CONTENT WARNING: The text below is, by its intent, explicit in nature. It is unrated and for mature audiences only. This is neither intended nor suitable for any minors, nor adults that do not want to be exposed to descriptions of non-realistic sexual intercourse in a fantasy setting. It is your own choice and responsibility if you continue reading. 

I’ll break it down for those hard of understanding:

Non-realistic — The things described herein do not work in the real world. Not At All!

Sexual intercourse — Two or more people of the same or different sex and legal age, doing teh nastay together. Ask yourself, and be honest: Do You Want To Read About That? Should you read about that? Are you legally entitled to read that? If "No", then What Are You Doing Here? 

Fantasy setting — Far, far away in a a mirror universe. Faery tale. Magic. Wizardry. Totally made up. Out of this world. In other words, restating the obvious: Do Not Try This At Home!


Compulsory Begging for Comments:

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

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

My complete listing of texts is at

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

Note: That’s the whole list of stories I wrote, with the oldest at the top and the newest at the bottom. Please check that you’re targeting the right one when you send your comments. Yes, I do follow the comments for my older texts, too.

And, folks: at the Overflowing Bra, "5" means best. "1" means worst. Not the other way ’round. You also might want to make sure you’re rating/commenting at the right story page, too. I’m just sayin’, is all. ;)

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

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

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





Yrba’s Travels, Pt.8 — The Living Cauldron

by

Paul Gerard (a pen name)


First Draft, July 2008. This revision, October 2009.

Spellchecked: by computer.

Proof-reading: *cough* uh, well, just by myself. Yes, I know, I really shouldn’t do that. It’s just difficult, finding someone willing to proof, and then that one having enough time at hand at the time when the text is ready. So, well, I sure hope you’ll grin and bear what gaffes of grammar I have overlooked.


Obscure musical reference:

"Lying naked here in the shrine of your embrace / We touch the burning cauldron to your angel face" — Rick Springfield, Tear It All Down


Altaerna — a world, where the laws of reality may become mere guidelines at any given time, where magic and machinery are intertwined, where all those things creeping in the shadows of fantasy may step forward onto the mind’s stage.

The time of this story is similar to our planet’s 12th century. 





What happened so far:


Part 1 — Jailbreak:

Jailed in neighboring cells, two very different women are waiting for their execution: Yrba, the curvy chocolate-skinned raven-haired traveling gypsy witch, and Mirca, the towering muscled flat-chested blond servant girl. In a last desperate bid for freedom, Yrba feeds Mirca a whole gallon of enhancement potion and uses her swelling body to break down their cell’s walls. And thanks to Yrba’s prowess with magic, Mirca becomes mobile again. While they sneak through the nightly town, Mirca gets even with the man whose wrongful accusations sent her to death row by wrecking his warehouse with her rapidly growing breasts.

Part 2 — Under Soiled Doves’ Wings:

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

Part 3 — Tubs, Sponges and Soaking:

It’s an all-girl event as Red’s women climb over each other while they polish and shine Mirca’s body in the brothel’s huge bathtub, sudden milk burst included. The night brings a solemn peek into Mirca’s troubled past, and the next day sees Yrba and Red desperately trying to salvage the last few drops of growth portion left in the witch’s womb. Mirca embarks on a journey of discovery across Yrba’s body, only to wear her mistress out to the brink of collapse. Yrba lets her curiosity get the better of her, prepares herself to repeat the experience, and in the process we found that her body has quite a few quirks of its own.

Part 4 — Altars and Virgins:

Li, Red’s brothel’s exotic eastern plaything, tries to teach Mirca the basics of fighting. However, their very own idea of 'way of the fist' ends up waking the metal goddess of the derelict temple they chose as their training ground. As the goddess’ ephemeral gift for their 'sacrifice of virginity' fades (or rather, shrinks back), so does their memory of the weird afternoon… Back in the brothel, Sylvia and Charlene coax Mirca into a game of 'how much can you take?' that ends with a milk-swept stairway, a few bruises and scratches and Yrba and Mirca moving out into the forest to 'get a grip' on Mirca’s unpredictable expansion bouts.

Part 5 — Gold and Blood:

While the witch and her companion camp out in the forest, Mirca slowly learns to control her explosive chest. Li continues to teach her how to fight, with varying success. Against Yrba’s better judgment, Red coaxes her into doing a 'boob job' on Francine, a young woman from the town despairing over her lacking physique. Mirca manages to beat Li in combat for the first time, and they pick up Yrba and return to Red’s brothel just before an early snowstorm rushes by. A few nights later, Mirca joins Berry in running contraband, they end up in an ambush, another storm brews, and then things go to hell, fast and really, really bad.

Part 6 — The Road:

After Berry’s demise, Red, Yrba and the girls learn that the brawny woman took many secrets to her grave. Her final words lead them to a cave filled with gold, swords and shields. Red buys Yrba’s confiscated witch cart back from the guards. Yrba and Mirca take to the road to consult Yrba’s former mentor, a wizard. On their way, they discover enchanted chain mail, have a chance encounter with a gang of blackmailing thugs who bring disturbing news from Red’s brothel and a hint at a deus ex machina who may be more machina than deus, only to have that knowledge wiped from their minds again.

Part 7 — Among Wolves:

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





Chapter 36: A Dream Of Cows



Sunshine crept in through the slits in the log cabin’s walls. The thin blades of light played over three figures, sleeping on the wolf pelts that covered the cabin floor. A naked woman rested on her back in the middle, with two other bodies flanking her. Her tall body’s sensuous, smooth curves glowed in the warm light. Every now and then, she moved slightly in her sleep. Firm, strong muscles showed under her even skin at these moments, giving her the appearance of a dominating, yet feminine statue come to life. Compared to her seven feet of veiled strength, her companions were mere dwarves as they laid huddled in her muscular limbs’ relaxed, almost nonexistent embrace.

The man to her right slept with his head against the soft, warm pillow of her right breast. He stirred in his rest and pulled up his thigh, snuggling closer to the tall young woman’s strong leg around which he had wrapped his own legs.

The mature, curvaceous woman at the giantess’ left side kept the huge girl’s other, pumpkin-sized breast in the gentle embrace of her right arm, and her curly, jet-black mane covered half of the impressive milk pillow. Her dark, chocolate-colored skin was in stark contrast to the bright complexion of the man and the girl. 

Her curvy yet robust five-foot-six frame matched the man’s height, and even though both were asleep, their hands had met on the muscle-ribbed midriff of their living mattress who, even in her slumber, radiated enough body warmth for the three of them.

Mirca, the blond giantess, sighed and stirred ever so slightly in her sleep. Her eyelids twitched, and her lips pouted slowly. A shudder crept over her skin. The nipples on her breasts grew hard, and the huge jugs filled up from the inside, expanding with the deceiving slowness of a glacier creeping forward.

The growth of her headrest made Yrba, the Darkskin gypsy witch to Mirca’s left, start to slip off the warm pillow. Her sleepy body pushed itself up again, and in doing so, her mouth brushed over the erect, strawberry-sized nipple. She didn’t wake as instinct made her plump lips pout and nibble against the rough source of nourishment.

Another faint stretch, another stir and push, and now the hard, rough teat lodged itself firmly into the corner of the witch’s mouth. In her sleep, Yrba moaned quietly and began to chew on the juicy knob, gently massaging the areola as her jaw moved up and down. Mirca sighed happily. Thick, sweet cream seeped from her nipple as the huge breast let down, and the white, warm rivulet collected on the inside of the witch’s cheek. She didn’t wake up then, either; she only smacked her lips and swallowed quietly every now and then when there was enough for a hearty gulp of nourishing liquid in her mouth, and that happened faster and faster.

Ung.

Slllp.

Smack.

Mmmmh.

Ung.


An hour passed, and still the three of them were fast asleep.


Help! Oh please, mighty Mirca, help us! We’re so full, we need you to milk us. We’re bursting!

The voice was begging and desperate, and everywhere at once. Mirca looked around. Lush green pastures stretched to the horizon, and a warm sun hung high in a sky of deep blue. The wind caressed her naked skin. All over the meadows stood white cows with huge black spots in their fur, their heads facing the tall blonde. The poor animals couldn’t walk or even budge. Their udders were joined pairs of giant orbs, each a yard or more across, spreading their thin hind legs wide and lifting their hindquarters off the soft grass. Thick, swollen teats swelled left and right on the ground, their elongated shape bent sideways and sprouting from the bulge where the taut, constantly rippling skin met the flattened grass. The milk balloons kept on growing while Mirca stared.

Please, empty our udders! wailed the chorus of voices in Mirca’s head. They consume us!

It was so clear, so obvious. She just had to do it. Mirca stepped up to the first creature and rolled her over. The wide-eyed, begging cow attached to the bulging udder had no weight at all, and as Mirca grabbed the soft, hair-covered ball, it throbbed a whole two feet bigger in her hands, and the cow was no more. The stretching skin smoothed over any sign of the mooing beast’s shape, save for a flicking tail that sprouted where the two half-spheres met in a wrinkled seam.

Oh no! Hurry! I’m only an udder, and I’m getting fuller and fuller!

Squeaking and groaning, the four teats swelled larger now that they were free from the weight pushing down on them. Mirca crawled on top of the pair of yielding orbs and grabbed two of the warm, foot-long flesh rods that started to throb in her hands. From the corner of her eyes, she saw motion. Like drops collecting in a bowl, the other cows were drawn with their udders first towards the huge, bloated ball that Mirca rode upon. As they approached, their shapes were absorbed into their ever-growing milk factories, and they tumbled and bounced over the grass. The moment they touched the sphere that Mirca rode upon, they melted into the expanding orb, sending ripples over the spotted fur and accelerating its growth.

Mistress, we’re yours! rose the chorus of their hollow voices. Empty us! Oh please, empty us before we burst!

The teats’ tips grew egg-shaped, with a sharp ridge where their rear end met the veined pillar. Warm milk gushed out of a finger-sized hole and drenched Mirca head to toe.

More! More! It’s not enough! Do the other pair, too!

The giantess wrapped her long, prehensile tongue around the third teat that bobbed right in front of her. The fountain that spewed forth coated her face with glistening liquid before she managed to draw the throbbing spout into her mouth. She closed her lips around the twitching rod and began swallowing the ample delicious stream that immediately gushed forth.

The fourth! Oh please, the fourth! So full — the pain — oh please, mighty giantess —

Mirca shifted her weight on top of the round six-yard ball that strained under the pressure of its warm load. She let go of the three teats —

No, mistress, don’t stop! We’re bursting! Hurry!

to reach for the fourth pillar of swollen, taut flesh that was now right between her wide-spread legs. Rising to her knees, she grabbed the two-feet pole and aimed the wrist-thick head at her crotch.

Oh divine milkmaid, your skills are many! The witch taught you well!

Mirca sat down on her haunches, engulfing the throbbing teat and undulating her vaginal muscles in the way that Yrba had shown her. It worked, it worked even better than when she had learned how to handle normal-sized men like Alric with her queen-sized pussy.

The others! The other three! They’re so taut! Please, goddess!

She let herself fall forward again, bouncing gently into the giant orb. Her hands closed around the two teats to her left and right, and immediately their high-pressured content sprang skyward and showered down again in a warm rain of white. The third, deep in her mouth, twitched reluctantly, and Mirca squeezed gently with her thighs into the ever-growing orb.

Let us fill you with our strength now, mistress of all things milk!

Mirca’s jaw was forced open, as was her already straining crotch, when the two teats swelled to almost six inches across. The sphere of black and white shuddered, and then sweet, warm milk filled her up by the gallon through mouth and clam. She took it in, took it all in as she herself rounded and bloated, growing bigger and taller. The skin of the deflating orb melted into her own as she outgrew it.

Shluuurp.

The last of the strange ball disappeared into her. Filled and sated, Mirca rested on her knees and the three orbs of her belly and breasts that reached outward as far as her arms. She squeezed into the resilient spheres, and the delight sent goosebumps over her skin of white that was littered with blotches of black. As she looked around, she saw the trees under her like blades of grass. Clutching the sloshing ball of her belly, she struggled to her feet. Her head poked into a layer of puffy white clouds, and she chased them away with a wave of her hand. Oh yes, she truly felt tall now.

The ground shook under her. The bedrock burst apart under her weight, and her feet sank into the pair of craters that her gargantuan weight punched right into the earth. Lava shot up around her legs as she slipped deeper into the molten belly of the planet. Its scorching heat was merely a warm and gentle brush against the skin of the giantess, and as the rough mountain ridge that remained between the holes that her legs sank into came closer to her crotch, well, Mother Earth obviously just begged to scissor with Mirca’s dripping clam.

The rock made contact. Mirca let herself fall forward, creating deep bowls in the ground with her breasts and belly, for whole seas to fill them up later. Her hands grabbed at the mountain ranges in front of her. Mile-high walls of ancient granite burst in her grip as she dug her fingers into the rock and bucked her hips against the rough ridge that split her labia apart. Her secretions ran down the rocky slopes like slow-motion avalanches and filled the valleys with seas of goo.

She took a deep breath, inhaling and swelling on and on, until suddenly there was no more air — 





Chapter 37: Yrba’s Share



Mirca gasped and opened her eyes wide in surprise. Yrba let go of the girl’s nose and nodded to Alric.

"Told you it would work. I always do that when she’s snoring —"

"I don’t snore!" objected Mirca, yawning under her breath.

"Yeah, right." Yrba raised her eyebrows and smiled with cocked head. "You’re bringing down whole forests, lumberjack girl, even in your heavy sleep."

The bard pushed against the one-yard bag of Mirca’s breast that had spilled out sideways and covered his midriff under an avalanche of white, pliable flesh. The milk jug flattened under its own weight and reluctantly rolled away.

"Heavy’s just the right word, I’ll say!" he groaned, crawling to freedom.

"You’re one to complain! At least you’re in the same shape you had when you fell asleep! Now will you look at me?!" Yrba ran her hands over the round orb that her formerly narrow waist had swollen to. Her milk-filled potbelly’s protruding navel made the half-sphere look like a third tit, and her original pair rested its now considerable weight on the bulge. Her breasts’ glands still feasted on the ample supply of pre-made raw material coursing through her body. Yrba’s chocolate-colored breasts had swollen to mammoth melons that reached firm and engorged from her chest. She was barely able to make her fingers meet as she wrapped her arms around her promontory.

"Ungh!" groaned the witch, rubbing her breasts’ taut skin with her fingertips. "Oh my, I’m still swelling! I must’ve been bingeing on her milk like a sponge! My tits will be dripping all day!" She held the sides of her belly with splayed fingers and shook the wobbly orb. "That’s gotta be three gallons at least. And I didn’t even notice it! So, Mirca, what gives?"

"Oh, uh, aheh — oops?" Mirca giggled nervously. "Sorry, I — I had a weird dream with cows and then I drank them, and I grew, and I must’ve … you’re both okay, are you?"

Alric smiled and gently grabbed Mirca’s left nipple. "Long as you give me the same tasty breakfast like you gave to her, I’m willing to endure a little bit of crushing," he replied and rubbed his thumb over the rough knob that filled the palms of his hands like half a lemon. Sitting cross-legged close to her side, he bent forward and licked up the first drops of the rich, nurturing cream that seeped from the many tiny ducts. He bit just hard enough into the thick teat to hold it in his mouth while his hands wandered to the underside of the heavy bag. As he lifted it up and closer to his body, the huge mass started to move under its own weight and spilled into his lap, filling it with its warm and malleable meat.

Mirca smiled and licked her lips as her sensitive skin reported the shape of the hard, hot thing that it ran against.

"Mmmmh! Naughty Alric! I can feel your poker from over here!"

Yrba rose to her feet, groaning with the effort, put her hands to her hips and stretched her back. "Nnnngh! Oh well, so we’re all okay, and you didn’t feed me to pieces." She slapped her hand on the tight skin of her belly and smiled. Her teeth flashed in the twilight of the cabin. "I’ll just chalk this up as training for my spring brew. Now where did I put my comfy clothes?"

Mirca and Alric exchanged glances as Yrba turned her back on them, struggling with short steps towards the door. Mirca raised her eyebrows, and the bard smiled and nodded.


"Come on, now roll her over to me! — Ungh!" Alric tumbled to the floor, brought down by the huge weight that bumped against his hips. 

"Ooof!" gasped Yrba. "Whee! You crazy lot! Careful with the udders!"

The witch laughed as she struggled playfully, being rolled helplessly over the tickling pelts on the floor between her two bedfellows. Two pairs of hands kneaded her breasts and belly, caressed her thighs and stroked her sex. Gasping for air, Yrba ended up on her hands and knees, with her legs wide and the weight of her enormous paunch well supported on the warm, rough furs on the floor.

"Heh — wheee, oh heavens, let me catch my breath for a while!" she panted. A hand — small, by comparison, so it must’ve been Alric’s — kneaded her meaty buttocks and pulled them apart. The weight of his body bore down on Yrba’s back.

"What did you do to me?" he whispered in her ear. "I’ve made love to Mirca any which way you told me to, but I still can’t resist you. I want you, now! Oh please, let me —"

She smiled with closed eyes, reveling in his caresses as he ran his hands over her three orbs again and again. "Yeah, right. Tempting, though I don’t think you really want to ride me bloated cow now, do y—"

She opened her eyes wide. Thick, hot and throbbing, the slippery tip of the bard’s engorged member parted her outer labia. 

"—ooouuuhh! Oh yes, you do! Oh yes! Mmnnngh! Haaaaah!"

Alric plowed deep into her, while his hands wandered over the witch’s hips and on over her wide potbelly, securing a firm grip at the onset of her paunch. She was tight inside, the wet cave of her vagina being compressed by the milk bloat in her belly, and the bard’s strong tool rubbed against all the right places.

"Come on, Yrba!" smiled Mirca as she clambered to her feet. "You spent the last nights just watching and directing him and me, so it’s only fair if you get — oh yes, you’re doing great, Alric! She’s making that face again!" The tall girl bowed down and cupped Yrba’s cheeks in her hands, lifted the witch’s head, leaned in and kissed her long and hard.

Yrba’s eyes remained half-closed as finally Mirca’s tongue slipped out of the witch’s mouth. The young woman smiled at the absent stare. "He’s got the right rhythm, doesn’t he, Yrba?"

"Mmmhhh…hmmm—" panted the gypsy, half delirious.

Mirca’s fingers wandered down over her mentor’s collarbones and circled the soft mountains of Yrba’s breasts. The rough, hard, almost black nipples dug into her palms and sprayed white wetness.

"Heh, see how your chocolate melons dangle! Now who needs milking?" Mirca put down two buckets in front of the brown-skinned woman and reached forward.

"Hhuuuunnngghh — I do—oooh! Oh yes! Oh how I do! Ooooh! Uuunnnn—!" stammered Yrba with half-closed eyes.

"That’s a lot of milk waiting!" smiled Mirca, holding Yrba’s swollen pumpkins in her big hands and squeezing them to the rhythm of Alric’s thrusts. The witch didn’t reply. She rocked back and forth, and the only thing that filled her mind was the thought of spending.


"Now at least you can see your feet again," smiled Alric, spooning up on Yrba’s sweat-covered body while they rested on their sides. She nodded, and her head kept on dangling for quite a while.

"Oh — yes, I — damn! That was — good— squee!" She reached between her legs and patted Alric’s erection. "Doesn’t tire easily, eh?" Yrba sighed. "Still, I need a break right now. Maybe impale me again later." Her gaze turned to the giantess who rested on her side in front of the couple.

"Oh Mirca, look at you! You’re one to talk about milking! Let’s take your size down a notch or two, too. You know the drill, darlings."

She groaned and struggled upright. Her belly still showed, and her breasts were still heavy, but at least Mirca’s ministrations had relieved her of two buckets full of milk. She stepped over the tall girl’s legs and rummaged in the corner. When she returned, she handed one of a pair of funnels in her hands to the bard as she knelt down in front of Mirca. The witch ran her hand over the tautly filled bags and squeezed the taut skin.

"Oh yes, you’re full of it, too! Alric, keep the nipples well in the funnels, or we’ll get spray-painted walls. Come on, Mirca, get up."

The giantess rose to her haunches, put her hands to her hips and stooped slightly, letting her heavy breasts dangle down. Yrba and Alric each took one of the warm, udder-like bags in their hands and aimed the nipples into the two receptacles. The gypsy witch stroked over the sensitive skin and ran her fingertips in circles around the lemon-sized nipples, every now and then squeezing the dish-sized areola. Alric followed suit.

"Mmmmhh. Mmmmoooooohhh!" Mirca moaned playfully. "I likes."

She jerked. "Hold on, I wanna try something—"

Yrba raised her eyebrows. "Mirca, I absolutely do not want a milk shower in here now!"

"No, no! I mean, I, maybe, I don’t have to — you taught me how to wrap them up, but, I think, I can wrap them up in places only."

"What? In places? What in the five heavens’ name are you—"

"Loog!" mumbled the tall blonde with pouted lips, and focused.

Oooh—kay, don’t draw all the skin in, I want to — like, like a sorta ring around a barrel, just, not so soft like they’re now, more like … yes, and up here over the nipples, have it tauter, pull it up, and, a little less sag there, and …

The heavy bag of flesh and glands trembled in Yrba’s grip, and the hissing and bubbling of milk spraying from the swollen nipples grew louder. She strained her eyes, but there were no sparkles from the ethereal realm.

What kind of weirdness is that? She can’t have muscles in there, it’s got to be magic, but then why — why can’t I see it?!

"Wow," gasped the bard. "Yrba, do you see this?!"

The witch nodded. "I see it. I just can’t believe it."

Mirca’s breasts changed. They had changed often over the course of the weeks, and both Alric and Yrba had become used to — and enjoyed — their various incarnations. Their range went from reasonably human, with a delicious and nicely rounded shape akin to a bulging cone that stood proud from the tall young woman’s chest, to the voluminous, heavy, yard-huge bags that overflowed hands and arms softly and gently, offering warm pillows one wanted to drown in. Apart from the odd growth sprint or two, Mirca had gained good control over her jugs.

This was new. Both of Mirca’s helpers had a hard time keeping the nipples aimed at the buckets that rapidly filled up while the giantess played with her own body, and the soft bags in the witch’s and the bard’s grip became temperamental and lively.

The melons tautened. They didn’t shrink — if their changing shape altered their volume at all, then only for the bigger. Their soft shape grew semi-firm. The bulge that had amassed around the nipples wandered higher and spread over the dangling length. 

No ding-dongling around, wished the giantess. Her body obeyed.

The skin along the top of her breasts shrunk just far enough to lift the two elongated globes, making them jut out instead of sagging down, and then their circumference shrunk just a bit around the middle and the root, filling and squeezing the superhuman volume into an elongated, erect bulge. Mirca’s gushing nipples pointed straight out now, and the undersides of her assets rounded and smoothed, creating only a very tiny fold on her ribcage to support the weight of the proud mammaries.

Yrba gulped.

"Charlene would be crying her eyes out, about now," she muttered as the change slowed down and the cascades of milk subsided. She put the full, heavy buckets aside.

Mirca raised her arms and shoulders, ran her hands through her hair and turned her torso left and right, sending the resilient balcony of her bouncing bullet breasts swinging.

"Huh? Huh? How d’you like them? Look, they’re big and proud! And they feel so — so strong now! Oh, you’ve got no idea just how firm and strong they feel now! Why, I dare you two to sit on them!"





Chapter 38: The Witch’s Promise



Yrba smiled and stroked the firm underside of Mirca’s elongated breasts while she dried the milk-dripping skin. "Let’s not overdo it, Mirca. My, seems you’re trying to make our poor bard’s tool pop without even touching it. Oh, this reminds me —"

She climbed the three steps to her caravan, embedded into the cabin’s wall, only to return moments later with a small box of potion-filled glass tubes in her hands. Rolling her shoulders, she continued:

"After last night, I guess there’s not much left about cocks that I, or Alric, could teach you, Mirca. And, as I recall, I promised our songsmith an inch or two afterwards, for his heroic efforts."

The bard stared first at his raging hard-on, then at the long, silvery needle that the witch took from the wooden box. "I think I’m q—quite h—happy with —," he stammered uncertainly.

Yrba knelt down by his side and put her warm hand on his shoulders, pushing him down on the furs.

"Shush. Hold still," she whispered and ran her forefinger’s tip over his lips. She put the box down on his naked chest.

Mirca frowned. "We don’t have any of your teen-cure left, Yrba."

"Tincture. Yes, I know." A cork squeaked as the witch opened one of the vials. "I much prefer the tincture, because I’m lazy and it’s so easy and versatile. Doesn’t mean I’m inept when it comes to the herbs and potions."

She counted the drops falling from the slim tube.

"Just got to be careful, this is strong stuff, and it’s instantly permanent." Yrba patted Alric’s thigh. "Don’t you worry, I know what I’m doing."


"Ouch!"

"Oh quit whining! I’m doing this as gently as I can!"

"Well, when I joked about that extra inch, how could I have known I was asking for a tattoo on my valuables —"

"Oh, so now you’re happy with one single extra inch? You think I’m going through all this effort to give you just one damned single inch more?"

Yrba drew up her eyebrows and gave him a look. She tapped the point of the thin silver needle into the small puddle of violet liquid on the earthen plate and continued to dot around the first inch at the root of Alric’s pecker.

"You’ll be thankful once I’m done," she smiled.

He clawed into the wolf pelts on the floor, sweat dripping from his forehead. "Nnnngh! I sure hope so!"

The witch didn’t turn her head from the limp rod that she slowly twisted and turned to complete the spiral of thin lines covering part of his dick’s skin.

"Sorry? I wasn’t talking to you, big Al." She stooped over his manhood in her fingers, gently rolling her thumb over the glans. "Yes, little one, now we’re ready. It’s time for you to grow big and strong. Mirca?"

"Uh —"

"The lips only. No tongue, no teeth. Like I showed you. Suck hard."

Mirca knelt down by his feet and leaned forward. Her breasts, firm and full, slipped up along Alric’s hips while her mane covered his groin. Warm lips sealed tightly around his glans, and Yrba held the bard’s semi-hard dick until Mirca’s pouted, O-shaped, wandering lips touched her fingers. She let go, and the giantess sucked the rest of Alric’s flaccid pecker into her mouth.

"Mm—mm?" mumbled the tall girl, with her head down on the bard’s hips and her buttocks rising high in the air.

The witch’s fingers rubbed and kneaded Alric’s lower midriff. "Just suck at it. You’ll know when it starts."

"Mm—hm."

"Haaannnnh—!" Alric howled in heat. The sudden vacuum in Mirca’s cheeks sent hot, prickling waves into his flesh as his blood rushed into the swelling rod. Veins bulged on his pole, and the skin stretched tight while his red-swollen glans rode higher, rubbing against the ribbed roof of Mirca’s mouth.

And it rode on.

And on.

"Gnnmmmppffuuuah—!"

Mirca jerked up as the hot head finally pushed against her tonsils. The first few inches of his glistening cock slipped out of her mouth. Where the tiny dots of Yrba’s potion had been tightly packed before, they now spread over the first three inches. Alric propped himself up on his elbows and watched in disbelief.

"The gods and all the heavens," he whispered as the giantess slowly raised her head and released inch upon inch upon inch of his engorged organ.

Mirca’s lips finally slipped into the rim below the glans and held him for a few moments before her tongue wormed out along his frenulum to guide the last inches from her mouth. Alric’s breath grew quicker.

Yrba smiled. "Well? Ain’t so bad now, is it?"

The bard’s cock stood upright with a slight curve towards his chest. Three extra inches showed at the root, their skin slightly violet in color, and the whole nine inches of firm cock throbbed and bobbed. The witch wrapped her fingers around him and felt the strength caught inside.

"Two nice fat inches across. The ladies are going to love you even more. Care to give me another sample of your seed, Al?"

He nodded mutely, gasping for air. Yrba’s fingers slid up until she held his rod by the swollen, red head. "Mirca, use your tongue around the shaft."

The blonde leaned in and pouted her lips, almost touching him. Her tongue crept out like a pink octopus’ tentacle and wrapped a whole turn around. The agile, slippery muscle bulged and squeezed in a frantic rhythm, and the tip of her tongue dug into the fold where the underside of his dick met his sack. Alric wheezed.

"Oh heavens! Mirca, you know I can’t hold it when you do this — Haaaaah—!"

"Ymma?"

"Oh, you’re doing fine, dear," smiled the witch. Rapid white squirts collected in the small vial in Yrba’s fingers. When they subsided, she let go of the twitching cock.

"Well, Alric, consider your debts paid. Mirca, now he’s yours."

The bard’s rod kept throbbing in the wriggling wrapper of Mirca’s tongue as the girl used her long muscle skillfully to draw Alric’s strangled, pulsing dick in between her warm lips. A dream-like expression softened Mirca’s face while she continued milking and licking at his hot, rigid flesh, and the bard ruffled her golden hair, his body twitching every now and then.





Chapter 39: Hibernation’s End



Snow still covered the meadows and clearings, but the sun ate at it with every passing day. First patches of green appeared, and the other signs of spring grew stronger, too. The road called again.

"Heave!" growled Yrba through clenched teeth and pressed her shoulder against the rough wood. Together, the three of them pushed against the caravan. A gap, filled with the shadows of branches against the backdrop of a bright blue sky, grew bigger over their heads as the box on wheels separated creakingly from the cabin built around it. The carriage rolled on for a few yards before it came to a rocking halt.

"Right. Mirca, you go ahead and clear a path to the road. Al, you wrap up the pelts and the other stuff from the hut. And I —" 

She stood akimbo and eyed the coach, sighing, "—I’ll see if I can make this grimy wreck presentable."

Soon enough, the deft strikes of Mirca’s axe echoed through the woods. Alric tied a knot in the rope in his hands and then looked up from the pile of wolf skins he was busy with.

"Yrba, don’t you think we should help her?"

The witch kept on running her brush up and down over the planks and smiled as she replied, "Oh, I think we’d just get in the way. Once she gets going —"

"Huuuuwaaarrrnngh!"

The sound was a mixture of a bull’s roar with a large helping of grunting bear thrown in for good measure. Wood yielded to the unleashed force.

Crack — Creeeeak—crunch.

Yrba chuckled. "My goodness, I was going to say, ’with her axe,' but it seems these days she’s happy with pushing trees over bare-handed. No, you better stay out of her way when she’s reveling in her strength like that."

"Hrrruuuunngh!"

Crick. Cre—eak. Crackle. Groooooaaaaan. — Swooosh. — Thud.

Alric shook his head. "I’m not going anywhere near her right now for sure. That’s the girl who hugged me last night?" He gulped.


The caravan stood on the dirt road that led down to the valley. The fresh paint on the outside wasn’t quite dry yet, but the horse was harnessed and now the time had come for the trio to go their separate ways. Mirca’s imposing body glistened with sweat, and her thin clothes, covered in streaks of dirt, clung transparently to her skin. She smelled of resin and salt and still combed pine needles from her hair. The giantess laughed as she rolled and kneaded her well-padded shoulders.

"Oh my, I couldn’t believe how much I’ve missed the lumbering! I don’t know, it seems so much easier now than the years before." Sniffing her armpits, she added, "Gods, I need a bath now, and fast! Eeek! Ooh! Need to get rid of all those sticks and twigs and needles! I feel like a stack of wood!"

She jumped up and down and plucked at her clothes’ neckline, fumbling with the string that crisscrossed over her chest. The dress parted as the knot finally gave in, and she hefted her liberated mams and pulled them apart, spreading the warm, tight crevice of pliant flesh to shake splinters and needles from the funnel of her cleavage.

Alric chuckled. "There’s a nice river for that, in the next valley. Follow the road by its side downstream for a mile or two, and you’ll find a ford, too. From there, it’s another day to the next village." His face darkened. "So that’s it," he sighed and shook his head as he gazed on the two so very different women, standing side by side in front of him.

Yrba nodded. "Well, bard, a day’s walk or two towards where we came from, and you’ll reach a village, too. They don’t have much, but you’ve got a good chance of bartering some of your share of wolf skins for food and a place for the night. Another day, and you’ll find a bigger village. And if you encounter some inquisitive travelers — well, I’ll just say, you better be careful about what you tell to whom."

Alric smiled. "Same to you! You better not mention my name in the next town in your direction. Especially not to a certain Caroline, or her husband!" He hesitated. "Come to think of it, the town after that, be careful around Sarah, she’s running the tavern. And, uhm, Georgina, she’s a maid at the Riverfork Inn, and … oh, that other one, she’s a minx with braided brown hair, I don’t know, she never told me her name, but she’s got a birthmark on the inside of her thigh—"

Yrba prodded his arm and smirked. "You ladykiller, you! Oh, all right, we’ll keep mum around women with desperate longing in their eyes when they ask for a certain bard." She patted his crotch with her cupped hand, and he twitched. The witch laughed. "Be careful with that new trunk of yours. The lasses are bound to come running after you now!"

Alric hugged her. She drew him closer, squeezing her sizable melons against his chest, and rubbed her thigh between his legs.

"Thanks for everything," she whispered in his ear. "You’re a good guy."

"Me? Oh come on! I’m a bad apple ruining the ladies, haven’t you been listening?"

"You’re restless like me, that’s all. You didn’t promise them to stay, did you?"

He kissed her earlobe as his hands wandered down over her back and grabbed her round buttocks.

"No, never. They knew I’d be gone in the morning."

Yrba clenched her thighs around his leg and rubbed her crotch on the rough cloth of her skirt.

"See? Mnnnnnghh. You’re honest, and that’s good enough for me. I had almost lost faith in men before you came along."

"And I almost stopped believing in magic," he replied as they both reluctantly let go.


"My turn now!"

Mirca’s hands grabbed Alric under his arms. She lifted him effortlessly up to her face, planting her lips on his as she slanted backwards, carrying his weight with ease.

"Whoa—mmmmppf—!"

Alric’s body sank into her yielding, foot-deep cleavage as she wrapped her arms around him. They kissed, and the bard closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the giantess’ embrace. She smelled deliciously of earth and forest, and she enveloped him with the strength of a dryad sprung from a tall oak tree that held all the might of centuries in her body.

Yrba put her hands to her hips and smiled as she tilted her head. Mirca’s strong arms seemed to squeeze all the blood in Alric’s body right into his groin. The rough cloth of his trousers bulged mightily, and the tall blonde’s hand undid his belt and moved in for the kill.

"Oh, go find yourselves a haystack, you two!" laughed the witch as she turned to check the horse’s harness.


Mirca engulfed Alric’ upper body in the sensual heat of her well-worked muscles and squeezed him tighter, trapping his growing erection against her midriff. The swelling cock, pre-cum dripping from the engorged head, wedged into the dark, warm space between the two lovers’ bodies. The bard clung to Mirca’s shoulders and broke their kiss as she rubbed him up and down against her wet skin.

"What now?" he whispered into her ear. "You’re too big, I can’t roam your cave and climb your mountains at the same time."

Mirca giggled. "Mountains? Those are barely hills. If it’s mountains you want, I’ll give you mountains!" she replied, gasping for air. "Want more of them? One last time?" The bard nodded mutely, cupped her cheeks and locked lips with her again. The giantess’ warm breasts, enveloping his body, began to tremble.

Slowly, her multiplying flesh bulged out, flowing around him, creeping bigger over his flanks as she unleashed her mams. Alric dug his splayed fingers into the rising masses to his left and right, stroking the soft bags. Within moments, her nipples hung at her hips’ height, riding the forefront of the gigantic, now slightly sagging orbs, and only head and shoulders of her trapped lover peeked from the crack of cleavage in her mammaries’ quicksand.

"Mirca—?"

She dug her right arm through the fold under her breasts. Her fingertips searched and found the hot scepter throbbing against her abs. The tall woman smiled.

"Now’s my turn to milk you."

Her fingers closed around the dripping dick. Her hand squeezed lower until thumb and forefinger encircled the root. Undulating her grip, she stroked his erection like a thick, taut teat, faster and faster.

"Mircaaaah—"

Her pinkie played into the sensitive ridge of his glans, tickling the frenulum.

"Mircaaaaaah!"

Relaxing her stranglehold, she drew her whole hand towards the tip. More boiling blood shot into the bloated head, and all the blocked pipes of his rod suddenly were wide open.

"Mirc—uuuunnnhhh! Unnh! Huurnnnh!"

Alric arched his back, thrusting his body harder against the giantess. The spurts of his hot, sticky seed that shot from the swollen head in the choking ring of the giantess’ thumb and forefinger collected in her cupped palm. He collapsed into her pair of soft pillows, and she held him tight as he rested his head on her sweaty shoulder and listened to his racing heartbeat calming down. Mirca drew her closed hand out from the warm darkness under her breasts and opened her fingers as she raised them to her face. Her tongue sampled the puddle in her palm before she pouted her lips and kissed and slurped it up.

"Mmh. My sweet little salt lick. I’ll always remember your taste," whispered the giantess, leaned back further and slowly relaxed the embrace of her other arm. Alric slid through her widening cleavage and down her midriff until, twenty inches further, his feet touched the ground again. His legs still trembled while Mirca knelt down, drew up his trousers and tied his belt. She sniffled and furtively wiped a tear from her eye.

"You taught me lots of fun things. Good luck, Alric."

He raised his hand and ran his fingertips over her cheek before he hoisted his bag over his shoulder and grabbed his trekking pole.

"I’ll never forget the both of you," he sighed. "Maybe—"

The witch shoved him playfully and laughed. "Yes, maybe some day. Come on now! Shoo! I don’t want to put down roots here!"

The women watched until he turned around the first bend and disappeared from their sight.

Yrba clapped her hands.

"Right, that’s that. And now, let’s get going."





Chapter 40: Spring’s Brew



Noon had already passed. The twitter of birds filled the treetops around the secluded clearing in which the caravan stood. Every now and then, the horse’s whinnying drowned out the campfire’s crackling. A cast iron cauldron of twenty gallons hung from a blackened chain, and the thick liquid inside spat green droplets as the rising bubbles burst. Yrba rummaged the vials and crocks of her wooden chest resting on a folding table nearby, now and then glancing at her Herculean pupil squatting by the fire and stirring the ooze. The witch finally handed her a bowl. It seemed to shrink the moment it went from Yrba’s hand to Mirca’s. Everything seemed to shrink in the hands of the seven feet tall blond giantess. There was so much Mirca, eating up the scenery, that nothing else seemed to matter. For a second or two, Yrba stared at the earthen bowl and compared its shape and size to the areolae waiting behind the thin, straining veils of the giantess’ clothes before she slapped her hand over her eyes and held her temples.

Nnngh. Focus, stupid witch! Focus!

She cleared her throat. "Now add three spoonfuls of this."

"Uh — it’s not going to hiss and sparkle again, is it?" Mirca narrowed her eyes nervously and leaned away as she knocked the spoon with the yellow powder against the rim of the cauldron and the flour-like substance disappeared into the bubbling ooze with a burping gloub.

Yrba breathed a sigh of relief. "No, now it won’t any more. Just tell me the very instant you notice anything strange in your breasts."

"Come on! I’ve got a grip on it."

"Most of the time, dear. Most. And there’s more to this brewing than meets your eyes."

She plucked a handful of white berries from a branch, threw them in and squinted at the pot. The dusty sparkles of drifting magic now slowly curved towards the liquid as the attracting power built up inside the potion. She moved her fingers through the invisible stream, and the almost imperceptible draft eddied around her hand before it soaked into the greenish juice. The first week of spring had supplied the last necessary herbs for her pièce de résistance, and Yrba was determined to have this new batch more than make up for the lost one of the last year that in its entirety had gone down Mirca’s gullet.

"Put out the fire," ordered the witch as she wiped her hands on her apron. "It needs to cool down for a while now."

"Yrba?"

"Yes, sweetie?"

"Do you really think we’ll meet him again?"

The gypsy smiled. "Who knows?"


When, another hour later, the witch cautiously put her fingers to the black iron, the cauldron was barely warm to the touch.

"Right, now with you around, it’s going to be easy." Yrba opened the knots along the front of her bustier and undid her belt. Her dress fell and curled up in a ring around her feet. Stark naked, she reclined and crawled up awkwardly against the table until she had her lower legs over the tabletop and hung upside down. She spread her thighs, rubbing the black bush that covered her crotch until pink skin flashed between the parting thick labia. "Put the funnel where I told you, and gently, okay?"

Mirca carefully pushed one, then another of her moistened fingers into Yrba’s gap.

"Unnnnggh! How many fingers — uuh! — Damnation, how far do y—ooouuh!"

The blonde stopped instantly. "Sorry, I — I didn’t want to hurt you—"

"Keep going! That’s nothing, I’m stretchy! Put it in!"

"Wait, I need to — I still can’t see the —"

Yrba closed her eyes as Mirca’s fingers widened her womb’s mouth further. The chill of transpiring moisture crawled up her tunnel as it was aired out.

"—Ah, I can see it now! Right, now, the — where is that blasted thing — got it!"

Something rattled on the table, and then a third finger, cold and metallic, entered the witch’s hole. The chilly copper slipped in between her labia. She concentrated on gaping, something moved inside her with wet, smacking noises, and then the hollow tube crawled in until the funnel’s cone against her vulva stopped its advance. Mirca’s fingers left her, and the witch exhaled.

"Slowly now," Yrba cautioned. "I’m no balloon. Need to take my time, to relax my skin. Just a little now."

Mirca groaned as she lifted the cauldron, tilting it cautiously until it spilled a first splash of its viscous content into the funnel. Yrba winced when it swirled through the cone and into her, but then she rested her weight on her shoulders, lifted her arms and massaged the faint mound that showed on her midriff.

"More!"

Slosh. Slop. Gulg—gulg—gulg.

The next helping disappeared into her abyss. She gave herself up to the delicious tickle of tiny rivulets that crawled down her insides like roots and united into a slowly rising puddle, gaining weight with each passing moment.

"Keep — going," panted Yrba.

Grooooaaan.

The growing half-orb between her fingers swelled faster now. The lukewarm herb tincture filled her cavity with tingly power that bounced and bobbed around the magic-proof walls of her stretching belly. Her skin strummed like a plucked string around the now almost spherical bulge from her midriff. The dark brown color of her belly’s surface thinned along with her tissue into mocha with a darker navel, sitting in the center of a cobweb of shiny stretch marks.

Slosh. Sluuuurp. Creeeeaaak.

"Uh, Yrba—" Mirca lowered the cauldron and gazed inside. Yrba threw her head about on the floor, with closed eyes and contorted face.

"Yeeeeees? Unh!" she moaned, stroking and kneading the pumpkin of her protruding belly.

"Why is there a marking scratched in halfway on the inside of the cauldron, that says, uh, 'm… mah… maks … max—eh—muhm'?"

The witch arched her back as her skin stretched farther and the bloated orb sagged towards her face.

"Doesn’t — heeeeeaaaavensssss! — Doesn’t matter! Keep pouring!"

"Uh—okay."

Mirca shrugged and raised the cauldron again —

Slosh. Gulp—gulp—gulp. Dribble. Drip. Drip. Guuurgle.

— and again —

Groooaaaann.

— and again —

Squeeeeaaaak.

— until she finally emptied it to the last drop into the funnel. The level of the green ooze inside the copper cone sank quickly until the last of it disappeared into the tube with a final bubbling and gargling. The leathery groans and stretching noises ended. Yrba’s panting was the only sound. Her head was almost buried under the sagging sphere bloating from her midriff.

"Now what?"

Mirca carefully pulled the pipe out and wiped away a few unruly filaments that had spilled on the witch’s now far protruding, udder-like midriff. Yrba rubbed happily the swollen roundness of her womb with the lemon-sized, bulging navel.

"Mmmh," she sighed. "Now, nothing. I’ll just wait upside-down like this until my little pipe’s all puckered up and sealed again. Won’t take long."

Yrba giggled as the blonde knelt down by her side and also ran her fingertips over the straining orb. Mirca cocked her head.

"My, that feels funny. Like jelly in a silk bag. How long will you be this jiggly?"

"Ten weeks should do it. That’ll become my richest vintage in years."

"Ewww!" Mirca wrinkled her nose. "You’ll keep it all in, all that time? Even the — uh, when you’re — uh —" She leaned forward and whispered, "y’know — bleeding?"

Yrba chuckled, and her balloon belly wobbled along.

"I don’t do that. I never have. Maybe has something to do with the magical stuff and me being different, I guess. And when I hear the complaints of the village women, I’m pretty glad that I am."





Chapter 41: Ripening



The witch’s distended belly was a true sight to behold. Lying on her back in her now much-too-narrow bunk bed in the caravan, the swollen, taut orb rose like a rubbery cauldron (or a future’s beach ball, if you prefer) over the wooden sides. In the morning, Yrba struggled out of bed by gently pushing her belly over the edge and letting herself get dragged along by the heavy, rotund mass as it rolled over and bobbed up and down. The years before, when she was traveling alone, she'd have spend the next minutes sorting her limbs and maneuvering her thighs beneath the taut protrusion, just to be able to get up by wrapping her arms around it and struggling from her haunches to a huffing and puffing stoop. With Mirca around, those things were trivial. The burly woman simply grabbed the witch beneath the arms and lifted her to her feet.

"There. Ybbie, I’ve watched you doing this for a whole week now! Tonight, you’ll sleep on the floor with me. It’s no good, the way you fall down. I was scared again! Your belly flattened and stretched so much, I thought you’d surely burst this time!"

The witch stroked the straining sphere on her midriff, caressing the thin-stretched skin.

"Don’t worry. This thing can take a lot. It’s not the first time I’m doing this."

She bit her lips as Mirca knelt down and planted a sloppy kiss on her protruding bellybutton. The giantess’ sneaky tongue tickled the mound. Yrba’s fingers dug into the blond mane as her companion sucked and nibbled on her navel, treating it like the nipple of a giant tit.

It’s the first time I’ve packed in a whole cauldron, though. I should’ve stopped, but — it just felt so good, when you poured into me and I stretched, and —

She groaned. Mirca’s hands were all over the bloated ball of skin, stroking, tickling, caressing. The tall young woman’s tongue, all the two finger’s length of it, dripping and drooling, drew warm tracks of slippery saliva on her skin. And now Mirca turned her head and rubbed her warm cheeks over the taut orb, lovingly pressing her face into the yielding pillow while her arms wrapped around Yrba’s hips.

"Mmmh. I like it how you feel now, Yrba. Oh, I could just keep on cuddling and smooching you."

A tiny rivulet of Mirca’s warm spit ran down the orb and crawled along the underside. Yrba shuddered.

— feels so good. Oh Mirca, you don’t know — Wha—!

"Hey! Young lady, get your fingers out of my crotch!"

"Aww!" pouted Mirca and gave the witch a pair of the nicest puppy eyes, staring up over the rim of Yrba’s belly. "Don’t you want me to tickle you there, just a little? You’ve been so pent up and you don’t let me make you scream and writhe any more. I promise I won’t tap your barrel! See?"

The witch didn’t see. The mocha-colored dome of skin in front of her only let her feel her travel companion’s finger, the finger of a seven feet tall giantess, creeping up inside her hungry lust cave and stretching the wrinkles as it neared the apex with the cramped muscle valve. Wetness oozed from her vagina’s walls as her arousal grew. And her gasps and yelps of protest were just lip service while her hands stroked through the blond hair and turned it into an unkept bird’s nest. Her eyes were closed. Her head was turned to the caravan’s ceiling, and her jaw trembled weakly as spit dribbled from the corner of her mouth and ran down her breasts’ glowing skin.

"No! Mirca, you — uuuuhh! — You stop thaaaaaaahhht right now! You — oh the goooooooods! I n—need that soooo baaaaad!"

Mirca’s middle finger snuck in all the way and rimmed the contracted cervix. Yrba lost what little of her resolve had remained. Her hip gyrated on Mirca’s hand. She desperately humped against the long, stiff finger that tickled all the right places.

Suddenly, her eyes grew big.

The giantess felt the change, the spark that arced through her mistress’ body. Mirca’s hand quickly cupped the witch’s crotch and squeezed the thick brown outer labia shut around her middle finger that plugged the smaller woman’s inner valve. No matter how desperately Yrba’s groin muscles flexed and bucked, the giantess’ seal held through the cramps and flails of the witch’s climax. Spent, the gypsy collapsed against the burly woman and rested her head on Mirca’s milk pillows.

"Oh dear, you’ve got no idea how I needed that!" She panted as she raised her head. "Still was a stupid thing to do! Heavens, I — what if I had spilled all the potion? I sure was mad enough to want to! Oh my, I wanted to gush like a waterfall."

"Silly witch!" Mirca chuckled. "That’s why I held you shut. See?" She lifted her hand from Yrba’s groin. The slippery wetness that dragged filaments between her wiggling fingers was clear, with no hint of the tincture’s greenish glow. Yrba grabbed Mirca’s hand by the wrist and slowly licked and kissed and sucked off the varnish.

"M—hm," she nodded, two of Mirca’s digits deep in her mouth. Her tongue cleaned the ooze-filled space between them. Not a hint of her potion’s taste there, either. Mirca giggled as Yrba’s tongue tip tickled on.

Slurp.

"Yes, well done, darling. It’s just a few weeks more, and then you once again can dive in me as much as you want, so let’s keep this kind of fun scarce."

"Aw. Can’t promise you that, Yrba. Your third tit is just so much fun."

The caravan rocked gently as Mirca rose to her feet. She cowered to not run her head into the ceiling as she put a woolen blanket around Yrba’s shoulders. The witch lovingly eyed the young woman soaring over her.

"You’ve changed quite a lot, dear. For the better."





Chapter 42: Harvesting



"Hold it there! Leave the cart and walk over. Let’s have a look at you."

Yrba pulled at the reins and fastened them. She climbed down slowly and with exaggerated care from the coach box and clutched her heavy belly while she made her way knock-kneed across the small stone bridge and towards the picket fence. The sheriff, or whatever the job was called around these parts, waited by the village gate, with his arms crossed over his chest. Yrba’s last visit had been years ago, and she didn’t remember seeing him before. She stooped in front of him and huffed and puffed for quite a while until she caught her breath again.

"Traveling — merchant and healer, asking — for a place to stay for the night."

"You’re not welcome," was the immediate reply. "Go and camp out in the forest." He drew up his upper lip in disgust. "Goodness, you look like you’re about to dump a whole litter of squealing brats on our town square. Get lost, you abomination."

Yrba sighed, put her palms on her rear and straightened her spine against the weighty pull of her womb.

"Mirca!" she yelled over her shoulder. "We’re not welcome here!"

The caravan rocked, and then the huge blonde stepped around the corner. A cape of sewn-up wolfskins hung around her shoulders, and she very much gave the impression that she had not needed her sword to harvest the pelts. A straining chain mail bustier sparkled through the furs’ gap in front, and she balanced one of her broadswords over her shoulder like it was nothing but a twig. Leather wristbands creaked as she brushed the cloak aside and put her free hand to her hip, revealing a small and polished hatchet in a holster at her thigh.

"But — sending healers away brings bad luck," Mirca hollered back. "Don’t they know about that?"

The sheriff gulped. Mirca’s appearance gave a very detailed idea as to what kind of bad luck might befall a small village without, say, a standing army, should they try and send away the weird travelers. He had heard stories — everybody had — about a palace that was no more, about mauled and lacerated carcasses tied to trees and about an unusual pair of women, traveling the countryside… well, unusual sure befitted the couple.

"Then again, a healer might be a good thing to have around," he conceded.

"I knew you’d come to your senses," smiled Yrba.

Moments later, a wet rag slapped against the back of the man’s head, showering Yrba with a rain of droplets.

"Rupert! You daft? That’s Yrba!" A countrywoman, well beyond her prime but obviously still blessed with a strong arm and aiming skills, hurried up to the gate. "I told you! Really, how many Darkskins do you think will come to these parts? Oh go back to the stables and pile the hay, you overzealous oaf!"

She picked up her improvised projectile and turned to the witch. Her weather-worn face turned into a smiling web of lines, and her deep, dark eyes sparkled. "Oh my, sweet darling, sorry for that welcome. I didn’t know our wannabe law keeper even knew words like abomination. He married Jonah Wheatgrass’ daughter and moved here, three winters ago." Yelling over her shoulder at the toddling man, she added, "And he should’ve listened to the womenfolk!"

Yrba embraced her and chuckled. "Oh, cut him some slack, sabertongue! I know full well I’m not my best-looking self right now. And you? Glad to see you’re still around to set them straight, Martha. How’s the sedentary life treating you, ya old knife-thrower? Still got your aim, I gather?"

"You bet! Ain’t no crow for miles now that dares venturing near my vegetable garden. So what you got this time? Cloth? New spices? Oh my goodness, you’re preggers again." Martha tenderly ran her snaggy fingers over the witch’s spherical womb and shook her head. "Really, dear, you of all people should know how to not let that happen! When’s the bundle of joy due? Last month, from the feel of it?"

"Oh Martha!" Yrba chuckled some more. "How many times have I told you, it’s no bun in the oven, just an old witch’s complaint acting up. I’ll be lithe and lissom again by the next moon."

The elder woman laughed. "You’ll never be lithe, sweetheart, with those melon mams of yours. Still got all the menfolk losing their minds over your cleavage, eh? And I see you’re treating my old cart well. Could stand a fresh layer of paint, though. Ah, the traveling days. Good old times. Not that I’m complaining, Mervin’s still the gentleman he was when we got hitched and settled down." She winked. "He could do with a drop or two of your potion though. Me too. Ain’t getting younger, the both of us. I don’t know how you do it, but you don’t look a day older than when you first showed up at the circus!"

She nodded towards Mirca. "Glad to see you got it made, seeing how you can afford your very own guard! Such muscle would’ve been a sure boon in them old days. Oh, you’ve got to tell us what’s happening all over the shires. Hurry, hurry! I’ll call in all the neighbors!"


"What a day! I’m beat."

Yrba pursed her lips and blew out the candle. Darkness enshrouded the two shapes, cuddling on a blanket in the hay of Martha’s stable. Mirca snuggled closer to the witch’s back and ruffled Yrba’s thick black hair.

"They came from miles away to see you, from afternoon all through the evening! You’re very popular, aren’t you?"

The witch smiled and flicked a fingernail against a small leather pouch by her side. It went tink in the worldwide language of tightly-packed coins. "Ooh, yes, I’m popular as long as they need a healer. Oh well. They paid promptly and didn’t complain or haggle much, that’s what I found remarkable."

"Yes, but they talked among themselves and whispered and looked at me all the time!"

Yrba’s huge belly jiggled as she laughed. "These things might’ve something to do with each other, my dear."

Mirca’s fingers stroked the round protrusion. "But I’ve not said or done a thing, just leaned against the doorframe like you told me to. That was boring." She pressed her fingertips into the rubbery ball. "Mmh, you sure are extra cuddly and squishy tonight. I could just go on rubbing and rubbing you all the time. Another week before you — y’know, tap it, right?"

Yrba nodded mutely. She wiggled into Mirca’s soft bosom and reveled in the air of protective strength and safety that her friend’s strong and sure arms and body exuded abundantly. The giantess’ fingers circled and tickled the gypsy’s body playfully, returning time and again to the heavy, sagging bag with the protruding navel, gently kneading the straining skin. Yrba exhaled as a sweet wave of weakness, of melting away into the splayed fingers, rushed over her.

Why am I so — so relaxed? I’ve never felt like that before. What are you doing to me? I wanted to be strong. I wanted to get by on my own, to travel, to never ever settle down. And now you’ve got me dreaming of a home, of my own place somewhere, settling down like Martha did — she’s so happy, maybe — I can’t — I shouldn’t — what if, no, it must not be —

Mirca’s splayed fingers of one hand cupped Yrba’s bloated womb, and her other hand wandered up until it cupped the dark-skinned woman’s ample breast and rolled the soft flesh in its palm. Yrba sighed delightedly and let her doubts and worries drown in the warm embrace. She turned her head over her shoulder, and Mirca leaned in. Halfway, their lips touched for an innocent kiss goodnight.

Just hold me forever like this, my giantess.


Forever ended a few hours later, when Yrba stirred in her sleep and rolled about. Something wet coated the inside of her thighs. Still sleepy, she fingered down her body and sank her probing middle finger into the curls-covered opening.

Suddenly, she was wide awake. Something else inside her also widened, slowly, inevitably. She turned in place and grabbed her sleeping companion.

"Mirca!"

The blonde barely moved as Yrba’s fingers clawed into her upper arm.

"Wsemmfta?" she mumbled.

"What’s the matter?! Mirca, wake up! I’m leaking! It’s coming early! Hurry, quick, get the cauldron!"

Yrba groaned. Just shaking Mirca’s arm had almost overwhelmed her straining cervix. Dammit, I’ve really managed to overdo it this time. She clenched her teeth. Not now, not here! I can’t afford to lose another batch!

"Mirca?!"

The blonde struggled to her feet, cast the blanket off her shoulders and grabbed Yrba’s ankles.

"No time. Let’s take you to the cauldron instead!"

"Miiiiiii—!"

The world spun around the witch, and then she hung upside-down, with Mirca’s full breasts pushing into her lower back and Mirca’s shoulders in the hollow of her knees, while the huge girl’s hands held the witch in front of her, carrying the heavy, wobbling orb of Yrba’s belly like a huge pot.

"Mirca! Oh gods, you’re squeezing it out! I’m about to —"

Slurp.

"—Ooooh!"

"Wu wommf!"

The blonde pushed her head between Yrba’s thighs and wrapped her lips around the wide-open clam that already filled with potion. Mirca’s thick tongue plunged into the depths of the witch’s funnel and plugged the gap in the straining cervix.

"What are you doing?! You mustn’t drink more of it! Mirca, heavens, no! Don’t swallow!"

"Fuff uff! I mow!"

Yrba’s soft, huge breasts bounced about wildly and slapped her in the face time and again while Mirca hurried around the shed in long strides. She took her gypsy’s straining belly in a one-armed headlock and rattled at the cart’s door. Yrba flailed and fought to keep her head from knocking against the stairs.

"Dammit, hurry! Gods, girl, hurry! Unnngh—!"

Her womb grew tauter by the second, and Mirca’s arm, squeezing her tightly, didn’t help. Twitches and cramps flashed across her overstrained skin that after the weeks of tension just wanted to contract again, stronger and stronger.

Clang. Ker-boink. Oioioiong.

Sluuuurgh.

The bung of Mirca’s tongue slithered out of the witch’s depths. Yrba felt turned and twisted around, and then she sat on the rim of her cauldron that cut into her thighs. She needed a few seconds to make sense of the words up and down again.

"There!" panted Mirca. "We did it! You can let it out now!"

Yrba clutched her belly. It felt close to bursting, but the witch suddenly knew it wouldn’t. Whatever had happened, it had reversed, and, even worse, reversed only halfway. Her womb said gush, and her snatch had cramped up again and said no. And that wasn’t good. It meant pain. The strain and ache grew stronger. She had trouble breathing and gasped for air. The glowing green flood in her womb struggled for a passage through the sole way out and barraged against a puckered-up, overstrung muscle that was stuck in a huff.

"Yrba?"

"Help — me …," moaned the witch.

"What — how —?!"

"Too — tense, my belly — the hole, won’t open — uuungh!"

"Yrba—"

"Cuddle — me," begged the witch, shaking all over.

Mirca knelt down, with the cauldron between her feet and the curled-up shape of Yrba, her body almost wrapped around her own udder-taut belly, in front of her. The giantess gently wrapped her arms around the round shape. Her fingers wandered round and round the straining, sweaty skin, her fingertips were warm spots creeping over the silken surface.

"Ahhhh—," exhaled Yrba. "Yes—mmmgh!"

Mirca’s forefinger, very womanly in shape, but not in sheer size, touched Yrba’s full lips. The witch drew it into her mouth and coated it plenteously with her warm saliva. They had played these games before, and Mirca had a good idea of what Yrba longed for now. The dripping digit disappeared into the fold underneath the bloated belly and tickled searchingly through Yrba’s black curls.

"Mmmmmh—!"

Its moist warmth found the witch’s engorged lust button and rimmed it gently. Her throaty breathing changed in moments. Yrba threw back her head and offered her mouth to the giantess cuddling her bloated figure.

There was nothing innocent about their kiss now. Mirca’s long, plump tongue spread Yrba’s full brown lips and entered the pink cave of her mouth like the most virile dick the witch could even begin to think of, and the Darkskin’s nubby tongue dueled the erect invader with all her cunning. Her thighs opened wider as her hip started to buck in the rhythm of Mirca’s rubbing and prodding forefinger. Tickling and itching slowly worked its way up inside Yrba’s hungry clam. The mucous membranes swelled and began to drip, and finally the spreading readiness reached the ceiling of her love tunnel. The cervix slowly relaxed, and as the wrinkles in the puckered muscle smoothed, the pent-up potion started oozing through the widening gap.

Tink. Drip-Drip. Dribble.

"Mh gmmmh! Mmmmggghhh!" Yrba tried to holler and yell in her orgasm’s throes, but Mirca’s lips, locked tight with hers, robbed the screams from her lips. The witch reflexively clenched her thighs shut, and the length of her vagina filled and stretched thick and full as the deluge conquered the next leg on its way out, only to slam head-on into one final barrier. Yrba’s eyes rolled back. Wave upon wave of sheer, blissful ecstasy sloshed through her mind, and her body went into tremors interspersed with spasmodic shakes.

Mirca’s hands grabbed the witch’s knees and forced them apart. Yrba’s plump labia domed, still holding tight against the potion that nevertheless seeped through the wrinkles and folds. The blonde fumbled blindly in her helpless, sex-consumed mentor’s pubic curls for the cramped crack. One fingertip struggled in, then another. Mirca pulled the wrinkly folds wide open. Hot liquid boiled over her fingers, and the inside of the cart lit up with the green glow of the foaming, bubbling, raw tincture as it shot out through the blown gasket in one massive bolt of light and collected in the cauldron. Yrba shook and bucked in the giantess’ arms as the refined juice finally gushed from her womb in long, thick pulses brought about by the spasms of her gap. Mirca’s fingers moved higher, hefted the shrinking orb and kept on massaging and kneading the contracting skin long after the last glowing drop and viscous filament had dribbled from the witch’s crotch and Yrba’s waist had shrunk back from bloated ball to the slight hourglass of an exotic dancer.

Stammering words of gratitude, the witch slipped down from the iron receptacle and sagged back into the warm, soft milk pillows of her giantess. Mirca leaned against the caravan’s small cupboard and was also busy catching her breath. She fingered the sticky puddle on the floor beneath her legs.

"Uh, sorry, I — I got sort of carried away and my juice dripped on the boards. I’ll clean it up as —"

Yrba shut her up with a wet smooch. "Don’t you dare! No, I’ll do it for you. Hell, I’d lick up your sweet honey, but I don’t want to end up with a mouth full of splinters. Stupid cheap floor." She wiggled against the warm, muscle-stuffed shape of her friend and turned her eyes to the cauldron and the glowing liquid that spun slowly inside.

"We’re back in business!"





To Be Continued in Yrba’s Travels, Part 9: The Tower

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.

My complete listing of texts is at

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

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