Man where it counts

Carl, a balding 45-year-old salesman, slumped on his hotel bed in LA, his wrinkled suit jacket tossed aside, tie loose, and a panicked sweat beading on his forehead. He stared down at his naked body, heart hammering—his hairy, sagging upper half ended at a smooth, feminine waist, leading to the toned thighs and shaved pussy of a young woman. The lips glistened under the dim hotel lamp, a musky scent wafting up, mixing with the stale whiskey and cigarette smoke in the room. His phone buzzed—his wife, Karen, calling—but Carl couldn’t move, frozen by the sight of the pussy between his legs, his cock gone, stolen.

He’d been on a business trip, reeling from losing a major client, his bonus fucked. At the hotel bar, drowning in cheap bourbon, he met Vanessa—mid-20s, stunning, with tits spilling out of a red dress and an ass that screamed “fuck me.” She bought him shots, her perfume—spicy jasmine—clouding his head, her laugh making his dick twitch. Carl, half-drunk, didn’t question why she was into him; he just followed her to his room, her hips swaying, promising a night to forget his failures. In the room, she stripped him, her hands teasing his chest, lips grazing his ear. “I’ve always wanted to be a man where it counts,” she purred, confusing him, but his cock was too hard to care.

Vanessa pushed him onto the bed, her dress hitting the floor, revealing a shaved pussy and curves that made his mouth water. She straddled him, grinding her wet cunt on his thigh, the heat and slickness driving him wild. “Ready to fuck?” she whispered, pulling a small device from her purse—a sleek, sci-fi remote. Carl laughed, thinking it was a toy, but she aimed it at him, her eyes glinting. A flash of light hit, and a tingle ripped through his lower half. Before he could react, Vanessa moaned, her pussy vanishing, replaced by his cock and balls, now swinging between her legs. Carl’s lower half morphed into hers—smooth, tight, with a pussy that throbbed instantly.

“Time to fuck you,” Vanessa growled, her new dick hard. She pinned him, sliding his old cock into his new cunt, the stretch making Carl gasp, pleasure and panic colliding. Her thrusts were brutal, his flabby pecs—jiggling as she pounded, the bed creaking, the room reeking of her jasmine and his sweat. “No, wait!” Carl slurred, but his pussy clenched, betraying him, juices soaking the sheets. Vanessa came, his cock pulsing inside him, and Carl passed out, overwhelmed, the whiskey and shock pulling him under.

He woke naked, alone, his new pussy aching, lips swollen from the fuck. Vanessa was gone, along with his lower half—she’d wanted a man’s cock and took it, leaving him her cunt. The phone buzzed again, Karen’s name flashing. Carl’s hands shook, feeling the smooth thighs, the slick folds, his fingers brushing his clit, sparking a jolt that made him moan. 

How do you tell your wife you’ve got a pussy now? The hotel room’s stale air choked him, Vanessa’s scent lingering like a taunt.