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.6 — The Road
by
Paul Gerard (a pen name)
First Draft, July 2008
Spellchecked: by computer.
Proof-reading: Several times, by myself. For what it’s worth …
Author’s note: Coordinating my bouts of writing with my friendly proofers’ available spare time proves increasingly difficult. On one hand, independent checking is extremely valuable to catch mistakes. On the other hand, I don’t want to leave what few faithful readers I have left waiting too long between parts. I therefore decided to upload this self-proofed version. I apologize for each and any botched grammar or spelling you may find in here, and I hope you still can enjoy the story for what I hope it is: an irreverent medieval fantasy sex yarn.
I don’t have to drag out my tired old excuse of me not being a native english writer/speaker again, do I? Good. Have fun now.
--
Obscure musical reference:
"It ain’t right / it ain’t fair / castles fall in the sand / and we fade in the air" — Meat Loaf, Good Girls Go To Heaven
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 curvy chocolate-skinned raven-haired traveling gypsy witch, and Mirca, the towering muscled flat-chested blond 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, foxy copper-haired 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 few days, they recover and 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.
Part 3 — Tubs, Sponges and Soaking:
It’s an all-girl event as Red’s women climb over each other while they polish and shine Mirca’s body in the brothel’s huge bathtub, sudden milk burst included. The night brings a solemn peek into Mirca’s troubled past, and the next day sees Yrba and Red desperately trying to salvage the last few drops of growth portion left in the witch’s womb. Mirca embarks on a journey of discovery across Yrba’s body, only to wear her mistress out to the brink of collapse. Yrba lets her curiosity get the better of her, prepares herself to repeat the experience, and in the process we found that her body has quite a few quirks of its own.
Part 4 — Altars and Virgins:
Li, Red’s brothel’s exotic eastern plaything, tries to teach Mirca the basics of fighting. However, their very own idea of 'way of the fist' ends up waking the metal goddess of the derelict temple they chose as their training ground. As the goddess’ ephemeral gift for their 'sacrifice of virginity' fades (or rather, shrinks back), so does their memory of the weird afternoon… Back in the brothel, Sylvia and Charlene coax Mirca into a game of 'how much can you take?' that ends with a milk-swept stairway, a few bruises and scratches and Yrba and Mirca moving out into the forest to 'get a grip' on Mirca’s unpredictable expansion bouts.
Part 5 — Gold and Blood:
While the witch and her companion camp out in the forest, Mirca slowly learns to control her explosive chest. Li continues to teach her how to fight, with varying success. Against Yrba’s better judgment, Red coaxes her into doing a 'boob job' on Francine, a young woman from the town despairing over her lacking physique. Mirca manages to beat Li in combat for the first time, and they pick up Yrba and return to Red’s brothel just before an early snowstorm rushes by. A few nights later, Mirca joins Berry in running contraband, they end up in an ambush, another storm brews, and then things go to hell, fast and really, really bad.
Chapter: Aftermath and Heritage
The woman’s moans echoed in the darkness. She gasped for air, and her breath came fast. Cloth ripped.
"Hruuungh! Just tear it, don’t bother! Guuurrgh! Gotta — get — in! Push!" grunted Red, the color of her face truly befitting her name. "Push harder! Damn! Too big! Oh heavens, I never thought it’d be so tight! Uuunnnghh! Come on — oh gods! Oh gods! — Come on! Oooh! Almost in, almost — will you stop holding back and push! Come on! I want to feel your strength! I won’t rip! Put your paws on my ass and shove!" She arched her back and clawed at the ground in front of her, searching for a grip.
"We — rraaaah! Ouch! Dammit—dammit—dammit! — we should’ve chipped off some more of that limestone!" Red scraped away at the pebbles on the floor until she finally wiggled free from the bottleneck in the narrow tunnel. "Right, the torch! Give me the torch! There’s something twinkling ahead." She reached back through the gap, opening and closing her fingers frantically.
The winding crack in the stone widened into a small cave.
"How did Berry ever manage to get in here?" muttered Red, knocking off sand and dirt from her dress. Then she noticed how the tough cloth felt squishy in her fingers.
"Yuck, I’m all covered in grime and clay and mud! Dammit dammit dammit!"
She aired out her tight, corset-like brown leather shirt and jumped up and down to shake a few stray pieces of rock from her ample cleavage. Tying her loosened hair back and packing her breasts in again, she kept on complaining while she waited for Yrba to catch up. "And what am I doing in here? Worming through this would’ve been the right job for Li, Yrba! Curses, how much sand did I shove down my balcony? Haaaahh!"
"Oh, quit complaining! It’s not like you don’t know about shoving things in there, you old bawd!" The husky voice of the chocolate-skinned, black-haired Southern Islands witch bounced off the stone walls and reverberated in the tunnel as she fought her way along the passage. She knew about the advantages of durable clothes that were shut right up to a tight neck, and her mane of black curls was safely wrapped up in a bandanna. And yet, carrying almost twice as much mammary volume as her long-time friend with the flaming hair, she fought quite different battles, squeezing and prodding her pliable melons along the narrow passage. Slippery, milky wetness seeped from her excited nipples that rubbed over the rough leather of her vest. The lubricant made it a little easier to push forward her supple, flowing shapes.
"Li’s not well enough yet," she continued. "Magic’s still too faint after Mirca’s mishap, so our little yellow bird’ll have to hold out until her body’s healing up on its own — you listening at all? What you’ve got there?" Yrba cursed as she struggled with one shoulder and arm ahead through the passage, then reached back and tickled and squeezed one, then the other of her flowing jugs through. She pulled herself forward with her fingertips searching for a grip in the rough cracks of the wall. Wiggling her thighs, she slowly squeezed her fleshy buttocks into the funnel of unyielding rock.
"Don’t run off with the torch!" barked Yrba. "Gimme a little light here and a hand, dammit! Your hips aren’t as wide as mine!"
Red grabbed Yrba’s hand and pulled. The mud-greased witch popped like a cork from the bottleneck. Rolling on her back, she panted and wheezed. "Picks. And a second torch. Next time. Oh fuck, we need to go back that way first. Hey! Can’t you at least wait a few seconds? You’ve got our only torch!"
"Heavens," Red gasped, "Come on! Fuck, hurry up and look at this! A chain mail dress! And another! And those — those are — swords! Look at the size of them. And the gold! I don’t believe it! Before she ended up with me, Berry must’ve been a traveling mercenary of sorts. She must’ve been here earlier, again and again, hiding away the loot of years."
Yrba lifted a big shield that had been leaning against the wall for a long time. Cobwebs ripped apart. Looking at her reflection in the battered yet still gleaming disk, she shook her head. "I don’t think that’s loot. Look at that coat of arms here, it’s on everything. That style of art, I’ve seen it before. Could be the colors of a Barzerkhian princess or something. Maybe an exiled heir. She must’ve been a long way from home. Shield — bury. Yes, yes, I’ve heard of that tradition. Shields are family heirlooms. They only ever get buried with their owner if there’s nobody of the family left. If the lineage ends … oh Berry! I wonder what things you never told anyone …"
She sighed. A few more tears pinched behind her eyelids. Yrba sniffled them away and continued, "And this kind of metal, I’ve never seen anything like it before. No rust. No corrosion. Yet it’s obviously been hidden in here for years." She tried to bend it. "Damn, is this stuff tough!"
Red grabbed a handful of gold coins from one of the many wooden chests and put them in Yrba’s palm. "Well, now we can buy your cart back at the auctioning next week. I don’t think there’ll be that many other bidders for a witch cart. And Madame Red’s reputation’s is dubious and tainted already, so what the hell."
The witch flipped them from her hand back on the pile, one by one, and sighed.
"I’d give it all away if I could make undone that cursed night."
"Who of us wouldn’t. But with things as they are—"
"— we do what we can do, not what we want to do. I know."
"How do you spell Berry-Ann?" Jean lowered the chisel from the small tombstone she had been working on. "She was a great friend, I wouldn’t want to dishonor her. With one or two R? E or A? I or Y? Gods, she always pronounced it so funny, more like in Barbari—" Jean fell silent and looked up. Her eyes met the witch’s as Yrba looked down and slapped her hand against her forehead.
"Bari-An! Of course! Bar-bari-an. She must’ve picked it because it said what she was, not who she was. She never told us her real name."
Yrba slowly shook her head. "Well. Berry-Ann it is, then. Write it like that, Jean. She chose it, so let that be the name to remember her by."
Chapter: A Very Wet Farewell
The weeks of slow healing flew by, and finally the time had come for Mirca and Yrba to bid farewell to the brothel’s girls. The town guards had turned back to their usual, lazy idea of duty. They bought the story about Red selling the 'cursed' cart on to a group of travelers hook, line and sinker, and they didn’t even bother to peek inside the two carts as the bawd led the tiny convoy through the gate.
Far out of sight of the town now, Yrba and her towering protege exchanged last parting words with Red and her girls. They had pulled into a small, shielded clearing. No other soul was around for miles, and the air was warm. If it weren’t for the low angle of the sun and the falling leaves, it might’ve been a late summer’s day. Red sat beside Yrba on the coach box of her mobile hut, and the pair of long-time girlfriends passed a bag of wine between them.
"Wish us luck," sighed the witch. "We want to try and make a break for the border, and that’s not easy with a cart and in the winter."
Red wiped her mouth, raised her eyebrows, smiled and handed the wine back to her friend. "Oh, you’ll manage. Look around. From what I’ve heard, barring another blizzard, the roads ahead are still free up to the mountains, and once you’re over the southward passes and near the coast, winter’s going to be little more than cold rain. Well, see you around next year then, I guess. You sure you want to leave your share of the gold buried in Berry’s cave? Bag o’gold sure would ease your travels, dear."
"You know me," Yrba shrugged. "I’d just waste it on a zillion shiny things. Besides, the crap I got dealt at the gate was quite the wake-up call. Everything gone, the cart, all of my savings, one moment to the next. No, I’ll scatter my treasure even more to make sure I still have something to return to, even if the cart ends up in flames."
She eyed the few puffy white clouds in the blue sky.
"Might as well stock up to winter alone after all. The straight route has too many towns with my name on a poster, for my taste. I’ll take a big detour through some of the wilder shires before going back south in spring. We better lay low for a while before the girl and me make for the tower to ask the old wizard for help. Him, of all people! Him and his fuckin’ temper! If my visit goes wrong, maybe I won’t be around to visit you next year. Him and me, we didn’t exactly part in friendship then, and he’s one to hold a grudge."
Red shook her head. "You shouldn’t go to him at all. I warned you when you were his apprentice, and I’ll warn you again now. He’s bad news. He always is. Yeah, nothing ever happened to his servants, but think about all the others that disappeared from the villages around his tower! You always stood up for him, but he’s not worth it. He’s scum! Hell, even you learned that in the end, the night your knife gave him that limp!"
"Oh come on! I’ve searched all over the tower. He had nothing to do with the missing ones! Besides, I wouldn’t know any other mage far and wide. I know he’s an old dirtbag, but he’s no —"
The wagon began to rock gently sideways, and the noises they had taken for distant bird calls grew louder and wetter. Yrba stuck her head around the corner and gasped at the sight of the writhing mass of naked bodies with her blond giantess in the center. The cart rocked because Mirca rubbed her back against it while her hands clutched Charlene’s butt cheeks, balancing the girl’s slim body on her face. Charlene’s heavy breasts rested on the cart roof, and her fingers clawed on the cart’s edges while she bucked against Mirca’s mouth.
The witch jumped off the box and stood akimbo at the corner. Her stare, half anger and half envy, wandered down along the pyramid of women. Mirca had her knees bent and her thighs wide. Half-sitting, half-leaning, with the muscular trunks of the giantess’s legs straddled between their own, Jean and Sylvia clung to the tall blonde’s nipples while their crotches wetted Mirca’s thighs as they rubbed over the tall girl’s skin. Jean’s hands hugged one of Mirca’s full breasts, and Sylvia, the stocky, voluptuous raven-hair, chewed on the domain aureola of the other soft melon. Milk ran from their mouths and dripped down on Li, who knelt on the floor between their writhing bodies and Mirca’s feet. The dwarfish eastern woman did what she knew best.
"What the — Li! You take your fist out of Mirca this instant! What do you girls think you’re doi— you’re not sucking on her nipples, are you, Sylvia? And Jean —! Ouch! That’s got to hurt! Mirca! You stop and pull your tongue from Charlene and put her down right now, y’hear?!"
None of the entangled girls listened. The pile of sweaty bodies slowly collapsed around Mirca as she dropped to her knees. Charlene clamped her thighs around the huge blonde’s head. She balanced on the giantess’ shoulders like an eastlands horse warrior and jerked and bucked each time the pink tip of Mirca’s tongue peeked from the rear of her crotch.
Yrba jumped when Red stepped to her side and slipped a hand under her skirt. The bawd’s experienced fingers played with the witch’s black curls, and her middle one slowly rimmed the wet, tight opening before she laid the digit along Yrba’s chunky labia, gently kneading the hot flesh in her grip.
"Aw, let them have their fun one last time, will you?" She winked and laughed raunchily. "And I guess they won’t mind if we join in." A droplet ran down her enveloped finger. "At least I see you wouldn’t mind right now. You spend three months in my house, but not one night in my bed? Not even for old time’s sake? Bad witch!" She leaned forward and puckered up her lips.
"I’ll miss you so much, mean old bawd! Come here!" moaned the witch as she clutched Red’s head tight and nibbled and sucked away on her girlfriend’s lips and tongue. Her hands ruffled the copper mane of her friend, and then she broke their hungry kiss for a throaty moan of "I want you bigger!"
Yrba’s brown fingers dug into Red’s breasts, and her mumbled incantations intermitted with her lover’s frantic snaps and nibbles at her lips. Red shoved her thigh between Yrba’s legs, and she clamped her legs around the witch’s leg and bucked with her crotch against the rough cloth as the first onset of expansion hit her.
"Gods, you crazy hag! Mnnnngh! You still know how I like it best! Yes! Ungh! Oh yes, more bulk — hwwaaah! At least let me take off my clothes bef—faaaahhh! Oh bugger it, forget about the dress, blow me up! Hnnngh!"
Red struggled for air as the straining cloth of her corset-like bustier groaned. Mumble expandere mumble, another shudder, another pulse of growth throbbing through Red’s bloating boobs, and the string zigzagging across the taut front snapped apart with a whiplash cracking. It hissed as it zipped through the loops and gave way to the widening gap that revealed more and more of the bawd’s swelling mammaries. Yrba changed her grip, she let her hands slip from grabbing Red’s assets head-on to a sideway clutch that squeezed forth the two cherry-red, engorged nipples on their domed areolae and brought them close enough for the witch to suck them both into her mouth.
Red threw her head back in her neck, her breasts shuddered all over and she wrapped her arms around Yrba’s shoulders. The space between them filled with Red’s swelling pillows. Her skin itched, she wiggled and writhed to scratch her bosom on Yrba’s chocolate claw-fingers that overflowed with her aroused white meat. The two women rolled along the side of the cart and tumbled into the sweaty pile of girls. Hot hands started to pull away at their clothes, laying bare all their skin and folds for a half-dozen of hungry mouths to descend upon them.
Mirca giggled and sat up, pulling her breasts in position between her spread legs.
"Girls, I think now I’m in the mood for a long, hot sip from my witch’s delicious pink cup. Come on, lift her over to me. Let’s try cream with chocolate on top for a change!" Her hands cupped her palm-sized areolae and her fingers scraped over the rough, sensitive skin. The tickle, think of the tickle, think of the warmth, invite the warmth…
Yrba felt herself suddenly being pulled away from Red and picked up by the same hands that had just moments before kneaded and milked her breasts and caressed her thighs. She was turned on her stomach and slowly moved backwards on those hands. Mirca’s throaty panting grew louder as she neared.
A faint hissing and rumbling filled the air, and the girls moaned in a wave of delight. "Look at her growing!" gasped one of them. "We’ll shower in milk!" uttered another. Yrba frantically turned her head left and right, but all she could see was a glimpse of a pearl-white orb that slowly swelled up under her, and the flurry of arms she rested on. The faces all stared in wide-eyed longing at something behind her.
"Mirca! Don’t you —!" she shrieked.
Mirca’s breathing became spasmodic, and she squeezed her words out through clenched teeth. "It’s — okay! Put her — down on one! Then — push into the — underside or — I’ll spread out — too far! C’mon — Yrba, ride it!"
Yrba clung to the hot, oblong sphere of Mirca’s left breast that filled up under her, while the right one bloated just across the yawning cleavage that her arm and legs almost disappeared into. She dug her heels and outspread arms into the skin, clinging to the rising flesh like a bad bareback rider on a prancing horse. What had started out as an almost horizontal, maybe two yards long melon-shaped giant pillow rose and swelled right out of her grip into a mountainous slope, and she began to slip backwards.
"Aiieee—!" she shrieked as she slipped down, and then Mirca’s strong hands caught her widespread thighs, broke her slide and lowered her crotch gently on her half-opened lips. All her pent-up panic dissolved in a single gasp as Mirca’s nubby tentacle laughingly called a tongue slapped against her vulva broad-sided, lapping again and again from her belly to her rear until her crotch was coated in mucous, hot saliva. And just when she thought she’d climax from that dripping patch going over and over and — how does she do that?! — cupping her labia, Mirca pulled its whole length oh-so-slowly through her crack, wiggled the tip a few times over the witch’s swollen button and then dug it just half an inch into the puckered entrance to her vagina.
Yrba held her breath and did the widest split she could. It went much easier than she’d expected, thanks to the incessantly swelling ball she clung to. Her fleshy outer flaps opened as the sinews of her spread legs tugged at her crotch. Mirca put her head forward, and her big mouth engulfed Yrba’s labia front to back. As the witch exhaled, the blonde shoved her fleshy muscular organ inside the dripping tunnel; it slid in as a thick, fat pole and as it stretched longer and thinner, she made it go round and round against Yrba’s inner folds. Panting, eyelids fluttering, the witch held on to the quaking ball of a breast for dear life while the agile muscle reamed her pussy clean and the tip finally poked against her cervix.
"Gllls, I’ll mgwush fwoom!" mumbled Mirca, shoving her slippery tongue into her friend to the very last inch. "Ymma, fgweef!"
Somehow, even as her brain was dripping out through her crotch, Yrba picked up the "squeeze" and dug her shaking arms and legs into her mount. With her head pressed against the throbbing, glowing, sweaty skin, the onset of Mirca’s mighty milk discharge began as a dark rumbling in her ears that spread all over the orb. The milk ducts under her pulsated in a St. Vitus dance of ecstasy normally reserved for ejaculating males. And that was how Yrba tumbled into her own climax, her hands and legs clutching a horse-sized, spewing and spewing piece of throbbing meat between her thighs that only slowly shrank away under her and gently lowered her down to the floor. Mirca’s head, her hair drenched in sweat, came to a rest on Yrba’s lower back. She caressed the witch’s flanks and breasts.
"Huh? Huh?" she mumbled happily while her arousal slowly waned. "That was something, huh? They’ll not forget us in a hurry."
The other girls, glazed over with milk, still kept on licking and rubbing each other clean in front of them.
Yrba rolled on her back and caught her breath. "Oooh yes! You think we could repeat this every evening? I’ve never felt so relaxed in my whole life!" She giggled. "I can’t even feel my legs now!"
Mirca stared at her with wide-open eyes. "Every eveni—?! Oh come on!"
Chapter: The Chain Mail
Mirca fidgeted mutely in her seat on the cart and stared into the landscape that slowly rolled by, until she asked: "Uh, so this is your carriage?"
Yrba smiled and didn’t turn her head to the girl’s hulking shape by her side. The brown-skinned witch just glanced at her pupil’s big hands. Mirca nervously twisted her fingers, then she scratched her head over her ear.
"What do you want to ask, darling?" Yrba cooingly replied, in her softest, most soothing voice.
"Wuh—wha— um, ah, h—how did you know I —," Mirca stuttered.
"— Wanted to ask something different? For one, you know it’s my cart. Our cart. You helped me stock it, so you really just wanted to start talking to ease up before you asked what you actually wanted to ask."
Mirca blushed. "My, you’re smart! It’s about, I wondered — that wooden chest in the back and those heavy rolls with the string around —"
Yrba pulled at the reins.
"So these are," and Mirca choked up for a moment, "B—Berry’s last gifts to us?"
The witch sighed and pulled the last wrapped-up bundle from the cart. "Yes. She never said who should get what, but — you were closest, size-wise, so Red and me decided you’ll get what pieces of armor there were."
"And those swords?" Mirca bowed down. Her fingers closed around a handle, and the rope wound tightly around the metal core felt right in her hand. The blade whispered from the sheath, and Mirca gazed at her reflection in the polished metal. She grabbed the second one. The two edges touched with a shhhhinnngggg.
"Uh, why are they for me?"
"I wouldn’t know who else could even begin to handle — watch it!" Yrba ducked out of the way as the two-yards blades whistled about. Mirca finished her pirouette and stood, spread-legged, with one hand around the handle of each broadsword, weighing them in her grip like toys.
"Huh?" She raised her head and lifted her eyebrows.
"You almost beheaded me!"
"Oh come on!" Mirca pouted. "There was a whole hand’s breadth between!"
Yrba gulped. "Without looking? You can say that without looking and while whirling around?"
Mirca shrugged. "Well, I know where you are and where I am. And swords, they’re just like big axes, only longer. You never were scared of my axe when I chopped wood."
The blades clanged to the ground as something else caught the young woman’s attention. Mirca knelt down and dug into the depths of the chest. Her face brightened in delight. She giggled and raised a vest-like garment apparently woven from the essence of glitter.
"Look at this! It’s like a metal shirt for ladies! Oh Yrba, it’s so shiny and feels so smooth! Come and help me put this on!"
She pulled at the laces on her gown, and moments later, the cloth hung around her hips. Her breasts’ bronze skin glowed in the sunlight, and with quick fingers, she filled her protruding cones’ malleable flesh into the pair of huge cups on the metallic bodice. Yrba narrowed her eyes against the sun’s bright reflections all over the garment and shuddered. Her face screwed up with some … memories.
"You sure? I tried that stuff once. Ugh! Chain mail on naked skin isn’t all that comfortable. I had chafed teats for a whole week!"
"But I want to," Mirca pouted, and Yrba sighed resignedly.
"All right, turn around. Maybe your nipples are tougher than mine."
The clasps clicked shut, and the blonde jiggled her shoulders. The whole item jingled faintly as it settled on Mirca’s round mounds.
"Tee-hee! Isn’t it cute?" She turned to Yrba and grinned. "It tickles all over! My, it really clings to my tits! See how they wobble? And it’s not so col—cooo—gods!"
Mirca’s eyes grew big. The jingling stopped with a sudden slap of expanding flesh connecting to something unyielding. Metal groaned and creaked quietly between the young woman’s loud gasps. The edges of the sparkling garment dug into her swelling skin.
"Taut," she whispered, staring into the distance. "Uuuuuh. Yes. Haaaaahh! P—pressure. Uuunngh! Swelling. Yiii—yes! Trapped. Inside. C—c—can’t … need to … oh this feels so good …"
She slowly sank to her knees and bent over backwards, rolling her shoulders frantically, bucking into the garment again and again. Yrba rushed to her side and propped the young woman’s jerking torso up against her drawn-up knee as Mirca writhed in her arms.
"Mirca! Talk to me! Hold on!"
"Full … so full … oh heavens — now — mmmmh! — the heat, I must —"
Mirca’s voice was barely audible. Sitting on her haunches, she spread her legs wide, dug her fingers into her skirt and grabbed her crotch, kneading her sex through the rough wool. The textile turned dark with wetness. Her face lit up with growing excitement as she closed her eyes and her mouth spread into a wide, contorted grin while she raced through her first climax.
"So much, full, need to, I must, again," she stammered, saliva dripping from the corner of her mouth. She straightened and arched backwards, then she curled up again in spasms of delight only to rise again seconds later. The throbbing, pulsing flesh of her breasts threw itself against the silvery cage like a raging animal, again and again.
"Wait, I’ll get it off —" Yrba groaned through clenched teeth, struggling with the girl’s shifting, wiggling weight while she fished blindly for the garment’s clasps in Mirca’s back.
"Ouch! Dammit!" she cursed only moments later. Mirca bucked again in her embrace, and suddenly, Yrba’s fingers were caught between Mirca’s back and the unyielding, tight-stretched metal band of the top. "Raaaaaah—!"
"Huuuuunnngh!" groaned the shivering bundle of muscles in her grip as the next orgasm turned her fierce thrusts into spasms of excitement.
Hissss. Hisss. Hisss.
Jets of milk sprayed from Mirca’s nipples and bubbled through the intricate mesh of tiny rings, the waves coming in sync with her jerks and twists.
"Ahhhhh…," she exhaled as the white cascade vented the delicious and yet unbearable pressure inside her. The torrent ran down her chest and over her belly before it soaked into her skirt.
"—Ungh!" Yrba’s fingers finally came free. The clasps remained tightly locked under the pull and pressure of the constrained flesh of Mirca’s thwarted breasts. As the hissing and bubbling subsided and the girl’s breathing returned to a deep, slowing rumble in her chest, the witch managed to loosen them. With a chink, the wrapper snapped off and two white, drained sacks of glands and skin spilled forward and avalanched out over Mirca’s thighs until the still dripping, bloated nipples slapped down into the rough grass before her knees. She shivered one more time at the tickling touch.
Yrba kneaded her aching fingers.
"Well, now we know how Berry filled those cups," she muttered. "How come you didn’t blow this thing to smithereens?" She picked up the jingling net of metal rings and turned it left and right. "Can’t see anything magical about it, though it must have some in it to withstand that strain. Weird. There’s got to be some trick to it, but we better not try that again."
"Oh come on! It was kinda tight, and that felt really great!" Mirca panted, pursing her lips while she slowly reined her expanded milk sacks in, kneading and pushing her funbags back into vaguely human shape and size. "I want to have another go! It was like when you pull and lift a big basket of wood and then you hold it and put it down again and your arms and legs suddenly become, like, all light and you feel good and stronger."
Yrba rummaged the chest, and when she straightened up again, she held another of the metallic bustiers in her hands. This one shone in bands of golden-white colors, matching Mirca’s mane.
"You want another go? Great! We’ll keep on trying, because one of those has to be just plain chain mail."
Chapter: Misunderestimated
Yrba looked up from the mending she was busy with. They had set up camp in a small clearing by the roadside just half an hour ago. The sun was setting fast now, and in the week that had passed since they’d left Red and her harlots behind, the looming chills of winter had returned in earnest. Luckily, they were heading south. Maybe they could even outrun the change of seasons this time. Across the low mountains, the coast lands waited with their temperate weather. But the roads were treacherous, and she still was halfway inclined to stick to her original plan of weathering the warrants on their heads somewhere in the western wildlands where news, travelers and villages were sparse.
The road had been empty during the last days. That’s why she wasn’t too happy to hear the approaching hoofbeats. Many. Half a dozen? Not quite in a hurry, but not riding for fun either. Clatter and jingle of light armor. Oh fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
"Mirca, don’t say a word and keep your face down. Seriously!" she whispered to her companion. The blonde nodded fearfully.
"Do you think they’ll —"
"I don’t know. Not the first time I’ve talked my way out of a tight spot, so relax. Don’t sit so close to me. Go over to the fireplace, I’ll stay on the cart’s stairs. And keep your hands on your — you know."
The scene was set.
"Yo! Fellow travelers looking to make this a resting place!"
Yrba looked up. The group of men on horseback didn’t seem like fellow travelers to her. Mercenaries, maybe. Freelancers, or worse. Make no mistakes now. These guys are big trouble, grouched the little voice in her head that had saved her more than once before. Resting place can mean a lot of things…
She pointed around the empty clearing.
"Can hardly keep you from unmounting then, can I?" she replied.
After they tied up their horses, the men sat down and began to joke noisily by the fireplace while they tended to their weapons. Mirca lowered her face further and crept deeper into her cowl. The leader of the gang slowly walked over to Yrba and leaned on the cart, bowing down ever so slightly as he adressed her.
"Hey, traveller, you bored? I’ve got quite the tale, I tell you! Ever heard of the brothel at Peterstown?"
Red. Oh dear, old girl, what have you done this time? Outwardly, Yrba shrugged. "Never heard of it. And I don’t care. Do I look like I’m cursed with a dick? What would I do at a cathouse?"
He straightened up and turned his head towards the fireplace, where the monk cowered, and then looked at her again from the corner of his eyes.
"Had a bawd, must’ve been your age. Now what had been her name —"
Ice crept down her spine, but Yrba cut him off. She knew her voice didn’t tremble and was just the grumpy whine of a tired traveler. "Don’t know, don’t care, mercenary. I need to finish the repairs while there’s still some daylight." She avoided his stare and kept her eyes firmly fixed on the stitching.
"Been a house of the devil, is what they said. Lewd, unnatural acts those girls did."
She put her tools down and her hands on her hips.
"Come on. Why are you prattling on about some whorehouse somewhere? Huh? Do I look like I care?"
He ignored her protest. "Was quite the fracas when the guards seized them all. Found a hidden stash between the floors, and a secret room. Funny thing, their shop blew not because of their heathen ways, but because they had smuggled arms into the town. Well, the lord got mightily pissed and had them questioned meticulously." He laughed. "There was a little yellow-skinned girl with them. I heard they didn’t manage to get a confession out of her, and she even managed to run once. Must’ve cracked her own ribs just to squeeze out between the cell’s bars. They found her crouching in front of a weird old temple where she was wailing to some depraved god for help. Freaky little lizard, that chick. Not even breaking her legs on the rack opened her mouth. The tall tits wench finally caved in and screamed the names we’re now looking for. Took them long enough. Haven’t seen tough lasses like that for ages. Peter’s dungeons were a bit tougher, though."
The tendons on the back of Yrba’s hands showed when she picked up the string and needle again, but her voice remained calm, and her fingers didn’t shake.
"That I believe at once. I stay away from that shire. I’ve heard that Lord Peter’s an — unyielding ruler."
"You bet! And he was right about them, wouldn’t y’know? They were in league with the devil!"
"The devil. Sure."
"Don’t believe me? Half the castle’s in bits and pieces now, and the rest’s just about to crash down! Happened just as the hangman was getting ready. Heh, even had to put a chair on the trapdoor, for that yellow chick, cause she couldn’t stand upright any more. Guess that was a first for him, too. They were all banged up pretty badly, the whole bunch. Bawd had almost no face left, yellow chick a cripple. Brunette beanstalk, whistled with every breath. Ribs bashed in. Coughed blood all over her clothes. The others, a few fingers gone here, a few toes gone there. Really, the gallows would’ve been a mercy for them." He laughed again, meaner this time. "Peter’s soldiers! Amateurs, the lot o’ them. Me boys and me, we could’ve taught them a thing or two. Could’ve showed them where it really hurts without mangling them so much that they’re no fun anymore."
"And then?"
"Ah? Getting curious now, aren’t you? Well, best part’s to come! Let me tell you, just as the hangman got ready, there’s this huuuge bird blotting the sun, only it’s no bird! And down swoops this horned, winged she-demon, tall as a house and black like Evil itself. Lands smack dab on the courtyard, sends the walls trembling with her monstrous weight, and she’s got glowing white cracks and unholy symbols and something like lizard’s scales all over her body and shoots lightning from her hands! Plucks their bodies from the gallows one by one like grapes, swallows them whole. And then a huge fireball and smoke and thunder and a cloud rising to the firmament, and nothing left of the whole courtyard at all! They said the walls turned into glass from the demon’s hellfire, and the whole yard is but a huge hole like from a giant orb!"
Yrba laughed. "Oh please! Old wives’ tales! I knew it!"
"Well, really? The walls have turned to glass all right, I tell ya! I was there not an hour afterwards when all the stones still glowed! The lord got away just in time. Losing the castle hasn’t made him any less angry. Has doubled the reward."
"Then I guess I better keep an eye open looking for those two runaways. I could use the money."
He looked at her and scratched his chin.
"You’re not doing too bad even without it, I’ll say. Cart is well maintained, horse is no bag o’ bones. Oh, let’s drop the act. You’re the one they call 'honest Yrba'. Don’t bother denying it. Ain’t too many darkskins around these lands."
"No, it’s just Yrba. Don’t need to announce my honesty. People around here already know I’m an honest trader. — Hold it. I’m still sitting here. No daggers, no ropes, no chains around me, and you’re not as dumb as you’re trying to sound. So what do you want?"
He casually leaned against the cart now and stared intently at his dirty fingernails. Even his voice smirked now. "Those kind of bad stories may fly fast, just Yrba. Stories like that oddity at Lord Peter’s castle. Stories like that price on your head. And on the sweet blonde’s empty skull over there, hiding under that cowl. Pathetic disguise, really. You put her on stilts to make people think she’s tall like a man? Stupid idea, old crone." He chuckled. "Anyway, such tales are bad for business. Always were, always will be. I don’t care if you’re in league with the devil. I’ve sent a whole lot o’ souls his way myself. But in this world, a piece of gold’s a piece of gold. And I take it your business is doing well. Let’s call it a merger. Better to have an egg a day than slaughtering the chicken. Still can do that when she doesn’t lay golden eggs any more."
Yrba frowned and ran out of patience.
"We’re doing well enough for two. Not well enough for two and your whole gang of thieves, if that’s what you’re thinking of."
"Oh, that’s too bad. Too bad. And especially in these rough times, where two weak women could use any protection they can get, lest they get mistaken for evil witches. A fireplace in winter sure is nice, but not if you’re tied to a pole in the middle of it."
Yrba suddenly raised her head and smirked back at him.
"Protection?"
She took one of the logs from the basket by her side and threw it towards Mirca’s hooded, stooped figure.
"Wood, left!"
A silken noise, then a thock, then the clattering of two pieces of wood tumbling over the dry, hard dirt. The blonde now stood steady and upright with her legs parting slightly, holding her left arm and the battle axe in her grip straight out. Her cloak fell open along the front, revealing her bare, firm midriff and the deep, plunging neckline of her chain mail top. The last rays of the setting sun sparkled over the golden rings of the tight garment whose rim cut into the bulging bosom. Mirca’s bright eyes in her shadowed face wandered over the five men in front of her, taking stock. In her mind, pictures of a thin red trickle down the face of a huge stone, and of Berry’s empty eyes, returned. She couldn’t help but imagining all of her friends’ faces pale and motionless like that. Her breath quickened. The other thing stirred inside her. She snarled.
The cloak parted completely as she rolled her shoulders, revealing a white pareu slung around her waist and another axe in a makeshift holster hanging to her right side. No stilts under her feet, no tricks. She was a head taller than any of them, and her shoulders broader than any of theirs. The leather bands around her wrist creaked as she closed her fist around the second handle, straightened up and raised both axes. The cloak slipped off her shoulders. The back she turned on Yrba and the thug showed chains of chiseled muscles, and her heaving half-melon breasts hung over the sides of her chest.
The witch turned to the speechless man in front of her.
"You were saying?"
His hands went for the dagger on his belt. She held it up just as his fingers passed through the empty air over the sheath. Her grin was a row of white teeth in her dark face.
"Nothing’s as good as an obvious distraction. Look at her. Look at me. You think you can offer us any protection? Seems you can’t even protect your own butt, smart-ass."
"Men!" he barked, "Grab tha—"
She pushed the poisoned needle in her other hand into his neck before he could finish the word. For a second or two, he remained upright like struck by lightning, his mouth open and trembling, then he slumped against the cart. The five others didn’t fare much better. Mirca used the flat sides of her axes only, but she didn’t hit any less hard. When the violent dance ended moments later, she still stood upright. Nobody else around the fireplace did.
Chapter: Eye in the sky
The two women left them tied to one of the trees, chased away the horses and fled the place. Maybe they’d wake up before the wolves found them. Maybe not.
"Great," Yrba muttered. "Another shire to cross off the list. We’re running out of safe places, Mirca. The gossip’s catching up. Fast! Every damned low life for miles suddenly knows our faces! I don’t know how long we can keep ahead of the stories and rumors. We’ll need to leave this country altogether. No point in a dash for the wizard’s tower."
She turned her head. The blonde kept staring at the road. Yrba put her hand on Mirca’s shoulder.
"Are you all right?"
"I can’t stop thinking about what he said about Li. And Red. All of them." Her eyes filled with tears. "Why?" she whispered. "They were just trying to get by."
"Maybe he made that story up."
"But he knew their names! And our names! The girls — they’d never willingly betray us! Oh, I just hope the goddess statue thing saved them in time. It must’ve been her!"
"What?"
"I — I rememb…" Her eyes stared ahead and turned empty. Then she suddenly blinked and shook her head. "What did I just say? — Uh, I didn’t believe him. He was just being mean and wanted to scare us."
Yrba frowned. "No, girl. You were talking about a 'goddess statue thing'."
The blonde chuckled and jabbed her playfully. "Huh? Goddess statue —? No I didn’t. You’re saying weird things again."
"Oo-kay." Yrba shrugged and frowned as a faint sting swooped through her temples. She was suddenly too worried to care and really hoped that guy had just embellished on the story of Red and her girls fleeing the country. Her eyes searched the cloudy skies. Red, wherever you are now, I just hope you’re okay.
Memory replacement complete, said the display.
The image of the cart in bird’s-eye view faded together with the crosshairs on the free-floating screen while intricate meshes and diagrams folded back into themselves left and right along the display. A woman’s slender hand with fingernails maybe a tad too long and too sharp to be entirely human touched the pane, and it retracted and melted into the dark, curved wall behind it. A horned head with pointy ears and faintly glowing green eyes turned away and to the first of the black slates on which five female figures were motionless in enforced sleep. Glowing bars hovering in mid-air near their feet slowly neared 1/1 markings again. A voluminous non-voice echoed in the air, though there were no ears to hear it.
I hope this here settles any remaining debt I might’ve owed to you and your blond plaything, little Li. Seriously. I’m in enough trouble already. The others won’t like my meddling. No, they won’t like that at all. You were lucky I woke again, if only because you still had a little of me in you that reached out to me, even in my sleep. I’m not used to being called upon out of schedule.
The living statue sighed.
But what am I supposed to do with you now? Guess I’ll best leave you in someplace a little more open-minded. One of the elder island kingdoms of the south, maybe? Wait, do they still exist? Damn, it’s so easy to lose track of history with all those decades of sleeping.
She walked up to the head end of Li’s slate, and her fingers combed softly through the yellow-skinned woman’s long, black, silken hair. Her gaze wandered over the row of naked bodies, restored to their unblemished, all-parts-back-in-place state. A costly endeavor, in terms of energy. A little payback in terms of fun might be acceptable. Central didn’t need to know about everything after all.
Five different tastes in a row, after all those centuries. And you won’t even remember. To hell with non-interaction! I’m thirsty!
She bowed forward, pursed her lips and gently squeezed Li’s tiny areolae before she sucked away at the swelling nipple. Her hands moved over the barely noticeable mounds and shaped what little there was into rounded cones. But the moment she took her fingers away, they sagged back down into thin pancakes. She raised an eyebrow.
That won’t do. They need to stand. More inner pressure.
She placed her hands around the first breast and began with slow, circular movements. The flesh expanded on cue, eager to fill her grip.
Ah. Much better.
The nipples rose on top of the thickening domes that bulged around their bases and finally squeezed the enlarged areolae like clay through the ring of her index fingers and thumbs. She pouted her lips, and the heavy, stout breast stretched eagerly, propelling the rough, dripping knob on its tip towards its mistress’ waiting mouth.
Oh, I like my powers, the statue chuckled and slurped Li’s erect nipple into her mouth. Mmmh, sweet with a little fruity-sour aftertaste. Do I really need to let you go, girl?
She stepped over to Red and admired the bawd’s milk rack.
My goodness! And it’s not just fat, there’s a hell of a lot glands in there. You don’t have a problem with lactating, I’ll say! She needed both hands to lift one of the melon-sized masses. The soft flesh rolled in her grip. The very moment her fingers closed around the heavy bag, thin jets sprang out of the nipples. Then again, a little more won’t hurt either. You’re used to it, I guess. I sense some of the strange force in you that I felt in the blond giantess.
Grooooow, she cooed and watched the sagging flesh bulge and shape up.
Mmmmh. Mmmph! Her eyes went wide at first and then closed slowly. Oooh. So much! You’re quite the udder queen, woman. Thick and so rich in nutrients, with such a nice creamy taste. If only I could, you’d be a keeper, too. She slapped the flesh mesas and watched the ripples and quivers wander over them.
Charley — Charlene — was the next in line. The ancient creature smiled.
Now you’re blessed already, aren’t you? Such taut, resilient bullet-like breasts are so rare in this day and age. Let’s bless them a little more. She grabbed the horns and squeezed them gently.
Show me a little more of that fabulous resilience now. Fatten and lengthen.
Mmmmh, she moaned as the flesh grew rounder in her grip. Her lips sucked the nipples in and after a few moments parted a little again, and she watched the whitish milk dripping from her mouth and slowly creeping down in curved tracks over the tanned skin. Tropical taste, this one.
A little bland, the two of you, was her comment on Sylvia and Jean. But that’s not a bad thing. You’ve got that trusty ole basic taste one could spend the rest of eternity with and never tire of.
She lifted her head. Ship, plot a course. Southern archipelagos, full scan for advanced settlements and trade signs. Sub-orbital atmosphere drives only, stealth mode, engage.
A shudder crept through the floor and walls. She bent over and pressed up against Sylvia’s body, picking up a nipple with her tongue again.
Ship, make that a really slow cruise. Touchdown at sea, surface engines, target time … let’s see … six days? Yes, that sounds about right. Her fingers moved over the girl’s butt. The shape tautened as the cheeks filled out, and the hips grew wider still in her grip. Maybe wake you all, get a little acquainted and then show you a few of the good old rituals?
She giggled delightedly and snapped her fingers. Faint groans began to fill the air as the five bodies stirred…
Chapter: The bigger they are
Yrba woke from the sound of a heavy thump. The noise was followed by muttered curses. Groaning, the witch turned in her narrow berth in the cart to face the source of the stream of mild expletives. The light of morning fell through the open door, and in the frame, her shoulders filling it almost completely, cowered Mirca, holding her head, her blond hair glowing like a halo in the backlight.
"Mirca? You all right?"
The blonde’s voice was mixed with whines. "Ouch! — Nnngh! — Yes, yes. Stupid stupid door frame! I swear it wasn’t this low when I went to bed!" She rubbed her aching forehead. "I’ll fetch water and get the fire going."
Minutes later, she came back running.
"Yrba! Yrbaaa! Hurry, you must take a look at this!"
She squeezed into the cart that rocked under her weight, knelt down before the witch’s bed and pulled up her skirt. Yrba barely glanced over the thick bush of golden pubic curls before she turned away again and dragged the blanket back over her head.
"Mirca, I’m not going to eat you out first thing in the morning, okay? There’s something like too much of a good thing," came her muffled voice from inside the heap of sheets.
"No! Look! It’s grown! Oh come on, take a look!" She grabbed Yrba’s shoulder and shook her. The whole cart rocked again.
"Mirca, it’s not grown," groaned the witch. "Maybe a bit swollen from yesterday, but it’s not going to grow. You’re what, twenty-two?"
"Twenty-three!"
"You’re not going to grow any more. You might widen inside quite bit if you keep on coaxing me into doing that thing with my fist. I’m a bit bigger than Li, you know?"
"Oh please, take a look! I got wider! It’s harder now, tying my loincloth around my hips! How did you know?"
Yrba rolled around and sighed.
"Okay, bring it closer. Put your one leg over the bed, and kneel down a bit."
The blond bush descended on her. She tugged at the curls and gently pushed the meaty outer lips aside. After a few moments, she shook her head.
"Can’t see any difference. Why do you think it’s grown?"
"I — I was squatting over the brook and was rubbing me clean, when I noticed —," she pushed her spread fingers into the outer labia, "—this."
Her lust button rose from the folds. Yrba frowned. The knob was thicker than the tip of her thumb and about as long, wrapped in the hood and the curly lips.
"Riiiight. Hum. I’m not sure." She smiled. "Last time I had my lips around it, it wasn’t exactly little. But it sure looks a bit larger now. And not swollen at all."
"See? I told you! The tip used to be only about as large as my thumb’s nail. Now it’s bigger! And I can reach the roof of the cart with my fingers now! I am growing again! Everywhere! That’s why I ran against the frame!"
Yrba sighed. Dammit. Another oddity. Just can’t get a break, can I?
"So what do you say? What do we do about that?" inquired her pupil nervously, still spread-eagled over her bed.
Do about it? I’ve got no clue! No need to bother you yet, though.
She smiled up at the girl. "Oh, don’t worry. It’s not like you’re growing fast, right? Took you a couple of weeks just to notice. We’ll keep an eye on it. Little markings on the door and stuff."
Her fingers played in the curls. Mirca’s hair was still damp from the morning wash, and her skin was smooth and clean. Yrba’s brown fingertips circled the plump labia. The faint scent of Mirca’s warm body hung in the air. The witch inched closer and sniffed at the muscular thighs. Her hands cupped the taut buttocks and kneaded them, sensing the strength in the round, ample muscles. Yes, they felt slightly meatier than yesterday, as did the hip. Faint, very faint stretch marks showed along the crotch. And that wasn’t the only thing that had changed. Yrba’s nostrils caught another whiff of the girl’s bush, and suddenly the tiny hairs all over her body stood on end. She couldn’t say what had just changed in her mind, but she liked it and she knew what she wanted now.
She licked her full lips. "I don’t know about you, but all of a sudden I do crave a little morning tart."
And with that, she lifted her head and wrapped her lips around the wet cherry. She sucked on it, and it slid forward into her mouth. Mirca’s big hands gently grabbed her head and guided her up and down the cleft. Yrba’s eyes grew large with surprise.
It’s almost like a dick! A tiny — mmph! — not so tiny dick! Gosh, it’s like a meaty, zaftig strawberry! And your lips, girl, they’re —
She dug her mouth and chin into the smooth cushions of Mirca’s sex like into the soft, moist flesh of a ripe watermelon. Everything from the labia’s volume to the taste seemed just the slightest bit more than the day before, more delicious especially.
Girl, what weird kind of a creature are you?!
Her tongue circled Mirca’s warm folds and she quickly forgot about her worries. Viscid wetness dripped over her chin. She heightened her suction, and Mirca’s inner labia, well-oiled with the blonde’s thick, ample secretions, unfurled and crawled into her mouth. Her tongue rimmed Mirca’s smooth inner linings before it ran right through the cleft in the thinner, inner flaps. She lacked her pupil’s sheer tongue length or size, but her expert back-and-forth rubbing against all the right places did the trick well enough. The filament-dragging juice, warm and fresh, ran down her face and dripped from Yrba’s chin into her dark brown cleavage. One hand guided Mirca’s hip back and forth, the witch’s other hand spread the viscid mucus over her own breasts. Mirca’s soft and pliable folds slipped around Yrba’s probing tongue like her own oiled chocolate boobs rolled and slithered in her hand.
Soon, the whole cart was rocking and groaning under the heavy pounding from the inside.
To Be Continued in Yrba’s Travels, Part 7: Among Wolves
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