A man finds himself cursed by the bite of a rabid whooooooore!

I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed. On the best of days. All right. I’m not dumb. I just sometimes miss the obvious. I get distracted and sidetracked and my mind goes on its merry little way.

Today is one of those days.

Hi, hello. I’m Donald. I hate my name. I go by Don and that doesn’t help much. Neither does Don Juan because I can’t say it with a straight face. So, when I’m trying to be funny or sexy to girls, they just laugh. And not that “Oh, haha, that’s hilarious!” laugh, either. Oh no. It’s the awkward little “Oh. Hah. Ha ha. Oh, look at the time. It’s 6 pm and I need to go to bed.” laugh.

See? This is what I mean. We were talking about other things. Back up, though.

—–

Backing up 2 months ago…

With a name like Donald and the self esteem to go with it, I’m not popular with the ladies. Donald Trump (that motherfucker) isn’t helping my image these days, either. I get lonely, okay? I’m not ugly; I’m just plain. And boring.

So. So maybe I looked around on Backpages. Maybe I found an outcall service. Maybe. Okay. I absolutely did. Gimme a fucking break, man. It’s been a year since I got laid and Madame Hand needs a break. I just want to feel a real woman for once. So, I call. Awkwardly. Stumbling around what I want. They have someone new and I’m all for it. Sure. Slight discount since they aren’t known. Kind of a training thing.

Waiting for her (Destiny) was terrible. I had to use the bathroom six times because my damn stomach kept tying itself in knots. The knock came and I peeked outside. Short, petite with blonde hair, cherry red lipstick and clothes that seemed to barely cover her nipples and lady parts. I couldn’t see any room in her… bikini? No, no. I’ve seen string bikinis with more coverage. Well, whatever it was, there wasn’t much room to hide a badge so I figured, I’m safe. Boy, yeah, I’m dumb.

I let her in and she smiles and it kinda melts my heart. And my brain. Without a word, she’s on her knees, fumbling at my pants. She didn’t ask about money or anything else, she just went right to work and ohmygoditsamazing. Small little hands holding me, bobbing up and down on my cock until I’m about to explode. Yes. I said it’s been a while. I pull her back and she actually whines at me and tries to go back for it.

Instead, I guide her to the bed. She goes eagerly, instantly down on the bed, cheek against my blanket and ass in the air. Her pussy is right there. I was kind of joking about how skimpy her clothes were but whatever she’s wearing has a hole for fun times. She hasn’t been there for even five minutes but her pussy was glistening and swollen.

She was actually turned on by me? She looked back, rocking her hips, her eyes lidded, whimpering and begging to be fucked. I grabbed her hips, slight but there and turn her around, laying her on her back. Please, she begged me, reaching for me. Her nipples strained against her tiny bra. I whipped my shirt off, grabbed a condom (I’m dumb, not stupid, despite her pouting and asking me to fuck her bareback) and eased into her.

Jesus Fucking Christ. I could feel her pussy squeezing my cock. It was almost difficult to enter her. Her small nails dug painfully at my back and she screamed out all kinds of obscenities, telling me to pound her, to fuck her tight little pussy. To hurt her. Of course, all I could do was fuck her normally and focus on not cumming in 30 seconds.

And then she bit me. Hard.

“Ow, you bit me! Hard!” I yelled. I tried to pull back but she held on, fucking me until I was over the edge and cumming. Pain seared my back as her nails dug in, her body dancing beneath me under the force of her own orgasm.

I pulled out and looked down. She had been so tight that she held the condom in place. Twisting and moaning, her legs quivering and her eyelids fluttering, she smiled, touching her lips and circling her nipples with long nailed fingers. Finally, she saw my bare cock and reached down, grabbing the condom out. It nearly snapped because of how fucking tight she was.

She squeezed my cum out of the used condom. And ate it all greedily. I gagged but I couldn’t look away. She was so focused on it. Brow furrowed, small cute nose flared slightly. Excitedly shoveling all of it into her mouth like a fat kid with a go-gurt. A… cum… filled go-gurt. Why do I think of these things?

I told her to get out, my hand on my shoulder where she bit me. Drops of blood oozing through the tiny teeth marks. She smiled but got up, licking her lips. She looked curiously at me when I shoved the stack of bills her way – as if she’d forgotten the whole point of this. Eventually she shrugged and took the money and left.

That bitch.

—–

Moving forward to the present…

So, here I am in the present. Work was fine. Friday. Fuck yeah. Time for me to hit the bar because I’m just fucking wiped out and needing to unwind. Something’s bothering me but I figured it’s just all the emails I ignored at work today. Hey. The Internet’s not going to browse itself, right? Priorities.

So, loading up in my car in my blue jeans and cheap black Polo shirt, I drive away whistling a merry little tune. Scratching slowly at my crotch like a good uncouth man. Traffic is shitty as usual. That plus working late means it’ll be dark by the time I’m home. Well, at the bar. That’s kind of home sometimes.

The full moon seems to ripple in the clear sky above me. Something about it bothers me. No, hah, I’m not about to turn into a werewolf or any of that buuuuullshit (I mean, come on, really?) but it reminds me of something. I feel like I should be remembering something and it’s really annoying. Was it my parent’s anniversary? My sister’s birthday? I check my phone while crawling along the interstate but my online calendar is empty. What the hell. Drinks will help me forget. Or remember. Probably forget.

As I pull off of the interstate, my stomach starts gurgling. I push and rub at it because it hurts a little. My fingers massage the skin. Fat seems to slowly melt away from my fingers. Rough skin smooths slowly and the red and tan skin tone slowly fades away to a healthy, young pink. My joints flare up and I hiss through my teeth, clenching my fingers on the wheel, 10 and 2, as the bones reshape.

“Son of a bitch,” I hiss, unaware of what’s happening. I try to make a mental note to talk to my doctor. I type a lot at work and I wonder if it’s carpal tunnel syndrome. Flexing my fingers seems to help with the pain, at least.

My small, soft pink hands feel smooth and cool. I scratch at my crotch again while making my way through the city on the quest to the bar. My short, jagged nails lengthen and I’m soon nearly clawing at my itchy balls. I sigh happily at the feeling because itchy balls are the worse.

Tiny hairs sprout above my eyes and my eyebrows slowly thicken in a smooth arc that tapers off into a thin line. I rub at them and some of the old hair flakes away to leave behind well manicured eyebrows. I blink once. Something’s stuck in my eye. My eyes readen as thick lashes slide from my eyelids, curling slightly. I blink again, luscious eyelashes over reddened eyes.

As I park, I turn off my heater. I feel flushed, my cheeks and ears hot. My small, soft hands pull at my shirt to fan myself. Chest hair fluffs away under the artificial breeze. A few are lifted free and stick to my shirt while others simply fall. Scratching at my chest with my nails pulls more of the hairs loose.

My tennis shoes crunch through the gravel parking lot on the way to the bar. Bright neon lights blink on and off and I can hear music and yelling and laughing inside. I run a finger through my short hair, as if tucking a loose strand behind my ear. The night is cool and my nipples tighten for a moment. I can feel the tiny things against the rough fabric of my shirt. Makes me shiver and not from the cold air.

Opening the bar’s door brings a rush of noise and warm air. I blink and step inside. The bar is mostly empty but the tables are all full. The clack of pool balls fills the corner of the large, open area while a young man stands at the jukebox, trying to decide the next song.

Making my way to the bar, I eye the women strewn throughout the place. A lot of them are older. Most of them are attached. I still look because looking is free and safe. A few of them are fucking hot and I catch myself staring at their ass and tits. My hands run down my own mostly flat ass self-consciously.

“Johnny,” I yell at the bar. “My usual!”

The bartender nods quietly and fills a glass with a light, amber beer. I sit, wriggling my hips a little and cross my legs at the ankles. Sipping my beer slowly, I look around the room as subtly as I can. The heat of the place seems to rush through me from the tips of my ears to my core and I wriggle again. Sweat forms above my top lip. I wipe at it with a shaky hand and then blink. The room seems to just shift 45 degrees for a moment and I almost want to throw up.

Swallowing a few times, I blink my long eyelashes and breathe deeply. My thin, hard lips fill slowly, gently pushing away from my mouth. Red floods them as they pucker and I wipe the back of my petite, hairless hand against them.

“You okay, buddy,” a guy asks next to me.

I look over at the guy slowly. Mid 30s, rugged with stubble and a cleft chin. Seems to be on his second beer. Baseball cap and a loose flannel shirt over a clean white t-shirt. Looks like a decent guy. Good, honest eyes.

“Y- yeah,” I tell him, my voice unsteady. “Just felt off for a second, you know?”

The guy nods and turns away. Uninterested. Minding his own business. I really like the way his jaw works. Strong muscles right there at the corner of his jaw. My hand nearly reaches out to touch his face but I frown and, instead, grab my drink. Taking a gulp around thick, red lips.

And then I sneeze beer almost everywhere.

“Aww, hell,” I say, looking around. Nobody really noticed, thank good. I grab some napkins and wipe up the drops. And then I look at the napkins. There’s red mixed in with the beer. Then I notice my eyes and nose burning. Reaching up, I touch under my nose and look at my fingers.

Blood.

The little bone in my nose is shrinking but I can’t feel it. It’s retreating, pulling my nose down and back slightly. Skin folds and tightens while I rub at my nose to try to get the burning to go away. I pinch the bridge and wipe the trickle of blood with another napkin. As I do, the pain stops and my adorable button nose sits finished and perfect above pouting, open red lips.

It’s so damn hot in here. I pull at my shirt again to get the air moving. The motion lifts the little bit of remaining chest hair and they all flake away to line the band of my pants and bottom of my shirt. My tiny nipples are so sore. Like I ran a marathon. Not that I’ve ever done it but I’ve heard about it and it sounds fucking awfully.

A small bump appears beneath my shirt, right next to my right nipple. I scratch at it with long, slim fingers and another bump appears. The skin around my nipples darkens lightly and… changes. More bumps appear, pulling at the skin until my small nipples are surrounded by puffy, dark areola.

I push at my chest with the heel of my hand while I drink my beer. I like the guy’s hair, too. Thick hair. I hope I still have hair like that when I’m his age. I mean, 30s is still young of course but I know some guys that go bald early. I want to run my fingers through it. His hair, I mean. It looks soft. And I bet I could grab a handful of it.

I moan a little and push hard at my chest. My nipples are growing and they drag painfully against my shirt when I rub against them. My feet twist beneath me and my cock hardens at the sensation. Funnily enough, my mouth waters, too. I can feel it in my mouth and stomach and cock. Little spikes of pleasure that make me want to twist and pinch and pull at my nipples. Not that I would, god no, but, damn, it feels great.

Push and drag, push and drag. My areola twists, more bumps forming as the nipples pull skin to grow fat and large, tenting my shirt into two small mounds. I lick my lips and grin tremulously as I massage around them.

Another sip of my bar and then I put it down. Again, I move to push a strand of loose hair behind my ear but, this time, there’s one there. My brown hair has slowly been lengthening into a shaggy mess that tickles my ear and makes me want to giggle and squirm. That’s weird. But, I tuck it behind my ear and the feeling goes away.

Now my belly itches. I scratch at it. The chub I have there. I like to call it a dadbod. I’ve seen that mentioned on dating profiles and I desperately clung to it as an excuse for my lack of fitness. The fat is moving and it itches like hell. My pants seem to shift, growing loose for a moment before pulling tight against my hips and ass.

Gasping, I lower my head, forehead against the edge of the bar. Thick brown hair slides down around my head, making me shiver as it caresses the nape of my neck. Bones creak and crack as my body adjusts itself. Making room, you see. I arch my back, moaning, biting my full lips, rocking my widening hips slowly in a circle. My testicles are stuck beneath my growing ass, pinching painfully. Flesh and fat moves and the back of my pants bulge into a fine, tight swell to contain my larger ass.

“Hot,” I pant beneath my long hair. I lick my lips again, dehydrated. “So hot.” My brain is buzzing. Hormones coursing through me. Rushing as I change. It hurts. It hurts a lot and I’m so hot and thirsty. My reddened, sweating cheeks break and move. As with my hips, the skin and fat and flesh rearrange until my cheekbones are higher on a slim face with a small, cute chin. I wince and groan in pain and my new dimples show.

Sweat courses down my bare chest, slipping along my fat, erect nipples. Throbbing with each beat of my racing heart.

I can’t.

I can’t think.

I just. It’s really hard. I have to remember. The thing. It’s. I have to remember. What. What was it? Not on the calendar. The. Head buzzing.

“H-” I choke as my throat crunches. Dry heaving as chemicals storming through me mix with pain and my throat changing. I’ve always had a bad gag reflex and anything that touches even near the back of my throat makes me gag. All of these things combine together to make me want to vomit.

“… okay, uhhhhh, miss?” A voice says next to me. “You okay?”

I try to talk. Air whistles through my throat painfully. And then, it’s gone. My Adam’s apple pulls into my throat to leave smooth, perfect skin. I clutch at the bar and squeeze my eyes shut, breathing carefully.

“Miss?” I ask through a sweet, high voice. What was that thing I was supposed to remember? “What did I miss?”

“I- no, I mean are you okay, ma’am?” The voice sounds concerned. “Hey, John! What’d you put in this lady’s drink? Did some asshole order it for her?”

Ma’am? That seems wrong. Isn’t it? I shake my head, fingers in my thick hair.

“… made that drink for Donald,” a voice says from a distance. “He must’ve given it to her. I didn’t put shit in there and if I find out he did, I’ll break his goddamned face. Seemed like an okay guy, though.”

Finally, I look up. My shirt seems to be hooked on my aching, hard nipples, hanging empty over a belly that is no longer there. I put my hand against my flat, hard stomach and breathe carefully. The stubble-faced man is looking at me. Worried. My heart races for an entirely different reason now. Was he always that big? Look at those shoulders. Jesus.

He reaches for me, this man, and then pulls back.

“I’m going to call you a cab,” the man says. “What’s your address, miss?”

“I’m,” I stop, massaging my sore throat. “I’m fine, really. Maybe something I ate earlier.”

Fingers on my legs. My own fingers. Massaging. They’re sore and I can almost feel the skin moving under my hand. My ass is worse, though. A deep ache as if I’ve been sitting forever. I stand up to let my sore muscles relax for a moment. Gripping the bar for support. My shirt hangs loose and low on my smaller body. My jeans are too big for me and threaten to fall off but my wide hips and thick ass keep them in place.

My shoes are too big, too. Or at least my right foot. I hiss through small, perfect white teeth as pain lances through my left foot. Going to my tip toes, I feel my small calf muscles clench. Bones click and clack and it’s like someone’s twisting my muscles into knots.

A large hand grips my shoulder tenderly.

“I think something’s wrong,” the deep voice says. It’s amazing how it affects me. His voice. And his touch. I blush, the heat seeming to concentrate in my face and flat chest. Hooking hair behind my ear, I look up shyly. I like the way his hand feels on me. Strong but restrained.

Oh. Oh, I think I am going to be sick.

“I’ll- I’ll just-” I rush to the bathroom, holding my pants in place.

“Hey lady, that’s the-!” A different voice calls after me but the bathroom door closes behind me and the voice cuts off.

I push into a stall and kneel, barely in time before I’m throwing up. A half second later, I grab my long hair in one hand, gathering it up to hold above me.

My stomach is twisting and squirming and clenching.

Reforming.

With hips already wide enough for childbirth, it was time to finish the job. I nearly scream as I feel something in my crotch. It’s an alien sensation. Like… it’s like feeling a grape sucked through a straw. One of my testicles is just gone. Disintegrating deep inside my slowly forming uterus. I clench, hunching my shoulders and dry heaving as the other testicle follows the first.

“Oh god,” I mumble weakly.

“Hey, lady,” a voice says from just outside the door. “That’s the men’s bathroom!”

“I’ll,” I gasp and then vomit again, a small stream of clear liquid. Shivering. So hot. Head buzzing again. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

I feel it twisting in my pants. My cock. It’s limp and twisting. Pubic hair litters my underwear. My old, thick bush of hair is mostly gone leaving behind smooth, white skin. As my cock shrinks, the bone above it pushes forward – my mound growing just in time for my pussy to form. Small hairs sprout from the skin above my mound, fanning out lightly in a wide triangle shape above my disappearing cock.

Slowly. Slowly the veins and flesh warp and change as my cock is pulled into my body. The head closes into a smooth, unbroken little bump. A brand new, extremely sensitive clit. The skin at the base of my old head grows up to form my clit’s hood. I grab my stomach, nails digging into my sides, eyes squeezed shut and teeth clenched. It’s not a comfortable feeling.

The skin between my now-smooth thighs splits. A line of blood seeps forth, racing down my curved ass. I can feel things moving in there. I want to touch it. To feel it. It calls to me. An emptiness that begs to be filled. It’s cool and nearly senseless for a moment and then it flares up as nerves reconnect, hot and wet. A new scent fills the air and I moan quietly, squirming and rotating my hips.

My deflated ball sack begins to slide against me. I gasp and arch my back. It’s like a lover’s gentle touch and I’m so sensitive down there now.

I can’t help it anymore. I press my fingers into the open band of my pants and touch myself.

Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit.

My finger rubs against my clit for the first (no, that’s wrong, something says – this has happened before) time and I gasp, head thrown back, red lips open. My slim fingers slip into my wet opening and I cry out and rock my hips. I can feel my labia forming from my old sack. The rough, loose skin pulled up to attach to the wetness just inside of me.

The dark skin of my ball sack quickly fades leaving me with a tight, pink, perfect little pussy.

I can’t stop touching myself. There’s resistance when I push my fingers inside and it hurts a little but it feels so good, too. So incredibly good. The base of my thumb rubs against my clit through the little hood and I finger myself, feeling my orgasm build and build and build and-

I cry out and then clamp my hands to my mouth. I can’t stop shaking. I can’t. It’s. It’s so. Oh god. Smaller aftershocks rock through my body and I press my hands against the stall walls, nails scraping the cheap paint. My eyes roll back and I just ride it out until it passes and I bow my head, thick hair blocking out the flickering overhead lights.

Breathing heavily. Smelling my juices on my lips. Wanting. Needing more.

I stand and nearly fall on shaky legs. Instead, I lean against the wall with my well padded hips. My chest is flaming red above my non-existent breasts and my cheeks are on fire.

Oh my lord, that was delicious. I smile, tracing a finger along my full lips, smelling my wetness again.

When I can walk again, I open the stall and walk out of the bathroom. The man from earlier is standing guard, glaring at any man that comes over to use the bathroom. He looks relieved when he sees me standing there.

“Hey,” he says. His voice does something entirely different to me now. I grin at him as I feel myself grow even more wet. My insides just loosen and the liquid is in there. I feel it when I shift my feet. Things moving and rubbing. God. Is it running down my leg? “You okay?”

“Oh,” I tell him, reaching up to touch his arm. “I feel fantastic.”

“Yeah?” the man asks, confused.

“Mmhmm,” I say, squeezing his strong arm. Oh yes. Now I remember. The thing. The need. The urge to feel a cock between my legs. Filling me with its thickness. Cumming inside of me. God. How could I forget that? This whole time.

My nipples drag across my shirt, agonizingly slow. I hold the man’s gaze as my breasts swell on my bare chest. Skin sliding against skin. The shirt lifts slowly, revealing my midriff as my breasts grow full and heavy. Milk ducts form and two wet spots appear on my shirt, the breasts overexcited to do their job. I open my mouth with a hot sigh and press myself against the man, his arm between my growing breasts. They envelop his biceps with their softness. His cock is hard against my slim leg as I wrap myself around him.

Going to my tiptoes, I breathe in his ear, lips brushing his earlobe.

“I need you,” I told him. “Badly.”

—–

The full moon hung heavy in the dark sky as the car peeled away from the bar. The silver light seemed to caress Donald’s smooth, high cheeks as he bobbed up and down on the man’s huge cock. Small hands with long, thin fingers worked him expertly, milking him as his tongue wrapped around the man’s girth. He smiled triumphantly around the man’s cock as he deep-throated him. Pleased with himself and his prowess.

It was a long night and a very, very small part of him knew he only had the night.

—–

I blink awake. Sore. Tired. In someone else’s bed. Oh god. Where am I?

I nearly scream when I realize there’s a man in the bed with me. Covering my mouth, trying not to make a sound, I stand. My thighs and cock and balls are crusted with cum and I know it’s not mine. I smell cock on my lips and mouth every time I breathe.

The smell of the man’s cum makes my cock hard and I blush at my arousal, trying and failing to deny it.

As quickly as possible, I find my things and get dressed. My cellphone is still somehow in my pocket and I load the Uber app as I rush outside. I remember. I remember it all. Bouncing on the man’s cock, my heavy breasts slapping my slim body. His cock pounding my tight, virgin pussy. Those lips gripping him so fucking tight. Feeling the head of his cock inside of me, touching every part of me. Filling me finally. His hands on my ass and hips, digging in as I worked him like a pro. Begging him to fuck my asshole, biting my lip through the pain of it until the pleasure rode over it like a crashing wave.

I nearly cry as I wait for the car to pick me up.

But, as I step in and buckle myself, mumbling the address to the bar, the memories begin to fade. I grab at them desperately, trying to hold them. Remembering that this was the second month it’s happened. Fumbling with my phone to make a note about the three nights of the full moon and what happens.

Fumbling with it, launching the calendar app.

To.

To do…

To do what?

What was I supposed to remember? God, I’m so dumb sometimes.

Hah. Definitely not the sharpest tool in the shed. Not even on the best of days. I’m sure whatever I was supposed to remember will come back to me.

I hum to myself, scratching idly at my chest hair while we make our way back to my car.

I should go out again tonight, I tell myself. Maybe I’ll get lucky and get laid this time.

Maybe.