"Secure And Safe" written by K.Rooste
Secure and Safe
By Adobe Fats and Kevin Rooste
Series 2006
I want to tell you of my good friend, his name is Bill, as he had a situation that became a national incident.
One priority mail package, packed with exceptional care, tape on every flap of the box, top and bottom sealed, labeled to and from, a gift to the best friend a fellow could have. Bill got into car, placing the package on the passenger seat, backed out of his garage and drove like any other day or time to the local post office.
As of what was inside the box he planned mail that day had Bill chuckling to his self as he contemplated the reaction of the person receiving this special package. He felt so wonderful that seeing the local bread store on his way, he stopped and purchased his favorite treat, a small bottle of chocolate milk, and a dozen powdered donuts.
The day lent to the sense of his levity, Bill enjoyed giving friends occasional gifts like this one. He discovered the roads as rather busy on that sunny day, so it made the normally easy drive rather long across town to the post office.
Anxious feeling often led Bill to want something to eat, and eating meant he would need a drink as well. An enjoyable oasis soon presented itself, his favorite donut shop stop; and shortly there after a pint bottle of chocolate milk stood open in the drink holder of his car console.
Messy is the only word that could describe what Bill would choose for donuts and as his most favored treat. Although the special box he planned to send and his donut were to him an equal, the box became a platter to hold his powdered sugar fry cake donut.
Seventeen miles to the Post Office, and upon arriving Bill set the remaining few donuts on the car floor, grabbed his package and headed inside, eager to see his gift go out on its merry way.
The Post Office was quite busy, nine people ahead of Bill, but he stood patient and smiling, waiting for his turn at the service window.
Not too long of a wait and he was next to the service window. The busy day had continued as more people wishing to mail items now stood behind Bill. Then he heard the woman behind the counter say, “Next person please,” as this was his queue to step up to the service window, a smile on his face, Bill presented his box for weighing and payment of postage.
The woman took hold of the boxed gift, slamming it unceremoniously down quite hard on the weigh scale. She quoted the price of shipping, turned to face Bill, and saw collected about her scale a white ominous powder.
Suddenly a Caxton buzzer screamed its alert; men came from every direction, as the woman teller screamed, “Poison alert!”
The people standing behind Bill ran for their lives, one having a cell phone dialed a quick 911 call and alerted the local police; making mention of an ominous charge calling Bill a terrorist.
Screaming Caxton and wailing sirens all fell on poor Bill. In just minutes he was arrested, charged a terrorist, and on his way to meet the some new exotic department of the federal government.
Naturally, Bill pleaded he was innocent of the charges, but everyone who eyed him only thought the worst. His one free phone call to an attorney friend ended quickly, when hearing the charges, his friend just hung up the receiver.
That night the local and national news crucified Bill, demanding the death penalty, not even suggesting if he should be proved guilty, as that seemed a given already!
The government sent their top people to speak with Bill, asking questions of how many more boxes had he sent out dusted with poison, nary a wondering if the powder were sugar or something dangerous. Days went by, as time after grueling time, the governmental men questioned Bill, yelled at him, and warned if he dared not confess they would make him sorry he lived past his arrest.
On the morning on the third week of his constant interrogation, a tough faced man delivered a news bulletin to the men asking all the questions. The government men read it several times and then went into a huddle to discuss their options.
The laboratory report, a chemical analysis giving the properties of the alleged poison, telling the powder was a grade #2, white, powdered, sugar, “Most definitely NOT poisonous in the least!”
As usual, two men gruffly dragged Bill from the integration room back to his dark and dank cell three floors below the street level. There they tossed Bill into his cell, slamming the door as if angered that Bill was indeed innocent, and ruining their fun.
Excited as to the prospect of a lawsuit and tons of bad publicity, feeling more than foolish, the authorities realized Bill as innocent, but made no move to release or grant back to Bill his right of freedom.
Days turned to weeks and other than the guard bringing food and removing the trays, Bill sat alone and ignored.
Bill would scratch a mark in the gray plaster wall, one long scratch for every day of his incarceration. At last, on an afternoon of some unknown day, two men came to see him. In that dimly lighted dungeon of a jail cell, in walked two men dressed up in black business suits and wearing dark sunglasses.
Seeing this pair of truly government men, Bill smiled at them, he remembering of a movie he saw about two of the same characters, namely the Blues Brothers.
Bill listened to just how those in authority planned to let Bill slip out the rear door of the jailhouse, desiring no reporters to speak to him, wanting the legal dust to settle and push the embarrassing situation under some dirty rug.
Then Bill had his turn to speak, he laughing at the two, saying first he needed a statement read to the press admonishing him as innocent of all charges.
Secondly, he wanted a letter in writing, and signed by their director, also admonishing Bill of all charges.
Then with his a sense of justice to those who so wanted him to plead guilty, he told these two just how dumb this sham was, stupid to the extreme, and nothing more than some lame bureaucrats needing something to show they were doing something to protect the country.
Both men looked at the other and turned quickly to walk out of the cell. One turned, looking back, reached into his coat pocket, taking out a small package, and tossing it onto the cot in the cell.
As the cell door closed and locked, the man spoke to Bill saying, the package was an easier way for all concerned, it would put this situation to rest.
The men walked away quickly, stopping only to talk with the head guard for a few moments.
Bill sat there wondering if he had asked for too much. Shortly after the two brothers left the cell block, the guard came to the cell. He was all smiles and laughing at Bill, the man suggested Bill open his package and gain a guarantee of no public cynical accusation and a life of real freedom.
Flopping on his cot, Bill tore open the small paper wrapped package. Inside he found a note, and a syringe filled with a twinkling blue liquid.
Bill looked at the note, as he remembered to his last day of every word.
“You and of what you did to our agency has become a national embarrassment to us, and our associate departments.
Enclosed, is a syringe holding a top secret, and very special serum.
You may decide to remain permanently imprisoned!
If by your choice you decide using the syringe and its contents to assure your release, our agency offers then a place for you to live your life as a part of our witness protection service.
The liquid inside the syringe will, once injected into you, we expect to see some varied physiological changes, assuring a guarantee of no further reprises upon you from this sad incident. Expect some amount of discomfort, as well feelings of dementia, although temporary, what results is a new and stronger bodily self and a face different and quite handsome to females.
This should make your daily lifestyle much at ease with all others who live and or work around you.
Your government makes to you a solemn promise reassuring your future and new reputation shall be exhilarating as you stand up and take your proper place. Assured of becoming champion to your peers, and under a permanent term of protection against injury and or those who would wish to do you harm.
Once you utilized the syringe, call the guard, he will arrange your release and transport to what you can consider as home. We know you shall be safe and secure, where none there shall relate you to this unfortunate situation.
It seemed his release was not forthcoming as per his wish, but rather in some sneaky way for these government men to cover their mistake. The injection seemed his only way to get out of jail, and after a quick poke, he called for the Guard.
The syringe made Bill feel weird, sick to his stomach, and increased his feelings of anxiety.
When at last the Guard arrived to grant Bill his immediate and expected release, the reactions coming from the injection had Bill nearly unconscious. He knew the guard helped him to get to his feet and stumble along. He remembered a long waiting time, what seemed as days until the scent fresh rejuvenated his outlook.
Bill remembered two other men taking him by forceful manner and pushing him into a truck, making him feel as if he was little more than a sack of grain.
The truck moved with an odd vibration, it seemed to awaken Bill, making him alert, and he instinctively knew when it seemed best for him to make his escape by jumping out from the truck as it waited for a passing train.
Free for the moment, Bill staggered along as if drunk, but he had nothing to drink just an injection, something he thought then was maybe a mistake. A mind filled with foggy thoughts, Bill felt his guts growling, and he noticed how much his feet began to hurt.
Hitchhiking helped cut the distance and time for Bill to arrive at his apartment. As he stood there gawking at the curbside, seeing everything he owned, his furniture, clothing, and all what he had in his seven-room apartment now lay tossed in a pile.
Immediately he knocked on the apartment manager front door, angered and suspecting the governmental charges had a lot to do with this whole mess.
One angered woman answered the door screaming her disgust with his kind, she told how he was out, and she, or her husband wanted nothing more to do with him.
Noise from outside had Bill seeing a bunch of people sorting his stuff, taking what they wished and leaving him busted and broke.
Now anxiety and nervousness added to his many woes, he walked down the street, seeing people he knew and feeling their hatred, they all had passed judgment on Bill.
Come night he was really feeling down, a passing man had slugged him in the eye, turning to a dark red ring about eyes filled with tears. His eye hurt, head ached, as then too his groin, shoulders, legs and feet all had differing ways to exert on him pain.
The underside of an expressway bridge offered at least a dry place to rest.
Bill lay there hearing the roar of cars and trucks hurtling though the night.
Feeling tired, depressed, and exceptionally weak, he drifted off into a deep sleep and slumber.
It was near midday when Bill awoke, groggy, blurry eyed his headache much worse, and oddly, his shoes had fallen off from aching feet. Laying or sitting either felt bad, his butt ached as if he had fallen on his tail bone and injured it.
He lay there trying to think a clear idea for finding a friend, and a safe place to stay.
His mind seemed disjointed, try as he might, he could not think straight, a thought to sit up caused his head to become caught strangely in the open space between two of the iron beams that held up the roadway.
Nervous and very anxious moments passed, until with some rough effort, Bill wrenched his head free from the beams. The sensation brought on a feeling of anxiety, as if he felt claustrophobic about the small space he had to rest, sleep, and keep out of sight.
He did not remember the space seeming so tight, but his retreat from under the bridge girders required him to crawl out, ducking his head low for every iron beam along the way.
When Bill finally got himself out into the sunlight, he tried to stand up.
His legs felt weak and shaky, head ached yet, but what he noticed quite quickly was his shirt and pants had ripped and torn at their seams, lying in a heap on the ground.
Bill thought it odd he did not feel a chill, being he was mostly naked and minus much of his clothing. He thought it best to be clothed anyway, as he reached one hand to pick up his loosened clothing; he tried to scream from the surprise.
A truth was realized, he knew of what the blue twinkling liquid in the syringe could do, as Bill saw in place of a human hand, he had a cloven hoof.
His anxious anxiety feelings beget his snorting as if an anxious animal agitated by something it felt a lack of trust. Bill began to take note of different things, his head for one, was then larger, heavy of bone, and held on a massive neck made of enormous muscles.
Looking down along the length of his different body, Bill saw his skin had darkened, turning black and leathery to the touch. He felt how the black skin grew a coat of black 
hairs, as these seemed to cover him from head to hoof, and did well to keep him warm.
Groaning, Bill knew down deep the syringe was the cause, but he did not believe his own eyes, until with the personal need to urinate, he watched as strained to let flow a stream of his pent urine. At first, it merely dribbled out of a hairy pouch attached to his belly. Nestled in thickening black fur and just below where he still had a navel, the urine trickled down his then sheath, the urine soaked his hair in its stench, trailing down to his groin and dribbling off two of the largest testicles he had ever seen!
Those wild sights and scenes added to his anxious feelings over what he saw, only making him feel his sense of anxiety bring a response as a bony tail swayed, swung, and slapped at his big butt and broader thighs.
Bill realized this must be what the memo spoke of, as those expected changes to his physique.
Instincts might have played a part, he remembering of me, as of where I lived, being so close to the highway. Bill arrived at my home on a cold and damp April afternoon. His face held still enough of his human characteristics, allowing me to recognize him after a moment of staring at this beast creature standing on my front porch.
Bug eyed, Bill made me feel uneasy. He had his human legs almost completely changed into hind legs, hocks, feet and cloven hooves like the bovine animal he would soon become.
Luckily, I live to myself, unwed and enjoying my manner of freedom.
Seeing Bill, as he most definitely looked the part of being something as part man and more like to some sort of animal, made me act cautious when making an offer, suggesting to Bill he might prefer residing in my barn stable. He saw my obvious concerns for my wellbeing and for his comfort, as my stables behind the main house, seemed a proper place to keep what soon would be but an animal.
He agreed with a nod of his big head. We walked around the outside of my house, up the gravel driveway to where set on a slight rise were the stables.
Horses and I was always a fun thing for me and the two I kept in the stables responded to me with cuteness, and their own ways of love.
When we entered, the stable Andy and Mable snorted, they became then alarmed by what followed me inside their home.
Bill moaned at the reaction of my two horses. I think he realized that the outcome of his changing would leave him as something of less of beauty than were my two champion Morgan horses.
Mumbling in a deep but soft tone as he spoke, Bill had great trouble forcing out his dehumanized mouth a sentence of intelligible words. He sighed, as if ready to give up all hope for his life ahead. Bill entered the box stall somewhat less than as begrudgingly as I might, if I were in his situation.
Once standing in where I thought it best he should stay, Bill knelt down and with his arms and cloven hands he scraped the straw laying as a covering of the cement floor, heaping it into a pile as if making a bed.
Moaning in a deep sounding tone, Bill snorted harshly, snuggling himself into a fetal position and went quickly to sleep.
I stood and watched my friend Bill, wondering if he could come the next day tell me more of the why, and reasoning as how my friend seemed to be changing into some bullish form. His ability to speak hampered by thickened lips and a tongue made for doing what a bull does with his tongue. I surmised what had happened, knowing Bill and the government boys, they being easily overwrought, brash, and bold, wanting to pin the tail on any donkey, rightly or otherwise; had pinned a bull tail on Bill.
The next morning when I came to feed my two horses, Bill stood up, leaning his bulk form over the gate to his stall; he kept pointing to his arm, making a gesture as if his arm received and injection.
He had held gripped with a clutched foreleg and hoof the last items of his torn clothing. As if satisfied and feeling safe, he dropped the worthless rags, as I scooped them up a paper note fell from his shirt pocket.
Reading the note I stopped to look at Bill, he listening began to snort as if becoming angry. The witness protection service was never like this, they placed people into society, not changed them into animals, like what had become of Bill.
I consoled my friend, offering he might stay and remain on my small country estate, living to his delight, safe and secure!
The words of safe and secure made Bill become angry, as if the thought of those words were some direct infuriation.
My next full week I cared for him during a time of pains and feelings of disgust about what and how he would need to live; Bill felt friendly toward me, as if from my acting like a good friend, he found some sort of acceptance for becoming a bull.
I thought of him as the perfect governmental covered up, no body to hide; the only trail leads to a stall, a pasture, and to a bull that under the law of this, our land, is without even a single right.
If after all he went through as his human body made the massive transition to becoming a bovine, Bill showed his worries about the drastic changes in his plumbing.
Bill stood bellowing his mooing call with a loudness I had not heard before. When after I dropped what I was doing and went to investigate, I saw Bill moving his pelvis and making huffing sounds as if he were sheath deep in a cow and going for broke.
He continued to make his changed leap from being human to becoming a bovine big black bull. I made a photo collection of his manner of changing, but the best of the lot was this one photo. I took a picture of Bill before he went to an adjoining big farm, there under a lease agreement he would remain and sire the beef cattle herd. I believe Bill thought well of me doing this with and for his delight, as the Killingsworth farm had to its asset a herd of six hundred healthy cows.
Bill surprised me, he quickly became the likeness of one stout and healthy bovine bull, worthy to place for sire, and once he got the hang of things, he too found a new joy for living free, set aside from the tethers which bind us, us who remain on as humans. ...
Show me the story at BeastForum.com or more information about K.Rooste
K.Rooste also wrote these stories:
Where I Am King / Tf Story
Safe & Secure
An Epic Of Lust
Buffalo Bill
Over Done
Pinned With Excitement
Just A Visit (tf Story)
The Graduating Class (transfromation Story)
“perfect Anonymity”
Last Time As A Man
An Epic Of Lust Part Ii
Actions & Beginnings (a Tf Story)
"if You Dare"
Ever Feel The Urge
All From A Blind Date
"memories"
The Curse Of Chastity
A Thing For Greed
"power Of Persuasion"
Early Damnation
Enjoying The Time Of His Life
A Business Trip To Hell
All In Good Time
My Final Story For B.f. "sensual Enough"
Just For A Visit
"just For A Visit" (for My Good Friends
Truely Permanent
Getting Prepared For Hell
With Time To Kill
Married Dreamer
Enhanced Security Helps
A Profound Experience
A Matter Of Appreciation
Red Neck
Feeling Cocky
Membership Of One
Screwball Prank
Secure And Safe
Goat Boy And Friends
What I Want For Christmas
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