The Wishing Stone - AI Generated (female to shemale, shemale-male/female)

Story by sam

This is a story I generated from a number of trial and error prompts in Gemini 2.5 flash. It's not exactly perfect and I still trying to get the character development better honed in, but I am more or less happy with it. I have some more ideas on where to go next, but just want to see where this lands.

The Wishing Stone

Chapter 1: The Stone and the Stirring

Ryan's Perspective

The annual office white elephant gift exchange was always a chaotic affair, and this year was no exception. I watched as my junior associate, Mark, unwrapped a rather lumpy, poorly wrapped package to reveal… a taxidermied squirrel wearing a tiny sombrero. Laughter erupted, much to Mark’s feigned horror. My turn came next. I reached into the pile, my fingers brushing against a smooth, cool object. When I finally tore away the crumpled newspaper, I found a palm-sized, intricately veined stone, swirling with iridescent blues and greens. It looked like something plucked from a tide pool, or perhaps, a child’s craft project.

“What is it?” Jamie, my wife, whispered beside me. She’d come to the office party as my plus-one, her shoulder-length blond hair framing a face alight with amusement. Her large tits were subtly outlined beneath her dress, and her perfectly round butt was, as always, a pleasant distraction.

“Looks like a wishing stone,” I mumbled, turning it over in my hand. It was remarkably heavy for its size. Another colleague, always one for dramatics, piped up, “Legend says if you make a wish on it, it comes true!” A chorus of teasing encouragement followed.

I glanced at Jamie, her eyes twinkling. Despite the office setting, my mind drifted to our bedroom, to the subtle lull in our sex life over the past few months. It wasn't bad, not by any stretch, but the frantic, insatiable passion of our early years had mellowed. Jamie, with her care-free, playful nature, would usually instigate things, but lately, even her corny jokes couldn't always spark the same fire.

A cheeky grin spread across my face. “Alright, alright,” I declared, holding the stone up. “I wish Jamie would have a higher libido!”

Groans and chuckles filled the room. Jamie playfully swatted my arm. “Ryan Moran!” she exclaimed, her cheeks flushing, though a smile played on her lips. “You are such a perv!”

I just laughed, tucking the stone into my pocket. It was a dumb, harmless joke, a bit of fun at a dull office party. I didn’t give it a second thought. The night wore on, we ate some questionable hors d'oeuvres, and eventually, we went home.

Jamie's Perspective

The next morning, I woke up with an unusual hum beneath my skin. It wasn't an urgent need, more like a low thrum of anticipation, a gentle warmth that had taken root in my core. I stretched, glancing at Ryan, who was still asleep beside me, his athletic build relaxed in repose. He was such a planner, so serious most of the time, but he had a wonderfully playful side too, like last night with that ridiculous wishing stone. Higher libido, huh? I chuckled to myself.

Later that day, while working on a client’s website design, the hum intensified. It became a needy ache, a persistent whisper of desire that made it hard to focus on HTML code. I found myself shifting in my seat, my thoughts drifting from font choices to the memory of Ryan’s hands on my skin. This was… unusual. Normally, I’d get these pangs, but not with this intensity, not so consistently.

When Ryan came home, tired from a day of junior associate duties at the accounting firm, I pounced on him before he even had a chance to put his briefcase down. I tackled him in the entryway, plastering kisses all over his face.

"Woah there, tiger!" he laughed, catching me in his arms. "What's gotten into you?"

"Just missed you," I purred, my hands already unbuttoning his shirt. My fingers brushed against his abs, and a delicious shiver ran through me.

"Jamie,” he said, his voice a little strained, “I literally just walked through the door."

“So?” I pulled his shirt open, revealing his chest. I buried my face against his skin, inhaling his scent. My body was singing, a high-pitched, demanding melody. "Let's skip dinner, shall we?"

We made love right there on the living room rug, a wild, passionate encounter that left us both breathless and a little sore. As I climaxed, a strange sensation rippled through me – not unpleasant, but different. It felt like a subtle, internal pressure, a faint rigidity just above where Ryan was thrusting. I dismissed it as overstimulation, a new facet of my heightened arousal.

The next few days were a blur of insatiable desire. I couldn’t keep my hands off Ryan, and he, understandably, wasn't complaining. Every touch, every glance, ignited a fire within me. But with each climax, that peculiar sensation grew. It was a firm, almost rod-like presence, deep inside me, just above my vagina. When I was aroused, it was unmistakabl

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