Voodoo To You Too
A woman stuck in a swamp winds up getting all big and gatored via voodoo. Explicit.
Erica's car had been rumbling along faithfully for hours, but the twists and turns of the road turned back upon themselves so many times that she was utterly lost. Lost, and in the middle of the swamps somewhere in the god damn ass end of Georgia. And it had been getting steadily darker, so by now, all she could see were the unnervingly bright shapes and elongated shadows of gnarled bare branches.
She was about ready to just say 'fuck it' and try to turn around to go some other way, when her high beams hit a hand-painted sign pointing down a dirt road, which said 'Mama Zola's'. Well, she had no idea who this person was or what they did, but just about anyone could help her at this point. She just wanted to get to the nearest town.
The tiny road led along a small strip of land that took her out further into the swamp; though she couldn't tell whether it was deeper in, it definitely felt like it, as the land was giving way to more islands in between stretches of murky, occasionally rippling water.
Mama Zola's place was a bit bigger than what Erica thought of as a shack, though it still had that run-down, improvised feeling to its construction. Or perhaps it had once been new, but age and the occasional repairs had given it a patchwork look. She could see lights inside, but more importantly, when she opened the car door, a small wave of scent washed over her. Batter, spices, and freshly cooked meat replaced the ever present swamp smell.
Erica fought back a bit of drool, as the only sort of food she'd had in the past six hours had been a candy bar from a gas station, and that felt like days ago now. She knocked on the door, which rattled in its frame, but no one answered. So she waited a bit, then tried again, then called out, "Hey, is anyone home?"
She weighed whether getting potentially shot as a trespasser was worth not having to wait for Mama Zola to come back. She chewed her lip briefly, and decided to err on the side of Southern hospitality. She turned the doorknob, and found it unlocked. The small house was lit with the glow of a few candles strewn around, along with lanterns hung from the low ceiling.
While the house was decorated in all manner of occult trinkets, woven items and the occasional shriveled up nearly-unrecognizable animal, Erica's desire to find a way out of the swamp drove her further in, hunting for a phone, or a map, or someone to talk to.
Her priorities were shifted slightly, though, as she moved from the hall and into the dining room. The table was small, maybe meant for four people at most, but on it was a vast array of foods, from battered and fried chicken to gumbos to barbecued pork. It was like some sort of sampler platter, and there was no one around to eat it.
Hidden within the flickering of the lantern that hung over the table, a wisp of a shadow flitted along the floor and into into Erica's shadow, where, in the shadow of her face thrown up upon the wall, two eyes opened, blinked, then spawned a long, jagged smile, leering at the girl bending over one of the dishes to smell the soup.
If she thought about it, it felt a bit like a soft hand gently pushing her down into one of the chairs. She didn't really think about it, though. She told herself that she was hungry, and that if whoever it was painted themselves as motherly, she'd probably be forgiven for taking a few bites from an honestly rather packed meal.
As Erica swallowed the first bite of the pork that she'd scooped onto her plate, she nearly gagged. Not because the food was bad; it was wonderfully seasoned and quite juicy. But because a sudden sensation had sprung up through her, a bit like she had just rubbed herself between her legs. She finished gulping down the bite, and took another. This time, it still surprised her, but it was more of a warm, delightful sensation than a complete shock. Or rather, she could feel the delight this time because the shock wasn't there.
The shadow snickered silently and gave Erica another tweak with each bite she took. By the forth bite, she was leaning forward in her seat and letting out clipped moans while she ate. The psychological reinforcement worked quickly; that, and Erica was starting to think that the food was almost literally orgasmic.
On her legs and arms, small green patches were developing and then slowly spreading, feeling dry, but only registering on a dimly aware level with Erica's mind. For one, color was a bit muted in the yellowish candlelight. That, and she was more concerned with giving the chicken a taste at the moment.
Biting down through the crispy, oily skin and into the meat, Erica's face was being slowly pulled, as if being stretched by the nose and taking her mouth along too. Her teeth sharpened, and were starting to grow space between them. She buried her stubby little muzzle into a chicken breast and snapped up the meat happily.
Erica had never been a rail-thin supermodel type, but she kept herself trim. However, now her stomach was spilling an inch or two over her waistband, and her pants were feeling snug around her thighs. She was beginning to worry just a little bit about how much she was eating.
Her fingernails developed a bit of extra length, then started a short process of curling and tapering, looking more like little claws. She kicked her shoes off when her toes doing the same made her shoes feel uncomfortably small. Something was wrong and she really needed to stop and take a look at it, but she would just as soon as she finished biting the batter off of this thigh.
While the chair was feeling softer, that wasn't exactly the case—her ass was the one getting softer, pulling the fabric of her jeans taut as it slowly expanded, in excess of the food she was eating. And her chest was certainly not neglected, starting to overflow her bra with soft, warm flesh.
She really needed to get up and do something about getting out of here but she hadn't even tasted the gumbo yet, so she grabbed her spoon and immediately began digging into that, too. Her eyelids fluttered and a couple drops of the broth nearly dripped from her lips as she felt a sudden rush, eliciting a dampness between her legs. This was bad, it was making her feel so good she didn't want to leave, but she had to fight, she thought, while filling her mouth with food.
Along her legs, traveling up from her changed feet, her skin was drying out. But not just needs-moisturizer dry, it was drying, cracking, and forming into thick scales, around her thickening thighs and hips. She could see between her eyes the growing snout that was tipped with her flattened nose, holding her thickening tongue and growing teeth.
"Stop!" Erica managed to gasp, before potato salad filled her mouth.
No plea was going to stop it, but it was an impressive gesture of will, as was pushing herself back from the table and standing up. She jiggled, ass swaying, hips rolling, breasts breaking through her bra to bounce, and made it to the door back to the hallway. But then, oh man, what was that smell?
She turned around, drool starting to roll from the corner of her plumper lip.
As she walked toward the kitchen, her jeans gave way, and though she blushed, she didn't stop to pick them up. Her shirt was coming under similar strain, so, with a strained expression as she tried to resist, she tugged it off, leaving her naked and swelling.
Erica leaned carefully down in front of the fire, and took a deep breath, savoring the scent of the peach cobbler that was cooking inside. She moved the small arm which swung the pot out from above the flames, and used the poker to lift off the lid. It smelled delicious, carmelly and sugary with the scent of warm peaches and the wood smoke that had been drifting up around it. While she let it cool, she stood there, bent over, breathing slowly.
What it felt like was two fingers, spreading open her pussy's folds from behind, then slowly letting something thick and tapered push its way into her. Erica gasped sharply and gripped the pot for support—warm, but not enough to burn by now. It was moving deeper, spreading her open, and squeezing its rough ridges into her.
The scales leapt across her skin faster, eagerly moving over her soft, rounded stomach. Her lips tilted downward, until they touched the top layer of the peach cobbler. She closed her eyes, letting tears of fear begin to run down her cheeks as she dug her fangs into the sweet dessert.
Almost in response to her eating, the force pushing into her sharply increased, making her flinch, flex her claws, dig them into the sides of the pot, and whimper loudly.
Erica could feel it everywhere, as each bite was forcing her body further away from what she knew. Her breasts bounced and jiggled with every thrust. Her nipples had swollen, and each tit alone could overflow both of her hands.
Her stomach hung out in a rather perfect sort of roundness, curved and pudgy, but not getting in the way of her movement...much. Her hips were growing exceptionally, and not only in terms of weight—they had widened considerably too, giving more room for her thick, soft and wobbly thighs.
Her ass was rounded, soft, dominating more and more of her backside, at least until something thick and stubby began to wiggle out, squeezed between the top of the swollen cheeks. It was enough to make her groan into the cobbler, as her tail lashed back and forth, growing out thicker, stronger, and just as pudgy and fat as the ass it was perched atop.
And by now, the scales covered her completely, ridges running down her back, darker brown-green along her limbs and back with a lighter creamy sort of color running down her front.
Her tail slashed through her incorporeal partner with no effect as she was brought to a rumbling, squirming, bellowing orgasm that ended with the newly forming gator on her back on the floor, splayed out and trying to pull herself back up.
She could see the eyes of her shadow now, staring into her as she was pulled to her feet, almost like a puppet. She couldn't stop her hands from sliding along her body, feeling her plump cheeks and oversized, sloshing breasts. Her tongue darted out along her reptilian snout, licking up splatters of peach syrup.
"Please, let me—mmph!" Erica's mouth snapped shut.
Her shadow stepped forward from the wall, taking a nebulous shape of hazy darkness. A hand swept behind Erica's head, and she was pulled in to a kiss.
Spells and charms and evil powers were being forced into her mind in a swirling storm, tossing aside the things she knew, the things she'd learned, her memories. Within her mind, she cried into the storm, trying to hold on to what was being washed away. But it wasn't just knowledge that was being replaced. So was she.
She...she loved cooking and fishing and working on her spells and her quiet little corner of the swamp where she could stay and grow fatter and tell a fortune or cast a charm for the occasional person from the nearby town who came by to see her.
It was all so wrong but there was nothing else there. She couldn't remember who or what she was, though she knew she had something before. But her memories went all the way back to growing up in this house with her mother, who'd known magic just like her. And now that she was big and fat and grown like ol' mama it was time she took her place.
The shade that had entered into her shadow was gone, but so was Erica, the last glimmer of the girl disappearing into nothingness, consumed by the new gator.
Mama Evie was nearly popping out of her apron, and it didn't look like the gator gal was wearing anything else. Though to be fair, she'd be hard pressed to find something that fit.
"Mmm, no chil', I don' t'ink I seen anyone like that. You say her name was Erica? Well I can ask de spirits at de least," she said.
Her long snout curled into a broad smile.
"I was just making dinner, you two should come in! Aw hush, ain't no problem," she reassured them. With a shoulder in each hand, she pulled the two youngsters out looking for their friend into her house, ready to cook up something special just for them.