March Needs Moms - Baking Changes

Andrew crept into the kitchen as quietly as he could, his housemate’s cookbook held close at his side. His housemate Michael had seemed down lately, and Andrew had come up with an ingenious way of cheering him up. His birthday was fast approaching, and he had wistfully described the kind of cakes he remembered his grandmother making for him when he was younger. It was something old fashioned, but Andrew knew that Michael always had a taste for the traditional. He placed the cookbook on the counter, smiling. It was the perfect plan: bake Michael the cake of his childhood, exactly as he remembered. Once, when hanging out in his room, he noticed the old cookbook stashed away on a shelf. He was no cook himself, and he never remembered Michael ever doing any cooking. When he questioned him about it, he explained it was an old family heirloom. As Andrew opened the book, he only hoped that it was the same one Michael’s own grandmother had used back in the day.

When he was just about to start flicking through the pages to the baking section, he was distracted by something clattering to the laminate floor of their kitchen. Looking down, he noticed a long pearl necklace. He picked it up slowly – had this fallen out of the book? As he held it up to the light, he found it surprisingly weighty. It looked like real pearls, not a cheap plastic imitation. Whomever had last read the book decades ago must have left it tucked inside of the pages. If the book was a valuable heirloom, Andrew thought, the necklace would be even more so. He briefly considered placing it on the countertop but soon reasoned against it. After all, he soon would be making a cake and he didn’t want it to get covered in flour. Something in his mind told him that the safest place for it would be around his neck, and he couldn’t help but agree.

As he draped the necklace over himself, Andrew felt a sudden static charge leap from it. He thought nothing of it, deciding to refocus on the baking he was about to do. He had expected the old instructions to read poorly or be confusing, but somehow Andrew, despite never having baked before and being an at best amateur chef, found them easy to interpret. Within a few moments he had buttered two tins like a professional and was beating together the myriad eggs, butter, sugar, and flour he somehow knew were necessary for the cake, even without having to glance at the aged instructions. As he whisked, he found that he didn’t crave an electric whisk over his old fashioned one that was buried in the drawer. There was something about it, with its warped wooden handle and familiar shape that he found strangely enjoyable to use. The expected muscle ache from his impassioned whisking was also absent, replaced by an excitement to bake the cake for Michael.

Andrew began to divide the mixture between the two tins, taking great satisfaction at the sight of the smooth paste he had created. Grabbing a spatula, he smoothed over the surface of each. As he did so, his hands began to change. His fingers slimmed down into dainty, long digits, his worn and chewed nails magically smoothing into perfectly manicured fingertips. His hands were small, strong, and precise – ideal for baking. Andrew slid the tins into the preheated oven, completely unaware.

With an uncanny smile on his face, Andrew began to make the filling for the cake. He hummed a gentle tune to himself as he grabbed the ingredients. His arms followed the same pattern as his new hands, slimming down until they were thin and womanly. His strength left him fast from his arms, but he didn’t seem to mind, his attention focused on the delicious cake he was making. His body hair across his arms, chest, and legs, all began to fade away, slinking bank into his body as if it never grew into the coarse, dark strands that had dotted his skin. His flesh was now soft, more sensitive to the heat of the oven beside him. Across his torso, Andrew’s weight was going. Though never tubby, he was far from fit, but now his body was reforming before his oblivious eyes. His shoulders buckled painlessly inwards, reforming into a smaller side. As he reached up to the shelf for some vanilla extract that he somehow knew the location of, his hips adjusted, his pelvis widening in preparation for what was still yet to come. The fat on his legs slid upwards in one smooth motion, settling on his new hips. Andrew was left with slight, feminine curves.

Still unaware, Andrew felt his hair tickle his shoulder, his black shirt now far looser than he remembered. Pausing his buttercream mixing for a moment, he deftly tied it up above his head in a tight plait with a skill that spoke of having done it a thousand times. He didn’t notice that his dark hair was now a strawberry blonde.

As Andrew’s humming continued, the song became far merrier inside his mind. His voice slowly shifted upwards with each beat until it settled at a bright, joyful soprano. He took a moment to sniff the mixture.

“Goodness! What a delightful smell!” he found himself saying, his voice now prim and devoid of the lazy slang and cursing he was used to using. “Dearest Michael is going to love this!”

The mention of his housemate’s name set new thoughts in motion inside Andrew’s head. For a moment, he was confused. He remembered deciding to make a cake for him but couldn’t remember why. Was it his birthday? Something changed within him, and he put the thought aside. It wasn’t his birthday, he was making the cake for Michael because that was his role within the house, nothing more or less. He had always been subservient to him, doting on his every need.

Whilst Andrew was again distracted by his baking, his clothing began to change. His black shirt, once of a heavy cotton, now thinned until it was almost sheer, the pale outline of his tender flesh clearly visible through it. Tiny dots appeared in the fabric, bursting out into bright white polka dots. His jeans were blown off as a small gust of wind blew through the house. “I must get Michael to see about fitting some draught excluders, he is always so handy with that sort of thing!” Andrew said, smiling sweetly as he pictured Michael’s strong forearms wrestling with some tool he didn’t understand. His shirt extended downwards, sliding over his now exposed, petite rear, until it settled just above his knee. The row of buttons that ran down the front reformed, ensuring that he was left with a modest neckline. With another gust, his jeans returned, now a white lacey apron, tied fast around his waist with a silky band.

His socks faded in colour until they were transparent, now a soft silk. They began to creep slowly up his thin, attractive legs. With a sudden tightening, they fastened themselves into a garter belt, topping each leg. The simple canvas shoes that Andrew had slipped on that morning were rapidly changing, turning into a dark pair of heels that rose his now reduced height up a precious few inches, each finished by a decorative, eye-catching ring of crystal. The change forced him to subconsciously stick out his rear as he bent over the oven, removing his now perfectly cooked cakes. He set them on the counter to cool with a small clap, then beginning to spread the icing between the layers.

Inside the dress that Andrew now unknowingly wore, his nipples grew large and puffy, brushing against the fabric. Just as his cake had risen in the oven, two budding breasts now rapidly developed. They were not as big as they once were, but still clung onto the firmness of youth with a determination that Andrew was proud of. He knew he didn’t need to wear a bra – Michael liked it better this way. The absence of it meant that every movement sent a sensitive shiver down throughout his changing body as his puffy nipples rubbed on the dress. A gorgeous, almost uncanny smile flashed across Andrew’s face. His neck became longer and thinner, his head now shrinking down in size as it in turn reformed. His broad jaw was gone, sliding up into two prominent cheekbones. His nose shrunk, now beautifully symmetrical, and his eyebrows were groomed to perfection. Andrew grabbed the icing sugar and dusted it over his now finished cake. A similar dusting appeared over his newly feminine features in some tasteful makeup, nothing outwardly seductive, but enough to keep Michael happy – particularly his now bright red lips.

Again, Andrew’s thoughts turned to Michael. He was no longer his housemate, but rugged, strong, everything he had ever wanted. He was made to serve him. That was what their relationship was about. Between his legs, Andrew’s underwear changed into a pair of lacy white panties, his shrinking member hidden inside the soft fabric. With a final pop, it slid up inside of her, leaving behind a woman’s vagina. The woman picked up her cake, excited. She couldn’t wait to show it to Michael! New memories had formed: their beautiful, perfect wedding together, and of course, their fantastic children. A great maternal sense of love washed over her as she pictured their lives, from the trauma of their birth to their first day at school. All the thoughts that Andrew might have had were gone. She no longer had a career or aspirations, her life was built around her husband’s, exactly as it should be.

Suddenly, she heard footsteps behind her, and she turned to see Michael standing behind her.

“Hello husband!” Andrea said with a stunning smile. “I baked you a cake! I hope you like it!”

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This is quick little Stepford story, written for March Needs Moms! I hope you enjoy it.