Hansel and Gretel

This is an excerpt from Transformation Park

Fairy Tale Land: The Journey Begins

Jim made his way down the winding cobblestone paths of Fairy Tale Land, past the ornate castle and the giant trees, towards his destination: The Hansel and Gretel ride. It hadn’t opened yet, but he dutifully planted himself down at the start of the rope line, twiddling his thumbs for what felt like an eternity before another soul arrived.
 
“At last, some company!” Jim exclaimed. “I guess I’m not the only fan, huh?”
 
“Fan?” Emily asked, tucking a few errant tresses of her short, dark hair behind her ear as she spoke. She had bright green eyes that were hidden behind glasses, and a plain, green dress that displayed her modest, slender frame.
 
“I figured anybody else standing in line for Hansel and Gretel before it opens has to be a fan of the story,” said Jim, who had a gangly frame and a tight fitting, black leather jacket. “Right? Right? C’mon,” he said, playfully elbowing her.
 
“I’m more of a student of literature,” Emily replied. “My dissertation is on cultural tropes of women in modern representations of traditional folklore, so I wanted to see how accurately the depiction of…”
 
“All aboard the Hansel and Gretel adventure!” a witchy voice announced, as the doors opened. “Remember, good little boys and girls must keep their arms and legs inside the cart at all times…”
 
“Come on,” Jim said, as they made their way to the old-fashioned looking wooden cart. “Wouldn’t it be tempting to live in that gingerbread house?”
 
“Tempting – that’s the problem,” said Emily. “Being surrounded by junk food like that? That would make it hard to count my calories…”
 
When a single cart arrived, Emily demurred, saying “you go ahead.” Jim got in, but the ride didn’t start and a second cart wasn’t arriving.
 
“I…I guess it wants us to ride together,” said Jim, and reluctantly, Emily sat down next to him.
 
The ride started to chug to life. At first, the cart drove past the woodsman’s hut, and the witchy narrator explaining the dire state of Hansel and Gretel’s family, and the evil stepmother’s plan to abandon the children in the woods.
 
“Stepmother sure is a bitch, huh?” said Jim.
 
“Actually,” Emily began, “the depiction of stepmothers as villains is due to the social pressure to uphold familial lineages, as well as a pernicious attempt to de-legitimize women who have…”
 
“Whatever,” Jim mumbled, rolling his eyes as he tuned her out. 
 
But when the ride took them into the forest, it suddenly lurched to a halt. Jim and Emily sat silently for a moment, wondering if the unexpected stop was supposed to be part of the ride.
 
“Hey!” Jim finally called out. “I think this thing’s broken!”
 
Nobody replied.
 
“No cell phone reception…so I guess we just have to wait…” Emily said.
 
“Just wait?” Jim said incredulously. “You mean stay trapped in here for an hour while they fix it? No thanks!” he said, unclasping his safety belt.
 
“They said not to put your arms or legs outside of the cart!” Emily called out as he left

~
 
When Emily finally left the cart too, it had been over an hour. She didn’t want Jim to have been right all along, but she couldn’t very well wait around forever.
 
It didn’t take her long to reach the gingerbread house. Ordinarily, she’d have avoided it like the plague, but it was the next stop on the story, so it might be the way out.
 
“Hello?” she asked, when she walked inside.
 
“Hello, my dear,” said a woman, as she hobbled down the stairs. From her black robes, her hook nose and sagging, plump figure, Emily assumed she must be the woman playing the witch. “Won’t you stay for a nice cup of tea?”
 
“Oh, thank God! An employee! Look, my cart broke down – any chance you can escort me to the exit or something?”
 
“Your cart broke down, did it?” said the witch, stroking her pointy chin. “I seem to remember instructions saying good little boys and girls aren’t supposed to put your arms and legs outside!”
 
“I waited for over an hour!” Emily protested. “Jim just left right away! So like a man, to just take off like that and then expect the world to accommodate him.”
 
“Yes, men can be…reckless on occasion,” the witch ruminated.

Hansel and Gretel: Up in the Attic

One Hour Earlier
 
Jim only had to walk a few feet forwards before he was greeted with a powerful scent – one which unmistakably let him know he was on the right track: gingerbread. Like a cartoon character whose nose was ensnared by a smell tendrils from a cooling pie, Jim raced ahead through woods, eager to find the source, his earlier plan to find an exit all but forgotten.
 
He had to stand in awe when he finally came upon the gingerbread house. A veritable mansion, the place was festooned with every kind of candy imaginable, from frosted coconut “snow” on the red licorice roof, to graham cracker sidewalks to a gumdrop strewn front lawn.
 
But though the sight and smell of the sweets made Jim’s stomach noisily growl, they weren’t what he wanted to see the most. Where was the witch, he wondered? Was she going to be a model or puppet of some kind, or would they hire a real actress?
 
He couldn’t resist a peek inside – who knew what he’d find?
 
“Hello?” he called out, as he pulled the candy cane doorknob and stepped inside. “Anyone here?”
 
Nobody answered.
 
Jim glanced around anxiously. There weren’t any tracks for the cart, so Jim knew he wasn’t intended to enter the house, but the lights were on inside. 
 
“Jim…come up to the attic…” came the raspy voice he’d heard on the speaker.
 
“Oh, boy!” he said excitedly, barely cognizant of the fact that she’d said his name. He leapt up the stairs two at a time, flinging the attic door open when he arrived.
 
Inside was a small room, covered in cobwebs and smothered in dust. There was a vanity mirror in the center of the room, the desk of which had a few strange looking bottles and an old, black pointed witch’s hat.
 
Something about that hat seemed to draw Jim in; he just had to feel it, touch it, try it on. As he crept forwards, he saw a witch’s face in the mirror. She was old, but had a fiery spark in her eye, and her lips were pursed into a lusty-looking grin.
 
“Go ahead Jim, try it on!” she urged. Entranced, he did just that, without giving it a second thought.
 
“You wanted to find a witch, Jim? You’ve found her!” she said, concluding with a terrible cackle. Then, her visage vanished from the mirror, and Jim was left staring back at himself.
 
Or, at least, he thought he was. Those bags under his eyes certainly weren’t there this morning. Must be the mirror, Jim thought, taking a corner of his shirt and wiping away the dust.
 
In the clearer reflection, Jim could see even more features which looked out of place: His nose was longer, and slightly curved forwards. As he watched, a tiny little wart bloomed near the tip, growing larger. The hair at his temples looked a little silvery, and his eyes seemed to yellow. What was going on?
 
Maybe it was the hat, he decided, and took it off. As Jim did so, a mess of long, oily hair tumbled around his face, like shadowy tendrils.
 
Meanwhile, Jim’s transformation continued unabated. Harsh lines burrowed their way into his face, creasing his forehead with years of worry and his cheeks with the signs of a perpetual sneer. He glanced down and saw that his shirt was starting to change into a dark shroud. As he reached down to feel the fabric, he could feel his flesh was becoming softer and larger beneath it. His chest grew two ripe breasts, which sagged considerably from a trifecta of aging, weight, and bralessness. His hard-won washboard abs vanished beneath a middle-aged woman’s fleshy gut, which poked out beneath the bottom of his robes. Jim reached down between his legs, and felt his cock and balls shrink and wither away in his hands.
 
When he looked back into the mirror, there was no denying what he’d become.
 
Jim thought about what the witch had said, that he’d “found” a witch in the attic. Did that mean he was the witch now? He’d had always sympathized with witch in the story and, later on, he’d developed a preference for older women.  Now, he’d become the very type of woman he’d once lusted over.
 
As a finishing touch, the image of the fat old witch blurred before his eyes, as Jim’s vision dimmed. As it did, the reality of the situation finally flooded back into clear focus. As a witch, what the hell was he supposed to do now?
 
Jim heard the door open downstairs. “Hello?” Emily called out.
 
A crooked smile slowly crossed Jim’s dry lips. He knew exactly what to do.

Hansel and Gretel: Tea Time

“Won’t you please stay and have a cup of tea?” the witch asked. “Being a witch is pretty lonely, you know…”
 
“Well, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to chat about the effects of acting in a fairy tale re-creation. In most entertainment mediums, women are objectified as passive sexual objects, but you’re instead you’re serving as the recipient of different form of misogyny, right?” Emily asked, as the witch boiled water.
 
“You’d be surprised at how many men find old witches like me attractive,” came the witch’s coy reply.
 
“What? Really? I guess age is no escape from the perils of the male gaze,” Emily said with a chortle. “At least we’re safe when we have our girl time, right?”
 
“Right, right…you want some honey in your tea, my child?”
 
“Oh, no, I don’t eat honey unless it’s been certified organic, and even then the hypoglycemic counts are…” Emily began, but the witch already started stirring it in.
 
“Drink up,” the witch said, pushing forwards a mug, which bore an image of an angry, anthropomorphic tree on the side.
 
Emily had done her best to resist the sights and smells of the gingerbread house, but when the aroma of that cinnamon clove tea reached her nose, the last shreds of her willpower faded away.
 
“Just a sip,” she told herself, “just to show I’m a good guest and to know what it tastes like…”
 
It was the most sumptuous tea she’d ever had. Emily couldn’t help but gulp the rest of it down noisily, the heat from the drink causing her puffier-looking cheeks to become flushed.
 
“Wow – that’s…that’s…” Emily sputtered.
 
“What’s life without a little indulgence once in a while?” asked the witch, as she poured Emily a second cup and added even more honey than last time. “Go on, you deserve it.”
 
Emily nodded, but before she could take another sip, the witch placed her bony hand over the top of the mug.
 
“Wait, this time I’ve got to give you a snack! You can’t have tea without cookies, can you?” said the witch.
 
“I…suppose not,” Emily agreed. Cookies were strictly a no-no, but she’d just skip dinner to compensate, she promised herself.
 
The witch darted outside, and then returned with chunk of the gingerbread siding, topped with a few fistfuls of coconut snow and a giant gumdrop.
 
“Hope you know I can’t eat all that!” Emily protested. The witch just dropped the stuff onto the table in front of her, the impact causing the tea in the mug to slosh back and forth a little.

“Just have a few bites, my child…” began the witch, and Emily happily obliged. “So, I suppose a woman like you must have lofty career aspirations?”
 
“Maybe I’ll become a professor of humanities, something combining comp. lit and gender studies,” Emily began, dipping a tiny sliver of gingerbread into her tea before munching it down.
 
“Sounds like an awful lot of work,” said the witch, smiling a little as she saw the flabbiness of Emily’s arm increase with each dunk of her cookie. “Why not try something a little more slow-paced?”
 
“Maybe…just do stuff on social media, you know, to raise awareness about the consequences of stories…” Emily suggested. Now she wasn’t bothering to dunk each bite, instead she was stuffing her face as fast as she could. “That slow paced enough?” she said with her mouth full.
 
“I was thinking more…just lazing around and eating all day,” said the witch.
 
“Wait…what?” Emily asked, before letting out a little belch. “Excuse me,” she added quickly. She looked for a napkin, but being unable to find one, she attempted to discreetly wipe her newly-plumped lips on the edge of the tablecloth.
 
“No need to apologize, my child. Just eat your heart’s content,” encouraged the witch. But Emily, embarrassed by her behavior, sat in her chair, frozen in place.
 
The witch slowly got to her feet, her old hips creaking a bit as she stood upright. Slowly, she shuffled towards Emily, her arms outstretched.
 
Finally, she made her way behind where Emily was seated, placing her fingers on her shoulders and gently massaging her. “You’re so tense, my dear. Just relax and enjoy your sweets.”
 
Emily had spent most of her life somewhere between shy and standoffish. It had been years since she’d had so much as a hug, let alone a shoulder rub. The human contact felt kind and reassuring, and it was just the push she needed to resume her gorging.
 
Of course, getting Emily to get back to eating wasn’t the only motive the witch had for giving Emily a massage. Without good vision, copping a feel was the only way the witch could verify the results of her handiwork.
 
As she lifted the big gumdrop to her face and started chowing down, the witch could feel Emily’s shoulders growing rounder and broader. When she moved her hands down a little further, she could feel love handles beginning to force their way free of her top.
 
The witch leaned forwards just a little, and moved her fingers down, feeling the warm, soft, spongy texture of Emily’s tummy poofing out further and further with each bite. “Let’s give this thing some more room to grow,” the witch cooed as she undid the button on Emily’s jean shorts.
 
Emily would have objected, but the witch’s gentle ministrations were certainly helping ease the pain of her overstuffed gut. When the only thing left to eat was the frosted coconut, she grabbed it by the handful and threw it into her gaping maw, which only highlighted her developing double chin. A few pieces of coconut missed her mouth, tumbling down onto her developing bust and falling into her growing cleavage.
 
Those big breasts were thrust against the side of the table as Emily leaned down and licked up the last few grains of sugar that clung to the table’s surface. Her growing rear end stuck out further and further as she did so, nearly knocking the witch over.
 
When at last Emily had eaten everything, she leaned over onto the table, closed her eyes, and drifted off to sleep with a dull snore.
 
“Sleep tight, Emily,” said the witch. “When you wake up, I’ll really get started fattening you up!”

 

Over a dozen sexy transformation stories await you in Transformation Park! Get the ebook today on Amazon!

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