Comfort Zone

The witch sits back and regards your naked body. "It's time to bring all the pieces together. I think you've been frozen for long enough." She rests her hands on your foot-hoof but pauses. "What color fur? Even such a small thing could have a huge impact." She thinks for a moment and then nods to herself. "I've got it! You're going to love this."

She starts at the base of your hooves, stroking a coat of fur into existence like she's spreading lotion over your skin. Everywhere her palms touch, a brief, sharp shimmering marks tens of thousands of follicles firing. Her light touch transitions into a deep-tissue massage as she works her way upward. She shortens your calves, stealing inches from your standing height, then softens them, rounds them out, and reduces their muscle mass.

It isn't until her hands are working your knees that you glimpse the color of your fur. It's a soft coat of milk-white fur, splotched with puddles of bubble-gum pink. The unnatural hue grows directly from your skin, no dye required. Other than their color, your spots have the same careless shape as the markings on any holstein cow. You picture yourself covered snout to hoof in the girlish accents, and your ears fold back in defeat.

But as the witch's fingers work up toward your hips, the spectacle of your flamboyant fur coat is overshadowed by other changes. She beefs up your thighs and kneads them into feminine, doughy curves. She grips and applies some muscle to your hips, stretching your pelvis between the sexes, from masculinity to maternity. A sliver of a gap appears between your upper thighs and frames your puffy pussy, exposing your most private parts as if to advertise availability. Your vulva is kept smooth and hairless, but its skin is bleached a pale white.

"You're shaping up to be a shapely babe," says the witch as she caresses your ass into bubble-butt prominence. "Everyone will look at you differently now. Strangers, women, men, even your best guy friends. Oh sure, they'll try to treat you the same as always, but you'll catch their eyes wandering. The moment you turn your head, their gaze will slide down to your breasts, your wide hips, this beautiful behind." She spanks your expanded ass playfully, and it wobbles. "That's what they'll want to do. Touch you. Grope you. Can you imagine your best friend lusting after you? Picturing you when he masturbates? Propositioning you? Get ready for it."

You stretch your freshly freed legs restlessly and consider kicking the traitorous vixen, but a growing part of you is excited to assume your new identity. Besides, you'd look awkward if she stopped now. If you have to become a cowgirl, you'd at least like to be a pretty one.

The witch covers your tail in white fur, finishing the tip with a fluffy tuft of pink. She moves on to your waist, pinching it narrow, sculpting your stomach into a feminine tummy.

"Don't worry, not everyone will be ogling your tits. You'll make new friends. Girlfriends. People you can feel safe around."

A flow of fur follows her fingers up your back and around your ribcage. She gropes your breasts but leaves them bare, pale cream skin topped with strawberry areolas. They're even more naked than the rest of you, lacking the modicum of modesty your fur provides.

You're no bodybuilder, but you've always been stronger than a woman. With a simple squeeze of your shoulders, the witch steals the gift your masculinity has granted you. Muscle turns to fat or simply burns away as she feminizes your upper body. Her hands knead down the length of your arms, thinning them into lithe limbs that would look out of place on a man, then covering them in pink splotched fur to punctuate the point.

Finally, your arms are free-- arms that ten minutes ago wanted to grope and fondle the vixen and five minutes ago strike and strangle her. Instead, you simply stretch and flex, watching the unfamiliar, girlish arms respond to your commands, hands shaking with excitement. You run your hoof-tips through the fur of your thighs, cold points against your skin. Tentatively, you touch your breasts. It feels improper to grab and grope them, even though they're your own. They're softer than you expected, and heavier. You straighten your back to better hold their weight and they jut forward proudly with a wobble.

"Not to brag, but you are turning out so sexy and unique. I can't wait to hear what the internet has to say about you. Even if you don't post the photos yourself, there'll be paparazzi swimsuit pics and fan art on the sites you frequent. The comments section can get awfully vulgar. Think about the private messages you'll get, the dick pics. I wonder if you'll be tempted to follow up with any of them. . ."

She gingerly strokes a coat of fur onto your muzzle, ears, and head. The last remaining patch of human skin is on your neck, and she converts it to cow hide as she smooths away your Adam's apple.

"Done." The vixen says, sitting back.

You cough and swallow, then speak.

"Why--" you stop. Your voice is higher-pitched and resonant. You clear your throat even though you know it won't help. "Why did yooO-- Why did you dooO-- Why did yMoOoo!?" You clasp your hooves over your mouth in shock. You mooed! You lowed like a cow! It was inhuman, a fully-fledged bestial bellow!

The witch falls back on the bed, rolling and laughing. "I wish I had a camera ready to capture that look on your face!"

"Mooo!" you low in growing panic.

"Don't worry," she says, wiping away tears and patting your thigh. "You'll be able to speak fine most of the time. You'll only be reduced to mooing when you get too emotional, too sad, angry, anxious, aroused. . ."

You take a deep breath and open your mouth to speak, but you can feel the embarrassing animal sound in the back of your throat. You nod in acknowledgement.

"Are you ready to see the new you?" she asks, excitement in her eyes. Your mind is instantly off your voice and back onto your body. What do you look like now? What will the world see when they look at you? The vixen takes your hand and guides you to your feet.

Every motion is unfamiliar: the way your body slides across the bed, the size of your hips, the weight of your breasts. You wobble on unsure hooves, tail flicking behind you for balance. The vixen takes your arm, and together, you walk toward your full-body mirror. Each digitigrade step is more confident than the last. You quickly learn not to resist the natural swaying of your hips and tail or the bouncing of your butt and boobs. Your ass cheeks brush against your enlarged, bovine asshole.

You turn to face the mirror and freeze. You're nowhere to be seen. Two strangers stare back at you: One a slender anthro vixen, and the other a curvy cowgirl with pink spots. Curvy cowgirl; the words jump into your head unbidden. It's your new classification, the world's new first impression.

The look of rapt fascination on the cowgirl's face matches what you feel. You blink and she blinks back. You move your head and watch your alien reflection do the same. The cow woman is feminine. She has a big pink splotch over her left eye, long eyelashes, and fluffy ears. Nothing about her body is petite, but she's not fat. She's voluptuous. Her breasts are generous, bare, and natural. You're attracted to her. She's sexy.

You are sexy.

Your heart is beating so hard, you can see its motion jogging your tits. A muscle rises deep inside your stomach, beneath your abs, and your skin flushes with a fuzzy fever. You check to see if the witch is touching you, but she's just standing back with a smile on her face.

"I was going to ask if you like it, but I recognize that flustered, confused look on your silly cow face." She reaches over and gives your nipple a flirtatious tweak. A pulse of heat and pleasure spills into your body, and you gasp. "You're horny, dear. Hot and bothered."

That couldn't be right. It feels so different than you're used to. You peer past your bosom to the puffy slit between your legs and shiver at the sight. Just seeing the feminine sex awakens a host of dirty, nasty thoughts. It's turning you on in the same way seeing any pussy up close would turn you on, but this one is a part of you. You hesitate to touch it, but your mind is begging you to explore the alluring organ that has replaced your dick and balls. The pale skin of your nose blushes.

Your clumsy hoof is cold against the naked flesh. You've lost all feeling in your fingertips, and so the touch of the pussy between your legs is felt only from the opposite direction you're used to. Your nether lips part eagerly to accept the intruder. It has no way to resist. Your pussy just sits there, ready to admit any object you let near it. You feel protective of it. Your hoof picks up some natural lube and slides easier, past your sensitive clit and over your aching, eager passage.

The vixen circles behind you and hugs her arms around your waist. "Aww, my lesbian cowgirl is getting off to the sight of herself!" Her breasts squeeze against your back, and your hairs stand on end. "I'm making the assumption you were straight before the change, but let's put it to the test."

Shay lays on the bed and spreads her legs, giving you a clear view of her dark-skinned snatch. Her white-tipped tail rises between her legs and beckons you over. She rubs her pussy slowly, taking shaky breaths from the pleasure of it. You approach, and her tail curls between your thighs, tickling your pussy. You spread your legs as she slides her fluffy tail back and forth against your folds. Even the lightest touch is enough to send shocks of bliss quivering through your legs, but you want more. You venture a hoof-hand down and press its cold hardness against your wet folds, mirroring the rubbing motions of the vixen's paw below you. The numb, one-sided touch makes it all the easier to imagine that it's her hand caressing you.

You press into your opening. Satisfaction. You cry a feminine moan, but halfway through it turns into a moOoooo!

The witch brings her other paw to her pussy, and her simple back-and-forth stroking becomes a precise kneading. A small gush of natural lubricant wells up from her slit as she pushes her labia together, joining them and smoothing away any hint of an opening. She pinches the protruding peak of her spade, and draws the nub into the beginnings of a shaft. As it swells, its dark skin stretches into raw, vein-traced flesh. Six inches, seven inches, you wonder when it will stop. When it reaches her belly-button, she pinches the tip into a vilpine point as her other hand grips the base, fingers spreading from the girth of a swelling, prominent knot. Satisfied with the beastial shape, she rolls a fold of furry skin around its base to form a sheath. Her new penis promptly pulls itself inside, leaving only the angry red tip exposed.

Lower, she stretches the naked patch of skin that used to be her slit into a wrinkled, empty pouch. Then she massages her stomach, pushing hard, working down toward her groin. She closes her eyes and strains, bearing down. After a tense moment, a lump slips from her belly into her empty sack. Another contraction, another mass drops into her scrotum. Relaxing, she cups her new pair of balls, plumping them up and covering them in a dusting of white fuzz.

Shay looks up at you and winks. "I promised I'd give you a fox cock, didn't I?"

Your hand slows its stroking as you gaze down at the fox's perfect package. You wanted that dick to be attached to you, not her! She's teasing you again. It's a flawless anthro fox cock, from the plump sheathe to the full balls, but it does you no good between her legs where you can't get any pleasure from it.

Right?

You're still staring. There's an eager emptiness building inside of you. Your thick hoof-finger slides deeper into your vagina in an abundance of new lube. It's just as thick as her cock, but not nearly as long. It's water on your parched lips, partial relief, but it doesn't quench.

"You want it inside you. I can tell. All you have to do is crawl up on this bed and present that sopping pussy to me, and I'll give you what you want."

This is ridiculous; you're not gay. Sure, you get off to pictures of fluffy beastial sheathes that look just like that one, but that's only because you're imagining yourself growing one. Isn't it? But you're a woman now, so is being turned on by a dick straight? All these questions billow through your brain around a single constant truth: you want her to fuck you with that cock.

Shaking, you climb onto the bed. You're unsure how to proceed. Do you simply lay back and spread your legs? You lean against the pile of pillows and timidly move your feet apart, opening your thighs and presenting your pussy.

The faux-vixen's eyes light up. "You poor, poor dear. You're putty in my hands. You melt for me." She grips her sheathe and a couple girthy inches of her cock slide into the air. "How about we make it interesting. As payment for giving you the satisfaction you desire, I'll also change you a little more. What do you say?"

Change you more? She thinks you're going ask her to change you after what she's done? You pause. You're desperately horny. Agreeing will give you the satisfaction you crave, and the thought of changing further drops a coal into your belly. Arousal burns through your veins like whisky, dissolving your inhibitions, opening your locks, urging you to make a decision you know you're going to regret later.

You nod.

"What was that? I want to hear you say it."

You swallow and speak. "Fuck mee--" you swallow a moo. "Fuck meoOooo!" You let it loose. "MoOooooo!"

She shows her pointed teeth. "Get on those hooves. I wanna take you like the animal you are."

You obey, turning onto your hands and knees. Your tail whips restlessly behind you, fanning cool air on your sopping wet pussy. She positions herself behind you and gropes your large, feminine butt. You low impatiently.

"You're such an eager slut. I love it."

She pulls your tail aside and presses her hips against yours. The point of her penis nestles against your folds. You twist and adjust your body, desperate to spear yourself on the hot, solid shaft. Then, you hit the angle just right. The head of her cock slides between your well-lubricated lips and sinks into you. You freeze and gasp, eyes wide, at the alien pleasure of someone else entering your body.

Shay doesn't wait for you to move. She presses forward until the hairs of her sheathe tickle you, then grabs a hold of your waist and starts to thrust. Each frantic jab pushes deeper into your clenching passage as more and more of her dick is freed from its sheath. She grunts and moans, mating you like a beast, using you like her personal sex toy. The motion has your breasts slapping against your arms.

Your quivering passage eagerly engulfs every inch of her girthy shaft. It's impossibly hot, and you can feel it deep inside your belly. God, she's so deep in you. She's thick too, thick enough that your vagina stretches tight around her cock. Intense arousal converts any pain into searing pleasure. You rock your hips, but she's in complete control, and you love it.

Soon, the bulge of her knot starts to tap against your outer lips. It's impossibly large, and it's terribly insistent. Tapping turns to knocking turns to pounding at your opening as it demands entry.

"You're pretty tight for a cow," the witch grunts, "but I like it."

She leans forward, bouncing breasts pressing into your back, and slides her paw down between your legs. Her pad grazes your clit, and you clench around her dick as you moo a bestial moan. The intense rush of sensitivity from your clit melts into the familiar electric tingle of her magic.

She's changing you again. What will she make you more feminine or less human? You anticipate your alteration with excitement. Adrenaline shoots through your veins and pools into your pussy and nipples, causing them to flush and throb.

Shay's hand travels upward to your waistline. She clutches and gathers the little flab you have into a swelling mound. At first you think she's making you fat, but then you feel that familiar water-balloon vibration in the expanding bulge. It brushes against your thighs and hangs heavily beneath your belly button. Soon it's large enough to jostle with your breasts as she continues to thrust into you.

You're growing an udder.

You low another beastial, resonant moo, relishing the inhumanity of it. Shay is your owner for the evening, using your body how she wants, deciding your very fate, and all you can do is learn to love it. And you have learned. You can't really hate hooves and cows and gender shifting. After all--

You love being a curvy cowgirl.

When her fuzzy balls start to slap against your new udder, she stops its growth. She pinches two pairs of teats into existence, and each one's a rich erogenous zone. Her hand lingers on your fully-formed udder, groping its mass and teasing your teats just because she's wants to, because she thinks it's hot.

She presses her hips hard into your rear, her knot opening you impossibly. It aches, but in your lust-addled mind, pain and anxiety are reduced to simple elemental intensity, and right now you're hungry for more. You lean back, and that extra pressure pushes her knot past the critical point. It thuds home. Her meaty knot and shaft throb inside your straining passage, filling you more than you thought possible.

Each time you relax your aching vagina, the knot pulls against it, threatening to slip free, but the extra stretching pressure makes you clench in pleasure, pulling the swollen bulb back inside. Every greedy squeeze brings a wave of ecstasy, the next always coming before the last one ebbs, and so your conscious thoughts are submerged in rapture, drowning into orgasmic, rhythmic-clenching bliss.

It's only when you feel a new liquid warmth flooding your passage that you snap back to the present. Shay's balls clench and churn against your udder as she cums, filling you with jet after jet of her hot spunk. She rides out her own climax, then falls against your back, panting, dick twitching occasionally.

"Ahhhh. . . You're a great fuck." Shay says with a sigh. She pets your back lazily, blunt claws scratching through your coarse fur.

You start to sober from your inebriating lust, and the reality of what you've just done, what you agreed to, what you've become, weighs on you. You groan and peer between your legs, pushing your boobs aside to give you a view of your new udder. It's about as large as one of your breasts, light pink, with teats that aren't larger than the ones on your breasts.

"It's smaller than I thought it'd be," you say in a woman's voice that you still don't recognize.

The vixen lifts her leg and turns around, settling on all fours with her ass pressed against your own, swollen dick still lodged inside.

"It's big enough to fill out some custom mom jeans, I think. Cows have big, swollen udders, but you're not a cow yet; you're just a heifer."

"Heifers turn into cows after they give birth, right?" you ask, tugging fruitlessly to separate yourself from the vixen.

She lays down, settling in for a long wait. "Yup. Of course if you wanna stay a heifer, you might want to drop by the pharmacy tonight for some plan B. . ."

Your eyes shoot open, and you picture the millions of sperm swimming through your uterus seeking out your eggs at this very moment.

She cranes her neck and flashes you a foxy smile.

"That is, unless you're ready for a whole new sort of transformation."

-The end.

(Author's note: I hope you enjoyed reading! Please consider leaving a comment.)