Just a Simple Love Spell

A Micro-Story follows:

  For him, she would do anything.  That was love, right?
  The witch had said as much to her before casting the spell.  "To love is to submit to another," the mysterious matron muttered.
  "I love him," she had repeated for the seventh time.  This had taken entirely too long.  The wooden chair she sat on was hard.  She was tired of being naked.  Why did it always have to be done nude?
  "Does he love you?" the wise woman wondered.
  "He will when I become his love," she stated firmly, though she felt light-headed.  If this finished up soon she could possibly take a nap before he came over to her place.
  "How can you know what he wants?" the sympathetic sister asked.
  A moment of doubt, a stray, malicious thought, clouded her mind.
  The room felt stuffy and warm like the air was suddenly thickened.  She could almost have floated within it like fish in a bowl; an ember above a flame; a balloon on string.  She tried to think; tired to answer the witch.  Her mouth hung open and her lips felt thick and heavy.  All she could muster the energy to do was look to the elder woman and shrug.
  "You silly girl.  So ready to fall in love that you do not understand," the witch frowned.
  For a moment she looked to her hands in her lap.  It was a fidget she did whenever she felt that she had let someone down.  But her hands caught her attention.  Glistening in the light they had become stiff and flat.  Her fingers seemed to melt into each other forming hands like the dolls she had played with as a child.  The dolls that had fallen in love so easily in her mind.  A simple kiss, a few words and that was that.  He had said those words and kissed her just the same.  She would tell that to the scowling witch and make her believe.  But for the moment she wondered why she could not lower her hands.
  "You do not understand men," the witch lamented while she packed up her things.
  I only need to understand one man, she thought defiantly.
  She knew he wanted her.  She wanted him, too.  What more was there to know about a man?  Trying to move her arms she found her legs, too, had become light and stiff.  Her whole body had become unresponsive.  She could still move but slowly and robotically. She could not even huff out a defiant breath through her solid lips.
  What was going on?  Why was she so shiny, so stiff, so light?
  "You do not understand yourself," the witch said sadly turning to leave.
  I do too, she thought.
  She tried to wave her hands to call the witch back.  She wobbled back and forth in her chair trying to get the other's attention.  She bounced a little and found her bottom springier that before.  Her naked crotch slapped on the hard wood wetly sending a thrill through her body.  For a moment she forgot what she had been doing and would have kept bouncing a wiggling in place to her own pleasure if the witch's voice had not call to her from the front door.
  "You do not even understand your own body.  In time you may call on me again, but for now, live with your youthful mistakes."  The door clicked shut.
  She tried to leap to her feet and follow the woman, to say something to stand up for herself.  Anything would have done, but her feet had become softly-arched and sock-like.  She pitched forward unable to balance on the rounded tip-toes.  Her weak knees gave out and her legs folded under her.  Like her arms, her legs moved as if in a dream; slowly and only with great effort.  She let the witch go and knelt on the floor to regain her composure and energy.
  She watched as her breasts slowly inflated; creaking and popping like two restrained balloons until they were large and round.  She wanted to play with her nipples, but moving her hands would be too hard.  He would do that for her, she thought.  He would do anything she wanted for her, now that she was his, right?  Because he loved her?