Karen – Charmed


Author’s note: This story is liberally inspired by the TV Series “Charmed”.

She had inherited that old, almost 2 centuries old mansion. It was in perfect condition tho. But what was more amazing was that she had inherited it. She received it from some aunt who specified in her will that the house had to be given to the youngest woman, over 21 years old, baring the family blood.

Apparently, she was it, having turned 21 the day before she died.

The house came with instructions. She was to go to the attic. There she will find a book. What’s in that book should never be discussed with anyone, or used for her own personal luxury, but only to help others.

Karen went to the house, richly decorated with warm woods and velvet lined chairs and sofas, hard wood floors, wonderful crystal suspended lamps. The sight was amazing, as if she had entered a castle.

Slowly, as the old wooden stairs were cracking under her feet, she climbed upstairs. Yes, she had the kitchen and the bedrooms to visit, but that mysterious book was somewhat more attractive.

She wiggled her tightly encased butt in a pair of low rise stretch jeans, tight to the breaking point, walking softly on her 2 inches thick platform sneakers. She reached the small door, and opened it. It made a creepy crackling sound as it swung open.

The room was dimly lit by a small round window high on the wall near the narrowest point of the roof. In the middle of the room, was a pedestal with a huge book on it. The contour of the small room was filled with huge trunks. 

She approached the book which appeared quite old, her heart beating hard. This was so creepy. 

She positioned herself facing it, and looked at the cover. There was something written. It was hard to read, as it had been almost worn out by years of use, but the leather of the cover still carried the inscription. She tried to open the book, but she was greeted by some kind of electric discharge. She could not touch it.

“How does that silly aunt want me to read it if I can’t touch it?” she said, out loud. 

She looked for some kind of alarm system, some keypad or electrical wire, but found nothing. Yet, she was intrigued. She looked at the cover again. Perhaps there were some clues written on it. She focused on the faint writing.

“Driven by the blood of the Chosen”

“This book can be open”

“She only has to swear”

“That she will give great care”

“But beware to the fool”

“That is not the Chosen”

“Trying to view this book”

“To your life, will put an end”

Suddenly, the ground started shaking, and the book started glowing white. White smoke appeared around it, and the face of an old man formed in it.

“Are you the chosen?” asked the voice, with a low creepy tone that echoed very loudly in the small attic.

“I… I don’t know. I suppose… My aunt told me to read the book… My name is Karen.” 

“Then a drop of your blood should suffice to open it.”

“And if it doesn’t, you’ll kill me.”

“That’s the law of the Book. If you leave now, nothing will happen. If you try, you have to live with the consequences.”

Although it was really creepy, she believed more it was some kind of sick joke from that aunt. After all, she had always been thought of a little weird on the side by the family. It had to be it.

With a smile, but still not sure of what she was doing, she took the dagger that was resting besides the book and made a small cut on the tip of her finger. She drew a drop of blood, which she let drop on the book.

Immediately, the smoke became red, and the rumbling increased. She was ready to run out of there, sure something bad was to happen, when the voice sounded again.

“You’re the chosen. You are granted access to the book” he said, before vanishing.

Everything became silent again. Slowly, Karen approached the book, and tried to touch it with a rapid movement, expected to be zapped again, but nothing happened. So slowly, her heart still racing, she opened it. The first page was a warning.

“To the chosen: you have been chosen to help others, to guide them, to save them. This book and its information are there to help you achieve that goal. You should not use it for your personal benefit or be prepared to face the consequences.”

She proceeded to read the rules and regulations of the use of her new acquired powers. She didn’t really believe them. What she was really interested in is how much that house was worth, and how she could spend the $500 000 her aunt left her with.

She got downstairs, feeling a little hungry. She opened the refrigerator, but of course, it was totally empty. Then she remembered a few phrases from the book. “The basic needs will be provided” and “ask for what you need in prose.” Not really believing it, she had a go.

“Ok… For my stomach to be full, I need this refrigerator to be full.”

Then she opened the door, and almost fell down. It was full! A roasted turkey, a cooked ham, what looked like roast beef, milk, juice, butter. She couldn’t believe it. She reached for the ham, and took a slice. It was delicious. She asked for the grocery shelves to be full, and there they were, full of cookies, bread, flour, sugar, everything she could ever want.

She prepared herself a nice meal, and had a copious dessert. She needed a walk, so she went, wiggling her tightly encased butt in her ultra-tight stretch jeans along the way. She was smiling. And what’s the best way to keep joyous, than to go shopping.

On the corner of the street, a homeless man was standing there.

“Please, miss. I have had nothing to eat for days. Can you spare some leftovers? Please?”

“Get lost, moron. Find yourself a real job.” She said, as she passed by him, humming the latest hip success.

She got to the store. With all the money she had, she could afford the most expensive of clothes. So, she headed for it, choosing the latest designer jeans. They were high quality, thick as she liked them, and with the nicest bleached pattern she had ever seen. She chose a pair to her size and headed for the dressing booth.

The fit was perfect, the cut was right, but she wanted more. She smiled.

“Are they okay?” asked the clerk.

“Not exactly, but I know what to do.” She said, heading for the jeans rack and choosing a pair two sizes smaller, then heading for the counter.

“These should be just fine.” She said, putting them on the counter. “I’m in the mood for a jacket to go with them. Anything to suggest?”

The clerk complied, and showed her a nice denim jacket, with the matching bleached pattern. She tried one, then came back and chose one 1 size smaller. As she was about to pay, the clerk warned her.

“That’s right, I forgot. This is the new arrival of jeans. They’re made with extra-long legs, because the trend is to high heels this season. Do you want me to measure and have them sewn to the right length for you?” she politely asked.

“Well, of course.” She said, then thinking, “you said that high heels are going to be the trend? Can you show me some?”

The clerk couldn’t be happier. She showed Karen a few pairs of high heels shoes. One that attracted her attention was a pair of clear platform, two inches thick, with a towering spiky 7 inches heel. The top of the shoe and the ankle straps were made of light blue denim, which would go incredibly well with the outfit she had just chosen.

She took the whole kit, paid for it, and headed back home. On the way, she passed by the same homeless, and didn’t pay attention, as usual. Once home, she put her new stuff on the sofa, and headed for some milk and cookies but to her dismay, most of the goodies had disappeared. The only thing left was the roasted turkey in the refrigerator. 

She made the prose again, but nothing happened.

“Hey what’s the big deal here?” she asked in mid air. “Where’s my food?”

She heard a voice, or more, it sounded like inside her head.

Use your powers to help others. Using them for your own selfishness carries consequences.

She thought about the homeless. 

“Okay, I heard the message; I’ll give him the turkey… but not before I get dressed.” She said, heading for the bedroom, where she changed to her new outfit.

The white T-Shirt, although tight, was easy to put on. The jeans proved a challenge. Although they were made of stretch denim, they were heavy and, well, two sizes too small. But that’s the way she liked it. She put the shoes on, got her jacket and looked at herself in the mirror. She was simply stunning. The heels gave her longer legs that she could ever imagine, and forced her to get her butt out and her breasts out. She smiled, took the turkey in its aluminium foil roasting pan, and headed out.

The homeless was still there. He smiles as she approached.

“I knew that deep down, you really cared.” He said, taking the turkey.

“Don’t keep it all for yourself, share it with your friend.” She said.

“Oh yes, oh yes. I will. Thank you miss. God Bless you.” He said, heading off, holding the pan tightly in his arms.

Doesn’t that feel good? Said a voice inside her.

“Yes. Yes it does.” She answered, letting out a satisfying sigh.

She walked back to her car. She felt for a little ride. A few streets down, a man was having difficulties with his car. She stopped.

“Hi miss. I’m sorry, I’m out of gas. You wouldn’t have any canister with you, don’t you? Or could you drop me off at the nearest gas station?”

“I’ll have a look.” She said, getting her tight butt out of the car, wiggling it to the back, with the man wide eyed at the sight. The jeans were so tight, they were ready to burst open.

Her lips moved imperceptibly as she opened the trunk, where she took out a large canister of gasoline.

“There.” She said. “This should be enough.”

“Thank you. Hold on a few minutes. I have to get the canister back.”

“No.” she said, “you keep in your car, full, and you give it to the next one that’s going to need it, and so on.” She said, smiling.

“Wow. That’s a nice gesture. I will do that, miss. Thank you.”

Within a few weeks, she had helped countless people, but she was easily recognizable, as she was very attractive, and very cute, always wearing extremely tight denim. She became known as the “cute helpful lady in tight jeans.”

And she felt happy about it. The more she gave, the more she felt happy, except for her jeans. As she sat in her car, after helping another out of gas motorist, the seam at the left hip gave up in a snap.

“Oh shit! It’s the third pair this week. There must be something I can do about it.” She said, as she headed, again, for the store to get a new pair.

“Take larger ones.” Said the clerk.

“No way. I want them that tight. But I think I have an idea.”

She headed back home, got the jeans on, and stood in front of the mirror. Then, thinking for a few seconds, she opened her eyes and said:

“For this denim

As tight as it can be

Indestructible it will be

Always on me”

Almost instantly, she felt compressed, as if in a vise. Her upper body straightened up and her arms stiff by her side. Her breath became shallow, as if she was in a vise. And almost as quickly as it started, it stopped. She stayed there, panting, eyes wide open, looking at the mirror. She was in fact one stunning woman, her body tightly wrapped in beautiful denim, but as stiff as a bar. 

Somehow, the denim had lost all its stretchability. She was encased in extra-tight denim, that would not yield for any movement. She tried to get her knee up, but she barely was able to lift her leg more than 8 inches off the floor. Her arms were also very stiff, tightly encased in the tight denim sleeves. She walked away, to find a chair, but the movements woke up never felt feelings before. The tight jeans, rubbing high her crotch, were stimulating her, and within a few steps, she had become quite hot. She put a hand at the crotch, and she realized how tight and how tensed the fabric was. When she tried to sit, she couldn’t.

It was simply too tight. She had to get them off. She tried to pull down the jacket zipper, but it wouldn’t move. She tried the button and the pant zipper, but they wouldn’t move either. Apparently, everything was fused together.

She walked to the basement, with difficulties, and got a very sharp knife, and tried to cut herself free, but the blade broke. It looked like the denim was… indestructible. It’s what she had said, the formula. Indestructible meant that it would lose the stretch, and would not open.

Nervous, she laughed at her predicament. Simple. All she had to do, is say something to undo what was done, and it will be fixed.

She walked back upstairs. By that time, her legs had barely enough blood to support her own weight, but she was horningly hot, ready to have an orgasm.

She collapsed on the bed, and thought about a formula.

“for this denim

That is way too tight

Will get back

To its original shape and size”

She waited. Nothing happened. She tried another formula. Then another. Nothing worked. Desperate, she walked to the attic, and had a look at the book. She tried a few other formulas, but nothing worked.

“What’s wrong? Why isn’t it working?”

The fog over the book reappeared. The man spoke.

“Using magic for our own selfishness carries consequences. How were you able to fix the food problem?”

“By… by giving my extra food to someone that needed it.”

“Exactly. Just do the same. Give part of what you asked for.”

“What? But I asked for my jeans to stop ripping apart. How can I give it to someone else?”

“That my friend, is the consequences of selfishness. As for the solution, only you can find it… if any.” Said the smoky face before disappearing.

© Pete / monsterp63, March 28, 2005

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