Phallus Majora

He was shut up by his wife jumping on him, dressing gown flapping open and wide as she landed atop him, kissing and hugging her husband as they whirled in the bed. They toppled to the floor, Hank atop her, the duvet chaotically caught between them. They kicked it away as he grew hard, his half-asleep orgasm already making way for a new wave of lust.

#

'No, he's just gone off to work,' Sylvia said into the screen, her friend at the other end giving her a sympathetic smile. 'Just me. He works enough that I could afford to take the time, off, and - look, I know it's not popular these days, or seen as 'feminist' for women to be housewives, but if we do have a kid, I'm being a stay-at-home mum. One hundred percent.'

'I mean, it's feminist for women to do what they want, regardless of the pressures from outside, Syl,' Brendan said. He looked good in a way Sylvia hadn't noticed before - confident in a certain way. Even through the screen, he looked well in ways Sylvia liked. It was nice to see him so... well. Especially considering how they'd met.

'So,, not to turn things to, you know, but...'

'You wanna know how things are hormone-wise?' Brendan asked. 'It's cool, Sylvia - as soon as you reached out, I knew that was going to be, like, the thing I was helping you with. And, you're not trans, so that's a bit of a different perspective on this medicine, but that's barely the point, right?'

Sylvia nodded. 'Yeah- sorry, I just don't want to come across as selfish or anything.'

'Syl, you're a cis woman growing a temporary dick in the name of fertility. The conversation can be about you.' Sylvia laughed at that - at how silly it sounded. But Brendan didn't laugh. 'So - talk to me. What's the worry?'

'Nothing,' she said.

'If it was nothing, you wouldn't have asked for a call this morning,' Brendan said. 'Come on, man. This is an open, safe place.'

'I just... it started this morning. The growth, you know? And... suddenly it feels a lot more real. A lot more...'

'Intrusive?' Brendan asked. Sylvia nodded. 'Yeah - I get that. For me, it was, you know... there's this term, 'gender euphoria'. It's like the opposite of gender dysphoria - like, something that just, when you see it, it feels like you. It agrees, perfectly, with your self-image that it just creates this emotion that is... unlike anything else. For me, when I started to grow mine, I got that feeling - because I wanted one, you know?'

'But I don't want one,' Sylvia said. 'It's a means to an end for me.'

Brendan nodded. 'Yeah, so what I think you're having is gender dysphoria. You see something that doesn't... fit.'

'Yeah,' she said. 'That's exactly it. It isn't me.'

Brendan nodded. 'I used to feel that way about my boobs. Before surgery it was like they were... like they belonged to someone else. Like my body had betrayed me by growing them.' Sylvia nodded, listening along. 'So, when I got the surgery, and then later the hormones to grow my mister down there, it was... incredible. But for a long time, I felt exactly as you are right now.'

'How did you get through it?' she asked.

'For a long time, I didn't know if I would. But... once there was a road ahead of me, I owed it to the person I wanted to be to survive being who I was. Not to get all 'it gets better' on you, because that shit is a terrible take, but it does.'

Sylvia nodded. 'If I put up with this, temporarily being someone I don't want to be, I'll be able to become who I really am?'

'For me,' Brendan said, 'it was about becoming a man. For you, becoming a mother. The gender stuff is difficult, but if there's one thing I do know, it's this: your body is not your gender. And, while you're planning on changing it through the relevant medical means, don't hate your body for the changes it goes through. If you can, find a way to love yourself.'

Sylvia indeed, taking that to heart. 'Thank you, Brendan.'

'No sweat,' he said, smiling. 'Now - I'm gotta hop off, but... if I were you, as someone who has, in fact, grown a dick, I'd find a way to enjoy it. Get what I mean?'

She blushed. 'Yup.'

'Gotcha,' he said, winking at the screen, and then it went dark.

Sylvia didn't move for a second, but when she did, she was struck by the untenable sensation in her pants - a reaction to the movement she hadn't felt before, even earlier in the day. Her panties, soft and cool, felt like a stroke of a loving hand across her growing clitoris, sending shocks of pleasure through her that almost had her double over right there on the sofa.

Of course, the sofa simply got her thinking about what her and Hank had gotten up to the night before, and the thoughts of lust that flooded through her all of a sudden felt like a wave crashing over her.

She needed, more than anything, to cum. To get these lewd, horny thoughts out of her head, even though her husband had gone to work - and she had the tools to do it.

So, despite each step sending a stroke of pleasure through her poor body, Sylvia raced upstairs, shedding her clothes quickly as she reached the bedroom, and crawled into her marital bed with a frustrated groan as her hand found her wet sex - and she felt the sensitive nub against her palm as she began to touch herself. Soft moans escaped her as the unusual pleasure started to fill her mind, blocking out everything else.

It felt... easier, strangely. Like the pleasure that she felt from her newly engorged clit was stronger, more condensed, but without being overwhelming. Clitoral orgasms had a habit of wearing her out, she'd found especially when they were shotgun, back-to-back. She'd find herself afterwards sore and breathless, kicking Hank off to give her time to recover.

This wasn't that kind of pleasure.

Instead, as her fingers found the small, inch-high nubbin of a clitoris, the pleasure that swam through her mind felt like a relief. Like she'd been in pain, and this was the remedy. A release to the frustration she'd felt all day.

But, quite quickly, as her fingers touched it, and she felt the way the flesh was wet and warm shifted between her finger, hardened and stuff, something felt... off. Brendan's push for her to 'enjoy' her body was good, and she knew she should follow his advice. But, even so, that concept he'd introduced her to - body dysmorphia - was too strong.

This wasn't the way her body was supposed to be.

That mental blockage proved too strong, and to matter how good the physical sensations were, she felt the desire fall away. A sort of self-hatred seeped in, just a little, as she pulled her hand up and away, panting.

But her arousal was still there, in a physical sense at least. She could feel her body aching to cum, and she knew that until she did there would be no stopping it. So, Sylvia decided on a middle ground - she was going to push herself over the edge, but purely in the name of getting her head straight.

Honestly.

For real.

So, as she lay on her back, in her marital bed, she slipped her hand back down between her thighs, sighing softly at how her expert hands were able to make her feel. She mostly avoided her clit, aside from the most vague and broad touches with her palm as she slid fingers into herself, aiming for that g-spot orgasm Hank was so good at giving her.

'Fuck,' she breathed into her bedding as she built, and built, and built closer to the edge - but it wasn't until her palm pressed into her engorged, sensitive nub that she crested.

White flashed behind her eyes, as she shorted out for a second, before she realised how loud she was moaning.

'FUUUUUUCK - oh, FUCK - God! Oh, wow... wowwww...' she mewled, rolling on her back as she came down from a new type of orgasm. As she recovered, however, she found that she was, indeed, clearer-of-mind, and was able to get up, get herself dressed with some of Hank's underwear - which had a little more room in the front - and headed to the bathroom.

In there, she found an item that she and Hank had used on occasion, when she was feeling particularly cruel - numbing cream. Memories of Hank, moaning softly as his wife applied the numbing cream to him lovingly until his cock was nearly completely devoid of feeling flashed through her mind. Cruelly, this made her arousal begin to bubble upwards again, but she swallowed it deep.

Enough of that, she told herself.

She applied it, almost medically, hissing through the initial cold and waiting the few minutes for her nubbing to become bearably numb. It was a sweet relief that had her audibly sighing as she pulled the boxer shorts back up. No sensitivity - no teeth-grinding pain-pleasure. She felt the movement, and it was a little odd, but not like it had been earlier. Her steps no longer sent flashes of unwanted pleasure through her, and that was enough.

She took the cream, and put it in her bedside table drawer, deciding it would probably make a good idea to keep that close. Maybe she should go out, buy some more. It was going to be a life-saver, she could tell.

It was decided. Plus, she had some groceries to buy. So, having had her orgasm of the day, and feeling appropriately numbed-up, Sylvia grabbed her car keys and headed out into the world. A new woman.

#

Each morning, Hank watched his wife wake up with a grunt, open and shut her bedside table, and rush into the ensuite slightly bow-legged. When she would emerge, for the next three mornings, she came back in with a towel or dressing gown wrapped around her, a sheepish look on her face, and he didn't ask any questions.

He didn't want to intrude - he didn't want to do anything that would make her uncomfortable. She didn't show him her 'progress', instead just giving him assurances that it was fine, that she was dealing with it, and that she would tell him if anything seemed... unusual.

Since the fertility treatment began on Monday, and their last penis-in-vagina sexual romp on Tuesday morning, sex had changed. It had been expected, but still.

On Tuesday night, she'd asked her husband if he wanted her to take care of him. He'd said yes, and 'Mummy' had treated him to one of the most incredible, indulgent blowjobs of his life. He'd come down her throat, his wife swallowing lovingly, as he sat on the side of the bed, a toy neatly inserted into his backdoor to stimulate his prostate. Since they'd started that, he wasn't sure who'd enjoyed it more - her or him.

Wednesday was when things had started to shift a little bit.

'You want Mummy to fuck you?' Sylvia had asked him as they lay in bed, naked and sleepy. She was behind him, her hand stroking his shoulder as he faced the wall, before travelling down his back. Exploring him in a new way.

'Mmmmm,' he'd answered; due to her dominant side, they'd played like this before - it wasn't unusual in the slightest.

'Baby, ask me,' she said, almost a moan in his ear. Hank whimpered, and half rolled over to face her. It was late, but the light from the moon was cutting across the bed, illuminating them beautifully.

'We doing this?' he asked.

Sylvia nodded. 'If you ask nicely.' She leaned over him, and kissed him - deeply. Her hands on his chest, stroking him awake as he rolled onto his back. He could feel himself hardening in anticipation of what was to come.

'Will you fuck me, please?' he asked.

Sylvia grinned. 'I'll get you all nice and ready.'

It all happened in a flash - Hank, naked on the bed, his hands cuffed to the bed frame. He was sitting up, arms spread wide, watching a blindfold in Sylvia's hands as she knelt between his open legs, their pillows against the small of his back. It took minutes. It was all practised, and Sylvia was... familiar.

She was also fully dressed, wearing her cutesy pyjamas that Hank didn't expect. Usually it would be lingerie, or maybe some sort of leather (though that was only for special occasions). But he didn't argue.

Sylvia slipped the blindfold over his eyes, making sure it was fastened tight, before leaning in to kiss him.

'Hmmmm...' he moaned into her mouth, before she leant back, trailing her nails up and down the soft of his spread inner thighs.

He felt the nip of her teeth on his legs, the wet of her tongue as she moved up, up, up... and then, just as he was holding his breath, hoping her mouth would find his length, he felt something else altogether.

'Oh, fuck,' he moaned as her finger, slick and cool, slid into him. Sylvia's palm brushed against the underside of his balls as she slipped an easy lubed-up digit into her husband. 'Oh, fuck, Syl-'

'Shut up,' she told him, before kissing his knee. She hilted her finger, before pulling out. A squeeze of lube.

Two fingers.

'Fuck,' Hank breathed - in response, Sylvia slapped his thigh with her free hand.

'Shut. Up. Understand?'

He nodded, smiling and letting out a breath. Sylvia slapped his thighs so he kept them open, as she finger-fucked her husband. Hank felt the way she curled her digits, finding his prostate as she always did. He whined, but didn't open his mouth - didn't say a word.

Didn't beg for her to stop, nor to keep going.

She ignored his cock until he was mostly soft - which tended to happen when he was on the receiving end of things. When he was limp, her small fingers wrapped around him, tugging on him lightly as she pulled her fingers out of him.

Three fingers.

'Hrnnn...' he moaned as they slid into him, his back door now massaged and relaxed to let her in. To stretch for her, happily.

He could hear her, breathing heavily as she played with him, toyed with him. He was hers to use and play with, and she fucking loved it.

Eventually, she released his limp cock, and focused on his hole. He'd been the recipient of her teasings before, but something about this felt... new. More focused. When he got close, she stopped. Let him simmer down. The started again, stroking his prostate from inside him until he leaked, but never letting him crest over.

Then, abruptly, she withdrew. He felt her come up onto him, straddling him. Hank wondered if his wife was about to sit on him, but instead he felt his hands drop - she'd released his wrists from their binds.

'Flip over, baby,' she said. He obeyed, unquestioningly. Turned onto his belly. Sylvia lovingly brought his hands behind his back, as his face pressed into the pillows, and used one of the handcuff sets to lock them into place. He stayed there, legs spread and face-down, his half-erect cock hanging between his legs.

Sylvia's hand, slippery and cool, went back to his hole, and he moaned as she slid back into him - three fingers, immediately. It stretched him, but in a way that felt perfect. He wanted to thank her, to moan her name as she fucked him like this, but she'd told him to be quiet.

So he was.

Her hand began to stroke his cock again, hanging as it was, and soon she was milking him. It made his eyes roll, his hips jerk, his breath catch and hold.

'Such a good boy,' she moaned, kissing his back as she fucked him like this. 'Do you want more?'

Hank nodded.

'Ask me,' she said. 'Beg me for it.'

'Please baby,' he said. 'Please - fuck me?'

He couldn't see the smile on her face as she pulled her three fingers from him, pushed her fingers together, and squeezed a fresh dollop of lube onto her hand. She massaged it around, before pointing all of her fingertips at his opening, which was winking at him expectantly.

She pushed.

'Oh, fuck,' Hank moaned, unable to ep himself. Sylvia didn't mind. She loved the way he moaned for her. It made her feel powerful.

Her knuckles slid into him, her thin hand stretching him lewdly, until he crested the widest point. Then, the muscle of his hole clenched, pulling her in. Up to her wrist.

'Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,' he was panting, as Sylvia looked in lust-addled shock at the sight before her.

Her husband, on his knees - and her hand, deep inside him.

He was hot, inside. His muscles clenched her, wet and slippery but trying to find purchase.

'I can feel your heartbeat,' she said, whispering to him.

'I can feel everything,' Hank replied, as he tried desperately to control his breathing.

Then, she pulled a little - just a half-inch or so - out of him, followed by a push. Her free hand found his cock again, and all of a sudden he was taking it from both sides. Her fingers slid over the head of his cock, sensitive and needy, as his prostate was massaged by her palm, her knuckles, her wrist.

'Fuck, fuck - FUCK!'

It was no surprise to Sylvia when her husband came. It had been a lot, after all. She pulled out of him, and rushed to the bathroom so fast that Hank didn't even have time to roll over and kiss her. Thank her. Nothing. By the time she returned, he'd fallen asleep - naked, atop the covers, on his front. His arse still shiny.

#

On Thursday, when Hank got in from work Sylvia had been a little out of whack, and had apologetically told him that she wasn't feeling up to it.

'Don't apologise,' he had told her each time, before taking a shower and masturbating into the drain. It wasn't that bad of a time for him - he knew she was going through something difficult. 'Don't ever apologise to me.'

It was Friday morning when things really took a turn, and Hank began to understand why.

'Hank!' he heard from another room, as he was waking up. His mind blurry and his body half-asleep, he barely registered it. Then, slightly louder - 'Hank!'

He sat up in a shot, getting up while nude-but-for-his-boxers and opened the ensuite door. What he saw there made Sylvia's sheepishness for the last few days snap into focus.

His wife, Sylvia, with her flowing red hair and slim frame, soft skin and smooth, pale skin, was standing in the shower - dry as a bone. She looked at him with a face of pleading, hopefully vulnerability; the kind of look that only came from someone who was showing a part of themselves they'd never expected to show to anyone else. And the part of her that his eyes focused on was entirely new.

His wife was sporting a heavy, thick penis. Half-erect, turgid and a pinkish red at the tip that rivalled her usual, more feminine sex. She looked terrified.

'Syl?' he asked.

'I don't... it's been growing slowly all week,' she said, like it was an admission of sin. 'But this morning... I didnt even realise how big it was until I was in here - about to turn on the water, and... fuck - look at it!'

'Yeah,' Hank said, as Sylvia motioned towards it - her hands seeming scared to make contact. 'It's... real.'

'It's massive,' she said - not one to avoid the facts. Her voice was thin, though. Low and hissing. She stepped over the side of the bath, and Hank saw it shift and sway between her thighs, bouncing slightly beneath its own weight. 'And - fuck - baby, it's sensitive. Does yours get like this?'

'Like what?'

'Like this! Like, it feels like it might explode if I don't... fuck it - I can get through, just pass me the, uh - in my bedside table. There's some cream.'

Hank frowned. 'Cream?'

Sylvia nodded. 'Baby, I don't need anything like questions right now - please just help me out?'

He nodded, and went back through into their bedroom, the image of his wife's cock emblazoned in his mind. The veins. The thick shaft, and the heavy foreskin half-pulled-back. Beneath it, there were two hanging testicles, in a little hairless sack. He wondered briefly about the biology of that situation, but then dismissed it.