Chapter 1
There are few sounds more unique than that of snow crunching underfoot, it can either be a magical sound heralding the season in which the world exists in a bright white cocoon of snow in anticipation for its rebirth in the spring, or a constant reminder of the biting cold that all too easily seeps into hearts and minds. For William Blitzen, Will to his friends, it was definitely the latter. Now as he strolled down the street with no particular destination in mind, his thoughts were somewhat less than cheerful. He passed a blinking sign that declared the day’s date to be December 24th but gave little thought to the significance of the pronouncement. It wasn’t that he was a Scrooge by any means, he had enjoyed his time with his family last week, and the well meaning gifts he had received had been nice, but the quiet loneliness of another special occasion spent in solitude was getting to him. His Christmas spirit did its best to lift his heart but it had been all but spent by three months of sale ads; Santa’s making appearances in October, and the incessant cycling of “Jingle Bells” on the radio. So this morning he had laced his boots, walked past the tiny, sparsely embellished tree that was his only decoration and out into the world aimlessly to seek some greater cheer.
A few blocks away, a hatchet faced man with greasy black hair watched the comings and goings of last minute shoppers hoping for an unattended bag or purse in the same way that a rat hopes for carelessly discarded crumbs. Mr. Edward Greentch didn’t particularly care for the season either, like the fictional character whose name sounded remarkably like his own to his recurring seasonal frustration; his heart was really a few sizes too small. Hard years started long ago by his inability to not be a thieving opportunist had worn themselves into his face and soul and he had no overriding goals other than the constant clawing survival he made at the bottom of the criminal heap lubricated by copious amounts of hard liquor. He wasn’t particularly evil, just petty, and that was probably the only reason he wasn’t in prison, his crimes too often were too insignificant for the police to expend much effort on him. Now as a nearby security guard began to show an interest in him he too moved down the street increasingly determined to score something that would net him enough cash to drown the meaning of the holiday in cheap booze. The Greentch was going to steal someone’s Christmas.
At the end of the street in Ambrose’s Antiquities, a grandmotherly figure in a Frosty the Snowman sweater was doing her best to not dance in joy for the treasure she had found. Mirabel Robinson was a grey haired frequent patron of the shop and she knew that if she made too much of a scene that Ambrose would wonder if he had under priced his client’s latest find. Mirabel had come to the shop to see if there were any antique decorations to be had as she was always adding to her collection, her love of the season and the constant cycle of the year featured large in her thoughts. Now she had found a dusty old tome in Latin which promised to be the exclamation point on the happy season for Mirabel. How Ambrose had acquired the 14th century tome, or even whether he understood its value were mysteries. Its cover read “A Selection of Alchemical and Transmutation Recipes” in Latin but for the initiated, buried in its formulae were a number of powerful spells. Mirabel knew of the skilled witch that had penned the volume some seven centuries ago, and she had been trying to get her hands on a copy ever since it had first been published to no avail, especially since the damnable Inquisition had labeled it heresy not long after its publication. She had been particularly close on Christmas Day in 1423 but had been unable to rescue a copy from the flames of a Christmas morning book burning. Now, brimming with excitement, the witch slowly began examining her find to confirm its authenticity.
Closer now, Will was passing by a park where a few heavily bundled children were playing. He rounded a corner and continued walking until an errant snowball sailed by his head. He turned while still walking to see a slightly bronzed athletic young man, masculine power still evident under his heavy clothes engaged in a fierce snowball fight with an unearthly beautiful woman, bits of snow clinging to her flowing golden hair and completing the illusion of some winter goddess, the feminine curves of which not even heavy clothing could fully mask. They continued their snow duel with little regard for Will’s observation, with a light jump the large man leapt onto a small rise with a snowball in his hand cornering the woman in a small hollow and then dramatically pronounced a butchered movie line.
“It’s over ZoeAnakin; I have the high ground…”
“You underestimate my power, Obi Scott,” the blonde purred in reply as she sized up the tactical possibilities.
“Don’t try it.” The man completed the sequence, tightening his grip on his snowball while grinning from ear to ear.
The expected charge however was prefaced by the blonde rolling her arms in close to her torso and impressive bosom which forced her breasts together and slightly outwards. It was a bald attempt to short circuit the male brain of the man opposite her but it had the side effect of affecting EVERY man who could see those epic, sweater clad boobs. Time slowed down to a crawl for Will as an aching desire for the touch of a woman pervaded his mind. The scene was almost dream-like as the blonde seemed to move in slow motion as she made her move around the man only to get a snow ball to the face. It was an unreal reality that he wished could last forever. Unfortunately though for Will reality chose that instant to hit back.
THUD
Will suddenly found him self on his back, on the ground, looking up at the gray sky with a dull aching pain in the front of his body. He realized he had been so entranced by the blonde goddess that he had walked into a lamppost. He quickly got to his feet and hurried away chastised by the low laughs of the happy couple, he heard as he fled another strange exchange.
“You did it again, Zoe.” The man remarked, amused by the situation.
The blonde replied in her best Popeye impersonation, “I yams what I yams.”
In Ambrose’s Mirabel was doing her best to not seem ecstatic. The book was authentic and she wasn’t about to leave without it. She was happily paying; already distracted by the spells she wanted to try out that evening. At the corner of the building outside Ed was lounging in a shadow while doing his best to not look like he was watching the dwindling numbers of shoppers with increasing alarm at the prospect of a night without the comfort of a bottle. At the opposite corner a red faced Will was trying to put the most distance between him self and the embarrassment at the park as he could.
Mirabel stepped out of the store and began walking down the sidewalk, perhaps not paying as much attention as was wise to her surroundings as she focused inwardly, it was the first mistake made by the trio of actors. Ed saw an elderly woman who had come out of the antique store alone and who was carrying something. Whatever it was, it had to be valuable the way the old woman was carrying it, and Ed decided to make his move. Ed stepped out in front of the Mirabel surprising her; he pointed a hand inside his jacket in a poor attempt to look like he had a gun and hissed.
“Whatever you’ve got lady hand it over real nice and quick, and you won’t get hurt!”
Mirabel recovered, looked down at the obvious ploy, and with defiance in her eyes flatly stated, “You don’t even have a gun do you? Stealing from old ladies on Christmas Eve, have you no shame?”
Ed’s frustration flashed to anger at the old woman and with his free hand he drew back and hit her hard. Mirabel’s pained cry drew the attention of several onlookers including Will, and Will’s mind processed what was happening an instant after he saw the shabby man start wrestling with an elderly lady over a large book. His decision was made almost instantly and he broke into a run, crossing the street and quickly covering the distance between himself and the struggling pair. Ed was furious that this lady wasn’t letting go, normally if he met resistance he’d run away but this time he struck the woman upside the head again which finally caused her to fall and let go of her prize. He might still have gotten away but as he turned he slipped on the icy sidewalk and lost precious seconds regaining his footing. An instant after he did, Will Blitzen tackled him like a freight train, raining blows onto the thief’s body in vengeance for his treatment of the old matron, even drawing blood from a split lip with one strong hit. Ed was ill prepared for a fight with another man, and he collapsed under the onslaught, wheezing and laying for a moment on the ground. Will was the second of the trio to make a mistake that day and turned to check on the injured matron without confirming his victory, scooping up the object of the fight and handing it to Mirabel as she stood back up. She smiled weakly at her benefactor as she took the book but it instantly turned to concern as Ed got back up behind Will. Will saw the flash of worry and realized that Ed wasn’t out of the fight. Even as he turned, an object sailed by his head for the second time that day, only this time it was a malicious chunk of concrete instead of a harmless snowball. Will had been the target but the sailing chunk of artificial rock thrown by Ed’s hand still caught Mirabel just below her hairline and dropped her again to the ground, had she actually been an elderly woman the damage could have been serious, but witches are made of sterner stuff. A look of righteous fury on Will’s face promised retribution that never came as Ed pulled a canister from his coat and shot its spray into the eyes of Mirabel’s defender. Will stumbled in agony as the pepper spray did its work all to well; he was blind and helpless as Ed advanced with malice in his eyes. Ed took the time to deliver several vicious punches and kicks to the brave Samaritan one of which spattered several drops of Will’s blood onto the cover of the book before Ed finally scooped it up and ran away committing the third mistake by the trio. Seconds later other men began arriving but stopped to aid the injured rather than pursue the thief.
Long minutes passed before officers of the law and paramedics arrived. The policemen quickly recognized the thief and vowed to apprehend him soon. The paramedics did their best to flush Will’s eyes but it was Mirabel who did the most work. Though she wasn’t allowed any public display of her power it was a simple thing to touch Will and mumble a simple delayed spell of healing while he was distracted by a paramedic. She also took the chance to act like she was cleaning Will up, though her only real goal was collecting Ed’s dried blood from Will’s knuckles. Eventually the police provided the two victims rides home.
That night as dusk fell there were three very disappointed people in the city. Ed railed in his dingy hovel about the fact that his fence had shown no interest in the strange book, which wasn’t even written in English and as a result was nearly worthless to a pawnbroker. Thus he didn’t even have the alcohol for which he had risked so much to attain.
Will looked in his mirror at his spreading bruises and red eyes and briefly considered why he had gotten involved in the fight in the first place. He searched his feelings and concluded that it had been the right thing to do, but the pain he felt as he climbed into bed was marking this as his worst Christmas ever.
For Mirabel she mumbled over and over about how many knaves there were in the world compared to the number of knights. Had she walked away from the fight with her book she might have found it within her self to forgive Mr. Greentch, but he had doggedly fought her and the throbbing from her rock wound was painful even as her magic healed the injury. Thus now as she worked a familiar spell of summoning she mentally searched her catalog of curses trying to decide which one would be the most appropriate. She dropped the tissue with Ed’s dried blood on it collected from Will’s hand into her cauldron and called Mr. Greentch to her, bidding him to return what he had stolen in ancient words. As she sank into her favorite chair and waited she thought about what she could do for Will. She took out a crystal and fed it a dried drop of Will’s blood and reviewed his feelings during the day. She lingered over the encounter in the park, her eyes flashing with understanding as a gorgeous blonde came into focus.
“So that’s who that entire hubbub a month ago was about. Careful Mr. Blitzen, devil food is an exotic recipe that you might not want to develop a taste for, though… there are other recipes…” Mirabel trailed off pondering. “It’s been so long since I baked, and it’s nearly a crime for such a noble knight to go hungry on such a blessed day.” With the need to reward one man and punish another meshed perfectly in Mirabel’s mind she quickly collected a number of old books and began her preparations. She had just the recipe in mind but it was frightfully complex and she would have precious little time to prepare.
Outside, not a creature was stirring on the cold, dark, Christmas Eve save for one strange man who walked with a zombie like step down deserted streets carrying a stranger book. One of Mirabel’s chief ingredients in her recipe was delivering itself to the bakery.
Chapter 2
Mr. Edward Greentch had woken from sleep about ten thousand times in his life so far. The scene which slowly seeped into his understanding as his waking mind reclaimed his senses was immediately at the top of the list for strangeness. At first he could hear the gentle humming of a woman doing her best rendition of “Good King Wenceslas” and for a moment he thought he might still be in some pleasant dream. That impression continued as a shimmering oval of white light spread across his hazy vision. However, as sensation returned to his mind and feeling to his limbs, the cold familiar embrace of steel on his wrists informed him that this could be more nightmare than dream and his mind quickly turned to thoughts of concern. The haze in his eyes finally melted away and the concern took on a large note of confusion. He quickly realized that he was standing in the middle of an odd circle on the floor, but with his arms stretched over his head and locked in a pair of steel cuffs. It was a slightly odd position but not nearly as confusing as the fact that there wasn’t a stitch of clothing on him. Even more confusing than that was the large slowly boiling cauldron not ten feet away from him from which the luminous oval of white light emanated. Behind the cauldron along a wall, a large worktable set with various instruments some of which would have been at home in the lab of a modern chemist and some of which belonged in the alchemist’s lab of several centuries ago seemed to be in heavy use. The opposite wall held a bookcase filled with ancient tomes next to an over plush, clearly well used, reading chair. In the middle of the arrangement a common table held bins overflowing with odds and ends. Over all of the outside walls Christmas decorations and colored lights did their best to create a festive mood. He scanned the room looking for something he could use to get out of the manacles and to the doorway on the other side of the room. His mind barely registered the dress hanging there encased in plastic. Suddenly the humming stopped and a head of white curls popped up from the other side of the junk table.
“Ah, you’re awake. Good. Now we can get started.” Mirabel happily chirped and dusted off the front of her Frosty the Snowman sweater.
“You’re the bint from the bookstore! How the hell did you find me?! If you have any sense at all you’ll be letting me go.” Ed spoke with a questioning fury followed by a false bravado. The mystery of how he got into this predicament momentarily forgotten in his attempt to seem as menacing as possible to the seemingly elderly woman.
“Oh, I didn’t have to find you at all. You were kind enough to come here to return my book, it is mine after all. You even helped move all this into place,” she said indicating the cauldron with a wave of her hand.
“Lady, I don’t care how bat shit crazy you are, you and your Halloween decorations don’t scare me.” Ed practically spat his words.
“Oh, Ed this isn’t for Halloween at all. No we’re going to make a last minute Christmas gift you and I. I needed my tools to make a Christmas cake.” Mirabel’s eyes sparkled at the thought of her impending gift and Ed wondered how he had gotten kidnapped by a deranged granny.
“I’m not helping you with nothing, not that you actually have any ingredients here.” Ed sneered trying desperately to seem unaffected by the oddness of the situation.
“Oh but I do.”
Mirabel softly cooed with hidden meaning, and with that she drew a short but obviously razor sharp obsidian knife from the bins of odds and ends and advanced on the helpless man. Ed, coward as he was, did his best to squirm away from the sharp implement so incongruously held in the hand of the grandmotherly figure. Mirabel took the point and pressed it into Ed’s skin just above the breastbone drawing a few drops of blood which trickled down the lower edge of the black jagged stone. Satisfied, she withdrew and mumbled words Ed couldn’t make out, he noted the additional oddity that his wound immediately stopped bleeding. Mirabel moved to the cauldron and held the knife over it.
“You see dear, the key to good baking is to always use fresh natural ingredients.”
She spoke as if instructing a pupil and then tapped the knife causing several drops of Ed’s blood to fall into the cauldron from the point. Then she pulled out the book that had started this mess, all too familiar to both of them, and scraped a few drops of Will’s dried blood from its cover into the cauldron adding the last necessary active ingredient in a complex recipe she had been working for several hours while Ed had slept. The luminous white glow quickly turned a soft pink and the slow simmering boil stopped. In a brief instant the surface of the cauldron became a pink tinted mirror as tendril wisps of pink smoke rose from the edge.
“Lady, I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but that ain’t baking.” Ed’s response held a quivering note of fear as the strangeness of the situation got to him.
“Oh, I disagree again; I’m following the recipe for Christmas cake exactly. It’s just that making a witch’s Christmas cheesecake requires very special ingredients. Normally, you can’t find someone with a karmic balance low enough to provide the main ingredient or a recipient worth going to all the trouble over but this year we have both. You see tradition dictates that should someone aid me in my need then I should reward them with something of equal value to the service they rendered. William Blitzen returned something priceless and irreplaceable to me so I intend to give him something priceless and irreplaceable in return.”
Mirabel spoke in the knowing tones of one who understands an in joke and refuses to enlighten the rest of the party. Ed was too dumbfounded to contribute anything meaningful so she continued.
“Any rational last words Mr. Edward Greentch? None? Very well then into the oven with ya.” Then she intoned.
homo hominis fio femina
vires fio venia
turpis fio décor
Cruor captus per vis ero restituo in amor
With the final ominous syllable giant plumes of the pale pink smoke rose from the cauldron and reached toward him in a way that no natural smoke could ever be blown. In an instant they swirled around him in as if he stood in the center of some pink tornado. Faster and faster they went slowly resolving down into a continuous cylinder formed by the pulsing pink tinted distortion. A tiny part of Ed’s mind thought it looked a little like the distortion formed on a hot summer day by rising heat but the rest of his thoughts were fixated on the increasing sensation of warmth. The feeling of warmth started at a level that would have been normal for a summer day and quickly graduated to a sensation not dissimilar from the inside of a car left too long in the sun. That in of it self would have been uncomfortable but it did not stop there and a moment later it was if Ed had locked himself in a sauna set to its maximum setting. Even then the growing heat did not stop and Ed’s mind struggled to find an analogy even though the heat strangely wasn’t lethal.
Across Ed’s body his scraggly body hair was the first to succumb to the mystic heat. He felt as much as saw patches of his hair ignite and burn off in flashes of pink foxfire. Ed almost swung from his manacles as the leading edge of the burn crested a thigh and lit off his pubic hair. Though the foxfire added no additional heat, the sight of it consuming his crotch led Ed to issue a loud torrent of screams. They had barely ended in relief that his manhood was intact as the fire crotch died and the manacles released. The fact that the manacles had released competed for his attention against the spectacle of his black greasy hair going up like a pink roman candle. It was an odd sight, before the fox fire burned itself out, of him self coiffed in pink flame, as a result it was a long several seconds before he realized he was free but shorn of every hair on his body.
When he did realize he was no longer bound he immediately tried to leave the circle but found the distortion seemingly solid. He put his hands on the pink non-wall and pushed as hard as he could but found no give. He began to push again before he stopped, flabbergasted from what he was seeing. All over his hands small bumps were appearing, almost as if bubbles were forming under his skin. He withdrew his hands from the energy field and watched dumfounded in the oppressive heat as the bubbles grew and merged. Then a grimace and a sharp breath followed as the first of them began to pop without anything escaping the skin. The individual discomforts of the bubbles popping as Ed’s flesh boiled inside his own skin was translated into a series of rapid grunts from Ed’s mouth even as his mind struggled to come to terms with the sight that would have gotten a Hollywood special effects guru a nice bonus. Slowly the cooking flesh spread up his arms and the sensation began in his feet. Still, his mind remained lucid enough even through his vocalized pains to notice a key development a scant moment later. At the tips of his fingers where the bubbles had begun first the boiling was beginning to die down but not before he felt bone and tendon writhe under the horrible cooking. The last bubble popped along a line which quickly began advancing up his arm following the fleshy bubbling. Ed’s mind was having difficulty coming to terms with the ‘cooked’ flesh the boiling had left behind. He wrung his hands together to convince himself that it wasn’t an illusion and only the sensation of smooth, soft hands passing over one another answered to his mind. He looked again over the uncharacteristically small hands, ending in tapered fingers and slightly protruding nails, all covered in fair alabaster skin but his mind refused to acknowledge the girl hands for what they were.
“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING TO ME?!!!” Ed shouted even as he fell to the ground of his circular prison as the arches of his feet gave way, the distorting flesh unable to bear his weight.
“Why I already told you. You and I are making a one of a kind gift, Christmas cheesecake for the man you did such horrible things to today.” Mirabel answered in a tone reserved for stubborn children.
Ed looked down to his soft hands and to where the bubbling was subsiding in his wrists, leaving them slender and elegant. His mind replayed the statement and fixated on the emphasis Mirabel had kept putting on the word cheesecake.
He slowly mumbled out to himself. “Wait…cheesecake is a euphemism for…”
His eyes went wide as the realization of what Mirabel was really making finally dawned to him, and he attempted to get up from the floor only to find that while his small petite feet with newly delicate arches were up to the task his slimming ankles were not and refused to carry his weight. Only the diminished but available strength in his hastily splayed fingers, slender forearms, and sharp girlish elbows prevented him from going face first into the floor. Still the near fall was no distraction to the damning truth that Ed could no longer deny, and he was desperate to confront the witch to make her stop. His eyes finally found her by the stuffed chair, but the shock of her activity stole the words from his mouth a few seconds more even as the cursed bubbling marked the melting of the man strength of his biceps down into softer flesh. For while Ed’s mind had been finally catching on to the stark reality of the creature he was becoming, Mirabel had retrieved the plastic dress bag from the door and was busy laying out a red velvet strapless Santa dress trimmed in white lace. She withdrew a second bag and laid out a pair of white lace stockings by the dress and then gently placed a white lace panty with a heart embroidered on the front on top of the dress. Ed’s mind reminded him who the witch expected to wear that ensemble and shocked him back into action.
“NO, NO, NO, YOU CAN’T DO THIS, I WON’T LET YOU!!!”
Ed screamed trying to deny his reality populated with disproportionately short arms filled with arcs of graceful female muscle that held no where near the raw power of the man flesh that had been replaced. Still, he was unable to stand as the heat cooked his newly shorter, but far sleeker calves to completion and moved up to begin granting a softer curve to his knees. Failing any kind of plan he railed against the mystic ‘oven’ and the ‘baking’ that was claiming his manhood. Ed slammed his small girlish fists into the pulsing pink vapor from the floor of his impromptu cell with all of the womanly strength he now possessed in his arms, but nothing gave way and the ‘baking’ continued as the bubbling spread across his back and up his thighs. With only the discomfort of his longer nails pressed into the flesh of his palms to show for his assault Ed finally stopped and tried to think of any possible exit from the mystic cage that held him. Almost instantly he was distracted by the sensation of his thigh bones shortening slightly, which drew his attention as the formerly meaty limbs finished melting down into graceful curves that tapered down into his soft knees. He took a hand and traced the delectable curve now formed by his womanly legs. A shiver of pleasure briefly shone through the oppressive heat that still permeated his mind as his feminine nails briefly touched his thigh in the softest of grazes.
“I bet I could stop traffic with these in a pair of heels.”
Ed strangely thought admiring his new legs for the briefest of instants before he cringed at the alien thought that had just crossed his mind. With the thought of heels still fresh in his mind, Ed inwardly considered why they were a part of feminine attire and logic brought a fresh misery under the spotlight.
“Why do women wear heels? Women wear heels because it makes their legs look good and its makes them taller. Why do they want to look taller? Because women are shorter and smaller than men usually. This witch is making me into a woman. Oh NO, I’m going to be short and small that’s why it (me) wants to wear them.” Ed’s internal monologue ended in an external cry of despair as the new realization sunk in.
Now faced with the grim certainty of the future Ed did what cornered bullies have done since the dawn of time when real courage was required, he wept like a little girl. His wracking sobs however couldn’t obliterate the feeling of the spreading boiling fields of flesh meeting, entwining, and merging around the flesh of his hips and butt. In this case the bubbles accumulating in Ed’s rear did not wholly pop instead joining together causing the flesh of Ed’s buttocks to rise like baking bread, swelling into gentle, ripe curves which melded with the fertile curves of Ed’s delectable thighs. Deep inside his hips the gaseous pressure built until finally with a mighty pop his hips were forced wider increasing the space available within dramatically. Bubbles raced along the outside lines of his hips leaving generous padding as they subsided. The boiling, expanding sensation focused briefly on his hip joints which pushed outward slightly until the twin bubbles collapsed and his thighs pulled back in to reset at a slightly different angle. Finally, with all the joints and muscles of his diminished legs working, Ed wobbly rose to his small feet like a fawn taking its first steps. The subtle womanly differences in Ed’s stance with wide, fertile hips, but feet closer together lead to noticeable tapering in his profile and a slight seductive bend at his knees. Those feminine lines were terrifying to Ed along with the significant reduction in stature wed to the feeling of smallness that a maximum height of 5’6” engenders, and with tears streaming down his face the ‘cooking’ man made one last supplication to the mercy of his ‘chef’.
“Please (sob), I don’t want to (sob) be a woman (sob). I’ll do whatever you want. Just please (sob) stop URGHNNN.”
Ed pleaded in the crying tones of a broken man ending with a groan as the pressure built in his backbone. With a series of popping bubbles the vertebrae of his spine shifted slightly increasing the curvature subtly, forming the unique profile of a young woman, and pushing Ed’s derriere out, slightly emphasizing his curves. As another insult, twin bubbles formed on either side of the transition from Ed’s spine to his ass and then popped leaving twin shallow dimples in his lower back.
“Well Mr. Greentch, it seems that all three of today’s concerned parties are getting something they didn’t want. I didn’t want to be mugged, robbed, and hit with a rock. Mr. Blitzen didn’t particularly want to be beaten, blinded, and bloodied. You don’t want to be baked into cheesecake. So I guess that makes the three of us even. I might even wager that you’re coming out ahead what with the life of petty crime you’ll be leaving in trade for a nicer one as a wholesome young woman.”
Mirabel impassively stated her opinion as she turned a craftsman’s eye on her project noting the spread of bubbling flesh across Ed’s abdomen, the simmering in his groin, and the slow spread of alabaster fair skin which told her the offending man flesh had been fully cooked down into its girlish counterpart.
“I don’t want (sob) that life. (sob) Not like this. NOT LIKE THIS (sob).”
Ed feebly protested caught between searching the face of his tormentor and watching the slow cooking of his midsection which was beginning to render down into a slim waistline.
“Oh of course you don’t want this now, never met a man right in the head who would. Don’t you worry though, once you’ve cooked all the way through you’ll be right as rain. To use the old cliché poem it’s a just a matter of all that mental ‘snakes and snails and puppy dog tails’ in your mind melting down into ‘sugar, spice and everything nice’ and you’ll be one happy girl.”
Mirabel spoke with the authority of long experience before her face finally softened at a new outburst of sobbing from Mr. Greentch.
“Oh dear, its not like I don’t have a heart, here let me give you a present that will make you feel better.”
Mirabel’s demeanor again swung back to the grandmotherly as she rooted around in a bin before withdrawing a bottle and bringing it to the cauldron. She hummed watching Ed’s ribs swell out and then dramatically collapse inward narrowing his torso as she poured its contents into the cauldron. Ed saw the familiar foxfire leap out of the cauldron even as he got a look at the bottle in Mirabel’s hand; it was a bottle of ladies’ chemical depilatory. The foxfire raced up his legs, across his body, and down his arms. He had a pretty good idea what Mirabel had just given him even before his small hands felt his thighs from which now even the hint of hair had disappeared.
“There I’ve saved you a huge amount of time. You’ll never need to shave that beautiful body to keep it looking good.” Mirabel proudly noted as if such a gift would appeal to Mr. Greentch.
“STOP, WHY WON’T YOU STOP?!”
Ed railed as if his screams might halt his slow roasting and accompanying feminization. The soft touch of his small hands across his newly slender, taut belly only confirmed his destruction as a low swell of female stomach muscles rose upward from his flesh mimicking the earlier rise of his ass and completing his attractive midriff.
“Because dear, no one likes undercooked cheesecake, it ruins the taste. Mr. Blitzen certainly doesn’t and in the end you’d only wind up unhappy when he refuses to love you or share his bed, or when you realize you won’t be able to give him children. No, half cooked cheesecake is such a waste for everyone so you’ll stay in there until you’re done.”
Mirabel stubbornly stated while gathering up an armful of supplies as the boiling flesh moved into Ed’s chest, shoulders, and neck and wiped out any capacity for his reply as his throat stopped obeying his mind.
“Now then, time to think about the icing, and a major part of the presentation. Mr. Blitzen’s standards went up this afternoon when he visually sampled the work of another master artiste, but this isn’t my first baking attempt. We’ll show that devil food usurper what Mirabel Robinson’s cheesecake recipe is capable of!”
Mirabel smiled at the friendly challenge as she began mixing milk and cream in a large bowl, added some sugar, and whipped the mixture into a frothy combination. She separated the large bowl into two smaller ones and added a candied cherry to the top of each bowl. She patiently observed her baking creation for a moment with a bowl in each hand by the cauldron until loud twin pops and the narrowing of Ed’s shoulders announced the opportune time to add her mixture to the cauldron, which she promptly did. Ed felt the bubbles in his chest begin to boil faster and combine, struggling through his tight throat he finally managed a few words.
“NO, NOT THAT, I don’t want (cough) (pop) breasts eep! Aieeee!!! My voice! I hate you, I hate you!!”
As before though, what Ed didn’t want proved to be of little effect on the combining bubbles in his chest and he could only whine in his newly alluring high-pitched voice as two massive bubbles pushed out from his chest like fleshy balloons. Once they had just slightly passed softball size the bubbles burst but only partially deflated. Almost instantly the skin tightened into round, full, perky breasts that almost had Ed salivating over their curves for an instant save for the slight tugging feeling on his front that reminded him that these spectacular tits were anchored to his body. Ed’s girlish hands again moved to confirm the new contours of his body and a gentle squeeze sent a spark of pleasure to his brain and settled any question as to whether the cherry nipple capped mounds were his. Ed sent a stream of curses that would have made a sailor blush at the witch and tried to ignore the fact that they were spoken lyrically in melodic soprano tones. The insults were the only response he could make for the development of cleavage on his body.
The term ‘his body’ however was increasingly becoming a misnomer as Mirabel smiled at the results of her recipe so far. From the back there was only the unbroken profile of a young woman, with the lines of an elegant back slimming to a narrow waist, which flowed down the slope of an attractive rear to wide fertile hips, all encased in radiant clear, alabaster fair skin. Now with a glorious bosom in front there was little left of Mr. Greentch. His small hands moved again to rub his face and he twitched trying to shake off the bubbling that now was creeping over his jaw and into his face. The sensation of the slow simmer between his fair thighs accelerating drew a hand to the remains of his manhood. Finding he had no control over his face, lips or jaw as the flesh there bubbled, he could only breathe and whine in his soft voice as his girlish hand relayed the sequence of his end as a man.
Slowly the bubbles in his crotch melded into two long arcs that ran from his ass to the terminus of his smooth belly. Slowly the crescent arcs inflated and pushed over his diminished manhood until their edges touched. Now deep within Ed’s hips he felt the bubbling grow again. Small bubbles formed together to a make a large one that pushed everything contained in his hips to the edges making space for a new invader and then popped. His defeated mind knew that it had left a womb in its passing. Soon the bubbles again raced through his flesh and pop after pop left womanly structures in the space the bubbles carved out. On his face the bubbling slowly began to die down on the surface but move inwards, it left behind an elegant, smooth jaw, A narrow nose with a shallow concave curve in its bridge, full cheeks, and a gently pronounced brow.
Ed could only softly, girlishly, moan as the key marker of his sex cooked down. He felt but barely registered the ramifications of pressure in his womb pushing down towards the junction of his thighs. Then with a massive pop, a bubble containing his maleness shot up into his abdomen and then melted before reemerging in a far different configuration. The swollen crescent bubbles of his crotch deflated to become labia and settled into position as a Venus mound and that quickly, Ed’s new sex was fully cooked. The velvet gates of his new womanhood were ready to entertain male courtiers and lead them into a wet tunnel and onto the castle of Ed’s new womb.
Mirabel clasped her hands in glee at the sight of that newly flat crotch adorned with the temptation of the slit that ran down its middle. Like any craftsman, mortal or not, she took great pride in seeing a creation come out well. Still she reminded herself that there were still things to be done and she once again rooted around in her bins. Ed’s mind had lost all lucidity and the feeling of emptiness between his thighs didn’t register as he collapsed to once again writhe on the floor. Neither did the feeling of the soft skin of his thighs sliding over one another register, nor the feeling of his breasts shifting slightly as their relation to gravity’s pull changed. He didn’t feel a few wispy hairs sprout from his mound; no all of his mind was now trying to hold itself together under the assault of its own mystic boiling. It was fruitless however, like trying to hold onto a large block of ice on a hot summer day. Slowly his thoughts and cares, the core of himself, began to melt away despite his efforts. The other participant in this drama despite the progress however, was not pleased with what she was seeing.
“BROWN?!! I am not going to all this effort for some cautious, mundane brown bush, presentation still counts for something!”
Mirabel exclaimed and then rummaged through her bins drawing out a handful of strawberries and cherries. She quickly stepped to the cauldron and crushed them in her hand, letting the red juices flow down across her hand into the smoking mixture. A pink pulse of smoke again shot up and the offending brunette strands on Ed’s mound altered to rich auburn, a moment later thin auburn arches sprouted to frame his eyes as the pink of his lips, both sets, darkened to a strawberry shade. Finally the oddly bald crown of his head began to sprout similar auburn strands which quickly grew out into long, silky, auburn curls.
“That’s more like it, the blondes may get all the attention, but a feisty red is far more unique. Hmmm, now angelic faces are all well and good…but we need something to make your heart shaped countenance a little less generic…I’ve got it!”
Mirabel exclaimed and ran back around to her spice bin. A moment later she threw a dash of cinnamon into the cauldron. Her action was reflected in the squirming figure in the ‘oven’ as a patch of light freckles spread across the bridge of its nose. Mirabel regarded her work and rubbed her chin with her hand before adding, “You know, looking like this, red-haired, and with freckled fair skin I’d better make you Irish.”
Mirabel stood and regarded her work as a painter might regard a nearly finished masterpiece, debating whether another stroke of the brush might push the limit of brilliance or go too far and ruin the effort.
“Hmm, my dear you’re getting there, but you need more emphasis…do you know the old rhyme ‘Jack Horner’? You need a plum my dear.” Mirabel searched her bins looking for one. She finally found a silver heart pin which she decided would be just the right touch. She dropped it into the cauldron and a soft grimace issued from the red lips of the almost-girl in the mystic oven as it reappeared as a charm pierced through the narrow oval of its navel.
Inside Mirabel’s creation the battle was all but over as Edward Greentch began to forget why he was even fighting the melting heat. In the space of his mind he stumbled as his form rendered in his old body melted into a spreading pool of pale blue liquid which bubbled for a few seconds and then turned to pale pink. Slowly, a figure that matched his new outward appearance rose from the pool, sucking the errant liquid back in and growing with the nourishment. She smiled and then embraced the gooey remnant of her former self whose last thought before he disintegrated and was absorbed by the female figure was “she’s nice, I wonder who I am?’ With that Edward Greentch ceased to be and a freshly minted woman took his place.
Mirabel noted the contented sigh and smile that played across her creation’s face and carefully timed out another minute to make certain that no male thoughts would survive buried in this girl’s subconscious before she extinguished the fire under the cauldron.
“Stick a fork in her, she’s done.” Mirabel happily announced to no one in particular as she regarded the prime specimen of woman that she had created from an inferior specimen of man. “You can still cook with the best of them, Mirabel.” She verbally applauded her self before giving her self a pat on the back. Quickly for its large mass, the cauldron, arcane vessel and all, cooled, and with it ended the spell of transformation. A few more moments passed before the spell of the ‘oven’ robbed of its mystic heat collapsed finally freeing the gorgeous red head sprawled unceremoniously on the floor. Wisps of pink vapor still rose from her body however, and Mirabel wisely let the arcane energies cool and dissipate before she moved on to phase two of her plan. The pause did give her time to work on another enchantment almost as critical as the first.
Finally, coming to a stopping point, Mirabel collected the girl from the floor and moved her unconscious form to the easy chair where the dress that would serve as her gift wrapping waited. Before she dressed the girl, the elderly woman took a hand and traced the long sensuous lines of her sleeping creation’s body. She gently felt one of its full soft breasts and pondered. She had played the old matron for over a century now and the thought of being young again had crossed her mind. Though she had to admit the thought of once again being pursued by young men most bent on a single goal was bit daunting. Still, the thought of an overdue romance sparked by the love she was about to create was intriguing and some new adventure would do her well. Thus as Mirabel dressed her masterpiece for its new life, she resolved that soon in the New Year she would take a turn in the ‘oven’ her self and bake off some decades, coming out as a fresh young woman to take a fresh look at life and maybe tempt the odd young man. The anticipation was energizing as she resumed her work on an obscenely complex enchantment, humming carols again to pass the hours until dawn.
Dawn slowly came and with it the first clear light of Christmas morning which played on the snow and bathed everything in a sparkling silver glow that even a master artist would find difficult to reproduce. Inside Will’s house something finally stirred and he groggily awoke to a less than joyous Christmas morning with little thought spared for the winter wonderland outside, his injuries yesterday had sapped much of his remaining Christmas spirit and as he plodded to his bathroom his mood was decidedly fixed on this just being another day on the calendar. His mood did improve when he got a chance to look in the mirror, surprised to note that his bruises were still tender but all but faded. Now feeling just a hint of welcome for the new day he marched towards his kitchen and coffee pot.
Will had just started to cross his living room when his mind realized that not all was as it should be. Garlands of holly hung from his furniture, and a wreath set with lit candles sent a soft warm glow across the room that merged with the rainbow electric light coming from a full sized Christmas tree decorated to the hilt with lights and ornaments. The new tree easily outdid the mini-tree it had replaced by an order of magnitude. Will’s mouth hung open as he regarded the tree, then suddenly his fascination with the improved tree was replaced with a far larger shock. For there sitting at the trees’ base, bathed in the convergence of rich candle light, rainbow Christmas lights and the silver sunlight streaming in from an open window was a vision of feminine beauty.
The lights played across her fair skin, dancing over her bare shoulders and upper chest where a fringe of white lace tried to hide the beginning of the valley of her bosom which stood out in full perky curves and easily held up the form fitting red velvet of her strap less dress. Twin bumps betrayed through the fabric at the apex of her velvet encased breasts hinted at the treasures underneath and seemed to proudly proclaim that the full curves were filled by the woman underneath and no trick of padding. From her breasts, Will’s eyes traced the sleek curve of her body down to where she knelt on her padded rear. The short hemline of her dress also trimmed in lace rode across her upper thighs just below her hips and was just barely modest. Her calves folded back on the outside of her thighs, their curves emphasized in white lace stockings. Will’s eyes traced the womanly curves back up their owner’s form and up to the girl’s head which rested on the top of her chest, her face was angelically beautiful even in its impassive sleeping mask, made even more so by the patch of freckles which seemed to make her more real. Her gorgeous auburn curls were tied back with a pair of white ribbons but her curved bangs had been left loose to frame her face.
Will’s mind raced trying to comprehend the singular beauty before him, what words could he speak that would do justice to this creature. His inspired mind longed to speak ‘Oh fair and radiant maiden, why do you brighten my abode with your light? From what star of heaven have you fallen from Miss Angel?’
“WOW,” was what finally came out from Will’s numb tongue and he wanted to slap himself for his inability to translate his inner feelings into words. Still he finally collected himself and pushed onward.
“Miss? Miss? HELLO?” Will spoke with increasing volume trying to wake the girl who sat there unmoving.
Having failed with words Will ducked out of the room and returned a moment later with a wooden dowel rod. The absurdity of the situation with him poking one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen with a stick to wake her was lost on him as he seemed fixated on obeying some strange taboo, as if directly touching the vision of beauty might make her vanish. Still the woman remained comatose. Will began to consider that maybe someone had placed the most realistic life-size doll ever made in his house for some joke whose punch line wasn’t immediately obvious. That thought died as he finally worked up the courage and gently shook the girl’s soft shoulder. The unmistakable texture of girl skin under his hand and soft living warmth that radiated from it dispelled any notion of this creature being a doll, but did little to solve the mystery of why she remained unanimated. Finally, he noticed a small thin portfolio peeking out of Santa stocking clasped between the girl’s hands resting on her lap, a tag dangling from one corner and draped over a pink nail tipped, slender finger, was addressed to him. With a gentle pull the stocking came out from between the girl’s hands. Will withdrew the small portfolio from the stocking, opened it and read the flowing feminine calligraphy.
Merry Christmas William,
My name is Holly O’Grady, and I would very much like to be your special girlfriend and anything else you want me to be. Santa decided that you had gotten far to much coal already this year so he had his special helper M.R. whip me up especially for you. I promise I will be the best girlfriend you ever had, and never give you a reason to regret letting me into your life. M.R. would be really sad too if you decide you don’t want me. So if you accept me just sign the blank below and we’ll start having loads of fun together. ☺
Love,
♥Holly ♥
One GIRLFRIEND, accepted by Mr. William Blitzen ___________________________
Will simply stared stunned at the letter in his hands, trying to consider in what strange realities beautiful young women materialized in people’s homes. He flipped behind the letter to see a packet containing various forms of ID all featuring a smiling red-head always listed as Holly. He finally mentally worked his way through the oddity of it all to consider whether Holly was welcome and decided she was. The question answered, he picked up the attached pen and with a final pronounced exhalation signed his name. He almost panicked as the paper disintegrated into a pink puff of vapor and began swirling around as if moved by some phantom wind. The crucial second part of Mirabel’s enchantment went to work and Will’s head spun as reality shifted to accommodate a new inclusion. Across Will’s house little things shifted, like the plush stuffed kitten that appeared on the couch, or the salads and fruit that spontaneously popped into existence in his fridge. In the recently visited bathroom a bottle of feminine body soap appeared along with a bottle of significantly better shampoo. A bag/purse that appeared in Will’s bedroom was empty for a second then filled with various items essential to the daily female existence including a half used box of tampons and a half used tray of birth control pills. Most importantly of all, a memory of a happy meeting in a bookstore followed by a whirlwind but non-supernatural romance deleted the memory of the morning’s oddity in Will’s mind. Even Will’s recent pictures amended themselves to include one smiling red-head. As the wave pulsed outward to more fully establish the existence of one Holly O’Grady there was little left to question whether Miss Holly had existed prior to that day and was not a natural fixture within this home.
Will was still dizzy from the spell’s effects though as they faded and he almost fell, but a pair of slender arms wrapped around him and steadied him. Will opened his eyes and stared down in to the sapphire pools that now watched him, a rosy blush creeping across the freckled bridge of the nose that separated them.
“Oh you can’t be that tired, you were still raring to go last night even after three rounds!”
Holly impishly spoke as she released her boyfriend and ran her hands down the front of her body in suggestive emphasis.
“I know what you need, FOOD. Men can’t think straight when they’re hungry, so let’s get some food into you, because I did not go to all this trouble to get this outfit for you to not be in the mood.”
Holly seductively cocked her hips before taking her boyfriend and leading him to the kitchen. She sat him down at the table and put a slice of cake in front of him. Will mechanically ate at first, his mind still clearing but in a moment he was attacking it with gusto, groaning with delight at the rich taste.
“Holly what is this, where did you get it?” Will asked between bites.
Holly sauntered over to the table licking her lips.
“My recipe,” she purred before continuing, “Christmas cheesecake, old recipe, very old, second best thing you’ll get to have today, and I’ll give you one guess as to what’s better…”
With that she sat on Will’s lap and locked her lips with his. A stray thought crossed his mind about why his girlfriend’s lips always tasted like strawberries, but that was quickly forgotten as he ran his hands over her body reveling in the gift her presence was in his life. A few moments later and what little gift wrapping Holly had sported that morning was removed, after that well…it’s a time honored tradition for little boys and girls to play with their presents on Christmas morning and the two that had been given to one another as gifts settled in for a long, tiring play session.
Several miles away Mirabel waved her hand and dismissed the image of a passionately kissing couple from her cauldron. It had been a tiring night but she was pleased, and as she settled into her overstuffed chair for a long winter’s nap she softly mumbled, “One priceless and irreplaceable gift to save Christmas, courtesy of the Christmas Greentch.”
FIN
