Choose Your Words, Part 7 (Multi TF, Anthro, Body Alteration) (Patreon)

The final chapter of this ongoing TF story! Enjoy!

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.

Warning: Dark!

First Part 

Previous Part

Part 7: Lively Exhibition

Abigail moaned with pleasure as she was fucked. Numerous people took photos and videos of the act as it occurred, but as usual she was too lost in the pleasure to really care about that. Her body demanded breeding, and given that her pregnancies only lasted about three months before labor began, she needed breeding often. It didn’t hurt that her body was pretty much ready to be re-impregnated just a week or so after birthing an entire damn litter, or that her libido was so powerful that her body also demanded it. It also didn’t hurt that the act was so fucking glorious. 

“M-maaate me!” she moaned, thrusting backwards in time with her mate’s own hip movements. 

This one’s name was Matt, and had apparently come all the way from Texas. That was how it went these days: the zoological display she was housed in got a lot of funding courtesy of rich men who wanted to fuck the weirdo animal woman with six breasts and the big old udder. Others just loved her kitsune/fox lady aspect. Others still just got off on getting her full with litters. One man named Jacob was a repeat customer, and had gotten her knocked up four times in the five years since her transformation had solidified. But this one, this ‘Matt,’ he sure did smell virile. She could always tell, thanks to the pheromones in the air from her strange glands, and how utterly aroused it made the men that mated her.

“G-give me m-more litters!” she moaned. “Need m-more! Ohhhh God! I need to be p-pregnant again!”

“That’s a good girl,” Matt said, thrusting into her from behind. He gripped her rounded ass with one hand, fingers sinking into the flesh in such a way to make her three fox tails glide across him. With the other hand, he pulled at one of her hanging udder teats, sending a warm stream of milk to pour from the full sac. The ecstasy of it made her wail animalistically.

“Y-yesss, I’m a g-good girl for you!”

“You’re so fucking hot. I can’t believe I’m into something like this, but I am. And those tits. God, all that titflesh!”

He reached forward as he fucked her, fondling several of her tits on her left ‘column.’ They too seeped milk, her nipples dark and huge. She ground her horns into the earth, digging small trenches from the sheer bliss.

“Say that you’re my mate! My creature!”

“I’m y-your mate! I’m your creature!”

“You’re to do with as I please. To get knocked up with those little freak babies, all huge and pregnant.

“I am! I am! So long as you g-get me full with a big litter! Mhmmm! I want to b-birth your babies! OHhhhhh YESSS!!!”

He came. They always did. And they always came prodigiously, a side effect of her powerful pheromones. Abigail’s animalistic body shook as her body accepted his seed hungrily, devouring it into her womb so that she could make more babies like herself. She mumbled happily in the aftermath, collapsing to one side and fondling her naked breasts. Matt looked down at her, a smile across his features.

“Hot as hell,” he said. “Look at you, already feeling yourself.”
 “You c-could milk me?” she suggested, still out of breath. “Drink m-my milk?”

Matt obliged, leaving her moaning. It would do until her latest litter woke and needed to feed from her. As the man drank from the lowest tier of breasts and yanked her udder teats, spilling more of her produce. Even among the animal bliss of it, there was still shame. She needed to be pregnant. She needed to make more animal-human young. She needed to bask in the public attention that the spectacle brought, as part of her mental changes.

But deep down, even as the orgasm came and she howled in unbelievable joy, she knew that this was not what her life was meant to be. She was supposed to be a lithe, little human woman, an attractive artist with a handsome and loving fiance. Instead, she was now a freak of nature, on display before millions and bred constantly, her very births made public due to the sensation of them. 

“Not how . . . this was supposed . . . to be,” she panted, shuddering in one final orgasm. But of course, she was already pregnant, she knew. Her body was fertile like that.

***

After Trent had left and she had gone into labor, it hadn’t taken long for inquiring neighbours to enter the room and see an incredible pregnant woman with numerous animal parts and far too many breasts in the midst of giving birth. Poor Abigail had to struggle through several hours of labor, her breasts and udder practically pouring milk everywhere in preparation for her litter, all while numerous frantic calls were made for an ambulance, for the police, even for damn animal control. No one knew quite what to do with the freakish woman, and even as her neighbours attended to her, and later the paramedics, it was far too difficult to shift her from her position on the floor. She was far too bloated and heavy with her litter, and some of them were repulsed by her three tails or cow horns or furry skin or a dozen other strange things.

In the end, the urge to push had come over her. She had strained and bore down, tears and sweat and milk settling over patches of her fur, and finally the first of her litter had arrived into the hands of an astonished paramedic.

“NGHHH! OH G-GOD! IT’S COMING! I CAN F-FEEL IT! HRRARGGHH!!”

Something alive had slid out from her, already crying like a newborn babe. But when the paramedic lifted it far above her huge dome of a belly, she was shocked to see that the child, while roughly in the shape of one, had a wet coating of light blonde ginger fur, three little fox tails, furry fox ears, three rows of nipples, and a small set of indentations below her belly button. She was a girl, obviously, and seemed to have much the same characteristics as her mother. The paramedic quickly worked to sever the umbilical cord, but the crying continued. Abigail winced as her breasts and udder tensed.

“P-please,” she managed. “She n-needs to f-feed. I need her to f-feed.”

The paramedic placed her into Abigail’s arms. By this point they had stuffed numerous pillows under her head and shoulders to allow her a bit more of a slight sitting position, though a pure sitting position was impossible due to her impossibly overstuffed womb. She placed her baby at her upper left breast and it latched almost instantly, suckling away and finally giving some release to all the pent up milk there.

“Ahhh, that’s better, that’s - NNGHH! Oh God, not again! AARGHH!!”

And then labour continued, and it was time to push, push, push some more, all while more professionals and scientists and even reporters arrived, astonished at what they were seeing.

In the end, Abby lay sweating, her belly immensely deflated, her body covered in newborn babies drinking up her endless supply of milk. Her three tails swished gently, fanning her slightly in the aftermath. She had somehow managed to birth nine children. Nine. She had only one nipple or teat to spare, and a small part of her wished she had pushed out ten just so the milk from her udder could be extracted at a faster rate; thanks to the words that had changed her, it was seemingly forever too full.

“Can’t believe it, some kind of genetic experiment?”

“I don’t know man, I’ve never seen anything like her. This can’t be a disease, right?”

“We’re in contact with her fiance now. He says it’s some kind of magic but he’s pretty frantic. Sounds like he has no idea either.”

“Just got a call from her stepmother, a woman named Clara. Said that Abigail here was messing around with some stuff she found at the junkyard for an art project. Bunch of syringes from a genetics lab or something.”

“That’s - that’s a lie,” Abigail breathed, trying to get her words across to the reporters and examiners looking at her freakish form.

But it didn’t matter. They weren’t listening to her. And it wouldn’t help her anyway. She was stuck like this for good and now had nine little hybrid babies to take care of. Clara had won. And the worst part? Thanks to that old man in the park, part of her was relishing the attention, needing to have her bloated, milk-filled, animal hybrid body displayed to the world.

Little did she know at the time, but that’s exactly what she would get.

***

Abigail was examined, tested, made the subject of numerous scientific journals and news reports. The attention was humiliating, and even worse because Trent was repeatedly interviewed despite his clear desire to get away from it all. Abigail couldn’t stand seeing him on television, claiming that their engagement was off and that he was “taking time to come to terms with it all.”

“Like I don’t have more to come to terms with!” she exclaimed, naked on her side, her custom six-part bra off so that she could feet her huge litter. They were basically attached to her most of the time, guzzling up her produce while she waited for her ‘new home’ to be built. “I’m the one who became a damn freak you traitor! You coward! You haven’t even met your damn kids!”

She gently helped one of her babies - God, she adored them, despite how freakish the whole situation was - back up onto her middle right breast. She chuckled darkly to herself.

“He’s a freakin’ deadbeat dad!” she said with a laugh. “Leaving me at home with the kids, ha!”

Sometimes laughter was all she had. That, and her babies. And milk. And a growing need for something else that was stirring in her loins. A need, she would soon realise, to breed.

It was after another set of interviews with her - she couldn’t resist them, even though she had given up on the magic story and accepted the official ‘playing with gene-laden needles one - that her new home was finally ready. Abigail was to be housed in a large exotic display in a custom-made zoo area. She would have luxurious surroundings, access to television and the internet and all that, and plenty of clothing as she desired it. Of course, she only needed sexy lingerie bras for her six boobs, and a custom set of sexy panties with built in support for her udder. Those always mysteriously appeared thanks to the magic, which the ‘zookeepers’ attributed to anonymous donations. 

The home was rather lovely, though she was humiliated at her need to be so openly displayed. But she had personally begged the creators to do so, her need to be in public and be seen too great. People came from everywhere to marvel at the strange woman with her six enormous breasts and udder, her three fox tails and set of fox ears, her bovine horns and cat-like fur. The fact that she wore sexy lingerie that cupped her many mammaries was just the cherry on top. And, of course, there was the other thing that Abigail soon came to realise. 

That instinct to mate? To breed? To make a big litter of hybrid babies? It didn’t go away.

In fact, her pheromones returned a few months after her placement in the facility, and one of her minders, when he brought her food, was suddenly intoxicated by her. They fucked like rabbits, him savouring her milk and stroking her fur and generally enjoying her body immensely as he got her pregnant. This one, at least, was a more regular pregnancy, at least for her freakish body. The poor man - Jacob was his name - got a severe reprimand until Abigail explained what was going on, and she began to bloat up over the next three months until she literally couldn’t shift herself. She gave birth to ten babies that time, straining and pushing and bearing down once more as she literally doubled the amount of life she had already brought into existence. 

This time, the whole world watched live.

“Ughhh . . . I just kn-know she’s w-watching,” Abigail said in the aftermath, a whole team of babies fighting for space as they breast or udder-fed from her.

From that day, it only took a week for her breeding instincts to re-emerge. And given the amount of funding necessary to keep her facility not only afloat, but expanding to have a nursery, daycare, and even educational institutes for her strange children, then something more had to give. In the end, it had been Abigail’s idea to advertise the ‘right’ to impregnate her, and even fuck her when she was simply horny. Her body was animalistic, and it needed a good rutting. She consented to it all, wanting it, desiring it. At first, she imagined it was Trent coming back to her, but after a time she came to enjoy the experience of different men getting her knocked up with big litters, even if they were often very fetishistic about it, exoticising her as some kind of pet. So long as she had her litters, her humiliated body could be satisfied.

It was after two years of this that she finally came face to face with the woman who had done this. Her father often called her and even visited her a few times. He found it awkward and so did she, but it was good that he still cared, and he often sent gifts and books and, best of all, art supplies, one of the few hobbies she could still maintain quite easily. In fact, a number of her paintings had sold well. But she had never seen Clara, despite desiring to for the first time in her life. It was only when she was feeling the first pressures of what could be labor again that she was suddenly there, in her exhibit, apparently having paid for the privilege of seeing her up close.

Abigail glared, furious even as she clutched her overly full belly. Twelve babies this time. She almost wished she had another pair of breasts just to avoid sorting them around.

“My, my, it’s been a long time, Abigail.”

“You . . . I hate you.”

Clara just smirked. “Oh, I’m sure you do. But I did once tell you that you should choose your words carefully. It seems that other people weren’t so careful in choosing their words for you though, I’m afraid!”

“What d-do you w-want? Are you going to ch-change me back?”

Clara knelt down and patted Abigail’s fur, even feeling two of her three bushy tails. Abigail was too tired, and too frightened, to try to stop her. She even moaned a little as the woman’s hands traced over her stomach, brushing some of her bloated breasts.

“Such a big litter, though I assume you’ll have bigger ones. However do you do it?”
 “D-don’t have a choice. You know that. Can’t s-stop breeding. Unless you ch-change me back?”

Clara just ‘tsk tsk’ed. “Abigail, I was serious when I said this was permanent. Nothing can undo it. Nothing. Not even high magic. This is you for good now, but don’t worry. You’re still young. I’m told that Trent has found someone else now, but you’re much better without him. You’ve got a string of lovers practically everyday, and more babydaddies than you can shake a stick at already. Of course, your father still insists on loving you, but at least I don’t have to put up with you anymore. Now you can enjoy being the rude animal you always were, and just focus on popping out little babies for the rest of your life.”

“Why are you h-here?” Abigail groaned. She clenched her eyes a little, her stomach was tensing. Yep, it was definitely another birth. She wasn’t a fan of how full-on they were, and this was the biggest yet. Though apparently bigger were on the way.

“Oh, like I said, I just wanted to drop in and say that this is the last time we’ll see each other. Think of this as a bit of closure, for me and for you. Now you don’t have to wonder about ever going back to being human again, and I don’t have to wonder about if you fully understand your fate. Enjoy the rest of your life, Abigail. I’m sure it will be most . . . productive.”

And with that, she left. Abigail tried to call something, but in the worst possible timing of all, her waters suddenly broke, and she began to gasp and groan as the birth process started. Clara just smirked back at her, then she was gone for good.

***

Now it had been five years. Abigail was still young. She knew she still had dozens and dozens of pregnancies left to go, and literally hundreds of hybrid babies to birth. She knew that she would have her strange body with its tails and horns and extra mammaries and fur and all that for life. She would feel the need to show off her big, peachy ass and even use her long, prehensile tongue to please men when they desired it. She would birth again and again, growing litter after litter in her body. She had, on some embarrassed level, accepted that.

But she had other goals in mind.

“D-did you g-get it?” she asked Matt, her current lover, in the aftermath.

“That depends? Are you pregnant, sexy?”

She rolled her eyes and smirked at the man who had paid to mate with her. “Oh, yeah, the next batch is yours. Give it two and a half months and I’ll be struggling to walk with how many babies you’ve put in me.”

He brushed her fox tails as she sat on his lap sideways. He pressed his face into her breasts and then switched to stroking her udder and fur. It felt quite soothing. She’d have to have Matt over again, she decided.

“Then I got it,” he replied. “In exchange for future services and a discount.”

“If it’s authentic,” she said.

He retrieved the book from a satchel and showed it to her. True enough, it was an old tome, looking much like the one that Trent had described and that Clara apparently possessed a copy of. A tome of hexes and curses, including the one she had been ‘blessed’ with.

“Is this it?”

Abigail marvelled, eyes wide. She scratched her horns as was her habit these days, then quickly checked she wasn’t leaking milk from her many mammaries as she took it.

“Oh yes, this is it, alright.”

“Bit of light reading?”

“Let’s just say I’ve got a lot of time to learn,” she replied.

She checked a number of the pages, and found the one she was looking for. The language was old-timey and difficult to make out. No matter, she had plenty of time, and she knew her target. When Clara had visited, a few stray hairs had stayed behind. Abigail doubted she’d noticed, but Clara had already begun her investigation of magic, and she had kept those hairs safe. The same was true of a glass from her apartment that still had Trent’s thumbprint. Those were all she needed to get the magic started. It wouldn’t be easy, of course. It might take weeks, months, or even a year to get the spell right. But she would do it, between the mating, the breastfeeding, the birthing, and the exhibiting. Between the interviews and videos, the time with her beloved little ones and her own artistic pursuits. She would manage it. And then, perhaps, there might be a need for two more facilities to house a couple more freaks.

And they had better watch how they chose their words.

The End 

Alternative Ending Here: Vixen Edition