I love your style!

Just like the Wheel of TF story, this is fast moving, engaging, and very creative.  I can't wait to read more.

I'm really taken with this world.  You're very economical with the background building; I get just enough tips to know there's lots of fun stuff in this universe.  I must admit, I'd like to know what became of some of Chris' other girlfriends.

The next part, as requested.  Enjoy and let me know what you think.

Our first stop was the pecan orchid.  The trees were all heavily laden, ready for harvest.  They seemed much shorter than standard pecan trees and there was something else off I couldn't put my foot on.
    Six of the trees had a green woman standing beneath it, long green and brown vines of hair traveling up among the branches.  Monica slowed to a stop so we could get a good view and some filming in.  Each woman had a fringe of leaves running under their breasts, at the crotch, across their brows, and over each armless shoulder.
    "Dryads."  Monica explained.  "There are little mouths at the end of each vine that can swallow the nuts right off the tree.  The nuts travel down the hair, cleaned as they go along, until they reach special sacs in the dryad's breasts and stomach.  The nuts are taken to the stomach, while detritus is stored in the breasts.  See that one over there?"  She pointed to a dryad that looked beyond nine months pregnant.  "Watch what she does next."
    Tree finished, the dryad waddled over to a tractor pulled set of bins.  We didn't have a good vantage point to see what happened, but the dryad came back into view a moment later.  The green woman was skinny again and wearing a satisfied grin on her face.  Monica filled us in.  "At the back of the bins in a bidet.  The dryad sit and births out her load, which is then stored in the bin by a machine in the back.  At the same time, a set of breast pumps suck out all the nonessential parts from the dryads breasts."  When we looked confused at this last part she clarified.  "Dryads don't have traditional nipples.  Instead they have something closer to sphincters for letting the waste products out."
    The dryad walked under an unoccupied tree and sent her hair back skyward.  "Each dryad can clean a tree much faster and easier than a normal worker.  They also tend to them during the growing season."
    "They're glorified farm workers.  Why would someone deliberately transform themselves to do that?"  Flo asked with a hint of hostility.
    "Some do it to get closer to nature.  The dryads sleep out here with the trees and draw nutrients from the sun and soil. Others just like the simple life.  A few have a pregnancy fetish.  Also, the multiple orgasms they have while dumping their loads is a large draw.  Though the ones that want that are usually drawn to a different part of the farm.  We'll get there later.  I wanted to show you a different part of the grove first.
    As we set off again I asked, "Are the dryads something Tony Dapper created?"
    "Good catch.  They were, though the initial idea was mine.  How did you know?"
    "The lack of arms.  Your transformation ended the same way.  The price for prehensile control of your hair."  I wasn't sure I should ask the next part, but the question was burning me up inside.  "Do you ever miss your arms?"
    "Sometimes." She replied, a little sadly.  "I miss being able to hug people normally or walk out in public without everyone staring.  But then I consider everything I got in trade and I don't regret it in a heartbeat.  I love my tail-hair and I wouldn't trade it for anything."
    Our little group stopped when we reached another group at the edge of the grove.  A pair of State Troopers, fully clothed, flanked by a pair of cowgirls riding anthro-ponies like Chocolate and Cinnamon.  Behind them was a cart pulled by two humanoid ponies, though they bore the hooves and missing arms of permanents.  Between the two troopers sat a naked man.  The group sat observing the activity of a trio of dryads, who were digging a hole with their vine like hair.
    Satisfied with its depth, they were joined by a fourth dryad, bearing a bundle of tan and brown.  The two troopers dragged the prisoner to the dryads, then stepped back.  The fourth dryad unrolled the bundle, revealing an odd looking mass of rubber.  Working as a team, they soon had the prisoner fully encased.  The outfit forced the man to keep his hand and fingers spread out above his head and didn't allow for much movement.  The dryads guided him into the hole, then made him kneel in the center.  They then buried him up to the waist.  One of the dryads disappeared, only to return moments later with a full watering can.  As she started to sprinkle the rubber bound man, the other group departed.  The troopers sat in the cart and were escorted back toward the barns by the cowgirls.
    "What will happen to that man?" I asked, as a second dryad appeared with a full can to continue the watering."
    "The dryads will water him heavily the first week until he gets firmly rooted.  Then it will take about six months for him to grow into a full sized tree and start producing nuts."
    "And he chose this?  To spend the rest of his life as a tree?" Flo asked.
    "Some do.  I'm pretty sure trees can't think, but a long life of quiet contemplation attracts people.  But most that become trees here didn't choose.  A hefty chunk are prisoners from all over the state.  Most have long sentences or are lifers with discipline problems.  Occasionally someone who wants a shorter sentence will go this route.  The state doesn't mind.  They pay me less than a quarter the cost it takes to house an inmate full time.  And this way they don't have to worry about riots or escape attempts."
    "What about if they're later found innocent or their sentence is up?" Chris asked.
    "The process is fully reversible.  I had to demonstrate that before the state would agree to let me house them." Monica assured him.
    "If it's reversible, are you worried about people breaking in and freeing a prisoner?" I asked.
    "There isn't a system that stores which tree is which prisoner.  Only the dryads know that.  So someone would have to be either incredibly lucky to make sure they got the right tree or try the extraction shortly after planting.  We actually had a group try once.  I didn't know about it until one of my employees found three extra trees planted in the grove.  Since that story spread no one else has been either brave or foolish enough to try."  Monica cocked her head, as if hearing something no-one else could.  "We need to get moving.  Something else I wanted to show you is about to start."
    At her command Cinnamon took off at a gallop, quickly followed by the rest of us.  My worries about falling off at high speed we abated when I realized just how firmly I was anchored.  We passed through the pecan grove and into a grassy plain.  Ahead of us I could see two dozens figures lounging around in groups of twos or threes under the shade of trees.  In the distance, I could see another large barn and two other buildings.  Beyond that was a second barn still under construction.
    "What is this place?" I asked.
    "These are our cow fields."  Monica responded.  As we got closer, I could clearly see these were no ordinary cows.  For one thing they all fell somewhere on the line between human and cow.  While some only had oversized breasts with massive nipples, others had full on udders.  Most sported multiple rows of breast.  I saw one that appeared to be nothing more than a sea of breasts between crotch and head.  Many had small horns and all had some variety of the black and white Holstein pattern.  For some it was just a splash across their breast and stomach, for others they were completely black and white.
    But there was one thing they all had in common.  Each was immense in both height and girth.  The smallest among them easily broke six feet and probably weighted over three hundred pounds.  I was reminded of the time I was visiting Vegas with friends and we passed a BBW pornstar convention.
    "They're all so big."  Chris said in awe.
    "Let me guess," I said to Monica, "Most of them have body expansion fantasies.  It probably doesn't hurt the milking is enjoyable."
    "You catch on fast.  Those are the biggest draws.  But again the draw is also the simplistic lifestyle.  You're looking at women whose entire job is life is to produce milk.  So they spend their days eating grass, sleeping, fucking, and occasionally returning to the barn for a milking.  They have no responsibilities, no schedules.  All they heed is the fluid produced inside them."
    Flo was studying all the cows carefully.  "Are they all women, I don't see any men?"
    "Oh there are plenty of former men over there.  In fact our new inductee to the herd is male."  Monica pointed over to the barn.  I could see another of the anthro-pony riding cowgirls, with a small, skinny man walking beside.  Behind them were two more ponygirls towing a huge steel basin.
    "New inductee, does that mean…" I started to ask, but Monica cut me off.
    "Just watch and enjoy."
    The group from the barn headed toward the largest congregation of cows.  When they reached a large open section between the trees, the cowgirl called a halt.  She dismounted, detached the basin from the ponygirls, remounted, then left.  The small man was now alone with a herd of cows.  Four of them waddled over to the basin, readied their ponderous teats like hoses, and started filling the basin with milk.  They rotated out with other cows when empty, until the shallow swimming pool sized basin was full to the brim with milk.  At the bidding of the cows around him the young man stepped into the basin and slipped below the milk like he was taking a bath.
    Nothing happened for nearly five minutes.  I was worried something had gone wrong when a thick, three fingered hand broke the surface of the milk and grasped the lip of the tub.  Another one joined it and the new cow pried herself back into the air.  She was huge, easily seven feet tall and supporting over four hundred more pounds than when she had entered.  Six breasts the size of beach balls hung from her chest, each sprouting four teats as long as my forearm.  And below them sat an udder easily mistakable for a beanbag chair.  Most of her body was covered in a Holstein pattern except for her breasts and udder, which remained bright pink.  Her face had elongated partly into a cows muzzle and a small pair of horns peeked out from her new shoulder length black hair.
    The new cow tentatively touched her heaving bosom, as if uncertain this was really real.  She let out a loud "moo" of surprise as a rock hard teat shot a stream of milk into the air.  Around her, the other cows also began mooing in excitement.  They helped their new companion out of the basin before I lost sight of her in the crush of bodies.
    "A perfect transformation." Monica said critically.  "She must have really wanted the change.  I'm impressed how long she managed to stay down."
    "Does it matter?" This came from Flo.
    "The longer they stay completely under the milk, the more gets absorbed and the more they change.  But as most people can't breathe milk, they have to come up for air eventually.  I'm betting she spent months practicing holding her breath.   Judging by her size and configuration, I wouldn't be surprised if she put out fifty gallons or more per day.  A welcome addition to the farm."  I tried to read the look on Flo's face.  It wasn't the horror or disgust I was expecting.  More like…envy?
    I didn't get to consider this more as we started off again.  Monica spurred Cinnamon and we followed her into the barn.  We dismounted and stepped through the wide double doors.  Inside were a dozen of milking stations in numerous configurations.  One was a comfy, squashy armchair with a set of milking hoses next to it.  Another sported a computer monitor and large button keypad under transparent plastic a cow could use during milking.  Grunts and moos were coming from an occupied stall that contained a cow shackled into a metal frame.  Her legs were trapped downward, her neck in a thick collar.  Behind her, a massive dildo plunged in and out of her sodden pussy with mechanical efficiency as pumps below sucked out the milk from her swollen breasts.
    Staring at the computer in confusion, Flo asked, "Just how intelligent are these cows?"
    "It varies.  Some do degrade down to an animal level of intelligence while others are as smart and creative as the day they took the dip.  I know one cow that favors that station writes soothing poetry about sun and grass.  I think it's even under consideration for publishing."
    Flo looked like she wanted to ask something else, but just shook her head.  I decided to look around more.
    In another stall, the cowgirl from the transformation was helping a cow into a heavy rubber cocoon.  Impeding the transfer was an udder bigger than the rest of the cow and the cowgirl put together.  I wondered how the cowgirl had even gotten her that far in.  The cowgirl was now struggling to lift the udder over the edge of the cocoon.  Dropping his gear, Chris rushed over to help.  Between the two of them they managed to get everything in and seal up the triple seal.  Then the cowgirl hit a few switches on the nearby console and the cow was lifted up off the ground by a well reinforced mechanical arm.  The cocoon bulged, taking on the shape of a rubber teardrop.  Another thinner mechanical arm rose up and flicked the teardrop hard with a leather switch.  The force vibrated the heavy rubber.  A muffled moo came from inside, followed by a ripple on the teardrop's surface.
    "This is Bernie's favorite way of being milked." The cowgirl explained.  "She goes for days without a milking to build up size, then expels it over a six hour whipping session.  She just loves the feel of the vibration.  If you come back at the end, that teardrop will nearly be spherical with milk."
    "Is that sanitary?  To have her in there with the milk?" I asked, concerned.
    "All the milk produced by our cows is run through a filtering process to ensure all traces of magic are gone.  Bovinating our customers would result in more than a few angry letters.  The same process also removes any impurities." She winked conspiratorially.  "Plus we wash her really thoroughly before going in and after she gets out.  If you follow me I'll guide you through the processing plant and the creamery."
    The tour took over two hours.  By the time it was over I was a little lost, but very impressed.  "Monica, it's amazing what you've done here in just a year."
    She preened.  "We’re currently the fastest growing dairy brand in the country.  Between the hipsters, transformation fans, and organics, I can barely keep up with demand.  I'm in the middle of building a second, bigger barn and will need another fifty new cows to fill it.  Any takers?" She asked jokingly.
    "No thanks." Chris responded.  "I need an active lifestyle or I get bored."
    "Considering how much effort I put into staying thin, it would seem a waste to give it up now." I joked back, running a hand over the straps that hid my toned stomach.  "Plus I don't look good in white and black."
    After thirty seconds of silence, Monica asked, "Flo?"
    Flo was staring over at the rubber bag that held Bernie, significantly more spherical than when we left it.  "What?' She shook her head, as if she had only heard part of the conversation.  "No, I'm good."  she continued in a far-away voice.
    I gave her a once over.  My best friend was acting really strangely.  Her anti-transformation rhetoric had also toned down since we reached the cows.  Seeking to break the awkward silence, Monica said, "I'm starving.  Who wants something to eat?"  My stomach rumbled, agreeing with the idea.  I didn't know staring at all that cheese could make me so famished.  "Lisa, want to come with us?  There's room in the cart."
    "Sorry boss, but someone has to look after the place.  Can't have Bernie drowning in her own milk now can we.  And Kray is coming by later and she always brings me something to nibble on."  The cowgirl walked over to Chris, whispered something in his ear, nibbled it, then walked off.  I had yet to see Chris blush this trip, but whatever she said was making him do it now."
    Monica lead us out of the barn and back toward the initial cluster of buildings.  We dropped the ponies off at the stables.  I was about to ask whether I should take my harness off, but Monica walked off toward a large open shaded area packed with tables.  Most people sitting at them were fairly normal looking, about half sported modifications that looked like my harness.  They must be the anthro-pony riding cowgirls.  I thought I saw a few other bizarre changes, but with the way people were moving about it was hard to be sure.
    I felt movement against my leg and looked down.   A rubber dog was sniffing at my feet.  I rubbed it behind the ears and was startled to see a pair of very human eyes staring back at me from inside the rubber.  It barked happily and ran off to sniff someone else.
    Monica led us into the cover of the dining hall, then said, "I have to go take care of a few things before dinner.  Get something to eat and I'll see you in the morning."
    Morning?  It was barely early evening.  What were we supposed to do after we ate?  Where would we sleep?  But Monica had disappeared before I could form a coherent objection.  Well Suzie, I guess you'll just have to go with the flow.
    Chris had already joined the food line.  I looked around for Flo, but she had disappeared.  She had been acting really strange this trip.  Oh well, there was nothing I could do about it.  I walked over to join Chris in line.  The food was barbecued pork with a side of potatoes and greens.  Juggling my plate and a glass of water, I looked around for Chris.  I just spotted the back of his head before he left the cafeteria, escorted by a trio of cowgirls.  Dejected at being abandoned by my crew, I took a seat at an empty table.  I dug out my knife and fork, said a quick prayer, then dug in.  The resulting explosion of flavor brought tears to my eyes.  I had never tasted barbeque sauce so sweet and zesty or meat so tender.  Lost in a food coma, I missed the two women walking up to me until one spoke.  "Mind if we join you?"
    I swallowed and blinked the beginnings of tears from my eyes.  Standing before me holding plates laden with food were Strawberry and Lemon.  Both women had ditched their straps somewhere along the way and were now only clad in pony boots.  "Umm, sure.  My crew abandoned me so I could use the company."
    So they sat and started eating with gusto.  Pulling a cart all day must build up a hell of an appetite.  When my plate was finally clean I leaned back and let out a tiny satisfied belch.  I covered my mouth in embarrassment, which caused giggles from Strawberry and Lemon.  Lowering my hand I said, "That was probably the best meal I ever ate.  The sauce was amazing and the meat, I've never had pork so good."
    "We'll let Andi and Sae know later how much you like it."  This came from Lemon.
    "Are they the cooks here?"
    "Andi is.  That man can cook anything.  Give him two sticks, a chunk of meat and some flint and he'd somehow whip out a five course meal.  Sae is…Sae is…"  She didn't seem to know how to continue.
    "Sae is the meat." Strawberry said between mouthfuls of rib.
    I blinked.  "What?"
    "Sorry, did I have too much food in my mouth?  Sae is the meat."
    I looked down at my plate of ribs in shock.  "Did…did I just eat a person?"
    "Nah, though she used to be.  Sae is a great boar.  Like small truck size.  Got the idea for her transformation from some old Norse myth.  Each night she's carved up for supper and by morning poof, she's whole again and ready to be made into another meal.  It's saved a fortune of food bills in this place.  All the vegetables and starches are also grown right here on the farm."
    "Though I bet half the savings are spent on Andi's oversized spice cabinet." Lemon quipped.
    I started to ask why someone would want to be eaten on a regular basis, then stopped.  If she came back good as new each morning, was it any stranger than anything else I'd seen today?  I decided to switch tack.  "So how long have you two been working here?" I asked Strawberry and Lemon.
    "Since the beginning.  My ranch butted up against Monica's and she told me her plans right after she transformed.  I was grieving the death of my wife from the year before and was looking to throw myself into a project.  I joined with Monica and two other neighbors and we've been working to make this place a success ever since." Lemon explained.
    "How about you Strawberry?"
    "A year ago my music career wasn't taking off the way I expected it to.  No matter what we just couldn't get signed.  After running out of money I decided to return home and see if I could work on pops' farm for a few years to build up enough capital to start again.  When he explained what was happening, I joined in with gusto.  But he still seemed sad.  So six months in I suggested a solution.  The farm was finally ramping up and need all the manpower it could get.  Pops had hurt his leg in a farming accident years before and had to walk with a cane.  So I suggested be both get transformed.  That way we could both help out with the construction and planting."
    "And yet I don't see a strapping man sitting in front of me."
    "Pops liked the idea of transforming, but he didn't say how.  I saw him talking with the techs several times over the next few days.  Finally he came to me with two potions.  One red, the other yellow. He asked if I trusted him.  I would trust my pops to the moon and back, so we clinked glasses and it was down the hatch.  My body felt like it was on fire.  Parts of me shifted that were never designed to move, others permanently grew or shrank away.  When it was over I was the beauty you see before you.  It was the strangest thing.  Looking in the mirror afterward, I saw my mother's face.  At least how I'd seen it in old photos from when she was younger."
    As I studied the twin pretty faces in front of me, a big duh sign popped in my head.  "You two are father and son."
    Lemon nodded.  "Strawberry thought that transforming would be the solution to my grief.  And he was right.  Every time I look in the mirror I see my wife's face.  I see that's she's still with me, still a part of me, and will be until I no longer grace this earth."
    Story finished, they packed up their plated and rose.  I quickly did the same and followed, not wanting to get ditched again.  "So what do you two do now on the farm?  I don't see any other ponies in here so that can't be your full time job."
    "We do all sorts of things." Strawberry said.  "Pops mostly supervises the day to day running of the farm while Monica focuses on expansion.  I act as a go between for them and sub in if a department is running a few people short."
    "And sometimes you moonlight as ponygirls?"
    "Only on our days off.  Drawing a cart together is great father son bonding time.  Especially what comes after."  An evil grin broke out over her face as she studied me.  "What are your plans for after dinner?"
    "Monica gave me the night to myself and my crew is off somewhere else.  I planned to talk to a few other people about their transformations before finding some place to sleep for the night."
    The evil grin had spread to Lemon.  "Why don't you come with us for the night?  We can promise you an exclusive."  With that they each grabbed and arm and frog marched me out of the cafeteria.

In this universe, virtually all transformation are permanent.  There are ways to do temporary  transformations the same way Hollywood does today, rubber prosthesis and make-up.  Though in this universe they're a bit more advanced, it's possible to actually feel sensation though the prosthetic.  For example if you gave someone a pair of huge rubber breasts, they could feel you caress and pinch the nipple.  You'll see this come up in a later story.
     The prisoners are special, as their transformation have to be reversible.  The idea that Monica and the druids came up with is to actually transform the rubber of the outfit.  The rubber is what becomes the tree, trapping the prisoner inside.  The tree feeds off the life-force of the prisoner to grow at impossible speeds and produce accelerated harvests.  All the while it provides the things the prisoner inside needs.  In theory after the prisoner's time is up and he is extracted, the tree will just be a regular, if slightly less fruitful tree.  There is only so much space in the orchard, so the druids will figure out a way to stick new prisoners in already grown empty  trees.
   If you have any other questions feel free to ask.  It's fun to do a little additional world building like this.

Great reads! I hope we get to read more TF stuff as well, will they return to the farm, or go somewhere else in part 2?

They will go somewhere else for part 2.  There will be lots of interesting transformations , but it won't be like WoT where there were only transformations.  I'm trying to squeeze some world-building and character development in between.