"Well, shit." You know the selection is over upon hearing your name ring through the air. Every century, a new harvest witch is chosen at random. She will serve the community for one hundred years before being allowed to retire. Anyone and everyone, young and old, male or female, could be honored by receiving this role. This year, it's your turn. The previous witch's power had waned leading up to her retirement, so a bountiful harvest was in order.
"I know this is a great honor, but can I pass?" You ask the village elder who drew your name from the bowl. Your sacrilegious inquiry results in the elder staring at you with great shame. You sighed, knowing full well nobody has ever talked their way out of their unavoidable role.
As the witch hat is placed on your head, your ears immediately burn red hot. The curvature of your ears distorts as they lengthen; becoming a fertility elf has begun. For the sake of a bountiful harvest, you accept your fate with dignity.
Unbuttoning your shirt and sliding it off your shoulders gives you a clear view of your impending changes. You let out an audible gasp as your pelvis cracks and widens, your hips and ass following suit, widening as they take on a more feminine shape. "Ooo…" You brace for pain but are relieved to find the changes pleasurable? Your prostate twinges from within and is overwhelmed with a furnace-like heat as it transforms into a live-bearing womb. As you shrink in height, your legs and arms soften, losing muscle mass along with any excess flab. "Ahhh!" You squeal as your testicles ascend with an audible 'pop!', your scrotum tightening to your pelvis as a seam forms down the center. As you probe your crotch with now-dainty fingers, your cheeks flush bright crimson. Your cock has already shrunk to a nub, your urethra sealing shut as your new clit nestles between the sultry pink folds of your still-forming vulva. All the while, your hair grows exponentially, cascading past your shoulders.
All the while, the onlookers kneel in prostration, silently offering prayers for a bountiful harvest.
Now, shaking, you cup your chest, feeling the small, puffy bumps as they slowly inflate in your hands. You want to be outraged but are overwhelmed by a twinge of excitement. Pinching your swollen areola, you let out a small moan. "Aaah…" You wish to fondle yourself further but remember the crowd of onlookers. Finally, your new vagina opens at the base of your sex, your body having been wholly transformed.
Later, sitting on the altar, you press your hand between your thighs, feeling the void where your penis once lay. You briefly lament the loss but feel more excited than expected. Still, you feel satisfied knowing your sacrifice was not in vain. The harvest this year is to be the most bountiful in decades.