I know I have stories that need their Part IIs, but I wanted to write this to get me back into the swing of things!

Suid Inspired

by Dan Standing

Let’s face it, when making a wish you always think it’s a good idea at the time. And we’ve all heard the myriad of stories about wishes being twisted so often that everyone thinks that’s just a tired trope. No one really takes such a thing seriously.

But let’s face it, sometimes tropes exist because they really do happen.

A lot.

I learned this the hard way. My tale started out pretty much in line with your average internet story; I was at a flea market, there was an old woman selling odd trinkets, and I bought a jade medallion that she said would grant me three wishes.

Of course, there were parameters that each wish had to meet. The wishes had to be sexual in nature somehow, they had to be about me, I could describe the intention of my wish but nothing would be granted until actually saying “wish” in my sentence, and the medallion took five days to a week to fully recharge between each of my three wishes.

For $5 who wouldn’t buy it?

I took it home and put it on my dresser. Before making any wishes I decided to strip down and see if there was anything I wanted to change about myself, although I didn’t think there would be. You see, I’ve always been sexy. I’m not trying to brag, but I am.

For example, my breasts are the size of oranges and still sit pretty pert on my 27-year-old body. If I flick my blond hair forward it almost tickles my nipples. My butt isn’t a bubble or anything, but it has a nice curve which my panties hug nicely. I’m definitely an hourglass, and my legs are long and shapely. If it wasn’t for the long hours I spend waitressing – yes, another trope, not only a waitress but still one at 27 – I’d be out at the clubs much more often, having much more sex. But I was happy enough with the occasional with a closing-shift restaurant patron.

So while I’m certain many of you want to hear about how I wished for watermelon sized tits or an ass that jiggled even when I wasn’t walking, I don’t have any of that for you. My body looked fine the way it was, so my thoughts turned to other ideas.

I’d recently rediscovered a story that said pigs had thirty minute orgasms. Since, on average, my orgasms would be best described as being as satisfying as a BB gun being fired, I was inspired by this bit of nature trivia.

“Alright medallion,” I proclaimed, snatching the thing up, “Pigs sounds like they have a pretty good deal. I wish my orgasms would be intense and last thirty minutes!”

I know some may right away wonder about this decision, but remember that at the time I was either getting myself off or fucking late at night. A half hour of pleasure didn’t seem like time badly spent, nor did I think it would really be so long that I couldn’t get other things done afterwards.

The medallion felt warm in my hand, and when I looked down at it I saw that it had turned black. I figured that over the next few days it would recharge, and turn green when it was ready. I put it back on the dresser and retired to my bed.

The anticipation of what was to, ahem, come already had me a little wet as I got everything together atop my mattress. I imagine that my sensitivity is about the average woman’s; I certainly don’t get off from tight panties or rubbing too hard against the edge of a table, but I also don’t have to spend an hour massaging my clit to reach climax. I pulled out my lube and my dildo with the built-in tickler, spread my legs, and slowly worked “Weston” in and out of me. My own fingers slipped between my upper folds to more gently work my flower.

After ten minutes of this combined with thoughts of some of Hollywood’s finer leading men I felt the warm well of climax working its way up from deep inside me. That wonderful sexual heat pushed further and further until-

I’d never screamed before when cumming, and I didn’t fully do so this time. As I came the beautiful bliss quickly overwhelmed me, and I had just enough time to cry out before my body locked up, my pussy squeezing so tight it forced the rubber rod out of me. My arms and legs were pushing against the bed while my toes and fingers gripped madly at it, but my mind was so consumed in carnal passion that I had no actual control over my reaction.

And this wasn’t a “blacked out and awoke exhausted and satisfied” sort of thing. I was totally aware during the entire orgasm, which kept me at a high peak, dropping more and more pleasure across my quivering form. My breathing was short and haggard, my entire body was sweating, my pussy lips were practically fluttering, and my breasts were tossing back and forth across my shaking chest. It was so much that part of me wanted it to stop, but of course I couldn’t do anything to try to force myself into an afterglow. All I could do was let my concerns be washed away and give in to my extended experience.

Thirty minutes later my body was finally released, every one of my muscles relaxing. This was preceded by one final burst of bliss, forcing a stuttered “Oh-oh!” from my lips. I ached, but it was a damn good ache. I just laid where I was for at least another ten minutes, unintentionally letting the afterglow of the incredible orgasm slip me into a very deep sleep.

Of course, after waking up from such an experience I was eager to achieve it from a proper fuck. Most of my shift the next day was spent staring at a number of the handsome male guests that came to the restaurant. I feared that all the attractive ones would have come and gone by the time I was able to seriously flirt my way into their bed, but I lucked out as a particular stud was the last customer seated amongst my tables. It didn’t take much to find myself invited back to his place after the meal.

Unfortunately, I always forget that every four out of five times I’m in bed with a man I usually have to find a way to finish myself. Most men mean well, but enthusiasm isn’t everything. I love having a cock in me, and if I can get myself off while one is still in me that’s great, but more often than not I find I’m left to my own devices while recalling the sensation of having a real, hot, pumping rod stuffed between my legs.

This guy was no exception. I faked my way through the end of our encounter after it was clear he had finished, excused my way out of his apartment, and went home as quickly as I could. My imaginary version of him was much better at sustaining until I started cumming, my mind racked with another thirty minute orgasm that I was completely helpless to do anything about other than enjoy.

As the week stretched on it was clear that perhaps this time it was my own eagerness to cum that was causing the other men I picked up to finish before I did. My own work after their encounters felt good, but there’s just something about cumming from actual sex that is hard to replace.

So it should come as no surprise that when the medallion turned green my next wish was “I wish that after a man enters me I’ll orgasm when he does.”

I figured that would fix the timing issue. I went home with another guy that evening, not as fine as the stud that first night but still pretty good-looking. My anticipation was high, and my pussy was dripping as he drove his rubber-encased cock into me. I dug my nails into his back and wrapped my legs around his as I took the full length of his fairly impressive manhood. I was working myself on him so intensely that it only took a few minutes before I sensed that tell-tale tension of a man about to blow his balls.

And suddenly I was in the grip of my own orgasm. My arms and legs gripped him tightly, his spasming cock reaching just a bit deeper inside me as he finished. Of course I was far from done, and I think for the first few minutes he was enjoying my reaction.

Then he probably started to cramp up. My pussy forced his softening dick out, but managed to keep a grip on the now empty – save for his wad – condom. As I continued to gasp and grip through my orgasm it was clear that at first he was pleased by his work, then angry and thought I was joking, then concerned about me, and then fully entertained by my rolling about. As the last five minutes of my incredible cum began he actually went to the kitchen and came back with a beer. I think he was a little disappointed as my orgasm finally finished and the show was over, and he was even less enthused when I grabbed the beer from his hand and took a drink.

Over the next two days I slept with two more guys. Leaving their bed after my half-hour freeze up didn’t get any less awkward with them, but God was I feeling really really satisfied. This was really looking like the perfect set up.

Then something strange happened the third evening. I was at the restaurant, feeling out the intents of another potential fuck buddy, when suddenly I was struck by an orgasm. Literally standing next to the table my muscles seized up and I began to moan and pant. My slivers of consciousness that could comprehend what was going on could see everyone around me turn and stare. Soon I wasn’t able to stand, and I fell backwards, the throws of my unstoppable cumming muting the pain of landing on the tiled floor.

Of course this was not some bemused lover who didn’t want to invite an ambulance over to a one-night stand, and before I hit the floor people were already dialing 911. Twenty minutes into my orgasm I was being loaded onto an ambulance. The straps holding me to the gurney and resisting my wriggling were a strange turn on. We were just pulling into the hospital when I came down and started talking, startling the medical technicians riding in the back with me.

An emergency room examination found nothing wrong with me, and I was released with a wonderful bill. My boss called and said to take the next day off. Everyone at the restaurant was confused as to exactly what had happened. I knew their minds suspected a stroke or seizure, but their noses had to have known how much I was enjoying it. The odor on my clothes – particularly my panties – made that clear.

Of course, I was confused as well. Especially when the next morning, while I was in the shower, I was hit with another orgasm. I was able to ease myself back and down onto the tile before I fell like I had at work, and rolled about blissfully helpless in the warm spray. Afterwards I finished cleaning myself, dressed, and since I still had no answers was determined to run the errands that I wanted to finally get to with my free day.

Shopping and banking went very while. While clothes shopping I even convinced a stock boy to not only fuck me in a department store warehouse, but to also stand guard in front of the pallets we had coupled behind while my 30 minutes of physical pleasure wound down.

By the end of the day I was no closer to understanding the two random orgasms I’d had. As I sat on the bus waiting for the stop near my apartment I was at a loss for what the triggers could be.

And then another one triggered.

If you’ve ever ridden the bus you’ll understand that if you start acting strangely everyone ignores you more, not less. There were no 911 calls this time, just averted gazes, and my body flushed with embarrassment and slight panic while I came my way right past my stop and all the way to the end of the line. Drenched in sweat and my own juices I paid a taxi to get me home as quickly as possible. I didn’t want to risk ending up at the other end of the bus line.

By the time I walked in my door I had figured out the problem. It stemmed back to the wording of my second wish; “I wish that after a man enters me I’ll orgasm when he does.”

I never specified that I shouldn’t keep orgasming at the same time as my male lovers after they’ve exited me. I didn’t know if since fucking them the men I’d slept with had taken another woman to bed or were just handling themselves, but I was certain that I was coming because one or more of them had.

To be honest, I was surprised I hadn’t been orgasming more. They were either very busy or very picky, and I was somewhat lucky I hadn’t fucked some sex addict. But I was still in a real pickle; not only would I continue to cum at the whim of four men’s libidos, but if I had sex with anyone other than one of them I’d just be adding on more male sex habits that would affect me.

I needed to use my third wish to fix this, but the medallion was not yet green.

I called out of work the next couple days, and each of those days I’d fallen into my thirty minutes of inescapable heaven at least twice. Finally the medallion turned green, and with some urgency I announced, “I wish I wouldn’t orgasm when anyone else did.”

The medallion remained cool and didn’t turn black.

I thought perhaps, since this was my last wish, the medallion had remained green because it no longer mattered to me when it was finished recharging.

So I went to work.


I was in the middle of taking a lunch order when the familiar warmth welling in my belly started. I had only gotten three steps towards the bathroom when I completely succumbed to my body’s physical reaction to the orgasm. I was soon back in an ambulance and given another hospital bill. This wish was becoming expensive.

I had the entire ride home to think about my situation. My third wish hadn’t taken, and I suspected that was because I couldn’t undo a wish. An irritating detail I would have liked to have known beforehand. By the time I walked into my apartment I thought maybe I had a solution.

Once more I grabbed the green source of my problems and announced, “I wish no one is offended or finds it unusual for me to orgasm for thirty minutes whenever I happen to do so.”

The medallion turned black. I turned to replace it on my dresser when I dropped it. The stone circle cracked in half as it hit the ground. Actually, I hadn’t even noticed it had broken at first – I was too busy being shocked by how my hands were turning into hooves.

My transformation into a sow happened very quickly. I felt my legs and arms begin to contract, the joints reforming and forcing me onto all fours. My breasts pulled into my ribs, split apart and moved down my torso. I could feel the tail spring into my loosening skirt, and my nose turned up while my ears became long, floppy, and slid towards the back of my lengthening head.

You could say that my mindset at the end of the transformation was something like “frustrated resignation.” The stretched, and in some places torn, fabric fell away from my pig body, along with all of my blond human hair. My hooves clopped on the floor as I walked out of the puddle of clothing. Turning to my wall mirror I confirmed without a doubt that I had been transformed into a pig.

Of course, per my third wish – and my entire inspiration for my first wish – no one would be surprised to know a pig was having a thirty minute orgasm. And no one would blame a barn yard animal for orgasming in public. They wouldn’t know that I did, in fact, know better.

I wanted to panic, I really did, but something was keeping me from doing so. Instead my mind was figuring out how much food I had in the apartment – at least, food I could get to without hands – and I was quickly certain that I would be found by someone wanting rent money well before I starved. There was a farm animal rescue not far from here, and there was no question in my mind that I’d end up there.

I wanted to think more on my future, or try to figure out why I wasn’t running around screaming – squealing? – in terror for having had my humanity ripped away from me, but before I could do any of that I felt another orgasm start to take me. My squat four-legged form seized up and flumped over onto the floor, all four hooves making little kicks at the floor. I could hear grunting coming from my upturned snout.

My last thought before I let the first orgasm of my new porcine life completely take me was to laugh at how I wouldn’t have to pay those hospital bills after all.