It’s been five years.
Sometimes I miss it all, the walking, talking, eating, and breathing. When I really think about it, when I really try to remember, I can feel the phantom sensations of limbs I once had. For a long few months at the very beginning after I drank the potion that would turn me into a sex toy for my boyfriend’s going-off-to-college celebration, I felt my limbs. It was supposed to be momentary, just one evening of kinky fun just between him and I, but life had other plans for me.

The potion never wore off like it was meant to. So here I sit, silent and still. My body fused with that of the stretchy silicon that makes up most of my being, and held conscious and alive by the magic of the potion, this is my life now. I can’t communicate with him, but before I took the potion, I made him promise me he would use me. He keeps his promise. He would never know how good it feels to be used, to be his toy, his object of only pleasure. In due time, the sensations of my limbs grew more faint and my mind was fully accepting of my form; cylindrical, hollow, a small hole where my mouth once was, and only an anus at the other end.

When he uses me, his penis would easily spread me open wide and fill my wet insides with his girth. This is when I felt the most alive, a world of pleasure floods my mind, and surprisingly enough, an anal orgasm would come for me in about a dozen strokes, and again in a dozen more, and again. The mix of my body and the silicon made me sensitive and eager to be stretched and filled. When he cummed, it would flow through me. His seed would fill me, pour out of my mouth hole where I could taste him. It was blissful.

He would clean me afterwards too. He would stretch my butt open wide and let water from the faucet course through me. This was its own pleasure and was necessary aftercare for me. Once he was satisfied, he would set me on the couch where I could watch TV or sleep until he came home, or in the evenings, we would often watch the news together until we fell asleep. Any other time he would carry me around the house and I would quietly listen to him as he talked to me. He was good about that.

Sometimes I miss it all, but it is becoming ever more difficult to do so.