Clucking for Transformation

This is a short work of erotic fiction containing furry, or anthropomorphic, characters, which are animals that either demonstrate human intelligence or walk on two legs, for the purposes of these tales. It is a thriving and growing fandom in which creators are prevalent in art and writing especially.

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Clucking for Transformation

Will paused before the last nesting box in the expansive chicken coop. Living together as one big flock, the chickens got the best of their lives, laying eggs and engaging in mental stimulation out in the fox-proof pens. They had to be careful about foxes out there in the country but, so far, Will had managed to keep his little flock safe, working for the farm owner but managing the chickens himself primarily.

"There you go, ladies."

His cap jammed down on his head over a mop of tousled hair, though he only had one box left, reaching within as he felt out the shapes of the eggs. One, two - was that a third? He couldn't quite reach it, stepping to the side for a better view, but the moment that egg touched his fingers spelled the end for him and his happy little time managing the happy little flock.

Will gasped, fingers tingling, an electric thrill shooting up his arm, though everything around him suddenly looked larger than it had been, so much bigger, his body shrinking and seeming to shrivel up as his clothes hung around him, pooling over his head as if he had been swallowed up by a tent. His arms flapped helplessly and yet that single egg was still stuck to him, suddenly seeming huge and daunting, his life twisting and turning, changing before his eyes.

Squalling and beating his arms furiously, nothing he did got the clothes off him in time and it wouldn't have done him any good either, his bones clicking as they ground together, teasing into a new shape even as his skin itched terribly. Even in the dim of his shirt and jacket, laid over his head, he watched his arm sprout feathers - russet and brown ones, the shimmering ones that shone with good health that he'd coveted on his flock before.

No...

He couldn't believe it, would not believe it, fighting tooth and nail even as the nails on his feet became claws. Fighting to kick away his shoes, Will hissed and tried to cry out but all that came from his lips was a warbling sort of cluck that had nothing human at all in it, flapping and beating arms that were no longer just arms but wings, the position where they attached to his body shifting back.

Wings were useless to a chicken though, the egg clinging to the tip of a feather, strung-out there by some otherworldly force that he would never have an answer to. The definition of his body fluffed up with feathers, stomach and chest pooling down into the smooth chest and belly of a chicken, as much as he thrashed and fought it the whole way. To say that he feared what was happening to him was a step too far but never would he have chosen such a fate, even if it was the nature of fate itself to choose him.

Nothing was in his control as his wings spread in a flurry of feathers, moulting as much as he gained, legs scrambling for purchase as his toes retreated into claws, the narrower, bird-like feet not all that stable when one was getting used to them. But Will didn't want to get used to them - he wanted his old body back! What was he meant to do with feet like that, he wasn't a chicken! But the fates clearly thought he was or that was where his true calling in life laying, the egg glowing faintly as it worked its magic, a labour of destiny flowing through its shell into the man turning chicken.

The tail was the strangest bit, his flesh tucking up into the shape of it as he squawked, head rounding, lips thick and clunky. It spread with feathers and that was better but the twisting his internal organs disconcerting to say the least, even his shaft retreating inside his body. Yet the horror of feeling his maleness seep from him was more than he could bear, head spinning, heart pounding, clicking the edges of his beak together in a stress response, flapping and spinning in madly mindless circles.

No... No. She was not a rooster with a thick, luscious tail and crest but a hen ready to lay eggs, a cloaca turning into her under-tail where it was best placed. Even then, the need to be impregnated rose up inside her, a driving need that was almost as bad as the hunger in the pit of her stomach. When had she last eaten? There was probably some seed outside, yes, she should go find that, straight away, yes.

Her humanity slipped from her feathers like raindrops, a beak hardening while her eyes shimmered with a lack of human intelligence. Yet there was nothing else for her as she settled fully into the form of a hen as if that was what she had always been. There was no other memory or recollection in her mind at all of being anything other than a hen, a chicken on the farmyard, the soft clucks and croons of the rest of the hens, some popping into the nesting boxes, soothing to her mind.

With them, she was safe. She would lay her eggs and eat her grain and stay safe at all times.

Ruffling her feathers, she hooked out, squawking and clucking as she got caught up in some cloth. It was none of her concern though as she scurried out the door at a brisk bob, that questing walk that hens had, searching for what drove her days in the grumble of her stomach. Water too - yes. She paused at the automatic drinker, sipping, bobbing her head. That was a start, that was better. What was she doing out in the pen again, the yard of other chickens beckoning her with their feathered, clustered warmth?

With her head down, she clucked and plucked determinedly at the ground, seeking out traces of seed with which to fill her belly. With the flock milling around her, she was just one of the chickens and so she would remain forevermore, tucked in against the side of the mother hen flock, right where she belonged with the best of them.

Life was easy when one was a chicken and she had no intention of changing that anytime soon either.

Clucking and pecking, Will worried no more.