Sloth
A short werewolf transformation.
When a man can't control his sloth, he loses himself to his inner beast: a werewolf.
Despite what you do...
Despite planning a schedule...
Despite lounging at least 14 hours a day...
You know the wolf buried inside you wants to get out.
You lounge in the living room of your meagre appartement. You could have just gone to your bedroom for sleep, but why bother? Your old couch and a blanket do the job. Plus, you have the TV. You haven't taken a shower in days and you're all sweaty and musky, but you don't find the motivation to stand and take one. Chilling in the living room is much more appealing.
You find the ongoing show to be a bit of bore, though. You grab the TV remote on the ground next to a XL bag of chips and you browse a couple channels. Your other hand fills your mouth with chips. Some crumbs fall in your unkept beard and you brush them away with a lazy whiff and a hand swipe, making them fall either in your very dense chest hair or onto your stained wifebeater.
After a couple cycles of the channels, you find nothing interesting. You go for another handful of chips when you notice you've reached the end of the bag. You are still a bit hungry though, but you don't want to go make yourself something in the kitchen... You drink down what's left of that big bottle of soda next to the couch and belch loudly afterward. That should satiate your hunger for a while.
You look for your cellphone, somewhere on the couch. You have to move a bit and you groan as you do so. It probably slipped under your butt like it always do. You stand up momentarily and you let out another loud belch. You tap the soft paunch you've acquired since you worked a lazy and easy office job. Your belly sticks out a little bit past the bottom hem of your wifebeater. You should invest in new clothes (or just wash them whatsoever), but why bother. And you'll surely get back in shape at some point... somehow...
You find your cellphone. It's small, the glass is cracked, it's way outdated, but you don't really care. The thing still works: that's what counts. You let your soft butt fall back down on the warm couch and you lay completely on it, having both of your large feet resting on the opposite couch end. You open the local pizzeria app and you order two large pizzas and a big bottle of soda, paying with your credit card so you don'T have to pull out your wallet by the door.
You set the input on the TV for your console and you start up a game, basking in the dim glow from the TV. The game starts up pretty slow, but that's okay with you. You don't want to rush it up. You play at your own rhythm, taking great care and, perhaps, you linger too much on unimportant details. You finally give up at some point out of frustration at the details and you try on another game, much simpler with a simpler direction. You work enough with your head at work, you don't want to make the games a chore either.
As you play through the game, you can't help but feel a little hot. At first you think it's the blanket over you so you ditch it on the floor. That is, until you realize you still feel odd. "Fat slob of a fool, what day are we today?" a voice resounds from the back of your mind. That was all you needed to find out. You look toward the window and realize a full moon is rising in the sky.
While werewolves don't always need the full moon to change, your werewolf side is as lazy as you and it only comes out when it is forced by the moon. You grumble in annoyance. How did you forget... That happens only once or twice a month and you still forget about these particular days. Well... know what... you don't give a fuck, this time.
You lay back in your comfortable position, controller in hands while you feel the slow transformation starting. Your already unkept facial hair grows out and out, spilling over your neck, dropping over your chest in a uncared manner, joining in with your already thick mat of chest hair. Your hair spreads over your shoulders, which just slightly bulged larger, freely, from the sleeveless shirt.
You feel another bubbling resonating in your guts and you let out a long wet belch. You feel your throat thickening and your voice pitch dropping considerably. Your gesticulating hands get filled with cramps as they bones and tendons shift and tense. You mutter a "damn it" as your character dies in the game and the controller slips off your greasy and growing hands.
You watch them passively, waiting for their transformation to be done with. The hair spreads on your arms, solidifying them with muscles... and a bit of fat as well. Your hands grow bigger, longer, inhumanly large and start growing claws as well. You were a big guy to start with, but those new hands of yours are simply gigantic: they are disproportionately huge even compared to your normally big and tall human body.
You can't help but complain about how big and messy your transformation makes you every time. Your chest barrels out a little bit bigger with each breath you take in. You watch your controller inch up on top of your enlarging gut, while you feel your big feet press against the opposite end of the couch.
You normally are a tall glass of water... but you know damn too well how much of a dwarf you are next to your werewolf form. Your spine tingles and starts stretching. Your shoulders slip off past your pillow while the lengthening of your spine and legs piles inches after inches on top of that already tall frame of yours.
Your soft belly balloons out with soft fat, round and only partly covered by your dirty wifebeater. The tank is cheap and tightly stretched around your growing bulk. You could have just used your claws to tear it off your frame... but why bother? You'll just wait until it can't contain your massiveness anymore: you know it won't past a certain point.
You feel your butt cheeks filling the once loose and oversized boxers your wear. The hair covering your ass thickens into fuzz then into fur.
You think your hands should be done changing by now, so you take the now quite small controller in your hands and resume to game. You don't give much of a thought as your body keeps changing until your tail starts pushing out under your tremendous ass. You pause the game and you position yourself so your tail doesn't feel crushed.
Back into the game, you barely feel the fur catching up on your growing limbs. Your feet stretch even longer, which would make the already difficult task of finding proper shoes impossible at their new beastly size. Claws jut out at their ends, puncturing and tearing the opposite armrest of the old ratty couch.
Springs creak and groan under your increasing crumbling weight. You are not morbidly obese, but all those times neglecting your health with junk food and lazying in your place had made you quite chubby. What would be a strong proud chest sagged down on your rotund shameless beergut.
Since the day you became a werewolf, you've found yourself becoming more toned and defined, yet your poor human lifestyle rubbed over your wolf self. If it were just for you, you'd quit your job and spend all day lounging in your living room playing games or watching porn, but you wanted this small luxury of calling food whenever you wanted and to buy the games and porn you wanted whenever you wanted.
You hear the ringing of the doorbell and you remember the pizza you ordered earlier. You stand up with a groan and hit your changing head on the ceiling. You were tall before, but now... it was just ridiculous. You made another dent on the ceiling, cracks spreading like a spider web like the many damages you made all over your apartment. Your landlord could sue you for the countless property damages your enormous clumsy wolf made... but he never goes further than the doormat when he takes your rent money so... why bother telling him.
You hunch down, your wide sloppy shoulders still grazing the low ceiling (and still pushing further upward against it). Your face pushes outward into a large muzzle, while your wolfish ears travel upward and graze the ceiling. You have to reach down for the low door handle and you open the door to greet the delivery guy.
The horrified surprise on his face is priceless. You chuckle deeply looking down at the tiny puny human in front of you. You could have eaten him, but you won't. You realize that he's not only looking at your immense height, but he also looks down between your legs: your boxers seem to have burst off at some point as your long fat cock sways between your tree-trunk-sized legs. You realize you are naked now.
You give him a mocking laugh and shake your ridiculously big junk. "Whatcha lookin' at, huh?" You grasp the order off his shaking hands and slam the door back at his face. You hear a loud creaking sound from the ceiling, more plaster raining on your sweaty and greasy fur as you're getting too big for the short ceilings of your apartment. Your height is forcing a hole in the ceiling.
You almost have to crouch back to your couch onto which you sit on. The furniture gives out under your crumpling weight and size and the old wooden legs supporting the furniture break. You must have gained some weight since your last transformation you ponder. Perhaps you seem to grow a little bit bigger, taller and fatter every time you change, but you shrug it off.
You push the controller aside and change the input of the TV for some porn. You eat without class with your paw-like-hands. Mouth opened, belching lewdly, oil and greasy dripping down and staining your once silver fur, you use your beergut as a small table for your pizza. You put both of your broad feet-paws on the small living room table, which creaks dangerously under their lazy deposition.
The action on TV stimulates your ginormous transformed cock to swell and to harden while you keep stuffing yourself with the junk food. One dirty hand-paw grasp around your fleshy rod of sex and jacks it off. The wolf settles in your mind, fusing with your own lazy one as you lose yourself to the primal urges of the beast: eating and fucking.
Sure, a sex partner would have made the thing more interesting and pleasurable, but why bother looking out for one when masturbation made up for it. Precum already spews over your stained dirty fur, but you don't care. You edge for a while, eating grossly as you pleasure both ends of your body. Once you are through with the pizza, you use both of your giant paws to masturbate to the sex play on TV.
Once the orgasm hits, your shoot all over yourself, basking yourself in your own musky scent, soaking your fur in your seed. A couple minutes pass and the bliss ebbs away, leaving you wet, sweaty and musky. You wipe your hands on your sides, looking for a cloth to take off the excess from you. You see that tattered wifebeater of yours on the floor and you use it to wipe of what hit you on the face.
Your human self would have taken greater care of the mess, but your werewolf didn't care the slightest. Your beast was getting a bit hungry again and you pondered if you should order more pizza. Maybe the delivery guy would come back: you could use a nice fuck... or have a nice little "dessert".
Anyhow, you put back the input for your console and start a new game, lounging as best as your gigantic frame could in the mess of a room you did not bother cleaning up.