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Full Moon by Gwydion78

It started with a low grumble, or maybe a rumble, he never knew what differentiated the two, but it was coming from his stomach. The physical sensation was a cross between a tightness and a flutter, similar to the feeling that would grip him when he was particularly stressed after a big meal, but the day's repast had only consisted of a bowl of diet-oriented cereal and a couple of toaster pastries at lunchtime.

Stress was hardly an issue, he worked at home and he'd made deadlines and sent out the work several days ago, the payment already on its way. He'd been good about taking his vitamins and not partaking of foods that were known to give his tummy problems, and yes, he still felt a bit foolish calling it a tummy even at the age of twenty-five. There wasn't any reason he could think of to explain the incessant sensation other than perhaps a stomach bug he might've picked up or could simply be a courtesy call from the changing seasons.

Regardless, it was putting a damper on his end of day activities, which involved sitting in front of his computer with his pants and underwear around his ankles and generally enjoying the bounties of the internet until said enjoyment was so magnificent it manifested physically in sticky, satisfying globs on his chest, keyboard, and sometimes the monitor if he was feeling particularly pent-up.

As he loaded up the next set of images in his warm-up rotation, the sensations in his stomach began to intensify, enough so that maintaining his mood required higher effort with diminishing returns. Defeated, at least for the moment, he got up, stepped out of his pants and underwear, kicking them to the side with minimal flourish, and resigned himself to the bathroom to raid the medicine cabinet, passing the window and the full moon outside.

Most of his meager selection was geared for headaches or remnants of cold medication that wouldn't get him through another virus, and antacids had never been a concern for him. While the sensations where slightly south of pain, the discomfort was definitely a distraction from his all-natural sleeping pill.

He checked his face, which was a bit thin but he attributed that to his diet. His five o'clock shadow a tiny bit thicker as it was closer to eleven now. His green eyes lacked any redness but were definitely of the bedroom variety. While his hair was still a low-maintenance black, it did need washing in the morning, his every-other-day showering policy coming home to roost right on schedule.

Maybe it was something he ate? The cereal and pop-tarts were both from the store, name brand, both well within their "Best By" dates, and he'd been drinking tap water largely, considering his diet was more for financial necessity than reason of vanity. As a result he'd been enjoying the internet more often than not to get his mind off his hunger pangs, but he was certain that the iron butterflies in his stomach had little to do with eating.

The internet had, as always, provided plenty of distraction, though his tastes had had to skew to the weird, and sign up for websites to see better art for free, some of them having images so jarring they'd gotten into his dreams.

Still, leaning against the sink and staring into the mirror was doing little to help, in fact it wasn't helping at all, the sensations intensifying. After a few seconds consideration, going to bed and relieving his tensions in the morning seemed the sounder plan, so he exited the bathroom and proceeded back to his bedroom, stopping by the window on the way back.

The moon was big, full, practically bulging in the sky as if through some optical illusion his astronomer friend would tell him about while repeatedly rolling his eyes. But the bright orb held his attention for reasons he couldn't explain. Perhaps it was the nature of the visible features, whether he'd see the man in the moon first or the yin/yang symbol, but the sounds in his stomach were gathering in strength now, until the first tinge of nausea swept over him.

Unable to stagger back to the bathroom to worship the god of porcelain, he gripped the windowsill, and then hurriedly yanked it open, inwardly and silently apologetic to whoever might be out for a stroll on the street below as he stuck his head out through the open space.

It came quite suddenly as the night wind buffeted his face, his mouth opening as his grip on the windowsill tighten both for safety and as a stress reaction. Instead of any substance though, a sound emerged, a long, low, rattling, reverberating, chest-vibrating sound that caused his head to yank back, aiming his mouth at the brilliant glowing in the sky that held all of his attention.

For a strange moment, he kind of hoped the moon would be impressed by it. Then he remembered that to the world at large, he was some guy wearing only a t-shirt shoving his head out the window at quarter after eleven at night to apparently belch at the moon.

Mortified, he pulled himself back in and shut the window, even as another heavy expulsion of gas thundered out of his mouth, discomfort coming from his groin as his gaze drifted downward to find himself almost painfully erect. Well, he had been working himself up and it was the normal time to get himself off, but it was odd that two echoing sonic gut cannons would renew his randy mood.

Moreso that he had to lean forward a little to see his entire crotch, his stomach slightly pooched out and his six inch shaft a bit reddened as if he'd been enjoying his own company all day instead of his usual thrice-daily regimen. What was going on? Had his poverty diet reached the point that he was starting to bloat? His sudden arousal a result of his brain staving off the panic and depression he'd maybe been avoiding by keeping him flooding his body with all those nice and sexually satisying hormones and neurotransmitters?

With the next belch, he lost interest in the why and dropped his hand to his equipment, giving himself the usual practiced but tender massage he'd learned his body liked, but the pleasant sensations were offset by the slight curve of his tummy. He poked at it with his free hand, the curve taut and having little give, like a well-inflated balloon, the pressure causing another launch of oral exhaust, but this time he actually beheld his midsection groaning and grumbling as it pushed out further, his skin seeming slightly darker in the moonlight until a tactile examination revealed that his, well, it was safer to call it a belly now, was covered in hair.

He should get up, get help, but instead his mind was locked in a cycle of images, some from websites, some from dreams, all of them men, which luckily was his preference, hairy men at that, most of them leisurely masturbating while sitting in chairs, as for some reason that was his fetish, most of them of the "wolf" variety, or fit men with an excess of body hair, but one kept popping up, and it was no surprise why.

When he'd first discovered the cornucopia of erotica that was the internet, he'd fixated on a man in his thirties of the wolf variety who regularly updated his "blog" with pictures of him lazing around the house or in his home-gym covered in sweat and jerking off, sometimes including videos, but the sight of the man, who went by BigRippedWolf, had never failed to inspire him. He was the usual comment leaver, feeling the need to offer thanks for bringing his evening's enjoyment to an end, even as the years passed and BigRippedWolf gave in to middle-age spread and got a lot less ripped.

BRW's blog had fallen off in popularity, but he'd still been loyal, even as the man's eight-pack receded to a six and then vanished under a growing beergut. After that the two of them started exchanging e-mails, mostly gushing on his part at first, but eventually into playful flirting until they turned into full-on erotically epic scenarios of what they'd do to each other should they ever meet.

As a result he'd been dreaming about BRW a lot, who'd since changed his handle to BigFatWolf, but he'd never gotten out of the habit. The dreams always involved BRW coming into his room, climbing on top of him, his nose allowed to sample and savor the resplendent bouquet of the fat wolf's crotch.

Of course, he'd shared the fantasy with BRW, who found it just as enticing as he had, and had sent him a musky jockstrap with the note attached reading, "Send a pic of you licking it." While he had licked it, and licked it plenty at that, and as a result had a very "productive" day, he'd been too embarrassed to take the picture, but he did sent a long e-mail describing the exact reactions his palate had given. The reply had been terse, but not negative, "As long as my skinny puppy really licked it, then BRW's happy."

Another hard and heavy belch broke him from his reverie as the hair on his stomach was much darker, his chest heaving to the point of panting as his frame groaned as pounds found their way onto his body. Pain accompanied none of it strangely as it seemed, instead only stoking the fire in his loins as the hair on his belly thickened into an extravagant, almost luxurious carpet of fur, ebon like his hair, but still glinting in the moonlight. It was an odd sight, his body starting to fatten, especially in the middle, but the patch of fur thus far seemed restricted only to what now definitely qualified as a gut, his swollen girth beginning to obscure the view of continually massaged groin.

What struck him was the... rightness of the sensations, every quiver of his body feeling like peeling off tight clothes at the end of a strenuous day. Lifting his free hand in front of his eyes, the fear that should have erupted at the sight of watching his digits quake and thicken, his bones shifting to widen his palms, nails darkening and growing long, those of a predator, but he felt no instinct to hunt.

Well, there was an instinct, namely to empty what was left in his fridge, but it was at war with the urge to simply sit on his rump, stare at the moon, and please himself to stoke the heavenly body's ego. After all, the moon was round, this bloating of his belly was nothing more than imitation being the most common form of flattery, yes? Curiosity was overtaking him though, the desire to see the extent of whatever had befallen him, and he grunted to take himself to the bathroom, view his visage once more.

Unfortunately, the indulgence of his vanity was moderately foiled, as with another blast of musky gas from his mouth, his hips widened, waist expanded, gut claimed a few more inches of girth and depth of overhang, pinning him for the moment in the doorframe, and he didn't know whether to panic at his confinement, laugh at the ridiculousness of the accident, or decide that his situation was far more arousing that he could have planned for. Given the influence his loins currently had over him, he chose the latter, grinning at his reflection which showed sharp and bared teeth, his face rather misshapen, nose having lost its point while his brow had sloped forward, ears pointing and halfway migrated up his head. His cheeks and the rest of the skin there were mottled with patches of black fuzz that strained to grow together, his eyes having lost their human irises but retaining their emerald hue, though the luminescence was almost off-putting. Luckily the sight of his increasingly furry torso was enough to distract him, his paper-thin pectorals already jutting out with added padding and beginning to sag onto the shelf of the gut that held him prisoner in the doorway.

The view was enough to make him vocalize his arousal, a low, lusty growl rumbling out of his throat, deep and very masculine, reverberating through his body to underline the approval of his reflection. He wasn't a fool, he was well aware of what was likely happening to him, and that while werewolves weren't supposed to be actually real, he wasn't about to decide that it was merely a hallucination, or that BRW's jock had maybe been laced with acid or something. No, even it was only a fantasy, this at least was much more preferable. His eyes had adjusted, at least, no light switch necessary, the ambient light of the moon more than enough to behold his transformation from human into wolfman, and a rather reubenesque one at that. The fur had traveled over his shoulders by now, claiming his arms while his legs itched and twitched and swelled with great strength to support his burgeoning mass. He spied his tongue dropping out of his mouth as his rear shook, widening and rounding out with flesh and fat, a delectable itch and wriggling beginning at the base of his spine. He panted openly as he felt the wriggling grow in intensity, his balance improving slightly as muscle developed at the base of the appendage, his mind accessing the new signals.

Another belch signaled the next step in his transformation, and he had to lean back to gaze upon the final set of changes, his face stretching and pushing outward into a muzzle, hair shortening to match the rest of his dark fur, neck then pooching and his facial features softened a mite, the fullness finding its way to every part of his frame. A soft crack sounded the completion of his lupine transformation, his toeclaws finding traction in the cheap shag carpet.

So enrapt by the rest of his body, he'd forgotten about his groin, the narrow doorway preventing access now thanks to his grandly girthed gut obscuring his crotch from view save a sliver in the mirror, a deep red spike of male flesh dribbling freely, the length looking like it'd swallowed a pair of eggs whole. Though his scrotum was out of his line of sight, the itchiness of it implied it was furred in the same fashion as the rest of him, and the pull on his body suggested his manly pair had tried their hand at obesity as well.

Curiosity satisfied, he sought another type of relief that would be hard-won in a doorway, and given his new size, he hypothesized that a lazier, more leisurely and languid way of achieving his goals would be by far more preferable. As arousing as climaxing at the realization he was too rotund to squeeze through a door was, the practicality of it paled to the idea of simply rutting against his fat while looking at the moon.

Tearing his shirt off came first, both to ease passage and the thought that an overweight werewolf in a t-shirt just looked silly. With a sudden crack and a lot of shoving backward, the doorframe gave just enough to grant him egress, and he fell backward, thinking quickly enough to turn to spare his tail the agony of whatever his weight was landing upon it. Instead, he landed full brunt on his belly, the flat gutpunch drawing another belch and leaving him at an awkward angle of his muzzle pushed into the carpet, which brought an unwelcome number of scents to his newly minted nose, his belly bearing his weight, his knees ground against his gut, rear in the air, tail hiked and his maleness twitching against his furry underbelly.

It didn't take him long to start humping, imagining BRW spreading him wide and filling him, pushing, flooding his mind with the sensation of stiff flesh moving within him, hammering his sweet spot just enough to spice the sensation of his own gyrating hips to slide his phallus against his fluffy fur.

"Cum..." he growled. He could never have imagined that the word would sound so perfect emerging from his altered mouth, as if it was conceived to be spoken only by those such as he. "Cum..." He simply had to say it again, why wouldn't he? It was the shining example all words sought to aspire to, the pinnacle of language, no greater expression of exultant ecstasy that that word!

"Cum!" He could feel it now, his body finally bringing him an unending feast of bliss, a hundred thousand dam-breaking rivers set free in his body to be channeled through his magnificent phallus!

"CUM!" Yes! It was happening, a great melding of cleansing fire and divine water erupted from his loins, his plumpened form rolling onto its side so he could behold the moon, a belch roaring out of his mouth in place of a howl to carry his love and thanks to the orb in the sky, hoping it would understand every drop that sprayed out of his body was in honor of it. The semen splattered against the wall audibly, his ears twitching to amplify his toothy grin.

In the morning, he knew, this would go away. In the morning, he knew, he would contact BRW and tell him that he had received his gift, and that maybe next month they could both show the moon their respect and love. In the morning, he knew, realizations would descend upon him like vultures to pick and tear at the experience, damage and sully it with shame and fear. He knew this.

But tonight, he was still a wolf, he was still big and round, and most importantly, his loins were hardly spent. Tonight, the moon was still up, and the beautifully round body was certainly worthy of more adulation.

Several more times at least.