"Besties" [F/F, Defeminization, DG, Smoking, Humil]

[vladimirpootis]

A while ago, T-GF (whose work you can see on DA!) contacted me about doing a collaborative story in the same vein as Spammer. I've been slowly churning out the story since; but it eventually grew to a scale that I realized pro~obably wouldn't that desirable to read. One of the complaints I received about Spammer was that it was a little too long; and that a lot of people want to read or re-read lewd stories starting at "the good part"; or wherever the action really starts. A suggestion I recently received from quantitativeesing on DA (whose stories you should definitely check out if you're into slob content!) was to release it piecemeal; and that's precisely what I intend to do!

So, this is the first part of "Besties". It's the story of two cheerleaders; one of whom is incredibly jealous of the other. On a whim, she curses the object of her jealousy, and through the magic of narrative convenience the curse is laid; and she finds herself changing as time goes on.

The story as a whole revolves around defeminzation - taking a poor gal and making her considerably less feminine. As the story develops, it'll come to feature kinks such as footplay, smoking, body hair growth, slob elements, muscle growth, orientation shifts, lesbian relationships, and more! This story is a slow burn; so there isn't much in the way of meaty TF smut yet, but I promise the changes will really start to ramp up in part two.

----

“Besties”

Chapter 1
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>Liz Night 0>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>Liz

A long, winding road curls its way up a set of rolling hills; decorated immaculately with marble statuary and well-tended hedges; twisting not just as a result of the topography, but specifically to give a scenic drive through well-maintained opulence. Thus was the road leading to the Beckinridge estate, sitting atop those hills, at a great vantage; upon which one could look down upon the city below, under the cover of a starlit sky.

Looking down upon that city was the sole heir to the Beckinridge fortune; a woman bitterly staring out the window. Liz Beckinridge was a proud woman; her family came from old money - something her parents used to spoil her positively rotten. Anything she could want for in this life was already bought and paid for. Toys as a child, clothes as a teen, more clothes as she moved into adulthood… Even friendship and popularity was just as easy as dropping a few hundred bucks on what her friends could want. She was rich, and she was amicable - what more could people want?

It’s fair to say Liz was rather used to getting her way. Winning class president, getting ahead on the cheerleading squad; ah, the cheerleading squad. The amount of medals she won for her high school could fill up a trophy case on their own. Sure, she thinks - her team had a part in the victories she led them to, but everybody knew who the real shining star was. Proud as she was of a great deal of things - her wealth, her fashion, her status, and her long trail of broken hearts - her cheerleading career was among her proudest achievement. Like most things in her life, she’d never had a meaningful threat to it.

Until now, she thinks bitterly. Liz’s eyes turn from the city, to her reflection in the window - she can see herself; see the bitter look on her face. The ugly look on her face. She tears herself away from the window; not wanting to look at it. She wasn’t supposed to look ugly - she was supposed to be beautiful at all times. The most beautiful, if she had anything to say about it. The one that threatened her cheerleading career, her otherwise-unmatched beauty - at least to her own eyes - and her social standing was none other than Heather. Thinking of her name alone almost sent Liz into a fit.

Liz arrived at her university two years ago; ever since she set foot on campus, she felt every bit like it was an extension of her high school experience. People still flocked to her; well, they mostly flocked to her money, but she was sweet enough that people were fine with her as-is. She was still a star of the cheerleading team, still a good enough student, still a gal that could get damn near anything she wanted with a flash of a smile - and failing that, credit card…

And then, a nobody comes from bumfuck nowhere and starts turning heads. She’s sweet. She’s smart. She’s talented, and worst of all, she was a damn good cheerleader on top of it! When Liz looked at Heather, she didn’t see much. She didn’t put too much effort into her looks, or her grades, or her cheerleading, but she still did too damn well! People still liked her - and terrifyingly to Liz, they liked her better than they liked Liz!

Perhaps the only thing keeping Liz from fading into irrelevance and obscurity was the fact that Heather was pretty fond of her too - and she damn well should be, Liz thinks bitterly. She and Heather were… ‘Friends’. They spoke pretty often, they went out together, they practiced cheerleading together - nobody made any moves on the other, but Liz couldn’t stand her. Moreover, she couldn’t stand the fact that she couldn’t just be rid of Heather; that she had to keep playing this game of keeping up appearances. She couldn’t just pay her friends off, or spread a nasty rumor, or blackmail Heather - frankly speaking, she’d tried digging into her past in an attempt to get some material to do so, but she came up empty-handed. Heather was just a sweetheart from a small town in the countryside; no dirt to be found. It made Liz sick.

And it made her feel ugly. She walks over to a nearby mirror, daring face herself again. Her stenciled-on eyebrows were knit into a harsh furrow, and her pink-painted lips were curled into a frown. Liz sighs softly, trying to recompose herself - and from there, she forces a wide, toothy smile to the mirror. Now that was the Liz she was used to seeing. One thing among many for her to be proud of were her looks - something she’s put a considerable amount of effort into. Normally fair-skinned, her skin seemed kissed by the sun; a result more of some rather pricey fake tan than anything else. She wore her makeup somewhat thickly, but then again, she thought it complimented her looks well; dark eyeshadow and mascara to compliment her voluminous eyelashes and her inviting, teddy bear-like brown eyes, as well as a nice, glossy coat of pink lipstick. There wasn’t a hint of any sort of blemish on her face - she knew as much, because of how thoroughly she hunts for them.

Sparing a moment on a bit of healthy narcissism placates her, and allows for the scantest bit of sincerity to seep into her smile. “Tch,” she clicks her tongue. “I don’t have time to stress over that little slut.” She rubs her forehead, shaking her head. “That’s how you get crow’s feet…” she reminds herself.

Even if she was feeling better, though, she wasn’t exactly feeling good. She wasn’t just fixating on how much Heather pissed her off for no reason; today, she felt personally slighted. They were out shopping for shoes - on her dime, no less - and Liz had been trying out shoes; she had the misfortune of picking up a size seven and a half instead of her normal size eights. Having trouble fitting into them Heather made a joke about Liz having man feet. Sure - Liz laughed it off then and there, but now, it was burning a hole of frustration in her gut. What the hell kind of a thing was that to say? Liz realized it was a petty thing to get mad about; but goddamn if it didn’t piss her off.

“Tch,” she clicks her tongue again, catching herself before she starts to brood again. “fucking - ugh. Man feet. I’ll show her fuckin’ man feet when I shove my size eight right up her-” She stops herself - softly uttering “Crow’s feet, Liz, crow’s feet…” as she makes her way away from her window. She needed to calm herself down; she needed to chill out a little.

As she walks through her house, her new heels click and echo through the venerable mansion; it’s deathly quiet beyond her musings. Her father was an anthropologist - he found great joy in sampling the local flavors of more obscure corners of the great, wide world; and his work often left Liz alone with her mother… And her mother usually just left her alone in the house. It didn’t make for much comfort, but it made for some pretty sick house parties, she thinks. Beyond that, her father had a habit of bringing things back with him - baubles, trophies, odds and ends that just looked like junk to Liz. Even for as big of a house as they had; even if the walls were coated with these ‘artifacts’, a good portion of them were relegated to the basement - their various crates and display cases made a veritable maze through the house’s sub-level.

Liz soon arrived at the entrance to the maze - she had business down here, in one of the few corners of the basement not completely dominated by her father’s stuff. In preparation for and anticipation of a new bounty of accolades and trophies from her college cheerleading career, Liz emptied out her old trophy case - tossing all her old stuff down into the dark. The first two years hadn’t exactly rewarded her with much, by her standards; enough that looking at the mostly-empty trophy case made her even more fearful and frustrated with Heather lumbering into her territory. Just taking a gander at her old stuff might put her in a better headspace, she reasons.

To get to her boxes, she has to weave through her fathers’. With as much shit as he left down here, it got downright claustrophobic trying to navigate through it all. At the very least, it was well-lit. Eventually, Liz came to a rather neat stack of cardboard boxes - her own. She easily pierces the tape holding one of them shut with one of her long, pink nails - she never used to grow her nails out terribly much; not until the other gals on the cheer squad started making a big deal about Heather’s. “Hmph. All that bitch did was paint ‘em red.” she grumbles bitterly, fishing out one of her trophies.

A bright, golden trophy gleamed in the basement’s lights - reflecting a wide smile on Liz’s face… Until a stormy look begins to cross it. She got this trophy in sophomore year, when her team went to nationals - on her skill, she mentally asserts. Julie broke her leg falling off the pyramid; they still won, but instead of rightfully celebrating how well Liz did, they held a little pity party for poor Julie. “Boo-hoo.” she grumbles, dropping the trophy back into the cardboard box with a sharp clang. Shit, and here she thought she’d improve her mood by reminiscing; not worsen it.

Hasty to abandon her prior pursuit, she hastily steps away from her boxes - only to bump against one of her father’s displays. “Shit!” Twirling around, Liz fumbles to wrap her arms around something she can barely see - only as things go still does she realize what she’s holding.

One arm curls around a semispherical glass cover, while the other is wrapped around a rather small table - upon which the cover sits. Half tilted over, its contents rest on the side of the cover, looking curiously up to her. It seemed to be a… Doll. It was made from rather simple, hempen fabric with fine stitches; the only signs of age on the thing were a few errant stains on the otherwise-clean material. It captured only the basest of human anatomy - a simple, rounded head, with two flat arms and two flat legs.

Liz can’t help but sneer at it. “Why the hell would dad keep junk like this?” she grunts, setting the display upright, allowing the doll to flop back down onto the wooden base. She looks around the base herself, until she spies a simple bronze plaque. ‘“Voodoo” doll, LA, USA’ it read. If he was skeptical about what it was, why take it? Liz removes the glass cover and picks the thing up, turning it around in her hands. “Hmph. I’d love to stick a few pins in this and see if it hurts Heather.” she jokes, chuckling for a moment.

Then, she stops. Slowly, a smile creeps across her pink lips. “I think,” she murmurs to herself. “I found out how I’m gonna calm down tonight.”

It takes less than a minute for her to Google ‘how to voodoo doll??’ and come up with something scarcely resembling a helpful guide. If she was gonna waste her time fucking with some pseudomagic, then she was gonna make sure she was doing it right. Or, as close to right as magic got. Close enough for her to feel satisfied - that’s what all of this was about, after all: satisfaction.

Liz marches back up to her room, lobbing the doll haphazardly onto her bed. She exits - and a moment later, comes back carrying a handful of tools. Like a surgeon preparing his instruments for a particularly-invasive surgery, Liz lays out a few items, encircling the doll almost damningly. First, a hairbrush - evidently well-used, given it still had a few hairs on it. Second, a sewing kit. Third, a photo - an honest-to-god physical picture. Liz didn’t know anyone over the age of forty who still bothered with them; but, evidently, Heather cared enough to keep the dying medium alive.

The picture itself showed Liz and Heather side-by-side, smiling for the ever-so-dated camera. Looking upon Heather, Liz could admit that she was… Worthy of envy. While Liz prided herself on being beautiful - the most beautiful, if she had anything to say about - Heather was… Pretty. She was cute; sweet, and had a nice, sincere smile. While Liz slaved away at maintaining her beauty, it came to Heather effortlessly. Her body was pretty curvy; curvier than Liz’s, before she got implants. Her face was sparsely decorated with freckles - a blemish Liz herself would’ve fought tooth-and-nail to hide. Heather’s hair was a sandy blonde color, and tied back into a ponytail. “That bitch isn’t even a natural blonde.” Liz grumbles, looking away from the picture. She knew Heather lightened her hair - given, Liz did the same, to be blonder than Heather, but that was beside the point.

Taking a pair of scissors, she begins to cut Heather’s face out of the picture. She ties a few pieces of string to it, and slowly entwines them into the doll’s head, leaving the brightly-smiling Heather staring back from the doll’s head. After that, she slices open backs of the doll’s ankles - she had a plan that’d put her momentary concerns to rest. Gutting one of her teddy bears for some extra stuffing, she begins to pack the doll’s feet full of the stuff, swelling them up a little. “Who’s got man feet now, Heather?” she spits, sewing the doll’s legs back up. As a finishing touch - part of the ‘magical’ advice she’d gotten - she plucks one of the darker strands of hair from the hairbrush. Heather had left hers over, when she’d slept over recently - while Liz thought it was a bother at first, she was rather glad that it worked out in her favor now. Slowly, she uses a needle to thread the hair into the doll; putting a little piece of her intended target into it.

When all was said and done, Liz looked at the doll with a sense of… Satisfaction. Heather pissed her off; and now, she had a little vent for all of her Heather-related frustrations. It was a little… Well, it was totally childish, but as long as it made her happy, Liz wasn’t about to complain. For effect, she jabs the doll a couple times in the ass with her sewing needle. With a coy grin, she chucks the doll into a drawer in her desk. There was no need to keep something like that out in the open, after all.

“Ah…” Liz yawns, smacking her lips. “What the hell time is it, anyway?” She’d lost track of time while she was brooding - and while she remained fixated in the past, time around her marched on. She tosses her sewing kit into her desk drawer with the doll, resolving to put it back where it belongs tomorrow. It was already late - and she needed to get her beauty sleep.

Chapter 2
Liz>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>Heather Day 1>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>Heather

Rays of sunlight flit through shuttered blinds, landing gently and warmly upon closed eyelids. The eyelids twitch and furrow, slowly opening, revealing cool pools of blue to the waking world one more. Slowly, their owner sits up in bed; evoking a soft creak from the rickety frame.

“Mmh.” she groans, letting the distortion of sleep work its way out of her eyes, and the grog slowly begin to lift from her head, before looking at herself in the mirror opposite her bed.

Yep, she was still Heather alright.

Heather throws herself out of bed, and immediately notices something was off. Hopping off of her mattress, she couldn’t help but rub her rear through her pajama pants - her ass was killing her. “Mmh, shitty… Dorm mattress…” she grumbles, still half asleep. She could worry about her sore ass later, she figures - for now, she had to get ready for class.

As she runs through her normal routine, she passes her mirror - each time, looking a little more presentable. She walks to one side of her room, and her eyes shed the half-lidded look of someone who’s met a rude awakening. She walks to the other side, toothbrush in her mouth and bottle of mouthwash in-hand. She walks back, showered and clean. She walks back again, in the middle of tying back her hair with her favorite red scrunchie - and then she stops in front of the mirror. Pulling out a rather small drawer on her little vanity, she pulls out a tube of eyeliner and lipstick.

Staring at herself in the mirror, she puts on a smile - one she always liked greeting the day with. Whenever she looked at herself in the mirror, she liked to be at her happiest; that’s how she always liked other people to see her. After giving herself the faintest hint of eyeliner, and a single coat of lipstick, her makeup goes back into its tiny little drawer. Her friends always bugged her to try and doll herself up a little more - Liz especially - but she never felt the need for it. As far as she was concerned, her makeup was… Tasteful. She never wanted to look like a hooker, or a clown… Or a hooker clown. Her smile curls as she starts to snicker at the mental image.

Hastily, Heather throws on a t-shirt and jeans; she didn’t feel like particularly dressing up today. Somehow, she thinks, she could count on Liz to dress up for the both of them. As much as she loved Liz, Heather thinks, she really needed to take a break dressing like a supermodel. Given, she could afford to, but still.

Heather was tempted to grab her sneakers before she heads out - but, she remembers the shoes Liz picked up for her yesterday. Liz had tempted her to get a strappy pair of heels, but… Well, Heather always preferred something she’d get a little more daily use out of. She opted for a pair of casual flats, which were sitting by the door, ready and rearing for her to put them on. She didn’t think much of what her other friends would think of them - but she wanted to show Liz how much she appreciated the gift.

Pulling them out of the box, Heather could tell that something was… A little off. Lining her foot up with their mouth, everything looked a little… Disproportionate, but she couldn’t quite place it. Were the shoes smaller than she remembered, or were her feet…? “Eheh, no.” Heather answers her own question. Checking the size on the box, they still read seven-and-a-half. If that was right, then what did she have to worry about?

Apparently, she had something to worry about. Trying to stuff her feet into the shoe was like trying to fit a square peg in a round hole. As soon as she got her toes in, they felt cramped; and trying to force any more in just made the shoe bulge unflatteringly. While she did try to force it - adding to her discomfort; alongside her still-dully-throbbing rear - ultimately, all she ended up with was a sore foot.

“Man, I hope Liz still has the receipt for these.” she grumbles, rubbing the back of her head. It wasn’t like they picked out the wrong size - trying on the seven-and-a-halfs at the store, they felt pretty comfy; if a little roomy. Did some asshole switch them with sevens - or sixes, or something? Whatever the case, she had to be a shoe size or two too big for them. Part of her felt a little disappointed she wouldn’t get to show Liz that she was wearing them… But, well, there wasn’t much she could do.

Tentatively, Heather holds one foot close to her. Were they bigger? Or- swollen, for some reason? Maybe it was her mind playing a trick on her, but she could almost swear they were larger. “Man, did I eat a bowl of stupid for breakfast?” she grumbles, getting up and grabbing her sneakers. Surely, she thinks - she’s overthinking it.

As soon as she tries on her sneakers, she realizes she might not be overthinking it. Usually her sneakers were pretty snug on her - comfortably, of course - but now, it felt just the same as when she was trying to squeeze her feet into the new shoes. “Okay, this is a little fucked.” She lays her sneakers down, placing one of her feet next to them - she could see that they were considerably larger than the sneakers. For as much as she’d examined her feet already, she could tell that they looked… Normal; not too reddened or puffy or anything like that, but at the same time, her shoes were telling her that they were anything but normal.

“I need to see a doctor.” she resolves with a long sigh. Almost defeated, she heads into her closet, pulling out a pair of velcro sandals - they were always a little big on her feet before, but now… They were just about the right size. She wiggles her toes on the sandals’ rubbery bottoms - silently thankful that she had a few more weeks of summer left. If this had happened during the winter, she’d have no idea what to do.

With that, she stuffs her new shoebox into her backpack and heads out the door. Heather was normally a pretty attentive student - even in some of the more soporific lectures, she managed to stay cognizant enough to pick up what others might sleep through. Today, however, she felt… Distracted. She wasn’t really the sickly type; so for her to suddenly contract something - let alone something that would blow her feet up like a pair of balloons - was rather abnormal. Moreover, she wasn’t a self-conscious type - but if her feet were swollen, she couldn’t help but worry if others could notice. As far as errant blemishes, it was a rather embarrassing one.

When her classes got out, the first thing she does is text Liz - she was about ready to get lunch anyway, and if anybody would… Er, understand her predicament, it was probably her. After a few minutes of sitting along the edge of the campus dining hall, Heather spotted her friend working her way through the crowd. She waves Liz over with one hand, and starts digging in her backpack for the shoes with her other.

Liz wore a small smile as she approached - but as she got closer, it turned into a frown. Rather than any sort of greeting or pleasantry, the first thing out of her mouth is a disappointed “You aren’t wearing the new shoes.”

Shit - Heather expected as much. When someone had as fashion-oriented a mind as Liz, she supposed she couldn’t expect something like that to fly by her. “It’s a long story.” Heather explains, placing the box on the table.

“Well, I’ve always got time to listen to you, bestie.” Liz finds a seat opposite Heather, tossing one leg over the other. Heather can feel the faintest hint of a blush working its way onto her befreckled cheeks.

“Something’s wrong with me. I’ve got some sorta infection or something, and it’s causing me to swell up. That, and… I think we might’ve grabbed the wrong size. Or the wrong size was put in the right box, or… Something. I-”

Liz holds a hand up - there’s an odd look on her face; an odd mix of humor and surprise. “So, they don’t fit?” she asks.

“That’s the long and short of it, yeah.” Heather says with a shrug. “I mean, yesterday they were fine - you saw it, when we were tryin’ them on, but I guess somewhere along the line, they got mixed up, or I caught a bug, or...”

Liz chuckles a little. “Or you just have man feet.” The look on her face says she’s expecting a reaction.

Heather just looks at her blankly. “Or that, I guess.” she sighs. “I’m going to the clinic after this - see if they have some sorta advice, or drug or something.” She slides the shoebox over the table to Liz. “But, better safe than sorry - I’d rather return these. We can do another shopping trip when I’m not stompin’ around like bigfoot, okay?” She cocks a goofy grin, one that Liz returns.

“Gotcha.” Liz says, looking pleased as punch. She tosses the box in her own backpack. After a moment, she holds up a well-manicured finger. “If you’re sick…” she begins. “I don’t think it’d be just a case of swollen feet. Anything else bothering you? Aches, pains…”

Heather could swear that Liz suspected something - maybe there was a weird ache, pain, and foot swelling bug going around? “Well, my ass hurt a little this morning, but that was probably from my bed.” She grins, leaning over the table. “We don’t all sleep on thousand-dollar mattresses, after all.”

Liz… Just smiles. “Well, maybe we can go mattress shopping next time.” she chuckles out, standing up. “I don’t wanna keep you from heading to the clinic - and I’ve got a thing, anyway.” she explains. “Tell me how it goes, ‘kay? If you don’t, I might be up a~all night worrying about you.”

Heather leans back, chuckling. “Well, far be it from me to interrupt your beauty sleep. I’ll keep in touch.”

Chapter 3
Heather>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>Liz Night 1>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>Liz

“Doc says to wrap them in ice packs for the night, to see if the swelling goes down.” Liz recites off of her phone, her lips curling into a knowing grin. “That swelling ain’t goin’ down, bitch.” Unceremoniously, Liz tosses her phone onto her bed, where it bounces past her eviscerated teddy bear.

Another lonesome night at home turned into a night of mixed confusion and unbridled joy. Somehow, Liz thinks, her petulant little outburst last night had some… Highly-desired, but ultimately unsuspected consequences. Liz wasn’t a superstitious woman - she didn’t actually expect fucking around with a voodoo doll to warrant any actual effects; hell, the site she got her instructions from was some mid-90’s html page covered in shitty fire .gifs.

Yet, here she was - she stuffed the doll’s feet, and poked it in the ass - and Heather suffered the same effects. No, better yet - Heather suffered. Liz opened her drawer again, pulling out her sewing supplies, and then the doll - but as she grabs it, she yelps; dropping it onto her desk.

The doll had changed. No longer did it have a flat figure; no longer did it have a picture tied to its face, but it… Looked every bit like a doll made to resemble Heather; however crudely. Its hempen construction remained the same, but its figure was… More defined. More feminine. Its arms looked the same, but now, its legs had two defined - if somewhat large - feet sticking out of them. Most of all, its head had changed; gold yarn composed its hair, tied back into a ponytail with red string. Two blue buttons formed its eyes, and it wore a wide, stitched smile - just like the woman it represented.

Okay, Liz thinks - this magic bullshit was helping her out, but it was seriously creeping her out too. She half-expected the doll to get up and start moving… But mercifully it didn’t. She picks it up and sets it in front of her, brandishing a needle. She didn’t see a doll in front of her, as she looked it over - she saw Heather. Cute, sweet little Heather; the new hotness, the endearing sweetheart… The threat to everything Liz wanted. Having that poor girl at her mercy like this… It was thrilling. This was her ticket to success - this was how she cut Heather out of the picture.

This was how she’d humiliate the bitch who thought she could step into her court.

If Heather wasn’t a fan of her new feet - then Liz would just have to make some improvements. Cutting open the doll’s feet again, Liz makes sure to pack a little bit more stuffing into them - she’d be lucky if anything in her wardrobe would be able to fit her now. Lucky for her, Liz thinks with a titter, she had a plan for that. She tears her eyes away from the doll to look over to her door - she’d returned the shoes at Heather’s behest - but made sure to pick up something a little more… Fitting.

Turning her attention back to the doll, she turns it over. The shoe store was just one of her after-school stops - she also made sure to stop by an arts and crafts store. If she was going to be remodeling this doll, she wanted to make sure she’d have all sorts of tools. The first thing she does is stitch a big heart into the doll’s back, with pink string - she couldn’t exactly tear into the doll’s head to mess around with Heather’s - so she figures this was the next best option. Fishing around in her bags of supplies, she pulls a bag of little pins out; filled with assorted designs. She’d been on the fence about picking up this one in particular, but when she saw one of the designs, she just knew she had to buy it.

The design was, quite simply, of a foot. Heather’s innocent little joke was the straw that broke the camel’s back, in regards to Liz’s frustrations - and Liz made sure that she’d make it damn her. She pins the little metal foot in place in the heart; followed by a little female symbol next to it. There was still plenty of room in there - looking at the mostly-empty heart made Liz buzz with excitement. She picks the doll up and turns it over; as she does, its ponytail whips around.

“Hmph. I should cut that fucking thing off…” she grumbles, reaching for her scissors… But she stops herself just short of doing so. Instead, she’s taken by a strange urge. This doll was magic - she didn’t know the extent of it, but it had to be worth… Experimenting with. She takes the doll into the bathroom, and turns on the sink. Tentatively, she pushes the doll’s hair into the stream of water. To her surprise, the water seems to bead up and roll off of it… But it takes something with it. Little flecks of gold fall off of the yarn, dissipating before they hit the sink’s basin. By the time Liz turns the water off, the doll’s hair was brown - Heather’s natural shade.

“Fucking… Creepy.” she murmurs, turning the doll over again. “But cool.” Bringing the doll back to her room, she keeps looking at the hair - formulating an idea in her head. “She can get away with wearing plenty of stuff in the summer…” Liz murmurs. “Sandals, shorts, bikinis…” The lattermost brings to mind a distinct memory of her friends saying how great Heather looked in a bikini - without a single mention of how good Liz looked. She squeezes the doll firmly. “Not anymore.” she snorts, tossing the doll back down onto her desk.

Liz silently thanks her high school home ec teacher as she puts her long-forgotten skill in needlework to use - she places bits and pieces of string along her legs; even a few strands under her arms and on her feet. “Let’s see ya rock a bikini now, cave-girl.” Liz spits, dropping her needle back into her kit before closing it up. As she’s putting the kit away, she looks back at the doll. She… Was messing with Heather’s body - and, given, that was greatly satisfying… But a thought crossed her mind.

Wouldn’t it be fun if Heather messed with her own body? Heather looks around on her admittedly-somewhat-cluttered desk - she reaches for an old drink umbrella sticking out of one of her penholders; she snaps it in half, and sticks the sharp end into her mouth. Pulling a strip of matches out of her purse - she had a habit of taking them from bars - she lights one up and smolders the end of the doll’s makeshift smoke.

Liz snidely looks down on the doll, cooing “That’s a pretty nasty habit, bestie.” Careful not to disturb the doll’s new accessories, she gently places it in the drawer with her newest tools of torture. “I hope you make the best of it.”

[Eidio]

This is areal great start. Keep it up.

[pinkhippo99]

So far so good. Can't wait to see more!

[MsJumper]

Wonderful introduction and I love where this is seemingly headed!

[Lyssa]

Cool story .

[greinskyn]

Amazing and full of potential!

I wouldn't worry too much about length. Just go with what feels right to you.

Interesting having points of view from both major characters!

[vladimirpootis]

This is the second part of "Besties!" if you haven't read the first part, I definitely recommend it, for context and a pretty good 'before' entry to kick off this sequence of changes. This upload is going to set the tone for uploads going forward - two chapters of the story every Sunday until it's done. Despite being only two chapters rather than the former three, it's longer than the last part. This is another trend this part is setting :v

This part has a lot more detail on Heather's changes, and introduces a new character to the fold. Life's about to get a lot harder for the poor gal.

----

Chapter 4
Liz>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>Heather Day 2>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>Heather

Sunlight once more flits into Heather’s dorm room, but this time, even as it passes by her eyelids, they remain static; shut. Time slowly passes, and the sun’s rays move onward - until a harsh rapping begins to echo through the room.

Heather snorts as she jolts awake, slowly sitting up. The first thing she notices is how cool her feet are - not to mention cramped. It takes a moment or two before solid thoughts begin to crystallize from the soupy mire of her groggy thoughts - she recalls that she followed her doctor’s orders before bed, wrapping her feet in a pair of soft ice packs - but she didn’t remember wrapping them up so tight.

The knocking comes again, forcing her to call out “Just a minute!” Rubbing sleep from her eyes, she looks across the room at her vanity.

Yep, she was still Heather… But something was different. She squints at the mirror, allowing her eyes to focus - and she could tell that her hair was a few shades darker than normal.

Well, her hair was normal - that was a problem. Usually she lightened it; and it took a long time to wear off. She runs a hand through it; mussing it up beyond how messy it already is. It felt fine, but… What the hell?

“Heather!” a voice calls from the other side of her door - Liz. What the hell was she doing here? “You u~up?”

Shit - she hadn’t even gotten out of bed yet; and she was about to face one of her most fashion-conscious friends. “Yeah, thanks to you!” she calls back. “Gimmie a sec, I’m not feelin’ so good.”

“A~aww.” Liz coos from the other side of the door. “Well, I brought you a little something that might help with your…” She pauses. “Problem, if it’s still bothering you. Take your time getting ready - I’ll just leave it at the door. Text me after class, ‘kay?”

Heather could hear the staccato clicking of heels working their way away from her door after that. She can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. Slowly, she eases herself out of bed - she didn’t feel as sore as she did yesterday, but she felt… A little off. Like her head was in a funk. The first thing she did was slide the ice packs off of her feet - the packs themselves felt lukewarm, but her feet felt deathly cold.

Heather balks as she looks at them. Perhaps yesterday, she could’ve feasibly passed off her feet as looking normal; but today was a different story entirely. She could tell, just from a passing glance, that they were a hell of a lot bigger. They had to be about three sizes up from normal - and more disturbingly, as she runs a hand across them, she could feel bristly stubble on the top of her foot, and on her toes. Swelling, she could excuse as some weird injury or sickness - but hair? That had no explanation - same as the altered tone of the hair on her head.

“Okay,” she whispers, releasing her foot. “this is pretty fucked. But, there’s gotta be an explanation for this; stuff like this doesn’t just… Happen.” She explains, standing up and preparing to go about her morning ritual.

The look of befuddlement on her face never passes, as she walks past her mirror, on her way to the bathroom. When she reaches her destination, she gives a dull groan of frustration. Running her hand across her legs, where she knows there should be smooth skin, she meets stubble. It’s the same story between her legs; beneath her arms, as well. “O-okay,” she murmurs shakily. “s-so it’s a hormone thing. I’ve been eating a lot of red meat lately; who knows, maybe there’s a weird amount of hormones in my body and it’s freaking out and…” Heather sighs. “That’s bullshit and I know it.” Something weird was up - and she didn’t know what.

It took exponentially longer showering today than it did yesterday; she took a razor to everything she could and made sure she wouldn’t look like she was a sasquatch coming out of hibernation, today. She didn’t bother with her proper hair today, either - if anyone asked, she reasoned, she’d say she was going natural for a while. Besides; there wasn’t really anything wrong with her natural shade - lightening her hair was just a personal preference.

Checking her phone, she could tell that she was already running late. Even worse, she knew damn well her sandals wouldn’t fit her. She could explain her hair - but she couldn’t explain going barefoot to class, especially with her…

Liz’s words echo in her head. ‘Man feet’. She looks down, flexing her larger toes on the wooden floor of her dorm. “Shit.” Well, at least Liz said she had something to help. Opening her door, she finds a plastic bag hanging on her doorknob. She hastily pulls it in, feeling how… Surprisingly heavy it was. The first thing she pulls out from it was a shoebox - the source of the weight. It came from the same boutique they went to the other day; and a sticky note on the top said, in Liz’s handwriting, ‘This was the largest thing they had :c Hope they fit!’ Well, that was… Surprisingly thoughtful of her!

Heather was excited as she opened the box, and when she did… She regretted getting excited in the first place. Instead of flats, sneakers, or any sort of… Conventional shoe, Heather found a pair of black work boots. True to Liz’s words, they looked pretty big. Turning one over, Heather winces as she looks at the size - ten-and-a-half.

With a sigh, Heather slides one of them on. For the first time since yesterday, she doesn’t find a struggle waiting for her as she slides her toes into the boot - in fact, when she finally comes to rest, her feet feel positively snug; in the same sense that her sneakers had been just two days earlier. As she lifts her boot-clad foot up, she thrums. “Not the best thing to wear in the middle of a heatwave.” When she puts her boot down, it lands with a loud stomp, making Heather jump. She’d have to tread lightly, when she was walking around in these.

She’s about to toss the plastic bag away when she finds a couple things still rattling around in it. Fishing around inside, she finds her hand wrapping around something rather unfamiliar. Heather pulls out a… Pack of cigarettes and a zippo lighter. “What the hell?” she murmurs, turning then over in her hand. She didn’t smoke - and Liz knew that. She’d never really cleared up if Liz was or wasn’t a smoker - but with as much as she loved her pearly-whites, Heather doubted it. “Hhhuh. Must be hers, I guess.”

Heather checks her phone again - shit, class had already been going on for ten minutes and she hadn’t even left. Well; better late than never - and she could always talk to her professor and explain that she… Was experiencing sudden onset foot growth, her hair was rejecting her lightening methods, and she was suddenly growing growing body hair.

Sure, that explained her situation pretty well, but somehow she figured telling the professor she got a stomach bug might go over a little better. Heather tosses the pack of smokes and lighter into her backpack - next time she runs into Liz, she’d have to toss it her way.

Given that it was pretty damned hot outside, Heather was glad she managed to take care of the sudden… Growth - if she couldn’t throw on something light and breathable, she’d be baking in the late-summer heat. She slips on a pair of shorts and a tank top - the heaviest thing about her wardrobe, for the moment, has to be her boots; not just in terms of thickness, but in sheer weight as well. She winces when she takes her first few steps outside - the stomping sound the boots make echo through the dorm halls, making her shrink as she finds her way out.

The sun beats down on the campus imperiously - even worse, the wind is still and the air is humid. Beyond academics, most people are keen to get to their classes for the promise of air conditioning. Given that most classes were already in session, Heather was largely alone as she walked through the campus’ footpaths - trying to find shade in the trees, which had yet to shift into their autumnal colors. She walks at a brisk pace - as briskly as her constrictive boots would allow. Yet, as she hears a shout nearby, she freezes.

“Piss!” a harsh, throaty voice barks, followed by a harsh crack. Heather spies the top half of a cheap lighter skidding across the blacktop, past her feet. She follows its path up to a pile of shattered plastic on the ground - and from there, to the person who broke it.

Even if the campus was pretty big, some faces tended to stand out in the crowds - one among them was that of Zelda Nightingale. Her name acted as a testament to just what a person she was; a deliberate standing - given that nobody really knew if it was her real name, or if it was just one she made for herself.

Anyone could pick Zelda out of a crowd - powdered; alabaster-toned face, dark makeup, lots of piercings, and a harsh side-cut of raven black hair spilling down past her breasts; naturally on one side alone. The first time Heather saw her was the first time she’d ever seen somebody with snakebite piercings before - she still remembered how bad she imagined the pain of getting a piercing like that; to say nothing of the gauges in her ears or the stud in her nose. She wore a black tank top and a pair of studded jeans; hot as the latter looked, Heather wondered why the woman’s makeup wasn’t running.

More than being notable for her look, she was notable for… Well, being the subject of rumors. Heather honestly couldn’t recall hearing a single nice thing about her - and one of the folks she heard the most about her from was Liz. All manner of deviance, delinquency, and debaucherousness swirled around Zelda like a dark cloud - and her rather aggressive and uncaring demeanor didn’t do much to dispel any of it. She was an outcast - enough to make Heather feel a little bad for her, but not so much that she wasn’t afraid of her.

Zelda’s ebony-painted lips curl into a sneer around a cigarette, and her greyish-blue eyes glare down at the pile of smashed green plastic. She looks up to Heather, and her expression seems to soften a little - snapping from fury to stoicism on a dime. “Fuckin’ thing ran out of juice.” she excuses, as though continuing an ongoing conversation. She unceremoniously kicks the plastic, scattering it across the blacktop. Tilting her head, she calmly muses “Got a light?”

“I don’t smoke.” Heather blurts out instinctually. Zelda opens her mouth to say something, but Heather snaps to correct herself. “Wait- but, I-... I do, just…”

Zelda cocks a brow, holding a hand on her hip as Heather digs around in her backpack. She pulls out the zippo lighter, showing it off to the woman. It puts a smile on her dark, pierced lips. “Huh. Fancy lighter for someone who doesn’t smoke.” she says as she steps forward.

Heather feels like she’s trembling - sure, Zelda made her uncomfortable… But there was no reason to fear her… Was there? She knew a lot of people did, at least. Zelda wasn’t built tough; in fact, Heather noted, she had a pretty nice figure - a sudden thought that gives her a sudden flash of heat. In any case - she didn’t look like she could snap a gal like Heather in half; but her demeanor suggested that she… Would be more than willing to try. Zelda gets close, and Heather flicks open the lighter, holding it out before her. “I don’t smoke.” she asserts shakily.

Rather than lean down and meet the flame, Zelda wraps her hands around Heather’s - bringing the lighter up to the cigarette hanging from her lips. Her fingers feel… Weirdly cold. Her nails are pretty short; painted stark black - apparently the dark woman’s favorite color. She doesn’t immediately release Heather’s hand, even after she’s lit up - but far be it from Heather to make her. With deft ease, she rolls the cigarette to the corner of her mouth, smiling. “Sure ya don’t.” she mumbles, blowing smoke in her face.

While she winces, the smoke doesn’t cause Heather much discomfort. Finally, Zelda releases her, and she’s free to shut the lighter. She’s tempted to say something snide - ‘You’re welcome’, or something along those lines - but she didn’t want to tempt fate.

Zelda pulls the cigarette from her lips, then gives Heather a smokey wave goodbye. “See ya ‘round. Maybe ya won’t piss your pants the next time ya see me.” With that, she walks away - leaving Heather… Greatly confused, as she watches her sashay away. She could certainly tell how asynchronous Zelda was, and how such a demeanor could doubtlessly get on folks’ nerves - but she was… Amicable enough.

“Piss my pants. Hmph.” she grumbles. She stuffs the lighter back into her bag, and her hand brushes up against the cigarettes - for just a moment, she’s… Tempted. She’d never been before - but then again, she’d spent the past two days dealing with some pretty weird shit. Maybe a smoke would take the edge off? Maybe - maybe; but now she had to get to class.

Heather’s encounter with Zelda cost her a good amount of time on top of her existing deficit - she came in at the tail-end of the lecture, and barely had ten minutes to get a couple scribbles worth of notes down. When she talked to the professor, she told them about her ‘stomach’ bug - and for a moment, the professor was ready to believe her… But, she could tell that something tipped them off that something else was afoot… And not in a good way. When she noticed them sniffing the air - she could tell they smelled the smoke on her - she could already tell that they thought she skipped class to just faff around.

Defeated, Heather trudges off to her next class. She felt the same cloud of distraction swirling around her head as yesterday - but it wasn’t just some sudden, borderline-excusable foot growth that was bothering her. She was getting hairier quicker than normal - and her hair just suddenly… Darkened. She couldn’t tell what the hell was up with that. She leans back in her seat and looks beneath her desk at her boots - flexing her toes inside their snug, stuffy, hot confines. Her feet were bigger still - not just bigger than her norm, but disproportionately so. Yet… As she looked down at the boots; conjuring a mental image of her swollen feet within, she recognized that she’s… Less concerned with how she feels about them, and more concerned with how others might look at them.

The realization is sobering - and frankly, more engaging than what her professor was talking about. She… Really didn’t care if she had huge feet, she guessed; she was bothered by the fact that she didn’t know why she did, and what others might say about her for having… Big feet. She leans forward again, supporting herself on her desk. Of course… What did it matter? She wasn’t that self-conscious of a person to begin with. She wasn’t Liz; who’d throw a fit if she got a pimple. Pimples, however, were normal - moreover, temporary. Once more flexing her toes, Heather recognized that her enlarged feed were neither normal nor temporary. The thought caused her to sigh - drawing the attention of the students sitting next to her. Snapping to attention, she picks up her pen and tries to draw her wandering mind back to the ongoing lecture.

By the time Heather exited class, she did so with a head mostly bereft of any meaningful information, and a notebook filled with anecdotes. She sighs, defeated - she’ll have to look up the professor’s presentation when she got back to her dorm, and study it there. At least she had some time with Liz to look forward to - she was in the middle of texting her to meet up, when Liz asked where she was.

It wasn’t like Liz to eagerly anticipate her - in fact, sometimes it was like pulling teeth just to get together. Heather sighs, holding her head. Was anything going to be normal, today? Heather was only a few steps into the dining hall when she noticed a hand stick up over the crowd, waving her over. When she saw Liz sitting nearby, she looked absolutely elated to see her… But, after a moment, that excitement seemed to die, replaced by… Confusion? Oh, Heather realizes - it must be her hair.

Setting her bag down on one of the empty seats, Heather observes “You’ve got questions.”

Liz snorts a little, bitterly mumbling “Boy do I.”

Heather takes a seat, running a hand through her hair. “I didn’t know you were so attached to the color.”

“Hm?” Liz takes a moment to process the question - as if she didn’t expect it. She looks up to Heather’s hair, then downward. She puts on a smile, nodding her head. “Of course - we were like twinsies. What happened - found out that blondes have too much fun?”

“Would you believe me if I said I woke up like this?” Heather says - mostly to gauge her reaction. If she believed it…

“C’mon, Heather. I might be the natural blonde of the two of us, but I’m no bimbo.” Unsurprisingly, she didn’t.

Heather laughs it off, shrugging. “Just making sure. Sometimes, I have trouble telling. Like…” She fishes out the pack of cigarettes, placing them on the table. “Times like this.”

Innocently, Liz holds her hands up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about! Those were for you.”

“For me?” Heather challenges. “You know I don’t-”

“Normally smoke.” Liz finishes. “Yeah, I know - again; not a bimbo, here. But, things’ve been pretty weird for you - so I thought a little abnormal might help!”

Heather looks back at the pack of cigarettes - she can’t easily find a fault in her friend’s logic. “Well, I think I’ve had my daily dose of abnormal already. I ran into Zelda earlier.”

“Zelda?” Liz balks. “Where’d she hit you? Do I need a get a doll so you can tell me where she-”

Heather chuckles, holding her hands up. “Hey, hey - c’mon, she isn’t that bad.”

Liz grins. “She’s still pretty bad.”

“I’m not arguing that.” She motions to the cigarettes. “Your little abnormal gift got me in a bit of an awkward spot.”

Liz leans over the table, smiling. “Did it?”

Heather picks up on her rapt fascination - astounded she’s so interested. “Yeah - don’t look so broken up about it, will you?” she jokes, rolling her eyes. “She needed a light, so I gave her one. In the… Weirdest way possible.”

“Well, you could’ve lied and said no. Besides, you don’t smoke, remember?”

Heather shrugs. “Yeah - but why lie?” She looks down for a moment, then to the side. “I mean, I didn’t, but I think she thinks I did.”

Liz tilts her head. “About having a light…?”

“About not smoking.”

Liz places a finger on the pack and slides it toward Heather. “Well, prove her wrong, then. I’m sure that’ll earn some points with your new bestie.” she says with a snide chuckle.

Heather grabs the pack and stuffs it back into her backpack. “What’s the matter, feeling threatened?”

Liz chuckles, shaking her head. “Not at all - not at all.”

As the two depart the table to grab food, Heather notices Liz looking at her clothes - it wasn’t an atypical thing for her to do, though. Even if she knew Liz was judging her fashion sense, she didn’t much care - it was hot out; some people cared for comfort more than they cared about brand, and Heather was one of them. As soon as they get back to their seat, Liz takes a seat next to Heather, and… Oddly enough, removes her shoes. She tosses one leg over the other, pointing it toward Heather - who can’t do much more than look… Confusedly down at her friend.

“You hot?” Heather asks.

Liz looks up, smirking. “So kind of you to say.” Heather can’t help but roll her eyes.

“You know what I mean.”

Liz… Sincerely didn’t. She cocks her brow, looking up, then down - then down to her feet. “Oh, you mean-” she begins, sounding… Flattered?

“Yeah, that. Never seen you do that before, so I’m just assuming…”

Liz blinks. “... That I’m hot. Oh - oh.” Why did she sound so disappointed? Was it-

Trying to save the conversation from taking a nosedrive into awkwardness, Heather raises a hand. “Oh, did you, uh, get your toenails painted recently? It looks nice, it-”

“No - no, don’t worry about it.” Liz replies; sighing her words out. “I’m just so sore today. I’m dying for a footrub.” Her words sound… Targeted, but Heather had no idea what she was leading up to.

Pursing her lips, Heather murmurs “Well, remember that mani-pedi place we went to over the summer? I’m sure they can take care of that. After we went, I felt like I was walkin’ on clouds for a month.”

Liz tilts her head, then nods. “I’ll have to see if I can get a booking in, then. Hm.”

Heather takes a small sip of her drink, and then-

“Did you shave today?”

-spits it back into her cup, coughing a little. “What?” she asks.

“It’s an innocent question, I swear!” Liz defends - Heather never thought it anything but innocent… Until she specified it. Now, Heather couldn’t help but wonder. “Your legs just looked really smooth, so I figured…”

Heather leans back in her chair, shaking her head. “Fuck - yeah; yeah, I did. I’m not gonna lie, just… That’s a weird thing to bring up.” As much as she hopes her nervous chuckling would help her recover the situation, she doesn’t feel any better.

“Hey - it’s a style thing. You know me.” Liz tries to defend.

Heather nods. “Yeah, I do - and that isn’t something you usually ask.” Before they delve much further, Heather changes the subject. “Also - thanks for the boots.”

Liz is just as eager to hop to a new subject as Heather is. “Oh! Yeah, I hoped you’d like them. They were pretty clunky, so I didn’t know…”

“Hey, they work. That’s all I can ask for.” Heather says. “Doc’s advice didn’t work, anyway - they’re even bigger today, so the boots are a perfect fit.” She nudges Liz’s arm, chuckling. “Either that was a hell of a coincidence, or you’re psychic or something.”

Liz smirks, picking up her now-empty plate. “Would you believe me if I said I have voodoo powers?” she jokes.

Heather rolls her eyes. “Hey - I may have gone blonde for a while, but you know I’m no bimbo.”

Chapter 5
Heather>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>Liz Night 2>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>Liz

Hastily, a Ferrari makes its way up the winding road to the Beckinridge estate, its tail lights drawing angry red streaks in the night. Its revving engine sends bellowing roars down the hills, growing louder as it pulls into the enclosure of a garage. Even when it goes silent, a cry echoes out.

“Fuck!” Liz shrilly barks, marching out of the garage and up the front steps of her home. “Shit!”

Usually, driving back from classes made her feel better - she had the option to live in a rather cushy dorm; even a sorority if the urge struck her, and while it’d give her an easier commute to school, nothing quite beat the satisfaction of seeing all the heads turn when she pulled in or pulled out of the parking garage in her shiny red Ferrari. Technically, her father’s - but that was beside the point.

Of course, few things were usual nowadays; both for her and sweet little Heather. Even the unusual elements she’d found were breaking their own rules of operation - in her mind, doing so just to spite her? Was it a means of limitation? Was it some sappy restriction that only the pure of heart could use this magic? Fuck no, she said - this was dark shit she was tangling with; curses, hexes, plagues - there should be no limit to what she could do with them!

Liz spent an hour and a half threading string into that fucking doll, and for what? A little bit of stubble that gets hacked off in a moment’s notice? She slaps on those pins, hoping it’ll give Heather a little fixation - but when she tries to probe that, all that happens is that she ends up looking like some freaky dyke hitting on her straight friend! She returns the fucking shoes, buys the ugliest pair of boots she could find in that store - hoping they won’t fit - and it turns out she picked the perfect size.

“Oh,” Liz begins bitterly, marching up the stairs to her room. “I’m sorry, Heather, that was the biggest pair they had for women. Looks like we’re gonna have to shop in the men’s section.” Her tone dribbles venom - that was the line she’d planned on dropping when she got the supposedly-inevitable call from Heather that she had nothing to put on her man feet.

Liz throws open the door to her room, and then yanks the doll out of its drawer. She picks it up with both hands and shouts “Why aren’t you working!?” at the tiny little thing. It hangs limply in her grip, flopping around as she shakes and throttles it. “You’re supposed to be fucking with Heather! Not just giving her a stray hair here and there - ” she explains - as if it could listen. She brings it closer to herself, her tone dropping - getting more soft; but more sinister the closer it gets. “you’re supposed to be turning into a freaky pervert dyke that loves foot shit. You’re supposed to stamp around on man feet, you’re supposed to be smoking whenever you can. You’re supposed to be hairier than a fucking grizzly bear.” Her lips almost press against the doll’s ear. “You’re supposed to wanna fucking prostrate yourself at my feet. Bow to the fucking goddess.” Liz shuts her eyes, shivering with anger. She takes a deep breath, then drops the doll, which falls limply onto her desk.

Liz steeples her hands, bracing her fingers on the bridge of her nose. She takes a deep breath, terminating it with a harsh, ragged exhale - murmuring “Okay - okay...” as though a mantra, trying to bring her temper down. Failing that, to channel her temper into something less self-destructive and more Heather-destructive.

“Maybe there is a limit.” she reasons, turning to look at the doll; face-down on her desk. “If it’s going to fuck me, then I just have to make sure I get as much shit done as possible before it cuts me off.” She grabs the doll by the ponytail and then places it on the desk, centering it with one hand and pulling out the sewing kit with the other. “Scorched earth, motherfucker.”

Liz hunches over the doll, looking at the pins on its back first. If just adding one pin for her desired fixations didn’t work, then more was obviously better. She pins two more female symbols and feet onto the doll’s back, and as she looks at the empty space… She wonders. There was so much more that could be done - she wanted to make Heather every bit of an unlikable freak as-

“Oh shit.” Liz chuckles out, fishing in her bag of pins - then, she pulls out a small skull-and-crossbones. “She’s not that bad, is she, Heather? Well - maybe you’re onto something.” When it came to outcast freaks, Zelda was the prime example in Liz’s book. She still dolled herself up like a goth; like she’d just stepped out of a fucking time machine from the early 2000’s. As far as Liz knew - but it wasn’t like she kept tabs on the freak or anything - Zelda didn’t have many pals; didn’t care for them, either. But, anyone that stuck around her could easily get bogged down in the mire of rumors and disdain she carried around with her.

Liz pins two of the skull-and-crossbones pins on the doll’s back, admiring her work. “Maybe… They could be a little more than…” Liz stopped herself. “No - no.” Liz wasn’t interested in playing matchmaker - besides, she didn’t know what team Zelda was batting for, as it were. Rumors kinda made that a little complicated. More importantly - she didn’t want Zelda to have Heather all to herself… Not yet. She wanted that bitch to bow to her first - and she wanted everyone to know it. After that… She didn’t care what the little nobody did.

Much of her work was a repeat as last night’s - revisiting areas she’d placed ‘hair’ on, and giving it a thicker coat; from there, expanding to areas she hadn’t yet touched. The doll’s arms, crotch and navel, even a little bit on her rear - it didn’t satisfy Liz, but it came damned close. Stuffing her feet again was a given - she reached over to pillage some more stuffing from her teddy bear, but… She got an idea before she did. Raising her scissors to the doll’s defined breasts, she cuts a small hole and starts removing a bit of stuffing; snickering all the while. She appropriates the stuffing into her now-greatly-swollen feet - by now, Liz hoped the women’s section would be but a memory.

Once more, Liz picks the doll up by the ponytail - but she doesn’t keep a hold of it for long. With one neat snip, she hacks off a good amount of Heather’s hair - leaving her with a straight; if a little messy bob of yarn. “You’ve got enough hair down below to accommodate.” Liz sneers, dropping the fistfull of severed yarn to the side of her workspace. She turns the doll over and looks at its face - its bright blue button eyes and its wide grin. Happy was the last thing she wanted to see Heather be.

Besides, she thinks - she was a sweet little thing; a getalong kind of gal. That’s why people liked her so much! Even if her feet were massive, even if she had body hair like a mammoth - Liz knew full well that their mutual friend group wasn’t shallow enough to outright drop her because her looks took a hit. If she had an attitude - and a sour one at that - then who would want to bother with her? Liz takes a needle and slowly undoes the yarn forming the doll’s grin - tearing it out, and threading it back in as a scowl. She even takes a bit of yarn from her hair and threads it in over her eyes - not just giving her a fierce look, but the thick yarn made her brows seem rather thick.

“I can only hope for the best,” Liz chuckles, rubbing a thumb over Heather’s new brows. “or, well, the worst.” Heather looks over the doll, and… She has ideas. Terrible ideas, at that. However… She wanted to wait. She wanted to drive the little runt into a corner before she went any further. She sets the doll down, and picks up her phone. With a few taps of her fingers, she gathered a few of their… Mutual friends into a little group chat. “It’s been a while since we all hung out last,” she murmurs, a smile curling over her plump, pink lips. “I’m sure Heather won’t mind a bit of company.”

[allthosecurves]

I love the subtle, yet humiliating concept of defeminizing an attractive woman's feet. I love that contrast! The body hair stuff isn't my cup of tea but I love everything else about this story.

[Camille]

Wonderful story and a great premise. I love "defeminization" stories and there are so few of them out there. Magic is not my cup of tea, but there is no conceivable way to achieve what you have in mind realistically. Hormones and surgery can only get you as far.

Getting "man's feet" is simply delicious - what an embarrassment for the formerly attractive girl that must be! Perhaps give her a much deeper voice too to boot? So that she sounds like a man in drag trying (and failing) to sound feminine.

Waiting for your next instalment with huge interest. Great job!

[vladimirpootis]

Thanks for all the feedback everybody. Tackling atypical fetishes or different executions of popular ones is one of my biggest interests, so being able to bring that to everyone else is certainly a pleasure.
Regarding Camille's suggestions - she's definitely going to start developing a more gravelly and harsh voice as her changes go on; but I guess I'd characterize it less as mannish and more like just kinda butch. It's definitely going to pair with her new mannerisms pretty well!
Suggestions, questions, and the like are always appreciated; so feel free to shout 'em out in the interim between updates.