In the month since the passing of late, great uncle Egbert there was a great deal to be done – starting with clearing out the musty old pile which was once a grandiose mansion, nestled away in the hills upstate. Store to a vast array of ancient and obtuse artifacts, collected over many lifetimes by successive sons and daughters in the Dalton family line, there were oddments impressively arcane all about, some beyond any identification. Others, such as the old family arms, stuffed into an equally decrepit magic chest, were simply of little value. That was how it went, when one was the last in a great lineage of mesmerists and magicians. The whole place was heaving, in fact, with the weight of props, tricks and trinkets most inscrutable to the uninitiated.

Such as Sam.

With most of the family scattered to the corners of the globe, it fell to him, the last Dalton left in the country, to handle his late uncle’s affairs. He was a slim young man, black haired and light skinned, with an unobtrusive look, his most distinctive trait being a lack of muscle.

Fortunately, his college friend, Melissa, a gorgeous dark-skinned farm-girl who’d broken with family tradition to go to college instead, owned a truck. More fortunately, she was willing to help with the unenviable task before him. Most fortunately of all, great uncle Egbert decided to die during the summer break, so they weren’t too busy with classes to take care of the work.

As he wiped the decades of dust off an old necklace, with a gorgeous opalescent gemstone of unknown type or worth, Sam didn’t feel entirely unhappy to have given up the last few weeks of his summer. The gorgeous stone seemed to swirl like living mist within the filigree cage which contained it, and as he slipped the gold links about his neck, there was a sudden rush of sound and motion, motes of dust swirled up as a breeze blew through the ancient attic, timbers creaking all around. It scattered the last remnants of a still older screed, the fragmenting coils of parchment themselves reducing rapidly to more dust.

Had Sam known how to read the long and impenetrable cuneiform text, once so diligently transcribed by his ancestor, he might have known better than to don the necklace at all. Or at least been forewarned, never to speak a careless wish while wearing it. Instead, he heeded only the vague rumbling of his stomach, wandering downstairs to find Melissa, and some sort of lunch.

He found her outside, struggling with cabinet, the false base flopping out lewdly as she hauled it towards the truck.

“Little help?” she muttered, as she panted with the exertion.

Sam offered what meager assistance he could, trying to catch flapping doors without suffering a broken nose or split lip in the process, but even with the creation under control it was a struggle to get it up onto the truck bed.

“Ugh, I wish uncle’s trick furniture wasn’t so absurdly heavy! What did he make it out of, an entire tree?”

A strange ripple moved through the air at his words, and with a caress of wind over sweatslicked arm and aching shoulder, the two found their load abruptly lightened. It rose in their grips, then banged down into the truck bed with sudden ease.

Half an hour later they were at the local café, a not insignificant drive from the house, but offering all manner of scrumptious comestibles for the weary house-clearer.

Naturally, there was always a queue.

Irritated by the long wait in the hot sun, Sam didn’t notice the large trick cabinet, lazily floating away into the air overhead.

Melissa looked right at it, yet she seemed so unphased she didn’t even think to point it out to her friend.

Soon enough Sam and Melissa were inside the café – any inappropriately aerial props quite underlooked – however Sam’s attention was caught instead by the sign over the counter.

‘Out of cream – Sorry!’

Not the end of the world, but for a café known for its smooth, indulgent, *creamy* coffees, it was certainly a disappointment.

“Hmph. Looks like we’re just having regular lattes again,” Sam muttered, nodding his head towards the sign, through the gathering of similarly dissatisfied customers ahead of them.

Melissa sighed, barely audible over the hubbub of the crowded café. “For a place this fancy – and expensive – you’d think they’d make sure they have enough of everything. I can forgive the odd sandwich selling out, given hope popular they are, but I at least want to get the drink I came for….”

“Yeah,” Sam replied, “I wish they didn't run out of cream so often.”

The hot air of the packed eatery blew suddenly, as the door swung open, and all present sighed in collective pleasure at the refreshing gust, coiling about each body, brushing fingers through hair and over hips, caressing bust and thigh and cheek with the soothing sensations of a lover.

Swirling currents seemed to spin about one figure in particular, the girl at the counter actually moaning aloud, as she felt the spectral touch.

Sam stared at the surreal sight, of a beautiful young woman, slight and slim, being ravaged by licentious winds.

No-one else seemed to see it, or remark on the sounds or sights, as she squirmed in the miniature maelstrom, but Sam couldn’t take his eyes off her.

Her bosom was expanding, as was her crotch, clothing bulging out, straining against widening hips and filling breasts as the wearer grew *excessively* curvaceous.

Fabric popped, buttons pinging off counter-top and cabinets, and her magnificent bust broke free, bouncing and jiggling breasts pouring out for all to see.

At her crotch too the buttons were defeated, fraying fibers surrendering with a tear, as another still larger, yet more wobbly and bountiful breast-form flowed out. The huge mass was a bright pink, almost rubbery in how it sagged and wobbled, and as it hit the counter and spread, it was with the sounds of sloshing. The four fat, thick, waving rods which poked out, at the front and under the base where it lay, removed any room for doubt – the barista had just grown a gigantic udder, teats already welling up with milk.

A small pair of horns poking up out of her hair, but as Sam stared in awe, he saw more modifications taking hold.

Moans were *moos* now, bellowing bovine sounds of pleasure and desire, resounding through her similarly shifting features. Her whole face was pushing outwards, nose expanding into something closer to a snout. Not a full cow’s muzzle, but a face somewhere between human and bovine, extended into a beautiful set of pink nostrils, which twitched and clenched as she snorted the air.

Furless though she was, her skin had grown magnificently smooth and supple, blotches of brown interplaying with the creamier base tones she had begun with.

At her rear, a long, fluffy-tipped tail swayed, almost like wagging.

Sam gaped for a solid minute, as the barista, Bess, became a cowgirl.

She seemed incredibly unperturbed by her abrupt remodeling, taking only a moment to adjust her splayed-open shirt so her exposed breasts could sit more comfortably in the open, and to hitch up her pants under the bulge of the lewdly swaying udder, before she moved on to the next customer.

A moment earlier cream had been off the menu, yet as the young man at the head of the line made the futile request she simply smiled, her hands reaching up to cup her boob, as it too started to secrete something white and thick.

Cream.

Sam watched, entranced, as the living dairy farm dispensed various types of milk and cream for each customer. Her lower four teats, adorning that tautly filling udder, seemed to each correspond to a different variety of milk – from whole fat to skim – while her breasts offered thick and thin creams.

“Sam,” Melissa whispered, “what’s going on?”

“I have no idea,” he muttered back, under his breath, “it just… happened spontaneously!”

“I can see *that*,” Melissa hissed back, “but I think you better get it under control – and stop staring at that poor barista!”

Instead, he stared at Melissa, baffled by her reaction, and that almost accusatory look in her eyes… until he realized that she was eying not the cowgirl at the counter, but the tent in his pants.

“Honestly, we’ll have to stop coming here if you can’t stop ogling the staff.”

“You don’t… see anything… different about her today?” he asked, voice faint and wavering.

“Well I love the bun she’s put her hair in, but that’s hardly reason to gawp like a pervert.”

Sam was struggling to find words to explain just how surreal this sudden situation was, or to defend himself against the uncharitable, if wholly accurate accusation.

As such, he totally missed the accelerated progress of the queue… until he was right in front of Bess.

She beamed down at him, a seven foot beauty of powerful build and playful smile, openly admiring how his cock jerked in those overly-tight pants.

“So, cutie, what’ll it be?”