The roar of the engines of their bikes made it even harder for any of the Warlock Storm biker gang to remember their old lives. They didn't even understand where the vehicles had come from. Some were fighting the change, others weren't.
Once Kenneth, now mostly K-Dawg, had no reason to resist. As a teenager, he had next to nothing. Now, he was nearly to his eventual age of thirty five, and was muscled and badass. As leader of the gang, he had it all. He didn't even remember his old name, and in this new reality, he had no family, just the Storm.
On the back of his bike was Gretchen/Gregory, looking terrified.
And well he/she might, perhaps it was the old life as a psychologist, but some part of Gregory fought this transformation into the sex hungry biker slut, and was trying to hold on. Trying, and failing. Already recently small breasts had blossomed to C cups swaying under the shirt, and while technically Gretchen/Gregory had a penis, it was a rather tiny (and still dwindling) one, soon no doubt to vanish entirely and be replaced by a neatly trimmed pussy. As alarming as the physical changes might be, that small part of Gregory that held on on his part of Gretchen's mind was even more terrified of the mental changes. Never as a man had Gregory known such lust as Gretchen did.Now, nipples grew hard as increasingly blue eyes danced over the hot form of K-Dawg and others. Gregory was trying to fight this, to remind himself who these people had been though that was hard. Gretchen just wanted that whiney voice to go away so she could get fucked!
Gregory's former wife, formerly known as Judy, but now Jahen, would be of no help in this battle. She'd gone from pale, to tanned, and now her skin was as dark as chocolate, yet the changes into a Jamaican biker bitch went far beyond skin deep. Her clothes had almost completely shifted as well, looking like some sort of sexy nazi biker gear minus the swastika. Jahen rode side by side with K-Dawg, pausing to tear a kiss from his lips now and then. The shy and quiet Judy was essentially gone and never would return.
On the back of Jahen's bike was Joyride. Probably the happiest to embrace being a biker slut, Joyride, once Joyce, took a puff off a joint and laughed every time the speed picked up, eager to go wherever these studs and hot bitch wanted her to, to try anything they wanted. Her red hair fluttered like a banner as she curled around the hot Jamacian's waist.
And then there was Brat and Maureen. Formerly Betty, Brat had only a few femine characteristics left. A soul patch did much to distract others from his still too high cheek bones, and while the dick in his pants hadn't hit full size that it would, it was there. Brat was thin and lean, and if breasts remained at all, they were A cups and would soon be gone all together.
In body, Maureen Waite had changed the least, the already pretty girl was prettier still, and her knockers were much more ample, but gone was any princess like arrogance. Indeed, she felt her mind crumbling under waves of submissive urges. She hoped Brat would boss her around soon. She knew now she was just the gang's slut, to be used and tossed about like a cheap cigarette. While some small sliver of her old self screamed at her that this was wrong, that these people were wrong, most of her was folding like a hand fan. Her clothes had already shifted to whatever cast off T shirts, jeans, and jacket they bothered to give her.
*****
Poor Douglas didn't realize the bikers gaining behind him were anything special. All he knew was he was driving, and then felt that odd feeling again. Disorientation, and confusion took him. Little did he know, more bikers were about to be created as they stopped at a red light.
The victims? A short bus nearby for a rare summer time high school event for honor roll regulars. Three girls, two boys, two adult chaperones, and the bus driver were lucky the redlight had stopped them, or the flash might have caused a wreck. As it was, they saw images that would eventually claim all eight of them.
Sat Jun 27 23:59:39 2015