This is a story about a FANTASY. The fictional characters in my stories are trained and experienced in acts of FANTASY - don't try to do what they do - someone could get hurt.
If you think you know somebody who resembles any of the characters here, congratulations, but you're wrong - any similarity between the characters in this story and any real person is purely coincidental, since all of these characters are figments of my imagination.
This is my story, not yours. Don't sell it or put it on a pay site. You can keep it and/or give it away with all of this information intact, but if you make money off of it without my permission, you're breaking the law and pissing me off.
An excruciating pain in my jaw sends me running to the door. Is it that time of month already? It seems too soon! I have not had time to make excuses to my sweet, innocent wife and daughters! What will they think?
"Get the girls inside NOW!" I scream at my wife. "Bar the door and shutter the windows and don't open them until after sunrise!"
"NOW!" I scream, tearing outside as the pains threaten to rip me apart.
Oh God! Please let me get far enough away! I cannot let them see me when I change!
Hidden in the forest, I quickly strip off my clothes, pausing every few seconds as a new spasm of agony overtakes me. Already, my fingers are shorter, clumsier. There is not time to waste. I finally strip the pants and underwear off my legs, as my center of gravity shifts. No need to untie the shoes - they slip easily off my hairy feet.
I thrash among the leaves and pine needles as the rest of the change takes place. Bones, sinew, and muscle are not intended to be distorted this way, and the chemicals my body produces to keep from tearing itself apart do little to reduce the torture of the reshaping.
My involuntary screams of agony have now changed to growls and yips as the final changes occur. The headache, the awful grinding, stretching, almost tearing as my head elongates, finishing the reshaping of my jaws and teeth. My skin is on fire as thousands of new hairs push their way through from the once dormant follicles where they rested. Standing on my hind legs is just a vague memory now, but once on my feet, my tail helps to balance me as the tremors subside. I stagger on four feet, punch drunk, waiting for equilibrium.
Soon, the pains too have faded to the back of my mind. My nostrils are filled with the scents of the forest, even as, inevitably, the hunger starts to grow.
The moist black tip of my nose twitches as it catches a faint whiff of what I must have, and my guts twist in anticipation as I turn to follow the scent.
I do not have far to go, but the hated scent of man is all about, so I circle warily. My nose and ears tell me exactly where my prey is, but I have learned from painful experience not to rush into these things. I circle the wooden den that often houses both men and prey, but if there is a man about, he is well hidden.
Why have I not hunted here before? It is far from other men. If they hear our cries at all, they will be only faint echoes.
I am close enough, now, to see my prey, and from downwind, there is a familiarity to her scent, yet I know I have not had this one before. To my surprise, she waits under the trees, out of sight of the wooden den, her pelt already discarded.
I am even more wary. This is too good to be true, and I have learned to distrust such providence. I circle slowly, staying out of sight, seeking with all of my senses the nature of the trap.
Try as I might, I can find none. I show myself briefly, but instead of fleeing in fear, this one assumes the submissive posture I require to complete my task.
Every sense alert, I approach slowly, swinging my massive head from side to side, ears, nose, and eyes, all searching, seeking the trap that MUST be there. It is not. Hers is the only scent. She waits patiently. I can smell her fear, but with it is the scent of arousal.
I sniff between her legs and hear a sharp intake of breath. Nothing more. My tongue searches for the nectar and she gasps, but makes no move to escape. If anything, her legs shift wider, offering herself to me. She tastes delicious, and I feast for a time as she grows more and more agitated. The scent of fear is slowly replaced by the odor of her arousal. This is new! None of them have smelled like this. It is intoxicating!
I can wait no longer! My spear has emerged from its sheath, dripping upon the leaves. She cries out as my dewclaws dig into her flanks, but if she thinks of escape, it is far too late. The scent of fear grows again, but her cloud of lust is even stronger, too. Together, the two entice me onward. I am drunk with the need and the power. My hunger is about to be assuaged. At first, I stab only pale flesh, but she, in frustration, shifts beneath me.