By: Socks the Catt
© 2005 Socks Furrotica
Charles walked from his office building with confidence.
His. Hobart Securities and Trust was all but his now. In
fact the world was his, the world just didn't know that yet. Not
that it mattered to Charles, he knew his place was to be the ruler of
it all. Not politically, but where the true power was. In
money. In power over others. Buying out those he couldn't
force out of the picture was just a part of the game. Nothing
personal, it's just business. And he had plans to buy a lot.
"Chuck!" Charles didn't stop walking even as the man ran up
behind him. "Chuck? I'm amazed I ran into you! You're
"It's Charles." He said, sounding annoyed. "And I've got places
"Don't you remember me?" the other man said, keeping pace. "From
high school? Jeff? We hung out a lot behind the movie
theater and stuff? I can't believe you're here! Working in
the same building as me! You look good!"
"I should, the suit cost enough." Charles said, still not breaking his
"We should get together again, like old times." Jeff said. "We
can hit the bars and..."
Charles stopped, and Jeff ran into his back. Charles then turned
to face the man. "Look... Jeff, right?" Jeff
nodded. "For all I care the little geek club I had in high school
is a long dead memory. In fact, everything before I left that
podunk little town is a bad memory that I'm choosing to let wither and
die. That includes you, and anyone else I knew back then.
People like you make me sick. If you had any drive you wouldn't
be working under me. Now go away before I have you fired.
If you haven't heard I'm about to be named the Vice President of my
company and I have appointments to keep."
Jeff stood stunned as Charles pivoted and walked away. Jeff
watched his old friend walk away, shook his head, and pulled out his
In the parking garage Charles was thinking of the night
ahead. He'd go out with that sow of a woman the President called
his daughter, and figure out if she was actually of any use as a human
being. Pumping his secretary for information was always a good
time investment, especially when he could fit her in between
signings. He got a lot of information between pumps. Of course
he'd just accidentally run into the bosses daughter at the bar he knew
she liked to hang out at. He already had her friends around his
finger, she wouldn't be much of a challenge.
He beeped his BMW, and got into the driver seat. He put his cell
phone on the dash, and fumbled in his pocket for the earpiece. He
happened to look up through the windshield and saw a homeless man
there. He held a sign that said "I need money for food", and his
unclean appearance repulsed Charles. He made a mental note to
tell security about this waste of a man in the garage as he waved with
his arm. "MOVE IT!" he shouted.
The man stood there, looking vacantly at the car. Charles started
his car, and revved the engine to show he meant business. The man
didn't budge. When Charles was about to put the car into gear to
run into the homeless man, a white smoke began to billow through his
vents. "What the..." He revved the engine in reflex,
causing more of the smoke to roll in. He began to cough and gag
on the smoke. He reached for the doors, but they were
locked. He tried for his phone, but he couldn't see straight
enough to reach for it. The last thing he saw was the homeless
man folding up his sign casually, and putting it into his overcoat.
Jeff walked dejectedly into the bar. A few of his friends waived
him over to a more private area they had gotten earlier, and he sat
down. "We got you a beer." Cathy said.
"Thanks." Jeff said.
"You know it's for the better good." Peter said.
"I do." Jeff nodded. "But that doesn't mean I can't hope."
"Look, you've seen how he is now." Cathy said. "And you know what
he's doing to the secretaries he has, I mean by God he tried to feel me
up looking for a wire he thought Jansen put on me to spy on him?
And I can't imagine what he's doing to the other girls."
"You can't say they all don't like it, babe." Peter said. The
smaller group laughed, and Cathy slapped him jokingly. Peter
looked at Jeff. "But you were the last holdout. Why did you
change your mind?"
"He's not Chuck anymore." Jeff said, sipping his beer. "I'm sorry
guys, I just don't feel like celebrating. I should probably go."
"Like hell." Cathy said, grabbing his arm. "You're staying right
here until we hear from them. That's the deal. Everyone
accounted for." Jeff sighed, and the room started to get louder
as the drinking went on. He looked around and saw most of the
staff he worked with, and a lot of people he didn't. He shook his
head, pouring himself a beer from the pitcher.
Charles woke up, feeling his mouth filled with something nasty and
wet. Cloth, he thought. Tasted awful. He couldn't
see, he had something taped on his head that pressed into his eyes and
pushed his head into a surface of some kind, it was so hard to think
rationally. He tried to move his arms, and found they had been
somehow bound to whatever he was laying on. He had an inch or two
of movement, at most. He then became aware of the cold metal on
his back, and realized he was naked. Whoever did this to him
would dearly pay for this.
His commotion caused movement away from his table. "You're
awake." The voice said clinically. Whoever it was sounded
slightly muffled, like he had something over his mouth. Charles
tried to speak, but found the cloth in his mouth made his jaw and
tongue numb. "Save your energy. Not like you'll need it,
but I hate to see effort wasted. Struggle if you must, you are
not going anywhere."
Charles tried to rip his arm free, and was rewarded with searing pain
as the strap cut into his wrist. He thrashed as violently as his
well toned body could, but to no reward. He tried to yell, but
whatever was in his mouth made it impossible to scream, or speak, or do
anything but breathe through his mouth. After a minute of
fighting, he lay on the table panting, moving from side to side trying
to make his wrists and ankles stop hurting.
"Are you quite through?" the voice asked. Charles wanted to spit
the cloth out of his mouth, but didn't have the energy to even do
that. "Good. We can begin." Charles could hear small
metal objects being moved next to him, and the man just spoke.
"I've already done the worst to you I will do, and you'll need to
believe me. What I'm about to do is nothing compared to what I
could have woken you up for." The voice sighed. "But, I
need you awake for this part, to make sure that it does not kill
you. Or worse."
Charles felt something wipe on his upper forearm, and a very strong
hand pressed his wrist to the table. "If you fight me this will
be more painful than it needs to be." Charles was still panting,
and couldn't fight back. He felt a sharp sting, and after a few
moments something was taped at mid forearm and he could feel some
foreign object imbedded in his arm. "This will take some
time. If you fight I will be forced to bind you harder for your
own safety. You may feel a sharp sens..."
Charles didn't hear any more, his skin felt like it was on fire all the
way up his arm and his head exploded in a buzzing noise. He tried
to scream, but nothing came out. He felt a tap on his chest as
the fire sensation crawled to meet it. Charles wondered if this
is what it felt like to die.
Jeff was on his fifth beer when the private room came to a
silence. Ann was talking into a cell phone. "Yes, we're all
here." Pause. "I'll let them know. Thank you."
She turned off the phone, and looked at the crowd. "It's
done." There was a cheer, except for Jeff.
He closed his eyes, and said a silent prayer. "Forgive me Lord,
but I know this is for the better good." He made the sign of the
cross, and tried to drown himself in the remainder of alcohol.
Charles was panting hard, whatever it was in his mouth was making his
chest feel numb now, a welcome relief from the agony he just
endured. He could hear the man putting small tools away on a
metal surface. "It's my policy to tell you what you shouldn't
do. Don't exercise for the next three days. You'll try, but
you won't be able to do anything. They all try. I wouldn't
recommend heavy lifting either, not that you would. Oh, and
sex. Don't try it for three days. If you do, I can't
guarantee you'll enjoy it. If you thought the injections were
painful, sex will be enough to make you a monk." The man laughed
as Charles tried to wish the agony would stop. When he felt his
body become heavy and his head light, he welcomed the sleep.
Charles woke up with the alarm at 5:45 on the dot. He sat up in
bed like a shot, and looked around. He was in his condominium, in
his bed, in his pajamas. Perhaps it was a dream? He turned
on a light, and inspected his arms and wrists, no marks or blood or
wounds of any kind. Same with his ankles, and as much of his body
that he could account for. When he stood up, the world spun in
all directions at once. It was more than his stomach could
handle. He crawled his way to the bathroom and vomited.
"Hobart Securities and Trust" Cathy said mechanically. "Main
desk. ... Oh, Hello Mr. Reynolds. ... I'm sorry you're sick
today, shall I inform your appointments? Yes Sir, try to
rest. Feel better tomorrow." She tried to sound sincere
before she hung up, then she called up his appointment book on her
computer monitor. She smiled to herself, even if the stuff didn't
work she got a day off from his groping.
Charles tried to make calls from his home, which comforted him to know
he was still being productive. He still got in his required
workload, but barely. Between the sickness he felt and the
helplessness he experienced at being this ill so suddenly put him on
edge for a whole day. He tried to figure out what had happened
the night before, only to draw a blank. He knew something
happened, but there was no evidence. The security records of his
building said he had arrived home at 7:34 PM, or at least his car
did. But he wasn't in the mood to care. He told his
building security to look at the tapes. They showed him his car's
tinted windows drive into the garage. Charles made it an early
Jeff saw Charles come in almost two days after his rumored sick
leave. He didn't want to see Charles. Jeff ducked into an
elevator so he wouldn't have to look his old friend in the eye.
Not that Charles would remember him, but he couldn't do bring himself
to it. Nobody was supposed to say anything. Nobody was
supposed to let on they knew. At least it would be over soon,
Jeff consoled himself.
Charles got on to normal living when his illness broke, and tried to
push it out of his mind. He got over his flu in a few days, and
he felt fine. For some reason he couldn't bring himself to sex,
even with the office "couch queen" he had flings with in the
office. It just wasn't something he was interested in, for some
reason. Even if he felt better, the night still haunted him.
Some weeks later, a memo was passed around the office. "Charles
Reynolds will be promoted in a company only ceremony on Friday, 1 PM."
Charles looked at the notice and smiled. The company seemed to
like to make official announcements after these ceremonies, and he knew
the clout "Vice President" would carry in his circles. It was
only a matter of time to work on the President's daughter. He
knew she was a virgin, and based on her face and body he knew
why. But he could get an in with the family, as the president
only had daughters to pass his business onto. Just another step
to the ultimate game. Be the son he never had, and the "good old
boy network" would do the rest.
Friday came, and Charles was calm as could be. He had rehearsed
the lines, he memorized the speech he paid a lot of money for, he knew
how to play the game. Most of the employees would be there, to
witness his triumph, and he knew how to rub this in all their noses
while still coming off as a hero. This would be his moment.
The small auditorium filled with people from the company, filed in just
after their lunch break. Cameras focused on a small podium, and
the President took the stage to polite applause. He nodded to
them all, and smiled. "Ladies and Gentlemen. Today is a
very special moment for us all."
Backstage, Charles straightened out his jacket, cleaning the lapels
with his hand. He looked in a mirror, and made sure his hair
looked perfect. This would be a major stepping stone, he had to
look flawless. He smiled to himself. He had this one nailed.
"After much consideration, I have chosen a man who is very deserving
for this position." The President said. "I would like to bring
him out now, Mr. Charles Reynolds!" Charles strode out on stage
like he owned the place, which in his mind he did. Charles nodded
and smiled at the clapping, which seemed somewhat enthusiastic.
"Charles, I would like to welcome you to your new position. And I
don't want anyone to think you're just a talking head here. You
got here on your own merits. So it's with great pleasure I would
like to give you the stage." He extended his hand to Charles, who
took it and shook. Charles never saw the President's other hand
reach into his pants pocket. The President looked into Charles's
eyes as he pressed the first button on the small remote.
Charles basked in the applause given for a few moments. He
casually reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the
script. "Thank you. I am truly humbled, and honored to be
given this position in Hobart Securities and Trust. In the last
few yeaarrrr..." Charles stopped, and cleared his throat.
"Excuse me." He continued. "In the last few years
HobaarrrrrrRRRR!!!" His throat suddenly felt raspy, and he
reached for the glass of water on the podium. It couldn't be
nerves, probably just air conditioning kicking in he thought.
Trying to look unshaken, he started over. "In the last few years,
Hobart Securities and Trust has been conserrRRRRrraaaaaaaAAA!!!!"
He grasped the podium with both hands, and looked into the
audience. They stared back at him, not laughing or looking
embarrassed for him. They sat politely, like good wage
slaves. The unblinking cameras were trained on him, and he felt a
little nervous suddenly.
"CONSERVATIVE!" he shouted out. "Conservative." He said a little
calmer, standing as straight as he could to regain composure. He
ran his hand through his hair once, and took in a deep breath.
Trying to focus himself, calm himself. "We have been conservative
in our investment strategy." Having gotten the line out
completely, he smiled to himself. All was better now.
"As a financial institution we must be ready to flow and ebb with the
times." He took in a breath. "Flow and ebb with the times."
He found himself saying again, even tough it wasn't in the
script. He shook his head slightly, and the words seemed to
jumble on the page. He felt a little dizzy, and tried to remember
the speech as he memorized it. "We can not
thrrRRAAAAAAWWWWWWWWW!!!" He arched his lower back and threw his
shoulders behind him with this call, sounding animalistic as his head
arched, allowing the sound to flow from his throat unburdened.
When his shoulders threw backwards, he chest made an audible crack that
was heard without the microphones by the people in the back of the
room. Charles screamed out in pain as his neck made a loud pop as
well. He could feel something happening in his body, somehow he
was gaining mass as his belly and chest began to expand. The bone
structure of his chest was pushing the skin forward with loud snaps and
Charles looked at the audience, panic beginning to overtake him.
"HELP ME!" he screamed. "Someone HELLLLLLLRRAAWWWWWWW!!!"
This sound came from deep in his chest, and he could feel his
throat get larger, expanding his vocal chords. The audience
stared at him, not running in fear but watching in utter
fascination. He couldn't help but see a few smiles in the
audience. His eyes grew wide.
The President walked over casually to Charles, who could feel his skull
reforming. He could sense the skin of his body being pulled tight
as it expanded around bone mass that was alien to him. The
President looked at Charles, and simply smiled. "And you really
thought my daughter would have sex with a slime ball like you?"
Charles looked over and tried to ball his hand into a fist but was
rewarded with shooting pains through his body. He let out squawks
of pain as he unclenched his fist.
The President smiled, and motioned off stage. Two men entered
from off stage, and removed the podium. Charles had nowhere to
hide now. He tried to run but the twinge of motion made his body
wrack with pain. He tried to cover up, but his body wasn't
reacting to his desires. "You messed with my company, and my
friends." The President said. "And you royally screwed up a lot
of lives trying to own my family's company. Not just the people
you stepped on, but all the people you used. See I was going to
have you killed, but that's too messy. Relocation wouldn't work
because I know you'd just jump to another company if you weren't under
my control. Seeing as I can't have you blabbering my company
secrets to anyone like you did for me when you first came here, you're
being relocated, permanently."
The President walked off stage, leaving Charles alone on the
stage. Charles barely had time to figure out what he was talking
about. His shirt felt tight, then his jacket. He realized
he couldn't move his hands to take them off. The decision was
made for him, as his suit split along the seams. His shirt was
ripped as well, and only held on his shoulders with his expensive
tie. He also felt his arms balloon in size, making his shirt rip
further as he outgrew it's tailored size.
He heard more seams being torn, and looked at his feet. His shoes
had begun to balloon out as well, "NAAWWWWRRRRRRRAAAAAA!!!" he tried to
scream as the pain if his constricted feet. Finally, his shoes
split along the back and sole, almost falling completely off his
feet. He felt his pants belt tighten as well. In horror he
realized he'd be naked when that gave out, but he had no way to stop it
or cover himself up.
The audience watched as his belt buckle snapped from the leather, and
his pants waistline tore apart to his growing size. The remnants
of his pants and underwear fell around his ankles, and he stood exposed
to the whole crowd. He tried to use his hands to cover himself,
but he still had no control over them. He stood there, breathing
hard, trying to run, or hide, or get away. But his body just
stood, in display to the audience.
With a smile, the President pushed the remote again to stop the change
momentarily. He motioned to the men in the wings. They came
out with medical scissors and cut the excess clothing away from
Charles. They left him completely naked on stage, his chest and
belly obscenely large. His legs were also larger as well, stocky
and short. The President pushed the remote control again, and
stood back with a smile on his face.
Charles felt his head get shorter. He realized he couldn't feel
his ears anymore, but he could still hear the snickers of the
crowd. His shoulders made a loud snapping sound, and his chest
pushed further forward and caused his arms to cock backwards
slightly. He squawked in pain again. He looked over the
audience with pleading eyes, trying to find someone to rescue
him. But they all sat, watching his fate unfold. He then
realized, they wouldn't come to his aid.
He suddenly clenched his feet, and he could feel his toes fusing
together. He looked down, and one of the cameramen panned to film
the change. He looked in horror as his feet split down the
middle, his five toes fusing into only three stubby ones. His
heels pushed out behind his feet and beyond his ankle. He groaned
in obvious pain as yellowed nubs pushed out from them, curling
downwards to the floor.
Suddenly, his hips shifted violently, widening out with a loud grinding
sound. Charles wanted to fall to the ground, but his new stance
prevented him from doing that. His feet shifted to keep him
facing the audience. He tried to turn away, or at least close his
eyes, but he wasn't being allowed that pleasure. He'd have to
look at his audience as they watched him on display.
They gasped a little, and Charles looked down to see what they were
staring at. His manhood, something he had always been proud of,
was vanishing. He wanted to cry out, but realized he'd make that
awful screech again. Without much pain, his entire maleness was
pulled into his body, leaving only a slit between his legs where it had
been. He could feel his rectum fusing into the slit as it grew
longer between his legs. He could also feel his testicles enlarge
in size as they pulled into his body. He let out a loud screech
of pain when they finally reached their final destination deep in his
gut, painfully pushing other organs out of the way.
Charles then felt his belly expand beyond the proportions it had been,
which took the pressure off his insides and let them shift to his new
frame. It was uncomfortable for him to feel all his internal
organs spill into the new gut he had. His backside, however,
tilted up a little in an almost obscene way causing his back to arch at
the end of his spine. He panted as he felt his skin get
hot. His arms pulled back more at the shoulders, as his body
moved on it's own accord. He found his arms rise against his
will, almost parallel to the floor. His head held up by some
force, arms spread, and his feet spread apart, he had become an obscene
display of what had been a man.
He stood there like this for what felt to Charles like hours, then he
heard the churning in his body. The sounds of what he thought was
liquid being pushed out of his flesh. Many people in the audience
smiled as they watched feathers grow out from his chest and
belly. Most were small, all grew in the same formation.
Starting at his head pointing down, layering over each other to hide
his flesh. It was too much to feel individual feathers grow in,
Charles just felt the sensation as a wave as hundreds simultaneously
The sensation was not painful as much as discomforting for Charles, who
wanted to squirm, wanted to get away, wanted all these eyes to stop
looking at his horror. He clenched his teeth, trying not to make
that infernal sound again. When he felt the feather covering on
his back, he lost the fight and let out another cry. A tear
flowed down his face, knowing he couldn't go back to working here
again, or anywhere else. What was happening was horrible enough,
but the audience in attendance wasn't scared. Most were
smiling. They liked seeing him in pain. They wanted to see
him suffer. Charles mind began to break down in the shame.
When the feathers formed down his stubby legs, he couldn't fight back
the pain any more. He cried out loud, long songs of agony and
shame. It came naturally, almost too easily for him. It
caused him to tear more as the feathers reached his ankles, and
stopped. He cried because he knew that whatever was happening, a
part of him had just embraced it as his new life. He fought it
all, only to find comfort in the near completion of the act. He
wanted to die. He hoped the worst was over.
Instead, his backside flared up. He let out a loud screech as
larger, longer feathers pushed out from him. His tail plume grew
in agonizingly slow, the red tips only giving way to the blue base at
the end. His cries of pain made more people smile, and got the
cameraman to get a close-up of his tail as it spread. He shook
his tail feathers involuntarily, causing them to look even
larger. It was too natural, it was too much a part of him.
It was all too much.
The sensation ran across his shoulders to his hands, which began to
fold backwards slightly. Everyone heard the bones crack as
Charles fingers splayed a little, expanding up his wrist
slightly. Hundreds of feathers now grew from his shoulders and
down his arms. Charles let out short, panicked squawks as the red
feathers grew in on his biceps, then the green near where his forearm
had been, then to blue where his hands had been. From out of the
smaller feathers he felt the long feathers flow from him again, and
tried to close his eyes trying to make it stop with his mind. He
let out a long, agonized call again as the long feathers defined the
form that had been his arms. He tried to wave his arms to make
the feathers drop out, and only flapped his wings weakly.
He then felt the sensation run up his head. Around the back his
hair suddenly dropped from his head, and the feathers rushed to fill
the void. The red wave ran around the back of his head, around
his neck, and up to the top of his head but not covering his face.
Charles looked around nervously, panting in fear. Suddenly, his
nose and jaw cracked, and calcified as they folded away from his
face. He let out a screech of pain, opening his mouth as his
lower jaw became blackened and formed a cup. His upper jaw pushed
from the remaining skin in a wedge, and formed an upper beak that ran
from the top of his head to his lower jaw. He felt it quickly
pull out, over biting his lower jaw greatly with a slight curve at it's
He looked around nervously, and then felt the only flesh on his body
begin to burn. Around his eyes, and on his feet and ankles.
His feet felt like they had thickened and calloused as white scales
formed along his clawed feet to his ankles. Around his eyes, the
skin wrinkled and became leather-like, taking on a white hue as the
color drained out of it.
Charles felt his body tense up, and he tried to fight the desire of his
first call. "Naa... noo... naaarrr..." He tried to
deny the final step, but he knew he wouldn't win. Something in
him was thankful it was almost over, as much as the thought repulsed
him. He arched his back, and felt all of his body tingle.
All his internal organs were resetting to the new form, including his
"NAAAAOOOOORRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!" He arched his head
to make the loudest call he had yet. He felt his eyes sting, and
he closed them when he made his first true call.
After a few tense moments, Charles stood on the stage and looked around
him. He could see many people in the audience were smiling and
nodding in appreciation now. He could see on one of the monitors
the cameras pointed at him. He saw before him a large, humanlike,
bird. "Noarrrrrr" he said, but his form was undeniable. His
bird-like eyes looked into the TV monitors, and he could see what
almost looked cartoonish in nature. A large, overgrown Macaw
stood on the stage. His gut too large to fly, his wings too large
to let him hold things, his beak too strange to make words. He
twitched his head left and right, letting both eyes look at the image
on the screens. What he saw was undeniably once a human, but
undeniably now a bird. "NOORRRRRRAAAAHHHHH!!!!"
The cameras turned off, and the TV monitors went dead. Charles
still could barely move, feeling emotionally and physically drained
from the experience. The audience, however, started to
clap. It turned into a roaring applause as Charles stood, unable
to run away or hide. Many of the people whistled in approval,
which was shrill to Charles sensitive ears. He tried to cry, but
he found his eyes would not water. He could only stand there and
accept the applause, not even having the energy to hang his head in
Soon after, the President walked back onto the stage, and the audience
became silent again. He looked at Charles, and showed him the
remote. "I know you can still think in there." He said, looking
into the parrot-like eyes of Charles. "And I know you see
color. See this button? The blue one? I can push
this, and I will destroy the human mind that's left.." Charles
eyes grew wide, staring at the button. "And I can do it too, the
nanomachines in your body are pre-programmed to wipe that out and give
you the intelligence of a parrot." He smiled sadistically.
"I should do it, just to shut you up forever."
Charles felt like he would faint, but he couldn't fall over, his body
still wouldn't react to his commands. He watched helplessly as
the President put his finger on it, then stopped. He took the
batteries out of the remote, and put it on the ground. With his
foot, the president smashed the controller sending pieces all over the
stage. "No, I want you to be stuck in there." The President
said. "I want you to suffer like you made a lot of my friends
suffer, and then suffer more. Who knows? You might learn
from it." He paused, looking over the large bird-man on stage
with him. He simply smiled, and nodded. "Goodbye Charles."
A group of men walked onto stage wearing jumpsuits and wearing heavy
leather gloves. They carefully placed a hood over Charles head to
blind him. They then blew something into his beak, and Charles
body relaxed. They wheeled out what looked like a specialized
stretcher, and loaded the bird-man on it, folding his wings over his
body to get him to fit on it. As they carted Charles off, the
audience began to cheer louder. Charles lost consciousness in his
dark, rolling prison.
Cathy ran into Jeff at the bar that night, where Jeff was drinking as
hard as he could. "I didn't see you at the meeting." She said
"I didn't go." Jeff said. "I couldn't see it."
"It's not like he didn't have it coming." Cathy said.
"I still made the final decision to do it." Jeff said. "And right
now, I'm not sure I can live with that."
Cathy stopped, and looked at him. "You're not going to kill
yourself over that bastard, are you?"
"No." Jeff said, reaching into his pocket. "I'm just
thinking." Jeff put down a brochure on the counter and slid it to
Cathy and drank his drink. Cathy picked it up, and looked at the
title. "Dr. Finch's Exotic Bird Land". The part highlighted
read "Now seeking exotic and rare birds and animal oddities." She
looked at Jeff, who was finishing off his drink. He shrugged his
shoulders, and ordered another one.
Charles woke up, and opened his eyes. It had all been a dream, he
thought. It was all a bad dream. But his eyes betrayed him,
as he looked at a dirt ground. The calls of birds filled his
ears. As he looked around, he saw himself surrounded by a cage
and blue sky beyond it. He looked in his prison, and saw things
that looked like a rainforest environment. He then looked down in
horror, and realized he was perfectly perched on a rock.
He then looked at the walls of his prison. A sign caught his eye,
and he tried to flap his wings to go over to look. He stopped
himself, and realized that even if he wanted to he would never truly
fly. And the thought of wanting to repulsed him. He shook
his head, repeating that he was NOT a bird. He waddled to the
sign, and turned his head to read it with one eye.
"Rare Great Macaw. Presented by a grant from Hobart Securities
The call of the great Macaw was heard in all corners of the property.
DISCLAIMER : All stories included in this archive are
- 2005 Socks Furrotica Press. These stories are
(unfortunately) all works of
They depict sex. Lots of quite graphic sex between several genders and
arguably a few species. Af any of this offends you, or anything vaguely
pornographic bothers you, don't read this, and don't send me your nasty
e-mail (I may enjoy it, you know...)