An Old Fashioned, Bunny Style

The Dispense button clicks in with a sense of finality, the comparison to a general launching a missile briefly crosses your mind as the machine whirs to life. Sounds of fluids and machinery fill the alley.

An intricate lowball glass appears in the dispensing chamber, a large chunk of ice clinking into the glass. The nozzle rotated, clicking into position and pouring amber brandy into the glass. It rotated again, a deep red-purple berry juice being added. Again, a small amount of deep brown bitters. They didn't seem to mix at all, instead the three liquids swirled together like paint. Amber, purple, and brown swirled through the glass.

The clear doors of the chamber slide open with a soft squeak and you grab the glass. It's heavy in your hand, and smells like tart berries, earthy bitters, and fresh cut grass.

You take a sip, and suddenly you're gulping down the cocktail. The sweetness of the brandy is accompanied by herbal notes, and while the bitters are a touch strong the wildberry sweetens it back up. Not that the strange compulsion would let you stop.

A heat flows through you, and you drop the glass. It shatters on the pavement, the shards vanishing unseen into sparkles of light.

You gasp, feeling something shifting under your shirt. You pull up the lower hem, revealing a soft coat of white fur creeping down your belly. A pain strikes you, your shoulders cramping as you double over, the fur still spreading across your skin.

You scream as your shirt tears off your back. Fleshy growths have burst from the furred skin, prickling and itching as feathers began sprouting. You can feel new muscles connecting, feel your body lightening as you stretch these new limbs— your wings. You can feel yourself still changing, hear bones crunching and shifting. You realize that you've actually lost a bit of height, but the pain returns as your hips widen and muscle and fat piles onto your ass and thighs.

You gasp as the feeling of transformation finishes, realizing that you can hear noises from the street. People laughing and talking, cars driving slowly past, the clashing noise of a live band in a bar across the street and a karaoke machine echoing through a rear door further into the alley. Your ears twitch towards each sound, and you reach up to feel your new ears. They're standing erect several inches above your head, and you shudder as your hand (paw?) rubs the velvety fur coating them.

Your wings are large, each one longer than you are tall. They have to be, in order for you to fly. They fold up and tuck away along your back, and the feathers rubbing against each other fires off new sensations in your brain as you continue examining your body.

Your hips are wide, flaring out dramatically from your relatively thin torso. Thick, powerful thighs lead down to large rabbit feet. You can feel yourself get hard, and you finally look up from your own body.

You're still standing in the alley between a bar and a boutique. The machine is still standing before you, now dark and dormant.

Except now you aren't human anymore. You're some sort of rabbit angel with a dump truck ass, precum dripping from your cock.

And you're only "wearing" the tattered remains of your pants held up by your belt.