What greets you when you look in the mirror is a woman of startling beauty, albeit, bald and made of uniformly soft brown milk chocolate. You look your old age, maybe a little younger, the middle of your 20's perhaps. That's about the only thing that's the same though. First is your size. You were easily the baker's height before, but now, he's got at least a foot on you, your much shorter frame barely coming up to his shoulder. You look down and see the perfectly shaped orange sized and teardrop shaped breasts adorning your chest, lacking nipples, at least, lacking nipples now. Your breasts lead to a thin waist and the pert swell of your rear, giving you a body that any woman would envy. The rest of yourself is equally exquisite, a perfectly carved face with molded eyes, high cheekbones, a small nose, and lips looking pouty despite their immobile nature. You lack anything between your legs but somehow, that doesn't bother you.
"Lovely! You came out perfectly!" the baker claps his hands, looking at you in some satisfaction. "Just what I wanted in an assistant!"
You cock your head and point at yourself, confused. You can't speak, of course, but he seems to understand you anyway, giving a nod. "Yes. You'll be my assistant. Helping me in the shop, keeping the place secure when it's closed for the day, really, anything I need from you."
You blink, or would blink if you could move your face. You point at yourself again, as if trying to ask why. Perhaps you are. You should be panicking but somehow, that doesn't seem all that important. "Oh, because you love sweets. Don't worry, you'll love being this forever, I promise." He pats your bald head, a sudden sense of contentment washing over and through you, taking root in your mind. His reassurances are....well, your logical mind is telling you that you shouldn't be taking them at face value, but despite your best efforts, you feel happy, eager, trusting.
"Now, time to dress you up. It's Halloween and my new assistant should be in costume, don't you agree?" He smiles at you and you find yourself nodding. Yeah. That seems reasonable. It's Halloween. You should get dressed up. Your owner (owner?!) is right. The thought of considering this man your owner is a shock to your senses but, despite it, you can't stop thinking of him as being in control of you. You're so lost in thought, struggling with logic and instinct that you don't notice him leading you to a big vat, steaming hot, full of some sort of liquid. You certainly don't notice him putting you onto a platform that begins to lower itself into the vat. The sudden rush of heat on your toes, however, snaps you back to reality, just in time to hear the man say, "now don't fret, you'll make a great....."