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.9 — The Tower
by
Paul Gerard (a pen name)
First Draft, July 2008. This revision: October 2009
Spellchecked: by computer.
Proof-reading: Yeah, yeah. Once again, I couldn’t be bothered to pester a proof-reader. I read it over, quite a few times. Might still have missed some glitches. No hablo ingles as mother tongue. So sue me. ;)
--
Obscure musical reference:
"Do you believe? / Don’t you trust me. / Me wise magic." — Van Halen, Me Wise Magic
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.
Part 8 — The Living Cauldron
It’s springtime! Yrba makes good on her promise of "an extra inch or two for your services" to Alric. After the two women bid farewell to the bard, Yrba sets out to brew a fresh batch of her special potion. Once again Mirca's strength and size come in handy as the witch goes to great lengths (or rather... girth) to make sure that she'll have enough of her best-selling tincture to last for the rest of the year...
Chapter 43: The Pupil Becomes The Teacher
The faint wrinkles in the corners of the brown eye behind the crystal deepened into black against the chocolate skin as the long-lashed eyelids narrowed menacingly, and the fingernails with the tips filed to points ticked impatiently against the sparkling frame of the tinted gem. Plump lips curled and revealed two rows of shining teeth.
"You’re not ill. And you’re not hurt. Yet. So tell me, why did you lie to me to get in here?"
Yrba put down the scrying glass and stared the farmer, a scrawny middle-aged man with stubby beard and receding hairline, straight in the eye. He fidgeted nervously on his chair.
"Uh—," he looked around the inside of the caravan and at the firmly closed door, lowering his voice to a whisper as he leaned conspiringly towards the curvy, stout gypsy, "my son, y—y’know, the skinny lad outside, he’s supposed to marry the Jones’s daughter soon, so it’s kinda urgent, and he needs the talk, and maybe a little, uh, show and tell, and you traveling types, well, they say, that you, if the money’s right —"
The witch’s thin-stretched patience ripped. "I’m not a traveling whore, man!" she barked, slammed her hands on the table and half-rose from her seat, bringing her five-and-a-half feet height to good effect as she towered over the man.
He flinched and gesticulated at her to keep her voice down.
"Yes, no, surely not, but, uh, my wife, she said she’d known you when you travelled the highlands a few years before she moved here, and you’ve helped her with, uh, y’know, things, and she, she said, you’re not all that evil, and you, and she, and I’m, uh, and she told me to say that she, uh, has the funny little birthmark s—shaped like, uh…"
Yrba raised her eyebrows and shut her eyes, sitting back down. Her fingers kneaded in circles over her temples. "Annabelle," she sighed. "Oh well. So what? You really want me to put Annie’s son through his paces? Come on. He’s old enough, I’m sure he knows more about those things than what you give him credit for —"
His voice was down to a whisper again, and he scratched his head nervously.
"No, see, he’s — weird, y’know? He’s got that…"
Mirca returned from her stroll to the clearing by the river bank with her arms full of branches. The towering seven feet Amazonian blonde dropped her load by the fireplace and wiped the sweat from her brow. Spring had progressed. Instead of her warm winter garb of wolfskin and chain mail over leather, she wore the figure-hugging dress of green silk that Li had sewn for her. The gift of the eastern lands refugee revealed more than it hid all the voluptuous curves and toned muscles underneath as she sat down at the side of the lone, nervous young man.
All in all, it promised to be a quiet day for a change. Except for the lad and his father, no other clients from the small village nearby had shown up. There was no need for the tall young woman to lean against the caravan as she sharpened her broadswords or to practice her martial skills as a spectacle for the waiting queue. Mirca still wondered why her splitting a trunk in two with a single strike seemed to fill Yrba’s little pouch with gold coins much faster than when she just sat by the fire and stirred their supper. Then again, the late-night dancing they did every now and then if the audience was right, with her wearing a jingling chain mail that sparkled in the flickering flames and Yrba wrapped in nothing but a flimsy set of veils, yes, that was something she would’ve paid to see, too.
Mirca glanced at the young man who had not moved at all. The guy stared ahead into the smoldering fireplace left over from cooking the lunch and seemed to not have noticed her yet. She prodded him.
"Hey, you. I’m Mirca."
He startled and looked at her. After a few moments of wide-eyed gawking, he looked a bit higher and found her face.
"Hi. Tom. Uh, I’m Tom. From the village."
She smiled down on him. He looked lost and uneasy, and the former lumberjack serf girl knew all too well how that felt. She just had to try and lighten him up, she decided.
"What’s yer problem?"
"M—me?" he stammered. "I—I’ve got no problem!"
"Oh, so you’re with that guy in there? Your father? Don’t worry, Yrba’s amazing. She’ll help him for sure."
The young man glanced up uneasily at the hunk of a girl. Even sitting right by his side on the fallen tree, she was a good head taller than him. He averted his eyes and stared back down into the ashes. "I hope she won’t," he muttered.
"My, what a nasty thing to say about someone who’s ill!" chided the blonde and frowned.
He blushed. "He’s not sick. He wants her to show me how — how to do, y’know, those things with girls."
She gave him a playful jab in the ribs that almost chucked him off the trunk. "Woah! You lucky dog, you! Will she ever teach you! Yrba’s even more amazing with the sexing!"
"Is she? She’s old and she scares me. I shudder when I imagine how she—yerch. No, I don’t think I’ll learn much like that."
"That’s mean! Don’t talk about her like that!" Mirca slapped him over the head and pointed her finger at him. "She’s not old. Soon as her rags and patches come off, she’s all firm and smooth underneath! I should know! And she’s got that totally awesome trick where she sticks her tongue into you and wiggles it around on the inside!"
"Her — tongue?! Inside?! What’s her tongue got to do w—with…" All color drained from his face.
"Oh come on! You’re a grown man, you can’t be that clueless — oh, right. Yes, you can. Hey, don’t look at me like that! I mean —" She grinned and prodded him again as she leaned in and whispered, "I was like that, too. Then I met those girls and got a real ay—duh—cay—shoon! And after that, I saved a bard from wolves, and Yrba taught me all about how to —"
She blushed and stopped. Looking away and scratching her head behind her ear, she muttered, "Uh, I’m — I’m blabbering again. Yrba said I better not do that." Straightening again and holding her arms out at him, she continued in a much louder voice, "So, anyway, look at you! Shouldn’t the girls be all over you? Looks like you have a huge — like your family has a huge farm."
He shook his head. "Oh, I spend the summer up on the pastures to get away from them all. No, I’m saving myself for my one true love."
"Huh?" The giantess frowned in surprise and drew her upper lip. He smiled and turned livelier, gesticulating as he explained.
After he finished, Mirca scratched her head and cocked an eyebrow. "Oo—kay. So you’re waiting for one special girl, and when she comes along, you’ll know she’s the right one. And you know it works like that because you once watched a play on a stage when you visited the market with your father, and you’re waiting for the special girl to come by for ten years now. So now your parents think you’re waiting too long, what with being twenty years old and unmarried and all, and they want to arrange a marriage, but you don’t know the girl, but you’re sure she’s not the one so you decided you won’t like her, and you’d rather keep on waiting for when the right girl comes along and then you and her will be happy instantly and you’ll marry her on the spot."
He worked his way through the wall of words, then he nodded.
"And then I guess the two of you will do lots of sexing, and it’ll be great and you’ll be happy ever after."
He blushed, but nodded again. Mirca picked at her chin before she asked, slowly and ponderously, "But how are you going to make her happy if you haven’t practiced? I mean, without Yrba showing me, I guess I’d have screwed up pretty badly on my first time."
Tom blinked. "What? I didn’t think it’d be this complicated?"
The giantess put her hands to her hips. "Oh come on! Complicated! There’s just so much you can do with each other, I’d never have thought about. I mean, just the things one can do with the mouth, or the fingers, and the timing is so important, and how to stroke and the squeezing and the talking and all that stuff! If you don’t know about that, you’ll just bore her, and you’ll be missing out on all the fun, too! And it’s no fun if you do it wrong! Pshaw! How do you want to make your princess happy if you just shove into her like a boar?"
Mirca drew a weird face and pondered on for a few seconds. Then she beamed. He jerked back at the sudden change in her expression.
"Hey, I’m paracti…uh…racitically Yrba’s assistant. And she always says she’s amazed by what I come up with, and she said there’s little she can teach me about cocks any more! So if you’re scared of her, then I can show it to you instead! You’re not scared of me, are you?" She cocked her head, pouted and played with one of her long, golden curls as she smiled down on the young man who barely reached to her shoulders.
Tom blinked and looked her up and down. And before he could even answer, dared to answer, the gargantuan young woman jumped to her feet and grabbed him by his wrist. He staggered along as she made for the bushes at the forest’s edge, because, the way she pulled at his arm, he feared she would not even notice if she dragged him over the ground after her.
Mirca swirled around and let go of his wrist, and he stumbled on against a tree and clung to its rough bark, catching his breath. The sun shone warmly on the patches of soft moss in the tiny clearing, and not a sound penetrated the thick underwood that hid the couple’s retreat from the world.
"Right," she giggled behind him and pulled her dress off over her head, dropping the smooth cloth heedlessly to her side, then bowed as she drew down her underwear. "We haven’t got much time, I need to go back to cook the dinner, but I can show you the basics if you put some effort to it! Come on, look at me!"
The giantess rose from her bent-over posture, slowly running her fingers over her firm thighs. Her huge and round mammaries, already well-filled as her evening milking neared, dangled heavily from her chest and grew flatter and wider as they settled against her ribcage. Leaning against a tree, the muscles in her midriff and legs shifted visibly under her flawless skin as she spread her thighs wide apart.
"Uh—," he stammered, staring at her heavy, heaving bust and deeper at the golden bush shining in the forest’s twilight.
"Okay, so now this is what women look like. Yes, right," she immediately conceded, "not all women. But it’s close. Also, it’s all so much easier for you to see, what with me being pretty tall, y’know? Come, look here…"
Mirca reached out and effortlessly cupped the back of his head in her hand. She pushed him down to his knees, bringing his face within inches of the golden curls in her crotch. Her other hand’s fingers spread the bush and the plump labia. The petals opened to reveal the moist entrance. She picked up a few of the glistening droplets and rubbed them over her skin.
"See? It’s all smooth and pink and smells rather fresh, which means it’s healthy, says Yrba. She says, if it’s not like that, you better not stick your fun pole into it, or else you’ll need some of her potions pretty soon. Okay, so now that’s where you want to get into, later. Notice how wet it is?" Her fingers went deeper, and the entrance of the cave opened to her touch with a faint squelching. "That’s how it’s got to be if you want to slip in. Now see that little bulge, up here?"
Her glistening fingers slipped higher and squeezed into the soft flesh. Her lust button rose from its wrappers, and the giantess sucked air through her clenched teeth.
"Fffff—hhhh, oh yes, that’s — that’s very sensitive. You gotta be careful touching it, or she’ll slap you silly if you treat that little cherry wrong, m’kay?"
Tom gulped and nodded. Mirca grabbed him under the armpit with one hand and pulled him upright again. She smiled and lifted one of her breasts with both hands, offering it to him like a ripe pumpkin.
"Now, this here is something else you can play with. You’ll not see boobs that big on many other girls, so don’t get all worked up about them, okay? They’re a good place to start, though. Here —" She grabbed his hands and pushed them on the bulging areolae. "— That’s what they feel like. Go on, rub them while I help you lose your garb." Her fingertips fiddled down along the front of his shirt. "Why do you wear all those complicates things? What’s that? Hooks? Who still uses hooks these days? Never heard of buttons?"
He held Mirca’s soft, warm breast in his hands as if it was a dangerous animal, trying to balance the heavy, overflowing flesh without grabbing it too hard.
"M—Mirca, this, we, I, I don’t think this —"
Her fingers ran over his naked chest, and her fingernails gently scratched his skin.
"You do want to make your princess happy when she comes along, don’t you?" she whispered.
Tom sighed. "Yes, I do."
"See, and I’m going to show you how! Now start kneading my puppies — mmmh. You’re pretty good at this. Now do the other one, too. Run your thumbs over the nipples, gently—"
"They’re getting hard!"
"Mmmh—yes, you’re doing good. Keep on."
His hands finally adored her warm, soft hills with no restraint. She smiled. "Feel something harden in your pants?"
He nodded eagerly, mutely, and she continued, "Good. Okay, now, if you’re really hot for your princess and she’s all wet for you and you want a quick humpa-humpa you just open your pants. Boys are at an advantage about that, you know? But I’ll undress you now. Lean back, on your elbows. No, let go now! More about my tits later!"
Mirca gently pushed him on his back, folded his shirt wide open and sniffed his chest while she knelt by his side and her fingers moved lower and fumbled on his belt buckle. "Mmmh. You know about soap, too? Good start! Girls like it better if you don’t smell like a pigsty."
He groaned. "Right what my father said before he threw me in the ice-cold river this morning. Thanks for reminding me! Good feeling’s gone."
She nuzzled his armpit while she pulled down his trousers. "Nothing against a little personal smell, though. That much is okay. Mmmh." She ran her tongue and lips down his flanks as her hands fumbled about his balls and finally caught the swelling dick.
"Good feeling’s back, eh? That’s a nice piece. Yes, there he is. Halfway ready. Now we’re in a bit of a hurry, so, to make him really hard, I take him, like that, in my moufff—"
Slurp. Slurp. Slurp. Gargle. Mmmfff.
She devoured him to the hilt. Her lips rubbed over the root and squeezed gently. Her tongue wiggled and finally wrapped around the growing pole, milking him like she usually did it with a cow’s teat when she got thirsty but was too lazy to fetch a bucket. Munching and sucking, Mirca teased him larger and harder until there was not a single fraction of an inch left in his taut skin to stretch any further. She pulled him from her mouth against the suction in her cheeks.
Shplop. He hardly could believe the size and angry skin tone his rod now had. Mirca’s fingers choked the engorged manhood around its root and made sure it kept its red hot bulk.
"Oooh, see how much he likes it," she smiled. "Some girls won’t suck you, mind you. Are you listening? Open your eyes! Right, now that he’s hard, I’ll roll over and — no, don’t get up!"
"But I’ve seen how our bull does it—"
"Yes, Tom." She giggled. "That’s how I learned it in the first place, too. Rookie mistake. That from behind stuff is nice, but let’s start with something not so wild — you kneel down between my legs now and —"
She rolled on her back, spread her thighs and dug her heels and shoulders into the ground, lifting her hip to the right height.
"Right, now you — you can use your hands to aim, it won’t fall off — no, the other hole. Ahhh. Yes! Yes —"
He slipped in balls-deep with his first push. Engulfed by heat, Tom felt nothing but a little moist friction. Mirca shook her head.
"No, no, no! Oops, my bad! I’m dripping wet and huge, so it’s too easy for you. You’ll have to do it much slower and gentler with your princess! Wait, pull it out again, I’ll clench up a bit and then—it’ll feel more like—" The moist cave grew tighter as she guided him in and out with her hands on his hips. He stared at the mountains of her breasts, sloshing back and forth on her body, and almost forgot about the slippery slide claiming his throbbing pole.
"See, like that. You keep going. Right, now I’ll lay back down, and you go down along and try to stay in me, m’kay?"
She clenched her vaginal muscles further. Her strong vaginal muscles. They milked and flexed like a sucking mouth all around his overstrung dick.
"Mircaaaaah!" he groaned, clutched her waist, pressed up against her as hard as he could and shot his load deep into her womb in three, four thick spurts.
"What? No! Aaaaoooowwww! I only got started!"
"I’m sorry," he mumbled, sagging down on her body with his head between her breasts. "Well, that’s it, then, I guess. Thank y—"
Mirca frowned down on the spent young man. "No! Why?"
He raised his head and looked dreamily in her puzzled face. "Why? But — because — uh…"
"That’s no reason to stop! Me ’n Yrba, when we go at it, we don’t let up just because we get the shudders and squeals! No, we keep going! I’ll show you how to get your thing back up and then let’s do it again until you get it right!"
He stared at her with a wide, satisfied grin in his face, and mumbled happily, "Until I get it right?"
"You betcha! Here, look at this special talent I have, it’ll get you hard again in a minute!"
She rolled her shoulders, and her breasts started to tremble.
Warm, sweaty skin shifted over Tom’s face as the soft pillows filled. He dug his hands into the mossy ground to push himself up from Mirca’s transforming body. For a few moments, he managed to free his head from her cleavage and saw the pair of her breasts still in the shape of supple, flattened bags that hung over Mirca’s flanks as she laid spread-eagled on her back. The skin fluttered and stretched as the two orbs firmed up. She looked into his eyes, smiling proudly. Her legs wrapped around his hips and held his discharged dick in place.
"You like that, huh?" she smiled, feeling new twitches and throbs returning to his appendage. "Go on, put your hands on them! It feels great!"
The flowing shapes of the giantess’ breasts bubbled larger, rising from the ground and turning into solid, firm roundness right in front of Tom’s eyes. He pressed his fingers into them and was amazed by their heavy, resilient form. The nipples quickly reached the length and twice the girth of his thumb, fitting into his hands like the cow teats he was used to. After a few probing squeezes and strokes, Mirca’s moans told him he was doing the right thing.
She pounded her heels into his buttocks, groaning and panting under him, gyrating her hips on his hard erection. This time, he held out much longer, matching her stamina until she pulled her muscular cave tight in the cramps of her climax and Tom couldn’t stall any more. He bred her again, then he slowly sagged into the parting cleavage, and the giantess’ heartbeat rang in his ears as Mirca’s breast flesh engulfed his head.
"Pretty nice, huh?" she giggled as she rolled to her side and freed him from her boob ravine. Tom slumped down on his back and nodded weakly.
Mirca raised a finger in a warning gesture. "That’s my little trick and secret, okay? I’m pretty sure your princess won’t grow bigger breasts on command."
"’S okay," he gasped. "Too big anyway. Couldn’t breathe."
"You’re not tired yet, are you? Oh, I know just the thing for you! Just lay on your back, I’ll do all the work! We just need to get you hard again."
"Mirca — Mirca, please, have mercy, I can’t —"
"Hush, sweetie. Just relax." She silenced him with a gentle finger on his mouth, and the taste of salty sweat lingered as she turned from his face to his hips.
Slurp.
"Uuuhhnnn—"
Blood streamed into his dick, heartbeat after racing heartbeat, and within a minute, he was taut and firm in the sucking envelope of Mirca’s expert mouth. Cold sweat ran down Tom’s temples, and he fought hard to force air into his lungs until she finally stopped and held his pricking, throbbing erection with her fingers firmly around the root.
"See? Good as new! You didn’t have to do a thing! Just let me—"
Mirca straddled his narrow hips and drew the bloated head through her dripping labia until it slipped into the widening entrance.
"—Yes, that’s it!"
She lowered her crotch over the hot pole, and by the time her curls touched his balls, she didn’t need the tourniquet of her fingers any more to keep him thick and hard. Her hips began to rock in slow waves.
"And now, I can move like I need it, so I’ll go back and forth— hhhh—!"
This time, it was the giantess who gasped in surprise. Her climax came out of nowhere, hitting her hard and wet. Her ample secretions squirted all around Tom’s boner through the tight seal of her swollen pussy lips. With Mirca’s trembling body towering over him, the young man couldn’t see her lust-contorted face over the two quivering orbs dangling from her chest. Ripples ran over the supple skin as the giantess’s whole body shook in tiny spasms, and her boiling cave held his rigid erection in its thirsty, milking grip.
An eternity passed until she sank forward, and his body parted her approaching avalanche of cleavage like a rock parts a gently flowing stream. Only when her areolae made contact with the ground did the smooth bags bulge out sideways and engulfed him as he struggled and wedged his arms through the walls of breast to hold her around her waist. With her weight finally lifted from his hips, Tom was free to once again thrust into her. Mirca picked up his rhythm, and soon their crotches bumped into each other, with the young man controlling the giantess’ movements through the grip of his hands on her big, firm buttocks.
"You — like — that — huh? — Huh?" he groaned through clenched teeth, forcing his rod into her again and again.
"Doing — good — doing — good," she replied, and then her voice toppled and her limbs gave in, the second time in minutes.
"Youuuurrnnnn—"
She dropped on him, wide-eyed, open-mouthed, clutching him like a deadly wounded she-bear taking out its revenge on its hunter in the last spasms of life. This time, the eternity was at least twice as long until Mirca finally let go of the half-crushed beanstalk of a man under her. Her throaty breathing rose from deep within her chest — and there was a lot of chest to rise from.
"Hurrrrnngh—Hurrngh—Huunnnhh—Huuunnn—," she panted in his ear, then she gulped and moistened her dry, pouted lips and kissed him.
"That was really, really good, Tom," she whispered and caressed his cheek, rolling off him and on her back by his side. "You’re learning fast."
Her right hand’s fingers walked down his midriff as she rose to her left elbow and leaned in over his hips.
"Next is how you can hold back even longer. Yrba always says, the secret is in the breathing, so try and breathe slowly while I —"
Slurp.
"Hhhhhh—!"
"Mirca!" barked the witch as she stumbled upon the sweat-drenched couple splayed out on the forest floor.
"Mmmm—?"
Gulp. Slurrrp.
The blonde raised her head from Tom’s stomach and smiled. A white glob still stuck to her cheek.
"Hey Yrba, look! We managed a fourth time! We’ve got that me-on-my-back hip-humping covered, but he needed two tries until he got me off, and it was much better with me-on-top, really much better, he got me twice, and now I showed him how to hold back when a girl does it with the mouth! If you hadn’t showed up, he totally could’ve lasted a few more minutes. When I heard you, I hurried along a bit. Uh, forry, diffng nogice ftat fpot." She licked the stray spurt off. "Amd hef’s delifious!" she added as her tongue slipped back between her lips.
"Four times?! And what a giant she is! That’s my boy! Way to go, son!" the farmer yelled as he approached, pumping his fist in misguided paternal pride.
"Aw shit! Dad! Don’t come here now!" The naked young man cringed and grabbed for his pants, blushing.
Mirca knelt up and drew her dress over her head, straightening her clothes as she rose. "Don’t worry, Yrba, he’s clean. And anyway, I’ve taken one of those pills you said were against getting sick."
Yrba clapped her hand over her face and groaned.
"Mirca, what did I tell you about doing freebies? And those pills are for emergencies only! I can’t make new ones until next spring, without fresh herbs."
And you snatched that cute guy away from right under my nose, dammit! I’ve already worked myself up to a dripping swamp, and now it’s all for naught. Goodness, what a piece he has, but he’s all sucked dry and useless.
Her hot irritation subsided at her next thought. So you’ll have to do double tongue duty tonight to make up for that, young lady!
"Uh, Yrba … why are you smiling like that?"
Mirca frowned for a moment, but then she quickly turned and leaned in to Tom, whispering, "You’ll remember, will ya? The few tricks are a pretty good start for when your princess comes along."
"Oh, well, maybe I’ll — I’ll talk to that other girl first. Y’know, the one my old man wants to introduce me to. I mean, I — I feel stupid, been waiting for so long, maybe it’s time to — I dunno, I may have done her wrong. Maybe she’s all nice and friendly, too." He shrugged and grinned as he tied his belt.
"You do that!" Mirca grinned back at him and stroked his cheek.
The witch looked up at the hulking young woman, and the last of her anger disappeared at the sight of the open, friendly face shining with a thin layer of perspiration and the glow of pride. She patted her companion’s shoulder and nodded towards the couple of proud father and slightly embarrassed son toddling home.
"Seems you taught him pretty well after all. Four times? Now that’s my girl!"
Chapter 43: An Unfriendly Welcome
Note: From here to the end of this part, the story’s tone is darker than the rest. A few plot answers are in here, but also people getting tied up, and not willingly. One will not make it. You Have Been Warned.
Rain streamed down, mixed with gusts of wind. The thunderstorm’s heavy clouds had sped up nightfall considerably while Yrba and Mirca traveled up the winding road to the cliff, and the light of the torches on the caravan now barely reached the walls surrounding the inner courtyard of the lone castle. The black silhouette of the main tower loomed over the small ring of buildings that sprung from its root, dwarfing them. Faint light shone from a few windows, and silhouettes moved, but nobody dared to venture outside to greet the two arrivals.
Yrba drew the cold, soaked blanket tighter around her shoulders as she climbed from the coach box and made her way to the main gate across the slippery cobblestones of the courtyard. Behind her, Mirca’s tall shape steamed in the driving rain. Her sure hands held the reins of the tired, nervous shire horse as she guided the animal to an empty stable.
"I’m coming!" hollered the white-bearded man and limped down the hallway to the door. "I’m coming! Enough with the banging already!" And, muttering under his groans, he added, "Where are those blasted servants if you need them?" He slid back the bolts and opened the small door in the gate.
The old wizard jerked back as the door was pushed open and swung out of his hands. A flash of lightning came from the outside, and by the harsh glare he recognized the hateful face. And the dagger that the visitor held up, ready to thrust.
"Yrba!"
She bared her teeth.
"Ramec. I’ve come to collect the pay for your deeds."
"So you’re going to kill me now."
He sighed resignedly and didn’t even try to run. He just turned, leaned against the gate and let his head fall in his neck.
She snorted. "Tempting idea. You made my life a living hell, old man, all those years ago. Heaven knows, I’d be more than happy to run you through for good. Pity you’re such an expert wizard. I’ve got another riddle for you to solve. Who knows, I might consider forgetting your old trespass if you succeed."
"Me, an expert wizard? Those times are long gone. I don’t know if I can be of service to you. You might fare better just plunging your dagger in my heart right away."
She put the blade away, shoved him aside and slid back the bolts on the main gate.
"Well, well. Talk about undeserved mercy. I’ve brought another young thing for you to ogle and grope, dirty old man."
"Another immune one?"
"Don’t get your hopes up! No, much to the contrary. Just look at her and tell me what’s going on with her. Maybe there’s some gold in it for you, too." She flipped him a coin, and he snatched it from the air with surprising speed.
"Haven’t they told you I don’t do medical any more?" He stared at the coin. It was old, and heavy. It screamed of value. A sparkle lit in his eyes as he scratched the two inches of his well-trimmed beard. "Might make an exception, though. For the wannabe witch that got scared, chopped me up and ran, after she ravaged my larder for five long years."
"My, what a suprise," smirked Yrba. "Mirca! It’s unlocked!"
The blonde pushed open the two halves of the huge gate from the outside.
Through the growing crack, Ramec first saw a lowered head from which soaked, dripping golden-white hair hung. As the wings of the heavy gate swung open with creaks and groans, broad shoulders appeared on which muscles bulged and slid about, followed by the sight of two arms the size of smaller people’s thighs. The seven foot package of strength, her clothes sticking to her skin and dripping with the cold rain, straightened up and towered over him, and the wizard recoiled in shock as a bolt of lightning outlined her steaming contours in glaring white against the black clouds.
"Her?!"
"All right, Mirca," said Yrba, rubbing her wet hair with a towel. "Let’s not dawdle. Show uncle wizard what the problem is. ’Mec, you tell us how to fix it, and we’re gone. Should keep the mutual unpleasantness to a minimum."
"Do I have to?" grouched Mirca, but she obeyed and pulled her shirt over her head. Her naked body glistened in the light of the dozens of candles.
Ramec gulped as Mirca’s wobbling, taut, huge breasts settled against her ribcage. "O-kay. I’m not sure I see the problem right away, unless you’re suffering from lower back pain."
"Har-de-har, Ramec. Mirca, put on the chain mail. The special one."
"Awww, no!" She stamped her foot, and the chandeliers rattled. "Yrba! It was fun the first few times, but I’ll itch for days, again!"
"Girl, the chain mail. Now!"
Mirca grouched and muttered as she pulled the silvery garment from her backpack. Yrba helped her slip into it and closed the clasps in the back.
"Ramec, I wouldn’t stand this close to her breasts. Seriously," she warned him.
"It’s starting now!" moaned the blonde, shuddered and clenched her fists.
Slowly, Mirca’s shoulders sagged and were pulled forward. The chain mail jingled while it slipped into position, forced along by the growing breasts. The blonde groaned as the straps began to cut into her back and shoulders. Her breathing came fast and flat.
The multiplying flesh strained against the unyielding metal. Mirca’s breasts filled every possible cubic inch to the clinking and rattling of the metal rings widening. The material was soon stretched as far as it could go. But Mirca’s growth wasn’t over by far. With no place to go, her bosom bulged out through the neckline and under the lower edge.
"Full—now—can’t—breathe—!" she gasped and moaned, slowly sinking to her knees. Her muscles trembled from the tension all through her body. Her shallow, pressed breathing became more and more agitated. Yrba cast a quick glance at the blonde’s crotch. She was close now. Wetness dripped from the matted curls.
"Oh—gods—it’s—com—ooooaaaawwwwww!" howled Mirca as she arched her back, lifting her confined breasts.
And then, faint at first but quickly gaining, came the hissing sound of liquid streaming forth. White milk first dripped, then foamed from the flattened nipples and through the chain mail, stronger and stronger, until it seemed as if the faucets of two barrels had been ripped out behind the metallic veil. The white streams ran over her ballooned breasts and down her body, they dripped over her sides and down her belly before the milk mixed with the honey seeping from her crotch. The whole spectacle lasted for about three minutes. At the end, the floor of the study was covered in milk. Mirca bent forward again and cowered, holding her torso up with her hands on her knees.
"Let—me—out—now," she coughed and moaned.
"Well, that was… odd, even by your standards," the wizard conceded.
"Don’t say anything yet," warned Yrba. Then she straightened Mirca’s back and pulled at the clasps. The chain mail dropped to the floor.
Almost as fast was the drooping of Mirca’s breasts. They unrolled, expanded, fell down to her ankles; empty, skinny bags, the finger-sized buds of her nipples almost reaching the floor. Mirca groaned with relief. Yrba kneaded her protégé’s cramped shoulders from behind.
"Right, girl, now show him what I’ve taught you."
Mirca took a deep breath, pursed her lips and sucked. As if pulled by strings on the inside, the nipples crept into the flesh, pulling the areolae along. Then the skin right behind them puckered and wrinkled until, finally, her breasts seemed almost normal, though they stood straight off of her chest. With a sigh, Mirca exhaled. Yrba nodded to her, a gesture of "well done". She turned to Ramec, who hadn’t dared to blink.
"Wizard, now’s your turn. Tell me what’s going on. I know about making them grow, and making them smaller, and I taught her, too, but what you’ve just seen was tame, compared to what happens every now and then, seemingly out of nowhere. Worst I’ve seen was almost twenty feet. Across one. ’Mec, I know what my potion does, like the back of my hands, and that’s not just a side effect from the overdose. I could handle an overdose like this." She snapped her fingers. "She’s also grown six inches taller over the winter, and her whole basement’s almost doubled in size, too. I can lose my arm to the elbow inside her. But now she’s stopped growing again. She still spouts milk like crazy, evening after evening. Give it to someone, and they invariably begin to adore her. And what about that chain mail? Why does it hold? No other stuff does. Once she swells, all other kinds of cloth or metal just rip apart. Not that one, though. And why does it instantly trigger the bloat? It’s got to be some kind of show-off thing for warrior women, but I can’t see anything magical on it. Can you?"
Ramec thoughtfully brushed his beard. "Not right away. That is quite a riddle all right." He shook his head. "I can’t give you an answer yet. Hand me the chain mail, please. I’ll try and see what’s up with that. Are you two willing to spend the night here? I wouldn’t hold it against you if you don’t, honestly. But if you want to, Yrba, your room’s still like you left it—"
For a moment, it seemed as if he was about to add something. Then he abruptly turned away and hobbled into his private chamber. An arcane gesture from his hand, and the door slammed shut after him.
"Still the charmer, I see," mumbled the witch. Her eyes wandered over the benches and racks, carelessly covered with devices from a glassblower’s nightmare and stacks of ancient tomes some people would kill for. She frowned. "And your lab’s still the same mess, too. I wouldn’t get a thing done in here."
She turned to her companion and continued with a more normal voice, "Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up again, girl."
Chapter 44: Nightmare
Yrba brushed away the cobwebs from the four-poster bed and coughed as a decade’s worth of dust rained down.
"Yeah, like I left it, my ass!" She gently picked up a spider and dropped it out the window before she turned to the table and put down the candle holder. Her gaze fell on the tabletop. Gooseflesh spread over her skin in one huge shiver.
"Like I left it," she whispered and touched the old parchment lying there. The inkwell by its side had dried up, and the feather had mice’s gnaw marks on it, but the scribble, though bleached, was still visible even under the layer of dust.
Mirca came into the room, wrapped in a huge towel and clean again after a quick naked stroll through the thunderstorm to check on the horse. She pointed over Yrba’s shoulder at the yellowed scroll. "Oh, that’s a nice flower! Did you draw that?"
"Yes, sweetie. Long time ago. Happier days, then." She sighed. "Let’s hit the sack. But let’s lock and bolt the door first. Just in case."
"Because of the wizard? He didn’t seem so bad. Grumpy, though. What’s it with you and him?"
"Long story. Been his apprentice for a while, after I washed ashore in the village a little further down the coast. Fun times. Met Red here and found the Tincture’s recipe. And then, one night… "
Her voice faded, then she took a deep breath.
"The short of it is once he learned I am an immune one like he is, he got the idea in his head that we’d absolutely have to," she gulped, "to breed, to see if our offspring would be immune-mages, too. Was just talk and insinuations for some time. And suddenly it got so bad, one day he tried to jump me. Didn’t do him much good. I got a grip on a knife, and things got ugly. After all these years, he’s still got the limp. I ran that night, and I’ve not returned here until today. Heard a few stories through the grapevine about him, and he probably heard a few things about me, too." She sighed. "Maybe I shouldn’t have returned at all. Keep your eyes open, Mirca. The moment he does something that bothers you, or he tries something funny, come running to me. Don’t listen to him. Don’t trust him. He’s dangerous. And he’s a smooth talker, so — just don’t."
The old bed creaked ominously, but it held, and even the old mattress of dried straw was bearable once they’d laid their blankets over it. Mirca snuggled up to the chocolate-colored skin of her mature girlfriend.
"You’re shivering?" she asked, gently kneading the witch’s shoulders.
"Damn rain. And the last days were a bit too much. I’m still cold from the soaking I got, just waiting at the door. Brrrr. It’ll pass, as long as you don’t hug the blanket like last night."
"I never would!" Mirca protested, mixed with giggling, and gave her smaller bedfellow a playful hump from behind with her hip before she pulled her closer into her embrace.
A crack of thunder startled Yrba awake. Her head ached, and the world around was dark. Gusts of wind and rain whipped against her body, lying on a forest floor that was covered with brittle branches that poked into her skin. Her naked skin.
The surroundings turned into mesh of black and white as another lightning flashed across the chasing clouds. The trees, leafless, gnarled and bare like old skeletons, extended everywhere. She struggled to her feet and gazed around, but the blackness revealed nothing but the lightning’s violet afterglow in her eyes. The thunder rolled in, a bang so loud, it hit her like a wall of sound and swept her from her feet with its sheer force.
"Mirca?!" she screamed, and couldn’t hear her own voice over the howling wind. The clouds tore open, and white moonlight came down.
No. Not moonlight. Yrba stared up, transfixed with horror. The clouds were pushed aside by the moon itself coming down, a huge, white, glowing orb that grew bigger and bigger as it filled the sky. The air, forced aside by the white ball, howled by, lifted her up and threw her against one of the tree trunks.
The impact squeezed the breath from her lungs. She hit the ground again, harder still, and as she tried to struggle to her feet, her back ran into the descending wall of — warm, pliant skin.
That is no moon, shot through her mind.
"Yrba?" a questioning voice thundered down from the skies. "Are you there?"
"Mirca?! Mirca!" howled the witch. "Stop! I’m here! I’m down here! You’re squeezing me to death!" She dropped to her knees as the glowing skin bore down on her. The weight grew, even as the soft wall stretched around her. Her arms and legs gave in, and she ended up face down and flat on the floor.
"Yrba? Where are you?"
"M—," she managed before all air had left her lungs. Oh heavens, she can’t hear me. I’m too tiny. She’ll crush me like an insect! She’ll—
The pressure disappeared, and air streamed in as the sphere rose again. Imprinted into the flesh, sticking to the skin of the gargantuan breast, she was lifted from the ground. The forest zipped away beneath her. Its edges came into view, patterns became visible.
A rug? A giant rug, or am I — so small?!
Yrba tried to lift her arms. There was — resistance, resilient resistance against the movement. She turned her head.
More horror. She had started to dissolve. Her skin, her body, it melted into the white wall behind her. She lifted her arm, and between it and the wall of boob was something like a bat’s wing, a rubbery sheet made from a mixture of her own, brown skin with the pale wall in her back, half translucent and veined with throbbing vessels that thickened and forced her arm back into the spread-eagled shape. She was tied to the strange shape, and as it grew again under her, the pull on Yrba’s outstretched limbs became more intense. She hollered in agony. Her joints came apart, slowly, horrifically, painfully.
And then the rumbling and stretching noises grew stronger still, together with fire that scorched her back. She still felt her body, her straining muscles, but she became soft and flexible. The boob absorbed her, all of her but her skin and her mind. Her bones dissolved, useless as they were now anyway, and slowly, her skin was pulled larger and thinner atop the incessantly swelling orb. She opened her mouth and screamed again. Not a single sound. She was but a flat, brown patch on the pale moon in her back.
The white skin that she had become part of pulled at her flanks. She flattened further, her outline distended and lost any resemblance of a human figure as the shapes of her arms and legs were absorbed back into her round body. Slowly she was distorted into a round, flat, brown circle. Sweat broke from her skin and covered her with sticky, chilly wetness.
Her belly swelled up. Something hot and boiling streamed from the sphere into a pocket right under her and made her womb bloat; it turned her into a little half-orb atop a giant orb. The sweat on her body wasn’t sweat, it was milk. It ran down her skin in white, warm, winding rivulets.
A nipple! I’m turning into a giant nipple on a giant breast. That can’t be happening! That’s impossible! I’m going mad! Someone HELP MEEE!
She opened her mouth. And not a scream, but a jet of milk poured from her lips. She saw it spray on and on, a long white bolt reaching from her mouth in a curving, curling line straight into the infinite void.
The pressure inside her skin rose. All that now remained of her was a brown areola with protrusions that once had been fingers, hands, feet; her belly was a stretching, ever growing cylindrical nub, covered in milk ducts that produced thick drops and faint jets. She felt the milk sweating from her skin, and the thinner she was stretched, the larger the ducts and pores became. The biggest jet sprayed and spattered from her center — from what used to be her crotch and now fluttered in the milk flood like a balloon’s nozzle.
"Yrba? I can’t find you!" hollered the voice.
I’m here. Oh Mirca, I’m here! I don’t know what to do! Help me! Find a wizard! I can’t tell you what to do! Just hurry before—
"I’m so full, I need to milk me now!" announced the voice.
No! Oh no! Don’t! I’ll burst! Don’t squeeze more milk through me! I’m too bloated already! Nooooo!
Two giant fingers grabbed her and twisted her belly. Milk sprayed, and within moments, the skin and the circling fingers were covered in slippery, sweet wetness. She struggled and fought to keep her mind in place even as the endless gush raced right through her brain. Two hands dug into the white flesh, they pushed the river of milk onward against the thin dam that remained Yrba. She grew and grew, more jets exploded out of her skin, the blasts tore at her…and then she was pulled along with it, out of what was her body, spraying across the sky as her mind was torn apart in a rain of milk droplets.
"Yrba! Yrba, wake up!" Mirca’s voice. Up close. Yrba’s head bobbed back and forth. Someone shook her shoulders. Strong hands.
She moaned and pinched her eyes. Her head ached. Her body ached. Cold sweat, all over her. Something warm and sticky and heavy enveloped her and clung to her skin, tying her up.
"I’m awake. I’m here," she mumbled.
"Oh thank heavens, Yrba! You really had me worried!"
The witch opened her eyes. Pale moonlight shone on the old bed and on Mirca’s face, right before her eyes. The blonde was close to tears. Yrba turned her head and gasped. She was laying on Mirca’s front, and—
"You’ve wrapped me in your breasts?!"
Mirca nodded. "Uh, yes? To keep you extra warm? I woke up, and you had started mumbling something. Then I touched your head, and you were all sticky wet and cold, and shivering. And then you became hot, and mumbled more. And cold again. Then I shook you, but you screamed and flailed like you had a horrible nightmare. So I thought, oh, I know that, I was once like that, too, when I had to work outside in the rain a whole day. I was sick and cold for a week! And so I made my boobies hang out all the way and wrapped you in them to keep you warm and rolled on my back and put you on top of me. You started squirming and kicking some more, and I was really worried for a while. But you’re better now, are you?"
Yrba nodded. "I’m still feeling like shit, but I’ll live. Just help me get my arms out of your boob cocoon here. I’m totally wrapped up, I can’t even move. How long—"
"Maybe an hour. It’s not even midnight yet."
The witch snuggled more comfortably into her living mattress’ embrace.
"What a nightmare. I guess I’ve inhaled too much nostalgia dust with the cold water. Let’s try and get a little more sleep."
Chapter 45: Unwelcome Answers
The next morning, Yrba met up with Ramec while Mirca cleaned up the bedroom. He looked spent, with dark rings under his eyes. Yrba suspected she didn’t offer a better sight to him. The chain mail bustier laid curled up atop a heap of opened tomes on his table.
"A fine riddle you posed me, old girl, but I do believe I have an answer for you. Do you want to hear it?" He leant back into his chair and put his fingertips together.
"Out with it," she demanded, fed up with his fake gravitas and the smirk on his face. Nobody should be allowed to look so tired and yet so aloof at the same time.
"Very well. First, her growth sprint. That one was simple. She’s a serf, right? They don’t get much food. She was probably half-starved most of her life. Stunted her. The whole milk diet over the winter helped her reach her natural size."
He shook his head.
"Really, Yrba. I had expected you to work that out by yourself. Next, this chain mail."
He threw it into her lap.
"Metallurgic magic. Not your strongest aptitude, if I recall correctly. That’s probably why you missed that, too. Your guess was right, it’s a distraction toy. They still are popular with a few of the northern tribes, where the women are big and bulky and the only thing distinguishing them from their men is they have smaller beards. Really not much use for anything besides making your enemy hesitate for that critical second or two. What good is looking good in a combat dress if you turn back to ugly once you take it off? It acts as kind of a growth trigger, and container at the same time. The magic’s meant for ordinary women, but it’s a heavy duty wrapper all the same. Cupping your girl’s supercharged udders with it makes them go pop the very instant. Which brings us to subject three, your blonde’s bloat fits. Now she’s really interesting. Your little airhead has two problems—"
"If you tell me now they’re left and right on her chest, I’ll gut you, dirtbag," hissed Yrba. "Hurry up already."
"As I said, two problems," he repeated indignantly. "First, the overdose of your potion. Her body’s susceptible to all kinds of influences now. I recall you using one of those stimulating herbs normally reserved for cattle. Because of that, her breasts fill up with milk like crazy. Second, the magical growth you’ve used on her. Usually, the milk making stops once the body runs out of nutrients. Unfortunately, you’ve used magic to grow her to a perverse size, very soon after she swallowed an undiluted batch of your potion. That opened a channel, or so it seems. So now her boobs can tap into the inexhaustible sources of magic to produce their contents. I don’t know where that milk comes from, and frankly I’m not sure I even want to know. If my calculations are right, her new natural shape are those bags that stretch to her ankles. You’ve taught her to suck them in and keep them at half-melon size. Well done, and quite impressive, teaching that to a non-immune non-mage. Again, that is magic at work. Rudimentary magic, background magic, the kind that works just about all of the time. That’s why she grows and shrinks and can keep herself at an inconspicuous size at all. You can’t see or feel its presence, and you can’t really control it. She can, because it’s her own body. She doesn’t know exactly how or what she does. Maybe by instinct or something. Rare, but not unheard of. There are some fifty documented cases in the Historica Magica Obscura, and another twenty in Begrica’s Annualis aetherica — all right, maybe I don’t need to quote them all," he conceded as Yrba yawned demonstratively.
"Thank you," she nodded. "You were saying—?"
"The short version: The very moment she loses her concentration, panics or becomes embarrassed too much, the other kind can kick in. The temperamental magic. Your 'white fog' or whichever way you perceive it. Funny thing is, you’ve always had a better grip on that. Without you stepping in, nobody can say what’s going to happen. Sometimes, nothing might happen at all. Or she might just grow a bit. Or she’ll blow up to barn size again. The way you’ve stuffed her with your puffer potion and made her a conductor, it’ll be years until that’s going to wear off."
Yrba paled and sat down hard. "Years."
"Congratulations," snorted Ramec. "And now get her out of my tower before that klutz’ next bout of embarrassment blows it to pieces!"
"Don’t worry, old man. I’ll breathe a lot easier once I won’t have to see your damned smirk any more, too."
She rose from her seat and stormed out the room. Had she looked back, she’d have noticed how he sunk deeper into his chair and followed her with eyes filled with sadness.
Evening approached fast. Yrba was affixing the last few of her belongings to her caravan when the wizard reluctantly limped up to her.
"Yrba, I need to have a word with you."
She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against her mobile hut.
"Go ahead. And hurry."
"Not here. In the tower." He looked around.
Yrba squinted at the table that bent under the load of food, beverages and flambeaus before she picked a small glass of wine. The wizard laughed as he sat down heavily into his chair.
"There’s no magical poison here, child."
"Just making sure, ’Mec. Whenever you have such a sudden change of hearts, then I prefer to make sure. I’ve not forgotten your dirty little tricks." She took only a little sip, and even then, she rolled it in her mouth for quite a while before she finally swallowed. "All right, why all this?"
His face turned serious, and for a few moments, he avoided Yrba’s gaze and took a deep breath. The witch’s eyes narrowed. She had never seen her mentor chew on his lips before. Ramec cleared his throat.
"Why? To come clean. Dammit, Yb, it’s been what, ten years? Fifteen years? I was an asshole then, and I’ve regretted that night every single day since. And I’m embarrassed to admit it, but you do deserve a few more answers. Like, didn’t you wonder at all why I was so shell-shocked when your blond ditz showed up at my door?"
"I’ve seen others do the same at her sight. She’s quite the work, isn’t she? And—," she fell silent for a moment, then her brow furrowed. "There’s more to that. You knew her already, right? Dammit, what schemes have you hatched up this time, old man?"
"I’ll give you the answers, in a moment. First, tell me, who’s the perfect assassin?"
"The perf—," she began, and then she fell silent again. Someone who doesn’t know that he is an assassin. A possessed. Someone whose mind is not his own. Or her own.
"Ah, I see now you’re getting it. Me and a few others, we were not exactly happy with Lord Peter’s rise to power. But he’s not just a petty thug on a throne, he’s a damn clever petty thug on a throne, whatever you might have heard about him. And he made it clear, pretty early on, that he’d not lose sleep over having people drop dead left and right with arrows in their backs if he noticed as much as a suspicious grin. And that he had given orders to make sure those arrows were fired should he come to harm. So we had to slip someone in that he — or his testamentary executors, as it was to be — would never bring into connection with us. It had to be someone whose attack would seem just like a single, crazy, ordinary act of violence or rage. A serf."
"Twenty years… before I even met you…"
He raised his eyebrows and shrugged.
"Yes, it’s taken a little longer than we had originally planned. And in the end, she’s been a dud. She was supposed to snap and mince him about the time she got nubile and he’d start chasing after her. Somehow that never happened, maybe because she’s grown into a damn’ big hunk of girl meat that most men are somehow reluctant to try, just because she never budded even a handful of breast. Don’t know why I failed at that. I tried to make sure she’d turn out as curvy and hot as they come, but all she got were her father’s muscles instead. Too bad you’ve not met her earlier on to fix that in time. You did a real number on her chest. Yes, you’ve always been good at that. Alas, you did it far too late."
The wizard looked right in Yrba’s angry eyes.
"One more thing. I lied when you asked why she has grown again. It wasn’t the food that triggered her growth sprint. When we created her, I knew she would grow far taller than any other woman. Couldn’t have that. So I made sure her growth would be stunted. I never thought she’d live long enough for that spell to wear off, but she did."
"Anything else? Maybe tell me about something you accidentally forgot to mention for a change, instead of admitting to yet another lie-within-a-lie?" Yrba snarled.
His short laughter was little more than a humorless bark. "At least I can try to. Uh… yes, I think I never lied about that to you. See, you had an interesting choice of words, just a moment ago. What was it — hatched schemes, I think. Funny that you should mention hatching in conjunction with your girl toy. What did she tell you, that she was claimed as a serf to pay for her parent’s debt? Yes, that’s all she was ever told. And it’s actually true. What she doesn’t know is how her mother got pregnant with her in the first place."
He took a sip from his glass and pondered his next words, silently watching the reflections of the candles. After a deep breath, he continued with a smug grin.
"Her mother was a farm maid, nobody special. She was … available, even eager to … play her role, and expendable if things would have turned out wrong, and she had the right bodily properties. And the right perverted desires to start with. We could predict pretty well how the girl would turn out. As for her father, he, well … let’s just say he, uh, was a true rural force of nature. Getting them compatible and fitting his, ahem, quite sizable tool into her mother without her ripping apart was an interesting magical challenge. And while she enjoyed it thoroughly, I’ve burned through a month’s worth of this shire’s magical force just to make sure she survived. Barely, I might add. I’ll leave it at that. It wasn’t pretty. You never really wondered why Mirca’s so tough and big and strong, yet so timid, and gets full of milk every evening ever since you hexed her those udders?" He smirked.
She stared at him, taken aback by the machinations the old mage so casually hinted at. Yrba couldn’t utter a single word. Flashes from the night Berry had died played again before her eyes. Mirca had cracked and something else had surfaced, something that had turned her into a raging fury with two blood-dripping axes.
"She’s not quite human. The world hasn’t seen anything like her for thousands and thousands of years. You want to tell me you never figured that out either?" he added.
The glass dropped from Yrba’s hand and shattered on the stone tiles.
"You sick fuck," she whispered. "Not a word. I don’t believe a single word, do you hear me? What are you trying to tell me?" Her voice grew louder, and the veins on her neck swelled. "Do you think I’ll believe that you of all magi managed to conjure up an ancient earth god to sire an offspring for you to use as a murderer for a lord you don’t like, and plan that accurately a decade in advance? Delusions of grandeur much, old man?! Do you think I can’t tell a poor beaten girl from a demigoddess? Not to mention that whenever we both looked, we never ever found any kind of gods in the first place?"
"Ah, that’s the old heathen girl talking. How I’ve missed your skeptic ways. If only you were a little more fluent in the old tales. Don’t need a god to sire a minotaur, you know? Oh, enough of that. You want to think she’s not a tool but some kind of real woman, well, be my guest. Just because she speaks doesn’t mean she’s human."
He sighed. "Doesn’t matter anymore, anyway. I’ve come to a, heh, let’s call it a gentlemen’s agreement with Peter years ago. He’s gotten more ambitious over the years, and that wasn’t to my disadvantage. And the title of royal mage comes with its own perks."
"He’s no king!"
"He will be."
Ramec’s face turned wooden.
"But for that to happen, I can’t let someone with an old, deeply inbred grudge against him run around freely, don’t you agree? Mirca and him, they might meet up by chance, and she might still snap, and then what good is a king ripped to pieces?"
"Thanks for spilling the beans on that, old man! Listen, you just keep away from us, and we’ll keep well away from Peter and you."
The wizard rose from his chair and extended his arms to her, almost pleadingly.
"Yrba, I need your help. I need you, and I need your sweet bundle of milk, too. Think about it! She’s seven feet of havoc, and you want to let her run around freely? Don’t do that. Don’t! Don’t you walk out on me again. Don’t you see? There’s a lot to gain for the three of us! You still look gorgeous, girl, but you’re not getting any younger. How long do you want to keep on traveling? Until you’re old and wrinkly? Stay. Please! Join me, and you’ll have it made! You won’t have another day of worries!"
She backed away slowly, shaking her head.
"I’m not interested in sticking around these lands any more, and I sure as hell don’t want any piece of you or your rotten schemes! Just leave us alo—"
Her voice descended into a gargle as Yrba’s eyes closed and she slumped down on the table, only to slip down and drop heavily on the floor.
He shook his head. "I didn’t ask for your help, old girl. I will have it. Yeah, maybe magical poison’s got nothing on you. But I guess I was right about your own plain old herbs and berries."
"Mirca?"
She swiveled around and narrowed her eyes.
"’Mec?"
"There you are, big girl. I need your help."
"I haven’t got time now. Yrba wants me to be packed up by sunset. You’re not trying something funny, are you?"
He hesitated. "Something — funny?"
She leaned in from her seven feet and prodded his chest with her right forefinger. "Yes. If you try something funny, I’ll run to Yrba and tell her. She told me to. So don’t try something funny if you need my help."
He groaned and clapped his forehead.
"Headache?" she asked compassionately and cocked her head, raising her eyebrows.
Ramec sighed and rubbed his temples. "Yes, headache." Because of you, you oaf. "Mirca, could you help me sort those barrels in the next cellar before Yrba and you leave?"
"Huh. Sorting barrels. That’s not funny, so I guess it’s okay." She eyed the aged, bent, limping figure of the wizard. "Yeah, I guess someone like you might need a little help sorting barrels now and then." She lifted her index finger. "But none of the big ones, okay?"
A quarter of an hour later, she had moved a few dozen casks from one vault to another and piled them up again. Perspiration now glistened on her skin. She wiped her brow.
"Right, that’s it. I could really use a little water now."
"Water? Don’t tell me you’re drinking water," he said indignantly.
"Of course," Mirca replied. "Why? What else?"
"Haven’t you ever tried wine?"
"Wine? Lords drink wine. Rich people drink wine. I drink water."
"For shame! You’ve got to try it! There’s nothing better than a barrel of wine if you’ve worked up a sweat and need a big gulp to quench your thirst." He smiled and knocked with his walking stick against one of the casks. "Just your luck, girl. Here, just take one of those and drink up."
"If you say so…"
She wrestled the spile from the barrel and grabbed and lifted it with both hands. Most of the first gulp streamed by the sides of her mouth and ran down in red rivulets over her skin.
A couple of minutes later she mumbled, "yesh, I fffink I cou’gedd oosched’o dat," and grinned sheepishly as she toppled over, laid spread-eagled on the floor and began to snore.
Chapter 46: The Deal with the Devil
Yrba blinked and had some trouble mending the cut thread of her memories. She was tied to a wooden plank — no, a pair of wooden planks, well-padded with something like wool or furs, and her arms and legs were stretched into an X shape and secured tightly with leather straps around her ankles and wrists. The room was dimly lit by a pair of floor chandeliers with small, flickering candles in it. Vague hints of daylight came from a ring of crenelations near the high ceiling.
After a few half-hearted tries, she gave up on trying to pull free. Nobody went to those lengths just to miraculously forget about the right knots at the last moment.
No use wasting strength, old girl. Keep yourself ready just in case a chance shows.
"I guess I know what you’re thinking right now, kiddo. I’m not going to give you that chance."
"Ramec! I knew you were a sick fuck, but this here’s a new low, even for you. Untie me, at once! You still owe me something!"
He smirked.
"No I won’t. And what’s that about owing you anything? I’ve given you a home when you washed up on the shore. I fed you all those years. I taught you the ways of magic. For all I care, you are my creation, and I’ll do with you as I please! Besides, I’ve got to be cautious around you. You're still quite fast with a blade, aren't you? The last band of thugs I sent got butchered by a group of women."
"You hired those —," Yrba gasped, then she inhaled deeply and hollered, "Bastard! Berry’s dead, and it’s your fault!" The echo of her toppling voice rang hollowly through the cellars.
"My fault? Unlucky circumstances, maybe, but it’s hardly my fault there was another muscle-bound whore prancing around that town, is it?"
"You’ll pay," she hissed through gritted teeth. "You’ll pay dearly for that!"
"Yrba, please. How … trite. Oooh, you’ll pay. Guess what? I already did. All the gold I’ve thrown at those low lives, all for naught. But that’s all water under the bridge now. Once I learned that my little time bomb was still alive and sizzling, I had to make sure she’d never meet up with Lord Peter. Like I said, now I’m better off with him alive than with him dead."
He cut away her clothes with a small blade, one rag at a time. And Yrba held still — she was brimming with anger, but she wasn’t stupid. Only her eyes’ sparkling stare showed her barely contained rage.
"How dare you treat me like a piece of livestock!" she snarled through clenched teeth. He stopped and hesitated for a moment before he answered.
"Livestock?! Yrba, I’m offering you the chance to be queen! Is that nothing? We just need to make some adjustments to —"
"Queen? Ha! Your fine lord would rather see me hanged!"
"Oh, did you think —," and then he paused for a little chuckle.
"What’s so damn funny, old man?" she hissed.
"I’m not talking about you and Lord Peter. Gods, no!" he sniggered into his beard. His head swiveled around, and he stared her right in the face. "I’m talking about you becoming a hive queen. All the breeding fun, none of that tedious politics. You better leave that squarely to us males."
He averted his eyes from her glare and let his gaze wander over her curvaceous body. His hand stroked the sensuously rounded, tiny mound of her womb.
"There’s far too few of our kind around, Yrba. If only you’d have joined me then, instead of running. What is the fleeting inconvenience of a pregnancy compared to the duty we have to our race? Now you’ll have to do double shifts to catch up. You think you’re immune to magic? Tell me, then how come I see no stretchmarks? Oh yes, I’ve learned how and where you brew your masterpiece. Year after year after year you’ve spent months with a womb like a barrel, chock-full and sloshing. And yet now there’s not a trace of that. Maybe magic just needs more time to work on our kind, but it gets to us in the end."
He pulled at her skin.
"So stretchable, with a shapely flat belly like yours? See how elastic you’ve become? Yes, you’ll be able to hold what the others couldn’t contain. How foolish of me, not seeing what was right before my eyes."
She narrowed her eyes.
"The — others?"
The room lit up as rays of sunlight came in through the embrasures high on the circular wall. Yrba blinked and turned her head, taking in the details of the cavern-like place. She knew Mec’s lab, but this here was different. Yrba had never been to this room before, but the walls, the structure —
"We’re under the tower! That’s a damned secret lair under your tower!"
He nodded smugly.
"You always complained about the mess in my play lab. So do you like this one better?"
Yrba trembled in rising panic. This place meant business. The crossed beams she was strapped to stood near the center of the fifteen-yards circle. One single table by their side was filled with the neatly arranged tools of the magical trade — crystals, powders, elixirs, in tidy heaps on earthen dishes. A choice of knives, their sharp edges sparkling in the light from a couple of torches high up on the wall. A collection of saws, axes and … Yrba narrowed her eyes. The dozen thin metallic sparks in a block of soft wood were needles, sorted by size. Spools of black threads.
Calm down, girl. There will be enough time to panic later — oh gods…
Her blood turned to ice, burning through her veins to her racing heartbeats. Along the walls, manacles hung from rings fixed in the heavy stones. They were not clean and tidy, and the stones of the floor beneath them were covered in brown crusts. Yrba’s breathing came faster. She didn’t need much imagination to put two and two together. And then she suddenly exhaled and stopped breathing altogether. Just at the edge of her vision was a pile of bones.
Neatly stacked, and sorted by shape and size, of course.
She gasped for air and reflexively turned her head when she saw, from the corner of her eyes, a hand moving in to her face. That gasp pulled something powdery deep into her lungs. Yrba coughed and wheezed until darkness claimed her once more.
The witch groaned. Her forehead wrinkled as she pressed her eyelids tighter. The yard-huge sphere of her womb rested heavy on her body, and her swollen, brimming breasts, their undersides straining from the pull of their milky load, dangled against her chin. She smacked and ran her pink tongue over her pouted lips. Of course it tasted like dried milk. And her legs were far higher than her shoulders again, and the rough wood of the caravan’s floor pressed into her shoulders again. Yrba sighed without opening her eyes.
"Dammit," she muttered. "Yo, Mirca! Wake up and lend a hand? I’ve rolled from my bed and I can’t get up with all that potion in my cauldron."
She tried to raise her legs. No dice. The blanket was tightly wrapped around her ankles.
"Mirca?!" she yelled. "Hey! You asleep? Haven’t I told you to not let me drink so much from your tits? I’m all bloated again! Come here and milk me down!"
Yrba exhaled in frustration. Where was that girl?
"Mirca?"
A hand gently patted her rotund midriff and then hefted one of her melons. The nipple immediately turned into a tiny spout and sent thin jets spraying everywhere. Yrba sighed in relief.
"Oh thank you, dear, thank you. You better — pfuagh!" She spat as droplets ran down her breasts and dripped all over her face. "Hey! Where's your huge mouth when I need it?"
Mirca has bigger hands than that —
Yrba finally blinked and opened her eyes.
And screamed.
This time she struggled and writhed desperately against the strong leather straps that held her upside-down in the wooden X.
"You — prrrffz! — monster! What have you done? — Prrrlllb! — What have you put in my womb?!"
Ramec wiped his milk-drenched hands on a towel before he ran it over Yrba’s dripping face and the discharged, sweat-and-cream glazed breasts, cleaning off the drops and rivulets.
"Oh will you relax, you hysterical cow. It’s just water in there. Needed to have you nice and clean inside, and I was curious as to how sizable a batch you could accommodate. Judging by the gallons your womb so eagerly accepted, four or five in one breed cycle seems like a reasonable start."
He prodded Yrba’s tumescent belly. "Later on, maybe rise that to six or seven per cycle once you settle for good into a more comfortable, blobby shape. Your pliable womb’s not going to shrink back once you’ll be popping out a fresh batch of little semi-immune, magic-wielding mongrel soldiers each week. They’ll grow fast, too. I reckon come next year, we’ll be ready to take on just about any army." He raised his hand. "Yes, yes, I know. Magic’s got nothing on you. But a magically charged seed can maintain enough momentum to keep up its accelerated growth inside you. You’re a perfect container for magical forces, after all. Magic goes in, no magic goes out. My, you’ll have to stuff yourself with food just to keep the little hatchlings from sucking all life force from you. Good thing you brought your milk well along. She’s perfect to feed you day and night. Your weird body seems to crave her milk."
The wizard nodded at Mirca’s limp, unconscious body in the huge cage. "Just the right cow to feed them after they’ve left your nurturing womb, too. One teat for your mouth, one teat for my army." He turned back to Yrba, only to see her eyelids flutter close, her mind overwhelmed by horror. "Oh come on, don’t pass out on me!"
The next time Yrba woke up, the room was dark and her womb was empty again. She squinted into the blackness. Sparkles of raw magic filled the room, slowly gyrating in a vortex that fed a hollow sphere of three or four yards around her and her former mentor. Ramec raised his head from the tome on the table and slammed it shut. Yrba jerked in surprise. Her other vision dimmed, and now the candles on the table lit barely more than the wizard’s face. Their unsteady light cast menacing shadows from below on his face.
"It’s time now. Give it a chance, Yrba. Maybe you’ll even like it. You always had a thing for the extreme."
His dark shadow grew on the wall as he leaned closer to the candle. And inside this shadow, right in his back, another, darker shadow with much more substance rose along. Two eyes shone red in the light from the fireplace. Two big hands moved closer to the wizard’s throat.
Yes! Keep him talking. Keep him looking at me.
"All those years I’ve defended you, Ramec! I trusted you!"
"Well, that’s not exactly my fault either, is it—"
Mirca’s strong fingers closed around his neck.
And loosened his frock’s knot.
"Mirca?" gasped the witch.
The girl’s mouth produced a faint yelp. Then she affectionately rubbed her cheeks over the wizard’s head and — purred.
"Good girl! Heel!"
In a heartbeat, she cowered to his feet and began licking his hand.
Yrba struggled in vain against her bonds. "Monster! What have you done to her?!"
"Nothing much. Locked away all the unnecessary things that you’ve stuffed into her head. She’s much happier now. Can’t you see? Here, Mirca, want a treat? Who’s a good girl? Huh? Huh? Come on, roll over!"
He raised his hand and held up a candied berry. With a yelp, Mirca threw herself on the floor and begged like a well-mannered bitch, panting with her long tongue lolling out. The sight brought Yrba close to tears.
"You bastard!" she howled. "You’ll pay for that, too!"
And then she fell silent. Mirca had suddenly raised her head and growled at her. The noise rose from deep in her throat, and it rang with murder. Her girl didn’t even recognize her any more.
"Down!" the wizard commanded. "She’s just a scared little witch. Now take off my cloak."
Yrba squinted as Mirca obeyed. Something shone around the blonde’s head, a moving, slowly pulsating torus filled with a complex pattern of tendons and sparkles. She tried to wiggle a sigil with her bound hands to chase away the vile thing feeding on Mirca’s mind, but all she managed was to conjure a painful slap as the magic misfired against herself. It left her fingers numb and pricking at the same time. And then she forgot about it as the wizard’s clothes parted and revealed his naked body underneath.
Yrba stared at him. Yes, his face showed some signs of age, but how old was he? Somewhere in his fifties? Sixties?
Nobody could’ve guessed that by looking at his torso that would’ve made proud any man half his age. There was something to be said for a career in wizardry. At least it kept you from withering away on the fields, one wrinkle at a time under the burning sun of the summer and the biting frost of the winter.
And then he walked around the table, and his groin was in Yrba’s view. She gasped. Whatever she had expected, this was not it.
His manly appendage was already growing. Well-healed scars marked the seams between patches of different colors and — she narrowed her eyes — textures. Both his ten-inch penis and the apple-sized balls were a collage, a twitching, swelling collage.
"That’s impossible! That’s not human!"
"It mostly is. There were … some trade-offs I had to make. Though I prefer to think of them as trade-ups. It’s much bigger, but the balls get in the way. Painfully so. What? You thought I was still limping because of your stab?"
Yrba nodded weakly, her eyes fixed on the stretching, elongating, fattening dick. It already was bigger than her lower arm, and still it kept growing and rising.
The wizard laughed. "Though, I’ll admit, if you hadn’t cut mine almost off, I’d never have needed to look into that matter. A lucky accident, if you will. You and me, we can’t heal ourselves with magic. But we can change others with magic. Now take this thought a step further, and you arrive at: We can use magic to make other things ready to match our bodies. Hung like a horse? Horses weep at my sight. I could bore you with the details, which part of it I took from what source, how I assembled it, reanimated it. But you never liked the theories, did you?"
He smirked and nodded at her. "More of a hands-on girl, you always were. So I guess you’d rather see it in action, right?"
The inhuman pole’s skin grew taut now. As the swelling flesh reached the skin’s limit, the foreskin slowly was pulled from the long, arrow-shaped glans. A hole, a slit like an angry eye, glistening with pre-cum wetness, stared at the witch.
"And it gets better. Magic doesn’t work on us. But it works on the replacement parts, and not just for patching them up. Watch this."
He snapped his fingers. Mirca was at his hip in a heartbeat.
"Mirca, lay on your back and show your breasts."
He stepped over her, stroking his swelling rod to still larger size before he slapped her flattened pillows with it a few times. Fat drops of pre-cum sprayed over her breasts. Then he sat down on her belly and grabbed her breasts. Both hands full with Mirca’s soft, doughy jugs, he wrapped his erection in her tit flesh.
"And now, blow them up for me!" he commanded.
Panting and groaning, Mirca rolled her shoulders. She closed her eyes, and her mouth dropped open as she sharply inhaled. Only moments later, her breasts quivered and distended. And the pole between them swelled and stretched along. The tip soon poked out of Mirca’s multiplying, throbbing cleavage.
Ooh. Master growing! Growing with me! Love my master.
"Huh, Yrba? Siphoning her magic into my new appendage. I don’t think anyone has done that before."
"Because nobody was sick and twisted enough!" she snarled through her teeth.
He laughed. "Maybe because nobody had the balls for it? Oh gods, she’s brimming with strength. Hhhuuunnngh! M—Mirca, that’s enough. Grab it, gently."
Master mount me now! Master fill me good with thick fat stick! Love my master! Ride him good! Good girl I am!
Yrba stared at the monstrosity. In Mirca’s deep valley, the penis had turned into a trunk. A trunk, thick as Yrba’s thigh, and almost hanging to the wizard’s feet. It was far too heavy to stand. The balls —
Yrba gulped. With Mirca ahead as his staff-bearer, Ramec walked up to her, one slow step at a time, maneuvering his legs carefully around the now melon-sized, oblong orbs in his grotesquely oversized sack.
"What’s the matter, Yrba? Not yet big enough for you? Don’t worry, they’ll keep on growing for quite a while. I just need to keep my dick at this size, else it won’t fit any more. Can’t have that. This isn’t about fun. It’s just business. Mirca, mount the head against her crotch."
The blonde grunted and struggled with the pulsating pole. Her hands barely fit around it. Yrba pulled desperately at her cuffs. This wasn’t going like she had hoped.
Think fast —
"Wait!" she howled. And Ramec actually stopped, cocked his head and looked at her.
"What?"
"A deal." She stared at the grapefruit-sized glans and the long filaments of clear liquid, dripping from its underside. "Ramec, you owe me."
"I’m listening to you, for old times sake. But you better hurry up."
"I’ll do it, okay?" snarled the witch, her face contorting with hate, "I’ll let you fill me up. You promise in return to let her go and give back her mind, and I’ll let you have me. But try to rape me, and you’re in for quite a few bad surprises."
"Is that so?" He looked her naked and bound body up and down with a disparaging grin. "I think you’re bluffing."
"You think I don’t have my own little precautions?" she sneered. "Really? You can’t be sure, can you? Metal magic’s your thing — the mysteries of the flesh are mine. And it’s like you said: You may be immune like me, but your toy reacts to magic quite easily. We just saw it. So I warn you: touch me with that pole against my will, and it’ll wither and die. One inch at a time. Imagine that pain. You’ll beg for me to slit your throat, just to stop it."
First signs of doubt wandered over his face.
So much for the stick. Now for the carrot …
Her voice became smooth and alluring. "Come on, Ramec. Look at me. You always wanted me. I may be a bit riper than you remember, but I’m still bouncy in all the right places, eh? Go on, say the word, and I won’t curse you from here to the next world. You want to hear me moan with desire and praise your strength with dirty words? Been there, done that, darling. I’ve not let any of my bed partners go away unsatisfied. All I want is for Mirca to go free. Deal?"
He looked at her for a long time, not saying a word.
He nodded.
"Deal. Mirca!"
The amazon raised her head and cocked it.
"Firm up your breasts and put one between her legs. Grow a teat, and press it into her gap. Give her womb a little rinse with your nurturing flood."
Yrba tore at her bonds. "’Mec! You sick bastard! Gods and heavens, don’t do that! You saw what she can do — oh mercy…"
She stared with wide eyes at Mirca’s breasts. The giantess arched her spine forward and drew up her shoulders, breathing heavily while she rolled her shoulder blades. Each circle sent a shiver over her skin, and her panting mixed with growls. Yrba shook her head, faintly.
"Mirca, it’s me! You’ve got to recognize me! Listen! Don’t do that to me!"
The white in the young woman’s eyes shone as she rolled them up to stare at the witch from underneath furrowed brows. The rolling motions of her shoulders spread over her torso. She undulated in smooth thrusts, and each one stretched the skin of her breasts longer and made them hang lower until they reached below the blonde’s navel. She straightened and still kept on thrusting. Mirca’s lips pouted, her head fell in her neck. Her breasts filled up now, growing in girth as they changed from drooping bags into heavy melons in a wrapper of soft skin. The ample flesh firmed up and rose from the blonde’s chest, losing its soft, flowing shape as it turned into a pair of protruding, bloated cones with throbbing teats two fingers long and two inches across, sprouting from dark, doming areolae big enough to serve as smaller women’s breasts.
Mirca exhaled and stood still. Then, like a da capo, she thrust her chest forward and groaned, long and lecherous. Her areolae pumped bigger one last time, bulging another two inches out. Her breathing came in deep heaves and made her erect breasts move up and down to its beat.
Ramec smiled. "Isn’t she a beauty? Good girl! Do you want to play with the little black witch now?" A yelp, eager and squeaky, and then Mirca panted, with her tongue dangling from her mouth. The wizard nodded. "Yeeees you do! So, Yrba? What you say?"
"She’ll rip me to shreds, Ramec!" screamed Yrba. "You haven’t got any idea what she can do!"
At the snapping of the wizard’s fingers, thin white jets sprayed from Mirca’s nipples. Another snap, and the dancing droplets stopped again. He raised his eyebrows as he turned to Yrba.
"Oh shut up, you whiny pup. I made her. I know what she can do. Afraid of bursting? I won’t let that happen, believe me. I need you alive, but you didn’t think I would trust you on your word alone, did you? Now you surely wouldn’t want to harm her, so if you really have any protective spell on you, you better let go of it before it fires on your sweet plaything. And then we’ll have our little encounter, and then, maybe, I’ll let her go. That’s all the deal you’ll get. Mirca! Go ahead!"
Yrba gulped as the giantess stepped closer and the firm, bullet-shaped breasts bounced up and down with every footfall. Their nipples stood rough and hard and glistened with milk. She had fantasized about this kind of sex, sometimes. Fantasized. Seeing the unearthly amounts of milk that Mirca could express on a whim had made the witch wary of even considering it. Yrba nervously licked her lips.
"Mirc—hhhhaaahhh!"
The hot, taut skin of Mirca’s right breast slipped between Yrba’s spread legs and forced them apart with its barely yielding, wedge-like front. Mirca grabbed the two feet long, rotund melon of her breast with one hand from above and one from below, and pushed blindly. The tip of the nipple graced Yrba’s gap and got caught at the opening of her urethra, bending into a curve and pushing the witch’s plump outer lips aside before it slipped free and scraped with the length of its rough skin along Yrba’s lust button. Moments later, the soft areola smacked against the whole of Yrba’s vulva.
"Mmmmnnngh—!" Yrba clenched her teeth and shut her eyes tight. That — oh Mirca, please, don’t, p—please — I want — but it’s — wrong —
"Oh how sweet! Even when she’s her true mindless self, she still loves you, Yrba. Amazing."
She raised her head and looked the giantess in the eyes. The bright blue eyes in Mirca’s face stared right back at her, full of eagerness and adoration, but there was no sign that the tall girl recognized her. She pulled back for the next try.
Little brown woman so empty now. Mirca fill little brown woman! Little brown woman much fun when big and round!
This time, her aim was spot on. Yrba felt the tip as it wormed into her, as it spread her apart, easily going in with its coat of slippery, warm milk, and it just went on and on and on.
Shlurrrp.
"Haaaaah—!"
Yrba threw her head left and right. The hot, rough teat stuck deep inside her, it filled her up while the dome of dark skin from which it sprouted pushed Yrba’s labia apart and sealed her opening up. Mirca arched her back and pushed against the witch. Her strong fingers stroked her own breast’s skin from the root to the throbbing teats. The thick rod inside Yrba stretched and grew, pulling the wrinkles of the witch’s lust tube taut.
"C—careful— oh heavens—sssss — uuhhhnnnn!"
From the many ducts in the rough teat, boiling white lava flooded into Yrba. Her fingers closed around the leather straps holding her wrists, and she forced her head up to see her womb swell under the torrent rushing into her. And it was like the wizard had said: she distended far wider than humanly possible.
"No — no! Nuuuuuhhh!"
Mirca’s breast that pumped into her was already out of sight, hidden from the witch’s view behind her own belly that quickly passed through watermelon size and aimed for something rivaling a barrel. Her skin grew firm, and her breathing became flat as her stretching, filling uterus pushed her innards out of its way, painting veins like meandering rivers into her belly’s skin and pushing her bellybutton outward.
"Hh—heavens—"
"That’s enough," came Ramec’s dispassionate voice. "Mirca, pull out."
The plugging nipple left Yrba, and as soon as it cleared the outer rim of the witch’s labia, the white flood pent up inside the witch hosed out of her wide open gap, exploding into a spray of sweet liquid when its solid bolt hit Mirca’s breasts.
"Huuunngh—huunngh—huuuuuuuh—" Yrba was barely able to force enough air into her lungs while her potbelly collapsed until only a trickle of sweet milk still flowed from her spread labia.
"Monster," she panted. "D—dirty r—rotten m—miscreant—"
"Well done, my pet. She’s open nice and wide now. Go ahead and strap my rod in."
Mirca pressed the witch’s hip back down on the board with a single hand and took aim. The hot skin of the glans stroked against her labia and coated them in warm, oozing precum. Yrba couldn’t help but admire his ingenuity. The sick bastard of a wizard had thought of everything. His elephantine pipe fit perfectly into another set of straps, mounted to the board right between her legs, and held it in place.
Right. You can do it, she encouraged herself. Relax. Relax all the way. It’ll be just like brewing a huge portion of the tincture at once. He can’t have anything worse.
"I’m afraid I’ll have to make it cum all by myself, darling," he sneered and started another set of gestures. The cantaloupe-sized glans throbbed larger by another couple of inches. Its tip swelled into Yrba’s funnel, pushing aside her outer labia. The pinkie-sized slit aligned perfectly with her vaginal opening, and the soft head sealed her up to not miss a single drop.
"Mirca!" he barked. "Start milking it!"
The blonde obediently bowed. She poured a bowl of oil along the length of the veined trunk and stroked up and down the yard-long pole with her hands. He had to step back as the magically enhanced pipe gained another foot in length. Mirca straddled it and began rubbing her own crotch along the relief of pulsing veins on its hot surface.
Master good. Master big! Master big for big Mirca! Mirca give master much delight!
She leaned forward and wrapped her dangling boobs around the trunk.
The wizard’s breath quickened and turned into a staccato of gasps. A shudder ran over him, the tip of his Frankensteinian penis bulged and juice shot from the gaping opening deep into the witch. In moments, her vagina couldn’t take any more of the white blast. Her cervix relaxed and opened. The warmth rushed on deeper into her body.
Yrba panted and stared wide-eyed at her belly as it filled again. It swallowed each spurt and jet from the pipe, eagerly this time. Her vagina throbbed and sucked up the unrelenting stream and pumped it into her bloating midriff. Her fingers and toes went numb, then her hands and feet, her arms and legs. Yrba’s billowing belly demanded every shred of her perception. Each throb and wobble and ripple fired through her and left charred and smoldering streaks in her mind.
Across her skin, glowing veins appeared. Magic seeped through her belly, straining against the insulating chamber of her womb. She threw back her head against the hard wood, again and again. The numbness reached her neck and crawled on over her cheeks and forehead.
"Too… much…," she groaned.
Something formed inside her, something that reached all through her body with its incorporeal roots and started to suck away at her mind. Whatever it was, growing in her womb, it was hungry and it came for her. She tried to fight it, to contain it, but the thing wormed through her neck, ethereal tentacles palpated over her head and the world went black…
Chapter 47: The Demise
Mirca slowed down her ministrations and glanced over her shoulder. Her much-loved master made no sign of providing her with at least a little of all that juice. He just groaned and thrust on and on into that other woman. And that woman just laid there, swelling like a blowfish and showing no sign of appreciation for her master’s strenuous efforts, just like she hadn’t shown any thankfulness for Mirca’s generous service before. She pouted.
Master no fair. Mirca good servant! Mirca want taste of master too. Master big enough for two.
Mirca’s turn now!
She leaned forward again and ran her hands along the pulsating rod. Only this time, she reached farther than before. Her fingers wandered over the straps until they tickled around the groove beneath the taut glans. She wrapped her strong fingers around it and squeezed hard. The suddenly blocked stream of semen backed up along the whole length in a wandering bulge. The painful throttling tore Ramec from his trance.
"No! You stay away! Let go!" he yelled. Mirca didn’t listen. She grabbed his inflated, throbbing rod, ripped it straight from the straps and pulled the head from Yrba’s crotch. He screamed in pain at the abuse of his masterpiece.
A few thick, white drops seeped from the long, wide-stretched slit of the head. Mirca pursed her lips and bent the rod up to her face. On the opposite end, the wizard lost his footing and fell down hard.
Want my master’s seed. Want want want. Suck it all out!
She only managed to wrap her lips around half of the swollen glans. And then, as she sucked away with all her fervor, it began to shrink and fit better with each massive spurt of thick, white semen. The veined, pulsating skin slid deeper into her mouth as his shaft shortened. She doubled her efforts.
More! Want more! Oh. Why master grow small? No! Must suck harder!
She bowed down, trying to keep up with the shrinking but hardening rod even as she unintentionally sucked more and more of the magical charge out of it. Ramec squirmed in the delicious throes of his unrelenting orgasm. His seed squirted on Mirca’s tongue, but she barely noticed.
Where master go?
Surprised, she opened her lips and backed away. His rod had shrunk to barely the size of her pinkie, and only a thin jet of seed sprang from its minuscule hole and curled on his stomach.
Master no fun! M— Mast— Must—
She dropped to her knees and clutched her head, shutting her eyes as horrible pain shot through her temples. And then it was as if a vise let go of her skull as Ramec’s mind imploded in an orgasmic delirium and took out the mental block along its way to lust-filled hell.
"What’s happening here?" she yelped as she struggled to her feet. She gazed around and jumped back at the sight of the wizard’s balls that swelled and rumbled larger with every passing moment. They’d become as huge as the potato sacks she’d lugged around at the castle, and they showed no sign of slowing down in their growth.
"’Mec! Wizard! Stop that!" she screamed. His face was contorted in unearthly bliss. He didn’t even hear her voice any more.
"Yrba!" She swiveled around to her friend and saw her, for the first time in hours, without the weird haze over her mind. "Oh heavens, Yrba—"
The witch hung upside-down on the table, her belly still full with the magical seed and round like a huge, yard-sized ball. Mirca grabbed the contraption and flipped the board upright. The see-saw went over the tipping point, and part of the unnatural load gushed out of the witch’s crotch. The bloated sphere of her womb shrunk. Yrba sagged down into the restraints, viscid goo dripping from her glazed thighs.
Wood groaned, and one of the shelves crashed down behind her. Mirca cast a quick glance over her shoulder while she fumbled at the leather straps around Yrba’s hands and ankles. Half of the room was already filled with the incessantly bloating balls. The gurgling glands had no way to unload their sperm fast enough through the pinhole of the wizard’s shrunken dick but kept on stockpiling more and more of the magical seed nonetheless. The wizard was beyond saving, his mind boiled from the unending ecstasy that the monstrous scrotum fired through him.
"Not good! Totally not good," Mirca repeated over and over, even as she finally pulled the groggy witch from the table and threw her over her shoulder. She darted through the long hall as the balls filled up the laboratory and their volume began to climb towards the high ceiling. The first wall stones began to slip and grind over each other. With every bouncing step, Mirca’s shoulder dug into Yrba’s distended belly and squeezed another gush of the intoxicating sperm from her womb, leaving a chain of spattered drops behind them.
"Faster! Faster!" muttered the blonde as she bedded Yrba on the wagon’s box. She grabbed the nervous horse’s reins and dragged the tall shire horse after her as she fled with the other servants through the gate. Only when she was half a mile away, on a small hill, did she dare to stop and look around.
The tall tower still stood. And then, almost in slow motion, the base walls bulged outwards. They shattered and rained down, and behind them, just for a moment, a pair of huge pale orbs were visible. Then the rest of the tower descended, still intact as one huge cylinder, upon the bloated spheres. They caught the structure with their resilient skin, and then they slowly bulged under the weight of the hundreds of tons of stones, flattened more and more and suddenly turned into a splash of thick white liquid that shot up inside the tower and spewed in viscid arcs from the narrow windows before the walls exploded outwards. White jets spewed out through the masonry’s widening gaps in a short-lived fountain. What so far had remained of the tower disintegrated into a hail of bricks and roof tiles that buried the whole site, if it didn’t descend over the edges of the cliff and into the sea below.
The sound, a weird combination of gnooouuuurrb—bakoom—splurge and the rumble of a landslide, hit Mirca’s ears only seconds later. As the dust rose in a huge cloud, she turned aside and heaved and spat and retched until her stomach was empty.
She didn’t feel much better afterwards.
On the plus side of that day, Yrba woke minutes later, gave her a tasty lozenge which made her stomach pangs go away and then hugged her for almost a quarter of an hour as if she’d never let her go again.
By nightfall, they had brought almost ten miles between themselves and the cliff where the tower had been. There wasn’t much to do this evening. They set up camp and lit a fire, and now Yrba tended to a boiling kettle. After an uneasy silence, while both mulled over the events of the last few days, each in her own ways, Yrba cleared her throat and tried to sound as inconspicuously as she could when she asked:
"Mirca, did you ever meet your — your father?"
"Uh. No. But when I asked, my mother always told me he was around at the farm for a few years and he took good care of the cows. She always said how well he knew how to handle his big tool. So I guess he must’ve been a blacksmith for the chains and cowbells or something."
"Or — something," Yrba replied flatly.
"Why? Did you learn something about him from that mean old wizard?" yawned the blonde and stretched her arms.
"No. No, just wondering." She smiled at the hunk of a girl that now rolled into her blanket, getting ready to sleep by the campfire. Why bother you with the — truth? What truth? All I’ve heard were the sick insinuations of a mad wizard. Doesn’t change a thing if you don’t know what I don’t know either. I’ll never really know what you are, or what he did to you, but you’re no monster. You’re just a girl. My girl. I gave you the potion. I made you what you didn’t want to be. It’s my duty to watch over you.
"I was so stupid!" her girl suddenly wailed and pounded her fist on the ground. "He tricked me, and I made it so easy for him! Oh Yrba, why am I so dumb? They were right, all of them! I’m just a — a stupid cow!"
Yrba raised her head. "No! You’re no cow! Don’t you ever say that again!" Her voice grew softer as she leaned in and wiped the tears from Mirca’s face. "You’re not a beast. You’re not dumb or stupid. You’re naive. That just means you’ve not seen enough to know how mean and deceiving people can be. Look at me." She gently cupped Mirca’s chin and turned the girl’s head to her face. "Here, look at me. Girl, I’ve seen enough meanness and deceit for several lifetimes, and still he got me, too. Even got me first. You saved me from him. It’s been what, only a year since we met? And in that year, you’ve learned things other people waste their whole lives searching for. Still there’s much left to learn for you. Take your time. I’ll be there for as long as it takes." Yrba patted the young woman’s cheek.
"You’re so sweet. Wanna snuggle?" mumbled Mirca and pouted. Yrba rolled over and spooned against the huge warm body, holding it in her arms as it gently rose and settled with every slow, deep breath.
I’ll keep you safe. I’ll never again let anyone harm you. I’ll teach you all I know. My love.
"Mmmm…You sayin’ something?" murmured the blonde, already half asleep.
"Shush. Sleep now." The witch brushed a few strands of the golden-white hair out of the angelic face, inched closer and breathed a kiss on Mirca’s shoulder.
I’ll be there for you, always.
To Be Continued in Yrba’s Travels, Part 10: Accidental Ascension
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