It felt as if the ground lurched beneath Greg, uttered his wish. Widening his stance he watched as the room seemed to shimmer around him. The walls, the furniture, even the floor taking on a less than real aspect.
A new reality was fading into place. Taking deep gulping breaths, Greg watched as the room gained some high quality furniture, and .... and then Greg recognised it, he recognised the location. It was from room from the video. Reeling from the surprise, he slumped into the low leather seat behind him.
His head still swimming he closed his eyes against the vertiginous sights, and rested in his hand, with his elbows propped up on the arms of the chair. He focused on his breathing, slowing it, calming himself, as he took in that his wish was real, and he was about to...
-tik-
-tik-
-tik-
His heart skipped a beat, he recognised the sound of his wife's approach, her steel tipped heels as she crossed the marble floor. There she stood, like an untouchable Goddess, a creature beyond mere mortals. That same imperious manner, that dismissive look.
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"Sweetheart." Greg uttered, half expecting her to evaporate like a mirage. He swallowed, his dry mouth was making his voice high, and soft.
"Sweetheart." he tried again. But again, his voice had a feminine edge, Greg became more aware of his own body.
Trying to shake away the feeling unreality, he found only a mane of hair. It caressed and tickled his shoulders. Eyes drawn downwards, they were distracted by the cleavage she now had in abundance, and the bra she hadn't even realised she was wearing. The sensations crashed one after another, the earrings, the necklace, the silky panties.
She didn't see her wife slip off the latex catsuit, her own hands exploring her tiara. Cupping, squeezing her full breasts. Yup! They were real, her hands still shook, as they slid down her taut tummy. Freezing as they reached the lace frills of her panties. Her breath caught, clearly they were hiding nothing... Well, nothing that he ever expected for himself. His long fingernails slid inside, it only took a moment to remove her last vestige of doubt.
"Susan..." he asked, or rather she asked.
"Yes, husband mine." her wife answered. Her words punctuated with a solid -snick-, as she secured the strap-on into the harness. Terrified and wanting to flee, Greg got to her feet, she was several inches taller than his wife. But she seemed oblivious to the fact. Advancing on her with purpose and determination.
"B.. But, I'm bigger than you..." she half-asked, half-objected.
This only drew a smile from her wife, "It's not the size of dog in the fight, but the fight in the dog."
As Greg raised a blocking hand, she found it twisted around and driven up her back. She barely had time to object, before she crashed forward bent over the sofa. Still trying to catch her breath, to say anything, she felt her knees being kicked wider.
Then in one smooth motion, she felt herself filled. Eyes shooting wide, Greg was filled as never before, her body completed, as Susan filled her.
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She gave Greg a moment to enjoy it.
"You're my bitch, my sweet Georgia." Susan whispered sweetly through her cascading mane of hair. Then she started a machine-gun pace, pistoning away, into her 'husband'. Georgia's breathing synchronising with each thrust, a grunting gasp interspersed each stroke. Until her grunts rose to moans, and wails of joy, until she came and came and came. Joy filling her whole body like nothing she'd ever known. |
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