The Christmas Gift, Pt. 8

I lifted my face to the water, feeling my wet hair cling to my shoulders and down my back. I breathed in through my nostrils, filling my lungs, my breasts lifting with my breath, settled, two melonous realities on my chest, basking in the steam of the shower and the way the water coursed over my new curves.

I could stay in this shower forever. Bask here. Let my little toes and my fingertips wrinkle in the water.

I reached back and clung to my generously plump ass. I squeezed it, my long fingernails gripping flesh.

A deep male voice called sweetly from the other room. “Eddy. Dinner isn’t going to make itself.”

The way the water coursed down my middle, into my cavern. . . My thighs no longer met. My hip bone had expanded, pushing my thighs apart.

The gap. Water coursed down my tummy into it, dripping from my pussy. Fuck. I loved my new body.

I turned off the water and cracked the shower door, opening it enough for me to send a lithe hand out to fetch a towel and pull it back into the warmth. I wrapped it around my shoulders and moved it slowly over my body, drying off. I moaned when I had to lift each breast to dry beneath them. I let them fall, falls that tugged on my back. God. They were big. My new endowment. One I would be unable to hide.

I swayed, swinging them back and forth, admiring my nipples, no longer flat against me, far away from where they had once called home.

They were much prettier now. Bigger. Thicker. Achingly sensitive. A wider path circled them, pink, stretched wider when my mammary glands were awoken, when fat had moved into them to push my breasts out.

Swollen little mosquito bites beneath my nipples had sprouted, budded on my retreating male pecs, and swelled into two sensual breasts. I stood up straight. Tits like these should be shown off. I was already proud of them.

I bent over to dry my legs and they swung beneath me. Heavy. Bobbing together. I stretched out a glorious thigh as far as I could in the glass box I was contained in and dried my leg down to my pretty toes, admiring my cute little toenails. They would need to be painted. I thought of the white toe separators my wife would employ during her pedicures and felt a jolt of expectation in my clit. My pussy lips ached to be separated.

I wrapped the towel around my head and dried my hair. Everything shook.

I collected my long dark tresses in the towel and wrapped it around my head and stepped out of the shower into the cool Christmas air of the bathroom — nipples meeting it and returning to a soft erect position on the apex of my lovely breasts.

I could see my image in the fog of the mirror, a mysterious stranger. Her hourglass. The softness of her form. Two tits punctuating the image. The light from the window behind me shining brightly in the gap between my thighs. I moved my weight to one hip, watching her. Then I turned to admire my profile.

God, my ass. I wanted to fuck her, and with that, a realization: that meant I wanted to be fucked.

“Eddy?” Sam called from the bedroom.

Another jolt in my clit.

The man in the other room.

My husband.

I had just sucked his cock.

My world was upside down.

In the last hour. . .

The things I had done.

The lines I had crossed.

Even though I intended to change back after dinner — I was already a different person.

"Eddy!?!"

“I’ll be right there, honey.”

They were laid out on the bed, waiting for me. I hardly noticed the tall, muscular man, his waist wrapped in a white towel, by the bed. I walked nearly hypnotized towards the presentation and took them in my hand.

“Oh fuck, Sam. More clothes?”

“Microfiber brazilians. Soft. Thong cut. 100% cotton. You shouldn’t cook in your dress — it’s hanging in the closet.”

I bit my lip and balked. Would this be slipping over my new pussy? Would this be cutting into my ass? Was this my new thong?

“They’re comfortable. They’ll fit close. Move with you. And they won’t be visible when you put on these” Sam held them up.

“Yoga pants?” My mind was reeling.

They were pink.

“I prefer to call them leggings.”

Leggings. Pretty, pink leggings.

“They’ll fit you so tightly. Hug your ass. Cup your crotch. Cling to your thighs and ankles. Like second skin. They feel buttery soft — I would know, I had a few pairs.”

The breath was knocked out of me. I had strolled through our master bedroom, I was a man. Now an emptiness was building in my pussy. Now every cell in my body was alive, waiting to be hugged and adorned. Packaged and presented. On display.

“You liked my yoga pants, didn’t you Eddie?” Sam whispered, reaching behind me to cup my ass. His took my right cheek in his big hand and squeezed.

I gasped for a breath. I nodded. I had. I remembered how much I had liked my wife’s ass in them. How obsessed I was. How I groped and touched her in the kitchen. She squeezed. My ass was bigger than hers ever was. Plumper. Tighter. Hotter.

Now it was my turn.

“Eddy. Put on your underwear while I watch.” Sam sat on the bed.

My hands shook. I leaned over, breasts swaying beneath me again. I could feel Sam’s gaze over my body as I brought them to the floor and tipped one toe in, then the other. I slid them up my calves, and over my knees, stopping for a moment to catch my breath before they met my thighs, clinging tightly now, ready to slide into place, over my hips, meeting my pussy, and — I cocked my head back and moaned. Settling into the crack of my ass.

I moaned softly. How soon would it be before the crotch of these panties is soaked through?

Sam stood and strolled around me. “Very nice, Eddy.” I could see a lurch beneath his towel. My husband liked this. I was his Christmas present. I stood being ogled, realizing this had all been premeditated, right down to this perfectly-fitting thong. I was wearing women’s underwear. Quite suddenly, it struck how much of a denial this was. Soon I would be standing in pink leggings, leggings that looked tight, that would practically be painted on my ass. And Sam — Sam had painted my face in her come and now she was dressing me up, but she wasn’t herself.

Sam’s hand touched my ass again. Though I was wearing underwear, it still lay bare to be touched. He pulled. My pussy moved along with his grip, my labia tugging slightly in the smooth fabric which cut a path down my middle over my pussy lips and over my puckering feminine asshole. I leaned forward and moaned wantonly.

My husband was moving around me, groping my ass, getting hard under his towel. Would he ask me to suck his cock again? —  I would. Oh fuck, I would.

He rolled his hand over my hips, over my smoothly adorned mound. I whimpered. Or he could fuck me. . .

Sam handed me the leggings. My heart sunk a bit (for my pussy ached to be penetrated.).

“Now these.”

Pretty. Pink. Leggings.

My clit, snug in my thong, pressed diminutively into the fabric of my panties. I had a hard on. I slipped them around my pretty ankles. I slipped them up my legs. Painting them on. Over my knees. God, they tugged at my thick thighs as I pulled them up, meeting my ass. My little biceps flexed at the resistance as I navigated them around the circumference of my bulging feminine ass, my hips, my curves. There.

I moved. Swayed. Kicked a leg out. They clung maddeningly — providing no denial to what I had become. They did feel like butter. I took my tits in my hands and fiddled my nipples between my fingers.

“Do you like them?”

I moaned. My voice syrupy and feminine, taken in total enjoyment and joy. “Mmm, I do.” I moaned again. “I love them.” I bent over and turned. I lifted my knee up and settled my leg down into a V. “I love my pink leggings.”

Putting them on — it was like flipping a switch — or more accurately: like a circuit breaker being tripped. My male nature suddenly failed to fire. I stuck my ass out seductively, offering it to my husband. “Do you like them?”

Sam stood back, admiring me. The towel shifted, finally unable to contain his arousal. His cock spread the towel as it filled with blood, pumping to attention, and in a moment compromising the towels hold on his waist. It fell to the floor. Sam stood erect, putting to shame the only other cock that had seen the light of this bedroom.

He liked them.

He really liked them.

I was hard. It made my clit so hard to make Sam happy — to make him hard. My clit pushed into my panties. I realized, unlike Sam, and other than my erect nipples, I no longer possessed my former visible sign of arousal. He would have to finger me to understand.

Sam smiled a moment. I had hoped for his hands around my hips. Again a grope, a touch, or even a touch of his cock. Instead he walked to the bed and took something black into his hands. He bent over and stepped in, pulling them up.

They settled over his throbbing cock. Black male briefs.

“Do you like them?” Sam said, grinning.

I bit my lip, suddenly met with an image I thought I’d never want to see. Another man in our bedroom in his underwear. I gazed up, into eyes that I recognized — for I had shrunk and she had grown taller. For some reason I wanted Sam taller than me. I stood in pink leggings, my tits exposed, my thighs apart, my clit positively throbbing in my thong as my gaze trailed down the tall, muscular body that stood before me, drinking it in, settling my eyes down to the tight waist and the black briefs containing my wife’s pulsing new sex.

I batted my eyelashes. I puckered my lips.

And in that surreal moment, and not without a tinge of horror, I wondered why I didn’t mind this man’s presence. I wondered why I couldn’t stop thinking what it would be like to slip a dainty hand into the window of those black briefs and pull out my husband’s glorious, thick cock. To have it in my hands. To play.

I licked my lips. How I wanted to slip my finger into the divot of my new leggings, right along the middle of my new cameltoe, and trace my slit until my crotch grew a dark, saturated, pink wet spot.

"I asked if you like them." Sam repeated.

“Yes.” My stance widened instinctually. I pushed my ass out behind me.

“I like them.”

.

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Thank you for reading! Part 9 is coming early next week. If you have comments, ideas, thoughts, or anything, we would love to hear them. Feel free to message or comment.