Collective

 Collective

Roan tossed another handful of grain to Statler and Waldorf who clucked happily and began to peck it up. She smiled at the hens and took a deep breath of the chill fresh air. Well, not fresh exactly; it was a farm after all, with all the usual smells. Call it rich, she decided, resting her arms on the fence of the chicken run, looking out over their humble commune. Call it alive.

It was early, farmer early, the sun just barely risen and Roan was up doing the morning rounds: watering gardens, checking fences, and making sure the hens were fed their breakfast. She loved this time of day, the quiet clarity of it, like living inside a secret but in a good way. She smiled and blew out a big foggy breath. This peace was a big part of why she didn’t mind waking  up first and tromping out here almost every morning, far more than her share, to do the earliest morning chores. It never hurt, she thought, to do something that made everyone else happy. It was always good to be useful.

Roan heard clucking and saw Statler and Waldorf looking up at her, beady eyed and expectant. She doled out another toss of seed, which the hens turned to begrudgingly as if they were somehow left wanting more. “Call this a good breakfast?” Roan said affecting a gruff voice. “No! It’s too corny! Ooooo ho ho ho ho!” 

Roan giggled and made her way into the chicken coop to see if the feathery ladies had left any more eggs for breakfast. Henrietta was probably already awake and starting to cook…

***

Jenny thanked the driver and climbed out of the old pickup in her borrowed shirt and shorts. She waved as the truck drove away over the hill and dipped out of view, then she tied the front of the too big plaid shirt up in a knot baring her midriff. Old Chuck was sweet to give her a lift back to the farm, but she didn’t want to scandalize the old coot more than her ‘wild oats’ probably already had. ‘Course what was a little more skin when she’d hitched up wearing a stolen man’s shirt and reeking of sex and last night’s drinking? She laughed aloud, reckoned she could’ve gotten a better reaction if she’d let slip who her too tight little jean shorts had belonged to, and just what she’d done with their owner and her boyfriend. Threesomes, Jenny decided with a smile, were wild. 

Now she was home again, tired and aching in just the right ways, and in need of a good snooze up in the hayloft. But it was already late to be home despite how early it was, so she’d have to be sneaky. Jenny didn’t feel inclined to let her ‘sisters’ know about her secret gallivanting, not that it was forbidden or anything, but Jenny thought the others found carousing at the local cabaret and hooking up to be wantonly patriarchal. Or at least icky. Not that she cared what they thought about her fucking habits, particularly. It was just easier to affect a clandestine return than deal with judging glances and shitty attitudes. Not for the first time Jenny wondered what exactly she was doing there.

Shit! Was that someone moving by the chicken coop!? Which meant Roan was already up! Fuck! Jenny dipped down onto the heels of her cowboy boots and peaked over the tall grass. Things had just got a might more complex. Her goal was to get back to the converted barn that was their home, specifically to the big ol’ fire escape ladder that led to her sleeping area in the hayloft. The trouble was in how to get there without being spotted. Jenny reckoned she could circle wide around the old collapsed farmhouse, shimmy crawl through some of the unkempt fields, sneak round the rear of the barn, and easily avoid Roan’s gaze. Trouble was that would leave her exposed to their kitchen and Henrietta would no doubt see Jenny during her last mad dash to the ladder. More prudent and a good bit trickier would be to slink right through the enormous vegetable garden that was their main income source. If Jenny hopped the fence behind the greenhouse, and kept the pole beans and peas betwixt her and the coop she ought to just about make it in the clear. 

Jenny snorted a laugh, what was a little misadventure without a bit of action?

***

Henrietta was in her kitchen mixing vegan oat pancake batter. Although, she had to remind herself, it wasn’t *her* kitchen, it was their kitchen, even if it often felt like it was mostly hers. It also wasn’t much of a kitchen, being little more than a shed built onto the side of a barn, all naked uninsulated carpentry. But it had an old cast iron stove for warmth and hot water, an electric range for making pancakes, a big enamel wash basin rescued from the old farmhouse, running water, and enough plywood countertop to really let loose. It wasn’t much, but it was enough, and it was hers. Well, theirs, but mostly hers. She clucked her tongue and smiled.

Henry loved to cook, she always had, for as long as she could remember. She enjoyed the craft of it certainly, the challenge and creativity, but most of all she loved the care of it. Henry loved the way she could add that tiny bit more to every dish, to make it a little event or gift for her friends. She loved that she could learn everyone’s favourite foods and dislikes and nutritional requirements and tweak and poke and personalize to make them all happy. Food brought people together, it was in Henry’s eyes the great social glue, and she loved that she was the one making everyone sticky. Or keeping them fed at least.

This morning was vegan pancakes because Daisy was vegan and the rest of them were at least vegetarian on paper. Plus it was cheap and filling, which Henry knew Bess appreciated. She had some bartered apples which Roan would enjoy, although she knew Roan would take less than her share. She was also planning to fry up whatever eggs they had because her non-vegan ladies needed their protein, and no doubt Jenny’s inevitable hangover would benefit from some fat and grease. Henry heard the clatter of the barn ladder and smiled to herself, that would be Jenny getting home now. She shook her head fondly. 

Henry heard the door to her little kitchen domain quietly open and looked up to see Roan step out of her gumboots. Henry smiled at her, “Jenny got home safe, I heard her climbing in.”

Roan giggled, “I thought I saw her sneaking through the garden.”  She held up a basket with two dirty eggs, “I brought presents from the hens.”

Henry smiled, “That’s my girls! I have warm coffee on the stove, help yourself!”

“Oh Henrietta, what would we do without you?”

***

Bess stared at the rough wooden slats above her and wondered for the hundred thousandth time what they were going to do. Next to her in bed Daisy fussed a little in her sleep and Bess held her breath to avoid waking her. It was good that one of them was getting some rest.

Bess took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, tried to dwell in the moment and sidestep her gnawing anxiety. She was here with Daisy who she loved more than anyone, in their cozy bed, in the converted stalls that was their room, in the barn that was their home, on the farm that was their dream. It was everything she wanted, except maybe breakfast, which no doubt Henry was already making.

Bess had no complaints. None.

Just problems…

The biggest of which was money, always money. It was one thing to decide to go back to the land with likeminded anarchistic feminists and step away from Capitalism, it was quite another to make the finances work. As much as permaculture and self-sufficiency were goals of their collective, they were lofty ones which Bess knew were probably not actually attainable. For better or worse they lived in a Capitalist world and needed to interface with it to buy the things they couldn’t produce themselves. And so cash flow was an issue. The issue, really.

Things weren’t dire, not exactly, just tight. The farm belonged to Jenny’s hippy lawyer uncle down in LA and he basically didn’t give a shit about the land. He was rather tickled his niece and her friends wanted to play commune, so they were basically living rent free. They ate pretty simply, mostly grains and lentils supplemented with vegetables from their own garden, which helped keep their grocery bill low for a group of five. They had well water to drink and an old but functional septic system attached to the little outhouse that handled their plumbing needs. Bess thought they had living costs about as low as they could manage, but even so, unavoidable outside expenses stubbornly persisted. They needed electricity from the county grid, they still bought most of their food, they needed clothes, toiletries, light bulbs, water filters, tampons, detergent, chicken feed, medicine, and a million other little things that hardly register except when money is tight. Bessy sighed, they still had some money left over from when she and Roan painted houses in the summer and Henry still worked weekends at that little bakery. Jenny could always do more landscaping, although a lot of that went into her own pocket, which was fine, part of the farm covenant, but that made it hard to rely on in the budget. And… and… and, well, they subsisted. At least so far.

The issue was less destitution and more constraint. When Bess first proposed they all move onto a farm and start an anarcho-syndicalist commune, she’d had such big dreams about sprawling bountiful fields, humanely raised animal comrades, Green off-the-grid living, and generally building a miniature self-sufficient utopia. The reality, she was learning, was that building a queer feminist pastoral ideal took real investment. If they actually had Capital they could start to improve the farm and build toward the dream, or at least make a comfortable income. They could build a proper irrigation system for their vegetable garden and probably double or even triple its footprint. They could replace their bodged together greenhouse with a proper one, a larger one scaled for real crop yields. With money they could pay someone with a tractor to plow some of their fallow fields, maybe get a seed loan, plant a cash crop like canola or soy. They could replace their shitty old pickup truck with an electric vehicle, or abopt a couple cows and have dairy to enjoy or sell, or get a few more chickens, or buy solar panels and get off carbon fueled electricity. They could maybe even build real cottages to live in and move out of the barn. They could at least eat fewer lentils. Instead, as it stood, they were one major broken thing away from catastrophe.

For Christsakes, Bess’ dad still paid for her phone plan and that was their only internet connection!

Bess could almost see her spreadsheets if she closed her eyes. She could visualize the columns of expenses and income, the grids of projections, the cells full of wishes all budgeted out. She could almost, to the cent, lay out their entire financial universe. But what she couldn’t see was a way to prod the numbers to realign their monetary stars into a better constellation. Bessy sighed, which made Daisy mumble in her sleep and shift again. 

There had to be something they could do. Maybe there was still something she wasn’t thinking of? Some plan that she was just too dumb to see? Bess frowned at the wooden slat ceiling and hoped the wood grain held some kind of clue…

***

Daisy drowsed, mumbled, and rolled over; pressed herself to the warm body next to her. She snuggled up, draped her arm over a soft chest, nuzzled, and smelled nice person smell. Mmmmm. She blinked her eyes open to smile sleepily at Bess. “G’mrning” she mumbled.

“Hi, you.”

“You’re awake.” Daisy could feel how tense her girlfriend was, how she was all tucked up and stiff in that not-actually-sleeping-thing she did. “You’re worrying again.”

“I’m always worrying.”

Daisy butted her head into Bess’ shoulder and internally groaned. She loved Bess, she was the best, but she was going to fret her way right into a ditch.  Bess was the kind of person who had to right every injustice and fix every problem, as if it were all her personal responsibility. Daisy adored this about her, the world needed people like this, big-hearted try-hard dreamers who couldn’t leave the world unhappy, no matter what. Daisy understood it, she wanted to fix things too, but the difference between them was that Daisy could also just enjoy things, just focus on the good parts and live in beautiful moments. Like this one: here she was in bed with the woman she loved, on their lovely little farm surrounded by their family of friends. It was like they’d built a little miracle. And yes there were money problems and yes the world was unjust and yes climate change was dire and happening, but this moment right here was basically perfect. Daisy hugged Bess tighter and tried to psychically project her happiness into her lover. “Hun, you should cut it out.”

Bess sighed, shifted her shoulders, “You know I can’t do that; it’s all my fault we’re in this mess. If I hadn’t had this stupid idea…”

Daisy tickled Bess on her bare shoulders right above the collarbone, making the taller woman squirm. “Nope! None of that! You might’ve had the idea first, but we all reached the decision to do this together. Actions matter, remember? Consensus matters. You are not our leader and we’re not a bunch of followers. We’re all in this together.”

“I know…” Bess said. “Sorry.”

“And we’ll figure out the money thing together. We can have a meeting after breakfast, okay?”

“Okay.”

Daisy’s ears perked up as she heard the loud clanging of the dinner bell from outside. “Speaking of breakfast! Let’s go!”

***

The five women of the collective sat around the large picnic table amid the remains of their finished breakfast. The women were mostly content, sipping coffee and tea, and in one case still greedily scarfing down pancakes. One woman, a decidedly average looking brunette, looked uneasy. She tugged on her ponytail, fidgeted with the cat-eye glasses on her round face, and frowned. She took a big sip of water, managed to spill a little on her purple plaid shirt, and sighed. Finally she looked up at her friends and rapped gently on the table for attention. “Sorry,” Bess said, “We need to talk.”

“Ooooh this sounds serious!” Jenny said outrageously with a laugh. The tall muscular woman with the mussed blonde pixie cut grinned at her friends, hoping for a smile. She snorted and rolled her eyes when no one joined in on the joke. “Assholes,” she said cheerfully before she went back to inhaling more pancakes.

“Is this about money?” Roan asked, trying to move the conversation along. The slight, willowy woman with the big cascade of shiny black hair frowned from behind the stack of dirty plates she’d been collecting, “How bad is it? Did something new happen?”

Bess shook her head, “No, it’s the same money problem we’ve been having all along. It’s just not getting any better. I’d hoped a summer of selling vegetables would help, but we’re still just treading water…”

“How can I help?” Roan asked, resting her thin hands on the table, black nail polish and silver rings catching the light.

“I can start working more shifts at the bakery again,” Henrietta said, while adjusting one of the knitting needles holding her auburn updo in place. The short woman puffed herself up in her colourful knit cardigan and looked at the other women, “We can all go back to working on the side.”

Bess shook her head. “I’ve thought about that and it seems like a tradeoff at best. Taking jobs means not having time to work the farm properly.”

“We could do both,” Roan said. 

“That would be miserable,” Bess said. “Working all day to enrich a corporation and then laboring all night in unprofitable fields would be awful. I can’t ask you to do that.”

Jenny slid her empty plate towards Roan and grinned. “Uncle Tommy reckons we ought to start growin’ weed.” She chuckled, “Ah kinda think so too.”

Henrietta clucked, “Only for personal use; you know the rules we all agreed to.”

Jenny laughed, “Narc!”

Daisy smiled as she set down her cowprint mug. The chubby woman in the brightly floral dress gave Jenny a bump with her curvy hip, making the other woman laugh even harder. The freckled blonde waited until Jenny calmed down and said, “Bess, hun, what about leasing out our unused fields to a farmer? I know you looked into it.”

“I don’t know if it’s a great idea. For one, Tom actually owns the land, so I doubt we could even do it without his permission. Then after the farmer takes her cut of the sales, and Tom gets whatever share of it he wants, there probably wouldn’t be all that much left for us.” Bess sighed, “It would also mean participating in commercial agribusiness with all the pesticides, commercialism, and exploitation that entails. So even if we could do it, I’m not convinced we should.”

“So what does that leave us with?” Henrietta asked.

Bess sighed, “I don’t know. Sometimes I wonder if we’d be better off giving up on the farm idea and doing something else. Maybe open a cooperative bakery in a town somewhere? Something where we can be true to our ideals, at least.”

“No!” Daisy said rather forcefully. She rested her hand on Bess’ thigh and gave it a squeeze, “There are a lot of reasons I’m here, but living out in the country is one of them. I know it isn’t luxurious, but I’m happy here.” She looked around the table and shook her head, “I don’t want to go back to the city.”

Jenny nodded in agreement, “Yeah fuck that! Ah’d rather work like a slave than give up!”

“I do like baking,” Henrietta said, “but this is where I want to be too.”

“We have to be realistic though.” Bess frowned, “Magic isn’t real, the Patriarchy isn’t faltering, and our little farm isn’t going to make it under Capitalism.”

Roan was staring at her hands and fidgeting with her rings,  “What if magic was real?”

Jenny laughed, “Then we’d be castin’ spells to smash Patriarchy instead of farmin’!”

“Don’t be a jackass,” Henrietta scolded. “But she’s kind of right…”

Roan peered at her friends from under black bangs, “What if I could use magic to help us?”

“I’m sorry, what?” Bess asked.

“Magic.” Roan looked up, “I could cast a spell to make us better farmers.”

Jenny laughed and Henrietta frowned and Bess diplomatically said, “But magic isn’t real…”

“Magic is very real,” Roan said in a little voice, eyes averted.

“Tell us about it,” Daisy said warmly.

Roan fidgeted with her dark grey knit sweater and took a long deep breath. “Do any of you remember when I was a girly boy who followed you around?”

Heads were shaken, eyebrows frowned, and Bess said, “You’ve always been a woman?”

Roan grimaced, “In actual fact I was assigned male at birth, and lived in boymode until well after I met you. Deep down I always knew I was trans, but transitioning seemed so scary and expensive, so I kind of just went along with it.” Roan smiled wistfully, “But then, well, I cast a spell and now I’m the girl I always knew I was.”

“Why don’t we remember this?” Daisy asked gently.

“Because magic.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Because of how magic works. Only the people inside the circle of a spell can notice its effects. To everyone else the fabric of reality remains unchanged.” Roan shrugged, “It’s why nobody thinks magic is real. And why everyone isn’t constantly freaking out about it.”

Jenny snickered, “That’s preposterous!”

Bess tilted her head skeptically, “That’s… a big claim. I don’t want to doubt you unfairly, but do you have any evidence?”

Roan blushed, “Well, you’ve all seen me naked right? Haven’t you ever thought it was weird that I have a penis?”

Henrietta clucked, “Genitals don’t make gender.”

Roan stared at her hands, “Yes, but you all perceive me to be cis-gendered despite my non-standard setup. Doesn’t that seem strange?”

“No...?” Bess said frowning, “But I guess it should?”

“This is making my head hurt,” Henrietta said while rubbing her forehead.

“So fucked!” Jenny agreed grinning.

Daisy reached across the table and took Roan’s hands in hers. “I believe you. So how would this spell work?”

Roan smiled at Daisy, “I’m a witch. Or more like one of my direct ancestors is a witch, since real witches are more like sorcerous goddesses, and probably not very nice to know actually. But I can do magic, at least a little tiny bit.” Roan shrugged, “I guess that makes me a mystic?”

“Okay,” Bess said. “Assuming we do this, what would your um, spell entail?”

Roan squirmed, “I’m not exactly sure to be honest. My Great Aunt Zelda gave me a grimoire when she realized I had the talent. It’s written in an arcane language that… takes effort to actually read? Decipher? And there’s some age damage in my copy. But I definitely found a ‘Spell of Bountiful Harvesting’ that sounds promising.”

Daisy smiled, “That sounds very helpful.”

Bess shrugged, “I guess it can’t hurt to try…”

***

On the night of the full moon we gathered in the field. We were naked and freshly bathed; our hair was tied up and decorated with flowers and herbs and sprigs from our garden. Roan was there already, nude herself, standing in a circle of freshly reaped grass, the cut stalks gathered into bundles and stacked up like a grassy henge. In the center of the circle was our altar, an old millstone with a small fire burning on it. Arranged around the fire were five tea candles and five bowls, mismatched from the thrift store and empty like our fields, symbolic of our barren farm. There was also a kitchen knife gleaming in the firelight, a low rent ceremonial dagger that some of us felt quite nervous about. Roan invited us into the circle and directed us to take our places, to each stand facing a candle and bowl. 

Roan took up the knife and very carefully drew it along each of her palms, cutting shallow wounds just deep enough to bleed. She passed the knife to Daisy and held her hands over her bowl, clenched them, squeezed out a few drops of bright red blood. Daisy cut herself next, hissing a little at the sting, added blood to her own bowl, and passed the knife to Bess. Bess cut carefully, neat little scratches, and managed to drop just enough blood into her bowl that Roan nodded. Jenny took the knife next, cut carelessly and deep, blood dribbling into her bowl. She winced and smirked in a show of bravado. Finally Henrietta, the heft of the kitchen knife so familiar in her hand, efficiently slit her palms and added her blood to her bowl. Then we each lifted our candles, lit them in the little fire, and placed them in our bowls, bottoms pressed into the blood. We had made our offerings.

Roan invited the rest of us to join hands with her, to form a circle around the altar. We clasped hands, pressing our bloody palms together, an unbroken chain of women, and then we started to circle the fire and the altar and the candles burning in our offerings. Roan started to chant, words we felt more than heard, that passed through us and into us in ways that transcended sound. Somehow we all took up the song, the same indescribable utterances passing through all of our lips, despite most of us not knowing or understanding the words, harmonizing in an arcane litany. We circled faster and faster, heads spinning, wailing in this strange language, while the candles burned down lower and lower. We could feel each other through our bloody hands, felt our place in the circle, but also the whole of the chain, the pulse and heat of all of us together as one. We were we and an energy began to build within us. 

So it went on and on and on, time dilating and stretching, until the candles burned down and down and down until their flames touched blood. Then in a flash of light and heat our offerings exploded in fire! 

Pillars of flame shot skyward! 

The altar fire roared and flared! 

Unseen forces slammed into us!

We cried out and stumbled back and fell apart and the fires all went out at once, leaving us naked in the moonlit darkness of the field.

The spell had been cast.

***

Jenny sat in the kitchen gripping her coffee mug, trying to ignore the stinging pain in her slashed hands. Last night she’d gotten caught up in the moment and cut too deep, leaving gashes instead of nice little cuts. She didn’t think she needed stitches, reckoned some tape and bandages ought to hold it closed, but it smarted and seemed a steep price to pay for some magical pantomime. “Just had to fuckin’ overdo it…” she muttered to no one in particular.

“Pardon?” Henrietta said from where she was making everyone a late breakfast of baked apple cinnamon oatmeal. She finished whisking the eggs and milk, paused to massage her belly a little, and then tipped the mixture into the oatmeal. She slid the oatmeal filled baking dish into their old oven and turned to look inquisitively at Jenny. 

“It’s just my hands hurtin’,” Jenny admitted.

Henrietta glanced at her own hands and tugged on the bandages. “I can imagine, you really cut yourself last night,” she said, voice filled with worry and disapproval. “You could’ve really hurt yourself.”

Inwardly Jenny agreed, but she’d never admit it. Instead she dressed up her best shit-eating grin, “I reckon you gotta commit to a blood pact. Show them ghosts you mean business.”

“I highly doubt there were any ghosts involved,” Henrietta muttered, a small smile playing on her lips. She came over in a flurry of bright cardigan, sat down, and in a quick, jerky movement, grabbed one of Jenny’s hands and lifted it for examination. The white cloth tied around her palms was stained brown and red and Jenny winced when Henry touched it. Henry clucked her tongue, “Your bandages are filthy. You’re going to get it infected.” She clucked again and scooted off to fetch their first aid kit, “Stay there, I’m going to change those bandages.”

“It’s nothin’ but a flesh wound…” As much as she liked attention, Jenny hated being a bother.

“Oh hush,” Henrietta scolded, unwinding the bandages from Jenny’s right hand. Jenny involuntarily tried to yank her hand back as Henry peeled free the innermost layer, but Henrietta held on tight. “Goodness,” she breathed, looking at the blood scabbed wounds on Jenny’s palms. “You really did a number on yourself.” Tears stung Jenny’s eyes and she nodded, stubbornly trying to keep up a brave face. Henry gently wiped some antibiotic ointment along the gash and then pulled out a small tube of crazy glue.

“What’s that for?” 

“I’m going to glue it closed; it works about as well as stitches.” Henrietta applied a layer of crazy glue and pinched the wound closed, holding it there until the glue started to set. 

“Where’d you learn that?”

“My mother was a nurse. There. Now to finish this up.” Henry stuck on some tight little butterfly bandages to help support the glue, put on a layer of gauze, and then wrapped Jenny’s hand tightly in clean white tape. “Okay, now the other hand.”

Jenny looked away, not wanting to watch it again, and asked, “Do you reckon it was real?”

“Mmm?”

“The whole spell thing, I mean. Dancin’ naked, cuttin’ our hands, the way those offerin’s burned…” Jenny shivered, “That spooky feelin’ when everythin’ went all flashy…”

Henry paused for a moment in her ministrations, “I guess anything’s possible?”

“But do you reckon?”

“I doubt magic is real, but I guess we’ll find out? It would be nice if we were all somehow better at this farm business, right?”

“Speak for yourself,” Jenny said, with a bray of laughter. “I kick ass at this!”

Henry smiled warmly and released Jenny’s other hand. “All done. How’s that?”

“Better. Thank you.”

Henry puffed herself up and smiled, “Now take it easy on those hands okay?”

Jenny shook her head and smiled, “Can’t. I’m on weedin’ duty today.”

Henrietta clucked, “Then at least wear gloves.”

***

Roan reached up and wiped sweat off her brow; weeding was hard and hot work. Especially in the noonday sun and especially when wearing her customary black clothing. She looked at Jenny scratching away at a stubborn patch of dirt, stripped down to a fluorescent green bikini top and her little jean shorts, her muscular arms working and sweat glistening on her bare skin….

“Hey!” Jenny grinned at her, “Tired already?”

“No,” Roan said, a little surprised by that fact. “Just hot.”

Jenny paused and laughed, ran her gloved hands up over her face to wipe away sweat, in the process pushing her chest up and out. Roan blinked, glanced away, blushed. “Ah reckon if you didn’t dress like a monk, you’d be more comfortable.”

“Yeah well…” Roan toed at the ground, “How are your hands?”

Jenny smiled, buck teeth flashing in the sun, “These ol’ things? They’ll mend.”

“Why not take the day off? I’m sure Daisy or Bess would’ve traded chores considering…”

“Ah like weedin’. Somethin’ honest about workin’ up a good lather.” Jenny brayed a laugh and brandished her weeding tool, “Plus who can resist a good hoe!”

Roan giggled, “And here I thought you preferred a dashing rake.”

“Rake?”

Roan blushed, “It’s an old fashioned word for a certain kind of man. Like a cad.”

“Um?”

“Cur? Knave? Rogue?”

“Nope?”

“Fuckboi.”

Jenny snorted with laughter, “I guess I do fancy a rake then.” She gave Roan a mischievous grin, “But better yet to have one of each tool on hand.”

Roan blushed brighter and Jenny brayed with laughter.

They worked in silence for a while, weeding parallel rows. Roan found her eyes kept drifting back to Jenny, taking in the long muscles in her thighs and the round curve of her ass, squeezed into those too tight denim shorts, her butt peaking out the leg holes, hinting at what lay between... Roan felt her cock stir in her jeans and shook her head; this wasn’t like her at all. She was attracted to women, sure, had been for as long as she could remember, but she made an effort not to ogle her friends. Yes they were all beautiful in their own way, but Daisy and Bess had each other, Jenny had everyone else, usually just for a night, and Henrietta didn’t seem particularly interested in sex at all. Everyone but her seemed to be getting just what they needed, and it seemed foolhardy to throw herself cock first into this stable arrangement like a horny grenade. It wasn’t like Roan was chastely suffering or anything, she dated sometimes and hooked up when the mood struck, but it had been awhile since she’d gotten laid and something about Jenny today was making her feel a little wild…

“Hey wanna fuck!?”

“What!?” Roan blushed, her heart hammering. 

Jenny laughed, “That got your attention! Ah was talking to you and you were off in Roan-land.”

“Sorry.”

“Ah was sayin’, so you’re some kinda magical wizard lady?”

“Um sort of? More like a minor witch.”

“And you cast a spell on us.”

“Yeah, I tried to.”

Jenny looked at her quite seriously, “Do you reckon it worked?”

Roan tossed her head and bit her lip. To be honest she wasn’t sure exactly. She’d mostly only cast minor, temporary spells; little cantrips and subtle enchantments. Just enough to be sure she really could do magic, but nothing dramatic or permanent. The only large Work she’d been part of was her Transition, and that had involved her Great Aunt Esmeralda, an experienced magician who’d taken pity on her miscast nephew. Roan remembered it vividly, following Aunty Esme to the little cloak room at the wedding venue, how something inside her sang with purpose, coaxed out and guided by her aunt, the way the universe had seethed and writhed in the face of their combined intention, and how she’d returned to the party shorter and slender and dressed in a perfect black lace dress that showed off her newly feminine body, physical reality tuned to her soul. It still seemed unreal to her, despite the life she’d been living ever since. The spell she’d cast here on the farm had felt like her Transition, that great impossible remaking, and so Roan was pretty sure something magical had happened. “I think so?”

Jenny frowned, “And what should we expect?”

Roan shook her head, “I’m not really sure.” The part of the spell she could translate had been unclear, cryptic. It promised better harvests and harmony with the farm, with the implication of transmuting the farmer, but didn’t specify how exactly. Would the farm just somehow work better? Were they all luckier now? Or had she changed something about them, something more tangible? Roan wiped more sweat from her brow and thought about her farm work. Did it seem easier? She usually struggled a bit with the hard physical labor of weeding, but today only the heat was a bother. Did she feel stronger? Taller? She thought of her frisky cock and decided she definitely felt more alive today, zestier. Maybe she’d cast the magical equivalent of an energy drink? But what if it was more than that? What if she actually was becoming more muscular and bigger, more suited to working the land? Roan blushed and thought of the striking Amazonian super-heroines she sometimes fantasized about, her cock responding a little. She tossed her head and snorted, got her mind back on track. “I guess we’ll find out? Do you feel any different?”

Jenny flashed a bucktoothed smile, “Well, my hands hurt.”

***

Bess hefted her breasts and grimaced, they felt particularly uncomfortable today, hot and tight and it might be her imagination, but they seemed heavier too. A quick bit of mental arithmetic confirmed her she wasn’t expecting her period, so it probably wasn’t the usual hormonal ache. Probably.  She sighed, just another thing to worry about. She shifted her shoulders trying to get comfortable and focus on what she was doing. 

Bess was seated crosslegged on her bed with the laptop, looking over produce box orders from their regulars, calculating the price per box, and writing out packing lists in a notebook. It was more work doing custom orders like this, but direct deliveries of fresh vegetables was the core of their business. Sure, they made some money hocking vegetables at a couple local farmers markets, but the rental fees usually ate into their profits, and they mostly went to sell box subscriptions. Advertising, another necessary evil of the Capitalist world. Bessy shook her head and went back to her task; once Daisy got back with the recycled cardboard boxes they’d start harvesting, do their packing, and then be out on the road for tonight’s delivery.

“Oh hello,” Daisy said, jingling their car keys gaily.

“Oh it’s you,” Bess said smiling up at her.

“It is! I come bearing boxes.”

“Truly you spoil me.”

Daisy smiled and leaned on the shoulder height wooden fence that separated their stall from the rest of the barn. Bess gazed at her partner, as always enjoying the sight of her; all generous curves wrapped in a bright sundress, illogically braided blonde hair hanging out of a stupid straw hat, dimples and caring blue eyes. Bess hated the hat, but loved the rest of her, and thought Daisy looked like an absolute goddess when she was backlit like this. Well, some sort of extremely corny goddess, what with the hat. Daisy saw the way she was looking at her and glowed in pleasure. “Y’know,” Daisy said, eyes twinkling, “everyone else is busy right now…”

“I’m busy right now.”

“But wouldn’t you rather be bizz-zay?”

Bess snorted, “That’s terrible.”

“I wasn’t joking,” Daisy said, her voice husky. She walked over to the bed, hips swaying, and crawled over to Bess, giving her an urgent little kiss. 

“Neither was I,” Bess said as Daisy started to nibble at her neck, unbuttoned the front of her shirt. “Daisy…” But then Daisy’s hands cupped her breasts through her achingly tight bra and Bess gasped! It was like electricity had exploded in her brain! Her breasts were so sensitive! “Oh god,” Bess said, panting a little. Daisy pushed Bess down onto her back, finished unbuttoning her shirt, started to kiss her bare collarbones and the exposed skin of her tits. Bess moaned and Daisy unhooked her bra, freed her breasts, which pooled heavily on her chest, nipples achingly erect. Slowly, so slowly, Daisy brought her lips to a nipple. Bess gasped as Daisy so gently brushed her bottom lip against it, whimpered as Daisy slipped it into her mouth. Daisy started to suck, gently at first, and Bess moaned, back arching at the sensation. It was incredible! Almost too much sensation! It felt like Daisy was sucking on her clit, but somehow on her chest. “Oh god! Oh fuck!” Daisy stroked Bess’ nipple with her tongue as she continued to suck on it, reached over to fondle Bessy’s other breast, teased her nipple. “Oh fuck, don’t stop….” Bess moaned. Daisy was only playing with her tits, but it felt like she was being fucked! Bessy gasped, grabbed Daisy’s head when she threatened to move downward, pressed her face harder into her tit. “Moooore…” she begged, biting her lip. Her swollen breasts had never been this sensitive before and she never wanted it to stop! And Daisy didn’t stop, sucking harder and licking faster, treating Bess’ urgently hard nipple like a clitoris, her free hand mashing and pinching and twisting and tugging. Bessy whined, panted, felt a familiar building inside, and then “Fuck!!!” She was coming! Back arched, thighs twisting and rubbing, toes curled, fingers clawing at Daisy, orgasming! “Ohhhhh….”

Bess was staring at the ceiling in a kind of wonder, topless and gasping, pants still on. She’d just come from nipple play! She’d never even come close to that before! “Woah…”

***

“My turn,” Daisy said smiling, having stripped off her clothes and straddled Bess. Her heart was pounding and she felt her pulse beat urgently in her cunny and in her oddly long and hard nipples. She’d felt strange that morning, her breasts heavy and hot and sore and bigger, definitely bigger. She’d explored them during her morning shower, found that they’d grown somehow and that holy shit were so much nicer to play with. She wasn’t sure what was happening or why, but she had a hunch. As she looked down at Bess, sitting up a little, breathless, her breasts too heavy and round on her chest and her hands wrapped in medical tape, Daisy thought she was right. She reached down and plucked off Bess’ glasses and set them aside; all of that could wait… “Mmmmmm… eat me.” 

Daisy worked her way up the bed and wrapped her wide, meaty thighs around Bess’ head, pressed her cunt into her girlfriend’s face. Bess dutifully went to work, kissing her cunny and pressing her nose against her clit. Daisy “ahhhhed” in appreciation and reached up to fondle her own heavy tits. She hissed, fuck they were sensitive, her elongated nipples achingly hard and painfully sensitive, sparking sensation at even the slightest touch. Below her Bess kept kissing her cunny, licking her, rubbing her clit with her nose, hands gripped tight around her ankles. Daisy started to work her hips left to right while squeezing and kneading her big tits. Fuck she wished Bess was sucking on them, but she had another secret, one she didn’t want leaking out quite yet. She tweaked a nipple and mmmmm’ed deep in her throat, bucked her hips, smashed Bess with her cunt. “Easy,” Bess said with a giggle, and so Daisy squished her again and moaned. Bess went back to eating her out, picking up speed and urgency, licked harder along her clit. Daisy started to tug on her nipples as she fondled her breasts, had to bite her lip to stop herself making noise. Her nipples were so hard and so long! As long as her thumb and dribbling a white fluid. “Mmmmm….” Just like in the shower she was leaking milk, lactating, and oh fuck it felt so good! “Mmmmmmmm!” She bit down on her lip again, barely keeping the noise in. Daisy tugged on her nipples harder, more urgently, milking herself, milk spilling out, running down her breasts, over her belly, raining down on Bess who was sucking on her cunny. And fuck, she was so close, so fucking close and oh oh oh oh and… Daisy was coming! Thighs clamped tight around Bess’ head, breasts spraying milk and she was yelling “Mmmmmmooooooo!”

Bess pulled herself free, “Moo? Did you just moo?” She fingered some of the creamy white liquid on her bare skin and looked at Daisy, saw the trails of white fluid still spilling out of her tits. “Is this milk? What the fuck!?”

Daisy nodded dreamily, “Oh please drink it! Mooo!”

Bessy shook her head, hands raised defensively, and ran topless from the room.

***

Henrietta was baking tomato tarts, for the girls of course, but also to put in the delivery boxes, a special little thank you to their clients. Henry knew Bess didn’t love giving things away for free, but Henry deeply believed that if you took care of people they would take care of you. It never hurt to be grateful. She had a nice big flat sheet of laminated butter pastry rolled out and had placed thick slices of heirloom tomatoes across it like counters on a game board, and was now using a knife to cut it all into a grid. Then she’d just have to fold over the sides of every little section to make a tart, let them rest for an hour in their old fridge, give them an egg wash, and toss them into their oven. Easy-peasy…

Henrietta paused and clutched at her stomach. Easy except for the persistent cramps she’d been feeling all day. She’d felt off as soon as she woke up, with a bloated cramped feeling in her guts to compliment the stinging ache in her bandaged hands. The feeling had just gotten worse during the day, her stomach swelling a little and growing hard to the touch. Henry thought maybe it was lady stuff, but that all seemed otherwise in order, as did her other plumbing, so she had no idea what was wrong. Maybe it was just some weird health hiccup? A weird hiccup that just so happened the morning after she had taken part in a weird ritualistic spell. Henry clucked her tongue, that was ridiculous thinking. Magical indigestion? Please. This was just random life stuff. Nothing to worry about. As the current cramp subsided, she gave her belly a friendly little pat and went back to work.

Starting at the left top corner of her pastry grid, Henrietta made quick cuts with a paring knife and folded the pastry to from a little bowl around a tomato slice, being careful to create even clean edges. Henry wanted the tarts to be perfect, puffy and crisp, so it was important to be quick but also gentle, to not squish the dough while also finishing the task before everything had a chance to warm up and turn greasy. She worked quickly, surely, easily finding the right rhythm to do the job properly, constructing perfect little proto-tarts. As she worked her way down and across the grid, she heard Daisy pull up in their truck and skip into the stall she shared with Bess. Henry rolled her eyes when she heard them start to have sex; she was happy for them but she wished they were just a little more discrete and remembered that barn sounds very much carried into their kitchen shed. Henrietta was almost done and…

Youch! Another cramp! This time much sharper and worse. Henrietta bent over and held her belly, which was swollen and hard and clenched. Pain roiled in her guts, hot and insistent. Holy Christ it hurt! But then, just as fast as it appeared, the pain was gone, as if it had never been. Henry panted with tears in her eyes, found herself hunched over the counter covered in sweat. What was wrong with her? Should she get someone to drive her to the hospital? But that would be such a bother, and she was just working something out. Henry raised a shaky hand and went back to her pastry.

The door to the little kitchen banged open and Roan and Jenny came clopping in, coated in dirt and sweat from their work in the garden. Jenny went straight to the fridge to get some cold water while Roan murmured a quiet hi to Henry. Jenny poured them both large jars of water and then dumped half her jar onto her bikini clad chest, a move that made Roan blush and fidget. Henrietta clucked her tongue, horny people were ridiculous. She was just about to semi-jokingly tell the pair to get a room when she felt another cramp start! She squawked in surprise and discomfort, this time was so much worse! It felt like her organs were going to explode! Henry felt her insides clench painfully tight around something hard! Something hard that was moving! Something hard that needed urgently to get out of her body! Henrietta moaned, and shuffled into the middle of the kitchen, her body operating on some sort of instinct. “Are you okay?” Roan asked, but Henry ignored her, dropped her panties and hitched up her long peasants skirt. Her hands brushed something weird on her butt, something feathery? But that didn’t matter. All that mattered was getting whatever was inside of her out! Henry spread her feet, bent her knees, and squatted there, opening her pelvis, the hard whatever it was inside of her was being pushed down by her clenching body. Roan and Jenny stared, frozen, unsure what to do or how to help. Henrietta was panting, sweating, gasping and now pushing! Bearing down on the hard bulge inside! Pushing at it with her entire being! Trying to force it out of her body! She felt the bulge push through something inside of her, and suddenly she was moaning in pleasure, gasping at the incredible feeling of her vaginal canal being stretched by something big and round and smooth. Henrietta shrieked and pushed, body buzzing with adrenaline and hormones and fuck is this what an orgasm felt like? Henry could feel the bulge slowly, so excruciatingly, wonderfully slowly, squeeze through her sex, making her shudder in pleasure until finally, in one last glorious explosion of sensation, the bulge crowned, forcing her pussy lips wider than ever and, with one last push, slip out of her and fall to the floor. A wet fist sized white oval lay on the floor. An egg! Henrietta had laid an egg! An actual egg!

Bess who had run into the room topless just stared, “What the fuck!?”

***

The five women of the collective once again sat in council around their picnic table. The egg Henrietta had laid was resting on the centre of the table, held in a sky blue egg cup, an adorably concerning centrepiece. Bess cradled her aching breasts in the loose t-shirt she had pulled on, trying to cover her stiffly erect nipples and support the sore weight of her chest. Daisy had simply wrapped herself in a loose blanket, the heft of her breasts and her own elongated teats clearly visible to the other women, a look of relaxed contentment on her face. Henrietta sat stiffly, staring agog at the egg her body had made, mind still giddily awash in the hormones of birthing it. Roan’s nostrils sniffed the air and she fidgetted in her seat, too aware of the complex perfume of the other women and their various states of arousal. Jenny just grinned at everyone, bucktoothed and amused and maybe a little scared. Bess looked around the table, “What the fuck is happening to us?”

“It must be Roan’s spell,” Daisy said calmly.

“The spell was supposed to make us better farmers,” Bess replied with a frown, placing her hands on the table, “so why are my breasts swollen?”

Jenny hawed, “Those tits ain’t just swollen, they’re positively anaphylactic!” She flashed her big front teeth and pointed at a pair of wet spots developing on the front of Bessy’s shirt, “And they’ve sprung a leak!”

Bessy grimaced and clapped her hands back over her chest, “Not what I asked!”

“Heee Ha Ha Hawwwww!”

“Obviously we’re taking on farm animal traits,” Daisy said, gently rubbing her own breasts. “Was the spell supposed to do that?”

Roan shifted uncomfortably in her seat and blushed, “I’m… actually not entirely sure…” She sighed, “Translating magic is complicated and hard. The part I deciphered indicated we’d be changed in some way that improved the farm. I assumed we’d just be better farmers somehow, but well…” she nodded at the egg on the table. 

Daisy nodded, “The spell must be changing us to better fulfill the needs of the farm.”

“I guess that means I’m turning into a chicken,” Henrietta said quietly, staring at her egg.

“Daisy and I are both bustier and lactating…” Bess said. “So maybe we’re becoming cows?”

“Moo!” Daisy said, smiling. “What about you two?”

Roan tossed her head, snorted. “I’m not sure. I feel unusually strong and… energetic. But nothing telltale has happened yet?”

Jenny grinned, “Ah don’t know about y’all, but Ah’m feelin’ right as rain.”

“I’m getting definite donkey vibes from you,” Roan said blushing.

“Total jackass,” Daisy agreed sweetly. 

“Heee Ha Ha Hawwww!”

“But what are we going to do about it?” Bess asked. “How much are we going to change? Can the spell be reversed?” Bess placed her fists on the table, revealing a chest soaked with milk. “I don’t want to be a cow.”

“Don’t knock it until you’ve really tried it,” Daisy said with a cagey smile.

“I don’t actually know how far the spell will go,” Roan said quietly, dragging her feet on the ground under the table. “I was in a rush to help, so I only finished translating the… top level of the spell. Enough to try doing it. There are layers and nuances that only come with additional study and meditation. I’ll try to figure it out.” Roan looked up at everyone, “Sorry, but it’s going to take some time, a few days at least to really understand it.”

“Until then I guess we’ll just have to make the most of it,” Bessy said with a sigh.

***

Roan squinted at the magical tome and shifted, her too small chair creaking under her weight. It had been two days since she accidentally cursed them all, and she still hadn’t managed to fully decipher the text. All her magical meditation had accomplished was a better understanding of what the spell actually did, and that their ongoing animalistic changes were by design. She still hadn’t grokked the reason behind the spell, and more importantly, she still hadn’t found a way to change everyone back. So much of the spell remained beyond her grasp! Maddeningly, deviously, maliciously hidden! She whickered in frustration and resisted the urge to throw the heavy book across her barn stall bedroom. Her friends were counting on her and she had to figure this out!

Roan snorted a calming lungful of air and pushed her hair out of her eyes, her hand brushing against her transformed ear, making it twitch. She gently ran her fingers along it, feeling it’s length and long tapered shape. It’s equine shape. Roan was turning into a horse, a stallion based on what was going on between her legs. Except that wasn’t quite right. Roan was certainly putting on muscle mass and gaining height, taller than six feet now and chorded with ropes of muscle and a freshly chiseled abdomen, but she’d also retained a layer of subcutaneous fat that softened her thighs and gave her a pleasantly round butt. Plus her breasts, so modest before, had ballooned into heavy teardrops that weighed heavily on her chest with thick puffy nipples. She might be hulking out, but she was growing curvier too. Roan had never considered physical strength to be a solely masculine trait and it seemed her body was veering into female bodybuilder territory. So not quite just a stallion, at least not yet.

The part of her that was unequivocally the anatomy of a male horse was her cock, her increasingly huge and insistent stallion cock. Just thinking about it sent a surge of blood into it’s length, caused her penis to swell and push out of it’s sheath. Roan squirmed, reached into her tightly stretched sweatpants, and lifted her swelling cock over the waistband for space. She panted and watched the long organ grow, watched it almost telescope upward in stages, until it bobbed there, rigid and hot and aching. Roan wet her lips and felt the nub of her tail flick, fuck but she was huge! Her cock was mostly black now, but mottled with pink spots, and nearly as long as her forearm and thick as her wrist. It was truly a horse’s cock too, complete with a sheath and a raised ring halfway up it’s length and a big flat flared glans that looked like it meant business. Roan shivered, not with revulsion, but with a kind of giddy desire. What would coming with this beast even feel like? Who could she even fit it inside of? Roan ran a finger gently along her cock and snorted at the sensation. Oh to give into this body, just for a while! Just for relief! Would it be so wrong?

Roan neighed and tossed her head, her mane of hair swaying. Her friends were counting on her! Her hard cock and aching balls could wait! Back to the books!

***

Daisy waddled into the kitchen carrying her box of borrowed treasure. She bumped herself and winced at the discomfort in her increasingly large, swollen breasts. Daisy had milked herself this morning awkwardly by hand, but it seemed her sweater cows were already filling back up. She smiled wryly, hopefully her little project would solve the problem. 

Daisy set the heavy box down on their kitchen table and stretched, felt her short ropey tail flex underneath the skirt of her long dress. She took off her big hat, fixed her hair to let her long bovine ears free and to best show off her short little horns. Her body was changing, still changing, every morning a little different. She had grown taller and heavier, and her breasts were enormous and rosy pink, with long teats instead of nipples. She had grown cow-like ears and horns and a tail, while her skin was gaining dark brown patches in a familiar Holstein pattern. Daisy’s belly was changing too, pink like her breasts and growing four hard nubs, a future udder if she was any judge. Daisy let out a heartfelt moo, if she had any doubts she was getting the cow treatment they were long gone. 

“Did you get everything you wanted?” Henrietta asked. Henry was in the kitchen baking brownies, part of her effort to bury them all in comfort food.

“I think so,” Daisy answered, moseying over to sniff at a steaming tray of treats fresh from the oven. “Just need to unload the motor from the truck.”

Henry clucked and flapped her arms to drive Daisy away. “They aren’t ready yet!” Daisy retreated and smiled, Henrietta was flustered and territorially puffed up like a cute chicken. Her auburn hair had been almost entirely replaced by equally red feathers that clung to her scalp and neck like cowl and her bare skin was studded with tiny brown feathery flecks. Henry’s nose was turning into a hard yellow beak and her lower lip was developing a pointy spur, probably her lower beak-to-be. Her peasant skirt was lifted out behind her by a poof of black and red tail feathers and her bare feet were yellow and scaly with prominent toes and claws. Henrietta shook her head and turned back to baking, “How did it go? Did he notice anything?”

Daisy thought about her trip up the road to visit Old Farmer Chuck to borrow some retired equipment. She’d worn a disguise to cover up her most obviously bovine bits and had a whole cover story planned about getting ready for future livestock… and then she didn’t need it. Farmer Chuck seemed as friendly and helpful as ever without seeming to notice the swish of a tail in her skirts, or the big brown splotch around her left eye, or the way her massive nipples stood so far out from her dress. He just happily lent her what she needed since it was gathering rust anyway, and sent her off with a wink and a promise for a pint of their best when they got everything working. “It went fine and he didn’t act like anything was weird, necessarily…”

“That’s good.”

Daisy nodded, it seemed Roan was maybe right about the curse being invisible to outsiders. She stole a slightly guilty glance into the barn. “Has Bess come out of our stall yet?”

Henry shook her head, “No, she’s still holed up. Poor dear is still in denial, I think.”

Daisy grimaced and mooed, that was something she’d have to work on. “What about Roan?”

“Still hard at work on that magic book of hers, as far as I can tell without stopping for a break. I’ve brought her food and it’s at least gone into the room…” Henry clucked, “I’m worried she’s blaming herself for all this.”

Daisy nodded, “I’m not sure there’s much we can do but support her?”

“Which is why I made her favourite brownies.”

“You’re a good egg, Henrietta.”

“Ooph! Don’t say egg.” Henrietta reached down with her oven mitt clad hands and rubbed the bulge of her pregnant looking belly. Daisy blinked, a little shocked at how big and round and taut her friend’s stomach was; she easily looked four or five months pregnant. “I already laid seven of them today, and I can already feel the next.. clutch, I guess, growing in there.”

“Wow, most chickens only lay one a day.” 

“I guess I’m just bigger than most chickens…”

Daisy mooed quietly, “Does it hurt to lay them?”

Henry blushed among her feathers and shook her head, “It feels… okay… actually…”

“What a relief,” Daisy said with a raised eyebrow. She winked and grinned playfully, making Henry blush darker and look away. “Do you know where Jenny is? Maybe she can help me move the motor?”

“I think she’s up in her loft…”

Daisy startled as they heard a loud thump from outside and a brayed “Heee Haw Haw Haw!” 

Henry gave her a knowing smile, “Correction, she was up in her loft.”

Daisy laughed, “Our jackass has escaped the barn!” She shook her head fondly, “I guess I’m on my own then.”

Henry clucked, “Be careful!”

“Of course. Give me a crow when I’m allowed to have a brownie!”

***

Jenny slammed back her shot of tequila and shot a bucktoothed grin at the fine gentleman who’d bought it for her. The guy raised his cerveza in salute and went back to chatting with his friends. Jenny filed that one under potential, although the night was young and there were plenty of fine cowpokes to pick from. Despite the steady hot pulse in her nethers, there was no real hurry.

Jenny noticed another fella checking her out and brayed a laugh, amazed that her charms were working despite how she looked. There was no ignoring the long donkey ears growing from her head, or her horse-faced chin, or the wide flat teeth that filled her mouth. Except there was, since no one seemed bothered by it. Jenny reckoned they were all too busy staring at her expanded tits or the small udder that had sprung up on her belly just above the unbuttoned fly of her jean shorts. Or maybe their eyes were locked onto her ludicrously wide and round ass, somehow missing her short brushy tail. She snorted, too much ass to see the ass! Whatever the reason, folks seemed to find her as sexy as she felt, and that suited Jenny just fine, especially given the slick urgent heat in her belly. 

Jenny forced a lime down the neck of her beer, took a sip, and surveyed the cabaret. It was a weeknight evening, with a weeknight evening crowd, which meant no live band and less dancing, which was a shame. Jenny knew she wasn’t much of a stepper, but she enjoyed it and didn’t mind making a spectacle of herself. Still lots of eligible bachelors though, even if she narrowed her focus to only unattached dudes. Jenny hawwwed, but where was the fun in that? Jenny winked at a cute couple and waggled her donkey ears, earning a gawk from him and a blush from her. At least tonight was mechanical bull night, where they padded the dancefloor and gave strapping young bucks a chance to show off for the ladies. Jenny never really got the appeal of it that way, but she found it hilarious watching fellas absolutely eat shit. So she trotted over to a table near the bull machine with a good view of the action.

A new rider was climbing onto the iron bronco as Jenny settled into her seat. He was a compact little cowboy snapped into a proper western shirt and wearing a black Stetson. Jenny grinned, the outfit which was a little much for a taproom rodeo, but at least he wasn’t wearing chaps. The guy settled himself onto the battered leather saddle almost casually, face open in a playful smile. He was sort of cute, Jenny decided, taking a long draw from her limey beer. The mechanical bull started up, slow at first, and the guy clamped his thighs around its metal back and easily settled into a rhythm, rocking his hips with the machine. Jenny found her own wide hips rocking in time, her stubby tail slapping against the back of her chair. The mechanical bull started to juke faster, but the rider clung on, one hand clutching the saddlehorn and the other raised outward for balance as he stood a little in his stirrups. Jenny licked her lips and felt her pulse pound in her pussy, her burning wet and hungry cunt. It had changed along with rest of her, getting wider and puffier and pointing more assward; getting all revved up in a way that Jenny found she couldn’t quite satisfy on her own no matter how hard she tried. And so she’d snuck out here looking for some help with it.  She snorted and ground herself into her seat, feeling the spreading wet patch in the crotch of her straining tight denim shorts. The bull started to buck faster and harder, the mechanism cranked wide open, and still the little cowboy hung on, body whipping and thrashing, hat held aloft and mouth open in a whoop. Jenny was rapt, watching the man ride the steel bull was doing it for her, not that she needed much prodding. There was just something about the wild thrusting of the mechanical bull, the gyration of the rider, and the commanding way he held on, the way he fucking rode it, that was making her feel even wilder. Like he could maybe ride her, try and tame her as she bucked and kicked and fucked and Jenny’s right hand was squeezed down her open shorts and she was panting. Fuck but she needed to get fucked! And just like that the rider was thrown from the bull in a slightly graceful arc that delivered him to the padded floor right at the foot of Jenny’s table.

“Well howdy pardner,” Jenny drawled, hand still stuffed down her pants.

“Howdy yourself,” the man said from the floor, a coy smile on his lips as he took her in and noticed her occupied hand. “It seems like fate’s taken a shining to me today.”

Jenny brayed a laugh, “Ah didn’t realize that Ah’d changed my name to Fate for the evenin’”

The man propped himself up on his elbows, all casual like he always chatted up women while supine. “I’ll call you whatever you want darlin’”

“The name’s Jenny, and you dropped your hat.”

“Well then I guess I’d best collect it. I’m Jack.”

“Jack!? Heee haw haw haw hawww!”

***

Bess was curled up in bed hugging her aching tits. She felt their strange heft and size, their feverish heat, the inflamed stretching pain of them. Bess whimpered, it felt like they were about to burst! She bit her lip, tears in her eyes as she shifted, tried to get comfortable, failed, and rolled onto her back. Her breasts stood up unnaturally full and round, pressing down on her chest with an unfamiliar weight. She reached up and rubbed them, feeling how hard they were, how taut and full. She grimaced as she felt something leak out of her too long nipples and add to the sticky wet spots on the front of her large t-shirt. “Fuck why won’t it stoppppp…”

Bess clenched her hands into fists, this was all so stupid and unfair! Magic wasn’t supposed to be real! Bess thought the ‘spell’ would just be a fun game, a nice togetherness exercise to forget their problems for a night. Then the next morning they could all grin about their adventure and get back to the economics of their predicament. Instead they were all turning into fucking farm animals! Which was scary and weird and awful enough, but was also getting in the way of saving the farm! Bess sniffled, she just wanted to be a farmer, she didn’t sign up to be a cow!

Bess took a shuddering breath and rolled back onto her side, heavy tits tumbling over. She remembered how her sister had complained when she’d stopped nursing her kid, about how she’d just had to live with some discomfort until her boobs stopped making milk. Bess figured if she could avoid milking herself than surely her breasts would stop producing too. She didn’t want to be a milk cow, and if she suffered through some discomfort to end her lactation maybe all of this would stop. Maybe her ears would shrink back down and the little four inch tail on her butt would go away and her gigantic tits would go back to normal and stop fucking hurting! “Just gotta tough it out…”

“Mmmm… I don’t think that’s going to work.”

Bess looked up and there was Daisy, standing in the entrance to their stall and looking at her with a concerned expression on her face. Daisy had stripped off her dress and was standing in her underwear, her brown spotted skin and huge breasts bare.  Bess blinked at her, still shocked to see just how cowy her girlfriend had become. She took in Daisy’s cowprint skin, her bright pink tits with their long teat-like nipples, her bovine ears and horns and her widening nose, her extra height and weight and the awesome span of her hips, the curve of her ass and thighs, the sweep of her long ropey tail, and the strange pink growths on her stomach, that oh fuck, was probably an udder. Bess felt a spark of arousal at the sight. Despite everything she found Daisy’s changing body attractive in a super weird way, but she also felt the cold weight of foresight that her own body was moving down the same path. Bess frowned, she was still mad at Daisy, upset mostly that she was taking things so well, but she also loved her and if she could really use some affection right now. Bess shifted and pain flared in her tits, making up her mind. “Please go away.”

“Oh hun, you need to get out of bed and let me help milk you. I milked myself this morning and already my girls are starting to ache, I can’t imagine how much your breasts must hurt.” Daisy walked into the room and sat heavily on the bed, “You can’t just hide from this. It isn’t going to  go away if you try and ignore it.”

“You don’t know that…” Bess rolled over to look away.

“Hun, real cows don’t lactate until after they calve, so I don’t think our magical milkers are following natural laws here. I doubt you’ll stop making milk until Roan sorts out the curse, and you trying to ignore it is just causing you a lot of unnecessary pain.” Daisy placed a hand on Bess’ back and started to rub, “We need to get that milk out of you before you actually hurt yourself. I promise you’ll feel so much better.”

Bess closed her eyes and decided that Daisy probably had a point. She’d been hiding out for two days and the pain in her breasts was getting worse, so much worse, and not better. She honestly didn’t think she could stand another day of waiting anyway. Besides, it wasn’t as if avoiding milking had stopped the progression of her other cow traits anyway. She’d grown a fucking tail! Bess looked back up at Daisy who was waiting patiently, “Okay how do we do this?”

“Follow me.”

Daisy led Bess out of the barn and into the cool night air. She steered her towards a structure built onto the side of the barn that was little more than a roof standing on posts, a kind of open-sided shed about the size of a small carport. A tractor-port. Except not anymore, since they didn't own a tractor and because Daisy had apparently repurposed the structure. In the dim outdoor light Bess could see their generator and some unfamiliar machinery and a strange wooden frame. The frame was simple but sturdy, just a platform holding two upright posts joined by a crossbeam wrapped in a thick blanket. It reminded Bess of renaissance fair stocks, but without the manacles. “It’s a milking frame,” Daisy said proudly. 

Bess cradled her aching chest and tried to ignore what the cold air was doing to her elongated nipples, “You built a milking frame!?”

“Yeah, y’all forget that I grew up on a farm.” Daisy shook her head, “I’m real handy.”

“I know,” Bess said with a fond smile. “But I’m absolutely not going to use that thing.”

“And why not?”

“Because it’s humiliating!”

“Milking you is gonna to take a minute and this’ll be much more comfortable. Trust me.”

“Daisy…”

“Do you want my help or not?”

“Fine…”

Daisy led her over to the milking frame and helped her step onto the platform. “Off with the shirt.”

Bess glanced around at the lack of walls, “I’d rather not…”

“How do you propose I milk you with your tits covered?”

Bess blushed and fiddled with the hem of her oversized shirt. “I’m kind of naked underneath.”

“Ain’t no one here but us cows,” Daisy grinned. “‘Sides I’ve seen it all before.”

Bess bit her lip and surveyed the visible farm. Satisfied she didn’t see anyone watching she sighed and pulled her shirt off, actually having to peal the wet fabric from her sticky nipples. Bess felt the chill night air caress her body, she shivered a little as her skin goose-pimpled and nipples hardened, but enjoyed the cool feeling on her inflamed breasts. She looked down, startled again at just how big her tits were, the surprising rosy pink of her skin, and the unexpected finger length of her teats. “Okay, what next?”

“Lean forward,” Daisy said, guiding Bess to lean her chest against the padded frame just below her shoulders, arms crossed for comfort. Bess was slouched so Daisy lifted her hips and spread her feet a bit, “Like this.” Bess could feel the weight of her breasts hanging below her, two engorged orbs dangling heavily, teats pointed toward the ground. She could also feel how exposed she was, her naked body on display, hips and ass and vagina and her stupid little tail visible to anyone who walked by. She blushed deeply, imagining how mortifying it would be for one of the other girls to see her like this, or worse one of their neighbours or clients, or oh god her parents or sister. She would actually die! She couldn’t do this, could she? Bess whimpered, she had to get milked, her breasts just hurt too fucking much to wait any longer. She had to do this! Daisy ran her hand along Bess’ back, flank to shoulders, and in a soothing voice said “Hun, you’re doing great.”

Bess tried to relax and watched as Daisy bent over to start the generator, her long cow tail swishing behind her and her underwear clinging to the cleft of her pussy. Bess gawked, surprised at how puffy and swollen Daisy’s labia looked, the familiar slit of her girlfriend grown out into unexpectedly large contours. Did, did she have a cow pussy? Bess blushed, would she grow one too? The generator coughed and shuddered to life, snapping on a string of light bulbs and bathing the milking shed in bright light. “There,” Daisy said, “that’s better.”

Daisy walked around behind her to fiddle with something so Bess closed her eyes and rested on the milking frame. She was surprised at how comfortable it felt, how the extra support let her heavy breasts hang without straining her back and how oddly natural the bent over posture felt. The padding on the crossbeam was a nice touch too. She felt absolutely ridiculous, but she had to admit the frame was well built. “You did a good joAhhhhhh!” Bess screamed a little as something frigid and wet was splashed on one of her nipples! “What the fuck!?”

“Sorry,” Daisy said, lowing a little in amusement. “I should’ve warned you. It’s rubbing alcohol, well, cheap vodka.”

“Why!?”

“We have to keep things clean.” Daisy shook her head and swished her tail, “mastitis is no joke. Okay I have to do the other one now. One, two, three…” 

Bess hissed as her other teat was dipped into the cold cup of alcohol, earning her another pat on the flank from Daisy. “Good girl,” she said. Daisy put down the vodka cup and knelt down, inspecting Bess’ tits. “You’ve grown so much,” she said, reaching out to gently caress a breast. Bess shivered, it felt good but also a little uncomfortable to be touched. Daisy prodded her tit a little and Bess winced, “And so full!” Daisy cupped her breast and slid her index finger and thumb into a ring around one of Bess’ long nipples, closed the rest of her hand, and smoothly tugged downward. Bess gasped! She felt milk spurt out of her in an electric shock of pleasure and pain and release and the smallest iota of relief! It was almost, no, it was definitely sexual! Bess moaned and felt Daisy grasp her other teat, felt herself tense in anticipation, felt Daisy gently tug out another spurt of milk. She gasped at another explosion of pleasure. “Oh god!” Bess’ knees trembled. It felt so good! She wanted more. Needed more! But Daisy was standing up and walking away, over to the strange pile of machinery. “No, please,” Bess gasped, “Don’t stop…”

“We can do it by hand if you want,” Daisy said as she turned on a machine that started chugging. She held up two metal sausage shaped cups attached to long clear plastic tubes, “But this will be faster I think, and with how full you are I think we should focus on getting you empty.”

Bess blinked her eyes, “Is that a milking machine!?”

Daisy nodded and smiled, “Yep! I borrowed it from Old Farmer Chuck. He replaced his system last fall but kept the old pump just in case.” Daisy winked and waggled her bovine ears, “He said we can pay him back with a gallon of milk.”

“Ewww. No way!”

“A deal’s a deal, hun. Now hold still while I slip these on.” 

Bess gasped as she felt the cold metal of the milking cups slip over her nipples. “Oh shit!” There was already suction on the lines, so her nipples were immediately drawn into the cups, held tight by a gentle pressure. Bess bit her lip, felt the extra weight of the milking cups tug on her nipples and breasts. She could feel how the cow-sized cups were still too big for her, but not as much as she’d have thought, and not so much the cups wouldn’t seal onto her. Bess guessed there was no denying she had teats now. She blushed bright red and fidgeted, felt the hanging parts of herself sway. She was all hooked up and ready to be milked like a good little cow. Fuck this was too embarrassing! “Okay, let’s get this over with…”

“Are you ready?”

“Yes! Hurry up before someone sees!”

Daisy smiled and flipped something on the milking machine which sped up the motor, instantly increasing the pressure pulling at Bess’ breasts. Bess gasped, shocked by the sudden insistent sucking, the rhythmic tugging on her nipples. She moaned as milk was pulled out of her in big splashing spurts that filled the clear collection tubes with her milk. She tilted her head back and panted. It was so intense! It felt incredible! The relief of her breasts finally being emptied mixed with the stimulation of her nipples washed over her in waves. It, oh god, it was like being fucked! The machine just kept sucking on her tits and each burst of milk was a jolt of pleasure. Bess moaned and rubbed her thighs together, lifted her little tail to expose her cunt. Bess blushed, she could feel how wet she was, the slick wet on her thighs and the pounding heat of her cunt  “F-fuuuck…” The milker rumbled on, relentlessly sucking, continuously stimulating and Bess could feel the sensation resonate and build to breaking and “Ah-ahhhhhhnnnnn…” Bess was coming! Orgasming right here in the open! Fuck! Ffffuck! And still the milker was going! Bess whimpered, it felt so good but she was too sensitive! Her legs went weak and she almost tumbled off the milking stand, clutching desperately to the crossbeam to hold herself up. “Mmm… mmmm….” She panted and then Daisy was supporting her, arms around her waist, flank pressed up to hers, heavy breasts on her back. “It’s okay, hun, I’ve got you.” Bess felt another orgasm explode, and she bit her lip, hard, to stop from calling out the noise on the tip of her tongue. “Mmmmmmm!” She was awash, lost in sensation, but some part of her wouldn’t, couldn’t say it. And still the milker chugged on, dragging her along with it, crashing her into another orgasm where she actually bit her arm to stay quiet. Fuck! When would it end?! She never wanted it to! She needed it to! How much more could she bear!? How much milk did she even have!? “Mmmm! Mmmm! Mmmm!” And all at once the machine cut off, the suction stopped, and Bess was left sweaty and breathless, shaking weak, held up by Daisy and the stand. “Ffffffuck…”

“Good wasn’t it?” Daisy whispered into her ear.

Bess could only gasp for air.

 “Just wait until our udders come in…”

***

Roan was restless in every sense of the word. It was the middle of the night and she still hadn’t slept, had barely slept at all since the curse. She was running on fumes and frazzled and almost deliriously tired. But her sisters were counting on her! She would push through any amount of exhaustion for them. She was also going absolutely batshit stir crazy! Her body was perversely filled with energy, crackling with a pent up need to move move move! Her tiny stall was closing in on her and she just couldn’t focus on her spell book. Roan rocked in her chair, jogged her legs, drummed her fingers on the table, flipped her tail, but nothing helped. She snorted and tossed her head, this was maddening!

Roan stood up suddenly, almost reflexively, and started to pace in her stall. She could feel her new muscles move easily, the untapped strength in them, especially her legs. Her body felt like a spring, powerfully coiled but straining with built up forces. She paced faster, put a bounce in her step, almost pranced, her short tail with its long brush of hair flicking. It helped a little, but it was nowhere near enough. Just a little positive reinforcement from her body to urge her along. She needed to move! She whinnied, her body needed to run! And maybe, just maybe, if she got this out of her system she’d be able to get back to deciphering the spell.

Roan nodded her head, mind made up, and quietly pushed out of her stall and into the barn. She gently tip-toed in a curiously comfortable posture, but the old wooden floor still creaked a little under her enhanced weight. It was late enough that no one else was awake, which was good, she didn’t want to stop and chat. She made her way to the barn door as quietly as she could, heart hammering with eagerness, nostrils on her face flaring inhumanly as she started to pant a little. She wanted this so badly, was so impatient to just let herself go. Roan smirked, she was almost champing at the bit.

And then she was through the door and outside in the cold night air and running! No sprinting! No galloping! Flying through the farm! Faster than she’d ever moved before! She ran smoothly on the balls of her bare feet, her legs pistoning with a smooth power that launched her ever forward. Her long black hair, her mane, fluttered in her wake and her ears sang with wind! She felt alive! Free! Giddy with a power and energy that defied her experience! 

Roan tore into one of the empty fields, her chest a great bellows of air, and felt how tight her shirt had grown. Already her enlarged bust made it ride up like a crop top, but now it squeezed her ribs, fought against her breath. Without stopping Roan yanked the shirt off, pulled it up over her head and tossed it, leaving her topless, her big breasts surging wildly with every footfall. And she kept running! 

Roan galloped across every field, circled the perimeter of the farm, and just let her body move. It was all so effortless, like a dream about flying, but it was her, her body doing what it was remade to do. Roan whinnied! She started to weave and turn at speed, cutting tight circles and esses like she was running a slalom course. She charged at an old fence and vaulted it, smoothly and easily, landed well, not breaking stride. She whickered happily, skidded, turned, and vaulted it again. Then she wheeled off in a random direction and galloped away as fast as she could.

Eventually Roan slowed to a cantor and then to a trot, panting heavily, her body slick with perspiration and steaming in the night air. She felt amazing but physically spent, giddy with endorphins but totally run out. Roan felt satisfied, like she’d been sated by a big meal or just woke from a nap, a sort of spiritual recharge. She snorted in a great lungfull of air and blew it out in a cloud. A refresh. Roan felt so much better.

Except…

Except she was still horny. Her gallop around the farm had been a wonderful release of pent up energy, had burnt off the wall-climbing fire in her limbs, but did nothing to quell the urgent weight in her sex. If anything the run had done the opposite, flooding her body with sexy feelings and hormones and honing her need to an edge. Roan bit her lip and felt her loins stir, felt the pressure in her huge equine balls and the swelling of her cock in its sheath. She whimpered as her cock flooded with blood and pushed out of her, expanded and pressed against her tightly stretched sweatpants. Roan reached to pulled her waistband down, and noticed that her pants had split along the seams from the power of her legs. She tossed her head, whickered, and stripped off her ruined pants, allowing the flat mottled head of her cock to rise free. She started to pant and watched as her cock finished swelling, growing longer and longer and longer, a thick club of flesh rising from her crotch, angled up and drooling.

Roan thought about ignoring her erection and trying to trot back to the barn, but shook her head. The thought was preposterous, she was naked and sporting an absurdly large boner that thrust out in front of her, bobbling urgently with every step. She looked more like some sort of ridiculous porno-unicorn than a stallion, and the idea of running with a rigid swinging pole was just too silly to contemplate. And what if she tripped! It honestly made more sense to just Jill off and get it over with…

Roan licked her lips, if she was being honest she wanted to do it. Her body felt so good, so powerful, and that was true of her new cock too. It felt so heavy and steaming hot and fearsomely eager to come. Roan had always enjoyed her cock, her old human penis, had found it sexy and a source of pleasure. How much better would this new one be? How sensitive was it? Could a cock this big feel just as good along it’s entire awesome length? Could it feel better? How hard could balls these large come? Roan licked her lips again, fuck but she wanted to find out! Needed to find out! Fuck she was so hard and horny! The cool night air caressed her length, and she shivered, not from the cold, but from how good it felt. Roan whinnied! Fuck!

Roan dropped to all fours, knees and hands on the cold dirt, short tail lifted in the air, panting deep snorts of air. Her erect cock hung below her, long enough that its head brushed against the heavy weight of her dangling tits. She reached down, almost shyly touched the bottom of her cock about halfway up it’s length, and gasped! Ohhhh, she was so sensitive! She blew a great gout of smoking air from her nostrils, and caressed herself, hand gently sliding down and down and down her length to the base of her cock. Fuck, she was so long and that was only halfway! Her hand could feel the hot heft of her balls. She wrapped her fingers around the meat of her cock, felt it’s hot circumference fill her hand, felt her raging pulse. Roan bit her lip and squeezed her eyes closed, rubbed her hand up her cock, ever upwards, feeling the ridged bump of her preputial ring, a delicious obstruction that her hand rode over like a phallic speedbump. Her hand slid past her ring, rode up a long slope like a bat handle, and came at long last to the ridge of her glans. Roan was gasping, panting harder than during her gallop. Her hand was shaking as she let it rise over the ridge and touch the wide, flared head of her glans. Roan gasped and almost fell over! It was so incredibly sensitive! She cupped her hand over the tip, touched the hot dollop of her precum, a thick jelly that coated her fingers. She let her newly slick fingers trace the strange contours of her cock glans, so blunt and wide, the strange protruding bulge of her urethra. She hissed and twitched from the sensation, it was like poking a raw nerve of pleasure! It was too much! Almost completely too much! Roan whimpered, she couldn’t believe how intense it was! Could she even do this?

Roan snorted, shifted her hips in the air, she had to! The hammer of her pulse in her cock and the mounting ache in her balls demanded she come. Roan grit her teeth and slid her hand back down the long shaft of her cock. Gasping like a charger, she started to work her hand up and down her length, her grip sturdy but gentle. She moaned and whinnied, her tail thrashed the air, raised to the heavens. Fuck it felt so good! But… but her hand was so small! Her palm was a single ring of pleasure that left so much of her cock neglected and hungry. Roan whimpered in frustration and rolled onto her back, knees bent, heels dug into the ground, cock pointed skyward between the pooling mass of her tits. Roan grabbed her shaft with both hands, started to piston them both furiously along her cock, sometimes together, sometimes apart, one hand cupping up and over to rub at her slippery wet glans. Roan could hear the thunder of her pulse and the sound of her gasping, snorting, making little inarticulate whinnies and whines. She started to thrust her hips into her hands, eager to fuck harder, her heels scrabbling at the dirty field, her ass being lifted off the ground. Masturbating was like galloping; Roan could only marvel at her body, it’s strength and power and conditioning. She stroked herself harder and faster, whickered like a stallion, she was so close! She felt the awesome churn of her huge balls, the tightness in her chiseled abdomen. Fuck she was almost there! Alive in that liminal cliffs-edge of orgasm, the moment stretching and stretching and stretching but still tragically too short and then she was coming! Roan threw back her head and screamed into the night, her balls clenching, heels digging into the ground, back arched as she came. Her balls pulsed and burst after burst after burst of cum erupted from her cock, shooting into the air and splattering onto her. She held on desperately to her shaft as her cock twitched and jumped and erupted on and on and on, her orgasm seemingly endless, until finally it stopped in a cresting wave of relief and euphoria. Roan slumped bonelessly flat to the cool ground, heart hammering, sweaty and steaming and covered in cum, afloat in total bliss. 

Roan grinned and almost laughed, rolled languidly onto her side and bumped against something hard and cold. She blinked her eyes, mind still at sea. What the hell? It was the millstone altar from their ceremony. She gasped and sat up, she’d just Jilled off in their ceremonial circle! Even through the rush of hormones Roan felt disturbed. She’d run all over the farm just to end up here at the site of their spell! What were the chances? Could it have been an accident? A random coincidence, or something more? And if it was, what did it mean? Roan flopped onto her back and looked up at the stars. 

She had an idea.

***

Jenny brayed happily as she unfastened Johnny’s rodeo belt buckle, while behind her Jack did something sexy to her udder. Jack was not wasting time mounting this particular ass and Jenny was here for his enthusiasm. Johnny though, his shyer friend, was looking a trifle nervous. Jenny gave him a bucktoothed smile from her knees as she unzipped his fly. He turned bright red but at least his cock was getting hard. It seemed her designs for a wild group rodeo might’ve been a bit ambitious, but one and half buckaroos was still better than just one. 

“Youch!” Jenny felt something pinch one of the nipples on her growing udder and she kicked out hard, sending Jack tumbling to the floor. “Easy on the belly tits! Ah ain’t a cow!”

“Pardon,” Jack said, naked but for a smile, a hat, and his cowboy boots. “Jesus ya kick like a mule!”

“Heee haw haw haw!” 

Jenny herself was nude as nature, on all fours between Jack the showoff cowboy and his hesitant friend Johnny, which to Jenny was exactly the right place. She went back to working Johnny’s cock free of his trousers while Jack, not to be discouraged by a thump, was getting back on the horse and massaging the wide expanse of her admittedly hairy ass. Jenny was a bit drunk but she reckoned she was more of a donkey than when she’d snuck out, hairy all over her back and limbs and physically bigger, wider and taller and stronger than before. The boys didn’t seem to mind though, so fuck it! And fuck them too while she was here! She brayed and finally popped Johnny’s cock free of his underwear. 

“Well howdy,” Jenny said, ears perking up and square teeth flashing. It turned out Johnny was a generously endowed gentleman, with a long girthy circumcised cock standing ready for inspection. Jack, to no one’s great shock, was a man of more modest physical gifts who made up for it with hustle and bravado. Truth be told, Jenny usually preferred a small but enthusiastic lover with something to prove, but tonight she had a hankering for some size. It seemed fortune had smiled since she had one of each on the menu. She grinned up at Johnny, “Best of both worlds.”

“What?”

Jenny took Johnny’s cock into her mouth and he grunted. Jenny’s face seemed to have gotten longer, so she was able to easily swallow the long cock right down to the hilt. Jenny swept her tongue around Johnny’s cock and he made a noise a bit like a moan and stood rigidly still. Jenny snorted in amusement, would’ve laughed if her mouth wasn’t stuffed, it felt like she’d caught him like a fish. Not to be left out, Jack had stepped up his ministrations, kneading her ass and stroking her udder and ohhhh, sliding his fingers along the soaking leathery folds of her boiling cunt. Jenny gasped around the cock in her mouth and bucked, thrust back with her hips. Jack smacked her ass and grabbed her tail, gave it a yank like pulling her hair, and yeah that was real nice too. Giddy up, she thought while wagging her ass in the air for another smack and sucking on the cock in her mouth. Instead of giving her another spanking Jenny smelled the reek of latex and heard the snap of a condom being pulled on. Giddy up indeed! And then Jack was onto her, behind her, thighs pressed to hers, his cock bumping up under her crotch. Jenny bobbed her head on Johnny’s cock and clamped her thighs together, created a warm home for Jack’s cock, and rolled her hips, urging him on, getting his cock and lap wet with her juices. Jack fell over her back with a grunt, pressing her raised tail down. He reached around and squeezed her udder, thrust his hips, made his cock slide delightfully against her nethers. Jenny snorted through her nose and sucked harder on Johnny’s cock, making him squirm and whine a little. Jack grabbed a double handful of Jenny’s plush ass, reached down and lined himself up, and pushed his cock into her. Jenny brayed and reared up on her knees, losing Johnny’s cock for a second before grabbing it and plopping it back into her mouth. It felt so good! Jesus wept but she needed this! And Jack didn’t fuck around, got right down to it, enthusiastically humping, railing Jenny from behind. Jenny moaned around the cock in her mouth but kept sucking, making Johnny pant and gasp and rock against her face. Jesus yes! This is what she wanted! To be spit roasted like a pig! Jenny thrust her hips back into Jack, using the motion to push her head faster along Johnny’s cock. Jesus! Yes! She was finally getting fucked like she needed! It felt great! Super fun! But also somehow lacking. As nice as this was, as gamely as Jack was fucking her, there was just something missing. Jack’s perfectly normal cock just wasn’t scratching her itch like she wanted; he just wasn’t big enough. Jenny gasped as she felt her cunt bear down suddenly, clench in an unfamiliar way, pull at Jack’s cock. Ooooh! Jesus! That helped some! Jack grunted favourably and just kept at it, fucking her as hard as he could, his balls slapping her ass while his hands grabbed at her udder and hips. Jenny humped back at him, her hands slipping on the floor, her big tits swaying, her lips barging into Johnny’s crotch with every thrust. Fuck! Yeah! She was going to cum! Fucking Jesus! And then Jenny felt her cunt spasm and clench and milk Jack’s cock! She let go of Johnny’s cock and brayed in ecstasy, screamed almost, eyes rolled back in her head as she orgasmed! Fuuuuck! Distantly like an after thought, she felt Jack tense up against her and grunt, felt his small cock twitch inside her as this donkey ride finally threw him over the edge. Fuck yes!

Jenny fell back onto all fours and Jack lay panting on her back. She was gasping and sweaty and aching in all the right ways. She felt a bit better. Just a bit though, she was sill horny as a bitch in heat. Fortunately she had another stud in the pasture. Jenny grinned up at Johnny and  his still erect cock. “What d’ya say there pardner? Fancy the next ride on this particular pony?”

***

It was well before dawn and Henrietta was standing outside in her cardigan and nightdress. She couldn’t sleep, couldn’t for the life of her find a comfortable position to accommodate this great round belly of hers. Henry puffed out a pinched breath and stroked her taut spherical abdomen. She looked and felt and in some ways was actually very very pregnant. Obscenely pregnant, like carrying full term twins pregnant. Triplets maybe. A whole darn litter, which she guessed in a way she was since there must be more than a dozen eggs in there. She rubbed her face, surprised herself with the hard point of her beak, and shook her head. What was even happening to her?

Henry made her way barefoot to where they kept the chicken feed. She’d given up on wearing slippers or boots since her feet had become so avian; yellow scaled with four long toes tipped by sharp claws. They were enormous too, almost saurian in scale and surprisingly dexterous. Henry lifted one of her feet and flexed it, made a toe-fist, and relaxed it. Neither the cold nor the sharpest bumps seemed to bother her anymore, so why even wear shoes? Not that she had a hope of stuffing these harpy tootsies into anything she owned anyway. She clucked, it was probably a good thing she’d never been much of a shoe girl. 

Henry fumbled open the crate of chicken feed and awkwardly dumped some into a pail. She crowed a little in frustration but managed not to spill too much of it. Curse these hands! Although calling them hands was probably too generous. Henrietta looked at them and sighed, her fingers had all merged together and her thumb had shrunk down to a nub leaving her with fleshy elongated mittens. Feathery mittens, since her arms were coated in long brown flight feathers. Her wings to be. A part of Henrietta had always imagined what it would be like to have wings covered in beautiful feathers and the gift of flight, but in her imagination they’d always grown out of her back like an angel. Having to trade her arms for wings seemed deeply unfair. Henry clucked, but that was the difference between fantasy and reality, wasn’t it? Every good thing in life had a price attached. 

Henrietta scooped up the bucket of feed with her wing mitten and waddled to the chicken run, her overfull belly making her wallow like a ship at sea. As she waddled, Henry reached back with her other flipper to adjust her nightdress as her plume of black and red tail feathers made the hem ride up. Henry shook her head, she’d have to figure out a solution for that, maybe a tail opening or some sort of special bustle for her skirts. She’d probably also need to add some maternity alterations for the front too, since her bulging belly was making the normally loose gown rather tight. Henrietta would probably would have to ask Daisy for help, since she doubted she’d be doing any sewing soon. Henry blushed, she’d never really asked for help with anything before, had always taken care of herself and helped others as best she could. The thought of putting herself into someone else’s care was kind of scary and embarrassing. But maybe kind of nice too? Henry always enjoyed seeing the delight in others when she did them a kindness, and she imagined being on the cared-for side of the ledger would also have its emotional perks. She just didn’t relish the thought of being so powerless. By the time Henrietta reached the chicken run she was puffing and achy, ruffled and sweaty. But she’d made it, and that was something.

Henrietta awkwardly fumbled open the latch to the chicken run and set down the pail of food. She wasn’t sure what was harder: opening the gate with her wing stubs or bending over enough to drop the bucket. She clucked, this was all going to take some getting used to. Henry heard scrabbling and watched their two hens strut out of their coop. It seemed the sound of food had lured Statler and Waldorf out for a hello. Herietta smiled at them, or at least tried to. While she still had her top lip, it was increasingly hidden by her growing beak and her lower lip had already been replaced. It made smiling more of a face thing than a mouth thing, and she wasn’t sure it translated well. She worried what her growing beak meant for her speech too, since her new lower lip beak didn’t have the flexibility to form letters. Would she become mute if her face changed more? Maybe she could sing out words like a parrot? She hadn’t spoken yet today and wondered what her voice even sounded like. Statler and Waldorf didn’t care and were impatiently waiting to be fed.

Henrietta thought it was bad form to leave her fellow hens waiting, even if it was earlier than their usual meal. What was the point of having a farmer with feathers if she didn’t take special care of her flock. No one here but us chickens, let’s just keep it all between us girls.  Henrietta scooped up a double mitten of feed and tossed it as best she could. Statler and Waldorf clucked happily and started pecking up their food. Henry tried smiling again, it was nice feeding folks, even if they were fowl. Watching the chickens bump into each other, it was apparent that Henry’s seed toss was terrible and nearly all the chicken feed had ended up in one sad little pile. She licked the hard edge of her beak and thought about ways to improve. On a whim she reached into the pail of food with her avian foot, scooped up a soleful, and tossed it in a much wider, better arch. The hens separated and hopped off chasing the scattered food. She clucked happily, much better. Maybe she could figure this out after all.

Henrietta watched the chickens eat and felt a hard, painful pinch in her belly. She rubbed the tight round curve with her wing stubs and winced, it was probably almost time for her to do her morning laying. She marvelled again at just how large her belly had grown and wondered just how many eggs were inside her. Yesterday she had euphorically pushed out seven big white eggs from her cloaca, but today her pregnant bulge was so much bigger. She caressed her stomach and felt only smooth, taught muscle and not the bumps of individual eggs. It seemed the eggs were growing inside her otherwise human womb, coddled in her uterus, which was probably for the best since she’d hate to break an egg in there. Henry clucked, it was probably unhealthy to have raw egg sloshing in your guts. But it was more than that: Henrietta felt a strange obligation and pride in birthing her clutch. She shook her head, she knew she was full of breakfast not babies, but she still felt this primal imperative to deliver them into the world. Her body instinctually wanted to be the best darn chicken the world had ever seen. Would letting herself embrace it be the worst thing?

Sunlight glimmered on the horizon and Henrietta felt something spark in her mind. She puffed herself up, threw back her head and crowed. “Cock-a-doodle-doooo! Cock-a-doodle-dooo!” Inside her body she felt something break open with a flash of pain that brought a rush of blissful hormones. She felt blood rush to her crotch, to her cloaca, and her stomach muscles start to contract. Laying time had arrived! Henrietta pulled up her dress, squatted in the chill dawn air, and let her body do what it urgently needed. A wave of pleasure seized her body as the first egg started to squeeze itself into her birth canal. Henrietta happily gasped and threw back her head again as she pushed, her mind slipping away in a tide of euphoria.

“COCK-A-DOODLE-DOOOOOO!”

***

Roan woke up face down on her magical tome. She snorted in surprise and pushed her huge mane of black hair from her face. Somewhere on the farm a rooster was crowing its heart out and the dawn sun was just peering into her stall. Morning. She blinked, she hadn’t meant to fall asleep. Her sisters were counting on her! She still wasn’t done deciphering the spell, but she must have nodded off, passed out more like, her body and mind too exhausted to carry on. Roan had a dream too since she remembered running around outside naked, charging about like a horse, and then masturbating her enormous equine cock in their ritual circle. It was a dream wasn’t it? Had to be. Except she was naked and her increasingly hairy body was spattered with mud and something else. She felt a twinge behind one of her ears which flicked at the insult. She reached up and pulled out some long strands of straw from her hair. So not a dream. She blushed and remembered the thunderous sensation of coming. Roan smiled, not a dream at all.

Roan tossed her head, now wasn’t the time for horse play or fantasies about helping Jack get off the horse, she had a job to do. Roan rubbed her eyes and turned her attention back to the spell book, placing her hands firmly on the table on either side of it. Her enormous hands. Her long fingered, strong, black furred hands with hard finger tips like little hooves. Her hands with wrists covered in long white hair, feathering fur like on a draft horse. Roan whickered and examined herself, saw her huge breasts were also covered in short black fur, her stomach, her legs. She could see her feet were changing, toes merging into a single point, a hoof, and her heels elongating up into a white feathered fetlock. And she was so big, so much larger than her chair and desk. The changes must be accelerating. She absolutely had to figure this out!

Roan read over the page, the part she’d already figured out clear in her mind, but so much of it refused to resolve into meaning. It was like hearing muffled speech through a wall. She could make out words, maybe get the gist, but the nuance of everything still eluded her. Roan could tell there was some key factor, some important parameter of the spell that she’d misunderstood, that she had to figure out to fix things. Whatever it was, it hovered just out of mental reach. Her mind refused to stay focused, kept drifting off and reliving the night before. The freedom of running and the joyous explosion of her orgasm, of coming back to herself covered in her seed by the millstone altar. She blushed, she didn’t have time for this! But… but… there was something significant about her ejaculating in their magical circle maybe? Not in the act itself, that was just a wank in the fields, but it jogged something in her brain. It made her think of rituals, of pagan sex offerings, of how her semen was kind of like a gift to the harvest goddess of the farm. Which… they had actually done something similar, hadn’t they? Danced and cut themselves and offered their blood to the spell, their bodies to it. Yeah, their spell had a lot in common with an offering ritual… but then, if so, an offering to what? To who? The spell itself? Or… 

Roan looked down at her spell book, rereading the spell through this new paradigm, and then something in her mind clicked.

She understood what was happening and why.

And she had an idea of how to stop it. 

***

Roan summoned the collective to council at their picnic table. The women huddled over tea and coffee in the chill morning air, breath and drinks steaming. They studied one another carefully, all of them changed since they had last gathered. Roan had become huge, muscular and curvy, taller than the rest. Her body was sheathed in shiny black fur except for long white hair about her ankles, calves, and wrists. She had also grown a white starburst on her forehead that trailed to her chin. Her face had grown longer, obviously muzzled, with a wide flat nose and big expressive ears. Her dark grey t-shirt barely stretched over her wide shoulders and heavy breasts, her large nipples visible through the fabric. Obvious too was the bulge of her sheathed stallion cock and balls, a heavy mass in the front of the bike shorts that strained to contain her sex and powerful thighs. Her voice was feminine but deep, resonate as she said, “I’ve finally figured out the spell and think I know how to stop our changes.”

“You said stop the changes,” Bess said, her bovine ears sagging a little, “Not reverse them.” Bess had grown a fine sanding of reddish brown fur overnight, a few shades lighter than her brunette hair. This new fur covered her body except her belly and chest which were creamy white and rosy pink. Her breasts had grown even larger during the night, becoming huge with prominent teats that while squashed flat by clothing, still tented the front of Bess’ midriff baring, formerly baggy shirt. Bess had started growing an udder too, just a little pink pouch at her waist with the nubs of future teats. It was pressed up by the underwear she was wearing as pants, a Holstein-print pair borrowed from Daisy that just barely fit over her widening hips and rear. Bess’ short ropey tail flicked and she frowned with a face sporting a square black nose, little horns, and cow ears. Roan knickered and shook her head, “Sorry.”

“How does the spell work?” Daisy asked, genuinely curious. Daisy had come to the council naked, proudly showing off her changing body. Formerly a short woman, Daisy had grown to be the second tallest of the women after Roan. Instead of amazonian, Daisy had grown curvaceous and soft, not fat but zaftig, with a plumpness to her body and extremely wide hips and thighs. Her skin had grown black and white fur, a classic holstein pattern that set off her long blonde hair and blue eyes. Her breasts had become truly enormous, heavy and pink like udders with long thick teats that pointed stiffly out. She had grown an udder too, a round bag of pink mammary flesh that filled her lap with four long teats. The udder was still small compared to an actual cow, but on her humanoid body it looked gigantic. Daisy had also gathered a fine collection of bovine features; a long ropey tail, horns and cow ears, a face drawn out into a short muzzle with a square pink nose, and her feet were well on their way to becoming cloven hooves. Daisy took Bess’s hand in hers and gave it a squeeze.

Roan drummed her hard finger tips on the picnic table and searched for the right words. “I had thought the spell would make us better farmers, that we would be the beneficiaries of the magic somehow. On further study, I’m pretty sure the spell was actually targeted at the farm itself.” Roan snorted, “The spell is designed to improve the farm, not us. With the way we conducted the ceremony I’m convinced that we offered ourselves as instruments of that improvement.”

“So the farm is making us into what it needs to be successful?” Daisy mooed and swept her tail. “Bess, in your business plan, didn’t you say how much we could use more chickens or a couple cows?”

Bess nodded, “And a tractor to plow our fields. But I never meant for us to be the livestock…”

“I’m sorry!” Roan looked at the ground, “I’ve made such a big mistake! I should never have tried using magic…”

“Don’t beat yourself up!” Jenny brayed. She banged the table with her heavy fists making their mugs jump. Her nostrils flared, “You were just tryin’ to help!” Jenny had changed during the night too, growing stronger and fuzzier, her curvy body now coated in grey fur and rippling with hidden muscles. Her bikinni top barley contained a busty furry chest and her wide hips and sex were hidden by a flannel shirt haphazardly tied around her waist like a loincloth, her small donkey udder hanging out over the top. Jenny swished her ropey tail stirring the shirt immodestly, “Ah make plenty of mistakes, and seldom with such good intentions.” She bared the flat teeth in her long face and shook her head, making her donkey ears flap a bit.

“No one here is mad at you,” Daisy said gently. 

“Oh ‘ckhour noh,” Henrietta clucked. Henrietta’s face had more beak than mouth and her words were slurred by the absence of lips. Her expressive eyes sat in a mask of red skin and a comb of red flesh pushed out of the cap of russet feathers covering her scalp. Her arms were wings, elongated with blunted fingerless hands coated in long brown flight feathers. She still had a chest rounded by breasts, but they lacked nipples and her feathery stomach was already starting to swell with her next clutch of eggs. She was dressed in a partially knit sleeveless cardigan like a bright little vest, and a peasant skirt that billowed around her long tail feathers and hid the largely avian legs she was perched on, her long saurian toes clutching the picnic table bench.

Bess took a deep breath and unclenched tight hands. “I’m not thrilled, but I don’t blame you for this.” She smiled a little, “And even if I did, you’re one of us and we’re all in this together. So. What do we do now?”

Roan looked at them all, “We complete the spell.”

“What do you mean?”

“We offered ourselves to improve the farm, and the spell gave us each a role to play. I think if we can prove to the farm, the magical spirit construct of the farm we made, that we’ve fulfilled our roles, then the changes will stop.”

“And how do we do that?”

“By making another offering, a new one tied to our changing bodies.”

***

Bess stood in her bedroom stall and looked down at her body with a frown. She’d always had a fairly average looking body: medium height, medium build, feminine without being busty or curvy, pretty enough but not hot. She’d fit in, at least physically, especially in a crowd. Bess hefted her huge pink breasts, flesh almost hot to the touch, long teat-like nipples protruding. Bess flicked her growing tail, nothing average looking about her now, and definitely busty. She let go of her tits and felt them fall heavily, so heavily, back onto her chest and winced. She would definitely stand out in a crowd. She sighed, like a cow at a dinner party. 

Bess held up her borrowed red plaid dress, adjusted her glasses, and looked at her reflection in the small mirror skeptically. The Buffalo check dress belonged to Daisy and had been part of a dress-like-a-couple lesbian party from ages ago. Bess smiled ruefully, remembered how almost everyone had shown up dressed in matching plaid, less a couple themed party than a convention of lumberjanes. The plaid dress was really just an extra-long button down with full sleeves, a shirt collar, and buttons that went from the neck to the hem. Since human Daisy had been wider and shorter than Bess, Bess hoped the dress would work as a shirt for her now, that it would be long enough and wide enough to stretch over her expanded breasts and drape over the small udder on her belly. She knew there was no hiding all of her changes, but if she had to go out in public she at least wanted to be presentable.

Bess slipped the open shirt dress onto her shoulders and pushed her arms into the too short sleeves. Bess preferred to roll the cuffs up anyway, so that was fine. Bess pulled the front of the shirt closed around her, could see that the waist fit but that her chest would be a problem. Bess buttoned the shirt in the middle and worked her way up, the shirt resisting her when she tried to close it over her boobs. Bess paused, she could feel the last two buttons already straining to stay closed. She knew this was as far up as she could go. Bess looked in the mirror and sighed, almost the entire chest of the shirt was still open, her tits spilling out in a display of unreasonable cleavage and her teats clearly tenting the fabric. This would not do. 

Bess thought rapidly, she didn’t really have any other options as far as tops went. None of her clothes had a hope of fitting her now: she had grown bigger and wider and too busty for her own clothing. She might be able to borrow something else from Daisy, but all her clothes that might fit were too stretchy, clingy, and femme. Bess could maybe throw on a big t-shirt, go into town showing nipple and probably some underboob, but she really didn’t want to. This was a business trip and she still wanted to look presentable, even if she was bovine. It was the plaid dress or bust. Bess sighed, if only her tits were a little smaller. She thought about maybe milking herself, mind flashing to the panting, leg-shaking, oh my god sexual release of it, the mind blowing orgasms… but no! No, she couldn’t think like that! She wasn’t a cow and she wasn’t supposed to enjoy this! Besides, Daisy and her were deliberately letting their udders fill up for their spell offering later. So milking wasn’t really an option. Bess chewed her lip, this wasn’t the first time in her life she’d wanted smaller breasts. When she’d first come out, she’d hacked off her hair and decided to try being butch. It didn’t stick, but maybe she could borrow a move from that era and wrap her chest with some elastic bandages, squish her tits flat enough to fit under her shirt. Bess took off the dress, went to her bedside table, and pulled out a couple of rolled up ace bandages. She got to work, unrolling them and wrapping them around her, drawing them as tight as she could, wincing at the feeling of her milk heavy breasts getting squashed. She took a deep breath and kept wrapping until all the available bandages were wound as tightly around her as she could manage. She could feel the elastic press against her, felt her breath pinch a little by the compression like an oddly configured corset, but Bess could also see her chest was reduced and her nipples were finally disguised. Bess fastened the bandages with metal clips and pulled the plaid dress back on. She started to button the dress up, beginning from the middle and working up. It was still an effort to draw the shirt closed over her wrapped chest, but she just managed to do it, forced the buttons closed just barely, all the way to the top. Bess stood up and relaxed her shoulders, saw the buttons strain dangerously, but hold. She smiled at her reflection, a brown-furred cowy version of herself in a long red plaid shirt, tights, and workboots, her udder and nipples obscured, and her tail dangling modestly behind her. It still wasn’t ideal, but she had to admit she looked kind of cute. She wiggled her bovine ears and swished her tail, she could live with it.

Bess tromped into the kitchen to find the other ladies at work finishing Henrietta’s famous cornmeal biscuits. Roan baked while Daisy and Jenny packed the biscuits into little plastic bags. Henry was left pacing around the kitchen, jerking about and supervising, clucking garbled instructions, and scratching at the floor. It looked to Bess like the last batch was in the oven and just about everything else was packed up to go.

“Plainly you cows will be offerin’ your milk to the farm, and Hank her eggs, but what d’you reckon Ah’m supposed to do?” Jenny said while chomping on a stolen biscuit.

Daisy smiled, “Donkeys are for work. You’re a beast of burden.”

Jenny hawed, “Don’t Ah know it!”

“I think you probably need to plow a field or something, maybe offer some fresh soil.”

Jenny nodded, “What about Roan?”

“What about me?” Roan asked while lifting a sheet of biscuits out of the oven.

“Ah can think of somethin’ a stallion makes…” Jenny vulgarly waggled her donkey ears.

Henry clucked angrily and fluttered in protest. “Jenny, that was rude!” Daisy shook her head, “Just because Roan has a penis…”

“A mighty big one…” Jenny said pleasantly.

“That kind of genital-centric thinking has no place on this farm.”

Roan tossed her head and just smiled, “I think I’ll try plowing too.”

Bess cleared her throat for attention, “Are we ready to go?” Daisy’s ears flicked and she looked at Bess and smiled. Daisy stood up and Bess blinked her eyes, stunned at her girlfriend’s appearance. Daisy had squeezed herself into a formerly long cornflour blue halter dress, the top of which was just barely stretchy enough to encompass Daisy’s enormous chest udders, although it left almost nothing about them to the imagination. The hem of the dress barely reached mid thigh, elevated by Daisy’s new stature and by her wide hips and her udder which hung below, teats exposed to the air. Daisy’s long blonde hair had been braided and pulled aside to showcase her horns and long cow ears, the left ear of which was pierced with a tiny ear tag, hand painted with a flower. Worse, Daisy was wearing the small square goat bell they used to scare off bears while hiking around her neck on a blue ribbon, an improvised cowbell necklace. Bess frowned, Daisy had never been circumspect in her wardrobe choices, but this was ridiculous. So much for a keeping a low profile.

“Of course hun,” Daisy said, lifting the baskets of baking and leading Bess outside, her ropey tail swaying flirtatiously, wafting up the high hem of her dress. Bess found herself studying the motion of that tail and felt a burble of warmth bloom in her stomach. She really wished Daisy had chosen a quieter outfit, but gosh if she wasn’t beautiful. Bess wondered if she was even wearing underwear. 

Daisy led Bess to their old pickup truck which was already hitched to their trailer and loaded with produce for market. Bess had deep misgivings about any of them going to the Farmers Market while so animalistic, but the truth was they needed the money, and if they couldn’t reverse the curse they’d all have to get used to it anyway. She would have to get used to it. Bess wished she could let someone else go this week, and also every other week forever, but she ran the business and it wouldn’t be right to force the others to face something she couldn’t. She sighed, she’d heard other people didn’t seem to mind they were fuzzy and treated them all normally, so she would just have to trust the magic and hope for the best. Even if she really, really didn’t want to. “Hun, are you coming or what?”

“Right sorry!” Bess scrambled over to the truck and pulled herself into the passenger seat. Daisy finished loading the baking into the space behind the seats, and settled herself heavily into the driver’s seat. With a mechanical rasp she started the truck, put it reluctantly into gear, and drove down the gravel driveway and onto the road into town. Bess glanced sideways at her girlfriend, amazed again at how beautiful she looked, the way her white and black skin set off her eyes, the way the quiet strength and size of her body suited her, an almost physical manifestation of her personality. Her gigantic, incredible tits. Bess felt the heat in her belly again and tried not to squirm. To distract herself Bess reached out and gently touched the painted ear tag, making Daisy’s ear twitch. She realized the tag was a modified guitar pick and that the flower was a daisy. “You’re really leaning into this cow-thing.”

“A cow’s got to look her best when going to market.” She smiled sideways, “Plus I’ve always loved to accessorize.”

“But did you really need to wear a cowbell…”

Daisy beamed, “I think it’s cute!”

“You’re awful!”

“Mooooooo!”

Bess shook her head and looked out the window, watched the farms pass by on their way to the highway. She startled a bit as she saw a herd of cows lolling about in a sunny field. She studied them there, dappled brown and white, looking lazy and content. One seemed to make eye contact with her and let out an unheard moo as they drove past. A part of her recoiled at the sight; these bovine beasts were harbingers of her unwanted fate! If they couldn’t stop the spell, the curse, would she and Daisy end up like that? Just two more lumbering slabs of beef eating grass in the sunlight between milkings? Or would their fate be worse? Bred to a bull? Blended into a burger?  Bess shook her head, reminded herself not to be so dramatic. Roan had a plan, they just had to solve the puzzle and everything would be okay. Not great, but okay. She could deal with the farm, the sunlit fields, and the milking if she retained the rest of her humanity.

The truck turned onto a wider road that quickly onramped to the highway, leaving the farms in the distance. Bess yawned and rubbed her eyes, still tired from her late night milking session. She leaned her head against the window, felt her eyes drift closed. When she opened them again she was in a sunny field surrounded by other cows. She trotted forward placidly, not a care or worry in her head except a quiet hunger. She was chewing something in her mouth, cud she realized, and she felt content that the hunger would soon be satisfied. She swallowed and leaned forward and cropped another mouthful of fresh grass, started to chew it in her wide mouth. She looked up and saw a Holstein patterned cow looking at her, a big heifer with a magnificent udder hanging below her body. Bess flicked her tail and snorted affectionately, sure this cow was her Daisy. Daisy just blinked at her, opened her cow mouth, and said, “Wake up hun, we’re here.”

Bess woke up to find they were parked in the little town square venue for the Farmers Market. “Oh god, I’m sorry! I must’ve fallen sleep.”

“You’re fine.” Daisy smiled, “You looked so peaceful, like you were having a nice dream.”

“Umm?”

“It sounded like you were mooing…”

“Yes, well!” Bess blushed under her fur. “I guess it’s time to set up…”

The two cow women climbed out of the truck and set up their market booth. They put up their pop-up shelters, unfolded tables, and arranged their baking and produce for sale. Daisy wrote out prices on a chalkboard while Bess booted up her laptop and set up their little credit card reader. And then the market was open, with the usual crowd of upscale yuppy families and crunchy types bustling for their locally sourced artisanal organic groceries. Bess and Daisy were soon busy helping customers, pulling out subscription boxes from the pickup, making sales and restocking. Bess could almost forget their predicament, soothed by the familiar hustle, at least until she felt her tail slap against someone. Bess blushed and stammered an apology, but the dad just smiled, apparently unbothered. It seemed that folks really didn’t find their changes noteworthy. They noticed their cowlike features, sure, but they didn’t seem to find it particularly weird. Bess thought she felt more stares than usual, but it was hard to tell if that was a cow-thing or just Daisy looking radiant, or maybe just her being paranoid. It did seem like Bess could pass in society without being treated like a total freak, at least. Bess turned to mention this to Daisy,  but saw her talking to a customer by a mysterious cooler. “Yes of course it’s raw,” Daisy was saying. “For pets,” she added with a wink.

“And you’re sure it’s safe?” the moneyed woman in hiking apparel asked. “For pets.”

“I mean, there’s always a risk of course, but let’s just say I’m *real* familiar with the cows involved and they’re both in excellent health and very hygienic.”

The woman laughed and gave Daisy a long look, nodded, “Okay how much?”

Daisy mooed, “Twenty dollars.”

“Great.” The woman handed over a crisp bill and Daisy handed her a small glass bottle of milk. 

Daisy winked, “Your pets will love it!”

As the woman walked away Bess frowned at Daisy, “What the fuck was that about? Is that our milk?”

Daisy nodded, “Our raw milk.”

“Fuck! You just sold our milk!?”

“For twenty bucks a pint.”

“Twenty dollars… for milk? Why would anyone pay that much for milk?”

“Raw milk.”

“What?”

“It’s unpasteurized. For certain folks this is like a super health food.”

Bess frowned, okay that was crazy but it jived with everything else people were doing, and yet… “Why do they want an overpriced superfood for their pets?”

Daisy laughed, “Selling raw milk to humans is illegal, which is why we only sell it for pets. It’s not our fault if folks don’t follow the rules and drink it themselves.” She shook her head, mock sadly, her improvised cowbell rattling, “We really wish they wouldn't, but folks’ll do what they do.”

Bess frowned and did some quick mental math, counted the bottles in their cooler, guesstimated the amount of milk they were already producing, and spitballed an overhead figure. Their raw milk was valuable, really valuable. If they planned this out properly and worked out the supply kinks, then this could be huge for the farm. Assuming they didn’t end up in some sort of legal trouble… “That’s… that’s a lot of money.”

“Yeah, I thought if we’re making milk anyway, why not try and sell it? The whole reason we’re in this mess was to beef up the farm, and raw milk’s real good business. Lots of little local farms are doing it on the downlow and it’s about as safe as eating yolky eggs. Folks do it in Europe all the time.” Daisy licked her muzzle, “I’m sorry, I should’ve asked first, but it seemed so wasteful not to use it. ‘Specially since it could be such a…”

Bess rolled her eyes, “Cash cow.” Daisy mooed happily.

And then the after church rush hit the Farmers Market and they were both busy helping customers again. As she worked Bess thought about selling bottles of their milk. She certainly appreciated the new revenue stream, twenty bucks for a pint of milk was nothing to scoff at. Even with their current production it would make a difference to their bottom line, especially if they started selling Henrietta’s farm fresh eggs too. But. But it was weird. The thought of strangers drinking something made in her breasts and udders was bizarre. Bizarre and gross… but also somehow satisfying? Some part of her found the idea of nurturing people with her body kind of empowering. Maybe it was okay? Maybe she could live with all this, be a stealth cow-woman living on her farm with her radiantly sexy cowgirl girlfriend. It wasn’t so bad, was it? Bess tucked some loose hair behind her horn, making her ear flick. Maybe she could make the most of it? Maybe even learn to love it? Bess frowned and shifted her shoulders, her compressed chest was starting to get uncomfortable. Her wrapped chest had been quite tight when she’d tied herself down, but now the bandages were starting to dig into her furred skin and her breasts were starting to actually hurt. She tried to take a deep breath and winced in pain, it was way too tight! Her breasts must be growing! Her milk production! Her lactating tits must be filling up and getting larger, straining against the elastic bandages! Bess rubbed her sore chest and felt how hard her tits were, felt the distended stretch of her wrappings, noticed that at least one of the metal clips had already broken loose. Bess knew that something was about to give, either her aching tits or the wrap job, and either way it was bad. “Excuse me,” she said and rushed toward the cab of their pickup truck. She fought with the finicky old door handle, panicking a little. It finally clicked and she yanked the door open, almost falling over with the sudden lurch. She stumbled and the buttons on her shirt strained audibly. Shit! She caught her balance, just barely, chest painfully heaving, and steadied herself. Calmly she reached out to pull herself up into the truck and….

The front of her shirt exploded!

A hail of buttons clattered around her, her bandage wrappings slipped loose, and her breasts flopped hugely, ponderously free, her long teats poking out in the cool air.

“Fuck me!”

***

Henrietta was uncomfortable, not in pain exactly, but bloated. Full. Stuffed. She waddled along on her avian feet, shifted her hips, tried to get comfortable. She clucked along furiously, turned, and kept pacing. Her belly was already round and taut, even though she’d laid her daily clutch of eggs that morning. So many eggs! Which meant this was the next batch growing and relief was still hours away. She crowed a little in frustration, ruffled her wings. It hardly seemed fair for her to have filled up again so quickly! 

She took a deep breath and shook out her head, it honestly wasn’t so bad. She’d felt worse discomfort from rough periods or bad indigestion. Maybe the problem was more that Henry was bored, that she had nothing to keep her mind off the growing mass in her belly. She thought about that morning, the pre-market ritual of getting up early to bake while the other girls did last minute harvesting and packed boxes. It had always been one of her favourite parts of the week: the busyness, the easy camaraderie, the way her kitchen became a command centre where folks popped in for a bite or a sip and or to coo over her creations. But now Henrietta had wings instead of hands and had to hover over Roan as she did her best to replicate her recipes. Henry knew Roan had tried her best, but it was hard to watch the huge horsegirl struggle with something Henry could do so effortlessly. Used to do so effortlessly. Henrietta clucked and changed direction.

Often Henrietta would try and go to market with Bess and Daisy. She loved watching people swoop in and swoon over her treats, loved to see the joy on a stranger’s face. It was like her tiny gift to the world. She also loved to gab with the other bakers, to try their wares and reverse engineer their goodies. She would often game them out too, figure out how she could make them herself, if only the farm had the ingredient budget for laminated brioches and pastries and elaborate confections. Oh the culinary wizardry she could pull off if only they could afford it! But not now, she thought. Now she couldn’t handle a whisk, let alone coax détrempe and beurrage into a convincing paton for pastry. She squawked and kicked at the dirt, for heaven sakes she couldn’t even talk! She could barely manage a mangled mumble now and her mouth was becoming more beak by the minute. Soon Henry knew she’d lose her voice entirely, just be out here clucking and crowing and flapping her wings. What was she even good for? Henrietta felt a twinge in her belly and stopped in her tracks.

Eggs.

That was all she was good for. Making eggs. So many eggs!

Henrietta wasn’t a baker, not anymore, but at least she was still making something. Or maybe egg production was like a kind of baking? Maybe her turbocharged womb was an oven, and the eggs she was incubating were her own special recipe. Yes, that was it. She was still cooking up things for her friends, for strangers, just now she was doing it with her body. Delicious, rich, nutritious eggs. Her eggs! Her very special, unique eggs! The best eggs!

Henrietta clucked in pride, what other chicken could lay as many eggs as she could? Could lay such large, perfect eggs? 

She could still help the farm, help her friends, she just needed to be the best chicken she could!

***

Roan looked dubiously at the farm equipment Daisy had bought on her way back from the market. “Do you really think this is going to work?”

Daisy mooed, “Work with me a bit here, sweetie. Use your imagination!”

Jenny hee-hawwed, “The only thing Ah’m picturin’ is thresher accidents!”

“I asked Roan to use her imagination, not you.”

“Hawwwww!”

Roan circled the contraption cautiously, studying it. The main part was a large T-shaped steel trailer, painted a cheerful agricultural green. The trailer had two wheels at the front, a larger wagon wheel across an axel from a heavy metal disk, smaller in diameter but very solid. The rear of the trailer came to a point with a third disc wheel and a swooped steel blade, presumably the plow itself. There was a fourth wheel under the trailer, about halfway between the front and back, which was actually more like a circular saw blade planted firmly in the ground. The front of the trailer had a tow hitch attached to a horizontal bar, which was connected to a pair of old fashioned horsecollars by leather straps. Or maybe ponycollars, since they were a bit scaled down. The trailer had a little bucket seat and a collection of levers for adjusting the plow and blade, but it was vacant and unneeded when the horse team could operate the controls themselves. The plow-trailer looked old and worn, but cared for and in reasonably good repair. “Where did you even find this?”

“Old Chuck knows an Amish fellah who happened to have an extra plow. A handshake and the money from today’s milk sales made a downpayment, and a good word from Chuck sealed the deal. Ain’t it great!?”

Jenny snorted, “Easy for you to say, you don’t have to pull it!”

“Just be glad I don’t fancy a hay ride.” Daisy gestured at the field they were in. “I figure you cut your first furrow straight along here until you’re almost in the trees, then turn around. Remember to work outward in alternating directions, like in circles. Oh and make sure y’all lift the plow between rows, it’s not really designed to go round turns.” Daisy smiled amusedly and turned to go. “Get Mooooo-ving!”

Roan whickered, “Wait! Aren’t you going to stay and help?”

Daisy mooed and shook her head. “I’m not an oxen. Good luck y’all!”

“Well, ain’t this a pickle,” Jenny said, while walking over to the horsecollars. Roan looked the plow trailer over carefully again, inspecting how the blade and plow were positioned. She gently jiggled the levers, careful not to upset anything, but to get some idea of how everything worked. Roan snorted, she could see how the sharp blade wheel would cut a guiding divot in the ground  that the plow would slide into and along. Then the scooped shape of the plow would fold over the soil as they dragged it forward, tilling the field. The lopsided wheel arrangement was probably about weight distribution and making sure the plow had enough leverage. Roan whisked her tail, it looked like heavy work and she wondered if a team of two would even be able to drag the thing. She realized that she wanted to find out, her body itching and flexing, eager to discover just how strong she was. Roan looked up to see Jenny with her head already inserted into one of the horse collars, watching her. “We gonna do this?”

Roan tossed her head, “I relish the challenge!”

Jenny flashed her buckteeth, “Was that a joke?”

“Ketchup and I might tell you,” Roan said, striding over to the other horsecollar and lifting it. It was a teardrop ring of padded leather, narrow at the top and wider on the bottom, not unlike, Roan realized blushing a little, the shape of a mare’s pussy. She shook her head: focus. The collar had metal brackets on the outside edges, two of which where attached by heavy leather straps to the towing bar of the plow. The collar was made to slip over a pony’s neck and rest against its shoulders, to provide a comfortable leverage point for weight to fall across the front of its powerful chest when pulling. Roan was dubious the collar would work as well for her hybrid humanoid anatomy, but knew that on short notice it was probably the best they could do. She slipped her muzzled face through the ring and settled it over her shoulders. Despite how much she’d grown, it was clearly too large, with plenty of room between her neck and the collar. Like a ring tossed around her neck at a weird kinky carnival game. Or a beach life preserver for horse women. Roan whickered, Bay Watch! She leaned forward and pulled a little, taking up the slack on the lead, and felt the collar press into her shoulders, not uncomfortably. She knickered and flicked her tail, this might just work, at least for the day. “You ready?”

Jenny gave her own collar an experimental tug and grinned. “Ah just need a moment to mustard my strength.”

Roan snorted, smiled. “You Pesto.”

Jenny brayed and gave Roan a playful but hard slap on her rear, “Giddy-yup!” Roan startled a little and blushed, but obediently started to pull forward on the reins. She took up the slack and started to work against the inertia of the plow while beside her Jenny did the same. The plow stuck, stubbornly anchored in the soil. Roan pushed herself harder, could feel the massive strength in her muscular body uncoil, the bands of muscle standing out from the soft fat of her limbs. The horsecollar dug into her shoulders and Roan grabbed onto it like a piece of exercise equipment, searching for extra leverage. She pushed herself harder still, her partially hooved feet sinking into the grassy ground. Jenny strained forward too, body so close it was almost pressed against her, like they were wrestling. Like they were fucking. Roan snorted and Jenny panted and growled. Roan took the deepest breath she could and pushed herself forward with every ounce of strength she could muster, her every sinew taught, muscles bulging, her bones resonating at their limits… Roan whinnied! And the plow slipped forward! Roan stumbled, but Jenny kept her footing and pulled another step and the plow obstinately followed. It was still hard work, but they were moving! They were plowing!

The two equine women worked together like that, pulling and plodding forward, dragging the plow through the field. It was difficult work, but as the plow got moving it became easier; manageable. Roan and Jenny found a rhythm, a common pace, Roan leading with her strength and Jenny supplementing it, adding power when they were stuck and keeping things moving if Roan stumbled or let up. It was exhausting and plowing the entire field was daunting, but Roan found herself warming to the task. She loved the way her body felt when she was pulling, thrilled at the sheer power she could muster. It was electric! Invigorating! Roan snorted and felt her crotch warm, felt the bulge in her too tight bike shorts start to shift. Maybe too invigorating…

Raon was intensely aware of Jenny pressed up next to her in their harness. Roan could feel the heat of her body next to her, the brush of furred skin whenever they touched, which was often. Roan snuck a look and saw that Jenny was almost naked, that she’d lost the shirt tied around her waist and her bikini top had fallen askew again letting her breasts hang out. Her upper breasts, since Jenny’s udder had been out the entire time, two extra tits bouncing distractingly between her thighs. Roan quickly looked away and blushed, tried to tamp down the stirring below her waist. Think other, unsexy thoughts. She tried taking a deep cleansing breath and came up with Jenny’s scent instead, an animal musk with something else in it, something exciting, something that made Ron want to pull harder, or better yet slip her reins and… Roan put her head down and dragged the plow. Reminded herself there was only one kind of plowing to be done today.

***

Jenny slipped her head out of her horse collar and fixed her bikini top for the umpteenth time. She reckoned she ought to just ditch the useless thing, but she enjoyed the way Roan pretended not to gawk when she popped herself back into it. Jenny looked down and hid a grin, not ready to give up the game.

They were about halfway done plowing the field and it was time to swing the plow around for another pass. Which meant Jenny needed to disengage the plow blade so Roan could pull the cart into position to plow another stripe. Jenny made sure to brush against Roan a little on her way over to the plow and bent herself over to pull the levers and work the little hand crank. She made sure to look oblivious, real innocent like, but also made a show of wagging her tail around, as if it had a naughty lil’ mind of its own. She didn’t need to look up to know Roan was staring right at her ass. Fuck but being a tease was fun!

It only took a moment to get the plow free, and Roan was easily strong enough to pull the steel cart when it wasn’t stuck in the ground. Roan was easily strong enough for a lot of things, Jenny reckoned, watching the tall stallion-girl start to drag the cart, the long muscles in her legs flexing with effort. Jenny had always admired strength. Well, she admired a lot of things to be honest, but strength was certainly one of them. Nothing wrong with a lover strong enough to lift you, to maybe hold you down, to crush you against them, to fuck you hard enough to break you in twain. Jenny shivered, fuck but she needed to get laid! Again! Still! Her little tryst with the cabaret gents had been fun, but it hadn’t quite satisfied the insistent pounding inside her. Jenny wasn’t certain anything would, but if something could, it was probably the monstrous bulge in the front of Roan’s shorts. That there was a dangerously tempting thought. Jenny looked Roan over, taking in her powerful black-furred body, the ripples of muscle on her bare abdomen, the still generous curves under sweat slicked clothing, the pretty tail, and that bulge… Oh fuck that bulge! Jenny realized that Roan was staring at her and that the plow was already lined up in position. She blushed under her fur, but hee-hawwed rakishly as she worked the controls to dig the plow back into the ground.

Jenny slipped back into her harness and took her place next to Roan in front of the plow. Jenny had always been tall, but since the spell she’d gained height and breadth, and was larger than she’d ever been. Beside Roan she felt diminutive; the woman turned draft horse was enormous, tall and solid and physically imposing. And her smell! Jenny just couldn’t get enough of it. Musky and a little sweet, feminine but with a masculine tang. She reeked of virility. Jenny wondered what she tasted like. “Ready?” Roan asked in a voice made deep by size, a feminine rumble that made parts of Jenny ache. “Of course,” Jenny said with bucktooth bravado, “On three.”

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

And then they were pulling again, working against the weight of the plow, snorting, straining, heaving. Two bodies moving together, tied together, pressed hip to hip, muscles taught, and pulling pulling pulling. Jenny felt the familiar moment of the tipping point, and then somehow Roan pulled all the harder and the plow slipped forward. Jenny caught the moment, like it was habit, and yanked with all her might, kept the plow skidding forward while Roan righted herself and joined back in. Jenny brayed happily. She loved how strong she felt, the power in her body, but she downright marvelled at Roan’s strength. She felt it every time they brushed together, felt it with every foot-turning-hoof push in the ground, felt it in the awesome fearsome tug that got the stubborn plow moving. It was exhilarating to be close to someone that powerful. It made her feel breathless and wild and submissive and daring and afraid. And horny! Maybe more than she already was somehow? Which was a real trick. Jenny faked a stumble and brushed up against Roan, felt the stallion-girl tense up for a moment, stumble a little herself. Jenny imagined Roan tensing like that over her, inside her, feeling her own boiling insides clench in anticipation, a rush of heat exploding inside her. Fuck but she was horny! Being tied to a stud like this was torture! Fuck but being a tease was a lot of work!

And they still had half a field to plow!

***

Daisy mooed in ecstasy one last time and came back to herself, weak-kneed and panting, body collapsed on her milking frame. She lolled there, dizzy and giddy and exhausted in the best way. She felt so light and empty, her breasts and udder free from all that warm weight now that she was milked dry. Daisy felt the dormant tug of the milking cups still on her teats, a bit too heavy now that they were just hanging. She flicked her tail; she felt boneless too, turned to rubber or melted wax, it was all she could do to hold herself up on the frame, to avoid just sliding to the ground. She was sure glad she’d built it strong. Daisy let out a long, contented moo. 

“As happy as you look right now,” Bess said, “I think it’s my turn.” Daisy lazily gazed up at her cowy girlfriend and smiled. Bess looked impatient, was shifting from increasingly cloven foot to cloven foot, arms wrapped around her naked breasts, partially for modesty, but mostly for support. Daisy imagined she must be uncomfortably full, tits stretching from an entire day’s milk production. She smiled and stuck out her wide tongue, “Soooo impatient!”

Bess’ bovine ears pulled back and she broke eye contact, no doubt blushing under her red-brown fur. “I’m just uncomfortable…”

Daisy mooed and nodded her long head, “Of course.” Daisy shakily climbed to her mostly hooves and gently removed the milking cups from her tender teats. Milking felt glorious, but she was always a bit sore afterwards. She took an unsteady step aside and Bess shoved past her in a rush to the milking frame. Daisy hid her grin as she sauntered over to the milking machine controls. She checked the tank and cables, and gave the milking cups a good clean before reuse. If they were going to be in the unpasteurized milk business, cleanliness was real important.

Satisfied that the milking machinery was ready for Bess, Daisy turned to find her girlfriend already leaning heavily on the frame. Bess was standing with her legs upright and with her upper body supported by the padded crossbeam of the frame. Her breasts were hanging heavily, so heavily, below her, her long teats pointed rigidly at the ground. Bess legs were bent to accommodate the new shape of her stretched ankles and hooves, and her thighs were spread to create space for the taught overstuffed courier bag of her new udder. The four teats of her udder were long and hard, and the tips of them glistened slightly with milky leak. Daisy could see that Bess’ tail was up, that the leathery folds of her bovine vagina were wet and drooling, leaving a wet trickle of juices down the inside of her thighs and along the back of her udder. Daisy took a deep breath heavy with the pungent scent of her girlfriend’s arousal. She suspected she’d be able to smell her even without her enhanced nose, but with it she could almost taste her. Bess shifted her hips making her breasts and udder sway heavily and looked back over her shoulder, her eyes pleading. Daisy ran her wide tongue over her lips and felt her body start to warm back up.

Daisy blew a long breath, reminded herself that she had to take it slow. One doesn’t rush a skittish animal and dragging this out could only make it better. Carrying the milking cups and lines, she approached Bess slowly, more form the side than the rear, and placed one of her big hands on her girlfriend’s back. Bess trembled, clearly not calmed by the gesture. Daisy knelt, reached out, and gently stroked a hanging breast, making Bess shiver. Daisy cupped it in her hand and gave it a small squeeze, felt how hard and unyielding the milk engorged breast was, how feverishly hot to the touch it was. Bess gasped and her back arched a little. Daisy scooped up a cleaning wipe, and started to sterilize Bess’ teats, wrapping her hand around them, being sure to touch every surface, squeezing and tugging a little, pulling out a little splash of milk that made Bess bite her lip to stop from moaning. Daisy felt her own heart beat faster, felt a heat build deep inside. Patience, patience. She carefully slipped a milking cup onto each of Bess’ breast teats, deliberately taking extra time to ensure a perfect fit and seal. Then she stood, returned her hand to Bess’ furry back, and ran it down toward her flanks. She felt Bess panting, saw her pointedly avoid eye contact. Daisy could tell how badly she wanted it. Daisy draped the remaining milking lines over Bess’s back, right above her hips, a reminder of what was coming. Daisy knelt next to Bess’ udder, her own loose udder brushing the floor, and reached out with both hands and touched it, running her palms over it. Bess squirmed and her tail lashed the air, spreading her scent around. Daisy gave the udder an experimental squeeze and Bess’ legs buckled, almost collapsed, had to scrabble to stay upright. Daisy smiled at how swollen and full the udder was and at the desperate mmmmming noise that Bess had to fight to hold in. Daisy could almost taste where this was going, but no, it wasn’t wise to get ahead of herself. Daisy took another sterilizing wipe and languidly started to clean Bess’ udder, caressing and cupping, stroking more than washing. Bess rocked on her legs and Daisy could feel the slick juices on the back of Bess’ udder, trailing down from her cunny. Daisy resisted the urge to reach up and touch it, to test just how wet her girlfriend was. Instead, one by one, she attached each milk cup to Bess’ udder, taking her time to do it right, to draw it out, to make her plead. Bess was trembling, gasping, snorting with pent up need. “P-please,” she begged. Daisy gave her udder one last little pat and stood, moseyed over to the milking machine controls. Bess stared at her, wide nostrils flared, lip squeezed between widened teeth, a look of raw need in her eyes. It was finally time. Daisy grinned and turned on the machine.

As the milker chugged to life, Bess threw back her head in pleasure. Bess mmmmmed and thrashed as the milking cups began to pull thick gouts of milk out of her breasts and udder. She panted and lifted her tail, her exposed cunny shiny with wet, the pungent smell of her arousal heavy in the air. Bess gasped and whined and then her back arched as an orgasm rippled through her body, her bovine vagina winking rhythmically. She snorted with her lips crushed between her teeth and collapsed against the frame, tail slapping against the slick wet back of her hanging udder. Daisy grinned, Bess’ milking was far from done. The relentless churn of the milker continued, sucking on and on and on. Bess moaned, began to breath harder, her tail starting to sway. Daisy knew the feeling, the heady mix of relief and afterglow interrupted by the steady teasing of the milker on far too sensitive teats. Bess mmmed mmmed mmmmed and squirmed, chest rising and falling with heavy breathing. Daisy knew another orgasm was brewing, but could tell Bess was holding back, resisting. She walked over to her, knelt next to her, placed her hand on Bess’ back. “It feels so good doesn’t it?” Bess nodded, mouth clamped shut, eyes lusty and pleading and more than a little frightened. The milker continued to chug. “It’s okay to enjoy it, to just let yourself go...” Daisy ran her hand down Bess’ furry back, around her flank, then ran her finger tip along the wet leathery folds of her vulva. Bess snorted and made another mmmming sound deep in her throat, looked away. Daisy pressed the tip of her snout to Bess’ ear, making it flick, “Just give in…”. Daisy pushed a finger into Bess’ boiling cunny, started to stroke the hard throbbing knob of her clitoris. Bess bucked and gasped and shuddered. “Cum for me,” Daisy said. “Be a good cow Bessy.” Bess’ eyes went wide in surprise.  “Moo for me…” Bess’ body tensed, she arched and her legs buckled, orgasming! “Muh-muh-muh-muh-mmmmmmahhhhhhh!!!” 

Bess collapsed against the milking frame heaving, eyes glaring at Daisy. “‘Mm not a cow… not Bessy…” She took a shuddering breath, “Get this thing offa me… so we can end this curse…”

***

At midnight we returned to our millstone altar in the fields. Before we came gaily, pampered and primped, giddy and nervous. Now we came as supplicants, work weary and soiled with the dirt and the mud and the sweat of our toils. We came naked, stripped of our human vestments, clothed instead in the fur or feathers our bodies had grown. We marched as beasts, bearing the fruits of our labour, offerings we hoped would set us free.

Roan trotted to the center of the magical circle and we watched her carefully ignite the kindling she had prepared. As the flames rose upon the altar she looked at us with eyes made wild by an equine fear. We went to her, embraced her, made soothing sounds, and Roan smiled at us with her wide flat teeth. She told us to take our places as before, to set our bowls around the altar, to make our offerings to the farm and prove our worthiness. We formed a nervous circle and skittishly began the ritual.

Daisy stepped heavily forward, her white and black fur made brilliant by the flickering firelight. She placed her bowl upon the altar and opened a glass bottle filled with thick fresh milk. Carefully she poured her milk into the bowl, a look of pride on her changed face. She took a tea candle, lit it in the altar flame and set it afloat in the milk. Mooing softly she took her place back among us.

Bess stepped forward next, a frown on her red-brown furred face. She placed her bowl upon the altar and filled it with the milk her body had made. Her hands shook and white beads of fluid splashed out. She snorted in frustration and flicked her tail, but lit her candle and placed it in her bowl. Bess returned to the circle.

Henrietta hopped forward, feathers fluttering, with a basket of eggs clutched in her beak. With her strong scaly feet she positioned her bowl upon the altar, and gently placed six fresh eggs inside, still stained from their birth. She puffed out her feathers and squawked, then carefully lit a candle with her foot and sat it awkwardly in the bowl atop her mound of eggs. Henry glanced beady eyed at the rest of us, bobbed her head, and strutted back to her place.

Jenny trotted forward, teeth bared in a forced grin, long ears pulled back in fear. She placed her bowl heavily, making it dance and spin a little. With her black furred hands she scooped a double handful of freshly tilled soil into her bowl, filling it nearly to the brim. She lit her tea candle and smushed it into the mound, smearing the white wax with dirt. Jenny stood, looked at her filthy hands and wiped then on the grey fur of her thighs. She brayed with nervous laughter and hastily rejoined us.

Finally Roan stepped forward and set her own bowl upon the altar. She too filled hers with soil, carefully, almost reverently, her huge hands somehow dainty despite their size. She held up her candle, studied it, watched the way the fire glow reflected off the wax and the white fur of her wrist fetlocks. She paused, taking in the liminal moment, thinking about the branches of fate she had twisted, continued to twist, and the awesome mercurial power of magic. She tossed her head, whickered, lit her candle in the altar fire, and set it carefully in her offering bowl. Then in just a few long powerful strides Roan rejoined the circle. 

We began to move around the altar and chant as before, Roan’s resonant voice leading and our own somehow following. Where before we danced wildly, now we simply were wild, trotting and prancing and fluttering, a parade of beasts revolving around the fire. Our human words slipped and faded as we gave voice to the animals inside, braying and whinnying and lowing and crowing. Gone was the harmony of our human chant, instead we became raucous, discordant, a barnyard chorus. Our wild ways became louder and faster, a ritualized stampede, until we felt a great energy build, a thrum in our bones and the soil and the air. We stopped as one and turned, falling to our knees or bellies as the little fire upon the altar roared impossibly tall and bright. The air seemed to seethe and crackle as the spell turned its attention upon our offerings.

The candle within Daisy’s milk filled bowl exploded in flame, boiling her milk with a roar!

The candle within Bess’ bowl erupted, obliterating the milk within!

The candle atop Henrietta’s bowl flared brilliantly, consuming the eggs, shells and all!

The candle within Jenny’s bowl exploded, taking the soil offering completely!

The candle within Roan’s bowl… fizzled! Snuffed itself out! Died! Became just a mundane, unlit stick of wax stuck in a bowl of dark soil. 

We felt the pulsing energy in the air falter, slip away, scatter! The bonfire on our altar shrank and sputtered and went out. Deep within our bones we all knew the ritual had failed. Our offerings were found wanting, found wrong. The covenant we had made with the farm had not been satisfied.

The spell had not been broken! 

***

Henrietta woke before dawn. She blinked bleary eyes and raised her hands to rub them, but they were wings and she was a chicken still. She looked around and saw she was perched on her bed in a nest made from her pillows and blankets. She remembered last night, the ritual failing, and coming home with her dejected friends. She clucked softly and fluffed her feathers, worried about the others. Then she felt a sharp pinching feeling in her guts and a bloated tightness in her abdomen. Her human sisters would have to wait, she had other things to attend to.

Henrietta lifted herself on avian legs, waddled across her bed, and hopped off, instinctively flaring her wings to slow her fall. Despite that she landed heavily, the sudden stop making her bulging belly ache more. She strutted over to the small mirror hung from a post in her bedroom stall and took a look. Henry squawked in surprise as a chicken peered back at her. She bobbed her head and looked closer; large green eyes set in red skin above a sharp yellow beak, brown feathers and a bright red waddle and comb, a cowl of auburn feathers that trailed over her scalp, but still some angularity and roundness too, a little bit of human underneath it all. So not quite a chicken. 

Henry strutted away from the mirror and peered at her reflection from further away, inspecting herself. She really did look like an enormous chicken. She held out her too long arms, her wings actually. Scaled up, full sized chicken wings in all their brown feathery glory. She turned herself, impressed by the long red and black bustle of her tail plumage. She thought it was rather pretty and would’ve smiled if her beak could. Her legs were completely avian: big clawed yellow feet growing from stick thin scaly legs that sprouted from wide brown feathered thighs. She turned around and studied the slim shape of her feathery chest, no nipples or breasts, but muscle and fat that still gave her a feminine shape. Her eyes finally arrived at her belly, her hugely swollen, hugely pregnant looking belly. Her aching, cramping, rotund belly full of eggs. The eggs she could feel were ready to be laid. 

Henrietta waddled to the stall door, left thoughtfully ajar for big chickens. She bumped it open and furtively strutted through the common rooms and into what was once her kitchen. She studied it, took in its rough hewn utilitarian charm and felt a little sad, but a pinch in her guts reminded her that she had a new purpose now. She reached up with a scaled foot and grasped the door knob, an accessibility friendly door lever that Bess had insisted on. Henry pulled the latch open and waddled outside just as the first beams of sunlight broke the horizon.

Henrietta felt something trip in her mind and she instinctively, compulsively started to crow. She breathed in, felt her chest expand and her diaphragm bump against the bulge of her womb. Her head tilted back, her throat opened, and then she was shrieking chickeny roostery noises as loud as she could. Henry felt ridiculous, but also giddy. It felt right to crow at the sun! It was part of what she was for, and it wasn’t as if it was a conscious choice anyway. It was the way of the chicken, and she was a chicken after all. So instead of being embarrassed and fighting it, Henrietta leaned into it, consciously reveled in it, crowed just as loud as she could!

The moment passed and she was panting a little and still very full of eggs. Henreitta clucked happily to herself and started to waddle to the chicken run. She was a chicken and that was where a chicken should be, wasn’t it? With her fellow hens and a nice nest, snug in a coop big enough to fit her extra large self into. Or maybe not so extra large? While she was still big for a chicken, she was smaller than she’d been as a human, and maybe if the spell kept working its magic she’d shrink down to the size of an ordinary hen. Henrietta clucked thoughtfully, would that be so bad? It would certainly be convenient. 

Henry reached the chicken run fence, stretched chicken wire stapled to simple wooden frames. It used to be a bit taller than her waist, but now the top post was almost eye level. She studied it, bobbing her head. The gate latch was up higher than she could reach with her feet, but, well, what were wings for anyway? Henrietta backed up and dashed forward as quickly as her hugely swollen belly would allow, a rapid waddle, jumped with all the springy strength in her avian legs, and opened her wings, flapping wildly, getting a nice burst of lift that allowed her to just barely clear the fence and sail ungracefully into the chicken run.

Henry squawked and rubbed her round belly with a wing, that landing had hurt! She felt things moving inside her, a scratching not unpleasant pressure on her cervix and a hot swelling in her cloaca as it started to dilate. It wouldn’t be long now. Henry spotted the large straw and blanket nest that Daisy had helped her build the day before, and waddled over to it. She stepped over to it, fluffed it a bit with her feet, and lowered herself into a squat, her legs folded and her pelvis and belly resting on the ground. It was a bit chilly and so she puffed out her feathers more, her very own down jacket. This felt right. This right here, huddled in her nest, stretched full of eggs and waiting to lay them, felt good. Like she was meant for this. This was good!

Henrietta tilted her head back and crowed out of sheer joy! She heard a flutter of wings and clucking and looked up to see the other hens coming to join her. Statler and Waldorf strutted over, eyeing her with curiosity, studying the giant chicken. Henry felt her heart swell, she’d always been fond of the hens but now she felt an almost primal connection to them. They were her sisters and she would do anything to protect them. Her flock. She clucked a grand greeting to them.

Then Henrietta felt the pressure inside her spike, sharply and a bit painfully. Henrietta stood, squatted and clenched, felt herself open inside, felt something hard and smooth and round push out of her womb and start to move, to stretch her, gloriously stretch her, as she pushed it along the sensitive inches of her cloaca, so fast and so slowly all at once. She felt the egg rest for a moment within her, its roundness bulging against her altered labia. Shuddering in pleasure, Henry filled her lungs and gave one final push, a wonderful burst of euphoria exploding in her mind, as the egg crowned out of her body and fell into the nest. Henry panted, a bit dizzy and aglow, and then she felt her body clamp down again, force another enormous feeling egg into her birth canal. She crowed as something like an orgasm rolled through her as she pushed and was pushed against and felt the next hard sphere within her relentlessly forced out. Henrietta flapped her wings, she felt almost delirious, and then she felt another egg slip out of her womb and another wave of pleasure…

***

Bess woke with a wince, her breasts and udder were swollen and uncomfortable. She rubbed them, felt how hot and tight and hard they were and sighed; she clearly needed another milking. Bess flopped onto her back and stared at the ceiling, the heavy weight of her mammaries pressing down on her. She couldn’t help but notice that they’d grown while she was asleep, especially her udder which rested heavily against her thighs. The spell last night had failed, and it seemed her body had continued marching to its bovine fate.

Distantly Bess heard the crow of a rooster. She groaned and reached over to check the time on her phone. It was still way too early, probably before dawn even, why was she even awake? She sighed and rolled back onto her side, struggling to shift the heavy weights of her engorged breasts and udder. She rearranged herself as best she could, shifted her legs and strategically moved a pillow to support a tit, and then tried to fall back asleep. Except she couldn’t. She couldn’t get comfortable, she tossed, she fussed, she turned, she ached. Her breasts and udder were too bloated and warm and sore to ignore. They begged for relief! Ugh! If she wanted any chance of going back to sleep she’d have to be milked first. Which meant getting out of bed at this awful hour. Bess sighed again, it seemed that from now on she’d be up with the cows.

Bess sat up in bed and glanced over at Daisy. The larger cowgirl was still sleeping, curled almost protectively around her own huge pink breasts and udder. Bess thought her girlfriend’s milkers looked swollen and full too, and jealously wondered how she’d managed to stay asleep. It was very like Daisy to just adapt, to glide on by and somehow make the most of it. To somehow sleep in. Bess shook her head fondly and let her eyes rove over Daisy’s sleeping from, taking in the long curve of a black and white blotched thigh and leg, kicked free of a blanket, down to a large cloven hoof; the swell of her wide hips and ass, the bulge of her udder, a vast topography under the covers. The blonde haired tip of her tail peeking out. The way she was hugging the enormous pink mass of her breasts, long teets jutting. How peaceful her face looked, even with its boxy muzzle and wide pink nose. How beautiful she was, still, maybe more so than ever. Daisy made an incredibly sexy cowgirl; it was like she was always meant for this.

Bess blinked her eyes, surprised by the thought. Was she meant for this too? She didn’t think so. She had dreams of being a radical activist, of using economics as a weapon against the forces of mainstream injustice, but now she was just some sort of cow. Or at least was going to be one. Just a milk cow. How could you defeat capitalist patriarchy when you were grazing in a pasture all day? When you were a living milk factory? Stamp it beneath your hoof? Moo at it? Bess put on her ill-fitting glasses, stared down her auburn furred muzzle and looked at her hand, wide fingered and hoof tipped. She made a fist. Maybe she was looking at this the wrong way. Maybe this was okay? Maybe being tied to the land like this, being forced to slow down was a good thing, a revolutionary thing. Maybe being a cow could be radical? Maybe it could be nice. Bess blushed under her fur, at least milking felt good. Really good! She looked at Daisy again, at how beautiful she was; could that really be so bad? If they somehow held onto enough of their humanity to live on the farm and still go out in public, could she accept this new life? Bess flicked her tail, it wasn’t as if she really had a choice. They hadn’t managed to break the spell so her body was still transforming. How much longer until they were just cows? Bess licked her snout with her wide tongue, what was the point of worrying about a future they might not even have? Her eyes lingered on Daisy, her amazing girlfriend who seemed to take all of this in and enjoy it. To savour every moment. Maybe Bess should try and live in the moment too? Bess reached out under the blanket and touched Daisy’s hot, hard udder and started to caress it…

***

Daisy was standing in a field, cropping long, delicious grass. The sun beat down on her flanks, her herd was nearby, and she had all the grazing she could want. She was a very happy cow. Except her udder was full, uncomfortably so. Daisy mooed plaintively and a cute brown haired milkmaid came skipping up to her, stool and pail in hand. Daisy stood still on her four strong legs and felt warm hands gently stroke her udder. She mooed happily, it felt lovely. The caresses continued until a hand grasped a teat and gently tugged, pulling out her milk. Daisy mooed a relieved thank you and the milkmaid grabbed another teat and started to properly milk her, bringing a sense of relief and a sense of something else. Something exciting…

…And Daisy was awake in bed with someone milking her! She startled and looked down, just in time to see Bess, her lips parted, reach out with her mouth and swallow one of her udder teats. Daisy gasped and gasped again as her girlfriend started to suck. Daisy mooed in pleasure, the feeling of a hot mouth wrapped around her, sucking, the waves of sensation as milk was pulled out of her, a little at first, but then a steady stream. “Moooo!” Jesus that felt good! And there was more, a hand was tugging on another teat. No, two hands! Bess was milking her! Nursing from her and milking her at once! And oh fucking “Moooo!” so good! 

Daisy arched her back and grabbed her boobs, smashed them against herself, rubbed her teats, started milking her breasts too. “Moooooo!” The feeling of Bess nursing was incredible, the moist heat and the velvety soft feeling of her mouth, the delicate roughness of her tongue. If the milking machine was a sex toy, then this was the real wonderful sexy deal. Daisy wasn’t sure how this could get any better but then Bess let go of one of her teats and slid her milk slick hand down her udder, below it, and touched her aching cunny and “Moooooo!” Oh fuck! “Mooo!”

***

Bess could feel Daisy come, feel the rhythmic contractions of her pussy on her fingers, on her hand, since she was buried wrist deep inside the slick leathery folds of Daisy’s cunt. She could feel the hard knot of Daisy’s bovine clitoris pulse against the back of hand and taste the hard rubbery length of Daisy's teat in her mouth. Her mouth that was full of milk, hot creamy fresh, straight from the teat, milk that was leaking from her lips and resting heavily in her belly. The rich, sweet flavour coated her tongue and filled her snout, which was pressed against the milk wet skin of Daisy’s udder. Bess’s fur was wet on her face and hands and on the pink skin of her chest where milk had trickled and splashed onto her. The bed was a sodden mess. And Daisy, beautiful Daisy, was still gasping for air and mooing, body tensed as her orgasm dragged on and on….

***

Daisy came back to herself in pieces, panting and boneless and damp with milk. She blinked her eyes and looked down past her udder to see Bess, hair a tousled mess and fur stained with milk, glasses foggy and askew. She was looking up at her with affection and a kind of hunger. “Moo….” Daisy gasped.

Bess smiled, pushed damp brown hair off her auburn furred face. “Come with me,” she said.

***

Bess dragged Daisy out of their room and through the barn, breathless and impatient, urgent to reach her goal. Her heart was hammering and she felt her pulse thunder in her chest, in her teats, in her cunt. She was panting and drooling, leaking from her cunt and tits and udder. She wanted this so, so much! Needed this, needed it now! Immediately! Daisy stumbled, almost fell. Bess growled and pulled her upright and along, their hooves scrabbling and clopping loudly on the floorboards. Bess needed to get there now!

Bess smashed open the barn door and led them outside, steered them towards the milking shed.

***

Daisy followed Bess, breathless and stumbly with rubbery sex legs, doing her best to keep up with her determined lover. It was all so quick that she didn’t realize what was happening until Bess let go of her hand and rushed to the milking frame and climbed onto it, her swollen breasts and udder hanging heavily below her, her tail raised in desperate arousal. “Mmmmilk me…” Bess gasped at her, eyes hungry and desperate and hair a tangled mess. Hands shaking, Daisy hooked Bess up to the milker, hastily, not bothering with sanitation or foreplay, just attaching the milking cups to all of Bess’ teats as quickly as she could. Bess trembled under her touch, was panting heavily, her body tensed for what was coming. Daisy stared at her, at her bovine face and auburn furred body, the swell of her wide bony hips and her ropey tail, and the taught pink flesh of her breasts and udder which had grown so large overnight. Fuck but Bess was a beautiful cow! Daisy rubbed her slick thighs together, she could stand here and look at Bess like this all day. Bess moaned and looked up at her, her voiced trembled, “Mmmmmilk mmmmeee…”

Daisy smiled and turned on the milking machine.

***

Bess heard the motor of the milking machine chug to life, felt her mouth go dry in anticipation. She was desperate for this, her belly tight with arousal and her teats tingling, her breasts and udder sore and engorged. She wanted to be milked so fucking badly! Which was scary! Bess was still frightened by how good it felt to be milked like a cow, how much she was coming to enjoy it, to desire it. To need it. She’d woken up thinking about it, thought about it while she was fucking her girlfriend, and now her she was shivering in need as the milker started to suck at her teats. Bess moaned at the sensation and blushed, part of her still ashamed by all this, embarrassed about being a cow. Bess gasped as she felt the first beads of milk seep out of her teats as the suction stared to tug. “Mmmmmm…” fuck it felt so good! Bess started to pant, felt the heat in her belly grow; it would be so easy to relax into the milking, let the machine carry her along until she came, bellowing like an animal. Bess bit her lip, thrilled at the feeling of milk spurting out of her breasts, out of her udder. “Mmmm…muh muh muh….” But not this time, this time she needed more. Needed to wait and let it build. “Mmmmmooore,” she whimpered. “D-daisy….” She begged, “Fff… fffuck mmmmmeeee….”

***

Daisy watched Bess tremble, watched her pant and whine, heard her beg. She smiled, circled around behind her, studied her, her auburn furred flanks, the heavy pink bag of her udder hanging below her, the plastic tubing trailing away across the floor, white with milk. Bess’ long ropey tail waved in the air and her cunny was swollen and open, shiny moist, dripping juices that trickled down her udder. Daisy's wide nostrils flared and breathed in the musky, almost spicy scent of arousal. Daisy licked her snout, felt her heart beat faster, heat kindle inside her own belly. “Mooo…” she whispered. 

Daisy knelt behind her girlfriend, reached out with her long, broad tongue and touched it ever so gently against Bess’s engorged labia. Bess flinched and she mmmm’ed, her cunny twitched against Daisy’s tongue, squeezed out a splash of grool. Daisy firmly ran her tongue along the outside of the puffy leathery labia, slowly working her way from top to bottom and back, the pungent taste of cunt filling her mouth. Bess panted and moaned, her legs shook, her tail flailed. Daisy kept licking and then she reached out with her tongue and pressed it firmly against the hard bulge of Bess’ bovine clit. Bess mmmm’ed louder and her pussy spasmed and flexed. Daisy smiled and plunged her cowish tongue into Bess, long and strong and flexible for grazing, through her labia to lick the boiling, wet depths of her pussy. She drew tongue up and back, along the hard belly of Bess’ cunt, teasing her clit from the inside. Daisy gasped and shuddered, whimpered, “Mmmmm… c-call mmmeeee Bessy. Call mmah-mmmee Bessy…”

*** 

Bess was overwhelmed, her body raging with sensation! The milking machine was sucking on her teats, pulling on her, drawing out great splashes of her creamy milk. The feeling was euphoric! Relentlessly pleasurable! She’d have come and come again if she wasn’t holding herself back, denying herself. And then Daisy was licking her pussy too, her tongue pressing against her, along and then into her, its wide hot softness driving deep inside, massaging, pressing perfectly against her secret spots. It was making her insides tremble and flex, spasm and pull, strange new feelings that only enhanced her pleasure. Bess had become a coiled spring twisting under the strain, stretching and deforming under the load. If she didn’t come soon she feared she might break apart. Mmmmm mmmmah… 

“Mmmmm… c-call mmmeeee Bessy.” The words just fell out of her mouth in a whining gasp without thought. Bess blushed, she couldn’t believe she’d said that! Bessy was a cow’s name! But what was she? Being milked like cattle, bent over and fucked like an animal? And it was incredible! It felt so right! She was a cow! She was Bessy, “Call mmah-mmmee Bessy…” 

Daisy drew her tongue out of Bessy’s cunt and replaced it with a wide, strong finger, kept fucking her, kept stroking her clit, inside and out. “Of course… Bessy…”

“Tah-telll mmah-mmme I’mmmah a g-good cow!”

“Bessy you are such a good cow! A beautiful cow! You make so much delicious, wonderful milk! You are the best cow..,”

The words washed over Bessy in a tide, mostly lost to the pounding pleasure of her body. All she could hear was her name Bessy and the word cow said seemingly over and over in the beautiful voice of Daisy. The idea resonated and grew and something in Bessy realigned, reconfigured. Bessy was a cow. She was still herself, still the radical dreamer, but she was bovine too. A cow. There was no contradiction. Bessy marveled at this reframing for a moment, an eye of clarity in the sexual hurricane. And then the spring finally broke and all at once her entire body was twisting and writhing as her pussy clenched and her mind exploded in light! Bessy was coming! She through back her head, opened her mouth and, “MMmmmoooOooOOOOooooOoO!!!”

***

Roan felt like shit. Well not shit, since manure was at least useful. She’d failed everyone twice over; her stupid spell had gotten them into this mess and now she’d failed to break it. Worse, it was her offering that the farm had rejected, and only hers. Everyone else had managed to satisfy their new animal jobs and somehow she couldn’t even do that right! She was a failure! As a witch and a horse both! Fail shit! And now she was never getting out of bed again.

She heard a knock on her stall door and the heavy clop of hooves. “Roan?”

“Go away.”

“Ah ain’t leavin’.” Roan heard the door pushed open and there was Jenny looking down at her with concern. A more donkeyish Jenny than the night before, her transformation obviously still continuing. She was standing on full hooves and her legs bent oddly, almost backwards below the knee. Digitigrade some part of Roan knew. Jenny’s thighs were wide and strong and powerful, and her body had somehow only gotten curvier, a grey furred hourglass with wide hips and heavy breasts with black nipples. She had an udder to, two small breasts resting on her crotch, black skinned and shiny. Her body was covered in wiry grey fur, darker on her back and flanks and almost cream on her belly and chest, while her forearms and lower legs were coated in short black fur. Her hands were three-fingered with wide hoof-capped digits. She had a donkey mane, spiked black hair the ran up the back of her neck and along the top of her head like a Mohawk. Her face was almost more donkey than human, with long donkey ears and a muzzle, a big wide donkey snout and wide flat teeth. Teeth that were improbably still grinning. Her still human blue eyes twinkled wth mischief mixed with concern, and maybe something else. 

“I’m so sorry,” Roan said, peaking out though the wild tangle of her long silky mane. 

***

“You ain’t got nothing to be sorry for,” Jenny said, heart beating in her chest. She looked down at Roan and couldn’t help staring a trifle. She was just so big, so strong; the formerly slight woman had grown so much since her transformation started. Her arms and legs were swollen with muscle but still somehow soft, somehow womanly, her torso was puckered with delicious abs, and her shoulders were so broad. And her tits, fuck! Roan was absolutely stacked now with a pair of huge boobs with prominent black nipples. Roan was also even more of a horse in ways that Jenny found deeply exciting. The huge draft horse hooves, the white hairy tassels at her ankles and wrists, her silky black fur, her lustrous black mane and tail, and her long equine face all just gave her a wild beauty. And that was while studiously ignoring the fearsome bulge of her cock sheath and balls. Fuck but Jenny just wanted to crawl over to that curvaceous stallion and be mounted like the dumb horny donkey she was. Fuck but she had needs! Goddamnit it though, this wasn’t what she was here for. Roan was her friend and she was here to offer some succour and comfort! And not the sexy kind!

Fuck but she wasn’t great at this part!

Jenny took a deep breath, tried to ignore the heavy scent of Roan, a musk that made her tingle all the way to the tip of her tail. “Roan, not a one of us blames you for what’s happened. Ah don’t blame you.”

“But look what I did to us…”

“What *we* did to us and Ah don’t reckon it’s all that bad.” And Jenny didn’t, not really. She rather fancied herself like this, all curvy and strong and wild. She’d rather not end up someone’s farm animal, but being a bit donkey suited her. “Ah kinda like it to be honest, feel like it’s caught some truth about me.” She flashed her wide donkey teeth in a grin, “And Ah must confess you’re own changes are real flatterin’, and if you don’t mind my sayin’ so, it really suits you.”

Roan sat up, blinked, looked as confused as a horse could. “What do you mean?”

Jenny tried not gawk at Roan, buried all the talk about how fucking sexy she was, that she was big and strong and well hung but still soft in all the right places, that she pretty much had everything that Jenny liked about everyone in one increasingly perfect package. “Ah mean that, well, you’ve always been so strong, maybe not physical like, but character wise.” Jenny played with her hands, prayed she was saying it right. “Responsible, but in a quiet way. Reliable. The way Ah’ve always reckoned the best folk were strong. The way Ah’m really not so much. And now you’re a big ol draft horse, strong and gentle and reliable on the outside too. You’re even more you.”

***

Roan could only blink her eyes, stunned. That was an unbelievably kind thing to say. “Jenny… I…”

The donkey girl smiled, leaned forward to match her eye level, “Ah swear, you’re one of the kindest, finest people Ah know.”

“But I’m not reliable! My offering to the farm wasn’t good enough! I’m the reason this spell, this curse, is still happening to us!”

Jenny snorted, nostrils flaring. “And ain’t that some bullshit? A plowed field is good enough for a donkey but not for a fuckin’ draft horse!?” Jenny brayed a laugh, “Magic’s an asshole!”

Roan smiled a little, “When you put it like that…”

“‘Sides,” Jenny said, coming and sitting on the bed next to Roan, reaching out to rest her hand on a muscular bare thigh. “We can still suss it out and try again tonight. Treat it like a puzzle.” She chewed prettily on a finger-hoof, “What else could the farm want from a strappin’ stallion like you?”

Roan sat up taller, swept her long mane out of her face and blinked her eyes. “Huh. I dunno? Maybe some sweat from a good lather?” Up close like this she could smell Jenny, the rich tang of her body, a spicy scent that made her think of sex. She could feel her heart start to beat faster and heat gather in her crotch. No, not that right now! She snorted and tossed her head a little. This was really not the time!

Jenny suddenly leaned in to her, eyes staring into hers, their long muzzles almost touching. Roan could feel Jenny’s breath against her snout, was breathing in her air. “Ah know what I’d want from you.” Jenny leaned forward and kissed her, tentatively at first, but then hungrily. “What Ah want.”

***

Fuck, Jenny you idiot! You weren’t supposed to kiss her! You were being a good friend! Fucking jackass! She pulled back, leaving Roan to blink at her, confusion on her face fighting with another emotion. Not anger, though. Something else. A hunger? Oh fuck! Maybe Jenny hadn’t fucked up. Maybe Roan wanted this too? Wanted her. Well, fuck it, she’d already made the mistake. Best to put her best hoof forward, go with it, beg for forgiveness later. 

After she just begged for it.

Jenny leaned forward, made sure her breasts were thrust forward, hanging, watched Roan’s eyes drink her in. She grinned, “But what do you want with me?”

***

Roan’s heart hammered in her chest and her mouth went dry. Jenny wanted to, wanted her to, well… “Ffffuck.” That grin again, bucktoothed and sly, “Bingo.” And oh Roan wanted to! She felt the churning heat in her balls and the pounding of her pulse in the sheath of her cock, felt a swelling feeling that she could barely hold back. Roan snorted, her equine nostrils wide, her body eager like a racehorse in the starting gate. It would be so easy to let herself go, throw the door open and gallop. But in this case she would be throwing open her friend and fucking her brains out. Roan shivered and her cock pushed free of her sheath, swelling. “Fffffuck…”

***

Jenny stared at Roan’s stallion cock as it pushed itself out of her body and grew, the flat flared head emerging and the mottled pink and black length swelling more and more and more like some kind of novelty parlor trick. Roan’s cock was enormous, thick like a pipe and long enough for plumbing. Jenny goggled at it, felt her own wet plumbing start to gush. Fucking hell she needed that cock inside her! Her body begged to be stuffed full and railed, and Roan and this giant equine cock was the answer her donkey cunt desperately wanted. Jenny just needed to give Roan a little goad…

She brayed a little laugh, this part she was good at…

***

Roan watched, panting and erect, her horse cock pulsing almost painfully, as Jenny climbed off the bed and onto her hooves. She leaned forward, hands on her thighs, hooves planted shoulder width apart. Jenny lifted her tail with it’s brush of hair revealing her pussy, presenting herself. Roan stared at the swollen puckered donut of her anus and the leathery teardrop of her donkey cunt. Roan could tell how wet, how hot Jenny was, could smell her scent, taste her in the air. Roan gasped and Jenny waved her tail around, spreading her musk, drawing attention. Roan’s body was tense, almost reflexively she wanted to lunge onto Jenny, cover her, penetrate her… she whickered and tossed her head. Neither of them were animals, Roan was too good to mindlessly rut. But then she saw Jenny look back at her, up over her shoulder and along her body, her human eyes pleading in her donkey face. “P-pplease….” She whimpered.

***

Jenny saw the moment Roan decided to fuck her, saw the warring emotions drain away and a fearsome determination spark in her eyes. Jenny grinned and shivered both. And then Roan was on her, pushing her stumbling forward, so so strong, until Jenny had to throw her hands up against the wall to catch herself. Roan wrapped her strong arms around her, coiled muscles moving beneath the skin, heavy breasts resting on her back, hips touching her flanks. Jenny snorted and felt Roan press her crotch against her ass, felt the glowing hot rod of Roan’s cock slip under her, press up against her belly, the blunt head almost touching her tits. Roan snorted and shifted and Jenny gasped as the shaft of Roan’s cock slid along the cleft of her cunt, rubbed against the cleavage of her udder. Jenny brayed and pushed back against Roan, worked her hips, painting the cock with her own hot juices. Roan crushed her tighter, the muzzle of her face pressed against her cheek, her big hands reaching down to grab and knead Jenny’s tits. Jenny moaned, “Yyyesssss….”

***

Roan’s whole body was on fire, her lungs gasping like a bellows and her heart galloping in her chest. Her hands would be shaking if she wasn’t clutching Jenny so tightly, if her fingers weren’t busy teasing her stiff nipples. Roan was so excited and nervous and scared and so fucking turned on! She wanted this so bad, had wanted it since they both changed. Probably even before. And now it was happening, now she had Jenny right where she needed her. She whinnied and pulled her hips back, reached down and carefully, painstakingly, lined up her aching cock and pressed the slick head of her penis against Jenny’s boiling pussy. “You ready?” She gasped.

***

Jenny could only whimper and nod as she felt the wide head of Roan’s glans press against her eager cunt. She wiggled her hips, tried to slip more of it inside or at least get her pussy lips around it. Roan grunted and started to push, to gently but forcefully penetrate Jenny. To impale her. Jenny’s eyes went wide and her mouth opened in a soundless grunt as inch after inch after inch after inch of Roan slid into her, parted her, stretched and filled places that Jenny didn’t reckon she even had. Jenny felt split apart and stuffed all at once. It was like she was being worn, a glove finally pulled over a too large hand. It was almost painfully overwhelming, but far far more pleasurable, exactly what her body demanded. Jenny made a kind of weak braying sound, almost winded. “Are you okay?” Roan moaned into her long ear and Jenny could only grunt and nod again.

***

Roan trembled, overcome by the raw sensation surging through her. She had her whole cock, every impossible inch of her equine girth buried inside Jenny. Her big stallion balls rested heavily against Jenny’s warm udder and her entire lap was wet with arousal.  Roan felt enveloped in fire, a hot constricting softness that radiated from her cock to her whole body. Jenny’s brushy tail spasmed against her muscular stomach. She whimpered in pleasure and squirmed, Roan gasped and held on. 

Roan took a deep breath, tried to calm herself a little. She pulled back her hips and slowly, so slowly, drew her cock out. Roan shut her eyes, savored the feeling of Jenny’s pussy sliding by, pulling greedily on every inch of her shaft as she drew back and back….

*** 

Jenny felt her knees wobble, Roan was so big and so long! She’d pulled herself inch after inch after inch out of Jenny, only the glans of her cock still inside, clutched just inside her vulva. Jenny whimpered, she suddenly felt so empty, a cavernous volcanic space seething to be filled. She needed more! Fuck! She was panting, trying to find enough breath to beg for it, and then Roan was pushing herself back in, her cock plunging steadily into her, making Jenny snort and tremble. Jenny could distinctly feel the preputial ring of Roan’s cock, a hard bulge slide through, stretch her.  “Fuh-fuh-fuhkk…”

Roan kept moving this time, kept her cock moving, drawing it back and pushing it forward smoothly. Jenny whimpered, it was so big! Enormous! It felt so good but she knew she’d already be sore after. Fuck but she needed more, needed to be ridden harder, to be broken. “Fffffuckkhh. Harderrrr!”

***

It was all Roan could do to stay patient, to keep slowly penetrating Jenny, to make sure she was ready. She could feel her cock moving easier, but Jenny was still so incredibly tight. She worried about hurting her. “Harder! Oh god Rrrrroan! Hhhah-harrderr!” And that was more goad than Roan needed. Roan snorted and buried her cock all the way into Jenny, pushed her stumbling into the wall. Roan lifted herself off Jenny’s back, stood there inside her, hips touching ass, balls to udder. Roan grabbed Jenny by the bones of the hip, tightly. And then she surrendered to her desire, gave into the stallion, and let herself run.

***

Jenny made a kind of breathless braying sound, fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Roan was fucking her! Powerfully thrusting! Slamming into her, making her rock, making her stumble! Making her head bump into the wall! Making her breasts and udder shudder and flail! And she was still so big! Huge! Every hump felt like her insides were exploding, flashes of discomfort mixed with so, so much pleasure! A riot of sensation! A stampede! Jenny’s legs went weak, she started to fall, but Roan caught her, lifted her not insubstantial weight, held her aloft and just kept fucking! Jenny gasped, she was just a willing passenger now, swept along for the ride. Jenny’s mouth was open, drool hanging from her big donkey teeth, her eyes wide in shock, mind blind to anything outside of the pounding, stretching, expanding, pulling, fucking in her cunt.

Fuck, oh fuck! Fucking Christ! Fuck! Ohhhhh!!!

Jenny felt herself break open, managed to draw in one deep breath, threw back her head and brayed, “Eeeeeeeee-ahhhhhhhh!” Jenny came! Her body bucked, spasmed, kicked like a donkey, and she felt her entire cunt clench down on the cock inside of her. For a moment she felt that cock completely, Roan’s cock, every inch and contour of it, perfectly imprinted so deep inside her body. And then her cunt spasmed, pulled, milked, and tugged desperately at that stallion cock! Jenny’s mind whited out, washed away in a sudden blinding flash of an enormous orgasm! The perfect orgasm! She was blotted out, overcome, erased….

*** 

Roan felt Jenny suddenly tense in her arms, start to thrash and kick and bray, felt her pussy clench down on her cock with the strength of a fist. Felt her come. Roan grunted and kept thrusting, kept holding herself back, kept quelling the boiling volcanic pressure inside for just a bit more, just a moment longer, and then Jenny’s pussy started to massage her cock, to rhythmically pulse and milk her and Roan felt the last bit of her control dissolve, felt the coil inside of her spring open. Roan screamed a whinny and clutched Jenny tightly against her, buried her cock as deeply into her as it would go, felt her balls clench and muscles in her abdomen squeeze and then she was erupting! Waves of ecstasy bursting with every ejaculation!

***

Jenny was delirious, mind on fire with pleasure, and then Roan exploded inside her! A great boiling hot blast of fluid sprayed inside her belly, her cunt!

Jenny felt the cock pulse, jump and swell as it continued to erupt, to ejaculate over and over, filling her with Roan’s stallion cum. Jenny brayed again, felt her cunt clench and spasm, another orgasm tear through her as Roan squeezed them together so tightly it almost hurt. And still Roan was coming…

***

Daisy sat on the cold milking shed floor with a resting Bessy curled up in her arms and lap. Daisy smiled and combed her fingers through Bessy’s tangled hair, bumped a bovine ear which twitched at her touch. Bessy stirred and her eyes flittered open, focused on Daisy. She smiled an easy, relaxed smile. “Moo,” she said. 

“Moo to you too.” 

Bessy swung herself around so she was straddling Daisy’s lap, their loose udders pressed up against each other. She stretched and sighed, kissed Daisy with her snout. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Daisy said. “Are you alright?”

Bessy nodded, “For the first time since this whole magical mess started, I think I am. Maybe since before, since the problems started.” Bessy rested her long face on Daisy’s shoulder, “I think I can relax now.”

“But we’re still transforming. You’re okay with that?”

“Not really, but I trust Roan to figure it out. And if not, well, we tried didn’t we? There are worse things in this world than being a cow with the woman you love. At least we’ll still have each other.”

Daisy squeezed Bessy to her tightly, “Aw hun.”

“You know what’s funny?”

“What?”

Bessy brushed her hair behind a horn and ear, “For all the unintended consequences, I think Roan’s spell actually did what it was supposed to. Between our milk and Henry’s eggs and our new equine labour force, we should actually be able to make this farm work for us. Assuming we stay human enough…”

Daisy nodded. “Assuming.”

“I guess we’ll need to recruit a new baker.” Bessy sat up and fiddled with her glasses, “And I definitely need to find a way to make these stay on right.”

Daisy smiled and kissed Bessy right on the snout.

***

Roan found herself pleasantly abstracted, limp and relaxed in a way she hadn’t been in ages. Maybe never. Her arms and legs felt loose, and her cock and lap were sticky and slick. Her balls still tingled pleasantly. A warm furry body was nestled against her, a little underneath her, still a bit tangled up. Roan felt the body in her arms shift, wiggle a bit, and awkwardly stumble free. Roan opened her eyes and saw Jenny, wonderful Jenny, crawling away. “Sneaking out?” Roan asked, a playful grin on her face.

Jenny flashed a bucktoothed grin, “Y’know Ah’m not. Just lookin’ for a cup of water.” Jenny flicked her tail, “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s fine,” Roan said, and it was. She was fine, better than fine. She could tell Jenny was too, could see how relaxed and happy she looked. Jenny was just about glowing. Roan whickered, frisked her tail, proud that she’d managed to make Jenny feel that way. Honestly, Roan was looking forward to doing it again. Soon. Roan knew deep down that Jenny would never be hers, not entirely, that she’d always sneak out of the barn for other lovers, but Roan found that it didn’t really bother her. She knew Jenny would always come back to her, and not just because they shared this new equine sexual connection. There was something between them as people, maybe something that had always been there, that just needed a magical push to get started. Roan saw Jenny look at her quizzically, shook her long head and smiled. “Sorry, I have a cup right over there.”

Jenny reached over, shaking her butt and tail playfully, and picked up the plastic cup. She took a long drink and then tossed the rest of the water onto the floor. Then she stood up straight, spread her legs, and started to scrap the thick ooze of Roan’s semen off her thighs and into the cup. “What are you doing!?”

“What else does a stallion make?” Jenny brayed a laugh and kept collecting jizz, using her fingers to help gravity pull more cum out of her pussy. “For your offerin’ tonight, to break the spell.”

“What?”

“That was real fun and all, but Ah’d rather not end up a plain ol’ donkey,” Jenny grinned, “figure Ah’m assy enough already. Ah reckon we should examine whether your spunk’ll satisfy the requirements.” Jenny winked, “Unless you’ve got a better idea.”

Roan blushed under her fur and rolled her eyes. “I guess it couldn’t hurt to rule it out.”

“Then let’s round up the herd and do some magic!”

***

Henrietta was perched in her nest when they came to see her. At first Henry didn’t notice, but Statler and Waldorf went to cluck at them, complaining about a lack of morning meal. Henrietta could sympathize, she was hungry too, and the idea of some scattered feed was worth the fuss. Roan carefully entered the chicken run and scattered some corn for the hens, which Henry acknowledged with a cluck and bobble of her head; Roan was a good egg. Roan made sure the chickens had enough to eat and then she clomped over to Henrietta and knelt, her huge black Clydesdale body dwarfing Henry’s diminutive hennish form. “Henry, we’re ready to try and break the spell again.”

Henrietta blinked and fluffed her feathers, perplexed for a moment. Why should she care about the comings and goings of the farmers? What does a hen know about magic? But then she remembered, recalled that she was human not so long ago and that this whole bother was caused by a mislaid spell. Henry studied each of her companions, saw just how much Roan looked like a walking talking horse and Jenny a two-legged donkey. Henry saw two humanoid cows, one black and white spotted and one a warm red brown. They were holding hands and the brown one was wearing a small cowbell on a collar around her neck. Bess and Daisy, she recalled. The curse was still acting on each of them, continuing to change them. Making Henrietta even more into a chicken. Was that even so bad? Henry felt very happy with her new lot in life and thought that being more of a hen sounded lovely. Or at least less complicated. She clucked doubtfully.

“Henry, we really need you.” Henrietta blinked and tilted her head, remember the ritual from the night before. How the magical fire had accepted all of their offerings except one, how that one weak link had broken their chain and kept all of them trapped within the spell. Henrietta didn’t really care about ending the spell, but she could see her friends did. They needed her. Henrietta clucked her intentions to Statler and Waldorf, stood and revealed the mound of eggs she had been perching on. They would need to bring them for her offering and so she nodded at the eggs and clucked. “Perfect,” Roan said and gathered up the eggs. 

Roan opened the chicken run gate and Henrietta strutted out. Henry crowed loudly for attention and then led her troupe out into the fields and toward their altar.

***

Once again we came to our millstone altar in the field. It was still day, the late afternoon sun still in the sky, but the moon had risen too, a ghostly white circle in a pale blue sky. We marched warily, Henrietta strutting in the lead, getting ahead of the group and pausing, looking around watchfully. Roan and Jenny trudged hand in hand, moving with the plodding determination of draft animals before the plow. Daisy and Bessy came last, almost wandered, the cowbell on Bessy’s neck rattling as they followed.

When we reached the altar we were uncertain at first, hesitant. Could it possibly work this time? Would these new offerings we brought satisfy the spell? Would the last vestiges of our humanity be spared? We were scared, but also excited. Our bodies were vivacious and strange, but somehow increasingly right. Collectively we felt certain of who and what we were. Finally Roan snorted and clopped heavily to the altar and relit the partially burnt wood that was waiting. 

The fire sputtered, as uncertain as we were, seemingly unsure if it would accept our daylight ritual. Begrudgingly it caught and grew, and Roan began to intonate our chant, her voice deep and resonant, spiced with horsey sounds. We joined her, not with words, but with our own brays and moos and clucks, until the fire grew larger, brighter, hotter than was natural. We all bent and prepared our offering bowls, Daisy helping Henrietta. Roan stood and nodded and we all moved forward together, placed our bowls around the fire as one. We all lit a candle from the flame and carefully placed it upon our offerings. We looked at one another, nodded, and stepped back to our circle.

We took up our animal chant, our barnyard chorus. We circled the altar, trotting and strutting, hopping and pawing, fluttering. We crowed and clucked, mooed and whinnied and brayed. Tails lashes the air and udders swayed. The flames on our candles danced higher, flickering and waving in rhythm with our display. We felt the magic build, swirl around us, thrum in the ground, spark and resonate within our bodies. The altar fire grew taller, brighter, and we felt a great potential condense like fate. We stopped, stared in rapt attention. The moment had come!

A candle floating in a pool of milk flared, becoming a blazing beacon!

A candle atop dirty eggs exploded, cooking and consuming the offering!

A candle planted in soil roared with flame, leaving only ash!

Another candle in a sea of milk erupted, tossing up a jet of acrid steam!

We held our breath, for there was only one offering left, Roan’s bowl of semen. Hooves pawed the earth, fists clenched, a beak ground against itself…

And a candle stuck in stallion seed burst into a pillar flame! Consumed the semen whole!

The altar fire exploded into a raging torrent of fire, a column in the air. We felt a pulse of heat carry over us, a wind push out and rush back in as if the farm itself was gasping. The flames swirled like a tornado, and we felt an unseen force swirl with it, felt an ineffable centrifugal energy grapple with something inside of us, tug on it, pull it winding out like a root, and drag it into the swirling vortex of fire. Instantly we felt something like a weight leave our bodies, felt a burden we never knew we carried lifted, drawn out, consumed by fire. And then we felt a blast of something undefinable push through and past and away to somewhere else, and we were left standing in the field, two cow women, a donkey girl, a stallion woman, and a big chicken.

No one said a word, but we knew in our core that the spell had been broken. We were now as we would ever be, for the rest of our lives. We were a collective of farmers and farm animals both, and this was our home. It was up to us to make the most of it.

We came together, hugged and cried, shared in our elation and grief for a time.

And then we turned as a group and marched back to work. There was farming to do.

***

THE END.