Lake Otherlife, Part 5: Drunken Fun

A visit to a mysterious outback lake results in a big change for George and Holly, who are already undergoing relationship troubles of their own. Now, with their genders and lives utterly altered, will their romance last?

• First Part
• Previous Part 
• Next Part 

Lake Otherlife, Part 5: Drunken Fun

George:

God, I felt silly. A silly little chica, I guessed. So stupid, that I was now a woman. Especially one with such big boobies! Big tetas, or whatever you wanted to call them.

We were back in our hotel room, and for the life of me I could not stop giggling in my silly new voice. I drank a little more wine to stop myself, but it was the wine that was the problem. I hadn’t even thought about how I would get tipsy so much more easily as a woman. I was shorter, I had less muscle mass, and it meant that the alcohol was going into my system so much earlier.

The end result was me, giggling as I waved around a glass to Harry - I mean Holly’s amusement.

“Are you okay there George?” she said in that deep voice of hers. God, I missed having a voice like that, and it had only been a single day. Why was my voice so high? I sounded like I was always trying to turn myself on.

“I’m f-fine,” I managed to say, smiling a little for some reason. “I’m just - hic! - just enjoying my new life.”

The tall, handsome man leaned forward. My, he was handsome. It was hard not to think of him as handsome. Should I tell him that outloud? No, that was stupid. That was my wife! And I was drunk, and I wasn’t gay. The hell was I thinking?

“Enjoying it? You were ranting and raving when we got home. Said you needed a stiff drink, honey.”

I grinned, brandishing my glass half full of the strong stuff. “And I got it! Salud!”

I downed more of it. Dios, but it tasted good. And it dealt with the headache of today. I felt a flush creep over my fine brown skin, a warmth that rose to my cheeks and made me laugh a little. Oh, I’d definitely had too much. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been drunk, but I was certainly not meant to be a giggler.

“I think you’ve had enough,” Harry said, downing a glass of his own. “I know that because I’m starting to feel a little - hic - tipsy myself. It took a lot more, you know, than if I was a woman.”

I rose on unsteady legs and moved to the couch my wife was on, and nestled in next to her. She smelled nice, and I breathed in that musk. Did I ever have that kind of musk?

“You’re still my woman,” I said, looking up at the very manly man. “I don’t care that you don’t look like a gal. You’re still my darling esposa.”

“Esposa, huh?” he said with a grin. She. My wife was definitely a she, she just didn't look it. Or feel it. “I didn’t realise we were married. We’re engaged, remember honey?”

“But you’re married to me in my heart,” I said, pushing against him. His muscles were hard, and it felt strange for my big, big boobies to be pressed against them. They were so damn wobbly underneath this white shirt. I nearly went to remove it, only to realise what a bad idea that was. At least I wasn’t that drunk. I adjusted my wide hip against his, nestling in comfortably, but it was only then that I noticed that Harry - fuck, Holly! - was pouring an entire new glass and already drinking it. “Did - did I say something wrong, Ha-Holly?”

“You sure did,” he said, taking a swill of his drink. “You do know that being ‘married in my heart’ is not the same as being actually married, right?”

His demeanour was serious.

“Umm . . . yeah, of course, honey. It’s just, we’ve been really busy. You know, saving for the house, the mortgage repayments, me with my work.”

She crossed her arms. Damn, why the fuck couldn’t I stop looking at those uncovered forearms? It was making these stupid huge nipples of mine all hard.

“Three years and not even a peep about a wedding date, George,” she said, deep voice rumbling. “That’s a long time.”

“We’ve got bigger concerns now,” I replied, indicating my ridiculous figure. It was hard not to notice the way my masculinised wife was staring at it.

“We’ve always got bigger concerns!” she exclaimed, “that’s the problem, George. You take us up here to save our relationship, but you won’t even take the steps to help me set a date for us to tie the bloody knot. It’s like you’ve got to be this big alpha male all the time, but you don’t want to commit to the actual emotional stuff. It’s all hoo-rah, look at me, I’m in charge, but you’d rather take us into the bloody outback to look at weird magic lakes than take a good hard look at our relationship, and have an honest conversation about how we love each other, but it isn’t working.”

It hit me like a hammer to the hit. I’d never heard Holly talk like that, at least as a woman. Even she looked surprised at herself. The words hit, and they hurt, and maybe it was the alcohol, or the stress of the day, or these stupid female hormones, but to my great shame and embarrassment, I began to cry. Not huge, teary sobs at least, but enough that my eyes began to leak, and tear trails fell down my cheeks.

“I’m s-sorry,” I managed, my chest beginning to heave a little. Even that was enough to set my big tits wobbling a little against one another. “I d-didn’t mean for this to happen, Holly. I love you, you know th-that. I just thought if I could be man enough, I c-could give you the l-life you wanted.”
A large, strong arm fell around my shoulders.

“It’s okay George, I know you love me. I love you too. So, so much. And I’ve got my own problems. I’m so damn anxious I struggle to tell you these things. Hey, maybe it’s a blessing in disguise, us being temporarily switched? It means we can finally talk about this stuff.”

His arm was comforting and strong. I couldn’t help but lean further into it. It didn’t hurt that the feeling of his legs against my thighs was oddly sensuous too. The drink was making me far more adventurous than I would have liked.

“Yeah, okay,” I said, wiping some tears away, “maybe you’ve got a point there. I can be a bit too much of an macho alfa breadwinner sometimes, huh?”

George looked at me and burst out laughing.

“What? What’s so funny?”

“I’m sorry, George, it’s just, you look the furthest possible thing from an alpha male right now. Have you seen your cleavage right now? It’s like you’re the proud owner of two chest mountains!”

I moaned in irritation. “I can’t not see them! They’re so big, and they won’t stop moving.”

Harry gave a grin. “You know, I remember you saying more than once that you loved big boobs on a woman. You certainly liked my pair, and I’m jealous to admit that yours are over twice as big as mine ever were.”

I felt myself flush even further red, shrinking into my seat a little. Harry’s - Holly’s! - eyes were lasered focused on my massive rack, and for some reason his stare was making my nipples start to tense and harden again. The lack of bra made it obvious to her as well.

“Don’t say that,” I said in a quiet voice, “it’s embarrassing.”

Holly:

My poor husband was utterly embarrassed, sliding further down into her seat beside me. Ironically, it only provided me with a deeper look into her cleavage, and I had to take another deep gulp of spirits just to tear my eyes away from that tantalising cleavage. I doubt George had figured it out yet, stubborn as he was, but our bodies were very clearly straight. This bombshell before me was making my large penis strain uncomfortably against my shorts, and it was only the position I was sitting in that managed to obscure it from her view.

“They do look very nice,” I said, feeling increasingly - heh! - ballsy about complimenting my husband's wonderfully curvy figure. “Seriously, you look like you could be on the cover of Starlet Magazine.”

She looked at me with those gorgeous green eyes filled with shock.

“What? The one with the girls in all the tight tops and bikinis, and the big tetas and . . . oh Dios Mio, you’re right. I look ridiculous.”

“I’m afraid it’s worse than that, George,” I said, leaning over her, bringing my face close to hers. Her high cheekbones were stunning, and made me envious. I’d always felt my face was a little rounded, but hers was spectacular. I wish I could have made my hair that lush when I was a woman. God, even her ass was amazing. Geez, Gabriella really was the full package and her body had the mind of the one person who could never appreciate it.

“Worse? How?” she moaned, resting her chin in her hands dramatically. She really had overdone the alcohol. But then, I thought, as I took another drink, so had I.

“You look downright sexy, darling.”

She looked at me like I’d just shot her, and it was an adorable look; those thick dark eyebrows up high, her full lips in a perfect pout.

“I do not!”

“Do.”

“Do not!”

“Honey, you’re an absolute babe!”

“I am not a baby!”

“I said a babe, you drunk moron!”

We fell into laughter, finding the dumb misunderstanding the funniest thing in the world. Mine was a big belly laughter, with a brass baritone of a chuckle. Powerful and manly. Hers was gigglish and girlish, and with ever guffaw her big tits wobbled in her shirt. It was a miracle the fabric was holding, though given it had been George’s shirt, it was really only tight around two particular places, of which two points in particular were noticeably hard. I shuffled my hips, irritated at how this monster cock of mine had some considerable thoughts about my husband’s sexy appearance, and was trying to break free of the denim that held it captive. I managed to move it subtly as I shifted, and I hoped she didn’t notice.

She did.

“Oh my God, you’re getting all excitado about this, aren’t you! Qué chingados Holly!?”

“I can’t help it,” I exclaimed, letting the monster free a bit. “You’re just too hot! And you’re tits are out to here!”

“You’re a woman!”

“But this body is a man, George. And you have Gabriella’s body, which means you’re looking at me differently too, don’t lie. I see those headlights beaming.”

Her olive cheeks turned red at the sight of her big, feminine nipples pushing against the fabric of her semi-transparent shirt. God, those boobs were big. Almost the size of her own head, yet perfectly proportioned. What would they look like in a bra? I tried to visualise it, and only got even harder.

“I don’t believe you. It’s just this stupid shirt,” she said, her voice slurring a little.

The alcohol made me a little brazen, much more than I ever would have dared. I drank the rest of my glass and felt the slight wooziness that came from overdoing it. She drank a little more too. And it made what I did next easier to justify.

“So,” I said, starting to grin, “you don’t like being a woman at all, then?”

“No,” she replied, “not at all.”

“You don’t even like the big boobies? I imagine most guys have thought a little about what it would be like to play with their own pair.”

She crossed her arms underneath them, unknowingly giving me a spectacular view of them, as they were pushed up like two buoys upon the ocean.

“Not me. I told you, I’m all man.”

“We just had our first deep conversation in years, about how that’s exactly the attitude we need to deal with.”

Her eyes flickered, uncertain. “I still don’t like it.”

“Not even when I do . . . this?”

And I reached out with my big, coarse, masculine hand . . . and planted it right over her left boob.

George:

My eyes went wide as Holly’s large hand planted right over my left boob. I hadn’t expected it; her finger sank slightly into my soft flesh, and I was shocked to see that even as large as her masculine hands were, the round shape of my boob was bigger. Jesus, these things were two-handers apiece! The sensitive skin over my left globe shivered , and my nipple stiffened between the crux of two of his fingers.

“Wh-what are you doing, Holly?” I asked in that sensual voice. Somehow, being drunk was only making me sound like even more of a come-on.

“Just seeing how they feel from the other side,” he replied. He began to softly squeeze my flesh, and to my embarrassment I let out a low moan. It felt good. Real good, and I was surprised at how pliable they were. My flesh rose as he kneaded it.

“Mmmhhm . . . ahhh, that feels s-so weird,” I managed. If I weren’t too far gone on the wine, I would have fought him off. As it was, it was a wonderful feeling, like nothing I’d quite felt before. I felt a strange need to keep it going.

“But it feels good, right?”

“Si, it feels good.”

“Because they feel good from my perspective. So much fun to play with.”

I gasped as her other hand reached around my soft shoulder grope my right breast, and I cooed as he began to massage them both. Dios mio, they were so huge, and so sensitive. My nipples throbbed with need, and a warmth settled in my belly, a deep fire in my new loins that I couldn’t ignore. I knew it wasn’t right, that I was meant to be the man, but my mind blurred instead, fuelled by alcoholic delight and inebriated passion.

“These are way bigger than mine were,” Harry said, his voice low. He shifted me, pulling me until I was on his lap. I could feel a distinct hardness there. A very impressively sized largeness that would have made me feel guilty were I sober. Instead, that wetness between my thighs only grew.

“Ohhh . . . you’ve got a hard-on, mijo.”

“I do. Damn, I need to let it out. Do you mind?”

I shook my head, too encompassed in that amazing feeling of having these gorgeous globes of mine massages. She cupped them with her forearm, and I couldn’t stop myself from gasping as my big brown nipples rubbed against his skin. I needed him to play with them. Needed his attention. This body felt like it was in heat, and the feeling of him unzipping his denim shorts and releasing his cock only made it worse.

“This . . . this isn’t right,” I moaned. His large penis was so damn hard, like a rod of iron, and it was rubbing against my prodigious backside, situated perfectly between my rounded cheeks. I was beginning to rub against it automatically, bucking my hips slightly to feel its girth against them, as well as the small of my back. It felt good, and I was beginning to breathe like an attractive woman in desperate need.

“You can tell me to stop when you want,” Harry said, continually cupping my breasts. They overflowed his large palms like two immense, ripe fruit. Their undersides were wonderfully sensitive, and it left me whimpering.

“Mhmh . . . si, maybe just a little more? Ohhhh, that feels good, when you rub your thumbs over them. Si, like that.”

“Yes, my lovely senorita,” he said, and I could hear his smirk as he continued to play. I couldn’t help but groan in female delight as his ministrations made me more and more turned on. That need between my legs grew and grew, like a spreading fire, and it was made all the worse by his hard dick against my tight shorts. I couldn’t help but imagine it within me, and the thought was both disgusting and overwhelmingly arousing.

“Not a - ahhh - senorita . . .”

“Sure, Gabriella, sure. George isn’t. But I think you are.”

I couldn’t offer a word of complaint, the pleasure was too much. I couldn’t believe Holly was being this forward, or that I was being so submissive. It was always the opposite, but I felt too inebriated and stimulated to fight against it. The day had been so long, and it felt strangely liberating to give in to these feelings, particularly as she held my small waist and began to kiss my tender neck.

“Ahhhh . . . what are we doing?”

“Making love,” Harry replied, “like always. It’s just . . . different.”

Her arm gripped my waist possessively, and I shivered in anticipation.

“Couch is . . . not comfy,” I said weakly. “Why don’t we go to the bedroom? Just to make out.”

I turned, and he eyed me seriously. “George, are you sure?”

I cocked my head, feeling my long mane of dark curls shift. “It’s just a little experiment, that’s all. We aren’t going any further, alright?”

Holly:

What George had proposed seemed like a bad idea, but I was too damned turned on by her buxom body. It was easier to think of her as Gabriella, particularly as she was moaning like a nymphomaniac instead of the assertive grunts George usually emitted. Her massive rack was too fun to place with, but I needed more. The snake between my legs needed more.

I stood up, gently pulling my darling fiancé  turned fiancée with me, and once more I was staggered by how much we had both changed; she was so much shorter than me, adorably so. I had a perfect view of her incredibly bustline down her loose white top, and I wanted nothing more than to relieve her of that top, and every other article of her clothing.

Perhaps I shouldn’t have drunk so much, because it was starting to sound like a really, really good idea. I took Gabriella’s slender hand, and pulled her to the bedroom. We both staggered a little, laughing and drunk, as we entered. It was merely a hotel bedroom, but at the moment, it seemed like paradise to us. We both had a need. Unaccustomed to her stature and new role, Gabriella tried pushing me onto the bed, and we erupted into laughter again.

“Why are we laughing?” she said, giggling in that sweet voice of hers.

“I don’t know! Let’s just get on the bed together and make out. We can pretend we’ve just switched places, or close our eyes and pretend we’re still normal.”

If I was sober, I would have realised my proposition made no sense. Instead, we got up on the doona together and began making out. Hardcore. It only took a few moments to remove Gabriella’s ill-fitting top, but when it came off, her enormous bosom wobbled heavily, her perfect orbs settling against one another. I’d never seen such an enticing sight, and I decided to give her a show as well by removing my own top. I could see from the gleam in my former-fiancé’s eyes that liked what she saw. After all, if Gabriella was stacked, then Harry was built. I flex my biceps, and she made an exaggerated coo.

“Wow, even bigger muscles than me,” she said.

“Want to feel?”

She began to feel, and I felt her. Felt all of her. I gripped her lovely ass and felt my fingers sink into the firm flesh. It made her gasp, and together we worked our way to undoing and removing that pesky obstacle. My dick was back in my shorts, thankfully positioned ‘north’ now, but it was easy to unzip them; Gabriella was going wild and pawing at the stiffness between my legs as if it were a gold nugget. I pulled her close and kissed those deep, full lips of hers, and while her eyes were wide initially, I saw her close them and lean in. She cupped my whiskered face, and it felt fantastic to have such soft hands against my coarseness.

“OOohhh,” she moaned in my mouth, “these nipples are so sensitive.”

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” I replied, squeezing them a little more. She groaned in feminine delight, and I used the opportunity to roll her onto her back. She was wearing nothing now, and the image of her nakedness was breathtaking to behold. She really did have the perfect body. George may not have known it, and certainly wouldn’t have liked to have known it, but in that moment as Gabriella she was pulling a pose that could have appeared in the world’s hottest adult movie. One hand was resting against her rounded hip, the other pulling back a strange of her perfect hair, as her breasts rose and fell with each anticipating breath. It was an intoxicating sight, and all the more because we were both drunk and loving it. All inhibitions were gone, and there was only need remaining. I gripped those gorgeous hips and rested her on her back, and by instinct her thighs parts, granting me entrance to her pretty little pussy. She was wet with need, like a bitch in heat, and while I ordinarily wouldn’t think in metaphors like that, the testosterone was raging in my system, and I wanted to conquer this woman. To dominate her. I pressed myself up against her, feeling her generous breasts, which pulled to either side of her, so heavy and rounded were they. She responded by pushing them together with her upper arms, crying out.

“Ahhhhh . . . ohh . . . get in me.”

“Are you - ngh! - are you sure, my love?”

“Si! Si! Lo quiero!”

Somehow, her descent into desperate Spanish as her want increased only heightened my own desire. I took her affirmative, and positioned my cock against her lower lips. It took longer than I expected, being unused to even having such a bizarre appendage, but its surface and head were sensitive to the touch, and I wanted it to be stroked by her passage. In the end, we had to work to guide me in, and when I entered her we both gasped at the unfamiliarity.

It felt so different to what I was used to, and yet powerful and dominating in its own way. Empowering, in fact. I was no longer the penetrated but now the penetrator, the one who took charge, who thrusted rather than received, who gave rather than took. I pressed my new girth into my feminised fiancé, relishing her gentle cries of initial discomfort, and proceeding pleasure. And then, slowly but surely, I began to push in and out of her in a rhythmic motion. Our hips met, and the pleasing sight of Gabriella’s massive mammaries bouncing with each rock only made me more eager.

I kissed her deeply as I thrusted, and she continued to moan and speak dijointed Spanish in my ear as I moved down to nuzzle at her breasts. They were so large, and I buried my face in her cleavage, suffocating myself in her flesh before rearing back and mounting her again. Her longer fingernails raked my bake as I thrusted, and it seemed my member was close to her cervix from how much she howled in erotic sensation, though never so close to cause her actual pain.

As I slid into her again, she gasped, her delightful face closing its eyes to bask in the feelings I was giving her. I wondered how my George was feeling in there.

George:

It was heaven and hell. It was horror and beauty. It was wrong and it was so, so utterly right.

I yielded to him, and allowed my female body to be penetrated again and again. It was so unbelievably alien, to have a long, hard penis press into me and thrust deep within my new passage, but the pleasure was far beyond anything I’d ever felt as a man. I gave into it, as choruses of ecstasy coursed up my being, like hundreds of little electric tingles centred around my female erogenous zones. Harry was tall and strong, and he was all over me, and every time he brushed against my heavy chest my nipples shivered in tenderness. He gripped my ass, and I moaned at his touch, even as he thrust once more, and I lost myself to his touch, to every caress and grope. Oh Dios, the gropes. It was like my breasts were ten times more sensitive now to his touch, and he escalated to sucking and licking my hard nipples, causing me to arch my back as several minor orgasms swept over me.

I tried to speak, to tell him that I loved him, that I would fix this, to not stop, that it was okay, but instead I just screamed and cried out in streams of Spanish, saying all of those things in a passionate Latina accent that he would never understand.

“That’s so . . . fucking . . . hot,” Harry replied, and he pressed into me further. I lost any ability to speak instead, simply clinging on to him for dear life as I was pounded again and again.

“Te amo! Te amo! Te amo!”

It was all too much. I seized up, gripped by orgasms as they overwhelmed my body. I cried out loud enough to wake up the entire floor, my high voice the very essence of female passion. My lover grunted and exhaled in a deep, manly declaration of pleasure, and his balls tensed between my thighs.I gripped him with my legs, even as the onslaught of multiple orgasms came on, and I felt his penis spurt its seed inside of me. It throbbed in my passage for what felt like a full minute, and his hot sperm warmed me, flowing towards my womb.

“Oh fuck, you’re amazing,” he declared, and we kissed deeply.

Only after he had pulled out, and I had gasped at his exit, and we had cleaned up and gone back to bed,.did it hit me just how insane what had happened was. I had been transformed into a sexy chica by a magic lake, failed to find a way to turn back, gotten piss drunk, and now let myself be fucked by my formerly female fiancé.

“Oh God,” I whispered, as the realisation came crashing down on my drunken self. But immediately after, Harry rolled over and put his arm around me, his hand grasping into my bountiful breast. And it felt so good, and I felt so comfy and safe, that it was easier to stay than think about it.

I fell asleep, the little spoon to his big spoon, not thinking of how I’d react in the morning.

To Be Continued . . .