"Wait," Clea said, looking down at her hands by which she was casting these spells. Her hand was bloated and thick with chubby fingers and warts on them. Her nails were dark, and broken looking, yet strong, like talons.
But she felt so vile, so bloated and disgusting, and it felt... great.
No, that wasn't right. It felt... she felt... Clea's mind grasped for a word to describe this feeling.
Mistress Strange meanwhile looked on with a bemused expression. "What's wrong, sister? Can you feel it now...?" She asked before letting out a screeching cackle.
Clea was caught in her own thoughts, and her own lust as she picked up the Tome. Some remaining part of the woman she once was screamed at her not too, but it was drown out over the indescribable sensation and the heat burning through her loins.
Her fat fingers formed a simple invocation as the book levitated in front of her, turning it's own pages as she studied it. Surrounded by black energy that radiated a feeling of corruption.
Free from holding the tome one hand went between her chubby thighs the other roughly massaged her swollen tit. She felt some wetness on that hand (the one between her legs was soaked!) she brought it to her nose, which had become long and crooked like Strange's, but thicker, more like a horn bill, and even more sensitive.
"Milk?" She murmured before smelling it again, "No... spoiled milk."
Her huge breasts were leaking spoiled milk that was thick with the corruptive magic that she was filled with. Her other hand slipped free from her wet snatch and instead joined it's partner manhandling her own chest. The milk began to leak from her bosom and hit the ground, the grass it touched dying and turning black.
However, as it dripped off her voluptuous body it left streaks of green skin, which began to spread out from there as lines formed on her face, aging her prematurely. Her hair stayed white, but became a tangled mess on top of her head.
Meanwhile the contents of the book was filling her mind... she couldn't stop it. Not that she wanted to. No...she felt like she was finally finding a word to describe how she felt. She had to know... it was all consuming. That, and her lust.
Mistress Strange knew she had waited long enough, as she conjured a broom filled with it's own power in to existence and it flew at Clea who's hand moved from her breast lightning fast to catch it. The broom's power reached out, transforming Clea's bright clothes in to a tattered black dress that strained her thick frame.
"How do you feel, sister?" Mistress Strange asked her former lover.
Clea knew how she felt, she had found the word. Her body was overtaken by orgasm as she knew, she finally knew with every fiber of her being. She conjured her own hat, tall but crooked. She slipped it on her head her beady eyes looking up at Strange.
"Wicked," she said before bursting in to a horrifying cackle, the chorus soon joined by her sister's.