The morning after

Simone awoke in a state of **** confusion. Her whole body ached, not least her jaw and her tongue felt like sandpaper. The steady throbbing inside her skull only seemed to intensify the more she tried to remember the events of the night before and all this combined to make her mind sluggish and dull. That was why it took some time for her to realise her surroundings. She had awoken, not in the dingy tavern where she had been so brutally defiled the night before, no... this was a proper bedroom. A lavish one at that, and... familiar? It was... her mind strained to make the connection... it was Simon's bedroom!

Simon sat up with a start, mind suddenly racing. What the fuck!? Was it all a dream? But it felt so real! He thought back to the witch, the paste, the tavern and his friends. Could it have all been his imagination? Tearing off the covers he began to inspect his body finding no signs of the femininity the witch had magically bestowed upon him. No voluptuous curves, no buxom breasts. Reaching back behind himself he explored his bud with a finger - no sign of any misuse or ****...

Simon breathed a massive sigh of relief and started chuckling to himself. Gods, what a nightmare! He had never experienced anything of its like before. With a pep in his step he got up and prepared himself for the day.

It didn't take long for Simon's relief to ebb away and for fear and doubt to start niggling at his consciousness. As he bathed, water running down his naked male body, Simon couldn't help but think back to the scene at the tavern where the bodily fluids of several men had coated his face, his... breasts. The images and sensations that accompanied these memories were far from dreamlike, rich with sound, scent and tactile stimulus. The more he thought about it, the more he remembered what it felt like to have a throat full of cock, and his ass reamed hard and deep. Such thoughts at once filled him with deep shame but also something else, a sick, perverted sense of arousal. As he felt his dick harden he quickly pushed the memories away, finishing up and drying off.

As the day progressed it became harder and harder to think of anything else, Simon's mind constantly returning to the debaucherous scene at the tavern so he decided to go out walking in an effort to clear his head. The walk did him good, at least until he spotted his friends gathered around a food vendor's stall. He froze, watching them from afar before deciding to sneak away and avoid them. He wasn't ready to face them with the dream still so vivid in his mind. Unfortunately for Simon he lingered too long - it was Bren who turned and spotted him, immediately calling out and alerting the others before stalking in his direction.

The three men quickly surrounded Simon and peppered him with quesions about his absence the night before. Fortunately they quickly accepted his claims of illness - it was obvious they were more interested in excitedly explaining their exploits than his well-being. Simon's stomach dropped when they started regailing him with their tale of the whore they had destroyed the night before, bile rising in his throat as they described repeatedly sodomising the young woman. Simon's head swam and he reeled away from the group, bending over and vomiting violently into the gutter.

The men collectively groaned in disgust as they looked on, Cain the first to speak. "Ugh, you're proper sick mate... you should get back to bed and look after yourself."

Simon's friends began walking away, eager not to catch whatever it was that ailed their friend. Simon found himself relieved at this as what he saw before him, splattered out onto the cobblestones at his feet almost caused him to faint. There, containing the remnants of his meagre breakfast was a thick, milky puddle of a gooey, white substance. Given his revelation, there was no doubting what it was, the realisation causing him to expel another mouthful before he was able to collect himself to run home.

Simon spent days, then weeks locked away in his bedroom after this. His family worried about him, his friends all but forgot about him. All the while, Simon battled the demons in his head. The realisation and understanding that his experience had all been real was one thing. Something he could have possibly gotten over and moved on from, however there was something far more troubling bothering him. The more he thought about that night, the more it excited him. He found himself reliving snippets of the night in his mind, the memories arousing him intensely. Perversely.

Eventually Simon succumbed to his urges, masturbating to his memories repeatedly in his now dingy, filthy bedroom. He pleasured himself to fantasies of doing it all again, but this time not in a woman's body but in his own, true form. He began to yearn for it, became obsessed with it, so it was no real surprise when finally Simon emerged from his hole seeking to slake his thirst. He washed himself thoroughly and shaved off his stubble, then donned a long, dark coat before slipping out into the night and making a beeline for the peasant's quarter.