(F to Cow, F to Donkey, Fs to Pigs)

Princess Dahlia closed her eyes, a patient smile on her face. She had every right to be at ease—not only were Mira and Yvette tending to her every need, but she also had the pleasure of riding alongside Lady Hanna, the captain of her guard.

For a moment, she dared open one eye, just enough to catch sight of the blonde woman’s familiar scowl. Just the glimpse was enough to make Dahlia’s heart flutter, a familiar warmth rushing to her cheeks.

Yes, this was much better than having the woman ride outside with her lowborn knights.

“Princess, I must ask you sit still. We wouldn’t want me to slip now, would we?” Mira chuckled, dabbing a brush with a fine black powder. The carriage’s wheels skipped for a moment, the jolt enough to mar Mira’s latest stroke. “Ah.”

“I trust that to be a good sound, and not one deserving of punishment?” Dahlia closed her eyes again, smiling to herself. She didn’t have it in her heart to punish the help, but it never hurt to keep them on their toes.

Before Mira could reply, the horses whinnied and the carriage ground to a halt. There were a series of loud cracks, followed by the clattering of metal onto the ground. Another clatter came from inside the carriage, accompanied by a keen rasp of metal on metal.

Dahlia’s eyes opened to find her handmaidens pressed back against the carriage, eyes focused fearfully on Hanna’s bared blade. The knight wasn’t so much as looking at them; however. Her gaze was fixed on the carriage’s door.

Outside, the air was still, too still. Before, the buzz of insects and chirp of birds had led a cheerful background melody to their trip. Now…

Hanna took a step towards the door, her footfall impossibly loud in the carriage’s confines. Dahlia reached for the woman, her hands wrapping around the knight’s arm.

“I told you we should have taken the path better-traveled.” Came Hanna’s reply. She shrugged off the princess’s grip, calling out the names of her companions as her boots hit the dirt. There were a pair of soft crunches, which could only have been the woman’s boots on the ground. Then, nothing.

It had to be a game, or some sort of joke. It was certainly possible that her knights had been overcome by some sort of ambush, but Hanna would at least have let out some sort of cry. Doubtless, she and her knights were quietly waiting outside, having a good, quiet laugh at the princess’s expense.

Dahlia immediately pushed for the door, heedless of her handmaiden’s warnings. “Enough of this!” She announced. So what if it dirtied her shoes? She had plenty of spares. Right now, she needed to see… Something that she didn’t fully comprehend.

Hanna was frozen still, a look of consternation on her face. Across from her stood a redheaded woman, who looked at Dahlia with amusement. It wasn’t the sort of humor that a jester might have for their crowd. This was akin to a cat gazing upon a plump mouse.

“Is this yours?” The stranger drawled. It took Dahlia a moment to realize she was referring to Hanna. Without waiting for an answer, the woman continued. “She seems intelligent enough. Doubtless, she protested you coming this way.”

“She did… And you are?” Dahlia lifted her head, determined not to be outclassed by some roadside harlot.

Yvette gasped from past the princess’s shoulder. “Milady, that’s Roxann, the Red Witchrrnk!” Her light tones turned into an unkempt, coarse snort. A heavy thump followed her words, soon followed by a shriek from Mira.

Dahlia turned to see a fat, squealing sow flop heavily from her carriage, the shredded tatters of Yvette’s dress stubbornly clinging to her form. Mira reached out towards the sow, only to wail again as her fingers twitched.

Her hand balled to a fist, then further into a shapeless, mass. It was like she’d been turned to clay, and was being reshaped by some cruel artisan. Whatever was molding her hand pulled her forward, and she spilled onto the ground in a heap.

The princess stared in unbridled disgust as her handmaiden’s body began to inflate. What was once a loose dress soon grew tight enough to perfectly outline her corpulent, fat frame.

“PhghhREEnceth!” Mira stumbled over her words, a swollen tongue pairing with new, ugly tusks to render speech near impossible. She shook her head, nose twitching as she snuffled, ears flopping wider, larger, swatting her cheeks. “Hurrlp mRUUI!”

With that, a tail corkscrewed from her backside, piercing a hole through her dress. Like the first crack in a pane of glass, a web of runs made their way through the dress. Soon nothing was left but scraps of memories, which the new pig sniffed at curiously.

“Princess? Well, you will be worth a pretty penny… Even if they don’t pay a ransom.” Roxann spoke with a callous grin. “Which means I don’t much need a knight anymore, do I?”

“No!” Dahlia might as well have been crying against the tide. She could do nothing as her fancied bodyguard’s ears shot well above her head, a gasp breaking from her parted lips only come out as a bestial bray.

“HRAAWWWW! N-no!” It was clear Hanna meant to turn and strike at the witch, but found her sword tumbling away from heavy hooves. Her feet joined her hands seconds later, and she dropped onto her changed hands, kicking out with her back hooves at the empty air.

Roxann had already stepped past her. The woman’s smile widened at the sight of Dahlia’s face, eyes lingering on the dark blotch of makeup her servant had left. “What a lovely idea.”

A feeling washed over Dahlia, like the change in the air just before it rains. She looked down at her arms to find dark splotches settling across her skin. The inky stains brought with them a rush of panic, and she looked up to the witch.

No pleas came, nor did any futile cries of resistance. She was simply too terrified to admit where she’d seen such spots before. After all, though her place was far from the barn, she still fancied herself the indulgence of a nightly glass of milk.

“PrHEEncHAWWs!” Hannah kicked out again, shaking her head in rage. Her teeth grew thick and blocky, and lips that Dahlia had yearned to kiss swelled and grew a thin fuzz.

Dahlia looked out to her knight, taking a perverse comfort in the fact that no matter what happened to her, their fates would be somewhat shared. A cramp in her gut distracted her, doubling her over. It was a fullness, as though she’d eaten too much, yet there was something else behind it.

Or… Rather… Below.

Dahlia groaned, pressing at a new bulge below her expanding gut. It was shockingly sensitive, enough to steal her balance away. She fell onto her side with a hug, rolling onto her hindquarters to press against it again.

This wasn’t just fullness. It was pressure, begging to be released. And the second she touched it, the pressure only built. It expanded, multiplied, ached. It centered around four spots, which swelled into new, wonderful things that could only be called nipples.

She feverishly pawed at them and each of her kicks dug a small furrow in the ground, tearing her stockings. Dahlia didn’t notice, too preoccupied with the wonderful trickle of milk that leaked from her new udder.

“Careful, can’t have you milk yourself. It wouldn’t be dignified.” Roxann’s words cut through the haze of pleasure like a knife through butter, and Dahlia yelped as her posture shifted. Her arms and legs stiffened to extend at awkward angles, giving her a perfect view of her hands and feet as they turned into hooves.

The only comfortable pose for her was to sit like some dumb dog, legs splayed out and arms so tantalizingly close from her milky udder, yet unable to press against it. It was absolutely shameful, and yet the only thing gushing through Dahlia’s brain was the urge, the need to release that pressure.

Her eyes met those of her Hanna’s. To her horror, she found that a startling humanity remained within the donkey’s brown orbs. But… If there was any intelligence left, then maybe she’d still listen to Dahlia’s orders.

“Milk me!” Dahlia gasped with wanton need.

Roxann laughed, but offered no comment. In a way, her judgmental silence was worse than any barb she could have thrown.

Dahlia could see the shock in Hanna’s eyes, the mix of confusion and betrayal. It hurt, but any guilt she might have felt was soon overcome by a wave of mind-numbing pleasure. The donkey’s coarse lips clamped around one of her nipples, sucking on it thirstily.

It was perfect.

“Muh… MOOO!” Dahlia leaned back on her spotted ass, letting moos spill from past her lips. She could feel milk draining from her, and with it came a rich, creamy pleasure. She quivered in bliss, waiting for the last changes to overcome her, for her face to be stolen from her; then her mind.

But nothing more came.

“Moo!?” She blinked stupidly, crossing her eyes at a petite nose that had no place on a bovine body.

“I can hardly ransom you without proof as to who you are, can I?” Roxann chuckled. “Though I’m not in the mood for any back-talk, so I’ll just keep your voice.”

“Moo!” Dahlia flushed, humiliated by the animal sounds slipping past her full lips. But that was the only protest her new body could offer the witch. All she could do was sit in a heavy, humiliated silence, a silence occasionally broken by the brays and snorts of her companions.