CONTENT WARNING: The text below is, by its intent, explicit in nature. It is unrated and for mature audiences only. This is neither intended nor suitable for any minors, nor 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 and legal age, doing teh nastay together. Ask yourself, and be honest: Do You Want To Read About That? Should you read about that? Are you legally entitled to read that? If "No", then What Are You Doing Here? 

Fantasy setting — Far, far away in a a mirror universe. 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:

Hey, y’know. Author’s pride and stuff. I don’t ask for much. A one-liner comment will do. Just so I know someone actually reads this. Apart from the obvious smut in the stories, I’m just like any other amateur writer — I like feedback. :)

You’re encouraged to be honest in your comments. If you don’t like it because you think my writing style sucks, that’s okay with me. If you don’t like it because you don’t like the kind of story setting, then — why did you download it in the first place? There is an introductory blurb on Overflowing Bra for this text, you know. :)

My complete listing of texts is at

http://overflowingbra.com/results.htm?varname=553

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. Yes, I do follow the comments for my older texts, too.

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. ;)

Every now and then, I’ll reply to incoming comments/questions at

http://www.overflowingforum.com/viewtopic.php?f=4&t=2195

And that’s it for the preface. Here comes the story now...

Yrba’s Travels, Pt.3 — Tubs, Sponges and Soaking

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 felt the need to change bits and pieces here and there afterwards, so it’s not his fault if the text is b0rken in places – I'm still just an amateur and non-native writer ;)

--

Obscure musical reference:

"Like an angel you came / Every night when I scream … " — The Rasmus, Night After Night

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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 our planet’s 12th century. 

What happened so far:

Part 1 — Jailbreak:

Jailed in neighboring cells, two very different women are waiting for their execution: Yrba, the traveling gypsy witch, and Mirca, the servant girl. In a last desperate bid for freedom, 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.

Part 2 — Under Soiled Doves’ Wings:

The witch and her new companion can’t make it out of town. Lucky for them, Red, an old friend of the witch, runs the town’s brothel, and they manage to hide there from the guards searching the houses. An unexpected growth spurt in the confined hideaway ends with Mirca getting stuck and Yrba out cold. Over the course of the next days, they recover, get acquainted with the girls, Mirca gets into a quarrel with Berry, Red’s mistrusting bouncer, and becomes the focus of eastern beauty Li’s fantasies. A dinner and a surprise confession lead to another eruption of Mirca’s unstable body.

Chapter: All Milk And No Honey In The Tub

The bath was almost the size of the anteroom. In the middle of it sat a huge tub more than three yards across. The water steamed in air that hadn’t quite warmed up yet. Several smaller tubs for one person (or an amorous couple) stood in a circle. The warm water came from a boiler that also heated the room. A water wheel in the backyard pumped it up before it rained down from pipes mounted to the ceiling.

"We’ve got quite an ingenious blacksmith and he loves warm water," Red had explained the first time that Yrba had marveled at the unusual contraption, a few years ago. And then Red had added with the broadest smirk, "and his special mallet does, too. Comes here for a reg’lar scrubbing once a month. I take care of his plumbing, he takes care of mine. I paid zip for all of that."

Mirca backed into the corner and tried to fend off the many hands pulling at her clothes. "No! No! I helped you filling in the water and with the stove, but you leave me alone now! Yrba! Yrbaaaa! Help me! They’re crazy!"

Yrba had walked in on the sight of a giggling pack of women circling her blonde who stood out by a full head’s height. Now the dark-skinned witch just stood there, naked, suppressing a grin, with her arms crossed over her chest.

"Yrba, they want to see me naked! Again!" wailed her timid six-foot-six giantess, pressing the tatters of her clothes with one hand over her chest and the other over her crotch.

Yrba sighed, pinched the root of her nose with one hand and raised the other while she shook and lowered her head. "All right. Girls. GIRLS! Hold it!"

Their chatter died down as Yrba let her gaze wander over the naked figures. Slim-and-busty brunette Jean and stocky buxom raven Sylvia, both in their late twenties, had been part of Red’s bathing house and brothel from the start. Yrba knew them well, both with and without their clothes on, since she had earned some of her earlier stays by doing a little (or a lot, in Jean’s case) magical tweaking and padding. She had met the other women only hours ago, and this was the first time she saw them without their already revealing business attire.

Her eyes rested for a few moments on the ivory-skinned, diminutive, boyish body of raven-haired Li. The woman from the eastern lands avoided Yrba’s gaze and lowered her head nervously. She was a head smaller than the witch, and where Yrba had been blessed with an ample bosom, Li sported only two impressive nipples on her lithe frame. Despite being the witch’s age (and much to Yrba’s chagrin), Li’s lovely face with the almond-shaped eyes revealed not a single wrinkle. At just above four feet, she appeared almost dwarfish against the two tallest women of the bunch that stood behind her.

Thanks to Yrba’s potion, her protege Mirca’s towering, hulking shape had been 'expanded' to sport a pair of taut and almost inhuman-sized breasts. Berry-Ann, an aging warrior woman of the Northland who only recently had joined Red’s roster, looked like a slightly smaller, slightly less muscle-packed mountain by comparison. Without her leather vest and trousers, just about every square inch of Berry’s skin showed the same mesh of scars and blemishes as her arms. They were a sharp warning that the cold-eyed bouncer knew more than her fair share about fighting, and she had lived to show, too. Yrba estimated her at somewhere in the mid-fourties, an age not reached by many of her trade.

Berry’s rough looks only heightened the sensuous appeal of the young woman by her side. Charlene, tall and unfairly blessed by nature with the flawless body of a buxom yet slender oriental princess and the befitting pride and aloofness to boot, completed the group of Red’s "girls". So far, their united zeal had failed to show any results against Mirca’s stubborn refusal to get naked and step into the huge bathtub. Now the mixed bunch eyed expectantly the well-rounded witch.

"Yes, that’s better. Hold it for just a moment."

Yrba pushed through the ring of besiegers, put her arm around Mirca’s waist and patted her on the shoulder with her other hand. "Darling, there’s nothing wrong with being naked, m’kay? We were all born that way. Now they’ll bathe you, and I’ll be around and make sure they don’t harm you. It’s nice and warm and all, in the water. It’ll help you get comfortable with your new body." She smiled up to her. Mirca relaxed, returned the smile and let go of her top to scratch her head. Her voluminous breasts sagged down and rebounded ever so resiliently. The wobbling motion of the proudly standing, elongated udders drew a collective sigh from the other girls.

"Oh you’re so smart!" Mirca giggled. "I never thought about it that way. So if it’s normal, it surely can’t be naughty? At the castle, they always told me I mustn’t do naughty things. Uh, except Suzy. I think what she wanted me to do was very naughty after all. Well, maybe I could try and—"

And then Yrba dug her fingernails into the remains of Mirca’s frail clothing, which by now was barely more than just a loincloth anyway, and pulled hard. It ripped right off her body and turned to shreds, and the blonde stood stark naked, frozen in surprise. The witch threw the tatters aside and nodded to Red’s girls.

"Now she’s all yours."

"Yrbaaaaa—!"

Mirca still cast uneasy glances around, but she no longer struggled against the other girls. She stood in the middle of the huge vat with the water barely reaching the golden curls of her groin and let the others scrub her down with sponges and soft brushes. Her nose wrinkled.

"Uh, what’s that weird smell?"

Yrba laughed as she climbed into one of the smaller tubs.

"It’s called soap, girl."

"That’s soap? Whoa. It’s more like, like flowers and honey, somewhat. We’ve only got the other kind at the palace, y’know, and it smells worse than being dirty. Now this smell here, I could get used to that."

"I sure hope so, dear." The witch descended into the warm water and shuddered with delight as her breasts became submerged, rose from her chest and their weight disappeared with the onset of buoyancy. Her fingers danced over the bristles of the collection of brushes by the vat until she found one that pleased her. She bent forward and began to scrub her feet.

"My, look at them! Even our little Princess Attitude seems to take a liking to your big puppy," smiled Red as she entered the room with a tablet and put it down at the side of Yrba’s tub. "Have a cup of the good stuff? Here, try that. It’ll bring back some memories."

"Oh no you haven’t!" exclaimed Yrba after the first sip and stared at the cup. "You’ve still got the recipe?"

"Just the way we liked it then. Sugar sludge all the way and enough hidden coffee to kick like a mule and keep dancing the whole night through."

"Oh yeah! Your master got a lot of complaints from the village boys’ parents back then. And you got a lot of dick. And laid some of the girls as well, not just me. Barely a day where you wouldn’t come to me begging for the happy ever after pills. And the other—?"

"Your favorite body oil." She winked. "Don’t get too naughty on yourself, you still need to recover a bit."

"Mmmh." The water in Yrba’s tub sloshed as she wiggled into a more relaxed position. "Feeling better already. Care to join me in here and help me slather myself?"

Red sighed. "Some tease you are, darling. Alas, someone’s got to keep an eye on the street. You’re much too careless, you know. Should be hiding in the attic instead of —"

"Yrbaaaaaa!" wailed her blond protege from across the room.

Red raised her eyebrows. "Seems you’ve got some more holding hands to do, eh? See you later." The bawd grinned. She ruffled Yrba’s hair, nodded over her shoulder to the playful wrestling in the big tub, turned and left, chuckling quietly.

"Yrba, they want me to spread my legs!" Mirca complained, holding her golden bush in one cupped hand while feebly fending off the giggling horde of young women in front of her. "They won’t listen to me! Tell them to stop! Now thats, uh, naughty stuff, isn’t it? I mean, if someone else touches the — the wrinkly things down there?"

"No, dear. That’s important stuff. Being clean everywhere is important, especially around your downy mound. Just let them do it and watch carefully. I’m sure they know all about it."

Mirca lowered her arms and shrugged, still looking a bit uneasy.

"Uh, right, then. I mean, you’re so smart, so … if you say so, then, uh…" She turned to the women, gnawed on her lower lip and finally raised her index finger in a timid gesture. "But gently, okay? Uh, who is tending the oven? Because, I’m feeling, like, like, sorta warm inside…"

"You’re not the only one," Yrba whispered to herself.

"You like that now, don’t you? Yes you do. Yeeees you do," cooed Charlene, kneeling by Mirca’s side. She stroked gently up and down the insides of Mirca’s thighs with a big, soft brush, while her other hand traced the hills and valleys of the blonde’s leg muscles.

"Oh yes! It feels so great! In the palace, they’d only give us those hard brushes made from roots and whatnot. I even once accusi—uh—dentialy cut myself with one!"

Berry stood in Mirca’s back, raised another bucket of water and emptied it slowly over the tall young woman’s head and shoulders. The steaming rivulets snaked down over Mirca’s skin, and she sighed happily.

"Mmmh. My skin’s so warm now and tickling everywhere! That’s fun! I never thought that’s possible!"

Sylvia was the first to notice. She stopped her cooing chatter and stared at the huge breast she was scrubbing in big circles. The brush dropped into the water, she changed her grip, cupped the underside with both hands and lifted the weighty orb.

"Eh, girls … that’s weird. This one’s become much softer. See?"

She let go, and it was true: the breast had lost some of its bullet-like, taut shape and sagged visibly against Mirca’s chest. Sylvia hefted the glandular protrusion and lifted it up to her face, gazing at the round areola and the plum-sized nipple. The wrinkled skin of the areola smoothed right under her watchful stare.

Her eyes widened. She gasped.

"Girls, I — I think it’s just grown in my hands! Hey, witch! Look here! She’s not going to blow again, is she?" Sylvia leaned slowly away from the melon in her hands. The round, sagging orb jittered and swelled a little more. She recoiled and pulled back her hands. The raised boob slapped back down against Mirca’s chest. Water gushed over the tub’s rim as they all staggered away from the mortified blonde and cowered down into the water, raising their arms like shields. "Wiiiiiitch! She’s growing again! Hurry!"

Water sloshed violently as Yrba jumped up in her small tub. After a few tense, quiet seconds, she relaxed.

"No. No magic anywhere around. It’s just the milk again. She’s bloating like the last time in the stash, not like the kitchen. I’m so happy I’m not stuck with her in the entresol."

They all slowly relaxed and lowered their arms. In the silence, one could hear a pin drop.

"Just milk then? No weirdness?" asked Sylvia, stroking her matted black mane back into her neck.

"A lot of milk. No weirdness but that," Yrba replied and slumped back into her tub.

"I could have told you that," muttered Mirca. "You wouldn’t have to hide and worry if you had asked me."

Yrba sat bolt upright.

"What did you just say?!" she gasped.

Mirca seemed to deflate as her body cowered down a little. That her breasts stretched just a tad bigger at the same moment gave the curious impression of her height turning into cup size. She fidgeted for a few moments, casting nervous glances at Yrba from underneath her eyebrows, then she stammered:

"I — I can tell, it — it feels somewhat different, see? The milk’s just warm, and stretchy-full, a—and with the — the other g—growth, it’s more of a, a, a tingle and the shuddering all over and — it’s just different. I can tell. Should I tell? Without being asked? I mean, I got into trouble, when I once spoke outta turn, at the palace, and I — I don’t want to be any trouble…"

Yrba sighed with relief. "You’re amazing. Of course you should tell us what’s coming. Girl, not one in a thousand can tell different ways of magic apart. I’m really proud of you. So tell me, what do you feel? What’s that swelling in your breasts?"

Mirca beamed and straightened to her full height, rising head and shoulders above the women around her who stared at the giantess with open mouths. Her swollen breasts protruded proudly off her chest. "Really? Uh, it’s milk. Just lots of milk. I’ve never felt it so strong before, but I’m sure. Masses of milk. Gallons!" she boasted, and added, "uh, oh—," while her voice tapered as she noticed the effect of her words on the ring of women around her.

Five pairs of eyes swiveled to Mirca’s growing areolae, to the flesh puffing up as the milk, still dammed up behind the turgid nipples, was getting ready to gush. Charlene was just the first of the women to hungrily lick her lips and lean forward with gaping mouth and pouted, funnel-shaped lips.

Mirca blushed. "Uh, g—girls, why are you l—looking at me like that? I thought you didn’t like any m—," she stammered and took a small step backwards. Berry’s strong arms wrapped around her from behind and squeezed her arms to her side.

Her almost-equal sized captor rubbed up against Mirca’s body, leaned over her shoulder and whispered raunchily in her ear:

"Where d’ya think you’re going, my udder queen?"

She sat down into the warm water and dragged the struggling Mirca down along with her. The others moved in slowly like a swarm of sharks, smacking their lips.

"Relax, girl," Berry cooed and stroked her head against Mirca’s. "They’re just hungry for a little milk."

"But I haven’t got a little milk! I’ve got a big milk coming!"

"All the better." Berry pecked a kiss on the blonde’s cheek and said, "Here, let me help you carry your load," and lifted the two growing melons from the warm water. The first drops of the nurturing liquid oozed from the rising nipples, ran down along the bulging flesh and fell from Berry’s strong fingers down into the tub. Mirca shuddered with sudden pleasure in the deft grip.

"Buffet’s open! Who wants to be first? No hustling, there’s enough for all of you! Open wide, and I’ll squeeze a gush to drown you, right into your little maws," Berry joked.

"Don’t talk like that! No, let me go now, you big meanie! This is so embarrassing!" wailed Mirca.

Berry shook her head, and her voice became gentle. "It’s not. Giving milk? It’s natural. Here, calm down and breathe with me. One … two … one … two. Sloooowly. Relax. Mmmmh. Just let ’em drink for a little while. It doesn’t get any more natural than that. Don’t you think they deserve a treat for the nice scrubbing they gave you?"

Another delightful shudder of expansion ran through the blonde. Her voice was tinted with a faint moan as she whispered nervously, "Y—Yrba—?"

"You listen to her, Mirca!" sang the witch, rubbing the expensive oil into her arms and enjoying the show.

"Oooohhhh—kay then," moaned Mirca, and her knees grew weak as she gave herself up completely to Berry’s strong, sure embrace and the brunette’s soft, massaging grip on the underside of her breasts that fired up her over-eager glands even further. The bouncer nibbled tenderly on her earlobe.

"Yes, that’s the spirit, my sweet milk maid. Oh, did you feel that?" Berry’s fingertips followed a particularly eager, slowly throbbing milk duct and gently stroked its produce towards the nipples. Mirca nodded, shuddering all over.

"Good, cutie. Let it happen. Let it flow. Let it fill you," Berry exhaled into Mirca’s ear.

Suddenly Sylvia spread her arms and leaned against her friends, holding them back.

"No, wait!"

"Wait? Come on! My mouth’s dry after that fright, I need a sip! She’s got plenty to go ’round!" protested Jean, and the others joined in.

"No! Wait! Look! Just look! I want to see how she slowly fills up! I want to see how big she gets! If it’s harmless anyway, then I got to see that up close."

She reached out and gently ran her fingertips over the swelling and stretching masses. Sylvia couldn’t help herself, a giggle rose from her throat.

"Like—like a twitching muscle, somewhere in there. Ooooh. Again! See how the skin stretches outward from the areolae as it fills up? Oh, that’s so weird!" She gulped. "And … hot." Her hands cupped the breast with wide-spread fingers. The round shape trembled in her palms, speeding up its growth.

Jean leaned forward, too, and gently squeezed the areola between thumb and forefinger. Mirca gasped.

"See that?" Jean giggled. "All the skin that hid away when she shrank now unwraps again! Oh yes, she’ll get big! There must be room for buckets full of milk in there!"

"Unnnngggg…," moaned Mirca. In her breasts, warm drops squeezed through the capillaries and united in the bigger vessels, the thin branches joining into hundreds of sponge-like chambers that expanded and bloated her breasts, growing bigger with each passing moment.

Berry groaned. "Damn, your boobs are getting really heavy now!" she muttered after the next distending throb filled Mirca up further, and let the jugglebags drop back into the warm tub. A huge wave of displaced water swapped around the circular vat, and some more splashed over the edge. The girls backed away and giggled as they sat down again and submerged themselves up to their chests. Mirca groaned unrestrainedly with pleasure. The warm water engulfed her heavy bags and took away gravity’s straining pull. Her throbbing breasts floated in gentle weightlessness that put up no resistance to their expansion. Yes, she wanted it. It felt so great. Nobody got angry at her. Nobody screamed at her. They admired it. It was something that she could do for them, and so she was going to do it the best she could. Except she didn’t quite knew how she did it, but it seemed her body knew all by itself and she just had to tag along for the ride.

"See how slow they rise to the surface! Now they’re getting full," giggled Sylvia and leaned closer.

"My, look at them! They’re almost twice as large now, and so fat and heavy, they’re barely floating! Like huge milk dumplings," Jean laughed and prodded one of the bags, giving it a push that send the rotund shape undulating and slowly descending again. "Uh wow, they’re really taut now!"

The others joined in and began to prod and push the bloated balloons whose upper curve barely managed to break through the surface. Their excited exclamations and giggles filled the air.

"—your head! Three times at least now! And — oh, there’s another throb! See how huge—"

"—almost as long as my arm, I can’t reach—"

"—so full, my fingers don’t even make a dent any more!"

"—tub is flowing over! So big, they’re filling—"

"—how fat the nipples are? Now the areolae swell up, too! I’ve never—"

"Mnnnghh! Don’t! Hiii! Stop poking! Oooh yeeesss! I mean, oh no! I’m — nnngggh! — the nipples! It’s rushing into the nipples! Now I can’t hold it in any more!" Mirca moaned with closed eyes. Milk wormed through her ducts and collected behind the teats, puffing up her areolae until all wrinkles were gone and not a single drop more could fit in. The swelling wandered forward into the rough skin of her nipples as they sucked up the rich liquid like sponges. "It’s — hhhwwwaaa — it’s all coming out now! Oh, this is sooo good," she stammered, closing her eyes as a broad smile brightened her lust-contorted face.

A cloud of rapidly expanding white whirls streamed out of the submerged nipples and rose to the surface. Within moments, the water around her breasts turned into an opaque sea of diluted milk.

"Warm! No, hot! Girl, you’re boiling inside!" gasped Charlene as she blindly reached for the trembling, fluttering nozzles of Mirca’s aroused teats in the foggy water and her hands passed through one of the dozens of unrelenting jets. She groaned and lifted one of the massive balloons, now the size of a huge sack. For every inch clearing the water level and losing its supportive buoyancy, the weight in her hands grew and the shape flattened ever so slightly, spewing its nectar even faster with the added weight’s pressure. The water bubbled and curled as the wildly spraying knob and its white jets neared the surface.

"Oooh! Me drink! Go way, let me drink," Li insistingly complained and grabbed at Charlene’s slippery skin.

"Oh, so you want some?" the tanned black-haired woman smirked. The next moment, she grunted and lifted the throbbing udder high enough for the nipple to rise above the surface. A mesh of thin but strong jets arched through the air, hit Li’s face and spattered on all over the girls. Bending over from laughing, Charlene lost her footing in the slippery tub and staggered under the weight of the boob, and the small eastern woman took her chance, pushed Charlene aside and gobbled up as much of the nipple and areola as she could. In moments, her cheeks bulged and a white cascade spouted from her lips, no matter how quickly she gulped. When she had to give up the rough nub to gasp for air, Charley instantly took over and sucked and sucked, lubricating her dry throat with the torrent of sweet milk.

Mirca just stared at them, her eyes darting from her left to her right nipple and back again. Charley’s and Li’s good-natured wrestling was mirrored in the slippery struggle between Jean and Sylvia, fighting for the possession of her other turgid breast’s tap.

"Girls, I—," she weakly complained, embarrassed by the upheaval she caused and yet unable to stop it. Even if she were free to move without Berry clutching her tight, she’d have a hard time reaching far enough over her breasts to grab at the girls in front of her. Besides, the four pairs of slippery hands that milked and stroked her breasts sent shivers of strange and unexpected delights all through her body, and she didn’t want to lose these new feelings at all.

Berry’s voice near her ear was throaty and dark. "Oh, let them have a little fun," she moaned. With only one arm wrapped around Mirca’s midriff, it seemed to the blonde that the muscular woman was searching for something elusive under her as Berry’s arm moved up and down in a regular rhythm. "Feed them," she panted. "Let it all out! Yes, give them all you’ve got! Fill them! Just relax, I’ll hold you. You’re my tits now! Oh, you’re such a lovely rack — you’re my tits — big like I always wanted themmmnnnghhh!"

Her voice descended into unintelligible wheezing and groaning as she closed her eyes and her body started shaking all over. In front of Mirca, the writhing and slithering mass of naked bodies turned into a veritable feeding frenzy. And her breasts kept up with the demand easily. White jets disappeared into seemingly insatiable mouths or spilled and spattered, turned into rivulets on glistening bodies or dripped down along Mirca’s breasts before the rich, fatty liquid spread as a thin layer of white skin over the surface of the big tub of sloshing liquid.

Water was almost indistinguishable from milk now. After the frantic thrashing, there even were a few crests of foam drifting about the now calm surface. Li and the others huddled around the blonde and happily rubbed and patted their bellies.

Charlene still guarded one of Mirca’s breasts for herself. The task had become a lot easier now that the mound resembled human proportions again after it had spend its copious load. She licked her lips. "You know, I couldn’t have stomached the pudding, but your milk, somehow now I just can’t get enough of that stuff." She squeezed another jet from Mirca’s breast into her mouth and let the excess spill down over her chin. "Mmmmh. Here I was, thinking you were just another nuisance! No, you’re something to keep, dear. Oh yes, you’re a keeper with your two horns-of-plenty! I never want to have anything else cross my lips again. How did you like it, big feeder girl?"

"Uh, okay, I guess. I, I’m not used to that many hands on me. It was little weird, but if you say it’s fine, then, uh … and thank you for, for putting up with that milk gush. They’re emptying nicely now, thanks to you. Eh, B—Berry, I, uh, think I’m clean down there now, too, thank you. Seriously. You don’t need to — mmmh — to rub me, uh, there any longer."

Berry smiled, a deeply relaxed smile, rested her bulging arms over the tub’s rim and raised her hands in defense while she wiggled her fingers in the air. "You’re sitting on my lap, but those aren’t my fingers, darling."

"Oh, sorry. Then who — Li?" A nod. But not the only one. She gazed around. "Charl—Syl—Je—all of you?!" She shut her thighs, and quiet, protesting mutters started. "No, no! I’m clean now, really! You’ve rubbed me so much, one could eat from m—"

"Yes! Eat you out! Some honey after that milk! Ooh, pick me! Pick me!" they all begged and leaned forward.

"What? No! Sorry! But—but it felt good. Uh, and when does this dripping stop?"

"If I’m lucky, never," moaned Sylvia at the other breast before she gulped down another mouthful from the nipple and cuddled closer to the blonde, digging her face into the soft cushion that still was larger than her head.

"See?" complained Mirca to her witch who lounged alone in her small tub, her oiled dark skin glistening like a piece of chocolate in a cup of milk. "See what I have to put up with?"

"What? They like you!" Yrba replied. Barely a shudder tinted her voice while, underneath the waterline of her tub, her fingers slid out of her raw and throbbing crotch. Her folds and lips felt delightfully numb after the mind-shattering orgasm that watching the scene had given her.

"Like me? Like me?" Mirca complained. "They’re pawing all over me like the palace dogs are over a bitch that’s in h—, uh, in te—re—sting. You know." She hushed her voice and leaned slightly forward. "This here isn’t, like, naughty, right? We’re just bathing. When people bathe, such things happen all the time. Uh, they do, right?"

Yrba hung her arms and legs over the edge of her tub and raised her hip until her curly pubic hair and her nether lips’ wrinkly inner folds and meaty outer bulges broke through the soapy water’s surface.

"Only if you’re very, very lucky, sweetie. Yeah, what I wouldn’t give to be interesting for them right now. Hey girls, what am I? A lump of coal? Mirca, since we’re both smelling nice now, how about you come over to me and finish what you started in the dungeon, eh?"

The blonde raised her eyebrows and grimaced with mopey, whiney pouting.

"Oh Yrba, do I have to? I’m so tired now, and I — hey, I think I finally stopped dripping milk."

A disappointed awwwwww rose from five hungry throats.

"Yes! Ouch! Stop sucking, there’s nothing left! I’m empty!"

She put one arm beneath her breasts, lifted the floating, shrunken-down melons out of the water and ran the fingers of her other hand across the two mighty hills. A wide grin relaxed her face.

"Oh, just look at my skin now! All rosy and smooth! I really like the way you wash your guests!"

Yeah, right, muttered Yrba. Washing. Girl, if you think they’ve helped you get clean, be my guest. But I’ll keep on remembering that as the closest thing to a half-dozen girl orgy I’ll ever see. And I didn’t get in on it, dammit. Well, better that way than freaking the poor girl out. Enough time later to set a few things straight in her head.

Berry, still holding her in her lap, pressed her lips on Mirca’s wet hair.

"Right, then let’s rub you dry and pick some new clothes for you. Anyone care to join me in that?"

She turned her head to Charlene and Sylvia, who were sitting side by side with half-closed eyes and half-opened mouths, everything beneath their shoulders submerged in the white bath. Little waves emanated from their trembling bodies.

"Hey, are you listening?"

"Aw, let them," Mirca giggled, "They’re so tidy, they are still rubbing each other clean down there."

Yrba almost choked on her gasp and rolled her eyes.

Uh, I better not wait that much longer to give her 'the talk' …

Chapter: Makeover

Berry held one of her corsets against Mirca’s midriff and shook her head.

"Maybe this one…," she muttered. On her bed, a heap of clothes showed the accumulated non-success of the last half-hour. Whenever something seemed to fit, another muscle somewhere on Mirca’s body got in the way. She somehow managed to have muscles in places where ordinary people didn’t even have places to start with.

Li and Jean hadn’t even tried to squeeze the blonde’s towering figure into one of their spare dresses. Now Berry’s wardrobe slowly ran out of options, too. The brunette’s stash of clothes had been the only choice left, on account of her being only a few inches smaller than Mirca. Yet none of the clothes they’d tried so far had fit, but she wasn’t willing to give up yet. She raised her knee and put it in the short of Mirca’s back, grabbed the ties of the corset and pulled.

"Hhhhhmmmnnnghpfff—," Mirca exhaled and the gap actually seemed to close. But then the blonde moaned with the last air leaving her lungs, "not … mmngh! … not fitting!"

She inhaled explosively and straightened. Her bosom swelled, rising out of the neckline. Berry held on for a few moments, then the twanging sound of the cords mixed with her yelp and curses as she kneaded her hands. The corset flew across the room, slapped against the wall and dropped to the floor.

"Dammit, girl! Almost cut my fingers off there!" she groaned, followed by a desperate sigh.

"Feh! All right! I give up! Now, if none of our clothes fit your size, why not something more classy, like a toga? Plus, it gives you, y’know, room if you need it," she winked and gently slapped Mirca’s right breast from behind.

"Please!" protested Li, "Be looking at thighs! Look! Is body of goddess! Hiding be sin! Tie small cloth around waist only, no? Like this —" She picked up a large shawl, stepped closer to the blonde and reached with her arms around Mirca’s waist. Putting the cloth around, her widespread fingers slowly crept over the muscles. She bit her lower lip and, as if by accident, ground her crotch over the muscular trunk. The colorful shawl dropped to the ground as Li began to tremble. She reached down, stumbled and embraced the blonde’s waist to steady herself. The top of her head, with the black bun of hair on top, barely reached the height of Mirca’s shoulder. She put her head against the side of the soft breasts. Her eyes were half-closed, and her mouth was wide open. Her breath came fast. She very nearly panted, and her hip kept pounding against Mirca’s thigh. The blonde eyed her with a mixture of embarrassment and curiosity.

"Uh, Li …? What’s she doing now? She’s not really doing, y’know, uh, something nasty, uh, … is she?"

"Li!" the other two chided under giggles. "Se—ri—ous—ly!"

Berry put her hand on Mirca’s shoulder and winked while Li slowly slid down Mirca’s leg to the floor, grinning madly. "You’ve got to excuse her. She’s a bit — she’s got this thing for huge women, and her little button isn’t exactly little. She likes to grind her crotch on things. Leaves sticky spots everywhere. You’re just too much catnip for her to resist, I guess." Berry snickered. "Thanks for lifting that burden from me. Hey, just a hint: shoo her away if she bothers you too much, or you’ll not get a moment’s peace."

"All right, ladies and — uh, ladies," announced Berry as she stepped back into the kitchen where the others had assembled, "I present you Mirca. The, you know, the new Mirca!" She turned to the door and hollered, "Mirca! That’s your line! Come in now, don’t you be afraid!"

The blonde stepped into the room, and all the other girls’ mouths fell open.

Her abundant chest was draped in a white, half-transparent shawl, slung loosely over one shoulder, while the other shoulder remained naked. Around her hips hung another, triangular pareu from the same, silken material. Her bare midriff revealed the chiseled pattern of muscles. Her feet were in flat sandals with long, gold-colored straps reaching up the legs in a zig-zagging pattern that ended just beneath her knees. Her hair, somewhere between white and gold, was rolled into a bun that made her seem even larger than she already was, and a handful of those glistening curls had been left to hang free and framed her face. Berry had applied a bottle of body oil quite liberally to every visible square inch of Mirca’s toned skin. She shone in shades of white and gold and copper. Six and a half feet of sun had risen right in the doorframe.

"You’re a freakin’ goddess!" gasped Yrba, blinking in disbelief and fighting the need to fall to her knees and bury her face in that golden-haired crotch. The others nodded consentingly.

"Aw, do you really think?"

The way Mirca’s body curved as she coyly nibbled on the tip of her forefinger gracing the full lips of her smiling mouth, put her arm across her belly and turned her one knee over the other sent a shiver of new urge down the spines of the girls.

Red finally broke the enchantment and scratched her cheek. "All fine and dandy, but it’s really getting late. Where do we put the two of you for the night?"

She sighed and lifted her hand. "No. Girls, no. Our guests won’t make the rounds through your bunks."

"Don’t bother, Red." Yrba yawned and stretched her arms. "Didn’t you mention the attic? It’ll do. Just give me a few sacks of straw and some blankets. Gold boobs and me, we’ll manage."

Chapter: Dark of night and dark of past

Mirca wriggled on top of the improvised bed and frowned. Instead of sacks filled with straw, Red had procured a real mattress — straw-filled nonetheless.

"People sleep on this? I don’t know. I shouldn’t — such soft beds are for lords and ladies. It’s bad luck for servants to end up in one … I think I’ll rather stick with the floor, thank you."

She crawled down and curled up on the hard planks.

Yrba rolled over to her side and waved invitingly.

"No you won’t. Come here, girl. After all that happened today, I prefer to keep my fingers closer to you than this."

The huge blonde grudgingly came over on all fours and climbed on top of the foot-high rest. She shied away when Yrba spooned up on her from behind.

"You — you mustn’t touch me. Not at night. Not in the dark. That is naughty. I know that it is naughty. And naughty leads to," she shuddered, "— to sexing."

Yrba ignored her weak protesting and wrapped her arms around the broad torso, cupping the taut breasts from behind.

"Please, don’t, it’s so em—buh—racing," Mirca squirmed.

"Embarrassing," Yrba whispered from behind in her ear and put her leg over Mirca’s hip. "No. I need to know if anything weird starts to happen, and so far, your breasts were the root of all weird things. I won’t let go of them, not until morning."

Mirca was close to tears. The warm dark skin sticking to her body gave her goose flesh. Her breath’s pace quickened, and as she spoke, she very nearly choked on her words.

"Please, I, I promise, I tell you as soon as I feel anything weird, just — just stop touching me. I don’t want to do any sexing. Please don’t do that to me. Oh gods, spare me. I thought you liked me! I thought you were nice! Why do you now — ," she wailed. Suddenly she lashed out and by chance alone did she miss, else the blow would’ve cost the witch a couple of teeth. Yrba let go in surprise, and the blonde clambered away and cowered into a corner, her arms wrapped around her drawn-up legs.

"Huh? What’s your problem all of a sudden, girl? Tell me. You said you grew up on a farm. Surely you know how animals are bred. Not that I’d try anything if you don’t want to."

"Uh, yes. Breeding? It’s not that hard. One puts its dangly bits in the other. Not much to do, they know it all by themselves. Easy," mumbled the curled-up giantess.

Yrba frowned. "O—kay. Like I said, not that I’d even have tried to do that with you. I don’t even have dangly bits, sweetie. So what’s your problem then?"

"With dangly bits? No problem. I’m just afraid of the sexing."

The witch pinched her eyes.

"But — hold it, we’re talking at cross purposes here. Tell me, what do you mean when you say sexing?"

And then Mirca told her, facing away, talking into the dark room, her voice a brittle whisper and devoid of any emotion. She told her of a night long ago, a few weeks after she had first walked through the castle’s gates at the hand of a brute solider, when she had woken, couldn’t get to sleep and aimlessly wandered through the sparsely lit corridors until she heard something and followed the sounds.

After five minutes of listening, Yrba beckoned her to stop. She gulped hard to force down the bile in her throat and shook her head. Her brown skin had taken on an ashen sheen.

Mirca stared down on her hands. "And … and then … the blood, everywhere, and that woman, she was still alive, for a while, and … "

Her voice failed. She just sat there in the flickering candlelight, cross-legged, stooped, staring at her palms that rested on her knees.

Yrba made her way over on all fours, clutched the trembling hulk of a girl and cupped Mirca’s head against her shoulder. The cold wetness of the blonde’s tears crept into her skin.

"No! No, that’s all wrong! Mirca, they lied to you. That’s not sexing. What you saw … that wasn’t … I," she stammered through gnashed teeth, "they — Gods, may those sick bastards burn!"

She held the angelic face gently in her hands and looked into Mirca’s fearful eyes.

"Trust me, they lied to you. They only wanted to be mean. I will teach you better than those filthy pigs. Oh gods, what have they done to you. They’ve got your mind all twisted and mixed-up. I won’t have that. No, I won’t, for the life of me. You deserve better, much better. Now come back to the bed. First lesson. Being close is okay. Come with me, girl. I’ll keep you safe. You’ll feel better in no time."

She spooned up against the shivering, huge body and drew a tiny sigil on Mirca’s sweaty skin. The shiver died down as the huge girl drifted into a peaceful sleep.

"And remember," she whispered into Mirca’s hair, "whatever you want or need of me, just ask. I’ll be there for you."

Chapter: For a Fistful of Ooze

Fast, quiet knocking came from the back door, followed by a whisper.

"Quick! Open the door! Oh heavens, open the door before someone sees me!"

Red drummed a short staccato on one of the wooden supports and listened until the hushed noises of Mirca hiding up the attic subsided before she let the veiled, nervous woman in. The cheap cloak of the visitor parted and revealed expensive clothes.

"Lady Mayor, welcome. Is it that time again?"

The woman grabbed Red’s arm. "Yes! Yes! I need it. I need it so bad! Oh please, I’ll pay whatever you want! Just let the little yellow-skin have me!"

Red nodded and cupped the middle aged woman’s face. "My dear, you know the price is the same as always. Up front, as always, too."

A handful of gold coins quickly changed pockets. Red nodded.

"Thank you. Li! Your favorite client! The special stuff! If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to her room."

"Don’t bother, I know the way."

The bawd nodded. "Of course you do. Enjoy your stay!"

"Uh, okay," muttered Yrba, who had followed the conversation hiding behind the kitchen’s open door, as Red entered the room again. "I’m not sure I’m getting it. That was a woman, mighty important one, judging from her clothes. Shouldn’t men come here?"

"Should. Some still do. But most of them are pressed into Lord Peter’s army and are far away. Most of our clients are the local women. We’re also a bathing house, y’know? It’s not just all rolling in the sheets, Ybbie. Well, things led to other things, word of mouth got around that we can be pretty, uh — helpful for tense women, too. Guess what? We’re making a killing on them! It’s much easier on us, too. I mean, screwing the marrow from a guy is fun, but you can only do it so often in a row before you start walking funny, no matter how good your salves are, Yrba. With women, I can lick day and night and won’t ache all over come next morning. And for most of the women, they reason it’s not cheating if they don’t lay with other men."

"At least it’ll not leave them with a mystery child down the road. Who was that noblewoman?"

"Her?" Red glanced at the ceiling. A delighted moan already filtered through the wood. "Mayor’s wife. Seven children in seven years. Got to her snatch. Now she doesn’t feel a thing when her husband mounts her. She’s so wide, you could smuggle a log in her. Poor dame. Still got a lot of urge in her, just can’t get it out. Li’s just the right one for her. Our little yellow devil has a special trick for the spacious ones. Want to peek?" She rolled her eyes to the stairs and lifted her eyebrows. "Huh? Maybe learn a thing or two from our most exotic lovebird?"

The witch stared in rapt silence through the small hole in the wall and watched the mayor’s wife thrash and flail wildly on top of the wide bed. The woman knelt on the bed, leaning forward with her shoulders on the pillows, her head turned sideways and her arms splayed wide. She clawed her fingers into the sheets. Foam dripped from the corner of her mouth. Li sat behind her raised, wide hip. One of the eastern girl’s hands had the woman’s fleshy buttock in its grip while the other moved back and forth mercilessly. Yrba gulped and whispered to Red who leant on the wall beside her, her voice barely audible over the moans and screams from the other room:

"Wow. Her fist? Gods, now she — how deep is she inside her? I’d never have thought that’d work." The witch eyed the couple hungrily and ran her hand over her belly. "All that boasting you did about your sucking stamina got me thinking, Red. I need your help."

The bawd smiled and whispered back in her ear: "You’re not going to tell me you’ve grown wet from that little show, willya? A seasoned pro like you?"

"Yes. No. Uh, sort of. No, what I mean is I’ve got to get back in the potions business. Can’t just sit around here. Once they let up searching for me, we’ll be on our way. But I need something to trade with. Too bad the season’s already over for the herbs I need most. Did you keep the empty vials of tincture around like I told you?"

"Of course."

Yrba smirked and raised her eyebrows. She pulled the shirt out of her skirt and patted the barely noticeable protrusion of her naked belly. "Good. I want you to check if there’s some left at the bottom of the barrel."

"Uhhhnnn—," moaned the Mayor’s wife, squeezing her last air from her burning lungs until she finally inhaled again. Her hands patted weakly on the pillows as she beckoned Li to stop the dogged and voluminous pumping. Her drawn-up knees slipped apart and slowly lowered her hip down on the soaked and crumpled sheets. She rested on her belly, her arms splayed wide. Every now and then, a shudder turned into a nervous twitch that made her whole body jerk ever so slightly. With another groan of deeply satisfied desire, she slanted her hip to prolong the precious touch as Li slowly drew her slender fingers out of the distended cave. Foaming liquid seeped from the wrinkly tube and dripped down the folds, wetting the swollen clitoris.

Still panting hard, she rolled on her back and stared into Li’s dark eyes.

"I don’t know what I’d do without you, my dear. You’re a godsend! How can I ever repay you?" she gushed and reached out for the diminutive woman. Li stepped up to her. The mature lady, attractive in her fertile roundness’ own way, laid her hands on Li’s shoulders and looked at her from under her eyebrows.

"No pay me, Lady Mayor. Pay Red, all good," Li answered politely.

"Call me Barbara, dear. Forget that stupid 'Lady Mayor'. When I’m in your bed, I’m at your mercy and not your ruler. Is there nothing I can do for you? You know, for you alone. A perk."

Li cocked her head and pondered for a few moments.

"You have bale of silk? Have wool?" she finally asked. "I want do sewing clothes for good friend. Silk hard to get, these times."

Barbara drew her down on her burning body and engulfed her in her breast’s abundance.

"I’ll see what I can do for you, my lovely. Just rest with me now until our hour’s over."

"Oh by the seeeeven swo—oooooaaahhhoooo—rrrrds of aaaaa—Adereth!" groaned Yrba, her hands clutching Red’s head that bobbed between her thighs. "Suck harder! There mu—uuuuooooahhhh—must be something left yiiiiii—in there!"

"Mmmmpphh," was the unintelligible reply of her friend. Red’s middle finger dug deep into Yrba’s folds, and as it slid back out, the woman pressed her lips on the opening and sucked until her head turned red. She wrestled free from Yrba’s grip, grabbed a tiny vial from the table Yrba sat on, pouted her lips and put them over the glassware. A greenish drop of slime, mixed with foam and saliva, dripped from her lips and collected at the bottom of the vial. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Ewww. Bleagh. Sorry, Yrb. That’s the last of it. You’re empty. Not exactly a dried-up well, I’ll give you that, but that’s not potion dripping any more. You’re having so much fun here, I should bill you by the hour! What did you just try, shove me all the way up your womb? Some of us need to breathe every now and then, you know?"

The witch held her head and stared at the meager harvest of half a dozen vials, panic tinting her voice. "That’s all? Six vials? — I’m done for. Oh heavens, I’m done for. I thought I’d just — the last few days, I had time to think this through — I’m dead. Dead! I’ve just not stopped moving! The — The cart is gone. They’re searching for me everywhere. By now, my face is on every damn warrant from here to the coast. And I’ve got nothing to sell, and without a ride, I can’t reach any of my stashes. Oh please, Red, try it again. One last time. Maybe —"

Red sighed and dove back into Yrba’s crotch, squeezing her pursed lips between the aroused and engorged folds of the witch. 

"Red, there’s — eeeyuck!" Berry stopped dead in the doorway and flinched as she saw the two women.

"Red!" she exclaimed angrily after a moment’s pause and put one hand on her slanted hip while she gesticulated wildly with the other. "Oh come on! Couldn’t you’ve gone to one of the rooms?! That’s our fuckin’ kitchen table! Other people want to eat on that, y’know! Uh, eat food, I mean, and not —" She hesitated and leant forward, staring at the line of vials. "Now what the hell are you doing there? Playing hide the vials or what?"

"Nothing! Get out, you ox!" shrieked Yrba.

"All right, all right! Sheesh!" Berry raised her hands in defense, shook her head and sneered, "damned touchy dykes! You ain’t doing nothing I’ve not seen a dozen times before." The vials on the table jingled when she slammed the door behind her.

"That wasn’t very nice, Yrb!" Red chimed in as she stood up, wiping moisture from her chin.

The witch calmed down again after the short fit of panic. Witchery tended to very quickly sort out those people that were prone to long fits of panic. A long fit of panic while facing a mistrustful guard or clutching a spell gone awry more often than not meant there wouldn’t be another fit of panic long or short, ever. She took a deep breath.

"I just don’t want everyone to know how I make the tincture, m’kay? You think I’d sell as much if my clients knew where it comes from?"

"You still got no business sense, Ybbie. You know how weird customers can be? I guess you’d lose half of them if they knew, but the other half would pay thrice as much just for kicks. My, look at you. Brown as chocolate, never any undies, your tits so full to almost burst out of your neckline, and yet you spend most of the year as abstinent as the most devoted monk, fermenting your magic stuff in your own womb."

Yrba smiled wearily. "Well, I haven’t got much of a choice. At least I try to play catch up during the rest of the year."

"I’m just saying. If you’d label it 'Yrba’s All-Herbal Fermented Pussy Juice', I guess you’d not be able to hold enough to satisfy the demand."

Chapter: Squeezed dry

The light of morning shone through the attic’s tiny windows. Mirca stirred in Yrba’s embrace and gently freed her ample breasts from the witch’s grip. Another night over, nothing had happened, and the huge blonde felt a shudder of either relief or the coolness of the attic’s air run over her body. She hadn’t panicked at being held tight either. All in all, it had been her best night in years. She stretched her arms, wiggled her body back up against Yrba and waited for the sound of the witch’s lips’ faint smacking and the usual groans and moans indicating that the night owl reluctantly came alive again.

After a long-drawn groan, the Darkskin woman rasped "mmmmmorning," rolled to her side, rose to her right elbow and scratched her messed-up mane with her other hand. She opened her eyes and jerked ever so slightly when she found Mirca had turned around and inspected her up close.

"What’s the matter?" she inquired.

Mirca gnawed on her lower lip.

"Uh, I, I — but you’ve got to promise you won’t get angry, okay?"

Yrba sighed and absently weighed her own, somewhat bloated breasts. What the fuck? I’ve not chewed any herbs for weeks, how come they’re already full again? Ah well, nothing a little quality time and a rub and a squeeze won’t fix, she pondered while waiting for the words to line up in the blonde’s head.

"Uh, right, see — they are all so crazy about this whole sucking on my tits thing, ever since you grew me that pair. I — I don’t get it. But I want to get it. I tried to suck on them myself, but it just doesn’t feel like much. So I, I," Mirca stuttered and hesitated.

"— I want to suck on yours to see what it’s like. In the cell, it was all a blur, I barely remember it," she finally blurted out.

"You’re laughing about me!" she wailed moments later and rolled about, ready to rise and bolt. Yrba reached for her and pulled her back down on the mattress. Still giggling, she smiled into the big, worried face in front of her and shook her head.

"Mirca, darling, I don’t laugh about you. It’s just so funny, because I’m feeling really full right now, and you’d do me a great favor, draining some of that. Go ahead, grab them and drink up."

"Uh, and I’d like to really look at you first for a little while, y’know?" the blonde reluctantly replied. "I mean, you’re nice, but really weird, with that brownish skin and those thick lips and that hair and —," she poked the slightly knobby tip of Yrba’s nose, "— and you’re just so different."

Yrba threw back the blanket. This wasn’t the first time she heard those words, but they always reminded her how far from her birthplace she was. And that there would never be a home to return to. She sighed and drew her hand along her hourglass contour. "Well, go ahead then."

Mirca inched down along the motionless figure on hands and knees, marveling at the two flattened melons that now hung straight away from Yrba’s chest and sagged down on the mattress like a pile of two well-stuffed but still slightly soft bags. She felt the warmth radiating from the witch’s naked body on the sensitive skin of her upper lip and sniffed with closed eyes. Her tongue sneaked out and drew a short, wet line over the depression where Yrba’s now almost nonexistent belly met her ribcage. The witch chuckled.

"Salty," Mirca whispered. "And you smell — unusual. A little like spices, like the kitchen pans after when the lord ordered roasted meat. Smells good. I like it." Her lips pressed up against the underside of Yrba’s breasts, and she gently drew a little of the skin into her mouth. Yrba bit her lips in delight.

Mirca opened her eyes and marveled at the subtle changes in the brown skin tone, running her palm over the depression of the waist and up again to the wide, rounded hip. Her fingernails scraped gently over the witch’s ripe buttocks. Yrba winced slightly as her ticklish skin sent jolts along her muscles, and a little louder as the blonde’s big hand and splayed fingers grabbed the whole of the round cheek. Her fingers kneaded playfully.

"Feels soft and comfy. You used to sit a lot on your cart, didn’t you?" she giggled. Yrba narrowed her eyes and tensed her rear’s muscles. The blonde looked surprised. "Oh wow. That’s something!" Her smile returned. She reached about and slapped her own sizable rear. "Mine’s harder, though."

Mirca’s hand returned to the witch’s hip, slid down the midriff to the navel, and her index finger prodded into the hole.

"Your belly’s almost gone. My, you’re weird. Not a week ago, you were like a big bladder and all jiggly in front. I never saw someone lose so much roundness so quickly. Uh, and now your skin is turning almost black towards the curls, where your legs meet."

Yrba closed her eyes and focused entirely on the rousing touch of the blonde’s fingernails and the trace of her hot breath as both wandered down her meaty thighs. Mirca’s fingers dove into the depressions in the back of her knees. She grabbed the skin above and below the knee and gently pulled at it.

"I knew it!" she declared. "You get darker when you shrink and wrinkle! That’s why your breasts are so chocolate-like and brighter. They’re all taut and full now, much fuller than yesterday."

"Then do something about it!" groaned Yrba, clenching her hands into fists. A tremble crept over her body. She quickly neared the point where the teasing, tender strokes of her curious, oversized onlooker would become unbearable and she’d have to get release, by her own fingers if all else failed.

Mirca moved upwards and stopped at the witch’s crotch. She sniffed again as she caught a familiar whiff.

"You smell like — like something wet? Ew! Did you — no, wait. That’s coming from the other opening. You smell almost like Suzy tasted. Only somewhat better. Why?"

Yrba didn’t answer but for a throaty groan dripping with arousal. Mirca narrowed her eyes. Suddenly, her face lightened up.

"A—hah! So this is, like, that sex thing, that you talked about last night? That we women get moist when — but I barely touched you!"

"Do something!" panted the witch. "Drink my breasts or my crotch, but please, please, stop teasing me!"

"I’m not teasing you!" Mirca protested. "I’m just touching and rubbing and talking and — and that’s teasing? Uh. Oh. Oh my. Okay, right, let me…"

She moved her head closer and turned it left and right, trying to align her mouth better. "No, not like that… got to try… ah! This should wommmg."

She wedged her one hand between the witch’s leg and the mattress. With her other hand she grabbed the upper part of Yrba’s thighs, held them close together and forced her tongue into the tiny gap that remained just beneath the witch’s crotch. The nubby, wet tentacle slid through the matted curls and rubbed along the whole length of Yrba’s overexcited labia until it poked out at the other end of her crotch and waggled between her butt cheeks. It retracted and thickened, curved sideways and probed for the witch’s entrance. Squelching and smacking, it disappeared into the moist opening.

Yrba lost it right on the spot. She shook and moaned, ramrod straight. And like a huge metal pipe suspended in the middle and struck hard, her whole body trembled and rang from the orgasmic pounding’s waves rushing out of her center. Her juices dribbled out by the handful, mingling with Mirca’s saliva and drenching her crotch.

When minutes later she regained her senses, Yrba no longer rested on her side. As she lay on her back, her breasts hung left and right over the sides of her chest and felt even fuller and taut, almost unbearably taut. Mirca laid beside her and wiped her mouth, plucking curls of black hair from her lips.

"Fou fould shave – gack! – fyour fnatch or bruff it more offen," she complained, scraping her fingernails over her tongue.

"Mirca — hurry," was the reply, half-panted. "My breasts… if you want to drink, you better do it now before I start to squirt by myself!"

"Oh, sorry, right!" The blonde hastily bowed forward and cupped the two swollen bags with both hands. Her lips wrapped around the first rough nipple. She barely touched it and immediately it spewed its delicious, warm load. Her cheeks shrunk with her first strong pull. Yrba groaned in maternal delight, spending all her pent-up milk into the hungry maw of her beloved blonde. The domed areola wrinkled and slowly disappeared, slipping inside the huge ring of Mirca’s lips as she sucked stronger.

"Mmmmm…Mirca, you’re so… wonderful. Your… tongue, do that again… mmmnnnghh!… C–c–cover me, squeeze me, empty me, eat me, drink me, I want to… so full… drain me…," she stammered.

Mirca rolled halfway over the shivering dark figure. Her body’s muscular weight pushed Yrba down into the mattress. The witch wrapped her arms around the blonde’s head and held her tight, as tight as she could with her trembling arms. Yrba’s breath came in alternating waves of long, deep moaning and short panting. She curled up in excitement, trying to wrap herself around the hungry mouth that devoured her breast and switched teats unpredictably. Yrba wrapped her legs around the wide hips, grinding her naked body against Mirca’s glowing torso. The blonde’s heavy breasts dug into her stomach and flattened ever so slightly. Mirca bowed down to better reach the Darkskin’s nervous nipples, and Yrba clawed over her drainer’s broad shoulders, digging her nails into the mounds and bumps of muscles on the blonde’s back.

The witch’s body couldn’t stand the onslaught of thrill for long. Yrba’s legs and arms fell away and she stretched out again when a wave of weakness flooded through her. Her head fell back on the cushion, and with empty eyes and gaping mouth she reveled in the sensations of exhausting her milk into her darling’s mouth through her nipples. And not just her milk. Her strength, her presence of mind — it seemed to flow, into her breasts, pushing into her areolae, making them bulge and strain against the barrier of her skin before it whizzed out through her throbbing nipples. Her teats struggled and strained, stretching towards the long tongue that played around them. The rosy tentacle wrapped around them, squeezed them and milked Yrba’s warm, sticky load into the insatiable throat of her hungry giantess. The witch tried to breathe in, but failed to inhale against Mirca’s heavy body and powerful embrace —

"Yrba?"

Mirca let go of the drained, swollen nipple. It took much longer to slip out of her mouth than she recalled it going in. She hauled herself up on her hands and knees and shuddered when she saw her friend’s weak, sprawled body under her, the emptied breasts barely moving under her shallow breathing. Did she breathe at all—?

"Yrba! I didn’t — I only — oh Yrba, wake up!"

She grabbed the witch and shook her. The limp body offered no resistance, and Yrba’s head dangled fiercely.

"Yrba! I didn’t want to crush you! I never thought I could — Help! Somebody help her!"

What do I do? She’s barely — I need to get some air into her!

Mirca inhaled, cupped the ashen face and put her lips over the gaping mouth. And then she blew, and blew, and blew. Yrba’s torso rose, the ribs groaned and stretched outwards. Pain arced into the witch’s brain. The jolt made her mental motor stutter to life. She startled in Mirca’s grip. Her eyes snapped open, and she struggled free from the giantess’ hands.

Coughing and wheezing, the witch fell from the embrace and dropped back down on Mirca’s thighs.

"Ouch," she groaned. "What happened? Why am I in your lap? Weren’t you so eager to try the whole suckling thing?"

"I’m sorry! I’m so terribly sorry! I sucked and sucked, and you — you grabbed me and moaned and wiggled, so I thought it’s okay, and I sucked some more, and then you let go, and — I didn’t want to — I think I sucked your power out of you. And then I tried to blow it back, but I really didn’t… I don’t know how to say it!"

"So now you can drain the strength from people, too? Great. Great!" She rolled to her side and struggled to her hands and knees. Mirca grabbed her waist and straightened her up. Yrba shook her head. "Nooo, dear. Let’s not jump to conclusions. Remember, magic does nothing for me, for better or for worse. I’m immune, so how the fuck should that work at all? Maybe you’re just too heavy. But I’ve got to be sure. So, come tomorrow morning, we’ll do that again with me on top, and we’ll do it right!"

Mirca rose to her feet and stooped to the flat bags of skin hanging from the witch’s chest. She cupped one and let the soft flesh and skin, drained of its delicious load, run through her finger, gently stroking and kneading it and running her thumbs over the swollen nipples. Yrba shuddered in barely contained delight. Mirca gently drew her other hand over the soft, flabby pillow, rolling it like a dumpling in her palms. "Really? With what? I mean, sorry, it’s just, you now look —"

Yrba grinned widely. "Just you wait, darling. Just you wait. That’s something I don’t need magic for. You just go ahead and help the girls with whatever they need done today, and you’ll see by the evening!"

Chapter: Hands-on Research

Red devotedly scratched her head. Her hair was in a mess, and her body was wrapped in a slightly used dressing gown. She lurched down the cold stairs on blank feet, opened the kitchen door and hesitated when she found Yrba already sitting at the table, with —

"The hell?! Don’t tell me you’ve had all that for breakfast already?!" she snapped, staring at the table and three empty crocks. "What are you up to now? You know how fast your tits bloat if you drink that much milk!"

Without a word, Yrba folded back her gown’s sleeve, lowered her head, raised her eyebrows and looked at her from underneath her brow. Red leaned forward, pinched her eyes and laid her forehead in wrinkles.

"Yeouch!" she winced, "oo—kay. You’ve tied up your nipples, and your tits are … a sad sight. I’ve not seen you that drained for ages. And there has been some scuffling in the attic this morning. Your blonde? She sucked you empty like that? Wow! Come on, tell me. How was it? Was it good? Can I have her, too? So now you’re all bent on restocking? Out with it! You’re under my roof, and so help me, if you’re again playing around with things not meant for man to know, then I want to be the first to know."

She pulled up a chair, swiveled it around and sat down on it, putting her elbows over the backrest and cocking her head. Yrba sighed and told her.

After the witch finished explaining, Red sat motionless for a few seconds, then she jumped up, threw her arms in the air and paced up and down the kitchen. "No, no, no! What is it with you and your penchant for taking on any harebrained dare that life throws your way, huh?!"

"Uh, do you have anything to do for me?" Mirca asked as she bowed through the doorframe into the kitchen. "Li wanted me to come to her room because she, I don’t know, she said she got some bales of fabric and wants to sew me new clothes or something—"

Yrba wiped off her milk mustache and nodded to her. "Well? Go ahead, then. You sure can use something a little less breezy than these improvised veils, don’t you?"

By noon, Yrba’s breasts had shaped up again. Their skin showed a healthy, silken gloss over the delicious dark cocoa tone, and they hung heavy and soft without a trace of their formerly sorry shape. The girls came down into the kitchen at about the same time, and she had to explain over and over again why she sat there with the empty remains of a week’s supply of milk.

After she finished, Charlene eyed her skeptically. "Uh-huh. Suuuure. So you’re filling yourself up by drinking lots of milk." The proud lass shook her head. "You’re pulling our legs, aren’t you? You’re all over that magic and stuff. Means you’re not one to get caught by it, right? So you maybe can bloat their," she threw a glance at Sylvia and Jean, "milk jugs. Your own? Riiight. You sure you’re not just playing a prank on me because you envy—" Charlene brushed aside her morning gown that hung in long folds like a carefully draped waterfall from her elongated, bottle-shaped, gravity-defying breasts and grinned sardonically.

"—those?"

Yrba smiled. Ooh, we’ve got a boaster here, eh?

"Wanna bet?" she replied aloud. "Loser’s doing the dishes, for two weeks in a row? I say, by evening, I’ll be bigger than you. I warn you, it’s a talent I have."

"You’re already bigger than me, woman," Charlene snorted. "Everywhere."

The witch shrugged. Her smile was nothing but friendly. "You know what I mean. So? I say that at nightfall, your boobs will be tiny compared to mine."

Charlene frowned. "No tricks? And you leave mine alone, d’you hear?"

"No tricks," nodded Yrba, "and yours will stay like they are."

Charlene gazed around uneasily. All the other girls’ eyes were on her now, and though on the whole she got along with them, their gazes were not as smirk-free as the witch’s. The proud girl knew she could not back down, not now. The hag had tricked her good, no doubt about that.

"Okay," Charlene sighed.

The girl jerked back when Yrba suddenly reached out and cupped the taut underside of her breasts. "You promised!" she gasped with wide-open eyes, as if her breasts were about to shrivel and shrink any moment now in the warm grip, yet she did not dare to pull away. If I move, maybe she’ll rip them right off! Oh please don’t—!

"Relax," cooed the witch, gently kneading and stroking the far protruding horns. "I’d never harm such rare wonders. Just want to make sure I know what exact size to beat." She licked her lips. The bronze skin, the proud nipples, always pointing slightly upward even without the unneeded support of Yrba’s hands…

"If you want me to, I could make them twice their size, dear," she moaned. Charlene opened her mouth, and Yrba quickly added, "no, that’s not about the bet. Not at all." She paused and sighed, admiring the resilient form. "Marvelous. Yes, you’re right. It’s not yet time to hex them better, not while they’re in such a great shape by themselves. Maybe a few years from now." Yrba winked at her. "Of course mine will still best them by evening, but that’s just temporarily."

Charlene eyed her in a slightly confused way.

By afternoon, Yrba’s breasts still sagged somewhat, but their bulk exceeded their usual shape and made them rise from the witch’s rib, two veined half-melons, juicy and tautened by their filling and in utter need of harvesting. Their bases started to stretch bigger, borrowing skin from Yrba’s ribcage as they rounded out and slowly protruded further.

Yrba nodded to Red.

"You still got the little barrel of oil?"

"Of course. Every now and then, we get a client with a really big piece, and it’s much — oh wait a minute! You’re that ripe already? Hot damn!" Red turned in her chair. "Jean, bring me the first barrel to the right from the special cabinet. You know where. Hurry." She leaned in and ran her fingers along the underside of Yrba’s orbs. "Last time I held something like that in my hands, I was milking cows."

"Speaking of udders — Li’s not still playing dress-up doll with Mirca, is she? She’s acting a little weird when it comes to my girl."

Red shook her head. "No, I sent Mirca to the garden shed, she’s chopping up wood. You think you can spare a minute from your milk soaking here? I guess you’d like to take a look at her. I know you do."

The bawd smiled mysteriously.

The axe came down like a force of nature and dug through the log in one single strike, but stopped short of the chopping block underneath by fractions of an inch while the halves tumbled to the floor. Mirca’s sweat-drenched hair swung around as she raised her right arm again while picking up the next piece with her left hand and putting it in position. The mounds of muscles on her bare back slid around, and — swish—thock — down clattered the next two handy pieces. Her whole body rolled and sidled in an orchestrated dance of dream-like precision. The afternoon sun painted bars of golden shine on her skin as the light came in lines through the gaps in the planks of the shed. A triangular piece of cloth, slung around her hips, was the bulky woman’s only dress. The air in the shed was heavy with the smell of fresh wood and Mirca’s sweat.

Yrba slowly made her way around the inside of the shed, staying well out of reach of the sparkling blade, and stared incredulously. Mirca raised her head and smiled. Even without looking, the axe in Mirca’s hand made short work of the next pieces.

"Hi, Yrba! — swish—thock—clatter — Are you feeling better — swish—thock—clatter — now? You look much rounder up top again."

Yrba stared open-mouthed at Mirca’s swaying breasts that moved like huge church bells. Mirca followed her gaze.

"Ah, yes, those — swish—thock—clatter — I had to get used to at first. — swish—thock—clatter — But it’s all good now. It just tickles — swish—thock—clatter — when they dangle and rub against each other like that. Do you need — swish—thock—clatter — me for something in the house?"

The witch shook her head and stared at the soft bags that slipped and slid around, chasing each other along a complicated lying-eight track. Her mouth was dry.

Swish—thock—clatter.

"You keep doing that. Gotta go back to the kitchen. Need another sip," she stammered, but couldn’t tear her gaze from Mirca.

Swish—thock—clatter.

She wasn’t a clumsy girl now. Swinging the axe, she was like a prowling animal, like a cross between the bulk of a bear and the sleekness of a cat, all fluid motion, all senses and muscles honed to perfection by years of repetition.

Swish—thock.

This time the axe ended up in the chopping block, humming faintly. Mirca turned her back to the witch, bent down — Yrba’s eyes dove into the sweat-dripping, matted bush that showed as the giantess’ pareu gaped open — and grabbed two splintered pieces of a yard-long bar that once had been an axe handle. Eyeing nervously at the door, she leaned in to Yrba. The scent of her sweat-covered body, mixed with the smell of fresh pitch, washed over the witch and made her knees grow weak with desire.

"Uh, Yrba, could you—," Mirca whispered nervously while her eyes darted to the door every now and then, "could you go talk to Red for me? Because, when I started, uh, I broke her axe. See that? What a cheap handle! It snapped right at the first strike! I—I carved a new one, a better one, but I lost some time. I’d be much further already. You think she’s going to be angry with me? I really didn’t mean to dawdle, it’s just—"

Yrba looked around the shed. Logs piled everywhere, in some places they piled right up to the ceiling already. She smiled.

"Oh, Red’s not going to be angry with you, dear. Far from it. Seems to me you’ve done a week’s worth of work already."

Her fingers slid over the smooth surface of the new axe handle. She nodded in approval.

"You sure know your ways with that kind of wood, darling. No, just keep doing what Red told you, and you’ll be fine. I’ll be back in the kitchen."

By late afternoon, Yrba’s breasts had overwhelmed her bustier and half-hung, half-stood off her chest. The skin over the witch’s back stretched thin, consumed by the elongated milk bags in her front. Crammed with milk and still distending, they felt almost solid to Red’s fingers as she gently applied handfuls of oil. They rounded out, not along the already huge bases where they created a sharp fold against Yrba’s ribcage, but about halfway between her chest and the nipples now. As the hours passed, their shape changed from huge pills into even huger spheres. And they kept on bloating, just like Yrba kept on putting away gulp after gulp of her amazing transformation’s white fuel.

By evening, Yrba had no choice but to forgo her bustier altogether. The base of her breasts went beyond the designated cups of the garment, which started to cut into her flesh, so she just hung an overcoat around her naked shoulders and went back to filling herself. Her breasts, wider than her chest now, spread open the gaping garment. Their rotund shape no longer showed any trace of elongation. The orbs stood taut and proud and spherical from her chest, besting Charlene’s youthful, exuberant protrusion by a hand’s width and ridiculing the girl’s volume. Her strangled nipples bobbed with every heartbeat. The skin glowed, and the veins painted meandering, pulsating river maps on the glistening surface. When she tilted her head just the right way, the witch was able to take a peek straight down through the triangular cave between her boobs. Yrba’s breath came in short gasps of arousal, and in between them, she still swallowed tiny gulps from the seventh crock. She moaned with delight at every curious touch and stroke of the dazzled circle of girls who followed her growth with bated breath.

"Hah! Guess who’s next again? Better luck next time!" triumphed Sylvia and held up the longest straw. Mute complaints came from the other three girls, things like Luck is with the daft or That straw’s so long, I bet you pulled it from your head’s stuffing, but they grudgingly accepted the luck of the draw. Sylvia lowered her hands into the bowl of soothing oil and proceeded to slather the burning skin of Yrba’s breasts in long, circular strokes. She shuddered as much as the witch who leant forward to push her orbs into the gentle grip of the splayed, slippery fingers. Sylvia playfully flicked against the nipples. Yrba gasped with closed eyes.

"You do that again, and I’ll soak the bench good, Sylv," she stammered, gnawing on her lower lip in the throes of arousal. "Oh heavens, so full…"

Charlene eyed the swelling shapes from the corner of her eyes. Her fingers drummed on the table and she jerked angrily on her chair until she finally jumped to her feet.

"Fine! You win! You stand out farther than me now!" she bitched. "Happy? I hope you fill yourself until you burst, you — you bloated cow!"

She stormed out of the kitchen. The others heard her trample up the stairs. The door of her room slammed shut, her bed creaked in protest as she threw herself into the pillows and then muted sobbing came down through the ceiling.

Sylvia sighed. "As much as I want to keep my hands on you to see how big you get, Yrba, I think I better go and comfort our envious runner-up." She rose, but not before she ran her fingers over the two orbs one more time, shook her head and sighed in quiet longing.

Yrba carefully moved her arms beneath the milk bags and hefted the slippery, dripping orbs. She put her mammaries on the table top and exhaled as the pull of their weight disappeared and the remaining strain came only from the slight flattening of the two pumpkins. The cool wood drew some of the excess heat out of her flesh.

"Aaaahhhh. That’s better. Oh yes, that’s better. I’m afraid the hard part’s still to come. Someone hand me the next crock, please. Up to now, it’s been fun. Time to cram some serious load into them."

And did she ever. Pint after pint disappeared into her mouth and emerged again in her breasts. By bedtime, the witch put a long piece of cloth on the table and gruntingly heaved her breasts onto it one by one. She quickly slung and knotted it into an improvised sling around her shoulders and her back before she struggled to her feet. The orbs, now each more than one and a half feet across, pulled her down to her hands and knees. Slowly, she moved through the corridor and dragged herself up the stairs to the attic, her boobs swaying in the improvised cradle like two big udders on a cow not milked too long. She moaned with pain to every step that jolted through her brimming, overblown breasts. Despite the wrapping, the visible dents of her nipples barely cleared the stairs. Her mammaries bulged over both sides of the band of fabric. They hung heavy and glistened from the film of sweat, copious oil and the smoothness of the straining skin. The girls followed her and offered help, but she pushed their hands away.

"Too taut! Nobody touch me!" she snarled. "Leave me alone! Isn’t it time for you to go to bed already? Huh?"

Red rolled her eyes.

"You heard her, ladies. Go on, hush. I think Miss Swelly Boob Witch here knows what she’s doing."

She watched the grumbling women disappear into their rooms before she leant down to her friend, furrows of worry all over her forehead.

"Yrba, you do know what you’re doing, right? Dammit, when I see how you stuff yourself, I really prefer the little trick you taught me. Don’t forget, me and the girls, we’re just a wooden floor away. Pound on the floor, and you’ll have more mouths willing to relieve you of that burden than you’ve got teats for," and a loving smile wrinkled the corners of her mouth as she added, "you mad cow, you."

Yrba managed a wry grin.

"You’ll not get near my teats as long as I can help it. The only one to relieve me will be Mirca. Uh — if the girls are all in their rooms now, then where is she?"

Red slapped her forehead. "I forgot! Wasn’t she in garden shed chopping up the woodpiles? But that was hours ago! You don’t think—?"

What started as a chuckle in Yrba’s throat quickly turn into a groan of ache as the trembles wandered through her tumid knockers. "H — nnngh! Dammit! Don’t make me laugh, you mean old bawd! — Heh. If you didn’t tell her when to stop, then I guess she’s still at it."

Mirca crawled naked through the floor hatch into the attic, her body somewhat damp from her quick dip into the tub after a day of hard work that had her covered in sweat. She still radiated the inner warmth of abundant physical activity. Wiggling her bulging shape through the opening into the dimly lit room, she sighed happily.

"Ahhhh! That was so good, finally getting to work again! And Red seemed very happy with my work too!"

The attic’s floor creaked ever so slightly under the tall girl’s massive weight of shifting and swelling muscles as she turned around and stooped to close the hatch. She lowered the door lid, raised her head while still stooping and started, "I like it when I see piles of hard wood getting bigger in front of me—."

Then she saw the result of Yrba’s day of intense filling. Her jaw dropped, the door’s handle slipped from her fingers splayed in shock and the hatch slammed shut. For a few seconds, she just stared and didn’t move at all except for the slow calming of her swaying breasts. Then she shook her head in disbelief and extended her arms.

"Gods! Yrba, what have you — please, stop that, that’s just not —," Mirca stuttered.

"Hush! We’ll see tomorrow. Now let’s go to bed," groaned the witch.

The blonde clutched her head and tore at her wet hair as she fell to her knees in front of her friend. "Are you crazy?!" she gasped. "You can’t sleep like that! And when I see you in pain, I can’t sleep either! No, you come here, and I’ll milk—"

"No-oooooh," Yrba moaned as she straightened her upper body and extended her arm to stroke Mirca’s cheek. The now much too narrow skin over her shoulders protested with a shower of stings and jolts against the motion.

"Mirca, it’s — it’s okay, dear. Leave it be. Eating late isn’t healthy. You’ll get a huge breakfast tomorrow instead. Gods, what a double serving that’s going to be. I hope you’re hungry? I won’t let go of you until I’m empty again."

Mirca was close to tears. She shook her head, her blue eyes firmly fixed on Yrba’s brown, half-closed ones. "Yrba, please. Don’t stuff yourself like that — that’s just crazy!"

The witch smiled, though the corners of her mouth twitched to every occasional stab of pain in her breasts. Her milk ducts stretched and strained to contain the ongoing produce of her glands.

"Just a few hours more," she panted. "Hand me that other crock over there, will ya? I still need to add some topping."

Yrba sat by the side of the mattress Mirca was snoring on. The girl had tried to stay awake with her, true to her word. However, with her body still soaked in Yrba’s potion, a faint sigil drawn with concealed fingers was enough to shut her up for the night and give her some rest. Yrba admired the young woman’s well-defined muscles and the one huge breast that peeked out from under the thin blanket. The late summer’s heat trapped under the roof did away with any need for thick covers. Mirca’s enviable body showed clearly through the thin cloth clinging to the mounds and depressions.

My cutie. Oh how I wish I hadn’t made your life so complicated. Well, tomorrow we’ll find out some more about what you can or can not do, my dear. Sleep now. Sleep for the both of us.

The witch smiled, exhaled and looked around. The floor was covered in straw, as she had ordered. Easy to clean, and it hopefully would soak up any spilled milk. Nothing left to do but to keep emptying the last crock. And then? No way was she going to lie down. On her side, on her belly, on her back? Impossible. She balanced her round, stretched orbs in her lap. Their heavy, doughy meat, filled with inordinate amounts of milk straining against the tied-up nipples, rested on her thighs. Her legs prickled. The weight already hindered the blood’s circulation. And still she reached for the half-empty crock, the tenth, and raised it to her lips with both trembling hands.

She put it down and accidentally knocked it over as her limbs’ strength ebbed and her arms fell limply to her side. It rolled along the floor and came to rest against the far wall, empty but for a tiny puddle that now collected on the curved inside. Her head sagged back against the wooden beam she leant on. She panted. Silent moans crept into her breath. Her milk glands transformed the new resources into yet more of the nurturing liquid that already overfilled her breasts. Yrba’s trembling upper lip crawled from her shiny teeth as she gnawed on her lower lip.

Just — a few hours — more. Just — a few —

She must’ve dozed off, despite the strain and despite the ache of her spanning skin, because she woke with a startled yelp as Mirca gently brushed over her shoulder. The light of morning came in through the tiny windows and filled the room. Yrba’s breath raced in short spasms, and she cramped up with the waves of pain that seared through her body. Her eyes opened reluctantly.

Her breasts’ skin color was no longer the delicious tone of dark chocolate. The skin spanned tightly around the two orbs. Their bloated shape hid her legs from her sight. The warm brown tone of her skin had overnight turned into an unnatural, bright mocha. Rivulets of hot sweat ran down the glowing balloons. She touched a few of the opaque drops and brought her fingertips to her lips.

Milk. She was sweating milk.

"Right," Yrba groaned through clenched teeth, "now let’s do this! Mirca, lay on your back! I’ll sit on your belly this time, and you open the nipple ties and suck out all you can! The right one first."

"Uh, my right or your right?"

Another jolt of tautness surged through the witch as she rolled around and grabbed the undersides of her breasts to stop the monstrous momentum. She held her breath for a few seconds, afraid of bursting apart from the touch alone. And her skin stretched in her grip —

"Any right! Too much! Oh heavens, open the nipples! Open them at once! I’m — too full! — I’m ripping — quick!"

She clambered over the blonde’s midriff and sat down hard. Her weight didn’t even dent the chain of Mirca’s muscles under her buttocks. Her aching boobs found a soft rest on Mirca’s own yielding breasts. The blonde’s upper body rose as she lifted her head to the strangled, chocolate-colored teats.

Even the touch of Mirca’s hot breath against the distended areolae was unbearable. It seemed to the witch that an eternity passed until the blonde’s clumsy fingers ripped away the yarn that had dug deeply into the swollen knobs of flesh.

"What are you doing? No! Don’t pinch them! Don’t hold them shut! Let it out — gaaahh! — Hurry, oh gods, hurry —"

Mirca’s huge, moistened lips closed around the first throbbing protrusion, and her fingers released the base of the elongated nipple.

"— oooaaaaahhhhh…"

"Gnmmmph—!" was Mirca’s reply. The nipple that only seconds before had resembled the tiny last part of a pinkie stretched and swelled as it soaked up the first barrage of milk.

Yrba exhaled. A shudder ran over her skin. It contracted in a spreading wave of goose bumps and increased the pressure on the spongy, bloated ducts even more. The cumulating torrent, its strength and volume worthy of the best breed of bovines and finally liberated, sprang forward from the nipple, burst out of the dozens of tiny openings and painted the inside of Mirca’s mouth white.

The ducts opened all the way, and Yrba’s eyes closed. Yes, there it was again, that delicious feeling of venting, of spending herself into the herculean body. Only this time there was so much more to give away. Her mouth curved into a delighted grin and transformed into a gaping O, like she wished her freed nipple’s ducts would. Mirca stopped just holding her lips tight around the spewing strawberry and drew her first deep gulp from the brimming breast.

The blonde’s fingers let go of the other nipple to better guide the breast she vigorously sucked on, and the freely spraying milk from the unguarded, expanding nub produced a hiss audible even over the loud gulping and smacking sounds of Mirca’s greedy feeding. The warm, wasted liquid of Yrba’s second breast sprayed around in thin jets, in every random direction that the dozen of tiny pores pointed to as the witch's bloated breast bobbed about. Yrba dug her hands into her matted mane and clenched her thighs around the warm saddle of Mirca’s abdomen, jerking her hip back and forth, abandoning herself to the delight of being milked, of fueling that divine body caught between her legs while the faint shower of milk turned both their skins into slippery slopes down which the white rivulets ran. The thirsty blonde sucked stronger, and as Yrba’s breasts spent their load, their skin turned soft, her flesh became malleable again, and slipped over Mirca’s moist, widening lips and crept into the greedy mouth as the giantess opened her jaws further. The dark chocolate skin of Yrba’s areola puckered and disappeared completely inside the warm circle of lips. Mirca’s long, pink tongue lashed the nubby, wrinkling surface and excited the ducts further still. Not a single clear thought was left in the witch’s mind. She could only hump against that body and tried to cram as much of her breast into Mirca’s mouth as she could.

Long minutes passed until the flow finally ebbed and Mirca slowed down. She no longer chewed on the whole areolae, but only slurped the aroused teats into her mouth one after the other to draw the rest of the hoarded nectar out. Yrba put her hands on Mirca’s milk-covered, slippery shoulders and gently pushed her back down on the mattress.

"That’s enough, dear. Don’t want to end up all flat and flabby again," she said as she lifted her elongated, relaxedly rounded breasts out of Mirca’s hands. The blonde couldn’t swallow another drop anyway and had just kept on filling her mouth and then letting the white streams run from her lips before milking the next discharge into her bulging cheeks.

"See? I’m still awake. The last time, I just ran out of air," the witch triumphantly declared. "I knew it wasn’t something to do with magic. Hey, if I could hex myself, then I’d make damn sure I’d never miss a single moment of ecstasy to being knocked out. That one thing when you roll your tongue around the nipple and twitch it —," she licked her lips, "that is awesome." She bent forward and planted a big kiss on Mirca’s forehead.

Yrba’s mind soared in the delights of relief. The regained feeling of lightness coursed through her whole body, even though her boobs still held enough of the ample charge to maintain their usual melon-like, sagging and heavy shape. She stretched her arms and wiggled her body in a shudder of bliss, smiling widely before she ran her forefinger down Mirca’s breastbone and over the muscle ribs of the blonde’s slightly bloated midriff. "Oh yes, that was totally worth the strain of last night."

Mirca cocked her head and wiped her mouth. "Ah. Right, so what we did now was this 'eggs-per-mentioning' stuff?"

The witch smiled down on her mount and patted Mirca’s sweat-and-milk-covered cheek, its skin still rosy and radiating warmth after the long minutes of being covered by the ample, dark cleavage.

"Experimenting. Yes, that’s how you learn what works and what doesn’t. Don’t believe in hearsay. So, what have we learned?"

Mirca looked at her, narrowed her eyes, pouted her lips and cocked her head the other way.

"Uh, that you’re, like, really tasty? That you — something about you being very stretchy in your soft parts? That experimenting makes your nipples huge and long, like dark brown cow teats?"

"No. We learned that you can’t suck the strength from m—"

Yrba’s eyes widened as Mirca’s words sunk in. "—come again?!" she gasped.

She stared down on her breasts, grabbed one and lifted it to get a good look at her nipples. The witch exhaled with a grunt. Her body’s unusual properties had gotten the better of her again, big time. All was well with the nipples’ skin and its almost black tone and the wrinkly, milk-covered surface. Tiny white drops still emerged from the many ducts. So far, so good. But thanks to Mirca’s eager sucking and constant tongueplay, their length was now beyond human and stretched well into bovine territory. They bobbed about like finger-sized sausages.

The witch gnawed on her lip. Damned stretchiness. Thank goodness they’ll shrink back over time, she consoled herself. Then another thought hit her, and she slapped her palm to her forehead and rolled her eyes.

"Oh great! Once Red’s gonna see this, she’ll cackle and tease me for weeks now—

"—Uunnnhhh!" she moaned suddenly as Mirca reached up and gently squeezed the resilient, juicy meat between thumb and forefinger. Yrba’s hips started to rock again.

"Well, I think they’re cute!" declared her oversized mount. 

To Be Continued in Yrba’s Travels, Part 4: Altars and Virgins

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 at the URL below, or in the Overflowing Forum? 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.

Yes, the note below is the same as the one at the beginning. What can I say? I’m a glutton for feedback.

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Right, and this one’s for the forum thread:

http://www.overflowingforum.com/viewtopic.php?f=4&t=2195

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