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 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.10 — Accidental Ascension

by

Paul Gerard (a pen name)

First Draft: July 2008

This revision: November 2009

Spellchecked: by computer.

Proof-reading: Sorta-Kinda all by myself, well, if you still read this, you know I’m about to trot out the old "non-native Englishman" whine that I’ve been giving you for the last few parts, too…

--

Obscure musical reference:

"You stretched for the stars / And you know how it feels / To reach too high / Too far / Too soon" — The Waterboys, The Whole Of The Moon

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 learn 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 Yrba’s 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 a hint at a deus ex machina who may be more machina than deus, only to have that knowledge wiped from their minds again.

Part 7 — Among Wolves:

In her inimitable style, Mirca almost beheads herself, almost spikes her witch girlfriend with assorted sharp tools, wrecks their cart, grows another six inches during the winter, and has — under Yrba’s guidance — her first time with Alric, a bard whom the amazon has dragged in from the frozen forests.

Part 8 — The Living Cauldron

It’s springtime! Yrba makes good on her promise of "an extra inch or two for your services" to Alric. After the two women bid farewell to the bard, Yrba sets out to brew a fresh batch of her special potion. Once again Mirca's strength and size come in handy as the witch goes to great lengths (or rather... girth) to make sure that she'll have enough of her best-selling tincture to last for the rest of the year...

Part 9 — The Tower:

After Mirca giving out a little free sex ed on the side to a misguided farm boy, Yrba and her giantess finally arrive at Ramec the wizard’s tower. A rainy week takes its toll on the witch and sends her into a bizarre nightmare. Come next morning, the weary witch finally gets some answers from her malevolent mentor, but at what painful price? Yrba soon finds herself strapped to a laboratory table and Mirca ends up a brainless slave until her penchant for creating havoc accidentally saves the day, for once, but not for everyone.

Prelude: On The Road Again

Picture a country road, little more than two lines of dirt, cutting across a lush, almost endless pasture and leading to the foot of a low mountain range in the vague mists of the horizon. Late summer clouds of white are scattered over a deep blue sky. A caravan, pulled by a single huge shire horse and trailing wisps of dust, travels along slowly while the warm afternoon air is abuzz with bees and the chirping of grasshoppers. Up ahead, the road gradually descends into a narrow valley full of trees.

Sitting on the coach box of the gently rocking vehicle are two very unlike figures.

The one holding the reins has "gypsy" written all over her. To the pale folks of the northern contries that she’s traveling, she is a "Darkskin", a native of Altaerna’s southern islands, and she’s certainly a long way from her place of birth now. Her brown, chocolate-like complexion befits her exotic look that is underscored by her round face, stubby nose, big lips and slightly raised cheekbones. The few wrinkles around her dark brown eyes seem to not indicate her age but rather her penchant for a good laugh. Yet the almost invisible ones around her full lips tell of a life of seeing things that no man or woman should be forced to see. All in all, her appearance places her somewhere in the mid-thirties.

Her hair is a thick bush of curls, and jet black with an oily sheen like raven’s wings. It is tied back and barely tamed by a red bandana, hemmed with dozens of dangling, jingling, most-certainly-not-really-golden coins. Peeking out of the black wool are earrings made of braided, tainted silver, so huge that wearing them might be construed as smuggling chain mail. Her blouse is made of patches and stripes of black and dark red cloth. Her waist, tapering and curvy but not too narrow, is accentuated by a black corset held close by little silver hooks and rings. It struggles to hold up her ample bosom, and the upper parts of her impressive brown globes shake and quiver in the wagon’s uneven rocking. Her flared bright red skirt over her wide hips bulges in the wind, as does the black shawl hemmed with tiny pompoms, resting around her shoulders. At five feet five, the voluptuous, sultry traveler is an impressive example of a woman in her prime. And yet she’s dwarfed by the figure at her side.

The face of the witch’s companion is hidden in the shadows of a large cowl, and her brown cloak hides her body. She has her arms crossed before her chest and her hands pouched into the wide sleeves, but two clearly visible protuberances tell of her female physique. She seems to be tall and sturdy, towering above her friend and teacher even as she sits on the box, but her slightly stooped posture still radiates meekness in a way that tends to make people forget about her seven feet frame.

A year ago, Yrba the witch and Mirca the lumberjack serf girl met under less than fortunate circumstances, on the night before their scheduled encounter with the gallows. The next morning saw both a cell block and a storehouse utterly destroyed by mysterious forces. So far, they’ve run into an angry lord, a brothel of golden-hearted whores, a bored ancient forest goddess, a couple of mercenaries, an ill-tempered wizard and altogether too much trouble for their tastes …

Chapter 49: Not Quite There Yet

Sunset drew near when the wagon, following the winding road, circled one of the many house-sized boulders at the mouth of the valley. The overgrown side road met a much larger, well-maintained one. The cart rattled around a small patch of trees, and suddenly the town they were heading for was in plain view. Miles ahead, the main road led up to a drawbridge spanning a small river that had engraved itself deeply into the bedrock.

The distant buildings clung like tiny white cubes to the side of the big hill’s steep slope. Near the ridge, a huge castle glowed pink in the sunset’s reddish light. The hill was just the last, lowest part of a mountain range rising and fading into the distance along the coastline.

The tall woman brushed back her cowl to reveal long, golden-white hair tied back into a ponytail. Her tanned face with bright blue eyes, curvy lips and statue-like features, almost unearthly in their evenness, showed an amused grin. She pointed at the distant building and giggled.

"Whoa, Yrba, look at that! Those two huge domes on top of that palace! What’s that, the town and castle of Titsburg?"

"Mirca! If you’ve got to mock them, at least do it quietly!" Yrba cast an angry glance at the blonde. "You never know who’s around and listening!"

She steered the gypsy wagon over to the side of the road and onto a grassy spot.

"We’ll rest here for the night and head on to the town first thing in the morning. They’ll close the gates before we can get there anyway. Take care of the horse while I light a fire."

"Mmmmh. Come here. Let me kiss the strain of the day away," cooed Mirca as she knelt behind Yrba’s stooped figure and kneaded her mentor’s tense shoulders with her strong, warm hands.

The witch sighed and smiled. She felt wetness growing between her legs. Just the thought of that offer was more than enough to arouse her, but it had been a long day, for both of them.

"Are you not tired after all that swordplay and kicking and punching?" she asked, peeking from under frowning eyebrows over her shoulder to her towering companion who had spent the better part of the evening shadowboxing with everything in range, from trees to rocks. And some of the trees now were piled up in neat chunks to keep the fire going through the night.

"Not tired enough for a little help between friends. You’ll sleep like a baby once I’m through with you," Mirca laughed and stroked Yrba’s cheek with the back of her hand. "And do I have quite the dessert ready for you," she added as her other hand burrowed through the folds of her clothes and kneaded her huge, milk-swollen breasts, Her nipples grew hard and stood to attention.   

Yrba sighed, shook her head and raised a finger.

"No, girl. Don’t you try to distract me. You’ll not skip your other exercises again tonight. Come on, there’s a nice clearing right over there. If you’re still frisky enough to go down on me, you’re also frisky enough to show me a little breastplay first, too. Besides, if you feed me like yesterday, then I’ll get all boob-bloated again and we’ll again need half the morning to squeeze my puppies down to size and into my dress."

"You’re no fun," the blonde pouted.

"Bigger, bigger, bigger, firmer — aaaaand stop!"

The two now man-sized orbs came to a sloshing halt, right on cue.

"See? Hands-free! I’ve got a rock-solid grip on them," the blonde replied smugly and rested her hands on her hips, cocking her head and smiling broadly.

Yrba puckered her lips.

"Yes, well done," she grudingly conceded. Her voice became soft as she continued, "All right then. I think you earned this." Yrba’s fingertips ran down over the firm buttocks of her pupil. The blonde shivered in anticipation as the gypsy’s middle finger danced over her clenched anus and moved on to her plump labia, playing with the golden curls of pubic hair.

Then the witch grabbed them and pulled down hard, ripping out a few strands.

"Eeeaargh!" Mirca yelled in pain. "What the —!"

The rumbling sound of several trees crushing down drowned out her voice. When Mirca’s whine became audible again after a few seconds, it was much less confident and came from a dozen feet up in the air.

"Ow! That was so mean! I can’t do it right if you distract me like that! Let me down! I’m getting dizzy!"

Yrba looked around. The little clearing was cleared now, and not so little any more. Mirca hung helplessly at the side of her pair of barn-sized breasts that had flattened the area and still sloshed gently back and forth, making her bob and swing about wildly. Her fingers grabbed at the wall of her own white, soft skin in front of her. The witch shook her head.

"You’ve got to have a grip on your gift at any time, Mirca. Look at you! These are heavy and dangerous, you know."

"You said they’ll go away some day!"

"Yes, some day! I don’t know when. You’ve swallowed so much potion, it’s impossible to say how long it’ll last. We can only keep on training. Oh, come on, don’t start to cry!"

She made a conjuring gesture. The milk ducts in the mammoth nipples opened wide. Inch by inch, while the bountiful load rushed out into the forest, Mirca was lowered down to the ground. She fell to her knees while her breasts slowly crept back into the three-empty-sacks size. Hiding her face in her hands, she stooped and sobbed. The witch knelt down beside her and gently put her arms around the trembling shoulders.

"There, there, sweetie. Come on, rein them in. That part you’ve got down perfectly."

Mirca sniffled, but obediently pouted her lips and sucked at the air. Her breasts grew smaller and tauter until they once again became the flawless, firm, oblong half-pumpkins proudly rising from her chest, crowned with palm-size areolae and coin-sized nipples.

"Good! Good! See what you’ve already learned?"

The blonde beamed with joy and wiped her tears away.

"So I’m not an oaf?"

Yrba cupped Mirca’s cheeks and rubbed a few stray tears off with her thumbs.

"Darling, I never called you that, and I never will. You’ve learned a lot, but only practice makes perfect. Oh, what now? Does your downy mound still hurt? Here, let Yrba kiss it better."

Mirca let herself fall back onto the grass and opened her thighs. She lost sight of her crotch as the black, curly mane of her friend dragged down over her chest, and as the full, soft lips of her dark-skinned mentor left Mirca’s aroused nipples, wandered over her toned midriff and nuzzled into her dripping folds, she also lost track of time.

Chapter 50: Blonde At The Gates

The light of the next morning saw a few other wagons and carts heading for the town, along with Yrba’s caravan. The only road into and out of the settlement led over a tall drawbridge and through a gate. As luck would have it, the cart before them was the last one allowed to cross. The queue came to a halt, and the drawbridge went up. Yrba curled her lips and pushed the herb stalk she was chewing on to the other corner of her mouth.

"Great! What the —"

"Oooh! Yrba! Look! A ship! Do you think the coast is near?" Mirca pointed at the barque that was pulled up the river by a pair of oxen. The waters flowed far below the road, forming a canyon near the bridge that left only the top of the rigging visible as the ship slowly passed beneath.

"The coast?" Yrba nodded towards the next hill. "Right across the town and that ridge. The old deserted town of Ebron lies on the other side of that mountain. Was once a costal town, a harbor outpost of the Old Empire. Nothing much left of it but the ruins of an amphitheater, cut into the black volcanic stone."

"My, you’re sooo smart! You know so many things! Can we go and look at the ruins? Pleeease?"

Yrba sighed. Mirca was a seven foot bombshell nearing mid-twenty, had been trained in the far-eastern arts of fighting, could choke wolves single-handedly, kick like a mule and hit like a hammer (not to mention her other explosive gift), but somewhere inside that curvy Amazonian body there was still a ditz ready to cuddle anything fluffy and rely on puppy eyes to get what she wanted. The witch raised her eyebrows and surrendered to Mirca’s pleading blue eyes.

"Oh, we might as well take a look to see if the stories are true. I’ve not seen the ruins either, just heard the tales."

She spat the chewed-up stalk out and glanced around her wagon’s corner. The queue of carts grew longer behind them. Waiting for the ship to pass so they could lower the big drawbridge again, the guards kept themselves busy walking up and down the row of vehicles and collecting the bridge toll.

At least that wouldn’t be a problem. The last summer had been lucrative. The pouch on Yrba’s belt was taut and a heavy bag of gold was well hidden in the wagon, filled with the profit of a whole chest full of tiny vials of a certain enhancement potion pour les Mesdames.

Yrba nudged Mirca so the blonde would keep her mouth shut. One of the guards walked right past them until he was almost at the horse’s head. Still looking ahead, he lifted his hand to his face. Sunlight reflected off of a polished surface. But there was another sparkle to the small, irregularly shaped object. Magic. Versed in its use, the gypsy knew what she had to look out for. Her eyes narrowed.

"The fuck?! That little prick’s got a loaded mirror!" Yrba hissed to her protégé.

The guard stared into the tiny shard of glass. His jaw dropped, then he spun to them and bowed, extending his arms in adoration.

"Highness! You’ve returned! What a joyous day! Our prayers have been answered! I’ll immediately tell the high priest! Just don’t leave and stay right here! We’re deeply honored!"

And he was gone, scrambling up a ladder to a rope bridge across the canyon. The wobbly construction led right up to the crenellation. He left the puzzled couple behind, in front of the still impassable drawbridge. 

Mirca scratched her head.

"All right, what was that all about? Have I grown any duh-wine marks recently? Or did he look at you?"

"Divine’s the word. Not a clue. 'Don’t leave?' Hah!" Yrba leaned around the corner of her caravan again and looked at the lengthening queue of other travelers that blocked the road behind them. "How could we leave? We can barely rock the cart! And I wonder what he saw through that —"

"Hey! What’s the matter up there in front? You’re holding up the damn queue! If you can’t pay, then move your cart outta the way and don’t haggle, gypsy!" bellowed an unfriendly voice from behind. Yrba rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, someone is in a hurry all right. Every goddamn time! Mirca, no, let it be. He’ll shut up soon enough." She put her hand on her friend’s thigh.

The blonde curled her upper lip.

"Oh come on! I’ll teach him a lesson he won’t forget in a hurry."

"No! We may be in enough trouble already, so just forget about him."

Meanwhile, the plap-plap-plap of pieces of mud hitting the rear end of the cart had started.

"That does it!" Mirca tugged at the neckband of her cowl. "I didn’t wash the cart for him to throw dirt on it! He’s so going down!"

"Mirca, no!" hissed Yrba from the corner of her mouth, casting nervous glances around.

"Don’t worry, I’m not going to use my tits. I’ll be 'dy-scary-it'."

"Discreet. No! Young lady, sit still now! We’ll be through the gate in five minutes, give or take, it’s just not worth —"

Mirca didn’t listen. Shrugging off the cowl, she reached up over her head, grabbed the edge of the caravan’s protruding roof and swung her legs up. For a few seconds, she hung with her legs pointing up at the sky, then she tensed her arms and pushed herself up to a handstand.

Moments later, she stood akimbo on the top of the cart, like a blond jack-in-the-box. Her chain mail top, its hem cutting into her ample, currently melon-sized breasts, sparkled and jingled as her chest heaved in anger. Tied around her tapering waist was a white pareu, billowing in the morning wind. Every now and then, a gust made it perfectly clear she was an all-natural blonde.

She had visibly put on a pound or three after she no longer had to chop up and carry logs for the stoves of a whole castle. Lucky for her, the padding had gone into all the right places only and made her towering, muscular figure all the more feminine and rounded. The morning had been warm to start with, and after spending most of the time wrapped in the thick brown cloth, a thin film of perspiration covered her head to toe and made her body glisten in the sunlight.

After a moment of surprised silence, the wolf whistling started all around. Mirca raised her eyebrows, grinned, bowed and began posing for her audience. She flexed her back and bent down, granting them a prime view into the deep cleavage of her heavy, constrained breasts before she jiggled her shoulders and made her bosoms swing and bob, which earned her a few cries of "woohoo!" and "momma!". The blonde knelt down until one of her toned thighs squeezed into her cleavage. The bustier’s metal rings creaked under the strain, and her hands felt for something on the roof. A lever clicked.

Mirca slowly straightened up again, and all around the crowd’s noise slowly died down. They all heard the faint, scraping sound as she drew the razor-sharp blades of the huge broadswords out of the hidden sheaths on the cart’s top. The blinding reflection of the sun on the polished metal wandered over the mute faces in the crowd as she slowly turned her single-handed grip on each of the handles. People blinked and lifted their hands to shield their eyes. Those on the fringes of the crowd already retreated, slowly, to not attract her attention. Mirca’s upper lip curled and revealed her clenched shiny teeth. The ditzy dancer had suddenly become a vengeful fury out for blood.

"You," she snarled slowly and pointed the tip of the heavy sword in her right hand effortlessly at the man on the cart next in line. "Now you —"

"Your highness! I offer our sincerest apologies! So it is true! On your knees, people! The new embodiment of Mamaria the goddess has arrived!"

She spun around on the spot and stared down at the man that knelt at the guard station. He wore an expensive robe made of fur, and several heavy chains of gold. Both seemed far too big for his slender frame. His narrow face was red, and he panted. He must’ve been running all the way down from the palace. In a gesture of surrender and pleading, he spread his arms to his sides.

"We beg you to forgive our inexcusable rudeness. Do not soil your weapons with his unworthy blood. Just say the word, and the guards will run this ... this insolent pig through on the spot for you!"

Mirca slowly lowered the blades. Looking over her shoulder at the loudmouth on the coach box who suddenly had turned into the pale, trembling wreck of a man, she cocked an eyebrow and sneered:

"Don’t bother. He’s done enough soiling by himself already."

She turned back to the kneeling man. Resting her weight on one leg and tilting her hip comfortably as she relaxed, she let the swords swirl in her hands before she rammed the points into the roof.

Dammit girl, not another leak, Yrba winced inwardly at the dull thudding, while her protégé crossed her arms on top of the handles and leaned forward. With her breasts jutting out through the frame of her bicepses, she slowly started to smile, like a playful tigress staring down on a mouse.

"And, pray tell, who are you, handsome?" she purred.

"Carwon, High Priest of the temple of Mamaria, Vizier of the town and shire of Ebron, my goddess."

"A bit young for such a long title, aren’t you?" Mirca gesticulated towards the drawbridge. "Right, Carwon. Want to make me happy? What makes me unhappy right now is that missing bridge thing over there—"

"At once, Goddess!" He signaled with an impatient wave of his hand to the guards on top of the gate. The heavy chains began to rumble and rattle.

Mirca stashed away the swords, somersaulted from the roof and landed, legs astride, right before him. He looked up, recognized what he was staring into, gasped and immediately dropped down again. Mirca laughed, straightened her displaced loincloth and slunk to the coach box. Looking at Yrba from the corner of her eye, and talking from the corner of her mouth, she whispered under the din of the gate’s mechanism:

"How did you like that? Wasn’t I all ragout? Now we don’t even have to pay! But what was that 'goddess' stuff all about? Me?"

Yrba answered in the same fashion.

"Regal. Not a clue about that goddess thing. Quiet now! They’re coming closer!"

Chapter 51: The Palace

Yrba kept her head down and stared straight ahead from under her brows while she guided the wagon around another narrow turn of the meandering, climbing main road.

"What have you gotten us into this time?" she hissed at Mirca. "Oh will you stop waving to them! And what makes it so hard for you to understand 'Mirca, no!'? I almost liked you better when you were a bit more docile."

"Well, it seems these people like me the way I am now!"

Around them, the townsfolk cheered and danced. Every wave of Mirca’s hand was answered with a chorus of "Praise the goddess!" and each time she ran her fingers through her golden mane and shook her long hair over her shoulders, arching her back as she turned to smile left and right to the crowds, the applause and cheers made Yrba’s ears ring.

"Of course, because they don’t know you yet," the gypsy mumbled.

"Hey, we’re getting closer to the twin boobs palace."

"You ain’t sayin’," hissed Yrba.

The cheering masses stopped at the archway of the palace walls. News must’ve spread fast through the town, because the grim guards let them in without a question.

Mirca and Yrba left their wagon at the gates to the stables. Now Carwon, who returned just as the witch kept a close eye on how her horse was treated, ushered them on. They walked across a forecourt with a huge fountain — if I ever see a statue of a reclining woman with balloon tits spewing milk again, I’ll go decorating with a sledgehammer, Yrba groaned quietly — towards the wide stairway that led up to the colonnaded front of the temple with the strange double-dome roof.

Two women in white togas pushed open the huge gates leading into the throne room. The witch and the blonde walked in and hesitated, staring at the marble floor and walls and the ornaments and, on top of that, the sheer size of it. Yet the room seemed empty, as if its sole purpose was to provide a lot of space with a roof on top. Near the rear end of the hall, two steps led up to a blanket-covered throne with a divan by its side. Carwon quickly led them on to a huge hallway that opened from the far side.

Between the columns of the hallway, murals depicted the incarnations of the goddess through the ages. Though their hair and faces and clothes changed, there was one thing that remained the same: They all had been extremely well-endowed. Yrba shook her head.

"None of them would’ve been able to get by on her own. A few, they couldn’t even have been able to get up on their own."

"Of course not," answered Carwon. "If the power of the goddess is particularly strong in one of her embodiments, she’s almost immobile. That’s what the maids are here for. See now—"

They turned a corner at the end of the wing. Mirca gasped, and even Yrba at least gulped. Carwon extended his hands in a broad, sweeping motion. Down the next hallway, a cordon of girls and women stood to attention along the walls. They all bowed to them as the group walked by.

"I’m seeing all kinds of nubile women, all shapes and sizes. How do you—," Yrba began.

He answered as if he was quoting from a scroll of law, which he probably was.

"The maids of the guard of honor come from all over the shire. After their twentieth birthday, they serve a mandatory three years here before they’re allowed to return home and marry, and their families are exempt from taxes for that time." He hesitated for a second, until he continued, a little less fluent, "If they want to stay longer, that’s also possible. It’s pretty popular, we don’t have any trouble filling the ranks."

"Any other priests or servants? Males?"

"No, no more. We ended up with girls getting," and he blushed and lowered his voice, "ahem, pregnant all the time, I’m afraid. Somehow, the presence of so much breasts — oh, you should know, I guess. So, some hundred years ago, and older and wiser priest than I decided to go all-girl on this temple. Except for one man to keep an eye on everything. So today I am," he shrugged, "high priest and the shire’s vizier all in one."

Yrba nudged him and nodded to the long row of maids.

"Getting a boatload of action then, eh? I’ve got an ointment that helps against the chafing."

He stared at her as if she’d asked him to copulate with fowl. She shrugged and smiled. "Just sayin’, that’s all."

He hissed, "I’ll hold your peasant ways and naivety in your favor. I don’t know what kind of depraved priests you’ve encountered in your travels, but here in Ebron, we don’t joke about those things. Of course I don’t fornicate with the servants of the goddess! Unthinkable!"

Yrba patted his shoulder. "You know, maybe you should," she said, and as he furrowed his brows even more, she added, "Oh, sorry, then. You’re a rare exception, is all I can say. Poor boy. So what are the duties of your goddess?"

Carwon breathed deeply before he replied, "Well, she’s the goddess. She lounges about, is pampered head to toe, and once every full moon, she’s expected to give milk in a ceremony for the people."

"Uh-huh."

"Then the most influential members of the town’s council gather to taste a drop or two, for it is said that her milk enlightens the mind."

Yrba frowned. "From her breasts?"

"No, no! Oh heavens, no! Who would dare to touch her? No, we’ve got a goblet for that. It’s all become sort of symbolic, anyway. We’ve not been in a position to properly perform the ceremony for years." He glanced at Mirca. "Maybe, come next moon …"

"And when do the knives and the blood come in?"

"Sorry, what?" He seemed honestly shocked.

Yrba shrugged. "It’s a religion. There’s bound to be blades and blood somewhere down the road."

Carwon stared at her and shook his head. "What kind of barbarian world do you come from, Darkskin woman?"

She snorted. "You don’t want to know." 

He eyed her, but she couldn’t make heads nor tails of his expression. They finally ended up in front of a portal framed with marble pillars, several yards high.

"This is the royal bath."

Carwon waved his hand, and half a dozen of women rushed ahead and pushed open the two huge, heavy leaves. Mirca nudged her friend and leaned over, whispering:

"Bath, eh? Do you think they’ll have something like Red’s — oh my goodness!" She bounced in place, giggling into her fists.

The huge hall was an orgy of architecture, composed of marble floors, gold ornaments and fountains gushing into basins of all sizes and shapes, lowered into the floor. Mirca rushed in and put her toes into one of them.

"Ooooh! Come here! You’ve got to try this! Yrba, it’s warm!"

The witch cast a glance at Carwon instead.

"All right, now I’m impressed. How many servants do you need to bring the water up here?"

"This one, too!" came Mirca’s giggle from farther in the room.

"We don’t need any servants at all. We just tapped into the aqueducts of the old empire’s ruins. The water comes down from the mountains, from the old crater cistern, and runs along a small tunnel a few hundred yards higher up near the —"

"Wheeee! Cold! Cold! Cold! Brrr! Oooh—!"

"—top of the ridge. Oh sure, we maybe could do better than just poking holes into it, but … these days, we’re just happy it still works. The ancients, they sure knew how to build. We’ve lost so much knowledge since then. I shudder if I just think about needing to fix it some day."

He eyed Yrba and cocked his head.

"You know, maybe I shouldn’t have told you that."

The rest of the tour went quite well, and slowly Carwon relaxed and began to sound more like a human being and less like an angry scholar quoting laws from dusty scrolls. Mirca had the best of times, peeking into every corner of the palace — her palace — while the maids doing their chores either scattered or bowed before her. The building was huge. Yrba’s feet were starting to ache. She now regretted not dipping them into one of the basins when she had the chance.

"And here you see the kitchens for the goddess’ victuals! They will prepare your welcome dinner right away!"

The nervous cooks bowed to them and generally tried to be on the opposite side of the room as the blonde immediately started to rummage around the long shelves.

"Salt, pepper, marjoram, oregano, the usual," she said, sniffing the containers. Then she suddenly pointed at a small sign on a separate rack. "Yrba, you’re better with this letters and reading stuff! What does this one say?"

"Special condiments," the witch read out loud and raised her eyebrows. "Mirca!" she added with a tight-lipped urgency. "Young lady, will you stop behaving like a curious kitten in a wool basket this instant, and let the cooks do their work?"

It was about as helpful as talking to a wall. It only served to make all the Ebronians gasp at the unseemly addressing of their goddess, for goddesses didn’t have to be bright or vocal or respectful, but those talking to them were expected to be. Quite a few angry eyes were on the witch, but that she had gotten used to since a long time ago.

"Ooh, Yrba, look! A whole glass of dried twin-leafed milkmaid’s friend! You know, the stuff that makes cows gush milk like crazy! This must be worth thrice its weight in gold! It’s so rare around here! Isn’t that what you like to chew on when you’re bored?"

Yrba rolled her eyes and groaned quietly. Carwon bit his lips and stifled a chuckle. Somehow he managed to keep a straight face. Now it was his time to nudge and nod to her.

"So I take it you’re versed in nature’s little helpers too, then."

"A little," grumbled the witch. "Some of them are good money." And they keep most of the sag away, she added in the back of her head as she straightened her clothes.

The last hallway led them back to the throne room. Carwon ushered them on towards a door to the side of the main gates.

"Well, now you’ve seen all of your palace. It is high time to reveal yourself to the people. I take it the news has spread and the townsfolk has assembled?" he asked the entourage. One of the maids, a tall brunette in her mid-twenties, nodded.

"Goddess, if you’d please follow me now ..."

Over the course of the day, Mirca had lots of chances to practice her regal nodding and hand-waving. Not only did she tower over the assembled crowd of maids because of her sheer size, but the newfound air of arrogance and pride she boasted really seemed to add a sparkle of a goddess to her appearance. Yrba leaned in to her.

"Just don’t do anything stupid now, all right?" was all she could hiss to Mirca before they were separated in the hubbub.

Yrba fought to at least stay near the blonde as they and the guards of honor streamed out onto the balcony. Mirca and Yrba were rendered speechless by the crowd of people who stood in silence, staring at them from below.

Wind came in from the valley and pushed Mirca’s clothes against her chest, modeling her evening-heavy, loaded breasts and perky nipples, trapped in her chain mail bustier, through the thin layer of silk. Her golden, open hair billowed in the wind. Dammit, you’re looking great, girl, Yrba couldn’t help admitting once more. Carwon raised his arms.

"People of Ebron, I give you — the new Goddess!" he hollered. The applause was deafening. Yrba cringed and fought the desire to plug her ears. Distracted, she never saw the knife coming.

Carwon’s hand moved with great precision. The forked blade dove swiftly into the back of Mirca’s billowing clothes, just above her buttocks, and ran up along her spine, splitting her cloth and breaking the ties that held her breasts in check without ever touching her skin. The blonde gasped, stooped and grabbed at the crenellation as her clothes suddenly snapped away from her body. Visible to all and in the broad daylight, her nipples and areolae started to throb and stretch. In quick pulses, her breasts filled up, lurched forward and sagged. The chain mail top and the cloth beneath tumbled through the air down to the raging crowd.

She clenched her teeth and bent her fingers into claws. Yrba was tensing up as well and getting ready to rein in the inflating spheres when Mirca glanced at her from the corner of her eyes and barely shook her head. 

I can handle that alone, assured the tall young woman’s sapphire gaze. 

The witch slowly stepped back and relaxed her fists.

I really hope so, girl, replied Yrba’s brown eyes and raised eyebrows.

She bit her lower lip when she saw how Mirca had a hard time making good on her promise. Pushing against the growing pull of the dangling, wobbling milk bells, Mirca’s fingernails scraped over the warm marble of the balcony and slowly neared the edge.

The training! I should’ve trained much more! Oh heavens, come on, jugs! Heel! Halt! Stand down! Don’t do that to me! You grow any bigger, you drag me over the balcony!

Mirca panted heavily, interspersed with holding her breath. Her breasts quivered and trembled, caught between the flesh’s overwhelming urge to burst forward the whole twenty yards, and the blonde’s zeal to master it. The skin throbbed and rushed forward again and again, only to get sucked back in, slowly and troublesomely.

She finally managed to rein her breasts in for good and keep them at watermelon size, though it was a close call. Feeling the pressure subside, she straightened and gave the witch a short nod.

Yrba exhaled and cast furious glances at Carwon, who stared in awe at Mirca’s heaving bosoms. The crowd below was beyond ecstasy. Their screams and chants of "All hail Mamaria!" were a solid wall of sound. Just when it seemed the noise couldn’t grow louder, Mirca triumphantly raised her arms over her head and shook her shoulders, making the heavy breasts swing. Now the whole ground seemed to shake under the deafening applause and trampling feet.

The maids and Carwon retreated back into the palace and let Mirca bask in the admiration. The witch was dragged along by the group, and she slowly pushed and shoved her way through the crowd towards Carwon.

Yrba was pinioned with her back against the wall. Five of the maids had her squirming in their strong grip.

"Let me go, you crazy bitches!" she hissed.

Instead of an answer, they grabbed her harder. She groaned through clenched teeth, as did Carwon who was struggling to his feet. He wiped blood from his busted lip.

"I don’t understand — what was that about? Why did you hit me?" he asked her in wide-eyed disbelief.

"You assault my friend with a dagger, and you have the nerve to ask me?!" Yrba screamed. "Pray those girls hold me forever, because the moment I get my hands on you, you’ll wish you were dead!"

Mirca stepped back inside from the balcony, still proudly bare-breasted and dwarfing any girl around with both height and sheer boob flesh. She wiped a few white drops from her nipples and giggled, "Wow, have you seen how they got mad when the milk sprayed—?" 

She blinked. "Hey!"

A split-second passed, and then the strapping young woman came down like a fury on the maids restraining Yrba. Her fists and elbows distributed big helpings of pain, and one of the girls even caught a heavy breast to her head as the milky mountain swung about. The poor lass almost somersaulted from the forceful blow while a brief shower of white liquid spurted about. Seconds later, the floor was covered in moaning, sobbing women, holding bruised arms and heads. The blonde knelt protectively in front of her beloved witch, snarling like a one-headed cerberus at the retreating maids. Her big hands, raised and clenched into fists, trembled with anger.

"Carwon!" Mirca’s thundering voice echoed through the hall.

He threw himself to the floor, as did all the others in the room who were still standing.

"Forgive us!" he wailed. "It was a misunderstanding!"

She relaxed a bit and turned her head halfway to Yrba, snarling "He tellin’ the truth?"

Yrba calmed down and rubbed her aching arms.

"Maybe," she hissed. "Ask him what this knife stunt was all about."

"Caaaarwoooon —" Mirca straightened, stood akimbo and drew the vocals long and deep, curling her lips. He squirmed on the floor and seemed to try to dig himself through the marble.

"It is part of the ceremony! The goddess is expected to burst out of her clothes, and I wanted to make sure —"

"Idiot!" barked Mirca.

"Mistress, I meant no —," he cringed.

"I can burst out of any clothes you want me to! You just would’ve had to fuckin’ ask me! And don’t you ever again dare to lay hands on Yrba! She’s my friend! She’s smarter than all of you! I trust her, and nobody else! And so help me, I’ve had it with the crazy lot of you! Go find yourself another goddess! We’re leaving now!"

Yrba exhaled deeply with relief. Mirca grabbed her arm and pulled her along as she stamped through the maids towards the stables. In front of her, the girls backed away, bowing and wailing in a chorus of "Forgive us!" and "Don’t abandon us!"

"Where’s our wagon?! We’ve left it right here!" Yrba cast frantic glances around the stables. One of the maids had been busy cleaning the floors and now retreated in fear back to the far wall. Yrba’s forefinger shot out straight at her. 

"You! Girl! What happened to the wagon?"

The woman threw herself down into the straw and glanced at Mirca, who nodded.

"Go ahead, answer her. Her question is as good as mine."

"We’ve taken it to the blacksmith! The wheels were all loose and about to break apart, so we thought —"

"Great! Just great!" screamed the witch, raising her fists over her head. The maid winced and fell silent, shivering in fear.

Carwon turned the corner into the stables and threw himself on the dirty floor again.

"Goddess, have mercy upon us! We didn’t know better! In the lone year since you left us, we must have strayed from your will! We are ready to obey and learn! Teach us anew, don’t punish us!"

Mirca looked at her friend. Yrba exhaled and shrugged.

"Looks like we’re not going anywhere soon. Again. Your call."

Chapter 52: Starting Over

"Oh bugger me!" hissed the witch as they walked back to the throne room. "I thought you’d just point to one of the girls and say 'Here be my successor!' or something like that — not 'Okay, let’s try this one more time.'!"

"Yrba! What’s the harm? They’re fixing our wagon for free, they bow to us — doesn’t that feel great? Not being pushed to the edge of the town, not sleeping in the woods — they might even have warm food every evening! And the bath! Didn’t you see it? Oh, I want to try it!"

She lowered her voice and leaned to Yrba as she whispered from the corner of her mouth.

"Besides, what’s a suck-ass-sore, and why should I show it to them? I’m quite sure I don’t have one of those, because I always make sure —"

"Successor, Mirca. Next in line. Young lady, we’ll spend the next year on your vocabul— on new words, all right?"

The witch cast nervous glances around.

"If we make it out of here, that is. I still say they’ve got us trapped. It’s just too much luck. Those things always come at a price. Keep your eyes open. Remember what happened at the wizard’s tower!"

The dinner passed in awkward silence. Mirca and Yrba sat side by side on the divan while a huge table filled with lots of common and uncommon foods was rolled from the kitchen and placed in front of them. Carwon stood by their side and every now and then explained the dishes they didn’t know. They ate, but not much. Yrba’s share was not much in the true sense of the meaning, and Mirca’s — well, by her standards, it was not much either, but it kept the maidservants on their feet.

After sunset, a couple of the maids lit candles and torches around the walls of the hall. The young vizier tried his best to lighten the mood, but the witch cut him short more often than not whenever she felt his curious questions were a little too personal, and the uneasy pauses in their talk grew longer as the evening went into the night. Finally, Yrba gave in to her body’s demands.

"Well, kudos to the kitchen and all, but I’m off to bed," she yawned and stood up. "Mirca, you coming?"

"The goddess sleeps here," Carwon answered instantly.

Yrba stared at him and replied sternly, "No, she doesn’t. Mirca!"

"Oh come on, Yrba! It’s not so bad here. I’ll sleep on the divan. It’s comfy."

"All right, all right," Yrba sighed, returning her gaze to Carwon. "But I sleep with one eye open, and my hearing is fine. And I have other means to keep my eyes on you. So you better not try anything, with neither her nor me, or so help me —"

She left the rest of the sentence hanging in the air, turned and walked out the hall. One of the maids guided her to a chamber. It was pretty large, and pretty nice, as was the bed. After the weeks in her narrow berth, Yrba grinned widely as she splayed herself out on the flower-scented sheets and soon fell asleep.

After the witch had left, Carwon leaned in to Mirca. "Your servant seems a tad overbearing to me, goddess," he whispered in her ear.

"Yrba? Yes, she’s always do this and do that and don’t do this and don’t do that. But she’s really clever. I’d listen to her if I were you. Because I listen to her, and I am me. So if I were you, then, uh … then I’d listen. Which I do."

Carwon recoiled in shock. "Goddess! I supposed you keep her around because she amuses you! You really bow to the will of a mere mortal?"

Mirca reached for another dish and frowned at the vizier. "She’s not a meermo tale. Doesn’t sound nice. Whatever that is. Don’t ever call her that again. She’s Yrba. Ooh, what are those? They look naughty." She giggled. "My, I’d never have thought I’d laugh about naughty."

"These are called asparagus. I believe the cooks have wrapped them in bacon and added a dip of butter sauce."

"Mmmh. Delifiouf!" Mirca mumbled with her mouth full. "But I’ve gof fo ftop now." She gulped the food down and patted her belly. "Really, that’s delicious. But I’m not used to eating this much. How do you manage without turning into blobs of fat?"

Carwon still stared at her mouth. He shuddered under his cowl. The way the girl’s tongue had snuck out, and out, and out, and then wrapped around the whole bunch, and how her mouth had gobbled up the juicy helping, with the butter sauce dripping down her chin before her tongue snaked out to clean it up, and her delighted smile as she sucked the long stems through her pursed lips — it could give even the most chaste man ideas…

He gulped.

"We — we don’t get so much to eat. This is the goddess’ share, you know? You’re expected to eat all of it. You know, the rules —"

"Yeah, rules this, rules that. Really, it’s the same wherever I go."

The maids gasped. "But the rules—," uttered one of them, a handsome blonde. Mirca beckoned her with her forefinger and, as the maid leaned in, grabbed the girl’s neckline and pulled her close to her face. The poor lass shivered with fear.

"Me Goddess. Me. Make. Rules. Now. Okay?" hissed Mirca.

"Y—yes, goddess."

Mirca let go. "Good. Very good. Here, have an apple." She sighed and looked around. "Okay, so y’all want me to clean the plates. Oh my. I’ll need a little help then. Now listen, you, yes you by the door, raven hair, you go down to the blacksmith. Go to my wagon. There’s a box in it, painted red, with a picture of a skull and bones on it. Bring it to me, and hurry."

Minutes later, Mirca rummaged the vials and muttered under her breath.

"Dammit, it can’t all be gone! I know it’s Yrba’s best-selling trick, right next to the tit-grow juice, but I’m sure I saw a few vials when last —"

Her face brightened. "Ah, there it is. Relocare something something. All right," she snapped her fingers, "you, the brunette, bring me a bowl of wine. You, raven, put back the box where you took it from. And not a word to Yrba. She doesn’t like it when I pilfer her potions."

"Oh goddess, what is that?"

Mirca put a few drops from the vial into the wine and downed the mixture. She shivered.

"Brrr. Ugh. Ick! This? Just makes sure I don’t put on weight where it don’t belong. All right now, on to the next round."

She hesitated, looked at the overflowing table in front of her and then at the vial again. Shrugging her shoulders, the blonde emptied the rest of the liquid straight into her mouth.

"Yech! Yuck!" she uttered and her face contorted in disgust. "All right, now I guess I really need to eat all that to get rid of that taste. Okay, girls, you asked for it! Let’s start with that dish over there, and try to keep up —"

The next morning, while Mirca was still sound asleep on her lone divan in the throne room, Yrba ran into Carwon right outside her room’s door. He was already waiting for her, and he didn’t beat around the bush.

"I think you should leave right away," he declared with his arms folded over his chest. "Go away! You’re a bad influence on the goddess. You’re holding her down. I don’t know where you’ve picked her up, or what vile kind of magic you’ve wielded on her to make her your toy, you crone, but I’m not going to just watch while you enslave this gorgeous creature to be nothing more than your stupid little servant!"

Yrba stared at him. Her face twitched with anger. Then she burst out:

"You accuse me of exploiting her? You?! Oh boy, now you’re in for a pummeling you’ll not forget in a hurry!"

He looked around at the half-circle of maids that had gathered around them. They were not as tall as the witch, but they were of the stocky kind that could wrangle and lift a pig, if necessary. Yrba was hopelessly outnumbered.

"I think not," he replied. "And before you start with claiming powers — now, I think, if you really were able to use magic on us, you’d already have done so. You’re just one of those lowly potion-brewers. And," he leaned in to her, "you feel pain and you bleed like us, don’t you? You brought her here, so I’m willing to cut you some slack. Take your wagon and your belongings, and leave to never ever come back! I’ll even give you a bag of gold for your troubles. I’m not completely heartless, you see? But you’re trouble, and I won’t have that in my realm!"

Yrba breathed heavily but finally lost her challenging stance. Her shoulders sagged. She threw him an icy glance.

"All right, I’ll go. But listen up, the lot of you! I’ll be back at the gates in seven days. And I tell you this: you’ll be glad when I come back and you’ll bow to me and invite me in. Just you go and tell your goddess that you’ve driven me out of the town. See what’s going to happen next and let that be a lesson to you!"

"Enough! Don’t think we’ll be swayed by your threats and lies! One more word, and we’ll have your tongue!"

She opened her mouth, only to close it again as the women inched closer. She snorted and spun around, stomping into her room.

She didn’t have much to pack. Five of the maids kept around and escorted her in silence down to the stables where her wagon stood ready. And the bag of gold turned out to be a handful of coins that she had to pick from the soiled hay after they threw it to her in disgust. Yrba took them anyway. No point in rejecting it in a vapid gesture that nobody cared for.

Chapter 53: Under The Cloth

"Mmmh, what a great dinner that was! Yrba! — Yrba?"

Mirca opened her eyes and looked around. Two maids pushed a new table out of the kitchen, again stacked with all kinds of food. She groaned. "Breakfast? All that?! Hey, listen, girls. That’s not going to work, okay? Would one of you run over to the guest quarters and wake the witch? There are a few new rules we need to set down, and she’s just so much better than me with the words and thinking stuff."

The maids exchanged fearful glances. Mirca’s eyes narrowed.

"What? I’m the goddess, m’kay? So come on, bring Yrba. It’s not that hard, right? You go down the hallway, turn left, knock on the door. She won’t bewitch you. And don’t worry, she curses every morning. Does no harm. Look at me!"

The girls avoided her stare. Mirca furrowed her brow and stood up. They immediately fell to their knees and then threw themselves on the floor as she pointed at them.

"Okay, something’s fishy here. I command you to tell me what’s going on."

"Oh goddess, while you were sleeping …"

Seconds later, Mirca’s voice boomed through the temple:

"CaaaaarrrRRRRWOOOOOON—!"

As he hurried through the door, he was greeted with a flying bowl of wine that soaked his clothes. The next quarter of an hour he had an unexpected chance to learn all about the curses of the common folk, while red wine dripped from his cloth. His ears still ringing, she finally sent him away to clean himself up. Mirca’s eyes followed him as he sneaked like a beaten dog to a small door frame near the rear end of the hall. The blonde, still angry, wiggled her rear on the throne. Her fingers drummed on the armrest.

"Stupid priest! A whole week! Damn! You, girl. Where did he go, what’s behind that door?"

Mirca pointed at the rather small, nondescript wooden door that wasn’t fully closed. A little candlelight shone out.

"Goddess, that is —"

"Shhhh. No need to talk so loud."

The girl leaned closer and whispered: "It’s the priest’s dressing room, where he keeps his private clothes and all the ceremonial dresses."

"Ah. Well, let’s embarrass our overzealous priest a bit more, shall we?" she whispered back. The girl lifted her hands to her mouth, giggled and nodded. Mirca raised her eyebrows.

She stood up and gestured to the maids, indicating they were to stay quiet while she tiptoed to the door. Quite a few of them now giggled as well as Mirca’s intention made the rounds by whispered word of mouth.

Mirca peeked into the room. Carwon was just about to slip into a rather plain frock and stood naked, blinded by the brown cloth wrapped around his head and arms. He struggled with the recalcitrant article of clothing, unaware of her presence.

She noticed he was in prime shape, and — she stared at his groin for a long time — impressive.

Oh, how I could use that tool. If only that dolt weren’t attached to the other end.

Finally she straightened up, leaned against the doorway and slowly pushed open the door. It made the drawn-out creaking sound she’d hoped for.

"Who dares enter —"

Carwon pulled at the wrap around his head until he finally saw her standing there, pouting her lips, with one raised eyebrow and smirking down on him.

"Goddess!" he exclaimed and tried to curl up, mortified, all the while struggling with his cloth. "You’re — You’re not to come in here! It’s unseemly for you to gaze upon naked men, especially upon those of your order!"

She shrugged, smiled and licked her lips, slowly.

"What, and miss that sight? Who came up with that rule?"

"The goddess once said —"

"See? Am I not the goddess now? So what, I changed my mind. I can do that, I guess." She took a deep breath and added, "I may need to assign some special duties to the High Priest, it seems. Would be shame to let something like that go to waste. May take his mind off of bothering poor witches."

He blushed, crouched deeper and tried to cover his nakedness with his hands. She laughed, turned and walked back to the throne.

Chapter 54: Unexpected Decisions

A week later, Yrba was welcomed almost as if she were the goddess herself. Carwon threw himself down before her the very moment her wagon rolled into the forecourt. She gave him a condescending nod.

"Didn’t I tell you?" she greeted him.

"I’m sorry. I’m so terribly sorry! Forgive me! I only wanted the best for the goddess!"

"You and me both, boy. You may know how to run a country, but I know more about how people tick than you. Well, let’s see whether your goddess prefers your golden cage or the freedom of my roads."

The answer came as a surprise to the witch.

Mirca beamed. "It’s so great around here! Did you ever hear of 'moo-sage'? They pour warm oil over you and knead and rub everywhere!" She leaned in to her friend and added in a whisper, "Well, almost everywhere. They’re still a bit shy when it comes to my fun parts. Pity. I’ll teach them yet!"

Yrba smiled. "Massage, girl. Well, seems to me you’ve found a new home then, eh?" With a hint of sadness, she added, "I had hoped for you to stay with me a little longer. You really could’ve been a great warrior."

"Yes, well, I think this here is more to my liking. Punching and hurting people for a living? I never really wanted to do that. I just didn’t want to disappoint you."

The witch nodded. "I feared as much. Pity, because you’re really good at punching people. Without you, customers aren’t as willing to pay up. Right, you stay and have some more fun as goddess or whatever. They need a healer around here, so I’ll tour the villages for a few weeks, and when I return, you tell me whether you want to really stay or you’re bored out of your skull and want to go back to travelling with me."

She leaned in and whispered: "And don’t be too trusting. If they try anything odd, you know how to blow them away." Her hand lifted Mirca’s ample breast.

She frowned and kneaded the melon-sized boob, ignoring the gasps from the maids that were peeking through the gates. "Mirca, they’ve grown. And they used to be much more solid. You’re letting them hang out quite a bit. You’re not neglecting your training, are you?"

The blonde seemed deeply hurt. "Yrba! Of course not! It’s just that around here, I can show off how huge they really are. Why, the nice folks expect me to look big. It’s great! Reining them bags in all the time feels so uncomfortable. Just imagine! I can slowly let them out to their real size! To my knees! These folks will go nuts!"

Yrba shook her head. "That’s what I’m worried about. Don’t overdo it. Really, dear, you’ve got to be careful. Keep on training."

A day later, Yrba left at dawn, her wagon stocked with new food and fine cloths. And its woman driver was full to the brim with nagging doubts about the whole arrangement.

Is Mirca ready for this? I know I wasn’t when I first had to make do alone. The thought kept on circling in her head, until the daily routine of traveling, counseling of bored housewives with vapid complaints and the other hundreds of little chores of a traveling trader-healer finally silenced it.

She kept her ears open, yet she heard nothing but praise for Carwon. He had been the priest and vizier, and probably the boy toy as well, during the final years of the last incarnation of Mamaria, and after her passing from old age seemed to do his best to keep everything running smoothly. He didn’t send troops to pillage or burn, he kept the taxes moderate and the streets safe.

To Yrba, with her mistrust honed by years of traveling, all of that seemed too good to be true.

Chapter 55: Everything’s Swell (-ing)

"Mmmh. You’re too good to be true," Mirca sighed, wiggling into a comfortable, reclined position on the furs atop the divan.

"If you say so, your highness… don’t fight the sleep, my goddess. Another grape? I’ll just keep on going, if it pleases you, your divinity."

She relaxed under Carwon’s gentle hands that kept on rubbing her breasts with an exotic oily lotion smelling of flowers. It had taken her a lot of persuasion up to the point of open threats until he had agreed to another, fundamental change of the rules and reluctantly had touched her, scared as if that very moment a bolt of lightning would reduce him to a pile of ashes. 

Now he just couldn’t get enough. He had come twice in his pants already just from kneading the warm, doughy mountains of Mirca’s breasts, and he kept hoping she hadn’t noticed his discharge, for who knew how she’d mock him then. Nevertheless, he felt a bit more relaxed and was focused on the task at hand. She seemed to enjoy it a good deal more than the usual massage done by the maids.

Her tongue played with the sweet fruit for a few moments until she sucked the grape into her mouth and swallowed it.

"Uh-huh. Keep going. Yeeeesssss..."

Her voice trailed off, and her head sank aside as she drifted into sleep. Soon, her breath calmed and deepened.

And he kept on going. Time and again, she stirred and moaned in her sleep while her breast slowly swelled up with every new handful of the warm oil he rubbed into her skin. That was unusual, and unexpected. Then again, she was the goddess, and quite a temperamental one at that. He didn’t dare to wake her to find out if that swelling was supposed to happen.

"Carwon?" she mumbled, her eyes still closed.

"He’s in his chambers, goddess," was the reply. Mirca frowned and blinked into the light of morning. One of the maids stood right by her side with a tray of brushes. The woman giggled. "He seemed really tired, and he walked really funny."

"Heh. Who would’ve though. So, what you up to?" the blonde inquired.

"Why, brushing your hair, my goddess. I’m here to make you gorgeous."

Mirca beamed. "Ah, just like with Red’s girls. So where do you want to start? With my head, or between my legs?" joked the giantess and spread her thighs. The maid grew pale, and the combs on the tray started to rattle. Mirca quickly took pity. "No, calm down. Just the head will be fine." She rolled about to get up, and hesitated. There was a lot more that rolled about, and it not only rolled, it bobbed, shook and quavered. She probed her breasts with splayed fingers, digging into the soft, flattened pumpkins and squeezing them together into a deep, dark cleavage.

Double the size, I’d say. Two, three feet across. Odd. I didn’t dream, and it never happened when I was just sleeping. Oh well, here goes …

She pouted her lips and sucked in her cheeks. The emptiness wandered down her throat and got hold of her breast’s skin. The molten melons shaped up and climbed on her chest, rising from dangling down to proud, gravity-defying, taut three-quarter spheres. Her areolae shrunk as they wrinkled and pulled her skin tight, her nipples stood and swelled with growing pressure, and with a faint hiss, the excess milk sprayed out.

The tray clattered to the floor, and the combs and brushes tumbled about. The maid made a bolt for the door, yelling: "The cup! She’s letting down! Someone fetch the cup! And the priest! Milk! So much milk! Come and see! It’s true!"

"—Ffft!" Mirca opened her lips in surprise, and the shrinking and spraying stopped immediately. An incredulous expression wandered over her face. "What the—?" she muttered.

Hurried footfall came from the outside, and at least a half-dozen of the maids barged in. Mirca found herself at the center of a rapidly growing half-circle of kneeling women, and a golden chalice was handed towards her while three of the maidservants cowered on the floor and soaked up the white droplets into ceremonial cloths with much reverence.

"Into the cup! Into the cup, goddess!" they all pleaded. Mirca raised her eyebrows.

"You really want me to —?"

Carwon stumbled into the room, half-dressed. He stopped and stared wide-eyed at the droplets of milk, spattered over the marble, and put a hand over his mouth.

"You — is that yours?"

"Uh, yes?" shrugged Mirca. "Happens quite often. Why? It’s easy for me. See?"

She grabbed the stem of the cup and hung her left breast’s nipple over it while her other hand pointed the other nipple into the same direction.

"Mmmmffff—," she pouted again, and whizzz went the pair of her breasts. A foaming puddle collected and quickly filled three quarters of the chalice until her breasts were comfortable again and she stopped shrinking her bust.

The maids carried the sparkling cup from her sleeping quarters with all the signs of highest adoration. Mirca looked after them and shook her head as she turned back to Carwon.

"You folks are weird, you know?" she remarked.

The next evening, she listened to the maids playing music on harps and some other instruments she didn’t recognize. The melody sounded complicated, and, well, boring. She sighed and clapped her hands.

"Girls, girls! That’s not music! You, raven hair, you bring me a bucket! Hurry!"

Mirca pulled at her toga and wrapped it differently, freeing her feet. By the time she was finished, the maid had returned.

"Ah, great! Right, you turn it upside-down and then you hit it — no, give it to me!"

"Goddess!"

"I don’t think there’s a rule that says, 'Goddess mustn’t touch a bucket’, girl!"

She pulled it out of the maid’s trembling hand.

"Now listen. Rhythm, that’s how good music starts. Not this lazy plucking on that harpy or whatever this thing is called."

The raven-haired girl didn’t need long to pick up the driving beat Mirca showed to her.

"Yes, now we’re talking. Music’s for fun, y’know? Okay, harpy-plucking girl, you go with it! Yes, yes! And now I’ll show you how to dance!"

Mirca jumped to her feet and whirled round and round over the marble, losing herself in the rhythm that grew more and more frantic. She jiggled and swung her breasts around. Her hair sparkled in the light of the hundreds of candles. Her hips gyrated, her feet slid over the floor, then she bowed and straightened, shimmying up and down in front of the speechless maids. Oh Yrba, if you could see me now! In the villages, you never allowed me to end it with the big bang! She straightened and then arched herself backwards. Grow! her thoughts commanded.

Her breasts gained weight and size in fast throbs. The silk of the toga billowed and finally ripped with a high-pitched sound as her nipples and then her whole breasts burst through the taut cloth.

"You might want to fetch a holy tub now, girls," she giggled, out of breath, as she slowly bent over backwards. "A cup won’t do this time!"

She let her heavy breasts, their shape resembling vein-covered, giant pumpkins now, drag her down on the cold marble and was laying there, spread-eagled, panting and laughing. Shrink! she ordered and pouted her lips, sucking at an imaginary nipple. And while she drew at the air, her skin grew tight and squeezed her breasts down to the already abundant size she had started with, spewing ample jets of warm milk yard-high into the air only to rain back down all over her. Drops ran over her body, her face. Soon, she rested in a huge puddle of white liquid. She turned her head. Soaked hair slid over her cheeks. Her breasts heaved with her laughter and heavy breathing.

"Phew! Hey! Huh! Just like your fountain’s statue, eh? Too bad the tub didn’t get here in time. So, what you say? Lick it off my skin instead, anyone?"

"Praise the goddess!" they mumbled, themselves frozen like statues.

"Oh come on! You’re no fun!"

"Goddess, your bath is ready."

"Ah, finally."

She walked into the steamy room and sniffed at the air.

"That’s not water, is it? Is that — "

"Milk, your highness. It’ll do wonders to your skin," Carwon replied.

"I don’t know. Isn’t that a bit too much? I mean, I’m used to a dip in a river or a pond, but, y’know, milk? One could feed a whole village with that — "

"Of course, and that’s why they offered it to you as a sign of their gratitude. It would be impolite to turn it down."

"You mean they’ll come and watch me in here?!"

He chuckled, a polite little laughter.

"Of course not, Your Highness."

Mirca sighed with relief.

"Then I’ll pass, and we’ll just lie to them and say I’ve used it. Just the other day, I’ve showered in my own milk, y’know. And then I needed another shower to get it out of my hair!"

"Highness!" he gasped.

Mirca raised her hands and shrugged in resignation. "Oh all right, all right! I’ll give it a try!"

She put her toe, then her leg into it, muttering "damn, the things I do to make people happy."

The liquid was warm, even slightly hot. Her face brightened. "Hey, that’s not bad, actually. I could get used to that."

Mirca made her way further down the steps until she stood on the basin floor with the milk reaching to her hip. She slowly sat down to get used to the warmth. Her breasts became submerged and rose again to the surface, exposing her nipples to the air. The chill of evaporation made them stand up.

"Aaaah," she exhaled, "look, milk bags floating in a sea of milk. Do I have any more duties today?"

"None that I’m aware of, Goddess."

"Good." She waved. "Y’all may leave me alone now. Just keep it at that warmth, and I’m a happy goddess."

Moments later, Mirca was alone in the huge hall.

She luxuriated in the warm basin and moaned blissfully. The milk really brought a great deal of relief and took away the constant feeling of strain and weight from her chest as her breasts floated about. She relaxed, resting on her back, her arms stretched along the rim. Soon, she fell asleep. And slowly, over the course of the night, the level of the liquid in the basin kept falling as well. With the maids patiently waiting outside the door, there was no one around to hear the faint stretching and groaning noises as her skin sucked up the milk and sent it straight into her greedy breasts.

The morning light saw Mirca, waking to a chill on her skin. She stretched her arms and got ready to rise. Halfway through the upward motion, the skin of her breasts tightened and pulled her back down.

"What the —?"

Mirca looked around, puzzled. It was plain as the new day that there was a lot more of her around now. Her breasts had multiplied tenfold in volume, and she shuddered and sighed happily as her fingers moved over the vast expanse of sensitive skin. She made another go at it and managed to lift her breasts off the basin floor, but slipped as she tried to climb out, and fell with a splash back down into the puddle. Her breast sloshed back and forth for quite a while.

Rein them in? Again? Aw. Haven’t got much choice, though. They feel so good, this big, but I really need to get up now.

She pouted her lips and sucked, but immediately exhaled and coughed in pain.

Dammit! It stings like hell, this time. No, I don’t want to ache all over first thing in the morning. Let’s see how our little big priest deals with that. She took a deep breath and threw back her head.

"Caaaarwoooon!" she hollered at the ceiling.

A few minutes passed before the maids had woken him. In the mean time, she tugged at and rubbed over her breasts. Yes, it felt really good. Good good. Crotch-soaking-happy good.

I’m going to keep them, she decided.

"Yes, my goddess?" he panted, out of breath, as he showed at the door of the bathroom.

"Carwon, tell me: Have I grown bigger? And I don’t mean how tall I am."

He bowed to her.

"Why, of course! You are now a beacon of divine breasts, my mistress! The mother goddess indeed reveals her strength most generously through you!"

Mirca struggled again in the slippery basin and sighed.

"Seems to me she didn’t reveal much foresight, then, plumping me in here. Well, since you’re so happy about that, you deal with this!"

"Maids!" he clapped his hands, "Come and help the goddess get out of this trap!"

Two groups of four came in and waded into what remained of the milk. Mirca chewed on her lips as sixteen hands stroked and pushed under her flattened orbs and lifted her pair of breasts, passing it along to the next group waiting at the rim while she climbed from the basin. Another two girls stood to attention and dried her down with two large towels. The rough cloth rubbing between her legs sent another swarm of shivers down her spine.

She looked down into the basin and blinked.

"Where did the milk go?"

"Why, into your breasts, of course!" moaned one of the carriers, struggling with the load. The others nodded consentingly.

"Oh don’t be silly! If all of the milk had soaked into them, they’d be far too heavy for you to lift! They’re bigger, but not that much bigger."

On the way back to the throne room, the groups of four walked by her sides, holding up the immense amount of breasts for her. Once Mirca sat upright on the throne again, they draped her sloshing milk bags on two tables with cushioned troughs that stood at an angle to her left and right arm rest. If she strained her arms and drew her skin into pleats with her fingers, she was able to work her way up to her nipples. The blonde tickled over them. Huh. About as long as my forefingers, and twice as thick as my thumbs. She quickly straightened up again as two girls came back and pulled white, semi-transparent veils over her naked skin. Another one of the maids decorated her breasts with chains of silver and gold. Almost as an afterthought to the attention given to her boobs, they wrapped her body in a sarong with a cutout for her chest. Two maids tied a girdle around her waist. It had a piece of chain mail dangling down in front, heavy, golden and triangular. Mirca was suddenly reminded of her combat dress that had to be lying around somewhere in the huge palace, gathering dust. Not that she’d fit into it anymore now. She sat back down and sighed, dismissing the maids with a weary wave of her hand.

The rest of the day passed with the usual parade of visitors staring in amazement at her new assets. Occasionally, she was asked a question or two, but it was Carwon who answered. Bored out of her mind, she spent most of the time picking snacks from the table beside her or playfully snapping with her agile tongue at the grapes which one of the maids plucked for her and held in front of her face. Every now and then, a shiver and gooseflesh ran over her breasts, and the skin seemed to contract. She didn’t think much about that, except brrr, dammit, heatin’ those temples must be a bitch. I wonder who’s the one lugging the wood around here?

Chapter 56: Flying Visit For A Tongue Lashing

"Mirca! I’m back! Where are y—"

Yrba turned the corner into the throne room and jumped as she saw her herculean blond friend. Mirca rested on her side on the elevated golden divan and was busy plucking grapes from a bunch with her tongue and swallowing them one by one, while another servant girl stood ready with a salver almost overflowing with bread, grilled meat and fruits. Yet that wasn’t what made the traveler almost lose her balance on the polished marble. Her eyes were glued to the pair of mammaries that dominated the scene of regal decadence.

Mirca’s breasts had grown to a size Yrba had only seen during magical outbursts, and even then only for minutes. But these were obviously not a product of short-lived magical interference. The witch blinked in disbelief. Were Mirca not resting on her side, they’d be hanging down to her ankles, dwarfing the body they were attached to. With Mirca lying on the divan and the white milk bags stacked in a nest of pillows in front of her, one piled atop the other like two huge, stuffed sacks made of satin. Together, they were easily five feet across and a yard high, even in their flattened-out shape dictated by their obviously immense weight.

" — what the hell?!" the witch barked in surprise.

The sudden outburst made the two guarding women to Mirca’s side instantly lower their pikes in defense of their goddess and queen. Yrba stopped in her tracks as the sharp points aimed at her throat.

"Right, let’s not get hasty," she muttered as she retreated and lifted her hands in a gesture of surrender.

Mirca stepped in, giggling. "Girls! What are you doing? I told you before, she’s a friend. Off you go, the lot of you, and wait outside until I call you back in. Don’t worry if gets loud in here. Well? Shoo! Shoo-shoo!" She chuckled and waved vaguely towards the huge doors. Her servants bowed and obeyed.

Once the heavy doors clicked shut and the queen was alone with the surprise visitor, she held out her arms to the witch.

"Yay! Yrba! Come give me a hug! Don’t bother walking around them, just climb over them, I know how you like that. — Uh, wait, better just straddle them like that one time with Red’s girls, that might work."

The witch clutched her temples. "Mirca! So you drank my shape-keeper potion?! Oh girl, what did you do? Can I not leave you alone for two months without you turning yourself into an abomination?!"

Yrba had raised her voice. Mirca was close to tears and sniffed, avoiding Yrba’s accusing stare and fidgeting nervously with her fingers. "I — you taught me it’s good for people, and they always offer so much to eat, and I didn’t want to get fat, and — I thought you’d be surprised! I thought you’d be proud of me! I didn’t think you’d be scolding me instead."

Yrba sighed, reached out and put her splayed fingers on the warm, somewhat taut surface that moved ever so slightly as goosebumps spread out from where she touched it. The witch pulled up her skirt, knelt down and then leapfrogged on the wiggly mass, clutching it between her naked thighs. She made her way over the white, jiggly promontory like Mirca had suggested, humping and pushing forward until she was close enough to embraced her friend and stroke the golden hair. Her unusual mount shook and trembled like a huge sack stuffed with jelly and only slowly calmed down again.

"Oh silly girl! I just want you to not make some stupid mistake. You can’t just nab any vial from my box and gulp it down! See what you did to yourself! You’re huge!"

The constant, faint drip-drip-drip of milk as it ran from Mirca’s fist-sized nipples filled a moment of awkward silence.

"So you don’t like my girls yet? I can still wish them bigger, if you want me to! See?"

Yrba moaned. Underneath her skirt, the hot, satin skin of the titanic breast rubbed over her naked legs as it slowly swelled. Resilient flesh groaned and shuddered as it stretched, overflowed the bed of pillows and crept over the marble floor. She was slowly lifted up higher, digging her thighs into the flanks of the warm throne of pent-up milk and pulsating glands.

"Oh, how I missed you! You’ve got no idea how good it feels, touching them again like that. I’m just worried about you." Yrba’s body swayed gently. She rode the undulating ball that sloshed back and forth in the vise of her thighs. "Oh heavens! This is sooo — uungh! Dammit! It’s like a dream come true! Oh Mirca, it’s crazy, but — Hnnnngh! So good!"

Mirca rolled up the witch’s skirt until all of it hung in wrinkles around Yrba’s waist. "Still not wearing underwear?" smiled the titanic blonde, bowing down. "I’ve missed the taste of your dark skin."

"How is your tongue these days?" whispered the witch, choking on pent-up desire.

"Better than ever. You can ask any of the maids."

"Naughty goddess!"

Mirca sighed theatrically. "Don’t I wish! No, nothing happening with them. Didn’t you always say one in ten is willing to take a lick? Feh! They’re all too obedient and scared. I really don’t know why." She flexed her muscles, lifted Yrba closer to her face and put her pouting mouth between the gypsy’s quivering chocolate thighs. "Lean back, mouth snake’s looking for a hideaway now!"

Yrba laid back into the yielding mound of warm skin, and then she slowly slipped down towards her friend’s face. Mirca’s cheeks rubbed over the witch’s spreading thighs, her deft fingers brushed Yrba’s thick curls aside, and then the giantess’ lips pressed up against the dark, meaty labia. Mirca’s nibbling and pouting motions slowly widened the gap in Yrba’s dark vulva and readied the bright pink tunnel for the wiggling and stroking tentacle that took its time tracing the folds in Yrba’s well-padded crotch.

And as all of the bright pink glistened with wet desire, Mirca took aim, and without any more toying and teasing —

Sluuuurrrgshhh.

Yrba’s eyes grew big. To that moment, she never knew how much she had missed this feeling. The heat, the meaty, slippery, slimy trunk of heat burrowed into her, barely hesitating as it aimed for the puckered inner ring and forced its way through, all the way into Yrba’s sacred cave. Her fingers dug into the golden hay of Mirca’s hair that covered the gypsy’s trembling thighs.

"Heavens! Mirca! Your — gaaaaah! — Your tongue! Oh goooods! Your tongue!" hollered the witch. She was full again, after a much too long wait. Fuller than full. Her inner labia clung tightly to the root of Mirca’s tongue, and her outer pussy lips dripped with the blonde’s saliva. The giantess’ agile muscle bottomed out the witch’s depths. Yrba’s breath came in spasms.

"Has — it — oooouuuunnngh! — grown — haaaaaaaaah! — too-oooooohh?!" The paintings on the ceiling spiraled in front of Yrba’s eyes. Her body convulsed as the tip of the titanic tentacle rimmed the entrance to her fallopian tubes. Yrba’s sight faded. All there was, all there would be, now and forever, was that warm, oozing trunk of muscle as it stretched her wide and round and emptied her and turned her whole body into a limp skin balloon that flapped helplessly about, fluttering like a blanket in a gale on the mountain top of Mirca’s breasts.

Yrba’s thighs trembled still. She rested on her back in the small dent that her body’s weight made into the round abundance of Mirca’s sweaty, bed-size boobs. Licking her dry lips, she exhaled raunchily and laughed.

"Oh, that was incredible! And when you started to swing me back and forth on your breasts, I almost fainted! Still, dear, you really need to work on shrinking them down again. They are quite the ball and chain for you now, aren’t they? That can’t be good, as much as I like them for a mattress." She gently stroked the silken skin.

"Now you’re acting like they’re no fun, but just minutes ago, you couldn’t get enough riding them. You surely must be joking, right?" laughed Mirca.

Yrba’s voice became concerned, all of a sudden. She sat up on the sloshing white bag, and the skin and weight that moved under her felt like the back of a huge cow. The witch leaned forward on her hands and looked her pupil straight in the face. All of the relaxed smile had disappeared. A frown painted little dark wrinkles into her forehead.

"No, seriously, now. Why do you burden yourself with those monsters?"

Mirca pushed her away and jumped to her feet. She was stronger than ever before, pulling her breasts out under Yrba’s straddling position with ease. The witch staggered a few steps backwards as her seat so suddenly disappeared beneath her until she finally regained her balance. Mirca stood bolt upright while her breasts kept dangling and wobbling from her chest, her nipples barely clearing the floor. She put her hands akimbo and stared Yrba in the face.

"Monsters? Burden? How many times do I have to tell you, I like this! So what if balancing’s a bit harder? Do I not stand now?"

"Yeah? So boobs bloated to your ankles is the new you?"

The blonde folded her arms across — no, rather above her chest and turned up her nose.

"I can rein them in any time. I just don’t want to."

"Prove it," sneered the witch.

"All right. Piece o’ cake. Done a hundred times. Better step aside, or you’ll be soaked. Look now," Mirca replied, shrugging her shoulders and cocking her head. She pouted and sucked at the air.

Nothing happened. She started to frown.

"Uh — Wait, wait. Now!"

Nothing, again.

Yrba shook her head and narrowed her eyes. After a few moments of intently staring at the heavy spheroids in front of her, she pursed her lips and scratched her chin.

"I can see magic’s got a good part in holding them together, right, but that’s not magical bloat. So you’ve been stuffing your face for weeks, I guess, and all that massage and milking — no wonder they’ve adapted. They’re real. They’ll not go away easily."

"What are you talking about? 'Go away'? Why would I want them to go away?!" Mirca corralled the squishy bags as far as her arms reached. "They’re mine! They’re so much fun!"

Yrba frowned some more. "Come again? You can barely walk! Someday soon, you’ll need servants to carry them around for you!"

"So?" Mirca snapped back, cuddling her udders. "I already have them! You keep forgetting that I’m the god-queen of Ebron now and not some hussy in a cart. And if they grow even bigger and four girls are not enough to lift them any more, what’s the problem? I can have as many servants as I want, just by snapping my fingers! And come next full moon, I’ll have enough milk for the whole city, and they’ll be climbing over each other to serve me!"

"Mirca! Do you even listen? You’ll soon be but a giant pair of jugs with a little wailing Mirca caught in between if you don’t stop stuffing yourself! Oh heavens, girl, don’t do that! Oh my darling, please, don’t —"

"I don’t want to hear this any more! You’re making me unhappy with your talking! I don’t have to listen! I’m a queen now! I’m a goddess! Guards! I want —"

Yrba’s shoulders sagged, and she lowered her eyes to the floor.

"Maybe it’s not a good time right now. Mirca, please, sweetheart. Can we talk about that again, tomorrow? After we both had some sleep?"

The god-queen stared down on the witch. Yrba seemed so small right now, just like any other of the servants, as she stood in front of the two steps that led up to the throne. Mirca had never noticed it before. She sighed.

"Yes, maybe — tomorrow then, all right."

"You’re a mean old witch! Go away!"

Mirca stared down on the tiny brown figure that was barely larger than her hand and walked with long strides across the soft, yielding ground of the tall blonde’s breasts that stretched to the horizon. The naked chocolate-skinned apparition raised an angry fist hardly even the size of one of the giantess’ fingernails and shook it at Mirca’s face that filled half the firmament.

"Oh yeah? Make me! I’m full of knowledge, and you? What are you full of, you stupid broad? Let’s find out!"

The doll-like being knelt down and dug her splayed fingers into Mirca’s breasts. It stung. Suddenly, the figure began to grow bigger while the giantess started to shrink.

No! No, you mustn’t take my breasts!

"Stop it, witch! You’ll regret it!"

Little Yrba raised her head and smiled, a mean, sneering smile. Her breasts stretched and grew much faster than her body. The filled out the space between her arms with heavy, sloshing weight barely contained in taut, taxed skin.

"I’ll make you small now, you tool! Your breasts are mine!"

"NO!"

Mirca frowned. Anger, red, hot, boiling anger rushed through her body. It filled her, head to toe, and when it had no more place to flow, it barraged against the skin of her breasts. Ripples wandered over the skin, closing in on the kneeling shape.

"Mirca!" yelled the tiny witch. She couldn’t pull her hands out of the swelling flesh in time to avoid her fate. The bulging, pumping volume struggling inside the taut wrapper of the giantess’ body shot into her as well. It blew her up, belly, boobs and all. Helpless, she bloated into three balls sprouting little, wiggling arms and legs.

"That’s mine! I want it back!" roared the giantess. She grabbed the squishy little creature with both hands and plucked it from her breasts like a ripe fruit from a tree. The tiny body bulged out like a lump of rubber between her fingers. She stuffed the bloated nipples on Mini-Yrba’s grotesquely oversized breasts in her mouth and sucked, and sucked, and sucked —

"Mirc—aaaaahhhh…"

Slurp.

Her hands were empty, all of a sudden, and nothing but the taste of a mouthful of the sweetest milk, and a tiny, wrinkled lump slowly traveling down her gullet, remained.

Mirca laid back on the soft, endless pasture and reached for the next huge, udder-shaped cloud drifting by, pulling another swollen teat to her mouth.

Yes, mistress! Empty us! Become like us!

The tall blonde stirred a little on her divan before she returned to a calm sleep that washed away the memory of her dream.

Mirca rolled her shoulders and sighed happily. The morning sun came in through the windows and filled the throne room with light. Resting face-down on her soft divan, she fumbled blindly for a grip but kept on grabbing at soft pillows that offered no resistance.

Wait a minute —

She drew up her knees and gasped when tingling pain shot through her left boob. Wide awake now, Mirca turned her head left and right in disbelief. Over the course of the night, she had again added another yard to her chest’s girth. And the extra weight had, slowly, without waking her up, pulled her down from her throne until she had come to a rest on top of the left of the two flattened orbs that carried her tall, muscle-studded body like a gently sloshing water bed. Being pressed down to the cold floor had turned her boobs numb. Mirca wiggled around until her toes felt solid floor again. A little push and shove, and she had both feet on the ground, with her legs spread wide to straddle some of the pliable volume.

Now to get them airborne —

She pulled at her breasts, but her sweaty skin stuck like glue to the smooth marble. All she managed was to make the roots of her breasts ache.

Oh gods, it really happened! Yrba’s gonna rip me new one, once she’s done laughing at me. I need —

Mirca sighed, pinched the root of her nose with one hand and took a deep breath.

"Maids! Carwon! Little help?"

The hasty footfalls were mixed with squeaks and rattling. When Carwon finally appeared through the large doors, he had with him a pair of flat tables with short, stout legs and little wheels beneath them. Two groups of eight maids were busy hoisting the wobbly mountains of flesh and glands one by one onto the movable platforms covered in soft furs. Mirca got a good laugh out of the heave-ho and the tickling touch of the oh so many tiny hands until they finally managed. Using two short ladders to reach over the white mountains, the girls tied the humungous jugs down with leather straps.

Carwon bowed to her.

"Those are your breast carts. They’ll make moving about so much more enjoyable. They even have buckets to collect the milk, so you can let down anytime you please."

"Oh Carwon! You are such a great thinker! Here, let me give you a kiss ..."

Her strong arms grabbed the rails around the carts and pushed the tables apart so he could step in between her cleavage. Mirca beamed.

"Wow, that’s great! Did you see that?"

He leant in to her. She had to bow down quite some bit to reach him, and then she felt the hardness under his frock as she rubbed her bent knee against his thighs.

"Naughty Carwon," she whispered in his ear before she pecked his cheek. "You want some other reward, eh?"

Her tongue flicked against his earlobe, but then she saw her friend coming up the hall.

"Yay, Yrba! Look here, see how easy I can move by myself!" she called out. The vizier, his face flushed red with embarrassment, winced as her close-up yell made his ears ring.

The witch stopped and shook her head.

"Stupid girl! Would be much better for you if you’d get back in shape and come with me!" she muttered under her breath. Then Yrba spun around and stamped back down the hallway.

"Yrba? Yrba! Oh come on! Wait for me! Girls, Carwon, you stay out of this!"

Mirca ran after her friend as fast as she could. The wheels on the carts carrying her breasts squeaked and rattled over the marble floor. Out of breath, she finally caught up with Yrba who doggedly walked on, not even turning her head.

"Oh please, Yrba! Please! I’m sorry — that I got so — angry with you — yesterday. It’s just — I’m not — cut out for — a life on the road. They — love me here! Look — at all those jewels! Those — silk clothes! I’m a — fuckin’ jewel exhibition!"

She winked.

"And — our little vizier priest has wood — every time he as — much as sees me. He’s — sooo cute! And big! Oh, I’ll teach — him! He’s a — perfect match for me!"

Yrba had reached her chambers. The guard bowed and opened the door for her.

"Yrba! Come — on! Talk — to me!" Mirca panted.

The witch sailed through the doorframe and kicked the painted door shut with her heel. The bang echoed up and down the hallway. Mirca sighed. There was no way she’d fit through that.

"Fine! Be like that!" she hollered at the closed door.

That arrogant, stupid gypsy! What was wrong with enjoying the sloshing, wobbling goodness of breasts? The more, the merrier. She felt the rumble in her tummy start again. Time for the next snack. Mirca threw a last glance at the closed door before she brusquely turned around, spinning her body around her breasts as the new center of her weight.

"Girls! Get the massage oil and the food ready! I’m hungry!"

From down the corridor came hurried footfalls and a chorus of "At once, goddess!"

She smiled anew and started to push the carts along the corridor, heading towards the huge gates to her rooms. Finally, life was good.

Yrba left the very next day. They barely glanced at each other as the witch walked by the throne room, and they spoke not a single word.

To Be Continued in Yrba’s Travels, Part 11: Oil to the Flames

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

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

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

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