Of Wives and Wyverns Pt. 01

"Maybe it was something I drank?"

Fiona grunted, clutched her stomach, and pitched forward onto the floor. I moved to help, but Dr. Tanaka stopped me with a gloved hand. All I could do was watch as Fiona's tail thrashed about inside her dress and began to grow. The sound was like peeling away a strip of heavy-duty tape mingled with the popping of stiff joints. The bulge of her tail snaked across the floor until the tip extended past the bottom of her dress. The growth stopped as suddenly as it had started, leaving Fiona panting on the floor. At this point, the Doctor let me go to her. She was rattled but otherwise safe.

The doctor knelt and pulled her measuring tape down the length of Fiona's tail. "Eighty-nine centimeters," she announced. The nurse dutifully jotted the number down.

"Is there anything we can do?" I half-begged.

"You can start by exploring your options," the doctor said, handing us a brochure. It as titled "So You've Transformed into a Hyper-sexed Monstrosity." The front had a photo of a transformee that I recognized from a porno.

With that, Dr. Tanaka wished us the best of luck and ushered us out the door so she could see patients she had some hope of helping.

We got into the car and sat in silence, both of us trying to process what was happening. Fiona sat at the edge of her seat with her tail curled uncomfortably to the side. It laid over the center console, and each nervous twitch brushed against my arm. She was the one to break the silence.

"Wanna go get General Tang's?"

That caught me off guard. After our outlandish morning, it was such a mundane suggestion. But it was past two, neither of us had eaten, and cheap comfort food was just what we needed.

"Sure," I said with a hint of a smile. Her tail tip flicked with excitement.

We went through the drive through, parked, and ate in silence. General Tang's portions were ridiculous. I was stuffed halfway through my order of sweet 'n' greasy chicken, but Fiona was still eating. She downed her sticky beef and started on our side of fried rice without missing a beat.

"So, honeysuckle, how's it going?" I asked, tentatively.

Hearing this, she paused her feast for the first time. She looked at me with distress. "I'm freaking out. Can't you tell?" she said around a mouth full of rice.

"It looked like you took the news pretty well. It certainly hasn't hurt your appetite."

Fiona swallowed her mouthful in a single gulp. "I thought eating would calm me down, but I've had so much and I'm still so hungry." She lifted the box of rice and poured the remainder down her throat like she was finishing a drink. She reached for the box of steamed pork buns, then had a change of heart and threw them back into the bag.

"I shouldn't eat any more, but I'm a bottomless pit! And even though I'm ravenous and terrified, I'm still hornier than ever! Demons, what's happening to me!?" she wailed, tears forming in her eyes.

Guilt choked my insides like a noose. I had to help, but how? I took her hand in mine. "Fiona, honeysuckle, it's going to be okay. I'm here for you. I love you."

She sniffed and wiped her eyes. "Thanks, honeybee. I love you too. I just feel so conflicted."

I pursed my lips in thought. "Once you drink a potion, you can't fight it. People say it's best to try to embrace the changes. Listen to your body, become what you're going to become. If you're hungry, you should eat."

Fiona managed a weak smile. "You read a lot of transformee blogs don't you?"

I broke eye contact. "A couple."

"Embrace the changes?" she pondered, reaching for a pork bun. "I'll try, but it's scary. It's like I'm caught in a river, and if I stop swimming against the current, who knows where I'll end up? What I'll become?"

Fiona snapped her head to the side and let loose a burp so loud it rattled the windows. She held her hand over her mouth bashfully.

"Excuse me."

I chuckled. "You're excused."

With that, she devoured the bun. It was surreal watching such a lithe woman put down that quantity of food, but I didn't want to stare. I gazed out my window waiting for the smacking, slurping sounds of her eating to finish. After a couple minutes, I grew confused. There hadn't been that much food left.

I turned to find her laying forward on the dash, tail curled up against the roof. Her hand was up her dress, rubbing furiously at her pussy.

"Fiona!"

"I'm sorry," she said guiltily, though she didn't stop. "I told you I was horny, didn't I? It's been like this all day. I've been so desperate for touch."

I glanced around the parking lot. "I get it. Just try to be discreet. Someone might see you."

"That would be kinda hot, wouldn't it?" she moaned, then blushed bright pink. Embarrassed as she was, her eyes stared at me with pure, unbridled desire. Her hand made a slow, deliberate motion under her dress, and her mouth opened in a silent gasp. How many fingers was she using now? Two? Three?

Another mighty belch escaped her gaping mouth. It rumbled forth for several seconds, and she didn't stop her hand or change her gaze for the entire time.

"I'm still hungry, too."

Once Fiona had summoned the willpower to withdraw her dripping hand and sit down in her seat, we went through the drive through again. This order was even larger, but it didn't even last the drive home. When she finished, her stuffed belly pressed visibly against her dress like she was showing a second trimester pregnancy.

Back at our apartment complex, Fiona clutched the bannister as she hauled herself up the stairs. Her leg muscles strained to carry the combined weight of her incredible meal and the thick tail that nearly dragged on the ground behind her. Her panties were stretched hopelessly around her knees, pushed aside by her relentless new limb, but she was either too absorbed by the effort of climbing the stairs to notice or she simply didn't care.

Once inside, Fiona immediately pulled her dress over her shoulders and tossed it into the corner. I rushed to draw the curtains.

"What a day," she yawned, stretching her arms. "Let's see what's in this brochure the doctor gave us." She took one of the pamphlets and collapsed belly-down on the couch. As she read, her tail swayed back and forth in the air.

Fiona's changes were already far more extensive than I'd realized. The whole shape of her body had shifted to accommodate her hefty tail. The base was as thick around as one of her thighs, and it pushed apart not only her ass cheeks, but the very bones of her hips. They were inhumanly wide, and her rear had bulked up with muscle and fat, giving her a bottom-heavy look.

With her tail lifted in the air, I had a clear view of the changes to her privates. Her asshole had swollen into a muscular pucker at least double its original size. It had finished its migration to the underside of her tail, though it was getting difficult to tell exactly where her groin ended and her tail began. Her pussy was as human as ever, but it had gone completely bald and was practically dripping in feminine fluids.

"Enjoying the view back there?" Fiona cooed without looking up.

I busied myself by hanging up my keys. "View of what, honeysuckle?"

"I think you know." Her asshole and vagina clenched in a vulgar mockery of a wink. My heartbeat raced to keep up with the demand for blood in my loins.

"Some of the transformees in this brochure are pretty sexy. Look how many tits this woman has! And this guy's tongue got turned into a cock. Apparently, it sticks out past his lips whenever he gets horny. No wonder you like this stuff. I'm starting to see the appeal."

She dipped her fingers between the delicate folds of her labia and began to stroke.

I swallowed. "I guess".

"Come on, you love it. Otherwise, I wouldn't have a fifty pound hunk of meat hanging off my ass, would I?"

Fiona flipped over onto her back and gazed at me with the same mindless lust that she had last night. She spread her pussy's lips with her fingers and flagged her tail in a beckoning gesture.

"It's just the two of us. Why don't you come over and get to know the new me a little better?"

My erection strained against my pants, eager to take her up on the offer, but I shook my head.

"No. I can't."

Fiona froze with surprise. "What? Why not?"

I sighed. "You don't want me to fuck you. It's just the potion talking."

"No, I do!" She cried. "I want you to come over here and fuck me until we both pass out in each other's arms, just like you used to."

I crossed my arms. "No. I'd be taking advantage of you. You're not yourself."

"Wasn't that the point?" she asked with pleading eyes. "If this is the new me, then I'm a freaking nymphomaniac. I can't stop thinking about that dick of yours, and I know you can't stop thinking about me. So get over here and let's fuck already!"

I broke into a cold sweat. This was everything I'd fantasized about, but I couldn't handle it. It was all too sudden and far too terribly real. I searched for excuses but there were none.

"I just can't, okay?!"

A flash of hurt crossed Fiona's face, but it soon shifted to a devious sort of look. "Fine, play hard to get. I've been seducing you for six years, and the potion is only going to make it easier. I can feel it worming through my body, rearranging all my pieces to match whatever wonderfully lewd fantasy was swimming around that head of yours."

I opened my mouth but didn't have anything to say. Finally I sputtered, "I'm going to take a shower!" and turned to do just that.

"Think of me when you're in there," My wife called after me, her hand starting to work between her legs again. "I'll be thinking of you!"

I shut the door, turned on the water, and wrapped my hand around my cock. She was right: I did think of her. Isolated behind the locked door of the bathroom, behind the shower curtain and the concealing wall of steam, all my unfocused social anxiety washed away. My "alone time" did a good job of untying some of my emotional knots, and the same seemed to be true for Fiona.

The rest of the evening was a lot more harmonious, though she did still run the tip of her tail up and down my thigh every chance she got. When she wasn't teasing me, she was cooking and eating just about everything we had in the fridge.

"I wonder what kind of food they have in the island provinces," she mused between bites.

I smacked my forehead. "Oh, demons! I forgot about our honeymoon!"

I started pacing like a madman. "How are we going to pay for it? You can't drive for Boober if you can hardly sit in the car. You're going to have to find a new job and buy new clothes. . ." I groaned. "And I forgot to call in to work today! So hopefully I don't lose my job too. We're going to have to cancel. Oh, all those non-refundable fees!"

On my next lap around the kitchen, Fiona caught me in her arms. "Calm down, honeybee. We're going to take that vacation. I promise."

"But how?"

"The brochure actually had some useful information in it. We should visit the Bureau for Transformed People tomorrow. We might be entitled to some money from the government."

"I. . . I suppose that makes sense." I said.

Fiona gave me a peck on the forehead. "Don't worry, honeybee. We'll get through this."

That night we laid on our sides, Fiona hugging me from behind. She quickly slipped into a noisome, snoring, stomach-rumbling slumber, but I laid awake wondering exactly what my wife, and our lives, would become.

- 2 -

In retrospect, the feet were the first sign that something had gone wrong.

Fiona and I stood at the door, all ready to go to the bureau save our lack of shoes. I had already called in sick to my job - which it turned out I still had, though my boss made it clear there was no more room for fuckups. We'd eaten breakfast, and my wife was wearing the only dress that fit her anymore (and even it was stretched near breaking around the incredible girth of her hips). Now she stood staring at the shoe rack with a puzzled look on her face.

Her legs had changed overnight, and not in the way I expected. Instead of growing into the powerful, draconic hind legs I'd pictured in my fantasy, they'd been compressed. I say 'compressed' because for each of the twenty or so centimeters they'd lost, they'd gained an equal share of muscle and fat. Now they easily bore the weight of my wife's extraordinarily wide hips and growing belly. It was clear that not all of the food she had been guzzling was turning into new muscle and bone. Her stomach was downright rotund, but she looked more pregnant than fat. Her belly still formed a smooth curve between her splayed legs to join her tail.

Fiona wobbled as she tried to shove her foot into a flip-flop. Her shortened legs were much worse for balance, but she stabilized herself using her tail, which now dragged on the ground behind her. With my help, she managed to maneuver the thong of the flip-flop between two of her three remaining toes. They'd fused in the night, leaving a trio of swollen, padded digits. Each one was tipped with a powerful talon that caught on the carpet with every step. The overall configuration of her enlarged feet were still human: she still walked on their flats, not on their balls like a true wyvern.

She stood up on the sandal only to have her massive feet spill over the edges.

"Ugh. It's way too small," she said, kicking the shoe away. "I'll have to go barefoot."

I nodded. "Maybe we can buy you some larger shoes when we're finished at the bureau." This morning's changes had hit Fiona fairly hard. She had me take photos and videos of her body soon after we woke up. She thumbed through them with a sober, almost somber look on her face that made me feel even more guilty about the erection I was trying to ignore.

We made our way over the hot asphalt and crumbling cement sidewalk. I grimaced thinking of how it'd all feel on Fiona's bare feet, but when I looked over, she was grinning.

"This doesn't hurt a bit! The bottoms of my feet are very tough. In fact, going barefoot is kinda liberating." She looked at me with that familiar devious spark. "So I'm turning into some sort of reptile-woman, then? Is that what you were picturing, love? thick legs, thick tails, and smooth scaly skin? What's next, a big forked tongue I can use to tickle your hard-to-reach places?"

"I told you, I hardly remember what I was thinking that night," I said. Yesterday it was an excuse, but today I was beginning to believe it. I didn't dare tell her that her legs were the side effect of some unknown stray thought and not the focus of my fantasy.

Intended or not, my wife's hips and tail were too massive to squeeze into our car. The public bus was our only option, and it felt very public indeed. Passengers waited patiently as I helped Fiona take wobbling steps up the stairs. We stood in the back under a blue placard depicting a person in a wheelchair and a bipedal penis.

A group of children near the front of the bus watched us and whispered jokes to each other. I had done the same when I was their age, making jokes about "monster-lover" men and speculating about what sorts of odd positions they would need to use to fuck their transformed wives. I felt terribly exposed, and Fiona probably had it worse. She tugged her dress down to cover as much of her legs as possible, but it did little to hide her alterations.

The Bureau for Transformed People was headquartered in a large brutalist spire that looked suspiciously phallic. Inside, the walls and floors were smooth tile, and there were no carpets or upholstered seats anywhere to be seen. A glance at the other people waiting in the room made the reason for all the waterproof surfaces obvious. One woman sat naked, reading a magazine as the forearm-sized penis between her legs dripped a steady stream of precum onto the floor. Another man sitting close to me had a large brass ring pierced through his nose, and his blushing face had swollen into the start a bovine muzzle. He was clothed, but it did little to help his modesty. His unseasonal sweater couldn't conceal the large, wobbling breasts on his chest, and his pants were unbuttoned to accommodate the taught, veiny udder resting between his legs. Each time he shifted, his teats leaked small streams of milk onto the ground, eliciting little gasps of pleasure.

"Fourteen!"

That was our number. We were directed to a small booth for our consultation. The woman sitting on the other side of the desk had an absolutely giant pair of breasts squeezed into her blouse, but it was difficult to tell whether she was a transformee or simply fat. Her name tag read "Bess."

Bess barraged us with questions and recorded our answers without looking up from her papers. Her every word dripped with impatient boredom.

"Well Mr. and Mrs. Swan," she said, peering at us over the rims of her glasses for the first time since we sat, "the matter of financial aid will take a while to settle, but I should be able to get you into some temporary transformee housing starting tomorrow."

"Oh, that sounds excellent," beamed Fiona, "I've been having a hard time fitting through doors and using the toilet in our apartment."

"I'm sure," Bess continued in her bored drone. "Now you put here that you're still in the process of transforming. To figure out where to put you, I'm going to need to know what you're turning into."

"Oh, I don't have any idea." Fiona looked at me, and that devilish glint reappeared in her eye. "But he does."

A ball formed in my throat, and I tried, unsuccessfully, to swallow it.

"I see." She crossed her arms over her generous bust. "You wanna leave while we discuss it?"

"Oh, no. I think I'll stay."

Bess raised her eyebrows, closed her eyes, and shook her head as it to say "some people. . ." She picked up her pen and turned to me. "So what's your wife gunna be when she's done?"

I scratched my forearm. "Well. . . I'd rather not say. It's kind of personal, you see."

She heaved a sigh and looked down at her forms. "Is she going to be mobile?"

"Sure. Absolutely"

"How about an udder? Any lactation?"

"No."

"Is she gunna grow a dick or need any male masturbation aids?"

"Heavens, no."

Bess looked at me, lowered her glasses, and frowned a frown so utterly venomous, I was genuinely frightened. "Are we gunna have to sit here playing twenty questions all day, or are you gunna tell me what she's turning into so I can fill out the damn forms?"

My wife stared with her. Under their combined glare, the mass in my throat had grown so large I could hardly speak.

"Fine!" I finally choked. "She's turning into a wyvern, a big scaly dragon with wings instead of forelegs, a cloaca instead of a pussy, and no breasts or anything!"

Fiona squeezed my hand lovingly.

"I know what a wyvern is." Bess said, replacing her glasses and starting on the forms. "How big are we talking here?"

"Big. As big as a horse, maybe," I said. The mass of anxiety in my chest was gone. I gazed into Fiona's eyes. The deviousness in her smile had been replaced by tender pride. "I like to imagine she's big enough to force me to do whatever she wants. I'm afraid, but she's in heat. She's needy. My life is on the line, but it's easy to perform because the situation is just-"

"Okay, that's more than enough, Mr. Swan. I'll ask the questions."

Fiona wrapped her tail around my waist and gave me a kiss on the cheek. "That wasn't so hard, was it, honeybee?"

I wiped the sweat from my forehead, and the ball in my throat disappeared. "No," I admitted, "It really wasn't."

We spoke little on the bus ride home, but all the same it felt like a barrier between us had been lifted. The bus was crowded, and I squeezed close against Fiona's flank. Standing so close to her stomach, I was the first person to hear it growl. It started as a near-silent groan but quickly grew to a cartoonish rumbling. This time, everyone on the bus really did turn to look.