The Chest of Overflowing Bounty

You woozily stare down at the book, which lies perfectly opened down the middle as if you'd just cracked it for some light reading. In your possibly concussed haze, it almost seems to be mocking you. Why, I'm just an innocent book; I would never try to smoosh your brain! That's the trouble with books: they're fucking untrustworthy. The one good result of getting your skull caved in and making a fool of yourself is that whatever lame joke Max is trying to make right now falls on deaf ears.

You can't seem to pry your eyes away from the damn thing, so might as well take it all in while your brain continues resetting. It's...well, it's a book. You're not quite sure what you expected. Though the words written inside are...not words? Okay, updating 'possibly' concussed to 'probably' concussed. The longer you stare, though, the more the bizarre scribbles seem to almost come into clarity. It's like there are two separate texts projected onto the page at once, and if you just squint a little harder you can almost -

Your ears pop, the breath catches in your throat, and the shapeless squiggles snap into focus as clear, perfectly legible words.

THE CHEST OF OVERFLOWING BOUNTY

You boggle down at the suddenly intelligible script, mouth agape. 'For Fortune and Providence, milked from the pagan teat of Fulla Herself'...what the actual fuck? It seems to be a list of prayers and displays for some kind of, you don't know, fucking witch shit?! Since when did they start stocking this type of thing in the library? You twist around to face Colin, who has gotten over the hilarity of you getting hit in the head and has the decency to look a bit concerned. "Do you see this?!"

The boy glances down as you tilt the book up at him, brow scrunched. "Uh, see what?"

"All this smutty Ren Fair stuff!"

Colin only stares back at you in confusion as Max leans over the table to get a look. "What are you talking about? It's just a bunch of nonsense."

You quickly snatch the book up, all but shoving it into Max's nose as you ignore the librarian's increasingly incensed 'shsh'es. "What the fuck do you mean, nonsense? Look at it!"

Max jerks away from you, eyes wide and scowling. "Jesus man, chill the hell out! Did that thing knock you stupid or whatever? It's nothing but fucking gibberish."

Your cheeks are flaring red and you're on your feet before you know it, teeth clenched and eyes starting to water. You raise a shaking finger at Max, fully prepared to say...you don't know. Something. Something intense. Something heartfelt. Something that will make you feel better at least. Anything. You've been standing too long, and now they're just staring at you like you're insane.

The shock of your discovery has worn down now, and your head is starting to throb again.

It's all you can do to try and hide a sniffle as you snatch up your things and bolt from the library. It's Friday, you reassure yourself as you dart through the hallways. Just get out of here, lay low until Monday and hope that some sort of mass mind wiping event occurs so you don't have to think about this ever again. Maybe if you're lucky you'll be able to get home before you run into -

Fucking nope, of course. There he is, as surely as if you'd summoned him yourself: your goddamn cousin Jesse.

Already heated as you are, you can't help but seethe at the sight of his dumb bulk. You'd always been vaguely aware when that you had a cousin, but you hadn't actually met his part of the family. Fool that you were, you had hoped that getting a chance to know him might be the plus side of having to uproot your whole life, but that shit didn't pan out. Jesse is crude, gleefully ignorant, and the moment he pieced together the predicament you and your mother were in he evolved into his final form of a vicious, petty tyrant. He treats your mother like a live-in maid at best, and he treats you significantly worse than that. It's a constant guessing game of when he's going to demand you perform some backbreaking chore, or rifle through your things and 'accidentally' dump some of them in the garbage, or just decide to give you a beating thinly disguised as horseplay.

God, just look at him there, obnoxiously taking up as much of the hallway as he can so that everyone has to step around him as he blathers on and on to Jenny Park. The head cheerleader at least has the good taste to look bored out of her mind, running a comb through her long black hair and not even bothering to hide her rolling eyes. Jenny is a stone-cold bitch, no doubt, but in a way you can absolutely respect; you would do horrible things to have even an ounce of her confidence and poise.

Her friend isn't so fortunate. She's either too meek or just too good-natured to simply ignore Jesse's filibuster. Instead she makes a show of putting away her cheerleading uniform, helplessly nodding along in the vain hope that eventually he'll take a breath and she can flee. The look that slowly blooms across her lightly freckled features reminds you of a coyote realizing that it's going to have to gnaw off its own leg. You can almost sense her planning to strangle herself with her own chestnut-colored ponytail as a means of...

Wait. Oh no. Shit. It's Isabelle, and you're staring at her. You're staring at Isabelle, and you can feel her eyes and Jenny's eyes and fucking Jesse's eyes beginning to turn your way. It's fortunate that the bathroom happened to be directly to your right, because if it hadn't you're certain you would have burst straight through the wall Kool-Aid man style.

You dump your things next to the sink and blearily gaze at your reflection in the mirror, this newest salvo in life's war of attrition hitting you particularly hard. It's not just that Isabelle is gorgeous, willowy and toned with sparkling green eyes and eyebrows like that model whose name you can never remember and ugh. It's not just that she un-selfconsciously laughed at some dumb joke you made two months after you first arrived, and you still think about it a couple of times a day. It's not even that she turned you down as kindly as possible when you asked her out a month after that. It's that you know that if you'd just grow the fuck up and stop obsessing about all of that stuff, the two of you could probably be really good friends. You don't have friends like that. You desperately need a friend like that.

But you just can't help yourself. And that's what makes this the unbearable blow. Everything else you can blame on luck, or someone else. This? This is on you, dude.

With a start, you realize that while you were berating yourself you apparently pulled the book from the library out of your bag. Had you even taken it with you? You furrow your brow, retracing your steps as you idly leaf back to the entry from earlier. You ran out of there so fast, it must have gotten swept up in your things...did it, though? You can't help but feel that something is off, but you slowly scan the page anyway. 'The Chest of Overflowing Bounty', huh. 'For Fortune and Providence'.

.........

Are you actually going to do this? You look back up at yourself in the mirror, eyes red and dark hair mussed into a complete bird's nest. Fuck it. If anyone is in need of some Fortune and Providence, it's that weepy little twerp.

Hoping that by moving as quickly as possible you can outrace your own embarrassment, you set the book in front of you and start going over the instructions. Okay, so you have to off up some sort of prayer, with 'the great need in your bosom exposed to the uncaring world'? You don't even hesitate to take your shirt off, at this point you're too far gone for embarrassment. If someone comes in to discover you shirtless and chanting into the bathroom mirror, you can honestly tell them you were trying to cast a pagan ritual and it probably wouldn't hurt your standing one fucking bit. You pause long enough to give a resolute nod to you pale, slender reflection, then square your shoulders and begin to recite the prayer from the book.

The first syllable has barely slipped past your lips when something seizes deep within your gut, deeper still than that. Your eyes flare open in a combination of panic and total confusion as your mouth begins moving of its own accord. You can only grip desperately at the rim of the sink as the chant rumbles to fill the room, pounding in your bare chest and ringing so loudly in your ears that you can't even hear the words that continue to pour out of you. It's no longer words, it's some sort of terribly beautiful euphony as the prayer refuses to dissipate, instead thrumming in the air to harmonize with the phrases that still flow out of you urgently. You're struck by the sudden, **** thought that you've completely run out of air, and then the final tone erupts from your mouth and you collapse against the countertop. The room has gone still again, with only the sound of your heavy panting to break what would otherwise appear to be utter tranquility.

At length, you let out a hoarse chuckle, your voice strained and high from overuse. Okay, well, that was a fucking thing. Somehow, you think you actually feel sort of better. This was utterly insane, and now your problems don't seem so goddamn bad. Let's just dump the book behind a toilet, get your boobs off this freezing cold counter top, throw your shirt back on and get home already.

.........

...Something was wrong about that.

You bolt upright, and even before you lay eyes on your reflection the way that gravity and your sudden movement send you chest wobbling makes it clear that something is most certainly wrong. And sure enough, there they are: tits. Plump, perky tits that look bigger than they probably are perched on your slender chest. Your...girlishly slender chest. You manage to rip your eyes away from your pert new breasts and sure enough, your reflection is no longer a slightly femmy boy but rather a somewhat tomboyish girl. Your eyes are a little larger, your cheekbones a bit more prominent, your lips fuller...even your hair seems girlier, sleek and lustrous with a significantly less sloppy pageboy than you'd had a few moments ago. Did you actually turn yourself into a girl? With a book from the library?!

Wait. Does that mean your...? You clap both hands down to your crotch, and your fears are immediately confirmed.

"What the fuuuhhh~~!"

Your outraged curse transforms into a moan of shocked pleasure as your nipples stiffen, give one needy throb and then begin to spurt twin streams of milk directly into the air. You can only attempt to bite back a squeal of ecstasy and squeeze your erupting boobs together with your arms, hands still locked on your new and gleefully aching pussy. The ivory cream gushes out of you in unbroken streams, swirling in mid air as it gathers into a single spiraling mass. Heat spreads through your core as rhythmic contractions start twitching wonderfully deep within your pelvis. The last drops of milk squirt from your now painfully sore nipples as you collapse to your knees, shuddering through your first female orgasm. It's only by luck that you happen to look up as a fancy glass bottle pops into existence around your floating blob of milk, corks itself, and then sets itself primly down onto your backpack.

Maybe you should have thought this through a little more.