Cursed 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.

All work is fiction intended for fantasy only, regardless of content, and consent must always be acquired when engaging in any sex act with another adult.

Please note that all characters are clearly over eighteen and written as such in all stories.

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"Here you go, darling... I thought you would like it."

Helena smiled, the petite brunette sitting back in her favourite armchair, the Christmas tree up in the living area of their home, though it was more comfortable for her that her son, Maxwell, was still there and living with her. She had never wanted him to move out too early, though it had been a struggle to keep him going to church on a Sunday, but he had so much college and work to do and, well...he deserved a break.

Maybe even more than he realised, Maxwell turning the figurine of a cow over in his hands. It seemed to be a caricature, the udders larger and the smile pronounced, but it did not seem to be a dairy cow either. It was not the sort of thing that he would have wanted for Christmas, that was fair, but he still had to be gracious about it.

"Uh, thanks, mom," he said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes, but he wanted to be polite after she had gone to the effort for him. "I'll put it up on the shelf right away..."

He shook his head, clearing his throat. Was there something stuck in his throat? Hm... No, no... He was being silly, yes, it had to be just the strain of the season, for celebrating coming together with family and the birth of Christ always seemed increasingly different every year.

And yet Maxwell could not have imagined what his mother actually had in store for him, wanting him to do more. He didn't need to work all the time, after all, but the break that she had in mind would involve more work for him too, as his hands thickened and he stared at them, wide-eyed.

"Uhhh... Nnnnnnn..."

He couldn't talk, panic flooding his chest -- though it was swiftly overcome with warmth, a soft sense of numbness that clawed its way into his body. His fingers were too thick, going grey and pressing in together, the figurine slipping from them and rolling across the hardwood floor of the living room. The cow figurine may have disappeared under the Christmas tree, but his mother was there too, standing, her long, modest dress growing tighter and tighter as her body grew.

For there was so much more fat to come, thickness of her body, bursting the seams of her dress as she joined her son in debauchery that, honestly, should never have come through. Yet not even Helena had known that such a figurine was going to transform them like that, not as the wrinkles smoothed from her face and her ears tugged up, growing larger and rounder, into thick ovals that twitched back and forth. Her long, brown hair had hung down far past her shoulders, but would no longer caress her small frame, no, not as the figurine took control of their lives.

For it was not only for her son to transform. Maybe Helena would have panicked more if she had not been so greatly influenced by the figurine, tipping forward out of her chair as her body exploded in thick, lustful rolls of fat. Oh, she was glorious, feeling so safe, so secure, in her body, even as her skin prickled in a coat of short, brown hair, a tanner, darker shade than what was coming to life all over her son's body.

He grunted, licking his lips, but what came from his lips was no longer a human tongue but a thick, bovine one, wet and slurping in a lash against the side of his face. Before Helena's eyes, his face bulged out and out and out, though the flicker of panic in his gaze was swiftly quashed as his neck thickened too, ears twitching into those of a cow, darkening to black.

No... He was not brown but he didn't need to be brown, not as his mind fell soft and easy, remembering his humanity but...not exactly longing for it either. It was just not something that seemed all that applicable as his legs thickened and he pushed down onto all fours, his feet exploding through the trainers that he had been wearing as hooves instead. They pointed forward, cloven, and he grunted, his spine lengthening to fit a new bovine form, the heaviness of horns straining from his skull aching through his head.

It was short-lived, however, the strain and the flash of discomfort, as he grunted and licked his lips, letting out a bellow.

"Mmmmmoooooo!"

It was not a human noise, but neither did it have to be, not anymore, not as he shifted his weight, his arms growing shorter to match up to the length of his legs, a quadruped. He swung his increasingly blocky, chunky head back and forth as his mother moaned in the shape of a cow too, though she did not seem to mind it. Frankly, Maxwell could not see why anyone would mind it, when everything as cattle, a bull, felt so safe and comfortable, as if it was the form that he was always supposed to slip into.

The weight of his body held him there, his face softer with fat, though most of the weight gain came to his sides, billowing with softness, heaviness that sagged and swayed around his belly. It dragged down and would have slowed him down too if there had not been so much muscle under his short coat of dark brown, nearly black, hair -- not thick enough to be fur, but certainly applicable to the hide of cattle.

And his cock... As he looked at his mother, the heavy spill of her udders under her body, a little pink at the tip with the teats and darker where the skin was covered with that short coat of brown hair, his lust rose. His shaft thickened, a sheath pulling around the base, big and meaty, and the balls of a bull swelled to life, throbbing with the life and vitality of seed.

He strode towards his mother, even if he was not fully transformed, the beautiful cow before him no longer one that he saw as his mother. How could Maxwell see her like that, when she was so young and fertile? Of course, that was just as a cow, her body matching up to his in terms of her ability to reproduce, and his cock twitched with a drooling smear of pre-cum, aching for release.

Yet she was ignorant to the implications of all that she had, inadvertently, done, as Helena's son mounted her, fucking her through her transformation, though it took a few rampant thrusts to get his breeding spire into her pussy. It slipped into her, finally, with a wet slop, her heat closing around him, udders jiggling beneath her body. Helena moaned, but it was only a cow's moo, the sound that a breeding cow would make when her stud bull was on top of her.

Her life... Yes, she had been a woman, but her back no longer ached, not even as her spine lengthened, bringing her tail out as she lashed it back against her son's underbelly. All Helena could do was moan and grunt, side reverberating with quivering shudders of flesh, her vastly overweight, weighty body pulled down against her son's cock, taking him as if she had always done it.

For it felt right to have him inside her, need building, lust rising. All she wanted was for Maxwell to keep fucking her, shaking her head back and forth, her large ears flopping and twitching, though it was not as if Helena felt like she was all that much in control of her body, no, not yet.

She would try, shaky on her hooves and trying not to bump too much into the abruptly claustrophobic confines of their living area, shifting her weight, grunting, moaning. Her head hung low in breeding submission, lost in how good it felt to be fucked, to be stuffed full, the lewd smack of his balls echoing through the room as they bounced off her udders with every thrust.

More, yes... He heaved and bellowed, sides thick with jiggling fat, but he neither could stop nor wanted to stop, for the true depths of the transformation that had come to pass was not something that either could have anticipated, even if they had understood the true powers of the figurine from the get-go. His mother's high expectations for her son fell by the wayside, the mind of a cow no longer appropriate for such things, revelling in pleasure, the heated squelch of his cock sinking into her, again and again.

And Maxwell could not help from speeding up and up and up, reaching a furtive, hasty sort of climax with a stomping bellow and lash of his tail. With the spending of his seed, their bodies reached the final moments of their transformation, appearing to be a normal cow and bull, his mother with a lighter tan coat of hair while he was thicker and darker, dark brown to black over the points of his body. The bull stomped and bellowed as he slammed into her, spending thick, wild ropes of seed into her pussy, her sex pulsing around him, but the bull was not thinking of her pleasure.

Only breeding. Only sex. Only lust. He licked his lips, sliding from her when he was done, as if he had no concern for her pleasure. Yet that was not something that he thought about anymore, not when his desire was so closely tied up in breeding need, the need to seed her full and ensure the progression of his line. That was how creatures like them, after all, survived, how their species continued.

More than that... Hm, strangely enough, Maxwell could not remember anything more other than that vague notion. The bull licked his lips, eyes dark and dull and calm. Ah, well, there was no sense in worrying about it anyway.

They got out of the house, smashing furniture and squeezing down the hallways with their thickly overweight bodies forcing through the corridor. They were only fortunate, indeed, that Helena had left the back door unlocked and open earlier so that they could storm out and make their way out to the fields, even if not the wilds. No, the lands around them, open and agricultural, even if there were more meadows and wild areas too, were not soft on livestock like them, but they would find a way and they would make do.

They still had their instincts, after all, staying alert, breeding, eating, drinking, sleeping and fucking time after time again, nothing else existing for them. They had all the grass in the meadows and around copses, like huddles, of trees that they could eat, their lips and teeth hungrily tearing up great chunks of it. They had big bodies, after all, to sustain, and their bodies only trembled with more fat with how much they ate.

It was as if they no longer had any purpose in the world other than the fuck and to eat, sometimes sleeping, but, well, lumbering awkwardly to their hooves again afterwards for the bovines was a time and energy consuming feat indeed. They preferred to eat and to fuck, letting their old lives slip away, no longer thinking in active thoughts that they could control but more in passing images and impressions, emotions dominating their judgement. The needs of their bodies were what ruled, time after time again, the need to eat and the need to fuck.

Yet Maxwell did not even know that Helena was pregnant as he rammed the cow full of another helping of bull cock beside a softly flowing river, a butterfly dancing by in their newly found wild life. They needed one another, that much could not be denied, but it had to come with them together, yes, her body full of his seed and his offspring already growing in her womb. Only when she dropped their calf to the ground, born from their incestuous tryst, would she be able to fall pregnant by him again.

All from their cursed transformation. Aware of their old life, neither bull nor cow would have wanted to go back, not as their sides grew more and more rotund, folds of flesh hanging heavily around their necks.

The life they had found, however strangely, was a better one by far.

At least, that was all they knew.