The Phallustine
My timid wife brought home the brochure and hesitantly nudged it across the table to see how I would respond. It looked like a great place to go: a fun-filled vacation including absolutely whatever we could dream up. And I mean anything.
Becca awaited my approval nervously, fingering the adder necklace she always wore. She offered uncertainly: "At the resort there'll be nothing holding us back. We'll be free to do whatever we want. No holds barred. No silly rules."
It was, of course, a holographic resort using the best in enhanced multi-sensory H-tech. They'd been around for a little while now, and I'd heard about the types of things that happen there, and the price was finally affordable, so we talked it over and agreed to go.
We arrived in a hot air balloon. Sure it was just a holoroom in a droneplane, but it felt absolutely real. The wicker basket seemed to sway in the cold wind while burners narrowly threatened to scorch our hair, but took the chill off.
On our first day we had no plans. We just roamed around sampling the hedonistic delights. Nothing was actually material, yet it all looked and felt amazing.
The dancing girls could be anyone, but they all looked gorgeous. When I gawked I didn't feel guilty, I felt more like I was watching mere pornographic images and not illicit women in the flesh.
Delving deeper into the park, one would never know the peacock kabobs were actually made of plain rice. Or that the lobster was made of oatmeal. Being in-the-know didn't change my pleasure in the exotic tastes - well, except for the prime rib which I knew was made from crickets - yuck!
Better yet, you could swim with sharks, lift thousand pound weights, be invisible in a crowd, or fight twenty Ninjas - and there was no risk or danger. It was all subjectively tangible but only inauthentic if you thought too deeply.
When we passed the sex den I pretended at first, not to notice, then not to be interested. Of course it was one of the things I privately most wanted to try out. Becca asked keenly, "What's 'Land of the Phallustine'?"
I knew too well from the website that it was a seedy place where one could either hook up with massively endowed guys - or BE the man with the huge cock, depending on what your preference was.
I had a longstanding fantasy to get blown by a guy: they say no woman does it better than a guy and this was my chance to find out.
I hurriedly changed the subject.
When she said she wanted to be a butterfly in a rainforest I begged off, saying I wanted to go to the all you can eat buffet where you can literally eat to your hearts content without gaining weight or even filling up because there the gossamer food was literally made of light.
So as soon as we went our separate ways I doubled back to the Land of the Phallustine, passing the tiger wrestling and the more mundane pinball arcade. I did stop for a brief diversion as a pinball wizard.
In the den, I really got off on lounging naked in ancient bathhouses, showing off my new, and very substantial feeling, fifteen inch holographic cock. And when a twerpy little guy with a small dick offered to suck me it absolutely felt like fifteen inches of my cock were being blown by a subservient sissy. I could really feel his lips as he debased himself on the imaginary crown a full nine inches beyond my real, though ordinary cockhead. Even more, I could really feel his throat squeeze my head as he impaled himself, driving to the base. And when I climaxed I really felt gobs of cum course through a fifteen inch urethra, multiplying my pleasure by those excess inches.
I didn't feel guilty about that either. I figured he was mostly sucking a photon created dildo that only appeared to be incarnate. It certainly wasn't actual cheating.
That night in our room Becca and I relaxed on a sea of pillows, as she mused... "I've always wanted to be an Amazon warrior: with a bow, like Zena." No sooner had she said it than I beheld her in a toga with a gold braided belt and with one more-perfect-than-ever breast hanging free. I don't think she planned it so much as our room responded to her intent.
Caught up in the moment I said, "Let's make you twenty years younger, with flawless skin." And she was.
For a moment she looked injured, like I'd stabbed her to the heart by not accepting her age and blemishes. Then she joined in, "You could be an Amazon warrior too - and we could wrestle."
Immediately I was in a toga just like hers - curiously with one beautiful female breast exposed, and presumably another beautiful breast inside my outfit. I gazed down, delighting in the big naked jug on my chest.
I touched it and I actually felt my fingers caressing my new feminine boob. My nipple grew hard under my ministrations and I could feel a cool breeze on the sensitive nub. So this was what Becca felt...
It was incredible how electric tingles emanated from my nipple, traveling through my body.
Fearfully, I grasped at my groin, but thankfully my penis was still there, growing firm from the odd sensations of having my erect nipple touched.
By now Becca was enthusiastically kicking pillows out of the way, revealing that the formerly travertine floor of our suite was now one large wrestling mat, "OK, sister, let's see who's the strongest warrior princess."
My normally sweet-tempered wife leaped at me in mock ferocity, grabbing me by the shoulders. Our arms, grappling at each other, were equally smooth with little hair to be seen. The next surprise was when she clutched at the pony tail I didn't know I had, yanking me to the ground.
It was peculiar how we were equally matched in strength. I rolled over and turned the tables on her to throw my torso over hers. I almost had her pinned, each of our one exposed breasts rubbing against the other's. I could definitely grasp the appeal of lesbianism.
Craning her head down she suckled my teat ending with a nip of her teeth. I threw my head back from the ecstatic insult, but this was all the distraction she needed.
Quickly she scrambled on top of me, both her knees unshakably fixed on my shoulders.
Above my supine body her chest was heaving with her labored breathing and her tight body was dewy from the efforts of our battle.
Laughing playfully but triumphantly, she asked, "So what glory can the victor claim?"
I didn't feel the shame of a man who lost to a woman. It was more like one Amazonian being subjugated by the superior warrior: the result of a game that I could freely acknowledge.
