Improving On Perfection

When I got home that day, I went straight for the measuring tape. I did not have wait for an erection; for all my weakness and weight loss, I was still in an almost perpetual state of arousal. I lay the tape along the top of my bobbing member, and read the numbers in disbelief. Normally, it was a fine stout thing, just bit under eight inches in length (7 3/4", if you must know) and proportionately fat. I measured and remeasured, but there was not doubt of it: I had lost about two inches! I was just a bit over five and half inches long! The measuring tape was the metal kind, so I could not measure the girth, but now that I inspected myself closely I could tell I had become alarmingly slender as well. My prick had not been this small since I was thirteen. I was appalled.

My suspicions fell upon Gillian, as you might expect. I became convinced that she was taking some sort of revenge on me, shrinking me somehow, perhaps by means of some chemical, or potion. But what could she be using? And how was she administering the stuff?

From then on, I stopped eating at home. I skipped my morning coffee, too, in case she had dosed the cream. I became obsessed with measuring my dick, checking it twenty times a day. The news was never encouraging. By the end of the week, I had lost another inch and a quarter, and was now a skinny and boyish 4 1/2" long. And despite it all, I was constantly horny. I masturbated constantly, like a twelve-year-old who had just learned how. Jerking off would get me maybe fifteen minutes of relief, and then I'd catch sight of Gillian-or simply think about her for a few seconds-and my little prick would spring up again.

I knew I had to find out how she was doing this to me, but nearly two weeks passed before I had my chance. It was a Saturday morning when my opportunity came. Gillian was still not talking to me, by then, but her anger seemed to have evaporated. That morning she seemed positively cheerful, in fact, flouncing around the house in her panties and bra, paying me no mind at all. No doubt she was still flaunting her body to punish me, but if so, she no longer seemed vindictive about it. It was as if I had become, in her eyes, something sexually unimportant, like a female roommate. I followed her eyes, when we happened to find ourselves in a room together, and if she noticed the unrelenting stiffness in my crotch she gave no sign of it. When she finished dressing-jean shorts and a breathtakingly tight T-shirt-she left the house.

I had no idea where she might be spending the day, but I wasted no time. As soon as she was out of the house, I ran up to search her room-our old bedroom-for clues to my predicament.

I started by looking in the waste paper basket for empty bottles or packages, but found nothing. Then I went through the medicine cabinet, and the drawers of the bedside table. Finally, I opened the top drawer of her dresser. It was her underwear drawer, and it contained at least a dozen neatly folded underwired bras in a whole bouquet of pretty colours. The cups looked immense. I pulled one out, and read the label on the strap: 30H.

As I put it back, I noticed something else. It was a camera. For some reason, it aroused my curiosity, so I picked it up and pressed the power button. It came to life and I found myself watching a video on the camera's preview screen. It showed a rather ordinary queen-sized bed in what looked like a hotel room. After a few seconds, a lean silhouette moved into view. It was a skinny young man in blue jeans, with his shirt off and his narrow back turned the camera. He went over to the bed and pulled a couple of pillows out from under the bed-cover. Then he wandered offscreen for a moment and another figure walked into the frame. This one was a naked woman, with a slim waist, a firm rounded rear end and extremely large, natural-looking breasts.

It was Gillian.

I felt the blood drain from my face, and felt an absurd urge to call out, as if I could stop her from doing what I could see she was about to do. I was disconsolate. But even as I felt sadness and horror welling up in me, I could feel my stiff little cock straining against the fabric of my pants, as hard as a baby carrot (and not much longer).

On screen, Gillian turned toward the camera, and I saw the neat little triangle of her pubic hair. She leaned forward to adjust the pillows, and her breasts swung out slightly, swaying heavily as she climbed up on the bed and looked expectantly across the room. At this point, the skinny young man came back into the picture. He had shed his jeans, and I caught an unwelcome glimpse of his narrow, tightly muscled ass. He was so skinny you could count the knobs on his spine, but when he turned around I could see what at attracted her to him. His cock was simply huge, longer even than mine had been in my better days, and about as thick and veiny as his skinny wrists. I watched him climb up onto the bed next to my beautiful wife, and then crawl right on top of her, expertly pushing his flagpole into her hairy cunt. He began pumping up and down, and from behind, I could see his dangling balls, almost hairless but heavy with sperm, slapping against my lovely wife's thighs in a way that repulsed me. From the tiny speakers in the camera I heard Gillian's moans of pleasure.

At this point, my chronic state of arousal got the better of me once again. I set the camera on top of the dresser, and removed my pants and underwear. My cock was now smaller than ever, maybe three inches long and no thicker than a magic marker. My hand could no longer fit around it, so I took it between my thumb and forefinger and began moving them up and down in time with guy in the video rhythmically fucking my wife. The screen showed Gillian on all fours, now, with her knockers swinging wildly while the unpleasant young man slid his long organ in and out.

I was so intently focused on the scene that I did not hear the bedroom door opening behind me, or the footsteps of Gillian walking in. I don't know how long she stood behind me, watching me rub my tiny cock to the sight of her adulterous affair. When she finally spoke, I was so startled I had to stifle a scream, and whirled about. I covered my erect penis with one hand, noticing, absurdly, that it was so small that every bit of it could be concealed behind my palm.

"What do you think you're doing in my room?" she said. Her voice was calm, not angry at all. Before I could answer, she walked right up to me, took my wrist in one of her hands and pulled my hand away from my groin, leaving me fully exposed with my tiny cock bobbing foolishly up and down.

"I see," she said. There was a distinct note of amusement in her voice. "Well, isn't that something," she added, almost chuckling now. She reached out, and before I could stop her, he gathered my little cock in her hand and gave it a little squeeze. I felt her cool fingers close around it, and sighed with pleasure, despite myself. Gillian has small hands, but my penis disappeared completely inside her girlish fist. She moved her hand up and down a few times, quickly, and then pulled it away from my penis, just as my orgasm shuddered up from inside it. One little drop of semen popped out, flying no more than half an inch or so before it fell to the carpet like a small, glistening pearl.

Now she laughed outright, putting her hand over mouth. "Not too studly, there, little husband. Not what I'd call the money shot!"

I bent over to collect my jeans, weak with shame and self-disgust.

"You seem to have enjoyed my home movie," she continued. She looked at me frankly, now. "His name is Dwight, and you don't have to look so shocked, he's older than he looks. In fact he got is High School more than a year ago. Also, I guess you should know, I'm carrying his baby."

She was looking at me with almost gleefully, gently caressing her belly. Now that she had drawn my attention to it, I could see that she was indeed pregnant, and just starting to show.

She went on. "He's going to live here, of course, but that doesn't mean you have to move out. I don't mind at all if you stick around."

She brightened suddenly, as if remembering something. "Oh," she said, "I picked you up something at the store!"

Gillian left the room for a moment, and came back holding a small decorative bag. She reached into it and pulled out a rather pretty lavender coloured bra, very much like the ones in her drawer but several sizes smaller. She handed to me and, I looked at it, uncomprehending.

"Don't tell me you don't even know?" she exclaimed, "I figure it out weeks ago." She took in my puzzlement, and sighed loudly. "Well, you've never been the sharpest pencil in the box. That powder you put on me...did you think to wear gloves when you applied it?"

She paused briefly to confirm my cluelessness. "I didn't think so," she said, nodding. "Whatever that stuff is, it makes people more 'womanly'...that goes for men, as well as women, I believe. If my guess is correct, you had that stuff all over your hands, and then when we had sex you probably rubbed it into your big fat dick as well. You got a pretty good dose of it, I suspect."

From the expression on my face, she must have gathered that her guess was right on the money. "And in that case," she continued, gesturing toward the lavender-colored bra in my hands, "it is only a matter of time until you'll be putting that on."

This was simply more than I could stand to hear. I scooped pants and fled from the room, still clutching the dainty brassiere.

In the end, it was nearly a month before I physically needed to wear bra, and several weeks after that before I could bring myself to try it on. Eventually I had to give in, though. I couldn't go around all day with my tits jiggling all over the place, even if I'm only a C-cup. I certainly couldn't go out like that. Quite a lot had changed by then. By the time I first buckled myself into it, I'd lost nearly nine inches of height, and was now slightly shorter than Gillian. My poor cock had shrunk away to nearly nothing. It was no more than a big clit, by then, and though it still got hard and kind of twitched when Gillian was around, I found that by stroking it gently I could reach nine or ten times orgasms in a row. That trick helped a lot with the perpetual horniness, and was some compensation for my other losses.

I had to quit my job, of course-I couldn't very well explain the changes in me. I had nowhere else to live, so I decided to stay and make myself useful around the house. Gillian can use the help: she's absolutely enormous these days, and is already producing milk. I'm not sure how much longer she'll be able to keep going to her job.

Dwight moved in three month ago. He's very proud that he's going to be a father, and loves to run his skinny hands over Gillian's big belly. I'm afraid that's not the only thing that he loves to run his hands over. When Gillian is at work, he sometimes runs his hands over me, stroking my soft breasts and plump hips. I don't resist as hard as you might expect. I didn't even mind it the first time he tried to push his enormous cock into my tight, virginal vagina. Why not, I thought? If I can get used to being a woman, I suppose I can learn to put up with that too.

I have no idea how Gillian will react when she finds out that I'm having a baby too! I guess that's something for her to get used to.

Life goes on, as they say.

****

The End