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?Phil had learned about the Horned Lord myth in college as part of his folklore class. He never paid much attention until the day the class got assigned to do research papers on local folklore, and as his luck would have it, the college dorm wasn't too far away from the woods that started it all. He sat in his untidy, book-strewn room, going back over the notes he took from the books he could get from the library. He had almost but not quite enough to make a passing paper, he needed something else... something to really impress Mrs. Lancaster. Then, he flipped over to the five or so pages of notes he took on the Horned Lord manor, a long-abandoned old house that was tied to the myth when the entire family mysteriously vanished. Phil was always a sucker for unresolved mysteries, and to do some digging on one so close to home... well that was an opportunity he couldn't miss out on. The young man pulled on his brick-red college hoodie as he made a quick plan of action. He'd go in, take pictures, explore just long enough to find something worth writing about, then get back to his dorm and finish the paper. Easy-peasy, the young man thought.

He had no classes that day, so it was a perfect time: The sun was out bright and clear, nice warm weather... Phil was not about to go in any haunted mansion at night, hell no. He gathered a few things: A flashlight, a couple bottles of water, a bag of chips just in case he got hungry, and then he was out the door and riding his bike down the road to the mansion, which mostly bereft of car traffic as it usually was, hardly anyone went out there anymore. There was the occasional vehicle or rubbernecking tourist but that was about it. The road went from asphalt to dirt halfway to the mansion, which proved a bumpy ride for Phil's bike. By the time he reached the front gate of the manor, his bike's tires were filthy with dark-colored dirt. He laid the bike against the sidepost of the gate and looked through the gate at the mansion.

The mansion was enormous, three stories high and crafted of dark gray stone, with a slanting roof of brown shingles. And aside from the dirty windows and a yard full of tall grass encircling the grounds, it was in pretty good shape for a building that have been abandoned for so long. It was almost eerie, like Phil had stepped into an old photograph. Still, he was here on a mission and he couldn't chicken out now. He gave the padlocked chain around the front gate a quick kick, and the heel of his boot broke the rusted lock with a dry snap, sending the gates swinging open with a loud screech from their neglected hinges.

Making his way through the massively overgrown lawn proved to be more of a challenge to Phil. Every other step, he was being harassed by flies, picking grass seeds off his jeans, or hoping he wasn't about to step on a snake or something else unpleasant. When he finally ascended the faded and cracked front porch steps, he half expected the blasted front door to be locked or something else. Such was the suffering he endured for a passing grade!

Nothing ventured, nothing gained... He gripped the tarnished doorknob in one shaking hand and with a creak of the door's old hinges it opened without incident. After hesitating at the threshold for a second or two, Phil managed to work up the courage to take his first step into the mansion... the supposedly haunted mansion. Inside, he found himself in a great, open hallway with doors on both sides of him, with an imposing set of stairs on the far end of the wall leading up. He headed towards the right hall first, the mansion was deathly quiet all around him. It was so quiet that he could hear his boots shuffle across the dusty burgundy carpet.He dug his flashlight out of his pockets, clicking it on and scanning the beam around in front of him, illuminating the faded floral print wallpaper, an oak chair sat out in the hallway and collecting cobwebs on its ornately carved legs. Passing by a large, silver-framed oil painting of an enormous stag, Phil came across a door that looked more interesting than others. It bore a brass placard printed simply "GALLERY". Phil went inside, hoping the previous occupants' taste in art could be padded out another 500 words or so.

In the gallery, Phil was stunned by what he saw. All around him was an impressive collection of art works in various media: from paintings to sculptures to jewelry, all organized in glass display cases that, aside from being in desperate need of being wiped down and polished, were completely intact. His flashlight caught the unmistakable yellow glimmer of something golden and he rushed over to investigate. In its own jewel case sat an ornate golden statuette of a stag, sculpted with its neck flexed and its head turned upwards with its mouth open as if it was crying out in triumph or... something else. The sculpting was immaculately detailed, as Phil could make out the grain of the stag's fur coat, the bony texture of the antlers. It was so well done a piece that it looked like it would leap out of the glass box it was sealed in and bound away into the woods.

And then he noticed the stag's eyes. They had a green glimmer about them, and peering closer Phil confirmed that the stag's eyes were indeed a pair of emeralds masterfully cut and set into the creature's eye sockets. He felt himself reach out to the golden stag... almost as if drawn by a magnet. The thing had to be worth a chunk of cash, if he could get out with that thing in his backpack he wouldn't have to worry about student loans at the very least.

Phil's fingertips brushed against the cool glass case and immediately he was repelled by a sudden flash of what felt like static electricity hitting him. "Fuck!" He cried out, jumping back. Then he remembered he didn't bring anything to open the glass case, either by picking the lock or just smashing it, and felt more than a little silly. Still, he had a good photo op. He dug his smartphone out of his pockets and snapped pictures of the golden stag from every angle, with a few more of the other stuff on display for good measure.

As he walked out, his jeans felt loose on him somehow. Every other step he took, they fell down around his waist, prompting Phil to reach down and yank them back up. Unbeknowst to him, his legs were slimming down, becoming curvier and more feminine with each step. Halfway back to the entrance, his hips and rump had plumped into a womanly peach shape, with his jeans drooping down around them, letting a fluffy brown deer tail reveal itself to the world, swishing girlishly with every step.

He didn't notice his changing body, not yet. What Phil did notice was that he could feel someone... or something watching him. It was a subtle and insidious feeling, barely noticeable at first but once he did he couldn't take his mind off it. He stopped and turned around in the hallway, unaware he had been turned around. He could have sworn he had heard footsteps behind him, heavy ones. And was that shadow just his imagination? He turned a corner to find himself... in a completely unfamiliar hallway. "Shit..." Phil said, only to slap his hands over his mouth. His voice was higher in pitch now, woman-like in tone...but moreover he felt ashamed at having used such coarse language. It felt wrong, improper, and that feeling only grew and grew as he made his way down the hall, trying to get his bearings.

Then, Phil felt something grab his butt. He jump forward with a girlish yelp, the brown and white fur spreading up his waist and down his curvy thighs as his chest grew, tenting the fabric of his t-shirt. He spun around, his boots feeling loose on his feet. "Who's there?" He looked around, he was still alone... but he could feel he wasn't at the same time. Phil turned and ran in the direct of the closest door to him, tripping the first few steps by his now-oversized boots. Inside, he found a parlor. A little tea table with four chairs sitting around it. Atop the cloth-covered table was an very peculiar sight.... A silver tray, topped with cookies, and tea. Steam was wafting from the cup, in stark contrast to the abandoned state of the home.

Phil paced over to the tay in disbelief, unknowingly stepping out of his boots, revealing a pair of deer hooves that his feet had become. "Cookies?! I thought this place was abandoned! These look fresh and... and..." He leaned in close, breathing in. "They smell so good..." And they indeed did look delectable, perfectly baked, smelling of chocolate and crumb, utterly divine in appearance and scent... Begging to be eaten...

He bit into one, then promptly finished it. "Wow these, these are really good! My compliments to whoever, whatever made them" He said out loud. Eating one left his mouth watering, every bite was an explosion of flavor. Making him desire another, and another. Surely he couldn't just leave without finishing the plate. After all, he was the only one here. Who else would enjoy them? Phil's body was being covered in more and more fur as he gorged himself. He couldn't stop, didn't want to stop.

After eating the last tea cookie, he felt parched. He smacked his lips, taking the tea pot and pouring himself a cup. "This is still warm... whoever brewed it must still be around" He said, taking a sip... then another. It was a nice mild chamomile tea that tasted of honey and just a hint of vanilla.

Phil sneezed as he placed the now-empty cup back down. "Man..." She... he said. "The dust in here is really killing my nose." He then noticed the feather duster, laying discarded on the floor. He bent down to pick it up, his little deer tail swishing happily as he went to work. as he cleans, the gentle flick of the duster catches the light upon its feathers, shimmering beautifully. A relaxing calm overtook him Perhaps this was how the maids felt when tending the home in ages past... "This is nice." Phil said, "I could get used to this..."

"Me too," a masculine voice said from behind him, close behind him. Phil froze up, still gripping the duster.

"Hello?"

He felt a pair of furry, muscular arms wrap around him from behind, he looked down and saw a pair of four-fingered, brown-furred arms gripping his waist. He also saw that his own arms were covered in the same fur, and they had slimmed down, become very feminine in appearance. He let out a girlish "Eep!" then looked back up at his captor. The thing was a six foot monster of a stag-man, with broad chest and arms fit for a prizefighter. His antlers were tall and glossy, and he wore a tight-fitting black suit and waistcoat, his starched white collar tied in place with a red bow tie.

"You're a naughty little doe, eating my refreshments..." The stag said, his deep voice completely without malice, but rather it was affectionate. "I'll have to keep a closer eye on you."

"But... I'm a..." Phil said, only to be silenced by the stag gently pressing a black-nailed finger to his lips.

"Breathe deep, darling!" And so Phil breathed in, suddenly feeling a heavy pressure rush up inside him. It was, not unpleasant. He felt an exotic tightness spread out from his backside, dancing up his spine, into his stomach, And chest. Soon his every inch was filled with this... lurid sensation. "Oh... gosh..." The changing human moaned, putting his hands to his chest.

His body was shook by a tingling pulse, racing through his body and into his mind sent shockwaves through his every inch, his hips widening slightly, as his chest ballooned out a full cup size. The power of the stag accelerated his changes, his ears grew out into cervine points, flicking around to pick up new and novel sounds around him. "W-what's happening?!" The doe-to-be cried out, looking down at his new... breasts.

Another pulse, the fleshy lumps visibly swelling before his... Her... His eyes! The heavy, fur-covered mounds showing unnatural pertness, as their nipples were engulfed in a powerful tingling sensation. It focused upon their tips, feeling like they were being teased and pulled... Oh they were so sensitive. And they felt so good... Phil could only massage and grope them with his now-dainty and feminine little hands, moaning pitifully.

Another pulse, and his breast grew another cup size, growing weighty, perky but soft and abusable. Every squeeze and tug feeling... Incredible, better than anything Phil ever experience. The pulse bouncing through their mind, down her back, over his hips, and racing up and down their cock. Simultaneously making it firm, erect, and oh so turned on, like it was engulfed in a tight hole.

"Oh...master..." Phil moaned, not realizing what he was saying, he was unable to resist, and unwilling.

Pulse, grow, throb. This rhythm sunk into his mind as his body continued its changes, his cock throbbing with the tightness pressing down upon it, every pulse making it shrink a little, every pulse making it more sensitive, every pulse making her chest more sensitive, the pleasure and lust crashing upon her mind in dizzying waves

"You're making a gorgeous little doe." The stag said warmly.

"But... but I'm a boy!" Phil cried out meekly, even he himself was not convinced.

"Well we'll just need to fix That Won't we?" The stag said, and a powerful flash shuddered up his shaft. The thick appendage losing a full inch of its length, the wave continuing upwards, swelling her chest to a full DD cup. Phil's face achingly stretched out forward into a stubby little deer snout as his human nose flattened into a cute little black dot of a nose, the nostrils flaring as he took in his own alluringly feminine scent. His mouth tingling, swelling into a pair of nice, plush and kissable lips.

Oh gosh..." Evan puckered his...her...his lips, getting accustomed to their new shape. As they pressed together, a bolt of electric bliss shot through his body, travelling through his mind and down to his crotch, where a new, warm slit was forming, a very... very needy slit.

"What... what's going on?" Evan cried out in a now-very feminine voice.

"You're becoming a fine little doe, perfect to start my little family all over again." The stag said, his blunt snout opening in a toothy grin. Her snatch felt so sensitive, and needy. All she could think of was this big alpha male stag taking her for himself, making her his little maid, maybe more than that. She...he...she could feel him in her mind, pushing her old self out more and more. She was Fiona...no... she was Fiona... no... what was her old name? Who was Phil?

The stag ran his hands up and down her body, and Fiona could feel her clothing change under his touch. Her T-shirt turned into the top of a black satin maid's dress, the sleeves melting away into a pair of white lace lined straps, the front dipping down and wrapping around her ample bosom tightly, offering both comfortable support and a pretty view for her master. The shirt dipped down over her legs, merging with her jeans into an ankle-length skirt for her dress, the shiny black satin clinging tightly to her shapely legs, accentuating every womanly curves of her plump thighs and pert bottom.

He snugly tied a white, frilly apron around her waist, further showing off her perfect hourglass figure. She set the duster down and he turned her around to look at him. His gentle yellow eyes practically glowing.

"Who do you belong to, little doe?"

Fiona smiled, her little tail flicking back and forth giddily. "I belong to the Horned Lord!"

Satisfied with the answer, he pulled her into a deep kiss, his tongue quickly finding hers as their snouts smooshed together. Fiona let him pick her up as he broke the kiss off, he walked towards the master bedroom with her cradled safely in his powerful arms.

"You can tidy up around her later, I want to show you my bedchambers." He said, and Fiona's heart sung. She knew very well what he meant, what he wanted. She would bear his foals, as was her privilege as house matriarch and head maid. And as he dropped her down on his plush mattress and mounted her, she was perfectly content.

The Horned Lord always did take good care of his own.