The Sheath in the Stone

This is beneath you. You know you aren't the most important, or the most interesting guy in the world. Far from it! But you've always thought you had a sort of quiet dignity all the same. A very, very quiet dignity, so quiet that it was utterly lost on anyone who might drift through your life, as well as being lost on you as well a good portion of the time. This isn't helpful. Look, the point is, you don't need to fuck a goddamn rock just because it sort of looks like an ass.

That is perilously close to the literal definition of rock bottom.

You've already struggled out of your pants and underwear though, clumsily kicking them off before lowered yourself down to your knees in just your dress shirt and socks as you carefully reach out to take hold of the callipygous hunk of stone. Okay, looks like you do need to fuck a rock. Whatever, dude.

At least it seems unlikely that there's anyone around to stumble upon you as you fumble with your stiffie, though getting caught trying to sexually **** a particularly coquettish boulder would certainly count as 'exciting'. This really must be the woods after all. How did you get so damn lost?

Frankly, getting caught might have been a good thing, because in a few seconds you are going to be the proud owner of a crushed penis when you drunkenly try to shove your dick into a fucking lump of quartz.

That'll be a great replacement for a personality. You won't be the boring guy anymore, you'll be the boring guy with the smooshed cock. Your annoyed brain and drunken body are completely disconnected at this point, unfortunately, and even as you continue to lambast your ridiculous decisions you are unable to stop yourself from shakily lining your manhood up with the glistening cleft between the rock formation's rounded cheeks and shoving yourself in with all the confidence of the truly shitfaced.

...Huh. This actually feels really fucking good.

You breathe heavily, brow furrowed as you stare down at where your cock is buried up to the hilt in what still seems to be unyielding stone. It certainly doesn't feel like it though, your dick enveloped in a tight, welcoming embrace much warmer and wetter than any of the slightly-less-dull-than-you girls you've dated over the years. You curiously run your fingers along one side of the rock as you hips start to lightly thrust of their own accord, finding the stone to be exactly as cold and hard as you'd expect. But when you lift your hand to give it little experimental slap, you gasp at the sensation of your palm smacking teasingly against what feels like nothing other than wonderful soft flesh.

Jesus Hell, this is bizarre.

We are certainly operating within un-, sub-, or supernatural forces now. Your annoyed brain is going to try and parse all of this out, but in the meantime your drunken body has the green line to pump into the rock with joyous elan. The walls of the otherworldly onahole contract and relax spasmodically around your delighted prick, your metamorphic mate somehow reacting to your presence as you tightly grip what you suppose is its waist and hump away with abandon. Fuck did you need this. Well maybe not this specifically, but you needed something to bring just a splash of excitement to your drearily beige life. You'd have probably settled for something like calling in and then losing a radio quiz show, or getting to pet a very large dog, but if this is how destiny sees fit to cure your near-fatal case of ennui then you are definitely not complaining. Your only regret is that you aren't going to last very long, the milking and massaging of the apparently magical cunny setting your balls to churning as you let out a **** grunt and dump the biggest rope of cum you've ever shot deep into the recesses of the now wildly shuddering pussy.

Oh shit, did the rock cum, too? That is fucking awesome. Good work, You.

You collapse against what is now easily your favorite stone ever, still stuffed deep inside of it as you happily catch your breath. You resolve then and there that whatever should come next in your dull, beige life, you are more than happy to simply keep your head down and accept it with the quiet complacency that destiny expects of you. You're pretty sure you've had a taste of the divine now, and it was more than enough to make everything from here on out bearable.

The curious realization that you're still as hard as ever is the first thing to interrupt your contented resolutions. The second is when the stone you're still fully enveloped by erupts from the ground in a shower of earth and loam, hurling you to land flat on your back as a weight settles heavily on your lower body.

You groan in blind pleasure as your pelvis regains its composure more quickly than your eyes, instinctively matching the practiced motions of whatever is now riding you with eager thrusts. You spit the dirt from your mouth, sputtering as you frantically wipe at your eyes and releasing a gasp that turns into a helpless grunt as you launch yet another wad of cum into the ravenous pussy you're trapped in, just as big if not bigger than the first. That doesn't deter your furious erection for a moment, though, your nuts boiling with a seemingly endless ocean of seed as the figure atop you leans over, a faint impression of long, wild hair and eyes like burning suns scorching into your mind before it wraps its arms around your head and presses itself to your chest, roiling its hips in unbearable expertise as you cum over and over again.

YOU HAVE BEEN CHOSEN

You pant in delirious exertion, doing your best to simultaneously deal with the unknown being draining your balls, your volcanicly erupting penis and this new thrumming voice. "Um, what?"

YOU HAVE BEEN CHOSEN YOU ARE THE TRUE KING OF PENIS

The final thought of your annoyed brain before you explode in another torrent of cum is that that sounds fucking dumb, and then everything whites out.

You burst out of your bed with a strangled noise, tumbling completely off to the floor as your flailing limbs entangle themselves in your sweat-stained sheets. What the fuck?! You elect to just lay there cocooned for a moment, your throbbing head feeling rather nice against the cool floor of your bedroom as you swallow dryly and try to collect your thoughts. Goddamn, what a night. What the hell was that rock? What was that voice? How are you going to...

Your thoughts trail off as the final remnants of your sleep crumble away and you realize with bemused certainly that no, you did not spend last night fucking a magical stone. That was a dream. A super weird dream, and you probably should think about a therapist now, but no matter how real it seemed to your drunken slumbering mind, it was still just a dream. You release a quavering sigh as you pick yourself up off the ground, still wrapped in your sheets as you tell yourself that it's probably for the best that it was just a strange, pleasant hallucination and you did not while away the evening **** a statue. That's the sort of thing that gets a guy a reputation.

Still, it was a great dream. You wouldn't mind lining up another one of those every night for the rest of your life. You yawn wearily, scratching your bed-tousled head with your own free hand as you turn towards the door to your living room and the vague idea of a late Saturday breakfast. It's sort of surprising that you don't have a hangover. You feel pretty goddamn great, actually! Now that it's on your mind, and you ever felt this great? Maybe there's some truth to the healing power of dreams, you should really-

You cut off as you catch a glimpse of yourself in your dresser mirror. Uh, that can't be right, can it? Did your dresser shrink during the night? Because your confused looking face is at least a head higher than it normally is, and it's not as if you...

You blink for a moment, then stretch up on your tiptoes and touch your ceiling of your bedroom with your fingers. It's admittedly a bit low, your apartment being rather on the cramped side? But you've never been able to do that before. You turn back to the mirror, face blank as you pull at the sheet to let it drop to the floor and expose your nude body for your inspection.

Holy shit.

You were never in terrible shape, having been an extremely middling athlete in high school, but were starting to come dangerously close to the definition of 'skinny fat'. The body that's reflected in the mirror could never be called skinny or fat, let alone the unholy combination of the two, with broad shoulders and powerful pecs and Jesus Christ is that an actual fucking six pack?! You run your disbelieving fingers down your washboard abs, mind racing furiously for an explanation only to be sent to a crashing halt when you notice what you have hanging heavily between your legs.

That is not your penis. That is not the penis of a man who tried to say both 'Sorry' and 'Thank You' at the same time upon receiving his first and only blowjob. The mysterious and absolutely not-yours cock that is nestled between your powerful legs and unexplainably attached to your body is mind-boggingly huge, easily as big flaccid as you'd even been at your hardest, resting atop a pair of astonishingly large balls that seem primed to gush more cum in one shot than most men manage throughout their entire teenage years.

Your immediate and utterly stupid thought is that you can't fit into your sad little stash of rarely used condoms anymore.

Your second and much more prudent thought is WHAT THE FUUCK?!

You stumble blindly out of your bedroom, nude as a lark and unable to decide whether to call a doctor, or the police, or maybe a priest when the sudden appearance of another voice knocks you out of your delirium. "Oh hey, you're awake." You stare dumbly at your kitchenette, completely beyond the point of being able to be shocked at the presence of a slender girl sitting at your counter, munching away at a bowl of cereal.

She's girlish and leggy, dressed only in one of your button-downs which makes her look for all the world like some sort of college sweetheart enjoying breakfast after a romp. Her skin is pale and creamy, her pert little breasts jiggling merrily within your mostly unbuttoned shirt as she chews another mouthful of Cinnamon Toast Crunch with relish. At first glance you thought her very long, almost wild hair was black, but upon further inspection it is actually a very dark green, bits of leaves still stuck inside her unruly mane. It's her eyes that settle the matter for you, however, her golden-green eyes that gently roil inside her pretty face like tiny stars as she taps your spoon against her well-formed cheeks and gives you a teasing grin. "'Sup?"

Maybe it wasn't a dream.

Okay. Fuck.