[Patreon Exclusive] Werewoman: Chapter 6 (Patreon)

I found myself at the library, going through book after book on Celtic and various other mythologies, trying to find whatever I could on the topic of men being transformed into insanely horny women. I slaved over those books for six hours before I found one little write-up on ‘werewomen’. The author described it as a curse, originating in Northern Scotland during the 1800s. Supposedly, entire villages fell victim to the curse, whole populations being turned female and then a generation or two later, the villages would become ghost towns, with no men around to reproduce. The only way to end the curse is to destroy every werewoman before they finish their transition and become full-blown women.

I looked for more books on the topic of werewomen, but found nothing except for a few brief, passing mentions. On the internet, I was able to find out a little bit more. Supposedly, a fully transitioned werewoman is no longer contagious and able to spread the curse, however they are stuck as a woman for the rest of their lives. The author of the online article claimed that the cravings should stop once the transformation is complete.

It was a tiny bit of peace of mind, knowing that if I survived until the transformation was complete, I wouldn’t have to deal with the intense cravings anymore—assuming the article was correct, anyway. But that peace of mind was short-lived when I realized I was probably looking at spending the rest of my life as a woman.

I didn’t want to be a woman. I liked being a man. I needed to figure out how I could continue being a man. There must be a way to reverse the curse. I kept reading book after book and searching website after website, but I couldn’t find any more on the subject. I took a few books out from the library and returned to my room at the hostel, hoping to find some answers. I knew I wasn’t going to be able to sleep, and I was prepared to use every spare moment to find a solution.

But I could find nothing. It was around five in the morning when I finally crashed.

I dreamed as a woman. In one dream, there were three naked men standing in a row and above their heads was a timer, quickly ticking down from five minutes. I went to the man on the left and started sucking his cock. Somehow I knew I needed to get the three men off before that timer reached zero. I didn’t know what would happen when it reached zero, but I didn’t want to find out. I reached across and gave the man in the middle a handjob while I got the first man off. He came in my mouth. I looked up at the clock. There was just a minute left and the third man was still flaccid, still untouched. Getting him off would be impossible. I was doomed.

And then I woke up. I sat up quickly, worried if I remained down I would fall back asleep and slip back into that same dream. I didn’t want to see how that dream ended, but in a weird way, I knew that I was going to eventually—very soon even. I paced around my hostel flat for the next hour and then I decided to seek out the bearded man in Tolly. He seemed to know more than any book and any website on the topic of werewomen. I needed to figure out a way to get information from him without him finding out I had the werewoman curse myself. I wasn’t sure how I was going to do that, but I had a two-day hike to figure it out.

Once again, I started out into those Scottish Lowlands, headed for Tolly.

A nervousness filled my body as the city of Edinburgh disappeared behind me. I didn’t know when I would change into a woman again. It might be in a month, it might be in a week, it might be that very night. If I was away from the big city when the transformation happened, then I was in trouble. I still didn’t know what would happen if I failed to satisfy the cravings, and there wasn’t exactly a large pool of potential victims out in those lonely Lowlands.

All I had with me was a small bag of food, a bit of money, and my black dress and makeup kit stashed away in case the cravings came. At least if I did end up transforming, I would stand a chance by looking my best.

As my mother used to say, “Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.” The sun had set and I was settling into a patch of grass beneath a tall tree when I felt the headache coming on. I knew right away what was happening. My heart started pounding as I looked around. I was way out in the middle of nowhere—not even a farm house in sight. I felt that pressure building in my chest. It was happening—I was turning into a woman. Soon, those intensifying cravings would set in, and I had a feeling I was about to find out what happened when those cravings weren’t met.

I got up and spun around. I tried to remember how far I was from the last village I passed. At least a few hours—if I ran, I could maybe make it in one hour. Would my cravings be too intense to handle by then? If I made it to the town, would I even be able to find a victim to satisfy my needs? What other choice did I have? I was just wasting time in my deliberation.

I started running. I ran through the pain and through the transformation. It wasn’t nearly as painful as the first time, probably because I knew what I was expecting now, and I knew it wouldn’t kill me. Or maybe my adrenaline was just overriding the pain.

I managed to change while running, only stopping very briefly to slip out from my pants. Once my feet had shrunk, I decided to run barefoot. I had my heels, but those could wait until I was at the town. I was about halfway to that town when I realized why women wore sports bras. My bouncing tits were starting to become terribly uncomfortable, a dull pain resonating in my chest with every stride. I used my forearm to hold my tits from bouncing around too much in my little black dress.

The cravings were starting up. I felt that tingling between my legs and images of hot, naked men started filling my head. The images were so vivid. I could make out every vein of their big, throbbing erections. God, I wished they were real. I wished they were in front of me so I could feel them with my hands, stroke them, make them come all over my face. A quiver ran through me. I wondered if I could make a man come with just my tongue. I was sure I could. I just needed to find a willing man.

I thought briefly about my potential victims, how they would be turned into werewomen like myself. The guilt was strong, but as the cravings grew stronger, that guilt fluttered away. I only cared about one thing: getting laid. My heart started pounding once I could see the orange glow of my target town in the distance.