Magic Justice

by Dave Hicks

 

Chapter 1

 

1

 

Someone spent a lot of wish-credit last night. I wake an overweight, elderly woman with a massive pair of breasts. They’re enormous. As yet, I haven’t worked out who’s done this to me. I’m trying hard to think of anyone who hates me enough. I don’t think I have any really bad enemies - at the moment. At least, not bad enough to do an unforgivable thing like this to me.

I have a very large store of wish-credit, so when I do find out who did this to me, they’re going to pay - big time. Meanwhile, I’m going to stay like this for a while. I could easily change myself back but I need to find out who’s responsible. If I hadn’t taken the precaution of carrying memory insurance, I’d now think, being an overweight, slightly simple minded, elderly woman, was perfectly normal. And I’d never be the wiser - ever. It’s a very nasty thing to do to anyone - apart from being magically criminal and immoral.

But, for the time being, I’m going to act out the part. It’s going to cost me more credit this way, but I don’t care. I intend to stay just the way I am - until I find out who’s the perpetrator.

 

2

 

It’s not quite dawn yet. I turn on the light and get out of bed. The bedroom is different - more feminine looking. I find the mirror and have a look at myself. It’s as I guessed - I’m an overweight, elderly, matronly woman, with an enormous pair of breasts and broad fat hips and thighs.

Automatically, I go to a wardrobe and remove some sort of body-suit from a collection hanging there. It’s quite heavy and has firm stays. I step into it and pull the wide straps up over my shoulders. I seem to know what I’m doing, so I sit back in my own mind and take no active part in what’s happening.

I pull the clips together that run up the front, then pull up the zip, to cover the clips. As best as I can, I settle my great breasts in the cups. I stand up and have a look at myself in the mirror again. I’m encased from my shoulders, all the way down to just above my knees. My breasts stick way out in front of me.

I go to another cupboard, select a loose cotton dress and put it on. Then, I walk to the doorway of a neighboring bedroom and enter. In the bed is a very pretty young woman asleep. Somehow I already know she’s called Simone. I touch her arm softly.

"Simone," I tell her. "It’s time to wake up, dear."

"Thank you, mother," she replies sleepily, her eyes still shut.

She addresses me as her mother. So, I have a daughter do I?

I go downstairs and start preparing breakfast. While it’s cooking, I make myself a cup of coffee and sit at the kitchen table. I need time to think. I look down at my bosom, resting on the table top. It’s absolutely massive. Such an incredible weight to carry around. Why would anyone want to give me such an immense pair of breasts like this? I can already feel the straps of the body suit I’m wearing, pulling on my shoulders. The rigid stays make bending difficult.

While I’m sitting there, immersed in my thoughts, Simone enters the kitchen in a garish pink dressing gown and gives me a peck on the cheek. She sits in a chair opposite me.

"How did you sleep?" I ask her.

"Fine," she replies, inspecting me.

I get up and make her a cup of coffee, then set it down in front of her. When her breakfast is ready, I serve it to her. While she’s eating, I go into the laundry room and iron a business suit for her. I know it’s hers, because nothing that small would fit the immense body I have. I seem to know what I’m doing and before long, the suit is neatly pressed. I take the suit back to the kitchen and hang it on a hook behind the door.

I resume my seat opposite her. She talks enthusiastically about what she intends to do at work today. I don’t take much notice of what she says, just nodding and smiling at what I think are the appropriate times.

She returns to her bedroom and I busy myself tidying up the kitchen. It’s a strange thing. If I make a conscious effort, I can easily take control of what I’m doing. Otherwise, I simply carry on doing those sorts of things that are expected of an elderly, domesticated woman, with not much in the way of intelligence or imagination.

It’s interesting in a way - I suppose. Of course, it simply wouldn’t occur to me to question my situation, if I had no memories of whom I used to be. Whoever did this to me, had assumed I wouldn’t bother with memory insurance. Or they’d forgotten it existed. That was a dumb move on their part.

Simone is dressed and ready to leave for work. She presses herself against my great, jutting bosom as she gives me a hug. She stands back and looks me up and down and says some obscure remark about how happy she is, to have a mother like me.

 

3

 

I remember seeing a computer in my bedroom. I go there and connect the computer to the special data base, only magic people know about. A quick search of the records reveals my daughter Simone was, until yesterday, my ex-wife Linda. Got you!

Linda and I parted a few years ago. I got sick of her childish and selfish ways. The data base tells me she’d spent quite a large amount of wish-credit, although it wouldn’t tell me what she’d spent it on. It wasn’t hard to piece together what had happened. She’d changed herself into a pretty young woman and turned me into her maternal and domesticated mother. I could see, the balance of her wish-credit account was just about zero. If anyone wanted to do something to her, there wasn’t much she could do about it, with a wish credit like that. Having a low wish-credit, is a very risky position for a magic person to be in. And it had just got a whole lot riskier for her. My very large wish-credit gives me plenty to play around with and still have more than enough left over, to change everything back to the way it was.

Wishes take a long time to accumulate and I’ve always been one to spend them carefully. Certainly, not without a very good reason. Just as well, as it happens. Again, I thank myself for taking out memory insurance. Without it, I would have never known she’d done this to me. She obviously assumed, like most people do, I wouldn’t bother with insurance. It’s expensive, in terms of wish credits, but in this case it certainly proved its worth.

I let myself fall back into automatic mode of a domesticated woman and spent the rest of the morning doing housework. Amazingly enough, even with the enormous size and weight of my bosom and the stiffness of my underwear, the housework seems to get done - eventually.

During the morning, I consider what form my revenge on Simone will take. Direct physical injury is forbidden but that still leaves me a lot of room to be creative. I’d never done anything to hurt Linda, while we were together. In fact, when we parted, she told me how fond she was of me and hoped one day we might get back together again. Well, that certainly looks like what has happened. She’s turned me into an elderly, fat, maternal woman to mother her - but it’s not going to work out quite the way she expected.

I decide I need to get her to use up what little wish-credit she has remaining. After that - she’s completely helpless. Then, if I work it right - and with a bit of luck - I can get her to go into wish-debt. No magic person ever goes into wish-debt, if they can possibly avoid it. That’s when you become an ordinary person. Unless you can get someone else to give you some of their wish-credit, you’re stuck that way. And no one ever gives away wish-credit. Worse still - if someone knows you have a wish-debt and buys it - you belong to them, for as long as they want. It’s rare for anyone to buy up a wish-debt but it’s happened once or twice in the past.

 

4

 

By lunch time, my back and shoulders are aching. I lay down for a while, just to relieve them of the weight of my huge breasts. Again, I can’t understand why she’s given me such an enormous bosom - unless it’s to make me look as maternal as possible. They get in the way of everything I try to do. And the body-suit I’m forced to wear, to control this great bosom of mine, is confining and uncomfortable. I decide, after I get up, I’ll go shopping and see if I could find something a little more comfortable to wear.

I check the computer and I’m pleasantly surprised. It looks as though she done the job for me - she’s just gone into wish-debt. And it didn’t even cost me a wish to force her to do it. Immediately, I buy up her debt. Now she belongs to me - for as long as I want her too. Perfect.

I go into town as I’d planned and talk to a consultant at a specialist foundation garment shop. She informs me - for a woman with my figure, there’s very little else available, apart from the body suit I’m already wearing. I tell her how constricting and uncomfortable it is for me. As she’s a fairly large woman herself, she’s sympathetic but tells me; there’s really nothing else that can do the job. It looks as thought I’m stuck wearing these torture devices, for the time being.

She checks the fitting of my body suit and advises me to tighten my shoulder and waist straps. Apparently, I didn’t have them pulled in enough. I thought they were tight enough already.

 

5

 

In the evening, I prepare dinner. Linda - or should I now say Simone? - returns home and tells me of her very bad day. She did something stupid at the new job she created for herself. No doubt she had to spend a wish fixing it. Then, on the way home, her mind on other things, she was hit by a car. She wasn’t looking where she was going at an intersection. Her leg was broken. I imagine, due to the pain and shock of the injury and without thinking of her wish-balance - she’d healed it on the spot.

I’m certain, Simone must have thought - how nice it would be, to have a loving and devoted mother, with plenty of wish-credit to give to her.

I don’t say a word. I’ll let her work on me for a while. She probably doesn’t know people can buy up wish-debts, so she won’t know I own her. Now, she can no longer even find out. While she’s in wish-debt, she’s not earning wish-credit. The only way she can get credit now, is to borrow or steal it.

Wish-credit is like an investment. If you don’t have anything invested, you can’t earn anything on it. The more you have invested, the more you earn. The credit-holding capacity varies considerably between individuals. I’m very fortunate - my credit capacity is exceptionally large. Unique in fact. That’s the reason why I’ve accumulated so much magical power.

She’s just an ordinary, non-magic person now. If I hadn’t bought up her debt, she might have been able to find someone to make her a loan - although that’s highly unlikely. Other magic people are hard to find. We form such a very small percentage of the world’s population. But, once someone owns your debt, it’s impossible to get a wish-loan. No one can give you wishes without the permission of the owner. And why would the owner allow that? The worse thing is - no one can find out who owns your debt. Being just an ordinary person can be pretty scary - if you’re used to being a magic person most of your life.

 

6

 

When dinner is over, we sit together in the lounge. Simone cuddles up close to me, her head resting on one of my breasts. She complains - nothing seems to be going right for her at the moment. Her job isn’t working out the way she’d hoped. I think; it probably requires talent and knowledge you haven’t gone to the trouble of acquiring. Still the same old Linda - self-centered as always. She expects the world to owe her a living.

I start to get strong protective and maternal feelings towards her. I want so much to do something to help her. I have to remind myself - she’s not my daughter. I’m not her mother. The whole mother-daughter situation has been designed by her. She feels no guilt about transforming me into a woman. That’s a vicious thing to do to anyone. Now, she’s trying to steal my wish-credit from me.

"I’m very worried about not having any wishes left," she says.

A plan of revenge starts to form in my mind.

"What does that mean, dear?" I ask her. "I didn’t understand - when you said, you’d made your broken leg whole again."

"What?" she asks.

"I don’t think you can mend a broken leg like that somehow," I reply.

She pulls away from me, sits up and looking at me in surprise. I sit calmly, waiting for her to make the next move. I can almost see her confused thoughts, running through her mind.

"We’re magic people," she states. "We can just wish for anything we want. That’s how I wished to make my leg heal."

"I don’t see how that can be true, Simone," I smile patiently. "It sounds the sort of thing that happens in fairy tales. Not in real life."

"We can just wish for whatever we want," she states.

I pat her arm.

"That’s only what children believe," I tell her. "I think you might have been struck on the head in the car accident. It’s definitely affecting your thinking. Perhaps we should see a doctor tomorrow."

"But it’s true!" she shouts at me in frustration.

"Of course it’s not," I laugh. "There’s no such thing as magic, as you very well know."

She run crying from the room.

 

7

 

I decide to go to bed. I remove my body-suit and hang it with the others, in the closet. I lay on my back, on the bed. I can’t lie in any other position because of the size of my breasts. My back and shoulders are aching. Doing the housework and going into town has left me sore and tired. I look forward to getting some rest.

I turn off the light and tried to imagine what was running through Simone’s head at the moment. Hopefully, I’ve given her the impression I know nothing about magic. It’s going to make stealing wish-credit from me, much more difficult. Again, I start to feel I have to help her. I reminded myself firmly, she’s not my daughter. Obviously, Simone had designed my maternal instinct towards her, to be very strong. I permanently remove that programming from my mind. Now I have no motherly feelings towards her, whatsoever.

There is a tap on the door and Simone entered my bedroom. She sits on the bed next to me.

"Are you asleep, mother?" she asks meekly.

"I’m awake, Simone," I reply. "How are you feeling, dear?"

"I’m upset," she answers. "I want to sleep with you tonight. Can I?"

"Yes you can, but I’m very tired. I don’t feel like talking, at the moment."

She gets under the covers with me and rests her head against my breast. I ignore her and fall asleep.

8

 

During the night I awaken suddenly. In the gloom, I see Simone is still asleep, facing away from me. I draw back the covers and sat on the edge of the bed, wondering what had woken me. The house seems quiet. I stand up and put on a dressing gown. Again I listen but I can’t hear a sound. Something doesn’t feel right. I decide to go downstairs and make a cup of coffee for myself.

As I approach the kitchen, the light is on. A man and a woman are sitting at the table. I don’t sense any reason to be afraid of them, so I ask them what they want.

"I’m here to buy Simone’s wish-debt from you," the woman announces.

"You could’ve picked a more reasonable hour," I reply curtly.

I make myself a cup of coffee. I don’t offer them one.

Once the coffee is made, I take it to the table and sit opposite them. The weight of my unsupported breasts is already causing them to ache. I rest them on the table, much to the interest of the man. I take a sip of my coffee and wait for them to speak.

"I am Linda’s mother," the hard faced woman announces firmly.

She doesn’t bother to introduce the father. I nod for her to continue.

"Well?" she asks bluntly. "Do you own my daughter’s wish-debt? If so, I’m going to buy the debt from you. I’ll not take a refusal for an answer."

I materialize a large, white truth stone, the shape and size of a tennis ball, on the table between us. Then I tell them what their daughter has done to me. By the time I’m finished, I could see the father was shocked and upset. The mother however simply sat there, giving me an icy stare.

Not once during the telling of my story, did the truth stone turn a color to indicate I’d lied to them. Even though Linda had broken just about every magic law in existence, I had acted properly. I didn’t acknowledge, I’d bought Simone’s debt but they seemed to know I had.

After a period of silence, the father asks me, in a respectful tone of voice, how much it would cost for me to release Linda from her wish-debt.

"If I did own Linda’s debt," I tell them, "I wouldn’t be prepared to release her. I can understand your concern for Linda’s welfare, but there’s already been a substantial wish-cost to me. I also have to rectify the damage she’s already done."

I look at the mother.

"Would you like to look the way I do?" I ask her. "Would you like a pair of ridiculous breasts like mine? I’d gladly give you a pair - if you wanted me to."

"I don’t care what happens to you," she replies coldly. "All I’m concerned about is my daughter."

The man places a hand on the woman’s arm to try and stop her from annoying me and making matters worse. She slaps his hand away in anger and glares at me.

Now I know where Linda gets her attitude from. The rotten old bitch. It seems strange I never met them when Linda and I were living together.

Without warning, Linda’s mother attacks me. She sends a bold of blinding, purple energy straight across the table, in my direction. Instead of deflecting it, I absorb easily and convert it for my own use later.

I love it when people give me that much energy for free. A bolt like that would’ve easily killed any normal person instantly and probably most magic people. But I’m not most people. That would’ve cost her an awful lot in credit to do that and she won’t be able to do it again - for at least a decade or two. Very silly. It was attempted murder.

The man’s energy is not as strong as hers had been. He tries to raise a shield around her, to protect her from my expected retaliation - which I had every right to do, under the circumstances. The shield wouldn’t have done them any good. Neither of them have anywhere near the level of power I have. Instead, I sit calmly waiting for them to try something else. The woman puts her head on the table and started crying in frustration. That’s just the sort of thing Linda does. If she can’t get her own way - she turns on the tears. The man moves to put his arm around her shoulders. She shakes herself free of him and continues sobbing.

What a manipulative old bitch - I say to myself.

 

9

 

I look at him and shake my head. He looks so miserable.

"How do you put up with her behavior?" I ask him. "She just tried to kill me."

He shifts uncomfortably on his chair but doesn’t reply, preferring to look down at the table. On hearing my words, she immediately stops crying, raises her head from and glares at me. I know she won’t try to attack me again. What would she use for power? After an attack like that, she doesn’t have the energy.

I remind them; everything that happened here tonight had been recorded by the truth stone. The type of truth stone I materialized, makes it extremely foolish for either of them to tell what’s been said by me. Even a hint of what we talked about to anyone, would permanently strip them of their remaining credit and their magic person status. That’s magic-law. I’m sure neither of them would dare ever risk doing that.

I decide to permanently change her. In her weakened state, she can’t stop me. I make her a loving, maternal and gentle woman, totally devoted and faithful to her husband. Over the next few years, she’ll develop a plump, matronly figure, with very ample breasts. I can’t bring myself to give her a pair of breasts as large as mine - no matter how much of a bitch she is. Maybe, if she’d been a nicer person in the past, Linda wouldn’t have turned out the way she is.

As they begin to dematerialize, Linda’s father smiles weakly at me. He produces a small red rose in his hand and places it on the table before me. It’s as if he wants to thank me. I pick it up and alter its atomic structure, so it will always stay the same and never die. It was a nice thing for him to do.

 

10

 

I return to bed. Simone is asleep as before. I put the rose next to my bed, remove my dressing gown and get beneath the covers. She turns towards me and presses her face into my breast. I don’t really mind her doing that. It feels rather nice - in an unfamiliar way. After all, she is my ex-wife, not my daughter - regardless of what sort of body I now have.

I lay in the darkness contemplating what I was going to do with Simone. Changing her mother into someone pleasant, had only cost me a small fraction of the energy she’d hurled at me, when she’d attacked. I hoped her husband would be happy with the changes I’d made to her personality and body. I figured, anything had to be an improvement on what she’s been like before.

What a family; I think to myself. The mother tries to murder me. The daughter tries to destroy my life - then rob me of my wish-credit. What Simone did was even worse than murder - to most magic people’s way of thinking. To keep a person alive, while you destroy who they are and take everything they have of value, is about as low as a magic person can get.

The only decent one among them, seemed to be the father - but he’s so weak. Forced to put up with their behavior - until now. Hopefully, his life should improve dramatically. I wonder if he’ll like her with large breasts, in the years to come. I have a feeling he might, judging by he way he kept looking at mine. With those thoughts in mind, I drift peacefully off to sleep.

 

11

 

At dawn, I get out of bed, shower and put on a dreaded body-suit. Simone is still asleep. I go to her bedroom and fetch one of her business suits. I notice her diary, lying open on the bed. I make an exact copy of her diary and put the copy in a pocket of my dress. I don’t touch the original diary because she might’ve put a contact detection spell on it. I’ll read the copy later.

I take the suit to the kitchen and make myself a cup of coffee. As I start breakfast, I can hear Simone moving around upstairs. By the time I’ve pressed her suit, she appears in a dressing gown. I finish cooking breakfast and sit with her to eat it.

She only fiddles with her meal. There seems to be something troubling her.

"Is there anything wrong, dear?" I ask her. "You look a little concerned about something."

"You know you have the ability to wish for anything you want," she states. "Don’t you?"

"That’s only make believe," I reply patiently.

"But it’s not!" she cries.

I look at her for a moment.

"I really think I should take you to see a doctor, Simone," I say calmly. "I’m sure that bump on the head is affecting you. I’m very concerned about your state of mind."

"I didn’t bump my head!"

"You have to be so careful with concussion," I persist. "Perhaps you shouldn’t go to work today."

She becomes increasingly frustrated and angry.

"You stupid, fat cow!" she screams at me.

I rise from the table.

"Simone," I say firmly but gently. "I have a lot of housework to do. I feel you should think about what you just said to me. That’s no way for a daughter to talk to her mother."

"I have thought about it," she replies angrily. "You’re still a stupid, fat cow."

 

12

 

I go to my bedroom and switch on the computer. It doesn’t take me long to find Simone’s parent’s names on the magic database - now I know they exist. As I suspected, they didn’t have much wish-credit left. Now her mother is a different person, I know I’ll no longer be troubled by her. Simone’s or Linda’s name is no longer listed. That means she’s not a magic person anymore - until I release her from her wish-debt. As a normal person, she can’t save credit, even if someone did give her any.

I switch off the computer and sit on the bed. I remove the copy of Simone’s diary from the pocket of my dress and read a little of it. Life hadn’t gone well for her over the last few weeks. She met a man she badly wanted, but he’d resisted all her efforts to snare him. Finally, she’d turned herself into a very pretty young woman and created a job for herself at the place he worked. That hadn’t worked out the way she’d planned either.

She’d felt miserable. Simone thought of me and how nice I’d been to her during our time together. She’d decided; with a few changes, I’d make an ideal mother for her. Her own mother never give her the caring and sympathy she felt she was entitled to. She knew, I had a lot of wish-credit and if she worked it right, all that credit could be hers. Now I had all the proof I needed of her guilt.

I disguise my copy of the diary as a blue crystal vase and put the everlasting rose in it. I’ll read more of the diary later. I start making the bed. Simone stands at the doorway of the bedroom.

"I’m sorry for what I said to you, mother," she says, not meaning a word of it.

I know she had a hidden agenda. Simone does nothing, if it doesn’t serve her own selfish interests.

"I understand, dear," I reply, continuing to do my housework.

Eventually, she gets tired of following me around the house and goes to her bedroom. After I finish tidying the house, I change my clothes and drive to town. It feels good to get out of the house for a while.

 

13

 

As I sat under the hair dryer at the beauty salon, I decide it was time to start making Simone’s life just a little more miserable. I remember her calling me a cow. I decide, from now onwards, every insult or bad behavior on her part, should not go without a response from me. I cause her breasts to start becoming fully and permanently lactating. Who’s the cow now, I wonder?

When I return home, Simone is waiting for me.

"Where have you been?" she demands.

"I went into town to have my hair done," I smile.

"Something horrible happened to my breasts," she states.

"Why don’t you let me have a look at them," I suggest, pretending concern.

She lifts the top she’s wearing to reveal her breasts. They’re beginning to look just the way I want them. I touch one with my fingertips. The glands beneath feel swollen and firm.

"They’re hurting," she complains, staring down at them. "And they’re getting bigger. My bras don’t fit me anymore."

They’re going to get a whole lot bigger - I think to myself.

"Do you think it might be the result of being hit on the head?" I ask her.

"How many times do I have to tell you?" she responds angrily. "Why do you have to be so stupid, all the time? You don’t listen to anything I ever tell you."

I pretend to ignore the remark, but I mentally chalk up another mark against her.

"You must see a doctor," I insist. "You can never be too sure about these things."

This time she reluctantly agrees. Perhaps she thinks that will endear herself to me.

 

14

 

By the time we arrive at the doctor’s surgery, I can see the top she’s wearing is wet around her nipples. She shouldn’t have called me a cow. She complains about the time we have to wait to see the doctor, which in reality, is only a few minutes. The doctor examines her breasts and says she will need to do further tests.

Much to Simone’s annoyance, I mention her accident and how I suspected a head injury, might be the cause. I also say; Simone had been quite moody since the accident. The doctor scans her head and takes a blood sample.

"Well?" demands Simone, "What’s wrong with me?"

"It’ll take a few days for the test to come back," the doctor replies. "We won’t know much until then."

As we leave the surgery, I suggest to Simone; she should buy new bras. She agrees. From now on, Simone will be wearing maternity bras. She doesn’t like any of the bras available but is forced eventually to settle for one particular style. While she’s driving the poor consultant to distress with her demands, I buy a breast pump for her and a good supply of nursing pads.

"I’ll show you how to use a breast pump," I offer. "I used one when you were a baby."

It’s not true of course and she knows that, but it’s consistent with the role of mother she’s given me.

"I can work it out for myself," she stubbornly refuses.

Over lunch, she continues to complain how awful her life has become and it’s all my fault. Everything would be wonderful for her - if only I’d wish her troubles away.

"You have no right to be so closed minded about wishing," she insists.

"I don’t want to hear about wishing all the time," I tell her firmly. "It’s silly for a grown woman to go on about it."

Predictably, she cries and goes to her room. I decide to do the laundry. I sort through Simone’s used clothing and put all her old bras in the trash - except a particularly pretty one. She won’t be needing bras like these again. I put the bra I’ve kept in a drawer in my bedroom, as a souvenir. I’m not quite sure why I’ve done that.

 

 

 

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© 2002 by Dave Hicks. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.