raVen

Day 1

A raven was cawing loudly; Brandon woke up with an albatross of a headache.

It wasn't uncommon for him to get black-out drunk on Fridays, but whoa, dude, this probably was the hangover to put all other hangovers to sleep. At least he apparently had been together enough to strip down to his underwear before passing out on his bed.

What on earth did he do yesterday? Yeah, he was at the dive with his bro's, chasing ho's, downing Jell-O shots... but did he really overdo it that much? He couldn't remember much at all.

He rolled over, his hand reaching for his cell. Something was different... something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Somethingfeltdifferent. His thoughts still dull, he finally found his cell; it was seven in the evening. Ok, that was pretty bad, even for him. At least it was still Saturday.

Brandon sat up on the edge of the bed. Ok, something felt seriously, seriously wrong here. Was he sick? As in, not just hungover, but seriously sick? He looked down at his body. An intense, inexplicable sense of unease overcame him. He lifted the waistband of his boxers.

He had no penis.

Brandon cried out in terror.

Ok. Ok ok ok ok ok. No,notok, this was not ok, this was the exact opposite of ok. He anxiously slid down two fingers, then let out another scream, quickly withdrawing from the unfamiliar sensation. He was dreaming, obviously, but this felt real, it felt so real.

Brandon stumbled over to the basin and held his head underneath the tap. The cold water hit the back of his head and ran off his face. It hit him like a punch to his guts: He was not dreaming.

"So, how do you like it?"

"GAHHHH!" Brandon shrieked, hit his head hard on the tap as he yanked his body up in shock.

Who said that?

He turned around.

There was a woman sitting in the corner of his room. Had she been there all this time? This was insane, he was going insane, clearly. It was like in one of those sci-fi movies he didn't really understand, the ones without space-ships.

He stared at her, disbelieving. She was Chinese, or oriental, or whatever those people were calling themselves these days... she was one of those with the slanted eyes, all right? She was perhaps his age; her dress was black, her hair was black, her eyes were black. Oh god, those eyes. Brandon's mind pretty much shut down at this point, and he just stood there, gaping at the girl.

She spoke, calmly: "I doubt you remember much, so let me refresh your memory. We met yesterday at Drake's Bar. You came on to me, and goddess knows why I didn't run right then and there, since I could see from a mile that you were no good. But I guess you do have a nice body, and I always liked blonds, so I set my expectations low and gave you a chance. No one could have prepared me for how insulting your company was going to be."

She stood up, her dress flowing smoothly along her slender build, all the way to the ground. She continued: "You leered at other women while I was standing right next to you. You got grabby, obviously not caring how I felt about that. You called me 'baby' and 'chica,' but I'd bet a fortune you don't remember my name.

"All right, I thought, he may still be good enough for a quick face-ride. So I pulled you outside, but when I told you what I had in mind, you made a face like I had just asked you to eat a rotting pigeon. 'Shit, you one of those feminazi whores, or what', I believe were your exact words."

She was looking directly at him now, her dark eyes piercing. "This is unacceptable. So I cursed you. You have a vagina now."

Brandon put a hand between his legs again, gingerly felt through the fabric of his boxers. He still couldn't quite wrap his head around what was happening.

She continued, glancing out the window: "Don't worry about testosterone levels, those things are still as they were. But otherwise, your vag is very real, and fully functional. I suggest you get comfortable with it." She turned, slowly walking away.

"Wait!" Brandon shrieked, panicking "You can't leave me like this!"

The girl looked at him again, raising an eyebrow. A hint of amusement played around her lips. "You want your cock and your balls back? You'll get your wish fulfilled if you manage to give me an orgasm. That's the spell. Good-bye, Brandon, and good fucking luck."

Brandon stood there a while longer, slack-jawed. Finally, he managed to close his mouth and sit down. Had she left? He hadn't heard the door, but he was completely alone in the room; the only sound a soft rustling of wings outside, as a flock of ravens threw a scattering of shadows across the floor.

Day 30

Brandon was lying on his back, rubbing his privates. Finally, he gave up, miserable and sore. This was not working at all.

The days immediately following that fateful Friday had been pure Hell, days that he had spent locked up in his apartment, scared and confused. But then, he slowly started to get acquainted with his new body, while also figuring out how to manage everyday life. The former was unspeakably weird, but also strangely exciting; the latter was solved with a sock in his pants and actually not that big a deal. Only football was out of the question now, to his teammates' confusion.

He had initially thought about calling a doctor, but had quickly dismissed the thought. This was not medical, he knew... and besides, wouldn't the doctor call scientists, and they would probe and take photos and write sciency shit about it? Publish it, for the world to see? Turn him into a freak show?

No, no one must know about this. Besides, the curse was reversible, she had said. Brandon had no idea how to find her, or indeed what her name was, but he would cross that bridge when he got there.

"Getting there," however, was a major problem. He was hornier than he had ever been in his life, but he couldn't get his stupid cunt to orgasm. Surely this was proof that bitches weren't meant to have orgasms, he thought; then put the thought hastily aside.

It had to be possible, he had to give that witch an orgasm and get his cock back. But how was he supposed to go about that when he couldn't even manage to satisfy himself?

Day 56

Brandon leant nervously against the wall, his t-shirt darkening underneath his armpits; he was scared to death.

He had driven across two borders, to some backwater dump where no one would know him. He had chosen a club where the pickings would be easy. He had downed one hard drink after another, yet courage would not come. But this had to work, it just had to.

Hesitantly, he lumbered over to his target. A fat, black chick, still dancing like she was hot or something. Way below his league; and Brandon was hot, he reminded himself. He would seduce her, and she would be thankful to get her hands on such a stud, and she would show him how to have a pussy-orgasm.

The chick finally took notice, and he gave her the best smile his frayed nerves could manage. She approached, cautious, curious, interested. She was eyeing his pecs, his shoulders, his arms, he noted with satisfaction. He opened his mouth: "Hey, babe..."

The rest of the conversation, if one could call it that, was a disaster. Her face went from curious to distant to disgusted to sneering, and she soon went back to her girlfriends, all of whom had been following the scene from across the dance-floor. Brandon saw laughter on their faces, as the girl was no doubt dishing out the details of his failure.

Rejected and ridiculed, he walked off into the night.

Brandon wandered aimlessly. There was no way that girl could have known about his condition. She had rejected him, as a man, as a person. The humiliation was immense, but throughout it all, he also was horny as fuck. He couldn't stop thinking about that girl's generous curves, about her rich, dark skin, about how confidently she had moved on the dance-floor.

Day 60

Two months had passed since he had been unmanned, four days since he had fizzled at the club.

Brandon was so horny he could barely hold a coherent thought, and what the fuck was the bus taking so long for, anyway? And the fucking sun was shining like everything was fucking all right, and what the fuck was that nigger looking at?

On second thought, that hulking, black dude was actually kind of scary.

The two of them were completely alone at the bus-stop, and that guy wouldn't stop staring at Brandon's ass. Finally, overcome by his own out-of-control hormones, Brandon turned to the man and asked for the time.

Moments later, they were making out behind some containers. Brandon was dizzy as he felt Hawk's large hands over his body. He kissed the dark skin on his bulky neck and took in his ripe musk, losing himself in it. He was half-aware that he should have been at the very least confused by all of this, but Brandon was so horny, he wanted nothing more than to be touched, held, and kissed.

He was torn out of his blissful daze suddenly, when he felt rough fingers fondling his wet pussy lips. He realized that Hawk had his hand down the front of his jeans. Brandon's face lost all color - but Hawk just laughed.

"Honey, don't you fret. I suspected from the start you're one of them pussy-boys; glad I was right. Now, you only been changed recently, right? You ain't been plucked yet? Yeah. Don't you worry 'bout a thing, babe, I'll do you right, you'll like it. Turnin' out to be a good day..."

There was not much for Brandon to do. The trousers dropped, and he found himself on his hands and knees. He spread his legs wider instinctively when he felt Hawk's fingers probing. He felt the tip of the large man's cock push against his wetness - then enter, just an inch. Panic overcame him as the realization sank in:He was about to be made this black dude's bitch.Will it hurt? What if someone saw them?What if he enjoyed it?

"No...!" Brandon uttered. He had changed his mind. He wanted it to stop, he wanted to just get up and run home and hide underneath a blanket. He started to crawl forward.

"Oh, no, no, no," Hawk drawled, plainly amused, while gripping Brandon's hips with his large hands, holding him firmly in place. "You don't get to flash your li'l snatch like that, then not put out. 'Sides, you're drippin' back here like you really need it. Now, hold still, boy... don't you worry, I know what I'm doing." And with that, Hawk pushed in.

Brandon cried out as he was invaded. A sharp pain went through him as his hymen broke, but Hawk kept on forcing himself in, slowly but firmly, deeper and deeper still. Brandon's pussy stretched, more than he thought possible, as he struggled to contain his massive manhood. Finally, he could feel coarse pubic hair against his ass-crack, and knew he had been filled.

Then the fucking started.

Hawk was not a cruel man, but he didn't have patience for bullshit, either. His fucks were no-nonsense and to the point. The thrusts were slow and careful at first, but then gradually got more forceful. Brandon could barely keep up, but there was another feeling, too, creeping over him and making his pussy tingle; a sweet kind of satisfaction, a sense of purpose, in being so thoroughly used.

Bit by bit, Brandon gave up what resistance he had left, realizing he had tilted his hips and opened up completely. Noticing the shift in attitude, Hawk pushed his thumb, still slick with pussy-juice, into Brandon's tight little butt-hole, then fucked the boy's cunt relentlessly while holding his ass like a bowling-ball. Brandon screamed loudly, from pain or pleasure he couldn't tell.

Finally, a grunt from behind told him that Hawk was breeding him. The thrusts got slower again, and at long last the massive cock slid out, leaving Brandon sore and sloppy. He heard the sounds of a closing zipper and buckle behind him, but he stayed on all fours, feeling cum slowly drizzle out his twat and down the inside of his thighs. Brandon felt good, in the most confusing way possible, about how he had been made use of.

But he still hadn't had an orgasm.

"Yeah, sorry, no way I'm stickin' my face in there," he heard Hawk say, as if reading his mind. "I'm a faggot, you know, I don't lick pussy. But hey, I'll give you a tip, since you been such a brave li'l fuck. Pass by Madame Jabiru. She know 'bout this kind of thing."

And with that, Brandon had been ditched. He got up, pulled up his trousers, looked around for his sock. By the time he had managed to make himself presentable again, he had missed the bus.

Day 62

Madame Jabiru, it turned out, was a professional witch. Brandon was furious with himself for not having thought of this in the first place. Of course another witch would be able to help him.

He was sitting in her shop, weird spices in the air and confusing drawings on the walls. Then there was Jabiru herself, seated in front of him. A mature, ample lady with a full shock of snow-white hair. Her face was a mystery, so much so that he couldn't even tell if she was black or Asian or a Latina. Or was she white? Her eyes were an unsettling emerald, their sting sharpened further by the huge, blood-red dress she was wearing that completely covered her entire body and the stool she was sitting on. She was looking at him now, a question on her face.

Brandon started: "Well, I've been cursed. By another witch. I... well..."

He went quiet again. "I have a pussy now" would have been the logical thing to say, but he couldn't bring himself to speak the words; he felt himself blushing.

Apparently, that was enough for Jabiru to know what was going on; she laughed, her voice dark and bright at once. "So, Raven has been at it again. That girl cracks me the Hell up."

So those two knew each-other! And not only that; it would seem that Jabiru had dealt with this exact problem before. Brandon's heart beat faster, and he gave the witch a hopeful look; but she shook her head.

"I'm afraid I can't do anything to lift the curse. You have to give Raven her orgasm, there is no other way to get your wish fulfilled. Lucky for you, though, I may know a way to help you achieve just that."

She stood up, her gown rustling as she moved to the side. Her skirts flowed to reveal a kneeling man underneath, his wet face tilted upwards. Jabiru had been using him as a stool, had been sitting on his face all this time. Brandon was once again completely dumbfounded. Jabiru didn't seem to even notice.

"This is Alex. Alex, this is Brandon. He's got himself some pussy-problem, and I think you may be able to help him out here."

She opened a door in the back of the room. Still confused, Brandon walked through, followed by Alex. The door closed behind them.

Alex was a tall, handsome fellow, perhaps only a couple of years older than Brandon, and blond like him. His facial features were strong and manly; his lips were still glistening from where he had just been, but his expression was calm and kind. He was standing shirtless; a fuzz of dark blond hair covered his well-trained pecs. A treasure trail ran down his lower abs, to where his cargo shorts started.

Brandon still didn't know what was going on but got a strong hint when Alex wordlessly dropped to his knees and started unbuckling Brandon's belt. He was about to protest, but moaned loudly as he felt Alex' face press forcefully against the front of his boxers.

The sock went out, the boxers dropped, and Alex' mouth went straight for Brandon's moist cunt. He gasped as he felt the tongue move around inside, sliding and sucking and slurping. His knees went weak, he literally almost dropped, found himself steadied by Alex' big hands.

The hunk stood up, a huge smile on his sodden face; he took Brandon into his strong arms, lifting him up and carrying him like a princess, over to a bed in the corner of the room. Brandon was laid out on his back, legs spread, twat bared, and the slurping started anew. Deep and low, lower even to his sphincter, back up, up, up... hard against a particularly sweet spot, back down again, and again, and again. And then Brandon came. Oh, sweet holy mother of Jesus on a chocolate-flavored breadstick, he came.

Time passed... or maybe it was standing still. The two of them had wrapped themselves in a blanket. They lay front to back on the bed. Alex was still in his cargos, but Brandon was naked now, wrapped in Alex' arms, feeling this wonderful man's lips nuzzle at the skin between his shoulder blades. Brandon felt so relaxed, so deeply satisfied. He searched for words to express his gratitude.

"That was... whoa. I can't even tell you how much I... I mean, whoa," he managed. And then: "If you want to fuck me... or if you want a blowjob... please, let me. Please."

Brandon was surprising himself. It wasn't just that he felt he owed Alex one, it was that he really felt ready for some dick. But when he rolled to look at Alex, he had a completely unknowable expression on his face.

"Well, I wouldn't mind a blowjob", he finally said, a strangely cheeky tone to his voice.

Alex lay on his back and Brandon got on top then moved down, planting kisses along the front of the other man's body, down the treasure trail, until he reached the belt. He unbuckled and pulled down the cargos... and was facing a pair of plump pussy lips.

Brandon went to work.

Day 70

The shadows were getting longer in the warm, late afternoon light. Brandon couldn't tell if the gas station was abandoned or just closed. They walked past it, to what could be called the station's backyard. The grass was growing knee-high here and random objects were scattered – an empty garbage container, an old fridge, a tree-trunk, a long-abandoned car, amongst many other things – to form a maze-like landscape.

Brandon followed Alex into the grass, and they reached some kind of meeting point. Three men were standing around, casually conversing; they were all naked, they all had pussies. The men greeted Alex as a friend and glanced curiously at Brandon. Introductions were made.

Nick had tattoos all over his body, a sexy sneer on his pierced lips, and a dirty blond mohawk. Between his legs hung a rather large clit, almost a tiny penis, and he was acting a bit like the leader of the pack. Brock was a hulk of a man, pumped, probably on 'roids, but still attractive. He had a tiny pussy, a sweet pair of delicate lips that looked like they'd taste like fresh peaches; the contrast was hilarious. And then there was Parker, a cute ginger dude with pale skin and freckles all over his face and shoulders. He kept himself unshaved below, where his red was even brighter.

Brandon and Alex had just disrobed when a pair of customers arrived; two dusty construction workers. Being the new kid, Brandon found himself hemmed in by them, one man touching the boy's cheek while bearing a lewd grin, while the other stood behind, giving Brandon's ass a rough smack.

Then he got pounded.

First his snatch was creamed by one worker, and then the other one broke in his ass ("I don't do sloppy seconds, buddy.") Another unfamiliar, deeply invasive sensation; but at this point, Brandon had come to think of his body as just a tool, to be used by others for their pleasure. He quickly learned to relax his sphincter, and the initial pain subsided. By the time the second worker was done, Brandon had a contented smile on his lips, his anus thoroughly kneaded.

More patrons were arriving, and the gang got to work. Brandon was a little surprised to see that about half of them were women. One was facing him now, giving him a sweet smile. Still a little sore from his back-to-back pounding, he got on his knees.

She moved closer; she was quite curvy, her skin very dark, her coiled mane wild, framing her beautiful face. He had to think of the girl he had failed to seduce at that club, many weeks ago. He felt deeply ashamed of the person he had been then. All the bullshit he had been slinging around... he would make it up to the world.