Afterglow
I woke to discover every cell of my body was tingling, as if I had experienced God only knows how many orgasms overnight.
Even in the fog of pleasure, my brain tweaked to the idea that there was no way that happened - I live alone, and hadn’t had a girlfriend in months.
As the fog lifted a little, I first wondered about my chest. I had never had someone play with my nipples, but there was no doubt they were tingling like someone had lavished them with attention while not missing a centimeter of skin anywhere else.
I found something about the feelings I was getting from the area off. I mean, I had a bit of man-boob, but somehow it was feeling like the area was larger than that.
But then I realized something was wrong with the sensations I was getting from my groin area.
Wrong enough that I tentatively worked my hand down towards the area.
And my fingers confirmed what the tingles had been telling me. I no longer had a penis.
I had a vagina, and one that was still vibrating from pleasure.
I let out a squeak, as I realized the truth.
Whatever else happened last night, I had been well and truly . . .
Fucked.
Afterglow Part 2
Author's note: I had no intention of continuing this story, but people seemed to want to know more, and my muse agreed.
I was still laying in a strange bed when I heard a voice say, “take a drink, it will restore you.”
There was a tall glass filled with blue liquid on the nightstand beside the bed.
There was something in the voice I trusted, so I drank.
The liquid warmed me, and revived me.
I called out to the voice, asking “What’s happened to me?”
It responded, “I will be able to answer your questions soon. For now, know you are safe.”
I believed the voice.
Then I realized I needed to use the washroom, which meant I wasn’t in heaven.
After I navigated the challenges of a women’s urinary system, I took a moment to look at my new body in the bathroom mirror.
I was . . . cute.
Blonde hair down to my shoulders, green eyes that didn’t need glasses.
And freckles.
I had a LOT of freckles, and not just on my face.
Suddenly a memory from last night came back. My partner, whoever that was, had made a game of finding, and kissing, every freckle on my body.
With that memory restored, I realized I had been wrong about what had happened.
I had not been fucked, or screwed.
I had been made love to, in the best sense of those words.
Especially the word . . . Love.