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Rain from the night’s storm pattered against Jean’s feathers. His black plumage twitched as droplets pelted them. His epaulets, stripped of their rebel crests, collected water like grass does morning dew.

The much vaunted tactical advisor was reduced to trudging from alley to alley. Assassination was hardly on his résumé, but the coin offered was too good to pass up. A half a year’s wage, just for driving his rapier into some old hag’s heart? Rain or no, he’d do it. It was more appealing than bartering retaining fees with miserly mercenary captains. Or heavens forbid, court attendants.

The client had warned him his target was a large and powerful woman despite her age. He knew well enough that prodigious size alone wouldn’t dissuade his gleaming blade. It would find and pierce her heart all the same. She was a warlock, that could prove tricky. But everyone needs to sleep, so he intended to murder her as she rested.

His talons clacked against the stone with a sound far too loud for his liking. He slowed his pace, steadied his breathing, and psyched himself up. There was the target’s shop, just across the street.

Helarui’s tinctures. Maybe he could swipe a few potions for his own on the way out. Extra coin, and who knows what other alchemical boons.

He’d heard plenty of tales of her cruelty. If ever there was a learned sadist as cold-blooded as the rumors make her sound to be… Depravity both on the battlefield and bedroom, settled here in the most accepting city. But Jean had heard many tall tales over mugs of brew. Rare was it the real deal lived up to even half of it. But that didn’t mean he could be careless.

He checked up the lane, left and right. Nothing but the dense fog of this summer storm and the ghost lights of some distant life. He padded across the street with haste, walking up a few stairs to the door.

Crouching low, he produced the key he was given and pain-stakingly opened the door. A creak that made his ears ring sung out. The reality was, the noise was quite quiet, but to the tactician it sounded like an orchestral horn.

He slipped inside and closed the door behind him, leaving it unlocked for a quick escape. The shop floor was eerie. A liminal emptiness lay over the unattended stock and counter. The dim light of night played tricks on his eyes as it filtered through a dozen colored bottles. Some were dusty and their labels sunbleached. Others seemed freshly wax-sealed.

A strange scent prickled his nose. Something between old sweat and musk. Absolutely female in tone but strong. It lingered in the stale air of the shop, joining the ruminant scent of past sex. Yuck, had no one taught this woman to shower? Or to not fuck on her shop floor?

He clicked his beak dismissively, thinking he was doing the world a favor dispatching this unwashed fiend. With delicate talon scratches on the wood he crept toward the door in the back. Past it, a staircase made of only the oldest and squeakiest planks of wood this side of the Kaylis.

Each step made him feel thirty pounds heavier, what with how the wood groaned in protest. In his mind, he tormented over how much sound he was producing. There was no light in the narrow staircase, so he had nothing but his thoughts to ruminate over. And the objections of the stairs themselves. The stirrups on his talons did nothing to muffle his steps.

Quicker than he expected, but later than he’d hoped, he was at the next door. Here it was. The flat above the potion shop. Helarui’s den. His target’s abode.

He placed the side of his head to the door, trying to listen in. His predator’s beak parted as his heart and breathing slowed and he strained to hear. There was a crackle, a fire perhaps, but no sounds of movement. That said, no snoring either. She-wolves, at least the ones he had met, snored like beasts at night. This didn’t bode well.

With no keyhole to peep through, he kept himself low and opened the door just a crack. The faint orange of the fireplace cut a swipe into his hiding spot, casting a sash from his shoulder to hip.

To the left, a darkened interior opening led to another room. To the right, a combined living and bedroom was present. The bed was unmade and messy. It was inordinately large, and looked comfy. Books, discarded clothes, empty potion bottles, and signs of life were scattered everywhere.

Dead ahead, obscuring the fireplace, was a tall backed chair. Curling over the head rest were two demonic horns. That was her, Helarui. The bone white of her corrupted marks flickered as the fire did. It was simmering low and clearly unattended. Had she fallen asleep while sitting?

Jean pushed forward and forward, leaving the door open behind him. Still keeping the thought of escape in his mind. Mercifully, a rug silenced his motions as he got closer to the chair. He stood tall and proud, confidence surging as he got closer. He intended to lance her right through the back of the chair!

A smug smirk curled at the edges of his beak. So much for the big bad wolf. Asleep, snoozing like a pup. What a sordid end to such a whispered about cretin. Jean assumed a firm stance, and drew his rapier back and tight to his form. Then, thrust!

There was the sound of scuffed stone and arthritic wood. Jean’s rapier never made contact with the upholstery. Instead, just at the moment of doom, Helarui had kicked off from the fireplace and tilted her chair and entire heft back on the vulture.

The bird was thrown flat on his back, midsection and legs crushed underneath the furniture. Scrambling and struggling as he might, he couldn’t move until Helarui tumbled out of the chair to the side. Her horns snagging and ripping a bit of his tunic as she did.

Her eyes fulminated with a devilish green, her great maw widened in a diabolic smile. She was deft, even with her size. She rolled from the chair, to a pouncing stance with ease. All in the time it took for Jean to even begin to squeeze from under the armchair.

His rapier, where was it? The glint of the silvered blade called to him, the thin tip poking from under the chair. It was too far, and he was too slow.

Like a wolf surging for a hare, she went for his neck. Helarui’s teeth didn’t sink into his carotid, rather, she clutched him by the shoulders and picked him up. He gasped, feeling the air squeezed from his chest. For a second, he thought she was going to bite his head off. His life flashed before him as he stared into the hellish malachite of her eyes.

But, his head wasn’t ripped off. Instead, Helarui whipped him skull first into a brick wall with immense force.

---

Before Jean’s eyes were even open, he was aware he was strapped down. His wrists and ankles rattled at manacles that kept him chained to a wooden ‘bed’. More irritating than those chains was the ball gag in his beak. His sharp bill tested the strength of the ball and found it resilient. Drool ebbed from the corner of his mouth. What he didn’t notice until he tried to look around was the brace on his neck, keeping his throat pinned to the table.

He felt a slight chill on his frame, and realized with great displeasure he was disrobed. His bare butt lay against the wood, with his tail feathers tucked to the side.

He swallowed hard, the cramping metal restricting even that gesture. He could scarcely scout where he was, only able to peer out of his peripherals to gauge where he was. There were no windows, and candles set an awful mood lighting. Instinct demanded he cover his sensitive spots, but bondage prevented him.

Jean tried to raise a thigh to hide his sex but it did little good. His vain attempt at modesty was interrupted by the euphonious voice of Helarui from just out of sight.

“Don’t bother. There isn’t much to hide. Unless you think that thigh shuffle will somehow break you out of those chains?”

Jean growled at the darkness, muffled threats and boasting. The warlock had little patience for that, but the sputtering did bring her some amusement.

“Count yourself lucky I just finished a fermentation I need to test. It is the only reason you’re alive.”

The old wolf came into view, scantily clad herself. Her fur was mostly black, with flecks of grey here and there. Her claws were long and blackened, with the grooves of age cracked into them. Her body was chiseled, but unnaturally so. Her muscles clashed with her obscenely feminine proportions. It was as if she crafted her form to possess both the strength of a built body and the allure of a woman’s thick figure.

Her mammoth breasts were supported by a plain, tight binding bandeau. Constricting leather trousers kept her lower half concealed, but Jean’s brow furrowed upon looking between her legs. A trick of the light and shadow, for just a second, made it seem as if she were packing something extra.

“How’s this, pretty bird? You imbibe a few things for me, do as I say, and I’ll let you free from your cage.”

Jean’s wide eyed staring at his captor told her little. He gave no answer, weighing what the alternative could be.

“Or I turn you into a rotisserie chicken and test my potions on the next assassin.” Her face furrowed in a wicked simper.

Jean, upon hearing his potential fate as a roasted bit of poultry, rapidly shook his head no.

“The easy way it’ll be. I had hoped as much. Your body seems to be a particularly–,” she held her breath, looking him over talon to beak with a hungry gaze that unsettled him. “–fertile ground for change.”

She licked her chops like a hound eyeing a bit of prime rib. Her height and his supine position meant his face was right by her groin and ass. As she leaned over the table to fetch something, her tits hung over his body and laid their warmth to his breath chest. His breathing fought against their weight and found its match.

But, what would have been an otherwise pleasant feeling was deeply soured. And not just by the context of his imprisonment. His beak seized against the ball gag, and his throat spasmed harshly. That smell.

Harsh and dense. Earthy and with a sediment to it that he felt lay across the taste buds of his tongue with each ragged draw of air. Cock. Dick. The reeking stench of cock-musk. That was no trick of the light! This alchemist was packing a prick! He winced, praying to Crom or whoever would listen to free him from this nightmare.

The thickness of her scent told him she’d scarcely washed her cock off in anything other than pussy recently. It was disturbingly stirring. Each sordid breath brought arousal. As much as he bitterly tried to convince himself it was the heft of her tits doing it, the potent pheromones from her nethers compelled his own dick to answer.

Finally Helarui leaned back and stood up straight again. In her hand she had a large syringe of metal and glass. And in her other, a bulbous potion bottle. “I hope you aren’t afraid of needles. The first treatment requires a primer.”

Casually, her glance dragged itself down to his groin. And, ashamedly, he looked down at himself too. Stiff and stout, standing up as tall and proud as it could. His hard on twitched up at her.

“My body produces that effect in many men.”

Jean sneered at her, but she merely cackled. She prodded the needle’s tip through the cloth banded around the bottle’s neck. With a draw of the plunger a fluid with meager luminescence filled the syringe. Milliliters drained up until it was entirely swollen with this purplish goo.

Helarui tossed aside the empty vial to a nearby table. The rattle of glass sounded far more ominous than it really should have, especially with the alchemist looming over him. She squirted a pump of liquid out to remove the air pockets. Tink-tink. Her claw flicked the needle.

“Time for your shot.”

She leaned over him once again, this time, she cupped his left pec. She pushed it up a bit, aiming under it at a parallel. Her thumb bristled up his feathers and the muscle of his pectoral. The prick came with the cold, uncomfortable poke of a needle. But it was followed immediately with an unusual warmth. The feeling of fullness expanded across his left, swirling around. It felt like how oil on water looks. She repeated this with his right pec, until the entirety of his upper torso was tingling with her magical injection.

Helarui looked at his chest with undue curiosity. It made him nervous, Jean kept jerking his beak down to try to look where she was. An uneasy feeling of violation came along with that warmth. The sensation physically was pleasant, despite the painful penetration. But the psychological stress was only amplified by that gratifying feeling. The intimate violation of his body’s sanctity made his tongue feel dry and his head spin with worry.

“Like I said. A primer.” Helarui repeated, groping at the firmness of his chest. The pinch of pain from the wound was an unworthy counterbalance to the reassuring feeling being felt-up provided. His cock’s hard on hadn’t shied at all throughout this process, and touches to his pecs now only fueled that twitching stiffness.

His nipples puffed and hardened under her rotating thumb, over the pink flesh. The erogenous effects of the normal tweaking of his nipples was highlighted ten times. “Nice, isn’t it? This is just the start.”

Jean tried to emote with his eyebrows and eyes his desire to know what was in the injection. She brushed against the reddish clay colored feathers of his pate. Her reassuring gesture felt disturbing coming from such a tremendously terrible woman.

“Don’t think so hard. It’s unbecoming of a hen.”

“Grhhh, nnhhh, fhhh!” Jean shook his head no rapidly. No, no, no. None of that! Whatever the fuck she meant by that he wanted no part of it.

Helarui rolled her eyes, not an ounce of sympathy. “Ungrateful to boot. May I remind you of your alternatives?”

His thrashing stopped.

“I thought so.”

She removed the ball gag once he stopped thrashing, laying it on the counter beside them. He felt like he was on an operating table. With his beak free, he flexed his jaw a few times and scanned her over with trepidation.

“What’s your name, hen?”

“Jean.”

“Hmph. And who paid you to try and put that little needle through me?”

He shook his head. It was pointless, whoever actually wanted the job done worked through a middleman. But she could read that in his expression, and relented. She really didn’t care, she was more interested in getting him to speak.

“Will you kill me?” He probed.

“Not yet.”

A silence fell between them, Helarui’s smile stated how she refused to be the one to break it.

“Why are you doing this?” Jean asked pleadingly, tongue waggling in his beak.

“It’s arousing. If you don’t want to be put in compromising positions, you should get better at your job.”

A trill growl of aggression rose in Jean’s throat. A wave of humiliation fell over him considering how poorly he’d conducted himself during their scuffle. To say nothing of being tossed aside like a bag of potatoes.

“Thirsty?” Helarui produced another tonic, sloshing with a thickened fluid that was a pale pink. He could scarcely resist a woman of her size and strength forcing his beak open. The malicious glee she exhibited when force-feeding him the potion made his spine shiver.

The taste of it was sweet and decently flavorsome. The saccharine treacle was balanced by a seminal saltiness. It rested upon his tongue and the back of his throat with a lingering that overstayed its welcome with haste. The fluid seemed to bypass his stomach and weigh down in his lungs. An uncomfortable constriction as if it had gone down the wrong pipe overcame him.

The corrupted alchemist pulled forward one of the strings tying her trousers around her waist, and the loose fabric fell to her knees. Unveiled was her cock, large enough it was partly slipped from the sheath. The shaft and tapered tip was, of course, a deep wine red. Her balls were heavy, a single one dwarfing his entire sex. This was no surprise, given their difference in height, but even for her size she had an impressive member.

His face became bleak with surprise at the reveal of her penis. The reddish feathers of his cheeks fluffed up in shame as he caught himself staring.

“Pretty good for a temporary transformation, no?” Her fingertips toy with the underside of that half-hard shaft, teasing it to further arousal. “It’s easier with this thing, it makes me feel big and strong. And it’s a lot easier to rape people using a cock.”

“Don’t. Ph-please. I couldn’t take it all,” Jean’s eyes were saucer-sized with shock.

“You could with some training but no, it’s not going in you. Not now .”

Jean’s discomfort was relieved partly, and he realized with some concern that the warmth had begun fleeing from his chest. With sluggishness borne of dread, he looked down at his bust’s plumage.

At first, he thought his feathers were ruffled with concern. No. He had mounds. He had breasts. Tits. Boyish and a bit small but boobs all the same. He croaked a curse of rejection and began to thrash again, chains rattling as he was met with the physical manifestation of his defeat.

His bodily autonomy was truly gone from him, Helarui having molded him permanently into a new and feminine shape. His mind became dizzy with the reality that his chest which he had lived with every day of his life was now burdened with a woman’s breasts.

The avian, befuddled, bobbed between gawking at his new tits and Helarui’s hellish horns. Words caught in his throat, pleas for mercy and diatribes of retribution. Her claws snatched away any hope he might actually make an utterance. Pinch! Right to his perked nipple, pulling at his new and budding breasts. He squealed a moan, his neglected and forgotten dick once again surging in erectness.

“Just big enough to use,” the wolfess whispered to herself. In one fluid and terrifying motion she leapt upon the table, her ass hovering over Jean’s beak. A great sense of doom overcame him as the aged lupine squatted down over his face.

The spread of her furred cheeks brought with it the most intoxicating and abusive musk. The ripe scent of her sweat-slick asshole nearly made him faint. It was lung-filling, woozying, sea-water scented perfume he had no ability to avoid.

Her spice brought with it the natural call of rousing his male organ to action. Accompanied only by the cool night air, he furtively felt himself twitch but could not see it. His world was plotted out against the rose pink of her bare asshole.

She pressed her immense heft on his beak and grinded herself down. “I expect some tongue.” Her words were muffled by her own furry cheeks, Jean’s face almost entirely flatted by her lecherous cake.

He couldn’t deny her. Not just because her life was in the balance, but his entire form demanded he answer the siren scent of her. He wanted to lick her ass, to swipe his lithe volucrine tongue across her pucker. Each droplet of sweat was life giving water. He lost himself in his task, his complaining mouth devoted to tracing the ring of her rear.

Each motion, each sharp and bitter flavor, each spike of salt made his body flutter with arousal. His unattended dick throbbed up with fury he never knew it could manage. An erection with such strength it would put other vulture’s to shame, if not by length, by pure hardness. It desperately wanted to feel something. A hand, a warm breath, anything!

But he could only extract his pleasure from worshiping her, and giving her pleasure. So he worked.

Though he was smothered in the poison swamp of her musky ass, he had awareness enough for the other portion of her heart-stopping abuse of his body. Her stiff rod lay flat down the middle of his chest, her hefty balls by his clavicle. With both hands she grabbed and forced together nubile mammaries against her lance.

Reality struck him like lightning to a copper rod. He was giving her a rimjob. And he was about to be giving her a titfuck. He hardly noticed when she really began moving, pumping her dick across his feathers and down toward his belly button. She rode his face and fucked his chest. As she did, a great yearning developed in his dick.

He could feel it surge up the back of his cock with each heartbeat. The feeling of an orgasm right on the edge. He focused on it. Focused on that shame and defeat. The feeling of being so thoroughly violated and altered. Spoiled. Ruined.

And now, his beak being used as a sweat mop and his chest as a cheap fuck. All for the victor. For his nemesis. With that rattling around his head like a ricocheting bullet, he came.

Not the single barest hint of a touch ever graced his dick. But he orgasmed. A tall, impressive shot of semen, shooting up the white flag as his body was used. He felt his balls tighten and his glans swell with urgency and need to save his orgasm. The conventional bodily pleasure was ruined, but the psychological submissive joy was carved deep into him.

Helarui cackled a congratulations to him, spurred on by his impressive display to fuck his chest harder. Given his new tits were modest in size, the warlock had to work double time to make use of them. They scarcely covered even half of her dick, but the depravity of spoiling his body was pleasure enough.

Between his mind-broken licking at her tailhole, and the plush new breasts she was kneading, Helarui was painting his tummy in cum soon enough. When she finished, she left the bird drenched in sweat and jizz. Her thickened canine cum seeping between his feathers to his skin. Her aura persisted across his olfactory sense.