Warning: The text below is, by its intent, explicit in nature. This is neither intended nor suitable for minors or adults that do not want to be exposed to descriptions of non-realistic sexual intercourse in a fantasy setting.

I’ll break it down for those hard of understanding:

Non-realistic — The things described herein do not work in the real world. Not At All!

Sexual intercourse — Two or more people of the same or different sex doing the nasty together. Ask yourself, and be honest: Do You Want To Read About That?

Fantasy setting — Far, far away and a long, long time ago. Faery tale. Magic. Wizardry. Totally made up. Out of this world. In other words, restating the obvious: Do Not Try This At Home!

Compulsory Begging for Comments: 

Please comment. Even though authors write for themselves, they DO like feedback. And you can do so anonymously. Thank You.

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(Note: That’s the whole list of stories I wrote, with the oldest at the top and the newest at the bottom. Please check that you’re targeting the right one when you send your comments.)

And, folks: at the Overflowing Bra, "5" means best. "1" means worst. Not the other way round. You also might want to make sure you’re rating/commenting at the right story page, too. I’m just sayin’, is all. ;)

Yrba’s Travels, Pt.2 — Under Soiled Doves’ Wings

by

Paul Gerard (a pen name)

First Draft, started July 2008

Spellchecked: by computer.

Proof-reading by: Kanodin

Author’s note: I’d like to take this chance to thank him for his time! I’ve still changed bits and pieces here and there afterwards, so it’s not his fault if the text is b0rken in places ;)

--

Obscure musical reference:

"Wild like the wind / a gypsy with a grin / from an old far-away country … " — Cat Stevens, Sweet Scarlet

--

Altaerna — a world, where the laws of reality may become mere guidelines at any given time, where magic and machinery are intertwined, where all those things creeping in the shadows of fantasy may step forward onto the mind’s stage.

The time of this story is similar to the 12th century of planet Earth. 

What happened so far:

Part 1 — Jailbreak: 

Jailed in neighboring cells, two unlike women are waiting for their execution: Yrba, the traveling gypsy witch, and Mirca, the servant girl. In a last desperate try, Yrba feeds Mirca a whole gallon of enhancement potion and uses her swelling body to break down their cell’s walls. And thanks to Yrba’s prowess with magic, Mirca becomes mobile again. While they sneak through the nightly town, Mirca gets even with the man whose wrongful accusations sent her to death row by wrecking his warehouse with her rapidly growing breasts.

Chapter: Asking for Old Favors And New Mishaps

The pale moon was just about to set. Morning approached.

"Where are we going? This is not the way to the gate!" complained the tall, hulking blonde as she trailed a light-footed shadow through the nightly town. Clutching her breasts to curb the unwonted and unwanted swaying and bobbing of the taut, almost solid orbs wrapped in a straining makeshift bustier, she stumbled after a figure in fluttering red and black rags.

"Yes, because the gate’s guarded, and I’m sure they’ve already noticed the commotion at the castle. We’re going to visit an old friend of mine. Over there."

The dark-skinned witch didn’t turn her head as she replied. She kept her eyes firmly on the street ahead. No hint of light, not even a single candle shone from the windows of the houses they passed.

She stopped for a moment, pressed up against a wall, and peeked around a corner into a small square. Empty. She picked up her pace again and headed for the two-story building on the opposite side. The half-timbered house stood with its back to the little river running through the town, and all the other buildings seemed to try and keep their distance, as if they wanted nothing to do with it. It stood out in more than one regard. For one, it seemed rather new compared to its neighbors, and while the area hosted mainly stables and warehouses, the building they headed for was a residence. And it wasted precious ground inside the town’s wall with a garden in its back and a high hedge around it.

Mirca turned the corner, recognized the place and gasped. Her footfall slowed down.

"There?! That’s an unclean house! Do you know what those women do for a living? It’s disgusting!" rang her voice across the square while she pointed accusingly at the building.

Yrba gnashed her teeth and pulled up her shoulders as the echoes of Mirca’s outburst danced through the dark, empty streets.

"Be quiet and hurry!" she hissed, "I’m not asking you to work there." She quickly turned around, grabbed Mirca’s wrist and pulled her along.

"Dammit, I’m coming! I’m coming! No need to knock down the door!" barked the disheveled redhead in the flimsy bodice with the low neckline while she put the candleholder on the shelf by the doorframe. She didn’t reach for the handle to open the backdoor yet. Straightening herself instead, she fluffed her hair and dragged some of her mane to the front. 

She mumbled a chain of strange words, took a deep breath and held it in. Her left hand cupped the soft volume of her left breast’s ample balcony while the splayed fingers of her right hand slowly slid upwards over her midriff.

Prickling followed her finger’s path and spread like goose bumps over her mammary. The flesh in her grip swelled up and spread her fingers apart. Her breast bloated and rose over the rim of her corset. Her knees grew weak from the onslaught of delight, and she stumbled against the wall. A lecherous groan dripped from her mouth, and finally she exhaled in a staccato of hisses.

Swapping hands and boobs, she panted fiercely and repeated the procedure. Again, her already impressive breast bubbled larger in her hand until it matched the heavy shape of its sister to the left. Now her garb’s neckline fought a valiant battle with the swollen, melon-sized protrusions, and moist heat raged in her groin.

A quick two-handed grab and squeeze, another murmur, and the soft underside of her malleable boobs grew resilient and, together with the groaning cloth’s constraint, propelled her breasts’ mass up into a pair of pearly-white half-spheres. Framed by her fiery curls, they bulged from her corset in almost inhuman size.

She knew that this sight alone was enough to seal most of her deals with her clients. Never one to leave anything to chance, she also put on her most seductive smile — all the easier now with her cleft violently demanding relief by meaty impaling — and sucked in her slight belly. Lifting her right arm behind her head and tilting her hip, she leaned against the wall. A quick lick over the lips to add a little wet gloss, and then she finally deemed herself ready. The knocking on the door repeated, faster and more urgent. 

Between her legs, the embers of her hearth now blazed so violently, she half expected to see the floor light up in red glow as she put her feet slightly apart.

"Oh boy," she muttered under her breath, narrowed her just a tad slanted eyelids and furrowed her slightly triangular brow that together with her pointy nose gave her the air of a vaguely exotic fox, "whoever you are, you better have the stamina in your pants to make all this effort worthwhile!"

Her hand pulled back the door’s bolt, her features relaxed into a wide, friendly smile and she began her often-repeated greeting with the sultriest voice she could manage at four in the morning:

"Welcome to Madame Red’s cozy house of bathing and — ack! Kkkk! Gwaa—!"

She choked, gasped for air and started to cough, because right in front of her now watering eyes hung, no, floated a bosom with a deep cleavage that dwarfed her own. The brazen display of womanhood was barely tamed by a piece of cloth. The breasts’ shapes of rounded, foot-long, protruding cones was crowned by hard nipples that strained against the colorful wrapper. Red’s blinking eyes followed the mesmerizing motions of the erect boobs as they swayed resiliently under their owner’s agitated breathing. The face of the girl — giantess, she corrected herself — was out of Red’s view. The behemoth’s broad shoulders, covered in long, almost white-golden hair that cascaded in waves over them, marked the upper edge of the low doorframe.

"Oh my goodness," the bawd stuttered after catching her breath and wiping her eyes. Even with the girl still standing in front of the sill, those incredible mammaries already hung through the door frame into the house. Red raised a trembling hand to her lips and stammered, "we’re not hiring these days, but I sure could make an exception for someone like y—"

"Don’t bother, she’s not one for hire. Hi, Red," replied a familiar voice from behind the wall of breasts, a voice the bawd had not heard in quite some time.

"Yrba?! What the —"

The witch squeezed past Mirca into the corridor. A broad smile spread her mouth at the sight of Red’s straining neckline.

"Oops, my little gift has acted up, eh?" she grinned, and then she added, "Don’t worry, I can fix that. Let’s make them comfy again," as she quickly raised her index finger to her mouth, licked it and playfully rubbed it deep into Red’s augmented cleavage. The over-bloated breasts on the bawd deflated in an instant and sagged down into her bustier like two huge, wobbling bags full of milk. Red gasped at the sudden change of tension in her flesh and the meandering waves of delight that followed.

"See?" grinned Yrba. "Back to normal. Bad girl! You’re already blessed with much more than enough. No need to blind innocent people with these flesh orbs."

"Dammit, Yrba! I hate it when you do that!" Red frowned, kneading and prodding the quivering bags of her breasts back into the cups of her bustier. A grin wandered over her face. "Come here, you mean old bride of the devil, you!" 

She embraced the witch heartily and kissed her while her fingers wandered over Yrba’s waist and rear. And then Red frowned again. 

"You’ve lost weight!" she exclaimed. "Shit, so it was you sitting in the castle’s dungeon? What are you doing in my town at all? I wasn’t expecting you until fall!"

"Hell, I wasn’t expecting myself to run from the gallows tonight! We need a place to hide, Red. Sorry for bursting in like that, but the guards will search the houses one by one, and soon. Mirca, don’t dawdle. Come on in! Those women don’t bite." They lick and nibble instead, she added silently and suppressed a chuckle.

The huge blonde crouched through the door frame. Inside, she straightened up again. Red quickly closed the door, turned and raised the candle up to Mirca’s face. The girl blinked and turned her head away from the flame ever so slightly.

Red smacked her lips. "Six and a half feet, I’d say. And I’m not going to guess on your weight, darling, but I surely wouldn’t want to end up under you, with all that juicy muscle you got. My, and such a beautiful face. That hair, those eyes — say, don’t I know you?"

Mirca blushed.

"Me, um — I’m the — the lumberjack girl from the palace, y’know, um — the one the guards always used to send to — to call the wh— the, uh, those women to the castle," she stuttered.

"Of course! Now I remember you! Must’ve been a few years since, and damn, you’ve grown! In all directions, from what I can see. Yrba, did you have a hand in this? — Oh my, you’re still blushing, just like the old days! Come on, a big girl like you?" Red playfully prodded Mirca with her elbow. At least she tried. She might as well have tried to playfully prod a boulder.

Red’s smile broadened and spread all over her face. "Now you’re a sturdy one, aren’t you? Let me tell you —" 

Yrba cut her short. "Later, Red! They’re already coming after us! Shush and listen!"

Outside, heavy footfalls approached from the far end of the street. With barely a moment’s hesitation, the bawd quietly ushered them up the stairs to the first floor of the brothel, but stopped them at the first turn of the stairs.

"Quick, in here," whispered Red, striking her fist against one of the wooden boards that decorated the walls. It slid aside, and a small hatch of two by two feet yawned at them. It led to a dark, hidden space in between the ceiling of the rooms below and the planks of the floors above. Vague contours of sacks and small barrels filled the hideout. The stale air smelled of moonshine.

"Sly bitch!" Yrba grinned. "I owe you."

Red adjusted ostensively her bosom and neckline. "Not as much as I owe you, Ybbie, all right? Come on, in you go. Hurry up! From the sound of it, they’re at my door any moment now. Push harder and get her ass in there! We can chat later!" And, whispering under her breath, she added, "If we’re still alive then, that is."

They had to struggle hard to squeeze Mirca through the hatch. More of her dress ripped, caught on the rough wood of the door frame. Grunting and panting, the tall blonde wormed her way along the floor. She barely managed to turn over to her side and ended up with her muscle-padded shoulders caught against ceiling and floor.

"I can’t breathe!" she whined.

"Hush! The guards are almost here. If they hear you, they’ll spike us like piglets with their spears, right through the boards we’re laying on. So shut. The. Fuck. Up!" Yrba hissed as she crawled up to her. Red pushed close the hatch behind them. The concealing panel slipped back in place with a scraping sound.

Trapped in the quickly warming darkness of the secret entresol, Yrba and Mirca listened to the footfalls of heavy boots and to the muffled, angry voices of the guards as they dragged the tired girls from their beds one by one. Quite a few times, someone ran up or down the stairs, passing the hidden hatch. Things finally calmed down above them, and the sounds of an angry debate below rose up through the planks that the witch and the blonde were resting on. 

A little light came through tiny air holes along the walls. Outside, dawn was breaking. As her eyes got used to the darkness, Yrba could make out Mirca’s curled-up shape and wide, fearful eyes.

"Ybbie—?" whispered the blonde, her hushed voice trembling.

"Shht! Quiet! And it’s Yrba, thank you very much! What’s the matter? Oh will you suck in your belly, it’ll stop that rumble in your stomach!" replied the witch, eavesdropping with one ear pressed firmly to the floor.

"That’s not my belly! It’s my — uh, I — I think they’re getting bigger again! You know, the band you tied around them, it ripped when you pushed me in h—"

Yrba raised her head, blinked and strained her eyes before she replied: "No, they don’t. You’re just imagining things. I don’t see any magic flowing around. Don’t wor—"

Creak. Rrrrip. Snap. Guuurrgle.

On Mirca’s poor and abused dress, one of the shoulder bands gave way and slipped down, right in front of Yrba’s eyes. The witch’s face turned gray like ash. "No — oh no! Mirca! What are you doing?! And — how?! You’ll blow up the house and crush us all!" she hissed, trying to keep her voice down.

"I know! I’m so afraid! Do something, Ybbie—Yrba! Please! Tie them up again with your magic!" whimpered Mirca. Her breathing quickened. "It’s … mmmh … it’s feeling — different. Something inside me … ooh … stretching …" The swelling breasts shook and quivered on her heaving ribs as their form slowly kept on changing. The middle parts of the resilient, bulging horns rose and rounded. The whole mass swelled, shudder by little distending shudder, into melon-sized bags. Mirca tried to bring her hands forward. The wood of both floor and ceiling against her shoulders creaked audibly. 

Yrba’s hands snapped forward and closed around Mirca’s wrists. She leaned in, whispering: "Don’t move! Make no noises!"

"Growing—help me—," gasped the blonde.

"I can’t! I can’t move my arms the right way either, it’s too tight in here! No way I can conjure a binding web! You’ve got to hold them in check, by yourself."

"But I don’t know how!"

"Me neither! And there’s no magic at work far as I can see." 

Yrba stared in fear at the blonde’s makeshift bustier in front of her, heard the creaking and ripping noises and saw the old and weak cloth slowly rend under the strain. Sweat-covered, bare skin and part of an areola showed through the shreds. The heavy, throbbing bags grew slowly towards her.

Mirca raised here eyebrows imploringly. "But you hexed them on me! Oh please, you’ve got to — They’re itching! Yrba! They’re getting hot! Help me!"

"Wait, they’re hot? So that’s why — that’s not really growth then, that’s more of a milk bloat."

"Milk? Out of me?! But I never ever — nnngh — oh gods, they’re getting full! So full! I — how — why?"

"Beats me. No idea." Yrba frowned and gnawed on her lower lip while she ran her fingertips over Mirca’s advancing breasts. The skin felt silky, vaguely taut and delightfully warm, and beneath it, hundreds of bulbous glands shivered and trembled as they squirted their produce into the spongy ducts of the blonde’s breasts and made the udders stretch and swell.

The witch gulped. "Damn, that’s a lot of milk you’ve got coming." Though I couldn’t tell you where from… that’s too big and too fast, it can’t be natural … 

As if to prove her words, the aroused, throbbing nipples doubled in size and wormed right through the unraveling cloth of the straining dress. They began to spray warm milk in thin but unrelenting jets, scattering in all directions. Mirca exhaled — "Ahhhhh…" — in both growing arousal and deep relief as her inner pressure vented. A puddle formed quickly on the floor boards as the streaming intensified. Yrba stared at the expanding pool of milk on the rough planks and wiped her wetted face. Drops rained from the spots where the white spurts met the ceiling. The puddle on the floor foamed and bubbled everywhere one of the many thin jets hit.

"Oh shit. It’s going to drip through the cracks. The guards will notice," she muttered and tried to soak up as much as she could with the tatters of Mirca’s cloth. It was a vain effort. The girl’s glands’ raw secretions overwhelmed the frail textile’s absorbency within a couple of heartbeats.

Yrba narrowed her eyes, pondering her options. With a sigh, her mouth dry from fear, she bent forward, pushed Mirca’s ample flesh bags together and stretched her lips around both thumb-sized teats at once, trying to keep up with the combined flow from the pair of bloated udders. The image of those very same nipples exploding forward and punching straight through several solid walls was still fresh in her mind. Putting them between her lips was like licking the tip of the bolt on a crossbow with a brittle safety catch.

Moments later, she had no chance to think of anything but guzzling and swallowing. Her cheeks bulged as soon as she stopped gulping down the milk to take a quick breath through her nose, and afterwards she had to struggle to empty her mouth faster than it filled. Lying on her side, she gnawed at the rough nipples while her hands fought with her dress to free her belly. Magic was no help now, not for her own, immune body. She just hoped her stomach would be able to stow away the flow from Mirca’s eager milk glands until the guards finally left the house again.

Good thing I’ve not eaten anything for a week. But, Mirca, oh please, dry up, stop, and soon!

Yrba groaned quietly through her nose, her mouth so full with milk it dripped from her lips. She cast a quick glance to her feeder’s face. Mirca had her eyes closed and her half-opened, limp lips showed how much she reveled in the relief of her overripe breasts’ first gentle discharge. The witch didn’t begrudge her creature that delight. Mirca’s very first milking hadn’t been exactly gentle, and the second one still had been a stretch. But those considerations were secondary to Yrba’s more pressing worries. She swallowed hard and forced another mouthful of milk down her throat.

I mustn’t let any spill over. If they find us, they kill us on the spot. And if they don’t find us, you’ll drown me in milk soon. Milk! I stay away from that stuff, for a reason. Why does it have to be —, she closed her eyes as another gulp streamed over her tongue, —mmmh, delicious, warm, sweet milk. Oh heavens, that girl! I’m almost full! But I can’t stop! What’s she doing to me?!

She clutched her belly. The taut skin of her midriff protruded from her open clothes. Desperately rubbing her hands over it, she tried to relax her muscles, to find more space. Yrba already had trouble breathing in. Her distended stomach forced the diaphragm up. Then, just as she thought she’d rip or choke, a deep gurgle came from her womb. Warm liquid gushed and wormed on from her stomach into her empty bowels. The bloat spread deeper. She ripped open the hem of her skirt. This was only temporary relief, she knew it. She was just buying time. Thirty feet’s length of wound-up, curled time. And still Mirca’s breasts kept spewing on and on. The witch felt as if she was trapped in limbo, forever being force-filled with milk in an orgy of torture.

And now the other growth started as well. She knew it was inevitable. All of her tubes were chock-full of Mirca’s dairy produce, it was bound to happen. The warmth of waking glands spread through her breasts, and moments later, the weight on her chest increased. She filled up there, too, slowly but steadily. And if she didn’t find a way to get rid of the vast amount of Mirca’s rich milk that her body so eagerly processed, her belly wouldn’t be the only thing she’d have to worry about.

Yrba didn’t even notice when the hatch was opened again from the outside. Only when she heard her name did she turn her head, but she didn’t let go of the nipples until she saw Red’s face smiling into the narrow room. The bawd’s expression quickly turned into one of deep concern when she saw the witch’s taut belly bulging from her wide open clothes.

"Yrba! Gods and high heavens, what have you done to yourself this time?"

The witch clutched her bloated, aching midriff. Her smile was filled with pain as she turned her head to Red, and her breathing was fast and flat.

"Couldn’t let milk — drip from — ceiling. Give me — a rope. Pull me out — so full — can barely move. Ooooh — hurry up! Need — a privy — quick, else — mess in here!" Yrba wheezed. She ground her teeth as the forefront of the ample load of sweet, undigested milk made its way along the final winding curves of her guts.

Yrba emerged from the small outhouse behind the brothel with her hands trembling and her knees shaking. Red cocked her head and looked at her, with concern in her eyes.

"Don’t ever ask!" was the witch’s brusque answer to the unspoken question. She raised a finger in warning, and then her head slowly slanted. Her hand began to shake, her eyes crossed and her arms sagged down limply to her sides. Moments later, she collapsed to her knees and leaned forward. Red caught her in time, but no matter how hard or gently she shook her, Yrba was out like a light.

"Red, we—," one of the girls began, peeking through the backdoor, but the bawd cut her off.

"Here, help me carry her to my bedroom. Quick! Oh gods, her skin’s freezing cold! I need hot water, cold water, a few towels, the usual stuff. My goodness, I can hardly believe it! That crazy gal!" She shook her head, laid Yrba’s limp arm around her shoulder and lifted her up. "All right, what else?" she groaned as she pulled the witch’s body along the corridor to the stairway.

Sylvia, the short, stocky raven-hair with the supple hips, wiped away a thin layer of milk all around her mouth. In her other hand, she held a huge crowbar.

"Sorry, Red. No way. We’ve taken rounds creeping into the entresol and squeezed all we could from that bimbo, but her boobs are still too big. I don’t think we made any difference at all. She’s growing again! I don’t know where she’s taking all that milk from. We’ve stuffed her nipples into a heap of the towels, so at least she’s not making the ceiling drip. Smell of spoiled milk’s the last thing we need around the house. But we can’t move her. It’s just too tight in there, and she’s all covered in milk and sweat now. Slippery as a pig. No way. Can’t get a grip on her. The big B sent me to fetch her tools. We’ll have to tear up the floor boards in the room above her. She can’t even budge, the way she’s wedged in there now!"

Red muttered a curse and sighed. "Right, do it. We haven’t got much of a choice, do we? You tried ropes, did you?"

Sylvia nodded. "Yeah, no dice. Okay, Berry’s already moving furniture out of the way. We’ll get her out one way or the other."

Quietly, she added, "And I won’t go near milk for weeks," and rubbed her aching belly. "Heavens, she ain’t got tits, that klutz has udders to make a cow blush!"

Chapter: Free Mirca

"Please! Why won’t someone come and free me? Where have you all gone?"

One of the three women sitting on the stairs and holding their bellies bent forward and looked into the stash. 

"Don’t worry, we’re here. We just need a break. We can’t swallow another drop. It’s just not working. Just look at you! Your boobs have filled up again! As soon as Sylvie and the B return with the crowbars, they’ll rip out the boards above you and pull you out."

"Rip out —? Oh no! Sorry! I’m so sorry! I didn’t want to have you ruin your own house! I’m just such an oaf! Oh please, don’t hit me!"

Quiet sobbing and the rustle of someone curling up in fear came from the hatch. The women looked at each other. Then one, a younger, amply endowed lass with straight, jet-black hair and bronze skin, sighed. She crawled back into the tight, dark space and caressed the crying girl from behind.

"It’s okay, y’know? Hi, I’m Charlene. Call me Charley."

More sobbing was the only reply.

Charlene smiled and raised her hand to Mirca’s shoulder. "Oh, my dear, why would anyone hit—" 

Charlene stopped and ground her teeth as her fingers running over the muscular back touched a mesh of scars. She knew what tool caused those crisscrossing lines.

"Poor thing," she whispered, then she spooned up to her and wrapped her arms around the waist in front of her. "There, there. Don’t cry. Nobody’s going to hurt you here." She shuddered as her fingertips ran over the well-defined belly muscles that she hadn’t expected to find, and her voice became just a tad darker. "Mmmh. Don’t worry, we’ll keep you safe. Stop crying." She kissed her gently on the shoulder. Mirca sniffled and slowly calmed down. 

"I — I think the towels are soaked through again," she muttered. With a sigh, the two other girls outside readied another set of buckets and began to wring out the dripping cloths.

"All right, girls, let’s get her out of there and see what all that fuss is about!"

Berry pulled hard at the crowbar, and the first floor board splintered. The auburn, brawny, mature woman who earned her living as Red’s all-purpose housekeeper made short work of the wooden floor above Mirca. Her deft motions turned two more boards into firewood, and then Li and Jean managed to reach for Mirca’s outstretched arms. She grabbed their hands. The two girls groaned in pain when they suddenly found their fingers in a death clutch from hell. Helped by their desperate pulling, Mirca crawled from the narrow hideaway and rolled on her back, panting hard.

"Thanks! I wouldn’t have lasted much longer in there."

"Yeah, good for you," grumbled Berry, "But guess who’s the lucky gal who has to fix the floor? And dammit, this whole place now smells like a dairy." Then she stared at Mirca for quite some time, overwhelmed by the sheer size of the blonde, and even more so by the sight of those heavy, full breasts that sagged to the left and right of her chest, like two melons caught in veined, sweaty skin bags. Plum-sized nipples grew on palm-sized, bulging areolae, and the skin glistened with a thin film of milk. The badly ripped and worn dress hung around her waist. The gray cloth was almost black, soaked with milk. "So you’re a mighty big one," Berry conceded and whistled quietly through her teeth.

The blonde nodded weakly, resting motionlessly on the floor save for her breathing. "Not my fault," she mumbled. "Tired. Oh so very tired. Breasts aching. Full again." As if to underscore her words, her breasts tautened and rose.

"Oh no! Look at them! You can see them filling up! And now she’s squirting milk all by herself," Jean exclaimed and pointed at the thin jets spraying from the rough skin of the nipples. "Do we need to keep on milking her forever or what?"

"We help you get up now! Then you go lie down and sleep in bed! We clean up, we take care of rest!" Li commanded in her heavy accent. Berry and Jean grabbed Mirca’s arms and pulled her upright. The petite almond-eyed eastern girl with the flat, round face and the big bun of black hair gasped at the sight of the sun-burnt back with the old scars. "Li be rubbing you with healing oil now!" she declared. "Hurry, hurry! Be using narrow bed of mine and have breasts hang out left and right for milking!"

Li’s "non-professional" bed was barely one and a half foot wide. They laid Mirca face down into it and propped up her chest on a few extra cushions which they stuffed into her cleavage. With the weight of her upper body supported on that soft mound, her breasts were now free to dangle left and right over the bed’s edges. She put her arms forward and rested her head on her crossed arms, giving herself up completely to the hands and fingers of her milkers.

This time, no new milk magically appeared in the orbs, and while Berry and Jean kept expressing milk from each udder, the breasts slowly shrunk down in their grip until they resembled two half-melons. The excess skin formed a rough patch with circular wrinkles around the nipples. The folds gradually faded and became part of the palm-sized areola.

"Pshaw! Magic cheater you are," snarled Berry at the sight of the adjusting skin, "Would’ve served you right to have wrinkly, empty bags for all the trouble you’ve caused!"

Mirca whimpered, "I didn’t want to — I’m sorry —"

"Oh shut up! Sorry, sorry, sorry, wail, wail, wail is all I’ve heard from you!"

Mirca fell silent, except for the occasional sniffle when she drew up the tears.

"Berry!" Jean slapped the older woman over the head. "Leave the poor girl alone!" She patted Mirca on the shoulder. "There, girl. You sleep now, m’kay? Momma Jean’s gonna take care of the rest."

It wasn’t long until Mirca’s breath slowed and deepened, and she fell asleep to the rhythmic stroking and the "psssht—psssht" of her milk whizzing into the buckets.

"Well, that’s it. She’s empty. Finally," Jean sighed and wiped the sweat from her forehead. "I’ll say, she’s a mighty strong one, and not just in her milk. Dammit, my arms are black and blue where she grabbed me! Huh, Berry? And what was that about? Afraid she’ll take away your job and become the new bouncer? She’s looking like she might be your younger prettier sister, I’ll say. And she got enough boobs for both of you."

Berry did not reply. She thoughtfully, hostilely stared at the huge blonde.

"You be going way now! Li need space to rub oil in big girl!" The eastern whirlwind ushered them both out of the small room. "Go take bath! Go! You reek too! And be taking buckets along!"

Once she was alone with the sleeping blonde, Li pulled at her sash. Her kimono fell open, and she let it slip off her narrow shoulders. Underneath, she was naked except for a wide piece of cloth slung around her hip and in loops around her legs. On her chest, tiny breasts sprouted hard, unusually large and rough nipples from dark, brown-black areolae. 

Her breath quickened. She pulled the long needles out of the bun of her black hair. It unrolled and fell all the way down until its tips caressed her small but round buttocks.

She opened the small cabinet by the side of her bed and picked a bottle and a small vial from it. On the worn labels, the enigmatic characters of her native language resembled drawings more than anything else. Li held her breath while she opened the small vial and sprinkled a little of the grayish powder in the air in front of Mirca’s face. The blonde’s next inhale drew it deep into her lungs, and after a few seconds of silence, her body sagged all the way down into the pillows and grew limp with a long sigh. With her head turned sideways, her mouth dropped open and the tip of her freakishly long tongue lolled out. After plugging the vial shut, the girl from the east dared to breathe again.

Li puddled a generous helping of the oily liquid from the bottle into her left hand’s cupped palm. She put down the container and rubbed her hands until her fingers glistened. Then she climbed over Mirca’s back, put her knees left and right of the blonde’s waist and sat down on the hard buttocks. She bent forward and began kneading the strong shoulders, and slowly worked her way down along over the mounds and bumps of Mirca’s muscled back.

It wasn’t long before Li’s hip began to rock back and forth, and her hands started to tremble whenever they went near the root of Mirca’s breasts or the wide hips beneath the narrow waist. Li bit her lips. Giant girl, I cannot resist you. Oh gods, you’re all my dreams crammed into one. Forgive me. I need release, or I burst. You’re asleep, you won’t notice. You won’t mind. I hope you won’t mind. She shuddered with excitement. Heavens, you could crush me with those strong arms.

She moved her seat further down, slipping down from Mirca’s hard buttocks onto the meaty thighs. Her oiled fingers wandered over the spherical muscles of Mirca’s rear and pulled the cheeks apart. The blond bush appeared in the candlelight. Li pulled at the cloth wrapped around her hips. It came loose, and she dropped it without regard by the side of the bed. Spreading her own legs wide, Li lost the fingers of her right hand in her own short black pubic hair. From the sweat-matted black curls, a huge, finger-like clitoris rose as she rubbed the outer lips. The lust knob was no longer pink but almost dark red now, engorged and glistening with her natural lubricant, which she rubbed from her dripping opening all over her vulva.

Li pushed gently forward. Her nervous clit dug into the narrow crack, and she slowly gyrated her hips while her hands grabbed the blonde’s protruding buttocks and pushed them together and against her hips. Moments later, she stooped and let her grip wander over Mirca’s waist, then around it until her fingertips met under the hard belly. Struggling and panting, she lifted the heavy blonde’s hip until the sleeping girl almost knelt. Li adjusted her own position. Pressing against the huge butt crack in front of her, the smooth skin of Mirca’s buttocks slid up and down along the tip of the itching knob. The blond curls of Mirca’s unshaved crotch raveled around the length of Li’s clitoris; they tugged and cut into it; Li felt the center of her lust becoming snarled up like a fish in a web.

Her breath raced. Her heart pounded in her ears. With a suppressed moan she froze, pressing against her mount. Long minutes passed until she stooped forward and slowly sank down together with the limp blonde, dropping on Mirca’s wide back, her own sweat-covered skin sticking to Mirca’s oiled, glistening body. Li’s small hands wandered down the hanging boobs and caressed the huge nipples.

"Thank you, my big golden hair goddess," she mumbled, sounding like a bird’s gentle twitter. After she caught her breath again, she climbed down and finished massaging and rubbing the oil into Mirca’s muscles.

Chapter: Belated Introductions

"Mirca! Don’t —!" screamed Yrba as she jerked awake in the sweat-drenched bed. 

"Shhhh. She’s all right, she’s all right. She’s fine. Would you believe my girls are all over her? It’s you who needs some more rest now." Someone returned a wet, cold rag gently on her forehead.

"Red? Is that you? What day is this? How long have I been out?" All she could see was a dark silhouette against the window, sitting back down on a chair. Pale moonlight came in again — or still? — from the outside. The shadow nodded to her.

"Yeah, it’s me, darling. You’ve been out cold for a whole day and night, but you made it. Oh Yrba, you’re incredible."

"Incredibly stupid, you mean. Oh heavens, what have I done to the poor girl." 

The witch took a deep breath and sighed, slumping back into the cushions.

"Red, be careful. Mirca’s very dangerous. It’s not her fault. I’ve not had a chance to train her yet. Her breasts —"

"I know. I’ve seen the ruins of the warehouse, and I thought, with you involved, it can be either her ass or her tits. She woke this morning, if only for a few moments. So I talked to her and I even got a few answers out of her before she dozed off again. Don’t worry."

"Don’t worry? Oh Red, you’ve got no idea. No idea! I don’t even know why or when — or how big — her boobs will blow up next time. I thought I had this under control, but I didn’t expect that growth spurt while we were hiding, and I’m afraid this might be getting worse."

The bawd chuckled. Against the pale rectangle of the window, Red’s silhouette lifted a hand and slowly ran her fingertips over the contours of her pair of protuberant breasts.

"What did she do, drink two of your vials at once?"

"She didn’t tell you?" Yrba slowly shook her head. "No, of course she wouldn’t. Too timid for that. Red, I’ve shoved her mouth in my crotch and force-fed her this year’s whole batch, straight from the source. Undiluted."

Even in the dim light, Yrba saw how the color drained from Red’s face. Her eyes darted to the heavy door, as if she half expected it to burst out of the frame, blown to pieces by a barrel-sized nipple. 

"You did what!? Jackass! When will you ever learn? You promised you’d never do something that stupid again, and then you went and did it! Yrba, I should slap you silly! What now, she’s about to bury the town under tits?"

"Relax. You think I’d have done it if I’d had any other choice? It was either that, or her and me, we’d both be stiff by now. I thought the risk was negligible. It all went the way it always does, maybe a tad bigger, right until that moment in your hideout. And now I don’t know — no, I’m pretty sure she won’t blow up again, at least not too soon. Hardly any magic left around here after the blast in the dungeons. I was surprised your little boob-up trick still worked. It’ll be weeks until it grows back to full strength, and even then, I know how to contain it. I managed when she was all juiced up on the potion, and I can do it again once I get back on my feet. But I somehow need to teach her —"

"Shh. Hold it there. You say it’s OK for now? Good! Then you can afford to stay in bed for another day. You still can hardly lift a finger."

She leant forward and handed Yrba an earthen cup. "Here, drink this."

"Yuck! What’s that vile stuff?" muttered the witch after the first gulp.

"Ooh, Miss Know-it-all has got a question?" Red grinned. "Girl, you’ve emptied your insides so thoroughly, you were just about to croak. So I put a funnel in your ass and filled your entrails with two buckets of that stuff. It’s just sugar, salt and lots of water. Yes, that’s nothing compared to your magic, but I learned it keeps people alive until they stop having the runs. Admitted, people are supposed to drink it, but you weren’t especially lucid the last two days so I didn’t want to wash it down your gullet for fear of drowning you. Had to get it into you one way or the other, so I chose the backdoor."

Yrba stared down into the cup. "And I wondered why it tastes like something straight from my —"

Red slapped her playfully over the head.

"Ybbie!" she exclaimed in a mock huff. "Of course that’s fresh. Gods! Eww! What is it with you and your dirty mind? Drink that and then lie down again! 

"And no more sass or talking back!" Red added as Yrba took a deep breath. The witch deflated with a sigh. 

"Yes, mistress," she mumbled, too weak and tired for a lengthy debate with her hostess. Soon, she was back in a deep, dreamless sleep. She didn’t wake up again until almost nightfall the next day.

"Red, maybe this isn’t such a good idea. What if they search the houses again? I better hide somewhere else," Yrba complained as Red led her down the stairs.

"Oh shush. It’s not like the lord cares much about the town at all, beyond the taxes. The search that they did the night before yesterday? You blew up his cells and a random building, dear. Must’ve miffed him somewhat." Red chuckled. "Not that I mind the warehouse. That bastard deserved it for ages."

The bawd continued, "Lord Peter’s got his castle and collects the taxes, but he’s clever enough to not bugger us too much and just skims a bit off the top for himself. Leaves the running of the town to the mayor, who’s a sensible guy. Was around even before that prick of a lord showed up. If you stick with us long enough, you might meet his wife. She’s one of our regulars. Maybe I’ll tell you the story some time. First let the girls get to know you. They’ve been gossiping ever since you barged in."

After Yrba made herself comfortable down in the big living room, Red put two fingers in her mouth and whistled loudly. Yrba jerked and grimaced, once more adjusting the cold wet rag over her forehead.

"Dammit, Red! My head’s still ready to explode just fine without your help!"

"Sorry, hon. Then you better plug your ears now." Red took a deep breath before hollering: "Roll call, ladies! Time to meet our mystery visitor!"

Footfalls came down the stairs, and moments later, the half dozen of girls hurried into the big anteroom and scattered over the benches and divans. Yrba recognized some of the faces, and their assorted breasts.

"Jean. Sylvia." She nodded to them and winced when her headache promptly kicked in again. The brunette Jean and Sylvia with the jet-black curls hadn’t changed since the witch’s last visit. Jean’s skinny frame owed its eye-catching pair of boobs to a generous helping of the tincture, and Sylvia, round-faced with somewhat pronounced cheekbones, still was the vaguely motherly type with her voluptuous, proud and taut flesh in all the right places, with only the faintest of magical tweaking to add to her breast’s protruding resilience. Her waist was wider than the hip of most women, but since her hips with the round, taut cheeks were also much more than just a handful, her overall profile was that of a chunky hourglass, one that wouldn’t snap easily even in a rough squeeze. A few veils and jingling chains of gold, and she’d be right at home as the queen in any harem with her dark brown, promising, fiery eyes and luscious bosom. Many a happy men had found that Sylvia’s matronly look hid a frisky quarter horse blessed with an insatiable appetite, a playful mare who would never pass up on a dangling carrot once her clothes came down.

Seeing the others, Yrba frowned. "I don’t think we’ve been introduced yet."

"Oh, of course. This is Charley."

"Charlene," corrected the young, tall woman with the exotic tan and the straight black hair. Her voice was a husky promise of carnal pleasures, and surprisingly deep. A few colorful bands of silk were woven like a halo into the almost wig-like arrangement of her hair. She wore a two-piece dress cut unlike anything Yrba had seen before. A long veil ran in an X-shape over her chest and covered her breasts, though barely. The belt around her hips held two different cloths, a larger, darker one that covered her protruding derrière and went around the sides of her hip, and a white, palm-wide band tucked into the front. It hung down straight, shielding her crotch from sight. Thin gold bracelets clinked around her narrow ankles as she moved her toned legs slightly apart. The cloth gaped open, and her slender legs showed through the gaps between her loincloth and the rest of her skirt. Her body’s hourglass shape was to die for, and the almost bullet-shaped balcony, proudly jutting out on its own accord, had brought many a visitor of Red’s house to tears of joy. She knew her worth, knew it a tad too well maybe, since there was more than just a hint of smugness in her voice that detracted from her marvelous appearance. 

"Charlene, right," sighed Red. "Now she won’t need your little helpers any time soon."

Yrba nodded. "That I can see, Red. Big and outreaching and perky, that’s rare."

Charlene shrugged nonchalantly. "All natural, none of the cheating." She shot a quick, belittling glance at the others. "Runs in my family. Well, I’ve got maybe another few years, and then, sadly, they’ll sag like yours."

"Thanks for reminding me," grumbled the witch.

"And this little faery here is Li. Eastern lands refugee, I guess. She doesn’t really talk much about it. I’ve bought her from a traveling merchant, some time last year. That’s why you’ve not met her yet. She speaks but a little of our language. Good with the cooking if you like your food spiced, and some other things. Still a bit shy, but we’re making progress."

Yrba put her palms and flat fingers together in front of her chest and bowed. Li’s face beamed, and she answered with the same greeting before she twittered rapidly in her native tongue. It might or might not have been a question. Yrba shook her head with a sad smile.

"Sorry, dear. I know a thing or two about this greeting stuff, but I’ve got no idea what you’re saying."

Li pulled at Jean’s shoulder, and as the skinny brunette bowed down sideways, the yellow-skinned raven-hair whispered into her ear. Jean laughed after a few seconds, and glanced at Yrba.

"She’s asking if you’re the one she’s heard all the stories about."

The eastern girl seemed to have mustered some more courage and nodded. She had the loveliest accent, and the words stumbling around in her sentences didn’t hurt her exotic aura either.

"Yes, Li be liking knowledge if you are swelly boob witch of famous," warbled the almond-eyed beauty.

"Swelly boob witch?" Yrba chuckled. "That’s a first. Well, no point in denying it. Yes, I am."

Li reached again for her neighbor. Whisper. Twitter. Mumble mumble.

"Uh, she says she’d imagined you a lot older and uglier and less, heh, uh—." Jean hesitated and glanced at Yrba’s bosom. "Let’s just say curvaceous." 

Yrba laughed. "Yeah, and right now, I feel too old and ugly. No, I’ve started magicking when I was very young, little lady. And you? You want to add a little to your chest? Are you even old enough to work around here?" Yrba frowned all of a sudden and her eyes narrowed. The size, the lack of breasts, the soft face, the cute tiny nose — "Hey, how old are you, after all?"

Li giggled behind raised hands and turned her face away. Red quickly picked up the dialogue.

"She’s your age, Yrb. Honestly."

"My —? Fuck. She barely got a wrinkle! Now I’m green with envy." The witch shook her head, but didn’t bother with doubting Red’s words. They knew each other far too long and well for that. She just said, "Wow. I’d have figured she’s at best ten years younger, and at worst ... I was worried you’d have gone towards the uglier end of your line of work."

"Don’t you know enough about my life? I was sure you’d never accuse me of subjecting anyone else to the things I’ve been through, Yrb."

"These are tough times, Red. Sometimes people stray from their good intentions, out of desperation."

"Yeah, like buying exotic slaves to set them free, eh?"

Li twittered some more. Jean translated.

"She says she’s sorry if she’s insulted you. She’s asking whether you’d like to have a sample of her abilities, to make up to you. Her fingers are slender and can go places you’re not going to believe at first." Jean giggled. "I’d give it a try! I did, and — wow. Is all I’m saying."

Yrba smiled. "Tempting. Maybe later. And who’s this mountain of muscles?"

She looked up to the towering woman half-hidden in the darker shadows near the door. The floor boards groaned as the massive shape pushed off from the doorframe and stepped forward. Curly auburn hair fell down well below broad shoulders and framed a square face with a no-nonsense expression and a rather pale, northern coldlands complexion spattered with freckles. The first signs of age showed as tiny wrinkles on the furrowed brow and in the corner of her cold, green eyes, but the woman almost burst with strength, though not bust, from the brown leather vest with the short sleeves. Muscles swelled and made the sleeves’ seams creak as she shifted her weight and crossed her scarred arms over her chest, held the witch’s stare from up high and rumbled with a somewhat harsh accent that Yrba couldn’t immediately place, "Berry Ann. I’m Red’s bouncer. And don’t you dare try and put your blond beefcake in my place. She may be a bit taller than me, but she’s just a soft puppy. I can punch her lights out any which way I choose."

Yrba frowned at the outright hostile tone. "Sorry, what? That’s not the kind of work I’ve got in mind for her. Don’t worry, your job is safe."

"Relieved to hear that, witch." Berry’s expression didn’t match her words, not at all. "Well, since we’re done with the niceties and you’re no longer sleeping, I’ll go and fix the floor boards that your oversized lapdog ruined. Thanks a bunch for that, potion brewer!"

She spun around. The door slammed shut, right into Red’s angry call of "Berry—!" 

After a moment of uncomfortable silence, the bawd shook her head. "I’ve never seen her like this before. Yrba, I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s the matter with her."

Yrba sighed. "I guess she really is afraid that you’ll dump her for Mirca. Jealousy and fear. Bad mixture. Now how did she end up here? I mean, just a little less tits, and she’d pass for a man, with those muscles. She’s hardly the kind of stuff your girls are usually made of. If it weren’t for the face, she might be Mirca’s elder sister."

"Found her half-naked, half-dead and bleeding, last winter when we were out in the forest stacking up on firewood. Had some truly nasty sword wounds. No idea how far she had dragged herself on through the woods like that, the poor thing."

Yrba cast a glance at her friend from the corner of her eyes and frowned somewhat uneasily.

Oh Red, that’s so like you again. That walking mountain’s easily twice your bulk and who knows how many notches decorate her sword’s handle, but you can’t help but think of her as "that poor thing." Your "poor thing" carries enough fighting marks for a whole gang of thugs, for heaven’s sake!

"Lots of bruises, too," the bawd continued. "Wore little else but chain mail, most of it in tatters. We patched her up. She doesn’t want to talk about what happened, and I’m not going to try and make her. Yes, I know that gaze of yours, Ybbie. She’s okay. She’s decided to stay, and she’s doing a good job of keeping trouble away. Kind of what you’ve got in mind with your blonde, eh? People might not stiff you on your bills with a detergent like her around, huh?"

The witch shrugged and couldn’t help being herself either. "Deter-rent, Red. If there’s anything you don’t want to mention around your Berry, I guess it’s soap. Mirca as my —? Yeah, kinda. Maybe. Hey, why not? I’ve not really thought it all through, had to play a lot of things by ear, those last few days. Oh, where is she, after all? She’s not still asleep, is she?"

Li gulped and lowered her head. "Not fault of gold hair girl," she mumbled, "fault mine, boob witch of honor. Me giving her sleeping powder to help heal. She still snoring in bed of mine."

"Li! I told you not to fool around with that any more!" Red hissed angrily. 

Yrba wasn’t too delighted, either. Her hand slammed down on the table. "Little woman, you bring me this stuff right away," she growled and leaned forward. "She’s no ordinary girl! Who knows what it’ll do to her!"

"Li not know—!" gasped the exotic beauty, her dark eyes opening wide. She backed away, stammering, "Li go fast! Bring powder! Not know!" Trembling all over, the girlish woman spun around and stormed out the room.

On her way up the stairs, she bumped from behind into Berry, who was carrying an armful of spare floor boards over her one shoulder and a bucket with hammer and nails in the other hand.

"Berry! Go! Go! Go! Make," she groaned as she tried to squeeze past her on the narrow stairs, "Nnngh! — make way! Big (angry twitter) you are!" Wiggling by and pushing the stocky woman’s hip, Li threw off Berry’s balance. She tumbled into the wall.

"Hey! Watch it, you yellow-bellied lizard! You’re lucky I’ve got both hands full!" she hollered after the slender woman that bounded up the stairs.

"Li make big mistake! Li must hurry, bring sleeping powder to witch! Li in big trouble!"

And she was off into the upper floor. Berry snarled after her, then looked back to the anteroom’s closed door. "Fine bunch of guests we got all of a sudden," she murmured. "Red’s far too trusting with those damned gypsies. I’m going to do some questioning myself now—hey!" Li almost shoved her down the stairs again when she returned, carrying the vials from her cabinet in her arms.

Berry grunted, climbed the rest of the stairs, put the boards down and stared at the torn-up floor. The damage wasn’t half as bad as she had feared. An hour’s work, and a little cleaning up; not the disaster it had first appeared to be.

Berry’s eyes moved to the door behind which Mirca slept. With surprising speed and soundlessness that one wouldn’t expect from a woman of her bulk, she sneaked up on it. Her hand brushed over the folds of her skirt, and suddenly a dagger flashed in her grip.

Mirca groaned. Someone had just slapped her face. "Wrggl — What’s the m—" Had she overslept? Had she forgotten about an oven? There were many reasons for a slap in the face, at the castle. And often enough, it didn’t stop with something as merciful as a simple slap. Before even opening her eyes, her voice took on a whiny tone ingrained by years of cowering. "Master! I’m sorry! I’ve fallen asleep! Not the whip—"

"Stop the act!" was the angry reply, followed by another, painful slap that hit her breasts. A hand grabbed her throat. It wasn’t a man’s hand, but it was strong all the same. Her eyes opened wide.

A raging, snarling woman, built like no woman she had ever seen before, stooped over her. Mirca’s eyes darted around in panic. She hadn’t recognized the room at first, but small pieces of memory came back and fell in place. Heavy weight rested on her chest. Breasts. Yes, the witch. The cell. The … that house. Trapped in the floor. That big woman — those chilly green eyes —

"You? I didn’t want to get stuck! It wasn’t my fault! I didn’t want to ruin the —" she wailed, choking in the grip.

"Forget the damned floor! What do you want here, huh? Why have you come here at all? You’re from the palace! You want to spy on us, admit it! Little dirty spy girl for the lord’s guards, eh?" A dagger’s point flashed before Mirca’s eyes, and the flat side of the blade pressed coldly into her cheek. "Tell me the truth now, or I’ll take your sight and your pretty face!"

Mirca’s eyes filled with tears. "No! Oh please! I’m no spy for nobody! I’m just a serf, I didn’t want any of that, oh gods! Not my eyes! Not my—"

"Hey! Mirca! Are you awake?" filtered through the floor.

Berry hissed a curse through clenched teeth and let go of Mirca’s throat. She raised the blade one more time. "Not a word about that, all right? I’ll keep an eye on you. You try anything funny, you’ll bleed. You talk to anyone about this, you’ll bleed, too." She angrily pushed the dagger back into its hidden sheath under her skirt.

"Miiiiirrrrrrrrcaaaaaa?! Come on! Wake up, sleepyhead! Don’t make me come and get you!"

"I’m com—," she began, then she choked up, wiped the tears from her face and took a deep breath before hollering back, "I’m coming!" She grabbed her clothes and staggered from the bed. Berry grabbed her arm, stopped her and forced the shaking blonde down to her knees. "Not. A. Single. Word." she repeated menacingly before she pulled her to her feet again and shoved her towards the door. Mirca fled the room. She scuffled down the stairs while Berry’s cold eyes followed her distrustfully.

Chapter: Busting the dinner

"What’s the matter with you? I thought you’d be starved after sleeping for two days straight. Are you sick?" Yrba watched her and frowned.

Mirca kept her head down and poked the food on the half-full plate in front of her. "I’m just not hungry," she mumbled. Every now and then, she glanced fearfully at Berry.

 They all sat around the dinner table in the living room, where usually the girls lounged about waiting for their guests. It had been a quiet day. The uproar at the castle, the mysteriously demolished house, the searches, the curfew — nervousness had the townsfolk in its grip, and that had been bad for business at the bathing house. The girls didn’t mind too much. Even a calmer week or two weren’t going to put them at the risk of starving any time soon.

Red ruffled Mirca’s hair and smiled. "Oh my. Running from the castle and all that must’ve caught up with you, no? Well, then this’ll lighten your mood," she said and clapped her hands. "All right, girls. In celebration of our guests, I’ve had Li cook a special treat for us. Li? Bring in the chocolate pudding!"

Sylvia and the other girls groaned.

"What? You always liked—," Red began, puzzled.

There was a collective murmur to the theme of if I ever see another drop of milk.

Berry grinned across the table at Yrba and Red. "Hey, more for us then, eh?"

Li had quickly laid the table, and after the other girls had pushed their full bowls aside, only the clatter of three spoons filled the air.

And then there was a short, harsh thock, and suddenly Berry’s dagger stuck in the table. Her chair tumbled over as she jumped to her feet. The other women jerked back, taken by surprise. She leaned in, slammed her big hands flat down on the table and took a deep breath of air. 

"All right. All right! I’ve threatened Mirca, because I thought she was a spy for the guards. I held this very knife here to her face, and I’m sorry! Okay? I don’t know what came over me. And yeah, Red, I feared you’d hire her and kick me out instead. I was wrong, and I’m sorry about that. She’s a nice girl and she didn’t deserve that I slapped and choked her. There! I said it. Are you all happy now? Are you?" She picked up her chair again, sat down heavily and hid her face behind her hands. Quiet sobbing came through her fingers. For a few moments, nobody moved.

Mirca stood up and embraced her, comforting Berry’s face between her heavy breasts that bulged out as she dug the brunette’s head into her cleavage. "Oh silly! Now I get it! You were scared of me!" She blushed. "My, I’ve been so stupid … s—stu—" Suddenly her eyes widened, and she stared straight ahead. Her voice trembled as she hoarsely whispered, "Y—Y—Yrb—b—b … it’s starti—! A—a—ag—again! I don’t — I can’t —!"

Not just her voice shook now. Her whole body trembled as she let go of Berry, took an insecure step backwards and stooped, clutching her chest. In the sudden dead silence, the rending of her cloth’s seams seemed awfully loud. Yrba pinched her eyes for her other sight and saw the glowing white fog of magical force rise from the floor and swirl and condense towards Mirca’s breasts as their shape stretched from the bobbing, rounded cones into sagging, rapidly swelling orbs. She jumped to her feet, yelling, "Mirca! Outside! Hurry, out the back door!"

Mirca turned to run, caught her foot on a leg of Berry’s chair and slammed face down into the floor, except she didn’t even stub her nose. Her ballooning breasts caught her, spread wide under her weight, then sprang back into their round shape and pushed her off the ground again. The rebound sent her in a sideway half-spin. With no cushions to catch her now, the back of her head connected painfully to the floor, she crossed her eyes and let go of her chest as the room before her began to spin madly and then —

Yrba jumped the table and came down on the blonde like a very bosomy bird of prey, her arms outstretched, her clothes fluttering, her fingers like talons. She dove hands first into the tautening, throbbing uber-pumpkins of her pupil. The bulky masses barely budged under her weight.

That’s not the right time to panic, the witch told herself over and over, clutching the areolae and nipples that hardened and swelled in her hands. Must. Keep. Them. Down! Constringere! … Tranquilius! Constringere, damn you! Why won’t —

She squinted again. The last few wisps of white fog soaked into Mirca’s body. Their sparkling light concentrated towards the stretching masses of the blonde’s udders. Yrba tried to conjure at least some more for herself, and came up empty. Utterly, totally empty. The air around her remained clear. No white bolts, not even a faint, gray thread of power. Just her and her fingers clutching Mirca’s ever-swelling orbs.

Oh heavens, she’s sucked it all in! There’s not enough magic left around for me to cast a wrapper on her, all that’s left is inside her now — I can’t —

Her fingers were slowly forced apart. The blonde’s distending breasts barely cared about the witch’s grip, and she was inch by inch losing out against the enormous pressure she desperately tried to wrestle down. Mirca stared at her as the white wall of boobs grew between them at an ever-accelerating pace, her eyes filled with begging and fear. Don’t let me burst, pleaded her panicked gaze. The last threads of her dress’ neckline ripped and slipped down around her.

The other girls backed away as Yrba’s body gradually rose over the table top again. She was putting all her weight on the udders underneath her and yet, the rumbling, gurgling milk bags effortlessly lifted her up. Mirca’s fear-filled face disappeared behind her growing orbs. The legs of the table screeched over the floor, pushed aside by the expanding breasts that measured more than a yard across.

No! I’ve not made it this far to end up crushed to the ceiling by boobs, dammit! Yrba silently groaned, wrestling with the heat and strength in her grip, trying to splice off a little bit for herself.

And then, all of a sudden, warm milk gushed out in two bubbling geysers between her fingers, and she sank down on top of Mirca as the load drained out through the nipples and the blonde’s breasts returned to their supremely ample but manageable size of two resilient, bulging cones.

"What the — where did — huh?!" muttered Yrba as struggled off Mirca’s slippery, milk-drenched body on hands and knees. "What did you — how did you —?"

"I—I—I don’t know! First I thought I’d die, and then I thought that I didn’t need to be ashamed anymore because it didn’t matter any longer, and then I took a deep breath, and suddenly…" Mirca stuttered and babbled with her face glowing in a deep red. She struggled upright and rubbed the bump on the back of her head. 

Yrba scrambled to her feet, reached up and grabbed the girl’s shoulders. "Mirca, look at me. Are you all right? How many fingers am I holding up? Do you feel any pain, anywhere? In your head? In your breasts? Feel anything strange?"

The blonde gnawed on her knuckles and stammered, "N—n—no, it was only — I didn’t want to — I almost, the warehouse, I remembered — I was so afraid, I didn’t want to bring down this house, too — I — oh Yrba, I didn’t want to, really, I didn’t—" 

Her eyes darted around the room, she gazed at the toppled and shoved-aside furniture, the shallow pool of milk that had been a floor, at the huddle of girls cowering and squatting on the far end of the bench and the general havoc all around. 

Mirca sagged to her knees and stooped. She tore her hair, covered her face with her hands and sobbed, "I—I’ve ruined the floor! It’s all swamped with milk! Oh gods, I’m so sorry! I’m — aieee! I’m half naked! Don’t look at me! Just—Just give me a bucket and a rag, and I’ll—"

Yrba put her hand on the blonde’s trembling shoulders and stroked her gently. "Shh, dear. It’s all right. Don’t cry. Long as you’re not aching, it’s all right." The witch looked around. The whole room felt empty now. A faint pressure that had always been around, day and night, suddenly wasn’t there any longer. She recognized that feeling, and she rubbed her hands in relief.

"Right, that’s it; for the next few weeks at least, I’d say. Girls, you can come down from the bench. Li, no need to climb out the window. Local magic’s all used up for now. Will be some time before anything like that can happen again. Must’ve been some pocket of remnant charge drifting through. Sorry about the floor, but it really wasn’t her fault."

"Yrba," Red mumbled, "Tell me the truth. Did I look like that when you first hexed my pair? You know, when it went wrong?"

"Oh gods, no! You? Hah! You were even bigger!"

Red grew pale as old memories played in mind. Her hands reached for a chair. "Heavens—," she whispered as she slumped down on it.

Yrba gazed at the flustered woman, and then she chuckled. 

"Had you going there for a moment, huh?" She broke into a laugh, and the nervous tension in the room that had mounted after Berry’s confession and Mirca’s explosive growth, suddenly was gone. Giggling, they all helped Mirca back up to her feet and patted her down in a chorus of "It’s all right, nothing happened, the floor needed a good wiping anyway," and "Oh silly girl, you don’t need to be ashamed around us." Hanging her head, the blonde pulled glumly at her torn, dripping clothes. Strands and patches came right off. 

"I guess there’s nothing left to mend here," she sighed.

Li held up the tatters to Mirca’s breasts, or at least she tried to look that way while she grinned ear to ear and eagerly groped at the melons. Her hands almost disappeared inside the soft pillows. Cocking her head but never letting the orbs out of her sight, she twittered into Jean’s ear. The girl reciprocated Li’s grin and translated.

"She said you should be glad. That dress was awful. Well, I guess, now that the worst has come to pass, that calls for — a makeover!"

Mirca looked at the group of women and then shook her head in sadness.

"Me? Me?! Oh no, I could never wear such beautiful clothes like you, with all that lace and quillings."

"Oh really?" Berry laughed. "You dare to challenge us, huh? Girls, it’s on! We’ll make her look gorgeous."

Jean kept staring at Mirca’s bare, heaving breasts that Li’s little hands couldn’t match. Her eyes wandered all over the toned body. "I don’t think we could make her any more gorgeous if our lives depended on it."

"You’ll see!" replied the bouncer. "Let’s start with a good soaking. Girls, you know the drill! Charley, you scrub her dairy produce out the backdoor and join us later — I don’t want to hear a single word from you, tit princess! You’ll do your chores like everyone else!" she added as Charlene drew an indignant face. "Jean, Sylvia — firewood. I want the bath steaming. Get the boiler going. Li, bring your oils and scents. And I’ll hook the water wheel to the pump and fill up the big tub. Once she’s all squeaky clean," she smacked her lips, "then let’s show her what we’re good at!"

"But — but I bathed just last month —," Mirca protested weakly.

"Well, no wonder you give milk like a cow — you smell like one! And they call our house unclean? I don’t think so! Blondie, you’ll never want to leave again once we’re through with you! Come on girls, seize her!"

The four of them half-pushed, half-carried Mirca out of the room, to her flailing her arms and shrieking, "Yrba! Help meeeeee! I don’t want to be drowned in ice-cold water again!"

"You wo—ooon’t! They bathe differently here! Just let them do their jo—oob!" the witch waved after her and grinned. She turned to Red. "Mind if I leave you behind all alone and join them? I’m feeling a bit overdue myself."

The bawd laughed and pinched her nose. "Do I mind? Girl, if you don’t take a dive in the bath right away, I’ll throw you in myself! And give me those clothes! Now do I wash them, or burn them to get rid of the smell?"

Giggling and teasing, Red stripped Yrba down right in the kitchen. Even Charlene’s accusing glances while she grudgingly cleaned out the puddles of milk on the floor didn’t stop their playful banter.

To Be Continued in Yrba’s Travels, Part 3: Tubs, Sponges and Soaking

Wow. You’ve read on through here. So why not go the extra mile and make this after-hour smut writer happy by typing a short comment? Come on. You know you want to. Praise, punishment or a resounding "meh", it’s your (anonymous) call. Didn’t like it at all? Tell me why! Who knows, I might actually improve in my writing.

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