. 01: the Double Trap

Author's Note: This story is merely part one of two! Part two will be arriving once it is written. Enjoy~

*****

Bruce Robert Kinsey knew that today was going to be a weird day when he walked into shop class after school and found one of his classmates holding a raygun to her head. And that was saying something, considering that this week had been

packed

with weirdness. In fact, the weirdness of the week was why he was walking into shop class after school let out - and why he walked in holding a cold iron candelabra made of scrap metal and dusted with salt and splatters of dried candle-wax. On Monday, he had helped get a ghost out of her haunting.

By fucking her.

On Tuesday, he had negotiated a careful treaty between the Winter and Summer Courts of the Fey, mediating the spat that had required trips into the Feylands through mirrors activated by special code phrases and sacrificed chickens. In the end, he had found resolution between Princess Snow and Queen Leaf-Fall.

By fucking them.

On Wednesday, he had run into the most gorgeous were-panther that he had ever met. Of course, said were-panther had been the

first

and so far

only

were-panther that Bruce had met, so there wasn't a lot of competition. But the man had been almost six feet of pure, ebony black nubian

god

who looked like he should have been playing Black Panther in the latest Marvel movie. His issue had been that he was hunted - stalked from city to city by his own twin brother. Bruce had helped settle

that

.

By fucking the twin brother.

Afterwards, he had fucked the were-panther too. But that had more been due to the fact that Bruce

really

could not get enough black cock that day. It had been an acquired taste, all things considered. Finally, on Thursday, Bruce had had finally run into a problem he couldn't

just

fuck his way out of. No, the wax-witch that lived downtown and had been stealing tiny bites of essence from people through specially enchanted sex-store full body mannequin fucktoys had required wax-play to relieve her pressing spiritual issues.

And now...

Friday.

Friday, he walked in to see one of his fellow teenagers about to commit suicide with a dime store ray-gun toy. Bruce sighed, looked at the ceiling, then ducked his shoulder forward. He crashed into the slender girl, grabbing the gun and forcing it away from her head. Her eyes flashed open and she squeaked, then shouted: "No, wai-"

Then the raygun went off. Rather than producing a spray of sparks, as most cheap ray-gun toys did, the raygun fired off a blast of rainbow pink energy. The energy hit the ceiling, rebounded, hit the floor, rebounded, bounced off one window, skidded around the corner, then struck a hideous metal modern art structure sitting on the curving desk that ringed the shop class. Finally, it flew out and slammed into Bruce's chest. He went flying backwards and hit the wall with a loud CRASH. Bruce fell forward and hit the ground face first, groaning.

Jean - Bruce's ghostly girlfriend and Al Calavicci to his fuck-based Sam Beckett - floated through the doorway, looking at the ghost of an I-phone that she had gotten last week to help keep track of everything Bruce had to deal with. "Bruce, I-" she stopped, blinking as she looked at the tableaux before her. "What the

fuck

is going on!?"

"I'm fine..." Bruce groaned, his hands pushing himself up from the floor. A wave of jet black hair covered his face - blocking his eyes - and he reached up to brush his hair aside, revealing that his chin had become narrower and more refined, his brows thinner and less bushy. His nose was now elegantly arched. His throat was smooth and his pale skin seemed even more spotless. And, of course, he had an amazing rack.

"EEE!" Bruce sprang to

her

feet, gaping down at the tits jutting against her shirt.

"Well..." The thin girl - her glasses knocked askew, her face twisted with anger. "At least I know the thing

works

now." There was a perfect moment of silence. "You fucking

cunt

."

Bruce - Bridgette - shook her head, her hands going to her thighs, then between her legs. She squeaked. "My dick's gone! I'm okay with that. And I am

not

okay with that!" She said, biting her lip, looking at Jean. "Jean, what the fuck is going on?"

"My name's Gwendolyn," the thin girl said, staggering to her feet and grabbing the raygun off the ground. She pulled the trigger, but nothing came from the barrel but a spurt of smoke and a faint scent of pines and woodsmoke. She scowled, then threw the raygun at Bridgette. Bridgette squeaked, ducked, and managed to avoid the raygun before it hit the wall behind her and shattered into several pieces. Bridgette stood up.

"Whoa!" she said, hurriedly moving to put a large desk between her and Gwen. "Uh, lets calm down here for just-"

"I worked for WEEKS on that thing!" Gwen shouted, grabbing a saw blade from the tablesaw that sat near the center of the room. She yanked it free and hurled it like a Frisbee at Bridgette. The blade hummed as it cut through the air and Bridgette flung herself flat on the ground as the sawblade crashed into the wall and stuck, humming faintly. "Do you know how HARD it was to steal that much unobtanium!?"

"From Avatar?" Bridgette asked, sticking her head slowly out from around the table - in time to see that Gwen had gone for a sledgehammer and was holding it up, a mad glint in her eyes. Bridgette swore and scrambled backwards, getting to her feet just as Gwen hefted the hammer up and over her head, tottered backwards slightly, righted her course and started advancing, her nose flaring as her eyes flared.

"It's a REAL engineering TERM!" Gwen snarled, her voice almost breaking at the high points of each word. "It refers to ANY MATERIAL that fulfills the requirements of an engineering project that doesn't normally exist in NATURE!" She swung the hammer and smashed the linoleum of the shop class floor, sending up a spray of chips and bits of plaster. "JAMES CAMERON DID NOT INVENT IT! Stop fucking making FUN of the movie for THAT ONE WORD!" She snarled. "There were BIGGER structural PROBLEMS with AVATAR!"

"We're getting sidetracked here!" Bridgette said, backing against the wall.

"You can say that again..." Jean said, eyes locked on Bridgette's bust. "Damn, Bruce, you're

loaded

in any form, aren't you?"

Gwen panted, then hefted her sledge up.

"I'd hit her with a sig charge, right now," Jean said.

Bridgette gulped, then focused. She was an Alpha and an Omega - in the pack structure of werewolves, the sacred keepers of the balance and appointed wardens of the spirit realm, there were three forms of wolf. Alphas were able to initial erotic encounters with ease, seducing people at the snap of a finger or with a single smoldering glance. Betas were able to prolong and extend romance - being the perfect long term mates and partners. Omegas were those whose magic allowed them to...well...give mind shatteringly good orgasms. Omegas were vital for their ability to resolve many supernatural conflicts with a few thrusts, strokes, or slurps.

Being

both

gave Bridgett a great deal of power, and over the past three months of being a werewolf, Bridgett had

practiced

. She thought of her power as being a collection of 'charges' - discrete bundles of

power

created by tantric sex. The better the sex, with the more important a person, the more powerful those little packets of magical energy were. She called them minor and significant charges. She felt one of the significant charges that she had roiling in her soul, gathered from the last Fey she had fucked into unconsciousness and, with a single thought, released the charge into her body.

There, the magic of an alpha did it's thin and for a single moment, Bridgett looked like she belonged in the center of a glamor shot on a magazine cover, like she was the center of a soft focus camera shot in a cheesy but romantic movie, like she was the focus of the world and she knew it. It was like all of these things...and yet...not the same. For each of those

things

had a wiff of artificiality, a denuding effect that washed away reality and grit and imperfection and left only a hollow shell of a woman. Bridgett didn't have any of those missing pieces as she stood there - none of that sense of the unreal.

In that moment...she was beauty incarnate.

Gwen stood stock still, the sledge falling from nerveless fingers. Her cheeks tinted red and she whispered. "W-Wow..."

"Now," Bridgett said, her voice still holding the resonant sultriness that came with the aftereffects of burning a sig charge - the effect fading only slowly as she stepped forward to lay her hands on Gwen's shoulders. "Lets start from the top. Okay?"

###

There were a lot of places to talk at school and Bridgett's favorite was the roof of the locker room - reached via scrambling ontop of the perpetually closed dumpsters that were parked near the fire exit into the girl's locker room. Once there, one could look at the track, the field, the forests that surrounded the edges of the suburbs. Once, when Bridgett was Bruce, she had thought that the suburb's forests were nothing more than an EPA gone wild and a distressing lack of concern for racoons. Now, she knew it was because of the subtle and not so subtle machinations of half a dozen supernatural forces.

The shadowy world that she was trying to peacekeep liked their dark woods.

"Well," Gwen said. "I'm not in the right body."

Bridgett nodded. "Trasn, huh?" She knucked her shoulder. "If so, your gun doesn't work - I'm a

girl

. A girl-ray-"

"It was a gender switching ray," Gwen said, irritated. "If you had been a girl, you'd be swinging snake right now." She sighed slowly. "And now, I need to build another one. Which means I need to..." she trailed off, shaking her head. "S-Shit, I'm here, moping about myself, and I haven't even

begun

to...I mean...you!" She looked at Bridgett. "I know what gender dysphoria feels like...it

sucks

. Like. A lot."

Bridgett sighed.

"Well, fortunately!" Jean said, floating up and sticking her head out of the roof. "Werewolves are

awesome

and don't suffer from hormone induced brain dumbness. Or whatever it is that cuases transness." She snorted. "Ain't that right, Bruce?"

"Bridgett," she said, smiling at Gwen. "That's what you should call me now. Since I used to be Bruce so..." she shrugged. "And don't worry, I'll handle it. I'm more worried about the whole stealing unobtanium thing." She coughed. "No offense, but that sounds a bit dangerous. And I don't even know what that is."

Gwen frowned, looking at her hands. "I understand the concern, but B...but Bridgett, this isn't your problem. I'll deal with it, I'll get a new ray gun. And this time, I'll make it work twice. Deal?" she asked, holding out her hand to Bridgett. Bridgett looked at the hand. She took it, shaking it.

"Deal."

Gwen shoved herself forward, her feet going over the edge of the gym and bringing her down onto the dumpster. As she hopped off and started to run off, Bridgett groaned and flung herself back, her eyes closing as she squirmed - her pants felt too tight and not tight enough at once, while her boxers? Forget about it. Her breasts ached and her lower back ached and she just wanted to wake up and have a dick again tomorrow morning.

"Well, um," Jean said, her voice a touch subdued - when Bridgett opened her eyes, she saw that Jean was looking at the horizon, watching Gwen run away. "This is going to be an interesting weekend, huh?"

Bridgett groaned, low and miserable in her throat. "Just kill me now. I'll rez as a man."

"Not...how that works," Jean said, snickering. "Come on. Get to your feet. Lets figure out what we tell your mom..."

"And Dad..." Bridgett said, sighing as she laid back on the roof, letting her head bump against the flat tiles that the school had used to cover the roof. They were pale white - reflective, to cut down on heating costs. Bridgett shifted back, grumbling under her breath. "This has been the worst week. You said being a werewolf was going to be

fun

, Jean."

"I actually never said anything of the sort," she said, sighing as she laid on her belly in the air, floating over Bridgett, looking down at her. "I just said you'd get laid a lot!"

Bridgett smiled. "That's true."

"And you help people," Jean said, quietly, reaching down to slide her finger through Bridgett's chest. The ache - the feeling of

not

being able to touch Jean - flared through Bridgett as she watched that finger slide through her skin and clothes without actually feeling it.

"That's nice too," Bridgett said. Then, grinning, she sat up. "Lets look on the bright side. Being a werewolf has destroyed all former heteronormative parts of my personality." She paused. "Still not

sure

how I feel about that. Feels a bit like magical conversion therapy."

"Save, A..." Jean said, floating around him casually. "It

actually

works and B, there's no electrocution involved."

"What about the lightning elf?" Bridgett asked.

"That doesn't count!" Jean said. "You were a guy at the time."

Bridgett grinned. Thinking of the time spent with the lithe, luminous blue girl made a tingle run along her body. Every bit of her skin seemed to be alive with sensation as the tips of her breasts tightened. She felt warmth and heat gather between her thighs and she crooned, quietly. She let her fingers slide along her breasts, caressing herself through the silky texture of the tee-shirt that she had tossed on this morning. She found her nipples poking through and crooned. "Mmm..."

Jean grinned, then settled in to watch as Bridgett bit down on her lip. The Alpha and Omega sat up, grabbing her shirt and tugging it over her head, tossing it to the ground. She cupped her breasts, squeezing them as she gasped. "A-Ah...does it always feel this good for girls?" Bridgett whispered as her thumbs rubbed her own nipples. "Mmm..." She pressed her thighs together, squirming slightly as she felt moisture slide along her thighs, soaking into her boxers.

"Well, you

are

a werewolf. But yes, I...kinda..." Jean shrugged. "I've cum a few times from getting my nips sucked. Being a werewolf is

awesome

, I keep telling you."

Bridgett grinned and then laid back on the roof - spreading her thighs and pushing her jeans down just enough to expose her pussy. Her hairless sex gleamed and she tried to figure

that

logic out - as a man, she had been hairy as heck. As a woman, she was

smooth

as if she had been waxed. But then again, he had never noticed Jean growing hair down there in the several hundred times he had eaten her out while she had been alive.

Bridgett slid two fingers into her sex and gasped as pleasure rocked through her body - distinct from the

focused

sensations that came from masturbating a cock. That had been a steady, focused build up, building towards a tightening sensation and then a spray of cum - something feral, fierce and decidedly...masculine. Or maybe that was just how she felt it. But this? This seemed to center around her fingers, then radiate outwards to buzz along every bit of her skin. Her nipples became even harder and seemed to ache with the desire to be caressed, to be kissed, to be suckled. She moaned quietly and started to rock her hips, her fingers slipping in and out, her thumb rubbing her clit as she gasped and panted softly.

"Yeah, jill yourself right there..." Jean murmured, softly. "Pinch your nipples too - don't forget to tug on those cute little titties..." She grinned, fiercely. "Fuck, I wish I was solid right now. I'd fucking rock your world. I

love

introducing straight girls to the wonders of lezdom."

"Not straight!" Bridgett moaned as her free hand cupped her left tit, squeezing and twisting her nipple - roughly enough to make her squeak. But that squeak dissolved a moment later into a thick, eager moan as she arched her back. Juices spurted around her fingers and she lay back down, panting heavily, her skin glistening with sweat as she lay there, eyes half closed. "Ahh..."

"I say that your gender swap resets your seXP..." Jean murmured. "We'd need to te...where did your clothes go?"

Bridgett sat up, her eyes widening as she looked over the roof.

Her clothes were gone.

A gust of wind blew through the school, slipping along her sweat streaked skin and Bridgett shivered, cupping her breasts with one arm, her other hand still covering her crotch as her entire skin turned bright red. "S-Shiiiiiiiit!" Bridgett whispered.

"Don't worry!" Jean said, holding up her hands. "School's out! No one is here!"

A babble voices echoed from the pavement that ringed around the locker room - an excited mixture of male and female voices, chattering to one another as students walked through the school. Bridgett pressed herself forward against the roof to hide as much as possible - trying to not moan as her sensitive nipples touched the cold, smooth roof. Bridgett thanked God that werewolves were a bit tougher than normal people - she wasn't sure a normal human girl would

enjoy

rubbing her hard, sensitive nipples against a wind chilled stone tiled roof. Still, peeking over the roof, she hoped that

maybe

she would get lucky and the people walking by were heading for a classroom or something.

Not that she knew why they would, as all the classrooms were

locked

.

The students down there were a motley collection - seniors and juniors by their ages and the fact they all smelled eligible to her nose - but their clothing was...strange. Their leader - a somewhat overweight boy with round cheeks and long blond hair that was tied back into a pony tail - was dressed in a flowing red trench coat, with foofy ruffs around his wrists, high boots that looked recently polished, and he held in his hands a deck of cards which he shuffled. To the left of him was a very overweight girl - Asian, with short black hair, dressed in very thick leather, with long gloves and white goggles strapped to her face. There were a pair of nerdy boys that looked as stick-figure-scrawny as Bridgett had been before she had been turned into a werewolf. They were both wearing black shirts, black pants, black sunglasses despite the fact the sun would be setting in an hour. Finally, following up the lead was a fairly pretty girl wearing elf ears (they weren't real, Bridgett could tell) and a frilly green dress that ruffled around her skirts as she walked behind the group.

"Okay!" The leader said. "Mr. O'Hare said that it was fine - just stay away from the front of the school, cause we don't want to scare anyone."

"Mortals..." the Asian girl said - her voice overdramatic.

Everyone laughed softly.

Bridgett turned her head to Jean, then mouthed the words:

What. The. Fuck?

Jean shrugged.

The leader turned to the group. "Okay...wait, here's Mikey?"

A boy dressed normally hurried around the corner - he was the youngest looking of the group, a full head shorter than the leader with black hair, rich black skin, and the most un-black affect that Bridgett had ever seen. But to be fair, the last black people that Bridgett had interacted with had been were-panther kings from Africa, so it was a bit unfair to try and draw similarities between

them

and what appeared to be an eighteen year old nerd from the suburbs of California. Panting, Mikey came to a stop.

"Sorry," he said. "Just needed to make sure I had everything. Okay!" He stood, rubbing his hands together. "The other group is going to be here soon - and then we can start this session."