Wand, Book And Candle, Part 1 free porn video

Wand, Book and Candle, Part 1 By Elliot Reid "If I chance to talk a little wild, forgive me; I had it from my father." I snapped the book shut, eyes unfocusing from the text. With my fingers I massaged my temples, kneading tension away. I was approaching my birthday with mixed feelings. In two days I'd be sixteen. I'd have crossed another threshold. Would I feel more grown-up? I looked over at the stack of comic books by my bed, beside the Joseph Campbell and the Homer that I was devouring like a fiend. Beside them sat the pile of spine-creased Sports Illustrateds with the swimwear models on the covers. What a joke. A tableau encompassing the journey from child to man and I felt like neither. They tell me I'm a smart student; scholarship material. I'm teaching myself Greek so I can read the Odyssey in the original. But being the brightest kid in class is not conducive to fitting in. Fortunately, I was on the swim team and in the jock-infested waters of high school any association with athletics kept me from being a social outcast. Lounging amidst the clutter of my bedroom, I opened the Shakespeare again. I was slowly thumbing through the text of one of the histories, writing marginalia in a mousy scribble. Downstairs, I heard the front door open. Desperate for a distraction from study I set the book aside and moseyed on down the stairs. The kitchen was like an earthquake aftermath, with bill papers piled on the table and an unsteady stack of plates that had evaded washing. I gave Mom a cheery "Hi" as I entered. Arms overloaded, she was setting down her briefcase, a bulging bag of groceries and the mail all at once, in that knees-bent fashion of someone avoiding a crash-landing. "Hi, Scott. How was school?" she said, with a dry smile that was as much relief at being home as it was for seeing me. "Oh, you know. Study, study, study. How was the office?" "One of those days that makes me want to go postal. I seem to get all the sleazeballs hitting on me," she replied with a rueful grin, straightening up and stretching the kinks out of her back. She was dressed in a sober business suit that flattered her lithe schoolgirl figure and brought unwelcome attention from her clients. It amazes my friends how well my Mom and I get along. At times we have a breezy, playful bond, more like sister and brother than mother and child. They are, of course, also amazed at how young she looks. I daren't tell them that she was just out of high school when she had me. That sort of thing attracts unkind comments. "Oh, something came in the mail today. It's for you." She waved towards the mail. "That package on the bottom. I think it's from your father. Probably your birthday present." Ah, one of Dad's presents. I can't say I know my father all that well. He and Mom broke up after she got knocked up at some graduation pool party. I popped out nine months later, turning Mom into a struggling single parent. Dad has never been regular with the support payments, so I had a bleak upbringing. Until the past few years we'd been pretty poor. Mom says it was the hardship that had made me so responsible, so grown-up, but I wouldn't know about that. I just know I didn't have the clothes and toys and games my friends had. I only had the comfort of the library, where the smart people hung out their wares on the bookshelves and where entertainment and learning were free. Though I've cursed Dad many times for being such a deadbeat I'm not sure I missed having him around. I've met him several times. He has visitation rights but rarely exercises them. He lives all the way out East and we haven't seen each other in an age. He got into some neo-pagan cult ten years ago and claims to worship a snake god. I get the occasional phone call, and e- mails describing his esoteric adventures into shamanism, hermetic orders and various states of consciousness. The mails are full of bright chat about his girlfriend, who does aromatherapy for a living and has a sideline in witchcraft. So far as I can make out she suckers the rubes with herbal remedies and various kinds of mystic woo. Dad keeps telling me how much I'll like her. He once sent me a photo of a startlingly pale woman with an hourglass figure. She wore piercings, a lot of black lace and her hair was dyed a deep red. I can't say I warmed to her. Basically, my father sucks as a dad. But he's an interesting guy to talk to and he always sends me something for my birthday and Christmas, a mea culpa for his absence from my life. I guess I have it better than those friends whose parents went through the drama and acrimony of divorce. I thanked Mom and picked up the tube-like package. It was about eighteen inches long and an inch around. "Do you need any help with dinner?" I asked. "No thanks honey, I got it covered," she said, pulling veggies from the grocery bag and hustling them into the fridge. "Okay. Then I guess I better get back to my homework. I've got to finish reading Henry VIII by tomorrow." "Geeze, is old man Leibowitz still teaching that stuff?" "Yep, some things never change." I grinned as I left the room and took the parcel upstairs where I crashed into a chair to continue my reading. I didn't think about the package my father had sent me again until after dinner, when I was back in the jumbled nest that was my room. I picked up the tube, stared at the row of stamps, and figured 'what the hell, it's close enough to my birthday.' I cut the tape and pulled off the end cap. As I did something fell out and rolled across the carpet before clacking to a stop against my desk. I bent down and picked it up. It appeared to be a rod, maybe a half-inch in diameter. It was round in cross-section and made from some kind of dark, shiny wood. Maybe walnut? It tapered slightly from one end down to a blunt point at the other. There was a short hand-written letter curled inside the cardboard tube, in my father's spidery handwriting. Dear Scott, A blessing to you on your birthday! May the Queen of Fire grant you light so that you may walk with your sisters, the gods. Now that you are almost an adult I gift you this enchantment. The wand will grant divine wishes from the Threefold Goddess to the bearer. This is a dangerous power, but it has helped me grow in wisdom. When I mastered it, I began anew. I trust it will do the same for you. I have sent a codex, a spellbook of incantations to accompany it. Cast only spells from the book. Wielded without the incantations the wild magic is unpredictable. May the goddess guide you. Yours, - Dad I had to resist the urge to facepalm. The language was the kind of flowery blather Dad would come out with when the wine had relaxed him sufficiently. I recalled a visit were he'd gotten liquored up and collapsed back into the couch, looking glass-eyed and muttering mystic aphorisms like a cheap-rent Yoda. The wand was a typical throwaway gift, to be tossed into a corner beneath the dreamcatcher he'd sent last year. What was that part about a book though? I didn't see any other packages in the mail. Maybe it would arrive tomorrow. I flicked my desk lamp, allowing a yellow glow to flood the room. The clutter faded into shadow. Then I lifted the wand again, holding it up to the light to examine more closely. Beneath the varnish there appeared to be tiny letters or symbols crudely carved into the wood, as if hacked in with a knife. The rest of the wand felt perfectly smooth, as if machined on a lathe. I waved it around, experimentally testing the weight. It seemed surprisingly well balanced. What a joke. I had no time for Dad's hippy obsession with personal growth, the bogus hocus-pocus that adorned his junk pile of broken dreams. And I was damned sure that if magic existed it didn't come packaged as a Harry Potter movie prop. In the Greek myths, magic was just part of the landscape and existed at the whim of the gods. In the real world it was just the stuff that wise men did; a belief system based on associative thinking; a pretense of control over the universe. Whatever it was it didn't manifest as a gimcrack magic wand from the Warner Brothers' store. What did Dad mean by 'granting wishes'? I laughed and waved the dingus. "I wish," I said out loud, saying the first vulgar thing that flew into my head, "I had a dick eight inches long." Something flared, an actinic thread of light that crackled briefly along the length of the wand, lighting up the runic symbols. I was so shocked I dropped the thing and it bounced softly on the worn pile of the carpet. "Jesus!" I shouted, thoroughly spooked by the lightshow. "I was only joking!" My arch skepticism had evaporated in an instant. I found myself talking to the air, looking around, as if some supernatural presence was watching. That couldn't be real. Was that actual magic? Then I felt my manhood begin to tingle; a slight buzz that seemed to zizz along its length. The crawling feeling in my shorts told me that this magic business was no longer a joke. I stood there, dumbstruck, as time telescoped and seconds seemed to crawl into minutes. I couldn't deny the sensation I felt between my legs. This was as real as it got. Hurriedly, I fumbled at my belt, trying to unspring the clasp. Then I slid my pants and shorts down to my knees. There was my penis, hanging heavy and uncircumsized, a wrinkled collar about its tip. It looked normal, but the strange tingling I felt was anything but ordinary. Could I see movement? Yes, my member was definitely descending and seemed to be growing fatter and increasingly outsized on my teenage frame. I was too scared to be turned on by this. I just stood, mouth agape, looking at my junk grow in the full-length mirror. Though my dick was lengthening, my balls didn't change at all and began to look shriveled next to the swelling behemoth that was my penis. Then the tingling faded as quickly as it started and I was left staring, dumbfounded, at what just happened. Fear slowly turned to wonder. I now had a weapon of prodigious size that seemed to end halfway down my thigh. It had a girth so large that it filled the space between my legs. I touched it. It was soft and warm and very real. This was no illusion. There was no need to convince me about magic now. Gently, I lifted up my flaccid member, feeling its weight. It was so much bigger than my hand now. And I could feel a twitch, a gradual hardening as my instincts kicked in. I'd wished for this, now I wanted to play with it. In the dim privacy of my room I clasped the flesh and began to jerk myself, feeling the rush of blood and heat. It grew strong and erect and within moments I was pumping a huge veined joystick, having to use great motions of my hand to pull back the foreskin and create a thrilling sensation around the head. It was unreal, having an erection so big and heavy. My balls seemed pitifully small beneath it. They weren't designed to service something this huge. The excitement of working my new equipment was so great that I came to climax in almost no time at all. I felt the pre-cum flow to the tip of my dick, the surging sensation of build-up to release, and then suddenly my balls were trying to pump everything they had up the enormous shaft, a task that taxed them more than normal. I could feel them throb as they unloaded. I had a tissue to hand to accept my cum and I held it there as my loins twitched and my breathing became labored. I wiped up and tossed the Kleenex in the wastebasket. As I came down from the orgasm I could only feel a dull ache in my testicles. I'd never known them feel as empty as this. I sat heavily down on my bed, my pants still around my ankles. Then I picked the wand off the floor and held it in my left hand while holding my rapidly-softening member in my right. I could change my body. What else could I wish for? My first wish was to return my dick to normal. It was freaky to walk around with something that large slapping outlandishly against my thigh. My second wish was for my girlfriend to come round. But I needed no wand for that one. I just reached for my cellphone. * "It does what?" Meghan sat cross-legged on the floor, a near-silhouette in the bleary evening shadows of my room, twirling a strand of long straight hair around one finger. "Dad says it's magic, it grants the user wishes," I said, moving the bedside lamp so that its warm light illuminated my girlfriend's face. I'd tidied my room for Meg's visit, carefully concealing the swimwear magazines. Meghan smiled. "You're Dad is wacko. A fruitcake who believes he is best friends with a serpent. There's no such thing as magic." "All I'm saying is that's what he said," I laughed. I hadn't told Meghan about my adventure with the wand earlier. Meghan didn't slouch, but maintained a poised, upright posture. I regarded her boyish figure, which was padded with juvenile puppy fat. She had a tiny chest, little more than a budding swell beneath her sweater. Her face was quite round, with a hint of an extra chin. But her features were lovely, with bright lime-colored eyes and a small, straight nose. We'd been dating for three months now. We belonged to the bookish crowd at school, into science and tech and games. We hung out a lot and held hands and kissed. It had gone no further than that, but I enjoyed Meghan's sparky company and I seemed to be able to make her laugh. When I called her to tell her to come over she'd jumped at the chance to get away from her mom and her bitch sisters. "Yeah. It's dumb." I continued, "But why not try a wish?" "Seriously?" "Sure." I could see Meghan was not taking this seriously. She stuck her hands out and said nonchalantly: "Okay, make my fingernails grow long." I knew that Meghan had a thing about her fingers. She kept biting her nails and it had made them look like stubby sausages. Her sisters kept ragging her about it. "Okay then," I grinned and deftly waved the wand like a conductor's baton. "I wish Meghan's fingernails were longer." The wand flared, sending a crackle of light around the room. Meghan's jaw hit the floor. "Jesus, did you see that!" I nodded. The illuminated runes were gone now, leaving only an impression of dark shapes imprinted on my retinas. The wand had returned to being inert. Meghan was thunderstruck. "Th-that can't be real," she stammered. Her eyes had popped wide, their pupils shrunk to anxious period marks. "We both saw it, Meg. What about your fingernails?" Meghan held her hands up near her face and I leaned in to peer more closely. "They're growing! Holy shit, they're growing!" They were, indeed. They were lengthening, the tips losing their dog- chewed look and becoming even. Meghan's face was a picture of fascination and delight. "They're getting longer!" she squeaked in panic. "Quick, stop it, Scott." I hesitated, then came to my senses. Frantically, I flourished the wand again, waggling it for all its worth. "I wish Meghan's nails would stop growing." My voice was almost a shout. There was the same flare on the wand, as runic figures arced up its length and then died. There was a pause and then Meghan said: "They've stopped." She held her hands flat for me to see. Each finger had a perfectly manicured nail, a good quarter-inch long. "That magic was real," she said, breathlessly. With the fingers of one hand she felt the nails on the other as if to confirm the transformation. "We can change ourselves by wishing it," I nodded. "Can we change ourselves back, though?" pondered Meghan. I could see the mechanism of her mind whirring. She was already two or three steps ahead of me. "I think so. What do you want to do?" I asked. "Okay, let's try something else," said Meghan, standing up, her mouth fixed in a thin, determined line, but her eyes blazing with possibility. "Try what?" I was getting caught up in my girlfriend's excitement. "Try changing my hair," she said, sharply. "How?" "My hair's so mousy. Make me a natural redhead." There was an edge, a hunger in her voice I'd never heard before. I rose to my feet and hesitantly lifted the wand. I was curious to see what would happen. "I wish Meghan was a redhead. With copper-red hair." As I shook the wand, there was the same flaring light. The walls reflected the lightning radiance as the runes crackled hot. "Is anything happening?" she said. "No. Hang, on, I see something." Indeed, her brown hair was beginning to change hue. Or it may have been a shaft of sunlight creeping through the gaps in the blinds, haloing her head. I pushed Meghan over to a wall mirror where we could watch together. "The magic's so slow," she whined. "No look, see? It's definitely becoming redder." I stood just behind Meghan, my hands on her shoulders. I was so close to her hair I could smell it, an aroma like an autumn wood. And I could see the reddening, like a metallic blush forming on the strands that hung to her shoulders. "Oh God, you see that?" she said, breathlessly. "Hold on, do you see my skin?" "It's changing, yeah." Meghan had slightly tanned skin, the last glow of something she'd acquired in a summer visit to Miami. But now the tan was fading, lightening to something like alabaster. I realized it was the skin a natural redhead would have. We stood, transfixed until the magic seemed to stop. Meghan now had long copper hair, framing a pale face with just the barest suggestion of freckling. "I'm a redhead," Meghan said, her voice trailing off. Then she came to her senses and commanded, "Wait here." She rushed out of my room. I could hear her clump downstairs. "Meghan?" I called after her. I thought of following, but then decided to wait, thinking about the awesome power the wand gave me, imagining all the possibilities of transformation. A few minutes later Meghan crept back in. "That was weird." She said, chewing on her bottom lip as if deep in thought. "What?" I said. "Well, first I went into the bathroom to check. I'm definitely a redhead all over," she said. The erotic charge of that thought was enough to make my dick twitch in my shorts. But Meghan hadn't finished: "Then when I came out I bumped into your Mom. I asked her if she noticed anything about my hair." "What did she say?" "She said it looked nice but she couldn't tell any difference from last time she saw me." "She didn't notice anything at all?" We pondered that for a while. Eventually Meghan spoke in a quiet, pensive voice: "I wonder if this magic changes reality? Makes everyone but us think the change has always been that way?" "Could be. And how do we test it?" "I've got an idea. Scott, can I have the wand?" "What?" Suddenly, I felt possessive of the magic. I liked Meghan, maybe loved her, but I'm not sure I wanted to give up this power. "Please?" Said Meghan, in a slightly wheedling tone. "I really need this. Look, I'll do you a deal. You let me borrow the wand and--" Her eyes flicked furtively to the door, as if my Mom would come in and overhear. "--I'll let you get to second base." It was quite an offer. I'd tried to touch her chest before in some of our clinches but Meghan had always pushed my hands away. I stared at the soft bumps beneath her sweater and there was a tremor in my pants. I wanted her so much. What was I to do? "Okay, have the wand," I said, reluctantly. "But I want it back." "When I'm done with it, yes," said Meghan in a sultry voice. She took the wand gingerly from my hands and held it, the hint of a smile playing across her wide lips. She was clearly planning something. "First, I think, some privacy." Meghan pulled a sharp little grin, then waggled the wand. "I wish Scott's mom would leave us alone and go shopping for, say, an hour?" A glow shivered up the wand's length and then after the briefest pause I could hear my Mom's voice float up from downstairs. "Scott, I have to go out. I need to catch the late night shops at the mall." I shouted back an acknowledgment and looked at Meghan, eyebrows raised. We tried not to laugh as we heard Mom close the front door behind her and climb into the car. She started it and a minute later all we could hear was her old Ford motoring down the street. "These wishes affect other people?" I said. "Like, we can mind control?" "Seems so," said Meghan in a hushed voice. "Scott, this is so easy to abuse!" "I know." "Let's not try that too often, shall we?" I silently mouthed an agreement. "Now we are all alone," I said. "What next? You said you want to test something?" "Yeah, I got this idea." Meghan hesitated, as if trying to organize her thoughts. "Look, if this thing changes reality so that people don't notice the difference, it would have to change everything around it to make it fit." "I don't get you," I said. "Listen. If, say, you changed the size of your feet so that they were a size larger, then would reality alter your wardrobe so that all your shoes were a size larger?" "Ah, I get you." "So here's how I'll test the thing." She raised the wand again, theatrically. "I wish my breasts would grow to a B-cup!" I was surprised and my eyes were wide open as the wand flashed yet again. My eyes fixed themselves on Meghan's chest and I could not tear them away. Meghan's head dropped. She was looking down at her boobs. "I can feel something happening!" she said. "I can see it!" I blurted out, noticing a slight swell in her chest. Or was it her heavy breathing? My dick had gone rigid in my shorts. Just the thought of the wish Meghan just made was making me hard. "Well I can't!" said Meghan, in frustration. In a moment she was tugging her sweater over her head, to reveal the white blouse beneath. And then her fingers were desperately trying to work the buttons. Feeling horny, I lunged forward to kneel at her feet, frenziedly undoing the bottom buttons of her blouse while she undid the top. I thought for a moment she would shout at me, but she didn't. Buttons free, she shucked off the blouse. She was unclothed from the waist up except for her bra. And her breasts were clearly growing. As she was standing up they were now around my eye level. Not only did her boobs seem to be swelling, but her underwear was changing too. So far as I could tell she wore some kind of training bra--just simple triangles of smooth white cotton covering a pair of tiny adolescent cones. It seemed to be partly stretching, and partly rethreading itself, as if reality was adjusting by constantly remaking new lingerie as the breasts expanded. I could see swirls of lace begin to form where they hadn't been before. "They're really growing!" Meghan couldn't stop her hands clutching at her chest, squeezing the flesh gently through the lacy cups. Her face was alight with joy. She seemed on the verge of tears. I watched for a couple of minutes until the change seemed to peter out. Meghan's chest now sported a pair of well-proportioned breasts, nesting comfortably in a grown-up's brassiere. It had underwiring and a fringe of lace, like the ones I'd looked at in Mom's home shopping catalogues. I stood up and put my arms around Meghan. She dropped her hands and then put her arms around me for a gentle embrace. And then we looked into each other's eyes and kissed. A deep kiss in which the tips of our tongues touched a brief moment. It was a sweet-salt taste of heaven. "So do I get to second base now?" I asked, the moment we broke contact. My dick was supercharged and I could feel her new boobs pressing soft and warm against my chest. "Okay," said Meghan, with a slight reluctance in her voice. "But would you do something for me first?" I hesitated... "Look, I'd feel a lot more comfortable with you touching me if you did this one little thing," she said, shyly. She had stepped back from me, still holding the wand in her right hand. She was standing in just her socks, jeans and a bra. The half-closed blinds cast stripes of limpid light across her soft body. Frankly, she looked magnificent and I wanted to hold her. I had a raging hard-on and with my hormones ruling my head I'd agree to almost anything she asked. "Okay, what do you want?" I said. Suddenly the room felt like a trapped air bubble whose pressure was greater than that outside. "Do you trust me?" she asked, her eyes searching my face for signs of doubt. "Completely," I agreed, without hesitation. Whatever it was I was going in deep. "Then here's the deal. If you get to second base with me, then I want to get to second base with you," Meghan said. There was an amused curl in the corner of her mouth, but her gaze was serious. My eyes flicked to her chest, the prize she was offering. I could see it gently heave, a billow of smooth, creamy flesh. "I don't follow you," I said, mystified. "Listen Scott." Meghan was now on the verge of a grin. "If you want to play with my boobs, I want to play with yours. I want you to try on a pair of breasts for a while. I want you to know what it's like to have them so that you'll treat mine with respect." My mouth gaped. My mind was racing. There was a brief pause while I mulled the offer over. A dust mote jitterbugged in the light from the blinds. Then I made up my mind. "So long as I change back afterwards," I said, swallowing hard. I didn't need a lot of convincing. The idea was strangely sexy as hell. What would it be like to have a pair of breasts? My dick twitched even harder at the thought. "Sure," said Meghan, nodding agreement. "Are you ready?" she asked, stepping backwards to give herself space with the wand. Meghan raised it and incanted: "I wish Scott had a woman's body from his neck to his waist and that he had breasts just like mine." That flash came again. And then I could feel a slight tingle on my chest. I looked down. Meghan dropped the wand to the carpet and approached me. Her hands grabbed the bottom of my T-shirt. "Let's get this off you," she said. "Hey!" I said, surprised at her move. "Look, Scott. I know what boobs look like, so yours will be no surprise to me. Arms up and get that shirt off!" she commanded. I pulled it off and was now naked from the waist up. I was a bony guy, but had broad shoulders. I was in the swim team at school and it had given me some upper body muscle. As before, the magic was painfully slow. I kept waiting for telltale swellings of flesh to appear, but nothing happened for an age. Instead my shoulders seemed to narrow, as did my chest, making me feel weaker. Even my tummy slimmed a little to hint at the beginnings of a Coke- bottle waist. Muscle seemed to dissolve and my arms became slim, with delicate hands. "You look more girly," Meghan said. In the warm light I looked at my top half in the mirror. I'd lost my swimmer's physique. It was now more slender and soft-looking than my muscled angles. My head looked a little too large on it. Meghan came and embraced me, resting her chin affectionately on my shoulder. I could feel her breasts press softly into my back. I wondered what that felt like, to mash a pair of boobs against someone else's body. Then, finally, I could feel my nipples begin to tingle. "I think they're growing!" I said. The nipples were twitching and expanding, puffing to form a tiny mound on top of another mound. Then the two points seemed to push out from my chest, atop small cones. They were nascent breasts, barely budded, but I could feel the flesh begin to build behind them, gathering mass. "Hold a moment," I said. I gently disconnected myself from Megan's embrace and walked over to my dresser. I had an intuition about what I'd find there. I pulled open my underwear drawer. What I saw was no surprise. "The universe is changing," I said to Meghan, pulling out a training bra from the drawer. "I suddenly have new underwear." I tossed the thing onto my bed. Like Meghan's brassiere earlier it was beginning to shift and change. "And you're blossoming, Scott," said my girlfriend, in admiration. I was. The small cones had filled into distinct, but still tiny boobs. Meghan came over and, to my surprise, gently clutched a breast, brushing the skin and the delicate nipple. The sensation was so intense that I almost had an orgasm. It was an electric thrill that seemed to cascade from chest to spine to dick. My penis felt hard and slick and desperate for relief. As Meghan stroked my breast-buds the swelling seemed to accelerate. From small bumps they had begun to jut out into snub-nosed hooters, pointing away from each other. They felt sensitive under Meghan's questing fingertips. I'd never felt such eroticism in that part of my body before. Meghan maneuvered me awkwardly to the bed, where we sat and she started to pet me. She teased my growing boobs, showing me how to gently touch and caress them in a way that felt nice. Hesitantly, my fingers reached up to dab at the satin flesh. Each breast felt like doughy padding, an odd feeling of weight where there hadn't been any before. It was a whole new landscape of sensation and each touch elicited a gasp from me, making my chest rise and fall. As they ripened, my breasts gained weight and definition. They now had an underside, and a crease was forming where they sat above my chest. The teats seemed to tilt slightly upwards. Meghan could now lift my bust and give it a tender squeeze. The sensation of having my tits cupped and stroked by Meghan's hands was really sweet. But the real eroticism came from my nipples, where each brush and flick of them sent a thrill through me. "More, more," I kept panting. "No. Now it's your turn," Meghan said. She let off touching me just enough that I could return to my senses and focus on her. She rolled over on the bed to present an expanse of smooth back and the clasps of her bra to me. My hands shook as I unclasped the hooks. Sliding the straps off her shoulders I helped ease her out of the brassiere. By this time my chest had fully-grown and it was almost identical to my girlfriend's, even down to the small moles on the flesh, though the skin tone remained mine. Like my boobs, Meghan's were perky cones, with retrouss?© tips. Embracing her from behind I began to fondle her teats and cup her bosom. At first my motions were clumsy and groping, but soon I learned to be more delicate with her bust. Meghan responded with deep, ecstatic breathing and by rolling back over to resume her own fingertip exploration of my chest. So this was what another woman's breasts felt like? I'd expected firm mountains but these were much more yielding than I'd expected. The tissue was so pliable, with my fingers seeming to sink deep into the flesh despite the gentlest of touches. Meghan's chest was warm and velvet-smooth. My hands could not keep away from the dark buttons of her nipples, which poked up proud and erect, begging to be thumbed. She breathed in sharply, shuddering with desire as I teased them. My girlfriend responded in kind, touching exactly as I touched, mirroring my moves. The sensation of having breasts was so erotic it was all I could do not to orgasm in my shorts. My balls were in agony and I could feel the wetness of pre-cum on the tip of my dick. I wanted to take this to third base. But when I tried to move my hands lower down Meghan's body she pushed them firmly away As if to distract me, Meghan bobbed her head down and licked my breasts and sucked at my nipples, tonguing the hard nubs and pulling lightly on the ends with her lips. It was ecstasy to feel her soft mouth suckling my teats, making them tingle. Then I did the same to her, nuzzling at the fleshy little buttons on her chest and trying my best to copy her exact moves. The breastplay was broken by occasional bouts of kissing, tongue-to-tongue, until we were so exhausted by the effort that we flopped back on the bedcovers, our boobs pooling into flatness on our chests. Eventually I looked over to where I'd thrown the training bra, by my bed pillow. It had finally morphed into an adult bra just like Meghan's. It lay twisted like a lace pretzel on the cool cotton covers. "So, according to this new reality," I said, "I'm now the now the boy with boobs who wears a brassiere. I've always been that way." "I guess so," said Meghan, lazily resting her cheek on my chest, using it as a pillow. "You're some kind of medical freak. You want to change back? Or do you want to try some more changes?" I contemplated for a moment. I must admit I was enjoying my new rack, but I felt it was time to make a wish of my own. "Can I change you again?" I asked Meghan, reaching out for the wand. "How?" she replied, a slight hint of suspicion in her voice. "You asked me to trust you," I said. "Now I'm asking you to trust me." "Okay, but nothing bizarre, okay?" "Nope. Honestly, I think you'll like this." I raised the wand and incanted: "I wish Meghan to have the body of Shari Roberts from the neck down." As the wand glowed and cast its magical power, Meghan gave me a quizzical look. "Who is this Roberts woman?" "She's a model I saw on TV," I mumbled, unconvincingly. "She's really hot-looking. I hope you like it." I suddenly realized that changing my girlfriend into someone else might not have been the smart move. "You mean, you're giving me the body of some skank from TV?" There was no mistaking the edge in her voice. She was building up steam for an argument. "Not a skank," I said, weakly. "She's glamorous. You look a lot like her." She did. Meghan's face was very similar, though maybe more oval and with a hint of extra chin. It took some cajoling, but I managed to placate my girlfriend. Meghan was too curious to see whose body she was getting. There was no way I was going to admit to the swimsuit magazine hidden in my dresser, so we went online to check out pictures of Shari, a statuesque redhead with a beautifully proportioned figure. While we did this, Meghan's body language was all guarded hostility. She stood with her arms folded, protecting her naked breasts. As I sat typing into Google I could see them out the corner of my eye. It made me aware of my own chest. It was weird for me, wearing a pair of boobs of my own. They seemed to move when I moved, like soft counterweights. I could feel my arms brushing against their sides. And now they were getting cold. I had gooseflesh on my bosom. I wondered whether I should put something on. After browsing a couple of swimsuit galleries on my laptop, Meghan started to relax a little, her posture becoming less defensive. It was becoming clear to her that Shari was a classy-looking woman. She was statuesque, with natural breasts that were not too large and that gave her elegant lines. By now Meghan was now deep in the throes of the changes and kept pausing to look at herself in the mirror. She was showing a slim waist where it had been nondescript before. What puppy fat she carried had melted away, and her legs were lengthening an inch or so to match Shari's 5' 8". Her jeans were shifting and reweaving themselves to hug a shapely new butt. As Meghan's boyish figure began to hourglass, she just looked incredible. Meghan's breasts were last to change. They expanded fractionally. Not a whole cup size but growing fuller and heavier, with bigger aureoles. They sagged a little as they ripened. Meghan didn't know what to do with her arms. When she tried to cross them they seemed to nestle beneath her knockers and push them up. In desperation she clasped her boobs, one in each hand. She looked down at her new cleavage with a mixture of awe and wonder. "I've never had tits this size before," she said. "They seem to get in the way." "Neither have I," I laughed. "Shall we explore them together?" Again we fell on the bed, hearing it creak as we crashed the mattress. Then we began to pleasure each other. Meghan fondled my chest while I got to stroke her knockout curves. But my girlfriend was still on guard. Whenever my hands strayed below the waist they were firmly moved out of the way. "Not yet," said Meghan, emphatically. Then she hesitantly added: "maybe tomorrow. Let's see." Still, she let me nuzzle and lick at her new breasts. That was a beautiful experience, exploring her fat nipples with my lips and sucking deep on them until they were bullet-hard. The pleasure made my dick so hard that I knew I'd have to beat myself off in frustration after Meghan had gone. I was desperate for some kind of relief and yet I couldn't push things too far. I had to respect Meghan's boundaries. Then I heard Mom return in the car, engine purring as the battered Ford pulled into the drive. "Oh shit!" I said, sitting bolt upright, my dick wilting in fear. "What if Mom sees me like this?" Meghan laughed. "Don't worry, Scott," she said, reaching for her bra and untwisting it. I found myself staring, taking mental notes as she deftly strapped herself into the lingerie. "Remember, to your Mom you've been this way for years," She went on. "She thinks it's normal. Just some kind of medical condition or something." I calmed down for a moment. Meghan was right. I'd just bluff this out. In this reality I looked partly like a girl. I thought I'd try it out for a bit, though there was no way I was going to school like this. While Meghan buttoned her blouse, I cast about for clothes. There was "my" bra still on the bed. How did you wear such a thing? I needed Meghan to help me into it, packing my breasts into the cups while my girlfriend hooked me up at the back. I jumped as I heard Mom come in the front door and call my name. "I'm half dressed!" I hissed. Meghan checked my wardrobe, which suddenly seemed to have a selection of blouses arranged on hangers. "Put this on," she threw one to me. I shucked on the crisp white cotton and fumbled at the buttons, which were the wrong way around. "Scott, where are you?" I heard Mom below. "Coming!" I called back, as I wrestled with the last two buttons. "Wow, you look kinda nice, sorta," said Meghan. "Boobs suit you," she smiled. I stared down at the starched blouse billowing over my chest. I looked back at Meghan, who was pulling on her sweater. "You going home?" I said, feeling that right now I'd rather not be alone. "Yeah," said Meghan. "I want to see what this reality makes of my hot new body." She glanced down to admire her new figure. "It feels so weird," she whispered. "It's like someone blew me up with a bicycle pump, but in the right places." She clutched her ass. "There's so much more of me here." Then she arched her back a little, which thrust her chest forward. The sweater stretched across the firm swellings of her breasts and clung to the lines of her elegant new waist. "At least I won't get hazed by my sisters any more for having a flat chest," she said. "It won't ever have happened," I smiled. "For them, maybe. For me, I'm still getting used to the extra padding," she grinned back. "Can we play with that wand some more tomorrow?" she asked. "Sure," I said, as we kissed our goodbyes. I lingered as long as I could with that tip-tongued kiss before she broke away. I went downstairs to see Meghan out the door. I was very conscious of my breasts bouncing as I walked. It was a strange feeling. It was equally strange looking at the sharp, feminine hands I'd inherited from Meghan's spell. Mom seemed to take no notice of my looks. She was piling some bags of clothes with the mall logo on just inside the door and stopped to say goodbye to Meghan. We walked out onto the porch. Without saying a word Meghan gave a shy wave before she turned to she unlocked her bike, which she'd parked by the house. She now had an amazing figure, with a beautiful ass that peached when she bent over. My gaze lingered on it a while as she hopped on the bike and pedaled away down the street into the sodium gloom of the evening. Then I stepped indoors, hoping to get some private time to check myself out. * To be continued.