Choose Your Words (Multi TF, 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.

Choose Your Words

Part 1: The Stepmother’s Curse

Abigail tried to keep her smile plastered on her face as she got out of the car. Trent took her hand like the gentleman he was, giving her a reassuring smile.

“It won’t be all that bad, Abby,” he told her. “It’s just a quick visit.”

She chuckled. “You’re acting like it’s your evil stepmother we’re seeing, and not mine.”

“Well, it’s your Dad you’ve come to see, and you still love him. Just remember that.”

Abigail sighed, her lithe figure barely taking in air. She brushed some of her dark brunette hair behind her ear as she gathered her thoughts and collected herself.

“You’re right. I’m here for Dad, not Clara. I just - I just wish he hadn’t married such a horrible woman. She’s so miserable, and she’s clearly only with Dad for his money. She can barely stand to be in the same room with him: he deserves better!”

Trent put an arm around her shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ll be there with you. You won’t be alone.”

She looked up at her tall, attractive fiance. God, she couldn’t wait to marry him. He was a successful lawyer with dark hair and classical good looks; literally tall, dark, and handsome. They had met several years ago at a party through shared acquaintances and hit it off immediately. Abby was an artist who loved colour and expression, while Trent preferred rules and research and printed lines. They shouldn’t have gotten along, but instead they enhanced one another’s interests. It didn’t hurt that while he was very good looking, she was quite a beauty too: Abigail took great pride in her elven-like appearance. She was slim and beautiful, with piercing blue eyes that people loved to compliment. Like Trent, she kept in shape, and that was something they bonded over as well.

“If this goes south, you’re getting me out of here,” she told him playfully. “Carry me if you must.”

“That’s a taunt. You know I love to carry you. Makes me feel all manly.”

She went up on her tippy-toes and kissed him on the cheek. “You are manly,” she said, before hitting the buzzer to the door.

The door opened, and fortunately it was her father on the other side. He was older, and not just in age. They’d crossed states to come visit, which was why she couldn’t back out, but it was worth it all to see his crinkly smile.

“Abby! Oh, it’s so good to see you! And Trent! How are you both!”

He wrapped them in a big bear hug before practically pulling them in.

“I’ll just get Clara. She’s been so looking forward to seeing you.”

Abby and Trent exchanged a look that said ‘no, she hasn’t been,’ but neither said anything out loud. Abby’s father was too busy readying coffees and teas and food for them.

“You must be starving!” he exclaimed, “after such a long trip. How goes the wedding planning? Is it all coming together? Was the money I sent enough? I can send more?”

“Please don’t Dad!” Abby said, sitting down on the couch in the living space. “You’ve done more than enough.”

“That’s right,” came a cold female voice. “He truly has done more than he should have. I mean, really, a ten thousand dollar wedding? That’s just appalling, Abby.”

The eyes of the room fell to a thin, borderline skeletal woman. She had once been beautiful, back when Clint (Abby’s father) had married her, but years of smoking and pent-up foulness had ruined her.

“Darling, it’s what most weddings cost,” Clint reminded her.

Abby’s cruel stepmother simply stepped into the room, sighing as she sucked on her cigarette. She exhaled near Trent, who coughed, but didn’t take the bait to respond.

“It’s still going ahead then?” she said. “The wedding?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Trent replied. “We’re very much in love, and we’re doing well, aren’t we, darling?”

Abby smiled, putting on her brave face. Clara had never wanted her to succeed, and had always called her artistic focus in particular ‘vacuous and stupid, unlikely to ever take off.’ Now that she had her own art studio and a successful online business selling her work, she could finally rub the woman’s nose in it.

“That’s right, Clara,” she said, nibbling down on a snack and the tea her father had made her. “Trent and I are only happier with each passing day.”

The woman’s eyebrow twitched. “Well, I suppose you’ll have to subsist on love, given that you’re still pursuing art. Really, Abby, I sometimes feel sorry for poor Trent here, having to support yo-”

“Actually, Abby’s art business has really taken off,” Trent said casually. “She makes more money than I do. And not to toot my own horn or anything, but lawyering doesn’t pay too badly either. Which is why we cannot accept anything else, Clint. You’ve given us far more help than we deserve.”

“Nonsense!” Abby’s father said, sitting down with them. “You know we’re all very happy for you, aren’t we dear?”

“Of course, honey,” Clara said, though her words weren’t convincing to anyone but her husband in the slightest.

***

They continued to chat for some time, reminiscing about Abby’s mother - a subject Clara hated - as well as Clint’s health issues, his model ship collection, and when he was going to get grandkids - something which amused Abby and Trent since they certainly had no plans for them anytime soon, perhaps ever! But the whole time her stepmother continued to give them the stinkeye, and with every tale of how well they were doing, how happy they were, how far along they were in their hobbies, how young and healthy they worked to be, and so on, she only retreated further into fuming, festering rudeness. For every compliment Abby’s father gave, Clara gave a backhanded one. For every excited piece of news, she found a way to undermine it.

Finally, it all became too much. Abby had never been the most forthright and confident person, but her father had taught her to stick her heels in the mud and hold her ground when necessary.

“For God’s sake, Clara, will you stop being so damn negative about freaking everything!” she shouted.

The room fell silent.

“Abby,” her father started, “I’m sure Clara didn’t mean - you know she’s a very particular-”

“No, she’s not, she’s just miserable, Dad.”

Clara stood. “How dare you!”

“You are! Miserable and jealous. Every good piece of news about us makes you put on that ugly sourpuss face, like you’re envious of how happy Trent and I are because you don’t know how to be happy. Every time I see you you’re worse than ever, Clara. I don’t know what Dad here sees in you but I won’t put up with it any longer. I’m sorry Dad, but I have to go. Trent will be heading back home but I’ll be in town a few more days. I’m happy to see you, but this witch can get out of my life and find herself a better one if she’s so jealous of mine.”

“I am not jealous, you little - you little -”

“Ha! For once, you’re without words. Sorry Daddy, I didn’t mean for it to go this way.”

She kissed her stunned father on the head, then motioned for Trent to follow her. He mumbled awkward apologies to both of them as he retreated behind her and out the front.

“Wow, that was something else. I thought I was the one who was meant to get you out of there.”

“I just hate her so much! I want you to drive, please.”

“On it,” he said, moving to the other side of the car.

But before Abby could get in, the front door opened. It was not, as she expected, her father that came out, but rather Clara. She was moving with purpose, hate in her eyes. Abby just rolled her own, folding her arms. She was shorter than Clara, but she refused to be intimidated.

“I don’t care what you have to say or what you call me,” she said before Clara had even shot off a single word. “It just doesn’t matter to me, Clara.”

Clara stopped just before her, and to Abby’s surprise, she actually smiled. It was not a good or a kind smile. “Is that so? Well, given that you called me witch earlier, perhaps it’s time I tried out an old family curse to make you regret your words, you rude little child. You think I’m jealous of your life? Soon I won’t be. From now on, you better start caring what other people say about you, because it’s going to make you change in a big way. We’ll see how pretty and perfect your life is then, princess.”

Abby was just about to crack up laughing at the absurdity of this threat when Clara suddenly uttered something strange and guttural. They weren’t words, precisely, but they weren’t random sounds either. She ended this little scene by spitting on Abby. The young woman was so aghast that she immediately slapped Clara across the face. The woman reeled, taking a few steps back, but she was still smiling.

“Too late, it’s done. We’ll see how daddy’s perfect daughter turns out now. The magic will wear off in a month. I think it’ll be one hell of a month for you. Best of luck having a wedding at the end of it!”

Abby was quaking. She got in the car and told Trent to drive.

“Um, are you okay? I was just about to step out and-”

“Please, just drive,” she said.

“Are you sure? You look quite pale.”

“Just drive!” she repeated.

Trent did so, taking them away from the awful woman and her loving but foolish father. She felt a strange flush over her skin though, from her face all the way over her form. She drew down the passenger mirror and took herself in. Trent was right, she really did look pale. Quite pale indeed. Unnaturally so, almost. She’d never been a deeply bronzed woman, but she enjoyed painting and exercising outside enough that she had a healthy tan to her skin. Now, after that confrontation, she looked like she’d seen a ghost. She looked like one of those porcelain-skinned girls who took pride in being as pale as possible.

“Ugh,” she muttered to herself. “I do look pale.”

What she didn’t know was that she would remain so. Just as Clara had said, the words of others were now going to be causing some significant changes for her. Trent hadn’t even intended the result, but he’d already kicked off a very strange journey to come.

And soon he would drop her off to her hotel, say his loving goodbyes, and leave her for the next few days. She would be at the mercy of a public of strangers . . .

***

“Always good to see a lovely girl who enjoys getting out and about!”

Abby smiled at the old man who’d given the compliment. It was the day after she’d been ‘cursed,’ and she was still rattled by Clara’s strange actions. It was, she imagined, the reason she still looked so strangely pale. As such, she decided to give her Dad a miss for a day and give herself some public meditation and yoga time, using the city’s local park. There were many people there, and it was a lovely spot, and she hoped to relax back to normality and even lose the paleness; the sun would surely help with that, right?”

“Thank you!” she called to the old man who was walking past. And he was right; she really did enjoy getting out and about. A strange heat washed over her, seeming familiar somehow. This time it wasn’t focused on her skin, however, but seemed to nestle itself in her head, in her mind.

“He really is right,” she said aloud to herself. “I can’t stand being cooped up. I should make an effort to get out and be in public as often as I can. It’s good for the soul, and good for my art!”

She’d even brought her miniature canvas for sketching, and found the time to do so for the next few hours. Normally she would have returned to the hotel by now, but the man’s words had had their effect: from now on she’d be among other people far more often, which carried risks she did not yet understand.

Abigail continued sketching for a time, minding her own business. She wished that Trent was with her, but understood that he had to be back at work. Besides, the peace and quiet was lovely, and it gave her mind some space from the strange, so-called ‘curse’ that Clara had placed upon her.

At least, that was what she’d thought.

“Looking sexy! I love a hot artist!”

Abigail rolled her eyes. No matter where a woman went in life, she could always be reasonably sure that there were men willing to catcall her at the earliest opportunity, forever ruining otherwise peaceful moments. She ignored the man, but he continued, calling out as he cycled past on his bike.

“I’m talking to you! The brunette! You look fucking hot! Wish you were a bit more stacked though! Have you got a nice ass though? Stand up so I can see!”

Abigail put down her drawing board and looked up. The man looked to be in his late twenties and was no good-looker himself. He had stopped the bike to harass her, cupping his hands to emphasise his voice, loud and clear and damn well rude.

“Just one peek! I bet you’ve got dump in that truck, babeeeee!!!”

“Fuck off!” she called back. “Get lost, you goddamn creep. I’m trying to enjoy my time here.”

“I’d enjoy my time a lot more if you’d shake those tail feathers.”

She threw him a two-fingered salute, and he finally took the message and got ready to pedal off again, though not before appraising her one last time.

“Yeah, I bet you’ve got a huge, tight, peachy ass, alright. Yum, yum, yum!”

With that, he dangled his tongue over his chin in a gross manner and rode off before she could fling a paintbrush in his direction, which she had at least tried to do.

“Fucking creep,” she repeated to herself. She sighed, collected herself (and the paintbrush), and returned to her mindfulness - or at least attempted to. Poor Abigail was disrupted yet again, this time by a strange warmth that was building in her rear. She shuffled on her park bench seat, feeling strangely uncomfortable as a powerful series of pressures began to emerge there.

“Nghhh,” she grunted. “What’s happening to me? What’s - ahh!”

And then the pressure gave way. Abigail shuddered, overwhelmed by the most alien feeling as her ass literally inflated. New flesh pulled into her previously rather pancake-flat backside, filling it out immensely. Her cheeks expanded by the second, inch by astonishing inch, and the extra padding was immediately obvious by how much softer the sensation of sitting down was. But she didn’t sit down for long, as the oddity of what was happening and the tightness of her jeans made her leap to her feet, an act that made her new ass wobble tremendously.

“Oh my God!” she squeaked, trying not to alarm others further away in the park. “What the hell!? What the fuck!? I can’t have - oh my God, it looks enormous!”

She twisted around to look at herself, again trying to be subtle. The discomfort in her pants was already obvious, but the sight of it only confirmed in her eyes what had happened. She now had a large, rounded, perfectly peachy behind, the kind that guys went utterly gaga for. It stuck out from her figure looking utterly delectable, a derriere that belonged on a social media sensation or from a big butt lift procedure.

And now it was her ass, round and bubbly and stretching the material of her pants.

“This can’t be real,” Abigail moaned, her fingers sinking into the flesh of her rear before she realised what she was doing and stopped herself. “I can’t be - I can’t be cursed!”

To Be Continued . . .