Morgan's Year, Part 3: Pete (Patreon)

I was planning to do Pete and Sasha as a paired chapter, like Daniel and Caitlin, but Pete's part ballooned to over 3,000 words, so we are I guess! Hope you enjoy - one more change to go, and then the reunion chapter!

Morgan the Witch decides to summon her old high school bullies before her, years after she developed her shapeshifting magical powers. Daniel, Caitlyn, Sasha, and Pete are in for a surprise, as she twists their forms in karmic rays, ranging from the more human, to the freakishly alien. Of course, there may be a chance for one of them to return to normal again. But just one.

First Part Here 

Previous Part Here 

Morgan’s Year, Part 3: Pete

Pete

The Mothman clicked its mandibles as it scented prey approaching. It sniffed at the air, humming softly as it determined the nature of its would-be victim.

Human. Good.

Mature, but fertile. Necessary.

Female. Perfect.

The Mothman's wings unfurled as the urban legend jumped from the tree, its dark eyes perfectly capable of discerning its surroundings even in the dark of night. The female had not seen it, and had not yet looked up to where it would soon be. That was good.

The Mothman was once called Pete, and wished to one day be called Pete again, but for now, it simply obeyed its instincts, whatever its mind truly wanted. Those instincts were impossible to fight. The instincts to find a compatible female of child-bearing maturity and impregnate them with his inhuman young. It was an instinct it had given into many times in the last year since it had first changed from a him into an it. As with its previous pursuits of other targets, its body began to produce its powerful pheromones that would place the female into an uncontrollable lust, her mind insatiably craving its seed, until the deed was done, and the Mothman had made its escape.

The Mothman was not sure what processes its instincts followed. Some females were not quite compatible, not for reasons or age or fertility, but because they did not ‘feel right.’ They had an aura about them that its antennae seemed to sense, instructing the Mothman that they were not appropriate targets for impregnation. Across the course of the year, it had formed some base assumptions, however, aided by the mental drives of its former personality, Pete. It had ascertained on some level that its targets either wanted a child, but were unable to find another mate or otherwise produce one, or that they deserved motherhood, as punishment for some social sin. Certainly, in the strange conversations the Mothman had overhead prior to its release of pheromones, some of the women were indeed quite argumentative, or cruel, towards other, less antagonistic humans. Others defied these categories though, so perhaps it was simply theorising.

At least, this was its assumption. Most of the time it didn’t think about such things. There was only the need to mate, and produce young. It did so now, observing the brunette-haired woman as she passed through the park. She was on her phone, a strange device that was familiar and yet alien to its nature. She was discussing, appropriately enough, the Mothman itself. It was now rather famous, although its existence was heavily disputed. Few claimed to truly believe in it, but many women swore that their bulging bellies were a result of the creature, and not their boyfriends, husbands, one-night stands, or otherwise. Even two lesbians could not quite explain their pregnancies without referencing the beast. The Mothman knew this; it had seen a television broadcast through the window of a woman it visited just two weeks ago.

The brunette woman ended her call. She looked up, nearly seeing the Mothman, but failing to do so. Good. As it approached its target silently, the Mothman, as always, remembered the moment it had been cursed to take on the role of urban legend.

***

As that first white light enveloped Pete, he knew Morgan had something terrible in store for him. She had somehow discovered - probably through magic, since magic was apparently real - his many fascinations with creepy urban legends and weird fetishes, and combined them in the most horrifying way. Everyone knew he was a total geek, he had bonded with her over some of that geekdom in that past, but his own private kinks were much more hidden.

He knew even as he started to change that he was becoming representative of them. Pete's back and limbs cracked painfully as they extended in size. He screamed as bony protuberances from below his arms pushed outwards, cracking audibly as they became an insectoid pair of additional arms, rakish claws flexing with uncertainty. His skin grew stiff, then itchy as millions of long, sensitive hairs grew out, down his chest and over his back and all across his thighs. His shirt split open as two painful developments pushed out from his shoulder blades. Somehow, a newborn animalistic instinct meant he already knew they were wings.

His face itched terribly, the skin stretching, his vision altering. He was in a forest somewhere. City lights were in the distance. A park? Perhaps a protected heritage forest? It wasn't sure.

Wait. It? It? Why was it thinking like an it? It had a name. It was Pete. Pete the Mothman. Mothman?

More pain distracted him, centred further on his face. His eyes seemed to shatter - its eyes - before expanding larger and larger, cracking and taking on many facets so that its vision was simultaneously crystal clear and endlessly refracted into many parts. Its mouth remained the same, but its cheeks tore as two mandibles grew out gruesomely, clacking in front of its teeth, which were now quite flat. The fur expanded, and its buttocks too. It gripped it with its four arms, now all partly insectoid in nature, but still it strained and grew. Pete Mothman realised it was no longer making any sounds above a whisper. It couldn't anymore. Yet still its backside grew, rounding out until it was undeniably a furry, soft thorax.

Confusion. Fear. An animalistic drive to do . . . Something. Pete was still there in the Mothman, but the Mothman was in control, and Pete's intelligence and personality was being bent to serve this new urban legend's instincts. More changes followed, the pain thinning as its final form took shape: slightly larger than a man, bulkier too, with a strong musculature. Soft, long tufts of fur covered its chest, back, thighs, upper arms, and neck, the last of which was longer, like a lion's mane. Its skin was dark, almost black, but supple and muscular rather than hard and plated, but for guards upon its shins and two plates over its shoulders. From those shoulders sprang enormous wings, milky white and softly furred, and powerful. Moth's wings.

The new creature still possessed Pete's mind but was now controlled by its own instincts. It moved and skittered in a panic to a body of water, its night vision working perfectly. It regarded its face in the mirrored surface of a pond, curious, though some part of itself still fearful in a very human manner.

It looked like an image conjured up from a supernatural romance. Its face was handsome, jaw-chiselled, mouth firm. White-hair slicked back ran down to its shoulders, and its eyes - golden - were slightly larger than normal. A thin set of mandibles sat at the side of its mouth, yet it was undeniable that its virile strength and handsome monstrosity lent the Mothman an element of intriguing charm.

It continued to stare for some time, until it sensed something.

Movement.

A human.

A sniff at the air and a twitch of thin antennae told the Mothman that had been Pete that a woman was approaching. One - and it wasn't sure how it knew this - of childbearing age.

Something stiffened down below. Something much more impressive than Pete's prior appendage. And more than that, there was instinct. Instinct that gave a release of powerful pheromones to coat the Mothman's thick fur.

Somewhere inside the mind of the Mothman, Pete was terrified. He could feel his powerful and monstrous body bound forwards, wings spreading, taking flight as it rose, seeking its target. He shuddered in fear as his instincts - its instincts - drove it down, down towards a college-aged woman strolling home after a party. But soon that small kernel of remaining fear gave way to bestial lust. It was like something from his darkest fantasies. An urban legend striking from the night to ravish a willing woman. Of course, there was also more to it than that, when it came to his fantasies.

The woman was beautiful. Attractive. Fertile. Long red hair and pert mammaries adorning her chest, barely constrained by her tight dress. Her curves were womanly, hips wide and perfect for the bearing of children. Of the Mothman's young. The creature landed down in front of her, and she was startled, on the verge of a scream. Instinct took over, and the Mothmsn reached forward, brushing its fur against her arm and the hairs of its chest across her face. She pulled back, struggling, until she broke free.

And then her expression changed.

"What the hell are . . . you . . . doing to me!? Oohhh, I feel, mhhm, so fucking turned on by you. What - what are you? I-I neeeeed yoouuu . . ."

The woman fell into his muscular arms, coating herself even more in his invisible pheromones. Her pupils dilated, drunk with lust, and two hard nipples adorning her two perfect breasts strained against her dress.

"Mhhmmm . . . I don't understand. You're a monster. Monsters are real? But I want you. I need you in meeeee . . ."

The Mothman understood its purpose now. It was a predator, and this woman its prey, lured in by its honeyed effects. She writhed against its dark skin, touching its bulging muscles and grasping at its soft fur. The delicious female prey was at its mercy, and now it could fulfil its new role, and fill the female with its young. Just like Pete had fantasised about in the privacy of his bedroom.

Its immense member pressed against her flat stomach - flat, for now. The woman stared at it in awe, before quickly moving to grasp it, manoeuvring herself until she could slide its impressive girth into her most sensitive place. She gasped and groaned.

"Ooohh s-so b-big . . ."

But still she let it enter her, and soon the Mothman began to thrust, slowly at first, gently, but soon with a bestial lust. Its victim writhed, moaning in pleasure with each pump, legs wide to contain the supernatural cock inside her. It did not take too long for the Mothman to release. It made but a small whisper of satisfaction, cradling its victim's head as orgasms rolled through her. In mere moments, she would be unknowingly pregnant with its spawn.

The Mothman left the still sighing woman on the ground, taking to the air to find food and await the arrival of another female to carry its broods. It would not have to wait long.

***

The Mothman suspects it has impregnated several dozen women in the last year. Perhaps fifty or sixty at an upper limit. Each female had begged for its seed. Some were womanly and vivacious, others timid and virginal, many others still in the ripening years of middle age, the door of their fertile period just about to close. All fell pregnant.

One woman was a jogger, early forties. The Mothman snatched her up in the early morning, and following their copulation her later morning jogs were interrupted by strange bouts of nausea. She was one of the first, and she lived nearby.

Over the coming months, even as the Mothman found other prey, it still managed to marvel at the older woman's form as her jogs turned to walks, her belly and breasts swelling as the hybrid twins grew within her. Her belly rounded out, and she became filled with delight, even believing that she had been ‘chosen’ by some divine entity to bear its heavenly young. She disappeared after the birth, moving out of town. The Mothman did not see its young, but it was enough to know they were different, and that the long-term effects of the pheromones worked as well; the mothers of its spawn would find themselves compelled to care for their young, as imprisoned by instinct as Pete now was.

The Mothman saw others. Often kept tabs on its many mates as they grew with children. The first was hard to track down, but it found her across town, flapping on wings to spy in on her second story room. She was confused, frightened as her belly showed the first signs of expanding. But she could not terminate. The pheromones saw to that. She had a reputation, it seemed, as a cruel bully of others. A ‘queen bee’, she called herself. The Mothman did not have a sense of human, but it did find a sense of . . . appropriateness, in her new fate.

Another, thirty years old, a married woman already with two children. She passed off the growing third and fourth - twins - as her husband's, but the Mothman still had enough humanity to see that she knew. She knew, and she kept her window open, hoping to see the Mothman again. Hoping for more visitations: her husband worked late, and her days were chores.

There were many others, including a pair of model twins enjoying a stroll. The Mothman saw them months later heading home with twins apiece in their bellies. Neither seemed too bothered. Perhaps it was what they wanted. Perhaps they were resigned. Perhaps it was a moral punishment for something the Mothman would never know.

A homeless woman viewed the Mothman as a gift, an angel. She bore one of its first, while there was still another three months remaining until its year of transformation was up. It was human-looking, but there was no mistaking the patches of fur nor the nubs of what would become wings. The poor woman, Pete thought within the Mothman's instinctive mind, she thinks she's the new Mary. She begged to be blessed with another angel, and the Mothman was all too willing to oblige her. The pheromones were not even necessary.

That was the Mothman's life. It hunted for food, ate scraps or leftovers, slept within trees and among dark forest spaces. And in the evening, until dawn sometimes, it prowled for soon-to-be mates to impregnate with its young. It did so at least twice a week. Pete would often surface, wrestling against the Mothman's instincts, but his victories were few..

And so a year passed, Pete counting the days, the Mothman relishing each of them silently.

***

The Mothman approached its target, even as it remembered all of this. The target was female, young. Long brunette hair and impressive hips. Her bosom, from what it could tell, was meagre, but they would grow to meet the needs of the young that the Mothman would place within her. It landed smoothly behind her, silently, like the predator it was. She walked without knowing, without appreciating that she would soon be forced to mother the Mothman's young, the long-term effects of the pheromones compelling her to keep the hybrid brood within her and raise it up as its mother.

The Mothman reached out slowly, carefully, and caressed the female's neck with its furred forearm. The woman jolted, spun around in fear, and for the very first time the Mothman experienced fear too. It knew the woman. It knew her well, back when it had been Pete.

It was Cynthia Palls. The female it had once called ‘neighbour.’ The slim woman in her late twenties who Pete had grown up next door to. Who he’d had a major crush on when he was eight. Who had shown him all sorts of cool stuff, like how to ride a bike, and several classic 80s films that started his fascination with geekdom. The girl who had ambitions of becoming a lawyer one day, and was currently studying to do so. She was the one girl he’d always gotten along with, never a bad blood between them, and though they weren’t related, he felt as if she was practically his sister or cousin!

The Mothman took an awkward step back, and Pete's neighbour with her mousy brown hair and round glasses and slim build stared at the creature in horror, followed by growing lust. Pete had never seen Cynthia like this. She had always been driven, dedicated to her studies, having been a lawyer earlier in life. Now though, under the pheromones' effects, she dropped her bag of textbooks and sauntered over to the creature.

Pete tried to resist. He’d never impregnated anyone he knew. The thought terrified him, even as the Mothman encircled its powerful arms around his slim neighbour. She gasped.

"I d-don't understand. What - what are you? Why am I acting like this? Ooohhh . . ."

Together they pulled at her skirt and panties, revealing her already-lubricated entrance. And then the horrifying, and oh-so pleasurable sensation of the Mothman's girth entering the female, and her cries of confused ecstasy. Pete rallied, but it was too late. The Mothman was winning. Its instincts had a constant and terrible need to breed, no matter the target. Cynthia writhed and moaned, her mind under the lustful effects of the Mothman’s secreted pheromones; even if she were aware of the Mothman’s identity, those pheromones would likely have her desperately wanting to become pregnant with her neighbour’s babies.

They bucked, lowering to the ground as the inevitable build to release approached its end. Pete felt his neighbour’s long legs wrap around the Mothman’s form, driving the creature’s member further into her depths. She grabbed at the tufts of its fur, increasing the control of the pheromones as the first of several waves of pleasure rolled through her.

Suddenly, there was a bright glow. A familiar white light enveloped the Mothman. Pete’s mind was joyous. It had been a year! The light began to pull the Mothman away, elsewhere, but as it was pried from Pete's lustful neighbour, the rush of orgasm occurred, and its seed shot from its member. For one long, frozen moment the Mothman looked deep into the dark eyes of his older neighbour, its semen already swimming for her fertile ovaries, and something passed between them. A magical recognition that went both ways.

In the aftermath of orgasm Cynthia’s eyes went wide. The cool, driven, ambitious woman who he’d always looked up to had an expression of complete shock upon her face.

"Pete?"

The Mothman had no time to reply even if it could have. The light pulled it away, leaving the university student dazed, confused, and shocked, the first of the Mothman’s seed beginning to burrow into her ovum. As if somehow knowing what was occurring, she placed a dainty hand over her slim stomach.

“Holy shit.”

But by that point, both Pete and the Mothman were far, far away. And they both knew that whatever happened next, Morgan would be waiting for them.

To Be Continued . . .