Shapes of Desire
Chapter 2
Fantasy Sex Story: Chapter 2 - Deshawn's Halloween party night is turned upside down when he meets a stunning demoness. An erotic encounter quickly turns to terror as he promises to do "anything": paying with his body, his gender, his identity. Transformed into the dark-skinned, horny Shawna, she must now survive the night without giving up her virginity, a goal that threatens her with every touch. Will she succeed, or lose herself forever?
Caution: This Fantasy Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa mt/Fa Consensual Romantic Lesbian TransGender Fiction Mystery Magic Demons First Oral Sex Body Modification Halloween Transformation
Waking up, she twists and pushes her shirt away from her oversensitive nipple, confused at her half-dressed state. Her head aches, her body pulses with unfulfilled desire that almost hurts as she adjusts the airy white shirt that covers her body. As her hands slide over her breasts, she blinks a few times, confused.
They’re dark, darker than she remembers, but that feels wrong too. Like her perception is in a kind of limbo. She runs her hands over her breasts and squeezes, nearly jumping at how sensitive her breasts are.
“Must be mine,” Deshawn whispers, but even thinking of herself as ‘Deshawn’ doesn’t feel right.
She looks over her body as she sits up, taking stock of her soft body. She remembers it as toned, pale, and athletic, not with hourglass curves, a tight belly, and softened muscles hiding under swaths of dark, almost shadowy skin. Tightening her thighs, she sees a hint of muscle tone, but then she stands.
The world feels wrong, like she’s smaller in it, too delicate, off.
It’s wrong. So wrong ... There’s a thought she can’t grasp, some kind of ... deal, something she agreed to do. Did she agree? Why does her body feel wrong yet...
Always been so beautiful, a thought twists through her mind.
Because she is a woman. The evidence is right there when she looks up at the mirror. Her dreads are longer, her face softened. Her skin is still dark, almost shadowy black, but her curves are obvious, porn-star-worthy or better. Her pants are too big.
And the more she looks and takes stock of herself, the more confused she is by why she ever thought she was a man. She’s never been Deshawn, only Shawna. Blushing at the fact that she’s only wearing an airy white shirt, she quickly grabs the scrap of red and white fabric and ties it around her hips, barely hiding her pussy and her ass. She steps into the boots that are too big, yet still come up to her knees and ties her shirt over her breasts. She moves her eyepatch back into place and tries to ignore the demanding pulse of her pussy as it seems to open deeper and deeper in her.
Agony and pleasure. Agony because there’s nothing for her pussy to grip and pleasure at the anticipation of being filled. She shudders, braces herself on a wall, and tries to breathe through the last traces of agony, while her muscles tense and protest, then go quiet.
“Need to be fucked,” she slurs, wondering again if she was drugged. It’s all she can think about.
The absence of a body against hers is like a constant presence. The aching need to be touched, to be fucked, to have someone to kiss, touch, to wrap herself around is an annoyance. One she can fix. She has to fix it.
Sliding into the main room, Shawna stumbles out, seeing the party with new eyes. Full of opportunities. Every hot woman rolling her hips, every woman that’s grinding, panting, moaning seems to fill the party more than the music or the conversations. Lust pulses through her body, demanding, hot, with a threat of something that Shawna can’t remember.
She finds her legs, even though they’re shaking and gets swept up in dancing. All it takes is a few steps and a woman tugs her close and smiles. “You’re the cutest pirate! Come dance!”
Shawna moves between the group of three girls, welcoming their touches, their giggles, their compliments. One cups her breasts. “I’m so jealous of these tits! Look at them, Bree!”
“They’re perfect!” The blonde named Bree says. “I kind of want to lick them. What’s in these drinks?!”
Shawna moans softly and edges the side of her shirt down. “If you want to, you should.”
“It’s not gay if it’s Halloween!” Another girl shouts.
Grinning, Shawna shakes her tits and the blonde eagerly starts licking. Once she starts, she moans and pulls her friend’s head down too. They move closer and closer to Shawna’s nipples. Each lick seems to demand a second, and their third friend, not wanting to be left out, tugs Shawna’s hair.
Before Shawna can tell her not to mess up the dreadlocks she’s worked hard on, the pop-zombie girl kisses her. Their tongues twist and turn, soft lips meeting, eager, wet tongues swirling and stroking. Shawna moans and rolls her body against the two girls that are now ravenously sucking her nipples.
She needs pleasure. It’s not a want anymore. It’s necessary. She’s so wet, she needs so much more than their tongues on her sensitive nipples. Her body buzzes with anticipation and need. It doesn’t matter if other people notice what they’re doing. All that matters to Shawna is having more, getting laid, finally getting to orgasm.
This level of need surpasses horniness, and she can’t remember ever feeling like this.
“God, you’re addictive,” Bree says, barely pulling her mouth from Shawna’s breast. Her lips move against Shawna’s nipple, making her even more needy. “I’ve never even been into girls before.”
“Rude,” her friend says before they make out around one of her nipples.
Shawna moans and can feel her clit pulsing. She can imagine them both eating her out, their tongues working around her clit, one of them fucking her pussy with their tongue while the other sucks and slurps her clit. The mental image is so intense that Shawna can’t help but suck the tongue of the girl that’s kissing her.
“Well, this looks like a hell of a lot of fun,” a guy says.
Bree stands up suddenly, like the pleasure bubble around them has been popped. Even the woman making out with her draws back, rubbing Shawna’s side and continuing to dance with her like their hot moment didn’t happen.
“Halloween is supposed to be fun,” Bree’s friend says while wiping her lips. “We’re having fun.”
“Oh, no one’s complaining. If my girlfriend wants to fuck other women, I’ll watch and give her the cock she needs,” he says, pulling Bree back against him. “Don’t stop now.”
Bree blushes and mumbles something about needing to get laid. She disappears into the crowd, leaving Shawna with open and aching need that’s been magnified after their kisses and touches.
She tries to snare one of the other girls, but they say they need to mingle with confused expressions. Like they never made the conscious choice to kiss or tease Shawna.
Shawna moves through the crowd, wanting to dance and enjoy herself, but so eager for touch and sex that she even lets men grind on her and dance with her. It’s not as gratifying.
It feels like hours of trying to seduce others. The crowd gets drunker and drunker, some people heading out, others flagging and sinking into chairs, or falling against walls. But guys are eager to score, they flock to Shawna while some women have stroked along her back, fed her kisses, palmed her tits. In the bathroom it’s easier.
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