Someone Came With Her, Part 6

Your hands are wracked by a spasm of pain as they transform even further.  Your fingers blend together, forming one giant digit for each hand.  The two digits flare out and flatten, morphing into hooves.

You had played around with these sort of fantasies online, but to experience it was...downright horrifying.

“Cute, aren't they?” says Trask, his smile widening.

Enraged, you take another swing at him.  You would have connected had it not been for a horrific cramp in your back.

“Why do you keep standing up like that?  It's not natural for you.”

That triggers yet another spasm.  Your back contorts, and and it feels like your spine is being squashed in a trash compactor.  A second later you feel the same horrible compression in the bones of your legs, and you cry out again.  The clothes you're wearing are getting baggier and baggier as you shrink.

After the pain subsides enough for you to regain your focus, you find yourself staring into Trask's grinning face.  Growling, you try to headbutt him.

All you end up doing is just bonking him lightly on the nose.  He snickers at this.

“Trying to nuzzle me, now, are you?  How adorable!  You have such a cute little snout.  And who couldn't love those big green eyes of yours!  But mind your horn.  I don't want you poking anyone with it.  Oh, and look at those pointy little ears!”

This is the worst one yet.  The pain is outright blinding now as your head changes to accommodate his whims.  Your eyes widen and shift, granting you a greater field of vision as they switch from “predator” configuration to “prey.”  Your ears are yanked upwards, morphing into more equine versions.

A white-hot spike of agony stabs you in the forehead as a short spiral horn emerges from it.  You want to scream, but your jaws are too busy stretching out into a short muzzle.

Trask steps back, admiring his handiwork.  “You're coming along quite nicely, if I do say so myself.”

You charge at him, knowing it will bring you more pain.  But you just want to get one more hit in—one more, goddammit!

“Don't trip on that -exquisitely- long tail of yours,” he comments as you do just that.  “Did I mention how well it matches your mane?  Lustrous white with platinum streaks...truly stunning.”  No sooner has he said that when your new mane spills into your eyes.

You left your pants behind when you charged at Trask, leaving you in nothing but a tent-like t-shirt.  Now you try to pull the garment off, desperate to get untangled.

“Here, let me help you,” Trask says.  He kneels down and lifts you out of your shirt, leaving you naked, insofar as that term could be applied to a creature covered with fur.

Looking down at your form, you gasp with shock.  He's turned you into a little white unicorn pony!

You try to wrench yourself free of his grip, but he's too strong and you're now only about half the size of an adult human.

“Oh, don't try to leave just yet,” says Trask.  “There's one more thing for you to see, young miss.”

You want to retch with pain and fear as your genitals twist and invert.  Your manhood is swallowed by a growing slit, becoming a marehood.  Your two Orbs of Dudeness are the next casualties, getting sucked in to become ovaries.

Two small mounds emerge from your crotch, and you gulp as you realize what they are.

“What do you think, little pony?  Go on, speak up.  I'd like to hear that wonderful voice of yours.”

“I think you should go fuck yourself,” you snarl.  In an instant your hooves fly to your mouth, your eyes going even wider than they were before.  Your voice...goddammit, your voice!  It's so high and sweet and melodious, the exact opposite of what it was before!

The horror of your transformation finally catches up to you, and you realize that your eyes are starting to water.  Your breathing is rapid and shallow: you're entering a full-fledged panic attack.

Trask smiles sadistically and sets you down on your unsteady hooves.

“Run away, little pony,” he says.  “You should settle down and find yourself a nice stallion.  I'm sure your foals will be -precious.-”

His voice sounds distant and distorted as panic strangles your mind.  You need to get away; you need a place to rest.

You need a place to scream and cry yourself to sleep.

Trask gives you a slap on the hindquarters. “Didn't you hear me, miss?” he asks. “Run, or I'll hit you with a regression spell, too.”

Somehow your legs finally cooperate.  Although you stumble at first, you quickly manage to break into a respectable gallop.  Fear has a way of teaching you to run, even with your new legs.