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

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

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

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

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

Compulsory Begging for Comments:

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

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

My complete listing of texts is at

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

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

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

I get notified and I’ll do my best to 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.11 — Oil to the Flames

by

Paul Gerard (a pen name)

First draft started July 2008

This version compiled December 2009

Spellchecked: by computer.

Proof-reading: Yeah, right, y’all know by now, once again a mixture of not-wanting-to-pester-others and wanting-to-stay-on-schedule, non-native of the english language, hobbyist, yadda yadda yadda. In short: may contain traces of bad grammar nuts, and you’re kindly asked to ignore that.

--

Obscure musical reference:

"And the high ideals and the promise / You once dressed the future in / Are dancing in the embers with the wind" — Jackson Browne, Black and White

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...

Part 9 — The Tower:

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

Part 10 — Accidental Ascension:

Mirca’s grip on her explosive gift still isn’t what it should be when she suddenly finds herself worshipped as the new god-queen to the throne of Ebron shire after a row at the town’s drawbridge. Early next morning, Yrba gets ousted by Carwon, the upstarting vizier — a decision he soon comes to regret. Upon her triumphant return, Yrba learns, much to her surprise and dismay, how quickly her pupil came to enjoy a queen’s pampered lifestyle. Hoping that Mirca will soon tire of the palace life, Yrba takes to the road and goes back to her old ways of trading and bartering. With each visit, the witch and her pupil grow further apart — and Mirca keeps on growing in different ways, too…

Chapter 57: More Fun And Fro-licking

The cerulean sky domed over the white walls of Ebron shire’s palace. Late summer’s warm air whispered through the colonnaded front of the main hall, and the living embodiment of the goddess Mamaria rested in a beam of sunlight. The precious stones and golden chains draped all over the sleeping woman’s skin sparkled to her faint movements. Two maids stood on duty on the roof, following the sun’s path with a huge polished shield to make sure the goddess-queen’s breathtaking physique always glowed like a beacon in the twilight of the throne room. Mamaria was big in many ways. Her imposing seven feet height alone would make people stop dead and stare, but there was not much of a chance of catching a glimpse of her chiseled abs or her strong legs that tapered from muscular thighs and strong calves to sinewy ankles. Her incredible breasts shielded her body from sight. They rested like a pair of man-sized eggs in a nest of velvet pillows, their ample volume barely corralled by the mockery of a chain mail bra forged from palm-sized golden and silver rings. The lacy meshwork of rings left huge holes rimmed with thin gold plates, which in turn framed the plate-sized domes of the areolae surrounding the nubby cantaloupes of the goddess’ dripping nipples. A pair of low and sturdy tables with wheels stood by the far wall, and should the goddess-queen desire to move, her maids were ready to hoist the cubic yards of warm, pliable mammaries on top of the contraptions. 

"Mamaria" was more of a title than a name, and the tall young woman enjoying the warm sunbeam actually went by the name of Mirca. The whispers and the subdued chuckles of her servants and the gentle strokes and touches of many fingers on her breasts finally woke her. Smacking and groaning, she rubbed her hands over her face, stretched her limbs and made the soft spheres roll about as sat up on her divan. Two girls immediately jumped to attention and began to brush and dress her unkempt, ruffled, golden-white mane. Snapping her fingers, Mirca ordered her first maid closer. She didn’t even have to say a word. Weeks of daily routine dictated the exchange.

"The night’s rest has added another five inches to your bust, highness."

Mirca smiled. She got as far as opening her mouth to ask when the maid continued, "Two buckets and three and a half chalices of milk over the night. Up by half a chalice. Your hugen—," she cleared her throat, "Your Highness are brimming with the gift of nurture. Your lunch will be served after the late-morning milking."

"Good—gooood." Mirca leaned forward and closed her eyes, stroking her palms over her skin for as far as she could reach. Her servants’ oiled hands now kneaded her fist-sized nipples, and she gave herself up their expert massage. Warmth welled in the mountains of flesh, and soon, the gift of nurture kept on adding to the two buckets and three and a half chalices with a vengeance. The mouth-watering smells of Mirca’s lunch drifted from the palace kitchen and made her stomach rumble.

"Girls, you gotta see this!" Mirca giggled. "Come gather ’round, this is something I don’t show off every day! It’s a bit freaky!"

The chattering maidservants inched closer to their living goddess and fell silent. All eyes were on the statuesque, seven feet woman with the long blond hair, sitting on the throne. Mirca was happy as a clam being the center of attention of the several dozen of young women of her entourage. She raised her hands over her breasts and pointed at her mouth as she puckered her lips.

"Ready? Loog af ffif."

The tip of Mirca’s tongue pushed through her full, pouted lips and curved up until the pink tentacle’s tip ran over her eyelids. Trembling slightly, the agile, wet muscle gained another couple of inches as it contracted its girth and firmed up, touching the root of Mirca’s hair at the edge of her forehead with ease. She held on for a few seconds before her tentacle whipped back into her mouth and Mirca beamed at the speechless crowd.

"Huh? Huh? Ain’t that weird? It’s not just my breasts getting bigger!" She giggled. "Just imagine, another couple of weeks, and I only need to curl up a little to lick mys—" 

She hesitated and looked around, putting her hands to her hips — another gesture lost on her audience, with her arms well hidden from their view behind her jiggling promontory. 

"Oh come on, you don’t need to bow and do this hand waving thing all the time!" 

Shlurp. 

"Thee? It’h thuth mwy thongue!" 

Smack. 

Mirca wiped her mouth and rolled her eyes. 

"Oh would you lighten up a bit? If y’all keep on worshipping everything I have or do, then this goddess business ain’t no fun! You’re all so … so shy and stuff!"

"Forgive us, goddess," came the whispered answers from all around. The giantess sighed. The adoration and reverence was nice, no doubt about that, but sometimes she missed the old days of traveling when she could simply have a chat with someone and actually look them in the face instead of on the head.

Brina lowered her head together with the other girls as their goddess’ gaze swept over them. But she kept her eyes on her queen’s jaw, hoping to catch another glimpse of the tongue. Warmth spread inside her womb. She had been promoted to the inner circle of the maids just days ago, and all that time she had heard the stories about the weird appendage of their new mistress. Brina had spent quite a few nights since, rolling around in her bunk, begging for sleep that wouldn’t come, while her fingers frantically tried to quench the fire that burst in her groin each time she fantasized about the mythical snake of the goddess as it slithered into her, inch upon inch upon inch.

And here she was, she had seen the incredible tongue for real, and it had been exactly like she had dreamed it to be. And yet it was all wrong. She felt heat, sticky, mucous heat that seeped down her vagina, that crept out between her labia, and she couldn’t stop it. She was rooted to the spot, even as the warm secretions clung to the inside of her thighs and made her skin all slippery and wet. The drops oozed down over her knee, and still more of it welled up inside her. She knew she was done for. Whatever the punishment for getting the hots for one’s deity would be, a lass getting the hots for her goddess would surely be off far worse. Tears stung in the corners of her eyes.

Mirca narrowed her eyes. One of the new girls had her head not down to the floor like all the others. The chestnut-haired neophyte tried to make it look like she did, but under her brows she couldn’t tear her gaze away from Mirca’s mouth.

The amazon thrust her arm over her breasts, pointed at her and snapped her fingers. All the other heads spun to Brina.

"You! The new girl! Yes, you!"

Now Brina recoiled in fear. "Goddess! I’m sorry —"

"What’s the matter with you?"

"N — nothing."

Her cheeks flushed in a bright red, betraying her. Mirca grinned.

"Uh-huh. 'Nothing'. Of course."

She lolled out her tongue. "Tho mwath ah yoo thinging abooth thath?"

The girl now trembled from head to toe. Her breathing came in short gasps. The deep flush spread from her cheeks over the rest of her face and down across her chest. The other maids around her started to giggle and point at her crotch. Mirca straightened up to peek over her breasts and see for herself as the servants moved aside and left Brina singled out in a growing circle of shame.

The maid was close to tears now. Mortified, her face contorted in anguish.

"I didn’t want that to happen!" she wailed. "I just couldn’t help it! Mercy!"

Where her legs met, her clingy dress was soaked through. A small rivulet of clear liquid ran down her leg and dripped on the marble floor.

"Brina is a gushing carpet-muncher! Brina is a gushing carpet-muncher! Neener neener!" started the chorus of mocking voices.

Mirca clapped her hands. Just once. The hall fell silent.

"Your goddess has a very special place in her big heart for all gushing carpet-munchers! I don’t want to hear this used as an insult, ever again!" her voice boomed.

Mumble mumble.

"Your goddess demands a straight answer!"

"Yes, goddess."

"Good." She pointed at the maids to Brina’s sides. "You, and you, now grab her arms."

"Mercy!" screamed the trembling girl, too scared to squirm.

"Oh shush! That’s for your own good."

"Goddess —," she sobbed, her voice failing her again.

"You two, you’ll read her every wish from her lips. Brina, I’m curious. How would you prepare yourself for your goddess?"

"I d—don’t understand…"

Mirca ran her tongue out and flicked it against the tip of her nose before she slurped it back into her mouth.

"I’m offering you a ride on that. Ready yourself, take a bath, whatever. I’ll be waiting. Surprise me!"

Brina’s mouth dropped open. She rolled her eyes, and her legs gave in. The two girls to her left and right caught her just in time as she fell.

"For your own good, like I said. Right, what are you two waiting for? Wake her and get her ready. And the rest of you, off with my decorations, and oil up my puppies." Mirca picked at the jinging wrapper of metal around her breasts.

Brina was a nervous wreck.

"No, I can’t! I can’t!" she exclaimed, pacing up and down the small dressing chamber.

"Shut up! You’ll get what you’ve dreamed of, tart, so get the fuck ready! Shouldn’t you be happy?" sneered the first of her unwilling aides.

"Right! Dammit, you’ll get that tool up your clam to the hilt! Have you seen the size of it? Now I really wish she would’ve picked me, and I’m not even a dyke," growled the second girl.

"I, I was only dreaming of it! Like, in, not for real! So why don’t you go instead! Oh please —"

"Yeah, right, fresh meat!" The second girl paraded up and down in front of Brina, swaying her hips in ridiculous exaggeration. "Ooh, look at me, my goddess," she squeaked. "Come on, eat me, giant woman, make me cum because I’ve seen your mighty tongue and I need it up my twat so very baaad." She slapped Brina over the head. "Hello? She’s a goddess? She made the Rules ages ago. And the Rules say, don’t ungh-ungh with me. Really, it’s as if you’ve never ever listened to Carwon’s sermons! You don’t propose to a goddess just because you think she’s hawt! She chooses you if she wants to."

Envy darkened the girl’s features.

"And she picked you. So what do you want us to do now?"

Brina buried her face in her hands.

"I’ve got no idea!" she wailed. "You’re right! She’s a goddess! I can’t go and have my goddess eat me — it’s wrong! But she — she ordered me — she — her Rules, why can she — why did she change them —"

The other girls eyed each other. Then they grabbed Brina and pulled her dress off over her head. The first girl sniffed at Brina’s skin, ran her hand through between the blushing maid’s thighs and sniffed her fingers.

"You reek like a fishmonger’s locker! Carol, get the brush! And the thin rubber hose, the funnel and the perfume! Meet us at the basins. We’ll make that wallflower bloom one way or the other."

The small door opened again a quarter of an hour later. Brina slowly stepped out into the large throne room, naked. She winced with each step. Her crotch still hurt and stung from the "cleaning".

"Finally! Come here, Brina. I don’t bite. I just eat girls for dinner," joked Mirca. She reached out over her glistening, lubed-up breasts, dug her fingers into her skin and pulled herself up higher on them. Crossing her arms on the flesh cushions and cocking her head, she rested her chin on her hand and smiled at the trembling young woman. "So what do you want me to do now?"

Mumble mumble mercy mumble spare me mumble.

"Another case of the mumbles?" laughed the blonde. "All right, then I’ll have you my way. Come, climb up over my boobs and let me weigh you before I taste you."

Brina struggled over the hot, soft flesh, rolled on her back on top of the living, breathing pillows and reluctantly opened her legs, sliding forward until the back of her knees rested on Mirca’s shoulders. Mirca leaned forward and sniffed at the petals that greeted her.

"Mmh. Nice. Is that a perfume? Was that your idea?"

Brina mutely shook her head.

"Whoever thought of that, I commend them." She shot a quick glance at the two other maids that started to grin and nod to each other. "And you, Brina, open up a bit more. My, you’re shivering. You’re not afraid, are you? Close your eyes, if it helps. It’ll pass soon. I’ll show you how gentle I am."

Her strong hands grabbed Brina’s waist and pulled her closer. Mirca pouted and pecked a kiss on the folds behind which Brina’s love button cowered, presumably in fear. The giantess raised her head and looked in the trembling young woman’s eyes. Her voice was a whisper, and nobody but Brina stood a chance of hearing it.

"Do you want me to stop? I’m the goddess, they wouldn’t dare to blame you if I let you go now," breathed Mirca, with her hot exhale brushing gently through Brina’s pubes. She tenderly rubbed her cheek against the girl’s thigh. 

After a moment’s hesitation, the handmaiden shook her head again.

The thin tip of the blonde’s tongue slowly worked its way around the wrinkled folds until she felt the nub protrude into the small, round opening right in the middle of her puckered lips. A copious gob of her saliva heated the nervous button even further. Her tongue smeared the foam up and down the whole length of Brina’s labia, which earned Mirca a delighted sigh.

The giantess’ kisses wandered on, traveling over the inside of Brina’s legs, returning to the slowly warming and swelling crotch of her servant, then again teasing and nibbling on the soft skin of the girl’s thighs. Inch by inch, her restless lips homed in on the entrance. She bit gently into the chestnut curls and pulled on them with her teeth, and Brina squeaked in delighted surprise. The girl’s hands reluctantly found her goddess’ head and feebly tried to guide her mistress back to her longing depths.

Mirca aimed the tip of her tongue at the entrance of Brina’s cave and opened her mouth. Her lips stretched around the fleshy dome of the girl’s vulva. She hefted the trembling body firmly around the narrow waist and pushed her against her mouth, and then dug her freak tongue deep into the scented hole. Brina let out a sigh and shivered. Her tube quivered all around Mirca’s tongue.

They must’ve rinsed the girl with rose oil, Mirca pondered. How considerate of them. I’ve got to try that, too. Mmmhh, tasty like a cream-filled treat... Let’s see how deep can I get into that nice puckered ring at the end of her clam. Ooh, and what’s that rough patch? My, she’s got a huge one, easy to find.

She curled her tongue and rubbed the spot, squeezing the inner side of the clitoris. Brina squirmed and moaned on top of her, leaning against the towering breasts in her back. Her legs shook in convulsions. Moments later, Mirca’s face was dripping with rose-scented liquid.

Whoa, that’s a dew-laden flower all right.

She stretched her tongue long and went on ladling from the depths of the well that quickly filled up again. Brina just let it happen. She felt all of her body become limp, turning into jelly on that divine tentacle that dove into her far deeper than anything she ever had wrapped herself around before. The boobs she rested her back on rolled just a bit further apart. Her body slowly descended into the warm gulch between the huge bags until the pliable walls closed over her, trapping her upper body in their warm, soft embrace.

Mirca felt the whole body of the girl starting to shake, sending her breasts into quivering motions. Brina’s legs wrapped around her head. Her heels drummed against the blonde’s back and suddenly cramped. Another gush, accompanied by the whole body tensing up as it stuck buried in her cleavage, then the legs limply fell away and slipped from Mirca shoulders.

The giantess pulled her tongue from the emptied snatch. "Wow," she uttered. "Could someone dig her out from between my breasts? Wouldn’t want to smother that tasty morsel down there."

Chapter 58: The Priest’s Staff

The last of this day’s visitors left the throne room, and the maids closed the doors from the outside. Mirca was alone with her priest.

"Carwon?"

"Goddess?"

She eyed him hungrily, resting her chin on her hand and her elbow on her own breast.

"I’m feeling all naughty today, and I’ve been thinking… come here, Carwon."

He stepped in front of her, his head now barely visible over the white promontory of her breasts.

"Don’t play dumb with me, Carwon. Here, by my side where I can reach with my hands. Now drop your clothes."

He gulped. "No, I don’t think you want —"

"— To see you naked? Of course! And that’s just the beginning! I’ve not forgotten about that moment in your room, and I’ve never before seen a man built like you. And if the girls are too scared to have fun with me, then you’ll have to make do! Come on, whip out your naughty dangly bit! I want to play with it!"

His toga dropped to the floor. She raised her eyebrows and smacked her lips. "Good. Mmmh. Come here."

Mirca turned to him as far as her weighty anchors allowed her to. Her hands shot forward and grabbed his hips. She effortlessly lifted him up.

"Goddess, what—," he gasped.

"Oh shut up! Your goddess is going to feast on you tonight!" She laughed and licked her lips. "Let’s turn this noodly appendage al dente."

Raising Carwon high over her head, she put her head in her neck and held him with his limp penis dangling over her face. She pouted and lowered his glans, still shrouded in foreskin, towards her puckered lips.

"Queen—hhhhaah!"

Shlurrrp.

Her lips closed tightly and locked into the groove behind his glans as his foreskin slipped back and the head bulged into her mouth. Her tongue coated his hot skin with saliva and tickled around the distended hole in the tip. She lowered him deeper and gobbled up all he had to offer.

"Uhn goddess," stammered Carwon, trembling in her grip.

Sllllp. Her lips ran over the whole length as she lifted him out of the warm abyss of her mouth.

"If you call me that one more time, I’ll bite!"

Shlurrrp, and back into her mouth she drew him, her teeth nibbling playfully along the soft rod while her lips munched along and neared the root. Her cheeks fell in, and Carwon felt the stream of his blood as it rushed through his bulging veins and into the bloating head.

"G—Mirca, please…"

Mirca drew even stronger at his crotch. The soft skin of his balls started to slide, crawling over her wet lips into her mouth. She opened the meaty ring of her puckered lips even wider, and one by one, his balls slipped through and joined his growing rod in her huge, warm maw. Her tongue danced and slithered through the fold between his dick and his sack. Her lips squeezed rhythmically around the root of his package, and then Carwon couldn’t fight the primal urges of his body any more.

Nature took over for good. With every racing beat of his heart, he grew deeper into her mouth. With Mirca’s size dwarfing Carwon, there was much mouth his organ needed to grow into. Her mammoth tongue lashed and strangled around the distending rod, squeezing and sliding, wrapping his erection in like a corkscrew. She slowly lowered him deeper into her warm gullet, then bounced him up and down a few times until she raised the throbbing rod back out, all the while sliding her lips along the veined length of his pole.

"Mmmmircaaaaahh…"

Mirca noticed the sudden throb and pulled him out completely before he reached his threshold. The glistening glans slipped from her lips. She smiled and admired her soon-to-be-lover’s new size.

"Oh Carwon," she sighed happily, "you’re big now! Big enough for me! Oh, I must have that up my crotch."

"I —," he stammered, his face bright red by both arousal and embarassment.

Mirca cut him off right there. "Your goddess demands that you to put that thing in her, right now," she purred as she put him back down on his feet.

She wiggled around, pushed out her ass and spread her legs, reaching back to pull her buttocks apart. Her labia parted, revealing the dark, still tight hole into her hungry vagina. Leaning forward into her breasts, she bent her knees until her gate was at a comfortable height.

"Well?" she moaned. "Climb on the divan and mount me! You’ll fit nicely now, man-bull!"

"I m—must not — "

"My rules! I make them! From now on, the priest must screw the goddess whenever she demands it!" she barked into her own cleavage.

Jingle. Grit.

"No, I — that’s not —," he stammered and backed away, with his member still bobbing and dripping.

Mirca fumed. Her body itched with all the anger of rejection and unsatisfied desire as she straightened up and stared at him over her shoulder.

"What? My lips can blow you, but my snatch’s not good enough for you? Is that it?"

Groooaaan.

"You think I haven’t noticed how you get off I-don’t-know-how-many-times when you knead my tits, but you dare not put your pole in my crotch?!" she growled, standing akimbo, tied to the two mammoth orbs of her breasts with her head turned sideways to glance at him over her shoulder from the corner of her eyes.

Streeeeetch.

"G—goddess, please—," he gulped, staring at the straining golden chains around her breasts. The first rings had already ripped and laid strewn across the floor.

"What?! Look me in the eyes if you’re talking to me and stop backing away!" Mirca hollered.

Spang — tinkle — jingle. More little golden ring fragments showered the throne room in front of Mirca. She didn’t notice, with her angry gaze still aimed at the recoiling vizier.

Gnooouurrrrbb, growled her breasts as their flesh spilled over the tables and the rising shapes flowed slowly along the marble floor.

"You’re expanding!" he howled and made a bolt for the door of his room. Mirca twitched. Her head spun back to her front. Her gasp of surprise turned into a shocked curse.

"Oh just … oh shit! Oh — ooouuuuhnnnnmmmm!" All the itching of her overexcited crotch suddenly shot up along her spine, washed over her mind, met the heat of her anger, ignited and exploded into her chest. Her breasts’ skin billowed out, rubbing along the floor and bubbling up from the inside as the gargantuan avalanche of breast flesh spilled forth.

Creeeeaaak — crunch, and the tables carrying her breasts collapsed under the multiplying weight. Devoid of any support now, the centers of Mirca’s boobs dropped down to the floor. The shockwave sloshed over her skin like over the surface of a pond after a particularly heavy boulder had splashed into it. Bobbing and bounding, her nipples shuddered to erection.

As the first throb tapered, she sat at the end of two oblong quivering melons, nine yards long. And just as Mirca caught her breath after the climax that the stretching nerves in her skin had given her, the next rush of fire tickled up inside her body.

"No! No, it never — it can’t — I never grew twice — I — oh gods! Carwoooooon! Help me! It’s happening again!" she howled over her shoulder.

The next pulse tripled her volume. Her breasts flowed down the two steps that separated the elevated throne area from the front part of the room, and the kneading and stroking that this edge gave to her swelling flesh quickened the arrival of the next pulse.

Nothing this horrible should feel so good, she managed to think, sweat-covered and exhausted, before the next firestorm started in her womb. Her fingernails dug into her palms as she clenched her fists.

No! Got to — hold it — in —

The feeling crawled up from her belly, like a hiccup from hell that just wouldn’t let up.

Nuh—uh, n—nnn—unnnnnhhh—

She lost the fight as her sensitive skin stroked along the first pair of pillars. The next growth spurt sloshed into her, in one huge killer wave. Her breast’s skin billowed like a sail in a gust, and her flesh rushed into the empty hall.

Mirca clutched the wall of white skin in front of her. Two-thirds of the huge floor now were filled with, well, her, and the top of her tents was halfway up to the ceiling, too, shaking and stretching still. She was bigger than ever before, bigger than even when she had trained with Yrba, bigger than she ever thought possible. And it felt so good. There was not a single twitch, no stinging, no pricking. Her breasts had been huge to start with, and the abundant skin effortlessly made room as it stretched along.

And it showed no sign of stopping now. Her breathing quickened, and with every gasp, the fire in her crotch blazed brighter and rose further along her midriff, clawing its way to her chest. Three throbs and mind-wrecking orgasms, each one stronger than the last, each time growing bigger, and now the fourth bubbled through her, it would make her swell larger than all previous ones combined, and then —

I’ll fill up the whole valley! Gods, I can’t — I’ll grow on until I burst!

"Carwon! Where have you gone?" she wailed.

By the time she had finished the question, he was back in the hall, struggling with a pair of fur gloves.

"Goddess! I’ll help you soon, just hold on! I just hope this works —," but this last part he just mumbled under his breath while he began gesturing in the air.

It felt different from the magical net that Yrba had always used. The touch of this magic was like a huge fur rug being dragged over and between her breasts, tickling and itching as it engulfed the vast expanse of skin all the way. Goose bumps ran back and forth over her skin, which seemed to grow thicker and more resilient. She gasped and panted, and the pauses in her flying breath became shorter and shorter. Her breasts had stopped growing, but now the pressure in them rose and rose.

"Carwon! Carwon, you come here and plug me this instaaaaaant! Oh heavens! Relief! I can’t stand it anymore!"

She grabbed and clawed at her breasts, but that only heightened her arousal even more and didn’t bring the deliverance she’d hoped for. Deep inside her crotch, the itching was worst. She couldn’t reach that spot, not with her fingers, and there was nothing around she could’ve impaled herself upon. It itched, a most irritating, infuriating itch that made her angry, and the anger made her swell, and that made her itch more, and — she’d just grow on, until — except —

"Carwwwoooooonnnnn!"

"Goddess!"

The fire in her womb wandered up and up, inching closer to her breasts, no matter how hard she fought it. She needed a pipe, laid right into her, spewing lots of liquid to extinguish her embers.

"On the divaaaaaahhh—divan! On your back! Hurry! Whip out your rod again! Quickly! Let me sit ooooohhh—on it!"

"I can’t get it up! Not like that!"

"I didn’t ask you to! Down! Now!"

He slid into place beneath her. Mirca stepped over him and sat down on his hip, with her round bottom pinning him to the divan. She blindly reached around her breasts and ran her hands up his thighs, fishing for his dangling pole with both hands. It was still slippery with her spit, and after a few quick rubs, it showed promise. Another few gentle squeezes and strokes, and then she grabbed it with one hand around the root and cupped the glans, aiming for her crotch.

She lifted her hips until the hot glans slipped in between her outer labia, and then she slowly sat down again. The long, fat pole stretched her insides even though it was half-erect at best. Its lack of ultimate stiffness didn’t matter, its girth served the purpose already. She exhaled in delight as she engulfed him deeper and deeper until she felt her groin making contact with his body. The gobbled-up prick quickly grew stiffer and thicker, and it reached all the itching spots one by one as it wandered up her cave, quenching her irritation.

But it didn’t quench her desire. Each grinding of her hips on him sent another stretching, distending pulse into her nipples. The areolae domed out, their swelling accompanied by a deep gurgle. Soon. Soon! I’ll have release, and they’ll stop growing.

"Ooooh yes! Yes! Nooooooowwwww!" she moaned and cramped. He grabbed her waist, his hands still stuck in the fur gloves. She felt the touch all over her breasts and at her body at the same time, and how his dick throbbed inside her.

His semen spurted out, even against the death grip of her vagina. The biggest pulse of excitement yet arced through her thrumming boobs. The lightning of lust struck into the mighty nipples and caused them to pulsate bigger one last time. Hundreds of finger-sized holes flared all over their rough skin. The sea of milk sloshing inside her breasts stormed through the wide-open ducts. Her fluids sprayed out in a waving curtain reaching the roof. The flood covered the floor in seconds and began to rise inside the huge room until the side doors bursted open and discharged the white deluge all over the main stairs and out over the forecourt. Convulsing, she collapsed on top of him while her breast sprayed on and on, deflating slowly.

"Maids! Maids, this is the moment!" Carwon yelled. "Come and help the queen!"

"The maids? What about the m—," Mirca shrieked, and after a short gasp her voice dropped through the octaves to a throaty "mmmh! Oooh! Whoaaahh!" before it ended in panted moans and grunts.

All she saw in front of her was the towering wall of her own breasts. All that she felt were almost a hundred hands with splayed fingers, all leaning into her malleable flesh around the edge where her sagging, blimp-sized breasts rested in the foot-high milk sea. She turned her head. Left and right, the last girls moved into position, their faces filled with austerity as they prepared to fulfill their sacred service for the first time in ages.

The first girls to her sides pushed deep into the soft skin, and like a long wave, their neighbors did the same. Mirca’s mountainous breasts pulled at her ribs, and she began to swing back and forth, faintly at first and then farther and farther as the girls picked up the resonance of the wavy swaying.

"Mmmh. Mmmh. Mmmh! Hwoooahh! Yeeees! Uhhhng! Oh! My! Gooaadddddsss!" howled the breast-bloated giantess. Each time a wavefront ran into her areolas, the nipples bulged, soared upwards and gushed a massive torrent. The maids kept their pace, in perfect synchronization, until inside Mirca’s breasts a single riptide of milk sloshed back and forth, shooting yard-long bolts of liquid from her nipples on the far side and lifting her up and off her feet when it stretched the roots of her boobs and then reflected back from her chest. Carwon held on to her, he wrapped his arms around her waist and rode her, penetrating deep into her dripping pussy each time the couple came down on the divan again.

Her breasts emptied, albeit deliciously slow. Exhausted and still clutching her priest’s oversized manhood in her love muscle, she finally sat on the divan. The maids, their white clothes no longer white but drenched through and through and clinging transparently to their bodies, still rhythmically pushed her boobs, but they no longer need the whole staff of girls for it. Those no longer on "shoving duty", as Mirca called it in her mind with a little giggle, dropped their clothes and struggled naked onto the slippery shoulders of the ring of "shovers". They leaned forward, splayed their arms and —

"Oh yeeeessss!" groaned the queen, throwing her head back. A dozen naked, hot, slippery, weighty bodies dropped down into the yielding, still several yards long balloons. The maids rolled and slithered around on the masses, tumbling towards the nipples where they unmounted the breasts and ran around to jump on them anew. Their weight and their slippery bodies pushed and guided the milk to the two outlets where another couple of girls were already busy squeezing and stroking Mirca’s teats. Like two human conveyor belts, the "slippers", as Mirca named them in her mind’s sex-crazed haze, took over the duty that the "shovers" could no longer perform on her boobs.

Mirca didn’t recall for how long these delightful maneuvers continued. She just sagged forward on her own breasts, clinging to them with splayed arms and relishing in the unending touches and strokes and pushes and prods and the spraying of nurturing liquid from her teats that served and served.

Finally, a dozen girls reached under the blonde’s boobs and lifted them on quickly provided new tables so that the "dryers" could begin their work of washing and cleaning their utterly spent goddess. Her breasts were down to the size of three or four huge sacks of wheat sewn together.

Carwon struggled out under her and sat down beside her on the divan, his naked body still covered in sweat and milk. When she woke again from her delirious rush, the maids were already busy scrubbing the floors and flushing out the rest of the milk. Pulling her breasts closer so she could actually move a little, she leaned against her priest and embraced him. This time, he didn’t protest.

"Oh Carwon, what are we going to do? If I drown half the palace each time I get angry — then what?" She sobbed — those poor girls, they had to work so hard now, and she knew they’d ache all over. And what if the room had not been big enough? Would she have brought down the walls? Would she have crushed them all to death?

"I’m not a goddess, I’m a tit monster!" she wailed.

He stared at his trembling hands.

"There — there is an elixir. It’ll keep your rage from affecting your breasts."

She sniffled and wiped her eyes. "Yrba never told me about that!"

He shrugged. "Probably because it’s long forgotten. It’s really old, and — even I didn’t remember it until now. Some of the first goddesses, they must’ve suffered from the same affliction. It’s in the old scrolls, and I thought it was just a stupid mistranslation. I’d never have believed breasts could really — I mean, wow! That was just so incredible! And so fast! Nobody has seen anything like that for a thousand years! Imagine what would happen if they just kept on growing —"

She grabbed his arm hard. Her brow furrowed. "Carwon! I don’t even dare to think about that! You go and brew the stuff this instant! You hear — oh no!" Her eyes grew wide. She felt her nipples stand up again. "Don’t anger me! Please — promise you’ll get me that potion!"

He stared at her breasts that were beginning to throb again. His mouth went dry.

"At once, goddess!"

He stormed off to his room. She clenched her fists and tried to breathe slowly and deeply, all the while begging to her mammaries. Reluctantly, the urge in her chest waned.

Chapter 59: Return Of The Witch

Weeks passed. Then, as the leaves slowly turned brown, a caravan, drawn by a single horse and bleached by the sun and rain, once again rumbled over the town road and towards the twin-dome palace. The sun was setting, and the white walls of the castle glowed red like blood.

"I’m afraid nobody may disturb the Goddess!"

The chambermaid, a new girl Yrba had not met before, trembled with fear. Yet the plucky guardian held her ground against Yrba, who was almost half a head taller, even as the voluptuous witch stood mere inches from her, furrowed her brow and stared her in the face. The curvy dark-skinned woman was impressed. Her stare usually did the trick, but not this time.

"Lass, you step aside this instant, else I’ll get very, very angry!" she snarled.

Her opponent swayed and her breathing was flat and fast, but she didn’t move aside.

"I’m ... I’m under orders to not let—"

"Ladies! Please! Such ill will on such a nice evening?"

Yrba rolled her eyes. Ten words only, and Carwon’s cheerful voice already grated on her nerves. She straightened, backed away to the relieved exhale from the maid, spun around and directed her anger at the approaching vizier.

"There you are! What’s this about not disturbing Mirca? What are you up to? I want to see her, right away!" she barked.

Carwon bowed to her, smiling as he held out his hands to his sides in greeting.

"Your worrying for your mistress blesses your soul, woman of faraway lands. I am humbled and honored to be in the presence of the goddess’ confidante and aide again. She told me at great lengths about the ordeals you had to endure before she, in her unending wisdom and mercy, decided to free you from Lord Peter’s prison and nurtured your emaciated body back to health! And what a fine miracle she worked on you! I assure you, each and everyone in the temple stands ready to cater to your every need, as she has ordered us to. You’ll find that to be a most generous reward for your services to the great goddess, I’m sure."

He put his arm around her shoulder, turned her towards the guest quarters and continued, slightly quieter, "You do not need to bend to her all the time, you know. She’s taken care of. Enjoy your stay! Though I understand your desire to immediately rush in and bow before her, from the bottom of my heart. Myself, I find it difficult to tear away from her sight as well. She really must be the late light of your poor life, with her grace and immense knowledge."

Yrba puckered her lips and managed a wry smile.

Oh just you wait, girl! 'Unending wisdom'? 'Free me'? Girl, it seems my memory differs from yours about quite a few things! 'Nurture my emaciated body'? Uh-huh! You’re going to get an earful about that, too!

"I’d rather not talk about that, if it’s the same to you," she replied after hesitating for a few moments.

"Of course, of course." Carwon patted her shoulder and nodded. "Now, see, she’s just about to go to sleep now. It wouldn’t be wise to disturb her slumber, don’t you think? I’ll send for you first thing in the morning, after she’s awake. You may want to take a hot bath after the dust and dirt out on the road. The royal pools are at your disposal, of course."

He smiled somewhat uneasily as he slowly lifted his arm from her shoulder and tried to inconspicuously brush away the earthen stains that Yrba’s clothes had left on his white sleeves.

Yrba yawned. Yes, it was getting late, and she truly longed for a good soaking. Sand dust still gritted between her teeth and itched on her skin. Her nerves were twanging with tension. Just like the last time, and she remembered all too well how talking to Mirca in this state of mind had worked out. A few hours to cool off, a warm bath with a little self-spelunking and a good night’s sleep seemed like a pretty good idea right now.

"All right. First thing in the morning, then. And don’t you forget it!"

Yrba was already asleep in her room while in the goddess’ hall Mirca still luxuriated naked in the care of her army of handmaidens. Her jewels and veils had been put away for the night, and her body was being rubbed down with skin-soothing perfumed oils. She was quite sure she had never felt so good in her whole life. A group of girls carried in the tablets with the night snacks, in case she got hungry. She always got hungry. Come next morning, the plates would be — well, not quite licked clean, but at least empty. The dozen of higher rank maids went on rubbing the special lotion into her breasts now. She felt her taut skin relaxing, making way for another gentle growth over the course of the night.

How big will I be tomorrow? This is sooo exciting!

Just then, she noticed from the corner of her half-closed eyes two of the lower maids, working across the room. They were busy folding her clothes, but now they were putting their heads together, giggling and occasionally nodding their heads towards her as they made rather descriptive gestures.

"Hey! You two!"

She pointed her forefinger at them. The couple froze. Suddenly, the whole room fell silent. All eyes were on the two girls who had gone pale at first and now blushed, their faces turning bright red. Mirca beckoned them closer.

"Come on, come over! I don’t bite! It’s more of a nibble, you know."

The smaller of the two pushed the other ahead of her, to whispers of "Go on, tell her! She’s nice!" and "No, stop that! I don’t dare —"

Finally, they stood at a footstep’s distance from the huge breasts, hanging their heads and wringing their hands.

"It was her idea!" they bursted out simultaneously and started a flurry of pointing fingers. Babbled excuses and accusations flew around. After a while and not a sign of the bickering slowing down, Mirca couldn’t hold back her laughter any more and raised her hands.

"All right, all right! Enough!" she chuckled. "You! The brunette! What is this all about?"

The smaller, stocky girl who looked no older than twenty years gulped. She had short, brown hair, framing a round face, a cute button for a nose and round cheeks.

"We — we were just wondering what your milk really tastes like. B—Because all we get is watered down stuff, every now and then."

"Oh? I’ll have to talk to Carwon about that." She slapped her boobs’ skin, sending waves wandering along the huge flattened spheres. "By now, there really should be enough to go around. Well, you two, how do you go about getting something you want? Huh? Why, you start by asking. So? I’m listening!"

The girl she had addressed bit her lips and nudged the other, an auburn-haired, slender female in her mid-twenties. Her pale face had freckles, and her nose was a bit more pointy than it should’ve been, which gave her the looks of a nervous hen. As if nature had decided to even that out and to distract the gazes from her slightly lacking face, she was gifted with an enormous, firm, melon-sized pair of breasts, straining against her cloth. She cleared her throat and stuttered: "Oh goddess, may I — d—drink from your breasts?"

"Good. Good. See, that wasn’t so hard, was it? What’s your name, girl?"

The big-breasted young woman giggled nervously.

"Yolanda, your highness."

She hungrily eyed the two huge, bobbing nipples on Mirca’s still sloshing bags of milk.

"Why, Yolanda, of course you may! Enough to go round, isn’t there? Take your pick."

The servant fell to her knees and raised her hands.

"Thank you! Oh Goddess, thank you!"

She bent forward and started to squeeze one of the fat teats between her lips.

"Hey, don’t tickle them!" giggled the blonde. "They’re pretty charged, you wouldn’t want to set them off. They’d fill you up good and then some! Ah, see, here’s a special delivery comin’ for ya!"

Mirca ran her hands over her breast and gently squeezed and pressed into the yielding flesh, massaging the barely contained liquid toward the rough, swollen mouthpiece.

The maid’s cheeks bulged with the first burst of milk. It shot out between her lips and the nipple’s rough skin and ran down her chin. She swallowed all she had been able to keep in her mouth and sighed happily once it was empty again.

"My goddess, this is so delicious! Dare I —"

Mirca giggled when she saw the envy on the faces of the other maids. Like the old times. Ah, I wish I’d have had such a chance when I was but the "oaf" at Peter’s castle...

So she smiled at the begging girl and nodded.

"Of course. She who asks shall receive. Drink all you can, you won’t drain your goddess one bit. Well, what are you waiting for?"

The girl fidgeted for a few moments, avoiding Mirca’s gaze.

"Uh, goddess — i—is it true that your milk can make women grow big and strong like you are?"

"Yolanda!" gasped her friend. "What stupid question is that?"

"I just —," she started and fell silent.

Mirca smiled. "A fair question. I never saw that happen. Then again, I’ve not tried it either. Yrba always did it with magic, and she said it’s the eggs–pear–mending that shows what works and what not. If you dare — swallow what you can, and then we’ll see." After a moment’s pause, she added, "Not that you’d need it, you’re a mighty fine piece of breast already," and winked at her.

Yolanda beamed with pride and started to lick the nipple up and down. She coated all of the rough skin with her saliva, chewing and nibbling at the flesh that began to throb in her hands. Pouting her lips, she gently bit down on the banana-sized teat and sucked it deep into her mouth. Moaning through her nose, she moved her wide-open lower jaw to the left and right, twisting the teat and rubbing her lips over it. Mirca became more aroused with each passing second. A tickle and itching she hadn’t felt in a long time started in her breast.

"Yol," she moaned, "you’re doing it sooo good! But ... oooh ... stop." The tone of the giantess’ voice became urgent. "Stop! I’m not joking! Don’t tickle me any further! Heavens! It’s like — No! — You’ve got no idea what — whhhhh—"

Yolanda didn’t listen, consumed by lactic bliss. Mirca tried to reach for the girl, but her arms were too short to grab over her swollen boobs. The itching grew worse. It spread out over the skin, and in it’s wake the flesh underneath started to throb and bubble. The feeling engulfed her whole breast, raced in spirals back to the areola, it filled the nipple with liquid fire and pressure and then —

Mmmmphhhshluuuurp.

As in, the squelching sound of something elongating, squeezing and sliding fast and forcefully deep down into a wet, slightly smaller tube.

"Yolandaaaa!" yelled the other girl who had been standing right beside her friend, recoiled and slapped her hands over her mouth. The other maidens took a fraction of a second longer to take in what they saw. Then they jumped back in horror and screamed at the top of their lungs.

A weird, screeching sound woke Yrba from an uneasy slumber. It echoed muffled through the heavy door of her sleeping room. Opening her eyes, she froze and stared at the quivering bolt of magical light that wandered right through the walls of the room.

Three seconds later, she was up and running down the hallway towards the Goddess’ chambers, her naked feet slapping over the cool marble, the wide sleeves and the tail of her untied nightgown fluttering after her, her unrestrained breasts bouncing to her shoulders and slamming into her stomach with every bound.

Cold moonlight crept through the high windows, but that wasn’t what guided her feet as she darted along the corridor. Invisible to the common folk, but plain as day to the witch, bolts of magical energy overtook her left and right, converging on a point somewhere behind the huge gates. Something big was building up. And it was happening at the place where the chorus of fearful shrieks came from.

Yolanda knelt before her goddess, and her face was contorted into a silent plea for mercy. Her eyes almost popped from their sockets. A trickle of blood ran from the corner of her mouth. Her lip had been ripped open in the corner by the sheer girth of the teat that had launched itself down her throat and gullet. Its far end curled like a length of rope in her stomach. She felt it slap and wriggle inside her, pushing against her stomach walls, still gaining volume.

Mirca screamed and wailed desperately, "Help her! Oh gods, help her! Girls! Don’t just stand there! Somebody pull my nipple from her mouth! Her stomach! It burns! It burns! Heavens! The milk! I can’t stop it! I can’t hold it back much longer! Won’t someone please —"

The door flew open and slammed against the wall. Yrba slid into the room and stared at the sight. She had pictured something similar, but —

I hate being right! Dammit, no, I dig being right! I just wish once in a while I’d be wrong about one of those fucked-up disasters. Oh damnation, her boobs have grown even bigger —

Yolanda hung with her lips locked to Mirca’s tent-sized right breast that throbbed and pulsed. Her mouth and throat were unnaturally distended. Her hands clutched her bulging stomach that had bloated to the size of a small barrel.

Mirca clenched her teeth, trying in vain to stop the impending, massive growth that would bloat her breast into a taut, house-sized balloon. At best, she could slow it down for a few more moments. The magic would have its way with her, any second now, whether she wanted it or not.

And Yolanda would get filled until she’d simply burst apart, within seconds. Except maybe —

Yrba blinked. Please let that glow be — yes! There’s still a chance!

Lucky for the girl, she’s a Tincture customer as well. Mighty big one, I’d say. Glowing like a bonfire. At least I can get a grip on her body —

She had started with the conjuring gestures well up along the hallway, just in case. Now her hands went through the last of the motions. She finished the ethereal knot of twitching strands and funneled the magical discharge right into Mirca’s and Yolanda’s bodies.

The glistening threads of Yrba’s incorporeal net wrapped around Mirca’s breasts and constrained them to their current size. The teat wrinkled back into itself, retreating from Yolanda’s belly. But even though it no longer was a freakish tube, it still filled Yolanda’s mouth and stuck deep into her throat. All the pent-up growth urge and the impending milk blast would still burst forward into the maid’s belly.

"Everybody down!" hollered the witch as the spark of unleashed magic lit up the room. "Thar she blows!"

The confused, screaming maids went silent at the sound of the imperious voice. They threw themselves on the floor and covered their heads with their hands.

The sound of a thundering waterfall filled the air, mingled with groans and stretching noises. Through a weird but enjoyable haze over her mind, Yolanda felt herself being lifted up higher and higher. Her vantage point changed as she rode up in the air on her bloating belly. She rose, slowly tilting forward until she stared down from above into Mirca’s cleavage.

Yeees, now I’m all big and huge like her! Mmmh, that’s a nice view. Oh, you delicious nipple, why are you going away already? bubbled her thoughts as the weight of Mirca’s massive mammary finally drew the discharged teat from her throat and mouth. The heavy breast, still plump and bloated even after blowing its load, bounced and bobbed down on the floor while the spherical maid rightened up and sloshed back and forth, slowly settling down. Yolanda felt ... sated. Deeply and happily sated. A huge belly full of warm, delicious milk. What was the thing after feeding? Ah, right. She needed to rest now. With a content smile, she drifted off into sleep.

Yrba exhaled hard and lowered her arms. Her hands clenched into fists, and her teeth grated as her brow furrowed.

"Just in time!" She spun towards Mirca. "What were you thinking, girl? You saw what you did to that warehouse, the night we first met. When was the last time you’ve practiced, you lazy bitch? And you let her put your nipple into her mouth? You almost blew her head right off! I’ll have a few more words with you about that, in private," she chided the squirming young woman.

Then she turned to the chambermaids who slowly stood up and stared in awe at the mammoth blob of taut white skin that gently swayed back and forth in the huge room. A quiet mumble of "Praise the goddess!" and "A miracle!" reverberated in the air.

"And you lot, you better roll her someplace soft and warm. She won’t wake until she’s done digesting and purging that belly full of milk. You can guess just how big of a mess she’ll make of any place you put her into, unless it’s a river bed! So you better start asking someone who’s actually in charge around here."

Yrba swiveled around again.

"Back to you, Mirca, goddess. What did I tell you about your breasts? You need to practice more! You need to get a better hold of yourself. Delaying a burst? De-lay-ing? Please! You’ve been doing much better than that before you got all flabby-titted and lazy! Have you not learned a thing from me?"

"Yrba, please, I really wanted to, but — but it all happened so fast."

"Tell that to poor Yolanda!" she hissed, nodding towards the gently wobbling, snoring ball right by their side. "Do you know what would’ve happened if I came here too late? If my bedroom had been just a few dozen yards further away? You’d be scraping minced Yolanda off your tits, airhead! I’ve seen what a sword to the belly can do, and it ain’t pretty, but your hooters are much—"

"Oh please, stop! I — I didn’t want to —," Mirca wailed, tears running down her face. Yrba went on, screaming over the blonde’s interjection, "Now imagine what she’d look like, ripped apart from the inside! Bones and entrails all ar—"

"Silence! What is this—"

Carwon came running into the room, bleary-eyed, wearing but a nightgown tied with a girdle around his waist. He startled for a moment and stopped in his tracks, but held his composure pretty well in the face of the abomination that wobbled in the room. In fact, his voice was stern and chilly as he turned to the witch.

"That’s enough. I heard you screaming from the far end of the hall. You’re forgetting your place. Friend or not, you’re upsetting the goddess."

Mirca gave him a thankful glance from teary eyes.

"Yeah, goddess my ass!" Yrba exclaimed, standing akimbo with her fists half-raised.

The whole room gasped. Carwon’s face went wooden.

"I must ask you to leave now. We gave you a lot of leeway, but we will not tolerate such insolence!"

"Mirca, tell this buffoon —"

The blonde clung to the vizier who had put a soothing arm around her shaking shoulders.

"Go. Just — go," she cried, her face buried in his gown.

Carwon cocked his head and nodded mutely towards the door. Yrba lowered her eyes and gritted her teeth. Then she exhaled in a heavy sigh and turned on the spot. She stamped down the hallway, her body ramrod straight, while the servants cast confused and hostile glances after her.

Back in the privacy of her room, Yrba sat down heavily on her bed and stooped, clutching her arms to her body. She slowly opened her fists while her face contorted in pain. Both of her palms and the insides of the fingers were raw and bleeding. She panted as she reached for the little bottles by the side of her bed. The vial slipped from her trembling hands and landed on the thick rug in front of the bed. Crimson smears now covered the glass tube.

"Here, let me lend you a hand."

She startled and looked up. Carwon had entered the room without her even noticing.

"What do you want?" she snarled as tears stung in the corners of her eyes. "Can’t you see I’m busy? I’m not in the mood for your preachings! Or is it coming down to threats and lies again?" 

"You’re bleeding. Oh my. The magic you had to force too fast, right? I’ve heard stories about that." He stooped and picked up the small container. "That’s your medicine? Want me to open the bottle for you? — There. Gods, I’m so sorry for what just happened. It’s not easy, running this shire. All this acting and grandstanding, but it’s all I’m good at—"

He bit his lips and turned his head. His hands, the smooth hands of a man who never had to do hard work, uncorked the vial and poured thin lines of the viscid lotion into Yrba’s cupped palms. Then he proceeded to gently rub the liquid into Yrba’s hands. She sighed as the numbing effect took the worst the pain away. 

"So do you think she’s a goddess, or what?" the witch inquired.

He snorted. "Mirca? Heavens, no! She’s a beauty, and a genuinely nice girl. But a goddess? Well, in a way. She gives my subjects something to admire. She gives them hope. That’s more than I ever managed to do. So yes, though she may not be a goddess by nature, she’s one by function. We’re a small, poor shire, but at least with her around, my people can look up to something."

"Small? Poor?" She ostensively glanced around the guest room. Yrba had seen whole farms smaller than it.

"The palace? Inherited, that’s all. This used to be one of the old Empire’s outposts. We’re lucky that it’s easy to maintain. Half of it is just a dusty old barn these days. Of course we don’t lead our visitors through these parts. And sure as hell we couldn’t afford to build a palace, these days."

He turned to her and looked her in the face, all the while gently massaging her aching hands. "Yrba, there is much more of the divine in you. I didn’t want to come between you two. It’s just that I was looking for a — a symbol for my people. I needed something that promised abundance and maternal love." He smiled. "You can’t deny that she fits the bill quite well."

"Lots of women do. Why did you pick her? How could your guards even know—"

"I’ve learned about the 'Tincture for the discerning Madame' you’re selling."

Yrba’s forehead wrinkled. He hastily added, "Don’t worry. Few do know about it, and those who buy it don’t usually tell. Anyway, I noticed how one of the old, dark mirrors would show the boobs of any woman who ever used it, glowing in bright light even through their clothes. I shattered the glass and passed pieces of it around to the guards at the gates. I hoped for a really stacked woman to show a little public growth on a couple of holy days. I honestly didn’t think I’d hit the mother lode."

The lotion had soaked into her skin, yet he was still holding her hands. Yrba eyed him, frowning.

"You’re a strange man, Carwon. There’s a lot to you that doesn’t meet the eye."

"You haven’t seen half of it." He looked down and sighed. "How long will it take to heal?"

"Couple o’ days. I’ve been worse," she shrugged.

He put his warm hand on her shoulder.

"I’ll give order for one of the girls to stay by your side, day and night, to be your hands. Give your real ones some rest. Mirca’s all worked up and in tears over that — that — I don’t know what to call it. It might’ve turned out to be a horrible accident, but you managed to turn it into a blooper instead. Thank heavens you were around."

He hesitated.

"Yrba, something like that has happened once before, a few weeks ago."

His hand disappeared into a pocket, and he pulled out a corked vial. Yrba frowned more and more while Carwon continued.

"This is what I’ve suggested to her. It’s a recipe from the ancient tomes. The scriptures said, it would keep these bursts away. I — did I do something wrong? You’re a witch, you surely know —"

Slap.

Yrba howled in pain and stooped over her aching hand. Her reflexes had gotten the better of her, once again.

"Yrba, I didn’t mean —," he stammered, wiping blood and salve from his burning cheek.

"You’re no wizard, are you?" she groaned through clenched teeth and shot flaming stares at him from under her eyebrows.

"No, I — I only read about it, and the recipe seemed simple enough —"

"You’ve got no business messing with these things. Could’ve gotten everyone killed, you jackass. Now hold it in front of my face, you fool." She pinched her eyes. "That’s what you gave her? The very same recipe?"

"Yes, a drop a day. Why? Oh gods, Yrba, tell me, what have I done? Was it — too little?"

"I guess it was nothing. Tell me the ingredients."

He did.

"Nothing else? No special cup to stir it in or something?"

"No. No, just —"

She laughed. "Well, could’ve been worse. You cooked up a nice herbal spice mixture, that’s all. Won’t do any good for her troubles, but at least it won’t do any harm, either. Unless you rely on it, because it just won’t work."

He gulped.

"Won’t work?"

"Either she can hold it in by herself, or she can’t. It won’t matter what kind of weed juice she swallows. At least it might boost her confidence, and that goes a long way. And that stuff might taste great on a salad."

"Well, I better go then and calm her. And I’ll see to it none of the other maids tries something that stupid again. Best if you keep Mirca at a distance until your palms are better. She’d break into tears each time she sees your chafed hands."

Yrba nodded. "Yes, that’s her all right. Oh, do me a favor and please don’t pick one of those mindless chatterboxes as my maid. I’d have to strangle her after an hour, and that’d be murder on my hands."

He laughed.

"How punny. Can do. Promise me you won’t corrupt your maid’s brain too much with your heathen blasphemies?"

She held her deadpan expression for a few seconds longer before a twitch in the corner of her mouth started. She lowered her head and chuckled along.

"I’ll try not to instill feelings of revolution, all right."

"Good, because that’s the viziers’ job anyway."

"And seeing how you’re your own vizier..."

"I never said it’s an easy job."

He put his forefinger on his pouted lips and winked at her. She replied by slipping thumb and forefinger along her mouth, though she cringed a bit as she bent her hand.

He turned to go but stopped at the door frame.

"Yrba — I’m sorry that I chased you from the palace on the first night. I didn’t know if I could trust you, and I had to be cautious. I didn’t hate you then, and I don’t hate you now. But I need to keep up my role with others around. I just want you to know that." Then he sneaked out the door and was gone.

Now that was entirely unexpected, she thought. It’s all politics. Huh.

Chapter 60: Helping Hands

A knock on the door woke Yrba. She squirmed awake and lifted her head, blinking into the inky blackness of the bedroom that was only dotted by the faint halo of a single, flickering oil lamp on the far wall. The witch sighed. She just had managed to fall asleep and to forget about the constant itching and the numb, throbbing ache in her hands.

"Oh bugger me," she groaned, slumping back down on the bed. "Am I going to get any sleep on this cursed night?" Another quiet sigh, then she growled much louder, "All right, come on in."

The woman who cautiously entered the room seemed to be about the gypsy’s age, or maybe a tad closer to the end of the thirties. She wore one of the ubiquitous white togas, wrapped tight around her average body. Her brunette hair was tied back and braided into a single, short pigtail. She was about half a head smaller than Yrba, and not quite as stocky.

The maid glanced over the room with a skeptical expression that disappeared the moment she saw the spread-eagled witch on the big bed, her curvy body barely covered by a nightgown that had opened and slipped down from the left half of her torso. The woman stepped up, crossed her arms with flat hands over her chest, bowed to her and kept her head down as she straightened and addressed her new mistress.

"Milady, Carwon sends me. I’m to stay by your side for the time of your healing." And then she slapped her hands on her mouth and burst out, "Oh wow! You’re a true Darkskin! Head to toe! I wasn’t sure, I only heard stories — "

Her face shattered, and she averted her eyes. "— Oh, forgive me, milady, I didn’t mean to be disrespectful —"

Yrba wearily raised her eyebrows.

"Yeah? You mind my tint?" she mumbled while she stretched her back and twisted slowly to coax her stiff and tired muscles into action.

"Milady, no, it’s just — wow! That’s so exciting! I’m so honored!"

Yrba laughed, and the woman twitched at the sudden bellowing noise.

"That’ll pass, dear, once you’ve wiped my butt for the first time. An advance sorry for that." She raised her bruised and bloodstained palms. "I’m a bit lacking in the hands department right now, so you’ll have to lend me your fingers for some icky things."

The woman shrugged. "I know. I don’t mind that, milady. The last months of the previous goddess weren’t pretty, either. She was very old and had — troubles."

"Yes, we better leave it at that. You surely got a name?"

The servant raised her head and smiled, though her face’s open and friendly expression was tainted with a little sadness.

"Choose one that pleases your ear, milady. I will learn to heed to it."

Yrba struggled up to her elbows, carefully avoiding to use her hands. She looked long and hard at the woman.

"Your real one," she finally replied. "How bad can it be? And lay off the milady. It’s Yrba, nothing else."

"Patra," mumbled the woman, with a quirky pronunciation.

"Pak—chra? What kind of name is this?"

"No, it’s Pat, and then you roll the ra in you throat, milady"

"You’re not making this any easier, you know?" Yrba winked. "Oh well, Pat’chra it is, then. Patra, come here and tie my gown, it’s getting chilly in here."

The woman eyed the witch’s brown melons that hung only slightly flattened over the sides of her ribcage, their ample volume crowned by a pair of big, erect nipples in contracted, wrinkly areolae. Her fingers wrapped Yrba’s naked body into the nightgown and tied a girdle around the thin silk. She bit her lips as her elbow accidentally brushed against the witch’s weighty breasts.

"I’ll say," she mumbled. "It’s true what they all whisper. You do have the knowing of how to forever keep your abundance!" She gasped and averted her eyes. "Forgive me! I — I keep forgetting my place. I’m sorry, mil—mistress Yrba!"

Yrba chuckled, and the undulating motions of her breasts showed through the cloth. "Don’t be. And, thank you. Let’s finally get some rest now. Oh, and Patra — keep doing your job well, and I might show you that trick with the abundance."

"Really? That would be awe—"

Patra blushed and fell silent. She hurried out of the room, with tiny, fast footsteps.

Yrba’s eyes followed her until the door closed. The witch slumped back into the pillows and smiled as she closed her eyes. Soon afterwards, she was fast asleep.

Yrba jerked awake and winced at the sudden sting in her right palm. Opening one sleep-crusted eye after the other to the light of the new morning, she found she had rolled around and trapped one of her charred palms under her thigh. Groaning, she tried to free it without heaping any more strain on it. The rough crust of clotted blood had again split open in places, from the pressure alone. Her bed’s sheet was soiled with dried bloodstains all over.

"Milady! Wait —"

Patra’s arms suddenly were there, grabbed her leg and hip and rolled Yrba’s naked body around. She moved with years of routine, and her arms had surprising strength. That, or the witch still felt the numbness of sleep in her bones. She looked at the damage done. Another day to add to the recovery, at least. Yrba ground her teeth.

"Splendid. Do I need to get tied up just to sleep? Fuck. Oh, and, Patra?"

"Milady?"

Yrba sighed resignedly. "I told you to not call me that all the time."

"Yes, milady."

"You’ll keep on doing it anyway, I guess?"

"Yes, milady."

"What are you doing here?"

"Milady?!"

"I sleep. I utter one groan, and bam, you’re by my side. Don’t you have your own chamber or something?"

"Milady! I was ordered to your side, and of course I will be there! I am your very own personal servant, milady, and I will not leave you. You were asleep when I returned with the night candles, so I laid down on the rug by your bed."

She saw Yrba’s face, and hastened to add, "It was comfortable, milady! I like the rug."

The witch shook her head. "Seems I’ve still got a lot to learn about that milady and servant stuff. Right, then." Her face screwed up. Another problem announced itself rather urgently. "Heavens, I really need to take a leak now. Come here, help me untangle this mess of covers and put me on my feet. There’s still a privy down the hallway, isn’t it?"

"Milady! You can’t go and use a common outhouse like a servant! I’ll fetch the bucket for you right away!" And she was off through the door.

"Bucket?!" Yrba called after her, in the half-whisper, half-scream so typical of someone confronted with an embarrassing fact. "What bucket?! Not that kind of b—? Hey! Am I a fuckin’ bleacher’s apprentice?!" She struggled with the twisted blankets that held her tied to the bed.

"Will you come back and just help me get out of these tangled sheets? Patra?! — Dammit!"

"Milady?"

"What now?!" barked Yrba and stopped squirming and wiggling on the wooden embarrassment. As much as she tried to spread her legs, she suspected that without fingers there was no way she’d be able to get her gap wide enough to get this over with without soiling herself, and she hated that thought.

"I might be of a certain help, milady," Patra replied meekly, talking to the wall. She stood with her head down, her hands folded in her lap and her back turned to the whole scene of humiliation, as Yrba had ordered her.

The witch sighed. "Oh, really? Can hardly get any worse, I guess. Well, then come and make yourself useful. Get the fountain out in the open."

And Patra did. The servant’s cool fingers spread the witch wide. The woman had a sure touch and knew how to open the brown outer lips to lay bare the upper folds of Yrba’s pink petals to the desired effect, and the gentle ministrations of a small, flower-perfume soaked towel afterwards left the witch feeling cleaner and fresher than even a dip in a chilly mountain stream.

"Patra, we will not use this bucket thing again. We will not even talk about it again!" Yrba sighed as her mortification waned. "I’ve burned my hands, nothing else. And I won’t settle for wood when there are, ahem, marble thrones available, okay? I’m not bed-ridden!"

"Yes, milady."

"Good! So what do you suggest I do to pass the time?"

"Aaah," Yrba sighed happily and sunk into the heap of freshly fluffed pillows on the divan. Over the course of last three days, the first, thin layer of new skin had slowly made progress under the charred, red cracks in her flesh. Patra had just finished rubbing another coat of Yrba’s home-brew healing lotion on the witch’s palms. Now her servant returned from washing the sticky ooze off, and she brought a small dinner dish with pieces of bread along.

"Dinner, milady?" She offered one of the canapés. Yrba’s head jerked forward. Her lips snagged it from Patra’s fingers, and she raised her eyebrows to a questioning expression while she chewed.

"Oh will you ftop wiff fe milady already? What were you muttering just now?"

Patra hesitated. "I — uh …"

"Come on, out with it! Can’t be that bad."

"Open up wiiiiide — mmh, yes, that’s a good witch … milady."

Yrba smiled. "Heh. Cute." Her voice rose to a squeaky falsetto. "Witch wanna more. Wanna munchy. See? I don’t mind goofing around. No worries."

After a few moments, Patra chuckled and kept on spoon-feeding her mistress. While she chewed, Yrba inquired, "Now, tell me a little more about your master."

"Master, milady?"

"Carwon."

"That twerp is not my master," Patra spat out.

"Oh? Bad experiences?" Yrba raised an eyebrow. "You can tell me everything, if it makes you feel better. Uh, and let me try that one over there with the cheese and the grape next."

Patra shook her head. "No, no bad things, milady. He’s doing a pretty good job. But — he’s just a damned thespian. You haven’t noticed, milady? He’s always playing the obnoxious, zealous priest, but he’s not that good at it. So why does he even try? Can’t trust someone who always just pretends things. He thinks he needs to do this, don’t know why. Maybe he’s trying too hard to please everyone. All day he’s advising the townsfolk when they come with their petty complaints, and half the night he disappears into his study, working for hours on end. And then he goes and picks the first band of washed-up gypsies running along and sits them on the throne!"

"Ahem," Yrba coughed.

Patra shrunk and cringed when she realized what she had said. "Oh milady! No! No, I didn’t mean you!" She added hastily, reverence causing her voice to tremble, "You’re no gypsy, you’re a witch, milady. Don’t curse me! I meant no insolence! Of course she’s a good goddess, too." She mumbled, "I’m just saying. A few girls, they’re not happy. Had hoped to become the next in line themselves."

The witch smirked. "And I might be looking at one of them now?"

"Milady!" Patra blushed more, if that was even possible. "Not me! I’m not … built … for those things." The woman had instinctively grabbed the folds of cloth over her breasts.

"Now I’ve just got to take a look, you know?" Yrba remarked.

"Milady, oh please —"

"Bare your chest, Patra," sang the witch.

"M—milady—"

"Patra—?" Now there was an edge to that question. With a sigh, the woman pulled the folds apart. Her breasts were skin, hanging down over her ribs. Their shape ended in triangles crowned with small nipples.

"Yes, that’s pretty sad," Yrba admitted. "Always been like this?"

Patra shook her head, mutely. She wrapped herself up into the white cloth again, and then she answered over her shoulder as she picked up the tray with the empty dishes, "Started when I was sixteen. A bad famine, then. Their stuffing just shrank and shrank, and later, it didn’t return. I — I will bring your nightgown now, milady, and help you dress for the bed."

Yrba mutely weighed her head and scratched her chin with the back of her hand as the woman hurried away.

The colonnaded inner court with its grassy square of thirty by thirty yards, its sole gnarled tree and the dribbling fountain of white marble, fed by the ancient water line from the mountains, soon became Yrba’s favorite spot. Nobody ever seemed to go there, and so she spent the days of her slow recovery dozing naked on a blanket in the warm sun or sitting on the ledge surrounding the shallow marble pool and lazily flipping through some of the many old scrolls and tomes in the palace’s library. Patra was around, always around, to lift the rim of a chalice of wine or water to Yrba’s lips, to turn a recalcitrant or stuck page or to hold a piece of food for the witch to snatch from her servant’s hand.

There was no way to shake her, no matter how hard Yrba tried. And so there was not a single moment of privacy, except for the hours of the night, and Patra seemed a light sleeper. Yrba missed the moments of deep relief that fingers or a tongue could give when applied to the right places. Patra was her pair of replacement hands, yet Patra also was her servant, and Yrba had pretty staunch opinions about ordering someone to provide relief. In desperation, the witch had tried a few things while Patra was on her much too quick walks to the kitchen or the winery — namely grinding her groin against the edge of a piece of furniture or humping the round, smooth surface of a column with her legs spread wide — but she only had learned that her body was not as eager to respond to mere friction as Li’s. The memory of the dwarfish woman and her unusual obsession with rubbing and all things big made Yrba smile. At the same time, it did nothing to quench the urges that built inside her. As the days went by, the hunger in Yrba’s womb grew, along with her irritability.

"Haaah—!" rang Patra’s surprised gasp and shriek of pain.

Thud. Clang! Boink—oioioioing.

"You clumsy oaf! Raaarrrrgh! Look what you’ve done!"

Yrba’s angry holler bounced around the walls of the courtyard. She shook her arms clean and proceeded to rub the red wine from her face. Rivulets ran down her body, and pieces of buttered bread and ham clung to her torso’s skin. Patra wormed on the floor, holding her bruised knee with one hand while the other hastily heaped the scattered canapés and the still spinning chalice back on the tablet.

"Milady, I — I didn’t see the stone in the grass, I will clean you right away —"

The unwelcome wake-up call was just the last straw on a towering haystack that had been smoldering for quite a while. Now it exploded into a ball of blazing anger. Yrba flew off the handle. Struggling to her elbows, she screamed all her pent-up frustration right into poor Patra’s face. The demure woman jerked and twitched to every angry bark like under a whip.

"Shut up. Shut — up! Shut up! Arrrgh! Dammit! I’m soiled head to toe! Get out of my sight! Oh, I’ll talk to Carwon and have you kicked from the palace, you obnoxious crow! Why are you still doing your time here anyway, you’re so old, you should long be back in your village!"

Patra clutched the tray tight as she backed away limping. Her lips trembled. Sparkles of tears suddenly welled in her eyes. The tray clattered to the ground, and Patra pressed her fists against her mouth in despair.

"M — Milady," she started, and her stuttering descended into a wailing gargle. "I’m sorry, please, don’t send me away — It’s all gone — burned to the ground — I can never — this is my only home — oh please, have mercy! Have me flogged or scalded or curse me, but don’t send me from the palace! I can’t go anywhere else!"

Patra’s voice failed, and all that kept on coming were rivers of tears and gargling sobs. She cringed in fear as Yrba struggled upright and quickly bridged the few yards between them. The witch angled her palms out of the way before she clumsily wrapped Patra’s trembling body in her arms and clutched the shivering woman tight.

"Oh Patra, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! Forgive me! I didn’t want to — I didn’t know—"

After a second’s hesitation, Patra returned the embrace, squeezing desperately against Yrba’s soft, sure support while her legs turned into jelly. Shaking and sniffing, Patra slumped to her knees, and Yrba knelt down along with her. Patra dug her wet face into the gypsy’s mane and sobbed and wailed, stammering sensless syllables of pain. Had she found the strength to raise her head and look the witch in the face, she’d have seen that Yrba was shedding tears, too. With their heads side by side over each other’s shoulder, the unlike women lamented their lost homes together.

Yrba dried the woman’s face with her lower arm.

"Patra, I didn’t mean it. I really didn’t mean it. It’s not your fault. I won’t chase you away. I’m just so —"

The witch sighed, from the depths of her heart and her womb.

"— so wound up. See, I used to touch myself just about every day, before Mirca came along. I guess I miss it a lot." She lifted her scarred, scorched hands. "Still can’t do a thing with these, you know."

Patra sniffled her tears away and replied, "Then why didn’t you tell me? Milady just needs to say a word. I am your hands, for whatever thing you see me fit to do."

Yrba frowned. "No, I can’t ask that of you. You’re here to help me cope, not as a sex toy. It’s not right."

Patra smiled from underneath her lowered head and wiped the tears from her cheeks. "Milady! I’d be honored if you allowed me touch you in that special way. I already wondered why a woman of your grace and ampleness would be so reluctant, and —"

She blushed.

"—And, on occasion, when you were asleep, I — don’t become angry again, milady, but — I touched myself dreaming about you. Now I promise to do my best to relieve you of your burden, milady. You need not do a thing, just leave it to me."

She put her hands on the witch’s shoulders and gently lowered her down on the blanket. Her warm lips nibbled the stuck pieces of food from the chocolate-colored skin. Her tongue lapped up the sweet rivulets of wine. Working her way up over the brown mounds and depressions, she finally engulfed Yrba’s big nipples and drew the engorged strawberries into her mouth while her fingertips gently traced the root of the Darkskin’s milk-laden breasts.

Yrba panted with closed eyes. The sun heated her dark skin, and Patra’s saliva left evaporating, chilly tracks. The licks and kisses wandered down over Yrba’s ribs and her belly. Drawn like fluttering moths to a flame, Patra’s lips neared the black triangle of wiry hair.

Yrba’s body was on fire. Patra hadn’t promised too much. The woman’s experienced lips and fingers knew where to touch the witch’s yearning flesh. Soon, Yrba howled and moaned, tossing and turning on the blanket.

"Milady, if you please —?" Patra asked, holding two fingers in front of Yrba’s lips. Yrba sucked them deep into her mouth, coated them with her spit and wiggled her tongue around and in between them. When Patra pulled them from Yrba’s thick lips, they dripped with saliva. Moments later, the glistening digits disappeared into Yrba’s burning hole, stretching it easily.

"You’re wide, milady!" gasped the woman.

"Yeeeeeessssss! Oh gooooodsssss! Ungh—!"

Shluurgh. Squish.

"And wet!" Patra added, her eyes wide with surprise. The witch’s folds coated her probing fingers with copious lube and consumed the servant’s pushing hand inch by inch, wrapping around like a tight mitten.

"Ahhhhh," the gypsy exhaled. Her stretched portal slowly contracted again around the servant’s wrist, sealing the hand in. Yrba’s hip bucked on the massive presence in her middle, and Patra’s hand pumped back and forth, a pulling and pushing piston buried deep in the witch’s crotch.

"Oh yes," she groaned, "I’m wide! Stretch me! Make me wider! You’re — you’re — hhhhuuurrrrnnnnghh!"

She arched her back and soared from the blanket as all her pent-up urges exploded.

"Oh, you’re so sweet and soft and delicious!" Patra cuddled the soft brown bags that were glowing in the aftermath of delight.

Yrba chuckled. "If you like my mams that much, you should’ve brought me milk this morning."

"Milady?"

Yrba pulled the woman up and whispered in Patra’s ear, tickling the earlobe with her tongue: "Feed me enough milk, and they’ll swell to taut udders!"

"Will they? Gee — h—how about a bath then, milady?"

"Haaaahhh—" gasped Yrba as the border of warm liquid wandered higher over her body. The witch held her arms straight out, and Patra had her hands in Yrba’s armpits and lowered her gently into the milk basin. "Oh m—mmmmm—yiiii! Oh, that’s good!" The lower curve of her brown boobs touched the white surface. With every inch, their weight grew smaller as they took to floating. Warmth engulfed Yrba’s jugs from all sides until they floated up far enough to break through the milk level. Thick white drops clung to the parts of her breast’s skin that were exposed to the air again.

Yrba narrowed her eyes, and her breath grew quicker. She knew that feeling, that faint tickle, the urge to rub her skin to soften it. She knew it from drinking milk, but she hadn’t touched any for days.

Touched. The witch gasped. 

Goodness, I—I’m swimming in milk. It’s — I’m soaking it up through my skin, too! The sensation ran all over her body. All over the parts submerged in milk. Her breasts’ glands took notice of the rising tide and woke. Yrba shuddered and gulped. Oh no — what if I’m going to swell everywhere?

"Patra, d—do you see anything odd w—with my body?"

The servant pulled her up again. The normal weight of Yrba’s breasts, dragging heavy on her chest, returned.

"Uh — no." The woman shook her head. "I’m sorry, did I do something wrong?"

Yrba drew her lower lip over her teeth. Experimenting. That’s how we learn what works and what doesn’t. 

"Oh, you did nothing wrong, my dear," she replied. "Put me back in. If — if — I tell you to pull me out, just obey right away, okay?"

"Of course, mistress!"

Yrba closed her eyes as she descended into the liquid’s white embrace again and focused on the emerging sensations. She sensed the first shivers of growth in her breasts. They floated with the waves as her servant climbed into the bath beside her. And then, suddenly, Patra’s gentle, expert fingers felt up the witch’s rounding, firming boobs from below.

"Milady! You — I can’t believe — you’re a goddess, too?! You’re growing! You — "

With her arms locked on the rim of the basin, Yrba drew up her thighs and wrapped her legs around the hips of the woman in front of her, pulling her close.

"Let’s find out how fast I can grow," she smiled. "Now feed me."

Patra lifted the ladle to the witch’s lips. She was too nervous, too eager, and as she raised it, Yrba couldn’t keep up gulping. The warm milk spilled over her cheeks and dripped down over her breasts. She licked her puffy lips.

"Mmh. Delicious. And still, bathing in it — what a waste. Uuunngh! Here comes another throb—"

Patra’s fingers kneaded the expanding brown orbs.

"Milady, it can’t be a waste if it reveals your powers so beautifully! You are a true goddess! I want to be your servant forever. Please, have some more milk. I’m begging you, grow bigger and let me witness!"

"Well, since you’ll have to wash my hair anyway, one way or the other —"

Yrba lowered herself into the milk until it reached to her upper lip. A tiny vortex started in front of her mouth and grew quickly until every greedy slurp drew a bit of air with it. She shuddered. The warmth of the basin, Patra’s unconditional obedience, the thrill of unadulterated decadence, the abundant supply from both her skin and her innards — the sum total of excitement and availability made her breasts’ aroused glands burn through the raw stock like fire through dried hay. Yrba knew the slow buildup of tension and fullness, but this was different. The whole volume of her breasts, every single bulbous milk gland, every cubic inch, quavered and trembled. Every cell spewed milk into her spongy tissue. She felt not size, but change of size. Her breasts grew and swelled, not in hours but minutes, and for the first, the very first time, she experienced for herself what countless girls already had felt under her gentle hands. The witch groaned. She couldn’t put this in words or thoughts. It was too good. And yet, the final act still was missing. Good thing she had her trusty servant near.

She rose from the warm basin in a breathtaking display of liquid white curtains cascading from the chocolate balcony of her heavy, firm, blown-up, shuddering orbs. Her tongue was a shining pink beacon as it slowly rimmed her dark brown lips. Patra stared up to her in mute rapture. Yrba drew back her shoulders and proudly swayed the brimming bags in front of her servant’s face.

"Why just witness if you can enjoy it? Kiss them. Relieve them of their load. Make them squirt."

Patra leaned in. She had barely pressed her pouted lips on the burning brown skin when thin jets of boiling milk spewed from Yrba’s throbbing nipples. The witch threw her head back and panted towards the ceiling.

Over the course of the years, Patra had fulfilled just about every imaginable job around the palace and the stables. She knew udders when she saw them, and she knew how to stroke and rub and squeeze and pull, to empty them profoundly while still keeping the cow happy enough to not kick the bucket over. So she gently turned her brown-skinned mistress around and grabbed her neck, pushing her down.

And Yrba was the happiest cow of them all as she leaned forward on her elbows against the rim of the basin. Her howls to every hissing jet of milk turned into long-drawn moos in rhythm with Patra’s strokes. The woman’s greased fingers dug into Yrba’s swollen flesh. Every now and then, the witch beckoned her to stop and soaked herself up again in the tub of milk, just to keep the delights of streaming going.

Yrba ran the fingertips of one hand over the palm of the other and plucked away the last clots of brown crust. The skin beneath was as good as new again. In the quiet hours of the last night, her body had finished the work of the many previous days. She held her palms out to Patra.

"Well?"

"Milady!" Her fingertips stroked the smooth new skin. "Oh milady, you sure are blessed with many extraordinary gifts!"

Yrba moved closer to the woman.

"I was blessed with the best of companions, Patra," she smiled and put her hands on the woman’s shoulders. Her fingers slipped the toga off her servant’s shoulders. The white cloth curled on the floor around Patra’s feet. Yrba measured up the slightly worn body as she gently pushed the nervous maid towards the huge bed.

"You served me well." Yrba whispered. "Lay down now." Her hands helped Patra to splay out on the bed. She nuzzled the woman’s figure and slowly kissed her way up along the sides of Patra’s body, taking her sweet time to cover the ground of Patra’s empty, sagging breasts.

"Milady—," stammered the woman, "please, milady, I don’t know, I mustn’t, I’m not worthy, I’m just a—"

"Hush." 

The ribcage under Yrba’s wandering lips worked hard. Patra barely managed to force enough cool air through her lungs to stop herself from burning up on the spot. The dark brown fingers with the brighter insides tickled and scratched all over her flaccid chest. They wandered up, over her shoulders, her collarbones, and then Yrba’s head moved into the woman’s field of view. Patra wrapped her arms around the gypsy and kissed her long and deep, stammering half-choked words of passion. And then that weird wanderer from half a world away broke their embrace and raised a tiny vial in front of Patra’s trembling lips.

"This will let my magic into your body. You can guess what for, do you? Tell me, do you truly want to give yourself up to my mercy, just like that? Do you really trust me enough to drink it?"

"I am your servant," Patra humbly replied. "You own me, in life and death. I will do whatever you tell me to."

Yrba gently stroked the woman’s cheek.

"No, Patra. It doesn’t work like that. What do you truly want? I will not order you to swallow this. I can make some changes, but it’s your call. If you say no, well, let’s just cuddle a little and then go our separate ways."

Patra smiled. With a sudden move of her head, she snapped at the vial, wrapped her lips around its rim and emptied it to the last drop, savoring the odd taste as the slimy juice ran down her tongue like the flesh of an oyster. The little container slipped from her lips as she pouted and offered her mouth to the witch. She longed to press the plump lips of the Darkskin on hers, to share the last froth in her cheeks with her benefactress, but Yrba raised a forefinger and put it between their faces, gently sealing Patra’s lips.

"Sweetie, no. It wouldn’t do me any good. It’s all for you. Now swallow it and enjoy."

Patra gulped obediently and audibly. Yrba slithered on top of her, dragging her rough skin over the servant’s smooth, silky white skin that started to glisten with perspiration.

"What now, milady?" mumbled the woman. "Will I feel — will it hurt?"

"No," Yrba replied with a smile. "It’ll take some time. You’ll know when you’re ready." She squinted and watched the glow of her tincture spread through Patra’s body as it irrigated the dried-up wells in the woman’s flesh.

"Ooooh. It’s coming, milady. It’s coming! Filling me — the wetness — now — goodness! It’s like all those years ago! It’s all coming back! Yes!"

The servant moaned loudly and relished the renewed flames of desire that blazed in her womb. Her strangled, excited yelps drowned Yrba’s whispered "Mammae expandere."

"Getting — warmer — so hot…"

She gasped and rose from the bed, only to sag down and writhe moments later. The coarse wool of the blanket scratched over her back, relieving some of the irritating sensations crawling over her skin. Around the root of her breasts, the skin detached from her ribs as the magical padding began. The edge started to wander outwards as her jugs’ base spread wider. Yrba dug her knees and thighs into the woman’s flanks and rose straight up. She pinched her eyes and reached with her arms into the faint wisps of invisible smoke, hoarding the ethereal power and guiding it near Patra’s recipient body that sucked it up right away.

"Swelling — skin — getting tight — filling up —," Patra stuttered, shaking in spasms. The soft skin of her mammaries flooded with delicious warmth. The leavened dough of milk and flesh started to rise in her breasts’ heat-filled oven.

"Taut!" she gasped. Her areolae stretched. The wrinkles around her nipples’ bases disappeared when the expanding filling of her boobs demanded more wrapping than the smooth skin could give. The nubs climbed up as small, slightly darker domes formed on top of the developing mounds.

Yrba’s fingers tugged and knitted a tiny portion of the otherworldly glow into an invisible ball. Patra’s eyes followed them nervously as they neared her face. With one hand on her servant’s jaw, Yrba ran the ethereal sphere over Partra’s lips until the witch’s vision showed a luminous coating. And then, starting in the corner of Patra’s mouth, Yrba drew her forefinger along the dry, trembling lips. The rosy flesh plumped in her stroke’s wake. Yrba leaned forward and tenderly nibbled away at the soft, juicy lips, playfully pulling at them with her shiny white teeth. Her tongue massaged the seductively protruding, glistening lower lip.

"Oh yes, that’s kissable," she sighed. Kissing and nibbling her way south, Yrba positioned herself over the next target. A drop of hot saliva trickled from her pouted lips, fell the mere half-inch to Patra’s left nipple and crept down the rough, spongy flesh. Moments later, the juicy, huge lips of the witch engulfed the swelling milkberry and pinched it gently.

"Uuuunnnghh…" A strangled and deep groan struggled from Patra’s wide-open mouth. Yrba stroked the slopes of the developing mounds, massaging the condensed glow of ethereal magic into her servant’s eager flesh. The fresh handfuls quivered and shook in her fingers. They gained another inch of height with every few blinks as jiggly, soft flesh throbbed into them. Yrba guided the slow growth, spreading it evenly over the replenishing skin bags.

Patra’s delirious moan was barely more than a coarse whisper. "Howwwwww — mmmmuch?"

Yrba’s hands grabbed the proud mams and gave them a double squeeze. Warm, juicy mass bulged out between her fingers, and she nodded approvingly. Her mouth spread into a wide grin. "It’ll do, believe me," she laughed. Patra didn’t hear her over all the bells ringing in her head. She didn’t hear the groaning of her hip bones or the faint stretching noises. All of her mind filled with the tickle and tingle of her rounding and tautening rear, creeping wider on the blanket as Yrba’s experienced hands shaped it up.

The witch let go of the now shapely buttocks and dragged her forefinger through Patra’s moist clam. The servant’s whole body grew rigid. The pleated blankets rent in her cramped hands. She rose on her shoulders and heels. Her curved body hung in mid-air like an arch before she dropped down on the bed, sagging limply into the mattress with a deep sigh. The new, soft, half-melon-sized beacons of womanhood on her ribs shook and swayed.

"My pleasure," Yrba smiled, licking the sticky moisture from her fingertips.

Chapter 61: Edges And Shards

"Patra!" gasped the cleaning woman, eyeing the figure by her side as she bent down and soaked her rag. "You’ve grown! Wow! Your udders, they are full!"

Patra smiled back at her, a broad, happy smile. She stopped scrubbing the floor and hefted her breasts through her tunic. "Yes! The witch did that! No more sad flaps! I look like in my prime again, all over! Oh, you should see my ass! All firm and round! I was so afraid of her at first, but — just look now! Oh, she’s such a sweet woman! She even let me sleep in her bed! And then we — no, I’m not telling." She winked, giggled and started to work again. "Milady even called me best of companion!"

Mirca had followed the exchange behind her back. A dark cloud wandered over her face.

The next day, Patra found herself assigned to the pigpens. She didn’t mind. Work was work, after all.

Yrba looked her friend right in the eyes.

"Well, Mirca? Have you finally made up your mind? If we start exercising now, you’ll be ready to walk again come spring. Might even fit back on the cart box, girl. There’s still a whole world for you to discover, out there."

"I—I’m not sure. It’s all so nice here. Yrba! Oh, how about waiting another month? I mean, it’s —"

"You’re just stalling! Why don’t you come out right away? You want to stay here and stuff yourself until you’re just a piece of furniture in this palace! Oooh, and guess what? Then you’ll come crying to me again! Well, I’m not going to sit around waiting for you to grow tired of playing the Holy Cow!"

"Cow? Cow—?! Why you —! Fine then! Go away! Go and be happy in your crappy caravan! Why don’t you go ahead and take your new girl toy with you! Who needs you anyway?" She wiggled, helplessly tied down by the sheer weight of her breasts. "Uh — Girls! More lotion! And the buckets! I can feel it’s high time now!"

At the clap of her hands, dozens of servants stepped up and started to oil and massage her breasts, paying extra attention to the deep fold where her mountains connected to her chest. Every spurt brought forth by the kneading and squeezing was meticulously caught and recorded. And then Mirca’s face screwed up in delight. The fist-sized nipples opened up, and the maids with the buckets had a hard time keeping up.

"How is the milking coming along?" Mirca groaned after a while.

One of the maids checked a scroll and drew another couple of marks on a long tally list. "Extremely well, Goddess. We’re almost done for the whole week. You’re positively brimming today."

"Good, good! I like to make everybody happy," the tall woman moaned as oiled hands gently slithered around her engorged aureolae. With her body burning delightfully in arousal, the slightest touch sent rippled contractions wandering over her breasts and made her nipples spray thick squirts of nurturing liquid into the receptacles.

Mirca’s gaze slowly focused back on the witch, and her brow furrowed again. "You’re still here? Don’t you have another girl to coax into your service? Oh gods YES! Do that agaaaahhhiiinnnn!"

"Don’t worry, your highness! I’m on my way already!" hissed the witch, but then she lowered her head so Mirca couldn’t see the wave of sadness that swept through her features.

Milk whore, Yrba thought. That wasn’t what I had in mind for you, girl. No, not at all. What a waste. Well, at least you seem happy now.

She sighed. It would have to do. Not a happy end for the books, but then — which ends truly are?

"And bring the scented liniment and the tubes and rinse my clam! I want to be ready for my lord! He’ll be bull-hard again as soon as he sees me glistening with oil," Yrba heard as she slowly closed the door behind her and walked to her wagon that stood alone and waiting at the end of the long flight of the front stairs.

Nobody had come to bid her farewell. As usual. Only Patra waved her a mute goodbye from one of the many windows. Yrba didn’t even notice.

The guardian at the town gate stopped her with a raised hand.

"Pull your cart over. There is someone waiting for you, witch. Come down from the box and follow me."

Yrba’s stomach cramped into a lump of ice.

"In there," the guard added and pointed at the hut on the side of the gate. Yrba noticed the heavy iron bars over the windows. An unfriendly hand shoved her over the doorsill. She blinked into the darkness.

"So this is it?" she whispered.

"This is what?" Carwon’s voice replied at her side. "Take a seat with me, for a minute, please."

He patted the bench to his left, and she sat down.

"I just wanted to thank you for what you’ve done for Mirca. I’m sorry she has changed so much. You two really had a special thing going, I guess. I just wished —"

He fell silent and chewed on his lips.

"Yes, me too," Yrba jumped in. "Promise me you’ll look after her? I know she’s all over you, she’s not just screwing your marrow out. But then I guess I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know, eh? And, thank you for Patra. She was a real godsend, Carwon."

She patted his thigh through the rough tunic. He winced. And then he winced a little more when Yrba’s probing fingers wandered curiously along the round, tubular thing until they wrapped around the kneecap-like ending.

After a few moments, she pursed her lips and started to smile.

"Either you’ve lost your leg below the knee, or —"

"Or?" he moaned.

"— Or that’s no thigh and you’re really —"

"— Happy to see you," he finished with a sigh. "If a had a coin for every time I heard that, then —"

"— You’d be packing quite some change. Oh, silly me," she grinned and gave the warm rod in her hand a gentle squeeze. "You do. How come? Always been this big?"

"Not quite. The last goddess had the kitchen spice my food with bullweed. By the time I noticed … well, I guess you should know what it does to men."

"You’re lucky. With my girl being the hulk she is, you’ll need every single inch of that man trunk to make her enjoy the ride."

"So, no hard feelings?"

"Towards you? Maybe a little. You’re too much into those acts you put on. Towards Mirca? She doesn’t know better, the poor lass. So, do you swear you’ll take care of her?" Her voice had an edge now, and her pointy fingernails dug into the rough cloth over his manhood. He shuddered in her grip.

"Yrba, I solemnly swear on my life that I’ll take good care of Mirca."

"We’ll see." She let got and looked him straight in the eyes, and but for moment he thought he’d seen a little red glint in them as she added:

"I’ll be back."

To Be Finished in Yrba’s Travels, Part 12: Eruption

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

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