Morgan’s Year, Part 6: Another Year Later (Patreon)

The final part! I'll be putting up a poll for premium tier subscribers tomorrow or the next day for the next ongoing TF story!

Morgan the Witch decides to summon her old high school bullies before her, years after she developed her shapeshifting magical powers. Daniel, Caitlyn, Sasha, and Pete are in for a surprise, as she twists their forms in karmic rays, ranging from the more human, to the freakishly alien. Of course, there may be a chance for one of them to return to normal again. But just one.

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Morgan’s Year, Part 6: Another Year Later

And so Daishi cries out, legs spread wide as her attendants see to her every need. Her lord husband is not here; he is out in the countryside, ending the rebellion from an ambitious minor house. She has received word that he is near to returning, and that their house is secure once more. It gives the former football player strength as she is urged to push, the children within her ready to enter the world. Daishi is elated, even through the pain, that once more she is bearing twins into the world. A magnificent gift for her husband, and a sign that she chose rightly to remain in this timeline, as the Japanese wife of a powerful daimyo.

She knows what she has given up; the adoration of the crowds, the modern conveniences, the power and respect that comes automatically with being male. And on some dark nights she feels the call to be male again, and wonders what life would be like had she chosen differently. But when her children feed from her breast, or stir within her belly, or even now in the grips of her pain, begin their passage out of her and into the world she has chosen to remain within for them, she knows in her heart she is joyful to be a woman.

The old Daniel could never understand. He was a womaniser, but then he never knew what it was to be the single object of someone’s absolute love and lust, to have a powerful man hold him safely, and desire him so utterly fiercely. The many women in Daniel’s life never satisfied him for long, but as Daishi, her lord husband and her children satisfy her so completely that even in the grips of the occasional masculine embarrassment over her new form and life, she cannot bring herself to ever wish herself back.

Her attendants once more tell her to bear down and push. She cries out, bringing forth all her might as the womanhood Morgan cursed her with parts further, and a new life enters feudal Japan, and is added to the noble household she will be the mother of for life.

***

Caitlyn moos in response to Aurelia, her first calf, latching on to her udder and suckling at her milk-filled teat. She sighs, adjusting her cowgirl hat as she flicks some flies away with her tail, trying to ignore the feeling of bloatedness that no doubt signals that the latest dose of insemination organised by the Cawlton family has been a stirring success. At least, that's what they may think. True to Morgan's word, Caitlyn couldn't help herself from sneaking out while in heat and letting Hercules the bull mount her night after night until her estrus ended.

The cowtaur broodmare bites a bit of hay, sighs once more at the strange lot of her new life, and waits for Curtis to make his way down from the house to have his fun with her. It is, after all, the small pleasures of life that keep it worth living, even if they come from a horny boy with unusual tastes. It’s not like she can go anywhere else now that her body is permanently set, and the Cawltons are nice enough when they aren't making her pregnant with bull semen. She doesn’t have to pay for food, drink, or board - how could she? - and they still feed her well. Sometimes they almost treat her like one of them. All she has to do is give them milk - something her body gives her no choice or relief in anyway - and bear healthy new calves into the world from their strongest bulls. The latter she has given up arguing on. All she can do is get her small revenges, like showing off her much-too-impressive bust to a jealous Sarah, making Bill all kinds of awkward with them too, and of course, taking her pleasures from an increasingly infatuated Curtis. She strongly suspects he is gearing up to slip his own sperm into the insemination rod in a few years, once he gets up the courage. He’s certainly fantasised about it out loud enough, and it gives light to another prospect too; families like his have a thing for shotgun weddings, after all. Maybe if she got married to Curtis she could have more power to negotiate better quarters.

For now though, she exists for milking and calving. And she hates Morgan every moment for it, and will do so all the more when she feels the alien sensation of a calf within her beginning to stir and her waters break between her hind legs. Pushing a newborn cow calf out of her body was deeply unpleasant the first time, and she already knows she'll be doing it again in eight months.

For now, she attaches the pumps to her breasts and feels the sweet relief of being milked, knowing that whenever Curtis arrives, there will always be more for him to taste. After all, her body has literally been made for milking.

And it has plenty more to provide.

***

Sasha births and births and births and births and births. Her existence is one of straining, breathing, grunting, and pushing. Every hour, she can feel her body swelling with her grub-like children, their little many-limbed, pale-yellow bodies forming within her from a thousand thousand thousand inseminated eggs, each timed to perfection by her broodqueen body to replace the next. It never ends. In her dreams, Sasha finds some freedom, but in even then, her wonderfully agile human body often bloats and transforms mid-dream, life jostling within her alien belly, until she realises that life is shaping her dreams and she either wakes pushing yet another life from her abdomen’s opening, or she simply births them in her sleep, her dreams doing their best to mirror her endless reality.

In some ways, it is kind of amazing; she can always feel life forming within her, their many kicks and movements indicating they are soon to enter the world. She constantly sweats the milk that they lap up, sustaining her children until her many attendants judge them healthy enough to be moved from her abdomen and belly to make way for the new additions she is pushing out.

In other ways, it is a horrifying fate, especially knowing she is doomed to perform it for hundreds of years to come, only to eventually be replaced by one of her many, many daughters whose body will transform to take up the mantle of broodqueen. And yet, there is a small, detestable part of her that takes some smug satisfaction in bringing all this life into the world. At being the centre of attention for an entire species. A selfish enjoyment at being a Thalaxxian Queen. After all, Sasha the human had always loved being the hot, beloved, centre of attention with the rockin’ bod. It was why she was the head cheerleader. She loved nothing more than having all the boys be into her and being able to pick who she wanted at whim.

In a strange sort of way, Morgan has failed to take that from her. She is even more in the centre than ever - the Thalaxxian males practically worship her! - and she gets to choose which to inseminate her, to give variety to the colony. And while she can’t exactly dance anymore, she still has a rockin’ bod - at least by Thalaxxian standards. They love their queens big and round and fertilised.

She is halted from that thought. Her bulbous abdomen quivers as another little alien baby emerges through its end. Her four arms grip tightly to the pillowed dais and she briefly shut her eyes as she strains to birth it.

“You there,” she speaks in fluent Thalaxxian, her long tongue enunciating the alien language ever-clearer. “I need food, now. Something roasted with those spices I like, and a sweet drink.”

One of the Thalaxxian attendants named B’lu’rsd swiftly moves to attend to her every need.

“And get at least two drones to massage my milk ducts,” she commands, “Be quick, your Queen is hungry.”

To her immense satisfaction, her attendant skitters ever faster out of the developing complex they are constructing around her. It will be an immense colony, the first of many in this new world they have settled. And she will be the absolute centre of it.

Her womb squirms as yet more life begins within it, and life already preparing to enter the world. The broodqueen breathes slowly as she examines the mirrored walls, admiring her own alien form for the first time since Morgan had transformed her.

“So I’ll be number one of an entire world so long as I birth a ton of kids? Hmmm. Maybe, just maybe I can get used to this.”

But whether that sentiment sticks or not, she continues to birth the colony as its ever-fecund queen.

Now, and for a long many years to come.

***

Pete stretches his legs on his walk through the park. He is happy to be human again, to not be driven by instinct, to be able to live his own life with this second chance from Morgan.

He often thinks of Sasha, Caitlyn, and Daniel, and how their second chance was denied, their new bodies theirs forever. He'll never forget the sight of Sasha's enormous, truly alien body as it struggled to birth the many young within it, nor the former cheerleader's look of horror as she was flung back to her new species, doomed to live like that forever.

To think she's giving birth constantly right now. When I'm old she'll still be birthing. And Caitlyn as that cowgirl hybrid . . . what a life.

No one, including Caitlin he imagined, would ever have imagined her spending her life on a farm. Not that she had a choice now, he supposed. He just hoped the farmhands treated her well and kept her milked. She seemed pretty overflowing in the short time he got to see her new bovine body.

Though apparently she's getting bred . . . which part of her would even get pregnant? Both? Ugh!

At least Daniel seemed happy to remain a woman, excited for the life that grew within her. Strange to think the jock bully football star who once bullied Pete for his nerdiness from time to time was now a centuries deceased Japanese noblewoman. Pete had actually done some research on her, and managed to track down a historical record of the Daishi that he is pretty sure is the former-Daniel. Daishi Sazura became a much-beloved and respected wife and mother. Renowned for her fertility, she ended up giving her lord husband thirteen healthy children, eight of which were boys, and all of whom survived to adulthood and went on to great achievements.

I hope you were okay spending over a decade of your life pregnant with some dude's babies, Dan. Though I guess you lived in great comfort . . . for the time period. Especially since you lived to ninety-three.

And yet, compared to all of them, Pete has gotten off comparably light. The Mothman is a part of the past now. Gone, but never forgotten.

After all, Morgan has ensured some parts of that life will forever linger as a reminder . . .

***

When he returns after his early morning walk, Cynthia is in the kitchen.

"Morning neighbour," Cynthia says with a smile, before planting a kiss upon his lips. She wraps her arms around his neck to draw him closer. "I've made pancakes for us. Our little ones are craving them!"

For a moment a spike of fear goes up his spine that she is pregnant again, but her half-smirk reassures him.

"Not that, neighbour. At least . . . not yet. Still eating for just one. I’m talking about our moth babies."

She means Jen and Marcus, the Mothman babies she has birthed three months ago; a product of their chance union. His stomach growls, and she giggles a little. Her reaction makes him blush with guilt and embarrassment.

"Someone's hungry."

"That sounds amazing, Cynth. Truly.”

She smirks, pressing herself against him. "Still trying to deny your feelings for me, huh? What, because we’re tangled together by all these hormones? Because I was forced to carry your beautiful bug babies? Because we grew up as neighbours and friends, and we never meant to be lovers? Well, I like it. Stop worrying."

She kisses his cheek and saunters off to serve his plate, and to his deep shame he has half an erection. He knows if he tells her she'd get right down on her knees and sort that out for him. Which is why he doesn’t say it.

He regards his new lover’s form, dresses as she is in a set of blue panties and tank top that reveals her slim stomach. The pheromones go both ways between them thanks to Morgan’s influence; he can’t help but view the former girl next door, the one that helped him through hard times as a kid, who had such ambitions of her own, in a totally new light. In these last twelve months he has seen her with wanton arousal, much to his own disgust.

Before his change, he and Cynthia had drifted apart when she pursued the career life while he holed up in his parents’ basement playing videogames. He had, to his shame, even insulted her when she was undergoing puberty, mocking her for having no breasts. In return, she had attacked his own manhood, having never had a girlfriend that wasn’t pixelated. It was the cruel stake that nearly drove a wedge between them. In truth, she had been his first friend.

Now, thanks to Morgan’s lingering effects and his former neighbour’s monstrous pregnancy, they can’t keep themselves apart. They'd tried, at first. Cynthia had even bickered and snapped at him, particularly as her middle swelled, but it became clear that anger was her intentional way of distancing herself from him. And even that couldn't last forever.

One lonely night, when she was just four months along, she crept into his bed at night, nestled against him, and whispered the words he would never forget.

"I'm tired of fighting this Pete. I'm tired of fighting us. Let's just accept it. Together."

And so he had. He'd been too weak-willed to even argue back.

Now, a year later, he had come to appreciate his former friend’s form, particularly since her pregnancy. He had once seen her as an unofficial big sister, but now he viewed her in an altogether more taboo way. Her hips had widened considerably to birth their children, giving her a smooth hourglass figure, and her breasts had finally come out of hiding, swelling to a generous B-cup. A C-cup, when they were fuller with life-giving milk.

He'd stuck by her once he'd turned back, out of obligation to what he'd done. It was only weeks of strange feelings on both their sides - lingering glances, held hands, oddly warm words exchanged - that they realised the pheromones were still in effect. At this point, both had accepted they were never going away.

Sometimes humour made the situation more acceptable:

“Classic Pete; the only girl you can land is the one you grew up next to.”

“Classic Cynthia, so busy it’s easier to screw the kid from the old block than get into the dating scene.”

They both laughed. It was part of their new dynamic, as common as their lovemaking.

In the present, Pete eats his pancakes. They are just okay. He has a feeling that when it comes to the rest of their lives together - because indeed, he and his lover are no doubt going to have to remain a couple - he will be the house husband and stay at home dad to their little moth babies. Those little tykes are growing everyday, their inhuman features not yet totally pronounced and easily hidden, but certainly something they’d have to deal with as they grow. It was easier to think of them as human, for now.

Cynthia jolts him from his thoughts as she takes his plate from him.

“The preparations are nearly ready,” she grins. “Soon you can say goodbye to Cynthia Lentis, and say hello to Cynthia Mable!”

She draws in close, pressing her breasts against his back and hugging him from behind. She whispers sensually into his ear. “And then we can just give into the pheromones and just accept that we’re stuck to each other for good, neighbour.”

Pete feels his member stiffen at her touch. Cynthia wants to get married. Has already planned the whole thing. He remembers she had always wanted to get married once her career was established. Now that that particular plan is shot, she still wants a perfect white wedding. Both of them know it is only a matter of time before their carelessness blesses her with a bulging belly, and she wants to be married as soon as possible before that happens again.  And if that means, in this new life of theirs, that she will be marrying not someone she loves, but instead someone who’s pheromones aggressively target her physiology and arousal, then so be it. She’ll just have to roll with the punches, fall in love if not lust, and commence the legal proceedings so it can all be official. Everything from here will follow her life plan; no doubt she’ll even be encouraging him to get her pregnant so she can have her desired four children. Five, if she doesn’t get two girls and two boys for parity.

Pete tries to smile, and finds he can manage it. He knows Cynthia; she is driven, hard-headed, adaptable, and will always achieve what she aims to achieve. For her, becoming compelled to be her nerd neighbour’s lover is just an obstacle in the road to her succeeding in life. He almost admires her ability to derive some enjoyment from her compelled situation..

And as she walks away, hips swinging wide, off to feed their little twins, he hopes one day he can enjoy their union to the full too. Even if it means that once more, he is manipulated and under the thumb of a woman completely out of his league. A reward with its own punishments.

Exactly the kind of fate Morgan has intended for him.

***

Morgan enters a new city. She loves cities. They are so full of life, excitement, culture and crime. And also rudeness. And banality. And pettiness. And snobbery. And bullying. All the spices of life and sin that require punishment, especially disproportionate punishment. A year ago, she punished a group of former bullies. She hardly cares what became of them: their fates are their fates, to deal with as they desire or fail to. What concerns her now is the fresh excitement of new bullies, new rude customers, angry assholes, and belligerent tourists. So many to transform and change, and so little time.

“Time for another magical night,” she says to herself.

She walks into the night, a smile upon her face.