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"https://nl1.ib.metapix.net/thumbnails/medium/5615/5615891_GuiltyDen_folklore_faux_pas.jpg", "submission_left_thumb_huge_x": "300", "submission_left_thumb_huge_y": "300", "submission_left_thumb_large_x": "200", "submission_left_thumb_large_y": "200", "submission_left_thumb_medium_x": "120", "submission_left_thumb_medium_y": "120" } ], "description": "Sequel to [url=https://inkbunny.net/s/3649190]\"Folklore Faux Pas\"[/url].\n\nAt long last, I got it out of my skull, kicking and screaming, and dragging out things I didn't want it to. But it's done. The continuation and conclusion of part one. I feel I may have gone too hard on Sally, even if I did set her up to absolutely deserve the worst, but still the first draft of this was far too mean, and had to be toned down to avoid feeling like some sort of rant or hit piece.\n\nAs before this isn't accurate to any folklore, more a stew of various things, in fact a lot of this is more influenced by modern interpretive faiths and cultural expectations than actual mythology. Oh, and no more rhyming, never again.\n\nAgain, a big thank you to x45boy, who owns Lau Miha Petit. And extra special thanks to [url=https://www.furaffinity.net/user/manymates/]Allison [/url]for their help overcoming my ignorance on trans people and their experiences.\n\nIf you have enjoyed, please consider donating to my [url=https://ko-fi.com/guiltyworkshop]ko-fi[/url] if you feel I deserve it. Next up I might have a commission, something a little different.", "description_bbcode_parsed": "Sequel to "Folklore Faux Pas".

At long last, I got it out of my skull, kicking and screaming, and dragging out things I didn't want it to. But it's done. The continuation and conclusion of part one. I feel I may have gone too hard on Sally, even if I did set her up to absolutely deserve the worst, but still the first draft of this was far too mean, and had to be toned down to avoid feeling like some sort of rant or hit piece.

As before this isn't accurate to any folklore, more a stew of various things, in fact a lot of this is more influenced by modern interpretive faiths and cultural expectations than actual mythology. Oh, and no more rhyming, never again.

Again, a big thank you to x45boy, who owns Lau Miha Petit. And extra special thanks to Allison for their help overcoming my ignorance on trans people and their experiences.

If you have enjoyed, please consider donating to my ko-fi if you feel I deserve it. Next up I might have a commission, something a little different.", "writing": "Down, down, down she fell. Past root, and branch. Past stone, and bone. In darkness yet not blind. Rushing black on black, yet every layer and era distinct against the rest. A maddening pell-mell of textures, shades, suggestions and terrors as she tumbled. Air ripped past her ears, carrying the horrid cackle of her captor at her back, the world a pin-wheeling madhouse as the high half-moon tumbled further, and further, and further into nothing against the dark.\n\nScreaming, she caught glimpses of the primordial leering at her in their earthy tombs. Things buried, lost, and forgotten, stealing their chance to terrify one last soul from their ever lingering un-death. Innumerable and indescribable, each saw her mind as a tool to escape their impossible prison of the bygone era. The deer emptied her lungs again and again, till the air became needles, her throat a bloody tunnel, her eyes a tear blinded mess, and yet the monsters did not have the decency to be obscured.\n\nDown, down, down, and-\n\nThree sets of paws, twelve in all, landed with a clatter of claw on stone. Monstrous green dogs, each to the shoulder the height of a grown man, their grassy pelts platted and braided and knotted. Across each forest hued hound was tangled a squirming body, a woman tied in thick ropes of fur. On the lead beast was bound a red deer doe, who called herself Sally May, and till recently she'd believed herself beyond any power lesser than her family's wealth. Now strapped to the back of the same creature that had deflowered her just hours ago, she and her house mates were being carried across the threshold of a palace in the world below.\n\nCraning her slender neck, looking over the head of the hound, she saw a gate of thorns and barbs, spikes and briars, all the things she hated most in nature. Above and about was a similar lattice of forbidding pain, foreboding and unwelcoming, from which could be heard dissonant chords and the laughter of things whose voices were claws down chalkboards.\n\nThe trio of fairy dogs advanced upon the gate, which bent and parted before them. All things became fluid, a mélange of impressions, an edited highlight reel, blurred at the edges by vaseline on the lens, as they transitioned from without, to within.\n\nCold and needle edged, a voice pealed across the prostrate doe's flapping ears. \"Welcome, welcome, welcome. Bharg, and Sith, and Shuk,\" the cool tones rolled around the intangible space, \"a fine hunt you've had. Pray tell what have you brought to our gathering?\"\n\nIn synchronicity the hounds shook out their pelts, the hairy ropes unwrapping, dropping the three well-bred bodies to frozen dirt.\n\nTo cobbled floor.\n\nTo shining stone.\n\nShuk stepped first, snout nudging a dishevelled blue jay across the glistening ground. \"A hen, my lord, fine and ripe with a voice so sweet to sing for your halls.\"\n\nSith came next, rolling a mutt along bumpy cobble, her tongue lolling, her body twitching from the long rutting she'd had bound to his belly. \"A bitch, my lord, fecund and fertile, a willing mother to a host of hounds should you ask.\"\n\nFinally the leader, jaws latching about a plump thigh, he contemptuously tossed the deer across the filth and mud, landing at the feet of the indescribable master. \"Venison, my lord. Her heart and soul are rank, tainted and putrid, it was she who breached the wall with her arrogance.\"\n\nFingers like icicles wrapped beneath the doe's chin, tilting her rolling eyes up to see... to see...\n\n\"Oh Bharg, how cruel are we? To condemn a mortal so readily?\" The cold whips of voice wrapped about her mind, as the fractal painting of a figure, of a thing, of a creature who walked on two legs, yet was otherwise so not of her understanding, turned her cheeks hither and thus. \"What is a little sin, a little pride, a little need? Her desire was to be mated, to feel her maidenhood end, the blossoming of her woman's flower. Such things are in our power, where her want will be sated, and our guests, her flesh, will feed.\"\n\nHorror gripped Sally May from the creature's words, and the revolt of her senses. Its image swam from her vision, blurring and diffusing as an ink blot, leaving her uncertain of what she had seen, or felt, or heard. But the cheers, and the laughter, those her mind understood, even as the world spun, as she and the other two captives, who to be fair she gave no thought nor care to, were dragged deeper, and deeper, into the hall of the court below.\n\n***\n\nDorothy Clips rolled her head side to side, consciousness struggling to elude her. The blue jay had suffered the most twisted experience of her young life, both terrifying and satisfying, humiliating and liberating. One moment she had been enjoying the understanding company of a friend, then next she had been beneath the body of a beast. Still she felt her cloaca clench from the potent rigours of her mating, the affirmation of being taken beneath her tail, despite the duality of her gender and sex.\n\n\"Little hen,\" he had called her, the great green dog that had taken her penetrative virginity, fucking her with force and a mocking tenderness.\n\n\"Little hen,\" he had promised her eggs, that he could taste what she was, as he pinned her on his bestial rod, pried open parts no-one had touched but in her fevered imaginings, laying seeds he promised would swell and...\n\n\"Little hen.\"\n\nShe jolted to wakefulness, aware that someone other than her memory was addressing her. The voice was pitched sweet and fine, with no trace of a growl or bite. Not the fairy hound, but his master. Her near-black eyes rolled and locked on the face of... of...\n\nThe thing with a skin of ivory, and face of stained-glass, smiled upon her from beyond the bars of her glittering cage. She saw that she was bare save her feathers, a bedraggled bird, a fine golden anklet threading from her foot, to a perch, above a nest of feathers and grass. \"Sing a song for me for me, little hen, to entertain my guests, and celebrate your arrival.\"\n\nShe cast about, and all she saw shone with brilliant light, silver, gold, and precious gems. And the denizens of the shining hall, she could barely make them out, her mind reeling from one benevolent face to the next, one frieze of hoof and horn, or glimmering scale, or flutter of feather. Yet all of them impressed on her one thing, beauty. They were beautiful, and they wanted her, drab, shy, incomplete Dorothy, to entertain them.\n\nA finger, warm and smooth, reached through that barrier of bars, and tilted her beak into the deep emptiness of painted eyes. \"Hush, fret not, little hen. We want you, we like you, we will see you shine as pretty as any stone. Now Sing.\"\n\nUnable to object, her body shivered, as a single warble escaped her throat. It was a sad and embarrassing thing, as uncertain and pathetic as she felt beneath their scrutiny. She wept, waiting for the mockery and laughter, as her unpractised voice shook free of her feathered breast.\n\nBut they didn't, and as she continued to chirp tunelessly to the half remembered words of a playground rhyme, her audience watched as if she was the greatest musician they had ever heard. As she continued, the things beyond her cage, that she struggled to remember were her captors, began to drift about the phantasmal hall, dancing, drinking, celebrating, and not one criticised the terrified girl, singing for them all.\n\n***\n\nThe spotted mutt, Lau, blinked her mismatched eyes in rapid fashion. Her thoughts were swimming, full of noise, not helped by her nose processing over a hundred scents. There was wood smoke and alcohol, sweat and meat, breath and sex, a heady miasma that made her feel giddy and warm. Last she'd known, she'd been on her back, squashed into an ugly couch, as the biggest dick of her life promised her a breeding she'd been staving off for months. She still felt the echoes of that pounding through her spade, and fancied a wet trickle was making its way down her thigh.\n\nOr was that the slurp of the tongue traversing her behind.\n\n\"Pretty bitch, pretty bitch, lift that tail for us,\" came the sing-song growl of the ethereal hound, as fresh and bright as her mind recalled. The lick persisted, and another, and another. Three broad tongues lapped away, from her scruff, to back, to cunt. Each attentive beast growled her praises, for how fine a bitch she was, how fair and fertile, how fine and fun.\n\nNow wide awake, if not in her right mind, the spotty girl saw she was surrounded and hemmed in, kept in a coral, the three fey beasts her chaperones. Beyond the lustful dogs, she saw a hall of wood and stone, fit for a fantasy game, a homely air delighting a gathering of...\n\nHer aching mind was drawn away from the blurred textures of two legged things, as that tongue struck her sex with more deliberate licks, her body answering with another dribble of slick arousal. She was naked, which wasn't an unusual position to wake up in, surrounded by an audience. But even as she made motions to assume the traditional position, her wit returned long enough ask what was going on, and would be going on, in wherever her captors had taken her.\n\n\"What do you think? Did we not say? Or do you not remember our promise?\"\n\nShe would have said something there, if not at that moment a large red log, veined and steaming, had slid through her maw. The first hound by contortions, mounted her front, while behind the second landed his paws on her hips. For now the third, least distracted, chuckled merrily, and stood close by, his own meat dripping by her side.\n\n\"What you crave, did we not say? And what do you crave? But a good, long, deep, breeding.\"\n\nShe had barely caught their words when her cunny was breached, and the monstrous red cock was sunk to the hilt in her sweet wet slit. It split her lips and tore through her silken walls, making fresh inroads through even her well travelled passage. In, and in, and in, the green beasts fucked, from throat and flower, their bulbous knots kissing both lips with sure intent. Swelling, spreading, their veins caught nicely on every nerve.\n\n\"A bitch, for our master's stable,\" the third did purr, leering with glee as Lau's paw grabbed him without need for instruction, stroking as eagerly as his brother's worked her. \"And what's a bitch's role in this fable?\" He panted, excitement pulsing, \"to make puppies, for as long as she is able.\"\n\nLau came the moment her wish was voiced. How long had it been, since she'd last had a child? And who was she to argue with such fine studs, promising to give her belly all it could hold. Her juicy spade squeezed tight on that dick, as her throat flexed and suckled. Perhaps being in the world below would have its perks after all.\n\n***\n\nShe was in a crowd, her vision swimming, her body cold, all about were thorns and spikes and mocking smiles. A sea of cruelty laughed at her, as she stumbled through the frigid clearing in the ball of briars.\n\nSally May walked in a malaise, her mind frozen before a thousand pairs of headlights. A simple white gown, as shapeless as a nun's habit, was tied around her waist, hiding her shapely thighs and gorgeous red hue. The only part of her female form shown was her naked bust, two goodly swells of flesh, pert and firm, a generous pair of D's on a slender frame.\n\nAs she staggered too and fro, icy claws would catch her, drag her to their table, and press bowls to her breasts.\n\n\"Milk maid, milk maid. Maiden fresh as snow. Give us milk as sweet and clean as your virginhood.\" They crooned and cackled, wicked grins as sharp as their talons.\n\n\"'Mm, not... a virgin...\" she mumbled, her stolen first time still fresh in her mind, even as all else faded.\n\nThey laughed, and they laughed, and they laughed.\n\n\"Oh Milk Maiden, Milk Maiden, with flesh as fresh as snow. Fill my bowl with your sweet cream. Only your beverage, so pristine, will slake our thirsts you know.\"\n\nThey pinched all the harder, wooden bowls crowded, till with a horrid bleat of pleasured pain, her breasts provided. With a flick and a twist, a spurt of white appeared, and she she watched in astonishment as streamers of milk fled her breasts in gushes, each with a stab of stimulation. It was impossible, and yet there she stood in horror, as cups, bowls, goblets were filled from her bust.\n\n\"But the dogs, the hounds, they pinned me down and...\" her tongue-tied as a particular pinch sent a ribbon of amber flying across the air, painting a laughing face as more pressed about her.\n\n\"You wished to be made woman full, for girlhood to be broken. So indeed our hounds have seen, that soon your womb will be swollen.\" The cold cackle of her host did fill her her ears, frozen fingers wrapping about a shivering nipple to work her like an animal. \"But surely once is not enough, for a soul as greedy and deserving as yours thus. Again and again and again, we will break that ground, sowing virgin flesh, that will never truly be deflowered.\"\n\nAnother tug, another bleat, her aching areoles provided, as crowing faces pecked and cawed. Passed too and forth, a living carafe, and nothing more.\n\n***\n\n\"It was horrible,\" Sally May moaned.\n\nFor immeasurable time, the three girls had served. Dorothy in her cage, Lau in the pen, and Sally at the tables. Then when tiredness had taken them, they'd blinked, and found themselves in a cell. Three pallet beds, soft and comfortable feeling to two, and prickly and cold for one, were the only furnishings save a circular table, with three bowls of stew, and three cups of sweet amber drink.\n\n\"It was embarrassing...\" Dorothy mumbled, fingering her feathered front, unable to sit as comfortable as she would have thought on the downy mattress. Her sense of gravity felt off, her balance thrown, and an airiness in her thoughts left her feeling detached, and drawn thin.\n\n\"No, you, shut the fuck up!\" Sally jabbed a finger at the blue jay, \"you just had to fucking sing, and not even good. Did you see what they did to me? With those fucking, cold, sharp, nails? How do you think I feel, huh? Or like... the dog, Lau, what about her, getting... you know.\"\n\nThe mutt in question however just grinned at the thought, having spent all that time being pounded and pampered. She could still feel them, their throbbing, their spurting, the tight spreading from their knots... She only wiped the drool off her chin when she realised the others were looking her way. \"Huh? Oh right, well, like, it's not that bad really is it? I mean, it's kinda cool, being in a magical realm, seeing all this stuff, getting all that attention. And puppies...\"\n\n\"Slut,\" the doe hissed, the mention of puppies making her stomach flip. She remembered what the hound had said, and the impossible feel of violent seed hunting and stalking within her uterus, racing to find fertile cells that shouldn't have been there. Her nipples twitched, involuntarily hard again, as dribbles leaked into her fur. Milk, she was lactating, her tits were noticeably heavier. They sloshed and swelled, and made her think what else might soon be growing.\n\n\"Duh, so? Unless you forgot, we're only here because you were trying to get some dick. So don't take it out on us that you suck at being a slut.\"\n\nThe two girls glared at one another, stuck tongues out, name called, until finally giving in to the urge they all shared, and ate, drank, and fell asleep.\n\n***\n\n\"Sing bird sing, give us a tune pretty hen,\" her audience called.\n\nThe hen, Dorothy, she was Dorothy, shook her head. Wasn't she sleeping on a fine feathered bed? All was mussy and confused, a blend of motion that left her bemused.\n\n\"Wait rhymes? Why am I...\" She had scant seconds of panic, thoughts creeping in, prickling at the edge of awareness, memories and fears, screaming from-\n\n\"A song, a song, sing for us our hen,\" the cool, cordial chorus called, and her mind sank again. Another entreatment, and she gave a chirping cry. No words this time, just the twittering of song birds, anything to stave off the pressure of her audience's eye. And with each crooning tune, she felt the blush rise, sure her voice would crack, soon, soon.\n\nBut somehow, as she became lost, huffing and puffing out her breast, which felt firm and full, the discordant note never came. It might not have been artful, or clever, or skilful, but as long as she sang, her fears stayed at bay, and her thoughts were calmed.\n\nShe blushed a little harder, blue feathers seeming purple with the red flush in her cheeks. She could feel her humiliating clit twitch, driven out by stage fright, flopping limply yet visibly for all the painted creatures to see. Did they mock her? She didn't think so, but then so long as she kept singing, she began to lose recollection of anything else. The whole world became a heavy canvas, from her perch, to the bars, to the things beyond, only she was real, so what was wrong with indulging in a private performance?\n\nThroughout that day (or was it longer?), the jay felt heavier, calmer, steadier. She stepped down from the perch that she never remembered climbing, into the nest below, which felt good, and natural and right to her. Had she always been so heavy? Were her feathers always so long? Was she always so confident in her body?\n\nSuch questions went unanswered, and then were forgotten. The more she sang, the quicker thought fled. It was easier, simpler, pleasanter, to just sing, and nest and... swell?\n\n***\n\n\"Let slip the hounds!\" Came the raucous call, the gates of the stable flying wide, to the cries and cheers and laughs of the dinner hall.\n\nThe three green beasts, that just a second ago Lau had found herself beneath, sprang at once. Barking and playing, they began gambolling between the guests, performing tricks, begging treats, and otherwise partaking of the feast.\n\nLau herself, feeling uncharacteristically tranquil and content, didn't move from the pen until a set of hands had all but dragged her out of the den. Soon after, as she staggered about on two paws, head a mess of pleasures and cat calls, she found herself the centre of a petting mess.\n\n\"Pretty thing. Pretty bitch, what a pretty girl,\" cooed the myriad creatures, rubbing slender fingers over naked shoulder, thigh, and breasts. Under such attention, how could the gold and brown mutt do much more than wag her tail, stick out her tongue, and fall to her knees as-.\n\n\"Huh, what?\" A few neurons clicked together, as she found herself on all fours, hands patting her down, treating her like a feral, fur ruffling and puffing as fingers wrapped themselves through her coat and-\n\n\"Fetch girl, fetch. A bone for you to catch,\" someone hurled a scrap across the room, and in a heartbeat she was tearing after the flying carrion, at first on all fours, till remembering how to stand. Tongue lolling, breasts flying, she joined the rest of the dogs, but slower, heavier, and when she reached the meaty morsel, and growled at the others in the pack, they begrudgingly let go, and let her in to have her little snack.\n\n***\n\n\"Milk Maid, milk maid, quell my thirst dear milk maid!\"\n\nHow had she got there? How long was she standing? How many sets of claws had pawed and drained her bosom? Sally May didn't know. Sally May couldn't remember. But there she was again, breasts bared, staggering between tables, a tray of cups and bowls in front of her. Every pinch, every squeeze, sent another stream of proof flying from her pimpling peaks, amber cream too thick to be believed, that her tormentors drank with equal glee to the discomfort they caused.\n\nDiscomfort, she held to that. She didn't enjoy it, not in the least, even if every tug caused a shiver of relief, and every grope a bleat of surprise. It was just that when her pure white breasts went untended they began to ache. Without the distraction of their pawing, and the noise of their feasting, she could hear the steady creak and gurgle of her own body. Like maturing bamboo, a subtle awareness grew; heavier hips, straining tips, and a burden in her belly she knew.\n\n\"It's not true,\" she told herself, over and over, even as her centre of mass moved, her gait widened, her back strained. It wasn't happening to her, not her, it was impossible, there was no chance that this was deserved, that the world could possibly...\n\nAnother chorus of calls for her milky mammaries came, and as she sighed and groaned, she couldn't help but notice a certain bulge beneath her shapeless shift, one that she didn't recall being there before.\n\n***\n\nTime passed, marked only by the moments of clarity, the nights in which the three were reunited. They'd talk, or argue, and share the humble meal, trying not to look too hard at the growing signs of change overcoming them.\n\nDorothy felt heavier by the moment, a broody and restive urge coming upon her. When she wasn't grooming and combing her lustrous plumage, she was perched on her nest, tweeting to herself. Her embarrassment lasted only so long as she wasn't singing, and the moment a tone left her beak all that was left in her feathered head was joy, and her evident arousal. Sometimes, at the height of her performance, she'd even reach her own finish, something that made her patrons laugh and clap all the louder, and afterwards left her embarrassed and shy again when her realisation came back to her.\n\nAt the climax of one song, her voice as clear and sweet as it had ever been, a groan broke her tune. A shudder, a ripple, a pleasured moan, something moved within her, something heavy and eager coming forth. She had barely a moment to blink and gasp before she felt it fall, and press on her vent from within. The blue jay gave a warbling cry of surprise, the object spinning and turning, as muscles she didn't recognise propelled the parcel down, just as instincts she had never a cause to question made her move and sit inside the nest provided, rump just raised, knees well spread, her feathered hands pressing just below her breast.\n\nFrom the corners and shadows came a sudden clamour. Familiar, glimmering, and smiling, her audience applauded, cheered, and gathered closer, reaching eager hands, and talons, and claws, preening her body as she gasped her way into labour.\n\nThe egg, her egg, the impossible thing she so wanted, reached its final position, fat end down and straining. Not even the hound, when he'd taken her so roughly, could have prepared her for the strain, the joyous elation that accompanied the pain. She was laying! Just as promised. The warm, firm, shell, pried apart her cloacal lips, and with a single, slow, delicious movement, slipped its smooth curve down, and out.\n\nA wave of sensation followed, as her canal contracted and fluttered, the thrill, the relief, the bliss. It was wonderful. It was magical, and all the while her devoted and loving public laughed and clapped, celebrating the proof as much as she did.\n\n\"Bravo, bravo, our beautiful hen,\" they did sing, their features glowing, their faces radiant.\n\nHer egg lay there, a perfectly sculpted ovoid, gleaming and speckled, marking a change she hadn’t noticed. She felt empty, airy and delicate. Her plumage shone, her feathers long, her body more right than it had been in ages. She gave no complaint when the egg was taken, somehow knowing that no chick awaited, but when she found her breath to move back to her perch, already she felt the stir in her nethers that said it was just the first.\n\n***\n\nLau yapped, suddenly overcome. She'd been playing chase among the chairs, barking after the bigger hounds as they bounded and nipped at her, before a powerful clench had taken her belly. It had been growing bigger daily, fat and heavy, full of rambunctious life. A hot swollen ball, pressing her many breasts out and down, dragging along the ground.\n\nShe wasn't distressed, she was ecstatic. When a gush of damp came from her spade, coating her thighs and paws, she didn't panic, just rolled to her side between the tables, lifting a leg for the world to see the miracle of creation.\n\nTongue lolling, head filled with fanciful thoughts, she watched as her bulging gut became a battleground of kicking paws, the pups inside as lively as their fathers. The green beasts had made good their word, and bred her with a large and healthy litter, one that seemed just as magical as they were. When the first head found the gate of her womb, breaking forth to being the tumble down the length of her sex, all that struck her was the giddy pleasure, as unnatural a birth as the pregnancy had been.\n\nShe barked in orgasm, just as she felt tongues take to lapping at her stretching, puffed out pussy. Summoned by her cries, the three hounds had come to her sides, licking and snickering, betting with each other over which had been the one to breed their bitch.\n\n\"N-now don't, [i]mmph[/i]~, fight, guys,\" she huffed and puffed, as the first pup crowned, \"y-you can all have go, hah, and, [i]aah[/i], and-\". She was cut off as her cub had plans of his own. The small beast, who had no time to be cooped up in her womb, burst out in a rush of green and red. As if jealous of their older brother, the rest of the pack gave quick chase, a stampede of paws pressing and running down her tunnel. Walls stretched, waters splashed, and the air was full of the bitch's yelps of climax.\n\nNine healthy pups, each as full formed and healthy as their sires, began to prance and yip around their panting mother. For the next hour, the spotted golden dog was practically pinned on her side, her children's muzzles fighting ceaselessly for a place at her six breasts, leaving her open and ready for the fairy hounds, with their knotted cocks already out, to fight for who would put the next litter inside.\n\n***\n\n\"Oh fuck!\" Sally May buckled, her tray of filled vessels flying, as a cramp in her belly nearly brought her to her knees. She had seen the growth and ignored it, even as the monsters of the fairy realm promised her what was coming. That had been weeks ago, or was it months? She gave up thinking, her eyes watering, as another spasm made her insides writhe. The thing kicked harder against her hide, twisting, turning, thrashing, straining, making clear their inevitable arrival, and sending Sally doubling over, as a ring began to crowd her.\n\n\"My dear Milk Maid,\" the terrible fairy lord crooned, his skin a sheet of ice, his features a shifting shadow from nightmare. \"How kind of you dear maiden. An immaculate birth. A new child of my court, deep beneath the earth.\"\n\nShe would have screamed at him then and there; ‘[i]I'm not pregnant[/i],’ or perhaps, ‘[i]I'm not a virgin[/i],’ but all that was lost in the next strangled bleat. Buckled over now, her stance widening, back arching, her small tail flagging, she felt the next potent squeeze of her diaphragm. Something was definitely coming, a heavy, squirming, solid shape, and the very thought sent her mind spinning, and her stomach fluttering.\n\n\"Oh please no,\" she whimpered, feeling a tickle in her loins, a gush from her labia, a push, a-. \"It's coming,\" she shrieked, before a torrent of fluid erupted from her sex, splashing about her legs and the icy mud of the clearing. A cruel hand, not wishing to miss the spectacle, flipped up her now ruined dress, leaving her rump wobbling and bare, as the thick rim of her lips fluttered and gaped for them all to stare. Any and all could see as the lump began its journey, cervix spreading, uterus contracting, vagina dilating, the fey child was coming, and there was no longer any point denying.\n\n\"Get it out. Get it out. Get it-,\" she started to scream, only to end in the drawn out \"Bleeeeeeh!\" of a feral doe. The snout crowned, and then the face, and then two stubs of horns about the unmistakable cervine child. The cheeks were next, then shoulders, torso, waist, till not long after came free the babe, into the arms of a waiting guest. Not satisfied with once, twice more she bore odd painted fawns, who the court were quick to take and adorn, till finally she was given a moment to rest.\n\nLying as a panting, broken, tearful wreck, Sally May could see her bastard spawn being passed about the group. The giggling things were quick to fall in line, faces becoming as shifting and painted as the rest of their fairy kind. She would not miss them, but she felt a knife in her pride that they'd so quickly abandoned her side.\n\nBut who had remained, but the fairy lord, his cocked his head dramatically, hand to ear, listing as from on high, a familiar voice came down with a cry.\n\n\"What's that I do hear? A virgin girl from the land above? What could she want, does anyone know?\" A laugh came from the crowd, as wicked things of spikes and root and earth came to leer down on her. It was her voice, rumbling loud as thunder through the dirt, her howls of anger and frustration from the day she'd been rejected, which had doomed her to imprisonment. Her words captured in the tomb of the earth, echoing from out of time.\n\n\"I do,\" spoke a thing with the legs of a dragon, the chest of an ape, and the head of a goat. \"She calls for a mate, for some brave buck to rob her of her maidenhead.\" The leering crowd tittered, as the monstrous ram gripped her by the waist with thick fingers.\n\nExhausted by her labour, she could barely slap or kick, as between the creature's legs rose not a penis, but a live and scaly snake. In horror she saw as its forked tongue flicked, tasting the wetness of her lips, lapping the fresh blood of her birth.\n\n\"Oh no. N-no. Ple-please,\" her pitiful cry was drowned out in a roaring cheer, as the living rod, reared, and struck. There was no mercy given, no moment spared, instead he began to work his staff with shallow thrusts, callous twists, and a steady grind, the snake's tongue scenting her all the while. It was humiliation enough that the assembled mass drank in the spectacle, their crowing and jeering echoing across the glade, but what was worse was the unbidden thrill, her cunt not worn, but fresh and hungry, weeping ecstatic to be filled.\n\nWith a fang filled grin, the musk coated male held her still, letting his slithering serpent worm and dig its way in. The broad head bulged her abdomen, stretched a belly that had gone from bloated and gravid, to flat as a board, as if she hadn't been in childbirth just moments before. It might have been pleasant, if she wasn’t in terror of the smooth scaled invader slicking deeper and deeper. Then she felt it, the next impossibility, the forked tongue flicked, and tickled her pristine, untouched, hymen.\n\n\"N-no,\" Sally managed a tearful sob, \"not, possible. Not again...\"\n\nBut that just caused further laughter, for what could she mean by again? You could only be deflowered once, and as she was a virgin, surely she should relax, and savour such an important moment that would last her a lifetime.\n\nThe snake in her sex pulled back, mouth agape, and lunged, devouring her cherry in a single gulp. Sally screamed, long and loud, a keening cry of defeat as the world turned white. She came in shameful squeals, quivering it spat thick venom in the home her children had been reared. In her heart and soul she knew, just as before, the creature atop her had done the deed, and bred her full with his seed.\n\n***\n\nSo their lives went, an endless cycle that saw three women from the world above, become three beasts in the world below.\n\nThe bird in the cage, her feathers full and fine, spent all day singing, and preening, and nesting. She was a beautiful creature, resplendent as a sapphire, full wings fluttering as she flew and swooped and sang about her enclosure. Once each feast, at the height of the revels, she'd alight upon her nest, lift her feathered bottom high for all to see, and without breaking tune, lay a perfect, shining egg.\n\nShe adored it, feeling it form, as her breast swelled in song, sensing it roll and drop, turn in her sex, spread the practised ring of her vent, and fall immaculate into the bed. From there it was spirited out, taken to the lord's table, split, and its golden yolk shared by all the guests.\n\nAt times she had a moment, a troubled stirring in her pretty head, memories of another place, another time. Of a world of pains, of trials, but also purpose. But then she'd give a shake, and the worries would fly, replaced with the simple pleasure of her aviary, and captivity.\n\nMeanwhile the mutt, the spotted bitch, danced between the tables, playing games of hunter and quarry. Each day to the delight of the denizens, the four legged dog would run and hide and be chased by her suitors. A simple and joyous game, whichever beast brought her down, would be first to get under her tail. If she was not fecund she was fertile, and when she was not pupping she was in heat, over and over in an endless circle.\n\nSvelte and lithe, when she wasn't fat and round, the mix-coloured hound was a constant delight, and patrons would place wagers on her chances against her playmates. But sometimes, when the game came to a close, a wishful thought came about her. For games unplayed, for things more complex, but then she was just a dog, a bitch, and she'd have to be content.\n\nLast of the three was the one who was most resigned. The red deer doe, who trotted to and fro, her breasts hanging low, and her body full to bursting with child. She'd bleat and baa, but in the end she had no fight left in her, standing steady on two pairs of trotters as sweet cream poured from her udders.\n\nOn every third day she'd snort, spread her thighs, and bring another guest baying into life. It had long lost its sting, falling into a natural rhythm, and while her mind was still sharp and aware, she let the animal take over.\n\nWhen she was not with child, she began the journey again, her body healed, her womb in season, her virginity ripe and ready for the taking. No more struggles, just sighs and a spread hind, letting whichever fey next wished to take her prize.\n\nAn eternity it seemed to be, repeated days in endless pleasures and ridicules, and yet no one grew bored, the fairies at their sport, nor the captives in their hall.\n\n***\n\nThe doe that was Sally May huffed and panted. Her latest calve lay cooling on the hard packed earth, as she shuddered her way through yet another rejuvenation. Already her stretched belly began to contract, her abused labia began to shrink, and her ruptured flower grew petals anew, ready for whatever buck would be next to pluck them.\n\n\"Well done, well done, well done, our fair maiden of milk,\" came the mocking call, the lord of the glade coming to stand before her dipped head and shivering flanks. His face, a smear of silver and grey, stared down imperiously. \"What do you say, oh milky maid? Have we not treated you kindly? With honour, and grace, and generosity. Have you not had your wish granted, time and time again, till even your greed has been satisfied?\"\n\nShe chuffed and grunted, no spite left to spend on his jibes. This was to be her life, better to get on and accept, than waste it adding more barbs to the briars.\n\n\"Ah, it seems even you have drunk your fill, and are ready to retire from my palace. Well before you depart, there is one last matter. The payment, for our services, to you rendered.\"\n\nHer heart skipped, suddenly alive. A chance to leave? To go back to her life before? No more breedings, milkings, or birthings? But the mention of a price made her cautious, not the same angry girl that she’d been when starting her sentence. What more could he possibly want after taking her dignity, her body, her voice, and her agency?\n\n\"Not much, not much,\" the cold voice cooed, reading her thoughts through her wide dark eyes. \"One last task, one last turning of the wheel, for a most noble and potent guest has come, and of your womb they need to avail.\"\n\nA rustling and rumbling came from amongst the crowd, as at the edge of the clearing, the vicious hawthorn wall shook and parted. All about, the members of the fairy court did likewise, forming a corridor from where she lay, to the very edge of their demesne. In a rippling line, each monster took a knee and bowed their heads, as a creature of magnificent splendour, trotted proud and radiant towards her.\n\nThe stag was the purest white, his antlers broad and branching, his body sturdy and strong. Atop his great brow sat a twisted hoop of oak and mistletoe, royal as a crown on a king, and as votive as a wreath on a trophy. The heavy hooves stopped just shy of the more humble doe, his weight cracking the solid dirt, his snort steaming the frigid air, his aura of majesty making even her now jaded knees knock from intimidation.\n\nHe did not speak, though she would not have been surprised if he could, the mighty stag merely observed with clear blue eyes, judging her with the intensity of a prospective husband on an arranged bride. An unspoken command to stand took her, and she scrambled to obey, getting narrow, shaking legs below her now smooth, sleek belly.\n\nA sweep of his horns said the hart was satisfied, circling her from front to hind, and allowing her a chance to see what he had to offer. Below his muscular belly hung low a long spear of red, like a lance stabbed deep into his chest. It was as terrifying as it was transfixing, her ancestors calling across centuries to wonder and melt before such a specimen. In the haze of the moment, Sally might have smiled, her head making fantasies, and her nethers brimming with heat, but she had not the muscles in her lips for that. He didn't need to rear to mount her, simply stepping forward and over, the heat of his breast radiating down into her back, as that vast weapon came up to boil her chest from below.\n\n\"Our lord has need of an heir,\" the bowing fey spoke, standing well clear of the stag's spiked head. \"His time is come, a great right needs to be done, and as such, you, honoured maiden, shall provide.\"\n\nThe doe gasped as the hot flesh split her cleft afresh. The shape, the fit, they were right and wrong. Too big, too broad, and too potent by far, she felt her virgin fields break apart. Animal he was, but unlike the many before, she could not call him a monster, not that he was gentle. The lord of the forest laid clear his claim, the girthy rod spreading her walls in ways she’d never been breached before. It was not painful, which surprised her, nor unpleasant. In fact to her shock, she was forced to admit she enjoyed it. Despite all that had transpired, all that she had been used for, all that she had endured, with this male, this stag, for once she did not resent her fate, but embraced it.\n\nWith deliberate motions, the narrow head drove, reaching her virgin barrier as so many before had. But never, not since the first, had she felt it important that it was taken. When the plough began to break the thin veil, she bit her tongue, fought through the pain, unable to focus on anything else. Till, with a snap, his cock jumped in her cunny, and a bleat tore from her snout, while his tip hit her cervix.\n\n'[i]That was the hardest part[/i],' she promised herself, '[i]One last time, never again. Now I just have to let him do it. Let him fuck me, take me, mate me. And this’ll all be over[/i].'\n\nBut when he sawed into her again, thick with rich virility, that thought was driven out in a rush of pleasure. He stretched her so well, owned her so completely. With each thrust and roll of his hips, she was dragged inexorably in. Each snort and toss of his head came with another scrape across her most intimate secrets. \n\n'[i]Why is the price to leave, so much better than what came before?[/i]' she asked herself, the words bouncing around a skull devoid anything but the rigours of rut. [i]'Why now, at the end, do I feel like I might like it? This nasty things, giving me hope, then making me doubt if I even want to leave!’[/i]\n\nWith her channel so thoroughly occupied her body couldn't help but yield, and soon her mind followed. After that, it wasn't agony, it was simple animal euphoria. The doe gasped and pushed back her bottom into the powerful pounding, as the stag bellowed above her in approval. His hoof-beats pounded the earth with each slam, his hips plying her rump, his sheath her loins, and great pendulous bollocks swinging and smacking to her covered clit.\n\n'[i]Yes, yes, yes. Yes![/i]' she chanted within her head, forgetting all else but the simple bliss of being bred. 'Take me, take me, take me. My stag, my mate, my master!' came the thoughts from ages past, a knowing in the blood come calling across generations, and the captive doe cried in answer.\n\nAll too soon her orgasm rolled in with the great downpour of the monsoon. Her maddened bleating could be heard all about the now silent glade, the beat of her blood a drum, and her huffing breath a rising chorus. But it was the stag above her, with a sharp and sudden blast of his lungs, a rearing scream of victory, that echoed through the forest, and caused the raucous cheers of the gathered audience. She came again, hard, her virginal blood a pennant on his maypole, as he soon followed her into climax.\n\nHer womb shuddered and quaked, pulsing with the potency that pummelled it, each spurt a hot slosh of seed that brought her pleasure anew. Her insides tightened still, trapping him, holding him still, not wanting this moment to end, no matter what she had thought before. And as her orgasm rode and crashed about her like a tide of molten honey, his final shot sealed her fate, and she felt motherhood once more take hold.\n\nNot long after she realised he was gone, her stag, the male she'd remember for the rest of her life. She now lay curled into her slender legs, exhausted and satisfied, as the surrounding audience closed, and resumed their revels, as if nothing had transpired at all.\n\n***\n\nThree days after her final mating, the fecund deer lay on a bed of fine straw, her flanks bulked and packed with her fawn. Her loins were swollen again, her breathing laboured, and her hide slick with sweat. Unlike previous times when such difficulties came upon her, she was afforded some privacy in a paddock away from the others. She did not complain or question, grateful for a little space for such an important event.\n\nWith her hind legs spread, and the first pangs of contractions settling in, the same pressures, the same pains, but for once lacking the edge of humiliation. This was the last time she would do this, and yet it was the only time she had no regrets. As a spasm clenched her innards, a shockwave of discomfort running down her spine, and bringing her little tail to wag, the doe couldn't help the thought. 'Just once more, and I’m done. One last time, and at least this last time was a good one.'\n\nGroaning, mooing, she eased her way through the familiar feeling, as the head of the fawn came lower, and her rubbery sex was parted. One part at a time, her burden came free, her penance slowly coming to a close. Two long legs, followed by a slender chest, and two more at the end, all long, and gangly, and unsteady. A pelt red as blood, until her tongue on instincts she was shocked that she owned, lapped clear the placental sheath. Her child shone as white and brilliant as the stag that made him. In ungainly steps, the young buck found his hooves, and staggered about her enclosure, before coming to stand before her.\n\nSally May could not help but feel proud, even if her eyes were drooping, her body driven to exhaustion. She did not begrudge her newborn 'Son' as he dipped his crown and bullied her teats into his mouth, nor did she struggle as he drank her dry, his muzzle pale and foamy with milk. A million things played through her foggy mind, things she wished she could say, feelings she wished she could express. Was she relieved, or upset? Did she wish to see where a life with such a creature would lead? Or did she truly still wish to go back to what she'd lost? She couldn't say, not as her child finished his meal, not as he was led away, and not as the cruel masters of the fey, came upon where she lay.\n\n\"Rest now, rest now milk maiden of ours,\" they called soft and cold, breaths of wind across her chilling form. \"Your work is done, your time has come. Now drink deep, and enjoy your final hours.\" A bowl was pressed to her lips, her throat was stroked, and she was made to drink a brew of wine, and herbs, and honey.\n\nPanic struggled to rise, as she felt a certain doom come upon her. Not a stupid beast, she heard the words, and her wild eyes saw glints of teeth, and knives.\n\n'No,' she bayed, even as the potion soothed her towards a cold embrace, 'not now, not like this. I want to live. I want to stay. I want-.'\n\nBut the things of the world below pressed in closer, their myriad forms spinning in a maddening spiral. Sharp claws began to prickle her flesh, ice crept into her bones, her lungs struggled to draw another breath, as an ivory fang, a dagger, lowered to her throat, and...\n\n***\n\n'[i]Clack[/i].'\n\n***\n\nSally May jolted upright from the cold wet earth, ears ringing with the sound of stone on stone. Wind tore at her fur and fashionable clothes, wet dirt pressed around her fingers, and the smell of crushed grass and bracken filled every last synapse of her nose.\n\nShe, Lau May Petite, and Dorothy Clips, awoke to find themselves at the summit of a hill, at the peak of a winter's day. Before them lay a long valley, a city at its heart, surrounded by fields of green and red. They had just enough time to marvel at their forms restored of limbs, and minds again filled with thoughts, before a ram by a heap of stones gave a bleat and called.\n\n\"How long you three been there for?\" Sam Branigan could have sworn he was alone when he'd reached the cairn, completing his daily pilgrimage. But blinking his slot eyes, he realised sheepishly that the three foreign students that no one had seen since winter break began, had clearly been lying about, staring at the clouds. \"Thought you three had gone home for the holidays,\" he continued, offering a hand here and there to pull them to their feet, \"when'dya get back into town?\"\n\n\"Just now...\" mumbled a stunned and disorientated Sally, not meeting the man's eyes. \"How long were we miss- gone,\" she corrected herself, her head a jumble of noise, unreal memories, and lingering emotions.\n\n\"Funny thing ta ask, don't you know, you all alright there?\"\n\nOnce the three girls had confirmed that yes, they were all alright, and really what they meant was how long they had left till term started again, the student representative assured them they had a few days break left, and so such they'd been gone for no more than three weeks.\n\n\"Three weeks,\" Dorothy chirruped, once they'd bade farewell to the ever positive ram, \"did all that, really happen? Did we really?\"\n\n\"One way to find out,\" Lau said, walking right into the blue jay's face. Before the stunned avian had a chance to complain, the golden bitch's paw had gone straight down her skirt, and dug right into her vent. In response, the trans-bird gave a twittering jolt, and seconds later a moan, as expert fingers worked up her chute, stroking her walls, and finding nothing, but three little holes. \"Wow, congrats girl, though I'll admit, I'm gonna miss your clit~,\" she grinned, and hugged her friend, just as Dorothy did the same, feeling truly complete in and of herself.\n\n\"Yeah... well, at least that's over with,\" Sally looked away, a sour look on her face, the feel of a blade still fresh about her neck. She felt unsteady on two feet, off-balance, top heavy, and when she crossed her arms to shiver in the winter chill, she elicited a gasp as her bust began to leak, leaving wet stains to freeze in her shirt.\n\n\"Aww, you two got all the good souvenirs,\" Lau pouted playfully, skipping up to the scowling doe, and doing to her the same as she'd done to Dorothy. Sure enough, as her digits wriggled into the speechless, indignant woman, she found a passage as fresh and untouched, as the night that had started it all.\n\n\"Get the fuck off me, you, you... Bitch!\" Sally shouted, shoving the dog back, who put up no fight but did howl in laughter, unable to help but tease the doe, who spluttered and chastised, but blushed red all the same. Soon after Sally stormed off on her own, back down the hill to their home, intent on putting the whole affair behind her.\n\n\"So... what happens now?\" Dorothy asked, leaning on her friend's shoulder, feeling light and carefree as they looked out on the world that had never looked larger.\n\n\"Hmmm,\" Lau considered a moment, staring at the future open to her, all the possibilities, all the things she could do, all the wonders of the world they hadn't seen for however many lifetimes. She snapped her fingers, realisation dawning, knowing exactly what she needed to do, \"I know! The new Bootstitty season will have started! Come on! You can be my squadmate! Oh my god, my followers are gonna be so pissed I haven't given them any updates!\"\n\nAnd with that, the two of them climbed back down the hill, leaving behind the neat mound of stones, not aware of the flash of green in the undergrowth, or the mark of a horned moon which glowed on the bitch's rump.", "writing_bbcode_parsed": "Down, down, down she fell. Past root, and branch. Past stone, and bone. In darkness yet not blind. Rushing black on black, yet every layer and era distinct against the rest. A maddening pell-mell of textures, shades, suggestions and terrors as she tumbled. Air ripped past her ears, carrying the horrid cackle of her captor at her back, the world a pin-wheeling madhouse as the high half-moon tumbled further, and further, and further into nothing against the dark.

Screaming, she caught glimpses of the primordial leering at her in their earthy tombs. Things buried, lost, and forgotten, stealing their chance to terrify one last soul from their ever lingering un-death. Innumerable and indescribable, each saw her mind as a tool to escape their impossible prison of the bygone era. The deer emptied her lungs again and again, till the air became needles, her throat a bloody tunnel, her eyes a tear blinded mess, and yet the monsters did not have the decency to be obscured.

Down, down, down, and-

Three sets of paws, twelve in all, landed with a clatter of claw on stone. Monstrous green dogs, each to the shoulder the height of a grown man, their grassy pelts platted and braided and knotted. Across each forest hued hound was tangled a squirming body, a woman tied in thick ropes of fur. On the lead beast was bound a red deer doe, who called herself Sally May, and till recently she'd believed herself beyond any power lesser than her family's wealth. Now strapped to the back of the same creature that had deflowered her just hours ago, she and her house mates were being carried across the threshold of a palace in the world below.

Craning her slender neck, looking over the head of the hound, she saw a gate of thorns and barbs, spikes and briars, all the things she hated most in nature. Above and about was a similar lattice of forbidding pain, foreboding and unwelcoming, from which could be heard dissonant chords and the laughter of things whose voices were claws down chalkboards.

The trio of fairy dogs advanced upon the gate, which bent and parted before them. All things became fluid, a mélange of impressions, an edited highlight reel, blurred at the edges by vaseline on the lens, as they transitioned from without, to within.

Cold and needle edged, a voice pealed across the prostrate doe's flapping ears. "Welcome, welcome, welcome. Bharg, and Sith, and Shuk," the cool tones rolled around the intangible space, "a fine hunt you've had. Pray tell what have you brought to our gathering?"

In synchronicity the hounds shook out their pelts, the hairy ropes unwrapping, dropping the three well-bred bodies to frozen dirt.

To cobbled floor.

To shining stone.

Shuk stepped first, snout nudging a dishevelled blue jay across the glistening ground. "A hen, my lord, fine and ripe with a voice so sweet to sing for your halls."

Sith came next, rolling a mutt along bumpy cobble, her tongue lolling, her body twitching from the long rutting she'd had bound to his belly. "A bitch, my lord, fecund and fertile, a willing mother to a host of hounds should you ask."

Finally the leader, jaws latching about a plump thigh, he contemptuously tossed the deer across the filth and mud, landing at the feet of the indescribable master. "Venison, my lord. Her heart and soul are rank, tainted and putrid, it was she who breached the wall with her arrogance."

Fingers like icicles wrapped beneath the doe's chin, tilting her rolling eyes up to see... to see...

"Oh Bharg, how cruel are we? To condemn a mortal so readily?" The cold whips of voice wrapped about her mind, as the fractal painting of a figure, of a thing, of a creature who walked on two legs, yet was otherwise so not of her understanding, turned her cheeks hither and thus. "What is a little sin, a little pride, a little need? Her desire was to be mated, to feel her maidenhood end, the blossoming of her woman's flower. Such things are in our power, where her want will be sated, and our guests, her flesh, will feed."

Horror gripped Sally May from the creature's words, and the revolt of her senses. Its image swam from her vision, blurring and diffusing as an ink blot, leaving her uncertain of what she had seen, or felt, or heard. But the cheers, and the laughter, those her mind understood, even as the world spun, as she and the other two captives, who to be fair she gave no thought nor care to, were dragged deeper, and deeper, into the hall of the court below.

***

Dorothy Clips rolled her head side to side, consciousness struggling to elude her. The blue jay had suffered the most twisted experience of her young life, both terrifying and satisfying, humiliating and liberating. One moment she had been enjoying the understanding company of a friend, then next she had been beneath the body of a beast. Still she felt her cloaca clench from the potent rigours of her mating, the affirmation of being taken beneath her tail, despite the duality of her gender and sex.

"Little hen," he had called her, the great green dog that had taken her penetrative virginity, fucking her with force and a mocking tenderness.

"Little hen," he had promised her eggs, that he could taste what she was, as he pinned her on his bestial rod, pried open parts no-one had touched but in her fevered imaginings, laying seeds he promised would swell and...

"Little hen."

She jolted to wakefulness, aware that someone other than her memory was addressing her. The voice was pitched sweet and fine, with no trace of a growl or bite. Not the fairy hound, but his master. Her near-black eyes rolled and locked on the face of... of...

The thing with a skin of ivory, and face of stained-glass, smiled upon her from beyond the bars of her glittering cage. She saw that she was bare save her feathers, a bedraggled bird, a fine golden anklet threading from her foot, to a perch, above a nest of feathers and grass. "Sing a song for me for me, little hen, to entertain my guests, and celebrate your arrival."

She cast about, and all she saw shone with brilliant light, silver, gold, and precious gems. And the denizens of the shining hall, she could barely make them out, her mind reeling from one benevolent face to the next, one frieze of hoof and horn, or glimmering scale, or flutter of feather. Yet all of them impressed on her one thing, beauty. They were beautiful, and they wanted her, drab, shy, incomplete Dorothy, to entertain them.

A finger, warm and smooth, reached through that barrier of bars, and tilted her beak into the deep emptiness of painted eyes. "Hush, fret not, little hen. We want you, we like you, we will see you shine as pretty as any stone. Now Sing."

Unable to object, her body shivered, as a single warble escaped her throat. It was a sad and embarrassing thing, as uncertain and pathetic as she felt beneath their scrutiny. She wept, waiting for the mockery and laughter, as her unpractised voice shook free of her feathered breast.

But they didn't, and as she continued to chirp tunelessly to the half remembered words of a playground rhyme, her audience watched as if she was the greatest musician they had ever heard. As she continued, the things beyond her cage, that she struggled to remember were her captors, began to drift about the phantasmal hall, dancing, drinking, celebrating, and not one criticised the terrified girl, singing for them all.

***

The spotted mutt, Lau, blinked her mismatched eyes in rapid fashion. Her thoughts were swimming, full of noise, not helped by her nose processing over a hundred scents. There was wood smoke and alcohol, sweat and meat, breath and sex, a heady miasma that made her feel giddy and warm. Last she'd known, she'd been on her back, squashed into an ugly couch, as the biggest dick of her life promised her a breeding she'd been staving off for months. She still felt the echoes of that pounding through her spade, and fancied a wet trickle was making its way down her thigh.

Or was that the slurp of the tongue traversing her behind.

"Pretty bitch, pretty bitch, lift that tail for us," came the sing-song growl of the ethereal hound, as fresh and bright as her mind recalled. The lick persisted, and another, and another. Three broad tongues lapped away, from her scruff, to back, to cunt. Each attentive beast growled her praises, for how fine a bitch she was, how fair and fertile, how fine and fun.

Now wide awake, if not in her right mind, the spotty girl saw she was surrounded and hemmed in, kept in a coral, the three fey beasts her chaperones. Beyond the lustful dogs, she saw a hall of wood and stone, fit for a fantasy game, a homely air delighting a gathering of...

Her aching mind was drawn away from the blurred textures of two legged things, as that tongue struck her sex with more deliberate licks, her body answering with another dribble of slick arousal. She was naked, which wasn't an unusual position to wake up in, surrounded by an audience. But even as she made motions to assume the traditional position, her wit returned long enough ask what was going on, and would be going on, in wherever her captors had taken her.

"What do you think? Did we not say? Or do you not remember our promise?"

She would have said something there, if not at that moment a large red log, veined and steaming, had slid through her maw. The first hound by contortions, mounted her front, while behind the second landed his paws on her hips. For now the third, least distracted, chuckled merrily, and stood close by, his own meat dripping by her side.

"What you crave, did we not say? And what do you crave? But a good, long, deep, breeding."

She had barely caught their words when her cunny was breached, and the monstrous red cock was sunk to the hilt in her sweet wet slit. It split her lips and tore through her silken walls, making fresh inroads through even her well travelled passage. In, and in, and in, the green beasts fucked, from throat and flower, their bulbous knots kissing both lips with sure intent. Swelling, spreading, their veins caught nicely on every nerve.

"A bitch, for our master's stable," the third did purr, leering with glee as Lau's paw grabbed him without need for instruction, stroking as eagerly as his brother's worked her. "And what's a bitch's role in this fable?" He panted, excitement pulsing, "to make puppies, for as long as she is able."

Lau came the moment her wish was voiced. How long had it been, since she'd last had a child? And who was she to argue with such fine studs, promising to give her belly all it could hold. Her juicy spade squeezed tight on that dick, as her throat flexed and suckled. Perhaps being in the world below would have its perks after all.

***

She was in a crowd, her vision swimming, her body cold, all about were thorns and spikes and mocking smiles. A sea of cruelty laughed at her, as she stumbled through the frigid clearing in the ball of briars.

Sally May walked in a malaise, her mind frozen before a thousand pairs of headlights. A simple white gown, as shapeless as a nun's habit, was tied around her waist, hiding her shapely thighs and gorgeous red hue. The only part of her female form shown was her naked bust, two goodly swells of flesh, pert and firm, a generous pair of D's on a slender frame.

As she staggered too and fro, icy claws would catch her, drag her to their table, and press bowls to her breasts.

"Milk maid, milk maid. Maiden fresh as snow. Give us milk as sweet and clean as your virginhood." They crooned and cackled, wicked grins as sharp as their talons.

"'Mm, not... a virgin..." she mumbled, her stolen first time still fresh in her mind, even as all else faded.

They laughed, and they laughed, and they laughed.

"Oh Milk Maiden, Milk Maiden, with flesh as fresh as snow. Fill my bowl with your sweet cream. Only your beverage, so pristine, will slake our thirsts you know."

They pinched all the harder, wooden bowls crowded, till with a horrid bleat of pleasured pain, her breasts provided. With a flick and a twist, a spurt of white appeared, and she she watched in astonishment as streamers of milk fled her breasts in gushes, each with a stab of stimulation. It was impossible, and yet there she stood in horror, as cups, bowls, goblets were filled from her bust.

"But the dogs, the hounds, they pinned me down and..." her tongue-tied as a particular pinch sent a ribbon of amber flying across the air, painting a laughing face as more pressed about her.

"You wished to be made woman full, for girlhood to be broken. So indeed our hounds have seen, that soon your womb will be swollen." The cold cackle of her host did fill her her ears, frozen fingers wrapping about a shivering nipple to work her like an animal. "But surely once is not enough, for a soul as greedy and deserving as yours thus. Again and again and again, we will break that ground, sowing virgin flesh, that will never truly be deflowered."

Another tug, another bleat, her aching areoles provided, as crowing faces pecked and cawed. Passed too and forth, a living carafe, and nothing more.

***

"It was horrible," Sally May moaned.

For immeasurable time, the three girls had served. Dorothy in her cage, Lau in the pen, and Sally at the tables. Then when tiredness had taken them, they'd blinked, and found themselves in a cell. Three pallet beds, soft and comfortable feeling to two, and prickly and cold for one, were the only furnishings save a circular table, with three bowls of stew, and three cups of sweet amber drink.

"It was embarrassing..." Dorothy mumbled, fingering her feathered front, unable to sit as comfortable as she would have thought on the downy mattress. Her sense of gravity felt off, her balance thrown, and an airiness in her thoughts left her feeling detached, and drawn thin.

"No, you, shut the fuck up!" Sally jabbed a finger at the blue jay, "you just had to fucking sing, and not even good. Did you see what they did to me? With those fucking, cold, sharp, nails? How do you think I feel, huh? Or like... the dog, Lau, what about her, getting... you know."

The mutt in question however just grinned at the thought, having spent all that time being pounded and pampered. She could still feel them, their throbbing, their spurting, the tight spreading from their knots... She only wiped the drool off her chin when she realised the others were looking her way. "Huh? Oh right, well, like, it's not that bad really is it? I mean, it's kinda cool, being in a magical realm, seeing all this stuff, getting all that attention. And puppies..."

"Slut," the doe hissed, the mention of puppies making her stomach flip. She remembered what the hound had said, and the impossible feel of violent seed hunting and stalking within her uterus, racing to find fertile cells that shouldn't have been there. Her nipples twitched, involuntarily hard again, as dribbles leaked into her fur. Milk, she was lactating, her tits were noticeably heavier. They sloshed and swelled, and made her think what else might soon be growing.

"Duh, so? Unless you forgot, we're only here because you were trying to get some dick. So don't take it out on us that you suck at being a slut."

The two girls glared at one another, stuck tongues out, name called, until finally giving in to the urge they all shared, and ate, drank, and fell asleep.

***

"Sing bird sing, give us a tune pretty hen," her audience called.

The hen, Dorothy, she was Dorothy, shook her head. Wasn't she sleeping on a fine feathered bed? All was mussy and confused, a blend of motion that left her bemused.

"Wait rhymes? Why am I..." She had scant seconds of panic, thoughts creeping in, prickling at the edge of awareness, memories and fears, screaming from-

"A song, a song, sing for us our hen," the cool, cordial chorus called, and her mind sank again. Another entreatment, and she gave a chirping cry. No words this time, just the twittering of song birds, anything to stave off the pressure of her audience's eye. And with each crooning tune, she felt the blush rise, sure her voice would crack, soon, soon.

But somehow, as she became lost, huffing and puffing out her breast, which felt firm and full, the discordant note never came. It might not have been artful, or clever, or skilful, but as long as she sang, her fears stayed at bay, and her thoughts were calmed.

She blushed a little harder, blue feathers seeming purple with the red flush in her cheeks. She could feel her humiliating clit twitch, driven out by stage fright, flopping limply yet visibly for all the painted creatures to see. Did they mock her? She didn't think so, but then so long as she kept singing, she began to lose recollection of anything else. The whole world became a heavy canvas, from her perch, to the bars, to the things beyond, only she was real, so what was wrong with indulging in a private performance?

Throughout that day (or was it longer?), the jay felt heavier, calmer, steadier. She stepped down from the perch that she never remembered climbing, into the nest below, which felt good, and natural and right to her. Had she always been so heavy? Were her feathers always so long? Was she always so confident in her body?

Such questions went unanswered, and then were forgotten. The more she sang, the quicker thought fled. It was easier, simpler, pleasanter, to just sing, and nest and... swell?

***

"Let slip the hounds!" Came the raucous call, the gates of the stable flying wide, to the cries and cheers and laughs of the dinner hall.

The three green beasts, that just a second ago Lau had found herself beneath, sprang at once. Barking and playing, they began gambolling between the guests, performing tricks, begging treats, and otherwise partaking of the feast.

Lau herself, feeling uncharacteristically tranquil and content, didn't move from the pen until a set of hands had all but dragged her out of the den. Soon after, as she staggered about on two paws, head a mess of pleasures and cat calls, she found herself the centre of a petting mess.

"Pretty thing. Pretty bitch, what a pretty girl," cooed the myriad creatures, rubbing slender fingers over naked shoulder, thigh, and breasts. Under such attention, how could the gold and brown mutt do much more than wag her tail, stick out her tongue, and fall to her knees as-.

"Huh, what?" A few neurons clicked together, as she found herself on all fours, hands patting her down, treating her like a feral, fur ruffling and puffing as fingers wrapped themselves through her coat and-

"Fetch girl, fetch. A bone for you to catch," someone hurled a scrap across the room, and in a heartbeat she was tearing after the flying carrion, at first on all fours, till remembering how to stand. Tongue lolling, breasts flying, she joined the rest of the dogs, but slower, heavier, and when she reached the meaty morsel, and growled at the others in the pack, they begrudgingly let go, and let her in to have her little snack.

***

"Milk Maid, milk maid, quell my thirst dear milk maid!"

How had she got there? How long was she standing? How many sets of claws had pawed and drained her bosom? Sally May didn't know. Sally May couldn't remember. But there she was again, breasts bared, staggering between tables, a tray of cups and bowls in front of her. Every pinch, every squeeze, sent another stream of proof flying from her pimpling peaks, amber cream too thick to be believed, that her tormentors drank with equal glee to the discomfort they caused.

Discomfort, she held to that. She didn't enjoy it, not in the least, even if every tug caused a shiver of relief, and every grope a bleat of surprise. It was just that when her pure white breasts went untended they began to ache. Without the distraction of their pawing, and the noise of their feasting, she could hear the steady creak and gurgle of her own body. Like maturing bamboo, a subtle awareness grew; heavier hips, straining tips, and a burden in her belly she knew.

"It's not true," she told herself, over and over, even as her centre of mass moved, her gait widened, her back strained. It wasn't happening to her, not her, it was impossible, there was no chance that this was deserved, that the world could possibly...

Another chorus of calls for her milky mammaries came, and as she sighed and groaned, she couldn't help but notice a certain bulge beneath her shapeless shift, one that she didn't recall being there before.

***

Time passed, marked only by the moments of clarity, the nights in which the three were reunited. They'd talk, or argue, and share the humble meal, trying not to look too hard at the growing signs of change overcoming them.

Dorothy felt heavier by the moment, a broody and restive urge coming upon her. When she wasn't grooming and combing her lustrous plumage, she was perched on her nest, tweeting to herself. Her embarrassment lasted only so long as she wasn't singing, and the moment a tone left her beak all that was left in her feathered head was joy, and her evident arousal. Sometimes, at the height of her performance, she'd even reach her own finish, something that made her patrons laugh and clap all the louder, and afterwards left her embarrassed and shy again when her realisation came back to her.

At the climax of one song, her voice as clear and sweet as it had ever been, a groan broke her tune. A shudder, a ripple, a pleasured moan, something moved within her, something heavy and eager coming forth. She had barely a moment to blink and gasp before she felt it fall, and press on her vent from within. The blue jay gave a warbling cry of surprise, the object spinning and turning, as muscles she didn't recognise propelled the parcel down, just as instincts she had never a cause to question made her move and sit inside the nest provided, rump just raised, knees well spread, her feathered hands pressing just below her breast.

From the corners and shadows came a sudden clamour. Familiar, glimmering, and smiling, her audience applauded, cheered, and gathered closer, reaching eager hands, and talons, and claws, preening her body as she gasped her way into labour.

The egg, her egg, the impossible thing she so wanted, reached its final position, fat end down and straining. Not even the hound, when he'd taken her so roughly, could have prepared her for the strain, the joyous elation that accompanied the pain. She was laying! Just as promised. The warm, firm, shell, pried apart her cloacal lips, and with a single, slow, delicious movement, slipped its smooth curve down, and out.

A wave of sensation followed, as her canal contracted and fluttered, the thrill, the relief, the bliss. It was wonderful. It was magical, and all the while her devoted and loving public laughed and clapped, celebrating the proof as much as she did.

"Bravo, bravo, our beautiful hen," they did sing, their features glowing, their faces radiant.

Her egg lay there, a perfectly sculpted ovoid, gleaming and speckled, marking a change she hadn’t noticed. She felt empty, airy and delicate. Her plumage shone, her feathers long, her body more right than it had been in ages. She gave no complaint when the egg was taken, somehow knowing that no chick awaited, but when she found her breath to move back to her perch, already she felt the stir in her nethers that said it was just the first.

***

Lau yapped, suddenly overcome. She'd been playing chase among the chairs, barking after the bigger hounds as they bounded and nipped at her, before a powerful clench had taken her belly. It had been growing bigger daily, fat and heavy, full of rambunctious life. A hot swollen ball, pressing her many breasts out and down, dragging along the ground.

She wasn't distressed, she was ecstatic. When a gush of damp came from her spade, coating her thighs and paws, she didn't panic, just rolled to her side between the tables, lifting a leg for the world to see the miracle of creation.

Tongue lolling, head filled with fanciful thoughts, she watched as her bulging gut became a battleground of kicking paws, the pups inside as lively as their fathers. The green beasts had made good their word, and bred her with a large and healthy litter, one that seemed just as magical as they were. When the first head found the gate of her womb, breaking forth to being the tumble down the length of her sex, all that struck her was the giddy pleasure, as unnatural a birth as the pregnancy had been.

She barked in orgasm, just as she felt tongues take to lapping at her stretching, puffed out pussy. Summoned by her cries, the three hounds had come to her sides, licking and snickering, betting with each other over which had been the one to breed their bitch.

"N-now don't, mmph~, fight, guys," she huffed and puffed, as the first pup crowned, "y-you can all have go, hah, and, aah, and-". She was cut off as her cub had plans of his own. The small beast, who had no time to be cooped up in her womb, burst out in a rush of green and red. As if jealous of their older brother, the rest of the pack gave quick chase, a stampede of paws pressing and running down her tunnel. Walls stretched, waters splashed, and the air was full of the bitch's yelps of climax.

Nine healthy pups, each as full formed and healthy as their sires, began to prance and yip around their panting mother. For the next hour, the spotted golden dog was practically pinned on her side, her children's muzzles fighting ceaselessly for a place at her six breasts, leaving her open and ready for the fairy hounds, with their knotted cocks already out, to fight for who would put the next litter inside.

***

"Oh fuck!" Sally May buckled, her tray of filled vessels flying, as a cramp in her belly nearly brought her to her knees. She had seen the growth and ignored it, even as the monsters of the fairy realm promised her what was coming. That had been weeks ago, or was it months? She gave up thinking, her eyes watering, as another spasm made her insides writhe. The thing kicked harder against her hide, twisting, turning, thrashing, straining, making clear their inevitable arrival, and sending Sally doubling over, as a ring began to crowd her.

"My dear Milk Maid," the terrible fairy lord crooned, his skin a sheet of ice, his features a shifting shadow from nightmare. "How kind of you dear maiden. An immaculate birth. A new child of my court, deep beneath the earth."

She would have screamed at him then and there; ‘I'm not pregnant,’ or perhaps, ‘I'm not a virgin,’ but all that was lost in the next strangled bleat. Buckled over now, her stance widening, back arching, her small tail flagging, she felt the next potent squeeze of her diaphragm. Something was definitely coming, a heavy, squirming, solid shape, and the very thought sent her mind spinning, and her stomach fluttering.

"Oh please no," she whimpered, feeling a tickle in her loins, a gush from her labia, a push, a-. "It's coming," she shrieked, before a torrent of fluid erupted from her sex, splashing about her legs and the icy mud of the clearing. A cruel hand, not wishing to miss the spectacle, flipped up her now ruined dress, leaving her rump wobbling and bare, as the thick rim of her lips fluttered and gaped for them all to stare. Any and all could see as the lump began its journey, cervix spreading, uterus contracting, vagina dilating, the fey child was coming, and there was no longer any point denying.

"Get it out. Get it out. Get it-," she started to scream, only to end in the drawn out "Bleeeeeeh!" of a feral doe. The snout crowned, and then the face, and then two stubs of horns about the unmistakable cervine child. The cheeks were next, then shoulders, torso, waist, till not long after came free the babe, into the arms of a waiting guest. Not satisfied with once, twice more she bore odd painted fawns, who the court were quick to take and adorn, till finally she was given a moment to rest.

Lying as a panting, broken, tearful wreck, Sally May could see her bastard spawn being passed about the group. The giggling things were quick to fall in line, faces becoming as shifting and painted as the rest of their fairy kind. She would not miss them, but she felt a knife in her pride that they'd so quickly abandoned her side.

But who had remained, but the fairy lord, his cocked his head dramatically, hand to ear, listing as from on high, a familiar voice came down with a cry.

"What's that I do hear? A virgin girl from the land above? What could she want, does anyone know?" A laugh came from the crowd, as wicked things of spikes and root and earth came to leer down on her. It was her voice, rumbling loud as thunder through the dirt, her howls of anger and frustration from the day she'd been rejected, which had doomed her to imprisonment. Her words captured in the tomb of the earth, echoing from out of time.

"I do," spoke a thing with the legs of a dragon, the chest of an ape, and the head of a goat. "She calls for a mate, for some brave buck to rob her of her maidenhead." The leering crowd tittered, as the monstrous ram gripped her by the waist with thick fingers.

Exhausted by her labour, she could barely slap or kick, as between the creature's legs rose not a penis, but a live and scaly snake. In horror she saw as its forked tongue flicked, tasting the wetness of her lips, lapping the fresh blood of her birth.

"Oh no. N-no. Ple-please," her pitiful cry was drowned out in a roaring cheer, as the living rod, reared, and struck. There was no mercy given, no moment spared, instead he began to work his staff with shallow thrusts, callous twists, and a steady grind, the snake's tongue scenting her all the while. It was humiliation enough that the assembled mass drank in the spectacle, their crowing and jeering echoing across the glade, but what was worse was the unbidden thrill, her cunt not worn, but fresh and hungry, weeping ecstatic to be filled.

With a fang filled grin, the musk coated male held her still, letting his slithering serpent worm and dig its way in. The broad head bulged her abdomen, stretched a belly that had gone from bloated and gravid, to flat as a board, as if she hadn't been in childbirth just moments before. It might have been pleasant, if she wasn’t in terror of the smooth scaled invader slicking deeper and deeper. Then she felt it, the next impossibility, the forked tongue flicked, and tickled her pristine, untouched, hymen.

"N-no," Sally managed a tearful sob, "not, possible. Not again..."

But that just caused further laughter, for what could she mean by again? You could only be deflowered once, and as she was a virgin, surely she should relax, and savour such an important moment that would last her a lifetime.

The snake in her sex pulled back, mouth agape, and lunged, devouring her cherry in a single gulp. Sally screamed, long and loud, a keening cry of defeat as the world turned white. She came in shameful squeals, quivering it spat thick venom in the home her children had been reared. In her heart and soul she knew, just as before, the creature atop her had done the deed, and bred her full with his seed.

***

So their lives went, an endless cycle that saw three women from the world above, become three beasts in the world below.

The bird in the cage, her feathers full and fine, spent all day singing, and preening, and nesting. She was a beautiful creature, resplendent as a sapphire, full wings fluttering as she flew and swooped and sang about her enclosure. Once each feast, at the height of the revels, she'd alight upon her nest, lift her feathered bottom high for all to see, and without breaking tune, lay a perfect, shining egg.

She adored it, feeling it form, as her breast swelled in song, sensing it roll and drop, turn in her sex, spread the practised ring of her vent, and fall immaculate into the bed. From there it was spirited out, taken to the lord's table, split, and its golden yolk shared by all the guests.

At times she had a moment, a troubled stirring in her pretty head, memories of another place, another time. Of a world of pains, of trials, but also purpose. But then she'd give a shake, and the worries would fly, replaced with the simple pleasure of her aviary, and captivity.

Meanwhile the mutt, the spotted bitch, danced between the tables, playing games of hunter and quarry. Each day to the delight of the denizens, the four legged dog would run and hide and be chased by her suitors. A simple and joyous game, whichever beast brought her down, would be first to get under her tail. If she was not fecund she was fertile, and when she was not pupping she was in heat, over and over in an endless circle.

Svelte and lithe, when she wasn't fat and round, the mix-coloured hound was a constant delight, and patrons would place wagers on her chances against her playmates. But sometimes, when the game came to a close, a wishful thought came about her. For games unplayed, for things more complex, but then she was just a dog, a bitch, and she'd have to be content.

Last of the three was the one who was most resigned. The red deer doe, who trotted to and fro, her breasts hanging low, and her body full to bursting with child. She'd bleat and baa, but in the end she had no fight left in her, standing steady on two pairs of trotters as sweet cream poured from her udders.

On every third day she'd snort, spread her thighs, and bring another guest baying into life. It had long lost its sting, falling into a natural rhythm, and while her mind was still sharp and aware, she let the animal take over.

When she was not with child, she began the journey again, her body healed, her womb in season, her virginity ripe and ready for the taking. No more struggles, just sighs and a spread hind, letting whichever fey next wished to take her prize.

An eternity it seemed to be, repeated days in endless pleasures and ridicules, and yet no one grew bored, the fairies at their sport, nor the captives in their hall.

***

The doe that was Sally May huffed and panted. Her latest calve lay cooling on the hard packed earth, as she shuddered her way through yet another rejuvenation. Already her stretched belly began to contract, her abused labia began to shrink, and her ruptured flower grew petals anew, ready for whatever buck would be next to pluck them.

"Well done, well done, well done, our fair maiden of milk," came the mocking call, the lord of the glade coming to stand before her dipped head and shivering flanks. His face, a smear of silver and grey, stared down imperiously. "What do you say, oh milky maid? Have we not treated you kindly? With honour, and grace, and generosity. Have you not had your wish granted, time and time again, till even your greed has been satisfied?"

She chuffed and grunted, no spite left to spend on his jibes. This was to be her life, better to get on and accept, than waste it adding more barbs to the briars.

"Ah, it seems even you have drunk your fill, and are ready to retire from my palace. Well before you depart, there is one last matter. The payment, for our services, to you rendered."

Her heart skipped, suddenly alive. A chance to leave? To go back to her life before? No more breedings, milkings, or birthings? But the mention of a price made her cautious, not the same angry girl that she’d been when starting her sentence. What more could he possibly want after taking her dignity, her body, her voice, and her agency?

"Not much, not much," the cold voice cooed, reading her thoughts through her wide dark eyes. "One last task, one last turning of the wheel, for a most noble and potent guest has come, and of your womb they need to avail."

A rustling and rumbling came from amongst the crowd, as at the edge of the clearing, the vicious hawthorn wall shook and parted. All about, the members of the fairy court did likewise, forming a corridor from where she lay, to the very edge of their demesne. In a rippling line, each monster took a knee and bowed their heads, as a creature of magnificent splendour, trotted proud and radiant towards her.

The stag was the purest white, his antlers broad and branching, his body sturdy and strong. Atop his great brow sat a twisted hoop of oak and mistletoe, royal as a crown on a king, and as votive as a wreath on a trophy. The heavy hooves stopped just shy of the more humble doe, his weight cracking the solid dirt, his snort steaming the frigid air, his aura of majesty making even her now jaded knees knock from intimidation.

He did not speak, though she would not have been surprised if he could, the mighty stag merely observed with clear blue eyes, judging her with the intensity of a prospective husband on an arranged bride. An unspoken command to stand took her, and she scrambled to obey, getting narrow, shaking legs below her now smooth, sleek belly.

A sweep of his horns said the hart was satisfied, circling her from front to hind, and allowing her a chance to see what he had to offer. Below his muscular belly hung low a long spear of red, like a lance stabbed deep into his chest. It was as terrifying as it was transfixing, her ancestors calling across centuries to wonder and melt before such a specimen. In the haze of the moment, Sally might have smiled, her head making fantasies, and her nethers brimming with heat, but she had not the muscles in her lips for that. He didn't need to rear to mount her, simply stepping forward and over, the heat of his breast radiating down into her back, as that vast weapon came up to boil her chest from below.

"Our lord has need of an heir," the bowing fey spoke, standing well clear of the stag's spiked head. "His time is come, a great right needs to be done, and as such, you, honoured maiden, shall provide."

The doe gasped as the hot flesh split her cleft afresh. The shape, the fit, they were right and wrong. Too big, too broad, and too potent by far, she felt her virgin fields break apart. Animal he was, but unlike the many before, she could not call him a monster, not that he was gentle. The lord of the forest laid clear his claim, the girthy rod spreading her walls in ways she’d never been breached before. It was not painful, which surprised her, nor unpleasant. In fact to her shock, she was forced to admit she enjoyed it. Despite all that had transpired, all that she had been used for, all that she had endured, with this male, this stag, for once she did not resent her fate, but embraced it.

With deliberate motions, the narrow head drove, reaching her virgin barrier as so many before had. But never, not since the first, had she felt it important that it was taken. When the plough began to break the thin veil, she bit her tongue, fought through the pain, unable to focus on anything else. Till, with a snap, his cock jumped in her cunny, and a bleat tore from her snout, while his tip hit her cervix.

'That was the hardest part,' she promised herself, 'One last time, never again. Now I just have to let him do it. Let him fuck me, take me, mate me. And this’ll all be over.'

But when he sawed into her again, thick with rich virility, that thought was driven out in a rush of pleasure. He stretched her so well, owned her so completely. With each thrust and roll of his hips, she was dragged inexorably in. Each snort and toss of his head came with another scrape across her most intimate secrets.

'Why is the price to leave, so much better than what came before?' she asked herself, the words bouncing around a skull devoid anything but the rigours of rut. 'Why now, at the end, do I feel like I might like it? This nasty things, giving me hope, then making me doubt if I even want to leave!’

With her channel so thoroughly occupied her body couldn't help but yield, and soon her mind followed. After that, it wasn't agony, it was simple animal euphoria. The doe gasped and pushed back her bottom into the powerful pounding, as the stag bellowed above her in approval. His hoof-beats pounded the earth with each slam, his hips plying her rump, his sheath her loins, and great pendulous bollocks swinging and smacking to her covered clit.

'Yes, yes, yes. Yes!' she chanted within her head, forgetting all else but the simple bliss of being bred. 'Take me, take me, take me. My stag, my mate, my master!' came the thoughts from ages past, a knowing in the blood come calling across generations, and the captive doe cried in answer.

All too soon her orgasm rolled in with the great downpour of the monsoon. Her maddened bleating could be heard all about the now silent glade, the beat of her blood a drum, and her huffing breath a rising chorus. But it was the stag above her, with a sharp and sudden blast of his lungs, a rearing scream of victory, that echoed through the forest, and caused the raucous cheers of the gathered audience. She came again, hard, her virginal blood a pennant on his maypole, as he soon followed her into climax.

Her womb shuddered and quaked, pulsing with the potency that pummelled it, each spurt a hot slosh of seed that brought her pleasure anew. Her insides tightened still, trapping him, holding him still, not wanting this moment to end, no matter what she had thought before. And as her orgasm rode and crashed about her like a tide of molten honey, his final shot sealed her fate, and she felt motherhood once more take hold.

Not long after she realised he was gone, her stag, the male she'd remember for the rest of her life. She now lay curled into her slender legs, exhausted and satisfied, as the surrounding audience closed, and resumed their revels, as if nothing had transpired at all.

***

Three days after her final mating, the fecund deer lay on a bed of fine straw, her flanks bulked and packed with her fawn. Her loins were swollen again, her breathing laboured, and her hide slick with sweat. Unlike previous times when such difficulties came upon her, she was afforded some privacy in a paddock away from the others. She did not complain or question, grateful for a little space for such an important event.

With her hind legs spread, and the first pangs of contractions settling in, the same pressures, the same pains, but for once lacking the edge of humiliation. This was the last time she would do this, and yet it was the only time she had no regrets. As a spasm clenched her innards, a shockwave of discomfort running down her spine, and bringing her little tail to wag, the doe couldn't help the thought. 'Just once more, and I’m done. One last time, and at least this last time was a good one.'

Groaning, mooing, she eased her way through the familiar feeling, as the head of the fawn came lower, and her rubbery sex was parted. One part at a time, her burden came free, her penance slowly coming to a close. Two long legs, followed by a slender chest, and two more at the end, all long, and gangly, and unsteady. A pelt red as blood, until her tongue on instincts she was shocked that she owned, lapped clear the placental sheath. Her child shone as white and brilliant as the stag that made him. In ungainly steps, the young buck found his hooves, and staggered about her enclosure, before coming to stand before her.

Sally May could not help but feel proud, even if her eyes were drooping, her body driven to exhaustion. She did not begrudge her newborn 'Son' as he dipped his crown and bullied her teats into his mouth, nor did she struggle as he drank her dry, his muzzle pale and foamy with milk. A million things played through her foggy mind, things she wished she could say, feelings she wished she could express. Was she relieved, or upset? Did she wish to see where a life with such a creature would lead? Or did she truly still wish to go back to what she'd lost? She couldn't say, not as her child finished his meal, not as he was led away, and not as the cruel masters of the fey, came upon where she lay.

"Rest now, rest now milk maiden of ours," they called soft and cold, breaths of wind across her chilling form. "Your work is done, your time has come. Now drink deep, and enjoy your final hours." A bowl was pressed to her lips, her throat was stroked, and she was made to drink a brew of wine, and herbs, and honey.

Panic struggled to rise, as she felt a certain doom come upon her. Not a stupid beast, she heard the words, and her wild eyes saw glints of teeth, and knives.

'No,' she bayed, even as the potion soothed her towards a cold embrace, 'not now, not like this. I want to live. I want to stay. I want-.'

But the things of the world below pressed in closer, their myriad forms spinning in a maddening spiral. Sharp claws began to prickle her flesh, ice crept into her bones, her lungs struggled to draw another breath, as an ivory fang, a dagger, lowered to her throat, and...

***

'Clack.'

***

Sally May jolted upright from the cold wet earth, ears ringing with the sound of stone on stone. Wind tore at her fur and fashionable clothes, wet dirt pressed around her fingers, and the smell of crushed grass and bracken filled every last synapse of her nose.

She, Lau May Petite, and Dorothy Clips, awoke to find themselves at the summit of a hill, at the peak of a winter's day. Before them lay a long valley, a city at its heart, surrounded by fields of green and red. They had just enough time to marvel at their forms restored of limbs, and minds again filled with thoughts, before a ram by a heap of stones gave a bleat and called.

"How long you three been there for?" Sam Branigan could have sworn he was alone when he'd reached the cairn, completing his daily pilgrimage. But blinking his slot eyes, he realised sheepishly that the three foreign students that no one had seen since winter break began, had clearly been lying about, staring at the clouds. "Thought you three had gone home for the holidays," he continued, offering a hand here and there to pull them to their feet, "when'dya get back into town?"

"Just now..." mumbled a stunned and disorientated Sally, not meeting the man's eyes. "How long were we miss- gone," she corrected herself, her head a jumble of noise, unreal memories, and lingering emotions.

"Funny thing ta ask, don't you know, you all alright there?"

Once the three girls had confirmed that yes, they were all alright, and really what they meant was how long they had left till term started again, the student representative assured them they had a few days break left, and so such they'd been gone for no more than three weeks.

"Three weeks," Dorothy chirruped, once they'd bade farewell to the ever positive ram, "did all that, really happen? Did we really?"

"One way to find out," Lau said, walking right into the blue jay's face. Before the stunned avian had a chance to complain, the golden bitch's paw had gone straight down her skirt, and dug right into her vent. In response, the trans-bird gave a twittering jolt, and seconds later a moan, as expert fingers worked up her chute, stroking her walls, and finding nothing, but three little holes. "Wow, congrats girl, though I'll admit, I'm gonna miss your clit~," she grinned, and hugged her friend, just as Dorothy did the same, feeling truly complete in and of herself.

"Yeah... well, at least that's over with," Sally looked away, a sour look on her face, the feel of a blade still fresh about her neck. She felt unsteady on two feet, off-balance, top heavy, and when she crossed her arms to shiver in the winter chill, she elicited a gasp as her bust began to leak, leaving wet stains to freeze in her shirt.

"Aww, you two got all the good souvenirs," Lau pouted playfully, skipping up to the scowling doe, and doing to her the same as she'd done to Dorothy. Sure enough, as her digits wriggled into the speechless, indignant woman, she found a passage as fresh and untouched, as the night that had started it all.

"Get the fuck off me, you, you... Bitch!" Sally shouted, shoving the dog back, who put up no fight but did howl in laughter, unable to help but tease the doe, who spluttered and chastised, but blushed red all the same. Soon after Sally stormed off on her own, back down the hill to their home, intent on putting the whole affair behind her.

"So... what happens now?" Dorothy asked, leaning on her friend's shoulder, feeling light and carefree as they looked out on the world that had never looked larger.

"Hmmm," Lau considered a moment, staring at the future open to her, all the possibilities, all the things she could do, all the wonders of the world they hadn't seen for however many lifetimes. She snapped her fingers, realisation dawning, knowing exactly what she needed to do, "I know! The new Bootstitty season will have started! Come on! You can be my squadmate! Oh my god, my followers are gonna be so pissed I haven't given them any updates!"

And with that, the two of them climbed back down the hill, leaving behind the neat mound of stones, not aware of the flash of green in the undergrowth, or the mark of a horned moon which glowed on the bitch's rump.", "pools_count": 1, "title": "Down the Fairy Well (sequel)", "deleted": "f", "public": "t", "mimetype": "text/rtf", "pagecount": "1", "rating_id": "2", "rating_name": "Adult", "ratings": [ { "content_tag_id": "4", "name": "Sexual Themes", "description": "Erotic imagery, sexual activity or arousal", "rating_id": "2" } ], "submission_type_id": "12", "type_name": "Writing - Document", "guest_block": "f", "friends_only": "f", "comments_count": "3", "views": "146" }