Shapeshifting Alien and Her Human Husband's Passionate Transformations

Danielle had been his wife for three years, and Cyrus still woke some mornings certain he was dreaming her. She was twenty-eight, silver where a human would be flushed, her skin a pale luminous alloy that caught the apartment lamplight like moonwater. Lithe, long-limbed, her original form never tried to pass for human unless she wanted it to. He was thirty, solid and warm, a man who designed lighting for theaters and came home smelling faintly of dust and gel. They had married under Earth's laws and under the quiet vows her people used when they chose a single heart. Love lived in the apartment with them, in the way she learned his coffee and the way he learned the temperature she preferred when her skin was silver. Lust lived there too, louder than either of them had expected, a hunger that did not settle just because the vows were spoken.

Tonight that hunger had a shape she had been turning over for weeks. Cyrus had told her once, in the dark after they had already come, that he sometimes imagined her changing while he was still inside her. Not leaving him. Becoming other women he could adore and then returning, always returning, so he would know the love was the same mouth even when the mouth was new. He had said it shyly. She had not been shy about wanting to give it to him. The wanting had grown until it pressed at her ribs. She could hold a form for hours. She could slip from one to the next between one breath and the next. What she wanted was to do it while he fucked her, while his hands learned each body and his eyes stayed on hers, so the fantasy would not be a story they told but a night they spent.

She told him at the kitchen counter while the city went blue outside the windows. "I want to change for you tonight. Many times. Different skin, different bodies, different faces. All of them me. All of them wanting you." Cyrus set his glass down. His throat worked. "You don't have to perform for me." "I know," she said, and the silver of her cheeks warmed to a faint rose, the only blush her true skin allowed. "I want it. I have wanted it until I can barely sit still. Say yes if you want it too." He crossed the small kitchen and kissed her, slow and sure, the kind of kiss that was already an answer. "Yes. God, yes. Tell me if anything feels wrong. I'll stop the second you say." "I will tell you," she said. "And I will not say stop unless I mean it. I mean to be ruined by you in every shape I can wear."

They did not rush the walk to the bedroom. That was part of how they loved: the wanting could be overwhelming and still be held with care. Danielle turned down the duvet. Cyrus unbuttoned his shirt halfway and then stopped, watching her, as if the sight of her true form was a gift he did not want to hurry past. She was beautiful like this, narrow waist, small high breasts, hips that barely flared, silver nipples darkening as they tightened. Her hair in this shape was a short spill of white-silver. Her eyes were dark and human enough to read, and what he read in them was love braided tight with appetite. She sat on the edge of the bed and opened her knees a little. "Come here. Kiss me before I become anyone else. I want you to start with me."

Cyrus came. He knelt between her knees and kissed her the way he had kissed her on their wedding night, unhurried, mouth open, one hand cradling the back of her head. Danielle sighed into it. Her silver skin was cooler than his at first and then warmed where his palms traveled, down her throat, over the small swell of her breasts, along the lean line of her ribs. She kissed him back with her whole attention, tongue sliding against his, teeth catching his lower lip just hard enough to make him groan. The sound went through her like a current. She pulled him up onto the bed and they sank into the sheets together, still kissing, still dressed enough that the friction of his pants against her bare thigh felt like a tease she did not intend to endure for long.

His hands were tender and restless at once. He stroked her waist, her hip, the inside of her thigh, and then came back to her face as if he needed to memorize her before she changed. Danielle arched into every touch. Her cunt was already wet, a slick heat against the cool of her own skin, and when his fingers brushed her there she made a helpless sound and opened wider. "I love you," she said against his mouth. "I love you, and I am so hungry for you I could scream." "Then scream if you need to," Cyrus said, and kissed the corner of her jaw, the hollow under her ear, the place where her pulse ran quick and alien and entirely his. He kissed down her chest. He took one silver nipple into his mouth and sucked until she clutched his hair. His other hand stayed between her legs, two fingers stroking her slowly, not entering yet, learning how swollen she was.

Desire surged so hard she felt it in the architecture of her body, the place where form lived and could be rewritten. She held the silver a moment longer because she loved the way he worshipped it. Then she let go.

The change moved through her like warm water. Her skin deepened, silver pouring into a rich, smooth ebony that shone under the lamplight. Her bones lengthened and softened at once. Breasts filled his hand and then overflowed it, heavy and high, nipples going dark and tight. Her waist stayed defined and her hips swelled, lush and generous, ass rounding against the sheets. Her face remade itself under his mouth: fuller lips, high cheekbones, eyes that opened dark and gleaming and still completely hers. Hair spilled long and black across the pillow. When she spoke, the voice was lower, honeyed, and it was still Danielle.

"Kendra," she whispered, trying the name she had chosen for this shape, smiling when his breath caught. "This is Kendra. Do you like her?"

Cyrus pulled back just far enough to see her. Awe and lust fought across his face and lust won without disrespecting the awe. "You're gorgeous," he said. "You're still you. I can see you in there." He kissed her again, deeper, and the new mouth kissed him back with a hunger that made his cock strain against his pants. Her body was hotter now, plush under his hands. He filled his palms with her breasts and groaned at the weight of them. She laughed, breathless, and rolled her hips up so the curve of her ass and the thick heat of her cunt pressed against him. "Touch all of it. I made her for your hands."

He did. He mapped the new geography with his mouth and his fingers, kissing the slope of a breast, sucking a nipple until she whimpered, sliding a hand under her to squeeze the lush give of her ass. Kendra's skin was flawless and warm. When he pushed two fingers into her she was soaking, tight around him despite the generous body, and she clenched like she meant to keep him. "Cyrus," she said, and the flirt in it was bright and filthy. "If you keep doing that I am going to come before you even get your pants off, and I want your cock. I want you frantic. I want you so desperate you tear something."

"Then help me," he said, voice rough.

They stopped being careful. Kisses turned messy. Her hands yanked at his belt while his shoved her panties—she had kept a scrap of black lace through the change, and it looked obscene against the new skin—down her thighs. She kicked them off. He dragged his shirt over his head and she bit his shoulder, laughing when he swore. Pants and boxers hit the floor. His cock sprang free, thick and flushed, and Kendra wrapped a hand around it and stroked once, slow, watching his face. "There you are," she murmured. "My husband. Come here and fuck your wife before I change again and make you chase me."

He covered her. Their mouths met. Her lush thighs opened around his hips and the head of his cock slid through her wetness, not entering yet, both of them shaking with how badly they wanted it. "Yes," she said, clear and eager. "Yes, Cyrus. All of me. Don't hold back."

He pushed into her in one long stroke and the sound she made was not a whisper anymore.

For a few heartbeats he stayed buried in Kendra's lush heat, forehead against hers, both of them breathing like they had run. She was tight and slick and gloriously soft around him, breasts crushed to his chest, and the eye contact undid him more than the body did. Danielle looked out of Kendra's face with so much love he had to kiss her before he could move. She kissed him back, open and grateful, and then rolled her hips in a filthy little circle. "Move," she said. "I need you deep."

He drew back and thrust, deep and rhythmic, the way she liked when the hunger got too big for tenderness alone. The bed answered. Her moans answered louder. He fucked her like that until her nails scored his back and her cunt fluttered, close already, and then she gasped his name in a different register and the body under him rewrote itself mid-stroke.

Kendra's generous curves drew inward. Ebony warmed and lightened into smooth, pale gold. The heavy breasts softened to small, perfect handfuls. Hips narrowed. Legs that had wrapped his waist became shorter, finer, and he had to adjust his angle as she became petite beneath him, a beauty with straight black hair fanned on the pillow, delicate features, dark almond eyes gone wide with pleasure, a small mouth he bent to kiss because he could not stand not to. She was still wet, still clenching, still his wife. The change made her feel tighter around his cock, a snug, trembling fit that dragged a groan out of his chest.

"Oh," she breathed, and her accent of pleasure was new and her devotion was not. "Don't stop. Look at me."

He looked. Missionary, her small body pinned sweetly under his larger one, he fucked her with deep, measured strokes that rocked her up the sheets. Her little breasts bounced. He cupped one and thumbed the nipple, then kissed her, slow and filthy, tongue matching the rhythm of his hips. "You're so small like this," he said, wonder in it, no cruelty. "I can feel every inch of you." "Then feel me come," she said, and reached between them to rub her clit while he thrust. The eye contact held. Love and lust blurred until he could not tell them apart. She came with a sharp, sweet cry, cunt gripping him in quick pulses, and he fucked her through it, kissing her open mouth, whispering that she was perfect, that he loved her, that he was not done.

When the aftershocks eased he pulled out, shining with her, and she made a bereft sound that turned into a laugh. "Worship me," she said, spreading her slim thighs. "You promised yourself you would taste every shape. Taste this one."

Cyrus went down on her without hesitation. He kissed the delicate gold of her inner thighs, then licked a long stripe through her soaked folds and groaned at the taste, hers and a little different, brighter. He sucked her clit, gentle because she was sensitive and then firmer when she grabbed his hair and held him there. Two fingers slid back inside the petite clutch of her and curled. She came again on his mouth, thighs shaking around his ears, saying his name like a vow. He kissed her cunt once more, tender, and climbed back up to kiss her mouth so she could taste herself on him. She did, hungry, and her eyes shone.

"Again," she said. "I want to ride you. Watch."

The next change rolled through her as she pushed him onto his back. Gold flushed warmer, deeper. Her frame blossomed. Breasts surged full and heavy, dark nipples wide and tight. Hips spread wide and lush, ass rounding into something he had to grip with both hands as she straddled him. A voluptuous beauty settled over his cock, warm brown skin glowing, thick black curls tumbling around a face with full lips and laughing, loving eyes. She took him in one slow sink, and the wide set of her hips let her take him to the root. They both swore.

"Fuck," Cyrus said, hands spanning as much of her as he could. "Look at you."

She looked at him. That was the point, and she never let him forget it. She rode him with a deep, rolling grind, full breasts swaying, and when he sat up to suck one she moaned and held his head there, fucking herself on him while he worshipped her chest with his mouth. Eye contact whenever she pulled back. Kisses whenever she leaned in, messy and sweet, her tongue stroking his. "I love you," she said, voice thick. "I love how you look at me. Harder. I can take it."

He thrust up to meet her, deep and rhythmic, the slap of her ass against his thighs obscene and perfect. One hand stayed on a breast. The other gripped her wide hip and guided her. She came like that, head thrown back and then forced forward again because she wanted his eyes, cunt milking him in long pulses while she gasped that she was his, that every body was his, that she was going to come until she forgot her own name and still know his. He almost came with her. She felt it and squeezed the base of his cock, smiling, wicked and fond. "Not yet. I want your mouth on this one too."

She lifted off him, turned, and settled her wide hips over his face while she bent to take his cock in her mouth. Cyrus groaned into her cunt and licked her like a man starved, hands spreading her ass, tongue pushing inside and then up to her clit. She sucked him with equal devotion, full lips stretched around him, one hand working what her mouth could not reach, humming when he sucked her just right. They worshipped each other until her thighs shook and she came on his tongue, flooding him, and he drank it and kissed her through it. She pulled off his cock with a wet sound and a laugh that was almost a sob. "I love you. Turn me over. I want you behind me, and I want to be someone new when you do it."

He sat up, kissing the small of her back, and she changed as she went to her hands and knees.

Brown warmed to fair, freckled skin. The voluptuous swell refined into long legs and a high, tight ass dusted with freckles across the shoulders and the tops of the cheeks. Hair spilled red-gold down her back. When she looked over her shoulder her eyes were green and bright and wet with want, her mouth pink, her face heart-shaped and flushed. She was gorgeous and unmistakably Danielle, waiting for him.

"Doggy," she said, voice gone husky. "Deep. Kiss me when you can. Don't you dare look away when I look back."

Cyrus knelt behind her and kissed the freckles on her shoulder, then the corner of her mouth when she turned. He slid into her in one smooth thrust and they both shuddered. She was hot and snug, different again, and he set a deep rhythm that rocked her forward and dragged her back onto him. The sound of it filled the room. He reached under her and rubbed her clit in time with his thrusts. She pushed back to meet him, red hair sticking to her neck, and kept glancing back so their eyes could lock. Whenever the angle allowed he leaned over her and kissed her, awkward and perfect, tongues tangling while he fucked her.

"You feel incredible," he said against her mouth. "Every version of you. I can't get enough. I love you. I love this. I love how badly you want it."

"I want all of it," she panted. "Oral, too. Don't forget. I want your mouth on this freckled cunt before we're done with her."

He fucked her until she was shaking, then pulled out and dropped to his back, hauling her hips over his face. He licked her open, sucking her clit, two fingers fucking her while his other hand stroked the freckled curve of her ass. She rode his mouth and came with a broken cry, green eyes squeezed shut and then opened, looking down at him with so much love it hurt. She spun, took his cock into her throat for a few devoted strokes, tasting herself and him together, and then turned again and presented herself. "Inside. Now. I need you to come, but not until I'm silver. I want the last one in my own skin. Can you hold?"

"Barely," he said, and meant it, and slid back into the redhead anyway because she asked with her body and her eyes and a yes that had not wavered all night. He thrust deep and rhythmic, kissing her shoulder, her mouth, her temple, holding her freckled hip, until she came one more time around him and sobbed his name. He pulled out shaking, cock aching, and she turned in his arms.

The redhead dissolved. Fair skin cooled and brightened into luminous silver. The body drew lithe and long again, small breasts, narrow hips, white-silver hair, the wife he had married looking up at him with dark eyes blown wide. Danielle. Original. Shining with sweat that was not quite human and with a smile that was.

"Now," she said, pulling him down into missionary, guiding him back inside the familiar, cooler clutch of her true cunt. "Now come with me. Look at me. I love you. I love you."

He fucked her deep and steady, kissing her through every stroke, and the overwhelming lust finally broke. She came with him, silver body arching, cunt pulsing around his cock as he spilled inside her in long, helpless pulses, their mouths open against each other, eyes locked, both of them saying it, love and more and don't stop and I have you. The shared orgasm rolled through them until they were trembling and spent and still joined, his forehead on hers, her hands in his hair.

They stayed like that while their breathing slowed. Cyrus eased out of her carefully and gathered her against his chest, silver skin cooling where the air touched it and warming again under his palm. He stroked her shoulder, her arm, the subtle shift of texture as the last of the other forms faded from her and left only Danielle, lithe and luminous and his. She kissed his throat. He kissed her hair.

"I love you," he said, quiet. "Not the shapes. You. The shapes were a gift. You are the life."

"I love you," she answered. "Eternally. In every skin I will ever wear and in this one most of all. You were perfect. You saw me the whole time."

They lay entwined in the afterglow, his heartbeat under her ear, her fingers drawing idle lines on his chest. The room smelled like sex and her, like every woman she had been and the one she was. Cyrus's hand kept moving, tender, reverent, over skin that had been ebony and gold and brown and freckled and was silver now, and might be anything again.

Danielle's eyes were already half-lidded and bright with a new idea. She kissed the center of his chest and smiled against it, scheming, already tasting next time. "Next week," she murmured, "I want the lights lower, and I want to start as someone tall enough to pin you, and I want you on your back the entire night while I change above you until you beg. I've already chosen the first face. Say yes now so I can spend all week wanting it."

Cyrus laughed, wrecked and happy, and pulled her closer. "Yes," he said. "Always yes."