CONTENT WARNING: The text below is, by its intent, explicit in nature. It is unrated and for mature audiences only. This is neither intended nor suitable for any minors, nor adults that do not want to be exposed to descriptions of non-realistic sexual intercourse in a fantasy setting.
I’ll break it down for those hard of understanding:
Non-realistic — The things described herein do not work in the real world. Not At All!
Sexual intercourse — Two or more people of the same or different sex and legal age, doing teh nastay together. Ask yourself, and be honest: Do You Want To Read About That? Should you read about that? Are you legally entitled to read that? If "No", then What Are You Doing Here?
Fantasy setting — Far, far away in a a mirror universe. Faery tale. Magic. Wizardry. Totally made up. Out of this world. In other words, restating the obvious: Do Not Try This At Home!
Compulsory Begging for Comments:
Hey, y’know. Author’s pride and stuff. I don’t ask for much. A one-liner comment will do. Just so I know someone actually reads this. Apart from the obvious smut in the stories, I’m just like any other amateur writer — I like feedback. :)
You’re encouraged to be honest in your comments. If you don’t like it because you think my writing style sucks, that’s okay with me. If you don’t like it because you don’t like the kind of story setting, then — why did you download it in the first place? There is an introductory blurb on Overflowing Bra for this text, you know. :)
My complete listing of texts is at
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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.5 — Gold and Blood
by
Paul Gerard (a pen name)
First Draft, started July 2008 — This segment first published July 2009 on TOB
Proof-reading: by splinter271 and kanodin — my gratitude will lurk behind you always ;)
--
Obscure musical reference:
"I’ll take the shot, for you / I’ll be the shield for you… " — The Rasmus, Shot
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Altaerna — a world, where the laws of reality may become mere guidelines at any given time, where magic and machinery are intertwined, where all those things creeping in the shadows of fantasy may step forward onto the mind’s stage.
The time of this story is similar to our planet’s 12th century.
What happened so far:
Part 1 — Jailbreak:
Jailed in neighboring cells, two very different women are waiting for their execution: Yrba, the traveling gypsy witch, and Mirca, the servant girl. In a last desperate bid for freedom, Yrba feeds Mirca a whole gallon of enhancement potion and uses her swelling body to break down their cell’s walls. And thanks to Yrba’s prowess with magic, Mirca becomes mobile again. While they sneak through the nightly town, Mirca gets even with the man whose wrongful accusations sent her to death row by wrecking his warehouse with her rapidly growing breasts.
Part 2 — Under Soiled Doves’ Wings:
The witch and her new companion can’t make it out of town. Lucky for them, Red, an old friend of the witch, runs the town’s brothel, and they manage to hide there from the guards searching the houses. An unexpected growth spurt in the confined hideaway ends with Mirca getting stuck and Yrba out cold. Over the course of the next few days, they recover and get acquainted with the girls. Mirca gets into a quarrel with Berry, Red’s mistrusting bouncer, and becomes the focus of eastern beauty Li’s fantasies. A dinner and a surprise confession lead to another eruption of Mirca’s unstable body.
Part 3 — Tubs, Sponges and Soaking:
It’s an all-girl event as Red’s women climb over each other while they polish and shine Mirca’s body in the brothel’s huge bathtub, sudden milk burst included. The night brings a solemn peek into Mirca’s troubled past, and the next day sees Yrba and Red desperately trying to salvage the last few drops of growth portion left in the witch’s womb. Mirca embarks on a journey of discovery across Yrba’s body, only to wear her mistress out to the brink of collapse. Yrba lets her curiosity get the better of her, prepares herself to repeat the experience, and in the process we found that her body has quite a few quirks of its own.
Part 4 — Altars and Virgins:
Li, Red’s brothel’s exotic eastern plaything, tries to teach Mirca the basics of fighting. However, their very own idea of 'way of the fist' ends up waking the metal goddess of the derelict temple they chose as their training ground. As the goddess’ ephemeral gift for their 'sacrifice of virginity' fades (or rather, shrinks back), so does their memory of the weird afternoon… Back in the brothel, Sylvia and Charlene coax Mirca into a game of 'how much can you take?' that ends with a milk-swept stairway, a few bruises and scratches and Yrba and Mirca moving out into the forest to 'get a grip' on Mirca’s unpredictable expansion bouts.
Chapter 22: Getting A Grip, On Boobs And Otherwise
"Uh, what now?" Mirca nervously gazed down on the forest floor around her and scratched her head. The six foot six blonde with the muscular physique had spent the better part of the morning together with her Darkskin witch friend and mentor Yrba, sweeping away pointy branches and uprooting the occasional thorn bush to clear an arena of several yards across that was free from any unpleasant surprise. Now she stood at the edge of the clearing, facing the empty space. A shiver ran across her naked skin and made her nipples stand up in the cool air. She knew what was about to happen as her ebony friend stepped up to her side, put her palm soothingly on her buttock and let the touch of her hand slide down to the onset of Mirca’s leg. And yet… turning into a helpless appendage to a swelling, immobile, wobbling pair of straining spheres wasn’t exactly her idea of a good time, and after the previous disasters, she dreaded a repetition. Well, mostly dreaded it. Other feelings welled in her at those times of stretching and growing, too, strange feelings that filled her with every extra inch.
Mirca anxiously turned her head and looked down on Yrba’s curly, thick black mane. The southern islands witch’s five-and-a-half foot stature, her dark, chocolate-colored complexion and her voluptuous, sturdy build made her an exotic, seductive, tall and strong woman — or a demon risen from the depths of the underworld, depending on the beholder — by the standards of the cold northland countries she traveled. Yet she was dwarfed by her cellmate-turned-tool-turned-friend-turned-lover Mirca who was a true giantess in a time where most people just barely scraped the five-feet mark. The young woman in her early twenties fidgeted, and her previous life as a serf showed in her voice’s nervous meekness that was at odds with her imposing shape.
"Uh, couldn’t we do that, maybe, in a smaller way, instead, someho—hah!"
She gasped and fell silent as her confidante’s brown-black fingers slid up along the inside of her thighs, tracing the valleys and hills of her well-defined muscles.
"No, girl," cooed the curvaceous witch, placing her other hand on one of Mirca’s protruding, round boobs to feel the pent-up pressure inside. The plump lips in her round face spread into a wide, friendly smile that accentuated her cheekbones and revealed more shiny white teeth in her mouth and fewer wrinkles around the eyes than a seasoned gypsy of thirty-five summers deserved. She moistened her lips and raised her eyebrows. "All the way again, lovely, the sooner the better. You’ll first have get used to it, and then you’ll learn how to handle it. For now, I just want you to focus on whatever you feel as it happens." Yrba narrowed her eyes, and her other vision took over. The air was now filled with tiny sparkles that levitated between the trees. "This place is brimming with magic, so it shouldn’t take long for something to happen. Just fight it with all you’ve got, for as long as you can."
Her fingertips played with Mirca’s golden-white pubic curls. Her long fingernails gently traced the delicate fold of skin where the blonde’s thighs met her fleshy labia. Mirca gnawed on her lower lip, her eyes half-closed. She moaned faintly, and her hips began to roll in just the teeny tiniest of involuntary movements. Something stirred in her.
"Mirca, don’t just stand there and pant. Tell me."
"It’s—it’s starting to itch now."
"Where?"
"Uh, b—below. Where your fingers are. And around the knob."
"Good. And now?"
Yrba’s finger dove into the long cleft just deep enough to pick up some lubricating moisture before it circled the hood over Mirca’s clit. The girl gasped, and the witch nodded and smiled.
"Oh yes, I know how good it feels, sweetie. All fine and dandy if you like it so much, dear, but keep on talking. Tell me." Under her breath, the witch focused on the faint tugging of magic in her hand and breathed, "Excitare."
A moan, louder. And then words, hastily stuttered.
"Itching — stronger now! Spreading! Gods! M—my belly, my chest—it’s going everywhere!"
Mirca patted with splayed fingers over her hips, over her womb, over the onset of her ribs. Her eyes fluttered shut, her head fell in her neck and sent a wavefront through her golden-white mane that now hung down to her waist. Her fingers bent into hooks and her nails scratched red marks into her skin of copper and gold. The witch added another finger to her crotch-grip and placed them around Mirca’s sensitive button in a V shape. She pressed stronger into the resilient tissue under the labia, pinching the hair trigger of Mirca’s sex through the meaty wrapper of the giantess’ folds and stroking the mass as it swelled in arousal. Mirca squirmed and writhed, her fingers wandered over her own neck, caressed her cheeks and dragged over her protruding lips, revealing her teeth and the pink inside of her lower lip. Saliva ran from the corner of her mouth as her long, thick tongue crawled out and circled the huge O shape of her lips, and her knees began to bend.
"Mmmore! Heavens, give me more!" she begged, but Yrba suddenly held still. Mirca’s copious lube crept over the witch’s fingers and dripped from her knuckles.
"Only if you keep on talking to me, honey lips!"
"My legs! I feel — now — there’s something warm creeping up around my legs!"
Yrba looked down and squinted. Her pupil was right. Swirling tendrils of white glow rose from the ground, whirled around her shins and vanished into her muscular thighs.
"Good girl! Here, have a treat." Yrba raised her thumb and placed it right into the wet hole. Mirca bent her knees to push more of it into herself, to bridge the height difference between her mentor and herself. As her thighs angled, her opening stretched. Mirca immediately felt the change. Something inside her hungered for something outside. Contractions crawled up along the tubular muscles that lined her love cave, and they sucked and swallowed and squeezed that something into her body.
"Warmth — coming into me — filling me — through there now!" she moaned.
The fog accelerated, streaming around Yrba’s hand and getting sucked up into Mirca’s widening gate. From deep inside Mirca’s body, glow filtered faint and reddish through her skin. The blonde’s breath quickened. What had started as deep breaths had turned into throaty moans, and now she panted fiercely, like a bitch on a wild chase. Her thighs trembled. The fiery light, visible only to the witch, slowly ate its way through Mirca’s body and broke to the surface in a mesh of throbbing veins of white that crawled from her womb over her skin and up into her breasts. Mirca’s hands and lower arms wrapped around her midriff and pressed into her stomach.
"Full — stretching me — so full!"
Yrba very slightly, very slowly leaned away. She didn’t stop rubbing and kneading at Mirca’s dripping folds, however.
"Hold it in, Mirca! Hold it! For as long as you can!"
"Warm! Hot! Taut!" gasped the trembling young woman, her nerves on fire, shivers racing over her skin. Her hands flew up and cupped her breasts. The mounds throbbed in her clutch, now they stretched, bulging out between her squeezing fingers, gaining momentum, each pulse bigger than the last. Her nipples pushed out of her grip. For a moment she held her breath; she just stood there, every muscle tensed up, every tendon struggling against the pressure inside her, then she groaned through clenched teeth.
"Can’t — bursting — I can’t — any longer — big one!"
Her jaw dropped, she inhaled with all of her chest and arched her body backwards.
"Mmmmmwwwwoooaaaaaahhhhh—!"
Rrrumble.
A noise like a pair of huge dough balls spilling on a table, a splashy, wet Gloub. Her breasts’ skin bloated and stretched out into the clearing, easily encompassing all the burgeoning volume manifesting in her body.
After the crashing and rustling from a couple of felled trees subsided, only the sloshing sound of thick liquid in a huge, barn-sized bag, moving back and forth in long, slow waves, remained.
Yrba gulped and crawled back to her feet. Her body still rang from the sudden blow of a warm, soft-solid avalanche of tit that had effortlessly thrown her aside more than five yards.
"Wow," she muttered. Then she looked around, dumbfounded. "Next time, we might need a bigger clearing."
She raised her head, and after a while she raised it higher. Then she leant against the nearest tree and breathed deeply and slowly for a while, until her knees stopped shaking. A mere arm’s length from her, the part of Mirca’s breasts that filled her view was a straining, shiny white wall, bulging between the corralling tree trunks that creaked and groaned under the weight.
The healthy tan of the timid giantess’ skin had been replaced by pearly white glow under the immense, magically augmented stretch of the faintly throbbing, taxed tissue. Trapped by the trees around the clearing that had been strong enough to shoulder the weight, the bloated boobs had taken the only other way out. Their high-rising ovoids formed two pale domes of more than ten yards in height. Yrba stared up at them, moving her jaw with no sound coming from her mouth as she gnawed on her knuckles.
Shit, I thought she’d not get that big again. The potion shouldn’t last that long! By now, it shouldn’t be strong enough for this any more! Not by far! It’s all wrong!
"Uh — uuuuooohhaaanng—ah! — can you get me down again now?" came Mirca’s voice, still dripping with arousal, from five yards up. Her feet dangled uselessly, and she held on to herself with her arms spread out and her fingers digging into her own breasts’ warm, pliable skin. The big, hulking woman was a mere insect now against the backdrop of her breasts. She deliriously licked and gnawed on her own skin with her mouth half-open, her lips pouting forward and sticking to the smooth, shining surface. Her long tongue whipped saliva all over the crack of her cleavage into which she had buried her face.
Yrba shook out her arms, cracked her knuckles and sighed as she prepared herself for the discharge spell. The valley ahead harbored no settlements, so at least nobody would notice the sudden torrent of milk rushing down the slope…
A week passed.
The campfire cast flickering shadows. Every now and then, a log sagged down and spat out a cloud of sparks that rose up into the clear evening sky. Mirca sat at the entrance of the couple’s tent and poked a branch into the embers at the edge of the fireplace.
"Why do you never let me try that thing with the catapulting tits again?" she complained. "I mean, all I need is to get really angry and then embarrassed, and ka-pow! No more sleeping in that stupid, damp, cold tent. I could blast a cave big enough for the two of us out of that rock face! And then we’d put straw and branches on the floor and hang a blanket over the entrance and we’d have a cozy home of our own."
Yrba sighed as she undressed. "Because maybe you’d get stuck halfway inside the stone and hurt yourself? Sweetie, magic strengthens your skin, but how far? What if it goes wrong? Flesh versus rock? No, it’s too risky. And you shouldn’t get used to being angry. You shouldn’t think of them as a second pair of fists. No, promise me, don’t use your breasts for weapons, ever." She leaned over and put her warm hand on one of them, kneading the resilient, melon-sized flesh orbs gently. "They are such wonderful, amazing things. Made for nurturing and for delight. Don’t soil that by filling them with rage. You might not be able to get the anger back out of yourself if you allow that to happen. It’s not just my potion that made them so powerful. No, I think you’re one of maybe a handful of women with an amazing gift. Keep it safe. You’ve learned so much already. Almost no accidents now."
The witch turned around and bent over to wrap herself into a rugged, warm blanket for the night. Mirca smiled and watched the dark-skinned, naked woman. "You’ve got such a good way with words," she said, grabbed the witch around the waist and pulled her down into the valley of her cleavage. "I’m feeling all happy inside now."
"Good for you," groaned Yrba, fighting for breath in the hearty embrace. "Before you doze off, show me one more time."
The blonde drew a sulky pout. "But I’m tired."
"Show me. We can cuddle later." Yrba clambered around in the tent and sat down face-to-face with her trainee. Mirca looked at her, and her blue eyes suddenly filled with worry.
"Uh, do you have to sit down in front of me? I’m always queasy if you do that. I’m not so sure about — I don’t want to hurt you if—"
"Good! That’s why I’m doing it. Gives you a little more motivation. Come on, the sooner you get ready, the sooner you’ll get some rest."
"But that one time, they blew up so hard, they threw you all the way across the cleari—"
"Do it!" A muscle twitched under the witch’s eye. It’s—gonna—work—it’s—gonna—work—it’s—gonna—work—, she told herself, over and over again. Granted, that wasn’t exactly magic. But it went a long way to trick her into something not quite like confidence. Any which way, it would have to do. Don’t show your fear. She’s got enough of her own.
Mirca sighed. She crossed her legs into a pose like she remembered Li doing, rested her lower arms on her knees, clenched her hands into fists and slowly relaxed her fingers again.
Warm. I eh—muh—gin... Ah—me—geen… No. Stupid long word. I do-as-if I hold them in my hands, and I can feel the warmth.
She looked down on her two well-rounded breasts.
I open my fingers, and then more warmth goes in there.
A shudder, a twitch, somewhere in those two protruding half-spheres. Her nipples contracted in anticipation. Something streamed into Mirca, rising up from the ground and entering her. The slight wrinkles around her areolae stretched, giving skin to make room. The weight caused her expanding chest to sag down heavy against her ribs. It was like the last times, warm and relaxing. If she just let go, it would stream into her forever with that caressing, gentle stroking and pulsing, piling delight upon delight.
I just need to let loose, and I can be as huge as — No! No! What am I thinking? I need to — hold — it!
Mirca jerked and tensed up. Her brow furrowed and her fingers bent into hooks.
Steady, steady! I don’t want to bloat! I just want to keep going a little more. I can hold —
The two giant orbs throbbed faster now. Yrba kept her eyes fixed on the inflating nipples and the expanding areolae. Every instinct yelled at her to cast a constrainer around the bloating boobs before it’s too late! Stupid crone! This time she’ll crush you under those boobs! Stop her! Now! Remember Red? In the barn? Remember?!
Yrba raised her trembling hands against the approaching white wall, her fingers splayed wide. Her breath raced. And then she closed her eyes and — waited.
No. I’m not a stupid rookie any more. I’m calm. I’m in control.
Warmth was all over her palms now. Something huge, colossally huge and alive, slowed down and stopped, inches before it made contact. Yrba warily opened one eye, then the other. She exhaled.
Mirca’s breasts sat heavy and sagging in the tall young woman’s lap like two giant eggs in a cozy nest, their one-and-a-half yard diameter big enough to rub and stretch against the tent’s cloth. The skin fluttered on a little longer as they rounded out some more, filling up with milk, until the mammoth mammaries came to a stable rest. Mirca’s fingertips showed at the horizon of the two udder planets as she held and corralled them, clutching the semi-taut skin.
"Happy now?" muttered the blonde from behind the wall of warm flesh. She hadn’t missed the faint wince across Yrba’s face just before her breasts’ growth obstructed her view for good, and she had seen the tiny drop of sweat creeping down her mentor’s cheek and heard the slightly deeper exhale as well. Now the witch relaxed and put her splayed fingers on the two pale orbs and felt the slowly dying tremors as the bloated shapes settled. Yrba buried her face into the yard-deep cleavage, pressed her lips into the soft skin and made little bubbling noises as she blew against the wall of milk-filled goodness, sending tickling vibrations all over Mirca’s body. A shiver and goosebumps wandered over the vast expanse of boob and made the almost imperceptible, thin hairs on Mirca’s skin stand up. From within the warm cleft that Yrba didn’t want to rise from, the witch mumbled:
"I’ll be truly happy once you don’t need to gesture with your hands any more and it’s all become second nature, m’kay? For now, wrapping them up again will do."
Pushing her splayed fingers into the yielding skin, she pulled herself from the warm envelope of the milk meat abyss with a sigh, sat back and straightened, reassuming her watchful stance. Mirca wiggled and loosened her fingers and rolled her shoulders, sending wobbles through the breasts that hid her body from Yrba’s sight.
"Right, sucking them in now. Hrrrnnnnghhh—!" Behind the trembling, quivering wall, Mirca pulled up her shoulders and tensed up again. Her lips pouted, her cheeks fell in as she concentrated on the mental image of a void inside her. And her breasts’ skin became rigid. In instants, it grew taut around the sea of nurturing liquid. The contracting tissue overflowed and squeezed the white avalanche into the doming areolae. Her nipples stretched and swelled further, rising under inner pressure as the wrapping shrank tighter around the huge udders.
Yrba’s head jerked up. She tried to throw herself around and out of the way, but she was late, far too late —
Splortch.
"Plllrrfffft—! Gyaaah—! Mirca!" echoed Yrba’s angry voice through the dark forest after she finished spitting and snorting. "Dammit! Now look at me! I thought you’d have the brains to stick your teats out the tent first! Now we’ve got to move it to a dry spot again!"
"Oops, sorry!" The blonde held her hands over her mouth and giggled, watching the meandering paths of milk as they trickled down over Yrba’s dark-brown skin. The witch sat in a puddle of warm white liquid that steamed in the chilly air. She transfixed Mirca’s blue eyes with a grumpy stare from behind the curtains of her soggy, matted hair and the rivulets of milk dribbling from it.
"It happened kinda quick, I hadn’t thought — wait, here, let me lick it off now, uh, just a second — that’s about the right size, so, boobies, stop —"
Mirca heaved her pair of soft pumpkins out of her knees’ way and leaned forward. Her lips touched Yrba’s breastbone. Her huge tongue lolled out and snaked over the witch’s naked, dripping chest. Her strong fingers lifted her soaked friend’s pair of weighty, brown-black boobs to her mouth. She let the warm, milk-glazed skin roll around in her grip, sucking on it with her lips and drying each spot and drop separately with a warm, gentle kiss.
Yrba mumbled a few more angry words, but her voice turned into panting and groaning only moments later as Mirca’s big, soft lips nibbled and sucked on her chest while those big bags of her apprentice rolled warm and heavy over her stomach and spilled out between the witch’s spread legs…
Chapter 23: Beaten down and a little night dancing
"Mirca! Wake up! You’ve got a visitor!"
"Ungh."
A few moments later, the tall blonde crawled on all fours from the tent, blinking into the late morning sunshine. She yawned sleepily, mouth wide open and tongue hanging out. Kneeling down and scratching the bird’s nest of a mane on her head with both hands, she slurped the dangling muscle back between her lips with a smack.
"Yuck! Morning breath. Got some mint leaves?" She rubbed her eyes. "Aw, Yrba!" she complained. "It’s too early! You’ve kept me up way past midnight just to teach me all that stuff about the stars. Like, how the northern star is alway—hey! I can remember it! Word for word! Head’s getting better every day!"
"Good for you. There’ll be much more to remember, so don’t get cocky just yet. Hey, guess who’s here to keep you busy for the day?" Yrba stepped aside, and there stood Li, arms folded over her flat chest. The black-haired, diminutive Eastlands woman with the ageless face looked sternly down on the blonde, on the mess of hair and the clumsy way the tall, thewy body unfolded before her. When Mirca reached her full, towering six-foot-six height over Li’s four-and-a-half feet frame, the dwarfish onlooker shook her head, now resting in the back of her neck, with a hint of disgust.
"Li come to teach today. What find? No good! You show no self-respect! You no better than beast! No naked crawling on all fours now! Li show you way of move with dignity already! You forgetting again? No good! Li come every day now, no stop until Mirca move and look proud fighter! And no more licky until you are!"
"Aw, Li!" Mirca protested as she brushed leaves and dirt from her hands and knees and reached for her clothes. "Yrba, you tell her I don’t want —"
Yrba shrugged and smiled. "Sorry, Mirca. That tiny yellow she-devil here seems hell-bent on it, and this time, I agree with her. Hey, you can’t always run or hide when you get in trouble." Though, looking the way you do, if you as much as raise a fist, trouble will most likely cower into a corner and wet itself.
She waved at them. "Well, I’m off! I’ve seen a promising patch of herbs half an hour north and can’t have you trampling them. So you stay around and don’t play too rough, girls." She winked at Li, picked up her basket and disappeared into the underwood.
Li shoved Mirca’s waist with her elbow. "We go old temple again, no? Good training ground. Soft floor and always dry weather there, yes?"
Mirca pouted. "All right, yes." Her face suddenly lit up. "Hey, I’ve learned a new tongue trick last night from Yrba."
Li’s posture changed in a heartbeat. The woman who rivaled Yrba’s years turned from cold mistress into a giddy girl. "Oooh! Mirca go show now! Show me!"
Now it was the blonde’s turn to put on an unconvinced face. She looked down at the little woman who very nearly bounced in place. "Meh. Why should I—ouch! Hey!" She laughed. "All right, all right! I’ll lick you, and then let’s fight a little, if you think I need to. Now stop poking me!"
Swish. Swish. Swi—thud.
Thoom. — "Oufff!"
Mirca’s body slammed heavily into the forest floor again. Leaves with the yellowish tint of autumn whirled up around her and slowly floated back to the ground.
"Ow! You’re mean!" Mirca complained as she rolled about and rose to her hands and knees. "Can’t you hit a little less hard? How do you do that? All the other women, they need to lie down and rest a bit after I lick them!"
Li bowed to her before she raised her forefinger and put on a stern face. "Gold hair! You watch better next time! Why you move like rock? Boob witch want warrior girl, Li make super warrior girl!"
"But I still don’t want to be a warrior," Mirca sulked, wiping dirt off her butt. "And you’re moving so fast, I can’t think of what to do."
Slap. She hadn’t even seen the hand coming, but suddenly Mirca’s cheek hurt. Li pointed her forefinger right at the blonde’s face and barked, "No talk! No thinky! You let body do thinky thing and move head out of way! You standing up and try one more time!"
Yrba called out as soon as she came over the hilltop, exalted with the day’s harvest and swinging her hips almost as fierce as her basket. She waved at Mirca, who was lying flat on her back by the fireplace.
"Well? How was your day? Oh, has Li already gone home?"
The blonde groaned as she raised her arm in reply.
"Little devil’s gone," she moaned and winced as she struggled to her feet.
"Ye-ouch! You look like shit! What have you two been doing?"
"Weeeeell," Mirca started slowly while she raised her hands and began counting with her fingers, "first, she did this thing with her hands and her arms and this spinning moving kicking thing, and she threw me to the floor, uh, then she threw me to the floor some more, but made me fall on my tummy instead of my ass, and then she threw me to the floor so hard that I summer-salted—"
"—somersaulted—"
"—whatever, and fell on my tummy and my ass." She moaned as she stretched, and jerked from a sudden jolt of pain up her ribs. "Nnngh! Yrba! You don’t let her do that again, promise? I don’t want to be a fighter!"
"Oh all right, come here and help me sort these herbs," the witch sighed. "I'll teach you how to mix something from willow bark to make the pain go away."
She watched as Mirca came over with heavy, falling footsteps. After a second’s frown, she shook her head.
"That’s not right. I never really noticed, what with being occupied ogling your awesome slithering muscles, but… do you always move like that? "
"Uh, yes?"
"No!"
Mirca winced at the yell.
"Uh, no what?"
Yrba put her hands to her hips. "No, I won’t have you bumble around like a bear in the woods! No wonder Li kicked your ass so hard! You’ve got to flow! Have you never heard of dancing?"
Mirca giggled and put her hand over her mouth. "Ooooh, dancing. That’s one of those naughty things, where girls drop thin veils all the time, right?"
Yrba couldn’t help giggling along. "Sometimes. No. I’m talking about moving to a flow. My, you’re lucky you’ve met me. In my island home, we’ve got this kind of dance with the hips and the flowers and — wait, I’ll show you. Come, come over. Right, first thing. Rhythm—"
"Uh, I don’t know, I’m all achy, maybe tomorrow’s a better —"
"Did I ask you? No! Young lady, here, now. A little flow will go a long way in not making you shake and bob so painfully. You’ve got a lot of bouncy weight on your ribs, you gotta learn how to swing and flaunt it smoothly."
Yrba stepped behind her and pushed and prodded her novice’s body into position.
"Legs just slightly apart, and your arms—," she grabbed Mirca’s shoulders and pulled them back, "like that, and your hips—," her wide-spread fingers moved over Mirca’s waist, and for a few moments, Yrba fell silent, closed her eyes and reveled in the sensation of her fingertips sliding over the muscular midriff, "mmmm, your hips follow my hands now, m’kay?"
"Uh, r—right?"
"You know drums, do you?"
"Uh, those big round things, going boom—boom—boom—boom?"
Yrba raised her eyebrows. "That explains a lot about the way you walk, girl. No. Think smaller ones, and with the little tambourines. More like rrrring—tchica—tchica—boom—tchica—tchica—"
She grabbed Mirca's wide hips and guided them in a sensuous 8-shaped circular swing.
"Up, out, down, in! Like that! Yes, now we’re getting somewhere! Come on, keep it up! Now push out your rear a little bit more! And slant, and roll, yes!" Her hands drummed the rhythm on the protruding buttocks right in front of her. "Mmmm! Looking great! Here now—"
She moved closer and matched the motions of the big body in front of her. Yrba’s hands grabbed Mirca’s upper arms.
"Shoulders now. Just follow my lead. Got to go with the swing of your hips. Now imagine walking like that."
They swayed silently on the spot, dancing skin to skin in the darkening forest.
"Uh, Yrba—"
"Mmm?"
"I—I think there’s something else happening—"
Mirca grabbed her mistress’ hands and pressed them on her breasts. The witch smiled as she leaned forward and her own heavy, sagging boobs came to a swinging rest on top of her blonde’s protruding rear.
"Oh, wow. They’ve become softer." She kneaded gently into the mounds. "And still they’re full and perky. Don’t worry, that’s a good sign. Just let them sway. Enjoy it! Seems to me, you badly needed some rhythm in you."
"Uh, the hurt is pretty much gone now, too."
"My pleasure."
"I’ll put on a little more to sway, okay?" Mirca smiled and focused. The movement of her shoulders changed subtly as she slowly inhaled. Weight bulged in Yrba’s grip and spilled over her hands in a gentle, natural motion. Mirca’s breasts flowed on and came to a shuddering, bobbing halt at more than double their previous size.
"Mmm," she moaned as the elongated, juicy pillows rubbed and slid over each other to her swaying movements. Yrba helped her along with her hands pressing into the warm masses with rhythmic thrusts. Soon, warm liquid trickled down and collected in her cupped palms, coating her fingers in squelching, slippery wetness. The smooth skin of Mirca’s breasts slipped and slid back and forth through her grip as she traced big circles over it.
"No urge to blow up bigger?" she asked, her mouth dry with arousal. A shudder went through her body.
Mirca threw back her head and shook out her long blond hair. The golden waterfall curled over Yrba’s raven mane and brushed over her face and shoulders.
"No, it’s wonderful like that," Mirca moaned. "Oooh, my thighs are rubbing my strawberry, I’m dripping in all places! You dripping too?"
Yrba didn’t reply. She was busy soaking up all the radiant sensuousness of their slow dance. She was a dark moving shadow behind her blonde’s back, tied to each of that gorgeous body's moves by sheer desire. Trapped in the hypnotic daze, she missed Mirca’s sudden announcement.
"Li taught me something else, too! Surprise!"
The giantess bent down and reached back through her spread legs, right until her hand moved between Yrba’s legs. The flickering, probing touch of the strong, big fingers of her beloved giantess, one slipping deep into the witch’s copiously lubed, aroused flesh, drove the ebony-skinned woman over the edge. She slumped down on Mirca’s back with her midriff against her pupil’s protruding buttocks, legs quivering, foam seeping from her pulsating vagina. Her arms cramped around Mirca’s waist. She hung on to the sturdy, sweating, swaying body, with her weight on the huge hand that cupped all of her crotch, and just came and came, again and again, thrusting her hip to her heart’s frantic pounding of boom—tchica—tchica— in her ears.
When she regained her senses, Yrba found herself back in the tent, warmly wrapped in the loving embrace of the gently snoring hulk-girl. With a smile, she leant back into the heavy milk pillows and drifted off into sleep.
Chapter 24: A Paying Customer
"Oh come on, Yrba!" Red stood akimbo in front of the ebony-skinned woman and stared down on her. "You said it, you owe me! She’s been bugging me for, like, forever. At least take a look at the poor lass! She’s got me worried! I fear she might snap any day now!"
The witch, wearing a green-brown patchwork dress that blended well into the surrounding forest, knelt by a patch of weeds. Yrba didn’t raise her head. She just slapped against her friend’s pale leg that showed under the bawd’s flaring red skirt.
"Will you not step into my herbs, Red? And wasn’t it you who told me to be extra careful? You think a girl suddenly flaunting a pair of ta-tas will go unnoticed? Do I not also owe it to you to keep you from harm? I’ll bet the palace guards are still on the lookout! Do you think she’ll still keep her mouth shut after a few slaps to the face or a kick to the head?"
"Yeah, right. As if they’d care beyond ooh, another nice piece of t-n-a to chase. Yrba, she’s a town girl. I’ll lead her in circles. Even if she wanted to, she won’t be able to tell anyone where you’re hiding."
Yrba lowered her head and shook it while standing up and wiping her hands on her skirt. She grabbed her friend’s shoulders and stared her straight in the face.
"It’s not me I’m worried about, Red. Even if she can’t lead anyone to me, she’ll surely remember it was you who led her to me. You and your girls, you’ll be next if she’s busted."
"If. That’s a big if, dear. Oh Yrba, grow a pair! What’s the wors—mmmph!"
The witch’s brown hand with the long fingernails cupped Red’s mouth. The smell of earth and freshly cut weeds rose into the bawd’s nostrils. Yrba leaned on her friend.
"What’s the worst that could happen?" she hissed. "What’s the worst?! What, you’ve forgotten about those few days we’ve spent at the pillory together? I still know I had not much fun then, even if we only were dumb chicks and it was fifteen years ago. And that will be nothing compared to what a prison guard’s sick mind can come up with. You don’t want to find out, believe me. You’re sitting high and dry there in your cozy brothel with your baths and your beds and your highfalutin clientele. But I get around, I see those poor souls when their friends drag them to the traveling healers, with bones broken and skin scorched with blisters the size of your head! Good for you if you’ve been spared that experience. Bad for you if your luck has made you heedless!"
She let go of Red’s head and turned her back on her. After a few moments, she exhaled audibly and her shoulders sagged.
"All right, bring her along. Tomorrow night. I’ll put the fear of the gods in her, and for your sake, I hope it’s enough to keep her mouth shut. And we’ll have to do it fast. A one-nighter. Don’t have enough potion left to have her hanging around a whole week to play it gently. You better prepare her for quite a stretch, if you get my drift."
Red hugged her from behind and placed a wet kiss on the salty back of Yrba’s neck.
"I knew you’d not let her down!"
"Yeah, great. If this goes wrong, we’ll be let down — six feet down!"
The hooded woman followed Red along the deer path winding through the nightly forest. Every few moments, she nervously checked her surroundings. Francine had lost her bearings quite a while ago and shuddered with fear at every noise and rustle in the thickets. Her over-boiling fantasy populated the ink-black shadows with all kinds of menacing, deadly beasts, and she jerked and gasped whenever her legs tripped over an unexpected root or a slippery, moss-covered stone. The small, darkened lantern in Red’s hand barely lit the ground before their feet.
"D—Do you think she’ll even listen to me? M—Maybe we better turn back and—aack!"
Francine ran right into a low branch and stumbled. Red grabbed the young woman’s arm and pulled her up again. "Oh shut up, Francine! You’ve bugged me all year long for a meeting with the witch, and now you’re getting cold feet? A nightly stroll and a few scratches and bruises is hardly too much of a price for bigger—"
"Who goes there?" boomed a dark voice. "Who dares to bother the witch?"
Francine yelped in surprise and fear and huddled closer against Red as Mirca stepped out in front of them from behind one of the many boulders. Raising a torch, she stared down on the couple. Red groaned inwardly. Mirca’s idea of a threatening stare was not for the faint of heart. Not because it was especially fierce. Her expression reminded more of someone about to throw up any second now, and that’s not quite what you want to see if that someone’s towering above you.
Francine was much too scared to notice the subtle difference. All she saw was a giantess with a halo of glowing hair and bared teeth and a torch that in ordinary-sized people’s hands would’ve been a heavy club.
"W—w—w—w—we won’t bother her!" she squeaked and turned to run. Mirca’s big hand shot forward and closed around her shoulder. Francine yelped as the strong fingers ground her bones against each other.
"The witch is waiting for you," rumbled Mirca. "You don’t want to make her wait any longer, do you, little thing?"
Francine’s body went limp as she fainted in the blonde’s grip.
"So, what— Oops. Red, I — I overdid it, didn’t I?" whispered Mirca. She picked up the girl and gently laid the dangling body over her shoulder.
The bawd sighed and pinched the root of her nose as she rolled her eyes. "At least now she won’t remember the way for sure."
Francine jerked awake, opened her eyes wide and shut them again right away. A red glow filtered through her clenched eyelids, and heat seared her face. She sat with crossed legs on a rough blanket, leaning forward and facing fire.
"I’m in hell now, right?" she whispered as she turned her head away from the glow. Blinking into the flickering shadows, the vague silhouette to her left turned into Red, and her racing heartbeat calmed down. Another jump of fear and surprise followed as she looked to her right and found Mirca sitting there. The giantess still watched her with furrowed brows, but she seemed a lot less threatening now.
And then the darkness straight across the fireplace moved and gained the fuzzy contours of a black, shaggy pelt. Two glowing dots appeared over the twitching and twisting flames.
Eyes. Francine almost fainted again as the creature moved closer to the fire and became frighteningly solid. Teeth flashed as the apparition spoke.
"Look who came to plead with the big bad witch. Or maybe you came for dinner? Maybe you are the dinner?"
The tongues of the campfire licked towards the stars and cast dancing shadows on Yrba’s face. Her brown skin was almost black in the unsteady light. The white of her eyes reflected the red and yellow of the flames and turned her unblinking stare into a predator’s hungry, calculating examination. Her wet, pink tongue pushed her dark lips aside and slithered over her glistening teeth. Francine shuddered at the sight, and her skin crawled, turning into goosebumps.
"Let me look at you," growled the creature, stooping over the flames. "The meat and bones. The real you."
Francine stared wide-eyed at Yrba and stuttered, "I don’t understand—"
The witch straightened up. Chains jingled around her neck as they slipped into the deep valley between her breasts that showed in the triangular neckline of her fur coat. Her finger shot out and pointed at the two mounds on Francine’s ribs.
"Oh, you do understand, young woman," hissed the witch. "Who you think you’re fooling?"
The girl un-froze and fumbled blindly under her taut, protruding shirt and finally pulled two lumps of crumpled cloth out. The shirt sagged down, and not a hint of bust remained.
Yrba wrinkled her nose. "So you don’t want bigger breasts, you want any breasts at all," she spat out.
"That’s witchcraft!" gasped the girl. "I never told you! How can you know — Oh by the gods! You’re reading my mind!" She slapped her hand over her mouth. "Forgive me for doubting you! I didn’t mean to think those bad things about you!"
Yrba nodded, aloofly and slowly, while raising her eyebrows. So the boy — girl, she corrected herself — was going to be one of those clients. She longed to grab the woman and shake her long and hard, screaming to her face, You’re flat as a board, and you come to a witch known far and wide as the big boob witch after blabbing to her friend about your heart’s desire for a year, and you stuff your chest with towels to look bigger! You think anyone needs to read your mind to find out what you want? If that’s witchcraft, then the sun rising every new morning must be a genuine miracle to you! Hello-ooo?!
But she was in the business long enough to solemnly rise to her feet, glare at her and haughtily declare:
"I forgive you, but I will not forget. I’ll accept only six girls this year. Are you worth it? One of those could be yours." She held out her arm and opened her hand. A half-dozen of small vials glistened in the moonlight and the flickering fire. All the potion left after the disaster. She closed her hand around the faint greenish glow again and cocked her head. Francine nodded hastily while Yrba slowly circled her. The girl tried to keep eye contact without moving, but she would’ve needed to twist head to toe when the witch disappeared in her back, and that she didn’t dare. Instead, she stared straight ahead, rooted to the spot.
"I can pay!" she stuttered into the tongues of fire, panting in fear. "I’ve got a few gold coins, it’s not much, but it’s all I can afford — oh please, you’ve got to help me, I can’t stand the ridicule any more, they’re so — here, take it, take it all, just —"
She fumbled in her pouch. The yellow coins dropped from her trembling fingers and jingled to the ground. The gypsy snorted disdainfully.
"What’s that supposed to be? Loose change? A hundred times more would not be enough, young lady, not enough by far. If you want my services, I demand the right to your soul. You will live on my terms from now on, you will be ready and willing to follow my orders, every day, every hour, every moment. The moment you disobey, the moment you even think about paying no heed to my commands, your life will be forfeit in pains unimaginable."
The witch raised her eyebrows.
"You still want this deal?"
A nod, barely noticeable. "It can’t be worse than the ridicule," muttered Francine. "Anything is better than that."
Yrba quickly bent forward.
"Then bare yourself head to toe!" she barked into the girl’s ear from behind. "Now! And then raise your arms!" Francine startled. She reached for the buttons of her blouse with trembling hands, her elbows pressed into her sides.
"That goes for all of you!" hissed the witch, pointing at Red and Mirca. "I want you naked, with not a single shred of clothes." She shrugged her shoulders, and her own mantle slipped down, revealing nothing but bare skin underneath.
"You will never ever talk to anyone about this night, or so help me, you will suffer," snarled Yrba. She grabbed the huddled girl’s arms and pulled them up over her head. Francine winced as pain shot through her shoulders. Rough rope was pulled tight around her wrists, and then the witch dragged her arms further back until Francine fell over and laid shivering on a blanket on the floor, with her feet pulled up and closed tight. The chilly air made her nipples stand from her plain ribcage. Yrba measured her up. Yes, the girl deserved a little break. She had meat on her bones, but not quite in the right places. Yet. Fate had dealt her a slight potbelly and almost boyish hips with no chest to detract from it. Just adding some boobs wasn’t going to be enough. Yrba sighed.
"Mirca. Hold her down."
The blonde’s strong fingers closed around Francine’s wrists.
"Red, grab her ankles and straighten her out."
Now Francine started to wiggle around with her body stretched out between the giantess and the bawd.
"No, I — I changed my mind! I’ll —"
"Hold her tight. Oh, how she’ll squirm now, the poor little thing." Yrba chuckled ominously as she knelt down beside her. Her fingers grabbed Francine’s jaw and dug into her cheeks. "Yes, let’s turn that fresh meat into malleable jelly."
"Ohpleafe—," stammered the girl as the witch forced open her mouth.
"You don’t want it? Now you tell me you don’t want it? For your cowardice alone, I should hex you into a huge and helpless udder and put you right in the middle of the town place for all to see and milk, you chicken!"
"Merggy! Dom’t! Leg ge go! Pleafe—!"
"Silence!" hissed the witch and bent deeper. The girl’s breath raced.
"This is your final chance to balk, lass," whispered Yrba, hovering only inches from Francine’s face. The scared girl’s gaze darted frantically from the gypsy’s left eye to the right and back again.
The witch sighed theatrically and held the vial with the greenish liquid up to her cheek. "Think fast now, Francine. Either you want tits, huge and soft and squishy and dripping with milk, now and for the rest of your life, or you’ll never get another chance. Say no, and you can crawl back home and spend a merry life of delightful flat-chestedness, pondering what if every solitary night until you rot!"
She raised her eyebrows. The girl stopped struggling in her grip and hesitated.
Finally, she gargled, "Yeff, gif ig fo me," and nodded frantically.
Yrba popped the cork with her thumb and emptied the vial into Francine’s mouth. The slimy juice ran over the girl’s tongue in thick drops and clumps, clinging to the back of her mouth. Her stomach heaved, but she swallowed it bravely while her face contorted in disgust. Yrba let go of her jaw after she made sure the girl had downed it to the last drop and her mouth was empty.
"Good. Now, how much breast do you want?"
"If I can get it? As much as her!" Francine rolled her eyes to Mirca’s bosom that shadowed her view of the starry sky. The two orbs hung over her head like a pair of shadowed moons, and the glow of the flames to the side painted two thin, bronze crescents on Mirca’s smooth skin.
"You do not want that much," Yrba smiled.
"Then I want as much as you have!"
The witch nodded. "Good choice." She straddled Francine’s narrow hip and bore down on the pubic mound with her buttocks’ full weight. Her fingers wandered around the girl’s nipples. She squinted, waiting for the telltale glow of the tincture to spread all the way through Francine’s body.
"You’ll get thirsty as they grow, Francine. Don’t hold back. Drink. Drink a lot. Every gulp will help you get bigger."
"But I thought — I thought you’d make them big right here? There’s nothing to drink—" Francine stared at her with confusion in her face.
"Oh, there is. There is plenty." Yrba looked at her sidekick. "Mirca, got milk?"
"This late in the evening? Uh, of course. I’m pretty full. Can barely hold it in. Why?"
"Would you mind then?" smiled the witch, nodding down towards Francine.
"Ah! Uh, wait —"
Mirca reached with one hand to her chest. Her other still was more than enough to hold both of Francine’s wrists to the floor. The huge blonde cupped her heavy breast’s areola and rolled the sweet strawberry of her engorged nipple between her fingers. She had forgone her afternoon milking especially for the occasion, like Yrba had told her.
"Oh yes, they’re so heavy — any moment now — Mmmh! Wait, now — uh — I don’t understand, it just won’t — I’m clogged?"
"Let me help you," whispered Yrba and moistened her plump lips. Her hands stroked one last time over Francine’s body before she drew her splayed fingers over the hot skin of Mirca’s breast and lifted the mammoth melon to her pouted mouth. Her warm breath made the nervous berry throb just a little, and then she sucked it in. Her teeth nibbled gently on the rough skin while her wide-open, puffy lips pressed into the yielding areola.
"Uh!" gasped Mirca, and then she exhaled raunchily. Hot milk seeped onto Yrba’s tongue. The witch let it flow over her lower lip, and it clung to Mirca’s skin and ran in thick, white droplets along the massive curve.
"I’m melting — body, melting, oh please, I’m oozing — getting hot — thirsty," Francine stammered, staring greedily at the Damoclean breast hanging over her head and blotting out the night sky.
"Mmmh," groaned Yrba and let the swollen nipple out of her gentle bite.
Mirca’s breathing came in deep, fast heaves.
"Now — oh Yrba, you really got it going — it’s getting taut, I must let down —"
Stooping, the blonde aimed her engorged, thumb-sized, nectar-dripping nipple at Francine’s gaping mouth. Francine ran her tongue out of her dry mouth and sampled the droplets falling on her trembling lips. She closed her eyes and rolled her head in delight.
"Sweet — want —," she whispered. Her chest rose as she drew back her shoulders and writhed, overwhelmed by desire.
Yrba put her palms on the flat chest under her. The first strands of magic whipped through Francine’s body and tickled the skin on the witch’s palms. She spread her fingers and focused on pulling. Francine felt it immediately, deep in her throat and spreading through every fiber — an emptiness inside her body she desperately needed to fill.
"Want—!" she gasped, stretched her neck and pouted her lips to catch the dangling teat in front of her face. Nibbling and sucking, she drew it into her mouth until her wide-open lips hung like a suction cup on the swollen areola.
"Mmmmh." Her eyes grew big. "Mmgph!"
Mirca groaned. She was far beyond full, and the witch’s nibble had woken her body. Now Francine’s warm lips, wet and soft and greedy, lit all the brimming glands at once. Francine struggled desperately to keep up with the nurturing torrent that filled her mouth in moments.
Yrba massaged the girl’s rapidly developing chest. Under her fingers, little mounds swelled around the dark, wrinkled areolae and spilled sideways, laying a broad foundation able to carry with pride the massive shapes about to grow.
"Yes! Drink more! Drink faster!" she urged. Yrba’s fingers wandered up to Francine’s shoulders. The girl froze when the rough hands closed around her throat. Another strange incantation, and then the witch ran her fingertips caressingly over the fear-clenched larynx. Francine’s throat relaxed and stretched. Suddenly, she felt her gullet widen into a two-inch pipe that led straight from her mouth to her stomach.
Francine didn’t even try to suck on Mirca’s tit any more. She drew a deep lung-full of air through her nose, held her breath and just started swallowing continuously with her throat dancing up and down. Warm, rich cream washed down into her stomach in one huge stream.
And then things moved fast.
The milk rushed in, and only a little of it forked into the swelling chest pads. The main rush shot right past and gargled into Francine’s stomach. Her belly filled quickly as it stowed away the ample volume spewing from Mirca’s breast. Yrba’s fingers wandered down from the tiny, barely half-inch high boobs and focused on stroking the tautening, swelling orb that resembled a bloated, out-of-place udder more with every passing second. Little wisps of magic crept around its surface and held the expanding skin together.
"Yes, girl. Drink, my sweet heifer! Fill yourself up, make yourself big and round!"
I don’t want more belly! Francine wanted to yell, but a strange weakness, together with the weight of the barrel-sized blob of warm milk, held her rooted to the spot. She couldn’t move to shake the heavy bag of Mirca’s boob and the teat that stuck deep in her mouth. The nipple’s skin texture was mesmerizing to Francine’s tongue, and its geyser of milk, spewing in tiny, tickling jets, tasted so delicious. She just had to keep on licking and nibbling the nub and swallowing the sugary, creamy stream, no matter what. She wanted to guzzle all of it.
And then, without warning, without announcement, the witch’s fingers with the long fingernails dug deep into Francine’s bloated belly. Something ripped in there as the udder split in two. Yrba grabbed the two lumps and shoved them up from Francine’s midriff over her ribs.
Francine threw herself about. At least she struggled and tried, captured under the three women pinning her to the floor. The chunks of something moved through her flesh, rolling along under her skin in the witch’s sliding grip and bubbled as they squeezed into the onset of breasts on her ribs. Yrba’s fingers kneaded them like dough and molded them higher and higher, like lumps of heavy clay wrapped tight into her straining skin.
"Enough!" commanded the witch. The nipple disappeared with a smack from Francine’s mouth, spraying droplets over the girl’s sweat-covered face. She raised her head and gasped.
All the weird sensations had betrayed her. Nothing had ripped in her body. And instead of a belly, two elongated, bloated cones, ugly as hell, now protruded straight from her chest. The volume she had gobbled up stretched the skin over her ribs to almost unbearable tightness. A foot up from her chest, her nipples pointed at the sky with their bases in the areolae distending almost to palm size, the areolae themselves barely more than brownish rings marking the ends of two badly stuffed tube pillows of pink with disfigured, stretched tassle-teats on top.
"No!" she gasped. "Yech! I didn’t want —"
"Relax," smiled the witch. "That’s just a rough shape. We’re not done yet. Now, let’s sculpt them." Francine didn’t like that smile at all. And then that strange woman’s hands moved over her breasts. She cupped the girl’s nipples in her palms and pressed her fingers like funnels over the top of the breasts. Now that was something Francine suddenly liked very much.
She hollered in heat as the weird filling in her breasts changed and became her own flesh, as she felt, not something strange that bloated her from the inside, but sensitive, soft volume that was hers, that quivered and shivered and sagged down, and every move of it filled her mind with delight. The tall cylinder-towers melted and spilled out in Yrba’s gentle grip like sand castles under a wave and settled into two soft, huge pillows on Francine’s chest. Yrba’s forefingers circled the aroused, engorged nipples.
"That’s more like it, eh?"
"Yeeeees," moaned the girl.
"Still a bit flat, though," Yrba added. "Have some more milk?"
"Mm-hmm," Francine nodded, licking her lips.
Mirca leaned forward and drew in air through clenched teeth when Francine snapped at the nipple and sucked it feverishly.
"Drink up!" commanded the witch. "We haven’t got all night!"
"No! Fwoo bif awweffy," complained Francine and used her tongue to push the nipple from her mouth. "Too big! I didn’t — hwwwaaaaah—nnnngghh!"
Yrba smiled and put the girl’s breasts into wavy shakes while squeezing rapidly the areolae.
"Oh? Sure you don’t want a little more? Galactorrhea immensus!"
Francine stared empty-eyed into the night sky. Her whole body caught fire again, burning with ecstasy. Deep in her breasts, the tissue contracted. Thin jets of white sprayed from her nipples and quickly gained in volume. She spilled the essence of breasts, in abundance, while her new flesh grew more solid and much more excited as the warm rivulets of milk coated herself, Yrba and Mirca.
More. More of that delicious milk. Yes, she needed more, if only to fight the flames and refill what so eagerly squirted from her breasts. Her mouth chased for the dangling udder in her face again.
"I think you can untie her hands now, Mirca," Yrba added.
The moment Francine’s hands were free, she embraced the bloated milk bag of Mirca’s breast and started squeezing the warm pillow, shoving the nipple deep into her mouth. White streams bubbled from the corners of her lips.
With every gulp, she expanded again and the delicious sensations kept growing along with her swelling chest size and stretching belly. Yrba, still straddling the girl, turned halfway, reached behind her back and dug her fingers into Francine’s crotch. Clutching the excited labia, she made the girl’s hips buck and quiver. Francine didn’t hold back any more. She dug her teeth into the rough nipple, and Mirca groaned quietly.
"She’s so greedy!" moaned the giantess. "Won’t she grow too big? Mmmmhh—ooooh! Unnngh! She’s emptying me!"
"Don’t you like it?" smiled the witch.
"Uh, yes! Ooooh! Oh heavens! Now I know why you — and the girls — oh gods, I’m spending like a waterfall! She can’t stow all that! I’m blowing her up! She’ll burst! Yrba, please! Look at her! She’s like a giant ball! You’ve got to —"
Yrba’s fingers made the rounds over the three balloons on Francine’s body — two one-foot milkbags and a two-feet udder of a belly that pressed against the witch’s midsection. She gently probed the pressure inside the stretching, swelling orbs and grinned.
"Oh, I think she’s good for quite some more! Don’t forget it’ll shrink down again when it finally settles into flesh. Give her your fresh nipple now. Time to give her a little counterweight for her new dairy. Plug the other tit in her mouth and give it a little squeeze until it lets down. She’ll appreciate it."
"Uuurgllmpph!" gargled Francine, clutching and squeezing Mirca’s fresh milk jug. Yrba put her left hand’s splayed fingers on the girl’s belly that grew with every frantic gulp, and nodded.
"Yes, that’s enough to give her quite a nice set of juicy hips and buttocks," she grinned. Her right hand cupped and sealed Francine’s narrow crotch. Her middle finger plugged shut the girl’s tight hole and started to draw a sigil inside the cramped canal, scratching it into the mucus-covered flesh of its walls. "Regio iliacae expandere lateralis," mumbled the witch.
Her left hand pushed down on the milk-filled bladder. The girl bucked under her like a wild horse, gyrating in overflowing delight as the warm liquid tickled and bubbled through her body and settled under Yrba’s sure hand, transforming into excited flesh.
Francine’s love lips plumped in the witch’s grasp. The faint squeaking of her labia’s expanding skin and the grinding of her stretching hip bone added to the slurping and gulping noises of her mouth and the rubbery groans of her shrinking belly-udder. The space between the girl’s thighs grew apart until Yrba’s hand found a comfortable expanse to rest in. She rubbed up and down the new gorge. Slippery wetness coated her palm, and the Venusian mound swelled until it fit soft and warm into her palm.
"You liked that, huh? And now let’s give you something on your hips to sway with…"
Yrba’s hands slid around the girl’s bulging waist and cupped Francine’s tiny, hard buttocks.
"Let’s make that poor handful into a nice round bottom. Natis tumefacere!"
With both hands preoccupied, she leaned forward, putting her body’s weight onto Francine’s pot-belly. Her fingers were forced apart while she sank into the round, deflating pillow. Francine’s hips rose from the ground like the other end of a lever as her body turned milk and magic into a pair of stretching, expanding ass cheeks.
"Heavens!" uttered the young woman, her voice merely a bubbling and gargling groan from underneath Mirca’s busy jugs. Francine’s arms wrapped around the milk bags as if they were bags of solid gold, clutching them tight with no intent of ever letting go again. Her mouth sucked at the giantess’ teats, gulping down the inexhaustible stream. Her rear, slowly becoming huge, round and taut, shivered in Yrba’s sculpting grip.
"So — big," Francine stammered. "Like a — mare! Oh — my legs, my thighs — mmmmh! Good! Juicy! Make — me big—"
The gypsy smiled and rubbed her face against Francine’s swollen, milk-covered, slippery breasts. The touch alone catapulted the young woman to the next noisy climax.
"Uuuunnngh," Yrba groaned. "No, not too big. You’ll be nice and chunky where it counts. Don’t want to turn you into a blubbery cow. Come here, now let me shape you!"
She clutched Francine and squeezed herself against the glowing body, letting her fingers wander all over the bloated, stuffed doll figure under her.
"Red, make her squirt the excess juices. It’s time to make it last. Uuuuuhnnngh—! Red! What the — can’t you tell her pussy from mine—?!"
The bawd’s fingers pressed against the inner front wall and the engorged lust button as they slipped out of Yrba’s cleft. The witch’s thighs trembled.
"I can tell," Red replied chucklingly. "Yours is the loose one. Just couldn’t resist copping a feel. Here comes now — mmh, she’s a nice tight glove."
A smack, then a long-drawn squelch.
"In my womb —," gasped Francine. And then she blew.
She bucked anew under Yrba, fiercer than before. Her body shook and convulsed up and down, writhing and wiggling like a fighting snake in Yrba’s strong hands, slippery all over from the milk she had sprayed.
"What a gusher!" laughed Red as she held Francine’s cave wide open. Around her probing fingers, thick, clear slime squeezed out of Francine’s tight hole and dribbled down in gobs and lumps of gelatinous ooze. The young woman’s over-bloated skin shrunk under Yrba’s dancing hands, and slowly the squishy body settled into taut, meaty fullness.
The witch’s fingers finished her handiwork and kneaded and modeled a delicious, not-too-narrow waist on Francine while Yrba slowly rose to her haunches. Finally she lifted her weight off the limp, still somewhat swollen shape and admired the living, panting sculpture in the flickering flames of the campfire.
"Oh yes, that’ll do," she smiled. "That’ll do nicely."
Red bent to the side to glance around Yrba’s back.
"I’ll say!" she gasped. "Francine! You lucky tart! You better say thank you! a hundred times over!"
Francine rested on her back, spent and numb, her body worn out by the unearthly delights. Her breath didn’t race anymore. Instead, it came in deep heaves.
"Yay Yrba!" Mirca stared down at the plump, milk-laden figure splayed out in front of her. "She’s all new! Oh, isn’t she a pretty girl now? Just look at those boobies!"
Red gave Yrba a playful prod in the short ribs.
"Oh yes, just look at them. Now where have I seen them before, eh?" she whispered into her friend’s ear.
"I don’t know what you’re talking about," replied the witch from the corner of her mouth.
"Uh-huh. Just had to one-up a certain boasting girl, didya?" Red countered, tickling Yrba’s naked waist. The gypsy squirmed.
"My, they’re like Charlene’s, only bigger!" giggled Mirca. "And Francine’s much more sturdy, more like a real woman now!"
"Feh. So maybe I nabbed a little inspiration here and there," Yrba finally conceded.
Francine bucked on the blanket, howling and screaming with joy.
"Will you keep your fingers from her breasts?" thundered the witch, and Mirca recoiled. "They’re still too sensitive!"
"Knead them," Francine babbled deliriously, squirming on the ground. "Squeeze them! Heavens, don’t stop!"
Mirca started, "I just wanted to see how —"
Yrba cut her off. "— How they squirt all over the place? So what? She’s been doing that for the last hour! Give the poor girl a break! Let her calm down, help her get dressed or tend the fire, but don’t play milk-the-maiden with her! She needs to return to town before the night is through!" The witch turned her anger right over to Francine. "And you, get a grip!" she hissed. "And I don’t mean with your han— oh don’t you dare do that now, young lady!" The scolding brought the girl down from her climax faster than a bucket of ice water. Rolling to her side, she fingered for her clothes.
"Isn’t it — kinda big?" Francine murmured, straining her neck over her shoulder. She hesitatingly touched her protruding buttocks, and then she moaned, "Oooooh! Oh heavens! I — I just c—c—again!" She quickly took her hands off, shuddering all over.
Yrba raised her right hand and put her thumb and middle finger together, ready to snap them.
"You’re complaining?!" she snarled. "Ungrateful pup, either you take it as it comes or I’ll make you lose it all again, this very instant."
"No!" gasped Francine and raised her hands in hasty pleading. "No, no, no! Don’t! I’d rather keep it! It’s just so —"
"— Swollen. Swollen and aroused. By the time you wake tomorrow, it will have settled a bit more. Now dress yourself and see to it nobody notices Red and you sneaking back to town!"
Francine struggled with her skirt’s waistline that barely fit over her taut ass cheeks now, even with all the buttons open. Red ran her fingers along the cloth’s straining edge and squeezed the sensitive flesh into the rough wrapper with the expert motions of a woman versed in the use of tight clothing. The young woman’s knees gave way under the orgasmic assault that Red’s forceful strokes brought. She sagged against Yrba, pressing her teardrop-shaped breasts against the witch’s midriff, clinging to her shoulders as the additional sensation of warm skin all over her chest made her come again, almost instantly.
"Anooooother," she moaned, riding out the latest of a chain of climaxes of which she long had lost count.
Yrba smiled, cupped the young woman’s chin, half-buried in the chocolate crevice of her breasts, and lifted the lass’ head. She looked down into the dreamy, half-closed eyes and stroked the rosy cheek with her thumb.
"Don’t worry, it’ll become less sensitive over time."
"What about my — my soul? Will you now —," whispered Francine, suddenly anxious.
"Fear not," Yrba replied. "Long as you never talk about this night, your soul will be safe and sound." She narrowed her eyes, and her voice turned hard. "But just one single word to anyone, and I swear, you’ll regret it for the rest of your days."
Red whispered into Yrba’s ear, "You were a bit tough on her, were you not? 'One single word?' 'Rest of your days?' You’re not pondering to really punish her if she does talk, do you?"
"Me? No. That’s not what I meant. I don’t need to punish her. People willing to punish others just because they’re different are a dime a dozen, Red! And the rest of her — and our! — days may be over quite soon if she blabbers. I told you! You better keep more than just one eye on her. Just look at her now!"
Red smiled. "Will I ever. Mmmh, what a sweet luscious flower she’s become. Too bad she shot me down when I asked her if she’d join my girls. I guess I’ll need to show some perseverance."
Quite some days later.
Swish. Swi—thunk. Slap.
Thud.
Rustle.
"Li? Li! Oh gods, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!"
The yellow-skinned woman struggled upright from the pile of brown leaves around her, staggered over to the altar and dizzily clung to its edge.
"No sorry!" she panted. "Doing good! You move like water now, not like rock! Good fight!"
Li smiled and winced at the same time. Her right eye already started to swell shut, and Mirca’s broad footprint on the side of her face shone bright red.
"But — but I don’t know how I did—," Mirca stuttered while her fingers fidgeted nervously.
"That is right way of doing it."
Li’s hand suddenly moved like a snake, and yet her punch just ran into Mirca’s blocking lower arm that seemed to appear out of thin air.
"See? Body faster than head now. Good."
She stumbled against the tall blonde and wrapped her arms around Mirca’s waist. Digging her aching face into the soft mountains on her overgrown pupil’s chest, she mumbled, "Mirca go carry me home now until need disguise, yes?"
The giantess effortlessly picked her up. Li groaned happily in the embrace and playfully tried to snap at the huge nipples poking through Mirca’s tightly-wrapped clothes. Then Mirca suddenly frowned.
"Did you hear that?"
"No hear. Ears ringing. Good kick! Li proud!"
Mirca looked around the clearing with the old ruins. The smell of snow hung in the air, and the leafless trees let the low sun through. A few rays gleamed on the black statue half-wrapped in dried, brown ivy. Over the course of the weeks they had spent practicing, they had almost forgotten that it was there at all.
"I just thought—"
"No hear nothing. Go now! Need put medicine on eye! Else face mine be all funny color for weeks!"
"Weird. I thought I heard a little laughter. Kind of a chuckle."
"Li no hear. Mirca less talk, more walk! See black clouds from north? Bad! Bring early snow storm fast! Must not get caught in it! We go and tell Yrba! Take both you back to Red’s house!"
"All right, all right!" Mirca rolled her eyes and groaned as she headed back to the lair.
The ivy around the black statue rustled ever so slightly. Black eyes with a faint hint of green followed them as the couple walked over the hilltop.
You’ve put on quite a show, girls. Thank you. It’s been fun. And, in a cold, mechanical voice, she added, F.4.U-N.1.A core, node one-nine, switching runlevel to hibernate.
Chapter 25: Just A Shot In The Dark (Nothing That You Can Do)
Author’s note: Things turn ugly in this final chapter of part five. If you’re only looking for good-natured ooh-ing and aah-ing, you won’t find it in here. This chapter’s a real downer. You’ve been warned, okay?
"Berry?"
"Yes, Red?"
The squeaky noise of grindstone over metal stopped. Berry straightened up from the anvil and looked over her shoulder at the bawd who entered the tiny workshop and carefully closed the door behind her.
"I just got word. It’s time again. Tonight, at the crossroads five miles out north."
Berry chewed on her lower lip and absently probed the sharpness of the axe blade she had been working on. "Not good. That damned early blizzard last week has thrown us two feet of snow, and it hasn’t all thawed away yet. Jean’s still down with a cold, and if anything goes wrong, her coughing would put all the guards on our tail. Dammit, I don’t like it when they call us on such short notice. And the moon’s going to be out tonight. Too bright. We’ll have to hide away — hush! Someone’s—"
Yrba pulled the door open all the way and beamed at the two. "Part-time smugglers, eh?"
"None of your business!" hissed the burly woman. Her hand shot forward, grabbed the witch by the neckline and pulled her inside the room.
"Berry!" Red barked. "Let her go! I don’t have secrets from her. Dammit, I’ve stuffed her into our secret stash the very moment she arrived. She’s not that stupid, y’know."
Reluctantly, Berry relaxed her grip.
"Gee, thanks, Red," coughed Yrba and massaged her neck before she stuffed her blouse back into her skirt. "Berry, you’ve got some really serious issues. I’ve been around on and off for what, eight weeks? You should’ve learned by now that I can keep mum."
Red intently stared at her. "Jean’s out of commission, and I don’t want to drag any more of the others into that. I’d ask you, but you better not show your face, too. You’re the only darkskin for hundreds of miles, that’s just too conspicuous. Yrba —" She nervously gnawed on her lip. "— Do you think Mirca’s ready to earn her stay? Can she keep quiet about it, too?"
Berry turned her head and stared in disbelief at her boss. "Her? Oh come on! Blondie’s a cutie and I love her to death, but she’s not cut out for that." Then she imagined Mirca’s arms, which would easily pass for other people’s thighs, and sighed. "She’d be a great help for moving the packages, though. Between her and me, I guess we’d be done in half the time."
And so the blonde ended up on the coach box of Red’s flat, open cart. They drove in silence for a while. Around them, the snow-covered hills sparkled red in the setting sun. Finally, Mirca stopped fidgeting nervously, summoned all her courage and timidly asked the older woman:
"So, uh, how did you become a bouncer?"
Berry laughed and didn’t turn her head from the road. While her fingers absently ran over the old scars on her arms, she replied, "Girl, sooner or later, we all grow too old for or too tired of our, uhm, professions, and decide it’s time to try new things. Things like sleeping in your own bed with a roof over your head. Or wearing nice clothes that don’t itch with lice. A warm bath whenever you please."
Her voice grew darker. "Having enough to eat. Not crawling through swamps or cheating death time and again while you’re hungry and bleeding. Those things." She hesitated. Now her voice was barely audible when she added, "And not curling up all alone and cold in a freezing red puddle, feeling the warmth drain from your body as you lie bleeding to death from a sword to the neck with the wolves howling all around." She shuddered under the thick fur coat.
When she finally turned her head over to Mirca, she found the speechless young woman gazing at her, shellshocked and on the verge of crying. Berry couldn’t help herself, she reached out and caressed the girl’s cheek, nodded reassuringly and smiled.
"There, there. Lighten up, okay? Shouldn’t have told you that. Happened a long time ago."
Mirca snuffled loudly and swallowed her tears. Her face slowly mimicked Berry’s smile until she nodded.
"Uh, if you say so. Where are we going? Yrba said something about a delivery—"
"Yeah, we’ve got a bag o’ gold, and in a few hours we’ll have a cart full of boxes. And then we’ll put a load of wood on it," she raised a warning finger, "and we’re not going to tell anyone about the boxes underneath, understood?"
"Ah, so we’re going shopping!"
Berry frowned for a moment before her face relaxed again. She chuckled.
"In a way." She clicked her tongue. "Hiya, you nag! Get those hooves flying, we still got some more miles to make until nightfall."
"Are we there yet?"
Berry groaned, and the reins creaked in her grip as she clenched her fists. "Mirca, you’ve asked a hundred times! We’ll get there when we get there, okay?!"
"But we’ve almost come round to the town again! The cart is full with branches, and those guys you said we’d meet have not turned up."
"Happens. Well, at least we’ve got firewood for weeks then, eh? Let’s set up a campfire over there. We can’t return until morning. Gates are closed anyw—ayie! Shit!"
The wooden thock noise mingled with Berry’s yelp. She worked the reins, and the cart jumped forward through the narrow pass. The sudden shove swept Mirca off her feet and knocked her backwards on the pile of branches on the cart’s bed.
"Ouch! What are you doing?!" the blonde protested as she struggled back to the front of the shaking and bobbing cart. Berry pointed over her shoulder and snarled through clenched teeth, "Can you see anything behind us?"
"Uh, no—yes! There are two people standing on the road now pointing after us, and two—no, three with horses are now coming out of the underwood! They’re — they’re following us now!"
"Rrrrright. Fuck. All right, listen. Town’s just — Branch! Duck! — just across those hills. A few hundred yards left of the gate, there’s a couple of bushes at the foot of the wall. Behind them’s a tunnel. Big enough even for you. After the next curve, you jump off and run there. Don’t let anyone see you! Avoid the guards on the wall!"
"What? Why? No! What are you—?"
Berry grabbed Mirca’s neck and pushed her head down. The torch mounted to the corner of the cart flared brightly in the wind of the recklessly speeding vehicle. In the flickering light, Mirca saw —
"Berry! You’ve been shot!"
"I noticed," groaned the brawny brunette.
A crossbow bolt, feathered and covered in little barbs, stuck out of her leg and held her nailed to the coach box. With every bounce of the cart, a squirt of blood dripped down from the frayed wound. Mirca extended her hand.
"Let me—," and then she yelped as Berry pulled her up again by her neck.
"You’re not touching it! As long as that damned arrow stays in there, I’ll be fine, okay? Guess where I got my scars! Last thing I need now is someone without a clue that tugs on a fuckin’ bolt through my shin while I speed by moonlight through a scum-infested forest!" she barked in the scared blonde’s face.
"But I — there must be something I—"
"Mirca, run home," Berry hissed. "I’ll lure them on in a wide circle, and you run back to the girls and tell them what happened. Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing. Tell Red I’ll lead them to the two stones. Two stones, you got that? She’ll know the place. Wait for me there, and then we’ll give those bastards hell."
"No! I’m not leaving you—"
"Run home, child!" Berry shoved her off the cart and watched over her shoulder as the tumbling figure disappeared into the ditch. Their chasers rounded the distant bend and sped past Mirca’s curled-up shape, a dark lump among other dark lumps in the night.
The cold wind blew right into her face and stung in her eyes, and she squinted and blinked so often that the pale moonlight wasn’t much of a help. Mirca panted in fear and deep embarrassment as she stumbled through the dark woods. Old snow and icy, refrozen sludge covered the forest floor beneath the trees and slowed her down. The thoughts in her head were as unsure and jerky as her feet.
Oh gods, what am I doing here? Why did she abandon me? Why? Why did she — of course! She saw how useless I am, from the start! She needed help, and she threw me off the cart because I’m so utterly useless! I should’ve stayed and helped her, not run around here to tell some weird things to Red! It’s like those stupid little tasks given to children when the grown-ups want to be left alone!
And then the trembling blonde stopped and groped her breasts. Her breath came even quicker when she noticed the first jolts and faint cramps of expansion. This wasn’t milk. This was the other growth, the huge one, the one that would render her immobile, that would turn her into a useless appendage on a pair of swollen, sloshing orbs. And nobody in sight to stop it.
No, she begged, no, not now! I’ll remember what Yrba taught me. I’ll breathe slowly now. Imagine the void inside. I can do it. I’ll relax, relax, RELAX, dammit!
The weight on her chest didn’t care. Her bosom just grew on and on. Struggling over the hilltop, she could see the few lights of the town now and the main gate with its torches. A quarter of a mile to the left of it, the bushes with the cloaked tunnel entrance were a slightly darker speck against the town wall.
The tunnel! Mirca gazed down into the straining fur coat. The upper half of her pumpkins already spilled out of the neckline. Her skin shone white like milk in the moonlight. Feet? Yes, somewhere below the taut orbs, there had to be her feet. She felt the trembling of her knees. But catching a glimpse of them? Not a chance.
I won’t fit through the tunnel like that! Oh please! I could keep it in check just two weeks ago! Why won’t it — maybe —
She pursed her lips and sucked at the cold air like a carp on a curb, all the while squeezing on her breasts. No response. Even worse, there seemed to be more of them with every step she took downhill. Their growing weight and the banks of snow she waded through slowed her down further. Lifting a leg and putting it down just inches ahead was a grueling ordeal. The top layer of snow had melted over the day and turned into a sharp, splintering crust under her feet. Her hot breath froze into puffs of mist right as it left her mouth.
She slipped on the treacherous ground and stumbled against a snow-laden tree, with an impact heavy enough to make the branches shed their weight and drop a white avalanche on her. The ice-cold powder washed over her neck and right down her spine. She jerked up in chilly surprise, involuntarily pulling up her shoulders and arching backwards. Her neckline now was a perfect funnel for the main load to squeeze into her breasts’ balcony.
Suddenly, her bosom was wrapped in icy sludge, so cold it burned on her skin. She couldn’t stay focused, not for her own or anybody else’s life. Her breasts grew outward, unchecked, unrestrained. The mantle’s fasteners gave in. White wisps of fog rose from her skin. The molten snow turned to steam on her breasts’ erupting hot flesh. She stumbled forward, being pulled along by the off-center weight, and bounced down on the elongated orbs. The momentum shoved her nipples right into the frozen banks of snow. They emerged on the other side, dripping with wetness and throbbing with heat. Mirca clambered upright again, clawing at the nearest tree. Her breasts were still small enough to clear the ground when she leant backwards, balancing the colossal weight on her hip and peeking through the V-shaped gap of her cleavage.
The size of her boobs grew closer and closer to what she had laughingly come to call her loose form. They hung very nearly to her knees now. Every step forward had her thighs run into their bulging, sack-like shape, and every time her knees had to fight against more sloshing, liquid weight. The bags, no, sacks filled up faster and faster. The skin around their midsection went from being drawn into long pleats by the weight around the areolae into the taut roundness of balloons.
No! I mustn’t end up here, stuck like a boulder! Berry is so clever, she must have — I need to tell Red! Berry trusts in me! I must —
She slipped and fell again. She didn't fall far. Her boobs were beyond that size. They caught her tall body at just a faint slant forward. She ground her teeth in fear and despair.
I can’t leave her behind to die!
Pulling and pushing with all the strength she had left, Mirca made good on a few more yards. The last one she passed by waggling and waddling forward, squashing and bouncing on her breasts like an elephant seal on its blubber. Her nipples burned from the contact with the frozen ground. And then none of her desperate pushing and struggling worked any more. Her boobs’ filling had become so voluminous that she only bobbed in place, helpless on her two congested mammoth orbs. Her feet floundered uselessly in the air, and still she rose higher.
No! Help me! Somebody help me! I can’t —, she quietly sobbed. She didn’t dare to scream. She tried not to think at all, because the only thought that still circled through her head, faster and faster, was a horrible image fueled by the cold and the darkness of the forest. An image of hungry, emaciated beasts, yellow eyes full of greed and bloodlust, their teeth and claws digging into her milk-swollen breasts, pulling and tearing at her, at her helpless body —
— lying in a puddle with the wolves howling all around…
She squealed and clutched her head in desperation, trying to stop the carousel of horrors spinning in her mind. The icy cold slowly gnawed into her naked skin and rendered it numb. More snow clouds neared quickly from the north. The far horizon already disappeared behind an approaching veil of snowfall. Only now and then did the moon peek through, and as the clouds closed up for good, the woods drowned in impenetrable blackness…
With a grunt, Berry ripped the arrow out of the cart’s wood. Her teeth grated as the surge of pain burned through her body, but the fiery sting quickly subsided into a numb throbbing. She tore a strip from her skirt and pulled it tight around her shin until the bleeding stopped.
"Another fuckin’ scar I could do without," she hissed through clenched teeth. Then she hobbled towards the rocks and the thickets around them. The wind had risen and carried the sounds of approaching hoofbeats. "You wanna mess with me? I’ll make you pay," she growled. The bulky woman disappeared noiselessly into the underwood. Breathing quietly, she peered into the shadows of the forest all around.
Her pursuers seemed pretty sure of themselves. Carrying torches with them, they approached in a wide line and swept the area. A call drew the group closer together. Berry grunted. The damn trail of blood. I’m still leaking. I can’t take on them all at once. I need that blizzard. Now!
She retreated further towards the stony ground around the two house-sized boulders, buying precious little time.
The howling wind and driving snow had brought the search to a standstill. Under the trees, the blackness was almost complete. Berry made her way through nature’s rage on all fours. With eyes narrowed against the wind and the needles of ice it brought, she assessed the shadows ahead of her. That tree, the bulge at its foot, shaped like a cowering man…
Her hand reached around the trunk and found something warm, something shaped like a larynx. The man in her grip struggled for a few moments, then the howling wind carried away an ugly, fleshy noise. She let go, and the bulge rolled forward to the ground and didn’t move any more. Only the wind tugged at the shags of his fur coat.
One, she grinned bitterly and sneaked on.
"Where are you going, Yrba?"
The witch pulled Red’s white fur coat tighter around her and unlocked the brothel’s backdoor. A gust of wind carried snowflakes through the gap. They sparkled in the flickering light of the sole candle that barely managed to light the corners of the corridor.
"I’ll check on your little tunnel and take a gander at the woods."
Red gasped. "You know about—"
Yrba raised her eyebrows and smiled. Her friend shook her head.
"Damnation, you’re good. I was so sure I never ever mentioned it, not even in passing. What are you up to?"
"Just want to take a peek at the forest. Something’s wrong. Something feels wrong. I don’t know… there’s a drift in the magic. It’s moving. Something’s drawing it in." She raised her hand and cupped a sparkling dot in the air that remained imperceptible to Red as it floated by. "And I don’t like that. Maybe if I can see where it flows to—"
"Oh shit! You don’t think something like that milk acci—"
"Nah, I’d feel such an outburst for miles. There’s something happening slowly."
The witch squinted into the darkness and the whirl of snowflakes. With her eyelids almost closed, the quivering white streaks and bands of magic now dominated her view. Something distorted the uniform flow, something that remained hidden behind the next gentle slope. She slowly made her way up through the drifts. Behind her, the howling wind and driving snow quickly covered up her tracks.
Magic guided her to the anomaly, but it didn’t reveal what was right before her feet and so she stumbled over brittle branches and sharp stones hidden beneath the shifting snow, muttering and cursing. Yrba reached the top of the small hill and held on to the rough bark of a tree, panting in the ice-cold wind that stripped her foggy breath right from her lips.
The last flakes of the weakening blizzard drifted by. The wind waned. Moonlight broke through the clouds. She saw the shape that rested motionless on the other side of the hill, and all her worst fears came true.
"Oh please, no —," she whispered.
The band of thugs regrouped after the snow storm subsided. The torches flared up anew.
"How many?"
"That beast got five! We never even saw her coming! Listen, that’s not what we were told when we took the job! Find the wench with the muscles, and finish her, he said! Dammit, she’s no simple wench! The way she sneaks around, I’d bet she’s one of the—"
"Shut up! And get back in line! She’s still bleeding, look at the mess here. Can’t be that hard to find someone leaking like that. If we don’t hurry, she’ll be stone cold before we get to her. I want her alive! Still got to make her pay for the five lives she owes us now."
Listening in from her hideaway, Berry grinned bitterly and felt for her soaked-through bandage. Trouble was, that creep was right. She knew it. She knew it because every now and then, and coming faster now, she blanked or a tremor seized her and rendered her almost helpless.
Mirca, my darling. Oh girl, at least you’re not stuck here with me now. If you make it home in time for the others to save me, well, all the better. As long as you make it. You’re sweet and innocent. You must live. You deserve it.
Her head fell back against the freezing cold rock face in another rush of weakness.
The witch half fell, half slid down the slope and clambered to her feet right in front of the glistening, frosted wall that rose over her head. She reached out for it, and her hands trembled in fear.
"No. No!"
Yrba’s fingers moved over the ice-encased skin of Mirca’s bloated boobs. The slightly egg-shaped, flattened orbs towered in front of the witch like the strangest two yards high glassware. Their surface glistened in the moonlight, a marble-like mixture of molten and re-frozen rivulets of water and patches of driven-on and ice-glazed snow.
"Oh heavens —"
She reached back, clenched her fingers and hammered in desperation onto the rough shell. The hull of hard-baked snow and frost cracked. A round area of maybe half a yard across turned into long, pointed shards and rained down, revealing blueish flesh underneath. Yrba’s brown fingers reluctantly touched the exposed skin.
And it was warm. And blood still pulsed through the veins. Tears of relief welled in the Darkskin’s eyes.
"Mirca! Girl, can you hear me?"
Somewhere higher up, the blonde stirred under the rags of her fur mantle. Snow started to move and cascaded down.
"Tired," she mumbled and wiggled into a more comfortable rest in her own cleavage.
"You can’t sleep now! If you fall asleep again, you’ll die! Come on!"
The witch pushed into the resilient skin. For every inch she dug her hands into it, the orbs bloated everywhere else. The icy cocoon shattered like an eggshell and tinkled down, and Mirca screamed in pain.
"H—Hot! C—Cold! E—E—Everything!" she yelped, barely intelligible over the chatter of her teeth. She tried to extend her hands, but her numb limbs didn’t obey.
"C—C—Can’t—m—m—m—move…"
Yrba quickly stepped behind her and pushed apart the muscular thighs of her protégé. With Mirca’s body resting high up in the valley of her own breasts, her legs pointed slightly down the ravine of boobs which descended from nine feet high. Yrba wedged her way into the cleavage until the shivering girl’s body was in her arm’s reach.
"Let’s get you warmed up," she mumbled while her fingers struggled with the recalcitrant mesh of magic all around and knitted it into a glowing sphere. The condensed force wriggled and pulsated in her grip and tried to unravel again.
Mirca’s crotch hung slightly higher than the witch’s shoulders. Yrba folded away the tattered coat over the long cleft. Tiny clumps of ice clung to Mirca’s pubic hair. The witch brushed away a few stray snow crystals and gently ran her finger along the meaty labia. Her fingertips dove into damp warmth, and again she exhaled with relief. Any warmth was a good sign.
Her left arm wrapped around Mirca’s left thigh, and she put her right hand’s fingertips together into a cone, with the thrumming and sparkling charge cupped in her palm.
"You’ll feel much better soon," she tried to calm down the half-frozen, shivering young woman.
And then she pushed her hand into the cleft between the sausage-like outer lips. Mirca’s skin stretched over Yrba’s knuckles. The shining ball of power almost touched the blonde’s flesh. Faint glow spread through the labia, and under the disbelieving stare of the witch, they swelled eagerly the closer the ethereal orb came. Mirca’s gates opened to Yrba’s conquering hand. Yes, she was a big girl all right, but her cave hungrily spread far wider than befitted even her six foot six frame. Yrba stared speechlessly as she shoved her hand as deep into the abyss as she could. She had expected resistance, squealing, maybe screams. But she hadn’t expected to easily be engulfed up to her wrist, to dive into a smacking well of oozing juice that bubbled and squelched around half of her lower arm, no, make that two thirds, no, —
Oh heavens, her womb just goes on and on. What the—? That can’t—!
Yrba was up to her elbow in Mirca’s womb, her mantle’s sleeves being pushed back by the tight rim of the inner labia, when the magical charge dissolved through her fingers. Mirca’s body hungrily sucked up all the warmth and strength it brought. The titanic blonde suddenly surged. As her love grotto caved in and grabbed Yrba’s arm, the howl of pain that the witch had been afraid of rose from her own throat…
Yrba shook some life back into her aching hand while she steadied her haggard companion. Mirca leaned heavily on the smaller woman’s shoulder. Together, they staggered towards the tunnel, leaving behind a frozen pond of fresh milk. The witch held the shivering blonde close as they hid and waited for the guards on the town wall to pass by. Mirca tried to stutter her message, but the witch hushed her with a gentle finger on the blonde’s almost blue lips.
"Not now," she whispered. "Let’s get you someplace warm. I can’t make heads or tails from your stammering."
Red and her girls waited at the door, carried Mirca into the kitchen and wrapped her into a blanket. A dozen hands kneaded and rubbed her body through the rough wool and forced warmth and life back into her. All the while she trembled and cried and was barely able to get a single intelligible word out, until she took a deep breath and it all blurted out, in one long yowl of despair.
"She’s hurt and she’s got an arrow in her leg and she’s bleeding and she’s all alone now but she told me she didn’t want to be alone and she said she didn’t want to bleed again and I yet hated her so much because she threw me from the cart!" wailed the blonde, her arms wrapped around her knees, curled up into a shivering ball.
Yrba gently rocked her. "’s all right, girl. ’s all right. Anything else she said to you?"
Mirca gulped. "She—she said something about two stones. Yes!" Her arms shot out and grabbed Yrba’s shoulders. "Lead them to the two stones, she said! Tell Red, she said. I didn’t want to leave her alone! I thought she threw me off the cart because — but she only wanted to protect me! And I was angry at her! It’s all my fault! I really didn’t want to blow up! I didn’t want to dawdle! I just couldn’t move, and it was so cold! Oh gods, I did it again! I ruined everything! I’m so useless!" she sobbed and curled up once more.
Red ground her teeth and jumped to her feet. "At the two stones. All right. Girls, I don’t ask anyone to tag along. This is something between Berry, Jean and me. This will get very ugly."
Sylvia raised her head. "You think we’re scared? Or do you think we’re stupid and can’t figure out what the stuff in your secret stash is for? You did a little contraband on the side, and now someone’s trying to stiff us on our bill, and by my honor as a billable woman, I’ll be damned if I let them." The others nodded.
"Right then, anybody who can hold a knife or an axe, grab it and get ready. We’re going to a fight, so forget about chivalry or manners. You see someone, hit ’em where it counts until they stop moving. As hard as you can. Finish them as fast as you can. They’ll try the same." She pulled out one of the drawers and threw it upside-down on the kitchen table. The knives and forks spilled out and clattered and rattled down to the floor. Neatly tied to the underside of the drawer was a whole collection of other sharp-edged tools, entirely not made for culinary purposes. "That’s not about the smuggling or bills any more. Berry’s in trouble, and I’m not going to abandon her. No way! Go go go!"
Mirca gazed up at her, begging mutely with tears in her eyes. Red sighed, bent down and ruffled the white-golden mane. Her voice turned soft again. "Okay. All except you. You stay here, guard the house and warm up again. You helped her as much as you could already. Best you could do. Yrba, you coming?"
The witch gently freed herself from Mirca’s grip. "Of course."
The door closed. All alone, Mirca huddled deeper into the corner, shivering now and then in her blanket, and stared at the tiny candle on the kitchen table that flickered for a while in the disturbed air and finally burned quietly again.
Mirca’s gaze wandered to the spare weapons left on the table. The candlelight gleamed red on the edge of a hatchet.
Not bleeding to death from a sword to the neck, alone with the wolves, mumbled Berry’s voice again and again through Mirca’s mind. Outside, a gust howled by. She shuddered and shrank even more against the wall.
Oaf. Klutz. Bonehead. Moron. Scaredy-cat. Down, girl!
Another memory. The smell of rotting leaves, her face diving into them, again and again.
I don’t want to be a warrior. I’m sorry!
The image of a small, wise woman looking up at her, her ageless face beaming with teacher’s pride, with a wide grin and a blackening eye.
No sorry! Doing good! Good fight!
But I don’t know how I did—
That is right way of doing it.
And the fluffy blanket fell down and curled on the floor as something rose to its feet in the empty kitchen and reached in one swift, fluid motion for the axes on the table…
The fight was short and violent. In the dark of the forest and the few spots of light from the flickering torches, swords and axes collided. Crossbows were fired blindly. It might’ve ended badly for the women, outnumbered as they were, until Mirca showed up, roaring like a wounded bull, tears of anger running over her face, and raged her way through both twenty years of cowering and the ring of robbers. She didn’t fight; she didn’t even think for a second. She just clutched the two hatchets in her hands and weeded out anything in her way that she could not immediately recognize as a friend.
In less than a minute, the woods were silent again save for the fleeting sounds of fleeing footsteps. Several shapes laid on the ground and didn’t move any more. Some of them gave the impression that they’d match up well together, like jigsaw pieces.
"Are they — gone?" whispered Berry.
Jean coughed and lowered the club she had been wielding. She shook her head and stared at Mirca who stood, steaming with sweat, her skin glistening in the torches’ light, her clothes ripped and spattered with blood, in the clearing. "Oh gods, I hope I’ll never end up on her wrong side. That one, with her bare hands, she tore his—and then she — and his — ummggl—"
Her stomach heaved.
"Jean, are they all gone? I can’t see a thing."
Jean wiped her mouth with trembling fingers. "Yes, they’re either gone or dead. Just us around. Why—"
"Good." The brunette stepped out of the bushes. The big knifes slipped from her dangling hands and clanged down on the frozen ground. Yrba was the first to see that the bolt wound in Berry’s leg suddenly was the least of their problems. She jumped to catch the swaying woman, but by then, it was already too late.
Berry fell forward, flat on her face. With an ugly sound, the crossbow arrow sticking deep in her chest was punched right through her and poked out of her back.
"Berry! No! Nooooo!"
The flock of soiled doves huddled around her, gently rolled her on her back and cleaned the snow and dirt from her face. Mirca knelt down and propped the limp body up on her thighs.
"Can’t feel a — a thing. Legs cold," Berry mumbled. Her shaking hand reached for Mirca’s shoulder. "Wronged you. Good friend, you are. Good fighter, damned good fighter… "
Her hand slid down slowly, tracing the shape of Mirca’s round orbs and adding another smeared, red streak. She rested her head against the warm pillows. "My girl. So proud. My… wonderful boobs," she rasped.
Mirca choked up and couldn’t speak a single word.
Berry nodded. "Just… wanted you t’know. You did good. Came back… for me. ’t’s okay."
"You’ll be all right! Don’t worry. You’ll see! We’ll put you on the cart and bring you home and patch you up and—"
Jean bit her lips and glanced at Yrba. The witch almost imperceptibly shook her head.
"Talk — bullshit." Berry tried to laugh; it ended up as a horrible gargle. "I do — know where — a hit becomes — a kill." The brunette coughed. More blood ran from her lips. Her voice was barely audible now. "Am home. Got my… warrior’s honor… back. To die — in battle… for family. You’re my family. My girls. My… daughters. Never really had… but now… not… alone…"
She breathed in against the fiery pain, one more time, one last time, her face contorting even more. She had to tell them. Had to, before the darkness encroaching upon her, eating away at her, was too close —
"Rock. North. Crooked oak. Dig under. All yours! Split among you — except — shield. Bury… forgive me… I lied… I hid…"
Her voice faded as the darkness embraced her gently with the promise of peace. Her contorted features smoothed, and she almost smiled again when her eyes closed for good.
Her hand slipped off Mirca’s waist. Her arm dropped down, and her head rolled to the side. A small, red trickle emerged under her and ran steaming down the ice-covered rock face.
Mirca’s howl rang through the nightly forest. It descended into gargling sobs as she curled up over Berry’s motionless body, clinging the cooling, limp form tight.
The others knelt in shocked silence while, one by one, the dropped torches around them fizzled out in the snow. The pale moonlight remained, draining all color from the scenery.
Finally, Mirca’s upper body rose again. She cleared her throat.
"Uhm, should… should we now say a prayer for her? I mean," she wiped at her tears, only to smear the blood on her hands all over her face, "you know… w—which gods she believed in?"
Yrba’s voice was hoarse and flat. "It doesn’t matter. Don’t bother with the damned gods. They don’t care for us either. Whatever prayer you choose, say it to honor her memory. Gods? And they let this happen? Then to hell with ’em all! The only things worth believing in are — are friends like Berry." Yrba gulped and looked up. The others nodded, tears running down their faces too. Her own cheeks were cold and wet as well. She didn’t care.
To Be Continued in Yrba’s Travels, Part 6: The Road
Wow. You’ve read on through here. So why not go the extra mile and make this after-hour smut writer happy by typing a short comment at the URL below, or in the Overflowing Forum? Come on. You know you want to. Praise, punishment or a resounding "meh", it’s your (anonymous) call. Didn’t like it at all? Tell me why! Who knows, I might actually improve in my writing.
Yes, the note below is the same as the one at the beginning. What can I say? I’m a glutton for feedback.
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Right, and this one’s for the forum thread:
http://www.overflowingforum.com/viewtopic.php?f=4&t=2195
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