Alberton Ranch

You’d been shoveling shit on the Alberton ranch for three years. It was hard work, cleaning the pens and forking hay. But sometimes Grant Alberton would come down and saddle up his horse, and for ten minutes in the morning, you’d stare upon that majestic man.

The youngest son of Hank Alberton—one of the wealthiest and most powerful ranchers in the state—was the spitting image of a gruff and tumble, all-American cowboy. Dirty blond hair, a bushy beard he refused to trim, and a body built from years of working his father’s prized ranch. He always left the top buttons of his flannels open, and the wave of musk wafting from between his scruffy, sweaty pecs would linger long after he mounted his horse and rode off.  

Of course, Grant wouldn’t go for a stable boy like you—or a boy at all. In fact, Grant was too busy with the ranch to be able to bother getting a girl, which infamously bothered his ailing father. Hank had three sons, yet none of them had been able to give him any grandchildren. Hank’s brother John passed in a tragic accident long ago, and his eldest brother Isaac had been trying with his wife for years to no avail. Hank needed heirs, least the ranch fall into the wrong hands.

These were all things you knew when Hank called you up to the house that day for an “important” job, but never in a million years could you imagine you’d be the solution to his problem.

You walked inside the colossal homestead up the hill from the barn. The house was as grand and opulent as it was ominous. You felt a strange sense of foreboding as you stepped into Hank’s office. You’d never even met the old man, or stepped into his house. Now here he was, asking you for a mysterious favor.

The ailing, decrepit rancher looked on death’s door behind his desk, his skin shriveled and an oxygen tube under his nose—yet he still wore his brown leather cowboy hat. He poured you a glass of what you suspected was whiskey from a decanter. You were still on the job, but it would be rude to decline. The drink tasted smokey… but also sweet. Whatever it was, it wasn’t whiskey. 

“So,” you said, “what is this ‘important job?’”

The old man gave a wheezy laugh. He then started talking about the horses on the ranch, and how good breeding was essential to keeping these prized beasts in pristine shape. You knew exactly what Hank was talking about. You remembered assisting with breeding earlier that summer. Try as you might, you could never scrub the sight of that stallions colossal cock dripping with spend. The smell of it… the memory sent a shiver down your spine, along with a slight pang of distant arousal you dared not try to place.

“We take breedin’ very seriously in our family,” said old man Alberton, “and I ain’t just talkin’ about the horses. I come from a long line of ranchers: strong, hard men. But right now, we gotta bit of a problem. Isaac my eldest has been shootin’ blanks for years, and his wife is a sweetheart, but her womb is as barren as the west pasture in the middle of August. And Grant? Shoo, I’d reckon you’ve spent more time with him than any woman in the past ten years! That boy might love this ranch, but he ain’t thinkin’ about the future, about the next generation. Say we’re a bunch of horses. Right now, we got all stallions and no mares. And I ain’t leavin’ this world until we got got some foals. Do you take my meanin’?”

You nodded along, confused, and more than a little woozy from whatever it was you just drank.

“That’s where you come in;” he continued. “You’re a good stable boy: you know the animals, the ranch, and you got a carin’ spirit. Not to mention the way you look at my boy Grant, I ain’t blind. I know you’re a queer. Hell, if you’d a been born with a pussy between those legs instead, you’d’ve made the perfect wife! And that’s when I realized: why waste all this time tryin’ to find Grant the perfect gal when I could just make you one?”

The words slowly turned in your head, as Hank’s face seemed to blur in your vision. “What…” you stammered, “did you give… me…?”

Mr. Alberton chuckled again. “Just a lil’ secret family recipe. Same thing my grandma took when my great grandad ran into this same issue way back when. ‘Course, she wasn’t always grandma. When she came to the ranch, she was a stable boy, just like you! But we all gotta make sacrifices for the ranch, don’t we? If she hadn’t changed, well, I would not be here talkin’ to you today!”

You collapsed on the carpet, the reality of what Alberton was saying began to dawn on you. You wanted to run, to cry for help, but the world was fading fast. Your whole body felt numb.

“Is’okay,” was the last thing you heard Hank say, “you won’t feel a thing, and when you wake up? You’ll be a whole new man… well, not exactly a ‘man,’ but I have a good feelin’ you’ll be thankin’ me sooner rather than later…”

A moment later, everything went black.

You awoke on a large mattress in a strange room. From the walls, you guessed you were still in the ranch house. You could hear the sound of a shower hissing behind a wood door across from the bed. The silky sheets were impossibly soft, like your whole body was sensitive to the touch.

Fuck, your body! You remembered Hank Alberton’s last words before you lost consciousness… but it couldn’t be…

You sprang out of bed and looked down at yourself in horror. Gone was your thin, gangly build, replaced by smooth skin and luscious curves. Your brunette hair fell down your shoulders, twenty-times its previous length. Your nipples were hard a the tips of two heavy lumps of flesh hanging from your pecs—boobs, real female boobs. But worst of all was the sensation between your legs, that pervasive feeling of emptiness, and growing wetness on the white sheets.

You reached down and felt a pussy where your cock used to be. It was warm to the touch, which sent sensations flooding your body the likes of which you had never experienced.

The true horror of your situation had only just begun to dawn on you when the shower stopped and the wood door swung open.

“Good,” said Grant, “you’re awake.”

Your jaw was on the floor. There stood Grant Alberton in the nude, steam wafting off his dripping wet muscles. You’d seen Grant take off his shirt once while fixing a post last summer in the sweltering July heat — a memory which you cherished and frequently returned to in dark, lonely nights — but the sight of him now, completely naked, bearing his manhood so shamelessly, was enough to make you forget your current situation, albeit momentarily.

Because the second your eyes fell on his cock — at least eight inches long and still growing — an insatiable itch erupted between your legs, undeniable evidence of your newfound femininity.

“Alright,” said Grant in that deep drawl as he rounded the bed, “daddy wants this done soon, so let’s get started.” His tone was casual and cavalier, as if you were just another job on the ranch. You scarcely had time to respond before he was looming in front of you. Grant had always been a tall man, but you must have lost some height along with your penis, because he now felt like a giant by comparison. He stroked his hairy cock with one meaty mitt. With the other, he slid a callous finger inside your new sex.

You gasped. The sensation was completely foreign, and at first, really quite strange. “Goddamn you’re tight,” he remarked in a low voice, colored with the first hints of genuine desire. It sent your hormones into overdrive. You’d never been this horny before. Hell, this didn’t even feel just like horniness. It felt like need: primal, biological need.

“OHHH!” You couldn’t help yourself from moaning. You came—or at least you thought you did. You were used to cum erupting from your dick. Instead, your pussy squelched against Grant’s hand while you shook with the tremors of insatiable pleasure.

“Well, that was quick,” he said, mater-of-fact. “Daddy said you’d be mighty horny. It’s all the potion, he said. It don’t just make you a woman, it gives you womanly needs. Like a bitch in heat.” He had two fingers in you now, all the way to his knuckles. He hooked inside, touching parts of you you never knew existed, and working your orgasm like a master craftsman. Grant might have not been with many women, but he sure knew how to pleasure one.

Grant wasted no time. He removed his sticky hand from your crotch and spread your legs, positioning himself so that the head of his cock was just inches from your entrance. He was fully hard now, and had to have the biggest dick you’d ever seen. You were struck suddenly by the realization that you were expected to fit all of that inside a hole you’d only just acquired. The thought sent a sharp pang of terror through your still quivering body, but there was no time to fear because a second later, Grant was pushing past your hymen and into the wet folds of your new vagina.

The stretch was immense. You felt yourself contract around his girth as your vision blurred with pain… or was it pleasure? Whatever you were experiencing, it was immense and overwhelming. Grant pushed in slowly, until he was literally balls deep, his pelvis pressed hard against yours while his forest of blond pubes tickled your swollen clit. He held there, giving your body only a moment or two to adjust to the size of his cock, before rearing back into a big hard thrust.

You closed your eyes and let out a cry that echoed throughout the whole house. Hank Alberton was probably downstairs cackling while he listened to his son knock up the former stable boy. And that’s princely what Grant was doing: knocking you up. Just like the stallions on the ranch, he made you his own personal mare, and wouldn’t stop his thrusts until he’d filled you up good.

Grant fucked you like a machine. He held your legs apart while he impaled you with his cock over and over and over again. Each time, he slammed into your hips with a big wet slap. You opened your eyes to see him utterly drenched. Even the shower could not eliminate his scent, and pretty soon, the room was ripe with his musk — along with another unfamiliar smell you could only guess was your pussy.

This was wrong. You knew this was wrong. You’d always wanted Grant, but not like this. You wanted his love and affection, but he was fucking you like it was his job. You used to be a man with hopes and dreams. Now, you were just an object; a womb to carry his babies.

“Oh—FUCK!”

The moment the thought entered your mind — of you, carrying Grant’s child — you came again. Instantaneously. Your mind was being pulled in a thousand different directions as the pure shock and shame of it seemed to collide with what you recognized to be some new biological imperative, compounded by the sheer sight of the buff blond cowboy railing you and the brutal indifference of his thrusts. He didn’t seem to notice or care that you’d just had another orgasm. He wasn’t finished yet.

You didn’t know how long you were on that bed with Grant inside you, only that you came two more times before he finally announced that he was close. Oh god… this is it, you thought as he held you there, his cock buried to the hilt, so deep inside it seemed to touch your guts. He’s gonna do it… he’s gonna… breed me!

And then you felt it, that first load. Grant, as you would soon discover, came like a busted fire hydrant. You thought your pussy would explode from the sheer volume of cowboy cum that shot into your womb. When he finally pulled out, it literally gushed out of your used opening, soaking the sheets and dripping onto the floor. His cock was wet with his own seed — white and thick as cake frosting.

The next several days were some of the strangest of your entire life. During the day, you resumed your stable boy duties (although “stable girl” was more accurate now). Everything was a lot harder with this new body. You’d lost a lot of your strength, not to mention some of your height. Your hair kept getting in your face. The worst part were the two giant jugs on your chest. You had no idea how women walked around with these, and the potion had apparently given you massive tits.

The sun would set, and then things would start to look different. You began staying up at the farm house. You’d have dinner with the Albertons after work every day. Hank wanted you to start feeling like one of the family. Isaac and his wife were very kind and generous, although you doubted they knew the truth behind your sudden arrival. Grant, for his part, ate mostly in silence. You guessed this was just as awkward for him as it was for you. Neither of you had asked for this, and yet here you were, bound by fate.

Then, he would take you up to the bedroom, and breed you silly. Each night, Grant would pump a fresh fat load into your dripping sex. You’d wake up next to him every morning sticky with seed, and you’d feel it leaking out of you while you cleaned the stables the next day. He would always fuck you in the same, mechanical manner, like you were a task to be completed.

Even still, you looked forward to the breeding more and more each day. It got so bad, even the sight of Grant on horseback riding around the ranch would make you dizzy with insatiable need. You resorted to disappearing into the empty stalls to finger your cunt, sometimes still slick with his spend from the previous night. You had to be pregnant by now. But you didn’t just want Grant’s baby. You wanted him.

So you started dressing more like a woman. You started teaching yourself how to do makeup, how to cook and make a home. You were overcame by this need to prove to Grant that you could make a good mother, even as the voice in the back of you mind pleaded that this was all wrong, that this wasn’t you.

One night, after dinner as you were in the bathroom preparing yourself for Grant, he came up behind you and kissed the crook of your neck. You practically dissolved into him. His breath was hot on your skin, and you could feel his cock hardening in his underwear.

You turned around to face him. There was a different look in his blue eyes, something genuinely affectionate, protective, even… paternal. He cupped your head in his hands, and for the first time, he kissed you. By this point, you couldn’t tell the difference between your new, female hormones and your passionate unrequited love for Grant. They twirled together in your gut as his soft, warm lips drank of yours, and the scruff of his blond beard tickled your smooth face.

That night, Grant didn’t just fuck you; he made love. You’d unlocked a whole new side of this man you never knew existed. Grant scooped you in his huge arms and carried you to the bed, where he made your pleasure his primary mission. Gently, he spread your legs apart and sucked his fore and middle fingers. As he often did, he slipped them into you, working your opening until it was lose enough to revive him. Only this time, when he hooked up inside your sex, he bent down and began to kiss it as well.

“FUCK—“ you cried. Your entire midsection erupted with sensation. Between the flicking of his wet tongue, the prickling of his beard and the intense pressure coming from your hole, it was too much to handle. For the first time, you squirted, drenching Grant as you lost complete control of your anatomy.

Your first instinct was to apologize, but Grant didn’t seem to care. In fact, he just kept going, pistoning those two fingers into you until you were cumming again, and again, and again. You screamed, and you felt his hand clasp over your mouth, silencing you and keeping you pinned to the pillow while he finger fucked you into oblivion. You’ll never forget that sound, the squelching, the moaning into his palm, the ringing in your ears as you saw stars.

When Grant had milked no less than five orgasms out of you, he crawled up on top of you, his full weight pressing you into the bed. You wrapped your legs around his hairy torso and felt the thick, dripping shaft of his cock slide neatly between your raw folds, like a key in a freshly cleaned lock. You looked deep into his blue eyes, just inches from yours, and your gaze fell down to his pink lips peaking out behind the bush of his blond beard. His breath was hot and heavy. You’d never been so close.

He held you, this gruff and tumble cowboy, the way you’d always yearned to be held by him, and whispered as he pressed his forehead to your’s. One single word, low in his gravely voice: “Mine.”

That word, with all it meant, all it entailed, sent you reeling. You opened up for him completely, and your husband — yes, your husband — proceeded to penetrate the deepest part of your womb. He lavished scratchy kisses on your mouth, your cheek, your neck, and your supple breasts while his hips ground into yours, going deeper and deeper until his impossibly engorged cowboy cock seemed to push up into your stomach.

You cried out, the pleasure overwhelming every sense as Grant literally fucked the man out of you. You knew that after he came (which wouldn’t be long now) that there was no going back. Why would you want to? Your old life, your scrawny body and feeble masculinity, felt like a distant dream, while your womanhood, wifehood, and motherhood were so present. It was unavoidable. Inevitable. You were his. Now and forevermore.

The weight of him, along with with the weight of your destiny, your responsibility to the ranch, the Alberton family line, created and almost unbearable heat which erupted in yet another torrent of fluid from your ready womb. Grant bellowed like an angry bull, and your spend mixed and mingled with the globs of viscous seed that he unleashed in your cunt. The sheets beneath you both were positively drenched with sweat, squirt, and the billions of babies that didn’t make it into your womb.

As you guessed, there was already one brewing inside, and in six months, he came kicking and screaming out of your new, gaping opening. Mr. Alberton had gotten his wish: a grandson. And another. And another. By the time the old rancher passed peacefully in his sleep, you and Grant had four bright young boys running around the farm, and your first girl bulging in your belly.

Of course, this never stopped Grant. Your husband promised to breed you every single night until the day you died, and he made good on that. He liked to caress your hump, while he knelt before you, depositing as much baby batter as your yawning hole would allow. These were the nights you would cum the hardest, when the hormones were at their peek, his offspring kicking around inside and his rough, ranch-hard hands on your sensitive breasts.

You couldn’t even remember being a man. You couldn’t remember your childhood, your parents, anything before stepping foot on the Alberton’s farm. You had become an Alberton yourself, and had kept the ranch alive for generations to cum.