A Cloak

You open the box to find a shimmering, gossamer-thin green cloak with an intricate webwork on the edge which reminded you of the ancient Celtic symbols you learned about before junior cert. you decide to put it on, and seal the clasp.

Turning back to your room, you feel an immense urge to strip off your trousers, and the boxers come with them. Then you open your door, and sink into a deep sleep on your bed.

In your dreams, you see what seems like thousands of years of history: a prosperous country under the rule of a queen dressed in nothing but the cloak you now wear. Each of them ruled justly, with the guidance of countless predecessors helping them. Ireland had been free, under the rule of a witch-queen and her immense cock, until her power was lost, and she was tricked onto a tiny islet. The last queen had searched for any way of leaving, and finally had found her route: pass the cloak to someone on the mainland.

When you awaken, you look into your mirror, and see your twin sister, Ciara, staring back at you. Your dream was true, you are the witch-queen. Looking down, you see the cloak pushed apart at the front by a pair of perfect, motherly breasts which stand proud of your torso despite their size. They're ivory coloured, and the small areolae are only slightly darker. You push them apart, marveling at their firmness, revealing your once toned stomach now concealed behind a thin layer of fat, but you feel even stronger. Below that, you see an ocean of down like orange pubes, with your thirty-centimetre dick emerging from it like a warship's bow, cushioned by your balls, which have also grown in size. Cautiously, you lift them, revealing a cunt and clit which seems beautiful to you.

Your door opens, and you see your sister Ciara standing there. "What happened, Alfie?" She was shocked by what she saw, but you feel that, deep within her body, she feels aroused by your presence. You motion for her to sit down, and notice a small, but growing, dark patch on her dress at her crotch. "We look identical now, aside from that." She touched your schlong, which hardened as her had caressed it.

"I am and am not your brother now, Ci. I am Aoife, the witch-queen of all Ireland, and you shall be my first subject. But, I am still Alfie who grew up with you, and wanted you each day." Your voice is powerful and melodious, like a harp's song. "I will bless you, with one of two gifts, but you must choose which."