Chapter 4 - Day Four


Chapter 8
Liz>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>Heather Day 4>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>Heather


Bing!


The sharp, piercing tone of a text notification reverberated through Heather’s room - through her ears and through slumber, to force her awake. 


Even before she opens her eyes, Heather is immersed in the world around her. She can’t see it - but her other senses paint a vivid picture. She can feel a sheen of grease across her skin; she didn’t shower before she went to bed last night - the day had been much too mentally exhausting for her to do much more than have a smoke and pass out.


Her nose wrinkled - she could smell her own, rank odor perfume the air around her. Distantly, a memory of Zelda’s compliments returned to her. She smells like she works out, huh? Well, working out made her fucking stink. She could feel her greasy skin stick to the covers beneath her - not over her; she was totally nude, and couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping under covers in this heat. 


As she shifted a little, she could feel hair on her body shift as well. Namely, the thick - and, she could tell, thicker bush between her legs, and beneath her arms. Lastly, she can feel two things - something was wrapped around her foot, and her hands were wrapped around something. It took just a twitch of her finger to realize that her hands were wrapped around her foot. Her fingers were interlocked with her toes; like she’d been giving herself an unconscious foot massage. 


Heather sighs. Was this how she was fated to wake up, now? Was this how she was going to live, now? Flinging herself headlong at the nearest pair of feet she could find? “Mmh.” she murmurs, feeling a heat run through her. Audibly, her lips part and she licks her lips. 


Whatever. She had to wake up, at least. When her eyes open, she finds herself staring at her bedside table. On it sat a lamp, her phone, and a shiny new ashtray - a purchase she made on her way home. Two butts sit at the bottom. She removes her hand from her foot and lifts it up - but before reaching for her phone, she brings it to her face and sniffs a little. Just a few days ago, she’d simply have remarked that they smelled like her feet - but that felt like so long ago. Today, they smelt… Oddly good. Earthy, thick, and a tad like fabric and leather. Finally, she pulls her phone into the bed with her - but not quick enough to keep it from giving another sharp Bing! The screen lights up, and she sees a single notification… From Zelda.



You up?
Thanks to you. Sup?
Where do you live?
Weird question.
Too weird to answer?

Nope. North dorms 203.
Cool. I’ve got a gift. Be there in, like, 10min.
Gift?
You’ll see.


Great. Heather recognized that her mornings had become dominated by discovering what new, twisted manner of change was plaguing her - and now, she had to work through that with a ten-minute timer ticking down. She sighs, sitting up - if she had a timeframe, then she best get a move on. Tentatively, she looks over to the mirror, bracing for the worst.


Heather hardly looked like herself. 


At least, from what she could discern. Her hair had continued to shorten - and it was rather dishevelled and messy today. But,that wasn’t her prime concern - it was her face. She crawled forward on the bed, getting closer to the mirror without actually getting off - as she moves, she feels sore; like she’d been put through a wringer, across her whole body. Getting closer, she reaches her hands - still reeking like her feet - to her cheeks; but they prove another distraction from her face. Her nails, though previously long and red, were now blunted. Moreover… They were black. Black as Zelda’s.


Heather bites her lower lip as she looks up from her hands, surveying her face. It was… Different; but that was something she didn’t know how to explain in her wildest dreams. No amount of… Anything could change her face - but here it was. Her nose looked a little bigger on her face; more prominent, and her brow seemed heavier. On that note, her eyebrows were thicker and bushier still. Running her hand down to her chin, it felt more pronounced as well - something she just couldn’t fathom. Would anyone recognize her? Well… Of course - she still looked like herself, just… Not 100%. 


But, hardly any part of her looked as it had previously. Her face wasn’t the only thing that was different; it wasn’t the only thing that was harder. Her body felt like she’d had one hell of a workout - and, from this phantom workout, she saw results. Her once-flat stomach bore the beginnings of a defined set of abs - her arms and thighs were thicker furthermore. It was a little hard to tell, however… Through the hair.


The hair had continued to thicken overnight - by now, it’d take hours to shave through it all, and somehow she could feel that by the next day, it’d just be back and even denser than before. Her crotch was a wild mess of bush with a heavy, noticeable trail over her navel; her armpits likewise. Her hair was all matted to her body by sweat, and somehow making it darker and even more noticeable. Along her arms and legs - and though she couldn’t see it yet, her ass, brown hair sat, thick as any man’s. “By now, the only thing I’m missing is a beard.” she grumbles - was her voice a little deeper, or was that just grogginess? She couldn’t tell. She shakes her head - and immediately, she regrets tempting fate. For all she knew, that was next on the universe’s ‘fuck Heather’ checklist. 


Her body felt all sorts of wrong as she finally stepped out of bed. Her feet came down heavily onto the ground - they had a bit more noticeable hair on them as well. Their knuckles - both on her hands and feet - had a faint dusting. “Oh, fuck me.” she grumbles, flexing her heavy toes - they were painted black too. What was worse was how… Terrible they looked. Even her soles looked more leathery. She felt like her center of gravity was off; that she was lumbering more than walking, as heavy as she’d become. 


She steps away from her bed and moves over to her shower… But, before she actually gets in, she resolves that Zelda was probably going to get here first. “Fuck - fuck.” she grunts. She couldn’t catch a break today - not like any other day was easier. She moves, first, to her dresser, and pulls out some clothes, so she at least looks presentable… Even if she won’t smell it. 


Heather gravitates toward something concealing - tight jeans and a hoodie, again… But, as she tries the former on, she gives a furious growl. They weren’t fitting her, now. Fucking nothing was fitting her now. “Fuck!” she shouts, tossing them into her piling-up laundry bin. She manages to pull out a once-oversized t-shirt that fit her rather snugly now; and, woefully, she had to go braless. None of hers did anything more than sag - not to mention how much trouble she had getting them on. 


Replacing her jeans were a pair of pants she might’ve previously considered baggy - cargo pants that she owned for one of her art classes, as part of a set of clothes she didn’t mind getting dirty. By now, they were pretty firm against her legs. As for her feet, she had to go barefoot - it wasn’t like any of her socks got bigger overnight. 


As she waited for Zelda, she sat, unwashed, unkempt, and utterly lost. She felt like she was in somebody else’s body - a small-titted, big-footed, unshaven gym rat. She wore the hoodie of her ensemble for, perhaps, a minute, before it got too hot for her, and she dropped it on her bed. When she saw her bare arms, she…


She paused. She flexed it a little - saw the muscle form under her skin; under the hair. If this was a guy’s arm, she… She wouldn’t feel anything, actually. Not even conjuring the mental image helped. But, because it was hers… There was something exciting about it.


Ten minutes came and went, and by the time it did, she’d thrown open her window and leaned out of it, cigarette in her mouth. The sheer frustration she was feeling was barely kept in check by being able to chill out with that. After about fifteen minutes of waiting, she finally heard a knock at her door.


“Finally.” she grumbles - but, she tries to calm herself down. Zelda was here to help her out. No need to be a bitch to her. She opens the door, and sees Zelda waiting with a bag. She was in a black dress, today; one that made Heather tilt her head, just as much as seeing Heather made Zelda tilt hers.


“Mornin’, stinky.” Zelda offers, walking inside - a shudder of plastic followed her as she walked; coming from a rather large bag in her hand. Slung under her other arm was a small, black, leather purse.


While Heather was hoping Zelda wouldn’t notice… Well, she knew better than to think she wouldn’t. “I thought you liked the smell.” she jokes. “Besides, I didn’t have time to shower.”


Zelda sets the bag on a table, beginning to unpack it. “Well, I never said I didn’t. Besides, I know it’s for a good cause.” She looks over her shoulder. “Don’t think I don’t see those cute little guns.”


Cute? Little? Heather was huge! For her own terms, at least. She was used to being slim; aerobicized, not… Like this. Heather rubs her forehead in frustration. “So, to what do I owe this visit?”


Zelda reaches toward the table - the contents of the bag now revealed. She gives a little flourish, and an uncharacteristically-cheery “Ta-da!” Sitting on the table were, first, a couple more packs of smokes, and behind them, a… Rather intimidating pair of boots. The soles were thick and rubbery; they looked like platforms, more than anything else, and the boots had a noticeable steel toe. They looked considerably taller than her old… Or rather, the ones Liz bought her. 


Heather cocked her brow. “What… The fuck?” she murmurs. 


Zelda’s exuberance melts back into her normal, cold demeanor. “Well, I expected a thank you, but,”


Heather’s hands shoot up. “No - no, I don’t mean that, I just… When you said ‘gift’, I hardly expected that,” She points to the cigarettes. “not that.” She tilts her head. “You bought me new shoes?”
“Technically, they’re not new. They’re an ex’s. I had ‘em sitting around for a while, after they packed up n’ fucked off.” Zelda explains. 


Heather picks one up - her first instinct, rather than looking it over, is to smell it. “Smells like it.” she says; they were pretty fragrant already. Bitterly, she can’t help but think how much worse she was going to make them… But, she was surprised how dead-set she was on wearing them right off the bad. They sure as hell weren’t her normal style, but… She’d be lying if she said they didn’t look pretty cool… Yeah, cool. Intimidating, but cool. Idly, she thinks - she never really looked… Cool, before. “How big are they?”


“Size ten.” Zelda quickly replies, moving off to examine Heather’s room.


They looked considerably bigger, to Heather. “I, uh… Don’t think I’d fit. I’ve gotten a little bigger, since…”


Zelda stops her. “Men’s ten. Sorry, should’ve specified.”


Heather sighs. She knew that was coming. She drops one of the boots to the ground and slides her foot into it - it was snug around her shin, and by the time her foot got into it, it was… Honestly, pretty comfortable. It, for better or worse, was a perfect fit. “Oh, man.” she murmurs. “These are…” Sexy, she wants to say. “Perfect.” -ly sexy, she wants to say. God, what was with her this morning?


Zelda was busy looking over a picture on Heather’s desk - one Heather furrowed her heavier brow as she recognized. It was her and Liz when she and a few of the girls went on a little roadtrip across state lines. Both of them were happy - it was hard to think, looking at that picture, that Liz was just rearing up to backstab her. Zelda lifts it up, nudging it toward Heather. “I just wanna say,” she begins. “no matter what she tries to say; or any of ‘em, for that matter, you look a lot better now than you did then.” 


Heather smiles, looking down. One of her feet was still bare - she could see one of the bigger, hairier things bare, and one in one of Zelda’s platform boots. Both of them looked… Nice, to her. By now, she’d stopped thinking about how she shouldn’t be thinking like that. 


Zelda walks closer to her, wrapping to hands around Heather’s arm, feeling the muscles flex when she recoils. It brings a chuckle to her dark lips. “Besides, who doesn’t love a gal that can kick their ass? I would’ve brought this up yesterday, if you weren’t wearin’ the hoodie.”


Heather sighs, shaking her head. “Maybe I won’t wear it today, then.” she resolves. After all - maybe Zelda was onto something. 


The gothic woman chuckles, stepping away and plopping onto Heather’s bed. “You got class soon?” she murmurs. Heather checks her phone, and nods. “Then, I won’t bother ya for too much longer. Besides, you’ve got a big day - ready to tell that stuck-up piece of plastic what’s on your mind?”


“Goddamn right I am.” Heather spits. “Y’know she told me not to do anything weird while we were talkin’? Fucking - ugh.” She stomps, her toes curling inside her new boots. “Don’t… Don’t worry about bothering me. Stay as long as you want. I’m-” Heather holds her forehead, lazily pulling her hair backward - only for it to fall back into place. “I’m too fucking pissed to head to class today. I need some time to cool down.”


Zelda reclines a little, placing her hands behind the back of her head and laying on Heather’s somewhat-moist, lukewarm bed. “Mmh. Well, I’ll be here, then. I don’t have anywhere else to go - today’s my off day.” She pulls a pack of cigarettes out of her purse, lighting one. “You mind?”


“Go ahead. Just don’t piss off the fire alarm. I don’t feel like waking up everyone else on the floor.” With that, she retreats into her bathroom, turning on the water. As it warmed up, the heat radiating off of it didn’t make her feel any better - just sticker and grosser. Even so - she wasn’t feeling like taking a cold shower either. When she stepped into the shower, she felt the water cascading down her altered body… Differently. Muscle provided more paths for it to flow; it flowed through, and even against the denser hair upon her. When the stream hit her breasts, the sensation didn’t… Jolt her as she expected - rather, it felt as though it was just hitting any other part of her body. It took more effort, and a lot more soap for her to feel… Somewhat better - unwashed as she was; and the hair itself posed more of a problem than she anticipated.


When she steps out of the shower, she sees the boot she’d tried on sitting by the door; next to a neatly-folded pile of her clothes for the day. Already, she regretted putting them on when she did - they were no-doubt still a little tinged with her scent. As much as she could, she overcompensates with a bit more perfume. She dresses as quickly as she can once she’s dry - and lastly, she’s left staring at the boot. Before she puts it on, she picks it up again, running a hand over its hard; firm surface. Tentatively, she brings the neck of it back up to her nose and sniffs a little - shivering as she does. “God,” she murmurs under her breath. “I’m fucked up.” Even recognizing it, it didn’t dampen how she felt any. She slips the boot on and steps out, a little red-faced.


Heather finds Zelda leaning out her window - her dress-clad ass practically presented. Though the dark, gauzy fabric partially obscured her figure, it did little to hide the curvature of her rear. Heather gulped when she saw it - she found her lips frozen; just as they’d been when she was in the restaurant. She puckers her lips to whistle shrilly; just to get Zelda’s attention - but what comes out is more like a cat-call. Zelda perks up and turns, looking at her - then to her rear - then smiling, wiggling it a little tentatively. “And she’s an ass girl too. What more could a woman want?”


Heather’s face flushes to an even deeper shade of red - she’d been fine with flirting with Zelda, yesterday - that was, dare she say, fun - but she didn’t want to come onto her. “Ah - um, no, sorry.” She grumbles, shaking her head and looking down. “Sorry.”


Zelda chuckles. “Hey. Ain’t no shame in it.” she begins - but seems unwilling to press her too much further. “So - you cut your hair, but you’ve got no idea what to do with it, huh?”


Heather reaches up to her head - when she was drying her hair, she came to the realization that she didn’t know what to do with it. Even if it was a little neater since she washed it, it just sat limply - boringly on her head. “I’m used to havin’ my hair a little longer.” she admits. What was she going to say - that it magically shortened overnight? 


Zelda stubs her cigarette out in Heather’s ashtray before walking back over to Heather - her grey eyes locked on Heather’s short little bob. “Hm.” she murmurs. “Why don’t you have a seat by the vanity. I’ll see what I can do with it.”


“You’re a hairdresser?” she murmurs.


“I took a cosmetics class in my first semester,” she begins. “so, obviously, that makes me an expert on hairstyling.” She gives herself a faint flourish with her hand. “But seriously, trust me. I know what I’m doing.” 


Trust was something that was hard to come by for Heather, nowadays. She couldn’t trust her friends; couldn’t trust Liz… By now, the only person she could confide in was practically a stranger. Even so - she did trust Zelda. What kindness she’d been shown didn’t seem forced or placating… Unlike Liz’s. Heather wordlessly moves over to the vanity, looking at herself in the mirror - at her… New face. New hair. New wardrobe. She slips off the boot, flexing her bare toes beneath the vanity. 


Zelda smiles - her lips visible in the mirror. “Let’s see what I’m working with…” she murmurs, reaching around Heather and messing around in her drawers. Hairspray, check. Brush and comb, check. As she dug around, she rested her head on Heather’s shoulder, the shaved side of her head barely an inch from Heather’s. The closeness made her feel warmer - as Zelda’s smoking had invited the warm and humid air inside, she could tell that it wouldn’t be long before she started to work up a sweat again.


When Zelda was satisfied, she began to brush Heather’s hair - she didn’t have much to work with, so she anticipated being able to take care of it quickly. “So,” Heather begins. “your ex’s boots, huh?”


“Yeah.” Zelda says, a little more sullen than usual. “My ex’s boots.”


Silence hangs between them a little - interrupted only by the faint sound of a brush running through Heather’s hair. “What was he like?”


“She, actually.” Zelda shows no hesitation in following up “Men don’t do it for me.”


Heather chuckles. “Then I guess you’ve got a habit of running into women with big, s-” -exy. “-melly feet.” Not much better, but she preserved a little bit of her modesty. A little. “Or, if not a habit, then a type.”


That makes Zelda smile. “Maybe.” she admits. “She was a drummer. Ever heard of Carrion Pickers?” Heather looks unsure. “Yeah, neither has anyone else. Close your eyes, for a sec.”


Heather does as Zelda asks - and feels the woman’s cool hands on the sides of her head. “I want you to imagine a woman that’s ripped. I mean - fucking ripped. Protein junkie and all. Give her a good few inches on me, a smile that’d turn your blood to ice, and enough ink on her body to qualify her as a sideshow.” Heather does as Zelda asks. Her breathing begins to pick up. She could imagine it - imagine her. Not every detail was perfect, but where Zelda failed to elaborate, Heather substituted… With herself. It was like a mental jigsaw puzzle - substituting herself in, piece by piece. “Now, throw a couple of drumsticks in her hand, and imagine she’s beating on a set of drums so hard you’d think they did her wrong.” A synesthetic cacophony filled Heather’s head, with her at the center. The sound wasn’t pretty - it was fury put to music. It was what was inside of her. It was- “Okay, you can open your eyes now.”


For a moment, as she snaps her eyes open, Heather could swear she sees a different reflection staring back at her. But, all she sees is… Hers. For better or worse. She barely realizes she’s panting - and it takes her a moment to realize that Zelda’s work was done. She hadn’t done terribly much - because there wasn’t terribly much to work with… But she manages to keep the sides short, and swepts her bangs over to one side of her forehead. It looked… Neat. Cohesive.


Zelda smiles. “So yeah, that’s her. And that,” She points to the mirror. “is you. Did I do a good job?”


Heather nods vigorously. “Very. Very good.” she says, rubbing her forehead. “But, you’ve got me curious… Why’d she fuck off?”


“Hm?” Zelda murmurs. She didn’t really expect Heather to press her on that. “Eh. Kinda my fault. Kinda hers. Band wanted to pack up and head out west. She wanted me to come, and I wasn’t about groupie life. I guess I kinda pulled the ‘me or the band’ card.” She shrugs. “Guess who she chose.”


Heather looks away. “Yeesh.” she sighs. “Sorry. Sorry for bringin’ it up.” Zelda reaches down and pats her on the head - mussing her hair up a little, to which Heather flings up her hands. “H-hey! You just fixed it, don’t mess it up!”


Zelda chuckles a little. “Okay, so you do like it! Just makin’ sure you weren’t bullshittin’ me.”


Heather furrows her brow and huffs a little, brushing the hair resting over her eye; just to get it out of the way. “Of course I do.” she grumbles - she did; earnestly… But it’d take a bit of getting used to. She checks her phone quickly - there was still about five minutes before her class even began - so she and Zelda still had plenty of time before they had to go. Quick as Zelda was to change the subject away from her ex, Heather figured it’d be best to go along with her. “Ugh, I’m gonna need to go shoppin’ soon.” She pulls one of her feet up onto her chair, reaching down and rubbing it. “This whole… Thing is fuckin’ with my wardrobe somethin’ fierce. Half my shit doesn’t fit anymore.”


Zelda leans on the back of Heather’s chair, looking over her shoulder again. “Well, why not go after you talk with the queen bitch?” she suggests. “You’ll probably feel like shit, so maybe some shoppin’ will make ya feel better. You cheerleader types do that, don’tcha?”


Heather grumbles. Looking back into the mirror, she couldn’t say she looked much like a ‘cheerleader type’ anymore. Hell, she was having a hard time balancing when she was walking, with her new mass, let alone doing a routine.  If Liz had her way, she’d be fucking ostracized from the squad too. Cheerleading was one of the things that got her here, in the first place - her academics as well. It was hard to give that up, but… Looking down at her hands, wrapped around one of her heavier, clumsier feet, she was getting a creeping suspicion that she might have to. Besides - it’d be a hell of a lot easier to just… Get out while she could, rather than face Liz and the rest of the squad every time they had practice. It wasn’t giving up, she told herself - it was removing herself from a bad situation. Yeah. That’s right.


Noticing the sullen look on her face, Zelda nudges her side. “Hey, buck up. If ya want, I’ll come along.” She leans closer, almost whispering into Heather’s ear. “I can help you pick out something se~exy.” Heather shuts her eyes and shudders. If she trusted Zelda with anything, she trusted her enough to do that.







While no less frustrated - at Liz, at her changes… Hell, at the world around her - Heather felt a little better after her time with Zelda. The two left her room - the sharp click of Zelda’s heels matched with the heavy stamping of Heather’s boots as they move down the hall.


“So,” Zelda begins. “let me know how shit goes. I don’t wanna hear that ya pussied out.”


Heather scoffs at the remark. “I’m not gonna pussy out. The more I think about it, the more I see that she’s been waitin’ to do somethin’ like this. She’s had this comin’ for a lot longer than I thought.” she asserts. 


“That’s what I like to hear.” It isn’t long before they reach the exit to her building. Zelda looks over to Heather with an impish grin. “Hey.” she murmurs, getting Heather to turn. Before she can react, Zelda leans forward and gives a small peck to Heather’s lips. Though the sensation is momentary and fleeting, it gets Heather to freeze - she can feel the cool, black lips on hers lingering; even the nudging of the two metal studs in Zelda’s lips.


Before she realizes it, her body is in motion. Her arms wrap around Zelda’s shoulders, and she pulls her in for another kiss - this one more impassioned; deeper… Longer. By the time their lips part again, Heather’s have a bit of black on them too. Zelda’s eyes are wide - but after a moment, they lower into a leer nothing short of smoldering. Heather gulps, releasing her, stepping back. “I’m sorry-” she begins, shaking her head. “I don’t know what came over me, I-”


“You were forward.” Zelda says, licking her lips a little. “You should do that more often.” Heather could feel her cheeks burning. “Besides, you certainly gave her a show.”


Her? Heather looks around - and before long, she sees a familiar face standing nearby. Her cheeks grow even hotter, and her eyes wider. “J-Jessica.” she murmurs.


The look on the woman’s face was nothing short of shock. It was a look Heather expected more of Zelda, in response to her kiss, than any bystander. Of course, that bystander was a member of the squad - the squad that was eating out of Liz’s hand, as she painted them a terrifyingly-true picture; even if she was using lies to do it. Zelda looked between Heather and the shocked woman, and started to back away. “I…” Jessica begins. “Whoa. I never thought you and… Her…” She scratches her head, mussing up her long, auburn hair. “I thought Liz was just joking.”


She did? Judging by the reactions at the table yesterday, Heather thought that everyone was just on the same page. That she was a freak.


“But, uh, seeing it like that…”


Of course. What slim chance Heather had to repair her reputation was rent from her so easily. Liz had a corroborator now. Somebody that could take her side. Somebody that could tell the truth to back up her lies. But - if she had a chance to repair her reputation, Heather thought… What was she going to do? Lie? Try and play the squad the same way Liz was? Heather looked down at her boots. For better or worse… This was who she was now. This was what she wanted. If they didn’t like it… Fuck them, right? “Yeah.” she says, her voice low. Slowly, she looks up. “What about it?”


Jessica hadn’t expected that reaction. The petite woman takes a tentative step back, still shocked. “Uh,” she stammers out. “nothing, really. Yeah - nothing.” She looks over to Zelda, then back to Heather. “I mean, just to be honest, I never really expected anything like that from you. You used to be-” She catches herself. Used to be what, Heather thinks? “you’re a nice gal. You’re Liz’s BFF - I didn’t think you’d-”


“I’m not Liz’s anything.” Heather spits back. Besides - used to be a nice gal? Was a ‘nice gal’ just their perfect little portrait of a cheerleader? She was still nice - she hadn’t changed. But, the fact that Jessica was saying dumb shit like that, it just… Pissed her off.


Heather’s reaction causes Jessica to stiffen. “Oh! Oh, she made it sound like she was worried about you, yesterday, after… Well, I thought that you two were still cool.”


A stormy look washes over Heather’s face. “Yeah - I’m sure she made it sound that way.” she grumbles, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms. She wasn’t about to sugarcoat things for Jessica - and, she was already rearing to motherfuck Liz; given, to Liz’s face, but still, she had the urge boiling in her gut and she didn’t want to keep it down for too much longer. “She’s a fuckin’ viper, Jess. She may look and act like the magnanimous queen, but she’s just biding time to shove you in the dirt.” 


The look of shock starts to melt from Jessica’s face - and slowly, a look of resolution begins to dawn on it. “Is that what she did to you, you think?”


Huh - maybe Jessica was picking up on the situation quicker than she thought. “Yeah. Things didn’t go down like she said. Listen - she tried shoving her feet in my face, and I was like-”


Jessica holds up her hands “Okay, one, gross.” she begins. “Second, why would she even do that?”


“Fuck if I know. She was just trying to force this shit on me - hell, even that day, she had her shoes off under the table, and kept trying to fucking…” She chuckles a little, her face still red. “Seduce me.”


Jessica takes another step back. “That’s… What you think she was doing… Having her shoes off on a hot day?”


Oh god. She taking Liz’s side, wasn’t she? Heather looked to Zelda, who just pointed to Jessica - by the time Heather looks back to her, she’s got a look of disgust on her face. “No- no, it’s…” she defends.


“That’s a weird way to look at it, Heather. And, I wouldn’t be surprised if you did hit on her; foot shit or not, or… Whatever.” She points to Zelda. “Listen - that’s okay, I mean, I’m gonna watch my ass in the showers from now on, but-”


“What for!?” she barks - then claps her hands over her mouth. “What… Why would you? What the fuck do you think I am? We used the same fucking locker room for two years, Jess, I’m not some slavering, foot-obsessed dyke that’s looking to force her way into whole squad’s fucking panties!”


Jessica furrows her brow. “Then what are you, Heather? I don’t know what your fucking deal is, but right now, you’re just coming across like a bitch.”


Heather slaps her hand on her cheek. “Well - maybe I fucking am.” Shit, that was the wrong way to say. “A bitch. You’re just like the others - you just see a little speck of weirdness and you just toss people in the fucking garbage.”


“Getting off on sucking your friends’ toes isn’t a speck of weirdness.” she grumbles, turning.


“Fuck you!” she shouts, stomping. “And you tell Liz to fuck herself too!”


Heather’s heart is still hammering away in her chest as she watches Jessica leave. She doesn’t feel sorrow or remorse - she just feels angry. Her hands ball into fists, and she wants to thrash something, but before she does, she feels a gentle, cool hand come to rest on her shoulder. She looks over to Zelda, who’s wearing an oddly sympathetic look on her face. 


Heather exhales; doing so hard enough to snort a little. “Fuck her.” she grumbles. “Fuck all of ‘em. And what the hell was with that locker room comment anyway, I-” Zelda presses a finger to Heather’s lips. 


“Maybe she didn’t believe Heather at first,” she begins. “because she wanted to believe you weren’t weird. As soon as she found out you were, she abandoned you. That’s the kind of fair-weather friendship you don’t need. Gals like that just put you in more situations to be backstabbed.” Slowly, she removes her finger from Heather’s lips. “Besides. You need to save it for Liz.”


“Yeah.” Heather grumbles. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. Man oh man am I looking forward to this.” She wipes her forehead off, realizing that in the heat and in her rage, she’d just worked herself back into a sweat. “Shit.”


Zelda pulls her in for another kiss - one she more eagerly returns. “Don’t worry. Get to class - you’ll do fine.”


Heather huffs and nods. Even as she leaves; as she and Zelda go their separate ways… In her mind, her lips never left Zelda’s. Everything from the little peck, to her own forceful liplock, to the parting kiss still lingered on her lips and in her head. It wasn’t her first; but it was like her first. Better than her first. The warm, almost tingly feeling it gave her burned away the sensations her own ex made her feel. Part of her wondered if it felt just as good for Zelda. The way her face looked when Heather pulled her in - when she held her close… It wasn’t like anything she’d seen on her beautiful, pale face prior. It was satisfying, to her. It was pleasing. It was-


Distracting Heather from her lecture. Goddamn - she thought she’d be clear-headed by now, but the mix of the kiss and the dreadful countdown of the clock; advancing to when she’d confront Liz, kept her mind practically as far away from the professor’s words as possible. Eventually, she ducked out of class early to catch a smoke; to try and get herself together.


Heather spent the remainder of class pacing in the hot sun, a cigarette smoldering away between her somewhat-darker lips. By the time other people started filtering out of the building, she’d prepared a scathing mental diatribe to lay on Liz as soon as she saw her. It’d just be the two of them - no prying eyes, nobody to bullshit to… And, hell, maybe some of her changes might work out in her favor. She rests one hand on her arm, flexing it a little. Maybe she could get a point across with that alone. She smiles devilishly as she texts Liz ‘Come over. I’m free.’


As she makes for her dorm, she peels the moist collar of her shirt away from her neck and sniffs at herself, making sure she doesn’t stink - of course, she does… But, in realizing that, she wonders why she even cares. She knew Liz would bitch about that - hell, a lot of the gals on the squad would. But, she doesn’t need to feel self-conscious about it now. Hell; if she grossed Liz out, fucking good. Today, it’d be much better if that bitch wasn’t comfortable. 


Heather didn’t need to work up any more nerve - she was ready to do this. In fact, she felt proud that she had to work herself up - get worked up by Zelda. It took thought and consideration for her to distance herself from them - but they just dropped her without a second thought. All except Jessica - but Jessica might’ve been worse. She probably didn’t even want to help her or prove Liz wrong or whatever  she’d come to do - Jess was just there to try and drag her back into the fold. Being in the fold was the last thing Heather wanted right now. 


Something fucked her up - something was fucking her up. But, she wasn’t about to fight it, or keep trying to shove herself into a round hole when she was becoming a square peg. This was who she was now - if they thought she was a freak or an outcast, then fuck ‘em. At least she was an individual. She shoulder-checks her door to force it open when she arrives back in her room. Knowing Liz, she’d have a bit of a wait ahead of her - so she’d leave the door open. 


Watching the time tick by on her phone was like torture. It was worse than when she was waiting for Zelda to show up; at least then, she had something to look forward to. Now, she was just sitting on a powder keg waiting to blow up in Liz’s face. “That bitch,” Heather grumbles, looking at her phone again. “probably doin’ this on purpose.” Eventually, the sharp clacking of heels echoes through the hallway. Finally.
As the clicking gets louder, Heather partially hopes that it’s Zelda, come to back her up… But, after a moment of consideration, she feels it’s better she’s alone. Nobody could speak for her - it was just mano-a-mano with the queen bitch. When Liz steps through the door, she’s wearing a grin on her glossy pink lips.


Heather doesn’t return the smile. “Finally.” she blurts out, resting a hand on her hip.


Liz walks in, closing the door behind her. She’s dressed… Oddly, even for her. A bright, tight tank top, tight booty shorts that showed off her legs, and bright pink heels. The heels looked odd - the toe didn’t fully cover her toes, leaving a little… Cleavage between each one. Heather looks down at them with a confused - even a little fearful look. Liz was dressed… Hot. Really fucking hot. “Sorry I kept you waiting. I was talking with Jessica - the poor thing’s scared out of her wits.”


Jessica. Hmph. Heather sneers, tearing her eyes away from Liz’s heels. “She seemed more angry when we spoke last.” 


Leaning against the door, Liz thrums. “You really did a number on her. She sounded so… Hurt.” Despite her words, Liz can’t contain the smile on her face. “I didn’t even have to do anything.”


Heather takes a step forward. “So, what have you been doing. What the fuck was up with yesterday? You go around braggin’ about your big dumb dyke friend like it’s some kinda joke-”


Liz raises her hands defensively. “Hey, I never said you were big and dumb…” Her eyes fall upon Heather’s exposed arms. “But you’re certainly looking the part now.” she snickers. 


“It’s not a joke. This isn’t funny.” Heather’s hand curls into a fist. 


Liz sighs. “From my point of view, it’s hilarious.” She shoves away from the door and walks closer to Heather - then past her, unafraid. “I tell one - one - little white lie, and you go ballistic. Frankly, I thought I’d have to put a little more legwork in, but you just go on a warpath - fuck her, fuck her, especially fuck her…” A little clack brings Heather’s eyes downward - as Liz walks a circle around her, she slips her feet out of her heels.


“Oh, here it fucking comes.” she grunts, holding a hand over her eyes. 


“Here comes what, Heather?” she teases. “C’mon. Spit it out. You look like a woman that wants to get something off her chest.”


Here Heather was, rearing and ready to go, and already Liz was walking circles around her, smug as sin. “Why,” she begins, removing her hand, but keeping her eyes shut. “did you do that to me? And why in the fuck does it sound like you’re having fun doing it to me? We were friends, Liz.”


“And that means something?” Her snide tone drops. “God, you sound like a five year old. ‘We were fwiends, Wiz…’” she taunts. “Grow the fuck up. You were friends with the others, I guess - they weren’t spoken for… ‘till today, I guess.” Heather opens her eyes, taken aback by the words. She… Believed it - every bit - but it wasn’t any easier to hear. “But you meant nothing to me. Or- no, maybe that’s not right...” Liz taps her chin. “You were a threat to me.”


Heather staggers back, shaking her head. “A threat? A fuckin’- what?” She scoffs. “You’re a star fucking cheerleader, an heiress, a hot piece of ass-” She slaps herself for saying that. “everyone likes you-”


Liz almost snarls. “They liked you more.” She turns to face Heather, placing her hands on her hips - the sharp, pink nails almost digging into herself. “The spotlight was on you - always was. You were just too dumb to see it.”


Liz… Was scaring her. She was talking about some twisted competition that she never had a part in. “Or you’re too paranoid to see there’s no fucking spotlight at all, you crazy bitch.” she spits back. “We were all doing what we loved doing - had fun doing. Got scholarships doing. But here, you’re playing some fucking Game of Thrones-ass-” 


Heather can see Liz’s eye twitch. “Enough out of you.” She steps forward and shoves Heather backward; the sudden snap of motion catching her off-guard, and sending her falling onto the foot of her bed. 


“Wh- Liz, what the fu-” Heather can barely finish her sentence before Liz plants her foot between her legs. It looked just as enticing as it had yesterday - but a little dewier; a little sweatier. Did she polish her toenails, or use some sort of gloss, or- no, no, this wasn’t the time. She tries to look up, but she feels Liz plant her hand on her head, anchoring her to look down at it.


“I’m not crazy.” she says, with a little flutter of frustrated laughter in her voice. “But you - you’re crazy about this, right?” She forces Heather to lean down further. “Right?”


Heather gulps. Right. Liz’s toes rose and fell in a rhythm, tapping the bed expectantly. She licks her lips. Her hands slide forward, from behind her, across her lap and toward that foot. Liz chuckles. 


“Right.” she murmurs. “Go ahead. Touch it. We both know you want to.” God - she wants to. Her hands curl around it much like they had yesterday. She feels the warm digit in her palms and she begins to massage it, working around the soles and between the toes. “You love this.” she says - accuses? “Say it.”


Heather looks up for a faint moment in confusion, then back down. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and she didn’t know why the sight of these things just rendered her powerless. “You love it.” she grumbles back. 


Liz huffs and takes her foot back. “No more until you say it right.” she replies sternly. What? No more? Well - that was exactly what she wanted, wasn’t it? Not to be distracted, or plagued or… Heather gulps. She can still see Liz’s feet on the ground below. God - her palms feel empty. Her mouth feels empty. She wants… She needs…!


“I love it.” she whispers. Liz raises a hand to her ear. “I-... I love it, okay?” she reasserts. 


Liz slides her foot forward on the ground. “You love what?” Oh, son of a bitch. Heather didn’t think her face could get any hotter - but somehow, it did.


“I love your feet.” she woefully admits.


“And?” Liz continues. Heather’s hands curl up.


“And I love massaging them.”


“And?”


“And… I love when you walk around in those heels and you show your slutty fucking whore feet off-” She throws her hands up. “What the fuck do you want from me?”


Liz smiles again. “I want you to get off the bed, and onto the ground. On your knees.”


Heather rolls her eyes, sliding off of the bed. Liz hastily takes her place, throwing one leg over the other - using it to prop up one of her feet. Heather kneels there, raising her hands up - but Liz swats them away. Instead, she delicately lays her foot on Heather’s face. She takes a deep breath, and exhales with a soft, shuddering moan. She’s terribly embarassed - but by now, she doesn’t care. 


“You want to know what I want from you?” Liz murmurs; Heather nods. “Well, get sucking. Give me a reason to talk to a perverted little freak like you.” Heather’s lips quiver and purse - she’s trying to find words to challenge her… But she finds none. She pulls her head away from Liz’s feet, then repositions to begin lapping at her littlest toe - licking and gently, if clumsily, sucking. “O-ooh, that feels weird.” Liz blurts out - then recomposes herself. “Okay. Okay…”


Heather looks up at the woman before her and sees her… A little red-faced. Snide. Proud… But excited. Was she… Getting off on this? Heather sought validation in that Liz might be far-from-perfect herself, but… Well, crazy as she was being, that was already a foregone conclusion.


“I want you to disappear. I don’t want to see your face around the squad - and neither do they. Thanks for that, by the way.” Heather growls around one of her toes. “I’ll be honest - I like the look you’re going for. The ‘I don’t give a shit’ chic. Change your hair, your clothes - get a nose piercing like that little freak girlfriend of yours - I don’t even want to recognize you. And you wanna know why?”


Heather nods. She did want to know - it was like she was staring up at madness itself.


“Because you’re nobody. You’re from nowhere, you do nothing I can’t do better, you don’t look as hot as me, you don’t have what I have, and you don’t deserve half of what you got from me and the rest of the squad.” She removes her spit-slicked foot from Heather’s mouth and uses it to press down on her face again. “Say it. Say what you are.” she orders. 


“I’m nobody.” she complies. She lies. She wasn’t nobody - she was somebody. She was something. But, if being nobody meant she got away from Liz - then hell, she’d be nobody.


“And what am I?” she asks, stomping on Heather again. Each firm, if gentle impact sent a thrill through her body. 


That, Heather didn’t have an answer to. Batshit insane as she was, Heather could see herself as a lot of things. The first thing that came to mind was “You’re the queen.” Given that it rewarded her with another stomp, it seems like it was the correct answer.


“You’re goddamn fucking right. You barged into my court, and I’m throwing you out.” she says, satisfied. She uses her toes to pry Heather’s lips open again - and Heather permits them back in, suckling eagerly. “You’re just a fucking peasant. Worse than that; a fucking animal. A prize bull that everyone started praising ‘cuz they gored a matador or-” She shakes her head. “Something, I don’t fucking know what. But, you started messing shit up. Breaking shit, pissing people off, shitting on the carpet - and now, everyone knows why you don’t let an animal into the palace.”


Loose as her metaphor was, Heather could follow the logic - she was thankful she’d taken an abnormal psychology class, because without it, she might’ve gotten lost on this little ego trip a long time ago. 


“Now, unzip those ugly pants.” What? Heather didn’t expect her to go this far- “Unzip them.” she orders. Heather complies. “Now, I want you to look up at me. I want you to savor my feet in your mouth, you freaky little pervert.” Look who’s talking, Heather thinks. “And I want you to fingerbang yourself ‘till you cum. Then we’re done - understand?”


Heather nods. Frankly… Liz was making it easy for her. Even if she was intimidating, she was nothing if not… Hot. Besides - she was doing damn-near everything that got her in the mood, anyway. Heather slips a hand past the too-tight waistline of her panties and past the veritable jungle of her pubes, feeling for the warm, moist lips of her sex. This was the first time she’d felt her larger fingers upon them - feeling how much rougher they were. 


She didn’t think for a second that they didn’t feel good. She slips two fingers into her sex and moans around Liz’s foot - to hell with what that prissy bitch thought about it. Heather knew damn well that she was getting off on this too - and furthermore, there was no downside here. She got to worship a beautiful, dainty pair of feet, get off to it, and she’d never have to deal with Liz ever again. It was like a dream come true - albeit a dream that only would’ve come to her in the past week. Hell; the past day. 


Heather’s fingers grew moist and hot in her sex - in the face of her intrusive new desires, she hadn’t… Pleased herself like this since this whole thing began. Indulging in them - just letting them come to her; let them please her, was like letting the floodgates loose. Her hips rocked against her hand, and she moaned again. She was so sensitive, so eager, and so… Indulged, running her tongue between Liz’s heavenly feet, that she knew it wouldn’t be long until she-


She tenses, and in a moment, she feels her walls flex around her fingers. “A-auh…” she clumsily murmurs around Liz’s feet - and immediately afterward, she feels them leave her mouth. She’s left panting, sweaty - and even if she’d just climaxed, even hornier than before. She looks up to Liz, who looks down to her, red-faced and snide as ever.


“I didn’t think you’d actually do it.” she says, wearing a smile nothing short of dangerous. “Let alone that quick.”


Leering back up at Liz, Heather removes her hand from her crotch, placing her two fingers in her mouth, licking her juices off of them. God - the taste was nothing short of terrible… But it felt so kinky doing it. “What can I say. I’m full of surprises.”


Liz’s proud look wavers with a bit of disgust and she turns away from Heather. As she walks away, the foot Heather had so-thoroughly worshipped leaves wet footprints on the tile floor. She slides them back into her heels, giving a sharp, clicking stamp on the tile before she moves for the door. “Remember what I said, bull.” she murmurs. There’s a soft quivering in her voice - one that makes Heather chuckle.


“Don’t worry, queen.” she replies sarcastically. “I won’t be comin’ for your court any time soon.” Liz is prepared to shut the door when Heather pipes up “Oh, and one last thing,” Liz turns, confused. “don’t come throwin’ yourself at my knees if you’re lookin’ for somebody to help with your fucked up dom-sub thing.”


Liz’s eyes flash furiously, and she slams the door behind her. Maybe their little confrontation didn’t go exactly how Heather hoped - but that kind of reaction was exactly what she was hoping for. She licks her lips - still savoring the taste of Liz’s feet, as she pulls out her phone, shooting off one sentence to Zelda: “We don’t have to worry about Liz anymore.”


Chapter 9
Heather>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>Liz Night 4>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>Liz


Liz’s ferrari pulls quietly into her driveway; and after it’s gently parked, its owner walks out quietly, her face clouded with concern - gears visibly turning in her head as she walks back into her house.


“Hm.” she murmurs. Today had been a day of… Success. As she looks back on it, everything went beautifully. She’d expected some sort of textual tongue-lashing from Heather all day - as she hadn’t imagined the girl would have a single shred of patience left - but the only thing she got was a barely-legible sob story from Jessica. The poor thing was absolutely heartbroken - and the source of that heartbreak was Heather herself. It was delicious.


“Hmm.” she thrums again, entering her room, and putting her purse down. When she finally encountered Heather, it was everything she expected it to be. There was practically no resistance left in the little nobody; Liz’s feet were out, and Heather’s mind was out. The feeling she got when she saw her reduced to a babbling mess was… Thrilling. Too thrilling; but thrilling nonetheless. 


“Hmmm.” she almost growls, sitting down at her desk. Heather was compliant. Obedient. She worshipped her as she deserved to be worshipped. She offered no resistance, no ulterior demands, she simply took her offer and went with it. Debased herself, just because she told her to. Seeing Heather do that stirred something in Liz, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. 


Everything went perfectly, but still, something didn’t sit right. Her first instinct is to prescribe it to that… Grating little final jab. If Heather could do anything, even as a stinking hulk of a woman, it was get under Liz’s skin. Heather was the one with a fetish for feet, and she was giving her shit about a ‘weird dom-sub’ thing? Something that she didn’t - couldn’t have? It bothered her greatly, but moreover…


Liz thought she let Heather off a little too easily.


“Hm.” she thrums. “She wanted that.” Reflexively, Liz reaches into her drawer to pull out the doll, only to find it missing. There’s a moment of worry before she looks under her desk again - pulling out the bag of her trashcan and finding the pitiful… And now fragrant little thing sitting where she left it. She pulls it up - pinching it between two fingers to avoid as much contact as possible - and lays it on her desk.


Liz had Heather’s life sitting before her. She had the power to twist everything about her - mind and body. She’d already made an obedient… Slave for herself. She had all the power in the world. Why would she give it up so easily? She picks up her needle and some thread again, and she prepares to work - Heather wasn’t through with her yet.


The first thing she does is stitch ‘Zelda’ in the middle of the doll’s heart. She had her suspicions that, left alone, things would’ve worked out in such a way - especially hearing Jessica’s testimony - but… Why leave things to chance; and why wait, furthermore. She pins three hearts beneath the name - but it wasn’t love she wanted Heather to feel. If the stitched-on scowl was any indication, she didn’t want her to be particularly loving or pleasant. Horny was more like it - and speaking of…


She pulls out a couple of pens and starts drawing on the top half of the doll’s back. A big, proud, large-horned bull, taking up the entire area between the doll’s arms and stretching down to her mid-back; even intruding into the heart a little. What says ‘don’t fuck with me’ more than a big tattoo like that?


Liz took that query to heart. She takes a paperclip from her desk and snips part of it off, arranging it into a ring, and running it through the doll’s drawn-on nose. Furthermore, Liz makes sure to darken, deepen, and thicken the changes she’s made to the doll’s face - she didn’t care if Heather looked like a cro-magnon. She did the same to her drawn-on muscles - a bull, after all, needed to be strong.


In an odd moment of reservation, Liz looked down at the doll’s crotch and paused. She… Didn’t want to do anything too lewd to Heather, did she? Well - actually, she had. Fucking with her sexuality was just the start; why not mess with her anatomy too? She outlines her crotch - drawing thick lines with her pen, and then, she pins a small - but proportionally large - button at the top of the doll’s lewd sex. As soon as she was finished, she was eager to move on to other pursuits.


Ultimately, she decided, it was time to do a little something about her hair. She’d picked up a little bit of paint for this - using a cotton ball to dab color onto the yarn she wanted to keep, and snipping off the rest as she went. It wasn’t long before one side of her head was shaved bare - only a bit of fuzz left upon it. The rest was swept to one side, and painted mostly black. The further away from the roots it got, the more it was dyed an angry, dark red. 


As she stared down at the doll, Liz sincerely wished she’d have kept pictures of it - it she looked at the little thing now, she’d hardly realize that it was supposed to look like Heather. Practically the only thing that was the same was that tiny little bit of hair still sewn deep inside of it. Before she put it away, she drew a line right across the doll’s frown, and then around her button eyes - she figured a little makeup would do her well.
Liz tosses the doll under her trash again - another day of that couldn’t hurt. Lord knows she stunk already; that was one of the only turn-offs Liz had about their encounter, and-


She catches herself. Nothing had been a turn-on during their encounter. “Heather is the freak.” she asserts, her voice shaking. “Not me.”


