#Birds and Boots
##entropicdecay

Shiny, dark blue wellington boots shaped like and made to fit a bird’s feet. From the shop’s window they seem to call to me. I think I probably can’t afford them, but I guess I might as well find out for sure at least. I enter the shop somewhat cautiously. Something’s a bit unnerving about the place, and I’m really not sure why

“Can I help you?” the cassowary at the counter asks, sounding a bit irritable. I pause briefly, considering whether I should maybe heed my inexplicable nervousness and leave before thinking better of it and deciding to let them know I’m here to hopefully buy those boots.
“Yeah, uh, I was wondering, how much are those blue uh, wellies?”
“These boots?” they ask wearily, pointing to them.
“Those, yeah.”
“They’re free. But I oughta let you know that they’re cursed. Do you still want ‘em?”

Cursed? Things can actually be cursed? I would’ve taken that for a joke normally but they sound deadly serious. I’ve never, as far as I know, personally experienced any kind of curse, or any other magical or other supernatural phenomenon for that matter, but I mean really, would you necessarily know it’s taking place? A curse could be subtle, maybe. Bad luck, for example, if it happened to be bad luck that could be easily taken for just ordinary bad luck but was actually caused by some sort of curse

“Uh, cursed? Are you sure?”
“You think I don’t know my shit when it comes to this kinda thing? These boots are definitely cursed, but I’ve been told I’ve got to get rid of them somehow. At first I tried selling ‘em, but since I’ve also been told I have to inform the customer about the curse, nobody’d buy ‘em. So I ended up having to give ‘em away, but still nobody’s willing to take ‘em”

I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to accept those boots, no matter how cursed they may be. Hell, I don’t even believe in curses, probably! It’d be ridiculous to pass up an opportunity like this just because of some supposed curse that almost definitely doesn’t exist, I think!

“I will.”
“Huh?”
“I’ll take them. Curse or no curse.”
“There is.”
“Huh?”
“A curse. There is one. So no curse doesn’t come into it. Because there definitely is.”
“Alright. I’m still taking those boots though.”
“Fair enough”

A few hours later I’m back home, with the big blue supposedly cursed bird-foot wellies. I ring the doorbell and wait for my roommate Michael to open the door, excited to try these on soon. 
“You back already? Come on in,” he says, at the door quicker than usual. It’s not a major problem, really, but it kind of bugs me how long he takes to answer the door sometimes.
“Yeah, I was done shopping pretty quickly.”
“Oh yeah? What’d you buy?”
“Some groceries, the usual stuff mostly, but also,” I pause dramatically before setting down the wellies on the floor of the hallway, ”these! Nice, huh?”
“Very. Do you suppose they make ones like these for hooves?”
“Maybe”

Michael is a Hexi Cashmere goat and he’s often telling me it’s difficult to find boots that fit a goat’s hooves these days. I think maybe he’s exaggerating because I’m sure I’ve seen boots like that around, but maybe they’re a bit expensive or something? I do think to be fair that they’re a bit less common than bird-foot-shaped ones

“Well, do you wanna try ‘em on now?”
“Let me just put the groceries away, then I will.”
I do so, then I return to the hallway. Time to try these boots on, then. I hesitate momentarily, recalling the supposed curse, but I’m still pretty sure I don’t believe in curses, so it’s only a brief pause. I carefully put on the shiny blue bird-foot wellies. They fit comfortably. Very comfortably, and I don’t feel any adverse supernatural effects, assuming they’d be something I could feel were they to in fact exist

“You look hot in those,” Michael says, “really very hot, uh, do you wanna fuck maybe?”
Forward yet mildly awkward. He’s like that sometimes. Not something I mind, particularly as I can be much the same.
“Absolutely,” I reply. Then for some reason I’m feeling in a bit of a different mood from how I usually tend to when we have sex. “I’m, uh,” I begin a bit tentatively before continuing with growing confidence, “thinking I’d like to top this time.”
“Oh?” he seems a bit thrown, it being out of the usual, though there were a few times we tried things that way before but it’s been ages. “Sure, we could give it a try again. Been a while, huh? Very well, how may I serve you, oh mighty pigeon overlord?”
“Just call my Your Highness or something, mighty pigeon overlord is a bit long and flowery and ridiculous.”
“Absolutely, Your Highness. How may I be of service?”
“Hmm... on your knees, you uh... peasant.”
“I sucked off a pheasant once behind a lingerie shop,” he says, getting down on his knees.

“I said peasant. There’s no way you legitimately misheard me there,” I’m mildly annoyed that he seems to be cracking mood-killing jokes. Although I have little doubt that the pheasant story is most likely true.
“Sorry, Your Highness. Your humble subject begs your forgiveness!”
Perhaps he just wants me to punish him.
“Forgiveness must be earned! You must polish my boots with your tongue until they shine before I will deign to forgive you.”
“They’re already pretty shiny, though,” he says, but nonetheless he moves a bit closer and begins licking my shiny blue wellies, slowly at first and then a bit faster. He’s given both boots a thorough licking before he pauses, looking up at me.
“Have I done a good enough job to be forgiven for my pheasant remark? Please, Your Highness?”
The sight of him looking up from down there, mock-pleading for my forgiveness, is getting me rather hard.
“Your boot-licking is quite satisfactory, but there is more you must do. Now you must polish,” I pause dramatically in reverence of the ridiculousness of what I’m about to say, gesturing to my crotch, “the royal scepter!”
“Oh, come on!”
“Right, that’ll be extra punishment for not playing along with my ridiculous dirty talk!” I shout, unzipping my trousers to free my now fully hard cock

“Before you polish my royal pigeon pole -”
“Seriously?” Michael interrupts, laughing.
“Silence!” I shout in a voice that I could swear isn’t quite my own, pressing the head of my cock up against the goat’s face.
“Alright, alright. Uh, are you feeling okay?”
“What?”
“You’ve got this strange look on your face, your eyes almost... they look like they’re glowing...”
“I’m fine! Anyway, I was trying to say before you polish my royal pigeon pole, you must...”
“I must what? Before I polish... I can’t say that with a straight face, I’m sorry.”
“It was you who called me oh mighty pigeon overlord, that’s just as silly!”
“Okay, okay, you’re right. Let me know what this humble goat must do to atone for his disrespectful back-talking of thy glorious pigeonly royalty, Your Highness! Also,” he added, sounding confused, “you look taller than usual”

“What? How would I be taller than usual?”
“I don’t know, but I’m sure you are! Look in the mirror!”
I look in the mirror. Hmm, same general look same unkempt feathers, new sexy boots... wait, my eyes really ARE glowing! And... I am taller. Noticeably so. I’m pretty sure my cock is bigger than it used to be too. But somehow I’m no longer particularly confused by or disbelieving of all of this. Somehow I suddenly know exactly what’s going on

And I turn around to face Michael, a wicked grin on my beak, and I stare directly into the goat’s eyes, which become a pale reflection of the purple glow of my own. Transfixed, under my command, he stares blankly back.
“Bend over,” I command. He does. I slap his arse hard, but in his entranced state he barely reacts. I stroke my hard cock, thrusting my hips forward

A glowing purple energy surrounds me that I focus around my crotch, my cock and balls surrounded by a more intense light as they begin to grow larger. With another thrust, crying out triumphantly, my cock becomes longer and thicker than my forearm, my huge balls hanging half way to my knees

“Your punishment for your insolence, firstly, is this,” I proclaim, pointing my cock at him as I remove my hold over his mind and spraying forth a torrent of piss with such force that it knocks him over, startled and dripping wet.
“What... what the hell’s going on? What’s happened to you?”
“Have I not told you to be silent!?” I snap at the insolent goat. “Behold the power I now possess!” I say, concentrating my powers throughout my body and standing with my hands on my hips as I begin to grow larger

In mere seconds I am twice as tall as the goat, then twice that tall again, and larger still, bursting out of the house as I rapidly grow, at least stopping for now at a height of what I think must be around fifty metres. The rush of power is intoxicating. My gigantic pigeon cock stands fully hard. Onlookers going about their lives, those who can believe what they are seeing at least, begin to flee.  In the rubble the goat scrambles to stand upright and takes off running

“You cannot escape,” I state matter-of-factly, easily outpacing his desperate run with a slow, casual stride. I place my left boot down in his path. He runs right into it and falls over on his back.
“Please,” he whimpers. He knows that he won’t get away by trying to run

“Please, if you’re... if you’re still yourself at all! Please, we’re friends! You can’t just, I mean this can’t be happening but it is but I, you can’t just, step on me or eat me or something! You can’t, don’t you have a conscience? I’ve never known you to be anything but kind and reasonable and I... spare me, please just let me live, I’ll do whatever you want me to!”

I pause for what I’m sure feels to him like an agonisingly long time, watching him look up at me with pleading eyes, a tiny, desperate wreck trying to bargain with a colossal monster who was once his friend

“All trace of who I was has vanished. You are wasting your breath to try to plead with me!”
I casually crush a nearby house beneath my blue boot, and then I lift up the other one slowly, the goat no longer bothering to try to run as he cowers in the shadow of the sole overhead

“Ah,” an unfamiliar voice suddenly rings out, “so that’s where those boots got to!”
I turn around, trying to find the source of the voice, and there’s a huge bright flash of purple light. After it’s gone, standing before me is a secretary bird even bigger than I am. My eyes are just about level with the tops of his gleaming golden bird-foot wellington boots. His arms, on which he wears long gloves of similar golden rubber, are crossed, and he has an amused expression on his face as he gazes down at me

“Enjoying yourself? I get the impression you’ve been busy”