Payback

It is said that the lower the stakes, the more vicious the fights. Daily life in the Court of the Count of Arrowwood would seem to bear that out; a million petty jealousies, rivalries, and simple overblown misunderstandings constantly consumed the inhabitants small castle that oversaw the tiny duchy in the sprawling feudal empire of Amarantia.

Lady Josephine, for instance, was this day plotting her revenge against her fellow courtier Lady Persephone for the unimaginable snub of beating her out for the position of Mistress of the Countess’ bedchamber, an entirely ceremonial position whose only task was to change the flowers in the Countess’ lodgings every morning.

Lady Persephone had gotten this promotion in rank, of course, because of the absolutely scandalous way that the chubby younger Lady had squeezed herself into the absolutely tightest dresses possible, giving the Countess an eyefull of the splendors of her nubile form. The Countess, a known admirer of women who let themselves enjoy the finer things in life, had of course chosen the wanton little slut for the honor, and Lady Josephine was furious.

A quick trip to the castle alchemist, deep within the subbasement (next to the empty torture chamber) had provided her the precise means of her vengeance. A potion that, when consumed, would transfer all of the traits she fixated upon from her target to herself. The alchemist, an ancient raisin of a man, had informed her that all would be clear as soon as she took the draught.

She hurried back to her quarters, and stood before her mirror, panting heavily in anticipation. It was late; Lady Persephone would already have retired to her bedchambers for the evening. Lady Josephine downed the flask and prepared herself for what might happen.

She did not have long to wait. No sooner did her mind turn to Lady Persephone and her likely-bedclothed form than her naked body swam into focus in her mind’s eye, every bit as voluptuous as she had been earlier that day at the grand table where the castle had shared in a delicious tea service. Her fine, firm breasts, those wide, fertile hips, and that plush, ladylike belly all taunted Lady Josephine with their beauty.

With a thought, she demanded that those delectable attributes become hers, and allow her to win the favor of the Countess.

The spectre of her rival wavered, and diminished. Ounces and pounds painstakingly earned through leisure and consumption flowed away, to be replaced with the waifish build of the truly downtrodden in life. Lady Persephone’s plump breasts were now no more than the barest molehills, capped with nipples that even a child could put to shame. Her waistline was slim and narrow, the faintest outline of, horror of horrors, muscles present beneath the barest hint of ribs. Her hips could now only be described as boyish, suitable to run laps with the stable-boys and pages in the castle courtyard, not hobnob with the Count and Countess.

Lady Josephine was drawn back to reality by a sharp pain running through her waist. She blinked and gazed at herself in the mirror, cursing her haste. She had taken all of Lady Persephone’s charms into her own not-inconsiderable form without considering the ramifications for her garments, which now constricted her like the casing of a fit-to-burst summer sausage. Grimacing, she reached back and tugged upon the knots holding her dress in place.

As soon as the ties were loosened, her clothes practically exploded off her body, revealing it to her empty bedchambers and her mirror. She drank in her newly-overfed form, her bustline truly eye-catching, with the two enormous orbs far larger than the heaviest muskmelons from the nearby fields. Her hips, too, bespoke of lush wonder and fertile delights, while her bulging belly and thighs made it clear she was a woman both of means and the desire to enjoy the finer things available to her.

She wiggled and shimmied, practicing how she would approach the Countess. “Mistress, I can’t help but notice how forlorn you seem lately.” “I find myself unable to find a competent tailor, one who can properly appreciate and display my womanly abundance.” “I am not displeasing to your eye, am I, mistress?”

She giggled like a simple peasant girl. Yes, revenge was sweet indeed.