You had a good relationship with your girlfriend, as was probably expected in such an arrangement. But some couples are like oil and water. They don’t think on the same lines, they argue and fight over every little thing, they feel obligated to stay with them because of the time and effort they sunk into it. There was one thing that no matter the quality of your partnership, you agree on implicitly. 

Gilda wears the pants.

She is outspoken, loud, domineering. These are all things most people would consider a negative. Gilda exudes a confidence that you wish you had for yourself sometimes. She kicks down the door to the room (metaphorically) and demands the attention of everyone inside. She’s tall, strong, and strikingly attractive. At first you thought that you’d get hung up on the idea of her being in charge. She was the one who asked you out in the first place. But you’ve settled into a place of comfort with how things are now. 

“Morning loser,” she grunts from the other side of your shared bed. She’s wearing nothing but a white tank top and a pair of hip riding panties that do their level best to show off as much of her ass-crack as possible. What a thing to wake up to.

“Morning.”

There’s an evil glint in her yellow eyes. She leaps over the bed and smushes you down into the mattress, your legs and arms flail as you get a face full of braless chest and the smell of her overnight sweat clogging up your airways. Gilda had it in her head that she needed to assert her dominance over you like a pack animal. Why anyone would want to avoid enjoying bodily contact with their significant other in the morning is a question she has yet to consider.

After getting your fill of Gilda’s sweaty chest, you push her away and untangle your intertwined legs. She smirks and punched your chest, “You’re such a wimp.”

“Hey, I’m enjoying myself.”

“Perv.”

You admire the view as she climbs out of bed and leans down to look at herself in the mirror propped up against the wall. That thin strip of fabric between her cheeks does not leave anything to your imagination. She picks at her fluffy bleached hair, making sure that the dyed purple strands are in their correct place before straightening out again and stretching her arms out.

“I want to lay here and do nothing all day,” you groan.

Gilda shrugs, “Tough shit, we have chores to do.” Despite her claim of having many things to occupy herself with, Gilda does little more than wash off her face before leaving the room and heading into the kitchen. She’s going to be walking around in her top and underwear all day again. You grunt and heave yourself out of bed. You throw your old dirty shirt into the pile of other dirty clothes and get out a clean one.

When you emerge, Gilda is labouring over the stove. For breakfast, lunch and dinner it was rarely anything else than meat. Bacon, sausage, beef, chicken – they were on permanent rotation. It was lucky that Gilda’s bakery thing was going so well. You’d be out on the street without it.

You eat a normal breakfast in your normal manner, and then normally consider what to do with your weekend while Gilda crashes on the couch. You need to tidy up your place, it’s starting to get too messy for your taste. As you walk towards the closet you notice that something is amiss. While you usually were a head or so below the edge of the doorframe, you’re now much lower. You shake your head, thinking that you’re seeing things – but your suspicion worsens when you open the door and find yourself below the shelf that you’re used to peering over.

“What the fuck?” you ask no one in particular.

“What?” Gilda asks.

You shut the door again and turn to face her. She looks you over before hopping back up from her comfortable patch on the sofa and walking towards you. She’s taller than before, or maybe you’ve shrunk a dozen inches. “Was I this short a few minutes ago?” Gilda pokes you. You try to bat away her hands, “This isn’t funny Gilda, I’m freaking out!”

Gilda leans against your head using her elbow, “It’s nothing to worry about – you were always a total pushover anyway. What’s losing a few feet gonna’ do to you?”

“Gilda, people don’t just shrink like this. Something is wrong with me. I need to see a doctor.”

You suddenly lose your balance, tripping over and grabbing Gilda by the front of her tank top. ”If you want to bang, you can just ask you know,” she drones. You don’t have time to admire the nipple slip. You tumble further and further down the front of Gilda’s body until your arms, and her shirt, can’t support you anymore. You flop to the floor like a fish out of water and have a face first meeting with the carpet. Gilda pokes your prone form with the tip of her foot, “What the hell are you doing?”

“I don’t know, I lost my balance.”

“You’re being a total weirdo.”

Gilda, empathetic as ever, leaves you and sits back down on the couch. You drag yourself towards the bedroom so that she doesn’t make fun of you anymore. It’s an arduous process, but you breath a deep sigh of relief when you finally round the corner and get out of sight. Your atrophied stumps called legs have never failed you like this before.

You’d love to hop back onto the bed and try to sleep off whatever psychotic episode you’re currently experiencing, but your spine can’t contort that way. You roll over onto your back and stare at the ceiling, idly noting several cracks that have formed in the plaster. What is going on with you right now? You reach over to cover your eyes with your forearm, but even your fingers feel lethargic and stiff. Maybe you’re catching a sudden case of arthritis.

You try to bend the unruly digits to little success. The longer you stare the worse the feeling gets. You try to blink the fog from your eyes, and every time you do they get shorter and shorter. It’s like someone has cut the fingers from your hand, right down to the stumps at the bottom. 

“What the fuck is going on?”

Your skin itches, your body temperature rises. You feel yourself get hairier and hairier. A thin layer of fur begins to cover your whole body. You can feel your face morphing and shifting outwards. Your teeth get larger. You keep shrinking, smaller and smaller and smaller. The bed gets larger around you until it’s a veritable sea of cotton sheets. You finally regain control of your body after five minutes of what could best be described as a fever dream. Your attempts to stand back up are thwarted, your entire body has changed in a way that cannot be described in words. Everything feels wrong, really wrong.

You look down and see a long furry belly and a set of four hooves. There’s a leathery growth on your crotch, which given the other evidence in eyesight is probably where your penis has escaped to. You roll over, and then again to get back to the edge of the bed. What was once a trivial height is much scarier now that you’re less than half your old stature. You dangle over the edge of the bed in an attempt to lower yourself down but fail and fall to the floor with a thud. 

At least you aren’t hurt. You gaze into the mirror at a small tan and brown horse creature, with wide vibrant eyes. The proportions are out of whack, this is no variety of real horse that you’ve ever seen. Your head is huge! You will your legs to work and try to operate the thing called your body. This isn’t like getting down on your hands and knees and sliding around the apartment. Everything is different. It takes you nearly ten minutes to locomote your new butt out of there and back into the living room where Gilda is still sat.

Gilda peeks from over the edge of the couch. For a moment she doesn’t understand what she’s seeing, but then… she laughs. She doubles over and clutches her stomach as her gravely vocal chords are put to their limit. Gilda is red faced, tears brim in her eyes. You stare at her like a deer in the headlights. “G-Gilda, it’s me!” you insist. 

She laughs and laughs and laughs until her voice grows weak. Her throat flayed by the sheer amusement derived from your own suffering. You would have laughed if it happened to her, so you suppose that turnabout is fair play. She gets down onto her hands and knees and shuffles over to you. She reaches out and touches the top of your head and pinches one of your ears, causing it to flick irritably.

She stops as a strange look comes over her face, like she’s about to vomit all over you.

You’re paralyzed in fear as the laughter stops. Gilda’s face is not a pretty sight like you’re used to. Her mouth is stretched out into what look like a painful point that stretches and stretches. Her eyes are shifting, along with the entire structure of her skull. She’s shrinking too, smaller and smaller just like you did.

“Gilda, Gilda!” you cry, “Can you hear me?”

Gilda can’t speak. Her face, morphed into a twisted mockery of what was once human, is still moving even while she changes. “W-What the hell are you supposed to be?” she croaks. “You look like a little cotton-candy pony!”

“I’m freaking out here Gilda, what’s happening to you?”

Gilda doesn’t heed your words. She drops down to her knees and squishes your soft pony face between the palm of her hands. She runs her sharp nails through the thin layer of fur that covers your body. The sensation sends a shiver up and down your spine. The joints in your legs freeze in place as you find yourself instinctively leaning into her petting digits.

“You’re totally wagging like a dog right now dude.”

Gilda stares down at you with cat-like yellow eyes. 

She falls back onto the ground. Her back arches and contorts in a painful looking way. She kicks off her underwear and top, leaving her completely naked. Brown fur sprouts from her follicles like a plague of weeds. On her body, her legs. The two-tone fur divided the different parts of her body. Skin covered lumps emerge from her back, folding and becoming more and more complicated. The cancerous looking growths are then covered with small, juvenile feathers.

She leaps at you again, pinning you down and lording over you with a grin on her newly formed beak. She looks like some kind of eagle, with a downy covering of white and purple feathers that resemble her dyed hair. Even as she becomes more compact the weight and strength difference remains. The hands that hold your limbs to the floor crack and dry out, turning an off-yellow colour and become sharper at the tip like a pair of claws.

The back half of her body has gone in a completely different direction. You look down through her legs and see a long thin tail swinging lazily behind her. As her own transformation finally complete, it doesn’t seem that she’s missed a step.

Gilda is bigger than you. That was true before and after this sudden onset of supernatural transformation. Both of you have been compressed down into new four-legged forms, although Gilda has gotten the better of your trade. She’s nearly two heads taller than you and the difference in your physiology is clear to see. She’s half lion, and it shows. Her back half tenses and pulses with barely constrained muscle. She flexes her new limbs with a beaky grin, and then spreads her huge feathery wings out until they brush the sides of the room and knock over the lamp off your couch side table.

“Gilda?”

Gilda doesn’t respond. She finally lets go. She hops up onto the couch and rolls around like an excited dog. She jumps down and runs into the kitchen, nearly ripping the fridge door off of its hinges. She bundles up all of the raw meat that she can find and spills them out onto the floor. Her sharp claws make short work of the thin plastic wrapping, she pulls out the pieces of guzzles them down like water.

“Gilda, what are you doing?”

“Eating.”

You worry that she’s going to choke herself at the pace she’s going. But your fears are unfounded, whatever happened to her has removed the need for her to chew the food she’s eating. You know for a fact that your new body probably won’t play well with raw meat. Gilda is having the time of her life, swallowing down entire slabs of raw chicken like they’re nothing. “Don’t you think we should be a little bit worried about this?” you ask as she scarfs down another piece. Gilda’s brow quirks as if your question was a strange one.

“This is pretty awesome.”

You grab one of the bowls from the fridge and have a snack of your own, you do feel very hungry. “I’m glad you’re having fun – but what about work? They’ll panic if a griffon walks in.”

“Is that what I am? Cool.”

It’s like talking to a brick wall sometimes. You chew on what little salad was left in the fridge with a frustrated sigh. It’s doubtful that your new stomach can digest that kind of thing now, and you don’t want to risk trying it and shit yourself to death in the process.

“So… you’re a pony.”

“No. I’m a horse.”

“No way dude, you’re tiny. Like one of those things they have for the kids to ride. You’re definitely a pony.” Gilda wraps one of her muscular forelimbs around your neck and pulls you across the floor. “I could just eat you up.” She opens her cavernous maw wide, giving you a not so enjoyable view of her gullet and tonsils hanging free in the air. The stench of raw meat causes your snout to wrinkle up.

“Don’t eat me Gilda.”

She smirks and closes in for a beak on lip kiss. You pull away and try to spit the chicken juice out of your mouth before it gives you the runs. She laughs again and hops back to her place on the kitchen floor, swallowing another whole chicken breast in the process. You sigh and slump back on your pony backside as Gilda racks up more and more food expenses. 

Then you blink, and she’s gone. Instead there’s nothing but a pile of food packaging and a puddle of pink juice meat where she was once sat. “Gilda?” you call. You hear the sound of the shower running the bathroom. Did she get a bunch of that mess into her fur? How the hell is she going to use the shower like that? You pick through the wreckage and wince. This is going to take some work to clean up.

You start by clumsily hoisting the leftovers into the garbage. After that you grab some towels from under the sink and soak up the juice. It’s only after you’ve finally completed the arduous task that you notice that Gilda is still nowhere to be seen. You swivel around and find the living room empty, there’s only two other places she could be. You immediately head to the bedroom door and peer inside. You were correct on the first try. Gilda is sitting high and mighty on the bed again.

The room is totally trashed. Gilda has torn your pillows and bedsheets to pieces and bundled them together into a pile on the mattress. She peers over her makeshift fortress with one predatory yellow iris. You don’t even have time to ask the question as she leaps over the edge, wraps her claws around your midsection, and drags you off with a yelp into the middle of the circle. She wraps you in a suffocating embrace, her soft feathers rubbing against your muzzle. You can feel the corded muscle that lies underneath her tan pelt. It’s comforting and threatening at the same time.

Her wingspan is large enough to wrap around you and deepen the hug even further. You should be worried about how you’ve turned into a small horse, and how she’s turned into a mythical creature, but the overwhelming comfort and warmth from your present position has overridden the trace amounts of panic in your brain. You want to kick back and enjoy the moment – not worry about being dragged into a government lab and dissected.

“You’re really soft,” she chuckles. Her sharp talons run down the front of your chest, mussing up the fluffy pony fur and causing it to stick up in various directions. Gilda enjoys the act so much that she decides to do it to the rest of your new body. Your flanks, stomach, even your legs. There isn’t a single point on your body that is left unmolested by her curious claws. You hate to admit it, but it sends a shiver down your spine every time she strokes it back and forth.

“Having fun there, pony boy?”

“Shut up and keep going.” You squeak as the cheeky bird slips down a little further than you expected and puts pressure on one of your leathery balls, “Hey! Hey! Careful with those, please!” Gilda is laughing her beak off as your panicked cries only encourage her to go even further. You feel your shaft emerge from it’s hiding place as Gilda’s touches get more sensual.

“At least this bit of you didn’t shrink.” You blush and try to look away as she has her fun. “Hey, I think we both got a pretty sweet deal here. I’m an awesome eagle thing, and you get a big dick so we can have a lot of fun too.”

“Gilda…”

“Don’t be such a downer! Why not have a little fun before this wears off?”

“If it ever wears off.”

“Whatever, we could tour talk shows or some shit. Easy money.”

You press the hard edge of your hoof against the soft pad of her back foot and try to find something that feels pleasurable for her. 

“Those hooves are good for something I guess.”

“Why am I massaging your paws again?”

“Because you love me,” she smirks, fluttering her eyes.

“Debatable.”

“And what the hell did you do to our bed?”

Gilda shrugs, “I dunno’, I just felt like making a super awesome nest!”

“I’m starting to worry that these changes weren’t just physical Gilda.”

She silences you by squeezes your sheath, you squeak at the sensation. Your member slowly emerges from it’s hiding place. Long and thick. Even at your new size it’s larger than your old little friend. “G-Gilda, I’m being serious!”

“Yeah, and I’m seriously horny! Shut up for a minute and let’s fuck!”

Gilda’s talons continue to coax out your shaft, the sheer volume of the thing means that it takes nearly two minutes to fill to its maximum rigidity. Gilda wrestles you onto your back and plants her lion rear-end on your snout. Her pussy is soaked, the fur around it matted and clumped together. “Start licking dweeb.” There’s no argument to be made here, Gilda could bench press you over her damn head right now.

You reach out with your tongue and slip it inside of her tight slit. The prospect of somehow fitting your gigantic horse dong into her seems less and less reasonable by the moment. Gilda doesn’t seem to care, or even be thinking much herself. She uses her incredible beak and gullet to swallow you whole. You gasp as her throat clenches down on your girth. 

“Woah!”

Gilda’s tail slaps against the sides of your head. Her tongue attacks the large tip of your erection with little mercy. It sends tingles up and down your spine and makes your balls churn. You redouble your own efforts. Gilda’s free claws grip your horse-thighs so hard that you’re afraid she’s going to draw blood. 

Her pussy is a pleasant shade of light pink that stands in deep contrast to the brown fur that surrounds it. A large clit pokes out from above, you aren’t sure if that’s anatomically accurate – but you’re also pretty sure that people aren’t meant to turn into animals randomly either. You close it and suck on it as hard as you can. Gilda squawks and flaps her impressive wings as a sudden orgasm causes her to seize up.

She releases your cock, slathered in her drool, and turns back to face you, “What the hell was that?”

“I just… hit your clit.”

“I’m so sensitive now!”

“Sorry.”

“What the fuck are you apologizing for dweeb? That was the best orgasm I’ve had… ever!” Gilda smirks and pulls you back into her, wrapping you in a lung constricting hug. She pecks at your neck with her beak, “I’m going to ride you into this nest so bad.”

Gilda wraps her lower legs around your waist and presses the tip of your erection against her wet hole. “I don’t think it’s going to fit Gilda.”

“Shut up, I’ll make it fit.”

Gilda was not one to back down from a challenge like that. She hisses as she slowly begins to slide it inside of her. She’s tight, so tight that you’re afraid of letting loose before even getting half of it inside of her. Her lips part, and from your uneducated perspective as a man it looks incredibly painful. Gilda grunts and shoves it in bit by bit, each inch brings you closer and closer to release.

Gilda stops and screws her eyes shut. Your muzzle is pushed into the fluffy chest presented before you. “I think you just hit my freaking womb.”

“Isn’t that really painful?” you mumble with a mouth full of feathers. Gilda shudders as she lifts up her powerful hips and then sits back down. Your dick brutally hits the very back of her vaginal canal. Gilda isn’t going to give up on this, even if it’s nothing but a pain. 

“I need it.”

“Need what?”

“I need your seed, dweeb, so hurry up and give it to me!”

There’s a tinge of mania in her eyes. Up and down and over again, her muscular walls cling to your thick shaft. Each time you worry that she’s going to hurt herself or pull something out of place. It’s hard to focus on the pleasure of the moment. “You’re nothing more than… ugh… a seed factory… ugh. Hurry up and drench my eggs, you loser.”

Her talons are needy. They run through your sweaty covered fur and down your back. You feel your overfull balls working overtime to produce what she’s looking for. The smell of sweat and cum fills the airs. The windows steam up as Gilda begins to settle into a rhythm that punishes your much weaker body.

“I’m the apex fucking predator!” she caws, “And you’re my toy! My prey!” She’s wet and needy. Her claws sink into your soft flesh and draw blood that drips onto the once clean sheets below you. The war wounds are the last thing on your mind as the full feeling of your sensitive shaft finally begin to hit you. You have size, and that means that there are millions of new raw nerve endings in contact with Gilda’s insides. It takes all of your focus not to blow on the spot.

But that isn’t what Gilda wants.

Her claw reaches down and plays with your leathery ballsack, pinching and tugging on the thick skin, “Hurry up and cum dweeb, I don’t have all day.”

With one last plunge onto your lap, you finally slip all the way inside of her. Gilda’s eye widen as she feels you breech a barrier that should not normally be breached. You gasp and fall back, pumping your hips as your head flares inside of her – locking it into place. The force of your first shot is incredible, enough to knock you silly. Gilda howls in ecstasy as the intense heat in her stomach is finally extinguished.

You keep cumming and cumming. Gilda’s trim and muscular stomach swells slightly with each extra strand of egg-seeking swill. You both collapse back onto the bed in a puddle of blood and ejaculate. Gilda coos and nuzzles your shoulder with her beak. 

“Holy shit.”

“Pretty… awesome…”

“Why was the first thing we did… was to have sex?”

“Why not?” Gilda grins. She spreads her wings and pulls you into a comforting hug. She’s softer than any artificial bedding, and she smells much nicer too. You tuck your muzzle into the crook of her wing and inhale. She smells like a summer day.

And cum. Can’t forget that.

“And you know me, I like to be on the cutting edge. The first couple to ever fuck like animals, for real.”

You glance down at her gaping labia, an obscene glob of your seed escaping and dribbling down her leg, “I think we might have made the world’s first hippogriff too.”

“Wanna’ bet?”

Her claws return to your half-erect member and you can only roll your eyes. What Gilda wants, Gilda gets.

Three days later, and after some panicked calls from your boss asking why you weren’t showing up to work – the apartment is a disaster area. Gilda has gone completely wild, scratching up the carpet and furniture with her claws, knocking things over with her wings, and turning the bedroom into a gigantic circular nest made of repurposed fabric and furniture. Getting out when Gilda finally tried herself out from all the sex was a relief.

You never did find out why you turned into this; although at some point you did become preoccupied looking after five kids. A problem for another day.