Testing My Pussy's Limits
I decided to test the durability and expandability of my pussy. And its sensitivity to stimulation.
To put it bluntly, that meant masturbating.
The glass bottle slid back inside me once more, filling the emptiness in my body as if it belonged there.
It moved quickly, accompanied by wet, squelching sounds.
I stared at my reflection in the mirror.
The sight of a woman gripping the bottle tightly with her pussy while rubbing her breasts—it didn't feel like me at all, even as I watched.
It was more like watching some porn video on my phone.
Probably because I still wasn't used to my own body.
It felt like spectating someone else's actions rather than my own.
And maybe that's why it turned me on even more.
Damn, that's hot...
Seeing my wide hips and huge tits shaking as I fucked myself with the bottle, nothing else came to mind.
"Ha-ut..."
Every time the bottle hit a sensitive spot, a moan escaped my lips.
It was a clear, pure sound that didn't match my slutty appearance at all.
You'd think it'd be sticky and sultry based on how I looked.
"Hng...!"
...
Is this how all women's bodies work?
Or is this body special?
A unique sensation—like the buildup right before a guy's climax—rippled through my pussy every time I thrust the bottle in and out.
The feeling spread gradually through my body like watercolor paint, faint but all-encompassing.
There was something addictive about having something inside me.
Is this because my body changed?
Animals that learn and develop self-awareness have brains.
Personality, memories—they sound fancy, but they're just brain functions.
In other words, change the brain, and the person changes.
Maybe that's why I could accept these unfamiliar sensations so easily, or why shoving a bottle in felt so good.
So, this pervy behavior wasn't because I was some weirdo before transmigrating—it's this body's fault.
Then how are my memories still intact? The hippocampus, cerebellum...
Nah, screw that. I can't know anyway.
I'm not dissecting my own brain. Focus on the now.
Can I make it feel even better...?
It already felt amazing, but greed knows no bounds, right?
I pondered, then extended my long tongue fully, tilting my head down to lick my nipple.
Sometimes hard. Sometimes wrapping around it gently.
My other hand, kneading my breast, roughly rubbed my clit.
"Hik...! Uh, ng...! Haa-ut...!"
Moans filled the room, along with the squelching of the insertion and the friction on my clit.
The intense stimulation sped up my hand, and soon my tongue stopped.
My gaze fixed blankly on the mirror.
The woman in the reflection stared back.
Her lips parted loosely, corners slightly upturned in a dazed, entranced expression.
Just chasing pleasure, drool dripping unchecked.
This is me...?
The woman in the mirror spread her legs wider, as if showing off to someone.
She moved one arm behind her back, propped herself on the floor, and lifted her hips.
Her eyes naturally tilted upward, only her hand moving furiously.
Squelch, squelch...
Each thrust of the bottle made my swollen pussy lips greedily swallow it, not missing a millimeter.
When pulling out, the reluctant mucosa clung and everted, desperate not to let go.
Lifting my hips exposed the whole scene perfectly in my vision.
The woman in the mirror moaned and her pussy twitched, but she never fully stopped.
"Aaaah... Uh...!!!"
Her moans grew faster and louder as time passed.
The wings on her back fluttered open and closed erratically, as if intoxicated, and her tail stood rigid, shaking.
Finally, after shoving the bottle as deep as it could go.
"...!!!"
My body shuddered violently, and clear love juices squirted from my pussy.
It soaked the dust and wooden floor.
A sweet scent now lingered in the room.
"Haa... Haa..."
Thud.
I collapsed onto my back, panting.
Ah... dust...
The impact kicked up dust, and I felt it stick to my sweat-slicked back.
Whatever, doesn't matter...
Too late to care now. And it felt good anyway.
Oh right, the bottle...
I realized too late it was still inside and pushed it out.
'Nooo! Don't! That's mine! Don't take it away!'
'No way. What if it breaks?'
That little mental dialogue played out until the bottle popped free with a plop.
Who was I talking to...? My brain and pussy...?
The bottle rolled away with a clatter, out of sight.
Now, instead of the bottle, I saw my—no, her—pussy, still gaping and twitching.
Stretched wide from the bottle's girth, love juices flowing freely.
But it didn't look grotesque.
If anything, I craved filling it again.
Ah... I get it now.
The constant urge to stuff something in might not just be this body's brain.
Maybe it was my old male desires too.
So, two egos coexisting?
One from my past life as a man.
The other, the succubus ego growing in this body.
Not split personality, but hard to explain.
Like how even adults have an inner child?
So, the urge to spread my legs was probably mine too.
The succubus side of me. Hmm... then what did the male ego want?
Just to see it spread open?
In short, even a single action like spreading legs might involve input from both egos.
The old male urge: 'Wanna see a hot bitch spread her legs, so make her do it.'
Succubus side: 'Wanna spread and show...'
Didn't matter much anyway.
Either way, it was my desire, inseparable now.
This overthinking was just a habit.
Analyzing even what didn't need it.
Maybe just accept it: this body's like that, no deep reason.
Shoving those reflections aside, I picked up the vanished bottle.
How the hell did this fit?
Weighing its size, I marveled anew at how I'd taken it so easily, shaken it around, and climaxed.
And that it was me who did it.
Not picking it up to compare, though.
Like I said, the love juices were sweet—maybe collect and sell them later?
So I kept it for now.
No idea how to collect yet.
Strap it to my thigh?
Doubt it'd fit...
No easy way to drip the fluid precisely into the bottle's mouth.
Oh right!
In my pondering, I remembered something crucial.
Something I hadn't checked yet—not flight, which needed external testing.
My asshole.
Or anal, in other words.
Mirror and masturbation right there, and I forgot?
'Ugh... Master, stop discriminating holes! Put it in here too!'
Some hallucinated voice whined.
How to reply? Hmm...
'Wait. Can't confirm if it's safe yet. On hold till quality test passes!'
Something like that. Not like my asshole talks—it's just my thoughts!
I turned, angling the mirror to my ass. Surprisingly, love juices leaked from there too.
'Anal isn't for sticking things in.'
Some old memory resurfaced.
But for this body, maybe not true.
Why leak juices from a "no-entry" hole?
Masturbation was done, no energy for more, but a quick test.
I spread with fingers, inserted, withdrew. Checked them.
Hmm... clean!
Hygiene passed. Sniff test?
Sweet.
Same scent. Tasted it—identical to my pussy's fluids.
What? Then this hole's fair game too...
Try later. Needed a break now.
Body wasn't tired—still energetic, movable.
Just wanted to think.
What now?
Masturbation felt great, good start.
But couldn't stay here jerking off forever.
Probably need food eventually. Learn this world's threats too.
What I can do, what not to...
Didn't wanna die suddenly without knowing.
First: figure out what I am.
Not just "succubus?" confirmation.
Knowing species matters, but how society treats me matters more.
Say I'm a succubus.
Could live normally in a village, or get executed on sight.
Which am I? Hope the former.
To find out, meet someone.
Anyone. One local, and I'd infer a lot.
Then I need clothes...
Naked with wings and tail? Super suspicious.
But nothing wearable in this hut.
Gotta live like this for a bit...
Can't conjure clothes from nothing.
Sometimes accept what is.
I sorted my swirling thoughts and decided to leave the hut after this short stay.
I opened the door and stepped out. Midday sun high overhead.
While out, time to finish unchecked body measurements. Final pre-departure check.
This time, I fully spread my wings and flapped with max power.
Whoosh! Wind-cutting sounds, resistance on the membranes.
And my body definitely started floating upward bit by bit.
Midway, I shifted technique—not climbing, but horizontal movement.
Success, no issues.
Stick to this height for now.
I didn't know my flight limits yet.
Flight duration? Safe landing? Unknowns.
Fall from too high by mistake?
Instant death possible.
Practice at safe drop height: rational and secure.
And heights scare me...
Beyond safety, my lingering human instincts screamed.
High places dangerous. Humans stay grounded. Desperate alarm.
I heeded it.
Someone might say, 'You shoved a bottle in fine, why not this?'
Bottle won't kill if inserted wrong.
Falling will.
I wanna live.
This height's plenty for now. No footprints, clears obstacles!... And don't wanna get spotted flying high.
Not cowardice—valid reasons!
Then it hit.
Sudden jolt! Wings cramped, massive pain surged.
"Aaaah...! Fall away!!!!"
I screamed and plummeted.
Plop.
Not high, so unharmed!
Cramp...
Fast flapping without experience?
Probably.
See? Flying high is dangerous.
My choice validated.
Stretch before flying next time?
Full-body stretch felt lighter after.