear to God I fucked up, ok? I really fucked up before. I’m a selfish, emotionally stunted child, ok? But I’m—”

“Put me down.”

“Baby.”

“Put me down.”

I rolled over, gently laying her next to me. She immediately wriggled out of my hands and started standing up. “I need to call my scientist friend. You need to start writing down everything you can remember doing, seeing, hearing, feeling, smelling, and thinking on the day that you drank.” She groaned, pinching her brow. “If you get horny, knock on the door and I can give you a quickie since we don’t know what prolonged arousal will do to you, but otherwise, please leave me alone for a little while.” She stomped over to her old room as I scrambled to my feet, just in time to see her kick the milk bottle further down the dark hall. “And take your fucking pills right now.”