Curse of the Wereslut

My name is Amanda, and I'm a wereslut. Or at least, that's what the lady who spread the curse to me calls us. I don't think she realizes that the prefix 'were-' just means 'man' in an older form of English, and what we are is definitely not a couple of man-sluts. But it's an honest mistake, I guess, since we both transform mentally and physically each month around the full moon, and the word she picked probably conveys that idea to most people. Or it would, if we advertised our condition, or if someone reads this journal someday. But perhaps I'd better go back to the night I was changed.

It was a Friday evening in late summer, and a full moon, although that didn't matter much to me at the time. I was out partying with some friends from college, as we'd all started to go our separate ways after graduation. Those who were still in the city, like me, made periodic efforts to keep the 'old gang' together, and bouncing between a few clubs was the agenda for that night.

We had moseyed into a place that principally catered to the queer crowd, ostensibly so the two lesbians in our group would have a chance to pick someone up if they were so inclined. I was very straight at the time, but I didn't usually mind being flirted with by ladies, or even dancing a bit, although I did my best not to lead them on, nor would I accept offered drinks. I was out on the dancefloor, letting the music move through me, when my life changed.

The other dancers were mostly women, and only a few were dancing with partners. The rest of us just moved around, sometimes grooving with one person and then shifting to someone else, or soloing for a while. My first reaction to the sight of Victoria was disbelief. I had no sexual interest in women, and certainly not busty blonde slut-bombs like her, but it was as if every part of her body oozed seduction, and her movements were almost hypnotically ensnaring. Nearly everyone in the crowd was trying to get her attention, but for some inexplicable reason, she only had eyes for me.

"Hi, I'm Vicki!" the bimbo shouted as she crushed her breasts against my face. I'd failed to notice she was several inches taller than me, probably close to six feet, although she was wearing heels that boosted her even higher. Her arms went around my shoulders and helped keep me trapped in her glorious cleavage. I can barely describe the smell of her, even though I remember it perfectly. It was a blend of normal things, like skin and sweat and some kind of floral soap, but there was something else in it, something musky and primal, that went straight from my nostrils to my sex. My libido went from zero to a hundred in the span of a few heartbeats, and I couldn't resist an impulse to put my hands on Vicki's giant, bouncy ass. I hadn't even seen it yet, but I could tell by the feel that it was huge and perfect.

We danced, if you want to call grinding and groping against one another a type of dancing, until the DJ wrapped up his set. To my surprise, most of the crowd had left, and my friends were nowhere to be seen. I was sweating, and although it was too dark in the club for the stains to show up on my little black dress, I could feel how soaked it was: almost as drenched as my thong. I looked up at Vicki with round eyes, wondering what she would do next.

"How's about you come home with me, cutie?" said the blonde, rubbing one of her fingers against my lips. Without meaning to, I sucked her digit into my mouth, licking it as I nodded my consent, although I know now that I wasn't really in the driver's seat of my body at that point. "Let's go, hon!" Vicki said with a smile, pulling her finger away and making me pout. Her arm draped around my shoulders and she directed me outside. We walked about four blocks, and the amount of attention she was getting from other people on the streets made me jealous and uncomfortable and horny. She ignored it all, though, and soon we were inside a building and then inside her apartment. Shortly after that, she was inside me.

The door snapped shut, and I stood on my toes to kiss Vicki. It was my first time kissing a girl, aside from a few performative make-outs in college, which didn't really count. Kissing a girlfriend for the cheers of onlookers never made me wet, but rubbing my tongue against hers was the hottest thing I'd ever done. I whimpered as we kissed, and I tried to put my arms around her neck, but Vicki made me hold them out to my sides. I moaned in disappointment, but when she slid the straps of my dress down I realized why. I shimmied until it fell to the floor, pooling around my feet, leaving me wearing only my thong and pumps. I hadn't really expected to hook up with anyone that night, but I'd dressed to be prepared, and my little boobs being untrammeled for an evening wasn't usually a big deal.

Vicki allowed me to embrace her once I was exposed, and her own hands found my breasts, squeezing them and pinching the little pink nipples. I normally didn't get much out of such fondling; it rarely felt bad, but most of my pleasure in the act was from seeing my lovers enjoy my modest handfuls. With Vicki, though, it was different. Her touch was electric, and raised goosebumps wherever it went. My little buds got as hard and long as they could, and each pinch seemed like it traveled straight to my clit.

I eagerly waggled my hips when Vicki tugged on my thong, letting it slide away as well. At her silent insistence, I stepped out of my pile of clothing and my pumps, leaving me completely naked. My modesty reasserted itself briefly, and I blushed while attempting to cover my breasts and trimmed bush with my hands. Another kiss from the blonde stranger was all it took to make those shameful thoughts vanish, and within moments I was trying to remove her dress as well. She giggled and let it happen; Vicki was braless, too, although her tits were much larger, and her smooth, bare mound was soon revealed, thanks to her lack of panties. I sniffed the air hungrily, smelling our arousal.

We kissed again, and Vicki slowly maneuvered us toward her couch. The leather felt cool and slightly sticky when we collapsed onto it, although I wound up straddling one of her legs, half-in and half-out of her lap. My first instinct was to grind my sex against her thigh, and I left a wet streak on her skin. Under other circumstances that would have mortified me, as I was kind of squeamish when it came to bodily fluids. The idea that I was wet enough to leave a mark was humiliating, but in my present state of lust, that just added heat to my fire.

Vicki certainly didn't seem at all upset to be smeared with my juices. Instead, she dabbed a finger in the stain and brought it to her mouth, humming appreciatively and looking me in the eyes. I moaned, unbelievably turned on by watching her display, and when her fingers tip-tapped up my thigh toward my sex, I stilled my thrusting. Holding my breath, I waited anxiously to feel her touch on my lower lips, but she kept teasing me by stroking the skin to either side, or tickling the tuft of short hairs I kept on my mound. She deftly avoided my clumsy efforts to entrap her hand, leaving me panting and mewling with need. "Please, fuck me!" I whimpered at last. With a smirk, Vicki finally obliged.

If my pussy had been enflamed with lust before, it became an inferno at her touch. I cried out loudly, wailing in the throes of an instant orgasm of sorts. I was spasming and writhing, not to mention dripping like a faulty faucet, but there was no sense of satiation whatsoever. The pleasure was as intense as I'd ever felt, but it left me unfulfilled, even hungrier than before. I kissed her so fiercely that I worried we might get bruised, but her fingers kept stroking my inner walls, and my quasi-climax continued.

I don't know how long we spent like that, but my abdominals ached and burned with exhaustion when she pushed me onto my back beside her, laying me out flat on the couch. I was gasping for air, struggling to get enough oxygen to avoid passing out, but what she gave me was more precious than mere breath. Her sex descended upon my face, and as her humid lust filled my lungs, I finally felt a small measure of the repletion my pseudo-orgasm had failed to bring.

If being trapped between Vicki's tits had been intoxicating, being ensnared between her legs was perhaps exhilarating, or euphoric, or enthralling. Various such words sparked in my brain but didn't really gain traction, as the only thing that mattered to me in the moment was drinking as much of her essence as I could. As dim and reedy as my thoughts seemed to be, I was hooked and I knew it. There would be no going back. Her cunt was my new home, my new north star, and I would never willingly turn my back on it. Anything she wanted from me, I would give happily. I tried singing her praises and swearing oaths of fealty, but muffled as I was, they were meaningless mumbles. When she squirted in my mouth, I was gone.

I awoke, naked and in bed with a stranger. Or so I thought at first. I tried to cover myself with the thin sheet we lay under and get out of bed at the same time, but it was tucked in very tightly and foiled me on both counts. My scrambling movements awoke the blonde woman next to me, and when she rolled over I was momentarily frozen with disbelief.

It was Victoria, and yet not. She was still blonde, and reasonably pretty in an objective sense, but her penetrating, undeniable sensuality was gone. Her eyes, which I might have described with any number of contradictory colors the night before, were an unremarkable gray, and there were slight bags under them. Her nose seemed larger, and her lips thinner, without the hint of a kiss lurking there.

When the almost-familiar woman sat up in bed, I could see that her breasts, while larger than my own, were not the titanic tits she'd had the night before. I might have been willing to strain my credulity far enough to believe the differences in her face could have been achieved with make-up and contacts, but there's no way a woman could lose two or three cup sizes overnight, and she obviously hadn't been stuffing a bra she'd never been wearing. Furthermore, her skin, which had previously been smooth, evenly-colored, and free of any blemish, was now mostly pale with visible tan lines and the occasional freckle or mole. It made her look real, and I felt bad for thinking that reality was deeply disappointing compared to the fantasy woman I'd succumbed to.

I looked her in the eyes and asked, aghast, "Who are you? What did you do to me? Did you drug me?"

The stranger sighed, giving me such a mournful look that part of my fear and anger evaporated. "I didn't drug you. I'm so sorry, but I think I did something far, far worse. My name truly is Victoria, and I'm a wereslut."

The conversation that followed was long, confusing, and punctuated by frequent backtracking and tangents. Leaving aside my afore-mentioned issues with nomenclature, Victoria gradually spelled out the situation we were in, most of which anyone reading this could probably guess from general familiarity with monster stories, although perhaps not every minor detail.

For example, we transformed into hyper-sexualized versions of ourselves every full moon, but not just then. Every night at sundown we changed, and the degree of metamorphosis was merely proportional to the moon; the closer to full, the stronger the effect. The same went for our libidos, more or less. At night, we were correspondingly slutty, although Vicki confessed that such behaviors quickly bled over into our daylight lives as well; she blushed crimson at the admission, and that was about the point I started feeling sorry for her as well as for myself.

The condition, she said, was not ordinarily transmissible. The woman who had transformed her claimed that it only became contagious on a roughly once-per-year basis; specifically, on the thirteenth full moon from one's own conversion, or multiples thereof. Vicki had been seduced and infected almost exactly one year ago, and claimed she'd had ten times as much sex in that span as in the first twenty-five years of her life.

"I don't mean to be insensitive, but you're not straight anymore," Victoria said apologetically. "And not just in a technical sense of having slept with a woman once," she added, holding up a hand to forestall my objection. "Whatever your preferences or inclinations were before, you'll be open to just about any partner who wants you."

"But I didn't want you!" I argued defiantly. "I was straight as an arrow until last night!"

Vicki shrugged and said, "Maybe that's true; I won't challenge your claim, anyway. But when we're in our slut-forms, we're extra enticing to just about anyone, and I think that effect is maximized when we're contagious." She reached out as if to put her hand on mine, but I drew back, and she smiled sadly.

"Maybe the infectious moon phase was enough to overcome your total heterosexuality, or maybe there was a little sliver of interest or curiosity after all," Victoria suggested. "It really doesn't matter. That life is over, I'm sorry to say. You're a bisexual slut now. Or really, pansexual or omnisexual is probably more apt. I've happily fucked several genderqueer people at this point, and one intersex person. I wasn't even able to turn down my cousin Alex, which is part of the reason I moved a thousand miles away from my family."

I have a cousin named Alex, too, short for Alexandra, and we saw each other regularly, even aside from family gatherings for holidays or birthdays. I pictured her in my mind's eye and was chilled to realize my memories went first to times I'd seen her in a bikini, or otherwise scantily clad, and my thoughts lingered there. Trying to banish such images, I glared at Victoria and asked, "What happens now?"

Shrugging, Vicki replied, "Life? Our daytime activities aren't hugely impacted outside of the increased willingness to fuck just about anyone who flirts with us. But a lot of people, even the horniest, are usually too scared or suspicious to actually try sealing the deal when I seem eager to drop whatever I'm doing and get dirty with them." She gave me that sad smile again and said, "They probably think it's some kind of trap."

"I wish I'd had so much reluctance last night," I muttered bitterly.

Vicki looked like she wanted to hug me for comfort, but restrained her urge. I was thankful, because we were both still naked in bed together, and our eyes had gotten quite comfortable at admiring one another's bodies. "I'm going to leave now," I announced, trying to keep my voice even. "Please turn away while I look for my clothes."

"They should still be in the living room," Vicki said, sounding sad as she rolled over and faced the wall. "Turn left out the door. Please don't leave right away, though. I want to give you my contact deets. You'll probably think of more questions to ask later, and I'd feel bad not to offer any help or advice I can give you."

"As long as you get dressed before you come out there," I said, finally extracting myself from the tightly-tucked bed. I scurried away and hurriedly got dressed, no longer feeling the least bit sexy in my LBD and thong, both of which were still damp and cold from the night before. I shivered and cringed, and refused to make eye contact with Vicki when she emerged a minute or two later, wrapped in a fuzzy bathrobe and holding out a folded slip of paper.

"You can't know how sorry I am for what happened," she said forlornly as I reluctantly took the proffered information. "But maybe you'll understand next year."