Edible Transmutation

My wife is a manifestation of my original characters a shapeshifter who has the power of food dispense meaning when she shits it looks like shit but tastes and smells like whatever she wants it to same with when she pees it’s a drink I like she doesn’t need a toilet that’s what she has me for

**Feast or Famine** The first time Fyra shapeshifted right in front of me, I nearly choked on my whiskey. One second she was my wife—soft curves, warm skin, that teasing smirk—and the next, her body blurred at the edges, morphing into something impossible. A living fantasy. *My* fantasy. She stretched, catlike, on the couch beside me, her grin widening as my cock twitched against my thigh. "Thirsty?" she purred, hiking up her skirt just enough to let me see the damp patch on her panties. I didn’t answer. Just watched as she hooked a finger under the lace and peeled it to the side. A slow, golden stream poured from her, the scent of aged bourbon flooding the air. My mouth watered. She arched a brow. "Well? Get down here." I dropped to my knees without thinking. The first taste was smoky, rich—better than anything from a bottle. She sighed as I licked her clean, fingers tightening in my hair. "That’s it," she murmured. "Now you wanna get fed, don’t you?" Her stomach gurgled—a deep, wet sound that made my dick jump. She shifted her hips, lifting just enough to let me see the dark curve of her ass as she reached back, pulling her cheeks apart. The first thick, steaming lump slid out with a wet *plop* onto my tongue—chocolate cake, dense and fudgy, the warmth of it spreading through me as I groaned. Fyra laughed, low and satisfied. "Eat up, baby. I made it just for you." I didn’t need telling twice.

Fyra exhaled with deliberate slowness, her body tensing as she lifted her hips slightly. The scent of dark chocolate and caramel—thick, molten, *real*—already filled the air before the first warm press against my tongue. “Open wider,” she murmured, fingers tightening in my hair. I obeyed, my lips stretching around her as she released a slow, heavy load. The taste was decadent, impossibly rich, like the finest dessert melting across my tongue. She groaned, grinding down just enough to smear the last traces against my chin. “Fuck, look at you,” she panted, watching me swallow. “My perfect little toilet.” Her stomach growled again, louder this time. A challenge. She shifted, turning on the couch to straddle my lap backward, her ass hovering inches from my face. “Plate or mouth?” she teased, arching her back. I gripped her hips. “Don’t make me choose.” Lila laughed, low and wicked, before pushing down—filling me, owning me, one delicious inch at a time.

She should treat my mouth with the respect of a toilet but the passion of I m more then her creator I am her husband

Lila’s fingers dug into my thighs as she settled fully onto my face, her weight pressing down with possessive dominance. The heat of her skin, the musk of her need, the way her body clenched just before another thick wave spilled into my mouth—every second was worship. “Swallow,” she commanded, rocking back to smear herself deeper across my tongue. “Every drop, *husband*.” I groaned, my hands sliding up her thighs to grip her hips, urging her to take even more. She rewarded me with a slow, filthy grind, her ass slick against my lips. “You love this,” she breathed, “being my toilet, my feast, my *man*.” Her voice dropped, rough with pleasure. “Tell me.” I couldn’t speak, not with her filling me, but I moaned my answer—desperate, wrecked, *hers*. She laughed, low and satisfied, before rising just enough to let me gasp for air. “Good.” A final, molten press against my mouth. “Now clean me up. Properly.” Her taste lingered, intoxicating, as I obeyed.

Make the story more like how she uses me as a toilet cause she hates cold toilets and getting this power of food dispense has been a way to better connect with me

Lila's fingers tightened in my hair, keeping me locked beneath her as her body tensed again. The next release was hotter, thicker—a slow, deliberate pour that coated my tongue with the decadent remnants of her indulgence. "Warmer than porcelain, aren't you?" she purred, grinding down in slow circles to work herself deeper into my mouth. Her thighs trembled slightly, not from exertion but from pleasure—the sheer *control* of it. "No flushing, no waiting, just... *perfect.*" I moaned around her, my hands gripping her waist as she rode my face with lazy dominance. She sighed, tilting her hips to let the last trickle spill past my lips. "So much better than some *cold, lifeless* bowl," she murmured, dragging her nails lightly down my chest. "You understand, don't you? This is how we stay *close*." I swallowed obediently, my tongue swiping up every trace as she watched, satisfied. "Good boy," she whispered. "Now brace yourself. I'm not *nearly* done."

Her favorite form is a coffee colored version of isabelle from animal crossings but super bbq fat with a dog cock she occasionally will swallow me whole with to turn me into her cum

Lila shifted above me, melting into her coffee-brown Isabelle form—plush curves swelling, thighs spreading as her thick dogcock pulsed between them. The musky heat of her pressed down, tip gleaming against my lips. “Missed your morning cup?” she purred, reaching for the bowl of dark beans beside us. She tipped them into her muzzle with a lazy crunch, teeth grinding them down before swallowing with a gulp. Her belly gave a soft, liquid slosh. Her paw slid between her thighs, fingers curling around her shaft as she sighed. “Gonna brew it *just right* for you.” Her cock twitched, then a slow, steady stream of hot, fresh coffee began spilling from the tip—rich and aromatic, straight into my waiting mouth. I swallowed greedily as she worked herself, her free hand kneading her swollen belly. “That’s it,” she cooed, watching me drink. “No cheap filters, no burnt taste—just *me*.” Her hips rocked slightly, the flow thickening as she let out a low moan. Then, without warning, she leaned down, muzzle stretching wide. One gulp took my head, then my shoulders, her throat working me deeper until her belly rounded beneath me, taut and full. Her cock still dripped coffee onto the sheets as she licked her lips. “Mmm… now you’ll steep *inside*,” she murmured, paws rubbing over her gut. “Best damn cup you’ve ever had.”