Joan's portrait began like any of her paintings so far. A simple charcoal pencil sketch on paper to work out the layout and themes of the planned painting. First, a series of circles and lines were mapped out to put everything into context, and sized correctly. So practiced was she at this stage she needed little correcting or redrawing. She looked down at the sketch. It would be a view from behind, ass out, upper body turned to look at the viewer. Perfect....
Once the rough outline was done and she knew where everything would go, it was transferred and recreated on canvas.
"Now for the features" she giggled. First she sketched on her hooves and added digitigrade legs up to her crotchtits, *no, let's make if a proper udder*. She thought. " and no point in having tits with such a juicy udder." She drooled, glossing over the chest and adding more girth to the udder. "Teats... Nice and big. Yum yum yum". Cock sized teats were next.
Joan paused and looked down at her own body, she pawed her breasts and pushed them out of the way, looking down at the second pair sitting on her lower abdomen. She frowned. They so would look better as an udder, she thought.
"A lovely udder, fucking Henry loves udders doesn't he, just not my one... Not big enough... Tasteless prick... I'm way hotter than that fat ugly cow"
Grimacing she drew in the outline of her new black leathery goat pussy next. She was proud of how good she was now of painting it. She'd gotten to the point where she could get it looking as glossy and black looking as it was in real life. That simple animalistic slit between two bulging, fat, leathery lips. "God, who wouldn't want to stick their face in that." she panted.
Her saggy balls were next, but doing the round wasn't doing them any justice. Bigger, more lemon-drop shaped. Like that buck she'd interacted with in the forest. A penis followed, poking out and holding up the udder, though, on resketch, it became pointy and wiry, like that goat she'd met out. The thought even now of having fucked an animal sent her heart racing.
"Oh man, that stud knew what hotness was." She licked her lips. That had been an encounter to remember. How she'd gone out to mark her territory, how he'd approached her from behind. Fucking her, rutting with her, and giving her her wonderful goat pussy.
She blushed at the memory of passing out after, and went a deeper shade of crimson at the memory of what she'd done after waking up. Exhausted but feeling desired, she'd returned to the cabin and her room. A feeling of creativity and perversion rose in her then, and she felt a wonderful terrifying need to mark the occasion. The occasion of her first brush with her animalistic side. How better to capture this brush with a brush of her own, she had thought.
Preparing a pallet she collected evidence of her most shameful yet delightful act. Mixed in with the pigments she prepared, were the juices and fluids of their rutting. Goat cum, and doe juices, collected running down the insides of her thighs and plastering her slit. How perverse had it been that she'd brought some of this mixture to her lips beforehand. How shameful and cruel that she'd thought the taste and smell better than that of her husbands.
She looked over at the painting that had come from this event. It was her best work, and probably the only whollly accurate, non embellished painting out of all her work. An accurate re-telling of the event, goat on changing woman; she loved it dearly.
Her mind, drifting back to the event, had continued to sketch out the rough outline on canvas of what she wanted; not just what she wanted to create on the canvas, but what she wanted to create, like that moment locked in time. She gasped as she realised what she'd sketched. She'd sketched herself, not with goat features, but as a goat; wholly and fully a goat.
She took a step back and looked around, eyes drawn to her masterpiece. The start of all of her new wave of painting. There she was, a woman with goaty parts. Her eyes then drifted from painting to painting, across the walls, floor and furniture of the room. In each a portrait of a woman slowly turning more and more into a goat. Until finally, her eyes landed on her newest sketch.
"This one has to be special." Joan decided. Placing down her tools. Searching around, she picked up an empty mixing pot, and clutching it tight clopped from the room. A quick scout around the house located Henry out the back chopping wood, Jess in her cabin engrossed in her book, and Jennifer she could hear clopping upstairs.
With a grin of excitement, Joan slipped from the front door and out across the front garden into the tree line.