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Transforming Into Their Broodmare

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A mini-story featuring NSFW transformation.

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Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)

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“You’ll look better this way.”

Marcus wasn’t so sure that he agreed with that, sitting in the middle of the barn, stacked with bales of straw on one side at the end of the season for its use, his head in his hands. The brown strands were in need of trimming but gave him more to grip onto as his head swam, the muscles in his arms trembling from the exertion of that alone. What was wrong with him? Why did he feel so…so…different?

There were no words for the barn hand but his employer didn’t care for explanations, a proud woman with her blonde hair pulled back and a typically icy-hard glint in her sharp, blue eyes. Dressed in a tight-fitting but stretchy T-shirt, Marcus’ eyes should have been on her breasts but it was hard to think about anything besides how heavily he was sweating right there and then, the barn dipping and swaying around him as if the ground itself had turned against him.

He pulled his hands away with a groan, though something came with them. Blinking foggily, it took Marcus a moment to realise just what that was, the flakes clinging in crude clumps, fine and soft yet no longer where they should have been.

Was that hair coming away in his hands?

No… No. That couldn’t be happening, could not be real. Standing, he swayed drunkenly, though he could not remember taking any alcohol down his throat that day. The evening sunset glimmered in through the flung-open double doors but the crimson glow was not enough to cast light on what was happening to him, his heart pounding, driving anxiously through his soul as his skin itched and itched and itched.

His hide bulged and he groaned, not sure what was happening to him and yet feeling entirely helpless to do anything about it, his back rounding, shoulders thickening, straining against the fabric of his own T-shirt. He should have been looking up at his employer but she had that smirk on her face that promised trouble and his lips were too thick and unwieldy to speak anyway, making such a feat impossible at the very least.

His fingers shrank and, in a strange sort of way, Marcus could not help but watch, fascinated, nails growing, thickening, rising into something hard and grey. His shirt was too small for him all of a sudden, much, much too small, and tore down the seams hanging from his frame in tatters as his backside swelled, spine elongated, his very bone-structure shifting with a crack and a crunch. If there was pain, it was not the sort of pain that Marcus registered in his mind but rolled forward onto all fours, catching his weight onto what his hands had become, wrists becoming more knobbly, the way that his bones were set out and arranged noticeably different even there.

It was not for him to speculate on though as his legs cracked and ground out into a hock rather than a knee, pointing back like that of a cow, though he was a man and not a cow. Neither was he destined to be a cow, his fate already set in stone, his employer staring down at him cruelly, her smirk never wavering. Muscles rippled to life where it had never been before present and his backside rounded out nicely, the point of his hip shifting to where it made more sense for a quadruped.

“You’re coming…”

His jeans ripped but he barely noticed, shreds hanging from him, exposing his manhood and more at the crux of humiliation. Marcus tried to reach out but only came down heavily on one knee that seemed now to be where his elbow was, his legs – no arms, just four legs – long and gangly as his feet took on that hard, unyielding appearance too. What was most noticeable, even as his face pushed out and out, bulging grotesquely, was the prickle of white hair covering his body, rising to life as if it had been waiting below the surface of his skin, needing only the right trigger. The skin that it covered was pinker too, his eyes itching, pushing to the sides of his head and his forehead broadening.

Trying to cry out, Marcus found only a horse-like nicker bursting from his nostrils, curved into an equine shape, the true horror dawning on him even in his sickeningly drugged state. But it was too late to turn back and it was too late to fight his employer in what she had clearly determined to be the best way that he could fulfil his obligations to her. He was changing, shifting, whether he liked it or not, even his maleness lost to him as his shaft sucked back into his body as if it had never even existed in the first place.

But, oh, it was the retraction of his balls that was the worst for him, shuddering and sweating, his orbs withdrawing to flush close in pink skin, a mare’s udders, pert and maiden, tucking out into life in their place. His hind legs shifted and Marcus knew with a bile-inducing twist of his guts that he would need a new name soon, though the thought was most likely the very least of his worries. His anal ring repositioned itself softly up under the velvety dock of a growing tail, the spill of hair luxurious even as it coated his neck too, the folds of a mare revealing themselves in their rightful place.

“Beautiful…”

Whether he…no…she… Whether she was or not was another question as her face dished, revealing a traditionally equine head, smoothly balanced and framed with long, mare-ish eyelashes, stunning in an equine fashion but by no means in the way of a human being. She was gorgeous as she lifted a hoof, trembling like a new born foal, her mane and tail flicking lightly, dampened by the sheen of sweat on her coat, spilling all the way down to the ground as if she was indeed a beauty to be admired and no more than that.

“You will make a finer broodmare than a barn hand any day.”

And such was the beginning of her new life as a mare.