I Werewoman 1 Read online

  I, Werewoman

  (Part One): Just One Bite

  A Sexy Adventure Serial with Gender Bending, Vampires, & Lovecraftian Horrors.

  By Zoe Brown

  (Based on the 2017 short story ‘A Werewoman And Her Vampire,’ also by Zoe Brown)

  © 2019 Zoe Brown

  Find me on the web at: https://zoebrown.net/

  Or E-mail me at: [email protected]

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof.

  Individuals pictured (Cover) are models and are used for illustrative purposes only.

  Author’s note: This story was exclusively published for sale on Amazon and Amazon Kindle Unlimited.

  Please don’t steal or repost my stories elsewhere without my permission. It may prevent me from being able to publish more of them in the future.

  Acknowledgements:

  Anonymouschanman, Thihan, Adam Murakami, Jacob S. Blaustein, Jason Sommers, Clancy688, and Derek Hui

  Additional Thanks to:

  Addie and Josie, who helped with Cover Design.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Prologue

  Halloween, October 31st, 2019.

  I have to say: this was really not how I’d expected to be spending Halloween this year.

  If, say, three months ago, someone had tried to tell me that sunset on Halloween, Twenty-Nineteen, would find me clinging—with a pair of swiftly shrinking, gently tapering hands that were starting to sprout a set of slowly growing, femininely-shaped nails topped with a glossy coat of burgundy red—to a weathered old white-enameled sink, in front of a scuffed old bathroom mirror in need of some serious polishing, in a wheelchair-accessible, single-stalled restroom in the ‘Frog Pond Pavilion’ on the Boston Common, a boutique shopping bag full of women’s intimates, hosiery items, and cosmetics at my feet, a garment bag with a rented ‘Sexy Woman Warrior’ costume hanging from a coat hook on the back of the thick metal door behind me, with an impossibly hot and physically ripped eighteen-hundred-and-fifty-six year old vampire standing guard outside that same door while I panted and moaned into the reflective surface of the mirror, watching my reflection writhe in front of me, and feeling—as well as witnessing—the short dark hair on the top of my head start to thicken and lengthen as it swiftly grew and tumbled down the sides of my twitching, shifting face, while a pair of small, but quickly growing and swelling mounds, bursting with sensual pleasure, began to tent out the front of the men’s blue plaid shirt I was wearing, I would have…

  Well, I would have thought that that someone sound completely fucking absurd! That would have seemed an ridiculous, not to mention impossible, notion to me at the time. Men couldn’t turn into women–!!–not like that, anyway, and ME turning into a woman, with women’s clothes and shit scattered around the floor at my feet while some ‘hot’—gag me—‘Vampire?’ waited around outside for me? Some, two-thousand-year-old… what, undead super-stud? I wasn’t fucking gay! Or trans! Or… whatever.

  And Vampires didn’t fucking exist!

  Well, anyway, the idea would have seemed absurd to me, at the time.

  And yet, there I was, on Halloween, Twenty-Nineteen, standing – fuck, writhing, and panting, to boot – in front of said mirror, desperately holding onto said sink with one small, soft, feminine hand and a set of rounded, four-millimeter long nails coated in a glossy burgundy polish, cupping and squeezing and caressing one of the swiftly swelling (B-cups for the moment, but quickly pushing on into C-cups) new breasts beneath my untucked shirt with the other, listening to the gradually rising pitch of my increasingly feminine moans and pants as they crossed over from a man’s tenor into a woman’s alto and continued rising, feeling the bones of my narrow hips cracking and pulling apart, widening outwards into the rounded bottom-half of a woman’s hourglass shape, and watching the long, luxurious tresses of my newly burgundy-tinted-brown hair tumble down over my shoulders and roll on down my back, the last of my Caucasian male facial features smoothing and twitching and blinking themselves away as my eyes took on a subtly-East-Asian cast, my lips swelling and reshaping themselves into a delicately plump cupid’s bow, and my rough, pink skin lightening to a smooth, silken ivory. There was, indeed, a woman’s sexy Halloween rental costume hanging up on the door behind me, a bag of lingerie, cosmetics, and hosiery was sitting on the floor beside my feet, and, yeah – there was a roughly-two-thousand-year-old vampire with the face and body of an Adonis standing guard outside the door. Eighteen-hundred-and-fifty-six years ago his name had been ‘Septimius,’ but for the better part of the last two centuries or so he’d been going ‘Seth,’ and he’s my… incredibly, impossibly hot, blood-drinking immortal lover. I don’t actually think that makes me gay, though, since by the time we ever get anywhere close to physically intimate with each other, I’m definitely a woman, in both body and mind.

  Meanwhile, in the tiny bit of the sky that I could see through the window just up and to my right, over and beyond the edge of the mirror—whenever I could tear my eyes away from the sexy, delicious sight of my changing body, that is—I could see the darkening sky over the city growing thick with heavy, ominously threatening clouds. But even as I continued to shift and change into Sabina, my sexy, feminine, Korean-American alter ego, I knew that far worse than a bit of inclement weather lay in store for the city that night, and that if Seth and I—and the handful of our friends and allies that we’d been able to assemble on an evening’s notice—couldn’t stop them, a sinister cabal of ancient, supernatural monsters, led by a cursed, two-hundred-years-old gender-bending psychopath, would unleash a unspeakable horror on an unsuspecting city full of half-inebriated Halloween revelers that evening in a wanton bloodbath that would doom the whole world to an Age of Nightmare and Blood.

  A crack of lightning drew my eye towards the window again, and midst-moan, I caught the briefest glimpse of a twisting column of black, shadowy cloud vapor, in a shape like a giant tentacle, sweeping down out of the sky, arching graspingly towards the city which lay blissfully unaware beneath the malevolent, reality-rending threat gathering overhead. As I watched tentacle of dark cloud vapor stretch across the sky, an icy chill of horror crawled down my spine, a growing sense of imminent danger that, for just a moment, cut through the sensuous tidal wave of pleasure rolling over and across and through my body, both as a precursor and in response to the transformation consuming which consuming it.

  Running out of time, the growing sense of horror creeping down my spine warned me, and just in that moment, my arousal and my pleasure abated. My transformation slowed to a crawl, and then froze mid-shift, doubt and fear setting in in its place. I’d seen what was coming, and I knew what was in store for the world if Seth, and I, and all our friends were to fail tonight. Blood and monsters, horror and nightmares.

  And as for what would lie in store for me, personally, I… well…

  I shuddered, and then gripped the sink with one small, delicately feminine hand again, holding on forcefully, and reached deep down into my metaphorical gut. Focusing, pulling on that slowly receding tide of arousal and desire, pulling on the ache that lay deep inside of my soul, which had always been there, hanging around in the back of my mind all my life, even though I’d only really become aware of it two and half months ago, when an encounter with a supernatural creature and an ancient curse revealed a side of myself I’d never known existed before.

  Narrowing in on that longing, and my corresponding need to change, to become that which had been hiding insi
de me for all these years, I pulled and pushed on that need, that longing ache, with all of my might, until with a gasp, and a moan that was definitely pushing its way up into a soprano’s range at last, I felt an orgiastic explosion burst out of its confinement, deep within my metaphorical gut, and then, staggering against the sink and moaning again – in a fully soprano tone of voice this time, thank you – as a second tidal wave of arousal and pleasure crashed over me again, I felt my briefly stalled transformation kick back into overdrive and rush on towards its climactic conclusion once again.

  At the base of my spine, a series of joints that controlled the shape and posture of my upper body cracked and popped with a satisfying release of tension and explosion pleasure, and my lower back curved itself inward into a delicious sexy, feminine S-shape, pushing my chest and my new, full-size C-cup breasts up and out in front of my body, and simultaneously thrusting my swiftly swelling and expanding bottom up and out behind me. Down deep in my crotch, I felt the pulsingly insistent pressure that I knew signaled the beginning of the conversion of my last masculine sexual characteristic into its female equivalent, and I let out a long and whining, whimpering moan of pleasure as I felt a new cavity carve its way up into the flat, tapering, femininely sloping triangle of my new, female pelvis.

  My name is Sabina Kim, I whispered inwardly, insistently to myself, whimpering and moaning with pleasure as I felt my shrinking manhood retreat up into that developing new crevice inside my pelvis, and my new womanhood swiftly take form around its dwindling presence, And I am a Werewoman…

  Chapter One

  August 15, 2019: Night of the Full Moon

  “Alright, everybody, that’s it for today!” At the head of the cramped, windowless seminar room, Professor Aurelius folded his binder shut and tapped it against the edge of the podium. With one finger he pushed the wire-rimmed glasses that had slid down his nose a few centimeters back up into place; then he looked out over the classroom full of students with a tight smile. “I’ll see you all again on Tuesday for my namesake: Marcus Aurelius, the Antonine Plague, and the Marcomannic Wars. Oh, and don’t forget: your papers on the Flavian Dynasty and the evolution of The Principate are due in my inbox by midnight on Sunday, and I need final paper proposals no later than next weekend. Now, go on, and get out of here.”

  The class quickly broke up into a chattering swirl of mild chaos. A number of students, those who had either been eagerly tapping their feet against the floor during the last half hour of HIST-509, ‘Conscious Consent: The Curious Case of Roman Imperial Governance,’ or had been regularly checking the lock screens of their smartphones, bolted for the door. Some of them were surely in a hurry to make it to the nearest restroom: the four-hour-long bi-weekly seminar usually featured a bathroom break mid-way through the session, but today the Professor had plowed on through the lecture and discussion without remembering to ask if anyone needed a bladder break, so there were a bunch of students who were no doubt eager to seek some relief.

  Several more students rose from their seats along one of the long rows of tables and walked up to the front of the classroom, clustering around the Professor’s podium to ask him questions – either on the material, or with regards to recent grades or upcoming assignments. The rest of the class, myself included, spent a few minutes quietly shuffling our books, laptops, and personal effects into whatever sort of shoulder bags or backpacks we were hauling around with us from class to class and then got to our feet and trundled lazily towards the door.

  I had my phone out and in front of myself as I walked out, catching up on text messages and notifications as I made ready to head back to my dorm and drop off my bookbag ahead of dinner this evening. Before I made it to the door, however, I was stopped by a shout from the Professor, who was still at the front of the classroom, surrounded by a slightly smaller number of students now.

  “Hey, Rick, hold up for one moment, will you? I wanted to talk to you about something.” He gestured to the empty seats at the front of the classroom. “Just have a seat, or something, alright? I’ll be right with you.”

  “Uh, sure.” Blinking back at the man in surprise, I nodded and dropped my bookbag onto one of the now empty chairs at the front of the classroom, then slid into an adjacent seat and pulled up the Discord app on my phone, updating my response to a recent message from my roommate, who was waiting for me back in our dorm room. We had planned to head down to the dining hall to get dinner together, but now, depending how long I had to wait to talk to the Professor, it could be a bit before we made it there.

  RealityCipher: Today at 6:02 PM. Actually, might be a few minutes. Prof wants to talk to me about something.

  It only took my roommate, Brian, a few seconds to read and respond:

  Crashpanda: Today at 6:03 PM. Ok, Np. Everything cool?

  RealityCipher: Today at 6:03 PM. Far as I know. Will see?

  Crashpanda: Today at 6:03 PM. Good luck. Will wait 15 mins, then head down if you don’t get here first.

  RealityCipher: Today at 6:04 PM. Cool cool.

  I leaned back in the reclining chair and spent a few minutes scrolling down my twitter feed and browsing my favorite subreddits, then glanced up at the Instructor’s Podium again. There was only one student left now, and I could see that Professor Aurelius, who kept throwing me the occasional look to see how I was doing, was trying to hurry this last interaction along so as not to have to make me wait any longer than was necessary. I appreciated that. I went back to browsing my twitter feed in the meantime, catching up on #historians news and national politics while I waited. My stomach started growling, but I tried to ignore it.

  A few seconds later, as I skimmed through a #historians thread highlighting the release of some of the newest titles in the Roman History field, a notification that Kae Yong-Hui, one of the celebrity KPOP artists I followed on Instagram, had just posted a new video popped up on the top of my screen. Kae was one of the sexiest women in KPOP, or so I maintained, and her Instagram content was always… stimulating. Intrigued, I briefly considered taking a look, but quickly decided against the impulse. I flicked the notification off of my screen before anyone else could see it – not that anyone was looking, but just out of respect for that whole ‘don’t look at sexy things in public’ vibe – although I also made a mental note to check it out later, when I was alone.

  “Hey, Rick, thanks for waiting.”

  The sound of the Professor’s voice, coming from directly above and in front of me, made my head snap up in sudden surprise. A pins and needles sensation swept over me, and my face flushed. I was glad that I’d dismissed the notification without checking it out. Professor Aurelius was abruptly and inexplicably standing in front of me now, looking down at me through his thin glasses, and wearing his normal tight smile. Somehow, he’d finished his final student interaction of the day and teleported over to where I was sitting without me noticing any movement whatsoever on his part. Mildly unsettling.

  “Oh! Hi—Professor.” I stammered, flipping my phone over onto it’s front and laying it discreetly on the surface of the table in front of me. “Um,” I blinked rapidly. “You… wanted to talk to me?”

  “Mmm… Yes,” The Professor had opened his binder again and was flipping through a couple of papers. After a few second, he pulled one slender sheaf of papers out and read out the title page aloud:

  “Here we are: ‘Forging a Better Future: ‘Caesar the Reformer’ versus ‘Caesar the Tyrant’,’ by Richard Bryant.” He pushed the bridge of his glasses higher up his nose again and passed the paper down to me. There was a large, red letter A scrawled and circled on the front page of the twenty-five-page document, the sight of which solicited a grin from me. Professor Aurelius caught the smile and nodded. “Very insightful work, Richard. Rick? Do you have a preference?”

  I grinned at the A on the cover page some more, then shook my head, glancing back up. “Um, no, not really. My dad calls me Rick, my mom calls me Richard, my friends mostly say ‘Hey, man.’”

&nb
sp; Professor Aurelius’ tight, controlled smile twitched slightly. “Richard it is, then. Anyway, I wanted to let you know – this was really good work, and enjoyable to read. Plenty of students, even at the graduate level, just accept it as read that Caesar was ‘a bad man’ and the Senators who fought against him were ‘good men,’ because they’ve heard that all their lives, and they don’t stop to think critically about how the people on either side of the conflict were actually real, complex individuals with complicated motives that don’t necessary work out into ‘good guys versus bad guys.’ But you questioned the narrative: good for you. Thank you for making me stop and think about again it myself.”

  My grin came back, although I tried to fight it. “Do you mind me asking—what did you think of my conclusion? Did you like it?”

  “That we should view Caesar as more of an enlightened despot, a reformer, like an opposite-Sulla, and view the Senate as a tyranny of robber barons?” One of the Professor’s shoulders raised and fell in a half-shrug. “Not sure I’m completely sold, but I agree that the framework of the question is interesting and begs further exploration. But actually, what I wanted to talk to you about was, umm…” He pulled his glasses off of his face for a moment and rubbed his eyes, as if a minor headache had suddenly come upon him. The sight surprised me – without his glasses, the man looked several years younger than I had pegged him at before, a sort of ageless late-twenties-something that belied his sober mannerisms.

  “Well, what year are you in the program?” He had the glasses back on now, and they really did seem to add years to his face. With them on, I would definitely have pegged him as a mid-thirties something; with them off, no older than thirty at the most.