The Liar, the Witch, and My Wife's New Wardrobe: Books 1 to 3 Collection

by Charles P. Lingham

  I stood in the living room looking up the stairs after Donna for the longest time without doing anything beyond blinking and breathing. Although my thoughts were jumping around all over the place rapidly, they still kept coming back to the same place: my wife now had a penis.

  To say that I had no frame of reference from which to formulate an opinion is an understatement. This was magic. How do you make sense of something that isn't supposed to happen outside of a movie or a fairy tale? Still, I was struggling to analyze the events rationally, even if the logic of it all kept throwing me off.

  First, purely from my own vanity, was the fact that I wasn't used to seeing cocks that were larger than my own. At close to 10 inches erect, my own penis was nothing to laugh at, and had generally always been the largest one in the locker room.

  But now…

  Well, now, it wasn't even the biggest dick in my own home, and I was feeling something I'd never felt before in terms of penis size. I was feeling intimidated. By my own wife no less! I had to keep reminding myself that Donna was still, after all, a woman, even if she did—at least temporarily—have more between her legs than me.

  My wife was now a woman with a cock.

  It was both exotic and disturbing all at once. The concept should have been enough to shrink my genitals faster than a polar bear dip, but it wasn't. In fact, my body was perversely betraying me.

  I'd seen pics of hermaphrodites on the web, but they'd never done a thing for me. Maybe that was because most of them were obviously dudes with fake tits, makeup, and a wig. Donna, well, she was different. Her body was so obviously feminine, with its soft curves in the form of her huge (natural) tits, wide hips, and shapely ass. She was now what the internet would call a dickgirl, or a futanari.

  So, the addition of a huge dick to a female body should have been shocking for me, but it wasn't. At least not as much as I'd have thought it should be. Although I was definitely feeling revulsion, I had to admit that I was also turned on, and this had me worried about my status as a red-blooded, fully heterosexual male. Futanari was like a gateway drug. Appreciating it was halfway between being straight and being gay. If I submitted to the arousal it caused in me with the justification that it was because Donna was a woman first, then how long before I went all the way? How long, if you'll excuse the pun, before I tried something harder?

  Being a faggot was the last thing I wanted, and I was damned if Donna or, by extension, Anatolia turned me into one.

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  The LIAR, the WITCH, and my wife’s new WARDROBE

  BOOK TWO:

  THE ADJUSTMENT

  by

  CHARLES P. LINGHAM

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2016 by Charles P. Lingham

  DAY 3

  MONDAY

  I awoke late this morning and, for the second time in as many days, was disappointed to discover that the events of the last few days were not, in fact, a nightmare. I could hear Donna thumping around upstairs and, since it was well past the time when she should have normally left for work, I concluded that she had called in sick today. Can't say as I blamed her. I would have done the same thing if I suddenly had several pounds of man-meat swinging around between my legs that hadn't been there before.

  Trying to keep to my regular routine, I went upstairs to the kitchen, turned on the radio, brewed a big pot of coffee, made some breakfast (enough for both of us—just in case), and then sat and ate it by myself. I could still hear Donna moving around upstairs, but she didn't come down. I lingered a little longer than usual while I cleaned things up, eventually retreating to my downstairs office to try and get some writing done.

  Not surprisingly, it was hard to concentrate. My mind kept drifting back to the events of the weekend. Of getting caught cheating on my wife with what turned out to be some kind of witch. And then that same witch hexing not me, but my wife, by transforming her into a well-endowed Futanari. A dickgirl.

  My tiny wife now had a cock that would put most porn stars to shame. One that, according to the witch who cursed her with it, would go away after a month if Donna could resist masturbating. There was more too, but I hadn't figured out what it all meant yet. And a very big part of me didn't want to think about what I thought it meant.

  Around two in the afternoon, my wife appeared suddenly at the door to my office, breaking into my erratic thought processes. She was wearing a thick bath robe so that there was no indication of her little friend. I noticed that she kept shifting back and forth from one foot to the other as if she were unable to find her balance.

  Handing me a piece of paper, Donna barked, "I need a whole new wardrobe, and a few other things, and I'll be damned if I'm going out to get it myself." Then, she turned around and swiftly walked away. I chose not to argue. There was a commanding tone to her voice I'd never heard before, one that I knew instinctively wouldn't tolerate dissent.

  On the paper, torn unevenly from a notepad, was a hastily scrawled list of things like thick skirts, sarongs, extra-large athletic supporters, loose fitting track pants, and feminine pads. The first three items I could understand, but I had no idea why she needed that last one. Helpfully, she had also provided sizes, quantities, and colours. It was a long list, and it would take me a couple of hours at least, so my work would have to wait. I didn't mind that much actually, as it would be good to get out of the house.

  I was actually gone for closer to five hours, but that included a stop at a local pub for some grub, a drink, and a few much needed laughs with my buddies. I knew she would likely be upset that it took me so long, but I reasoned that she was already as pissed as she was gonna get anyhow.

  When I got home and presented the shopping bags to Donna, she took them and stomped upstairs without a word. I watched her go, trying not to imagine what was currently swinging around between her legs underneath that housecoat.

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  DAY 4

  TUESDAY

  This morning, I began to hear movement upstairs at the usual time that Donna got ready to leave for work, so I assumed that today would be business as usual. Or at least business as close to usual as possible.

  I went upstairs to find her sitting at the breakfast table wearing one of the thick skirts that I'd bought for her yesterday. She froze when she saw me, coffee mug suspended, and her mouth mid-chew. She scowled at me through narrowed eyes as I walked into the kitchen to pour myself a coffee. When I made to sit down at the table across from her, she exhaled loudly, gathered up her things, and walked upstairs heavily.

  I called out after her, but she didn't respond. It was probably just as well though, as I didn't really have anything planned beyond, "Hey, Donna!"

  About fifteen minutes later, from the basement window, I watched my wife leave the house. Although she chatted with some of the neighbours as if nothing was out of the ordinary, I noticed that she was walking a little differently, and I wondered briefly if anybody else had noticed.

  As I recalled the image of the reason why Donna was waddling slightly as she moved away down the sidewalk, I shuddered, and debated whether it was too early in the morning for a drink.

  This was going to be a very long month.

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  DAY 6

  THURSDAY

  I had a meeting with a client in the city today, so I didn't get home until well after Donna. As I entered the house and walked by the laundry room, I noticed her pulling several bed sheets out of the dryer. This struck me as odd because I recognized both sets of sheets, and knew for a fact that they'd both just been washed a few days ago. That meant that, since there had been a fresh set of sheets on the bed Sunday, Donna had obviously changed the bed at least three times in four days. Now granted, Donna did like clean sheets, but changing them daily was a little much, even for her.

  She was still cooking her supper when I came back upstairs from getting changed. Grabbing a beer from the fridge, I sat down at the dining room table to browse the Web on my tablet while I wait
ed my turn in the kitchen. She glared at me, begrudging my proximity but, when I made it clear that I wasn't about to leave, she went back to her cooking.

  I had chosen my position at the dining room table carefully so that I could watch Donna in the reflection of the mirror that hung on the wall outside the kitchen. In the mirror, I observed that, when she didn't think I was watching, my wife seemed very fidgety. What was more, every few minutes, she would just stop what she was doing, lean against the counter, close her eyes, and breathe deeply, almost like she was trying to calm herself down. Then, she would open her eyes, glance quickly in my direction to make sure I wasn't looking, and go back to what she had been doing.

  I also noticed that she was adjusting the new package between her legs quite a lot. At first, I thought it may have been because she was still getting used to having it, but then I got a good look at her face once when she had her eyes closed, and I recognized her expression! It was clearly one of arousal! It didn't last long though, and was quickly replaced with an expression I knew all too well: steely determination.

  Anatolia had promised that my wife's new penis would bring with it new desires as well as an enhanced libido. If that was happening already on day six then it didn't look good for my wife. Still, I could personally attest to the fact that, based on the number of times over the years that my wife had turned me down for sex, if anybody could resist sexual temptation, it was Donna.

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  DAY 7

  FRIDAY

  I was out of the house again this afternoon, and returned around five to find that Donna was already home. When I walked down to the basement, I found her on the treadmill, and I was immediately taken aback by what I saw. I tried not to stare, but it was kinda hard to miss.

  Donna was wearing a pair of the loose-fitting track pants that I'd bought for her a few days back, and bouncing around inside of them was what could only have been a huge erection. I mean, it was either that, or she'd stuffed a baseball bat down her pants.

  Her attitude was different too. With her headphones on and the music pumped up, she was working a lot harder than usual, something she only ever did when she was trying to get her mind off something. She also seemed to be a little flushed, and panting a lot heavier than she usually did when she exercised.

  I had a sudden lump in my throat, and before I could figure out how to extricate myself from the room, she spotted me. Immediately, she went pale, stopped the treadmill, and rushed upstairs without a word. She stayed there for the rest of the night, not even coming down to eat.

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  DAY 8

  SATURDAY

  I was home all day Saturday, catching up on the work that I didn't do earlier this week. By the evening, I suddenly realized that I hadn't seen Donna all day. I knew that she was upstairs though, because I had heard her moving around occasionally, although I wasn't even sure if she had even come downstairs to get food. At one point, when I was in the kitchen getting a snack around two, I thought I heard a moan from upstairs, but it wasn't repeated, and I heard movement almost immediately afterwards. I sent her a text to ask if she was ok, and received a single word response: "Yes"

  Checking the stats on our Netflix account, I could see that she'd been watching several war documentaries today. This was definitely unusual, as she had never expressed an interest in that kind of thing before now.

  Finally, around 11, as I was sitting up in bed reading, my bedroom door flung open suddenly, and Donna was standing there looking a little wild. Her hair was disheveled and she was breathing erratically.

  "You… are going … to do something… for me," she panted. "This… is … your… fault," she said gesturing at her crotch where her obvious erection was straining to break through the front of her pajama bottoms.

  "What the hell?" I snapped back. I couldn't help but stare where she was pointing. My wife's white pants were soaked through, making them pretty much transparent. At first, I wondered if perhaps she had pissed herself, but then, even as I watched, her cock lurched, pushing a generous amount of liquid through the material of her already saturated pants, spreading the stain even further. It wasn't urine, it was pre-cum!

  Pre-cum? How in the hell is even possible to produce that much?

  It was about this time that I abruptly realized that I could actually smell Donna's arousal. It was different than usual, much earthier and a lot muskier, and no doubt a result of her pre-cum. I blinked my eyes a few time as I inhaled. It was actually a lot like taking a hit from a joint, with each inhalation going straight to my head. Within only a few seconds, I was actually feeling a little high.

  I still had enough presence of mind though to wonder if perhaps her scent contained some kind of pheromones. It would certainly explain the way my balls were currently tingling in response to a situation that should normally have been grossing me out. My rational state of mind didn't last long though, as most of the thoughts in my head started getting pushed out by a kind of buzzing sound.

  "This is … your fault," Donna repeated, breaking into my daze. "And you will … help me with it." Her voice was more commanding than I'd ever heard it, and there was a tone to it that went straight to my brain and actually—I realized with a jolt—made me want to obey it. I shook my head to clear it, and the feeling went away—at least a little.

  "You're joking," I finally protested.

  "I am not. This… thing… gets more difficult to control every day, it's been hard … and leaking like this since Monday morning! And the thoughts that have been going through my mind…" She trailed off, closed her eyes, and took a few calming breaths. When she continued, her voice was back to normal, and even a little desperate. For a moment, I actually felt sorry for her.

  "I am not going to last a month. It's calling to me. It wants me … to … stroke it, and it's so… so… sensitive. Just walking is enough to … to work me up, and I am not going to risk … cumming on my own."

  Her voice cracked a little as she continued. "Every night, I have … dreams. Erotic dreams. … Perverse dreams. And, I wake up every morning in a puddle of … of … this pre-cum." She glanced down at her dick that continued to spit out more and more pre-cum even as we watched. Simultaneously, we both took an involuntary breath in through our noses. The tingling in my balls had spread, and my own cock began to stiffen. I shifted to make room for it in my boxers.

  Donna finished taking a deep breath, and even seemed to smile a little. Then, she opened her eyes, looked at me carnivorously as she abruptly pulled down her pants. When she stood up again, I could see that the monster between her legs was now free. It was even bigger than the bulge implied. Much bigger erect than I had expected it to be. A thin stream of thick, syrupy liquid dribbled from its bulbous tip, and the smell it gave off was even more pronounced. Even more intoxicating.

  I blinked a few times as I stared at Donna's cock. I couldn't seem to take my eyes off it. I watched as it started bouncing. Alarmed, I realized that this meant it was coming closer as a result of the fact that my wife was now walking towards me.

  The realization of what she obviously expected from me woke me up from my temporary trance. I held my hand up towards her. "No fucking way," I said. "I am not a fag."

  Her eyes flared, and her voice took on that edge again as she commanded. "You will," she said. "You will … make me cum now, and … as often as I need you to."

  I shivered, her dominant tone triggering some deep seated need to comply. I wasn't sure where it was coming from, but a larger part of my personality was still in control even as I noticed that my own cock was now fully erect. Donna had noticed it as well, it was kind of hard not to. My hard-on was tenting the comforter, and my wife grinned knowingly, actually flashing her canines at me.

  "I'm not gay," I protested again, weaker this time.

  "I don't care," she said, and her smile actually deepened. It was something that looked out of place on her otherwise lustful, even angry, face. "It's just like you used to tell me all the time
in high school when we went parking: 'C'mon Honey, all I want is a hand-job.'"

  By now, she was standing beside the bed looking down at me, and I couldn't help but feel intimidated. Then, pulling a towel from off her shoulder, she spread it out on the bed in front of her, and looked back at me expectantly. I didn't meet her gaze, because, I was once again staring at her cock.

  This was the closest that I'd yet been to it. I swallowed as I took in what I was seeing. I actually tilted my head a little bit like a dog would just trying to comprehend it. Maybe it was the meaty stank that Donna's wang was giving off, but I was absolutely fascinated by this monster, especially by how obscene it looked there between my wife's legs. The penis was a good 14 inches long, and seemed about as thick as a fence post. Its colour perfectly matched my wife's Asian skin tone and, with its bulbous pinkish head and bulging veins, it looked almost angry. As I stared at it, it twitched in time with my wife's rapid pulse, more and more pre-cum squirting out to drip off its tip with each beat of her heart.

  Finally, Donna gave up waiting for me to act on my own, and reached out to take my hand. Slowly, she pulled it towards her crotch. I surprised myself by not putting up any resistance whatsoever. Finally, she placed my hand on her erection, and held it there for a moment. Tentatively, I gripped the monster mid-shaft, causing Donna to coo and moan. I got a tiny jolt of pleasure knowing I had just pleased my wife, and I wondered briefly where it had come from.