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. It is your own choice and responsibility if you continue reading.
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.7 — Among Wolves
by
Paul Gerard (a pen name)
First Draft, July 2008. Publishing in September 2009
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:
"Look around / leaves are brown / and the sky / is a hazy shade of winter" — Simon & Garfunkel, Hazy Shade Of Winter
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.
Part 6 — The Road:
After Berry’s demise, Red, Yrba and the girls learn that the brawny woman took many secrets to her grave. Her final words lead them to a cave filled with gold, swords and shields. Red buys the confiscated witch cart back from the guards. Yrba and Mirca take to the road to consult Yrba’s former mentor, a wizard. On their way, they discover enchanted chain mail, have a chance encounter with a gang of blackmailing thugs who bring disturbing news from Red’s brothel and miss a hint at a deus ex machina who may be more machina than deus.
Chapter: The Accident
"Hey, sleepy witch! Come on, get up! Another great day! You said we’d reach another village this evening. Let’s get going!"
"Mirca — no," groaned Yrba and drew her blanket back over the curly, tangled bird’s nest of her jet black mane. Her chocolate-brown complexion made the Southern Islands witch an often-ogled oddity to the pale folks of the Northlands that she travelled. She licked her plump lips and smacked. "I’ve got no idea how you became so chipper, but I sure can’t keep up." She rolled her shoulders and ran her fingernails down her curvy contours to scratch her round buttocks. Uttering another groan, she slumped back down in her berth. "Oh, just go ahead, you know the drill. Harness the horse, get the fire going, yadda yadda yadda."
"Feh! I hope I don’t become that sleepy when I’m old," muttered Mirca as she turned around, stooping to not bump her head against the caravan’s ceiling. The four-wheeler that Yrba travelled in never was meant to provide housing for a twenty-something lumberjack girl who could put barroom brawls to a sudden, awkward end just by standing up and flexing her arms.
"Thirty-six ain’t old," grumbled her curvaceous mentor and squeezed her own buttocks, as if to reassure herself of her body’s delectable firmness. Satisfied, she dug herself back into the pillows and turned from the beams of light that pierced into the wagon as her herculean travel companion opened the door and bowed through the low doorframe that barely was big enough for her six feet nine frame.
Mirca jumped from the cart, ignoring the three wooden planks of the tiny stepladder, and stretched her towering, naked shape against the warming rays of the barely risen morning sun, cracking her joints and straining her firm muscles. Brushing back her long, blond hair, she gazed around. The lone clearing near the high point of the pass road offered a grand panorama over the low hills and the mist-veiled valleys between them.
The tall young woman knelt down by the fireplace, and soon the fire flared up from last night’s embers again. Raising her head, her eyes caught sight of the spokes on the cart’s wooden wheels.
"Yrba, one of the spokes is — uh, Yrba? You awake?"
A long snore was the answer. Mirca stood up, put her hands to her hips, took a deep breath, lowered her head and sighed.
"Great. Just great. Hum. Not going to sit around and wait until noon. I want to see a few new faces this evening."
She tapped on her pouted lips with her right hand’s fingers. Suddenly she smiled, untied the spare wheel and crawled backwards on all fours under the cart. She squatted down, curved her back and pressed her shoulder blades into the cart’s floor. Emerging muscles and tendons turned her legs’ smooth skin into a landscape of hills and valleys.
Dammit, it’s heavier than it looks.
Not too heavy, though. Hrrrrnnnn—!
She clenched her teeth and tensed up some more. The veins in her neck swelled. Wood groaned as the weight on the wheels disappeared. Moments later, they lost touch of the ground, and half of the cart balanced on the blonde’s back. She grabbed the damaged wheel by her side and pulled and jolted on the obstinate item to wiggle it loose.
Come off, you stupid thing! Come off!
Finally, it slipped from the spindle. She dropped it and had to put her hand to the ground to balance the weight that threatened to overwhelm her. Her other hand fumbled for the spare wheel. She leant sideways, frantically grasping at it, but her fingertips barely touched the rim.
Riiiight, quick now — oh come here, you darn — shit! No! No no no!
The load on her back shifted as the cart began to tilt sideways. Still struggling, she heard the second wheel on her side drop from its axle with a thud. The other side of the cart still wobbled and creaked on the remaining two wheels, but on this side, all to rest the weight on now was her back. Mirca exhaled hard. Her muscles started to ache and tire, and the wooden beams of the cart’s frame pressed painfully into her shoulder blades and spine. She bent deeper.
"Yrba!" she coughed. "Oh gods, help m—eeuugh … w—wake up, Yr—rgh!"
Her voice was barely more than a wheeze and the only reply from the cart was another snore. As the load slowly weighed her down, she struggled in vain for air that just wouldn’t come to her lungs. Every breath in was a short gasp, every breath out a long-drawn hiss through gritted teeth, every time she bowed lower to the ground.
Need — something to rest it on —
She was down on both hands now, arms trembling, and her elbows began to bend. Heat flushed over her chest; a dull, throbbing heat in sync with her racing heartbeat. The edge of the cart slipped on and cut painfully into her neck, grating over her vertebrae.
Nnnngh — gaaah! It’ll chop my head off! I’ve got to —
The first higher blades of grass, still covered in dew, ran over the skin of her dangling breasts and moistened her nipples. Stars dancing before her eyes, she tried to shift the weight any which way. A fierce, growing itch from deep within her chest replaced the tickle of the grass.
No — not now, no, please, oh please, don’t—
Seconds stretched into an eternity of expansion. Her ballooning mammaries made contact with the ground with a short, hard thump. Her hands on the wet, slippery grass were quickly pushed aside by the swelling flesh, and the wagon’s weight came down on her, on the yielding pillows that caught it with bouncing, swinging motions that made the mobile hut on her back creak and groan like a ship in heavy sea.
Mirca’s face was covered with sweat, and now it was partially covered with her chest’s burning skin, too. Her breasts, suddenly four times their original, already dominating size, were painfully flattened between the ground and her body. She felt the pulsing of the veins under the skin as the bags grew larger under her, fighting the threatening weight, the stretching skin moving down her midriff until it was stopped as it ran into her thighs. The whole rising mass started bulging forward now to the faint hissing of liquid volume building up inside.
The groans of the cart on her back grew louder as it rightened up bit by bit. Yet the swelling of Mirca’s breasts went in all the wrong directions. The skin at the underside of her mammaries strained against the pull of the two orbs’ urge to pop out ahead of her.
"Yrrrrb—hhhhh." And still her voice was but a faint moan as she tried to yelp while inhaling. All the while she grappled with her two inflating pillows, trying to keep the burgeoning flesh under her.
Her nipples dug into the ground, anchoring her swelling breasts and stopping the slow slippage. The pressure grew. She no longer needed her legs or arms to hold up the mass of the wagon. Her bloating breasts held the cart’s weight as their growing size made them bulge sideways, squeezing far beyond the sides of Mirca’s chest. She was firmly fixed between the load on her back, her own flattened thrumming breasts and the ground.
With a crash and tinkling, something inside the cart fell over. Then came a heavy thud, and a muffled yowl of pain followed on its heels. Squeaking and groaning, the yard-huge pillows shouldered the cart’s weight. Mirca slipped into her own ridiculously huge cleavage, with a moan of pain as her arms and shoulders were forced backwards. She could finally breathe in again. She could scream again. And she did, with all the strength she had left.
"Yrba! Are you all right?!"
Dead silence sent ice down Mirca’s spine. Inside the cart, there were heavy things. Heavy things that might easily crush an arm, or a leg, or a — head.
Then, finally, the angry answer: "Dammit, yeah! Hrrrnnngh! I’m — I’m stuck! What the fuck are you doing out there?"
"I’m so sorry! I tried to fix the wheel, and then the other came off, too, and now I’m trapped here! I’m stuck under the cart! I’ve blown up again! Help me!"
"Gaaaarrrgh! No, can’t get my leg out from under that barrel! And you? Can you hold on? Can you breathe?"
"Yes, yes. No — nnngh! — no problem now. The cart seems to get lighter by the minute. I just can’t stop this! I really tried! Yrba! Please, do something!" She gesticulated helplessly with her hands that peeked out left and right while her arms were stuck between the cart and the stretching and ballooning skin of her breasts, each now flattened to more than one and a half yard in diameter and three feet high — and swelling.
The wood of the wagon’s two wheels still on the ground creaked and groaned as more of the weight shifted from Mirca’s back and shoulders towards the axles on the opposite side while she rose on top of the expanding pillows. The angle of the box on wheels neared its tipping point.
"Do something?" groaned the witch. "I was hoping you’d come and get me out of here! I don’t like it how the kitchen knives dangle over me!"
Rrrrumble. Thock. Thock—thock—thock. Thock—thock.
"Yrba!" gasped the blonde.
"Okay, p—problem s—solved," stuttered the witch. "That was too fuckin’ close!"
"Yrba, please! You’ve got to think of something! I keep bloating, I’ll topple the cart!"
After a moment of silence, Yrba replied: "Then topple it!"
"What?!"
"I’m stuck in here! You’re stuck out there! My leg’s trapped under that damned barrel, and you’ve got a cart on your back! What else can we do? Grow on and topple it, and we’ll both get out somehow."
Wood groaned, and then silence descended on the clearing. Distant bird twitters slowly returned.
"I’m — trying — I — really — oh! What is tha — oooh! Oh m—maaah—mmmhhh—"
Mirca’s panting came faster and faster, until she suddenly held her breath. Her body trembled faintly as she stiffened.
"Haaaahhh—"
The lecherous exhale went on an on. In the end, Mirca’s wide-open eyes closed slowly, and she sagged down. Warmth spread under her breasts, washing away the cool sensations from the dew-soaked grass.
"Uh, I — I think something weird just happened," Mirca said after a while. "I’m — my boobs, it’s like they just, I dunno, like they came, all on their own! I mean, it wasn’t in my womb, it was in my — and I don’t grow any more. And now — no, I think my boobs are ac—u—tally shrinking now!"
"Actually. Girl, you make ’em grow again this very instant!"
"I’m too big already! All I know is how to get to the sagging-to-my-ankles size! They did all this round balloon thing by themselves! How—?"
"I don’t know! But tell me, can you hold up the cart without your boobs?"
"No! I’m too worn out! It’s too heavy! I can’t get out! It’ll lop my head off and squash me!"
"Then you better learn soon!"
"I’m scared! They’re — they’re letting down! They’re shrinking really fast now! The milk’s washing out like from a spout!"
Yrba’s thoughts raced. Make her grow. Quickly. Embarrass her? No, too risky. Better distract her. Get her horny. Dripping horny. How?!
"Mirca, I want you to let go. Let it all out. Or in."
"Uh, let out in what? Huh?"
"The first few times you blew up big in the forest? Remember that?"
Mirca’s eyes swiveled frantically while she tried to conjure up that memory.
"Yes, yes, but — but that didn’t work any more after a few weeks. And you said that was a good sign!"
"Too bad. We need something like that now. Well, not exactly, slower would be nice … so, sugarplum, tell me what you liked best about the last nights."
Mirca blushed. "Uh—now? I’m kinda, I —"
"Come on, girl. I’ve had my face between your legs. You can tell me anything."
"Uh, I—I liked how you did that thing with your fingers and —"
"Imagine it. Again. And tell me."
Yrba’s plump lips wrapped gently around the nervous clit. As her mouth opened, her tongue crept out, played over Mirca’s labia and finally split them all the way. Her dark hands wandered over the blonde’s bright skin, and her fingernails scratched tenderly over the heavy, rising mounds on Mirca’s chest. Yrba pouted her lips and sucked on the pink knob before she let it slip from her mouth.
"Come on now. Make ’em grow for me," she whispered before she devoured the wet strawberry again.
"No," giggled Mirca, slowly gyrating her hip. "Not unless you do the — mmmmh! Or that! That’s nice, too." Warmth spread over the tall blonde’s groin. Yrba’s cheeks bulged and shrunk with her rhythmic sucking. Mirca moaned blissfully. Slowly, her whole body caught fire and twitched and twisted on the big cow pelt under her. The rough bristles tickled her back.
Yrba ran her hand down over Mirca's belly with her fingers splayed and bent into claws. Her fingernails scratched over the well-defined mounds of muscles on the blonde's abs.
You’re wet like a swamp, girl, she wanted to say. But it came out as "Oomm—glomph," and the humming sent twitches and tickles all through Mirca’s guts.
Yrba’s night snack’s hips bucked against her face. Mirca was quite ripe for the plucking. With her lips focusing on the juicy knob, the witch dug her fingers, then her whole hand between the sopping labia under it. Mirca's giant body welcomed her intruding arm with rippling, twitching muscles and claimed it easily beyond the wrist.
"Mmmmh. And then I felt so full! Oh, this was so good!" moaned the blonde. "And I wanted to suck you in, all the way! And grow for you!"
The cart groaned again. Mirca didn’t listen to the sound of the present while her thoughts whirled around in the past. Her eyes were closed, her mouth was half open, and she licked her lips and half her face with her giant tongue. She relived those precious moments, running them through her mind again and again. This time, the heat of longing built deep in her womb.
"Oh Yrba — so full — push it in all the way—!" she gasped, oblivious to the world around her.
Thin filaments of viscid goo dripped from her crotch, and suddenly she understood how to let it all out. She didn’t need the gestures of her hands. She didn’t need to focus. The answer popped up in her brain, right out of nowhere, and the knowledge sent shivers of arousal down her spine.
She took a deep breath.
And then she kept on inhaling. Like hot oil, the burning, the swelling spread on over her breasts, and they grew heavier with every frantic beat of her heart. Her skin groaned like mistreated leather. She wrapped her arms and legs around the orbs, felt the throbbing skin as it stretched out of her grip and gained the unearthly resilience it so badly needed to not burst apart, flattened under the weight of the cart that tilted faster now.
More! Yes! I want to be full!
No one with the right kind of eyes was around to see how sparkling white whirls rushed in and disappeared into the hungry vortex between her legs. Heat and volume pumped into her breasts, worming straight through her from her burning womb. More magic streamed right from the ground that her flattened mams rested on and filled them further. She rode her own breasts as they swelled and rounded. Something dropped from her back, something she barely noticed. There was some noise, too. It didn’t matter either. All that mattered was holding on to this sensation of sheer, unadulterated growth, and holding on to the rumbling bags of groaning, squeaking skin lifting her higher.
Yrba crawled on hands and knees through the doorframe of the toppled cart. The door hung unhinged. She pulled herself along until her body slid over the tipping point. Screaming in pain, she tumbled down the slanted door and into the grass.
She curled up and held her bruised ankle. Moments later, after she wised up, her trembling fingers clutched her thigh instead. Blood leaked through her grip.
"Heavens and all the fuckin’ gods, you really did it this time, Mirc—aaaarrgh," she growled through clenched teeth as she pulled tight the tourniquet that she improvised from a strip of her skirt and a branch.
Yrba pushed herself up to her elbows.
"Mirca?!"
From the downhill, far end of the clearing came the rhythmic sounds of splintering trees and low, liquid rumbling. Yrba dragged herself around the cart blocking her view.
"Uuuunngh — Mmmmhh — Unnngh — Hwwwwoooaaah —"
The two orbs of Mirca’s boobs, each more than a dozen yards high now, surged against the edge of the forest, with the blonde’s twitching and jerking body wedged in between and connecting them. Their momentum from the tumble down the slope was caught by the springy conifers that tickled and stimulated the aroused, Brobdingnagian breasts with their myriad of tiny needles as they bounced back the pair of balls only to have gravity roll the white avalanche back into the wall of wood. Each squeeze of tit-fucking the forest edge sent bolts of milk arching from the man-sized, erect nipples.
Yrba rolled on her back to get her hands free for her incantation’s gestures and put her head in her neck, watching the mind-blowing scene upside-down and blinking into the rising sun that highlighted Mirca’s absurd contours in the last wisps of morning mist.
"Now this’ll get you empty fast and ugly," she snarled, reaching up into the clouds of ethereal sparkles that hovered over her head. White glow coated her fingers like shiny wetness as she put her hands together, forming a double-layer ring with her thumbs and forefingers, spreading her other digits like cupping something huge, round, and invisible.
"Huuuuuuuuunnnnn—"
The witch inhaled, with her jaw slack and her mouth a huge, gaping O, until her spine arched upwards and her ribs ached and her whole body trembled. Yrba brought her hands to her face.
Her lips, pouting and fleshy, touched her ring of fingers in a gentle kiss. Down the slope, Mirca gasped in surprise. The taste of milk, sweet and delicious, suddenly lingered on Yrba’s tongue.
"Mmffffffffffff—"
Yrba blew, long and hard, until her ears rang and flashes danced in front of her eyes. Groaning and squeaking drowned out Mirca’s moans, and then the blonde’s desperate shriek of sudden realization rose above the unearthly noises. A round and rising shadow, growing marginally less dense as it spread bigger, blotted out the warming sun rays on the forest.
"Aiieeeeeee—"
Squeeeerrrreeeeaaaaa—
Yrba slumped back into the dewy grass, panting heavily. Malleable resistance out of thin air forced her hands apart, yet she struggled and squeezed, choking and wrestling the invisible sphere. The vague contours of the shadow twisted and bent as the cacophony of rumbling and sloshing and yelping united into one hellish din.
She dug her claw-curved fingers into the ethereal resistance, twisting her hands against each other, digging her fingernails into the invisible mass —
Ooooouurrrbbbb—creeeeaaaak—
— And clapped her palms together.
Mirca’s scream was drowned out by the screeching of over-stretched rubber that ended with a deafening bang. Needles and leaves showered from the trees as the shockwave rushed through the forest.
Mirca probed cautiously her breast’s supple, soft shapes as she stooped crestfallen and dripping head to toe with milk by her mentor’s side. From the corner of her eyes, she cast terrified glances at the witch.
"What?" snapped Yrba back at her while she finished her leg’s bandage. "I made sure you felt no pain!"
"Still — they — they exploded! All those gobs of flesh, and milk everywhere, and — I — I’m sorry, I’m not complaining, but I got so scared, and I fell down right into that pile, and then all the stuff that you blew sky high came raining back down on me and I was all covered in — in — yuck —"
"Oh shut up!"
The witch lowered her pulled-up, soiled skirt, put her hands to her hips, sighed and shook her head wearily as she eyed the warped caravan. "Well, this’ll take some time to fix."
Mirca wrung her hands.
"I’m so s—sorry!" she stuttered, raising her hands pleadingly to Yrba’s back. "I didn’t mean it, I though I could — but — I only wanted to — and then — I —"
The witch’s knuckles showed brightly through the skin of her clenched fists. After a few moments, she exhaled audibly and hobbled towards the cart, dragging her bandaged leg.
"Let me help you, I can—," Mirca began.
"Don’t you think you’ve helped me enough for a day?" Yrba hissed through gritted teeth. Mirca slumped to her knees, buried her face in her hands and started to snivel.
"I’m such an oaf! Everything I touch, I break it! I can’t get anything right!" Her voice climbed to incomprehensible wails and sobs.
Yrba didn’t turn her head as she barked, "Done feeling sorry for yourself? You want to do something useful for a change? Then stop crying over spilled milk and put the new wheel in place so we can righten up the cart again!"
"You hate me now!" wailed Mirca, throwing herself on the ground and sobbing uncontrollably.
Yrba sighed and turned around. She slumped down heavily beside the trembling figure and stroked the concave line of Mirca’s waist and the broad back with the shaking shoulders.
"Shhh, no, no, I don’t hate you, darling, I never could. It’s just a lot of damage, and I’m aching and upset. This could’ve ended so badly, I dare not think about it. Mirca, don’t put yourself in harm’s way like that. I couldn’t stand losing you."
She caressed her pupil’s cheek and gently kissed the salty tears away.
"Now get up again, sweetie. I need you, now more than ever."
Chapter: Winter’s Hazy Shades
Winter was a gentle time for the couple. When finally the blizzards began in earnest and the roads became impassable and disappeared under drifting snow, they drove the cart in between a patch of trees and set up camp for the next weeks. Two days of chopping wood and hauling timber turned the box on wheels into the larder of a veritable two-room blockhouse complete with a small stable for the horse. All the while, Mirca’s cornucopian qualities made sure that they were never in danger of starving, even though the taste of milk grew a bit old during the nastiest week of winter when the drifting snow piled almost to the roof. The blonde had enough time to marvel at — and memorize, with Yrba’s incessant reminders — the dozens of hidden stashes in the cart and their various contents.
Yrba’s wounds healed, albeit slowly. She still limped on her daily walk to the nearby brook and back, but she never again complained or held it against Mirca.
"Yrbaaaa! I’m back with the firewood! Guess what I brought along!"
The sounds of a heavy sled over fresh snow neared the hut. The witch inside smiled wearily as she hollered her answer.
"Another wolf pelt?"
"Aw! Yrba! That’s not fair! And it’s not my fault! I don’t know why they always come for me! It’s as if they don’t learn!"
"You don’t give them much of a chance to learn, do you? Oh well, do we have any things we didn’t do ten times yet — how about we tailor a nice pair of boots from that one?"
For almost a month, the days passed without much change, except that the notches marking Mirca’s height crept incessantly higher on the wall. Many of the long dark nights were filled with moans and groans as the odd couple gave in to their passion, and many more just saw two silent shapes spooning peacefully against each other, or Yrba falling asleep in her ever-growing giantess’ loving embrace as Mirca’s nurturing teat slowly slipped from the witch’s moist, sated lips.
The worst of winter was over, and the days started to grow longer. Mirca had caught up on much of the education that the years of servitude had denied her. Yrba was more than just a little pleased, though at times she had been at her wit’s end. And she was more than relieved when Mirca’s growth finally tapered off at seven feet. Standing in front of her, the witch felt almost dwarf-like compared to the now one-and-a-half foot taller giantess. With her heavy, teardrop-shaped breasts, each much larger than Yrba’s head but still quite reasonable for Mirca’s herculean build, her wide hips with the muscular legs and the round but taut ass, her body’s hard edges now smoothed by a winter of ample feeding, she was female domination incarnate.
As long as she didn’t open her mouth. Yrba knew that there was still much work in store for her.
Steam billowed in the air. The two unlike shadows huddled on the fur rugs near the crackling oven. Mirca’s nervous fingers twisted the rough bristles of the wolf pelt under her into tiny curls.
"Yrba, I’m so sorry I ate the last of the bread, but — I’m always so hungry ever since I grew. You’re not angry? At the castle, in the winter, when there was no more bread left, it meant times were really bad."
Yrba smiled and stroked Mirca’s back, delighting in the sharp contrast of her chocolate-colored fingers on her plaything’s skin of just a hint of copper. "It’s not bad, dear. With you around, it can never be truly bad."
"Gee, you’re so sweet!"
The witch planted a sloppy kiss on the giantess’ shoulder.
"No, sugar pumpkins, you’re sweet. The sun has set. Isn’t it high time for you?" Her fingers wandered over the heavy, taut melon shapes of Mirca’s breasts. "Oh yes it is. Get on your hands and knees now and let’s harvest a little of that sweetness."
Mirca sighed happily and arched her back, lifting her dangling udders from the rug. "Moo," she whispered in Yrba’s ear and snapped playfully at her earlobe as the witch’s fingertips probed the engorged nipples. Just a little pinch with thumb and forefinger, and Yrba’s brown fingertips were coated in slippery, fatty, white liquid.
"Someone’s quite full of it, huh?" The gypsy put a bowl under the swollen melons, coated her hands with the first spurts and then ran her glistening, slippery fingers in slow, deft strokes from the massive roots over the thick bulge to the swollen, protruding areolae. The smell of milk filled the warm air, and as the bowl filled, the hissing and bubbling of the many thin jets grew louder.
"Yes, that’s what my sweet heifer likes, doesn’t she?"
"Moo—oouurr! Teeheehee, oh don’t tickle me like that, Yrba! Mmmh. It’s letting down by itself now, just keep it aimed at — unh! Oh my, oh Yrba, yes, that’s pretty good there, use more fingers, there’s room to spare, that’s —"
Shluuurp. Squelch.
"Ungh Yrba! Ooooh! Deeper!"
Squelch. Squelch. Squelch.
Mirca stretched her arms and lowered her shoulders until her heavy breasts dipped into the rapidly filling milk bowls. She raised her hip as high as she could while still kneeling. Yrba leaned in and pushed her hand deeper into the steaming envelope.
"Hhhuuungh! Oh Yrba! Oh yes! Yes! MOOOO!"
Chapter: An Unexpected Guest
Mirca sat on the floor with her back against the wall. The round, soft orbs of her heavy, shapely breasts hung from the gap of her wolfskin jacket, and the fur tickled their undersides in most delightful ways. She patted down her sweaty face and cleavage with a wet towel while she caught her breath. Turning her head to Yrba, who poured a sloshing bucket into a bigger barrel, she sighed happily.
"Oh dear, that was great! I felt pretty taut and full the whole day, but — so much milk! It just kept coming and coming like a fountain, I really don’t know where I take it from —"
She raised her head. "Did you hear that?"
"Hear what?"
"Wolves, again!"
Yrba laughed. "Well, you could leave them alone for a change. You even got underwear made from fur now, Mirca, and we’ve got stacks of pelts left. Why, it’s getting hard to recognize you for yourself when you put on all your winter clothes."
And then, far off in the distance, a single scream, a human scream. Mirca jumped to her feet and reached for her coat, the sword and the axe. The whole cabin shook as she threw her weight against the door and effortlessly pushed it open against the drift of snow that had piled outside.
"Wait — Mirca!"
Yrba’s splayed fingers only aimed for an empty doorframe clattering in the gusts that blew a few snowflakes inside. Muttering and cursing, the witch hobbled to the door, pulled it shut and locked it before she slumped down on a small barrel and clutched the sole remaining axe tight.
"Stupid stupid hothead! What do you think you’re doing? I hope you’re not about to save a gang of bandits!"
She glanced at the stack of pelts in the corner.
Or bring in more of those wretched wolves. Gods, how I hate the taste of their meat.
The blanket rent in the gray beast’s maw. The lone traveller threw himself around and made for the next tree. Sharp teeth snapped at his clothes as he pulled himself up to vague safety with his last strength. Clinging to the icy bark, he caught his breath. And as he calmed down, the pain from his exhausted muscles and his many wounds returned, together with the biting cold of the wind that crept in through the tears and holes in his garments. He looked around. No other suitable trees as far as his eyes could pierce the fog and snowfall, and the branches on this one wouldn’t hold his weight as soon as he lost his grip on the trunk.
That’s it. They just need to wait for me to fall into their maws like a frozen fruit. Oh Caroline, sorry, but that single night with you wasn’t worth this nightmare.
The wolves suddenly turned around and fell quiet. His gaze followed their hungry stares. A hulking silhouette neared with heavy footfall through the driving snow, and he clutched the tree tighter.
Oh gods, now there’s a bear, too! He’ll climb up to me with no effort at all!
Snarling and growling, the wolves formed a circle around the huge, mute figure that raised its forelegs over its head. The traveller on the tree turned his head to the rough bark and kept his eyes shut as howls and snarls rose from below.
He jerked up as he heard a metallic, long-drawn sound from a human tool. And then came the swishes of a fast-moving blade, and then howls and yelps started and soon stopped again. He dared to turn his head and stared down at a scene of carnage. The stranger stood in a blood-stained circle of snow, a few wolves laid dead at his feet, and the rest of the pack disappeared between the trees. The traveller sighed with relief and began to climb down.
He fell the last few feet and struggled upright, swaying with weakness. The bear-like shadow walked up and towered mutely over him. Long, bright hair fluttered in the strong gusts of wind and snow. He narrowed his eyes and stuttered, "Y—you’re a Northsman mercenary, right? C—can you understand me? I—I’ll pay good money if you — you —"
The stranger crouched, and his huge sword flashed towards the traveller. It cut right through the rough, thick blanket without slowing down. Something heavy and shrouded in sour stench hit the traveler’s back at the same time and threw him to the ground.
The wooden door bent under heavy kicks. "Yrba! Open! Come on, hurry, open the door!"
Mirca barged into the room, fell to her knees and dropped a blood-covered bundle to the floor. The flickering light of the fireplace revealed two arms, two legs and a head, all still roughly in their usual place. Colorful rags showed through a torn, snow-covered and soiled blanket with many tears and a single, long gash. The figure, though unconscious, still clutched a wooden instrument to its chest.
The blonde shook the snow from her hair and shoulders. "I speared a wolf right through under his arm as it leaped on him! Still knocked him out. Don’t know how long he was holding on to that tree out there."
Yrba looked at the mangled body at her feet and sighed as she picked up two of her last four remaining vials of the tincture.
"He seems salvageable. I guess that’ll be another healing I won’t get paid for," she snarled and bowed down. Grabbing his jaw, she made the man’s lips pout between her thumb and forefinger and emptied one after the other vial into his mouth.
"Hot water, the towels. Mirca, don’t just stand and stare, hurry!" Yrba peeled down the stranger’s clothes and sucked in air through her clenched teeth when she saw the many wounds. "That’s not good. My juice is just too old." Her eyes measured up the empty air that, to her, was full of tiny dust bunnies made of light. Holding the seams of one blood-spouting wound together, she guided a few of them into the torn skin. The faint glow of tincture on his body faded as the lacerated edges sewed themselves shut. Yrba held her hand out sideways and opened and closed her fingers. "Sponge. — Sponge!" The witch turned her head. "Mirca? Mirca! Hey! Get busy!"
The hulking girl jumped as she snapped out of her empty-eyed stare. "Y—yes, I’m —"
"Hurry!"
The last of the glow disappeared, and the healing stopped, or at least it slowed down to its sluggish, natural speed measured in days and not seconds. What remained untreated were a handful of flat wounds that wouldn’t kill the stranger outright.
"How we’re going to bleach all those soiled towels now?" Yrba sighed, looking at the crimson pile of wrinkled cloth as she washed her hands.
"Yrba! Look, I think he’s coming to!"
"Well, that was fast. Let’s wait with the introductions, sweetie, until we know who he is. Don’t say a word until I tell you to, ’kay? Might be a fugitive bandit or a crazed hermit." She leaned down over the stranger’s head and pulled at one of his eyelids.
His eyeball swiveled until he saw the witch’s face. He screamed. Yrba jerked back.
"The underworld! Black evil demon! I didn’t do nothing wrong! Let me g—" He coughed and gasped for air, and then his unsteady gaze found Mirca’s face.
"You! Oh, you’re an angel! Such a sweet innocent angel! Save me from this creature!" he babbled, before he drifted off into unconsciousness again.
"Great," muttered Yrba, "he’s obviously still delirious."
"Mirca? Hey! What’s the matter?"
The blonde jerked again. "Huh?"
Yrba followed her gaze and frowned. "Will you stop staring at his crotch?"
Mirca blushed. "Uh—I, so, I just never — that’s what all naked men look like? It’s just — his whole body’s so, uh, bland, and his, heh, he’s tiny there, and Red’s girls always joked about sausages and how big … uh…"
The witch smacked her lips and laughed. "Oh, it might not look like much now, but his dangly breeding bit sure can change its shape. Not while he’s out cold like that, though. Mirca, search some more firewood and bring me a fresh bucket of water from the brook. No need to hurry. Take your time."
"Uh — Now?"
The witch patted her pupil’s biceps, smiled and nodded.
"Now. Sweetie, I need some alone time with him. I’ll soon teach you about m— Soon, but not now. Not yet." Yrba cracked her knuckles. "I need to do. You know. Some more of the secret witch stuff."
"Ah!"
Yrba dropped the wet rag back into the bucket of warm soap water and reached for a new towel. She carefully dried the unconscious man’s genitals and gently rolled his sack in her hand.
"There, all patched up, and now you’re nice and clean, too." Lifting the worn, scratched lute, she added, "Traveling bard, eh?" She patted down the pockets of his clothes. "And poor as a church mouse, just as I expected. So let’s see, what else might you be able to offer for my services, huh?"
She raised a tinted piece of crystal to her eyes and squinted. Through the looking glass, his skin shone in ever-changing colors. "Little underweight, been wandering a few days without much food, I guess." Her fingertips traveled over his skin and probed the tension of his sinewy arms, watching the rainbow streaks dance and settle after her hand moved on. "Handsome, and tall enough for a man. Skinny. Could well use a shave. Not much of a hard worker. Horny fingertips of a dedicated musician, though. So you’re at least serious about your art, bard."
Yrba finished her inspection. "You’re clean inside and out. Quite healthy, too. Oh yes, that’ll be just the harvest I need. Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle—"
Yrba leaned in and held her hands at finger’s length over his balls and his limp dick. She whispered, "Rise."
A twitch went through the contracted, wrinkly skin, and that was it. Yrba frowned and concentrated stronger. Her fingers bent into hooks.
"Elevare," she mumbled, with a little anger creeping in.
She sighed and grabbed the tip of his foreskin with two fingers, pulling at it. His dick stretched longer and thinner like dead meat — a sad sight. Yrba tilted her head in mock anger.
"Hey! I’m enticing you, but you’ve got to do a little by yourself, too! Come on! The tincture’s almost used up, but there’s got to be some response left in you—"
Like a spring, his cock almost retracted into his body as she let go of the foreskin. She narrowed her eyes just to see the last wisps of her tincture’s ethereal charge evaporate out of his body, and groaned.
"Oh, so you don’t want to work with me? Too bad. I’ll have my way, buddy." Yrba’s grin returned as she reached for a flat dish and a little wooden box with a neatly sorted, small set of vials. "Let’s see," she muttered and licked her lips. "Essence of — no. Maybe — ah! Yes. Oh yes. Well, it’s meant for reluctant bulls, but it won’t be my headache come morning."
Squeak. Pop. — Drip. — Squeak.
"So maybe you’ve got no magic left in you, but there are herbs that work almost the same. Get ready for the strong stuff, little man," giggled the witch as she dipped a hair-thin needle in the tiny blue puddle on the earthen disk. A single drop clung to the point as her steady fingers pulled taut a patch of his skin and pricked his flesh with the glistening silver.
The response was immediate. She smiled as the veins on his flaccid pipe fattened and bulged and the blueish skin tone was flushed away by spreading red and growing bulk that drew the foreskin back from the glans. Yrba smacked her lips while the elongating cock curved upwards and lifted itself easily from the sack until it pointed straight up at the ceiling.
"Good enough to eat. Pity I need your precious fluids for my preparations. Oh well, a little foreplay won’t hurt —"
She pouted her lips and placed them on the smooth, silky skin of his hot glans.
"Ommmmgh."
Sllrp. Shlllp. Pllrrrb. Shlurrp.
The tight seal of her lips zoomed up and down the throbbing pillar. Her rough tongue tickled along the underside and enveloped the thin band.
"Mmmpfuah—!"
She felt the twitches and jerks as his tide came in. Yrba drew the pulsing flesh from her mouth, pressed the wide-open hole in his taut glans on an empty vial and milked the long spurts of his semen into the glass.
Raising the glass and watching the liquid against the backdrop of the oven’s flames as it settled, Yrba wiped her lips and grinned. "A vial for a vial. See, now we’re almost even, bard. Almost. Rest now. The next time, I want you to enjoy it."
She added a few drops from another flask and corked both well before she sorted them back into the grid of the wooden box.
Red. Red light. Flickering. Fire.
Alric frowned and regretted it the very next moment. Even the muscles on his forehead ached. He carefully opened one eye only halfway and looked around. A log cabin. Two women, wrapped in blankets and kneeling on the floor, eyed him cautiously in the unsteady twilight of the fireplace. He felt bandages around his arms and his left leg.
The brown-skinned woman was by his side the very instant he tried to sit up. Her hands with the claw-like fingernails grabbed his arms and helped him to his feet. Alric stared at her. He had heard of the southern tribes, how they looked different, yet he had never seen one of them up close. The touch of her skin was a bit rougher than that of the ladies he had met so far. This close, she smelled enticingly of exotic herbs and woods.
"Thanks. Where’s your husband? Your mate? Your master?"
She replied in the throaty sing-song of a language that Alric had never heard before, and offered him some kind of bowl with steaming broth in it. It didn’t smell half bad, but he gently yet firmly pushed it away.
"No. Listen, woman, first I need to talk to your, oh whatever he is — to the Northsman who brought me here. Do you understand me? Do you speak my language?" He started gesticulating. "Me — talk — big — man? Gods, this headache is killing me!"
The dark-skinned, weird woman hesitated and then laughed whole-heartedly, pointing at him. He rubbed his temples, sighed and pressed on. "Big. Biiig. Do you get it? — No, you don’t. — Biiig. Maaan. Yes? Yes!"
She raised her eyebrows and nodded towards the other woman in his back, with a questioning expression on her face. Then she lifted the soup bowl again. He shook his head.
"No. No!" Alric exhaled. "Man. Maaaaan." He was getting desperate, and so his next gestures were maybe a little too descriptive and would have had him thrown from most taverns. At least the roasted demon woman snorted with laughter instead.
"You know? Not wom— oh heavens!"
Mirca rose and stepped up to Yrba’s side. Alric stared at the soaring, broad-shouldered giantess. His mouth fell open as finally his brain kicked in.
"That was you—?!"
He twitched as the brown-skinned woman patted his thigh, and then she turned her head to the tall girl and said, with a melodic and deep voice, "All right, Mirca. You need not keep quiet any more. I don’t think he’s a bandit or something."
Mirca nodded. "Hi there. Was a pretty dumb idea of you, walking alone and unarmed through the winter wood. So you’re no hunter either, I’ll wager. Heh, that’s probably for the better, if you can’t even tell a woman from a man, — uh — and you are?"
He put down the bowl and swallowed. Warmth returned to his body. "Name’s Alric. You can call me Al. Yeah, well, you sneak through the winter woods like a bear and rip out wolves’ limbs for fun. Doesn’t seem very womanly to me either."
A moment of tense silence grew maybe a little too long. Then Mirca looked down and shrugged.
"Just can’t stand wolves. They give me the creeps. Make me all itchy and angry. Things get broken when I’m angry. Can’t help it." She glanced at him from under furrowed brows.
"Not that I’m complaining, mind you!" Alric hastened to add.
Yrba handed him another bowl. "Here, have some more of the soup. You’re still cold and trembling. So what, she’s a girl. What’s your problem? You wanted to wait for the next proper hero to come along? She saved your hide, man!"
"Yes, well, thanks a lot," he mumbled, sitting down by the fireplace and clutching the bowl. He drank some more while casting nervous glances at the giantess and the brown-skinned woman to his left and right.
Maybe if I jump up and run right now — no, the huge one would catch up with me before I even reach the woods. Oh heavens, how she tore those wolves apart —
He swallowed. The chowder didn’t taste half bad, and while he chewed at the lumps of meat, he tried desperately to think of hare or lamb.
"Well, I — I better put on my clothes now, so, if you don’t mind, would you please turn around while I—?"
Yrba laughed, put her left hand to her hip and gave him a dismissive wave with the other. "Turn around? Come on, don’t act like you need to save us from going blind, staring at your manhood. I’ve seen bigger. Besides, how d’you think you got out of your rags in the first place?"
"Yes, well, I’d still feel better if —"
"There." She threw his clothes at him, and as he let got of his blanket to catch them, Yrba pulled it away. "Now get dressed, before your junk catches a cold. Oh, and the wolves did quite a number on your garb, you’ll need to add some more patches. — What?!"
The bard stared down his naked body that was covered in a few scabs and many streaks of fresh, pink skin.
"That’s not possible — I’m — These should be scars, or wounds — I should be — so, uh, you did —? Are you —?" he stuttered while his fingers jumped from streak to streak.
Yrba sighed, raised her eyebrows and pinched the root of her nose. "Yes. I’m a gypsy, I’m a traveling healer, I’m a witch. Did I miss anything? I’ll probably regret it, but you’re welcome to winter with us, if you dare to stick around and don’t mind sleeping in the stable. No fooling with the horse, okay? And you better work on earning our trust, stranger, or we’ll throw you out to die."
"Aw, Yrba!" Mirca protested. "He doesn’t look evil."
The witch pensively cocked her head. "Evil isn’t in looking. Evil is in doing. Remember Berry’s night."
Alric jerked as Mirca’s whole body language changed tone. Her stare grew cold, her shoulders rose and her hands clenched into fists to the grinding of her knuckles.
Yrba nodded at him. "Whatever you’re afraid of now, bard, you don’t know half of it."
"—And that’s it. Her husband noticed, the guards chased me out of town, and I tried to make it to the next village."
Yrba looked him up and down. "Was another pretty stupid thing to do, Alric."
"Yeah, well, I usually score a steady job by the end of fall and earn my stay by playing music at a palace, or an inn, or something. Always worked out, until now."
Mirca prodded him. "Hey, lemme see that." She picked the lute from his lap. "You pluck the stringy things and music comes out, right? I saw this before, at the castle. So, you any good with it?"
"I don’t want to boast, but, actually — uh, watch it!" He winced as she turned the delicate instrument in her fingers, ran her fingernails over the strings and wrangled an undead, painful yowl from the lute.
Mirca dropped it back into his lap, jumped to her feet and posed with her hip slowly gyrating. "Well, play us a song, then! It’s been so quiet and boring! Yrba, command him! Now I can show you what you taught me about dancing."
The witch chuckled and gave him a playful jab. "You better do as she says, Al! And don’t you start with a tired old ballad. You’ve met traveling folk before, don’t you? I guess you know a few fiery tunes as well."
"Fiery" didn’t even get close to describe Mirca’s whirling and bounding. Alric’s fingers moved all by themselves, honed by hours of practicing, while his eyes just stared at the hulking young woman whose body now twisted and bent like a snake to the rhythm. Yrba nodded approvingly, clapped the beat with her hands and smiled. Mirca’s dreamlike precision when it came to all things wood and axe had spilled over into the motions of the dance steps that the witch had taught her. She made love to the air around her as she whirled through the cabin.
Alric kept his thighs pressed close, hiding his raging hard-on. He had witnessed a lot of scantily-clad dancers, especially in temples that needed to advertise. Mirca’s performance beat them all, hands down. Her hips swayed, her toned legs twitched and stomped, and on her chest the heavy weight of her breasts swung and quivered as her body undulated. His eyes clung to the hard nipples as Yrba’s rhythm grew faster and faster. Mirca panted now, and drops of sweat glistened in her cleavage that steadily grew darker and deeper. And then the witch stopped clapping. Mirca let herself fall down on her knees and sat on her haunches, gasping for air and laughing.
"Oh — oops!" Mirca giggled and weighed her pumpkins in her hands. "Almost let my puppies out too far." Her breasts, their bulk at least twice as large now, spilled out of the struggling hemline that was caught against the erect nipples and let half her areolae out in the open. She grabbed her resilient protrusions and pushed on them, flattening her mammaries just enough to squeeze them back into her dress. "Fixed!"
"Did — did you see that?" he gasped and raised a finger, pointing at the straining wrapper of taut-pulled cloth. "She — oh gods, she grew right before my eyes! You two — you’re demons after all! Oh please, mercy — Yeeaaaarggh!"
He jerked and screamed when he felt Yrba’s hand.
"Maybe it’s time to explain a few things, darling," she cooed as she patted on his shoulder and smiled at him from the corner of her eyes.
Chapter: Two For The Price Of One
Wood creaked, and the faint whisper of the wind in the trees outside grew louder as the cabin door swung open. Yrba looked up. "So where’s Alric now?"
Mirca hung her thick fur coat on a hook by the door. "Done feeding the horse, now he’s out on that errand of yours." She combed snow out her hair and turned around, only to stop and frown. "Yrba, what are you doing with all that milk?"
The witch smiled, licked her lips and raised the milk bucket to her mouth again. She drew a couple of long gulps from it before she put it down to answer.
"Getting ready for your big night, sweetie. I’ll show you how to have fun with men. Alric’s just the right one, I think. Nice guy, not much of an attitude. You like him, too, don’t you? You wouldn’t mind him putting his dangly breeding bit into you, eh?"
"Tonight?!" Mirca giggled and hid her mouth behind her clenched hands as she bobbed in place. "Oh, yes, he’s been soooo sweet all week! He sang songs to me when we were out making firewood, and he’s so funny! Uh-huh, he can show me how to do men, anytime." She leaned in and whispered, "That fun stuff with men — it’s not at all like the fighting stuff Li taught me, right? Because I’d snap him in half if I did anything like that. He’s a little brittle, I think."
"Oh Mirca, compared to you, I’m brittle as well. Now there might be a little wrestling involved, but it’s mostly just rubbing and pushing in the right places." Yrba nodded towards her cart that stood embedded in the wall of the cabin. "Hide quietly in there and peek through the little hole that I showed you, Mirca."
Yrba uncorked a few of her vials and swallowed the colored liquids. Her face contorted in disgust, and she shivered. Mirca frowned.
"And why are you drinking these potions? You always said they won’t work on you."
The witch pulled her garment’s neckline down and rolled her shoulders while she kneaded her heavy breasts. Goosebumps spread over Yrba’s dark chocolate skin as her glands noticed the rich supply of milk coursing through her body and woke to their task. The black nipples contracted in anticipation as her spongy ducts filled, and Yrba gulped and gasped for air.
"Mmmh. Oh wow. Oh wow! It’s kickin’ in mightily fast this time." Her fingers rolled her breasts’ dark, supple flesh that firmed up in her grip. "Huhhh. Oh yes! Ungh! Mirca, these are herbs, not magical potions. This broth of four-leafed milkman’s friend here works wonders for me, and the boiled root of bullweed, well, it does nothing for us women, but I can keep it nice and warm for our bard to tap, and he’ll surely like what it does for him." She pinched one of her hard nipples. "Oh, he’ll not forget this night in a hurry! Well? Go and hide now, he’s just closed the stable door! I’ll make sure you get a good view of the action."
The last rays of sunlight slipped behind the dark silhouettes of the distant mountains. Alric carried a bucket of freezing water with a few chunks of ice in it back to the shed.
"And like the sun, it warms my heart, it fills me with delight / your face it shines with love for me, oh something something something / night. Dammit. Doesn’t work."
He knocked on the hut’s door.
"Yrba, I’ve fed the horse and here’s the ice water you asked for. Can I come in now?"
"It’s unlocked," answered her voice. He pushed the door open and froze, despite the rush of warm air that washed over him.
Yrba laid on the floor, resting on her right side, with her head propped up on her right hand. She wore a fiery red dress he had neither seen before nor expected her to own. Its silken gloss and flow of pleats accentuated the curves of her body, and a wide belt with gold decorations made sure her trim waist did not go unnoticed. One of her toned legs showed through a long gap in the smooth textile, and the glow of a golden pendant cast sparkling reflexes of the fireplace from the dark brown depths of her cleavage. Her left hand traced the contour of her hip and pulled the cloth’s folds higher, revealing the shapely form of her leg. The single, almost healed scar on her thigh only served to heighten her feral, wicked allure.
After a few seconds, he tore his stare from her seductive figure. "Uh — Mirca’s not around?"
"Asleep already, my dear. Here, come and sit with me for a while. Let’s talk."
He sat down on the warm blanket of wolf pelts that covered most of the floor in front of the fireplace. Keeping his distance, he stared into the flames and cleared his throat. "So … what do you want to talk about?"
Yrba looked at him from the corner of her eyes, raised an eyebrow and ran her fingertips along the groove where her dress’ straining neckline dug into the swelling flesh of her overflowing breasts. Oh, how full she already felt.
He had noticed her bulging, taut mammaries as well.
"Yrba, let’s talk tomorrow, I — I think I need to catch up on sleep —"
She grabbed his belt and pulled him down on the warm rug just as he tried to rise. He stumbled and rolled on his back right in front of her.
"Isn’t it time you truly earned your stay, bard?" Yrba breathed into his ear as she crawled over him and pushed him to the ground, with her drawn-up knee on his chest. "Isn’t it so that all you traveling songsmiths have a way with the ladies, huh?" Her hands fumbled along the buttons of her dress, and each freed button gave way to more of her chocolate breasts as they squeezed to freedom through the growing gap.
"Gods, I’ve not felt so horny for weeks! Come on, bard, tell me, isn’t your kind supposed to be the ruin of many a woman? So ruin me already! Ruin me a couple o’ times!" She pulled on her belt. "Don’t just stare! Help me undress! Oh dammit, I can’t get that belt buckle open. Mmmngh! Oh shit, I’m soaking my dress already. Well?!"
"Yrba!" He held his hands out sideways, fingers splayed wide. "I don’t think — Ymmma!"
She grabbed his head, fell forward and buried his face in her warm cleavage. Alric finally reacted, wrapped his arms around her chest and squeezed her tight.
"Drink! Drink from my breasts!" She rolled her shoulders and pushed her right breast’s swollen nipple in his face. "Drink, I say!"
"We shouldn’t be together! Soon, we’ll part and never meet again—"
"Yes! No regrets! Winter’s still long, and there’ll be time to part later. Mmmnngh!" She ruffled his hair as he sucked and nibbled on her breasts.
"You’re in milk?" he stuttered as he came up for air, white droplets running over his chin.
"Any time I want to. And I want to spend myself in your mouth! Drink me!"
His fingers wandered down her back and clutched her voluminous, taut buttocks. She groaned in delight as he kneaded her rear.
"Oh yes, I’m a lot of woman, bard! You’ll be a lot of man soon, too!"
"Yrb— oh gods!"
He reared in her embrace. Entangled, they fell down on the pelts. Alric squirmed and writhed on his back. His eyes closed as his body cramped up. Fire ate down his throat and consumed his bowels.
"Shh, my dear, it’s just for a moment. You’ll be better in no time."
His body slumped down and grew limp. Limp, except for the growing bulge in his pants. The witch undid his belt and pulled down his trousers. His dick sprang up, bobbing with inner pressure.
"Now don’t you feel invigorated?" Yrba’s fingers traced the swollen, throbbing veins on the rock-hard pillar and coated the burning skin with the ample pre-cum that dribbled from his wide-open hole.
Sweat ran down his forehead. "You could’ve warned me! Gods, my dick’s about to burst! I’ve never been so hard!" He gasped for air. "Hhungh! It’s — it’s stretching even more! Oh gods! I’m ripping apart!"
"Let’s wrap it up tight then! Oh, I think I have just the right kind of sheath for that sword of yours!"
She straddled him and guided the taut tip into her dripping vulva. Inch by inch, the witch impaled her pink flesh on his burning spear until she had consumed the full length of his meat. Alric grabbed her waist, pressed her tight against his hip and threw their connected bodies over. He rolled the quivering woman on her back, rose to his knees and pushed her down, burying himself deeper into the yielding, trembling cave.
"Hhhaaaahh!" Yrba squirmed, dug her shoulders into the floor, clutched the fur in her fingers for support, raised her hip and caught each of his frantic thrusts that shook through her body and sent her heavy breasts swinging.
"Yes!" she groaned. "Oh yes! Oh, you’re fierce! You haven’t got any in a long time! Give it to me! Gimme all! Ungh! You beast! You brute! Uuuoooaah! Harder!"
She grabbed his hands and drew them from her waist to her breasts.
"Milk me!" moaned Yrba. "So full … Uuurrgh!"
His fingertips twisted the big, rough, chocolate-colored strawberries. Thin jets arched through the warm air and coated her dark skin with white droplets.
He pushed his hips against her. "You like that?" Another thrust. "I’ll breed you, you horny cow!"
"I don’t think so!" She laughed in the throes of her ecstasy, clutched him in her legs’ vise and flipped them both over again. Now she was on top, bucking her hip on his loins, thrusting her dangling boobs in his face and digging her long, sharp nails in his shoulders.
"You’ll breed me? Hah! I’ll suck you dry, stallion! I’ll ride you ragged! You’re mine!"
"Yrbaaaaa!"
Yrba felt the warm squirts deep inside her womb, she held on to him, she milked his throbbing rod for all its worth, thrusting her hip forward against him until her muscles sucked the very last drop from his swollen pipe. Then she arched her back the other way and ran her nervous clit through his wiry pubes.
"—Haaaaah!"
She slumped down on him, and they held each other tight, inhaling their bodies’ mingled scents of sweat and satisfied desires, feeling their racing heartbeats slow down.
He nibbled gently on her earlobe.
"Thank you, Yrba. Oh you shameless witch, you’re like a hungry animal, you’re such a wonderful woman, a true—"
Clunk. Something heavy fell over in the larder and rolled along the floor with all the hollow ringing of an empty bucket.
"What the—?" He lowered his voice even more and buried his face in her mane as he whispered in her ear, "I think we woke Mirca, and she’s watching through one of the knotholes. What do we do now?"
Yrba smiled, raised herself to her elbows and played with her fingertips over his chest. "Well, we could roll over and show her what it looks like from the other side? Poor girl has a lot to learn. You up to it?"
"You — you knew she’d peek?!"
She wiggled on top of him. "Of course. I told her to. You don’t mind helping me out with her education, do you? Mirca! Come out! It’s your turn now!"
"What—?!"
Mirca opened the cart’s door and stepped through the frame. She straightened on the sill, and she kept on growing in Alric’s eyes, soaring higher and higher. It was the wolves and the woods, all over again. Time slowed down as the icy heat of shock rushed through his veins, as he realized that Yrba expected him to breed with this — this statue. Yes, that was what she was. Tall. Perfect. Untouchable.
She walked down the tiny stepladder, and suddenly the seconds crept by, every moment passing slow, the scene playing out like submerged in water. Any background receded and left only Mirca, floating down the steps. The silk of her dress flowed along the hourglass of her body. It caressed her perfect legs and revealed toned, tanned skin through the slits that ran down from the waist to the hemline as the cloth danced to her swaying, womanly hips. Her thighs’ muscles pumped ever so slightly under her smooth skin to every step as they effortlessly balanced her well-proportioned weight. She loosened her golden hair, and it undulated down over her shoulders and framed her low neckline. The rounded, proud shapes of her breasts put long pleats of strain in the cloth around her chest, and as she stopped at arm’s length from him, the shockwave from heavily putting down her foot sent ripples along the surface of the swaying, pliable mammaries. The tip of her tongue moistened her lips with glacial slowness.
"Alric?" Mirca waved her hand in front of his eyes. "Hey, Al? Are you listening?"
He blinked, and while his mind returned to the cabin and he again heard the faint crackling of the oven and smelt the mixture of burning pitch and the scent of sweat and lovemaking, he still kept on staring at the soaring giantess. Mirca’s heavy breasts with the aroused nipples quivered right in front his eyes. Her half-smiling, half-pouting mouth was out of reach. He’d have to climb up along her curvy body, to cling to her shoulders just to kiss her, and then he might try to poke his dick in her navel. She was just too much woman. As she spread to a wide-legged stance and tilted her hips, he heard something move in her crotch, and it smacked and squelched like a whole bucket full of swamp being stirred in the distance. She bent forward and playfully ran her forefinger down his chest, giggling.
"I said, I wonder if it’ll feel as good as Li’s arm. Oh, how stupid of me. You never met her, I guess. Well, Ybbie thinks you’re going to teach me something new and fun. She sure had fun, I’ve not heard her moan and scream like that for some time. So? I’m waiting!"
Alric gulped again. Yrba stood by the blonde’s side now, and the witch offered an unwelcome reference, since she matched Alric’s height. To see that wholesome, strong woman who, only minutes before, had fused with him in carnal frenzy, as she was now reduced to a dwarf by her giant pupil’s bulk made him realize how futile this whole endeavor was. He was just a man. Mirca needed a bull.
"I’m not sure I’m up to that — witch, you’ve emptied me too well. I don’t think —"
Yrba laughed and slapped Mirca’s buttocks.
"I guess both of you need a little guidance here, so — Mirca, you get out of your clothes and lay down. And you, bard—" She pushed his head on her taut breasts that already oozed the next helping of laced milk. "—Have some more strength. Ungh! You’re pretty good with that tongue of yours! Empty? Oh, you’ll be surprised! Drink up!"
Mirca giggled as she pulled her skirt off over her head, sat down and rolled on her back. She pointed at his crotch. "Ooh! Now it doesn’t dangle any more! It’s bobbing! Uh, am I doing this right? No, wait, a little higher won’t hurt —"
She dug her heels and shoulders in the ground and arched her body up in the air, grabbed a roll of furs and put it like a pillow under her hips.
"There. Now you just need to kneel between my legs —"
Alric stepped up to her as she reclined before him. Her heavy, full breasts sagged to the left and right of her chest. The long clam glistened with lubricating wetness and opened like a bewitched cave to his eyes as she spread her thighs wider. He shook his head.
"Yrba, that’s not going to work. I’m too small. Much too small."
The witch climbed upside-down over Mirca’s body and cupped the blonde’s buttocks in her hands while she lowered her face on the wet funnel.
"Just waifff."
Slurp. Munch. Slllp. Slllp.
"Mmmmh!" Mirca sighed happily. Yrba’s mouth and chin dripped with moisture as she raised her head. The dark gap, deep at the end of Mirca’s pink funnel, smacked open and close as the witch rubbed the enveloped bulge of the blonde’s engorged clit and kneaded the folds while spreading the meaty outer lips.
"See? Give it a try. She’ll wrap you up nice and cozy. She’s quite muscular in there, Al."
Yrba slid down towards Mirca’s waist until she sat with her legs spread wide and clutching the chiseled midriff of the giantess between her thighs. Her one hand grabbed his swollen, taut rod and guided it to the ample opening between her other hand’s fingers. Alric drew in the air through clenched teeth.
"Hhhh! She’s like a boiling kettle! Oh yes, that’s good!"
Mirca giggled. "Heh! It tickles! Are you in now?"
"To the hilt," he groaned.
Mirca undulated under him, carrying his arousal closer and closer to the edge, but then she shrugged. "Your thing is nice and warm, but it just doesn’t feel like much, sorry."
Alric rolled his eyes and pressed harder against the soft mound of her crotch, intensifying his movements. "You’re not helping, Mirca!"
Yrba chuckled. Her hand reached between his legs and grabbed his sack.
"Want a little extra, stud?" she breathed in his ear and lifted another vial to his lips.
"Yrba!" Mirca gasped and held still. "That’s the last of your potion! That’s not right, you need to save it, in case—"
"Mirca, hush. Alric, swallow." Yrba looked over her shoulder and smiled lovingly down on her spread-eagled giantess. "It’s so weak by now, it’s not much use anyway except for this little treat for you. And I want your first time with a man to be truly satisfying. You really deserve it, love." Her hands herded a whole swarm of tiny, sparkling motes of magical dust towards the faint glow that enveloped the bard’s groin.
"Well, bard, you’re about to be made adequate for your lover. Mirca, put your legs around his hips and squeeze him into you as far as you can, lest he gets bulged out of you now."
Yrba wrapped her thumb and forefinger around the root of his manhood as Mirca’s sweaty legs closed around him. The giantess crossed her shins in his back and pushed with her heels on his buttocks, and her warm, dripping cave clutched his dick tighter.
"Expandere," mumbled the witch while she did little milking motions with the ring of her fingers around his root.
Mirca’s eyes grew big. "Oh my!" she gasped.
"Ungh!" Growth started at the root of his dick and pushed his expanding flesh forward into the tightening funnel. The tip of Alric’s glans wormed deeper into Mirca’s wrinkled cave. He grabbed the giantess’ waist harder as his cock grew larger in fast throbs. His stretching and groaning skin filled with taut fire and pushed the bulging, cone-shaped head deeper and deeper.
Yrba nodded. "Mirca, now show him the trick with your inner ring."
The blonde’s cervix widened like an oozing, dripping mouth that smacked and pouted towards an approaching treat. Mirca wiggled her hips and flexed the ribbed muscles of her midriff.
A ring of glowing embers consumed the tip of his dick until it contracted into the ridge along the glans. He was pulled in deeper and smacked with his pubes into the yielding, soft dome of Mirca’s venus mound. Now he was in to the hilt. Yrba pushed her flat hands on the giantess’ lower belly and felt the bulge of Mirca’s overfilled vagina, stretching and pulsating around the equine-sized rod and relentlessly milking it.
"Oh gods!" The giantess squirmed and twisted on the rough furs. "He’s soooo big! Yrba, please! He’s tearing me apart! Oh mercy, he’s driving that pillar all the way through me! Oh dammit, that feels good! Make it bigger! Don’t stop! Yes, bigger! Bigger! Mnnnngh!"
Creak.
It was the sound of leather stretching slowly under immense pull, and that alarming noise came from behind Yrba’s back. The witch squinted. She sat in an whirl of ethereal sparks that rushed by, accelerating as they were attracted like water swirling into a drain.
"Oh fuck! Mirca! No! Keep it in!"
Yrba spun around and ended up awkwardly half-twisted from her hip to her shoulders, grappling with the throbbing pumpkins that had already stretched big enough to bob against her face. The witch’s weight squeezed Mirca’s balloons apart, and she slid down the sweaty cleavage. Mirca grabbed her head and pulled her up to her face.
"Mirca?!"
The blue eyes of the giantess shone with delight. She smiled as she caressed the nervous witch who tried in vain to squeeze and wrap up the mountains of breasts.
"No, Yrba, leave them be. I’m fine!" Mirca shuddered all over and giggled. "Oh, he’s so very deep inside me! It’s all right, I’m not bursting! I want to be like that."
"Mmmmmgpf—!?" Yrba’s plump lips ended up against Mirca’s big mouth, and before the witch could utter a single word of protest, Mirca’s tongue slipped in and filled her cheeks. Yrba struggled and panted through her nose, but when Mirca wrapped the witch’s stout body up in the canyon of her breasts, the incapacitated woman just gave in and returned the sloppy kiss.
"Mmmh—" she groaned into Mirca’s mouth that took her breath away as Alric, his dick still trapped in the giantess’ hungry cavern, stooped and grabbed her butt, squeezing her buttocks apart. His tongue was only human, but it was just the thing Yrba’s itching crotch needed now. She melted away as he proved his oral artistry.
"So? What — you say — about men?"
Yrba still gasped for air. She reclined into the pair of yielding pillows and listened to the pounding of her giantess’ heart. The steady ompomp—ompomp resonated through all of the three-feet mounds’ pliable flesh.
Mirca rested, limp head to toe, sweat dripping from her matted hair and glistening on every inch of her body, on the fur rugs. Her one hand played with Yrba’s curls while her other stroked Alric’s back. The bard had collapsed on her midriff, one arm around Mirca’s right breast, his other around Yrba’s waist.
"I like it!" giggled Mirca. "It’s a little different, not quite as long as with you or the other girls, but it’s not bad at all! It’s just over so quick. Is it always like that? You keep on going after the first rush, and it gets stronger and stronger on the second and third time. Oh well, it was great while it lasted!"
Yrba smiled as she drew three fingers through the distended, sopping lips of Mirca’s drenched vulva, sensing the creeping, meandering contractions as the long funnel slowly tightened again. "So much for the fun. Well, tomorrow I’ll teach you how to clench around smaller things and how much fun that can be. No offense, Alric."
He rolled off Mirca’s body and stroked the aching skin of his slowly shrinking dick that still reached almost to his knees.
"None taken. A third leg like that would just get in the way, but can I at least talk you into letting me keep just a few more inches—?"
The witch clambered over to him, grabbed the deflating rod and squeezed the yielding flesh probingly as she weighed it in her hand and smacked her lips.
She laughed. "I’m not easily swayed by talk alone, songsmith, but maybe — just maybe, if you’re good with that rod of yours — you could fuck me into it. For now, I need you smaller so Mirca gets the hang of handling average men, but let’s talk later about the extra reward for your services. Oh, and I also need to teach Mirca how to use her lips and fingers."
His flesh twitched expectantly in her palm.
"Hey! Down, boy! My goodness, what an insatiable pecker did I create here?" chuckled Yrba. She glanced at Mirca who just rolled over and rose to her hands and knees. The huge girl straightened to her haunches and placed two buckets in front of her. Leaning forward, she aimed her thumb-sized nipples into them. As she went down on her hands again, the round orbs settled from being drawn to oblong melons by their weight to mountains of dough that bulged over the buckets’ rims.
"Yrba—?" she begged.
The witch nodded and turned to the bard. "Ah, there’s another thing you can help me with. Two udders for two pair of hands, eh, Al? You know how to milk cows, do you?"
To Be Continued in Yrba’s Travels, Part 8: The Living Cauldron
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.
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