Chapter 5 Rules, Research, and Risky Fun
“Okay, come here,” Jordan beckoned with a mischievous grin, still flushed from their earlier frantic fucking. “I’ll tell you about the Amulet of Morphos.”
It sounded like absolute madness, but I pulled on some shorts and a T-shirt before joining her at the computer in our RiNo loft. The screen glowed with forum threads and archived stories.
“This thing has supposedly been around for ages,” she explained, voice still carrying a hint of that post-orgasm breathiness.
“It only shows up in wild fiction online. Nobody believes it’s real, but if they did, this ugly relic would be worth a fortune.
The big rule? Any change locks in for at least twelve hours. After that, you can use it again.”
I was shocked, amazed, and—despite everything—extremely intrigued.
Once she showed me the sites, I grabbed my laptop and we split the research.
We devoured story after story about the “altered fates” of people who stumbled across the ancient amulet—a mythical gift from the capricious gods of Mount Olympus, said to twist flesh and destiny for their amusement.
Most tales ended badly. The amulet always vanished under mysterious circumstances, leaving its victims trapped in unpleasant new lives.
It reminded me of the old Monkey’s Paw fable—wishes granted, but never as intended, always with a cruel twist.
Eventually we compared notes on the couch, bodies still humming from earlier.
“It looks like it’s almost impossible to keep,” I observed, unease settling in my gut.
Jordan looked a little distracted, thighs pressing together. “You know what? I don’t really care about all the warnings. I want to hang onto it as long as we can.”
I stared at her, stunned. “After what it just did to us? You want to keep this cursed thing?”
“Of course! Why not? It has so much potential. We can have a lot of fun with it.”
“You gotta be kidding. What if even some of those stories are based on truth? There are barely any where people end up happy.”
“That doesn’t mean it can’t be good for us,” she argued, eyes sparkling with excitement.
I’d learned the hard way that once Jordan set her mind on something, there was no shaking her.
So we kept the mysterious Amulet of Morphos—at least for as long as it allowed us.
Jordan immediately started suggesting uses, all of them involving changing our bodies. After the intense experience we’d just had, the idea made me uneasy, and I told her so. She promised she wouldn’t push me into anything I didn’t agree to first.
I indulged my wife—more often than not just tolerated it—whenever she wanted to play.
The first rules I demanded were simple: we only used it on weekends and holidays when nothing was scheduled.
We didn’t have a huge social life, and our families were out of state, so it wasn’t a big obstacle.
The second rule was ironclad—no turning me into a woman again.
She grumbled something about “seeing how the other half lives,” but she accepted.
For a while, it was mostly good. I got comfortable with Jordan’s experiments and even started looking forward to some of them.
She built up an impressive collection of clothing and items. New pieces gave us whatever traits they suggested, our bodies reshaping to “naturally” accommodate them.
For example, I slipped on a pair of tall men’s pants and shot up several inches in height, while Jordan did the same with a tall girl’s dress.
Pre-owned items were wilder—we’d transform into perfect copies of whoever wore them last. Our own old clothes worked too, letting me reclaim my trim college-athlete body and Jordan squeeze back into her high school prom gown.
That’s how things stayed for months—playing with different looks and bodies, and of course turning every experiment into filthy bedroom adventures.
We spent weekends as different races and ages, exploring every fantasy our imaginations could cook up.
One memorable Saturday, Jordan turned me into a cocky high-school senior while she became a sexy older English teacher in a tight pencil skirt and glasses.
She “detained” me after class, bending me over her desk and fucking me senseless with a strap-on, her voice low and authoritative as she praised what a good boy I was.
The power dynamic was intoxicating. Another time we flipped it—she played the eager senior, and I was the strict cougar professor who “tutored” her with my fingers and tongue until she was shaking and begging.
We tried being taller, shorter, more muscular, softer, curvier.
Every new form brought fresh sensations.
Jordan loved turning us into different ethnicities—once as a pair of stunning Black lovers with smooth dark skin that gleamed with sweat as we tribbed slow and deep, another time as petite Asian girls whose tiny bodies made every touch feel overwhelming.
The sex was always intense, bodies learning new ways to give and receive pleasure.
Breasts of every size were sucked and squeezed, cocks (when we had them) were ridden hard, pussies were licked and fingered until we were hoarse from screaming.
I actually enjoyed most of the simpler changes.
A few extra inches of height made me feel powerful when I pinned Jordan down and fucked her senseless.
But when she turned us both into midgets for a full twelve hours, it was a long, awkward, and surprisingly uncomfortable experience—everything out of reach, bodies too small for our usual energetic fucking, though we still managed some creative, giggling positions.
There were other wild episodes I barely remember now.
Most were incredibly pleasant, even downright addictive.
The amulet let us explore pleasure without limits, bodies reshaping into whatever fantasy we craved, orgasms hitting harder and longer in forms built for ecstasy.
Jordan’s enthusiasm was infectious, and I found myself looking forward to our weekends more and more—even as a small voice in the back of my mind whispered that playing with something this powerful could only end badly.