April O'Neil: Post Transformation Stress Disorder (Patreon)

Rambling Premable:
I originally set out to just write a short caption for this pic, 

https://www.patreon.com/posts/69839532?pr=true

but it kinda went on and grew as I made adjustments.  By the time I was halfway done, I already had the prequel and sequel events taking shape in my mindheadbrain.   

Was just supposed to be a caption, dammit!
Set after an currently uwritten fanfic where the premise was basically identical to the canon TMNT Catwoman from Channel 6 episode, just with the Turtles swapped out for other known heroes and a heavy injection of XXX content.
I'm not really a writer, but would welcome feedback on the work below, and curious to know whether you guys would consider supporting further writings as paid posts.  Feedback welcome, and if you spot any mistakes, feel free to let me know.)

Post Transformation Stress Disorder

It had been a hard year since April O'Neil's brief transformation into the mind-controlled mutant feline that almost assassinated Dr Charles Xavier.  Logan had been able to cut the collar affecting April O'Neil just moments before she was about to commit a terrible crime, albeit against her will.  

April was used to guilt. Growing up, Sundays either spent at, or skipping church made sure of that, but this was different.  She now found herself unable to look any of those present that day in the eye. Good people, old friends, some of them, and now she felt so distant from them, like she'd somehow broken their hard earned trust.  It wasn't anything anyone said or did, even Sue Storm, who'd previously been wary of a journalist getting pally with her family offered her warmest words of support when offered the chance.  There was just a feeling that quietly tore away at her.  She was tainted now, and didn't belong. 

Although the physical transformation almost fully reverted in a matter of days, (her breasts, it seems had retained some of their mass) the redheaded reporter retained a few faint feline quirks over the coming months.  For the most part, life had returned to normal, and the whole incident had been reported to the public as "Reporter April O'Neil involved in highway collision" to explain her absence from the public eye.

Her later return, with a slightly altered appearance sparked many a rumour of cosmetic surgery among the gossip columns.  Knowing them to be untrue, she was somewhat annoyed by all the sudden speculation from strangers, but had to admit, she really liked how great she looked in all these paparazzi shots, and how many of them there were.  The spotlight felt good, even if most people were talking utter crap, they were talking about her.

Work was going great now she was back, viewing figures for April's segment were on the rise and no one was asking too many awkward questions.  Her reporting style had taken on a cutting, catty tone, or a dangerously flirtatious one, depending on the subject or mainly, her mood.  Folk would tune in just to see what sharp remark or comeback she'd make to slice the oversized ego of the guest, and just how much of her amplified cleavage would be on display that day.

But then there'd be the moments she'd hiss outloud, or would catch herself idley licking at the back of her hand, which she'd taken to keeping sharply manicured in purple, or find herself excitedly salivating at the sight of rat scurrying away.  It was all managable, to a point.  She could stop herself easy enough, but she didn't always realise what she was doing til she was doing it.  Her moods and wants would shift on a whim, so much so that Irma and Vern soon decided to stop going out for double dates as April's fickle and fingerlicking antics would draw the ire of waiting staff and fellow diners alike.  Especially when she seemed bizarelly fixated on the rats on the way home, complaining of hunger after having left her vegetables untouched.

Irma never told Vern about April's time as a homocidal cat-person, perhaps out of loyalty to April, or fear of how Vern would respond, being so vocally anti-mutant.  She wondered if he might think differently of her, or even try to get her fired. She perhaps knew her friend better than anyone; April wasn't a killer and would never willingly put her friends in harms way, and yet something was still off with the intrepid reporter.

Shards of shredded thought that lurked in the recesses of April's mind troubled her, but could be drowned out easily enough with a cocktail or two of vices.  Sure the drink and pills didn't help with her feline tics, sure, Dr X and the others wouldn't approve of her latest diet, but aside from Logan, they'd stopped checking in a while back, besides, she told herself, she had things under control.

It was the heat that came with each months cycle that she really could not control. Oh, the heat!  Once monthly, and with the moon, April's mind would completely fog.  Her pussy engorged with neediness would drip for days with a pungent and exhilarated tang that drove her and others around her wild. These days soon become scheduled "Self Care" days at Channel 6 to prevent any on-camera faux-pas.  Irma would ressure folks at the network that April was fine, and that she was just doing routine physio to recover from her accident, often blushing through the lie as she tried not to imagine April mewling and rutting desperately.

Only, since her transformation, April had found herself unable to really cum, unless she wore a collar fastend around her neck. It quickly became an item to be carried around with her as she'd had to hasitily excuse herself in public multiple times now when her urges had gotten the better of her.  Masturbation only did so much to briefly calm her cravings, and was usually followed up with a text to Casey, "kittys home" or simply an emoji of a heart eyed cat if she was too wound up to type.

Always making sure to stock up on tinned tuna and not make fun when she lapped it up messily on all fours post-sex, Casey, her long term partner was supportive and understanding of April's recovery. He certainly appreciative of her regularly savage libido, though he found the long sharp toenails a little odd and uncomfortable.   He'd grown concerned that the pet-play they'd been exploring together in the bedroom was maybe not the healthiest idea for someone in April's position, but found it hard to be objective while the love of his live lapped at his crotch, nails in his thighs, asserting that she was his "Kitty".

Lots of normal happy couples are into it, she would reassure him, It's not just for mutants and freaks and stuff.  He was onboard, and into it and was starting to get used to being referred to as Master as she paraded for him. Without a doubt it was turning out to be some of the most satisfying and intense fucking they'd ever shared. It would be in the quiet moments, however, after the act when Casey's mind would start flooding with worries about how her bedroom behaviour was bleeding into her daily habits and that the enthused truthseeker he fell in love with was a vastly different person to the unpredictable glamourpuss that sprawled beside him and all over the tabloids, her long clawlike toenails cutting him in the night.  Her short snappy outbursts cutting him during in the day.

It was the moment she cried out, mid orgasm "Yess! Please, Massterr Shredder! Myorr!" in a throaty feline warble, that Casey knew he'd lost her, and it probably happened some time ago.

It was a moment of realization for Miss O'Neil also, a terrible truth and and a devestating orgasm. A terrible truth she had worked to keep buried under a mountain of booze and pills, for the consequences terrified her. She loved Casey, he was everything she could ever want and more, however.. She had never felt more like her true self than when she was a powerful predator under the control of the mysterious masked man known as The Shredder.  A shiver ran down her spine, and a short, bitter discord ran through the apartment punctuated by the slamming of a door and the throttling of a motorcycle down the road.

Casey now gone, toothbrush and all, April alone with her thoughts stared down at her trembling hands with tears welling and rolling from her eyes.

She attempted to follow her thoughts as they skidded through her brain. Would Casey ever forgive her slip up? How would she even find The Shredder? She'd not be able to keep her job and be the willing concubine of a masked criminal, surely.  Did she really want to become a cat again, or was it symptom of her time enslaved and transformed? What if it was permanent? What if she couldn't control it? What does he look like under that mask? What is he doing right now? Why can't she be there at his side?! Her head cocked and tears stopped as she noticed the shade she'd keenly taken to sporting on her long slender nails reminded her of him. Not Casey. 

Him.

Purple, dangerous and shining.

She'd often choose this style when approaching those heated "self care days", and never gave it a second thought as anything more than some indulgent vanity. It was now in this moment of unsuppresed realization, she now viewed her manicure, this time as a reminder or perhaps a tribute to the one once who dubbed her his pet, his slave.

A guilty arousal twinged within her as a sideways glance caught glimpse of the nightdrawer where she kept her most reliable companions.  She throbbed, memories of surrender and submission lurked around the edges of her every thought.  She was still at least a week away from heat, and despite and the tragic rift that had formed just moments prior, she found herself becoming more and more desperate to be penetrated, hard.  To be owned and to belong.

She sniffed a last tear away, maybe she could fix things, throw out all the cat paraphernalia and decor that had began to take over her apartment, get back into therapy, get back to how things used to be, before she changed. Maybe she'd get clean, she mused, start over somewhere far away from all these fucked up people doing fucked up things to each other.  She could figure it out tomorrow, she thought, as she reached absent mindedly for the drawer, fingers clawing the polished wood til they grasped the glass dildo resting there.

With one elegant hand resting on her purple collar and the sextoy's tip pressed against her slick swollen pussy, she leaned back and hestitantly released a whisper of a word between her lips. "Master". The smooth rod found itself hungrily plunged in as she cried out a vibrating rasp of "Shredderrrr!" She gave herself no quarter as she ferociously chased orgasm after orgasm out from herself, as if doing so would eventually rid herself of her unsettled urges.

One moment, she'd be crying out for God to forgiveness, the next she'd be telling God what a naughty little slut she was, as she hungrily thrust into herself, riding wave after wave of salty, creamed climax.

Like many nights before, April would eventually pass out in a blissed out heap, marinated heavily in sex and booze, only now, for the first time in what felt like forever she was all alone.

It had been a hard year for April O'Neil, and she was ready for a change.