Of Wives and Wyverns Pt. 02 - End

- 4 -

The idea behind a change party was much the same as one of those baby "gender reveal" gatherings. Invite everyone you know, and instead of having a hundred awkward conversations about the changes in your life, have all of them at once. Rip off the bandage. I couldn't argue with the logic, but I cringed thinking of the social crucible that awaited us that day.

Fiona, however, was less apprehensive about embarrassment and more preoccupied with her continued inability to get off.

That morning I had made another attempt to offer her relief using the better half of my forearm. Her insides hugged my hand tighter than the day before, and she said she felt a twinge if something pleasurable, but we ultimately gave up, unsuccessful.

She worried to me as we laid tablecloths on the park's picnic benches. "What if I lose control and hump one of the guests?"

I rolled my eyes. "Stop joking around."

"I'm serious! I hardly slept at all last night. Look at these bags under my eyes."

Demons leave it to my wife to be more concerned with the bags under her eyes than the 6 centimeters her neck had lengthened in the night, or the delicate webbing that now stretched between her fingers. She couldn't wear her wedding band anymore. Would this be her last day with hands? With a human face? Her scales were crawling up her neck and down her arms. Her entire rotund, bipedal, draconic body was bright pink, save a white speckling that had replaced the freckles on her shoulders.

This was all visible as we finished our preparations around the park. She would be hosting her change party in the nude. There wasn't much to see now that her chest was flat and her pussy had closed up, but her decision made me uncomfortable nonetheless.

Just before the guests arrived, I answered a call from our landlord. He said he wanted the rent on time this month, or he'd change the locks and file for eviction. I told him I understood, and hung up the phone now doubly stressed. Assuming I still had a job tomorrow, the tip from the event's organizers would be enough to allow us to pay on time. Hopefully.

The guests soon began to trickle in, and it was a who's who of people I didn't want to be humiliated in front of. Our friends were all there, along with their spouses, Fiona's parents, and, most horrifying of all, my own parents.

I had imagined a somber mood, but everyone arrived in high spirits. They laughed and joked amongst each other as if this was just another reunion. Fiona's girlfriends oohed and awwed as they ran their hands over her scales, and she was an active participant in their conversations (which seemed to consist mostly of whispering and giggling.) She looked calm, but I knew she was struggling, resisting the urge to thrust herself against everything in sight. Luckily there were plenty of distractions. When she wasn't checking in with the guests, she was busy ensuring that this would be the first potluck without leftovers in the history of the Empire. Her plate was constantly piled high with bbq ribs and potato salad. Her burps resonated loud enough to overcome the din of the party. The guests even began to applaud after each one as a sort of game.

My best friend Mark gave me a congratulatory slap on the back as if to say, "I know what crazy kinky stuff is going down in your bedroom, and I don't understand, but I approve." In reality, even I didn't know what would be happening in my bedroom that night. I suspected he was amused to think that some private desire my wife and I shared had been revealed to the whole world, which I suppose it had.

Then came the opening of gifts. These were mostly novelty items designed to make the guests chuckle and us blush. There were giant "monster-sized" condoms large enough to fit around my arm, a vibrating bullet the size of a pool ball, and a "My First Alchemical Accident" scrapbook filled with spaces to paste photos with prompts like "my first time cumming in public," and "my first transformed sex partner."

As Fiona opened her presents, everyone laughed and awwed except for one couple: my parents. They were the only guests living my expectation of a serious, melancholy event. They stood some distance from the crowd dressed in austere formalwear that would have been more appropriate for an upscale indoor venue than the public park. After the gift-giving was concluded, I gathered my courage and approached them.

"How is school?" asked my father.

"Excuse me?"

He huffed, apparently annoyed that I didn't understand. "You said you were going back to get your degree, and that she was going to support you by driving Boober. How are you going to afford school when she can't fit in a car?"

I opened my mouth to respond, but I was interrupted by that now familiar and fateful sound of my wife's pre-change stomach growl. Everyone turned to face her. She held her lower stomach with her eyes clenched shut, huffing and groaning as if she was giving birth. She leaned back on her tail for stability, giving everyone at the party a clear view of her smooth crotch and the oversized pucker at the base of her tail. It clenched and unclenched with each straining breath. Most people stepped back to give her space, but several of her friends ran forward to see if they could offer any help. I had only taken a single step when it happened.

She took a deep breath, bared her teeth, and pushed with all her might. A spherical bulge appeared in her crotch, stretching her scales like she had a softball under her skin. She bore down again, and a second bulge appeared next to the first. Fiona panted with relief as the pair began to sag, stretching her scales into a wrinkled sack.

"It's balls!" whispered my friend Sal, loud enough for everyone in the silent park to hear.

Fiona's eyes opened wide in an expression of surprise. Before our eyes, the scaled skin above her new set of testicles gathered into a bulging pocket. It was a sheathe, and it was soon pressed open by an emerging shaft. The cock unfurled into existence in a way that reminded me of righting an inside-out sweater sleeve by pushing an arm through it, only instead of a hand emerging, the tip bloomed into a large, blunt cock head.

My wife had grown a horse's penis.

But it wasn't just any horse cock; I recognized this horse cock. I knew every centimeter of it's pink and brown mottled flesh. I was familiar with each pulsing vein, the rise of the medial ring, the way the head jumped and flared as Fiona flexed the muscles at its base. This was the stallion's shaft that I pictured whenever my fantasies demanded one. This was my horse cock.

All our friends would eventually tell their own stories about where they were standing and the looks on everyone else's faces, but I was too shocked to notice anything other than the throbbing, arm-length shaft standing from Fiona's scaled crotch. She immediately bent over and put her webbed hands to work stroking her new cock. It was a clumsy but enthusiastic yank. Only seconds later, the blunt head of her cock swelled until its flare was the size of my two fists held together. Her round urethra twitched, then spewed a stream of pearlescent cum. Judging from the volume of the fluid, my wife had been desperate indeed.

Overwhelmed and inexperienced as she was, Fiona made no attempt to aim her powerful jets of semen. Thankfully, the only guest hit was her best friend Trisha, but she got it bad: a big glob landed straight into her shocked mouth. Later, my friend Boris would claim he saw her swallow it. The rest of the cum landed mostly on the potluck table, coating the food, dishes, and yet-uncut cake in a layer of sugar-frosting jizz.

Fiona collapsed onto her ass, and for a moment the only sound was her exhausted panting. Then Mark elbowed his girlfriend and said, "I told you the giant condoms were a good idea."

At this, everyone laughed, and the festivities continued. I moved to rejoin my wife, but my mother stopped me with a hand on my shoulder.

"Don't think this lets you off the hook for grandchildren," she said, then let me go.

By the time I pushed through the crowd to Fiona, her penis had withdrawn back into its sheath, leaving only a knob of dripping, wrinkled flesh. Being so close to the alien genitals between my wife's legs unsettled me, but I swallowed my doubts and threw my arms around her bulk.

"Honey! Are you okay?"

She kissed me on the forehead and said she was fine- relieved, even. I offered to help her cover herself with a tablecloth, but she declined.

"Isn't showing off my body the point of this party?"

Much to my chagrin, the guests cheered in agreement, and the party continued much the same as it had with the notable addition of a few more furtive glances, raised eyebrows, and whispers.

As the sun dipped past the treetops, guests packed up and filtered out. The spectacle was over, and it was time for them to return to their routines. Once everyone was gone, we went to work cleaning up.

I snuck a fair few glances between my wife's legs as she packed up the leftovers. Her plump sheathe jiggled with each step, and her testes were large enough that the longer blades of grass tickled them. I shuddered at the sight. Despite my odd sexual attractions, I was not gay. I had no idea how to process the unexpected arrival of a cock between my wife's legs.

On the bus ride home we talked about everything other than the elephantine penis in the room. It wasn't until we arrived home and I had taken a shower that the silence was finally broken. I emerged from the bathroom to find Fiona standing in front of the bedroom's full-length mirror, craning her elongated neck to get a closer look at her reflection's intimidating package.

"My balls are moving all on their own," she said. "Do yours do that?"

"Yes," I replied without looking. The mental image of my wife's grapefruit-sized balls shifting in her scaled scrotum was all too vivid. "Some people call it 'churning.'"

"I never noticed!" She looked up at me with an amused look on her face, but upon seeing my nakedness, her expression shifted. She opened her mouth to breathe, and her fanned ears lifted subtly. She looked at me like I was a steak dinner. A motion between her legs caught my attention. Her sheath was engorged, and her shaft was starting to slide free, pulsing with her heartbeat as it stretched for the floor.

Fiona licked her lips with a tongue that was long and slender. She spoke with a sultry, seductive voice. "Why don't you come teach your husband how to use his new equipment?"

"Ha!" I laughed. "My 'husband.' Very funny."

At this, Fiona cocked her head. The length of her neck gave the gesture a decidedly inhuman quality. "I wasn't joking. I'm male now. That makes me your husband."

My pulse quickened. "But your cloaca. . ."

"I don't have one, dear. Just balls, taint, and an asshole, like you."

Fiona's horsecock, flacid but fully extended, rested on the floor like a sleeping python. When he noticed me staring, it stirred to life, straightening and lifting from the ground to point directly at me like some sort of weapon.

"Just because you have a penis doesn't mean you're a man." I stammered, wrapping a towel around my waist.

"I want to be a man," he said, stepping toward me. The lengthening of his neck had deepened fis voice. Earlier I thought it sounded matronly. Now it was androgynous, almost masculine. Combined with his size, lack of breasts, and general build, it would be difficult for fresh eyes to see anything other than a male creature in front of me.

"You were the one who told me to embrace the new me, whatever I became. I'm a man now." He took another rumbling step forward. "Or if not a man, at least male."

"Honey. . . we should talk about this."

"Yes," he said. "But first, I need your help. I know those hands of yours know how to handle a dick."

He took another step closer, cock bobbing within reach.

"I'm not really feeling it," I said, backing up.

His eyes were filled with a lust-addled haze that I recognized all too well from my own adolescence. It was single-minded lust, strong and decidedly male. He was reading the situation the way he wanted, not the way it was.

"Aw come on," he said, closing the distance again. His cockhead was so close I could feel its heat. "You know you wanna."

I crossed my arms over my chest. "No."

"What?" For a moment, Fiona was taken aback, then his smile returned. "You want me to dom you again?"

"No." I repeated firmly. "I don't want to fuck. I need time to think about all this."

"What!?" Fiona frowned and huffed in annoyance. "Fine. I guess I'll take care of this myself, then." He turned and headed into the bathroom, cock bobbing painfully erect in front of him. He slammed the door.

I collapsed back onto the couch. The sound of a running shower echoed from the bathroom, followed soon by grunting, moaning, and the sound of flesh rubbing against flesh. The image of Fiona grasping his cock and pumping away dominated my thoughts. I stood, got dressed, and grabbed the car keys.

"Honey?" I called to the bathroom door. "I'm going out on a drive. I should be back soon."

The grunting paused long enough for my new husband to bark a dismissive "Okay!"

Driving helps me think. All the nervous energy that makes organized thought impossible is focused on keeping my car on the road. I steered the vehicle that had once been Fiona's Boober car down dark, unfamiliar streets. There was no course or destination; I followed any turn that struck my fancy and let my mind sift through the day's events.

Fiona's other changes had been strange and alien, but I recognized this one. My wife was now a male. He acted more like a boy than a man, but he was male. Unfortunately, the familiarity did little to ease my mind. I understood having a wife, even a wyvern wife. But a husband? As I said before, I wasn't gay or even bi-curious. Was our sex life at an end? Our marriage was already strained from a lack of intimacy, and it now it would be even worse. Was it time to file for divorce?

This story is filled with many intimate and awkward details about my life, but I am most embarrassed to admit what happened next. As I said, I was stressed, and I drove for a long time, deep into the night. The rural roads wound hypnotically through the hills. My mind had exhausted itself running in circles. The radio was off. The heat was on. My tired blinks grew slow and long.

It seemed my eyes were only closed for a moment, but in that time the car drifted across the center line, over the shoulder, down a hill, and into a tree. Exploding airbags make a nasty wake-up call, but I'll be damned if I wasn't immediately more alert than I'd ever been in my life. Of course, by then the action was over. The car was some four meters downhill from the road, wedged between a boulder and the splintered remains of the tree. The engine sputtered its final breaths and all was quiet.

I was lucky to survive, and even luckier that my worst injury was a ruptured ego. That's not to say my body was completely scratch-free. My ankle screamed in pain with each tiny motion, and I prayed to Freya it wasn't broken. I pushed my door open and crawled from the wreckage. Standing was out of the question, so I crawled up to the side of the road and sat leaning against a tree. As I caught my breath, I pulled out my cellphone to call Fiona. No service. I spat a few curses at our cheap, useless carrier, but there was no one around to hear them.

So I waited. There was nothing else to do. The wreck and I were visible from the road, and the next driver would be sure to stop and offer help. Minutes passed. The creaking and clicking of the settling wreck soon faded and gave way to the encompassing not-silence of the country: cicadas buzzed, bats fluttered, and leaves crashed under the feet of unknown animals. I started to get nervous. I was isolated, injured, and completely alone.

My imagination went wild with stories of the corrupted creatures that lived out in the wilds. I'd be a prime target for a lucky Dakini worm. It could sneak up and paralyze me with its venom before I even noticed it. I'd be helpless to do anything but watch as it crawled up my pant-leg, pressed itself into my asshole, and took control of my body. It was a real possibility that the next time I saw Fiona, I'd be more of a twisted, sexual monstrosity than her.

Or him. I wasn't used to thinking of Fiona as a male. Exhausted and terrified as I was, it made little difference. I missed him, and I would have given anything to have him there with me.

I awoke to the sound of tires crunching through the gravel. The sun was high in the sky. The truck pulled onto the shoulder,, and an older man in jeans and a tucked-in flannel emerged.

"Odd place to take a nap," he joked. He helped me into the passenger seat of his truck, and I thanked him profusely. I asked him to take me to work. As much as I wanted to see Fiona again, there was no way I could miss today. If I didn't get that rent money, we'd be homeless when our month of free government housing ran out.

As we neared civilization, I pulled out my phone to call Fiona only to find that he had left me a voicemail.

"Martin, my love?" The tinny voice on the recording was distraught, but I was overjoyed to hear my spouse. Despite being slightly lower, it was still the voice of the woman I married, and a pang of longing rose in my chest. "I guess you're staying out late tonight. That's fine. Listen, I'm sorry I was such a, well, a dick earlier. Please hurry home. I need-" His word was interrupted by a rumbling belch. "I love-" another inappropriate burp. I swear to you, I could hear his stomach rumble over the phone.

He was changing.

My heart raced as his pleasant voice gave way to a sequence of half-formed words that broke into grunts and growls. There was a beastial screech followed by a loud pop as his phone clattered to the ground and then silence.

My fingers were trembling as I hit the "call back" button. The phone rang, but there was no answer. I tried again and again, but all I got was the cheery, feminine voice of Fiona's answering machine greeting. I checked the time on the voicemail. It had been left almost 12 hours ago.

We were almost at my work, but I turned to the old man and begged him to take me to my apartment. It was far, but he could hear the panic in my voice, and he agreed. When we arrived, I lowered myself from the truck, thanked my rescuer, and limped through the temporary housing complex as quickly as I could. I paused at the door to our apartment and braced myself for whatever awaited me on the other side of the door.

I took a deep breath and stepped inside.

- 5 -

"Fiona? I'm home!" I called. No answer.

The musky smell of sex was so thick in the air, I could practically taste it. The couch was absolutely drenched in cum. Then there was a shuffling sound, and I jumped. It sounded like something scratching at the walls, and it was coming from our bedroom. I crept and peered through the crack in the door.

Inside, Fiona was on the bed, contorted into the strangest position. He laid on his back with his stubby legs and thick tail swinging high above him. The goal was obvious: he was trying, unsuccessfully, to suck his own dick.

Scaled wings that had once been his arms flapped noisily against the sheets in an attempt to keep his body from rolling this way or that. They were comically small for the size of his body, nowhere near large enough for flight. I couldn't see his face from where I was standing, but his neck was longer, thicker, and covered in pink scales. It should have helped him reach the massive horsecock dangling above him, but the curve of his belly kept the shaft angled away from his head. A small spurt of stringy precum dribbled from his urethra and splattered onto him. He hissed in frustration, and I chuckled.