Transformed

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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Transformed

Steve growled and spat out a mouthful of blood, set back away from the scene playing out before his eyes. The room was small and dark, the only manner of illumination the swinging spotlight above his head, painting him in the centre of the bare and barren room. It swung and juddered, caught by a human hand, but he was not the man who would be able to stop it, grunting under his breath, bearing through the pain.

"You will talk..."

There was no accent to be noted and he rolled his head, mind spinning, twisting and turning. Was there pain? Oh, he'd forgotten but there may not have been any at all. They swore at him, losing their cool as they tried and tried to get the solider to talk, mysterious shapes stalking around him in shadows that seemed to move, jumping and turning, leaping up into loving arms to seclude his antagonists from even his stare.

Maybe it was not for Steve to bear witness to them. Maybe that was just where his life was due to end.

It would have been better for him if his life had ended there.

"So..." A man with a flap cap on and the hint of a moustache that appeared to, usually, have been shaved naked said, poised before him. "There are no words coming from your mouth..." He smirked nastily. "Have you forgotten how to speak?"

Maybe Steve had. It wouldn't have saved him anyway if he'd forgotten how to speak or if he even remembered to, the truth in his own reality wavering like a dream slipping away on the edge of wakefulness. If it was all a dream, maybe he at least had something of a chance.

But the enemy had taken everything from him already, his clothes, his food, his water, his sense of self. There was nothing left for Steve as he jerked in the chair, hands on his shoulders forcing him back into the stiff, metal rods that formed the seat and back. They were so designed to be uncomfortable and his nudity didn't help there, twisting back and forth on the seat that was ridged and knobbly in all the wrong places.

They thought of everything and he dropped back and away from the pain, turning his cheek. Let him go. They'd not let him go in the releasing sense but anything would be better than sitting there. For his country, he had to keep his mouth shut.

Yet they had other ideas.

"Very well... We have not the time to waste on pigs like you."

"Sir, I thought..."

A hand closed on his shoulder, firmly holding him in place, a needle sliding into his arm.

"Quiet!"

What all that was about Steve could not have said, groaning as the needle was removed from his arm, the sharp pain standing out in stark contrast to the dull throb in his head. Funny that he could feel that pain when others had become nothing to him, a passing thought in a mind that was no longer destined to think. He had no need for thoughts and he drifted there, hanging limp, chest rising and falling only shallowly. Maybe it was his time to go.

Hands on him, groping and fumbling, clumsy when they tried to be swift. They untied him and yet there was nowhere for him to go and no manner of strength left in his muscles that he could at all utilise. The taste of blood, however, slipped from his mouth and Steve moaned in relief, mouthing and licking his lips, the dry and cracked skin seeming to push out under his tongue.

Someone above him, as he tipped forward on all fours, shuddering, laughed. He should have known that they'd come up with something worse for him.

Steve blinked but his mind was slow, far too slow, to come to terms with what was happening, how his nose and face bulged obscenely before him. Had his nose always been that big? Thick and rubbery, his lips drew themselves smoothly into a new shape entirely as he groaned or, at least, that was the sound that he tried to make. The whimper that came from his lips was warbled and broken, a shattered remnant of the man that he had once been.

His assailants, those who had sought to make him talk, clustered around, muttering under their breath, eyes fixed on him, his naked body. But he could not have known, not even then, just how his body was drawing itself into a new shape, his spine cracking, breaking, working from the injection to transform him. Little did he know how his life would never again be the same, the base of his spine shooting out into a primitive version of a tail, his legs pushing up, his whole body re-shaped to the whim of another.

And was it even possible? His head swam, pulsing and throbbing and yet he couldn't think straight as his fingers shrank, down and down and down, forming together as if the bones had fused. They looked so strange that even he could not help but pause and look at them, blinking slowly, but the darkness that encased them, the hard hoof that formed, was a revelation enough to make him panic.

Yet... There was no energy left in him with which to panic, thrashing and twisting and barely moving at all as the circle of men closed in on him, laughing and pointing. There was much left for him to do in life and yet all of that was to be snatched away as a thin coat of fur, more like hair, prickled to life across his body, the hair on his head falling out in thick, blonde swards as if it had never before taken root in all actuality.

No...

He didn't know, could not have known, could not have even understood as his maleness, shaft and orbs, pulled back into his body, fleshing smoothing out where his manhood had once been. It was so swift that he could barely keep track of what was happening, chest heaving, panting heavily over and over again. He grunted and rolled his eyes but Steve could not even consider himself a man anymore as a feminine tuck of a sex drew into place under his tail, the hairs painting themselves over him in black and white, covering every last inch of his body.

Yet it was not her body anymore, a man becoming female, yet not a woman, before hungrily watchful eyes. It was with a shudder of horror that she finally realised what her swollen face meant, those cloven hooves and the tail, tipped with a ropey swatch of hair that was coarse and stiff, useful for swatting away flies. There was little of her body that she could see as her shoulders re-set themselves too to allow Steve to more comfortably rest on all fours, feet becoming hooves too, though there was more of that bone to compress and grind down, yet she knew -- oh, she knew. A sickening twist in her stomach had nothing on how her gut plummeted, screaming and yearning into the abyss of what her life had once been.

She was not a man anymore. Yet not a woman. A broken pop song twisted into dark disrepute.

Lowing mournfully, the new cow, halfway transformed or more, grunted and swished her tail, thickly cutting through the air.

"Aren't you a pretty one?"

One of the men that she could no longer recognise stood over her and patted her blocky head as her teeth settled into molars for grinding, her tongue thick and wet, too large for her mouth. Ears too had to settle into a new position, pushing up onto her head and flopping down, thinner and wieldier, able to turn a little to catch different sounds in the room. Her guts churned and gurgled, a digestive tract in distress, but it was the udders swelling and falling heavily under her belly that really drew her attention, the final horror in her pride being cut down to shards and scraps of what it had once been.

Yet it was her life now as heavy rolls of fat hung from her body, her shape blocky and nothing like that of a man as she skittered, swaying and striving to balance on a floor that suddenly seemed too slick for her hooves. Still, she could, at least, be somewhat grateful for the fact that any semblance of pain was gone, despite the discomfort lingering in her aching bones. A body was never meant to go through that and, yet, the worst was yet to come.

A man grabbed at her, pushing her shoulder, holding her head, leaning his weight into her to keep her in place. Such was her balance as her transformation settled over her like a shroud that she swayed and nearly toppled over, giving rise to a roar of cruel laughter from the rest of them.

Humiliation was only the start of it.

"Hook up the new cow, Jerome," the ringleader of her torturers said, although a dull cow like her didn't know who was in charge, lowing and backing off into a corner. "Let her have a taste of what the rest of her life will be like."

No! He was a man, not a cow, a man, a man who very much stood on two legs! But Steve could no longer rear back into a bipedal form as she licked her lips anxiously and tried to slink away, but the figurative bull in the china shop had nowhere to go quietly. A tag was stamped through her ear, dangling and yellow, denoting her to be nothing more than an animal, and they hauled her with a crude length of rough rope to the middle of the room, which had been replaced with a transportable set of metal stocks and what she would later realise would be her daily torture.

Strapped in. She should have been able to fight back but she was just a cow and her new body wobbled and swayed, not quite obeying her desires. Escape could have been had but she was too unsteady and bellowing her displeasure was all she could do as she weakly turned her weight into the stocks, hardly able to shift them at all. And, all through it, her captors laughed and laughed, attaching the suction cups to her fat, heavy teats, the sort that fit over them like a condom over a cock, though she no longer had any cock to speak of.

"Get used to it."

But she would not, whimpering and murmuring and chewing as they switched the machine on, churning and grinding as it pumped and sucked milk from her. It was the strangest sensation but she could not even let her mind slip away from the moment anymore, flanks heaving and yet still unable to sweat, her new body not releasing excess heat in that manner. Oh, she had so much to learn but all she could do in a moment like that was to brace her legs and strive to bear through it, to be every bit the soldier that she had been, panting and staring about with wide-eyes, even though there was no escape to be seen.

Her milk filled the tubes, funnelled to the storage tank, and the man with the scraggly, barely-there moustache smiled cruelly, standing back with a hand resting lightly on his hip. One could have forgiven him for appearing as if he was in a far less dire situation than he was, although it could have been considered a good day too for him to turn a solider of the enemy forces into nothing more than a dumb beast -- at least in his eyes. Steve, of course, was still in there, a man locked away in the body of a bovine, subject to every horror every day for the rest of her life. Forced to deliver her milk over and over again, impregnated so that she would produce milk and even calves too, she would be used for what her body could provide until, at long last, she wouldn't have any use to humanity at all anymore.

Steve's life was set and her time as a dairy cow would be unlike any horror she could have imagined as she was milked, a strange pleasure twisting with hatred, curdling through her. The men laughed. They knew what they did and they had her there, for the rest of her life, to abuse as they willed.

It was the least they would do.