Chapter 5: The Disappointing Human Cock
The soft vanilla scent of their bedroom offered no comfort tonight. It felt like a thin veil over something thicker, muskier – a phantom memory of the steakhouse, of blood and animal heat that clung to Samantha’s skin. Mark lay beside her, his breathing shallow, his body radiating an unnatural warmth. He’d stumbled to bed, groaning about dizziness, a strange heaviness settling into his limbs. Now, he slept fitfully, a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead.
Samantha watched him. The sharp angles of his face seemed softer in the dim light filtering through the blinds. Less defined. Her gaze drifted lower, past the open collar of his pajama shirt. Had his chest always looked… chubby? A subtle, unexpected fullness beneath the cotton. A thrill, sharp and dark, pierced her core. Tingling, he’d said. Heavy.
She shifted closer, the movement making her own swollen breasts ache. They felt impossibly heavy tonight, the nipples hard points even through her silk nightgown, demanding attention. The phantom scent of warm milk teased her nostrils again. Without conscious thought, her hand slid down Mark’s torso, over the slight softness – and cupped the growing firmness pushing against his pajama pants. He was half-hard already, stirring in his sleep. Good.
“Mark,” she whispered, her voice husky. She squeezed him gently through the fabric, feeling him thicken further. “Baby, wake up.”
He groaned, eyelids fluttering open. His eyes were clouded, unfocused. “Sam…? Wha…?” His hand moved sluggishly to cover hers where it rested on his cock. “Feel… weird.”
“Shhh,” she soothed, leaning down to kiss his neck. “It’s okay. Just relax. Let me make you feel good.” Her tongue traced the line of his jaw, tasting salt and heat. The ache between her own legs was becoming a throb, a deep, insistent pulse that echoed the heavy fullness in her breasts. She needed friction. She needed him inside her. She needed… more.
Her fingers worked the button of his pajamas, then tugged the waistband down. His cock sprang free, thick and flushed. It looked normal, reassuringly familiar. For now. She straddled him, the thin silk of her nightgown riding up, her wetness slick against his belly as she positioned herself. Her heavy breasts swayed with the movement, brushing against his chest. She gasped at the contact, the sensitive peaks screaming.
“Fuck me, Mark,” she breathed, guiding the head of his cock to her entrance. She was drenched, swollen folds parting easily. “Need you inside me. Now.”
He moaned, his hips lifting instinctively as she sank down, taking him deep in one smooth slide. Her internal muscles clenched around his length. Tight. Needing. But it wasn’t enough. It felt… thin. Insignificant against the phantom pressure spreading through her pelvis, the image of the steakhouse waiter’s imagined, monstrous equipment flashing behind her eyes. She began to move, riding him with deep, grinding thrusts designed to push him as deep as possible. Her breasts bounced heavily with each descent, the nipples rubbing deliciously, torturously, against the fabric of her nightgown and his pajama top.
“God, Sam,” Mark gasped, his hands finding her hips, gripping tightly. His eyes were wide, still hazy, but filling with familiar lust. His hips met hers, thrusting upwards. “You feel… fuck… so good…”
She barely heard him. Her gaze was fixed over his shoulder, locked onto the dark wood grain of the bedside drawer. It’s in there. The Bull’s Pride. Heavy, ridged, impossibly thick. She imagined its girth stretching her wide, deeper than Mark could ever reach. She imagined the blunt, flared head forcing its way into her hungry cunt. Her body clenched harder around Mark’s cock, milking it desperately as if trying to wring out the sensation she craved. A low moan escaped her, more animal than human. Her thighs trembled, thick and powerful as she worked herself on him.
“Harder,” she demanded, her voice guttural. Her fingers dug into his shoulders. “Fuck me harder, Mark!” She arched her back, throwing her head back, the movement making her breasts jiggle obscenely. She squeezed her eyes shut, but the vision wouldn’t leave. Not the dildo. A real bull. Massive. Muscled. The thick, veined shaft, heavy balls swinging. The primal scent of it. The overwhelming power as it mounted her. Her hips bucked wildly against Mark’s, grinding her clit against his pubic bone, chasing the ghost of a much larger beast.
Samantha looked down at him. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead. His cheeks looked rounder. And beneath his pajama top, his chest… it wasn’t just round. It was swelling. Subtle, but undeniable. Two distinct mounds pushing against the thin cotton, the nipples visibly peaked and darkening. A fresh gush of arousal soaked her inner thighs. Yes. It’s working. The powder. Her touch. His own confusion feeding the change. Her fantasy morphed. Not just Mark transformed into a bull. Mark transformed… like her. Heavy. Soft. Breasted. Hers. Utterly dependent. The image collided violently with the bull fantasy, creating a dizzying, terrifying arousal.
She slammed herself down onto him with brutal force, needing to finish, needing release from the storm inside her head. “Come on, Mark! Come for me! Fill me!” Her voice was ragged.
He cried out, a sound mixed with pleasure and bewildered distress, his body arching off the bed. His cock jerked inside her, spilling hot pulses of cum deep in her grasping cunt. She felt it, the familiar wet heat, but it did nothing. Her own climax remained elusive, hovering just out of reach, a maddening itch centered deep in her womb and radiating out to her phantom udders.
As Mark collapsed beneath her, panting, his hands still frantically kneading his developing breasts, Samantha slumped forward. Sweat slicked her skin. Her thighs were slick with her own juices. Her heavy breasts pressed against his chest. She could feel his heart hammering, feel the nascent swell of tissue. She pulled away, his softening cock slipping out of her, leaving a wet trail on her thigh. Disappointment warred with a sick fascination.
She rolled off him, onto her side, facing the bedside drawer. Mark lay on his back beside her, catching his breath, his hands now resting limply at his sides, . His eyes were wide, staring at the ceiling.
“Sam…” he whispered, his voice tremulous, thick with sleep and shock. “What… what’s happening to to you I mean your boobs are way bigger.”
Samantha didn’t answer. She reached out, her fingers tracing the cool brass handle of the drawer. The wood grain seemed to pulse. Inside, the Bull’s Pride waited. Silent. Powerful. The answer to the emptiness inside her. The key to Mark’s transformation. The solution to everything.
She imagined its weight in her hand. Its thick, ridged length. The obscene flare of its head. She imagined spreading Mark’s legs. Lubing the massive toy. Pushing it slowly, inexorably, into his tight, unprepared ass. Feeling him stretch around it. Hearing his cries shift from confusion to something else as the changes really took hold. Breasts swelling. Hips softening. Mind fogging. Becoming pliant. Hers.
A slow, predatory smile touched her lips as exhaustion finally pulled her under. The phantom scent of hay and animal musk filled her nose as she drifted into a deep, dreamfilled sleep, her hand still resting possessively on the drawer. Tomorrow. It would begin tomorrow.