Pet Pussy

Abbigale winced as her maid pulled at the laces of her corset, all but crushing Abbigale's waist in the process.

"You don't actually expect me to sleep in this?" Abbigale complained, even as her maid, Amber, went to fetch her nightgown.

"There won't be time to put it on you in the morning, miss. Not with all the hair and makeup to be done. And you do want to look your slimmest for Lord Eshing, don't you?" the maid smiled as she spoke, and waited patiently for Abbigale to put her arms out.

"I would rather not marry a man I've never met," Abbigale informed her maid, refusing to put her arms out. "I would rather not be called an old spinster just because I turned twenty one! I would rather not-"

"And I would rather not listen to you complain, child. Now put your arms out."

Abbigale glared at the maid. Arms firmly at her side, she looked the woman up and down: a woman in perhaps her forties, with brown hair pulled into a tight bun. She stood at maybe five foot six, to Abbigale's own five foot four. The no nonsense sort, her maid's uniform was pristine, without even a smudge on the white apron. She had only known Abbigale for a week, having been brought from her future husband's estate, to serve Abbigale before the wedding.

Yet, despite only being here a week, she already talked to Abbigale in this manner? "I will not-"

"You'll do what you're bid, or I'll use force," the maid declared, flatly. "I have permission from your father to get you ready for this wedding no matter what it takes. You won't be running away, like you did before the last two - not that it did you much good, the other times, I hear." At this, the maid's lips spread into a grin, and she leaned forward as if whispering conspiratorially to Abbigale. "Always come crawling back in the end, don't you? Need someone to take care of you, as I understand it - spoiled little things like you don't know up from down out in the streets. Not that you need to - so long as you learn to perform in the sheets, for Lord Eshing."

"He's three times my age!" Abbigale protested, voice rising in pitch.

"Shhh. You'll wake up the manor," Amber declared, glaring at Abbigale. "And as I understand it, the last two were aged just right. What was your problem with them?"

"I... I simply felt no connection. Perhaps I am not the marrying sort..."

Truthfully, she wasn't sure herself why she had rejected every suitor - she'd hoped that turning twenty one would drive the last of them away, but... Then her father had made this match.

"This is the price you pay for your luxury, miss," the maid declared, mercilessly. "The daughter of a rich merchant must marry upward. It's the only way your father can still climb. Now put out your arms, or I'll send you to bed in your underwear."

Abbigale glared a moment at the maid, before reluctantly stretching her arms out. Over her arms went the nightgown. A simple piece, all in white, its lacy collar covered her neck, and its hem went down to her toes. The sleeves covered her arms entirely.

"Now sit tight on the bed, young miss," the maid told her. "And I'll be back with some firewood in no time." The woman smiled as she spoke, and knocked on the door to the room. It was opened by one of her father's guards, who stood with a spear by the doorway, and the maid was allowed out.

"My father really is determined to prevent my escape, this time..." Abbigale whispered to herself, smiling faintly. "Thankfully I thought ahead."

Moving swiftly to her bed, Abbigale did not in fact sit down, but instead opened up the drawer of her nightstand. Beneath the supplies for embroidery, there was a secret cubby - a cubby where she kept a tiny vial of crystal clear liquid, and a small pouch of gold.

To look at the simple vial, you would never know how much money Abbigale had spent on it. She'd begged to go shopping so many times, just so that she could save some of the pocket change her father gave her. Day after day, month after month, while her father had plotted for her marriage she had plotted for her escape.

The last step - visiting the witch herself, to buy this potion - had required her to beg her former maid on hands and knees, and even then the maid only agreed because her father had made clear his intention to hire a replacement.

As it was, Abbigale had somehow pulled off the purchase without a hitch, and no one currently in the house knew of it. Even better, she had managed to keep a few gold coins from the shopping trip since - gold that she quickly tucked into her corset. Now, all Abbigale had to do was drink... and quickly, before the maid came back.

Thinking so, Abbigale hurriedly removed the cork from the vial, allowing a vaguely sweet smell to tickle at her nostrils, though, she poured the concoction down her throat.

In complete contrast to its scent, the taste was bitter. Her tongue felt like it was going to seize up, and her throat was all but burning, just from the tiny amount of liquid.

"I just hope this works," Abbigale muttered, rubbing at her throat. She was unaware of the fur growing across her now pointed ears. She removed her hand from behind one, just as the cartilage began to move further up her scalp.

"How did the witch put it? Under the effects of this potion, I will be seen as a feline, despite maintaining my human form? And no one will recognize me, even if I march out the front doors... It seems almost too fantastical to be true," murmured Abbigale, whose head now sported a twitching pair of cat ears.

A sudden pressure, above Abbigale's behind, finally alerted her that something was shifting. She twisted about, trying and failing to get a good look, as something

ripped

, and a moment later, her underwear fluttered to the floor, torn asunder by the sprouting of a cat's tail.

A slow blush spread across Abbigale's features in response, as she felt something long and fidgety in her dress with her. She could not get a good look, with the length of her dress, but... Considering what the witch had told her...

The opening of the door caused her ears to

swivel

, a completely new sensation that caught Abbigale off guard again. She took a step back, wondering what the lady would think if she saw Abbigale's new alien features. The spell was supposed to make her be perceived as a cat - but not turn her into one! Did the tail and ears mean it worked? Or had it simply turned her into some sort of cat person? Abbigale wasn't sure what to expect.

When the door opened, however, the maid immediately dropped the bundle of firewood she was holding, and ran straight into the room. Looking about frantically for a moment, her eyes finally met Abbigale's... and kept going,. "Whoever let a cat in here?" she whispered after a moment. "And where's Abbigale?" the maid began to move toward the bed, looking under the mattress, before shifting to the window. "Surely not..." the maid whispered to herself, upon realizing the window was unlocked. "We're on the third floor..."

Giggling to herself at her maid's oblivious comments, Abbigale quickly walked out of the room, past the guards, and toward the staircase. From there, she walked down two flights of stairs, and out the front door. This caused some confusion to the guard out front, who peered inside to see who had let the cat out.

Not that Abbigale cared. She was free! Free! And it wasn't going to be like the last time, either. She had gold, this time, even if it was only a few coins. She'd get a job, maybe at an inn. Making food? Waiting on tables? The possibilities were endless. She didn't know how to do any of it, of course, but she'd learn. She'd train. She'd do her best, and never have to come back to this place again. With those thoughts in mind, she practically danced her way down the streets, and into the larger downtown area.

It was mostly deserted at this time of night, of course. The only place with lights in fact, was a nearby tavern: the Maiden's Drink. Abbigale headed toward it immediately, moving with the assuredness of her station. She had gold to spend the night, but if she could find a job there and pay her sleep off with work that would be even better. Or perhaps the innkeeper would be so taken by her beauty, and entranced by her tale of woe, that he'd offer her a bed purely from the kindness of his heart.

...The last one seemed unlikely, from Abbigale's past experiences running away. Still! The first two were options, and Abbigale was full of hope as she pushed open the door...

Only to almost immediately have a broom pointed straight at her, the bristles poking at the delicate skin of her stomach even through the silk nightgown.

"Shoo!" shouted a woman. "Shoo, cat! Get out of here! We have a mouser, already. Shoo!"

"But, I-" Abbigale began, but the woman only poked her hard with the broom, pushing her back onto the street. The door was closed behind her, and a muttered "How'd it even manage the door?" could be heard from within.

The potion... hadn't worn off. Indeed, reaching up, Abbigale could feel the furry ears atop her head. Not to mention the tail, tightly packed inside her dress, and desperate to get free. How long would these unnecessary additions last? How long until the potion had passed through her system? Abbigale knew she would not find lodging as a human until then.

Miserable and cold, she decided to sit against the wall of the tavern and pull her knees against her body. Huddled up for warmth, she was thankful for the full covering of her nightgown, and what little it did to preserve her body heat. Eventually, she drifted off to sleep.

When she awoke, her ears were still furry, and her cat tail was still present. "This can't be happening..." she whispered, even as the woman with the broom stepped out into the road. "Please," Abbigale began, "you have to listen to me, I'm-"

"So you're still here," the woman muttered, before sighing. Tucking her still present broom beneath her elbow, she reached out and casually began to stroke Abbigale's head, running her thumb across the base of the ear. "I really don't think I have enough mice to support another cat. If you want, though - you can stay. So long as you earn your keep."

Abbigale was barely listening. The pets, the stroking, felt so

good;

good enough to make the world feel hazy for a moment. It took effort for her to step back, and break the contact. "I... I am not a cat," she stated, trying to enunciate each word as clearly as possible.

The woman only looked at her quizzically, though.

"Th-The witch..." Abbigale whispered to herself, desperately. "The witch will know how long this will last. Or how to reverse it. Or... Assuming even she can understand me..." The witch lived at the outskirts of town, though. About a two mile walk. It would take time to reach her - and the potion might have worn off by then - but what else was Abbigale to do? Accept a job catching mice?

"I... Thank you for your kindness," she told the other woman. "Late as it came." She bowed her head, ignoring the confused expression of a woman who likely heard everything as meows. Then she darted down the streets, toward where she knew the witch to live.

***

It was close to midday that a tired, cold, and hungry Abbigale finally found the witch's hut. She had been sure she knew the general directions, but traveling in a carriage and traveling on foot were quite different, and it wasn't as if she'd been able to ask for directions. No one could understand her, thanks to that witch's dratted potion.

It was only after she had already knocked on the door that it occurred to her the witch might not recognize her, either. She was considering how best to lead the witch to a dirt patch, where she could etch words into the ground, when the door opened.

Only, the woman on the other side looked nothing like the bent old crone who'd sold Abbigale her potion. She had no warts, but instead a clear complexion. She was not old and wrinkled, at all, but instead looked to be in her late twenties, or perhaps even early thirties. She had delicate cheekbones, and a small little nose, not at all like the crooked features of the witch. She did not have grey hair, but rather lustrous brown locks that flowed down her waist. Most of all, where the witch had only scowled throughout Abbigale's visit, this woman was wearing a soft and warm smile of welcome.

"Well isn't this a rare sight. What can I do for you, kitten?"

"Kitten...?" Abbigale whispered, dejection seizing her soul. Not only was the witch not here, but the woman who had taken her place was falling for the effects of the potion as well.

"Well, what else would I call you with those pretty ears?" the woman asked, reaching out to gently scratch Abbigale behind the ear.

An unbidden wave of bliss shot over Abbigale, incomparable to the touch of the tavern keeper. It was like a warmth, radiating from the top of her head down to the tips of her toes, a comforting feeling that told her everything was going to be alright. In fact, everything was already fine. As long as the woman didn't take her hand from that ear, everything would be okay.

Then the hand pulled back, and Abbigale blinked as the world went momentarily fuzzy. What had she been doing, just then..? No. There was a more important question on her mind.

"You can see me?" she asked, hardly daring to believe it. "The real me?"

"Cat ears and all," the woman promised. "I did make the potion that did it, after all." An ever so slight smile touched the woman's ruby red lips as she spoke.

"Then this is how you really look? Why did you hide yourself? Or... no. Before that - if you did this, then surely you can reverse it?" Abbigale pleaded. "Please. I'll do anything you want - I just... No one will talk to me. No one will look me in the eye. They seem to know that I'm there, and occupying space, but they just-"

"See you as a cat?" The witch raised an eyebrow. "That is the potion you asked for, yes? Though I did find it strange that you didn't bother asking for an antidote..."

"An.. An antidote? Those are required?" Abbigale asked, incredulous. "Why did you not... No. Nevermind, it does not matter. How much will you charge for the antidote?" Abbigale demanded, mentally counting out the gold she had. Not even half of what she had paid for the potion, unfortunately.

"First, let's get you inside," the woman declared, that same small smile on her face. "I just finished breakfast - and as luck would have it, I made a little extra porridge this morning. You

are

hungry, aren't you?"

"Starving," Abbigale admitted. "But... Surely you can at least tell me how much the antidote will cost? If you think it's beyond my means - I will do whatever is necessary, work whatever job is necessary, if it means being seen as a human again."

"There will be time for that soon," the witch promised, turning to head inside. "But I never talk business on an empty stomach. Now come inside, little Kitten."

"My name is Abbigale, not Kitten..." Abbigale murmured, reluctantly following the witch into her abode.

Abbigale remembered the place as being quite dirty, but there was no trace of that now. In fact, the interior of the hut was all but immaculate.

"My name is Amber, by the way. Not witch. In case you were wondering."

Abbigale's face flushed bright red, and her attention snapped back to the witch - to Amber.

"How did you know what I was calling you in my head?"

"I am a witch..." Amber pointed out, one corner of her lips inching upward into a smirk. "And more importantly, I've been around longer than you have and know a thing or two about how people work. Now - there's a chair by the fire. Why don't you sit down, and I'll get you a bowl?"

Abbigale's stomach rumbled, as if reminding her that she had not yet eaten.

"I... If I must join you for breakfast, I suppose..." Abbigale conceded, moving to the chair by the fire. It was a rocking chair, carved of wood and free of decoration. After a moment's hesitation, she settled down into the chair, and turned her attention to the fire. Or, more accurately, she turned her attention to the pot that was being held above the lames.

"It smells delicious.." Abbigale admitted, her stomach rumbling again.

"It's only basic porridge, I'm afraid. Nothing like what you're used to, Kitten. But it'll do." Amber had grabbed two bowls, while Abbigale was settling herself in. "Take this, and hold it out gently for me. Put your hands toward the bottom, in case any spills," the woman instructed, handing over the bowl. A wooden spoon was already leaning against the side.

Abbigale did as instructed, and was rewarded with a steaming hot bowl of porridge. Carefully taking the spoon, she shook off what porridge had ended up on the length of it, and then lifted a mouthful to her lips.

"Careful," Amber warned. "This is quite hot - you should blow on it, first."

"Blow on it?" Abbigale asked, confusion obvious on her features. The food at the manor was never too hot, or too cold. Everything was served at precisely the right temperature for eating, or else her father would throw a fit.

"It's fresh from the fire, Kitten. And fire is hot, if you didn't know."

"I know

that

much..." Abbigale muttered, cheeks flushing. "I just never would have thought to blow on something to cool it down..." Still, she did what was asked, carefully blowing on the porridge before bringing the spoon to her mouth.

It was sweet, like honey, and Abbigale's eyes opened wide with delight. She had to restrain herself from shoving another bite past her lips, taking time to blow on it instead. This was followed by another bite, and then another, until at last she had scraped every last morsel of porridge from the bowl.

"Quite hungry, weren't you Kitten?"

"I'm not a kitten," Abbigale insisted. "My feline features are a temporary condition - one I rather hoped we could take care of quickly."

"Are you sure that's what you want?" Amber asked, tilting her head slightly to the right. "You make a surprisingly adorable cat - especially when you pout like that."

"I am not pouting!" Abbigale protested, puffing her cheeks out in frustration. "I am not a cat, either! I want to be seen as a human, again. Immediately."

"Oh, but being a kitten is so much nicer, I think..." Amber smiled as she spoke. "Kittens get spoiled rotten. They get to be fed, and pet, and are given all the affectionate love they can bear. You look like you could use all of the above."

"I... I'm not a cat. I'm a human, and I would like to be treated as such," Abbigale insisted, cheeks flushed a delicate pink.

"...Very well," the witch murmured, moving to place her bowl upon a counter. Next to that counter were shelves, which were in turn filled with innumerable bottles and vials of all sizes and shapes. The witch took several of these - one with orange flames flickering inside it, one with a purple haze trapped in its crystalline confines, and a squat bottle that looked as if it contained an actual cloud. She poured something from each of these into an empty vial, before corking that bottle and shaking it vigorously. Then she turned back to Abbigale, and calmly offered her the vial of liquid.

"This will turn me back to normal?" Abbigale asked, rising from her chair. "It's the antidote?"

"Not quite." The witch's lips pulled upwards at the corners, forming a tiny little smile. "It's a test. A free one, at that."

"And why would I want a test?" Abbigale asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Because the test is to see whether you truly wish to be human. All you need to do, after taking this, is go a single hour without orgasm. If you can do that, it'll cancel out the effects of your earlier potion, and all will be well."

"O-Orgasm?" Abbigale asked, her cheek's now so warm she thought they might catch fire. "I - I've never... I wouldn't... That will be an easy test..."