You woke up again in a pool of sweat. That fuzzy mound of doe lust between your legs was nagging for your attention yet again. That night, every hour on the dot your reindeer tail sprung up as another wave of gooey need enraptured your loins.
“Can’t. Touch. It. Can’t. Make. It. Worse.” You gasped between your teeth as you bite your pillow. Your hips quiver. Your legs try to quench the tiny fire burning between your thighs by clamping down on your swollen vulva, only to hear a wet “squelch” slop underneath your soaked panties. Nothing was working. Pressure was rising; about to explode. Wresting yourself from your bed, your sprint out of your bedroom to the sanctuary of your bathroom.
“Gross… gross.” You cried with steamy huffs of breath as your fingers desperately fiddle with the elastic hem of your panties. They’re so slick and slimy they form an air-tight seal with the reindeer hide underneath, the outline of your camel toe protruding underneath the thin fabric. You finally managed to catch it as your hop out of your soiled underwear, carelessly flinging them against the wall as you flop down on the toilet seat. Then, you released it. A dam of deer piss erupts from inside you, safely collecting in the toilet bowel. You lean back as you let loose, relaxing as you catch your breath and collect your thoughts.
Despite your best wishes, it was just getting worse. Constantly needing to pee, constantly feeling wet. You were a slave in your own body, trapped by the whims of your new bestial vagina.
As the flow of urine abated you idly grabbed a few squares of toilet paper and bring them down to your crotch to soak of some of that moisture. You pinched the mound of your swollen labia, kneading it between your fingers as you blot up some of its slickness with the wad of paper. It was like rubber between your fingers; supple, but still silky soft and warm. You sighed in unwanted pleasure, gently dragging that toilet paper further towards the cleft of your opening. Squirming on the toilet seat you felt your doehood squelch open just a little, accepting your finger tips inside as your attempt to clean as best you can. Your knees were jittering as you hunch forward.
“Oh God.” you moaned, “It feels like it’s starting again.” Your pussy was starting to dilate, the smooth velvety flesh brushing up further against your finger as it began to blush and swell yet again. It’s as if it’s beckoning you to indulge - to lose yourself in another wave of cervine bliss.
You resisted, yanking your hand away, dropping the wadded up toilet paper into the ocean of doe urine. You steadied yourself on the side of the sink and stand up on your still quivering legs, grasping onto the sinks edges and looking at yourself in the mirror.
It was you, but different. It was hard to place, but it looked like your “edges” were smoother. You looked a bit androgynous. There was less facial hair, less acne. Your skin looked shinier too, almost glowing in the incandescent lights buzzing above you. And your butt…
You rubbed your hand across your ass to take stock of it. It felt rounder and flabbier, jiggling as you cupped it in your palms. There was also a tiny coating of velvety brown fuzz - reindeer fur.
You let out a resignating sigh. Sure. You looked different to you, but would anyone see the changes too? “Has anyone else gone through this?” You wondered to your self, giving you an idea.
“UuuRRrrr”
Your stomach suddenly rumbled, hungry after the whole ordeal. You put your idea on the back burner for a minute and quietly head downstairs for a midnight snack. To your surprise, your mother seems to have redecorated the kitchen since you last were down. Candy canes, gingerbread houses, and cookies - the whole kitchen would have rivaled Mrs. Claus’s bakery at Christmas Eve. Everything just looked so festive and gaudy. You never saw her decorate for a holiday this much in your whole life. Why now? You were turning into a reindeer and now she does this. Was she trying to mock you?
Despite all the decorations, you were feeling less Christmas-y than ever. You raided the fridge of food feeling so hungry that you swiped to trays of Christmas cookies and a whole carton of egg nog. The cookies looked disgustingly sweet and you never really liked eggnog, but it was basically all your mom seemed to have around, so you’d have to stomach it.
You carried your bounty up to your room, setting the eggnog and cookies on the nightstand as you grabbed your laptop and prepare to do some digging. “Help I’m turning into a reindeer and no one believes me.” You mouth out your search before plugging it into Google. The results are sparse, but the first link highlights almost the exact phrase. You bit the head off a gingerbread reindeer before diving into a forum post by some girl named Chelsea. She’s been downvoted to hell and branded as a troll and a weirdo in the comments, but you decided to read anyway.
“Growing reindeer parts…” You read out loud as you skim the post, “Everyone says it’s how I’ve always been… Constant waves of arousal… Fur… A tail…”
You took a swig of eggnog, agreeing with everything Chelsea had written; she must have the same problem you had. At least until…
“The thought of Christmas arouses me and I can’t stop it. I get horny when whenever a Christmas song starts playing.” You read, “I try to ‘gift’ my body to kind strangers to enjoy.”
You stared at the laptop screen feeling concerned as you chomp on another cookie. Those last two. Your condition wasn’t that bad. At least… not yet…
“It’s getting harder to stand on two legs…” You scrolled away, deciding you had enough of reading that. There’s some pictures down below, confirming what she was already describing.
One picture of her tail, another picture of some nascent antlers sprouting from her head. Looking at them just got you more and more concerned. She got better, right? She had to have posted a cure or something somewhere.
You scrolled to end of the post, the last thing being a movie file which you promptly downloaded. The file opens automatically when it finishes leaving you staring wide eye’d at her “biggest” problem of all.
Two feet or reindeer cock - fleshy pink pointed tip getting girthier and girthier as it traveled towards the base, ending in hairy folds of cervine sheath with two saggy buck testicles the size of soft balls.
You turned your head from the screen the instant you see it, but it’s already too late. The first frame of the video was etched inside your mind, your loins already inflamed in an abrupt fire of lust. You pushed the laptop away and roll up in a fetal position, squirming and writhing helplessly, trying to ignore the heat, ignore the pleasure. You just couldn’t let yourself touch it. You’d change more. You’d end up like Chelsea.
“WHAM!”
Your cheek slammed against the hardwood floor. The laptop, the bedspread, and your bottom joined you moments later as your plump thigh plops onto the cold floorboards.
The buck, Chelsea - the memory of hot animal flesh that you’re trying so desperately to exorcise from your groggy head continued to possess your loins undaunted.
“Please… stop… no…” You whimpered with a steamy sigh, biting your bottom lip in a feeble attempt to abait the sheer toe-curling pleasure, a quivering hand reaching down, pawing desperately at your bestial femininity.
Burning-hot drooling slickness, heat hot enough to melt ice matted your auburn reindeer fur that began to sprout on your thighs as your crotch ground itself against a sopping wet clump of bedsheets coiled around your body like a boa constrictor. You let out a short lust-soaked bleat as your finger caressed that velvety mound of slick, swollen deer flesh.
You grunted as your other hand caresses your bottom, gasping as you feel it stretching taut. The skin there was blushing pinker - not a human pink, but a fleshy animalistic pink as that skin gets thicker, developing into lush reindeer hide. You tail fluttered as your growing fur finally connects to its base, your bestial anus taking on a light pink color as it bloats out. The supple rim of doe muscle yanked upward, taking its place underneath your tail as the flesh puckers in on itself as it fattened into a donut of plump reindeer anus.
Your head bumped against the nightstand, toppling the cookies and eggnog to the ground - but that’s okay, you weren’t hungry for any of that. All you could think about was that steaming hot venison; long, thick, glistening with those sheath juices.
Your mouth drooled as your heart raced, the thought of him was embedded in your mind. The allure of rutting you until you were reduced to nothing but a bleating needy doe. The gift of stripping away your humanity and future so you’d be an animal, threatening to make each and every day of your life Christmas. You hated it, but you wanted it so bad.
You felt your toes curl up in primal bliss even more… more and more and… too much. That feeling of tortuously pleasurable tightness in your feet solidifies… onyx black keratin entombing your to toes in rock-hard cloven hooves as they writhe and clop against the floor boards. Your knees bent, arching backwards and shifting into a digitigrade stance as the pleasure interrupts any pain of your legs rearranging. Raw sinewy muscles interweaved and bulked up around your new hind legs right before a wave of that soft reindeer pelt covered them in a sea of reddish-brown deer fur with just a tuft of white feathering around your hooves.
Deer legs… you were half deer now. Half way into a doe… half way until…
You shrieked into the pillow as your legs wrapped around the dripping-wet blankets, tail flicking upwards as a rush of feminine heat erupted from your loins.
“I fucking… HATE…! CHRISTMAS!” You let out a muted scream into the pillow as the acrid smell of doe love flooded into the air. You smelled your sex, smelled your juices as they soaked your new furry legs as you fell into a deep, satisfied sleep.
———
“Hey! You’re gonna be late for school!” Your little sister pounded on the door, waking you up from the most relaxing rest you’re had since you began changing. You enjoy the the moment of just waking up, that relaxing moment before all the things going wrong in your life push their way back into the forefront of your mind.
“Oh yeah. I’m half deer now.”
Gritting your teeth, you clutched the edge of your nightstand, hoisting yourself up as your bottom half wobbles and sways like a newborn fawn. “Not on all fours… I’m not a damn animal…” You spat, practicing balancing on two hooves, falling forward just to catch yourself again. As much as your body wanted it… you resist the urge to be a quadruped, managing to balance yourself on two legs, even succeeding in a few confident, albeit wobbly practice steps.
You got dressed. Panties. Short skirt. And… you peered into your dresser, realizing all your shirts were gone. You didn’t have any tops, aside from a dozen Christmas sweaters that must have popped into existence over night.
“Santa’s Little Girl.” Your face puckered in disgust while reading the text emblazoned on the sweater. “Nice…”
You scooped up the dripping wet bed sheet and hurriedly carry them downstairs to the washroom before your mom sees the mess. You strangely have trouble just simply walking on your new legs and instead you felt yourself unconsciously skipping. As you skipped, you felt some sort of magic pick you up just a little, carrying you further than you would have otherwise thought. “This’ll take some getting used to…” you grumbled.
As you skipped into the washroom, you found that your mom is already there, catching you with those cum-drenched bedsheets.
“I… ummm…” You stammer, “I had an accident…”
Surprisingly, your mom didn't seem upset at all. In fact, she simply took them off your hands. “Oh, don’t worry about those old things.” She smiled, reaching to her side, handing you a new set of sheets, “Merry Christmas.”
They’re a dark, Christmas-y green with an image of Santa and his sleigh of reindeer flying through the night sky. Just looking at those reindeer… it made you feel sick…
“T-tis’ the season…” You sighed under your breath.