Beast to Beauty - Beautification, Feminization, Ungrowth

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Beast to Beauty - Beautification, Feminization, Ungrowth

Postby Tigerharpy » Thu Dec 24, 2020 11:54 am

Synopsis : The warrior woman Brunhilde, She Beast of the North, mightiest warrior in all the Kingdoms, finds herself trapped by winter storms within the mountain stronghold of the arch enemy of the King, the Wizard Gaits. The Wizard offers her a bargain, a truce until winter subsides lest they kill each other within the castles walls. Supremely confident in her abilities, Brune agrees to the bargain with the puny wizard and his pitiful servants, not realizing a subtle trap has been sprung . . .

Story is a very slow burn that features muscle loss, height loss, breast reduction, feminization/princessfication, embarrassment, chastity increase, loss of physical fitness, pudginess, loss of skills, gaining of skills, both slow and rapid physical and mental changes, etc . . .

Have fun!


Edit : In the interest of advertising and increasing interest I have added the above synopsis for new readers.

Author's Note - This is the initial draft of a commission work. Further entries and spell checking to follow. Feel free to comment or speculate, though ultimately decisions about the story will be handled between the comissioner and myself.

– Beast to Beauty - Part I

Consciousness returned to Brunehilde slowly, and then all at once. The first thing she became aware of was the sound of voices, garbled by distance and echo, but still nearby.

She was guarded.

The second was the mildewed odor of a dank cellar.

Underground.

With these two facts established she turned to her third priority, the cold stone against her bare skin. The chill was enough to raise goose flesh all over her arms and legs. Opening her darkness adjusted eyes, Brunehilde, the warrior woman, She-Beast of the North, found herself within a small dim cell barely large enough for her to lay prone.

She was spread eagle, and totally nude. Her exquisite armor and master worked weapons had been taken. No doubt when she had been captured.

That was their first mistake. Her fists curled into balls, nails digging into her palms as the tendons of her forearms rose proud. They could not take away her greatest weapon. So long as she had her body of steel, she would never be truly defeated.

A less resourceful warrior, trapped naked and alone, might have grown restless, might have begun to pace their cage or cursed at the guards. Brune instead restrained her simmering aggression boiling up from deep within her chest and remained still.

Her mountainous breasts rose and fell subtly, vapor breathed between the slight parting of her wide crimson lips. She gave no hint that she was awake.

She waited.

She did not need to wait very long before she heard the scuffing of boots against stone and the sounds of the guards voices growing nearer.
There were no other voice so it was likely that she was the only prisoner in which case . . .

In a fluid movement Brune rose to a crouch balanced on the balls of her feet. Taking stock of the walls she uncoiled her legs, fingers and toes met stone, scrabbling for infinitesimal holds in the crumbling mortar. She managed to find purchase, wedging herself into the corner using the cell’s corner and the thick beam of the door frame.

Just in time.

There was a loud banging, as if a club against iron at the door. Then a dismayed noise as someone peered through the door grate followed by a heated conversation of guttural barks and growls before the door ground open on rusty hinges.

A hunched half clothed and half furred figure stormed into the room, turning its head to and fro, it sniffed the air for clues. Suddenly, looking up, it’s startled bad moon eyes locked with Brune’s own.

Brune let go, and nearly twenty stone of raw muscle and bone came crashing to the ground with earth shaking force. There was a struggle, bare feet slipping and skidding as she wrestled her victim against the wall. Armor and fur rubbing against her bronze flesh.

One powerfully muscled leg swept out, around and then bent at the knee, hooking the beastman’s leg and tripping him. Powerful arms wrapped around shoulders and neck, locking under the line of the jaw. With one strong jerk of her shoulders Brune could snap the beastman’s neck if she so desired.

Yelps and growles from the open door demanded her attention. When Brune looked over her shoulder she was met by a pack of beast men, their yellowed fangs barred and their weapons pointed at her. Their ears were done and their tails stood stiff, trapped between fight and flight they were at their most dangerous.

Brune twisted, swinging her hostage around to use as a shield.

“My weapons and my armor.” Brune grunted. When one of them made a move she barked. “Now!”

The beastmen shifted uncomfortably, licking their lips and looked to one another. Brune tightened her hold around the beastman’s throat, coaxing him to speak.

“We . . . We no have!” The wolfine creature struggled to shape the words around his massive jaws. “We no have your armor!”

“Where is it?”

“M-Master has it!”

“Master?” Brune repeated.

“Geeeeeeitsssss!”

Gaits.

“The Wizard lives?!” Brune growled. Then they had failed to kill him at his tower. She would have to do something about that. “Take me too him.”

“He waits. He waitsss for youuuu.” She let the beastman go, throwing him into the waiting arms of his comrades. Quickly he retrieved a parcel by the door and offered it to the warrior woman. “Here . . . Here . . . Gift from Maaasterrrr Geeeeiiittttssss!”

Taking the parcel suspiciously, Brune hefted it in one hand before pulling apart the brown paper. She grimaced as a cloying flowery aroma filled the air, the contents spilling into her arms. Fine garments of cotton and silk. Garments fit for a princess.

There was a blouse of royal purple and a short pleated white skirt with all of the accessories that a young noble girl might require. Graceful golden bracelets and flowery clips and ties. Delicate stockings and even a pair of small pure white panties of incredibly fine cotton.

All of it was of the very finest quality and absolutely none of it would possibly fit her enormous body. The warrior woman tossed the open package back to her captors defiantly. Looking at the confusion on their lupine faces she replied gruffly. “He can see me as I am.”

If the Beastmen had anything to say about that, they kept it to themselves. Their spokesmen, approaching cautiously, clapped her wrists in a pair of iron shackles and gestured for her to follow.

She was taken from the darkness of the dungeon up a flight of stairs into a space that was immediately grander and lighter while remaining just as icy cold. Grand tapestries covered a stone wall opposite soaring windows that gave a panoramic view of the endless snowcappd mountains of the North.

They crossed paths with more beastmen here, and for the first time, Brune witnessed pseudo humans who had clearly not been created for battle. Unlike the caenid wolfmen, these were felinid, their frames smaller and their features more refined. Dressed in well made servants clothes, from a distance they could have almost passed for human, only closer inspection revealing the subtly squashed feline trace to their faces and the fine tawny fur like velvet covering their skin.

The servants gave Brune and her escort a wide birthe, some stopping to stare at the female warriors marched naked in chains. Chained, but unyielding.

Brune held her head high and thrust her chest out, standing tall, knowing no shame in baring her body. Her face settled into an expression of warrior’s poise, eyes glaring down from atop regal cheeck bones, full blood red lips pursed.

Her enormous breasts bounced firmly with every step, their nipples turned to small hard arrowheads by the cold. The hard hemispheres of her butocks popping with each step, bulging thighs gliding against another. The cobbled muscles of her tight v-shaped stomach twitched with like living steel while wide hips swayed in a predatory catwalk. The hardened muscles of her body rippled panther-like in a display of powerful animalistic grace.

The gawkers looked away as she radiated a sort of bestial intimidation, a primordial confidence, awakening some ancient fear of apex predators.

Brune began to commit their path through the structure to memory. The warrior woman had made her way as a mercenary and her military training had been earned on the field of battle. Even so, she recognized the architecture of a fortified castle in a state of partial repair.

This was not the Wizard Gaits’ tower which they had assaulted, Brune realized. A hidden base elsewhere in the mountains? Or had the tower always been nothing but a diversion?

It was pointless to ask herself. They had climbed a grand flight of stairs and were now standing before a set of finely worked oak doors into which had been inscribed arcane diagrams of Wizardry.

The doors opened of their own accord and just swiftly at her back. Brune found herself standing alone in her shackles at the door of what appeared to be a well appointed much care worn, library. The wooden tables scuffed and the green leather showing signs of great ware. Brune inhaled the musty scent of paper and leather, finding it unfamiliar. She craned her neck towards the sound of muted foot steps on thick carpet.

“Ah . . . awake and well I see.” A voice that she had last heard shouting arcana in the midst of battle greeted her cheerfully. “And also naked . . .” The Wizard Gates blinked owlishly as he emerged from behind a tall bookshelf. “Did Hortens not give you the clothes I picked for you?”

“Gaits . . .”

Brune’s eyes narrowed as she studied the Rogue Wizard. The largest bounty in the Kingdom of Fortuna. She decided, after a moment, that it was indeed him and not a double. The same slight and unassuming frame, the same watery dark eyes, the same beard. He was old enough for his wizard’s beard to have grown luxuriously, but young enough that it was still pure black without a hint of gray.

“I hope Hortens and his pack didn’t mistreat you. That band of ruffians running the dungeon can be quite horrid when they want to be . . .”

“Why am I here?” Brune cut through the Wizard’s babbling. “Speak plainly.” She had no patience for pathetic obfuscation.

“Ah . . . well . . .” Gates nodded, putting his books down on a nearby table and stroking his beard wisely. “I suppose it would be accurate to say that you are my prisoner. Ah! Not to worry! Your friends made it out of my tower before it collapsed.”

She remembered the last moments of the battle, of the tower collapsing all around her as she sought shelter. Then . . . a flash of light and blackness.

“What is to stop me from killing you here and now?” Brune asked coolly, taking a single menacing step towards the wizard. Using her shackles as a weapon, she could think of a half dozen ways to kill him in less time then it would take the guards to break down the door.

“You could do that.” Gates agreed. “You very well could.” He paused, biting his lip and nodding his head thoughtfully. “You’d die.”

“I’ve survived worse odds.” Brune assured him, spreading her legs shoulder width apart and pushing out her hips so that her dark hairy crotch was bared, her engorged clit swollen and glistening pointing straight at the diminutive man. She had found that small weak men in particular tended to be intimidated by displays of her body.

“If it were just my guards I’m sure you could kill me and escape.” She took another step towards him. “But!” He added quickly, freezing her in place. “As you no doubt already know the winter winds have already begun to howl. Even well provisioned you would surely freeze to death before you made it out of the Fell Peaks. Come, let me show you something.” The Wizard turned his back to her, it would have been the work of a moment to have killed with that carelesneess before he could conjure magic to his defense. Instead, brune decided upon caution. Why had he gone to lengths to capture her?

They walked to a window overlooking a deep mountain valley, jagged teeth of rock spearing up in broken ranks from the snow and ice.

“Look, over there.” Wizard Gaits pointed to a distant column of smoke on the shoulder of a far off mountain. “That is my old tower. A shame to see it destroyed but I believe a worthwhile sacrifice. Your adventuring party doubtless thinks you died with me. My scouts say that they are already in full retreat to make the foothills before they are iced in by winter. So you see . . . You’re trapped here for the next three or four months?”

“Why?” Brune asked. “What is it you intend with me?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all! I would like you to be my guest for the winter in fact! Assuming you will cooperate.”

“Cooperate?”

“I don’t allow even the beastmen to walk around naked!”

“That is what you do with your prisoners?” Brune rumbled in a voice so deep it caused her breasts to jiggle like great bowls of custard. “Dress them up? Like dolls?”

“You did destroy my tower. My reagent stockpiles, my notes.” Gaits pointed out. “The least you could do in return for my hospitality is wear something a little nice. You’re obviously not ashamed of showing off your body.”

Brune frowned at the lack of effect she seemed to be having. Most men of Gaits stature would have been reduced to stammering uncertainty. A strange few would have been driven into a confused melange of fear and sexual lust at the overpowering presence that was Brunhilde, She-Beast of the North, but Gaits remained composed, his watery eyes looking her square in the face, entirely bypassing the magnificent valley of her cleavage.

“And it would be an opportunity for me to convince you.”

“Convince me?” Brune grunted.

“Of the righteousness of our cause. The Kingdom, you see, is corrupt.”

Brune snorted in contempt. “Do you think I do not know that?”

Gaits seemed at last to be startled. “Then . . .”

“I do not care.” Brune said. “The Kingdom hired my sword arm not my conscience.” The King could be as corrupt as he wished, if the people weren’t so pathetically weak then maybe they would have overthrown him.

Gaits finally snapped, scowling. “Have you no decency?!”

In answer, Brunehilde widened her stance and squeezed between her legs. A hot stream of piss erupted from her pussy and traced an arc halfway between herself and the wizard. Rocking her hips slowly she spread the pungent puddle in a growing pool soaking into the carpet. She gave the Wizard Gaits a wordless look of defiance. “Are we done here?”

“Yes . . . Yes I suppose we are.” Gaits sighed. “Hortens will escort you back to your cell. I don’t presume you intend to escape.”

“It is as you say.” Brunehilde shrugged her mountainous shoulders. “I would freeze to death in the dead of winter.” Come spring however, that would all change. She would have to bide her time and plan.

Brune was almost back to the door when Gaits spoke again. “Wait.” She stood as silent and poised as a statue. “You said your sword arm is for sale. What about your companionship?”

“I am not a whore.” Brune explained. She arched a single eyebrow. “Do you wish me to warm your bed?”

“That . . . Won’t be necessary.” Gaits managed to shrug it off with a nervous chuckle. “I mean to say, could I pay to hear me out. Just to cooperate for this winter.”

“I am still contracted to kill you.” Brune answered bluntly.

“But you agree you can do that come spring.” Gaits reasoned. “The world thinks us dead. There is no danger of anyone stealing your bounty.”

“The pay?”

“A thousand pieces of gold.”

Brune snorted again. “Ridiculous!” If a job was too good to be true, then it probably was.

“Not at all. My beastmen have collected a great deal of coin in their raids. I do not want it and they have no use for it. Surely there is something that such wealth could buy you.”

It was a job too good to be true. But the Wizard was not wrong. With a thousand gold there would be wealth enough to found her own mercenary company and more than enough left over to buy the recognition of her prowess that she craved. Yes, she could do a great deal with a thousand gold . . .

“I want to see the gold first.”

“Of course.”

“I will know if it is a trick!” She added harshly.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. A thousand gold and in exchange you shall behave as an honored guest this winter. My death to be determined at a later date.” Extending his hand, Gaits smiled. “Do we have a deal?”

Brunehilde contemplated the Wizard for only a moment. In the end, it was a deal that cost her nothing. She could not see the downside to agreeing. The warrior woman hocked back deep in her throat and spat into her own hand. They clasped palms wetley, Brune shaking the Wizard’s arm to the shoulder as he wore a blank smile.

“Now then, if you are to be a guest I will have the servants prepare quarters for you in the keep. You will have some duties of course.”

“Duties?”

“You will be expected to have dinner with your host each night. And to obey the house rules. You may be asked to perform some simple tasks . . . ah . . . out your own pleasure.”

“A good host would return my weapons and armor. I am a warrior by profession, I must keep my skills hones.”

“All in good time. The castle has facilities where you may train whenever you please. But while within the keep I will ask that you show appreciation for my gifts.”

“Gifts?”

Gaits smiled as, if by magic, he retrieved a familiar brown parcel from behind his back.
Last edited by Tigerharpy on Sun Feb 14, 2021 9:10 am, edited 5 times in total.
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Re: Beast to Beauty - Beautification, Feminization, Ungrowth

Postby riveris » Thu Dec 24, 2020 2:41 pm

oh im so pumped to see how this story is going to go!
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Re: Beast to Beauty - Beautification, Feminization, Ungrowth

Postby Tigerharpy » Fri Dec 25, 2020 6:28 pm

Beast to Beauty - Part I(b) -

The Wizard Gaits, true to his word, did not order Brunhilde returned to the dungeon. Instead, she had been unshackled and escorted by a pair of small female felinid beastmen to a floor higher in the keep where the air was warmer and the stone walls were paneled in polished wood.

They saw few beastmen here and the ones that they did meet were dressed as servants. Brune began committing them to memory, tallying the number of servants and soldiers. She would not let her guard down just because they had come to an accord.

Brune was shown to a room of such size and luxury that at first she was convinced the Wizard had sent her to his own quarters. But the servants had insisted these were only the guest apartments. Brune wriggled her toes as the tough soles of her bare feet were swallowed up by a thick plush rug softer than anything she had ever felt before. Even fresh spring grass was not so yielding.

A roaring fire warmed the room and fine brass lamps filled it with light. The air held only a faint scent of smoke, mostly there was sweetness emanating from an ornate table covered in jars and bottles of dizzying shapes and endless colors. Beside what she assumed to be the alchemy table was a large wardrobe. She had expected to find her armor and weapons, but opening it revealed only more small silk and lace things.

Inspecting the room further she found book shelves, a collection of small instruments, small cabinets full of jewelry, and, as promised, at the foot of the rooms great silken bed, a chest full up with gold coins. But no weapons.

“I was to have my weapons and armor returned.” Brune growled. “That was our deal.”

“Your belongings have been taken to the armory Milady” One of the catgirls explained.

“I want them brought here immediately.”

The servants looked nervously to one another. “We . . . Cannot do that Milady.” Brune felt a flash of irritation. “House Rules, Milady. Weapons not carried by guards must be stowed in the armory.”

“Then you will take me to this armory.” Brune instructed. “And show me the training grounds as well.”

“Of course Milady. We may begin a tour of the grounds . . . as soon as you are dressed.”

The warrior woman grimaced at the prospect of indulging the wizard’s strange frivolties . . . But she had struck a contract with him if only to lull him into complacency. She took the waiting parcel from one of the servants and went to open it before the room’s mirror.

Sifting through the fine fabrics she gravitated to a dainty piece of pure white cotton adorned by a simple pink bow. Holding the scrap of cloth by its elastic waist she furrowed her brow before bending down and slipping it on.

It was the work of several moments to pull the panties up her thickly muscled thighs, the elastic cutting into the skin of her wide hips and tracing an equatorial line across the hemphispheres of her buttocks. She gazed at herself in the mirror, the tiny scrap of fabric stretched nearly to the breaking point by her unyielding body barely managed to cover her crotch. The taut fabric modeled the contours of her pussy. The luxurious pink bush of her pubic hair, as thick as sheep’s wool, sprouted over the elastic and peaked out around the leg holes. Brune was perplexed as to the point of such an insubstantial garment.

She squeezed herself into the sleeveless violet blouse, now certain that the fabric was enchanted to resist tearing. Her breasts were pushed up and squeezed they spilled out over the neckline. The fabric constricted across her ribs and stomach. The white pleated skirt hung high on her hips, barely covering the upper curve of her ass and leaving the panties mostly exposed.

Her greatest difficulty came with the leggings. Long high heeled thigh boots of white leather embroidered in gold. The heels were gold and the toes were gilded with wings. Yet once she had them on, despite the pinching of her feet, she found them to be a garment she almost liked.

Almost.

Brune had never worn high heels before, but they added inches to her already fearsome height, pushing her almost to seven feet tall. And if her footing was uncertain at first, it was only for a moment. She had fought fearsome battles on ground more treacherous than a castle floor and never fallen. She would master this footwear as well.

Examining herself in the mirror, she found herself surprised and approving of the way that the heels stretched her legs, emphasized the lines of her muscles while lifting and tightening her firm glutes. She looked over her shoulder, admiring the bulge of a heart shaped calf clad in white.

“Is everything to your liking, Milady?” One of the servants asked.

“This will do.” Brune decided tursely, still wandering if this was really the style of noblewomen. She’d never met one but knew that they were an impractical lot. In any case, she would soon be back in moy familiar surrounding and more practical garb.

Planting her fists firmly upon her hips. “Now then, I command you show me to this armory.”
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Re: Beast to Beauty - Beautification, Feminization, Ungrowth

Postby Tigerharpy » Sat Dec 26, 2020 12:55 pm

Part I(c) -

The feline servants, who Brunhilda learned were named Ester and Astrea had proceeded to dutifully give the her an extensive tour of castle and its grounds. And again, just as promised by Wizard Gaits, no place was seemingly off limits.

She learned much of the castle’s layout. She learned that Wizard Gaits had concentrated his labs and libraries in the castle keep where he conducted his research and planned his rebellion against the Kingdom of Fortuna. She had also learned the location of the castles stockpiles, the barracks, and many points of weakness in the outer walls.

Most importantly, she had learned the location of the armory and was in the midst of being reunited with the arms and armor that were almost pieces of herself.

“That be a monster of a chopper I say!” Grunted the biggest beastman Brune had ever seen. A great old monster who stood level with Brune’s shoulders, his gray fur crisscrossed, one eye bad-moon yellow, the other covered over with an eye-patch. “But I can’t see what use it be in battle.”

His name, she had been surprised to know wolfmen had names, was Fyrd. He was one of Wizard Gaits’ oldest creations and master at arms of his forces. Snowed in as they were for the winter, he was now in charge of all military matters within the castle.

Brune looked up from tying up the laces of her gambeson giving the monster a cold look. Since she had woke in this strange captivity, the beastmen had not laid a finger upon her unprovoked, and so long as their truce held, she did not intend to violate the agreement before the time was right.

“You are not wrong.” She answered finally. Reaching down she took the solid steel handle of her enormous war-axe, the tendons of her arm stood proud as she lifted it with seeming ease. But even she was not unaware of its heft. “Tower Breaker weighs almost three stone. A normal war-axe weighs a fraction of that. Any mere man would be exhausted simply carrying it into battle much less swinging it. But . . .”

“Oh?” Old Fyrd crossed his arms.

Brunhilde inhaled deeply, her bosom rising mountainously, then with an explosive outbreath she swung the mighty axe head in a half circle arc, stopping inches from the beastman’s neck.

“I am no mere man.” She was Brunhilda, She-Beast of the North, the strongest woman in the world, and at that moment her very being purred with the satisfaction of being whole again.

Fyrd had not even flinched. Instead, he made the coughing yips that amounted to laughter among the beastmen. “I like you I say!”
Brune’s wide full lips twitched, a flash in her molten green eyes. “I have killed many of your kin, Beastman.”

He showed his yellowed fangs. “That makes me like you more! Good fighter! Brave! Strong!”

“Hmm.” Brune grunted as she examined and sheathed her great sword and began dawning her armor.

The suit of mail had been custom made to take full advantage of her great strength and stature. It was not proper knight’s mail, but Brune had built it up over time based on what worked.

A gambeson, composed of a leather leotard, leggings, and arm sleeves over which was worn a long shirt of chain-mail that fell to the upper thigh. Over this, Brune wore a heavily reinforced breast plate weighing almost as much as a normal suit of armor on its own. Leather thongs attached the armor plates to her upper arms, outer thighs and shins, and her hands and feet were protected by sturdy leather gauntlets and boots.

She was checking the last straps and shouldering her weapons when the Wizard Gaits came walking down from the keep, his hands tucked up the sleeves of a long knit gray coat like some courtly fop.

“Our guest is making herself at home I see.” Gaits observed cheerily. “I hope the facilities meet with your approval.”

“They will do.” Brune said tursely. She was hardly used to having ‘facilities’ in her life as a wandering warrior. “What are you doing here, Wizard?”

“Why, I simply came to see how you were getting by!” He smiled nervously. “And also to be sure you don’t kill anymore of my servants . . . At the old tower . . . You and your friends were rather good at it.”

“I train as I fight, to keep my skill keen, I make no promises, wizard.”

“A suggestion then?” Gaits removed a hand from his coat. With a snap of his fingers a dull regimented clanking started up from around the perimeter of the courtyard.

Suits of armor rose haltingly from their decorative alcoves, shaking the rust from their joints as they jerked to life. They started unsteadily but within a few steps there was a surety to their movements almost as if alive.

“Animated armor.” Gaits explained cheerily. “A very powerful defensive weapon. Though they cannot function outside the walls of the fortress they are enchanted to protect. You may feel free to use them as sparring partners to your hearts content.”

Brune nodded. She was familiar with them.

There was an arena tucked into the corner of the courtyard. A wide circle of sand surrounded by a wooden stockade and benches for spectators. A pack of beastmen squatted about, their attention piquing as they saw the approaching warrior and the squadron of magical armor.

“Aright you dirty dogs!” Fyrd grunted. “Clear the way. Clear the way for Lady Brune!”

Soon Brunhilde was standing in the arena opposite the line of armors. The leading suit, bearing a knight’s plumage on its helm, lifted its empty visor in salute. Brunhilde lowered her own helmet over her short cropped pink hair, unlimbered her bow, and knocked her first arrow.

Taking a deep breath, the lead armor took a step, Brune drew back, feeling the spring steel of Far Reacher Bend, the string pull taut. Her muscles and sinews purred with power held in tension, begging release. The armor leaned forward, took another step, and then broke into a charge.

Brune let loose, the arrow seeming to vanish with a -twang- as it buried itself in the hip of the lead suit. She drew another arrow and shot again, then again, four times in all before the construct had closed half the distance. There was no flesh to puncture, no veins to cut, but Far Reachers bolts had struck true. The steel shafted arrows piercing cleanly through the hips and knees, locking the joints. The armor tumbled. But there were more behind it.

She unlimbered her broadsword and met the second armor head on in a clash, her glinting steel against its blunt and rusted blade. They battled for a moment in a content of strength before the warrior woman released a roar and sent the suit hurtling.

The third suit, sword held high over its head in a murderous downward stroke, Brune tossed her sword into her left hand, raising it to block single handed while snatching Tower Breaker from her back, swinging the axe up in underhanded blow that lifted the suit off the ground and split its abdomen.

But already, the fourth, fifth, and sixth were upon her. She dueled them, her sword in one hand and Tower Breaker in the other, retreating steadily to buy distance. Her every movement was executed with a honed perfection in pursuit of an ultimate strategy born of her trained instinct.

Her heart was beating faster now, the sweat was beginning to develop on her brow, stinging her eyes, blood sang in her veins bringing her alive. She could smell the frost in the air, the faint tang of metal and oils, even the musk of the distant beastmen. She could see the light glittering down her sword as she completed the swing, feel the shifting of the sand beneath her boots.

Tower Breaker sank into the shoulder of one suit, collapsing its right side and taking its sword arm with it. The magic construct jerkily turned its helm, briefly seeming confused then, answered by raising its left fist and swinging hard across Brunhilde’s jaw.

The strap of her helm snapped, it went flying in a spray of spittle and red. The warrior woman blinked, tasting copper in her mouth, wiping away blood, she grinned carried to euphoria on a surge of adrenaline.

Brune dropped her weapons, bringing her hands together and spearing them fingers first into crippled armor’s chest, then pulling them apart. The suit spasmed, struggling to resist, her grin widened into a sadistic smile as she pulled and pulled and pulled. There was a groaning of metal, a snapping of cords, all at once the suits came apart in a shower of plate.

She turned to the fifth suit, arms working like pistons to drive her fists into its chest, one, two, denting it, three collapsing the sternum, then winding back for a final haymaker that lifted the armor from its feet and sent it disintegrating.

A flash of premonition, Brune ducked as a spear rocketed overhead, narrowly missing. Her hand shot up python quick and closed like a vice, the wood shaft skidding to a halt between her palm and fingers. She spun the weapon around easily, took aim, and from a low wide legged stance hurled the spear back into its owner, skewering it.

The last armor leaped onto her back, trying to bring her down from behind, but Brune was enjoying herself entirely too much to end it so quickly. She reached for the gauntlets trying in futility to wrap around her thick neck and slowly crushed each into uselessness at the wrist.

Peeling the suit from her back she hurled it to the ground in a crash of sand and steel.

It wasn't over yet . . .

As the armor tried to rise she rained blows onto its head, crushing the helmet and gorget into a fused lump atop its stunned shoulders.

Not yet . . .

Then, straddling the suit at the hips, she sank down to her knees, leaning back as she closed her hot hard inner thighs against icy cold steel. The suit struggled valiantly as the pressure grew. Brune licked her lips in anticipation. The straps of her leg plates strained.

Almost.

Almost . . .

Brunhilde bit down a small moan as slowly, then at all once, the torso yielded, crumpling like an empty can.

It was a few moments before she remembered herself. But when she was back in the present, Brune heard the hoots and growls of her audience. Fyrd stood cross armed, nodding his approval, the Wizard Gaits beside him looking for the first time truly nervous.

Good.

He must alway remember, that she was mighty.
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Re: Beast to Beauty - Beautification, Feminization, Ungrowth

Postby Tigerharpy » Sun Dec 27, 2020 9:35 am

Author's Note : This conclude part I. Subtle mental and phyiscal changes will begin to manifest throughout part II.

Part I(d) -

“There is an old saying in Fortuna.” The Wizard Gaits smiled. “A wizard’s dining table is never empty! Now, come, sit, enjoy!”

Gaits had seated himself at the head of a long table fit to host a dozen warriors. The castle’s great hall had been converted into the Wizard’s laboratory so a smaller room, on the same floor as the apartments, was used for dining.

Chandeliers and oil lamps had been lit by their dozens to infuse the room with a warm light while outside of the darkening windows a tapestry of aurora rippled over the Northern mountains.

Brune, her blood cooled and her arms and armor returned to the armory, stood for a moment at the door where she had been summoned and then crossed the tile and carpet, the golden heels of her ‘house attire’ clicking sharply under each purposeful step.

From the corner of her eye she noted the Wizard Gaits’ eyes lingering for a moment on her well displayed hindquarters.

She took the seat offered by a feline servant at the opposite end of the table, the spidery wooden chair creaked as she sat down but remained sturdy.

“Now then, my chef has finally gotten the kitchens here arranged to his liking.” Gaits clapped his hand. “I believe he has prepared roast venison brough by the foraging parties . . . You look . . . nice?”

Brune looked up from where she had been examining the mystifying collection of plates glasses and tableware that had been arranged in arcane formations before her.

“Hmm.” She grunted as a salad was placed in front of her.

“I suppose I didn’t remember to re-size the garments . . .” Gaits mumbled. “I could cast a simple enchantment . . .”

“Does it make you uncomfortable?” Brunehilde asked. A servant poured red wine into a crystal goblet while she scooped a handful of mixed fruit from the bowel and popped it into her mouth, chewing slowly.

“Well . . .” He paused as she rolled her shoulders, emphasizing her barely covered bust.

“Then this is fine.” She said around a mouthful of fruit before picking up the win bottle and taking a long swig to was it down. It was . . . different . . . than she was used to. A taste sweeter than ale but deeper than mead. She decided the Wizard at least had good taste in booze.
More food was brought out in incredibly variety but frustratingly small portions. Soups and vegetable dishes, roast game birds and stuffed mushrooms. She had all of them, along with second and third helpings.

“Well . . . the wardrobe at your disposal is vast . . . Feel free to pick something else you may like.”

“I wouldn’t know where to begin.” She said while picking apart a pheasant with her bare hands. The hot juices barely registering to her calloused fingers. Drips of rendered fat splattered across the front of her blouse.

“Ester and Astrea could help you with that.” Gaits suggested. “I’ve had them fully trained as lady’s maids. Among other useful skills . . . ” He was silenced by the loud noise of slurping soup.

“You know . . . The story of this castle is really quite remarkable. It was a bolthole for the old Royal Family, the one deposed by King Ratus. Furnished with everything Royals in hiding might require. Quite the find high up here in the mountains. Of course, they never had a chance to use it. The King and Queen along with their young daughter were killed by treacherous court wizards on behalf of King Ratus, he was General Ratus back then.”

“Is there a point to this?” Brune asked between bites of buttered bread.

“I just thought you might want to know from whence your wardrobe came.”

“I do not.”

“A-Ah . . . Well . . . I suppose that’s a very practical outlook for a warrior. Tell me . . . are . . . many of your people’s women . . . like you?”

“I would not know.”

“Oh?” The Wizards watery eyes, for just one moment, seemed to crystalize, hard and backed darkness like lake ice in the dead of winter.

Brune fell totally silent. The promised venison arrived, thinly cut and covered in a rich gravy. But the thought continued to spin inside of her as she ate. Only when she had finished, licking the plate clean, did she answer.

“I did not know my people. I was discovered in the Forests as a child by a Mercenary Band, the Kodiaks.”

“Aah . . .” Gaits nodded thoughtfully. “Much favored shock troops in Grinwaldia. But isn’t it strange for a mercenary company to take in a girl-child?”

“They say I was a strange child.” Brune answered. “A foraging party found me living feral in the forests to the South of here. They didn’t think I was more than three or four but I was already as big as the runner boys and some of the paiges and strong enough to wound three of them. I only grew from there. My earliest memories are being trained along with the new recruits. In war, you don’t waste a strong sword arm.”

Gaits stepped his fingers under his chin. “Perhaps there’s some giant in your blood?”

“Perhaps.” Brune admitted. “I do have their resistance to magic. But the mountain giants were driven further North over a century ago.”

Gaits frowned. “In any case, I imagine it was a very difficult childhood . . . I . . . am sorry?”

Brunehilda snorted. “Apologizing for things you had no part in is a foolish weakness, Wizard. Besides . . . I do not regret my upbringing. The challenges I faced only hardened me, made me strong. I would not have survived otherwise.” She blinked quickly, emptying the wine bottle in a final gulp.

The conversation was stranger even than the drink. Why had she spoken so much of herself? The words had bubbled up like spring water. Why had she revealed her resistance to magic, a potentially crucial advantage?

The wine was strong, she decided, it was muddying her thoughts. Foolish!

“That is enough of this for tonight.” Brune stood up from the table.

“But . . . As you wish.” Gaits stood as well, giving his guest a small bow. “If you require anything, Ester and Astrea are at your complete disposal and . . . Goodnight, Lady Brunehilde.”

Brune returned to her quarters and peeled out of her ridiculous garb for the last time that day. Standing fully nude, she collected a bucket of water and a bar of harsh soap she had retrieved from the kitchens and went to work scrubbing the grime and dried sweat from her body.

Icy water prickled her skin like needles. Droplets beaded and rolled down her taut stretched skin, collecting into rivulets that flowed down the crags and clefts of her muscles like rivers of soap suds.

She was drying between her legs when there came a knock at the door.

“Enter.” Brune grunted, impatient to be done for the night.

The cat maids, Ester and Astrea, stepped inside giving simultaneous small courtesies.

“Milady. We are here to prepare you for bed.”

“Prepare?” Brunehilde cocked her head. “What is there to prepare?” Were noble women really so helpless? How did nobles rule Kingdoms if they were so dependent on their servants?!

“Astrea will prepare your bed Milady, while I shall dress you.” Ester explained. There was a look of bored matter of factness on the slight beastgirls squashed feline face.

“I do not require any dress for sleeping.” She stated while Astrea slipped around her and set to work pulling back the sheets and fluffing the pillows of the rooms immense feather mattress. She had been looking forward to being free of this child’s game for the night.

“The castle is furnished with an extensive wardrobe Milady.” Ester insisted firmly. “Royals throw away nothing. I have striven to find something you will find suitable.”

The warrior woman exhaled slowly. There were battles not worth fighting and she gestured for the lady’s maid to show her what she had selected.

Brunhilde had not known what she had expected. Not this.

A pair of light violet panties and a matching brasier embroidered in flowery rose print, and a billowing short dress of the same color, gossamer thin and translucent.

Putting them on, the panties were nothing like the prior pair. Just as tiny, the thin straps stretched further without deforming the crotch, resting high on her hips before plunging in a v-shape that framed her chiseled lower stomach. She was barely conscious of them they were so light and airy.

Brune held the brassier up, studying the elaborate floral embroidered, the repeating patterns approximating roses in full bloom. By some unbidden impulse brune pressed the garment into her face and breathed deep. She scented the ever present sweetness of perfum and the dust of mothballs, and more distant, further back in time, a complex melange of sourness and human scent . . .

“I found this among the Queen Mother’s maternity clothes. Given the size of most of her dresses it is safe to say she developed quite the tracts of land during her pregnancy. I doubt it will fully fit, but it should do until we can have Wizard Gaits enchant some of the clothes larger. I’m afraid a skilled seamstress is not among the staff.”

Brunehilda still thought it ridiculous, but something made her acquiesce. Ester helped her with the mystery that was the brassiere’s clasps. It was as she said, even made for a generous bosom it was many sizes too small. Still, compared to her first experience it positively caressed her breasts gently, and it was not as if they needed the support in the least with their plump natural firmness.

The nighty hung from thin straps over her shoulders, falling like a faint violet mist to silhouette her mid section, emphasising the fullness of her hips and, if only by comparison, the narrowness of her waist.

All in all, it was the least infuriating thing she had yet been asked to ware.

“Will that be all milady?” Ester asked calmly. “Do you require a nightcap? Perhaps I could retrieve a book for you? I believe a warrior might find some value in a volume on military history.”

“That . . . won't bee needed.” She said. “On either count.”

The buzz of a full bottle of wine still clouded her mind and as for books . . . Brunehilde appreciated the value of being lettered and was proud to have taught herself enough to read maps, road signs, and sign her name rather than just a mark. With some time, determination, and a free finger, she could even work her way through a mercenary contract, provided it wasn’t too complex. Besides, anything worth writing down was something that somebody already knew.

The lights out and the servants departed, she lay awake for a time reflecting on the strangeness of the day, listening to the growing wind against the windows heralding the first of the winter storms, feeling herself settling into the mattress like a ship sinking to the bottom of a river bed. As she drifted off, her eyes adjusting, she realized that the ceiling had been painted the likeness of a night sky.

‘Must be magic.’ She thought.
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Re: Beast to Beauty - Beautification, Feminization, Ungrowth

Postby Tigerharpy » Mon Dec 28, 2020 6:49 pm

Part II(a) -

In the coming days a routine was wordlessly agreed upon by Brunhilde and her captor turned host. The mornings until late afternoon were Brune’s to do with as she pleased, filling them with training, and conditioning, and practice in all of the martial disciplines. Honing her skills and keeping them sharp.

In return, from evening on, and within the walls of the castle keep, the She-Beast permitted the wizard to pretend at taming her, wearing whatever latest absurdity Ester had selected for her and dining at the Wizard’s table each night.

Brune rose before dawn to make good use of her time, stretching herself on the hard stone floor until her muscles grew supple before setting in on a morning regime of push-ups, sit ups, and squats, a thousand of each.

She would devour a simple breakfast brought to her by the servants and then proceed to the armory to dawn her gear and commence conditioning practice, running the castle walls with added weights, forms and drills with her weapons, and sparing against the castle armors.

Gaits had not been exaggerating when he had given her sanction to battle the constructs to her hearts content. Whether skewered, crushed, or rent asunder, after a time the suits would begin to put themselves back together again, ready for the next battle. Brune’s only complaint had been that the armors seemed to learn nothing from their repeated deaths, always attacking in the same rigid fashion no matter how many times they were destroyed. The challenge they could provide her was finite.

“Mayhaps you join us on the hunt one day, Lady Brunehilde.” Fyrd had suggested when she voiced her thoughts. It was after training and Brunhilde loomed over one of the armory benches as she inspected and maintained her equipment. Her armor shown beneath a fresh coat of oil and her greatsword’s freshly sharpened edge glinted. “Winter means we can’t travel far, but there be beasts in these peaks much less obliging to the master than us. They sometimes need driving off.”

“I am not in the Wizard’s service.” Brune growled. “But . . . I will consider your offer.”

She had set to work polishing the ornate metal work of Tower Breaker and performing the needed maintenance of Far Reacher, making it clear the conversation was at an end.

But she did think about it, and continued to think about it all through the day. It went back to the armors. They were not alive so they did not fear death, they did not fear death, so they did not learn to avoid it. To a warrior, fear and uncertainty were tools to stay keen and overcome weakness.

She was not being challenged.

There were times of year when the mercenary companies were off campaign. The winter months as now. Times when fighting came sparsely and it was more mead letting than blood letting.

But always there was the planning, the preparing, the threat of violence to keep her alert. Here, there was none of that, and it’s absence left her restless. Like a wild animal pacing its cage, fang and claw ready but nothing to hunt.

“Familiarity breeds contempt.” The Wizard Gaits had explained that night as they feasted on minced meat pies.

Brune had remained a passive partner in their nightly conversations but Gaits had an infuriating ability to coax words from her mouth with very few of his own. He’d ask a question, and then remain silent as she answered. Then he would repeat. It was similar to shield fighting, Brune supposed, drawing a foe in with as little strength as possible, fitting for a Wizard. She would wind up speaking more at their meals then she did the entire rest of the day.

“Fyrd recommended I join him on the hunt.” Brunehilde said between bites of the savory pastry. Gravy ran down her chin, Gaits staring at her expectantly until she reluctantly used a cotton napkin to wipe it away.

Ester had prepared an evening gown, a garment of pure white trimmed in gold, it’s corset had been restringed to contain Brune’s massive torso, splitting down the back in a V-shape from just beneath her shoulder blades down to just above her her waist and displaying the serpentine definition of her shoulders and broad back. White shoulder length gloves emphasized the lines of her biceps, and the train of the dress, which would have trailed along the floor on the woman it was sized for, fluttered around Brune’s bulging calves, the slit front nicely drawing attention to her inner thighs as she sat legs apart.

That evening, her neck was encircled by a series of golden and silver necklaces which she had resisted at first until Gaits had agreed to include them in her booty. Fine gold and silver chains cut lightly into the cords of her thick neck while larger, looser pieces spread over the curving plains of her breasts. A diamond the size of a child’s fist nested in her cleavage.

“We do have a problem with trolls.” Gaits agreed. “This Castle was abandoned for close to two decades and they’ve colonized a good deal of the valley. Can’t have them undermining the walls . . .” Looking thoughtful Gaits nodded. “Yes I think that arrangement will do, just so long as Fyrd is there to supervise.”

“I was not asking your permission.” Brune growled. Gaits merely took a sip of his wine and smiled.

“You must have some experience with clearing rock trolls to offer your help.” A typical question from the Wizard. “Was it a contract you took often?”

“When the waring was slow.” Brune answered reluctantly. “The villages pay handsomely to have them driven away from their fields. A week of work could keep a company fed and sheltered over winter.”

A long pause as Gaits’ tableware clattered.

“You know . . . have you ever considered whether those farmers could afford to pay you?”

Brune grimaced. If there was one thing that aggravated her more than anything else in the past days it was this Wizards softness. “How does it matter? If they were strong they could fight the trolls off themselves. Instead they choose to remain week and pay those strong enough to do it for them.”

“How can they grow strong if they must sacrifice their food?”

“Did you think that when you set your beastmen on the lowlands?”

“I beg your pardon?! My servants have done no such thing!”

“Is that so?” Brune scooped the sweet flesh from an after dinner melon. It had dawned on her that the foods at the table would have been difficult to attain in the lowlands this time of year, much less winter. But then, with a Wizard the answer was always magic. “My party passed plenty of destitute villages on the way to the mountains. Victims of your campaign.”

There was a pitifully -smack- on the wood of the far side of the table as Gaits have rose from his seat. “Is that what you think of me?!”

Brunehilde fixed him with her poison green eyes. “I think nothing of you, Wizard Gaits. I have a contract on your life, and we have a contract to stay your death til a time it won’t kill us both. I just think it strange that you loathe war so much then have a hand in it.”

Gates ran a hand through his hair, stroked his dark beard, pacing to and fro. It made him look ridiculous, like a distressed child, she expected him to stamp his feet.

“Those villages suffer, yes, but not by my hand! My forces loot the convoys and outposts of King Ratus, and in turn he squeezes the common people tighter to make up the difference. But they would suffer anyway! Ratus squeezes them for all their worth and lets his lackeys do as they please to them. Under the Old King there were taxes, yes, but they were distributed fairly, equitably. The Kingdom’s army protected the fields and the farmers had no need to give still more so that they would not starve come winter or be slaughtered by feral trolls.”

He glared at her, the anger in his eyes startling, like a small dog yapping at a lioness, she hadn’t thought there was the fire in him.

“You are right that I loathe war. In fact, if it were in my power, I would render war obsolete! I would make all of your many cherished death dealing skills like rusted steel. Your mastery of violence an embarrassing fetish! I would make a world where you would be ashamed to be a warrior . . . But . . .” He stopped, the anger seemingly quenchd. “That is beyond my power . . . and I think that is enough for tonight. Goodnight, Lady Brunhilde.”

He had stormed off, leaving Brunhilde to eat her dessert melon in peace after which she had retired to her apartments and attempted to burn off the lingering frustration with a set of improvised weights fashioned from iron bars and pieces of crumbled masonry.

A knock at the door signaled the arrival of the servants. Ester and Astrea had made a habit of bringing hot water from the kitchens and washing Brunhilde’s body with fine cotton towels and bars of lavender scented soap. She had resisted at first, but Ester was relentless, and it was hard for her to say no to something so harmless.

Besides, she’d always had a soft spot for wenches, they were the only women she’d ever known besides herself to show any sort of strength. Wenches and farmer’s wives.

“Ester?” A thought occurred to Brunehilde.

“Milady?”

“What do you know about the Kingdom of Fortuna?”

“Very little Milady.” Ester replied. “Astrea and I were created only after the Master had retreated to the mountains so I’ve never seen the Kingdom personally. I know what the Master says about it . . .”

“Hmm.” That wasn’t any help. It had just been passing thought anyways. Brune’s eyes came alive and she snatched her hand from a startled Astrea just as the girl was about to do something with a sharp metallic instrument.

“It’s just a file Milady.” Astrea answered her small nasally voice, ears flattening against her skull anxiously.

“Please allow her to do her work.” Ester instructed. “To be plain, Milady, your nails are atrocious.”

Reluctantly, Brunhilde extended her hand. It looked like a bear’s paw beside Astrea’s. They were a fighter’s hands, which were like a blacksmith’s, big and strong, with callouses and leather palms, the knuckles pronounced and the blocky fingers thick as tree roots.

She had to fight not to fidget, feeling a pangue of uncertainty as the girl worked her craft swiftly at the edge of each finger until at last she was finished.
Her nails, formerly chipped, frayed, and uneven, the cuticles ragged, stained deeply with grime, bloode, and oil, had become softly rounded, pinkish white, and almost shiny.

Astrea had worked some cream into the palm of her hands, a lotion, Brune sniffed her palm closely, nostril’s flaring like a predator tasting an unfamiliar scent, then grunted noncommittally.

“Your feet too, Milady?” Ester said.

Brune arched a brow but acquiesced, fighting the urge to wriggle her toes as Astrea worked and Ester helped her to dawn another change of clothes. A silken night robe with short billowing sleeves. It would have have fallen to the thigh on a lesser woman, Brune wore it like a halter top, the collar hanging off of her shoulders and tied off beneath her breasts with a crimson and black sash matching a pair of thorn vine embroidered silk panties.

She had dismissed the girls for the night, Ester putting out the lamps as she left, leaving Brunhilde to ruminate in the darkness. The She-Beast curled and uncurled her toes, tapped her fingers against her palms. The sensation of smooth nails, free of jagged edges, almost tingled. And her thoughts wondered to Gaits exploding. Strange how it had not bothered her at all but now bothered her more and more. Perplexed, she banished it from her mind and burrowed into darkness . . .

. . .

. . .

. . .

It was some time later, the room dark and still, the fire in the hearth burned down to embers, and the room’s lone occupant deeply asleep when the clouds above the Northern Mountains parted and for a brief instant admitted the silver light of the moon. A single ray fell from the heavens, fell though the window, and fell across the slumbering form.

Illuminated in sleep, she seemed suffused with some quality eluded in the waking world. An animal innocence, a being capable of great acts of violence and brutality, but without corruption by malice or cruelty, and thus still capable of a deep untroubled sleep unattainable to most.

The set of her exquisite face like some sculptor’s vision of a young mother goddess, lips slightly parted, brow unfurrowed.

The light seemed to radiate brighter as her perfumed bosom rose and fell, breathing slowly and deeply of its sweet scent.

A mist of silver precipitated in the light and settled over her, suffused with the moons glow. And for a moment, just a moment, there was an impression of unrealness, that she was not what was supposed to be, that it needed to be different, needed to change . . . The silver taking on an impression of hostility, like acid . . .

Change . . .

CHANGE

Eyes fluttered beneath closed eyelids, the calm slumbering face twisted into a unconscious grimace, teeth grinding, lips parted in a snarl as if some unsettling dream was playing out. The great frame tossed sedately, an arm throwing aside the silk sheets. A hand caught on a collar, a great breast spilling out, shining in the light as a companion to the moon. Then . . .

A growl, deep a guttural issue from far back in her throat.

The clouds closed and the light faded, the silver burning away, until nothing was left amis . . .

By morning, not even memory remained.
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Re: Beast to Beauty - Beautification, Feminization, Ungrowth

Postby Tigerharpy » Wed Jan 20, 2021 4:18 pm

Part II(b) -

The deep call of horns broke the morning calm. Fresh powder shed from low branches as gray furred forms trotted hunched over and eager. Brunhilde watched them with a practiced eye. The Beastmen were inborn warriors, their wolf instincts told them how to hunt, bait, and ambush. No wonder a weakling like gaits relied on them.

She glanced over to Fyrd, the beastman’s tongue lolling happily as his fellow warriors fanned out across the valley floor. Sitting astride a long haired white horse, the Wizard Gaits scowled between the collar of his winter coat and the brim of his high pointed hat of station. Brune didn’t understand why he was there if he hated it so much yet he seemed determined to show his flag. She recalled their last real conversation days before. Brune shrugged, now was not the time to be sparing the wizard a thought.

The warrior woman inhaled the crisp thin mountain air, feeling her shoulders and back ache with a faint stiffness that had not been there the day before. There was a tightness to her ribs and arms that she typically felt only after the most strenuous of battles. This damned winter chill was worming its way under her skin no matter how she fought against it.

No matter, she was accustomed to discomfort as well.

Brune joined the hunting packs as they flushed the trees and deep snowdrifts. The goal was not to kill any trolls in their dens, much too dangerous, but to drive them into the open where they could be brought down and dispatched with warhammers and pulled ballista. Already the howls of the leading forces announced where they had uncovered a hibernating troll and soon the sounds of battle began to echo.

Brune lengthened her stride, plowing a wake through the snowdrifts as Gaits tried to keep up. Fyrd fell to all fours, bounding and plunging into the white powder with the ease of a wolf who had lived these mountains all his life.

They came upon their first catch, a great old rock troll it’s body rotund, nearly as tall as Brune herself, and covered in a hard mineral shell. The creature must have weighed a full ton. It’s hard beady black eyes peered out of deeply sunken sockets, it’s jagged diamond teeth flashed in sunlight.

A quartet of beastmean had surrounded it, trying and failing to bring it to ground with grapples and ropes. One of the wolf-men, more foolhardy than his comrades, failed to let go in time and was caught when the troll reared back. He was pulled in by his line, sezied by a stoney claw, and planted terminally into the ground in a geyser of blood.

The troll roared, a sound like gravel rattling inside of a great iron drum. The beastmen backed off, tails lowering fearfully. Fyrd baked and cursed at his pack but Brune merely grinned, grabbing the nearest beastman by the shoulder and yanking him out of her way.

The She-Beast licked her lips. She could feel her heart beating faster as she looked the troll in its hate filled eyes. The stupid creature was still intelligent enough to recognize that Brunhilde was the biggest and strongest of the lot. The biggest threat. They approached each other like two young silverbacks, slowly, shoulders swinging and chests out. Brune’s breast plate glinted in the sun, her hands creaked in her leather gauntlets as she reached over her shoulder and gripped Tower Breaker.

The troll swept an arm with astonishing speed, Brune rolled beneath it with ease, rising back up, planting her feet wide, and torquing her torso in a full bodied swing into the back of the troll’s right knee. Tower Breaker kicked in her hands, her palms stinging. The troll was swept from its feet, shaking the ground as it fell.

Brune followed with an overhead blow. The war axe struck a stony arm, sparking against flint, then again, and again. The mineral shell flaked and chipped away to reveal pulsating pinkish flesh. The troll roared, grabbing a rock with its good arm and hurling it blindly. Brune had just enough time to shift her shoulder forward. Pain exploded, white and red flashing behind her eyes as her arm was crushed into its socket.

It hurt so good she almost laughed.

This!

This was what she had been craving!

A foe who needed to kill her as much as she need to kill them.

It was the only way to live.

And so she was almost disappointed as Fyrd rallied his pack to grapple the troll to the ground. The fight was reduced to a chore, workmanly. She considered taking it slowly, trying to enjoy herself, then she caught a disapproving look on the face of the Wizard Gaits watching at a distance. Reluctantly, Brune brought her war axe down in a powerful blow that split the troll’s head and destroyed what passed for its brain. Messy in deed, but a relatively painless death.

There were more barks and howls, more battle to be fought.

The morning and early afternoon were filled with the hunt. Brune, working with Fyrd’s pack counted up kill after kill that day, steadily winnowing the trolls’ numbers as they marched south. Yet still no sign of what she really was after. Typically, a group of trolls, which Gaits insisted was called a ‘Bridge’, were the spawn of a female and her mate. The Alpha male tended to be large, larger than any of the offspring, the female was larger still, and only grew bigger and stronger until the day she died.

The day went on, trolls were flushed less and less as the easy nests were explored. The sun was sinking over the highest peaks when Brune took stock of the hunt.

A rustling in the brush nearby brought Brunhilde fully alert. Something crashed though the bushes sending up a spray of snow as it bounded gracefully across a clearing and leaped a rushing winter stream. Gray and brown fur, a magnificent rack of antlers swinging proudly.

Brune reflexively drew Far Reacher and sited down the length of an arrow shaft. Controlling her breath, she drew the bow taut, taking aim . . . r

A -twang- as the arrow sailed across the distance. The Elk staggered, stumbling on its hooves, and then took flight.

Brune’s eyes narrowed. The shot should have been true, should have felled it then and there.

Had the arrow been damaged?

No matter, she could see the blood trail. The Elk was wounded, mortally, and would not make it far. Crouching low, Brune pursued swift and silently.

She was in the shadow of the mountain peaks now, distant from the sounds of the pack mopping up. She found the Bull stumbling through a nearby clearing, his racing heart pumping his life from his veins. She waited for him to collapse and then approached, drawing a short knife from her belt. As with the Trolls, she made the end quick and clean before regarding her prize.

A beautiful creature, its coat thick and and matted with frozen snow. High up here in the mountain it had surely feasted all summer and autumn on the bounty of the forest.

Brune was about to begin dressing the carcass when she felt the ground tremble. Once, then twice, then three times. The crunching of snow, and then the groaning and cracking of branches and tree trunks.

It waded into view proceeded by the bending aside of tree trunks, a great old troll its body covered in pits and stripes of mineral veins. It’s stout legs looking comically short, but necessary to support the immense weight of its body, carried it at a pace that seemed slow until it grew near, then, it’s sheer size revealed that its trundling gait was plenty fast. The body was covered the colors of winter lichens, and here and there, dabbed in bright splashes of red, some war paint, some fresh blood. Arrows and grapples hung from its hide like decoration.

Brune rose slowly, her lesser prize forgotten as she stared the Alpha Male down. Reaching for both Tower Breaker and her broadsword. The Alpha Male scratched himself stupidly, squinted hard at her.

Brune exploded.

She was on the alpha in an instant, Tower Breaker chipping at a granite torso, her broadsword glinting and sparking at licked any point that might be a weakness. She aimed especially for the joints and around the eyes and nostrils, hoping for an opportune chance to blind or at least bloody.

The Alpha Troll responded lethargically at first, swinging its arms with deceptive slowness. Brune dodged, feeling the wind as stony limbs swept inches from her. A fist connected with a tree, the base of the trunk simply ceasing to exist as it exploded into splinters. The rest of the trunk toppled falling downward across the trolls shoulders and staggering it.

Brune saw her opportunity and seized it, rushing in, she gathered her legs, making to leap for the head and a killing blow.

It happened in a split moment, a tremor of unsteadiness in one foot that caused her to go off balance. Brune had meant to trace a perfect arc over one of the troll’s arms. The arc was still very good, almost perfect in fact, almost . . .

But not quite.

Brune struck the troll's forearm as if she had body slammed a fortress wall. The air was driven from her lungs, her path instantly reversed and then stopped as she was cratered into the ground. Before she could roll out of the way, a troll foot stamped down. Brune’s eyes went wide, a mix of spittle and bile erupting from her mouth. Her breastplate groaned and buckled, the hard wall of her stomach deformed like rubber. She felt herself sink through the snow and deep into the frozen earth.

The only thing that saved her was the troll’s unsteady footing. It had not leaned its whole weight on her. She took the opportunity as it caught its balance to roll over and struggled to her hands and knees.

A strange sensation overtook Brune at that moment. A primal urge deep and dark that told her to get away. To get far far away. In her stunned state she began to obey it, crawling feebly before a claw wrapped around one of her ankles, lifted her into the hair and threw her far out into the clearing.

Brune searched blindly for a weapon, but her sword and axe had been scattered. She grit her teeth, barring fangs. The Troll roared and she roared back as a blast of light and heat struck the monster across the jaw.

Galloping down the valley came the Wizard Gaits, bouncing violently in his saddle. Another fire bolt struck the troll across the chest, leaving singed marks and stone skin glowing cherry red.

A sweeping arm attempted blot out the insect causing the troll pain, it struck Gaits across the chest, wizard and mount exploding in a shower of light that multiplied into a dozen wizards upon a dozen horses circling and crying for the confused troll’s attention. Brune was stunned. She had thought so little of the Wizard that the very idea he would be of use in battle had never occurred to her.

The troll swiped the illusions into myst as the real Gaits snuk up on the monster's back, directing a jet of icy cold from hist staff that was slowly imprisoning its legs. It may have worked if an over long swing hadn’t caused the troll to stumble and realize one foot had been frozen to the ground. It turned on the real wizard, startling Gaits from his concentration.

Brune leaped into action, rising to her feet, an explosive sprint ate up the distance, and at the last second she leaped into the air, throwing her feet in front of her, heels together. She struck like a human missile, her full weight of flesh and steel and bone hurled with all the force she could muster. There was satisfactory -pop- a the troll's knee gave way, the monster felling forward with a roar of pain and rage.

Gaits’s horse reared, bucking its rider and fleeing in fear. The troll reached hatefully for the man who had caused it so much pain, held back at the very last moment.

“Wizard!” Brune roared as she sezied one of the loose grapples hanging from the monster's snout like a nose ring and refused to let go. She began to wrap the line around her arms and shoulders for leverage, drawing it in and pulling as she mounted herself around back of the troll’s neck. Gaits looked, blood trickling from his brow. The Troll tried to make for him again and Brune pulled with all her might.

Leather groaned and ties slipped as muscle bulged. Armor plates buckled, a few going so far as to pop free as Brune strained beyond her limit. In that moment it felt harder than anything she had ever done before. Tendons stood proud like steel cords and veins throbbed in time with her roaring heartbeat. The pounding grew so intense she felt it in her temples. But slowly, the troll’s mouth was pried open.

“WIZARD! NOW!” Brune’s booming voice trembled.

Gaits found enough sense to raise his staff. He cast a bolt of fire with such fury that she felt the heat washing over her face like the full blast of a forge. The bolt flew into the troll’s opens mouth, expanding into a blossom of fire that was vomited back from open maw, nostrils, and eye sockets.

The monster gave a last impulsive -buck- as it died. Brunehilde lost her grip, falling backward into the snow. All was quiet save the hissing of steam and the -crack ping- of cooling stone.

Brune stood slowly, regarding the dents and rents in her once proud plate. She found Tower Breaker, it's axe head slightly chipped, and her broadsword somewhere worse for having been hurled a hundred feet and burried in a tree trunk. The weapons were familiar comfort in her hands yet did not banish her unease.

She should have managed that monster easily. What had happened?

Treacherous footing? She had never known ground so uncertain she could not master it before. And even if she had, gazing back at the battle, she saw the places she could have recovered, could have turned the tide. Yet she had missed them, one after another, like a dancer who had lost her rhythm. If not for Gaits' timely arrival . . .

“You did well . . .Wizard.” Brune admitted grudgingly. “Perhaps you are not so . . .”

“YOU IDIOT!” Gaits’ voice was high and shrill, almost girlish as he stormed up to her. “How could you have gone after that thing alone!”

Brune blinked, a wave of confusion, followed by animal caution. She was in control. Her. Not this wizard. This . . . was not how it was supposed to go . . .

“I . . .” Brune began confidently, sure that the rest of a short and to the point sentence would follow. Instead she repeated “I . . . I . . .” Her eyes opened wider.

"What's wrong? Are you . . ." For just a moment,Gaits’ eyes took on a depth beneath their water glaze look. He took a breath, catching himself, and then seeming to choose his next words quickly and carefully. “Lady Brunhilde, you must be more careful . . . You are NOT strong enough to fight such a creature alone . . .”

It struck Brunhilde like a slap.

She was not strong enough?

She was not strong?

She was . . . not?

No . . . Wait . . . That wasn't right.

She was strong . . . the . . . strongest in the world . . .

Wasn't she?

And like a slap, after the shock, her thoughts were reset. She was herself again, forgetting the flash of confusion, she regathered her composure. “You are . . . Right . . .”

“Oh”

“I ranged too far ahead of the troop. The error was mine.”

"As long as you know that now." Gates nodded slowly. Then pointing his bearded chin at the carcass behind her he said, “I suppose you’ll be wanting that for dinner? Well . . . It’s getting dark, best to tie it up and dress it back at the castle.”

Brune nodded, agreeing with the Wizard for once. She retrieved her sword, her bow, and her war axe before trussing the Elk and tossing it easily across her shoulders. Her battered body ached as her blood cooled and yet the pain meant nothing to her, not compared to the inescapable sensation of unease.
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Re: Beast to Beauty - Beautification, Feminization, Ungrowth

Postby Tigerharpy » Wed Jan 20, 2021 4:20 pm

Part II(c) -

Dinner that night had been eaten in near silence. Gaits barely touching his food, merely gazing into a bowl of thin broth, lost in his own thoughts.

Normally, Brune would have liked it just fine that way. It was preferable to his endless yapping. His questions and needlings designed to tease out things that the warrior woman did not want to say or at least did not believe needed to be said. Without ever lifting a finger he could be . . . exhausting.

But tonight was different. Tonight was the night after a battle. It was a night after a near brush with death, for both of them. There were things on such a night that needed to be said. Possibly without words but said nonetheless.

Which was why Brunhilde had been caught flat footed when the Wizard rose early from his seat, gave his goodnights, and scarpered off from the dining table.

“What is wrong with him?” She murmured, squirming with faint unease. She knew the cause. Far from relieving her body’s tension, the fighting had only transmuted one urge into another. It was natural, especially after so much death.

One of the serving dogs heard her and replied. “The master grows impatient when he is taken from his research for long. The hunt today distracted him.”

So his research . . . Brune pondered this and came to a decision. Finishing her meal in silence, she did not return to her room but instead descended the quiet levels of the night time keep to the doors of the great hall that had become the Wizard’s laboratory.

She stood before the great oaken doors for a long time. Longer than was wholly natural for her. She was more comfortable with action.

Doubt was poisoning her, she knew. Doubt that was only in small part due to the events of the hunt . . . No . . . That was untrue.

Her brush with death did not haunt her nearly so much as it might a lesser warrior. She had seen skilled comrades and foes die to something as simple as a stray arrow, a slip of the foot. No matter the ability, simple bad luck could strike. A warrior either overcame or they died.

No, as time passed, as she justified it to herself, the missteps became simple misfortune, the anxiety faded.

It was how death had been averted that now lingered with her. Gaits had saved her life, and she had turned around and saved his immediately after, despite her intentions to take it herself come spring. A life for a life . . . but still . . . Brune knew instinctively that a debt was left between them. A debt that was mutual and needed paying.

Knew it in her head. And in her loins.

She wore a black dress that night over a white skirt. It would have been conservative, but like every garment that had been made for a mere woman, this one was strained to the breaking point by the awesome form which was Brunhilde.

The hem of the skirt rested high on her thighs, but not so high as to compromise modesty as she peeled off the embroidered panties. Wading them into a ball the cotton felt like it had been left out in the sun on a humid summer day.

Tugging at the bow that clasped her neck like a noose, she liberated her breasts, allowing them to stretch the dress’s collar into an elongated V. The fabric purring as it was held together by durability spells.

Finally, she retrieved a small paper packet recovered from her possessions and removed a wax preserved leaf. Crushing it between her molars, she swallowed the bitter juice, feeling a brief wave of nausea as it settled upon her stomach. For the next day she would be safe from that lone womanly burden she still suffered.

With that done, committed, and with renewed confidence, she threw the doors open, striding into the Wizard’s inner sanctum like a conquering queen, utterly certain in her right to be there.

So this was a Wizard’s lab, she appraised, hands set on hips. What she found was a vast chamber full up with the most bewildering mountains of . . . junk . . .

Piles of scrap iron. A mountain of rusting cauldrons, eaten through by caustic potions. Tools of every trade scattered across benches, tables, and seats. Here a carpenter’s chisel, there a blacksmith’s hammer, tongs, and vice. A doctor’s mortar and pestle. A sailor’s sextant. Jars full of ingredients ranging from the mundane to the truly bizarre. And the books, towering, tottering, stacks of books. There seemed to be more here than in the castle’s library

“What is it?” An irritated voice called from behind a fortress of tomes. “Is it midnight tea already? Oh . . . Just leave it on the table.” A hand waved to small bench where an alarming pile up of abandoned tea trays had developed.

Brune slipped off her shoes and padded lightly across the stone and carpeted floor. She could be silent as the wind when needed.

Gaits sat hunched over a table, his nose pressed into a thick and yellow paged book full of arcane glyphs and drawings. His eyes tracked over the ancient lettering, lips moving silently. It was clearly a strain even for his prodigious intellect to make sense of the old language.

Brune watched him for a long moment, finding the show of discipline, even mental discipline, almost . . . attractive.

She slipped closer still until she loomed over Gaits like a mountain. Her strong hands came down carefully on his shoulders and she rumbled quietly. “Wizard.”

She felt his feeble shoulders grow tense beneath his robes. She curled her fingers around them like a vice, licking her lips in anticipation.

“L-Lady Brunhilde.” Gaits shut his book quickly. “W-What has brought you to visit me in my humble study?”

Brune closed her eyes and deeply inhaled the smells of mouldering paper and cloying incense. “Hmm. You did not ramble on tonight at dinner.”

“Oh? I’m sorry . . . I was dist -”

“I appreciated it.” She silenced him, her hands slipped skillfully across his shoulders, following the lines of his thin neck. She could have snapped it between her thumb and index finger. So . . . fragile . . . She could not imagine how he had been so brave with such a pathetic weak body. Not like her own.

“Oh.” He said limply.

“During the fight today . . . I appreciated that too. You are better in a battle than I gave you credit for.”

“Oh it was just a simple application of Fleemixes third hypothesis to thermally . . .”

“I would like to show you my thanks.” Her voice became the deep purr of a lioness in her den. Hot breath blowing across Gaits’ ear as she leaned forward, pressing into him with her breasts.

“Your thanks?”

“And receive your thanks in kind.”

“M-Mine?” His watery eyes were like those of a mouse caught in the presence of a snake.

“I did save your life as well.” Brune murmured. “Walking with death . . . begets a natural urge Wizard Gaits.”

“What are you saying?”

“You will give me pleasure.” Brunhilde said slowly. “And in return for the giving I shall bring you to such bliss.” Her tongue pressed against her pallet with the last word, turning it into a sensual hiss.

“That . . . Is a very . . . very . . . very generous offer.” Gaits stammered. “But I couldn’t possibly . . . .”

“Shhh!” Brune seated herself upon the edge of the table, books sliding off in an avalanche, the furnace heat of her vulva radiating from beneath her skirt.

“Now . . . let us begin.” She reached to press the Wizard into his chair.

In one swift motion, Gaits broke from his paralysis, making a hasty chant and a one handed gesture. Glittering chains conjured around Brunhilde’s wrists and slithered as if alive, binding her hands together.

The warrior woman frowned, furrowing her brow in a moment’s concentration, the magic flickered, strained, and then dissipated like so much smoke and mirrors.

“I told you Wizard I am immune to magic . . . Wizard . . . Wizard?” Brune looked about, but Gaits was nowhere to be seen.
_____________________________________________________________________

How dare he.

How DARE he!

Brunhilde stormed into her bed chambers her emotions a confused tempest of unsated lust and rage.

She stocked across the chamber, kicking aside the low tea table and up ending a sofa on her path to the tall mirrors that dominated the dresser corner. Without a moment’s hesitation she grabbed her dress by the collar and pulled.

Spells of durability or not, no fabric could resist, the black cotton and its white skirt came apart like tissue leaving her to gaze at her own physical perfection reflected three times.

A sculpted face framed by raggedly cropped pink hair. A smooth brow, imperious green eyes gazing down over high cheekbones, straight nose, and firm jaw.
Broad muscle bound shoulders supporting a magnificent pair of breasts, massive and supported high and proud by the girth of her pectorals, their twin curves like the prows of sailing ship’s cresting ocean waves. Hard dark pink nipples pointing urgently.

Beneath their gravity defying mass rested the arch of ribs that merged and narrowed perilously into the segmented bellies of stone-like abdominals, flanks taut and trembling, before widening once again into the flare of womanly hips framing the lush thick delta of her mons. She clapped hands firmly against her hard toned buttocks.

Everywhere she looked, pale skin stretched tightly over hard muscle and tendons like steel cords. A machine trained relentlessly until it was far greater than the sum of its parts.

Swift strong enduring power.

And he had denied her!

Brunhilde’s face twisted as fresh flashes of aimless heat inspired new outrage until a knock sounded at the door. She willed her face placid, her browth smooth, and only when she felt secure in the facade of control did she instruct “Enter.”

She was not surprised to see Ester and Astrea, the maids bringing hot water and towels.

“Milady?” Ester glanced at the tatters of the evenings dress but said nothing as she gathered them up.

Brune held herself still as the Lady’s Maids went about their work. The need for self control giving her internal turmoil time to settle.

Hot water ran down her body, the warmth seeping into her skin, reigniting and then soothing the ache of the welts and bruises that had formed and grown across her flesh.

The entirety of her right shoulders was a mottled splotch of black and blue where the joint had been nearly dislocated. As was the right side of her stomach from ribs to horizontal scar of her navel, where the Alpha Troll had pummeled her.

The pain was not so bad. She would heal quickly. Although her wounds too were not without strangeness. Though, it was not the new ones that demanded her attention. Her fingers traced the lines of old scars. They criss crossed her body, thin mountain ranges of jaggedly puckered flesh. A life of warfare had left her body no stranger to such wounds, she knew all of her scars intimately. And yet, when she touched them now, the flesh felt . . . softer . . . smoother . . . almost faded. As if the hardness was eroding away.

And was it her imagination, or did the tone of her physique, the line of her muscles, seem softer now as well. A little less cut, a little more soft and faded?

It was either a trick of the eyes, or perhaps all of the rich foods were getting to her despite her contempt for ‘soft living’.

“Something troubles you Milady.” Ester observed as she took her mistress to the bed, instructed her to lay on her stomach, and began to work aromatic oils into the contours of Brune’s back, her deft fingers digging into the rivers of knotted muscle like a sculptor attempting to shape raw bronze.

“Hmm.” Brune grunted, her eyes fluttered lower as Ester worked. The effects of the massage easing her tension. “It is nothing that you can help with.” She decided sleepily.

“It has to do with Wizard Gaits . . . Does it not?”

Brune scowled with her eyes closed. Ester was the worst parts of both her master and herself. Observant and blunt about it.

“May I ask you something?” Brune said. She hardly needed the permission but she had grown rather fond of the servant girls and liked to show them kindness.

“Certainly Milady.”

“Do you know if Wizard Gaits is celibate?”

To her credit Ester barely missed a beat. “Celibate? I do not believe so. Though many believe the powers of a wizard are the product of prolonged virginity.”

“Are they?”

“I don’t believe so, Milady. Though I’ve heard a common enough story of young men starting down the discipline with the intent of creating themselves a calmly homunculus wife, only to disappear up the skirts of some obscure theorem instead. It seems most with the knack for it are not inclined to use it that way . . . But no I do not believe our master shys from gratification of the sexual sort.”

“Then does he prefer the company of men?” Brune wondered out loud.

“I could not say from direct observation. But I do not believe so Milady.”

“Oh?”

“As I’ve said before, Master Gaits only created Astrea and I after coming to this castle. You have seen his work with the beast men, and while he and they are satisfied, I can tell you that his work in shaping us was far more exacting. He did not stop until he had refined our forms to be as human like as possible.”

A thought occurred to Brune. “Did it hurt?”

“You mean being changed?” Brune nodded, feeling Ester withdraw her hands. “I cannot really say. At least I do not think so.”

“You do not think?”

“How could I think? I was a base animal. Nothing but a beast. Master Gaits gave me not only a body but a mind. And he filled it with an education so that I might serve him in many capacities.”

“But never in that capacity.” Brune surmised.

“No. Though I can’t imagine he’d have exerted the effort if he did not have taste’s typical for a man . . . Perhaps Milady it is that he does not see you as a woman.”

Brunhilda’s eyes snapped open. Slowly she rose to a sitting position, Ester giving a mewl of surprise as she was dismounted onto the floor.

“Not a woman?!” Brunhilde growled with indignation. “How could I be anything else. Look at how much of a woman I am!" She seized one of her own breasts for empahsis. "I have more to offer a man like Gaits than he could ever dream of!” Not that she'd have cared to offer before that moment. It was a desire born of the merest inkling of being found wanting.

“Of course Milady.” Ester brushed herself off and stood with the help of the ever ready Astrea. “A crushed pelvis for instance. Mayhaps you attempted to be too forward with our master.”

Brune grimaced. “And I suppose you know different with your great knowledge of carnal relations?”

Ester turned on her heel and marched silently to the bookshelves lining one wall of the room. An elegant finger ran along the spines until she found the one she desired and returned to the bed side, offering it to Brune.

Brunhilde took the small leather tome and turned the pages. It was the work of several minutes to stumble through the first page before squinting back at the serving girl. “This actually works?”

“Maybe. It cannot hurt to try.”
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Re: Beast to Beauty - Beautification, Feminization, Ungrowth

Postby dagolfer » Thu Jan 21, 2021 12:14 am

This is such a great tale! I'm really enjoying it and very surprised there have been so few comments.
Looking forward to the transformation that awaits Brunhilda in coming chapters.
Thanks!
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Re: Beast to Beauty - Beautification, Feminization, Ungrowth

Postby Tigerharpy » Thu Jan 21, 2021 8:08 am

dagolfer wrote:This is such a great tale! I'm really enjoying it and very surprised there have been so few comments.
Looking forward to the transformation that awaits Brunhilda in coming chapters.
Thanks!


Really appreciate the feedback. And yeah I've noticed a lack of response seems to be a huge problem for this site. Which is unfortunate as I can assure you it's probably one of the leading causes of stories becoming abandoned.

Please feel free to make whatever comments you like about the story. While this is a commission and comissioner's desires come first, feedback is fuel for the writing machine.
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