Choose Your Words, Part 4 (Multi TF, Anthro, Body Alteration) (Patreon)

By FoxFaceStories

A Combined Story Tier Prompt from Rilby & TG Sorcerer

Abby finds herself the target of her jealous stepmother who hates how happy Abby is with her loving fiance Trent. When Abigail confronts her stepmother over her cruel comments, she finds herself cursed to ‘regret her words, and the words of others.’ Soon, Abigail finds that her body and behaviour is transforming on the basis of what other people nearby say about her. As she tries to take control of the curse, things spiral even more out of control, and Abigail is left wondering if she’ll even be human by the time the curse has run its course.

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Part 4: Animal Parts

Abigail groaned. The sensations were utterly unnatural, but there was no way to stop them. A woman had commented on her body, called her a ‘cow’ and made a comment about ‘swinging your udders’, and now a real-life udder was literally manifesting between her thighs. The poor transforming woman tried to keep her voice under control, but there was so much going on. Her long foxy tail swished from side to side in agitation, and her furry ears picked up everything that people were saying:

“What is wrong with that woman?”

“Those ears can’t be real!”

“I think she’s growing some kind of mass between her legs.”

“Nonsense, there’s no way that - my God, it looks like an udder!”

“A big one!”

“A really big one. Jesus Christ above, will it make milk, do you think?”

By this point the development was indeed obvious: Abby was spreading her legs wide on the seat she’d managed to secure, and the mass above her crotch was rapidly gaining in size and weight, the four protruding teats pressing painfully against the material of her clothing. She grunted and groaned as it swelled yet larger, encouraged by the words of those around her. At the word ‘milk’ from an older man across from her, it ballooned even more rapidly, a warm sensation flooding the new organ, a new pressure causing it to become strained. 

“Nghh! S-stop! Stop talking, everyone! Y-you’re m-making it woooorse! OHhhhh G-God! Ahhhh - OHHHH G-GOD!!!”

The front of her pants exploded, ripping open to allow the large pink mass to continue its growth. The crowd gasped in horror, and none more so than the woman who had called her a cow in the first place. Abigail burned red with humiliation and shame, but she was helpless but to give the udder more space to grow. The large bulging teats were so damn sensitive, and it made her realise with a horror that they may be bound to the same rules as her breasts given their similarity; if so, then would they be ludicrously sensitive forever? She found the answer immediately; the soreness of her new udder’s expansion caused her to massage the mass automatically, and doing so elicited long groans of near-ecstasy from her.

“Mmhmmm, ohhhhh, s-so f-freakin’ s-sensitive! Ahhhhh, God! It has to s-stop! No one s-say anything! P-please!”

It seemed to work, because nobody did. The entire train carriage was in stunned silence as her pulsating udder finally reached its greatest extent. It was easily the size of a basketball, if not larger. The pressure within it was surprisingly intense, and it was only thanks to her big, peachy ass that she felt she had enough cushioning to support it while sitting down. Still, it spilled onto her lap horrifically, gurgling slightly, looking just like a cow’s udder, only one sized a bit more reasonably for a human; if she was still human.

The pale woman panted. She needed to get off the train and cover herself. Get out of the public view, even as her step mother’s magic compelled her to remain around others, all thanks to that older man’s comment in the park. She brushed her blonde hair behind her ears, got a hold of her manic breathing, and lifted herself up.

She regretted it instantly, as her udder squashed unexpectedly against the railing of the seat in front of her.

“Mmhmm!” she groaned. The sensitivity and pain mingled together, causing her nipples in her now-huge E-cup breasts to bulge also. Why was everything so damn sensitive? What had she done to deserve this?

“Out of m-my way!” she managed, clutching her udder. She pushed past a man - the one who had commented about ‘milk’ - and tried to make space for herself. But between her rotund backside, her enormous tits, and her even larger udder, something had to give. Her new teats pressed against his pants leg, and the pressure became all too much.

There was an intense feeling of release, and suddenly a long white spurt of milk shot out of two of her teats, milk spilling all down the man’s leg.

“What the fuck?” the man gasped as she momentarily paused, gasping at the sight of milk - her cow’s milk - releasing. She grunted like an animal in response to it, and the worst part was how nice it actually felt, like finally peeing after needing to go for so long. “Is that milk? This isn’t some performance trick? Get away from me, you freak!”

She did so, moving as quickly as she could, breasts bobbing and now udder too. It had so little support and was so heavy that she had to clutch it manually, and when the train pulled to a stop she was the first one off. But not before, unfortunately, many of the train’s other passengers had pulled out their phones and started filming her.

“Please! J-just leave me alone! And don’t s-say anything!”

She ran from the station, uncaring who could see her, only that she could outpace them before her foxy ears could pick anything up. She immediately reached the bathroom and examined her body. She didn’t want to look at her ridiculous udder, but she needed to cover it up and get some support. Luckily, she had a scarf, brought just in case she needed to cover her face. Thinking quickly - and out of the necessity borne from the discomfort of her new hanging organ - she tied it around her waist and used it as an improvised band beneath her udder. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to provide some support to mitigate the ache and prevent it from slapping so much against her thighs. 

“This can’t be happening,” she groaned to herself, pawing over the udder. “A fucking udder. A goddamn fucking udder. It isn’t fair! This is all her goddamn fault. There has to be a way to change back.”

She pulled her coat more tightly around herself, hiding her tail as well as she could back within its folds. She buttoned it up and nestled her tail as comfortably as she could, but that brought its own discomfort. She was already so freakish, she was terrified others would comment on her, causing yet further changes. But with so many bulges, something had to give; her cleavage was very much on display from her pert E-cups, the corners of her sexy, lacy bra easily visible as it cupped them full.

“Damn you, Trent,” she muttered under her breath. He was usually such a kind, considerate man. It was why she wanted to marry him. Only now in his haste to help he’d ended up making her changes all the more alarming, and attention-gaining!

Abigail took a deep breath. She’d have to go home. She’d have to. 

“Have to get back to him. Have to beat this damn compulsion.”

But it was too strong. Thanks to that unaware older man in the park, she was continually compelled to be out and about. She sighed heavily, and was greeted with the odd sensation of not only her larger breasts rising and falling, but her udder swelling against her pants. She’d done all she could; thank God she had a belt, but the front had to be torn further open to allow it some ‘breathing room.’

“No more milk,” she grunted, touching it lightly. It caused her four teats to stir, hardening slightly, and she nearly retched a little. “No, no more touching that. But definitely no more milk! I can get through this. Goddamnit, I can get through this!”

She left the bathroom, moving slowly and awkwardly and trying to keep out of people’s way. Thankfully, the wind had died down enough that she could cover her ears once more. As far as anyone was concerned, she was perhaps just recovering from an illness or something.

***

She decided to stay out as long as her compulsions required her, and not a moment longer. The park was the safest place; it was large and dispersed and a place people went to for privacy. She purchased some art supplies at a nearby store and a small canvas and board. Not only would doing some more art help soothe her, but it would also be a sign to everyone to leave her alone, hopefully. 

It worked, for a time. In fact, despite the horrid changes to her body, the compression of her tail and the growing warmth and pressure in her udder, she was even able to attain some measure of peace. There was no way she was going to be stuck like this, right? Clara couldn’t possibly be right when she said the changes would be permanent. And if they were . . . maybe like with her tail, they could adjust her udder. Make it just some barely noticeably nipples below her belly button that only Trent would ever know about. That wouldn’t be so bad, all things considered. And perhaps Clara was just making a bluff, perhaps the tail could be surgically removed. The ears would have to stay unless she wanted to go deaf, but there were ways of dealing with it. 

These were the thoughts that spilled through her mind as she painted. It was a meditative act, one that allowed her to refocus her mind and dim the awareness of her udder. It still lurked in her thoughts - it was certainly weighing a few pounds on her, and she adjusted her sitting position regularly because she was unused to it - but the trance-like state of painting the duck pond before her at least kept her from full-blown panic. Even the growing warmth in her new bovine organ wasn’t too bad and could be put off for a time. That was, until someone made a comment.

“Spilled some paint,” someone said as they moved past.

She looked up, despite her pledge not to interact with others, to see a middle-aged woman stepping past. “I’m sorry?”

The woman gestured down to Abigail’s lap, where the billowing coat was just barely managing to conceal her increasingly bloated lower mammary.

“You spilled some milk. See!”

Abby looked down to her lap, and realised immediately what the woman was talking about. To her utter shame, there was a large damp patch spreading right over there, with droplets of white that could only be her milk. The woman thought it was paint, but the strange, almost blissful release that Abby had been experiencing had seemingly not just been from painting, but from her milk finally expressing itself in her overly full udder.

“Ughhh,” she grunted, the full weight of the pressure coming over her. How had she not realised how engorged it would become? That’s what udders were for! 

“It’s no worry dear, I just thought you should know,” the woman said.

Abigail managed to force an extraordinarily reluctant smile her way.

“Th-thank you,” she managed, trying not to squirm and make the shape of her bovine mass all the more obvious. “I didn’t realise.”

The woman smiled. “Not a worry at all, dear! I’m happy to help a pretty young lady like yourself.”

Abby couldn’t help but wince at the woman’s words. She meant nice enough, but Abby felt the farthest thing from ‘pretty’ at that moment. The bulge at her abdomen was bad enough, but there was also the tail, the fox ears, the huge boobs, the pale skin, even the hair that - while nice and cute - wasn’t hers at all. It was the last feature that was about to change again, however. Some people just couldn’t help but pry.

“It’d be a shame to get paint in that pretty blonde hair of yours, after all!” the woman continued. A sense of dread hit Abby, as if something suggestive was about to be said. 

“Oh, um, thank you. I actually have to go . . . clean up.”

“Of course dear. You should definitely grow your hair out longer, though. Take it from a woman of an age where it’s not as acceptable, a young lady like yourself should definitely take advantage of your age! A gorgeous cat needs a good coat of hair, as my mother always said!”

The rippling of magic followed, that eerie warbling sensation that forewarned of further changes yet to come.

“Th-thank you,” Abby muttered again, moving as fast as she could, awkwardly clutching her udder before releasing it to hang in her scarf-sling. “But I n-need to really go! Sorry!”

“Of course dear! Oh, what about your lovely painting?”

“You k-keep it! It’s - ughhhh - a g-gift!”

Her skin was itching terribly. She pawed at it, scratching at the surface even as she moved. She needed to get out of the pair. She needed to get home, as soon as possible.

“Euugh, what on earth is f-fucking happening n-now!?”

She made it to the edge of the park, her overly-developed chest jiggling in her bra, her udder pulling at her scarf-sling, leaking milk everywhere, her fox tail threatening to escape. Several onlookers were observing the panicking woman, asking if she needed help.

“I just need to g-get home! Nghh! Just n-need to g-get home. Leave me alone and s-say nothing, you f-fucking morons!”

“Cow!” one said.

“Bitch,” said another. “Watch your tongue around children!”

She gasped at the exit, clutching the rail of the gate as two small pinpricks pushed at her temples, bursting slowly from the skin. At the same time her tongue lengthened, becoming canine in size, panting at the edge of her lips.

“N-nooo,” she groaned, moving with haste. She began dialling for a taxi. Public transport could go lick itself, she needed Trent. “No, not a taxi. Trent himself. He can get me. I know he w-will.”

She dialled him instead.

And that’s when she noticed the blonde cat’s fur with little patches of fox-like ginger creeping along her wrist, sprouting from her skin.

To Be Continued . . .