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“More,” Kirk gasped as Spock’s finger entered his asshole. It felt so wrong, being violated by his First Officer like this, letting the Vulcan take him, dominate him. But it felt so good that he didn’t want to stop, would never ask him to stop.
“Do you find this…stimulating?” Spock asked, curling a finger to reach Kirk’s prosta
“Abby!”
Abigail slammed her laptop shut, tossing it down onto the hotel bed before jumping up to tackle the woman standing in the doorway into a hug. “MORG!” she screamed, wrapping her arms around the other woman’s waist and bouncing up and down with her. Morgan happily accepted her embrace, dropping her grip on her suitcases to wrap her arms around Abigail right back and bounce up and down herself.
They looked at each other and grinned, still giggling, suppressing further squeals and screams.
This was the first time Abigail and Morgan had seen each other in years. Longtime internet friends and extremely prolific writers of slash fanfiction in a variety of fandoms, they usually met at least once a year at conventions, but the pandemic had kept them apart for several years. Seeing Morgan again after all that time was like reaching shore after months at sea. She looked a little different–just a little older, almost imperceptibly more tired, but there was an excited glow to her eyes that Abigail hadn’t seen before. It was probably something to do with her new job at that biotech lab. Morgan was always cagey about what exactly she did, which Abigail assumed meant she was doing something incredibly cool.
“This is going to be the best UltraCon ever,” pronounced Abigail.
Morgan grinned. “Oh, you have no idea.” Before Abigail could ask what she meant by that, Morgan looked around the room, and her grin widened. “Oh my god. There was only one bed?”
Abigail laughed sheepishly. “There was only one bed.” She threw up her hands. “It was cheaper, and I didn’t think you’d mind. I mean, we’ve known each other for years now, and we’re both girls, and…”
“We’re both girls, you’re right.” Morgan looked surprisingly thoughtful for such an obvious statement. She brought her suitcase in and shut the door. “But wouldn’t it be hot if we weren’t?”
Abigail laughed nervously. “Morg, what do you mean?”
“Oh, don’t tell me you’ve never thought about it,” Morgan said flippantly. “You spend all your time writing about hot guys fucking, and you’ve never wished you were the hot guy getting fucked?” She laughed. “Don’t tell me you like being a woman?”
“I…I guess it’s okay.” Abigail fidgeted nervously with her hair. “I mean, I don’t have any problems with it, or anything. Why would I want to be a guy?”
It wasn’t like she hadn’t thought about it. Sure, she’d logged plenty of hours jerking her clitoris like a tiny cock, fantasizing about being one of the guys in her favorite ships, about how good it would feel to get her ass fucked as another man reached around and jerked her off. But she wasn’t about to tell Morgan that.
“Please,” Morgan scoffed, bringing Abigail back to the present day. “We get the short end of the stick. Periods? Sexism? Hellooooo?” She rolled her eyes. “Besides…you’d look hot with short hair.” She pulled Abigail in by the waist, licking her lips. “Really hot.”
Abigail flushed scarlet. Part of her wanted to push Morgan away. Most of her was scrambling desperately to explain the throbbing between her legs. “I could never,” she sputtered. “Um…I don’t have the face for short hair, and my boyfriend says he likes it long anyway, and–”
“My husband says the same thing,” said Morgan. “And you know what?”
She pushed Abigail away just long enough to reach into her bag, grab a pair of industrial-strength scissors, and shear through her ponytail.
Abigail gasped.
“I think he’s a fucking idiot,” she said. “Don’t you?”
Abigail knew Morgan was bold, brash, always getting weird looks from strangers, always talking a big game and playing and doing whatever she wanted. Honestly, Abigail sometimes wished she could be a little more like her. But this was a little much, even for her.
“Um, I–” Abigail stuttered, stumbling for words. “I–I don’t think he’s an idiot–”
“So you think I looked better before.”
“N-n-no, that’s not what I meant–”
“So you think I look hotter now.”
“I’m not–I mean, you’re hot, of course you’re hot, we’re a couple of hotties, it’s–”
Morgan grabbed the back of Abigail’s head and pushed her up against the wall. “If I’m so hot, why aren’t you kissing me?”
“Morg!” Abigail squeaked. “What are you talking about? What are you doing? We’d ruin our friendship–”
“And the husband, and the boyfriend, whatever.” Morgan grinned. “Come on. You really give a shit about any of that right now?”
Abigail wanted to protest that yes, yes, she did kind of give a shit, actually, but Morgan’s lips were on hers, her friend’s tongue pressing insistently against her closed mouth. Her hand gripped the back of Abigail’s head hard, and she forced a thigh between Abigail’s legs.
Abigail couldn’t help it. She kissed back, wrapping her legs around Morgan’s thigh and rubbing herself against it. She kissed wetly and sloppily, hungrily, like she’d never kissed her boyfriend for fear of not seeming ladylike. She kissed hard, shoving her tongue against Morgan’s like they were fighting for control over each other’s mouths. Morgan growled into the kiss.
After what could have been seconds or minutes or hours, Morgan pulled away and spat on the ground. “Your hair got in my mouth,” she proclaimed.
Abigail’s heart was pounding what felt like a million times a second. She didn’t know how to process what had just happened. She wanted to stop, she wanted to cry, she wanted to be fucked, she wanted a cock to fuck Morgan with. “I–Morgan–we shouldn’t have done that. We really–”
Morgan ignored her whimpering. “Turn around. Let me fix it.”
Before Abigail could comply, or refuse, Morgan grabbed her by the waist and spun her around. When had she gotten that strong? Had she been working out?
“Let me just take care of that.”
Abigail suddenly realized that Morgan’s free hand was still brandishing the shears.
“No,” she protested weakly. “My hair–I told you my boyfriend likes it long–”
“Abby,” said Morgan. “I don’t care what your fucking boyfriend likes.”
The unmistakable chup-chup-chup of the shears against her head. Abigail could feel her head becoming lighter, and looked down to watch the clumps of hair falling to the floor. How long had it taken to grow it this long? Months? Years?
“Really,” she whimpered, “you shouldn’t.”
“Shouldn’t I?” The shears closed again, next to Abigail’s ear. “Oops.”
Morgan turned Abigail around again as forcefully as she had the first time, and looked her over, sizing her up. “I knew it,” she pronounced. “You look way hotter like this. You never had the face for long hair.” She sighed. “I bet you’ll clean up soooo nice for your crossplay tomorrow.”
Abigail had almost forgotten they were cosplaying at all. Were they really still going to the convention tomorrow?
Morgan dragged her by her short hair to the bathroom mirror. “See?” she pronounced. “So much better, right?”
Abigail’s face fell. She didn’t see it, not at all. She just looked like herself with shorter hair. She’d seen herself like that dozens of times, what was the big deal?
“I don’t know,” she mumbled, burying her face in her hands.
Arms around her, squeezing her tightly. Morgan’s voice was suddenly sweet, worlds away from the aggression that had filled it just moments before. “Hey,” she said. “I’m sorry. I guess I got a little carried away. I shouldn’t have shown you what you look like until after.”
Abigail blinked, confused. “After what?”
“Hang on–it’s in my bag.” Morgan let Abigail go, rummaging rapidly through her bag. Abigail stood still, trying to catch her breath, avoiding her face in the mirror. She glanced nervously at the door–could she make a run for it? What would Morgan do if she caught her?
“Here we go.” Morgan grinned, extracting a plastic baggie that contained an intimidatingly large vial of liquid and two individually wrapped syringes.
Abigail frowned. “Drugs? Morgan, this isn’t like–”
“It’s not drugs.” Morgan busied herself unwrapping the syringes, drawing up a strange, opaque liquid. “This is an extremely experimental, highly advanced form of hormone therapy with strange and unpredictable effects. It’s been tested on humans and no one’s died yet, and most of the changes should be reversible. Theoretically.”
Most? Theoretically? No one’s died yet?
“Morgan.” Abigail backed away, felt her ankles hit the bathtub. “I’m not sure this is such a good idea.”
“Come on, Abbie.” Morgan approached her slowly, almost ceremonially, with the syringe. “Don’t you want to be a hot yaoi boy?”
“I don’t–I don’t know–” Abigail whimpered.
“This is what we’ve always wanted.” Morgan yanked down Abigail’s pants, exposing her unshaven cunt and a large stretch of leg to inject into. “Ready?”
“I can’t!” Abigail pleaded, desperately. “I’m a woman, I have a boyfriend, you can’t turn me into a–”
“Hold still or this will hurt,” Morgan instructed, aligning the syringe with Abigail’s thigh.
Abigail froze.
It still hurt, a slight pinch going in that remained as she felt the fluid enter her body.
She’d had shots before, vaccines, and she never remembered it feeling like this. She could actually feel the strange fluid enter her as the syringe slowly emptied. It was a bizarre sensation, almost like having water poured down her throat, except in this case it was into her leg.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?” asked Morgan.
“I–I don’t know,” Abigail stuttered.
“Well, you’re almost done. You’ve been very brave.” Morgan patted Abigail’s leg.
“It should take a few minutes before the changes take effect,” she continued, quickly removing the syringe from Abigail’s leg, disposing of it, and injecting herself. She sighed as the fluid entered her. “Mmmmmm.”
She disposed of her syringe as well. “Much better. While we’re waiting. What’s your name going to be?”
Abigail blinked, confused. “My name? Abigail?”
Morgan laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous. That won’t suit you at all. Your new name.”
“Um–” Abigail cast around. “Arik, I guess?”
“Your cosplay from Space Warriors?” Morgan smiled, and there was a strange warmth in it. Abigail– Arik– couldn’t make sense of the way she was zigzagging between kind and cruel; what was she trying to do? “Arik it is, boy. You can keep on calling me Morgan.” A familiar gleam entered her–his, now? This was so confusing–eye, the beginning of an infodump. “Did you know it was originally a gender-neutral name in Wales when–”
“Anhhhhhhh.” The sound escaped Arik involuntarily, like someone had pummeled it out of him, as white-hot pain coursed through his body.
“It’s working already?” Morgan asked, delighted. “Your body must be particularly susceptible.”
“I don’t–I–help,” moaned Arik, a long, drawn-out help, sinking to the floor. His head pounded, and the room spun, exploding in starbursts of light. It felt like there were needles shooting out of him, all over his body: his armpits, his chest, his stomach. He could feel himself shifting in other ways, his jawline sharpening, muscles growing and hardening, fat redistributing itself. His body felt alien, and when he moaned again it was in a baritone.
He squeezed his eyes shut against the spinning room. For awhile, he was only aware of darkness, and the passage of time, and the intense pain, so intense it almost felt like pleasure. Finally, the pounding in his head began to abate, and he opened his eyes to a strangely toned and hairy body.
He looked down, and sucked in a breath.
His breasts had receded into his body somehow, replaced with the pecs he’d been working for months in the gym to build but had never gotten the chance to see, but he wasn’t looking at that. He was looking at his clit. It was monstrously huge, and growing fast, fattening and lengthening. Two inches. Four inches. Six inches, and thicker than Arik’s boyfriend’s cock.
Morgan sucked in a breath. “Oh my god,” he said in a voice that was about an octave deeper than normal, ignoring his own body’s changes–was he used to this?–to run a hand down Arik’s abs. “This is the result I’ve always wanted,” he continued. “I’m jealous.” And he wrapped a hand around Arik’s hardening cock.
The touch was electrifying. As soon as he felt it, Arik couldn’t get enough. Immediately he realized that the pain coursing through him was rapidly giving way to arousal. Another moan, this time one of pleasure, escaped his lips and he began thrusting into Morgan’s hand, desperately, craving more touch, faster touch, deeper touch.
“You like that, Arik?” Morgan asked.
His name. His name in Morgan’s mouth felt so delicious. And then he realized he couldn’t stop staring at Morgan, specifically at Morgan’s hairy cunt. As soon as he saw it, he couldn’t stop staring at it. He needed to know what it felt like. His cock was desperate to fill a hole, and that hole was right there, practically begging him to fuck it.
“Something to say, pretty boy?” Morgan grinned like a Cheshire cat.
“Wanna fuck your cunt,” Arik whined. “Plea-he-heeeeeeease…” He was crying, he realized, a tear rolling down his cheek from sheer desperate arousal.
Morgan laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Arik’s heart sank, his cock continuing to throb with need in Morgan’s hand.
Morgan continued, “I have a prostate now. You’re going to fuck my ass.”
He let go of Arik’s cock, and the sudden absence of his hand was painful. He followed Morgan to the hotel bed as if in a dream.
“Can you wait for like, two minutes while I lube up?” Morgan asked. “You can touch yourself while you wait if you need to.”
Arik didn’t need to be told twice; his hand returned to his cock, and he began stroking it. Despite the gargantuan effort it took to resist rapidly jerking off until he came, he held back; he wanted to feel Morgan, to know what Morgan’s tight hole felt like around his cock. He gasped as Morgan began to finger himself with lube, slowly, first circling his hole and then entering it, slowly, taking more each time. Morgan was moaning now too, clearly enjoying himself, and Arik watched the show obsessively.
At last, Morgan removed his finger, and laid on his back, pulling his legs up.
“Come up here and fuck me.”
Arik didn’t have to be told twice. He clambered eagerly onto the bed, positioning himself against Morgan. Morgan handed him the lube, and he drizzled it over his cock, not really knowing what he was doing. He suddenly became seized by nervousness: what if he didn’t know what to do? What if the movement was too alien to him, since he was so used to being in Morgan’s position?
Morgan growled, “I meant fuck me today .”
Arik realized he’d been overthinking it and gently pressed his cock into Morgan’s ass. Just the tip at first; if there was one thing he knew about anal sex it was that you had to go slowly. So he pressed just the tip of his cock inside Morgan, and Morgan gasped.
“Good boy,” he encouraged. “Keep–ah!–keep going.”
Arik pressed in further. Morgan’s ass was so tight around his cock. It was a feeling unlike any he’d ever experienced, and he knew he had to go slow or this would be a very short experience for both of them. But it felt so good, it was everything he could do not to immediately pound Morgan into the mattress.
“Oh fuck,” Morgan moaned as Arik’s cock went deeper. “Right there. That’s it. Oh God…” He grabbed Arik’s waist with both hands and began moving him back and forth. Arik let himself be used, hands digging into the stiff hotel sheets as he held his balance and tried to hold back his building orgasm.
“Fuck,” Morgan moaned, “I could get used to this.” He laughed a deep laugh. “I gotta get some more of that shit. It just feels so fucking good. That spot right there.”
“Yeah,” was all Arik could say. He closed his eyes in pleasure, bit down on his upper lip. Morgan pulled him down to him and suddenly they were kissing while they fucked, ravenously, Morgan’s tongue and teeth attacking Arik’s mouth.
Abruptly, Morgan wrenched himself away. “Arik,” he muttered urgently, “I’m gonna–I’m gonna–”
“Do it,” Arik encouraged. “I want to feel you come all over my cock.”
“I’m–I’m–”
Morgan cried out, thick white cum gushing from his cunt. “Fuck…it feels…so different…”
As Morgan’s whole body shook with his orgasm, his asshole pulsed around Arik, and that was all it took to push Arik over the edge. He bit down on the pillow behind Morgan to keep from screaming in pleasure as he pumped ropes of his own hot cum into Morgan’s asshole.
“Yes…” Morgan groaned, distantly. “Breed my asshole like a good boy…”
Arik remained inside Morgan until every last drop of cum was drained from his cock. He pulled out, softening, and rolled over, lying on his back beside the other man.
“Fuck,” he groaned.
“Agreed,” said Morgan.
They lay there in stunned silence for awhile, then Arik watched Morgan’s hand move to his enlarged clit above his cunt.
“Already?” Arik asked.
“This stuff makes your libido go wild,” replied Morgan. “If you didn’t notice. And I don’t have a refractory period. I’m not sure if you do.”
In response, Arik’s cock hardened.
Morgan grinned. “Fuck the convention. Get over here.”