Jane was playing with the spell book again. It was a silly thing to do – a dangerous thing. Although an apprentice, and therefore with some idea of what forces we were playing with, she still took risks. Sometimes she produced something new and wonderful, and sometimes something terrible.
She liked combining spells. When I could stop her, or when I was sorting out the consequences, I tried to explain the jeopardy she might place us in. No, but she is young – and beautiful – and sometimes ignores an old man like me. Old? I’m only 42. Still, it’s all relative, I suppose. Sorcerer and witchcraft training – one on one – was designed to be efficient not comfortable for the teacher. My dwelling is small, but that didn’t matter. Two bedrooms – ideal. One for teacher and one for student. Out on the moors where it is quiet and any mistakes – mainly by the student – don’t have any effect on anyone else. We use only low power spells for training with – or so I thought.
Then one day she really did it. I’m not sure what spells she mixed up, and what other words and syllables she inserted in her stream of consciousness and vocalisations, but I was alerted, in the other room, by her screams of pain and ecstasy. I came running to find her lying flat on the floor, face up, with her hands clutching and tearing at the skin and flesh at her midriff. Then it all happened in a flash – literally. A pulse of expanding and searing white light enveloped her torso, a final exhausted scream/sigh, and she had four breasts – the new pair an exact duplicate of her originals. Then she shook her head, as if to clear a headache and her head exploded sideways – there was a whooshing and sideways expansion motion - and she had three heads. It all looked so natural, one neatly positioned between her main head and neck and either of her shoulder tips, with a neck running down into her torso.
Immediately these heads started arguing.
“You shouldn’t have done that!”
“Why not?”
“It was stupid.”
“Well, I quite like it.”
“Shut up. That’s not the point.”
“And the point is?”
“It was irresponsible.”
She was panting. Three sets of vocal chords running of one pair of lungs could wear a girl out. A pause for a few seconds as she (they?) caught breath, then off again.
“What happens now?”
“I still want to sort out this rash thing that happened.”
“Why? It’s now happened. I like the look of my new breasts.”
“So do I.”
“And me.”
It was then that I was noticed, standing in the doorway watching this entertainment. All three heads blushed. “I’m sorry,” they said in unison.
A pause. Then the right head said, “but don’t change us back.” Then left chipped in with “Please!”
A smile from the middle one. “This is a good one. I like it. I feel more me than ever.”
“So do I.”
“Me too.”
“Let us keep the extra breasts as well.”
“We won’t do it again.”
“I promise.”
Then, before I could say something, all extraneous clothing had been removed – down to skimpy panties and double bra (don’t ask how that got sorted out; I just use magic as a tool) – and then they climbed in the shallow end of the little ornamental swimming pool out on the patio, leaned against the edge facing me, all heads smiling invitingly, blonde hair hanging down their spines, and well… How could I refuse?
Later, the Janes were arguing about something in their bedroom. It wasn’t the sex, it wasn’t the kissing from three directions at once, it was overwhelming of it all. I’m not an old man, but tonight I felt as one might feel. For my sanity and health, I was thinking that somehow it might have been a good idea if I had refused
They were still arguing. “Get some sleep you three!” I called, and I banged on the wall. No effect. She was a lovely-natured individual, but could go on a bit, her mother had told me. Now it was times three. It was going to be a long night.
Oh no. that’s a thought. What will I say to her mother?
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