Split, Part IV (Patreon)

In the months that passed Samara fell into a submissive lull. Charlie proposed under the midnight stars, and she had no choice but to accept sweetly, her body acting as if becoming his trophy wife was all she had ever wanted. The wedding came not longer after; a mid-sized affair with family on both sides. Her remaining friends were startled by her change of heart, but to her chagrin her parents were joyous.

“We’ve always thought he was such a good boy for you dear,” her mother said. “I’m so glad that you came to see that too.”

“Thanks mum,” she spoked through gritted teeth. “I’m just so happy now.”

Her wedding dress was gorgeous; her shoulders left bare, the neckline plunging tastefully to reveal a hint of perfect cleavage. She was made to look happy as she exchanged vows with her tormentor and seal their marriage with a kiss and a promise to remain together until death do them part. She cried real tears at the thought of it, and everyone in attendance thought she seemed so happy her emotions couldn’t take it. At least things couldn’t get any worse, she thought. She was in for a surprise.

Just a week later on their honeymoon in Hawaii, after a night of passionate sex, she woke to a violent nausea rising in her stomach. She barely made it to the toilet in time before she was on her knees coughing up bile again and again until the nausea disappeared. Fingers shaking, she managed to wash her mouth out and flinch at the shadow being cast across the bathroom. Charlie was standing in the doorway, his eyes wide and reverent, a smile forming on his lips.

“Congratulations honey,” he said, “we’re having a baby.”

“N-no, I’m just sick. I ate too much last night.”

Charlie took her in his arms, caressed her stomach lightly. “I think we both know that’s not true Samara.” A shiver ran down her spine as she realised he was right. There had been other signs; her breasts had been aching and sore the past few days.

“It’s going to be wonderful watching you grow,” he said.

From that day Samara plunged even deeper into her investigations. She knew her life was on a timer now; it was only a matter of nine months or less until she had - she nearly vomited at the thought – Charlie’s baby. She knew too that as time went by her body would begin to betray her and impede her movements; her breasts would become swollen and full of milk for the child within her; her belly would grow with that same child, impeding her movements; she would become tired and sleepy; hyperemotional due to the flood of hormones coursing through her veins. She had planned to become pregnant in her 30’s, not at the age of nineteen! It wasn’t fair! And from the way Charlie spoke, he planned on having a very big family . . .

From that day onwards, Samara went into overdrive. She tracked down the movements of the Wandering Witch, deciphered patterns and figured out some of Tila’s personality traits; likelihood of vengeance, bargaining tips, the works. She made calls to other apparent victims who might be sympathetic, even met with some;

A pregnant woman cursed to carry her own former boyfriend and three best friends as her own unborn quadruplets as punishment for disrupting her much older neighbour’s night-time peace with a party.

A centaur man who had mistreated horses on his cattle ranch and was now part-horse himself, forced to inseminate his breeding mares himself through a mad breeding instinct.

A thin, rakey girl her own age who had accidentally drank a potion intended for her friend’s bully, and had slowly transformed into some freaky furred cow abomination with four grotesquely large breasts and an udder, all of them producing copious quantities of milk. By all accounts the friend had submitted to an even more radical cow transformation, in order to make amends.

The results horrified and intrigued her. She wasn’t alone in her suffering, and given many of these examples, she could even take solace in the fact that at least she was still human and didn’t have to deal with udders and tails and horse-halves and the like. But many of these victims at least retained their free will, which made her sad for her own. In many ways it could be said they got the better end of the deal. Still, some facts were clear; the Wandering Witch dealt often in restorative justice, but also in simple trades and deals. She was a businesswoman at heart, and it was clear that she couldn’t just magic up money; this was a serious entrepreneurial project for her, albeit an amoral and twisted one. But from all accounts she herself often advised against rash action and cautioned restraint, which gave Samara hope that when she met Tila she might be persuaded to help her change back, even with a cost. And if her deductions were right, the Wandering Witch would be visiting the area again in roughly four month’s time. She got a shiver just thinking about all the information she’d achieved to get to this point. It was just like old times, when she and Charlie had hung out together and discussed mystery novels, and made list of all the superheros they . . .

She cast the thought aside, but she couldn’t help feeling a trace of guilt at how she had changed. Maybe Charlie was right. Maybe she had been unfair and been a bully. Maybe those feelings of joy when playing DnD with the guys were her former self trying to come out, and pull away from the fakeness of popularity and . . .

A wave of morning sickness washed over her, and she cast the thought aside as she vomited into the toilet again. No, Charlie wasn’t right. Charlie was pathetic. A pathetic little manchild who had decided to make her his Barbie Doll. She’d make him and his little snot-nosed friends pay once she got out of this mess. She’d bully them right into their graves. She’d hound Charlie into oblivion and spit on his grave. She had no regrets. All she had to do was play along until the Wandering Witch returned, and then she’d make everything right . . .

◊◊◊

For three months every moment with Charlie she put towards convincing him she had accepted her role as his perfect, submissive little bimbo girlfriend, no matter how degrading and disgusting that meant. She gave him blowjobs on demand, even gave them of her own volition from time to time. In the same vein, she made sure to initiate sex with her master several times a week, without his asking. She revelled in wearing revealing costumes, glamorous dresses that pushed her cleavage up. She laughed at his jokes, made out with him in public on a whim, hung off his arm during their long outside walks, making sure to sashay her hips in such a way that passing men froze to stare at her bouncing derriere and wobbling, open tits. She continued dressing up as Shaleera, the barbarian rogue scantily clad in a furred brassiere and miniskirt, every Wednesday when Charlie and she gamed with Samuel and David. She purred at their comments, made a show of accepting her fate, eagerly allowing David long glances at her open cleavage, making the boys dinner and serving them beer as the resident ‘barmaiden,’ to their hoots and catcalls. She ended each night with a lurid dance for them, finishing it each time with a thorough makeout session with Charlie for his friends to record and upload onto soft-core masturbation sites everywhere. She endured morning sickness, suffered through the soreness in her breasts which bulged from her too-tight DDs bras as they prepared to feed her growing child. She allowed Charlie to rub her stomach each morning when they lay naked together in bed – another condition of his instructions that she couldn’t avoid even on the coldest winter night – him spooning her from behind, erect dick stiff between her cheeks, him growing aroused at the sight and feel of her slightly rounded middle. She suffered it all, so that when the first report of the Wandering Witch was picked up by her hidden warning systems, she could fuck him unconscious that very night, letting him mumble softly into sleep about their future child, even as she slipped out of bed and called a taxi for three towns away.

“Faster!” she yelled at the driver, even as the fare ratcheted up higher and higher. She hadn’t dared taken the car; Charlie might have noticed and put an end to her final desperate escape plan with one simple questions he couldn’t help but answer submissively; “what were you trying to do?”

She could afford the payment. She could afford anything that would grant her freedom again. The only concern in her mind was time; already there was a small hesitance building deep within her that she had to consciously quash every few minutes. She knew from experience that before 24 hours were up she’d be in agony if she wasn’t in Charlie’s presence again and taking him inside of her. For once she was actually thankful for the nausea her pregnancy granted her; it helped disrupt the growing desire to be back with Charlie by giving her a more immediate concern.

Finally they arrived, and she paid the fare, trying to ignore the way the cab driver creepily stared at the deep cleavage Charlie’s control had forced her to always show off.

“Thank you sooo much,” she said sweetly, wriggling her shoulders as she did so, which set her tits wobbling. She frowned as soon as she drove away, annoyed at how much Charlie’s curse had made her into an exaggeration of everything she had been before. Sure, she had flashed a couple of drivers in exchange for a cheaper fare, but never for free! And never so vapidly!

She made her way down the bank towards the camp site, where several campers and vans were already located. She grew briefly afraid that her source had been wrong; the cowgirl who went by the online username ‘Bessica’ had pointed her this way from a recent sighting, having put together an automatic search matrix to keep up-to-date with the Wandering Witch’s current location. But it didn’t give her any more confident as she entered, her hips swaying from side to side in her tight miniskirt, her large tits bulging out of her lacy bra which could be seen as the edges of her very low v-neck. She was all on display, and as she continued to search the ground she grew increasingly uncomfortable at the hoots and wolf whistles that followed her, and the comments men shouted as she passed.

“Nice tits! Woof Woof!”

“How’d you like to come into my camper for a nice night!”

“Yeah, hotstuff! Shake those beauties for me!”

She couldn’t stop herself from pausing to wobble her tits and giggle at her catcallers, who cheered. “Sorry boys,” she said sweetly, though inside she was enraged, “this girl’s already taken.” She rubbed her slightly domed belly for show. They booed at that, but even as she moved to get away fast, her stupid body still insisted on bending over to tie her shoelaces and show off her perfect ass against the fabric of her miniskirt. She smiled at them, her body only allowing herself to frown when she’d left their ogling gazes. Finally, after a few more minutes of gawkers and creepers, she found what she was looking for.

The Wandering Witch’s camper was unmistakable in appearance; it was coated in trinkets and faux-gold chains, and its panelling was made to appear rustic and wooden. Two green lanterns lit the overhang, and the woman herself was seemingly engaged with a patron.

“It was meant to be a love spell, I wasn’t meant to be turned into a guy!” said a baritone voice; a man that in a past life Samara wouldn’t be attracted to. It was an irritating side effect of the curse; her body was only attracted to Charlie now, unless he said otherwise.

“I’m sorry my dear,” the witch, Tila, said. She had a slightly dark cast about her; perhaps her ancestors had been gypsies. “However, I never said it was a love spell. It was a linking spell that would make you into his perfect lover.”

“But I didn’t know he was gay!”

“Well, I must admit I was surprised as you were. I’d be willing to give you the counter spell, but it would be another five hundred dollars. Linking spells are expensive to undo.”

“Shit. I don’t get paid until two weeks from now.”

“You can survive two weeks.”

“But we have sex! And when I’m with him . . . I can’t help it. He’s just so . . . handsome.”

The witch smiled. “That’s the linking part of the spell. Don’t worry, it isn’t changing your identity. I don’t do that; that’d be murder. But it does mean in scenarios like this that your sexuality will shift to better accommodate your new form.”

The man spread his hands. “But I’m a girl. God, I don’t know the first thing about being a guy. Just last week I was shopping for bras and complaining to my girlfriends about my heavy flow. Now I’ve got this thing between my legs that goes hard at a moment’s notice, and I feel more aggressive, and I nearly broke my cup the other day when I -”

“But you’re happy with him.”

“Well, yeah, but . . .”

The witch shrugged. “Then wait two weeks for your payment to come in. You’re already on paid leave, so you can wait it out and decide if you want to come back. In the meantime, see if David makes you happy.”

The man seemed to frown for a moment, puzzling over his options. He used to be a woman, Samara marvelled, and he’s actually considering staying? Fuck that. Still, first impressions were important, and as her mind increasingly wandered towards the absence of Charlie she found herself stamping her foot, waiting for her turn in line. Finally, the transformed man went away, having made a non-refundable down payment on the reversal spell, but still unsure over whether or not to take it.

“Now young miss, what can I do for – wait a moment.” The witch paused, sniffed the air for a moment, so that her various trinkets jangled. “You’re already under the effect of one of my spells. A witch can always tell. But I don’t remember you as a customer, unless you were the subject of one of my customer’s curses.”

Samara hesitated. She wasn’t sure how to approach this. She decided on being straightforward. She didn’t have much time, and already she felt the growing desire to return to her husband and let him rub her pregnant belly while he fucked her from behind and – no! No. She stepped forward, one leg thrusting out majestically before the other, her generous pregnant tits bobbing with each step.

“I am. Charlie Zarner was the customer. He – he purchased a pendant to make me his personal slave. To make me into this,” she gestured at her ridiculous outfit, lingering her fingers over her pregnant belly which was just beginning to show. “I’m so happy now, he really knows how to show a girl a good time. She internally cringed at what she was forced to say. She always knew this was the tricky part; having to talk around the curse well, say what she wanted without being able to. The witch seemed slightly amused.

“Hmm, I remember what Charlie had to say about you. I even used a little magic to see if he was telling the truth. You really did a number on the poor kid. Do you even care that he tried to kill himself?”

“Of course I do silly, I was a bad girl and now I’m good. And Charlie is the love of my life. It’s just – I didn’t – look at what he’s done to me! He’s made me so perfect and beautiful, and now I always show off these amazing tits and hourglass figure so everyone can know what a gorgeous slut I am.”

Tila lowered her gaze. “Hm. Does he make you wear that getup?”

“Yes, all the time, and sometimes even less! I can’t help but speak like some lovesick puppy because I’m in love with him all the time, especially in public.”

The witch smirked. “I see. Tell me Samara, where is Charlie right now?”

Even just the thought of him made her shiver. She tried to remain strong. “Oh, he’s still asleep back at home. He likes to cuddle up against me, and put his hand over where our little one is growing.” She gestured to her stomach again.

“And yet you’re here. Tell me why. Or at least try to.”

Samara frowned, concentrating every iota of her speech to make her obfuscated meaning clear. “I just felt the need to come here, Tila,” she said, letting the Witch know she’d done enough investigation to know her first name. “I’ve heard so much about you, and done so much work tracking you down. I just wanted to thank you . . . and make sure that I never, ever get changed back to what I used to be.” She stressed that last part as much as her giggling, bimbo body would allow her, even as she struck up a pose that emphasised her wobbling tits.

“Hmmm,” Tila said, “I see I have my work cut out for me. “I never suspected Charlie would go this far. It is true that you were incredibly vile toward him . . .”

“Oh yeah,” Samara replied against her will, “It’s why I do everything for him to let him know how much I love him. I’m going to give him so many babies. I’m going to get pregnant again and again so he has lots of beautiful children, and I’ll raise them as his preggo housewife.”

“. . . but I suppose you have had your punishment. It is lucky he didn’t buy a transformation spell from me. A pregnancy will lock those so that no witch or wizard may undo them. Thankfully, yours should be easy enough to deal with. At the cost of three hundred and twelve dollars.”

She paid the cash eagerly, though even as she typed out her PIN code she found her body tensing at her every movement. If only Charlie was here, she thought, before realising what she was doing and snapping out of it. The next hour was a growing agony as she waited for Tila to prepare the spell circle and the required ingredients in order to undo the enchantment that had turned her into the horny pregnant slave she was now. Thoughts of Charlie and his magnificent cock fell into her mind, and all the ways she could make him tense and groan until she licked every trace of his seed and swallowed it all up. Her loins grew wet at the mere thought of him, and when she was told to step into the spell circle she barely noticed, her lust was so strong. Tila was very emphatic that she should not step outside the circle until the ritual was complete, and it took every remaining ounce of concentration in her to focus upon that one point.

All at once, the chanting became inhuman and eldritch, and a bubble of pink-hued light surrounded her, ending at the chalk-line of the circle, each segment of the bubble refracting images of herself at different points of her life; her a six-year old child playing make-believe in the backyard; her during the early-teen years, awkward and lanky, braces on her teeth. But happy. Happy and laughing with Charlie as they played boardgames together. Another refraction showed her just a couple of years on, when her breasts had undergone their late bloom and her figure had gone from lanky to curvy. She was besides her new friends, the high school cheerleading clique, and Charlie was in the distance, afraid. In the present, she pressed a hand over her breast, tears brimming in her eyes. I was happy then . . . and I became a monster. It was the first true realisation. She reached out towards Charlie, urged on not only by her magically-induced servitude and lust but also by a deep and genuine longing for the friend she had betrayed. Whatever their sins, both of them had paid. Maybe . . . maybe they could start again.

Her mind was thrown into confusion. She needed to return to him. Needed to apologise for all that she had done. Needed to fuck him. Needed to birth his children. Needed to break up with him. Needed to stay his friend. The only consistent truth was that she had to see Charlie. She felt as if she would die if she couldn’t see him. Now. The refractions flickered, showing mirror images of her at that very moment, right as she stepped over the chalk circle and the Wandering Witch yelled out ‘Samara, NO!”

In the exact moment she realised what she had done she could feel her body splitting apart. She began to scream.

To Be Concluded . . .