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Party Fowl

by Tastes-Like-Chicken

Mark felt so embarrassed as he walked through the crowd. Not that anyone would recognize him anyway, it being a costume party, but even under his garb he fumed at what he was relegated to wear. Striding through the mass of other dressed students, he was wearing a chicken suit. The biggest party of the year, and he was wearing some random chicken suit.

The young man thought back to how he had gotten into this mess, realizing it was entirely his own fault. He, like many other people on campus, had known about the party for weeks beforehand. But he, stupidly, had waited until the last possible minute to even go look for a costume. By the time he strode through the shop's doors, to his dismay, he saw the racks totally bare of everything that would fit him. Talking with the shop owner was no good, as for one the old man could barely speak English, and for the other he kept reiterating that they were out of stock till next week. Mark had pleaded with the guy, asking if there were something, anything, still available. The man had looked hesitant, but eventually relented, going in back and bringing out the thing he now wore. Not being in much of a position to argue, as desperate as he was, Mark had begrudgingly bought it and hastily left the store, barely bothering to listen to the old man blathering on about a matching one of the set he had already sold, and something about a warning to not get the two together, or that they should be together, or something to that extent.

When he had first put it on, stifling his own embarrassment, he found it was thankfully a one-piece costume that would essentially cover him completely. The whole body was made of feaux-feathers fabric, really just fabric with hundreds of little tassels and strips, and was a ruddy reddish-brown, going well with the green feathers of the tail, and also of the headpiece. There was a seam down the back secured with Velcro. Opening it, his feet could slip into the legs, into the almost absurd bird foot boots at the bottoms , the foam feet fitting perfectly around his. Meanwhile, his hands would fit into the arm slots and the he would slip his head into the costume's own. The hands were a bit toon-like, his fingers controlling the feather-like digits, but responded with good dexterity. The costume's head itself looked very much like a toony rooster ought to, at least so he thought. The wattles and comb were made of some kind of light rubber, so they would sway and jiggle as he walked. The inside was padded to give a snug yet comfortable fit. The eyes were actually a very fine plastic mesh, made into a cheerful expression, airbrushed over with the colorful pupils and irises. And lastly, to his surprise, the beak piece, made of a hard molded plastic, was partially articulating. With his jaw placed in a chin rest, the beak would open and close in time with the movements of his mouth. To his amusement, there was a prominent rooster tail on the back, the long, curving feathers extending several feet back, seemingly made of textured green fabric around wires that held them up. Sealing himself up and looking himself over in the mirror, the young man did admit that the silly thing was, despite itself, really very well designed. And if he must suffer the indignity of being a chicken, at least he could have the consolation of being a well-made one. So wearing only some shorts and a light shirt underneath it, Mark swallowed his pride and headed to the party. All in all, he eventually admitted, he could have done far worse.

These thoughts raced through his head, trying to drown out the embarrassment he still felt. As the evening wore on, he did get a few compliments on his costume, much to his surprise, and Mark began to lighten up. After a few drinks, he headed outside where dozens of other party guests were mingling.

The house it was hosted at was well known as a big party center, the family was rich and always away on trips, letting the kids open it up quite frequently. The back patio had all the accoutrements one would expect, such as a pool, comfortable outdoor furniture, minibar and so on. It also sat on a large piece of property, the various tended lawns, trees and shrubs going far back out of sight. It wasn't uncommon for a few people to sneak away into the recesses of the manicured landscape in order to have a bit of fun between them, or to light up whatever they might have had on hand. Mark, though, just walked casually around the patio, taking a minute to enjoy the cool evening air before he headed back inside.

"Huh, seems I'm not the only one who got stuck with one of these," came a female voice behind him.

Turning, Mark was a bit surprised to see a person standing there in another chicken costume. The outfit seemed to be of the exact same design and make as Mark's own. In stark contrast to his russet appearance, this costume was pure white, save for the feet, beak and red wattles that stood out in relief to the rest. The cheerful but otherwise expressionless eyes stared back at him, and he saw the beak was articulated just like the one he had. Obviously the source of the voice, he could see she was indeed female even through the somewhat baggy appearance of the costume draped around her. A bit on the short side, the material hung loosely in some places, but still was not a bad fit.

"I, uh," he stammered.

"Guess I know who got the other one, then" she said jovially.

"Oh, from the shop downtown?"

"Yup," she responded. "Serves me right for waiting so long for a costume."

"Ah, yeah, same here," Mark said.

"Well could be worse," she continued. "These could have been pretty shabby or goofy. Got to admit, not too bad."

"Yeah, it's alright. Still have to put up with being a chicken, though."

They chuckled briefly.

"Name's Mark," he said.

"Oh, I'm Abby," The girl replied.

They struck up a conversation, occasionally grabbing a few drinks from the tubs of beers. After the initial introductions were out of the way, as well as the typical small talk about the party, they began to shift their conversations a bit more to topics they wouldn't talk about in such a setting, but rather those they might discuss if it was their first date. Mark listened with interest as Abby told him about her curriculum, a highly academic one compared to his dull general studies. Still, he found it interesting, seemingly very intrigued by this girl. She went on and elaborated how she typically didn't go out to events like the one at present, but had come on a whim all the same, and how she had found herself in the same situation with the costume as Mark was. All the while, he looked down at her, aware that he was enjoying just being around her, and pondered what she looked like under the chicken suit. Like himself, the only part of her that he would occasionally see was her chin and mouth whenever the beak was opened enough. He had a mental image of her, picturing her as very geeky based on her interests and classes, and thought of her as maybe a lanky girl with messy hair and thick glasses. When she mentioned that she didn't really socialize with this type of crowd, Mark could almost understand why. But as the minutes wore on, more and more his thoughts began to drift.

His mind moved from trying to envision her, to thinking of how the costume sat a bit loosely around her, to admiring the costume itself. Like his own, it seemed very well made, with dome nice details worked in. The head was of a similar make, though of a hen's, the tail was a short tuft of white feathers rather than his impressive, curving sweep of plumage, but still very proportional. All in all, it was a perfect counterpoint to his own, and he figured this must have been the second costume the old shopkeeper was rambling on about.

"-so he sort of reluctantly lets me have it, and well, here I am," Abby said finishing a thought.

If he'd not already been thinking of the same thing, Mark would've been wholly lost in the conversation.

"Yeah," he chimed in, "the dude seemed weird about letting the thing go."

"Did he give you the whole lecture of having them together?" she asked.

"I think so. Though I could only understand half of what he was saying." "Well if the movies teach us anything," Abby said, "it's that you should always listen to the old, foreign shop keeper." "I guess," Mark agreed with a laugh. "Though maybe he only meant they go together, like a matching pair."

"Well they certainly are that," said Abby looking over her feathered arms. "I may actually hang onto this. You know, if there are any more parties, or for Halloween. Be a shame to throw out something like this."

"Yeah, I get you," Mark agreed, taking the last swig of his beer and looking around.

The two had wandered off into the garden, passing a few groups who had snuck off for other purposes, and eventually found themselves alone in a glade of tall bushes and low trees. As they walked, both of them had noticed the costumes starting to feel rather hot and confining, but had paid it no real heed. But as the evening wore on, eventually it got to the point where it couldn't be ignored any longer.

"Uh, man, this thing is getting a bit uncomfortable," Mark said pulling at the fabric.

"You too?" Abby put in. "Mine's feeling tight for some reason."

Looking down, Mark saw the once baggy portions of the costume that draped around her smaller figure now looked to be perfectly tailored to fit.

"Hey, did that-" he started to say, only to be cut off by a sudden feeling of having the wind knocked out of him.

Mark fell to the ground gasping for breath, feeling like his body was being squeezed by a python. The fabric was constricting around him, and he could feel it pressing firm, drawing ever tighter. The headpiece too seemed to close in, making him feel like his head was in a vice. Lying there trying to breath, he saw Abby was likewise hit by the same sudden sensation of breathlessness and her own costume suddenly contracting about her.

Mark sat up on his knees, fighting through the discomfort as he reached behind his head, feeling for the Velcro seam. He rifled through the feathers searching, but in vain. The seam had vanished, leaving him trapped inside the fabric prison that was drawing ever tighter. Abby, too, tried to tug her outfit open but found it would not let her go, as if it had a mind of its own. Both humans were now locked into the confines of the possessed chicken costumes.

The costumes now were unbearably tight, and it was a real effort to breath for both of them. Looking down, Mark saw the fabric seeming to conform to his body, the defined shape of his chest and torso standing out. The fake feathers as well appeared to begin lying down, transitioning from the random, fluffy mess they were into more orderly layers running down his body, almost like they were real plumage. His vision went blurry, the fine lines of the mesh eyes seeming to fade away. Suddenly, feeling the irritation, he blinked, and opened his eyes on a clear view, looking at Abby as her own costume molded to her body.

For her part, the hen costume was clinging to her form, bringing out every subtle curve, every feature, leaving almost nothing to the imagination. As the feathers flattened out and ordered themselves, it looked as if it was indeed just a natural part of her body. Seeing her now, in such a way, sent shivers up Mark's spine. She had a body that would drive any man wild and make any woman jealous. Not overly toned or busty, neither was she at all lacking in any regards, with everything seeming in perfect proportion. He wondered briefly why she would be such a wallflower, when she might easily pick up anyone she wanted. And though he may have been a bit sorry to admit it given the situation, he could not suppress the twinges of arousal he felt watching her feminine form writhing on the ground.

But his attention was drawn back to her face, as the painted plastic mesh eyes on her mask seemed to take on a definite sheen. He watched as the fine lines, themselves barely visible, gradually seemed to meld and disappear, the colors becoming glossy, more vibrant, taking on the appearance of smooth, polished plastic. But Mark could have nearly jumped out of his skin, were it possible, seeing the eyes suddenly blink. Once, twice, the eyelids opened and shut, until Abby clenched them tightly as another strange wave of pain overtook her. As she moaned, the costume's articulated jaw hinged open a bit more, and Mark could see the agonized expression on her lips. It was the only real part of her he had yet seen, but was quickly hidden from view as the beak hinged shut seemingly on its own.

Mark yelped as it felt like needles were being stuck into his feet, and looked down to see the toes of the costume curling and uncurling as his foot muscles clenched. He knew how clumsy the boots were, that they had little dexterity at all, and now looked on aghast as the toes turned more from cartoony to realistic in appearance, seemed to be just a part of his body. Feeling the same sensation in his arms, holding one up experimentally, he watched amazed as, when he willed his fingers to move, the large, tony feathered hands responded in kind. Mark was dumbfounded, all speech forced out by fear and shock.

Suddenly he heard muffled grunts and groans coming from Abby. Looking up at her, he saw her struggling, pulling at the beak. It was hinged shut, concealing even the small bit of her mouth that had been visible. She tugged and twisted, as if trying to get it open, acting like she was scared for her life. Indeed, even the strange, seemingly solid plastic eyes had a look of horror. As the sound of her cries distorted from within, it occurred to Mark that she couldn't breathe. He watched as she continued to thrash about, until, with a jerk, the beak quickly hinged open again and Abby gasped for breath. Mark went wide eyed as it happened, because he could no longer see her face inside the costume. Instead, he saw the open beak, a tongue within, and the dark passage going back into the dark confines of her throat, with no signs there had ever been a person inside. Mark wanted to call out, but in that moment the beak of his own costume clamped shut. He found himself now without air, struggling to breathe, and feeling the odd burning pull as if his flesh were being tugged and pressed in many directions. Seconds seemed like hours, and his lungs ached in yearning for air. Just as he thought he might pass out, a sudden pinching pain was felt all over, and he gasped at the sensation, his beak opening and letting him draw in air again.

The feelings of change began to die away, and the two were left panting and perplexed. Mark reached up, trying to jostle the costume head, but finding he could feel everything, as if it were his own. Moving his toonish, wing-like hands up, he felt around the beak, finding no trace of his human face within. Turning his gaze to the side, he saw Abby reclining there, staring at him with likely the same amazed expression as he looked at her with. In those moments, Mark could scrutinize his companion, seeing the changes for all they were worth.

Abby looked like an anthropomorphic chicken, and a rather feminine and sexy one at that. Her gleaming white feathers seemed to hug her form perfectly. As he looked at them, though, he saw that they weren't real feathers, but the same feather-like material the costume was made out of, only now laying in a way that resembled how a real bird's plumage would be. Her eyes seemed to have the gleam of polished plastic, as did her beak. The rubber of her wattles seemed a lot more flexible now, like real felsh. And her tongue and inside of her mouth, hanging open in astonishment, looked to be made of some kind of soft, smooth, synthetic fabric. Mike had little doubts his own face now looked much the same, and he could feel the weight of the larger wattles and comb along the crown of his head and on either side of his face. All in all, both of them looked like a pair of living anthropomorphic chicken dolls, as if they were stuffed animals of some sort, like some living amalgam of fabric and plastic parts.

As the feelings subsided, Marked raised a hand to his face, seeing the feather-like fingers respond with every movement he made, perfectly in tune with him. Sitting on his knees, he reached up and grasped around the head, amazed to be feeling everything perfectly, as if the wing-gloves were his real hands. He shuffled through the feathers, looking for the Velcro seam, but found nothing, and getting a nasty sensation like someone pulled his hair as he tugged the plumage on the back of his head. The seam was gone, as if it had never been there at all, and Mark felt a real panic as it seemed more and more like there was no mask over his face, but that the mask 'was' his face.

A weird clucking-moan drew his attention back to Abby. She was doing much the same as he himself had just done, tugging at various body parts to try and dislodge the costume, but to no avail. Not realizing he was staring wide eyed at her, Mark was utterly captivated by the sight. It was not just her exceedingly feminine form, but something about her new appearance as well. It was like something had changed in Mark's mind, and seeing this chicken creature in front of him was the epitome of his masculine desires. His beak hung partially open as he stared at her, all other thoughts diminishing, gradually pushed aside to be forgotten in the next moment.

Without realizing, Mark's feathered hand slipped slowly down his chest, across his stomach and along his thigh, slipping between his legs. The touch made him gasp low, small electric feeling of pleasure jolting through him. Slowly, as he watched the hen in front of him, he rubbed his palm across his groin, feeling the feathered texture, enjoying the feelings as his pleasure began to grow ever more present. The last notions of fear or apprehension vanished as he looked at Abby struggling with what she believed was still a costume.

Abby tried desperately to tear the headpiece away, but found it as useful as trying to pull off her own face. Out of frustration, she began to clutch all over her body, trying to find some give in the fabric, only to be frustrated each time. Her complaints didn't come out in words, but as clucks, yet she didn't seem to notice. Her groping moved down to her chest, where she paused as she felt the pleasant sensation as she grasped her breasts, calming as the feelings swept through her. Just as had happened with Mark, the feelings of fear began to dissipate and vanish, replaced only by a sense of contentment and bliss as she pleasured herself. Her hand too drifted down from her chest, rubbing gently along her belly and finding its way between her feathered thighs. With a low, moaning cluck, she gave in and tilted her head back as she rubbed the spot where once her womanhood had been.

The two sat there, slowly, methodically rubbing and coaxing each exquisite moment of pleasure out of their bodies for what seemed like hours, all the while their minds seeming to go blank. Memories of their human selves drifted away, fading into the haze they engulfed themselves in. Their shared, low groans and clucks filled the air as they delved deeper into the pit of passion, now past the brink of no return. The two humans were still aware of what was transpiring, if just barely, but where wholly lost to the new thoughts and feelings governing their actions, mere spectators in their own bodies with the new will urging them on.

Abby lowered her head, locking eyes with the reddish-brown rooster sitting across from her, his hand massaging his crotch. Mark, meanwhile, watched as the hen ceased her own ministrations, and began to slowly, almost seductively crawl across the ground towards him, her soft, cooing clucks putting his mind at ease as she drew closer. She traced a hand along his face, a look of feminine wile in her eyes. Daintily, she traced her hands along his sides, and gently began to rub her belly and thighs against his. Mark felt delirious, weak in his legs, and there was no resistance as Abby gently helped him to a half-sitting position, then fully lying down on the cool grass. On her hands and knees now, she straddled his body. Her breasts hung down beneath her, and a cool, sly grin seemed to pass across her avian face. She gently pecked him on the beak, then reached down and drew his hand away from his groin, and replaced it with her own.

Mark shivered, letting out a series of stuttering clucks as the foreign hand massaged his most sensitive spots. Never before had he ever been this turned on. The feelings he was experiencing, the excitement of wearing this exotic costume, the divine beauty above him and the instinctual knowledge that she too felt the same, all combined in what was surely the most erotic moment of his life. As her hand rubbed over the spot over and over, Mark could begin to feel a swelling sensation. Abby, feeling it too, lifted her hand away to reveal a slit in the costume material which hadn't been there before. The feathers on either sides of it stood up as the tender, plush-like flesh swelled and the edges parted.

Both chicken people, Mark looking up and Abby down between them, watched as from out of the slit slowly pushed a long, dark tan-pink protrusion, unmistakably phallus-shaped. The organ was still mostly human shaped, though it appeared to Mark he had gained a generous few inches, the few differences being the more curved shape, the more pronounced taper from the thicker base down to towards the tip, and the more pointed flare of the head. They both stared at it, Abby sitting back and running one finger up its length, enticing a sharp gasp of delight from her companion. It wasn't flesh, but rather appeared to be some kind of semi-hard rubber. Looking at it a bit more closely, Abby even saw a small seam running up and down both sides of it, as if it had been formed in an injection mold.

Mark winced as the hen toyed and scrutinized his cock, his clucks sounding both of pleasure and aggravation. Noticing this, a mischievous look came into Abby's eyes, and she gently squeezed it in her feathered hand. Repeating the action, alternating with a few slow, tender strokes, Abby held the rooster man in an otherwise helpless state, pleasuring him with one hand, while the other was still busy massaging her sensitive nether region. For her part, Abby found the feel of the rubbery organ in her hand to be intriguing, and seeing Mark's reactions to her touch did only to encourage her.

Another few strokes, and with a shudder from Mark, Abby felt the slight dribble of warm fluids onto her feather-fingers. Looking down, small trails of clear, viscous fluid were seeping out of his cock tip, flowing down over her hand that was wrapped around its length. Removing her hand, giving Mark a moment to recover his wits, Abby brought her coated hand up to her beak, and caught the faint aroma of latex. Without thinking, she opened her beak and licked her fingers with her lycra tongue, savoring the plastic-like taste of his pre. Mark saw the delight as she cleaned off her digits, turning back and smiling down at him once more. Before he could react, she had once again bent low over him. Holding herself up with one arm, the other still gently rubbing between her thighs, Abby ran her tongue up Mark's rubber length, both shuddering in excitement. The soft tongue, the occasional playful nip from her beak, all worked to tease more and more of the sweet synthetic nectar out of his living, inanimate body.

Mark almost suffered under the assault of euphoria bombarding his system, wanted nothing more than to succumb to the feelings, give in, and experience the sweet release he was building towards. Yet something held him back, telling him to resist, draw it out, wait for the right moment. Abby, meanwhile, furiously rubbed and pressed her hand against her sensitive spot as she continued to work the rooster's manhood in her beak. The feel of the rubber against her tongue was odd, yet felt so right. She redoubled her efforts, her instincts seeming to drive her to push Mark further and further, to do nothing but please her rooster. Pleasuring herself into her own high, Abby's euphoria had consumed her entirely. There was nothing else in the world at that moment, just her, the virile male, and the pleasure they shared.

A sudden pinching feeling tore her out of her blissful trance, causing her to sit up straight and draw in a hissing breath. Mark looked up, his addlepated mind wondering why his lovely hen had stopped, leaving him unfulfilled and longing for more. But he saw the confused expression, and followed her gaze down as she slowly lifted her hand away from her groin. Appearing there, where before it hadn't been, was a seam in the costume, the edges slightly puffy around the opening. Abby ran a finger along it, shivering at the touch. Mark watched as, with two digits, she gently parted the seam, revealing the interior of her new feminine passage disappearing into her body. The sides were a deep, rich pink, but had a distinctive sheen. Like the rest of her, it wasn't flesh at all. Instead, it looked as if it were made from the softest, finest woven silk on earth. Mark could only watch for his laid back position as she glided her fingers across the feminine opening with the greatest finesse, unawares of everything else until she leaned forward and once more wrapped a hand around his rubber organ.

Abby's expression was that of pure, unbridled lust now. Moving to sit over him, she held his length firmly helped to guide it in as she lowered herself onto him. Both chickens let out load clucks of ecstasy as their bodies slowly joined, reveling in the feeling of the silken interior squeezing around the firm, rubber organ as it slipped further inside. As their bodies came together, feathered forms pressed together, all either could do in that instance was breath, wholly overwhelmed. But it didn't last long, Abby recovering enough of her senses to raise herself up, letting the length slide almost all the way out, before quickly falling back down and plunging Mark's shaft once more deep into her. Mark grunted and groaned in his clucky voice as she rode him like a bronco. This hen, this epitome of avian beauty, was having her way with him, and he, like a good cock, must do all he could to please her. Over and over and over again did she buck up and down, the materials of their plush bodies sliding easily across each other, with new and exotic feelings neither could have dreamed of before. Mark gradually began to thrust his hips up off the ground, timing it as his lover would go down on him. With ever more vigor he continued to step up his efforts, thinking of nothing but mating this hen, his hen.

With a strong, abrupt motion, Mark grabbed her and rolled them over, Abby flung to the grass with Mark atop her. For the first time his rooster self was dominating, taking the initiative and being the lead in the dance of lust and passion. He thrust into her, driving his shaft into her depths, drawing out loud squawks of pleasure each time. Abby gripped his shoulders hard, hanging on as he now rode her. Mark could feel himself building to new levels, and now tried to hold on not from some inner instinct, but to keep the moment from ending, to give his love all he had and know she was his, and he was hers. But all the effort in the world could only last for so long, and in the end, in what seemed both too soon and not soon enough, Mark passed the brink.

Mark crowed as the feeling of release swept through his body, his cock exploding buried deep inside Abby's passage. A split second later, it was Abby's turn to fall off the proverbial edge, and screamed in a loud, guttural cluck in harsh chorus to Mark's crow as she felt her innards shutter and clench in release, flooded with the torrent of hot fluids piping out of her mate. Both were lost in that moment, time seeming to stand still as their shared highs extinguished all perceptions, all other notions beyond what they felt. Looking down, Mark locked gazes with Abby, their plastic eyes both conveying a sense of deep satisfaction and love. Something had changed in them, and both now knew they were mated, hen and rooster together.

They trembled, from both the ebbing tide of their pleasure and the cool night air. Mark felt his arms go weak, no longer to hold him up, and he carefully lay down, helping Abby roll onto her side, so that they lay together on the grass. He looked over his beautiful mate, still buried inside her, and felt both pride and luck at being able to call one so beautiful his own. Both shuddered as Mark's rubber cock slipped out of Abby and slipped back into his own body, a few stringers of fluid still hanging on. As the feelings faded away, they felt exhaustion overtake them, and surrendered the embrace of sleep, holding one another as they became lost to the world.

Mark felt the warm sunlight hitting his face, and the cool, dew-moistened grass beneath him. He felt stiff, and had some hazy recollection of the party the night before. He didn't open his eyes at first, but brought a hand up to cover his face, only to feel the large fingers and soft texture brush against the hard, smooth plastic surface attached to his head. His eyes bolted open, and looking at his hand, he saw the vague wing-like appearance it retained, the digits responding to his slightest movements.

Memories of the previous night came flooding back. He vividly recalled the party, the costumes and their strange transformations. Most of all, though, he recalled Abby, and what had transpired between them. He heard a contented sigh, and looking to his side, he saw the hen sleeping there next to him, beginning to rouse no doubt from his moving about. Mark tried to talk, to get her up, but his words only came out as awkward clucks. At the sound, Abby's eyes opened and she stared up at him, a look of disbelief adorning her beaked visage. Mark knew she likewise remembered everything, and seeing it was all real, was at as much of a loss as he himself was.

She clucked, no doubt trying to talk, but to no avail. Trying to sit up, she suddenly gasped as if in pain, and placed a hand on her belly, only to go wide eyed and dart her gaze downwards. Mark too turned his eyes down, and shocked at seeing her stomach now appeared swollen. It wasn't markedly expanded a great deal, but enough to be noticeable, especially on her rather petite and very feminine frame. It also wasn't the belly of extra weight, but rather a nice, more concise lump, much like, Mark was terrified to think, the early signs of pregnancy. Abby winced again, and struggled to her feet, shaky and unsteady.

Lurching a few feet, she suddenly leaned against a tree and held her abdomen as another jolt of pain shot through her. Turning to face Mark, her face seemed to plead for him, for some reassurance. Mark tried to stand, only to fall to his hands and knees as a sudden pain hit him as well. He felt hot and confined, and his insides felt as if they were being pulled and stretched. Abby clucked loudly in protest, falling to her knees and only holding herself up by clinging to the tree. Mark saw her belly shudder and contract slightly in a muscle spasm. It ended, and Abby breathed heavily, only to grimace again as another spasm hit her. Mark again tried to move towards her, only to be hit with another wave of pain, and feeling as if his skin was crawling, like it wasn't a part of him. In truth, they were both feeling this, but poor Abby was suffering the added displeasure of the strong internal pains of contractions.

Mark lifted his head to look worriedly at Abby, seeing that despite the obvious pain she was feeling, her eyes remained fully open, with a rather odd happy expression. He looked on, and then saw the eyes begin to lose their solid, plastic sheen, and take on the familiar appearance of painted mesh. As he watched, her feathers seemed to start changing. All across her body, the neatly layered plumage began to stand up or flop awkwardly, reverting back to the rather fake looking white fluff material the costume had originally. Feeling a strong itching feeling on his arms, Mark looked down in time to see the same thing happening to his own brown-red feathers. He realized then that his vision had likewise changed, turning fuzzy, as if the same fine mesh was over his eyes once again.

Abby clucked loudly as another contraction hit, and Mark looked in time to see the feminine slit of the costume gape open for a brief moment before being filled by a large, white object from within. He could not believe what he was seeing, as her folds began to stretch around the round, gleaming, ivory mass slowly making its way out. The contraction ceased, as did it's progress, only to resume all too quickly. As it slid, inch by painstaking inch, Mark could now see clearly what it was, or appeared to be. The shape so far was unmistakably that of an egg, though far larger, perhaps the size of a football judging from the end that protruded out of Abby.

All Abby could do, meanwhile, was bear down in time with the contractions, and try to ignore the other painful sensations she was experiencing, not knowing Mark was feeling the same. The contractions seemed to be coming faster and faster, accelerating with the changes to her body. As the feathers reverted to their former form, so too did her body lose the feminine definition. Her figure seemed to change to rather unshapely and, in places, downright saggy, almost like she was wearing rather loose clothing. Soon, all her body, mark only a short span behind her, looked like she was just another person wearing a cheesy, chicken costume.

Mark was held in rapt fascination as Abby's changes progressed. He watched as her body seemed to revert to how it looked when they had met the previous evening, all decked out in a costume as ridiculous as the one he was wearing. And at the same time, his gaze kept drifting down between her legs, watching as the egg emerged ever further. He felt helpless, wanting to be there to comfort her, but unable to move from the pain, and seemingly unable to look away from the spectacle before him. In that moment, Abby let out one last warbling cluck before her beak hinged shut. Mark tried to call out, getting out a garble sort of noise in the seconds before his beak too seemed to close of its own volition, and him unable to open it.

He found himself deprived of air, exactly as he had been the night before when it had sealed shut. Looking across the few feet to his companion, he saw her gripping the tree hard to keep from falling off her knees. He could hear her moans and cries, muffled as they were from inside the now quite inanimate-looking headpiece. The fake, painted, mesh eyes stared out blankly from the equally fake looking feathered head. It wasn't the vibrant, life-like synthetic beauty, but just a hunk of material now. Abby trembled in fear and pain, and Mark suddenly heard her muffled scream from inside the costume. The sound, though, wasn't the wailing vocalizing of a bird, but from a definite human voice, and as the beak hinged open once more, the sound was clear and distinct, familiar to him as he had heard her scream the night before as the changes had begun. And to cap off Mark's shock, inside the beak he could see her chin and mouth, held open in a grimace of displeasure, but still very human. A sudden pain hit him, and he cried out, his own muffled cry resonating in his own voice, turning to a clear yell as the beak of his costume opened once more, letting the cool air kiss his skin.

Mark felt the changes dying away, and could feel fabric rubbing against his back as he sat there. Trying to catch his breath, his attention was snatched away as Abby yelped in pain. Looking back up through the mesh of the eye-pieces, Mark saw the egg still sticking out of her passage. He saw her body heave once, twice, and on the third time the giant egg fell free of her body, landing softly on the grass below. Abby panted in relief, and Mark got one last glimpse of her silken passage as the seam gently closed and vanished beneath the feathery fabric.

Abby fell sideways, letting go of the tree, passing out from the experience. Mark, though, remained perfectly still, breathing slowly and trying to recover his wits over what he had just witnessed. But the sight of his mate laying there helpless was too much, and he crawled uneasily the short distance to her. It might have been thought strange, but even though he seemed to recover all his normal faculties, something in his mind still made him see Abby as his mate, his love, and he couldn't bear the thought of her suffering, let alone without him to comfort her.

He sat down, carefully lifting her up and letting her rest against his chest. He held her close with one arm, the other gently stroking her head and neck, hoping she would recover. As his hand traced down her neck, though, Mark felt something even through the fabric of his own costume. Looking down at it, he saw a singular seam running from the base of the beck all the way down the back to just above the tail. Reaching his other hand behind his head, he felt around and found a similar seam on himself. Mark was a bit afraid, but holding on to the edge of the seam and pulling gently, he was rewarded with the familiar, grating, ripping sound of Velcro coming undone.

"Are we..." Abby said trailing off.

Mark had been unawares she was recovered, let alone watching. And looking down he saw the costume face staring back at him.

"What?" Mark asked, a bit surprised to hear his own voice.

"Are we back... back to normal?" Abby asked nervously.

"I-" Mark stuttered, "I think so. I-"

Mark tugged again and more Velcro came apart, a stream of cool air flowing down his back, making him shiver slightly.

Abby sat back, and quickly reach her hands behind her head, feeling around for the seam. With one tug, the Velcro down to her mid back tore open in one go. Encouraged, Mark likewise pulled his opening wider until it was down to the tail. With the back open, both grabbed the headpieces and with ease, lifted them up and off, bringing their faces out into the open air and warm sunshine of the morning. Both tried to stand and remove the costumes, but were still shaky on their feet and fell down back into each other's arms. It was then they were able to look at one another face to face for the first time. Mark was amazed at how lovey she was, thinking her rather shy and geeky demeanor didn't match a woman as remarkably stunning as she was. Her dark brown hair hung down to shoulder length, and her stunning green eyes stared back into his deep brown ones.

They sat transfixed for several moments, neither saying a word, only brought back to reality by the cool air making them both shiver. Looking down, both Mark and Abby were embarrassed to see that aside from the costumes, they were completely nude. What clothes they had worn seemed to have vanished, no trace or shred of them remaining in the costume. Mark saw that costume hadn't done a thing to her figure except emulate how she looked exactly, her body having an amazing shape and grace to it. Mark was amazed such a girl was so unnoticed in the crowds, and he only felt the feelings for her increase as he got to see the real person under the feathers. Little did he know, that Abby had likewise been affected, and seeing the kindly face, and the rather nice body besides, had also given her another reason to feel a strong attraction for him.

The sounds of other people, maybe guests or the home owners, were heard moving around nearby. While a bit reluctant to wear the costumes any more, they had no other choice but to cover themselves up and get to where they could find a change of clothes. But as they were about to leave, they both noticed the gleaming egg sitting on the grass. Looking at each other, Abby looked quickly away and blushed deeply. With a shaking, hesitant hand, Mark reached out and picked it up.

A bit smaller than a football, it was made of smooth white plastic. Curiously, they saw a seam in it roughly halfway up it, going all the way around. It was just like the novelty plastic easter eggs, the ones that were hollow and could be easily popped open. Oddly, however, the egg seemed heavy for its size, as if something was inside it. Exchanging a quick glance with Abby, Mark held the egg with one hand, and with the other twisted and pulled the more pointed end. The halves opened easily with a slight pop. Carefully pulling the two halves apart, they saw glimpses of what looked like yellow fabric, very fuzzy in texture. Mark tugged the top half off, finding whatever was inside was rolled and packed tightly into its plastic shell. Pulling the bottom half free, he held a lump of tightly wadded material, very soft to the touch and still with some lingering warmth. Curious, he began to unbundle the object, Abby watching perplexed as gradually more of it was opened up and spread out. Soon it was open enough, that as mark held an end up the rest simply fell into place, and it was then that they both went wide eyed at what it was.

Dangling from Mark's hand was a costume. It was a one piece like theirs, but much smaller, seemingly made for a child. The bright yellow fabric stood out in the sunlight, but also made the other parts stand out more prominently. The feet were the same foam material, the eyes of the same plastic mesh as their masks, and the polished beak sticking prominently from the face. Looking at each other, then back at the costume, they knew exactly what it was, what had hatched from the egg, what they had given birth too. The costume was of a baby chicken. Their chick.