“Mmmm-buck. Buck. Buck, buck... Buck. Mm-buckbuckbuck. Bwaawk.”

This low soundtrack of clucking accompanied your humble narrator - the girl who was usually known as either Alyssa or Danielle, but was currently neither - as I ambled aimlessly around the sunlit garden, my posture slightly hunched, my eyes on the ground before me. My fists were pressed against my ribcage like they were glued there, my arms contorted into the shape of wings, which flapped ineffectually at my sides. My legs were slightly bent too, putting me at a subtle crouch as I cantered around the lawn. From time to time I stopped to lightly brush my foot across the grass, shivering as the strands tickled my bare sole.

“Bwaaak,” I mumbled, continuing to compulsively swing my foot back and forth for several long seconds. “Bwaawk.”

I’m not exaggerating here, guys - I felt fuckin’ lovely. My body was awash with pleasure, my mind pretty much as empty as if I was in trance, thinking of nothing as I clucked and bucked and trotted and flapped around the wide outdoor space. I was a blank, brainless chicken, and I adored it. It was just what I needed.

I’m sure Jelly and I have done a decent job describing our daily lives as mindfucked, submissive slavegirls at this point. And if we haven’t, I bet you’re all imagining it fairly accurately. For me, it involves a lot of split-personality shenanigans. I spend much of my time grappling with Dani for control of our shared body, and, of course, I usually end up losing, my resistance stifled by my submissive alter-ego (or by our malicious Master, or our equally sneaky sex toy girlfriend). I brat and complain endlessly, but there’s no point lying to you guys - you know how much I get off on being shoved to the back of our mind, powerless to prevent Dani from doing whatever she’s told, even (oh who am I kidding, especially) if it’s humiliating.

But the personality play and mental struggling sometimes takes a toll, and leaves our brain feeling just a little... strained. When that happens - when we’re sorely in need of a mental R&R - Richard’s kind solution is to give us some time off from thinking at all, reverting us to a dumb, vacant farm animal. With our restless thoughts quietened, we can then enjoy some sensory time, simply walking around a space performing our fowl mannerisms unselfconsciously, stimulating ourselves with anything in the surrounding environment. In this specific instance, the stimuli in question were the warm sunlight, the soft grass, and our denim shorts and loose T-shirt.

We had no idea how long we’d been like this, and we didn’t care. We didn’t really know what time even was at the moment, anyway. There’s no ‘future’ or ‘past’ for poultry - there’s only the here and now. And here and now, we were a very happy hen, completely contented. We couldn’t even remember we needed a mental break to begin with, but we were relishing every moment of it. (I say ‘we’ - though I mentioned before that neither I nor Danielle were really mentally present then, in a sense our chicken self is basically both of us, on our lowest level of sentience. And we both usually remember the experience afterwards. So it just makes sense to use plural pronouns for this part.)

We glanced up, slightly startled, hearing the glass door of the nearby building slide open. A man stood in the doorway - we couldn’t remember his name (fuck, we didn’t know what names were right then), but we recognised the sight of him and felt a strong swell of affection inside us. “Nn-buckbuck, buck!” we cried out by way of greeting, flapping our way towards him.

“Hey, chick,” he chuckled, reaching out to stroke the thick feathers on our head and neck. We purred with pleasure, rolling our head around beneath his hand. “Ready to come inside now?”

We couldn’t understand his words, but more or less got the message when he gently steered us through the doorway. Surging forwards, we charged into the room beyond, our wings flapping, our feet sinking into the comfy carpet. “Bu-buck, buck! Bu-buck, buckbuckbuck.” (The memory makes me cringe a little, although he says we were adorable.)

In our witless enthusiasm, we almost crashed into a huge box in the corner of the room, our momentum carrying us clear across the room before we managed to bring ourself to a halt. We peered curiously at the humanoid figure inside the container - it looked like a person, but it wasn’t moving at all. Even when we leant through the open door and pecked it a couple of times, it remained rigidly fixed in place. Not a person, we realised. We didn’t have the words ‘statue’ or ‘sculpture’ in our mental vocabulary just then, but we had a sense of their meaning and connected them to the shape before us. Turning away from the object, we put it out of our empty mind.

The man we liked sat on a big chair in the middle of the room, gesturing to the floor in front of him. We darted over and plonked ourself down in that spot, feeling something familiar about our actions. As we settled in place, getting comfortable on our knees, a stronger level of serenity rolled over us. We smiled dazedly, recognising that this was the position we slept in, knelt down on the ground. We were already feeling really drowsy, as if, just by sitting down, our mind and body had started to automatically shift into slumber. Our eyelids drooped, our head nodded, our wings fluttering weakly at our sides.

We felt a pat on our head from the nice man, which didn’t help our sleepy state at all. “Bwuck,” we burbled, the compulsive sound forcing its way out of our numb, slack beak. The next thing we knew, our head had lolled forwards, our chin was resting on our chest, and our eyes had fallen shut. We had no will to stop ourselves from slipping into a peaceful sleep.

***

We floated in the delightful depths of the Spiral Seas for a little while (not long enough, if you ask me) before Richard woke me, leaving Dani to keep drifting deep (the lucky dunce). Inhaling sharply and blinking blearily, I looked up and saw Richard sitting on the couch, grinning down at me. “You good?” he asked.

“Better than good,” I beamed, yawning and stretching. “God, that was exactly what I needed... Felt so great to let go of all the human thoughts in my head, and just be a birdbrain and bumble around for a while. Thank you so much.”

“Hey, you’re welcome!” he said fondly. “Happy to help. I mean, it’s not like I didn’t get anything out of it,” he added with a smirk. “It was a lot of fun watching you act like that...”

“I’m sure,” I said drily, clambering to my feet. I did feel a lot less fowl right now, mentally as well as physically. My wings were still a little twitchy, but I didn’t have any trouble unfurling them into arms again. Rolling my head around on my shoulders, I stepped past Fuck Hawk and sat down beside him on the couch, my legs folded on the cushion beneath me.

“Yeah, I don’t know what it is,” he said thoughtfully. “It’s just really entertaining watching a gorgeous girl behave like a dumb animal, embarrassing herself uncontrollably...” He smiled that malignant smile again. “Possibly I’m just a sadistic git.”

“Oh, I thought that was long-established by now,” I tittered, even as I frowned slightly at his words. What he’d said was certainly true - there was something very amusing, and very erotic, about a female human humiliating herself under hypnosis, heedless of her own bizarre behaviour. I’d seen it with Jelly often enough, and a little bit with our new online hypno friends. But it didn’t really apply to me...

“Well, don’t worry, love,” he said in a caring, yet condescending tone, giving me a patronising pat on the head, to which I responded with a withering look. “You’re back to normal now. Back in your natural state.”

My natural state? I stared at him like he’d gone insane, my eyes narrowing. “What are you talking about?”

“Well - you’re back to being a human.” He gave her a curious, vaguely amused look. “You are a human, aren’t you?”

What kind of a stupid question was that?! Don’t worry, I showed him exactly how daft he was being, with an even more perplexed expression and a tone of voice as if I was correcting a small child.

“No,” I said slowly, “I’m a chicken.”

“You are?” he asked mildly - as if this was a surprise, but not a particularly interesting one.

“Uh, yeah,” I blurted, my head jerking forwards slightly as I spoke. “Where’ve you been for the last five years? Have you really only just realised...?”

“I suppose I never noticed,” Richard said blithely. “You’re really not a human?”

“No, I’m a chicken!” I laughed, totally bewildered. I mean, c’mon, how the hell could he not know...?! “Are you buck - being serious right now?”

He stared at me blankly for a second... and then a broad smile split his face. “Nah, I’m messing with you,” he snickered.

My beak dropped open in surprise and exasperation. “Oh - dude!” I spluttered, whacking him on the upper arm. “You really had me going for a second there.”

“I’m sorry,” he crowed, not looking remotely remorseful. “I can’t help taking advantage of how easily fooled you are.”

What a jerk. “That counts as cluck - cruelty to animals, y’know.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he chortled again, wrapping his arm around me and pulling me into a cuddle as I grumbled under my breath. “But I mean, of course I know what you are. How could I not? You are very good at pretending to be a person - but all those little chicken tics are kind of a giveaway...”

“Yeah, I know,” I grinned bashfully, my left wing spasming slightly. “Can’t really stop that.”

“Nor should you have to,” he reassured me, as I withdrew from his embrace and sat up again.

I smiled warmly at him, grateful for the validation. I give him a lot of shit, I know that - and let’s be clear, much of it is richly deserved - but I do know how lucky I am to have him. He’s a great boyfriend, and a great Master, and he loves me very much, and doesn’t judge me at all for my unusual quirks - the traits and characteristics that come as part of being poultry.

Then again, I’m well aware that one of those traits is a big selling point as far as he was concerned. Chickens are, as I’m sure you’re aware, ridiculously easy to hypnotise. Easier than any other creature on Earth, in fact. Even the most susceptible, suggestible human is nothing compared to the foolish farm animals. That’s why I drop into trance at the merest provocation - literally just from being told to look into his eyes, or at his fingertip, or a spiral, or the fucking wall. My dim, easily beguiled birdbrain gives way instantly whenever Richard wants me under his power. It’s got to make me an enticing prospect for a hypnodom, am I right?

OK, so, entrancing me is hardly an impressive feat, sure... but implanting me with a human identity - let alone two? Now that’s nothing short of incredible. The fact that he’d managed to hypnotise me into behaving like a person - that he’d taught me how to contort my chicken body into a humanoid shape, to communicate in English, to read and write, to understand concepts from his species’ society that were way above the comprehension of a simple hen... It’s beyond impressive. It’s magic. (Now I think about it, Jelly Doll’s recently become convinced that it actually is a living doll, and it’s only capable of acting like a human because of Richard’s hypnotic talents - which is pretty unbelievable too, and yet still makes a strange kind of sense. Hell, maybe he really is some kind of magician...)

“So just to be clear,” my magical Master said casually as he reached for his drink on the coffee table, “what species is your dad?”

I gave him a quizzical look - I thought he was done playing dumb. “Human,” I replied, in a ‘well, duh’ tone.

“And your mum?” he continued, taking a sip of his cider.

“Human.” I wasn’t sure why he was asking. I’m still not, to be honest. He’s met my parents, after all - he knows what they are!

He put his glass back down, meeting my gaze evenly. “And you are...?”

“A chicken.” ‘Well, duh’ multiplied by ten.

“So how does that work, then?” he asked nonchalantly. “Did they adopt you?”

“No, I’m their biological child...”

“So how were you born?” His indifferent demeanour was starting to slip slightly, his mouth quirking into a slightly teasing grin, his tone becoming a little more mischievous, a little more incisive. “Did your mum, your human mother, lay an egg? And then you hatched from it?”

I blinked, nonplussed. “I, I dunno - I guess sh-she - bawk - she must have...”

“Or did she give birth to a chick, already hatched?”

“Uh, I - I don’t -” My eyebrows knitted together, my poor birdbrain beginning to ache. He was really starting to confuse me.

“How does that work, eh?” he said, and the mockery in his tone was unmistakeable now. “How can two humans have a chicken for a child?”

“I don’t knowww,” I whined, lowering my head to hide my blushing face. “I dunno why you think I know the answers to all these questions! I’m just a chicken! I’ve got, like, a tiny, small chicken brain.”

“Ha-hah-aw, I’m sorry,” he said, his chuckles transforming into a sympathetic noise as he squeezed my shoulder consolingly. “You’re right, I shouldn’t expect you to explain the whys and hows.”

“Damn straight,” I grumbled. “I mean, I told you the facts - I guess they don’t really make sense, bu-buck, buck, bawwk, buck -” I shook her head wildly, dispelling the brief bucking mania that had overtaken me, and cleared her throat. “But,” I continued with a rueful smile, “I don’t have the answers. Couldn’t figure ’em out if I tried, I’m just not that smart. And don’t try asking Danielle, ’cos she’s even dumber!”

“That’s certainly true,” he sniggered. “So what you’re saying is, you can take part in human society, but people shouldn’t expect too much from you. We can’t expect you to know certain things, or do certain things, that the rest of us can do...”

“Right,” I nodded rapidly. “Like how people can’t expect certain things of you because you’re autistic.”

He snorted with laughter. “So autistic people are like chickens?” he hooted.

Oops. That one might’ve crossed the line. I grinned sheepishly (or maybe chickenishly). “Sorry... Too far?”

“No, no, it’s OK. And also hilarious. Does that mean chickens get extra time on their exams?”

My smile faded, replaced by a dismayed frown, my beak dropping open and my eyebrows scrunching up. “Damn it, I could’ve gotten extra time!” I groaned. “Never buck-ing occurred to me...”

My Master’s mirth didn’t help my contrition. “Well, maybe the blame for that falls on your teachers,” he tittered, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “Why they wouldn’t think to put special measures in place for you is beyond me. Surely anyone would do that for a chicken - and that’s clearly what you are...”

“Yeah! I mean, it’s obvious, right?” I exclaimed. “I’m clearly a chicken. I look like a chicken, I sound like a chicken... I’m great at acting human, but still, anyone who looks at me can tell I’m a chicken. I’m a chicken, Jelly!” I yelled across the room, smirking. Naturally, the frozen figure - mounted on its doll stand in its display case, wearing a pretty white sun dress decorated with little tulips - didn’t respond.

“It knows, it knows,” Richard chortled.

“Not that I’m not glad people treat me like one of them,” I mused. “I’ve put a lotta work into it, it feels nice to be accepted.”

“Yeah, it must make all the effort feel worthwhile.”

“Mm, yeah. I mean, it’s gotten easier over time, but still it’s hard work buck, buck buck, buck, buckbuckbuck, buck, buck, bawk buck, buck, buckbuck, buck, buck, bwaawk, buck, buck, buck buck buh-kaak, buck...”

My head nodded violently with every noise I made, my wings flapping convulsively, my eyes unfocused. This happens from time to time - no matter how much human behaviour I’ve perfected, sometimes my ingrained chicken impulses are too strong and I regress, without any prompting from Richard. An the longer my unprovoked outburst went on, the harder it was to halt. Each fowl sound that broke free of my beak felt so nice, so natural, that it only felt right to do it again.

After a minute or so, though, I was able to get a hold of herself and stop squawking, screwing up my face and tilting my head from side to side, as if to pour my poultry impulses out of my head. Unfolding my wings into arms once more, I extended them to their full length in a biiig stretch, before waggling them loosely in the air to make them feel more arm-y again.

“I can people,” I murmured, smiling shamefacedly, unable to meet Richard’s gaze. “I know how to people. Watch me people.”

“You’re the best at peopling,” he grinned. “Compared to other chickens, anyway.”

“Gee, thanks, dude,” I snickered. “I oughta get one of those ribbon things, like you get at a state fair. Y’know, they have those competitions for farm animals? What are those called, the ribbon medal thingies, for ‘best in show’? There’s a name for them, I can’t remember...”

As Richard thought for a moment, I noticed he’d unbuttoned his shorts and started stroking himself at some point during my clucking fit, presumably because he was enjoying the show. Nothing out of the ordinary there.

“Rosettes,” he said at last.

“That’s it. Yeah, I should get a rosette. ‘Most convincingly human chicken’, or something,” I giggled. “I bet we could get one custom-made if we look online...”

“Corn,” Richard said suddenly.

“Ooh.” I instantly leaned forwards and dipped my face into his cupped hand. A moment later I withdrew, pouting with annoyance. Noticing his snide smirk, I blurted indignantly, “Not cool! If you say you have corn, you should have corn!”

“Corn,” he said again.

“Oh!” Without missing a beat, I bowed down and pecked his empty palm again. “Duuude,” I snapped as I straightened up, “you still don’t have corn! For buck’s sake, you can’t prank me like that! You know how gullible I am,” I whined. I mean, seriously - talk about cruel. I had half a mind to call the ASPCA.

“Corn,” he said once more, gesturing to his groin.

“Ooh!” Falling for it yet again (don’t blame me, I’m just a dumb chicken), I slid sideways off the sofa, dropped to my knees, and enveloped his pecker in my beak.

Richard let out a sigh, and a sadistic snigger. “Yeah, we might have to talk about keeping this one...!”

I didn’t have the first clue what he meant by that, and I still don’t. But I bobbed my head up and down anyway, as if in agreement, as I hungrily sucked his shaft, eager for every last grain of corn I could get out of him.