The summer after his initiation into manhood, Loki learns how to give himself a cunt. The irony is not lost on him.
In truth, it's a far smoother transformation than many he's tried in the past, and why shouldn't it be? Surely a simple rearrangement of organs would be easier than slipping into the skin of a magpie or a fox. Yet despite knowing this, he expected it to be much more effort; a man shouldn't take to the body of a woman so quickly and comfortably, after all. Of course, Loki has never been much like other men, so in retrospect, this really shouldn't surprise him.
Naked and sprawled on his back in his bedroom, Loki angles a hand mirror between his legs and examines himself. He touches the soft black hair on his mound, then runs his fingers down and along the curves of his outer lips to the rim of his newly-created entrance. Strange, to see such a thing between his own thighs, a place to go in where before there was only his cock jutting out. On a whim, Loki raises his fingers to his mouth and wets them with his tongue, then hesitates, squeamish for a half-formed reason he isn't sure he wants to acknowledge; but knowledge is power, and he can hardly be sure he's done the transformation properly if he doesn't test it out, can he?
Loki lowers his hands to his cunt and spreads himself open with two fingers, baring himself to the air. At the sight of his own pink flesh, his tender clit half-hidden under its hood, he licks his lips, only half-aware of the gesture; he's truly created a masterpiece. He'd kiss it himself if only he had the flexibility. Experimentally, Loki rubs the tip of his clit lightly with one finger, and hisses between his teeth.
"Not good," he mutters, wincing at the uncomfortable sensation, almost pain but not quite. "Maybe if I - "
This time, he spits on his fingers, and uses them to wet the entire area, thinking of how he's used his tongue on the women he's taken to bed in the past. He's built just like them, now, and it suddenly occurs to him that with a little tweaking - softening his jawline, growing breasts and curved hips - he would be a woman, and a man could have him like one, if Loki saw fit to let him. Loki is no stranger to seduction, and he had a very good tutor in the Enchantress. It would be so easy to slip into a dress and wait in an inn for the warriors to arrive, lips pouty, eyes lidded, and with little effort he could lure a man to his bed, whether a soldier like Tyr or a flirt like Fandral or even, Hel have mercy, Thor himself, should Loki feel particularly depraved, and Loki could lie on his back, spread his legs and bare his cunt, and beg his lover to spear him upon his cock -
Loki's fingers slip to the side and slide directly over his clit, and he moans aloud, hips arching to meet his hand. He's truly wet now, wet all over, and he props himself up on his elbow, panting and scrambling for the mirror. Somewhere along the line, he'd dropped it and closed his eyes, but now he wants to see. And what he sees makes him bite down hard on his lip, makes his fingers tremble. His cunt is flushed and swollen, glistening with moisture, and as Loki moves his fingers in slow circles over his clit, a tightening pleasure takes residence deep in his stomach, making his muscles twitch visibly. He splays his legs wider, hunting for a better angle, and experimentally presses one long finger inside himself, touching places that never even existed before now. The rim of skin right outside his entrance is deliciously sensitive, and after he pulls his finger out and slicks the whole of his cunt with his own fluids, he teases it with the tips of his fingers, thrusting two inside just to the first knuckle and scissoring them, stretching himself open. With each movement, his palm bumps against his clit, and Loki speeds his pace, gasping.
"Oh," he sighs, breathy little moans he's scarcely aware he's making, "oh, oh, fuck," and he cries out incoherently as his body goes rigid and pleasure overtakes him. He can feel his cunt spasming, and Loki grasps helplessly at the sheets as he quivers.
A few seconds later, he goes limp on the bed, and exhales shakily. Raising his hand to his mouth, he sucks the taste of himself off his fingers, eyes falling shut.
"Well," he murmurs to himself, feeling languid and satisfied, "that was fun."
. . .
A week later, Loki still hasn't shifted back into his original form. Frankly, playing with himself is far too much fun - he has never felt much cause to envy women in the past, but multiple climaxes are as good a reason as he can think of. And there is something deliciously wicked about walking through the hallowed halls of Asgard, head held high and clothed as befits a prince, with his cunt hidden and wet beneath his codpiece. It has its practical advantages, too; when Sif, infuriated by his tricks, tries to kick him in the balls he no longer has while sparring in the training rings, he grits his teeth through the pain and knocks her over with a swing of his staff instead of dropping to the ground and curling into a whimpering ball, as he would have done before. The look on her face alone would have been worth the transformation, had he not spent hours enjoying it already.
Loki experiments with the many kinds of pleasure he can achieve; he spends some time engaged with simply rutting against his hand, then turns to a variety of instruments used to enhance sensation. Once, he takes himself with his fingers inside his new orifice and a carved phallus in his ass, and with his eyes squeezed tight, imagines taking a cock in every hole he has. Another time, he acquires a thin riding switch he'd often used on the cock of one of the first men he'd slept with, and spanks his cunt with it, biting his knuckles to keep from crying out, the sparking pain leaving his thighs drenched with arousal.
Thor drops by his room once, and if Loki had not warded the door beforehand in case of such a visit, things could have become very awkward very quickly. As it is, Loki only has to explain away his flushed face and his absence from feasts. He claims he's developed a magic-induced fever, and that he needs time and space to break the curse. That is true enough, he supposes.
As much as he tries, however, he can't keep it a secret from everyone. Amora can sense sex and lust like a hound on the scent of a hare, and when he makes a rare appearance at a garden party in Kelda's well-kept courtyard, she sidles up to him, and Loki knows he's been caught out.
"I hear you've been ill, my prince," she says, her voice low and laced with lust as is her wont. "Some sort of magical malady. Is there anything I can do to help?"
"As much as I appreciate the offer, I'll have to decline," he says dryly, but he doesn't push her away. He's always been fond of Amora, once even considering her a good friend. Until, of course, she took Thor to bed, Loki's bed, which rather ruined their friendship for a time.
"Oh? Sometimes these things require a feminine touch, you know." She taps her full lower lip with her finger, gazing at him from beneath her lashes. "Though perhaps you can handle that part alone."
Loki whips around and grabs her by the shoulders before remembering where they are. He glances around, but none seem overly attentive to what they're doing; then again, he and Amora have been making scenes in public since they were children and first learned how to summon flame together. This is nothing new. Loki exhales, and looks down at her. Her expression is amused, though wariness lurks in the edges of her smile.
"How do you know?" he asks quietly. "This is no magic any sorcerer could easily sense."
"Please," she scoffs. "I know the scent of a woman in rut, and I know your scent, Loki." She tilts her head and smiles at him. "I'm not going to tell, you know."
"I know you won't," he says, adding a threat to his voice that she probably would ignore anyway, and releases her. "Though I confess I'm at a loss as to your purpose here, then."
Amora lowers her lids, gives him a seductive smile, and slides an arm around his waist; Loki lets her, because he's a madman whose sexual appetite is going to lead him to ruin.
"Maybe it interests me," she murmurs. "Maybe I want to deflower you in every way, and in every hole, did that occur to you?"
Loki covers his answering shiver with a snort of dismissal.
"Someone else has beat you there, I'm afraid," he says. "You were my first in one way, Amora, but not in them all."
"Oh, but this one is new, isn't it? I'd wager that no hands but yours have been there." Her eyes gleam. "No mouth, no tongue."
Loki looks at Amora's lips, thinks about the wet heat of her mouth around his cock, the ways he's seen her work her magic on women's bodies, and shrugs.
"Well," he says mildly. "If you insist."
Amora laughs, and takes him by the arm. "My love, I really do."
. . .
Loki is flat on his back, breathing in air with huge, gasping gulps. His hands are clenched in his own hair, but even the eye-watering pain from that isn't enough to distract him from what Amora is doing to him between his legs, reducing him to humiliating moans and whimpers, making him beg.
"Amora, please," he whines, and cries out when she seals her lips around his clit and sucks hard, making his back arch and his hips buck violently. "Please, I - "
She hums against him, and Loki thrashes, sobbing in pleasure. He's lost count of his climaxes, lost track of the time they've spent in this little receiving room with just a bar over the door to protect them from the outside world. All that he cares about is Amora's mouth and her hands and the wet, slurping noises she makes when she laps at his cunt and puts her fingers inside him. She's buried deep inside him now, curling her fingers in a steady rhythm, and Loki thinks he might lose his mind.
"Amora, stop," he finally manages, his voice thin and breathy. "Stop, I need - "
She lifts her head and crawls up his body to straddle him, kissing him soundly. He's made a mess of her face, and he willingly licks it off before returning to her mouth. She sighs happily before leaning back, propping herself up with her hands on his chest.
"I think you should keep this new toy," she teases. "It's so fresh and juicy."
"I've considered it," Loki says hoarsely, and laughs, a little wildly. He puts his hands over his face, and Amora gently pries them apart, dropping little kisses on every exposed bit of skin she can see.
"I have another idea," she whispers. "Would you like to hear it?"
Loki nods, and she tells him. A wide smile breaks across his face, and he sits up, spilling her to the side. Catching her around the waist, he lays her down, pressing a biting kiss to her stomach.
"Stay still," he instructs her. "This may feel…strange."
Concentrating, he closes his eyes and lets magic flow from his fingers. Transformation magic is much harder to perform on another person, but Loki is intimately familiar with Amora's form, and he's using the template of his own body to reconstruct hers. Deceptively simple.
When the magic slowly fizzles out, he seals the spell, and hears Amora gasp. Opening his eyes, he grins at what a wonder he has wrought.
"It's yours," Amora accuses, grasping her new cock and stroking the shaft. Her breath catches and her eyes go wide. Loki laughs.
"So it is," he agrees. "Or close enough, anyway," and he dips his head to lick at the tip. Amora moans throatily and lets her head fall back, curling her fingers in his hair.
"Go on," she says. "Open your mouth, I know you can take it."
She pushes him down, her hips jerking, shoving her cock down his throat. Loki gags, but he keeps going, swallowing her down until his nose is pressed against the smooth skin of Amora's groin. His throat works around her as he bobs his head, and she lets him hear how he pleases her with moans and sighs.
"By the Nine, Loki," she says reverently, when he finally raises his head. "You are good at this. I should never have doubted you."
"I want you to fuck me," he tells her in reply, unable to think of anything but his own need, his voice hoarse and his throat wrecked.
"Ask nicely," Amora purrs, and Loki grabs her by the hips and pulls her into the triangle of his legs; he's still taller and stronger than her, after all, though he has to admit she doesn't put up much of a struggle. Wrapping his hand around the nape of her neck, Loki hooks his ankles behind her back.
"Fuck me," he orders, and Amora is only too happy to comply.
She slams into him, wrenching a shriek from his lips, and does it again and again as he claws at her back. Loki flings his head back, muscles tensing, struggling in her arms with no intent of escaping. She feels huge within him, stretching him fully, and ah, she is fucking his cunt with his own cock, that is - that is maddening and wonderful all at once, and Loki pulls her closer, pressing her breasts to his flat chest. She bites his ear, and fucks him even harder, her breath torn from her lungs in sharp, gasping pants.
"This is," she stutters, "this is truly amazing, I see why men crave my body so much - "
"Narcissist," Loki tries to say, but his voice breaks as his climax unexpectedly rushes over him. Spurred on by the clenching of his cunt around her cock, Amora follows him, swearing an indelicate oath unlike anything he's ever heard fall from her ladylike lips. She collapses against him seconds later, giggling in giddy pleasure. Loki drags his hand through his hair, then lets his arm flop down, reluctantly joining Amora in her laughter.
"That was far better than I thought it would be," she says with a sigh, settling her head on his chest.
"Have faith in my designs, next time," he tells her. She turns her head and sucks on his nipple, and he shudders. "Merciless temptress."
She smiles up at him. "I hear that a lot."
Rolling off him, she lies back languidly and watches him dress. Loki wipes away a trickle of her seed running down his thigh, and glances at her.
"Aren't you going to put your clothes on?" he asks, sitting down to pull on his boots.
"In a minute," she says, stretching luxuriously. "Change me back, first."
Loki stands up and smoothes out his tunic.
"No," he says thoughtfully. "I don't think I will."
"What?" Amora cries out, leaping up gracefully, snarling. Her righteous fury is somewhat diminished by the bouncing of her truly phenomenal breasts.
"I said no," Loki repeats. "Figure it out yourself. I'm sure a woman as clever as you can do it."
He ducks her blow and brushes past her, quickly slipping out the door and shutting it on her wrathful yell.
Someone clears his throat, and Loki spins, coming face-to-face with some Asgardian nobleman Loki has never met before.
"Women," Loki says, with a calculated shrug and a sheepish smile. Behind him, Amora lets out a wordless screech.
"…I see," the nobleman says.
. . .
Two months later, Loki drinks from the wrong skin of wine on a hunting expedition, and accidentally falls in love with an ogre. Amora isn't there, but Loki would wager his helm that it's her handiwork. Indeed, after the spell is broken and Loki's bones are finally healed, she meets him outside his rooms, a smug smile on her face.
"How was your courtship?" she asks. "I hear your bride was very passionate."
"I take it you still haven't recovered your womanhood," he counters. "What a pity."
"Maybe I have, maybe I haven't," she retorts. A seductive little smile curls her lips. "Would you like to find out?"
Loki glances down the hallway, then back to Amora. She tilts her head inquisitively. Raising his hand, Loki bids the doors to open.
"Do you know, I rather think I would," he says, and Amora laughs even as he pushes her to his bed.
For the record, she has, but it takes very little coaxing on Loki's part to get her to shift back.